1 Peter: A Critical and Exegetical Commentary: Volume 1: Chapters 1-2 9780567030573, 9780567709974, 9780567709981

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The INTERNATIONAL CRITICAL COMMENTARY

on the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments GENERAL EDITORS

STUART WEEKS Professor of Old Testament and Hebrew in the University of Durham

AND

C. M. TUCKETT Emeritus Professor of New Testament in the University of Oxford Fellow of Pembroke College

CONSULTING EDITOR

G. I. DAVIES, F.B.A. Emeritus Professor of Old Testament Studies in the University of Cambridge Fellow of Fitzwilliam College

FORMERLY UNDER THE EDITORSHIP OF

J. A. EMERTON, F.B.A., C. E. B. CRANFIELD, F.B.A. and G. N. STANTON General Editors of the New Series S. R. DRIVER A. PLUMMER C. A. BRIGGS Founding Editors

A CRITICAL AND EXEGETICAL COMMENTARY

ON

1 PETER in 2 Volumes BY

TRAVIS B. WILLIAMS AND DAVID G. HORRELL Professor of Religion at Tusculum University, USA Professor of New Testament Studies at the University of Exeter, UK

IN TWO VOLUMES VOLUME 1 Commentary on 1 Peter 1–2

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2023 Copyright © Travis B. Williams and David G. Horrell, 2023 Travis B. Williams and David G. Horrell have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN:

HB:

978-0-5670-3057-3

ePDF:

978-0-5677-0998-1

Series: International Critical Commentary Typeset by Duncan Burns Printed and bound in Great Britain To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

CO N T E N T S TO V O L U ME I General Editors’ Preface ix Preface xi Maps Map 1: The Roman Provinces of Asia Minor (late first century CE) xvii Map 2: The Road Network in Asia Minor xviii Abbreviations xxi Introduction 1 Text of 1 Peter 2 Greek Manuscript Evidence 7 Patristic Citations 10 Ancient Versions 13 Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure 20 Genre and Literary Integrity of 1 Peter 20 Structure of 1 Peter 29 Sources, Traditions, and Affinities 37 Old Testament/Jewish Scriptures and Traditions 43 Jesus-Traditions and Gospel Materials 53 Pauline Traditions 63 Other New Testament/Early Christian Traditions 74 Early Citations, Canonicity, and the Catholic Epistles 85 Early Citations of 1 Peter 86 The Canonicity of 1 Peter 92 1 Peter among the Catholic Epistles 94 Date of 1 Peter 100 Establishing the Terminus ad quem 101 Establishing the Terminus a quo 103 Authorship of 1 Peter 116 1 Peter was Composed Directly by the Apostle Peter 117 1 Peter was Composed by Peter through an Amanuensis 131 1 Peter was the Product of a Petrine Circle 143 1 Peter was Composed Pseudonymously 149 Excursus: Pseudonymity in Early Christianity and 1 Peter 163

vi

CONTENTS TO VOLUME I

Place of Origin 189 Babylon as a Literal Location 190 Babylon as a Metaphorical Location 192 Babylon as a Device of Pseudonymity 194 Babylon as a Spatial Representation 196 Recipients of 1 Peter 197 Geographical Location 197 Ethno-Religious Identity 207 Socio-Political Identity 217 Socio-Economic Status 227 Socio-Historical Context 235 Modern Perceptions of Suffering in 1 Peter 236 Causes of Suffering in 1 Peter 241 Forms of Suffering in 1 Peter 258 Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter 265 The Depiction of God the Father, Christ, and Spirit 270 Between Conformity and Resistance: The Letter’s Social Stance 272 Suffering, Estrangement, and Hope: The Letter’s Strategy 279 The Impact and Influence of 1 Peter 281 Commentary Inscriptio/Subscriptio

295

Epistolary Prescript: Identification of Author/Addressees and Opening Greetings (1.1–2)

299

Opening Blessing: God’s Glorious Salvation (1.3–12) 1.3–5 Blessing of God for a New Birth 1.6–9 Trials, Trust, and Future Joy 1.10–12 Prophecy Concerning Christ and the Salvation Now Announced

331 334 373 415



CONTENTS TO VOLUME I 

vii

First Major Section of the Letter-Body (1.13–2.10) A Call for Hope, Holiness, and Love (1.13–25) 1.13–16 A Call to Holiness‑

455 457

Excursus: Imperatival Participles in 1 Peter 460 1.17–21 1.22–25

A Note of Warning and a Reminder of Their Costly Redemption A Call to Love based on Rebirth from Divine Seed

491 537

An Exhortation to Crave Spiritual Food for Growth (2.1–3)

567

Christ the Chosen Cornerstone and the Community as a Chosen People (2.4–10)

595

Excursus: The Quotation of ‘Stone’ Texts (LXX Isa 8.14; 28.16; Ps 117.22) 637 Second Major Section of the Letter-Body (2.11–4.11) Exhortation to Good Conduct while Living as Strangers (2.11–12)

691

Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter 712 Submission and Freedom within the Structures of Imperial Power (2.13–17)

725

Instructions to Slaves through an Appeal to the Example of Christ (2.18–25)

773

G E NE R A L E D ITO R S ’ P R EFACE

Much scholarly work has been done on the Bible since the publication of the first volumes of the International Critical Commentary in the 1890s. New linguistic, textual, historical and archaeological evidence has become available, and there have been changes and developments in methods of study. In the twenty-first century there will be as great a need as ever, and perhaps a greater need, for the kind of commentary that the International Critical Commentary seeks to supply. The series has long had a special place among works in English on the Bible, because it has sought to bring together all the relevant aids to exegesis, linguistic and textual no less than archaeological, historical, literary and theological, to help the reader to understand the meaning of the books of the Old and New Testaments. In the confidence that such a series meets a need, the publishers and the editors are commissioning new commentaries on all the books of the Bible. The work of preparing a commentary on such a scale cannot but be slow, and developments in the past half-century have made the commentator’s task yet more difficult than before, but it is hoped that the remaining volumes will appear without too great intervals between them. No attempt has been made to secure a uniform theological or critical approach to the problems of the various books, and scholars have been selected for their scholarship and not for their adherence to any school of thought. It is hoped that the new volumes will attain the high standards set in the past, and that they will make a significant contribution to the understanding of the books of the Bible. S. D. W. C. M. T.

PR E FA C E

The commitment to write this commentary dates back to 2004, when the late Graham Stanton—whose generous and gracious presence is much missed—invited one of us (David Horrell) to take on this project. Graham expressed the hope that it might be completed within seven years, or ten at most, but the distractions of other projects and commitments, together with the sheer mass of material to consider, has led to considerable delay. Indeed, I (David) found myself overwhelmed at the scale of the task, and in 2012 invited Travis Williams, who had completed his PhD on 1 Peter with me at Exeter in 2010, to join me as co-author. Having developed our perspectives on 1 Peter in collaboration, and having both published quite extensively on the letter, it seems a good fit to combine our efforts in producing this commentary. We have drawn on our earlier publications where relevant, particularly in the Introduction. We have both worked hard over many years to complete the project: an initial exegesis of Chapters 1–3 was undertaken by David Horrell, Chapters 4–5 by Travis Williams, and the introduction was divided between us. We subsequently undertook our own independent exegesis of the sections covered by the other author and then merged them together such that the commentary in its entirety reflects both of our work. However, despite the shared and collaborative labour, I (David) would like to put on record that much of the work in recent years has been done by Travis: I would never have managed to bring the work to completion on my own. Much of the detailed grammatical analysis, references to primary texts, and extensive engagement with scholarly literature is due to his prodigious labour (hence he is named as first author). The resulting work is very long, especially for a text that runs to only 105 verses. But there are reasons for the length and detail. First, a commentary is not intended to be read like a monograph (we pity any reviewers) but to serve as a reference work, and (in the case of the ICC) as a compendium of scholarship and information about the text that will endure for some years. We have tried

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to ensure that anyone consulting this commentary for information about any of the words or phrases within the text, even short or apparently insignificant ones, will find material to inform their interpretation—something that is not always the case, even with the largest commentaries. Second, commentaries on biblical texts are part of an extended scholarly conversation—indeed, a conversation that, as the turn to Wirkungsgeschichte has rightly highlighted, goes back to the earliest years of the text’s reception and interpretation. As time goes along, the breadth and depth of that conversation gets steadily greater, and exponentially so in recent years. Yet as Markus Bockmuehl has remarked, in a discipline overwhelmed by ‘the sheer flood of both printed and electronic publication’, there is a tendency to engage only the most recent works of scholarship: ‘It is considered an embarrassment if a dissertation fails to engage with a relevant work published eighteen months ago. The entire nineteenth century, however, can be disregarded with impunity’.1 But whereas many commentaries restrict their engagement to the works of recent decades, we have tried to engage with the full history of critical scholarship, for reasons that will be noted immediately below. We have of course been unable to interact with commentaries that have appeared very recently, notably Ruth Anne Reese, 1 Peter, New Cambridge Bible Commentary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2022), Pheme Perkins, Eloise Rosenblatt, and Patricia McDonald, 1–2 Peter and Jude, Wisdom Commentary 56 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2022), and Christoph G. Müller, Der Erste Petrusbrief, Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament 21 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2022). We have only been able to add minimal engagement with the new edition of Karen Jobes’ commentary (where this is done, it is distinguished from other references by the addition of the date, 2022). We would like to thank Baker Academic for providing us with a pre-publication copy of Craig Keener’s commentary, which enabled us to engage with this work much more than would otherwise have been possible.

1

  Bockmuehl, Seeing the Word, 37 and 34 respectively.



PREFACE 

xiii

There are several specific features of the commentary to which we would like to draw attention, in the hope that this prefatory orientation will help readers to maximize the benefit of their engagement with it. •

•

In terms of format, while remaining within the conventions of the ICC, we have tried to set out our work in a way that facilitates readers’ use of it, depending on their specific interests. Each section of text opens with an Initial Bibliography of works specifically related to the passage, followed by detailed notes on the Text. A short Introduction explains the literary form and key features of the section of the letter, while the Exegesis contains the detailed analysis. Finally, a Summary section draws together key points, offering a wider (and theoretically informed) analysis of the text’s message, strategy and significance. Throughout we have made extensive use of footnotes, aiming thereby to make the main text more readable than it would be if primary and secondary references were liberally scattered in brackets throughout the text, as one sometimes encounters in commentaries. A complete bibliography lists all the works referred to. Multiple entries by the same author are ordered by date. (We have not included indexes, since their scale would make them unwieldy and therefore largely unhelpful, and also because readers are most likely to use the commentary to find information relating to a specific word or passage in 1 Peter, which can easily be located.) We engage in close detail with the textual variants, not only as a means to ascertain as far as possible the initial text but also because they are often interesting in their own right as examples of reception and interpretation (one example is the marginal summaries that appear in P72). Even the most detailed previous commentaries often omit to mention many significant variants, yet we have been able to benefit for the first time from the enormous labour contained in the Editio Critica Maior (and now represented in NA28) and from the insights of the Coherence-Based Genealogical Method (CBGM) employed in producing this resource, even if we have at a few points differed from the judgments represented in the ECM.

xiv

•

•

•

•

PREFACE

We offer a detailed level of grammatical analysis, something again that is relatively lightly covered even in the major commentaries, though the recent works of Dubis and Forbes, focused specifically on grammar, have been a valuable resource for our own work, even at the points where we differ from their judgments. As noted above, we have sought to engage as thoroughly as possible with older as well as more recent commentary literature. In part, the older literature is significant simply as a part of the history of the letter’s reception and interpretation, but it is also important in helping to gain critical perspective on contemporary positions, some of which have acquired a near consensus status that engagement with older perspectives helps to unpick and to challenge (for example, on approaches to the suffering or persecution evident in the letter). Rediscovering older perspectives and theories helps to clarify the range of interpretative options and, at times, to inform a move away from the more recently popular views. Resources such as the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG), online databases of papyri, inscriptions, etc., have also allowed us to extend the range of primary data used to inform an interpretation of the text. Using such resources only adds to our admiration for those earlier scholars, such as Hort, who pursued their work with such deep learning, unaided by the ability to search through thousands of documents with the click of a mouse (they worried only that mice might chew up their notes!). The resources now available offer the opportunity to move beyond the recycling of primary sources identified by earlier commentators, or scholars writing for the TDNT, and to bring new data to the table. In something of a departure from the ICC tradition, but in a way reflective of the contemporary discipline of biblical studies, we have also drawn on a range of theoretical perspectives—from social psychology, postcolonial theory, and so on—to illuminate the author’s message and strategy, and to help us understand the ways in which the letter contributes to the making of emerging Christian identity. The brief Summary at the close of each section of exegesis offers readers an overview, informed by such perspectives, and we



PREFACE 

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xv

hope will prove valuable to those who want to enrich their understanding of the letter without engaging in the minutiae of the detailed exegesis. All of this work, in many cases building on our earlier published research, has, we hope, offered a range of new perspectives on the letter, on topics including the imperatival participle, the nature of suffering and persecution, the meaning and function of ‘doing good’, the identity-defining significance of the letter’s strategy, and the letter’s stance towards resistance and survival.

It remains to offer our heartfelt thanks to all those who have supported and enabled this work, whether in their professional or personal capacities. We will forbear repeating our specific thanks to all those named in our previous works on 1 Peter, though the research presented there has shaped the present work too. We would, however, like to thank Bradley Arnold and Wei Hsien Wan, who helped us very considerably by checking a wide range of primary and secondary sources cited in the exegesis of Chapters 1–3. We are very grateful to Stephen Mitchell, for permission to draw information from the maps in his magisterial volumes on Anatolia, and to Sue Rouillard, of the University of Exeter, for drawing the maps presented here. We would also like to express our grateful appreciation to all the staff (esp. Lelia Dykes) who facilitate access to library resources, not least inter-library loans, at our own institutions and at other libraries we have been able to use at Cambridge University, the Wissenschaftlich-Theologisches Seminar, University of Heidelberg, the Faculty of Theology at the University of Mainz, the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies at KU Leuven, Vanderbilt University, and Emmanuel Christian Seminary. Also deserving of very sincere thanks are all those who have helped to see this complex manuscript through the production process, especially our typesetter/copy-editor, Duncan Burns. David Horrell would like to thank his Exeter students and colleagues, particularly Louise Lawrence and Francesca Stavrakopoulou, for frequent (but friendly and supportive) teasing at every mention of 1 Peter and the unfinished commentary. Perhaps at last they will stop! He would also like to express profound gratitude to Carrie, Emily and Cate, for so much more than words could ever

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convey and for being the people at the centre of his world. Emily and Cate endured most of his inaugural lecture (on 1 Peter) at the tender ages of six and three—rescued for some playtime after forty minutes or so by the always heroic Dan Morgan—so this work has been at the fringes of their consciousness for much of their lives! Travis Williams would like to thank everyone at Tusculum University—both colleagues and students—for their generous support of this project from the beginning. But above all, he would like to extend the deepest and most heartfelt debt of gratitude to Amy, Bryce, Trent, and Callan. For the past ten years, they have sacrificed so that this work could become a reality. In the process, they have been his strength and support, and they will forever be his love and joy.

150km

Ancyra

P

Amisus

Sinope N

Provincial boundaries c.70-110CE Annexed to Galatia c.70-112CE

SYRIA

C A P PA D O C I A

G A L AT I A

Map 1. The Roman Provinces of Asia Minor (late first century CE)

0

A

PAMPHYLIA

PISIDIA

LYDIA

ASIA

BITH

I YN

Nicomedia

D AN

TUS ON

Heracleia

Byzantium

BI

Nicomedia

T

N HY

IA

Prusias

Claudiopolis

Nicaea

Flaviopolis

TRO AS

Iuliopolis

MY SIA

Ancyra AEO LIS

P HRYGIA

Pergamum

ASIA

G A L AT I A

LYDIA

Smyrna

Sardis

Acmonia Synnada

IO NIA

Antioch Antioch

PAR OREIU S

Ephesus

Apamea Laodicea Iconium

CARI A P ISIDI A

LYCAONIA

Isinda

PAMPHYLIA

Perge

LYC IA

I S AURI A

Side CI LI CI A

MA RE

0

ME INT DI E TER RAN EAN 150km

Map 2. The Road Network in Asia Minor

RNUM SEA

Sinope

AN

D

PONTUS

N

Pompeiopolis Amisus Neoclaudiopolis PAP H LAGONIA

Gangra

Trapezus P ON T U S P O L E M O N I A C US

Amaseia P ON T U S GA L AT IC U S

Zela

Neocaesareia

Comana

Nicopolis

Sebastopolis

ARMENIA MINOR

Tavium Sebasteia

C A P PA D O C I A Caesareia

Germaniceia Anazarbus Tarsus

CILICIA PEDIAS

SYRIA

TRACHEIA

Seleuceia

Provincial boundaries c.70-110 CE Antioch

Provincial boundaries operative before or after c.70-110 CE

Roads designed for wheeled traffic

Cities

Roads designed for pack animals

A B B R E V IAT IO N S

All references that fall within the sphere of biblical studies are abbreviated according to The SBL Handbook of Style for Biblical Studies and Related Disciplines, 2nd ed. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014). Abbreviations for the epigraphic evidence follow (with some alterations) Pierre Roussel, et al., eds., Supplementum epigraphicum graecum (Lugduni Batanorum: Sijthoff, 1923–), and the papyrological evidence is listed according to John F. Oates, et al., eds., Checklist of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets, http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist.html, January, 2022. AE Agora XXI

AMP ASV BDAG

BDF

BGU BRG

Cagnat, René, et al., ed. L’Année épigraphique: revue des publications épigraphiques relatives à l’antiquité romaine. Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1888–. Lang, Mabel, ed. The Athenian Agora. Results of Excavations Conducted by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, vol. 21: Graffiti and Dipinti. Princeton, NJ: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1976. Amplified Bible American Standard Version Bauer, Walter. A Greek–English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 3rd ed. Edited by Frederick W. Danker, based on Walter Bauer, Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der übrigen urchristlichen Literatur. 6th ed. Edited by Kurt and Barbara Aland, with Viktor Reichmann and on previous English editions by W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich, and F. W. Danker. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. Blass, Friedrich and Albert Debrunner. A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. Translated and revised from the 9th–10th German edition, incorporating supplementary notes of A. Debrunner by Robert W. Funk. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961. Ägyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden. 15 vols. Berlin: Weidmann, 1895–1983. Blue Red and Gold Bible

xxii CCAG CEB CEV CGCG

Ch.L.A. Chrest.Mitt. Chrest.Wilck. CID CIG CIIP

CIJ

CIL CIRB CJB CMRDM

ABBREVIATIONS Kroll, Wilhelm, et al, ed. Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum. 12 vols. Brussels: Lamertin, 1898–1953. Common English Bible Contemporary English Version Boas, Evert van Emde, Albert Rijksbaron, Luuk Huitink, and Mathieu de Bakker, ed. The Cambridge Grammar of Classical Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019. Bruckner, Albert, et al, ed. Chartae Latinae Antiquiores. Dietikon-Zurich: Graf, 1954–1998. Mitteis, L. and U. Wilcken, ed. Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde, II Bd. Juristischer Teil, II Hälfte Chrestomathie. Leipzig-Berlin: Teubner, 1912. Mitteis, L. and U. Wilcken, ed. Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde, I Bd. Historischer Teil, II Hälfte Chrestomathie. Leipzig-Berlin: Teubner, 1912. Rougement, Georges, et al. ed. Corpus des inscriptions de Delphes. 4 vols. Paris: de Boccard, 1977–2002. Boeckh, Augustine, ed. Corpus inscriptionum graecarum. 4 vols. Berlin: Reimer, 1828–1877. Cotton, Hannah M., et al. Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae: A Multi-Lingual Corpus of the Inscriptions from Alexander to Muhammad. Volume 1: Jerusalem. Part 1: 1–704. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010. Frey, Jean-Baptiste, ed. Corpus inscriptionum iudaicarum: recueil des iscriptions juives qui vont du IIIe siècle avant Jésus-Christ au VIIe siècle de notre ère. 2 vols. Rome: Pontificio Istituto di archeologia Cristiana, 1936–1952. Revision of vol. 1: Baruch Lifshitz, Corpus of Jewish Inscriptions: Jewish Inscriptions from the Third Century B.C. to the Seventh Century A.D. New York: KTAV, 1975. Mommsen, Theodor, et al., ed. Corpus inscriptionum latinarum. Berlin: Reimer, 1853–. Struve, Vasilii V., ed. Corpus inscriptionum regni Bosporani. (Russian) Moscow: Nauka, 1965. Complete Jewish Bible Lane, Eugene N., ed. Corpus Monumentorum Religionis Dei Menis. Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain 19/1–4. Leiden: Brill, 1971–1978.

CPR CRF C-S

CSB Darby DLNT Douay-Rheims ECM

ECM (Part 2)

EHV ERV ESV FD III Geneva GIMB GNT Goodspeed Graffites d’Abydos GVI GW HCSB

ABBREVIATIONS 

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Wessely, Carl, et al, ed. Corpus Papyrorum Raineri. Vienna: Hollinek, 1895–2011. Ribbeck, Otto, ed. Comicorum Romanorum Fragmenta. 3rd ed. Leipzig: Teubner, 1897. The Crosby-Schøyen Codex MS 193 (ECM, Sahidic Coptic ms sa 31). Published as The Crosby-Schøyen Codex MS 193 in the Schøyen Collection. Edited by James E. Goehring. CSCO 521. Leuven: Peeters, 1990. Christian Standard Bible Darby Translation Disciples’ Literal New Testament Douay-Rheims Bible (1899) Aland, Barbara, et al., ed. Novum Testamentum Graecum. Editio Critica Maior IV Catholic Letters, Parts 1: Text. 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2013. Aland, Barbara, et al., ed. Novum Testamentum Graecum. Editio Critica Maior IV Catholic Letters, Parts 2: Supplementary Material. 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2013 Evangelical Heritage Version Easy-to-Read Version English Standard Version Bourguet, Émile, et al, ed. Fouilles de Delphes, III. Épigraphie. Paris: de Boccard, 1929–1976. Geneva Bible (1599) Newton, Charles T., ed. The Collection of Ancient Greek Inscriptions in the British Museum. 5 vols. Oxford: Clarendon, 1874–1916. Good New Translation The New Testament: An American Translation. Edited by Edgar J. Goodspeed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1923. Perdrizet, Paul and Gustave Lefebvre, ed. Les Graffites grecs du Memnonion d’Abydos. Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1919. Peek, Werner, ed. Griechische Vers-Inschriften. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1955. God’s Word Translation Holman Christian Standard Bible

xxiv I.Ankara

I.Apameia IAph2007 I.Arykanda I.Asklepieion

I.Beichtinschriften I.Délos I.Didyma I.Eleusis

I.Eph. I.Erythrai

IG IGBulg

ABBREVIATIONS Mitchell, Stephen, and David French, ed. The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Ankara (Ancyra), vol. 1: From Augustus to the End of the Third Century AD. Vestigia 62. Munich: Beck, 2012. Corsten, Thomas, ed. Die Inschriften von Apameia (Bithynien) und Pylai. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 32. Bonn: Habelt, 1987. Reynolds, Joyce, Charlotte Roueché, and Gabriel Bodard, ed. Inscriptions of Aphrodisias (2007), available . Şahin, Sencer, ed. Die Inschriften von Arykanda. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 48. Bonn: Habelt, 1994. Peek, Werner, ed. Inscriften aus dem Asklepieion von Epidauros. Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, Philologisch-Historische Klasse, Band 60, Heft 2. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1969. Petzl, Georg, ed. Die Beichtinscriften Westkleinasiens. Bonn: Habelt, 1994. [= Epigraphica Anatolica 22 (1994): v–xxi, 1–178]. Durrbach, Félix, et al, eds. Inscriptions de Délos. 7 vols. Paris: Champion, 1926–1972. Rehm, Albert, ed. Didyma, II. Die Inschriften. Berlin: Mann, 1958. Clinton, Kevin, ed. Eleusis. The Inscriptions on Stone. Documents of the Sanctuary of the Two Goddesses and Public Documents of the Deme. 2 vols. in 3 parts. Vivliothēkē tēs en Athēnais Archaiologikēs Hetaireias 236 and 259. Athens: Archaeological Society at Athens, 2005–2008. Wankel, Hermann, et al., ed. Die Inschriften von Ephesos. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 11.1–17.4. 8 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1979–1984. Engelmann, Helmut and Reinhold Merkelbach, ed. Die Inschriften von Erythrai und Klazomenai. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 1–2. 2 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1972–1973. Kirchhoff, Adolf, et al, ed. Inscriptiones Graecae. Berlin: Reimer/De Gruyter, 1873–. Mihailov, Georgi, ed. Inscriptiones graecae in Bulgaria repertae. 5 vols. Serdicae: Academia Litterarum Bulgarica. Institutum Archeologicum, 1958–1997.

IGLPalermo IGLSyr IGRR IGTh

IGUR I.Iasos I.Kalchedon

I.Knidos I.Labraunda

I.Leros

IMC Catania

IMEG

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxv

Manni Piraino, Maria T., ed. Iscrizioni greche lapidarie del Museo di Palermo. Sikelika, Serie Storica 6. Palermo: Flaccovio, 1973. Jalabert, Louis, et al, ed. Inscriptions grecques et latines de la Syrie. Paris: P. Geuthner, 1929–2009. Cagnat, René, et al., ed. Inscriptiones graecae ad res romanas pertinentes. 4 vols. Paris: Leroux, 1906–1927. Baillet, Jules, ed. Inscriptions grecques et latines des tombeaux des rois ou Syringes à Thèbes. 3 vols. Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, Mémoires publiés par les membres 42. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1920–1926. Moretti, Luigi, ed. Inscriptiones graecae urbis Romae. 4 vols. in 5 parts. Rome: Istituto Italiano per la storia antica, 1968–1990. Blümel, Wolfgang, ed. Die Inschriften von Iasos. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 28.1–2. 2 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1985. Merkelbach, Reinhold, Friedrich Karl Dörner and Sencer Şahin, ed. Die Inschriften von Kalchedon. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 20. Bonn: Habelt, 1980. Blümel, Wolfgang, ed. Die Inschriften von Knidos. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 41. Bonn: Habelt, 1992. Crampa, Jonas, ed. Labraunda. Swedish Excavations and Researches, III,1–2. Greek Inscriptions. 2 vols. Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Institutet i Athen, series in 4°, V, III,1-2. Lund: Berlingska Boktryckeriet, 1969–1972. Manganaro, Giacomo. ‘Le Iscrizioni delle isole Milesie’. Annuario della Scuola Archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni Italiane in Oriente 41–42 (1963– 1964): 293–349. Korhonen, Kalle, ed. Le iscrizioni del Museo Civico di Catania. Storia delle collezioni — Cultura epigrafica — Edizione. Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum, 121. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 2004. Bernand, Étienne, ed. Inscriptions métriques de l’Égypte gréco-romaine. Recherches sur la poésie épigrammatique des Grecs en Égypte. Annales littéraires de l’Université de Besançon 98. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1969.

xxvi I.Mylasa I.Nikaia

IosPE II

I.Pal. Tertia

I.Pergamon I.Perge I.Pessinus I.Pisidia

I.Priene I.Prusa I.Rhod. Peraia I.Sardis

ABBREVIATIONS Blümel, Wolfgang, ed. Die Inschriften von Mylasa. 2 vols. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 34–35. Bonn: Habelt, 1987–1988. Şahin, Sencer, ed. Katalog der antiken Inschriften des Museums von Iznik (Nikaia). Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 9–10.3. 4 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1979–1987. Latyshev, Basilius [Vasilii], ed. Inscriptiones antiquae orae septentrionalis Ponti Euxini graecae et latinae, vol. 2: Inscriptiones regni Bosporani Graecae. St. Petersburg: Iussu et Impensis Societatis Archaeologicae Imperii Russici, 1890. Meimaris, Yiannis E. and Kalliope I. KritikakouNikolaropoulou, ed. Inscriptions from Palaestina Tertia. 2 vols. Meletēmata (Kentron Hellēnikēs kai Rōmaikēs Archaiotētos) 41. Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation, 2005–2008. Fränkel, Max, ed. Die Inschriften von Pergamon. 2 vols. Altertümer von Pergamon 8.1–2. Berlin: W. Spemann, 1890–95. Şahin, Sencer, ed. Die Inschriften von Perge. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 54. Bonn: Habelt, 1999. Strubbe, Johan H. M., ed. The Inscriptions of Pessinous. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 66. Bonn: Habelt, 2005. Horsley, G. H. R. and Stephen Mitchell, ed. The Inscriptions of Central Pisidia, including texts from Kremna, Ariassos, Keraia, Hyia, Panemoteichos, the Sanctuary of Apollo of the Perminoundeis, Sia, Kocaaliler, and the Döşeme Boğazi. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 57. Bonn: Habelt, 2000. von Gaertringen, Friedrich Hiller, ed. Inschriften von Priene. Berlin: G. Reimer, 1906. Corsten, Thomas, ed. Die Inschriften von Prusa ad Olympum. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 39–40. 2 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1991–1993. Blümel, Wolfgang, ed. Die Inschriften der Rhodischen Peraia. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 38. Bonn: Habelt, 1991. Buckler, William Hepburn, and David Moore Robinson, eds. Sardis, VII. Greek and Latin Inscriptions, Part I. Leiden: Brill 1932.

IScM

I.Sestos I.Side I.Sinope I.Stratonikeia ISV I.Smyrna I.Tralleis IvP JCSCS JHS JUB Kaibel, EG KJV Knox

LB LEB Lindos LSJ

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxvii

Pippidi, Dionisie M., et al, ed. Inscriptiones Daciae et Scythiae Minoris antiquae. Series altera: Inscriptiones Scythiae Minoris graecae et latinae. 5 vols. Bucharest: Editura Academiei Republicii Socialiste România, 1983–2000. Krauss, Johannes, ed. Die Inschriften von Sestos und der thrakischen Chersones. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 19. Bonn: Habelt, 1980. Nollé, Johannes, ed. Side im Altertum. Geschichte und Zeugnisse. 2 vols. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 43–44. Bonn: Habelt, 1993–2001. French, David H. The Inscriptions of Sinope. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 64. Bonn: Habelt, 2004. Şahin, M. Çetin, ed. Die Inschriften von Stratonikeia. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 21–22.1–2. 2 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1982–1990. International Standard Version Petzl, Georg, ed. Die Inschriften von Smyrna. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 23–24,1–2. 3 vols. Bonn: Habelt, 1982–1990. Poljakov, Fjodor B., ed. Die Inschriften von Tralleis und Nysa. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 36. Bonn: Habelt, 1989. Fränkel, Max, ed. Die Inschriften von Pergamon. 2 vols. Altertümer von Pergamon 8.1–2. Berlin: W. Spemann, 1890–1895. Journal of the Canadian Society for Coptic Studies Journal of Hellenic Studies Jubilee Bible 2000 Kaibel, George, ed. Epigrammata graeca ex lapidbus conlecta. Berlin: Reimer, 1878. King James Version The Holy Bible: A Translation from the Latin Vulgate in the Light of the Hebrew and Greek Originals. Translated by Ronald Knox. London: Burns & Oates, 1945–1949. Living Bible Lexham English Bible Blinkenberg, Christian, ed. Lindos. Fouilles et recherches, 1902–1914. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1931–1941. The Online Liddell-Scott-Jones Greek–English Lexicon

xxviii MAMA

Message MEV MHT MM

Mounce NAB NASB NCB NCV NET NewDocs NIV NJB NKJV NLT NLV NMB NOG NRSV NTE O.Berenike

O.Bodl. O.Cair.

ABBREVIATIONS Keil, Josef, et al., eds. Monumenta asiae minoris antiqua. Journal of Roman Studies Monographs. 10 vols. London: Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies, 1928–. The Message Bible Modern English Version Moulton, James H., Wilbert F. Howard, and Nigel Turner. A Grammar of New Testament Greek. 4 vols. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1906–76. Moulton, James H., and George Milligan. The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament Illustrated from the Papyri and Other Non-Literary Sources. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1914–1929. Mounce Reverse Interlinear New Testament New American Bible New American Standard Bible New Catholic Bible New Century Version New English Translation New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity. North Ryde, NSW: Eerdmans, 1981–. New International Version New Jerusalem Bible New King James Version New Living Translation New Life Version New Matthew Bible Names of God Bible New Revised Standard Version New Testament for Everyone Bagnall, Roger S., et al, ed. Documents from Berenike. 2 vols. Papyrologica Bruxellensia 31, 33. Brussels: Association Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth 2000–2005. Tait, John G., et al, ed. Greek Ostraca in the Bodleian Library at Oxford and Various Other Collections. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1930–1964. Gallazzi, Claudio, Rosario Pintaudi and Klaas A. Worp, ed. Ostraka greci del Museo Egizio del Cairo. Papyrologica Florentina 14. Florence: Gonnelli, 1986.

O.Camb.

O.Claud.

O.Did. O.Douch. O.Edfou. OGIS

O.Heid. OJB O.Krok.

O.Leid.

O.Masada

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxix

‘Ostraca in the Cambridge University Library’. Pages 153—73 in Greek Ostraca in the Bodleian Library at Oxford and Various Other Collections. Edited by J. G. Tait. Egypt Exploration Society, Graeco-Roman Memoirs 21. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1930. Binger, Jean, et al, ed. Mons Claudianus: Ostraca Graeca et Latina. 4 vols. Documents de Fouilles 29, 32, 38, 47. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1992–2009. Cuvigny, Hélène, ed. Didymoi. Une garnison romaine dans le desert Oriental d’Égypte, II: Les Textes. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 2012. Cuvigny, Hélène and Guy Wagner, ed. Les ostraca grecs de Douch. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1986–2001. Bruyère, Bernard, et al, ed. Tell Edfou. 3 vols. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1937–1950. Dittenberger, Wilhelm, ed. Orientis graeci inscriptiones selectae: Supplementum sylloge sinscriptionum graecarum. 2 vols. Leipzig: Hirzel. Reprinted by Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1960. Armoni, Charikleia, James M. S. Cowey, and Dieter Hagedorn, ed. Die griechischen Ostraka der Heidelberger Papyrus-Sammlung. Heidelberg: Winter, 2005. Orthodox Jewish Bible Cuvigny, Hélèlne, ed. Ostraca de Krokodilô, vol. 1: La correspondance militaire et sa circulation. Fouilles de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire 51. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 2005. Bagnall, Roger S., Pieter J. Sijpesteijn, and Klaas A. Worp, ed. Greek Ostraka: A Catalogue of the Greek Ostraka in the National Museum of Antiquities at Leiden, with a Chapter on the Greek Ostraka in the Papyrological Institute of the University of Leiden. Zutphen: Terra, 1980. Cotton, Hannah M., and Joseph Geiger with J. David Thomas, ed. Masada II. The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports: The Latin and Greek Documents. Masada Reports. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1989.

xxx O.Mich. O.Narm.Dem. O.Petr.Mus.

O.Stras.

OTP O.Trim. O.Wadi.Hamm. O.Waqfa. O.Wilck. P.Abinn. P.Alex.Giss. P.Amh.

P.Ant. P.Apoll.

ABBREVIATIONS Amundsen, L., ed. Greek Ostraca in the University of Michigan Collection, Part I: Texts. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1935. Bresciani, Edda, Sergio Pernigotti, and Maria Carmela Betrò, ed. Ostraka demotici da Narmuti I. Quaderni di Medinet Madi 1. Pisa Giardini, 1983. Funghi, Maria S., Gabriella M. Savorelli, and Cornelia Römer, ed. Ostraca greci e bilingui del Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology. Papyrologica Florentina 42. Firenze: Edizioni Gonnelli, 2012. Viereck, Paul, ed. Griechische und griechischdemotische Ostraka der Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek zu Strassburg im Elsass. Berlin: Weidmann, 1923. Charlesworth, James H., ed. Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. 2 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1983–1985. Bagnall, Roger S., et al, ed. Ostraka from Trimithis. New York: New York University Press, 2012–2016. Kayer, François, ed. ‘Nouveaux textes grecs du Ouadi Hammamat’. ZPE 98 (1993): 111–56. Cuvigny, Hélèlne, Adel Hussein, and Guy Wagner, ed. Les Ostraca grecs d’Aïn Waqfa (Oasis de Kharga). Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1993. Wilcken, Ulrich, ed. Griechische Ostraka aus Aegypten und Nubien. Leipzig: Giesecke & Devrient, 1899. Bell, H. I., et al, ed. The Abinnaeus Archive: Papers of a Roman Officer in the Reign of Constantius II. Oxford: Clarendon, 1962. Schwartz, Jacques, ed. Papyri variae Alexandrinae et Gissenses. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1969. Grenfell, B. P. and A. S. Hunt, ed. The Amherst Papyri, Being an Account of the Greek Papyri in the Collection of the Right Hon. Lord Amherst of Hackney, F.S.A. at Didlington Hall, Norfolk. 2 vols. London: Quaritch, 1900–1901. Roberts, C. H., et al, ed. The Antinoopolis Papyri. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1950–1967. Rémondon, Roger, ed. Papyrus grecs d’Apollônos Anô. Documents de fouilles de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire 19. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1953.

P.Bad. P.Berl.Möller P.Berl.Sarisch.

P.Berl.Zill.

P.Bingen

P.Brem. P.Cair.Masp.

P.Cair.Mich. P.Cair.Preis.

P.Cair.Zen.

P.Charite P.Col. P.Coll.Youtie

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxxi

Spiegelberg, Wilhelm, et al, ed. Veröffentlichungen aus den badischen Papyrus-Sammlungen. Heidelberg: Winter, 1923–1924. Möller, Sigurd, ed. Griechische Papyri aus dem Berliner Museum. Gothenburg: Elanders, 1929. Sarischouli, Panagiota, ed. Berliner griechische Papyri, Christliche literarische Texte und Urkunden aus dem 3. bis 8. Jh.n.Chr. Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1995. Zilliacus, Henrik, ed. Vierzehn Berliner griechische Papyri. Societas Scientiarum Fennica, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum XI,4. Helsingfors: Societas scientiarum Fennica, 1941. Melaerts, Henri, ed. Papyri in Honorem Johannis Bingen Octogenarii. Studia Varia Bruxellensia ad Orbem Graeco-Latinum Pertinentia 5. Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters, 2000. Wilcken, Ulrich, ed. Die Bremer Papyri. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1936. Maspero, Jean, ed. Papyrus grecs d’époque byzantine, Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire. 3 vols. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1911–1916. Riad, Henry and John C. Shelton, ed. A Tax List from Karanis (P.Cair.Mich. 359). Bonn: Habelt, 1975–1977. Preisigke, Friedrich, ed. Griechische Urkunden des Aegyptischen Museums zu Kairo. Schriften der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft zu Strassburg 8. Strassburg: Trübner, 1911. Edgar, Campbell C., ed. Zenon Papyri: Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire. 5 vols. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1925–1940. Worp, Klaas A., ed. Das Aurelia Charite Archiv. Zutphen: Terra, 1980. Westermann, William L., et al, ed. Columbia Papyri. New York: Columbia University Press, 1929–1998. Hanson, Ann Ellis, ed. Collectanea Papyrologica: Texts Published in Honor of H. C. Youtie. Papyrologische Text und Abhandlungen 19–20. Bonn: Habelt, 1976.

xxxii P.Congr.XV.

ABBREVIATIONS

Bingen, Jean and Georges Nachtergael, ed. Actes du XVe Congrès International de Papyrologie: Bruxelles—Louvain, 29 août–3 septembre 1977, II: Papyrus inédits. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1978. P.Corn. Westermann, William L. and Casper J. Kraemer, ed. Greek Papyri in the Library of Cornell University. New York: Columbia University Press, 1926. P.Diog. Schubert, Paul, ed. Les archives de Marcus Lucretius Diogenes et textes apparentés. Bonn: Habelt, 1990. P.Dion. Boswinkel, Ernst and Pieter W. Pestman, ed. Les archives privées de Dionysios, fils de Kephalas: P.L. Bat. 22: textes grecs et démotiques. Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava 22A–B. Leiden: Brill, 1982. P.Dubl. McGing, Brian C., ed. Greek Papyri from Dublin. Bonn: Habelt, 1995. P.Dura Welles, ed. C. Bradford, Robert O. Fink, and J. F. Gilliam, ed. The Excavations at Dura-Europos conducted by Yale University and the French Academy of Inscriptions and Letters, Final Report V, Part I: The Parchments and Papyri. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959. P.Eleph. Rubensohn, Otto, ed. Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen Museen in Berlin: Griechische Urkunden, Sonderheft. Elephantine-Papyri. Berlin: Weidmann, 1907. P.Enteux. Guéraud, Octave, ed. ΕΝΤΕΥΞΕΙΣ: Requêtes et plaintes adressées au Roi d’Égypte au IIIe siècle avant J.-C. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1931. P.Erl. Schubart, Wilhelm, ed. Die Papyri der Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen. Katalog der Handschriften der Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen, Neubearbeitung III/1. Leipzig: Harrassowitz, 1942. Peterse-Luschan, RLMK Petersen, Eugen A. H. and Felix von Luschan. Reisen in südwestlichen Kleinasien, vol. 2: Reisen in Lykien, Milyas und Kibyratis. Vienna: Gerold, 1889. P.Fay. Grenfell, Bernard P., Arthur S. Hunt, and D. G. Hogarth, ed. Fayûm Towns and Their Papyri. GraecoRoman Memoirs 3. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1900.

P.Flor.

P.Freib. P.Fouad.

PG P.Gen. P.Giss.

P.Giss.Apoll. PGM

P.Grenf. P.Gurob. P.Hamb. P.Herm. P.Hever

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxxiii

Vitelli, Girolamo, and Domenico Comparetti, ed. Papiri greco-egizii, Papiri Fiorentini. Supplementi Filologico-Storici ai Monumenti Antichi. 3 vols. Milan: Hoepli, 1905–1915. Aly, Wolfgang, et al, ed. Mitteilungen aus der Freiburger Papyrussammlung. 3 vols. Heidelberg, Carl Winters Universitätsbuchhandlung, 1914–1927. Bataille, André, et al, ed. Les Papyrus Fouad. Textes et documents / Société royale égyptienne de papyrologie 3. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1939. Migne’s Patrologia Graeca Nicole, Jules, et al, ed. Les Papyrus de Genève. Geneva: Bibliothèque publique et universitarie, 1896–2010. Eger, Otto, Ernst Kornemann, and Paul M. Meyer, ed. Griechische Papyri im Museum des oberhessischen Geschichtsvereins zu Giessen. Leipzig-Berlin: Teubner, 1910–1912. Kortus, Michael ed. Briefe des Apollonios-Archives aus der Sammlung Papyri Gissenses. Giessen: Universitätsbibliothek, 1999. Preisendanz, Karl, et al., ed. Papyri Graecae Magicae: Die griechischen Zauberpapyri. 2nd ed. Sammlung wissenschaftlicher Commentare. 2 vols. Stuttgart: Teubner, 1973–1974. Grenfell, Bernard P. and Arthur S. Hunt, eds. New Classical Fragments and Other Greek and Latin Papyri. Greek Papyri 2. Oxford: Clarendon, 1897. Smyly, J. Gilbart, ed. Greek Papyri from Gurob. Dublin: Hodges, Figgis & Co., 1921. Meyer, P. M., et al, ed. Griechische Papyrusurkunden der Hamburger Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek. Leipzig-Berlin: Teubner, 1911–1998. Rees, Bryan R., ed. Papyri from Hermopolis and Other Documents of the Byzantine Period. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1964. Cotton, Hannah M. and A. Yardeni, ed. Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Naḥal Ḥever and Other Sites, with an Appendix containing Alleged Qumran Texts. The Seiyâl Collection 2. DJD 27. Oxford: Clarendon, 1997.

xxxiv P.Hib.

Phillips P.Iand. P.Kellis P.Laur. P.Leid. P.Leid.Inst. P.Lille P.Lips P.Lond. P.Lund. P.Mert. P.Mich. P.Mil. P.Mil.Vogl. P.Oslo P.Oxy.

ABBREVIATIONS Grenfell, Bernard P., and Arthur S. Hunt, and E. G. Turner, ed. The Hibeh Papyri. Graeco-Roman Memoirs 7, 32. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1906–1955. J.B. Phillips New Testament Kalbfleisch, Karl, et al, ed. Papyri Iandanae. Leipzig: Teubner, 1912–1938. Worp, Klaas A., et al, ed. Papyri from Kellis. Oxford: Oxbow, 1995–2007. Pintaudi, Rosario and Gerald M. Browne, ed. Dai Papiri della Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana. 5 vols. Florence: Gonnelli, 1976–1984. Leemans, Conrad, ed. Papyri Graeci Musei Antiquarii Lugduni-Batavi. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1843–1885. Hoogendijk, Francisca A. J. and Peter van Minnen, ed. Papyri, Ostraca, Parchments and Waxed Tablets in the Leiden Papyrological Institute. Leiden: Brill, 1991. Jouguet, Pierre, et al, ed. Papyrus grecs. Paris: Leroux, 1907–1929. Mitteis, Ludwig and Ruth Duttenhöfer, ed. Griechische Urkunden der Papyrussammlung zu Leipzig. Leipzig: Teubner, 1906–2002. Kenyon, Frederic G., et al., ed. Greek Papyri in the British Museum. 7 vols. London: British Museum, 1893–1974. Wifstrand, Albert, ed. Aus der Papyrussammlung der Universitätbibliothek in Lund. Lund: Gleerup, 1934–1952. Bell, H. Idris, et al, ed. A Descriptive Catalogue of the Greek Papyri in the Collection of Wilfred Merton. London: Walker, 1948–1967. Edgar, C. C., et al, ed. Michigan Papyri. 19 vols. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1931–1999. Calderini, Aristide and Sergio Daris, ed. Papiri Milanesi. Milan: Società Editrice Vita e Pensiero, 1928–1966. Vogliano, Achille, et al, ed. Papiri della R. Università di Milano. Milan: Instituto Editoriale Cisalpino, 1937–2001. Eitrem, Samson and Leiv Amundsen, ed. Papyri Osloenses. 3 vols. Oslo: Dybwad, 1925–1936. Greenfell, Bernard P., et al., ed. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1898–.

P.Oxy.Hels. P.Paris

P.Petaus P.Petr.

P.Petra P.Prag.

P.Princ. P.Rain.Cent.

P.Rein. P.Ross.Georg. P.Ryl.

P.Sarap.

PSI

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxxv

Zilliacus, H., et al, ed. Fifty Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1979. Letronne, Antione J., Wladimir Brunet de Presle, and Émile Egger, ed. Notices et textes des papyrus du Musée du Louvre et de la Bibliothèque Impériale. Paris: Imprimerie Impériale, 1865. Hagedorn, Ursula, et al, ed. Das Archiv des Petaus. Opladen: Westdeutscher, 1969. Mahaffy, John P., and J. Gilbart Smyly, ed. The Flinders Petrie Papyri, with Transcription, Commentaries and Index. Cunningham Memoirs 8, 9, 11. Dublin: Academy House, 1891–1905. Frösen, Jaakko, et al, ed. The Petra Papyri. Amman: American Center of Oriental Research, 2002–2007. Pintaudi, Rosario, Růžena Dostálová, and Ladislav Vidman, ed. Papyri Graecae Wessely Pragenses. Firenze: Edizioni Gonnelli, Firenze: Gonnelli, 1988–1995 Johnson, Allan C., et al, ed. Papyri in the Princeton University Collections. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1931–1942. Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer: Festschrift zum 100-jährigen Bestehen der Papyrussammlung der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek. Vienna: Bruder Hollinek, 1983. Reinach, Théodore, et al, ed. Papyrus grecs et démotiques recueillis en Égypte. Paris: Leroux, 1905. Zereteli, Gregor, et al, ed. Papyri russischer und georgischer Sammlungen. Tiflis: Universitätslithographie, 1925–1935. Hunt, Arthur S. and Colin H. Roberts, ed. Catalogue of the Greek and Latin Papyri in the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1915–. Schwartz, Jacques, ed. Les archives de Sarapion et de ses fils: une exploitation agricole aux environs d’Hermoupolis Magna (de 90 à 133 p.C.). Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1961. Vitelli, G., et al, ed. Papiri greci e latini. Pubblicazioni della Società Italiana per la ricerca dei papiri greci e latini in Egitto. Florence: Tipografia E. Ariani, 1912–.

xxxvi P.Sijp.

P.Sorb. P.Soter. P.Stras. P.Tebt.

P.Tor.Choach.

P.Turner

P.Wilcken P.Wisc. P.Yadin

P.Yale

ABBREVIATIONS Sirks, Adriaan J. B. and Klaas A. Worp, ed. Papyri in Memory of P. J. Sijpesteijn. American Studies in Papyrology 40. Oakville, CT: American Society for Papyrologists, 2007. Cadell, Hélène et al, ed. Papyrus de la Sorbonne. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1966–1994. Omar, Sayed, ed. Das Archiv des Soterichos. Opladen: Westdeutscher, 1979. Preisigke, Friedrich, ed. Griechische Papyrus der Kaiserlichen Universitäts- und Landes-bibliothek zu Strassburg. 2 vols. Leipzig: Hinrich, 1912–1920. Grenfell, Bernard P., et al, ed. The Tebtunis Papyri. 4 vols. London: H. Frowde (vols. 1–2); New York: Oxford University Press (vol. 3); London: British Academy and the Egypt Exploration Society (vol. 4), 1902–1976. Pestman, Pieter W., ed. Il Processo di Hermias e altri documenti dell’archivio dei choachiti, papiri greci e demotici conservati a Torino e in altre collezioni d’Italia. Turin: Ministero per i beni culturali e ambientali, Soprintendenza al Museo delle antichità egizie, 1992. Parsons, Peter J., et al, ed. Papyri Greek and Egyptian Edited by Various Hands in Honour of Eric Gardner Turner on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday. Egypt Exploration Society, Graeco-Roman Memoirs 68. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1981. Wilcken, Ulrich, ed. Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde, Band 1, Historischer Teil. Zweite Hälfte: Chrestomathie. Leipzig: Teubner, 1912. Sijpesteijn, Pieter J., ed. The Wisconsin Papyri. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1967–1977. Lewis, Naphtali, Yigael Yadin, and Jonas C. Greenfield, ed. The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Greek Papyri. Judean Desert Studies 2. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1989. Oates, John F., et al, ed. Yale Papyri in the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. New Haven, CT: American Society of Papyrologists, 1967–2001.

RECAM II

RPC I

RPC II

RSV SB SEG SGDI SIG3 Stud.Pal. TAM TDNT

Tempel von Dakke III

ABBREVIATIONS 

xxxvii

Mitchell, Stephen, ed. Regional Epigraphic Catalogues of Asia Minor, II: The Ankara District, the Inscriptions of North Galatia. British Archaeological Review International Series 135. Oxford: British Archaeological Review, 1982. Burnett, Andrew M., et al., ed. Roman Provincial Coinage: vol. 1: From the Death of Caesar to the Death of Vitellius (44 B.C.–A.D.69). London/Paris: British Museum Press/Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1998. Burnett, Andrew M., Michel Amandry, and Ian Carradice, ed. Roman Provincial Coinage, vol. 2: From Vespasian to Domitian (A.D. 69-96). London/Paris: British Museum Press/Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1999. Revised Standard Version Preisigke, Friedrich, et al, ed. Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Ägypten. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1915–. Roussel, Pierre, et al., ed. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Lugduni Batanorum: Sijthoff, 1923–. Collitz, Hermann, et al, ed. Sammlung der griechischen Dialekt-Inschriften. 4 vols. in 7. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1884–1915. Dittenberger, Wilhelm, ed. Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum. 3rd ed. 4 vols. Leipzig: Apud S. Hirzelium, 1915–1924. Wessely, Carl, ed. Studien zur Palaeographie und Papyruskunde. Leipzig: Avenarius, 1901–1924. Kalinka, Ernst, et al, ed. Tituli Asiae Minoris. Vienna: Alfredi Hoelder/Academiam Scientiarum Austriacam, 1901–2007. Kittel, Gerhard and Gerhard Friedrich, ed. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–1976. Ruppel, Walter, ed. Der Tempel von Dakke, III: Die griechischen und lateinischen Inschriften von Dakke. Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. Les Temples immergés de la Nubie. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1930.

xxxviii Tit. Calymnii

Tit. Cam.

TLNT UPZ WEB Weymouth Williams Wycliffe YLT

ABBREVIATIONS Segre, Mario. ‘Tituli Calymnii’. Annuario della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni italiane in Oriente 22–23, n.s. 6–7 (1944–1945 [1952]): 1–248. Segre, Mario and Giovanni Pugliese Carratelli. ‘Tituli Camirenses’. Annuario della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni italiane in Oriente 27–29, n.s. 11–13 (1949–1951): 141–318. Spicq, Ceslas. Theological Lexicon of the New Testament. Translated and edited by James D. Ernest. 3 vols. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1994. Wilcken, Ulrich, ed. Urkunden der Ptolemäerzeit (ältere Funde). 2 vols. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1927–1957. World English Bible Weymouth New Testament Williams New Testament Wycliffe Bible Young’s Literal Translation

IN T R O D U C T IO N

Initial Bibliography M. Eugene Boring, ‘First Peter in Recent Study’, WW 24 (2004): 358–67; Anthony Casurella, Bibliography of Literature on First Peter, NTTS 23 (Leiden: Brill, 1996); Édouard Cothenet, ‘Les orientations actuelles de l’exégèse de la première lettre de Pierre’, in Études sur la première lettre de Pierre. Congrès de l’ACFEB, Paris 1979, ed. Charles Perrot, LD 102 (Paris: Cerf, 1980), 13–42; idem, ‘La Première de Pierre: Bilan de 35 ans de recherches’, in ANRW, ed. Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase, Part II, Principat 25.5 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1988), 3685–712; Mark Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter: A Survey of Scholarly Literature Since 1985’, CBR 4 (2006): 199–239; Rinaldo Fabris, ‘Lettere Cattoliche: Un ventennio di ricerca (1990–2010)’, RivB 59 (2011): 523–44; Abson P. Joseph, ‘The Petrine Letters’, in The State of New Testament Studies: A Survey of Recent Research, ed. Scot McKnight and Nijay K. Gupta (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2019), 425–43; Watson E. Mills, 1 Peter, Bibliographies for Biblical Research: New Testament Series 17 (Lewiston, NY: Mellen Biblical, 2000); Peter Müller, ‘Der 1. Petrusbrief’, TRu 80 (2015): 336–71, 425–65; Raúl Humberto Lugo Rodríguez, ‘La Primera Carta de San Pedro en los estudios actuales’, EfMex 10 (1992): 269–73; Dennis Sylva, ‘1 Peter Studies: The State of the Discipline’, BTB 14 (1980): 155–63; J. W. C. Wand, ‘Lessons of First Peter: A Survey of Interpretation’, Int 9 (1955): 387–99; Robert L. Webb, ‘The Petrine Epistles: Recent Developments and Trends’, in The Face of New Testament Studies: A Survey of Recent Research, ed. Scot McKnight and Grant R. Osborne (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004), 373–90.

Before presenting a detailed reading of 1 Peter, it is necessary first to set down some parameters for its interpretation, situating the letter in its literary, historical and social context and establishing a position with regard to the various introductory issues that commentators have long discussed—with strikingly diverse results on matters like authorship and date. Without in any way pretending that our treatment could—or even should—be ‘objective’, uninfluenced by the various facets of our social and theological locations, we aim to assess the evidence as carefully as possible, and to elucidate what seem the most plausible conclusions. For that reason, we begin with the most concrete aspects of the letter’s existence and

2

1 PETER

character (viz. the manuscripts in which it is preserved) and attempt to build a coherent case regarding its setting and content. We also outline some key aspects of the theoretical perspectives from which we shall offer an overall interpretation of the letter and its contributions to the making of Christian identity. Text of 1 Peter Initial Bibliography Francis W. Beare, ‘The Text of 1 Peter in Papyrus 72’, JBL 80 (1961): 253–60; idem, ‘Some Remarks on the Text of 1 Peter in the Bodmer Papyrus’, in Studia Evangelica III, ed. Frank L. Cross, TU 88 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1964), 263–65; Hans-Gebhard Bethge, ‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes im CrosbySchøyen-Codex (Ms. 193 Schøyen Collection)’, ZNW 84 (1993): 255–67; Jean Duplacy and Christian-Bernard Amphoux, ‘A propos de l’histoire du text de la première épître de Pierre’, in Études sur la première lettre de Pierre. Congrès de l’ACFEB, Paris 1979, ed. Charles Perrot, LD 102 (Paris: Cerf, 1980), 155–73; David G. Horrell, ‘The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex containing P72)’, NTS 55 (2009): 502–22, revised in Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity, LNTS/ ECC 394 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2013), 45–72; J. K. Elliott, ‘The Early Text of the Catholic Epistles’, in The Early Text of the New Testament, ed. Charles E. Hill and Michael J. Kruger (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 204–24; Eduard Massaux, ‘Le texte de la 1a Petri du Papyrus Bodmer VIII (P72)’, ETL 39 (1963): 616–71; Philip D. Strickland, ‘The Curious Case of P72: What an Ancient Manuscript Can Tell Us about the Epistles of Peter and Jude’, JETS 60 (2017): 781–91; William W. Willis, ‘The Letter of Peter (1 Peter)’, in The Crosby-Schøyen Codex MS 193 in the Schøyen Collection, ed. James E. Goehring, CSCO 521 (Leuven: Peeters, 1990), 135–215; Kenneth Keumsang Yoo, ‘The Classification of the Greek Manuscripts of 1 Peter with Special Emphasis on Methodology’ (Ph.D. diss., Andrews University, 2001).

How do we know anything at all about 1 Peter? The answer, of course, is through the extant witnesses of the letter, including the numerous manuscripts that have been preserved in Greek and various other languages (e.g., Latin, Coptic, Syriac, etc.) and the citations that are found in the writings of early church fathers.1 This 1   An extended discussion of the text of 1 Peter is given by Beare (1–24), though a good deal of this space is devoted to the treatment of P72 (3–10). Elliott (149–50) provides only a brief summary of this material.



INTRODUCTION

3

simple observation suggests that a good place to begin our study is with a brief overview of textual witnesses to 1 Peter and the method by which we will attempt to determine the Ausgangstext (‘initial text’).2 Specific textual issues and variants are discussed at appropriate points throughout the commentary.3 However, the manuscript evidence is important not only as a source of variants, to be counted and weighed in an effort to reconstruct the earliest available form of 1 Peter, but also as a witness to the ways in which the text was regarded, treasured, and understood through its (early) history.4 We therefore give brief attention to the ways in which some of the early manuscripts in particular can inform us about the interpretation of the letter, the understanding of its themes, structure, and so on.5 An important factor that must be considered when assessing the external evidence is where a manuscript fits within the history of textual transmission. For many years in textual criticism it was common to group manuscripts according to textual similarity, originally thought to be geographically based, and then grouped into ‘text-types’. Among those Petrine commentators who have addressed text-critical issues, this seems to be the perspective from 2   Like the editors of ECM (30), we will speak of the Ausgangstext (‘initial text’) rather than the original text, based on the complex and diverse senses of the term ‘original’ (see Epp, ‘The Multivalence of the Term’, 245–81; Holmes, ‘From “Original Text” to “Initial Text” ’, 637–88). While we cannot simply identify this critically reconstructed (and therefore, hypothetical) initial form with the author’s original autograph (see Epp, ‘In the Beginning’, 35–70), it is unlikely that there would be much significant difference between the two (cf. ECM 30). 3   These are sometimes given surprisingly little attention, even in the most substantial commentaries. Elliott’s comment that ‘[o]f the 105 total verses in 1 Peter, 70 verses are free of variants’ (150) ignores many of the variants listed in NA27 (to which he had access) and even more now detailed extensively in ECM. 4   For some of the insights that can be gained in this way, see, e.g., Hurtado, Earliest Christian Artifacts. 5   It is unfortunate that these aspects of the text’s preservation and history of interpretation are so widely ignored, for example, in scholarly discussions of the letter’s structure (see below). This is just one instance of the broader tendency of NT scholars to conduct their interpretative conversations primarily with modern biblical scholarship and especially with the most recent literature (cf. Bockmuehl, Seeing the Word, 34). But the turn to Wirkungsgeschichte in recent decades has rightly pressed scholars to pay due attention to the ways in which interpreters of the text through the ages, including the earliest phases of the letter’s transmission, have found meaning in it.

4

1 PETER

which most have worked.6 The tendency has been to categorise the Greek manuscript tradition into two (or sometimes three)7 texttypes: Alexandrian (represented by ‫א‬, A, B, C, P, Ψ, 33, 72, 81, 326, 1175, 1739) and Byzantine (represented by K, L, and S, along with the majority of minuscule manuscripts).8 On the basis of these groupings, and according to the priority normally assigned to the Alexandrian text (in light of the antiquity of its representatives), interpreters have rendered their critical decisions on the text of 1 Peter. During the last two decades—and thus postdating many of the standard treatments of text-critical issues in 1 Peter (e.g., Michaels, Goppelt, Achtemeier, Elliott)—the field of NT textual criticism has undergone significant change. Not only has the purpose of the discipline been re-evaluated, but also the nature and relationships of the ancient manuscripts themselves have been re-assessed. The Coherence-Based Genealogical Method (CBGM), made possible by the transcription of manuscripts onto computers, which allows for systematic comparison, serves as the basis for the ECM and NA28 (for the Catholic Epistles).9 Initially developed by Mink, this method is designed to trace the genealogical relationships among extant witnesses, allowing textual variants to be both counted

6   See, e.g., Beare 1–16; Schelkle 16–17; Goppelt 55–57; Achtemeier 75. In one place, Elliott adopts a particular textual reading on the basis that it is ‘favored by the variety of other MSS representing different text types’ (828 n. 676). But there is no place in the commentary where he defines what he means by ‘text type’, nor does he address the various text-types represented in 1 Peter (cf. Michaels 26, who refers to Alexandrian and Western witnesses). 7   Some have postulated the existence of the ‘Western’ text-type in 1 Peter as well (see, e.g., Duplacy and Amphoux, ‘A propos de l’histoire du text’, 157, 171; cf. also Duplacy, ‘Le texte occidental’, 397–99; Goppelt 56). The existence of a Caesarean text-type in the Catholic Epistles has even been suggested (see Carder, ‘A Caesarean Text’, 252–70, although see the critique of Aland, ‘Cäsarea-Text der Katholischen Briefe’, 1–9). 8   The most thorough treatment of this subject is Yoo (‘Classification of the Greek Manuscripts’), who classifies 106 Greek manuscripts of 1 Peter using computer-generated profiles and factor analysis. He divides them into three text-types: Alexandrian, Byzantine, and Mixed, with each category containing multiple sub-groupings (see esp. 190–93). 9   For a critical overview of the ECM project and the role of the CBGM within it, see Head, ‘Editio Critica Maior’, 131–52.



INTRODUCTION

5

and weighed.10 In this approach, scholars employ the traditional canons of textual criticism to assess variants and to determine their relationship to one another and, by implication, their witnesses. On the basis of their text-critical decisions, interpreters can then construct computer-generated representations of the genealogical connections of all witnesses and can thus illustrate the ‘textual flow’ of the tradition.11 Still in its infancy, this genealogical approach to the NT text has only been applied in a comprehensive manner to the Gospel of John and the Catholic Epistles; but the results thus far have been promising.12 Their implications for the text of 1 Peter, however, have yet to be fully appreciated. The ECM has been used by a few Petrine commentators since its publication (e.g., Feldmeier, Schlosser), but it has been drawn upon primarily as an exhaustive collection of variant readings. So far none have attempted to use the genealogical relationships established by the method to aid text-critical decisionmaking. Such an approach would have a significant impact on the way that variants are assessed. Rather than giving preferential treatment to variants because of their attestation in a particular text-type (e.g., Alexandrian), the CBGM allows scholars to consider the place of individual manuscripts within the textual transmission and thereby to make more precise judgments about the relative weight of external evidence.13 10   See Mink, ‘Ein umfassende Genealogie’, 481–99; idem, ‘Highly Contami�nated Tradition’, 13–85; idem, ‘Contamination, Coherence, and Coincidence’, 141–216. Cf. also Wachtel, ‘Coherence-Based Genealogical Method’, 123–38. For a brief comparison of the CBGM with the grouping approach, see Parker, Textual Scholarship, 76–100. 11   For this reason, Lin (Erotic Life of Manuscripts, 125) notes that ‘it may be easier to think of CBGM not as a method, but rather as an application that textual critics can utilize to generate results based on whatever philological method they choose’. 12   For a helpful review and evaluation of this approach, see Wasserman and Gurry, A New Approach to Textual Criticism; cf. also Gurry, ‘How Your Greek NT Is Changing’, 675–89; idem, A Critical Examination; Carlson, ‘A Bias at the Heart’, 319–40. 13   Cf. Wachtel, ‘Toward a Redefinition’, 126: ‘Applying external criteria guided by the CBGM involves determining the probable source of a reading in every single manuscript in which it is attested. On this basis we gain a far more clearly differentiated picture of the position of a witness in the whole of the transmission process’.

6

1 PETER

When the editors of ECM (re-)evaluated the text of 1 Peter through this genealogical method, there were nine places in which it differed from the text of NA27/USB4:14 ECM/NA28

NA27

λυπηθέντας

λυπηθέντες

γέγραπται ἅγιοι ἔσεσθε

γέγραπται [ὅτι] ἅγιοι ἔσεσθε

2.5

ἐγὼ ἅγιος --

ἐγὼ ἅγιος [εἰμι]

2.25

ἀλλ’

ἀλλά

ἐν τῷ μέρει τούτῷ

ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῷ

Τούς

οὖν

τῇ ἐν κόσμῳ ὑμῶν ἀδελφότητι

τῇ ἐν [τῷ] κόσμῳ ὑμῶν ἀδελφότητι

ἐν Χριστῷ

ἐν Χριστῷ [Ἰησοῦ]

1.6 1.16 1.16

4.16 5.1 5.9 5.10

[τῷ]

As this list indicates, the extent of changes is largely very minor, and in five cases concerned only with words already indicated (by square brackets) as doubtful in NA27. It will also be readily apparent that the most significant and substantial change concerns the change from ὀνόματι to μέρει in 4.16. However, there are good reasons to question the decision of the ECM at this point.15 Other readings found in the ECM are also open to challenge, and these are addressed in detail in the Text section at the appropriate verse. Beyond these changes, there are also nine places where textual decisions are left open due to the uncertainty of the editors.16 At these points, the primary textual line is split (or in the NA28 it is 14   The first edition of ECM lists the number of differences as seven (23*; cf. also Elliott, ‘The Petrine Epistles’, 333), but this overlooks the change that occurred at 1 Pet 2.5, where [τῷ] is omitted in NA28/ECM, and 5.1, in which the οὖν from NA27/USB4 was altered to τούς in NA28/ECM. This mistake has been corrected in the second edition (see ECM 35*–36*), though the change from ἀλλά to ἀλλ’ at 2.25 is dropped from the list. 15   See also the recent challenge in Knight, ‘Reading between the Lines’, 899–921. 16   ECM 37*. The list includes: (1) 1 Pet 1.22: καθαρᾶς or omit; (2) 1 Pet 2.12: ἐποπτεύοντες or ἐποπτεύσαντες; (3) 1 Pet 3.5: τόν or omit; (4) 1 Pet 3.20: ὀλίγοι or ὀλίγαι; (5) 1 Pet 4.11: εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων, ἀμήν or εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας, ἀμήν; (6) 1 Pet 5.9: τῇ ἐν κόσμῳ or τῇ ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ; (7) 1 Pet 5.10: ἐν



INTRODUCTION

7

marked by a diamond), forcing the reader to draw his or her own text-critical conclusions. This situation reveals the need for a close examination of the evidence. In the commentary itself, we will take a fresh look at the data—using but also occasionally departing from a strictly genealogical approach—to closely consider which readings lead us back to the Ausgangstext. Greek Manuscript Evidence Most of the earliest and most important textual evidence comes from Greek manuscripts.17 There are four Greek papyrus manuscripts of 1 Peter: P72, P74, P81, and P125.18 Undoubtedly the most significant of these is P72, not only on account of its age, but also because it preserves the entire letter. It is one of the two oldest manuscripts of 1 Peter, certainly the oldest in Greek, and possibly the oldest of all. This manuscript is to be dated to the third or perhaps the fourth century. (The collection of which it is a part, on which see below, almost certainly dates from the fourth century.) It is thought to preserve a text that has the Ausgangstext ranked as a primary candidate among its potential ancestors, agreeing with this ‘initial text’ to a greater extent than other potential witnesses.19 Much younger is P74 (sixth–seventh century), which preserves only an incomplete and fragmentary text (1 Pet 1.1–2, 7–8, 13, 19–20, 25; 2.6–7, 11–12, 18, 24; 3.4–5). Even more fragmentary is P81, which dates from the fourth century and consists of only one sheet (1 Pet 2.20–3.1; 3.4–12). The most recently discovered fragment is P125, which contains 1 Pet 1.23–2.5; 2.7–12. It has also been dated to the third or fourth century. Because of their fragmentary state,

Χριστῷ or ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ; (8) 1 Pet 5.11: τῶν αἰώνων or omit; (9) 1 Pet 5.14: Χριστῷ or Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ. 17   For complete details on the Greek MSS of 1 Peter (e.g., date, location, etc.), see Aland, et al., ed., Kurzgefasste Liste. A digital (and searchable) version of this resource can now be found in the New Testament Virtual Manuscript Room maintained by the Institut für Neutestamentliche Textforschung (http://ntvmr. uni-muenster.de/liste). 18   On the papyrus texts from 1 Peter, see Grunewald and Junack, Das Neue Testament auf Papyrus. To this discussion should be added Chapa, ‘First Letter of Peter I 23 – II 5, 7–12’, 17–22 (with Plates II–III). 19   See ECM 33* n. 25.

8

1 PETER

P74, P81, and P125 have been excluded from discussions of genealogical relationships. There are seventeen majuscule manuscripts of 1 Peter, although some of these only preserve parts of the letter.20 Particularly significant, due to their antiquity and witness to the early history of the text, are Codex Sinaiticus (‫)א‬, Codex Alexandrinus (A), and Codex Vaticanus (B), ‫ א‬and B dating from the fourth century, A from the fifth.21 Together with the papyri manuscripts, these majuscules provide some of the most important evidence for reconstructing the text of 1 Peter. Each contains a text that has the Ausgangstext as its potential ancestor with rank one, meaning that they agree with no other witness to a greater degree than the ‘initial text’. Among the lectionary manuscripts that contain 1 Peter, the most noteworthy is L1575. This Greek-Coptic majuscule, which was part of the same codex as 0129 and 0203, dates to the eighth century and preserves a text that is independent of the Byzantine lectionaries.22 The ECM lists 115 Greek minuscule manuscripts containing 1 Peter, with another ten lectionary manuscripts containing some or all of the letter.23 Further minuscules have since been added to the list.24 Given the development of the minuscule script (ninth and tenth centuries), most manuscripts are rather late, and consequently are representative of the Byzantine tradition.25 Nevertheless, the relative age of these manuscripts alone does not determine their ability to move us toward the Ausgangstext. In 1 Peter, there are   See ECM (Part 2) 8.   In the commentary, we use capital Latin (and Greek and Hebrew) letters for these majuscules (as used in NA28), rather than the Gregorian numerals used in ECM. However, we follow the numbered system for referring to the correctors of ‫א‬, B, and C set out in ECM (29*), though using superscript numbers only ‫א‬1, etc., rather than 01C1, etc., to denote the various correctors, and an asterisk (*) where necessary to indicate the original hand. 22   See ECM (Part 2) 14; cf. also Schüssler, ‘Eine griechisch-koptische Handschrift’, 218–65. 23   ECM (Part 2) 8. 24   See the Kurzgefasste Liste. 25   The use of the designation ‘Byzantine’ is not meant to describe a text-type, but the form of text represented by the majority of all NT manuscripts composed since the ninth century. In the case of the Catholic Epistles, the Byzantine tradition does not depart substantially from the Ausgangstext. With reference to 1 Peter, more specifically, ‘the Byzantine text differs from the primary line in only 52 of the more than 700 instances of textual variation’ (Hernández, Jr., ‘Modern Critical Editions’, 706 n. 72). 20 21



INTRODUCTION

9

twenty-one minuscules that have the ‘initial text’ as either their first-, second-, or third-ranked potential ancestor. The charts below contain a list of the manuscripts that are, according to the CBGM, most closely aligned with the Ausgangstext in 1 Peter, along with their percentage of correspondence.26 Ausgangstext as First-Ranked Potential Ancestor G-A Designation Date (century) B 4th 1739 10th A 5th 623 11th 81 11th 93 10th 9th/10th Ψ 1852 ℵ

13th 4th

Correspondence (%) 94.599 93.803 93.478 93.343 92.475 91.317 89.436 89.146 88.116

26   The ECM (33*) lists the percentages of the Catholic Epistles (as a whole) drawn from Genealogical Queries, Version 1 (2008), a database of the Institut für Neutestamentliche Textforschung that applies the Coherence-Based Genea�logical Method to the manuscript witnesses (http://intf.uni-muenster.de/cbgm/ GenQ.html). The percentages listed here, however, are drawn from Genealogical Queries, Version 2 (2013) (http://intf.uni-muenster.de/cbgm2/GenQ.html), a revised version of the same program based on the comprehensive set of data from the first edition of ECM. Furthermore, we have attempted to be slightly more precise, seeking only the genealogical relationships represented in manuscripts of 1 Peter, given the letter’s early circulation. (Since our Ausgangstext differs at a few points, notably 4.16, from ECM, these percentages would be slightly different if based on our text, but not significantly so.) It appears that the letter circulated independently at first and was later grouped with 2 Peter (and Jude), as in P72, and then eventually with other letters in a collection of texts known as καθολικός, ‘catholic’ (see Beare 24–25). In fact, it is notable that in what are probably our earliest extant texts of 1 Peter, P72 and C-S, the letter is found not as part of a compendium of NT texts, but as part of a more varied compilation, with some evident thematic connections (see below). This process of development stands in contrast to the canonical Gospels and the Pauline epistles, which seem to have circulated very early in their own respective collections. What is more, it suggests that ‘the manuscripts which contain the Catholic epistles (usually Acts and the Catholic epistles) cannot be treated as if the several documents constituted a group with a common textual history. The character of the text must be determined individually for each epistle’ (Beare 9).

10

1 PETER

Ausgangstext as Second-Ranked Potential Ancestor G-A Designation Date (century) Correspondence (%) 1735 10th 92.041 2464 9th 91.947 323 12th 91.134 436 11th/12th 90.738 424 11th 90.593 2541 12th 90.580 C 5th 90.354 1243 11th 89.796 2344 11th 89.747 2718 12th 88.792 Ausgangstext as Third-Ranked Potential Ancestor G-A Designation Date (century) Correspondence (%) 5 13th 91.317 945 11th 90.738 468 13th 90.304 2298 12th 90.276 2805 12th/13th 89.870 1448 12th 89.725 1175 10th 88.567

A few other texts are only slightly more removed from the Ausgangs­text.27 Together with the manuscripts listed above, these texts constitute the most important witnesses for tracing the textual flow of the tradition and for moving us back toward the ‘initial text’. Patristic Citations Patristic citations serve as an important witness to the text of 1 Peter because they provide evidence that can be geographically located and, in many cases, precisely dated. The evidence has been exhaustively detailed in ECM,28 although to this point it has received little attention in Petrine scholarship. The recent studies by   Ausgangstext as Fourth-Ranked Potential Ancestor: 33 (89.756%), 307 (90.449%), 808 (90.698%), 1409 (89.260%). Ausgangstext as Fifth-Ranked Potential Ancestor: 018 (90.580%), 1067 (88.175%). 28   See ECM (Part 2) 45–50. 27



INTRODUCTION

11

Merkt and Batovici mark a significant contribution toward defining the place of 1 Peter within the literature and theology of the early church fathers,29 but these efforts have been directed primarily towards tracing the letter’s reception rather than assessing text-critical significance. The number of patristic citations of 1 Peter is comparable to the other Catholic Epistles of James and 1 John, with somewhat fewer references being made to 2 Peter, Jude, and 2–3 John. Particularly popular with the early church fathers were 1 Pet 2.22 (especially the phrase [οὐδὲ] εὑρέθη δόλος), which is referenced sixty-six times by twenty-five different authors, and 5.8b, which is referenced forty times by seventeen different authors.30 In general, the patristic evidence for 1 Peter is slightly less reliable than the manuscript tradition, although the situation varies according to individual authors. Some are more closely connected to the initial text (e.g., Procopius of Gaza, Photius, and Clement of Alexandria), while the citations of other fathers are further removed (e.g., John Chrysostom, Eusebius, Cyril of Jerusalem, and Anastasius of Sinai). Patristic Evidence for 1 Peter Name Date # of Citations # Citation Units (century) (*Variations) IrLat 2nd 5 11 (2*)

Correspondence with Initial Text 81.818

Clem Hym Or PsDionAl

3rd 3rd 3rd 3rd

42 2 55 3

209 (21*) 12 (0*) 192 (26*) 16 (1*)

89.952 100 86.458 93.750

Am Apoll AstS

4th 4th 4th

2 2 3

11 (2*) 6 (1*) 9 (3*)

81.818 83.333 66.666

29   See Merkt, ‘Checks and Balances’, 239–46; idem, ‘1 Peter in Patristic Litera� ture’, 167–79; idem, 1 Petrus; idem, ‘Ein “stilles Blümlein” ’, 168–205; Batovici, ‘Mark, Peter’s Son’, 431–42; idem, ‘Commenting on 1 Pt 4:7–11’, 163–74; idem, ‘Reception and Marginal Texts’, 95–105; idem, 1 Petrus. See also the works listed in Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter. 30   Cf. also 1 Pet 4.1 (referenced by 14 different fathers); 3.15 (referenced by 13 different fathers); 1.12 (referenced by 12 different fathers). Pace Holzmeister 404–405, who claims that 1 Pet 5.8 is the most frequently cited verse among the church fathers.

12

1 PETER

Ath Bas CyrH Did Eus Evagr GregNy Marcell PetrAl

4th 4th 4th 4th 4th 4th 4th 4th 4th

13 9 14 92 15 1 7 5 1

58 (11*) 30 (6*) 50 (12*) 298 (59*) 45 (11*) 4 (2*) 14 (0*) 12 (3*) 7 (1*)

81.034 80.000 76.000 80.201 75.555 50.000 100 75.000 85.714

BasSel Chrys Cyr Epiph FlavC HesH Isid MarcEr Nest NilAnc ProclC PsEusA SevGab Socr Thdrt ThdtAnc ThphAl

5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th 5th

3 14 140 9 1 7 8 6 1 5 1 1 1 2 10 2 1

16 (1*) 50 (14*) 668 (114*) 24 (9*) 4 (2*) 28 (2*) 20 (3*) 24 (1*) 3 (2*) 19 (5*) 1 (0*) 2 (0*) 2 (0*) 6 (1*) 32 (5*) 5 (1*) 1 (0*)

93.750 72.000 82.934 62.500 50.000 92.857 85.000 95.833 33.333 73.684 100 100 100 83.333 84.375 80.000 100

AnastA AnastS ConCP CosmIn CyrSc DorGaz Eustr GregAnt LeontH Olymp Procop

6th 6th 6th 6th 6th 6th 6th 6th 6th 6th 6th

6 18 2 1 1 1 1 1 3 2 16

16 (3*) 63 (15*) 3 (0*) 1 (0*) 5 (2*) 2 (1*) 4 (0*) 2 (0*) 9 (1*) 9 (0*) 61 (5*)

81.250 76.190 100 100 60.000 50.000 100 100 88.888 100 91.803

Antioch MaxConf

7th 7th

31 12

156 (21*) 71 (9*)

86.538 87.323

Dam

8th

5

21 (3*)

85.714

Phot

9th

15

46 (4*)

91.304



INTRODUCTION

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The significance of these statistics, however, needs to be carefully understood.31 First, each patristic writer quotes a different amount of text from 1 Peter. For this reason, it is best to consider only those whose writings contain an adequate number of citations (and citation units). Second, patristic citations are not evenly distributed throughout 1 Peter. This means that a given author might quote the same verse a number of times, and, depending on the accuracy of his text at that particular instance, the percentage could thus be significantly affected.32 Finally, some of the variations (and thus percentages) may be the result of a writer’s careless mistakes or even the copying errors made by later scribes who transmitted his works (and thus not representative of the text from which he cites).33 All of these considerations demand that the witness of the patristic evidence be assessed individually on a case-by-case basis rather than summarily viewing a given writer as a(n) (un)reliable witness and treating his testimony as such throughout the text-critical analysis of 1 Peter. Ancient Versions Along with many patristic citations, also important for the textual reconstruction of 1 Peter are the early translations, including Latin, Coptic, and Syriac.34 One witness from among the translations that 31   On the difficulties surrounding the use of patristic evidence, see Fee, ‘The Use of the Greek Fathers’, 353–56. 32   In terms of a negative impact, the text cited by John Chrysostom diverges from the Ausgangstext at fourteen places; yet eight of these are repeated quotations of the same verse (1 Pet 5.8). In terms of a positive impact, many fathers quote 1 Pet 2.22 multiple times in their writings (e.g., Cyril of Alexandria – 12 times; Origen – 10 times; Theodoret of Cyrus – 7 times), thus boosting their percentages. 33   The case of Eusebius, who has one of the lower correspondences with the Ausgangstext, is one example where this has occurred. In total, his work diverts from the initial text on eleven occasions. But one variation was the result of a split in the manuscript tradition of Eusebius’ work (1 Pet 2.2), and another was a variation of word order, not content (1 Pet 2.13: κτίσει ἀνθρωπίνῃ vs. ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει). In a separate instance, the divergence may have been the result of Eusebius’ quotation from memory (1 Pet 5.8: ὡς λέων ὠρυόμενος περιέρχεται – although he correctly quotes περιπατεῖ elsewhere). Further, three of the divergences come from three separate quotations of the same verse at which the manuscript tradition of 1 Peter was strongly divided (1 Pet 5.8: τινα καταπιεῖν). 34   See ECM (Part 2) 64–66, 73–76, 81–84. For information on these translations and their significance for NT textual criticism, see Metzger, The Early Versions.

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is worthy of particular note is the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 (= sa 31, in ECM; hereafter cited as C-S). This Coptic manuscript, in the Sahidic dialect, may perhaps be the oldest witness to 1 Peter, though its dating—as with many manuscripts—cannot be precisely or indisputably determined. Most of those who have studied it seem to favour a date in the mid-third century, including the editor and translator of its text of 1 Peter (Willis), though opinions range from late second to early fifth centuries.35 Certainly the Greek Vorlage from which this translation was made must have been old, probably older than the text of P72, such that C-S is an important witness to the early history of the letter.36 One reason why P72 and C-S are such interesting and unique witnesses to the early history of 1 Peter, beyond their contribution to the assessment of particular readings and reconstructions of the Ausgangstext, relates to the other texts with which the letter was bound, in the codices of which each is a part (see below). Both codices ‘derive from the same early Christian library’,37 a library of the Pachomian monastic order, ‘discovered late in 1952 in Upper Egypt near Dishnā’.38 Their texts of 1 Peter, however, ‘appear to be quite unrelated’,39 so one cannot simply be viewed as a translated copy of the other. Yet neither do these codices necessarily indicate how Christians in general, or across wide geographical areas, received and interpreted 1 Peter. But they do give us a fascinating glimpse into its reception among those who produced these particular manuscripts.40 35   See Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. Cf. Aland and Aland, Text of the New Testament, 201, who place the date at ‘probably ca. 400’. For more on the dating, see Robinson, ‘Manuscript’s History’, xxxiii. 36   Willis (‘Letter of Peter’, 138) notes that since C-S is evidently a ‘copy of a copy’, not itself a direct translation from the Greek, ‘the original translation on which it is based must be pushed back to A.D. 200, perhaps even earlier. Apparently, therefore, the Crosby-Schøyen text derives from a Greek manuscript earlier than P72 and no longer extant’. Similarly, Bethge claims, ‘Die griechische Vorlage, die man größtenteils mit hinreichender Sicherheit rekonstruieren kann, dürfte älter als der Text des p72 gewesen sein’ (‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 259 n. 18). He suggests that it goes back to the second century. 37   Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. 38   Robinson, ‘Manuscript’s History’, xxvii; cf. also xxxv. 39   Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. 40   For a more extensive treatment, see Horrell, ‘Themes of 1 Peter’, 502–22, revised and extended in idem, Becoming Christian, 45–72.



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Since both codices comprise a small collection of biblical and non-biblical literature, their contents are especially interesting. The other early manuscripts of the letter—in Sinaiticus, Alexandrinus, Vaticanus, and so on—are biblical manuscripts and so present 1 Peter in its now established canonical context. Set out below, and side-by-side, are the contents of the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex (hereafter BMC) which includes P72 (the label applied to the NT texts therein) and the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 (they are presented below in the order in which they appear in each codex): Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex (including P72)41 Nativity of Mary (= Protevangelium of James) Apocryphal Correspondence of Paul with the Corinthians (3 Corinthians) Odes of Solomon 11 The Epistle of Jude Melito of Sardis, On the Passover Fragment of a liturgical hymn Apology of Phileas Psalms 33–34 [LXX] 1 and 2 Peter

Crosby-Schøyen Codex42 Melito of Sardis, On the Passover 2 Macc 5.27–7.41 (entitled ‘The Jewish Martyrs’) 1 Peter (= ‘The Epistle of Peter’) Jonah (= ‘Jonah the Prophet’) Unidentified Text (probably an early Christian homily)43

A number of things are striking about the contents of these two codices in terms of the early reception of 1 Peter. First, it is clear in both cases that 1 Peter does not appear as part of a collection of what would (later) become canonical, NT writings, nor even as part of a collection of ‘Catholic Epistles’. The distinction between 41   For the contents, see Robinson, ‘Manuscript’s History’, xxix; Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer V; idem, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX; idem, Papyrus Bodmer X–XII; idem, Papyrus Bodmer XIII; Grunewald and Junack, Die katholischen Briefe, 17; Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 96–97. Testuz comments that these texts ‘constituant une véritable anthologie, avec les ouvrages très diverse’. Nonetheless, ‘[n]ous sommes actuellement certain que tous ces textes faisaient partie du même recueil, et qu’ils se suivaient dans l’ordre indiqué’ (Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8–9). 42   For the contents, see Goehring, ed., Crosby-Schøyen Codex; Robinson, ‘Manuscript’s History’, xxix; Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 257. 43   So Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 264. Goehring notes that this text is ‘markedly distinct’ from the other four in the codex, and suggests it is perhaps included as a ‘secondary addition to an original collection of four tractates’ (263).

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canonical and non-canonical has no apparent relevance in these manuscripts.44 (Indeed, the library from which they were recovered included a wide variety of texts, including classical Greek writers such as Homer.45) In C-S, moreover, the letter is titled simply ‘the epistle of Peter’, implying knowledge only of this one Petrine letter (see below on the letter’s inscriptio). In BMC, 1 Peter does appear along with two other ‘Catholic’ epistles, Jude and 2 Peter, though the scribe who produced 1–2 Peter may have been different from the scribe who produced Jude.46 This may indicate something about the early beginnings of a Catholic letter collection (see below). Second, the appearance in both codices of Melito’s Περὶ Πάσχα is striking, and suggests something of what these early readers took to be intertextual connections and key themes for 1 Peter, namely, the OT’s prefiguration of the suffering of Christ, as the sacrificial lamb who brings deliverance to God’s people. While the theory that 1 Peter was originally a homily, perhaps even a liturgy for use in the early church’s Easter celebration of the Πάσχα (including baptisms),47 has—for good reason—gone out of favour in recent years,48 the links between 1 Peter and Melito’s Περὶ Πάσχα indicate that such theories have identified thematic commonalities that early readers also perceived. Third, and building on the previous point, the collection of texts in both codices seems to indicate something about what were taken to be the themes of 1 Peter. As a collection, C-S would seem to be focused around particular themes: the paschal suffering of Christ, the suffering (and martyrdom) of his people (2 Macc 5.27–7.41), and (less obviously) the existence and mission of Christians in a   The contents and arrangement of texts in BMC make it difficult to follow the theory of Strickland (‘Ancient Manuscripts’, 789–90) that this manuscript and the Nag Hammadi collection represent what competing Christian groups in ancient Egypt (Proto-Orthodox versus Gnostic) regarded as authentic Petrine tradition. 45   See Robinson, ‘Manuscript’s History’, xxviii–xxxii; Bethge, ‘CrosbySchøyen-Codex’, 258. 46   Pace Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8. See Beare 9 n. 1; Turner, Typology, 79–80; Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 97–100. However, Wasserman (‘Papyrus 72 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex’, 137–54) has presented strong arguments for the same scribe having written Jude and 1–2 Peter. 47   Willis (‘Letter of Peter’, 137) comments that the ‘inclusion [of 1 Peter] in the Crosby-Schøyen codex confirms at least that the scribe or organizer of the codex considered the epistle Paschal in character’. 48   See Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure. 44



INTRODUCTION

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hostile Gentile world (Jonah). These themes might well be especially appropriate at Easter—Jonah’s emergence from the great fish was a favourite image of Christ’s resurrection and the hope of resurrection for his people49—but need not by any means be restricted to that season of the Christian year.50 BMC is a more diverse and complex collection, and no single theme seems to unite the various texts included. Yet a significant amount of the content again seems to relate particularly to the themes of Easter, and specifically the paschal suffering of Christ and the related suffering of his people in a hostile world: 1 Peter and Melito, plus Psalms 33–34 (LXX)—which focus on the theme of suffering and hope for vindication of the righteous—and the Apology of Phileas, a Christian martyrology.51 It is also notable that 1 Peter quotes Psalm 33 (LXX) twice, including a lengthy citation at the centre of the epistle (3.10–12), and it has been suggested that this psalm shapes the content of the whole letter.52 While this thesis, at least as presented in maximalist form by Bornemann, has generally been rejected, the evidence of the codex might well indicate that there is (or was seen to be) some significant intertextual and thematic connection between these texts.   Cf. Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art, 171–74. In the NT, see Matt 12.39–40; 16.4; Luke 11.29, and related to the general Christian hope for resurrection, see 3 Cor. 3.29–31. 50   Cf. Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 257, who suggests that the themes of the codex centre around ‘Leiden, Passion, Ostern’. 51   For the detail of this argument, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 61–66. The proposals concerning thematic links between 1 Peter and other texts in C-S and also the BMC have been challenged by Jones (‘Bodmer “Miscellaneous” Codex’, 9–20), who argues that they are composite codices with texts added over time without any thematic connections or coherence. However, the fact that a codex may have grown gradually, by the adding and compilation of texts, does not necessarily mean that no thematic connections were discerned between the various texts—it seems unnecessary to assume that, if they were to be identifiable, such themes must have been intended ‘from the outset’ (pace Jones, ‘Bodmer “Miscel�laneous” Codex’, 14). There is, of course, the risk that thematic connections are detected by the modern scholar but were not perceived or intended by the ancient scribes. This must be critically assessed on a case-by-case basis. It seems that the thematic connections within C-S are strong, and are also likely (though less clear) among a significant number (but not all) of the texts in BMC. As such, it would not be ‘inconsistent’ to accept that not all the texts in BMC share a common theme, but that a significant number of them do (pace Jones, ‘Bodmer “Miscellaneous” Codex’, 13). 52   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. 49

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These manuscripts, then, provide valuable indications as to the ways in which some early Christians treasured and interpreted 1 Peter. It seems likely that some of the early readers of 1 Peter found it to be a text full of paschal themes, with connections to some of the Psalms and to Melito. They also found it to be a text resonant with the themes of persecution and martyrdom, of the suffering and vindication of Christ, and of God’s people in a hostile world. Such an understanding of the letter need not, of course, be decisive for our reading of it, but it is at least instructive to consider seriously how 1 Peter has been understood by its very early readers and tradents. One other feature of BMC’s text of 1 (and 2) Peter is also notable in terms of its possible insight into the early interpretation and understanding of the letter. This is the marginal headings or brief thematic summaries that appear alongside the text at various points (but only, in BMC, in 1–2 Peter).53 Comparable to some extent with the later κεφάλαια54—recorded by Euthalius in the fifth century and found in subsequent manuscripts55—these marginal summaries mostly pick up key terms from the text, offering a concise summary of its theme, and do not—unlike the κεφάλαια—demarcate sections as such.56 They function to indicate the topic under discussion, not to mark the beginning of a reading section. They are as follows (preserving the spellings in BMC, and listing those for both 1 and 2 Peter):57 53   It is striking that these headings are, to our knowledge, nowhere discussed for their interpretative significance in commentaries on 1 Peter. They are listed as part of an extended discussion of the text of 1 Peter by Beare (4–5), though only to illustrate the scribe’s weak knowledge of Greek. 54   On which, see Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure, and Introduction: Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter. 55   See Euthalius (PG 85:680–81), and the collation of τίτλοι/κεφάλαια in von Soden, Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments, 458. 56   Hence, Grunewald and Junack comment on these ‘marginalen Zwischenüber�schriften, die aber offensichtlich in keine Beziehung zu den später gebräuchlichen Einteilungen in κεφάλαια zu setzen sind: sie nehmen direkten Bezug auf den daneben stehenden Text’ (Die katholischen Briefe, 21). 57   These are presented in their marginal location in the text of P72 edited by Testuz, and are listed and discussed by Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301; Grunewald and Junack, Die katholischen Briefe, 21; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 183–84. Testuz takes the form of the headings as evidence that the scribe was not a native Greek speaker, but more probably a Copt, a proposal supported by the appearance of at least one Coptic word in the margin of the text at 2 Pet 2.22 (Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 33). However, the headings



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1 Peter 1.15 περι αγειοσυνη 1.22 περι αγνια 2.5 περι ϊερατευμα αγιον 2.9 περι γενος εγλεκτον βασιλιον ϊερατευμα εθνος αγιον λαον περιποησιν 3.18 περι θανατου εν σαρκι και ζωοποιου και ακεκλεισμενοις58 4.1 περι χρυ παθος εν σαρκι 4.6 περι σαρκος 4.8 περι αγαπη 4.19 περι θυ κτειστη 2 Peter 2.1 περι ψεδοδιδασκαλοι 2.15 περι τεκνα καταρα 3.3 περι εμπεκται 3.14 περι ειρηνη

As Wiefel points out, these summary phrases together give a clear indication of the priorities of Christian life in the world: holiness and purity, the holy priesthood and chosen people of God, belief in the sufferings of Christ in the flesh and in the creator God, separation from false teachers and scoffers, love and peace.59 In his claim that ‘in these headings we encounter the image (Bild) of a mainstream orthodox (großkirchlichen) Christianity’,60 however, Wiefel rather exaggerates the extent to which the headings constitute a mini-summary of the key aspects of orthodox early Christianity. They do perhaps show something of the effect of placing 1 and 2 Peter side-by-side, and provide a historical example in the manuscript tradition where the two letters together represent a combined witness to the doctrines and concerns of early orthodoxy.61 The summary notes certainly reflect an interpretative perspective on the text which, by identifying and summarising topics, influences do not simply repeat words from the text of 1 Peter, and so require some independent knowledge of Greek vocabulary on the part of their author. 58   On the possible text-critical significance of this word, see Text at 1 Pet 3.18-22 nn. c and f. 59   Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 302. 60   Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 302. 61   From a modern canonical-theological perspective, cf. Wall, ‘Teaching 1 Peter as Scripture’, 368–77; idem, ‘Canonical Function of 2 Peter’, 64–81; Nienhuis and Wall, Reading the Epistles.

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subsequent readings. For 1 Peter in particular, it is interesting to note that by far the two longest marginal notes relate to the declaration of the identity of the new people of God (2.9) and the death and new life of Christ, in the context of his enigmatic proclamation to the imprisoned spirits (3.18; cf. also the heading to 4.1). This focus of attention gives a further indication of what was seen as the thematic and theological centre of the letter.62 Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure Initial Bibliography Louise-Marie Antoniotti, ‘Structure littéraire et sens de la Première Épître de Pierre’, RThom 85 (1985): 533–60; Marie-Émile Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales dans la Première Épître de Pierre, LD 30 (Paris: Cerf, 1961); Frank L. Cross, 1 Peter: A Paschal Liturgy, 2nd ed. (London: Mowbray, 1957); Lutz Doering, ‘First Peter as Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, in The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition: A New Perspective on James to Jude, ed. Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 215–36, 441–57; Eduard Lohse, ‘Paränese und Kerygma im 1. Petrusbrief’, ZNW 45 (1954): 68–89; Ralph P. Martin, ‘The Composition of 1 Peter in Recent Study’, in Vox Evangelica: Biblical and Historical Essays by Members of the Faculty of the London Bible College, ed. Ralph P. Martin (London: Epworth, 1962), 29–42; Troy W. Martin, Metaphor and Composition in 1 Peter, SBLDS 131 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1992); Wolfgang Nauck, ‘Freude im Leiden: Zum Problem einer urchristlichen Verfolgungstradition’, ZNW 46 (1955): 68–80; E. Richard Perdelwitz, Die Mysterienreligion und das Problem des I. Petrusbriefes. Ein literarischer und religionsgeschichtlicher Versuch, RVV 11/3 (Giessen: Töpelmann, 1911); Herbert Priesker, ‘Anhang zum ersten Petrusbrief’, in Hans Windisch, Die katholischen Briefe, 3rd ed., HNT 15 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1951), 152–62; Kazuhito Shimada, ‘Is 1 Peter a Composite Writing?—A Stylistic Approach to the Two Document Hypothesis’, AJBI 11 (1985): 95–114.

Genre and Literary Integrity of 1 Peter Two introductory issues fundamental to our reading of 1 Peter concern the genre and literary integrity of the work. Until the modern era, these matters were rarely discussed. Since 1 Peter was understood to be a letter, it was seen as a unified composition sent   See Introduction: Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter.

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INTRODUCTION

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by its designated author to the Christian communities addressed in the prescript. Yet with the dawn of critical research, interpreters began to re-consider the composition and integrity of 1 Peter. One contributing factor was a discrepancy that some noted between the various descriptions of suffering: whereas suffering only appears to be a remote possibility in the first half of the text (1 Pet 1.3–4.11), it is assumed to be a present reality in later portions (4.12–5.11). A second question left scholars equally perplexed, viz. the readers’ identity as Jewish or Gentile.63 Do the distinctively Jewish descriptors used of the recipients suggest their Jewish identity, or are they applied to largely Gentile communities? Over the years, these issues forced interpreters into a number of interesting exegetical maneuvers.64 The primary means of resolving the difficulties was to question the genre and literary integrity of 1 Peter. In 1897, Harnack sought to reconcile the fact that the prescript (1 Pet 1.1) appeared to him to have been directed toward a Jewish-Christian audience, while the body of the letter (1.3–5.11) suggested a Gentile-Christian readership. It was on this basis that he made the influential suggestion that 1 Peter was not an actual letter (ein eigentlicher Brief), but rather a homiletical treatise (ein homiletischer Aufsatz).65 To this composition, he proposed, someone later added an introduction (1.1–2) and conclusion (5.12– 14), giving us the present form of 1 Peter. Harnack’s theory was met with a mixed response.66 But as the first in modern scholarship to claim that 1 Peter was something other than a genuine epistle,

  See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity.   An example of an early attempt to resolve the portrayal of suffering in 1 Peter is found in the commentary of Kühl (30–32), who posited two different types of persecution. According to his reading, the earlier descriptions, which seem to place suffering in a more theoretical realm, were references to persecution from the Gentiles. About this conflict, the author had no substantial information, and therefore he portrayed it with much less detail. On the other hand, the later references to suffering are thought to describe Jewish opposition, circumstances to which the author had much more insight and thus could provide more specific detail. 65   Harnack, Geschichte der altchristlichen Litteratur, 451–65. 66   Some of the early critics include: Wrede, ‘Bemerkungen zu Harnacks Hypothese’, 75–85; Clemen, ‘Die Einheitlichkeit des 1. Petrusbriefes’, 619–28. Examples of those who followed Harnack’s interpretation include: Soltau, ‘Die Einheitlichkeit des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 302–15; idem, ‘Nochmals die Einheitlich� keit des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 456–60; Gunkel 248. 63 64

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this hypothesis laid the foundation for more inventive and elaborate theories regarding the composition and genre of 1 Peter.67 Without reference to Harnack’s earlier proposal, Hart (1910) took the partitioning of 1 Peter to a whole new level. Building on 1 Peter’s encyclical nature (1 Pet 1.1) and the fact that it contains two doxologies (4.11; 5.11), Hart proposed that 1 Peter was actually a combination of two letters written by the same author to separate audiences facing different circumstances.68 For those communities who were not undergoing persecution, the author composed a set of general instructions on the Christian life (1 Pet 1.3–4.11). Appended to this correspondence was an additional (or alternative) letter (4.12–5.11), which was reserved for those churches to whom suffering was already a present reality. In each case, the courier would determine which letter was most appropriate for any given congregation. While this view gained little acceptance, a much more widely noticed version of this same proposal can be found in a later article by Moule.69 A significant turning point in the discussion surrounding the unity and genre of 1 Peter came in 1911 with the publication of Perdelwitz’s Die Mysterienreligion und das Problem des I. Petrusbriefes.70 The primary purpose of the monograph, as its title suggests, was to trace the connections between 1 Peter and ancient mystery religions. But while Perdelwitz’s notion of the letter’s religionsgeschichtliche influences gained little acceptance, a more subsidiary portion of his study was picked up and widely disseminated. Being favourably disposed towards Harnack’s suggestion that 1 Peter was originally a sermon, and dissatisfied with the way most interpreters dealt with the two different points of view with regard to suffering, Perdelwitz submitted a new theory on the unity and genre of the epistle.   For a discussion of various compositional theories, see Martin, ‘Composition of 1 Peter’, 29–42. 68   See esp. Hart 3–4, 29–30. This view was followed years later by Wand 1–3. 69   Moule, ‘Nature and Purpose of I Peter’, 1–11. A variation of this view was later proposed by Thurston (‘Interpreting First Peter’, 176–78), who suggested that the apostle Peter composed different portions of the letter at different times: 1.1–4.11 prior to the persecution of Nero and 4.12–5.14 after the Neronian pogroms had begun. 70   Perdelwitz, Die Mysterienreligion, 12–16 (on literary integrity), 29–105 (on the comparison with the mystery religions). For a critique of the latter, see Selwyn 305–11. 67



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He proposed that 1 Peter was a combination of a baptismal homily (Taufrede) (1.3–4.11), which was originally addressed to recent converts from the mystery cults,71 and a letter (1.1–2; 4.12–5.14) written to the same communities at a later time when they had begun to experience persecution. Following its introduction, this view became extremely popular (esp. within German scholarship),72 due in large part to the fact that it was able (seemingly) to bring resolution to questions surrounding both the unity and genre of 1 Peter.73 It would receive further recognition when it was adopted by Streeter and circulated in the English-speaking world.74 Although Streeter possessed only a second-hand knowledge of the proposal,75 he was intrigued by the idea and therefore put it into service in connection with his own historical reconstruction. He suggested that the two writings— one a sermon written to recent converts (1.3–4.11), the other a 71   The view of the letter as a Taufrede was also developed by Bornemann, though without reference to Perdelwitz or his partition theory (see ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 143–65). Defending Harnack’s earlier proposal that 1 Peter bore the character of a homily, Bornemann argued that 1 Pet 1.3–5.11 (the letter frame being added later), ‘ursprünglich eine Taufrede war, und zwar im Anschluß an Psalm 34 um Jahr 90 von Silvanus in einer Stadt Kleinasiens gehalten’ (146). This thesis has been criticised in some detail by Schutter (Hermeneutic, 44–49), but has recently been reevaluated and revived in a very different form by Woan (‘Psalms in 1 Peter’, 213–29; idem, ‘Use of the Old Testament’). 72   E.g., Windisch 82; Hauck 36; Cranfield 11–13; Schneider 41; Leaney 8; Beare 25–28; Schröger, ‘Die Verfassung der Germeinde’, 240; Marxsen, ‘Der Mitälteste und Zeuge’, 382–83. Cf. also Beasley-Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, 251–58. 73   Perdelwitz (Mysterienreligion, 12–16) was able to marshal a number of key arguments that seemed to demand the letter’s division: (a) While suffering is described in the first half of the epistle as merely hypothetical (cf. 1.6; 3.14, 17), the second half seems to assume its reality (4.12, 19). (b) In 1 Pet 1.6, 8, joy is thought to be something currently possessed by the readers, whereas in 4.12–14 it is that which will be gained in the future. (c) The doxology in 4.11 appears somewhat intrusive in that it brings the author’s thought to a close only to have it revived again—albeit in a different direction—in 4.12. (d) The use of ὀλίγος (‘brief/briefly’) to describe an epistle consisting of approximately 1,675 words seems like an exaggeration—although it would make more sense if it were only meant to include the second part of the letter (4.12–5.14). 74   Streeter, Primitive Church. 75   Streeter admits that he learned of the proposal through the commentary of Gunkel and did not have ‘direct access’ to Perdelwitz’s work (see Primitive Church, 123 with n. 1).

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letter written to those undergoing persecution (4.12–5.11)—were composed sometime around the year 90 CE by Aristion of Smyrna. Due to the fact that both were copied onto the same papyrus roll, they eventually came to be viewed as a single composition. Years later, after the name of the original author had been lost, an introduction (1.1–2) and conclusion (5.12–14) were added (possibly at Sinope), and the letter was sent out to the designated areas under the pseudonym Peter sometime during the governorship of Pliny.76 Although challenges to these partition approaches occasionally arose,77 their popularity continued unabated throughout the early twentieth century. Likewise, the view of 1 Peter’s origin as a baptismal homily came to be widely held in Petrine studies. One twist to the proposals on the genre and structure of 1 Peter was suggested by Preisker. Contributing a supplement to the third edition of the commentary by Windisch, Preisker sought to resolve the problems left open by the discussion of Windisch:78 how and why the two parts of 1 Peter were joined. He answered this question with a bold new hypothesis about the liturgical character of 1 Peter. He claimed that the document represented a baptismal liturgy from the church at Rome.79 As such, it was thought to contain the oldest record of an early Christian service.80 According to Preisker’s reconstruction, 1 Peter is divided into two parts. The first half is said to have been directed specifically to the congregation’s baptismal candidates (1.3–4.11), while the second was addressed to the whole community (4.12–5.11).81 Preisker

  Streeter, Primitive Church, 122–33.   One of the most formidible challenges came from Selwyn, whose commen�tary offered a sustained defence of the letter’s compositional unity and epistolary genre (1–6). His primary aim was to demonstrate that the apparent discrepancies in the letter’s portrayal of suffering could be accounted for by the sporadic nature of the readers’ trials, and as a result, no partition theories were required. On its own, however, the argument of Selwyn did little to curb the enthusiasm of partition theorists. 78   Windisch (82) followed Perdelwitz in regarding 1 Pet 1.3–4.12 as a baptismal address, with the remainder of the letter as an admonitory writing (Mahnschreiben). 79   Priesker, ‘Anhang zum ersten Petrusbrief’, 156–62. 80   Priesker, ‘Anhang zum ersten Petrusbrief’, 157. 81   Years earlier, a similar idea was proposed but then rejected by Streeter. He maintained that the abrupt break at 1 Pet 4.12, ‘might be explained by supposing that the preacher now turns from the group of the newly baptized to address the 76 77



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proposed an elaborate scheme whereby each part of the document represented a different portion of the liturgical service.82 In this way, the various descriptions of suffering were ascribed to readers at different points in their commitment to Christianity: while those who had yet to undergo baptism were free from the threat of persecution (cf. 1.6), once they partook of the initiatory Christian rite (which is said to have taken place between 1.21 and 22), they, along with the rest of the community, found themselves in the midst of the fiery trial (cf. 4.12–19). This view has been adopted (and adapted) by numerous interpreters since its introduction.83 One interpreter who enthusiastically endorsed Preisker’s analysis was Cross, although he added even greater specificity to its liturgical function.84 The work of Cross began by setting 1 Peter—with its unusually large number of uses of πάσχω/πάθημα—into the context of the earliest Christian Easter Passover celebrations, using Melito and Hippolytus in particular to illuminate the character of that festal time.85 It was a feast that celebrated ‘the Redemptive Work of Christ in the Death and Resurrection together’ and was ‘pre-eminently the season for baptism in Hippolytus’ time’.86 According to Cross, 1 Peter combines the themes of suffering and joy, ‘precisely the dominant note in the ethos of Easter’.87 With its Exodus (and more specifically, Passover) allusions, and its focus on the suffering and vindication of Christ, 1 Peter seems to fit ‘a “Paschal” context’.88

larger congregation present—including presbyters who have come in from the adjacent villages’ (Primitive Church, 124). 82   For the specific divisions, see Priesker, ‘Anhang zum ersten Petrusbrief’, 157–60. 83   E.g., Coutts, ‘Ephesians I. 3–14 and I Peter I. 3–12’, 115–27; Fransen, ‘Une homélie chrétienne’, 28–38; Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales; Brooks, ‘I Peter 3:21’, 290–305. 84   Cross, 1 Peter. 85   The connection that Cross draws between πάσχειν (‘to suffer’) and πάσχα (‘Easter’) is questioned by van Unnik (‘Christianity according to I Peter’, 79), who insists that no such word-play is made in 1 Peter. 86   Cross, 1 Peter, 18, 9, respectively. 87   Cross, 1 Peter, 24. 88   Cross, 1 Peter, 19. Allusions to the exodus/Passover have been found by other Petrine interpreters as well. See, e.g., Leaney, ‘I Peter and the Passover’, 238–51; Deterding, ‘Exodus Motifs’, 58–65; Schlosser, ‘Le thème exodial’, 259–74; Chapple, ‘Appropriation of Scripture’, 155–71.

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Agreeing with Preisker (and others) that 1 Peter is, in large part, a baptismal homily,89 Cross went beyond this theory in proposing that the baptismal context is specifically that of the Paschal Baptismal Eucharist: ‘The themes of I Peter are Baptism, Passover, Passion-Resurrection, moral duties. Taken together they seem to connect the “Epistle” with the Paschal Baptismal Eucharist, as the one setting where these subjects belong together.’90 Building on the liturgical theory of Preisker in particular, Cross suggests that ‘our “Epistle” partakes of the nature of both a homily and a liturgy, viz. that it is the Celebrant’s part for the Paschal Vigil, for which, as the most solemn occasion in the Church’s year, the Baptismal-Eucharistic text must have been very carefully prepared’.91 Following Preisker closely, Cross then set out a liturgical analysis of the letter (from 1 Pet 1.3–4.11),92 including the moment of baptism between 1.21 and 22, suggesting that there are similarities between the material in 1 Peter and the Baptismal Rite in Hippolytus’ Apostolic Tradition.93 Criticisms of these baptismal and partition theories had already been expressed in the commentary of Selwyn (1946), although it was not until later that concentrated efforts were made to challenge these popular approaches. A noticeable shift in scholarship began during the 1950s and 60s, having been set in motion by two articles in consecutive volumes of the Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft. The first was the form-critical study of Lohse, who argued that 1 Peter was an occasional letter whose purpose was to encourage communities undergoing persecution.94 In composing   Cross, 1 Peter, 28–35.   Cross, 1 Peter, 36. Other early interpreters similarly connected 1 Peter with a baptismal ceremony during the time of the Paschal celebration (e.g., Danielou, Sacramentum futuri, 141; Llopart, ‘La protovetlla pasqual apostolica’, 387–522; Carrington, Early Christian Church, 207). 91   Cross, 1 Peter, 37. Because of Cross’ focus on the baptizand, some have questioned whether it could even be called a baptismal liturgy. Rather than being the actual liturgy itself, Wand contends that Cross’ proposal makes 1 Peter simply ‘the Bishop’s running commentary on the liturgy’ (‘Lessons of First Peter’, 388). 92   Cross does not explicitly espouse a partition theory like that of Perdelwitz, but it is interesting that he finds only this major section susceptible to a liturgical analysis (cf. his comment on p. 40). This is one of the major weaknesses of his proposal (see further Martin, New Testament Foundations, 342). 93   Significant criticisms were levelled against the theory of Cross in subsequent years (see, e.g., Thornton, ‘I Peter, a Paschal Liturgy?’, 14–26; Hall, ‘Paschal Baptism’, 234–51). 94   Lohse, ‘Paränese und Kerygma’, 68–89. 89 90



INTRODUCTION

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such a letter, Lohse argued that the Petrine author employed the paraenetic material that had been handed down to him. These underlying traditions were said to explain the diversity in 1 Peter. Furthermore, Lohse called into question the importance of baptism in the overall scheme of 1 Peter, an argument that would be echoed in subsequent analyses.95 With Lohse tackling the problem from a formgeschichtliche perspective, Nauck set out to examine the epistle’s description of suffering using a traditionsgeschichtliche approach.96 The problem with the composite theories, according to Nauck, was that they did not take into account the traditional theme of ‘joy in suffering’, which pervades both halves of the epistle (1 Pet 1.6; 4.13). Just as one cannot differentiate between hypothetical and concrete faith/experience, Nauck argued that it is equally unreasonable to draw these same distinctions between the descriptions of suffering in 1 Peter. At this point in the discussion, while great strides had been made in discrediting the baptismal and partition theories, the primary focus was still on the forms and traditions underlying the epistle. What Petrine scholarship lacked was an adequate explanation of how these pieces fit together into a coherent whole. This lacuna was filled in 1965 with the publication of Dalton’s important monograph, Christ’s Proclamation to the Spirits.97 Not only did Dalton’s study form a landmark for the interpretation of 1 Pet 3.18–4.6, it also firmly established the epistle as a literary unity. Following a critique of popular theories on the letter’s genre and composition, Dalton attempted to delineate ‘The Plan of 1 Peter’ (see below).98 Over the years, his structural division (along with his methodology) have met with mixed response. Nevertheless, his case for the letter’s unity has been widely accepted. 95   Not only did interpreters point out that there was no mention of baptism at the one place where it might be most expected, viz. the reference to the ‘new birth’ in 1 Pet 1.23 (see Blendinger, ‘Kirche als Fremdlingschaft’, 129; cf. Dalton, ‘ “So That Your Faith’, 266), but they also raised doubts about the importance of the theme when it is mentioned (see Hill, ‘On Suffering and Baptism’, 181–89; cf. Dibelius, ‘Zur Formgeschichte’, 232). For a recent attempt to locate baptism more broadly within the epistle (although without appealing to earlier views about the genre of 1 Peter), see Schlesinger, ‘Fire in the Water’, 279–81. 96   Nauck, ‘Freude im Leiden’, 68–80. 97   Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation. 98   Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 93–108.

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The fresh stimulus offered by Dalton’s work was further reinforced by the publication of four major commentaries (Schelkle [1961], Spicq [1966], Kelly [1969], and Best [1971]). Although they differed in both language and perspective, all were in agreement at two important points: 1 Peter was a genuine letter and a unified composition. By the late 1970s, baptismal and partition theories had fallen out of favour,99 and they would continue to face further challenges in the decades that followed. During this time, a number of significant contributions appeared which answered specific issues on the unity and genre of 1 Peter. All of this contributed to what has now become the modern consensus on 1 Peter’s unity and epistolary genre.100 More recent work by Doering has further refined the classification of 1 Peter as a letter, particularly through comparison with other Jewish letters. Such an analysis has been rather neglected in research on NT epistolography, which has tended to focus more on Greco-Roman letters and letter-writing conventions.101 In particular, Doering makes a compelling case for regarding 1 Peter as a kind of ‘early Christian Diaspora letter’, analogous in various respects to Jewish Diaspora letters—a number of which are associated with the prophet Jeremiah and his scribe Baruch (Jer 36.4; see Jer 29 [36 LXX].1–23; Ep Jer; Bar; 2 Macc 1.1–2.18; 2 Bar. 78.1–87.1; for Christian examples, see Acts 15.23–29; Jas 1.1).102 Though these were generally sent from Jerusalem to Jewish communities 99   In 1976, Elliott (‘Rehabilitation’, 249) could refer to the ‘growing conviction’ within scholarship that 1 Peter was in fact a unified composition. The following decades saw a number of significant contributions to more specific issues in the debate (e.g., Shimada, ‘Is 1 Peter a Composite Writing?’, 95–114; Reichert, Eine urchristliche praeparatio ad martyrium, 27–72; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 19–84; Martin, Metaphor and Composition; even more recently, Williams, ‘Reading Social Conflict’, 119–60). 100   Very few in more recent scholarship have defended partition theories, although this view is espoused on occasion (e.g., Krodel 58–59; Cazotto Terra, ‘Um Lar (Celestial), 70–94). 101   E.g., White, Form and Function; Stowers, Letter Writing. Among the exceptions is the study of Taatz, Fruehjudische Briefe. 102   Doering, ‘Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, 215–36, 441–57. See also, more broadly, idem, Ancient Jewish Letters. Others have similarly connected 1 Peter to Jewish diaspora letters (see Müller, ‘Herausforderung und Chance’, 72; Klein, Bewährung in Anfechtung). The view that 1 Peter reflects the influence of the Diaspora letter genre has been taken to the extreme by Richards, who argues



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in the Diaspora, with Jeremiah’s letter to the exiles in Babylon (Jer 29[36 LXX].1–23) being an important early model, there are also examples sent from elsewhere.103 With its opening depiction of its addressees as διασπορᾶς (1.1) and its author’s self-location ἐν Βαβυλῶνι (5.13), 1 Peter, ‘can…be understood as a letter from the Diaspora (qualified in terms of the Babylonian exile) to the Diaspora’ (cf. also Jas 1.1; Acts 15.23–29).104 This, Doering argues, fits well with the constructed image of Peter as author, an entirely apposite and unsurprising communication from ‘the leading figure of the Jewish Christian community of Jerusalem’, who had left Jerusalem (cf. Acts 12.17), joined in the Gentile mission (cf. Acts 10.1–11.18; 1 Cor 1.12) and ‘finally suffered and was crucified…in Rome’ (see further below).105 It is most plausible, then, to understand 1 Peter as a letter, written as a unity and representing a form of early Christian Diaspora letter—focused on paraenesis—that owes a good deal to Jewish precedents in that regard. However, while it thus takes the form of a letter, there remain questions about how genuinely it was composed, sent, and received as such, questions we address under Authorship and Recipients below. Structure of 1 Peter The final feature of 1 Peter’s literary composition that remains to be considered is its structure, a crucial foundation for the exegetical analysis. There is a long history of attempts to discern the plan and structure of 1 Peter.106 Aside from the structural divisions that commentators provide as a basis for their exegetical discussion, there have been more substantial discussions focused on this specific not merely that the Petrine author was influenced by Jer 29, but that 1 Peter ‘is a midrash on Jeremiah 29’ (‘General Epistles’, 241). 103   Doering, ‘Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, 233–34. Doering notes 4Q Apocryphon of Jeremiah C, Baruch, 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou), and Esther, as examples (see pp. 218–21, 223–24). The exchange of letters between Jerusalem and Babylon in the Jeremiah–Baruch tradition are particularly notable. 104   Doering, ‘Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, 233. Some have noted one important difference between 1 Peter and other diaspora letters: the fact that 1 Peter is addressed to a specific group of churches within a particular area (see van Rensburg, ‘Code of Conduct’, 475 n. 646). 105   Doering, ‘Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, 235–36. 106   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 3–39.

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topic, with some even suggesting that the letter has no clear plan or structure.107 The analysis of Holzmeister, published in 1937, is commonly viewed as a particular landmark in research. Holzmeister divided the letter into three main sections: 1.3–2.10; 2.11–4.4; 4.5– 5.11.108 Another significant contribution, which has already been mentioned, is Dalton’s outline of ‘the Plan of 1 Peter’.109 Drawing on six structural indicators developed by Vanhoye in his analysis of Hebrews,110 Dalton offered a compositional analysis of 1 Peter that consisted of three major sections (apart from the traditional letter opening and closing greetings): the dignity of the Christian vocation and its responsibilities (1.3–2.10); obligations of Christian life (2.11–3.12); and the Christian and persecution (3.13–5.11).111 An important detailed analysis of the literary character and structure of 1 Peter is provided by Martin, who emphasises the ‘epistolary form’ as ‘[o]ne of the most obvious features of 1 Peter’.112 Martin’s epistolary analysis demonstrates how 1 Peter ‘exhibits the five basic parts of an ancient letter’:113 1.1–2 1.3–12 1.13–5.12 5.13–14a 5.14b

‘The prescript’, which ‘identifies the sender and addressees’; ‘The blessing section’, which ‘identifies the eschatological context in which the letter is to be read and understood’; ‘The letter-body’, which ‘contains the message that the author wanted to communicate to his readers’ ‘The greeting section’ ‘The farewell’

107   E.g., Bigg 6: ‘There is no definite plan or logical evolution of a train of thought’. 108   Holzmeister 167–72. See, e.g., Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 93; Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 3–4. 109   Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 93–108. 110   Vanhoye, ‘De structura litteraria’, 73–80; idem, La Structure littéraire. 111   Dalton’s division of the later part of the letter (2.11–5.11) is contested. His identification of chiastic patterns in relation to the groups addressed seems less than compelling (see Talbert, ‘Plan of 1 Peter’, 141–51). 112   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 41. 113   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 269. For the analysis that follows, see 78–79, 269–70.



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Martin further identifies 1.13 and 5.12 as the body opening and body closing, respectively.114 But even though this approach sets out the basic structure of the document, it does not, as Martin notes, help with the structural analysis of the extensive ‘body-middle’ (1.14–5.11), the majority of the letter.115 In an attempt to understand the composition of this key section, Martin therefore turns to an analysis of the form of the letter, identifying its type, or genre, as paraenesis. This kind of writing, Martin claims, ‘may be composed around a common theme or motif’, and ‘this feature proves to be the key for unlocking the Petrine compositional structure’.116 Martin thus moves on to examine the metaphor clusters within the letter, seeing these as the key to understanding the structure and composition of the letterbody itself. What he concludes is that the ‘controlling metaphor of 1 Peter is the Diaspora’.117 Within this overarching metaphor, three distinct clusters, he argues, constitute the structuring principle of the letter-body: The first metaphor cluster is built around the image of the elect people of God and contains metaphors pertaining to the house of God (1:14–2:10). The second metaphor cluster is composed of metaphors that group around the notion of strangers and aliens (2:11–3:12). The third metaphor cluster is determined by the concept of the Diaspora as a place of suffering (3:13–5:11). All three of these metaphor clusters are related through the overarching and controlling metaphor of the Diaspora.118

There have been questions raised about whether ‘Diaspora’ is the controlling theme of the letter in the way Martin proposes, and about whether the three related metaphor-clusters should form the basis for the structural analysis of the letter’s main body. Other central themes—such as Elliott’s ‘household of God’, Achtemeier’s ‘Israel as a totality’—have also been proposed,119 and one might also question how far the letter’s compositional structure can be   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 70–74.   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 79. 116   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 133. 117   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 144, cf. 273–74. 118   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 160–61. 119   Elliott, Home for the Homeless; Achtemeier 69. 114 115

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discerned from its central theme(s). Nonetheless, it is significant to note that Martin’s three main sections of the letter body—once the opening blessing (1.3–12) is distinguished—correspond exactly to the three main sections proposed by Dalton. An alternative approach is taken by Campbell, who applies classical rhetorical criticism, combined with a social-scientific approach, to 1 Peter.120 According to Campbell, 1 Peter is an example of deliberative rhetoric, since ‘the major sections of the letter reflect exhortation to take future action’.121 The structure of the letter is thus to be understood in light of the standard rhetoricians’ outline for speeches: A proem or exordium that seeks to obtain the auditors’ attention and goodwill precedes a narration (narratio) of the facts of the case and the proposition (propositio) that sometimes features a partition (partitio) into separate headings. The proof (probatio) contains the speaker’s arguments and refution (refutatio) of the opponent’s views. Finally an epilogue or peroration (peroratio) sums up the rhetor’s arguments and seeks to sway the emotions of the hearers toward the orator’s view.122

Campbell’s analysis of the letter is then as follows: 1.1–2 1.3–12

1.13–2.10

2.11–3.12

‘an address that serves as a quasi-exordium’ (p. 229); the exordium, a ‘prologue’ which is concerned to introduce the matters to be discussed in the speech, to establish a ‘positive ethos for the speaker’ and ‘the attentiveness and goodwill of the audience’ (p. 33); First argumentatio: these aim to set out and establish what is to be proven. The first establishes ‘that the Christian alien residents and visiting strangers of Asia Minor have an honored and dignified position as members of’ the household of God (p. 98); Second argumentatio, which deals with the way in which the slandered Christians should respond to the challenge to their honour. It constitutes ‘the core of the letter’ (p. 231);

  Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter.   Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 30. 122   Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 9. 120 121



INTRODUCTION 3.13–4.11

4.12–5.14

33

Third argumentatio, which ‘seeks to persuade [the] hearers that they are honored and that they ought to pursue a course of action commensurate with their privileged position’ (p. 233); The peroratio, which ‘sums up the affirmations and arguments…put forth in 1:1–4:11’ (p. 199). 5.12–14 is in fact ‘appended to the peroratio in order to provide (with 1:1–2) the discourses of 1:3–5:11 with a suitable epistolary frame’; they ‘may be classified as a “quasi-peroratio” ’ (p. 227).

Thus, according to Campbell, ‘Peter operates throughout according to definite principles concerning the invention, arrangement, and style of discourse as these principles found expression in the theoretical treatises on Greco-Roman rhetoric’.123 Yet questions could be raised about how well the categories and forms of classical rhetoric ‘fit’ the content and structure of 1 Peter. First (as with Paul), there are questions about the educational level of the author, and specifically whether he (or she, but almost certainly ‘he’) would have been aware of the techniques and forms taught in Greco-Roman education in rhetoric. Second, one may question whether the categories fit as well as Campbell (and others) suggest, and whether they truly illuminate and explain the arguments and choice of material the author makes. Is it really correct to summarise the exordium (1.3–12) as a section in which the author ‘praises his audience’, or to suggest that in 3.18–22 the author ‘adopts noble and lofty material…that embellishes the argumentation of vv. 13–17’, or to suggest that 4.12–5.14 ‘sums up the affirmations and arguments… put forth in 1:1–4:11’?124 These and other examples might suggest that the rhetorical categories are somewhat forced upon the material, and that organising the letter in this way—including seeing its central body as three ‘arguments’ related to a central proposition— may not offer a compelling analysis of its structure. The epistolary analysis of Dalton and Martin seems to offer a firmer—if not uncontestable—basis for understanding the letter’s plan and structure.

  Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 235.   Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 229, 178, 199, respectively.

123 124

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It is unfortunate that in most scholarly discussions of the letter’s structure, little attention is paid to the various demarcations of sections in the manuscript traditions. Needless to say, these are not to be taken as definitive of the literary structure, but they are significant, not least as indications of how earlier readers—often closer to the letter in terms of language and culture than modern scholars—understood it.125 The following table sets out the divisions in Sinaiticus and Vaticanus (see NA18), along with the ancient (Euthalian) κεφάλαια.126 These may also be compared with the marginal thematic summaries in P72 (listed above under Introduction: Text of 1 Peter), though these are least indicative of convictions regarding structure as such, since they summarise the theme of a part of the letter alongside it, rather than marking the beginning of a reading section. Divisions of Vaticanus/Sinaiticus

Secondary divisions in Vaticanus

κεφάλαια127 1.1 1.13 2.1

1.13 1.22b (before ἐκ καρδίας) 2.13 3.8 4.1

2.13

4.12 5.1

4.12

2.13 4.1 4.12 5.1 5.10

From this table, our attention is drawn to 1.13, 2.13, 4.1, 4.12 and 5.1 in particular, as possibly significant points of structural transition in the letter. The identification of 1.13 would add weight to the   Cf. Williams, ‘Not the Prologue’, 375–86.   Holzmeister (165–67) discusses the manuscript divisions in relation to the letter’s structure. Martin (Metaphor and Composition, 4–5) notes and considers the compositional analysis conveyed by Pseudo-Euthalius. For these, see PG 85:679–82 and the τιτλοί listed by von Soden, Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments, 458. 127   For these headings in detail, see below on Introduction: Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter. 125 126



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view, strongly argued by Martin, that it is here that the main body of the letter begins, with 1.3–12 (after the opening address) constituting the introductory ‘blessing’. Most modern scholars identify 2.11, rather than 2.13, as a major point of structural transition. This seems more compelling, given the vocative address ἀγαπητοί (cf. also 4.12) and the explicit exhortation παρακαλῶ, which together seem to mark not only a literary transition but also a thematic one, into the more practical and ethical instruction that characterises the second half of the letter. Nonetheless, as Goppelt notes,128 2.11–12 serve as something of a hinge between the two major parts of the letter, both reiterating the sense of the readers’ identity that has been set out in the opening part and introducing the appeal for good conduct that will be prominent in the remaining chapters. The traditional indications of a section beginning at 2.13 do therefore add some weight to the view that this part of the letter is a significant point of structural transition.129 There seems little reason to take 4.1 as the beginning of a major new section of the letter, though 4.1–6 is often identified as a small sub-section.130 By contrast, 4.12—again marked by the vocative ἀγαπητοί—seems to mark the beginning of another major section, focusing particularly on the need for steadfast endurance in suffering. A less significant point of structural transition is found in 5.1, although it does mark the beginning of a sub-section dealing with the responsibility of elders and (less extensively) the junior members of the congregations (5.1–5). One remaining question is how to weigh the significance of the structural marker at 4.12 compared with what Dalton and Martin see as a more significant structural and thematic shift at 3.13. Although the theme of persecution and suffering becomes more prominent from 3.13 onwards, what a structural division at this point perhaps misses is the close parallels between the instruction given to wives in 3.1–6 and that given to the whole community in 3.13–17, which ties these sections together.131 One way to acknowledge the significance   Goppelt 20. Cf. also Elliott 81: ‘a major transitional unit or hinge’.   Pace Martin, Metaphor and Composition, who sees the body-middle (1.14–5.11) as structured around three metaphor clusters (1.14–2.10; 2.11–3.12; 3.13–5.11). 130   E.g., Elliott 83. 131   See further Horrell, ‘Fear, Hope, and Doing Good’, 409–29. 128 129

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of both points in the letter—especially the significance of the lengthy scriptural quotation in 3.10–12—is to see this quotation as a central hinge of the letter, identifying key thematic concerns that are woven throughout,132 but to see the marker ἀγαπητοί as a deliberate (and therefore significant) structural division in the plan of the letter. In considering such points it is worth reminding ourselves that, beyond the formal aspects of letter-writing convention (e.g., opening and closing greetings, and so on), the author is unlikely to have worked with a conscious or deliberate sense of a structural plan, such that discerning a detailed plan is an exercise in scholarly analysis rather than an act of ‘discovering’ what was intended. Insofar as such structural outlines help us to see the shape and message of the letter, they are helpful, but we should remain aware of their degree of artifice. These various insights may therefore be woven into a more systematic literary analysis of the letter, which forms the basis for the divisions in the commentary that follows: Greetings 1.1–2

Epistolary Prescript: Identification of Author/Addressees and Opening Greetings

Opening Blessing: God’s Glorious Salvation 1.3–12 1.3–5 Blessing of God for a New Birth 1.6–9 Trials, Trust, and Future Joy 1.10–12 Prophecy Concerning Christ and the Salvation now Announced First Major Section of the Letter-Body 1.13–2.10 1.13–16 A Call to Holiness 1.17–21 A Note of Warning and a Reminder of their Costly Redemption 1.22–25 A Call to Love based on Rebirth from Divine Seed 2.1–3 An Exhortation to Crave Spiritual Food for Growth 2.4–10 Christ the Chosen Cornerstone and the Community as a Chosen People

  See Woan, ‘Psalms in 1 Peter’, 213–29; idem, ‘Use of the Old Testament’.

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Second Major Section of the Letter-Body 2.11–4.11 2.11–12 Exhortation to Good Conduct while Living as Strangers 2.13–17 Submission and Freedom within the Structures of Imperial Power 2.18–25 Instructions to Slaves through an Appeal to the Example of Christ 3.1–7 Instructions to Wives and (more briefly) to Husbands 3.8–12 Summary Instructions to All, and Supporting Scriptural Quotation 3.13–17 Suffering for Doing Good, and Being Ready to Give an Account 3.18–22 Christ’s Suffering, Proclamation to the Imprisoned Spirits, and Vindication 4.1–6 Exhortation to Keep Away from Sin and a Past Way of Life, for Judgment Will Come 4.7–11 Instructions on Life within the Christian Community Third Major Section of the Letter-Body 4.12–5.11 4.12–19 Sharing the Sufferings of Christ and Glorifying God ‘as a Christian’ 5.1–5 Instruction to Elders and to the Whole Community 5.6–11 Depending on God and Resisting the Devil Closing Greetings 5.12–14

Sources, Traditions, and Affinities Our letter has long been recognised as ‘une Épître de la Tradition’.133 Its sources include the Jewish scriptures, as well as various formulary materials (e.g., hymns, dominical sayings, etc.) from the Jesus tradition and even a few Pauline letters. The Petrine author weaves these materials together creating a patchwork of citations and allusions upon which he builds his paraenesis.134 Despite the widespread agreement that 1 Peter makes abundant use of source materials, the identification of these sources has led to considerable debate. The exact number of times that 1 Peter   Spicq 15.   For an early thorough study, see Foster, ‘Literary Relations’.

133 134

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makes a specific reference to the Jewish scriptures is a question upon which few have been able to agree. This is due in large part to disputes over the legitimacy of proposed citations/allusions. But the variation can also be attributed to the different definitions (and labels) from which scholars have worked. When it comes to drawing literary connections with early Christian materials, a different issue arises. Scholars readily acknowledge that 1 Peter contains numerous linguistic and structural affinities with other NT texts; yet many are reticent to posit a literary relationship. Instead, such affinities are normally attributed to oral traditions that circulated within early Christianity and from which multiple authors drew.135 Before we examine the use of sources and traditions in 1 Peter, therefore, it is important to first explain the method by which these materials will be identified and described.136 In the discussion that follows, references to written sources in 1 Peter will be described using two basic categories: (1) citation/ quotation, which is defined as the re-use of one or more word(s) or concept(s) from a source-text as indicated by a citation formula (or some equivalent); and (2) allusion, which involves the re-use of one or more word(s) or concept(s) from a source-text without any explicit indication.137 By their very nature, the only distinguishing   According to Brodie, one of the factors that can mislead or cause confusion within discussions of intertextuality is the postulation of alternative explanations like shared tradition. He notes that the latter ‘is possible, and cannot be directly disproved. But it is a gratuitous claim and cannot be proved. And since it bears the burden of proof—it claims…traditions for which there is no reliable evidence—it is in the weaker position’ (Birthing of the New Testament, 47; cf. Adamczewski, Q or not Q?, 204). 136   For further discussion, see Williams, ‘Intertextuality and Methodological Bias’, 169–87. 137   In examining the use of the OT in 1 Peter, scholars have created complex classification schemes that draw fine distinctions between different types of intertextual references. Most notable are the treatments by Schutter (Hermeneutic, 35–43) and Woan (‘Psalms in 1 Peter’, 213–15), who not only distinguish between types of citations but also between levels of allusions (and beyond). While these taxonomic classifications are a useful heuristic tool for understanding textual references in 1 Peter, they tend to treat OT references in isolation from other source materials, which fuels the view that other literary connections in 1 Peter (e.g., with early Christian writings) are either secondary or altogether absent. Furthermore, the narrow focus of these categories (e.g., ‘biblicism’) means that they are not (easily) transferable to different forms of source material. 135



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characteristic between these categories is the (lack of a) formulary introduction. The purpose of using structural definitions like these is that they place all intertextual references—whether from the Jewish scriptures or from early Christian writings—on the same grounds.138 Perhaps even more important than the labels that describe source-references is the method used to identify them. The importance of methodology in this case is magnified by the fact that most who treat the topic of intertextuality in 1 Peter neglect to specify the criteria they use to judge the existence and direction of literary dependence.139 Even when a clearly articulated method has been employed, it has not prevented an imbalanced treatment of the relevant materials. This can be seen most readily in the studies of Shimada, who is one of the few Petrine interpreters that has delineated a set of criteria for making source-critical judgments.140 One drawback with Shimada’s approach,141 however, is that he fails to

  It is important to recognise that both the use of Jewish scripture and early Christian writings are instances of literary dependence. Some have overlooked this because they define literary dependence too narrowly. For instance, Sargent understands literary dependence to involve ‘the conscious imitation of another text’ (Written to Serve, 9 n. 16; cf. Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 105). But while literary borrowing might involve exact replication (see n. 140 below, on Shimada), it could just as easily include a significant departure from the source text (cf. 2 Peter’s use of Jude). 139   The absence of criteria is not just a problem within Petrine studies, it a lacuna within biblical studies more generally, as noted in a recent work on intertextuality: ‘it may come as somewhat of a surprise to realize that there is no recognized self-evident method of tracing literary dependence, whether in biblical studies or elsewhere’ (Brodie, et al., ‘Problems of Method’, 291). 140   Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 100–166. Shimada proposes the use of four guidelines to confirm literary dependence: (1) A passage should be quoted explicitly and extensively (and the author and writings, from which he allegedly quotes, should be identified, if possible). (2) From a context-analytical point of view, both the original and the reproduced passages or phrases should be exactly the same, or at least very similar. (3) The phrases (if possible, with the same word order) or words should be identical, or be replaced with paronyms of similar meaning. (4) The concepts represented should be the same or very close (105). The importance of these methodological principles within Petrine scholarship derives from their perception among interpreters. Shimada’s regulated method gives the impression that his conclusions are situated on a firm methodological foundation (see Elliott 22; cf. Achtemeier 16 n. 148). 141   See Horrell, Becoming Christian, 17 n. 66, 20; Williams, ‘Intertextuality and Methodological Bias’, 176–78. 138

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take into account the variety of ways that intertextual borrowing occurred in Greco-Roman antiquity, and as a result, his criteria are so rigidly constructed that literary dependence could rarely—if ever—be demonstrated. Attempting to move the discussion beyond the work of Shimada, we have recently proposed a new set of criteria by which one can seek to demonstrate, with a reasonable degree of probability, whether literary borrowing has occurred in 1 Peter. Echoing many of the criteria that have been recently discussed in both Hebrew Bible/OT142 and NT studies,143 we suggest that there are five general guidelines—each serving different purposes—that could be used to gauge the strength of the evidence related to literary dependence in 1 Peter. These include: Explicit Reference. The most certain indicator of literary dependence occurs when an author makes a direct reference to a source, either by explicitly naming the source or by using a quotation formula to introduce a citation. External Plausibility. The relationships of time and space must allow for the possibility that an author borrowed from a particular source. That is, ‘[d]ependence can be invoked only if external factors make such dependence plausible’.144 In order to propose a literary connection between two documents, the hypotext must have been composed prior to the hypertext, and it must have been accessible (either in written or aural form) to the author of the hypertext.

142   E.g., Edenburg, ‘How (not) to Murder a King’, 72–74; Carr, ‘Direction of Dependence’, 107–40; Stackert, Rewriting the Torah, 21–27; Leonard, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 241–65; Lyons, From Law to Prophecy, 59–67; Bergsma, ‘Biblical Manumission Laws’, 1:65–89. 143   E.g., Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge, 11–24; Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 29–32; Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture, 33–37; Allison, Intertextual Jesus, 10–13; MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 8–9; Brodie, Birthing of the New Testament, 43–49; Adamczewski, Q or not Q?, 187–205; Winn, Mark and the Elijah–Elisha Narrative, 30–33; Nelligan, Quest for Mark’s Sources, 18–32. 144   Brodie, Birthing of the New Testament, 44. Cf. also MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 8; Winn, Mark and the Elijah–Elisha Narrative, 30; Nelligan, Quest for Mark’s Sources, 27–28.



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Authorial Tendency. The chances of literary borrowing increase when a given author has demonstrated a tendency to use source materials in other written works, and/or in the text in question. Recurrence. If a source was widely known and commonly quoted by other authors during a given time period, this can increase the chances that it was cited by the author in question.145 Verbal Agreement.146 If the two documents share a certain level, number, and type of verbal affinities, then it is plausible to posit a literary connection between them. Level of Similarities. Verbatim agreement across multiple words or phrases provides the clearest indication of literary borrowing; however, a difference in the form and order of words need not rule out a literary connection between two texts. In some cases, a receptor-text might depart from its source-text in significant ways (cf. 2 Peter’s use of Jude). Therefore, the similarities between two texts should be the determining factor for evaluating literary dependence, not their differences.147 Number of Similarities. As the number of similarities are multiplied, the likelihood of a literary connection also increases. Nevertheless, the numbers in and of themselves can be misleading: ‘parallels   Cf. Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 30; Nelligan, Quest for Mark’s Sources, 28.   The value of this criterion is downplayed by Sargent, who claims that ‘an assessment of verbal similarities relies too much on whether the majority readings of extant OG Scripture, to which a possible citation might be compared, was really available [to] the New Testament writer in question’ (Written to Serve, 52). It is true that the fluidity of the scriptural text might create difficulties if there were some discrepancies between a potential citation and the extant text of the OG; nevertheless, in cases where there is considerable verbal and structural agreement, it can (potentially) be a strong indication of literary borrowing. 147   Cf. Leonard, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 249: ‘The presence of shared language may serve to indicate a connection between texts or traditions. More importantly, however, the fact that a text contains additional language that is idiosyncratic or not shared in no way undermines the possibility of a connection. Unique or idiosyncratic language may be a reflection of the creativity or writing style of a given author. It may even point toward an author’s use of multiple sources. It tells us very little, however, about the existence or nonexistence of allusions in the language that is shared with other texts’ (original emphasis). 145 146

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between two texts may be numerous but trivial… On the other hand, as few as two or three weighty similarities may suffice.’148 Type of Similarities. If two texts contain similar words, phrases, or ideas which distinguish them from other texts (i.e., if they both employ terms or phrases that are rare, or if they both use language in a peculiar way), this increases the likelihood that a literary connection exists.149 This can be one of the strongest arguments in favour of dependence.150 The first criterion (Explicit Reference) is not a necessary prerequisite for positing a literary relationship between texts; however, if it does occur, such a connection cannot be denied. This criterion, in many ways, goes without saying. It is nevertheless included as an initial point of departure. Moving beyond the explicit indication of literary borrowing, the second criterion (External Plausibility) serves as an essential condition that must be met in order for a literary connection to be plausible. The next two criteria (Authorial Tendency and Recurrence) mark another category of evidence, providing indirect support for literary borrowing. When these factors are present, they serve to increase the probability that borrowing has occurred, but on their own they cannot be used to demonstrate literary dependence. In this way, they are supplementary considerations that add cumulative weight to existing evidence. The final criterion (Verbal Agreement) provides ‘the most objective and   MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 8.   Cf. Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 30; Edenburg, ‘How (not) to Murder a King’, 72; Leonard, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 251–52; Bergsma, ‘Biblical Manumission Laws’, 66–68; Nelligan, Quest for Mark’s Sources, 30. 150   This criterion has been challenged on the grounds that ‘[e]ven an event [or, in this case, a word or phrase] which is intrinsically highly improbable…is quite likely to occur if it is given sufficient opportunity to do so’ (Noble, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 250). In relation to two different stories (or texts), Noble contends, ‘The longer they are the more opportunity they afford for a resemblance to arise just by chance; and if they are sufficiently long it becomes quite likely that they will resemble each other in some way or other, even though the particular resemblances that happen to occur may indeed be improbable’ (250; original emphasis). The problem is that within Noble’s constructed hierarchy, a remote possibility is afforded just as much weight (if not more) than something that is highly likely. Consequently, his argument fails to account for varying levels of probability that are inherent within any decision regarding literary dependence. 148 149



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verifiable’ basis for making judgments related to the use of sourcetexts.151 Therefore, when linguistic and thematic similarities occur, they deserve sustained attention. Guidelines like these do not represent mathematical formulae by which to conclusively prove literary dependence. It must be recognised that ‘no list of criteria, however sophisticated, can altogether clarify the fuzzy logic of intertextual referencing. Criteria are tests, not laws.’152 They are merely ways of facilitating the assessment of literary affinities between two texts with the goal of discerning the relative probability that borrowing has occurred. Furthermore, literary connections are not determined on the basis of any single criterion being met, but on the cumulative weight from multiple criteria.153 Old Testament/Jewish Scriptures and Traditions Initial Bibliography Jostein Ådna, ‘Alttestamentliche Zitate im 1. Petrusbrief’, in Von der Septuaginta zum Neuen Testament. Textgeschichtliche Erörterungen, ed. Martin Karrer, et al, ANTF 43 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 229–48; Karen H. Jobes, ‘The Septuagint Textual Tradition in 1 Peter’, in Septuagint Research: Issues and Challenges in the Study of the Greek Jewish Scriptures, ed. Wolfgang Kraus and R. Glenn Wooden, SCS 53 (Atlanta: SBL, 2006), 311–33; Katherine A. Marcar, ‘The Quotations of Isaiah in 1 Peter: A Text-Critical Analysis’, TC 21 (2016): 1–22; eadem, ‘Building a Holy House: Identity Formation in the Community Rule, 4QFlorilegium, and 1 Peter 2.4–10’, in Muted Voices of the New Testament: Readings in the Catholic Epistles and Hebrews, ed. Katherine M. Hockey, Madison N. Pierce, and Francis Watson, LNTS 587 (London: Bloomsbury, 2017), 41–54; Christoph G. Müller, ‘Der Erste Petrusbrief und die Schrift’, in Schätze der Schrift: Festgabe für Hans F. Fuhs zur Vollendung seines 65. Lebensjahres, ed. Ansgar Moenikes, PaThSt 47 (Munich: Schöningh,

151   Leonard, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 247; cf. also Nurmela, ‘Growth of the Book of Isaiah’, 246–47. 152   MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 8. This perspective is to be contrasted with the much more optimistic view of Goodspeed, who stated, ‘No method in literary study is more objective or more fruitful than the comparison of one work with another to determine the question of literary indebtedness’ (‘Foreword’, vii). 153   Cf. Edenburg, ‘How (not) to Murder a King’, 72; Leonard, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 253–55; Winn, Mark and the Elijah–Elisha Narrative, 32–33.

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2007), 197–213; Thomas P. Osborne, ‘L’utilisation des citations de l’Ancien Testament dans la première épître de Pierre’, RTL 12 (1981): 64–77; Thomas James Parker, ‘Jesus and Scripture: A Comparative Study of Hebrews, James, 1 and 2 Peter and their Use of the Old Testament and Jesus Traditions’ (Ph.D. diss., Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, 2022), 109–41; Benjamin Sargent, Written to Serve: The Use of Scripture in 1 Peter, LNTS 547 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015); William L. Schutter, Hermeneutic and Composition in I Peter, WUNT 2/30 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1989); Susan A. Woan, ‘The Psalms in 1 Peter’, in The Psalms in the New Testament, ed. Steve Moyise and Maarten J. J. Menken (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 213–29; eadem, ‘The Use of the Old Testament in 1 Peter, with especial focus on the role of Psalm 34’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Exeter, 2008).

Scriptural Sources in 1 Peter. One source from which the Petrine author draws extensively is the Jewish scriptures.154 This is clear enough from the fact that, on occasion, the letter employs quotation formulae to indicate the presence of scriptural citations (cf. 1 Pet. 1.16, 24–25; 2.6–8, 25; 3.10–12). Even when such formulae are absent, numerous allusions are posited. By some estimates, the letter contains as many as thirty or forty references to specific scriptural passages.155 Beyond this, many consider 1 Peter to be filled with intertextual echoes (or even, what some describe as ‘biblicisms’), which mark a connection to the language and themes of the scriptural text. When the count is extended to include these references, then ‘scarcely a verse in this epistle would be exempt’.156 Thus, among the writings of the NT, 1 Peter is—along with Romans, Hebrews, and Revelation—one of the most saturated with references to the Jewish scriptures. 154   Aside from the studies listed in the initial bibliography, numerous (unpublished) doctoral dissertations have focused on this topic as well. See, e.g., Lea, ‘Peter’s Use of the Old Testament’; Glenny, ‘Use of the Old Testament in 1 Peter’; Mudendeli, ‘L’utilisation de l’Ancien Testament’; McCartney, ‘Use of the Old Testament’; Gréaux, ‘Function of the Old Testament’; Woan ‘Use of the Old Testament’. 155   According to Osborne (‘L’utilisation des citations’, 65), the letter contains 31 references to the Old Testament, while Schutter (Hermeneutic, 43) counts 41. Some find even more scriptural references in 1 Peter: 59 references (Hiršs, Ein Volk aus Juden und Heiden, 13–14); 64 references (Gréaux, ‘The Lord Delivers Us’, 610–12). A maximalist case for the influence of Ps 33 (LXX) on 1 Peter was originally made by Bornemann (‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 143–65; for critique, see Schutter, Hermeneutic, 44–49, and further discussion below). 156   Carson, ‘1 Peter’, 1015.



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The letter contains eight explicit quotations from the scriptural text, each introduced with some kind of introductory marker.157 The passages, along with their reference and citation formula, are listed in the table below. Text 1 Pet 1.16 1 Pet 1.24–25 1 Pet 2.6 1 Pet 2.7

Reference Lev 19.2 Isa 40.6–8 Isa 28.16 Ps 117[118].22

1 Pet 2.8 1 Pet 3.10–12 1 Pet 4.8 1 Pet 5.5

Isa 8.14 Ps 33[34].13–17 Prov 10.12 Prov 3.34

Formula διότι γέγραπται διότι διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ… (implied from v. 6) καί (as a continuation of v. 6) γάρ ὅτι158 ὅτι

It is generally agreed that 1 Peter quotes from the text of the Greek scriptures, rather than the Hebrew Bible.159 This is clear from how closely 1 Peter corresponds to the Greek text. On occasion, there is exact agreement between the Petrine citation/allusion and the reconstructed text from the Old Greek,160 an outcome that is highly   To the list of explicit quotations, Elliott (13) adds 1 Pet 2.25 (citing Isa 53.6); however, the γάρ in this passage is insufficient to serve as an introductory formula, since it is integral to the flow of the sentence’s argument. Commenting on 4.18, Achtemeier (317 n. 171) makes the erroneous claim: ‘Only once does the author indicate a quotation (1:16); normally, he does not (e.g., 1:24-25; 2:6 [where the RSV has added a gratuitous “it stands in scripture”]; 3:10-12)’ (the phrase in square brackets is Achtemeier’s). This is an odd slip, since Achtemeier himself translates διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ (2.6), ‘it stands written in Scripture’ (149; cf. 159). 158   The citations in both 1 Pet 4.8 and 5.5 are introduced by ὅτι, which is not as clear as other formula markers. But Schutter (Hermeneutic, 37) makes the case ‘that ὅτι may reflect διότι, the author’s seemingly preferred [introductory formula] used consistently for the first four citations, and may compare as well with the causal use of γὰρ [sic] to introduce what can only be the explicit quotation of Ps. 34 in 3.10–12’. 159   One dissenting opinion is that of Voorwinde (‘Old Testament Quotations’, 6), although his decision is influenced more by the assumption that the Petrine author (whom he identifies as Peter) was the apostle to the Jews than by a close analysis of the textual evidence. 160   According to Jobes (‘Septuagint Textual Tradition’, 315), there are five places where the agreement is either exact or where there are only trivial 157

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unlikely if the author were providing his own translation of the Hebrew.161 Even stronger evidence that 1 Peter was dependent upon the Greek scriptures is the fact that when the Greek and Hebrew texts diverge from one another, the Petrine author tends to follow the former.162 Aside from direct citations, 1 Peter also contains numerous allusions to the Jewish scriptures.163 In some cases, these echoes are very strong, involving verbatim agreement across multiple words or phrases. Some of the clearest examples are listed below. Allusion in 1 Peter εἰ ἐγεύσασθε ὅτι χρηστὸς ὁ κύριος (1 Pet 2.3) ὃς ἁμαρτίαν οὐκ ἐποίησεν οὐδὲ εὑρέθη δόλος ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτοῦ (1 Pet 2.22)

Source Text γεύσασθε καὶ ἴδετε ὅτι χρηστὸς ὁ κύριος (Ps 33.9 LXX) ὅτι ἀνομίαν οὐκ ἐποίησεν, οὐδὲ εὑρέθη δόλος ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτοῦ (Isa 53.9 LXX)

differences without textual or hermeneutical significance: 1 Pet 1.16 (Lev 19.2); 2.7 (Ps 117[118].22); 2.12 (Isa 10.3); 2.22 (Isa 53.9); 4.18 (Prov 11.31); 5.5 (Prov 3.34). But this list could easily be expanded even further. If the primary issue is correspondence with the Greek text, then other citations/allusions could be added, e.g., 1 Pet 2.3 (Ps 33[34].9); 2.24 (Isa 53.5, 12); 3.14–15 (Isa 8.12–13). 161   This is not to imply that the Petrine author slavishly follows his source-text. At times, he departs from both the Hebrew and Greek texts to facilitate his interpretive aims. But, overall, his manipulation of the scriptural text is fairly limited (see Ådna, ‘Alttestamentliche Zitate’, 229–48). 162   There are three places where this type of divergence occurs: (a) 1 Pet 1.24–25 (Isa 40.6–8): both 1 Peter and the OG lack ‫‘( כי רוח יהוה נשבה בו אכן חציר העם‬when the breath of YHWH blows on it; surely the people are grass’); (b) 1 Pet 4.18 (Prov 11.31): whereas the Hebrew text represents a qal wāḥômer argument that establishes the guarantee of recompense in this life, in both 1 Peter and the OG the recompense is placed in the afterlife; (c) 1 Pet 5.5 (Prov 3.34): both 1 Peter and the OG depart from the MT in the first half of the couplet, marking God’s resistance to the arrogant (ὁ θεὸς/κύριος ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται) instead of God’s scoffing at scoffers (‫)אם ללצים הוא יליץ‬. 163   Vahrenhorst notes that in such allusions to the scriptural text, the Petrine author ‘sich der Sprache der Heiligen Schrift bedient, um seine eigenen Gedanken zur Sprache zu bringen’; that is to say, ‘dass die Heilige Schrift in ihrer griechischen Fassung für den Verfasser des 1Petr so etwas wie ein “Sprachraum” ist, in dem er sich souverän bewegt – und dessen Sprache er sich hin und wieder ganz selbstverständlich bedient’ (‘Der Text der Septuaginta’, 270).



INTRODUCTION τὸν δὲ φόβον αὐτῶν μὴ φοβηθῆτε μηδὲ ταραχθῆτε, κύριον δὲ τὸν Χριστὸν ἁγιάσατε ἐν ταῖς καρδίαις ὑμῶν (1 Pet 3.14–15) καὶ εἰ ὁ δίκαιος μόλις σῴζεται, ὁ ἀσεβὴς καὶ ἁμαρτωλὸς ποῦ φανεῖται (1 Pet 4.18)164

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τὸν δὲ φόβον αὐτοῦ οὐ μὴ φοβηθῆτε οὐδὲ μὴ ταραχθῆτε· κύριον αὐτὸν ἁγιάσατε, καὶ αὐτὸς ἔσται σου φόβος (Isa 8.12–13 LXX) εἰ ὁ μὲν δίκαιος μόλις σῴζεται, ὁ ἀσεβὴς καὶ ἁμαρτωλὸς ποῦ φανεῖται (Prov 11.31 LXX)

In other cases, characters from the Jewish scriptures are mentioned in ways that obviously allude to the biblical narratives (Sarah: 1 Pet 3.6/Gen 18.12; Noah: 1 Pet 3.19–20/Gen 6.1–8.22). Scriptural allusions are also evident from the presence of rare terms or phrases, or from the peculiar use of language that 1 Peter shares in common with a scriptural passage: 1 Pet 2.9 (Exod 19.6 and Isa 43.20–21); 2.10 (Hos 1.6, 9; 2.1, 3, 25); 3.22 (Ps 109[100].1 and Ps 8.6–7). At times, the verbal parallels are not quite as extensive as those listed above, but there are still sufficient similarities to suggest the presence of a scriptural reference. Examples of these weaker allusions include: 1 Pet 2.12 (Isa 10.3); 2.17 (Prov 24.21); 2.23 (Isa 53.7); 2.24 (Isa 53.5, 12 and Deut 21.23); 2.25 (Isa 53.6); 3.6 (Prov 3.25); 4.14 (Isa 11.2); 5.7 (Ps 54[55].23[22]). Finally, there are some cases where the passage in question displays a few minor affinities with a given scriptural passage, but not enough to posit a literary relationship with any certainty. In this category of potential (or possible) allusions we could include: 1 Pet 1.18 (Isa 52.3); 1.19

164   At times, καί is used to string together multiple quotations in a way similar to the waw-consecutive in Hebrew (cf. Rom 15.10–12; 2 Cor 6.16–18). The Petrine author employs the conjunction in this way in 2.8, where it serves as a continuation of a previous citation formula (διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ, 2.6). It is on this basis that some view the καί in 4.18 as an introduction to the OT reference (see Schutter, Hermeneutic, 37; Elliott 13). However, without a preceding formula, the use of καί alone is a somewhat weak and uncertain basis for introducing a quotation. Furthermore, as even Schutter himself admits, ‘καὶ [sic] seems to be used more to draw the quotation into the natural flow of the author’s discourse than to serve the proper introductory role it did in 2.8’ (Hermeneutic, 37). Consequently, the scriptural reference in 1 Pet 4.18 is best described as an allusion.

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(Isa 53.7; cf. Exod 12.5); 2.11 (Gen 23.4; cf. Ps 38.13 LXX); 3.13 (Isa 50.9); 4.17 (Ezek 9.6); 5.8 (Ps 21[22].14).165 The manner in which these scriptural passages are referenced varies considerably. Some of the references are rather simple cita­ tions, consisting of a formulary introduction followed by the scriptural text (e.g., 1 Pet 1.16/Lev 19.2; 1 Pet 3.10–12/Ps 33[34].13– 17). But others involve much more complexity. Schutter lists six different kinds of complex references in 1 Peter:166 (1) the abbreviation or ‘telescoping’ of a text (1 Pet 2.10/Hos 1.6, 9; 2.1, 3, 25; 1 Pet 2.22–25/Isa 53.5–12); (2) a catena of texts gathered around a single idea (1 Pet 2.6–8/Stone testimonia); (3) the conflation of multiple texts (1 Pet 2.24/Isa 53.5, 12 and Deut 21.23); (4) the wider text-plot is presupposed (1 Pet 1.24–25/Isa 40.6–8; 1 Pet 2.22–25/Isa 53.5– 12); (5) a crucial association of the text with a familiar exegetical tradition is presupposed (1 Pet 2.24/Deut 21.23 and the cross; 1 Pet 3.19–20/Gen 6.1–8.22 and the Watchers); and (6) a concentration of numerous texts, or ‘florilegium’ (1 Pet 2.3–10). Among the scriptural books that seem to have been most influential in the composition of 1 Peter, three stand out: Isaiah (15 references), Psalms (7 references), and Proverbs (5 references).167 Given the author’s christological approach toward ancient prophecy (1 Pet 1.10–12), it is probably not a coincidence that the book of Isaiah is appealed to with such frequency.168 As with other Hebrew prophets, the ‘spirit of Christ’ is thought to have been at work in

165   Other allusions have been suggested within the relevant literature, e.g., 1 Pet 1.21 (Isa 52.13); 1.25b (Isa 40.9); 2.4 (Ps 33[34].6); 2.9 (Isa 42.12; Mal 3.17 or Hag 2.9); 3.18b (Isa 53.11); 4.19 (Ps 30.6 LXX) 5.7 (Wis 12.13). But ultimately the similarities are insufficient to posit a literary connection. One question that these subtle references raise is the scriptural literacy of the readers. On this question, see Müller, ‘Der Erste Petrusbrief und die Schrift’, 197–213. 166   See Schutter, Hermeneutic, 43. 167   Interestingly enough, Isaiah and Psalms are two books that were frequently cited in the epigraphic evidence from later Christians living in Asia Minor (see Breytenbach, ‘Early Christians’, 759–74). 168   On the use of Isaiah in 1 Peter, see Moyise, ‘Isaiah in 1 Peter’, 175–88; Langford, Defending Hope. Some, it could be argued, tend to overemphasise the influence of deutero-Isaiah on the composition of 1 Peter to the neglect of other sources (e.g., Rehfeld, ‘Die “Gottesknechtsgrammatik” ’, 121; Egan, Scriptural Narrative). While the impact of deutero-Isaiah on the Petrine author cannot be denied, it represents only one of a number of sources from which he draws.



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Isaiah169 as he predicted the sufferings of Christ (Isa 53.5–12), the gospel’s proclamation to the readers (Isa 40.6–8), the division (belief/stumbling) created by the message of Christ (Isa 28.16/8.14), the need for commitment to the lordship of Christ amidst suffering (Isa 8.12–13), and the bestowal of the spirit on those who are afflicted (Isa 11.2).170 Consistent with the number of points of contact, scholars have tended to focus most closely on the references to Isaiah 53, where Jesus’ suffering is aligned with the fate of the Suffering Servant described in deutero-Isaiah. More than just seeking to understand Jesus’ experience through the lens of a traditional pattern, the Petrine author identifies Jesus as the Suffering Servant who has been ‘predicted’ in the sacred scriptures. Various authors within early Christianity drew from Isaiah 53 (e.g., Matt 8.17; Mark 14.61; Acts 8.32–33); but one could make the case that 1 Pet 2.21–25 represents ‘the earliest definite proof for the full identification of Jesus with the servant in all its Christological significance’, including the concept of vicarious suffering.171 It is possible that the Petrine author, like others within ancient Judaism and early Christianity, viewed the Psalms prophetically.172   At this time, the book of Isaiah would have been read as a unified composi�tion, written by a single author, the prophet Isaiah. This is evident both from the ancient references to the prophet and his work (cf. Josephus, Ant. 10.35; 11.5–6; 13.64; 4 Macc 18.14; Matt 3.3; John 12.38–39) as well as the manuscript evidence from Qumran (1QIsaa–b, 4QIsa 1b–c, e), which reveals no indication of a division. 170   Many of these same passages are alluded to elsewhere in the NT: Isa 8.14 (Luke 2.34; Rom 9.33); Isa 11.2 (Eph 1.17); Isa 28.16 (1 Cor 3.11; Eph 2.20); Isa 53.5 (Matt 26.27); Isa 53.7 (Matt 27.12; Mark 14.60–61; 15.4–5; 1 Cor 5.7; Rev 5.6; 13.8); Isa 53.12 (Matt 27.38; Luke 23.33–34; Heb 9.28). 171   Hooker, Jesus and the Servant, 127; cf. also Langkammer, ‘Jes 53 und 1 Petr 2,21–25’, 90–98; Achtemeier, ‘Suffering Servant’, 176–88. It appears that this interpretation was aided in some ways by the Greek translation of the LXX (see Breytenbach, ‘ “Christus litt euretwegen” ’, 437–54). 172   This emerging tradition was the result of attributing the Psalms to David, who increasingly came to be viewed as a prophet (see Fitzmyer, ‘David, “Being therefore a Prophet…” ’, 332–39; Flint, ‘Prophet David at Qumran’, 158–67). David is explicitly identified as a prophet by multiple authors (Philo, Agr. 50; Her. 290; Acts 2.29–31), while others describe his prophetic abilities, including the capacity to predict future events (cf. Josephus, Ant. 6.166; 8.109–110; Acts 1.16; 2.29–31; Barn. 12.10). As a prophet, David is said to have composed the Psalms through prophecy (11QPsa 27.2–11). For this reason, pesher commentaries are devoted to the Psalms at Qumran. 169

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If so, they would record David’s predictions about the rejection of Christ (Ps 117[118].22), along with his eventual exhaltation (Ps 109[100].1 and Ps 8.6–7). The prophecies would also relate to the readers as well, defining the ethic by which they should live (Ps 33[34].13–17) and reminding them of the goodness of the Lord (Ps 33[34].9), who cared for them (Ps 54[55].23[22]).173 Of these references, scholars have tended to focus most of their attention on Psalm 33 LXX [34 Heb]. Years ago, Bornemann set forth the theory that this psalm was the key text on which 1 Peter was based, claiming to find six quotations and numerous echoes of the psalm in 1 Peter.174 Since that time, much has been written on this topic, with most judging Bornemann’s case to be vastly overstated. There appear to be far fewer references to Psalm 33 LXX [34 Heb] than Bornemann imagined.175 Nevertheless, some have continued to maintain that this psalm played a formative role in the composition of 1 Peter beyond providing a linguistic connection.176 What ties 1 Peter together so closely with Psalm 33 LXX [34 Heb] is the context of suffering out of which each is thought to have arisen.177 Because the later superscription identified the psalm with David’s escape from king Abimelech, it   Other early Christian writers likewise referenced many of the same passages: Ps 8.6 (1 Cor 15.27; Eph 1.20–21); Ps 109[100].1 (Matt 22.44; 26.64; Mark 12.36; 14.62; Luke 20.42–43; 22.69; Acts 2.34–35; Heb 1.3); Ps 117.22 LXX (Matt 21.42; Mark 12.10–11; Luke 20.17; Acts 4.11; Rom 9.33). For a fuller list (although with an exaggerated number of references), see Phillips, ‘Use of the Psalms’, 115–18. 174   Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 146–51. 175   A much more conservative estimate is found in Jobes, ‘Got Milk?’, 10–12, who lists eight different echoes aside from the two citations (cf. Schutter, Hermeneutic, 44–49, who lists nine potential references). Some, however, still insist on a rather large number of connections (e.g., Hauge, ‘Reading 1 Peter in Light of Psalm 34’, 88, who lists 18 references, along with 20 different thematic echoes and similar expressions, most containing multiple points of contact). 176   According to Snodgrass (‘I Peter II.1–10’, 102–103), this psalm also shaped the selection of other OT references in 1 Peter (cf. Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 147). Taking this one step further, Woan has proposed that Ps 33 LXX not only influenced the selection of other scriptural references, but also the composition of 1 Peter (see ‘Psalms in 1 Peter’, 222–25; idem, ‘Use of the Old Testament’, 227–35). She claims that, structurally, the quotation in 1 Pet 3.10–12 both summarises the material that precedes it and also introduces the material that follows, in what she refers to as ‘Janus Behaviour’. 177   Gilmour, ‘Psalm 34’s Influence’, 404–11. 173



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came to be read as a record of God’s deliverance.178 Thus, it ‘was applied in situations of affliction and suffering, as a reminder from the history of Israel of the blessing of obedience in the midst of trial’.179 At various points throughout the letter, the author’s citations diverge—sometimes in small ways, sometimes in more substantial ways—from modern printed versions of the LXX. Scholars tend to explain this situation in one of three ways.180 Some have questioned whether the Petrine author had a physical manuscript in front of him when he cites or alludes to a passage from the Jewish scriptures,181 leading to the possibility that discrepancies might represent unintentional changes resulting from the author’s inability to recall the text precisely.182 It is also possible that the divergences stem from the author’s use of an alternate text-form than the one(s) found in modern printed versions of the LXX.183 In such a case, the discrepancy could be unintentional if the author simply adopted the text-form that he had at hand, or it could be intentional if he was aware of variations and then selected the one that best fit his purposes.184 Finally, it may be that the differences represent intentional changes to the source text resulting from the author’s attempt to stress a theological point or to make the passage more applicable to his audience by conforming it to their situation.185 Conclusively 178   On the social setting of Ps 34 [LXX 33], see Eriksson, “Come, Children, Listen to Me!”, 81–93; Botha, ‘Social Setting’, 178–97. 179   Christensen, ‘Solidarity in Suffering’, 350, who cites 4 Macc 18.15 (Ps 34.19) as another example of the psalm’s use during this period. 180   See Stanton 1494; Rodgers, ‘Book of 1 Peter’, 582. 181   E.g., Davids, ‘Second Temple Traditions’, 414. 182   Most commentators at least allow for this possibility when assessing textual variation (see, e.g., Selwyn 24–25, 152; Grudem 133–34; Michaels 78; Elliott 391; Schreiner 188, 196). 183   On the importance of recognising and accounting for textual fluidity (in both the Greek and Hebrew scriptures) prior to studying the Petrine author’s use of scripture, see Egan, Scriptural Narrative, 5–6. 184   It is possible to combine these options as well; that is, it may be that the Petrine author was quoting a fluid text from memory. 185   This possibility assumes that if the author had access to a given source text, then he would have replicated it verbatim unless he was intentionally trying to make a point through alteration. However, we must be careful not to attribute too many of our modern proclivities to ancient writers. Evidence from within the biblical text reveals that Vorlage-based copying often results in many of the

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demonstrating any of these possibilities (esp. the first two) can be difficult, if not impossible, in some instances. Therefore, any conclusions that are drawn from the way that scriptural quotations in 1 Peter depart from their source text will be made with appropriate caution. Non-Scriptural Sources in 1 Peter. The letter does not contain any direct quotations from non-biblical Jewish texts or traditions, though there are some parallels, and some indications that the author of 1 Peter knew Jewish traditions of biblical interpretation and expansion. There are, for example, a few parallels, both general and specific, between 1 Peter and the writings—especially the ‘sectarian’ writings—discovered at Qumran. Both reflect the perspective of apocalyptic groups who viewed their respective communities as God’s holy and elect people in conflict with the wicked world around them.186 More specific parallels exist in the ways the texts draw upon scriptural texts and imagery to describe the community. A notable example is the echo of Isa 28.16 in 1QS and 1 Pet 2.6–8: Therefore thus says the Lord God, See, I am laying in Zion a foundation stone, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation (Isa 28.16, NRSV) It [the Community] shall be the Come to him, a living stone…and tested wall, the costly cornerstone. Its like living stones, let yourselves be foundations shall neither be shaken built into a spiritual house, to be nor be dislodged from their place. a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual (They shall be) a most holy dwelling sacrifices acceptable to God through for Aaron…a house of perfection Jesus Christ. For it stands in scripand truth in Israel (1QS 8.5–9, trans. ture: “See, I am laying in Zion a Charlesworth). stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious; and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame” (1 Pet 2.4–6, NRSV)

same types of differences in the replicated text that are found when a citation is produced solely by memory (see Tooman, ‘Oral and Memory Variants’, 91–114), which indicates that memory plays a key role even in this type of copying (see further Vroom, ‘Role of Memory’, 258–73). 186   See Christiansen, ‘Election as Identity’, 39–64; Marcar, ‘Building a Holy House’, 41–54.



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A different example, where 1 Peter may share in a tradition of Jewish and early Christian biblical reflection is found in 1 Pet 3.19–20 (see ad loc.). This has proved one of the most mysterious sections of the letter, and has traditionally been interpreted as referring to Christ’s descent into hell in the days between his death and resurrection (see also on 4.6). More recently, however, it has been argued that 1 Peter’s specific imagery—concerning ‘the spirits in prison…who were disobedient’ during the time of Noah (3.19–20)—is influenced by the traditions of Jewish reflection on the narratives of Genesis 6–7, especially the story of the ‘sons of God’ (‫)בני־האלהים‬, who came to be known as the ‘Watchers’, in Gen 6.1–4. The Enochic literature, especially the so-called Book of Watchers (1 En 1–36), is a particularly important source for such reflection on this story, and on the themes of sin and punishment as imposed upon wicked angels, giants, spirits and humans.187 Dalton’s landmark study further established the relevance of these traditions for an understanding of this text, though as Pierce has more recently shown, any such influences are best traced not to 1 Enoch or the Enochic literature exclusively, but rather to a broader stream of Jewish reflection (taken up into early Christian literature too), including the Book of Watchers, the Book of Giants (fragmentary, but see esp. 4Q530, 4Q531), Jubilees (e.g., Jub. 5.1–16; 10.1–13), and others (rather differently, in Philo, Gig.).188 Jesus-Traditions and Gospel Materials Initial Bibliography Ernest Best, ‘1 Peter and the Gospel Tradition’, NTS 16 (1970): 95–113; Peter H. Davids, ‘Exalted Lord and Suffering Servant: The Response to Jesus in James and 1 Peter’, in The Earliest Perceptions of Jesus in Context: Essays in Honor of John Nolland on his 70th Birthday, ed. Aaron White, David Wenham, and Craig A. Evans, LNTS 566 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2018), 253–67; Ora D. Foster, ‘The Literary Relations of “The First Epistle of Peter” with Their Bearing on Date and Place of Authorship’, Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 17 (1913): 363–538; Robert H. Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” in I Peter: Their Implications concerning the   For more on this view, see Excursus: Preaching to the Spirits in Prison.   See Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation; Pierce, ‘Reexamining Christ’s Proclamation’, 27–42; idem, Spirits and the Proclamation. 187 188

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Authorship of I Peter and the Authenticity of the Gospel Tradition’, NTS 13 (1966–67): 336–50; idem, ‘Further Verba on Verba Christi in First Peter’, Bib 55 (1974): 211–32; David G. Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered in 1 Peter? Early Jesus Traditions, Isaiah 53, and 1 Peter 2.21–25’, in James, 1 & 2 Peter, and Early Jesus Traditions, ed. Alicia J. Batten and John S. Kloppenborg, LNTS 478 (London/New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014), 123–50; Gerhard Maier, ‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, in Gospel Perspectives, vol. 5: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels, ed. David Wenham (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985), 85–128; Rainer Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangelium im 1. Petrusbrief: Studien zum traditionsgeschichtlichen und theologischen Einfluss des 1. Evangeliums auf den 1. Petrusbrief, WUNT 2/74 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995); Timothy E. Miller, Echoes of Jesus in the First Epistle of Peter (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2022); Duane F. Watson, ‘Early Jesus Tradition in 1 Peter 3.18–22’, in James, 1 & 2 Peter, and Early Jesus Traditions James, 1 & 2 Peter, and Early Jesus Traditions, ed. Alicia J. Batten and John S. Kloppenborg, LNTS 478 (London/New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014), 151–65; Travis B. Williams, ‘Petrine Epistles and Jude’, in The Reception of Jesus in the First Three Centuries, vol. 1: From Paul to Josephus: Literary Receptions of Jesus in the First Century CE, ed. Helen K. Bond (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2019), 277–97; Theron K. Wong, ‘The Use of Jesus’ Sayings in 1 Peter’ (Ph.D. diss., Dallas Theological Seminary, 2008).

We have seen above how extensively 1 Peter draws on the Jewish scriptures and interpretative traditions that arose from them. This section offers some indications as to the author’s knowledge of traditions about Jesus. Extent of Jesus Traditions in 1 Peter. The epistle of 1 Peter contains both traditions from the life and ministry of Jesus as well as some sayings materials. Unlike 2 Peter, which contains an explicit reference to the disciples’ experience on the Mount of Transfiguration (2 Pet 1.17–18), the Petrine author does not include any direct references to narrative accounts that overlap with the canonical Gospels, other than the Passion. Nonetheless, this has not prevented interpreters from identifying numerous allusions to events recorded elsewhere. In 1 Pet 1.3, some have found Peter’s reflection on his denial of Jesus and the subsequent restoration that followed after the resurrection.189 Others contend that the reference 189   Neugebauer, ‘Zur Deutung und Bedeutung’, 70; Bockmuehl, Remembered Peter, 188–205; idem, Simon Peter, 153–63.



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to the exaltation of Jesus to ‘the right hand of God’ (1 Pet 3.22) reflects his ascension to heaven (cf. Acts 2.32–35), with 1 Pet 1.12 describing the Holy Spirit’s descent on the day of Pentecost.190 The letter’s call to humility (1 Pet 5.5) is even thought to reflect the washing of the disciples’ feet during the Last Supper (John 13.4).191 However, most view suggestions like these as somewhat contrived. The one event from the life of Jesus that plays a prominent role in 1 Peter—a point upon which all scholars agree—is his suffering and death. These traditions appear most prominently in 1 Pet 2.21–25, where Jesus is portrayed as the Suffering Servant of deutero-Isaiah.192 There seem to be indications that the author of 1 Peter was aware of various aspects of the passion traditions, notably Jesus’ innocence, his refusal to respond in kind to the accusations of others, his refusal to use violence, and his whipping and eventual death on the cross. While the phrasing of the whole passage reflects the use of Isaiah 53 at various points, knowledge of traditions about Jesus’ Passion has shaped both the appropriation of Isaiah 53 and the content of the passage itself: in v. 23, for example, the echoes of Isaiah are few, but there are substantial points of contact with the traditions of Jesus’ arrest and trial (see further on 2.21–25). It seems that the author of 1 Peter—whether independently, or through some early or alternative tradition of the Passion story—knows some significant details about the life of Jesus, particularly concerning his final days. What we find in 1 Pet 2.21–25, to use Goodacre’s felicitous word, is history and tradition ‘scripturalized’:193 the passage reflects knowledge of the Passion story, a remembered image of the character and conduct of Jesus, and exhibits a number of points of connection with the early Jesus traditions recorded in the Gospels. This does not imply an eyewitness account, nor does it require detailed or literary knowledge of the Synoptic or Johannine gospels, though it does reflect significant awareness of the traditions that   Spicq, ‘La Ia Petri et le témoignage évangélique’, 54.   Tenney, ‘Some Possible Parallels’, 376. For more potential allusions to events in the life of Jesus, see Selwyn 27–33. 192   For a fuller treatment of the Jesus tradition in 1 Pet 2.21–25, see Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered in 1 Peter?’, 123–50. 193   See Goodacre, ‘Scripturalization in Mark’s Crucifixion’, 39–45; idem, ‘Prophecy Historicized’, 37–51. For more on the ways that the lives of important figures (e.g., the Teacher of Righteousness; Jesus) were later read and interpreted through the lens of scripture, see Williams, History and Memory, 201–20. 190 191

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underpin such narratives. Nevertheless, it expresses this image and history of Jesus in the language of Isaiah 53, and as such, not only formulates a passion narrative in nuce but also brings to the centre of Christian theology a particular scriptural text, which henceforth is definitively associated with the suffering of Christ. Along with such knowledge of key aspects of the passion of Jesus, it is also clear that the author of 1 Peter was aware of some of the sayings material from the Jesus tradition. While these instances are not introduced as quotations,194 at various places in the epistle the author appears to echo the words of Jesus in a way that is consistent with the traditions preserved in the canonical Gospels. How much material was known is, however, subject to considerable debate. Over thirty different parallels have been suggested within the relevant literature, although most of these connections are exaggerated.195 Nonetheless, it is clear—and widely agreed—that 1 Peter does contain some clear allusions to the sayings material. The clearest allusions are to parts of the Sermon on the Mount (e.g., 1 Pet 2.12//Matt 5.16; 1 Pet 3.14//Matt 5.10; 1 Pet 4.14//Matt 5.11), with the makarisms providing particularly close parallels.196

194   This tendency is held in common with virtually all early Christian epistles (see further Thompson, Clothed with Christ, 37–63), and therefore we should not make too much of this fact (as some tend to do, e.g., Boring, ‘Narrative Dynamics’, 29). The eucharistic words (1 Cor. 11.23–25) are an exception, for obvious reasons, i.e., their liturgical use in Christian worship. 195   For a full list of suggested parallels, see Chase, ‘First Epistle of Peter’, 787–88; Achtemeier 10 n. 97. While some Petrine scholars have taken a maximalist approach toward this question, postulating almost thirty allusions to the words of Jesus (e.g., Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 336–50; idem, ‘Further Verba’, 211–32; Maier, ‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, 85–128; Miller, Echoes of Jesus), others have taken a minimalist approach, claiming that the number of allusions is no more than a dozen (e.g., Best, ‘Gospel Tradition’, 95–113; Wong, ‘Use of Jesus’ Sayings’, 189–226). 196   Other references to sayings materials are possible. For instance, it may be that the reference to a heavenly inheritance in 1 Pet 1.4 derives from a similar tradition as Matt 6.20 (‘but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal’, NRSV). In the same way, one could make the case that the suffering and glory of the messiah mentioned in 1 Pet 1.11 echoes Luke 24.26–27 and that a certain linguistic parallel exists between 1 Pet 2.19–20 and Luke 6.32–35. Yet, none of these parallels rise to the level of probability.



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1 Peter and the Sayings Material τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς οὕτως λαμψάτω τὸ φῶς ὑμῶν ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν, ἵνα ἔμπροσθεν τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ὅπως ἐν ᾧ καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν ὡς ἴδωσιν ὑμῶν τὰ καλὰ ἔργα καὶ κακοποιῶν ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων δοξάσωσιν τὸν πατέρα ὑμῶν τὸν ἐποπτεύοντες δοξάσωσιν τὸν ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς (Matt 5.16) θεὸν ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (1 Pet 2.12) ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ πάσχοιτε διὰ μακάριοι οἱ δεδιωγμένοι ἕνεκεν δικαιοσύνην, μακάριοι (1 Pet 3.14) δικαιοσύνης (Matt 5.10) εἰ ὀνειδίζεσθε ἐν ὀνόματι μακάριοι ἐστε ὅταν ὀνειδίσωσιν Χριστοῦ, μακάριοι (1 Pet 4.14) ὑμᾶς… ἕνεκεν ἐμοῦ (Matt 5.11)

Source of Jesus Traditions in 1 Peter. The extent of these Jesus traditions leads to the question of sources: from where does the Petrine author derive this Jesus material? Is it possible that the information recounted in the epistle was part of the author’s personal memory as an eyewitness, or is he simply drawing from the oral traditions that were in circulation at the time? Is it possible that the Petrine author had access to the material through the text of the canonical Gospels? All of these possibilities have received serious consideration within scholarship. The similarities discussed above are often cited in an attempt to demonstrate that 1 Peter knows and preserves authentic words of Jesus (verba Christi).197 This, in turn, is thought to establish that the letter derives from eyewitness testimony, namely, that of the apostle Peter. Gundry has even gone so far as to identify a ‘ “Petrine pattern” in the verba Christi’. By this he means that certain dominical sayings in 1 Peter can be linked to ‘contexts in the gospels which are specifically associated with the Apostle Peter or treat topics that would especially interest the Apostle Peter according to the gospel tradition concerning him’.198 In connection with this view, the depiction of Jesus’ passion in 1 Pet 2.21–25 has sometimes been seen to reflect the direct experience of a first-hand observer. As Gundry notes, the ‘references to Jesus’ suffering’ in   See, e.g., Spicq, ‘La Ia Petri et le témoignage évangélique’, 37–61; Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 336–50; idem, ‘Further Verba’, 211–32; Tenney, ‘Some Possible Parallels’, 370–77; Maier, ‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, 85–105. 198   Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 345. 197

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1 Peter suggest that ‘the scene of the crucifixion had left an indelible impression on the author’s mind’.199 The claims made in this regard, however, are both overly maximalist in terms of suggested parallels and also unconvincing in the deduction that such parallels point to Peter’s own authorship of the letter.200 Not only does this approach discount the important language transfer from Jesus’ oral discourse, which most likely occurred in Aramaic, it also privileges the canonical versions by assuming that they preserve the ipsissima verba of Jesus. As Best points out, ‘unusual verbal reminiscences of the existing Greek text of the Gospels would suggest dependence of the author on the gospel tradition rather than directly on the teaching of Jesus himself’.201 Moreover, scholars are becoming increasingly aware of the difficulties involved in reconstructing the ‘original’ words of Jesus. Not only would his words likely have changed from sermon to sermon, when later followers recounted the Jesus story, it would have varied from recitation to recitation.202 At most, what we can say is that certain portions of 1 Peter reflect sayings of Jesus that may have been drawn from oral tradition. But perhaps the greatest flaw in efforts to connect the Jesus traditions in 1 Peter with eyewitness testimony is the failure to account for the interchange between social and autobiographical memory. Every autobiographic recollection is processed through one’s social experiences, cultural environment, and, for ancient Jews and Christians, scriptural heritage. Even within texts written by eyewitnesses, there were no ‘uninterpreted’ memories of Jesus.203 After decades of contributing to and being influenced by collective memory, even 199   Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 347. Cf. also Moffatt 127; Selwyn 22–33, 180; Cranfield 67, 85; Kistemaker 110. This perspective is taken one step further by Maier (‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, 108), who sees Peter as both the author of 1 Peter and as ‘Traditionsträger’ of the narrative tradition that was recorded in the Gospels. 200   See the critical remarks of Best, ‘Gospel Tradition’, 95–113, and Brox, ‘Tradition des Urchristentums’, 187–90. Cf. also Wong, ‘Use of Jesus’ Sayings’, 189–226. 201   Best, ‘Gospel Tradition’, 95. 202   On the performance of the Jesus tradition, see Rodriguez, Structuring Early Christian Memory, 81–113. 203   This is the basis of social memory theory (see esp. Halbwachs, On Collective Memory). For a review of how this approach has been applied to the study of Jesus, see Keith, ‘Social Memory Theory’, 354–76, 517–42.



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the recollections of one who witnessed the life and death of Jesus would have been impacted by the larger tradition.204 The only way to determine whether an account was written by an eyewitness would be through a direct claim to autobiographic recollection—assuming that the claim was not fabricated—or through some knowledge about the author that places him or her in an eyewitness capacity. Therefore, the words and deeds of Jesus recorded in 1 Peter could only be considered eyewitness reflection if—and only if—Petrine authorship has been demonstrated on other grounds.205 So if the passion narrative and the sayings materials cannot be connected with eyewitness reports, from where do they derive? Few have taken 1 Peter to be directly dependent upon the Jesus traditions in their canonical forms. There have been some who have drawn connections between 1 Peter and the Gospel of Mark,206 but these are generally attempts to connect material thought to display a ‘Petrine’ influence (e.g., Gospel of Mark, 1 Peter, speeches in Acts).207 In another case, Metzner has argued that 1 Peter borrowed   Some Petrine interpreters have acknowledged this fact, especially as it relates to the author’s description of Jesus’ passion (e.g., Carrington, ‘Saint Peter’s Epistle’, 60; Hiebert, ‘Following Christ’s Example’, 37); yet it has not prevented them from using this part of the letter as evidence of eyewitness testimony. For more on how tradition impacts personal memory, see Williams, History and Memory, 239–40. 205   More important than whether 1 Peter preserves the ipsissima verba of Jesus is the question of how the sayings material is employed. It is noteworthy that the author never attributes the words directly to Jesus, nor does he even indicate that he is drawing on existing traditions (see above). These dominical sayings are simply woven together seamlessly with other traditional materials. Together, they seem to possess a recognised authority within the community that allows them to function as the foundation for the letter’s paraenesis (see further Lohse, ‘Paränese und Kerygma’, 68–89). As such, it reflects the opposite concern of those who have sought to discover verba Christi in the epistle: using the words of Jesus alongside traditional formulary material without any concern to identify his source, the Petrine author makes no effort to prioritise the words of the historical Jesus; instead, these sayings have simply become part of the tradition that helps to define the identity of Jesus’ followers. 206   Schattenmann (‘Little Apocalypse’, 193–98) argues (unsuccessfully) that 1 Peter is a commentary on the ‘little apocalypse’ in Mark 13. 207   E.g., Scharfe, Die petrinische Strömung; van Dodewaard, ‘Die sprachliche Übereinstimmung’, 218–38; Wilkes, ‘Synoptic Tradition’, 157–63; Moon, Mark as a Contributive Amanuensis, esp. 82–123. Green, Vox Petri, argues that Mark, Peter’s speeches in Acts, and 1 Peter, preserve the authentic vox Petri, though not the ipsissima verba Petri. 204

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from the Gospel of Matthew,208 but his study marks the exception rather than the rule.209 Most believe that both the Petrine author and the evangelists drew from a body of (probably oral) tradition that circulated within the Christian community. Whether the author knew of these traditions specifically as Jesus-traditions or only as Christian paraenetical tradition—possibly, in some cases, via the Pauline tradition (see below)—is hard to determine. But in some cases, at least, it seems virtually certain that the author knew of Jesus traditions independently of Paul. Formulary Materials in 1 Peter. A separate, but related, question (and one that has received different answers over the years) is how much of the Jesus tradition that the author seems to know was derived from pre-formed materials, rather than being constructed by the author himself. Throughout much of modern scholarship, the composition of 1 Peter was explained through the author’s borrowing from other written sources. But at the beginning of the twentieth century, scholars began to reassess the materials that underlie 1 Peter. While theories of literary dependence were still popular, some began to give serious consideration to the possibility of oral source materials, a view that received strong impetus from the earlier introduction of form and tradition criticism. In 1903, Seeberg was the first to suggest that the formula-like material found in 1 Peter might be representative of oral traditions. For the next few decades, others would build on and expand this idea further.210 In the process, a variety of different source materials would be identified: topoi (e.g., rebirth, joy in suffering, brotherly

  See Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangelium, esp. 7–106; cf. also Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus, 103–104. There are various problems with this thesis, however, which have been set out by Elliott, ‘Review of Rainer Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangelium’, 379–82. 209   Another scholar who is open to 1 Peter’s direct literary dependence on the canonical gospels is Schneider (‘Fremde in der Zerstreuung’, 78), who claims that the rock/stone metaphor in 1 Pet 2.4–8 is borrowed from the Synoptic Gospels. Cf. Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 356, who claims a relationship with the Gospel of Luke. 210   Seeberg, Der Katechismus der Urchristenheit, 86–96. Others who built on Seeberg’s pioneering efforts include: Carrington, Primitive Christian Catechism, 23–29; Selwyn 17–24. 208



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love, non-retaliation), ethical lists, kerygmatic/creedal statements, hymnic fragments, doxologies/eulogies, household rules, testimonia, and dominical sayings.211 Within this broad focus on oral traditions, most attention has been placed on the presence of pre-formed christological material. Three passages—and sometimes four (adding 1 Pet 1.3–12)—have been identified as containing early creedal and liturgical traditions: 1 Pet 1.18–21; 2.21–25; and 3.18–22. As early as the first edition of Windisch’s commentary in 1911 (esp. pp. 65, 70), these passages were depicted as Christuslieder. The first extensive form-critical analysis of the passage, however, was undertaken by Bultmann.212 Working from the assumption that the Petrine author drew from pre-formed traditions, Bultmann concluded that 1 Pet 1.20 was once connected with 3.18–19, 22 as part of a single creedal confession (Bekenntnis), while 1 Pet 2.21–24 was thought to be adapted from an early Christian hymn (Lied). Very few have subscribed to Bultmann’s thesis in its entirety, as the imaginative complexity of such a reconstruction weighs heavily against it. Nevertheless, it was highly influential in establishing the view that formulary materials were drawn upon by the Petrine author. Recent developments have begun to move the discussion in a slightly different direction, however. Scholars have become increasingly hesitant to postulate the existence of pre-formed traditional materials. While a few remain sceptical about efforts to identify hymnic material in 1 Peter more generally,213 most still acknowledge the presence of some hymnic remnants, while admitting that their usage is not as extensive as it was once imagined.214 One place where this shift has become most evident is in the treatment of 1 Pet 2.21–25. For a growing number of interpreters, this passage   For a list and further discussion, see Schutter, Hermeneutic, 33.   Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente’, 285–97. In the years that fol� lowed, others would build on Bultmann’s approach, sometimes agreeing with but more often correcting his efforts. See, e.g., Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales; Deichgräber, Gotteshymnus und Christushymnus, 140–43, 169–73; Wengst, Christologische Formeln, 83–85, 161–64; Pearson, Christological and Rhetorical Properties. 213   So, e.g., Guthrie, Introduction, 799; Grudem 42–43. 214   For a word of caution about the identification of hymns in 1 Peter, see Lash, ‘Hymn-Hunting in I Peter’, 293–97. 211

212

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represents the author’s exegetical reflection on Isaiah 53, rather than a pre-formed hymn or creed.215 Despite these objections, there is evidence in these passages to suggest the use of preformed material, even if it is impossible for us to reconstruct the earlier forms of that material with any confidence. One indication is the concentrated use of the pronoun ὅς. Although opponents point out that the relative pronoun is used frequently throughout 1 Peter,216 it remains noteworthy that the only occurrences of the nominative ὅς, which is often an indication of a pre-formed source,217 occur in two of these hymnic passages (1 Pet 2.22–24; 3.22).218 Furthermore, both 1 Pet 1.20 and 3.18 contain parallel constructions set in intentional antithesis (μέν…δέ), with the main verbs having been replaced by passive participles. Each of these literary devices is thought to be evidence of creedal or hymnic forms.219 Also significant is the way in which the three passages, connected together, offer a concise but rich narrative christology, encapsulating the story of Christ in familiar but also distinctive ways.220 The presence, extent, and nature of formulary materials will thus receive further attention at relevant points in the commentary. Aside from the identification of formulary materials, their function has also become an important issue. What various interpreters have concluded is that these pre-formed christological traditions have been used by the Petrine author to establish a ‘suffering–glory’ pattern: since Jesus reached a position of honour and glory only after a period of suffering, his followers too should expect and embrace a similar fate.221 The first part of this pattern is evident in 1 Pet 2.21–25, where Jesus’ suffering is aligned with the fate   One of the first to reach this conclusion was Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Chris�tian Suffering’, 381–408. His conclusions have since been followed by others (e.g., Michaels 137; Achtemeier 192–93; Elliott 548–50; Feldmeier 167–68; cf. also Aejmelaeus ‘Pauline Heritage’, 136–42). 216   So, e.g., Michaels 137; Achtemeier 192; Elliott 549; cf. also Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 388. 217   Cf. Norden, Agnostos Theos, 385. 218   As pointed out of the latter passage by Engel, ‘Christus Victor’, 141. 219   See Pearson, Christological and Rhetorical Properties, 163. 220   See further Horrell and Wan, ‘Politics of Time in 1 Peter’, 263–76. 221   On the ‘suffering–glory’ theme within the formulary material of 1 Peter, see Richard, ‘Functional Christology’, 121–39; Pearson, Christological and Rhetorical Properties. 215



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of the Suffering Servant described in deutero-Isaiah.222 In this way, the audience is not only provided with a frame by which to interpret Jesus’ suffering, but also, by implication, their own distress.223 Further, to illustrate the reward for faithful endurance, the author uses traditions about the exaltation of Jesus (1 Pet 3.18–22). Given that the author employs pre-existing traditions, it does not appear that he seeks to present a new vision of Jesus. Rather, as a way of helping his readers cope with their situation, his goal is to draw out the implications of material that was already accepted and in use within the Christian community. Pauline Traditions Initial Bibliography Anneli Aejmelaeus, ‘Pauline Heritage in 1 Peter: A Study of Literary Dependence in 1 Peter 2:13–25’, in The Early Reception of Paul, ed. Kenneth Liljeström, Suomen Eksegeettisen Seuran julkaisuja 99 (Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 2011), 125–47; John Coutts, ‘Ephesians I. 3–14 and I Peter I. 3–12’, NTS 3 (1956–57): 115–27; Ora D. Foster, ‘The Literary Relations of “The First Epistle of Peter” with Their Bearing on Date and Place of Authorship’, Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 17 (1913): 363–538; Jens Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus? Studien über das Verhältnis des Ersten Petrusbriefes zur paulinischen Tradition, WUNT 103 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998); David G. Horrell, ‘The Product of a Petrine Circle? A Reassessment of the Origin and Character of 1 Peter’, JSNT 86 (2002): 29–60, revised and expanded in idem, Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity, LNTS 394 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 7–44; C. L. Mitton, ‘The Relationship between 1 Peter and Ephesians’, JTS 1 (1950): 67–73; W. Seufert, ‘Das Abhängigkeitsverhältnis des 1. Petrusbriefs vom Römerbrief’, ZWT 17 (1874): 360–88; idem, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsverhältnis des ersten Petrusbriefes und Epheserbriefs’, ZWT 24 (1881): 178–97, 332–80; Kazuhito Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Ephesians? A Critique of C. L. Mitton’, AJBI 17 (1991): 77–106; idem, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Romans?’, AJBI 19 (1993): 87–137; Travis B. Williams, ‘Intertextuality and Methodological Bias: Prolegomena to the Evaluation of Source Materials in 1 Peter’, JSNT 39 (2016): 169–87.

  On 1 Peter’s identification of Jesus as the Suffering Servant, see Langkammer, ‘Jes 53 und 1 Petr 2,21–25’, 90–98; Achtemeier, ‘Suffering Servant’, 176–88. 223   On the concepts of ‘keying’ and ‘framing’, which use persons or events from the past to interpret the future, see Williams, History and Memory, 202–203. 222

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There has long been a scholarly view that 1 Peter stands within the Pauline tradition. Throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the parallels with certain Pauline letters (esp. Romans and Ephesians) led most to conclude that 1 Peter was not only aware of the Pauline corpus, but also borrowed from it.224 This early consensus was held with considerable certainty, leading some to describe it as ‘one of the most solid results of criticism’.225 For this reason, much of the early critical research on 1 Peter approached the letter as ‘an imitation of Paul’,226 an assessment that had an important impact on how interpreters resolved both the question of authorship and the letter’s intended purpose.227 In more recent scholarship, there has been a widespread rejection of literary dependence and an insistence on the distinctive character of 1 Peter.228 The letter has come to be seen as one that incorporates a wide range of early Christian traditions and that

224   A sampling of interpreters who adopted this view would include: Steiger 1:10–13; Wiesinger 22–27, Alford 135; Johnstone 34–35; Lightfoot 91–92; Huther 22–27; Hort 4–5; Monnier 259–66. For some of the fuller defences of this view, see Seufert, ‘Das Abhängigkeitsverhältniss’, 360–88; idem, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsver�hältniss’, 178–97, 332–80; Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 411–80. It was much less common to attribute these similarities to shared tradition, although some posited this theory (e.g., Jachmann 110–112; Brückner 8–18; Bigg 15–21; cf. Mayer� hoff, Historisch-kritische Einleitung, 101–18; Rauch ‘Rettung der Originalität’, 385–442; Gloag, Catholic Epistles, 116–19). 225   Bacon, Introduction to the New Testament, 153; cf. also Moffatt, Historical New Testament, 246: ‘The literary connection of I Peter with the later Pauline epistles is indubitable’. 226   Semler praef. Abs. 3. 227   Related to the matter of authorship, various questions were posed by inter�preters: If 1 Peter borrowed from the letters of Paul could it genuinely be from the apostle Peter? Would Peter not communicate his own ideas in language that was consistent with his conceptualization of the Christian message? Representative of this approach is the statement of Harnack: ‘Wäre nicht die Abhängigkeit von den Paulusbriefen, so liesse sich die Echtheit vielleicht halten’ (Geschichte der altchristlichen Litteratur, 464 n. 1). Related to the matter of the letter’s purpose, other questions were posed: If a pseudonymous author intentionally drew from the language and letters of Paul, is the letter an attempt to bridge the gap between the two great apostles? See further Introduction: The Choice of the Pseudonym ‘Peter’. 228   On this early scholarship and subsequent reactions to it, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 7–10.



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should not be one-sidedly regarded as Pauline in character.229 In 1976, Elliott made a notable and influential plea for a ‘liberation of 1 Peter from its “Pauline bondage” ’,230 and detailed studies in the 1990s by Shimada and Herzer added weight to the arguments that 1 Peter should not be seen as dependent on the Pauline tradition. Herzer’s conclusion was that direct Pauline influence on 1 Peter is neither provable nor probable,231 while Shimada challenged the idea that 1 Peter exhibits any signs of literary dependence on Romans or Ephesians.232 These efforts led to the formation of the modern consensus: ‘Rather than literary dependence, the trend now is to view the affinities between 1 Peter and Pauline literature, as well as parallels with other New Testament literature, as arising from the use of common tradition in early Christianity’.233 What has been given little attention, however, are the methodological shortcomings that mark this influential perspective. As we have demonstrated elsewhere, the modern consensus was built upon narrowly defined terminology, unnecessary categorical distinctions, and a rigid set of criteria, all of which effectively led interpreters to rule out literary dependence from the start.234 Despite this, Petrine interpreters continue to espouse the theory with little hesitation. In what follows, we will provide a fresh examination of the evidence using the criteria established above. By way of preview, to us it seems correct, in agreement with the current consensus, to reject the idea that 1 Peter is a quasi-Pauline document, standing firmly in the Pauline tradition, and to recognise

  Among the early moves in this direction, see Selwyn 17–24, 365–466; Spicq 15; Kelly 13–15; cf. also Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne et Religion populaire’, 25–41; Brox, ‘Tradition des Urchristentums’, 182–92. More recently, see Goppelt 26–36; Achteiemer 15–23; Elliott 20–30, 37–50; Senior 12–13; Donelson 14; Schreiner 16–18; cf. also Green, Vox Petri, 77–79. 230   Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Elliott reiterates the plea in his commentary: ‘It is high time for 1 Peter to be liberated from its “Pauline captivity” and read as a distinctive voice of the early Church’ (40). 231   Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus? For an overview and critique, see Horrell, ‘Review of Jens Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?’, 287–89. 232   Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Ephesians?’, 77–106; idem, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Romans?’, 87–137. 233   Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, 209; cf. Webb, ‘The Petrine Epistles’, 380. 234   See Williams, ‘Intertextuality and Methodological Bias’, 171–78. 229

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instead that the letter incorporates and adapts a wide range of early Christian traditions (see further below). Nevertheless, the evidence of its indebtedness to certain Pauline epistles, and of its use of some specifically Pauline formulations, should not be underestimated.235 It is thus important to distinguish the question of literary dependence from the question of 1 Peter’s distinctive character and theological contribution. The affirmation of the former need not rule out the possibility of the latter.236 Various facets of the evidence seem to bear out this idea.237 The Epistolary Frame. In both the opening and the closing of 1 Peter, a number of similarities with the typical Pauline pattern can be seen. At the same time, differences and distinctive ideas indicate that 1 Peter is certainly not simply an imitation of a Pauline letter. For example, the description of Peter as ἀπόστολος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.1) is reminiscent of Paul, although Paul generally has Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ rather than Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ238 (cf. 1 Cor 1.1; 2 Cor 1.1; but note Gal 1.1; Tit. 1.1).239 Similarly, the phrase χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη (1 Pet 1.2) is a characteristically Pauline greeting 235   Despite the broad consensus that has developed around this issue, there have been some who have maintained the letter’s dependence on the Pauline tradition (e.g., Làconi, ‘Tracce dello stile’, 367–94; Migliasso, ‘Il paolinismo di prima Pietro’, 519–41; Aejmelaeus ‘Pauline Heritage’, 125–47). 236   Cf. Kelhoffer, ‘Different Responses to Persecution’, 264: ‘The use of Pauline materials (most notably, Romans and Ephesians) in First Peter does not…determine the answer to two related questions: Is the letter itself in some sense Pauline, and does it reflect novel developments beyond the Pauline tradition?’ (see also Feldmeier 28 n. 15). 237   For a more detailed discussion, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 12–20. For a concise overview of the parallels, see also Berger, Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums, 419–30. 238   As Herzer points out, but over-interprets, arguing against any indebtedness of 1 Peter to the Pauline letter-form and pressing the case for 1 Peter’s independence (Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 31–34). Herzer is cautiously followed at this point by Doering, ‘Author Construction’, 649. 239   Doering (‘Author Construction’, 648–52) argues that the use of ἀπόστολος without any additional justification contrasts with Paul’s uses, where there is generally some arguing for his apostolicity, reflecting his necessity to defend this status. Since ‘Peter was known as apostle in early Christianity without any reservation’—he is ‘the apostle par excellence’—Doering suggests that ‘only Peter would properly be able to write in the style of 1 Pet 1:1’ (649–50). Doering makes



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(Rom 1.7; 1 Cor 1.3; 2 Cor 1.2; Gal 1.3; Eph 1.2; Phil 1.2; Col 1.2; 1 Thess 1.1; 2 Thess 1.2; Phlm 3; note also Rev 1.4), although a notable difference is the verb πληθυνθείη which follows in 1 Peter, a verb unknown in the Pauline letters but found, for example, in Jewish epistolary tradition (Dan 4.1; 6.26 [Theodotion]) and in the greetings of Jude, 2 Peter, and 1 Clement.240 The common features of the Pauline tradition and 1 Peter may be contrasted with the letter openings of James, 1–2–3 John, and Jude. The author of 1 Peter may possibly not have been conscious that the tradition of Christian epistolography that he followed was decisively shaped by Paul,241 but that would not negate the de facto Pauline influence on the letter-form.242 The opening blessing (1 Pet 1.3–9) also has some striking similarities to the Pauline letters, most notably Eph 1.3–14.243 The opening phrase (Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) is identical in the Greek of 1 Pet 1.3, Eph 1.3, and also 2 Cor 1.3,244 introducing the (only) three NT examples of what Dahl calls ‘letter-opening benedictions’.245 There are also a number of verbal similarities in the following verses:

a significant point about the ‘Peter image’ presented in the letter, specifically through the use of the title apostle, but may press the differences with the Pauline prescripts too much at this point. 240   Cf. Doering, ‘Diaspora Letter’, 234, who rightly observes ‘that 1 Peter has taken up and supplemented the well-known Pauline salutation’ in a way that ‘links up with encyclical letter writing in the biblical Jewish tradition’. 241   So Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 83, who denies that the epistolary frame of 1 Peter indicates any dependence on Paul or the Pauline tradition. 242   Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 185, rightly sees the Briefformular of 1 Peter as dependent on the Pauline form. In contrast, Kühl (49) rejects the epistolary form as evidence of dependence, because he denies Paul’s role in the creation and dissemination of the form. 243   See Seufert, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 184–90, though Seufert offers a rather maximalist view of the similarities. 244   Cf. Seufert, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 184; Mitton, ‘1 Peter and Ephesians’, 73. 245   Dahl, Studies in Ephesians, 301. Dahl notes three examples in the NT of the formula ‘who is blessed forever’ (Rom 1.25; 9.5; 2 Cor 11.31) and four of ‘more extended praise of God introduced with εὐλογητός’ (in addition to the examples in 2 Corinthians, Ephesians and 1 Peter, Dahl points to Luke 1.67–79; see Studies in Ephesians, 300–301).

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1 Pet 1.3–9 εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν (v. 3) εἰς κληρονομίαν…εἰς ὑμᾶς (v. 4) εἰς ἔπαινον καὶ δόξαν (v. 7) αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.2) πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (1.20) περιποίησιν (2.9 [cf. Isa 43.21])

Eph 1.3–14 τοὺς προηλπικότας ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ (v. 12) τῆς κληρονομίας ἡμῶν (v. 14) εἰς ἔπαινον δόξης… (vv. 6, 12, 14) διὰ τοῦ αἵματος αὐτοῦ (v. 7) πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (v. 4) περιποιήσεως (v. 14)

While earlier scholars, such as Barnett, saw these parallels as a clear indication of a literary relationship,246 others, such as Shimada and Herzer, have pointed out that the precise similarities are limited, and that the blessing in 1 Peter has its own distinctive shape and content.247 Both authors favour a stance similar to Selwyn’s, that the parallels are best explained by independent use of common early Christian traditions.248 Dahl likewise, in an extensive study of forms of benediction and congratulation in Jewish texts, sees the three benedictions in 2 Cor 1.3–7, Eph 1.3–14, and 1 Pet 1.3–7 as ‘modeled upon a common pattern’ reflecting ‘a form that was used by Paul and other preachers’.249 Nevertheless, some kind of literary or intertextual relationship remains highly plausible, especially given the lack of non-Pauline examples of the phrasing found in 1.3.250 A literary or intertextual relationship need not entail precise or extensive repetition of large amounts of the source text, but can involve a more subtle and creative engagement.251   Barnett, Paul Becomes a Literary Influence, 54.   Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 81–85; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 50–54. 248   Cf. Selwyn 19–23, 363–466. 249   Dahl, Studies in Ephesians, 301. Cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 185, who comments that 1 Pet 1.3 is an established liturgical formula, which gives no basis for concluding that there is literary dependence on 2 Cor. 1.3 (or Eph. 1.3). 250   As Mitton comments, ‘the similarity is not adequately accounted for by Selwyn’s plea that the sentence “represents a common form of expression”, unless other instances of it, not derived from Paul’s use of it, can be cited’ (‘1 Peter and Ephesians’, 73). 251   Pace Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 105–106, whose criteria for literary dependence are much too restrictive and would exclude some of the more obvious citations of the OT in the NT, the use of Jude in 2 Peter, and so on (see above, and Williams, ‘Intertextuality and Methodological Bias’, 176–78). 246 247



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In the letter closing, the most striking link with Paul is the exhortation ἀσπάσασθε ἀλλήλους ἐν φιλήματι ἀγάπης (1 Pet 5.14), which is paralleled only, and almost precisely, in Paul (Rom 16.16; 1 Cor 16.20; 2 Cor 13.12; 1 Thess 5.26). There is a distinction between Paul’s holy kiss (φίλημα ἅγιον) and 1 Peter’s kiss of love (φίλημα ἀγάπης), though this is hardly enough to establish the independence (‘Eigenständigkeit’) of 1 Peter from Paul.252 Greeting with a kiss may have become a widespread and not exclusively Pauline custom in early Christianity, but the form of the epistolary greeting and the specific custom of the kiss likely indicate some kind of Pauline influence on 1 Peter. The Paraenetic Tradition. Close similarities between the paraenesis in 1 Peter 3, Romans 12, and 1 Thessalonians 5 have often been noted.253 Particularly striking are the parallels between 1 Thess 5.15, Rom 12.17, and 1 Pet 3.9: 1 Thess 5.15 ὁρᾶτε μή τις κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ τινι ἀποδῷ, ἀλλὰ πάντοτε τὸ ἀγαθὸν διώκετε [καὶ] εἰς ἀλλήλους καὶ εἰς πάντας Rom 12.17 μηδενὶ κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ ἀποδιδόντες, προνοούμενοι καλὰ ἐνώπιον πάντων ἀνθρώπων 1 Pet 3.9 μὴ ἀποδιδόντες κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ ἢ λοιδορίαν ἀντὶ λοιδορίας, τοὐναντίον δὲ εὐλογοῦντες ὅτι εἰς τοῦτο ἐκλήθητε ἵνα εὐλογίαν κληρονομήσητε

Given the similarities between this teaching and that found in the Sermon on the Mount/Plain (Matt 5.44; Luke 6.27–28), it is not unlikely that these passages share a common source in early Christian (dominical) paraenesis.254 However, the precise linguistic parallels between the texts listed above do not derive from

  Pace Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 77–80.   See further Piper, ‘Hope as the Motivation’, 218–23, who sets out the parallels on p. 219. Cf. also Selwyn 407–13; Michaels 174. 254   Cf., e.g., Piper, ‘Hope as the Motivation’, 221; Michaels 175; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 255–56. 252 253

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the Synoptic tradition, so the particular formulation of paraenetical tradition found in 1 Peter seems to reflect Pauline influence, with Paul’s letter to the Romans quite possibly being one of the channels through which this teaching was known to the author of 1 Peter.255 Christian Obligations within the State and Household. The epistle’s teaching about the Christian’s obligations to the governing authorities (2.13–17) and within the household (2.18–3.7) also displays clear parallels with the Pauline tradition. Again it is possible, and not infrequently suggested, that both the Pauline and Petrine versions derive from shared early Christian tradition.256 However, the parallels are such as to suggest some particular link between 1 Peter (2.13–17) and the Pauline tradition (Rom 13.1–7), particularly in the use of ὑποτάσσω and in reference to the authorities as those who reward right and punish wrong (cf. also 1 Tim 2.1–4; Titus 3.1). 255   Many commentators reject any notion that the Petrine author could have directly borrowed from Paul’s letter to the Romans, despite the fact that most of these interpreters place 1 Peter’s composition in Rome some 10–40 years after Paul wrote to this community—a time when the autograph was still in use (see Tertullian, Praescr. 36.1–2). Instead of acknowledging the Petrine author’s familiarity with the Pauline epistle through direct contact (i.e., reading/hearing the letter), a somewhat less direct exposure is posited. Elliott, for instance, maintains, ‘By the time 1 Peter was written, Paul’s letter to the Romans belonged to the body of teaching and traditional exhortation collected at Rome. The author of 1 Peter drew freely from this material, as did subsequent Christian writings from Rome’ (38; cf. Best 34; Watson, ‘Early Jesus Tradition’, 152; Carter, Restored Order, 99–102). The difficulty with a hypothesis like this lies in the postulation of a nebulous concept like ‘Pauline tradition’, which is thought to have circulated within the Roman community disconnected from any written documents. While the Petrine author’s use of oral tradition need not be denied, when two written documents share unique verbal and conceptual similarities, it is natural to posit a literary relationship—especially if the potential borrower (i.e., the Petrine author) and the proposed source (i.e., Romans) can be placed in geographical and temporal proximity (as Elliott and others would maintain, although see Introduction: Place of Origin). One would be hard-pressed to argue in a similar way that the OT allusions in 1 Peter were derived from a tradition that was shared between the Petrine author and the scriptural writers. Because a written text is available for comparison, it is naturally thought to be the source. Why is the same approach not taken when affinities are noted with the Pauline writings? 256   Cf. Selwyn 426–39; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 227.



INTRODUCTION Rom 13.1–7

1 Pet 2.13–17

πᾶσα ψυχή

πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει

ὑποτασσέσθω…ὑποτάσσεσθαι

ὑποτάγητε

τῷ ἀγαθῷ ἔργῳ…τῷ κακῷ… τὸ ἀγαθὸν ποίει…τὸ ἀγαθόν… τὸ κακὸν ποιῇς…τῷ τὸ κακὸν πράσσοντι

κακοποιῶν…ἀγαθοποιῶν… ἀγαθοποιοῦντας (cf. 2.12, 20; 3.17; 4.15)

ἔπαινον

ἔπαινον

ἔκδικος

ἐκδίκησις

διὰ τὴν συνείδησιν

(διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ, 2.19)

φόβος… μη φοβεῖσθαι…τῷ τὸν φόβον τὸν φόβον

τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε

τῷ τὴν τιμὴν τὴν τιμήν

τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε

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Such extensive parallels would seem to indicate some kind of relationship between the letters, particularly given that they are much more extensive than exist between Romans 13 and either 1 Tim 2.1–4 or Titus 3.1 (the latter a very brief summary of the Pauline teaching).257 Shimada points to differences ‘[f]rom a context-analytical point of view’, in sequence, and in ‘[w]ords, phrases and usages’, concluding that dependence on Romans is unlikely.258 Yet his criteria for dependence are much too stringent. The letter’s adaptation of ‘household code’ material also suggests some proximity to the deutero-Pauline Haustafeln (Col 3.18–4.1; Eph 5.21–6.9; 1 Pet 2.18–3.7). These Christian Haustafeln clearly have non-Christian literary antecedents,259 and the code in Colossians (probably the earliest such code in the NT) has a neat and precise structure, suggesting at least some prior tradition of formulation. Broadly comparable but less directly parallel texts in Did. 4.10–11 and Barn. 19.7 also indicate that some forms of ‘household’ teaching came into early Christianity independently of the Pauline tradition. But 1 Peter’s household-code teaching and exhortations about submission to the governing authorities seem to reflect the 257   See Berger, Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums, 427, for parallels between 1 Pet 2.13–17, Rom 13.1–7, and Titus 3.1, though Berger explains these differently (see below). 258   Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 141–44. 259   See esp. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive.

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influence of Pauline tradition—at least to as great an extent as do the Pastorals. One of 1 Peter’s distinctive contributions is to draw together the Pauline teaching on the state with that on the household. Specific Parallels in Phrasing and Terminology. In addition to the broad parallels in the letter-frame, and in some key aspects of its paraenesis, there are several specific points of contact with the Pauline tradition in 1 Peter: (1) The expression ἐν Χριστῷ, so frequent and typical in Paul, occurs elsewhere in the NT only in 1 Peter (3.16; 5.10, 14)260 and seems to be a distinctively Pauline phrase.261 (2) The term χάρισμα is also found in the NT only in the Pauline letters and in 1 Peter (4.10), used to describe the varied gifts given to the members of the Christian community. The similarities between 1 Pet 4.10–11 and Rom 12.6–8, and the specific use of the Pauline vocabulary, suggest again the (direct or indirect) influence of Paul (perhaps specifically Romans) on 1 Peter. (3) The influence of Pauline thought and language may also be evident in a number of particular parallels, notably 1 Pet 1.14 (συσχηματιζόμενοι…) and Rom 12.2 (συσχηματίζεσθε…), the only two occurrences of this verb in the NT; 1 Pet 2.24 (ἵνα ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ἀπογενόμενοι τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ ζήσωμεν) and Rom 6.11, 18 (νεκροὺς μὲν τῇ ἁμαρτίᾳ ζῶντας δὲ τῷ θεῷ…ἐλευθερωθέντες δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἁμαρτίας ἐδουλώθητε τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ).262 Conclusions. Many recent authors suggest that the evidence is not such as to prove literary dependence,263 though this form of dependence is often defined in too restrictive a way, failing to acknowledge the possibility of more subtle and creative forms of intertextual relationship. The extensive parallels in one key example from Romans (Rom 13.1–7//1 Pet 2.13–17) and one 260   There are less precise parallels in the Johannine language of mutual indwelling (John 14.20; 15.4–11; 17.21–26; 1 John 2.5–6, 24, 27; 4.12–16). 261   See Brox 161: ‘…zeigt aber ein weiteres Mal das paulinische Kolarit des 1 Petr.’; cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 186–87. Elliott (38) concedes that the ‘in Christ’ theme may be distinctively Pauline, while Selwyn (20, 195) claims that it a pre-Pauline formula. 262   See further, e.g., Brox, ‘Tradition des Urchristentums’, 183–84. 263   E.g., Michaels xliii–xlv; Achtemeier 15–17; Elliott 22; cf. Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Ephesians?’, 77–106; idem, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Romans?’, 87–137.



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from Ephesians (Eph 1.3–13//1 Pet 1.3–9) are significant, and the hypothesis that a literary connection exists seems highly plausible.264 Furthermore, certain considerations suggest that the direction of literary relationship favours the priority of the Pauline traditions.265 This is indicated both by the likely compositional dates of the letters as well as 1 Peter’s reproduction of scriptural citations whose text-forms were unique to Paul.266 Since Romans may be seen, to some extent at least, as synthesising and consolidating key aspects of Pauline teaching267—and the same may be said, mutatis mutandis, for Ephesians—the influence of these two letters in particular indicates a significant connection between 1 Peter and the Pauline tradition. Thus, 1 Peter shows clear signs of awareness of and dependence upon Pauline language and tradition.268 In some cases, the parallels may indicate shared use of common Christian tradition, but in others it is clear, as far as our (limited) evidence allows us to see, that the material is distinctively Pauline.

264   The influence is sometimes explained by the Roman provenance of 1 Peter, which does indeed give a plausible explanation for the parallels with Romans (and also with 1 Clement, etc.), though given the rapid circulation of early Chris�tian texts, the parallels with Romans should probably not be given undue weight in ascertaining the provenance of 1 Peter (cf. Introduction: Place of Origin). Cf. Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 247, who suggests that ‘the author of 1 Peter was dependent less on a letter of Paul than on a cherished document of the Roman community from which he wrote. The influence, then, would be more Roman than Pauline’ (original emphasis). Cf. also Elliott, ‘Roman Provenance of 1 Peter’, 186 n. 5 (‘Numerous echoes of Paul’s letter to the Romans in 1 Peter…’); Elliott 37–38; Best 32–36. Nevertheless, what the Roman community cherished was, after all, a letter of Paul’s! 265   One of the few scholars to advocate Pauline dependence on 1 Peter was Weiss (see Der Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 374–434; idem, ‘Die petrinische Frage’, 619–57; cf. also Kühl 36–41). 266   On the use of Pauline text-forms, see Koch, ‘Quotations of Isaiah 8,14 and 28,16’, 223–40. 267   Cf. Bornkamm, Paul, 88–96. 268   Even Elliott, who is concerned to detach 1 Peter from dependence on the Pauline tradition, acknowledges that ‘[i]t is possible, if not probable, that the Petrine author was familiar with one or more of Paul’s letters (esp. Romans)’ (37). His suggestion that the influence of Romans was not through ‘direct literary borrowing’ but only from Romans as a part of ‘the body of teaching and traditional exhortation collected at Rome’ (38) does not alter the fact that this is an indication of Pauline influence on 1 Peter (cf. p. 70 n. 255 above).

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It is more difficult to decide exactly how one should describe this relationship between 1 Peter and the Pauline writings, or specifically between 1 Peter and Romans. Wehr rightly points out that the indications of Pauline influence are not decisive for the theological content and character of the letter: ‘the first letter of Peter is only marginally (am Rande) influenced by Paul, and is far from being a “deutero-Pauline” letter’.269 While there are clear signs of Pauline influence, there is much in 1 Peter that is not at all Pauline; and all these traditions, Pauline and non-Pauline, are presented in a distinctive way within the letter.270 Other New Testament/Early Christian Traditions Initial Bibliography Sean Christensen, ‘The Relationship between the Epistles of James and 1 Peter: A Traditio-Historical Study Based on Their Common Use of Scrip� ture’ (Ph.D. diss., Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, 2018); T. E. S. Ferris, ‘A Comparison of 1 Peter and Hebrews’, CQR 111 (1930): 123–27; idem, ‘The Epistle of James in Relation to 1 Peter’, CQR 128 (1939): 303–308; Ora D. Foster, ‘The Literary Relations of “The First Epistle of Peter” with Their Bearing on Date and Place of Authorship’, Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 17 (1913): 363–538; Matthias Konradt, ‘The Historical Context of the Letter of James in Light of Its Traditio-Historical Relations with First Peter’, in The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition, ed. Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 101–25, 403–25; Darian Lockett, ‘The Use of Leviticus 19 in James and 1 Peter: A Neglected Parallel’, CBQ 82 (2020): 456–72; Elizabeth A. Myers, Intertextual Borrowing between 1 Peter and Hebrews: Probability of Literary Dependence and the Most Likely Direction of Borrowing (Cody, WY: Pistos Ktistes, 2020); Maria Armida Nicolaci, ‘Giacomo e Prima Petri: Possibili rapporti letterari?’, in Quasi vitis (Sir 24,23): Miscellanea in Memoria di Antonino Minissale, ed. Dionisio Candido and Antonino Minissale, Quaderni di synaxis 2 (Catania: Studi Teologico S. Paolo, 2012), 111–57; Gustav Wohlenberg, ‘Wer hat den Hebräerbrief verfasst?’, NKZ 24 (1913): 742–62.

269   Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 200. Cf. Boring 42: ‘1 Peter represents an old and independent tradition and is not directly dependent on the Pauline letters in any scissors-and-paste manner, but the author has read them and been influenced by them’. 270   Cf. Feldmeier 27–28.



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By this point, it should be clear that the Petrine author employed a variety of sources to compose his epistle. Whether and to what extent this influence extended beyond the Jewish scriptures, the Jesus tradition, and the Pauline epistles is a matter of debate. There are a few interpreters who have sought to push the literary connections to the extreme, claiming that 1 Peter was dependent upon most of the documents in the NT.271 For those who date the letter in the second century CE, this proposal holds out some potential. Most, however, take a much more limited view of 1 Peter’s source materials. Apart from the traditions discussed above, the only two documents that have generated much discussion in terms of a potential literary connection are James and Hebrews.272 Both contain notable parallels with 1 Peter. 1 Peter and James. The epistle of James shares a variety of linguistic affinities with 1 Peter, a fact of which scholars have long been aware. As far back as the time of the Protestant Reformation, a connection between the letters was already being drawn.273 Some of the most pertinent parallels are listed below.274 Parallels between 1 Peter and James ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις ταῖς δώδεκα φυλαῖς ταῖς ἐν τῇ διασπορᾶς Πόντου, Γαλατίας, διασπορᾷ (Jas 1.1) Καππαδοκίας, Ἀσίας καὶ Βιθυνίας (1 Pet 1.1) ἐν ᾧ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε, ὀλίγον ἄρτι πᾶσαν χαρὰν ἡγήσασθε, εἰ δέον [ἐστὶν] λυπηθέντες ἐν ἀδελφοί μου, ὅταν πειρασμοῖς ποικίλοις πειρασμοῖς (1 Pet 1.6) περιπέσητε ποικίλοις (Jas 1.2) 271   See Holtzmann, Lehrbuch der historisch-kritisch Einleitung, 313–15; cf. Foster, ‘Literary Relations’; Beare 219. 272   A few scholars have suggested that 1 Peter also drew from the book of Acts or at least from the traditions used by the Lucan author (e.g., Schmidt, Mahnung und Erinnerung, 187–91; cf. also Herzer, Petrus und Paulus?, 67, 165, 180–81, 262–63, 267–68; and Doering, ‘Author Construction’, 677–80, who are somewhat more reserved about this possibility). 273   See Luther, ‘Preface’, 396, who believed that James was dependent upon 1 Peter. 274   For a fuller (albeit, often exaggerated) list of parallels between 1 Peter and James, see Spitta, Zur Geschichte und Litteratur des Urchristentums, 183–202; and Mayor, The Epistle of St. James, cii–cvii.

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τὸ δοκίμιον ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως… κομιζόμενοι τὸ τέλος τῆς πίστεως [ὑμῶν] σωτηρίαν ψυχῶν (1 Pet 1.7, 9) ἀναγεγεννημένοι…διὰ λόγου ζῶντος θεοῦ καὶ μένοντος (1 Pet 1.23) πᾶσα σὰρξ ὡς χόρτος καὶ πᾶσα δόξα αὐτῆς ὡς ἄνθος χόρτου· ἐξηράνθη ὁ χόρτος καὶ τὸ ἄνθος ἐξέπεσεν (1 Pet 1.24, citing Isa 40.6–8 LXX)

ἀποθέμενοι οὖν πᾶσαν κακίαν καὶ πάντα δόλον καὶ ὑποκρίσεις καὶ φθόνους καὶ πάσας καταλαλιάς (1 Pet 2.1) παρακαλῶ…ἀπέχεσθαι τῶν σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν αἵτινες στρατεύονται κατὰ τῆς ψυχῆς (1 Pet 2.11) τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν, ἵνα ἐν ᾧ καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν ὡς κακοποιῶν ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων ἐποπτεύοντες δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεὸν ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς. (1 Pet 2.12) πρὸ πάντων τὴν εἰς ἑαυτοὺς ἀγάπην ἐκτενῆ ἔχοντες, ὅτι ἀγάπη καλύπτει πλῆθος ἁμαρτιῶν (1 Pet 4.8, citing Prov 10.12)

τὸ δοκίμιον ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως κατεργάζεται ὑπομονήν. ἡ δὲ ὑπομονὴ ἔργον τέλειον ἐχέτω, ἵνα ἦτε τέλειοι καὶ ὁλόκληροι ἐν μηδενὶ λειπόμενοι (Jas 1.3-4) ἀπεκύησεν ἡμᾶς λόγῳ ἀληθείας (Jas 1.18) ὡς ἄνθος χόρτου παρελεύσεται. ἀνέτειλεν γὰρ ὁ ἥλιος σὺν τῷ καύσωνι καὶ ἐξήρανεν τὸν χόρτον καὶ τὸ ἄνθος αὐτοῦ ἐξέπεσεν καὶ ἡ εὐπρέπεια τοῦ προσώπου αὐτοῦ ἀπώλετο (Jas 1.10–11, alluding to Isa 40.6–8 LXX) διὸ ἀποθέμενοι πᾶσαν ῥυπαρίαν καὶ περισσείαν κακίας ἐν πραΰτητι (Jas 1.21) οὐκ ἐντεῦθεν, ἐκ τῶν ἡδονῶν ὑμῶν τῶν στρατευομένων ἐν τοῖς μέλεσιν ὑμῶν; ἐπιθυμεῖτε καὶ οὐκ ἔχετε, φονεύετε (Jas 4.1-2) δειξάτω ἐκ τῆς καλῆς ἀναστροφῆς τὰ ἔργα αὐτοῦ ἐν πραΰτητι σοφίας (Jas 3.13)

ὁ ἐπιστρέψας ἁμαρτωλὸν ἐκ πλάνης ὁδοῦ αὐτοῦ σώσει ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ ἐκ θανάτου καὶ καλύψει πλῆθος ἁμαρτιῶν (Jas 5.20, citing Prov 10.12)



INTRODUCTION ὅτι ὁ θεὸς ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται, ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν χάριν (1 Pet 5.5, citing Prov 3.34 LXX) ταπεινώθητε οὖν ὑπὸ τὴν κραταιὰν χεῖρα τοῦ θεοῦ, ἵνα ὑμᾶς ὑψώσῃ ἐν καιρῷ (1 Pet 5.6) ὁ ἀντίδικος ὑμῶν διάβολος ὡς λέων ὠρυόμενος περιπατεῖ ζητῶν τινα καταπιεῖν· ᾧ ἀντίστητε (1 Pet 5.8–9)

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διὸ λέγει· ὁ θεὸς ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται, ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν χάριν (Jas 4.6, citing Prov 3.34 LXX) ταπεινώθητε ἐνώπιον κυρίου καὶ ὑψώσει ὑμᾶς (Jas 4.10) ἀντίστητε δὲ τῷ διαβόλῳ καὶ φεύξεται ἀφ᾿ ὑμῶν (Jas 4.7)

Aside from attributing these similarities to simple coincidence, they could be explained in several ways. One possibility, which is not widely held today, is that each letter makes use of a common testimonia source.275 This view arose out of the fact that certain scriptural citations are held in common in 1 Peter and James, although the evidential basis is slim. The dominant view within recent scholarship is that the similarities are due to a common oral tradition that each author appropriated separately.276 For many, the fact that both epistles address communities undergoing social conflict increases the probability that similar traditions would be used.277 Although this position is favoured by contemporary scholars, it remains something of an argument from silence, given the lack of any explicit evidence for the supposed common stock of early Christian teaching. The more natural interpretation of these parallels is that a literary relationship exists between the letters.   This is the view espoused by Hodgson, Jr., ‘Testimony Hypothesis’, 370. For support, he points to what he sees as ‘a common though rather attenuated chain of four’ scriptural citations/allusions: a reference to Wis 3.5–6 (Jas 1.2–3 and 1 Pet 1.6–7), a quotation/allusion to Isa 40.6–8 (Jas 1.10–11 and 1 Pet 1.24–25), a quota� tion from Prov 3.34 LXX (Jas 4.6 and 1 Pet 5.5), and an allusion to Job 22.29 (Jas 4.10 and 1 Pet 5.6). These texts, he proposes, may have originally been part of a testimony tradition related to humility. 276   Among those who have focused on 1 Peter, the list includes (among others): Alford 109; Kelly 11–12; Michaels xliv; Goppelt 31; Achtemeier 20; Elliott 23–24; Green 229–34. Among those who have focused on James, the list includes (among others): Ropes, Epistle of St. James, 22–23; Dibelius, James, 30–31; Konradt, ‘Der Jakobusbrief als Brief’, 16–53; idem, ‘Historical Context’, 103–11; McCartney, James, 52–53. 277   See Goppelt 31; Elliott 23; cf. Brox, ‘Tradition des Urchristentums’, 186. 275

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The verbal similarities serve as the primary basis for postulating a literary connection between 1 Peter and James. While opponents of this view often stress the differences between the two texts,278 this overlooks the fact that it is the similarities that determine a literary relationship, not the differences (see above). In this case, the parallels include key terms (e.g., διασπορά, 1 Pet 1.1//Jas 1.1), extended phrases (e.g., τὸ δοκίμιον ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως, 1 Pet 1.7//Jas 1.3), and even rare forms.279 What is striking is that most of the verbal affinities appear in roughly the same order in both works. As Allison notes, ‘[t]he odds of this being due to chance are remote’.280 Instead, the structure serves as a clue that systematic borrowing has occurred. Further evidence is contributed by the unique scriptural citations that are shared by both epistles. It is notable that 1 Peter and James contain references to three OT passages (Isa 40.6–7; Prov 3.34; 10.12), which are not cited by any other NT author, and in some cases, each quotes the verse with exactly the same variation from the LXX text.281 If, then, a literary relationship exists between 1 Peter and James, which letter has priority? Many earlier interpreters thought that, along with its use of Romans and Ephesians, 1 Peter was also dependent upon the letter of James.282 At times, this conclusion was reached through comparative analysis, but more often it was the default assumption based on the date (and authorship) assigned to the letters. While not altogether common in recent scholarship, this view still has a few defenders.283   E.g., Johnson, Letter of James, 54–55; Elliott 23–24.   E.g., the passive imperative form ταπεινώθητε (1 Pet 5.6//Jas 4.10), which is only found in Jer 13.18 (LXX) prior to this point, and which appears in later Christian writings primarily as citations of the present verses. 280   Allison, James, 68. 281   E.g., when citing Prov 3.34, both have ὁ θεός in place of the LXX’s κύριος. 282   Among those who have focused on 1 Peter, the list includes (among others): Steiger 1:10; Wiesinger 25–26; Schott 340; Hofmann 212; Johnstone 37–38; Huther 22–27; Hort 5; Blenkin lviii–lix; Masterman 33; cf. Chase, ‘First Epistle of Peter’, 788; Hilgenfeld, ‘Der erste Petrus-brief’, 469. Among those who have focused on James, the list includes (among others): Vowinckel, Die Grundgedanken des Jakobusbriefes; Parry, General Epistle of St. James, 69–72; Meinertz, Der Jakobusbrief, 57–59; Rendall, Epistle of St. James, 96–100; Meyer, Das Rätsel des Jacobusbriefes, 72–82; Cadoux, Thought of St. James, 39–43; Schlatter, Der Brief des Jakobus, 67–73. 283   See, e.g., Bottini, Giacomo e la sua lettera, 177; Nicolaci, ‘Giacomo e Prima Petri’, 111–57; Christensen, ‘Relationship’, esp. 270–77. 278 279



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An important consideration that has served as a primary basis for this position is the way that each author makes use of the same scriptural passages: Isa 40.6–8; Prov 3.34; 10.12.284 What is significant about these passages is the frequency with which they are referenced elsewhere. Although it is rare to find them specifically cited or alluded to in other Jewish (and Christian) literature of the Second Temple period, they eventually became popular among Christian writers of subsequent centuries.285 While attempts have been made to explain this situation in light of the priority of James, much of this argumentation fails to be entirely convincing (see Exegesis at 1.24–25; 4.8; 5.5–9),286 and in some cases, the argu-

  It has also been claimed that both the author of James and the author of 1 Peter make use of Lev 19 (see Lockett, Pillar Apostles, 149–54; idem, ‘Use of Leviticus 19’, 456–72; Christiansen, ‘Relationship’, 33–87). 285   This is fully detailed in the study of Christiansen, ‘Relationship’, 88–260. 286   In the case of Isa 40.6–8 (LXX), for instance, Christiansen (‘Relationship’, 275–76) maintains that the priority of James allows for a simpler reconstruction based on the fact that the alternative would require James adopting the passage from 1 Peter and then ‘return[ing it] to a more popular conventional use’, namely, as a warning of impending judgment. Yet, it is difficult to see why the latter presents a more complicated scenario. If, as Christiansen (‘Relationship’, 102–108) has demonstrated, a standard line of interpretation existed at the time, then it is not hard to imagine that the Jamesian author might alter the scriptural citation in 1 Peter to re-align it with a traditional reading. Furthermore, Christiansen does not account for the significant complications that would arise from the priority of James due to the way that the scriptural text is referenced by each author. The author of 1 Peter quotes a shorter Greek version of Isa 40.6–8 nearly verbatim using διότι (1.24–25), a variation of a citation formula used elsewhere in the letter (διότι γέγραπται, 1.16; διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ, 2.6). The parallel in James (1.9–11), on the other hand, is not a citation but an allusion wherein only a portion of the passage is referenced, with the text also being broken up by a Jamesian insertion. It would be easy to account for this latter text-form simply through the dependence of James on 1 Peter. But if we assume the priority of James, this would require the Petrine author to have borrowed the idea of the scriptural text from the letter of James, but not the text form. This latter scenario would thus involve an additional step in the intertextual process: the Petrine author would have (presumably) needed to return to the original source (i.e., Isaiah) for the precise wording of the citation, as it could not have simply been reproduced from James. One could argue that this situation would not have proven difficult for the author of 1 Peter given how often he cites from or alludes to the book of Isaiah. But that is precisely the point: Isaiah plays a prominent role in the identity-forming strategy of the Petrine author, whereas it makes virtually 284

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ments have been somewhat specious.287 Commonly overlooked in this discussion is the relative impact of both epistles upon later Christian writers and the bearing of this fact upon the question of literary dependence. If a literary relationship exists between James and 1 Peter, then it is curious, if not telling, that many of the authors who cite Isa 40.6–8; Prov 3.34; and Prov 10.12 also reveal the influence of 1 Peter,288 but not the letter of James. This points to the priority of the former. A more likely alternative is that the letter of James borrowed from 1 Peter. This view was widely held among an earlier generation of scholars, but its popularity has since waned.289 Nevertheless, there is much to commend it (and the citation of Isa 40.6–8 seems to make best sense on this scenario; see n. 286 above).290 Another consideration is the likely date of each epistle, though conclusions on this matter remain open to debate. While 1 Peter was written in the late first century CE (see Introduction: Date of 1 Peter), James no impact in James. Barring more substantial evidence, then, it is most natural to assume that 1 Peter directly cited Isa 40.6–8 (LXX) and that the author of James later abbreviated and slightly altered that citation. 287   One example of a tenuous argument used to support the priority of James is Nicolaci’s appeal to the literary genre from which the citations are drawn. She notes, ‘Dei tre testi citati, due sono tratti dal libro dei Proverbi il cui utilizzo, comprensibilissimo in rapporto al background e alla teologia sapienziale di Giacomo, si spiegherebbe meno facilmente in 1Pt se glielo si attribuisse in modo autonomo e indipendente’ (‘Giacomo e Prima Petri’, 139). Nevertheless, it is arbitrary to suggest that the Petrine author could not independently quote wisdom literature, particularly given that Prov 11.31 (LXX) is alluded to in 1 Pet 4.18 apart from any such reference in the Epistle of James. 288   See Introduction: The Impact and Influence of 1 Peter. 289   Among those who have focused on 1 Peter, the list includes (among others): Usteri 292–98; von Soden 116; Bigg 23; Knopf 6–7; Wand 24–25; Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 517–18. Among those who have focused on James, the list includes (among others): Holtzmann, ‘Die Zeitlage des Jakobusbriefes’, 295–96; Brückner, ‘Zur Kritik des Jakobusbriefs’, 533–36; idem, Die chronologische Reihenfolge, 60–65; Grafe, Die Stellung und Bedeutung, 24–27; Ferris, ‘Epistle of James’, 303–308; Allison, James, 67–70. 290   Nienhuis (Not by Paul Alone) has argued for literary dependence, in the form of a complex intertextual relationship between James and the other Catholic Epistles, with James as the latest letter in this collection, written in the second century in an attempt to complete a non-Pauline letter collection from the ‘pillar’ apostles (cf. Gal 2.9) to counterbalance the weight and influence of the Pauline corpus.



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was probably not composed until sometime later, evidenced by the lack of clear external attestation prior to Origen (Comm. Jo. Frag. 126). On the assumption that 1 Peter borrowed from James, one would be forced to assign James a very early date (mid- to late first century CE), while simultaneously explaining how no one but the Petrine author made use of the letter for nearly two centuries.291 What is more, there is some evidence to suggest that James may have conflated different portions of 1 Peter.292 In Jas 4.6–10 there are strong affinities with 1 Pet 5.5–9; yet within this cluster of parallels another portion of 1 Peter is echoed. In Jas 4.8, the text reads ἁγνίσατε καρδίας (‘purify your hearts’), harking back to 1 Pet 1.22 where the author reminds his readers, τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν ἡγνικότες (‘your souls have been sanctified’). While the similarities may seem minor, these two instances provide the only examples in contemporary Jewish and Christian literature where ἁγνίζω is used to describe a metaphoric cleansing of a person’s inner being (cf. Ign. Trall. 13.3, which has a slightly different nuance). The rarity with which this usage occurs suggests that conflation (and therefore literary dependence) has likely occurred.293 1 Peter and Hebrews. Another NT document that shares some affinities with 1 Peter is the letter to the Hebrews. Although these similarities are not as extensive as those with the Pauline epistles or the letter of James, they have led some interpreters to posit a literary connection between the epistles. A few of the most pertinent parallels are listed below.294

291   It is noteworthy that the authenticity of 1 Peter was never in question in antiquity (see Introduction: Early Citations of 1 Peter), while doubts surrounded the epistle of James (see Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.25.3; Jerome, Vir. ill. 2). 292   Cf. Bigg 191–92. 293   Cf. Adamczewski, Q or not Q, 197, who notes that one of the principal factors by which conflation is judged is that ‘the assumedly conflated motifs or phrases have to be relatively peculiar to their respective works, so that the possibility of dependence of the “conflating” work on other widely known literary works, widespread oral traditions, etc. might be excluded’. 294   For a fuller (albeit, often exaggerated) list of parallels between 1 Peter and Hebrews, see Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 480–92; cf. also Spicq, L’Épître aux Hébreux, 1:139–44; Attridge, Epistle to the Hebrews, 30–31.

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Parallels between 1 Peter and Hebrews κατὰ πρόγνωσιν θεοῦ πατρὸς ἐν καὶ διαθήκης νέας μεσίτῃ Ἰησοῦ ἁγιασμῷ πνεύματος εἰς ὑπακοὴν καὶ αἵματι ῥαντισμοῦ κρεῖττον καὶ ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος Ἰησοῦ λαλοῦντι παρὰ τὸν Ἅβελ (Heb Χριστοῦ (1 Pet 1.2) 12.24) προεγνωσμένου μὲν πρὸ ἐπεὶ ἔδει αὐτὸν πολλάκις παθεῖν καταβολῆς κόσμου φανερωθέντος ἀπὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου· νυνὶ δὲ δὲ ἐπ᾿ ἐσχάτου τῶν χρόνων δι᾿ ἅπαξ ἐπὶ συντελείᾳ τῶν αἰώνων ὑμᾶς (1 Pet 1.20) εἰς ἀθέτησιν [τῆς] ἁμαρτίας διὰ τῆς θυσίας αὐτοῦ πεφανέρωται (Heb 9.26) ἀγαπητοί, παρακαλῶ ὡς καὶ ὁμολογήσαντες ὅτι ξένοι καὶ παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους παρεπίδημοί εἰσιν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ἀπέχεσθαι τῶν σαρκικῶν (Heb 11.13) ἐπιθυμιῶν (1 Pet 2.11; cf. 1.1) τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς καὶ κατανοῶμεν ἀλλήλους εἰς ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν, ἵνα παροξυσμὸν ἀγάπης καὶ καλῶν ἐν ᾧ καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν ὡς ἔργων (Heb 10.23) κακοποιῶν ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων ἐποπτεύοντες δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεὸν ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (1 Pet 2.12) μὴ ἀποδιδόντες κακὸν ἀντὶ ἴστε γὰρ ὅτι καὶ μετέπειτα κακοῦ ἢ λοιδορίαν ἀντὶ λοιδορίας, θέλων κληρονομῆσαι τὴν τοὐναντίον δὲ εὐλογοῦντες ὅτι εὐλογίαν ἀπεδοκιμάσθη, εἰς τοῦτο ἐκλήθητε ἵνα εὐλογίαν μετανοίας γὰρ τόπον οὐχ εὗρεν κληρονομήσητε (1 Pet 3.9) καίπερ μετὰ δακρύων ἐκζητήσας αὐτήν (Heb 12.17) ὅτι καὶ Χριστὸς ἅπαξ περὶ οὕτως καὶ ὁ Χριστὸς ἅπαξ ἁμαρτιῶν ἔπαθεν, δίκαιος ὑπὲρ προσενεχθεὶς εἰς τὸ πολλῶν ἀδίκων (1 Pet 3.18) ἀνενεγκεῖν ἁμαρτίας (Heb 9.28) καὶ φανερωθέντος τοῦ ὁ δὲ θεὸς τῆς εἰρήνης, ὁ ἀρχιποίμενος κομιεῖσθε ἀναγαγὼν ἐκ νεκρῶν τὸν ποιμένα τὸν ἀμαράντινον τῆς δόξης τῶν προβάτων τὸν μέγαν ἐν στέφανον (1 Pet 5.4; cf. 2.25) αἵματι διαθήκης αἰωνίου, τὸν κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν (Heb 13.20)

These similarities have been explained in a variety of ways. The elevated style of both letters has led a few scholars to posit common authorship, though no agreement has been reached on the identity



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of the author. Some claim that the apostle Peter was responsible, while others assign the task to Silvanus.295 There are also those who consider that the affinities point towards a literary relationship, and again, interpreters have been divided over the direction in which the supposed borrowing occurred.296 However, when examined through the criteria listed above, the similarities are not sufficient to suggest a literary connection. The parallels between 1 Peter and Hebrews amount to little more than a few terms, some of which are found elsewhere within early Christian parlance.297 It is true, as Foster points out, that the texts share some unique terms that appear nowhere else in the NT,298 which can be a sign of a literary relationship. But upon closer examination, the use of the words in question suggests very little in common. A case in point is ἀντίτυπος in 1 Pet 3.21 and Heb 9.24. Not only does the term appear, on occasion, in other Jewish and Christian literature (cf. Sib. Or. 1.33, 333, 8.270; Philo, Plant. 133; Conf. 102; Her. 181; 2 Clem. 14.3bis), but the word is applied to completely different contexts and is used to convey different meanings in both letters. Even when the affinities extend beyond a single word to a shared phrase, the nature of the parallels are not indicative of literary borrowing. The two phrases that correspond most closely (καταβολῆς κόσμου, 1 Pet 1.20//Heb 9.26; καλῶν ἔργων, 1 Pet 2.12//Heb 10.23) are common phrases within early Christian literature.299 Because of these differences, it is much easier to suppose that ‘two authors, whose works were unknown 295   Those who attribute authorship to Peter include: Welch, Authorship of the Epistle to the Hebrews, 1–33; Reddin, ‘Hebrews a Petrine Document’, 684–92. Those who attribute authorship to Silvanus include: Riehm, Der Lehrbegriff des Hebräerbriefes, 2:890–93; Hewitt, Epistle to the Hebrews, 26–32; Wohlenberg, ‘Wer hat den Hebräerbrief verfasst?’, 742–62; Barr, ‘Literary Dependence’, 148–60; cf. also Renner, An die Hebräer, 121. 296   Some argue that Hebrews was dependent upon and influenced by 1 Peter (e.g., Narborough, Epistle to the Hebrews, 12–15; Ferris, ‘Comparison of 1 Peter’, 123–27). Others claim that 1 Peter borrowed from Hebrews (e.g., Masterman 36–39; cf. Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 377; Myers, Intertextual Borrowing). 297   On the differences between the proposed parallels, see Hurst, Epistle to the Hebrews, 125–30. 298   Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 482. 299   E.g., καταβολὴ κόσμου: Matt 25.34; Luke 11.50; John 17.24; Eph 1.4; Rev 13.8; 17.8. καλὰ ἔργα: Matt 5.16; John 10.32; 1 Tim 5.10, 25; 6.18; Titus 2.7, 14; 3.8, 14; cf. also Acts 9.36; Eph 2.10; 1 Tim 2.10.

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to each other, have addressed a similar situation of persecution and in doing so have used similar commonplaces of early Christian theology’.300 Conclusion. All these connections reveal that 1 Peter draws on a wide range of early Christian traditions, both Pauline and non-Pauline.301 This conclusion should not imply a downplaying of the clear connections with the Pauline letters, but neither should the relationship to Paul be stressed to the neglect of other relationships and parallels. Unlike the letter of James, which seems to indicate some direct and polemical (or at least ‘corrective’) engagement with the Pauline tradition (Jas 2.14–24; cf. Rom. 3.27–4.22),302 it is notable, as Wehr points out, that the author of 1 Peter integrates these various early Christian traditions without perceiving tensions between them.303 It should be stressed that 1 Peter is by no means merely a compilation of early Christian tradition, but rather a creative and distinctive letter into which a wide range of Christian traditions are incorporated.304 While recent scholarship has, on the whole, tended to reject earlier theories about 1 Peter’s literary dependence on Romans or Ephesians, or the dependence of James on 1 Peter, there seems sufficient evidence to indicate some intertextual relationship between 1 Peter and these various texts   Achtemeier 21.   Cf. Brox, ‘Tradition des Urchristentums’, 182–92. 302   The date of James remains a matter of debate, and this clearly affects whether we see the letter as engaging with Paul, genuine Pauline letters, or the developing Pauline tradition. But the literary parallels (and contrasts) between Jas 2 and Rom 4 seem clearly to suggest some kind of critical relationship between the two perspectives. On the connections between James and Paul, see Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone, 113–17, 187–97, 215–24, 227–31; idem, ‘Letter of James’, 185–89. Nienhuis does not see James as polemically engaged with Paul, but rather as written to bring a corrective theological and canonical counterbalance to the Pauline letters, for readers for whom Paul was an acknowledged authority. For a concise overview of the issues, see Chester, ‘Theology of James’, 46–53. 303   Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 213. Wehr goes on to draw conclusions about what this indicates regarding the Petrusbild reflected in this letter. 304   Cf. Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne et religion populaire’, 25–41, who sets out the range of influences and traditional themes in 1 Peter, including Jewish and pagan as well as the predominant Christian traditions, while also pointing to the originality of the letter. 300 301



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(and other texts and traditions, not least the Jewish scriptures). The epistle is thoroughly integrated into the intertextual mainstream of early Christian literary tradition. Early Citations, Canonicity, and the Catholic Epistles Initial Bibliography Ora D. Foster, ‘The Literary Relations of “The First Epistle of Peter” with Their Bearing on Date and Place of Authorship’, Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 17 (1913): 363–538; Marlis Gielen, ‘Der Polykarpbrief und der 1. Petrusbrief. Versuch einer Neubestimmung ihres literarischen Verhältnisses’, in Aneignung durch Transformation: Beiträge zur Analyse von Überlieferungsprozessen im frühen Christentum: Festschrift für Michael Theobald, ed. Wilfried Eisele, Christoph Schaefer, and Hans-Ulrich Weidemann, Herders biblische Studien 74 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2013), 416–44; Gregory Goswell, ‘The Early Readership of the Catholic Epistles’, JGRChJ 13 (2017): 129–51; Friedrich W. Horn, ‘Kanonsgeschichte und Einleitung in das Neue Testament am Beispiel des 1. Petrusbriefs. Die Aufgabe einer Einleitung in das Neue Testament’, in Spurensuche zur Einleitung in das Neue Testament: Eine Festschrift im Dialog mit Udo Schnelle, ed. Michael Labahn, FRLANT 271 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 331–46; Darian R. Lockett, ‘Are the Catholic Epistles a Canonically Significant Collection? A Status Quaestionis’, CBR 14 (2015): 62–80; idem, Letters from the Pillar Apostles: The Formation of the Catholic Epistles as a Canonical Collection (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2017); idem, Letters for the Church: Reading James, 1–2 Peter, 1–3 John, and Jude as Canon (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2021); Andreas Merkt, ‘1 Peter in Patristic Literature’, in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students, ed. Eric F. Mason and Troy W. Martin, RBS 77 (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 167–79; idem, 1 Petrus, Novum Testamentum Patristicum 21/1 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015); David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007); David R. Nienhuis and Robert W. Wall, Reading the Epistles of James, Peter, John, and Jude as Scripture (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013); Enrico Norelli, ‘Au sujet de la première réception de 1 Pierre. Trois exemples’, in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, ed. Jacques Schlosser, BETL 176 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004), 327–66; Jacques Schlosser, ‘Le corpus. épîtres des catholiques’, in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, ed. Jacques Schlosser, BETL 176 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004), 3–41; Robert W. Wall, ‘Toward a Unifying Theology of the Catholic Epistles: A Canonical Approach’, in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, ed. Jacques Schlosser, BETL 176 (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 43–71.

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Early Citations of 1 Peter305 Having examined the use of sources and earlier traditions in 1 Peter, we will now consider the attestation and reception of 1 Peter within early Christian writings. The clearest evidence of this comes from instances where writers attribute a particular word, phrase, or verse directly to either the letter or the ascribed author (‘Peter’).306 This occurs multiple times in the works of Tertullian and Clement of Alexandria, whose writings date to the late second and early third centuries.307 But the first explicit attribution of the letter to the apostle Peter is found in the writings of Irenaeus of Lyons (ca. 180 CE). In his work Against Heresies, Irenaeus prefaces a citation from 1 Pet 1.8 with the words Petrus ait in epistula sua (‘Peter said in his epistle’; Haer. 4.9.2). At other places in this same treatise, Irenaeus likewise attributes statements from the letter to the apostle.308 Identifying the earliest explicit citation provides firm attestation of the letter’s reception; yet it does not rule out the possibility that 1 Peter was known prior to this point. To determine the earliest evidence for 1 Peter’s attestation and reception, we must consider possible allusions made to the letter in writings earlier than Irenaeus. Since such allusions are unavoidably less certain, leading to disagreement among interpreters, we must carefully assess the likelihood that words, phrases, or other kinds of allusion indicate knowledge of 1 Peter, rather than other possible sources. Awareness of 1 Peter seems clearly to be indicated in 2 Peter.309 In this pseudonymous letter (perhaps ca. early to mid-second century CE),310 the author notes, ‘This, beloved, is now the second 305   For the external testimony of 1 Peter, see Merkt, 1 Petrus; cf. also Bigg 7–15; Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 363–538; Elliott 138–48. 306   Cf. the criteria set out above (pp. 40-43) to assess instances of possible literary relationship, the first of which is ‘explicit reference’. 307   Tertullian, Scorp. 12.2 [= 1 Pet 2.20–21]; 12.3 [= 1 Pet 4.12–16]; Or. 20.2 [= 1 Pet 3.1–6]. Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.44 [= 1 Pet 2.1–3]; 3.11.74 [= 1 Pet 2.18]; 3.12.85 [= 1.17b–19; 4.3]; Strom. 3.11.75 [= 1 Pet 2.11–12a, 15–16]; 3.18.110 [= 1 Pet 1.21a–22b, 14–16]; 4.7.46 [= 1 Pet 3.14–17]; 4.7.47 [= 1 Pet 4.12–14]; 4.20.129 [= 1 Pet 1.6–9]; Exc. 1.12.2 [= 1 Pet 1.12]. Cyprian, Ep. 6.3; 75.2; Zel. liv. 1; Test. 2.27; Hab. virg. 8. 308   Cf. also Haer. 4.16.5 [= 1 Pet 2.16]; 5.7.2 [= 1 Pet 1.8]. 309   See, e.g., Kelly 2; Michaels xxxii; Grudem 22; Frankemölle 16; Knoch 21–22; Watson 3. 310   There has been a long-standing consensus that 2 Peter is a pseudonymous document (see Donelson, ‘Gathering Apostolic Voices’, 18–21). Although some



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(δευτέραν) letter I am writing to you’ (2 Pet 3.1). While the implicit reference to a ‘first’ (or earlier) epistle is most likely an allusion to 1 Peter, the two letters are very different; the summary of the previous letter in 2 Pet 3.1–2 hardly matches the content of 1 Peter. But beyond this, one would be hard-pressed to argue that 2 Peter reveals much ‘indebtedness’ to 1 Peter.311 The vocabulary and style of each epistle is clearly different, a point recognised even within the early church (cf. Jerome, Vir. ill. 1; Ep. 120.11).312 Even moving past the compositional level, each letter distinguishes itself in ‘thought, themes, and theological terminology’.313 This is most evident in the (consistent) use of different words to communicate the same idea (e.g., second coming of Christ: παρουσία [2 Pet 1.16; 3.4]; ἀποκάλυψις [1 Pet 1.7, 13; 4.13]). The author of 2 Peter thus makes no attempt to create any type of verisimilitude by which a connection with 1 Peter might be indicated. Such a strategy marks a departure from other apostolic pseudepigrapha, which usually tend to echo many of the established features of their ascribed author’s work. Even the pseudonymous name employed in the prescript (Συμεὼν Πέτρος, 2 Pet 1.1) is different from that of 1 Peter (Πέτρος, 1.1). Further, the author neither refers to his own location or that of his readers, and he seems to have a personal knowledge of his readers in a way that 1 Peter does not. All of this creates some doubt about the extent of 2 Peter’s knowledge of 1 Peter and thus the connection of 2 Pet 3.1 with 1 Peter.314 Nevertheless, if 2 Peter was composed in the mid-second have located its composition in the late first century (ca. 80–90 CE; see Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 157–58), an early to mid-second-century date appears to be more likely (see Grünstäudl, Petrus Alexandrinus; Frey, Second Letter of Peter, 220–21). 311   Contrary to the defence set forth by Boobyer (‘Indebtedness of 2 Peter’, 34–53), and those who have followed him (e.g., Fornberg, Early Church in a Pluralistic Society, 12–13). For a recent description of the similarities, see Hultin, ‘Literary Relationships’, 40–45. 312   For a stylistic comparison, see Holzmeister, ‘Vocabularium secundae epistolae S. Petri’, 339–55, and Mayor, Second Epistle of St. Peter, lxviii–cv. 313   Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 145. Cf. Norelli, ‘Au sujet de la première réception’, 327, who notes that ‘les affinités entre 1 P et 2 P sont minces’. 314   It is possible that 2 Pet 3.1 is a reference to an otherwise unknown epistle of Peter (as noted by Elliott, ‘First Epistle of Peter’, 269). But the lack of any other mention of such a work within the ancient record makes this proposal unlikely (see Nienhuis and Wall, Reading the Epistles, 108–109).

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century, then it is possible to explain this discrepancy by the number of available Petrine ‘images’. By this point, as Frey notes, a larger ‘Petrine discourse’ would have existed, one informed not only by 1 Peter but also by works such as the Apocalypse of Peter and the Kerygma Petri.315 Polycarp’s Letter to the Philippians provides what the majority of scholars consider to be the earliest clear evidence for knowledge of the content of 1 Peter.316 The precise dating of this epistle is a matter of some dispute, though it can be placed during the early second century (ca. 110–140 CE).317 Perhaps the clearest indication that Polycarp was drawing from 1 Peter is found in Phil. 1.3, which echoes and simplifies 1 Pet 1.8 (see below). The most striking feature of this verse is the reference to χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ δεδοξασμένῃ (‘with inexpressible and glorious joy’). Within earlier Greek literature, this combination only appears in 1 Peter. Parallels between 1 Pet 1.8 and Polycarp, Phil. 1.3 ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες ἀγαπᾶτε, εἰς ὃν εἰς ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες πιστεύετε ἄρτι μὴ ὁρῶντες πιστεύοντες δὲ χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ δεδοξασμένῃ εἰς ἣν πολλοὶ καὶ δεδοξασμένῃ (1 Pet 1.8) ἐπιθυμοῦσιν εἰσελθεῖν (Pol. Phil. 1.3)

A similar correspondence is found in Phil. 8.1, where Polycarp’s description of Jesus is drawn from 1 Pet 2.24 and 22, which in turn was referencing Isa 53.9. The influence of 1 Peter is most clear in the substitution of ἁμαρτίαν (1 Peter/Letter to the Philippians) for ἀνομίαν (LXX), which reveals that Polycarp was not simply quoting from the Greek scriptures.318 Beyond these strong   Frey, Second Letter of Peter, 206. For more on this ‘new perspective’ on 2 Peter, see Frey, den Dulk, and van der Watt, ed., 2 Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter. 316   See, e.g., Kelly 2, 12–13; Best 43–44; Beare 29; Michaels xxxii; Brox 39; Goppelt 31–33; Achtemeier 44–45; Schweizer 17; Boring 46; Feldmeier 39; Donelson 14; Schlosser 29; Schreiner 5. This was also the conclusion reached by the Oxford Society of Historical Theology (see Apostolic Fathers, 137). 317   For a recent discussion of the issues surrounding the dating of the epistle, see Hartog, ed., Polycarp’s Epistle to the Philippians, 40–45. 318   The innovation of 1 Peter is revealed by the fact that it marks the first point of departure from the LXX tradition (see Ziegler, Isaias, 322). 315



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examples, an extensive list of likely citations may be noted.319 Such connections were observed very early. In his reference to the Letter to the Philippians, Eusebius writes that ‘Polycarp, in his above-mentioned letter to the Philippians, which is still extant, has made some quotations from the first Epistle of Peter’ (Hist. eccl. 4.14.9). Less clear evidence from slightly earlier in the second century may be provided by Papias.320 According to Eusebius, Papias ‘used quotations from the first Epistle of John, and likewise also from that of Peter’ (Hist. eccl. 3.39.17 [LCL]). Yet nothing more about Papias’ use of 1 Peter is recorded, and so it is impossible to verify the accuracy of Eusebius’ claim. However, this assertion is consistent with what little is known about the life of Papias.321 As the bishop of Hierapolis, Papias’ ministry overlapped that of Polycarp (cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.36.1–2), who was bishop of the church in the nearby city of Smyrna. Moreover, the two seemed to have some type of relationship, as Irenaeus refers to them as ‘companions’ (ἑταῖροι; Haer. 5.33.4).322 Since Polycarp made use of 1 Peter, it is natural to think that Papias would have known of the epistle as well.323 While few would dispute the relationship between 1 Peter and Polycarp’s Letter to the Philippians,324 considerable disagreement 319   See esp. Pol. Phil. 2.1 [= 1 Pet 1.13, 21]; 2.2 [= 1 Pet 3.9]; 5.3 [= 1 Pet 5.5; 2.11]; 6.3 [= 1 Pet 3.13]; 7.2 [= 1 Pet 4.7]; 8.2 [= 1 Pet 2.21]; 10.1 [= 1 Pet 3.8b]; 10.2 [= 2.12–13; 5.5b]; 12.2 [= 1 Pet 1.3a]. A more extensive list is given by Elliott 143 and Keener 17–18; see also Berding, Polycarp and Paul, 201–202. 320   Dating the writings of Papias creates some difficulty. For many decades, scholars tended to locate his writing activity somewhere around 130 CE or thereafter (e.g., Lightfoot, Essays on the Work, 150; Deeks, ‘Papias Revisited’, 324). The trend more recently has been to move the works of Papias to an earlier period, ca. 110 CE (e.g., Yarbrough, ‘Date of Papias’, 181–91; Körtner, Papias von Hierapolis, 225–26; cf. Annand, ‘Papias and the Four Gospels’, 46, who dates them as early as 80 CE). 321   On the life of Papias, see Shanks, Papias and the New Testament, 65–104. 322   On the relationship between Papias and Polycarp, see de Boor, Neue Fragmente des Papias, 167–84. 323   Cf. Lapham, Peter, 117–18. 324   Recently, Gielen has proposed that the relationship might be reversed; that is, she suggests that 1 Peter was dependent upon the epistle of Polycarp (‘Der Polykarpbrief und der 1. Petrusbrief’, 416–44). See, however, the critical response by Vahrenhorst 47–50.

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surrounds the attestation of 1 Peter in the (probably) late first century work of 1 Clement. The objection that interpreters often raise against this suggestion is that the ‘connection’ between 1 Peter and 1 Clement only pertains to a few words; thus, the similarities are normally attributed to shared tradition.325 However, there may be more to these parallels than many have acknowledged. Of particular interest are those instances in which the affinities go beyond shared language and into shared textual alteration. One place where this textual alteration occurs is 1 Clem. 49.5 (ἀγάπη καλύπτει πλῆθος ἁμαρτιῶν), which parallels 1 Pet 4.8 exactly. Because the sentence is similarly referenced in Jas 5.20 and a few early church fathers (e.g., 2 Clem. 16.4; Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 3.12.91), most believe that the Petrine author was employing an early Christian tradition. The saying is thought to be a maxim or possibly even an agraphon of Jesus.326 Yet there may be a literary relationship between each of these works and 1 Peter, with the latter serving as the source-text.327 It is likely that 1 Peter is drawing from, but also altering, a Greek version of Prov 10.12. The LXX, which reads πάντας δὲ τοὺς μὴ φιλονεικοῦντας καλύπτει φιλία, is clearly not his source in this instance; instead, the Petrine author seems to have made use of a Greek text similar to the versions of Aquila and Theodotion, which reads ἐπὶ πάσας ἀθεσίας καλύψει ἀγάπη (see Exegesis at 4.8). If this is the case, the Petrine author has substituted ‘a multitude of sins’ (πλῆθος ἁμαρτιῶν) for the phrase ‘all faithlessness’ (πάσας ἀθεσίας), a move that was followed by 1 Clement.328   See Kelly 12–13; Goppelt 31–32; Achtemeier 45. For a fuller case against 1 Peter’s attestation in 1 Clement, see Usteri 320–24. While endorsing a literary relationship between the two epistles, Aejmelaeus (‘Pauline Heritage’, 145–46) claims that 1 Peter borrowed from 1 Clement. 326   Early Christian maxim: Best 159; Achtemeier 295–96; Elliott 750–51; Jobes 278. Agrapha of Jesus: Resch, Ausserkanonische Evangelienfragmente, 248–49. 327   Cf. Downs, ‘Redemptive Almsgiving in 1 Peter 4:8’, 494–95. 328   It is possible that 1 Clem. 59.2 represents another instance of literary depend�ence (see Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 402). The verse reads, ἐκάλεσεν ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ σκότους εἰς φῶς, which may be echoing 1 Pet 2.9 (τοῦ ἐκ σκότους ὑμᾶς καλέσαντος εἰς τὸ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ φῶς). What makes this dependence likely is the fact that the idea of being called out of darkness into light is unattested prior to 1 Peter. The only exceptions might be T. Ab. B 7.21 and Jos. Asen. 8.9, although questions surround the date of both works as well as the extent of Christian influence. 325



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The letter of 1 Clement also contains a number of rare terms that, among NT documents, are only found in 1 Peter (ἀγαθοποιΐα, ἀδελφότης, ἀπονέμω, ἀπροσωπολήμπτως, κτίστης ταπει­ νόφρων, ὑπογραμμός).329 Given the wealth of vocabulary provided by the Greek language, shared terminology might not appear too significant. What tips the scales in favour of dependence in this case is the fact that the words held in common are often those that 1 Peter employs in a distinctive manner. One example is the term ἀγαθοποιΐα, which is found in 1 Pet 4.19 and also in multiple locations in 1 Clement (cf. 2.2, 7; 33.1; 34.2). The ἀγαθο- word group is prominent in 1 Peter, marking one of the letter’s most important themes.330 It is noteworthy, however, that ἀγαθοποιΐα is extremely rare prior to 1 Peter, with only a couple of uses pre-dating the epistle (Serapion, Frag. 8,4 [Boudreaux p. 231]; Dorotheus, Frag. [Pingree p. 373]). More striking still is the fact that these are astrological texts that use the term to describe the favourable influence of heavenly bodies. The Petrine author is perhaps the first—at least among extant sources—to employ this specific word within the sphere of morality. Thus, the fact that ἀγαθοποιΐα is used on multiple occasions in 1 Clement with the same moral reference must be attributed to more than simply shared tradition, for it was with 1 Peter that the tradition seemingly originated. The same may be true of the substantive concrete use of ἀδελφότης, another influential innovation of the author of 1 Peter (cf. 1 Clem. 2.4).331

  For an extended list of shared vocabulary, see Elliott 139–40.   See Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 163–273. 331   On the innovative use of ἀδελφότης in 1 Peter, see Horrell, ‘Social Strategy of 1 Peter’, 198–200. To a lesser extent one might also be able to make a similar case for the use of the terms ἀπροσωπολήμπτως and ὑπογραμμός. The latter is employed in 1 Pet 2.21 to depict Jesus as a pattern or example for believers to follow. This nominal form is only sparsely attested prior to 1 Peter, showing up in a few fragments of Aristophanes (Frag. 6 line 5; 320 line 5; 321, line 5), twice in the work of Lycurgus (Oratio in Lecocratem 118bis), and in 2 Macc 2.28. Yet, much like 1 Peter, the author of 1 Clement also employs the term to encourage his readers to follow the pattern set by Christ (1 Clem. 16.17; 33.8; cf. Pol. Phil. 8.2). The former (ἀπροσωπολήμπτως), on the other hand, appears to be the creation of the Petrine author, for it shows up in no other extant Greek source prior to the letter’s composition. It is subsequently adopted by later Christian authors (e.g., Barn. 4.12; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 4.17.105), including 1 Clement (1.3). 329 330

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This, among the other indications of dependence, would lead us to conclude that 1 Clement is likely the earliest writing to attest to the existence of 1 Peter.332 The Canonicity of 1 Peter Because of the letter’s attribution to such a prominent apostle, 1 Peter seems to have been treated as a source of authority from an early period. In the writings of Irenaeus (Haer. 4.16.5), it is quoted for argumentative support alongside the words of Moses and Jesus. The reference to Christ’s preaching to the spirits in prison (1 Pet 3.19–20) is designated as scripture by Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 6.6.45). The same is true of the description of the temple constructed of living stones found in 1 Pet 2.5, referred to by Origen (Cels. 8.19). The letter’s importance is also evidenced by the fact that early commentaries are devoted to it, the first of which was written by Clement of Alexandria, whose adumbrationes (extant only in Latin, part of his Hypotyposes) briefly outline the content and meaning of the epistle (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.14.1).333 A fuller exposition is provided about a century later in the In Epistulas Catholicas brevis enarratio, commonly attributed to Didymus (the Blind) of Alexandria (fourth century).334 The status of 1 Peter is indicated most clearly by its inclusion among the canonical lists of the early church. While the letter did not find a place within Marcion’s list (cf. Irenaeus, Haer. 3.13.1), it was generally accepted within (Proto-)Orthodox circles and possibly among some Gnostic groups as well (cf. Clement of Alexandria, Exc. 12). Origen classified it under the homologoumena, or accepted works (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.8). According to Eusebius, ‘the ancient presbyters used [1 Peter] in their own writings as unquestioned’ (Hist. eccl. 3.3.1), and it was the only writing attributed to Peter that Eusebius thought to be authentic and thus worthy of inclusion among the list of ‘divine writings’ (θεῖα   So, e.g., Bigg 8; Hiebert 12; Elliott 138–40; cf. also Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 398–411; Hagner, Use of the Old and New Testaments, 239–48. 333   For the text, see the ‘fragments’ published in GCS 17 (Clem. III), 203–206. See also Zahn, Forschungen zur Geschichte, 64–103. 334   Zoepfl, ed., Didymi Alexandrini, 9–35. The authorship of this commentary remains debated, see Bennett, ‘Origin of Evil’, 27–33. 332



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γράμματα; Hist. eccl. 3.3.7; cf. 3.25.1–7). By the fourth century, the epistle was included in most canonical lists.335 There are a few lists from which 1 Peter is surprisingly absent, however. The one that has drawn the most attention is the Muratorian fragment. This early canonical list, which has traditionally been placed in Rome during the second century,336 contains most of the NT documents, aside from Hebrews, James, 1–2 Peter, and 3 John. The Apocalypse of Peter is included in the list, along with the Wisdom of Solomon. It is difficult to argue that 1 Peter was simply not known to the fragment’s author,337 due to the epistle’s wide circulation by the time the Muratorian fragment was compiled (see above). Various other explanations have therefore been suggested. Some conjecture that the reference to 1 Peter may have been omitted by the author, whether as a result of carelessness or intentionally, because the true author of 1 Peter was known by the compiler.338 While the former is possible given the character and quality of the document, the latter seems unlikely. If 1 Peter had been rejected by the Muratorian author, then it is difficult to see why questions of its pseudonymous character were not raised along with the other disputed works. Most attribute the omission to the mutilated state of the fragment.339 Yet this still leaves the question why 1 Peter was not included with the other Catholic Epistles of Jude and John. To explain this, some have conjectured that 1 Peter may originally have been discussed in 335   E.g., Cyril of Jerusalem, Catech. 4.36 (ca. 350 CE); Athanasius, Ep. fest. 39 (367 CE); Epiphanius, Pan. 76.5 (ca. 375 CE); Const. ap. 8.47.85 (380 CE); Gregory of Nazianzus, Carm. 12.31 (390 CE); Jerome, Ep. 53.9[8] (394 CE). For a helpful collection of early NT lists and catalogues, see McDonald, Biblical Canon, 445–51. 336   For a defence of a second-century date for the Muratorian fragment, see, e.g., Henne, ‘Canon de Muratori’, 54–73; Hill, ‘Muratorian Fragment’, 437–52; Kaestli, ‘Fragment de Muratori’, 609–34; Verheyden, ‘Canon Muratori’, 487–556. This view, however, has been challenged over the years, with some proposing a fourth-century date (e.g., Sundberg, ‘Canon Muratori’, 1–41; Hahnemann, Muratorian Fragment; McDonald, Biblical Canon, 369–78). 337   Pace Brox 40. 338   Those who claim it is a careless scribal omission include: Knopf 12; Elliott 148. Those who claim it is an intentional omission include: Schutter, Hermeneutic, 7. 339   E.g., Wand 10; Schreiner 5; cf. also Gloag, Catholic Epistles, 112; Green, Vox Petri, 75 (who also allows for ‘scribal carelessness’).

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connection with the Gospel of Mark, in a portion of the fragment that is now lost. The same placement occurs when the Johannine epistles are referenced in the description of the Gospel of John. It is believed therefore that 1 Peter may have been mentioned in connection with traditions surrounding Peter’s use of Mark as his ‘interpreter’ in Rome (1 Pet 5.13; cf. Irenaeus, Haer. 3.1.1; Tertullian, Marc. 4.5.3; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.15.1–2).340 Ultimately, it is impossible to draw any firm conclusions given the fragmentary nature of the document. If the Muratorian author did reject 1 Peter, he would not have been the only one to do so. Some strands of the Syriac tradition also omitted 1 Peter (along with the rest of the Catholic Epistles) from the scriptural canon.341 Likewise, the letter may have also been rejected by Theodore of Mopsuestia (fourth/fifth century). According to Isho’dad of Merv (ca. 850 CE), Theodore did not use James, 1 Peter, or 1 John.342 This is consistent with the testimony of one of Theodore’s opponents, Leontius of Byzantium (C. Nestorianos et Eutychianos III.14 [PG 86:1365]), who claimed that Theodore rejected the letter of James as well as the other Catholic Epistles. From a somewhat later period, it is reported by Petrus Siculus (Historia Manichaeorum, qui Pauliciani dicuntur) that the Paulicians of the ninth century were a group who renounced the letters of Peter and the apostle himself, considering him to be a false apostle due to his connection with Judaism.343 1 Peter among the Catholic Epistles In modern scholarship, 1 Peter is classified among the Catholic (or General) Epistles. While the membership of this group often varies depending on who is organising the documents and why they are 340   See further Bigg 14–15; Michaels xxxiii–xxxiv; cf. also Chase, ‘First Epistle of Peter’, 780–81. Against this proposal, it is noteworthy that even though the Muratorian author mentions the letters of John in connection with the Gospel, he nonetheless references them again later in the work, along with the epistle of Jude, as those that are ‘counted in the catholic church’. 341   E.g., the catalogue of St. Catherine’s monastery (ca. 400 CE); Doctrina Addai 44; Aphraates, Homilies. The Syriac Peshitta, which was formed in the fifth century, included only three of the ‘Catholic Epistles’: James, 1 Peter, and 1 John. 342   See Gibson, ed., Commentaries of Isho’dad, 36, 49. 343   Gieseler, ed., Petri Siculi Historia, 13–14.



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being placed together, evidence from the early church tends to suggest that the Catholic Epistles included: James, 1–2 Peter, 1–3 John, and Jude. The first author to refer to 1 Peter with the designation ‘catholic’ (καθολικός) was Origen (Sel. Ps. 3 [PG 12:1128]; Comm. Jo. 6.35.175; cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.5).344 His use of this label served not as a title but as a categorical distinction. Origen understood 1 Peter as a particular type of letter, namely, one addressed to a general audience rather than to the specific circumstances of any particular group. This is evident from the fact that he used the same adjective (καθολικός) to refer to the epistle of Barnabas (Cels. 1.63.9). Whether or not such a genre classification is a fully accurate description of all the epistles in this group,345 it was commonly understood as the shared connection between these letters.346 By the fourth century, the designation ‘catholic’ had come to refer to a specific collection of documents.347 Nevertheless, there was some disagreement over how many letters make up the Catholic Epistles348 and in which order they should be arranged. According 344   Origen also uses the same designation ‘catholic’ for 1 John (see Comm. Jo. 1.138; 2.149; Sel. Dt. [PG 12:817]). Later Christian authors similarly designate 1 Peter as a καθολικὴ ἐπιστολή (‘catholic epistle’): Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.5; Ps.-Justin Martyr, Quaestiones et responsiones ad orthodoxos p. 450 (Morel); Cyril of Jerusalem, Myst. 1.title; 5.title; Theodoretus, Eranistes p. 263 (Ettlinger); Maximus the Confessor, Quaestiones et dubia 1,37. 345   The letters of 2–3 John, for instance, are clearly addressed to specific individuals: the former being written to ‘the elect lady’ (an individual, or possibly a specific Christian congregation) and the latter to an individual named Gaius. And even though the readership of 1 Peter is broad (‘the elect sojourners of the diaspora located in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia’, 1.1), it is not universal. In the same way that Paul could address groups of churches in Galatia (ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις τῆς Γαλατίας, 1.2), the Petrine author writes to multiple congregations spread out across a specific—albeit broad—area. 346   Even after the label ‘catholic’ came to denote a specific collection of docu�ments, the universality of the letters continued to be stressed. In the sixth century, for instance, Leonitus of Byzantium refers to this collection, noting, ‘They are called Catholic (καθολικαί) because they were not written to one group (ἕν ἔθνος), as the letters of Paul, but generally to all (καθόλου πρὸς πάντα)’ (De Sectis Act 2.4 [PG 86:1204]). 347   For a review of how this collection took shape, see Schlosser, ‘Le corpus’, 3–41; Nienhuis, Not By Paul Alone, 29–97; Nienhuis and Wall, Reading the Epistles, 17–39. 348   This is not to imply that the Catholic Epistles always and only circulated as a unified group by this time. The manuscript evidence, which we have already

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to Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 2.23.25; cf. Cyril of Jerusalem, Catechetical Lectures 4.36), there are seven Catholic Epistles. Symbolism may have been an important driving force behind this number.349 If Paul was thought to have written to seven churches in seven cities/ areas (Corinth, Ephesus, Philippi, Colossae, Galatia, Thessalonica, Rome),350 and the book of Revelation is addressed to seven churches, then it was only natural that the Catholic Epistles would consist of seven letters. This was not the only perspective on the matter, however. Shortly after the time of Eusebius, Amphilochius of Iconium (d. after 394 CE) described another view that seems to have been prevalent in some early Christian circles. ‘Of the Catholic Epistles’, he notes, ‘some say we must receive seven, but others say only three should be received—that of James, one, and one of Peter, and those of John, one’ (Iambi ad Seleucum 310–313; trans. Metzger).351 This latter position appears to be reflected in the canon list of Cassidorus of Rome (Institutiones divinarum et saecularium litterarum [ca. 551–562 CE]) and possibly in that of Eucherius of Lyons (Instructiones [ca. 424–455 CE]).352 discussed (see Introduction: Text of 1 Peter), reveals that sub-sets of this collection could appear together (e.g., P72 contains 1–2 Peter, Jude) and that members of the Catholic Epistles could be included alongside other writings (e.g., C-S, in which 1 Peter appears with various compositions). 349   As suggested by Horn, ‘Kanonsgeschichte’, 340–41. He notes, ‘Die Sieben� zahl bringt wahrscheinlich an dieser Stelle in Bezug auf sieben Briefe einen umfassenden und universalen, eben “katholischen” Anspruch zum Ausdruck’ (341). 350   Cf. Muratorian Canon 46–50: ‘It is necessary for us to discuss these [letters of Paul] one by one, since the blessed apostle Paul himself, following the example of his predecessor John, writes by name to only seven churches’ (trans. Metzger). 351   This debate seems to be reflected in Eusebius’ categorisation of individual Catholic Epistles. Although Eusebius acknowledges the Catholic Epistles as an established collection, he is still hesitant to place all seven letters in the category of ‘recognised’ (ὁμολογούμενα) books. According to Eusebius’ classification, only 1 John and 1 Peter were placed into this category (Hist. eccl. 3.25.1–2). The remaining five Catholic Epistles were listed as ‘disputed’ (ἀντιλεγόμενα) works: ‘Of the Disputed Books which are nevertheless known to most (τῶν δ᾽ἀντιλεγομένων, γνωρίμων δ᾽οὖν ὅμως τοῖς πολλοῖς) are the Epistle called of James, that of Jude, the second Epistle of Peter, and the so-called second and third Epistles of John which may be the work of the evangelist or of some other with the same name’ (Hist. eccl. 3.25.3; trans. Lake [LCL]). 352   There is little evidence of an established collection in the Syrian churches during the third through sixth centuries (see Brewer, ‘New Testament Canon’, 345–63; Siker, ‘Canonical Status’, 311–40).



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The question of how these letters were to be arranged within the collection was also far from established at this time. Unlike the Pauline corpus, the Catholic Epistles were not arranged by length.353 In the East, the order James–Peter–John–Jude was fairly widespread by the end of the fourth century.354 The impetus for such an arrangement may derive from Gal 2.9, where Paul refers to an agreement he reached with James, Peter, and John, whom he describes as ‘those reputed to be pillars’ (οἱ δοκοῦντες στῦλοι εἶναι) in the church. Further, this order allows for the letters purportedly written by the brothers of Jesus to serve as bookends for the collection.355 But other arrangements are also found. Some ancient sources, particularly those in the West, place the letters of 1–2 Peter at the beginning of the collection. This may have been due to traditions about Peter being the first bishop of Rome. Nonetheless, even among those who adopted this arrangement, there was no agreement on the subsequent order. While various witnesses list the letters as Peter–John–James–Jude,356 codex Claromontanus (sixth century) preserves the collection as Peter–James–John–Jude (cf. Rufinus, Commentarius in symbolum apostolum 36 [ca. 394 CE], who lists the order as Peter–James–Jude–John). An alternative arrangement is reflected in the early fifth-century list of Pope Innocent I (Ad Exsuperius Tolosanus 2.1–2), who is one of the few that listed the letters of John before any of the other Catholic Epistles. The location of the Catholic Epistles collection within the canon of the NT varied as well. Some of the earliest canonical lists in the East place the Catholic Epistles after the four Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles but prior to the Pauline letters (see Cyril of Jerusalem, Catechetical Lectures 4.36; Athanasius, Ep. fest. 39). This order is also reflected in two early and important Greek   If this had been the criterion of arrangement, the order would have been (with the number of words, per NA28, in parenthesis): 1 John (2140); James (1744); 1 Peter (1679); 2 Peter (1099); Jude (458); 2 John (245); 3 John (218). 354   E.g., Cyril of Jerusalem, Catechetical Lectures 4.36 (ca. 350 CE); the Synod of Laodicea, canon 60 (ca. 365 CE); Athanasius, Ep. fest. 39 (ca. 367 CE); Epiphanius, Pan. 76.5 (ca. 374–377 CE); Gregory of Nazianzus, Carm. 12.31 (ca. 390 CE). 355   See Painter, ‘Catholic Epistles’, 162. 356   E.g., Const. ap. 8.47.85 (ca. 380 CE); the third Synod of Carthage, canon 24 (ca. 397 CE); Jerome, Ep. 53 (ca. 394 CE); Augustine, Doctr. chr. 2.8(13) (ca. 395–400 CE); Ps.-Gelasius, Decretum gelasianum de libris recipiendis et non recipiendis (ca. sixth century). 353

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majuscule manuscripts: Codex Vaticanus (ca. 350 CE) and Codex Alexandrinus (ca. 400–450 CE). In this arrangement, the canonical order reflects the narrative of Acts, wherein the story of salvation begins with the Jews (as represented in the Catholic Epistles) and then eventually extends to the Gentiles (as represented in the Pauline corpus). It was more common, however, to situate the Pauline letters before the Catholic Epistles. This was most likely due to the prominence and authority afforded to Paul within early Christianity. Where there was somewhat more variation was in the placement of Acts. Some ancient witnesses reflect the order Gospels–Paul– Acts–Catholic Epistles, while others situate Acts after the Catholic Epistles.357 The earliest witness to the order found in modern Bibles (Gospels–Acts–Paul–Catholic Epistles) is Gregory of Nazianzus (Carm. 12.31), who drew up a canonical list in poetic verse near the end of his life (d. 389 CE).358 This arrangement eventually came to be solidified in the Latin Vulgate, where it was adopted as the canonical sequence. One of the more intriguing questions about the various canonical arrangements is whether they were selected with a specific purpose in mind. With a view toward this issue, Nienhuis and Wall have drawn attention to an interesting statement by Augustine.359 In his treatise De fide et operibus (‘On Faith and Works’), it seems as though Augustine viewed the Catholic Epistles as a means of balancing the scriptural canon and preventing anyone from misinterpreting the letters of Paul. 357   Ancient witnesses that reflect the order Gospels–Paul–Acts–Catholic Epistles include: Codex Sinaiticus (ca. 350 CE); the Cheltenham canon (ca. 360–370 CE); Epiphanius, Pan. 76.5 (ca. 374–377 CE); Eucherius, Instructiones (ca. 424–455 CE); Cassiodorus, Institutiones divinarum et saecularium litterarum (ca. 551–562 CE). Ancient witnesses that reflect the order Gospels–Paul–Catholic Epistles–Acts include: Const. ap. 8.47.85 (ca. 380 CE); Jerome, Ep. 53 (ca. 394 CE); Augustine, Doctr. chr. 2.8–9.12–14 (ca. 395–400 CE); Pope Innocent I, Ad Exsuperius Tolosanus 2.1–2 (ca. 405 CE); Isidore, In libros Veteris ac Novi Testamenti prooemia (ca. 600 CE). 358   For other examples of this same structure, see the third Synod of Carthage, canon 24 (ca. 397 CE); Amphilochius of Iconium, Iambi ad Seleucum 289–319 (d. after 394 CE); Rufinus, Commentarius in symbolum apostolum 36 (ca. 394 CE); Junilius Africanus, Instituta regularia divinae legis 1 (ca. 551 CE). 359   See Nienhuis and Wall, Reading the Epistles, 34–35.



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Let us now consider the question of faith. In the first place, we feel that we should advise the faithful that they would endanger the salvation of their souls if they acted on the false assurance that faith alone is sufficient for salvation or that they need not perform good works in order to be saved. This, in fact, is what some had thought even in the time of the apostles. For at that time there were some who did not understand certain rather obscure passages of St. Paul, and who thought therefore that he had said: Let us do evil that there may come good. They thought that this was what St. Paul meant when he said: The law entered in that sin might abound. And where sin abounded, grace did more abound… As we said above, this opinion originated in the time of the apostles, and that is why we find some of them, for example, Peter, John, James, and Jude, writing against it in their epistles and asserting very strongly that faith is no good without works (Fid. op. 21; trans. Lombardo).

Whether or not this problem was the (or even, an) impetus for canonical arrangement, it reveals the types of historical situations that may have been formative in shaping the canon as we know it. Just as importantly, questions like this also direct our attention towards the various ways that these writings were received by ancient Christian readers.360 This creates a much greater appreciation—evident in recent research—for the Catholic Epistles as a collection.361

360   While it is possible that a canonical consciousness shaped the composition of certain Catholic Epistles (see Nienhuis, Not By Paul Alone, who argues that this happened in the case of the epistle of James), the same cannot be said for 1 Peter. How this letter was received centuries later in the scriptural canon of one branch of the Christian movement reveals nothing about the purpose and intended meaning of the original author. For competing views on the way that the final canonical shape impacts modern reading strategies, see (on one side) Lockett, ‘What Kind of Canonical Approach’, 127–36; idem, Pillar Apostles; idem, Letters for the Church; and (on the other side) Nienhuis and Wall, Reading the Epistles; idem, ‘On Reading Canonical Collections’, 149–60. 361   For a review of some recent discussions on this topic, see Lockett, ‘Catholic Epistles’, 62–80. Indicative of the focus is Niebuhr and Wall (eds), Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition. One example of the growing appreciation of the Catholic Epistles as a collection is Goswell, ‘Early Readership’, 129–51.

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Date of 1 Peter Initial Bibliography Cristiano Dognini, ‘Le comunità cristiane e l’impero romano secondo la Prima Lettera di Pietro’, Latomus 68 (2009): 957–71; Marlis Gielen, ‘Der 1. Petrusbrief und Kaiser Hadrian zur Frage der zeitgeschichtlichen Einordnung des 1. Petrusbriefes’, BZ 57 (2013): 161–83; Claus-Hunno Hunzinger, ‘Babylon als Deckname für Rom und die Datierung des 1. Petrusbriefes’, in Gottes Wort und Gottes Land. Hans-Wilhelm Hertzberg zum 70. Geburstag am 16. Januar 1965 dargebracht von Kollegen, Freunden und Schülern, ed. Henning G. Reventlow (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965), 67–77; F. W. Lewis. ‘Note on the Date of the First Epistle of Peter’, Expositor 5/10 (1899): 319–20; Troy M. Martin, ‘Dating First Peter to a Hairdo (1 Pet 3:3)’, Early Christianity 9 (2018): 298–318; Angelika Reichert, ‘Durchdachte Konfusion. Plinius, Trajan und das Christentum’, ZNW 93 (2002): 227–50; P. Duane Warden, ‘Imperial Persecution and the Dating of 1 Peter and Revelation’, JETS 34 (1991): 203–12; Travis B. Williams, ‘Pseudonymity, Persecution, and the Date of 1 Peter: Some Methodological Reflections’, in Die Datierung neutestamentlicher Pseudepigraphen. Herausforderungen und neuere Lösungsansätze, ed. Wolfgang Grünstäudl and Karl Matthias Schmidt, WUNT 470 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 245–67.

Our consideration of the sources, early citations, and canonicity of 1 Peter begins to form a basis for an assessment of the likely date of the letter. By supplementing this information with other considerations (e.g., historical, theological), we can begin to establish some parameters. The dates proposed in the scholarly discussion of 1 Peter range anywhere from the early 40s CE to the third century CE.362 Among those who view 1 Peter as an authentic composition from the apostle Peter, the letter is normally placed within the mid-60s CE (see below). Those who view the letter as pseu­donymous tend to restrict these limits to the late first century (70–100 CE),363 though there are still a number of scholars who 362   Those who place the letter in the late 40s CE include: Foggini, De romano divi Petri, 196 (43–49 CE); Froidmont 553 (45 CE); Escobar y Mendoza 251 (13th year after Christ’s death); Webster-Wilkinson 6–7 (ca. 48 CE). Aside from Evanson (Dissonance, 277–79), who placed 1 Peter in the third century, the latest date that has been suggested for the letter is the mid-second century (see Volkmar, ‘Über die katholischen Briefe’, 428, who situates it during reign of Antoninus Pius, ca. 140–147 CE). 363   E.g., Brox 39–41 (70–100 CE); Achtemeier 43–50 (80–100 CE); Boring 33–34 (late 80s–early 90s CE); Elliott 134–38 (73–92 CE); Senior 7–8 (late



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extend the terminus ad quem into the early to mid-second century (110–140 CE).364 These proposals are often closely tied with views on authorship: if Peter was the author, then the letter must obviously have been written in his lifetime. Conversely, if the letter should be dated somewhat later than this, for reasons outlined below, then Peter almost certainly was not responsible for its composition. Before dealing with the authorship of 1 Peter, we will assess the other evidence concerning its date. This seems the best approach to locating the letter as plausibly as possible in its appropriate context, not least since convictions about authorship are often driven, at least in part, by theological and confessional commitments.365 Moreover, since it is hardly open to dispute that there are both authentic and pseudonymous writings within the body of early Christian literature,366 it seems that our position on authorship should be open to a range of possibilities, and should be guided, in part, by considerations as to the likely date-range of the letter. Establishing the Terminus ad quem We will begin by attempting to determine the latest date at which the epistle could have been composed. One of the major factors first century CE); Feldmeier 39–40 (81–90 CE); Donelson 14–15 (85–95 CE); Schlosser 33–35 (70–90 CE); Heckel 80 (80–100 CE); Ostmeyer 17 (81–96 CE). Others who have adopted this view include: Brown, Introduction, 721–22 (70–90 CE); Schnelle, Einleitung, 481 (90 CE); Martin, ‘Dating First Peter’, 298–318 (79–81 CE). 364   E.g., Frankemölle 13–17; Vinson 13–20; Vahrenhorst 37–51 (70–110 CE). Others who have adopted this view include: Sturdy, Redrawing the Boundaries, 73 (after 115 CE); Guttenberger, Passio Christiana, 65–68 (70–120 CE); Gielen, ‘Kaiser Hadrian’, 161–83 (130 CE); Broer and Weidemann, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, 639–41; Doering, ‘You are a Chosen Stock…’, 244–45 (70–110 CE); Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 21–26 (second century CE); Wypadlo, ‘Jesus Christus als Urbild’, 136 with n. 7 (late first or early second century CE). 365   For example, in Packer’s insistence that ‘when biblical books specify their own authorship, the affirmation of their canonicity involves a denial of their pseudonymity. Pseudonymity and canonicity are mutually exclusive’ (Fundamentalism, 184). For a vigorous argument against canonical pseudepigraphy, see also Guthrie, New Testament Introduction, 1011–28. 366   There are at least some Pauline letters, for instance, whose authenticity is never seriously doubted (Romans, Galatians, et al.), while there are others whose authenticity is never seriously entertained (3 Corinthians, The Correspondence of Paul and Seneca). See further Excursus: Pseudonymity in Early Christianity and 1 Peter.

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in calculating this date is the letter’s external attestation. Earlier we argued that the earliest evidence of 1 Peter’s influence is likely found in 1 Clement,367 which many would date around 95/96 CE, or at least in the late first or early second century.368 This pushes the terminus ad quem back into the late first century. A late first-century date is also consistent with the eschatology of the epistle. Common among first-century Christians was the belief that the end of the present age was imminent (Rom 13.11–12; Heb 10.25; cf. Jas 5.8). After predictions about Jesus’ return failed to materialise, the issue arose concerning how to explain this. By the second century, sceptics had begun to raise questions about the delay of the parousia, as indicated by the defence given in 2 Pet 3.4–5.369 While 1 Peter closely connects future salvation with the past,370 the encouragement that it offers to suffering believers lies in the hope that ‘the end is near’ (1 Pet 4.7). Salvation was thought to lie on the horizon, and soon Christ would be revealed to complete the process of their redemption. When this occurred, judgment would also take place. The recipients are reminded that they live at the ‘end of the ages’ (1.20) and that they must be ready for God’s impending judgment to arrive (4.5, 17–18). In this way, eschatology drives the ethics of the epistle.371 But it is not just eschatology in   See Introduction: Early Citations, Canonicity, and the Catholic Epistles.   While a late first-century date for 1 Clement has been challenged (for a recent discussion, see Batovici, ‘Was 1 Clement Written’, 297–312), with some favouring a broader date-range (e.g., Welborn, ‘Date of First Clement’, 35–54 [80–140 CE]), a majority of scholars support a date in the mid-90s CE (see Horrell, Social Ethos, 239–41; Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief, 75–78). 369   A similar concern might be reflected in the additional ending of John. In 21.23, clarification is offered concerning the death of the apostles. Contrary to rumours that had spread (possibly in connection with the supposition that some apostles would live to see the kingdom of God, cf. Mark 9.1), the author reassures the audience that ‘Jesus did not say to him [Peter] that he [the beloved disciple] would not die, but, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?” ’ (NRSV). 370   See Selwyn, ‘Eschatology in 1 Peter’, 394–401. By accentuating the past and present elements in the author’s theology, Parker (‘Eschatology of 1 Peter’, 27–32) fails to adequately account for the future dimension when he argues that an imminent future eschatological expectation is not present in 1 Peter. 371   Pace Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 65, who claims that ‘[t]he eschatology of 1 Peter is indeed not a delayed or imminent eschatology, but a realised eschatology’. 367 368



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general; it is the hope of an imminent eschatology that grounds the readers’ current experience.372 This also suggests that 1 Peter is probably best placed within the first century CE.373 Establishing the Terminus a quo Having considered the terminus ad quem, we will now seek to establish the earliest possible date at which the letter could have been composed. This requires differentiating between evidence that provides varying levels of specificity. The first type of evidence merely helps us to assign a relative date to the epistle. In this case, we will be drawing on data that is difficult to situate precisely at a concrete point in time, or which relates to broader developments in early Christian history. One such historical consideration is the existence of Christian communities in the northern and eastern portions of Asia Minor. Some contend that this could not have occurred until after the mid-60s or even sometime later.374 This is not simply due to the difficulty in evangelising certain portions of the vast region prior to the death of Peter, for it is hard to deny that individual missionaries could have reached the area by this time. The issue lies in the organisation assumed by the epistle in combination with the fact that the audience’s situation could be addressed collectively by an apostolic

  Cf. Cavin, New Existence, 64–66.   Cf. Feldmeier 217. Other arguments for an early date have been suggested, but the evidence is less than convincing. Some, for instance, claim that the letter exhibits a cordial relationship with Roman authority that must indicate a time period prior to the composition of Revelation (Elliott 135; Green 8–9). Such an assessment of the Petrine author’s view of the Roman State is open to question, however (see Horrell, 1 Peter, 85–95; Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 211–44). Others have argued for an early date on the basis that the author still expects outsiders to relinquish their animosity towards Christians once they become better acquainted with their lifestyle (Fronmüller 9). The thought here is that 1 Peter must represent an early period within Christian history, since the author’s view seems to reflect some naivety about the impact of his audience’s winsome behaviour. But again, there are problems. Not only do Christian apologists from later periods share the same belief, the Petrine author seems to be more pessimistic about the alleviation of pagan hostility than this view acknowledges (see Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 163–84). 374   See the case set forth by Ramsay, Church in the Roman Empire, 284–86. Cf. also Gunkel 27; Beare 30; Brox 27; Feldmeier 33. 372 373

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representative. These considerations, it is thought, would require some period of time beyond the initial introduction of Christianity in the area. Can we therefore plausibly establish when the gospel entered and became established in the northern and eastern portions of Asia Minor? It is clear that churches existed in Galatia and Asia by the middle of the first century CE due to the missionary efforts of Paul. Other missionaries not associated with Paul also covered the same area (cf. Gal 1.6–9; 5.10; Acts 18.24). The question is whether the provinces of Pontus-Bithynia and Cappadocia could have been similarly reached at this time. According to Acts, Paul was prevented from entering into Bithynia, and instead made his way across the Aegean Sea to Macedonia (Acts 16.6–10); if this records historical information, the message would have been taken into the area by someone other than Paul.375 The latest point at which this could have occurred is established by the letters of Pliny (ca. 111/112 CE). During his examination of a group of Christians in Bithynia-Pontus, he discovers that some had renounced their faith some twenty years earlier (ca. 85 CE), perhaps due to some form of persecution (Ep. 10.96.6). This evidence would allow us to push back the arrival of the gospel sometime into the late 70s or early 80s. But whether it arrived earlier than that, we can neither affirm nor deny with any degree of certainty. On the basis of what is known, however, a late first-century date for the letter’s composition remains most plausible. Another historical indicator by which a relative date can be established is the use of the name Χριστιανός (1 Pet 4.16), a designation that appears only two other times in the NT (Acts 11.26; 26.28). The 375   In Acts 2.5–12, among those visitors who originally saw the Spirit descend on the apostles at Pentecost were residents from Cappadocia and Pontus. Some have argued that these could have received the message that day, and then taken it back to their homelands (see, e.g., Selwyn 46; Hillyer 29; Elliott, Conflict, Community, and Honor, 17–18; cf. also Bernier, Rethinking the Dates, 217–18, who is open to this possibility). Aside from the difficulty of having to attribute historical validity to the narrative of Acts, this theory is based on two undemonstrable assumptions: that the residents from Cappadocia and Pontus were among those who received the word and were baptized (Acts 2.41), and that they subsequently returned to their homes and established Christian communities (cf. Hiebert 23). Moreover, if this did occur, it would be curious that a message brought to Pontus/Cappadocia from Jewish converts could so quickly result in predominantly Gentile Christian communities (see Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity).



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earliest archaeological attestation of this title comes from Pompeii, where it appears in a Latin (Christianos) charcoal scribble on the atrium wall of the house ‘Vico del Balcone pensile’ (CIL IV 679).376 It is clear, then, that the appellation originated before 79 CE. The question is: how much earlier? Literary sources may allow us to push this date back somewhat further. According to Acts 11.26, ‘it was in Antioch that the disciples were first called (χρηματίσαι) Christians’. It is on this basis that some assign an early date to the title, only a decade or so removed from the death of Jesus.377 Such a deduction is unnecessary, however, since Luke provides no indication of when this occurred. He is merely concerned with identifying the location. A clearer temporal reference is provided by Tacitus (Ann. 15.44), who notes that the group of Jesus followers whom Nero selected as scapegoats after the fire of 64 CE were those ‘whom the populace called Christians’ (vulgus Christianos appelabat). While various interpretive issues surround this passage,378 the fact that Christians were singled out for punishment reveals that at this time certain Jesus followers were becoming increasingly recognised as a distinct 376   For a review of the issues surrounding this graffito, see Berry, Christian Inscription; Wayment and Grey, ‘Jesus Followers’, 102–46. 377   E.g., Faivre, ‘Chrèstianoi/Christianoi’, 771–805 (40–50 CE); Zahn, Introduction, 2:191–92 (43–44 CE); Taylor, ‘Why Were the Disciples?’, 94 (39–40 CE); Sordi, Christians and the Roman Empire, 15 (36–37 CE); Bernier, Rethinking the Dates, 219 (30s CE). Further support for this thesis is sometimes sought from the original reading of Codex Bezae: ‘then [i.e., after Paul came from Tarsus and the church of Antioch was meeting together] the disciples first called (themselves) Christians at Antioch (καὶ τότε πρῶτον ἐχρημάτισεν ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ οἱ μαθηταὶ Χρειστιανοί)’. However, it is unlikely that this reading provides us with any useful information about the historical situation in the first century. This is clear not only from the late date of this reading, but also from the fact that it assumes that Χριστιανός was a title that originated among the Jesus followers rather than a label used by outsiders (see further Exegesis at 4.16). 378   There are two questions of particular importance: (1) Which textual reading is more likely authentic, Christianos or Chrestianos? On this issue, see Botermann, Das Judenedikt, 72–95. (2) Is Tacitus’ statement about Christians a historical anachronism or a description of the actual situation within the first century? Recently, a case for the former has been set forth by Shaw (‘Neronian Persecution’, 73–100). There are various issues with Shaw’s proposal, however (see Introduction: Socio-Historical Context). For a defence of the validity of Tacitus’ claim, see Jones, ‘Neronian Persecution’, 146–52; Van der Lans and Bremmer, ‘Tacitus and the Persecution’, 299–331; Cook, ‘Chrestiani, Christiani, Χριστιανοί’, 237–64.

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group within Judaism.379 While Tacitus may be reading contemporary practice back into an earlier time, many would see this as a clear indication that the name Χριστιανός was in use prior to 64 CE, perhaps originating shortly before this time.380 It is probably safe to conclude that the name originated around the late 50s or early 60s, and not before.381 Since the designation seems to have been a label of derision first used by outsiders, most likely within the circles of Roman administration (see Exegesis at 4.16), a later date would allow time for the gospel to spread and for tensions with the wider society to escalate. This would also account for its absence from so many NT writings. (There is no hint in the letters of Paul, for example, that he knew the term.) What this means for the date of 1 Peter is that composition during the early 60s may be possible, but a date sometime in the late first century would be more probable. As with the previous issue above, by pushing back the date into the latter half of the century, it provides more time for the name to be established as a derogatory label that would have been familiar to a large group of Jesus followers. Either way, its use in 1 Peter marks (one of) the earliest recorded instances of Χριστιανός in Christian literature. The ecclesial structure referenced in 1 Peter may also be used in assigning a relative date. Some claim that the organisational scheme is relatively primitive, as indicated by the apparent lack of developed leadership structures (e.g., bishop, elders, deacons) and the presumed exercise of ‘charismatic’ forms of service (1 Pet 4.7–11).382 379   Cf. Blenkin 108. It is important not to draw a clear distinction between Judaism and Christianity at this point in history, as though a ‘parting of the ways’ had already occurred. Various attempts have been made to account for this identification of Christiani (e.g, Zetterholm, Formation of Christianity, 94, who claims that the Christiani were a specific Jewish synagogue community in Rome). That those who professed allegiance to Christ could be identified, and identifiable, as Christiani does not of course require that they formed a group seen as separate from Judaism. 380   See the discussion in Horrell, Becoming Christian, 171–76. 381   Some have assigned the origins to the late 50s or early 60s: Mattingly, ‘Origin of the Name’, 26–37 (59–60 CE); Botermann, Das Judenedikt, 171–77 (57–59 CE). 382   Both of these points are used by Jobes to argue that ‘the evidence of church structure once cited as supporting a later date for 1 Peter actually points in the opposite direction’ (11). Others have appealed to the evidence of ‘earlier’ and ‘later’ forms of church structure as an indication that two contrasting forms of



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While we should be careful not to press this evidence too far, the mention of ‘elders’ (πρεσβύτεροι) in 5.1–5 is significant. As a term for those in positions of leadership, this designation only appears in later NT writings (Acts 11.30; 14.23; 15.2 etc., dated probably to around 80–90 CE; 1 Tim 4.14; 5.17, 19; Titus 1.5, letters generally reckoned to have been written some time after Paul’s death). Further, the warnings directed toward these leaders reflect an establish system that does not seem to have arisen until sometime after the first generation of Christian communities (e.g., compulsory service and monetary gain [1 Pet 5.2]). It would seem, then, that 1 Peter reflects a time towards the end of the first century, when structures of leadership are developing in the church.383 The letter’s use of the ‘household code’ form of instruction (1 Pet 2.18–3.7) might also indicate a later date. Instruction on the roles and responsibilities within the household were a common topos within early Christian paraenesis (cf. Col 3.18–4.1; Eph 5.22–6.9; Titus 2.1–10).384 However, such directives are found only in NT letters widely thought to be pseudonymous and thus placed in the latter half of the first century. By association then the Haustafel in 1 Peter might suggest a similar date, especially if the Petrine author borrowed from Ephesians. Also relevant is the lack of evidence in 1 Peter that relations between Jewish and Gentile believers in Christ pose any theological problem. The Christian self-identity reflected in the epistle seems to have developed beyond that of the period during which Peter and Paul were alive. Gone are the days in which the two apostles were adversaries over issues like circumcision and Jewish dietary requirements (cf. Gal 2.11–14). Instead, Peter, the apostle to the Jews, is writing (probably, as we shall see) to largely Gentile congregations and portraying them as the people of God who have appropriated the promises of Israel.385

leadership are preserved in the epistle (see, e.g., Schröger, ‘Die Verfassung’, 239–52). Neither of these views is persuasive, however, since the charismatic practices described in 1 Pet 4.7–11 are unrelated to the organisational structure of church leadership (see Elliott, ‘Elders as Leaders’, 549–50). 383   Cf. Goppelt 46–47; Senior 4; Feldmeier 35–36. 384   See von Lips, ‘Die Haustafel’, 261–80. For the Petrine Haustafel in particular, see Manns, ‘La morale domestique’, 3–27. 385   See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity.

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Finally, the letter displays an awareness of a wide range of early Christian literature and tradition.386 Among an earlier generation of critical scholars, this fact was commonly used to date the letter to the late first or early second century.387 Yet such connections give an imprecise and uncertain indication of date, since the traditions may pre-date the texts in which they are now found (e.g., the Sermon on the Mount) and given that the direction of literary dependence is open to debate (e.g., between Ephesians and 1 Peter). Nevertheless, the combination of sources in 1 Peter—Jewish scriptures, Jesus traditions, Pauline formulations—points also to a time in which various strands of Christian material and tradition were being brought together and in which Pauline and Petrine perspectives, often in conflict in the earlier period, were coalescing (a characteristic also of 1 Clement).388 Evidence like this shows that 1 Peter is a document that most likely originated sometime in the latter half of the first century CE. But this temporal framework can be refined further as we consider the second type of evidence. This involves comparing the information provided by 1 Peter with historical events and phenomena that can be dated with more precision. Such material offers a firm point of reference, and thus proves much more helpful in establishing a terminus a quo.389 One factor that has been frequently employed in dating 1 Peter is the nature of persecution experienced by the audience.390 Among   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities.   See, e.g., Zeller, Apostelgeschichte, 480–81; Holtzmann, Kritik der Epheserund Kolosserbrief, 259–66; Seufert, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 178–97, 332–80. Cf. Volkmar, ‘Über die katholischen Briefe’, 427–28, who claims that 1 Pet 3.19 reflects a dependence on 1 Enoch, which he dated to 132 CE, and thus he places the letter’s composition between 140–147 CE. 388   Cf. Frankemölle 10–11. 389   Another argument used to fix a precise terminus a quo involves the sequence of provinces listed in the prescript (1 Pet 1.1). According to Elliott (137), this order may reflect the realignment of Pontus, Galatia, and Cappadocia that took place under Vespasian in 72 CE. Yet Galatia and Cappadocia had already been united as an imperial province prior to the time of Vespasian (see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 358–60; cf. map 1). During the reign of Nero, the provinces were combined under the command of Corbulo (54–62 CE; 63–66 CE) and Caesennius Paetus (62–63 CE). Therefore, it would be unsafe to draw any conclusions from the listed sequence. 390   For a review of how persecution has been used to locate the date of 1 Peter, see Williams, ‘Date of 1 Peter’, 247–50. 386 387



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those who read the letter as an authentic correspondence from the apostle Peter, the date is generally located sometime in the seventh decade of the first century CE. Where division arises is over how to situate the epistle in relation to the actions of Nero (cf. Tacitus, Ann. 15.38–44). According to some, 1 Peter envisions a form of conflict whose severity is not comparable to the tortures undergone by Christians following the burning of Rome, and therefore its composition must be located just prior to 64 CE.391 But given that suffering represents the author’s primary concern, others argue that the letter must have been written shortly after the start of Nero’s persecution.392 Regardless of which view is adopted, the letter is placed within a relatively narrow window of time (ca. 62–68 CE). Those who take the authorial ascription to be pseudonymous are left with a much larger timeframe in which to date the epistle. Many identify the readers’ suffering with the trials of Christians undertaken by Pliny, who wrote to the emperor Trajan about a group of Christians that was brought to trial by private accusers. Given that Pliny served as governor of Bithynia-Pontus, his correspondence with the emperor is commonly used to date 1 Peter.393 Pliny’s legal actions in this instance are significant. While he expressed uncertainty about punishing individuals simply for confessing the name alone (nomen ipsum), without any evidence that they were guilty of the crimes associated with that name (Ep. 10.96.2), this was nonetheless the strategy he pursued. As such, legal culpability was directly associated with the defendants’ Christian identity. According to Reichert, this decision by Pliny represented a crucial shift in the treatment of Christians. Prior to this point no official policy existed for punishing Christians as Christians. It was Pliny’s correspondence, Reichert contends, that established such a policy.394 391   E.g., Hart 17–32; Selwyn 56–63; Stibbs-Walls 66–67; Cranfield 17; Kelly 30; Reicke 71–72; Hillyer 7; Grudem 37; Hiebert 27–28; Miller 40; McKnight 26–29; Jobes 28–41; Watson 5–6; Schreiner 19. 392   E.g., Bénétreau 33–41; Skaggs 3–7; cf. also Thurston, ‘Interpreting First Peter’, 177; Robinson, Redating the New Testament, 150–69; Neugebauer, ‘Zur Deutung und Bedeutung’, 61–86. 393   For a summary of the Pliny materials as they relate to 1 Peter, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 183–97; Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 200–207. 394   See Reichert, ‘Durchdachte Konfusion’, 227–50; idem, ‘Gegensätzliche Wahrnehmungen’, 281–302. Others similarly view the trials of Pliny to be a turning point in the legal situation of Christians in Asia Minor (e.g., Thraede, ‘Noch einmal’, 102–28; Horn, ‘Gute Staatsbürger’, 371–90).

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The outflow of this decision is evident later in the second and third centuries where Christianity was criminalised.395 Such treatment of Christians provides an important lens through which interpreters have read 1 Peter. Noting that the letter encourages its audience to be prepared to give a ‘defence’ (ἀπολογία) to anyone who asks about their faith (1 Pet 3.15), and that it raises the prospect of suffering ‘as a Christian’ (ὡς Χριστιανός, 4.16), many have claimed that 1 Peter was written in response to the persecutions of Pliny. If this is the case, then it would require dating the epistle somewhere around 111/112 CE or shortly thereafter.396 Others similarly use persecution as an indicator of date, but in doing so, they argue for a slightly earlier time period in connection with the reign of Domitian. Where they locate 1 Peter within this framework depends, to a large extent, on how they diagnose the severity of the persecution. Many work from the premise that the early years of Domitian were marked by relative peace and tranquility, whereas the pressure on Christians intensified near the end of his reign. This portrait of the emperor arises out of the ancient testimony of Greek and Roman authors.397 The beginning of Domitian’s reign is represented as a time of progress, which was gladly embraced both in Rome (Martial, Epig. 4.1; 6.4; 8.36; Quintilian, Inst. 4, preface 5) and around the empire (Sib. Or. 12.124–129). His accomplishments are said to include restoring neglected customs, refurbishing abandoned building projects, faithfully administering justice, and extending mercy to the undeserving (Suetonius, Dom. 3–9). It is within this period that some situate   E.g., Mart. Pol. 10.1; 12.1; Justin, 2 Apol. 2; Acts of Justin and his Companions; Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs; Pass. Pert. 6. 396   This view was especially popular among an earlier generation of scholars (e.g., Baur, Kirchengeschichte, 123–24; Schwegler, Das nachapostolische Zeitalter, 2:10–17; Weizsäcker, Das apostolische Zeitalter, 475, 667; Pfleiderer, Das Urchristentum, 2:503–509). Even in more recent scholarship, it has continued to flourish (see, e.g., Knox, ‘Pliny and I Peter’, 187–89; McCaughey, ‘Three “Persecution Documents” ’, 37–40; Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecution’, 105–23; Reichert, Eine urchristliche praeparatio ad martyrium, 73–95; Casalini, Lettere cattoliche, 81–87; Koch, Geschichte des Urchristentums, 470–79; Schmidt, ‘Ein Brief aus Babylon’, 85–86; Horn, ‘Christen in der Diaspora’, 3). 397   Important objections have been raised against the objectivity of the primary source materials, leading many to question whether Domitian actually played any significant role in the persecution of Christians (see Molthagen, ‘Die Lage der Christen’, 422–58; cf. also Warden, ‘Imperial Persecution’, 203–12). 395



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1 Peter, based on the claim that the suffering described in the letter does not yet appear to represent an escalated form of conflict.398 As the reign of Domitian progressed, the ancient sources note a change in his disposition (Suetonius, Dom. 3.2; Tacitus, Agr. 44). The final years of his rule are remembered as a period of cruelty and violence (Pliny, Ep. 8.14; Pan. 48.3; 49.2; 90.5; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 45.1; Martial, Epig. 10.72). It was during this time that the emperor put to death numerous individuals, either out of threat or jealousy, and banished various groups that were considered suspicious (Suetonius, Dom. 10–11). According to many modern reconstructions, it was during this time that Domitian’s ire turned toward Christians. His anger was particularly fueled by their refusal to acknowledge his claim to divinity (cf. Suetonius, Dom. 13.2). While Christians did not face systematic persecution, wherein the movement as a whole was targeted and members were actively pursued by the Roman State, the level and extent of opposition to Christians is believed to have steadily increased. In fact, later Christian traditions remember Domitian as the second great persecutor of the church.399 Those who find in 1 Peter a more perilous situation tend to date the letter during these final years of Domitian’s reign.400 During the last few decades, views of the persecution in 1 Peter have undergone an important shift,401 and some have expressed scepticism about dating the letter on the basis of references to suffering.402 Such reservations have been grounded in an insistence 398   E.g., Boring 33–34; Elliott 134–38; Seethaler 12–13; Bony 11–14; Feldmeier 39–40. Others situate the epistle just prior to the reign of Domitian based on a similar reading of this ancient testimony (see Knoch 19–22; Goppelt 41–47; cf. Prasad, Foundations, 35). 399   Cf. Melito of Sardis, Apology Addressed to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus [= Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.26]; Tertullian, Apol. 5; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.17–18; Lactantius, Mort. 3; Orosius, Hist. 7.10. 400   E.g., Bauer, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 513–27; Dognini, ‘Le comunità cristian’, 957–71. For confirmation, appeal is commonly made to Pliny’s reference to a group of Christians who confessed to abandoning their faith 20 years earlier (Ep. 10.96.6), presumably in connection to some type of pressure such as persecution. According to this reconstruction, the event would have occurred around the time when Domitian’s fury was growing. 401   For a discussion of this shift, see Williams, ‘Suffering from a Critical Oversight’, 271–88. 402   E.g., Cothenet, ‘Les orientations actuelles’, 21.

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that the type of conflict described in the epistle consisted of harassment from the local populace and did not include official censure or judicial prosecutions. Such objections must be treated with caution, however: differentiating between ‘official’ and ‘unofficial’ persecution, as many are prone to do, produces an inadequate perspective on early Christian persecution.403 Yet even though this qualification might open the possibility that the persecutions of 1 Peter could inform the letter’s dating, a problem still persists: the minimal contribution of such evidence to the specific question of dating. Perhaps the only specific clue that is provided in the epistle is the potential that the readers might have to suffer ‘as Christians’ (1 Pet 4.16). This description seems to indicate that at the time of composition Christianity had become effectively illegal,404 placing the epistle sometime after the persecutions of Nero, which are often seen to have created the legal precedent for Roman opposition to Christianity.405 At most, this evidence could be used to establish a terminus a quo around 64 CE. The final and perhaps most important clue for determining a terminus a quo is the letter’s reference to Rome as ‘Babylon’ (1 Pet 5.13). After the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, the use of the term Babylon as a coded designation for Rome appears frequently in Jewish and Christian literature.406 Many view the present reference therefore as an indication that 1 Peter was written after the fall of Jerusalem.407 Yet advocates of an early date have raised objections 403   See, e.g., Horrell, ‘Leiden als Diskriminerung und Martyrium’, 119–32; idem, ‘The Label Χριστιανός’, 361–81; idem, 1 Peter, 53–59; Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 40–73; Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter. 404   See Introduction: Socio-Historical Context, and Exegesis at 4.16. 405   See Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 218–26; Horrell, Becoming Christian, 192. 406   Cf. 2 Bar. 11.1; 67.7; 77.12, 17, 19; 79.1; 80.4; 4 Ezra 3.1–5.20; 10.19–48; 11.1–12.51; 15.43–63; 16.1–34; Sib. Or. 3.63–74, 303–13; 5.137–78; Rev 14.8; 16.19; 18.2, 10, 21. See further Hunzinger, ‘Babylon als Deckname’, 67–77, and Durst, ‘Babylon gleich Rom’, 422–43. 407   So, e.g., Best 179; Michaels lxiii; Brox 41; Elliott 137; Feldmeier 33; Schlosser 34. The fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Jerusalem temple may also provide another type of temporal demarcation, as argued by Ostmeyer: ‘Dass der Brief keine Spuren einer Konkurrenzsituation von Tempelopfer und Opfer Christi erkennen lässt, ist Indiz für eine Abfassung des Schreibens nach der Tempelzerstörung’ (24).



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to this conclusion, claiming that it was possible to portray Rome as Babylon prior to 70 CE.408 This position was set out notably by Thiede, who based his theory on earlier comparisons between Rome and Babylon in Greek and Roman authors (e.g., Terence; Petronius).409 Nevertheless, the connections that he draws are strained, and, in the end, fail to provide evidence that Jews or Christians associated Rome with Babylon as a result of immorality, idolatry, persecution, or any other point of correspondence. The only extant evidence where such a connection is made comes from documents that all date after 70 CE. Others have pointed to the use of Kittim (‫ )כתים‬to refer to Rome in Jewish texts written prior to 70 CE as evidence that the identification with Babylon need not indicate a post-70 date.410 However, this is a different identification, and one less tied to a specific and significant historical moment, namely, the destruction of the Jerusalem temple. More recently, the use of the Babylon cipher for dating the epistle has been called into question by those who seek to emphasise other communicative features of the metaphor, apart from simply the destruction of Jerusalem. In a helpful article that examines the typical attributes associated with Babylon in Jewish and Christian literature, Baum points out that 1 Peter never makes reference to the destruction of the temple; instead, it consistently draws on imagery of exile and dislocation. Since this imagery was also part of the Babylon metaphor, and had been since the sixth century BCE, Baum argues that the connection cannot be used to date 1 Peter.411   As representative of this view, see Ellis, New Testament Documents, 304: ‘Babylon had been a Jewish typological designation for Rome since the Roman taking of Jerusalem in the first century BC’. Cf. also Watson 4–5; Bernier, Rethinking the Dates, 222–23. 409   See Thiede, ‘Babylon, der andere Ort’, 532–38, who is followed by Marshall 23 and Jobes 13–14. 410   See Dan 11.30 (‫כתים‬, LXX: Ῥωμαῖοι), and frequently in the DSS (e.g., 1QM 1.4–12; 15.1–2). For this point in relation to the date of 1 Peter, see Bockmuehl, Simon Peter, 128. 411   Baum, ‘ “Babylon” als Ortsnamenmetapher’, 218–19. A similar interpretation is advanced by Jobes, who claims that the sobriquet has a different function from the parallel uses in Revelation. In an attempt to remove much of the sting from the cipher ‘Babylon’, she argues that 1 Peter ‘portrays Rome as neither a great threat nor a great evil’ (14; cf. Kelly 219; Michaels 311; McKnight 280; Elliott 132–33). Instead, she claims that the designation is employed because of the 408

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But this argument, too, proves unpersuasive. The author need not specifically mention the destruction of Jerusalem in order to call this imagery to mind. Herein lies the economy of metaphor: one is able to communicate an entire narrative through a single image. Beyond this, Baum’s argument does not adequately account for the underlying referent of the metaphor, which is Rome.412 This identification of Rome with Babylon limits the timeframe in which the comparison would be applicable. Further, it raises the question of why Rome might be associated with Babylon in the first place. The readers’ present conflict likely has something to do with it,413 although that remains only one part. The way that the Rome– Babylon association became solidified in the minds of Jews and Christians was through the destruction of Jerusalem. This is why the texts that draw such a connection only appear after 70 CE, for only then did the analogies with the Babylonian exile completely make sense.414 Rome’s association with Babylon goes deeper than the social conflict experienced by the readers (although this is part of it). It involves an implicit critique grounded in Roman actions that mirror those of Babylon.415 diaspora framing of the letter. As a result, she concludes that ‘Rome could have been referred to as “Babylon” at any time after it gained dominance over Palestine in 63 BC’ (14). 412   According to Zwierlein (‘Römischen Petrustradition’, 98–110), the reference to ‘Babylon’ in 1 Pet 5.13 excludes any reference to Rome and should simply be interpreted metaphorically as the Christian exile, a position that aligns closely with the direction some interpreters (including Baum) have taken. The problem with this suggestion, as pointed out by Doering, is that it ‘does not do justice to the setting in 1 Pet 5:13, which with the delivery of greetings requires, also on the level of the “world of the text” (L4), some form of (imagined) locality’. Further, this view does not account for the fact that the author ‘not only mentions “Babylon” but does so as the place of the “co-elect” (sc. community) whose greetings he delivers’ (Ancient Jewish Letters, 446 n. 77 [original emphasis]). 413   Goppelt 375. 414   In one sense, the view of Baum, Jobes, and others removes the sting from the diaspora motif by focusing solely on alienation without fully considering the impetus. While the imagery of Babylon was used in Jewish and Christian literature to denote a sense of exile and alienation, the cause of the pain and suffering was never forgotten. As such, mourning over social dislocation often turned to thoughts of retribution, and Babylon was the target (cf. Ps 137.8). 415   Cf. Uhlig, ‘Die typologische Bedeutung’, 121, who likewise stresses the negative connotation involved in the use of the Rome–Babylon metaphor.



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Recently, Martin has added a new piece of evidence that may contribute to our ability to date the letter. Focusing specifically on the reference to the ‘braiding of hair’ (ἐμπλοκή τριχῶν, 1 Pet 3.3), he argues that this phrasing refers to an elaborate hairdo that requires time and effort to style, and may have been used competitively among women of the Roman Empire.416 This hairdo is identified with the orbis comarum style that began to be popular in the Flavian period, and specifically from the time of Titus (i.e., after 79 CE, which thus becomes a terminus a quo for 1 Peter). Martin argues that the reign of Titus (79–81 CE) is the most probable timeframe for the letter’s composition, based on the likelihood that Christians were made scapegoats for the major disasters (earthquake, fire, and plague) recorded during Titus’ reign. Nevertheless, he acknowledges that any subsequent time during the Flavian–Trajanic age (79–117 CE), when this hairstyle remained popular, is a possible time of composition.417 Whether or not the letter’s concise reference to hairstyle provides a watertight proof of the letter’s date—Martin himself acknowledges that it cannot be absolutely certain418—it does add further evidence to the various considerations that point towards the late first century as the time of composition. Each of these pieces of evidence contributes to the establishment of the letter’s terminus a quo. Together they suggest that the earliest possible date at which 1 Peter could have been written is 70 CE. Combined with the evidence regarding the terminus ad quem, the letter’s temporal parameters are established. While the available information does not indicate a precise or incontestable date, the weight of evidence seems to favour the period between 70 and 95 CE as the approximate period within which 1 Peter was composed.

  Martin, ‘Dating First Peter’, 300–304.   Martin, ‘Dating First Peter’, 312–18. 418   Martin, ‘Dating First Peter’, 301. For a critique of Martin’s argument, see Exegesis at 3.3. 416 417

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Authorship of 1 Peter Initial Bibliography Norbert Brox, ‘Zur pseudepigraphischen Rahmung des ersten Petrusbriefes’, BZ 19 (1975): 78–96; idem, ‘Tendenz und Pseudepigraphie im ersten Petrusbrief’, Kairos 20 (1978): 110–20; Lewis R. Donelson, ‘Gathering Apostolic Voices: Who Wrote 1 and 2 Peter and Jude?’, in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students, ed. Eric F. Mason and Troy W. Martin, RBS 77 (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 11–26; Homer K. Ebright, The Petrine Epistles: A Critical Study of Authorship (Cincinnati: Methodist Book Concern, 1917); Volker Gäckle, ‘Grüße aus Babylon: Anmerkungen zur Verfasserfrage des 1. Petrusbriefes’, TBei 46 (2015): 8–23; John H. Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark in 1 Peter and Acts: Sociological-Exegetical Perspectives on a Petrine Group in Rome’, in Wort in der Zeit: neutestamentliche Studien. Festgabe für Karl Heinrich Rengstorff zum 75. Geburtstag, ed. Wilfrid Haubeck and Michael Bachmann (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 250–67; David G. Horrell, ‘The Product of a Petrine Circle? A Reassessment of the Origin and Character of 1 Peter’, JSNT 86 (2002): 29–60, revised and expanded in idem, Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity, LNTS 394 (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 7–44; Frank F. Judd, Jr., ‘The Case for Petrine Authorship of 1 Peter’, in The Ministry of Peter, the Chief Apostle, ed. Frank F. Judd, Jr., Eric D. Huntsman, and Shon D. Hopkin (Salt Lake City, UT: Deseret, 2014), 247–65; Elizabeth A. Myers, Authorship of 1 Peter and Hebrews: New Evidence in Light of Probable Intertextual Borrowing (Cody, WY: Pistos Ktistes, 2020); E. Randolph Richards, ‘Silvanus Was Not Peter’s Secretary: Theological Bias in Interpreting διὰ Σιλουανοῦ…ἔγραψα in 1 Peter 5:12’, JETS 43 (2000): 417–32; Edward G. Selwyn, ‘Unsolved New Testament Problems: The Problem of the Authorship of 1 Peter’, ExpTim 59 (1948): 256–58; Jisk Steetskamp, Autorschaft und Sklavenperspektive im Ersten Petrusbrief, WUNT 2/524 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020).

The earliest interpreters of 1 Peter unanimously understood the letter as originating directly from the apostle Peter. But over time, and particularly with the development of critical scholarship, this position has faced serious challenges. Commentators have questioned whether a Galilean fisherman would have been capable of the letter’s elevated Greek style; others have noted the similarities with certain Pauline epistles, claiming that such connections indicate a post-apostolic date. These and other considerations have shaped the scholarly conversation for the last two centuries.419 419   It is noteworthy that Petrine scholars writing only a few decades apart have reached diametrically opposed positions. This is the case with Beare and



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While evangelical scholars continue to defend traditional authorship claims, most critical scholars are now in agreement that the letter is pseudepigraphic.420 In what follows, we will consider how this discussion has developed by exploring the four theories by which interpreters seek to explain the composition of 1 Peter. While we will not attempt to treat the subject in a strictly chronological manner, certain historical developments will be shown as the various issues and topics are addressed. 1 Peter was Composed Directly by the Apostle Peter In the letter’s prescript, the author professes to be the apostle Peter (1.1).421 This claim appears to have been universally accepted within the early church, as Christian writers provide a uniform testimony to the epistle’s authenticity throughout the first few centuries (and beyond).422 Regardless of when 1 Peter is first cited, the testimony becomes indisputable from the middle of the second Marshall. While the latter argued, ‘if ever there was a weak case for pseudonymity, surely it is in respect to this letter’ (21; cf. Warden 11, who claims that ‘the evidence supporting the assertion that Simon Peter is the author is overwhelming’), the former was bold enough to claim, ‘There can be no possible doubt that “Peter” is a pseudonym’ (44; cf. Elliott 124, who notes that it is ‘virtually certain that 1 Peter is a pseudonymous letter’). However, most interpreters have been somewhat more reserved in their judgments; some have declined even to draw a conclusion on the matter (e.g., Kelly 30–33; Schelkle 11–15; Bartlett 230–34; cf. also Craddock 13). 420   See Boring, ‘First Peter in Recent Study’, 359–60; Donelson, ‘Gathering Apostolic Voices’, 17. It is a slight exaggeration to say that ‘modern scholarship… is virtually unanimous in arguing for pseudonymity’ (Richard, ‘Social Thought’, 413). 421   Drawing an analogy from the lectio difficilior criterion in textual criticism, some have claimed that, in light of the strongly Pauline flavour of the epistle, the attribution to ‘Peter’ actually speaks to its authenticity (see, e.g., Miller 7–8). According to this argument, it is unlikely that a forger would have used the pseudonym ‘Peter’ rather than ‘Paul’, for as Jülicher has stated, ‘if the first word, Peter, of our Epistle were absent, no one would have imagined that it had been composed by him’ (Introduction, 207; cf. Beare 44; Brox 45–46; Achtemeier 41). If, however, the reputation of the apostle Peter—particularly in relation to the apostle Paul—played a role in the forger’s selection of the name (see below), then this argument is without substance. 422   A recent proposal that bases the claim of 1 Peter’s authenticity on external attestation is Myers, Authorship of 1 Peter. She argues that the author of Hebrews borrowed from 1 Peter (13–56; cf. also Myers, Intertextual Borrowing) believing it to be a genuine composition of the apostle Peter (57–99). This acceptance of

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century.423 In fact, as one survey has concluded, ‘For the church fathers, there was no doubt that the letter known to us as 1 Peter was written by the apostle himself’.424 The external testimony is certainly the strongest argument in favour of the letter’s authenticity. But how much weight should be afforded to it? Some who defend Petrine authorship maintain that the testimony of the early church should be determinative on this issue. Guthrie finds it astounding that this evidence is not allotted more influence: ‘The very great weight of patristic evidence in favour of Petrine authorship and the absence of any dissentient voice raises so strong a presupposition in favour of the correctness of the claims of the epistle to be Peter’s own work that it is surprising that this has been questioned’.425 However, we should avoid thinking that the early church’s approval of a document necessarily verifies its authenticity. On the same basis we might simply dismiss the authorship claims of letters like 2 Peter and James—which most proponents of Petrine authorship would be reluctant to do—because of the early doubts raised about them. The external evidence only has weight to the extent that one can demonstrate the validity of the church fathers’ judgments on authorship. Modern critical scholarship has shown that pseudonymous 1 Peter’s authorship claim, Myers maintains, is proof of the letter’s genuineness. The basis for such an assertion is the fact that early Christians summarily rejected pseudepigraphic works composed in the names of apostles (100–102). However, there are various problems that undermine Myers’ thesis (see further Excursus below on Pseudonymity). Even if we allow for the (unlikely) possibility that Hebrews used 1 Peter as a source (see further Introduction: Other New Testament/ Early Christian Traditions), it is unnecessary to limit the explanatory options to the two scenarios sketched by Myers: either ‘(1) the author of Hebrews borrowed from 1 Peter believing it to be of pseudonymous authorship; or (2) the author of Hebrews borrowed from 1 Peter believing it to be of apostolic authorship’ (100). One could just as easily propose a third possibility: the author of Hebrews borrowed from 1 Peter thinking it to be an authentic letter from the apostle, yet he was mistaken in this belief. Unless we consider the authorial judgment of the author to the Hebrews to be infallible, it would provide no more evidence for Petrine authorship than any other ancient citation. 423   See Introduction: Early Citations of 1 Peter. 424   Merkt, ‘1 Peter in Patristic Literature’, 167. 425   Guthrie, Introduction, 762. Cf. Keener 24: ‘If external attestation counts for anything at all, then, it is strong enough in this case to outweigh arguments from silence regarding internal evidence’.



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works were included—whether wittingly or unwittingly—within the canon of scripture (e.g., Pastoral Epistles; 2 Peter). Even for those who would not accept these conclusions on principle, it is impossible to deny that some pseudepigraphical works were wrongly believed to be genuine by many early Christians (e.g., Jerome, Vir. ill. 14 [Epistles of Paul and Seneca]). At most, then, what the external evidence reveals is that early Christians believed that the letter was written by the apostle Peter.426 The validity of this belief must be demonstrated rather than assumed. Consequently, internal considerations are just as important as the external—if not more so—because they provide direct evidence about the letter’s composition. With this in mind, several internal considerations are put forward to support Petrine authorship.427 According to some interpreters, the epistle contains numerous indications of an eyewitness perspective.428 This is explicit, it is argued, in the claim to be ‘a witness 426   In his informed treatment of this issue, Keener (16–25) appeals to the early attestation of 1 Peter as proof of its authenticity (cf. also Alkema, Pillars and the Cornerstone, 103; Green, Vox Petri, 75–77). But this conclusion extends beyond what the evidence allows. It is noteworthy, as Keener stresses, that a witness like Polycarp wrote in relatively close proximity to the lifetime of the historical Peter (though at least half a century later). However, even if Polycarp believed Peter to be the author of the letter—and this is an assumption given that he never directly attributes the letter to the apostle—it is necessary to assess the accuracy of this conviction. Simply assuming that Polycarp’s temporal (and geographical) location guarantees his conclusion on this question is problematic. If 1 Peter was a forgery composed after the deaths of not only Peter but also those individuals mentioned in the postscript (i.e., Silvanus and Mark, see 1 Pet 5.12–13), then Polycarp would have had no way to verify the authorial claim—regardless of his proximity to the historical Peter. Traditions about Peter would have only taken him so far. That the letter was viewed as apostolic (as well as sound in teaching and useful for the church) merely indicates that Polycarp held such a conviction; it does not establish the validity of that belief. 427   For a recent review of this evidence, see Judd, Jr., ‘Petrine Authorship’, 248–51. 428   Selwyn 27–33; cf. Spicq, ‘La Ia Petri’, 54. In contrast, opponents of Petrine authorship sometimes question the letter’s authenticity based on ‘the absolute lack of the kind of material one would anticipate from a personal companion of Jesus and an eyewitness of his ministry’ (Boring 34–35; cf. idem, ‘Narrative Dynamics’, 35; Brox 45). However, significant caution is due here. Both sides proceed from questionable assumptions about the nature of eyewitness memory (see Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities).

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(μάρτυς) of the sufferings of Christ’ (1 Pet 5.1). At other places, the author’s autobiographic memory is thought to be implied. One such instance is 1.8, where the readers are reminded that they have not seen Jesus, but still love him. It is sometimes claimed that the author intended here to contrast his own experience, as one who had seen Jesus, with that of his audience who had not.429 Examples like these are also supplemented by the various sayings of Jesus that appear to derive from somewhere other than the canonical Gospels.430 For those who support Petrine authorship, it is natural to attribute these dominical sayings to one who had eyewitness access to the teachings of the historical Jesus. Each of these features would be consistent with the authorial claims of the letter, but none necessarily requires a direct connection with the historical Peter. There is one piece of evidence, however, that is thought to create a stronger link with the apostle: the speeches of Peter recorded in the Acts of the Apostles.431 Numerous similarities have been identified between these public discourses and 1 Peter. Not only have interpreters claimed a stylistic resemblance, they have insisted that there is an analogous use of the scriptural text in each. Some have even noted a connection in theology and content.432   Stibbs-Walls 32. This claim is not altogether convincing because immediately thereafter the author also makes the point that the readers do not currently (ἄρτι) see Jesus (1 Pet 1.8). Only if one could prove that the author had the privi�lege of seeing Jesus at the present time would this be a legitimate contrast. 430   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. 431   Those who have drawn a connection between 1 Peter and the Petrine speeches in Acts include: Fronmüller 8; Blenkin xxi–xxii; Moffatt 87; Heupler 617; Selwyn 33–36; Miller 54–55; McKnight 28; Witherington 122–26; see also Gloag, Catholic Epistles, 114–15; Thiede, ‘Apostle Peter’, 145–55; Himes, ‘Peter and the Prophetic Word’, 227–44. Two of the most thorough treatments in this regard are Scharfe, Die petrinische Strömung, and Atra, ‘Speeches of Peter’. 432   The use of this evidence is somewhat tenuous, however. In Acts, the speeches of individual characters are not reproduced ipsissima verba. Consistent with the rest of the Hellenistic historiography tradition, the speeches represent occasions designed to further the author’s theological purposes, written in the author’s own style (cf. Soards, Speeches in Acts). Even the recent assessment by Lo (‘Petrine Speeches in Acts’, 62–75), who attributes historical value to the Petrine speeches, admits this much: ‘Audiences of ancient historiography simply did not expect to find verbatim reports of speeches, and therefore it was likely not Luke’s intention to reproduce what Peter literally said on any particular occasion’ (74–75). 429



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For most critical scholars, however, these arguments have not been sufficient to overcome the difficulties associated with Petrine authorship. Problems with attributing the letter to the apostle Peter have long been noted;433 yet it was not until the late eighteenth century that anyone departed from this traditional position. As far as we are aware, the first to move in this direction was Evanson, a controversial British clergyman, who in 1792 published a work entitled, The Dissonance of the Four Generally Received Evangelists, and the Evidence of Their Respective Authenticity Examined.434 In this study, Evanson set out a case for the pseudepigraphic character of over half the documents in the NT.435 His critique of the authorship claim of 1 Peter was grounded in historical and theological considerations.436 The letter, he noted, gives the impression that it was directed to a Gentile audience, while the apostle Peter had been commissioned to preach to the Jews. Further, he noted that the author included himself among those who lived in the ways of the Gentiles (1 Pet 4.3, based on the TR reading ἡμῖν), and he complained about the author thinking that the end of the world was near (4.7). Another objection related to the letter’s provenance. Evanson noted that there is no evidence that places Peter in either Assyrian or Egyptian Babylon. Finally, he questioned whether an apostle of Christ could ever compose the ‘nonsense’ that is found in 3.19–20. Since Evanson believed that the type of situation described in 2.12 (Christians being accused as evil doers) did not occur until the time of Pliny (early second century), he dated 1 Peter sometime in the third century. The first German critic to question the authenticity of 1 Peter— and the first critic usually noted by modern scholars437—was Cludius, who published his Uransichten des Christenthums in 1808. In this   In 1788, Semler noted the Pauline character of 1 Peter (‘imitationem Pauli licerte dicere, sine inuida nominis’, praef. Abs. 3), although it did not lead him to question the letter’s authenticity. 434   Various responses and counter-responses were made: Priestley, Letters; Simpson, Authenticity; Evanson, Letter. 435   The list of those documents whose authenticity was challenged includes: the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and John, as well as Romans, Ephesians, Colossians, Philippians, Titus, Philemon, Hebrews, James, 1–2 Peter, 1–3 John, Jude, and the seven letters to the churches in Asia found in the book of Revelation. 436   Evanson, Dissonance, 277–79. 437   E.g., Elliott 120; Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 240 with n. 4. 433

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work, which discussed a variety of issues related to the interpretation of the NT, Cludius maintained that the attribution to Peter was the result of a textual corruption (with ὁ πρεσβύτερος being later replaced by Πέτρος ἀπόστολος), and that the actual author of the letter was a Jewish-Christian from Asia Minor who was sympathetic to the Pauline perspective.438 While most of these early arguments have not proven convincing in the long run, others would continue to challenge Petrine authorship for different reasons. One issue over which interpreters have expressed serious reservations is the possibility of attributing the level of literary skill displayed in 1 Peter to a rural fisherman.439 While this problem has led many defenders of authenticity to posit the role of a secretary in the composition process (see below), some continue to maintain a close connection to Peter, claiming that the apostle would have been capable of communicating at an elevated level in Greek.440 For   Cludius, Uransichten des Christenthums, 296–311. The novelty of this view meant that it was not immediately accepted within scholarship (see the anonymous review in Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung 58 [1809]: 478). Others would soon follow with their own modifications, however. For instance, Eichhorn (Einleitung, 3:606–18) claimed that 1 Peter was written by Mark, who was a disciple of Paul and so shaped the ideas of Peter into Pauline language. 439   A person’s occupation was often a reliable indicator of his or her literate abilities, although at times this criterion could (admittedly) be deceiving. For instance, prostitutes are portrayed as reading letters and writing graffiti in Lucian’s fictional narrative (Dial. meretr. 4.2–3; 10.1–4), and the evidence from Pompeii suggests that this may not have been far from reality (see Levin-Richardson, ‘Fututa sum hic’, 319–45). Conversely, some illiterate individuals served in roles where reading and writing would seem to have been necessary skills. Examples include Petaus, a village scribe (κωμογραμματεύς) from Ptolemaïs Hormou, who was barely able to sign his own name (P.Petaus 121, 122; see Youtie, ‘Pétaus, fils des Pétaus’, 127–43) and the various individuals who served as lectors in the church despite being illiterate (P.Oxy. XXXIII 2673; Cyprian, Ep. 27.1 with 38.2; see Clarke, ‘An Illiterate Lector?’, 103–4). 440   This was the position defended by many commentators within the early critical period (e.g., Wiesinger 3–12; Schott 320–23; Fronmüller 8; Hofmann 225–29; Huther 34–40; Alford 112–16; Keil 31–33; Mason 385–86; Johnstone 1–10; Williams 5, 7–8; Lightfoot 76–78; Bennett 32–43; Lenski 7–10; cf. Gloag, Catholic Epistles, 109–21, 137). The view has not been as popular among recent scholars, since most defenders of authenticity have adopted the amanuensis hypothesis; yet proponents of this theory can still be found (e.g., Spicq 17–26; Kelcy 7–9; Barbieri 18–22; Clowney 18–21; Grudem 25–31; Hiebert 11–20; Miller 57–75; McKnight 26–29; Black 14–16; Waltner 176–78; Powers 26–31; Keating 18–19; Jobes 5–19; Schreiner 14–16; cf. also MHT 2:25–26). 438



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the most part, they are left to argue their case from circumstantial evidence and historic analogies. The most popular argument used to establish Peter’s literary abilities is the spread of Hellenism following the conquests of Alexander the Great. An important catalyst in this discussion was the monumental work of Hengel, who meticulously documented the process of Hellenization in ancient Palestine.441 One of the primary barometers employed by Hengel to detect Hellenistic influence was the use of Greek language, a practice thought to extend to a large percentage of Jewish society. Against this backdrop, some Petrine scholars have concluded that the apostle, like many of his fellow Jews, was most likely bi-lingual (or possibly even tri-lingual), speaking Aramaic, Greek, and potentially knowing Hebrew too. As a fisherman, in particular, his commercial interactions are said to have required considerable fluency in the Greek language.442 Support for these conclusions is generally drawn from the use of Greek loanwords in rabbinic sources and from the epigraphic record.443 These materials 441   Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus. It should be noted that other scholars around this same time also argued for the pervasive influence of Greek culture in ancient Palestine (e.g., Gundry, ‘Language Milieu’, 404–408; Sevenster, Do You Know Greek?; Argyle, ‘Greek among the Jews’, 87–89), and even before the publication of Hengel’s work, Petrine scholars still attributed to Peter a faculty in Greek (see, e.g., Blenkin xxiii). 442   Cf. Kelly 31; Witherington 52; Schreiner 14; Judd, Jr., ‘Petrine Authorship’, 252–53. For a full defence of the view that the historical Peter could speak Greek, see Lee, ‘Greek-Speaking Ability’, 158–81. 443   The epigraphic record (esp. ossuaries) is one of the few pieces of evidence cited by Petrine scholars to support their claims concerning the dissemination of the Greek language (see, e.g., Stibbs-Walls 24–25; Grudem 27–28; Hillyer 2; Schreiner 15). Sometimes Peter’s familiarity with Greek is posed on the basis of family names and the Hellenistic character of his hometown (Bethsaida). According to Bockmuehl, ‘Since Bethsaida soon came to bear a Greco-Roman name (Julias), and only Greek names are known for Peter’s brother Andrew and their friend Philip, it seems quite reasonable to suppose that Peter spoke passable Greek ever since childhood’ (Simon Peter, 168; cf. also Ebright, Petrine Epistles, 82; Spicq 23; Kelly 31; Frederick, ‘Theme of Obedience’, 131). He points out that Andrew and Philip are portrayed in John’s Gospel as predisposed toward a Greekspeaking context (cf. John 12.20–22). While there may be something significant here regarding Peter’s family origins, we must be somewhat cautious about the level of Hellenization that we assign to Bethsaida in the first century CE (see below). Moreover, the Hellenization of one member of a family was not always reflective of the situation of another member; we might point to the Babatha archive, which reveals that a certain Judah was unable to even sign his name in

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have bolstered more positive conclusions about the use of Greek within Jewish society at the time.444 As we assess these claims, it is important to note that the arguments put forward to demonstrate Peter’s linguistic abilities too often rest on possibility and assumption rather than on substantial evidence that a first-century Galilean fisherman could plausibly have been fluent in Greek.445 But even if the wider influence of Greek culture and language on Roman Palestine could be demonstrated to the point that scholars could assume that Peter was multilingual, this does nothing to establish that the apostle possessed a literary faculty in Greek: ‘bilingualism did not correspond to biliteracy’;446 in other words, in antiquity (as now) there was a big difference between the ability to speak a language and the ability to read and write in that same language—particularly at a high level.447 Among the number of Galileans who could speak Greek, far fewer would have been literate in it (see below). This is especially true of those lower on the socio-economic scale.448 Greek (P.Yadin 17–18), while his brother, Eleazar, was highly competent in Greek (P.Yadin 15). For a recent study of a relevant literary source, Eupolemus (though unrelated to the direct discussion of Peter’s literary abilities), see Dhont, ‘Use of Greek in Palestine’. 444   Among NT interpreters in general, this has been a common conclusion (see, e.g., Porter, ‘Use of Greek’, 123–54; van der Horst, ‘Greek in Jewish Palestine’, 154–74; Gleaves, Did Jesus Speak Greek?). 445   Since most in the ancient world were illiterate, it is not fallacious, as Bernier (Rethinking the Dates, 208) contends, to begin with the assumption that the same would be true of Peter. While this consideration, in and of itself, is not sufficient to demonstrate the apostle’s illiteracy, it does shift the burden of proof to those who seek to defend Peter’s reading and writing abilities. 446   Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 175. Cf. Keener 10, who admits, ‘While Peter undoubtedly did know Greek, however, it is not likely that he could, without great effort and learning, produce the sophisticated quality of this letter’s Greek on his own’ (original emphasis). 447   This fact is not fully accounted for in the defence of authenticity by Gäckle (‘Grüße aus Babylon’, 12–13), who defends (the possibility of) the literary abilities of the historical Peter on the basis of his apostolic leadership and preaching abilities. 448   See Charlesworth, ‘Recognizing Greek Literacy’, 161–89. Cf. Keith, ‘Grapho-Literacy’, 47: ‘In a primarily agrarian society, it was simply (financially) impractical for parents to send a child through the various levels of pedagogy that would eventually allow him (or, more rarely, her) to cite Homer or compose writing. Not only would this lose a worker for the family, the child’s life likely would never present an opportunity for him (or her) to use that skill’.



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In the same way that biliteracy must be distinguished from bilingualism, it is also important to differentiate between levels of literacy in the ancient world. The question is more complex than simply asking whether a person could read and/or write; a simple dichotomy between literate/illiterate is unhelpful. Various levels of literacy existed in the Greco-Roman world.449 On one end of the spectrum were those who were unable to read and write and who did not participate in textual culture due to financial limitations (e.g., illiterate people who did not own literate slaves or who could not afford to hire a scribe to write contracts). Beyond this level, various gradations of abilities were represented: some might only be able to sign their name (‘signature literacy’), while others might possess some faculty to read and write but only very slowly at a basic level (‘semi-literate’). For those individuals with sufficient time and resources, it might be possible to reach the other end of the literacy spectrum, viz. the mastery of the necessary skills to read quickly and to write eloquently. Very few would attain this level of expertise, however. As a fisherman working within the mercantile trade, it is possible that Peter could have attained a level of literacy (‘craftsman literacy’) that would have allowed him to function successfully in his profession. It is another matter entirely to claim that he possessed a level of grapho-literacy sufficient to compose 1 Peter with its elevated style of Greek.450 Another point that raises further doubt about Peter’s direct role in the composition of the letter is the fact that much of the evidence amassed to demonstrate the spread of Greek language and culture derives from varying geographical and chronological contexts. Ordinarily this would not be an undue limitation given the constraints of our ancient material evidence, but recent studies have shown that Hellenistic culture had made significantly less headway   See Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, esp. 89–116.   Cf. Brown, Introduction, 718 n. 34. According to Porter, ‘Greek was the prestige language of Palestine, and anyone wishing to conduct business on any extended scale, including any successful fisherman from the Hellenized region of Galilee and probably any craftsmen or artisans who would have come into contact with Roman customers, would have needed to have known—indeed would have wanted to know—Greek’ (‘Greek of the New Testament’, 430–31). But there is a significant distinction between the operational (and often, superficial) literacy skills developed by a trader or craftsperson and the refined level needed for the composition of good literary prose (cf. Haran, ‘Diffusion of Literacy’, 92). 449 450

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in Galilee during the first century CE. It was not until the second century CE that the forces of urbanism and Hellenization swept across this area.451 Moreover, the examples of Greek usage to which scholars commonly point (viz. ossuaries, rabbinic loanwords) do little to establish the extent to which the language had advanced among ordinary Jews.452 Consequently, it remains to be demonstrated that a first-century Galilean fisherman would likely have been influenced by Greek culture to such an extent that he would have achieved a high level of grapho-literacy.453 One way that scholars have attempted to work around this problem is by focusing on the length of Peter’s apostolic ministry. Thirty years or more may have separated Peter’s initial discipleship and the composition of 1 Peter. So even if he was uneducated when he began,454 it is argued that Peter could have gained proficiency in 451   This argument has been most forcefully made by Chancey, Myth of a Gentile Galilee, and idem, Galilee of Jesus. 452   Interpreters assume that Jewish ossuaries inscribed in Greek, which make up about 32 percent of funerary inscriptions in Jerusalem (see CIIP), are representative of language proficiencies at the time. A number of considerations weigh against this assumption, however (for a full critique, see Wise, Language and Literacy, 14–19). As for the rabbinic evidence, the conclusion is based on the presence of a large number of Greek loanwords used by the rabbis. But this approach, too, is not altogether convincing, as it is hampered by various methodological problems (see Rosen, ‘Palestinian ΚΟΙΝΗ’, 56–73; Katzoff, ‘Sperber’s Dictionary’, 195–206). Most of the Greek loanwords that have been identified are administrative and governmental terms that reflect the political situation of Palestine. Latin loanwords also appear in this corpus for much the same reason; yet few would suggest that the Latin language was widespread among Jews. Further, as with many issues in the rabbinic sources, one runs into the problem of dating. Much of this material relates to the period after that with which we are concerned (see Barr, ‘Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek’, 110–11). See further Chancey, Galilee of Jesus, 122–65. 453   Cf. Green, Vox Petri, 88. 454   It is problematic to claim that ‘Peter undoubtedly had received the elementary education given Jewish boys of that day’ (Barbieri 8). In the past, it was relatively common to find interpreters who defended the widespread existence of Jewish schools in Hellenistic and Roman times (e.g., Safrai, ‘Elementary Education’, 148–69), a view based largely on literary evidence (e.g., Philo, Legat. 16.115–116; 31.210; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 1.60; 2.204; m. ’Abot 5.21; y. Kethub. 8.32a; b. B.Bat. 21a; although see the scepticism of Cohen, Maccabees to the Mishnah, 118–21), and the perceived need to train members of the community to read their sacred texts. But as this question has been further investigated, scholars have found it difficult to demonstrate that literate education was offered indiscriminately to Jewish children at this time (see Hezser, ‘Private and Public Education’, 465–81).



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Greek over time.455 Examples are sometimes drawn from the modern world to show that unexpected cases of educational achievement and literacy are possible.456 Nevertheless, arguments like this underestimate the process of gaining not just literacy in the Greco-Roman world, but a level of literacy that would allow the composition of highly stylized Greek. This would require access to relevant education and training. Some years ago, Harris demonstrated that the necessary preconditions to support mass literacy were lacking in antiquity. These include an extensive network of subsidized schools to provide literate education, the availability of low-cost reading and writing materials as well as aids to reading (e.g., eyeglasses), the social and economic value in a large proportion of the population being able to read and write, and religious motivation to educate large numbers of people.457 Based on this ‘high level’ approach, which was grounded in comparative social history, Harris estimated that no more than 10 percent of the Roman citizenry would have been literate at the start of the Principate. In Palestine, the numbers are thought to be even lower (less than 3 percent) due to various social and historical factors.458 Moreover, this privilege was normally reserved for wealthy (male) elites living in urban centres. The chances of Peter being included in this group are therefore very slim. 455   See, e.g., Blenkin xxiv; Wheaton 1236; Hillyer 2; Grudem 30–31; Waltner 177; Watson 4; cf. also Ebright, Petrine Epistles, 83–84; Guthrie, Introduction, 767; Judd, Jr., ‘Petrine Authorship’, 253–54; Davids, Theology, 107; Christensen, ‘Relationship’, 305; Bayer, Peter as Apostolic Bedrock, 115. Weighing heavily against this suggestion is the early tradition that Peter used Mark as his ‘interpreter’ (ἑρμηνευτής) near the end of his life (see below). 456   The sailor and author Joseph Conrad is sometimes mentioned as a modern analogy, appropriately countering the kind of academic snobbery that presumes a poor fisherman could not acquire an impressive degree of proficiency in Greek (see, e.g., Grudem 31; Miller 64). But in the case of 1 Peter, the literary skill also requires detailed knowledge of the scriptures in Greek, as well as of a wide range of early Christian traditions. Further, this line of argumentation uses a rare exception to build an analogy rather than concentrating on the vast majority of instances where such literacy is not achieved. It is important to point out that the goal of historians is to establish what most probably happened in the past rather than what could have possibly happened. On the improbability of Peter’s having this kind of literary faculty, see Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 242–47. 457   Harris, Ancient Literacy, esp. 13–21. 458   See Bar-Ilan, ‘Illiteracy in the Land of Israel’, 2:46–61. These numbers have been confirmed more recently by Hezser, Jewish Literacy.

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The probability decreases even further after a ‘low level’ examination of literacy in Roman Palestine. Through an investigation of signature literacy in the Bar Kokhba texts, Wise has estimated that ‘between 5 and 10 percent of Judaean men in the years dividing Pompey from Hadrian were able to read books’, and by extension, compose written works.459 These numbers decline more when one considers proficiency in reading and writing Greek. Among the languages most frequently represented in Judaea at this time, literacy in Greek is far less common than either Hebrew or Aramaic.460 To imagine, then, that the historical Peter developed a level of literacy sufficient to compose 1 Peter would have placed him in extremely rare company: less than 1 percent of the population in Roman Palestine. What is more, such an achievement would have required overcoming a number of major obstacles. Peter would have needed to dedicate an extended amount of time to concentrated study.461 Normally, it took many years to reach an advanced level of literacy.462 Beyond the time obligation, Peter’s attempt to achieve compositional abilities in Greek would have been undertaken well beyond puberty, the point after which language acquisition becomes much more difficult.463 In the ancient world, rare instances are known in which individuals learned to compose Greek during adulthood. However, such examples often stand in sharp contrast to the situation of the historical Peter. This is the case of the Judaean scribes from the village of Mahoza, who gained proficiency in Greek following the Roman annexation of the Nabataean kingdom (106 CE). While the group had previously carried out their duties in Nabataean and   Wise, Language and Literacy, 349–50 (emphasis removed).   See Wise, Language and Literacy, 288–345. 461   Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Comp. 2.229. The great toil and sacrifice involved in this process should not be underestimated. One Egyptian student described the situation this way: ‘The toil of studying for one day is equivalent to going around with a donkey for five days’ (O.Narm.Dem. 12; trans. Cribiore). 462   On the processes involved in attaining literacy in the Greco-Roman world, see Cribiore, Writing, Teachers, and Students; idem, Gymnastics of the Mind; Morgan, Literate Education. 463   See Lightbown and Spada, How Languages are Learned, 67–75; cf. also the specific studies by Patkowski, ‘Sensitive Period’, 449–72; and Johnson and Newport, ‘Critical Period’, 60–99. 459 460



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Aramaic,464 Roman control led to the imposition of Greek as the official language of (written) legal affairs. The situation required these scribes to learn to compose in Greek during their adult years. What stands out for our purposes is the poor quality of Greek that they eventually produced. Concerning one particular document (P.Hever 64), the editor notes, ‘At times, the Greek is so poor that the text can be understood only when translated back into Aramaic’.465 So despite their previous training to achieve a level of literacy in another language, and despite the fact that their economic livelihood was invested in knowing and composing Greek, it is apparent that they had not mastered the (written) language. It seems unlikely, then, that an unschooled fisherman, to whom literacy would have only been a peripheral concern, would have been successful where these scribes failed. All the prerequisites for becoming grapho-literate in the GrecoRoman world amount to a serious problem for anyone attempting to argue that the historical Peter possessed the ability to compose a letter like 1 Peter. But these considerations operate at the level of generalities and possibilities, rather than giving information specifically about Peter. Of particular significance, therefore, are the ancient traditions related to the educational training of Peter and his capacity to read and write. The earliest traditions that address the literary abilities of Peter indicate that he had no formal education and was thus without faculty in written composition. In the book of Acts, he is described as an ‘uneducated’ (ἀγράμματος) Galilean fisherman (Acts 4.13). Although the term ἀγράμματος was not usually meant to carry any derogatory connotations, it was commonly employed (especially in non-literary papyri) to identify one who was, to some degree, illiterate.466 Defenders of Petrine authorship have responded to this portrayal by claiming that it is a biased caricature made by Jews who were 464   For a discussion of these Judaean scribes, see Wise, Language and Literacy, 337–40. 465   Cotton and Yardeni, Documentary Texts, 206. 466   On the lack of stigma associated with the term, see Kraus, ‘Understanding of AΓPAMMATOI’, 434–49. For the use of ἀγράμματος as an indicator of illiteracy, see Majer-Leonhard, ΑΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΟΙ in Aegypto; Calderini, ‘Gli ἀγράμματοι’, 14–41; Youtie, ‘ΑΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΟΣ’, 161–76.

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concerned with Peter’s lack of formal training in legal matters and thus does not speak to the question of literacy. This may be true, but it is noteworthy that early church tradition shares the same perception. In the Recognitions of Ps.-Clement, a similar portrait appears. After Caiaphas accuses Peter of presumptuously assuming the role of teacher, despite his educational background, the apostle responds by acknowledging his lack of formal training. He admits to being ‘an ignorant and uneducated man’, who had not gained his understanding of the scriptures from diligent educational pursuits (1.62; cf. Origen, Cels. 1.62). Likewise, even though Jerome (Ep. 53.3) understood the apostles Peter and John to have been taught the scriptures by God, he nonetheless acknowledged that ‘they had not learned letters’ (cum litteras non didicerunt). Peter’s lack of fluency and literary ability in Greek might also be suggested by the tradition of Mark serving as his ‘interpreter’ (ἑρμηνευτής), though various questions surround this tradition.467 The traditions about Peter’s lack of formal education stand in contrast to other traditions (or, in some cases, the same traditions) that depict Peter as a text-broker who mediated authoritative writings to the Christian community.468 Within the (pseudo-)Clementine literature, Peter is remembered as one who could not only read the scriptural text, but who could expound its true meaning (see Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.15.128; Ps.-Clement, Rec. 1.21). Further, his ability to compose a written work is implicit in each of the pseudonymous documents attributed to him (e.g., 2 Peter; 467   See Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.15 (Papias); 6.14.6 (Clement); 6.25.5 (Origen); Irenaeus, Haer. 3.10.5; Tertullian, Marc. 4.5; Jerome, Vir. ill. 1. Sometimes ‘interpreter’ (ἑρμηνευτής/interpres) is taken to mean translator (Eichhorn, Einleitung, 1:597; Bertholdt, Einleitung, 3:1277; Neudecker, Lehrbuch, 224–26 n. 1; cf. SB XVI 12692: since Germanus did not know Greek, it was necessary for him to speak δι᾿ Ἀνουβίωνος ἑρμηνεύοντος, ‘through the interpretation of Anoubion’). In this role, Mark would have rendered into Greek the stories about Jesus that Peter communicated to him in Aramaic, suggesting Peter’s lack of proficiency in Greek, even at the level of Mark’s Gospel, a less polished composition than 1 Peter. However, the historicity of the connection between Mark (and Mark’s Gospel) and Peter is not beyond question, and the Mark-as-interpreter tradition clearly evolved over time (see Davidson, Introduction, 1:461–63). For a cautious recent assessment of Papias’s early testimony and the possibility of a Petrine link with Mark’s Gospel, see Bond, ‘Was Peter Behind Mark’s Gospel?’, 46–61. 468   Adams (‘Peter’s Literacy’, 130–45) has recently shown that this portrait of the apostle is grounded in the assertion of literacy in 1 Peter.



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Gospel of Peter; Apocalypse of Peter). Such grapho-literacy claims are made explicit in other compositions where Peter is said to have directly composed a written text (e.g., Acts Pet. 20; cf. Ep. Pet. 1.2). There are two ways to explain these competing traditions about the literacy of Peter: either Peter was a scribal-illiterate merchant whom some later Christians remembered (intentionally or unintentionally) as scribal-literate, or Peter was a scribal-literate merchant whom some early Christians (intentionally or unintentionally) remembered as scribal-illiterate. While one might make the case that the latter could be explained by the church’s desire to stress the divine empowerment of Peter’s teaching abilities, this scenario seems to stretch the limits of plausibility. The former, on the other hand, is consistent with the shaping of traditions about the leadership of the Christian movement that took place during the first few centuries. At issue was the lack of education among Jesus and his early followers. With various criticisms being levelled by outsiders,469 many Christians began to portray Jesus and his apostolic delegates as scribal-literate teachers who were able to authoritatively communicate the written word.470 Therefore, the traditions about the illiteracy of Peter, whether or not they were motivated by biased caricature, probably better reflect this historical situation. In conclusion, the available evidence—both the obstacles to attaining grapho-literacy in the Greco-Roman world and the traditions surrounding the reading and writing abilities of the historical Peter—points toward an important conclusion: that the historical Peter was most likely uneducated and thus lacked the proficiency to compose a letter in Greek of the quality represented in 1 Peter. As such, we should avoid directly attributing the epistle to him. 1 Peter was Composed by Peter through an Amanuensis With the evidence weighing strongly against the notion that the letter came directly from the hand of the historical Peter, many advocates of Petrine authorship seek to explain its composition through alternative means. The most popular is the amanuensis   E.g., Municius Felix, Oct. 5.2–4; Origen, Cels. 1.27; 3.44; 6.13–14. See further Hilton, Illiterate Apostles. 470   See Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 167–74; cf. also Kloppenborg, ‘Literate Media’, 32–39. 469

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hypothesis.471 On this view, Peter conveyed the content of the letter orally to a secretary (or amanuensis) who then recorded it in written form. The importance of this proposal lies in the fact that it helps interpreters explain two of the major objections commonly levelled against Petrine authorship: how a Galilean fisherman could have composed the letter in such an elevated style of Greek, and why the epistle shares so many linguistic connections with the writings of Paul. Related to this latter point, the identity of the secretary is important. Over the years, several individuals have been identified as the amanuensis of 1 Peter,472 but the only candidate who receives serious consideration in scholarship today is Silvanus. The letter itself identifies Silvanus only as the courier (see Exegesis on 5.12); nevertheless, it was common in the ancient world for the one who composed a letter to deliver it as well.473 It may be, then, that Silvanus played a role in both the epistle’s composition and delivery.474 The reason why this is significant is because many have tried to connect the style of 1 Peter with that of the Pauline epistles in which Silvanus is mentioned as a co-author, as is explicitly indicated in 1 Thess 1.1. On the assumption that Silvanus was active in the composition of 1 Thessalonians, scholars have searched for stylistic similarities by which to connect these letters.475 471   Those who have held to the amanuensis hypothesis include: Steiger 1:2–6; Ewald 1–8; Kühl 49–60; Blenkin xx–xxvii; Hart 7–17; Vrede 120; Moffatt 85–88; Robinson 1339; Selwyn 7–38; Willmering 1177; Stibbs-Walls 20–36; Cranfield 13–16; Beasley-Murray 50–52; Reicke 69–71; Fitzmyer 362; Blum 210–12; Thompson 80–81; Mounce 3–4; Holmer–de Boor 13–18; Kistemaker 9; Michaels lxii–lxvii; Davids 3–7; Marshall 21–24; Bénétreau 33–41; Hillyer 1–3; Skaggs 3–7; Charles 277–79; Bosetti 14–18; Green 6–11; Warden 10–12; Witherington 38–39; Osborne 131–33; Watson 3–5; Rodgers 1–4; Keener 8–25; cf. Judd, Jr., ‘Petrine Authorship’, 257–59; Green, Vox Petri, 77–93. 472   The list includes: Ariston of Smyrna (see Streeter, Primitive Church, 136–39); the author of Luke-Acts (e.g., Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältnis’, 379–80; cf. Selwyn, St. Luke, the Prophet, esp. 75–178, who identifies Silvanus with Luke); and Mark (e.g., Eichhorn, Einleitung, 3:1:617–18; Renan, L’Antéchrist, 112; Gamba, ‘L’Evangelista Marco Segretario’, 61–70; Moon, Contributive Amanuensis). 473   White, Ancient Letters, 216. 474   As suggested by, e.g., Hart 79; Wand 128; Selwyn 214. 475   See esp. Selwyn 9–17, 369–84; cf. also Sargent, ‘Chosen through Sanctification’, 117–20.



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If Silvanus was chosen to function in the role of amanuensis, how might this have occurred? A few interpreters have advocated the view that Peter originally dictated the letter in Aramaic (or Hebrew), and thus Silvanus translated the message into Greek.476 According to Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39.15), it was in this capacity that Mark served as the ‘interpreter’ (ἑρμηνευτής) of Peter, writing down what the apostle remembered about the life and teachings of Jesus. This view was first suggested by Jerome (Ep. 120.11). He postulated the use of multiple interpreters to account for the stylistic differences between 1 and 2 Peter. According to this view, which could be labelled the ‘translator hypothesis’, these discrepancies are best explained by the translational decisions involved in converting the Aramaic message of Peter into Greek. Most who adopt the amanuensis hypothesis, however, deny that translation was involved.477 But even if the apostle communicated the contents of the letter to Silvanus in Greek, proponents of this view still run into the same problems given above for questioning direct Petrine authorship: such a scenario requires Peter to possess a sufficient mastery of the Greek language to account for the letter’s rhetorical flourishes as well as an adequate familiarity with Greek literature to explain the preference for the Septuagintal version of the Jewish scriptures (see below). The alternative is to attribute a more active role to Silvanus in the composition of 1 Peter. While still working under the auspices of Peter’s ideas and authority,478 Silvanus is thought to have been 476   E.g., Olshausen, Proof of the Genuineness, 145; Schonfield, Authentic New Testament, 420; Picirilli 93, 212. Along similar lines, a few earlier interpreters understood the process to involve the translation of a written document. According to Bertholdt, the work was originally composed in Aramaic and then later translated by Silvanus into Greek (Einleitung, 6:3078–79; cf. Salmanius, De Hellenistica, 254–55, and Baronio, Annales ecclesiastici, 1:297, who claim that it was written in Hebrew and translated by Mark). 477   One of the few who have recognised that the limited linguistic abilities of the historical Peter would have required some degree of translation is Green. He notes, ‘Given his linguistic skill, an epistle from him would most likely be a translated document and not a composition spoken in Greek and transcribed by his amanuensis. He needed greater help than merely putting his words to papyrus’ (Vox Petri, 92). 478   As explained by Cranfield, ‘It seems reasonable to attribute to [Silvanus] the refinements of Greek grammar and style and the literary vocabulary, while at the same time recognizing in the letter the message, the apostolic authority and, to

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responsible for selecting specific terms and phrases and for structuring the syntax into a cogent form. And although Peter may have suggested the use of a particular scriptural passage, it would have been Silvanus who chose which form the citation would take and how it would function within its given context.479 Such a reconstruction allows the possibility that Peter might be seen as responsible for the substance of the letter’s content, while the form and quality of its literary Greek are due to Silvanus. The amanuensis hypothesis is grounded in the notion that secretaries in the Greco-Roman world possessed the freedom to extensively shape the style, content, and format of the letters they transcribed. This idea is defended at length by Richards.480 Through a close examination of secretarial activity in the Greco-Roman world, he proposes that the duties of amanuenses can be plotted along a spectrum. In ascending order (i.e., from lesser to greater degrees of secretarial licence), an amanuensis could function as a recorder, an editor, a co-author, or a composer.481 This final role is perhaps the most significant. In such instances, Richards suggests that the sender (or author) may have offered the secretary general guidelines about what to include in the correspondence,482 or they some extent at any rate, the personality of Peter’ (14). Cf. Reicke 69–71; Hiebert 15; Witherington 41. 479   Beyond the contribution of Silvanus, Rodgers suggests that others may have been involved in the composition process as well, including Mark and potentially the individual addressed by the expression ἡ συνεκλεκτή (5.13). He concludes, ‘So while Peter is the author of record…the letter is in fact the product of a team effort, in which each of the collaborators played a distinctive role’ (3; cf. also Schwank xii–xiii). 480   Richards, Secretary. Others who addressed the topic prior to Richards similarly attributed considerable freedom to the ancient amanuensis (see, e.g., Roller, Das Formular, 1–23; Bahr, ‘Paul and Letter Writing’, 465–77; Longe� necker, ‘Ancient Amanuenses’, 281–97). Following Richards’ study, many continue to espouse this view, often citing his work in support (see, e.g., MurphyO’Connor, Paul the Letter-Writer, 8–16; Klauck, Ancient Letters, 55–60; Blumell, ‘Scribes and Ancient Letters’, 208–26; Lee, ‘Illiterate Fisherman’, 43–46). 481   Richards, Secretary, 23–53. In a subsequent work, Richards refines these four secretarial functions down to three: transcriber, contributor, and composer (see idem, Letter Writing, 64–79). 482   Compare the way that some describe the secretarial role of Silvanus: ‘Peter merely gave Silvanus a somewhat general briefing on what he wished to write and then allowed him considerable freedom both in the matter of particular ideas to be included and the general structure of the letter’ (Bowman 118).



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may have done nothing more than provide the necessary approval after the epistle was completed. In either case, the skills and compositional preferences of the amanuensis played a determinative role in the letter’s final form. Not everyone has been willing to assign such latitude to ancient secretaries, however.483 A closer look at the issues reveals a number of places where this foundational tenet is vulnerable to critique. First, there are no precise analogies from Greco-Roman antiquity that indicate the same level of scribal involvement. Even those who posit considerable autonomy for ancient scribes nonetheless make revealing concessions about the evidential basis for this claim.484 When Richards surveys the data, he is only able to produce a handful of examples that might potentially support wide-ranging secretarial latitude. The most frequently cited example in this context is from a letter by Cicero in which he makes the following request of his trusted friend Atticus: ‘I should like you to write in my name (meo nomine) to Basilius and to anyone else you like, even to Servelius, and say whatever you think fit’ (Att. 11.5; trans. Shackleton Bailey [LCL]). Yet the extent to which this provides a pertinent analogy is limited: Atticus was a highly educated and trusted friend of Cicero, who had corresponded enough with him to understand and be able to imitate the style in which he wrote.485 We know this from the warning that Cicero gives: ‘If they notice the absence of my seal (signum) or handwriting (manum), please say that I have avoided using them 483   Extensive critiques of the amanuensis hypothesis have recently been provided by Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 218–22, and Cadwallader, ‘Tertius in the Margins’, 378–96. 484   For instance, when discussing the evidence for the degree(s) of epistolary license granted to amanuenses in the service of an illiterate author, Blumell makes an interesting admission. He notes, ‘while I have not been able to locate any explicit references, I find it hard to imagine that when a scribe was approached by an illiterate individual to draft a letter that the scribe would not automatically assume some kind of editorial role and provide suggestions or recommendations in terms of form and style and thereby play an active part in the composition of the letter’ (‘Message and the Medium’, 43). 485   The same is true of the other examples cited from the works of Cicero. In these cases, Tiro, the highly educated slave of Cicero, had served as the personal secretary of Cicero for many years. During that time, he had assisted his master in composing numerous letters. In this relationship, he had come to gain a deep understanding of Cicero’s personal style.

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owing to the sentries’ (Att. 11.2.4; trans. Shackleton Bailey [LCL]). His fear is not that the recipients might raise questions about the style and content of the letter (as these would have been well imitated by Atticus); he is worried only that someone would notice the missing seal/signature or the variation in handwriting. The amanuensis hypothesis in 1 Peter requires a very different scenario: a scribe with relatively high literary abilities in Greek composing an important tractate on behalf of a person lacking the same level of literacy, who likely spoke Aramaic and would not otherwise be able to perform the task for himself.486 A passing remark made by Philostratus of Lemnos (third century ce) in his treatise, On Letters, is thought to provide more unambiguous support for the literary freedom of amanuenses.487 Therein, the ancient sophist mentions exemplars who ‘have best employed the   We have evidence of amanuenses drafting letters for illiterate persons in Greco-Roman antiquity, but normally these were brief correspondences consisting of stock phrases and standard epistolary clichés (see Lewis, Life in Egypt, 82). 487   Another example is suggested by Richards (‘Real Author’, 131). He points to the considerable stylistic differences between Josephus’s earlier work (Antiquities) and his later work (Jewish Wars). This improvement is attributed to the ‘assistants’ (συνεργοί) used by Josephus in the composition process (cf. Ag. Ap. 1.50). But even this example is not quite equivalent. For if we take Antiquities as an illustration of what Josephus could compose apart from secretarial assistance, we are still left with someone who was more than capable of composing Greek at a literate level (as opposed to someone like Peter). A similar conclusion is reached from Jerome’s letter to Hebidia, in which he references ‘two letters that circulate as Peter’s, [which] differ from one another in style, character, and word order’. On the basis of these dissimilarities, Jerome suggests that readers should ‘recognise the need for the use of different interpreters (interpretibus)’ (Ep. 120.11). In other words, Jerome postulated the use of multiple secretaries to account for the stylistic variations between 1 Peter and 2 Peter (see Baum, ‘Content and Form’, 385). The problem here is that interpres denotes not a secretary who transcribes the message of the apostle in the same language, but a translator who converts the words spoken or written by Peter from one language to another. Even if we allow for the former interpretation, the remark by Jerome also raises the question of why ‘most’ (plerique) in the early church rejected 2 Peter because of its stylistic difference from 1 Peter (Jerome, Vir. ill. 1). If amanuenses were given the freedom to shape epistolary style and content, why were so many early Christians sceptical of the disparity between these two letters? Why did the amanuensis hypothesis not solve the problem of 2 Peter’s stylistic differences for all critics, as it seems to have done for Jerome? Given the consolidation of the (proto-)orthodox canon at the time of Jerome’s writing (see Athanasius, Ep. fest. 39), with even Jerome himself acknowledging an established list of canonical writings that included two letters 486



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epistolary style of discourse’. In this list, he includes the following: ‘among the philosophers: Apollonius of Tyana and Dio Chrysostom, among military commanders: Brutus or whomever Brutus employed to compose his letters (ὅτῳ Βροῦτος ἐς τὸ ἐπιστέλλειν ἐχρῆτο), among the emperors: the divine Marcus [Aurelius] when he himself wrote’ (De epistulis 42). What is noteworthy about the rankings provided by Philostratus is the brief aside about the composition of Brutus’ letters. The distinction that he draws between Brutus and his secretaries could be taken to mean that the one responsible for the letters’ commendable style was not Brutus, but the secretary who actually transcribed them. But when examined more closely, this example is insufficient to demonstrate wide-ranging secretarial freedom in the Greco-Roman world. What is implied is that the letters of Brutus were not expected to be dictated word-for-word; the amanuensis is thought to have been given some latitude in composition. However, it is noteworthy that the epistolary style of Brutus is viewed (and commended) as a whole, with no indication that it fluctuated according to the secretary at his disposal.488 By acknowledging that the letters attributed to Brutus had an established style, Philostratus’ statement thus adds little weight to the suggestion that each individual amanuensis had the freedom to shape a composition according to their preference and ability. of Peter (Ep. 53.9[8]), it would be more natural to think that Jerome’s solution was merely an attempt to justify the authenticity of both letters (and thus their inclusion in the canon) despite evidence to the contrary. 488   What complicates this question is whether the Letters of Brutus are genuine or pseudepigraphical. In antiquity these epistles were accepted as authentic (see Plutarch, Brut. 2.5–8; Philostratus, De epistulis 42.1–9 [Malherbe]; Photius, Epistula 207.16–16; Suda, s.v. Β §561), a position that is still defended by some modern scholars (e.g., Rühl, ‘Die griechischen Briefe’, 315–25; Goukowsky, ‘Les lettres grecques’, 273–90; Jones, ‘Greek Letters’, 195–244). Nevertheless, many have objected to the collection as a whole (Marcks, Symbola critica, 23–29; Rawson, ‘Cassius and Brutus’, 107–108; Moles, ‘Greek and Latin Letters’, 143–48) or at least certain portions of it (Smith, ‘Greek Letters’, 194–203; Torraca, Epistole greche). This scepticism traces its roots all the way back to the time of Erasmus (see Achelis, ‘Briefe des Brutus’, 633–38). If the letters are pseudepigraphic, then the consistent style would be explained by the fact that they were composed by a single individual. If they are authentic, however, this consistency could be attributed to the use of a single amanuensis or to the lack of ultimate freedom by the secretary(-ies) in shaping ancient letters.

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This lack of evidence for wide-ranging secretarial freedom is also borne out in the thousands of letters preserved in the documentary sources (e.g., papyri, ostraca, wood, etc.). To this point, such evidence has not factored (directly) into modern attempts to discern the extent of secretarial licence.489 This is surprising given that the documentary sources are material artefacts that offer a unique, first-hand glimpse into the process(es) of letter-writing in antiquity, and in this way, provide scholars with direct access to secretarial activity. When this evidence is assessed, however, secretarial freedom appears to be much more limited than proponents of the amanuensis hypothesis have imagined.490 In most cases, amanuenses took down strict dictation, even to the point of recording mistakes.491 When they intervened in a 489   While appeal is occasionally made to the papyrological evidence, particularly by those seeking to defend secretarial freedom, this material is more often described through generalisations than close analysis. See, e.g., Elmer, ‘I, Tertius’, 47: ‘Surviving papyri of the period include many examples of well-formed letters, with all the appropriate language and phraseology, being sent by seemly illiterate writers who could barely scratch closing “signature” remarks. Obviously, in these cases the secretary took quite a bit of license in shaping those letters, well beyond merely correcting grammar or phraseology’ (cf. Richards, ‘Real Author’, 131). 490   In a previous publication, it was stated, ‘as yet no one has refuted the claims that (a) secretaries were a normal part of the ancient letter-writing process or that (b) they often improved (or sometimes created) an author’s literary style. Until these two points are disproven, the amanuensis hypothesis must remain a valid explanation of the letter’s elevated style, regardless of whether the identity of the amanuensis can be discerned’ (Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 26). This line of argumentation can no longer be maintained, however. As it stands, the evidence— both literary and documentary—undermines the second point. And while the first point remains valid, it requires revision. Recent research has suggested that amanuenses were far less common in ancient letter-writing than once assumed (see Sarri, Material Aspects, 192). This shifts the burden of proof onto those Petrine interpreters who would posit an amanuensis with extensive compositional freedom. 491   There are various examples of letters sharing certain unifying features and thus suggesting that the amanuenses composed them through dictation. This phenomenon can be noted in letters transcribed by different secretaries for the same individual, e.g., letters from Tibetheus(?) (P.Mich. VIII 473–474); letters from Apollinarius (P.Mich. VIII 490–491); letters from Tryphas (BGU XVI 2617–2618); letters from Tasoucharion (BGU II 601–602; III 714, 801; P.Giss. I 97); and letters from Claudius Terenntianus (Ch.L.A. V 299; P.Mich. VIII 467, 468, 469, 470, 471; P.Mich. VIII 476, 477, 478, 479, 480). It is also evident when comparing letters written by an amanuensis with an autograph, e.g., letters



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composition, it normally involved minor editorial improvements. Orthography was one aspect of an author’s writing that was most commonly amended, particularly those authors who employed phonetic spelling. At times, these alterations would also include a revision of syntax. In such instances, secretaries might correct any confusion surrounding case endings or perhaps introduce a greater variety of connective particles. Sometimes amanuenses might even insert additional material, such as formulaic expressions in opening greetings.492 In other words, the evidence of secretarial activity in the documentary papyri reveals amanuenses performing the role of recorder and editor (to use Richards’ earlier categories). Lacking is any evidence of a secretary functioning in the role of composer (i.e., being afforded the freedom to compose a letter with little to no input from the author).493 This lack of evidential support for the granting of wide-ranging secretarial freedom is sometimes acknowledged even by those proposing this hypothesis. According to Richards, for instance, it was not typical for ancient amanuenses to function in the role of composer. When addressing this question in a subsequent work, he clarifies that ‘[t]his was not a common practice and not ever done (as far as we can tell) by an ordinary secretary’.494 Such an admission is significant. It means that, even if one were to assume that such secretarial licence was occasionally granted in antiquity—and, again, this is a claim made about certain NT letters that has yet to be demonstrated from other sources—Peter’s use of Silvanus in this way would be a rare exception to the general trend of secretarial practice. As such, the burden of proof falls on anyone who would claim such freedom. Those who have followed Richards’ work of Eudaimonis (amanuensis: P.Giss. I 19, 21; P.Alex.Giss. 58; P.Brem. 60, 63; autographs: P.Giss. I 22–24; P.Alex.Giss. 59); letters of Isidora (amanuensis: BGU IV 1204, 1207; autographs: BGU IV 1205–1206); letters of Lucius Bellienus Gemellus (amanuensis: P.Fay. 110; autographs: P.Fay. 111–120). 492   E.g., letters from Sarapion (P.Amh. II 131 and 132); letters from Klematia (P.Oxy. XLVIII 3406 and 3407). 493   This means that claims such as ‘style certainly cannot be used against authenticity if, as we would expect, Silvanus or others participated in its composition’ (Keener 12; original emphasis) are not sufficient to remove the problem caused by the disconnect between the historical Peter’s literary (in)abilities and the stylistic quality of the letter. 494   Richards, ‘Real Author’, 126 n. 65; cf. idem, Letter Writing, 92.

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have not always taken note of this caveat, and as a result, extensive secretarial licence is widely presumed in any and all cases where amanuenses were employed. In other words, a phenomenon that Richards himself describes as rare is commonly treated as though it were representative of ancient secretarial practice. Another consideration that weighs against the secretary hypothesis is the use of style as a criterion for assessing the authenticity of literary works. Numerous examples from the ancient world could be produced to show that each author was assumed to possess his (or her) own individual writing style, which remained consistent throughout the person’s literary corpus.495 One example is found in the second-century CE geographer Pausanias, who describes how the rhetorician Anaximenes of Lampsacus forged a book in the name of his archrival (Theopompus of Chios) as a way to discredit him. The means by which he was able to do so is illuminating. Anaximenes is said to have ‘imitated the style of Theopompus (μεμιμημένα ἐπιγράψας τοῦ Θεοπόμπου) with perfect accuracy, inscribed his name upon the book and sent it round to the cities’ (Desc. 6.18.5; trans. Jones [LCL]). To make this ruse possible, Theopompus would have had to have displayed a consistent style throughout his writings. The story told by the second-century CE physician, Galen, also illustrates this point. Describing a dispute that occurred in the Roman marketplace over the authenticity of his work, he relates how a man tore off the inscription of a book attributed to Galen after reading only the first two lines. The man’s objection was that the work was forged. He exclaimed, ‘This is not Galen’s language—the title is false!’ (Galen, De libris propriis, prologue [trans. Singer]). Among Christian authors, this same assumption about the consistency of style is also made. In his Homilies on the Letter to the 495   Cf. Epictetus, Diatr. 2.17.35: ‘You will read the whole with sorrow, and you will speak to others trembling. Thus you also do. “Do you wish me, brother, to read to you, and you to me”?—You write (γράφεις) excellently, my man; and you also excellently in the style of Xenophon (εἰς τὸν Ξενοφῶντος χαρακτῆρα), and you in the style of Plato, and you in the style of Antisthenes’ (trans. Long). For more texts revealing the ancient assumption of a distinct and consistent authorial style, see Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 3.3; Philostratus, Vit. soph. 1.22; Vit. Apoll. 7, 35; Galen, In Hippocratis epidemiarum II commentarium, 310,22–311,14; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 7.25.1–8; Augustine, Faust. 33.6; Jerome, Ruf. 2.24; Vir. ill. 25, 58.



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Hebrews, Origen differentiates Hebrews from the genuine Pauline epistles on the basis of style. He notes, ‘That the character of the diction of the epistle entitled “To the Hebrews” has not the apostle’s rudeness in speech…that is, in style (τῇ φράσει), but that the epistle is better Greek in the framing of its diction, will be admitted by everyone who is able to discern differences of style (φράσεων διαφοράς)’ (cited in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.11; trans. Oulton [LCL]).496 This approach of ancient literary critics is key for understanding the role of an amanuensis, for the use of style as a criterion for differentiating authors would have only been imaginable if factors such as secretarial latitude did not compromise this literary feature. It is clear, then, that significant difficulties surround the amanuensis hypothesis when considered in light of ancient epistolographic practices. But other problems arise when we turn our attention to the specific situation in 1 Peter. One issue relates to the lack of acknowledgment of Silvanus’ role in the composition process. If Silvanus was the amanuensis who contributed so much to the style and content of 1 Peter (particularly if this type of secretarial licence was extremely rare in antiquity),497 why is this not

496   Related to epistolary literature, in particular, there are instances in ancient writings where style is used to judge the authenticity of a letter (e.g., Apuleius, Apol. 87; Letter of Mithridates; Philostratus, Vit. Apol. 7.35; Origen [in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.11–14]; Jerome, Ep. 102.1; Adv. Ruf. 2.24; Vir. ill. 1). How could this be the case if letters were frequently written by various amanuenses whose style overrode that of the author? 497   Most who have dealt with the question of the letter’s preparation have gener�ally conceived of the process as a singular event in which an author spoke the ideas that he wanted communicated to his readers and then the secretary crafted them into a presentable form—either immediately or sometime later, after taking shorthand notes during the author’s oral delivery. This is an entirely plausible situation that reflects how many letters—particularly brief letters—were probably written in antiquity. Nevertheless, it does not take into account the ways that NT epistles depart from the traditional letter format. While possessing many common epistolary elements (e.g., name of sender/addressee, greeting, supplication formula, etc.), the length, collective address, and oral recitation of NT letters are much closer to treatises or sermons. For these types of documents, authors generally created multiple drafts, even receiving feedback from associates (see Richards, ‘Real Author’, 121–28). If the composition of 1 Peter was approached in a similar way, Silvanus would have played an even more important role in its content and form.

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mentioned,498 or why, at least, is his secretarial role not alluded to in some way?499 Given his prominence, he could have easily been named as the letter’s co-author, a capacity in which he functioned elsewhere (1 Thess 1.1; cf. 2 Thess 1.1).500 By the same token, if he were so involved in the letter’s composition, what is in effect his self-description as ὁ πιστὸς ἀδελφός (5.12) seems inappropriate. This question is even more puzzling if Silvanus was also the letter-carrier (see Exegesis on 5.12), since acknowledging his role as co-sender would have served to establish his authority among the Anatolian congregations even more fully.501 The Silvanus-as-amanuensis hypothesis also faces difficulties due to our very limited knowledge about Silvanus. Despite claims that Silvanus was ‘steeped in Greek culture’,502 we actually have   In official letters or legal transactions, when a scribe drafted a document for an illiterate person, he was required to indicate that he was writing on the other person’s behalf (e.g., P.Mich. VI 422, 425; P.Oxy. I 69, III 485; P.Ryl. II 117; SB X 10244; see further Exler, Ancient Greek Letter, 124–27; Youtie, ‘ “Because They Do Not Know Letters” ’, 101–108). This illiteracy formula rarely (if ever) shows up in personal correspondence among friends (see Youtie, ‘ΥΠΟΓΡΑΦΕΥΣ’, 209; Blumell, ‘Message and the Medium’, 38); but that is beside the point. In this case, it would have been insulting to mention that Peter was illiterate. There is nothing, however, that would have prevented Silvanus from indirectly revealing his role behind the pen by providing a scribal greeting, as is done by other amanuenses (see Exegesis at 5.12). 499   One could argue that a secretarial presence would have been indicated to the original readers by a change of handwriting in 1 Pet 5.12–14 (as implied by Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 91; on the practice of the sender writing his/her own postscript, see Weima, Neglected Endings, 45–50; Richards, Letter Writing, 171–75). But without the original letter, this is nothing more than speculation. 500   Cf. Krodel 55; Boring 32. Seland questions the validity of this argument, claiming that it ‘is without necessary evidence from other letters’ (Strangers in the Light, 28). Presumably he is referring to the cases in which amanuenses did not come out from the shadow of their pens, such as those instances in Paul’s letters in which a secretary is implied but never specifically mentioned. This claim is built on the assumption that amanuenses exerted a strong influence on the shape and content of the documents they composed (see above). If, on the other hand, secretarial duties rarely involved any more than minor corrective editing, as shown above, then the lack of comparative evidence would be expected. 501   Cf. Doty, Letters in Primitive Christianity, 30, who suggests that the mention of co-senders in the letters of Paul may serve a similar purpose. 502   Reicke 70; cf. Hunter 78; Selwyn, ‘Problem of the Authorship’, 256; Holmer–de Boor 17. Based on the fact that Silvanus was a Roman citizen (Acts 16.37), Charles infers ‘that, in comparison to Peter, he was a well-educated and cultured individual’ (278; cf. Warden 12, claims that Silvanus ‘was a learned, 498



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little evidence of his literary and linguistic ability, beyond being named as co-author of one of Paul’s letters (1 Thess 1.1; cf. 2 Thess 1.1).503 Even assuming that Silvanus’ input in that instance was substantial, it would remain unlikely that he would then produce a letter of higher literary quality than this previous letter. We are thus left without an explanation for 1 Peter’s elevated style. Finally, in terms of a defence of Petrine authenticity, the more weight that is placed on Silvanus’ substantive contribution in writing the letter, the less it becomes genuinely a product of Peter’s hand (or mind).504 Overall, then, it seems unlikely that Silvanus served as the amanuensis for the letter, and unlikely, in more general terms, that Peter’s ideas and theology were communicated to a secretary who then had freedom to compose a letter genuinely conveying the vox Petri. 1 Peter was the Product of a Petrine Circle In light of the problems associated with Petrine authorship, many have turned to alternative ways to explain the composition of the letter. Moving beyond the idea that Peter directly composed the letter or that he commissioned it through an amanuensis, some have suggested that the memories and traditions of Peter were preserved by a group of his disciples.505 Following his death, these materials articulate Christian’; see also Skaggs 3). Green (‘Theology and Ethics’, 82–83), bases his conclusion about Silvanus’ ability to compose the elevated Greek of 1 Peter on the fact of his selection for the Gentile mission (cf. Acts 15.22–34; 15.40–18.5), though as noted above the ability to speak Greek does not necessarily translate to the ability to compose Greek at a high level. 503   As such, the amanuensis hypothesis merely shifts the question from the literary abilities of one of the better-documented figures from the early church (Peter) to one who makes only a few brief appearances in our ancient sources (Silvanus). 504   Note the distinction made by Green: ‘while the verba of the letter were certainly those of the author’s amanuensis/translator, the vox would be that of the author himself’ (Vox Petri, 92). 505   Although the Petrine circle view was specifically formulated and fully devel�oped during the late twentieth century, this view was foreshadowed within an earlier generation. A century before this hypothesis was proposed, scholars were already claiming that Silvanus had composed the letter following the death of Peter and had given the credit for its composition to the apostle (see, e.g., Seufert, ‘Titus Silvanus’, 350–71; Usteri 345–47; von Soden 115–18; Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 160; cf. also Filson, ‘Partakers with Christ’, 403).

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were used to compose 1 Peter, which was then dispatched in the name and legacy of the apostle. This approach to the letter has particularly been promoted by Elliott. He describes the situation in this way: As a letter from the Petrine group in Rome of which Silvanus and Mark were members, it was ascribed to Peter the Apostle because the group responsible for its composition knew that they were expressing not primarily their own ideas but rather the perspectives and teaching of their foremost leader, the Apostle Peter.506

So even though the historical Peter did not actually compose the letter, it nonetheless embodies his thoughts and ideas. Thus, Elliott claims, it retains a certain kind of Petrine authenticity: the letter is ‘authentically Petrine in the sense that it expresses the thoughts, the theology, and the concerns of the apostle Peter as shared, preserved and developed by the group with which he was most closely associated’.507 Elliott offers seven points to support his hypothesis that a Petrine circle stands behind the epistle.508 The first two are based on the observation—rooted both in NT evidence and in what is sociologically ‘likely’—that ‘Peter, like Paul and others, worked in groups or teams’.509 While this observation is true, it does not by any means establish that, by the time 1 Peter was composed, there was a distinctively Petrine group in Rome—which is the crucial point. The remaining five points are all based upon ‘the explicit naming of Silvanus and Mark in 1 Pet 5:12–13’, which ‘makes sense if they were actually intimate colleagues of the Apostle Peter’.510 With regard to Silvanus, the book of Acts provides a significant link that connects him to the apostle Peter. In Acts 15.22–23, Silvanus (along with Barsabbas) is sent from the Jerusalem congregation to deliver a letter from the Jerusalem apostles (most notably, Peter and James) to the Gentile believers in   Elliott 130.   Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 253–54. 508   Elliott 127–30. 509   Elliott 128. 510   Elliott 128. There is, of course, the equally plausible possibility that Silvanus and Mark were part of the device of pseudonymity, included to add verisimilitude (see Exegesis at 5.12). 506 507



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Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia. His role in 1 Peter is much the same: he is identified as an apostolic representative delivering a Petrine letter to Gentile churches. In the case of Mark, the book of Acts again provides a key piece of evidence to link the two. According to Acts 12.12, on his miraculous release from prison, Peter went to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark. Beyond this, there is the important and oft-cited report of Papias that Mark ‘followed Peter’, became Peter’s interpreter, and ‘wrote accurately all that he remembered, not, indeed, in order, of the things said or done by the Lord’ (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.15; trans. Lake [LCL]; cf. 2.15.1–2). From connections like these, Elliott is able to construct the outlines of a group in Rome who had formed around the leadership and authority of the apostle Peter. The benefit of this theory is immediately apparent—indeed, Elliott’s developed proposal has been widely followed, acquiring for some the status of a virtual consensus.511 By connecting the letter with close associates of Peter who faithfully transmitted his memory, modern readers are afforded the opportunity of hearing from the apostle, despite the fact that he did not actually compose the document himself. This preserves an authentically Petrine letter, shielding the author(s) from the stigma of committing a forgery. Nevertheless, there are significant difficulties with this theory.512 The first relates to the use of ancient philosophic ‘schools’ as a point of comparison for the Petrine group. Elliott himself does not explicitly draw this analogy, but others have used the ‘school’ model as a way of justifying their view. At the moment, considerable debate surrounds the nature and scope of ‘schools’ within the

511   Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 250–67; idem, Home for the Homeless, 267–95; Elliott 127–30. Others who have adopted this view include: Best 59–63; Knoch 22–25; Perkins 13; Achtemeier 42; Richard 9–11; Senior 4–6; Prigent 10; Hartin 29; cf. also Blevins, ‘Introduction to 1 Peter’, 402–403; Soards, ‘1 Peter, 2 Peter and Jude’, 3827–49; Knoch, ‘Gab es eine Petrusschule’, 105–26; Dschulnigg, Petrus im Neuen Testament, 175; Prasad, Foundations, 36–46; Böttrich, Petrus, 247–48; Klauck, Ancient Letters, 340; Chatelion-Counet, ‘Petrine School’, 403–24; Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 15–21. On this emerging consensus, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 7–12. 512   For a full rebuttal of this position, see Horrell, ‘Petrine Circle’, 29–60; Becoming Christian, 7–44. Cf. also Schmeller, Schulen im Neuen Testament?, 29–31; Guttenberger, Passio Christiana, 78–87.

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pseudepigraphic practices of early Christianity.513 Some scholars, in fact, have questioned whether the nomenclature and even the model itself ought to be abandoned. The problem, as Ehrman has thoroughly demonstrated, is that even in philosophical schools, students did not attempt to pass off their own works in the name of their teacher—at least not without recognising that their work was a forgery.514 When students or followers published the discourses of a famous teacher, their intermediary role in the process is revealed. The Second Apocalypse of James, for instance, begins by explaining, ‘This is the discourse that James the Just delivered in Jerusalem and Mareim wrote down’ (44.11–16; trans. Funk). The same is true of Arrian’s publication of Epictetus’ discourses.515 In the case of 1 Peter, however, we have a personal correspondence, not a collection of a famous teacher’s sayings or discourses. The first-person voice of the letter (cf. 1 Pet 2.11; 5.1, 12–13) is intended to be understood as that of the apostle Peter (1.1) who is speaking directly to a group of Christian communities in Asia Minor. But even on the assumption that groups of associates wrote in the names of important leaders in the early church, the second problem is that we are still without a specific Petrine group who might transmit a distinctly Petrine theology. The names Silvanus and Mark cannot substantiate the idea of a Petrine circle in Rome, whose theological perspective is recorded in 1 Peter.516 The link between Silvanus and Peter is hardly strong. The apostolic letter that Silvanus/Silas co-delivers in the book of Acts is sent from the leaders of the Jerusalem church and not solely from Peter himself (Acts 15.22); both Silas and Barsabbas are sent as representatives from the Jerusalem church; and they travel with Paul and Barnabas back to Antioch (i.e., a party of four departs with the letter).   On the question of early Christian ‘schools’, see Müller, Anfänge der Paulusschule; Schmeller, Schulen; Standhartinger, ‘Pauline School’, 572–93. 514   See Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 105–19. Cf. also Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon, 6–9; Collins, Letters That Paul Did Not Write, 251–52. 515   Epictetus, Disc. Prologue: ‘I neither wrote these Discourses of Epictetus in the way in which a man might write such things; nor did I make them public myself, inasmuch as I declare that I did not even write them. But whatever I heard him say, the same I attempted to write down in his own words as nearly as possible, for the purpose of preserving them as memorials to myself afterwards of the thoughts and the freedom of speech of Epictetus’ (trans. Long). 516   Cf. also Brox, ‘Tendenz’, 112–14. 513



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Moreover, Silvanus/Silas is more prominent as a companion and fellow missionary of Paul (Acts 15.40–18.5; 2 Cor 1.19; 1 Thess 1.1; 2 Thess 1.1). If Silvanus has links with Peter (and this should not be denied), he also has strong—indeed, rather stronger—links with Paul. The Pauline connection is likewise just as strong in the case of Mark. At the time when Peter visits the house of Mark’s mother, Mark appears to be away from Jerusalem, probably in Antioch with Barnabas and Paul (cf. Acts 11.30; 12.25). Mark also joined Paul and Barnabas on a missionary journey, though only as far as Perga in Pamphylia (Acts 13.13). According to Luke, when Barnabas later wished to take Mark on another missionary journey, Paul resisted the idea of joining again with the one who had previously left them, and disagreed with Barnabas to the extent that they went their separate ways—Paul with Silas, Barnabas with Mark (Acts 15.36–40). From Phlm 24—assuming that the Mark there named is the same person—it seems that Mark was subsequently active once again among Paul’s co-workers, an impression reinforced by his positive mention in Col 4.10 and 2 Tim 4.11. Thus, evidence for Mark’s connection with Peter is slim and tenuous, while his links with Paul and the Pauline mission are significantly more extensive. So regardless of whether the names in 1 Peter are part of a pseude�pigraphic construction (see below), if the ‘circle’ they represent is responsible for the letter, it is a group that has links with Paul and the Pauline tradition as much as with Peter. For that reason, it may be better labelled ‘early Christian’ than ‘Petrine’. Another reason why it is difficult to posit a distinctively Petrine group in Rome is because the body of the letter contains little that is identifiable as specifically Petrine—especially in terms of likely origin.517 One might point to the prominence of ‘rock’ imagery in 1 Pet 2.4–8 and relate this to Jesus’ recorded naming of Simon as

517   Although some have attempted to connect the concerns of 1 Peter with the interests and traits of the apostle Peter that are revealed in the Gospels (e.g., Feuillet, ‘La primauté et l’humilité’, 3–24; Combet-Galland, ‘Susciter des pierres vivantes’, 59–79), such efforts often strain the limits of credulity. For a broader assessment of the extent of ‘Petrine’ content in 1 Peter, see Horrell, ‘Peter Remembered’, 179–208. Others have actually viewed the lack of Petrine material as evidence of the letter’s authenticity (see Phillips, Kirche in der Gesellschaft, 16), on the basis that an ancient forger would have likely attributed the letter to

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‘Rock’ (Πέτρος) in Matt 16.18 (cf. John 1.42), or one could read the exhortation for the elders to ‘shepherd the flock of God’ (1 Pet 5.2) in light of the tradition of Jesus urging Peter to shepherd his sheep (John 21.16).518 But while these motifs might suggest connections with Peter, they do not indicate that a specifically Petrine circle accounts for their presence in the letter, since they are known from (and to) Matthew and John.519 Moreover, aside from 1 and 2 Peter, which may or may not convey anything specifically Petrine, and which are in any case very different from one another, we know very little about any distinctively ‘Petrine’ formulation of the gospel. What we do know—his role as apostle to the Jews (Gal 2.7), his siding with the people from James at Antioch (Gal 2.11–14), and so on—has no significant bearing on the content of 1 Peter, which simply applies to Gentile Christians exclusively Jewish identity descriptions (1 Pet 2.9) without giving any indication that the extent of obedience to Jewish law or relations between Jewish and Gentile Christians are contentious issues. From the Gospels, we know of Peter’s prominence as a disciple of Jesus, and also of his increasing authority as a leader within the Christian churches (Matt 16.18–19; John 21.15–19). Yet evidence from Matthew and John (which appear to represent two quite different strands of early Christianity) about the high regard for Peter as leader of the Christian movement does not demonstrate the existence of a specifically Petrine circle that preserved traditions about Peter and promoted his distinctive teaching. On the contrary, it demonstrates Peter’s increasing prominence within Christian circles generally. The pseudo-Petrine literature, with its varied provenance and character, also supports this view, rather than the idea of a specifically Petrine group or school. In Acts, we do have records of speeches and sermons from Peter, which could conceivably contribute to the recovery of a distinctively Petrine theology (see above). However, the closest parallels between Acts and 1 Peter are not found specifically in the places in Acts where Peter’s voice Paul—especially given the similarities with Pauline tradition. However, certain factors made Peter a more ideal candidate as the ascribed author (see Introduction: The Choice of the Pseudonym ‘Peter’). 518   So, e.g., Howe, ‘Christ, the Building Stone’, 36–37. 519   See Horrell, ‘Petrine Circle’, 43–44; further idem, ‘Peter Remembered’; Doering, ‘Author Construction’.



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is recorded (e.g., Acts 20.28//1 Pet 5.2), and the speeches in Acts reflect Lukan theology as much as that of their speakers. Any parallels with 1 Peter are likely to reflect either the common use of early Christian kerygma and tradition or a common outlook shared by both Luke and the author of 1 Peter. We have little evidence revealing any distinctive or particular way in which Peter formulated the Christian gospel, and even the little evidence there is gives us no firm reasons to conclude that 1 Peter has a distinctively Petrine character. If 1 Peter were authentic, then it would of course constitute a unique piece of evidence for precisely such a ‘Petrine’ formulation of Christian theology. However, if on other grounds 1 Peter is thought to be pseudonymous, then the body of the letter gives us no reason to say that it is ‘the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’.520 Both the character and content of the letter, with its wide range of early Christian traditions,521 suggest a broadly ‘apostolic’ early Christian letter, rather than one with a distinctively Petrine flavour.522 1 Peter was Composed Pseudonymously The position furthest removed from direct authorship by the historical Peter is the view that 1 Peter is a pseudonymous composition. According to this hypothesis, the apostle Peter neither wrote nor commissioned the letter; instead, the epistle was composed by an unknown individual or group and then (falsely) attributed to Peter.523 Ascribing pseudepigraphic status to 1 Peter dates back to the proposal of Evanson (see above), although the view was later

  Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 9.   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. 522   Cf. Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’; idem, ‘Minderheit’; idem, ‘Pseudepigraphie’; Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214. 523   Years ago, Harnack (Geschichte der altchristlichen Litteratur, 451–65) postulated an accidental (albeit erroneous) attribution to the apostle Peter. According to his reconstruction, the work originally circulated anonymously as a homiletic treatise (see Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure). Sometime in the second century CE, the name ‘Peter’ was appended to the document along with a traditional letter opening and closing. Similarly, it has been claimed that 1 Peter was originally (and pseudonymously) written in the name of Paul, but that the name Παῦλος was eventually changed to Πέτρος (see Schenk and Fischer, Einleitung, 199–203). 520 521

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popularised by Baur and the Tübingen school.524 More recently, the theory of pseudonymity has become the most common means by which critical scholars explain the authorship of 1 Peter.525 Numerous objections have been raised against the letter’s ascription to the apostle Peter. But, as is often the case, some have been more persuasive than others. There has also been some fluctuation in the objections that have been presented. Some of the main arguments used for many years to challenge the authenticity of the epistle—such as the nature and date of the persecutions described in the letter (now no longer seen as relating to three specific time periods under Nero, Domitian, and Trajan)—have fallen out of favour. Many of the arguments set out below in support of the pseudonymity hypothesis correspond with points made in the critique of Petrine authorship detailed above. Indeed, one of the strongest arguments for pseudonymity is simply the lack of plausibility of each of the other theories. Nonetheless, beyond this somewhat negative consideration, we will discuss some of the other reasons for positing pseudonymity. The first reason relates to the date of the epistle. Evidence has already been adduced to show that 1 Peter was most likely   See Baur, ‘Der erste petrinische Brief’, 193–240; idem, Kirchengeschichte, 141–46. Those within the Tübingen school who held to the letter’s pseudo�nymity include: Schwegler, Das nachapostolische Zeitalter, 2:2–29; Zeller, Die Apostelgeschichte, 481–82; Hilgenfeld, Historisch-kritische Einleitung, 618–41; Hausrath, Neutestamentliche Zeitgeschichte, 257; Holtzmann, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, 520–22; Weizsäcker, Das apostolische Zeitalter, 475, 667; Pfleiderer, Das Urchristentum, 503–509. After drawing a theological conclusion (‘in the opinion of St. Peter, the Gospel, as delivered by St. Paul and his followers…was the living and supreme abiding revelation of the will of God’), Mason relates this to the critical scepticism of Baur et al.: ‘Well may the Tübingen school wish to disprove the genuineness of this Epistle!’ (399). 525   Examples of those who have posited that 1 Peter is a pseudonymous composi�tion—which would (technically) include those who subscribe to the Petrine circle hypothesis as well—include: Knopf 12–20; Gunkel 250–52; Windisch 161–62; Hauck 34–36; Leaney 7–12; Michl 97–99; Beare 43–50; Neyrey 65; Frankemölle 9–11; Goppelt 48–53; Brox 43–47; Schrage 64–65; Schweizer 15–18; Krodel 58; Vinson 1–7; Boring 30–37; Seethaler 13–16; Bony 11–14; Feldmeier 32–39; González 4–5; Donelson 15–17; Schlosser 35–37; Vahrenhorst 9–16; WagnerVouga 8; Ostmeyer 17–19; cf. Steetskamp, Autorschaft und Sklavenperspektive, 67–110, whose argument contains particular nuance, as the historical question of authorship is followed by a discussion of the differences between the explicit author and the implied author (pp. 111–72). 524



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composed sometime between 70 CE and 95 CE.526 This would place the composition beyond the traditional date assigned to the death of Peter (mid-60s CE), thus establishing the letter’s pseudepigraphic character. But since some interpreters—notably Michaels—have suggested that Peter may have lived beyond the generally accepted time of his death,527 it is important to reassess the reliability of the ancient traditions concerning when Peter died. According to many early Christian sources, the apostle Peter was put to death in Rome.528 Unlike the apostle Paul, who was beheaded (Sulpicius Severus, Chron. 2.29), Peter is said to have been crucified upside down (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.1.2; Mart. Pet. 8.3; cf. Tertullian, Praescr. 36.3; Scorp. 15.3). Although our earliest evidence for the time of Peter’s death comes from the second century CE, when the specific circumstances are related, the sources speak with a unified voice. Three texts from this period describe the apostle Peter suffering a martyr’s death sometime during the reign of the emperor Nero. In the Ascension of Isaiah (early second century CE),529 his death is alluded to in apocalyptic overtones: And now, Hezekiah, and Josab my son, these are the days of the consummation of the world, [and after it is consummated Beliar, a great angel, the king of this world, will descend, who has ruled it since it came into being, and he will descend from his] firmament in the form of a man, a lawless king, the slayer of

  See Introduction: Date of 1 Peter.   See Ramsay, Church in the Roman Empire, 279–88; Michaels lv–lxvii. Cf. also Lewis, ‘First Epistle of Peter’, 319–20. 528   Some have been sceptical of this early tradition, arguing against Peter’s presence and martyrdom in Rome (e.g., Goulder, ‘Did Peter Ever Go to Rome?’, 377–96; Appold, ‘Peter in Profile’, 133–45; Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom). Instead, the apostle’s death is placed in Jerusalem (e.g., Erbes, ‘Petrus nicht in Rom’, 1–47, 161–224; Robinson, ‘Where and When Did Peter Die?’, 255–67; Smaltz, ‘Did Peter Die in Jerusalem?’, 211–16). However, the unanimity of our sources in both the East and the West have convinced most scholars that the tradition accurately records the fact that Peter was put to death in Rome (see, e.g., Bauckham, ‘Martyrdom of Peter’, 539–95; Bockmuehl, ‘Peter’s Death in Rome?’, 1–23; Cook, ‘Peter’s Crucifixion’, 733–51). 529   Various dates have been assigned to the Ascension of Isaiah within recent scholarship. While Bauckham (Fate of the Dead, 389) places the work between 70 and 80 CE, most date it somewhere in the early second century (e.g., Knight, Ascension of Isaiah, 33–39; Hall, ‘The Ascension of Isaiah’, 306). 526 527

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1 PETER his mother, who himself, even this king, will persecute (διώξει) the plant which the twelve apostles of the Beloved will plant, and one of the twelve will be delivered (παραδοθήσεται) into his hands. This ruler will come in the form of that king and all the powers of this world will come… (Mart. Ascen. Isa. 4.1–4).530

Peter’s martyrdom takes on a similar flavour in the Apocalypse of Peter (ca. 150 CE),531 where the apostle is instructed by the risen Christ, ‘And go into the city that rules over the West (δύσεως),532 and drink the cup that I promised you at the hand of the son of the one who is in Hades, so that his destruction may have a beginning and you may be acceptable to (or: ‘excepted of’) the promise…’ (Apoc. Pet. 14.4). Closer to the end of the second century (or perhaps around the beginning of the third), Tertullian describes Peter’s death in much the same way: ‘Nero was the first who stained the rising faith with blood at Rome. Then Peter is roped around the waist by another when he is tied to the cross’ (Scorp. 15.3 [trans. Dunn]; cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.6–8).533 These literary accounts are consistent with the material evidence uncovered in Rome. Archaeological excavations of the Vatican complex have revealed that Peter’s martyrdom was already being commemorated by the middle of the second century CE.534 Buried below the apse of the Constantinian constructed basilica of St. Peter lies a small edicula, which was built around 160–180 CE.

530   The Greek text is taken from Bettiolo, Ascensi Isaiae, 145. The English translation is adapted from Grenfell and Hunt, Amherst Papyri, 17. 531   While Bauckham (Fate of the Dead, 160–258) places the date of the Apocalypse of Peter around 132–135 CE, based on what he sees as a reference to Simon Bar Kokhba, this identification is disputed (see Tigchelaar, ‘Is the Liar Bar Kokhba?’, 63–77; Nicklas, ‘ “Insider” und “Outsider” ’, 35–48). Even if this identification is correct, the date might better be pushed back to the mid-second century (see Bremmer, ‘Apocalypse of Peter’, 85–90). 532   At this point, some have adopted the reading ὀπύσεως, ‘fornication’ (e.g., Wessely, Les plus anciens monuments, 2:482–83; Peterson, Frühkirche, Judentum und Gnosis, 89; Norelli, ‘Situation des apocryphes pétriniens’, 35). In accordance with the Ethiopic version, however, the most likely reading appears to be δύσεως (see Kraus, ‘Petrus-Apokalypse’, 51–52). 533   For other accounts of Peter’s martyrdom, see Eastman, Ancient Martyrdom Accounts. 534   On the excavations from the Vatican, see Testini, Archeologia Christiana, 163–86; Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 104–16.



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This monument appears to have been dedicated to the apostle Peter, whose grave was venerated by Roman Christians.535 Such a practice aligns with the testimony of Gaius, a member of the Roman church who claimed, in a published debate with Proculus, that Peter was buried at the Vatican (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.6–7). What this means is that within a century of the time claimed for Peter’s death, there was a strong memory of his martyrdom. Lying behind these second-century accounts are even older traditions.536 By the end of the first century CE, the account of Peter’s martyrdom was already in circulation within various Christian communities. Most notably, it is recorded in the appended ending of the Gospel of John. In this account, the risen Christ predicts the future death of Peter by the Sea of Tiberias. He explains, ‘Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go’ (John 21.18, NRSV). According to the narrator, ‘[Jesus] said this to indicate the kind of death by which [Peter] would glorify God’ (21.19). In the eyes of many interpreters, this passage was meant to serve as a ‘prediction’ of Peter’s crucifixion (cf. Acts Andr. 20.3).537 The death of Peter is also mentioned in 1 Clement (ca. 95/96 CE). In providing the Corinthian church with ‘noble examples’ of those from their own generation (οἱ ἔγγιστα γενόμενοι) who faced persecution and death as a result of jealousy and envy, 1 Clement references the apostle Peter. It is said that Peter, ‘because of unrighteous jealousy, endured not one or two but many trials, and thus having given his testimony went to his appointed place of glory’ (1 Clem. 5.4; trans. Holmes).538 From this evidence, it is clear that within early Christian tradition the apostle Peter was remembered for dying a martyr’s death, and when the specifics are delineated, he is remembered as having been killed—perhaps specifically crucified—in Rome during the reign of Nero.   For the evidence, see Lampe, ‘Traces of Peter Veneration’, esp. 282–84.   See Nicklas, ‘Peter’s Death’, 183–200. 537   Cf. Barnes, ‘Death of Peter’, 76–95, who uses this text to argue that Peter was not crucified but burned alive during the Neronian pogroms of 64 CE. 538   It hardly seems plausible (pace Smith, ‘Report about Peter’, 86–88) to claim that the information about Peter recorded in 1 Clement is drawn from the book of Acts (cf. Giet, ‘Le témoignage de Clément’, 123–36). 535 536

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Many scholars have sought to date Peter’s martyrdom even more precisely, placing it in connection with the Neronian persecution that followed the fire of 64 CE.539 This proposal has some explanatory merit, but ultimately it is impossible to demonstrate with any certainty from the ancient source record. What is clear is that the literary evidence uniformly points to Peter’s execution sometime during Nero’s reign. Given that Nero ended his life by committing suicide with the help of his private secretary on 9 June 68 CE (Suetonius, Nero 49, 57; although cf. Sulpicius Severus, Chron. 2.29), we can safely assign the terminus ad quem of Peter’s death to sometime around mid-68 CE, although in all likelihood it probably occurred a few years earlier. Thus, we must reject the suggestion that Peter outlived Nero and was able to write the letter sometime after 70 CE. Given the indications that suggest the composition of the letter after this date, we must assume that someone other than the apostle Peter actually wrote it. A second piece of evidence that seems to point in the direction of pseudonymity is the style in which the letter is written. As many have pointed out, the Greek of 1 Peter is among the most polished in the NT.540 This is evident, first, in the author’s employment of a wide range of unique vocabulary: a total of 61 terms in the letter are hapax legomena in the NT.541 A little over half of these appear in the LXX, but for some there are no earlier or contemporary parallels. The author displays syntactical refinement as well. Among other things, the letter includes uses of the rare optative in a conditional sentence (3.14, 17); it employs the epexegetical infinitive in connection with an adjective (4.3); and in terms of word order, it frequently employs (simple forms of) hyperbaton, i.e., the separation of words 539   E.g., Lietzmann, ‘Petrus römischer Märtyrer’, 392–410; Aland, Kirchengeschichtliche Entwürfe, 35–104; Böttrich, Petrus, 211–34; Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography, 5. 540   For examples of the polished style, see MHT 4:124–30; Thomas and Thomas, Structure and Orality, 71–119. In light of this fact (and assuming that 1 Peter is pseudepigraphic), it would be an interesting exercise in understanding ancient pseudonymity to consider why the Petrine author did not attempt to simplify his language (cf. Ostmeyer 19). 541   A list can be found in Adinolfi, La prima lettera di Pietro, 199–215 (although he does not mark ἐξαγγέλλω [2.9] or ἐπιμαρτυρέω [5.12]); cf. also Elliott 42–59 (although he does not mark ἐπίλοιπος [4.2] or σθενόω [5.10]). For further discus�sion on these, see Holzmeister 84–93.



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that are inter-connected syntactically.542 Moreover, the arrangement of the letter is shaped by the elements of Hellenistic rhetorical discourse.543 It exhibits an ornamented style (although not heavily so) that was composed for rhetorical effect, including features such as alliteration and assonance (1.4, 5.10), paronomasia (3.9, 17), and structural triads (1.3–5) among others. By most assessments, these skills are thought to require a considerable amount of educational training.544 Such an elevated style is difficult to reconcile with what is known about the education and literary abilities of the apostle Peter from other sources (see above). This problem might be offset to some extent if claims about the author’s literary achievement have been exaggerated by modern interpreters, as claimed by Jobes. She concludes that ‘the Greek of 1 Peter arguably exhibits bilingual interference that is consistent with a Semitic author for whom Greek is a second language’.545 But while her study is helpful in that it demands greater precision in the discussion of the Greek of 1 Peter (preventing interpreters from exaggerating the merits of the author’s abilities), even this important correction is not enough to overcome the stylistic objection. The issue in question is not whether the author of 1 Peter originally spoke (or wrote in) a Semitic language. This much could be conceded, given the signs of Semitic influence evident in the 542   See Elliott 64–67; Wendland, ‘ “Stand Fast” ’, 42–45. The most common form of hyperbaton in 1 Peter is the placement of genitive and prepositional modifiers in attributive position between an article and its substantive (e.g., 1.5, 10; 2.9). For more on hyperbaton, see Devine and Stephens, Hyperbaton in Greek, and Markovic, ‘Hyperbaton’, 127–46. 543   On the rhetoric of 1 Peter, see Ellul, ‘Un exemple de cheminement rhéto� rique’, 17–34; Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter; Martin, ‘Classical Rhetorical Criticism’, 41–71; Watson, ‘Epistolary Rhetoric of 1 Peter’, 51–55; cf. also Thurén, Argument and Theology; idem, ‘Peter and Paul as Persuaders’, 353–71; Slaughter, ‘Literary Argument’, 72–91; Wendland, ‘ “Stand Fast” ’, 25–102. 544   See Lampe and Luz, ‘Nachpaulinisches Christentum’, 188. Cf. Wifstrand, ‘Stylistic Problems’, 170–82, who, after a survey of the stylistic evidence from James and 1 Peter, concludes that these letters were ‘written in Greek by people who were familiar with the language, and not only the everyday spoken language but a language of a higher and somewhat literary moulding’ (180). He locates it in the context of the Hellenized synagogue. 545   Jobes 7. See further idem, ‘Syntax of 1 Peter’, 159–73. Examples of the stylistic limitations in 1 Peter can be found in Radermacher, ‘Der erste Petrus�brief’, 287–99.

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epistle.546 Where the difficulty arises is in explaining why the Greek of 1 Peter—including not just syntax but also other stylistic features (e.g., vocabulary, rhetoric, etc.)—exceeds the quality of other NT writings.547 On stylistic grounds, for instance, most would place the quality of Greek represented in 1 Peter at or above that of the Pauline epistles, yet Paul’s educational level almost certainly surpassed that of the historical Peter—at least given what the NT says about each individual.548 Similarly, if John the son of Zebedee were responsible for either the gospel or the letters to which his name is attached, why are those documents of such an inferior quality in Greek compared to 1 Peter? This is an especially pertinent question given that the two purported authors lived in the same area and performed the same occupation (cf. Mark 1.16–20) and thus would have (presumably) had similar educational opportunities and exposure to Greek culture. Related to this point is a third reason to favour pseudonymity: the author’s preferred source for scriptural citations. In 1 Peter, the quotations from the Jewish scriptures generally follow the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible.549 One clear example is found in 1 Pet 5.5, where the author cites Prov 3.34. The quotation is identical to the LXX (κύριος ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται, ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν χάριν), apart from the fact that the Petrine author substitutes θεός for κύριος. Since the Hebrew text reads, ‫‘( אם־ללצים הוא־יליץ ולעניים יתן־חן‬Toward the scorners he is scornful, but to the humble he shows favor’, NRSV), the citation indicates 546   Some of the Semitisms in 1 Peter include: πιστεύειν εἰς + accusative (1.8); τέκνα with an attributive genitive (1.14); the use of an abstract genitive phrase (ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς) rather than an adjectival modifier (2.12); the periphrastic imperfect ἦτε…πλανώμενοι (2.25). See MHT 2:413–85. 547   While Sargent (Written to Serve, 165) recognises the high quality of 1 Peter in comparison to other NT writings, he does not pursue the implications of this fact; instead, he defends Petrine authorship on the basis that the letter contains grammatical and stylistic limitations and that it exhibits Semitic interference. 548   There is some uncertainty and debate about the level of Paul’s education, particularly with regard to rhetoric. While a few have questioned the literate abilities and training of the apostle (e.g., Botha, ‘Letter Writing’, 17–34; Schellenberg, Paul’s Rhetorical Education), most find evidence of at least an elementary level of formal education (see Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen; Porter and Pitts, ‘Paul’s Bible’, 9–41), and Paul’s letters seem to have been regarded as ‘weighty’ (2 Cor 10.10). 549   See Osborne, ‘L’utilisation des citations’, 73.



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the author’s familiarity specifically with the Greek Bible (cf. 1 Pet 4.18). This preference for the Greek scriptures is striking given that the historical Peter would more likely have known the Aramaic (or the Hebrew) version (see below). Thus, ‘[t]he absence of influence of the language of the Hebrew Bible or the Targumim on the one hand, and the clear influence of the LXX on the other, show that the author was at home in Greek rather than Semitic culture, and such is likely not to have been the case with Simon Peter’.550 This evidence is often dismissed by those who defend the letter’s authenticity because of the possibility that Peter could have gained familiarity with the Greek scriptures in Roman Galilee. According to this line of reasoning, there are two ways that this could have happened. One possibility is that Peter’s family was wealthy enough to possess their own personal copies of the scriptures,551 and rather than choosing to purchase a Hebrew version, they chose Greek, an indication that they had undergone a thoroughly Hellenized education. But as a family who worked in the small fishing trade around the Sea of Galilee (Matt 4.18–20; Mark 1.16–18), personal ownership of a collection of books was likely well beyond their material means.552 A second option, then, would be that Peter grew up listening to the Greek scriptures read in his local synagogue. There is certainly evidence to indicate the use of Greek in synagogual practice. The Theodotus inscription (first century CE) reveals that the members   Achtemeier 7.   Comparable evidence might be suggested from the Dead Sea Scrolls: it is now generally agreed that not all the Scrolls were copied at Qumran. Many were brought to the site either by its initial settlers or by those who, over time, joined the community, or even those who retreated to the site shortly before the Roman destruction in 68–70 CE (see Norton, ‘Qumran Library’, 40–74; Askin, ‘Scribal Production’, 26–28). So, rather than being the product of one small sect, the Scrolls likely represent the collections of various individuals or groups from around Palestine. 552   While acknowledging exceptional cases like that described in 1 Macc 1.56–57, Tov maintains, ‘In the last century B.C.E., with limited literacy, which was even more pronounced in earlier times, individuals would not have owned private scrolls’; instead, he notes, ‘Scripture scrolls were only found in intellectual centers such as the Qumran community, the Temple, houses of learning, and houses of religious gathering (synagogues)’ (‘Diffusion of Biblical Manuscripts’, 162; cf. Stern, ‘First Jewish Books’, 179). For a fuller discussion on the cost of owning books in antiquity, see further Hezser, Jewish Literacy, 110–68. 550 551

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associated with a synagogue in Jerusalem carried out its activities, including ‘the reading of the Law and the teaching of the commandments’ (εἰς ἀνάγνωσιν νόμου καὶ διδαχὴν ἐντολῶν), in Greek (CIIP 9; cf. Acts 6.9, referring to the Greek-speaking ‘synagogue of the Freedmen’). Whether the same was true in Peter’s hometown of Bethsaida, or in Capernaum where he later took up residence, remains to be seen. To this point, archaeological surveys of the area have not turned up any evidence of a first-century CE synagogue, much less evidence to suggest that Greek was the language in which worship was conducted.553 Any conclusion regarding Peter’s early synagogue exposure to the Greek scriptures therefore would be dependent upon future archaeological discoveries. Without evidence to demonstrate that the historical Peter would likely have been familiar with the Greek scriptures, how then might someone account for the scriptural citations in 1 Peter? Proponents of authenticity often answer this question by suggesting that the apostle developed a proclivity for the Greek scriptures out of years of missionary work among the Gentiles.554 Yet aside from the limited evidence for the extent of Peter’s activities in Gentile territories (see below), this assumption overlooks the various obstacles to becoming proficient in the Greek language which have been spelled out above. The more probable scenario is that Peter never gained this degree of familiarity with the Greek scriptures, and thus someone other than the historical Peter was responsible for the letter. A final reason for positing pseudonymity is the portrait of the apostle reflected in 1 Peter. At issue is the discontinuity between the image of Peter that comes across in the epistle and the representation of the apostle in other early Christian writings.555 Even the use   Appold (‘Peter in Profile’, 143; cf. also Lee, ‘Greek-Speaking Ability’, 170–71) claims that Bethsaida was heavily influenced by the Greeks. But a proper perspective on the settlement requires distinguishing the first-century CE character of the city from both the ‘pagan’ presence of the first century BCE as well as the later Roman influence in the second century CE (see Savage, Biblical Bethsaida, 138: ‘during the first-century CE, while not isolated from the larger Greco-Roman cultural trends, Bethsaida manifests an inter-play between local culture and GrecoRoman culture in a way that the dominant role of the local culture (i.e., Jewish) is seen’ [original emphasis]). 554   See Kelly 31; Hiebert 15; Watson 4. 555   Cf. Dibelius, Fresh Approach, 188. 553



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of the name Πέτρος (‘Peter’) in 1.1, rather than Σίμων (‘Simon’), or Συμεών (‘Simeon’), has been suggested to point to pseudonymity.556 This argument, one might maintain, is the most tenuous of those advanced so far. Not only are we dealing with a figure from antiquity for whom we have only a small amount of credible historical information, but there is a very limited depiction of Peter as a figure in the letter. Moreover, the images of Peter found in the epistle (apostle, witness/martyr, elder, and possibly shepherd)557 have some points of connection with representations elsewhere in the NT. Nonetheless, the differences are noteworthy. First, we might contrast the target and location of Peter’s missionary endeavors. Within the earliest Christ-movement, there seems to have been a recognition that Peter’s mission was to Jews, while Paul’s was to Gentiles (Gal 2.7–9), though Luke later (some decades after Peter’s death) attributes to Peter a pivotal role in the   See, e.g., Perkins 10. At birth (or, more precisely, eight days after his birth), the name that was conferred upon the apostle by his parents was ‫‘( שמעון‬Simeon’), transliterated in Greek as Σίμων (‘Simon’), or Συμεών (‘Simeon’), which appears to have been one of the most popular male names from the late Second Temple period (see Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 1:56, 218–35). Yet the author refers to himself here by the nickname Πέτρος (‘Peter’). Πέτρος was the common designation for the apostle in the post-apostolic period (e.g., 1 Clem. 5.4; 2 Clem. 5.3–4; Ign. Rom. 4.3; Smyrn. 3.2; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 5.22; Gos. Eb. 4; Gos. Mary 10.7), especially in the Clementine Homilies and the Pseudo-Clementines. It is also the name used in later pseudepigrapha attributed to Peter: Acts of Peter, Revelation of Peter, Letter of Peter to Philip, Acts of Peter and Andrew, Acts of Peter and Paul, Apocalypse of Peter, Gospel of Peter, Martyrdom of Peter, Martyrdom of Peter and Paul, etc. This signum (or supernomen) had not replaced the apostle’s given name within his lifetime, however. Our earliest records indicate that there was some variation in the way that Peter’s contemporaries referred to him. Paul commonly employed the name Κηφᾶς (1 Cor 1.12; 3.22; 9.5; 15.5; Gal 1.18; 2.9, 11, 14; elsewhere only John 1.42), although he does, on occasion, use the name Πέτρος (Gal 2.7–8). The name Συμεών (= Σίμων) is also represented (Luke 24.34; Acts 15.14; 2 Pet 1.1; see further Doering, ‘Author Construction’, 650–52). According to the Gospels, even Jesus himself still referred to him as Σίμων on occasions (cf. Matt 16.17; 17.25; Mark 14.37; Luke 7.40; 22.31; John 21.15–17). If the apostle were writing the letter, then it seems appropriate to ask why he would not have employed his given name, Σίμων, or Σίμων Πέτρος (see Matt 16.16; Luke 5.8; and 15× in John; cf. 2 Pet 1.1), or at least the Aramaic equivalent of Πέτρος, which was Κηφᾶς. But while the use of the name Πέτρος is consistent with pseudonymity, it is not quite proof of pseudonymity. 557   See further Horrell, ‘Peter Remembered’, 179–208. 556

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latter too (Acts 10; 15.7). Indeed, the Antioch incident (Gal 2.11– 14) indicates that any such division of labour could not be neatly sustained. The extent of any activities of Peter outside Palestine are also difficult to confirm: Peter was certainly known to the assemblies in Corinth (1 Cor 1.12; 9.5), though whether he visited there is uncertain.558 A visit to Rome in the time of Claudius is sometimes proposed, and linked with Acts 12.17, but this too remains highly uncertain.559 All this seems somewhat different from what is assumed about the apostle in 1 Peter. Not only are the churches to which the letter is addressed portrayed as predominantly Gentile,560 but also there is no early evidence to suggest that Peter worked in Asia Minor.561 The force of this observation is compounded further by the fact that some parts of Anatolia (viz. Asia and Galatia) had earlier been evangelised by Paul. Even more to the point, as Feldmeier notes, ‘It is…questionable whether Peter—particularly after the conflict in Galatians—could authoritatively address communities that lay in Paul’s area of mission and do so without dealing with Paul in any way’.562 558   Some have claimed that 1 Cor 1.12 (cf. also Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.8, although note Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 134–40) indicates that Peter’s missionary efforts extended to the Gentiles as well (see Lumby ix; Green 7 n. 10; Lee, ‘Greek-Speaking Ability’, 176–77). Yet all that 1.12 and 9.5 requires is that the Corinthians were familiar with the figure of Peter, and might align themselves with him, not that he had spent time among them or evangelised them. 559   See below n. 793. 560   See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity. 561   According to Thiede (Simon Peter, 155), the apostle Peter undertook missionary efforts within the areas named in the letter’s prescript sometime prior to the Jerusalem council (cf. Witherington 67–68). This finds support in a few later sources (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.1.2; Epiphanius, Pan. 27.7; Jerome, Vir. ill. 1), but in each case, they represent conclusions drawn directly from 1 Peter (see Green, Vox Petri, 71–72). Yet even the letter itself suggests that the author was not the one who had originally evangelised these areas (cf. 1 Pet 1.12). This concession might be the earliest (and strongest) evidence against any Petrine activities in Asia Minor, for if the author had been aware of such missionary engagement, he would likely have included a reference to them as a way of creating connection (cf., e.g., 1 Cor 2.1–6; 1 Thess 1.6–10). What is more, given the disputes that Paul confronts in Galatians, reporting disagreements in which he publicly confronted Peter, one wonders how an extended period of Petrine ministry in the same region would have gone unnoticed and unmentioned, especially by Paul. 562   Feldmeier 35. Cf. Boring 32: ‘It is hardly conceivable that the historical Peter in Rome would, in a letter to the Pauline mission territory of Asia and Galatia, allude to Mark and Silas, but not to Paul himself’.



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Another anomaly is the fact that it is difficult to see any distinctively ‘Petrine’ theology in the letter, again insofar as we are able to make connections with information derived from elsewhere (e.g., the Gal 2 incident, Peter’s identity as apostle to the Jews, etc.). The letter does quote the Levitical holiness refrain, and the reference to idolatry and sexual immorality in 1 Pet 4.2–4 reflects established Jewish emphases. Nevertheless, it is surprising that the letter makes no mention of Torah-observance, circumcision, or dietary restrictions. Not only were these all defining characteristics of Jewish identity during the Second Temple period, they created serious tension within the earliest Christian movement, including an episode in which Peter is recorded to have been involved.563 At Antioch, Paul describes a dispute between himself and Peter over the sharing of meals by Jews and Gentiles together (Gal 2.11–14; cf. Acts 10). After Peter sided with the Jerusalem contingency, his decision was challenged by Paul. At the time when Paul was writing, there is no indication that Peter’s stance on this issue had changed.564 If it had, Paul would likely have mentioned this to his Galatian readers, who had been convinced to adopt a position more like that of Peter, or of those who had come from James.565 If 1 Peter were written by Peter

563   This was also a significant issue in the Roman churches of the 50s CE (Rom 14.1–15.13), a relevant point given that 1 Peter is often thought to have been written from Rome (see Introduction: Place of Origin). 564   According to Green, ‘First Peter is the composition of a leader in the early church who is in touch with a vast array of traditions and who provides a centrist theology for the church, as we might expect from one who is a principal ecclesial and theological leader. We would expect him to sound like others and not a voice dissimilar to the rest’ (Vox Petri, 84). While we would certainly agree with this assessment of 1 Peter, Green’s point about what would have been expected from the historical Peter remains to be demonstrated. Given Paul’s critical stance toward Peter and the vitriol with which he addressed his opponents in Galatia, are we to imagine that a letter from Peter—addressed to the same location no less— would not only have lacked any trace of polemic but would not even address the issue at all? 565   It may also be relevant to note that some later Christian tradition remembered Peter as aligned with the position of James and the Jerusalem contingent and thus, by implication, as set over against the position of Paul (cf. Davidson, Introduction, 1:541–42). The pseudo-Clementine Homilies, which provide an implicit critique of the Pauline perspective, provide one such example. Not only is Paul’s (aka ‘Simon Magus’) experience of Jesus in a vision set in contrast to Peter’s own direct instruction by Jesus (17.14), Peter himself delivers the following warning to

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himself, it is surprising that there is no trace of these earlier debates or specifically Petrine perspectives.566 Related to this is the manner in which the author attempts to construct his audience’s new ethno-religious identity.567 During the lifetime of the apostle Peter, the earliest Jesus followers debated whether and by what means Gentiles might be included in the people of God. Even for the apostle Paul, who promoted a gospel of salvation without ‘works of law’ for Gentiles, there was never any question about God’s continuing plan for the people of Israel (Rom 9–11; cf. Eph 2.11–22). In 1 Peter, however, the language and status of Jewish identity is appropriated for largely Gentile Christian communities without a word about the question of Israel.568 This situation not only represents a step removed from the historical circumstances of the apostle Peter,569 it also reflects an appropriation of Jewish identity that seems difficult to reconcile with our evidence concerning ‘the apostle to the Jews’. All of this leads us to conclude that 1 Peter was most likely not composed or commissioned by the apostle Peter;570 instead, the epistle appears to be a pseudonymous work written sometime after the death of the apostle, which someone attempted to pass off as an actual letter from Peter.571 those in Tripolis (Phœnicia): ‘Wherefore, above all, remember to shun apostle or teacher or prophet who does not first accurately compare his preaching with that of James, who was called the brother of my Lord, and to whom was entrusted to administer the church of the Hebrews in Jerusalem’ (11.35; trans. Peterson). 566   According to Green, ‘arguments against Petrine authorship based on theological considerations have no traction’ (7). This contention is grounded in the fact that we have so few sources from which to gather a genuinely Petrine perspective. However, it is telling that the theological perspective of 1 Peter stands in contrast to the few facts that can be established about the historical Peter’s theological concerns. 567   See further Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity. 568   See esp. Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church, 171–75; Achtemeier, ‘Newborn Babes’, 226–28; Horrell, 1 Peter, 61–73. 569   Cf. Brox, ‘Israel im 1. Petrusbrief’, 484–93. 570   Cf. Bockmuehl, Simon Peter, 130: ‘it seems clear that 1 Peter cannot be seen as a repository of historical Petrine memory or theology’. 571   Against the assertion of Strickland, the decision to reject the authenticity claims of 1 Peter is thus not based on the fact that ‘one is predisposed to regard [the letter] as pseudonymous’ (‘Ancient Manuscripts’, 783 [emphasis added]; cf. also Judd, Jr., ‘Petrine Authorship’, 257). This conclusion is grounded in the



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Excursus: Pseudonymity in Early Christianity and 1 Peter Armin D. Baum, Pseudepigraphie und literarische Fälschung im frühen Christentum : mit ausgewählten Quellentexten samt deutscher Übersetzung, WUNT 2/138 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001); Norbert Brox, Falsche Verfasserangaben: Zur Erklärung der frühchristlichen Pseudepigraphie, SBS 79 (Stuttgart: KBW Verlag, 1975); Bart D. Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); Jörg Frey et al., ed., Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen, WUNT 246 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009); David G. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon: An Investigation into the Relationship of Authorship and Authority in Jewish and Earliest Christian Tradition, WUNT 39 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1986); Karl Matthias Schmidt, Mahnung und Erinnerung im Maskenspiel: Epistolographie, Rhetorik und Narrativik der pseudepigraphen Petrusbriefe, HBS 38 (Freiburg: Herder, 2003); Wolfgang Speyer, Die literarische Fälschung im heidnischen und christlichen Altertum. Ein Versuch ihrer Deutung, Handbuch der Altertumwisssenschaft I/2 (Munich: Beck, 1971); Terry L. Wilder, Pseudonymity, the New Testament, and Deception: An Inquiry into Intention and Reception (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2004) Commentators on 1 Peter, as well as on other NT texts whose authorship is disputed, have traditionally spent considerable time discussing the various reasons why the composition(s) should or should not be taken as authentic. But, as Frenschkowski has pointed out, rather less attention has been given to the important questions surrounding the milieu in which pseudonymity took place: How might a pseudonymous letter have originated? How would it have been distributed and received? Would the pseudonymous character of the letter have been recognised by the earliest readers?572 Having concluded on literary and historical grounds that 1 Peter is most likely pseudepigraphic, it is important to explore how such a letter might have been produced and disseminated. In order to do so, we must first address some of the significant misconceptions about pseudonymity that have served to cloud the discussion over the last few decades. Once this ground has been cleared in this excursus, we will then attempt to explain why 1 Peter was forged and how its pseudepi� graphic character was able to remain unexposed for such a long time.

accumulation of evidence and judgments about plausibility. Too often, defences of authenticity rely on what is possible (that Peter acquired fluency in Greek, studied the LXX, wrote with Silvanus as secretary, etc.) rather than what is most likely. 572   Frenschkowski, ‘Erkannte Pseudepigraphie?’, 186.

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The first misconception that marks the discussion of pseudonymity in 1 Peter involves the question of genre. It has been argued by some interpreters that in the ancient world certain genres of literature (viz. gospels, acts, and apocalypses) lent themselves more favourably to false authorial ascription than others (viz. letters). From this perspective, epistolary pseudepigrapha are said to have been extremely rare. The fullest defence of this argument is provided by Guthrie,573 whose ideas have influenced various Petrine interpreters.574 His argument rests on two assumptions: (a) that the epistolary genre made it easier to detect pseudonymity and thus constrained its prospects,575 and (b) that early Christians would not have participated in such an act of deception. The sheer volume of pseudepigraphic letters in antiquity is sufficient to call into question Guthrie’s first assertion. Aside from the numerous examples of forged epistles that are extant, literary sources from the Greek and Roman worlds attest many more.576 This should lead us away from any notion that the epistolary genre was less likely to be suitable for pseudonymous composition.577 Yet, given Guthrie’s second assumption, should we treat 1 Peter in the same way? Even if we were to suspend the judgment of critical scholarship on many of the pseudonymous NT epistles (e.g., Pastoral Epistles; 2 Peter— neither of which Guthrie regards as pseudepigraphic), it is still clear that early Christians composed many pseudepigraphal letters, despite the disdain in which the practice was held in society (and the church).   Guthrie, Introduction, 776–79, 1011–1028. See also James, Apocryphal New Testament, 476; Bauckham, ‘Pseudo-Apostolic Letters’, 469–94. 574   E.g., Hiebert 18–19; Jobes 14–17; Witherington 38; Forbes 2; cf. Moon, Amanuensis, 30–31; Bateman, General Letters, 53–54; Myers, Authorship of 1 Peter, 102. 575   It is interesting to note that Tsuji (‘Persönliche Korrespondenz’, 253–72) has recently made the exact opposite claim than that presented by Guthrie. He argues that the Pastoral Epistles were composed as personal letters addressed to individuals long since dead, because this type of document would have been more difficult to unmask as a forgery. 576   Examples from non-Christian sources include: Aeschines, Ctes. 225; Polybius, Hist. 5.43.5; Diodorus Siculus 19.23.1; Diogenes Laertius, Lives 10.3; Apuleius, Apol. 87; Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 7.35; Athenaeus, Deipn. 13.611B; Josephus, Ant. 16.319; Plutarch, Brut. 57.3; Libanius, Or. 1.194. For more examples of pseudepigraphical letters from antiquity, see Schreiber, ‘Pseudepigraphie als Problem’, 234–38. 577   Cf. Metzger, ‘Literary Forgeries’, 9–10: ‘Among the several kinds of literary forgeries in antiquity, arising from diverse motives, that of producing spurious epistles seems to have been most assiduously practiced. There is scarcely an illustrious personality in Greek literature or history from Themistocles down to Alexander, who was not credited with a more or less extensive correspondence’. See further Stirewalt, Ancient Greek Epistolography, 27–42. 573



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Indeed, Christians commonly participated in this form of literary deception. Various genres of pseudepigraphical writings, including gospels, acts, and apocalypses are widely attested. What is more, there is plenty of evidence to demonstrate that Christians were specifically involved in epistolary pseudonymity. The letter of 2 Thessalonians provides evidence of this: at one point, the author warns his readers ‘not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter (ἐπιστολή), as though from us (ὡς δι’ ἡμῶν), to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here’ (2 Thess 2.2, NRSV). If 2 Thessalonians is authentic, then it attests to the fact that forged letters were circulating during the time of Paul’s ministry. On the other hand, if the letter itself is pseudonymous (as many suspect), then we have extant proof of just such a practice.578 Either way, it is clear that Christians were involved in the process of forging letters, and there are plenty of examples from the early centuries to confirm this.579 Beyond this evidence, however, the fact that early Christians spent time debating the authenticity of certain NT epistles (as well as some that did not become canonical) reveals that pseudonymity was assumed as a possibility, even from within the Christian community. Another idea that is frequently repeated in NT scholarship is that pseudonymity was an accepted and common form of literary composition in antiquity, such that a pseudepigraphic document would not necessarily indicate any intention to deceive; its fictional character would instead be immediately transparent to the readers.580 This view is popular within the broader field

578   For more on the ambiguities of this verse, including the possibility that it intends to refer to a letter actually by Paul, see Roose, ‘A Letter as by Us’, who sees this as part of the strategy of the pseudonymous author. 579   Other examples of epistolary forgery within early Christian circles could be added (e.g., 3 Cor.; Ep. Lao.; Ep. Paul Sen.; Ep. Apos.; Ep. Chr. Abg.; Ep. Chr. Heav.; Ep. Lent.; Ep. Alex.). In fact, there is more than one pseudonymous letter written in the name of the apostle Peter (e.g., 2 Pet; Ep. Pet. Phil.; Epistle of Peter to James). Other epistolary pseudepigrapha are known through various sources, although we have no copies today. These include a letter of Paul to the Alexandrians (Muratorian Canon, line 64), a letter of Paul to the Macedonians (Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 9.87.4), an otherwise unknown letter of Peter (Optatus of Milevis, Against the Donatists 1.5, although this may be a mistaken citation from the epistle of James), and an otherwise unknown letter from the apostle John to Paul, or in some MSS, the people (Ps.-Cyprian, De Montibus Sina et Sion 13). In other cases, we have forged epistles referenced by early Christian writers (e.g., Athanasius, Apol. Const. 19; Augustine, Cons. 1.10; Ep. 59.1–2; Jerome, Ruf. 2.24; 3.25, 30; Ep. 102.1). 580   A few examples of those who have held to this view include: Zimmermann, ‘Pseudepigraphie im Neuen Testament’, 27–38; Dunn, Living Word, 53–68. For a fuller list of scholars who have held to this view, stretching all the way back into the late nineteenth century, see Jansse, Unter falschem Namen, 182–85.

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of NT studies, and it is often assumed in Petrine scholarship as well.581 For instance, when dealing with the question of the letter’s authenticity, Best notes, ‘in this period pseudonymous literature was common and the practice was not regarded with the same abhorrence as today’.582 The reason why this was the case, according to Beare, is because of the letter’s transparency: ‘[1 Peter] was not intended to deceive anyone, or to confer an undeserved lustre on the writing’; instead, he claims that ‘[the recipients] would recognize the pseudonym for what it was—an accepted and harmless literary device, employed by a teacher who is more concerned for the Christian content of his message than for the assertion of his own claims to authority’.583 Despite the popularity of this view, serious problems have led experts in ancient pseudonymity to abandon it.584 What has become clear is that in the Greco-Roman world any attempt to pass off one’s own literary work in the name of someone else was considered an attempt to deceive the readers and was thus repudiated.585 Various considerations indicate that the intentions of a pseudonymous author would necessarily have been deceptive. Most notable is the cultural context in which this practice occurred. In antiquity, there were no laws regulating the use (or abuse) of intellectual property; nevertheless, ancient authors took great pains to make sure that they received credit for their works, and they were particularly concerned about whether their works

581   See Beare 43–50; Best 59–63; Craddock 13; Boring 30–37. Cf. also Schmidt, Mahnung; idem, ‘Die Stimme des Apostels’, 625–44. One of the more interesting variations of this approach is presented by Ostmeyer, who suggests that ‘De facto führten der Inhalt des Briefes und seine Präsentation dazu, dass sogenannte Heidenchristen…den Brief als authentisches Schreiben des Erzapostels gelesen haben. Dahingegen verstanden und goutierten gebildete jüdische Gemeindeglieder die Pseudepigraphie (des vorgeblich galiläischen Fischers) als ein aus der Situation heraus begründetes literarisches Mittel, das den Zusammenhalt der Gemeinde aus Juden- und Heidenchristen stärken sollte’ (20). It is difficult, however, to see how (educated) Jewish Christian readers might be better equipped than Gentile Christian readers to recognise the letter as pseudonymous, as though the latter would have been unfamiliar with the practice. 582   Best 59. 583   Beare 48. 584   See, e.g., Donelson, Pseudepigraphy; Baum, Pseudepigraphie; Wilder, Pseudonymity; Frenschkowski, ‘Erkannte Pseudepigraphie?’, 181–232; Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery. Related to this, the question posed some years ago by Metzger is still pertinent: ‘How can it be so confidently known that such productions “would deceive no one”? Indeed if nobody was taken in by the device of pseudepigraphy, it is difficult to see why it was adopted at all’ (‘Literary Forgeries’, 15–16). 585   With regard to the problems associated with viewing 1 Peter as a transparent fiction, see Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 944–45.



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were accurately transmitted once they left their hands.586 In this environment, publishing someone else’s work under one’s own name was considered theft.587 Further, it is noteworthy that the practice of pseudonymity involved the skilful employment of certain compositional strategies in an effort to conceal one’s identity. This might have included imitating the style of the attributed author or creating some level of verisimilitude in the document.588 Another clue to the deceptive nature of this practice is the response that readers made towards pseudonymous literature. Not only do the names used to depict such works represent a contemptible phenomenon (ψεῦδος, ‘lie’; νόθος, ‘bastard’; κίβδηλος, ‘counterfeit’), when forgeries were discovered, the work was rejected and the forger was often punished (cf. Herodotus 7.6.3; Josephus, Ant. 16.319; Tertullian, Bapt. 17; Athenaeus, Deipn. 13.611B).589

586   See especially Schickert, Der Schutz literarischer Urheberschaft, and Mülke, Der Autor und sein Text. According to Hengel (‘Anonymität, Pseudepigraphie’, 283), the notions of intellectual property and individual authorship were underdeveloped in Hellenistic Judaism in comparison to the rest of the Greco-Roman world. If this were the case, however, it is difficult to explain why the pseudonymous authors chose to assign their works to important figures from the past, whose attribution would bring a sense of authority (see Hogan, ‘Pseudonymity Reconsidered’, 1–15). Further, it is important to note that later readers of works like Daniel or 1 Enoch, many of whom received them as authentic (cf. Josephus, Ant. 10.267; Jude 14–15; Jerome, Expl. Dan. preface and 4.1–3), were actually concerned about the authenticity of those works (see, e.g., Tertullian, Cult. fem. 1.3.1). 587   Stemplinger, Das Plagiat, esp. 81–170. In the preface of his Natural History, Pliny the Elder explains the importance of acknowledging one’s sources rather than passing off someone else’s work for one’s own: ‘in the front of these books now in hand, I have set down the names of those writers whose help I have used in the compiling of them: for I am of [the] opinion that it is the part of an honest man, and one that has a claim to any modesty, to confess by whom he hath profited; and not as many of those persons have done, who I have alleged for my authors. For, to tell you the truth, in conferring them together about this work of mine, I have met with some of our modern writers, who, word for word, have copied out whole books of old authors, and never vouchsafed so much as the naming of them; but have taken their labours to themselves’ (trans. Rackham [LCL]). He goes on to describe such forms of plagiarism as ‘theft’. 588   On the various tactics used by forgers, see Speyer, Die literarische Fälschung, 44–84; cf. also Grafton, Forgers and Critics, esp. 36–68. 589   Sometimes those who defend the authenticity of certain NT writings seek to emphasise this point, and by doing so, they assume that they have ruled out the possibility that the documents in question might be pseudonymous (see, e.g., Blomberg and Seal, From Pentecost to Patmos, 135–37). However, even if early Christians summarily rejected pseudepigraphic writings, such rejection only occurred when the nature of a document’s authorship was exposed. It is possible that certain documents were pseudonymously composed but were never

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Perhaps a major reason why scholars have been unable to attribute deception to the Petrine author is because the letter lacks the type of polemic and obvious theological agenda that marks many forgeries. Instead, it evidences a clear pastoral concern for the readers.590 This fact masks the character of the epistle, however. It is important to point out that if the author of 1 Peter intended his work to be a transparent fiction, then he clearly failed: the letter was unanimously attributed to the apostle Peter within the early church.591 Moreover, we must not separate what would have likely been the expressed motive(s) of the author with his implied motive(s). When unmasked, ancient forgers often claimed that they composed their works with the best of intentions (cf. Tertullian, Bapt. 17; Salvian, Epistulae 9.1–5, 13–20). But the fact that they were not forthcoming about their role in the process that falsely attributed a document to another—particularly when this practice was so well-known and repudiated within Greco-Roman society—shows that they knew something was amiss. As it stands, 1 Peter gives few indications to its readers that it was meant to be read as anything other than a letter from the apostle Peter (aside from possible hints that Peter’s death lies in the past; see 5.1), which was exactly how it was received.592 On some level, then, we would have to conclude that the author’s motives were deceitful. Finally, it is important to address one of the commonly suggested models that mediates between authenticity and pseudonymity: the transmission of a teacher’s ideas by his students. This model of ‘acceptable’ pseudonymity is often invoked not just in relation to 1 Peter, but in NT studies more generally.593 As explained by Achtemeier, ‘students who in their writings enunciated a master’s teachings were obligated to attribute that writing not to themselves, but to the one who originated such doctrine’. The school of Pythagoras is cited as a prime example. In this case, the thoughts of a great teacher were put into written form by his students, who then published the work under their master’s name. Described as such, pseudonymity almost appears obligatory. ‘In these terms, apostolic pseudepigraphers who understood themselves as standing in the tradition of a given apostle, and who sought to actualize that

discovered by members of the early church. In such cases, the reticence of (some) early Christians to accept pseudepigraphic writings has no bearing on their (in)authenticity. 590   Note the struggle of Torm (Die Psychologie der Pseudonymität, 41–44) in assigning a motive to the Petrine author on the assumption that the letter is pseudonymous. 591   See Introduction: Early Citations of 1 Peter. 592   Cf. Merz, Die fiktive Selbstauslegung, 198. 593   See, e.g., Achtemeier 39–41; Craddock 13; Boring 30–37; cf. also Brox, Falsche Verfasserangaben, 71–75; Baum, Pseudepigraphie, 51–57; Frensch­ kowski, ‘Erkannte Pseudepigraphie?’, 204–12.



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authoritative tradition for a later situation, would find it natural to assign such work to that apostle’.594 Before evaluating the specific claims of this view, it is important first to consider the underlying foundation upon which it is built. Like many other approaches to pseudonymity, this position is grounded in the notion that the content of a document was more important to ancient readers than the question of who wrote it.595 More specifically, it is argued that concerns about content and orthodoxy were major factors—if not the most important factor— in decisions about which texts were and were not to be accepted by early Christians.596 One piece of evidence used to support this claim is found in the Muratorian Canon, where the Wisdom of Solomon is accepted as canonical even though it was thought to have been written, ‘by friends of Solomon to honour him’ (70). In the same way, Augustine denied that Solomon was actually the author of the work (Civ. 17.20); yet he still considered it to be canonical because of the authoritative position which it had gained in the church (Doctr. chr. 2.13).597 A later example of how authorship could be downplayed in favour of other considerations is provided by Salvian, a fifth-century presbyter who published a work under the pseudonym Timothy (Epistulae 9.1–5, 13–20). When the forgery was discovered by Salonius, the bishop of Geneva, Salvian claimed that the attribution was intended to be a transparent fiction: ‘The mere fact…that this book treats a modern subject and was written by a contemporary out of zeal and love for God’s cause, is itself enough to preclude completely the suspicion of its apocryphal character; for the document will not be suspected as apocryphal when it is recognized that it is not by the Apostle Timothy’ (9.2). Salvian uses the argument that the false ascription is unimportant because what really matters is ‘the intrinsic value of its contents’ (9.3). In these instances, it should be acknowledged that the authority of a document was not always dependent upon authenticity claims. Yet it is important to try to discern what were commonly accepted perspectives, as opposed to those that were exceptional or rare. In the case of the Muratorian fragment, its treatment of the Wisdom of Solomon represents what seems to

  Achtemeier 40.   This assumption also serves as the basis for the popular view that pseudonymity was an acceptable means of contemporizing ancient ideas (see, e.g., Meade, Pseudonymity; Riedl, Anamnese und Apostolizität). For a critique of this view beyond the objections raised here, see Beatrice, ‘Forgery, Propaganda and Power’, 47–49. 596   Gamble, ‘Pseudonymity’, 347–55. 597   This position is consistent with the view of some later Christian writers who believed that questions of authorship were unnecessary because of divine inspiration (see Gregory the Great, Moralia in Job, prologue 1.1–3). 594 595

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be a minority view. Among ancient Christians, there was considerable debate as to the authenticity and authority of this work. While some ancient critics expressed their doubts (Origen, Comm. Jo. 8.37; Jerome, In libros Salom. Praef), many accepted the book as an authentic work of Solomon (e.g., Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.93.2; Tertullian, Val. 2; Cyprian, Fort. 12; Lactantius, Epitome 42). Regardless of how the matter was resolved, this discussion itself suggests that for most ancient readers authorship was of considerable importance. This is also clear in the example of Salvian, who explicitly claims that the content of the document was more important than its ascribed author. While Salvian’s position illustrates that some diversity of opinion existed on this issue, it is the response of Salonius that is most enlightening. The fact that he voices concern about the false ascription shows the peculiarity of Salvian’s assumption. Most potential readers, at least in Salonius’ mind, would have considered the document’s attribution of authorship as indicative of responsibility and authority. Further, even when decisions of canonicity were made on grounds other than authorship, ancient critics were not always consistent in their application of methodological standards. Even though Augustine reserves a canonical place for the Wisdom of Solomon, despite its (implicit) false attribution, he nonetheless rejects the works of Noah and Enoch—their authoritative prophetic status notwithstanding—because the documents were not believed to be authentic (Civ. 18.38). Therefore, it is unwise to read the pseudepigraphical character of 1 Peter in light of a view that appears to be the exception, rather than the rule. Nonetheless, given that authorship—as the ongoing critical debate indicates!—would be hard to prove, perception of the ‘soundness’ and value of the content may well have played some role in determining which texts were or were not subject to debate and discussion. During the period in question, however, the vast majority of readers placed premium value on a document’s authorship. For Christian authors in particular, determining who wrote a work was a key criterion for judging its authority and eventual canonicity.598 This is clear from a number of considerations. First, rather than simply resting on the influence of content and orthodoxy, ancient forgers went to great lengths to convince the readers of the authenticity of their document. This might involve the use of various deceptive strategies (see above), or it might include elaborate explanations that attempt to overcome the suspicions of the reader.599 Second, ancient critics 598   On the importance of authorship within early Christianity, especially as it related to inclusion within the biblical canon, see Duff, ‘Pseudepigraphy in Early Christianity’; Wyrick, Ascension of Authorship; Thomassen, ‘Forgery in the New Testament’, 141–57. 599   In the Martyrdom of Isaiah, the author explains why the words of his book had not been published years ago with the rest of Isaiah’s prophecies, attributing the large time gap to a pact of secrecy that was only to be revealed to the final



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used a variety of criteria to expose forgeries, beyond the work’s orthodoxy. In doing so, these interpreters went to great lengths to authenticate documents.600 Augustine challenges the authenticity of a letter purportedly written by Jesus to the apostles Peter and Paul on the basis of historical considerations: prior to Jesus’ death, ‘Paul had not yet become a disciple of his at all’ (Cons. 1.10).601 Stylistic considerations were used by Dionysius of Alexandria to show that Revelation could not have been written by the same author as the fourth Gospel (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 7.25). Other ancient readers used literary criticism to expose forgeries (see Herodotus, Hist. 2.117; Galen, De libris propriis, prologue). These questions would have been irrelevant if the only concern were a document’s content/orthodoxy. Finally, when the pseudonymous character of a work was discovered, it was (almost) always rejected, and there were often serious repercussions. Classical literature often records complaints about those who forged documents and even those who altered existing texts (Martial, Ep. 7.12, 72; Rufinus, De adult. libr. Orig. 7). Those who were caught performing such deeds might be banished (Herodotus, Hist. 7.6), removed from their appointed position (Tertullian, Bapt. 17), or even killed (Athenaeus, Deipn. 13.611B; Josephus, War 1.529). All of this makes it clear that authorship was crucial for attributing authority. The distinction between authorship and content remains difficult, however, since authorship and orthodoxy were closely tied together in the minds of most Christian readers. Illustrative of this fact is the case of Faustus. According to Augustine, Faustus claimed that certain texts or portions of texts were forged when they did not align with his theology (Faust. 33.6). This reveals the importance of orthodoxy in the process of evaluating a document; yet it also demonstrates that orthodoxy was grounded in the authority of the designated author. What we might conclude then is that questions of authority centered on the authorship of a document: if a document was determined to be a forgery, it was (almost) always rejected by early Christians. However, when generation (11.36–39; cf. 4.20–21). What is interesting is that the author does not suggest that he was contemporizing the ideas of an ancient prophet (as might be argued by Meade, Pseudonymity), but that he was providing the actual words of the prophet that were composed long ago. 600   For some of the criteria used by ancient critics, see Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 137–45; cf. also Grafton, Forgers, 69–123. On the effort involved in ancient criticism, see Blum, Kallimachos und die Literaturverzeichnung. 601   The same type of approach is displayed by Tertullian, Cult. fem. 1.3.1–3, where the acceptance or rejection of the book of Enoch is based on historical probability: the question is whether a work of an antediluvian prophet, ‘having been published before the deluge…could have safely survived that world-wide calamity’ (trans. Thelwall). Cf. Sozomenus, Historia ecclesiastica 7.19, where questions about the authenticity of the Apocalypse of Paul were based on scepti�cism regarding the story of its discovery (i.e., that it was buried underneath the house of Paul in the city of Tarsus).

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authorship was being investigated, sometimes questions of content and orthodoxy—the theological views of the real or ascribed author—could influence judgments about authenticity. Yet, this need not take away from the fact that, on a theoretical level at least, authority was thought to depend on authorship. With this insecure foundation now removed, we will return to the question of students in Greco-Roman philosophical schools. Despite the fact that scholars frequently cite the Pythagorean school as an example for the widespread practice of students writing their work in the name of a revered teacher, there is little evidence to support this theory.602 It is important to note at the start that the Pythagorean school is the only example of this practice that is normally provided, and the description of such practices derive from text written almost a millennium after the life of Pythagoras. Further, upon closer examination, some of the evidence used to support this view actually indicates the opposite, viz. that works forged in the name of Pythagoras were considered to be ‘lies’ and their authors depicted as ‘criminals’.603 Moreover, references to these Pythagorean texts indicate that they are not unlike other examples of ancient forgeries. The authors knew that such writings could fetch a high price (Olympiodorus, Introduction to Aristotle’s Logic, prolegomena), and therefore, great effort was put into making them appear old (Dio Chrysostom, Or. 21.12).604

*** Having shown, in the above excursus, that pseudepigraphy was not, despite frequent arguments to the contrary, an acceptable way to communicate an esteemed teacher’s (supposed) message, it remains to be considered how 1 Peter could plausibly have been disseminated and received, and how the letter might have addressed a real situation. For some, these remain serious difficulties with the pseudonymity hypothesis, despite the evidence that points towards it (and away from other authorship hypotheses). Therefore, it is crucial not only to consider the question of authenticity, but also 602   For a fuller critique of this view, see Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 105–19. 603   The text comes from the Greek Neoplatonist writer, Porphyry (234–304 CE). Although no Greek text is extant, the work in question has been preserved in an Arabic translation (Usaybi’a, Kitab ‘uyun al-anba’ fi tabaqat al-atibba, 1:244–45). For an English translation of the Arabic, see Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 109–110. 604   The story is told that King Juba II of Mauretania bought manuscripts thought to have been written by Pythagoras which had been artificially aged (Roller, ‘Juba II of Mauretania’, 275 T 11).



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to provide a plausible account of how a pseudepigraphic letter like 1 Peter could have been disseminated and received among actual Christian communities. Connecting a Pseudepigraphic Letter to an Actual Situation. Most who read 1 Peter as a pseudepigraphic composition assume continuity between the implied readers and the fictive addressees. The designation of the audience as the ‘elect sojourners of the diaspora residing in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia’ (1 Pet 1.1) is more than just a device of pseudonymity. The epistle is understood as an actual correspondence directed toward Christian communities in the Roman provinces of Asia Minor. One caveat to this reconstruction is that while the implied readers are normally understood to be located in the same geographical area as those specified in the prescript, they are a generation or two removed from the audience depicted in the letter. Consistent with this line of interpretation, the descriptions of conflict are thought to be representative of the actual circumstances of Anatolian Christians during the late first or early second century CE. The tendency to equate the fictive narrative that is constructed within pseudepigraphic letters and the referential world of the actual author/readers has recently been challenged in an insightful article by Robinson and Llewelyn.605 They propose that, like the fictive addressor in 1 Peter, the addressees are also fictitious.606 Their case is built, in part, on probability and analogy. Related to the former, it is argued that in a pseudepigraphic epistle fictitious addressees naturally follow from a fictitious addressor.607 Thus, emphasis is placed on the inconsistency of accepting geographical designations in the text while rejecting temporal indicators. Related to the latter,   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 939–50. Robinson and Llewelyn are not the first to raise this issue. Within Pauline scholarship, some have also pointed out the various ways that pseudonymity complicates appeals to the real world behind the text (see, e.g., Thompson, ‘As If Genuine’, 471–88; Hübenthal, ‘Erfahrung’, 295–339; Lincicum, ‘Mirror-Reading’, 171–93). 606   The possibility that the addressees might be fictional is considered, but ultimately dismissed, by Novenson, ‘Why Are There Some Petrine Epistles?’, 154. 607   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 939: ‘if the addressor is fictive, must not the addressee also be fictive?’; ibid, 940: ‘If…the author is considered deceptive as regards his name, he may be deceptive regarding his readers, in both generational and geographical determinants’. 605

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attention is drawn to other pseudonymous epistles where both the addressor and the addressee(s) are fictitious, such as 3 Corinthians or the Epistle to the Laodiceans. These letters, they point out, tell us nothing meaningful about specific Christian communities in Corinth or Laodicea respectively.608 The strongest arguments made for a fictive audience arise out of the text of 1 Peter. Robinson and Llewelyn make the case for understanding the locations mentioned in the prescript (Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia) as parallel with the letter’s provenance described in the farewell (Babylon). They contend that since the latter was intended to represent social estrangement and dislocation, ‘it begs the question as to why the provincial designators in the prescript should not also be so construed’.609 With this, their attention turns to the mechanics of delivery. They argue that the basis for judging the fictive nature of 1 Peter’s addressees is ‘whether it was delivered or not’.610 After exploring various means by which a pseudonymous epistle might have reached specific communities, Robinson and Llewelyn define the greatest obstacle for equating the fictive readers with the implied readers: ‘If the letter is pseudonymous and written in the late first century, it is difficult to see how a church could believe that the Apostle Peter was truly giving instructions for their present situation’.611 In other words, the further the letter is removed from the time of the historical Peter, the more difficult it would be for the readers to believe the fiction that the apostle was speaking directly to their historical circumstances.612 The question of the fictitious nature of the audience has an important bearing on how one views the letter’s descriptions of   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 944.   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 942. 610   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 943. 611   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 946. 612   A similar argument has been set forth by those who defend Petrine author�ship: ‘it is hardly conceivable how a forger should have attempted to palm off on definitely formed churches, some fifty years after his death, a letter professing to have been written by Peter, in which they are comforted in their present affliction; and that he should have been so successful, that the fraud was detected by no one in the churches’ (Huther 40; original emphasis). While Huther’s protest was originally directed toward those who assigned the epistle a Trajanic date, the same argument has been made against a first-century CE forgery as well (e.g., Witherington 38; Schreiner 11; cf. also Selwyn, ‘Persecutions in I Peter’, 48). 608 609



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suffering. If the situation, like the addressor and addressees, is a fictive construction, the persecutions would not reveal anything specific about the circumstances of Christian communities in Asia Minor during the late first or early second century. They would simply reflect general conditions, applicable to any Christian community at any time and in any part of the Roman Empire. This, in fact, is the claim made by Robinson and Llewelyn.613 According to this interpretation, all attempts to identify specific historical situations behind the letter are futile. The case that Robinson and Llewelyn make for a fictitious audience draws attention to an issue that is foundational for dating 1 Peter: with a pseudepigraphic letter, one must not only account for the fictive nature of the addressor, but also the possibility that the addressee(s) and the situation might be fictitious. The simple fact that this matter has been brought to the surface should move the discussion forward in important ways. Nevertheless, an equally, if not more,614 convincing case can be made for the view that 1 Peter addresses the threat of actual persecution facing Christian communities across Asia Minor;615 in other words, the fictive situation 613   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 944: ‘the suffering cannot be used as an example of specific knowledge the author has concerning the churches in Asia Minor’. They contend that, at most, it can inform us about Christianity in the late first century, especially ‘its theology and approach to suffering’ (944). Even without posing a fictive audience, some have similarly doubted whether 1 Peter was addressed to a concrete situation within a specific area (see, e.g., Nicklas, ‘Zum Motiv der “Fremdheit” ’, 91; Öhler, ‘Graeco-Roman Associations’, 76). These concerns often flow out of the circular nature of the letter and the broad (and diverse) geographical area to which the epistle is addressed. 614   The tentativeness of this claim must be emphasised. Pseudepigraphical literature tends to complicate the interpretive process in ways that make even probabilities difficult to establish. For a fuller treatment of this issue, see Williams, ‘Date of 1 Peter’, 245–67. 615   To be clear, we are not claiming that each congregation spread across Asia Minor (still less each individual member) was experiencing the exact same type of conflict. The letter itself stresses the diversity of suffering (1 Pet 1.6). Yet, given what is known about Christianity at the time, we can say that all of these communities likely shared one experience in common: suspicion of their Christ-allegiance. To the extent that believers spurned traditional social customs, they would have experienced forms of prejudice and discrimination that could, at times, escalate to the point where the lives of Christians were placed in danger through physical assault, economic oppression, and even legal trials. See further Holloway, Coping with Prejudice.

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may very well be reflective of the real situation—although a situation that very well could apply to other Christian communities in different places as well (cf. 1 Pet 5.9).616 At the outset, it is crucial to establish the possibility that a pseudonymous epistle might be addressed to an actual situation. This is especially important since the argument of Robinson and Llewelyn is grounded in the assumption that a fictive audience/ situation naturally follows from a pseudonymous addressor. It is true, as these scholars point out, that many forged letters did involve a fictive addressor writing to a fictive addressee about a fictive situation (e.g., 1 Macc 12.7–9; Josephus, War 1.526–529; Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.31–34; Augustine, De cons. Evang. 1.10). But what weakens their case is that they do not fully account for the likelihood that some pseudepigraphical letters were addressed to actual situations involving real recipients. Evidence for this type of pseudepigraphon is provided both directly and indirectly within the ancient source materials. Direct evidence is found in letters sent to the emperor in connection with the appointment and intermittent role of Athanasius in the episcopacy of Alexandria during the fourth century. Rumours circulating at that time claimed that the position was only secured after forged letters were sent to Constantine on behalf of the city koinon petitioning for the ordination of Athanasius. Thinking that the epistles were authentic, the emperor conceded the request (Philostorgius, Hist. eccl. 2.11). Some years later in Athanasius’ tenure in Alexandria, a forged letter was also sent to Constantius II; but this time it claimed to be from Athanasius himself (Athanasius, Apol. Const. 19–21). This epistle, which was likely composed by an Arian opponent, asked that Athanasius be granted leave to travel to Italy. Again, since the document was viewed as authentic, permission for the request was granted by the emperor. Examples like these reveal that

616   It is also important to acknowledge another significant limitation that shapes how we understand the descriptions of suffering in 1 Peter. While the Petrine author may have possessed some familiarity with his readers and their circumstances (see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 19–20), modern efforts to historically reconstruct the situation are nonetheless constrained by the author’s communicative abilities. As Seland has pointed out, ‘[w]hat we have in 1 Peter is primarily the author’s perception of the readers, that is, of his implied or presumed readers’ (‘Readers of 1 Peter’, 228; original emphasis).



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pseudepigraphic epistles could address actual situations involving real audiences (cf. Jerome, Ruf. 3.25). Indirect evidence for this type of pseudepigraphon is available as well. Here we could appeal to the forged letter of ‘Paul’ referenced in 2 Thess 2.2 (δι᾿ ἐπιστολῆς ὡς δι᾿ ἡμῶν). Like 1 Peter, 2 Thessalonians is likely also a pseudepigraphon, and thus requires interpreters to determine whether the readers and situation it describes are real or fictive.617 Yet the relevant point here is the type of forgery envisioned in this passage. What the passage describes is the case of a pseudonymous author writing to a real Christian community about an actual situation. Regardless of whether the letter in question ever existed, ancients could at least conceive the potential of such a forgery (cf. also Plutarch, Brut. 53.6–7; Jerome, Ep. 102.1). A further clue that pseudonymous epistles could address actual situations is provided by the response to letters of questionable origin. At times, recipients express their uncertainty about whether a given letter is authentic or forged. The dilemma that arises in these situations is whether and how to respond (cf. Jerome, Ep. 102.1; Ruf. 3.20; Augustine, Ep. 59.1–2). What is clear in such cases is that the epistle—even if it was forged—was understood as a real correspondence involving actual circumstances. So, even if all the elements in the author–recipient–situation triad are fictional in some ancient epistles (e.g., 3 Corinthians; Epistle to the Laodiceans), we need not assume this is the case in every instance. The nature of the recipients and the situation in a pseudonymous letter must be determined on a case-by-case basis.618 We may therefore propose a reading of 1 Peter that connects the fictive addressees with the implied readers, but that still accounts for the letter’s pseudepigraphic authorship.

617   Some maintain that the letter was actually intended for the church in Thessa�lonica (e.g., Bridges, 1 & 2 Thessalonians, 194–213), while others read the epistle as addressing a specific situation in another locale (e.g., Richard, First and Second Thessalonians, 28). Alternatively, both the addressors and the addressees have been read as fictive (see Mitchell, ‘Thessalonicherbriefe’, 360–61). On this text and the situation addressed, see also Roose, ‘A Letter as by Us’. 618   Pace Lincicum, ‘Mirror-Reading’, 172, who argues that ‘the burden of proof falls to the interpreter who wants to suggest that one element of the triad of author– recipient–situation is not fictionalized while the others are’.

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Within 1 Peter, there are clues that an actual situation was in view. It appears to be significant, for instance, that the author chose to limit the geographical location of his addressees. Such a decision stands in contrast to James, another pseudonymous epistle, which is addressed more broadly to ‘the twelve tribes in the diaspora’ (Jas 1.1). If nothing else, the selection of specific geographical designations in 1 Peter requires an explanation. On the assumption that the audience and situation are fictitious, one explanation of the author’s choice would be the letter’s connection with Paul. If these designations are intended to be Roman provinces, the overlap with Paul’s missionary travels (e.g., Asia; Galatia) might suggest an attempt to bring together the Petrine and Pauline missions.619 If, on the other hand, they are to be understood simply as geographical regions in northern Asia Minor, then they may have been selected to establish a mission field for ‘Peter’ that was somewhat distinct from the territory of Paul.620 While these explanations are possible, they probably represent too heavy an emphasis on the letter’s connection to Paul. A more natural alternative, based on the assumption that the letter would have created the most interest in the places to which it was specifically addressed,621 would be to locate the original circulation

619   This interpretation would be consistent with the view of Baur and the Tübingen school, which held sway for a long time within Petrine studies, viz. that 1 Peter is a synthesis or reconciliation of apostolic theology that attempts to demonstrate the unity of the two great apostles. 620   Cf. Doering, ‘Gottes Volk’, 84–87. Robinson and Llewelyn consider this possibility before acknowledging ‘[i]n truth, we do not know (and cannot know) what it would indicate’ (‘Fictitious Audience’, 942). Later they raise the possibility that ‘the pseudepigraphical author chose Asia Minor because the work was presented elsewhere (e.g., Rome) thus avoiding the question as to why it had never previously been known. The conceit of the letter was that it had been delivered far away’ (‘Fictitious Audience’, 945; cf. Vinson 6). This suggested reconstruction represents a very real possibility; yet it still leaves the question of why these specific provinces were selected and not others. 621   While apostolic letters directed toward particular situations within specific congregations were read as authoritative and applicable across many places and times, special significance was often granted to an epistle at the location to which it was originally addressed. For instance, the Epistle of Christ and Abgar (cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.13.5), which claims to have been written by Jesus to Abgar, the ruler of Osroene, was thought to have possessed magical powers. A copy was thus hung on the city walls in Edessa, the capital of Osroene, to ward off enemies (Peregrinatio Egeriae 17.1; 19).



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of 1 Peter within the five designated geographical areas. At most, however, this evidence is only suggestive. More significant, perhaps, is the motive and presentation of 1 Peter. Unlike many Christian forgeries from the ancient world, 1 Peter is not a doctrinal treatise defending a particular theological idea; the letter makes no reference to false teaching (unlike, e.g., the Pastoral Epistles or 2 Peter). Instead, it is primarily focused on its message of consolation and hope for suffering Christians. But it is more than just the issue that the letter was designed to address; it is how it does so. This was pointed out some years ago by Bauckham, who made a case for the letter’s authenticity on the basis of the manner in which it addresses the situation of suffering. He argued that 1 Peter is unlike (other) pseudepigraphic letters, which ‘must describe the situation of their supposed addressee(s) sufficiently for the real readers, who would not otherwise know it, to be able to recognize it as analogous to their own’. Distinct from this common format of fictional writings, 1 Peter ‘assume[s] a specific situation without having to describe it’.622 A more convincing interpretation, based on the evidence related to authorship that was discussed above, is that Bauckham has identified not a mark of the letter’s authenticity, but an indication that this pseudonymous composition was intended to address an actual situation. The Dissemination and Reception of a Pseudepigraphic Letter. The second question relates to the logistics of delivery: How would a pseudonymous epistle like 1 Peter be circulated among actual congregations? This question is important in light of objections that are occasionally raised against pseudonymity.623 In her defence of   Bauckham, ‘Pseudo-Apostolic Letters’, 490.   This question is also significant with respect to the way that some understand the nature of 1 Peter as a pseudepigraphic document. For instance, noting that ‘[d]er Text des Ersten Petrusbriefs tauchte etwa vier oder fünf Dezennien nach dem Tode des Apostels plötzlich auf’, Steetskamp surmises that, ‘[d]en Kreisen, in denen der Brief zum ersten Mal gehört und gelesen wurde, stand sein pseudepigraphischer Charakter sehr viel klarer vor Augen als nachfolgenden Generationen. Allmählich verblasste die Erinnerung an die unerwartet späte Erscheinung, wurde die Lektüre in den Versammlungen selbstverständlich und verfestigte sich seine Autorität als apostolische Schrift. Nur für die Erstadressaten war 1Petr als offene Pseudepigraphie leicht erkennbar’ (Autorschaft und Sklavenperspektive, 173; cf. Guttenberger, Passio Christiana, 92–93). Contrary to Steetskamp’s 622 623

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Petrine authorship, for example, Jobes draws attention to the fact that if the letter were pseudonymous, it would have been delivered by someone other than Silvanus, who is commended as the letter-carrier (1 Pet 5.12). As she puts it, ‘this ruse would certainly preclude the letter being actually delivered to an original destination, for a pseudonym for its bearer(s) would spoil the intent of the ruse’.624 The named individuals in the epistolary closing (Silvanus [1 Pet 5.12]; Mark [5.13]) likely represent fictional characters designed to give the letter a sense of verisimilitude.625 Other pseudepigrapha from Greco-Roman antiquity—both Christian and non-Christian— include plenty of similar fictitious personalia.626 Yet, contrary to the assertion of Jobes, this would not jeopardise the ‘ruse’ of pseudonymity. This is due, first of all, to the expectations of the recipients. Through the encyclical nature of the prescript, with its broad set of addressees that included Christian communities spread across Asia Minor, the author offsets the expectation that every church who received the epistle would encounter the named deliverer. Even among those who defend the letter’s authenticity, such a scenario has been acknowledged. One of the more popular reconstructions envisions Silvanus carrying the le tter from Rome to a port city in Asia Minor (e.g., Amisus, Sinope).627 Rather than visiting every Christian congregation in each of the named provinces, assumption, however, it is possible—and given the early and undisputed testimony of the letter’s authenticity (see Introduction: Early Citations of 1 Peter), most probable—that 1 Peter was placed into circulation not as a transparent fiction but as a genuine epistle, a letter dating to an earlier time—although one that was still relevant to the situation of readers at the time. 624   Jobes 321; cf. also Forbes 2. 625   Concerning pseudonymous letters in antiquity, Rosenmeyer notes, ‘their authors, who wrote in the voices of famous figures from the past, mixed in enough historical information with their amusing invented scenarios to be convincing’ (Ancient Greek Literary Letters, 5). 626   See Brox, ‘Zu den persönlichen Notizen’, 76–94; Donelson, Pseudepigraphy, 23–42; cf. also Exegesis at 5.12. Fictitious personalia represent one of the many elements used to construct a plausible fiction. For more of the elements involved in pseudepigraphical letters in antiquity, see Schreiber, ‘Pseudepigraphie als Problem’, 238–43. 627   There are some who maintain that the letter is pseudepigraphic, yet they believe that it would have still been carried along the route designated in the postscript (see Krentz, ‘Creating a Past’, 45 n. 27).



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Silvanus is sometimes thought to have delivered the letter to intermediaries at certain locations, who then distributed copies to the various churches within their areas.628 In this scenario, the commendation of the letter-carrier only affects a small group of associates without any relevance for the Anatolian congregations to whom it was addressed. Temporal factors also shape the expectations of the readers: even if Silvanus actually carried the letter from church to church, the apostolic recommendation would have only been relevant for a limited number of churches. When the letter was copied and transmitted to other congregations over time, there would have been no direct exposure to Silvanus, and the need for the author’s commendation would have been lost. The second reason why the individuals mentioned in the postscript would not have compromised the letter’s fictive character is because of the likely means of dissemination of pseudepigrapha. Jobes assumes that 1 Peter would have been sent out in the same manner as an authentic epistolary correspondence—which would likely not have been the case. Although real letters and pseudepigraphic letters were similar in many ways (e.g., in their formal characteristics), they would have been disseminated quite differently. A pseudonymous author would not have felt constrained to send a letter-carrier throughout Asia Minor reproducing the imaginary steps of Silvanus. It is more reasonable to imagine that 1 Peter would have been brought to a given Christian community and presented as a letter sent by the apostle Peter some years prior (see below). The believability of 1 Peter’s slow circulation naturally leads to the second question: What is the likelihood that a pseudepigraphic epistle would have been received by actual Christian congregations? As Robinson and Llewelyn have correctly argued, the acceptance of 1 Peter was dependent upon whether it was viewed as a genuine correspondence from the apostle Peter.629 If suspicions 628   See Hemer, ‘Address of 1 Peter’, 239–43. An alternative, as suggested by Michaels, is that ‘Silvanus could simply have carried the letter to its port of entry…and been officially welcomed there and at a few other congregations in the vicinity. His personal greetings from Peter would then have been conveyed by word of mouth from congregation to congregation through the provinces along with the letter itself’ (307). 629   Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 944–45.

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had been raised about its authenticity, it would have most likely been rejected.630 Therefore, to be able to use the authority of the apostle Peter, whose legacy of suffering and martyrdom was particularly relevant, while still addressing a contemporary situation, the pseudonymous author had limited options in constructing the letter. One possibility would have been to write a testamentary letter in which the persecutions of the Anatolian congregations were ‘predicted’ by the apostle. Although 1 Peter does not stress the author’s impending death like 2 Peter, the testamentary nature of the epistle may be indicated through subtle clues.631 Particularly relevant is 1 Pet 5.1, where the author describes himself as ‘a witness (μάρτυς) of the sufferings of Christ’. While the word μάρτυς can refer to one who observes an event (cf. Matt 18.16; Acts 7.58; 2 Cor 13.1), in this case, the emphasis seems to be placed on the act of proclamation, and in particular, a type of practical testimony in which the author is equipped to address the difficult situation of his readers due to his own personal experience.632 Whether this insight derived from the suffering that ‘Peter’ faced during his lifetime or even from his eventual martyrdom,633 his testimony would be especially relevant to these readers. Even more important, however, is that ‘Peter’ is able to attest to the glory that follows. The verse continues by describing him as ‘a partaker (κοινωνός) of the glory that is about to be revealed’ (5.1). In this way, ‘ “Peter” has already arrived at the glory that is however yet to be revealed to all’,634 and thus he is able to confirm the reward that is granted to those who

  Serious problems surround the view that ancient pseudepigrapha were accepted as transparent fiction, and as such, many have moved away from this idea (see Excursus: Pseudonymity in Early Christianity and 1 Peter). One of the greatest obstacles to reading 1 Peter as a transparent fiction is that in the early church the letter was unanimously understood as a genuine correspondence originating directly from the apostle Peter (cf. Schreiner 10). 631   For a discussion of the testamentary nature of 1 Peter (especially as it relates to 5.1), see Doering, ‘Apostle, Co-Elder’, 658–61; Horrell, ‘Peter Remembered’, 190–92. 632   See further Doering, ‘Apostle, Co-Elder’, 658–59. 633   Some interpreters read this verse as a reference to the persecution that Peter faced as a disciple of Jesus (e.g., Brox 229–30; cf. Baumeister, Die Anfänge der Theologie, 209). Others find a specific reference to Peter’s martyrdom (e.g., Leaney 69; Feldmeier 233). 634   Doering, ‘Apostle, Co-Elder’, 661 (original emphasis). 630



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endure suffering. This subtlety allows the author to address contemporary readers without directly disclosing the fiction. Another possibility—although these options are not mutually exclusive—is that the pseudonymous author could have attempted to pass off the letter as an earlier composition of the apostle Peter that was only now making its way around to the current location.635 Unlike some pseudepigrapha that required fantastic discovery stories,636 the late appearance of 1 Peter would be quite believable in light of the time and obstacles involved in circulating a letter over such a vast area. Further, this explanation would be a natural choice because the level of persecution that threatened (and in many cases, overtook) Christians in Asia Minor was consistent from the final years of Peter’s lifetime until the end of the first century CE (and even beyond).637 This means that a genuine correspondence from the historical Peter to a group of suffering Christians written in 65–66 CE would have remained perfectly relevant some twenty or thirty years later.638 What is more, the letter does not contain the types of specific details that would have compromised its fictitious character. Instead, its description of the readers’ situation allows it to address a variety of potential problems. Understood from this perspective, the words of ‘Peter’ would have still been able to speak to future generations, despite the assumption that they were written decades in the past. The Choice of the Pseudonym ‘Peter’. Having considered how a pseudonymous letter like 1 Peter might have been circulated and passed off as authentic, the one question that remains is why the author chose the pseudonym ‘Peter’, especially given the variety   Cf. Streeter, Primitive Church, 128.   E.g., Pliny the Elder, Nat. 13.84–87 Apoc. Paul 1–2; cf. also Lucian, Alex. 10; Suetonius, Jul. 81. For more on the ‘discovery’ of written works in antiquity, see Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung. 637   See Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 180–226. 638   This answers one of the objections that Robinson and Llewelyn raise against the possibility that 1 Peter was disseminated as an earlier composition by Peter. They argue, ‘if our author wrote the letter in the late first century, and then claimed it was an older letter, (s)he could not have easily suggested that the letter was meant for contemporaneous communities in the area—people would have more easily assumed that it was written for communities in Asia Minor in another decade’ (‘Fictitious Audience’, 944; original emphasis). 635 636

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of available personalities.639 Most agree that the use of the name ‘Peter’ was meant to provide the letter with apostolic authority.640 But beyond this, there is some diversity of opinion. According to Brox, for example, ‘1 Peter belongs among the examples of early Christian pseudepigraphy in which there is no discernable connection between the fictive authorial name and the writing that comes under it – in terms of contents, character, or historical situation’.641 Others have suggested a more specific connection. One unlikely possibility is that the epistle was directed primarily toward the Jewish members of the communities who found themselves under particular social pressure and were thus tempted to return to Judaism.642 In this view, the pseudonym allows ‘Peter’, the apostle of the Jews, to speak directly and forcefully to this Jewish group. More than any other, the view that held sway the longest within Petrine studies is one that was popularised during the nineteenth century through the work of Baur and the Tübingen school.643 This theory interprets 1 Peter as a synthesis or reconciliation of apostolic theology that seeks to demonstrate the unity of the two great apostles.644 Read from this perspective, 1 Peter ‘is simply the attempt on the part of one of Paul’s followers to reconcile the two   Any attempt to answer this question must remain cautious: it is possible to judge 1 Peter to be a pseudonymous composition without claiming fully to understand the intentions of the author. For all the important insights that modern historians are able to glean from the ancient evidence, our understanding remains limited, especially when it comes to issues such as motives and intentions. Therefore, while we will attempt to establish reasonable probabilities (cf. BeDuhn, ‘Historical Assessment’, 477–505), we recognise that uncertainties remain. 640   Cf. Achtemeier 41–42; Richard 10. One exception is Horn, ‘Christen in der Diaspora’, 4; idem, ‘Kanonsgeschichte’, 345. 641   Brox, ‘Zur pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 78: ‘Der erste Petrusbrief gehört zu den Beispielen altkirchlicher Pseudepigraphie, in denen zwischen dem fiktiven Autornamen und der mit ihm bedachten Schrift nach deren Inhalt, Charakter oder historischen Umständen kein erkennbarer Konnex besteht’. 642   So, e.g., Stewart-Sykes, ‘Function of “Peter” ’, 8–21. What makes this view problematic is that there is no indication in the letter that Jewish members of the communities had been singled out for persecution. The conflict seems to be threatening all members of the churches. 643   For proponents of this view, see n. 524. 644   Various offshoots of this theory have arisen over the years. But the Pauline connection was taken to its ultimate limits by Fischer (Tendenz und Absicht, 15 n. 3) who conjectured that an earlier scribe substituted the name Πέτρος for the name Παῦλος in the letter’s prescript. 639



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opposing schools of Peter and Paul by putting into the mouth of Peter, as testimony to the orthodoxy of his fellow-apostle Paul, a somewhat Petrine-colored presentation of the Pauline system’.645 In recent years, this proposal has fallen into disfavour within Petrine scholarship.646 With Baur’s dialectic approach to early church history now long discredited, many tend to reject this view by association. In doing so, however, something important is lost. As Ehrman points out, ‘that attachment can itself be profitably abandoned without sacrificing all of the data that first brought it to mind. The Pauline character of 1 Peter stands out independently of the extravagant theories of the Tübingen school.’647 This is clear from the very early connection that was drawn to Pauline literature within critical scholarship.648 While there is no reason to discount Pauline influence on 1 Peter, it is important to consider the content of the epistle in its entirety.649 This indicates that apostolic reconciliation was not the author’s primary aim. To understand the author’s purposes, other factors need to be taken into account. One point to consider is that the Pauline message is not simply transposed in 1 Peter. Not only are many of the distinctive Pauline ideas absent (e.g., justification by faith; works of the law), the words and ideas that are drawn from the Pauline tradition are represented in distinctive ways.650 So ‘while [the letter] was influenced by Paul, [it] was nevertheless not determined by him’,651 nor even by reaction to him or reconciliation with him. A second consideration is that 1 Peter does not draw only from the Pauline tradition; instead, the author makes use of a variety of   Schwegler, Das nachapostolische Zeitalter, 2:22 (trans. Huther). Cf. also Hauck 36; Beare 49–50; Trilling, ‘Zum Petrusamt’, 110–33; Marxsen, ‘Mitälteste und Zeuge’, 386–87; Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle, 25–27. 646   See the dismissal by Elliott 103–104. 647   Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 251–52. 648   As far back as the eighteenth century, the connection with the Pauline epistles was pointed out (see Semler praef. Abs. 3). 649   Brox, ‘Situation und Sprache’, 1–13. 650   Cf. Masterman 35; Huther 25. One example of the difference between the Pauline literature and 1 Peter is the response to suffering (see Kelhoffer, ‘Responses to Persecution’, 263–80). 651   Prasad, Foundations, 29. See further McNeile, New Testament Teaching, 135–60. 645

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materials, from dominical sayings and hymnic phrases to the Jewish scriptures.652 Any theory about the pseudepigraphic purpose(s) of the epistle must account for the ways in which these traditions contribute as well. Rather than being polemical in defence of ‘sound’ doctrine (as is 2 Peter), the letter displays a pastoral concern for a group of suffering Christians.653 The question, then, is how the author uses the ascription of Petrine authorship in connection with a variety of traditional materials in a way that speaks to the readers’ difficult situation. When we ask why the pseudonym ‘Peter’ would be employed to address a group of persecuted Christians in Asia Minor, there are various points that contribute to the answer. One is the appeal of the apostle’s increasing authority during this period. There were other personalities within the early church to whom the letter could have been attributed, but in reality, there was a dearth of quality alternatives. The apostle Paul would have been an option; yet his message was not popular in all Christian communities. Aside from the controversy that is evident in the churches of Galatia and in Corinth, the legacy of Paul was highly contested, with some regarding him negatively (cf. Acts 16.7; 21.17–28; Rom 3.8; 2 Tim 1.15) and others considering his letters as dangerously open to diverse interpretations (2 Pet 3.16). The name ‘Peter’, on the other hand, brought with it a respected authority, whose influence would continue to grow throughout the first few centuries. In terms of prominence, therefore, Peter was a natural choice. The pseudonym ‘Peter’ would have also allowed the author to exploit the lack of preexisting Petrine tradition.654 Among Christian   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities.   The letter’s pastoral concern for its readers provides the basis for a criticism that was levelled against the proposal of the Tübingen school even at an early stage (see, e.g., Pfleiderer, Das Urchristentum, 504). At the same time, it also suggests an answer to the objections of those who deny that the letter represents a coming together of apostolic theology (see Huther 39–40). The traditions and perspectives are brought together not to ‘reconcile’ Peter and Paul, but to encourage suffering Christians. 654   See Novenson, ‘Why Are There Some Petrine Epistles?’, 146–57. Even ancient authors recognised that the lack of writings by a particular individual made it difficult to disprove a forgery written in their name. This is discussed by Jerome, Ep. 84.10: ‘For if, sirs, you tell me that Origen’s books have been tampered with by his enemies to bring them into discredit; why may not I in my turn allege that his friends and followers have attributed to Pamphilus a volume composed 652 653



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communities outside of Palestine, there was some cognisance of Peter and his activities (cf. 1 Cor 1.12; 9.5; Gal 1.18–19; 2.8–9, 11). Much of this knowledge likely derived from the apostle’s role in the earliest Jesus traditions, where he would have been known as one of Jesus’ leading disciples. While there is limited evidence for Peter’s missionary activity in the diaspora,655 some Jesus-followers may have been informed about the apostle through other travelling missionaries. Given Paul’s frequent reference to Peter in his letter to the Galatians, it is likely that his Galatian opponents used Peter to promote their law-observant gospel message. Nevertheless, there is no record that the apostle Peter composed any written materials prior to this point, and the surge in Petrine pseudepigrapha had yet to occur.656 Furthermore, the letter itself indicates that the implied author (‘Peter’) had no prior contact with the Anatolian readers (1 Pet 1.12). Thus, there were few opportunities whereby the audience would have been exposed to genuine Petrine thought. The pseudonymous author takes advantage of this fact. Being careful not to compromise the pseudonym with unnecessary information, he constructs a portrait of Peter in a way that fits his larger sociological and theological purposes. Specifically, just as the later Petrine pseudepigrapha drew upon the figure of Peter because of his association with suffering,657 the same is likely the case here as well. Since 1 Peter is addressed to a group of Christians who were suffering for their faith, it was only natural to adopt the pseudonym ‘Peter’, one of the earliest and most renowned Christian martyrs.658 Each of the reasons given so far relates to the authority and reputation of the apostle Peter. But how did the choice of Peter relate to by themselves to vindicate their master from disrepute by the testimony of a martyr? Lo and behold, you yourselves correct in Origen’s books passages which (according to you) he never wrote: and yet you are surprised if a man is said to have published a book which as a matter of fact he did not publish. But while your statements can easily be brought to the test by an appeal to Origen’s published works; as Pamphilus has published nothing else, it is easier for calumny to fix a book upon him. For show me any other work of Pamphilus; you will nowhere find any, this is his only one’ (trans. Fremantle). 655   See n. 558. 656   On the Petrine pseudepigrapha, see Lapham, Peter. 657   See Reaves, ‘Pseudo-Peter and Persecution’, 129–51. 658   So, e.g., von Soden 117; Donelson 17; cf. also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 155–56.

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the material included in the epistle? The answer, it seems, is that the pseudonym served as a bridge toward the establishment of a more catholic—and broadly ‘apostolic’—form of Christianity (to this extent the Tübingen school has a point).659 In our earliest accounts, Peter, a prominent member of the group of apostles, appears to have been aligned with James over the issue of law observance (Gal 2.11–14). Yet, in later traditions, Peter is portrayed in ways that present a more harmonious picture of the apostolic witness, particularly as it related to the inclusion of Gentiles (Acts 10.1–11.18).660 In 1 Peter, the image of the apostle is again used to bring together a wide range of early Christian traditions.661 This included both the Jesus and Pauline traditions, along with a thoroughly christological reading of the Jewish scriptures. Thus, unlike the divisions that marked the earliest time (1 Cor 1.10–17; Gal 2.1–14), the variegated Christian traditions are here woven together.662 In terms of the letter’s social strategy, this coalescing of the apostolic witness serves as a means to an end. It is part of the author’s effort to assist the Christian readers in coping with their present conflict.663 The apostolic message promotes the construction of an ‘honourable’ Christian identity, specifically as ‘the apostle to the Jews’ confers upon the (predominantly) Gentile readers the   Cf. Horrell, Becoming Christian, 43–44.   Although some have defended the historicity of the Cornelius tradition (e.g., Gibson, Peter between Jerusalem and Antioch, 130–34), the evidence is lacking (see Haenchen, Acts of the Apostles, 355–63). Rather than being an actual event in the life of Peter, the account serves Luke’s theological and sociological agenda (Esler, Community and Gospel, 93–97). In Christian literature from a slightly later period, Peter was commonly ‘utilized as an emblematic figure, and pressed into the service of various theological agendas’; thus, he became ‘whoever the authors wanted, or needed him to be’ (Foster, ‘Peter in Noncanonical Traditions’, 262). 661   It is not a coincidence then that the two names mentioned in 1 Peter (Silvanus and Mark) are two individuals that have connections with both the Pauline tradition and with Peter (see Horrell, Becoming Christian, esp. 33–37). These characters, thus, serve as one more way that the pseudonymous author seeks to bridge existing traditions. 662   Cf. Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 255–59, who also views 1 Peter as representing the harmonious nature of the apostolic witness. 663   For more on the various coping strategies employed by the author, see Holloway, Coping with Prejudice; Graser and Stenschke, ‘Coping with Discrimination’, 101–12. Cf. also Horrell, ‘Label Χριστιανός’, 361–81; Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 260–73. 659 660



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privileges and promises of Israel, challenging their experience of social marginality and prejudice with a positive sense of their status as people of God. In its emphatic declaration of the ‘peopled’ identity of the recipients (2.9–10), as well as in its positive claiming of the label ‘Christian’ (4.16), the letter marks an important transition within early Christian history.664 At the same time, 1 Peter also indicates a shift in geographical influence. It is the church in Rome (not Jerusalem)—whether 1 Peter was actually written in Rome, or simply depicted as such665—that is becoming most prominent in casting the vision for Christian communities in other parts of the empire (cf. Herm. Vis. 8.3; Ign. Rom. 3.1), a trend that would continue in subsequent decades (e.g., 1 Clement).666 Place of Origin Initial Bibliography Armin D. Baum, ‘ “Babylon” als Ortsnamenmetapher in 1 Petr 5,13 auf dem Hintergrund der antiken Literatur und im Kontext des Briefes’, in Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Eine interdisziplinäre Debatte, ed. Stefan Heid (Freiburg: Herder, 2011), 180–220; Michael Durst, ‘Babylon gleich Rom in der jüdischen Apokalyptik und im frühen Christentum. Zur Auslegung von 1 Petr 5,13’, in Petrus und Paulus in Rom: eine interdisziplinäre Debatte, ed. Stefan Heid (Freiburg: Herder, 2011), 422–43; Friedrich W. Horn, ‘Die Petrus-Schule in Rome. Forschungsgeschichtliche Notizen zur Abfassungssituation des 1. Petrusbriefs’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 3–20; David G. Horrell, ‘Re-Placing 1 Peter: From Place of Origin to Constructions of Space’, in The Urban World and the First Christians, ed. Steve Walton, Paul Trebilco, and David Gill (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017), 271–86; Claus-Hunno Hunzinger, ‘Babylon als Deckname für Rom und die Datierung des 1. Petrusbriefes’, in Gottes Wort und Gottes Land. Hans-Wilhelm Hertzberg zum 70. Geburstag am 16. Januar 1965 dargebracht von Kollegen, Freunden und Schülern, ed.

  See Introduction: The Impact and Influence of 1 Peter.   See Introduction: Place of Origin. 666   If, as seems possible, the author of 1 Peter was located in Asia Minor (see Introduction: Place of Origin, immediately below), it might seem surprising that he would bolster the authority of Rome in this way. But the strong association of Peter with Rome, and indeed of Paul as well, makes it natural to link Peter’s authority with Rome in this way. 664 665

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Henning G. Reventlow (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965), 67–77; W. Seufert, ‘Der Abfassungsort des ersten Petrusbriefes’, ZWT 28 (1885): 146–56; Carsten Peter Thiede, ‘Babylon, der andere Ort: Anmerkungen zu 1 Petr 5,13 und Apg 12,17’, Bib 67 (1986): 532–38.

Few indications are given regarding the author’s location when 1 Peter was composed. The only explicit clue is found in the letter closing. As was common in ancient epistolary postscripts, the Petrine author appends a greeting from the Christian community in which he currently resides. He informs his readers, ‘The co-elect [church?] in Babylon (ἡ ἐν Βαβυλῶνι συνεκλεκτή) sends you greetings’ (1 Pet 5.13). The difficulty comes in identifying the ‘Babylon’ that is mentioned. Various possibilities have been suggested. Babylon as a Literal Location One possibility is that ‘Babylon’ is used to designate the literal location of the Petrine author. There are two places, according to our extant sources, that bore this name in the ancient world.667 One was a military stronghold near Memphis and Heliopolis at the southern end of the Nile delta. According to Josephus (Ant. 2.315), this settlement was founded by Cambyses (II), the Persian king who expanded the empire of Cyrus the Great into Egypt in the sixth century BCE.668 At the time the letter was composed, it was home to one of three Roman legions (Strabo, Geogr. 17.1.30). Eusebius reports the tradition that Mark was the first to be sent to Egypt to preach the gospel, and the first to found churches in Alexandria (Hist. eccl. 2.16.1). But apart from this tenuous link, there is nothing to support the Egyptian hypothesis. The lack of any church tradition connecting Peter or Silvanus with Babylon on the Nile is problematic. Perhaps more troubling is the lack of evidence 667   There is also another possibility: Seleucia, which was the capital of the Parthian empire located only three hundred stadia from Mesopotamian Babylon (cf. Seufert, ‘Der Abfassungsort’, 148). This city too was referred to by the name ‘Babylon’ in the ancient world (see Michaelis, Introduction, 4:328–34). 668   Diodorus Siculus (1.56.3) reports its origins by Babylonian captive labourers who rebelled against the ruler of Egypt, were granted an amnesty, and established this colony. Strabo (Geog. 17.1.30) provides a compatible, but much briefer, report of its origin.



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showing that this location was anything more than a garrison post during the first century (see Exegesis at 5.13). For these reasons, the view has only very rarely received scholarly support.669 The Babylon in view is much more likely to be the Mesopotamian city on the Euphrates River, the centre of the ancient Babylonian empire. This is where many older commentators situated the letter, basing their view on the assumption that a Babylonian provenance would be more consistent with the fact that Peter was ‘the apostle to the circumcision’ and thus focused his ministry in an area that contained a large Jewish population.670 With the Babylonian conquest of Judah and the surrounding regions at the beginning of the sixth century BCE, there were several deportations of Jews to Babylon. Jerusalem itself was sacked and its temple destroyed in 587/586 BCE (cf., e.g., 2 Kgs 24.10–25.12; Jer 52.3–16; Josephus, Ant. 10.144–150).671 A Jewish presence seems to have remained in Babylon even after the possibility of return from exile under the Persian ruler Cyrus the Great (cf. Philo, Leg. 216; 282; Josephus, Ant. 15.14).672 By the first century CE, though, many may have departed (cf. Josephus, Ant. 18.310–79).673 The city was reputedly desolate in the early second century CE when Trajan visited it, though those reports may be exaggerated and somewhat open to question (Cassius Dio 68.30.1; cf. also Pliny, Nat. hist. 6.30.121–22; Strabo, Geog. 16.1.5).674 The later importance of Babylon as a centre for Jewish life and literary production indicates that it once again became—and perhaps 669   E.g., Calov 1529–30; Le Clerc 584; Wolf 171; Pott 12–19; Manley, ‘Babylon on the Nile’, 138–46; Altheim and Stiehl, Christentum am Roten Meer, 2:298; Fedalto, ‘Il toponimo di 1 Petr. 5,13’, 461–66. A number of other early proponents are listed by Alford (prol. 130). 670   So, e.g., Benson 310; Steiger 1:29–33; Brückner 98–99; Fronmüller 95; Huther 247–48; Johnstone 22–28; Williams 8; Kühl 287–88; Schlatter 140, 227. Many early advocates of this position were Reformation/Protestant scholars who were motivated to undercut the Roman Catholic claims about Peter’s involvement in Rome (see, e.g., Erasmus 684; Calvin 154–55; Bloomfield 729; Faussett 514). 671   For a recent historical overview, see Liverani, Israel’s History, 183–99; also Soggin, History of Israel and Judah, 259–87. 672   For a discussion of both ‘returnees’ and ‘remainees’, see Liverani, Israel’s History, 250–91. 673   Josephus here reports their departure for Seleucia, on the Tigris (Ant. 18.372), and thence, after a massacre of many, to Nearda and Nisibis (Ant. 18.379). 674   See Beaulieu, History of Babylon, 267.

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had always remained—a significant location for the Jewish community.675 Yet we have no direct evidence, aside from this verse, to link Peter or this letter with Babylon. An enigmatic verse like Acts 12.17 invites consideration, but is unspecific. Moreover, the characteristics of the letter itself, together with other evidence we shall consider below, point to its origins in the regions north and west of Judea, in part contiguous with the scope of the Pauline mission, where Greek was the lingua franca and Rome the imperial power. Aside from its composition in Greek, the letter shows close similarities at various points with Paul’s letters, as well as other early Christian traditions and writings in Greek, and reflects the tensions inherent in negotiating Christian existence under the imperial structures of Roman governance, not least the name ‘Christian’ (Χριστιανός), clearly a Latinism (1 Pet 2.13–17; cf. Rom 13.1–7).676 Babylon as a Metaphorical Location Since the author does not appear to be using the name ‘Babylon’ to describe his literal location, an alternative is to read the designation metaphorically; that is, ‘Babylon’ may serve as a subjective label used to convey either positive or negative connotations concerning the location that is so designated. In this light, it is possible to understand ‘Babylon’ as a coded reference to Rome,677 an interpretation that dates back to the second century (and is later reflected in some minuscule manuscripts that read ‘Rome’ instead of ‘Babylon’, see Text at 5.13 n. d). Eusebius records Papias’ report that Peter composed his first epistle ‘in Rome itself, which they say that he himself indicates, referring to the city metaphorically as Babylon (τὴν πόλιν τροπικώτερον Βαβυλῶνα)’ (Hist. eccl. 2.15.2; trans. Lake [LCL]). This view is later echoed by Jerome (Vir. ill. 8), and it seems to have been the most common approach to this verse up to the Middle Ages.678 Following the Reformation,   See Neusner, Parthian Period.   See further Horrell, Becoming Christian, 164–210; idem, ‘Honour Everyone’, 192–210. 677   In contrast, Pellicanus (738) understood Babylon to mean Jerusalem. 678   Cf. Bede 119; Oecuminius (PG 119:576). This is not the only way that medieval interpreters understood this verse, however. In the sixth century CE, Cosmas Indicopleustes cites the postscript of 1 Peter as proof that the gospel had spread beyond the Roman Empire at a very early date (Top. 2.77), although it 675 676



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however, many Protestant interpreters, not wanting to lend further credence to the authority claims of the Roman Catholic church, shifted to the literal view.679 This position held sway until the early part of the twentieth century,680 when it gave way to the view now favoured by the vast majority of modern commentators, namely, that ‘Babylon’ is used as a metaphor for Rome. There are various reasons to associate the letter with Rome. First, early Christian tradition locates Peter in Rome at the time of his death (and possibly once before, in the time of Claudius, though this earlier visit is much less securely attested).681 The veracity of these traditions has certainly been contested, and it is difficult to separate legend from history; but there is no dissonance within the early sources themselves concerning the place of Peter’s demise. Early Christian tradition also links Mark with Rome. Papias famously describes Mark as Peter’s ‘interpreter’ (ἑρμηνευτής), who recorded Peter’s memories in his Gospel (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.15). He locates them both in Rome, noting the reference to Mark in 1 Peter and, as we have seen, interpreting Babylon as a reference to Rome (Hist. eccl. 2.15.2). The letter’s origin in Rome may also explain certain affinities with other documents that possess Roman connections (e.g., Romans, 1 Clement).682 Moreover, 1 Peter may represent the first instance of Rome, as a centre of ecclesial authority, sending letters to other Christian communities, a practice to which both Hermas and Ignatius allude (Herm. Vis. 8.3; Ign. Rom. 3.1). Finally, the use should be noted that this same author claims that Mark wrote the second Gospel in Rome under the direction of Peter (Top. 5.196). 679   Note the polemical tone of Calvin’s words: ‘Many of the ancients thought that Rome is here enigmatically denoted. This comment the Papists gladly lay hold on, that Peter may appear to have presided over the Church of Rome: nor does the infamy of the name deter them, provided they can pretend to the title of an apostolic seat; nor do they care for Christ, provided Peter be left to them’ (154; cf. n. 670 above). 680   It is noteworthy that in 1878, Alford, although aware of a few interpreters who held to the metaphorical view of ‘Babylon’ in 1 Pet 5.13, could still say with some assurance that the literal interpretation (Babylon on the Euphrates) ‘is now pretty generally recognized among Commentators’ (129). 681   For Peter’s death in Rome, see Introduction: 1 Peter as a Pseudonymous Composition. For the tradition of Peter’s visit in the time of Claudius, possibly hinted at in Acts 12.17, see n. 793. 682   Cf. Hofmann 205–14.

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of the term ‘Babylon’ to refer to Rome is well established in Jewish and Christian literature after 70 CE.683 Such a designation would, then, be entirely unsurprising in a Christian document from this period.684 Babylon as a Device of Pseudonymity There are clearly strong reasons to place the composition of 1 Peter in Rome; nevertheless, there are also reasons to be cautious. Traditions about Peter’s travels and death clearly link him with Rome, although they may at times include the legendary accretion of supposed connections to Rome, reflecting the growing importance of that urban centre for early Christianity and also the significance of the claims about the deaths of Peter and Paul in the city.685 The connection of Peter with Mark (and Silvanus) and with Rome (assuming this understanding of ‘Babylon’) in 1 Pet 5.13 may even have been a stimulus to the growth of these traditions.686 Most important, perhaps, is that if 1 Peter was not actually written by Peter himself, its depiction as a letter written from Rome—encapsulated in the symbolic use of Babylon—may be part of the literary fiction of the letter rather than an indication as to its actual, historical place of origin.687 Some scholars have therefore suggested that the letter may have originated somewhere in Asia Minor, in the areas to which it is

  See Introduction: Date of 1 Peter.   It is important that we not mistake the author’s use of a cipher for an attempt to conceal his location. Babylon is not a codename or pseudonym adopted to ensure the safety of the Petrine author on the chance that the letter fell into ‘pagan’ hands, as argued by various commentators (e.g., Mason 436; Hart 80; Selwyn 243; Schelkle 135). 685   Likewise, some of the letters attributed to Paul (e.g., Philemon, Colossians, 2 Timothy) are linked with Rome—as shown by the subscriptions in NA28—due to convictions about the location of Paul’s imprisonment and execution, but may or may not have actually been written there. 686   E.g., Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur, 260–61, thinks that the connection Papias draws between Peter and Mark is derived from 1 Pet 5.13. 687   See Brox, ‘Zur pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 95. Cf. Brox 42–43: ‘Vorsichtig kann man dann nur sagen, daß der 1Petr in Rom geschrieben sein will’. Brox remains cautious about whether the place of origin is Asia Minor or Rome. 683 684



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addressed, rather than in Rome.688 On this hypothesis, it would be a letter that presents itself as written by the apostle Peter from the ecclesial centre of Rome, but would actually have emerged as a pseudonymous writing in Asia Minor. In light of the fact that pseudepigraphic documents were often produced in the area(s) they were intended to address, by authors familiar with the particular situation of the addressees,689 this represents a very reasonable hypothesis. In fact, it seems just as plausible as the traditional Roman provenance. Nevertheless, some caution is required here as well. With a pseudonymous letter, there remains the difficulty of determining how far the real situation of the addressees is reflected in the letter,690 though we have previously discussed the extent to which 1 Peter does seem to have the situation and challenges of its audience in view. These are, however, features of early Christian experience that could pertain in almost any location in the Roman Empire, as the letter itself indicates (5.9). This, combined with the very wide geographical spread of the letter’s explicit address (1.1), reflected in its early designation as ‘catholic’ or ‘encyclical’ in character,691 makes it difficult to locate the provenance of 1 Peter with confidence or precision. It is therefore wise not to draw too many   E.g., Knopf 25; Beare 50; Donelson 16–17; cf. also Streeter, Primitive Church, 125–28; Hunzinger, ‘Babylon als Deckname’, 77; Reichert, Eine urchristliche praeparatio ad martyrium, 525–29; Lampe and Luz, ‘Nach­paulinisches Christentum’, 198; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus, 264–66; Gielen, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 516–18; Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 16–17; Zwierlein, ‘Petrus in Rom?’, 450; Alkier, ‘Antagonismen im 1. Petrusbrief’, 12 n. 6; Broer-Weidemann, Einleitung, 628–30; Schnelle, Einleitung, 440; Steetskamp, Autorschaft und Sklavenperspektive, 273. For a recent discussion surrounding this possibility, see Horn, ‘Die Petrus-Schule’, 3–20. Other locations have also been proposed, e.g., Antioch (Boismard, ‘Son influence sur l’épître de Jacques’, 181 n. 2). 689   According to Steetskamp (Autorschaft und Sklavenperspektive, 273, cf. 173–79), the Anatolian provenance of the letter can be discerned in the two voices of the implied author. One of these voices, which employs first-person language (cf. 1 Pet 1.3; 2.24; 4.17), allows the author to address the readers directly. These ‘we’ passages thus provide a clue as to where the real author was located, namely, in the same place as his readers (see 1.1). However, the use of both first and second person plural in NT letters is common (see, e.g., Rom 6.1–23; 8.9–17) and may show only the various nuances of identification with, and address to, the audience on the part of the author. 690   See Lincicum, ‘Mirror-Reading’, 171–93. 691   See Origen apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.5. On the designation of 1 Peter as a ‘catholic’ epistle, see Introduction: 1 Peter among the Catholic Epistles. 688

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firm conclusions on the basis of a hypothesis about the letter’s place of origin.692 Given its likely pseudonymity, we would tentatively incline to origins in Asia Minor, with the letter depicted as originating in Rome, but it remains possible (though somewhat harder to align with the likely conditions of pseudonymous production) that Rome was its actual place of origin. Babylon as a Spatial Representation The traditional quest for historical information about the location of the letter’s origins—with its conclusion that Babylon refers to Rome—already suggests that there is more than merely physical information being conveyed. Given the lack of evidence to ascertain firmly the letter’s place of origin (and despite the tendency in NT studies to place considerable weight on uncertain hypotheses regarding such ‘introductory’ questions), it seems appropriate also to consider what the designation of ‘Babylon’ as the letter’s place of origin reveals about the author’s purpose(s) and the character of the letter. The depiction and construction of space may be more significant—and more accessible to us—than knowledge of precisely where the letter was written.693 Whatever the author’s geographical location, the declaration that the letter is being sent from ‘Babylon’ (5.13), combined with its address to recipients in the ‘diaspora’ (1.1), provides a particular sense of the letter’s spatial configuration of the world. To address readers in the diaspora from a place called ‘Babylon’ is to evoke the story of Judah’s conquest by Babylon, the destruction of the temple and deportation of (some of) the people into exile. Moreover, if, as

692   One objection that could be raised against an Anatolian provenance is the absence of any clear reference to 1 Peter in the correspondence of Ignatius of Antioch, who travelled through this area during the early second century. This omission is striking especially considering both the content of the letter (viz. consolation during suffering) and the fact that Ignatius makes use of Paul’s letters. As Beare notes, ‘if such a letter had been in circulation in the provinces of Asia Minor for fifteen or twenty years, it seems unlikely that it would never have come to the attention of Ignatius, or that it would have left no traceable impression on the mind of one who was himself in the toils of the persecution’ (34; cf. Achtemeier 45–46). At the same time, the letter was known by Polycarp (see n. 319 above). 693   See further Horrell, ‘Re-Placing 1 Peter’, 271–86; Wan, ‘Repairing Social Vertigo’, 287–303; idem, Contest for Time.



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seems most likely, the author intends to point to Rome as this new Babylon (whether or not he was physically located there), then this identification configures the current imperial geography in terms of the historic experience of Judah, indicating that Rome now serves as the imperial power that oppresses and conquers God’s people, effectively exiling them from their true home.694 The author of 1 Peter does not depict—nor perhaps even long for—the downfall of ‘Babylon’ in the vivid and detailed manner of the writer of Revelation, but he says enough to show that he and John share a common story about the character and achievements of this empire, a story that reflects the experience of the colonised and enslaved, not the powerful and dominant. The implied narrative is somewhat different from the celebration of Rome’s achievements, iconically displayed in the Res Gestae of Augustus, as the establishment of peace.695 The letter’s representational geography, along with its depictions of the addressees as aliens and strangers (1.1, 17; 2.11), constructs the recipients’ location and identity in a particular and significant way: as estranged and not-at-home in the world.696 Recipients of 1 Peter Geographical Location Initial Bibliography T. R. S. Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, in An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome, vol. 4: Africa, Syria, Greece, Asia Minor, ed. Tenney Frank (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1938), 499–918; John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Social-Scientific Criticism of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy, with a New Introduction, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 59–65; David Magie, Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third 694   Cf. Doering, ‘Diaspora Letter’, 233, who sees ‘in the Babylon reference an allusion to Rome as the purported location of the addressor and as part of the Peter image in 1 Peter’; yet he notes, ‘it needs to be emphasized that the way this allusion is made fits the imagery of exile and Diaspora’. 695   See further Nicolet, Space, Geography, and Politics, 15–27; Wan, Contest for Time, 143–47. 696   The letter’s construction of a ‘diasporic’ identity for its readers makes it resonant for comparison with modern experiences of migration and displacement (see, e.g., Smith, Strangers to Family; Kaalund, Reading Hebrews and 1 Peter).

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Century after Christ (New York: Arno, 1975); Stephen Mitchell, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, vol. 1: The Celts and the Impact of Roman Rule (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993); Travis B. Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter: Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering, NovTSup 145 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 63–90, 351–73; Mark W. Wilson, ‘Cities of God in Northern Asia Minor: Using Stark’s Social Theories to Reconstruct Peter’s Communities’, Verbum et Ecclesia 32 (2011) 1–9.

In the prescript, 1 Peter is addressed to Christian communities in ‘Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia’ (1.1; see Map 1). The fact that the epistle appears to be a pseudonymous composition with a metaphorical provenance certainly raises suspicions about whether these place names actually represent the location in which the letter originally circulated. Some therefore read the designations as one more fictitious element.697 But it is important to distinguish between those features of a pseudonymous composition that must be fictitious and those features that require some degree of authenticity for the communication to be effective. While the addressees of such a work could be part of the literary creation of the author, there is no logical necessity for this to be so. In this case, the fact that the author includes specific place names is suggestive. Not only could he have chosen to address the letter to a more general audience (perhaps ‘the elect strangers in the diaspora’, cf. Jas 1.1), there were any number of other regions that he could have included: Achaia, Macedonia, etc. The choice of Asia Minor is significant. If we assume that the letter addresses the situation of readers in the regions to which it is designated as being sent, then it is natural to locate the original circulation (as well as its likely production; see above) of 1 Peter within these five areas, even if its content is relevant to Christians elsewhere too (cf. 5.9). For this reason, we will consider various historical questions surrounding the context and location of its recipients. Urban and/or Rural Environments. The assumption of most scholars is that the letter circulated primarily among the urban inhabitants of the designated provinces. An influential exception to this trend is Elliott, who conceives of a readership that was located 697   See, e.g., Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 257; Robinson and Llewelyn, ‘Fictitious Audience’, 939–50.



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primarily in the country rather than the city.698 Justification for this view rests considerably on his argument that references to the readers as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι marked their socio-political status and thus their estranged and dislocated position in society (see below). Elliott also notes the limited urbanisation (on which see below) and population distribution that marked first-century CE Asia Minor, with the great majority of people living in the countryside.699 Further, he points to the letter’s various rural metaphors and allusions to an agricultural environment (e.g., 1 Pet 1.22–24 [agrarian]; 2.25; 5.2–4 [herding]), which are thought to indicate a rural location. Few have followed this proposal, however.700 We must be careful about drawing too many assumptions about those who actually received the letter, especially when the author demarcates the geographical boundaries of his audience at the provincial level. The epistle could have quite easily spread in both urban and rural areas, since the distinction between the two was more fluid than has often been assumed.701 Nevertheless, the small amount of evidence that we do possess seems to point in the direction of an urban setting,702 or at least suggests both urban and rural 698   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 59–65. Even though Elliott’s primary objec�tive is to defend a rural setting for 1 Peter, there are a few instances in which even he allows for the possibility that the letter reached cities as well (see Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 63). Others who envision a rural setting include: Perkins 14; Senior 8; Donelson 9; see also Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu’, 97, 106–107, 395–97, who argues for a rural setting, although in a later work (‘Els cristians com a foraster’, 214–20) he is somewhat more open to both rural and urban setting. 699   Mitchell, Anatolia, 1:244, claims that there was an 8:1 ratio between the rural and urban populations of central Anatolia. 700   On Elliott’s first point, it is impossible to draw any conclusions about the Petrine audience simply from population demographics. There is nothing about the population ratios that would have prevented the author from addressing Christian communities in urban centres, and the point about Asia Minor’s relatively limited level of urbanisation is open to serious question (see below). Regarding the second point, allusions to a rural environment in a written work say little about where the actual audience may have been located: ‘agrarian metaphors are stock in trade for the most urbanized Roman authors and their urbanized auditors’ (Danker, ‘Sociological Perspective’, 87). Paul’s letters, although often addressed to urban centres, are filled with similar imagery (see Rom 11.17–24; 1 Cor 3.8, 9; 9.7, 11; 15.20–23, 37–38, 42–44; 2 Cor 9.6, 10). 701   See Robinson, Who were the First Christians?, 65–90. 702   See Horrell, Becoming Christian, 118–20; Steenberg, ‘Reversal of Roles’, 34–37; cf. also Nef Ulloa and Lopez, ‘Identidade’, 744–46.

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recipients rather than predominantly the latter. We will consider a few points relevant to this issue. These considerations do not by any means prove that 1 Peter was written to urban congregations, but they do make this scenario somewhat more likely than that the addressees were mostly in rural areas. This environment may be suggested first by the letter’s broad readership. Since the letter addresses itself to Christians spread across a vast geographical area, it seems likely, a priori, that what was envisaged was a distribution (using the road and pathway network) linking urban settlements (see Map 2). Beyond this, we might note the correspondence of Pliny and the emperor Trajan (ca. 111/112 CE).703 In Ep. 10.96.9, Pliny describes the Christian presence in the province of Pontus-Bithynia, noting, ‘It is not only the towns (civitates), but the villages (vicos) and rural districts (agros) too which are infected through contact with this wretched cult’ (trans. Radice [LCL]). Such a statement seems to imply that the Christian movement began as an urban phenomenon that later spread into the villages—though it also indicates that early in the second century Christians were found in both urban and rural areas.704 An urban setting is also consistent with the strategy of the earliest Christian mission, where the precedent set by Paul and others—at least as depicted in Acts—was to take the gospel primarily to urban centres (see, e.g., Acts 15.36; 16.1–4, 11–12).705 Finally, we might note that the facility in Greek one can expect among the population is higher in the cities than in the countryside. Knowledge of the Greek language was widespread in the country as well as the cities, but the epigraphic evidence shows that the Greek used in the cities was the ‘orthodox regular language of high culture’, while the Greek of the countryside was much more

703   Cf. Judge, Social Patterns, 61. Other evidence has been proposed as well. The reference to οἰκέται (‘domestic slaves’) in 1 Pet 2.18 is sometimes used to suggest that the audience to whom 1 Peter is addressed were located in an urban context (Best 117; Horrell, ‘Addressees of 1 Peter’, 192). 704   One might dismiss this statement as simply a reflection of Pliny’s urban bias (cf. Tacitus, Ann. 15.44, who assumes that the city of Rome is ‘where all things horrible or shameful in the world collect and find a vogue’; trans. Jackson [LCL]). But even if we should approach Pliny’s testimony with caution, his statement is one of the few that actually addresses the question in our ancient sources. 705   Cf. Wilson, ‘Cities of God’, 1–9.



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variegated, ‘deformed’ grammatically and orthographically.706 It is also in the rural areas that indigenous languages persisted most strongly. Mitchell notes, for example, ‘that Celtic remained widely spoken in Galatia, especially no doubt in the country districts, until late Antiquity’, an observation supported by a comment of Jerome’s.707 Cumulatively, these facts tend to point more toward an urban setting than toward the countryside.708 Nevertheless, Robinson has raised serious doubts about the hypothesis that the early Christian movement was largely (or even exclusively) urban until the third century.709 On the basis of the evidence he produces, we should be candid about the limited justification for assigning either a predominantly urban or a mostly rural setting, and instead acknowledge the likelihood that Christianity may already have been spreading fluidly through both, and that the letter may have envisaged its recipients in a variety of locations (cf. 2 Cor 1.1). The Hellenization and Urbanisation of Asia Minor. Even if we leave open the possibility that 1 Peter was received by Christians across a variety of geographical settings, there is one misconception that commonly impacts how this environment is conceived by scholars. When an urban context is envisioned by modern commentators, the settlements addressed by 1 Peter are often taken to be small and relatively unaffected by Hellenization and Roman urbanisation, especially within the central and eastern portions of 706   See Mitchell, Anatolia, 1:174–75, who notes that ‘the Greek language was widely if unevenly adopted in the countryside of Anatolia’, and that ‘a majority of the inhabitants of Asia Minor were, in some measure, bilingual in Greek and an indigenous language’. Pace Jobes 20, who comments that ‘Greek or Latin was spoken only by administrative officials’ (cf. 22). 707   Mitchell, Anatolia, 1:50; see further 50–51, 172–75. In the Preface to Book 2 of his Commentary on Galatians, Jerome notes, ‘While the Galatians, in common with the whole East, speak Greek, their own language is almost identical with that of the Treviri’ (that is, the translator notes, ‘the people who lived between the Moselle and the Forest of Ardennes in and about the modern Treves’; NPNF II.6, 497 n. 4). Cf. also Acts 14.11, where Paul and Barnabas are acclaimed by crowds in Lystra ‘in the Lycaonian language’ (Λυκαονιστί). 708   Cf. Reicke 72; Best 117; Witherington 34–36; see also Schutter, Hermeneutic, 11; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 82–83 (who seems to lean in this direction). 709   Robinson, Who were the First Christians?

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the region. Thus, Elliott declares that ‘Galatian tribal organization and its chief centers at Ancyra, Tavium, and Pessinus were little influenced by Hellenization and urbanization’.710 This assumption has led some to describe the central and eastern portions of Asia Minor as the ‘ “backwoods” of the Empire’.711 Such a description reflects a significant misunderstanding of the civic environments in question, which in turn has an important impact on how interpreters construe the cause(s) of persecution. There are two reasons why this misunderstanding has developed. The first is that scholars often equate the number of civic communities with the level of Hellenization/urbanisation. This is clear in the treatment of Jobes, who argues that the processes of Hellenization and urbanisation made little headway in many parts of Asia Minor on the basis that ‘Hellenized urban centers were few and far between’ in the provinces of Pontus, Bithynia, Galatia, and Cappadocia.712 It is true that the impact of these processes across the provinces of Asia Minor was variegated, with some parts being more heavily influenced than others. Galatia and Cappadocia were far from being ‘the land of 500 cities’, as the province of Asia was commonly described.713 But this fact is irrelevant for understanding the Petrine audience. Simply counting the number of urban centres across the central and eastern portions of Roman Asia Minor 710   Elliott 87–88. Cf. Jobes 21: ‘Roman colonization was concentrated along the major southern route in Galatia, leaving the Celtic tribal lands of the northern interior relatively unaffected’. 711   Davids 8. Similar statements can be found in the relevant literature, e.g., ‘It would…be a great mistake to assume that the sociopolitical situation of Asia applied equally to Pontus, Cappadocia, Galatia, and Bithynia, where Hellenized urban centers were few and far between and where Greek or Latin was spoken only by administrative officials’ (Jobes 20–21); and Elliott points out the ‘limited success of Rome’s urbanization program’ in these areas (Home for the Homeless, 62). This view is shared by most interpreters who have addressed the topic (so, e.g., Selwyn 47–52; Best 16–17; Achtemeier 83–85; see also Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu’, 395–97; Dijkman, ‘Socio-Religious Condition’, 207–208; van Rensburg, ‘Code of Conduct’, 477 n. 651). 712   Jobes 20–21. Cf. Bauman-Martin, ‘Women on the Edge’, 269 n. 58: ‘1 Peter is addressed to the Christians in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, all well-populated with cities, with the possible exception of Galatia’. In actuality, first-century Cappadocia had far fewer cities than Galatia. 713   See Josephus, War 2.366; Philostratus, Vit. soph. 548; Apollonius of Tyana, Ep. 58.7; cf. I.Eph. 1308 (ἀπειρεσίων πτολίων, ‘countless cities’).



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provides no indication of the extent to which existing communities were transformed during the Roman Principate. If the letter is addressed (predominantly) to urban centres across Asia Minor, then the focus must relate to the nature of those communities (i.e., political structures, public buildings, social institutions, languages, etc.). A second reason why scholars often downplay the urban character of the Petrine readers is because very few ‘low level’ examinations of this area have been undertaken. When the processes of Hellenization and urbanisation are considered within individual urban communities across Asia Minor (including cities within the central and eastern portion of the peninsula), it is clear that Roman rule brought with it significant changes. The urbanisation efforts of the Imperial period vastly transformed meager Hellenistic territories into thriving Anatolian cities that shared varying degrees of social, political, economic, and religious experiences. The process of Roman annexation in Asia Minor began in 133 BCE when Attalus III, the king of Pergamum, died and bequeathed his kingdom to the Romans. For the next two hundred years, Rome pushed east until the entire region was under its control.714 One of the most important means of facilitating change in Asia Minor was through the construction of Roman roads (see Map 2). This process began soon after the kingdom of Attalus III was turned into an official Roman province (129 BCE), as a means of establishing and maintaining administrative and military control. As Rome began to acquire more and more territory in Asia Minor, the need for roads continued to grow. By the end of the Flavian period, the Romans had built the most intricate and costly roadway network prior to the modern era.715 While such a high-quality network of roads facilitated travel, trade, and even the spread of new ideas,716 it also helped enable the process of Romanization.717 714   On the process of territorial expansion and provincial formation (and rearrangement) in Asia Minor, particularly as it relates to the provinces mentioned in 1 Pet 1.1, see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 351–61. 715   See especially French, ‘Roman Road-System’, 698–729; idem, Roman Roads. 716   It was this very system that allowed the apostle Paul to easily move from one city to another, spreading the gospel (see French, ‘Acts and the Roman Roads’, 49–58). 717   Cf. Chevallier, Roman Roads, 204: ‘It must be accepted then that the extent of Romanisation was closely connected, both as cause and effect, with the system

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Another factor that contributed to the transformation of Asia Minor was the new conceptualization of the Greek πόλις. What constituted a city under the Principate was categorically different from that of the classical and Hellenistic periods.718 Whereas a πόλις was previously defined by its political autonomy, under Roman rule a city’s status came to be measured by its amenities.719 On a prescriptive level, this means that Roman influence in Asia Minor would have resulted in significant civic transformation for many communities, including the addition of fortifications, religious structures, political meeting places, cultural or educational facilities, civic amenities, and decorative monuments.720 When we examine the epigraphic, archaeological, and literary sources from this period, this is exactly what we find. The evidence from Pessinus reveals how quickly a community could be transformed under Roman rule.721 After only a few decades of Roman rule, this small settlement in the heart of Galatia was converted into a thriving urban centre, complete with canal system, a colonnaded square with shops and commercial activity, a theatre in which gladiatorial events were staged, and a temple for the cult of the emperor. Although the processes of Romanization and urbanisation were still in their infancy in many parts of this vast expanse, they were of roads. Roads, indeed, formed the essential framework for human settlement and land-division and, by easing the transport of commodities, led to the accumulation of wealth’. What is more, ‘as men and goods moved from place to place, there came in their train influence of a subtler nature, in the realm of art and religion, which tended to unify the whole Empire. Roads brought innovation but they also conserved and unified.’ 718   Mitchell, Anatolia, 1:81. 719   When Pausanias described Panopeus (a city of the Phocians), he questioned whether the establishment could truly be called a πόλις because it had no government offices, no gymnasium, no theatre, no marketplace, no running water, and the people lived in mountain cabins (Descr. 10.4.1; cf. Strabo, Geogr. 13.1.27; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 39.5; 48.9). For the basic elements of an Anatolian city, see Parrish, ‘Urban Plan’, 9–41. 720   Mitchell, Anatolia, 1:80. 721   See Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 82–89. It was not unnatural for an annexed province to be Romanized in such a short period of time. The kingdom of Nabataea, which became the Roman province of Arabia in 106 CE, is a prime example of how quickly Roman ideas and practices could become dominant in an annexed territory (see Wolff, ‘Römisches Provinzialrecht’, 763–806; cf. Lewis et al., ed., Greek Papyri, 16–19, 27–28).



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nonetheless present and increasing realities in the lives of urban inhabitants. These cities shared the same civic structure, being administered on the local level by the wealthier members of the society (magistrates and βουλή), while at the same time being in subjection to the Roman governor. On a religious level, certain diversity would have existed between deities that received greatest prominence (e.g., Artemis at Ephesus; Cybele at Pessinus). Nevertheless, a great pantheon of similar gods and goddesses would have been represented in each city along with the ever-popular imperial cults. Likewise, the social world of both cities would have been much the same (e.g., gladiatorial contests, temple meals, voluntary associations, etc.). The difference between the smaller urban centres in central and eastern Anatolia and the larger civic communities in the province of Asia was thus one of quantity not kind. The bigger cities, because of their size, simply had larger temples, more spectacular contests, and a greater number of architectural structures. Therefore, it would be wrong to depict certain portions of the Petrine audience—especially those in Galatia and Cappacodia—in a way that was different from the others. The issue for all who are addressed in the letter’s prescript would have been how to successfully navigate their Christian existence within the context of urbanised centres across Roman Asia Minor. The Configuration of Space in 1 Peter. When the geographical location of the audience is discussed in most of the relevant literature the conversation naturally involves historical concerns. To this point, our treatment has been little different. But what few have considered is that there may be more to these five designated provinces than mere physical geography. The author’s bracketing of the five locations under the more general designation ‘diaspora’ already suggests that something more than a list of provinces is being given in 1 Pet 1.1. The letter addresses itself to the elect strangers of the diaspora—and specifically (reading the genitives that follow as effectively epexegetical, see Exegesis on 1.1) the parts of the diaspora denoted by the Roman provincial names that follow. One thing this indicates is that an essentially Jewish geography is taken as primary, more definitive, as it were, than the Roman organisation of space—though this latter is not denied either. The

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recipients are in the diaspora, just as they are also (specifically) in Pontus or Asia or Galatia. To see these two designations of their spatial location side-by-side should also serve to challenge any dichotomy between real and imagined space, as critical spatial theorists have done.722 ‘Diaspora’ represents a construction and organisation of space, reflecting its own ideological orientation, just as does the Roman provincial system, albeit the latter is undergirded and enforced by military, economic, and political power. Indeed, one reason to deconstruct the notion of space as simply a ‘given’, the unalterable lie of the land, as it were, is to expose the hegemonic embodiment of political and social power in such assumptions. The specific designation of the readers’ location as in diaspora deconstructs Roman hegemony in several ways (though these are, significantly, obscured in English translations that render διασπορά as ‘scattered’, as, e.g., KJV, NIV). First, it assumes and articulates an alternative geographical configuration of the world, a different spatialized narrative about centre and periphery to that which places Rome at the heart of the pacified oikoumene.723 Second, this particular designation makes sense of the readers’ geographical location in terms of a Jewish history of imperial subjugation and consequent exile. Third, the location in diaspora, combined with the description of the addressees as ‘strangers’— or, as elsewhere in the letter, ‘strangers and aliens’ (1 Pet 2.11; cf. 1.17)—dislocates them from their wider society, giving them an identity marked by estrangement and marginality. They are no longer at home in the oikoumene. Their labelling as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι is unlikely to indicate their socio-political status prior to their conversion,724 but this does not mean that it is a merely spiritual declaration that loses any political or social edge.725 On the contrary, as we shall see, the readers’ designation as ‘the elect strangers of the diaspora’—scattered specifically through the cities and villages of Anatolia—configures their current spatial location and social existence in a distinctive way.

722   See, e.g., Soja, Thirdspace. For a discussion in relation to 1 Peter, see Horrell, ‘Re-Placing 1 Peter’, 271–86; Wan, Contest for Time. 723   On this latter subject, see esp. Nicolet, Space, Geography, and Politics. 724   See Introduction: Socio-Political Identity. 725   See the discussion in Horrell, Becoming Christian, 114–20.



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Ethno-Religious Identity Initial Bibliography Betsy J. Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish: Postcolonial Aliens and Strangers in First Peter’, in Reading 1 Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter, ed. Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin, LNTS 364 (London/New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 144–77; Lutz Doering, ‘Gottes Volk: Die Adressaten als “Israel” in Ersten Petrusbrief’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013), 81–113; idem, ‘ “You are a Chosen Stock…”: The Use of Israel Epithets for the Addressees in First Peter’, in Jewish and Christian Communal Identities in the Roman World, ed. Yair Furstenberg, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 243–76; David G. Horrell, ‘ “Race”, “Nation”, “People”: Ethnoracial Identity Construction in 1 Pet. 2.9’, NTS 58 (2012), 123–43, revised and expanded in idem, Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity, LNTS/ ECC 394 (London/New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2013), 133–63; idem, ‘Ethnicity, Empire, and Early Christian Identity: Social-Scientific Perspectives on 1 Peter’, in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students, ed. Eric F. Mason and Troy W. Martin, RBS 77 (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 135–49; Janette H. Ok, Constructing Ethnic Identity in 1 Peter: Who You Are No Longer, LNTS 645 (London: T&T Clark, 2021); Torrey Seland, ‘Crucial Issues in the Quest for the First Readers of 1 Peter: Reassessing an Old Question’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013), 43–57.

Considerations of Historical Reality. The epistle of 1 Peter is addressed to the ‘elect strangers of the diaspora’ (ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς, 1.1). When read in connection with the many citations from the Jewish scriptures and the historical Peter’s role as ‘apostle to the circumcision’ (Gal 2.8), this description led many early interpreters to conclude that the letter was addressed to a Jewish or Jewish-Christian audience.726 This was

  See, e.g., Origen, Comm. Gen. [in Eusebius Hist. eccl. 3.1.2]; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.4.2, Jerome, Vir. ill. 1; Didymus, Enarrat Ep. Cath. [1 Pet 1.1]; cf. also Oecumenius (PG 119:510); Theophylact (PG 125:1190). The claim is made by some that ‘in contrast to modern interpreters, most ancient exegetes…understood the recipients of the letter to be converts from Judaism’ (Jobes 23; cf. also Witherington 27–28). However, the evidence seems to be somewhat more divided. 726

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not the opinion of all within the early church, however. Augustine notes that Peter was ‘writing to the Gentiles’ when he employed the epithets royal priesthood, holy nation, and peculiar people (Faust. 22.89).727 Opinions remained divided over the readers’ ethno-religious identity up to the time of the Reformation and beyond.728 A decisive influence on the modern debate was the 1832 commentary of Steiger, which presented a strong case for a predominantly Gentile-Christian audience.729 His efforts served to bolster what would become the majority opinion by the early twentieth century, a trend which continues down to the present.730 Recently, however, the view that the letter was addressed to a Jewish-Christian audience has been revived by Witherington.731 The importance of his contribution lies not in the fact that new data have been brought to the discussion, for the case that Witherington sets forth is largely a reiteration of arguments proposed centuries

  Cf. Junillius Africanus, Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis 478: ‘beati Petri ad gentes prima’; Cassiodorus, Institutiones Divinarum et Saecularium Litterarum. 1.14.1: ‘Epistolae Petri ad gentes’. 728   Those who argued for a Jewish-Christian audience include: Erasmus 672; Calvin 25; Cappel 305–306; Grotius 79, 98; Bengel 45; Augusti 180–82; Pott 9–12. Those who argued for a Gentile-Christian audience include: Luther 14–15; Wettstein 2:683. It was during this time that an interpretative compromise was first made. Some began to imagine that the readers were mostly Jewish-Christians, while still allowing that some members of the communities would have been Gentile-Christians (so, e.g., Calov 1466; Wolf 91–92; Gerhard 24–26; Jachmann 114–16). 729   Steiger 1:19–24. For an early history of research, see Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 99–104. For a summary of the various arguments used by each side, see Blenkin lxx–lxxiii. 730   Proponents of a Gentile-Christian audience following Steiger include: de Wette 1; Wiesinger 30; Schott 323; Alford 123–26; Huther 27–30; Johnstone 10–17; Hort 7, among others. There were still a few dissenters, however (e.g., Bloomfield 700; Fausset 496; Mason 386; Williams 8; Maunoury 115; Kühl 21–28). On the modern consensus, see Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, 204–205. 731   Witherington 22–37. Others who share this view include: Thompson 83; Jobes 23–41; Rodgers 4–5; see also Dijkman, ‘Socio-Religious Condition’, 25–27, 70–72, 196–97; Lapham, Peter, 119–20; Dunn, Christianity in the Making, 1158–60; Manns, ‘Jewish Reading’, 173–87; Pistone, ‘Born or Re-Born?’, 481; Liebengood, Eschatology, 88–96; Evans, From Jesus to the Church, 23; Sibley, ‘You Talkin’ to Me?’, 59–75; Wilson, ‘Immigrant and Refugee’, 161. Cf. Mitchell, Anatolia, 2:3, who apparently understands the letter to be addressed to Jews as well. 727



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ago.732 Its significance lies in the fact that it has prompted interpreters to revisit an old question—considered by many to be long resolved—in light of the new perspectives from which the letter is read today, thus compelling us to refine the questions asked of the text and the answers that are given.733 First, the challenge of Witherington, if nothing else, has alerted us to the fact that we should not speak of the readership in exclusive or monolithic terms. Few early Christian communities at this time were made up entirely of one ethno-religious group. It is necessary to allow some level of mixture (thus ‘predominantly’ Jewish or ‘mostly’ Gentile). Second, it has reminded us that the letter’s description of ethno-religious identity is in large part a matter of the author’s construction rather than a measurable historical reality, particularly given the letter’s pseudonymous character and wide geographical area of address.734 We can nonetheless ask: How does the letter portray the ethno-religious identity of its addressees? We will begin by briefly considering the broader historical scenario, before turning our attention to the author’s purposes. There were significant numbers of Jews across Asia Minor,735 with communities established since at least the third century BCE, and perhaps earlier.736 Evidence is strongest for Jewish communi  The case for the view that 1 Peter was written to a predominantly JewishChristian audience primarily rests upon two key arguments: first, the strongly Jewish character of the epistle, including numerous citations from the Jewish scriptures; second, the letter’s call for its readers to live out their lives ‘among the Gentiles’ (ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν) (1 Pet 2.12), which is considered to be an unusual exhortation if the epistle was addressed to a primarily Gentile audience. 733   See Seland, ‘Crucial Issues’, 43–57. 734   Cf. Elliott 94: ‘Here we can speak at most of the “implied” readers—that is, the readers as presupposed and construed by the author’. On the ‘implied’ readers and their ethno-religious identity, see Guttenberger, ‘ “…nun aber Volk Gottes” ’, 130–35. 735   The most important literary evidence is from Josephus (Ant. 14.10; 16.6) and Cicero (Flac. 28.66–69); but substantial archaeological and inscriptional evidence fills out the picture. For a survey of this evidence, see Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 3.1:17–38; Mitchell, Anatolia, 2:31–37. For a study of the Jewish communities of Asia Minor, see Trebilco, Jewish Communities. 736   See Josephus, Ant. 12.4 on the sending of Jews by Antiochus III from Babylon to central Anatolia; cf. also Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 3.1:17; Mitchell, Anatolia, 2:32. For possibly earlier presence, including settlement in Sardis, see Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 3.1:17, 20–21. 732

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ties in the cities,737 although rural groups are also represented in the material record.738 It is entirely possible, then, that among the converts to Christianity addressed by the author of 1 Peter were some Jews. For some modern interpreters, the letter’s saturation with citations from and allusions to Jewish scriptures, as well as the use of Jewish identity-labels (e.g., ‘a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation’, 1 Pet 2.9), adds further weight to this hypothesis.739 Yet this latter evidence is far from direct, and the question of how well an audience understood the scriptural quotations and allusions in an early Christian letter is a rather open one.740 Also entirely possible is that some of the converts were previously among the Jewish sympathizers referred to with such descriptors as σεβομένοι τὸν θεόν, φοβούμενοι τὸν θεόν, or θεοσεβής.741 As such, they would have possessed prior knowledge of Judaism and its scriptures, without having become full proselytes, and would therefore have been better placed to understand the letter than those without such knowledge. This connection was made some years ago by van Unnik. Based on the observation that a number of terms and expressions find parallels within the sphere of Jewish proselytism, he proposed that the letter was addressed to ‘people who had formerly been pagans, had joined the Synagogue as “godfearers,”   In particular, Philo states that there were large numbers of Jews in every city of Asia (Leg. Gai. 33). Cf. Mitchell, Anatolia, 2:33: ‘By the mid-first century BC there were impressive concentrations of Jews in several Phrygian cities’. 738   Mitchell, Anatolia, 2:35–36. 739   Some also use this evidence to diagnose the ethnic origins of the author. For instance, Levasheff claims that ‘the language and illustrations employed by the writing indicate that it was written by a Judean’ (‘Contrasting Visions’, 269). 740   Cf. Saldanha, ‘Hope for the Homeless’, 123; see more broadly, Stanley, ‘ “Pearls before Swine” ’, 124–44; idem, Arguing with Scripture. We should, there­fore, be cautious about concluding that ‘Peter assumes that the members of his widespread audience are well enough acquainted with their Scriptures and correct apostolic teaching to be able to recognize the authoritative significance and theological relevance of these diverse intertextual insertions’ (Wendland, ‘ “Stand Fast” ’, 41–42; cf. Bénétreau, ‘Obscurité et clarification’, 7; Müller, ‘Herausforderung und Chance’, 76). 741   For overviews of the considerable discussion, see Levinskaya, Acts in Its Diaspora Setting, 51–126; Wander, Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten; Donaldson, Judaism and the Gentiles, 469–82; Horrell, Ethnicity and Inclusion, 257–62. 737



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but had later been converted to Christianity’.742 A closer look at the evidence adduced by van Unnik, however, appears to reveal that the author is simply drawing on the semantic field of proselyte/ proselytism in order to metaphorically depict the audience’s social situation as a type of alienation and estrangement.743 Given alternative explanations for the Jewish identity labels used to describe the addressees (see below), as well as the Gentile conversions that were a prominent feature of the developing Christian movement (evident not least in Paul’s letters), it is difficult to be persuaded that the letter is specifically addressed to Jews or Jewish-Christians, separate or isolated from Gentile Christians.744 Further, the theory of Jewish addressees demands that most, if not all, of these Jewish or proselyte readers had formerly participated in the (explicitly) ‘pagan’ activities repudiated in 1 Pet 4.3–4 (τὸ βούλημα τῶν ἐθνῶν).745 Not only would a Gentile background more easily explain the readers’ involvement in these practices, it would also account for the hostility experienced due to their withdrawal from them. Nevertheless, it is difficult to draw any firm socio-historical conclusions as to the likely ethno-religious composition of the communities addressed in 1 Peter. Indeed, the difficulty is compounded by the likelihood that the categories of Jew, Christian, and Gentile were far less clear-cut or demarcated than scholarly discussion often implies.746 Probably the best guess, however, is 742   Van Unnik, ‘Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19’, 68. This view was espoused by some earlier interpreters as well (e.g., Benson 151–56; Credner 638–39; Masterman 19–20; see also Michaelis, Introduction, 4:315–22) and more recently by McKnight (24). 743   See Seland, ‘Proselyte Characterizations’, 239–68. 744   Cf. the suggestion of Steiger 1:24. One way that some have attempted to circumvent this problem is by arguing that while the Anatolian churches would have contained a mixture of ethno-religious identities, 1 Peter was only meant to address the Jewish members of the congregations (see Weiss Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 99–104; Plumptre 62–63). Such a hypothesis is unpersuasive, however. 745   For a full discussion on the varying levels of cultural engagement within diaspora Judaism, see Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean; cf. also Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 186–201. 746   Mitchell (Anatolia, 2:35) notes evidence for close fraternization between Jews and Christians, and later efforts to prevent this. Cf. further Lieu, ‘Theological Construct’, 101–19.

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the view that currently stands as the scholarly consensus: that the Christian groups to which 1 Peter was addressed were largely, but by no means exclusively, comprised of former Gentiles who had converted to this new way of life. The Representation of Ethno-Religious Identity. While the historical reality behind 1 Peter’s address might elude us, we do have access to the author’s portrayal of ethno-religious identity, even if it might at times be polemical or rhetorical in character. Here too it seems that the author depicts the letter’s recipients as people with a formerly Gentile identity who have now taken on, through their commitment to Christ, the identity of the people of Israel (see esp. 2.9–10). While the readers are never specifically referred to as ‘Gentiles’ (ἔθνη), the ethno-religious identity that the letter constructs for its audience seems to reflect a ‘pagan’ heritage. Evidence of this is seen most clearly in the presentation of the readers’ former lifestyle. According to the Petrine author, they previously lived in ‘ignorance’ (ἄγνοια, 1 Pet 1.14). While Jews could, at times, be said to act in ignorance (cf. Acts 3.17), it was the Gentiles that were commonly portrayed as living in a state of ignorance due to their separation from God (cf. Acts 17.30; Eph 4.17–19). This was seen to lead to participation in activities that were opposed to God’s will, including licentiousness, lusts, drunkenness, excessive feasting, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry (cf. Wis 13.1–14.14; Rom 1.18–32). According to 1 Peter, these were the types of practices in which the readers were formerly involved (4.3–4). Again, all of these same abuses could potentially have been attributed to Jews who accommodated to Greek and Roman culture in ways that some might have seen as indulging in idolatry and immorality.747 But as a generalization of debauchery 747   Rather than viewing this passage as reflective of an inter-Gentile conflict, Witherington argues that the passage refers to Jewish (non-)participation in pagan activities. He claims that the author ‘is warning these Jewish Christians against having any longings to go back to their past Gentile-like behavior…’ (30; original emphasis). It is true that some of the Jews living in Asia Minor may have been thoroughly Hellenized and highly acculturated and thus may have participated in some of the activities described here. However, the fact that Witherington, on his initial review of these practices, labels them ‘Gentile-like behavior’ is suggestive for the way they would have been perceived by the initial readers, and indicates their more probable referent, viz those who were Gentiles rather than Jews.



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and godless behaviour, such a lifestyle was representative of the Gentiles (hence, the desire for less accommodating Jews to speak out against it). The final, and perhaps most convincing, indication of the Petrine readers’ pagan past is found in 1.18, which describes their redemption from the ‘futile ways inherited from their ancestors’. Rather than being a critique of Jewish life and practice, πατροπαράδοτος (‘handed down from one’s ancestors’) is a term that Christian authors employed to condemn the former influences of paganism and idolatry in the lives of Gentiles.748 The current standing of the readers also confirms the author’s construction of a predominantly Gentile audience. Noteworthy is the fact that the titles and privileges of Israel are presented as benefits that were newly received as a result of the readers’ entrance into the church, rather than as a status they already possessed as a result of their ethnic origins. A case in point is the fact that the readers are now (νῦν) ‘the people of God’; whereas in the past (ποτέ) they were ‘not a people’ (2.10).749 This temporal contrast is intended to mark the transition that had occurred and thereby to bolster the significance attached to their present status. Other imagery in the epistle performs the same function (e.g., ‘called out of darkness into his marvelous light’, 2.9). In each case, the language of conversion used by the author makes the most sense when it is applied to a predominantly Gentile audience. The points just enumerated have been sufficient to convince most interpreters that 1 Peter is attempting to portray its readers as mostly Gentile-Christians who have converted out of a ‘pagan’ background. This makes the extent to which the author applies to these readers titles and privileges central to Israel’s self-understanding all the more striking: elect and chosen race, holy nation,

  Van Unnik, ‘Critique of Paganism’, 129–42. See further Exegesis at 1.18.   Another passage that is sometimes used in connection with this argument is 1 Pet 3.6, where the women are said to become ‘daughters of Sarah’. As Stenschke notes, ‘This suits Gentile Christian women better than Jewish Christian women, who already enjoyed that status as Jewesses’ (‘Mission and Conversion’, 23). But in this case, both participles (ἀγαθοποιοῦσαι and φοβούμεναι) function conditionally (see Exegesis at 3.6), suggesting that women only become ‘daughters of Sarah’ when their actions are consistent with hers, not necessarily upon their entrance into the Christian community (although the author’s hope is that these would be one and the same). 748 749

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God’s own people (2.9–10).750 As the author seeks to provide hope and assurance, the application of titles to the addressees, in effect, gives them the identity of the people of Israel.751 From the author’s christological perspective, ‘the Israel into whose history Peter writes his audience is Israel as interpreted by the suffering, death, resurrection, ascension, and pending revelation of Jesus Christ’.752 This is both an important facet of the author’s strategy and also a significant and potentially problematic aspect of his depiction of the readers’ ethno-religious identity. This adoption of Jewish identity-terms to describe members of the Christian movement is by no means unique to 1 Peter. On the contrary, it is characteristic, in various ways, of the NT as a whole, relating to the whole complex process by which Christianity, which began as an inner-Jewish movement, eventually became something distinct from Judaism, and claimed to represent the ‘true’ fulfilment of Judaism’s heritage. Jewish scripture and tradition were the main reservoirs from which the early Christians drew in order to describe what they believed God had done in Christ, and what they had thus become. Paul makes many similar references in his letters.753 What sets 1 Peter apart is that it provides a particularly striking and developed example of this facet of early Christian theology.754 The author of 1 Peter uses the resources of Jewish scripture and identity to give a positive sense of ethno-religious identity to the recipients of the letter, who are hard-pressed due to their negative experience of hostility and criticism. In social-psychological terms, 750   For these central ‘identity-forming’ labels of Israel, see Schwarz, Identität durch Abgrenzung, 53–57. For this identification in 1 Peter, see Doering, ‘Uses of Israel Epithets’, 243–76; Horrell, Becoming Christian, 133–63. 751   This view is reflected in most recent treatments of ecclesiology in 1 Peter, see Horn, ‘Christen in der Diaspora’, 3–17. 752   Green, ‘Living as Exiles’, 316 (original emphasis). 753   He refers to believers in Christ as ‘sons of Abraham’ (Gal 3.7, 29), the true ‘circumcision’ (Phil 3.3; cf. Rom 2.25–29), children of the Jerusalem above (Gal 4.26), in contrast with ‘the present Jerusalem and her children’ (Gal 4.25). He can refer to ‘the Israel according to the flesh’ (1 Cor 10.18), which stands in implicit contrast with a new Israel, or a redefined Israel, according to the Spirit or the promise (cf. Rom 9.7–8; Gal 4.21–31). 754   As noted by Richardson, the ‘transpositions’ of Jewish attributes and titles to the Church ‘reach a climax within the New Testament in [1 Peter] 2.1–10’, a text which represents ‘a conscious attempt…to appropriate the Ehrentitel Israels for the new people of God’ (Israel in the Apostolic Church, 172–73).



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the author is pursuing a certain strategy to reverse this negative valuation of the believers’ identity.755 While those around them may condemn them as evildoers, and criticise their faith and conduct, the author insists that they have a glorious and highly valued identity as God’s special people. But it must also be noted that the author of 1 Peter applies these (Jewish) labels to the early Christian converts without giving any explicit indication that these texts and titles also belong to the ethnic and historic people of Israel, the Jews. The letter is simply silent about the question of ‘unconverted’ Israel—what Paul called ὁ Ἰσραὴλ κατὰ σάρκα (1 Cor 10.18)—and lacks any clear reference to historic Israel’s continuing existence.756 This, too, is striking when compared with other early Christian explanations of Israel’s place in salvation history. For Paul, who repeatedly stressed that there is no distinction between Jew and Gentile with regard to salvation in Christ (Rom 3.9; 1 Cor 12.13; Gal 3.28), the issue caused him considerable anguish (Rom 9.1–5), though he was clear that God’s promises to the people of Israel could never be revoked (Rom 11.28–29). Other early Christian texts draw a much more explicit—and sometimes polemical—contrast between ‘old’ and ‘new’ covenants (or peoples) (e.g., Heb 7.18–19; 8.6–13; 9.11–15; Barn. 16.5–8; Melito, Peri Pascha 43). The emphatic application to the (probably largely Gentile) audience of Jewish identity labels, together with the silence of the letter about the continuing existence of (non-Christian) Jews, raises serious questions for contemporary interpreters, questions that are especially acute given the anti-Semitism that has too often characterised the history of NT scholarship. Does the letter imply that the ‘Christian church’ has replaced Israel as the people of God—a kind of implicit supersessionism?757 Is it even a kind of colonising move 755   For more on the strategy behind the use of Israel’s past as a way to shape the social identity of the readers, see Krentz, ‘Creating a Past’, 41–57; Still and Webb, ‘Social Identity in 1 Peter’, 458–63. 756   See further Vanhoye, ‘1 Pierre au carrefour’, 112. Richardson (Israel in the Apostolic Church, 173) argues that ‘there is no hint of interest in Israel in 1 Peter’. Those who claim it is outside the author’s concern include: Michaels liv–lv; Elliott 39; Senior 12. 757   Marshall (New Testament Theology, 650) comments that ‘the place of the church as the successor of Israel in the Old Testament is taken for granted’ in 1 Peter.

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(i.e., an ‘ideological imperialism’) in which the author claims for his own group the cultural heritage and identity markers of Judaism?758 Or might the implication instead be that these addressees have become ‘incorporated into God’s ancient covenantal people’, without in any sense denying that identity to the Jewish people?759 The silence of the letter on these points—together with our lack of knowledge about how the author (or the recipients) perceived the relationship between the ‘Christian’ communities and (other) Jewish communities—makes it difficult to draw confident conclusions, particularly about what the letter conveyed in its original historical context. Sometimes, the insistence, in Achtemeier’s words, that what we find in 1 Peter ‘is evidently not an instance of anti-Semitism’ seems apologetic and hard to sustain in the terms in which it is argued: Achtemeier’s reason for this assertion is ‘simply that for the author of 1 Peter, Israel has become the controlling metaphor for the new people of God, and as such its rhetoric has passed without remainder into that of the Christian community’.760 Yet, if what this implies, again in Achtemeier’s words, is that ‘the language and hence the reality of Israel pass without remainder into the language and hence the reality of the new people of God’, then this seems to imply that Israel’s continued existence is denied, displaced instead by the ‘new people of God’.761 The appropriation for the Christian communities addressed in the letter of the status of God’s elect (1 Pet 1.1; 2.9; 5.13), the collective identity as ‘spiritual house’ and ‘holy priesthood’ (2.5), suggests that there will at least be contestation over such identifiers and honorific labels.762 But the silence of the letter on the status   For this position, see Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’, 144–77. Cf. Cortez, ‘1 Peter and Postmodern Criticism’, 162: ‘The irony…is that 1 Peter adapts the “chosen” language and other identity markers from Judaism as a strategy to resist the imperialist ideology of Rome’. 759   Elliott 443. According to Christiansen, the Petrine author ‘makes no attempt to imply that a replacement of the Old Israel has taken place, or to suggest that a New Israel has taken the role of the old’ (‘Chosen and Honoured’, 91). Others similarly claim that the author advocates some form of inclusivism (e.g., Dschulnigg, ‘Aspekte und Hintergrund’, 318–29; Guttenberger, ‘ “…nun aber Volk Gottes” ’, 135–36; Moon, ‘New Participation’, 117–33). 760   Achtemeier 72; see 69–72 on this topic. 761   Achtemeier 69. 762   Cf. Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 127: ‘By attributing divine election and other honorific predicates of ancient Israel (2:9) to the Christian sect, the author(s) 758



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and identity of the historic people of Israel—a silence that contrasts with the more explicit and polemical rejection we have noted in other texts above—does at least leave room for contemporary interpreters to articulate a position in which the Jewish people’s ongoing existence is affirmed and valued alongside that of the church.763 In terms of the letter’s presentation of the ethno-religious identity of its readers, however, the majority consensus appears to remain most convincing: that the addressees are largely Gentiles, and are depicted as such by the author, but are at the same time emphatically given a Jewish identity—derived from the Jewish scriptures and central identity-labels—as elect and holy people of God. This positive construction of their identity is both an attempt to counter their apparent experience of hostility and isolation in the world, and thus forms the counterpart to their identification as ‘aliens and strangers’.764 Our next question, then, is what this designation, along with other hints in the letter, might tell us about the readers’ socio-political identity. Socio-Political Identity Initial Bibliography Moses Chin, ‘A Heavenly Home for the Homeless: Aliens and Strangers in 1 Peter’, TynBul 42 (1991): 96–112; John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Social-Scientific Criticism of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy, with a New Introduction, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Reinhard Feldmeier, Die Christen als Fremde: Die Metapher der Fremde in der antiken Welt, im Urchristentum und im 1. Petrusbrief, WUNT 64 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1992); David G. Horrell, ‘Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-Economic Location of the Addressees of 1 Peter’, in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and

of 1 Peter have thereby attempted to disenfranchise the Jews of their peculiar “claim to fame.” The sect, it is implied, is now the exclusive representative of the chosen people of God, the sole community where the prophetic hopes of Israel are fulfilled.’ But note the contrasting view suggested in Elliott’s commentary (Elliott 443: ‘Here in 1 Peter (2:9-10)…the believers are incorporated into God’s ancient covenant people and share the heritage of ancient Israel’). 763   See, e.g., the remarks in Lindbeck, ‘What of the Future?’, 358. Moyise (‘Isaiah in 1 Peter’, 188), suggests an oversight (or perhaps even, ignorance) on the part of the Petrine author: ‘He transfers Israel’s honorific titles to the church without comment or apparent awareness of the hermeneutics involved’. 764   Cf. the central thesis, encapsulated in the title, of Elliott, Home for the Homeless.

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Early Christian Reception, ed. Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 176–202, revised and expanded in idem, Becoming Christian, 100–132; Karen H. Jobes, ‘ “Foreigners and Exiles”: Was 1 Peter Written to Roman Colonists?’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013), 21–41; Jason Jit-Fong Lim, The Trials of the Christians as Elect Resident Aliens and Visiting Strangers in 1 Peter, with an Emphasis on the Context of 1 Peter within the Graeco-Roman Milieu, Jian Dao Dissertation Series 11 (Hong Kong: Alliance Bible Seminary, 2005); Christoph G. Müller, ‘Diaspora—Herausforderung und Chance. Anmerkungen zum Glaubensprofil der Adressaten den 1. Petrusbriefs’, SNTSU 32 (2007): 67–88; Armand Puig i Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu de la Première Épître de Pierre’, RCT 5 (1980): 95–129, 331–402.

Literal or Metaphorical Designations of Estrangement? A landmark in scholarly discussion of the socio-political identity of the addressees of 1 Peter is Elliott’s groundbreaking and influential study, A Home for the Homeless. This was the first social-scientific study of the letter, which attempted, among other things, to provide a ‘social profile’ of the addressees. The starting point for Elliott’s analysis is an argument for the correlation and central importance of two key terms: πάροικος and οἶκος (τοῦ θεοῦ). These terms, Elliott proposes, ‘are not merely linguistic but also sociological and theological correlates’.765 They therefore invite consideration as to the ways in which they ‘provide clues to the social condition of the addressees as well as to the socioreligious response offered by the document itself’.766 After examining the meaning and use of πάροικος and related terms in both secular and biblical texts, Elliott concludes that it refers to those ‘being or living as a resident alien in a foreign environment or away from home’.767 More specifically, the term πάροικος denotes the ‘resident alien’, while παρεπίδημος refers to the ‘transient stranger’.768 Furthermore, in 1 Peter, Elliott argues that the description of the addressees as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (see 1.1, 17; 2.11) refers to their ‘actual political and social condition’.769   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 23.   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 24. 767   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 35. 768   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 34. 769   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 35. This is somewhat qualified later in the work, where Elliott notes that ‘[t]here is neither need nor reason to postulate 765 766



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This description thus gives us a concrete indication as to their social situation: they are ‘resident aliens and transient strangers’ who ‘shared the same vulnerable condition of the many thousands of Jewish and other ethnic πάροικοι of Asia Minor and throughout the Roman empire’.770 Summarising the findings of his opening chapter, Elliott makes clear how fundamentally his conclusions as to the significance of the designation πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι shape his reflections on the social profile of the addressees: In 1 Peter the terms paroikia, paroikoi and parepidēmoi identify the addressees as a combination of displaced persons who are currently aliens permanently residing in (paroikia, paroikoi) or strangers temporarily visiting or passing through (parepidēmoi) the four provinces of Asia Minor named in the salutation (1:1). These terms…indicate not only the geographical dislocation of the recipients but also the political, legal, social and religious limitations and estrangement which such displacement entails. As paroikoi they may well have been numbered among the rural population and villagers who had been relocated to city territories and assigned inferior status to the citizenry. And as both paroikoi and parepidēmoi they may have been included among the numerous immigrant artisans, craftsmen, traders, merchants residing permanently in or temporarily traveling through the villages, towns and cities of the eastern provinces.771

Although many scholars have been unconvinced by Elliott’s proposal,772 any attempt to assess the implications of the depiction of mutually exclusive literal/figurative options here…these words in 1 Peter are used to describe religious as well as social circumstances’ (42). Cf. also Elliott 482: ‘The experience of many as actual strangers and resident aliens provided an existential basis for the depiction of all believers as strangers and resident aliens in a metaphorical sense’. For a similar ‘dual’ usage of παρεπίδημος and πάροικος to describe both the social and religious dimensions of the readers’ situation, see Naseri, ‘Christian Identity’, 114–20; idem, ‘ “Resident Aliens” and “Sojourners” ’, 285–302; idem, ‘Petrine Christians’, 77–95. 770   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 37; cf. 129. Although Elliott’s treatment has become the most popular version of this theory, it was not the first. Some years earlier, a similar suggestion was made by Adinolfi, ‘Stato civile dei Cristiani’, 420–34. 771   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 48. 772   Those who have followed Elliott’s socio-political reading of these terms include: Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu’, 95–129, 331–402; Dijkman, ‘Socio-Religious

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the addressees as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι has to reckon with his thesis. One obstacle to Elliott’s proposal is the difficulty in explaining both the initial arrival of such displaced persons within the regions concerned and the way in which such persons came to dominate membership of the Anatolian Christian communities.773 Just like those who posit a predominantly (or exclusively) Jewish-Christian community,774 this theory requires not only the conversion of large numbers of one specific socio-political group, it also assumes that the members separately organised themselves into churches without being joined by other members of Anatolian society. Yet, as Pryor has already stated, ‘It is just not imaginable that a group of churches in Asia Minor at this time would be made up of one social class, “resident aliens” ’.775 Another problem has been highlighted by Bechtler, namely, that in extra-biblical Greek the term πάροικος is used to denote a non-citizen, whether native or non-native, rather than a resident alien as such.776 As Mitchell notes, the rural population of Anatolia were often described as πάροικοι, περίοικοι, κάτοικοι, κωμέται, or

Condition’, 209–12; Steuernagel, ‘Exiled Community’, 12; Pilch, ‘ “Visiting Strang�ers” ’, 357–61; McKnight 24–26, 47–52; idem, ‘Aliens and Exiles’, 378–86; van Rensburg, ‘ “Resident and Visiting Aliens” ’, 573–83; Moy, ‘Resident Aliens’, 52–54; Truex, ‘God’s Spiritual House’, 186–87; Witherington 23–24; Saldanha, ‘Hope for the Homeless’, 114–15; Kehinde, ‘Christianity amidst Violence’, 80–81; Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 38–73; Moxnes, ‘Beaten Body of Christ’, 129; Wilson, ‘Immigrant and Refugee’, 163–65. 773   For various critiques of Elliott’s theory, see, e.g., Chin, ‘Heavenly Home’, 96–112; Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, esp. 203–10; Olsson, ‘Social-Scien�tific Criticism’, 827–46; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 64–83; Lim, Trials of the Christians; Seland, Strangers in the Light, 39–78; Horrell, ‘Aliens and Strangers?’, 176–202; Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 98–104; Kloppenborg, ‘Associations, Christ Groups’, 42–46. 774   See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity. 775   Pryor, ‘First Peter’, 45. Even if one wanted to argue that the congregations were predominantly (though not exclusively) made up of one particular sociopolitical class, the problem of explaining how and why conversions were made in this one particular group across a vast peninsula still remains. 776   Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 71–73. Cf. also Elliott 477–78, where the evidence cited indicates that the term πάροικοι stands in distinction to citizens. Elliott recognises that the term can thus include natives of the locality, such as tenant farmers, but arguably does not take this sufficiently into account.



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simply as the λαός.777 While problematic for Elliott’s thesis that the term specifically denotes resident aliens, on this basis the description of the addressees as πάροικοι would still allow a significant deduction to be made about their social, political, and economic status. There are, however, also difficulties with Elliott’s argument for taking this description in a literal, socio-political sense. The recipients of the letter are initially addressed, as a group, as παρεπίδημοι (1.1), while in 1.17 they are said to live out a παροικία, and in 2.11 are exhorted ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους. The noun παρεπίδημος is rare in Greek literature,778 and occurs only twice in the LXX (Gen 23.4; Ps 38.13).779 Its pairing with πάροικος in 2.11 suggests that the words function in 1 Peter as a hendiadys, both equally appropriate to describe the addressees, which implies that the author is using the terms to convey something about the character of their experience rather than their literal socio-political status (in which case someone would be either a πάροικος or a παρεπίδημος).780 More crucially still, the use of παρεπίδημος, and the phrase pairing πάροικος with παρεπίδημος, indicates the decisive influence of the LXX on the author’s language. Specifically,

  Mitchell, Anatolia, 1:176; see 176–78; Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 629–40. Cf. de Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 160, on περίοικοι in Greek texts as those without political rights. 778   In literature prior to the time of 1 Peter, Polybius (Hist. 32.6.4) refers to the Greek παρεπίδημοι in Rome (cf. Callixenus Frag. 2). The sense, and the close connection with ξένος (see Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 10), is clearly conveyed in a comment from the grammarian Aristophanes, Nomina aetatum p. 279.3: Ξένος· ὁ ἐξ ἑτέρας πόλεως παρεπίδημος. Uses of the verbal form παρεπιδεμέω are somewhat more common (e.g., Polybius, Hist. 4.4.1; Diodorus Siculus 1.83.8). The abstract noun παρεπιδημία, ‘residence in a foreign city’ (LSJ 1337), is occasionally found. Note, for instance, the metaphorical use in Plato (Spuria, p.365.b: παρεπιδημία τίς ἐστιν ὁ βίος; cf. Polybius, Hist. 4.4.2; 33.15.2). For occasional references in the papyri, see MM 493. 779   See esp. Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 8–12, who notes: ‘Der…Begriff παρεπίδημος begegnet sowohl im biblisch-jüdischen wie im paganen Schriftum ausgesprochen selten’ (8; original emphasis). Cf. also Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 80; TDNT 2:64. 780   The presence of ὡς might also suggest that the author is giving a metaphorical depiction of their identity, given some such uses of the particle elsewhere in the letter (1.19; 2.2, 5, 25; 5.8; see Achtemeier 173 n. 14). However, not all uses of ὡς are of this kind (cf. 2.12–14, 16; 4.10–12, 15–16; 5.3, 12), so the point cannot bear much weight. 777

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1 Pet 2.11 appropriates the language with which Abraham voices the nature of his residence among the Hittites (Gen 23.4). There Abraham describes himself as ‘a stranger and an alien’ (‫ גר ותושב‬/ πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος).781 Further texts in the LXX, echoing this self-description, already indicate a kind of broadening or spiritualising of the term, beyond a strictly literal or socio-political designation.782 Perhaps the clearest example is in 1 Chr 29.15, πάροικοί ἐσμεν ἐναντίον σου (i.e., YHWH), clearly spiritualising, to some extent, since the verse ends: ὡς σκιὰ αἱ ἡμέραι ἡμῶν ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπομονή (‘Our days on earth are like a shadow, and there is no endurance’, NETS).783 This is not to deny that the terms, at least in 1 Peter, are used to depict a sense of social alienation, or estrangement from the world due to the hostility of the wider society, which seems to be a key point in Elliott’s argument.784 It does, however, strongly suggest that the terms, as used in 1 Peter, do not reflect socio-political designations; rather they are ways of expressing—drawing upon Jewish tradition—the alienation and estrangement of God’s people from the world.785 Another point that could be raised against a literal interpretation of πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι is the absence of any reference to hostility that preceded their conversion. According to Elliott, the trouble the readers faced was the conflict that marked the social

781   Cited also by Philo, Conf. 79. On the Hebrew coupling, see further Reynolds and Tannenbaum, Jews and God-Fearers, 48, 58–59. 782   Pace Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 27–29. See further Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 39–54, 207–208; idem, ‘ “Nation” of Strangers’, 244–47, on ‘self-description as strangers before God’ in the post-exilic situation. 783   Cf. also LXX Lev 25.23 (πάροικοι…ἐναντίον μου); Ps 38[39].13[12] (πάροικος ἐγώ εἰμι παρὰ σοὶ καὶ παρεπίδημος). 784   Cf. Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 42–43: ‘the fundamental contrast in 1 Peter is not a cosmological but a sociological one: the Christian community set apart from and in tension with its social neighbours’; Elliott 481: ‘a condition of social, not cosmological, estrangement’ (original emphasis). 785   See the central arguments of Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde; idem, ‘ “Nation” of Strangers’, 240–70. Indeed, Seland (Strangers in the Light, 39–78) has shown how these terms are used specifically to denote proselytes. ‘This does not mean’, he insists, ‘that the author considered the readers to have been former proselytes but that, in his perception of the social world of his Christian recipients, their social situation had become similar to that of Jewish proselytes’ (61).



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divide between citizens and non-citizens. Upon their conversion, these troubles were further intensified. Yet each time the author describes the cause of the audience’s suffering, he either points to the Christian activities in which they are involved (1 Pet 2.20; 3.14, 16; 4.3–4) or simply to the fact that they are Christians (4.16) and never to their socio-political status. There is nothing in the text to suggest that the hostility they faced was in any way related to their political status or legal standing prior to conversion, nor is there any indication that conversion exacerbated pre-existing troubles.786 From this, we would have to conclude that the problems stem not from the addressees’ socio-legal status prior to conversion, but solely from their socio-spiritual status consequent on their conversion.787 Deportation, Colonisation, and Estrangement? More recently, Jobes has presented a variation on the proposal that interprets πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι as a literal description of the addressees’ sociopolitical identity.788 Noting the lack of evidence for evangelisation in northern Asia Minor, Jobes suggests that ‘the Christians to whom Peter writes had become Christians elsewhere, had some association with Peter prior to his writing to them, and now found themselves foreigners and resident aliens scattered throughout Asia Minor’.789 One possibility is that the first converts in Asia Minor had been Pentecost pilgrims who heard Peter’s preaching in Jerusalem (Acts 2.9–11).790 More likely, according to Jobes, is that they were among those (probably Jews) converted during a visit of Peter

  Cf. Volf, ‘Soft Difference’, 18.   Other problems with Elliott’s theory could be mentioned, especially as they relate to the deductions made concerning the socio-economic status of πάροικοι in the ancient world (see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 102–104). 788   Jobes 24–41, developed and defended in eadem, ‘ “Foreigners and Exiles” ’. 789   Jobes 26. The view of Jobes has been followed by others as well: Helyer, Life and Witness of Peter, 113–16; Crowe, General Epistles, 5–6; Kock-Malan, ‘Suffering, Submission, Silence’, 83–84. 790   Jobes 27–28. Cf. also Caffin 2; Johnstone 10; Williams 9; Mitchell 49; Senior 8; Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 126. A slightly different hypothesis is put forth by Carter, who identifies the readers as natives of Jerusalem. He claims that the ‘letter was written to a relatively general audience of early Christians…[who] were driven from their Jerusalem homes due to persecution and then spread throughout a vast area of what is now modern Turkey’ (‘1 Peter 1:1–12’, 60–61). 786 787

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to Rome in the 40s, then deported from Rome and made part of the extensive colonisation of Asia Minor under Claudius.791 This intriguing theory is, however, subject to many of the same objections brought against Elliott’s proposal, which Jobes does not adequately address,792 and suffers from major additional difficulties: (1) the uncertainty about any visit of Peter to Rome in the 40s793 and the associated implication of an early date for 1 Peter;794 (2) the lack of any positive evidence to associate Jews expelled from Rome with colonists arriving in Asia Minor in this period (the evidence for the foundation of the Jewish communities of Asia Minor indicates that they were well established from the first century BCE, and began 791   Jobes 28–41. A similar argument was made by a handful of scholars from an earlier generation, who suggested that 1 Peter was addressed to Roman Christians who had fled to Asia Minor during the persecutions of Nero (see, e.g., Quarry, ‘Epistles of St. Peter’, 257–99; Salmon, Historical Introduction, 485; Bennett 45; Thurston, ‘Interpreting First Peter’, 174–76). More recently, Lapham (Peter, 131, 136) has suggested that the addressees were Christians who had migrated from Babylonia and eastern Syria in the wake of the (Jewish) unrest there under Trajan (early second century CE) and thus were literally ‘temporary sojourners’. 792   It is certainly not the case that ‘[t]he primary objection to Elliott’s specific social reconstruction has been that the relationships between the social and economic classes in first-century Asia Minor are too complex, and the terms that refer to them are understood too imprecisely, to validate Elliott’s hypothesis’ (Jobes 31). For Jobes’ misdirected response to this point in a later article, see n. 799. See above for the much more specific and decisive objections, which equally affect Jobes’s theory, based as it is on the notion ‘that the Christians to whom Peter originally wrote came from elsewhere’ (Jobes [2022] 29). 793   Cf. Keener 46 n. 27. Patristic tradition does record such a visit in the time of Claudius (e.g., Eusebius Hist. eccl. 2.14.6; 2.17.1; Jerome, Vir. ill. 1), but the tradition may or may not have a firm historical foundation. Botermann (Das Judenedikt, 136–40) develops the idea that Peter visited Rome in the early 40s, as a theory that would explain the unrest among the Jews that led to Claudius’s edict. However, she acknowledges that this can be no more than a vague possibility, given the lack of clear evidence. Acts 12.17 gives no direct indication as to the ‘other place’ to which Peter went, though Thiede (‘Babylon’) argues that as an allusion to Ezek 12.3 it indicates Babylon/Rome. After a lengthy discussion, Schnabel (Early Christian Mission, 721–27) concludes cautiously that the evidence does not permit us to draw any confident conclusions about the geographical movements of Peter after his departure from Jerusalem in ca. 41 CE. 794   Jobes’ theory would not absolutely require a particular date for 1 Peter, but if it addresses the situation of colonists sent from Rome in the 40s CE, then an early date is clearly most likely. As Jobes comments, ‘Even if Peter wrote in the 60s, the colonization of Roman Christians still provides a motivation for the letter to these remote regions’ (39).



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earlier still);795 (3) the impersonal nature of the letter combined with the fact that someone other than ‘Peter’ seems to have initially evangelised the readers (cf. 1 Pet 1.12), both of which would run contrary to the suggestion that Peter had been formerly associated with them during their conversion in Rome, and (4) most crucially, a misunderstanding of the character and development of Roman colonies in Asia Minor. Early on, these were indeed true colonies, involving the settlement of Roman veterans and others from Rome,796 but increasingly, especially in Claudius’s time, involved the creation of titular colonies, that is, the giving of a colonial title to an existing city, as an honour.797 According to the list compiled by Salmon, only three colonies were actually founded in Asia Minor during the reign of Claudius.798 Jobes has since sought to develop her proposal and respond to these criticisms (though without mentioning them as such),799 but 795   There is no direct connection, as far as we are aware, between expulsions of Jews from the city of Rome and Roman colonization. (On the general topic of expulsions from Rome, see Noy, Foreigners at Rome, 37–47, with 41–43 on expulsions of Jews. On the Jews in Rome under the Julio-Claudians, see Smallwood, Jews under Roman Rule, 201–19.) It is by no means impossible that some Jews expelled from Rome in the 40s made their way to Asia Minor, where they would have come across established Jewish communities. But we have no evidence for this, still less that Jews converted to Christianity in Rome were among such refugees and were later addressed in 1 Peter. Thus, Jobes’ theory simply builds speculation upon silence. 796   Colonies functioned mainly to establish communities with strategic importance and loyalty to Rome, and usually entailed the settlement of army veterans and urban poor from Rome (see Salmon, Roman Colonization, 13–28). In a study of the Augustan colonies of southern Asia Minor, Levick concludes that ‘[t]he overwhelming majority of the colonists…were born in Italy or at least in the west’ (Roman Colonies, 60, cf. 66). She suggests that ‘Romanization’ was at least part of the purpose of such colonies in these areas (184–92). 797   See Salmon, Roman Colonization, esp. 153–54. Jobes’ appeal to the work of Noy and Salmon to support her specific proposals thus seems misplaced. 798   Salmon, Roman Colonization, 160. 799   Jobes, ‘ “Foreigners and Exiles” ’, 21–41. Oddly, although elsewhere in her essay she cites the piece in which the criticisms above are listed (Horrell, ‘Aliens and Strangers?’), she does not note this, mentioning only the arguments made there against the rural location of the addressees (and confusing ‘urban setting’ and ‘city territories’, the latter not being by any means the same as the former, p. 34). (She does, however, respond directly and explicitly in the new edition of her commentary; see Jobes [2022] 29–30.) The one explicit point made ‘Contra Horrell’ misrepresents the original. Jobes writes: ‘Contra Horrell, the issues that

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acknowledges that the evidence cannot be more than circumstantial regarding any of the crucial facets of her theory: Peter’s visit to Rome in the 40s, a link between expulsions from Rome and colonists in Asia Minor, and the likelihood that the labels πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι refer to ‘people who had immigrated to northern Asia Minor from elsewhere’.800 As she accepts, ‘there is no historical evidence to link those expelled in AD 49 by Claudius’ [sic] to his colonies or other specific destinations in Asia Minor’.801 Yet it is this very point upon which her entire proposal rests. This theory may be preferable to the notion that Peter himself evangelised the provinces of northern Asia Minor—the other main option Jobes canvases802—but it still faces major difficulties in terms of sheer speculation and accumulation of unevidenced possibilities.803 define who is foreign and who citizen, and the terms used to refer to each, are indeed complex’ (‘ “Foreigners and Exiles” ’, 34). What the original actually says, (hopefully) clearly enough (cf. n. 792 above), is, in criticism of Jobes, that the complexity of the relationships between social and economic classes in Asia Minor is not the main reason (pace Jobes 31) why people have rejected Elliott’s theory about the literal socio-political status of the πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι addressed in 1 Peter (see n. 773 above). There have been much more substantive criticisms brought to bear, as detailed above. 800   Jobes, ‘ “Foreigners and Exiles” ’, 35. 801   Jobes, ‘ “Foreigners and Exiles” ’, 32. Later she notes, ‘What is lacking in the theory of Roman colonization is the explicit historical verification that the proposed cities actually received Christian settlers from Rome’ (37). 802   Cf. Jobes 23–24. 803   A slight variation on Jobes’ theory has been offered by Stenschke (‘Mission and Conversion’, 225–28). Recognising the problems with Jobes’ proposal, Stenschke suggests that a group of Jewish Christians were expelled from Rome under Claudius (49 CE) and subsequently moved to Asia Minor, where they founded churches across the area. Following the end of Claudius’ edict (during the time of Nero), these Jewish believers moved back to Rome, leaving the Gentile converts behind. Thereafter, the situation of the Gentile churches became more difficult, and thus Peter, who had received the report from the Jewish returnees, decided to write to them from Rome. This variation offers a helpful correction to some of the shortcomings associated with the original theory. The difficulty is that it too is based on considerable speculation. Further, in terms of explanatory power, the one question it does not answer is why the situation of the readers would have become more difficult after the Jewish members returned to Rome. It seems more natural to think that conflict would have arisen upon the conversion of the Gentile members (and thus the founding of the churches), due to their separation from pagan practices (cf. 1 Pet 4.3–4).



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As with the ethno-religious identity of the recipients, it is hard to move far beyond the construction of the recipients’ identity as presented in the letter. In this case, too, it seems difficult to establish any firm basis on which to see their depiction as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι as a literal description of their socio-political status. Rather, the evidence of the letter itself—as well as the wider evidence regarding the use of such terms—seems to point to this being a scripturally shaped depiction of their identity, as it has been created and shaped by their ‘conversion’ to Christ, and consequent alienation from their compatriots. Socio-Economic Status Initial Bibliography David G. Horrell, ‘Aliens and Strangers? The Socioeconomic Location of the Addressees of 1 Peter’, in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception, ed. Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 176–202, revised and expanded in idem, Becoming Christian, 100–132; Fika J. van Rensburg, ‘Constructing the Economic-Historic Context of 1 Peter: Exploring a Methodology’, HTS 67 (2011): 1–11; Travis B. Williams, ‘Benefiting the Community through Good Works? The Economic Feasibility of Civic Benefaction in 1 Peter’, JGRChJ 9 (2013): 147–95; idem, Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World, WUNT 337 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 68–104; Bruce W. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citizens, First-Century Christians in the Graeco-Roman World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 12–40.

In 1 Peter, there are few specific indications concerning the socioeconomic location of the recipients. Most are found in the so-called domestic code (1 Pet 2.18–3.7). The fact that the letter addresses communities across a very wide geographical area may in part explain the lack of specificity—though information on socio-economic position is brief and allusive even in more localized letters (like 1 Corinthians). The scarcity of evidence has not however prevented scholars from attempting to reconstruct the profile of the letter’s addressees.804 It is striking, though, that interpreters have 804   Some have been hesitant about such attempts, however. One example is Green, who argues that ‘there is no basis within the letter itself for suggesting that

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reached diametrically opposed conclusions regarding the audience’s socio-economic location. Scholarly proposals have located members of the audience at both ends of the socio-economic spectrum, ranging from wealthy ‘upper-class’ elites to poor tenant farmers living just above subsistence level. It is not uncommon to find Petrine scholars portraying the recipients of 1 Peter as mostly poorer members of Anatolian society.805 The reasons provided for such a judgment differ from interpreter to interpreter. For Elliott, the description of the addressees as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι forms the basis for a clear hypothesis regarding their socio-economic level: generally, they were ‘from the working proletariat of the urban and rural areas’, mostly the latter, and in ‘an inferior economic position’.806 Others reconstruct the poverty of the readers on the basis of ancient class struggle. Warden takes great effort to demonstrate that the readers, along with the majority of Christians, were recruited from the ‘lower classes’, and as a result, were engaged in conflict with the wealthier members of Greco-Roman society.807 At the other extreme are those who find substantial wealth among the Petrine congregations. According to Winter, some Christians to whom 1 Peter is addressed were economically affluent members of the socially elite who were capable of contributing generous amounts of money to their local communities through civic benefaction (euergetism).808 The basis for this view is the letter’s Peter’s audience occupied any rung on the ladder of economic measurement other than would have been characteristic of the broad spectrum of people living in Asia Minor, sans persons of the ruling elite’ (‘Identity and Engagement’, 90; repeated in idem, ‘Faithful Witness’, 285). 805   E.g., Reicke 73; McKnight 24–26, 47–52; Schlosser 32; see also Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 63, 67–73; Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu’, 395–97; Osborne, ‘Christian Suffering’, 255–59; Warden, ‘Alienation and Community’, 161–99; Lamau, Des chrétiens dans le monde, 97–99; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 10–11; van Rensburg, ‘Economic-Historic Context’, 1–11. 806   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 70. Cf. Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu’, 395–97; McKnight 24–26, 47–52; van Rensburg, ‘Economic-Historic Context’, 1–11. 807   Warden, ‘Alienation and Community’, 161–99; cf. also Reicke 72–73; Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 70–72; Lepelley, ‘Le contexte historique’, 50; Cothenet, ‘Le réalisme de l’espérance’, 569. 808   Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, 12–40. Those who have followed Winter’s benefaction proposal include: Marshall 84–85; Hiebert 166–67; Wither�ington 35, 144–45; see also Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 112–14; Poh, ‘Social



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persistent admonition for the readers to ‘do good’ and to undertake ‘good works’, language commonly used to describe euergetistic practice in the Hellenistic world. Further, when these good works were performed, the expectation was that it would bring praise from governing officials (1 Pet 2.13–14). Since this convention required the practitioner to possess a considerable amount of wealth, it is assumed that at least some of the recipients must have been financially capable of fulfilling such a request.809 These positions indicate the diversity of opinions that exist in Petrine scholarship. They also reveal the differing methodological approaches used to reconstruct socio-economic realities.810 The latter requires some consideration before moving to the evidence in the epistle. In relation to the nature and use of evidence required to answer questions about socio-economic status, there are two points that are particularly relevant. The first is the encyclical nature of 1 Peter. Because the letter is addressed to a broad group of Christian communities across Asia Minor, it represents—by necessity—a generalisation. Rather than depicting the economic circumstances in any particular congregation, the author’s portrayal most probably reflects the situation of early Christians in general—something that would be especially likely given its pseudonymous character. The second point involves the need to differentiate the varying socio-economic statuses among the recipients of the epistle. Petrine scholarship has often been guilty of treating the churches of Asia Minor as one undifferentiated group. But it is impossible to understand the situation of the readers, including the nature of the threats to which they would have been prone, without first distinguishing between the varying socio-economic levels within the community. World’, 130–34; Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations, 234–35; Fagbemi, ‘Transformation, Proclamation and Mission’, 215–16 (seems to support this position); Bird, Abuse, Power and Fearful Obedience, 82; Kloppenborg, ‘Civic Identity’, 105–106. 809   The problems with this proposal are addressed in Williams, ‘Benefiting the Community’, 147–95; and more fully in Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, esp. 68–104. 810   For attempts to model the economic scales and categories into which we might place the addressees of 1 Peter, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 105–10; Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 104–17; both of which draw on ground-breaking work by Friesen, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies’, 323–61, further developed in Scheidel and Friesen, ‘Size of the Economy’, 61–91; Longenecker, ‘Exposing the Economic Middle’, 243–78; Longenecker, Remember the Poor.

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The actual evidence indicating the socio-economic levels encom­passed within the Petrine communities is very limited. One point of relevance is the reference to ‘household slaves’ (οἰκέται, 1 Pet 2.18). In broad terms, the slave-status of this group would seem to place them near the bottom of the socio-economic scale. But given the variety within the roles performed (and thus statuses held) by ancient slaves, it would be misleading to imply that the socio-economic standing of all slaves was identical. Noteworthy is the fact that the author singles out a specific type of slave, ordinarily employed in daily administration of the household (οἰκέται), rather than simply addressing slaves (δοῦλοι) in general.811 Whereas the latter functioned in a variety of different roles, some being doomed to toil in extremely laborious and dangerous tasks (e.g., in the mines), the former might expect a somewhat more bearable existence—barring the brutality of a cruel master. In some cases, such domestic slaves were highly educated and versed in a variety of languages (Josephus, Ant. 20.264) with masters who entrusted them with important duties (cf. Josephus, War 1.233; Philo, Plant. 55).812 This distinction may be important in assessing their socio-economic condition. For while their slave-status would have generally placed the οἰκέται below freedmen and full citizens on the social hierarchy of the larger civic community, the economic situation of many would have been well above that of the indigent beggar. Because they served as important resources for their masters, οἰκέται would generally have been provided basic essentials such as food, clothing, and shelter. Their economic stability was thus greater than some who possessed freedom but little else. It was even possible for an οἰκέτης to accumulate at least a small amount of financial surplus, as indicated by the numerous οἰκέται who worked on the Appianus estate in the Fayum district of Roman Egypt.813 Nevertheless, for most οἰκέται the situation would hardly have 811   Cf. Carrez, ‘L’esclavage’, 213. On slavery in the cities of Asia Minor more generally, see Golubcova, ‘Sklaverei- und Abhängigkeitsformen’, 83–109. 812   Slaves were appointed to a range of positions (see Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity, 42–45), with consequently varied statuses, both in rural and urban contexts (see further Martin, Slavery as Salvation, 1–49). On the variety of roles, material welfare, and power of slaves in Roman society, see Bradley, Slavery and Society, 55–80. 813   See Rathbone, Economic Rationalism, 106–16.



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been comfortable. Even though food was normally provided, slaves were apportioned ‘the poorest and cheapest food in the household’.814 Moreover, when famine or financial difficulty struck the household, slaves were the first to feel the negative repercussions. In most cases, therefore, these οἰκέται would have been located near the bottom of the socio-economic spectrum. It is difficult to know what significance to draw from the fact that slave-owners are not directly addressed in the household code. Some have looked for a historical explanation: the omission is thought to indicate that there was no corresponding group of owners/masters within the churches addressed. By implication, then, the membership of these communities is said to have consisted primarily of those drawn from the lower rungs of the socio-economic ladder.815 This is, however, a precarious assumption, given the other NT texts where reciprocal teaching is also lacking, but where the existence of household-heads among the believers is explicitly indicated.816 Indeed, the letter itself indicates the presence of male heads of household among the addressees (cf. 1 Pet 3.7; 5.1–5, on which see below). Further, if the information provided by the Pauline letters is any indication of the ‘normal’ make-up of early Christian congregations, then it is likely that some were present (e.g., Eph 6.9; Col 4.1; Phlm); otherwise, we would need to explain why the Anatolian churches were somehow an exception to the demographic trend of early Christianity. The explanation for this omission thus seems to lie less in demographics and more in authorial purposes. The reason 814   Bradley, Slavery and Society, 101. Cf. Philo, Spec. 1.127; Tertullian, Apol. 14.1. 815   A view adopted by various commentators (e.g., Wand 8; Krodel 75; Michaels 172; Donelson 10; see also Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 70; Osborne, ‘Christian Suffering’, 257; van Rensburg, ‘Economic-Historic Context’, 8; cf. Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, 261). Alternative historical explanations are equally (if not more) likely, however. It is possible to argue, for instance, that the omission of any reference to masters may be indicative of the fact that their superior socioeconomic status created a much smaller threat for persecution than for a slave (cf. Schutter, Hermeneutic, 11 n. 48). 816   The instructions to slaves in 1 Tim 6.1–2 and Titus 2.9–10 provide one example. It is clear that the letters address leaders of churches who are heads of households (1 Tim 3.1–12; Titus 1.5–7), and there is some indication that these households included more than just wives and children (see 1 Tim 3.12). Other NT texts containing household codes do, of course, offer reciprocal instruction to slaves and masters (Col 3.22–4.1; Eph 6.5–9).

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why the author chose to focus on slaves, and to juxtapose their experience with that of Christ (2.18–25), was because their position and their vulnerability were paradigmatic of the way that Christians in a disadvantaged situation were expected to respond to suffering.817 The second passage that may provide some insight into the socio-economic status(es) of the readers is the warning directed at the women in these Anatolian communities. They are instructed not to adorn themselves with braided hair and gold ornamentation (1 Pet 3.3). ‘Jewelry…played a prominent role in Roman society in distinguishing one’s rank and state’, and ‘[i]n all periods it spoke of one’s wealth’.818 Likewise, complex hairstyles marked the rich and leisured women in Greco-Roman society.819 For this reason, many have understood this verse to be targeting women of substantial wealth.820 Others, however, have emphasised the fact that such a warning is a common topos in both Judeo-Christian and Greco-Roman moral exhortation,821 and therefore have questioned whether it truly reveals anything about the socio-economic standing of (some of) the audience.822 The situation is further complicated by the fact that it was not just the rich who were tempted by such practices. Women from other sectors of the socio-economic strata often sought to emulate the rich and powerful in their dress and appearance, although with less expensive imitations.823 There are two relevant considerations that help to add clarity to this issue. First, the earliest Christian communities known from other sources seem to have included some women with at least some surplus resources as well as influence. In a few cases, the wealth and status of women followers is made explicit (cf. Acts 17.4, 12). More   Cf. Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 206; Elliott 523; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 69; Horrell, ‘Image of Jesus in 1 Peter’, 307–308; de Wet, ‘Suffering Slave’, 15–24. 818   Stout, ‘Jewelry as a Symbol’, 83. 819   Croom, Roman Clothing, 96–105. 820   Examples include: Moffatt 130–31; Beare 155; Frankemölle 53; Davids 117–18; Achtemeier 212; Witherington 163–64; Watson 8. 821   See Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 101–103. Cf. Isa 3.16–4.1; T.Reu. 5.1–6; Philo, Sac. 21; Virt. 39–40; 1 Tim 2.9; Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 3.1.1; Tertullian, Cult. fem. 822   See, e.g., Michaels 172; Goppelt 221; Elliott 564; cf. also Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 68 n. 87. 823   Croom, Roman Clothing, 114. 817



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often, their socio-economic standing is indicated by the fact that they are singled out as the head of a household or because they provide patronage or support for the Christian mission (Rom 16.1–2; 1 Cor 1.11; Acts 16.14–15; cf. Col 4.15).824 Secondly, the stereotypical nature of this warning does not necessarily imply that no specific practice stands behind the admonition.825 We know that in some instances, wealth and opulence were acquired and displayed by early Christian women.826 Furthermore, one should assume, as Batten has noted, that ‘there must have been some women for whom the instructions were relevant, otherwise the teachings would be gratuitous’.827 These considerations help us to better understand what can and cannot be deduced about the socio-economic status(es) of women in 1 Peter. At most, this passage reveals that some Anatolian congre� gations would have included women who were householders and who possessed modest levels of resource and influence, placing them within the middle or perhaps even the upper-middle strata of the socio-economic scale. But given the allusive evidence and the encyclical nature of 1 Peter, we cannot say how many women would have fallen into this category or even how much wealth they would have possessed. In the end, our picture of the socioeconomic conditions of the women addressed has to be informed by

824   A few prominent women from Asia Minor are also included in the letters of Ignatius (Smyr. 13.2; Pol. 8.2). Drawing from the manner in which women represented themselves in honourary monuments and funerary inscriptions, Bain (Women’s Socioeconomic Status) has recently shown that women played a much larger role in Anatolian society than is often imagined. This conclusion has been used to support the hypothesis that women functioned in more prominent roles in the leadership of the early church than is sometimes acknowledged. For a recent general overview, see Hylen, Women in the New Testament World. 825   Below we will see that elders are warned against performing their duties ‘greedily’ (αἰσχροκερδῶς, see Exegesis at 5.2). While this is a common feature among instructions to church leaders, it was not without reason. Christian leaders faced serious temptation to use their position as a way of acquiring material gain (cf. Pol. Phil. 11.1–4, which describes Valens, an elder who gave into this temptation). 826   For some examples of opulence among Christians, see Deichmann, et al., ed., Repertorium der christlich-antiken Sarkophage, 33–45, with plate nos. 39–45. 827   Batten, ‘Neither Gold nor Braided Hair’, 497. Cf. also Achtemeier 212; Jobes 204; Horrell, ‘Addressees of 1 Peter’, 195–96.

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the general demographics of early Christianity more than anything specific within the Petrine congregations. A final indicator of socio-economic conditions among the Petrine communities lies in the specific warning given to the elders (πρεσβύτεροι) within the churches. In 1 Pet 5.2, this group is instructed to eagerly fulfill their duties within the local congregations, seeking to meet the needs of others rather than greedily (αἰσχροκερδῶς) seeking dishonest financial gain. The questions that naturally arise from this are: how much financial profit could the elders hope to gain (whether honestly or dishonestly), and what does that tell us about their (as well as the community’s) socioeconomic condition(s)? It appears that in some Christian communities elders received financial compensation for their services (1 Tim 5.17–18; cf. the material support of apostles: 1 Cor 9.3–12; Gal 6.6; Phil 4.10). Aside from this, they may have also been responsible for the oversight and management of the general funds of the entire community (Acts 5.1–5; 11.30; 1 Cor 16.1–2; 2 Cor 9.1–5). This is consistent with the situation of Valens, an elder who was removed from office within the church at Philippi. According to Polycarp, Valens’ failure was rooted in the love of money (Pol. Phil. 11.1–4). From this we can conclude that most Christian communities possessed some level of financial surplus. The difficulty is in determining how much these data reveal about the socio-economic status(es) of the readers. Since we cannot know how much surplus they might accumulate, we are only left to speculate. It hardly proves ‘wealth’, but more likely indicates the economy of those who share small surplus as and when possible.828 From the way that the author describes his readers, the letter seems to assume that the audience would have consisted of people from a range of socio-economic backgrounds.829 Slaves would have been placed at one end of the socio-economic spectrum, while some of those ‘elders’ and male household-heads, as well as some women with at least modest surplus, would have had more resources at their disposal—though there is little evidence to place them in the (small) groups of the really wealthy and elite; they are more likely   Cf. Schellenberg, ‘Subsistence, Swapping’.   Cf. Selwyn 49; Best 17; Achtemeier 55–57; see also Schultz, ‘Los destinatarios’, 129–32; Horrell, Becoming Christian, 100–32. 828 829



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from middling groups. This is consistent with the picture of early Christian communities that emerges from other sources. Early Christian epitaphs reveal the same diversity. From a slightly later time in Asia Minor, we find examples of Christians participating in a number of different occupations: shoemaker (Johnson, Epitaphs, no. 2.19), merchant (no. 3.13), wood carver (no. 3.14), baker (no. 3.15), goldsmith (no. 3.16), orchard keeper (no. 3.17), butcher (no. 3.18), and lawyer (no. 4.12). This picture is also consistent with the way that outsiders portrayed the Christian community. When Pliny writes about the Christian movement in this area a few decades after 1 Peter was composed, he notes that ‘a great many individuals of every age and class (ordinis), both men and women, are being brought to trial…’ (Ep. 10.96.9 [LCL]; cf. Tertullian, Apol. 1.7). Included among the group of Christians that Pliny questions are those of slave status, as well as some members who possessed the privilege of Roman citizenship. Socio-Historical Context Initial Bibliography Johannes B. Bauer, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief und die Verfolgung unter Domitian’, in Die Kirche des Anfangs: Für Heinz Schürmann, ed. Rudolf Schnackenburg, Joseph Ernst, and Joachim Wanke (Freiburg: Herder, 1978), 513–27; David G. Horrell, ‘The Label Χριστιανός: 1 Pet 4.16 and the Formation of Christian Identity’, JBL 126 (2007): 361–81’, revised and expanded in idem, Becoming Christian, 164–210; Claude Lepelley, ‘Le Contexte historique de la première lettre de Pierre: Essai d’interprétation’, in Études sur la première lettre de Pierre. Congrès de l’ACFEB, Paris 1979, ed. Charles Perrot, LD 102 (Paris: Cerf, 1980), 43–64; Joachim Molthagen, ‘Die Lage der Christen im römischen Reich nach dem 1. Petrusbrief: Zum Problem einer Domitianischen Verfolgung’, Historia 44 (1995): 422–58; Thomas P. Osborne, ‘Christian Suffering in the First Epistle of Peter’ (S.T.D. diss., Faculté de Théologie of the Université Catholique de Louvain [Louvain-la-Neuve], 1981), 255–91; Angelika Reichert, ‘Durchdachte Konfusion. Plinius, Trajan und das Christentum’, ZNW 93 (2002): 227–50; eadem, ‘Gegensätzliche Wahrnehmungen einer ambivalenten Krisensituation. Das Plinius-Trajan-Konzept, der 1. Petrusbrief und die Johannesapokalypse’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013), 281–302; Edward G. Selwyn, ‘The Persecutions in I Peter’, Bulletin of the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas 1 (1950): 39–50; P. Duane Warden, ‘Alienation and Community in

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1 Peter’ (Ph.D. diss., Duke University, 1986); Travis B. Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter: Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering, NovTSup 145 (Leiden: Brill, 2012).

Modern Perceptions of Suffering in 1 Peter The specific socio-historical situation that 1 Peter was written to address has been a matter of considerable debate. Most understand the letter as a response to circumstances in which the recipients are experiencing, or are liable to experience, various kinds of hostility, opposition, or persecution. In this way, there is assumed to be congruence between the conditions of the implied readers and the actual readers.830 The questions under dispute have concerned the type of suffering experienced by the readers, the agents who contributed toward the suffering, and the time period in which the suffering occurred.831 As we consider these issues, we will begin by tracing the contours of the debate.832 In doing so, we will uncover some important misconceptions about persecution that have significantly shaped the interpretive landscape. The first problem is the three-emperor persecution scheme that was adopted by most interpreters up until the early 1900s. This view held that early Christian history could be divided into three distinct periods of Christian persecution. While Christians had faced opposition from the beginning of the faith, 830   One of the few interpreters to question the reality of suffering in 1 Peter is Rousseau (‘Multidimensional Approach’, 257–59), who suggests that the addressees were actually lukewarm Christians whose lives were closely aligned with this present world. In response, the author wants to lead them to identify with the Christian life as one of suffering and persecution ‘in order to persuade them ultimately to accept their strangeness and uniqueness in the world’ (258). 831   The definition of ‘persecution’ from which we are working is as follows: any type of hostility or ill-treatment experienced by an individual or group (particularly minorities with little to no recourse for reciprocation) due to their race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or beliefs. Decock claims that ‘suffering’ in 1 Peter includes not only antagonism from those outside the community but also ‘all the suffering and difficulties, which are part of life in the flesh’ (‘Towards Maturity’, 2). Among these troubles, he would include problems such as the mortality experienced by humans and the internal struggles that individuals experience as a result of personal desire (2 n. 12). However, this definition of suffering stands outside the purview of the Petrine author. 832   For a more detailed treatment of this debate, see Williams, ‘Suffering from a Critical Oversight’, 271–88.



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what distinguished these persecutions from the conflict experienced in the intervening periods was the initiative and involvement of the Roman government. It was only during the respective reigns of the well-known ‘persecutors of the Church’ (Nero, Domitian, and Trajan) that the State exerted a concentrated effort to seek out and punish believers. With the history of Christian persecution so clearly demarcated, Petrine interpreters assumed that the conflict described in the epistle must be situated either within one of these three periods, or sometime shortly prior to the outbreak of statesponsored opposition. Scholars who took the latter approach often did so out of a conviction that 1 Peter was a genuine epistle of the apostle Peter. When they looked to the text to substantiate this view, they found the letter’s description of suffering to be relatively informal, with a tone that was thought to indicate a time when conflict between Christians and outsiders was only just beginning.833 The escalation into trials, torture, and even death were thought to be on the horizon. The author, it was argued, still held out hope that opponents might be won over by an upright and circumspect Christian lifestyle. For this reason, proponents often stressed the localised, inter-personal nature of suffering, which primarily included discrimination and verbal abuse. The readers’ suffering, as Huther noted, ‘consisted more in contumelies (Schmähungen) and revilings (Lästerungen) than in actual ill-treatment’.834 Or, as Keil described it, ‘Peter does not mention actual persecutions but only abuse and blasphemies of the Christians from the side of the gentiles, as has always come, and still continues to come from the unbelievers’.835 Others during this early period took a different route when assessing the same evidence. Still working from the assumption that the circumstances had to be connected to known periods of Christian persecution, some understood the letter as describing a 833   Some of its early proponents include: Augusti 184; Hensler 15–16; Steiger 1:33–36; Bloomfield 700; Wordsworth 41 n. 7, 65; Fronmüller 9; Barnes cviii, 117; Fausset 497; Alford, 126–28; Keil 33; Huther 30; Weidner 99, 162; Hort 1–5; Monnier 1, 112, 214, 220; Bigg 24–33, 80–88; Erdman 52. 834   Huther 30. 835   Keil 33: ‘Nicht eigentliche Verfolgungen erwähnt Petrus, sondern nur Schmähungen und Lästerungen der Christen vonseiten der Heiden, wie solche jederzeit vorgekommen sind und noch gegenwärtig vonseiten der Ungläubigen vorkommen’.

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somewhat more escalated situation. They envisioned a more formal mode of persecution (often referred to as ‘systematic persecution’) originating not simply from the local populace, but from an organised initiative on the part of the Roman State.836 Due to the official proscription of the Christian faith, the Roman government was said to have actively pursued its members. As described by Ramsay, ‘[t]he Christians are not merely tried when a private accuser comes forward against them, but are sought out for trial by the Roman officials’.837 In most cases, these trials were thought to result in capital punishment, whether in the form of crucifixion, burning, or ad bestias execution. Over time, these two positions came to be labelled the ‘unofficial’ persecution theory and the ‘official’ persecution theory, respectively. An important development in their history occurred during the mid- to late twentieth century. It was during this time that the three-emperor view of persecution fell into disrepute. Early church historians and NT scholars began to recognise that the persecution of Christians in the first few centuries was much more complicated than this clearly demarcated scheme allows, and that many of the historical assumptions upon which it was based are unfounded. At this period in history, no legislation was set down that outlawed Christianity, nor was there any indication that Christians were actively sought out by Roman authorities in a systematic way. Further, questions were raised about the involvement of Domitian and Trajan in the persecution of Christians. Because the ‘official’ persecution theory was closely associated with the three-emperor approach, its validity too was called into question. When this happened, there was a clear movement toward the ‘unofficial’ position,838 and by the latter half of the twentieth   Some of the early proponents include: Jülicher, Introduction, 211–13; Ramsay, Church in the Roman Empire, 279–95; Gunkel 251–52. For more propo�nents of this view, see below. 837   Ramsay, Church in the Roman Empire, 280–81 (emphasis added). Cf. Fuller, Critical Introduction, 157: ‘It is a deliberate policy of the state directed against “Christians” as such’. 838   This was the conclusion reached by various commentaries produced at this time (e.g., Selwyn, Schelkle, Spicq, Kelly). Factoring into this equation were a number of important articles as well (e.g., Selwyn, ‘Persecutions in I Peter’, 39–50; Moule, ‘Nature and Purpose’, 1–11). Not everyone moved in this direc�tion, however. There were still some during this period who wanted to connect the 836



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century a consensus had taken shape.839 The majority of scholars had reached an agreement that the suffering described in 1 Peter should be attributed to the animosity of the general populace rather than to any ‘official’ actions by Roman authorities, a view that remains the majority view today.840 It was within the process of this consensus formation that the second important misconception developed. As with any debate, an important way of clarifying one’s own position is by distinguishing it from alternatives. However, when scholars began to rehearse the different views on persecution, a false dichotomy arose. Interpreters set up ‘official’ and ‘unofficial’ theories of persecution as diametrically opposed and exclusive interpretative options. In doing so, they effectively masked other more nuanced approaches that had been (and would be) discussed, including considerations about the subsidiary cause of the persecutions and the role of Roman authorities. Yet, it is these points—which have played almost no role in the discussion until recently—that hold the key to understanding the socio-historical situation in 1 Peter. The first consideration that has often been overlooked is the subsidiary cause of the persecutions. Rather than viewing the conflict as the result of laws passed by the Roman government that proscribed the Christian faith, it may be more appropriate to stress the influence of the Neronian pogroms, both on the local populace and on governing officials.841 These set a precedent for the future treatment of Christians, which spilled over into the provinces. This persecutions of 1 Peter with either Domitian and Trajan (e.g., Knox, ‘Pliny and I Peter’, 187–89; McCaughey, ‘Three “Persecution Documents” ’, 27–40; Bauer, ‘Verfolgung unter Domitian’, 513–27). 839   It is interesting to note that Elliott’s survey of the field in 1975 (later printed in 1976) involved a criticism of the ‘official’ persecution theory, which included not simply Beare (who was Elliott’s main target) but also ‘many scholars’ who relate the conflict ‘to an imperial persecution against Christians undertaken in the reign of Trajan’ (Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 251). This can be contrasted with the asser� tion of Cothenet a little over a decade later regarding the fact that ‘the majority of commentators’ (La majorité des commentateurs) at that time subscribed to the ‘unofficial’ persecution view (‘La Première de Pierre’, 3703). 840   See Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, 203. Cf. also Webb, ‘Petrine Epistles’, 382–83. 841   Cf. Masterman 22: ‘Now though the Neronian persecution was confined to Rome, a step of this kind, taken by Imperial authority, would be certain to form a precedent for Provincial Governors, and there was therefore good reason to fear

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idea was clearly stressed by Moffatt many years ago: ‘After the Neronic wave had passed over the capital, the wash of it was felt on the far shores of the provinces’. That is, ‘the provincials would soon hear of it, and, when they desired a similar outburst at the expense of local Christians, all that was needed was a proconsul to gratify their wishes, and some outstanding disciple like Antipas or Polykarp to serve as a victim’.842 Nevertheless, many scholars have overlooked the implications of this informal precedent because they have assumed that persecution would have naturally been grounded in formal legal regulations. A second, and perhaps more important, point of emphasis is the need for a more nuanced perspective on the role of Roman authorities in the persecution of Christians. In most discussions on the subject, the only role assigned to Roman authorities is the organised and active pursuit of Christians around the empire in an effort to eliminate the faith. Clearly, this was not the case in 1 Peter. But it does not, therefore, rule out any participation by governmental officials, as many have wrongly assumed.843 The reason is because it is impossible to separate popular hostility from legal accusations within first-century Asia Minor. As noted by Moffatt, ‘the action of governors was usually stimulated by private information laid that the persecution would extend to other parts of the Empire’. See also Plumptre 62; Bennett 45; Wand 17. 842   Moffatt, Introduction, 326–27. It is noteworthy how much the traditional dichotomy shapes interpreters’ conclusions. Drawing attention to the reference to suffering ὡς Χριστιανός in 1 Pet 4.16, Hiebert notes how some scholars have used this verse to situate the persecutions shortly after the Neronian pogroms (ca. 65–67 CE). Then, although he correctly acknowledges that the view ‘assumes that Roman officials in the Asian provinces would readily have followed the action of the emperor in the capital’, for some reason, Hiebert attempts to summarily rule out this proposal because, according to him, ‘there is no firm evidence that the Neronian edict [sic] resulted in systematic persecution of Christians outside of Rome’ (27; emphasis added). Such a conclusion reveals the failure to consider that there may be a median position which allows for the persecution of Christians as Christians following the Neronian pogroms, but which would not be equated with ‘official’, systematic persecution resulting from an imperial edict. 843   The importance of focusing on provincial and local officials as well as the Roman legal system, rather than simply limiting the discussion to imperially sponsored initiatives, was emphasised in past years by various interpreters (see, e.g., Warden, ‘Alienation and Community’; idem, ‘Imperial Persecution’, 203–12; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 14–17; cf. Molthagen, ‘Die Lage der Christen’, 422–58); nevertheless, this suggestion has not factored into the modern consensus.



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by angry citizens’.844 Therefore, we must be open to the potential involvement of Roman authorities, even when they are not actively seeking out Christians for punishment.845 Causes of Suffering in 1 Peter As we look to move past the simple dichotomy of ‘official’ versus ‘unofficial’ persecution,846 we will begin by considering the cause(s) behind the readers’ troubles. Why had the Petrine audience begun to experience conflict? There were two key contributing factors. Part of the problem stemmed from the social reorientation 844   Moffatt, Introduction, 326; cf. also Knopf 23. Even those who acknowl�edge this fact are still sometimes cautious about postulating the role of local and provincial officials in the conflict because the text never explicitly states their involvement (see Vahrenhorst, ‘Leiden als Gnade’, 65). 845   Even when the ‘official’–‘unofficial’ distinction is not properly made, this connection between formal and informal measure is beginning to be granted in scholarship (see, e.g., Sun, True Grace, 181). It is probably going too far, however, to claim that ‘to negate persecution and the role and influence of [the] Roman Empire in the plight of [the] Christian community is sheer colonial interpretation’ (Cherian, ‘Suffering in 1 Peter’, 39). 846   In our previous efforts to challenge the modern consensus, we have perhaps not been sufficiently clear in explaining how scholarship should move past the ‘official’ vs. ‘unofficial’ dichotomy. We are not exactly ‘argu[ing] that what we have in 1 Peter is both official and unofficial persecution’ (Schreiner 260). Rather, we seek to problematize the dichotomous distinction between ‘official’ and ‘unofficial’ and to redescribe the likely experiences and processes. These two designations are inadequate to fully capture the complexity of the conflict experienced by Christians during the first few centuries. As such, we suggest that interpreters move away from using these labels to describe two alternative forms of persecution/suffering. Another option might be to focus on the ways in which conflict could escalate through various levels, distinguishing between non-escalated forms of conflict that often found their resolution through informal means (e.g., verbal abuse, discrimination) and escalated forms of conflict that were generally—though not always (e.g., mob stoning)—resolved through formal channels, given the accusatorial process by which members of the public brought charges (e.g., legal trials, ad bestias execution). Yet during the first three centuries even these types of distinctions have their limitations. In Roman Asia Minor, informal conflict could quickly and easily transform into something more formal and escalated. The evidence from the first three centuries suggests that all Christians shared the same perilous legal status following the Neronian persecution: Christianity was ‘effectively illegal’ in that the mere profession of one’s faith could (but did not have to) be treated as a punishable offence at the governor’s tribunal if one was so charged by another private citizen, or at the whim of a governor (see further below).

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that took place upon the readers’ conversion. This involved not only a withdrawal from activities that were normative in GrecoRoman culture, it also included a lifestyle marked by ‘good works’, which many outsiders looked upon with disapproval. The other factor that led to conflict was the legal status of Christians. By the latter half of the first century CE, the Christian faith had become effectively illegal (though what we mean by this needs careful definition). Although no formal legislation had been passed against the religion, the simple adherence to Christianity—and that alone— could nonetheless be treated as a punishable offence in a Roman court of law, if one was taken to court by a private accuser. We will consider each of these causes in turn. According to 1 Pet 4.3–4, the Christian communities were experi� encing conflict with those outside the church because of social withdrawal. Prior to their conversion, some (or all?) members of the audience had been involved in certain social activities, and upon joining the Christian faith they were no longer able to continue in these practices. In response, some of their former associates— perhaps friends, family, and neighbours—had begun to vilify them. The verse (4.3) is a stock denunciation of ‘pagan’ behaviour, and so it may not provide direct insight into the types of activities that defined the readers’ former lifestyle. The encyclical nature of the epistle would suggest that each situation and each congregation would be somewhat different.847 Nonetheless, there are two conclusions that can be drawn. First, the agitators from whom hostility is experienced are most likely fellow Gentiles rather than Jews.848 847   Some question whether the historical situation can actually be diagnosed. See Sigismund, ‘Identität durch Leiden’, 205: ‘letztendlich weder aus dem Ersten Petrusbrief noch aus der Rezeption der Leidenssituation historisch valide Rückschlüsse aus Art und Umfang der Verfolgung zur Zeit der Abfassung dieses Briefes möglich sind’. 848   This conclusion runs contrary to the suggestion of van Unnik (‘Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19’, 79), who contends that the agitators were Jewish. He notes, ‘nowhere do we read that they suffered from the pagan authorities’, and thus he rules out this possibility. Likewise, he discounts any persecution from the general populace of pagan society on the basis that ‘we read nothing about that either’. His conclusion, then, is that the slander and ridicule experienced by the readers derived from the synagogue. Interestingly enough, he does not apply the same criterion to his suggestion. If he had, it too would have been ruled out, because the epistle fails to mention Jewish hostility arising out of the synagogue.



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Second, the problem involved withdrawal from activities that were common (and expected?) in Anatolian society. The author focuses a considerable amount of attention on his readers’ former way of life (1 Pet 1.14, 18; 2.9, 25; 4.3–4) in comparison with the type of conduct that is required ‘in Christ’ (3.16). In seeking to confirm the latter while denigrating the former, it seems that part of his paraenetic strategy is to encourage them to maintain a level of social separation—a separation that was begun at conversion. This leaves us to ask about the types of activities from which the audience may have withdrawn. One such activity, which may have led to criticism, is the worship of the traditional gods. The refusal of Christians to acknowledge other deities in sacrifice or in worship was an affront to ancient sentiments and was, according to some sources, the reason why Christians were hated (cf. Diogn. 2.6).849 Their abandonment of the traditional gods posed a serious threat to the wider community. Not only could it create significant economic loss for local businesses whose financial stability was tied up in the worship of Greek and Roman deities (Acts 19.23–27; cf. Pliny, Ep. 10.96.10), the ‘atheism’ of Christians was believed to disturb and displease the gods (Athenagoras, Leg. 4; Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 6). As a result, the actions of a few Christians, it was believed, might put an entire community at risk.850 As Tertullian explains, when disaster struck, the blame was often placed on the Christians who refused to participate in the traditional cults which maintained the pax deorum: ‘If the Tiber reaches the walls, if the Nile does not rise to the fields, if the sky doesn’t move or the earth does, if there is 849   In some cases, pagans broke into Christian meetings and attempted to pressure them to recant and to sacrifice to the gods, even threatening to accuse them (as Christians) before the authorities if they refused (Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 1.20). According to Justin Martyr, in some instances the denial of the gods could lead to threats of death (1 Apol. 25.1; cf. Tertullian, Apol. 10.1). At times, these threats materialised, as in the case of the bishop Polycarp, who was condemned to death as ‘the destroyer of our gods (ὁ τῶν ἡμετέρων θεῶν καθαιρέτης), who teaches many not to sacrifice or worship’ (Mart. Pol. 12.2; trans. Holmes). 850   Levieils, Contra Christianos, 368–91. It is possible that the later ‘confession inscriptions’ (Beichtinschriften) from southwest Asia Minor (see Petzl, ed., Die Beichtinschriften Westkleinasiens) reveal how this problem was viewed within pagan society. According to Schnabel (‘Divine Tyranny’, 160–88), the multiplica�tion of these stelae—which were set up to appease the gods as a result of the sins of the people—may have been due to the spread of Christianity in these areas.

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famine, if there is plague, the cry is at once: “The Christians to the lion!” ’ (Apol. 40.2; trans. Glover [LCL]). Among Petrine commentators, it is usually acknowledged that the lack of participation in traditional cultic activities would have spurred conflict within local communities. In 1 Peter, we are supplied with ample evidence to suggest that the Anatolian readers had previously participated in the worship of Greek and Roman gods and that upon conversion they withdrew from these former practices. As we demonstrated above,851 the letter appears to have been written to a group of churches composed predominantly of Gentile Christians. Therefore, it is natural to assume a prior association with the traditional cults. Their withdrawal from these activities is presumed in 1 Pet 1.18, where the author describes their conversion to Christianity as being ‘ransomed from the futile (ματαίας) ways inherited from your ancestors (πατροπαραδότου)’.852 This thesis receives further support in 1 Pet 4.3, which reveals that one of the reasons why the audience was being attacked by former alliances was because of their refusal to partake in ἀθεμίτοις εἰδωλολατρίαις (‘lawless idolatries’). Even though this description is found in a formulaic Christian critique of Greco-Roman lifestyle (Gal 5.20; Did. 5.1; Barn. 20.1 cf. Col 3.5), it nonetheless presupposes that a withdrawal from pagan worship would result in public backlash. As such, we might assume that this type of conflict was typical among those who converted to Christianity and is indicated as such in 1 Peter.853   See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity.   The terms that are chosen to depict the readers’ former way of life (ἀνασ­ τροφή) would appear to confirm their prior participation in pagan worship. As noted by Elliott, ‘The adjective mataios (“futile”) and its paronyms are regularly used by Israelites and Christians to condemn the idolatrous ways of the pagans as “empty,” “useless,” “worthless,” “lacking in honor” (Jer 2:5; 8:19; Esth 4:17; 3 Macc 6:11; Acts 14:15; Rom 1:21; Eph 4:17)’ (370; see further TDNT 4:519– 24). Likewise, the word πατροπαράδοτος is often employed by Christian authors to condemn the former influences of paganism and idolatry in the lives of Gentiles (see van Unnik, ‘Critique of Paganism’, 129–42). 853   Cf. Herm. Sim. 9.21.3, which refers to the ‘double-minded’ who ‘worship idols because of their cowardice and are ashamed of the name of their Lord whenever they hear about a persecution’ (trans. Holmes). Note also the degree to which sacrifice to the gods was a point of contention between Jews living in urban communities across the Greco-Roman world (Josephus, Ant. 4.137–138; 12.125–126; Ag. Ap. 2.66). 851 852



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Scholars are often much more sceptical, however, about whether the imperial cults854 created the same difficulty for the Anatolian congregations. Within Petrine studies, there has been considerable hesitancy to view emperor worship as an underlying cause of the readers’ troubles. For some, these reservations stem from the fact that the epistle apparently never addresses the issue directly.855 Others have argued that since the central and eastern portions of Asia Minor were untouched by the affects of Romanization, the imperial cults would have played little to no part in the conflict situation.856 Nevertheless, the ancient evidence reveals the pervasiveness of the imperial cults across Asia Minor and the impactful role they played in the lives of provincial inhabitants. Roman imperial cults pervaded the urban (and rural) landscape of Asia Minor. All the extant examples of the Res Gestae Divi Augusti come from Asia Minor, specifically from Galatia, including the most complete example from the temple of Rome and Augustus in Ancyra.857 These cults also included not simply the provincial cults, which were scattered across the region, but also the various municipal cults and even household shrines. As Friesen has noted, ‘We should expect that most—if not all—small cities and towns had imperial temples, some more modest than others, that 854   The designation ‘the imperial cult’ is avoided here due to the fact that it suggests more uniformity than the phenomenon exhibited within the various local manifestations, and because it could be taken to imply a distinction between the cult of the emperor and other traditional cults (see Beard, North, and Price, Religions of Rome, 318; cf. also Friesen, ‘Normal Religion’, 24, who suggests adopting the plural, ‘imperial cults’). 855   So, e.g., Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 86, 138; Lampe and Luz, ‘Nachpaulinisches Christentum’, 198–99; Michaels lxvi; Elliott 501. Many ancient historians, likewise, believe that emperor worship played a very small role in the early persecution of Christians. It is often pointed out that the failure to sacrifice to the emperor is rarely mentioned as a source of conflict in the early Christian martyrdom accounts. Rather, it is the lack of reverence shown to the gods that caused the greatest problems (so, e.g., de Ste Croix, ‘Why Were the Early Chris�tians Persecuted?’, 10; Millar, ‘Imperial Cult’, 151). Other interpreters, however, are more open to the problems caused by imperial cults (e.g., Zinsmeister, ‘Kirche in der Fremde?’, 206–207; Nef Ulloa and Lopes, ‘Identidade’, 747–48). 856   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 62: ‘The direct confrontation with the imperial cult in the cities of Asia…can by no means be assumed as the situation underlying the social problems of the Christians in the hinterlands of Bithynia, Pontus, Galatia and Cappadocia’. 857   See Brunt and Moore, Res Gestae Divi Augusti, 1–2.

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complemented the array of religious institutions of each community’.858 Despite the dearth of architectural evidence from these sites, what little material evidence we possess depicts widespread participation in the cult across the provinces of Asia, Pontus-Bithynia, and Galatia-Cappadocia.859 The pervasiveness of this system within civic communities is significant as well. Rather than simply being a religio-political litmus test for Christians who were on trial before the governor, the imperial cults were an inescapable part of everyday life in Roman Asia Minor, with imperial ideology being perpetuated through the alteration of civic space (e.g., temples, statues, inscriptions) and social entertainment/leisure (e.g., festivals, games). While the threat posed by lack of participation in the imperial cults may not have been as great as the abstention from that of the traditional gods, this institution did cause problems for early Christians. Tertullian later describes the lack of participation in emperor worship as a primary reason for public hatred: ‘this is why Christians are public enemies,—because they will not give the Emperors vain, false and rash honours; because, being men of a true religion, they celebrate the Emperors’ festivals more in heart than in frolic’ (Apol. 35.1; trans. Glover [LCL]; cf. Idol. 15). This, of course, may not have been the experience of every Christian. The Anatolian congregations would have included believers who participated to varying degrees in the social, political, and religious life of their communities, and their exposure to censure would have depended largely on the limits of their conformity and resistance.860 Thus, it would not have been a case where Christians were being forced (at any level) to worship the emperor, but their lack of participation meant abstention from a variety of social and political structures, which further fueled the negative sentiments. Regardless of the fact that 1 Peter does not specifically attribute the persecution to the imperial cults, it is possible therefore that some of the negative reaction described in the letter stems from the   Friesen, Imperial Cults, 61.   See Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 245–54. For further documentation, see Price, Rituals and Power; cf. also Sventitskaya, ‘Polis and Empire’, 33–51 (Russian); Süss, ‘Kaiserkult und Urbanistik’, 249–81. 860   For a description of the potential levels of conformity and resistance that could have been practised by the readers, see Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 186–201. 858 859



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audience’s failure to participate in the emperor cult and its related activities. The lack of involvement in this institution certainly held out the potential for conflict. At the very least, we might say that emperor worship was at least one issue in the author’s mind when he composed the letter. There are indeed various points in the letter where the Petrine author engages in a subtle critique of Rome and its imperial ideology.861 One point of criticism seems to be aimed directly at the emperor himself: in 1 Pet 2.13–14, the readers are told to ‘submit to every human creature because of the Lord, whether the emperor as supreme or the governor as sent by him’. As Achtemeier notes, ‘[t]he specific qualification of the emperor as a human being almost surely points to an increasing tendency, particularly evident in Asia Minor, to regard the emperor as divine, and thus gives a polemic edge to this verse’.862 Through his unusual word choice (ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις), the Petrine author makes an ontological distinction between the emperor, who is merely a created being, and God who is the ultimate creator (cf. 1 Pet 4.19). In doing so, he subtlely undercuts the exalted claims about the divinity of the emperor perpetuated by the imperial cults.863 The carefully crafted exhortations of 2.17 (τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε) also reveal a deliberate and influential distinction between what is properly owed to God (viz. fear) and to the emperor (viz. honour).864 Beyond their withdrawal from traditional forms of religious devotion, the readers’ abandonment of their former ‘pagan’ lifestyles might have included abstention from numerous social activities.   See Introduction: Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter.   Achtemeier 182–83. In the material and documentary evidence from Asia Minor, the title θεός is often attributed to a deceased emperor. This tendency is prominently displayed in the ‘son of god’ (θεοῦ υἱός) designation that is so frequently employed on coins and in inscriptions. Even living emperors, on occasion, were referred to in this way. An inscription from Priene refers to Domitian as, ‘Emperor Domitian Caesar Augustus Germanicus, the unconquered god (θεὸν ἀνίκητον)’ (I.Priene 229), and in Laodicea, one Neronian coin reads, ‘the divine (θεός) Nero Augustus’ (RPC I 2923). The designation θεός was often avoided in provincial cult contexts, especially during the early Empire. Nevertheless, it did appear with somewhat more frequency in municipal cults (see Habicht, ‘Die Augusteische Zeit’, 83–84; cf. also Fujii, ‘Imperial Cult’, 159–66). 863   On this critique of the emperor and popular claims about him, see Williams, ‘Divinity and Humanity of Caesar’, 131–47. 864   See further Horrell, ‘Honour Everyone’, 192–210. 861 862

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Rather than identifying a specific form of social withdrawal, it might be better to imagine the possibilities by considering the various ways that early Christians failed to conform to cultural expectations. Some early believers found their Christian faith difficult to reconcile with Roman spectacles, and so they refused to attend (cf. Tertullian, Spect. 1–30; Apol. 15.5; Tatian, Or. 22–24). Others, likewise, disparaged all attempts by Christians to hold municipal office (Origen, Cels. 8.75). Attendance at the Roman baths was another common social custom that Christians may not have been able to reconcile with their new faith. While most believers seem ambivalent toward the baths, some would no doubt have spurned them due to the ‘idols’ with which they were decorated and their association with sexual immorality.865 Meals and group associations, which often included some element of sacrifice or consumption of sacrificial meat,866 would have also presented problems for some Christians, as is documented in other early sources (cf. 1 Cor 8.1–13; 10.27–30; Did. 6.3). It is at this point that many treatments end their discussions on the cause(s) of conflict in 1 Peter. But there is more to the problem than just social withdrawal. It appears that certain behaviours   In one story, the apostle John is described as entering the baths, only to be repelled by the presence of the heretic Cerinthus (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.28); thus, it seems that some Christians did participate (cf. Tertullian, Apol. 42.2). On the other hand, Clement of Alexandria—while approving of bathing for health purposes—does mention that bathing is only proper if lustful thoughts are not present (Paed. 3.5, 9). The issue of lust created by mixed bathing (and also because of the prostitutes that frequented the baths) remained a problem that later church writers were forced to address (see Dvorjetski, Leisure, Pleasure and Healing, 404–17). On the idols that decorated the baths, see Tertullian, Spec. 8; Idol. 15.6. Possibly in connection with these idols, some Christian texts portray the baths as haunted by demons (see Bonner, ‘Demons of the Bath’, 203–208; cf. Dunbabin, ‘Dangers of the Baths’, 33–46). 866   The cultic dimension of group membership in the ancient world can be seen in a monument from Panormos (in the province of Asia), which contains a relief of an actual meeting of a local voluntary association (GIBM IV.2 1007; cf. I.Apameia 35). The relief presents a three-part design: the gods honoured by the club (Zeus, Artemis, and Apollo) stand above the members holding libation bowls for sacrifice; reclining below are the members of the association; and beneath the members is the group’s entertainment (flute player, woman dancing, percussionist, wine mixing). Such a depiction reveals that the club understood its activities as integrally connected to the realm of the gods (cf. I.Eph. 719: ‘the physicians who sacrifice to ancestor Asclepius and to the Sebastoi’). 865



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and/or activities of the Christian community were also contributing to the problem. In particular, the letter indicates on a number of occasions that the ‘good works’ of the readers were (and would continue to be) a cause of hostility and suffering.867 In 1 Pet 2.20, the author draws a causal link between suffering and doing good: ‘If you endure when suffering for doing good (εἰ ἀγαθοποιοῦντες καὶ πάσχοντες ὑπομενεῖτε), this finds favour with God’. Likewise, in 3.16 the audience’s ‘good conduct’ (τὴν ἀγαθὴν ἀναστροφήν) is expected to be maligned (lit. ‘those who disparage your good conduct’). This causal connection between good works and social conflict is then made even more explicit in the following verse: ‘for it is better to suffer for doing good (ἀγαθοποιοῦντας…πάσχειν), if it be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil’ (3.17). An explicit claim that good works may produce hostility is found in 3.14a. After posing the rhetorical question, ‘who will harm you if you are zealous for the good’ (v. 13), the author immediately qualifies his claim, noting, ‘but even if you should have to suffer for righteousness sake (πάσχοιτε διὰ δικαιοσύνην), you would be blessed’ (v. 14a). In each of these instances, good deeds are not merely 1 Peter’s prescribed response toward their present conflict, they are part of the antecedent cause. In other words, the Petrine author is asking his readers to continue the very behaviour(s) that originally caused the hostility.868

867   Some have attempted—in our opinion, unsuccessfully—to explain this evi­ dence differently. This is the case in the recent treatment of Carter, who draws unnecessary distinctions to avoid the implication of attributing suffering to good deeds. He argues, ‘It is true that the author acknowledges that suffering for doing good is possible (2:20; 3:14, 17; perhaps 3:6), and in referring to it three or four times he implies that it does sometimes happen. But it is never presented as probable (that is, likely to be experienced by most Christians), let alone normal’ (Restored Order, 145 [original emphasis]; cf. also Schreiner 136 n. 45, who notes that ‘even though the [un]believers may have criticized the believers for their good works’, this happened ‘probably as a secondary rationalization’). Nevertheless, in both 2.20 and 3.16, the Petrine author presents suffering for doing good not as a possibility but as an expectation. Further, the fact that the author, on multiple occasions, draws a causal link between good deeds and persecution (2.20; 3.14, 16, 17; cf. also 3.6; 4.19)—particularly within such a brief correspondence—implies an expectation that the good deeds of Christians, their ‘lifestyle’ in Christ, would likely (and perhaps, regularly?) generate conflict. 868   For a full defence of this position, see Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter.

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What type of conduct would generate such animosity from non-Christians? The Petrine author, while not setting out a comprehensive set of ethical guidelines, does describe the type of behaviour that is appropriate for Jesus followers. Some of the good deeds are actions that Greco-Roman society normally acknowledged with approval. The letter’s encouragement to be subordinate to existing authorities is a case in point. On a political level, believers were expected to submit to both the emperor and the governor (1 Pet 2.13– 14, 17). Insofar as these instructions aligned with socially approved conduct, they were not the kind that normally led to censure.869 Thus, Christians were not always and invariably performing deeds that were contrary to Greek and Roman standards. In other cases, however, these good deeds extend to behaviours that God alone approved. This would have been the case with the exclusive devotion that the readers were expected to show toward their God (1 Pet 2.17; cf. 4.3: ἀθέμιτος εἰδωλολατρία). The freedom (cf. 2.16) given to women and slaves to devote themselves exclusively to Christ (cf. 3.15), separate from the oversight of their husbands and masters, respectively, represents conduct that ran counter to the traditional expectations of Greco-Roman society.870 It is not difficult to imagine the friction that such independent religious orientation would have caused.871 What is more, deviance theory suggests that even acts that might not have otherwise been offensive to ‘pagan’ sensitivities   The problem came in defining how the emperor was to be honoured. Whereas most ‘pagans’ would have understood this to mean active participation in imperial cults, many Christians would have sought alternative means of fulfilling this duty. There were various ways that Christians might demonstrate their loyalty toward the emperor while still showing ultimate deference to God. Following the example of the Jews (cf. Ezra 6.10; 1 Macc 7.33; m. ’Abot 3.2), some Christians were willing to offer prayers for the emperor (1 Tim 2.2; 1 Clem. 60.4–61.2; Tertullian, Apol. 30–32). Others might erect an inscription to the emperor or even dedicate a public structure on his behalf (see Harland, ‘Honouring the Emperor’, 115). 870   On the expectation that a slave would adopt his or her master’s religion, see Bömer, Epilegomena, 247. On the expectation that a wife would follow her husband’s religion, see Plutarch, Conj. praec. 19 (Mor. 140D). 871   The numerous examples of marital strife caused by a wife’s conversion to Christianity suggest that independent religious initiative was viewed as an act of rebellion (cf. Justin, 2 Apol. 2; Tertullian, Scap. 3.4; Apol. 3.4; Ux 2.5.4; Augustine, Conf. 9.9.19; Passion of Anastasia; To Gregoria). 869



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would have been magnified and repudiated as aberrant. This may have been the case, for instance, when Christians displayed loyal love toward one another (1 Pet 1.22; 4.8) or when they exercised their spiritual gifts within the Christian community (4.10–11). This negative labelling is confirmed by early polemic against the Christians for their incest, cannibalism, and other deeply offensive practices.872 Given such general suspicion, the Petrine author probably does not have any specific conduct in mind when he describes the negative response toward the good works of Christians. This is a general comment about hostility shown toward Jesus followers based on their newly adopted lifestyle. Aside from the behavioural cause of suffering, there was also the legal situation that further exacerbated the threats described in 1 Peter.873 It is widely accepted that during the second and third centuries, the legal status of Christians might best be described as ‘effectively illegal’; that is, adherence to the Christian religion could be treated as a punishable offence in a Roman courtroom if one was so charged by a private accuser, despite the fact that there were no laws or edicts proscribing it. In this situation, one’s simple adherence to the Christian faith could be treated as a capital crime. The crucial question is whether this situation pertains in the time of 1 Peter. The purported dialogue between Lucius (a Christian) and Q. Lollius Urbicus (consul and prefect of Rome), recorded by Justin Martyr (2 Apol. 2), is particularly enlightening with regard to the legal status of Christians during this period. After Urbicus sentences Ptolemaeus to execution for confessing Christianity, an innocent bystander named Lucius asks, ‘What is the reason for this sentence? Why have you brought a conviction against this man who is not an adulterer or a fornicator or a murderer or a thief or a robber, nor has performed any misdeed at all, but only confesses to bear the name Christian?’ (Justin, 2 Apol. 2.16). In response, Urbicus inquires as to whether Lucius might be a Christian as well. When Lucius responds positively, he too is led away for execution. 872   For records of such polemic, see, e.g., Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.7.11; 5.1.14, 26; 9.5.2; Justin, 1 Apol. 26; 2 Apol. 12; Tertullian, Apol. 2.5; 6.11–7.5. 873   A helpful discussion of one who recognises the social and governmental aspects of persecution in 1 Peter is provided by Steenberg, ‘Reversal of Roles’, 74–102.

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The important point to notice is that there was no crime for which either man was being charged other than adherence to the Christian faith.874 It has been the assumption of many Petrine commentators— whether implicit or explicit—that there was a categorical distinction between the persecutions described in 1 Peter and those that took place during the second and third centuries CE. The latter, it is assumed, mark a period of further escalated tension between the church and the Roman state wherein the mere confession of one’s faith was sufficient to secure the punishment of Roman authorities. The former, by contrast, are thought to depict a somewhat less contentious relationship prior to the time at which Christianity was branded as a punishable offence (cf. Acts 18.12–16; 23.25–30; 24–26). Different historical events are used as lines of demarcation. The persecution of Decius (249–251 CE) is commonly regarded as the first empire-wide persecution of Christians that was sanctioned by the Roman state. In this way, it is thought to mark the beginning of ‘official’ persecution. Due to the fact that 1 Peter is far removed from this later proscription of Christianity, commentators are thus able to label the conflict recorded in the epistle as ‘unofficial’ persecution.875 Yet, there are two problems with using the Decius’ conflict to inform our understanding of 1 Peter. The first is that it is grounded in a dichotomy that falsely separates governmental involvement in Christian suffering from the informal conflict which Christians experienced with the general populace (see above). The second problem is that the edict of Decius was not a direct attack on Christianity.876 All inhabitants—both Christians and non-Christians alike—were required to demonstrate their allegiance to the gods 874   Other examples that illustrate the effective illegality of Christianity during this period include: Scill. Mart. 14; Acts of Justin and his Companions; Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas; Martyrdom of Polycarp; Acts of the Martyrs of Lyons and Vienne. 875   See, e.g., Achtemeier 33 n. 333; Elliott 98; Senior 7–8; Prigent 132; Wither�ington 215. 876   For more on the Decian persecution, see Clarke, ‘Persecution of Decius’, 63–77; Molthagen, Der römische Staat, 61–84; Pohlsander, ‘Religious Policy’, 1826–42; Rives, ‘Decree of Decius’, 135–54; Selinger, Persecutions of Decius, 27–82.



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through traditional sacrifice.877 The monitoring and enforcement of individual compliance to standard religious acts was an innovation, but these actions were nonetheless categorically distinct from the searching out of Christians simply on the basis of their outlawed status. Another way that commentators attempt to distance the situation from governmental involvement is by differentiating the suffering in 1 Peter from the difficulties that Christians experienced under the governorship of Pliny during the early second century. At this time, Christians were brought to trial by private accusers, and those who refused to recant their confession of Christ were put to death (Pliny, Ep. 10.96). According to Jobes, ‘the situation in 1 Peter appears to reflect a time when the threat had not yet escalated to that point, which indicates an earlier time in Asia Minor than that indicated in Pliny’s letters’.878 However, there are clear similarities between the circumstances described by Pliny and the situation of the Petrine readers some years earlier.879 The reason why a comparison is informative is because the same legal procedures on display in the Pliny correspondence would have also been used by late first-century governors in Asia Minor: throughout the Principate, cases that reached the provincial tribunal were normally tried through the process of cognitio, wherein the formal procedure of the trial, the rendering of a verdict, and the dispensing of appropriate punishments were all dependent upon the personal discretion of the governor.880 877   The commissions did not discriminate between age, sex, or socio-economic status. Both the elderly (P.Wilckens 124) as well as young children (Meyer, Griechische texte, 77, no. 15, ll. 10–11 [σὺν τοῖς ἀφήλιξί μου τέκνοις, ‘with my children who are minors’]) were required to participate, even if only through their parents (cf. P.Oxy. XII 1464, Aurelius Gaion claims that his wife and children act ‘through me’ [δι᾽ ἐμοῦ]). Furthermore, neither eminent members of the community nor public office holders were exempt from this process (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.41.11; Meyer, Die Libelli, 14–15, no. 16). Even Aurelia Ammonus, a priestess of the crocodile-god Petesouchos, was compelled to prove her devotion (P.Wilcken 125). 878   Jobes 9; cf. Michaels lxiii–lxvi; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 50–52; Elliott 792; Donelson 12. 879   See Horrell, ‘The Label Χριστιανός’, 370–76, expanded in Becoming Christian, 183–97. Cf. also Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 18. 880   On the role of the governor in judicial proceedings during the Roman Princi�pate, see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 156–76.

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The more important question is what the correspondence of Pliny reveals about the legal status of Christians. Most who draw distinctions between the persecutions of 1 Peter and the second-century trials held by Pliny claim that the latter represent an escalated form of conflict in which Christianity was treated as a punishable offence. Not only was the governor willing to hear the case of a group whose sole charge was their confession of Christianity (Pliny, Ep. 10.95.2–3: [in] iis qui ad me tamquam Christiani deferebantur, hunc sum secutus modum), he sentenced many to death on this basis and it alone. The punishment of these Christians was not the result of their prior proscription according to Roman law; neither Pliny nor Trajan references any specific legal policies that were informing their actions. On the other hand, the actions of Pliny were not altogether without precedent.881 Other trials against Christians are mentioned, although Pliny had not previously been part of those proceedings.882 Furthermore, the actions of the governor, who otherwise displays extreme caution in his administrative duties,883 indicates that the confession of Christianity was a sufficient basis

881   Cf. Reichert, ‘Durchdachte Konfusion’, 227–50, who argues that during the early second century there was neither an official Roman law nor a common precedent by which Christians were dealt with in the provinces of Rome (cf. Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecution’, 110–13). She therefore views Pliny as an innovator who convinces the emperor of the proper procedure for handling Christians (pardon/ punishment), which then serves as the model for subsequent Roman authorities. For a refutation of Reichert’s proposal, see Molthagen, ‘Das Nichtwissen des Plinius’, 112–40. 882   Recently, Thraede (‘Noch einmal’, 113–14) has expressed scepticism about the use of the statement ‘cognitionibus de Christianis interfui numquam’ as evidence for the existence of prior Christian trials. Nevertheless, this conclusion seems to be demanded by the fact that Pliny’s dilemma was not caused by the novelty of the relationship between the Church and the Roman State—as if Christian trials were altogether unusual or non-existent—but by his own inexperience in provincial administration (cf. Sordi, Christians and the Roman Empire, 60). Had he wished to express the non-existence of Christian trials, the blame would have been laid not upon his own shoulders but upon the nature of the circumstances (e.g., ‘Because there is no precedent for this type of case, I am consequently ignorant of…’). 883   Cf. Hardy, Studies in Roman History, 83: ‘To suppose that Pliny took this perfectly definite and decided course [viz. sentencing confessing Christians to death] without precedent is quite impossible’.



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for a capital sentence.884 Pliny’s main uncertainty—and the rhetorical climax of his letter—is whether he is correct to release those who deny or ‘repent’ of their Christian allegiance.885 If the change in legal status cannot be connected with the trials of Pliny, when did Christianity become ‘effectively illegal’, and what contributed to this status change? It is difficult to attribute the situation to one single factor; instead, the effective illegality of the Christian faith arose through a combination of historical factors during the mid- to late first century CE and were later perpetuated throughout the empire due to the nature of the Roman legal system. Fueling the situation from the start was the fact that Christians were often subject to suspicion and hostility, with negative public (and official) reaction recorded consistently across our earliest sources.886 A significant development in the legal status of Christians came with the persecutions of Nero in 64 CE. Regardless of what actually occasioned this event,887 it is clear (at least from our only extant 884   Keresztes, ‘Imperial Roman Government’, 277. There are some who insist on an alternative basis for the capital sentence. Many believe that the Christians were put to death because of their obstinacy before the governor, as if this, rather than confessing to be ‘Christian’, were their crime (so, e.g., Sherwin-White, ‘Early Persecutions’, 210–11; Moreau, La persécution du christianisme, 43). But this suggestion overlooks key factors in the trial: the charge of obstinacy only arose after they had been accused and put on trial for being Christians. Furthermore, the third group of defendants (former Christians) were not obstinate, yet they were detained on the possibility that even apostate Christians might be punished, though Pliny ends up releasing any who deny or abandon their Christian commitment (a practice he is anxious to check with the emperor). Obstinacy is only a problem here insofar as it equates to a refusal to curse Christ and to sacrifice to the emperor’s image. 885   See Horrell, Becoming Christian, 195. 886   See Engberg, Impulsore Chresto. 887   Beginning in one of the shops around the Circus Maximus, a fire broke out in Rome on 19 July 64 CE, sweeping across the city and leaving only four of the fourteen districts intact (Tacitus, Ann. 15.38–40; cf. Cassius Dio 62.18.2). Within the earliest surviving source records, blame for the fire is almost unanimously placed on the shoulders of the emperor Nero (see Pliny, Nat. 17.1.5; Suetonius, Nero 38; Cassius Dio 62.16–18). However, Tacitus (and Sulpicius Severus, Chron. 2.29, who follows him) is the only one who connects Nero’s persecution of Christians with his attempt to pass-off the blame for the fire. Some are, therefore, sceptical about the connection of the two events (e.g., Koestermann, ‘Ein folgen�schwerer Irrtum’, 456–69; Rougé, ‘L’incendie de Rome’, 433–41; Keresztes, ‘Nero, the Christians and the Jews’, 404–13).

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records) that Christians were specifically targeted. What is not as clear is whether this conflict was further supported by official legislation against Christianity. This is the impression given by some Christian sources. According to Sulpicius Severus, the Neronian incident was the beginning of troubles for Christians. It was at this time, he notes, that the ‘religion was prohibited by laws (legibus) which were enacted; and by edicts (edictis) openly set forth it was proclaimed unlawful to be a Christian (Christianum esse non licebat)’ (Chron. 2.29; trans. Schaff).888 Given the difficult experiences of Christians following this event, many church historians, in fact, have been led to posit the existence of an imperial edict or senatusconsultum, which outlawed the Christian faith.889 While evidence for the establishment of an official decree is lacking, we should not go to the other extreme by thinking that the Neronian persecution ‘set no official precedent for any policy of Rome toward the Christian movement in general’.890 Insofar as precedents can be ‘official’, Nero’s actions seem to serve as an important foundation for the popular resentment of Christians as well as their legal treatment by Roman governors. There are certain considerations that indicate this pogrom was the turning point in the legal treatment of Christians. One is the fact that, prior to Nero, there are no recorded instances of Christians being tried and condemned in a Roman court of law simply on the basis of the name alone;891 whereas during the second and third   A Neronian law or decree against the Christian faith is also posited by Tertul�lian, Nat. 1.7.9: ‘Now, although every other institution which existed under Nero (institutum Neronianum) has been destroyed, yet this of ours has firmly remained’ (trans. Holmes). Similarly, the Acts of Paul indicates that Nero passed laws against Christians. After being miraculously revived to life by the apostle Paul, Patroclus (the emperor’s cupbearer) confessed his Christian faith to Nero and revealed that he was now fighting for a new king. Upon hearing of Patroclus’ conversion, as well as that of other chief men, Nero is said to have issued an edict (διάταγμα/ edictum) to the effect that all Christians were to be put to death (11.2). 889   E.g., Callewaert, ‘Les Premiers chrétiens’ (1901) 771–97; (1902) 5–15, 324–48, 601–14; Zeiller, ‘Legalité et arbitraire’, 49–54; idem, ‘Institutum Neroni�anum’, 393–99; Keresztes, ‘Law and Arbitrariness’, 204–14; Sordi, Christians and the Roman Empire, 17–20, 31–32, 63; Giovannini, ‘L’interdit contre les chrétiens’, esp. 122–24. 890   Elliott 98. 891   On more than one occasion, the apostle Paul and his missionary associates were dragged before the local civic magistrates and accused of advocating customs that were unlawful according to Roman standards (cf. Acts 16.16–40; 17.1–9). 888



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centuries CE, adherence to the Christian faith was considered to be a punishable offence (see above). Sometime between the lifetime of Paul and the time of Pliny’s trials (early second century CE), the legal treatment of Christians underwent an important transformation. The actions of Nero seem to be the only event that could have established such a precedent. Another consideration is how the early Christians understood their legal situation. As we have already pointed out, some Christian authors claimed that the persecutions were fueled by official legislation that outlawed Christianity (Sulpicius Severus, Chron. 2.29; cf. also Acts Paul 11.2; Tertullian, Nat. 1.7.9). While such claims are technically inaccurate in that there is no evidence to prove that the religion was officially proscribed, they are nonetheless an important representation of how Christians were actually treated. What is even more significant, however, is the fact that Christians trace the beginning of their struggles back to the time of Nero. By doing so, they are looking back to a time when their legal status changed, leaving them prone to accusations (and subsequent condemnation) before Roman authorities simply on the basis of their Christian confession. It would be inaccurate to claim that, in his efforts to seek out Christians following the events of the fire, Nero moved his search outside of the city limits of Rome and into other parts of the Empire. Yet there was a natural avenue through which the impact of the emperor’s actions would spread beyond Rome itself.892 As provincial governors were sent out from Rome, their exposure to Christians would have likely been somewhat limited (cf. Pliny, There were also a number of instances where the apostle was forced to stand trial before the tribunal of the provincial governor (Acts 18.12–16; 23.25–30; 24–26; cf. 13.6–12). Without exception, however, all of these proceedings served to exonerate the defendants and their religion. Even when Luke’s apologetic is taken into account, there is no evidence that Paul’s confession of Christianity was judged to be potentially criminal in itself—except when he is finally sent to Rome for trial (exactly the same procedure Pliny records for those who are Roman citizens; Acts 26.30–32; Pliny Ep. 10.96.4) 892   Even though it is not one of the earliest sources on the situation, the fifth-century Christian historian Paulus Orosius (Hist. 7.7.10) does in fact claim that the Neronian persecution extended into the provinces. While the historicity of this claim may be incorrect, it could be explained as another attempt to depict how Christians perceived the situation. Following the pogroms of Nero, Christians living in the provinces felt the negative repercussions—whether in the form of harassment from neighbours or in the way of legal accusations from private accusers.

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Ep. 10.96.1). While they wielded judicial freedom to try and condemn Christians who were brought to trial before them, their assessments would have been informed by the negative perceptions and violent treatment of Christians known from Rome.893 Thus, when underlying hostility or popular opposition was exacerbated to the point of accusations being made, or Christians otherwise coming to the governor’s attention, Christians could be tried and punished accordingly. This was not a result of any Roman edict outlawing Christianity; instead, it was the result of a situation in which informal hostility combined with imperial precedent and the freedom of the governor to define and punish criminal offences according to his own discretion—and his duty to keep the ‘peace’ of the province. This was no systematic, ‘official’ or (still less) inquisitorial persecution; rather, it represents the potential escalation of popular hostility via the accusatorial process, supported by legal precedent and the disposition of certain governors. It was this complicated legal situation in which the readers of 1 Peter found themselves.894 Forms of Suffering in 1 Peter Modern commentators maintain that the primary forms of hostility faced by the Anatolian congregations were discrimination, 893   Hiebert acknowledges this possibility and correctly recognises that such a view ‘assumes that Roman officials in the Asian provinces would readily have followed the action of the emperor in the capital’ (27). However, he seems to misunderstand both the nature of the Neronian persecution and the means by which the precedent would have been perpetuated in the provinces, for he goes on to state, ‘However, there is no firm evidence that the Neronian edict resulted in systematic persecution of Christians outside of Rome’. If we recognise that (1) Nero’s actions were perpetuated not through official laws or edicts but through mere influence and as precedent, and that (2) Christian persecution in the provinces generally originated from the private accusations of a hostile populace rather than any imperial initiative, then the objection no longer stands. 894   The idea that persecution in 1 Peter reflects the background of the effective illegality of Christianity has been increasingly accepted within Petrine scholarship (see, e.g., Byrley, ‘Persecution and the “Adversary” ’, 87–88; idem, ‘Suffering in 1 Peter’, 139–46; George, ‘Petrine Missional Ethics’, 57–58; Kock-Malan, ‘Suffering, Submission, Silence’, 88–91; Danielson, ‘Gospel to the Martyrs’, 172–76). Among the recent dissenters is Carter (Restored Order, 270–72), although he concedes some points to this position, but argues that the possibility of legal trials is remote.



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‘persistent slander and verbal abuse from non-believing outsiders aimed at demeaning, shaming, and discrediting the Christians in the court of public opinion’.895 The prevalence of verbal abuse can be seen in a number of passages in 1 Peter. The addressees are said to be ‘maligned (καταλαλέω) as evildoers’ (2.12) and ‘reviled (ὀνειδίζω) for the name of Christ’ (4.14). Moreover, they are encouraged to ‘silence (φιμόω) the ignorance of foolish people’ by doing good (2.15) and to repay ‘insults’ (λοιδορία) with blessing rather than cursing (3.9). All members of the Christian community would have been prone to this type of hostility—both individually and collectively. By limiting the nature of suffering to discrimination and verbal abuse interpreters have been able to distinguish the situation of 1 Peter from that of Christians in later centuries who faced more extreme hardships.896 Yet the question is whether these experiences were the only forms of persecution threatening the Anatolian readers.897 Properly reconstructing the forms of suffering in 1 Peter—which the author describes as ‘varied’ (ποικίλοι, 1.6)— requires moving beyond a generalised perspective to attempt to distinguish the diverse experience of different groups within the Christian community.   Elliott 100.   Some even compare the situation to the experience of Christians in the modern Western world: ‘There is no evidence that Peter wrote his first letter during a time of empire-wide persecution, but it is clear that these Christian brothers and sisters were suffering for what they believed. In this sense, we can say that the experience of the Christians in 1 Peter is much like that of Christians in the West today. Unlike some of our brothers and sisters in other parts of the world who face persecution in the form of war, violence, displacement, torture, and even death, we face cultural discrimination, social pressures, and the potential loss of rights and privileges simply for identifying with Christ’ (Sanchez, ‘Peter the Expositor’, 18). Cf. Williamson, ‘Surprising Commands’, 111, who claims that the letter was written to a ‘mildly persecuted group of Christians’. 897   Elliott 100: ‘The nature of this abuse and insult is primarily verbal, not physical’. Others likewise stress the verbal nature of the hostility over against physical forms (e.g., Osborne, ‘Christian Suffering’, 265–67; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 87). Aside from the Petrine author’s frequent mention of verbal forms of conflict, another consideration that is sometimes raised in this context is the fact that 1 Peter lacks any of the technical terms (e.g., διώκω, διωγμός) used to denote more violent oppression (see Spicq 18; Kelly 10; Schelkle 8; cf. Sigismund, ‘Identität durch Leiden’, 180–81). 895 896

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The letter itself specifically addresses physical forms of hostility, at least those directed towards one group within the Christian congregations. In 1 Pet 2.19, the question is posed to slaves, ‘What credit is it if you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong?’ From this, it is clear that the author assumed that slaves could, and probably did, experience violent mistreatment—sometimes because of their commitment to Christianity (cf. 2.20b). This is a natural assumption given that ‘any Roman slave, as a matter of course, could become the object of physical abuse or injury at any time’.898 It is notable that in his examination of Christians, Pliny ‘extracts the truth by torture’ specifically from two slave women, who were also ministrae among the Christians (Ep. 10.96.8). But it was not only slaves that lived under the threat of physical violence. The letter also hints at the possibility that wives too might experience something similar. When the women of the Anatolian congregations are instructed, ‘You have become children of Sarah, if you do good and do not fear any terror’ (1 Pet 3.6), it is likely that the ‘terror’ (πτόησις) the author seeks to guard against is related to the dangers for women inherent within domestic relationships: physical or sexual violence, forced conformity to the husband’s wishes or to his customs of religious devotion, divorce, and abandonment.899 Even when the threat of physical violence is acknowledged, this type of suffering is usually seen as confined to conflicts within the household, particularly among the more vulnerable members of the community (slaves, wives).900 Rarely do interpreters consider the potential of physical danger facing Christians outside of this context. However, three important considerations demand that the legal trials of Christians (and the dangers that would ensue from them) be considered as a potential threat facing some members of the Petrine congregations. First, as we have shown, following the 898   Bradley, Slavery and Society, 4. The abuse and mistreatment of slaves in Greco-Roman society is well-documented both in primary and secondary sources (e.g., Suetonius, Aug. 67.2; Cal. 32.1-7; Tacitus, Ann. 4.54; 16.19; Cassius Dio 54.23.1–2; Petronius, Satyr. 45, 53; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 4.15.6). 899   Those who have recognised that the letter acknowledges the threat of physical violence include: Moffatt 33; Spicq 123; Kelly 132; Powers 55; Skaggs 63; Schreiner 178; cf. also Johnson, ‘Fire in God’s House’, 286. Some have been more hesitant to allow for this form of conflict (e.g., Wand 91; Jobes 206). 900   See, e.g., Webb, ‘Petrine Epistles’, 383; Watson, ‘Body and Abuse’, 265–82.



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punishment of Christians by Nero in the aftermath of the fire of Rome, the legal status of Christians became precarious, making membership in the group effectively illegal (see above). This situation provided the opportunity for anyone to bring charges against Christians in a Roman court of law, however infrequently this took place. Second, there was also a motive for this type of prosecution: the Christian lifestyle was commonly met with a negative response from outsiders (see above). While such hostilities were often expressed through informal means (e.g., verbal abuse, discrimination), this form of conflict cannot easily be separated from more formal measures (e.g., legal actions). In the Roman world, as tensions escalated, participants often turned to the courts to resolve their issues. Finally, examples of this type of persecution are represented in later Christian sources. Some Jesus followers were beaten and imprisoned (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.7; Mart. Pol. 2.2; Tertullian, Apol. 39.7); others were exposed to wild beasts or set on fire (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.37, 47, 50; Mart. Pol. 2.4; 3.1; 5.2; 13–16; Tertullian, Apol. 12.4). The key is that these and other forms of persecution901 were carried out under the same legal conditions as those under which the Petrine readers were living, and as such, they were prone to the same experiences. Indeed, certain texts in the letter allude to a judicial context (3.15–17; 4.15–16; see discussion ad loc.) suggesting that such a setting was at least within the range of possible threats. We should not, however, conclude that these possible forms of judicial conflict were the regular or frequent experiences of the Petrine audience: early Christian communities experienced escalated forms of conflict (e.g., burning, ad bestias execution, etc.) on 901   E.g., red-hot brazen plates fastened on tender parts of one’s body (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.21); beheading (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.47; Tertullian, Apol. 30.7); crucifixion (Tertullian, Apol. 12.3); exile/banishment (Tertullian, Apol. 12.5). These types of punishments were not unique to Christians. Roman governors punished other criminals in much the same way. Examples of gubernatorial punishment include: flogging (Dig. 47.21.2); hard labour (Dig. 48.13.8.1; 48.19.9.11; 49.18.3; Pliny, Ep. 10.58); imprisonment (Dig. 48.3.1, 3); execution (Dig. 48.19.15; 48.22.6.2; Pliny, Ep. 2.11.2–9); exposure to wild beasts (Dig. 28.3.6.10; 47.9.12.1; 49.16.3.10; 49.18.1.3); crucifixion (Dig. 48.19.9.11; 49.16.3.10; Suetonius, Galb. 9.1); burning alive (Dig. 48.19.28.11).

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a sporadic and occasional basis.902 Extreme forms of persecution in which Christians lost their lives seem to have been a rare occurrence in the first few centuries. For many, this fact is difficult to reconcile with the contention that the confession of Christianity was a punishable offence at the time when 1 Peter was written. The assumption of many scholars is that if Christianity were effectively illegal, and if its punishment simply required a local inhabitant to bring formal charges before the governor, then adherents to the Christian faith would have been largely exterminated by prosecution.903 Yet this overlooks the various factors that often prevented escalated forms of conflict.904 On a social level, family ties—even those with unbelieving relatives—would have offered some level of protection for early Christians. In the case of Perpetua, an early Christian martyr, it was her father who went to great lengths to preserve her life, despite the fact that he was not a Christian and that he disapproved of her faith (Pass. Perp. 3, 5). Furthermore, we cannot assume that every Jesus follower lived a separatist lifestyle that avoided social integration and thus stirred up animosity. Early Christians exhibited various degrees of accommodation, with some remaining highly integrated into wider Greco-Roman society.905 Given the link between cultural   Based on this fact, some scholars have attempted to downplay Christian suffering during the first few centuries (e.g., Moss, Myth of Persecution). Yet this overlooks the evidence suggesting that prejudice was a consistent experience of Jesus followers (see Holloway, Coping with Prejudice), and minimises the threat of escalated conflict that was always a possibility. For a more balanced view, see Merkt, ‘Verfolgung und Martyrium’, 233–43; Kinzig, Christian Persecution. 903   The inability to reconcile these two considerations is most clearly seen in a statement by Michaels. He notes, ‘Even if 1 Peter were dated (with Beare, 28–34) in the time of Pliny, it would be difficult to argue that being a “Christian” was in itself a crime, for Pliny’s description of the great success of the Christian movement in Bithynia tells against any notion that Christianity had been outlawed there’ (268–69). Such an argument seems to reflect an assumption that the (effective) illegality of Christianity would have prevented its successful spread. 904   See Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 226–34. 905   See Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 186–201. For a study that illustrates this ongoing integration (but arguably underestimates the degree of social conflict, including in 1 Peter), see Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations, and his later work, Dynamics of Identity. 902



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conformity and social animosity,906 much of the conflict may have been avoided by those who most accommodated to societal expectations. What is more, since one of the prominent accusations directed against the Christians concerned their failure to worship or show respect to the traditional gods, it is to be expected that escalated hostility might only occur intermittently, when calamity struck and, in seeking explanation, the populace was reminded of the Christians’ ‘atheism’ (cf. Tertullian, Apol. 40.2; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.13; Origen, Comm. Matt. 24.9). Aside from these social factors, there were also obstacles inherent within the Roman legal system that would have provided some protection for Christians. First, the prosecution of Christians required an official accuser (delator) willing to submit formal allegations against them. Trajan’s affirmation of this principle in his mild rebuke of Pliny (Pliny, Ep. 10.97)907 explains why Christians were concerned to preserve official support of this stance: it offered them some legal protection.908 Although one might expect local citizens to take such an opportunity eagerly, accusers were not always forthcoming. Many were deterred from entering into this form of personal litigation because of the risks it posed.909 Roman law set out stiff penalties for anyone who made false accusations in court (calumnia).910 This threat was compounded by the fact that 906   This link has been observed within the Pauline congregations by de Vos, Church and Community Conflicts. He notes that ‘where there is a pattern of ethnic integration or assimilation there will be a lower incidence of conflict’ (297; emphasis removed). 907   See further Sherwin-White, ‘Early Persecutions’, 204–205. 908   A later rescript of Hadrian reiterating this policy is recorded by Justin Martyr (1 Apol. 68.5–10) and then by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.9; on this, see Engberg, Impulsore Chresto, 206–14; Minns, ‘Rescript of Hadrian’, 38–49). Bickerman argues that Christians preserved Hadrian’s rescript precisely because it ‘upheld the principle of cognitio even with reference to the Christians’ (‘Trajan, Hadrian and the Christians’, 311) and thus ‘made it easier for the “good governors” to resist the demands of the Provincials for a wholesale persecution of Christians’ (315). 909   In Ulpian’s Duties of Proconsul, he notes, ‘If a charge is to be brought against anyone, the charge must first be signed. This [procedure] was devised so that no one should readily leap to an accusation since he knows that his accusation will not be brought without risk to himself’ (Dig. 48.2.7; trans. Watson; cf. Cod. theod. 9.1.9, 11, 14). 910   See further Camiñas, ‘Le “crimen calumniae” ’, 117–34; Centola, Il crimen calumniae, esp. 61–106.

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the mere recantation of one’s Christian faith was normally sufficient for acquittal (cf. Justin, 1 Apol. 4.6; 8.1). Since many Christians who were faced with possible execution chose denial rather than perseverance (see Acta Pionii 15.2; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.41.12; Cyprian, Laps. 7–8), an accuser could easily (and quickly) be placed in the role of a defendant.911 For opponents of Christianity who were willing to take the risk involved in formal accusations, there was also the matter of gaining a hearing before the governor and convincing him to convict Christians of their ‘crime’. Because one’s access to the governor was dependent upon the various stops in his assize tour, sometimes there could be considerable delay in prosecution.912 If the trial did eventually occur, there was no guarantee of a conviction. In a Roman province, the governor exercised significant judicial freedom. Not only did he possess the right and responsibility to define and punish criminality that was not legislated against under formal law,913 the punishment for such offences was bound up in his own personal discretion. Thus, he was able not only to execute Christians as Christians (Pliny, Ep. 10.96; Mart. Pol. 10.1; 12.1; Pass. Pert. 6), but also to dismiss the case against them (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.41.19–20; Tertullian, Scap. 4.3; 5.1; Lucian, Peregr. 14). The problem for would-be accusers was that they could not be entirely sure of whether a particular magistrate would be willing to exercise his authority to punish Christians,914 and with proconsular 911   This was the reason why the right to a proper trial was sought after so diligently by Christian apologists (cf. Justin, 1 Apol. 68 = Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.8–9). Given the deterrents of legal accusation, a proper trial afforded the Christians at least some level of protection from capital punishment (cf. Bickerman, ‘Trajan, Hadrian and the Christians’, 312–13). 912   Each city on the conventus was normally visited annually (Dig. 1.16.7), assuming that the governor was not slow in arriving at the province (see Pliny, Ep. 10.17A–B), or that certain stops were not delegated to a legate. It seems as though most followed a particular timetable for assize visits (cf. Plutarch, An. Corp. 4; SEG 28:1566; I.Eph. 24). 913   See Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 193–96. 914   de Ste. Croix, ‘Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?’, 13. Cf. Rives, ‘Piety of a Persecutor’, 25: ‘The men who conducted the trials of Christians and who determined their outcomes were individuals with varied and sometimes idiosyncratic points of view… Those with a strong interest in religious questions will have had very different opinions on the matter, while others were no doubt largely unconcerned. And these personal differences would have affected the way



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governors only remaining in office for one year, this uncertainty would have remained an ever-present cause of legal trepidation. It is notable, for example, how the accusations in Pontus-Bithynia multiplied exponentially once the people realised that Pliny would actually prosecute Christians who were charged before his tribunal, even if some of these accusations were submitted anonymously (Pliny, Ep. 10.96.4). Just as the causes of suffering were complex and interconnected, and could at times escalate from informal verbal (or physical) hostility to formal accusation and judicial trial, so too the potential forms of suffering cover a wide range, depending both on circumstance and on the particular socio-economic location of each person: verbal accusation from outsiders; physical punishment and abuse, especially from slave-owners and husbands; judicial punishments, including torture and potentially execution. Against a general background of suspicion and prejudice shown toward the Christ-cult, actual suffering might be sporadic and infrequent, and directed only at some members of the Christian assemblies, but the letter (and the wider evidence) indicates that the threats were real and concrete. Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter Initial Bibliography David L. Balch, ‘Hellenization/Acculturation in 1 Peter’, in Perspectives on First Peter, ed. Charles H. Talbert (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1986), 79–101; Jennifer Bird, ‘Rosemary Hennessy and the Circumscribed Symptomatic Symbolism of 1 Peter’s Haustafel’, in Marxist Feminist Criticism of the Bible, ed. Roland Boer and Jorunn Økland, Bible in the Modern World 14 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2008), 229–43; Warren Carter, ‘Going All the Way? Honoring the Emperor and Sacrificing Wives and Slaves in 1 Peter 2.13–3.6’, in A Feminist Companion to the Catholic Epistles, ed. Amy-Jill Levine and Maria Mayo Robbins, Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings 8 (London: T&T Clark, 2004), they handled accusations of Christianity. As a result, the situation of Christians was above all one of great uncertainty. Their safety depended not only on the restraint of popular hostility, but also on the interests and attitudes of the current governor. An indifferent or tolerant governor could assure a period of peace and security, whereas a governor…with strong religious interests and a conservative bent, could spell trouble’ (25).

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14–33; John H. Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy: A Discussion with David Balch’, Perspectives on First Peter, ed. Charles H. Talbert (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1986), 61–78; John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Social-Scientific Criticism of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Victor Paul Furnish, ‘Elect Sojourners in Christ: An Approach to the Theology of 1 Peter’, PSTJ 28 (1975): 1–11; Joel B. Green, ‘Identity and Engagement in a Diverse World: Pluralism and Holiness in 1 Peter’, AsTJ 55 (2000): 85–92; idem, ‘Faithful Witness in the Diaspora: The Holy Spirit and the Exiled People of God according to 1 Peter’, in The Holy Spirit and Christian Origins, ed. Graham N. Stanton, Bruce W. Longenecker, and Stephen C. Barton (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 282–95; idem, ‘Living as Exiles: The Church in the Diaspora in 1 Peter’, in Holiness and Ecclesiology in the New Testament, ed. Kent E. Brower and Andy Johnson (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 311–25; David G. Horrell, ‘Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate Towards a Postcolonial Reading of 1 Peter’, in Reading 1 Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter, ed. Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin, LNTS 364 (London/New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 111–43, revised and expanded in Becoming Christian, 211–38; Jayachitra Lalitha, ‘Alternate Petrine Community as “A Third Space of Enunciation”: Decolonizing Imperial Agenda in 1 Peter’, in Bible and Hermeneutics, ed. C. I. D. Joy (Tiruvalla: Christava Sahitya Samithi, 2010), 54–66; Kelly D. Liebengood, ‘Confronting Roman Imperial Claims: Following the Footsteps (and the Narrative) of 1 Peter’s Eschatological Davidic Shepherd’, in An Introduction to Empire in the New Testament, ed. Adam Winn, RBS 84 (Atlanta: SBL, 2016), 255–72; I. Howard Marshall, New Testament Theology: Many Witnesses, One Gospel (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2004); Ralph P. Martin, ‘The Theology of Jude, 1 Peter, and 2 Peter’, in Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter and Jude, NTT (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 63–168; David L. Starling, ‘ “She Who Is in Babylon”: 1 Peter and the Hermeneutics of Empire’, in Reactions to Empire: Sacred Texts in their Socio-Political Contexts, ed. John Anthony Dunne and Dan Batovici, WUNT 2/372 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 111–28; Travis B. Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World, WUNT 337 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014).

Despite its somewhat marginal status among the writings of the NT, 1 Peter has often received high praise for its theology and message. Luther described it as ‘one of the grandest of the NT’, and claimed that ‘it is the true, pure gospel’.915 More recently, Marshall has suggested that ‘if one were to be shipwrecked on a   Luther 10.

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desert island and allowed to have only one of the New Testament letters as a companion, then 1 Peter would be the ideal choice, so rich is its teaching, so warm its spirit, and so comforting its message in a hostile environment’.916 Marshall elsewhere suggests that ‘[t]he density of the theology of 1 Peter is quite remarkable’,917 while Martin goes so far as to say that ‘[p]robably no document in the New Testament is so theologically orientated as 1 Peter, if the description is taken in the strict sense of teaching about God’.918 We have already noted the ways in which the marginal thematic summaries, given in probably the earliest extant manuscript of 1 Peter (P72), offer some indications as to what the early readers of the letter took to be its main concerns (see Introduction: Text of 1 Peter). It is significant that the longest of these headings points to the phrases in 2.9, which underline the elect and holy identity of this people of God, and to Christ’s death and new life (at 3.18, cf. also at 4.1). These headings, as Wiefel notes, give something of a summary of key theological foci in the letter.919 Also significant as an indication of the early history of the interpretation of the themes and message of 1 Peter are the ancient κεφάλαια (see Introduction: Text of 1 Peter, with nn. 54–56). Since these are seldom discussed, or even mentioned, in modern commentaries, it may be valuable to present them as a starting point for consideration of the letter’s themes, message, and strategy.920 I. 1.1 Περὶ τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναγεννήσεως, καὶ περὶ ὑπομενῆς πειρασμῶν, καὶ περὶ σωτηριώδους πίστεως προκατηγγελμένης ὑπὸ τῶν προφητῶν. Concerning the new birth in Christ, and endurance of trials, and saving faith announced before by the prophets. II. 1.13 Περὶ ἐλπίδος, καὶ ἁγιασμοῦ τῆς τε ὀφειλομένης ἐπὶ τῇ υἱοθεσίᾳ ἀσφαλοῦς ἀναστροφῆς. Concerning hope, and holiness and the obligatory and steadfast conduct appropriate to sonship.   Marshall 12.   Marshall, New Testament Theology, 657. 918   Martin, ‘Theology of Jude, 1 Peter, and 2 Peter’, 104. 919   Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 302. 920   For the text, see PG 85:679–82; von Soden, Schriften des Neuen Testaments, 458–59. For an ET, on which we have drawn here, see Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 4–5. 916 917

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1 PETER III. 2.1 Περὶ τοῦ ἐπαξίως τῆς υἱοθεσίας ζῇν ἐν Χριστῷ πρὸς ὠφέλειαν καὶ τῶν ἔξωθεν, εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ. Concerning living worthily of sonship in Christ also for the benefit of those outside, for the glory of God. IV. 2.13 Περὶ τῆς πρὸς ἄρχοντας ὑποταγῆς, καὶ φιλαδελφίας καὶ θεοσεβείας. Concerning submission to rulers, and sibling-love and piety. 1. 2.18 Ἐν ῷ περὶ δούλων ὑποταγῆς, καὶ ἀνεξικάκου ὑπομονῆς διὰ Χριστόν. In which concerning the submission of slaves, and patient endurance of evil because of Christ. 2. 3.1 Περὶ ὑπακοῆς γυναικῶν, καὶ ὁμονοίας τῆς πρὸς τοὺς ἄνδρας καὶ σωτηρίας τῆς ἐν πνεύματι, εἰς τύπον Σάρρας. Concerning the obedience of wives, and harmony towards their husbands and salvation in the spirit, of which Sarah is a model. 3. 3.7 Περὶ τῆς ἀνδρῶν πρὸς γυναῖκας συμπεριφο­ ρᾶς. Concerning the accommodation of husbands to their wives. 4. 3.15 Περὶ τῆς πρὸς ἅπαντας ἐπιεικοῦς ἀνεξι­ κακίας, ἦς τύπος ἡ επὶ Νῶε τοῦ θεοῦ φιλανθρωπία· ἐφ’ ἡμᾶς δὲ ἡ διὰ τοῦ βαπτίσματος τοῦ Χριστοῦ συμπάθεια. Concerning the gentle bearing of evil towards all, of which the kindness of God toward Noah is a model. But upon us is sympathy through the baptism of Christ. V. 4.1 Περὶ ἀποθέσεως φαύλων πράξεων, καὶ ἐπαναλήψεως τῶν ἐν πνεύματι καρπῶν κατὰ τὴν διαφορὰν τῶν χαρισμάτων. Concerning the putting away of bad deeds, and resumption of the fruits in the spirit according to the distribution of the gifts. VI. 4.12 Ὅτι κοινωνίᾳ τῇ πρὸς Χριστὸν κρατεῖν χρὴ τῶν φυσικῶν παθῶν, ἐλπίδι τε τῇ εἰς αὐτὸν φέρειν τὰς παρ’ ἑτέρων βλάβας. That in fellowship with Christ to conquer the desires of the physical passions, in hope towards him to bear the harm received from others.



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VII. 5.1 Παραίνεσις πρεσβυτέροις περὶ ἐπισκοπῆς τοῦ ποιμνίου. Exhortation to elders concerning oversight of the flock. 1. 5.6 Ἐν ῷ περὶ κοινῆς πάντων πρὸς ἕκαστον ταπεινοφροσύνης εἰς νίκην τὴν κατὰ τοῦ διαβόλου. In which, concerning the common humility of all towards each other, for victory against the devil. VIII. 5.9 Εὐχὴ ὑπὲρ τελειώσεως τῶν πιστευόντων. Prayer for the perfection of the believers.

These headings give a valuable sense of the key themes of the letter, though (understandably) they do not focus specifically on the theological or doctrinal dimensions, since these are, as is characteristic of the NT letters generally, woven into the letter’s message, rather than being a topic for abstract reflection. They valuably highlight the letter’s focus on the ‘new birth’ that has been made possible in Christ, the need for hope, holiness and endurance during the current trials, along with practical instruction on what ‘living worthily’ might look like, and on how the elders and members of the church should relate to one another. Indeed, while the κεφάλαια introduce some terms alien to the letter itself (such as υἱοθεσία, which appears twice in the κεφάλαια but nowhere in the letter), they offer some fine compact summaries of the letter’s main message: ‘concerning hope, and holiness and the…steadfast conduct appropriate to…living in Christ’ (cf. κεφάλαια II-III). In these summary headings, the theology of the letter—its presentation of how God in Christ has acted in bringing salvation—is thus linked with its instruction on how those in Christ should act, and its emphasis on the need for hopeful steadfastness in view of the sure salvation that lies ahead. In his more recent analysis of the letter’s theology, Marshall distinguishes three categories of Christian belief and experience, all of which are prominent in 1 Peter: doxological (that is, worship and praise of God), antagonistic (that is, opposition to evil) and soteriological (that is, orientated towards salvation that will be consummated in the future).921 The κεφάλαια may broadly be seen   Marshall, New Testament Theology, 648–49.

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in a similar way, though they suggest a slightly different categorisation of 1 Peter’s content: the glory due to God for the ‘new birth’ brought in Christ; appropriate patterns of conduct, despite trials and the threat of harm from others; and the hope of salvation and perfection. We may then adapt Marshall’s three categories to provide a way to examine briefly key aspects of the letter’s theology, message, and strategy, looking first at its depictions of God, Christ, and spirit, then at the stance it navigates between conformity and resistance (which encompasses, in more traditional terms, the letter’s ethics), and finally at the relationship between suffering and hope (which encompasses the theological categories of soteriology and eschatology). The Depiction of God the Father, Christ, and Spirit The letter’s opening, after identifying its sender and recipients, attributes and explains the recipients’ election with reference to a proto-trinitarian pattern (1.2)—though emphatically not a formula that matches later trinitarian doctrines (the language does not imply a three-personed God, but rather refers to God, then to the spirit and to Christ).922 The extended opening blessing (1.3–12) places its focus firmly on God—it is God’s rich mercy that has brought new birth and the hope of salvation—identified as ‘God and father’ of Christ. This is clearly also the addressees’ relationship to God, as children to a father, though this does not imply any insulation against God’s impartial judgment (1.17; cf. 4.5). Indeed, their present trials and suffering seem to be part of God’s judgment, beginning with God’s own household (4.17). God’s holiness forms a basis for the appeal to the addressees to likewise display holiness, specifically as children, who, born anew, turn away from former patterns of life and conform obediently to their new calling (1.14–16). The saving work of God is accomplished through Jesus Christ, and specifically through his death and resurrection, though strikingly Christ is never referred to as God’s ‘son’ in 1 Peter. Christ’s death is presented in sacrificial terms, his sprinkled blood (1.3, 19) and his bearing of sins (2.24) having made redemption and righteousness possible (1.18; 2.24). Three passages in the letter have   For more on the way that the Petrine author construes the various roles of God, Christ and the Spirit in the lives of the readers, see Tran, ‘God in Threefold Revelation’. 922



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long been identified as having particular christological significance, and perhaps as containing pre-formed material, credal or hymnic in character: 1.18–21, 2.21–25, and 3.18–22. In a classic form-critical analysis, Bultmann concluded that a single christological confession (Bekenntnis) underlay 1.20 and 3.18–19, 22, while a separate hymn (Lied) was adapted in 2.21–24.923 These early proposals have been much discussed and disputed (see ad loc.) but it is at least striking to see how the participial phrases from 1.20 and 3.18, 22 form a compact christological creed (cf. 1 Tim 3.16): προεγνωσμένου μὲν πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου φανερωθέντος δὲ ἐπ᾽ ἐσχάτου τῶν χρόνων θανατωθεὶς μὲν σαρκί ζῳοποιηθεὶς δὲ πνεύματι πορευθεὶς εἰς οὐρανόν

Among the more doctrinally significant phrases here are the first two, which hint at a notion of Christ’s pre-existence (as does 1.11) without making that fully explicit, and certainly without any direct notion of incarnation (cf. John 1.14). These compact credal phrases also represent an implicit narrative, which tells the story of Christ, from ‘before the foundation of the world’ (1.20) to his vindication and exaltation in heaven (3.22). This may be linked with a wider narrative of God’s saving purposes and their coming into the experience of the readers: their prior time of ignorance (1.14, 18), the appearance of Christ (1.20), and their endurance in hope through a short time of trial, until Christ’s final revelation (1.7, 13) when they will finally enjoy the salvation that is ‘kept in heaven’ (cf. 1.4–5; 5.4, 10–11).924 Somewhat differently (though still containing credal formulations, such as Χριστὸς ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν), 2.21–25 presents a Passion narrative in nuce by drawing heavily on Isaiah 53.925 923   Bultmann, “Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente’, 285–97. Bultmann’s work was taken up by Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales, 111–32; and Deichgräber, Gotteshymnus und Christushymnus, 140–43. More recently, see Pearson, Christological and Rhetorical Properties, 115–51. 924   See further Green, ‘Narrating the Gospel’, 269–75. A more detailed narra�tive analysis of 1 Peter is offered by Boring, ‘Narrative Dynamics in First Peter’. 925   See below at Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter; cf. also Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered’, 123–50, and the critical assessment in Parker, ‘Jesus and Scripture’, 109–41.

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Here, there is a particular stress on Christ as example, a pattern to follow—which raises its own theological questions about balancing the unique and the paradigmatic interpretations of Christ’s suffering and death.926 Even though Christ’s resurrection and enthronement in glory (1.21; 3.22) may seem more clearly unique to Christ, it is striking not only that the letter places the readers’ hope of salvation on this foundation (1.3) but also that the recipients too are promised ‘praise, glory and honour’ at the final appearance of Christ (1.7; on the letter’s eschatology, see below); to this extent at least, they are promised a share in resurrection glory. Despite its mention in the opening declaration of 1.2, the spirit is mentioned relatively little in the letter.927 There is a striking reference to ‘the spirit of Christ’ informing the prophets (1.11) and a declaration that ‘the holy spirit’ enabled the proclamation of the good news to the letter’s recipients (1.12). Later in the letter ‘the spirit of God’ is promised to rest upon those facing hostility (4.14); here one point of interest is the possible use of the divine identifier ‘the glory’ (τὸ τῆς δόξης καὶ τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ πνεῦμα). In both 3.18 (relating to Christ) and 4.6 (relating to humans in general), there is a contrast drawn between the perspectives of flesh and spirit (σαρκί… πνεύματι), indicating in both passages the spirit’s dynamic role in conveying life (ζῳοποιηθείς… ζῶσιν). When the ‘gifts’ (χαρίσματα) given to each member of the group are mentioned in 4.10–11, these are not attributed to the spirit (similarly Rom 12.6; contrast 1 Cor 12.4–7). Between Conformity and Resistance: The Letter’s Social Stance It is clear, as previous sections have detailed, that the letter addresses a situation in which the addressees—like their fellow Christians elsewhere (5.9)—are vulnerable to hostility, accusation, and suffering. This experience is explained in the letter, at least in part, by the fact that the recipients have turned away from aspects of their previous lifestyle, in ways that generate hostility and criticism from those among whom they live (4.2–4; cf. 1.14; 2.11–12). However, scholarship has been more divided in terms of understanding how the letter responds to this situation.   See further Merkt, ‘Checks and Balances’, 239–45.   For more on the Spirit in 1 Peter, see Green, ‘Faithful Witness’, 282–95; Lai, ‘Holy Spirit’; Lichtenwalter, ‘Holy Spirit’, 80–85. 926 927



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A landmark in this discussion is an important debate between Balch and Elliott, generated by the contrasting conclusions of their two contemporaneously published monographs.928 The focus for Balch’s work was the domestic code in 1 Peter (2.11–3.12). Balch saw the code’s function within the letter as connected with the tensions evident between Christians and their wider society. The problems would have been especially acute in households where slaves or wives had converted to Christianity without the head of the household, or the household as a whole, having done so (cf. 2.18–20; 3.1–6). In such instances, Christians were prone to criticism, not only for following a strange and novel eastern cult but also for ‘corrupting and reversing Roman social and household customs’, and failing to conform to the social expectation that household members would follow the patterns of religious observance of the head of the household.929 In the domestic code instruction, Balch sees the author of 1 Peter as urging such Christians to lessen criticism of their social deviance by conforming as closely as possible to accepted Hellenistic social norms, without compromising their commitment to Christ. The code thus has an apologetic purpose, to demonstrate that Christians follow a respectable form of ‘constitution’.930 In a later paper responding to Elliott’s work, Balch depicts this as a strategy of assimilation or acculturation.931 The social-scientific exegesis of Elliott marked a different approach. Focusing on the terms πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (1.1; 1.17; 2.11), Elliott argued that these labels described the addressees’ socio-political status.932 For these estranged and dislocated people, the Christian community offered a ‘home’ in which these ‘strangers’ found a positive and valued identity as God’s own people. The strategy of 1 Peter was to foster internal cohesion 928   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive; Elliott, Home for the Homeless. Cf. also Balch, ‘Hellenization/Acculturation’, 79–101; Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy’, 61–78. For a valuable early review essay on Balch and Elliott’s work, see Wire, ‘Review Essay’, 209–16, and more recently, see Christensen, ‘Balch/ Elliott Debate’, 173–93. 929   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 119 (quotation), 65–80. 930   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 81–121. 931   Balch, ‘Hellenization/Acculturation’, 86–96. On the problems associated with using theories of acculturation to study the situation of the Petrine audience, see Seland, Strangers in the Light, 147–89; Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 185–244. 932   See Introduction: Socio-Political Identity.

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among the community of siblings (ἀδελφότης, 2.17; 5.9), to build a distinctive communal identity and resist external pressures to conform.933 These contrasting assessments continue to resonate through discussion of 1 Peter, even if the precise distinctions are expressed in diverse forms.934 Yet there have been various attempts to progress beyond the contrasting alternatives of Balch and Elliott.935 In our own work, we have argued that perspectives from postcolonial studies offer the potential both to capture more adequately the nuanced stance the author takes between conformity and resistance and to give due consideration to the specifically imperial context in which the letter was written.936 The work of Scott has been especially important for drawing attention to what Scott calls ‘the immense political terrain that lies between quiescence and revolt’, showing that popular resistance is rarely expressed in outright opposition but more often takes subtle and nuanced forms.937 Writers in the field of postcolonial studies 933   See Elliott, Home for the Homeless; idem, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy’, 61–78. 934   Some approaches stress what they see as the letter’s dangerously conformist and unliberating ethic, which keeps slaves and wives in their place, even in suffering (e.g., Corley, ‘1 Peter’, 349–60; Bird, Abuse, Power and Fearful Obedience; Schüssler Fiorenza, 1 Peter). Others see in the letter a positive (and in some respects radical) model for the Church’s distinctive existence in society (e.g., Volf, ‘Soft Difference’, 15–30; Miller, ‘La protestation sociale’, 521–43). 935   See further Horrell, Becoming Christian, 213–15. Some, for instance, have argued that 1 Peter contains complementary (or even contradictory) messages. Talbert (‘Plan of 1 Peter’, 141–51) attempted to synthesise the views of Balch and Elliott, claiming that 1 Peter encourages its readers toward both social cohesion and social adaptation (cf. Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 116). Approaching the problem from a different angle, Thurén (Rhetorical Strategy) proposed that the epistle was addressing two groups within the Anatolian congregations (one that was tempted to conform and another which wanted to avenge the injustice) and that the author’s purpose was to (simultaneously) communicate a different message to each group. 936   See Horrell, ‘Between Conformity and Resistance’, 111–43; idem, Becoming Christian, 211–38; Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter. For a somewhat different postcolonial reading of 1 Peter, see Schüssler Fiorenza, ‘The First Letter of Peter’. On the imperial context of 1 Peter, see also Carter, ‘Going All the Way’, 14–33; Liebengood, ‘Confronting Roman Imperial Claims’, 255–72; Starling, ‘ “She Who Is in Babylon” ’, 111–28; Williams, ‘Divinity and Humanity of Caesar’, 131–47. 937   Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 199.



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have been specifically concerned to explore the ambivalent and complex reconfigurations of identity and practice that take place in the imperial or colonial encounter, such that, as Needham puts it, ‘no modes of resistance, whether they acknowledge it or not, are completely free of their implication in the domination they resist’.938 Bhabha has also been influential for his emphasis on this ambivalence, and on the notion of a ‘third space’, the ‘in-between’, where this encounter occurs, creating the space for a hybridizing of identities.939 Postcolonial studies can also be illuminating for the interpretation of 1 Peter in their treatment of the themes of cultural (as well as physical) dislocation and the experience (both physical and perceptual) of diaspora. Recalling Elliott’s stress on the identification of 1 Peter’s addressees as displaced aliens and exiles—even if this is more likely to refer to their socio-religious status which resulted from conversion than to their prior sociopolitical status940—we may see the close parallels in Gandhi’s comment, drawing on Bhabha and Fanon, on the idea of cultural dislocation expressed in the notion of diaspora: In Bhabha’s characteristic interjections, colonialism is read as the perverse instigator of a new politics of ‘un-homeliness’. If colonialism violently interpellates the sanctuary and solace of ‘homely’ spaces, it also calls forth forms of resistance which can, as Fanon observes, no longer be accommodated within the familiar crevices and corners of former abodes… Not surprisingly, diasporic thought finds its apotheosis in the ambivalent, transitory, culturally contaminated and borderline figure of the exile, caught in a historical limbo between home and the world.941

Such work provides us with perspectives from which to make sense of 1 Peter’s attempts to negotiate a mode of existence in situations of hostility and accusation, and invites us to consider how expressions of resistance may be subtle and ambivalent,942 woven   Needham, Using the Master’s Tools, 10.   Bhabha, Location of Culture, 109–15; idem, ‘Cultural Diversity’, 155–57. 940   See Introduction: Socio-Political Identity. 941   Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, 132 (original emphasis). 942   According to Sun, ‘while a post-colonial reading may be helpful to throw light on the delicate relationship between Christians and the Roman Empire, it 938 939

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in complex ways into a discourse that may also, in some respects, be complicit and conformist, constructed in the encounter between imperial subjects and imperial power.943 Despite Balch’s emphasis on assimilation in the letter’s domestic code, the letter body of 1 Peter begins and ends with imperatives that stress the need for disciplined resistance and non-conformity (1.13–14; 5.8–11). The letter’s recipients may clearly face terrifying experiences (2.19–20; 3.6, 14), but they are urged nonetheless remains doubtful whether a post-colonial reading is equally helpful to clarify the Petrine strategy in relation to Christians’ ostracism by their neighbours in society (e.g. 4:3–4) which was hostility from the colonized themselves rather than domination from the colonizer’ (True Grace, 73; original emphasis). It is indeed important to draw on postcolonial perspectives cautiously, conscious of the differences between the modern European colonialism on which much postcolonial writing focuses and the ancient Roman Empire, but these perspectives offer heuristic tools that can illuminate our analysis of how groups in positions of disadvantage and vulnerability navigate between resistance and conformity within an imperial/ colonial context, and not only in the direct relationships between coloniser and colonised (see further Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 25–31; Horrell, Becoming Christian, 219–20). As Schüssler Fiorenza notes, given the location of the readers as ‘resident aliens’ in Roman provinces, and their representation as harassed and marginalised in the letter, it seems that ‘1 Peter invites postcolonial interpretation’ (‘The First Letter of Peter’, 380). 943   Carter (Restored Order) has challenged our overall reading of 1 Peter, arguing that the letter envisions the hierarchical structures of the household and state as a reflection of the divine order of the cosmos. Subordination to the divinely given ordering of human life is appropriate, and freedom, as depicted in the letter, consists not in liberation from socio-political structures but the moral freedom to live rightly within these, and more generally within the restored divine order. The letter is thus much more ‘conservative’ in its social stance, and does not indicate the signs of resistance that we identify. According to Carter, any ‘alleged examples of critique or resistance are mere subsidiary by-products of the author’s deliberate affirmations’ and he finds ‘no evidence that the letter is intentionally subversive of the current political and social order’ (Restored Order, 250).There are various points at which Carter’s conclusions may be challenged: an over-emphasis on the notion of divine order and its presentation in elite literary sources; an underplaying of the level and severity of threat faced by the addressees; a minimising of the differences between Rom 13.1–7 and 1 Pet 2.13–17, which does not then see the elements of resistance in the latter (compare our exegesis ad loc.). Carter rejects the insights and use of postcolonial perspectives (see Restored Order, 159–60 n. 20, 162–63 n. 51, 169 n. 164, 170 n. 165, 204 n. 171, 250, 260 n. 29), which seek to highlight the nuanced strategies of both conformity and resistance and to read from the perspective of the marginalised (for a recent example of a productive application of this approach, see Hall, ‘Christian Mission’, 119–45).



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to maintain their devotion to Christ (3.15). However, there is also a clear emphasis on the need to do good—one of the prominent motifs of the letter (2.12, 14–15, 20; 3.6, 10–11, 13, 16–17; 4.19)— along with a hope that this will remove the grounds for hostility (2.12; 3.13–16). On the whole, the letter’s mode of appeal to hostile outsiders (what we might label, more theologically, its model of mission) is one of ‘passive attraction’ rather than proactive verbal witness (cf. 3.1).944 Verbal account, in either informal or judicial settings, should be given (only) when called for (3.15). As Balch’s analysis shows, there is an extent to which this pattern of good conduct conforms to the established ancient expectations of good household order: the submission of slaves and wives to masters and husbands (2.18–3.6). This is set within a wider exhortation to submission within the structures of imperial governance (2.13–17).945 Nevertheless, the pattern of conduct called for by the Petrine author cannot simply or comprehensively be labelled one of assimilation or conformity to wider social customs and expectations. Rather, ‘the good-in-Christ way-of-life’ (τὴν ἀγαθὴν ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστροφήν, 3.16) may entail certain commitments and actions that generate hostility and censure, even if they are done politely and respectfully rather than with overt or polemical resistance (cf. 3.13–17; 4.12–19).946 For example, even in the instruction to be subject to the emperor and his governors (2.13–17), the author stresses that the emperor is a human creature (2.13), not a divine one, and that his readers act from a position of ‘freedom’ (with respect to the emperor)—albeit a freedom qualified by their status as θεοῦ δοῦλοι (2.16). Moreover, while they are urged to ‘honour’ the emperor, as indeed they ‘honour’ everyone, they are instructed to ‘fear’ or worship only God (2.17). As we shall see briefly in the next section, this stance of ‘polite resistance’ became a common stance for later martyrs and apologists, and it was one still deemed sufficiently intransigent to warrant execution in the context of a 944   See further Tàrrech, ‘Mission according to the New Testament’, 231–47; Horrell, ‘Fear, Hope, and Doing Good’, 409–29; idem, Ethnicity and Inclusion, 287–93. 945   On the tensions within the social strategy of 1 Peter, see Ferrari, ‘Dem Wort glauben’, 155–67. 946   See further Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 185–273; also Holm, ‘Missional Response’, 11–16; idem, ‘Doing Good’.

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trial. Indeed, bearing the name ‘Christian’ (Χριστιανός) could clearly in itself be a cause of suffering (4.16), as Pliny’s famous letter (Ep. 10.96) confirms. In some ways, the letter’s stance may be seen as offering a survival strategy to those who are threatened and effectively powerless to change their situation.947 To an extent, they are urged to quietly accept their situation, even when it brings unjust punishment and suffering, remaining submissive to those in authority over them without fear, but also without retaliation. But they are also given firm limits on the extent of this accommodation, and clear exhortations to stand firm, resist, and be disciplined in their commitment to God and to Christ, even if this is itself a cause of suffering. Moreover, this acceptance of suffering as part of what God’s will entails (3.17; 4.19) is set in the context of imminent hope (explored more in the sub-section immediately below). This stance is not without its problems, not least in terms of its legacy in legitimating the suffering of slaves and women,948 and valorising suffering itself; however, its nuance and ambivalence should at least be appreciated. As postcolonial critics have made clear, outright rebellion and polemical rejection are not the only—nor even the most common— modes of resistance.949   See, e.g., Smith, Strangers to Family, 163–69, who sets this view of 1 Peter explicitly in the context of African American experience and the legacies of slavery. 948   See Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter. 949   A common tendency has been to place Revelation and 1 Peter on opposite ends of the spectrum, with the former representing opposition to Rome and the latter urging accommodation (see, e.g., Pilgrim, Uneasy Neighbors, esp. 16–20; Bryan, Render to Caesar, 95–111; Bird, ‘Rosemary Hennessy’, 232–33). This reconstruction has even become a standard point of comparison in some introductory textbooks (e.g., Carr and Conway, Introduction to the Bible, 360). What the perspectives of Scott (Domination and Arts of Resistance) and postcolonial theory illuminate, however, is that the lines between accommodation and opposition, and the forms in which resistance is generally expressed, are much more blurred and nuanced. While the stance towards Rome, and the style of any critique, differ significantly between 1 Peter and Revelation, the former should not simply be seen as acquiescing, nor the latter as simply opposing (not least since it mimics imperial structures and power in its own depictions of divine action). The Petrine author seems to be prescribing a more reserved level of resistance somewhere between Revelation, which exhibits a high level of antagonism, and other documents that might be more compliant (see Horrell, 1 Peter, 85–95; Williams, Good Works in 947



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Suffering, Estrangement, and Hope: The Letter’s Strategy We have already noted the prominence of suffering and hostility as thematic concerns in 1 Peter, and explored the causes and impacts of this suffering upon different social groups within the communities addressed in the letter. In discussing 1 Peter’s designation of its recipients as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι (2.11; cf. 1.1, 17), we have also argued that this is most likely to indicate their dislocation and estrangement from their wider society consequent upon their conversion to Christ, rather than a pre-existing socio-political identity. Despite this point of significant difference from Elliott’s thesis in A Home for the Homeless, a central point of Elliott’s argument—neatly encapsulated in his title—may nonetheless be broadly affirmed. Whether or not the positive counterpoint to the identity as displaced ‘strangers’ is specifically to be seen as a ‘home’,950 there is a strong sense that their estrangement from ‘the world’ finds its positive correlate in their new identity as the elect and holy people of God (2.9–10). In terms of social identity theory, the author offers an alternative and positive group identity, orientated around a different point of valuation and described in the radical terms of ‘rebirth’ to a new identity in a new family (1.3; 2.2, 17; 5.9). Despite the exalted terms in which this new identity is described, the letter is clear that the present existence of the addressees is characterised by suffering and trials. Nonetheless, these will continue only for a little longer (1.6), and the promised salvation will bring inexpressible joy (1.8–9). This imminent eschatological expectation951 is orientated towards the final ἀποκάλυψις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.7), presumably coterminous with the ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς (2.12), a time of judgment and vindication (cf. 1.17; 4.5) as well as of salvation and attainment of the heavenly inheritance (1.4–5). In light of this coming salvation, one of the letter’s exhortations—in fact, the 1 Peter, 185–273; for a helpful comparison between Revelation and 1 Peter, see Sun, True Grace, 177–220, which describes 1 Peter as holding a more centrist position). 950   Elliott may here overplay the significance of the limited οἰκος-terminology in the letter; cf. the critique of Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 205–206. 951   Pace Parker, ‘Eschatology of 1 Peter’, 27–32, who argues that the letter instead seeks to show the significance of the present possession of Christ, amidst suffering.

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first actual imperative in the letter—is to ‘hope’ (ἐλπίσατε, 1.13). This motif recurs elsewhere in the letter: the addressees’ commitment to God is designated as an expression of two fundamental qualities, πίστις and ἐλπίς (1.21), and the λόγος which they may be called to give is described as an accounting for ‘the hope that is in you’ (περὶ τῆς ἐν ὑμῖν ἐλπίδος, 3.15). Part of the letter’s strategy for addressing the readers’ experience of vulnerability and suffering is to insist that these experiences and associated events are no accident, nor simply the result of the volition of wicked humans, but rather fall within the will of God. The author is clear enough that the trials they must (δέον) suffer for a little while yet (1.6) align with God’s will—explicitly linked with their sufferings in both 3.17 and 4.19. Indeed, slaves’ patient endurance of even unjust suffering is seen as an appropriate response—their own display of χάρις—to the call of God (2.19–20). This theological perspective may in part be seen as one facet of a strategy that seeks to comfort and encourage the recipients of the letter: however much they might be suffering trials and hardships, these are encompassed within the divine plan, the will of God. Moreover, this will is directed towards an end to such suffering and the goal of their final salvation (cf. 1.9). Yet aligning suffering with the will of God clearly also raises theological difficulties, which the author does not explicitly recognise or acknowledge (cf. 2 Cor 10.13 and esp. Jas 1.13, using the same word-group, πειράζω/πειρασμός, as 1 Pet 1.6). These difficulties relate not only to the theological problem of God appearing to ‘will’ experiences that are wicked and immoral (such as the beating of slaves) but also to the potential social impact of such a perspective. It can be suggested that since such suffering is part of God’s will, then the Christian’s duty is to endure it, and not to seek to escape it. Part of the damaging legacy of such a perspective may be seen in modern cases where a Christian suffering domestic abuse and violence is advised to remain in that situation, as their Christian duty.952 We may recognise this danger, yet at the same time acknowledge the extent to which the author’s insistence that all that happens, including suffering, remains within the plan and control of God constitutes an attempt to offer consolation and assurance to those who have little or no control over their circumstances.   See further Introduction: The Impact and Influence of 1 Peter, with n. 972.

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The strategy of the letter may therefore be summarised as an attempt to give comfort and hope to those suffering alienation, victimisation, and both formal and informal hostility, by assuring them of their honourable identity as God’s elect people, and by calling them to endure their suffering, to resolute commitment and to doing what is good, whether or not suffering results. As the following section briefly illustrates, the legacy of this strategy is somewhat ambivalent. At least in its historical context it may represent a survival strategy for the relatively powerless, along with a call for resistance that was polite but nonetheless firm (and potentially fatal).953 Yet it can also serve to sustain and legitimate forms of oppression and suffering, presenting the acceptance of such suffering as the Christian duty in accepting God’s will, and offering comfort in the form of a deferred heavenly hope. The Impact and Influence of 1 Peter Initial Bibliography Dan Batovici, ‘Reception and Marginal Texts: Notes on the Reception of 1 Peter 5:1–4’, in Studies in the History of Exegesis, ed. Mark W. Elliott, Raleigh C. Heth, Angela Zautcke, History of Biblical Exegesis 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2022): 95–105; Giovanna Azzali Bernardelli, ‘Gv 1,7 e 1 Pt 1, 18–19 nell’esegesi di Eusebio di Cesarea, di Cirillo di Gerusalemme, di Epifanio di Salamina’, in Sangue e antropologia nella teologia medievale. Atti   It has become more and more common within Petrine scholarship to emphasise the various ways that the letter encourages resistance, particularly in subtle modes that represent the lot of the disadvantaged (see, e.g., Lugo Rodríguez, ‘Resistance Literature’, 199–201; Miller, ‘La protestation sociale’; Horrell, ‘Between Conformity and Resistance’, 111–43; Lalitha, ‘Alternate Petrine Community’, 54–66; Asumang, ‘Responses to Unjust Suffering’, 7–46; Wan, ‘Reflections on Empire’, 279–94; idem, ‘Repairing Social Vertigo’, 287–303; idem, Contest for Time and Space; Cherian, ‘Theology of Suffering in 1 Peter’, 23–40; Starling, ‘1 Peter and the Hermeneutics of Empire’, 111–28; Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 211–73; idem, ‘Divinity and Humanity of Caesar’, 131–47; Steetskamp, ‘Durchkreuzte Unterordnungen’, 23–43; idem, Autorschaft und Sklavenperspektive, esp. 41–53; Niemand, ‘Leben in feindlicher Umwelt’, 138–54; Horn, ‘Gute Staatsbürger’, 371–90; Liebengood, ‘Confronting Roman Imperial Claims’, 255–72; Nugent, ‘ “Weaker Sex” ’, 8–11; Yong, ‘Diasporic Discipleship’, 9–10; Bronson Barringer, ‘Subordination and Freedom’, 132–72; Le Roux, ‘1 Peter as Subversive Text’, 1–11; Schultz, ‘Teología y estrategia’, 378–81; Lindeman Allen, ‘Babies and Building Blocks’, 356–57 n. 25, 359–65; Blumenthal, ‘Das politische Potential’, 224; Hall, ‘Christian Mission’, 134). 953

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della VII settimana. Roma, 27 novembre – 2 dicembre 1989, ed. Francesco Vattioni, Centro Studi Sanguis Christi 7 (Rome: Edizioni Pia Unione Prezi�osissimo Sangue, 1991), 853–93; Gerald Bray, ed., James, 1–2 Peter, 1–3 John, Jude, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, NT 11 (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2000); Enrico dal Covolo, ‘L’interpretazione origeniana di 1 Petri 2,9’, in Origeniana Sexta. Origène et la Bible / Origen and the Bible. Actes du Colloquium Origenianum Sextum Chantilly, 30 août – 3 septembre 1993, ed. Gilles Dorival and Alain Le Boulluec, BEThL 118 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1995), 567–75; idem, ‘ “Voi siete stirpe eletta, sacerdozio regale, popolo santo…”. Esegesi e catechesi nell’interpretazione origeniana di 1Pt 2,9’, in Esegesi e Catechesi nei Padri (secc. II–IV), Convegno di studio e aggiornamento Facoltà di Lettere cristiane e classiche (Pontificium Institutum Altioris Latinitatis) Roma 26–28 marzo 1992, ed. Sergio Felici, BSRel 112 (Rome: LAS, 1993), 85–95; Lowrie J. Daly, ‘Political Implications of Some Medieval Commentators on 1 Peter II, 13-17’, Manuscripta 20 (2009): 137–49; Robert J. Daly, ‘Early Christian Influences on Origen’s Concept of Sacrifice’, in Origeniana. Premier colloque international des études origéniennes (Montserrat, 18–21 septembre 1973), ed. Henri Crouzel, Gennaro Lomiento, and Josep Rius-Camps, Quaderni di Vetera Christianorum 12 (Bari: Istituto di Letteratura Cristiana Antica, 1975), 313–26; David J. Downs, ‘ “Love Covers a Multitude of Sins”: Redemptive Almsgiving in 1 Peter 4:8 and Its Early Christian Receptions’, JTS 65 (2014): 489–514; Mark A. Frisius, Tertullian’s Use of the Pastoral Epistles, Hebrews, James, 1 and 2 Peter, and Jude, StBibLit 143 (New York: Peter Lang, 2011); David G. Horrell, ‘ “Honor everyone …” (1 Pet 2.17): The Social Strategy of 1 Peter and its Significance for the Development of Christianity’, in To Set at Liberty: Essays on Early Christianity and its Social World in Honor of John H. Elliott, ed. Stephen K. Black (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2014), 192–212; idem, ‘Tradition and Innovation: Reassessing 1 Peter’s Contributions to the Making of Christian Identity’, in Muted Voices of the New Testament: Readings in the Catholic Epistles and Hebrews, ed. Katherine M. Hockey, Madison N. Pierce, and Francis Watson, LNTS 565 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2017), 9–25; Andreas Merkt, ‘Checks and Balances: Is Christ’s Passion an Exemplum Only? Patristic Interpretation of 1 Peter 2:21’, in Gelitten, Gestorben, Auferstanden: Passions- und Ostertraditionen im antiken Christentum, ed. Tobias Nicklas, Andreas Merkt, and Joseph Verheyden, WUNT 2/273 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 239–46; idem, ‘Ein “stilles Blümlein”. Patristische Perspektiven auf den Ersten Petrusbrief’, in Der Erste Petrusbrief. Frühchristliche Identität im Wandel, ed. Martin Ebner, Gerd Häfner, and Konrad Huber, Quaestiones Disputatae 269 (Freiburg: Herder, 2015), 168–205; idem, 1 Petrus, Novum Testamentum Patristicum 21/1 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015); Johannes Roldanus, ‘Références patris�tiques au “chrétien-étranger” dans les trois premiers siècles’, in Lectures anciennes de la Bible, Cahiers de Biblia Patristica 1 (Strasbourg: Centre d’analyse et de documentation patristiques, 1987), 27–52; Rebecca Skaggs,



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1, 2 Peter and Jude Through the Centuries, Wiley Blackwell Bible Commentaries (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley Blackwell, 2020); Kenneth J. Woo, ‘Suffering as a Mark of the Church in Martin Luther’s Exegesis of 1 Peter’, CTQ 77 (2013): 307–25; Jonathan P. Yates, ‘Sic est uoluntas Dei: Latin Patristic Views on 1 Peter 2:13-17’, in Sacred Scripture and Secular Struggles, Bible in Ancient Christianity 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 32–61; idem, ‘Salvation through Water? 1 Peter 3:20–21 in the Ancient Latin Tradition’, Worship 92 (2018): 492–510.

A consideration of 1 Peter’s influence and impact could, of course, be almost endless, and there are whole volumes devoted to the patristic interpretation954 and overall reception history of the letter.955 This brief section, then, does not pretend to offer a full outline of the impact and influence of the letter, which would have to be done verse by verse. However, given the extent to which 1 Peter has been—and remains—neglected compared to the Pauline epistles, there is some value in indicating in summary form just some of the key ways that 1 Peter has been influential and important in shaping emerging Christian doctrine and practice.956 One hermeneutical move crucial to the claims of the earliest Christian movement is to view the Jewish scriptures as pointing towards, and finding their fulfilment, in Christ. In various forms, this stance is found across much of the NT and early Christian literature. Paul occasionally expresses a concise claim about scripture’s relevance to the Christian community (Rom 15.4; cf. 1 Cor 10.6). But the most explicit and extended passage in the NT where this kind of christianising claim is made regarding the Jewish scriptures is in 1 Pet 1.10–12, where the activity of the prophets of the Hebrew Bible is seen from a christological, eschatological, and ecclesial perspective. As Schutter and Achtemeier have pointed out, this text functions as a hermeneutical key—a text that indicates how and why the author reads the Jewish scriptures as he does, interpreting them as pointing to Christ and to the salvation now available to those who believe in Christ.957

  See Merkt, 1 Petrus; Bray, 1–2 Peter.   See Skaggs, 1, 2 Peter. 956   For a more detailed discussion of some of these innovations, see Horrell, ‘Tradition and Innovation’, 9–25. 957   Schutter, Hermeneutic, 100–109; Achtemeier, ‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 144–47; see also Sargent, Written to Serve, 18–49. 954 955

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Two important points are thus articulated in this short passage, both of them highly significant for Christian theology and its engagement with scripture, albeit also problematic in terms of the ways in which this establishes a kind of ‘colonising’ appropriation of Jewish scripture and thus potentially forms of supercessionism.958 First, the true subject of biblical prophecy (and, by extension, of the Jewish scriptures as a whole) is Christ: the prophets point to Christ, and predict in advance what he will go through. Second, the proper focus of this message of salvation is ‘you’, that is, the generation of early Christian believers, for whom this time of eschatological promise is ‘now’ (cf. 1 Cor 10.11). There is nowhere else in the NT where the basis for reading scripture in this way—the hermeneutical theory, as it were—is so clearly or explicitly set out, making this passage worthy of particular note in terms of its influence and significance. This appropriation of Jewish scripture is especially and influentially evident in terms of its significance for labelling the identity of the Christian groups addressed in the letter in 1 Pet 2.9–10. The author draws on texts from Isa 43.20–21, Exod 19.6, and Hosea 1–2, picking up phrases long identified as of particular identity-defining significance,959 the Ehrentitel Israels, as commentators have long called them.960 In terms of the construction of early Christian ‘peoplehood’, it is especially significant that this is the only place in the NT where the term γένος is applied to the Christians, one of only two places in the NT that describes Christians as members of an ἔθνος (the other, much less direct, and open to other interpretations, is Matt 21.43), and the only text where γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός occur together. The move made here by the author of 1 Peter, especially the move to denote Christians as a γένος, initiates an influential aspect of early Christian discourse that became established in the second century and beyond.961 Sometimes this designation is deployed in the context of a threefold distinction between Greeks, Jews, and   See, e.g., Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’, 144–77.   See, e.g., Schwarz, Identität durch Abgrenzung, 53–57, who sees Deut 7.6 as a key text in this regard, though similar declarations are made in Exod 19.5–6, which is clearly the source text in 1 Pet 2.9. 960   E.g., Windisch 61; Schneider 62. 961   See further Horrell, Becoming Christian, 145–52. 958 959



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Christians, as in the opening of the Epistle to Diognetus, where ‘this new race (γένος)’ of the Christians is contrasted with both Greeks and Jews (Diogn. 1).962 Closely related and also emerging during this period is the specific notion that Christians constitute a ‘third race’ (τρίτον γένος; Latin tertium genus), an expression that seems to be used both positively by Christians963 and critically by their opponents.964 Another example of an innovative move made by the author of 1 Peter that proved influential for early Christian practice is found in the compact phrases of 2.17. Navigating the demands of loyalty to God and of imperial authority was of course a frequent challenge for early Christians, just as it often was for Jews, especially in situations of vulnerability and potential persecution, such as 1 Peter is concerned to address. Since 1 Pet 2.17 clearly draws on Prov 24.21 LXX (φοβοῦ τὸν θεόν… καὶ βασιλέα, a parallel long noted965), it seems a deliberate move to differentiate the kind of loyalty required: τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε. While this has often been seen as evidence of the author’s stance of submission to imperial authority (cf. 2.13) and to the lack of hostility towards Rome, what has less often been noted is the way in which precisely this stance is repeated frequently by both martyrs and apologists in the coming centuries.966 Among the martyr accounts, Polycarp (died ca. 150s CE), for instance, is recorded as refusing to ‘swear by the genius of Caesar (τὴν καίσαρος τύχην)’, while at the same time expressing what he sees as the Christian duty to render honour (τιμή) to rulers (Mart. Pol. 10.1–2; cf. 8.2; 9.2). In the Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs (180 CE) there is a particularly close echo of 1 Pet 2.17: urged by the proconsul to ‘swear by the Genius of our lord the emperor’ (iura per genium domini nostri imperatoris) the (soon to be) martyrs reply: ‘We have none other whom we worship (timeamus) but our Lord 962   See also Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 5.14.98.4; and note the earlier formulation in 1 Cor 10.32. See further Buell, Why This New Race. 963   Possibly in the Kerygma Petrou [apud Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.5.41.6–7]; also Ps.-Cyprian, De Pascha comp. 17. 964   See Tertullian, Ad. Nat. 1.7–8; further von Harnack, Expansion of Christianity, 1:300–52. 965   E.g., Hort 146; Windisch 64. 966   For further detail, see Horrell, ‘Honour Everyone’, 201–204. For a similar position, see also Wilken, ‘1 Peter 2.13–17 and Martyrdom’, 348–52.

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God who is in heaven… Honour (honorem) to Caesar as Caesar, but worship (timorem) only to God’ (Act. Scil. 8–9; trans. Musurillo). In the Martyrdom of Apollonius (ca. 180–85 CE), the protagonist faces precisely the same imperative as the Scillitan Martyrs: to ‘swear by the Genius of our lord the emperor’ (ὄμοσον τὴν τύχην τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν [Mart. Apol. 3]). Apollonius gives his reasons for refusal: ‘Would you want me to swear that we pay honour to the emperor (βασιλέα τιμῶμεν) and pray for his authority? If so, then I would gladly swear, calling upon the one, true God’ (Mart. Apol. 6). As he later goes on to explain: ‘For he [Christ] taught us… to obey any law passed by the emperor and to respect him, but to worship God alone (βασιλέα τιμᾶν, θεὸν σέβειν μόνον)’ (Mart. Apol. 37; trans. Musurillo). This reference to Christ’s teaching is directly drawn from 1 Pet 2.17, echoing its vocabulary, rather than Jesus’ teaching in Mark 12.17 (it is even more distant from Paul’s teaching in Rom 13.1–7). In the early apologies, the closest and most extensive echoes of 1 Pet 2.17 are found in Theophilus of Antioch (c. 180 CE): ‘I will pay honour (τιμήσω) to the emperor not by worshipping (προσκυνῶν) him but by praying for him… [W]orship must be given to God alone… Honour the emperor (τὸν δὲ βασιλέα τίμα) by wishing him well, by obeying him, by praying for him…’ (Ad Auto. 1.11; trans. Grant). Likewise, Tatian, echoing 1 Peter’s language closely, describes himself as willing to obey and respect the ruler, up to a point: ‘for a human being is to be honoured in a way fitting for a human being, only God is to be feared’ (τὸν μὲν γὰρ ἄνθρωπον ἀνθρωπίνως τιμητέον, φοβητέον δὲ μόνον τὸν θεόν, Or. 4). These selected examples indicate not only the literary influence of 1 Pet 2.17 but also—and more importantly—its influence in encapsulating a stance that Christians frequently took in relation to the Roman Empire, and specifically in situations of persecution or defence, both of which are anticipated in 1 Peter. This stance cannot be adequately captured by either pole of the alternatives, accommodation or resistance. As we saw in the previous section (Introduction: Theology, Message, and Strategy of 1 Peter), 1 Peter navigates precisely this terrain, ‘between conformity and resistance’, stressing both the need for non-violent submission even to unjust suffering (e.g., 2.18–25) and also the need for firm resistance to any pressure to abandon commitment to Christ (e.g., 3.15–16; 5.8–10), a stance



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we might summarise as one of ‘polite resistance’.967 It is no accident that 1 Pet 2.17 was invoked in the 1934 Barmen Declaration of the Confessing Church in Germany.968 One side of this nuanced stance is found in the letter’s calls for submission and obedience, even in the face of injustice or violence. The call for submission to the emperor (2.13), to slave-owners (2.18), and to husbands (3.1) repeats instruction found in Paul’s infamous directives to be submissive to the governing authorities (Rom 13.1–7) and in the Pauline Haustafeln (esp. Col 3.18–4.1; Eph 5.21–6.9). As such, the legacy of these forms of ethical instruction in 1 Peter cannot be separated from those of this wider tradition. The Pauline teaching on submission to the imperial authorities in Rom 13.1–7 is less equivocal and critical than 1 Peter’s (see on 2.13–17), and has been more influential in terms of its Wirkingsgeschichte, raising difficulties from the early centuries of Christian history up until modern times—particularly in situations where Christians have faced oppressive regimes, and sought to discern when and how resistance and disobedience might be required. Nazi Germany and Apartheid South Africa are often mentioned as key examples.969 From early times, Paul’s blanket call for obedience has been qualified by insisting that this is owed only insofar as the state does not command or require anything that goes against the will of God, glossing Romans 13 with the ‘Petrine clause’ of Acts 5.29.970 The Geneva Bible of 1560 added the marginal comment to Rom 13.5: ‘so farre as lawfully wee may: for if unlawful things be commanded us, we must answere as Peter teacheth us, It is better to obey God than men’.971 The call for submission to the emperor in 1 Pet 2.13–17 is already more critically nuanced than Rom 13.1–7, albeit implicated in the same problematic legacy.

  Horrell, Becoming Christian, 236–38.   See Barmen Declaration §5 (available at https://www.ekd.de/en/The-Barmen-Declaration-303.htm). 969   E.g., Munro, ‘Apartheid’s Last Biblical Refuge’, 161–68. The negative impact of the passage is strongly expressed by O’Neill, Paul’s Letter to the Romans, 209. 970   According to Wilckens (Röm 12–16, 45 with n. 190), this goes back at least to Hippolytus and Origen. 971   See Wink, ‘Neither Passivity nor Violence’, 114 with n. 38. 967 968

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The same goes for the Petrine Haustafel, which, like other NT Haustafeln, played its part in sustaining the idea that the owning of slaves and the subordination of wives to husbands aligned with God’s will. The instruction in 1 Peter is especially problematic due to its emphasis on enduring even unjust suffering (2.19–20), which, on the part of both slaves and wives, can be taken to imply that choosing to remain in situations of abuse is a Christian duty; even in recent times, there are instances where women are advised by their pastors to remain in violent or abusive relationships.972 Whatever its problematic legacy, it is noteworthy among the features of 2.19–20 in particular that it offers a unique (in the NT) view of χάρις as that which human beings return to God (not in itself an unusual view; cf. χάρις τῷ θεῷ in Rom 6.17; 7.23; 2 Cor 2.14; 8.16; 9.15) specifically through their bearing of this unjust suffering (see on 2.19–20). The NT Haustafeln played a prominent part in debates in nineteenth-century America over slavery, in which exegetes often supported the pro-slavery debate on the basis that the Bible showed this to be a divinely sanctioned mode of social organization.973 With regard to wives and women specifically, 1 Peter’s labelling of the female as ‘the weaker vessel’ (ὡς ἀσθενεστέρῳ σκεύει, 3.7)— sometimes translated ‘the weaker sex’, even in more modern translations (e.g., NRSV)974—while it reflects prevalent ancient (and modern) ideology, has a specific and widespread legacy in engendering this particular phrase as a characterisation of women in comparison to men. One of the distinctive features of the Petrine Haustafel is its extended use of the example of Christ to motivate and shape the behaviour of domestic slaves (2.21–25), who in turn serve (like wives) as paradigms for the whole community. In setting out this christological paradigm, the author draws extensively on Isaiah’s

972   For an especially sharp critique of 1 Peter’s legacy in this regard, see Corley, ‘1 Peter’, 349–60. 973   See, e.g., Meeks, ‘The “Haustafeln” and American Slavery’, 232–53; Harrill, ‘American Slave Controversy’, 149–86; Martin, ‘Haustafeln (Household Codes)’, 206–31. 974   For a critique of this translational decision, and also an attempt to argue that the passage does not convey the idea that women are weaker than men, see Nugent, ‘The “Weaker Sex” or a Weak Translation?’, 8–11.



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Suffering Servant material (Isa 52.13–53.12, esp. 53.3–12), thus instantiating the scriptural hermeneutic outlined in 1.10–12.975 It is unlikely that the author of 1 Peter was the first to see christological significance in Isaiah’s Suffering Servant material: there have long been arguments about how far back into earliest Christian tradition—even into the self-consciousness of Jesus himself—the identification of Jesus with the Suffering Servant goes. The substantial quotation in Acts 8.32–33 as well as the shorter citations and (possible) allusions in Matt 8.17, Mark 10.45(?), Luke 22.37, John 12.38, Rom 4.25, and Heb 9.28(?),976 may be enough to suggest that the significance of this prophetic passage had been noticed relatively early; and the author of 1 Peter may in any case be drawing to some extent on pre-formed tradition. Nonetheless, the unique significance of what we find here in 1 Peter is often missed. Even in Acts 8.32–35, the other extensive NT engagement with Isaiah 53, there is, as Achtemeier notes, ‘no further explication’ as to the christological significance of the text, and ‘[w]hen Luke does come to describe the Passion, he ignores the Isaianic material’.977 In 1 Peter, by contrast, we find a kind of Passion Narrative in nuce—reminiscences of the trial and execution of Jesus, and of the character and conduct of Jesus himself—expressed, for the first time in Christian literature, in a form that draws extensively on Isaiah 53. It is striking, then, that in Sawyer’s major study of the use of Isaiah in the NT, he suggests that ‘As the Church established itself, interpretations already present in the Gospels and Paul, such as the identification of Christ with the Suffering Servant in Isaiah 53… were confirmed and disseminated throughout the rapidly expanding Christian world’.978 In fact, such ‘interpretations’ are nowhere clear in either the Gospels or in Paul, but are found in Acts 8.32–35 and 1 Pet 2.21–25 (and most explicitly and extensively in the latter of these). Therefore, 1 Pet 2.21–25 should have a central place as a key initiator of a rich tradition of Christian theological, liturgical,   Cf. Achtemeier, ‘Suffering Servant’, 187; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 138–44.   Less relevant to the question of the use of Isa 53 to depict the redemptive suffering and death of Christ are Rom 10.16, 15.21, and Rev 14.5. 977   Achtemeier, ‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 147. 978   Sawyer, Fifth Gospel, 44. It is also notable that according to its own index, the book has no specific references to 1 Pet 2.21–25. 975 976

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artistic and musical reflection, in which Christ is depicted as the Isaianic Suffering Servant.979 A final example of 1 Peter’s significant influence on the development of the Christian tradition comes in 4.16, one of only three NT appearances of the word Χριστιανός (also Acts 11.26; 26.28). Studies of the etymology and origins of the name, clearly a Latinism, indicate the probability of its having arisen among outsiders in contexts of hostility, possibly judicial contexts.980 Both of the occurrences in Acts, as well as the one in 1 Peter, are congruent with this analysis. While the references in Acts convey little about the dynamics of the contexts in which the name was first used, the one in 1 Peter is revealing. The broader context is that of a discussion about the ‘fiery ordeal’ the recipients are facing (4.12) and the likelihood that they will be reviled for the name of Christ (4.14). The specific context draws a contrast between suffering on the basis of possible accusations that would be a cause of shame (4.15) and the possibility of suffering ὡς Χριστιανός (4.16). In the early second century, Pliny’s famous letter (Ep. 10.96.3: Interrogavi ipsos an essent Christiani) already shows that the question ‘Are you a Christian?’ was the crux of the matter in prosecutions of the Christians. From the Martyrdom of Polycarp (ca. 150s CE) onwards, we also see the centrality of the declaration Χριστιανός εἰμι (Mart. Pol. 10.1)—or its Latin equivalents, Christianus/a sum—on the part of the accused.981 Whether informal accusation or a courtroom setting is in view in 1 Peter,982 the context fits the sense of the name’s origins as a label used by hostile outsiders. This makes 1 Peter’s treatment all the more significant: beyond mere mention of this designation, the author insists that bearing it   Famously in Handel’s Messiah (part 2, scene 1, 23–26). Another indication of 1 Peter’s relative neglect is seen in two sizeable volumes on Isa 53 in the NT which contain no chapter specifically devoted to 1 Pet 2.21–25: Bellinger and Farmer, ed., Jesus and the Suffering Servant, and Janowski and Stuhlmacher, ed., The Suffering Servant, though in this latter volume, Hofius gives a brief consider�ation of 1 Pet 2.21–25 (pp. 185–87) concerned with what kind of view of Christ’s (atoning) death is evident here. 980   For an extended discussion, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 164–210. 981   See Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek?, 211–31; idem, Christian Identity, 253–59. 982   See Introduction: Socio-Historical Context. Cf. also Exegesis at 3.15, 4.15–16. 979



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is no cause for shame, but on the contrary is a means of bringing glory to God. This text thus represents the first attempt to claim this hostile outsiders’ label as one that insiders may proudly own, a first step in the process by which the name came to be used by Christians [sic] of one another, eventually becoming the standard designation. By the time of Ignatius we see a further stage in the process, as he expresses the desire not only to be called a Christian but also to be one (μὴ μόνον καλεῖσθαι Χριστιανούς, ἀλλὰ καὶ εἶναι, Ign. Magn. 4.1; cf. Ign. Rom 3.2). These various examples are emblematic of the rich and innovative contributions that 1 Peter makes to the developing Christian tradition, often in ways that would prove profoundly influential, albeit in some respects problematic. Whether we emphasise the constructive, positive contributions of 1 Peter to Christian identity, theology and social practice, or whether we stress the problematic and oppressive aspects of the letter’s legacy, it should be clear that it leaves the marks of considerable influence through the centuries, and deserves a level of attention commensurate with this rich and varied Wirkungsgeschichte.983

  On which, see esp. Skaggs, 1, 2 Peter.

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I N S C R IPT IO /SU B SC R I PTI O

Text ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗ ΠΕΤΡΟΥ It is doubtful that the inscriptio at the top of the letter represents what was written on the autograph, though it is likely that there was some form of inscriptio and/or subscriptio. On most epistles from the Greco-Roman world,1 the name of the addressee(s) and sender(s) and, in some cases, the destination, would normally be written on the verso side of the folded papyrus (or scroll).2 Whatever the original inscriptio, assuming one existed, it has probably not been preserved in the numerous and variegated forms that are scattered throughout the MS tradition, though the simple form given above is likely the earliest form we have—though it is difficult to know exactly what form of inscription a pseudonymous writer might find appropriate.3 Our author scarcely knew that this was to be ‘the first epistle of Peter’, still less that it would be gathered with other letters into a collection known as the ‘Catholic Epistles’. Titles like these belong to a phase of the text’s history, subsequent to its original production, when it was preserved and copied along with other texts and then identified with a label. Nonetheless, the various inscriptiones are interesting for the insight they provide into the ways in which the status and identification of this letter evolved through its early history. It is unfortunate, therefore, that the vast majority of commentaries give this feature of the text little or no attention. 1   Titles of ancient books were more often found at the end than at the beginning of the work (see Gathercole, ‘Titles of the Gospels’, 33–34). 2   Klauck, Ancient Letters, 25, 52, 190. Examples of inscriptiones from other ancient letters include: ἀπόδος Θέωνι [ἀ]πὸ Θεωνᾶτος υἱοῦ, ‘Deliver to Theon, from Theonas (his) son’ (P.Oxy. I 119 [verso]); [Σαβίνῃ] ἀ[δε]λφ[ῇ] ἀπ[ὸ] Ἀντ[ω]νίου Μαξίμ[ο]υ ἀδελ[φοῦ], ‘To Sabina, (his) sister, from Antonius Maximus, (her) brother’ (BGU II 632 [verso]). 3   For the full textual evidence on the inscriptio, see ECM 103. Witherington suggests that the original inscriptio may have contained ‘reminders of which cities in those regions to visit’ (67, citing New Docs 7:44).

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The first hand of ‫ א‬and B, together with a number of much later minuscules (1, 61, 522, 621, 629, 720, 1563*, 1842, 2147), lack any evidence of an inscriptio. While noteworthy, this probably reveals little about the original autograph.4 The simple inscriptio given above appears only in C-S (and again as subscriptio) (tepistolh mpetros = ἡ ἐπιστολὴ (τοῦ) Πέτρου), and in a few much later Greek MSS (1292 [thirteenth century], 1611 [eleventh century]; cf. Πέτρου ἐπιστολή in 2818 [twelfth century]). The witness of C-S here is significant, as it represents the first (known) attempt of Christian copyists at labelling the work. Noteworthy is the fact that it probably indicates that the author of this text, and presumably the author of the Greek Vorlage, too, knew (or recognised) only this one letter of Peter.5 This early inscriptio, then, reflects a time, or at least a locale, in which 2 Peter was not yet known or accepted. By contrast, P72, along with ‫א‬2, A, and many other later MSS, presents an inscriptio that numbers this text as the ‘first’ letter of Peter: Πέτρου ἐπιστολή αʹ.6 As in C-S, so in P72 the same 4   At the beginning of both ‫ א‬and B, the inscriptiones of other NT works are lacking as well (e.g., the Gospels, Acts, other Catholic Epistles), suggesting that the absence might be due to the compositional character of each codex. What is more, with a change like this the difference between the two hands is not necessarily representative of a lengthy textual development. In the case of ‫א‬, the second hand made corrections very early while the MS was still in the scriptorium (see Milne and Skeat, Scribes and Correctors, 40–55; Jongkind, Scribal Habits, 39–55). Thus, the addition of inscriptiones would represent an early decision regarding the character of the MS. 5   Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 146; Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 260. Bethge also notes that this is perhaps not surprising, since ‘vor dem Ende des 2. Jahrhunderts ist 2Petr nicht bekannt, und danach war er umstritten, in Italien bis 400’ (260). See further Kelly 224–25; Nienhuis, Not by Paul, 19, 29–97. Eusebius refers to both letters attributed to Peter, noting that the one called ‘the first’ (ἡ λεγομένη αὐτοῦ προτέρα) is recognised, while the second is not accepted as canonical (Hist. eccl. 3.3.1, 4). In listing the writings of the NT, however, he refers to ‘the letter of Peter’, which should be accepted (τὴν Πέτρου κυρωτέον ἐπιστολήν), contrasted with the second letter of Peter (Πέτρου δευτέρα ἐπιστολή) which is among the disputed books (Hist. eccl. 3.25.2–3). This gives some pause for thought about whether the use of the title ἡ ἐπιστολὴ Πέτρου necessarily indicates ignorance of the existence of the second letter (a point we owe to Peter Head), but there is a deliberate contrast in Eusebius between the (recognised) letter of Peter and the second, disputed one. 6   It is unfortunate that NA28 gives the inscriptio as Πέτρου ἐπιστολή πρώτη, citing P72, ℵ1 and A(?) in support, when P72, ℵ, B, et al., use the simple alpha to indicate the number, as given above.



INSCRIPTIO/SUBSCRIPTIO

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designation is also repeated in the subscriptio at the end of the epistle, followed in P72 by the charming blessing: εἰρήνη τῷ γράψαντι καὶ τῷ ἀναγινώσκοντι.7 This title seems to predate the addition of the widely employed designation, καθολική, which appears mainly in Greek minuscule MSS as well as a few later majuscules (e.g. L [ninth century]; 049 [ninth century]). As far as we can determine, this label was first applied to the letter by Origen (Comm on Matt 1, in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.5; cf. Beare 24). Further in the history of textual transmission, some MSS began to expand the inscriptio by including an elevated description of the letter’s designated author (e.g., τοῦ ἁγίου ἀποστόλου Πέτρου, ‘the holy apostle Peter’ [049, 93, 218, 398, 665, 1127, 1838]; ἐπιστολὴ καθολικὴ πρώτη τοῦ ἁγίου καὶ πανευφήμου ἀποστόλου Πέτρου, ‘the first catholic epistle of the holy and all-praiseworthy apostle Peter’ [L, 1852V]). Concurrent with these later developments, we also find a brief commentary on the content of the epistle. In the eleventh-century minuscule 945, the title of the letter is given as Πέτρος Ἰουδαίοις τάδε πρῶτα τεθέσπικε πιστοῖς (‘Peter decreed these things first to faithful Jews’).8

7   Very similar colophons appear elsewhere in the Bodmer Papyrus, at the end of the Nativity of Mary and Melito’s Peri Pascha, suggesting that the various scribes were part of what Haines-Eitzen calls a ‘scribal network’. She also hypothesises that the form of the blessing may indicate that writer and reader were ‘part of the same community’ (Guardians of Letters, 101–102). 8   In contradistinction, Codex Fuldensis (F) labels the work Petri epistula ad gentes prima (‘The first epistle of Peter to the nations’). Cf. also Junillius Africanus, Instituta Regularia Divinae Legis 478: ‘beati Petri ad gentes prima’; Cassiodorus, Institutiones Divinarum et Saecularium Litterarum. 1.14.1: ‘Epistolae Petri ad gentes’.

E P I S T O L A RY P R E S C R I P T: I D E N T I F I C AT I O N O F A U T H O R / A D D R E S S E S AND OPENING GREETINGS (1.1–2)

Initial Bibliography Francis H. Agnew, ‘1 Peter 1:2—An Alternative Translation’, CBQ 45 (1983): 68–73; Lutz Doering, ‘Apostle, Co-Elder, and Witness of Suffering: Author Construction and Peter Image in First Peter’, in Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen, ed. Jörg Frey, et al., WUNT 246 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 645–81; idem, ‘First Peter as Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, in The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition, ed. Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 216–25; Colin J. Hemer, ‘The Address of 1 Peter’, ExpTim 89 (1978): 239–43; Thorsten Klein, Bewahrung in Anfechtung: Der Jakobusbrief und der Erste Petrusbrief als christliche Diasporabriefe, Neutestamentliche Entwürfe zur Theologie 18 (Tübingen: Francke, 2011), 225–72; Judith M. Lieu, ‘ “Grace to You and Peace”: The Apostolic Greeting’, BJRL 68 (1985): 161–78; Sydney H. T. Page, ‘Obedience and Blood-Sprinkling in 1 Peter 1:2’, WTJ 72 (2010): 291–98; Thomas Popp, ‘ “…den erwählten Fremden’ (1 Petr 1,1). Theologie der Anerkennung im 1. Petrusbrief’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 183–203; Benjamin Sargent, ‘Chosen through Sanctification (1 Pet 1,2 and 2 Thess 2,13): The Theology or Diction of Silvanus?’, Bib 94 (2013): 117–20; Eckart David Schmidt, ‘Kult und Ethik: Leben “jeiliger” Gemeinden. Der Heiligkeitsbegriff in ethischen Begründungszusammenhängen im 1. Petrusbrief’, in Ethische Normen des frühen Christentums: Gut - Leben - Leib - Tugend, Kontexte und Normen neutestamentlicher Ethik/Contexts and Norms of New Testament Ethics, Band IV, ed. Friedrich W. Horn et al., WUNT 313 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 225–55; Thomas Söding, ‘Grüße aus Rom. Der Erste Petrusbrief in der Geschichte des Urchristentums und im Kanon’, in Hoffnung in Bedrängnis. Studien zum Ersten Petrusbrief, ed. Thomas Söding, SBS 216 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2009), 11–45; Philip L. Tite, ‘The Compositional Function of the Petrine Prescript: A Look at 1 Pet 1:1–3’, JETS 39 (1996): 47–56; idem, Compositional Transitions in 1 Peter: An Analysis of the Letter-Opening (San Francisco: International Scholars Publications, 1997); Wolfgang Trilling, ‘Zum Petrusamt im Neuen Testament. Traditionsgeschichtliche Überlegungen anhand von Matthäus, 1 Petrus und Johannes’,

300

1 PETER

ThQ 151 (1971): 110–33; Mark W. Wilson, ‘Cities of God in Northern Asia Minor: Using Stark’s Social Theories to Reconstruct Peter’s Communities’, Verbum et Ecclesia 32 (2011): 1–9.

Text 1

Πέτρος ἀπόστολος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς Πόντου, Πόντου, Γαλατίας Γαλατίας,, Καππαδοκίας Καππαδοκίας,, Ἀσίας Ἀσίας,, καὶ Βιθυνίας(a), 2 κατὰ πρόγνωσιν θεοῦ πατρός ἐν ἁγιασμῷ πνεύ­ πνεύ­ ματος εἰς ὑπακοὴν(b) καὶ ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, Χριστοῦ, χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη(c) πληθυνθείη πληθυνθείη..

(a) There is some variation in the lists of the letter’s destinations, with an additional καί appearing before Ἀσίας in some MSS, the καί between Ἀσίας and Βιθυνίας missing in others, and so on (see ECM 104). ‫ *א‬and 048 omit Ἀσίας, and B* omits καὶ Βιθυνίας. Michaels suggests that Ἀσίας may have seemed redundant if it was understood to refer ‘to the entire territory to which 1 Peter was addressed’ and that Βιθυνίας may have been omitted ‘on the assumption that because Pontus and Bithynia were one province, the inclusion of both may have been a mistake by earlier scribes’ (3 n. b; cf. Feldmeier 49). However, the omissions are perhaps more simply explained as errors of haplography due to homoeoteleuton; they were then corrected by later hands on these MSS (cf. Spicq 40; Elliott 315–16). The text given here for v. 1 is preserved in P72, ‫א‬2, A, B2, most minuscules, and the Byzantine tradition. (b) In the Sahidic Coptic manuscript tradition, including C-S, n_tpistis (τῆς πίστεως) appears after ὑπακοήν,1 perhaps an assimilation to the Pauline expression in Rom 1.5 and 16.26. (c) Some Latin texts of the T-type add a deo after εἰρήνη (ECM 105; VL 26.1, 72), again a possible influence from the Pauline greeting form.

Introduction The standard and well-established format for the opening of a Greek letter was a simple statement giving the name of the sender(s) in the nominative (i.e., superscription), the name of the recipient(s) in the dative (i.e., adscription), and the single word ‘greetings’ (χαίρειν) in the infinitive (i.e., salutation).2 The same pattern is repeated in Jewish and Christian literature that is composed in Greek (see, e.g., 1 Macc 10.18, 25; 11.30; 12.6; Acts 15.23; 23.26; Jas 1.1).   Cf. Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 260; see also ECM 105.   E.g., P.Oxy. II 292, 299; P.Tebt. II 412; BGU I 100 for short non-literary examples. In Latin letters, there is a similar formula: sender to recipient, salutem. See, e.g., P.Mich. VIII 468; cf. Seneca, Ep. 38; 61. See further Klauck, Ancient 1 2



1.1–2

301

Under Paul’s influence, in particular, a distinctive Christian epistolary pattern developed with its own formula.3 Broadly following this epistolary convention, the writer of 1 Peter first states the (inscribed) author’s name and identity (in a way that indicates his authority and position) then denotes the letter’s addressees in terms that indicate both their geographical location and a theologically loaded sense of their identity. He describes that identity in terms rooted in his sense of the salvation to which they have been called (cf. 1 Cor 1.2). The Christian—and particularly Pauline—form of opening greeting exchanged χαίρειν for the more theologically significant χάρις and included also the traditional Jewish expression of peace (εἰρήνη/‫שׁלם‬, cf. Ezra 4.17; Dan 4.1).4 This letter broadly—though not exactly—follows the Pauline pattern, though it does not include the established binitarian conclusion ‘from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ’, but instead includes elements indicating influence from the traditions of Jewish letter-writing.5 Absent from the prescript of 1 Peter is any verbal form that connects the third person used for the sender and addressees. This is consistent with Pauline style and ancient epistolary practice more generally. Ancient grammarians were perplexed by this construction as well as the presence of the infinitive (χαίρειν, ‘to greet’) rather than the imperative (χαῖρε, ‘Be greeted!’). A potential explanation seems to lie in oral dissemination of information through messengers.6 As the situation is rehearsed by Klauck,

Letters, 17–18. White notes that ‘[a]bout two-thirds of the Greek papyrus letters have as their opening formula, “A (= sender) to B (= recipient) greeting” ’ (‘Epistolary Literature’, 1734). 3   See Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters, 406–15, who criticises the common view that Paul combines the Jewish ‘peace’ greeting with the Greek χαίρειν and argues instead that Paul himself ‘creatively modifies Jewish models of salutation’ (415). See also Lieu, ‘Apostolic Greeting’, 161–78; Adams, ‘Paul’s Letter Opening’, 33–55. 4   On the patterns of Jewish epistolography and their influence on emerging Christian patterns, see the major and important study of Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters. See also Lieu, ‘Apostolic Greeting’, 164–66. For both epistolary and oral use in rabbinic practice, see TDNT 2:408–409. 5   See further Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters, 429–97. 6   See Gerhard, ‘Geschichte des griechischen Briefes’, 55; Sarri, Material Aspects, 41.

302

1 PETER [t]he messenger arrives on the scene and says: τάδε λέγει, “Thus says A to B, etc.” In direct discourse the end of this formula can indeed be completed by the imperative χαῖρε, “rejoice!” But in indirect discourse the infinitive χαίρειν is used, which leads to the statement, “A tells (λέγει) B to rejoice (χαίρειν)” or also “to feel greeted.” The verb λέγει falls away when the oral usage is reduced to writing, and the resulting letter opening is left with an ellipse with merely χαίρειν.7

Letters discovered from the archaic and classical periods, however, suggest the possibility of a slightly different reconstruction. The presence of oral address is evident in one type of letter that names the recipient(s) in the vocative,8 but the elision in question may have involved an alternative verbal form. In letters from this earlier time period, it seems that the verb ἐπιστέλλω (‘I send a message’) is most consistently employed, and it was from this usage that the genre of ἐπιστολή (‘letter’) was formed.9 So it would be accurate 7   Klauck, Ancient Letters, 18. This hypothesis is consistent with the explanation provided by Apollonius Dyscolus, a second-century grammarian from Alexandria. Given the fact that the name of the sender and the name(s) of the recipient(s) ‘are in the third person, both the nominative one and the dative one’, Apollonius maintained that ‘the verb that belongs to them must also be in the third person, and one which can appropriately be construed with the nominative name as subject’ (De constructione 3.64; trans. Householder). He suggests two potential candidates, λέγει or εὔχεται, ultimately preferring the former (3.65–66). Support for this decision is provided by the presence of λέγει in some ancient epistles: Herotodus, Hist. 3.40: Ἄμασις Πολυκράτεϊ ὧδε λέγει (‘Amasis says the following to Polykrates’); SIG3 22: βασιλεύς βασιλέων Δαρεῖος ὁ Ὑστάσπεω Γαδάται δούλωι τάδε λέγει (‘Darius the son of Hystaspes, King of kings, says the following to his servant Gadatas’). Cf. Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 68, suggests that the understood verb might have been γράφει (hence, ‘Peter writes to the elect sojourners’). 8   See Belousov and Saprykin, ‘Letter of Kledikos’, 153–60. The letter, which dates to the fifth century BCE, opens with Ὦριστόκρατες ἐπιστέλλε (= ἐπιστέλλει) τοι Κλέδικος (‘Aristokrates, Kledikos sends you these instructions’). This vocative form is also attested in a letter recorded (or composed?) by Herodotus (Hist. 1.124: τὰ δὲ γράμματα ἔλεγε τάδε· Ὦ παῖ Καμβύσεω…). 9   See, e.g., SEG 26:845 (ca. 500 BCE): Ὦ Πρωταγόρη, ὀ πατήρ τοι ἐπιστέλλεν (= ἐπιστέλλει) (‘Protagoras, your father sends you these instructions’); Agora XXI B9 (425–400 BCE): Σοσίνεο ἐπέστελε Γλαύκοι (‘Sosineos sent to Glaukos’); SIG3 1259: Μνησίεργος ἐπέστειλε τοῖς οἴκοι χαίρεν (= χαίρειν) καὶ ὑγιαίνεν (= ὑγιαίνειν) (‘Mnesiergos sends greetings and good health wishes to those at home’).



1.1–2

303

to label Πέτρος, in its present form, as a nominative absolute,10 operating independently of any verbal form; yet it is important to recognise that it functions in this way as a vestige of an earlier sentence structure. Exegesis 1 Πέτρος ἀπόστολος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ The opening word, Πέτρος, provides the name of the implied author and sender of the letter. It is undoubtedly the Peter, prominent disciple and early Christian leader. Some have claimed that the use of Πέτρος as a personal name is unattested prior to this point, with a few even going so far as to claim that ‘[t]he first person ever to have the name Peter may well have been Simon, the brother of Andrew and one of the first disciples’.11 But onomastic studies have uncovered other contemporary occurrences of this name that are unrelated to the Jesus movement.12 What is noteworthy is that the author does not employ Peter’s given name, which would have been the Aramaic ‫‘( שמעון‬Simeon’) or, since he was writing in Greek, its transliterated form Σίμων (‘Simon’); instead, he uses a nickname. According to the Gospels, Simon received the nickname Πέτρος (or the Aramaic equivalent,   So, e.g., Dubis 1. On the nominative absolute as a form that is unconnected to any (implied) verbal form, see Young, New Testament Greek, 14; Wallace, Grammar, 49–51. 11   Marshall 29, followed by Witherington 65. Others who emphasise the unattested nature of the name include: Achtemeier 80; Black 28; Elliott 308; Schlosser 49; cf. Lampe, ‘Das Spiel mit dem Petrusnamen’, 228; Martin, ‘Peter and the Expansion’, 94. 12   See Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 1:303; cf. also Pape, Wörterbuch der griechischen Eigennamen, 1179–80. Others have claimed that the name is attested among the Dead Sea Scrolls, particularly in a reading from 4Q341 (originally dubbed 4QTherapeia). According to Charlesworth (‘Has the Name “Peter”?’, 213–25), lines 8–9 of this fragment read ‫( פיטרוס‬cf. also Jobes 60; Thiede, Geheimakte Petrus, 67 with 291 n. 100). However, this reading has been called into question by Naveh (‘A Medical Document’, 52–55), who does not connect the reading to the previous line, but reads (what he describes as) line 9b as ‫יטריסיסי‬. While this transcription has become standard, it is possible—contrary to Naveh, who understands this fragment as a warm-up exercise filled with “meaningless” letters and words—to interpret them as Hebrew names. This was argued by Taylor (‘A Writing Exercise Remembered’, 133–51), who claimed that the letters in question in line 9 record two names: ‫‘( יסיסי‬Yasisi’) and ‫‘( יטר‬Yitar’). 10

304

1 PETER

‫כיפא‬/Κηφᾶς) from Jesus (cf. Mark 3.16; John 1.42).13 In comparison, the opening of 2 Peter gives the name as Συμεὼν Πέτρος (2 Pet 1.1; cf. Matt 16.16; Luke 5.8; John 6.68; 13.6, etc.).14 Different reasons have been given to explain why this name was selected. Some have attributed the choice to the fact that the letter was written to Greekspeaking Christians who would have been unfamiliar with the Aramaic-related form Κηφᾶς.15 Paul, it should be noted, most often uses Κηφᾶς in his letters.16 But most have claimed that Πέτρος had become Simon’s official apostolic name, replacing his given name in both his mind and in the minds of others.17 This latter suggestion seems to be on target, although the name Πέτρος did not become the standard designation of the apostle until after Peter’s lifetime.18 Consequently, it may lend some support to the letter’s pseudepigraphical character.   Bockmuehl argues that Πέτρος was a pre-existing Greek nickname which was conferred upon Simon in the Hellenistic environment of Bethsaida prior to his decision to become a follower of Jesus (Peter Remembered, 148–56; cf. also Cullmann, Peter, 19). Yet there are some difficulties with this hypothesis (see Williams, ‘From Shimon to Petros’, 34–40). 14   The combination ‘Simon Peter’ is frequent and standard in John’s Gospel (1.40; 6.8, 68; 13.6, 9, 24, 36; 18.10, 15, 25; 20.2, 6; 21.2–3, 7, 11, 15; cf. also Gos. Pet. 14.60; Gos. Eb. 4). Elsewhere, when it occurs (namely, in the Synoptics and Acts), it is generally presented in the explanatory form ‘Simon who was called Peter’ (e.g., Matt 4.18; 10.2; Acts 10.5, 18, 32; 11.13; cf. Acts Thom. 1.1) or with reference to Jesus’ giving to Simon the name ‘Peter’ (Mark 3.16; Luke 6.14). Only in 2 Pet 1.1 does the form ‘Simeon’ appear. 15   E.g., Hort 13; Best 69; Powers 39. On the basis of evidence from Ep. Apos. 2 (where Cephas and Peter are listed as distinct individuals) and Clement of Alexandria, Hyp. 5 [= Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.12.2] (where Cephas was one of the seventy disciples and Peter was one of the twelve), some have speculated that Peter and Cephas are two different persons (so, e.g., Ehrman, ‘Cephas and Peter’, 463–74), although this position is difficult to sustain (see Allison, ‘Peter and Cephas’, 489–95). 16   See 1 Cor 1.12; 3.22; 9.5; 15.1; Gal 1.18; 2.9, 11, 14. Πέτρος is used only at Gal 2.7–8. 17   E.g., Schott 3; Johnstone 40; Huther 43; Plumptre 91; Monnier 18; Lenski 19. 18   See Introduction: 1 Peter as a Pseudonymous Composition. The name is commonly employed within later Christian writings (e.g., 1 Clem. 5.4; 2 Clem. 5.3–4; Ign. Rom. 4.3; Smyrn. 3.2; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 5.22; Gos. Eb. 4; Gos. Mary 10.7), especially in the Ps.-Clement, Homilies. It is also used in all pseudepigrapha attributed to Peter: Acts of Peter, Revelation of Peter, Letter of Peter to Philip, Acts of Peter and Andrew, Acts of Peter and Paul, Apocalypse of Peter, Gospel of Peter, Martyrdom of Peter, Martyrdom of Peter and Paul, etc. 13



1.1–2

305

The title ἀπόστολος, which is in apposition to Πέτρος,19 is anarthrous and thus functions in a qualitative sense to emphasise the nature of Peter’s authoritative position.20 This designation is provided without any further explanatory comment, such as we generally find in the comparable letter-openings in Paul (e.g., διὰ θελήματος θεοῦ, 1 Cor 1.1; 2 Cor 1.1; cf. Eph 1.1; Col 1.1; 2 Tim 1.1).21 Peter is apostle par excellence and can simply be described as such;22 the contrast with the defensive opening of Galatians is notable. The term, like its Hebrew equivalent ‫שׁליח‬, indicates one who is sent, and it is used in the NT of those who are authorised and commissioned representatives—in some cases of the churches (2 Cor 8.23; cf. Acts 13.2 with 14.14) but more often of Christ (as, of course, in the Pauline epistolary address; cf. also Acts 1.2; 2 Cor 11.13; Jude 17).23 This designation need not be restricted to   When Peter is referenced in later writings, only his name is given. But on occasion, his apostolic title is included as well (‘the apostle Peter’): Ps.-Clement, Epitome altera auctore Symeone Metaphrasta 45, 157; Epitome de gestis Petri praemetaphrastica 42, 45, 144, 169, 171; Acts Pet. 1.0; Mart. Pet. Paul 14.3; Acts Pet. Paul 35.3; Acts Phil. 30.1. 20   Most English translations render the construction with an indefinite article (‘Peter, an apostle’; cf. NRSV, NIV, NET, NAB, ESV), indicating membership in a group of apostles without any stress being laid on the character or qualities of that group. (In distinction, if the article had been included, it would have served to distinguish this Peter from others with the same name: ‘Peter, the one who is an apostle’ [cf. Origen, Sel. Ps. 2 (PG 12:1101); Eusebius, Comm. Ps. 15 (PG 23:153); Athanasius, Synopsis 76 (PG 28:433)].) Nevertheless, the use of ἀπόστολος as an introductory designation much more likely indicates something about the nature of apostleship—whether it be the authority, function, or even the exclusivity of the position (cf. Harink 27–28; on this indefinite/qualitative distinction, see Slaten, Qualitative Nouns, 6–10 and, with reference to ἀπόστολος, 58–59). As such, the anarthrous form probably functions in a qualitative sense (‘Peter, apostle of Jesus Christ’; cf. Wycliffe, Darby, GNT). Understood as part of the letter’s pseudonymous strategy, this construction may be intended ‘to lend apostolic confirmation and legitimation to its recipients’ (Martin, ‘Peter and the Expansion’, 94; see further Introduction: Authorship). 21   Cf. Mason 387; Kelly 40; Davids 46; Senior 25. Selwyn claims that the use of the term ἀπόστολος without ‘some conditioning phrase or adjective… would be unique in the N.T. unless κατὰ πρόγνωσιν be taken with it as well as with ἐκλεκτοῖς’ (117). But this seems unlikely, not least given the repetition of Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ at the end of the phrase, which denotes the calling of the addressees (cf. 2 Pet 1.1, although it reads δοῦλος καὶ ἀπόστολος). 22   Feldmeier 50; cf. Doering, ‘Apostle’, 649–50. 23   See further TDNT 1:407–45. 19

306

1 PETER

‘the twelve’, the circle of disciples called and sent out by Jesus (e.g., Acts 14.14; Rom 16.7; note Paul’s distinction in 1 Cor 15.5 and 7),24 although there are clear moves in this direction in the early Christian traditions (Matt 10.2; Rev 21.14; Did. 1.0; Justin Martyr, Dial. 42.1; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.11.87).25 Luke-Acts generally and frequently refers to a specific group of ‘the apostles’, to which a twelfth member is appointed after Judas’ betrayal (Acts 1.25–26), though the term is also (once) applied to Paul and Barnabas (Acts 14.14). Paul, too, is conscious of his somewhat awkward claim to apostleship (1 Cor 15.5–10). By contrast, as one of ‘the twelve’, a disciple and apostle, and a ‘pillar’ of the earliest church, Peter occupies a position of undoubted prominence and authority (cf. 1 Cor 15.5; Gal 1.18–2.10). The apostolic office of ‘Peter’ is described in connection with Jesus Christ (Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ), where the genitive construction indicates the basis for his authority and commission. This is similar to the opening of a number of the Pauline letters, though these more usually contain the word-order Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ (except in Titus 1.1)26 and, as noted above, some further description or explanation of the basis for Paul’s apostleship (cf. Rom 1.1; 1 Cor 1.1; 2 Cor 1.1; Eph 1.1; Col 1.1; 1 Tim 1.1; 2 Tim 1.1; Titus 1.1). It is difficult to know whether Χριστός functions primarily as a name or whether it retains the full titular significance, ‘the Christ’ or Messiah.27 It may be unnecessary to choose one or the other (hence, ‘both-and’), though it is notable that 1 Peter tends to employ Χριστός alone 24   On the historical plausibility of Jesus having called a circle of twelve disci�ples, see, e.g., Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, 98–106; Allison, Constructing Jesus, 67–76. 25   Matt 10.2; Rev 21.14. Note the differences in wording of Matt 10.2 (οἱ δώδεκα ἀπόστολοι) compared with Mark 3.14 (δώδεκα [οὓς καὶ ἀποστόλους ὠνόμασεν]) and Luke 6.13 (δώδεκα). Spicq distinguishes ‘the high apostles, and…second-order apostles’, claiming that ‘St. Luke knows only the Twelve as apostles: hoi dōdeka’ (TLNT 1:192). Yet this too quickly presumes the restrictive identification of οἱ δώδεκα and οἱ ἀπόστολοι, which some but not all NT texts imply. For the contrasting view, denying that Matt 10.2 identifies the twelve and the ἀπόστολοι, see TDNT 1:425. 26   It is interesting to note that some apocryphal letters attributed to Paul use the order ‘Jesus Christ’ (so, e.g., 3 Cor. 3.1; Ep. Lao. 1). 27   For the latter argument, see Masterman 60, and Dubis 1. On the Pauline letters, Novenson, Christ among the Messiahs.



1.1–2

307

when a more explicitly ‘messianic’ focus seems likely, specifically when the author is referring to Christ’s suffering (1.11, 19; 2.21; 3.18; 4.1, 13; 5.1). This latter point is strengthened by the further observation that the only three instances in the letter where Χριστός appears with the article include two occurrences of the phrase τὰ τοῦ Χριστοῦ παθήματα, where again a consciously ‘messianic’ focus seems likely (4.13; 5.1; cf. 1.11 for the same phrase without the article).28 The prescript thus displays notable similarities, though also some elements of distinctiveness, compared with the typical Pauline letter-opening.29 ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς Πόντου, Πόντου, Γαλατίας Γαλατίας,, Καππαδοκίας,, Ἀσίας Καππαδοκίας Ἀσίας,, καὶ Βιθυνίας In letters from classical Greece, the names of the sender and recipient(s) are listed without any reflection of social status; yet by the Hellenistic period, these epistolary elements are sometimes ordered according to the social hierarchy of the correspondents, with the name of the person holding higher status placed first.30 Here, however, in more typical epistolary form (A to B, greetings), the name of the addressees is placed after the sender and specified in the dative.31 Noticeably absent is the Greek article, which might have been expected before ἐκλεκτοῖς or παρεπιδήμοις. This peculiarity has been described by some as an effort to create ‘a solemn, even archaic flavor’ by the Petrine author.32 Others have noted that it simply reflects the concise nature in which the letter

28   In the other instance, 1 Pet 3.15, the article is likely used to distinguish subject and complement (see Exegesis at 3.15). 29   See Lieu, ‘Apostolic Greeting’, esp. 170–74. On the issue of Pauline influence more generally, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 12–20; cf. also Introduction: Pauline Traditions. 30   Examples of the name of the addressee being placed before the name of the sender in letter prescripts: BGU XVI 2636; XX 2863; P.Congr.XV. 20; ZellmannRohrer, ‘Five Private Letters’, 151 no. 3, 158 no. 4. At times, the name of the sender is even placed after χαίρειν (see, e.g., P.Cair.Zen. I 59122, II 59224, III 59403, 59409, 59425; PSI VI 51; P.Mich. I 29; P.Paris 26). See further Sarri, Material Aspects, 42–43. 31   Wallace, Grammar, 148, calls this the ‘dative of recipient’, appearing ‘in verbless constructions’ such as titles and salutations. 32   Achtemeier 79; cf. Goppelt 62; Jobes 75.

308

1 PETER

is composed.33 Yet, there may be more plausible reasons why the article has been omitted.34 Regardless of how it is explained, the article’s absence creates uncertainty as to the syntactical function of ἐκλεκτοῖς and παρεπιδήμοις. One possibility is to read ἐκλεκτοῖς as a substantive and παρεπιδήμοις as its adjectival modifier (‘sojourning elect’ or ‘elect who are sojourning’, cf. ASV, ESV, NLT, NCV, GNT).35 In this case, the emphasis would be placed on the transient nature of the readers’ situation: although they are God’s chosen people, they temporarily reside as exiles in the diaspora. The attributive use of παρεπίδημος is extremely rare,36 however, and to posit the function here would require further indications— both grammatical and contextual. For this reason, some take both ἐκλεκτοῖς and παρεπιδήμοις as substantives in apposition to one another (‘chosen ones, sojourners of the diaspora’, cf. NIV, EHV).37 Such an interpretation ‘highlights both the vertical and the horizontal dimensions of their identity as Christians. On the one hand, they are chosen with respect to God (the vertical

  Steiger 1:43.   In some instances, such as the relationship of the genitive modifier διασπορᾶς to παρεπιδήμοις, it is likely attributed to Apollonius’ canon (Shimada, ‘Formulary Material’, 119). In others, like the names of the provinces, the anarthrous nature of the construction is probably due to the tendency to omit the article from geographical names (MHT 3:170; BDF §261). There is also the consideration that in 1 Peter ‘[t]he article is generally absent with the attributive genitive and with prepositions’ (Robertson, Grammar, 127), thus explaining the anarthrous nature of the three-fold description in 1.2. Ultimately, however, the formulaic nature of epistolary openings, which often omit the article, is enough to account for this phenomenon (see Winer, Grammar, 140–41 n. 6; MHT 1:82; Radermacher, Grammatik, 113–14). 35   So, e.g., Hofmann 5; Arichea–Nida 9; Michaels 7; McKnight 46 n. 12. 36   The adjective παρεπίδημος is used almost exclusively as a substantive throughout Greek literature (see examples listed below). It is only employed as an attributive in Polybius, Hist. 32.6.4, where the function is evident from its placement in relation to the article and head noun. 37   So, e.g., Kistemaker 31–33; Achtemeier 81; Jobes 67, 75; Green 14 with n. 5; Witherington 65 n. 3; Schlosser 50; Osborne 145; Forbes 12; Schreiner 44–45 (a change from the first edition); cf. Williams, Salvation, 47; Liebengood, Eschatology, 157; Sun, True Grace, 39. The καί between the two in ‫ *א‬indicates that at least one early scribe understood both words as substantives (cf. also Syriac Peshitta and Harklensis), though the text is corrected by later hands. 33 34



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dimension), but at the same time, they are foreigners with respect to their sociopolitical world (the horizontal dimension)’.38 Support for this reading may be found in the connection of ἐκλεκτός with what follows: since ἐκλεκτός is the only term that refers to the actions of God, it must function as the antecedent of the prepositional phrases in v. 2, which means that it is likely a substantive rather than a modifier.39 A significant problem with both of these suggestions is that when ἐκλεκτός functions substantivally, it is usually articular.40 What is more, when ἐκλεκτός is anarthrous and is in concord with another term (as it is here), it almost always functions adjectivally.41 It is more preferable therefore to read παρεπιδήμοις as a substantive and ἐκλεκτοῖς as its adjectival modifier (‘elect exiles’ or ‘sojourners who have been chosen’, cf. NAB, NET, NASB, HCSB, CEB).42 In this case, the construction is intended to emphasise the privileged status that belongs to the readers despite their transient situation. This interpretation makes the most sense given that ἐκλεκτός is used adjectivally elsewhere in 1 Peter (2.4, 6, 9), while παρεπίδημος functions substantivally (2.11).

  Jobes 67.   It is possible, however, to connect the prepositional phrases in v. 2 with a different antecedent (see Exegesis at 1.2). Further, as far as which term must be connected with the following prepositions, it should be pointed out that ‘in the phrase ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς, each word has verbal cognates within the NT, so no word is at an advantage’ (Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 142). 40   E.g., 1 En. 1.3, 8; 3.7, 8; 25.5; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 7.2; T.Benj. 10.10; T.Job 4.11; T.Adam A 2.11; Jos. Asen. 8.11; 13.10; Liv. Pro. 2.11; 4 Bar. 1.1, 8; 3.5; 7.9; Matt 24.22, 24, 31; Mark 13.20, 22, 27; Luke 18.7; 23.35; 2 Tim 2.10; 1 Clem. 1.1; 2.4; 46.8; 2 Clem. 14.5; Mart. Pol. 16.1. Nevertheless, the anarthrous form can also be used this way (Sib. Or. 8.295; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 1.8; T.Benj. 11.4; Rom 8.33; Titus 1.1; 1 Clem. 6.1; 46.3–4). 41   Cf. 1 En. 1.1; Sib. Or. 2.168–169, 174–175; 3.69; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 3.3; T.Job 1.5; Let. Aris. 13; Jos. Asen. 2.7; 5.6; 2 John 1; Ign. Trall. 1.0; Phld. 11.1. The only exception is found in Col 3.12, where the construction is slightly different: ὡς ἐκλεκτοὶ τοῦ θεοῦ ἅγιοι καὶ ἠγαπημένοι (‘as the elect of God, holy and beloved’). 42   So, e.g., Huther 44; Kühl 62; Bigg 90; Lenski 21; Beare 74; Hiebert 45–46; Richard 29; Elliott 315; Feldmeier 54; Donelson 25 n. a; Vinson 33; Dubis 2; Wagner-Vouga 26; cf. Klein, Bewährung in Anfechtung, 406 n. 891. 38 39

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The importance of their designation as ‘chosen/elect’ (by God) should by no means be downplayed, however.43 To describe the readers as ‘chosen/elect’ is to pick up one of the key identity designations of Israel (see on 2.9),44 used elsewhere in the NT of Christ (Luke 23.35), of individual Christians (Rom 16.13), and of believers in general (Col 3.12; Rev 17.14; cf. Mark 13.20–27 and par.). In the LXX, the adjective ἐκλεκτός is commonly employed in the context of selection, representing one candidate that is distinguished above others. It describes the best or preferrable option, whether it be with reference to tombs (Gen 23.6), animals (Gen 41.2; 1 Kgs 2.46[46e]; 5.3; Neh 5.18; Jer 26.15; 1 Macc 4.1), chariots (Exod 14.7), stones (Ezra 5.8; Isa 54.12; Jer 38.39), cities (2 Sam 8.8; 1 Chr 18.8; Sir 49.6), or even individuals (Judg 20.15; 1 Sam 24.3; Jer 31.15; Jdt 2.15; 1 Macc 15.26). In light of this meaning, ἐκλεκτός creates a striking image as an attributive modifier of παρεπίδημος, which hardly reflected a privileged position. The adjective παρεπίδημος is seldom used in biblical literature (Gen 23.4; Ps 38.13; Heb 11.13), and even outside this corpus it is rare.45 It denotes someone—of high or low social status46— who dwells for a short period outside of his or her native location, a foreigner spending a brief time in a city or who is just passing through (Aristophanes of Byzantium, Nomina aetatum, 16 [Nauck]; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 3.4.31.4; Historia Alexandri Magni 43   To this extent, Michaels is right to stress that it is the character of their election that is described in v. 2. 44   On the redefining of the term ἐκλεκτός, see Fagbemi, ‘Christian Identity’, 8. 45   The verb παρεπιδημέω occurs more commonly in the literary sources to denote a visit to a foreign place for a short period (Let. Aris. 110; Philo, Conf. 76; Agr. 65; 1 Clem. 1.2). The temporary nature of this stay is indicated in the non-literary papyri by the phrase παρεπιδημεῖν πρὸς καιρόν, ‘to stay for a time’ (BGU III 780; Chr.Wilck. 458, 459; P.Diog. 5; P.Hamb. I 31a; SB IV 7362). In the epigraphic record, παρεπιδημέω is frequently employed in inscriptions honouring those who stayed briefly in a particular location and conducted themselves in a praiseworthy manner (e.g., TAM V,2 924; IScM II 5; IG IX,2 11; IG V,1 1208; I.Délos 1645). See further Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 8–12; TDNT 2:64–65; TLNT 3:41–43. 46   Feldmeier (Christen als Fremde, 12) notes that the designation can be used of people ranging from royalty and embassies, through philosophers and travellers, down to the most lowly or disreputable sorts. For examples, see Polybius, Hist. 4.4.1–2; 22.13.6; 28.19.2.2; Diodorus Siculus 1.83.8; Athenaeus, Deipn. 5.21.12; 10.52.27.



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3.30.8).47 In the non-literary papyri, it is occasionally employed in wills and contracts to designate individuals who were temporary residents in a location: ‘Kaunian, the foreign resident’ (P.Mich. I 66; cf. BGU XIV 2372; P.Col. IV 72; P.Petr. II 14, 24; PSI IV 385, 389; P.Sorb. III 70; cf. P.Frieb. III 20a). Those who held such status were also categorised as a group in connection with other collectives, including those who travelled (Callixenus, Frag. 2 [Müller]), those who were prone to destitution (Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 67.7), or in contrast to those who were natives (OGIS 383). By thus referring to the readers as ἐκλεκτοὶ παρεπίδημοι, the author (paradoxically) identifies them as the most outstanding choice among a group that lacked a sense of permanence and belonging as a result of being outside their native homeland.48 In its present usage, παρεπίδημος is sometimes thought to be representative of the readers’ separation from a specific geographic location. As such, their experience of alienation is not a result of conversion, but of physical displacement. For those who imagine a primarily Jewish audience, this relates to their residence outside of Palestine.49 For those who posit mostly Gentile readers, a specific place of origin would not be in view, only the group’s marginalised socio-political status, which is attributed to their temporary residence in the provinces of Asia Minor.50 But since the author later uses παρεπίδημος as an equivalent of πάροικος (1 Pet 2.11), it is difficult to view the term as a description of the addressees’ literal dislocation from a specific destination. For this and a number of other reasons,51 scholars have been more inclined to see the alien47   BDAG 775. Cf. TDNT 2:64; TLNT 3:41–42. Different translations have been proposed as a way to fully capture the nuances of the term παρεπίδημος and to properly communicate its ancient sense in modern vernacular (see Müller, ‘Auserwählte als Fremde’, 24; Breu, ‘Zugehörigkeit als Fremdheit’, 48). Perhaps the best rendering in English might be, ‘migrant’ or ‘resident alien’. Some prefer ‘immigrant’ (e.g., Davids, ‘Immigrants in Our Own Land’, 11), but this rendering has connotations of permanence that are not quite appropriate. 48   As Green notes, ‘In the intimate alignment of these two terms we find the apparent contradiction that Peter addresses throughout the letter: chosen by God, rejected by humans’ (‘Living as Exiles’, 317). 49   Cf. Bloomfield 701; Wordsworth 46; Mason 387. 50   Cf. Elliott 313–15; McKnight 47–52; see also Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 21–100; Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 38–73. 51   See the discussion in Introduction: Socio-Political Identity.

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ation from ‘at-homeness’ in the world as something created by conversion, and thus in some sense metaphorical rather than strictly politico-geographical (cf. Ps 38.13; Heb 11.13).52 Their alienation from society, their existence as refugees in the world, is inextricably connected with their calling as God’s elect, and it is thus a defining characteristic of their status as Christians.53 The author’s emphasis of this point plays a key role in the letter’s overall social strategy: ‘Through the idea that Christians are perpetual foreigners in a land in which they are no longer to feel at home, the author seeks to equip believers with a theological and emotional narrative to interpret their suffering and better endure it’.54 Outside of biblical literature, the term διασπορά was used to denote the act of scattering (Philo, Praem. 115; Plutarch, Sol. 32.4). But within the Jewish scriptures (and associated literature), it came to be employed as a technical term for the dispersion of the Jews among the Gentiles (cf. Deut 28.25), expressing the experience of being scattered, exiled, led away, or deported. These diverse nuances, for which the LXX also uses terms (significantly for us) such as παροικία,55 were ‘appropriate’, Schmidt notes, ‘in relation to the deportations by Assyrian, Babylonian and to a lesser extent later conquerors, e.g. Pompey’.56 This scattering of Israel among the nations came to be seen, by some writers at least, as having a positive dimension: Israel’s strength and importance is demonstrated by her having people in every nation.57 But with the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE (and further defeat in 132–135 CE), and the associated killing, enslavement, and deportations,58 the   E.g., Wiesinger 45–46; Kühl 62; Bennett 183; Bigg 90; Hart 39; Blenkin 11.   Cf. Wolff, ‘Christ und Welt’, 333: ‘Allein der Umstand, daß die Leser bereits im Präskript in dieser Weise angeredet werden, läßt vermuten, daß der Verfasser damit ein, wenn nicht sogar das entscheidende Charakteristikum der Christen in der Welt zum Ausdruck bringt’. 54   Ok, ‘Always Ethnic’, 422. 55   Cf. Ezra 8.35: ‫‘( בני הגולה‬sons of [the] exile’) = ὑιοὶ τῆς παροικίας (LXX); Ps 120.5: ‫‘( גרתי‬I live as an alien’) = ἡ παροικία μου (LXX 119.5). 56   Schmidt, TDNT 2:100. 57   Cf. 1 Macc. 15.16–24; Sib. Or. 3.271; Philo, Legat. 36; Josephus, Ant. 14.115; War 2.398; 7.43. 58   In one example, Josephus (War 3.539–40) refers to the rounding up of Jewish prisoners by Vespasian, the dispatching of 6,000 to work on Nero’s project to dig a canal through the Isthmus near Corinth, and the sale of 30,400 as slaves. Even 52 53



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negative aspects of Israel’s experience could be signalled with new resonance.59 When it is used in Jewish and Christian literature, διασπορά can refer to the place of dispersion, that is, to the regions outside of Palestine (e.g., Jdt 5.19; T.Ash. 7.2) or to the condition of being scattered, that is, to the people who live there (e.g., 2 Macc 1.27; Wis 8.28; John 7.35). Its meaning here depends on the function of the genitive, which has been interpreted in a number of ways. For those who understand the audience as Jewish Christians, it has been taken as a partitive genitive, denoting their association with a wider group of diaspora communities (‘sojourners among the diaspora’).60 Many have read διασπορᾶς not in a technical sense but as merely expressing a further quality of the sojourners, namely, their being scattered in different places; thus, they interpret it as an attributive genitive (‘dispersed sojourners’).61 Others render διασπορᾶς as an epexegetical genitive, equating the Christian community with the diaspora (‘exiles, that is, the diaspora’).62 An ablative function has if the numbers are exaggerated, the treatment of the captives is indicative of the situation in the ancient world. 59   Drawing from the works of Barclay and Harland, Liebengood points out that many Jews living in the diaspora had very positive interactions with their environments. From this, he concludes that ‘it is not necessarily accurate to assume the term διασπορά conjures up notions of social ostracism and cultural alienation’ (Eschatology, 157 n. 2). However, we should probably distinguish the life experience of many Jews living in the diaspora, which often did involve positive acculturation, with the literary appeal to diaspora as a way to invoke Israel’s past history to make sense of current experience (under imperial rule) as a form of displacement and marginalisation. The situation addressed in 1 Peter allows the author to draw on the latter. 60   E.g., Calvin 25; Beza 562; de Wette 5; Witherington 65–66. Alterna�tively, Weizsäcker (‘Exegetische Theologie’, 245) proposed that the designation διασπορά refers to Christians living among scattered Jewish communities. 61   E.g., Wohlenberg 2; Lenski 23; Hiebert 47; Bénétreau 76 n. 3; Jobes 63; Donelson 26 n. b. This view is represented in some English translations which render διασπορά as a substantival participle, ‘exiles who are scattered’ (cf. NIV, CEV, HCSB, NASB, GNT). The problem is that by this point the word διασπορά had become virtually a technical term. If the Petrine author had intended to communicate simply the dispersed situation of the readers, he could have more easily written διεσπαρμένοις. 62   E.g., Steiger 1:50; Lightfoot 99; Wand 37–38; Goppelt 66; Michaels 8; Dubis 2; cf. Tite, ‘Compositional Function’, 51; Sun, True Grace, 52. The major drawback of this proposal is that an appositional relationship would have been

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also been proposed, resulting in the idea that the readers have been taken out of or separated from the diaspora (‘sojourners gathered from the diaspora’).63 But the most likely function of διασπορᾶς is as a genitive of place (‘sojourners located in the diaspora’), describing where the audience is located and making it more or less equivalent to the dative construction used in Jas 1.1.64 In this case, the following genitive modifiers (Πόντου, Γαλατίας, etc.) would be epexegetical, specifying which parts of the διασπορά are particularly in view. What is important to recognise is that διασπορά functions metaphorically as a way to help the readers who live in these areas to properly conceptualise their current experience of social dislocation.65 While the general trend throughout much of critical scholarship has been to read the names Πόντος, Γαλατία, Καππαδοκία, Ἀσία, and Βιθυνία as Roman provinces,66 there are some who understand them as geographic designations that represent different regions across Asia Minor.67 In this latter sense, the readers’ location would be confined to a much smaller area to the north of the Taurus more naturally communicated if διασπορά were in the dative. As it stands, the change of case seems to signal that διασπορᾶς is describing something about the head noun (παρεπιδήμοις). 63   This position has been set forward by Liebengood, Eschatology, 157–58. For a critique, see Doering, ‘You are a Chosen Stock’, 252–53. 64   So also Achtemeier 83 n. 49; Forbes 12; cf. MHT 3:235; BDAG 236 §2. 65   Given that specific geographic locations are mentioned (Pontus, Galatia, etc.), some claim that διασπορά should be understood in a literal (rather than a metaphorical) sense (e.g., Corritore, ‘Pietro agli eletti della diaspora’, 155–56; cf. Jobes 64, who claims that the term has a dual purpose: ‘first, possibly alluding to the actual experience of Peter’s readers; second, interpreting that experience from the perspective of God’s chosen Israel as a way of identifying his readers as God’s chosen people’). This view was common within an earlier generation of scholars, where the Petrine author was thought to be addressing a primarily Jewish audience (e.g., de Clorivière 8–9; cf. also Naseri, ‘Petrine Christians’, 88). However, there are problems with the idea that the audience consisted predominantly of Jewish converts to the Christian faith as well as the idea that the readers had been literally displaced from their original homes (see Introduction: Socio-Political Identity and Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity). 66   Kehinde (‘Christianity amidst Violence’, 80) mistakenly refers to these as ‘major cities along the travel routes through the Asia Minor’. 67   Interpreters who have held this view include: Selwyn 45–46; Stibbs-Walls 63–64; Fitzmyer 364; Michl 99; Jobes 66; Green 14 n. 7; Osborne 146; Schreiner 48; cf. Wikenhauser, Einleitung, 358, Guthrie, Introduction, 783; Guttenberger,



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Mountains (see Map 1). Scholars often adopt this interpretation with a view towards the overlap with the Pauline mission. By limiting the areas in question, 1 Peter can be assigned to non-Pauline congregations. For those who hold to the letter’s authenticity, in particular, this restricted territory is also thought to explain why Paul never ventured into certain parts of Asia Minor (Acts 16.6–7; cf. Rom 15.19–20): his hesitancy was due to a Petrine mission in the northern part of the peninsula.68 In the end, however, this view proves unpersuasive.69 Following the majority, it seems most probable that the Petrine author intended these names as political designations representing separate Roman provinces, and thus they included most of the ancient peninsula. This accords better with the fact that the author connects his readers’ experience closely with the type of Roman administration that took place at the provincial level (1 Pet 2.13– 14). Furthermore, had the author intended to refer to geographical areas, it would have been strange for him to omit the districts of Paphlagonia, Pontus Galaticus, Pontus Polemoniacus, Phrygia, Pisidia, and Lycaonia (cf. Acts 16.6; 18.23).70 The five provinces Passio Christiana, 72–77; Doering, ‘Gottes Volk’, 84–87; Horn, ‘Christen in der Diaspora’, 7. 68   See, e.g., Selwyn 45; Stibbs-Walls 63–64. 69   The geographic interpretation is grounded in a long-standing objection against the provincial view: the separate mention of Bithynia and Pontus (as well as Galatia and Cappadocia), despite the fact that they had been joined together as a single province much earlier. In response, there are two points to consider. The first is that within the epigraphic evidence similar types of separation occur. One such example is found in I.Ankara 52 (ca. 196 CE), which records the career details of L. Didius Marinus, noting that he was ‘procurator of the association of gladiators throughout Asia, Bithynia, Galatia, Cappadocia, Lycia, Pamphylia, Cilicia, Cyprus, Pontus, and Paphlagonia’ (cf. SEG 14:819; IGRR IV 1416). Thus, the separation of provinces that had already been officially combined is not altogether unusual. The other consideration is that the rate at which these early provincial boundaries changed during the first century (see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 351–61) would have created some difficulty for any writer seeking to demarcate precise boundaries. This matter is further complicated by the fact that we are unaware of the extent of the author’s geographic knowledge of the area (cf. Schrage 63; see also Brox 25–26, who claims that the author was geographically uninformed). 70   See Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 60. On the other hand, if these are Roman provinces, it is difficult to explain why Lycia, Pamphylia, and Cilicia were not included. Some contend that it was because these southern provinces were ‘still

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mentioned here comprised a large portion of what was once ancient Anatolia (see Map 1). This area spread across a vast expanse of land that spanned close to 200,000 square miles.71 Their borders stretched from the Euphrates River in the east all the way to the Aegean Sea in the west. In the north, the territory extended to the Black Sea (Pontus Euxinus), while the Taurus Mountains served as the boundary to the south. The sequence in which the provinces are listed is somewhat perplexing. For those who understand Silvanus as a real character who played a role in the letter’s delivery, this order is commonly said to represent the intended route of the letter-carrier. This view—first suggested by Ewald and then later promoted by Hort—has become very popular among commentators.72 Accordingly, the messenger would have travelled by ship from Rome via the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas up through the Hellespont and the Bosporus straights into the Pontus Euxine (Black Sea), where he may have arrived in port at either Sinope or Amisus. under the influence of Antioch’ (Reicke 72); others suggest they were simply not along the route taken by the letter-carrier (Holmer–de Boor 14), or that the Petrine author was thinking in terms of the way that the Taurus mountains created a geographic barrier that separated these provinces (Hort 165–67). More recently, Martin has suggested that the choice of these five provinces derives from ‘the lack of apostolic confirmation for the brothers [and sisters] who live[d] in areas of Asia Minor not specifically addressed or officially legitimated by the Assembly letter’ in Acts 15.23–29. By thus listing Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, the Petrine author ‘[p]ick[s] up geographically where the Assembly letter leaves off’ (Martin, ‘Peter and the Expansion’, 93). 71   The estimate of 128,889 square miles given by Elliott (Home for the Homeless, 60) is based on the figures of Broughton (‘Roman Asia Minor’, 815). This number, while often repeated by Petrine interpreters, is not the most accurate calculation of the designated provinces during the latter half of the first century CE. The reason is that Elliott does not consider the numerous additions that were made during the Julio-Claudian and Flavian periods. His total, therefore, does not include the territories of Lycaonia (originally part of Amyntas’ territory in Galatia), Pontus Galaticus (added to Galatia by Augustus), Pisidia (originally included in Amyntas’ territory, with parts being later removed from Galatia under Claudius but then returned under Galba), Pamphylia (removed from Galatia under Claudius; later added back but then removed again by the time of Vespasian), Pontus Polemoniacus (added to Galatia-Cappadocia under Nero), and Armenia Minor (added to Galatia-Cappadocia under Vespasian). 72   Ewald 2–3; Hort 157–84; cf. also Selwyn 119; Kelly 42; Spicq 41; Michaels 9; Waltner 26; Elliott 317; Charles 297–98; Bosetti 10; Keating 27–28; Watson 21. For a slight modification of Hort’s theory, see Hemer, ‘Address of 1 Peter’, 239–43.



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Given the vast distance over which a single courier would have been required to travel, some modifications to this view have been suggested. For instance, Seland has argued that the most efficient means of transmitting 1 Peter would have been for the original Roman courier to deliver the letter to a harbour in Pontus where it would be copied by multiple carriers and passed along to various congregations across the peninsula.73 This would solve the logistics problem, but it still does not account for the most inexplicable part of the itinerary. If the courier was travelling from Rome, he would have to bypass both the provinces of Asia and Bithynia— which would have provided closer and more easily accessible ports—in order to get to Pontus.74 All attempts to account for this diverted route are grounded in conjecture.75 Even if we recognise that Silvanus’ role as courier (1 Pet 5.12) was probably fictional,76 the problem still persists. It may be that the order simply reflects the mental map of the author;77 perhaps the author’s circular delineation is meant to reflect an all-encompassing survey of the area. As no clear solution presents itself, it is impossible to know for sure.78 2 κατὰ πρόγνωσιν θεοῦ πατρός ἐν ἁγιασμῷ πνεύματος εἰς ὑπακοὴν καὶ ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, Χριστοῦ, Grammatically, the prepositional phrases that begin this verse could refer to and offer justification for Peter’s apostleship,79   Seland, Strangers in the Light, 28–36; cf. also Schlosser 56.   If, as many earlier interpreters suggested (see Introduction: Place of Origin), the letter was sent from Mesopotamian Babylon, one must explain the equally puzzling fact of why the carrier would bypass Cappadocia only to return through it again (cf. Wettstein 698). 75   It is sheer speculation, for instance, to claim that the persecution was strongest in Pontus (so Beare 42–43), or that ‘the questions addressed in this letter were especially critical’ to the provinces of Pontus and Bithynia because they were reached last by the Christian mission and thus ‘were still undergoing the transition from paganism to Christianity’ (Goppelt 5), or even that this area had become a focal point for the author (so Sylva, ‘1 Peter Studies’, 159), perhaps because members of Christian congregations had approached the apostle about a potential mission to the area (so Bigg 70). 76   See Introduction: The Dissemination and Reception of a Pseudepigraphical Letter. 77   As suggested, e.g., by Jobes 66; Vinson 38. 78   Cf. Achtemeier 85–86. 79   This was the position of many of the Greek fathers (e.g., Cyril of Alexandria, Theophylact, Oecumenius) and a few modern interpreters as well (Bigg 91; cf. 73 74

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though this is doubtful. Unlike Paul, there were no questions about Peter’s apostolic credentials (see Exegesis at 1.1). Instead, most connect these three phrases, which reflect a proto-trinitarian pattern (God the Father, the Spirit, and Jesus Christ, respectively [cf. 1 Cor 12.4–6; 2 Cor 13.14]),80 with the readers’ status as ἐκλεκτοὶ παρεπίδημοι.81 In this way, the verse specifies the standard (κατά), means (ἐν), and purpose (εἰς) of their identity, often seen specifically in terms of a theological connection between election (v. 1) and foreknowledge (v. 2).82 But not only does the distance between ἐκλεκτοῖς and the following prepositions create a difficulty for this proposal, its adjectival function indicates that it is not the primary point of emphasis in v. 1. The author’s focus, as indicated by the substantival use of παρεπιδήμοις, is on the fact that the readers are ‘elect sojourners’, and this seems to provide a more likely referent for the prepositions.83 As such, the purpose is not merely to indicate that the readers’ privileged election has been foreseen by God, but also that their alienation is in accordance with the divine plan.

also Kahnis, Die Lehre vom Abendmahle, 65). Others seek to connect the prepositional phrases with both ἀπόστολος and ἐκλεκτοῖς (Hort 18; Hart 40; Selwyn 119) or with διασπορᾶς (Semler 4). A few have claimed that the prepositions modify all of v. 1 (Beare 75–76; Best 70; Hiebert 70). 80   See Dupont-Roc, ‘Le jeu des prépositions’, 203–204. Note the hesitancy of Neyrey to ‘rush to identify this text as a dogmatic Trinitarian formula’ (67). 81   So, e.g., Kelly 42; Michaels 3–4; Davids 47–48; Brox 57; Achtemeier 86; Elliott 317; Jobes 67–68; Feldmeier 55; cf. Agnew, ‘1 Peter 1:2—Alternative Translation’, 69. 82   As Bigg (95) points out, these three motifs are expanded in the verses that follow: πρόγνωσις (vv. 3–12); ἁγιασμός (vv. 13–17), αἷμα Χριστοῦ (vv. 18–25), even if this is a somewhat tenuous thematic description of 1.18–25 as a whole. Nevertheless, to say, as Bigg does, that ‘the whole Epistle is a commentary upon them’, is to claim too much. Notable is the close parallel in 2 Thess 2.13: ὅτι εἵλατο ὑμᾶς ὁ θεὸς ἀπαρχὴν εἰς σωτηρίαν ἐν ἁγιασμῷ πνεύματος καὶ πίστει ἀληθείας. There too we find the three elements of God’s choice, the spirit’s sanctification, and the faithful response of the believers. 83   Others have adopted this view as well (e.g., Huther 47; Usteri 7; Wand 38; Lenski 24; Schelkle 20; cf. also Schrage 68). Some have argued that the prepositions refer to the situation of the readers described in v. 1, which results in virtually the same meaning (Grudem 50–51; cf. Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 133–45).



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Many understand the first preposition (κατά) as defining the basis of the readers’ election (‘because’, cf. CEB).84 While this function is within the semantic range of κατά + accusative,85 the preposition’s use in connection with πρόγνωσις generally denotes consistency with a given standard86 (‘in accordance with’, cf. NIV, NET, NASB, HCSB, GNT, ESV, NKJV).87 Consequently, the readers’ status as elect exiles is consistent with the foreknowledge of God, the more negative side of which is hinted at in 1 Pet 2.8. In its most basic sense, πρόγνωσις refers to knowledge of future events.88 The term is common in astrological discussions with reference to the predictive abilities of celestial bodies,89 and in medical contexts it is employed to describe the prognosis of diseases.90 Most   Proponents of this causal function include: Keil 39; Masterman 62; Mitchell 232; Kelly 42; Schelkle 20; Miller 114; Feldmeier 55; Forbes 12; Schreiner 50; cf. Thurén, Argument and Theology, 92; Barbarick, ‘Theosis in 1 Peter’, 291. 85   On the range of meanings for κατά + accusative, see Harrison, Greek Prepositions, 316–38; Luraghi, On the Meaning of Prepositions, 197–213; Harris, Prepositions, 147–60. 86   Cf. Galen, Synopsis librorum suorum de pulsibus, vol. 9, p. 492 [Kühn]; In Hippocratis librum vi epidemiarum commentarii vi, vol. 17a, p. 977 [Wenkebach]; In Hippocratis prognosticum commentaria iii, vol. 18b, p. 6 [Heeg]; In Hippocratis librum de officina medici commentarii iii, vol. 18b, p. 647 [Kühn]; Justin Martyr, Dial. 134.4; Cassius Dio, Hist. rom. (Xiphilini epitome), p. 97 [DindorfStephanus]; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.17.85.5; Origen, Princ. 3.1.21; Fr. Jo. 105; Epiphanius, Pan. vol. 2, p. 201 [Holl]. When it comes to predictions of the future connected to πρόγνωσις, the distinction between basis and standard can sometimes be blurred: one speaks because he/she possesses foreknowledge and at the same time, the predictions are consistent with that foreknowledge (see Eusebius, Praep. ev. 4.2.1; Hier. 18, 26). But in 1 Pet 1.1, the focus is not on communicating a specific prediction of the future based on foreknowledge. 87   Those who adopt this interpretation include: Demarest 53; Bénétreau 78; Hiebert 50; Achtemeier 86; Elliott 317–18; Dubis 3; Watson 21; cf. Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 145–49. One difficulty is that commentators commonly translate κατά as ‘according to’ while understanding it to denote a cause–effect relationship (see, e.g., Alford 331; Johnstone 43; Osborne 146). 88   For a fuller discussion of this term, see Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 99–130. 89   Cf. Eudoxus, Frag. 139 [Lasserre]; Timaeus Praxidas, Frag. vol. 1, p. 99; Gemenus, Elementa astronimiae 17.13; Antiochus, Frag. vol. 8,3, p. 119 [Boudreaux]; Balbillus, Frag. vol. 8, p. 104 [Kroll and Olivieri]; Claudius Ptolemaeus, Apotelesmatica 4.4.10; PGM VII.294. 90   Cf. Hippocrates, Artic. 41; Mochl. 37; Diocles, Frag. 17, 64 [van der Eijk]; Apollonius, In Hippocratis de articulis commentaries 24; Marcellinus, 84

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occurrences of πρόγνωσις in Jewish and Christian writings are related to the ability of humans to foresee the future (Jdt 11.19; Josephus, Ant. 18.201; Justin Martyr, Dial. 39.2; Irenaeus, Haer. 2.49.3). This faculty is distinguished from those who predict the future through medical or augural means (cf. Ps.-Clement, Hom. 3.11) in what was believed to be a special (prophetic) aptitude received through divine inspiration (Josephus, Ant. 13.300; 15.373; 17.43; Ps.-Clement, Hom. 2.10.3; 2.50.2; 3.14.1). This verse represents one of the rare instances in which πρόγνωσις refers to the abilities of God.91 As a result, it raises the question of whether the term is limited to a prescient sense, describing merely God’s ability to foresee the future, or whether it also includes notions of foreordination, in that it involves divine action intended to accomplish the plan and purpose of God which human initiatives cannot thwart. Most commentators have preferred the latter interpretation;92 yet this view has been challenged by Himes, who argues that the word-group describes God’s knowledge of the future, but without necessarily implying God’s active role in foreordaining that future.93 The study of Himes is a helpful corrective to modern approaches toward πρόγνωσις in that it demonstrates that the word is used primarily to denote prescience; yet, the point that perhaps does not receive enough attention is the fact that ancient De pulsibus, line 55 [Schöne]; Philumenus, De venenatis animalibus eorumque remediis 4.14; Aretaeus, De causis et signis acutorum morborum libri duo 1.5.3. The term is also used over three hundred times in the writings of Galen. 91   Although without always employing the term πρόγνωσις, many ancient Jews believed that God possessed complete knowledge of all things, both present and future (see Sir 23.20; 1 En. 9.11; 39.11; Let. Aris. 132–133; 1QS 4.25; 11.11; CD 2.9–10; 2 Bar. 21.8). 92   E.g., Johnstone 43–46; Huther 47–48; Cranfield 31; Spicq 42; Kelly 42–43; Michaels 10; Goppelt 73; Achtemeier 86; Powers 45; Watson 21; Vahrenhorst 65; Schreiner 49–50; Keener 58. Some also include a sense of love within the idea of foreknowledge and foreordination (e.g., Bengel 45; Wiesinger 50–51). 93   See Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity; cf. also Didymus (PG 39:1755–56); Lai, ‘Holy Spirit in 1 Peter’, 156–58; Cater, ‘1 Peter 1:1–12’, 64. Addressing the potential objection that, theologically, foreordination is a necessary corollary of divine foreknowledge, Himes insists on ‘freedom to discuss foreknowledge on its own terms in 1 Peter without automatically equating it with foreordination (or any related concept)’ (184). While this distinction is possible in theory (and refreshing as an exegetical approach), it may be difficult to justify when applied to the actual use of these terms in 1 Peter.



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usage is most commonly focused on humans who display such an ability. When the actions of God are in view, πρόγνωσις commonly communicates a sense of proactive will or predeterminism (Jdt 9.6; Acts 2.23; although cf. Justin Martyr, Dial. 92.5). In this instance, in particular, God’s active purposes seem to be in view. What brings comfort to this marginalised and persecuted group of Christians is not simply that God foresaw their social alienation, but that their status as elect strangers is part of a proactive divine purpose that culminates in their vindication and salvation. There are some who argue that the second preposition (ἐν) should be given a local sense, referring to the fact that the readers’ elect sojourn is being lived out in the atmosphere of the Spirit’s sanctifying work: ‘in the sanctification of the Spirit’ (cf. ESV, NKJV).94 Others claim that it exerts a telic force, describing the purpose behind their current position.95 However, with most commentators, it is probably best in this instance to assign ἐν an instrumental function,96 indicating that the readers have become God’s elect sojourners through the sanctifying process effected by the Spirit.97 This is clear, in part, from the parallel construction in 2 Thess 2.13.98   E.g., Calov 1467; Bloomfield 701; Brückner 31; Hart 40; Mitchell 232; Selwyn 119; Grudem 51–52; Green 19; cf. MHT 3:262; Green, ‘Living as Exiles’, 321. Against this interpretation, Doering notes that ‘all other nouns in the verse designate actions, not status’ (‘Soteriological Web’, 477 n. 5). 95   E.g., Beza 562; Grotius 65; Hottinger 98; de Wette 5. 96   Cf. Erasmus 672; Luther 15; Calvin 26; Gerhard 33; Johnstone 46; Masterman 63; Monnier 26; Best 71; Achtemeier 86; Elliott 318; Jobes 69; Dubis 3; Schlosser 57; Forbes 13; Wagner-Vouga 27; see also Kendall, ‘Christian’s Vocation’, 3; Liebengood, ‘Life of God’, 83. A close alternative to this view is that the prepositional phrase indicates not how the elect position of the readers occurs, but how it is revealed or recognised: their election is ‘[s]hown by that holiness which the Spirit gives’ (Demarest 54; cf. Fausset 498). 97   It is possible to interpret πνεύματος as an objective genitive, referring to the immaterial part of the human being (‘sanctifying one’s spirit’). The problem is that the other prepositional phrases, which are all parallel constructions, make reference to the Father and to Jesus, which indicates that the Holy Spirit is likely in view. Consequently, πνεύματος would have to be understood as a subjective genitive (‘the Spirit sanctifies’), as is recognised by most interpreters. 98   Given this connection, some think that the Petrine author may have borrowed the phraseology from 2 Thessalonians (e.g., Hort 21; Blenkin 15). Along similar lines, Sargent (‘Chosen through Sanctification’, 117–20) proposes that the correspondence might be attributed to the secretarial duties of Silvanus in both letters. 94

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What exactly this entails is dependent on the meaning assigned to the noun ἁγιασμός. The term first appears in the LXX, where it describes the status of being set apart or consecrated (e.g, Judg 17.3; Ezek 45.4; Amos 2.11). It refers substantively to the holiness embodied in the sacred cult (2 Macc 2.17; 3 Macc 2.18; Sir 7.31) or to the character of God (2 Macc 14.36; Sir 17.10 [ὄνομα ἁγιασμοῦ αἰνέσουσιν]). Even though the -μός suffix generally denotes a process or action (= τὸ ἁγιάζειν),99 when ἁγιασμός is employed in later Jewish and Christian literature, it often describes a resultant state, ‘sanctification’, ‘holiness’ (T.Levi 18.7; T.Benj. 10.11; 3 Macc 2.18; Rom 6.19; 1 Cor 1.30; 1 Thess 4.3–4; Heb 12.14). In this case, the function of πνεύματος as a subjective genitive provides ἁγιασμός with an active force denoting the sanctifying process, ‘the Spirit sanctifies’ (cf. Pss. Sol. 17.30; 2 Thess 2.13). For the author of 1 Peter, the notion of ‘holiness’ clearly has both moral and identity-defining sense: the call to be holy implies a responsibility to live in a morally upright manner (cf. 1.14–17) and an identity that is based on a sense of distinction, of being ‘set apart’, as those called out of the world and, thus, in some sense, dislocated and alienated from it.100 In this context, it may in effect refer to the process of conversion;101 some also connect it to baptism, as it ‘was often accompanied by the gift of the Spirit, and constituted a formal consecration to Christian life’.102 The third clause (εἰς ὑπακοὴν καὶ ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ), which also connects back to the readers’ identity as elect   See Abbot-Smith, Greek Lexicon, 5; BDF §109; cf. also TDNT 1:113.   Sun seeks to narrow the object from which Christians are expected to be set apart. Rather than from society more broadly, she claims that ‘Christians are to be set apart from those areas of the pagan culture that have cultic connotations and thus, may jeopardize their “belonging” to God (e.g. idolatry and any social activities, festivals and common meals that take place in a cultic context)’ (True Grace, 42; original emphasis). But while the separation from wider cultic practices is an important issue for the Petrine author (cf. 4.3: εἰδωλολατρία), it is difficult to claim that it is his only focus given that his critique of their former way of life addresses more issues, e.g., ‘living in licentiousness, desires, drunkenness, carousing, parties’ (4.3; cf. 1.14). 101   Benson 167 defines it as ‘imbraceing [sic] the doctrine of the gospel, which was reveled [sic] by the Spirit, and likewise confirmed by the miraculous operations of the Spirit’ (cf. Schreiner 51). 102   Bennett 186; cf. Knopf 33; Moffatt 91; Goppelt 71–72, 74; Obermann, ‘Fremd im eigenen Land’, 277. 99

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sojourners,103 contains a number of difficulties and complexities. The most immediate is the sense to be attributed to the preposition εἰς. While both purposive104 and causal105 readings have been proposed, it seems preferable to take it to refer to the former, not least given the prominence of that sense elsewhere in the letter (cf. 1.5, 7, 22; 2.5, 8, 14, 21; 3.7, 9; 4.2, 6) and the significant questions surrounding the causal function of εἰς.106 An even more difficult issue relates to the function of the genitive Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ and what the designation modifies. How one construes this clause determines whose obedience is in view (i.e., Jesus’ or the readers’) and what this obedience entails (i.e., Jesus’ sacrificial death, the readers’ entrance into the process of salvation, or the act of following Jesus through a life of dedicated commitment). With regard to the structure of the clause, it is possible to understand Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as modifying both ὑπακοήν and ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος (‘for obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood’; cf. NIV, NRSV, ESV).107 In favour of this interpretation is 103   Against those who seek to connect the prepositional phrase with ἁγιασμῷ (e.g., Le Clerc 584–85; de Wette 5; Steinmeyer 20; Warden 35–36), Huther notes ‘although such a construction be grammatically possible, the reference to the Trinity goes to show that these words must be taken as a third adjunct, co-ordinate with the two preceding clauses’ (50). 104   See, e.g., Steiger 1:74: Bloomfield 701; Keil 42; Monnier 27; Spicq 42; Jobes 71, 75–76. Cf. Williams 10, who claims it denotes result. 105   See, e.g., Elliott 319; Richard 65; Green 20; cf. Green, ‘Faithful Witness’, 290–91; Sandnes, ‘Revised Conventions’, 402; Christiansen, ‘Chosen and Honoured’, 80; Ok, Ethnic Identity, 39–40 (seems to lean in this direction). The fullest defence of this view is found in Agnew, ‘1 Peter 1:2’, 68–73, although a thorough and decisive critique of Agnew’s view is provided by Page, ‘Obedience and Blood-Sprinkling’, 291–98. 106   The causal function of εἰς was defended at length by Mantey (‘Unusual Meanings’, 453–60; idem, ‘Causal Use’, 45–48; idem, ‘On Causal Eis Again’, 309–11). But few grammarians or lexicographers have been convinced by the validity of this usage (cf. Porter, Idioms, 152 n. 2; Wallace, Grammar, 369–71; although see Zorell, Novi Testamenti lexicon graecum, 162). The problem, as others have pointed out, is that there are no unambiguously clear instances in the NT where εἰς functions causally, nor have any been produced from non-biblical sources (see Marcus, ‘On Causal Eis’, 129–30; idem, ‘Elusive Causal Eis’, 43–44; MHT 3:266–67; Harris, Prepositions, 90–92). In the absence of any clear examples, therefore, alternative interpretations remain preferable. 107   So, e.g., Steiger 1:74; Jachmann 122–23; Hofmann 8–9; Schott 13; Bennett 186; Hart 41; Moffatt 91; Windisch 52; Mounce 9–10; Picirilli 109; Boring 55; Dubis 3; cf. also Frederick, ‘Theme of Obedience’, 26–27.

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the proto-trinitarian structure of the three phrases. Yet, as Johnstone points out, such a reading requires taking the genitive Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ in two different ways in the same sentence—objectively in relation to ὑπακοήν and possessive in relation to ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος,108 something that Achtemeier refers to as ‘a grammatical monstrosity’.109 Although it is possible for a genitive to carry out double-duty by producing both a subjective and objective sense (2 Cor 5.14; Rev 1.1),110 this plenary function does not carry over to its relationship in modifying two separate words in the sentence.111 Furthermore, against this stands the fact that the two other references to obedience in 1 Peter (1.14, 22) give no indication that the obedience is directed specifically towards Christ.112 Jobes’ sugges108   Johnstone 48. As an alternative, some have proposed that the genitives Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ function in a subjective relationship to both ὑπακοήν and ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος; in other words, Jesus obeys and sprinkles his blood (see W. Kelly 10; Schweizer 22; Elliott 319; Green 20; Harink 39 n. 20; cf. Delling, ‘Der Bezug der christlichen Existenz’, 106; Agnew, ‘1 Peter 1:2’, 68–73; Sandnes, ‘Revised Conventions’, 402). This requires εἰς to be read as causal (‘because of…’) and takes the phrase to refer back to the obedience Jesus showed through the shedding of his blood on the cross (cf. Mark 14.36 and par; Rom 5.19; Phil 2.8; Heb 5.8). Yet, as mentioned above, the causal function of εἰς is highly suspect, and the obedience in question more likely denotes the addressees’ response than the obedience of Christ himself, as elsewhere in 1 Peter (1.14, 22). Alternatively, Liebengood (‘Life of God’, 84–86) suggests reading Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as a subjective genitive, though he interprets εἰς as denoting instrumentality. In this way, εἰς is thought to be equivalent to ἐν (see BDAG 291). This view is perhaps possible, although ultimately unnecessary. Had this been the author’s intention, the same sense could have more naturally been communicated by διά (or ὑπό) + genitive, by which the Petrine author commonly denotes instrumentality (1.3, 5, 7, 12, etc.). Only if contextual considerations demanded would there be a need to appeal to such an uncommon usage of εἰς. 109   Achtemeier 87; cf. also Lai, ‘Holy Spirit in 1 Peter’, 159; Dus 21. 110   See further Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 12–13; Wallace, Grammar, 119–21. 111   When this same construction appears elsewhere (i.e., noun + καί + noun + genitive modifier), the genitive either (1) modifies both nouns, carrying out the same function toward each (Rom 1.18; Eph 4.24; Phil 1.11), or (2) only modifies the final noun (2 Cor 1.12; 12.1; Col 2.18, 23; 2 Thess 2.9; 2 Pet 3.18). For a further refutation of the view that Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ modifies both ὑπακοήν and ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος, see Huther 50 n. 1. 112   Elsewhere, when ὑπακοή takes a genitive modifier, the latter normally functions subjectively with the individual designated by the genitive exercising obedience (e.g., Rom 5.19; 15.18; 16.19; 2 Cor 7.15; 10.6; Phlm 21; cf. T.Jud. 17.3; Acts Pet. Paul 14.2; Irenaeus, Haer. (liber 5), frag. 15). One exception, which employs similar terminology, is found in 2 Cor 10.5 (εἰς τὴν ὑπακοὴν τοῦ



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tion that the ‘grammatical difficulty can be avoided if “obedience” and “sprinkling” is understood as a hendiadys (expressing a single idea by two words)’113 seems difficult, not only because it strains the notion of a hendiadys,114 but also because the two words cannot have an equivalent relationship to the genitive Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, except on a subjective genitive reading (which is itself problematic, see above). On balance, it seems better to take ὑπακοήν absolutely (‘for obedience and for sprinkling…’), as a depiction of the purpose for which the readers were called, using a term that encapsulates the nature of their response.115 The designation Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, then, simply functions as a possessive genitive in relation to αἵματος. What, then, is the referent of ὑπακοή (i.e., what type of ‘obedience’ is in view)? The term is sometimes understood as a reference to the daily obedience of those who have previously entered into a faith commitment.116 But it more likely refers to the initial act of obedience in which a person responds to Jesus in faith.117 This is how the word is used elsewhere in 1 Peter. In 1.22, the readers are told that their souls have been purified ‘by obedience to the truth’ (ἐν τῇ ὑπακοῇ τῆς ἀληθείας). The passage continues by connecting this obedience to their new birth (v. 23), which results from the proclamation of the gospel (v. 25). A similar use of ὑπακοή to refer to conversion is found in the writings of Paul (Rom 1.5; 15.18; cf. also 10.16: οὐ πάντες ὑπήκουσαν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ). What is more, the Petrine author repeatedly describes those who do not believe as ‘disobedient to the word’ (2.8; cf. also 3.1; 4.17). The second aspect of this purpose, ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος, is undoubtedly an image of cleansing and purification that recalls the operation of the Jewish sacrificial system, more specifically Χριστοῦ), where Χριστοῦ functions as an objective genitive (cf. also Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. 18.7: ὑπακοὴν θεοῦ). 113   Jobes 72. Cf. also Beare 76–77; Carson, ‘1 Peter’, 1016–17. 114   See Dubis 3–4, who notes that hendiadys ‘properly refers to the coordination of two terms that really have a subordinate relationship, with one term implicitly modifying the other’. 115   Cf. Alford 332; Huther 50; Selwyn 120; Michaels 11; Prigent 15; Schlosser 57. 116   E.g., Pott 31; de Wette 5–6; Schott 14–15; Bigg 92; Cranfield 71; Grudem 52; Marshall 31–32; Witherington 71; Osborne 148. 117   E.g., Luther 17; Bengel 45; Wiesinger 52; Lightfoot 102; Lenski 26; Best 71; Clowney 35; Davids 48; McKnight 54; cf. Williams, Salvation, 58–59.

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the covenant sacrifices made by Moses at Sinai (Exod 24.3–9).118 As part of this covenantal ceremony, Moses is said to have taken blood and sprinkled it over the people (λαβὼν δὲ Μωυσῆς τὸ αἷμα κατεσκέδασεν τοῦ λαοῦ, Exod 24.8). Notably, this follows the people’s affirmation that they would be obedient (vv. 3, 7). As such, 1 Peter implies that a new covenant community has been created, marked out by obedience and the sprinkling of the blood of Christ.119 This sacrificial imagery of Christ’s death is developed further in Heb 9.11–27, where the parallels with Exod 24.3–9 are more explicit. The language of sprinkling occurs numerous times in descriptions of the priestly sacrificial and cultic activities in Leviticus (e.g., 4.17; 5.9; 16.14–19, all referring to blood and using ῥαίνω). Similar language is used to describe the ritual slaughter of the red heifer in Numbers 19, where blood is sprinkled (v. 4), and the ashes of the burnt heifer are used to make the water for sprinkling, which is for purification (v. 9: ὕδωρ ῥαντισμοῦ ἅγνισμά ἐστιν; cf. the further references to the ὕδωρ ῥαντισμοῦ in vv. 13, 20, 21).120 In all these cases, the references are to what is sprinkled over the people (or over some part of the cultic sanctuary), not to the shedding of the animal’s blood itself. So the Jewish priestly customs, rather clearly in the   Within an earlier generation of scholarship, the expression ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος was connected with other imagery from the Jewish scriptures as well. For instance, some maintained that the paschal lamb was in view (Bede 70–71; Aretius 39), and others held that it referred to the day of atonement (e.g., Pott 31; Augusti 204–205; Steiger 1:81–84). Given the many different contexts in which sprinkling occurred in Israelite rituals, a few have objected to limiting the sprinkling imagery to any one context (cf. Bigg 92–93; Hart 40). However, due to the fact that the combination of ‘obedience’ and ‘sprinkling with blood’ only occur in Exod 24 (and given that the sprinkling of blood on persons only occurs in two other unrelated contexts: Exod 29.21 and Lev 14.6–7), the vast majority of interpreters see in this imagery a specific reference to the establishment of the Mosaic covenant at Mt. Sinai (see, e.g., Leaney 14–15; Hillyer 27; Frankemölle 31–32; Bony 33–34; for a defence of this view, see Page, ‘Obedience and Blood-Sprinkling’, 295–97). One outlier in this discussion is the proposal of Perdelwitz, who connects the sprinkling imagery with the use of the Taurobolium in the Attis mystery cult (Mysterienreligion, 97–98). 119   Some view this imagery as symbolic of other realities, whether that be sharing the sufferings of Christ (Hall, ‘You Have Been Called’, 142) or Christian baptism (Reicke 77; Schiwy 35; Beare 77; Prigent 16; cf. Bieder, Grund und Kraft, 15 n. 13, who connects ‘obedience’ and ‘sprinkling’ with baptism and the Eucharist). However, explanations like these are without substance. 120   See further Mbuvi, Temple, 71–74. 118



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author’s mind here, suggest that the ῥαντισμὸν αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ should be taken to refer to the addressees being sprinkled with Christ’s blood (and not, therefore, to Christ’s own shedding of his blood),121 as part of the process by which they become God’s elect, holy, and obedient people. This leaves a final (and more theological) question about why the author would describe the ‘sprinkling with the blood of Jesus Christ’ as the purpose of the readers’ calling as God’s elect sojourners, rather than the means by which their new identity is achieved/attained. For Jobes, the order of the three phrases here, referring to Father, Spirit, Christ, ‘perhaps reflects the logical ordo salutis of conversion that finds its ultimate origin in the heart of God, is made operative in human lives by the Holy Spirit, and is evidenced through personal expressions of faith in Jesus Christ’.122 Yet the author is not speaking (only) of ‘personal expressions of faith’ (‘obedience’) but of the sprinkling with Christ’s blood. For Bigg, this ‘sprinkling’ imparts ‘the spirit of readiness, not so much to do God’s will as to suffer for Christ’s sake’ and as such ‘is the highest stage in the progress of the Christian life on earth’.123 However, it remains striking that this sprinkling with Christ’s blood is depicted as the last stage, the purpose of a calling that is enacted by the ἁγιασμῷ πνεύματος.   In contrast to those who find in this language an emphasis on the sacrificial death of Christ (e.g., Bigg 93; Arichea–Nida 11–12), the author’s primary concern seems to be on the establishment of a new covenant. While in Christian theological discourse the death of Jesus plays the crucial role in the new covenant, here the focus lies in the group who is involved in this process, viz. the covenant people of God. 122   Jobes 68. 123   Bigg 93. A slightly different explanation is offered by Barbarick, ‘Theosis in 1 Peter, 287–97, who connects this image with the notion of theosis in the Petrine author’s theology. He maintains that the referent of the sprinkling of Christ’s blood is the imitation of Christ through suffering: ‘The telos of their election is being conformed to God’s holiness, and because the author of 1 Peter defines God’s holiness with the pattern of Christ, fulfilling their purpose as God’s elect will mean living a life marked by his suffering’ (296; cf. Donelson 27). Yet, while Barbarick seems to have accurately (and helpfully) diagnosed the sense of theosis reflected in 1 Peter (see also Edwards, ‘Participation in Christ in 1 Peter’, 144–59), there is little to suggest that this notion was in the Petrine author’s mind in this instance. It is difficult to imagine that the audience would have picked up on such a complex idea in the opening prescript, prior to any references to imitation or participation. 121

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The author of 1 Peter can also describe the blood of Christ as that with which the believers’ conversion was made possible, the ransom that was paid to redeem them, implying that this sacrificially shed blood can also be seen as the means by which salvation was achieved (1.19; cf. 2.24). In this case, however, the sprinkling is perhaps seen more as the sign and seal of the new status (as the elect covenant people) which the addressees have attained—just as Moses’ sprinkling the people with blood follows their promise to accept and obey all that YHWH commands (Exod 24.3–9). Similarly, 1 Peter’s distinctive theology of baptism (3.21) depicts this rite not as an enactment of dying to sin with Christ but as a ‘pledge’ or commitment to God made in integrity and in purity of heart (cf. 1.22; 1 Tim 1.5).124 Such distinctive expressions should serve as a reminder that we should not too quickly press 1 Peter into the mould of other NT theologies, especially that of Paul, notwithstanding the evident similarities and points of contact. χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη πληθυνθείη The letter-opening concludes with these final words of greeting. While often seen as closely related to the traditional Greek letteropening, A to B χαίρειν, the distinctiveness and significance of the choice of χάρις here—and in the Pauline tradition—should not be missed125 (though there are also instances of χάρις being used in Greek letter-openings, generally after the opening χαίρειν).126 To the established Jewish wish for ‘peace’ upon those one greets, the phrase adds the wish for χάρις towards those receiving the letter.   See further Exegesis on 3.21.   As Lieu comments, ‘Paul’s opening phrase…must have clearly fallen outside the limits of epistolary convention’ (‘Apostolic Greeting’, 163). See further Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters, 406–15. 126   For example, in the health wish: if a person is in good health, then much gratitude is owed to the gods (τοῖς θεοῖς πολλὴ χάρις or similar, e.g., P.Hib. I 79; P.Cair.Zen I 59076; II 59160; III 59526; P.Oslo III 155; P.Petr. II 13; III 53; P.Mich. I 23; cf. P.Giss.Apoll. 13). The term also appears in a thanksgiving (from the author to recipient), immediately after χαίρειν: χάρις σοι πλείστη, ἄδελφε (P.Mich. VIII 498). One of the few places where there is a request for the gods to grant χάρις to someone is in SB XXII 15324, a letter from a dancer of the goddess Boubastis to an unknown addressee: ‘To my lord, from your(?) dancer. I pray to all gods that they may give you health and good fortune and ever greater success with the kings, may they give you favour and standing and success (δοίησάν σοι χάριν μορφὴν εὐπραξίαν); and may the goddess Boubastis give you health’ (trans. Clarysse and Sijpesteijn). 124 125



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While clearly formulaic and conventional, this nonetheless establishes χάρις as a defining characteristic of that which the author desires may be bestowed in abundance (πληθυνθείη) upon the letter’s addressees (see further on 1.10).127 Apart from the word πληθυνθείη, the greeting here follows the Pauline form precisely. Only 1 Thess 1.1, though, has the short form χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη; most of the letters follow exactly the longer formula χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη ἀπὸ θεοῦ πατρὸς ἡμῶν καὶ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (Rom 1.7; 1 Cor 1.3; 2 Cor 1.2; Gal 1.3; Eph 1.2; Phil 1.2; 2 Thess 1.2; Phlm 3; there are slight varia�tions from the formula in Col 1.2; 1 Tim 1.2; 2 Tim 1.2 and Titus 1.4). The formula χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη also appears in Rev 1.4, and in 2 Pet 1.2, where the whole phrase, including the volunta�tive optative πληθυνθείη,128 suggests the influence of 1 Peter, of which the author of 2 Peter appears to be aware (2 Pet 3.1).129 This optative verb is significant not only as the main point of difference from the Pauline formulae, but also because it indicates a specific point of contact with the traditions of Jewish letter-writing, where we find the phrase εἰρήνη ὑμῖν πληθυνθείη (Dan 4.1 [Theod]; 6.26 [Theod]; cf. b. Sanh. 11b; Jude 1).130 This opening greeting therefore exemplifies the need to give a balanced assessment of the extent of Pauline influence on 1 Peter.131 On the one hand, it is clear that—especially in its epistolary frame—1 Peter is much more like a Pauline letter than it is   Cf. Michaels 13.   Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 939–40; Porter, Idioms, 60; Wallace, Grammar, 481–83. The use of the optative here and elsewhere in the epistle (cf. 3.14, 17), according to Ostmeyer, ‘spiegelt die “bildungsbürgerlich” Herkunft des Autors’ (25). 129   It is also clear that 2 Peter shares much material in common with Jude, including πληθυνθείη in the opening greeting (see Horrell, Letters of Peter and Jude, 141, for a concise overview). However, since the whole five-word phrase in 2 Peter follows 1 Peter precisely, it seems more likely that the influence in this case is from 1 Peter. For these and other comparisons of opening epistolary greetings, see Lieu, ‘Apostolic Greeting’, 170–74. 130   See MHT 4:128. Cf. Doering, ‘Diaspora Letter’, 234: ‘With respect to early Christian letter conventions, recourse to this encyclical salutation contributes a non-Pauline accent, which, at such a sensitive location as the prescript of an ancient letter, likely functions as a reading instruction: the saluting apostolic authority of this letter, while sharing some common ground with Pauline tradition, links up with encyclical letter writing in the biblical Jewish tradition’. 131   See further Horrell, Becoming Christian, 12–26. 127 128

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like anything else. On the other hand, there are certain points at which it distinguishes itself from this Pauline tradition and reflects a more Jewish-Christian influence.132 Indeed, even in the phrasing of this opening greeting we see 1 Peter representing something of a synthesis of the Pauline and non-Pauline traditions—something that also characterises 2 Peter and 1 Clement, both of which also include πληθυνθείη in their opening greeting (2 Pet 1.2; 1 Clem. Praescr.; cf. also Pol. Phil. praescr.; Mart. Pol. praescr.). Summary As well as indicating that the letter comes from the apostle Peter, apostle par excellence in the early Christian tradition, the author identifies the addressees in a way that specifies their ‘location’ in both geographical and theological (or spiritual) terms. At the literal, geographical level, they are inhabitants of the Roman provinces that cover the northern, central, and western parts of Asia Minor. But already in his description of this location as ‘diaspora’ (διασπορά) the author inserts the readers into a Jewish narrative that identifies them as dispersed, implicitly through the actions of a foreign imperial power, and therefore ‘not-at-home’—a point also expressed in the pregnant description of them as ‘strangers’ (παρεπίδημοι).133 The positive counterpart to this dislocation is their identification as chosen by God, according to a divine foreknowledge. Through the work of the Spirit, they have been set apart (‘sanctified’) for obedience, and to be a people whose distinctive identity and covenant relationship with God is sealed by the blood of Christ, with which they have been sprinkled. The author concludes the brief opening of his letter by wishing grace and peace upon this people. Already in these brief introductory greetings, then, some fundamental themes have been indicated concerning the identity of the scattered but chosen people of God.

132   A point stressed by Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 22–49, and Doering, ‘Apostle’, 676–77. 133   For ‘diaspora’ as the controlling metaphor in the letter, see Martin, Metaphor and Composition; cf. also Green, ‘Theological Interpretation’, 323.

O P E N IN G B L E SS IN G: G O D ’S G L O R IO U S S A LVATI ON (1.3–12)

Initial Bibliography Giuseppe Baldanza, ‘L’euloghia di 1Pt 1,3–12 e il suo dinamismo trinitario’, RivB 63 (2015): 327–39; Raymond F. Collins, ‘A Significant Decade: The Trajectory of the Hellenistic Epistolary Thanksgiving’, in Paul and the Ancient Letter Form, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Sean A. Adams, Pauline Studies 6 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 159–84; Nils A. Dahl, ‘Benediction and Congratulation’, in Studies in Ephesians: Introductory Questions, Text- and Edition-Critical Issues, Interpretation of Texts and Themes, ed. David Hellholm, Vermund Blomkvist, and Tord Fornberg, WUNT 131 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 279–314; Francine Dubuis, ‘Pierre 1,3-12: Une même grâce pour tous’, Lire et Dire 52 (2002): 3–12; Roselyne Dupont-Roc, ‘Le jeu des prépositions en 1 Pierre 1,1-12: De l’espérance finale à la joie dans les épreuves présentes’, EstBib 53 (1995): 201–12; Benjamin B. Hunt, ‘Meaning in Bulk: The Greek Clause Complex and 1 Peter 1:3–12’, in Modeling Biblical Language: Selected Papers from the McMaster Divinity College Linguistics Circle, ed. Stanley E. Porter, Linguistic Biblical Studies 13 (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 391–414; David W. Kendall, ‘The Introductory Character of 1 Peter 1:3-12’ (Ph.D. diss., Union Theological Seminary (Virginia), 1984); idem, ‘The Literary and Theological Function of 1 Peter 1:3-12’, in Perspectives on First Peter, ed. Charles H. Talbert, NABPRSSS 9 (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1986), 103–20; A. B. du Toit, ‘The Significance of Discourse Analysis for New Testament Interpretation and Translation: Introductory Remarks with Special Reference to 1 Peter 1:3-13’, Neot 8 (1974): 54–79; Peter T. O’Brien, Introductory Thanksgivings in the Letters of Paul, NovTSup 49 (Leiden: Brill, 1977); Troy W. Martin, Metaphor and Composition in 1 Peter, SBLDS 131 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1992), 47–68; Sharon Clark Pearson, The Christological and Rhetorical Properties of 1 Peter, Studies in Bible and Early Christianity 45 (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 2001), 53–96.

Introduction Just as ancient Greek letters typically began with a formulaic opening greeting, so they generally followed this with some expression of good wishes—often for the health of the addressee(s)—or

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some form of thanksgiving.1 As with the opening greetings, so also with the introductory blessing/thanksgiving, a distinctively Christian form developed, reflecting Jewish as well as Greek influences. Once again, so far as our evidence allows us to see, Paul’s influence is decisive on the development of the Christian epistolary pattern as seen in 1 Peter.2 In a number of his letters, Paul’s introductory formula is one of thanksgiving (εὐχαριστῶ/εὐχαριστοῦμεν τῷ θεῷ: Rom 1.8; 1 Cor 1.4; Phil 1.3; 1 Thess 1.2; Phlm 4; cf. Col 1.3; 2 Thess 1.3), but he also utilises the ‘blessing’ language found here (εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεός: 2 Cor 1.3; cf. Eph 1.3).3 Indeed, 1 Peter’s opening blessing shows close points of contact with these Pauline blessings, especially with Ephesians (see Introduction: Pauline Traditions). There is widespread agreement that 1 Pet 1.3–12 thus forms the second section in the epistolary structure of 1 Peter, though scholars differ as to whether they see this passage as prior to the main body of the letter,4 or as the opening part of it.5 This difference of opinion does not affect the key observation that this section constitutes an opening ‘blessing’, which serves to introduce some of the key themes and concerns of the letter.6 Moreover, without downplaying the insights that are to be gained from an analysis of the letter’s epistolary structure, we should not perhaps expect neat or clear structural distinctions always to pertain, as if the author were following an explicit and inflexible template.7 On balance, 1   See White, ‘Epistolary Literature’, 1734–35. For examples of health wishes in Greek letters, see Adams, ‘Paul’s Letter Opening’, 48–49. See the discussion of thanksgivings in Collins, ‘A Significant Decade’, 159–84. 2   See White, ‘Epistolary Literature’, 1752–55. 3   Galatians is notable for its omission of any such thanksgiving. A thanksgiving is also lacking in 1 Timothy and Titus, which move straight into the description of the tasks that Timothy and Titus are intended to fulfil. 4   So, e.g., Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 48, 70–72, 78–79, 269–71; Achtemeier 73. 5   So, e.g., Michaels xxxiv; Elliott 81–82, 329. 6   Cf. Knoch 41: ‘Mit “Hoffnung und Freude trotz Bedrängnis” wird das Grundthema des Schreibens angeschlagen’. 7   Epistolary analysis clearly identifies opening and closing greetings (1.1–2; 5.12–14), as well as the opening blessing/thanksgiving (1.3–12), but, as Martin (Metaphor and Composition) indicates, leaves the main body of the letter needing analysis in other ways. Rhetorical analysis of the letter seems less successful in making sense of the overall structure (see Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure).



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however, it seems best to regard 1.13 as the opening of the letter body proper (see Introduction to 1.13–25). The whole passage from v. 3 to v. 12 comprises ‘one complete sentence-thought, structured with stylistic care in a series of relative clauses’,8 which contains terminology and motifs that are further developed in the body of the letter.9 It divides into three main sections (vv. 3–5, vv. 6–9, vv. 10–12), with more minor divisions between vv. 6–7 and vv. 8–9 and between vv. 10–11 and v. 12.10 Each of the subsequent sections (main and minor) is linked to what precedes by a relative pronoun. The first main sub-unit opens with the blessing of God, detailing the nature of the hope and salvation prepared for the letter’s recipients. The second sub-unit is closely connected with what precedes. Therein, the thematic focus shifts from the value and certainty of the future salvation that is promised to the letter’s addressees, to that of joy in suffering, and the proving of resilient faith through trials, themes that are central to the letter’s concerns.11 Also evident here, as in v. 5, is the sense of eschatological expectation, particularly in terms of the anticipation of the joy and salvation which are to come. The third sub-unit forms a somewhat distinct section from vv. 3–9, though linked again with a relative pronoun,12 wherein the author appeals to the past; more specifically, he appeals to the prophets who foresaw the coming of Christ, his sufferings and glorification, and the good news to be announced to the readers. As such, 8   Goppelt 79; cf. Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 52; Boring, ‘Interpreting 1 Peter’, 98–99. For more on this complex clausal structure, see Hunt, ‘Greek Clause Complex’, 391–414. The complexity of this structure has led some scholars to conclude that in vv. 3–12 the author is using or at least adapting an early Christian hymn (so, e.g., Windisch 52; Schneider 44–45; cf. Martin, ‘Composition of 1 Peter’, 30–31), one which may have originated in a baptismal context (as assumed by Phillips, Kirche in der Gesellschaft, 17). On this idea, see further Schlosser, ‘Les elements hymniques’, 179–208. 9   See further Kendall, ‘Introductory Character’; idem, ‘Literary and Theological Function’, esp. 106–14. 10   Achtemeier 90. 11   On this theme in 1 Peter, see further Nauck, ‘Freude im Leiden’, 68–80; de Villiers, ‘Joy in Suffering’, 64–86; Manns, ‘Souffrances et joie’, 259–82; Estrada, ‘La gioia nella sofferenza’, 405–36. 12   It downplays the importance of these verses, however, to describe them as an ‘explanatory postscript’ or ‘appendix’ to vv. 3–9, as does Michaels (38, 49). Achtemeier more appositely describes them as ‘both conclusion and climax to this portion of the letter’ (105).

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this short passage—which contains a good deal of complexity and difficulty—offers important insight into the author’s scriptural hermeneutic, an approach that implicitly underpins the use of scripture elsewhere in the letter (notably 2.21–25).13 The sections below deal in turn with each main section of this opening blessing; a summary comment is provided at the end of the third of these sections. Blessing of God for a New Birth (1.3–5) Initial Bibliography Marie-Émile Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales dans la Première Épître de Pierre, LD 30 (Paris: Cerf, 1961), 15–56; Carl Brummack, ‘Eis elpida zoosan – zur lebendigen Hoffnung (1 Petr 1,3)’, in Kirche, Recht und Land. Festschrift Weihbischof Prof. Dr. Adolf Kindermann dargeboten zum 70 Lebensjahre, ed. Karl Reiss and Hans Schutz (Munich: AckermanGemeinde, 1969), 276–79; William J. Dalton, ‘La rigenerazione alla vita cristiana (1 Pt 1,3)’, Parola Spirito e vita 5 (1982): 234–46; Reinhard Feldmeier, ‘Wiedergeburt im 1. Petrusbrief’, in Wiedergeburt, ed. Reinhard Feldmeier, Biblisch-theologische Schwerpunkte 25 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 75–100; Abson P. Joseph, ‘The Background and Implications of the Language of New Birth in 1 Peter’, JTI 15 (2021): 318–32; Heinz Giesen, ‘Der Gott Israels als der Vater unseres Herrn Jesus Christus im ersten Petrusbrief’, in Der Gott Israels im Zeugnis des Neuen Testaments, ed. Ulrich Busse, QD 201 (Freiburg: Herder, 2003), 130–61; David G. Horrell, ‘Whose Faith(fulness) is it in 1 Peter 1:5?’, JTS 48 (1997): 110–15; Frédéric Manns, ‘La théologie de la nouvelle naissance dans la première lettre de Pierre’, LASBF 45 (1995): 107–41; Katherine Marcar, Divine Regeneration and Ethnic Identity in 1 Peter: Mapping Metaphors of Family, Race, and Nation, SNTSMS 180 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2022); Nancy Pardee, ‘ “You have been born anew”: Philo and the Image of New Birth in 1 Peter’, in With Gentleness and Respect: Pauline and Petrine Studies in Honor of Troy W. Martin, ed. Eric F. Mason and Mark F. Whitters, BTS 40 (Leuven: Peeters, 2020), 283–314; Samuel Parsons, ‘We Have Been Born Anew: The New Birth of the Christian in the First Epistle of St. Peter (I Peter 1:3, 23)’ (Ph.D. diss., St. Thomas Aquinas Pontifical University, 1978).

13   See Schutter, Hermeneutic, 100–23, who sees 1 Pet 1.10–12 as a ‘hermeneutical key’ to the author’s pesher-like mode of scriptural interpretation.



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Text 3

Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ὁ κατὰ τὸ πολὺ αὐτοῦ ἔλεος(a) ἀναγεννήσας ἡμᾶς(b) εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν(c) δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐκ νεκρῶν(d), 4 εἰς κληρονομίαν ἄφθαρτον καὶ ἀμίαντον καὶ ἀμάραντον τετηρημένην ἐν οὐρανοῖς(e) εἰς ὑμᾶς(f) 5 τοὺς ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ φρουρουμένους διὰ πίστεως εἰς σωτηρίαν ἑτοίμην ἀποκαλυφθῆναι ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ

(a) The textual record exhibits a slight variation in the phrase τὸ πολὺ αὐτοῦ ἔλεος. Some MSS transpose αὐτοῦ and ἔλεος (048, 33, 442, 1175, 1611, 1852, 2344, Byzpt, Cllat), while P72 transposes the terms and also omits the article (cf. 1524). But the reading given above is strongly attested, including ‫א‬, A, B, C (see ECM 106). (b) A few texts read ὑμᾶς instead of ἡμᾶς here (378, 876, 1241, 1890), while P72 omits the pronoun altogether (possibly an error of haplography due to homoeoteleuton). The use of the first person plural is striking here, given the author’s preference for the second person form throughout the letter, including this opening section (see 1.2, 4, 7, 9 [probably], 10, 12), and explains why some texts assimilated to that tendency at this point too (cf. also P72 on v. 4).14 These variations between the first- and second-person pronouns are often explained as an unintentional error caused by itacism (with the scribe confusing ὑ and ἡ, which were pronounced alike). In the text of 1 Peter, however, these changes arise more often due to theological motivations (see Text at 2.21 n. h). (c) Some texts, including 0142, and those of the Latin (S), Coptic (Bohairic), and Syriac (Harklensis) text-types, support the reading ζωῆς in place of ζῶσαν; some other Latin texts evidence an underlying ζωῆς αἰωνίου (ECM 106), i.e., vitae aeternae (VL 26/1, 73). This is most likely evidence of the phrase being read as an objective genitive, with ‘life’ being the object of one’s ‘hope’ (cf. Spicq 44; Achtemeier 92 n. 1; Feldmeier 62; see further Exegesis at 1.3). (d) In the Syriac Peshitta, ἐκ νεκρῶν is omitted, perhaps under the influence of the similar phrase in 1 Pet 3.21. (e) Some MSS add the article (τοῖς) here (e.g., Ψ along with a number of later minuscules), conforming to the more common NT expression,15 while ‫ א‬has the singular form ἐν οὐρανῷ, possibly in conformity to later Petrine 14   There are 53 uses of the second-person plural pronoun in the letter, compared with only four of the first-person plural (1.3bis; 2.24; 4.17). 15   This is evident in the fact that these manuscripts fail to make the same addition later at 1 Pet 3.22, where the text contains the preposition εἰς together with the singular οὐρανόν (see ECM 168–69).

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usage (cf. 1.12; 3.22). The present reading is strongly attested (A, B, C, et al.). (f) A number of MSS, including P72, has ἡμᾶς here (which is the reading found in the text of Elzevir). Note some comparable variation in 1.3. The text is however attested by ‫א‬, A, B, C, et al., and the second-person pronoun is prominent throughout this opening thanksgiving (and, indeed, the letter as a whole), indicating that it should be given precedence (cf. Usteri 23 n. 1; Schlosser 61 n. c).

Exegesis 3 Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ The first sub-section of this opening blessing is constituted by vv. 3–5, which express praise to God in the form of a blessing, specifying the reasons for this acclamation in a tripartite description of what God has graciously bestowed upon the hearers of the letter (‘living hope’, ‘imperishable inheritance’, ‘salvation’).16 Its character as a blessing is indicated immediately in the opening word of the verse, εὐλογητός, an expression of praise or prayer. Such language is by no means restricted to Jewish and Christian texts,17 but the particular phrasing here—not least with ‘blessed’ as the opening word—undoubtedly reflects the influence of the Jewish scriptures.18 The language of blessing, of other people as well as of God, became firmly established in Jewish liturgy. The priest pronounced the Aaronic blessing upon the people (Num 6.22–27), and the tractates Berakoth (in the Mishnah, Tosefta, and Talmud) deal with the forms of prayer that open with the formulaic blessing 16   Boismard (Quatre hymnes baptismales, 15–56; cf. also Manns, ‘La théologie de la nouvelle naissance’, 109–11) identified 1 Pet 1.3–5 as one of four early Christian (baptismal) hymns in 1 Peter, drawing attention to the parallels in Titus 3.4–8 in particular. But there seems little basis for this specific identification. 17   So, e.g., OGIS 73; CIG 4705b–c; IG XII,9 955, 1179 (see further Ramsay, ‘Greek of the Early Church’, 54–55). Dedications to Theos Hypsistos from around this same time are also noteworthy. While not ascribing praise to the god, they do attribute a characteristic ‘blessedness’ to him: Θεῶι Ὑψίστωι παντοκράτορι εὐλογητῷ, βασιλεύοντος βασιλέως (IosPE II 400; cf. SEG 32:790; CIRB 1126; IosPE II 401). 18   E.g., Ps 72[71].18: ‫ =( ברוך יהוה אלהים‬LXX εὐλογητὸς κύριος ὁ θεός). See further Gen 14.20; 24.27; Exod 18.10; Ruth 4.14; 1 Sam 25.32, 39; 2 Sam 18.28; Neh 9.5; Tob 9.6; 11.14; 1 Esd 4.40; 8.25; 3 Macc 7.23; cf. also Luke 1.68; 2 Cor 1.3; Eph 1.3; Barn. 6.10; Acts Phil. 63.3; 132.8; Acts Pil. 15.4. The dominance of Jewish and Christian examples is evident in the notes on εὐλογέω and εὐλογία in MM 263. Cf. also TDNT 2:754–59.



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of God. The centrality of this notion to Jewish prayer is perhaps first expressed in 2 Chr 20.26, with the naming of the ‘valley of Berakah’ (‫עמק ברכה‬/ὁ αὐλὼν τῆς εὐλογίας)—‘for there they blessed God’ (‫כי שם ברכו את יהוה‬/ἐκεῖ γὰρ ηὐλόγησαν τὸν κύριον). Over time, the established formula most commonly employed was the second-person form, ‘blessed are you…’ (‫)ברוך אתה‬.19 The Greek phrase εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεός clearly implies some form of the verb εἰμί, either optative (εἴη) or indicative (ἐστίν).20 Parallels from the LXX suggest that the indicative would more likely be used, though these are all in the second-person form εὐλογητὸς εἶ, sometimes followed by ὁ θεός in the nominative (rather than the vocative θεέ) or κύριε ὁ θεός.21 Nevertheless, it is clear that the phrase expresses the desire to praise and honour God, and not some mere or supposed fact.22 It is, we might say, a kind of performative utterance in which to declare God ‘blessed’23 is itself not only to acknowledge but also to convey the honour and status that blessedness implies.24 Within Jewish and Christian literature, the adjective εὐλογητός is generally reserved for God, while the participial form εὐλογημένος is employed with reference to blessedness assigned to humans,25 although there is some variation to this pattern.26 The   See further TDNT 2:759–61.   The optative (εἴη) is suggested by many interpreters (e.g., Keil 45; Johnstone 52–53; Huther 54; Spicq 44; Michaels 15 n. a; Jobes 81; Forbes 18; cf. Buttmann, Grammar, 137); whereas others propose the indicative, ἐστίν (e.g., Schott 20; Williams 11; Kühl 75; Monnier 30; Elliott 330; Dubis 5; Watson 24). 21   Cf. 1 Chr 29.10; Ps 118.12; Tob 3.11; 8.5, 15–17; 11.14; Jdt 13.17; Dan 3.26, 52, 54–56; 1 Macc 4.30; 1 Esd 4.60; see also 1 En. 22.14; Odes Sol. 7.26; 8.52; 14.34, 36–38; Acts Phil. 132.8. 22   Dubis’s translation, ‘Worthy of praise is the God and Father…’ (4), somewhat loses the sense that the phrase is an expression of (and exhortation to) praise. 23   Based on the verbless construction and the placement of εὐλογητός at the beginning of the clause, Mills suggests that ‘blessed’ be understood ‘as the focused constituent. In other words, the author is not simply stating new information about God [i.e., God is blessed], but contrasting God’s blessedness with other unstated alternatives’ (‘Clause Patterns’, 72). 24   Later believers would continue this trend even in death. A variety of Chris�tian epitaphs from the ancient world include an expression of praise to God, e.g., εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς σὺν Χριστῷ αὐτοῦ (IGLSyr II 315 [337CE]; cf. MAMA III 520; TAM IV,1 358; I.Pal. Tertia Ia 154; IGLSyr IV 1455). 25   Cf. Steiger 1:90–91; Wiesinger 57; Fausset 496. 26   There are a few places where εὐλογητός is used in doxologies to refer to people (Gen 12.2; 26.29; Deut 7.14; Ruth 2.20; 1 Sam 15.13; 25.33). Likewise, in some cases, εὐλογημένος can be employed to refer to God (1 Kgs 10.9; 1 Chr 19 20

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reason for this distinction may lie in either the volitional nature of the construction or the nature of the one so designated.27 In the end, both might be true: εὐλογητός represents a volitional sense because the one to whom it is attached is worthy of the praise bestowed by the designation. The author’s blessing follows the Christianised Pauline form, precisely as it appears in 2 Cor 1.3 and Eph 1.3 (the ten successive words are identical in all three texts). Earlier scholarship often saw this as one indication of 1 Peter’s literary dependence on the Pauline letters, and specifically on Ephesians.28 Since the work of Selwyn, and also the critical analyses of Shimada, the theory of literary dependence has largely been replaced by the view that such similarities reflect the use of shared tradition, whether it be catechetical, liturgical, or whatever. Nonetheless, the precise verbal overlaps, combined with the further points of contact between 1 Pet 1.3–12 and Eph 1.3–14, might suggest some intertextual relationship between the two letters, with 1 Peter likely reflecting some knowledge of Ephesians (and other Pauline letters).29 In typically Pauline quasi-binitarian style,30 God is denoted as father, while Jesus is identified as Lord and Christ (1 Cor 1.3; 8.6; 16.36; 2 Chr 9.8; Jer 38[36].23; cf. also Job 1.21; Ps 112.2; Ezek 3.12; Dan 2.20). In NT doxologies, εὐλογητός is only used in connection with God (Luke 1.68; Rom 1.25; 9.5 [although there is a question of referent here]; 2 Cor 1.3; 11.31; Eph 1.3), and εὐλογημένος only refers to humans (Matt 21.9; 23.39; 25.34; Mark 11.9; Luke 1.42bis; 13.35; 19.38; John 12.13). 27   Regarding the volitional explanation, Alford suggests that ‘[t]he shade of distinction is perhaps this: that εὐλογητός carries with it rather the imperative, “Blessed be” &c.,—εὐλογημένος the indicative, “Blessed is” &c.’ (332). On the other hand, Johnstone stresses the nature of the one so designated: ‘whilst the participle simply states the fact, “blessed,” the adjective either directly asserts, or even if used participially suggests by its form, worthiness of blessing’ (52; cf. Hort 28). This latter demarcation finds support in Philo, who distinguishes the two: ‘ “For”, says God, “you will be blessed (εὐλογητός)”, not merely one who is blessed (εὐλογημένος); for the latter is judged on the opinions and reports of the multitude, whereas the former is based on the one truly being blessed (τὸ δὲ τῷ πρὸς ἀλήθειαν εὐλογητῷ)’. For a similar distinction, see Gen 14.19–20; Tob 11.14. 28   See, e.g., Plumptre 93–94; Cook 175; Hort 27; Monnier 30; Beare 82. 29   See Introduction: Pauline Traditions. Cf. also Coutts, ‘Ephesians I. 3–14 and I Peter I. 3–12’, 115–27. 30   On the binitarian pattern of devotion in Paul and other early Christian writers, see Hurtado, One God, One Lord; idem, Lord Jesus Christ, 134–53.



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Gal 1.3; Phil 1.2; 2.11; 1 Thess 1.3; cf. Eph 5.20; 2 Thess 1.1).31 The specific designation of God as ‘father of our Lord Jesus Christ’ is also Pauline (Rom 15.6; cf. Col 1.3; Eph 1.17). But how πατήρ relates to θεός could be understood in one of two ways. Due to the fact that the article is not repeated before πατήρ, some render the verse, ‘God, even the father of Jesus Christ’ (cf. Geneva, Wycliffe, CEV, CJB, NLT), with πατήρ further defining θεός and thus marking the only connection with the following genitive.32 However, it is more natural to understand the genitive modifier as referring to both θεός and πατήρ (cf. Rom 15.6; 2 Cor 1.3; 11.31; Eph 1.3): ‘the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (cf. NAB, ESV, NIV, NRSV, NET).33 Support for this interpretation is found in the use of a single article with multiple substantives. In the late eighteenth century, Granville Sharp developed a ‘rule’ in connection with this article– substantive–καί–substantive construction (TSKS).34 Applied here, it indicates that God is one and the same person as the father. Reaching beyond the conclusions of Sharp, a related observation is that when a genitive modifier is used as part of this construction (i.e., article–substantive–καί–substantive–genitive), it normally 31   For a discussion of messianic connotations in the use of Χριστός, see Exegesis on 1.1. 32   Proponents include: Bloomfield 701 with 118; Wordsworth 47; Monnier 30; Forbes 18; Schreiner 57; cf. Winer-Schmiedel, Grammatik, 155. 33   As argued, e.g., by Demarest 57; Usteri 17–18; Bennett 188; Knopf 40; Kelly 47; Best 74; Schelkle 27 n. 3; Goppelt 80 n. 11; Hiebert 57; Donelson 30; Schlosser 61. 34   The ‘rule’ runs as follows: ‘When the copulative και [sic] connects two nouns of the same case, [viz. nouns (either substantive or adjective, or participles) of personal description respecting office, dignity, affinity, or connection, and attributes, properties, or qualities, good or ill,] if the article ὁ, or any of its cases, precedes the first of the said nouns or participles, and is not repeated before the second noun or participle, the latter always relates to the same person that is expressed or described by the first noun or participle: i.e. it denotes a farther description of the first-named person’ (Sharp, Remarks, 3; emphasis removed). For more on the Granville Sharp ‘rule’, see Wallace, Granville Sharp’s Canon, esp. 31–81, although note the questions raised by Porter, ‘Granville Sharp’s Rule’, 93–110. In view of 1 Peter’s (at best) ambivalent legacy with regard to slavery (see on 2.18–25 and Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter), it is important also to remember Sharp’s activity as an early campaigner for abolition, and his judicial and social action on behalf of slaves (see, e.g., Olusoga, Black and British, 113–42).

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modifies both substantives.35 In this way, the verse indicates that the father is also the God of Jesus Christ. It would be unwise to draw too much from this construction, especially given that similar language appears in Christian writings that represent an assortment of christological views (cf. Eph 1.17; John 20.17; Rev 3.2, 12; see also Matt 27.46//Mark 15.34; Heb 1.9);36 but it is noteworthy that this description rarely appears after the first century CE, in marked distinction from later references in which the designation θεός is attributed directly to Jesus.37 ὁ κατὰ τὸ πολὺ αὐτοῦ ἔλεος ἀναγεννήσας ἡμᾶς εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐκ νεκρῶν, νεκρῶν, With doxologies in the LXX, the invocation of praise is followed by a relative clause denoting the reason or grounds.38 In this case, the substantival participle (ὁ ἀναγεννήσας) indicates why God is to be exalted: the blessing is grounded in the divine initiative to provide both the author and the readers—note the use of the first-person plural pronoun, ἡμᾶς, which is rare in 1 Peter (cf. 2.24; 4.17)—with a re-birth experience. The verb ἀναγεννάω is rare, appearing in the NT only in 1 Pet 1.3 and 1.23 (cf. also 2.2: ἀρτιγέννητος).39 It is employed in a fragment from the   Cf. Matt 2.4; Luke 1.6; 14.21; 2 Cor 10.1; Gal 1.4; Phil 1.7, 20; 2.17, 25; Col 2.22; 1 Thess 1.3; 3.7, 11, 13; Heb 3.1; 1 Pet 2.25; Rev 1.6; 17.13. One exception is 1 Pet 5.1: ὁ συμπρεσβύτερος καὶ μάρτυς τῶν τοῦ Χριστοῦ παθημάτων. 36   For more on the christological views of 1 Peter, see Williams, ‘Reception of Jesus’, 278–79. 37   E.g., Ign. Eph. 1.0; 18.2; Rom. 1.0bis; 3.3; Smyr. 1.1; Pol. 8.3; Acts John 82.1; 108.1; 112.2; Mart. Mt. 27.1; Acts Phil. 2.2; 17.3; 25.2; 84.6; Acts Thom. 26.2; 47.3; 60.2; Mart. Andr. 5.1; Acts John 82.1; 84.3; 107.1; 108.1; 112.2. 38   Other places where this construction appears: Gen 14.20; 24.27; Ruth 4.14; 1 Sam 25.32, 39; 2 Sam 18.28; 1 Kgs 1.48; 5.21; 8.15, 56; 2 Chr 2.11; 6.4; Ezra 7.27; Pss 65.20; 71.18; Dan 3.95; Tob 11.17; 13.2; 2 Macc 1.17. Occasionally, a ὅτι clause is used to denote the cause or grounds of praise (Exod 18.10; Ps 27.6; Tob 8.17). 39   For a full discussion of extant uses of ἀναγεννάω (and synonymous terms/ ideas), see Hammer, ‘Rebirth in 1 Peter’, 140–82, and Marcar, Divine Regeneration, 65–75. It is noteworthy that the Petrine author did not employ the more common term for renewal/rebirth in the Greek world, which was παλιγγενεσία (cf. Matt 19.28; Titus 3.5). This word seems to have carried a slightly different nuance than ἀναγέννησις (pace Dey, ΠΑΛΙΓΓΕΝΕΣΙΑ, 9–11), and it had no verbal cognate. 35



1.3–5

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first-century BCE Epicurean philosopher Philodemus (Περὶ ὀργῆς (P. Herc. 182, reliqua fragmenta) 17), describing the ‘re-arousal’ of evil. Closer to the time of 1 Peter, ἀναγεννάω is also attested in Josephus (War 4.484),40 where it refers to the ashes of Sodom being ‘reborn’ in the fruit that grew up from the city’s ruins. The cognate, ἀναγέννησις, is also occasionally represented in contemporary literature. Philo uses this noun to represent the Stoic view of the cyclical ‘renewal’ of the cosmos (Philo, Aet. 8; cf. also Eudoxus, Ars astronomica 4 [Blass]).41 However, none of these examples provides an exact parallel to the way the term is employed in 1 Peter. In this instance, it depicts a personal experience,42 representing one’s entrance into a socio-religious community as though it were a birth-experience generated by the reproductive faculties of God. This ‘rebirth’ imagery is part of the larger set of family metaphors that runs throughout the first half of the epistle, designed to shape the social identity of the readers.43 For some time, scholars have debated the source of the rebirth imagery in 1 Peter. Years ago Perdelwitz proposed that ἀναγεννάω was derived from the mystery religions.44 Within many of these ancient groups, initiates’ entrance into membership was described as a second birth or rebirth,45 which resulted in a special relationship   Selwyn (122) also lists Josephus, Ant. 4.2.1 [= 4.13], citing the text as τῶν ἐκ τοῦ στασιάζειν αὐτοῖς ἀναγεννωμένων δεινῶν. But the text is generally taken to read, τῶν ἐκ τοῦ στασιάζειν αὐτοῖς ἂν γενομένων δεινῶν (see Thackeray [LCL]). Another potential occurrence is found in the prologue of Sirach. While the reading ἀναγεννηθείς (in place of παραγενηθείς) is attested in a few manuscripts at line 28 (see Zeigler, Sirach, 125), it is unlikely that it is original. 41   Cf. Stoicorum vet. frag. 2.620 (which has the same quote from Philo). 42   A helpful distinction is pointed out by Doering, who notes, ‘divine re-beget�ting is personal but not individualistic: though it affects the addressees personally, it also connects them to form an elect people who share in the common inheritance’ (‘Soteriological Web’, 480). 43   This has been the general conclusion of most who have recently addressed the rebirth language in 1 Peter. See, e.g., Hammer, ‘Rebirth in 1 Peter’; Kaiser, Die Rede von “Wiedergeburt”, 293–336; Marcar, Divine Regeneration. 44   Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 37–45. Others have similarly drawn connections with the mysteries (e.g., Moffatt 93–94; Blendinger, ‘Kirche als Fremdlingschaft’, 128–29; Shimada, ‘Formulary Material’, 175–76). 45   Language similar to that of 1 Peter is found in the so-called Liturgy of Mithras: ‘I, NN, whose mother is NN, who was born from the mortal womb of NN and from the fluid of semen, and who, since he has been born again from you today 40

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1 PETER

with the god(dess) and with other members.46 Recent scholarship has generally been sceptical of much direct influence from the mysteries upon NT notions of new birth, however.47 This reaction is natural given that notions of divine parentage and rebirth are more widespread than sometimes recognised. At the same time, one may suspect a certain theological agenda at work in the firm rejection of ‘mystery religion’ influence and an inclination to find the most pertinent parallels in Jewish texts.48 Regardless of the reason, in this particular case, a specific philological connection with the mystery religions must be judged unlikely given the rarity of the term.49 What is more, in the ancient sources that refer to the mystery cults ‘[t]he notions described through the metaphor of rebirth are’, as Feldmeier points out, ‘so disparate that they likely cannot be ascribed to a unitary type’.50 Nevertheless, the parallels from the ancient mysteries remain significant, even if the evidence comes from a somewhat later date.51 (σήμερον τούτου ὑπό σου μεταγεννηθέντος), has become immortal out of so many myriads in this hour according to the wish of god the exceedingly good’ (PGM IV.645–49; trans. Betz). A more precise parallel is found in the fourth-century CE philosopher, Sallustius, who describes what appears to be the initiation ceremony in the Attis mysteries: ‘after this we are fed on milk as though being reborn (ὥσπερ ἀναγεννωμένων); that is followed by rejoicings and garlands and as it were a new ascent to the gods’ (De Deis et mundo 4.10; trans. Nock). Cf. also Apuleius, Metam. 11.14.3–6; 11.16.6–11; 11.21.24–32, where the term renascor (‘to be reborn’) is used to describe Lucius’ initiation into the cult of Isis. 46   The new relationship that developed with the god(dess) following rebirth seems to have involved special care for the initiate in the present life. This is suggested by one of the Mithraic inscriptions from Santa Prisca, which reads, Dulcia sunt ficata avium, sed cura gubernat / pi(e) r(e)b(u)s renatum dulcibus atque creatum (‘Sweet are the livers of the birds, but Mithras’ care guides him who is piously reborn and created by sweet things’, line 11). For the text and translation, see Vermaseren and van Essen, Excavations in the Mithraeum, 208. 47   See Wedderburn, Baptism and Resurrection. The same is true in Petrine scholarship as well (see Michaels, 17–18; Elliott 332). 48   See, e.g., the language of Rengsdorff in TDNT 1:666–68. For a recent assessment of the ancient mysteries, see Bremmer, Initiation into the Mysteries. 49   The Greek verb occurs only in one such text, which post-dates the NT (Sallust, De Deis 4), though this may reflect a pre-Christian tradition (cf. Apuleius, Metam. 11.21: ‘it was in her [sc. the goddess’] power by divine providence to make them as it were new-born [quodam modo renatos]’, trans. Adlington and Gaselee [LCL]). See the arguments of Selwyn 305–11; cf. also TDNT 1:673. 50   Feldmeier 128. See further Burkert, Mysterien, 83–86. 51   Cf. Hammer, ‘Rebirth in 1 Peter’, 184: ‘In the case of 1 Peter and the mysteries, there is evidence of analogy between rebirth in the texts and inscriptions of the



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The Jewish scriptures lack any precise parallels with later notions of the rebirth of individuals. At most, scholars have been able to argue that ideas from the Tanak provided a foundation on which the specific concept developed.52 However, this metaphor becomes more prominent in postbiblical Judaism, especially from the first century CE onward.53 For instance, when interpreting God’s call to Moses from the cloud on Mt. Sinai (Exod 24.16), Philo states that ‘the invocation of the prophet is a second birth (δευτέρα γένεσίς), which is better than the first’ (QE 1.46). The metaphor is likewise attested in Ps.-Philo, where Jonah’s repentance in the belly of the fish (De Jona 25–26 §§95, 99) and the repentance of the inhabitants of Nineveh (De Jona 46 §184) are described in terms of being born again.54 This rebirth imagery continues into the later rabbinic literature.55 The Talmud preserves a saying from the second-century rabbi mysteries and the rebirth language of 1 Peter. Exploring these analogies will help to set the rebirth ideas from 1 Peter into a broader cultural context’. It is important to strike a balance between what the comparative evidence from the ancient mysteries can reveal (viz. how later authors used similar terms and ideas) and what they cannot (viz. establish an intertextual relationship). See further Feldmeier, ‘Wiedergeburt im 1. Petrusbrief’, 75–100. 52   On the application of birthing/begetting imagery to God in Jewish literature, see von Harnack, Die Terminologie der Wiedergeburt; Sjöberg, ‘Wiedergeburt und Neuschöpfung’, 44–85; Michel and Betz, ‘Von Gott gezeugt’, 3–23; Humbert, ‘Yahvé Dieu Géniteur?’, 247–51; Mounce, ‘Metaphor of Rebirth’, 254–337. Among these foundational notions is the idea that the king was born of God (Ps.2.7: ἐγὼ σήμερον γεγέννηκά σε). Similar language is used of the origins of personified Wisdom as well (Prov 8.25: γεννᾷ με; cf. Prov 8.22; Sir 24.9, where κτίζω is used). The language of conceiving/birthing may also be applied to God’s parenting of the people of God (e.g., Exod 4.22; Deut 32.18; Isa 46.3; Jer 31.9). 53   In his search for a source prior to the first century CE, Goppelt looks to the Dead Sea Scrolls. He suggests that ‘[t]he statement about new birth in I Pet. 1:3 can be traced…to a context of motifs emerging from the self-understanding of the Qumran community’ (83; followed by Jobes 83). But, as Parsons points out, ‘[i]n the Qumran literature human generation is described in strictly natural terms and the vocabulary employed does not suggest that God had physically begotten the community or any member of it’ (‘We Have Been Born Anew’, 41; cf. also Williams, Salvation, 130–31). 54   See Lewy, Pseudo-Philonic De Jona, 18–19, 36. Other texts move in similar directions. In Jos. Asen. 8.11, when Joseph prays for the conversion of Aseneth, he asks for God to ‘renew her’ (ἀνακαινίζειν), to ‘reform her’ (ἀναπλάσσειν), and to ‘make her alive again’ (ἀναζωοποιεῖν), all of which is said to have occurred after Aseneth’s repentance and turn toward God (15.44). 55   See further TDNT 1:666–68; Str-B 2:422–23.

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Jose that states, ‘a recently-converted proselyte is like a new-born child’ (b. Yebam. 48b; cf. b. Yebam. 22a; 62a; 97b). Elsewhere, commenting on the Mishna which states that a female proselyte and her converted sons do not perform levirate marriage and halitza (m. Yebam. 11:2), the Talmud explains that the reason is because ‘their conversions are considered rebirth’ (b. Yebam. 97b).56 While the verb ἀναγεννάω does not appear elsewhere in the NT, the notion of a new birth experience through divine parentage is also represented in other early Christian writings. There are particularly close similarities between Titus 3.5–7 and 1 Pet 1.3–4, where mercy, new birth, and hope are linked together. Titus 3.5–7 οὐκ ἐξ ἔργων τῶν ἐν δικαιοσύνῃ ἃ ἐποιήσαμεν ἡμεῖς ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὸ αὐτοῦ ἔλεος ἔσωσεν ἡμᾶς διὰ λουτροῦ παλιγγενεσίας καὶ ἀνακαινώσεως πνεύματος ἁγίου [cf. 1 Pet 1.2], 6 οὗ ἐξέχεεν ἐφ᾿ ἡμᾶς πλουσίως διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν, 7 ἵνα δικαιωθέντες τῇ ἐκείνου χάριτι κληρονόμοι γενηθῶμεν κατ᾿ ἐλπίδα ζωῆς αἰωνίου.

1 Pet 1.3–4 Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, ὁ κατὰ τὸ πολὺ αὐτοῦ ἔλεος ἀναγεννήσας ἡμᾶς εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐκ νεκρῶν, 4 εἰς κληρονομίαν ἄφθαρτον καὶ ἀμίαντον καὶ ἀμάραντον, τετηρημένην ἐν οὐρανοῖς εἰς ὑμᾶς

The letter of James uses another relatively uncommon verb, ἀποκυέω, to speak of God’s giving birth to believers (Jas 1.18 [ἀπεκύησεν ἡμᾶς]; cf. the use of the same verb in Jas 1.15). Like 1 Peter, this new birth is produced by the gospel message (λόγος ἀληθείας). Johannine literature contains a number of references to being ‘born of God’ (John 1.13; 1 John 2.29; 3.9; 4.7; 5.1, 4, 18), and Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus in the Gospel specifically

56   Later, in the ninth-century midrash on the Song of Songs, the people of Israel are described as a newborn. The text reads, ‘ “I would bring you to the house of my mother.” This is Sinai. R. Berekiah said: why do we call Sinai “my mother’s house”? Because there Israel was made like a newborn child (‫( ’)בן יומו‬Song Rab. 8:2 §1). This same text also describes a convert to Judaism as one who has been created, formed, and molded (1:3 §3).



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states the necessity of being ‘born again/from above’ (John 3.7: δεῖ ὑμᾶς γεννηθῆναι ἄνωθεν).57 As Pardee notes, ‘Despite the variations in expression and the differences among these texts in terms of genre, historical context, and/or purpose, a shared, underlying premise seems to remain: in becoming Christian, one underwent a transformation that changed one’s identity at its core and thus was akin to a new or second birth’.58 It is difficult to identify a singular source from which 1 Peter derives the imagery of rebirth. The concept seems to have been fairly widespread across a diverse body of literature. Even more important is that it ‘was a rather ubiquitous religious symbol and thus could be used to describe a variety of religious experiences which involved a new beginning of some sort’.59 The comparative usages provide analogies of how the same theme could be employed in different ways by different groups. In particular, with regard to the use in the Petrine epistle, ‘the simultaneous observation of contact and differentiation, of reception and transformation, show how 1 Peter through the taking up and creative combination of various concepts has translated the truth of the gospel into a new language in order to allow it to also become effective in a differently influenced life-context’.60 The language of conception and new birth have often been taken to imply a link with baptism, which older scholarship saw as central to 1 Peter, even to the point of interpreting 1 Peter as a kind of baptismal homily (see Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure of 1 Peter).61 In other contexts where references to water/

57   This connection with ideas from the Gospel of John was one of the many examples used by Gundry (‘ “Verba Christi” in 1 Peter’, 338–39; idem, ‘Further Verba’, 218–19) to argue that 1 Peter contains early Jesus tradition recounted by the historical Peter (cf. also Jobes 83; Osborne 149). But this shared theme hardly requires such a hypothesis (see Best, ‘1 Peter and Gospel Tradition’, 96–99). 58   Pardee, ‘New Birth Image in 1 Peter’, 284. 59   Williams, Salvation, 132. 60   Feldmeier 128–29. 61   Despite the fact that the baptismal homily theory has been rejected within Petrine scholarship, many continue to find echoes of baptism in the language of new birth from v. 3 (e.g., Brox 61–62; Elliott 332; cf. Ostmeyer, Taufe und Typos, 150; Williams, Salvation, 134; Guttenberger, ‘ “Teilhabe am Leiden Christi” ’, 112) and v. 23 (e.g., Frankemölle 40; Knoch 56; Donelson 53).

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washing and the spirit appear (John 3.5; Titus 3.5) the implied connections are stronger still.62 It is far from certain, however, that any direct link is implied here.63 In fact, the description of regeneration later in the chapter points away from such a connection. The re-birth of the audience is said to have occurred through the proclamation of the gospel (see 1.23–25). Further, the arguments for seeing 1 Peter as having a specifically baptismal focus are weak (the only explicit reference is in 3.21). Insofar as 1 Peter emphasises the transformation of identity that God’s saving action has made possible, and the consequences of this for the readers’ dislocation from the world and ethical responsibilities, there is indeed a thematic coherence with the rite of baptism, which symbolised and enacted this transformation. Yet, this does not mean that the letter has a specifically baptismal theme. The author views baptism as something other than a washing of ‘fleshly dirt’ (3.21), and he does not give any hint that he understands baptism itself as a dying and rising with Christ, as does the Pauline tradition (Rom 6.3–11; Col 2.12–13). The specific aspects of this re-birth experience are delineated by the surrounding prepositional phrases. First, the act of granting re-birth is according to the standard (κατά) of God’s abounding mercy. Again, we encounter a phrase whose content and significance for our author is fundamentally shaped by the Jewish scriptural tradition. In Greek literature, ἔλεος denoted a feeling of compassion or pity on one who was suffering undeserved misfortune (cf. Aristotle, Poet. 1453a; Rhet. 1385b; Andronicus [Pass.] 2; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. phil. 7.111).64 While ἔλεος was occasionally   The explicit connection between baptism and rebirth is made in later Christian writings (e.g., Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 61.3). Often this specifically involves the use of ἀναγεννάω (e.g., Ps.-Clement, Hom. 11.26.1–2; Justin Martyr, Dial. 138.2). 63   As noted by others (e.g., Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus, 215–25; Feldmeier ‘Seelenheil’, 297–303; Horn, ‘Christen in der Diaspora’, 16; Doering, ‘Soteriological Web’, 480–81; Joseph, ‘New Birth’, 320–22). According to Achtemeier, this word ‘puts emphasis rather on rebegetting or begetting anew than on being born anew’, particularly when it is linked with σπορά, ‘seed’, as in 1.23, which Achtemeier sees as demonstrating this point (94 with n. 18). By focusing ἀναγεννάω on conception rather than birth, any connection with baptism would be further weakened. Yet it is perhaps unwise to attempt to draw such a fine distinction, not least since the reference in 1.23 is ἐκ σπορᾶς. 64   See further TDNT 2:477–78; TLNT 1:471–73. 62



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personified and even deified,65 it was hardly a moral virtue. In some philosophical schools—notably the Stoics and Cynics— it was viewed as a weakness to be avoided by the wise person.66 But when the term was picked up in the LXX, where it commonly renders the Hebrew term ‫חסד‬, ‘loving-kindness’ (and occasionally ‫חן‬, ‘grace’, ‘favour’), it took on different nuances. It becomes a virtuous quality within Israelite religion (cf. Hos 6.6; Mic 6.8) and is understood as a prominently and unambiguously valued facet of God’s character, notably in the defining revelation to Moses on Sinai: κύριος ὁ θεὸς οἰκτίρμων καὶ ἐλεήμων μακρόθυμος καὶ πολυέλεος καὶ ἀληθινός / ‫יהוה אל רחום וחנון ארך אפים ורב חסד ואמת‬ (Exod 34.6). Here the focus is on God’s compassion, patience, and mercy, in particular towards those with whom God is bound in covenant. Especially notable as a parallel to 1 Peter’s description is the adjective πολυέλεος, which originated in the LXX and which consistently renders the Hebrew phrase ‫( רב חסד‬Exod 34.6; Num 14.18; Neh 9.17; Pss 85[86].5, 15; 102[103].8; 144[145].8; Joel 2.13; Jonah 4.2).67 Further explanation of this re-birth is provided by the modifier εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν. The preposition εἰς could be assigned a local force (‘who caused us to be reborn into a living hope’; cf. NRSV, HCSB, NET, NCV) or it could denote result (‘who granted us rebirth resulting in a living hope’; cf. ISV).68 In either case, ἐλπίς would be a current possession of believers. According to this interpretation, hope represents the subjective assurance of future reward.69 This is how ἐλπίς is employed elsewhere in 1 Peter (1.21; 3.15; cf. also   There was a famous altar dedicated to ἔλεος at Athens (Pausanias, Descr. 1.17.1: Ἐλέου βωμός; Diodorus Siculus 13.22.7; Statius, Thebaid 12.481–511), and at Epidauros, ἔλεος is also worshipped (IG IV 1282; Timocles, Frag. 31). 66   See Epictetus, Diatr. 3.22.13: σοὶ μὴ ὀργὴν εἶναι, μὴ μῆνιν, μὴ φθόνον, μὴ ἔλεον (‘you must feel no anger, no rage, no envy, no pity’; trans. Oldfather [LCL]); Cf. also 2.17.26; 2.21.3, 5; 4.1.4. 67   Cf. 3 Macc. 6.9; Pr. Man. 7; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 1.10; Justin Martyr, Dial. 108.3; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.13.57.1; Quis div. 39.6. See also Eph 2.4 (πλούσιος ὢν ἐν ἐλέει); Jas 5.11 (πολύσπλαγχνός ἐστιν ὁ κύριος καὶ οἰκτίρμων). 68   Those who interpret εἰς as conveying a local force include: Alford 333; Donelson 29 n. a. Those who interpret εἰς as denoting result include: Steiger 1:97; Bloomfield 701; Bigg 100; Hiebert 59; Elliott 333; Osborne 150. 69   Those who read ἐλπίς in a subjective sense, describing an inward conviction or confidence, include: de Wette 6; Alford 333; Huther 55; Osborne 150. 65

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the subjective nature of ἐλπίζω in 1.13 and 3.5). The alternative is to understand the preposition as communicating purpose (‘who caused us to be reborn so that we might attain a living hope’).70 The likelihood of this interpretation is indicated by the coordinate prepositional phrases that follow. Along with the current clause, the participle ἀναγεννήσας is modified by another prepositional phrase that is coordinate to it (εἰς ἐλπίδα…εἰς κληρονομίαν).71 As such, ἐλπίς is closely connected with and further defined as κληρονομία. This means that ἐλπίς is not simply an inward disposition; it is used as a metonym for ‘inheritance’, the objective reward that perseverant believers will receive in the future.72 Hope (ἐλπίς) was a central motif in descriptions of the early Christian message.73 It is presented, particularly by Paul, as a central characteristic of Christian existence (Rom 5.4–5; 8.24; 15.13; 1 Cor 13.13; cf. also Heb 3.6; 6.11, 18; 10.23). The motif of hope is specifically connected with a belief in resurrection, a Jewish hope which the early Christians believed had begun to be realised with the resurrection of Jesus, ἀπαρχὴ τῶν κεκοιμημένων (1 Cor 15.20; cf. 2 Macc 7.14).74 Christian expectations of a vibrant future were 70   Those who interpret εἰς as denoting purpose include: Johnstone 54; Davids 52; Dubis 6. Those who read ἐλπίς in an objective sense, describing the object of hope, include: Bengel 46; Hensler 39; Hottinger 99; Schlosser 62; cf. also Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales, 37–40; Cothenet, ‘Béni soit Dieu’, 30; Dalton ‘La rigenerazione’, 238–39; Winling, Bonne nouvelle, 377–78; Wilson, ‘Colossians and 1 Peter’, 5. A few commentators have claimed that the preposition denotes both a local (‘into’) and a telic (‘so that’) sense (see Hort 33–34; Monnier 32). 71   Others have similarly understood the εἰς prepositional phrases as coordinate (e.g., Keil 46; Kühl 78; Dubis 7). This list would include all of those who suggest that there are three prepositional phrases in coordination: εἰς ἐλπίδα (v. 3), εἰς κληρονομίαν (v. 4), εἰς σωτηρίαν (v. 5), see p. 368 n. 153. 72   Cf. Di Palma, ‘Aspetti della testimonianza’, 363. According to Wagner-Vouga, ‘Hoffnung/ἐλπίς meint im Petrusbrief nicht “Erwartung von etwas Zukünftigen” sondern Hoffnung bezieht sich auf den Grund “in der Vergangenheit”—nicht etwa auf ein zeitlcihes, “Voraus” ’ (30). But this is to confuse the basis of ἐλπίς (viz. what God has done through Christ in the past) with ἐλπίς itself. 73   See further Escrituristas de la Sociedad Argentina de Theología, ‘ “Dar razón de nuestra esperanza [I]”, 51–72; cf. also idem, ‘ “Dar razón de nuestra esperanza [II]”, 209–42, on the concept of ‘hope’ in the Tanak. 74   For the emerging Jewish belief in resurrection, see Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life. In the context of NT belief, see Wright Resurrection of the Son of God.



1.3–5

349

often contrasted with the hopelessness of non-Christians (1 Thess 4.13; Eph 2.12; 2 Clem. 1.7; Herm. Vis. 1.1.9). But we must beware the kind of Christian perspective which echoes the NT’s rhetoric and contrasts the hopelessness of the ‘pagans’ with the confident hope of the early Christians. Thus, when Spicq says that ‘in the first century, sadness and discouragement are constant’,75 we should suspect something other than a purely historical judgment. What often distinguished the use of this term ἐλπίς among Jews and Christians is that when it was employed, it possessed considerable certainty and force. With God or Christ as the object of hope (Pss 39.5; 93.22; Jer 17.7; Wis 8.31; 1 Tim 1.1),76 prospects were not expected to disappoint, and the future could be approached with confidence or even certitude (2 Macc 7.20; Sir 34.13–14; Wis 17.39; Heb 6.19),77 rather than uncertainty. The possession of such confident expectation even came to be looked upon as a virtue (cf. Rom 5.4–5; 1 Cor 13.13; 1 Thess 1.3).78 Some understand the participle ζῶσαν as though it were the genitive substantive ζωῆς (‘[hope] of life’), a reading that finds a meagre amount of support in the ancient textual record (see Text at 1.3 n. c). In this case, ‘life’ would denote the object of hope, viz. continued existence.79 Alternatively, it is possible to take the 75   TLNT 1:481 n. 4. Cf. Hoffmann, NIDNTT 2:239: ‘Living hope as a fundamental religious attitude was unknown in Greek culture’. 76   Like Jews and Christians, the hopes of many ‘pagans’ rested in their own gods (Xenophon, Anab. 3.2.8; Dinarchus, Demosth. 26; Polybius, Hist. 38.8.1; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 4.83.1). In fact, the Athenian poet Philemon declared, ‘those who worship god will have firm hopes (ἐλπίδας καλάς) for deliverance’ (Frag. 180 [Kock]). 77   Again, this is not to deny that some ‘pagans’ held the confident hope of future immortality. In the mystery religions, such an expectation played a prominent role among initiates. Note the description of Cicero: ‘Justly indeed are they called initiations, for by them we especially learn the grand principles of life, and gain, not only the art of living agreeably, but even that too of dying with a better hope (cum spe meliore moriendi)’ (Leg. 2.14.36 [trans. Yonge]; cf. Plutarch, Fac. 28 [Mor. 943C]). 78   This contrasts with the view of ‘hope’ in Stoicism. Seneca, in fact, includes hope (along with envy, hatred, fear, and contempt) as one of the ‘things which incite people to destroy other people’ (Lucil. 105.1; cf. 5.7–9). 79   See, e.g., Luther 23; Calvin 28; Benson 170; Macknight 434; Bauer 16. This construction was available to the Petrine author if it had been his intention. Note the funerary inscription found at Cnidus, where Theios laments the death of his wife Atthis by saying, ‘for with you all of my hopes of life (ζωᾶς ἐλπίδες) have

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participle as an adjectival attributive, describing the nature or quality of hope (‘living hope’).80 This seems more likely given that when qualitative adjectives are used in connection with ἐλπίς, they generally mark out an expectation of positive outcomes in the future (cf. Plato, [Def.] 416: ἐλπίς· προσδοκία ἀγαθοῦ), whose likelihood of coming to fruition has either a firm or weak basis.81 What is rare to find, however, is any reference to a ‘living’ hope. The use of the participle ζῶν as an adjectival modifier was fairly common in Jewish and Christian literature, although there are different nuances within each usage. Sometimes it indicates that the term so described possessed life (in contrast to a dead entity), whether in reference to human beings (Gen 1.20; Lev 11.10; Lam gone to Hades’ (I.Knidos 303; cf. Hippocrates, Aff. 23; Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. 42.13.3). Christian authors employed similar language to describe their expectations of a blessed afterlife (cf. Titus 1.2; Athenagoras, Leg. 32.5). This same idea (i.e., the expectation of continued existence) was also conveyed by the construction ἐλπὶς τοῦ ζῆν (Polybius, Hist. 3.63.9; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 10.7.4; Pollux, Onom. 8.79; Maximus, Dissertationes 3.7; Herm. Sim. 9.14.3; Chariton, Chaer. 1.3.1; 3.7.7). 80   Cf. Keil 46; Huther 56; Achtemeier 95 n. 26; Forbes 18. The Petrine author uses the participial form of ζάω elsewhere to perform a similar adjectival function (see 1 Pet 1.23; 2.4, 5). 81   A variety of adjectives are used to denote that ἐλπίς has a firm basis, e.g., ἀγαθός, ‘good’ (Septem Sapientes, Apophthegmata 3.12; Pindar, Isthm. 8.15a; Thucydides 4.81.3; Sophocles, Trach. 125; Aristophanes, Plut. 212; Xenophon, Hell. 3.4.18; Mem. 2.1.18; Oec. 5.16; Cyr. 1.5.13; Plato, Phaed. 67c; Leg. 718a; Demosthenes, Fals. leg. 240; Aristotle, Eth. nic. 1166a; Menander, Frag. 572 [Kock]; Diodorus Siculus 19.23.1); καλός, ‘noble’ (Euripides, Hec. 351; Sophocles, Trach. 667; Xenophon, Anab. 3.2.8, 10; Hipparchicus 7.3; Plato, Resp. 496e; Philemon, Frag. 181 [Kock]; Polybius, Hist. 2.70.7; 1 En. 98.12); χρηστός, ‘fine’ (Antiphon, De caede Herodis 33; Aristophanes, Vesp. 307); ἱλαρός, ‘glad’ (Critias, Frag. 6 [Diels and Kranz]). To denote empty expectations, the adjective κενός (‘vain’) is most commonly used (e.g., Aeschylus, Pers. 804; Sophocles, Aj. 478; El. 1460; Isocrates, De pace 75; Demosthenes, Exord. 35.4; Aeschines, Tim. 171; Fals. leg. 119; Ctes. 91; Dinarchus, Demosth. 91; Polystratus, Περὶ ἀλόγου καταφρονήσεως (P. Herc. 336/1150) col. 23a; Job 7.6; Sir 34.1; Diogenes Sinope, Ep. 22.1; Diodorus Siculus 31.9.5; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 8.30.5; Philo, Moys. 1.195; Plutarch, Fab. 5.5; Pel. 14.3; Caes. 29.5; Cic. 17.5; Vettius Valens, Anthologiarum libri ix, 1.1; 4.18; 5.2; 6.2; Libanius, Or. 63.24). Cf. similar descriptions: ψυχρός, ‘lifeless’ (Euripides, Iph. aul. 1014); κακός, ‘base’ (Sophocles, Aj. 606); ἄδηλος, ‘uncertain’ (2 Macc 7.34); ἀτελής, ‘ineffectual’ (Philo, Her. 269; Praem. 149); πονηρός, ‘wicked’ (Isa 28.19; Josephus, Ant. 11.247).



1.3–5

351

3.39), animals (Exod 21.35; Lev 16.20; Eccl 9.4), or even flowing water, whose freshness contrasts with water that is stagnant (Gen 21.19; Lev 14.5–6; Num 5.17; Song 4.15; Zech 14.8; Jos. Asen. 14.12; Pr. Levi 2). This attribute was also frequently used in connection with God as a contrast to the stone idols worshipped in pagan cults.82 The adjectival participle was also employed to denote that an entity imparts life. This is how it is used in the Gospel of John, where Jesus offers ‘living’ water (John 4.10–11; 7.38) and ‘living’ bread (John 6.51). Similarly, in Hebrews reference is made to ‘the fresh and living way’ (10.20), which is meant to indicate that the path that Christ made available to God is one that leads to eternal life. Occasionally, the participle emphasises the enduring nature of the modified term. For instance, the oracles spoken by God on Mt. Sinai were said to be ‘living’ (Acts 7.38; cf. Heb 4.12) as a way to describe their lasting power and authority. The Petrine author makes use of the adjectival participle ζῶν elsewhere to describe the ‘word of God’ that generates re-birth (1.23), and he attaches the attribute to Christ and his followers who are depicted as ‘living’ stones (2.4–5). In this case, it is probably intended to stress the endurance of the readers’ hope. The future inheritance that awaits them will not fade away, nor will it expire. At a secondary level, however, this adjectival modifier may also be expected to invoke other related senses, such as the fact that the Christian hope has its basis in the life-giving power that flows from the resurrection of Christ from the dead.83 This brings us to the last potential prepositional modifier of ἀναγεννήσας. Many link δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ with the participle, claiming that the phrase specifies how regeneration was accomplished, viz. through the resurrection of Jesus.84 This interpretation results in a fairly complete description of the rebirth 82   See, e.g., Deut 4.33; Josh 3.10; 1 Sam 17.36; 2 Kgs 19.4; Esth 6.13; Ps 41.3; Dan 4.22; Tob 13.2; 3 Macc 6.28; 1 En. 3.1; T.Ab. A 17.11; Matt 16.16; Acts 14.15; 2 Cor 3.3; 1 Thess 1.9; 1 Tim 3.15; Heb 3.12; Rev 7.2. 83   Cf. Cothenet, ‘Le realisme de l’esperance’, 565; Wilson, ‘Colossians and 1 Peter’, 4. 84   Those who connect the prepositional phrase with ἀναγεννήσας include: Estius 491; Schott 22; Alford 333; Huther 56; Cook 175; Hort 34; Monnier 33; Weiss 295; Hart 42; Knopf 44; Grudem 56; Michaels 19; Dubis 7; cf. Dupont-Roc, ‘Le jeu des prépositions’, 205; Bosetti, ‘La Parola della rigenerazione’, 317–18; Doering, ‘Soteriological Web’, 480; Joseph, ‘New Birth’, 320, 331.

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process: in accordance with (κατά) God’s mercy, Christians are reborn through (διά) Christ’s resurrection, so that they might (εἰς) eventually receive a future inheritance. One major obstacle for this view is that it makes regeneration a singular act in the past whereby Christ,85 through his inclusive act, made all of God’s people alive— or, at least, created the potential to make them alive—when he was raised from the dead,86 rather than an experience that individuals undergo upon entering the Christian community.87 While the idea that Christ’s death and resurrection are representative is common elsewhere in the NT (Rom 6.4, 8; Eph 2.6; Col 2.20; 3.1), it is nonetheless unusual to explain the effects of regeneration this way. Furthermore, it is extremely rare to describe the resurrection of Jesus as the means of regeneration.88 Later, when the Petrine author 85   With regard to the aorist tense participle (ἀναγεννήσας), Feldmeier argues, ‘the punctiliar Aktionsart means that with respect to this “new siring,” we are not dealing with a universal “nature” of God…, but that the new siring is founded in a single historical event. This event is the resurrection of Jesus Christ’ (63; cf. Horn, ‘Der Beitrag des 1. Petrusbriefes’, 417). Alternatively, Mann (‘La théologie de la nouvelle naissance’, 135) suggests that the aorist has an inchoative force, denoting the beginning of regeneration. What starts this whole process is the resurrection of Jesus, which inaugurates the end times. Neither of these suggestions is consistent with the letter’s subsequent reference to rebirth, however. The same verb is used later in the perfect tense (ἀναγεγεννημένοι)—perhaps due to its depiction of a past event. Yet the reference is to the readers’ prior response to the proclamation of the gospel (1.23–25), not the resurrection of Jesus. In the same way, the aorist tense ἀναγεννήσας was most likely employed here because their conversion, which had already taken place in the past, is represented as a completed act. 86   When the re-birth of individuals is closely connected with the death and resurrection of Jesus (as argued, e.g., in Miller, ‘Salvation in First Peter’, 417), it tends to downplay the significance of initiatory rites of Christian conversion (e.g., baptism) and the perseverance of those who confess the faith, both of which play key roles in the process of salvation according to 1 Peter. 87   See Johnstone 54–55. 88   If this interpretation were maintained, 1 Peter would be unique in its connec�tion between the resurrection of Christ and the hope of believers, with the latter being closely linked to and grounded in the former (see Vanhoye, ‘1 Pierre au carrefour des théologies’, 120, who notes this rarity while still adopting the view). The closest parallel is found in Ignatius’ letter to the church at Magnesia, where he exhorts his readers, ‘be fully convinced about the birth and the suffering and the resurrection (ἀναστάσει) [of Jesus]’, noting that ‘[t]hese things were truly and most assuredly done by Jesus Christ, our hope (ἐλπίδος)’ (Ign. Magn. 11.1; trans. Holmes). Even among later Christian writers this connection is very rare. The closest parallel is found in the fragmentary commentary on Matthew by the



1.3–5

353

explains the process of regeneration (ἀναγεγεννημένοι), it is said to have occurred ‘through the living and enduring word of God’ (διὰ λόγου ζῶντος θεοῦ καὶ μένοντος, 1.23), referring to the readers’ reception of the gospel message (v. 25). It is probably better therefore to read δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as modifying ζῶσαν,89 with the prepositional phrase further describing the hope generated by rebirth: this hope is ‘living’ due to the resurrection of Christ.90 This interpretation better accounts for the word-order,91 in which δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ follows εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν despite the chronological priority of the former over the latter.92 It also sets up a stronger contrast between fourth-century bishop Theodorus Heracleensis. Commenting on Matt 11.11, he notes: δευτέρα γέννησις ἡ τῆς ἀναστάσεως δι’ ἧς ἀναγεννώμεθα (Fr. Matt. 75 [Reuss]). But what sets this example apart from the verse in question is that the rebirth experience is described with a present tense verb, not an aorist. Further, if this connection is being made by the Petrine author, it was not picked up by later writers. The means of rebirth is normally related to individual conversion, especially baptism (e.g., Ps.-Clement, Hom. 7.8.1; Ps.-Clement, Epitome de gestis Petri praemetaphrastica, 142; Justin Martyr, Dial. 138.2; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 3.12.88.1; Origen, Sel. Gen. [PG 12:100]; Ps.-Lucian, Philopatris, 12; Hippolytus, Fr. Prov. 47). 89   Some want to connect the prepositional phrase with both ἀναγεννήσας and ζῶσαν, resulting in the idea that the resurrection of Christ provides the basis for all the benefits received by believers (see Kelly 48; Goppelt 84; Elliott 334). But while these theological sentiments may accurately reflect early Christian beliefs, it is doubtful whether this meaning can be drawn from the present construction. 90   Those who link δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ with ζῶσαν include: Bengel 46; Pott 34; Steiger 1:97; Jachmann 124; de Wette 6; Hofmann 11; Williams 12; Maunoury 127; Kühl 77; Achtemeier 95 n. 27; Schreiner 58–59; cf. van Rensburg, ‘Eschatology in 1 Peter’, 485. 91   Cf. Schreiner 59; Williams, Salvation, 154. Confusion could have been avoided altogether by including all of the modifying phrases in an intermediate position (i.e., between ὁ and ἀναγεννήσας, cf. 1 Pet 3.3). Yet, with ‘two or more qualifying adjuncts’, such a construction ‘often becomes cumbersome and clumsy so that there is a tendency to distribute them, i.e. some before and some after the substantive’ (BDF §269[1]); hence the placement of the prepositional phrase outside of intermediate position. 92   The weight of this obstacle depends, in large part, on the relationship between εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν and ἀναγεννήσας. If the participle is read in close connection with the prepositional phrase such that the two form a single idea (so, e.g., Steinmeyer 24; Huther 54; Keil 46; Kühl 76–77; Hort 34), then it would be natural to place δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ at the end of the sentence. On the other hand, if ἀναγεννήσας is taken in a more absolute sense (so, e.g., Wiesinger 59), then the word order would be difficult to explain. The former would have been

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Christ’s resurrection ‘from the dead’ (ἐκ νεκρῶν) and the ‘living’ (ζῶσαν) hope that is generated thereby. While worldly hopes will eventually fade through death, the hope that is provided to believers through regeneration is alive and enduring through its connection with Jesus’ resurrection (cf. Rom 8.11–34; 1 Cor 15.12–19). 4 εἰς κληρονομίαν ἄφθαρτον καὶ ἀμίαντον καὶ ἀμάραντον τετηρημένην ἐν οὐρανοῖς εἰς ὑμᾶς This clause stands in a coordinate relationship with the prepositional phrase εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν, further explicating the purpose93 of the new birth experience (v. 3).94 Consequently, κληρονομία represents another way to describe the ‘living hope’ of believers (NET: ‘he gave us new birth into a living hope…that is, into an inheritance’; cf. REB, NAB; ESV). The term κληρονομία was generally used in the Greek world to denote property or goods that were inherited based on familial relationships (Isocrates, Aeginet. 43; Demosthenes, [Macart.] 52; Diodorus Siculus 12.15.3).95 This meaning is found occasionally in the LXX (Gen 31.14; Num 27.7–11; Job 42.15; Tob 6.12–13); but more often than not it takes on a slightly different nuance due to the particular context in which it is applied (viz. the conquest of the land of Canaan) and the influence of the more apparent had the prepositional phrase been placed before the direct object (ἡμᾶς). Further and even more significantly, this proposal would disrupt the repetition of εἰς clauses that follows (see below). 93   Grudem interprets εἰς in a local sense (‘into an inheritance’; cf. NRSV, NIV, HCSB, NET), leading him to posit that the readers might be experiencing ‘some partial present enjoyment of that heavenly inheritance’ (57), despite the fact that its full and final possession still remains in the future. It is true that an heir might partake of property/goods even before the death of the progenitor (cf. Gen 31.14; Luke 15.25–32). But this does not seem to be the case here. The coordination of the three prepositional phrases begun with εἰς (see above) suggests that the preposition expresses a telic force (‘so that’), and that the inheritance in question refers to a reward that has not yet been revealed (hence, ἑτοίμην ἀποκαλυφθῆναι, 1 Pet 1.5). 94   See Exegesis at 1.3. One alternative is to interpret εἰς κληρονομίαν as dependent on ἐλπίδα in v. 3: ‘hope for an inheritance’ (so, e.g., Jachmann 124; Blenkin 20; Reicke 79). Another is to understand the prepositional phrase εἰς κληρονομίαν as providing an additional purpose/result of the new birth experience: ‘he has given us new birth into a living hope… and into an inheritance’ (NIV; cf. RSV, NRSV, NJB, HCSB; see also Achtemeier 95; Elliott 335; Jobes 84; Watson 24). 95   LSJ 959; BDAG 547–48.



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Hebrew term ‫נחלה‬, which it usually translates.96 Since κληρονομία was regularly used to describe land that had been captured or seized violently, the idea of heredity was minimised. Instead, the word tends to designate the special possession of valuables (e.g., land, goods) received through a process of allotment or distribution (cf. Deut 3.20; Josh 11.23; Ezek 25.4). In the LXX, κληρονομία could refer to different types of possessions, including foreign nations (Num 24.18; Ps 2.8; cf. Ezek 25.10), though it generally denoted the land promised to the patriarchs of Israel (Num 34.2; Josh 1.15; Judg 2.6; 1 Chr 16.18). When the people of Israel were eventually scattered from the land, more spiritualised or transcendant notions emerged, such as the idea of God being the people’s κληρονομία (Ps 15.5; Ezek 44.28; Sir 24.12; 45.22). The concept became eschatologised in later Jewish writings (1 En. 3.6–8; Pss. Sol. 14.9–10; 15.10–11; cf. 1 En. 71.16; 2 En. 9; 55.2–13; 1QS 11.7), with writers describing the inheritance of the earth (1 En. 5.7; Jub. 22.14; 4 Ezra 6.55–56), a heavenly inheritance (1 En. 39.8; 4 Ezra 7.9, 17), as well as the inheritance of eternal life (1 En. 40.9; Pss. Sol. 14.9–10; T.Job 18.8). Christian writers followed a similar interpretative pattern. Although the specific nature of the Christian κληρονομία rarely received a specific designation (cf. Acts 20.32; Eph 1.14; Col 3.24), it is connected with the kingdom of God (Eph 5.5) and is said to be eternal (Heb 9.15). The verbal form (κληρονομέω) is commonly used in the NT to express the idea of inheriting eternal life, or the kingdom of God (e.g., Matt 19.29; 25.34; Mark 10.17; Luke 10.25; 18.18; 1 Cor 6.9–10; 15.50). In contrast to the way that κληρονομία is commonly used in the LXX, the Petrine author—much like the apostle Paul (cf. Rom 8.17; Gal 3.29; 4.7)—connects this term with the rights of inheritance possessed by progeny.97 Through their

96   On the meaning of κληρονομία in Jewish and Christian literature, see further TDNT 3:767–85. 97   Based on the common use of κληρονομία in the LXX, some earlier commentators rejected the idea that it has any connection with an inheritance gained through family lineage in 1 Pet 1.3; instead, they assigned the term the meaning ‘special possession’ (e.g., Huther 57; Kühl 78–79; Hort 35; Blenkin 20). This is unnecessary, however, given that the word is used to denote hereditary property/good elsewhere in the NT (cf. Matt 21.38 par; Luke 12.13) and that in the

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experience of re-birth, the readers gain a divine inheritance from their father. What the readers will eventually receive through this process is new life, as indicated later in the epistle where wives are described as ‘fellow-heirs (συγκληρονόμοι) of the gracious gift of life’ (3.7).98 The inheritance is described alliteratively with three adjectives,99 each beginning with alpha and all conveying a broadly similar point with literary effect.100 But the force of these adjectives extends well beyond their rhetorical flourish. The fact that they are alphaprivative (i.e., expressing the absence of a given quality)101 means that the heavenly inheritance is not subject to the same destructive forces that disrupt earthly life:102 ‘the inheritance is untouched by death, unstained by evil, unimpaired by time; it is compounded of immediate context the focus is on the new birth that establishes a special relationship between a father and his children (see 1 Pet 1.3, 14, 17, 23–25; 2.1–3). Therefore, most modern interpreters connect κληρονομία in v. 3 with the inheritance due to progeny (e.g., Beare 83; Best 76; Feldmeier 71; Vinson 51; Forbes 19). 98   Cf. Wolff, ‘Himmlisches Erbe und Herrlichkeitskranz’, 343. 99   It may seem strange that all three adjectival modifiers use the masculine ending, even though they are modifying a feminine noun (κληρονομίαν). The reason these forms appear is because some adjectives had the same endings in both the masculine and feminine forms. This was especially the case with compound adjectives with alpha-privative (see Robertson, Grammar, 272–73; MHT 2:156– 58). For evidence of this same phenomenon in the papyri, see Mayser, Grammatik, I 290–91. 100   On a grammatical level, the adjectives are connected through the repetition of καί, which has the purpose of allowing each term its full and individual force (Winer, Grammar, 547–48). 101   In LSJ (1), three types of alpha prefixes are distinguished: alpha στερητικόν, which expresses want or absence, alpha ἀθροιστικόν, which expresses accumulation, and alpha ἐπιτατικόν, which expresses a strengthened force. The former was clearly defined in antiquity (cf. Aristotle, [De Xenophane, de Zenone, de Gorgia] 978b: ὡς καὶ σχεδὸν οἱ ἀπὸ τοῦ α ἀποφάσεις ἐπὶ ἐναντίοις λέγονται). 102   It is possible, as Selwyn (124; cf. Davids 53 n. 8; Waltner 35) suggests, that the alpha-privatives were used for rhetorical purposes alone. Not only does this type of alliteration appear in poetic verse (cf. Sophocles, Ant. 1071: ἄμοιρον, ἀκτέριστον, ἀνόσιον νεκύν), the fact that all three terms end in the same case (-ον) reflects an instance of homoioptoton (see Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 45). Nevertheless, while this collocation does serve a rhetorical purpose, each of the attributes connects to questions related to ancient metaphysics, and this negative theology is also probably driving their selection (see further Feldmeier 72–77).



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immortality, purity, and beauty’.103 As such, the readers’ future is presented as completely secure. The first adjective, ἄφθαρτος, is used twice elsewhere in the letter (1.23; 3.4), in ways suggesting that the most prominent meaning for the author is that of endurance or imperishability. In the religious discussion of Hellenistic writers and philosophers, ἄφθαρτος was viewed as a characteristically divine attribute.104 The gods were seen as transcendent, separated from all that is changing and perishable, and in this way, they could be contrasted with that which is from a human/earthly realm (Plutarch, E. Delph. 20 [Mor. 393C]; cf. IGRR IV 145; P.Oxy. VIII 1081). The term became such a defining characteristic of the gods that some, even the Hebrew God (cf. Philo, Leg. 3.36; Deus 26; Josephus, Ant. 10.278), carried the description in their name.105 As a divine attribute, ἄφθαρτος was also ideal to describe the reign of a particular human ruler or dynasty.106 During the reign of Claudius, a decree from the city of Tlos made reference to the ‘imperishable and undying house (οἶκον ἄφθαρτον καὶ ἀθάνατον) of the revealed gods [i.e., the Caesars]’ (TAM II 549).107 In early Christianity, ἄφθαρτος came to be applied to things that had their nature in the world to come, such

103   Beare 83–84. Cf. Alford 333: ‘it is in substance, incorruptible: in purity, undefiled: in beauty, unfading’ (original emphasis). See also Richard 42–43. 104   See Diogenes Laertius, Vit. phil. 10.123: πρῶτον μὲν τὸν θεὸν ζῷον ἄφθαρτον καὶ μακάριον νομίζων (‘First believe that God is a living being immortal and blessed’; trans. Hicks [LCL] = Epicurus, Epistle to Menoeceus 123 [Arrighetti]); cf. also Diodorus Siculus 6.2.1 (using ἀθάνατος). 105   In the city of Ephesus, Πῦρ Ἄφθαρτον (‘Indestructible Fire’) was the divine personification of the fire kindled by the Ephesian prytanis, symbolizing the eternal life of the city (see I.Eph. 1058, 1060, 1067, 1070, 1071, 1072, 1597). 106   This language was not reserved for royalty, however. It could be applied to other prominent individuals as well. This is the case with C. Perelius Aurelius Alexander, who is honoured as ‘the unique and foremost member of the eternal, immortal athletes (τῶν άπ᾽ αἰῶνος ἀθλητῶν ἀφθάρτων) of the world-wide competitions of the Augusteion Pythian games’ (TAM V,2 1019). 107   A similar description is used of the kingdom of Maximinus Daia (see TAM II 785). The term ἄφθαρτος was also employed by royals in simpler expressions. For instance, upon the death of Laodice, sister of Mithridates II of Commagene, a monument was built in her honour. The inscription reads, ‘Great king Mithridates, son of the great king Antiochus and queen Isias, dedicates this image to the immortal memory (εἰς ἄφθ̣α̣[ρτ]ο̣ν μνήμην) and honour of queen Laodice, his sister and wife of king Orontes’ (SEG 33:1215).

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as the resurrected body (1 Cor 15.52), the victor’s crown received by believers (1 Cor 9.25), and the heavenly temple (Barn. 16.9). The term ἀμίαντος, which is often used in close connection with καθαρός (cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 8.43.6; Cornutus, Nat. d. p. 36 [Lang]; Apollonius Sophista, Lex. hom. p. 164 [Bekker]), does not appear to have been in wide circulation prior to 1 Peter. It relates more specifically to the notion of purity, referring to that which is undefiled. On occasion, it is used to describe cultic or ritual purity (Plutarch, Num. 9.5), especially in Jewish writings with reference to the temple and those administrating therein (2 Macc 14.36; Philo, Fug. 118; Josephus, War 6.99). As the term gained an ethical meaning, it came to depict sexual innocence in a marital relationship (Heb 13.4; I.Knidos 303), and in particular, that which pertains to sexual virginity (Wis 3.13; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 2.66.2; Philo, Cher. 50). As Mary, the mother of Jesus, ascended to popularity in later Christian tradition, it was naturally employed to describe her lack of sexual defilement (Prot. Jas. 10.1).108 The third adjective, ἀμάραντος, is rare, denoting something that does not fade away (cf. 1.23–25, though the specific word does not re-occur). It is regularly associated with ἀθάνατος (Sib. Or. 8.411; Lucian, Dom. 9.11), appearing in epitaphs with reference to immortality and often in contrast to that which is fading (CIRB 124; CIG 2942c). In this vein, the sepulchre of Aphrodisia, the deceased wife of Euergetes II, describes a desire for her house to remain on the earth forever (IMEG 35). This same sense is present in the Apocalypse of Peter, which describes the flowers that will bloom in the world to come without the withering effects of ageing (5.15; cf. IG XIV 607d). Given these positive connotations, the term came to be used as a proper name as well (cf. P.Ryl. II 166; P.Oxy. I 113, XLIX 3510; P.Lond. I 131; O.Masada 778). The use of negation to describe the Christian κληρονομία naturally raises questions about whether the author meant to differentiate the inheritance of his readers from competing ideas. It is 108   In late antiquity, the first two of these terms are found together on a Greek amulet invoking the virgin Mary: θεοτόκε, ἄφθαρτε, ἀμίαντε, ἀμόλυντε μήτηρ Χριστοῦ, μνήσθητι, ὅτι σὺ ταῦτα εἶπες. σὺ πάλιν θεράπευσον τὴν φοροῦσαν, ‘O God-Bearer, incorruptible, undefiled, unstained mother of Christ, remember that you have said these things. Heal again the one who wears this’ (PGM P15b; see further de Bruyn, ‘Greek Amulets from Egypt’, 58).



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tempting, given the manner in which he appropriates the language of Israel for his communities,109 to see this as an intentional contrast between the frequently conquered and regularly defiled land promised to Israel (cf. Lev 18.28; Num 35.34; Jer 2.7; Ezek 36.17), and the heavenly reward of Christians that is not subject to the same threats.110 This is certainly more plausible than a deliberate contrast with the ritual of the Taurobolium, as envisioned by Perdelwitz.111 But an intentional contrast—still less, any kind of polemical one—between the promises to Israel and the promises to the Christian community seems absent from 1 Peter; despite its (in some ways problematic) appropriation of Jewish identity-labels and scriptural language for the communities of Christ-believers, the letter is simply silent on the question of Israel’s ongoing status.112 Since this eschatological sense of inheritance was common within early Christianity (Matt 6.19–20; Luke 12.33; 1 Cor 15.51–54; Col 3.1–3), the description may be no more than a comparison between the earthly character of human possessions and the imperishability of the heavenly reward.113 This inheritance is further said to be kept in the heavens.114 Here, the passive voice of the participle (τετηρημένην) implies that 109   See Horrell, 1 Peter, 61–73. Cf. also Achtemeier, ‘Newborn Babes’, 226–28; Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’, 144–77; Doering, ‘Use of Israel Epithets’, 243–76. 110   With a number of interpreters, e.g., Doddridge 185; Keil 47; Mason 389; Stibbs-Walls 75; Cranfield 38; Margot 22; Best 76; Achtemeier 96; Elliott 335–36; Witherington 79; cf. also Grosheide, ‘Kol. 3:1–4; 1 Petr. 1:3–5; 1 Joh. 3:1–2’, 142; Chevallier, ‘Condition et vocation’, 391. Some connect these terms to the defiling influence of foreign nations (Ps 78[79].1; Isa 47.6), who conquered and mercilessly ravaged the people of God (see Cranfield 38; Scharlemann, ‘Apostolic Descant’, 12). 111   See Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 45–50 (esp. 49). The contrast is as follows: the ritual of Taurobolium was perishable in that it required renewal after twenty years; its defilement was represented by the bloodstained garment of the sacrifice; and it was marked by a fading crown worn by the initiate. 112   As noted by Michaels 107 and Brox 103. See also Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church, 173: ‘there is no hint of interest in Israel in 1 Peter’; cf. Lieu, Christian Identity, 40. 113   Cf. Kelly 51; Marshall 38. 114   Elsewhere, the NT speaks about rewards in heaven (e.g., Matt 5.12; Luke 6.23; 2 Tim 4.8), but a close parallel to this verse is found in Col 1.5, which describes τὴν ἐλπίδα τὴν ἀποκειμένην ὑμῖν ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς (‘the hope laid up for you in the heavens’).

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God is the agent who protects this treasured possession,115 and the perfect tense suggests that the heavenly inheritance stands ready for believers, its completion extending back into eternity past (cf. πρόγνωσις θεοῦ [v. 2]).116 While God’s protection guarantees that the inheritance will be safe from any outside assaults, the reason why the inheritance is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading is because of where it is located: ἐν οὐρανοῖς (cf. Matt 6.19–20; Luke 12.33). It represents a heavenly, not an earthly, treasure.117 Recognising the role that this heavenly location plays in the author’s argument is significant in that it may help to clarify the letter’s eschatology. As Demarest notes, the author’s intention ‘is not to declare the place of future glory, but that the inheritance is safely kept for the renewed’.118 In this way, the focus is not on where a person’s soul travels after death in order to experience the rewards of salvation (note that the inheritance will not even be revealed until the end, v. 5); it is on when the consummation of all things will occur.119 The plural form (οὐρανοί) is sometimes understood as a Semitism, arising from the influence of the Hebrew ‫( שמים‬or Aramaic ‫)שמין‬. This seems to be the position espoused in most translations, which render οὐρανοῖς as a singular (‘heaven’; cf. NRSV, NIV, NET,   Most understand τετηρημένην as an adjectival participle functioning as an attributive (‘which is kept’, see Dubis 8). In this case, it specifies a further characteristic of κληρονομία. It is also possible to take it as an adverbial participle carrying a causal force. Such an interpretation would spell out the reason why the inheritance is ἄφθαρτος, ἀμίαντος, and ἀμάραντος, viz., ‘because it has been kept in heaven’. A decision between the two is difficult and perhaps unnecessary since both options present virtually the same meaning; the latter simply makes the connection more explicit. 116   Similarly, Cook 176; Masterman 67; Moffatt 94; Selwyn 124; Michaels 21; Skaggs 19. Contrary to the assertion of Huther, the perfect tense participle is probably not used to indicate ‘the nearness of the time when their κληρονομία will be allotted to believers’ (58). Instead, the emphasis of the perfect is more likely on the lasting effect (Keil 47; Kühl 79; Wand 45). 117   Some earlier interpreters used this statement as an argument against mille�narians, who maintained that the future involved a thousand-year reign of peace on the earth. See Oecumenius (PG 119:517): εἰ ἐν οὐρανοῖς ἡ κληρονομία, μυθώδης ἡ χιλιοέτης ἐν γῇ ἀποκατάστασις (‘if the inheritance is in heaven, then the restoration of a millennial kingdom on earth is a myth’). 118   Demarest 60. 119   Boring captures the sense in a helpful way: ‘The Christian does not “go up” at death to receive it, but goes forward in history to meet it at the eschatological consummation’ (62). 115



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NASB, NAB, HCSB, GNT, ESV). Such a decision appears to be grounded in the notion that ‘the plural has no particular significance here, but simply reflects the Hebrew way of speaking of heaven’.120 Yet the situation is somewhat more complicated than a Semitic tendency intruding into the Greek language.121 It would be difficult, however, to deny that the use of the plural οὐρανοί in Christian literature was influenced to some extent by the frequency of plural forms in the LXX. An alternative explanation is that the plural form reflects a view that developed within apocalyptic thought, viz. that heaven consists of multiple levels.122 This is possible given the apocalyptic perspective of the Petrine author, although the other references to οὐρανός are singular (1.12; 3.22) and give no indication that heaven is anything more than a singular abode in which spiritual beings dwell—though a multi-levelled heaven may lie beneath 3.19 (see Exegesis at 3.19). It may be, however, that the phrase ἐν (τοῖς) οὐρανοῖς, which is a common NT expression (especially in Matthew),123 was simply a standard designation within early Christian tradition and is used 120   Arichea–Nida 18; cf. also Johnstone 57; Hort 37; Ostmeyer 28. Only a few translations render οὐρανοῖς as a plural (e.g., Wycliffe, Darby, JB). 121   While by no means frequent, the plural form οὐρανοί is found in Greek literature during the classical and Hellenistic periods. Some ancient authors use the form to express plurality in the heavens (for evidence, see Torm, ‘Der pluralis οὐρανοί’, 48–50). Others use the plural to represent heaven as a singular concept (e.g., Aesop, Fab. 333 aliter: εἰς οὐρανῶν ἀνίπταμαι τὰ ὕψη, ‘I fly up to the heights of heaven’; Eratosthenes, Catasterismi 1.2: διὰ τοῦτο ἐν οὐρανοῖς τιμῆς ἀξιωθῆναι, ‘because of this, [Cynosura] was considered worthy of honour in heaven’). As such, the plural οὐρανοί is not a Semitism in any strict sense. Nevertheless, the Hebrew language did play some role in the plural forms used in the LXX, both in regard to poetics and syntax (see further Katz, Philo’s Bible, 141–46; Pennington, ‘ “Heaven” and “Heavens” in the LXX’, 39–59). 122   So, e.g., Monnier 36; Elliott 336. Within Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature, various multi-level schemes are presented. It was most common to envision heaven as consisting of either three levels (T.Sol. A 15.6; LAE 37.5; 40.1; Apoc. Sedr. 2.5; 2 Cor 12.2) or seven levels (Mart. Ascen. Isa. A 1.2; 3.13; Jos. Asen. 22.13; T.Levi 3.1–10; Gos. Bart. 4.30; Apoc. Paul 29). But other schemes are represented, including five levels (3 Bar. 11.1) and even ten levels (2 En. 20.3). 123   Articular forms: Matt 5.12, 16; 6.1, 9; 16.19; Mark 11.25; 12.25; Luke 10.20; 2 Cor 5.1; Heb 8.1. Anarthrous forms: Matt 5.45; 10.32 (possibly); 12.50; 18.10; Eph 3.15; 6.9; Phil 3.20; Heb 12.23. Matthew’s distinctive and frequent phrase ἡ βασιλεία τῶν οὐρανῶν is also consistently in the plural form (see Pennington, Heaven and Earth, 125–61, 279–330).

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here with little thought about its specific referent. It is difficult to draw any firm conclusions either way. Further, this inheritance, the author notes, is being kept (by God) εἰς ὑμᾶς. A few older commentators have suggested that through this construction an equally important emphasis is placed on the temporal aspect of the inheritance. Hort, for instance, argued that, ‘[w]hat is expressed is the keeping (τετηρ.) through all the ages till these converts [sic]’.124 Ultimately, however, the temporal notion often expressed by this construction (τηρέω + εἰς) is absent in v. 4.125 Rather, in this instance, εἰς is probably equivalent to the dative of advantage, thus simply ‘for you’ or ‘for your benefit’ (cf. Eph 1.19; Col 1.25).126 More significantly, the switch from the first person plurals of v. 3 to the more frequently used second-person forms (see Text at 1.4 n. f) marks the first instance (outside the formulaic opening greeting, χάρις ὑμῖν) of a repeated emphasis upon ‘you’ throughout the letter.127 As Elliott puts it: ‘This consistent stress   Hort 37 (original emphasis). Cf. also Steiger 1:110; von Soden 130. This view arises in large part due to the notion that the κληρονομία was already a present possession of the readers. Proponents, thus, read the verse as follows: the inheritance was kept in heaven until it was bestowed upon believers. If, however, εἰς κληρονομίαν is read in a telic sense (‘so that’, see above), then this reconstruction is unnecessary. 125   When connected with the verb τηρέω, the preposition εἰς regularly expresses a few distinct notions. The construction can be used to denote the purpose for which someone or something is being kept/guarded (John 12.7; Acts 25.21; T.Jos. 6.6; Josephus, Ant. 4.298; 6.146; Diodorus Siculus 14.23.1), or the temporal extension until which someone or something is kept/guarded (Pr. Man. 12.13; 2 Pet 2.4, 9; 3.7; Jude 6, 13; T.Reu. 5.5; T.Gad 7.5; Josephus, Ant. 2.88; 3.248). It may be employed to denote a goal or objective of one’s ‘watching’ (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.1.17; 5.1.10), and possibly even in a locative sense (Acts 25.4, although this may be another example of purpose). Two points distinguish the temporal examples listed above from the usage in 1 Pet 1.4: (a) the latter contains a personal object that is absent from all of the temporal uses; and (b) the former contain explicit temporal indicators (e.g., ἡμέρα; αἰών), which are absent in v. 4. 126   So Beza 563; Kühl 79; Bigg 100–101; Lenski 34; Michaels 22; Brox 62; Schlosser 67. In Koine Greek, the dative was in the early stages of elimination, being replaced in many instances by εἰς + accusative (see Robertson, Grammar, 535; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 19 [§51]; MHT 3:236; MHT 4:130). 127   Much has been made of this sudden shift from the first-person pronoun in v. 3 to the second-person pronoun in v. 4. Some contend that the transition marks a departure from the liturgical source used in the previous verse (so, e.g., Kelly 52; cf. Brox 62; cf. Coutts, ‘Ephesians I. 3–14 and I Peter I. 3–12’, 120). But the 124



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upon the “for-you-ness” of the letter’s good news is one of the most typical and noteworthy features of its encouragement and exhortation’ (cf. also 1.10, 13, 20, 25; 2.7, 9, 21; 3.18; 4.14; 5.10).128 5 τοὺς ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ φρουρουμένους διὰ πίστεως εἰς σωτηρίαν ἑτοίμην ἀποκαλυφθῆναι ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ The remainder of the second phrase continues the focus on ‘you’, ὑμᾶς being the antecedent of τοὺς…φρουρουμένους.129 In doing so, the author addresses how the protective workings of God relate to the readers themselves. Knowing that their heavenly inheritance is secure might bring assurance, but it is only fully reassuring if the readers themselves are confident that they will be able to secure that reward through faithful endurance. As a result, he offers them complementary assurances: ‘The inheritance is kept in safety; the heirs are guarded. Neither shall it be wanting to them, nor they to it’.130 Both lexical and syntactical selections help to underline this fact. The present tense of the participle is congruent with an ongoing process of protection, which will continue until the return of Christ, and its passive voice indicates that God is the one who is ultimately responsible for their defence.131

idea of the epistle originating as a baptismal homily is quite suspect (see Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure). A more plausible suggestion is that the shift is part of the author’s larger rhetorical strategy to make the readers understand the fact that salvation and the blessings it entails are theirs (a fact that would have been important given the questions that might arise during a time of persecution). To do so, he intentionally emphasises the second person in his exhortation, which ‘serves to intensify the address’ (Feldmeier 62; cf. Dus 35). This finds support in the fact that the only time the author uses the first-person pronoun is when he is constrained either by quotations from the Jewish scriptures (1.16; 2.24) or convention (5.13, ‘my son, Mark’). The one instance where a more conscious decision is made is at 4.17 (ἀφ᾿ ἡμῶν), and even there one could argue that the choice of the first person was an effort to avoid the awkwardness of not including himself among the ‘household of God’ (cf. Bénétreau 87–88). 128   Elliott 336. 129   Pace Gerhard 60, who connects the accusative back to the participle ἀναγεννήσας. 130   Bengel 47 (emphasis removed). See also Goppelt 86. 131   Most read φρουρουμένους as a passive, ‘those who are guarded’ (e.g., Best 77; Achtemeier 97; Schlosser 67). But a few have advocated understanding the form as a middle, ‘those who protect themselves’ (Brox 63; cf. Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 51).

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The choice of the verb φρουρέω coincides with the use of τηρέω in the previous verse.132 As most commentators note, the term is commonly used in military contexts (Thucydides 1.107.3; Xenophon, Hell. 4.5.19; Polybius, Hist. 5.58.5).133 But this is not the only setting in which it was employed. It marks a variety of instances where safeguarding occurs (cf. Aeschylus, Eum. 218; Euripides, Suppl. 103; Aristophanes, Ran. 472). When φρουρέω is used, it can refer to two types of guarding. The first is compulsory restraint or confinement intended to prevent escape, such as the oversight of a prisoner (Wis 17.15[16]; Gal 3.23; 2 Cor 11.32; Diogn. 6.4; Acts Thom. 57.3; PGM IV.2905). If this is the meaning here, it would suggest that God thwarts any attempt by believers to remove themselves from the auspices of salvation (thus compromising their inheritance).134 The second type is a defence against external attacks (1 Esd 4.56; Philo, Moys. 1.235; Josephus, Ant. 13.26; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 2.13; Ps.-Phoc. 213). Applied here, it would indicate that the children of God will be guarded against outside threats.135 This, of course, cannot mean that the shelter of God precludes attacks, for the letter makes clear that persecution is expected to continue. The author’s intention would thus have to be that despite suffering the readers will successfully achieve σωτηρία when it is revealed.136 This protection of God is delineated by three prepositional phrases, each denoting a different aspect of the process. First, it 132   Cf. Windisch 53; Kelly 52; Schelkle 32; Richard 43. Some understand the terms as synonyms (e.g., Morus 104; Michaels 22), but φρουρέω is a more vivid word in which greater emphasis is placed on the act of protection (see Macknight 435; Doddridge 185). 133   Contrary to the claims of Tàrrech (‘Le milieu’, 362–63; cf. also Elliott 337; Schlosser 67), there is no reason to assume that the term indicates a rural (over against an urban) setting for the addressees. 134   This is how the protection is understood by some interpreters (e.g., Wither�ington 80). Others have suggested that both types of protection are in view: ‘God is preserving believers from escaping out of his kingdom, and he is protecting them from external attacks’ (Grudem 58; cf. Vahrenhorst 76). One potential obstacle for this view is the tautology it creates. Since faith is described as the means by which protection occurs, the verse would be stating that Christians can avoid compromising their commitment to God by maintaining an active commitment to God. 135   God’s protective activity is commonly understood this way (see, e.g., Macknight 435; Davids 53). 136   Similarly, Hort 38; Schreiner 61.



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is carried out ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ. Some interpreters understand the preposition as denoting sphere (‘guarded in the power of God’).137 Accordingly, the power of God becomes the fortress (φρούριον) within which believers are safeguarded. An alternative, which is espoused by the majority of commentators, is that ἐν expresses cause/means. When the prepositions ἐν and διά modify the same verb, with each denoting some form of instrumentality (cf. Heb 10.10; Rom 1.12; Gal 3.19; Phil 1.26),138 the former tends to set forth the broader or more general influence (which might be labelled the efficient cause)139 while the latter designates the specific or immediate influence (which could be labelled the effective cause). In this case, therefore, the author draws a fine balance between divine sovereignty and human responsibility: while πίστις is the means by which Christians maintain their place under the protective care of God, it is the δύναμις θεοῦ that enables and sustains πίστις, causing it to be an effective means of achieving security.140 The δύναμις θεοῦ refers to the powerful workings of God by which the affairs of the cosmos are orchestrated (cf. Philo, Deus 87; Josephus, Ant. 5.337; Aristob. 2.9). This power can be directed 137   E.g., Steiger 1:112–15; Jachmann 124; Steinmeyer 28; Fausset 499; Caffin 5; Kühl 80; Hort 38; Monnier 37; Wand 45; Selwyn 125. This is certainly possible given that the same usage is found—though only occasionally—elsewhere (cf. Xenophon, Vect. 4.52; Phil 4.7), and considering that φρουρέω + ὑπό is the more common way of denoting (ultimate) means/agency (see Josephus, War 1.10; 3.455; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 2.13; Strabo, Geog. 17.1.19, 53; Plutarch, Cam. 28.3; Artemidorus, Onir. 2.30). However, in this case, δυνάμει θεοῦ is an impersonal and active force, and impersonal means/agency is normally expressed, as it is here, by ἐν + dative (see Wallace, Grammar, 431–39; cf. Philo, Mos. 1.235; Strabo, Geog. 6.4.1; 11.4.1, which use φρουρέω + dative). 138   On this construction, see further Johnstone 59; cf. also Winer, Grammar, 486 n. 2. 139   For these labels, see Gerhard 61; Huther 58; Demarest 61; Fausset 499; Alford 334. Others speak of them as primary (δύναμις θεοῦ) and secondary (πίστις) causes (Wordsworth 48; Arichea–Nida 19–20), while some divide them up according to objective (δύναμις θεοῦ) and subjective (πίστις) aspects (Plumptre 95; von Soden 131; Forbes 19). 140   Cf. Bénétreau 88; Schweizer 26. It is important, however, to note that ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ seems to be attributed a sense of primacy in this process. This is suggested by word order, including not only ‘the placement of the words ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ in the emphatic position at the beginning of the sentence’, but also ‘their insertion between the article and participle on which they depend (τοὺς ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ φρουρουμένους)’ (Williams, Salvation, 162; emphasis removed).

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toward spiritual forces (T.Sol. A 2.4; 5.11), although it is most often on display in the human realm. Here, it refers to God’s empowerment of people to boldly and successfully perform tasks that would have otherwise been unachievable (2 Macc 3.24; Philo, Agr. 78; T.Ab. A 17.11; 2 Tim 1.8; Josephus, Ant. 9.15; 4 Bar. 7.11). On occasion, it also describes God’s enablement to live according to the virtues commended by God (Let. Aris. 248, 268). The fact that this power is energizing the readers is intended to instill confidence that God is able to protect those who belong to him (cf. Rom 8.31–39; 16.25; Jas 4.12; Jude 24).141 The second prepositional modifier (διά) describes the means by which God’s protection is achieved: through πίστις. Within early Christian discourse, πίστις plays a prominent role in descriptions of the human response to Christ and God (and occasionally of God’s faithful demeanour towards humans; see Rom 3.3; 1 Cor 1.9; 10.13). It may also be used—depending on how some contested phrases are understood—to refer to Christ’s faithfulness or trust directed towards God (e.g., Rom 3.21, 26; Gal 2.16, 20; etc.).142 There are some who would define the term here as the adherence to the Christian faith, including a continued trust in the providential care of God along with the faithful profession of Christian truth and the maintenance of Christian virtues.143 But given the lack of article, its connection with hope (1.21), and the author’s sense that it can be stronger or weaker (5.9) and proven genuine or not (1.7), it is probably best to understand the term in a qualitative sense. As Morgan notes, the word πίστις denotes the trust, loyalty, devotion,   There are some who identify the δύναμις θεοῦ as the Holy Spirit (e.g., Grotius 65; Pott 36; Steiger 1:114; de Wette 7; cf. Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 189). For support of this position, advocates often point to Luke 1.39 in which the angel informs Mary, πνεῦμα ἅγιον ἐπελεύσεται ἐπὶ σὲ καὶ δύναμις ὑψίστου ἐπισκιάσει σοι (‘the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High cover you’). However, the phrase (ἡ) δύναμις (τοῦ) θεοῦ can hardly be understood as a technical expression for the Holy Spirit. This designation is identified with a variety of referents, including wisdom (Wis 7.25), Christ (1 Cor 1.24), the gospel (Rom 1.16; cf. 1 Cor 1.18), and even Simon the magician (Acts 8.10). It is most commonly used to describe the powerful workings of God among humans without specific reference to the Spirit (cf. Matt 22.29 par; 1 Cor 2.5; 2 Cor 6.7; 13.4). 142   For the recent debate, see Bird and Sprinkle, Faith of Jesus Christ. 143   E.g., Benson 172; Hensler 41; Hottinger 100; Huther 58 n. 2; Keil 48. 141



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and/or trustworthiness that a party displays within a given relationship.144 In this particular case, it reflects a trust in the sovereign purposes of God despite the difficult realities being experienced.145 It is worth noting the possibility that πίστις might be a reference to the manner in which God is ‘faithfully’ guarding the readers, especially given that this may be seen as something of an implicit theme in these verses.146 Nevertheless, scholars almost unanimously take πίστις to refer to the Christians’ faith, and given that the nearby references (vv. 7, 8, 9) clearly and explicitly relate to their πίστις, this is probably the most likely reading. In light of Morgan’s work, however, it is also possible see this πίστις as capturing something of the two-way relationship of trust and faithfulness through which the readers are guarded for salvation.147 If the primary referent is the readers’ trust, it remains unstated whether this is directed toward God or Christ. Interpreters are fairly divided over this question.148 An explicit reference to placing 144   For this primary sense of πίστις, see Morgan, Roman Faith. With regard to 1 (and 2) Peter, Morgan comments that ‘pistis is again primarily a relationship of trust/faithfulness between human beings and God’ (Roman Faith, 343). Cf. Michaels, ‘Going to Heaven’, 251: ‘In 1 Peter… “faith” is not “belief,” but “faithfulness” through the “various ordeals” of the present’. 145   Cf. Schott 25; Kühl 80; von Soden 131; Bigg 101; Bennett 190; Monnier 37; Blenkin 21. Hofmann claims that the faith is actually produced by God (see also Doddridge 185); however, this is nowhere stated or implied in the passage. 146   This is a proposal that was suggested, tentatively, in Horrell, ‘Whose Faith(fulness)’, 110–15. It has been taken up by Green (21 with n. 27) who translates this phrase ‘who are guarded by God’s power through his faithfulness’, and suggests that this reading ‘is not only possible grammatically, but also meshes well with the otherwise heightened emphasis on God’s faithfulness in 1:3-12’. On the theme of God’s faithfulness in the surrounding verses, see Goppelt 86. For brief criticism, along the lines noted above, see Dubis 8. 147   See, e.g., Morgan, Roman Faith, 273: ‘pistis, in linguistic terms, is an action nominal, encompassing both active and passive meanings of its cognate verb’. Morgan thus suggests that the debated pistis Christou phrases in Paul might be taken to indicate ‘simultaneously Christ’s faithfulness to God and human faith in Christ’ (273). Cf. Joseph, Narratological Reading, 83, who is open to both meanings (‘God’s faithfulness toward the audience and the audience’s faithfulness toward God’) of διὰ πίστεως in the present verse. 148   Most think that πίστις is directed towards God (e.g., von Soden 131; Best 77; Grudem 58; Davids 53; Achtemeier 97 n. 55; Donelson 32; Osborne 149). But there are a few who believe that πίστις is directed towards Christ (e.g., Arichea– Nida 20; Dubis 8; cf. Arichea, ‘God or Christ?’, 414).

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faith in Christ in 1.8 (πιστεύοντες) lends support to the latter,149 while the former finds support in the fact that 1.21 twice refers to faith placed in God (πιστοὺς εἰς θεόν; πίστιν…εἰς θεόν). But an either–or choice is perhaps unwise, especially given the meaning of πίστις. As previously noted, πίστις is a relational term, and the relationship of trust that it describes as part of the re-birth experience is not with either God or Christ, but with both God and Christ.150 Interpreters construe the final prepositional phrase (εἰς σωτη­ ρίαν) in a variety of ways. On the basis of proximity, a few take it as modifying πίστεως (‘trust in salvation’).151 But this appears to be the least likely of all possibilities.152 A number of commentators connect it with ἀναγεννήσας (v. 3), understanding the prepositional phrase as coordinate with εἰς ἐλπίδα and εἰς κληρονομίαν.153 In this way, σωτηρία is taken to be synonymous with κληρονομία,154 and as such, it provides a further elaboration as to its referent. Support for this interpretation, as Achtemeier notes, is found in the author’s ‘predilection for groups of three’.155 Yet the difficulty with 149   Pace Green 21 n. 27, who criticises Arichea’s argument on the grounds that it ‘finds no support in the context, oriented as it is around God’. 150   Cf. Demarest 61, who says ‘The faith here meant, is faith in God and in Christ’. 151   E.g., Blenkin 21; McKnight 71 n. 9. 152   Although the construction is rare, πίστις is occasionally modified by εἰς in early Christian writings (Acts 20.21; Col 2.5; cf. also Philo, Aet. 52: πίστιν εἰς αἰδιότητα, ‘proof for the eternality [of the world]’). When this occurs, the prepositional phrase provides the object of trust. The problem is that the trust is always directed toward an individual, not an object or idea. If εἰς σωτηρίαν were intended to modify πίστεως, the author could have made it clearer through the insertion of the article (Acts 26.18: πίστει τῇ εἰς ἐμέ; cf. also Acts John 29.2; 46.3). 153   E.g., Bengel 46; Fausset 499; Beare 82; Michaels 19; Achtemeier 92; Schlosser 66; Watson 24; Schreiner 58; cf. also du Toit, ‘Discourse Analysis’, 64–65; Harris, Prepositions, 101. This is also the interpretation that is represented in some translations that place a comma after ‘through faith’ (e.g., Phillips, NAB). 154   Those who understand κληρονομία and σωτηρία as synonyms include: Calvin 29; Demarest 61; Usteri 27; Schlekle 97; Hiebert 63; Forbes 19. 155   Achtemeier 92 n. 5. The problem is that there are actually four preposi­ tional phrases that begin with εἰς in this section, the other being εἰς ὑμᾶς (v. 4). What is more, the pattern of threes can still be upheld with an alternative construal, viz. if εἰς σωτηρίαν is understood as the third prepositional modifier of φρουρουμένους. According to Schlosser, support for this interpretation derives



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this construal, as appealing as it may be, is proximity: it requires coordination to be maintained across a great distance, with εἰς σωτηρίαν being separated from ἀναγεννήσας by two verses and without any indication—notwithstanding those clues suggested by modern interpreters—of continuance.156 Furthermore, this interpretation would seem to (unnecessarily) limit σωτηρία to the individualized heavenly reward of believers; whereas the term itself has a much broader referent. For these reasons, many choose to read εἰς σωτηρίαν as the third modifier of φρουρουμένους, explaining the purpose/goal of God’s act of protection.157 In its most basic sense, σωτηρία described the attainment of safety in the midst of a present or impending danger.158 Since the term was used in a variety of contexts to depict deliverance from an assortment of threats, it is crucial to survey the nature of these situations.159 The dangerous peril might be a war (Xenophon, Hell. 4.8.38; Thucydides 1.65.1), a shipwreck (Cassius Dio 77.19), a judicial sentencing (Antiphon, De choreuta 35; Andocides, De mysteriis 58), or even treacherous travels (Aeschylus, Ag. 343). The term is commonly employed in medical writings, where it from the parallelism within the prepositional phrases: ‘les trois substantifs sont des féminins, sémantiquement homogènes, qualifies chaque fois par un ou plusieurs determinants équivalents (adjective ou participe)’ (66). Yet these similarities do not seem all that convincing. 156   Cf. Schmidt, Mahnung, 209–10 n. 134. 157   E.g., Hottinger 100; Alford 334; Johnstone 59; Monnier 38; von Soden 131; Hart 43; Cranfield 39; Jobes 89–90; Dubis 8; cf. also Vater, Novum Testamentum, 700. Although εἰς σωτηρίαν technically modifies φρουρουμένους, this guarding is closely connected with δύναμις θεοῦ. This is significant in that Hauck (Dynamis eis soterian) has recently demonstrated that the syntagma δύναμις εἰς σωτηρίαν was a common and widely used expression in the ancient world focusing on some type of danger from which deliverance occurs. It would seem, then, that the Petrine author uses the construction in a similar way here. 158   See the extensive treatment in TDNT 7:965–1024 and TLNT 3:344–57; cf. also Williams, Salvation, 157–62, who has a thorough discussion of the term. Some earlier interpreters sought to define σωτηρία much too narrowly and with a specific historical referent: the deliverance of believing Jews from the difficulties surrounding the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE (e.g., Rupert, ‘Last Times’, 156). But even within early critical scholarship, it was rightly rejected (see Macknight 435–36). 159   As noted by Spicq, ‘In Christian language, “salvation, Savior, save” became such specific technical terms that we hardly grasp their meaning for the hearers of the apostolic kerygma’ (TLNT 3:344).

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represents the opposite of destruction/death (ὄλεθρος or θάνατος).160 In this regard, physicians are recognised in the epigraphic record for ‘healing’ (σῴζω) patients of sickness and disease, and in various instances mention is made of their survival, which is described as σωτηρία.161 This focus on health is also displayed in the non-literary papyri and ostraca, where the word describes the well-being, health, or safety of an individual, an issue of particular concern in personal letters.162 This secular use of σωτηρία to describe health, safety, preservation, and deliverance is also reflected in the LXX (Gen 26.31; Job 5.4; Esth 4.11; 2 Macc 3.29). At times, it extends to a national level, where it represents the rescue of Israel from foreign oppression (Exod 14.13; 1 Sam 19.5; 2 Kgs 13.5; Isa 52.10; cf. Josephus, Ant. 2.331; Acts 7.25; Heb 11.7). In later Jewish and Christian literature, however, a more transcendent meaning is found. These writings depict salvation as something that will only be fully experienced in the eschatological future (Rom 13.11). It extends beyond merely an individual or national level to the cosmic sphere, impacting all people and even spiritual forces (T.Levi 17.2; T.Benj. 3.8; Mart. Pol. 17.2; 160   Cf. Hippocrates, Epid. 1.3.12; Fract. 36; De Diaeta in morbis acutis 11; Galen De anatomicis administrationibus libri ix, vol. 2, p. 284 [Kühn]; De locis affectis libri vi, vol. 8, p. 273 [Kühn]; De praesagitione ex plusibus libri iv, vol. 9, p. 328 [Kühn]. For more examples, see van Brock, Recherches sur le vocabulaire medical, 230–34. 161   For instance, on the island of Karpathos, the demos issued a decree hon� ouring Menokritos of Samos. His medical career is said to have spanned over twenty years, but he was specifically recognised for his actions during a recent pestilence. The inscription reads, ‘… since, when an epidemic of pestilence broke out and many victims were at risk of death—not only among the local people but also aliens in residence—by showing extreme assiduity and perseverance he was responsible for our survival (σωτηρίας) (and before his contract with us, when he was living in Rhodes, he saved [ἔσωσε] the lives of many of the demesmen whose condition had become dangerous, without accepting a fee)’ (IG XII,1 1032; trans. Craik). Cf. also IG XII,4 1:109; IG XII,7 231; IG XII,5 719. 162   It was common in personal letters to request that the recipient write back regarding their welfare. Thus, Satornilos, who is worried about not receiving a reply from his previous letter to his brother, Sempronius, writes another letter offering the following request: ‘write to me at once concerning your well-being (περὶ τῆς [σ]ωτηρίας σου) so that I may also be less troubled’ (P.Mich. III 209). Cf. also BGU I 332, II 380, 449, 632; CPR VI 54, VII 57; P.Abinn. 8; P.Brem. 60; P.Cair.Mich. II 20; P.Fouad. 80; P.Gen. IV 163; P.Hamb. I 89; O.Berenike II 197; O.Claud. I 168, II 225, 228, O.Did. 424; O.Krok. I 76, 96; O.Wadi.Hamm. 25.



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Barn. 14.8). When this future time arrives, those who are granted salvation, which requires faith and repentance (Rom 10.10; 2 Cor 7.10; 2 Tim 3.15; 1 Clem. 7.7; 2 Clem. 19.1), will be rewarded while the wicked will be punished (1 En. 3.6; 1 Thess 5.9). In the present verse, the Petrine author uses σωτηρία in much the same way. Salvation involves a future deliverance, not only from the trials and persecutions that make up the readers’ present experience but also from the judgment that awaits those who ‘disobey the gospel’ (1 Pet 4.17).163 Nevertheless, there is some sense in which salvation is also the present experience of the readers—what might be described as an inaugurated soteriology.164 The readers have entered into salvation through a conversion experience: at baptism (3.21) they experienced re-birth (1.3, 23; cf. 1.17; 2.2–3), which represents a decisive change that has provided them with a new identity (2.9–10). During the interval between the composition of the letter and the parousia, it is imperative for the readers to conduct themselves in appropriate ways (1.15, 17, 22; 2.1, 11–12, etc.) and to maintain their allegiance to Christ despite pressure from outsiders (3.14–16). Only by such faithfulness and perseverance will final salvation be attained. As such, ‘[t]he soteriology of 1 Peter includes both a future consummation linked to Christ’s eschatological return and a present inauguration described as new birth because in Christ the salvation temporally reserved for the new age had decisively broken into the present’.165 Within this description of σωτηρία lies the apocalyptic eschatology of 1 Peter. Just as there will be an apocalypse of Jesus Christ on this final eschatological day (1.7), so also salvation awaits its unveiling (ἀποκαλυφθῆναι).166 Like the ‘hope’ and ‘inheritance’, σωτηρία is thus a future-oriented notion. The delay is not attributed to the need for preparation. As the author explains, it stands ‘ready 163   Commentators emphasise different aspects of this deliverance, with some focusing on the audience’s current suffering (e.g., Mason 389; Usteri 27; Bigg 102) and others highlighting the escape from final judgment (e.g., Osborne 152; Schreiner 61). In the end, it seems that both of these aspects are probably in view (see Goppelt 87 n. 27; Achtemeier 97). 164   Some stress this ‘already’ aspect of soteriology in 1 Peter (e.g., van Rensburg, ‘Soteriology in 1 Peter’, 410, who defines salvation as ‘the point of transition from being lost to being saved’). 165   Stewart, ‘Inaugurated Soteriology’, 231. 166   See Webb, ‘Intertexture and Rhetorical Strategy’, 87–88.

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(ἑτοίμην) to be revealed’.167 Rather than focusing specifically on the nearness of revelation, this adjective relates to the completion or accomplishment of all that is necessary for salvation to be realised.168 This point is intended to be a source of comfort. Readers are encouraged by the fact that salvation was already prepared and waiting, even before their suffering began. Further, the accomplished state of σωτηρία serves as the basis for the author’s belief that the end is near (cf. 1 Pet 4.7; cf. 1.6). This expectation means that 1 Peter hardly reflects the fading of hope for an imminent parousia, something that has been overemphasised as an aspect of the transition to the so-called Early Catholicism of the later NT letters.169 This unveiling of salvation is expected to take place ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ. According to Hort, this phrase refers not to the eschatological future, but to ‘a season of extremity’ or ‘when things are at their worst’.170 In other words, the time in question is the readers’ present distress. While some of the classical sources drawn upon

167   It can be difficult to precisely define the relationship between the adjective ἑτοίμην and the noun σωτηρίαν. Forbes (19) understands ἑτοίμην as epexegetical to σωτηρίαν, in which case it clarifies or further explains the nature of the salvation in question. Although there is not much difference between this suggestion and the final hypothesis, it does seem slightly unusual given that ἀποκαλυφθῆναι also functions as an epexegetical infinitive, further delineating the nature of the readiness intended by ἑτοίμην (see Dubis 9; pace Forbes 19, who describes it as purpose). Another possibility is that ἑτοίμην could modify σωτηρίαν as an attributive adjective. This would produce the sense, ‘a ready salvation’ or ‘an already prepared salvation’ (or, probably a more accurate, although convoluted translation, ‘the ready-to-be-revealed-on-the-last-day salvation’). This interpretation has been suggested by Richard (44; cf. REB, NJB). Such a usage would be consistent with the fact that ‘in nonequative clauses…an anarthrous adjective related to an anarthrous noun is normally attributive’ (Wallace, Grammar, 311; original emphasis). It is also possible, given the anarthrous construction, that ἑτοίμην performs a predicate function, asserting something about σωτηρίαν, ‘salvation [is] ready to be revealed’. This seems to be how most translations have understood the adjective, rendering it either as ‘salvation ready to be revealed’ (NRSV, ESV, NASB, NET) or as ‘salvation that is ready to be revealed’ (NIV, NAB, HCSB). 168   Cf. Wiesinger 63; Alford 334. The emphasis on completion, rather than simply temporal proximity, is apparent when compared to similar structures. If the latter had been the author’s primary point, this sense might have been better communicated by μέλλω + the infinitive (cf. Rom 8.18; Gal 3.23; 1 Pet 5.1). 169   On the features of such supposed ‘early Catholicism’, see Dunn, Unity and Diversity, 341–66. For an early critique, see Elliott, ‘A Catholic Gospel’, 213–23. 170   Hort 39; cf. also Parker, ‘Eschatology of 1 Peter’, 27–28.



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by Hort support his non-eschatological reading,171 his theory does not account for the eschatological expectations present in literature from Second Temple Judaism and early Christianity. In these writings, this combination of terms creates an altogether different meaning. When the temporal modifier ἔσχατος is attached to καιρός (or ἡμέρα) in the plural, it refers to the extended period of the final days (T.Iss. 6.1; T.Naph. 8.1; Acts 2.17; 2 Tim 3.1; Jas 5.3; Did. 16.3; Barn. 4.9; Ign. Eph. 11.1). In the singular, this collocation describes a decisive eschatological event in which God judges the world and rewards the faithful (Did. 16.2; cf. John 6.39–54; 11.24; 12.48). This is the end-time pattern anticipated by the author of 1 Peter (1.20; 2.12; 4.5, 7, 13; 5.4). The phrase ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ refers to the final point in time, the decisive moment of God’s judgment and salvation (cf. 2.12; 4.5).172 The repeated Johannine references to ‘the last day’ (ἡ ἐσχάτη ἡμέρα) are comparable (see John 6.39–54; 11.24; 12.48), as is the use of the phrase ‘the last days’ to refer to the eschatological time, close to the end of the age, in which the early Christians believed themselves to be living (Acts 2.17; 2 Tim 3.1; Heb 1.2; Jas 5.3; 2 Pet 3.3; cf. Isa 2.2; Mic 4.1). Trials, Trust, and Future Joy (1.6–9) Initial Bibliography Jacques Buchhold, ‘L’étrange nécessité de la persécution: méditation sur 1 Pierre 1.6–9 et 4.12–19 ainsi que sur la structure de la lettre’, Théologie évangelique 18 (2019): 17–35; Gerhard Dautzenberg, ‘Σωτηρία ψυχῶν (1 Petr 1,9)’, BZ 8 (1964): 262–76; Bernardo Estrada, ‘La gioia nella sofferenza in 1 Pietro’, RivB 51 (2003): 405–36; Paul R. Fink, ‘The Use and Significance of en hōi in 1 Peter’, GTJ 8 (1967): 33–39; Reinhard Feldmeier, ‘Salvation and 171   For support, Hort draws on a handful of classical parallels (see Polybius, Hist. 29.11.12; Plutarch, Sull. 12; cf. also IG XII,5 860). One of the weaknesses of Hort’s proposal is the fact that not all of the classical evidence bears out the proposed meaning. At times, καιρὸς ἔσχατος possesses a definite temporal orientation, referring specifically to the end of a person’s life (e.g., Polybius, Hist. 3.116.9; 10.40.7; 11.2.1; 30.6.4; Athenaeus, Deipn. 12.74 [Kaibel]). 172   Some think that ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ refers to a period of time (‘last days’) in which the readers have already entered (e.g., Bengel 47; Bennett 190; Bigg 102). Yet the use of the singular rules this out; instead, this indicates a specific point in the future (cf. Michaels 23; Goppelt 87–88 n. 29; Elliott 338; Forbes 19).

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Anthropology in First Peter’, in The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition, ed. Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 203–13, 437–41; Frédéric Manns, ‘Souffrances et joie dans la première lettre de Pierre’, LASBF 49 (1999): 259–82; Troy W. Martin, ‘The Present Indicative in the Eschatological Statements of 1 Peter 1:6, 8’, JBL 111 (1992): 307–12; idem, ‘Emotional Physiology and Consolatory Etiquette: Reading the Present Indicative with Future Reference in the Eschatological Statement in 1 Peter 1:6’, JBL 135 (2016): 649–60 Wolfgang Nauck, ‘Freude im Leiden: Zum Problem einer urchristlichen Verfolgungstradition’, ZNW 46 (1955): 68–80; J. L. de Villiers, ‘Joy in Suffering in 1 Peter’, in Essays on the General Epistles of the New Testament: Proceedings of the Eleventh Meeting of Die Nuwe-Testamentiese Werkgemeenskap van Suid-Afrika, 2nd ed., Neotestamentica 9 (Stellenbosch: NTWSA, 1980), 64–86.

Text ἐν ᾧ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε(a) ὀλίγον ἄρτι, ἄρτι, εἰ δέον ἐστὶν(b), λυπηθέντες(c) 7 ἐν ποικίλοις πειρασμοῖς, πειρασμοῖς, ἵνα τὸ δοκίμιον(d) ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως πολυτιμότερον(e) χρυσίου τοῦ ἀπολλυμένου, ἀπολλυμένου, διὰ πυρὸς δὲ δοκιμαζομένου εὑρεθῇ εἰς ἔπαινον καὶ δόξαν καὶ τιμὴν ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ 8 ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες(f) ἀγαπᾶτε ἀγαπᾶτε,, εἰς ὃν ἄρτι μὴ ὁρῶντες, ὁρῶντες, πιστεύοντες δὲ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε(g) χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ δεδοξασμένῃ 9 κομιζόμενοι τὸ τέλος τῆς πίστεως ὑμῶν(h) σωτηρίαν ψυχῶν. ψυχῶν. 6

(a) P72 omits ἐν ᾧ and has ἀγαλλείσαντες (sic)173 in place of ἀγαλλιᾶσθε. However, ἐν ᾧ is clearly a characteristic expression of the author (see also 2.12; 3.16, 19; 4.4). Early Latin versions used future tense exultabitis to translate ἀγαλλιᾶσθε (cf. Thiele, Die Lateinischen Texte, 84; see further Exegesis at 1.6). (b) Ἐστίν is omitted in ‫ *א‬and B, along with a few later minuscules (1448, 1611, 1890, 2138), church fathers (Clem, DidV), and ancient versions (syrh, arm). Further, in the minds of some modern interpreters, its presence is thought to create grammatical difficulty (see Bigg 103). It was on the basis of this evidence that the reading was omitted from the text of Tischendorf and bracketed in NA27. The word is reinstated by ‫א‬2, however, and is also present in the majority of MSS, including important witnesses such as P72, A, C, P, Ψ, 048, 33, and 1739 (pace Michaels 25 n. c, who gives this information the wrong way round). Apart from the MSS evidence, it is also contained in a number of patristic quotations (Or, Am, MaxConf, Phot) and versional witnesses (syhmg, geo, slavChMSi). Overall, the external evidence seems slightly in favour of the 173   The scribe of P72 writes ΕΙ for Ι and Ι for ΕΙ (Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 30). Various forms of itacism are common in the MS.



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inclusion of ἐστίν, its omission potentially being attributed to homoioteleuton (cf. Dubis 11). Likewise, the difficulty caused by the verb is not as great as some imagine, since δέον ἐστίν is ‘both classical and vernacular’ (MHT 1:226; cf. Gildersleeve, Syntax, 81). Thus, the case for authenticity seems convincing enough (pace Huther 41; Hort 41; Michaels 25 n. c). (c) NA27 gives the nominative λυπηθέντες as the preferred reading, while NA28/ECM, in one of nine changes (see Introduction: Text of 1 Peter, p. 6), favours the accusative λυπηθέντας. Support for the former is found in a variety of important MSS (P72, ‫א‬2, A, B, C, Ψ, 33, 1739, Byz), most versions, and a number of ancient patristic citations (see ECM 108). This evidence slightly outweighs that for the latter, which includes ‫*א‬, L, 0142, 69, 2412 and many minuscules (other variants are λυπηθέντας ἡμᾶς [048] and λυπηθῆναι [1837, 1875]). Both the accusative participle and (even more so) the infinitival form represent attempts to smooth out the grammatical difficulty created by εἰ δέον (ἐστίν). The infinitive serves to complement δέον (‘if it is necessary [for you] to be distressed’; cf. Sirach prol. 4; Acts 19.36). In the case of the accusative participle, a connection is made with ὑμᾶς, which is the implied object of δέον. With the nominative, on the other hand, εἰ δέον (ἐστίν) reads like a somewhat awkward insertion (‘although you are distressed—if it is necessary—you will rejoice’). The difficulty created by the latter, along with the strong external support, inclines us to prefer λυπηθέντες (cf. Elliott 339; Schlosser 67–68 n. b; Wagner-Vouga 33). (d) P72 reads δόκειμον (sic), i.e., δόκιμον,174 as do a few later minuscules (both Michaels 25 n. e and Metzger, TCGNT, 616, include P74, although the evidence is not found in ECM), though the nominal form (δοκίμιον) is supported by the vast majority of Greek witnesses, along with quotes from the early fathers and a few Latin text-types. Hort was inclined to accept δόκιμον as the true reading, since this yielded a more appropriate adjectival sense (‘the approved part or element of the faith, or…the approved quality of the faith as a whole’, 42). Yet, this distinction is unnecessary, as δοκίμιον came to be used as an adjective in Koine Greek, essentially equivalent to δόκιμον (see Exegesis at 1.7; so also MM 167–68; Mayser, Grammatik, II.1 3). Therefore, we are not required to emend the text to the less well-attested δοκιμον (cf. Schott 30–31; Hofmann 16; Bigg 104).175 (e) In place of πολυτιμότερον, which has very strong external support (P72, P74, ‫א‬, A, B, Ψ, 93, 623, 1852*), the TR reads πολὺ τιμιώτερον. Between the two there is very little difference in overall meaning; the addition of πολύς to the comparative adjective—whether in a compound form or 174   Thus presenting a somewhat more common word, as P72 also does in v. 6, reading πολλοῖς for ποικίλοις. 175   In describing the decision of Hort to amend the text, Johnstone notes, ‘This seems to be an entirely gratuitous resort to a kind of refuge legitimate only in a case of desperation’ (68).

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separately—adds intensive force (‘much more valuable’, see LSJ 1442–43). Evidence for the latter is relatively late, although it is represented by a few important witnesses (81, 1739, 1852c) and the mixed testimony of the church fathers (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 4.20.129; John Chrysostom, Fr. Ep. Cath. [PG 64:1053]). In defence of this reading, Bloomfield suggests that πολυτιμότερον ‘arose from the πολὺ being erroneously conjoined with τιμ.’ (702). This is possible if the text was originally written in scriptio continua, but it would have also required a more conscious change from -τίμιος to -τιμή since there is no such form as πολυτίμιος. The more important internal consideration is the frequency of usage. In Greek literature from the classical and Koine periods, πολύς + a comparative adjective is a common idiom. The use of the comparative form of the compound πολύτιμος, on the other hand, is quite rare. Aside from the present instance and the Christian literature that was influenced by it, this form is only found on a handful of occasions (Dion, Frag. 18; Theophrastus, De lapidibus 22; Athenaeus, Deipn. 12.8 [Kaibel]; Sententiae Pythagoreorum 151). This would make πολυτιμότερον the more difficult reading (cf. Steiger 1:134), and ultimately, the more likely reading. (f) From an internal perspective, εἰδότες (supported by A, Ψ, 33, 81, 614, Byz) would be considered the lectio difficilior (although see Michaels 26 n. f). As a result, this reading is found in the text of Griesbach, and it has been adopted by various commentators (e.g., Benson 178; Calov 703; Steiger 1:143–44; Bloomfield 703; Schott 33 n. 4; Moffatt 97). However, ἰδόντες has much better external support (P72, ‫א‬, B, C, along with a number of minuscules, early patristic citations, and ancient versions) and fits the context better (cf. Brückner 36; Kühl 91). As Metzger suggests, εἰδότες may have arisen either by the common confusion due to itacism of ει and ι, or perhaps as a deliberate attempt ‘to avoid what on the surface seemed to be a pleonasm with μὴ ὀρῶντες’ (TCGNT, 616; cf. Kelly 56; Beare 88; Osborne 153). (g) The active form ἀγαλλιᾶτε is found in B, C*, 1175, 1852 and Origen, and it was defended by some earlier exegetes (e.g., Johnstone xiv; Hort 45). A somewhat respectable argument could be made for this reading on internal grounds: (1) the active form is rare, with Luke 1.47 and Rev 19.7 being the only other occurrences in the NT; and (2) the middle occurs in v. 6, raising the question of why a scribe would change the form from the middle to the active (other than perhaps due to the assonance created with ἀγαπᾶτε). Nevertheless, the middle (ἀγαλλιᾶσθε) is strongly supported by most witnesses (see ECM 110). Without any MS support (although see Origen, Mart. 39 and n. a above), Selwyn (258–59) argues for the future ἀγαλλιάσεσθε on the basis of the versional and patristic evidence. Such a position is difficult to sustain, however. In this instance, ἀγαλλιᾶσθε appears to be the initial reading. (h) Hort argues that ὑμῶν after τῆς πίστεως is ‘a very early interpolation’ (47; cf. Kühl 95; Wand 48; Selwyn 132), presumably due to its absence in B, 1, some of the Latin and Coptic versions and a few patristic citations. A few Greek MSS have ἡμῶν (218, 431, 621, 629, 1505, 1729), including C-S,



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which attaches the pronoun to ψυχῶν (so Willis translates C-S: ‘receiving the fulfillment of the faith, the salvation of your souls’).176 Aside from strong external attestation, the comparable phrase in 1.7 might suggest that the author would use the pronoun here too (cf. Huther 41).

Exegesis 6 ἐν ᾧ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε ὀλίγον ἄρτι, ἄρτι, εἰ δέον ἐστὶν, ἐστὶν, λυπηθέντες ἐν ποικίλοις πειρασμοῖς, πειρασμοῖς, This sub-unit is connected grammatically with what precedes by the prepositional phrase ἐν ᾧ (dealt with shortly below). The verb ἀγαλλιάω,177 which is used synonymously with χαίρω (1 En. 104.13; T.Job 43.15; Matt 5.12; Rev 19.7; Prot. Jas. 17.2; Mart. Pet. Paul 64.1) and εὐφραίνω (Herm. Man. 5.1.2; Mart. Pet. 7.4), describes the experience of overwhelming joy and exuberance. It is particularly appropriate in the eschatological future, when the righteous receive their blessings (1 En. 10.19; T.Levi 18.5, 14; 1 Pet 4.13); but it is not merely reserved for the future. This type of rejoicing most commonly occurs in the present, focusing either on God (Luke 1.47; Mart. Pol. 19.2; Mart. Pet. 12.6; Acts John 106.1) or on the successful progression of God’s eschatological saving activities (John 8.56; Acts 16.34; Ign. Mag. 1.1; Herm. Sim. 8.1.18; Acts Phil. 25.3).178 In this particular case, the nature of rejoicing is determined by the form and function of the verb.

  Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 153. Cf. also Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 260–61, who notes that it is difficult to say whether the Greek Vorlage of C-S had ὑμῶν in a position different to that of the other Greek witnesses or not. 177   The verb ἀγαλλιάω represents a Hellenistic formation derived from ἀγάλλω/ ἀγάλλομαι (MHT 2:225–26; BDF §101; BDAG 4; LSJ 5). This connection indicates that the former has a meaning much the same as the latter, only perhaps in a strengthened form. An alternative origin is proposed by Buttmann, however. Due to the fact that ἀγαλλιάω appears almost exclusively in Jewish and Christian sources, being first attested in the LXX, he suggests that the verb first arose in the circles of Greek-speaking Jews in connection with the Hebrew verb ‫גיל‬. In this case, the Hebrew consonant ‫ י‬was represented by an ι and placed after the liquid λ (Buttmann, Grammar, 51 n. 2). 178   Cf. TDNT 1:20: ‘It is indeed the eschatological act of divine salvation which is supremely the theme of rejoicing’. Even in those places where rejoicing has a present focus, the term ‘characterises the consciousness of the community that is the community of the last time constituted by the saving act of God’. 176

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In form, ἀγαλλιᾶσθε can be understood either as an indicative (‘you rejoice’; cf. ESV, NRSV, HCSB, NIV, NAB; or ‘you will rejoice’, cf. Wycliffe, Douay-Rheims, CEV, NMB) or an imperative (‘rejoice!’; cf. CJB, NLT, GNT, LB).179 Reading ἀγαλλιᾶσθε as an imperative, which was proposed by Augustine and later espoused by other interpreters,180 is grounded in the Petrine author’s consistent efforts to encourage his readers. In only a few brief chapters, 1 Peter contains some thirty-five finite imperatives as well as numerous participial imperatives. But while this interpretation finds some viability in that it connects with the paraenetic character of the epistle, due weight must be given to the fact that this particular verbal form appears in the context of the blessing section of the letter opening. It is here that the indicative sets the foundation for the imperatives that follow in the main body of the epistle (beginning at 1.13). For this reason, most understand ἀγαλλιᾶσθε as an indicative—though whether it carries a present or future sense is debated. Understanding the function of ἀγαλλιᾶσθε requires a decision regarding the interpretation of the prepositional phrase ἐν ᾧ. The author of 1 Peter uses this construction numerous times (1.6; 2.12; 3.16, 19; 4.4), and on each occasion there is dispute over the antecedent of the relative pronoun. In this case, various construals are possible,181 but three commend themselves as potential solutions.182 The first is that ᾧ is masculine, referring back to   Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, 22–23, suggests that ἀγαλλιᾶσθε is just one of many grammatically ambiguous expressions in the letter meant to simultaneously respond to different members of the congregations—those who have assimilated and those who have sought to avenge the injustice. But, as Jobes points out, ‘it is hard to see deliberate strategy at work when the ambiguous forms of the present indicative and imperative are simply a happenstance of the Greek language’ (93). 180   Augustine, Symb. 7 (§16): Videte quid idem Petrus dicat in Epistola sua, quid effundat ex dono illo sancti Spiritus: Credentes, inquit, in eum quem non videtis, Gaudete inenarrabili gaudio. Cf. also Morus 105; Hensler 43; Demarest 64–65; Reicke 79; Schiwy 37; Richard 45–46; cf. also Nauck, ‘Freude im Leiden’, 71–72; du Toit, ‘Discourse Analysis’, 70; Combrink, ‘Structure of 1 Peter’, 35; Rousseau, ‘Multidimensional Approach’, 147, 149. 181   One proposal that can be ruled out is that of Davids (54), who suggests that the referent is ἐλπίδα in v. 3. This is not possible, grammatically, because ἐλπίς is feminine and ᾧ must be either masculine or neuter. 182   For a historical overview of how this construction has been interpreted, see Martin, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 651–52. 179



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either θεός or Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (v. 3).183 Between these two options, the former is generally considered to be the more probable referent. According to this approach, the readers are portrayed as currently rejoicing in God despite the difficulty of their circumstances. Support for this view derives from the fact that God has been the primary subject leading up to this point. Furthermore, since the doxology found in vv. 3–5 makes God the object of praise, it is also natural to direct the act of rejoicing toward God as well.184 In fact, the construction ἀγαλλιάω (or ἀγαλλιάομαι) + ἐν,185 which appears exclusively in Jewish and Christian literature, is regularly used to describe God as the object of exultation.186 But what is perhaps most endearing about this solution is that it avoids many of the key problems that limit other options (see below), with the only real drawback being that it requires a long (and unnatural?) distance between the relative pronoun and its antecedent.187 183   E.g., Hort 39–40; Masterman 69; cf. du Toit, ‘Discourse Analysis’, 68; Boring, ‘Interpreting 1 Peter’, 100; Zeller, ‘Nominal unbestimmtes ἐν ᾧ’, 273–74; Schmidt, ‘Die Doxologien’, 392–93. For a full and helpful defence of this position, see Hockey, Role of Emotion, 121–26. 184   Cf. Dryden, Theology and Ethics, 87, who argues more broadly that ‘[t]he entire benediction (3–12) is carefully constructed with this aim of realigning affective commitments by eliciting gratitude and strengthening allegiance… In all this, the focus is on what God has done, is doing, and will do for the readers.’ 185   Within this collocation, the preposition can perform a variety of functions, denoting sphere (Jer 30.20; Acts John 18.3), time (Lam 2.19; Luke 10.21; T.Levi 18.5), or manner (Isa 65.14). But it is most commonly used in a causal sense, indicating the object of joyful exultation (Ps 19.6[5]; Isa 41.16; 3 Macc 2.17; Luke 10.21; John 5.35; Ign. Phld. 1.0; Acts Andr. 29 [Prieur]), with the most frequent being the Lord (Pss 9.3[2]; 32[33].1; Hab 3.18; Ode 4.18; Mart. Pet 4.1; 12.6; Acts John 106.1; cf. ‘in your name’, Ps 88.13[12], 17[16]). In some instances, slightly different constructions are used to represent God as the object of praise and exultation: ἀγαλλιάω/ἀγαλλιάομαι + ἐπί (Pss 34.9; 39.17[16]; 69.5[4]; 83.3[2]; 149.2; Isa 61.10) and ἀγαλλιάω/ἀγαλλιάομαι + dative (Pss 2.11; 80.2[1]; 94[95].1). 186   In connection with this point, Hockey argues that a similar usage in 1 Pet 1.8 would support a personal object of rejoicing here. While she acknowledges that ἀγαλλιᾶσθε in 1.8 does not contain an explicit object, she contends that ‘since the preceding verbs in the clause (ἰδόντες, ἀγαπᾶτε, ὁρῶντες, πιστεύοντες) clearly relate to Jesus, it suggests that ἀγαλλιᾶσθε should be read this way too, and so infers rejoicing in Christ’ (Role of Emotion, 125). 187   As noted, e.g., by Schlosser 73. However, Zeller (‘Nominal unbestimmtes ἐν ᾧ’, 273 n. 27) has pointed out that, since θεός appears in v. 5, this is not a strong objection.

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A second interpretive option, which is favoured by many interpreters, is to read ᾧ as neuter and to see the prepositional phrase as functioning adverbially. This would mean that the relative pronoun ‘either has no antecedent, or else its antecedent is conceptual, not grammatical’.188 When interpreted in this light, ἐν ᾧ is normally assigned a causal force, drawing on all that has been said in vv. 3–5 and making it the basis for the audience’s present rejoicing (‘therefore’, ‘because of this’; cf. EHV, NCB).189 In other words, the object of the readers’ joy is what God has done and continues to do to procure their salvation. Similar to the first interpretation, in this case the author would be attempting to redirect his audience’s focus onto a greater and more positive reality than their current trials. The function of ἐν ᾧ elsewhere in 1 Peter is thought to support this view.190 While the meaning of this prepositional phrase is highly contested in 3.19, a strong case can be made for an adverbial/conjunctive use in 1 Pet 2.12; 3.16; and 4.4. Given the author’s proclivity for this construction, it would seem natural to interpret 1.6 in light of the more obvious examples.191 In both of the interpretations just discussed, the verb ἀγαλλιᾶσθε describes rejoicing as the present experience of the Anatolian readers. To support this reading, commentators sometimes appeal to the tense of the adverbial participles in vv. 6–8. When an aorist participle is placed after the main verb, as λυπηθέντες is in v. 6, it frequently denotes coincident action.192 Since λυπηθέντες describes present distress, the verb ἀγαλλιᾶσθε would likewise represent a   Wallace, Grammar, 342.   So, e.g., Steiger 1:120–21; Fronmüller 16; Kühl 82–84; von Soden 131; Knopf 47–48; Selwyn 125–26; Schneider 45; Kelly 53; Beare 86; Wheaton 1239; Best 77; Schelkle 34 n. 3; Grudem 60; Benetreau 88–89; Brox 63; Schweizer 26; Achtemeier 100–101; Elliott 338–39; Senior 32; Feldmeier 79–80; Donelson 29; Schlosser 72–73; Watson 25; Keener 72; cf. Atkinson, ‘Semantics of ἐν ᾧ’, 118–19. 190   Reicke, Disobedient Spirits, 110–15 (esp. 111); cf. also Fink, ‘Use and Significance’, 35. 191   If, however, the referent of the relative pronoun (ᾧ) in 1 Pet 3.19 is πνεύματι (as we have argued, see Exegesis at 3.19), then it relativizes this continuity somewhat, opening the possibility for a specific reference in close proximity in the present verse (viz. either θεός or καιρῷ). 192   E.g., Mark 15.30; Luke 2.16; Acts 10.39. See further MHT 1:131; Robertson, Grammar, 1113. 188 189



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present action. Similar appeal is made to the participles ἰδόντες and ὁρῶντες in v. 8. If present tense participles most commonly denote a contemporaneous temporal reference with respect to their main verb, then the ‘rejoicing’ in question (ἀγαλλιᾶσθε) would be a present activity, generated by the great salvation detailed in vv. 3–5.193 These considerations would seem to indicate that the temporal referent of ἀγαλλιᾶσθε should be located in the present rather than the future. However, significant objections against this interpretation of ἀγαλλιᾶσθε have been raised by Martin, who draws particularly upon ancient views of emotional physiology. First, Martin notes that ‘grief or distress and joy are opposites and cannot be present in a single person at the same time’.194 As a result, he contends that ‘reading ἀγαλλιᾶσθε 1 Pet 1:6 as a present indicative informing the recipients that they are rejoicing now while simultaneously grieving or being distressed (λυπηθέντες) is not only highly improbable but impossible from ancient physiological perspectives on the emotions’.195 Second, the appropriateness of reading ἀγαλλιᾶσθε as 193   See Johnstone 62; Marshall 42–43. Even though many continue to work from the notion that participles express relative tense with reference to the principal verb, on a pragmatic level the aorist and present participles most commonly denote an antecedent and contemporaneous temporal reference, respectively (see Campbell, Non-Indicative Verbs, 14–24). Against this argument, opponents have pointed out that by this same principle, the aorist participle λυπηθέντες (v. 6) would indicate antecedent action, thus placing the rejoicing in the future (see Hofmann 14–15; Keil 49). 194   Martin, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 654. In making this argument, Martin is careful to distinguish the concept of rejoicing in the midst of suffering from the idea of simultaneously rejoicing and grieving. The former, he recognises, is a prominent theme within early Christianity (cf. Matt 5.11–12; Luke 6.22–23; Rom 5.3; Heb 10.32–36; Jas 1.2), even being represented in 1 Peter (4.13). It is the latter that he seeks to challenge. 195   Martin, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 654. While Martin is correct that λυπεῖν and χαίρειν were commonly viewed as emotional states that were experienced in opposition from one another (see Sophocles, Aj. 555; Demosthenes, Cor. 292; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Dem. 30; Philo, Virt. 103; Plutarch, Adol. poet. aud. 12 [Mor. 33E]; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 29.2; Cassius Dio 59.11.5), the ancient literary record does provide some evidence of the types of ‘mixed’ emotions that he denies. In a dialogue between Socrates and Protarchus concerning pain and pleasure, the former raises the possibility of a person who is suffering but who thinks about the pleasure that would be brought by the end of his pain. Socrates asks

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a description of the audience’s current experience is also challenged on the basis of consolatory etiquette. Martin notes that using the present indicative to recount the (presumed) joyful emotions of the readers, even before addressing their grief, ‘would be highly insensitive to the emotion of grief they are feeling and would neither demonstrate [the author’s] identification with (οἰκείωσις) nor his sharing of (συμπάθεια) this vexing emotion’.196 These considerations lead Martin (and others) to adopt an alternative approach. The third and final option is to read ᾧ as masculine, referring back to καιρῷ (ἐσχάτῳ) in v. 5.197 This decision is linked to the interpretation of ἀγαλλιᾶσθε, and most who adopt this view take the verb as a futuristic present:198 ‘at the end of time, when your salvation is complete, you will rejoice greatly’. Such a futuristic usage creates a vividness and sense of certainty with regard Protarchus about this one who seems to be in an in-between state of emotions: ‘do you not think that when he has a hope of being filled he takes pleasure (χαίρειν) in his memory, and yet at the same time (ἅμα), since he is at the moment empty, suffers pain (ἀλγεῖν)?’ (Plato, Phileb. 36b; trans. Fowler). To this question, Protarchus gives an affirmative response (cf. also Plato, Gorg. 496e–497a). Moving from philosophical discussions to ancient romance novels, the story of Joseph and Aseneth provides further evidence of distress and joy working in tandem. After meeting Joseph and receiving his blessing, Aseneth retired to her room. The narrative recounts that ‘she fell on her bed out of exhaustion, for in her was joy (χαρά) and distress (λύπη) and great fear and trembling’ (Jos. Asen. 9.1; cf. Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 2.23.3–4). Finally, more support for the simultaneous experience of joy and grief is provided by a letter sent by an Egyptian woman named Tabetheus to Claudius Tiberianus, her brother. In this correspondence, Tabetheus writes about a number of issues, but the most important relates to a murder committed by her son, Saturnilus. When describing the situation, she recounts her mixed emotions: ‘I was in anguish having been distressed (λυπηθείς) by him; but I utterly rejoiced (ἐχάρην) that he remained alive’ (P.Mich. VIII 473; cf. Ps.-Clement, Hom. 13.1.2). 196   Martin, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 659. 197   E.g., Benson 175–76; Wiesinger 65; Alford 334; Hofmann 14–15; Keil 48–49; Usteri 28–29; Huther 60–61; Bigg 103; Moffatt 96; Wand 46; Windisch 53; Michaels 27–28; Goppelt 88–89; Dubis 10; Forbes 23; Wagner-Vouga 32; cf. Millauer, Leiden als Gnade, 183–84; Martin, ‘Present Indicative’, 307–12; idem, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 649–60; Tite, Compositional Transitions, 78–79; Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 47; Stewart, ‘Inaugurated Soteriology’, 225–27. This view has occasionally been adopted in modern translations (e.g., CEV). 198   There are a few interpreters who take καιρῷ as the antecedent of ᾧ without also reading ἀγαλλιᾶσθε as a futuristic present (see, e.g., Dupont-Roc, ‘Le jeu des prépositions’, 207; Dubis 9–10).



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to the readers’ hopeful expectations.199 In connection with the verbal form, the preposition (ἐν) either functions causally, denoting the object of joy (‘you will rejoice because of the last time’) or temporally, describing when this rejoicing would take place (‘you will rejoice at the last time’) and thus leaving the object of joy unexpressed. The former is frequently represented when this construction is employed (see above); but considering the temporal contrasts (ἄρτι) and the focus on ἔσχατος καιρός, the latter probably represents a more convincing option. This interpretation, much like the others, seeks to shift the readers’ focus towards a more positive outcome, only in this case the experience of joy will not occur until the future. The benefit of reading ἐν ᾧ in this way is that it allows the relative pronoun to have a close and natural antecedent, and it seems to reflect the understanding of many ancient and medieval interpreters.200 However, one of the interpretive hurdles for this view is the need to understand ἀγαλλιᾶσθε as a futuristic present.201 Grammarians widely recognise that the present indicative can be used to denote an occurrence in the future with reference to the time of speaking.202 But such a function is often restricted to ‘verbs whose   This consideration answers one important objection that is commonly levelled against this view: why, if a future idea had been intended, the future indicative was not employed, especially since there are numerous instances of the future form of ἀγαλλιάω within the relevant literature (e.g., 1 En. 10.19; 104. 13; T.Levi 18.5, 14; T.Benj. 10.6; Herm. Mand. 5.1.2; Herm. Sim. 9.18.4; Mart. Matt. 30.1). In light of this fact, opponents point to Occam’s Razor, which precludes a solution that posits a future meaning where none is required (cf. McKnight 72 n. 14). 200   The earliest attestation is found in Origen (Mart. 39: ἴστε ὅτι κατὰ τὸν Πέτρον ἀγαλλιάσεσθε ὀλίγον ἄρτι εἰ δέον ἐστὶ λυπηθέντες ἐν ποικίλοις πειρασμοῖς), although the Latin manuscripts of Irenaeus read the future exultabitis at 1 Pet 1.8 (Haer. 4.9.2; 5.7.2; cf. Augustine, Tract. Ev. Jo. 86.1; Pecc. merit. 41), suggesting a similar understanding (see further, Martin, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 651). Commentators in the Middle Ages also espoused this reading (see Bede 73; Oecumenius [PG 119:517]; Theophlact 1196). It is represented in witnesses from the various MSS and ancient translations as well (see Text at 1.6 n. a). 201   Opponents also challenge a futuristic reading of ἀγαλλιᾶσθε on the basis of its use in v. 8, arguing that a present meaning is most likely in the latter. This question will be addressed further below (see Exegesis at 1.8). 202   This usage is widely recognised by grammarians, see, e.g., MHT 1:120; Radermacher, Grammatik, 152; Robertson, Grammar, 869–70, 881–82; BDF §323; cf. Schwyzer, Griechische Grammatik, 273. For a thorough overview of this grammatical function, see Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 221–26. 199

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lexical meaning involves anticipation (such as ἔρχομαι, -βαίνω, πορεύομαι, etc.)’.203 If this lexical qualification is not met, there must be clear contextual indicators that necessitate such a usage.204 Proponents argue that two temporal markers suggest a futuristic sense for ἀγαλλιᾶσθε in v. 6. The first is the contrast between the readers’ present difficulties and their future exultation. Informing this contrast is the adverbial adjunct ἄρτι (‘now’, ‘at the present’), which is thought to be the key to the verb’s temporal nature. If ἀγαλλιᾶσθε is understood to describe a present action, then ἄρτι would seem to be superfluous. But if the verb has a future referent, the adverb ‘creates an antithesis between the present events expressed by the participles and the future events expressed by the main verb ἀγαλλιᾶσθε’.205 In this way, the time of grieving and the time of rejoicing must be separate. The second contextual feature is the level of joy expected at this event.206 In v. 8, the joy is said to be ‘indescribable’ (ἀνεκλαλήτῳ) and ‘glorious’ (δεδοξασμένῃ). These adjectival modifiers reflect an immense amount of joy, which does not seem to be representative of the present experience of the Petrine audience. Later, rejoicing (χαίρειν) is described as something that awaits the future (4.13), not a reflection of their current practice.207   Wallace, Grammar, 535–36 (original emphasis).   On this contextual consideration, see further Reynolds, ‘Zero Tense in Greek’, 69. 205   Martin, ‘Present Indicative’, 309. Cf. also Hofmann 14–15; Huther 61. 206   Cf. Alford 334; Goppelt 89. 207   Admittedly, in both cases, there are equally viable ways of interpreting these temporal indicators, or there are strong counterarguments against them. In the case of the temporal adverb, there are multiple options. Since aorist participles most frequently denote antecedent time in relation to their main verb, it is possible to interpret ἄρτι as an indicator that the participle λυπηθέντες should be understood as contemporaneous with ἀγαλλιᾶσθε, rather than antecedent to it (thus, ‘even though you are currently being distressed, you are rejoicing’; see W. Kelly 31). Alternatively, the adverb could contrast with the ἔσχατος καιρός mentioned in v. 5 rather than with future rejoicing (see Dubis 10). One consideration that could counter the second temporal marker is a statement by Polycarp, who echoes the words of this verse in his letter to the church at Philippi. In describing the experience of his readers, he says, ‘although you have not seen him, you believe in him with indescribable and glorious joy’ (εἰς ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες πιστεύετε χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ δεδοξασμένῃ, Phil. 1.3). This joy was evidently seen as part of present Christian experience, because the bishop further describes it as one ‘into which many desire to enter (εἰς ἣν πολλοὶ ἐπιθυμοῦσιν εἰσελθεῖν)’. 203 204



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All of these interpretations have some merit, and deciding between them is very difficult. In the end, however, this last position might be slightly more persuasive than the other two.208 It provides a natural antecedent in close proximity to the relative pronoun while allowing the anticipation of future reward (vv. 4–5) to reach a crescendo (viz. the comfort that derives from the confident assurance that believers will rejoice at the consummation of God’s saving purposes on the final day) prior to turning back to the unpleasant reality of their current suffering (vv. 6b–7). Nonetheless, the decision between the present and future is somewhat relativised by the author’s close association of the present with the eschatological future.209 The rejoicing of believers is not entirely reserved for the eschaton. For the Petrine author, there should clearly be joy already in the present, a joy that anticipates with confidence the unspeakable delight that will abound when Christ’s glory is finally and fully revealed. This distinction is made clear in 1 Pet 4.13 (χαίρετε, ἵνα καὶ ἐν τῇ ἀποκαλύψει τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ χαρῆτε ἀγαλλιώμενοι), which is the only other place in the letter (apart from 1.6 and 1.8) where the verb ἀγαλλιάω is found. While the ultimate rejoicing of Christians lies, then, in the eschatological future, in the present the readers are being grieved by trials of various kinds. In light of this situation, the author contrasts joy (partly present, but future-focused) and grief or pain (present-focused, and soon to end). The verb λυπέω can convey a range of emotional states, physical as well as emotional or spiritual experiences.210 The specific force intended by the term must be determined contextually based on the situation’s level of severity. At times, λυπέω marks a mildly escalated emotional distress such as frustration or annoyance due to money not being delivered (P.Tebt. III.1 767) or an individual’s failure to catch a ship (SB III 6265), or even someone

208   Martin’s arguments on both the grammatical points (‘Present Indicative’) and on the ancient physiology of the emotions (‘Emotional Physiology’) combine to support this futuristic reading as well as the form in 1 Pet 1.8. 209   Cf. Feldmeier 80: ‘a sharp differentiation between present and future is not appropriate for 1 Peter, because it is his concern to interpret the present totally in the light of the future that has been opened for the believers’. 210   See further TDNT 4:313–22; TLNT 2:417–22.

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else’s prosperity (T.Gad 7.1). It can also describe the disappointment that arises because of separation from or lack of contact with someone (P.Mich. VIII 497; SB XX 14132; Acts Thom. 125.4; Acts Barn. 6.1). In other instances, it conveys more serious emotional anguish arising out of the death of a loved one (SB XIV 11646; 2 Sam 19.3; 4 Macc 16.12; T.Zeb. 10.1; 1 Thess 4.13; Acts Pet. Paul 11.1), someone’s abuse or mistreatment (P.Col. 6; Herm. Sim. 6.3.1), or over another person’ well-being (P.Mich. VIII 465, 487; SB IV 7354; Inf. Gos. Thom. 19.2).211 When this type of grief is in view, it is often accompanied by tears or weeping (Tob 3.1; 7.6; 4 Bar 7.30; Herm. Vis. 1.2.1; Gos. Pet. 14.59; Acts John 65.1), and it might even lead to attempted suicide (Tob 3.10; cf. Jonah 4.9). Although our diagnosis of the readers’ distress must allow for the variegated (ποικίλος) nature of their suffering, it is instructive to note that later in the epistle the Petrine author describes a particular type of grief (λύπη) caused by suffering (2.19). In that particular instance, it probably arises out of the physical abuse of slaves (2.20: εἰ ἁμαρτάνοντες καὶ κολαφιζόμενοι ὑπομενεῖτε). The severity of distress, at least in cases like this, would have been quite heightened. Even more than that, the letter itself, through its attempt to console persecuted Christians, testifies to the potential severity of this grief. The one point of solace for the readers is that this emotional distress will continue (only) a little (ὀλίγον) longer, a sentiment which, again, illustrates the imminent eschatological hope that pervades the letter.212   Often the heightened severity of someone’s distress is communicated through adverbial modifiers like σφόδρα (CPR I 28; P.Tebt. III.1 760; Neh 5.6; Jonah 4.4, 9; Dan 6.15; 1 Macc 10.68; 14.16; 3 Bar 12.8; Jos. Asen. 8.8; Matt 17.23; Prot. Jas. 1.3; Acts Pil. 11.2) or λίαν (BGU XIII 2349; P.Mich. VIII 487; P.Oxy. XII 1481, XIV 1676; SB III 6265, XIV 11646; Gen 4.5; Tob 10.3; Acts Pet. Andr. 15.1) or πάνυ (P.Fouad. 80; P.Kellis I 72; P.Laur. II 42; P.Oxy. LV 3819, LIX 4004) or sometimes even the adjective πολύς (P.Oxy. XVI 1874). 212   The adjective ὀλίγος can refer to a small amount or quantity (Exod 16.18; Num 11.32; Luke 7.47), which, in this case, would mean that the readers had only been slightly distressed by the trials (cf. Vulgate: modicum, and Peshitta: ‫)ܩܠܝܠ‬. This is the interpretation adopted by a few scholars (e.g., Steiger 1:122; Hort 41; cf. Vorholt, ‘ “Das Ende ist nahe” ’, 97; Klein, Bewährung in Anfechtung, 352–53 n. 667). It is more likely that the adjective denotes the short duration of the readers’ distress (‘briefly grieved’). When expressing duration, ὀλίγος often modifies a substantive marking time (Sib. Or. 12.25; T.Sol. A 5.5; Acts 14.28; 211



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An important conditional element is also included with this description of distress: εἰ δέον ἐστίν. It is added in connection to the participle λυπηθέντες (see further Text at 1.6 n. c), almost as a qualification or aside (‘although you are being distressed— if it is necessary—you will rejoice’).213 There are two aspects of this clause that are noteworthy. The first is the element of contingency. The εἰ (plus the indicative ἐστιν)214 introduces a first-class condition. Since many interpreters attempt to read the audience’s situation into the grammar (and thus render the clause, ‘since it is necessary’),215 it is important to recognise that conditional sentences represent a presentation of reality, not a reflection of it. Rev 12.12), although the adjective can carry this same meaning independently (Ps 36.10; T.Job 40.4; 4 Bar. 5.1; Mark 6.31; Rev 17.10). This seems to be the case here given that ὀλίγον is located beside the temporal adverb ἄρτι, providing consistency with the idea of the salvation being ‘ready to be revealed’ (v. 5), and that the adjective is also used temporally in 1 Pet 5.10 in contrasts with αἰώνιος (cf. Pott 37; Plumptre 95; Knopf 48; Selwyn 127; Michaels 28; Achtemeier 101; Donelson 29 n. e). 213   Based on its connection to (and interruption of) λυπηθέντες, Dubis is probably correct to claim that ‘the suffering that is reflected in λυπηθέντες’ is ‘[t]he implied subject of ἐστιν’ (11). Alternatively, Mills (‘Clause Patterns’, 77) claims that the third person copula is functioning impersonally. 214   The textual notes in NET suggest that ἐστιν is ‘an explanatory gloss’ (see further Text at 1.6 n. b), a conclusion that leads the editors further than most. In the absence of the main verbal element, they conjecture that the optative verb is what is envisioned here, not the indicative. This suggestion is based on the fact that the fourth-class condition (which also uses εἰ in the protasis) is found in 1 Pet 3.14 and 17. This conclusion seems difficult to sustain, however. When a verb is supplied by ancient witnesses, it is always the indicative, which is suggestive considering the amount of textual variation. Furthermore, on various occasions, the participial form δέον functions without ἐστιν, and when it does, the form functions like an indicative (e.g., T.Adam A 1.6; Let. Aris. 242). It is even used this way in conditional sentences (cf. Demosthenes, [4 Philip.] 19; Hyperides, Epitaphius col. 13 [Jensen]; Josephus, Ant. 16.77; Origen, Comm. Jo. 20.37 [§346]). Thus, whether or not ἐστιν should be read, it is unnecessary to posit an understood optative. 215   In an effort to establish the reality of suffering in 1 Peter, some commentators incorrectly assume that the first-class condition ‘expresses a factual rather than a hypothetical condition’ (Achtemeier 101; cf. Bengel 47; Wand 46; Kelly 53; Michaels 28; Brox 64; Richard 47; Liebengood, Eschatology, 133 n. 120). Others, from an equally insecure perspective, argue that this construction ‘clearly excludes any possibility that [the readers] are even now passing through a persecution of which the writer has knowledge’ (Beare 86).

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In this case, the first-class construction assumes the truth of the condition for the sake of argument.216 By acknowledging this, we are able to appreciate the rhetorical force of the contingency. What is assumed to be the case is the second element of the construction, which involves the (divine) necessity of their distress.217 The specific use of the verb δεῖ suggests that these trials are part of what ‘must be’ (cf. Mark 13.7; Acts 3.21; 2 Cor 5.10; Rev 1.1). They fall within the plan of God, and may even be regarded as God’s will (cf. 3.17; 4.19). In other words, this conditional aside is added to ease the audience’s distress by connecting their trials to God’s providential arrangement. Part of this ‘necessity’ relates to the formative impact that these circumstances have in shaping the readers. Although this idea is picked up further in the following verse, it begins to be apparent in the depiction of their sufferings as πειρασμοί. The reference to ‘being grieved’ (λυπηθέντες) is not a description of the persecution itself, but to the emotional experience that arises out of the conflict. How this distress originated was through (ἐν) the various trials (πειρασμοί) facing the readers.218 The term πειρασμός is a distinctively biblical Greek word, occurring only

  Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 1007–12; Porter, Idioms, 256–59; Wallace, Grammar, 690–94. The article of Boyer (‘First Class Conditions’, 75–114) is particularly instructive when it comes to distinguishing the presentation of reality from the reflection of reality. What he shows is that only 37% of first-class conditions in the NT actually reflect reality. This stands in contrast to the 12% that do not reflect reality and the 51% that cannot be determined. 217   This use of rhetorical contingency to balance between the necessity of suffering is not sufficiently accounted for by Buchhold (‘L’étrange nécessité’, 23). 218   The combination λυπέω + ἐν can be used to mark out the circumstances in which people find themselves (Ps 54.3; Tob 3.10 [GII]; Sir 3.12; 30.5). It can also describe the means by which someone was grieved (Ezek 16.43; Artemidorus, Onir. 2.48). Some have advocated interpreting the preposition in the former sense (e.g., Alford 335; Bigg 103; Monnier 40; Blenkin 23; Dubis 11; cf. BDAG 327 §2.b). This would be the case if, as Dubis (11) suggests, λυπηθέντες were in the middle voice. Yet this is doubtful given the adjunct modifiers that follow. Since the purpose (ἵνα) of this distress is a refined faith that will be approved at the return of Christ (v. 7), λυπηθέντες is best taken as a passive (allowing for God’s ultimate agency) with ἐν expressing the means/cause of the distress (cf. Davids 56; Elliott 339). 216



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very rarely in secular Greek from the first century CE onwards.219 It is frequently rendered ‘temptation’ in many older translations (e.g., Wycliffe, Tyndale, Geneva, KJV), which could give the impression that the author has in mind an internal struggle (not) to act on behalf of an evil inclination. Instead, πειρασμός refers to an external test or trial of some kind that subjects someone to examination.220 In the earliest Jewish traditions, it is God who is the author of such testing, using it as an opportunity to discover something about a person’s character or devotion (Exod 16.4; Deut 13.4). Abraham provides a classic example of such a trial (Gen 22.1; cf. 1 Macc 2.52; Sir 44.20). The idea of God’s providential role in πειράζειν continued into the Second Temple period (Jdt 8.25; Wis 3.5; Aris. Ex. 1.3) and was taken up in early Christianity as well (Matt 6.13; 1 Cor 10.13; Heb 11.17; although cf. Jas 1.13).221 When this divine   The term is used in a medical text by the Greek physician Pedanius Diosco� rides describing ‘trials’ meant to determine the effects of drugs (De materia medica 1.praef.5.12). It is also employed later in a Greek magical text denoting the power of a particular concoction that ‘delivers from violent torture, from thunderbolt, from hazard and from every storm and crisis, from nautical dangers and from trials on the land or in the sea (πειρασμῶν ἔν τε γῇ καὶ θαλάσσῃ) and from demons and every disease’ (Cyranides 1.21). Another example is found in a fragment from an ancient handbook on love and sex by Philaenis of Samos, a copy of which is preserved in P.Oxy. XXXIX 2891. Among the various topics included in the work, one is a seducer’s attempts (Περὶ πειρασμῶν, frag. 1, col. 2). 220   For a full discussion of the term, see TDNT 6:23–36; TLNT 3:80–90; cf. also Feldmeier 81–83. 221   Over time, the testing of God’s people comes to be attributed to the devil (cf. Jub. 10.8; T.Sol. A 15.11; Rev 2.10; 2 Clem. 18.2; Acts Pet. Andr. 10.1; Acts Paul A 1.4 [44.4]; cf. also the earlier notion of ‘the satan’/ὁ διάβολος as a member of the divine council who functions as adversary or tester [Job 1.6]). Many texts simply refer to him by the title, ὁ πειράζων (see Hist. Rech. 2.10; 4.1–2; Matt 4.3; 1 Thess 3.5; Ps.-Clement, Hom. 3.55). Rather than intending the πειρασμοί to produce a positive outcome, his goal is to unsettle and disrupt the faith of God’s people (Hist. Rech. 19.1–2; Mark 1.13 par; 1 Cor 7.5; Acts Phil. 142.8). As a result, some connect the source or origin of these πειρασμοί in v. 6 with the devil (e.g., Kelly 54; Schelkle 34; see also Nauck, ‘Freude im Leiden’, 80; Kuhn, ‘New Light on Temptation’, 96). This suggestion has some merit in that the devil is known for tempting the faithful, and later in this epistle he is described as prowling around and seeking someone to devour (1 Pet 5.8). Nevertheless, since God has been the primary actor to this point (indicated by the numerous divine passive verbs), and since πειρασμοί are intended to have a positive impact on the readers (v. 7), it is more likely that the trials can be attributed to God. The role of 219

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examination takes place, it ‘reveals not only what is hidden, demonstrates not only the sincerity and the moral resources of the believer, but is also for the believer a means to perfection, because he has to suffer in order to remain faithful to his resolves and his decision for God’.222 This is the first mention in the letter of the theme of suffering, so central to the author’s purpose in writing. These trials are not depicted as a merely hypothetical possibility—as has sometimes been suggested, especially by those basing partition hypotheses on the supposed difference between the possibility of suffering in the first half of the epistle with the vivid reality depicted in the second half—but are assumed to be part of the readers’ present and ongoing experience. Notably, our author describes these trials as taking various forms (ποικίλοις),223 an indication of the diversity of ways in which the early Christians might experience hostility and difficulty. The antagonism expressed against Christianity ranged from informal hostility and verbal abuse to criminal accusations and trials (see Introduction: Socio-Historical Context).224 Quite apart from the contextual information to be brought to bear against posing as alternative scenarios either informal public hostility or

the devil in these πειρασμοί, it seems, ‘ist… als negative Kraft zu verstehen, die von Gott gesandten Leiden auszunutzen versucht, um die Gläubigen zur Apostasie zu verführen’ (Klein, Bewährung in Anfechtung, 365). 222   TLNT 3:83. 223   The adjective ποικίλος carries a variety of meaning in the classical world (see LSJ 1430; TDNT 6:484–85). It could refer to the spotted pattern on an animal’s skin (Homer, Il. 10.30; Pindar, Pyth. 8.46; Euripides, Bacch. 249; Plotinus, Enn. 4.4.29), or, contrasting with simple productions, it might describe the intricate adornment or embroidery of carpets, clothes, metals, or buildings (Aeschylus, Ag. 923; Hesiod, [Scut.] 423; Demosthenes, Or. 45.17). On occasion, it refers to multiple entities displaying marked variety (Pindar, Nem. 4.14; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Is. 3). In the NT, it is this latter usage that comes to dominate (Mark 1.34; 2 Tim 3.6; Heb 2.4; Jas 1.2), and that seems to be how the term is used by the Petrine author (cf. also 1 Pet 4.10). Thus, the experiences that test the faith of the readers come in a variety of forms. Their suffering cannot be limited to verbal abuse or even legal trials. Situational reconstructions must therefore be broad enough to capture any and all potential threats. 224   A notable parallel is found in Jas 1.2, with its reference to encountering πειρασμοῖς ποικίλοις. On the basis of this similarity, some have suggested that 1 Peter has borrowed this material from the epistle of James (see, e.g., Wordsworth 48; Plumptre 95; Hort 41; Blenkin 23).



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judicial trials and executions, this phrasing already hints at a diversity of possible (and actual!) forms of suffering. 7 ἵνα τὸ δοκίμιον ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως Although the readers’ experience of suffering might appear unnecessary and undesirable, according to the Petrine author these trials serve an important purpose (ἵνα) within the process of salvation.225 Exactly what role they perform depends on how one understands τὸ δοκίμιον, the subject of the verb εὑρεθῇ. In its present form, δοκίμιον could be a neuter substantive, which represents an alternative spelling of the classical noun δοκιμεῖον (cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, [Rhet.] 11.1; Sextus Empiricus, Math. 7.430; Libanius, Declamationes 16.1.55). In this case, the term denotes the process or means by which the genuineness or authenticity of something is determined (Plato, Tim. 65c; Hippocrates, Prorrh. 2.3; Plutarch, [Apoph. lac. (Namertes)] 15 [Mor. 230A]). This is the meaning found in Prov 27.21, where it is stated that ‘burning is a test for silver and gold’ (δοκίμιον ἀργύρῳ καὶ χρυσῷ πύρωσις). If δοκίμιον is used this way by the Petrine author, the verse would indicate that the trials and difficulties experienced by the readers are ‘more precious than gold’. Among an earlier generation of interpreters, this was the most common reading, and it is still occasionally espoused in more recent scholarship.226 One difficulty is the discontinuity it creates for the comparison. In this construal, a process (testing) is juxtaposed with a material object (gold).227 225   Some have suggested that ἵνα denotes both purpose and result in this instance (cf. Steiger 1:129; Bloomfield 702). 226   Among an earlier generation of commentators who advocated this view, see, e.g., Grotius 65; Wolf 97; Bengel 47; Macknight 437; Hottinger 101; Wiesinger 68; Wordsworth 48; Bruckner 35; Demarest 65; Johnstone 67–69; Kühl 87–88; von Soden 132; Knopf 49. More recently, this view has been defended by Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 64–67, and seems to be reflected in a few commentaries (e.g., Picirilli 115; Green 21; Osborne 152). 227   See Mason 390. One potential way of alleviating this problem would be to assume that the Petrine author has used an economy of language (cf. Winer, Grammar, 307), with τοῦ δοκιμίου (or ἢ τὸ δοκίμιον) simply being omitted before χρυσίου. In this instance, the intended comparison would be between the process of purifying faith and the process of purifying gold. Consequently, the sentence would read, ‘the testing of your faith is more precious than the testing of gold’ (so, e.g., Beza 563; Grotius 65; Steinmeyer 36; Hofmann 18). The problem is that what follows (τοῦ ἀπολλυμένου κτλ.) is focused not the (in)adequacy

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A much more natural comparison is generated by the alternative interpretation (see below). What is more, this view tends to over-emphasise the importance of suffering by making the purpose of trials the glorification of those very trials. At best, however, the πειρασμοί facing the readers are merely a means to an end. Even at a very early point in critical scholarship, some recognised the problems associated with taking δοκίμιον as the process of testing. As a result, the term was assigned a meaning similar to its cognate form δοκιμή, viz. the proven result of testing.228 Support for this interpretation was eventually provided by Deissmann. Drawing from the documentary papyri, Deissmann demonstrated the existence of the adjective δοκίμιος (or δοκίμειος),229 which was used in a way that was similar to δοκίμος.230 In particular, the term sometimes describes the genuine or approved quality of precious metals. An example is found in a contract of indemnity, wherein Kronion served as a guarantor against any liabilities brought against his sister Eudaemonis. To facilitate this agreement, the contract states that ‘five quarters of standard gold (χρυσίου [δ]οκιμίου τεταρτῶν πέντε)’ be deposited through the record of the process by which gold is tested—which would have been expected if τοῦ δοκιμίου were assumed before χρυσίου—but on the (in)adequacy of gold itself (see below). 228   So, e.g., Luther 33; Hensler 44; Alford 335; Cook 178; Mason 390; Huther 63. Although this group continued to read δοκίμιον as an alternative form of the noun δοκίμειον, there were a few who conjectured that δοκίμιον might be the neuter singular form of the adjective δοκίμιος (Schott 30–31; Hofmann 16; cf. also Tholuck, Beiträge zur Spracherklärung, 44–47). At the time, however, this hypothesis was generally dismissed because of a lack of evidence. 229   In the Koine period, there seems to have been considerable confusion between words formed with -ει- and -ι-. The latter represents the Attic spelling (see MHT 2:77–78; BDF §23). 230   Like δοκίμιον, the adjective δοκίμος is commonly used in the documentary papyri to describe the quality of metals. Gold: BGU IV 1045, 1065; Chr.Mitt. 288, 289, 294; CPR I 12, 13, 21A, 26; P.Hamb. IV 279; P.Stras. IV 237; P.Tebt. II 392. Silver: BGU XI 2125; P.Charite 3; P.Flor. I 1, 41, 72, 81; P.Hamb. I 2; P.Lond. III 938; P.Oxy. LVII 3911; P.Ryl. II 169; P.Sarap. 23; P.Stras. I 2, 10, 52, VI 539. Copper: BGU VI 1276. Cf. also Gen 23.16; 1 Kgs 10.18; 1 Chr 28.18; 29.4; 2 Chr 9.17; Let. Aris. 57. But although they are used in much the same way, δοκίμιος (or δοκίμειος), with its -ι- (or -ει-) formation, may represent a higher quality of genuineness than δοκίμος. For, as Chantraine notes, ‘le dérivé en -ειος semble constituer un doublet expressif de l’adjectif dont il est tiré’ (La formation, 53; cf. BDF §23).



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office (P.Tebt. II 392).231 Understood in this way, δοκίμιον in v. 7 would be a substantival adjective denoting the quality of genuineness or authenticity that results from testing (‘genuine[ness]’). So rather than emphasising the process of testing, it is the approved quality of faith that emerges from the process of testing that is the focus of the verse.232 The debate surrounding the meaning of δοκίμιον has naturally led to the genitive πίστεως233 being interpreted in a variety of ways. Those who read δοκίμιον as the process of evaluation (‘testing’) take it as an objective genitive (‘testing your faith[fulness]’). But given that δοκίμιον in this context is more appropriately seen as the result of testing (‘genuineness’), this view should probably be questioned. Others have interpreted πίστεως as a partitive genitive, indicating that the trials refine and clear away the parts of an individual’s πίστις that is weak or unstable, leaving only the portion that is genuine.234 This is possible given the comparative image of gold that has been tried by fire; but normally this type of genitive is indicated with a head (pro)noun that specifies a portion of something else (e.g., τινες). A few have argued for an epexegetical genitive, with πίστις further clarifying the ambig� uous head noun δοκίμιον (‘what emerges from this test, namely, faith’).235 Yet this too is not quite persuasive, for the substantivized neuter, singular adjective (τὸ δοκίμιον) denotes an abstract concept (‘genuineness’),236 which means that it is not equivalent to or even a larger category of πίστις. 231   Cf. also BGU IV 1046, 1065; Chr.Mitt. 288, 289, 294; CPR I 12, 13, 21A, 26; P.Hamb. IV 279; P.Stras. IV 237. 232   See Zell, ‘Tested and Approved’, 52–55. 233   As with the previous usage (see Exegesis at 1.5), πίστις is best understood here in the sense of ‘trust’ within a relational context, rather than ‘belief’ in propositional statements (cf. Best 78; Bénétreau 90). 234   Thus, Bigg translates the phrase ‘the tested residue of your faith’ (104; Miller 138). A similar understanding is found in the explanation of Selwyn: ‘The genuine element in their faith…’ (129; cf. Witherington 81). 235   E.g., Dubis 12; cf. Michaels 30, who argues that ‘τὸ δοκίμιον in 1 Peter is virtually equivalent to the faith itself’. 236   See Goppelt 90 n. 40; Hiebert 67. The articular use of the neuter singular adjective to denote an abstract concept represents high quality Greek (cf. Robertson, Grammar, 654, 763; BDF §263[2]). It is found especially in the writings of Paul, most often (as here) with a dependent genitive (Rom 1.19; 2.4; 1 Cor 1.25bis; 2 Cor 8.8; cf. Heb 6.17).

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Instead, δοκίμιον seems to specify the particular type of πίστις that will be found to result in praise, honour, and glory; hence, πίστεως is best viewed as an attributed genitive.237 In other words, the head noun (δοκίμιον) attributes genuineness to πίστις (‘genuine faith(fulness]’).238 The fact that πίστις can thus be judged as authentic (or perhaps inauthentic) might suggest that the author’s use of πίστις involves some type of confessional element (cf. 1 Pet 3.15) or at least some expression of a set of beliefs displayed through one’s actions. Rather than focusing on the sincerity with which certain beliefs are held (cf. πίστις ἀνυπόκριτος [1 Tim 1.5; 2 Tim 1.5]), however, the issue seems to be the extent of one’s trust in God amidst difficult circumstances—although the former can often be demonstrated by the latter.239 πολυτιμότερον χρυσίου τοῦ ἀπολλυμένου, ἀπολλυμένου, διὰ πυρὸς δὲ δοκιμαζομένου εὑρεθῇ εἰς ἔπαινον καὶ δόξαν καὶ τιμὴν ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ Grammatically, it is clear that genuine faith will undergo a divine inspection (εὑρεθῇ being a divine passive) in the eschatological future. But the specific details of this event are dependent upon how one construes the object of εὑρεθῇ. It is possible to take πολυτιμότερον as the predicate (‘genuine faith might be found to be more valuable’).240 According to this interpretation, the pur237   This designation is taken from Wallace, Grammar, 89–91. Other grammarians discuss this function of the genitive, although without the same terminology. Most recognise that the construction is similar to the use of a simple adjective, but with the genitive adding greater emphasis (cf. Winer, Grammar, 296; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 15 n. 6). 238   Cf. Hiebert 68; Liebengood, Eschatology, 134 n. 124. 239   According to Hunt, this purification metaphor should be taken to indicate that ‘[t]he community is being purified, not the individuals in it’. As such, she maintains that the dross represents ‘the people who do not stay faithful to God and do not remain within the community because of the suffering they are undergoing’ (530). But while it is true that the refining process described by the Petrine author would apply to the Christian community as a group, this does not negate the fact that the same process was at work in the lives of individuals in the community as well (cf. Alkier, ‘Antagonismen im 1. Petrusbrief’, 19). In fact, it would be difficult to separate the two. 240   This view was advocated by a number of earlier commentators (e.g., Steiger 1:137–38; Brückner 35–36; Huther 64; Kühl 89–91; Masterman 70; Blenkin 24),



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pose of suffering relates to establishing the value of faith on the last day.241 However, a more likely alternative is to understand πολυτιμότερον in apposition to δοκίμιον,242 with the remainder of the clause (i.e., πολυτιμότερον χρυσίου κτλ) functioning as a parenthetic description that marks out the value of genuine faith using the metaphor of the process of gold’s refinement (cf. NRSV, NIV, NET, HCSB, ESV). As such, the prepositional phrase εἰς ἔπαινον κτλ. functions as the predicate of εὑρεθῇ.243 The sentence should thus be read, ‘so that genuine faith—which is more precious than gold,244 although perishable,245 yet is tested by fire—might be found to result in praise, glory, and honour’.

though it is only occasionally defended in more recent scholarship (see Selwyn 130; Kelly 54; cf. Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 64). 241   Certain obstacles prevent us from assigning a predicate function to πολυτι­ μότερον. First, as advocates of this position admit, it requires εἰς ἔπαινον κτλ. to function as a second predicate. This construction is not only awkward, it is unnecessary. Second, and more importantly, such a construal places the focus on God’s discovery of the value of genuine faith, which confuses the purpose of the gold metaphor. ‘The preciousness of gold’, as Achtemeier points out, ‘is clearly a secondary factor in the sentence, and serves merely as a metaphor for the way humans (not God!) recognize the value of faith’ (102 n. 40). 242   On the appositional relationship between δοκίμιον and πολυτιμότερον, see Wiesinger 68; Hart 44; Michaels 30; Schreiner 66. This relationship means that, technically, it is δοκίμιον that is compared with gold (pace Elliott 341, who suggests that ‘the testing of Christian loyalty is compared with the testing and refining of gold’), although it seems that the comparison is essentially between genuine faith and gold, the former of which is far more valuable. 243   So, e.g., Pott 38; Schott 30; Usteri 32; Monnier 43; Wand 47; Elliott 342; Schlosser 74; Forbes 25. 244   The adjective πολύτιμος could describe an entity that was highly revered or esteemed, such as the gods (Menander, Frag. 109). But more often, it referred to something that possessed great monetary value. This might be a rare pearl (Matt 13.46), valuable ointment and spices (John 12.3; Athenaeus, Deipn. 12.8 [Kaibel]), an expensive dinner (Acts Paul 13.2), royal clothing (Acts Thom. 22.2), costly jewelry (Plutarch, Pomp. 5.1), precious stones (T.Ab. A 3.11; Plutarch, Ant. 81.1; Herodianus, Ab excess divi Marci 1.17.3), choice animals (Athenaeus, Deipn. 1.41 [Kaibel]), or the finest gold (Cyranides prologue). 245   It is clear from the fact that δέ is normally in postpositive position (BDAG 213) that διὰ πυρός should be connected with δοκιμαζομένου rather than ἀπολλυμένου. In other words, the author’s point is not that gold is destroyed by fire—which it plainly is not—but rather that gold is one of those glories that will pass away.

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Within this parenthetic aside, most recognise that the conjunction δέ carries an adversative force, although there is dispute over the nature of this contrast.246 Some view the corruptibility of gold as the basis for judging it to be less valuable than genuine faith: ‘[gold] perishes even though (or despite the fact that) it is tested by fire’ (cf. NASB, ESV, NAB, NIV, HCSB, NKJV, CEB).247 In other words, even the process of refinement cannot prevent gold from perishing; whereas genuine faith lasts forever. The difficulty with this suggestion is that it requires the participle δοκιμαζομένου to function as an adverbial modifier of ἀπολλυμένου, carrying a concessive force (‘although it is tested’). Such a construal is undermined by the presence of the conjunction, along with the fact that the article (τοῦ) modifies both participles.248 Each of these points suggests that the participles function in two balanced clauses rather than in a dependent relationship.249 It is more likely therefore that δέ contrasts the treatment of gold in relation to its durability: ‘although gold perishes, it is nevertheless tested by fire’ (cf. RSV, NRSV).250 The point is that the (ultimate) corruptibility of gold does not prevent metallurgists from putting it through a process of refinement. In this way, the argument is from lesser to greater: gold is corruptible but valued; whereas genuine faith is incorruptible and thus even more valuable. 246   One suggestion that must be ruled out is that the contrast relates to the neces�sity of refinement. As proposed by Senior, ‘[t]he implied contrast is that if gold, which is “perishable” (apollymenou), must be purified by fire, how much more the “genuineness of one’s faith” ’ (32; cf. Skaggs 20). The implication here would be that suffering is necessary to create genuine faith. While this might seem like a logical deduction in that the letter indicates that trials serve to purify faith when they occur, the author is careful not to portray suffering as an inevitability that is required for salvation (cf. 1 Pet 1.6; 3.14, 17). 247   Cf. Lenski 39; Grudem 64; Jobes 94. 248   See Dubis 13. Other examples of substantival participles referring to the same entity and connected by a singular article include: T.Job 25.8; Luke 12.48; Rom 4.5; Jude 4; Acts John 35.3. 249   See further Hunt, ‘Greek Clause Complex’, 408–409. 250   Cf. Calvin 33; Steiger 1:135–36; Mason 390; Johnstone 69–70; Goppelt 91 n. 43; Achtemeier 102; Feldmeier 83; Dubis 14; Forbes 24. Some translations render the verse in a similar way: ‘gold that is tested by fire, even though it is passing away’ (NET; cf. NCV). But in doing so, they read the clause as though the elements were transposed (διὰ πυρὸς δοκιμαζομένου, ἀπολλυμένου δέ), an approached advocated by a few commentators (e.g., Hottinger 102).



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In both the Jewish scriptures (Pss 12.6; 65[66].10; Prov 17.3; 27.21; Isa 48.10; Zech 13.9; Mal 3.3)251 and early Christian writings (1 Cor 3.12–15; Herm. Vis. 4.3.4), the image of gold (or silver) being refined or purified by fire is frequently used as a comparison for some form of spiritual purity or character-testing. Similar ideas are also expressed in secular sources. The metallurgical practices of refining gold through fire were discussed in Greek and Roman authors (Theophrastus, On Stones 45–47; Pliny, Nat. 33.59), but this image also came to be used metaphorically. It could be applied to the selection of one’s friends (Isocrates, Demon. 25) or to the testing of a person’s moral character. This latter is reflected in the writings of Seneca, who notes, ‘Fire tests gold, affliction tests strong men’ (Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros; De Prov. 5.10). A particularly close parallel to 1 Pet 1.7 is found in Sir 2.1–5: ‘Child, if you come to be subject to the Lord, prepare your soul for testing (πειρασμόν)…because with fire gold is tested (ἐν πυρὶ δοκιμάζεται χρυσός), and acceptable people in the furnace (καμίνῳ) of humiliation’ (Sir 2.1, 5; NETS).252 While the linguistic similarities seem to point to shared tradition, a closer literary connection might be drawn with Jas 1.2–3, which describes the ‘joy’ (χαρά) that should arise when one experiences ‘various types of trials’ (πειρασμοὶ ποικίλοι), a situation that is also described as ‘the testing of your faith’ (τὸ δοκίμιον ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως).253

  Among these texts, some of the closest linguistic parallels are found in Zech 13.9 (LXX): ‘And I will draw the third through the fire (διὰ πυρός), and I shall test them by fire as silver is tested by fire, and I shall prove them as gold is proven (ὡς δοκιμάζεται τὸ χρυσίον)᾽ (NETS). Consequently, some have posited a specific allusion to the Zechariah passage here (see Mbuvi, Temple, 134–35; Liebengood, Eschatology, 105–55). Others claim that the influence stems from Mal 3 LXX (see Buchhold, ‘L’étrange nécessité’, 23–26). But the widespread use of the imagery makes it difficult to be confident that any specific allusion is intended here. 252   Cf. also Wis 3.5–6: ‘Having been disciplined a little (ὀλίγα παιδευθέντες), they will receive great good, because God tested (ἐπείρασεν) them and found them worthy of himself; like gold in the furnace he tried them (ὡς χρυσὸν ἐν χωνευτηρίῳ ἐδοκίμασεν αὐτούς), and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them᾽ (NETS). 253   For a discussion of the relationship between the epistles of 1 Peter and James, see Introduction: Other New Testament/Early Christian Traditions. 251

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The main sentence continues by noting that this genuine, tested faith will result (εἰς) in ‘praise, glory, and honour’.254 Distinctions are sometimes made between these terms, with ἔπαινος denoting the judicial praise bestowed upon those whose faith has been approved, δόξα being a share in the very nature of God’s essence, and τιμή referring to the dignity and esteem conferred on them.255 While this approach may account for lexical differences, it seems to overlook their larger rhetorical function, with ‘the repetition of synonymous terms simply strengthening the thought’.256 No direct indication is given as to the one(s) upon whom these celebratory commendations are bestowed. At times, this kind of honouring denotes human responses to the divine, whereby God receives proper admiration and praise (cf. Phil 1.11; 1 Tim 1.17; Rev 4.9, 11; 5.12–13). On other occasions, these and similar designations refer to the acclaim with which God rewards individuals (cf. Rom 2.7, 10; Heb 2.9; 2 Pet 1.17). Elsewhere in the letter, δόξα is an attribute possessed by Christ (1 Pet 1.21; 4.13), and the act of bestowing δόξα is directed toward God (2.12; 4.11, 16; 5.10); nevertheless, the focus here is on the reward that will be given (by 254   According to Michaels, ‘[t]he prepositional phrase takes the place of a predicate nominative after εὑρεθῇ’ (31; cf. Hart 44; Achtemeier 102 n. 41). A more nuanced assessment is appropriate, however. When εἰς + accusative functions as a predicate nominative, it is normally confined to a particular set of equative verbs: εἰμί, γίνομαι, or λογίζομαι (see MHT 2:462–63; BDAG 291). Furthermore, it appears most frequently in the LXX translating the Hebrew ‫ל‬ (see Johannessohn, Der Gebrauch der Präpositionen, 4–5) or in NT quotations from the Jewish scriptures (see Wallace, Grammar, 47–48). Of course, these considerations do not rule out the possibility of a predicate use altogether. Not only is this use of the preposition found in the papyri (see Mayser, Grammatik II.2.2 362–66), in the passive εὑρίσκω can function like an equative verb (cf. Gal 2.17). Yet, what prevents such a usage here is the sense demanded by the reading. When εἰς + accusative replaces the predicate nominative, the object of the preposition is (essentially) read as the object of the verb (so, e.g., ἔσονται οἱ δύο εἰς σάρκα μίαν, ‘the two will become one flesh’, Mark 10.8). If the present example is understood this way, it creates a nonsensical reading: ‘the genuineness of faith might be found (to be) praise and glory and honour’. A much more natural reading, then, would be to understand the preposition as denoting result: ‘might be found to result in praise’ (cf. Dubis 14). 255   See, e.g., Cook 178; Mason 390; Hiebert 68–69; Richard 47–48. 256   Demarest 66. Others have similarly noted the rhetorical force of this triad which is grounded in the accumulation of terms (e.g., Alford 335; Spicq 50; Michaels 31; Donelson 33).



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God) to those who have proven themselves faithful (cf. 5.1, 4). The two are not entirely separable, however, since the glory that Christians look forward to receiving is a sharing in the glory that belongs to God and to Christ (cf. 1.11; 4.14);257 yet the force of these three forms of acclamation as what the readers themselves can anticipate should not be missed. The choice of the verb εὑρεθῇ is significant since it indicates the eschatological idea of a final time of ‘discovery’. It is the time when people and their actions are laid bare, scrutinized by God, and revealed for what they are.258 The idea is similar to that of the ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς (2.12). Indeed, the time259 of this ‘finding’ is specified as the revelation (ἀποκάλυψις) of Jesus Christ,260 a phrase used again at 1.13 (on the ‘apocalyptic’ imagery of 1 Peter, see above on 1.5). The author almost always reserves such language for the future (but imminent) eschatological time, the day of final salvation (1.5, 13; 4.13; 5.1; the exception is 1.12).261 Note, by contrast, the   Cf. Michaels 31; Vahrenhorst 79.   The use of εὑρίσκω to describe the ‘discovery’ of God’s people at the parousia is an idea that is present in the parables of Jesus (Matt 24.46//Luke 12.43; Mark 13.36; Luke 12.37, 38), in the letters of Paul (1 Cor 4.2; 2 Cor 5.3; Phil 3.9; see further Ellis, ‘II Corinthians V.1–10 in Pauline Eschatology’, 211–24), and even in 2 Peter (3.10, 14; see further Wenham, ‘Being “Found” ’, 477–79). 259   Most read the prepositional phrase ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as expressing a temporal force, describing when genuine faith will be ‘discovered’. An alternative approach is taken by Lenski (40), who claims that the prepositional phrase modifies εἰς ἔπαινον κτλ. rather than εὑρεθῇ. As such, ἐν denotes accompaniment, specifying that praise, glory, and honour will occur in connection with the revelation of Jesus Christ. Contrary to the claim of Lenski, however, word order provides no support for this suggestion: ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ is placed after εἰς ἔπαινον κτλ. not because it modifies it but because the latter functions as the predicate of εὑρεθῇ. 260   It is possible to interpret Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ either as a subjective genitive, ‘when Jesus Christ reveals himself’ (so, e.g., Arichae-Nida 24–25; cf. Arichae, ‘God or Christ?’, 415) or as an objective genitive, ‘when God reveals Jesus Christ’ (so, e.g., Hort 44; Schelkle 36 n. 1; Goppelt 91 n. 46). This construction is used elsewhere to describe visions and revelations that Jesus discloses to individuals (Gal 1.12; cf. 2 Cor 12.1). But, in this case, the coming of Christ is at issue. And since, as Dubis (14) notes, the genitive δόξης is used in an objective sense within a similar phrase (ἐν τῇ ἀποκαλύψει τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ) in 1 Pet 4.13, the same is probably also the meaning intended here (cf. Forbes 25). 261   Some claim that the selection of the term ἀποκάλυψις indicates that Jesus is in some way already (invisibly) present among his people, and that his second coming will make this presence known (see Best 78; Michaels 32; Schreiner 257 258

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use of φανερόω for the appearance of Christ that has already taken place, albeit in the last times (1.20), though 5.4 shows that this verb too can be used of the final eschatological appearance.262 8 ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες ἀγαπᾶτε, ἀγαπᾶτε, εἰς ὃν ἄρτι μὴ ὁρῶντες, ὁρῶντες, πιστεύοντες δὲ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ δεδοξασμένῃ There is something of a break at the end of v. 7, with vv. 8–9 forming a second sub-section within vv. 6–9. The mention of Jesus Christ, and of the expectation that he will be revealed, forms the link from v. 7 into v. 8. If Christ is yet to be (finally and decisively) revealed, then he cannot yet be seen. The link, as is typical, is made with a relative pronoun (ὅν). The point about Christ not currently being seen is made twice, and this duplication may explain the textual variant εἰδότες (on which see Text at 1.8 n. f). With this, there is a close parallel between the two relative clauses:263 ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες ἀγαπᾶτε εἰς ὃν… μὴ ὁρῶντες πιστεύοντες δὲ ἀγαλλιᾶσθε

The first clause describes the readers’ love (ἀγαπᾶτε) for Christ despite the fact that they had not seen him.264 The first generation of disciples could of course claim to have seen Christ (cf. John 1.14), and the accounts of his transfiguration (Matt 17.1–8; Mark 9.2–8; Luke 9.28–36) and resurrection appearances (Matt 28; Luke 24; John 20–21; 1 Cor 15.3–8) in particular were believed to be occasions on which his true and glorious identity was revealed. At first glance, the contrast between seeing and believing in v. 8 appears to distinguish the experience of the (purported) author from 67). This seems overly subtle and effectively demythologises the author’s notion of a final eschatological ‘appearance’ in a way that does not seem to match the convictions and expectations expressed in the letter. 262   On φανερόω see Bockmuehl, ‘Das Verb φανερόω’, 87–99. 263   Cf. Michaels 33, though he presents the parallel somewhat differently. 264   It is noteworthy that this represents one of the few instances in the NT—at least, outside of the Gospel of John (8.42; 14.15, 21, 24; 21.15–17)—where Jesus is the object of love (cf. Eph 6.24). The idea of loving Christ would be picked up in later Christian literature, however (see Acts Phil. 112.1; Acts Andr. 49 (Prieur); Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 12.121.1; Quis div. 29.5; Physiologus 32; Hippolytus, Fr. Prov. 62; Martyrium sancti Agathonici 8; Julian, Misopogon 28).



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his audience: as an apostle, ‘Peter’ had access to and interaction with the historical Jesus, but this was not the case for his readers.265 Some have taken issue with this interpretation, however. It is claimed that the ‘intent is simply to make a generalization about the experience of all Christian believers. None of them ([the Petrine author] included) have ever seen Jesus Christ in the way they will see him at the time when he is revealed’.266 Nevertheless, such a denial runs the risk of overlooking the fine syntactical distinctions that are drawn in this verse. The first is the shift from the aorist participle (ἰδόντες) to the present participle (ὁρῶντες). In the case of the latter, the tense likely denotes an action prior to that of the main verb that it modifies.267 This places the audience’s lack of observation sometime in their past, which stands in contrast to the second half of the clause where their current inability to see Jesus is described. But why reference their past experience with Jesus? A clue is found in the second distinction: the transition between οὐ and μή. In classical Greek, there was variation between the use of these negative particles. What distinguished the two was the character of negation: οὐ provided a concrete denial of a historical fact, while μή represented a more indirect negation of what is notional or hypothetical.268 Much of

  A view adopted by various commentators (e.g., Cook 178; Hort 45; Masterman 71; Wand 47; Heupler 618; Selwyn 131; Windisch 53; Cranfield 42; Kelcy 26; Schiwy 38; Mounce 14; Schelkle 36 n. 2; Waltner 39; Charles 303–304; Witherington 82). 266   This position is argued strongly by Michaels 32; see also idem, ‘Passion Narrative’, 388 n. 4. Cf. Beare 88; Best 79; Bénétreau 91; Goppelt 93; Brox 66 n. 223; Achtemeier 103 n. 53; Richard 48. 267   Although Green (Handbook, 364) interprets ἰδόντες as performing a temporal function (‘while you do not see him’), it is probably better to understand it as a concessive participle (‘although you have not seen him’; cf. Wallace, Grammar, 634). 268   Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 1167: ‘If οὐ denies the fact, μή denies the idea…. In a word, μή is just the negative to use when one does not wish to be too positive. Μή leaves the question open for further remark or entreaty. Οὐ closes the door abruptly’; Winer, Grammar, 593: ‘Οὐ stands where something is to be directly denied (as matter of fact); μή where something is to be denied as mere matter of thought (in conception and conditionally): the former is the objective, the latter is the subjective negative’ (original emphasis). See also Moorhouse, Greek Negatives, 40 n. 1; Smyth, Grammar, 618. 265

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this nuance was lost by the Koine period, however, since μή had significantly encroached upon the duties of οὐ.269 In fact, by the time of the NT, μή had become predominant in connection with participles.270 While some are hesitant about drawing any fine distinctions between these clauses,271 the sudden shift from οὐ + participle in v. 8a to μή + participle in v. 8b seems intentional.272 The primary point in this first clause relates specifically to the experience of those Christians who have not (in the past) seen Christ, yet who have come to believe in and love him, an experience that is specifically valued in other Christian writings (see John 20.29).273 Nevertheless, in making this point about his audience, there could possibly be a subtle contrast with the author’s own historical experiences: since the readers are (portrayed as) Gentiles scattered across Asia Minor, the author can state unequivocally that they had not seen the historical Jesus,274 something that did not 269   See Gildersleeve, ‘Encroachment’, 45–57; Green, ‘Μή for οὐ’, 471–79. Cf. also BDF §430. 270   Jannaris, Historical Greek, 430–31. In Homeric Greek, οὐ is the primary (and almost the sole) means of negating the participle (see Monro, Grammar, 326–27). 271   So, e.g., Masterman 72; Blenkin 25; cf. Blass, Grammatik, 250, who notes that this is a place ‘wo es künstlich ist einen Unterschied machen zu wollen’. 272   As Moulton points out, ‘it is hard to believe that any but a slovenly writer would have brought in so rapid a change without any reason’ (MHT 1:232; cf. Radermacher, Grammatik, 212). Many Petrine commentators have thus attempted to account for this distinction (see, e.g., Usteri 37; Johnstone 72–73; Kühl 92; Hort 45; Knopf 52; Dubis 15; Schlosser 75; cf. Dupont-Roc, ‘Le jeu des prépositions’, 209). 273   According to Gundry (‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 337–38), this idea of ‘not-seeing-yet-believing’ shares close affinities with John 20.29 and represents one of many places in 1 Peter where the verba Christi have been recorded by the historical apostle Peter (cf. Spicq, ‘La Ia Petri’, 37–61). But while this theme may reflect a broad tradition in early Christianity (cf. 2 Cor 5.7), it does not provide a direct link to the historical Jesus (see Best, ‘Gospel Tradition’, 98). 274   It is important to recognise that οὐκ ἰδόντες represents the marked case through which any special nuance would be communicated (cf. Selwyn 131). The construction μὴ ὁρῶντες, on the other hand, is what would have been expected. We must be careful, therefore, not to press the phrase too far by claiming, for instance, that the imminence of Jesus’ eschatological return tempers the force with which the author denies the fact that the readers do not currently see Jesus (see Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 67 n. 90: ‘The contrast of οὐκ ἰδόντες with μὴ ὁρῶντες indicates that the author can factually state that they have not seen



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apply to the apostle Peter (1.1).275 Even if this subtle implication about the author were to be stressed, a claim to eyewitness experience would not necessarily lend weight to the letter’s authorship claims (as some have maintained). Such a distinction could just as easily testify to an attempt by the author to create verisimilitude (cf. 5.1), part of the ‘Peter-image’ constructed in the letter;276 and based on the considerations of authorship discussed above,277 this is probably the case, if indeed such an implication is intended here at all. The second clause builds upon this thought, this time contrasting the addressees’ (future) rejoicing with their current inability to see Christ. There are two things about the clause that seem clear: semantically, ὁρῶντες displays a concessive force consistent with ἰδόντες in the first clause, and structurally, δέ marks a contrast between ὁρῶντες and πιστεύοντες. The function of πιστεύοντες, on the other hand, is puzzling. Where the difficulty arises is in the fact that the participle disrupts the rhythm from which the author had been working: a concessive participle modifying a finite verb. If this structure had continued, we might have expected εἰς ὃν ἄρτι μὴ ὁρῶντες πιστεύετε. As the text stands, some explanation is necessary. It is possible to take πιστεύοντες in a causal sense (‘although you might not see him now, but because you believe in him you [will] rejoice’).278 But it seems somewhat awkward to have two (pre-verbal) participles modifying the same form while performing different functions. An alternative, which is adopted by most translations, is to render πιστεύοντες as an attendant circumstance participle. In this way, the participial form is coordinate with the finite verb ἀγαλλιᾶσθε (‘although you might not see him now, you believe in him and you rejoice’; cf. RSV, NRSV, NIV, HCSB, ESV, [Jesus], but he cannot be so sure about the present. Jesus Christ could be revealed at any moment, and then they would see him in the present’). 275   As suggested by Powers (60), who further concludes that ‘[t]his argues for authentic Petrine authorship’. 276   See Rydryck, ‘Strangers and Pilgrims’, 55–56. 277   See Introduction: Authorship. 278   So, e.g., Mason 390; Forbes 26; Vahrenhorst 70; cf. also Simcox, Language, 187. An alternative translation might be, ‘because you believe in him—even though you do not currently see him—you (will) rejoice’.

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CEB, NJB).279 The problem280 with this suggestion is that attendant circumstance participles normally conform to a standard pattern of usage,281 and few of these conditions are met in this instance. It is important to recognise that this construction presented difficulties even for the earliest interpreters of the letter. While some simply reproduced the same text found in 1 Peter (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 4.20.129.4), most made an effort to explain the meaning of the verse by altering its structure. At times, πιστεύοντες was read as finite verb modified by a concessive participle.282 In other cases, πιστεύοντες was taken as a finite verb in a coordinate relationship with what precedes.283 The 279   So, e.g., Moffatt 97; Kelly 46; Michaels 33; Knoch 41; Hiebert 55; Green 21; Dubis 15; Watson 27. 280   This interpretation is ruled out by Forbes on the basis that (as he under�stands it) δέ ‘connects πιστεύοντες and ἀγαλλιᾶσθε, whereas given its normal postscriptive position it more likely functions as an adversative contrasting μὴ ὁρῶντες and πιστεύοντες’ (26). But an attendant circumstance function would not require δέ to connect the participle and the verb. Semantically, the participle’s close connection with its main verb requires translating both as finite forms connected by ‘and’. 281   Wallace, Grammar, 640–45 (esp. 642) notes that both the participle and main verb are usually aorist, and the main verb is either in the imperative or indicative mood; structurally, the participle precedes the main verb in both word order and time of event; and contextually, the attendant circumstance usage is found primarily in narrative literature and infrequently elsewhere (cf. also the rules suggested by Ballantine, ‘Predicative Participles’, 787–99). An independent, indicative function for πιστεύοντες is possible (cf. Rev 1.16; 19.12). This would result in much the same sense. The problem with this interpretation is that there is a finite verb with which the participle could be easily connected, a condition that is generally thought to rule out an independent function (see Robertson, Grammar, 1133–34; Brooks-Winbery, Syntax, 138). 282   Pol. Phil. 1.8: εἰς ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες πιστεύετε χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ δεδο­ ξασμένῃ; Irenaeus Haer. 4.9.2: in quem nunc non videntes credidistis, credentes, gaubeditis; 5.7.2: in quem nunc quoque non videntes creditis, credentes autem exultabitis; Augustine, Pecc. merit. 41: in quem modo non videntes creditis, quem cum videritis, exsultabitis gaudio inenarrabili; Tract. Ev. Jo. 86.1 (ch. 15:14,15): in quem modo non videntes creditis; quem cum videritis, exsultabitis gaudio inenarrabili et honorato; Jerome, Divina bibliotheca (PL 29:835): in quem nunc quoque non videntes creditis; credentes autem exsultabitis laetitia inenarrabili et glorificata. 283   Coptic (Bohairic): ⲫⲁⲓ ϯⲛⲟⲩ ⲧⲉⲧⲉⲛⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲁⲛ ⲧⲉⲧⲉⲛⲛⲁϩϯ ⲇⲉ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲑⲉⲗⲏ ⲗϧⲉⲛ ⲟⲩⲣⲁϣⲓ ⲛⲁⲧϣⲥⲁϫⲓ ⲙⲙⲟϥ ⲉⲁϥϭⲓⲱⲟⲩ (‘him now you see not, but you believe him. Be glad in an unspeakable joy which was glorified’; trans. slightly modified from Horner). Coptic (Sahidic): ⲡⲁⲓ ⲟⲛ ⲧⲉⲛⲟⲩ ⲉⲛⲧⲉⲧⲛⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲁⲛ ⲧⲉⲧⲛⲡⲓⲥⲧⲉⲩⲉ



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participle was even turned into a prepositional phrase modifying what follows.284 This early interpretative diversity may indicate that, rather than attempting to describe πιστεύοντες according to traditional categories (e.g., causal, attendant circumstance, etc.), a more productive strategy might be to acknowledge the sentence’s ambiguity. This could be attributed to the fact that πιστεύοντες represents a sudden interjection by the author;285 but more likely, the participle is simply the result of the Petrine author’s attempt to situate the verbal idea in a close relationship with ὁρῶντες, thus drawing the contrast between (not) seeing and trusting/believing (cf. John 20.29). Although πιστεύοντες does not function as a concessive participle on its own (i.e., ‘rejoicing’ does not take place in spite of ‘believing’), together, the two participles create one concessive idea which itself contains a contrast (‘although you do not see him, but believe’).286 This still leaves the question of where to locate εἰς ὅν. There are some who would connect the prepositional phrase with ἀγαλ­ λιᾶσθε.287 Accordingly, the participles would function absolutely (cf. John 20.29) in a parenthetical clause (‘in whom, although you do not currently see but believe, you [will] rejoice’). What makes this suggestion difficult to defend is that nowhere else is ἀγαλλιάω ⲇⲉ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲧⲉⲧⲛⲧⲉⲗⲏⲗ ϩⲛ ⲟⲩⲣⲁϣⲉ ⲉϥϩⲏⲡ ⲁⲩⲱ ϥⲧⲁⲓⲏⲩ (‘this [one] henceforth you see him not, but you believe him, being glad in joy hidden and precious’; trans. slightly modified from Horner). 284   Syriac (Peshitta): ‫‘( ܘܒܗܝܡܢܘܬܗ ܪܘܙܝܢ ܐܢܬܘܢ ܒܚܕܘܬܐ ܡܫܒܚܬܐ ܕܐܠ ܡܬܡܠܐܠ‬in the faith of whom you rejoice with glorious joy that cannot be described’). 285   One could argue that the author had intended to write εἰς ὃν ἄρτι μὴ ὁρῶντες, ἀγαλλιᾶσθε, but that since he wanted to stress the role of belief, he inserted a contrast (πιστεύοντες δέ). This is difficult to sustain given that the sentence begins with εἰς ὅν (which is most likely to be read in connection with πιστεύοντες). Conversely, it is improbable that μὴ ὁρῶντες is an interjection intended to explain πιστεύοντες (as argued by Johnstone 74 and Hart 45). If this were the case, it is unusual that ὁρῶντες is located before πιστεύοντες. 286   This close connection between ὁρῶντες and πιστεύοντες means that the temporal adverb ἄρτι is probably not limited to either μὴ ὁρῶντες (so, e.g., Dubis 15; Osborne 153) or πιστεύοντες (so, e.g., Bengel 48; Hofmann 21), but must be connected to both (so, e.g., Keil 53; Huther 67; Hort 45; Monnier 45). From this, it might be possible to argue that ἄρτι is intended to contrast the present experience of the readers with their future exultation, thus taking ἀγαλλιᾶσθε as future; but we must also acknowledge that ἄρτι is primarily intended to contrast with the fact that the audience had not seen Jesus in the past (ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες, v. 8a). 287   E.g., Fronmüller 17; Beck 55–56; von Soden 134; Achtemeier 103; Dubis 15.

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(or its cognates) construed with εἰς in this sense.288 For this reason, most connect εἰς ὅν with πιστεύοντες (‘believing in him’),289 leaving ὁρῶντες without an expressed object (although with αὐτόν being understood). Not only is this construction common throughout the NT, a variation is later employed by the Petrine author (see 1.21: πιστοὺς εἰς). The use of the construction πιστεύειν + εἰς to communicate the idea of believing in someone (or something) is absent from classical Greek. It is even lacking in the LXX and in the non-literary papyri.290 In this way, the idiom represents a new and distinct way that early Christians described their relationship with Christ.291 It appears most frequently in the Johannine literature (with a total of 40 occurrences), but it is employed elsewhere as well (Matt 18.6; Mark 9.42; Acts 10.43; 14.23; 19.4; Rom 10.14; Gal 2.16; Phil 1.29). The idiom expresses a commitment to an individual (usually Christ) based on personal trust. It is to be distinguished from the acceptance of a given proposition, which would have more naturally been communicated by πιστεύειν + ὅτι (‘to believe that’).292 It is also different from an assent to the 288   There are three instances of ἀγαλλιάομαι + εἰς in the LXX, and in each case the preposition carries a temporal force (Pss 5.12[11]; 74.10[9]; Lam 2.19). Only one example of ἀγάλλω + εἰς is found in the classical and Koine periods, and it conveys a very different sense altogether (see Cassius Dio 67.1.2: θεῶν μὲν γὰρ τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν ἐς τὰ μάλιστα ἤγαλλε, ‘for among the gods, he revered Athena the most’). The same critique could be levelled against the view that εἰς ὅν modifies ὁρῶντες (advocated by Macknight 438). While there are slightly more occurrences of this combination (e.g., Exod 10.29; 14.13; 1 Sam 16.7; 3 Bar. 6.7; T.Benj. 8.2; T.Ab. A 10.8, 10; John 19.37; Herm. Sim. 7.1; 9.26.7), it too produces a different sense than the one found in v. 8. In these instances, εἰς usually carries a locative or temporal meaning. 289   See, e.g., Johnstone 74; Hort 45; Monnier 45; Bigg 105; Lenski 41; Grudem 65–66; Hiebert 70; Elliott 343; Senior 33; Watson 27; Vahrenhorst 80. 290   For the papyri, see Mayser, Grammatik II.2.1, 257. The closest example in the LXX is found in Sir 38.31 (πάντες οὗτοι εἰς χεῖρας αὐτῶν ἐνεπίστευσαν, ‘all of these rely on their hands’). 291   It is possible that the idiom πιστεύειν + εἰς came about through Hebraic influence (see MHT 2:463; 4:127; Harris, Prepositions, 236). More specifically, it could have been modelled after the construction ‫ האמן‬+ ‫ב‬, which denotes trust in someone, usually God (cf. Gen 15.6; Exod 14.31; Deut 1.32; Ps 78.22; Jonah 3.5). 292   According to Bultmann, in the Hellenistic church πιστεύω + εἰς αὐτόν ‘does not in itself assert a personal relation to Christ’; instead, ‘this expression is only an abbreviation for the fuller one “believe that…” followed by a clause (e.g.,



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truthfulness of a person or message, which was generally communicated by πιστεύειν + dative (Matt 21.25; Luke 1.20; John 2.22; Acts 8.12; 2 Thess 2.11).293 As in 1.6 (and cf. 4.13), it is debated whether the verb ἀγαλ­ λιᾶσθε expresses a present or future exultation. Some have argued that the indicative ἀγαπᾶτε, which describes the readers’ present experience, necessitates that ἀγαλλιᾶσθε must be read in the same way.294 But this evidence can lead in a different direction as well. One could just as easily make the case that the latter marks a temporal progression beyond the former: although the audience did not see Jesus when he was on earth, now they love him; although they do not currently see him (yet they believe), they will rejoice when he returns.295 In this case, the author contrasts the readers’ past situation with their present response toward Jesus (v. 8a) and their present experience of Jesus with their future situation (v. 8b). Once again, the distinction between present and future experience is difficult to draw too strongly: the confidence that faith inspires in things as yet unseen means that this future joy is already (at least partly) experienced in the present (cf. 4.13).296 Nonetheless, there are some clues to suggest that eschatological rejoicing is in view (cf. 4.13). One such clue is provided by the adjectival modifiers that portray the type of joy (χαρά)297 that will accompany the exultation of Christians. At issue is the level of intensity that is anticipated. The verbal adjective ἀνεκλάλητος, which conveys an active sense much like “the God raised him from the dead,” Rom. 10:9)’ (Theology, 91). But this propositional notion is difficult to defend based on the evidence. 293   Moulton draws a sharp distinction between the constructions πιστεύειν + dative and πιστεύειν + εἰς, such that he allows no overlap between them (see MHT 1:67–68). Only with the preposition is the idiom thought to describe believing in someone or something; whereas with the simple dative, πιστεύειν is only said to describe believing someone or something. However, certain occurrences make this distinction difficult to sustain in every instance (cf. John 5.24, 38; 8.31; Acts 5.14; 16.34; 18.8; Titus 3.8; 1 John 3.23). See further BDF §187(6). 294   Among others, see Bigg 106; Achtemeier 103 n. 60; Schlosser 71. 295   For arguments for the future sense here, see also Martin, ‘Present Indicative’, 307–12; idem, ‘Emotional Physiology’, 649–60. 296   Cf. Kelly 57: ‘for the writer the joy of the End overflows into the present’. 297   Here, χαρᾷ functions as a cognate dative, despite the fact that it is from a different root than ἀγαλλιάω (see Robertson, Grammar, 531; Wallace, Grammar, 169).

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that of a participle,298 expresses not something that is inscrutable or mysterious (cf. Rom 11.33; 1 Cor 2.9) but something that human language is incapable of describing (cf. Rom 8.26: ἀλάλητος; 2 Cor 9.15: ἀνεκδιήγητος): this joy is, by its very nature, ‘unspeakable’ or ‘inexpressible’.299 It is clear from Mart. Bart. 5.19, which uses ἀνεκλάλητος to represent the type of joy that is experienced in the eternal kingdom,300 that some Christians would have connected χαρὰ ἀνεκλάλητος with heavenly salvation. What may be equally significant is that an adjective is used at all. Throughout Christian literature, μέγας and πολύς are commonly employed to depict elevated levels of χαρά.301 It is very rare, however, to find qualitative modifiers denoting present joy. When this occurs, eschatological joy is normally in view.302 The participial modifier that follows (δεδοξασμένῃ) may also point to the future, but in a different way. Its perfect passive form indicates both an accomplished reality and one that involves divine action.303 When the same verbal form (i.e., perfect passive form of δοξάζω) is used elsewhere, it often describes a state in which either 298   See Robertson, Grammar, 1095–96. This represents the only occasion in which ἀνεκλάλητος is employed in the LXX or the NT. Even outside these corpora, the adjective is extremely rare. Contemporary occurrences are found in the medical treatise attributed to Pedanius Dioscorides (Euporista vel De simplicibus medicinis 1.preface) and in Joseph and Aseneth (14.3). Outside of Christian literature, it appears sporadically thereafter (see Aelius Promtus, Δυναμερόν 50.1; Heliodorus, Aeth. 6.15.4; Julian, Εἰς τὴν μητέρα τῶν θεῶν 1). 299   Cf. Keener 82–83. 300   This usage—while important—should probably not be pressed too far, especially in light of the fact that Polycarp (drawing from 1 Peter) also uses the term to describe joy that accompanies present belief: εἰς ὃν οὐκ ἰδόντες πιστεύετε χαρᾷ ἀνεκλαλήτῳ καὶ δεδοξασμένῃ (Phil. 1.3) 301   Cf. χαρὰ μεγάλη (‘great joy’): Matt 2.10; Luke 24.52; Mart. Paul 1.3; Acts Pet. Paul 10.1; Acts Andr. Mth. 5.3; Mart. Mt. 28.4; Acts Phil. 9.5; Irenaeus, Haer. 1.1.4; χαρὰ πολλή (‘much joy’): Acts 8.8; Phlm 7; Ps.-Clement, Hom. 13.11.1; Acts Pet. Andr. 1.2; Martyrium Ignatii Antiocheni 3.1 (Diekamp and Funk). 302   This is clear in the various references to χαρὰ αἰώνιος, ‘eternal joy’ (see Ign. Phld. 1.0; Acts Thom. 7.2; Acts Pet. Paul 84.11; Mart. Andr. 7.8). Other cases where qualitative adjectives are used to describe joy include: ἀνυπέρβλητος, ‘unsurpassable’ (Acts John 63.1) and ἄμωμος, ‘blameless’ (Ign. Eph. 1.0; Magn. 7.1). 303   Most English translations render the participle as ‘glorious’ (NRSV, NAB, NET, NIV, HCSB, GNT, CEB) or ‘full of/filled with glory’ (NASB, ESV), which does not adequately account for the verbal tense and voice.



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human (2 Sam 6.20; Esth 10.3; Sir 24.12; 48.6) or divine (Exod 15.6, 11, 21; Mal 1.11; Dan 3.26; John 17.10) recipients have been honoured or exulted. In this instance, it is difficult to know what it would mean that ‘joy’ would be ‘honoured (by God)’; however, an alternative is possible. The same form also reflects the possession of δόξα due to one’s proximity to God (Exod 34.29–30; 34.35; cf. 3 Macc. 6.18). This meaning would make more sense here, representing joy that has been transformed from expectation to reality in the presence of God. If this is the case, then δεδοξασμένῃ could only designate a future, eschatological joy.304 9 κομιζόμενοι τὸ τέλος τῆς πίστεως ὑμῶν σωτηρίαν ψυχῶν. ψυχῶν. The author’s line of thought continues with further elaboration on the audience’s rejoicing.305 Exactly how he proceeds depends on the function assigned to κομιζόμενοι. The participle has been understood in a number of ways.306 In an effort to avoid limiting the inexpressible exultation believers anticipate (v. 8) to their achievement of personal salvation, some attribute to the participle an independent function. Whether connected to what precedes with ‘and’ (NCV, CJB) or simply through the creation of a new sentence (RSV, CEB), this approach allows the participle to state ‘an additional concomitant fact’.307 But not only are the theological motivations of this approach questionable, more natural syntactical structures are available. Others, especially those who understand 304   Alford claims the use of δεδοξασμένῃ is ‘the strongest testimony for the quasi-future sense which we have adopted and maintained for ἀγαλλιᾶσθε’ (336; cf. Benson 179). Some recognise that this description represents a divine infusion of δόξα, yet still place the rejoicing during the audience’s present sufferings (Hiebert 70; Vinson 56). 305   According to Mitchell (237), the participle κομιζόμενοι does not modify ἀγαλλιᾶσθε but should be connected back to v. 7, where it describes what will happen ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. In this way, v. 8 is parenthetic. However, this construal tends to unnecessarily complicate the structure of the passage. 306   Some of these proposals lack much exegetical basis and thus have generated few proponents. For instance, κομιζόμενοι has occasionally been interpreted as an adjectival participle, ‘who receive the goal of faith’ (Kühl 95; Holmer–de Boor 40). It has even been treated as a participle of result (Osborne 153). 307   Cf. Hort 47, who argues against the ‘explanatory’ or causal sense on the grounds that it ‘lowers the tone of the sentence…neither in v. 6 nor in v. 8 can the exultation in Jesus Christ be a mere joy about the saving of their own souls’; see also Grudem 67 (who describes the usage as ‘attendant circumstance’); Feldmeier 85.

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ἀγαλλιᾶσθε in a future sense, interpret the participle temporally (‘when you receive’).308 Yet the majority of commentators tend to read κομιζόμενοι as a causal participle (‘because you are receiving’; cf. NRSV, NET, HCSB, GNT),309 and given that the rejoicing of v. 6 is closely linked with σωτηρία (v. 5) and πίστις (v. 7), this seems to be the most natural option. Consequently, the Christians’ anticipated joy is based on receiving their promised salvation, though this is collectively, rather than individually, depicted, and inextricably connected with the final ἀποκάλυψις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (v. 7). In the middle voice, the verb κομίζω commonly describes the receiving back of what has been lost or stolen (Euripides, Iph. taur. 1362; Thucydides 4.117.2; 2 Macc 10.1), or the recovery of debts from another party (Lysias, In Diogitonem 14; Andocides, De mysteriis 38; Demosthenes, 1 Philip. 7; Matt 25.27). It is also used when one earns a prize for victory in competition (Plutarch, Aem. 34.5; Acts John 67.3; Anonymous Seguerianus, Ars rhetorica 202). Within this latter context, early Christian authors employ κομίζω to refer to the reception of eschatological rewards by the faithful (2 Cor 5.10; Eph 6.8; Heb 10.36; cf. also 2 Clem. 11.5; Barn. 4.12; Acts Thom. 21.6). In fact, this meaning is found later in the epistle, where elders are promised a heavenly crown for their efforts in shepherding their flocks (1 Pet 5.4). The verb’s usage within this semantic domain has led many to read κομιζόμενοι with a future force (‘because you will receive’).310 308   So, e.g., Gunkel 254; Hauck 43; Windisch 54; Michaels 35; Knoch 41; Goppelt 77; Schweizer 23; Forbes 26–27. While a temporal function for κομιζόμενοι is to be distinguished from a causal function, both end up at virtually the same conclusion if ἀγαλλιᾶσθε is given a future referent: ‘you will rejoice when you receive the salvation of your souls’ (temporal); ‘you will rejoice because you will receive the salvation of your souls’ (causal). In both cases, believers rejoice over the reception of their salvation; the difference is simply a matter of emphasis: timing versus reason. 309   This is the interpretation adopted by most commentators (e.g., Huther 68; von Soden 131; Bigg 106; Selwyn 132; Kistemaker 52; Hiebert 71; Achtemeier 104; Jobes 91; Dubis 16; Donelson 30 n. g; Watson 27; Schreiner 69). 310   See, e.g., Grotius 66; Hottinger 102; Demarest 70; Alford 336; Usteri 39; Knopf 53; Picirilli 117. Aside from the evidence discussed above, there is some grammatical basis for this position as well. The future participle is rare in the NT, with other forms, such as the present participle, taking its place (Robertson, Grammar, 73, 1118; BDF §339[2]; MHT 3:86–87). Nevertheless, it would have



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Others, however, insist that the present tense form should be understood with a present referent (‘because you are receiving’).311 From this latter position arises the ‘already-not yet’ tension in which salvation is both a present possession but also a future expectation.312 The determining factor between these two positions boils down to the timing of rejoicing and the nature of salvation. If the rejoicing described in vv. 6–8 is future, as we have suggested, then the present tense of the participle, like that of the main verb ἀγαλλιᾶσθε, which it modifies, should also be understood in a ‘mostly futuristic’ way.313 Similarly, if the letter consistently depicts σωτηρία as a future event upon which the readers must expectantly wait (1.5; 2.2), then their reception of this reward must also take place in the future. What Christians are expecting to receive is described as the τὸ τέλος τῆς πίστεως ὑμῶν.314 The term τέλος is usually understood still been possible to employ the future middle form (κομισόμενοι) in this instance, particularly since the future indicative of the same verb is used in 1 Pet 5.4. The problem is that future adverbial participles generally denote purpose (see Smyth, Grammar, 458–59), which is the case with the future middle form of κομίζω (Isaeus, De Cirone 21; Aeschines, [Epistulae] 12.7; Polybius, Hist. 21.41.8; Josephus, Ant. 14.370; Libanius, Epistulae 1489.3). It is possible, then, that the present tense κομιζόμενοι denotes a bold and confident expectation of the future (Knopf 53), but it may be that since this clause was intended to explain the reason for the audience’s rejoicing, the present tense stem provided the more natural grammatical option. 311   See, e.g., Bengel 48; Plumptre 96–97; Johnstone 75; Frankemölle 34; Brox 66; Feldmeier 87 n. 93; Donelson 35; Osborne 156. 312   Some commentators explain this unresolved tension in the Petrine author’s theology by compartmentalizing different aspects in the process of salvation: the act of receiving salvation is a present reality, while the outcome or goal of this process lies in the future (see Cranfield 42; Kelly 58; Witherington 82). Other descriptions stress the partiality of the believers’ current experience: the audience’s current joy is only a foretaste of things to come (see Bigg 107; Monnier 47). 313   See Exegesis at 1.6, 8. 314   Grammatically, the clause could be construed in one of two ways: (a) τέλος could be the object of the participle κομιζόμενοι with σωτηρίαν in apposition: ‘receiving the outcome of your faith, namely, the salvation of your souls’ (NRSV, NIV, CEB, NET, ESV, HCSB, NAB; cf. Origen, Comm. Matt. 12.27); or (b) σωτηρίαν could be understood as the direct object in an object-complement construction: ‘you are receiving the salvation of your souls as the outcome of your faith’ (RSV, NASB, GNT; cf. BDAG 557; Richard 49). Although there is very little semantic difference between the two constructions, the latter is unlikely given that τέλος (and not σωτηρίαν) is articular, a feature that generally demarcates the object from the complement (see Wallace, ‘Object-Complement Construction’,

412

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as the aim towards which a process is currently moving, ‘goal’ (NAB, NET, CEB, HCSB), or more commonly, the final result or consummation of a process, ‘outcome’ (RSV, NRSV, NASB, NIV, ESV).315 But a third possibility is considered (although dismissed) by Michaels, who notes that ‘κομιζόμενοι τὸ τέλος comes close to the idea of collecting a reward’.316 His assessment of this option, which is informed by the limited suggestions provided by BGD (although these limitations also extend to BDAG), is very narrowly understood in connection with the collection of taxes or duties. While it is true that τέλος was often used to describe money owed to the state (Aristophanes, Vesp. 658; Plato, Resp. 425b) and dues associated with business transactions (Aeschines, Tim. 119; Demosthenes, Timocr. 144),317 what Michaels and others have overlooked is the fact that the term also carried a related meaning in connection with the rewarding of achievements: ‘prize’, ‘award’. This is how the word is used by Pindar, whose description of winners from the first Olympic games included Doryclus, who ‘won the prize (τέλος) in boxing’ (Ol. 10.67; cf. Pindar, Ishm. 1.27; Pyth. 9.117; Bacchylides, Epinicia 5). In connection with κομίζω,318 it is this meaning that makes the most sense here.319 It is πίστις as faithful

101–104). As such, the components would have to be reversed (‘you are receiving the outcome of your faith as the salvation of your souls’), which is complicated by the fact that τέλος is the vaguer concept (cf. Hiebert 71). 315   This is the view espoused by most modern commentators (e.g., Selwyn 132–33; Goppelt 94; Achtemeier 104; Elliott 344; Schlosser 71; Watson 27; Schreiner 70). 316   Michaels 35. 317   For more examples of this usage, see LSJ 1772–74; BDAG 999; TDNT 8:49–57. Various ancient lexicographers defined τέλος as τὸ διδόμενον τοῖς βασιλεῦσι (see Photius, Lexicon, s.v. Τ; Suidas, Lexicon, s.v. Τ). 318   The middle form of κομίζω is commonly used with μισθός to describe the receiving of a reward or recompense (e.g., 2 Macc 8.33; Philo, Moys. 1.141; Plutarch, Pel. 30.11; Diodorus Siculus 16.55.4). Similarly, the construction κομίζω + τέλος is even found on occasions: ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ νῦν ἔφη χαίρομεν Ἀλέξανδρε, τοιαῦτα τέλη τῶν πόνων κομιζόμενοι (‘ “Alexander, not even now,” he said, “do we enjoy [impunity] because these are the rewards we receive from our efforts” ’, Plutarch, Alex. 51.2; cf. also Theodoretus, Interpretatio in Psalmos, 40.14 [PG 80:1168]). 319   This interpretation was adopted by some earlier commentators (e.g., Beza 564; Grotius 66; Benson 179; Pott 41; Macknight 438; Hofmann 23). It is also



1.6–9

413

and enduring trust (rather than as ‘belief in’ something/one)320 that enables the recipients to obtain321 the ‘reward’ that will be granted at the return of Christ. Salvation (σωτηρία) has already been mentioned, along with hope and inheritance, as one of the key words describing what it is into which Christians have been re-born (see on 1.5). A similar idea is expressed in 2.2, with the image of growing up εἰς σωτηρίαν. Here, it is specifically their ψυχαί that are destined for salvation, and there is some uncertainty about how to understand this language. In 1 Peter, as elsewhere in the NT, ψυχή can be used to refer in a general sense to a ‘person’ or their ‘life’ (1 Pet 3.20; cf. Matt 6.25; Mark 10.45; John 10.11, 15, 17; 12.25; Rom 2.9; 11.3; 13.1; 16.4; etc.). Commentators frequently insist that the reference is to ‘the salvation of the entire person rather than simply the rescue of a higher or spiritual part of a person in contrast to the body’, seeing the author as reflecting not Hellenistic dualism, but the ‘Hebrew tradition in which the human being is understood to be a psychosomatic unity’.322 It is sometimes noted that the word can function as more or less equivalent to a personal or reflexive pronoun, such that we might simply translate ‘your (final) salvation’.323 Nevertheless, we should at least pause to assess this widely established view, not least given the extent to which modern writers are rather predisposed to favour an ostensibly ‘Hebrew’ and ‘holistic’ reflected among some ancient interpreters as well. The Syriac Peshitta renders the term ‫‘( ܦܘܪܥܢܐ‬recompense’), while Augustine translates it, mercedem (‘reward’; Tract. Ev. Jo. 86.1 [ch. 15:14,15]). 320   Achtemeier 104 n. 69 suggests ‘faithfulness’ rather than ‘belief’ here. 321   Forbes (27) claims that πίστεως is a partitive genitive, with the resultant sense that the outcome is one part or segment of a person’s faith. However, this genitive function normally requires a head noun that indicates portion (see Wallace, Grammar, 84), which is not the case here. A more likely alternative is that πίστεως functions as a ‘genitive of producer’; that is ‘faith produces the τέλος, which is defined as salvation in what follows’ (Dubis 17). 322   Achtemeier 104; cf., similarly, Masterman 73; Wand 48–49; Lenski 43–44; Kelly 58; Best 80; Davids 60; Marshall 43; Hiebert 71; Bénétreau 92; Black 39–40; Elliott 344; Senior 33; Witherington 82; Watson 27; Vahrenhorst 81; Schreiner 69–70; Keener 83–84. 323   See Achtemeier, 104 with n. 80; Elliott, 344. Best (80) cites 1 Pet 1.9, 22; 2.25; 4.19 as examples, but all of them, except for 1.9, have a personal pronoun with ψυχή (either ὑμῶν or αὐτῶν) making these texts irrelevant for his point.

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view of the human person, over against a more ‘Greek’ dualism.324 Indeed, Feldmeier in particular has challenged this interpretation of 1 Peter, arguing that commentators have been misled by the theologically rooted rejection of dualism and the idea of the soul, and have ignored the evidence (in the letter itself) that suggests connections between 1 Peter’s view and the Greek concept of the soul. He attributes this situation to the highly influential articles by Dautzenberg,325 whose interaction with predominantly Jewish sources ‘predetermines the result of the inquiry due to an arbitrary limitation of the compared material’.326 A number of the uses of ψυχή in 1 Peter suggest a somewhat more specific meaning than the ‘whole person’; it is the ψυχή in particular that is to be purified, saved, and entrusted to God (1.22; 2.25; 4.19).327 Especially crucial is 2.11, with its depiction of a battle between fleshly desires and the ψυχή (see ad loc.). Elsewhere in 1 Peter a contrast is apparent between an eternal or everlasting salvation and the transience and mortality of flesh (1.3– 4, 22–24). As Feldmeier suggests, any Greek reader/hearer of the letter would be likely to interpret 1 Peter’s uses of ψυχή (not least in 1.9) ‘against the background of the ancient concept of the soul’,328 especially given the currency of this concept in Diaspora Judaism. Philo, for example, interprets the destruction of the Egyptians allegorically, as showing how God stands with the soul (ψυχή) in the fight against the passions and irrational drives and so graces it with σωτηρία.329 324   This view is doubly favoured: it fits the preference for holism over dualism, and for Jewish influence over ‘pagan’. Cf. the wider discussion in Martin, ‘Judaism/Hellenism Dichotomy’, 29–61. 325   See Dautzenberg, ‘Σωτηρία ψυχῶν’, 262–76; idem, ‘Seele’, 744–48. 326   Feldmeier, ‘Salvation and Anthropology’, 204. See further Feldmeier 87–92; Cavin, New Existence, 56–57. 327   For a full defence of this position, see Feldmeier, ‘Salvation and Anthro�pology’, 203–13, 437–41; and Wypadlo, ‘ “Seele” und “Seelenheill” ’, 267–84. 328   Feldmeier 89; cf. idem, ‘Salvation and Anthropology’, 205. 329   Philo, Ebr. 111: ‘He has buried out of sight the mind which rode upon the unreasoning impulses of passion, that four-footed beast which knows not the rein, and has shewn Himself the helper and champion of the soul (ψυχῆς) which can see, to bestow on it full salvation (σωτηρίαν)’ (trans. Colson [LCL]). Cf. Migr. 2; QG 4.74; Opif. 79–81; Wis 3.1–4; 9.15; 14.26; 4 Macc 13.13, 15; 18.23. A comparable anthropology may also be evident in some texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls, notably the Hodayot (see Cavin, New Existence, 97–101).



1.10–12

415

Such evidence shows, according to Feldmeier, how the author of 1 Peter, influenced by Hellenistic Judaism, ‘thinks of something similar to a “soul” as the innermost center and “higher self” of the human being’.330 In 1 Peter, ‘the soul functions as the addressee of the divine salvation and participates as such in the glory and immortality of God…while the flesh distinctly represents the sphere of impermanence (1:24), suffering (4:1), and death (3:18; 4:6)’.331 Feldmeier summarises the associations of the term ψυχή for the author of 1 Peter: ‘(1) the affinity of ψυχή with the divine, which therefore (2) is to be kept free from all passion and desire as tethering it to the world, is to be “purified,” but so also (3) is able to survive death’.332 Consequently, he proposes, ‘the author of 1 Peter may thus be one of those who prepared the way for the Christian concept of the soul’.333 Prophecy Concerning Christ and the Salvation Now Announced (1.10–12) Initial Bibliography Jordan Atkinson, ‘Genre-Sensitive Biblical Interpretation in 1 Peter’, Them 46 (2021): 608–19; Samuel Bénétreau, ‘Évangile et prophétie. Un texte original (1 P 1,10–12) peut-il éclairer un texte difficile (2 P 1,16–21)?’, Bib 86 (2005): 174–91; Jean Calloud, ‘Ce que parler veut dire (1 P 1,10–12)’, in Études sur la première lettre de Pierre. Congrès de l’ACFEB, Paris 1979, ed. Charles Perrot, LD 102 (Paris: Cerf, 1980), 175–206; S. Cipriani, ‘Lo “Spirito di Cristo” come “spirito di profezia” in 1 Pt 1,10–12’, in Ecclesiae Sacramentum: Studi in onore di Alfredo Marranzini, ed. Giuseppe Lorizio and Vincenzo Scippa, Pontificia facoltà teologica dell’Italia meridionale 2 (Naples: M. d’Auria, 1986), 157–67; G. Scott Gleaves, ‘The Identity of the Prophets in 1 Pet 1:10–12’, ΠΝΕΥΜΑΤΙΚΑ 3 (2015): 67–79; Jens Herzer, ‘Alttestamentliche Prophetie und die Verkündigung des Evangeliums. Beobachtungen zur Stellung und zur hermeneutischen Funktion von 1Petr 1,10–12’, BTZ 14 (1997): 14–22; G. D. Kilpatrick, ‘1 Peter 1:11 ΤΙΝΑ Ἠ ΠΟΙΟΝ ΚΑΙΡΟΝ’, NovT 28 (1986): 91–92; Maria-Luisa Rigato, ‘Quali i profeti di cui nella 1Pt 1,10?’, RivB 38 (1990): 73–90; idem, ‘Il carisma di   Feldmeier 90.   Feldmeier, ‘Salvation and Anthropology’, 206. 332   Feldmeier 91–92. Cf. Cavin, New Existence, 55–58. 333   Feldmeier 92. 330 331

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interpretare la Sacra Scrittura in profeti cristiani (1Pt 1,10–12)’, Ricerche Teologiche 12 (2001): 15–49; Benjamin Sargent, Written to Serve: The Use of Scripture in 1 Peter, LNTS 547 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015); William L. Schutter, Hermeneutic and Composition in I Peter, WUNT 2/30 (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1989), 100–23; Michelangelo Tàbet, ‘La Scrittura e lo “Spirito di Cristo” (1Pt 1,10–12)’, in Initium Sapientiae: Scritti in onore di Franco Festorazzi nel suo 70° compleanno, ed. Rinaldo Fabris, Supplementi all Rivista biblica 36 (Bologna: Ed. Dehoniane, 2000), 373–85; P. Duane Warden, ‘The Prophets of 1 Peter 1:10–12’, ResQ 31 (1989): 1–12; Travis B. Williams, ‘Ancient Prophets and Inspired Exegetes: Interpreting Prophetic Scripture in 1QpHab and 1 Peter’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013), 221–44.

Text 10

περὶ ἧς σωτηρίας ἐξεζήτησαν καὶ ἐξηραύνησαν(a) προφῆται(b) οἱ περὶ τῆς εἰς ὑμᾶς χάριτος προφητεύσαντες 11 ἐραυνῶντες(c) εἰς τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρὸν ἐδήλου τὸ(d) ἐν αὐτοῖς πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ(e) προμαρτυρόμενον τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα καὶ τὰς μετὰ ταῦτα δόξας. δόξας. 12 οἷς ἀπεκαλύφθη ὅτι οὐχ ἑαυτοῖς, ἑαυτοῖς, (f) ὑμῖν δὲ διηκόνουν(g) αὐτά ἃ νῦν ἀνηγγέλη ὑμῖν διὰ τῶν εὐαγγελισαμένων ὑμᾶς πνεύματι(h) ἁγίῳ ἀποσταλέντι ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ,, εἰς ἃ ἐπιθυμοῦσιν ἄγγελοι παρακύψαι. οὐρανοῦ παρακύψαι.

(a) Ψ (and 180, 630) reads ἠρεύνησαν for ἐξηραύνησαν. In a number of MSS (including B2, C, Byz), it is spelt ἐξηρεύνησαν, which is the reading found in the TR as well as the texts of Griesbach and Lachmann. On the orthographics of ἐξηραύνησαν, see Gregory, Prolegomena, 81. See further Text at 1.11 n. c. (b) A few minuscule MSS (398, 431, 2544, 2718, 2805) add the article (οἱ) before προφῆται, presumably in order to specify a more definite group from Jewish history or Jewish Scripture (‘the Prophets’; cf. Matt 5.17; 7.12, etc.). (c) The participle ἐραυνῶντες is subject to a variety of spelling, with ἐραυνάω a later form of ἐρευνάω (so BDAG 389; MM 252). The form given in the text here is attested in P72 (though misspelt as ἐραυνῶτες), ‫א‬, B*, and some patristic citations, while ἐρευνῶντες occurs in A, B2, C, Ψ, and became the established Byzantine reading (followed in the texts of the TR, Griesbach, and Lachmann). Some minuscules give the verb in the compound form ἐξερευνῶντες, no doubt under the influence of v. 10. (d) Since the earliest majuscule MSS (P72, ‫א‬, A, B*, C, K, P, 048) were written in scriptio continua (though B2 gives ἐδήλου τό, see ECM 112), it is impossible to determine how this/these word(s) were originally divided (pace Achtemeier 105 and Green 22 n. 30, who do not account for this nuance). Some MSS read the imperfect middle/passive ἐδηλοῦτο (L, Ψ, 049, 33,



1.10–12

417

642, 1175, 1243, 1852, 2344, 2492), while others reflect the imperfect active ἐδήλου plus the neuter article τό (81, 307, 436, 442, 1448, 1611, 1735, 1739 Byz). Although the ultimate meaning is not greatly affected, the latter has a slight advantage. The use of δηλόω as a middle is rare (and would make little sense here), and the presence of the article would be consistent with the tendency of the Petrine author to situate prepositional phrases in an intermediate position. (e) Χριστοῦ is omitted by B, while the vast majority of witnesses support the text given here. The singular reading of B is motivated perhaps by the oddity of implying the presence of Christ’s spirit among the ancient prophets (see Kelly 60; Elliott 346; Schlosser 76 n. c). (f) A number of minuscules, along with some texts in the Latin, Syriac, and Armenian traditions, read ἡμῖν for ὑμῖν, a reading found in the text of Elzevir and adopted by a few interpreters (e.g., Steiger 1:188–89; de Wette 11; Bloomfield 704). The latter (ὑμῖν), however, is supported by P72, C-S, ‫א‬, A, B, C, Ψ, most minuscules and the Byzantine tradition, etc. On this common change, see Text at 2.21 n. h. (g) Years ago, Harris (New Testament Research, 207) proposed that διηκόνουν should be emended to διενοοῦντο in accordance with 1 En. 1.2 (καὶ οὐκ εἰς τὴν νῦν γενεὰν διενοούμην, ἀλλὰ ἐπὶ πόρρω οὖσαν ἐγὼ λαλῶ). Although this conjecture was enough to convince Moffatt (101–102), without any textual support his proposal has little to commend it (cf. Usteri 47 n. 2; Selwyn 137; Spicq 58). (h) The simple dative πνεύματι (unaccompanied by a preceding ἐν) occurs in P72, A, B, Ψ, 33, other Greek MSS, the Latin Vulgate, etc. It is, however, present in ‫א‬, C, 5, 69, 81, 1739, 2412, and many other Greek MSS, the Byzantine tradition, along with C-S, other Coptic texts in the Sahidic and Bohairic dialects, and the Old Spanish Latin tradition. As such, it was included in many earlier texts (e.g., Griesbach; Tischendorf) and defended by some commentators (e.g., Monnier 56; Bigg 111). The decision of whether to include the preposition is difficult (cf. Kühl 103: ‘Ich wage mich nicht bestimmt zu entscheiden’), hence the dots in first edition of ECM. On balance, it is perhaps better to omit the preposition (cf. Huther 41–42; Hort 60; Michaels 38 n. d; Schlosser 76 n. e). This is in keeping with the author’s style, as displayed in 3.18 and 4.6. It is further supported by stronger external support, the scribal tendency ‘to add ἐν in conformity with the usual expression elsewhere’, and ‘the absence of any good reason’ to account for the omission (Metzger, TCGNT, 617).

Exegesis 10 περὶ ἧς σωτηρίας ἐξεζήτησαν καὶ ἐξηραύνησαν προφῆται οἱ περὶ τῆς εἰς ὑμᾶς χάριτος προφητεύσαντες This verse is once again connected with what precedes as one complex sentence, with the relative pronoun ἧς tying the clauses

418

1 PETER

together grammatically. The connection with what precedes is further strengthened by the repetition of the noun σωτηρία, which is not strictly necessary given the relative pronoun. Its recurrence serves to highlight and emphasise this important theme.334 In this case, the prepositional phrase functions much like a heading for vv. 10–12.335 It is similar to Paul’s use of the formula περὶ δέ + genitive to mark out new sections (1 Cor 7.1, 25; 8.1, 4; 12.1; 16.1, 12; 2 Cor 9.1; 1 Thess 4.9; 5.1), although the division from the preceding is not as strong here. With the author thus extending the breadth of σωτηρία to include the suffering of Jesus (v. 11) and the preaching of the gospel (v. 12), the term’s meaning must relate not only to the future but also to the past and present, at least insofar as these are crucial to the story through which salvation is achieved.336 This and the following verses not only root such (future) salvation in the death and resurrection of Christ but also trace it back to the earlier insights of the ancient prophets. With reference to the salvation previously mentioned, the author now turns to its earlier prophetic witness. The absence of the article before προφῆται (see Text at 1.10 n. b) indicates that the term functions in a qualitative sense to denote a general class or category of individuals, ‘prophets’ (cf. 1 Pet 1.12: ἄγγελοι).337 The articular participial phrase (οἱ…προφητεύσαντες) that follows has led some to conclude that the reference is not to all prophets in general, but is limited to a specific sub-group who performed the unique task of inquiring about this messianic salvation.338 Yet the third

334   Cf. Hort: ‘The addition of σωτηρίας to περὶ ἧς not only removes possible ambiguity, but gives emphasis to the idea of salvation, now expressed for the third time’ (48). See further Robertson, Grammar, 721. 335   Cf. Michaels 38. 336   Against those who would limit σωτηρία to the future based on the reference to σωτηρίαν ψυχῶν in v. 9 (e.g., Le Clerc 586; Demarest 73; Huther 70). 337   See further Bengel 48–49; Johnstone 76; Williams 16; Knopf 55. It is possible that the intent of the anarthrous construction was to emphasise the privileged position of the readers by comparing them with the prophets: even those as highly favoured as the prophets were only able to see these things at a distance (see Alford 336; Hort 48–49). But the use of anarthrous substantives and adjectives is a common feature in the author’s writing style (2.4; 3.18, 20; 4.19), and its absence here may be of little consequence. 338   So, e.g., Alford 336; Hofmann 25–26.



1.10–12

419

attributive construction, which was common in Koine Greek (cf. 1.7: χρυσίου τοῦ ἀπολλυμένου),339 functions very similarly to a relative clause. As such, the participial clause describes the characteristic function of all prophets.340 Over the years, a handful of interpreters have argued that the προφῆται in question are Christian prophets of the NT era. This theory was most fully argued in the commentary of Selwyn.341 He focused on two key difficulties in the traditional interpretation of προφῆται as Jewish prophets from the time of the Hebrew Bible: first, that ‘the “seeking and searching” mentioned in verse 10 are not easily identifiable with what we know of the activities of the O.T. prophets’; and second, that ‘[t]he phrase “the spirit of Christ” is without parallel if applied to the O.T. prophets’.342 These considerations led Selwyn to conclude that the passage describes early Christian prophets who mined the Jewish scriptures in search of the timing of the final eschaton. From this, they predicted the suffering and persecution that awaited the church prior to this end. When such predictions did not come to fruition immediately, these Christian prophets eventually came to recognise that their message was intended for a future generation. It is in this time period, according to the author, that the readers now find themselves.

339   On the specific nuances of this construction, see Green, Handbook, 214; Robertson, Grammar, 777–78; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 62 (§192); MHT 3:152–53. 340   Cf. Keil 55; Huther 70; Monnier 48. 341   Selwyn 134–39, 259–68. This view was occasionally espoused among an earlier generation of scholars (e.g., Plumptre 97–98; Wohlenberg 24–25), but it is most commonly associated with Selwyn. Since the publication of his commentary, others have followed and built upon Selwyn’s work (e.g., Warden 56–59; idem, ‘Prophets’, 1–12; Rigato, ‘Quali i profeti’, 73–90; idem, ‘Il carisma’, 15–49; Dunn, Christology, 159; Manns, ‘Souffrances et joie’, 266–67). As a slight modification, some maintain that προφῆται refers to both Israelite and early Christian prophets (e.g., Love, ‘First Epistle of Peter’, 69; Maycock, Letter of Wise Counsel, 40; Gleaves, ‘Identity of the Prophets’, 67–79). 342   Selwyn 262. To supplement these arguments, Selwyn also suggested that the anarthrous nature of προφῆται (v. 10) is ‘more natural if the reference were to men whose activities were well known to the readers’ (263). Along with this, he contended that the ‘ministry [of OT prophets] was primarily to their contemporaries’ (265), a fact which, he argued, contradicted the traditional reading of v. 12 which states that the prophets did not serve themselves.

420

1 PETER

Ultimately, the arguments set forth by Selwyn (and others after him) are unpersuasive.343 The supposed difficulties this view seeks to accommodate largely disappear once we understand that these verses are expressing the author’s Christian view of the prophets’ activity, a retrospective description that reflects early Christian convictions about the character and significance of earlier prophecy.344 (This will be clear from our treatment of the relevant exegetical matters below.) Furthermore, the construal of Selwyn faces serious exegetical hurdles. Most notable is the fact that the prophets and the readers appear to be in two distinct redemptive eras, with the former predating the time of Christ (προμαρτυρόμενον, v. 11 [cf. Gal 3.8]; νῦν, v. 12).345 To this could be added another objection: ‘We are required to imagine a central core of scholars who search and inquire about the time of the End and whose results are communicated to the church by missionaries’; yet ‘there is no evidence for such activity in the early church; in particular we do not find any of the results given or even alluded to in 1 Peter’.346 Finally, if our interpretation of εἰς τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρὸν in v. 11 is correct (see below), with τίνα being understood as a substantival interrogative pronoun (‘what person’), then it would be impossible to read προφῆται as a reference to Christian prophets. Such an interpretation would indicate that during the apostolic era NT prophets were still uncertain about the identity of the messiah. It seems best, therefore, to identify these προφῆται as prophets from the time of the Hebrew Bible. 343   For a thorough refutation of Selwyn’s view, see Dubis, Messianic Woes, 108–10; cf. also Michaels 40–41; Lai, ‘Holy Spirit in 1 Peter’, 186–89. 344   Cf. Witherington 83. This ‘Christianizing’ reading of the Jewish scriptures is evident in the way that early Jesus followers understood scriptural prophecies, viz. as predictions about the future messiah (see, e.g., Luke 24.25–27; John 5.39, 45–47; Acts 7.52; 17.2–4; see also Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 31). This is most clearly seen in the fulfilment formula in the Gospel of Matthew: ἵνα/ὅπως πληρωθῇ τὸ ῥηθὲν διὰ τοῦ προφήτου λέγοντος (1.22; 2.15, 17, 23; 4.14; 8.17; 12.17; 13.35; 21.4; 26.56; 27.9). Another aspect of this reading strategy is the view that passages from the Tanak were relevant and applicable to situations that arose within Christian communities. This is particularly common in the letters of Paul (Rom 4.23–24; 15.4; 1 Cor 9.10; 10.11). 345   In v. 10, the author distinguishes between the prophets, who predicted the grace, and the readers, who experienced it. In the same way, the προφῆται appear to be somehow separated from the gospel that has now (νῦν) been proclaimed to the readers (v. 12). See further Kelly 59; Achtemeier 108. 346   Best 84.



1.10–12

421

The activity of these Israelite/Jewish prophets is depicted using two verbs, ἐξεζήτησαν and ἐξηραύνησαν.347 On their own, each has a slightly different meaning. The former describes a concentrated attempt to learn or discover something, which may involve some investigative effort (Deut 17.4; Josh 2.22; Judg 6.29; Ezra 10.16; Eccl 1.13). In the LXX, God is commonly the object of such searching (Deut 4.29; 2 Kgs 22.13; Ezra 6.21; Ps 13.2; Hos 10.12). On occasion, however, these pursuits can involve the study of ancient wisdom or prophecies.348 The second verb (ἐξεραυνάω), which represents a later spelling of the verb ἐξερευνάω,349 is used only here in the NT. It involves searching for something whose whereabouts is lost or unknown (Euripides, Bacch. 1299; Sophocles, El. 1100), particularly in cases involving the hunting down of individuals (1 Macc 3.5; Josephus, War 4.654; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 7.11.4). Sometimes it is used of reconnaissance during war (Polybius, Hist. 14.1.13; 1 Chr 19.3), and on one occasion, the word even describes the studying of scriptural texts (1 Macc 3.48).350 Rather than attempting to distinguish these terms, it is better to understand them as more or less synonymous, such that the repetition adds emphasis and intensifies the description,351 as well as illustrating ‘the author’s rhetorical sensitivity for assonance’352 and alliteration (cf. 1.4, 19).353   Both verbs—or at least the former and the uncompounded form of the latter—also occur together in 1 Macc 9.26: ‘They [i.e., the officials] searched for and investigated (ἐξεζήτουν καὶ ἠρεύνων) the friends of Judas’ (cf. also Ps 118.2). However, it would be a stretch to claim that the Petrine author has borrowed from this passage (as suggested by Beare 90; cf. also Bigg 107; Wand 49; Schelkle 39 n. 2). 348   See Sir 39.1: σοφίαν πάντων ἀρχαίων ἐκζητήσει, καὶ ἐν προφητείαις ἀσχοληθήσεται, ‘he will seek out the wisdom of all the ancients, and he will be occupied with prophecies’ (NETS). 349   BDAG 347; LSJ 591. 350   Based on this broad usage of ἐξεραυνάω, there is no reason why we would be required to conclude that the verb ‘suggests work on written materials as in John 5:39’, as argued by Selwyn (262). For more on this point, see Atkinson, ‘Genre-Sensitive’, 610. 351   Cf. Calloud, ‘Ce que parler veut dire’, 181: ‘Cette répétition pourrait traduire la durée, la diversité et l’intensité de la performance’. 352   Elliott 345, who notes 5.2–3 and 5.10. 353   The ἐκ prefix on these terms is commonly understood to add intensity, indicating the strenuous nature of the search process (so, e.g., Demarest 73; Alford 336; Kühl 97; von Soden 135; Monnier 49; Kistemaker 55; Hiebert 72; Forbes 347

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This diligence with which the prophets pursued the quest for understanding the nature of God’s eschatological salvation is consistent with the portrayal of prophets elsewhere.354 How their inquiry was carried out is not specified, nor does the text indicate the media or methods used in the search. It is possible that they simply meditated on their own oracles (cf. Dan 7.15–16; 8.15),355 or it may be that they studied earlier prophetic messages (cf. Dan 9.1–2; 1QpHab 2.5–10; 7.1–5).356 Either way, inspiration is not portrayed as a passive process whereby prophets were merely dormant instruments of the divine; instead, it required an active attempt to discern the will of God. With the participial clause (οἱ… προφητεύσαντες), the thought quickly transitions from the process of revelation to the product of revelation. As a result of the prophets’ search, they issue prophecies, which are eventually preserved in the written form that was read by the early Christians. The focus of these prophecies is identified as χάρις, a term (or some cognate) that the author employs eleven times in five chapters (1.2, 10, 13; 2.19, 20; 3.7; 4.10bis; 5.5, 10, 12). Apart from the Pauline (and deutero-Pauline) literature, no other place in the NT has such a concentrated use of the word. 30; cf. Bourquin, et al., ‘Une même grâce pour tous’, 4). But while prepositional prefixes can have a ‘perfective’ (or intensifying) force (see Robertson, Grammar, 562–65), their presence does not guarantee it. What is noteworthy in this case is that both the prefixed (ἐκζητέω) and non-prefixed forms (ζητέω) appear together in the LXX with no discernable difference (see Deut 4.29; 2 Chr 20.4; 26.5; Prov 11.27; Isa 8.19; Jer 36.13; Ezek 34.12). The same is true with the forms ἐξερευνάω and ἐρευνάω (Joel 1.7; cf. Origen, Sel. Ps. 63.6 [PG 12:1492]), which at least raises questions about such a distinction (see Dubis 18; cf. TDNT 2:894). Alternatively, Steiger has suggested that the ἐκ prefix indicates ‘that the prophets had before them different periods of time, out of which they sought to discover the era of redemption, and indeed, that they had determinate marks to go by’ (1:156; cf. Hofmann 25). But there is no basis—lexical or otherwise—for this proposal. 354   Cf. Matt 13.17: ‘Truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people desired (ἐπεθύμησαν) to see what you see but they did not see, and to hear what you hear, but they did not hear’; Tg. Ket. Eccl 1.8: ‘The ancient prophets wearied (‫)אישתלהין‬ themselves with all the things that will take place (‫ )דעתידין למיהוי‬in the world, but they could not discover their end. For people have no ability to declare what will be after them.’ 355   As suggested, e.g., by Fausset 500; Davids 61. 356   It is instructive in this regard to compare how the Teacher of Righteous�ness studied the prophetic texts to disclose their meaning (see Williams, ‘Ancient Prophets’, 226–30).



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In recent years, a number of important works have addressed the use of χάρις in NT literature and its wider socio-historical context.357 Several meanings have arisen from these efforts. The first is the most abstract, representing an aesthetically pleasing quality that elicits favour or praise (‘attractiveness’, ‘charm’). This beauty, which invites a favourable reaction, might describe anything from an eloquent speech (Homer, Od. 8.175; cf. Luke 4.22) to the attractiveness of an individual (Josephus, Ant. 2.231). One finds this usage frequently in the LXX (e.g., Prov 10.32; Eccl 10.12). Two of the most common uses of χάρις share a ‘common component’ that binds their meanings together: the social context of reciprocity.358 The semantic versatility of χάρις allows it to represent a variety of social relationships. As far back as the time of Homer, the term was employed both to refer to favours granted as well as the counter-gift returned by the beneficiary (hence, the frequent meaning ‘thanks’, as in Rom 6.17; 7.23; 2 Cor 2.14; 8.16; 9.15).359 Even up until the Greco-Roman period this connection was still strong. Related to the former, χάρις can describe a quality or disposition that inclines one towards generosity (‘beneficence’). This is often difficult to separate from the similar but more concrete meaning, which is an actual favour or benefit given to someone (‘benefaction’). The majority of the examples of χάρις in 1 Peter fall within this latter category. That is, the Petrine author seeks to portray God as a benevolent benefactor and the people of God as grateful recipients (see on 2.19–20);360 thus, χάρις is employed, as here, to represent divine munificence toward the people of God. Nevertheless, this is only part of a more multi-faceted presentation.361   Two of the more notable works are Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, and Barclay, Paul and the Gift. Cf. also TLNT 3:500–506; BDAG, 1079–81. 358   For the idea of a ‘common component’, see Louw, Semantics, 33. 359   See Franzmann, ‘Greek Concept of Charis’; Scott, ‘Charis in Homer’, 1–13; idem, ‘Charis from Hesiod’, 1–13; MacLachlan, Age of Grace. 360   See further Williams, ‘Reciprocity’, 432–33. 361   The primary focus in the letter is on the χάρις of God, the supreme and initiating benefactor, whose gift, given through the suffering, death, resurrection and glorification of Christ, encompasses both present suffering and future salvation, anticipated with hope and joy (1.10, 13). This divine gift is given especially to those who are humble, lowly, suffering and oppressed (5.5). As it is bestowed now in its diverse forms, it initiates a network of benefit-giving relationships, the operation of which itself returns δόξα to the divine giver (4.10–11). This 357

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If this is the case, then what specific gift is the author referencing? Some equate χάρις with the gospel,362 while others claim that it refers to the admission of Gentiles into God’s covenant people.363 It seems rather that χάρις and σωτηρία are virtually identical here.364 Viewed from the perspective of social dynamics, the sending of Christ, the bringing of the gospel, the preservation of a heavenly inheritance, and the future rescue of souls—all are acts of God’s munificence (i.e., χάρις) toward humanity. Viewed from the perspective of biblical theology, these same acts would be understood as God’s work in salvation history to rescue the people of God. Elsewhere, χάρις represents the salvation—viewed holistically—that the Christian good news represents (cf. 1.13; 5.12). Once again, we see the author’s concern to relate the grand story of salvation to the recipients of the letter (cf. 1.4) and to assure them that they (along with others, of course) are the privileged and honoured ones who have been blessed with God’s glorious salvation, even if the fulfillment of this hope still lies in the future. God’s plan was always for this time of salvation (cf. 1.2, 20), and this is what the prophets recognised when they prophesied that this gift was ‘destined for you’ (εἰς ὑμᾶς).365 multi-directional flow of χάρις finds its most striking expression in 2.19–20, where what is defined as χάρις is not the gift of God but rather the reciprocal return—the ‘thanks’, in effect—which is expressed by those who suffer unjustly while continuing to do what is good (see Exegesis at 2.19–20). On the use of χάρις in 1 Peter, see further Horrell, ‘Gift and Grace in 1 Peter’. 362   So, e.g., Benson 180; Doddridge 186. 363   So, e.g., Hort 49; Blenkin 28; Moffatt 99. In support of this hypothesis, proponents sometimes point to the fact that the author uses the second-person pronoun, ὑμᾶς, rather than the first-person pronoun, ἡμᾶς (see Hofmann 26). Yet this proposal, which reflects a more Pauline concern (Gal 2.8–9, etc.), is too narrow in this case (cf. Best 81; Achtemeier 108). 364   As recognised by others, e.g., Arichea–Nida 29; Michaels 41; Elliott 345; Powers 62; Schlosser 78; Watson 27–28; Schreiner 71 n. 70. 365   There is debate over the viewpoint from which the phrase εἰς ὑμᾶς is expressed. Some think that it is made from the perspective of the apostle (as suggested, e.g., by Schott 41), in which case the construction might be rendered, ‘the grace that belongs (or has been given) to you’ (cf. Hottinger 103; Masterman 74; Wand 50; Schreiner 72). On the other hand, it might be the viewpoint of the prophets (as suggested, e.g., by Alford 336; Kühl 98; Hiebert 74), in which case the construction would be translated, ‘the grace intended (or destined) for you’ (cf. de Wette 9; Johnstone 77; von Soden 135; Achtemeier 108). While either is possible, the latter seems more likely in that the issue relates to the content of



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11 ἐραυνῶντες εἰς τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρόν The precise nature of the prophets’ activity is further described,366 with the opening participle (ἐραυνῶντες) reiterating the idea of enquiry already emphasised in v. 10 (ἐραυνῶντες being the noncompounded form of ἐξεραυνάω).367 But now we are told more about what it was into which they enquired: εἰς τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρόν. This phrase is open to a number of construals. The most important question is how to interpret τίνα.368 One possibility is to understand τίνα as a masculine singular interrogative pronoun that is being used substantivally and standing independent from ποῖον καιρόν: ‘what person or what time’ (cf. RSV, NRSV, ESV, CEV, NET, NASB, CEB).369 With this interpretation, prophets are thought to have searched diligently—but ultimately unsuccessfully—to find out not only when their prophecies would reach fulfillment but also ancient prophecy. Further, the parallel phrase τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα seems to describe the situation from the prophets’ perspective (‘sufferings destined for Christ’, see below). The experience of χάρις is thus understood as a future event from the viewpoint of the prophets. 366   Since the participle ἐραυνῶντες is a cognate form of the verb ἐξεραυνάω (v. 10), it represents a pleonastic function. This is a stylistic feature in which an adverbial participle—which, in this case, probably denotes manner or means (cf. Forbes 30)—expresses (virtually) the same meaning as the verb (see Boyer, ‘Classification of Participles’, 170–71). This usage is most likely due to Semitic influence (Wallace, Grammar, 649–50), although the use of the non-compounded form of a verb following the compounded form reflects a classical idiom (see MHT 1:115). 367   Some minuscules have the compound verb here too; see Text at 1.11 n. c. 368   Although scholarship is generally divided between two prominent views, a third approach has been suggested by Kunjummen (‘Single Intent of Scripture’, 101–102). He translates εἰς τίνα, ‘for whom’ or ‘for whose sake’, thus taking the prophets’ search to include both the recipients and the time of salvation. This hypothesis has only been occasionally mentioned by Petrine interpreters (for a refutation of this view, see Glenny, ‘Use of the Old Testament’, 352–54). Alternatively, Harink suggests that ‘Peter may well have intentionally used the ambiguous word tina in 1:11’, and as such, he contends that ‘it seems better for the matter to remain unresolved (50 n. 35). 369   As suggested, e.g., by Barnes 122; Mason 392; Sadler 86; Grudem 74–75; Hillyer 41–42; Elliott 345–46; Bony 49; Green 21–22 n. 29; Dubis 19; Schlosser 83; Watson 28; cf. Dalton, ‘Interpretation of 1 Peter 3,19’, 549; Scharlemann, ‘Apostolic Descant’, 15; Rigato, ‘Il carisma’, 42; Lai, ‘Holy Spirit in 1 Peter’, 212–17; Atkinson, ‘Genre-Sensitive’, 610 n. 16. Alternatively, τίνα could be parsed as a neuter plural and taken to mean, ‘what things’, referring to the particular circumstances that would give rise to the suffering of the messiah (so, e.g., Jobes 102–103).

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whom the predictions envisioned. Whereas they may have foreseen the emergence of a messianic figure, they were unaware of his specific identity. Support for this ‘two-question’ hypothesis derives from two arguments. The first is the frequency of usage. Proponents note that out of the hundreds of occurrences of τίς in the NT, the vast majority function as an interrogative pronoun.370 This statistical argument is further supplemented by Grudem,371 who points out that in the NT τίς is never used to modify a word of time. Consequently, while ποῖος naturally modifies καιρός, τίς is unlikely to do so. What relativises this argument considerably is the fact that outside the NT there are plenty of cases where τίς is connected to καιρός as an adjectival modifier.372 So while such general NT trends cannot be ignored, they also cannot be viewed as determinative. The second argument relates to the nature of the terminology. When the word ποῖος is coupled in an adjectival relationship with a word of time (in particular, καιρός), it generally refers not to the kind of time (‘what kind of time’) but to a specific time (‘which time’).373 Such a fact serves to bolster the 370   Not including variae lectiones, Kilpatrick (‘1 Peter 1:11’, 91–92) lists a total of 21 attributive uses of τίς in the NT (Mark 4.30; 8.37; Luke 14.31; 15.4, 8; 23.22; John 18.29; Acts 10.29; 24.20; Rom 6.21; 1 Cor 15.2; 2 Cor 6.14bis, 15bis, 16; 1 Thess 2.19; 3.9; 4.2; Heb 7.11; 12.7). Within 1 Peter, τίς is used three other times, and in each case, it functions as an interrogative pronoun (3.13; 4.17; 5.8); whereas ποῖος is employed adjectivally in its two other occurrences (1.11; 2.20). 371   Grudem 75: ‘Even though tis (the lexical form of tina) occurs 552 times in the New Testament, it is never used to ask what time, what day, what hour, etc.’. He continues further, ‘the ordinary way for a first-century speaker to ask “what time?” was poios kairos, not tis kairos’. Cf. also Hillyer 41–42. 372   A particularly relevant example is found in Demosthenes, 3 Olynth. 16: τίνα χρόνον ἢ τίνα καιρόν (‘what better time or what better occasion’). See also Aeschylus, Suppl. 1060; Plato, Ep. 327e; Hyperides, Epitaphius, 30; Polybius, Hist. 8.2.6; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 1.5.1; Thuc. 19; Plutarch, [Cons. Apoll.] 6 (Mor. 105B); Appian, Bell. civ. 3.8.57; Epictetus, Diatr. 4.12.17; Aelius Aristides, Πρὸς Πλάτωνα περὶ ῥητορικῆς, p. 64 (Jebb); Πρὸς Πλάτωνα ὑπὲρ τῶν τεττάρων, p. 302 (Jebb); Aelian, Var. hist. 9.21. 373   See Hillyer 41–42, who lists Matt 24.42, 43; Luke 12.39; Rev 3.3. This distinction is also found outside of the NT as well (see, e.g., Isocrates, Demon. 41; Dinarchus, Demosth. 30; Fabius Pictor, Frag. 18, line 26 [Müller]; Polybius, Hist. 2.40.3; 2.42.1; Plutarch, Aem. 27.3; 4 Bar. 9.13; Aelius Aristides, Or. 13 [Jebb, p. 195]; Alexander of Aphrodisias, Probl. 4.38; Jan. Jam. A 3.31; Acts Pil. 6.1; 13.2; Origen, Mart. 42; Or. 2.1; 29.5).



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‘two-question’ approach while mitigating against certain forms of the ‘time-only’ proposal (on which, see below).374 Along with this, the word-order could also be taken to suggest that two separate questions are in view. Elsewhere in the NT, when these terms appear together and further specification is taking place, the words are placed in reverse order (Mark 11.28//Luke 20.2; Acts 7.49). This is due to the fact that τίς is (usually) the more specific term, while ποῖος is (usually) more general. Against this trend, however, is an important parallel found in Athenaeus, Deipn. 10.457d, where τίς and ποῖος are connected by ἤ with both functioning as attributive adjectives modifying ἰχθύς. The text reads, ‘For the ancients used to ask questions at their parties, not like those of the present day ask one another, as to what sort of indulgence is best, or which (or, more specifically, what kind of) fish is most delicious (τίς ἢ ποῖος ἰχθὺς ἥδιστος)’. Not only does this text establish the possibility that τίς could function adjectivally, it also indicates that within such a construction a slight distinction can be drawn between the two terms, with τίς denoting a more general sense and ποῖος representing something more specific. This observation leads us to the second (and perhaps, the more convincing)375 interpretation of τίνα, which is that the pronoun functions like an attributive adjective modifying καιρόν.376 In this approach, τίνα is either taken to be synonymous with ποῖον (and thus the repetition is made for rhetorical or tautological purposes), 374   During the Koine period, τίς and ποῖος were used interchangeably (see Jannaris, Grammar, 163–64; cf. Chatzidakis, Einleitung, 207–208). So, on the assumption that both are being used adjectivally, their close connection in v. 11 would suggest that each is communicating a slightly different nuance. The problem would be that the meaning assigned to ποῖος as a result of this deduction (‘what kind of time’) is not appropriate. 375   This stands in contrast to a previous publication in which the ‘two-question’ hypothesis was espoused (see Williams, ‘Ancient Prophets’, 234–36). After further reflection on the question, we have come to conclude that, while the evidence is finely balanced, the ‘time-only’ view appears to have slightly more to commend it. 376   This was the majority opinion among earlier commentators, and it continues to be widely held among more recent interpreters (e.g., Beare 91; Holmer–de Boor 43; Michaels 42–43; Schelkle 39; Davids 61–62; Bénétreau 94; Goppelt 98; Brox 69; Perkins 34; Achtemeier 109; Richard 51; Senior 34; Feldmeier 92; Witherington 84; Keating 36; Schreiner 73–74; cf. Herzer, ‘Alttestamentliche Prophetie’, 19).

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or the two terms are thought to convey a slightly different meaning, with τίνα broadening or possibly softening the force of ποῖον: ‘what (or, at least, what kind of) time’ (cf. KJV, ASV, NKJV). As such, the ancient prophets searched intently not simply concerning the time when their prophecies would reach fulfillment, but also the general character of this period. This position has been supported by a variety of arguments, some more convincing than others.377 One particular consideration is how the author proceeds to describe the revelation given to the prophets. If, in fact, there were two questions in view (viz. person and time), the former would unquestionably be the more significant. Yet nothing more is said about the messiah’s identity, only that he would suffer and be glorified. The strongest argument in support of the ‘time-only’ solution is the presence of the disjunctive particle (ἤ), which most naturally separates two ‘related and similar terms, where one can take the place of the other or one supplements the other’.378 Had two questions been in view (person and time), καί would have been the more natural option. As Hort notes, ἤ is ‘virtually corrective’, with the τίνα ἤ serving ‘to emphasise ποῖον’, yielding the meaning ‘what or at least what manner of season’.379 While ποῖος can be used in a weaker sense more or less   One argument that is regularly made in favour of the ‘time only’ hypothesis is that Jewish prophets normally inquired into when their prophetic visions would be fulfilled not about whom they were prophesying (cf. Dan 9.2; 12.6–13; Hab 2.1–4; 4 Ezra 4.33; see Michaels 41–43). This argument is not very strong, however. In response, one could point to 1QpHab 7.1–2, where the prophet Habakkuk is said to have written down ‘the things that were going to come upon the last generation, but the fullness of the end-time (‫ )גמר הקץ‬he [i.e., God] did not make known to him [i.e., Habakkuk]’. According to this passage, ‘[i]t was not mere chronological knowledge which Habakkuk lacked, such as when the consummation would come or how long the period of the last days would last’; instead, ‘it was an understanding of the specific events to which his words made veiled and enigmatic allusions’ (Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 110; cf. also Osswald, ‘Zur Hermeneutik’, 249). What is more, in the pesharim these eschatological events cannot be separated from the key figures involved (e.g., the Teacher of Righteousness, the Wicked Priest). Likewise, for Christians who thought that Jesus was the prophesied messiah, it would be natural to also expect the ancient prophets to desire to know his identity as well. 378   BDAG 432. 379   Hort 51. Cf. also BDF §298, with examples of τίς and ποῖος combined, suggesting ‘tautology for emphasis?’ for 1 Pet 1.11. 377



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equivalent to τίς, it can equally retain the more specific meaning ‘what kind’ (see Rom 3.27; 1 Cor 15.35; cf. 1 Pet 2.20). It does not therefore seem to be merely redundant repetition when the author specifies the subject of the prophets’ enquiry to be ‘what time, or (rather) what kind of time’ (i.e., the time and circumstances) when the messiah would appear.380 It hardly needs to be said that such a characterisation of prophecy does not appropriately describe the focus of the classical prophets of the biblical tradition, whose prophetic activity, while sometimes exhibiting a concern with an eschatological future, was largely concerned to address the present circumstances of the people. Moreover, messianic expectation as such is neither a prominent nor an explicit focus. However, a concern to discern clues as to the timing of the fulfilment of the eschatological vision does become more prominent in the later prophetic tradition, particularly as it develops a more apocalyptic character, notably in the last two centuries BCE and the first century CE (see, e.g., Dan 9.1–27; 12.6–13; 1QpHab 7.1–13; 4 Ezra 4.33–46; cf. Rev 11.1–3, 11–14; 12.5–6; 22.8–20).381 Like members of the community at Qumran, the author of 1 Peter holds the belief that the focus of the ancient prophecies was indeed the ‘end-time’, the eschatological καιρός in which the community now finds itself.382 Intense eschatological expectation, and a belief that ‘the prophets’ had foreseen such a time of

380   Cf. Selwyn 135: ‘when (τίνα) and in what circumstances (ποῖον)…’. Some translations also reflect this more precise rendering of ποῖον καιρόν as, ‘what circumstances’ (NIV, NAB, HCSB, NCV, NLT). 381   Cf., e.g., Knoch 46–47. On the significant parallels with 1QpHab 7, see Schutter, Hermeneutic, 111–12. 382   A distinction is commonly drawn between the use of καιρός and χρόνος. The former is thought to emphasise time in a qualitative sense, describing a time that is appropriate or fitting, or a decisive moment in time that possesses certain significance. The latter is believed to represent time in a quantitative sense, expressing the duration over which something occurs (for this distinction, see Miller 321; Elliott 338). While others have pointed out the limitations of this distinction from a strictly lexical perspective (see Barr, Biblical Words, 21–49; cf. Dubis, Messianic Woes, 143–44), it does for the most part hold true in this letter. The term καιρός is used as a decisive point, usually in the future (1.5, 11; 4.17; 5.6), while χρόνος indicates the passing of time over a particular duration (1.17; 4.2, 3), although more significance is attached to the latter in 1.20 since it is part of ‘the end of the ages’.

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vindication and salvation, characterises various Jewish circles at the time of Christian origins, including the emerging Christian movement itself, part, of course, of this Jewish matrix.383 ἐδήλου τὸ ἐν αὐτοῖς πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ προμαρτυρόμενον τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα καὶ τὰς μετὰ ταῦτα δόξας. δόξας. In a striking and clearly Christianising perspective, the author attributes the insight made known to the prophets to τὸ ἐν αὐτοῖς πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ.384 The idea that prophecy is inspired and enabled by God’s Spirit is frequently found in both Jewish and Christian literature (e.g., Num 11.25–29; 1 Sam 10.6–13; Neh 9.30; Joel 2.28; Luke 1.67; Eph 3.5). This conviction is also reiterated in 2 Pet 1.20–21 (referring to the πνεῦμα ἅγιον), in a passage loosely reminiscent of this one, though concerned with different issues. But the phrase τὸ πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ is rare. The only exact NT parallel is Rom 8.9,385 though Acts 16.7, Gal 4.6, and Phil 1.19 are very similar; nevertheless, all these instances ‘involve statements concerning the spirit of Christ active in the Christian community, not within the ancient Israelite prophets’.386 Interpreters regularly assign the genitive Χριστοῦ an objective sense. For some, this indicates simply that the Spirit testified about Christ when inspiring and illuminating the prophets.387 Others 383   See, e.g., Matt 2.1–5; 3.1–3; 11.13; Mark 13.4; Luke 1.67–79; 17.20; 18.31; 24.25–27; John 1.45; Acts 1.6. On Jewish eschatologies at the time, see Fischer, Eschatology und Jenseitserwartung; Grabbe, Judaic Religion, 257–70. 384   Whether ἐν should be understood as ‘among’ (so, e.g., Michaels 44; Bénétreau 94; Achtemeier 109) or ‘within’ (so, e.g., Davids 62; Elliott 345) is difficult to say. The fact that the Spirit is said to ‘indicate’ (ἐδήλου) and ‘testify in advance’ (προμαρτυρόμενον)—to the prophets, of course—could make the former slightly more likely. On the other hand, if the author is reading the Christian experience back into the situation of Israelite prophets, the latter may be in view. 385   Cf. 3 Cor. 3.10: ‘For God wanted to save the house of Israel; therefore, he sent an allotted portion of the Spirit of Christ (ἀπὸ τοῦ πνεῦμα τοῦ Χριστοῦ) into the prophets. He sent them unto the Jews first (or unto the first Jews), who proclaimed the true worship of God for a long time’. See also Acts Paul, Frag. 8 (Schmidt and Schubart); Irenaeus, Haer. 1.1.13 (Harvey); Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 4.26.172.2; Origen, Cels. 5.1.15; Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunomium 3.5.13. 386   Elliott 346. Rev 19.10 is enigmatic, but evidently links ἡ μαρτυρία Ἰησοῦ and τὸ πνεῦμα τῆς προφητείας. 387   Advocates of this view include: Grotius 66; Bengel 49; Augusti 210–11; Hensler 49; Jachmann 128–29; Margot 25; Grudem 69; Davids 62; Richard 54; cf. Lichtenwalter, ‘Work of the Holy Spirit’, 83.



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envision a slightly different nuance: the idea that the Spirit was (eventually) manifest in and would empower Christ.388 The point of this latter explanation is continuity. It stresses that one and the same Spirit anointed both the Jewish prophets throughout Israelite history and later anointed Christ during his earthly ministry. In the end, however, both of these views prove to be unsustainable from a grammatical perspective. The problem is that there is no verbal idea implicit in the head noun πνεῦμα, which would be necessary if Χριστοῦ were to be read as an objective genitive.389 In many cases, it seems that the preference for the objective genitive flows out of scepticism about the pre-existence of Christ being directly implied here.390 However, it is not by any means implausible to conclude that the author read the presence of Christ back into the time of the Hebrew prophets (cf. 1.20; 1 Cor 10.4; Heb 11.24–26), nor that he regards such prophecy as focused on the sufferings and glories that would one day be Christ’s (see below). In other interpretations, therefore, the idea of Christ’s pre-existence becomes prominent. Such is the case when Χριστοῦ is read as an epexegetical genitive (‘the Spirit, which is Christ’).391 According to this reading, Christ is a pre-existent spirit who speaks through the prophets. While this view seems closer to the mark, the grammatical subtlety it requires is difficult to defend. Perhaps the most likely interpretation of Χριστοῦ is as a genitive of source (‘the Spirit who was sent forth from Christ’),392 388   Proponents include: Hottinger 103; Mitchell 237; Beare 91–92; Achtemeier 109–10; Jobes 101; cf. Weiss, Der Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 246–49. 389   Cf. Steiger 1:176. On this condition for positing an objective genitive, see Wallace, Grammar, 117. Such a consideration also rules out the possibility that Χριστοῦ might be both an objective genitive (‘the prophets witnessed about Christ’) and a subjective genitive (‘Christ witnessed through the prophets’), as considered by some (e.g., Michaels 44; Elliott 346; Green 25 n. 36). 390   Others have similarly questioned whether the phrase should be understood as describing the pre-existence of Christ; in doing so, they have suggested that Χριστοῦ be read as an attributed genitive, ‘messianic Spirit’ (see Mason 392; Selwyn 136). But this sense would be difficult to apply to similar constructions found in the NT, e.g., πνεῦμα Ἰησοῦ (Acts 16.7); τὸ πνεῦμα τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ (Gal 4.6); τοῦ πνεύματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (Phil 1.19). 391   Those who espouse this view include: Bigg 109; Knopf 56; Kelly 60–61; Best 81; Schelkle 41; Brox 69–70; Watson 28. 392   This view has been adopted by numerous interpreters (e.g., Alford 337; Cook 179; Keil 56; Johnstone 79; Huther 71; Marshall 44–45; Dubis 19; Schreiner 72).

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a formulation that links the Spirit closely to Christ in the same way as the more common formula connects the Spirit and God (τὸ πνεῦμα θεοῦ). According to this understanding, the pre-existent Christ was the one from whom the Spirit emanated; it was Christ who sent the Spirit to inspire and direct the prophets so that they might be able to predict the events of his life and death. This interpretation is not only consistent with ideas found in later Christian writers about Christ commissioning the Spirit to work through the prophets,393 it also accounts for the narrative world within which the Petrine author operates: in the very next verse, the Spirit is said to have been ‘sent from heaven’ (ἀποσταλέντι ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ)’ (v. 12) when the gospel was preached to the readers, the same place where Christ is now waiting and preparing his return (1.4, 7, 13; 3.22; 5.4). The process of inspiration is depicted using the verb δηλόω, which is commonly employed to denote the act of making something known. When this disclosure involves mysteries or things that are beyond human grasp, it is often performed by supernatural agents, whether angelic beings (Dan 2.11; 1 En. 9.6; 10.11; Jub. 2.19; Rechab. 15.4), Jesus (2 Pet 1.14), or the Holy Spirit (Heb 9.8). But extending beyond simply revelation, part of the meaning of δηλόω also relates to the explanation of something that is not fully grasped or the clarification of something that might not otherwise be apparent (Ps 50.8; 2 Macc 4.17; Herm. Sim. 5.4.1). This is particularly appropriate when the explanation relates to scripture (Sib. Or. 0:23–25; T.Mos. 6; Pr.Jos. 2.2), as it does here. Whereas it is clear that τὸ πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ is the subject of ἐδήλου, thus indicating that the Spirit performs the act of elucidation, a more difficult question arises in the attempt to determine the object of the verb.394 One possibility is to take the phrase τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα κτλ. as the object of both ἐδήλου and the 393   See, e.g., Ign. Magn. 8.2; 9.2; Phld. 5.2; Barn. 5.6; Herm. Sim. 9.12.1–2; Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 31–53; Dial. 56–57; Irenaeus, Haer. 4.20.4; Tertullian, Marc. 3.6.7. 394   Some have taken ἐδήλου to be intransitive, and thus they construe it in an absolute sense, ‘the Spirit of Christ made known’ (de Wette 9; Kühl 100; Monnier 51). As evidence, they point to 1 Cor 3.13, which reads ἑκάστου τὸ ἔργον φανερὸν γενήσεται, ἡ γὰρ ἡμέρα δηλώσει. Yet, in this case, the verb δηλώσει would be modified by an understood pronoun (e.g., αὐτόν) representing τὸ ἔργον.



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participle προμαρτυρόμενον.395 In this case, the verb and participle would be read together as one idea, expressing that the content of the Spirit’s revelation was Christ’s sufferings and glory (‘the Spirit of Christ was by prophetic testimony revealing the sufferings…’). Although it is somewhat redundant to conjoin two verbal forms with the same object, it can still yield a perfectly reasonable sense (cf. Acts 28.23: ἐξετίθετο διαμαρτυρόμενος τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ). The bigger drawback of this proposal is that it severs all meaningful connection with the preceding participial clause (ἐραυνῶντες εἰς τίνα κτλ.). An alternative is to link ἐδήλου with the preceding prepositional phrase εἰς τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρόν. In this way, the disclosure made by the Spirit relates to the timing of Christ’s arrival.396 Yet this construction has its own shortcomings: δηλόω is a transitive verb that normally takes an accusative direct object (see Deut 33.10; 4 Macc 4.14; Heb 9.8; 12.27), often in connection with an indirect object, which is most frequently expressed with the dative (as in 1 Cor 1.11; Col 1.8; 2 Pet 1.14).397 The best way around these issues may be to supply an implicit accusative direct object (ἅ)398 that points back to τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρόν—an interpretation reflected in some translations (‘inquiring into the time or circumstances that the Spirit of Christ in/among them was revealing’; cf. NRSV, NAB, NIV).399 This would allow 395   As suggested by Schott 42–43; Brückner 37; Keil 55; Huther 71–72; Hort 50; von Soden 135; Bigg 107. Rather than reading the verbal forms as a single idea, an alternative is ‘that ἐδήλου has an understood object, “them,” i.e. τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα κτλ., the apostle having already the participial clause so vividly present to his mind that he construes the main verb as if he had expressed that clause before it’ (Johnstone 78). 396   So Hensler 49; Alford 337; Hart 46; Elliott 345; Donelson 30 n. l. 397   Cf. Augusti 210; Michaels 41. Grammatically, it is possible for εἰς + accusative to serve as the object of δηλόω (for the construction δηλόω τι πρός or εἴς τινα, see LSJ 385). In fact, Dubis (19) mentions one second-century CE example (Vettius Valens, Anth. libri 9.2.3). The text reads: καὶ ἄλλας ἀγωγὰς δηλούσας εἰς τὸν περὶ εὐδαιμονίας λόγον (‘and other methods which clarify the topic of good fortune’). 398   Alternatively, Vater (Novum Testamentum, 700) proposes supplying αὐτοῖς τὴν χάριν ταύτην as the object of ἐδήλου, while Steiger (1:173) suggests supplying ταῦτα. 399   This proposal ends up at virtually the same place as others who have suggested that εἰς τίνα ἢ ποῖον καιρόν functions as the object of both ἐραυνῶντες and ἐδήλου (so, e.g., Achtemeier 109; Dubis 19; Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 84).

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the prepositional phrase to serve as the object of ἐραυνῶντες,400 while still affording δηλόω its more natural transitive function. The accusative phrase τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα κτλ. would then be understood as the object of the participle προμαρτυρόμενον. If this construal is correct, then the Spirit was revealing—note that the imperfect (ἐδήλου) probably denotes a repeated or regularly occurring event in the past—the very object of the prophets’ inquiry: the time and circumstances of Christ’s arrival. Exactly when this act of revelation occurred is further delineated by the temporal participial clause: προμαρτυρόμενον τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν κτλ. The participle, whose neuter singular form indicates that it describes the activity of τὸ πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ and not the προφῆται, is from a rare verb (προμαρτύρομαι). In fact, this represents the first extant usage of the term, possibly indicating that it was coined by the Petrine author.401 Nonetheless, the addition of the prefix προ- to a more common verb (μαρτύρομαι), particularly in the context of a Christian interpretation of the Jewish scriptures, is not unanticipated or surprising (cf. Gal 3.8).402 Based on etymology and its usage in later Christian writings,403 the verb describes the prediction of or testimony about future events. It is clear that these predictions involved sufferings and glories, but the participant(s) depend(s) on the construal of εἰς Χριστόν. Although most interpreters understand these experiences in 400   For similar constructions (ἐραυνάω + εἰς), see Gen 31.32; Eusebius, Praep. ev. 15.21.1; Ps.-Macarius, Sermones 64 (Collection B), 53.2.7. 401   As suggested by Moffatt 100. 402   Cf. also Paul’s tendency to add συν- to verbs (and nouns), e.g., Rom 6.4–8; Gal 2.19; Phil 1.27; 4.3. 403   Since the non-compounded form μαρτύρομαι in the middle voice was used to describe the act of calling another person to witness (see Euripides, Med. 619; Sophocles, Oed. col. 813; Aristophanes, Plut. 932), some suggest that the middle form προμαρτυρόμενον indicates that the Spirit was calling God to witness (so Hort 53–54; Masterman 75; Blenkin 29). But not only did this usage normally require the witness to be listed in the accusative (which is absent here), the middle form also lost much of its distinction in the Koine period (see, e.g., P.Wisc. II 86). Further, this specific term (προμαρτύρομαι) was picked up by later Christian authors and used from the fourth century onward to describe the act of predicting (e.g., Gregory of Nyssa, De beneficentia, vol. 9, p. 95 [Heck]; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.3.6; Dem ev. 10.8.23; Athanasius, C. Gent. 9). Only three examples are provided in the non-literary papyri, and these derive from Christian writings in the fifth (P.Rain.Cent. 74) and eighth centuries (P.Lond. IV 1343, 1356).



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reference to Christ, as far back as the time of Luther and Calvin it has occasionally been understood to apply to both Christ and to members of the (mystical) body of Christ.404 As such, εἰς is under�stood in a causal sense or one that denotes advantage, such that the phrase indicates ‘sufferings in Christ’s cause’ (REB), that is, sufferings endured for the sake of Christ.405 A slight variation to this proposal is offered by those who read εἰς in a temporal sense. According to this approach, the suffering in view affects both Christ and his followers. What unifies their experience is their character as messianic woes. These are the end-time trials that began with the crucifixion of Jesus and that spill over to God’s people prior to Christ’s return. Consequently, proponents of this view translate the phrase, ‘the sufferings (to be endured) until Christ [i.e., until his coming, cf. Gal 3.24]’.406 Aside from the fact that this section is primarily addressing the situation of the readers, much of the exegetical basis for these proposals lies in the plural forms of παθήματα (‘sufferings’) and δόξας (‘glories’). The latter, in particular, is thought to be more appropriate with reference to the experience of Christians rather than the singular experience of Christ. Alternatively, the prepositional phrase has sometimes been understood as equivalent to a genitive construction, especially in biblical translations; hence, ‘the sufferings of Christ’ (KJV, NIV, ESV).407 However, this is unlikely since the author employs the 404   See Calvin 40–41: ‘Peter, indeed, says, that the Spirit had testified of the coming afflictions of Christ; but he does not separate Christ from his body. This, then, is not to be confined to the person of Christ, but a beginning is to be made with the head, so that the members may in due order follow… In short, Peter does not speak of what is peculiar to Christ, but of the universal state of the Church’. Cf. also Luther 44; Le Clerc 586; Brown 86; von Soden 135; Gunkel 258; Plumptre 98–99. 405   Cf. Selwyn 136; Boring 67–68; see also Gleaves, ‘Identity of the Prophets’, 73–74. 406   This position was first proposed by Scott (‘Sufferings of Christ’, 234–40) and has since been argued in much more detail by Dubis (Messianic Woes, 110–17). However, over the years, it has only gained a handful of advocates (e.g., Best 83–84; Miller 145–47; Webb, ‘Intertexture and Rhetorical Strategy’, 92). The problem is not the question of whether the author sees the present as a time of eschatological suffering; this much is clear. Where doubt arises is whether he sees this as the message previously indicated to the Jewish prophets. 407   BDAG 290 §4.c.β, list some papyrus evidence for εἰς as equivalent to the genitive, though this is not their preferred interpretation of 1 Pet 1.11.

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genitive phrase elsewhere but not here (see below). The use of the preposition seems to be intentional. As reflected in the majority of commentaries, the most natural way to construe the phrase is to understand εἰς as conveying a notion of directedness towards something, but in the sense that the sufferings in view are those ‘destined for Christ’ (NRSV; cf. NAB, NET).408 In contrast to the author’s references to τὰ παθήματα τοῦ Χριστοῦ (4.13; 5.1) the formulation here expresses the perspective of the Israelite (or, more generally, pre-Christ) prophets who are seen as predicting in advance the sufferings that Christ was to endure.409 Others have pointed out that περὶ τῆς εἰς ὑμᾶς χάριτος in v. 10 provides an illuminating parallel: both uses of εἰς indicate the prophets’ anterior perspective on the grace and the suffering that were to come.410 What this means is that the plural παθήματα are best taken not as a reference to Christians’ suffering, or to messianic woes suffered in the period prior to the messiah’s coming, but to the opposition, hostility, trial, torture, and execution suffered by Jesus (for which the author elsewhere also uses the plural: 4.13; 5.1).411 Also, Χριστός itself is best understood not as a general reference to ‘messiah’—as if this were a statement genuinely expressed from the point of view of pre-Christian prophets412—but rather as specifically referring to Christ, who is for the author the messiah of Jewish hope and expectation. In other words, the whole passage in vv. 10–12, and not least this phrase, depicts the focus of Jewish prophecy through post eventum Christian eyes. Unlike the plural παθήματα, the use of the plural δόξας is highly unusual, not only in 1 Peter, but in the NT in general. The   So, e.g., Grotius 67; Hensler 50; Fronmüller 18; Hofmann 27; Keil 57; Windisch 54; Hiebert 77; Achtemeier 110; Elliott 348; Senior 34; Jobes 99–100; Feldmeier 94; Dubis 20. 409   Cf. Michaels 44. 410   See, e.g., Johnstone 79–80; Hort 54; Jobes 100. Cf. also Harris, Prepositions, 162, who notes that ‘the two expressions are related as cause and effect: “grace” was destined for believers precisely because sufferings were destined for Christ’. 411   The third occurrence of πάθημα in 1 Peter is also plural, but clearly a reference to general Christian suffering (5.9). 412   Hort insists that τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα ‘cannot possibly mean the sufferings of Christ in our sense of the words, i.e., the sufferings which as a matter of history befell the historical Christ… It is intelligible only from the point of view of the prophets and their contemporaries, the sufferings destined for Messiah’ (54). 408



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plural occurs elsewhere only at 2 Pet 2.10 and Jude 8, both with an entirely different sense than the present usage (cf. also Exod 15.11; 33.5; Hos 9.11; 1 Macc 14.9; 2 Macc 4.15).413 This is noteworthy given that δόξα is employed in 1 Peter a total of ten times (1.7, 11, 21, 24; 4.11, 13, 14; 5.1, 4, 10). Elliott’s proposal that ‘[t]he unusual plural… may have been designed to balance its plural counterpart, sufferings’414 is an inadequate explanation (even with the plural ταῦτα, referring back to παθήματα). Not only does the combination παθήματα and δόξα appear in 4.13 and 5.1 (as also in Rom 8.18), there is a consistent NT preference for πάθημα in the plural and δόξα in the singular.415 Part of a more adequate explanation is the recognition that the letter mentions that δόξα was bestowed on Christ after his resurrection (1.21), and that this δόξα is expected to be revealed when he returns (4.13; 5.1). Further, the exaltation of Christ involved many honours and privileges, including being seated at the right hand of God and having spiritual powers made subject to him (3.22). Equally important is the fact that the pluralization occurs with an abstract noun, which indicates that these are concrete phenomena.416 From these considerations, the plural δόξας may refer to different events at which the glory of Christ is manifest, including his resurrection (1.21), his journey to heaven, his enthronement (3.22), and, finally, the salvation for which the Christians wait (to this extent, the readers are indeed included in the δόξαι that follow the Christ event; cf. 1.7).417 It is also possible that the plural form represents not so much the manifestations of Christ’s glory but also the prestigious honours

413   Cf. Selwyn 137 (and further 253–58). On the basis of the LXX parallels, Selwyn takes δόξας in the sense of ‘triumphs’. 414   Elliott 348; cf. also Mason 392; Goppelt 96 n. 69. Likewise, there is no basis for suggesting that ‘the plural is meant to show that the glories of Christ surpass his sufferings’ (Watson 28). 415   Only at Heb 2.9 (τὸ πάθημα τοῦ θανάτου) is πάθημα found in the singular. 416   On the pluralizing of abstract expressions, see Gildersleeve, Syntax, §44–45; Smyth, Grammar, §1000(3); BDF §142. 417   This view has been espoused by numerous interpreters, e.g., Bigg 110; Monnier 54; Knopf 57; Spicq 56; Beare 93; Michaels 45; Davids 63; Knoch 47; Achtemeier 111 n. 72; Osborne 159; Schlosser 79; Forbes 31; Dus 58–59; cf. also Bénétreau, ‘Évangile et prophétie’, 175 n. 2.

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conferred upon him.418 The plural of δόξα is used in this way elsewhere. For instance, the ancient historian Diodorus Siculus, in describing a conflict in the city of Argos, mentions ‘certain demagogues’ who ‘stirred up the populace against those who distinguished themselves in offices and honours (τῶν ταῖς ἐξουσίαις καὶ δόξαις ὑπερεχόντων, 15.58.1; cf. Hecataeus, Frag. 25 [Jacoby 3a, 264F]). This latter emphasis would be consistent with the motif of suffering followed by glory/reward, which the author charts throughout the letter. In the end, however, these options need not be mutually exclusive. Despite a somewhat distinctive formulation, the conviction that the author expresses—about the suffering and subsequent glorification of Christ—is common in early Christian thought, grounded in a christological interpretation of the Jewish scriptures.419 12 οἷς ἀπεκαλύφθη ὅτι οὐχ ἑαυτοῖς, ἑαυτοῖς, ὑμῖν δὲ διηκόνουν αὐτά The relative pronoun οἷς indicates a continuing focus on the prophets. In response to their diligent enquiries (ἐραυνῶντες), divine revelation was given such that it allowed them to foresee the sufferings and glories destined for Christ.420 Now the author   Cf. Windisch 54.   It is perhaps best expressed in the Gospel of Luke: ‘ “Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself’ (24.26–27, ESV). Another notable parallel is Heb 2.9–10, which draws heavily on the language of Ps 8. In fact, Elliott sees this passage as ‘the closest parallel to the Petrine formulation’, both texts representing ‘independent formulations of a common Christian tradition succinctly summarizing the two chief foci of Christ’s life, his suffering (and death) and his (resurrection and) glorification by God’ (347–48). 420   Rather than viewing this revelation as God’s gracious response to the careful and diligent inquiry of the prophets, some interpreters (e.g., Lillie 54; Alford 337–38; Mason 393; Huther 74; Kühl 103; cf. Bennett 193) have understood the author to be referring to previous communication given to the prophets which stimulated their search; hence, ἀπεκαλύφθη is read with the sense, ‘it had been revealed’. The line of thought would run as follows: despite the fact that the ancient prophets knew the messianic prophecies were for a future generation, they nevertheless continued to diligently search for the time of the messiah’s arrival. The implication would then be that the readers, for whom the prophecies were meant, should display the same kind of dedication. For a critique of this position, see Johnstone 81–82. 418 419



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continues to discuss the content and significance of what was revealed (ἀπεκαλύφθη) to them. The use of ἀποκαλύπτω is notable and deliberate, particularly given the rarity of the construction ἀποκαλύπτω + ὅτι.421 Other verbs could have been selected, but the choice of this one emphasises that the revelation to the Hebrew prophets was of the same significance and character as the revelation that is proclaimed and still anticipated by Christian writers, including the author himself (cf. 1.5; 5.1).422 The passive verb may imply God as the agent423 or the Spirit of Christ.424 While the former is common in the NT, the latter may be more likely here, given the explicit designation of the πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ as the active subject in v. 10, though it is difficult to be confident either way. There is a logical progression in the author’s thought. Having indicated that the prophets foresaw Christ’s suffering and glory, he now indicates that they were also shown that their ‘ministry’—that is, their (ongoing) prophetic service in mediating God’s word425— was not for their own sake (οὐχ ἑαυτοῖς) but ‘for you’ (ὑμῖν), the 421   Because of the rarity of this usage (ἀποκαλύπτω + ὅτι), some translations render ὅτι causally (see Vulgate, Wycliffe, Luther; cf. also Selwyn, St. Luke the Prophet, 119). This interpretation is also adopted by those who understand ὅτι οὐχ ἑαυτοῖς, ὑμῖν δὲ διηκόνουν αὐτά as a parenthetic statement intended to address the question, ‘Why were those things revealed to them, seeing they were not permitted to realize their fulfilment?’ (Fronmüller 18; cf. also Hofmann 32; Burger 239; for a critique of this view, see Kühl 103). Nevertheless, this construction is found in some later Christian texts (e.g., T.Levi 1.2 [in certain MSS]; Ign. Eph. 2.20 [in certain MSS and versions]; Eusebius, Antiquorum martyriorum collectio, 1.1 [PG 20:1521]; Hist. eccl. 5.3.2), with ὅτι denoting the content of what was revealed, and this appears to be its function here (cf. Alford 338; Selwyn 137). 422   Michaels makes this point well: ‘Peter could as easily have used ἐγνωρίσθη… or even ἐλαλήθη… [or perhaps ἐφανερώθη, cf. 2 Cor 3.3; 1 John 2.19] with the indirect discourse clause, but perhaps chose ἀπεκαλύφθη instead to make the point that the ancient prophets, no less than NT Christians, had a “revelation”… (cf. Eph 3:4–6)… The effect of Peter’s language is to emphasize not the secondary importance of the prophets’ ministry, but the supreme importance of the future redemptive events to which they bore witness’ (46). 423   So, e.g., Demarest 75; Wand 51; Michaels 45; Elliott 349; Schreiner 74. 424   So, e.g., von Soden 135; Lenski 47; Grudem 71; Hiebert 78; Achtemeier 111. 425   The imperfect διηκόνουν, which marks a departure from the tense of the original utterance of direct discourse (see Burton, Moods and Tenses, 130–42; Robertson, Grammar, 1029), probably indicates some sense of continuation from the past (see Keil 59 n. 1; Monnier 55; Schelkle 42 n. 2; Davids 64 n. 29; cf. also

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readers of the letter.426 This is another instance of what Elliott has termed the ‘for-you-ness’ of the letter (see on 1.4).427 It is noteworthy that the author describes the efforts of the prophets using the verb διακονέω, which is commonly employed in early Christian writings to describe service performed on behalf of the church (see Rom 15.25; 2 Cor 8.19–20; 1 Tim 3.10; Heb 6.10). Later in the epistle, the same term is employed to denote the assistance that individuals in the communities are expected to supply other members (1 Pet BDF §327; Wallace, Grammar, 543–44) up to the present where it has significance for the recipients of the letter. 426   In an earlier publication, it was argued that the Petrine author believed himself to be carrying out divinely inspired exegesis of the ancient prophetic scriptures, which he then communicated to the readers of this letter (see Williams, ‘Ancient Prophets’, 223–46; cf. Marshall 47, who attributes this inspired interpretation to the evangelists who proclaimed the gospel). Such a conclusion was based on the interpretive techniques employed in the epistle (see 1.24–25; 2.4–10, 21–25) and the hermeneutical presuppositions with which the author approached the Jewish scriptures (1.10–12). The latter is particularly relevant here. Similar to other prophetic figures who were credited with performing revelatory exegesis (e.g., the Teacher of Righteousness), it was proposed that the Petrine author envisioned himself as providing the ‘true’ meaning of prophetic texts that were hidden even from the prophets themselves. However, the language of v. 12 seems to prove this hypothesis incorrect. What makes this view difficult to sustain is the amount of information that was revealed to the ancient prophets. According to 1QpHab 7.1–2, ‘God told Habakkuk to write down the things that were going to come upon the last generation, but the fullness of the end-time God did not make known to him’. Most take this statement to mean that Habakkuk delivered a divine oracle that he himself did not understand, and as a result, an inspired interpreter (i.e., the Teacher of Righteousness) was necessary to disclose the full meaning of this prophetic pronouncement (see, e.g., Fishbane, ‘Use, Authority and Interpretation’, 361–62; Schiffman, Reclaiming, 225–26; Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 35). If this interpretation is correct, it represents a different perspective on the Hebrew prophets than the one reflected in 1 Peter. Here, by way of a Christianising interpretation, the prophets are said to have received a revelation about the sufferings and glories of Christ, indicating that they understood the events they were predicting (see Donelson 37–38; Watson 28–29). This cognisance, which early Christians took to be plainly reflected in the prophetic predictions, would have made the Petrine author’s role as inspired exegete unnecessary. This concern about the proper interpretation of prophecy is more clearly apparent in texts like 2 Pet 1.19–2.2 and 3.16. 427   Elliott 336. The ‘for-you-ness’ of the gospel message plays an important role in the social strategy of 1 Peter, being used as a persuasive means of confirming the value of the readers’ present circumstances.



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4.10–11). As Kelly notes, ‘the insinuation here is that prophecy, in fact the OT revelation as a whole, has a function of service in relation to the Christian revelation’.428 It is obvious enough that prophets were not prophesying ἑαυτοῖς (but rather, at least primarily, to and for their contemporaries). Yet the author’s point is essentially a temporal one: the prophets’ ministry was not fundamentally one for the benefit of their own time and place, but rather for a later generation, who would experience the decisive eschatological intervention of God.429 There are already hints of such a future orientation in the classical prophets of the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Isa 2.2–4; 66.22–23; Hab 2.1–3; cf. Ezek 12.26–28),430 although the notion that the prophets’ message was intended for a later generation became prominent in later apocalyptic literature (see Dan 12.6–13; 1 En. 1.2; 1QpHab 7.1–8; 4 Ezra 4.33–52). This would also resonate with the author’s choice of the verb ἀποκαλύπτω to denote the revelation given to the prophets. Occasionally, αὐτά is parsed as a nominative and understood to be the subject of διηκόνουν. This would require the sentence to be rendered, ‘It was revealed to [the ancient prophets] that these things [viz. the prophecies about the sufferings and glories of Christ] were not for their own sake, but for you’.431 In other words, it was the   Kelly 62.   Pace Schott (48) who suggests that the verse was not intended to contrast the benefit of the prophetic message for one generation over another: ‘nicht mit ἀλλά, sondern nur mit δέ das positive ὑμῖν der Verneinung gegenübergestellt, also nicht dies ἑαυτοῖς schlechthin aufgehoben und das ὑμῖν ausschließlich an seine Stelle gesetzt wird; es tritt mit δέ nur zu dem Vorigen, welches bestehen bleibt, ein Neues, Verschiedenes hinzu’ (citing Hartung, Lehre von Partikeln, 1:171). The οὐχ… δέ construction makes this position difficult to sustain, however. On the future orientation of the prophets according to 1 Peter, see Sargent, ‘Narrative Substructure’, 487–88; idem, Written to Serve, 40–49. 430   Other texts are also cited as possible references for the author’s notion of the future reference of prophetic activity (e.g., Gen 49.10; Num 24.14–17; Deut 18.15; see Bigg 110; Knoch 47). Another passage that may provide insight into popular sentiments about prophecy is Ezek 12.26–28, where the prophet rejects the idea that his prophecy is for a distant time period. 431   See, e.g., Blenkin 30; Moffatt 99; Arichea–Nida 31; Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 27–33. The basis for this view is the claim that ‘except when used absolutely, [διακονέω] takes the dative of its object – almost as a rule’ (Shimada, Studies on First Peter, 30–31; original emphasis). Nevertheless, this assertion overlooks the fact that διακονέω can, on occasion, take a dative indirect object 428 429

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message revealed to the prophets (and not the prophets themselves) that ministered to the Christian communities. However, such a construal is far less likely than taking αὐτά as the (accusative) object of the verb, which describes the nature of the prophets’ ministry. These prophetic efforts involved serving future generations by depicting the sufferings and glories of Christ. Although this construction (διακονεῖν τινί τι) may be relatively uncommon, it is by no means unique. When it occurs, the dative describes the one who receives the (benefit of) service, while the accusative denotes the area or capacity in which service is rendered.432 A more significant consideration is whether αὐτά should be construed adjectivally with ἅ (yielding the sense that the prophets ‘ministered those very things which…’, and referring forward to the content of the evangelisation),433 or as an independent pronoun functioning as the object of διηκόνουν, in which case its antecedent may be either the phrase τὰ εἰς Χριστὸν παθήματα καὶ τὰς μετὰ ταῦτα δόξας or more generally, the prophets’ message and ministry described in vv. 10–11. Many commentators ignore this issue, but rightly take αὐτά as pronominal, and as a specific reference back to the παθήματα κτλ., which is most likely to be the intended (neuter plural) antecedent.434 ἃ νῦν ἀνηγγέλη ὑμῖν διὰ τῶν εὐαγγελισαμένων ὑμᾶς πνεύματι ἁγίῳ ἀποσταλέντι ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ, οὐρανοῦ, The content of the things announced to the recipients of the letter (ἃ νῦν ἀνηγγέλη ὑμῖν) is essentially the heart of the Christian gospel, the message about the sufferings and glories destined for Christ and the grace and salvation that this brings to those who (ἑαυτοῖς and ὑμῖν) with an accusative direct object (αὐτά). This construction appears elsewhere with the same force suggested above (e.g., Josephus, Ant. 11.163 [διακονήσων… τῷ βασιλεῖ τὴν ἐπὶ τοῦ πότου διακονίαν]; cf. also Plato, Leg. 955c; Diodorus Siculus 2.59.6; Josephus, Ant. 18.269; T.Ab. A 9.3). 432   See, e.g., T.Ab. A 9.3; Josephus, Ant. 11.163; 19.42; Lucian, Char. 1; [Asin.] 53; Aelius Aristides, Πρὸς Πλάτωνα ὑπὲρ τῶν τεττάρων, p. 174 (Jebb); Πρὸς Λεπτίνην ὑπὲρ ἀτελείας [Dub.] (fort. auctore Thoma Magistro), p. 84 (Jebb); Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 4.4.5. 433   As suggested by Wiesinger 86; Schott 49; Brückner 39. 434   See, e.g., Johnstone 81; Bigg 111; Achtemeier 111 n. 79; Elliott 349; Dubis 21. NA27 places a comma after αὐτά, implying its pronominal identification; whereas NA28 and ECM 113–14, perhaps wisely, omit any punctuation between αὐτά and ἅ, allowing the ambiguity to be considered.



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follow him. A shift in perspective from the past to the present is marked by νῦν. The combination of this temporal adverb—which is commonly understood to mark present time in relation to the action or speaker—with an aorist verb may seem unusual if tense is thought to reflect time (cf. also Matt 26.65; John 13.33; 1 Cor 5.11; Eph 3.5).435 But given the semantic range of νῦν, it likely denotes the present time conceived very broadly,436 in particular with reference to an earlier period.437 This ‘present’ time extends all the way back to the readers’ initial response to the preaching of the gospel (1 Pet 2.10, 25; 3.21), and it contrasts to the prior ministry of the Jewish prophets.438 As a reference to the final period in which God’s salvation is extended, the νῦν here carries a certain eschatological weight (cf. Acts 7.52; Rom 11.31; 2 Cor 6.2; Eph 3.5; Col 1.26; 2 Tim 1.10; 1 John 2.18; 4.3). In a further delineation of the details of this proclamation, he notes that the message about Christ was announced διὰ τῶν εὐαγγελισαμένων ὑμᾶς. The verb εὐαγγελίζω is a common NT verb (used 54 times in total) for ‘those who proclaim good news’, echoing OT texts such as Isa 52.7 (the singular taken as a plural in Rom 10.15)439 and Isa 61.1 (cf. Matt 11.5; Luke 4.18). While the role performed by οἱ εὐαγγελισαμενοί may have been similar to those referred to as οἱ εὐαγγελισταί (Eph 4.11; cf. Acts 21.8; 2 Tim 4.5),440 there is no indication here that any specifically identifiable   This construction reflects one of many used by Porter to argue that time is not grammaticalised in Greek verbs (see Verbal Aspect, 227; cf. also Decker, ‘Semantic Range’, 187–217). 436   For a similar construction, see Plato, Symp. 193a: καὶ πρὸ τοῦ, ὥσπερ λέγω, ἓν ἦμεν, νυνὶ δὲ διὰ τὴν ἀδικίαν διῳκίσθημεν ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ, καθάπερ Ἀρκάδες ὑπὸ Λακεδαιμονίων (‘formerly, as I said, we were one; but now we have been dispersed by god because of wrongdoing, just as the Arcadians were by the Lacedaemonians’). 437   See further Hort, ‘Use of the Aorist’, 226–30. 438   Elliott also notes that ‘this temporal contrast constitutes a final indication that the prophets mentioned here are those of ancient Israel and not of the present Christian community’ (349). 439   Some have claimed that the verb ἀνηγγέλη also echoes Isa 52.15 (cited in Rom 15.21 as well), which relates to the inclusion of the Gentiles in God’s saving acts (so, e.g., Masterman 76; Hart 47; Blenkin 30). This is possible, particularly if the author intends to draw an intertextual connection to the entire chapter, but the common nature of the term makes this claim difficult to prove. 440   In later Christian writings, the designation εὐαγγελιστής came to identify those who composed gospels (Gos. Pet. 15.1; Apoc. Sedr. 15.3, 5; Acts Thad. 1.3; 435

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group or role is in view. It is better taken as a general reference to the Christian missionaries through whom the converts of Asia Minor came to hear the good news.441 With very few indications provided in the text, it is difficult to determine when this evangelism took place. Some interpreters feel that it must have been a fairly recent occurrence, perhaps only a few years prior.442 Whether or not such a timeframe is justified,443 it does appear that ‘the author of 1 Peter understood his readers as consisting of those who were among the first who became Christians in these areas; they were not second-generation Christians, being taught by some leaders or catechists in the churches’.444 The use of διά (+ genitive) after the passive ἀνηγγέλη is probably intended to indicate that these missionaries were the (intermediate) agents through whom the message was announced, with the ultimate source of the announcement being either God or the Spirit.445 As with ἀπεκαλύφθη earlier in the verse, while God might Acts John 1.0). 441   Most recognise that this description indicates that ‘Peter’ was not responsible for the audience’s Christian conversion. It has been suggested that the phrase ‘neither includes nor excludes the apostle himself’ (Bigg 111; see also Elliott 350). While this may (technically) be true, if the author had intended to attribute ‘Peter’ some role in this process, he probably would have made this more explicit (cf. Huther 77). 442   Kelly, for instance, takes this mention of the readers’ conversion through Christian missionaries as ‘a reference to their recent conversion’ (63). Others appeal to the reference to newborns who must desire milk in 1 Pet 2.2 (e.g., Grundmann, ‘Die ΝΗΠΙΟΙ in der urchristlichen Paränese’, 191; Kraftchick, ‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 85; see also Bowman 119, 132; Thompson 89). For an estimate of a few years, see Seland, ‘Readers of 1 Peter’, 228. 443   The recent conversion of the readers of 1 Peter would be consistent with the experiences depicted in 1 Pet 4.2–3, where the social withdrawal of Christians is portrayed as surprising to outsiders, and with the author’s strategy of consolation in 4.12–19, where the audience is instructed not to be surprised by the backlash they are currently facing (see Schultz, ‘Teología y estrategia’, 366 n. 8, 370). Weighing against this suggestion, however, is (1) the fact that Paul had already evangelised various cities across Asia Minor some decades before 1 Peter was written and (2) the unlikely possibility that a large number of conversions occurred across Asia Minor at the same time (cf. Achtemeier 145; Schreiner 102). 444   Seland, ‘Readers of 1 Peter’, 232. 445   So Hort 59–60, who points to the construction in Matt 1.22 and 2.15: τὸ ῥηθὲν ὑπὸ κυρίου διὰ τοῦ προφήτου. Cf. Michaels 47; Dubis 21. On διά + genitive as an indication of agency, see BDF §223, and on constructions using



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be the implied (and ultimate) source of the announcement (i.e., a divine passive), the proximity of the dative reference to the Spirit— linking back to the πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ of v. 11, though here identified as πνεῦμα ἅγιον446—suggests that this may be the directly implied agent of the passive verb.447 The ‘ultimate agent’ is usually expressed using ὑπό + genitive (as in Matt 1.22; 2.15, or ἀπό or παρά), with the simple dative conveying the ‘impersonal means’.448 Seeing the Spirit as the implied agent of ἀνηγγέλη (and ἀπεκαλύφθη) would cohere reasonably well with this: describing the Spirit as ‘sent from heaven’ (ἀποσταλέντι ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ)449 adds weight to the idea that it is the Spirit that conveys the good news through the missionaries who then spread the message, while also implying (without the passive with indications of ultimate and intermediate agency, see Wallace, Grammar, 431–38. 446   If the preposition ἐν were original (which is not likely, see Text at 1.12 n. h), πνεύματι ἁγίῳ could be definite (‘the Holy Spirit’) due to its use as the object of a preposition (see Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 58–59 [§182]). Nevertheless, even without the preposition, the lack of an article here is probably not significant (cf. also 1.2; 3.18; 4.6), and it need not be understood as indefinite, ‘a holy spirit’ (as Hort 61; von Soden 134; Masterman 76). Elliott (350 with n. 18) notes other similar instances in the NT (esp. John 20.22; Acts 8.15, 17). 447   Cf. Achtemeier 113: ‘as the Spirit of Christ informed the message of the prophets, the Holy Spirit impels the proclamation of the gospel’. As Achtemeier then notes (113 n. 102), we are ‘not to understand differing origins for the message of the prophets (πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ) and evangelists (πνεῦμα ἅγιον) so much as to see the common origin of both in the divine Spirit who underlies both activities’. 448   Wallace, Grammar, 432. The dative πνεύματι is occasionally said to denote association, in that the Spirit works as an accompanying influence to aid the gospel proclamation (see Michaels 47; Achtemeier 112; Schreiner 75 n. 91). It is more likely, however, that πνεύματι functions instrumentally, describing the means by which the message was preached (see Monnier 56; Wand 52; Forbes 32). A slight variation on this was proposed by Hort, who describes it as a ‘dynamic’ dative. By this, he means πνεύματι ‘expresses that in virtue of which a state of things exists or an action is performed’ (Hort 61, original emphasis; cf. also Masterman 76; Blenkin 30). In this way, the Spirit was not simply the means that the evangelists employed when communicating the gospel; it was the power that animated them in this task. 449   Some have understood this language as a reference to the outpouring of the Spirit at Pentecost (so, e.g., Alford 338; Fausset 500; Huther 76; Lenski 49; Wand 52; Grudem 72; Marshall 47; Forbes 32). However, such an allusion seems unlikely. The mention of being ‘sent from heaven’ (ἀποσταλέντι ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ) is merely intended to emphasise the divine origins of the gospel message that was proclaimed to the readers (cf. Kelly 63; Senior 34).

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specifying) God’s (or Christ’s) ultimate agency as the one who ‘sent’ the Spirit. Elsewhere in the NT, the activity of the Spirit was similarly thought to accompany missionary preaching, its presence being demonstrated through powerful signs (1 Cor 2.4; 1 Thess 1.5; Heb 2.4). In this case, the Spirit is specifically connected to proclamation of the gospel,450 which would seem to imply that these early evangelists were inspired just like the prophets of old.451 This would be consistent with the perspective on inspiration and divine speech expressed elsewhere in the epistle. Later in the same chapter, the author describes the gospel message that was proclaimed to the readers as ‘the word of God’ (1.23–25) and in 4.11, those who exercised speaking gifts in the Anatolian congregations are thought to be dispensing divine revelation (see Exegesis at 4.11). It is also reflective of how early Christians, more broadly, understood the Spirit’s influence on speech.452 εἰς ἃ ἐπιθυμοῦσιν ἄγγελοι παρακύψαι. παρακύψαι. In the final clause of the verse (εἰς ἅ κτλ.), a second relative pronoun refers back again to αὐτά. Having moved from the thought of the prophets’ diligent inquiry in the past to the present-time announcement of the gospel, the author now indicates the high and wondrous status of the content of this good news by

450   Some have posited that the Holy Spirit also played a role in the illumination of those who received the gospel message (e.g., Bénétreau, ‘Obscurité et clarification’, 4). This is certainly possible, although the text specifically connects the ministry of the Spirit to the proclamation of the gospel through Christian evangelists: πνεύματι ἁγίῳ modifies εὐαγγελισαμένων rather than ἀνηγγέλη based on its proximity to the former. 451   Cf. Tábet, ‘La Scrittura e lo “Spirito di Cristo” ’, 378: ‘la descrizione dello Spirito Santo come “mandato dal cielo” serve…a caratterizzare il messaggio evangelico come messagio divinamente ispirato’. See also Demarest 76–77; Plumptre 99; Mason 393. Lenski (49–50) is willing to describe the proclamation of these Christian missionaries as ‘inspired’ only if the category is limited to the apostles. Yet this is an arbitrary distinction that is not drawn by the Petrine author. 452   Similar phraseology (i.e., a verb of speaking + (ἐν) πνεύματι) is found elsewhere in early Christian literature. It usually denotes that the Spirit is in some way aiding the speech (Mark 12.36; Acts 6.10; 1 Cor 12.3; 14.2; Did. 11.7–8, 12; Barn. 10.2, 9; Inf. Gos. Thom. A 15.2).



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connecting it with the activity of angels.453 Again the apocalyptic character of 1 Peter’s theological perspective is evident.454 What is said about angels is that ‘they desire to look’ (ἐπιθυμοῦσιν παρακύψαι) into the matters related to the sufferings and glories destined for Christ. The nature of this inquiry depends on the meaning of the verb παρακύπτω, one of a number of compounds based on κύπτειν (‘to bend’). This term often describes the act of contorting one’s body in order to gain a better view of an object that is not within the current line of sight.455 It is used of the disciples who stooped down to see into the tomb of Jesus (Luke 24.12; John 20.5, 11; Gos. Pet. 13.55–56). Such manoeuvring usually involves looking around or over obstacles, including walls, doors, or windows (1 Chr 15.29; Sir 14.23; LAE 17.2; Lucian, Bis acc. 31; P.Oxy. III 475). Rather than denoting a long probing investigation,456 this act normally involves a quick or cursory glance (Demosthenes, 1 Philip. 24; Plutarch, Amat. 20 [Mor. 766D]; Epictetus, Diatr. 1.1; Lucian, Tim. 13), sometimes in an attempt to avoid detection (Aesop, Fab. 81). This brevity is also found in the metaphorical uses, where the verb can describe a brief glimpse of hope (Aristophanes, Eccl. 202) or the initial breaking through of one’s first teeth (Soranus, Gyn. 2.49.3).   As with προφῆται in v. 10, ἄγγελοι is anarthrous here, making the reference unspecific. A link with 3.19–22 has sometimes been suggested, which would raise the question as to whether the angels of 1.12 are good, bad, or both. In this instance, they seem more likely to be ‘good’ angels, since the comparison would then have more force: even such angels cannot fully see the salvation that these readers have received. For discussion, see Schutter, Hermeneutic, 104–105. 454   On the ‘apocalyptic’ character of 1 Peter, see Webb, ‘Intertexture and Rhetorical Strategy’, 72–110; Bautch, ‘Apocalyptic Imagination’, 63–82; Pierce, ‘Apocalypse and the Epistles of 1, 2 Peter’, 308–17. 455   See TDNT 5:814–16; LSJ 1315. 456   Numerous commentators describe the term as ‘the earnest gaze of one who bends over a given object and scrutinizes it thoroughly’ (Plumptre 100; cf. de Wette 11; Demarest 77; Cook 180; Mounce 17). This explanation appears to arise out of the immediate context, where prophets are said to have searched diligently regarding the time of the messiah’s arrival (v. 10), and from comparative uses (e.g., Jas 1.25, where the participle παραμείνας is sometimes thought to denote a prolonged gaze at the νόμον τέλειον). Neither of these factors is sufficient to overcome the consistent use of the term. Cf. Field, Notes, 236, who notes that its meaning ‘is rather to cast a careless or hurried glance on anything, than to submit to close examination’. 453

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What the author may have in mind here is a scene similar to the one described in 1 En. 9.1, where four archangels are ‘looking down’ (παρακύψαντες) from heaven to see what is taking place on earth (cf. Tertullian, Spect. 27.3). With the prepositional modifier εἰς, the verb is given a directional sense, with the observers glancing into a specific location (cf. Prov 7.6; Sir 21.23; Acts Thom. 55.4; 56.1, 3; Libanius, Or. 11.215), but the fact that ἅ refers to events whose significance is at issue would suggest that a figurative sense is required (cf. Gregory of Nazianzus, Or. 31.8). Commentators are divided over the exact reason why such longings arise and whether these desires are fulfilled. Some suggestions can be more quickly dismissed than others.457 Most interpreters hold to one of two views. Many take the angels’ interest in redemption as stemming from a desire to see the plans and purposes of God reach their fulfilment.458 In this way, peering into the message of the gospel does not indicate ignorance or curiosity on the part of angels, but an expectant hope. This view is consistent with traditions about angels being cognisant of human affairs (1 Cor 4.9; 1 Tim 3.16) and performing roles of service toward God’s people (Heb 1.14), but especially those involving angels rejoicing over the repentance of sinners (Luke 15.10). According to this interpretation, the desire of angels is satisfied in that they are able to 457   One view that was occasionally espoused by earlier interpreters is that the description alludes to Exod 25.20, which depicts the cherubim overlooking the ark of the covenant (see Grotius 68; Beza 564; Macknight 441; Doddridge 187–88; Cook 180). Another view is that angels have a longing to comprehend the salvific experience of humans, including the separation from God due to sin and the redemption that is found in Christ. This interpretation was relatively common among an earlier generation of scholars (e.g., Fausset 500–501; Mason 394; Huther 77–78), but it is very rarely espoused by more recent scholars (although, see Miller 147). The clause has also been taken to refer to fallen angels who seek to understand salvation so that they can oppose God’s plans (see Boring 66; cf. Beare 94). In support of this hypothesis, proponents point out that the term ἐπιθυμέω often possesses negative overtones (Exod 20.17; Ps 105[106].14; Prov 21.26; 1 Macc 4.17), and that in the only other reference to angels (1 Pet 3.22) the author seems to refer to those standing opposed to God. The problem is that angels are intended to be counterparts to the prophets mention in v. 10, with both providing examples of agents of God who did not have the same privileges that were available to the readers. 458   So, e.g., Selwyn 138–39; Grudem 73; Davids 64; Bénétreau 96; Goppelt 101 n. 90; Richard 55; Forbes 33.



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look into the suffering and glory of Christ with a view towards the final consummation. The problem, however, is that when this construction (παρακύπτειν + εἰς) is used metaphorically to denote observation of an idea or concept, it normally involves intellectual curiosity that is grounded in a lack of (complete) understanding. This is best illustrated in Gregory of Nazianzus’ oration on the Holy Spirit. When discussing ideas about the generation and process of members of the Trinity with his dialogue partner, he concludes by noting, ‘we will both go mad peering into the mysteries of God’ (παραπληκτίσομεν ἄμφω εἰς θεοῦ μυστήρια παρακύπτοντες, Or. 31.8). It is probably better, therefore, to understand the passage in an alternative way. Many take the passage to mean that angels lack a complete understanding of certain mysterious aspects of redemption and therefore that they are curious about the details.459 Such limitations would be consistent with views found in some Jewish and Christian texts, which state that certain mysteries have been hidden from angels (1 En. 16.3; 2 En. 24.3; Mark 13.32),460 or that the mysteries of salvation have at last been made known, specifically to and in the Church, from which the heavenly creatures will learn of it (see esp. Eph 3.3–10; cf. also Rom 16.25; 1 Cor 2.1–8; Eph 1.8–10; Col 1.26–27; Ign. Eph. 19.1; Ep. Apos. 19). As such, the current ‘desire’ (ἐπιθυμοῦσιν)461 of angels is by no means a bad impulse— although the noun ἐπιθυμία is elsewhere in 1 Peter used to denote negative passions (1.14; 2.11; 4.2–3)—but simply a strong yearning (cf. Luke 15.16; 22.15; 1 Tim 3.1; Heb 6.11; Rev 9.6). It is parallel 459   So, e.g., Moffatt 102; Windisch 55; Cranfield 45; Kelly 63; Best 82–83; Michaels 48–49; Marshall 47; Picirilli 120; Achtemeier 112. 460   In some literature, particularly with an apocalyptic or visionary character, one finds the idea that angels have insight superior to that of humans, such that they can serve as interpreters of visions (e.g., Dan 7.16; Zech 1.9–2.3; 4.1–6; 1 En. 1.2; 72.1; 108.5–7; 4 Ezra 4.1–3; Rev 1.1; 17.1; 22.6–8; Philo Fug. 203–204). There is another strand of tradition that stresses angels’ roles as servants of the divine mission and message, and as such, they are in some sense of lower status than the recipients of God’s salvation (cf. 1 Cor 6.3; Gal 3.19; Heb 1.14; 2.2–3). 461   A few ancient interpreters read ἐπιθυμοῦσιν as an aorist (e.g., Irenaeus, Haer. 4.67; cf. Oecumenius [PG 119:521]), understanding the desire of the angels to have taken place during the time of the Hebrew prophets. In contrast, the verb has occasionally been understood as describing the desire to know a future event, viz. the time of the last judgment (see Le Clerc 586).

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to the unfulfilled longing of many prophets and righteous people that is described by Jesus (Matt 13.17; Luke 17.22). But if the object of the angels’ interest in the present verse was the sufferings and glories of Christ (as indicated by the relative pronouns), why would this be an incomprehensible mystery after its historical fulfilment? While there is, in one sense, no reason why the angels cannot now see the sufferings and glories of Christ, perhaps the key point is that, unlike the letter’s recipients, they are not privileged to have what the author of Ephesians calls ‘the mystery of the good news’ (Eph 6.19) announced to them. In functional terms, then, this view highlights the privileged position of believers in relation to angels, just as their relative good fortune compared to the prophets is also highlighted earlier in the verse. Summary In the extended blessing, the author has already at the outset indicated some of the key themes and concerns of the letter, and, at the same time, revealed many of his theological (and hermeneutical) convictions. One of the fundamental themes is made clear in vv. 3–5. The readers are here identified as persons whose identity has been utterly reconstituted: they have been born anew. And the richness of what they now stand to inherit lays the basis for a positive sense of their privileged new identity as God’s people— something that the main body of the letter will go on to develop. Along with the rich depiction of this certain hope, these opening verses also give a clear indication of the eschatological perspective of the letter, with the promised salvation standing ready to be revealed, and (it is implied) soon. The combined identity of the recipients as both ‘elect’ of God and estranged from the world has already been signaled (1.1). The letter will go on to detail their vulnerability and experience of hostility and suffering due to this new religious commitment. To people facing such threats, the positive emphasis on the richness of reward that awaits them and on the security of their attaining this inheritance provides positive reassurance and represents an attempt to underscore the value of this new identity into which they have been born. The second sub-section, vv. 6–9, focuses both on the joy and glorious reward that will come to those who are steadfast in their trust and also explicitly introduces the theme of the trials that currently



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threaten and trouble the recipients (and, we later learn [5.9], their Christian kin around the world). The eschatological perspective of the letter again becomes clear in its declaration that these trials— and the suffering of the addressees—will only last for a little while, and also in its confident pointing forward to the inexpressible joy and salvation that are soon to be attained.462 The final verses (vv. 10–12) constitute an important indication of the author’s hermeneutical perspective, outlining his rationale for seeing the Jewish scriptures as a source of revelation concerning Christ and the salvation that is already prepared and soon to be realised. This Christianising perspective on the prophets of the Hebrew Bible—and by implication on the whole of those scriptures—is not unproblematic for the history of Jewish–Christian relations. But it is central to the early Christian claim that what has happened in Jesus Christ was in fulfillment of ‘the scriptures’ and helps to explain why our author draws precisely on these scriptures to depict the sufferings of Christ (2.21–25). These verses constitute the most explicit and developed explanation of this claim in the NT, with the twofold declaration that the prophets were inspired by ‘the Spirit of Christ’ and that what they foresaw was ‘the sufferings and glories destined for Christ’. Moreover, the privileged position of the eschatological generation to whom the good news was announced is made clear: the prophets’ ministry was for their benefit, and the good news they have received is something even angels long to understand. Thus, through the form of an extended expression of blessing upon God, the author announces programmatically the way in which the letter seeks to shape the readers’ perception of themselves and their situation. This is a message of consolation and hope, assuring vulnerable Christians that their sufferings find a place within God’s salvific plans—plans foreseen long ago but finding their fulfillment ‘now’ (v. 12). This opening depiction has therefore laid the foundations for the more explicit teaching and exhortation to be presented in the main body of the letter.

462   On the consolatory topoi used in 1.6–9, see Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 148–52.

FIR S T MA JO R S E C T I ON O F T H E L E T T E R -B O DY (1.13–2.10)

A C A L L F O R H O P E , H O L IN E SS, AND LOVE (1.13–25)

Initial Bibliography Frederick W. Danker, ‘1 Peter 1:14–2:17—A Consolatory Pericope’, ZNW 58 (1967): 95–102; J. de Waal Dryden, Theology and Ethics in 1 Peter: Paraenetic Strategies for Christian Character Formation, WUNT 2/209 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 91–116; Stephen C. Frederick, ‘The Theme of Obedience in the First Epistle of Peter’ (Ph.D. diss., Duke University, 1975); David W. Kendall, ‘The Christian Vocation: The Call to Holiness According to the First Epistle of Peter’, Asbury Seminarian 40 (1985): 3–12; Nancy Pardee, ‘Be Holy, For I Am Holy: Paraenesis in 1 Peter’, in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students, ed. Eric F. Mason and Troy W. Martin, RBS 77 (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 113–34; Jacob Prasad, Foundations of the Christian Way of Life according to 1 Peter 1, 13–25: An Exegetico-Theological Study, AB 146 (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2000).

Introduction After the extended opening blessing in which the author outlines the hope, the inheritance, and the salvation that are a cause for great joy and rejoicing for those who believe, the opening section of the letter-body proper moves to exhortation and instruction based upon and motivated precisely by this great work of God.1 The themes and ideas of 1.1–12 are picked up again, only now the emphasis is upon the Christians’ responsibility to live a life worthy of that calling. As Elliott concisely puts it, ‘our author now shifts from declaration to exhortation’.2 The ancient κεφάλαιον that serves as a heading to this section (1.13–25) reads ‘Concerning hope, and holiness and the obligatory and steadfast conduct appropriate to sonship’.3

  For more on paraenesis in 1 Peter, see Dryden, Theology and Ethics, esp. 143–91; Pardee, ‘Be Holy’, 113–34. 2   Elliott 354. Or, as it is commonly stated, the Petrine author moves from indica�tive to imperative (see Goppelt, ‘Prinzipien neutestamentlicher Sozialethik’, 287). 3   For Greek text and details, see Introduction: Theology, Message and Strategy of 1 Peter. 1

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As we have noted above, scholars disagree about whether the main body of the letter begins at 1.3 or here at 1.13.4 With the conjunction διό (v. 13), the author signals not only the start of a new (sub-)section, but also a close connection with what precedes.5 Three observations may incline us nonetheless to see 1.13 as the opening of the body proper, though without denying the tight connections that bind it to the opening blessing: (1) the ancient MS and κεφάλαια evidence indicates the first section break at 1.13;6 (2) we find here the first imperatival exhortation in the letter (ἐλπίσατε, v. 13); and (3) διό is one of the conjunctions (along with οὖν and ὅθεν) used to ‘transition from the background to a statement of request’7 and may be seen as an ‘epistolary formula’ indicating 1.13 as the ‘body-opening’.8 The major section of the letter introduced here runs from 1.13 to 2.10,9 but it divides into two main sections, each introduced with an inferential conjunction and participle (Διὸ ἀναζωσάμενοι… Ἀποθέμενοι οὖν). The sub-section identified from 1.13–25 itself breaks into two shorter parts (vv. 13–21 and 22–25), each of which broadly takes the form of exhortation followed by some theological justification or motivation.10 The material in 1.18–21 (and   See Introduction to 1.3–12, with nn. 4 and 5.   Cf. Achtemeier 118. 6   See Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure; cf. also Introduction: Theology, Message and Strategy of 1 Peter. 7   White, Ancient Letters, 211. 8   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 70. On introductory formulae and transitions to the letter-body, see further White, ‘Introductory Formulae’, 91–97; Sanders, ‘Transition’, 348–62. For these arguments in relation to 1 Pet 1.13 as the body opening, see Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 70–71. 9   See Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure. 10   For an alternative construal of the structure, see Achtemeier 114. Elliott (355) takes 1.13–21 to have a chiastic structure, noting the repetition of hope at the beginning and end. Recently, Malcolm (‘Governing Imagery’, 10–11) has proposed an interesting division based on syntax and the familial language employed in 1 Pet 1.14–2.3. Following the imperative in 1.13, the basic motivation behind the readers’ transformed lifestyle is the new familial relationships that have been established through conversion. More specifically, Malcolm contends that the command ἐλπίσατε (1.13) ‘is fleshed out with four parallel constructions that explore different features of the new familial status. In each, a depiction of the particular familial feature is followed by an aorist imperative, which shows the corresponding change of mindset that must occur for the recipients’ (10). The proposed structure is as follows: ὡς τέκνα ὑπακοῆς…ἅγιοι 4 5



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esp. vv. 20–21) has long been thought to include traditional credal and christological material. Commentators sometimes see a break between vv. 17 and 1811 and translations often render the beginning of v. 18 (εἰδότες ὅτι) as if it were a new sentence (e.g., RSV, NRSV: ‘You know that…’; cf. NIV). Yet there are good reasons to connect the two verses grammatically (cf. ESV, NASB).12 The comments below deal with vv. 13–16 then vv. 17–21, and finally vv. 22–25, with an overall summary of this section provided at the end. A Call to Holiness (1.13–16) Initial Bibliography Paul E. Deterding, ‘Exodus Motif in First Peter’, Concordia Journal 7 (1981): 58–65; R. Melvin McMillen, ‘Metaphor and First Peter: The Essential Role of the Minds of Father-God’s Children in Spiritual Conflict with a Special Focus on 1:13’ (Ph.D. diss., University of South Africa, 2011); Christoph G. Müller, ‘ “Umgürtet die Hüften eurer Gesinnung!” (1 Petr 1,13). Das Zusammenspiel von metaphorischer Rede und nicht-metaphorischer Begrifflichkeit im Ersten Petrusbrief’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013), 143–66; Jacob Prasad, Foundations of the Christian Way of Life according to 1 Peter 1, 13–25: An Exegetico-Theological Study, AnBib 146 (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2000); Martin H. Scharlemann, ‘Exodus Ethics: Part One – 1 Peter 1:13–16’, Concordia Journal 2 (1976): 165–70; Jacques Schlosser, ‘Le theme exodial dans la Prima Petri’, in La Mémoire et le Temps: Mélanges offerts à Pierre Bonnard, ed. γενήθητε (1.14–16), εἰ πατέρα ἐπικαλεῖσθε… ἐν φόβῳ ἀναστράφητε (1.17– 21), Τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν ἡγνικότες ἐν τῇ ὑπακοῇ τῆς ἀληθείας εἰς φιλαδελφίαν ἀνυπόκριτον… ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε (1.22–25), and ὡς ἀρτιγέννητα βρέφη… γάλα ἐπιποθήσατε (2.1–3). Upon closer examination, however, this paralleled structure might be somewhat forced. Syntactically, it does not account for the imperatival participle συσχηματιζόμενοι (1.14) which also issues a command, nor is it convincing to argue that the command to set one’s hope on the return of Christ (1.13) stands as the headline exhortation that is fleshed out by the imperatives that follow. Further, this proposal tends to confuse the motivation that derives from the new familial relationship (1.17) with the use of familial metaphors as a way to illustrate a command (1.14; 2.2). As such, it tends to overlook the fact that familial status does not always serve as the basis for each command (see 1.22, where the purification of the souls allows for love). 11   E.g., Michaels 51, 63. 12   See Snyder, ‘Participles and Imperatives’, 192–93.

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Daniel Marguerat and Jean Zumstein, Monde de la Bible 23 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1991), 259–74; Emiliano Vallauri, ‘ “Succincti lumbos mentis vestrae” (1 Piet. 1,13). Nota per una traduzione’, BeO 24 (1982): 19–22.

Text 13

Διὸ ἀναζωσάμενοι τὰς ὀσφύας τῆς διανοίας ὑμῶν νήφοντες τελείως(a) ἐλπίσατε ἐπὶ τὴν φερομένην ὑμῖν χάριν ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Χριστοῦ. 14 ὡς τέκνα ὑπακοῆς μὴ συσχηματιζόμενοι ταῖς πρότερον ἐν τῇ ἀγνοίᾳ ὑμῶν ἐπιθυμίαις,, 15(b) ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὸν καλέσαντα ὑμᾶς ἅγιον καὶ αὐτοὶ ἐπιθυμίαις ἅγιοι ἐν πάσῃ ἀναστροφῇ(c) γενήθητε γενήθητε,, 16 διότι γέγραπται· γέγραπται·(d) (e) (f) (g) ἅγιοι ἔσεσθε , ὅτι ἐγὼ ἅγιός .

(a) Due to the difficulty created by the adverb τελείως (see Exegesis at 1.13), Harris (‘Emendation to 1 Peter i.13’, 43) suggested that the text be emended to τε ἀεί, with ὡς being omitted. This construction is said to modify the preceding participle νήφοντες, producing the sense, ‘keep wide awake at all times’. But, as Achtemeier has noted, this solution ‘is ingenious but probably wide of the mark’ (119 n. 23). (b) At this point, P72 gives the first of its marginal thematic headings: περὶ ἀγειοσύνη. P72 also singularly omits ἐν τῇ prior to ἀγνοίᾳ. (c) Here C-S reads apostrofh (= ἀποστροφή, ‘turning away’, ‘renunciation’) for ἀναστροφῇ, a reading which, as Willis notes, would represent ‘a theme especially attractive to an early Egyptian ascetic’ (‘Letter of Peter’, 156; cf. Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 261). (d) While ὅτι is found after γέγραπται in B, Ψ, 049*, 69, 1735, and in the Armenian and Ethiopic versions, the omission—which is the reading of the TR and Majority Text—is much more strongly supported (P72, ‫א‬, A, C, etc., as well as in the Georgian, and Old Slavonic versions). Commentators are divided over whether it should be retained (so Weiss 124; Kühl 115; Hort 72; Michaels 51 n. b) or omitted (so Huther 42; Knopf 66 n. 1; Schlosser 88 n. c). One could make a case that ὅτι was omitted due to a perceived redundancy; however, it could just as easily be argued that it was added due to a scribe’s uncertainty regarding the introduction of a scriptural quotation after γέγραπται, a construction which at times does require ὅτι (e.g., Mark 11.17; Luke 4.4; Rom 3.10; 1 Cor 14.21). In this case, the external evidence must be the deciding factor, giving the omission a slight advantage (see ECM 21, 23, 117). (e) Some Greek witnesses read either γένεσθε (K, P, 049, etc., a reading that is defended by Bloomfield 705 and represented in the texts of Elzevir and Griesbach) or γίνεσθε (L, 6, 18, 35, etc., and in the Majority Text of Robinson-Pierpont), possibly indicating a later theological viewpoint in which holiness was seen as a goal towards which one should strive (Feldmeier 101). But ἔσεσθε is strongly supported in the earliest MSS (P72, ‫א‬, A, B, C) and



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many other texts (Ψ, 33, 81, 2412, etc.), making it the most likely reading (cf. Prasad, Foundations, 125). (f) P72, ‫א‬, 81, 181, etc. read διότι in place of ὅτι. Some Latin MSS suggest καθώς (sicut), as does the Syriac Peshitta. Ὅτι is, however, very strongly attested here. (g) The phrase ἐγὼ ἅγιος (supported by ‫א‬, A*, B) is subject to some MSS variation. P72, A2, C, Ψ, 33 and many other Greek MSS, plus the Byzantine, Latin Vulgate, Syriac Harklensian, Armenian, Georgian, and some Old Slavonic versions add εἰμι (or the translational equivalent). Two Greek MSS (5, 623) plus other Latin, Coptic Bohairic, Syriac Peshitta and Old Slavonic versions support the reading κἀγὼ ἅγιος εἰμι, while a few Greek texts extend the phrase with λέγει κύριος (cf. dicit dominus deus noster in some Latin texts [VL 26/1, 84]). These are understandable expansions to the text, especially under the influence of the various wordings of the OT phrase cited here (cf. Lev 11.44–45; 19.2; 20.7, 26), and the shorter version is probably to be preferred. This corresponds exactly to Lev 19.2 LXX (which continues κύριος ὁ θεὸς ὑμῶν), while εἰμι appears in the phrasing of Lev 11.44–45 and in some MSS of Lev 20.7, 26 (cf. Michaels 52 n. d). Again, ECM (21, 23, 117) has moved in this direction, dropping the εἰμι—which had been bracketed in NA27 and UBS4—from the offered text.

Exegesis 13 Διὸ ἀναζωσάμενοι τὰς ὀσφύας τῆς διανοίας ὑμῶν νήφοντες The opening word of the verse (διό), which is an inferential or consecutive conjunction, indicates that what follows has a close connection with what precedes:13 the exhortation is based on the depiction of the living hope set out in the opening blessing (1.3– 12).14 As a whole, this verse, like the short section of which it is a part, has an imperatival force. It is not coincidental that three imperatives occur in vv. 13–17: ἐλπίσατε (v. 13 – the first impera�tive in the letter); γενήθητε (v. 15); ἀναστράφητε (v. 17). Yet we immediately face a difficulty in determining whether the participles ἀναζωσάμενοι and νήφοντες carry imperatival force, and if so whether this is derived from association with the imperative ἐλπίσατε, or from their use as so-called imperatival participles.   Cf. BDF §451.   A few commentators connect this inferential particle more narrowly with vv. 10–12 (Oecumenius [PG 119:521]; Luther 47; Calov 1472), while others draw a special connection with v. 9 (Hensler 55; Hottinger 104) or even vv. 5–9 (de Wette 12). But the conjunction seems to include all of the doxology that precedes (see van Rensburg, ‘Intersentence Relational Particles’, 294). 13 14

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Excursus: Imperatival Participles in 1 Peter C. K. Barrett, ‘The Imperatival Participle’, ExpTim 59 (1947–48): 165–66; David Daube, ‘Participle and Imperative in 1 Peter’, in E. G. Selwyn, The First Epistle of St. Peter: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Essays, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 1947), 467–88; Robert L. Hamblin, ‘An Analysis of First Peter with Special Reference to the Greek Participle’ (Th.D. diss., Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, 1960); H. G. Meecham, ‘The Use of the Participle for the Imperative in the New Testament’, ExpTim 58 (1946–47): 207–208; Timothy E. Miller, ‘Choice Implies Meaning: The Imperatival Participles’, NovT 64 (2022): 318–41; A. P. Salom, ‘The Imperatival Use of the Participle in the New Testament’, ABR 11 (1963): 41–49; Scot Snyder, ‘Participles and Imperatives in 1 Peter: A Re-examination in the Light of Recent Scholarly Trends’, FiloNT 8 (1995): 187–98; Ervin R. Starwalt, A Discourse Analysis of 1 Peter, Studies in Koine Greek (Dallas, TX: Fontes Press, 2020); Travis B. Williams, ‘Reconsidering the Imperatival Participle in 1 Peter’, WTJ 73 (2011): 59–78 Petrine commentators have long identified numerous participles that are believed to function like finite imperatives. Such ‘imperatival participles’ appear where a finite imperative might have been expected, are grammatically independent of any finite verb15 (i.e., not modifying any preceding or following finite form and apart from the elision of any periphrastic phrase),16 and carry 15   The comment to this effect by Robertson (Grammar, 1133–34) is often quoted: ‘In general it may be said that no participle should be explained in this way that can properly be connected with a finite verb’. Cf. Brooks and Winberry, Syntax, 138. 16   A word of clarification should be added here. Some Petrine commentators have not been sufficiently clear that the imperatival force of the participle in such cases must be conveyed independently of any other finite form. To claim that a participle functions adverbially, yet still carries an imperatival force due to its relationship with the finite verb (as argued, e.g., by Michaels 57; Schreiner 130, 200; Forbes 7), is a departure from the strict definition of the imperatival participle. The exhortative force of a true imperatival participle comes not from another imperative, but from the participle itself. Recently, Stirwalt (Discourse Analysis, 119–32; cf. Miller, ‘Choice Implies Meaning’, 318–41) has attempted to clarify this situation using discourse analysis. He argues that the participles in 1 Peter that are normally assigned an imperatival function are actually adverbial participles; yet where he departs from Achtemeier (who makes a similar argument) is in the claim that these forms nonetheless carry an imperatival force due to their function in the wider discourse. He maintains that when an adverbial participle of means or manner modifies a finite imperative, at a discourse level the latter will carry some obligation in that it represents a prerequisite that must be fulfilled in order for the exhortation to be achieved. Thus, he would posit that even though the participles



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an imperatival force. Thus, the imperatival usage is a specific function of the participle, while the form remains unchanged. To avoid potential confusion, Porter refers to this usage as an ‘independent’, ‘commanding’ participle.17 The treatment of this grammatical function has centered around two key questions. The first relates to validity: Is the imperatival usage a legitimate syntactical category within Koine Greek, and if so, how did it originate? Since the participle was rarely used independently in the classical period, it was common among grammarians in early critical scholarship to explain these participial occurrences as examples of anacoluthon.18 But at the beginning of the twentieth century, Moulton set out the case for the imperatival function as an established usage in Koine Greek, based on evidence from the documentary papyri.19 Recent studies have confirmed this proposal, and most commentators now acknowledge that there are some genuine imperatival participles in 1 Peter.20 Where there remains room for discussion is on

in 1 Pet 2.18; 3.1, 7, and 8–9 modify the dominant predication in 2.17, explaining how to ‘honour’, they still convey an imperatival force due to their function in the overall macrostructure. While this theory represents a step forward in that it distinguishes between the participles’ function at the level of syntax and discourse, it lacks explanatory power. Outside of 1 Peter, it would be difficult to defend such a thesis. In Rom 12.9–19, for instance, there is a mixture of finite imperatives and (imperatival) participles in paratactic coordination, and the section lacks any controlling imperative(s) like the ones claimed in 1 Peter. Even within 1 Peter more broadly, this explanation breaks down. In 1.14, a participle is linked paratactically with a finite imperative in 1.15: συσχηματιζόμενοι… ἀλλά… γενήθητε. Such coordination assumes some level of continuity in imperatival force, and it is impossible to argue that συσχηματιζόμενοι derives any volitional force from γενήθητε since it cannot modify it adverbially. Further, there are significant problems with Stirwalt’s theory in the immediate context. If the participles in 2.18–3.9 are intended to describe how the mainline commands in 2.13–17 should be carried out, then how would a reader/hearer know which command was in view given that there are five finite imperatives in this section? Stirwalt claims that ‘honour’ is the mainline imperative; but this represents a relatively arbitrary choice that transforms the specifics of the Petrine author’s actual commands into a singular, generic idea. What is more, the presence of other finite forms within this mainline–offline structure (ἔστω, 3.3) disrupts these proposed distinctions. 17   See Porter, Verbal Aspect, 370–77; idem, Idioms, 185–86. 18   See Winer, Grammar, 440–42; Buttmann, Grammar, 292–94; Mayser, Grammatik, II.1 196–97, 340–41. Cf. also Boyer, ‘Classification of Participles’, 173–74; Mandilaras, Verb, §922–24. 19   MHT 1:180–83, 223–25. Others followed Moulton in this view (e.g., Robert�son, Grammar, 944–46, 1132–35; Meecham, ‘Use of the Participle’, 207–208). 20   Some commentators have been extremely cautious about identifying imper�atival participles in 1 Peter, even denying the legitimacy of the category altogether (so, e.g., Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 90–92, 205; Krodel

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how many participles actually function in this way. Over twenty possible candidates have been suggested: 1.13bis, 14, 18, 22; 2.1, 4, 12, 18; 3.1, 6bis, 7bis, 9bis, 16; 4.8, 10; 5.7, 9.21 Yet caution is necessary here as it appears that the number of legitimate imperatival participles in 1 Peter is less than some commentators have imagined.22 Related to the question of the function’s validity is its origin. If it is a legitimate function in the NT, how did it arise? For Moulton, the imperatival function of the participle grew out of a periphrastic usage; that is, its origin is believed to be traced back to the ellipsis of ἐστέ.23 This explanation draws support from the fact that imperatival participles often appear in the same contexts as adjectives requiring an unexpressed imperative (cf. Rom 12.9– 19; 1 Pet 2.18–3.9). Nevertheless, Moulton’s thesis was later challenged in an influential essay by Daube, who argued that the imperatival use of the participle reflects a Semitic influence.24 According to Daube, this function closely resembles a similar phenomenon found in Tannaitic Hebrew. A common feature present both in the Mishnah and Tosefta (although absent in classical Hebrew) is the use of the participle with a volitional force, particularly in codes of conduct as well as certain religious precepts. It was the influence of this Hebrew or Aramaic usage, Daube contends, that explains the rise of the imperatival participle in the NT.25 In the end, however, this thesis has proven to be unconvincing in light of the genuine imperatival participles that

45–46; Achtemeier 117; cf. also Fink, ‘Literary Style’, 35–43; Giesen, ‘Gemeinde als Leibesgemeinschaft’, 138; Reese, ‘1 Peter and Identity’, 208 n. 19). Instead, they tend to offer (in our opinion, unconvincing) alternatives in each instance. 21   See Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, 8; Bauman-Martin, ‘Women on the Edge’, 278, who appears to accept nearly all these as valid examples. 22   In total, there appear to be nine legitimate imperatival participles in 1 Peter: 1.14; 2.18; 3.1, 7bis, 9bis; 4.8, 10. Cf. Snyder, ‘Participles’, who accepts four: 1 Pet 2.18; 3.1, 7, 9. 23   MHT 1:180–83, 222–25. Others have reached similar conclusions about the origin of the imperatival participle (e.g., Van Elderen, Jr., ‘Pauline Use of the Participle’, 142; MHT 3:343; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 129–30; Hamblin, ‘Greek Participle’, 66–67, 101–103). Alternatively, some have suggested that the development of the imperatival usage can be traced back to an outgrowth of the attendant circumstance function (see Karleen, ‘Syntax of the Participle’, 158–59; Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 385–88). For a discussion and critique of both of these interpretations, see Williams, ‘Imperatival Participle’, 64–67. 24   Daube, ‘Participle and Imperative’, 467–88. Those who have followed Daube’s thesis include: Barrett, ‘Imperatival Participle’, 165–66; Moule, Idiom Book, 179–80; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 129–30 (§373); Kanjuparambil, ‘Impera�tival Participles’, 285–88. 25   Examples of the imperatival participle within the NT include: Rom 12.9–19 (17 occurrences); 2 Cor 8.24; Heb 13.5.



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appear in Koine Greek outside the NT.26 More recent study has thus sought the origins of the function within the Greek language, as earlier suggested by Moulton.27 The origin of the participle’s imperatival function can be attributed to a somewhat simple process of development. The first step towards independence found its impetus in the very nature of the form itself. Due to the fact that the participle did not appeal to popular speech—as a result of its indefiniteness (i.e., lack of specificity related to person) and need for inflection—the adverbial usage began to be neglected and to be replaced with simpler forms. In order to avoid these ambiguities, communicators resorted to lengthier and clearer subordinate clauses to get their message across.28 As a result of this restructuring of its formal duties, the participle was employed in ways ordinarily reserved for finite verbs. It was used in coordinate connection with parallel finite forms.29 In conditional sentences, it could serve as the verbal element in either the protasis or apodosis.30 Furthermore, the participle was put into use in indirect discourse, rendering its service in instances where an indicative would have been expected.31 Such tasks were only possible as a result of the elasticity of its range of usage (i.e., being a verbal adjective). In each of these cases, the participle functioned just like its corresponding finite form, even carrying the same declarative or imperatival force. It is in these constructions that the first glimpses of the form’s independence can be

26   Examples of the imperatival participle outside of the NT include: P.Petr. II 19; P.Hib. I 78; P.Tebt. I 59; P.Cair.Zen. II 59154, 59251bis; P.Fay. 109, 112; Comarius, De lapide philosophorum 2.290; Diogn. 2.1ter; Ign. Trall. 13.2. 27   Those who have affirmed the Hellenistic origins of the imperatival function of the participle include: Dana and Mantey, Grammar, 229; BDF §468; Salom, ‘Imperatival Use’, 41–49; MHT 3:150, 343; McKay, ‘Imperatival Constructions’, 224–26; idem, New Syntax, 82–84; Porter, Verbal Aspect, 371–77; Wallace, Grammar, 650–52. For a fuller critique of Daube’s theory, see Williams, ‘Imperatival Participle’, 67–69. 28   See Jannaris, Historical Greek, 504. 29   Examples from the classical period include: Herodotus, Hist. 4.185.2; Xenophon, Cyr. 1.3.5; 2.3.8, 17, 21; 3.3.9; 4.2.10; 5.3.30; 5.4.29; 8.2.24; Thucydides, Hist. 1.25.4; 1.42.1; 1.57, 58; 4.100; Plato, Theaet. 144c. Cf. Schwyzer, Grammatik, 406–407; Kühner and Gerth, Grammatik, 2:109. In the NT, there are a handful of instances where an independent proper participle is connected in a coordinate manner with a finite verb (Rom 5.11; 1 Cor 16.9; 2 Cor 5.12; 7.5; 11.6; 2 Thess 3.8). 30   Protasis expressed by a participle: Xenophon, Anab. 3.1.2; Aristophanes, Nub. 904. Apodosis expressed by a participle: Xenophon, Anab. 1.1.10. Cf. Smyth, Grammar, 530–32; Goodwin, Grammar, 300. 31   E.g., Xenophon, Cyr. 1.6.6; Anab. 1.10.16. Cf. Gildersleeve, Syntax, 142–43; Rijksbaron, Syntax and Semantics, 114–15.

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seen. This status was further legitimised as it was later employed outside of these perimeters in ways that corresponded to independent finite forms. Once it moved into this position, the question of semantic force became simply a matter of pragmatics. Since the independent function had already been established, the form was available for use in either a declarative or imperatival manner. It is this usage that is picked up on by many NT writers and employed to suit their individual authorial needs. While Daube’s theory of origins may have been off target, the lasting influence of his view is particularly evident in the way that many scholars continue to answer the second key question: What is the semantic value of a participle functioning as an imperative (particularly in contrast to a finite form)? Based on his view of the function’s Semitic origin, Daube proposed that the imperatival participle was used to express a milder form of appeal than had the finite form been selected. In other words, the participle was used to express ‘a duty, positive or negative’, related to an established custom (i.e., what was appropriate or expected), rather than to express ‘an unqualified, hard, fundamental “must” or “must not” ’.32 This explanation has been highly influential within Petrine scholarship. It is common to find interpreters suggesting that the use of the imperatival participle (in contrast to the finite imperative) serves to convey a somewhat gentler appeal, more advisory than dictatorial,33 or, perhaps, is intentionally ambiguous.34 32   Daube, ‘Participle and Imperative’, 484 and 476 respectively. Whether or not directly dependent upon the views of Daube, there have been many Petrine commentators who have held to the ‘softer appeal’ view of imperatival participles (e.g., Kelly 67–68; Best 30, 86; Brox 74; Hillyer 47; Goppelt 171, 194 n. 14; Elliott 357–58; Senior 81; Feldmeier 146; cf. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 97; Lohse, ‘Parenesis and Kerygma’, 45–47; Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle, 153; Bauman-Martin, ‘Women on the Edge’, 277–79; Münch, ‘Geschwister in der Fremde’, 130–31; Luther, Sprachethik im Neuen Testament, 174). 33   For more on this discussion including a critical response, see Williams, ‘Imperatival Participle’, 60–63. 34   Thurén (Rhetorical Strategy, esp. 4–20; idem, Argument and Theology, 76–77) suggests that these participial constructions were used to create intentional semantic ambiguity. Such a technique, it is argued, was employed as part of the Petrine author’s larger rhetorical strategy. For Thurén, the driving force behind the letter is a conflict of interests due to outside social pressures. On the one hand, some reacted to the pressure by merely assimilating into the non-Christian society. On the other hand, there were those who had responded by attempting to avenge the injustice. Due to the fact that the epistle was intended for a mixed audience, these participial forms were chosen as a way of simultaneously addressing both groups. Consequently, the author created a dual meaning: ‘His task is to encourage some and assure them of God’s grace, but to discourage others and tell them that their new status is not self-evident and guaranteed’ (Rhetorical Strategy, 125). In this way the forms ‘challenge the interpreter to make a choice between understanding them as encouraging utterances, which describe the addressees and their



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Nevertheless, much like Daube’s theory of origins, this hypothesis lacks sufficient evidential support to make it fully convincing. The various uses of the imperatival participle in Koine Greek engage the volition of the respective recipients in a variety of semantic contexts. The overwhelming majority of these instances involve one who is in a position of power or authority offering a command or directive to one who is in a position of subjection or deference. In each case, the language user intends to direct the hearer(s) to a particular action.35 On the other end of the spectrum of force, the form is also capable of weakening its strength to communicate a mild request. Again, this is often the result of the position held by the language user. When one who is in a lower position addresses someone of higher rank, the participle communicates a milder appeal on the part of the language user.36 As such, there is no indication that the participial form conveys a force that is significantly different from a finite imperative. Within 1 Peter, specifically, no set patterns of usage are developed. Imperatival participles appear right alongside finite forms with no distinguishable disparity. Overall, there is little, if any, added connotation in the participial form.37

*** situation, or as injunctions’ (Rhetorical Strategy, 28). Apart from the broader question of the plausibility of different groups taking the (ambivalent) message in the way that captures the author’s specific challenge to them, Thurén does not consider the implications of his theory outside of its designated corpus. Since there are imperatival participles outside of 1 Peter, it raises the question of whether every instance should be viewed as semantically ambivalent. This is not something that Thurén demonstrates, nor does it seem likely considering the variegated situational backgrounds out of which the other uses derive. For a further critique of Thurén’s view, see Prasad, Foundations, 140–42. 35   Each NT example falls within this range (e.g., Rom 12.9–19; 2 Cor 8.24; Heb 13.5). While it is true that some occur in contexts that are filled with tension, the very nature of the relationship between author and recipients supports the idea of greater to lesser. As an apostle of Jesus Christ, Paul possesses the authority to command and direct the audiences to whom he writes. The examples found in the Apostolic Fathers provide similar directives, although without apostolic authority (Diogn. 2.1ter; Ign. Eph. 10.2 [possibly]; Ign. Trall. 13.2; cf. Robison, Syntax, 40). Within non-Christian social hierarchies, the documentary papyri reveal instances in which a person of lower status is commanded by way of the participle (e.g., P.Fay. 112). 36   P.Petr. II 19: ‘I beg of you with requests and prayers on account of the god indeed who is good, give (δούς) faithful assurances to Mezakon that I never said anything inappropriate to you against him on account of what is true, and if you do this, request (ἀξιώσας) of him to send for me and to release me from prison᾽. Clearly, the one offering the request finds himself in a state of peril. In his distress, he begs the recipient to clear up the matter with a certain Mezakon. This, he hopes, will result in his emancipation. 37   On the semantics of the imperatival participle in 1 Peter, see Williams, ‘Imperatival Participle’, 72–78; cf. also Green, ‘Theology and Ethics’, 329.

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Some commentators understand ἀναζωσάμενοι and νήφοντες as adverbial participles of means, denoting how the readers are to set their hope upon grace (‘set your hope by girding up…by being sober-minded’).38 This interpretation is certainly defensible, although if it were the case, we might have expected the participles to be placed after ἐλπίσατε. Alternatively, the majority of commentators and translations assign these participles an imperatival force (‘gird up the loins of your mind…be sober-minded’; cf. RSV, NLT, NCV, NAB, NKJV, NEB, NASB, TEV, NIV, NRSV).39 Beginning a section of exhortation with a participle denoting a command seems to be part of the author’s style (2.18; 3.1, 7), and it would be particularly appropriate here as the opening of the letter body (cf. 2.1: ἀποθέμενοι οὖν). Since a finite imperative is in close proximity, however, it is unlikely that ἀναζωσάμενοι and νήφοντες function as independent, imperatival participles (see Excursus: Imperatival Participles in 1 Peter). Nonetheless, it seems best to understand ἀναζωσάμενοι and νήφοντες as bearing an imperative force through their association with the main verb (ἐλπίσατε);40 that is, they perform an attendant circumstance function. While attendant circumstance participles are usually found in narratives (see Exegesis at 1.8), they do appear on occasion in epistolary literature (see Jas 1.21; 1 Pet 2.1–2; 2 Pet 1.5). Furthermore, even though this function is seldom carried out by a present participle, the tense might be explained by the different types of actions being portrayed: in the former (ἀναζωσάμενοι: aorist) the action is viewed as a whole, to be completed as a way of making oneself ready, while the latter (νήφοντες: present) is represented as an ongoing and open-ended

  This interpretation is adopted by Davids 66; Feldmeier 99; Dubis 22–23; Vinson 64–65; Schlosser 91; Schreiner 77–78; Keener 92; cf. also Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 89. The NET renders ἀναζωσάμενοι as imperatival and νήφοντες as denoting means: ‘get your minds ready for action by being fully sober’ (cf. LEB and EHV, which take them as temporal and instrumental, respectively). One suggestion that is unlikely is that the participles function causally (‘since you have girded up the loins of your mind…’; as suggested by Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, 14 n. 35). 39   E.g., Moffatt 103; Reicke 83; Kelly 64; Beare 95; Best 84; Michaels 51; Brox 73–74; Goppelt 106 n. 16; Watson 32. 40   Cf. Wagner-Vouga 41. 38



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state of alertness.41 If this interpretation is correct, then both actions are presented as necessary prerequisites to performing the primary command (‘set your hope’).42 The verb ἀναζώννυμι is a rare term, occurring only here in the NT. It is used most commonly in a literal sense to describe the drawing up and fastening of one’s garments around the lower body— ὀσφῦς denotes the area of the waist or lower back, or where the reproductive organs are—so that one is ready to move unhindered (see Prov 31.17; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 72.2; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 8.12.1; Acts Paul 40.2; Athenaeus, Deipn. 4.17 [Kaibel]).43 In some cases, authors draw on this image to communicate other ideas, such as the adoption of certain dispositions (Philo, Leg. 2.28; 3.153; Eph 6.14) or recalling something again (Themistius, Περὶ τῆς τοῦ βασιλέως φιληκοΐας, p. 224a [Harduin]; Simplicius, In Aristotelis physicorum libros commentaria, vol. 10, p. 1118). A similar metaphorical use is employed here. The language represents a sense of readiness, which our author strikingly applies to the διάνοια. This word can take a variety of meaning, ranging from the ability to think or reason (‘understanding’, ‘intelligence’) to the outcome of

  Cf. Alford 339; Monnier 60; Knopf 61; Hiebert 90–91; Donelson 41; Schlosser 91. The shift in tense between the aorist (ἀναζωσάμενοι) and present (νήφοντες) participles is sometimes explained by the relative temporality of the tenses. That is, the action represented in the aorist participle (‘girding up the loins of the mind’) is said to precede the action described by the main verb, while the action described in the present participle (‘being sober’) is thought to be contemporaneous with it (so, e.g., Grudem 77; Achtemeier 118; Green 35; Donelson 40 n. a; Vahrenhorst 85). But while aorist and present participles are often used in this way, it is important to recognise that at their most basic level the two forms encode perfective and imperfective aspect, respectively (see Campbell, Non-Indicative Verbs, 14–24). 42   See Johnstone 85; Kühl 108; Lenski 52; Witherington 94. Some translations attempt to capture the idea that these are conditions that must be fulfilled in order to carry out the main command (‘set your hope’), although without attributing an imperatival force to the participles: ‘once you have your minds ready for action and you are thinking clearly, place your hope completely on the grace that will be brought to you’ (CEB; cf. NIV, HCSB). 43   The term that is more commonly used for this act is περιζώννυμι. It appears frequently in the LXX to describe the wearing of a belt or garment, usually around one’s ὀσφῦς, ‘waist’ (see 2 Kgs 1.8; Isa 32.11; Jer 1.17; Dan 10.5; Jdt 4.14). Any distinction between the words would be minor, perhaps only the directional difference between the prepositional prefixes (περι: ‘around’; ἀνα: ‘up’). 41

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mental activity (‘plan’, ‘imagination’).44 Here it seems to be focused on the mind as the location of one’s cognitive faculties and the place from which derive concentration and intent. What is emphasised is the need for mental readiness, a state of being alert, even if the resulting picture is somewhat akin to a mixing of metaphors.45 From this instruction, many scholars have proposed echoes of earlier traditions. Though the verb is different, a closely comparable phrase (and image) is found in Exod 12.11 (αἱ ὀσφύες ὑμῶν περιεζωσμέναι). The context in Exodus is the instructions concerning the Passover, which should be eaten in a state of readiness to move on swiftly: ‘your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand’ (Exod 12.11, NRSV).46 Perhaps drawing from the Exodus passage, similar terminology is also found in Luke 12.35 (Ἔστωσαν ὑμῶν αἱ ὀσφύες περιεζωσμέναι) and Eph 6.14 (στῆτε οὖν περιζωσάμενοι τὴν ὀσφὺν ὑμῶν).47 On this basis, some see a clear use of Jesus-tradition here in 1 Peter.48 Nevertheless, there is good reason to be cautious about a direct influence from either source.49 Not only are different verbal forms 44   See TDNT 4:963–67; cf. also Müller, ‘ “Umgürtet die Hüften eurer Gesinnung” ’, 146–48. 45   It is probably pushing the language to read the admonition through a baptismal lens, with the focus being placed on the journey following the spiritual exodus (as suggested by Reicke 83, and Vallauri, ‘ “Succincti lumbos mentis vestrae” ’, 19–22). 46   A number of scholars have pointed to this parallel in Exodus, with some suggesting that the Exodus imagery is more broadly pertinent to the author’s depiction of the Christian life (see Hart 48; Blenkin 33; Hillyer 44; Ostmeyer 36–37; cf. also Scharlemann, ‘Exodus Ethics’, 165–70; Deterding, ‘Exodus Motif’, 62; Schlosser, ‘Le theme exodial’, 259–74; Chamy, Royal Priesthood). More specificity is added to this suggestion by Asumang, who claims that new exodus imagery is in view with the result that ‘Peter may have had the specific scenario of girding up of military clothing for military action in mind’ (‘Responses to Unjust Suffering’, 31). However, the basis for this claim (viz. the following call to sobriety and the use of the girdle as a part of the believer’s spiritual armour in Eph 6.14), as well as Asumang’s broader attempt to read the language of 1 Peter in accordance with a holy war motif, is unconvincing. For the fullest defence of the claim that the ‘girding of the mind’ metaphor is attempting to conjure notions of military conflict, see McMillen, ‘Metaphor and First Peter’. 47   Cf. Selwyn 139. 48   E.g., Bigg 112; Beare 96; Michaels 54; cf. Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 339; Delling, ‘Der Bezug’, 98. 49   Others have similarly been sceptical of an echo from earlier tradition at this point (e.g., Best 84; Achtemeier 118; cf. Maier, ‘Jesustradition’, 89–90). However, the phrase from 1 Peter is echoed in Pol. Phil. 2.1.



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employed, but the phrase in question (περιζωννύναι ὀσφύας) reflects the common experience of ancient Mediterranean dress that is regularly reflected in Jewish literature (see 2 Kgs 1.8; Isa 32.11; Jer 1.17; Dan 10.5; Jdt 4.14; Jos. Asen. 10.16). This call for mental readiness is emphasised in the second participle, νήφοντες, which denotes sobriety, in the sense of being unimpeded by alcohol (Theognis, Elegiae 1.478; Sophocles, Oed. col. 100; Aristophanes, Lys. 1228; Plato, Symp. 213e).50 A metaphorical or figurative sense tends to dominate early Christian usage (see 1 Thess 5.6, 8; 2 Tim 4.5; 2 Clem. 13.1; Ign. Pol. 2.3; Pol. Phil. 7.2), which indicates the need to be attentive, clear-minded and alert in view of the coming salvation on which the readers’ steadfast attention should be fixed (cf. 1 Pet 4.7; 5.8). The difficulty is to determine whether the following adverb (τελείως) should be taken to modify νήφοντες (‘be fully alert’) or the following imperative ἐλπίσατε (‘set your hope fully’). Opinions are rather divided,51 with scholarship experiencing interpretative shifts over the centuries.52 In the NT, adverbs tend to be placed after the verbs they modify,53 a pattern the Petrine author follows 50   There are a few interpreters who understand νήφοντες literally as a specific instruction to avoid being intoxicated from alcohol (e.g., Maycock, Letter of Wise Counsel, 42; Marshall, 51; Goppelt 108 n. 24; Prasad, Foundations, 157–58; cf. also Calloud-Genuyt 88). While the Petrine author would seem to oppose drunkenness as one among a list of Gentile vices (4.3), there is no reason to limit the meaning in this particular instance, especially in connection with the general exhortation to ‘gird up the loins of your mind’. 51   Those who connect the adverb with νήφοντες include: Benson 185; Semler 43; Hofmann 38; Masterman 79; Bigg 112; Wohlenberg 31; Blenkin 33; Windisch 55; Beare 96; Marshall 51; McKnight 86 n. 6; Michaels 55; Skaggs 24; Witherington 94 n. 84. If the phrase is construed in this way, it would mean being completely sober; that is, ‘up to the full standard of self-control that God expects of His children’ (Masterman 79). On the other hand, those who connect τελείως with ἐλπίσατε include: Wiesinger 93–94; Alford 339; Huther 79–80; Kühl 109; Monnier 61; Knopf 61; Selwyn 140; Michl 114; Spicq 60; Schelkle 45; Brox 75; Achtemeier 119; Elliott 356; Jobes 109; Dubis 23; Schlosser 87–88 n. a; Osborne 160; Wagner-Vouga 42. 52   Note the contrasting situations reflected in the assessment of the majority opinion given at the time of Alford (339) and then later at the time of Bigg (112). 53   BDF §474(2). Narrowing the criteria more specifically, Michaels argues that, ‘[a]dverbs ending in -ως [i.e. denoting manner] tend to follow rather than precede verbs which they modify’ (55; repeated by Watson 32). Yet the evidence—at least from the NT—does not bear out this claim.

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on occasion (see 1.22; 2.19, 23, 25). It is much more common, however, for adverbs to be located in a pre-verbal position in 1 Peter (see 1.6, 8, 12, 17; 2.10; 3.18, 21; 4.5, 13, 18; 5.10).54 Added to this is the fact that ἐλπίσατε is the main verb of the sentence, not only receiving the primary emphasis on a grammatical level, but also thematically, wherein ‘hope’ plays a significant role in the letter’s overall message. Consequently, it seems best to connect τελείως with ἐλπίσατε,55 in which case the adverb is fronted for emphasis. What is described thereby is the extent (‘fully’, ‘completely’) to which the readers are expected to place their confidence in God’s χαρίς.56 It represents a total commitment to trust that what will be received at the revelation of Jesus Christ is worth whatever it might cost in the present. τελείως ἐλπίσατε ἐπὶ τὴν φερομένην ὑμῖν χάριν ἐν ἀποκα­ λύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Χριστοῦ. The first finite imperative in the letter is ἐλπίσατε, indicating both the hortatory character of this opening section of the letter-body and also the particular focus of this verse. Marking a departure from other epistolary literature in the NT, the letter employs the aorist imperative more frequently than the present.57 Elsewhere, the aorist is generally reserved for specific commands or prohibitions (i.e., a specific act performed at a given time and location), while 54   To add further to this argument, one could point to the placement of τελείως more specifically. While τελείως can be placed after the verb (P.Flor. I 93; 3 Macc 7.22; Barn. 4.10), the adverb is much more often situated in a pre-verbal position (see T.Gad 7.1; T.Ab. B 7.17; T.Sol. A 26.7–8; BGU III 954; P.Paris 20; P.Cair. Masp. II 67156; P.Flor. I 42H; SB V 7530, VI 8988, XX 15192; Ign. Eph. 1.1; Smyrn. 5.2; Diogn. 9.2). 55   Michaels finds it difficult to see what ‘hoping completely’ might mean (55; see also Prasad, Foundations, 158–59). While this was by no means a common idiom in the ancient world, it was not unknown (see Eusebius, Comm. Ps. 33.6–8 [PG 23:296]; Didymus, Comm. Ps. 29–34, codex p. 183 [Gronewald]). 56   Some attribute a temporal force to τελείως, ‘hope to the end’ (Erasmus 674; Grotius 69; Bengel 50; cf. KJV). However, to communicate such a meaning would require a prepositional modifier (cf. μέχρι τέλους, Heb 3.6; εἰς τέλος, Matt 10.22). 57   As noted, e.g., by Robertson, Grammar, 856; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 79; MHT 4:128. This tendency seems to be representative of the Catholic Epistles in general as well as 2 Timothy (see Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 370–79).



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the present is employed for general precepts (i.e., acts that are broadly applicable over time and space).58 As part of the Petrine author’s style, however, the aorist is often used to denote general instructions,59 which is the case here. The use of ἐλπίζω—a significant theme in the letter (cf. 1.3, 21; 3.5, 15)60—with the prepositional modifier ἐπί is rare in Greek literature,61 but it comes to be employed quite frequently in the LXX (and literature influenced by it) due to Hebrew influence.62 This construction is commonly used to demarcate the object of one’s hope; that is, the accusative object represents the person or thing in which hope of a positive outcome rests (e.g., Judg 20.36; 2 Kgs 18.24; Pss 61.11[10]; 117.9; Wis 17.33), with God being the most common object of hope (see 2 Chr 13.18; Pss 4.6; 31.10; Dan 3.95).63 Whereas the people of Israel are encouraged to ‘hope in God’ by maintaining a steadfast trust that God will deliver them during times

58   See BDF §335; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 79; Moule, Idiom Book, 135; MHT 3:74. For a full discussion of this distinction, see Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 327–79. 59   See MHT 1:174; Campbell, Non-Indicative Verbs, 87. It is thus incorrect and unnecessary to assume that the imperative ἐλπίσατε expresses an ingressive force (i.e., a command to begin undertaking an action that is not representative of one’s current conduct) simply because it is an aorist (as suggested by Beare 96; Achtemeier 119; Richard 56; cf. also Cothenet, ‘Le réalisme’, 566; MHT 4:128). Not only is the interpretative basis for this view debatable (viz. that the readers are new converts), this distinction between commanding an action that is already in progress (present tense) and one that has yet to begin (aorist tense) represents much older scholarship on the subject. For a more accurate assessment of verbal aspect in imperatives, see McKay, ‘Imperatival Constructions’, 201–26; Campbell, Non-Indicative Verbs, 79–100; cf. also Fantin, Greek Imperative Mood. 60   See Weiss, Der Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 25–50. 61   It is occasionally used to describe the expectation of a given outcome: Astrampsychus, Oracula, decad 46 (ὅτε οὐκ ἐλπίζεις ἐπὶ τὸ κρεῖττον); Dinarchus, Demosth. 65 (ἐλπίζουσιν ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιον). 62   See MHT 4:130. 63   When used in this sense, it carries virtually the same meaning as the construc�tion ἐλπίζειν + εἰς, ‘to hope in something/one’ (see, e.g., Ps 144.15; Isa 51.5; Wis 15.1; John 5.25; 2 Cor 1.10; Ign. Philad. 5.2; Barn. 16.1; Acts Thom. 88.1). When more active nominal forms are used as the object of the preposition, this same construction seems to move closer toward conveying the sense of hoping for a given outcome (see Pss 32.18; 51.10; 77.22; 146.11). In this way, it would be used as the equivalent of ἐλπίζειν + accusative, ‘to hope for something’ (cf. Wis 2.22; Josephus, Ant. 13.220).

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of hardship or danger, the hopes of the Petrine readers are directed toward the χαρίς that awaits them at the return of Christ.64 Interpreters differ on how they understand the rich and multivalent word χαρίς, both in terms of its meaning and when it is experienced by believers (see on 1.10). Some have taken χαρίς as an expression of God’s favour toward humanity through the gifts of forgiveness and reconciliation available in Christ. On this view, this grace was initially offered through Christ’s first advent (taking ἀποκάλυψις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ to refer to this), but was not actually experienced by the readers until they responded positively to the gospel message.65 The purpose of the injunction then would be to direct the audience’s confident expectations back to God’s previous actions in their lives. Other interpreters identify χαρίς with the gospel and connect the dispensing of this grace with the current experience of Christians. As the gospel is proclaimed, not only throughout the world but also within the community of faith, the beneficence of God is manifest. In other words, new forms of grace are progressively experienced by believers as they grow in the knowledge of God that is revealed through Christ.66 What motivates the imperative, in this case, is the work of God that is currently evident in their lives despite the trials they face. It is also possible, and in this case probably more likely, that the present participle φερομένην should be taken in a futuristic sense (‘the favour that will be brought to you’).67 This seems evident given the eschatological resonance of the phrase ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (see on 1.7; 4.13; cf. 2 Thess 1.7) in connection with other   Earlier commentators attempted to draw sharp lines of distinction between χαρίς as the object of hope, i.e., the person or thing towards which hope is directed (see Johnstone 87–88; Kühl 110; Monnier 61–62; Bigg 113), as opposed to the ground of hope, i.e., the reason why one can have hope of attaining something (see Hort 66; von Soden 136; Masterman 79). Such division is unnecessary, however (cf. Michaels 55). In 1 Peter, hope is placed in God (1.21; 3.5), and, strictly speaking, God is also the ground for hope (cf. 1.3). 65   See, e.g., Bengel 50; Weiss 123; Elliott 357. 66   See, e.g., Erasmus 674; Luther 52–55; Gerhard 100; Calov 1473; Steiger 1:202–206; Plumptre 100; Hort 66–67; Masterman 79; Mitchell 240; Blenkin 33. Although Lenski adopts the view that χαρίς refers to the gospel, which continues to communicate grace to believers, he nonetheless identifies ἐν ἀποκάλυψις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as the parousia (taking ἐν to mean, ‘in connection with’). 67   Selwyn provides two reasons why the present tense is selected instead of the future: ‘(1) the future, οἰσθησομένην, is so cumbrous that a periphrasis would 64



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clearly eschatological language using ἀποκαλύπτω (1 Pet 1.5; 5.1; cf. also Did. 10.6).68 At least in terms of its future-temporal reference, ἐν ἀποκαλύψει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ is more or less equivalent to ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ (1.5) or ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (2.12). Conse�quently, χαρίς refers to the benefits received when Christ returns. In this case, the motivation for the command (ἐλπίσατε) lies in the impending reward that awaits a life of faithfulness. As with the joy depicted in 1.6–8, however, there is a present as well as a future dimension to the receipt of God’s grace (cf. 1.10), an ‘already’ as well as a ‘not yet’; the author can hold this tension partly because of his conviction that the promised salvation is not far off (1.5–6). But the focus of the hope—and the reason it remains precisely hope (cf. Rom 8.24–25)—is the future day of Christ’s final appearance. The phrase χάριν φέρειν τινί is a common idiom in Greek,69 denoting the conferral of a favour on someone. When it is interpreted against the backdrop of the conventions of ancient reciprocity, it refers to the act of providing a gift to someone, which obligates them to reciprocate (Homer, Il. 5.211; Euripides, Iph. taur. 14; Apollonius of Rhodes, Argon. 4.1099; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, [Rhet.] 8.11). On more than one occasion, the Petrine author’s use of χαρίς echoes this system of giving and receiving favours. Throughout the letter the beneficence that God bestows on the audience is at the forefront (cf. 4.10; 5.12). The word χαρίς is even employed as a defining characteristic of God, who is designated ‘the God of all grace’ (5.10). It is against the backdrop of this broader largesse that the author draws attention to the gift(s) that will be received at Christ’s appearing (cf. 1.10). Their task, in the meantime, involves patient endurance, which is depicted as the obligatory reciprocation of God’s favours (see Exegesis at 2.19–20).

have been almost necessary, (2) the present is in keeping with the thought of our author who regards the object of hope as already virtually possessed’ (140; cf. Wand 53). 68   As argued, e.g., by Kelly 67; Picirilli 123; Bénétreau 98 n. 2; Achtemeier 119; Boring 75; Feldmeier 101; Jobes 110; Green 46. What adds to this interpre� tation is that the lexical meaning of φέρω involves anticipation or culmination, which is one of the distinguishing characteristics of futurist presents (see Wallace, Grammar, 535–36). 69   See LSJ 1979; BDAG 1051.

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14 ὡς τέκνα ὑπακοῆς μὴ συσχηματιζόμενοι ταῖς πρότερον ἐν τῇ ἀγνοίᾳ ὑμῶν ἐπιθυμίαις, ἐπιθυμίαις, The author continues the exhortative tone in this verse, urging the readers on the basis of their new identity to make a clear break with their former lifestyles (cf. 4.2–3).70 The particle, ὡς, is used in a variety of ways in the NT71 and in 1 Peter specifically, where it is unusually frequent.72 These occurrences can be divided into three categories based on the extent to which the following phrase/clause reflects reality: (1) ὡς introducing a phrase/clause that expresses a situation or idea that is objectively false (1 Pet 2.12, 16; 4.12); (2) ὡς introducing a phrase/clause that expresses a situation or idea that is objectively true (1.14; 2.5, 11, 13, 14, 16bis; 3.7bis; 4.10, 11bis, 15bis, 16; 5.12); and (3) ὡς introducing a phrase/ clause that expresses a metaphor or analogy (1.19, 24bis; 2.2, 25; 3.6; 5.3, 8).73 In this instance, rather than viewing ὡς as a marker of comparison or metaphor, most interpreters see the particle as denoting an identity that is (or should be) true of the readers.74 As such, the thought could be paraphrased, ‘on the basis that you are… you should…’. But we should probably be careful not to draw too 70   See further Gemünden, Affekt und Glaube, 232–33. Some commentators have connected ὡς τέκνα ὑπακοῆς with the preceding verse: ‘set your hope fully…like obedient children’ (so, e.g., Luther 47, 55; Ewald 9, 25; Burger 240). But since it is common for the Petrine author to ground an imperative in either an explanatory metaphor or a statement about the readers’ current standing (1 Pet 2.2, 11, 14, 16; 4.10, 11; see further Elliott 357), it seems more natural to read the relative clause with what follows. 71   For a list of uses, see BDAG 1103–106. 72   It occurs 27 times in the letter (1.14, 19, 24bis; 2.2, 5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16tris, 25; 3.6, 7bis; 4.10, 11bis, 12, 15bis, 16; 5.3, 8, 12). Elliott claims that the particle occurs ‘more often here (27×) than in any other NT writing’ (357). But this is not technically accurate. Other NT writings have more occurrences of ὡς than 1 Peter (e.g., Matthew [40×]; Luke [51×]; John [31×]; Acts [63×]; 1 Corinthians [38×]; 2 Corinthians [31×]; Revelation [71×]); nevertheless, 1 Peter does have a higher percentage of occurrences in relation to its size. 73   For this classification, see Tàrrech, ‘Le milieu’, 393–95. Along similar lines, Dubis divides the uses of ὡς into four categories, although he mixes structural uses with semantics: ‘(1) to introduce a comparative clause (2:2, 12, 25; 3:6; 4:11[2×], 12; 5:8); (2) to introduce a comparative phrase (1:19, 24[2×]); (3) to identify the role or capacity in which someone acts (1:14; 2:5, 11, 13, 14, 16[3×]; 3:7[2×]; 4:10, 15[2×], 16); (4) to introduce other semantic relations (manner in 5:3; standard in 5:12)’ (24). 74   As suggested, e.g., by Fausset 501; Alford 339; Huther 83; Goppelt 110 n. 30; Picirilli 124; Vinson 66.



1.13–16

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firm a distinction between these usages. As Donelson notes, ‘it is actually the slight distance between “as if” and “since” that creates the space for the exhortation. In this slight ambiguity, 1 Peter is exploring the gap between theological fact and ethical behavior. They are obedient children: therefore, they must behave as obedient children.’75 The description of the addressees as τέκνα ὑπακοῆς has long been recognised as a Hebrew idiom wherein an abstract noun is placed in the genitive (i.e., an attributive genitive), indicating a defining characteristic (positive or negative) of the person or object thus described.76 Similar constructions are found throughout the NT (e.g., Luke 18.6 [ὁ κριτὴς τῆς ἀδικίας]; Rom 6.6 [τὸ σῶμα τῆς ἁμαρτίας]). In this case, the emphasis is placed on ὑπακοή, which functions like an adjective (‘obedient children’; cf. NRSV, NAB, NET, NASB, HCSB, ESV), with obedience being marked out as an essential quality in the lives of the readers.77 What distinguishes this genitival construction from a traditional adjective, however, is that the former communicates a level of expressiveness lacking in the latter.78 Yet this phrase seems to communicate something more based on the use of the familial term τέκνον. 75   Donelson 42. While in this case ὡς probably does introduce a descrip� tion of the readers that is objectively true, one could argue that a comparative (or metaphorical) usage might create a more natural parallelism between vv. 14–15. The analogy (more specifically, the simile) would represent a standard of comparison that balances each verse: do not be conformed (standard/illustrating image: obedient child), v. 14; be holy (standard/illustrating image: holiness of God), v. 15. 76   See Kautzsch, ed., Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, 417; Joüon-Muraoka, Grammar, 466; Waltke-O’Connor, Syntax, 148–49. Cf. Exod 29.29; Judg 11.1; 1 Kgs 20.31; Ps 48.2; Prov 5.19. It should be noted, however, that analogous formulations can be found in Greek literature as well, especially among those wanting to employ an elevated style. For examples from Greek literature, see Moorhouse, Syntax, 54; Smyth, Grammar, 317 (§1320). 77   Those who have read ὑπακοῆς as an attributive genitive (‘obedient children’) include: Benson 186; de Wette 13; Wiesinger 94–95; Schott 57; Monnier 63; Best 85; Bénétreau 99; Elliott 357; Dubis 25; Schlosser 92; Forbes 38; cf. Müller, ‘ “Umgürtet die Hüften eurer Gesinnung” ’, 150. Alternatives have also been suggested. Beare (97; cf. Keener 93–94 n. 15) contends that ὑπακοῆς functions as an objective genitive (‘children born for obedience’), while Prasad (Foundations, 175–77) understands ὑπακοή as equivalent to faith, resulting in the translation, ‘as believing ones’. Yet neither has a very strong basis. 78   For more on the semantics of the attributive genitive, see Winer, Grammar, 297– 99; Buttmann, Grammar, 161; Robertson, Grammar, 496–97; Wallace, Grammar,

476

1 PETER

When υἱός or τέκνον (equivalent to ‫ בן‬in Hebrew) is employed as the head noun in connection with an abstract genitive (LXX 1 Sam 20.31; 2 Sam 7.10; Ps 88.23[22]; Isa 57.4; Hos 10.9),79 a slightly different nuance is conveyed. The genitive might describe one’s spiritual status or destiny (Matt 23.15; John 17.12; Eph 2.3; 2 Thess 2.3; 2 Pet 2.14), or it can represent qualities that mark one’s character (Luke 10.6; Acts 4.36; Eph 2.2; 5.6; Col 3.6). In either case, the presence of τέκνον requires the genitive to be read within the context of biology, such that the originating or formative influence is a familial relationship. Applied to the present usage, τέκνα ὑπακοῆς would indicate more than simply that the readers are children of God who are obedient; the thought is that they have been born out of obedience as a mother births a child.80 It is this familial lineage that dictates which traits or qualities are inherited. As those who have experienced new birth (1 Pet 1.3, 23; cf. 2.2), their lives should be marked by obedience (cf. 1.2: εἰς ὑπακοήν). In Greek and Roman families, children were expected to love their parents (Cicero, Part. or. 25.88; Stobaeus 4.25) and to show them appropriate honour (Diogenes Laertius, Vit. phil. 7.23; Seneca, Ben. 3.1.5; cf. Jub. 7.20), caring for them even in old age, including their burial and veneration after death (Sir 3.12; Tob 4.3–4; Sib. Or. 2.158–160).81 Obedience (ὑπακοή) to parental authority was one of the primary duties of children in the ancient world (Dig. 1.1.2; 86–88. The use of this genitive function is a common feature of the Petrine author’s style (see MHT 4:129), appearing in a few places throughout the epistle (see 2.12 [ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς]; 5.4 [τῆς δόξης στέφανος]). 79   On the transferal of this Hebrew idiom to Greek, see Thackeray, Grammar, 41–42; Deissmann, Bible Studies, 161–66; MHT 2:441; Robertson, Grammar, 651–52; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 15–16 (§42–43). 80   Numerous commentators have noted how this relational element creates a distinction from the simple attributive usage, ‘obedient children’ (e.g., Steiger 1:212–15; Jachmann 131–32; Fronmüller 21–22; Alford 339; Plumptre 100; Keil 63; Johnstone 89–90; Huther 83; Bigg 113; Blenkin 33; Hiebert 93–94; Goppelt 110 n. 30; cf. Winer, Grammar, 298–99). While the two interpretations are similar, Cook (181) draws out an important difference: in the latter construal (‘obedient children’), one could technically still be a child without obeying; yet, in the former (‘children born of obedience’), there is no familial relationship without obedience. 81   On children in the Greco-Roman world more generally, see Laes, Children in the Roman Empire; Rawson, Children and Childhood. On children within early Christianity, see Martens, Childhood and Children; Bakke, When Children Became People, esp. 15–55; Horn and Bella, Child–Parent Relationship.



1.13–16

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37.15; Seneca, Ben. 3.36.1), and it became an especially prominent theme in Jewish and Christian literature (T.Reu. 3.8; T.Jud. 1.4; cf. Josephus, Ag. Ap. 2.204).82 Although disobedience was sometimes thought to be necessary,83 under most circumstances it was scorned. In those instances where a child strayed from their parents’ instructions, corporal punishment (including beating and whipping)84 was meted out in an effort to maintain compliance (Cicero, Tusc. 3.64; Seneca, Constant. 12.3; Clem. 1.14.1; Suetonius, Otho 2.1; cf. Sir 7.23; Heb 12.7).85 Thus, when the author refers to his readers as τέκνα ὑπακοῆς, the image is that of a subservient dependent who understands the power and discipline of a parent and who thereby shapes his/her behaviour in accordance with this parental authority (cf. v. 17).86 As new-born children who are called to obedience (cf. 1.2), the readers are instructed not to conform themselves (μὴ συσχη­ ματιζόμενοι) to their former desires.87 This is one of a number   See further Saller, ‘Corporal Punishment’, 144–65.   Note, e.g., Musonius Rufus 16; Philo, Spec. 2.236; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 2.206; 4 Macc 2.10; m. B. Meṣi‘a 2.10; b. Yebam. 5b–6a. See further Balla, Child–Parent Relationship, 73–76, 104–109. 84   The severity and force with which a teacher could strike a disobedient child was a matter of debate (see Dig. 9.2.5–6). 85   Even young girls were not exempt from this type of physical treatment (see Tacitus, Ann. 5.9). 86   The motivation to obey God based on their new status is grounded both in the addressees’ thankfulness for their new position (which is seen as immensely valuable) and their fear of potentially losing this status due to noncompliance (cf. Thurén, Argument and Theology, 110–11). 87   The participle συσχηματιζόμενοι has been translated as either deponent (‘to conform’; cf. NIV, EHV, NET, NAB), middle (‘to conform yourselves’; cf. KJV, ASV, EHV, NKJV, WEB), or passive (‘to be conformed’; cf. NRSV, HSCB, CEB, ESV, NASB). Since the active form was an available option (cf. Heron, Definitiones 23.1; Apollonius Dyscolus, De adverbiis 2, vol. 1,1, p. 128 [Schneider]), the deponent is not an option. In astrological texts, this form commonly conveys a passive notion, describing celestial bodies that have been similarly situated (Serapion, Frag. 8,4, p. 231 [Boudreaux]; Dorotheus, Fragmenta Graeca, p. 367 [Pingree]; Claudius Ptomelaeus, Apotelesmatica 1.8.3). At the same time, however, it can also be used in a reflexive sense to describe how a person shapes their attitudes, ideas, or preferences to align with another person (Plutarch, Adul. amic. 7 [Mor. 52B]; Virt. vit. 2 [Mor. 100F]). In the present verse, the readers seem to be assigned an active role, as suggested by the comparison to obedient children, and so it is perhaps best to understand συσχηματιζόμενοι as a middle (cf. Alford 340; Keener 94). 82 83

478

1 PETER

of instances in 1 Peter where the participle seems clearly to be functioning independently and carrying an imperatival force.88 Here, the exhortative function of συσχηματιζόμενοι is counterbalanced (note ἀλλά) by the positive imperative in v. 15 (ἅγιοι… γενήθητε). The verb συσχηματίζω, which is not common in Greek literature, is sometimes found in astrological texts to describe celestial bodies situated in similar locations.89 In other places, it describes the act of conforming to a particular standard.90 This might involve the reshaping of a definition with a view towards making it more accurate (Aristotle, Top. 151b) or with reference to a person who reshapes their personality to align with others (Plutarch, Adul. amic. 7 [Mor. 52B]; Virt. vit. 2 [Mor. 100F]). Its only other occurrence in the NT is found in Rom 12.2 (μὴ συσχηματίζεσθε τῷ αἰῶνι τούτῳ). The close parallel, both verbally and in terms of the overall thrust of the admonition (cf. also Eph 4.17–24)—Paul goes on to talk positively of the need for renewal of the mind, while our 88   While συσχηματιζόμενοι is generally understood as an imperatival participle (see, e.g., Selwyn 141; Grudem 78 n. 1; Elliott 357–58; Senior 40–41; Warden 67 n. 23; Dubis 26; Schlosser 94; Schreiner 79–80; Keener 94 n. 16; cf. Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 35), there are some interpreters who seek to explain the form without postulating an independent function (e.g., Achtemeier 120; McKnight 87 n. 10; Powers 67; cf. Synder, ‘Participles and Imperatives’, 190–91; Prasad, Foundations 178–79). Among this latter group, it is sometimes connected with ἐλπίσατε in v. 13 (Gerhard 103; Hofmann 39; cf. Hilgenfeld, ‘Der erste Petrus-Brief’, 472). More commonly, συσχηματιζόμενοι is taken with the following verse, either with γενήθητε being supplied to the first half of v. 14 to balance the contrastive conjunction ἀλλά (Bengel 50; von Soden 64; Knopf 64), resulting in the sense, ‘be like obedient children, not conforming…’, or with the participle understood as dependent upon γενήθητε and coordinate with κατὰ τὸν καλέσαντα ὑμᾶς (Wiesinger 94; de Wette 13; Hiebert 94; cf. Winer, Grammar, 443; Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 92–93 with n. 54). However, neither of these suggestions are able to adequately explain the participle’s function in relation to the coordinating conjunction ἀλλά. The problem is that in each of these construals ἀλλά no longer conveys a contrastive force. In the former, the sentence would be translated, ‘set your hope on the grace…but [?] be holy’. In the latter, the sense would be, ‘be like obedient children, but [?] be holy’. It is simpler, therefore, to acknowledge the participle’s independent imperatival function (see Excursus: Imperatival Participles in 1 Peter) and to translate συσχηματιζόμενοι accordingly. This results in a balanced contrast: ‘do not conform…but be holy’. 89   See, e.g., Critodemus, Frag. 8,3 p. 102 (Boudreaux); Serapion, Frag. 8,4 p. 226 (Boudreaux); Dorotheus, Fragmenta Graeca, p. 367 (Pingree); Claudius Ptolemaeus, Apotelesmatica 1.24.4. 90   LSJ 1737; BDAG 979.



1.13–16

479

author describes the former life as one of ἄγνοια—suggests some intertextual relationship, with Rom 12.2 being the likely source for 1 Peter’s use of the verb.91 What the readers are to avoid being conformed to are ‘desires’ (ἐπιθυμίαι),92 specifically those desires that they formerly (πρότερον) pursued. Here, πρότερον is an adverb that functions adjectivally, indicating the time period to which those desires belonged.93 While the author does not specifically describe the desires as bad—it is their association with a time of former ignorance that is highlighted—he evidently does regard ἐπιθυμία as negative (the dominant sense in the NT). The word is never used positively in 1 Peter (unlike, e.g., Luke 22.15; Phil 1.23; 1 Thess 2.17), though the verb ἐπιθυμέω is used with no negative nuance in 1.12 (cf. ἐπιποθέω in 2.2). Sometimes in 1 Peter, as elsewhere in the NT (e.g., Gal 5.16; Eph 2.3; Col 3.5), it is qualified with (negative) specifiers (ἀνθρώπων [4.2]; σαρκικός [2.11]), but it can simply stand alone to denote the bad desires that characterised a previous way of life (4.3).94 The author’s point is that their new identity as ‘obedient children’ requires that they cultivate different desires, not those that characterised their past life and still characterise (in the author’s view) those among whom they live.95 91   Cf. Wordsworth 50; Cook 181; Hort 68; Hart 49; Warden 67. It is often said that this expression may have been part of an earlier code of instruction or catechesis drawn upon independently by Paul and the Petrine author (e.g., Selwyn 141, 404; Goppelt 109; see also Lohse, ‘Parenesis and Kerygma’, 46). Stressing the differences between 1 Pet 1.14 and Rom 12.2, Herzer (Petrus oder Paulus?, 245–48) argues that Paul used the term because it was particularly suited to the Roman context, due to their prior familiarity with the tradition. But given the extant evidence, and the speculative nature of such proposals, the hypothesis of intertextual connection seems more likely. On this issue more broadly, see Horrell, ‘Petrine Circle’, 7–44; Williams, ‘Intertextuality’, 169–87. 92   As Mason (394) points out, making the impersonal object, ἐπιθυμία, the standard of one’s conformity seems a little unusual. In this case, we might have expected something more personal, such as their former selves/lives. 93   See BDF §62, 434. Some connect the adverb with ἀγνοίᾳ; hence, ‘former ignorance’ (see Elliott 359; Prasad Foundations, 180). With the majority of interpreters, however, it is best to see the adverb modifying ἐπιθυμίαις because it is placed within the attributive structure of ταῖς… ἐπιθυμίαις but outside of the prepositional phrase ἐν τῇ ἀγνοίᾳ ὑμῶν (cf. Brox 72). 94   See further TDNT 3:168–71. 95   Cf. Steiger 2:216. As noted by Alkier, ‘Dabei darf das Konzept der Begierde (epithymia) nicht sexualistisch eng geführt werden. Vielmehr geht es um jeden

480

1 PETER

Exactly when these ‘desires’ were pursued is further specified as ἐν τῇ ἀγνοίᾳ ὑμῶν (‘during your ignorance’).96 The Jewish law takes into account offences committed in ‘ignorance’ (Lev 5.18; 22.14), which seem to be distinguished from more intentional sins (Ezek 42.13: τὰ περὶ ἁμαρτίας καὶ τὰ περὶ ἀγνοίας; cf. 40.39; 44.29; 46.20), although on other occasions ἄγνοια is equated with ἁμαρτία as individuals confess their shortcomings to God (2 Chr 28.13; 1 Esdr 8.72; Ps 24.7; Sir 23.3). In the present case, however, ἄγνοια describes ignorance at a group level. Since God chose to be revealed to the people of Israel, rather than to the nations, Jewish and Christian writers sometimes categorise ἄγνοια along ethnic lines (Wis 14.22; Let. Aris. 130; Acts 17.30; Eph 4.18). In this way, the Gentiles, who do not know God (Ps 79[78].6; Jer 10.25; Gal 4.8–9; 1 Thess 4.5), become the target of critique. Although it is true, as some commentators have pointed out, that ignorance can be attributed collectively to the Jewish people (Acts 3.17; Rom 10.3),97 an important difference separates the two: the former represents a lack of awareness of the one true God, while the latter is—at least from a Christian perspective—an inability to accept God’s revealed plan of salvation. The author’s point in this instance is not that the readers had overcome any kind of stubborn refusal to accept Christ, but that their former lives were marked by ἄγνοια. This is the first of many indications in the letter that the readers are Gentiles, or at least are being depicted as such (see Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity). More generally, the phrase shows how conversion was conceived not only in terms of a new birth but also Objektbezug, der auf das begehrende Subjekt in einer Weise einwirkt, die seine geschöpflichen Bindungen zu Gott und dessen Geschöpfen überschattet oder sogar ersetzt’ (‘Antagonismen im 1. Petrusbrief’, 15). 96   The preposition ἐν has occasionally been understood to denote a causal force: ‘desires originating from (or caused by) ignorance’ (so, e.g., Wiesinger 95; Schott 58; Huther 84; Kühl 112; Feldmeier 105). Yet the use of πρότερον, whose temporal focus is emphasised by the adverbial (rather than adjectival) form, suggests temporality is in view, not causality (cf. Johnstone 91). Further, this idea of time (or circumstances) fits well with the contrast that the author sets up: obedience required in the present versus the desires that consumed life in the past. 97   See, e.g., Kühl 113–14; Weiss 300. This attribution of ignorance can take place on an individual level as well. As a member of the Jewish people, Paul’s pre-conversion state is also described as a time of ignorance (see 1 Tim 1.13; Mart. Pet. Paul 39.3; Acts Pet. Paul 60.3).



1.13–16

481

as a cognitive reorientation, a move from ignorance to insight (cf. 1.13; 4.1–3). 15 ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὸν καλέσαντα ὑμᾶς ἅγιον καὶ αὐτοὶ ἅγιοι ἐν πάσῃ ἀναστροφῇ γενήθητε, γενήθητε, The positive instruction given in this verse stands in antithesis (ἀλλά) to the negative one that preceded it. Here, the appeal (v. 15b) is first grounded in the character of God (v. 15a) and then justified by a quotation from scripture (v. 16). What is communicated is a desire for the people of God to share in the distinct qualities of God—in particular, the holiness of God. This process of conformity to the divine character could be described as an example of theosis, a theme developed more fully in other NT writings (see 2 Cor 3.18; 2 Pet 1.4).98 As this concept is further elaborated in the letter, it becomes clear that ‘being conformed to the holiness of God… means reflecting the pattern of Christ’; in other words, in 1 Peter ‘Christosis is theosis’.99 It is possible to read the phrase κατὰ τὸν καλέσαντα ὑμᾶς ἅγιον in two different ways. Most translations and some commen� tators take τὸν καλέσαντα as a substantival participle connected to a predicate adjective (ἅγιον) by an implied ἐστίν: ‘just as the one who called you is holy’ (NRSV, NIV, NAB, HCSB, CEB, ESV).100 Alternatively, the majority of recent commentators, along with a few modern translations, take (τὸν) ἅγιον as a substantive with καλέσαντα ὑμᾶς serving as an attributive modifier: ‘in conformity to the Holy One who called you’ (NASB, NET, NJB).101 With this construal, God is designated as ὁ ἅγιος. Although this title is not common in early Christian literature (although see 1 John 2.20; 98   On this description of theosis, see Litwa, We Are Being Transformed, 31–32: ‘The basis of deification is sharing in those distinctive qualities that make (a) God (a) God’. For more on theosis in the writings of Paul, see Gorman, Inhabiting the Cruciform God; Blackwell, Christosis. 99   Barbarick, ‘Theosis in 1 Peter’, 290. 100   Commentators who espouse this position include: de Wette 13; von Soden 137; Masterman 81; Hart 49; Spicq 66; Kelly 69; Best 86; Bénétreau 100; Achtemeier 121; Skaggs 24–25; Donelson 40 n. d; Osborne 160; Forbes 39; Watson 33. 101   Commentators who espouse this position include: Alford 340; Plumptre 101; Huther 85; Kühl 114; Monnier 65; Bigg 114; Knopf 66; Lenski 55; Beare 98; Michaels 51 n. a, 58; Schelkle 44; Knoch 48; Brox 72; Boring 79–80; Schweizer 31; Elliott 360; Richard 61; Senior 41; Schlosser 93.

482

1 PETER

1 Clem. 23.5; 30.1; cf. also Mark 1.24; Diogn. 9.2), it is an established Jewish title for God, regularly used in the LXX (generally as ὁ ἅγιος τοῦ Ἰσραήλ; Heb. ‫)קדוש ישראל‬.102 Various points of consideration could be set forward in support of the latter reading, including the author’s fondness for biblicism and its consistency with the stylistic chracter of the letter.103 But the most important evidence is generally thought to be the use of κατά. As Michaels has strongly argued, as a preposition, κατά cannot be understood as equivalent to καθώς.104 That is, even though κατά can display meanings that are similar to the subordinating conjunction (cf. Gal 4.28: κατὰ Ἰσαὰκ ἐπαγγελίας τέκνα ἐστέ, ‘you are children of promise, just like Isaac’), the prepositional phrase that is created thereby cannot have an embedded verb, which the former position requires. If this were the author’s intent, a more natural way of communicating the idea would have been, καθώς/ὡς ὁ ὑμᾶς καλέσας ἅγιός ἐστιν.105 Instead, κατά marks a standard of norming by which two things become similar or homogeneous.106 When used in this way, the preposition often stands in connection with an accusative denoting the person ‘according to whose will, pleasure, or manner someth[ing] occurs’.107 Thus, it implicitly recalls, in a positive sense, the previous συσχηματιζόμενοι.108   Among the many LXX examples, see 2 Kgs 19.22; Pss 70.22; 77.41; 88.19[18]; Isa 1.4; 5.19; Jer 2.2; 3.16; Ezek 39.7; Dan 3.35; 4.19; 11.28, 30, 45; Hab 3.3; Tob 12.12, 15; 2 Macc 14.36; Bar 4.22, 37; Sir 23.9; 43.10; 47.8; 48.20. For more on the use of this phrase in Jewish literature, see Str-B 3:762–63. 103   The Petrine author is fond of embedding modifiers in first attributive position as this proposal would envision (e.g., 1.14: ταῖς πρότερον ἐν τῇ ἀγνοίᾳ ὑμῶν ἐπιθυμίαις). See further Robertson, Grammar, 127. 104   Michaels 51 n. a, 58. This point weighs heavily against the position of Hart (49) who proposes that ‘κατὰ τὸν… corresponds to ὡς of Matt. v. 48’, which reads, ἔσεσθε οὖν ὑμεῖς τέλειοι ὡς ὁ πατὴρ ὑμῶν ὁ οὐράνιος τέλειός ἐστιν (‘therefore, be perfect, as your father in heaven is perfect’). 105   See Johnstone 92. 106   Pace Calloud-Genuyt 94, who interpret the preposition causally (‘puisque Celui qui vous a appelés est saint’). 107   BDAG 512 §B5aα. In the NT, this standard can be God (κατὰ θεόν: Rom 8.27; 2 Cor 7.9–11; 11.17; cf. Josephus, Ant. 4.143) or Christ (κατὰ Χριστὸν Ἰησοῦν: Rom 15.5). Other reference-points of comparison are found outside this corpus: Epistles of Socrates 14.5 (κατὰ θεόν); Appian, Bell. civ. 2.12.84 (κατὰ δαίμονα); Justin Martyr, Dial. 5.1 (κατά τινας λεγομένους Πλατωνικούς). 108   Cf. Kühl 114; Hort 69. 102



1.13–16

483

Rather than conforming to the desires that marked their lives prior to the reception of the gospel, they are expected to conform to God’s holiness. The substantival use of ὁ καλέσας (‘the one who called’) as a designation for God is repeated elsewhere in 1 Peter (2.9; 5.10), echoing a Pauline phrase (see Rom 9.12; Gal 1.6; 5.8).109 Within the wider Greco-Roman world, the verb καλέω was similarly employed to describe a summons on behalf of a deity. This could have been an invitation to visit a god or goddess within their sacred precinct,110 or even performing a particular task on behalf of the deity.111 In this latter sense, Epictetus sometimes depicts the life of a philosopher as a divine calling.112 One who adopts this lifestyle, which included the proper endurance of trials and difficulties (Diatr. 1.29.33; 2.1.34, 39), is said to be ‘like a witness summoned by god’ (ὡς μάρτυς ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ κεκλημένος, Diatr. 1.29.46). This notion of divine ‘calling’ is also present in the LXX, especially within Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah,113 which is perhaps the source of the Petrine language. In the Jewish scriptures, God’s special invitation is extended at a corporate level. Through this ‘call’, the people of Israel are given a new identity that entails   On the use of καλέω in Paul, see Chester, Conversion at Corinth, 59–112; cf. also Klein, ‘Paul’s Use of καλεῖν’, 53–64. 110   In his description of the landscape and architecture in and around Tithorea (Phocis), Pausanias notes a temple dedicated to the Egyptian goddess Isis. One of the interesting features about this building, according to Pausanias, is that ‘no one may enter the shrine except those whom Isis herself has honored by inviting (καλέσῃ) them in dreams’ (Descr. 10.32.13; trans. Jones [LCL]). 111   Cf. Aelius Aristides, Or. 30.9, where Asclepius commissions Quadratus to contribute to the upbuilding of the city of Pergamum. 112   The discourse of Epictetus continues by describing how the philosopher is commissioned by God and the concomitant need for endurance in the midst of trials so as to fulfil the divine call: ‘God says, “Go you and bear witness for Me; for you are worthy to be produced by me as a witness…” What kind of witness do you bear for God? “I am in sore straits, O Lord, and in misfortune; no one regards me, no one gives me anything, all blame me and speak ill of me.” Is this the witness that you are going to bear, and is this the way in which you are going to disgrace the summons which He gave you (κλῆσιν ἣν κέκληκεν), in that He bestowed this honour upon you and deemed you worthy to be brought forward in order to bear testimony so important?’ (Diatr. 1.29.47–49; trans. Oldfather [LCL]). 113   E.g., Isa 41.2, 4, 9, 25; 42.6; 43.1; 45.3; 46.11; 48.12, 15; 49.1, 6; 50.2; 51.2; 61.6; 65.12; 66.4; see also Jer 7.13; Hos 1.10. 109

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certain responsibilities. Having been summoned as God’s ‘servant’ (παῖς [Isa 41.8–9; 42.1]; δοῦλος [48.20; 49.3]), Israel had the task of restoring faithfulness and fidelity within their covenant relationship and extending the divine call of salvation to the nations.114 The theme of being ‘called’ by God plays an important role in the letter more generally.115 In 1 Peter, καλέω represents a summons to become children of God, a call that elicits a positive response through conversion (cf. Rom 8.28; Heb 9.15; Jude 1);116 nevertheless, God’s ‘calling’ involves more than simply entering into a relationship through which salvation is being/will be achieved. The call of God also involves certain expectations from those thus summoned, namely, to persevere in suffering and, in doing so, to receive a reward (2.21; 3.9). Here, the focus is on the divine agent with whom the summons originated (cf. 5.10), though only insofar as this fact governs the duties of the readers. The reason why the readers’ calling is mentioned in this instance is to undergird the exhortation to separation by reminding them implicitly of what they have received and the new identity into which they have entered. Although conformity to God’s standards might require devotion and sacrifice, it was God who bestowed great favour upon them by calling them from a way of life that leads to judgment (cf. 4.1–5) and promising them a heavenly inheritance. With καὶ αὐτοί, which stands in antithesis to τὸν ἅγιον, the author turns explicitly and emphatically to exhort his readers. They are correspondingly urged to be ἅγιοι, with the imperative γενήθητε being the second of three finite imperatives in vv. 13–17. The nature of this command can be understood in different ways.117   See Isa 49.6 LXX: ‘It is a great thing for you to be called (κληθῆναι) my servant (παῖδα) so that you may set up the tribes of Iakob and turn back the dispersion of Israel. See, I have made you a light of nations, that you may be for salvation to the end of the earth’ (NETS). 115   For more on the ‘call’ of God in 1 Peter, see Shaw, ‘A People Called’. 116   As noted by others, e.g., Demarest 82–83; Mason 395; Wand 54; Picirilli 125; Schreiner 80. 117   One consideration that plays a role in the interpretation of the imperative is its voice. The use of the verb γίνομαι with a -θη- form often functions as a passive (e.g., Matt 6.10; Luke 18.23; Rom 9.29; 1 Cor 1.30; Eph 2.13; Heb 5.5). But consistent with the developed use of the aorist in Koine Greek (see Winer, Grammar, 327–28; Buttmann, Grammar, 51–52), this form was sometimes employed with a middle voice (e.g., Rom 16.2; 1 Thess 1.5; 2.7; Heb 10.33). In 114



1.13–16

485

Some interpreters have read the imperative as a request for the audience to reveal their divinely received status through their actions (‘show yourselves to be holy’).118 Others, who have perhaps a slightly stronger evidential basis, interpret γενήθητε as conveying an ingressive force (‘become holy’).119 This view is grounded in the imperative’s aorist tense and the meaning generally communicated by the verb’s lexical form (‘to come into existence’). If this is the case, then the selection of γενήθητε might have been intended to mark a distinction from the future tense ἔσεσθε (‘you shall be holy’) employed in v. 16,120 or perhaps even what would have been communicated by a present imperative, ἔστε (‘be holy’). In the end, however, both views may be pressing the form further than the context will allow. Although the aorist imperative of γίνομαι often does communicate an ingressive force (cf. Gen 24.60; Num 14.9; Josh 22.19; Judg 17.10; T.Lev. 8.3), there are certain places where such a meaning is simply not feasible.121 In many cases where this form is used, nothing is implied about whether the action had been undertaken previously; it simply represents an emphatic exhortation to undertake a given action.122 the present verse, it is possible to read γενήθητε as passive (‘you are to be made holy’), but it is probably better to understand it as middle (‘you are to be[come] holy’). See further Johnstone 92–93 and Dubis 27–28. 118   So, e.g., Mason 395; Burger 240; Hort 71; Hart 49; Blenkin 35; Lenski 56; Forbes 39. The basis for this view lies in the fact that the readers are described as elect sojourners ‘by the sanctification of the Spirit’ (ἐν ἁγιασμῷ πνεύματος, 1.2). Their holy status is thus one that has already been conferred upon them, not something that must be achieved. 119   So, e.g., Wiesinger 97; Keil 65–66; Monnier 65; Bigg 116; Beare 98–99; Achtemeier 121. 120   See Usteri 59; Knopf 66. 121   In Deut 21 (LXX), it states that when ‘someone is found fallen on the plain, and no one knows who struck him down’ (v. 1), the council of elders and the judges from the nearest city must hamstring a heifer in the ravine (vv. 3–4). After washing their hands over the heifer, they must say to God, ‘Our hand did not shed this blood, and our eyes have not seen who did. Be merciful to your people, Israel (ἵλεως γενοῦ τῷ λαῷ σου Ισραηλ), whom you redeemed, O Lord’ (vv. 7–8). It is difficult to translate the aorist imperative γενοῦ as ‘become merciful’ (as though God had not previous been merciful) in this instance, especially since God is said to have ‘redeemed’ the people. See also Pss 26.9; 30.3[2]; 70.3; Amos 7.2; 4 Macc 6.28. 122   Cf. Josh 8.4; 1 Kgs 20.7; Eccl 7.16–17; Jdt 12.17; Tob 7.10; T.Naph. 8.10; 4 Bar. 6.13; Luke 6.36; 1 Cor 10.32; 14.20; Eph 5.7; Rev 2.10. It should be noted

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Just as God’s holiness is frequently asserted in the Jewish and Christian scriptures (emphatically in Isa 6.3 and Rev 4.8), so too God’s people are to be holy. The word ἅγιος is used in Greek literature to denote the sacred or mysterious quality associated with gods and their sanctuaries,123 though the most direct influence on the author of 1 Peter is of course the Jewish scriptures, where the word-group is extensively used in both priestly and prophetic traditions.124 In this instance, much like in the Holiness Code (Lev 17–26) from which the quotation in v. 16 is taken, Israel’s God is depicted as ἅγιος (= ‫)קדש‬. The essential meaning has to do with being separate, set apart from that which is ‘common’ or everyday, in a sense that pertains either to the ‘otherness’ of the gods (in relation to humans) or to places and people set apart for cultic service.125 Most prominent, then, is a sense of distinction; hence the way in which holiness language serves to draw a boundary between a certain people and others. This distinctiveness also comes to have a moral dimension, in that the qualities attributed to God are, in certain respects at least, expected of God’s people. In the NT, one of the most common designations of Christians, particularly in the Pauline letters, is as ἅγιοι,126 and the idea of holiness as distinction from the world, marked by a particular pattern of living, is prominent (2 Cor 6.14–7.1; 1 Thess 4.3–7), even if the rhetoric of separation may exaggerate the extent to which that the use of the aorist in this case does not indicate a once-and-for-all action (as suggested by Lenski 56; Michaels 59; Prasad, Foundations, 191). See further Stagg, ‘Abused Aorist’, 222–31. 123   Cf. LSJ 9; BDAG 10; TDNT 1:88–89. In earlier literature, the adjective was commonly used to describe a temple or shrine devoted to a god or goddess (Herodotus, Hist. 2.41.5; Xenophon, Hell. 3.2.19; Plato, Critias 116c), to sacrifices offered to the gods (Isocrates, Hel. enc. 63), and to rites performed at religious festivals (Isocrates, Areop. 29; Aristophanes, Nub. 304; Demosthenes, [Neaer.] 73). In the epigraphic and papyrological records, ἅγιος is a common designation attributed to deities (OGIS 378; IGRR I 945; UPZ I 79; P.Oxy. XI 1380; PGM I.198). 124   See further ABD 3:237–49. There are over 700 occurrences in the LXX. For an overview related to 1 Peter, see Elliott 360–62. Cf. also 1QS 8.5–6, 11, 20; 9.6; CD 20.2, 5, 7; 1QH 5.7; 7.27; 8.10–11, 15. 125   Cf. Cranfield 35; Beare 98. 126   There are over sixty such occurrences across a range of literature, especially the Pauline letters and Revelation (e.g., Matt 27.52; Acts 9.13; Rom 1.7; Heb 13.24; Jude 3; Rev 22.21).



1.13–16

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moral values and practices differ. In other words, holiness language is important in defining a sense of Christian identity, in discursively marking a boundary between church and world.127 Nonetheless, without denying the important respects in which there were crucial differences of practice and belief, early Christian ethics shares more in common with other contemporary traditions, both Jewish and non-Jewish, than this rhetoric might imply.128 It is significant to note, as Elliott remarks, how many words from the semantic field of holiness/purity appear in 1 Peter.129 While cultic, social, and moral dimensions coalesce in the call to be holy, it is clear that the cultic sense of consecration to God remains prominent (see esp. 1 Pet 2.5, 9). This is at the same time an identity-defining designation that shapes a concept of being (as strangers and exiles) in the world. The focus of the instruction here, however, is on ἀναστροφή, a term that can bear a wide variety of meanings.130 In its NT usage—the majority of which (6 out of 13) occur in 1 Peter—it refers consistently to behaviour or a way of life.131 Much like the connection found in 1 Peter, in the epigraphic record ἀναστροφή (or its verbal form) is frequently connected with the idea of living as a temporary resident (παρεπίδημος) in a foreign place.132 Mention is also made in the inscriptions about the pervasiveness of honourable conduct in all areas of life.133 Never127   For more on holiness in 1 Peter, see Kendall, ‘Christian’s Vocation’, 3–12; Sosa, ‘1ra Carta de Pedro Santidad’, 185–212; Schmidt, ‘Kult und Ethik’, 225–55. 128   See further Horrell, Solidarity and Difference, 133–65; idem, ‘Particular Identity’, 197–212. 129   The following terms are found in 1 Peter: ἁγιασμός (1.2); ἅγιος (1.12, 15–16; 2.5, 9; 3.5); ἁγιάζω (3.15); ἁγνίζω (1.22); ἁγνός (3.2); ῥαντισμός (1.2); ἄμωμος, ἄσπιλος (1.19); and καθαρός (1.22). These terms, Elliott comments, ‘connote here both consecration to God and separation from all that is impure, unclean, and polluted’ (361–62). 130   For the various uses, see LSJ 122. 131   See 1 Pet 1.15, 18; 2.12; 3.1, 2, 16. Outside 1 Peter: Gal 1.13; Eph 4.22; 1 Tim 4.12; Heb 13.7; Jas 3.13; 2 Pet 2.7; 3.11. Cf. also Tob 4.14; 2 Macc 6.23; Let. Aris. 130, 216; Epictetus, Diatr. 1.9.11, 24; 1.22.13. For more on the use of ἀναστροφή in 1 Peter, see Brandt, ‘Wandel als Zeugnis’, 10–25. 132   See FD III,1 228; FD III,2 94; SIG3 608; SEG 53:539; IG V,1 1145; IG VII 21; IG IX,12 3:750; I.Délos 1501. Attention was drawn to this connection some years ago by Hicks, ‘Some Political Terms’, 6. 133   IG XII,5 655: εὐσχήμοναν τὴν ἀναστροφὴν πεπόηται ἐν πᾶσιν, ‘she conducted herself nobly and honourably in all things’. Cf. also IG II2 1008, 1011.

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theless, this exact phrase (ἐν πάσῃ ἀναστροφῇ) is not as common (cf. Tob 4.14 [GI]; Athanasius, Ep. mon. [PG 28:1425], Ephraem Syrus, Im. prov. 1:188, 273 [Phrantzoles]). Whereas it is tempting to view the construction as a generic reference to the whole Christian life, ‘all (of your) conduct’,134 the singular πᾶς with the anarthrous ἀναστροφῇ most likely conveys a distributive sense,135 implying conduct in relation to a variety of issues, ‘every behaviour’.136 16 διότι γέγραπται· γέγραπται· ἅγιοι ἔσεσθε, ἔσεσθε, ὅτι ἐγὼ ἅγιός. ἅγιός. With the introductory formula διότι γέγραπται,137 the author presents an explicit scriptural quotation that provides warrant for the exhortation just given.138 Though the phrases used to mark scriptural quotations vary—from the more extensive διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ (2.6) to the minimal γάρ (3.10)—it is notable that each time the author employs διότι it is to introduce a quotation (1.16, 24; 2.6).139 Moreover, in each of these instances, as διότι would suggest, the quotation serves to indicate the basis on which For the verbal form, see IG IV 558; IvP II 470; IG XII,5 130; TAM V,1 297. 134   As explained by some commentators (e.g., de Wette 13; Monnier 66; Wither�ington 97). 135   See Middleton, Greek Article, 102; although note the qualifications by Johnston, Use of Πᾶς, 67–74. 136   As correctly interpreted, e.g., by Alford 340; Plumptre 101; Kühl 114; Huther 85 n. 1; Lenski 56; Hiebert 96; cf. Schlosser 93 who notes the grammatical formulation here but sees this sense as unlikely in the context. 137   The formula γέγραπται is a common way of referring to (an) authoritative text(s), such as the law of Moses (Josh 8.31; 2 Kgs 14.6; 23.21; 2 Chr 23.18; Neh 10.37; Philo, Post. 24, 179), the prophecy of Isaiah (2 Chr 32.32), or the book of Judges (Liv. Pro. 16.3). It is also employed with reference to non-canonical works (T.Zeb. 3.4; T.Mos. 1), including documents that are no longer extant (1 Kgs 22.39; 2 Kgs 8.23; Esth 10.2; 1 Macc 16.24; Josephus, Vita 342), heavenly tablets (T.Lev. 5.4), or general documents (1 Kgs 20.11; Ezra 5.7). In the NT, it is frequently employed in citations of the Jewish scriptures (e.g., Matt 4.4; Mark 7.6; Luke 4.10; Rom 1.17; 1 Cor 2.9; Gal 3.10). 138   It would be incorrect to understand this verse as a commentary on ἅγιον in v. 15, as though it were explaining why God is designated as ‘the Holy One’ (as suggested by de Wette 13). Instead, it provides the reason for the preceding exhortation to be holy (Alford 340; Huther 86). This pattern of placing the scriptural warrant after the exhortation, to confirm rather than introduce what is said, is also found elsewhere in 1 Pet 2.6. 139   Noted by Achtemeier 122 n. 65. Elsewhere (317 n. 171, on 4.18), however, he makes the oddly inaccurate observation: ‘Only once does the author indicate a



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489

the preceding statement is valid.140 It is possible that the compound conjunction διότι141 is used in place of the more common ὅτι (which occurs 15 times in the letter) due to the author’s regard for euphony (i.e., the harmonious combination of words that eases pronunciation and makes them more aurally appealing). For among better Greek writers, this form is put into service in an effort to avoid the harsh juxtaposition of vowels or consonants in adjacent syllables.142 But this usage is not always consistent (see 1 Pet 1.24, where the conjunction is used after μένοντος). Variations of this citation are found at numerous places in Leviticus (Lev 11.44, 45; 19.2; 20.7, 26; cf. also Num 15.40), the only differences being word order and the presence of the verb εἰμι.143 This situation has led to different proposals with regard to which specific source-text is in view. According to Schreiner, the Petrine author ‘did not intend to refer to any one of these verses in particular but deliberately cited a theme that is suffused throughout all of Leviticus’.144 While this view has merit, the presence of a specific citation formula (διότι γέγραπται) would seem to indicate that the quote is (at least depicted as) drawn from a specific passage. Among the potential options, some are used in connection with laws about quotation (1:16); normally, he does not (1:24–25; 2:6 [where the RSV has added a gratuitous “it stands in scripture”]; 3:10–12)’. 140   See BDAG 251 §3. Cf. also BDF §294(4); 456(1). 141   The particle διότι is a compound of διὰ τοῦτο ὅτι (‘for the reason that’), see LSJ 435 (citing Apollonius Dyscolus, De conjunctionibus 242). Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 964, who reads it as a compound of διά + ὅτι. 142   In various corpora from the Koine period, this distinction is not upheld, however. The conjunction διότι appears fairly evenly after vowels and consonants in the LXX (see Thackeray, Grammar, 138–39), in the non-literary papyri (see Mayser, Grammatik, I 161), and in the NT (after vowels: Luke 1.13; Acts 18.10 1 Thess 2.18; Heb 11.5; Jas 4.2; after consonants: Luke 21.28; Acts 22.18; Rom 1.19; 1 Cor 15.9; Phil 2.26; 1 Thess 2.8). 143   To better appreciate these similarities, it is helpful to compare the Greek text of each usage: Lev 11.44: ἅγιοι ἔσεσθε, ὅτι ἅγιός εἰμι ἐγώ Lev 11.45: ἔσεσθε ἅγιοι, ὅτι ἅγιός εἰμι ἐγώ Lev 19.2: ἅγιοι ἔσεσθε, ὅτι ἐγὼ ἅγιος Lev 20.7: ἔσεσθε ἅγιοι, ὅτι ἅγιος ἐγώ Lev 20.26: ἔσεσθέ μοι ἅγιοι, ὅτι ἐγὼ ἅγιος 144   Schreiner 81. Others who had adopted this view include: Doddridge 190; Cook 182; Bennett 198; Best 87; Hiebert 97; Bénétreau 102; Brox 77; see also Egan, Scriptural Narrative, 77–78.

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the impurity of certain animals (Lev 11.44, 45; 20.26), and others are related to the consultation of spiritual mediums (20.7). The most likely candidate in this case is Lev 19.2,145 which not only corresponds exactly to the citation in v. 16,146 but begins a section of the Holiness Code dealing with the holiness of all the people of Israel.147 The future tense (ἔσεσθε) functions here as an imperative, as in other instances where ‘the future indicative is used to render the categorical injunctions and prohibitions…in the legal language of the OT’,148 following a similar use of the Hebrew imperfect (here ἔσεσθε for ‫)תהיו‬.149 Most of its NT occurrences are found in Matthew (e.g., 5.21 [οὐ φονεύσεις]; 5.43 [ἀγαπήσεις τὸν πλησίον σου]; also Rom 7.7; 13.9; Jas 2.8). Outside the context of Torah citations, it occurs only infrequently in the NT; hence, the tendency in some manuscripts to replace ἔσεσθε with true imperatives (γένεσθε or γίνεσθε; see above Text at 1.16 n. e). The logic of the injunction is concise and clear: the call for the people to be holy is based (ὅτι) on the conviction that God is holy, and furthermore, that the character of God should be imitated by the people of God.150

145   This has become the most common view in recent scholarship (see, e.g., Schweizer 34; Boring 80; Richard 61; Elliott 363; Senior 41; Jobes 114; Green 44; Witherington 96; Donelson 44; Watson 33; Vahrenhorst 88; cf. Osborne, ‘L’utilisation’, 67 n. 5; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 36; Howe, ‘Christian Life’, 307). Some commentators—mostly within an earlier generation of scholarship—identify the source text from which the Petrine author quotes as Lev 11.44 (e.g., Benson 187; Pott 49; Demarest 84; Masterman 81; Weiss 301; Mitchell 240; Marshall 52; Picirilli 125). Others connect it with both Lev 19.2 and Lev 11.44 (Grotius 69; Hottinger 105). 146   On the variants, see Text at 1.16 nn. e–g. Some other early Christian authors who cite this same expression follow the order of Lev 19.2 as well (e.g., Ps.-Clement, Epistulae de virginitate 1.7.3; Origen, Cels. 6.63; Eusebius, Dem. ev. 8.2.40), although some citations depart from the order of all occurrences in Leviticus (see, e.g., Eusebius, Praep. ev. 12.30.4; Comm. Ps. 33.9 [PG 23:296], 45.4 [PG 23:409]; Asterius Sophista, Comm. Ps. 19.32 [Richard]). 147   Cf. Achtemeier 122; Feldmeier 106–107; Schlosser 91. 148   BDF §362. 149   See Winer, Grammar, 396–97; MHT 3:86. On the use of the Hebrew imperfect in this way, see Kautzsch, ed., Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, §107 m–p. This use of the future tense is not (solely) a Semitic idiom, however. For evidence from the papyri, see Mayser, Grammatik, II.1 212–14. 150   For a comparable stress on holy identity requiring holy conduct, see 1 Clem. 30.1: Ἁγία οὖν μερὶς ὑπάρχοντες ποιήσωμεν τὰ τοῦ ἁγιασμοῦ πάντα.



1.17–21

491

According to Selwyn (who follows Carrington), a common baptismal catechism lies behind 1 Peter (along with Acts 15, 1 Thess 4–5, and other parts of the NT), drawing on the Levitical holiness code.151 He contends that this ‘points to a conception of the Church [in 1 Peter] as a “neo-Levitical” or priestly community’, evident here and also in 2.1–10.152 Identifying such catechetical material lying behind NT texts cannot, however, be done with any confidence. Commenting on 1.16, Michaels affirms the idea that the author of 1 Peter is ‘addressing his readers in distinctly priestly terms’, but stresses that these are the ‘priestly terms’ used for ‘all the congregation of the people of Israel’.153 Elliott rejects both the proposed catechism (though he agrees in general that 1 Peter draws on a wealth of early Christian traditions)154 and the depiction of the Church as a neo-levitical or priestly community, insisting that ‘the focus is on holiness, not priestliness’.155 Yet this rejection of priestly imagery is too strong and unnuanced. It is correct to insist—as does Michaels—that the depiction applies to the whole Christian community and in effect identifies that community not with a distinctly priestly group but with Israel as a whole.156 But it is unconvincing to deny that the author of 1 Peter draws on priestly terminology (and temple terminology) to describe in priestly terms the character and task of the Christian community (see on 2.5, 9). A Note of Warning and a Reminder of Their Costly Redemption (1.17–21) Initial Bibliography John C. Beckman, ‘Live a Fear-of-God Lifestyle, Ransomed Ones: 1 Peter 1:17–21’, Stulos Theological Journal 10 (2002): 77–98; Rudolf Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente im ersten Petrusbrief’, in Coniectanea

151   Selwyn 363–466, esp. 369–75. Cf. Carrington, Primitive Christian Catechism, esp. 23–29. 152   Selwyn 374. 153   Michaels, 60. Cf. the use of the last phrase in Lev 19.2, and similarly all-encompassing phrases in Lev 17.2; 21.24; 22.18. 154   Elliott 20–40, esp. 30–37. 155   Elliott 364. He also specifically rejects Michaels’ comment, cited above. 156   Michaels 60; cf. Achtemeier 122, for whom the appropriation of the identity of Israel for the church is a key theme of 1 Peter (see 69–73).

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Neotestamentica in Honorem Antonii Fridrichsen, ConNT 11 (Lund: C.W.K. Gleerup, 1947), 1–14; William J. Dalton, ‘So That Your Faith May Also Be Your Hope In God (1 Peter 1:21)’, in Reconciliation and Hope: New Testament Essays on Atonement and Eschatology Presented to L. L. Morris on his 60th Birthday, ed. Robert Banks (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), 262–74; Karl Gatzweiler, ‘Prix et exigencies de la condition chrétienne (1 P 1,17–21)’, AsSeign 24 (1970): 16–20; Roger Le Déaut, ‘Le Targum de Gen. 22,8 et 1 Pt. 1,20’, RSR 49 (1961): 103–106; Dalmazio Mongillo, ‘Il disegno nascosto dai secoli e manifestato ora per noi (1 Pt 1,20)’, Angelicum 81 (2004): 867–90; Emilio Rasco, ‘Il “sangue prezioso” di Cristo nella prima lettera di Pietro’, in Sangue e antropologia biblica: atti della settimana, Roma, 10–15 marzo, 1980, ed. Francesco Vattioni, Centro studi Sanguis Christi 1 (Rome: Pia Unione Preziosissimo Sangue, 1981), 851–64; W. C. van Unnik, ‘The Critique of Paganism in 1 Peter 1:18’, in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Studies in Honour of Matthew Black, ed. Earle E. Ellis and Max Wilcox (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969), 129–42; idem, ‘The Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19 and the Problem of the First Epistle of Peter’, in Sparsa Collecta: The Collected Essays of W. C. van Unnik, Part Two: 1 Peter, Canon, Corpus Hellenisticum Generalia, NovTSup 30 (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 3–82.

Text 17

καὶ εἰ πατέρα ἐπικαλεῖσθε(a) τὸν ἀπροσωπολήμπτως κρίνοντα κατὰ τὸ ἑκάστου ἔργον, ἔργον, ἐν φόβῳ τὸν τῆς παροικίας ὑμῶν χρόνον ἀναστράφητε 18 εἰδότες ὅτι οὐ φθαρτοῖς, φθαρτοῖς, ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ(b), ἐλυτρώθητε ἐκ τῆς ματαίας ὑμῶν ἀναστροφῆς πατροπαραδότου(c) 19 ἀλλὰ τιμίῳ αἵματι ὡς ἀμνοῦ ἀμώμου καὶ ἀσπίλου Χριστοῦ(d) 20 προεγνωσμένου μὲν πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου,, φανερωθέντος δὲ ἐπ᾿ ἐσχάτου τῶν χρόνων(e) δι᾿ ὑμᾶς κόσμου 21 τοὺς δι᾿ αὐτοῦ πιστοὺς(f) εἰς θεὸν τὸν ἐγείραντα αὐτὸν ἐκ νεκρῶν καὶ δόξαν αὐτῷ δόντα, δόντα, ὥστε τὴν πίστιν ὑμῶν καὶ ἐλπίδα εἶναι εἰς θεόν. θεόν.

(a) There is some variation in the form of the verb ἐπικαλεῖσθε here (5 has καλεῖσθε, 323 αἰτεῖσθε, and 1729 ἐπικαλέσησθέ [sic]), though this reading is strongly supported throughout most of the Greek and Latin MS tradition. P72 has κακλεῖτε (sic = καλεῖτε), supported by C-S (tetn\moute) and some Latin texts (vocatis instead of invocatis, see VL 26/1, 85), producing a different reading: ‘And if you call the one who judges impartially “Father” [C-S: ‘our father’]…’.157 The influence of liturgical practice, especially in C-S’s rendering, is perhaps in evidence here. On the other hand, the change 157   Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 157, translates the phrase in C-S: ‘And if you call “Our Father” him who is impartial…’.



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might also be an attempt to smooth out the sense of the double accusative construction, with καλέω more commonly carrying out this function (cf. Beckman, ‘1 Peter 1:17–21’, 79 n. 7). (b) The order of the phrase ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ differs in a few witnesses (61, 365, Did), with some scribes perhaps thinking that ‘gold and silver’ was a more logical order (cf. 1 Kgs 10.27; 2 Kgs 14.14; 2 Chr 9.14; Ps 118.72; Sir 40.25; Jdt 2.18; Bar 6.9[10]); nevertheless, the reading given here is undoubtedly correct. Alternatively, ‫ *א‬reads φθαρτοῦ ἀργυρίου ἢ χρυσίῳ (adopted by van Unnik, ‘Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19’, 7), although this is corrected by the second hand. (c) There is some variation in the word order at this point, along with a few variant readings of the phrase with only weak attestation (see ECM 119). The form given above is supported by P72, ‫א‬, A, B, 33, many other Greek MSS, the Byzantine and Armenian traditions, while C, Ψ, 1739, and many Greek MSS give ὑμῶν πατροπαραδότου ἀναστροφῆς. (d) An extra sentence is added in some Vulgate MSS here (of the T type, fifth–sixth century), though there is no trace of it in the Greek MS tradition, ipse ergo qui et praecognitus est ante constitutionem mundi et novissimo tempore natus et passus est ipse accepit gloriam quam deus verbum semper possedit sine initio manens in patre, which Metzger translates: ‘He himself therefore, who was also known before the foundation of the world and at the last time was born and suffered, received the glory that God the Word always possessed, abiding without beginning in the Father’ (see VT 26/1, 89–90; Metzger, TCGNT, 617). This credal declaration clearly anticipates the content of vv. 20–21 and indicates that early readers rightly appreciated the compact and rich christological material encapsulated here. (e) The phrase ἐσχάτου τῶν χρόνων is variously rendered in the textual record. P72 reads ἐσχάτων χρόνω[ν], and a number of later Greek MSS have ἐσχάτων τῶν χρόνων (as found in the texts of Elzevir and Griesbach). Michaels suggests that these changes are due to the fact that scribes overlooked the substantival use of ἐσχάτου and therefore sought to ‘to make the noun and its apparent adjective modifier agree’ (52 n. e; followed by Prasad, Foundations, 208). But this could only be true in the case of P72, because in each of the other instances the adjective would stand in first predicate position, resulting in an unnatural sense. More probably, this change was influenced by the language of the LXX, where the phrase ἐσχάτων τῶν ἡμερῶν is common (cf. Gen 49.1; Deut 8.16; Josh 24.27; Jer 37.24; Ezek 38.16; Dan 2.28–29, 45; Hos 3.5; Mic 4.1). C-S has no equivalent for ἐσχάτου, and thus loses any eschatological resonance here, but, as Bethge notes, there is no echo of this reading in the Greek MS tradition, which later Coptic texts follow.158

158   Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 261, who proposes that ποτέ is the equivalent of the Coptic neuoei4, and suggests for the phrase ‘er ist aber

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(f) The vast majority of MSS (including P72, ‫א‬, C, Ψ, 69, 81, 1739, 2412, Byz) have the participial form πιστεύοντας here (some giving the aorist form πιστεύσαντες: 6, 33, etc.), a reading which is preferred by a few interpreters (e.g., Merk, Novum Testamentum, 754; Hofmann 49; Osborne 163 [although he cites Metzger to the contrary]). The alternative reading, πιστούς, is supported by A, B, and a very few other MSS (307c, 398, 1735; NA28 also lists the Vulgate, yet the underlying text is difficult to discern—qui per ipsum fideles estis, ‘you who believe (in God) because of him’)—but is preferred by NA28 and ECM, presumably because it is a more unusual locution. The participial forms, it would seem, are ‘scribal assimilations to much more commonplace ways of expressing the idea’ (Metzger, TCGNT, 617), and thus πιστούς is the preferred reading of most commentators (see, e.g., Kühl 126; Wohlenberg 43 n. 94; Holzmeister 221; Spicq 70; Beare 107; Jobes 121).

Exegesis 17 καὶ εἰ πατέρα ἐπικαλεῖσθε τὸν ἀπροσωπολήμπτως κρίνοντα κατὰ τὸ ἑκάστου ἔργον, ἔργον, Although this verse is connected grammatically (καί) and thematically (ἀναστράφητε; cf. ἀναστροφή in v. 15) with what precedes, it gives a somewhat different motivation for maintaining proper conduct. Here, εἰ introduces the protasis of a conditional construction. With the indicative verb, it represents a first-class condition, assuming the statement to be true as the basis for the argument that follows.159 In the active form, the verb ἐπικαλέω simply means to call someone by a given name or title (Matt 10.25: εἰ τὸν οἰκοδεσπότην Βεελζεβοὺλ ἐπεκάλεσαν). This sense is occasionally assigned to the term in this instance, resulting in the idea of God being called by the name ‘Father’.160 However, since the einst um euretwillen erschienen’ (261). Willis (‘Letter of Peter’, 158) gives the somewhat opaque translation: ‘who was foreknown before the foundation of the world and betimes has been revealed for your sakes’. 159   See Wallace, Grammar, 690–94; Porter, Idioms, 256–59. The conditional particle should not be rendered, ‘since’ or ‘when’ (as suggested, e.g., by Hottinger 105; Demarest 85; Keil 68; Knopf 67; Holzmeister 223; Kelly 71; Achtemeier 124), because this removes the rhetorical effect of the condition, which is intended to force the readers to contemplate such a possibility (cf. Schreiner 83; Beckman, ‘1 Peter 1:17–21’, 78–79). 160   As assumed by some interpreters (e.g., de Wette 14; Wiesinger 99–100; Lightfoot 106; Davids 70; cf. also Johnstone 94) and a few translations (e.g., NASB, NJB, NET, NCV, HCSB, GNT). But this meaning (i.e., calling someone a given name) is not present when ἐπικαλέω is used in the middle voice (see



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verb appears in the middle voice (ἐπικαλεῖσθε),161 it most likely describes the invocation of a deity in prayer or petition.162 The double accusative construction with ἐπικαλέω is unusual,163 requiring some differentiation between the object and the complement. Although πατέρα is fronted for emphasis in this phrase, the object of the invocation is probably best taken as the arthrous participle that follows (τὸν… κρίνοντα).164 In other words, the clause should not be translated, ‘if you call upon a father who…’ (cf. NIV, CEB, EHV),165 but rather, ‘if you call upon the one who judges impartially…as father’ (cf. NRSV, NASB, HCSB, NAB, NET). This distinction may seem minor, but it reveals where the author’s further Tyrer, ‘Meaning of ἐπίκλησις’, 139–50, who argues against the proposal of Connolly, ‘On the Meaning of ἐπίκλησις’, 28–43; idem, ‘A Reply’, 337–64). 161   In the middle form, ἐπικαλέω is also employed in legal contexts to describe an appeal to have a judicial ruling heard in another court (Demosthenes, Cor. 127; Plutarch, Marc. 2.4; Ti. C. Gracch. 16.1; Acts 25.11–12; 26.32; 28.19). Against the majority who read ἐπικαλεῖσθε in v. 17 against the backdrop of prayer/petition, Campbell (Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 67) understands the verb in this legal sense. Such an interpretation is possible, especially given the reference to God as ὁ κρίνων; but the double accusative construction, with God as πατήρ at the forefront, renders it less likely. 162   In the LXX, ἐπικαλέω (generally rendering the Hebrew ‫ )קרא‬is often employed of calling on YHWH in worship or with certain requests (e.g., Gen 33.20; Deut 4.7; 1 Sam 12.17; 1 Chr 4.10; Esth 4.8; Pss 4.2; 17.4; Isa 55.6; Amos 4.12; Jonah 1.6). This usage is particularly evident in the phrase ἐπικαλεῖσθαι τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου, ‘to call on the name of the Lord’ (e.g., Gen 13.4; 21.33; 26.25; Joel 3.5; Zeph 3.9; cf. 1 Cor 1.2). Comparable uses are found in the invocation of traditional Greek deities (Xenophon, Cyr. 7.1.35; Polybius, Hist. 15.1.13; Diodorus Siculus 5.49.5), including those represented in the magical papyri (PGM III.8; IV.1182; XIII.138). See further TLNT 2:41–46; TDNT 3:496–500. 163   Such double accusative constructions do occur elsewhere with μάρτυρα (i.e., to call upon X as witness), as in 2 Cor 1.23 (see Hort 72). 164   So Dubis 29–30; Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 96. For the grammatical princi�ples that determine this decision, see Wallace, Grammar, 42–46, 184; idem, ‘Object-Complement Construction’, 91–112; Porter, Idioms, 89. What makes this less than certain is whether πατήρ may function here as a proper name, especially given its anarthrous appearance in the Lord’s prayer (Matt 6.9; Luke 11.2; cf. also Matt 26.39; Luke 22.42; 1 Pet 1.2). On this point, however, note Wallace, Grammar, 46 n. 30, and the fact that many NT references to God as Father are arthrous (see Mark 14.36) or have the possessive pronoun. 165   Pace Elliott 364–65; Jobes 115–16; Watson 33. In the same way, it is incorrect to understand πατέρα as denoting manner and rendering the clause, ‘as Father call upon the one who judges’ (with Beckman, ‘1 Peter 1:17–21’, 81).

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emphasis rests, viz. on the fatherhood of God.166 The point is that invoking one’s judge as ‘father’ brings with it certain behavioural consequences. It is the fatherhood of God, more than his role as judge, that is primarily meant to motivate obedience.167 While the practice of understanding a particular deity as ‘father’ seems to have a long history in Greek and Roman traditions (see Dio Chrysostom, Or. 12.22.74; 36.35–36; Seneca, Ep. 107.11),168 the most likely influence shaping the Petrine author’s views of this concept was Jesus’ interpretation and adaptation of the Jewish scriptures. In the Tanak, there is some evidence for an understanding of God as father: God is said to act toward the people of Israel as a human father does toward his children (Deut 1.31; Ps 103.13–14; Prov 3.12; Jer 31.20; Mal 3.17), and the people of God are referred to as God’s ‘children’ (Deut 14.1; Isa 1.2). More directly, in a few instances God specifically claims to be a father to Israel (Jer 31.9; Mal 1.6); he is not just a father, but their father (Deut 32.6; 1 Chr 29.10; Isa 63.16; 64.8; Jer 3.19169; Mal 2.10). This approach toward God as father was assumed by Jesus, who encouraged his followers to understand their relationship to the deity in such relational terms (Mark 14.36 and par.; cf. Matt 7.11; Mark 11.25; John 8.18–54).170 As a result, there may perhaps be a specific allusion to the Lord’s   Against Michaels, who notes, ‘[t]he emphasis of this clause is less on the fact that the readers address God as Father than on the fact that the One they address as Father is also the final Judge of every human being’ (60; cf. Hort 73; von Soden 138; Kelly 71). Since a double-accusative construction carries the same force as a subject–predicate nominative construction, the focus here would be placed on πατήρ. This is confirmed by the fact that πατήρ is thrown forward in the sentence (see Selwyn 142; Hiebert 98). If the predicate nominative in a subject–predicate nominative construction is preverbal, then it is normally qualitative (cf. Forbes 41), which is the case here (not ‘a father’ or ‘the father’, but ‘father’, stressing the quality or essence of fatherhood). Finally, it is the concept of God’s fatherhood that informs what follows; that is, ‘if God were to act simply as Judge then he would not have done for them what is said in 1,18–20’ (Prasad, Foundations, 233). 167   Cf. Richard 62–63; Prasad, Foundations, 233. 168   See further Keener 100–105. 169   Some witnesses to Jer 3.19 read εἰ πατέρα καλεῖσθέ (or ἐπικαλεῖσθε) με (see Ziegler, Jeremias, 164). 170   The seminal work on this topic was produced by Jeremias, Abba. But his interpretation has rightly been challenged and corrected in subsequent scholarship. See, e.g., Barr, ‘’Abbā Isn’t “Daddy” ’, 28–47; idem, ‘ “Abba, Father” ’, 173–79; VanGemeren, ‘ʾABBĀʾ in the Old Testament?’, 385–98; Schelbert, ABBA Vater. 166



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Prayer here (Matt 6.9; Luke 11.2),171 but this need not be the case. Sufficient basis for the author’s presumption can be found in the well-established Christian invocation of God as father (e.g., Rom 8.15; Gal 4.6).172 The idea of God as judge (τὸν…κρίνοντα) is a well-established description in both the Hebrew Bible and the NT, where the universality of this judgment—hinted at here in the word ἑκάστου173—is asserted in various ways (e.g., Gen 18.25; Ps 82.8; Acts 10.42; 2 Tim 4.1; Heb 12.23; 13.4; 1 Pet 4.5). Particular stress is laid upon the impartiality with which God judges. Although ἀπροσωπολήμπτως (‘impartially’) is a NT hapax (used also in 1 Clem. 1.3; Barn. 4.12),174 various forms of the positive compound are found (προσωπολημψία in Rom 2.11; Eph 6.9; Col 3.25; Jas 2.1; προσωπολημπτέω in Jas 2.9; and προσωπολήμπτης in Acts 10.34). The word-group appears distinctive to early Christian usage, not being found in any Greek writings prior to the NT.175 It is derived from the Hebrew idiom ‫‘( נשא פנים‬to receive, or lift up, the face’ of someone, in the sense of showing favouritism or partiality), rendered in the LXX with πρόσωπον λαμβάνειν.176 Certain legal 171   Cf. the wording in C-S (see Text at 1.17 n. a). Many older commentators espoused the view that this passage alludes to the Lord’s Prayer, although with varying degrees of confidence (see, e.g., Mason 395; Huther 86 n. 1; Hort 73; von Soden 138; Bigg 117; Blenkin 35). Other interpreters have been more hesitant to draw this conclusion (see Kühl 117; Best 87; Achtemeier 124). 172   It is sometimes pointed out that the command to ‘be holy’ in Lev 19.2, which was directly quoted by the Petrine author in the previous verse, is followed by another directive: ἕκαστος πατέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ μητέρα αὐτοῦ φοβείσθω (‘let each person fear their father and mother’, Lev 19.3). On this basis, some point to the father-child parallel and the use of φόβος/φοβέω to claim that the present verse may have been influenced by the Petrine author’s reflection on the broader context of Leviticus 19 (see Selwyn 142–43; Richard 63; Jobes 115; Green 44; WagnerVouga 48; cf. also Faber, ‘Juridical Nuance’, 306). But while such connections are ‘intriguing’ (Lockett, ‘Use of Leviticus 19’, 464), they are not sufficient to demonstrate the Petrine author’s rumination on anything beyond Lev 19.2. 173   Some unnecessarily limit the scope of ἑκάστου, viewing it either as applying only to Christians (Schott 62–63; Beare 101) or as a way to draw a distinction between Jews and Gentiles (Benson 189; Bengel 51; Bloomfield 705). 174   See further Turner, Christian Words, 366. 175   It is thus listed by Voelz as one of the terms ‘created’ by early Christians (see ‘Language of the New Testament’, 965). 176   See TDNT 6:779. Cf. Ps 81.2; Lam 4.16; Mal 2.9; 1 Esdr 4.39; Sir 4.27; 35.16; see also Luke 20.21; Gal 2.6. Similar forms are found as well: θαυμάζειν

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overtones are present in this term, with the various NT references insisting that God shows no partiality (Acts 10.34; Rom 2.11; Gal 2.6; Eph 6.9; Col 3.25; cf. Deut 10.17; 2 Chr 19.7).177 This type of judicial behaviour would have been especially comforting to those who lived in a world where social status (often) played a determinative role in the outcome of legal proceedings.178 Here the reference to God’s impartiality serves as something of a warning:179 the Christians may relate to God as father, but that does not mean that they can presume on God’s favour in the final judgment.180 Attempts at diagnosing the occasion of such judgment are often made on the basis of the participle κρίνοντα. Since the form is present tense, some have taken the participle to express a contemporaneous temporal force (‘the one who is judging’). As such, κρίνοντα would denote ongoing judgment in the lives of believers that was intended to serve as a form of discipline for unholy living (cf. John 12.31: νῦν κρίσις ἐστὶν τοῦ κόσμου τούτου).181 Another possibility is to read the present participle with a futuristic force (‘the one who will judge’), describing a time of eschatological judgment that will πρόσωπον (Lev 19.15; Deut 10.17; 2 Chr 19.7; Prov 18.5; Job 13.10; Wis 2.18; Jude 16); βλέπειν εἰς πρόσωπον (Matt 22.16; Mark 12.14). It is perhaps best to remain hesitant about any connection that could be drawn between 1 Pet 1.17 and Lev 19.15 on the basis of this similar terminology (as proposed by Lockett, ‘Use of Leviticus 19’, 464). 177   See Faber, ‘Juridical Nuance’, 299–309. On this notion of impartiality, see further Bassler, Divine Impartiality. 178   Cf. Watson 34. For the complaint that ‘a case at law is nothing other than a public bribe’ (Petronius, Satyr. 14), numerous illustrations could be brought forward in support (e.g., Dig. 4.3.11.1; Aelius Aristides, Or. 50.89–92). See Garnsey, Social Status; Meyer, ‘Justice of the Roman Governor’, 167–80. 179   It is, however, perhaps overstating the force to see this as ‘the first signal of a threat in the author’s message’ (Thurén, Argument and Theology, 113). 180   See also on 1 Pet 4.17–19, where the judgment is depicted as beginning first with those of God’s ‘household’. Cf. 2 Bar. 13.8–9: ‘You who have drunk the clarified wine, you now drink its dregs, for the judgment of the Most High is impartial. Therefore, he did not spare his own sons first, but he afflicted them as his enemies because they sinned’ (trans. Klijn, OTP). In 4 Ezra 7.68–77 there is a rather pessimistic view of the coming judgment (e.g., v. 69), but ‘Ezra’ is also assured that he should not count himself among those who will be tormented, on the basis of his works (opera, v. 77). 181   Proponents of this view include: Cook 182; Hort 74; Masterman 82; Grudem 81; Hiebert 98. For a critique of this view, see Beckman, ‘1 Peter 1:17–21’, 83–84.



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occur at the return of Christ.182 This latter position has an advantage over the former in that the letter actually refers to such future judgment (cf. 1 Pet 4.5–6) and also given the basis upon which this judgment is here said to proceed: κατὰ τὸ ἑκάστου ἔργον. How, then, should we understand the nature of this judgment? What role did a person’s ἔργον play in his or her eschatological salvation? The idea of God judging according to the work(s) of individuals is not uncommon in either the Tanak or the literature from Second Temple Judaism.183 In fact, a close parallel is found in Ps 61.13 LXX (Heb. 62.12), where the psalmist declares, ‘you (Lord) will repay each according to his works’ (σὺ [κύριε] ποδώσεις ἑκάστῳ κατὰ τὰ ἔργα αὐτοῦ).184 When this motif occurs, the plural form of ἔργον normally marks the source of judgment in the NT (Rom 2.6; 2 Tim 4.14; Rev 2.23; 20.12–13), describing each of the individual deeds—good or bad—that a person has performed. In this case, however, the term is singular (ἔργον), referring to the entirety of one’s conduct or a person’s life work viewed as a whole (cf. 1 Cor 3.13–15; Gal 6.4; Rev 22.12).185 This suggests that the judgment in question relates to the final judgment. But even though the referent of κρίνοντα is most likely in the future, there is no need to attach a specific temporal meaning to the tense of the participle. It is more natural to think that the form functions in a qualitative sense, focusing on the character of the one who performs the action, just as it does later in the epistle (cf. 1 Pet 2.23: παρεδίδου… τῷ κρίνοντι δικαίως).186

  Proponents of this view include: Dubis 30; Forbes 42; Schreiner 84–85; cf. Dalton, ‘So That Your Faith’, 271; Prasad, Foundations, 236. 183   See, e.g., Prov 24.12; Ps 27[28].4; Jer 17.10; Ezek 36.19; Sir 11.26; 16.12, 14; 17.23; 35.22; 1 En. 95.5; 100.7; Jub. 5.15; Pss. Sol. 2.7, 16, 25, 34–35; 17.8–9; Jos. Asen. 28.3; LAB. 3.10; 4 Ezra 7.35. 184   It is the contention of Kim (God Will Judge, 212–15) that the language of 1 Pet 1.17 is dependent upon Ps 61.13 (LXX). Although Kim himself recognises that the terminological links between the two texts are relatively weak, he adduces only a few supplementary details to sustain his contention, and these are not convincing. 185   Cf. Goppelt 113; Miller 163; Boring 83; Dus 77. 186   Others have similarly noted that κρίνοντα probably does not express a temporal force in this instance (see, e.g., de Wette 14; Alford 340; Johnstone 94; Huther 87; Monnier 68; Lenski 59). 182

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The idea of judgment according to works stands in some dialectical tension with the author’s focus on a sure and certain salvation as the gift of God’s grace (cf. 1 Pet 1.3–5).187 It would be incorrect to conclude that 1 Peter implies an atomistic view of good deeds wherein one’s individual acts of obedience are weighed against one’s bad deeds in an effort to merit the reward of salvation. In the theology of the epistle, good works are only one aspect in the salvation process (see Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter). Other factors are equally important in contributing to a person’s standing before God. The death of Christ plays a key role in the atonement for sin (cf. 1.18–19; 2.24; 3.18),188 and God’s gracious initiative in the lives of the readers precludes any notions of earning one’s place in the kingdom (cf. 1.2–3; 2.10; 5.10).189 In this respect, good deeds might be thought to reflect (and confirm) a person’s (current) position within the people of God. On the other hand, there is also a sense in which one’s deeds serve to facilitate eschatological salvation. In 1 Pet 3.9, the reward that is promised is in some way contingent upon proper conduct (see Exegesis at 3.9). Even though God has provided the necessary prerequisites of salvation, and despite the fact that the readers have experienced (or are experiencing) certain elements of that salvation (cf. 1.9, 22–23; 2.10, 24), the obedience by which the Christian life is lived out plays an important role at the final judgment. This is because ultimate salvation still lies in the future (1.5; 2.2), when the genuineness of each person’s faith will be discovered (1.7). At that time, demonstrating that one has done what is good (cf. 2.12; 4.19) will be crucial for a positive verdict in the judgment of God. Consequently, in the soteriology of 1 Peter it would appear that the generous gift and calling of God have priority—they are, in terms that evoke the history of theological discussion, prevenient—but 187   The same tension is also evident in Paul’s theology, despite the latter’s focus on what is often called justification by faith (cf., e.g., Rom 6.1–16; 11.20–22; 1 Cor 3.10–15; 6.9). See further Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism; Yinger, Judgment According to Deeds; VanLandingham, Judgment and Justification. 188   On the atonement of Christ in 1 Peter, see Olson, ‘Atonement in 1 Peter’; Howe, ‘Cross of Christ’, 190–99; McCartney, ‘Atonement’, 180–88; Felix, ‘Penal Substitution’, 171–97; Williams, Salvation, 81–126. 189   On God’s role in salvation according to 1 Peter, see Weihs, ‘Teilhabe an den Leiden Christi’, 48–57.



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that faithful obedience to the way of life that this calling requires is also essential for eschatological salvation. ἐν φόβῳ τὸν τῆς παροικίας ὑμῶν χρόνον ἀναστράφητε The consequence of this judgment according to works is set out in the second clause, the apodosis that answers to the condition set out in the first part of the verse. Placed emphatically at the opening of this apodosis is ἐν φόβῳ, indicating the basic disposition that should characterise the Christians’ way of life. Some see this as ‘fear’ arising out of the prospect of judgment, in which case it would probably contain some level of trepidation and terror.190 Yet, if the motivation derives from the fatherhood of God (see above), then φόβος is best understood as a reverential and deferential awe (cf. Musonius Rufus 16.70).191 Given the implicit warning about God’s impending and impartial judgment, however, some level of trepidation cannot be denied.192 An emphasis on the need for appropriate φόβος is characteristic of 1 Peter (see also 2.17, 18; 3.2, 6, 14, 16). In some cases, it is clear that this is fear of God (2.17), and the addressees are urged not to be terrified by other threats (3.6, 14); in other instances, the precise referent is open to some discussion (2.18, 3.2, 16; see ad loc.).193 Although the phrasing here (ἐν φόβῳ…ἀναστράφητε) is distinctive in the NT, the basic idea expressed is not.194 Both Acts 9.31 (πορευομένη τῷ φόβῳ τοῦ κυρίου) and 2 Cor 7.1 (ἐπιτελοῦντες ἁγιωσύνην ἐν φόβῳ θεοῦ) are closely comparable (cf. also Rom 11.20; Eph 5.21; Phil 2.12). In all these cases, the decisive influence is the language of the Jewish scriptures, especially the Wisdom   So, e.g., Knopf 68–69; Windisch 56–57; cf. Goppelt 113.   Cf. Grotius 70; Hottinger 106; Fausset 501; Beare 76; Spicq 65; Brox 80. 192   Sometimes commentators are unwilling to allow for both senses to be held in proper tension. For instance, Achtemeier suggests that ‘Christians are to live in an attitude of holy reverence… rather than in terror at the thought of divine judgment’ (125). 193   Elliott (366), for example, sees all these instances as indicating ‘reverence toward God as a motive for behavior’ (italics original). For an extended discussion of ‘fear’ in 1 Peter, see Hockey, Role of Emotion, 187–206. 194   Hence, Goppelt’s observation that ‘[t]o speak of conduct “in fear” (namely, before God) is in the NT peculiar to I Peter’ (113 n. 40) is true to the extent that it refers to the precise phrasing, but not the broader idea, as the parallels cited by Goppelt show. 190 191

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literature, with its frequent references to the φόβος κυρίου (e.g., Job 28.28; Prov 1.7; 2.5, et passim; Sir. 1.11–12, et passim; also 2 Chr 19.7–9; Pss 2.11; 110.10 [LXX]; Isa 11.2–3).195 With its connection to the imperative ἀναστράφητε, it is clear that ‘fear’ relates to conduct, or way of life.196 Although this is the only appearance of the verbal form, the noun ἀναστροφή plays an important role in the epistle (see 1.15, 18; 2.12; 3.1–2, 16). Both relate to the way that a person acts or behaves. In antiquity, as is true today, there were certain expectations about the way that members of different social groups conduct themselves. To ‘behave’ (ἀναστρέφειν) like a master, one might dominate another person or group (Xenophon, Anab. 2.5.14); to act like a child involved imitating whatever one saw (Epictetus, Ench. 29.3), while conducting oneself as a father meant self-preservation as a means of protecting one’s family (Epictetus, Diatr. 4.1.162). In this case, the readers are expected to live like children of God who will eventually be judged for their actions.197 What is rare is to find this verb used as an imperative, enjoining its hearers/readers to adopt a particular lifestyle (cf. Epictetus, Diatr. 4.6.29; Const. ap. 2.18).198 195   On the wide-ranging uses of φόβος κτλ. in both Jewish and non-Jewish literature, as well as the NT and early Christianity, see TDNT 9:189–219. 196   Epictetus similarly describes conducting oneself in boldness as opposed to fear. He asks, ‘in what cases do we fear (χρώμεθα τῷ φόβῳ)? In things which are independent of the will. In what cases on the contrary do we behave with confidence (θαρροῦντες ἀναστρεφόμεθα), as if there were no danger? In things dependent on the will’ (Diatr. 2.1.9; trans. Long). 197   The aorist tense of ἀναστράφητε does not communicate an ingressive force (‘begin conducting yourselves’) as though the command represents behaviour that was not being practised by the readers prior to this point (pace Achtemeier 125 n. 30). It is possible that the aorist denotes urgency or importance in this instance (Kelly 72); but given the author’s overwhelming preference for this tense in imperatival forms, it likely represents merely a stylistic choice (see Exegesis at 1.13). 198   The -η- morpheme has led some interpreters to read ἀναστράφητε as a passive form, which creates considerable difficulty in terms of the resultant sense of the imperative. Beckman, for instance, attempts to explain ἀναστράφητε as a causative passive (‘be caused to conduct your life in fear’). In support, he appeals to the fact that this rare usage is sometimes employed in ‘commands addressing emotional states’ (Wallace, Grammar, 440 n. 109). As a result, he concludes that ‘its use here may give additional stress to the emotional side (in fright) of the following adverbial prepositional phrase ἐν φόβῳ’ (‘1 Peter 1:17–21’, 85 n. 32). This reflects a commendable, although perhaps unnecessary solution to the passive



1.17–21

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The reference to the duration (τὸν…χρόνον) of their lives indicates that the author has in mind not specific acts but the broad pattern of behaviour that makes up a lifestyle. Nevertheless, the precise meaning of τῆς παροικίας ὑμῶν requires careful discussion. It seems clear enough that there is a close correspondence between τὸν τῆς παροικίας ὑμῶν χρόνον and τὸν ἐπίλοιπον ἐν σαρκὶ… χρόνον (4.2).199 In both cases, χρόνος refers to the post-conversion period of time, in contrast to ὁ παρεληλυθὼς χρόνος (4.3) in which they followed the pattern of life seen as characteristic of the Gentiles (τὰ ἔθνη).200 But that time is here depicted as a παροικία, a description of the Christian life that parallels the portrayal of the letter’s recipients as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι (2.11; cf. 1.1) (see Introduction: Socio-Political Identity). The noun παροικία is found only in Jewish and Christian usage201 and generally refers to the state of being in a strange or foreign place, a ‘time of being a foreigner’,202 or a period of ‘alien residence’.203 As such, it can refer to the Israelites’ pre-Exodus life in Egypt (Wis 19.10; Acts 13.17; cf. Jdt 5.9; T.Levi 11.2), the Babylonian exile (Ezra 8.35; 1 Esd 5.7), later disaporic existence in Egypt (3 Macc 6.36; 7.19), or generally to existence abroad or in strange surroundings (Pss Sol. 17.17–18; Sir prol.34; 29.22–24). It can occasionally bear a broader sense of those among whom someone lives (Sir 16.8; 29.23; Odes 4.16). The phrase in 3 Macc 7.19 (τὸν τῆς παροικίας αὐτῶν χρόνον) has long been recognised as an especially close form. In light of the fact that passive forms of ἀναστρέφω are noted to take an active meaning (see LSJ 122; BDAG 72–73), this may be an instance where a passive form has replaced an older middle form, despite the fact that it does not convey a passive meaning (see Pennington, ‘Deponency in Koine Greek’, 68). As such, ἀναστράφητε would simply denote a reflexive sense, ‘conduct yourselves’. 199   Selwyn 144. 200   It is unnecessary (with Lamau, Des chrétiens dans le monde, 117–19) to differentiate between χρόνος and καιρός, as though the former represented the duration or passage of time while the latter referred to a critical time of eschatological significance (see Exegesis at 1.11). 201   See Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 17–19; TDNT 5:842; MM 495. Michaels is somewhat misleading when, picking up two references cited in BAGD 779, he comments that ‘even in Greek inscriptions the term has become a metaphor for human life on earth’ (62; followed by Achtemeier 126 n. 38). The two inscriptions in question (CIG 9474 and IG XIV 531) are Christian inscriptions. 202   Feldmeier 115 (Ger. 76: ‘eine Zeit der Fremde’). 203   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 47; cf. Elliott 366.

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parallel to 1 Peter.204 Not only is the phrasing almost identical, but the wider context too is comparable: the Jews in Egypt described in the narrative of 3 Maccabees have been subjected to persecution and threats, which they have escaped only through divine intervention that has in turn led the previously hostile king to change his policy. As in 1 Peter, life in society is—or is depicted to be—a precarious existence in an often hostile environment.205 Great debate surrounds the question of whether the description of life as a παροικία in 1 Peter should be taken as depicting a time of being away from a heavenly home, or a time of estrangement from society. The former is suggested in some translations and commentaries that render παροικία as an earthly pilgrimage (‘the time of your stay on earth’; cf. CJB, CEV, ERV, GNT, NASB, NCV), emphasising a spiritual or cosmological contrast between earth and heaven (cf. Heb 11.9–13)—as explicitly in later Christian texts such as 2 Clem. 5.1 and Diogn. 6.8.206 The language came to be seen as definitive of the Church’s (alien) existence in the world, as in the formulaic ἡ ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ ἡ παροικοῦσα (cf. 1 Clem. praescr.; Pol. Phil. praescr.; Mart. Pol. praescr.). From the time of Origen, the word παροικία came to refer to church communities, in the sense of a diocese (i.e., a community under a bishop), or a province or parish.207 Indeed, παροικία (Latinised as parochia) became the word ‘parish’—the community of sojourners in a particular place.208 Elliott, in particular, has argued against this cosmological or heavenly interpretation and proposed that ‘the fundamental contrast in 1 Peter is not a cosmological but a sociological one: the Christian   See Windisch 57.   Elliott 367. For a discussion of 3 Maccabees more broadly, see Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 192–203. Note in particular the contrasts drawn between the ‘cultural antagonism’ of 3 Maccabees and the very different picture in the Letter of Aristeas, where ‘cordial relations’ between Jews and Gentiles are depicted as ‘the norm’ (201–202). 206   E.g., Macknight 443; Alford 341; Keil 69; Masterman 82–83; Hart 50; Beare 100–102; Watson, 34. A spiritualised use is also evident in Philo Conf. 80: ἡ ἐν σώματι παροικία. 207   See, e.g., Origen, Frag. ex comm. in epistulam i ad Corinthios (in catenis) 89.34; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.1.1; 5.18.9; 5.24.14; 6.2.2; Council of Nicea, can. 16; further references in PGL 1042. 208   Cf. Bigg 118; Elliott 368. See also TDNT 5:853. 204 205



1.17–21

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community set apart and in tension with its social neighbors’.209 Thus, according to Elliott: In 1.17 and its context, as elsewhere in 1 Peter, temporal contrasts are used not to distinguish earthly from heavenly life but present holy from past unholy phases of the Christian life. The purpose of this distinction is to underline the actuality of and necessity for continued Christian social and religious distinctiveness within society.210

Quite apart from the difficulties this interpretation raises for Elliott’s suggestion that the readers were aliens and strangers (in socio-political terms) prior to their conversion,211 it is a false dichotomy to pose as alternatives either social distinctiveness or (spiritual) alienation from earth as home.212 Elliott is correct to insist that the dislocation that characterises the addressees’ existence has a strongly socio-cultural dimension; they are depicted as those who have become estranged from their wider society.213 This is an important insistence, correcting a tendency to focus on a spiritualised and de-politicised notion of alienation, as if the point were only to suggest that heaven is home, not earth. But the readers’ eschatological existence as those who live out their time on earth (cf. 4.2) in hope of their inheritance in heaven (1.4) means that they are estranged both from society and, more generally, from the world as home.214 Indeed, it is precisely the depiction of the readers as the elect recipients of a divine grace (1.1–2), new born children (1.3, 14; 2.2), dead to their former lives (2.24; 4.2–3), awaiting a coming day of judgment and salvation (1.7–9; 2.12; 4.17–19), that serves as the positive ideology legitimating their state of sociocultural distinctiveness.   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 42; cf. ibid 44; Elliott 367–69.   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 44. 211   See Introduction: Socio-Political Identity. 212   Cf. Michaels 62; Schreiner 83. 213   See also Achtemeier 125, who suggests that the context of 1.17 makes more likely a reference to their alien status in relation to a culture to which they do not conform than one to their exile from a heavenly home. 214   Cf. Goppelt 67–68: ‘To live in society on the basis of Jesus’ resurrection means to have an eschatological existence in history… [T]he foreignness is established by election.’ 209 210

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18 εἰδότες ὅτι οὐ φθαρτοῖς, φθαρτοῖς, ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ, χρυσίῳ, ἐλυτρώθητε ἐκ τῆς ματαίας ὑμῶν ἀναστροφῆς πατροπαραδότου In vv. 18–21 the author turns to focus on the redemption that has been achieved by Christ. Although it offers a somewhat expansive christological declaration, its connection with what precedes is as a third motivation for appropriate conduct: imitation of God’s own character (vv. 15–16), fear of God’s judgment (v. 17), and, here, their redemption through the costly blood of Christ. The grammatical connection is also close. There are no good reasons to take the participle εἰδότες as imperatival,215 nor to translate it in a way that makes the sentence independent from what precedes (cf. RSV, NRSV, NET, NCV, CEV). Rather, εἰδότες functions causally (cf. NIV, GNT, HCSB),216 providing a motivational basis for the imperative that precedes. It is less clear whether the following material is connected specifically to v. 17 (ἀναστράφητε) or to the exhortations in vv. 13–17 more generally.217 The former seems preferable, since v. 16 has already provided motivational support for vv. 13–15, and since there is a specific grammatical connection between the imperative ἀναστράφητε and the participle εἰδότες. Verse 17a has already provided a motivation for the injunction of v. 17b, but vv. 18–21 provide further motivation by pointing to the costly redemption on which their new identity is based, even though the material in these verses (which may include traditional credal and christological material, see below) goes beyond any specific motivational relevance. Some have claimed that the phrase εἰδότες ὅτι, which occurs mostly in Pauline and deutero-Pauline literature (cf. Rom 5.3; 6.9; 1 Cor 15.58; 2 Cor 1.7; 4.14; 5.6; Eph 6.8–9; Phil 1.16; Col 3.24; 4.1; see also Jas 3.1), indicates a set of beliefs in which all Christians would have been instructed and which the author can thus assume

  Pace Bauman-Martin, ‘Women on the Edge’, 278.   As argued, e.g., by Demarest 86; Keil 69; Knopf 70; Lenski 61; Arichea– Nida 40; Grudem 83; Hiebert 100; Richard 63; Schreiner 85; Osborne 163; Vahrenhorst 90. 217   Those who connect the participle with ἀναστράφητε in v. 17 include: Snyder, ‘Participles and Imperatives’, 193; Dubis 31; Forbes 42. Those who attach it with vv. 13–17 more broadly include: Michaels 63; Prasad, Foundations, 205. 215 216



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were widely shared.218 It is true that in the NT and in other Jewish and Christian literature, the phrase does commonly introduce a (brief) appeal to some kind of theological doctrine (see 4 Macc 16.25; Wis 15.2; Pol. Phil. 1.3; 6.1), and this makes it unsurprising that the author uses it to introduce a christologically rich passage. Yet the construction itself is not formulaic.219 It is used widely in Greek literature to denote that there is an informed basis for one’s actions,220 and this seems to be the meaning here. As the paragraph indentation in NA28 suggests,221 these verses have often been thought to contain traditional material. Since Windisch’s early suggestion that Christ-hymns (Christuslieder) were to be found in 1.18–21; 2.21–25 and 3.18–22,222 many have treated this passage as poetry. Recent commentators, however, have become less confident about the existence of such pre-formed hymns or creeds, and more sceptical about our ability to reconstruct such forms.223 Nonetheless, the fact that the author ranges well beyond the material needed to make his motivational point does suggest the likely use of christological tradition here (cf. Phil 2.4–11). According to Bultmann’s analysis, the credal material proper is contained in v. 20.224 Indeed, there are good reasons to see

218   So, e.g., Hort, 75; Beare 103; Kelly 72; Miller 165; Achtemeier 126; Elliott 369; Donelson 46; Osborne 163; Schlosser 97; Watson 34; cf. Dijkman, ‘Introductory Formula’, 263; Pearson, Rhetorical Properties, 104. 219   Cf. Goppelt 114; Michaels 63. 220   This might represent general knowledge shared by all people (Isocrates, Loch. 22; Xenophon, Mem. 2.1.5), or it could be specific knowledge about a given situation based on personal involvement (Thucydides, Hist. 3.22.3; Antiphon, De choreuta 24; Isaeus, Astyphilus 4; Luke 8.53; John 21.12). 221   For some critical remarks on the implications of such editorial decisions, see Peppard, ‘ “Poetry” ’, 319–42. 222   Windisch 65, 70. He does not actually make this observation in his comments on 1.18–21, but only later when discussing 2.21–25 and 3.18–22. 223   E.g., Michaels 53; Achtemeier 126; Schreiner 85; see further on 1.20; 2.21–25; 3.18–22. 224   Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente’, 293–94. Although many have objected to Bultmann’s suggestion that 1 Pet 1.20 represents an original portion of the same confession found in 3.18–22 (see Sanders, Christological Hymns, 18 n. 2), a variety of scholars have nonetheless concluded that 1.20 reflects some type of pre-formed traditional material, whether a hymn (e.g., Kelly 75; Dalton 905; cf. also Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales, 61; Deichgräber, Gotteshymnus

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vv. 18–19 as the composition of the author—though drawing on existing motifs and scriptural imagery—while vv. 20–21 incorporate more traditional formulations (see below). The main focus of vv. 18 and 19 falls on λυτρόω, a term that has a slightly different meaning depending on the context in which it is used. When the verb or a cognate noun (λύτρον, λύτρωσις, ἀπολύτρωσις, λυτρωτής) is employed in a Greek setting,225 it describes the release of slaves or prisoners of war through the payment of a monetary sum to the one who has a claim of ownership, whether the master or captor (Aristotle, Eth. nic. 1164b; Aeschines, Fals. leg. 12; Cassius Dio 56.22.4).226 The amount paid in this process of exchange is referred to as the λύτρον (‘ransom’). As we will discuss below (see Exegesis at 2.16), this language was particularly common in the sacral manumission of slaves. It also extended beyond human liberation to describe any property or possession that was recovered through a designated payment (cf. SB V 7574; P.Oxy. I 114, VI 936; P.Eleph. 19).227 und Christushymnus, 169–70; Wengst, Christologische Formeln, 163; Pearson, Rhetorical Properties, 97–111) or perhaps a creed or confession (Hort 75; Beare 77; Schelkle 51). 225   A specific context relevant to the Anatolian audience has been proposed by Doering. He suggests, ‘For the first recipients of the letter, the λυτρο- terminology of the so-called confession inscriptions of western Asia Minor might have provided a specific horizon for the reception of the passage’ (‘Soteriological Web’, 484; cf. Klauck, Religion und Gesellschaft, 74–75, who similarly cites 1 Pet 1.18 in this connection). It is true that the ancient confessional inscriptions from Lydia and Phrygia employ λυτρόω (see I.Beichtinschriften 51; CMRDM I 57) and λύτρον (see I.Beichtinschriften 53; CMRDM IV 127); nonetheless, given the dates of this corpus, we should be cautious about using them to understand how the Petrine audience may have received the language of this verse. While a couple of extant inscriptions date to the late first century CE (I.Beichtinschriften 41 [81/82 CE], 56 [57/58 CE]), the vast majority derive from the second and third centuries, when the practice seems to have flourished. In fact, some have even suggested that the rising popularity of this form of confession stems from attempts to counter the increasing influence of Christianity in these areas (see Schnabel, ‘Divine Tyranny’, 160–88). 226   See further TLNT 2:423–29; TDNT 4:328–56. Nicklas notes that this connection with the release from slavery ‘eventuell besonders diejenigen unter den Adressaten, die weiterhin als Sklaven leben, besonders ansprechen soll’ (‘Zum Motiv der “Fremdheit” ’, 86). 227   See further Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 326–34; TLNT 2:423–29; New Docs 3:72–75; cf. also Bielman, ‘Λύτρα, prisonniers et affranchis’, 25–41.



1.17–21

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In the LXX, λυτρόω is sometimes employed in a similar transactional sense. It is frequently found in the legal context of the family relative who acts as redeemer to buy back (Heb. ‫ )גאל‬property or persons who have come into the possession of another (Lev 25.24– 32; Jer 32.7; Ruth 2.20; 4.4), or as an avenger to requite their injury or death (Num 35.12–29; Deut 19.6, 12; Josh 20.3, 9). Nevertheless, the idea of paying a ransom to an oppressor is absent from many of the uses of the verb in the Greek scriptures. With God as the subject, the term simply meant to rescue from an oppressive situation. In this sense, it could depict the deliverance of the Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt (Exod 6.6; Deut 7.8; 9.26; 2 Sam 7.23; 1 Chr 17.21; Esth 13.16; Mic 6.4) or from Babylonian captivity (Isa 43.14; 51.11). Because of these slightly different nuances, previous commentators have commonly debated which background was in view and thus whether the Petrine author envisioned the payment of a ransom—a debate that acquires particular significance in light of competing theories of the atonement. Nevertheless, it is difficult to find a single or coherent view on the efficacy of Christ’s death in 1 Peter.228 A more productive approach is to recognise how the author melds together different traditions and re-interprets them in light of a Christian perspective.229 Although the letter does not provide (or even insinuate) the identity of a captor to whom the ransom was paid,230 it is difficult to deny that some type of payment transaction is in view here.231 In the following verse, the ‘blood of Christ’   See further Kim, ‘Death of Christ’.   Some commentators find echoes of both liberation and ransom in this usage (see, e.g., Michaels 63–64; Davids 71; Knoch 53; Brox 81; Jobes 116–17; Green 41). 230   Various early church fathers claimed that this ransom was paid to Satan (e.g., Irenaeus, Haer. 5.1.1; Origen, Comm. Rom. 2.13 [PG 14:911]; 4.11 [PG 14:1000]; Comm. Matt 16.8 [PG 13:1397]; Gregory of Nyssa, Catechetical Oration 24 [PG 45:65]; see further Turner, Doctrine of Redemption, 55–57). A few modern commentators, on the other hand, have claimed that the price was paid to God, who is described as the judge of all humanity (so, e.g., Cranfield 55; Witherington 105). But there is no need to press the metaphor too far by seeking the identity of a captor (cf. Bennett 200; Monnier 71; Bigg 118; Blenkin 37; Picirilli 128). 231   In the case of manumitted slaves, the inscriptional evidence usually lists the ransom price in the genitive: ‘Timo daughter of Eudikos, with the consent of her son Ladikos, sold a young slave girl named Meda for the price of two minas of silver (τιμᾶς ἀργυρίου δύο μνᾶν)’, SGDI II 1708; cf. SGDI II 1842, 2085, 228 229

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(αἵματι Χριστοῦ) is said to be the means of redemption, and it is specifically contrasted with redemption through monetary recompense (ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ).232 A Gentile audience, in particular, would have certainly drawn such a connection,233 especially since the author later describes their relationship to God in a way that was similar to that of the sacrally manumitted slave: ὡς ἐλεύθεροι… ἀλλ᾿ ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι (2.16). At the same time, references to the diaspora (1.1) and to Babylon (5.12) indicate that the author wants his audience to understand their deliverance in light of the narrative of exile and return that unfolds in the Jewish scriptures. In fact, many have noted that the language of the Petrine author seems to echo Isa 52.3 (οὐ μετὰ ἀργυρίου λυτρωθήσεσθε),234 where God promises to restore the people of Judah from Babylonian exile. Here, the passive form ἐλυτρώθητε (‘you were redeemed’) implies that it was God who facilitated their rescue, as is the case throughout the LXX. But regardless of which background is most prominent, the understanding of the death of 2286; IG IX,12 1:97, 100, 137; 3:625, 634, 679; FD III,3 290, 326; FD III,6 35; IG IX,12 190). Given that ἀργυρίῳ and χρυσίῳ are in the dative, some deny that they represent the cost or purchase price of the ransom (e.g., Beare 78; Best 89; Prasad, Foundations, 293–94; cf. Park, ‘Christology as Motivation’, 14). However, during the Koine period, ἐν + dative had begun to take on this same function (cf. 1 Chr 21.24; Rev 5.9; see BDF §219[3]). In fact, even without the preposition, the simple dative could perform this same duty (cf. Exod 34.20). Thus, given the concept of redemption mentioned above, it is best to view ἀργυρίῳ and χρυσίῳ as instrumental datives that represent the price of ransom (cf. Grudem 83 n. 1; Goppelt 115 n. 52; Richard 64). 232   Since the diminutive forms are used (i.e., ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ rather than ἀργύρῳ ἢ χρυσῷ), some have suggested that this refers to silver and gold in small, coined forms (e.g., Alford 341; Hiebert 102). This is a possible deduction, but not one that can be drawn on the diminutive suffixes alone. Not only might the -ιον suffix of ἀργύριον and χρυσίον carry an alternative semantic force, in particular denoting the substance from which something is made (see Petersen, Greek Diminutives, 63–66; Swanson, ‘Diminutives’, 139–40), many scribes view the diminutive forms as interchangeable with the non-diminutive forms (see Elliott, ‘Diminutive Endings’, 395–96). 233   Cf. Knopf 71; Hauck 49; Grudem 83; see also van Rensburg, ‘Ransomed by God’, 267–70. 234   So, e.g., Johnstone 96; Hort 75; Masterman 83; Hart 50; Wand 56; Schelkle 48; Craddock 30; Richard 64; Jobes 117; Feldmeier 116–17. Van Rensburg describes this echo as ‘eclectic imitation’, whereby ‘[t]he author of 1 Peter makes the implicit allusion more for the evocative power of the text than for the theological or doctrine content’ (‘Salvific Metaphors’, 389).



1.17–21

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Jesus that focuses on the shedding of his blood as a ransom for sin (cf. Matt 20.28//Mark 10.45) pervades the thought of this text. It is this tradition that provides specific nuance to the use of λυτρόω here. Placed for emphasis at the front of this clause, with its negative-then-positive construction, οὐ φθαρτοῖς indicates that it is not with ‘perishable things’235 (i.e., things subject to decay or destruction)236 that this redemption has been achieved. The author displays a certain fondness for this term, and its negative equivalent (ἄφθαρτος, cf. 1.4, 23; 3.4).237 Silver and gold (ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ, where ἤ should be translated as ‘or’) then serve as examples— specifically hyponyms238—of such perishable things. While these precious metals are, of course, rather resistant to decay or destruction, in this case they represent material (and monetary) things whose value and status are fading and impermanent compared

  Luther (63) interpreted the adjective φθαρτοῖς as an attributive (‘with corrup�tible silver or gold’). More likely, it represents a substantival usage, ‘corruptible things’ (de Wette 14; Keil 69; Huther 88; Kühl 120), with the two singular adjectives (ἀργυρίῳ and χρυσίῳ) being in apposition (cf. Winer, Grammar, 662). 236   Normally, the adjective φθαρτός would be contrasted with ἄφθαρτος (see Rom 1.23; 1 Cor 9.25; 15.53; 1 Pet 1.23); here, it is distinguished instead from blood that is ‘precious’ (τίμιος, v. 19). To explain this antithesis, van Unnik (‘Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19’, 27–28, 30–52) appeals to the process of Jewish proselyte conversion (see also Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 162 n. 87; Elliott 375; Breytenbach, ‘Christus’, 452). According to Lev 22.21, a sacrifice offered to the Lord had to be ‘without blemish’ (ἄμωμος), which was the opposite of a sacrifice that possessed some type of ‘corruption’ (φθάρμα, v. 25). From this use of the φθάρ- root in connection with sacrifice, van Unnik moves to the one place where sacrifice is closely associated with Gentile conversion (or ‘new birth’): the sacrifice offered by Jewish proselytes upon entrance into the Mosaic covenant. Drawing all of these images together, he suggests that silver and gold represent a form of defective offering (φθαρτός), while the blood of Christ is an acceptable sacrifice that provides redemption and entrance into the New covenant. But as resourceful as van Unnik has been in drawing connections between Jewish themes, his efforts are often strained and not altogether convincing (see Brox 83–83; Achtemeier 130; Prasad, Foundations, 301–303). It is much easier to explain the antithesis between φθαρτός and τίμιος as one of value: as revered as silver and gold might be, they ultimately perish, which compromises their value; on the other hand, the blood of Christ is infinitely valuable because its effects never diminish over time. 237   Elsewhere in the NT, see Rom 1.23; 1 Cor 9.25; 15.52–54; 1 Tim 1.17. 238   See Dubis 32. 235

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with that which is of divine origin and eternal value (cf. 1.7, 23).239 Indeed, ‘silver and gold’ is a well-established phrase in the Jewish scriptures to refer to material wealth (e.g., Gen 24.35; Num 22.18; Deut 8.13; 17.17; 2 Sam 8.11; Isa 2.7; cf. Acts 3.6; 20.33; Jas 5.3).240 Before turning to describe the positive means by which this redemption has taken place, the author specifies what it is from which the readers have been redeemed (ἐκ τῆς ματαίας ὑμῶν ἀναστροφῆς πατροπαραδότου). In doing so, he provides something of ‘an ironic twist’ to the language of redemption, as Boring suggests: the letter’s recipients once adhered to the wider culture in which this language of λύτρωσις makes sense ‘but have been ransomed by God’s act of deliverance to live a new life as outsiders in their own country’.241 As in 1.15, ἀναστροφή is used to denote a way of life, here described as μάταιος (cf. Acts 14.15; 1 Cor 3.20; 15.17; Titus 3.9; Jas 1.26). This adjective designates something that is ‘futile’ or ‘worthless’, in the sense that it does not lead to a useful or expected end.242 It is commonly applied to speech lacking the truth or substance that would make it beneficial (see Euripides, Med. 451; Herodotus, Hist. 7.10; Xenophon, Cyn. 12.13; Ps 11.3[2]; Prov 30.8; Ezek 13.19; Zeph 3.13), especially false divinations and prophetic visions (Ezek 13.6–9; Zech 10.2; Lam 2.14; Sir 34.5). In Jewish and Christian literature, it is commonly used to describe pagan idols.243 It could even refer to pregnancies   Cf. also Elliott, 372.   Since the term φθαρτός is used to specifically describe an idol (see Wis 14.8), and given that such statues were often adorned with silver and gold (e.g., Deut 29.16; Pss 113.12 [MT 115.4]; 134[135].15; Jer 10.4; Wis 13.10; Acts 17.29; Rev 9.20), Hart (50) claims that φθαρτοῖς refers to the false gods of the nations. He thus understands the dative as denoting agency. However, this interpreta�tion would make very little logical sense, for it requires that traditional Greek and Roman deities could conceivably want to redeem the readers from the very lifestyle that shows devotion to them. 241   Boring 82. 242   See Aeschylus, Ag. 420–25, where the apparitions a person experiences in dreams are said to only provide ‘empty joy’ (χάριν ματαίαν) because ‘whenever in his imagination a man sees delight, straightaway the vision, slipping through his arms, is gone’ (trans. Smyth). Cf. also Theognis, Elegiae 1.140–41, where the ‘vain’ practices of humans are contrasted with the pursuits of the gods who ‘accomplish all that comes to their minds’. See further Trench, Synonyms, 180–84. 243   Cf. LXX Lev 17.7; 2 Chr 11.15; Jer 8.19; Hos 5.11; Amos 2.4; 3 Macc 6.11; Wis 15.8; Sib. Or. 5.83; Acts 14.15. Based on this usage, some commentators limit the meaning of μάταιος to idolatry (e.g., Benson 190; Hottinger 106–107; Moffatt 239 240



1.17–21

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that did not end in the enjoyment of one’s children (4 Macc 16.7). For the Petrine author, the lifestyle that defined popular culture was ‘futile’ because it did not lead to the one true God or the salvation offered by God. The adjective πατροπαράδοτος provides a second attributive description of the way of life from which the readers were redeemed, even though the form (which is feminine, despite the -ου ending) and predicate position244 might suggest otherwise. Outside of Christian literature, the term πατροπαράδοτος carries a positive sense, denoting something that is handed down to succeeding generations through laws, education, or imitation. This might include the inheritance of property/possessions (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 5.48.2; Zosimus, Περὶ τοῦ ἐν παντὶ καιρῷ ἀρκτέον τὸ ἔργον vol. 2, p. 157 [Berthelot and Ruelle]) or the rights and privileges of leadership positions (Diodorus Siculus 17.4.1; Herennius Philo, De adfinium vocabulorum differentia 22; OGIS 331). Occasionally, it represents moral codes that are passed down from one generation to the next, such as acceptable ways of behaving toward authorities (gods: Diodorus Siculus 4.8.5; human rulers: Diodorus Siculus 15.74.5; 17.2.2). In a few honorary inscriptions, in fact, prominent individuals are recognised because of their propensity to show goodwill (εὔνοια) toward the civic community, a trait that was inherited from their ancestors (SEG 32:825; IG XII,5 860). 106; cf. Jobes 118); others identify this term with Jewish ceremonial practices similar to the critique found in Matt 15.3 (e.g., Grotius 70; Vrede 126). But there is no basis for such a restricted sense in this instance (cf. Keener 105–106). 244   The adjective πατροπαραδότου is placed in predicate position, which could indicate that it was intended to be interpreted as such (thus, ‘your empty way of life was handed down from your fathers’); yet, it is probably better to understand the adjective as performing an attributive function (thus, ‘your empty, ancestral-inherited way of life’, see Johnstone 97; Hort 76; Monnier 72; Dubis 32; Forbes 43), which some witnesses attempted to make plain through transposition (see Text at 1.18 n. c). Rather than placing more than one attributive modifier in an intermediate position, Greek writers often relocated one modifier after the noun in an anarthrous position (e.g., Eph 2.11; Acts 13.32; 1 Cor 10.3 [TR]; Gal 1.4 [TR]; see further Winer, Grammar, 166 n. 3; Buttmann, Grammar, 91; Robertson, Grammar, 656, 777; BDF §269). Nevertheless, in this construction the anarthrous adjective may still emphasise some sense of predication (see Donaldson, Greek Grammar, 200); hence, ‘your futile way of life that was inherited from your ancestors’.

514

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The preservation of ancestral custom was thus widely valued in antiquity, both in Greco-Roman (Pliny the Younger, Ep. 8.24.2–3; Suetonius, Aug. 93; Josephus, Ant. 19.283; Tertullian, Apol. 47.14) and Jewish (Deut 32.7; Jer 6.16; cf. Gal 1.14) culture;245 nevertheless, the Petrine author has redefined the term, using it to defame the lifestyle that typified Greek and Roman culture. For him, what has been passed down is idolatry, debauchery, and sexual promiscuity (cf. 1 Pet 4.3). Subsequent Christian writers would pick up on this usage and employ it in their critique of ‘pagan’ traditions.246 Modern commentators have generally (and in our view rightly) seen in this reference an allusion to the readers’ ‘pagan’ past, one clear indication that the letter’s addressees are (portrayed as) largely Gentile rather than Jewish (see Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity).247 However, some have suggested that it could equally be a reference to Jewish customs, and that the implied addressees could therefore also be Jews.248 It is certainly not impossible that a Christian author could refer to Jewish ancestral traditions in this negative way (cf. Mark 7.3–13//Matt 15.2–6; Gal 1.13–14; Phil 3.4–8). Jewish 245   An important ancestral tradition that had to be preserved in Greek and Roman culture was one’s religious heritage (see Cicero, Leg. 2.7.19–27; Tacitus, Hist. 5.5; Cassius Dio 52.36.1; for more, see van Unnik, ‘Critique of Paganism’, 129–42). Ironically, while early Christianity in some ways explicitly disparaged the traditions from which converts came, the exhortation to preserve (Christian) traditions soon emerges (1 Cor 11.2; 2 Thess 2.15; 3.6), as do various attempts to claim that Christianity stands in a (Jewish) ancestral heritage that it rightly preserves and appropriates (cf. 1 Cor 10.1). For a study of appeals to ancestral tradition in early Christian apologetics, see Pilhofer, Presbyteron Kreitton, esp. 221–84, who examines the Alterbeweis (‘argument from Antiquity’) in patristic literature (cf. also Drodge, Homer or Moses?). 246   See, e.g., Theophilus, Autol. 2.34; Eusebius, Praep. ev. 4.4.1; Dem. ev. 9.2.4; Athanasius, Ep. Pers. [PG 28:1568]. On the other hand, Christian authors occasionally applied the term to Jewish traditions (see Gregory Thaumaturgus, Frag. Jer. p. 594 [Pitra]; Hippolytus, Frag. Ps. 17; Liv. Pro. 2.8). 247   Among older commentators, Huther remarks: ‘Although ματαία ἀναστροφὴ πατροπαράδοτος does not necessarily apply to the heathen… yet the expression more aptly characterizes their mode of life than the Jewish’ (89 n. 1). For interpretative views among the older commentators, see van Unnik, ‘Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19’, 15–16. 248   See, e.g., Bengel 50; Plumptre 102; Mason 396; Weiss 302; Witherington 31; cf. LaVerdière, ‘Covenant Theology’, 2916; Stewart-Sykes, ‘Function of “Peter” ’, 11–12. Some claim that πατροπαράδοτος could refer to both Jewish and Gentile traditions alike (Demarest 87; Masterman 85; Jobes 119).



1.17–21

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authors too could be critical of how they (and their ancestors) had departed from the true ways of God (Jer 2.5; Amos 2.4; Zech 1.4–6; 1QS 1.24–26).249 Yet the specific combination of vocabulary here, in the context of a letter that appropriates scripture richly and positively, and nowhere expresses any explicit rejection of Torah or other Jewish custom, strongly suggests that it is the Gentile/pagan way of life that is in view. It would be surprising for such an author to describe the whole Jewish ancestral way of life as worthless, while the depiction of ‘pagan’ tradition as μάταιος echoes the language of similar descriptions elsewhere in Jewish and Christian sources (see esp. Wis 13.1; 15.8; Acts 14.15; Rom 1.21–23; Eph 4.17–19).250 The use of πατροπαράδοτος to describe this tradition also suggests a Gentile frame of reference, since the word is positively employed in pagan sources to refer to religious customs, yet appears nowhere in the LXX or contemporary Jewish sources. 19 ἀλλὰ τιμίῳ αἵματι ὡς ἀμνοῦ ἀμώμου καὶ ἀσπίλου Χριστοῦ The author now turns to depict, positively and by strong contrast (ἀλλά), the means of the readers’ redemption: τιμίῳ αἵματι (cf. on 1.2). In this case, αἷμα is a synecdoche, standing for the violent death of Jesus. Christian tradition very early—perhaps from Jesus himself—spoke particularly of the shedding of Jesus’ blood as the sacrificial act done for the benefit of others (Mark 14.24; Heb 9.12–14; cf. more concisely Rom 3.25; 5.9; Eph 1.7; Col 1.20), an act recalled regularly in the central Christian ritual of the Lord’s supper (1 Cor 10.16–17; 11.23–25).251 A specific focus on the blood that was shed by Christ reflects the importance of blood in Jewish sacrificial ritual and its significance more generally as that which signified life (Gen 9.4; Lev 17.11, 14; Deut 12.23).252   See Liebengood, ‘Ethnic Identity’.   See also Lev 17.7; 1 Kgs 16.13, 26; 2 Kgs 17.15; Isa 2.20; 44.9; Jer 8.19; 10.3–5; Zech 10.2. 251   It is significant to note the connection between the Lord’s supper traditions and the references to Christ’s blood, since apart from these traditions, Paul makes very little direct reference to Christ’s blood (only Rom 3.25; 5.9; cf. in the disputed letters Col 1.20; Eph 1.7; 2.13). 252   It is also pertinent to note that the ceremony by which a proselyte was received into the people of Israel involved a sacrifice and the sprinkling of blood (see van Unnik, ‘Redemption in 1 Peter I 18–19’, 41–46; although note the correctives offered by Brox, 82–83 and Achtemeier 130). 249 250

516

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What is unique about this statement is that the Petrine author characterises Jesus’ blood as τίμιος (‘precious’, ‘valuable’).253 Normally, this term was reserved for objects that possessed high monetary value, such as rare stones, jewelry, spices, gold, and the like.254 In such cases, the great worth of an object rested not in any objective quality but in the subjective estimation of groups or individuals.255 This subjectivity is particularly evident in this instance: whereas the Petrine author assigns the death of Christ a high value in light of its role in procuring the salvation of God’s people, outsiders would have viewed it merely as the humiliating end of an ignoble life.256 The specific idea expressed here is spelt out more expansively in 1 Clem. 7.4: ‘We should gaze intently on the blood of Christ (τὸ αἷμα τοῦ Χριστοῦ) and realize how precious (τίμιον) it is to his Father; for when it was poured out for our salvation, it brought the gracious gift of repentance to the entire world’ (trans. Ehrman [LCL]).257   See further Rasco, ‘Il “sangue prezioso” di Cristo’, 851–64. In the LXX, αἷμα occasionally appears with an adjectival modifier, though nothing that depicts its high value. A menstruating woman is said to have ‘unclean blood’ (αἷμα ἀκάθαρτον, Lev 12.4–5; cf. Wis 11.6), and various warnings are given about shedding ‘innocent blood’ (αἷμα ἀναίτιον, see Deut 21.9; 27.25; 1 Sam 19.5; 25.26, 31; 1 Kgs 2.5; 2 Kgs 24.4; 2 Chr 36.5[5d]; Esth 16.5[8.12e]; Ps 105.38; Jer 7.6; 19.4; 22.3, 17; 33.15; 1 Macc 1.37; 2 Macc 1.8; Sus 60; cf. also αἷμα δίκαιον: Joel 4.19; Jonah 4.21; Lam 4.13). 254   Examples of objects that are described as ‘precious’ (τίμιος) include: stones (Ctesias, Fragmenta 3d,688,F 45 [Jacoby]; 2 Sam 12.30; Ps 18.11; Prov 8.19; Dortheus, Fragmenta Graecap. 411 [Pingree]; T.Ab. A 6.7; Let. Arist. 2.3; 18.4; 1 Cor 3.12; Rev 17.4; 18.12; Act Thom. 112.4), spices (T.Ab. A 4.2; Mart. Pol. 15.2), jewelry (Let. Arist. 18.5), gold (Philo, Leg. 1.77), and wheat/crops (Lysias, Κατὰ τῶν σιτοπωλῶν 8; Demosthenes, [Dionys.] 8; Jas 5.7). It was not just objects to which this designation was attributed; in a few cases, humans (or the acts of humans) were similarly described: death of holy ones (Ps 115.6), a pure person (Prov 12.27), a compassionate person (Prov 20.6), and human souls (Wis 17.17; Esdr 7.14; T.Ab. A 20.10, 12; Philo, Spec. 3.207). 255   This fact is often acknowledged by ancient authors. It is common to find the prepositional phrase παρά + a personal noun modifying τίμιος; hence, ‘valuable to us/me/you/them’ (see, e.g., Plato, Symp. 209d; Demosthenes, [Dionys.] 8; Posidonius, Fragmenta 228; Diodorus Siculus 37.18.1; Strabo, Geogr. 1.2.32; Philo, Det. 157). In these cases, the worth or estimation of a given object is limited to a certain individual or group. 256   Cf. Green, ‘Narrating the Gospel’, 272. 257   Some contend that 1 Clem. 7.4 is drawn directly from the present verse (Wand 56; Elliott 373). However, this literary connection has been challenged by 253



1.17–21

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What makes the precise meaning of this verse difficult to pin down is its word-order and the function of the ὡς-phrase. Related to the latter, most understand the relative adverb as marking a simile and thus being used in a figurative sense (‘as/like a lamb’; cf. NRSV, CEB, ESV, HCSB, NAB, NASB, NET, NKJV).258 Read in this way, the sacrifice of Christ is compared to that of a sacrificial lamb. But it is also possible to take ὡς in a functional sense, denoting a metaphor (‘who is a lamb’; cf. NIV, NLT, Phillips).259 In this case, Christ is directly identified as a lamb. The decision one reaches on this question is determined to a considerable extent by a judgment on what the ὡς-phrase is modifying, which connects to the former issue: word-order. In an unusual word placement, Χριστοῦ appears at the end of the verse, with a comparative phrase (ὡς…) in an intermediate position. Scholars have proposed various ways of interpreting this construction. It is possible, as a few commentators have suggested, to connect Χριστοῦ with προεγνωσμένου (the immediately following word) in v. 20. Understood in this way, Χριστοῦ is read as the subject of a genitive absolute (‘Christ was foreknown…’).260 The difficulty with this suggestion is that there would be no finite verbal form for προεγνωσμένου to modify.261 Another possibility is to supply αἵματι before ἀμνοῦ so that the comparative phrase is dependent upon αἵματι, making Χριστοῦ function either independently or in

Norelli (‘La première reception de 1 Pierre’, 330–31) as the verbal similarities (beyond fairly established references to ‘the blood of Christ’) are few. Regardless of the source from which the language derives, subsequent Christian authors repeated the idea that the blood of Jesus was precious (see, e.g., Martyrium sanctorum Carpi, Papyli et Agathonicae 3; Act Andr 12; 1 Apocr. Apoc. John 32; Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.42.3; Origen, Mart. 12; Hippolytus, De consummation mundi 34). 258   Cf. Kelly 64; Davids 70; Goppelt 106; Achtemeier 129; Elliot 373; Jobes 108; Dubis 32; Donelson 40; Schlosser 94; Vahrenhorst 84. 259   Cf. Bengel 51; Steiger 1:246; Demarest 87–88; Kühl 122; Knopf 74; Lenski 64; Reicke 85; Hiebert 103; Brox 78. 260   This position was first proposed by Hofmann 45–46 and later espoused by others (e.g., Wohlenberg 39–40; Wand 56–57). 261   While in the documentary papyri, the genitive absolute ‘may often be seen forming a string of statements, without a finite verb for several lines’ (MHT 1:74; cf. Mayser, Grammatik II,3 67), it nonetheless functions in connection with some verbal form (see MHT 3:322–23; Wallace, Grammar, 654–55).

518

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apposition to ἀμνοῦ: ‘but with precious blood, like the blood of an unblemished and spotless lamb, even Christ’ (cf. NRSV, NASB, NAB, HCSB, NET, ESV, NKJV, CEB).262 In this case, the value attributed to the blood of an unblemished and spotless lamb serves as the point of comparison: just as the lamb’s blood is precious, so also is the sacrifice of Christ. Yet it is difficult to see how such an esteemed designation (τίμιος) could be attributed to the blood of a sacrificial animal, especially given how commonly such offerings took place. A more likely alternative is to take Χριστοῦ as governed by αἵματι, with the clause ὡς ἀμνοῦ ἀμώμου καὶ ἀσπίλου standing in antecedent apposition to Χριστοῦ:263 ‘with the precious blood of Christ, as (or, who is) a lamb without blemish and spotless’.264 If this interpretation is adopted, the point of comparison is a lamb that is acceptable for sacrificial offering. Although either use of ὡς would make sense in this construction, and the semantic difference between the two is negligible, a more direct comparison (‘who is a lamb’) seems to fit best with the author’s view of Christ’s atoning death (cf. 1 Pet 2.22–24). Such an identification is less frequent in the NT than its later prominence might imply: Jesus is described as the ἀμνὸς τοῦ θεοῦ in John 1.29 and 36, as the Passover sacrifice in 1 Cor 5.7—where the identification seems to be sufficiently well established for Paul to repeat it concisely and without explanation—and (distinctively and frequently in Revelation) as the lamb/sheep/ram 262   Many earlier commentators were explicit in their defence of this view (e.g., Pott 54; Steiger 1:246–47; Schott 67; Alford 341–42; Plumptre 102). But few today even address the grammatical issue (although see Dubis 32); instead, advocates can be identified through their translations. This view is indicated by the rendering, ‘as of a lamb’ (Michaels 65; Achtemeier 123; Senior 44; Jobes 108; Feldmeier 107; Green 35; Witherington 103; Wagner-Vouga 52). 263   The Petrine author uses a similar construction in 1 Pet 3.7: ὡς ἀσθενεστέρῳ σκεύει τῷ γυναικείῳ. Through such unusual word placement, ‘the interjected words [i.e., ὡς…] gain from their unusual position a special prominence, which accords with their argumentative importance’ (Johnstone 98; cf. Forbes 43). But even more than that, this order helps to clarify that Χριστοῦ is the referent of the attributive participles in v. 20. 264   Again, this view was defended by various commentators within a previous generation (e.g., de Wette 15; Wiesinger 106; Johnstone 97–98; Huther 89; Keil 70; Hort 76), but modern proponents are evident in their translation, ‘as a lamb’ (see Schlekle 47; Knoch 49; Goppelt 106; Schweizer 31; Elliott 354; Watson 35; Varhenhorst 84).



1.17–21

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(ἀρνίον),265 specifically ‘the lamb that was slain’ (τὸ ἀρνίον τὸ ἐσφαγμένον; Rev 5.6, 12; 13.8).266 By comparing the blood of Christ with that of a lamb the author is of course drawing on Jewish scriptural imagery once again. The question is, which tradition is in view? One image that may be in the author’s mind, as it clearly is in 1 Pet 2.21–25 (cf. also Acts 8.32), is the Suffering Servant from Isaiah 53.267 In Isa 53.7, the Servant is described as ‘like a sheep led to the slaughter and like a lamb (ὡς ἀμνός)…silent before the one shearing it’ (NETS). Yet the extent of this specific parallel is limited to only two words, and this part of Isaiah 53 is not included in 2.21–25 where that passage is clearly the main source. It has been common for scholars to posit a connection with the lamb that was killed as part of the Passover feast (Exod 12.1–27).268 In other parts of the NT, Jesus is depicted using the same image (1 Cor 5.7: τὸ πάσχα ἡμῶν ἐτύθη Χριστός; cf. John 1.29, 36). Other allusions to the Exodus tradition in this chapter would support this identification. But despite these considerations, certain objections have been raised. Most notably, the death of the paschal lamb was not the redemptive means by which the Hebrews were delivered from Egyptian bondage; it merely played a preventative role in protecting against God’s wrath. Furthermore, the language used to describe the paschal lamb is different from that found here. In Exod 12.5 (LXX), the Israelites are instructed to procure a ‘perfect sheep’ (πρόβατον τέλειον; Heb. ‫)שה תמים‬.269   The diminutive sense of ἀρνίον compared with ἀρήν, from which it was originally derived, has been lost by NT times (BDAG 133). Although translations tend to favour ‘lamb’, this makes little sense in Rev 13.11 (see NRSV, ESV, etc.), where this animal (clearly not Christ, here) has two horns, suggesting an adult male, i.e., a ram (so Louw–Nida, Lexicon, §4.25). 266   For more on the image of ‘the lamb of God’ in Jewish and Christian litera�ture, see Merino, ‘El cordero de Dios’, 551–68. 267   See, e.g., Kühl 122; Hiebert 103–104; Witherington 105. 268   See, e.g., de Wette 15; Bloomfield 705; Hort 77; Masterman 85; Blenkin 37; Wohlenberg 41–42; Wand 56; Selwyn 146; Margot 30; Best 90; Davids 72–73; Goppelt 116; Senior 44, 46; Hartin 36; Keating 44; cf. Cervantes Gabarrón, La Pasión de Jesucristo, 333–35. 269   It is important not to press the specificity of this language too far, however. The terminology surrounding the paschal lamb was fluid, allowing for the possibility that the epithets in v. 19 would be applicable (see Schlosser, ‘Le theme 265

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The final image from which the author may be drawing is that of the general sin-offering that took place in the Israelite sacrificial cult,270 or perhaps more specifically, the Tamid service at which a lamb was sacrificed as a burnt offering during a set of rituals that were performed each day at morning and evening (see Exod 29.38– 43; cf. Num 28.1–8).271 This is consistent with the fact that the Torah prescribed that all animals sacrificed to God be ‘unblemished’ (Exod 29.1; Lev 22.17–25; Numbers 28–29). But here again, the lamb was not the only animal that was sacrificed, which raises the question of why it would be singled out. Further, a sacrifice atoned for sin by cleansing the one who offered it; however, it did not redeem the worshipper, in the sense of freeing them from captivity. All three traditional backgrounds have been proposed independently from one another, and various combinations of these options have also been suggested.272 In the end, the Petrine author may well be drawing on aspects of each image, given his references elsewhere to the sprinkling of Christ’s blood (1.2) and the direct use of Isaiah 53 in 2.21–25. But the fact that Paul can already identify exodial’, 264–67). In Tg. Neof. on Exod 12.5, the paschal lamb is described as, ‫‘( אמר שלם מן מום‬a whole lamb, without defect’; see also Exod. Rab. 15.12). 270   See, e.g., Huther 89–90; Bartlett 258; Achtemeier 128–29; Black 50. According to Lev 4.32 and 5.6, a female sheep could be sacrificed as a sin offering, but it seems more common to offer a ram or male sheep (κριός) for this purpose (see Lev 5.15, 18, 25). 271   See, e.g., Vahrenhorst 91; cf. Eberhart, Kultmetaphorik und Christologie, 181–83. Early evidence on the nature of these sacrifices is somewhat mixed. Whereas some writers treated them merely as a thanksgiving offering (Philo, Her. 174; Spec. 1.168–71; cf. Josephus, Ant. 3.237–38, who distinguishes between the new moon sacrifice, which is said to be for the expiation of sins, and the daily sacrifice, which is not assigned the same function), others attribute to them an atoning significance (Jub. 6.14). The latter is consistent with the expiatory value assigned to the tamid within rabbinic literature (see Tanḥ Pinḥas 13; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 6.4; Pesiq. Rab. 15.53; 16.20). For more on the tamid service, see Trudinger, Psalms of the Tamid Service, 12–51. 272   These combinations include: the Suffering Servant (Isa 53) + sacrificial cult (Holzmeister 225; Spicq 68); the Suffering Servant (Isa 53) + paschal lamb (Bigg 119–20; Knoch 53; Watson 35–36); paschal lamb + sacrificial cult (Hart 50–51; Beare 80; Grudem 84–85; Donelson 47–48). Some commentators acknowledge that the Petrine author is drawing on all three thematic backgrounds (Windisch 57; Kelly 74–75; Osborne 163; Schreiner 88–89). Others are more reserved about what conclusions can be drawn, questioning whether a specific tradition can be identified (Plumptre 103; Brox 82).



1.17–21

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Christ’s sacrifice as τὸ πάσχα—and assume that the reference is well-established enough not to need explanation—along with the connections drawn in the Gospels between Jesus’ impending death, specifically his blood poured out, and the Passover (Mark 14.12–25 and par.) suggests that the image of Christ as the Passover lamb may be the most prominent image here. The differences between this depiction and the original Exodus story have clearly already been elided in the early Christian tradition. Using an alliterative phrase, in which the identical endings also add to the rhetorical effect (as with the three adjectives in 1.4), the author describes the lamb (and implicitly Christ, too) as ‘flawless and faultless’ (ἀμνοῦ ἀμώμου καὶ ἀσπίλου).273 The two words are almost synonymous (cf. 1.4, again), serving to add emphasis as well as rhetorical effect to the phrase. The adjective ἄμωμος is commonly used in the LXX to describe the required condition of sacrificial animals: they had to be ‘without blemish’ (e.g., Exod 29.1; Lev 3.1, 6, 9; 14.10; 22.19–21). In the LXX, μῶμος—which in ancient Greek originally meant ‘blame’274—is commonly used to translate ‫מום‬, ‘blemish’, ‘spot’ (Lev 22.20; Num 19.2; Deut 17.1). Some commentators have conjectured that this was due to their similar sounds.275 When the α-privative was added to μῶμος, it thus created an adjective describing something or someone without defect (‘unblemished’). This theory of Semitic influence even led Hart to claim that ἄμωμος ‘would be unintelligible to the Gentile’.276 But while this theory is consistent with the translation of other Hebrew terms into Greek (e.g., τόκος for ‫[ תך‬Ps 55.12(11)]; τροφή for ‫[ טרף‬Ps 111.5]), the use of ἄμωμος in Greek literature to describe a flawless form or appearance predates the LXX by centuries (see Hesiod, Theog. 259; Archilochus, Fragmenta lyrica S478a [Page]; Aeschylus, Pers. 185).

273   Cf. Prot. Jas. 4.3: Φέρετε μοι ὧδε δέκα ἀμνάδας ἀσπίλους καὶ ἀμώμους. On the literary construction of the phrase, and for the alliterative translation, see Michaels 65–66; Elliott 373–75. However, while Michaels argues for a moral sense for ἄμωμος (hence, ‘faultless’ or ‘blameless’), Elliott takes ἄσπιλος to convey the more moral sense (hence, the order of the terms as given above). 274   LSJ 1158. 275   E.g., Johnstone 99; Hort 77; Bigg 119; Blenkin 38; Michaels 65–66. 276   Hart 50.

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By contrast, the adjective ἄσπιλος is not found in the LXX.277 The term is attested in the epigraphic record as early as the mid-fourth century BCE (see IG II2 1666, where it describes the quality of stones used in a building project; cf. also Cyranides 1.10), although it is rare leading up to the time of 1 Peter (Dioscorides Pedanius, Mat. med. 5.131.1 [late first century CE]). In early Christian literature, ἄσπιλος is employed to describe something or someone that is morally untainted in character (1 Tim 6.14; Jas 1.27; 2 Pet 3.14; 2 Clem. 8.6; Herm. Vis. 4.3.5; Herm. Sim. 5.6.7; Acts Andr. 8.2). At the same time, it can also represent something that is without defect, particularly with reference to its outward condition or appearance (‘spotless’). Most often it is applied to the perfect condition of the colour white, describing animals that are impeccable in their shade without any fleck of another colour (PGM III.693; XIII.370; Herodian, Ab excess divi Marci 5.6.7; Aelius Promotus, Δυναμερόν 102.7). Being used synonymously with ἄμωμος here, the meaning seems to be that the lamb is without physical defect. 20 προεγνωσμένου μὲν πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου, κόσμου, φανερωθέντος δὲ ἐπ᾿ ἐσχάτου τῶν χρόνων δι᾿ ὑμᾶς Having spoken of the redemption effected by Christ’s blood, the author presents a concise and balanced pair of phrases (μέν… δέ) that express important christological convictions.278 These are widely agreed to be drawing on early Christian tradition, though whether they come from some earlier creed or hymn is less certain.279 Bultmann argued that an early Christian credal confession (Bekenntnis) underlay 1.20 together with 3.18–19, 22, while a separate hymn (Lied) was adapted in 2.21–24. This attempt to separate out 277   The term does, however, appear in the text of Symmachus at Job 15.15 (see Field, Origenis Hexaplorum, 2:29). Instead of the LXX rendering (εἰ κατὰ ἁγίων οὐ πιστεύει, οὐρανὸς δὲ οὐ καθαρὸς ἐναντίον αὐτοῦ), the Symmachus version reads, ἰδοὺ ἐν ἁγίοις αὐτοῦ οὐδεὶς ἄτρεπτος, οὐδὲ οὐρανὸς ἄσπιλος (‘behold, in his holy ones no one is unchangeable, nor is heaven spotless’). 278   Against a few interpreters (e.g., Luther 66–67; Morus 116; cf. Déaut, ‘Le Targum de Gen. 22,8’, 104) and a handful of early translations that rendered the sentence, ‘which was’ (Wycliffe, Tyndale, Coverdale, Geneva), the antecedent of προεγνωσμένου is Χριστοῦ, not ἀμνοῦ (cf. Hensler 65; de Wette 15; Mason 397; Achtemeier 130); as such, it should be translated, ‘who was’. 279   See Elliott 378. Nevertheless, some have questioned whether this verse was drawn from traditional material (e.g., Schreiner 89 n. 162).



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fragments of tradition from the author’s own contributions are, as Bultmann himself partly acknowledges, somewhat speculative, relying on distinctions between what is poetic and prosaic, and on assumptions as to how symmetrical and rhythmic an original creed or song would be. Indeed, recent commentators have, on the whole, become more sceptical about attempts to identify pre-existing hymnic or credal material (see above on v. 18). Nonetheless, the discussion is sometimes hampered, it seems, by too sharp a distinction between credal/hymnic material on the one hand, and the author’s creative work on the other.280 While the traditional character of 1.20 is widely acknowledged, one may also ask: Where else would such christological traditions have been shaped and shared, if not in Christian meetings, which is to say, in the context of liturgy, worship, and teaching, and are they not therefore in some sense credal and/or hymnic? Certainly, some scepticism about our ability to reconstruct earlier forms of such creeds and hymns is warranted, but there remain reasons to conclude that material that acquired a concise, rhythmic and doctrinally compact form was likely shaped in the context of Christian worship rather than simply produced, de novo, by an author writing a letter (see also Exegesis at 2.21–25; 3.18–22). In such contexts, we might say, early Christian authors both learnt and developed their theological grammar, which they then expressed in their letters. In this passage, in particular, the two passive participles are significant, especially when linked with the participles found in 3.18–19, 22. Lined up together, they indicate in concise form the essential elements of the story of Christ: προεγνωσμένου, φανερωθέντος, θανατωθείς, ζῳοποιηθείς, πορευθείς. The first phrase describes Christ as being ‘foreknown/predestined before the foundation of the world’ (προεγνωσμένου μὲν πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου). It is generally agreed that the passive voice of προεγνωσμένου, as in the second phrase, implies divine agency. Yet, as with the cognate noun in 1 Pet 1.2, there is some discussion about whether the verb προγινώσκω describes knowledge of future 280   Achtemeier, for example, accepts that these phrases are ‘clearly reflecting early Christian tradition’ but is sceptical about ‘the proposal that this verse has been drawn from early liturgical/hymnic materials’, since it is ‘not beyond the linguistic capacity of the author of this letter to construct such felicitous phrases without necessary dependence on early formulations’ (130–31).

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events (‘who was foreknown’; cf. NASB, NET, ESV), or whether this prescience also includes an effort to orchestrate how those future events will come to fruition (‘who was predestined/chosen’; cf. NRSV, NIV, HCSB). In the vast majority of instances in Greek literature, προγινώσκω is used in a general sense to describe the possession of knowledge about future events.281 Such expectations could arise through a variety of sources, such as from an understanding about the regular course of medical ailments (Hippocrates, Progn. 1; Fract. 29; Diocles, Frag. 64 [van der Eijk]; Galen, De constitutione artis medicae ad Patrophilum, vol. 1, p. 293 [Kühn]) or from scouts delivering information about an enemy’s plans during a military battle (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 2.54.4; Josephus, Ant. 13.175). But it was generally agreed that humans did not possess exact knowledge about how specific events in the future would come to pass.282 To have a more secure grasp on future events required special knowledge. This type of prescience is also expressed by the verb προγινώσκω, such as foreknowledge arising out of a prophetic ability (Xenophon, Apol. 30; Diodorus Siculus 1.53.8; 4.65.5; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 4.60.2) or from astrological signs (Diodorus Siculus 1.81.5; Geminus, Elementa astronomiae 17.10; Dorotheus, Fragmenta Graeca, p. 424 [Pingree]). What distinguishes the present use of προγινώσκω is that the term describes the activity of God in relation to persons, not events (cf. Rom 8.29; 11.2). It is on this basis that many stake their claim   See, e.g., Thucydides 2.65.13; Euripides, Hipp. 1073; Xenophon, Hipparchicus 8.12; Plato, Tim. 70c; Aeneas, Poliorcetica 11.10; Plutarch, Comp. Per. Fab. 2.3. For a helpful review of this evidence, see Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, 99–130. 282   Cf. Isocrates, Soph. 13.2: ‘For I think it is manifest to all that foreknowledge of future events (τὰ μέλλοντα προγιγνώσκειν) is not vouchsafed to our human nature’ (trans. Norlin); Epictetus, Diatr. 2.10.6: ‘the philosophers say well, that if the good man had foreknowledge (προῄδει) of what would happen, he would co-operate towards his own sickness and death and mutilation… But now because we do not know the future (οὐ προγιγνώσκομεν), it is our duty to stick to the things which are in their nature more suitable for our choice, for we were made among other things for this’ (trans. Long). Given the way that the gods are portrayed by Homer, one might question whether they possessed perfect foresight into future events (see Homer, Il. 16.431–443; 22.168–176). Nonetheless, in other places their foreknowledge is assumed (see Plutarch, Def. orac. 39 [Mor. 431E]). 281



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that the meaning of the verb extends beyond foreknowledge to include foreordination.283 However, this interpretation not only runs counter to the term’s established usage,284 there is little in the immediate context by which to demonstrate such a nuance. Other Christian literature attests to the fact that the verb could be limited to God’s ability to know the future (Herm. Mand. 4.3.4; Justin Martyr, Dial. 77.3). Further, when people are the objects of God’s knowledge, there are some indications that προγινώσκω is distinguished from the active foreordination of God.285 Without any clear contextual evidence to indicate otherwise, the verb in v. 20 most likely refers to God’s knowledge of the future.286 But regardless of which meaning is intended, this statement serves ‘to link the death of Christ to God’s eternal plan, thus removing it from the realm of the accidental’ (cf. also Acts 2.23).287 In this way, its purpose was to bring comfort to marginalised believers: while they may not have anticipated their current circumstances, God has known how their story would unfold all along.288 Exactly when God knew about Christ and his role in the salvation of humanity is described as πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (‘before 283   Advocates of the foreordination view include: Beza 565; Grotius 71; Demarest 88; Fausset 502; Hort 80; Bennett 201; Monnier 75; Kelly 76; Grudem 85; David 74; Heibert 104; Goppelt 118 n. 64; Watson 36; cf. Beckman, ‘1 Peter 1:17–21’, 91. 284   See Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity, esp. 110–25. 285   In Rom 8.29, Paul distinguishes between the act of foreknowing (προέγνω) those who would become Jesus followers and the act of predestining (προώρισεν) them to become conformed to the image of Christ, which would suggest that the former verb has a slightly different nuance than the latter. Similarly, in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho, a distinction is made between God’s foreknowledge that some will be unbelievers and God’s active role in the process (see 140.4). 286   Advocates of the prescient view include: Gerhard 116; Keil 71; Mason 392; Huther 92; Kühl 125; W. Kelly 92; Weiss 302; Witherington 108. For a full defence of this position, see Himes, Foreknowledge and Social Identity. 287   Achtemeier 131; cf. also Goppelt 119. 288   Green has also suggested that by connecting the readers’ situation to primor�dial time another peripheral contribution might also be made, viz. answering the common sceptical retort that Christianity lacked roots in antiquity. He notes that ‘given the premium placed on what is old in the world of 1 Peter (“The old is better”), Peter’s affirmation puts in the strongest possible terms the significance of the way of life he has set before his audience. Far from being subject to dismissal as newfangled, it is grounded in unparalleled antiquity’ (‘Narrating the Gospel’, 270).

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the foundation of the world’). The expression ‘foundation of the world’289 is a distinctively Christian phrase, being found for the first time in the writings of the NT.290 The phrase πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου is also used to denote the time when God displayed love for Christ (John 17.24) and when the election of believers took place (Eph 1.4).291 It ‘relates the subject it qualifies to the farthest imaginable reaches of past time’.292 Given such a timeframe, questions naturally arise about the pre-existence of Christ. As others have pointed out, neither the word προγινώσκω nor the reference to καταβολὴ κόσμου necessarily implies pre-existence.293 This is indicated by the fact that the readers themselves were also part of God’s pre-determined plan (1 Pet 1.2: κατὰ πρόγνωσιν θεοῦ πατρός). Nonetheless, pre-existence does seem to be implied (cf. also 1.11),294 given the balancing phrase that   Whereas in 1 Pet 5.9 the term κόσμος describes the inhabited domain of humanity, here it refers to the created universe more generally (see Dennis, ‘Cosmology in the Petrine Literature’, 158–61). For more on the use of κόσμος more broadly, see Adams, Construction of the World, 41–81. 290   Another early usage is found in T.Mos. 1.14 frag. a (καὶ προεθεάσατό με ὁ θεὸς πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου εἶναί με τῆς διαθήκης αὐτοῦ μεσίτην), although its date is disputed. According to Bigg, this reference ‘may have suggested the language of St. Peter here’ (120). Others think that the Petrine phrase was borrowed from Eph 1.4 (Hort 80; Monnier 76). But neither of these suggestions is compelling, especially given how widespread the phrase was in early Christian literature. 291   Cf. also the declarations about Wisdom’s origins in Prov 8.23 and Sir 24.9. More frequent is the similar phrase ἀπὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου, which points to the time furthest back at the beginning of the world, rather than before it, as here. See Matt 13.35; 25.34; Luke 11.50; Heb 4.3; 9.26; Rev 13.8; 17.8; Barn. 5.5; Acts John 112.1. 292   Elliott 376. 293   Some scholars have questioned whether the idea of Christ’s pre-existence is reflected in this verse (e.g., Knopf 75; Beare 106; Goppelt 118; Elliott 377; cf. Davies, ‘Primitive Christology’, 117; Tuñi, ‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 295–96). Those who deny that pre-existence is in view generally distinguish between the pre-existence of God’s plan to deliver humanity from sin through the death of Christ and the actual person of Christ, who was not pre-existent (see Dunn, Christology in the Making, 237; Richard, ‘Functional Christology’, 131). 294   Cf. Huther 92; Masterman 87; Monnier 76; Hart 51; Windisch 57; Best 91; Hillyer 52; Michaels 67; Schelkle 50; Senior 44; Charles 310; Schlosser 102; Schreiner 90; Keener 109. For more on views about the pre-existence of Jesus in early Christianity, see Byrne, ‘Christ’s Pre-existence’, 308–30; Gathercole, Pre-existent Son. 289



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follows.295 By declaring that Christ has since been ‘made manifest’ (φανερωθέντος), the passive voice implying divine agency, some type of prior existence is indicated.296 This idea is consistent with the way that some Jewish texts described similar figures, particularly the messiah or the ‘son of man’, hidden before his coming, or return.297 The use of φανερόω in the second phrase is interesting, not least given its use in other comparable NT traditions where Christ’s ‘appearing’ is depicted (esp. 1 Tim 3.16; also 2 Tim 1.10; Heb 9.26; 1 John 1.2; 3.5, 8). In such texts, as here in 1 Peter, we may discern a certain tendency to use φανερόω to refer to what came to be known as Christ’s incarnation, with ἀποκαλύπτω or ἀποκάλυψις employed to denote his final eschatological appearance (as in 1.7, 13; 4.13; cf. 1.5; 5.1).298 Yet this is clearly not a consistent distinction, since ἀποκαλύπτω is used of the revelation of the gospel to the prophets in 1.12, and φανερόω is used of Christ’s eschatological appearance in 5.4 (cf. also Col 3.4; 1 John 2.28). Other NT texts likewise refer to this divine plan, which existed from the beginning, though it was kept hidden and secret until its manifestation with the appearance of Christ (Rom 16.25–26; 1 Cor 2.7; Eph 1.9–10; Col 1.26–27; 2 Tim 1.9–10; Titus 1.2–3). Just as προεγνωσμένου is balanced by φανερωθέντος, so the phrase πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου is answered by ἐπʼ ἐσχάτου τῶν χρόνων. This is a clearly eschatological designation, like similar phrases in prophetic and apocalyptic literature, such as the repeated ἐπʼ ἐσχάτων τῶν ἡμερῶν (Jer 30.24; Ezek 38.16; Hos 3.5; Mic   The weight of the contrast falls on this second clause (cf. Dubis 33). See further BDF §447(5): ‘the inclusion of μέν throws the emphasis on the second member (indicated by δέ)’. 296   Otherwise, the phrase would mean that Christ transitioned from the concep� tualisation in the mind of God into actual existence. This is not how φανερόω is used elsewhere when speaking of the incarnation (cf. 1 Tim 3.16; 1 John 1.2; 3.5, 8; see Johnstone 100–101). 297   See 2 Bar. 30.1; Pss. Sol. 18.5; 1 En. 46.1–4; 48.2–6; 62.7; 4 Ezra 7.28–29; 12.31–34; 13.26. On the messiah’s pre-existence, see Charlesworth, ‘From Messianology to Christology’, 29–30; on the Enochic son of man and his pre-existence, see VanderKam, ‘Righteous One’, 179–82. 298   It may not quite be sufficiently discerning, therefore, to refer to both sets of terms as ‘synonymous’ (as does Elliott 376). On this vocabulary and its significance, see Bockmuehl, ‘Das Verb φανερόω’, 87–99; idem, Revelation and Mystery. 295

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4.1; Dan 2.28–29, 45; 10.14 [Theod]).299 In this phrase, the adjective is not functioning as an attributive, despite how it is commonly translated: ‘last times’ (NIV, NASB, NET, ESV) or ‘last days’ (CEV, GNT, NLT). Instead, ἐσχάτου is more likely a neuter, substantival adjective (‘the end of time/ages’; cf. NRSV, CEB, HCSB).300 The plural χρόνοι denotes that time has been divided up into successive periods (cf. Acts 17.30),301 and in this case, the appearance of Christ has occurred during the last of these eras that mark human history. The first appearance (φανερωθέντος) of Christ thus represents the beginning of this last age, and his final ἀποκάλυψις will bring it to an end (ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ, 1.5).302 Nonetheless, as Achtemeier notes, ‘there is enough evidence in the remainder of the letter to indicate that little time remains until the final judgment does indeed begin’.303 If, as seems likely, this balanced pair of phrases represents an established christological formulation, then the author’s own contribution is found particularly in the short but significant words with which the verse closes: διʼ ὑμᾶς.304 Once again (see on 1.4) the author emphasises what Elliott has called the ‘for-you-ness’ of the letter, its consistent expression of the conviction that the glorious salvation inaugurated and promised by God is for the benefit of the readers.305 As such, the letter represents a clear attempt to bolster a sense of positive identity and value among vulnerable and suffering people. 299   For similar phrases, see also 4 Ezra 7.84, 95; 10.59; 12.23, 28; 13.20; 14.22; Acts 2.17; 2 Tim 3.1; Heb 1.2; 2 Pet 3.3; Jude 18. 300   On the substantival function of an anarthrous adjective, see BDF §264. Similar uses of ἔσχατος as an anarthrous substantival adjective are found elsewhere (see Acts 1.8; 13.47). 301   Cf. Steiger 1:251; Hort 81. 302   Cf. Elliott 377: ‘For our author, as for early Christianity in general, the initial (1:19, 20b) and final (5:4; cf. 1:7; 5:1) appearances of Jesus Christ mark the boundaries of the end time’. With its plural use of τέλος, 1 Cor 10.11 may indicate a similar conviction, namely, that the readers stand at the point where the end of the old age and the beginning of the last age meet. 303   Achtemeier 132, who cites 1.5; 4.5, 7, 17; 5.10, to which one may add 1.6. Attempts to deny that 1 Peter has an imminent sense of eschatological expectation (such as Parker, ‘Eschatology of 1 Peter’, 27–32) are not convincing. 304   Others similarly argue that this phrase was inserted by the Petrine author into his traditional source (e.g., Kelly 76; Shimada, ‘Formulary Material’, 265 with n. 1). 305   Elliott 336.



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21 τοὺς δι᾿ αὐτοῦ πιστοὺς εἰς θεὸν τὸν ἐγείραντα αὐτὸν ἐκ νεκρῶν καὶ δόξαν αὐτῷ δόντα, δόντα, Continuing the focus on the readers begun at the end of v. 20 (ὑμᾶς), the author now describes them as τοὺς… πιστοὺς εἰς θεόν, with the substantival adjective standing in apposition to ὑμᾶς. The theological focus also shifts more explicitly onto God, which is where the conclusion of the verse rests. Compared with the construction πιστεύειν + εἰς, which appears in numerous places throughout the NT and is especially frequent in the Johannine writings,306 the formulation πιστός + εἰς is somewhat unusual; this is the only place in the NT where the construction occurs. An initial question, therefore, is how to understand the sense of πιστός. Consistent with its -ος ending, the adjective normally communicates the passive sense of the verb πιστεύω.307 If this is the case here, the phrase might be translated, ‘those who are faithful to God’.308 As such, the emphasis would be on the responsibility of believers to maintain loyalty, trust, and commitment despite their pressing circumstances. Nevertheless, many commentators have ruled out this passive meaning due to the prepositional modifier εἰς. According to Bigg, such a construction would be ‘not only

306   Examples include: Matt 18.6; Mark 9.42; Acts 10.43; 14.23; Gal 2.16; Phil 1.29. In the Johannine literature, there are a total of 38 occurrences of πιστεύειν εἰς (although there is no connection with the Johannine tradition at this point, pace Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 339–40). 307   BDAG 820. This is how πιστός is employed throughout the LXX, where it usually translates the niphal participle ‫נאמן‬. With reference to an object, πιστός describes something that is ‘firm’ or ‘secure’ (see Deut 28.59; 1 Kgs 11.38; Ps 88.29; Isa 22.23). But when referring to people, it denotes someone who is ‘trustworthy’ or ‘faithful’ (Num 12.7; 1 Sam 3.20; 2 Sam 23.1; 1 Macc 2.52; Sir 6.14). It is this latter meaning that is commonly employed to describe the character of YHWH (Deut 7.9; 32.4; Ps 144.13; Isa 49.7; Wis 14.1; 17.10). This passive sense is also found in almost every other occurrence of πιστός in the NT (e.g., Matt 24.45; 1 Cor 1.9; Eph 1.1; 1 Thess 5.24; Heb 2.17; Rev 1.5). One of the few places where πιστός takes on an active notion is John 20.27: μὴ γίνου ἄπιστος ἀλλὰ πιστός (‘do not continue in unbelief, but believe’). 308   The passive sense of πιστός is only found in a handful of English transla�tions (cf. Wycliffe, Douay-Rheims, Weymouth, Knox, CEB) and defended by a few interpreters (e.g., Caffin 11; Masterman 87–88; Monnier 77; Blenkin 39; Green 35), with most depending on the extensive treatment by Hort (81–83).

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unexampled, but impossible’.309 But such objections are not grounded in the ancient evidence. For when the formula πιστός + εἰς is employed elsewhere in Koine period, the adjective commonly functions in a passive sense.310 And, in some cases, πιστός even represents faithfulness to a given person or place, in much the same way that is suggested in v. 20.311 What complicates matters, however, is that in the same construction πιστός can be used in an active sense as well.312 Here, the emphasis is placed on believers’ reliance on the faithfulness of God (‘those who believe/trust in God’). A close parallel is found in Origen, Cels. 3.24.6: τοῖς εἰς τὸν Ἰησοῦν πιστοῖς (‘those who trust in Jesus’), where Jesus is portrayed as the object of Christian faith, in contrast to Asclepius, who is professed among Greeks and barbarians.313 Although the majority of commentators have understood the adjective in this way,314 the position has not been 309   Bigg 121. Others have similarly pointed to the preposition as the reason why πιστός must be understood in an active sense (see, e.g., Michaels 68; Dubis 34; Prasad, Foundations, 313–14). 310   E.g., Arrian, Anab. 4.14.3: οἱ πάνυ πιστοὶ ἐς τὴν ἀφήγησιν (‘those who are trustworthy in their narratives’). Cf. also Sextus Empiricus, Math. 7.138; Onasander, Strategicus, preface 7; Epistles of Themistocles 6; Arrian, Anab. 1.28.2; 4.30.4; 5.19.3; 7.27.3; Phalaris, Ep. 23.2. In each of these, εἰς denotes the area in which something or someone is trustworthy or reliable. This represents a slightly different nuance from what is required in 1 Pet 1.21. 311   See Appian, Bell. civ. 1.1.9: ἐπὶ δὲ τῷ δουλικῷ δυσχεράνας ὡς ἀστρατεύτῳ καὶ οὔποτε ἐς δεσπότας πιστῷ (‘expressing his annoyance with slaves because they do not serve in war and because they are never faithful to their masters’); Polyaenus, Excerpta 5.3: τοὺς δὲ μείναντας ἐπαινέσας ὡς ἀνδρείους καὶ πιστοὺς ἀπέπλευσεν εἰς Καρχηδόνα (‘he sailed away praising those who remained as courageous and faithful to Carthage’). 312   Accordingly, there may be some merit to the claim of Cranfield, that the adjective conveys both an active and passive sense: ‘through Christ we believe, and also through him we are kept loyal to God’ (56; cf. Mason 397; Beare 107; Park, ‘Christology as Motivation’, 22 n. 32). 313   Cf. Sib. Or. 8.398: ἐς τὸ κακὸν πιστοί (‘trusting in evil’); Pausanias, Descr. 1.20.3: θεῶν δὲ τῶν μὲν ἄλλων οὐδενὶ τὸν Ἥφαιστον ἐθέλειν πείθεσθαι, Διόνυσος δὲ—μάλιστα γὰρ ἐς τοῦτον πιστὰ ἦν Ἡφαίστῳ (‘Hephaestus refused to listen to any other of the gods except Dionysus, for Hephaestus placed great trust in him’). See also Historia Alexandri Magni (Recensio φ) 106, 275; Hippolytus, De antichristo 59. 314   See, e.g., Usteri 72; Johnstone 102; von Soden 138; Bigg 121; Hart 51–52; Selwyn 146–47; Stibbs-Walls 92; Goppelt 120 n. 74; Achtemeier 132; Elliott 378, Dubis 34; Donelson 41 n. i; Schlosser 107; Forbes 45.



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above critique. In dealing with the question at length, Hort’s main objection to the active sense was that ‘it makes this clause entirely tautologous with the last clause of the verse, which is introduced as a fresh statement by ὥστε’.315 This point has some merit in that it draws attention to the fact that this identity as ‘believers’ is not merely, or even primarily, an indication of the acceptance, at conversion,316 of certain convictions and creeds, but rather a designation of their ongoing status as those who show faithful trust towards God, despite pressures to do otherwise.317 They are now, as it were, God’s faithful ones, who continue to trust in him. But this is not sufficient to rule out an active meaning. Furthermore, it must be remembered that the articular form of πιστοί is not infrequently used in early Christian writings with a substantival sense. When it is employed, it normally functions absolutely with no further modifiers,318 which means that it could be rendered actively (‘believers’ or, perhaps better, though less conventionally, ‘trusters’) or passively (‘the faithful’). Yet, when prepositional modifiers appear, they denote the object of belief or trust,319 thus indicating that an active sense is in view.320   Hort 83.   The author’s use of a substantival adjective tends to move the meaning away from an ingressive sense (‘you have come to believe’) and focuses more on a processual action, similar to a substantival participle (‘you, who believe in God’). Cf. Monnier 77: ‘πιστοὺς [sic] indique les dispositions intimes, la nature même des croyants, plus complètement que le participe qui ne relèverait que l’acte de croire’ (see also Plumptre 103; Mason 397). 317   Indeed, NT uses of πίστις more generally indicate trust rather than a sense of belief in certain propositions (an exception is Jas 2.19). See Exegesis at 1.7. 318   See Acts 10.45; 1 Tim 4.12; Ign. Eph. 21.2; Magn. 5.2; Mart. Pol. 12.3; 13.2; Mart. Pet. 3.6; Mart. Pet. Paul 10.1; Acts John 30.3; Acts Phil. 111.3; 113.3; 120.6; 140.1; 147.4. 319   Acts Pet. Paul 87.3: τοῖς πιστοῖς ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (‘those who believe in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ’); Origen, Sel. Num. [PG 12:584]: εἰσὶ δὲ τῶν πιστῶν καὶ ἀπίστων ἐπὶ τοῦ Χριστοῦ (‘they are believers and unbelievers in Christ’). 320   It is possible to look toward the textual record to resolve this exegetical problem. One could, for instance, point to the fact that early copyists altered the text by replacing πιστούς with participial forms (see Text at 1.21 n. f) as an indication that they understood the construction in an active sense, the participles representing their attempt to avoid any confusion (see Richard 67). Nevertheless, the same evidence might also indicate that πιστός + εἰς could (and, perhaps, would) be read in a passive sense; hence, the need for the scribal alteration. 315 316

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It is particularly striking that the recipients are described as believers—those who trust or have faith—διʼ αὐτοῦ. This is somewhat unusual for the NT. Elsewhere when διά + genitive modifies πιστεύω it usually denotes human agents who play an instrumental role in evangelism.321 The only exception is in the close parallel in Acts 3.16, where Jesus is both the object of trust/faith and the source of that faith (ἡ πίστις ἡ δι’ αὐτοῦ ἔδωκεν αὐτῷ)—in a speech attributed to Peter (cf. also Herm. Sim. 9.13.5: οἱ πιστεύσαντες τῷ κυρίῳ διὰ τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ).322 In this case, the sacrificial death of Christ provides the access through which believers are able to approach God. Moreover, διʼ αὐτοῦ creates ‘a certain stylistic symmetry’ with διʼ ὑμᾶς in v. 20,323 despite the different senses of διά. A thematic link is also present, connecting the appearance of Christ for their sake (v. 20) with his serving as the means by which they have come to put their trust in God. With the διʼ ὑμᾶς of v. 20 the author stresses (as elsewhere) that his readers are the focus of this saving work of God in Christ: it is ‘for you’. Yet, διʼ αὐτοῦ here turns the focus away from any achievement or decision on the part of the addressees and places it instead upon Christ, and ultimately upon God, as the remainder of the verse makes clear. For a hard-pressed and suffering minority group, this is part of a strategy of reassurance and encouragement: their identity and place within God’s people do not depend, ultimately, on the fragile basis of their own decisions and commitments but rather on the basis of God’s foreknown plans (1.2, 20) enacted in Christ.324 Using phrasing well established as a central facet of early Christian confession, God is then specifically described as the one who has raised and glorified Christ (cf. 1.3; 3.22). The phrase   Cf. Hort 83; Selwyn 147. The prepositional phrase often refers directly to a person through whom belief was generated (John 1.7; 1 Cor 3.5; Mart. Andr. A 16.10; Acts Pet. Andr. 16.3; Acts John 18.2; Acts Phil. 52.2; 76.7; Acts Thom. 21.6), but it can also describe, more indirectly, the words they spoke (John 17.20) or even the grace that makes belief possible (Acts 18.27). 322   See further Harris, Prepositions, 235. 323   Michaels 69. 324   As others have noted, this statement may have some bearing on how one assesses the (portrayal of the) audience’s ethnic identity in 1 Peter. See Mitchell 243: ‘There is a difficulty here, if only Jewish converts to Christianity are meant, for they believed in God before they heard of Christ’ (cf. Huther 93; Lightfoot 107; Bennett 201). 321



1.17–21

533

τὸν ἐγείραντα αὐτὸν ἐκ νεκρῶν is particularly formulaic in the Pauline letters (e.g., Rom 4.24; 6.4; 7.4; 8.11; 10.9; 1 Cor 15.15; 2 Cor 4.14; Gal 1.1; cf. also Eph 1.20; Col 2.12). The precise notion of God giving Christ glory is less frequently expressed, though the broader idea of God’s exaltation of Christ is well established (cf. John 17.22; Rom 8.17; Phil 2.9–11; 1 Tim 3.16; Heb 2.9). In Jewish and Christian literature, when authors refer to ‘giving glory’ (δόξαν διδόναι) to someone, it is most often directed toward God.325 This human response toward the divine might involve declarations of praise and adoration, usually for some blessing that has been received (Isa 42.12; Luke 17.18; Rev 19.7; Acts Thad. 8.3; Acts John 52.1). But in some situations, it is connected to repentance or recognition of wrongdoing (Josh 7.19; 1 Sam 6.5; 2 Chr 30.8; Jer 13.16; 1 Esdr 9.8; Bar 2.17–18; Rev 16.9). At the same time, God is not the only one who receives glory. In a few cases, humans recognise the special distinction of others among them, such as the acknowledgment of the prominent rule of a king (2 Chr 32.33) or a king’s favour shown to a loyal subject (1 Esdr 8.4). More often, it is God who bestows glory on human recipients. This consists of generous blessings or favours, like those granted to kings (1 Kgs 3.13; 1 Chr 29.25; 2 Chr 1.12) or other individuals who please God (Ps 83.12[11]; Mart. Paul 5.7) or even the people of Judah (Ezek 39.21). The point here is that God has bestowed favour upon Christ, most likely through his exaltation (cf. 1 Pet 3.22).326 Again there is a notable parallel in the speech attributed to Peter in Acts 3.13 (ὁ θεός… ἐδόξασεν τὸν παῖδα αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦν), a phrase which itself echoes Isa 52.13 (LXX).327 An emphasis on ‘glory’ and related words is especially characteristic of 1 Peter;328 and the juxtaposition of ‘suffering’ and ‘glory’ is several times used to encapsulate Christ’s fate (1 Pet 1.11; 4.13; 5.1; cf. Rom 8.18; Heb 2.9–10).

325   E.g., 1 Chr 16.28–29; Ps 67.35[34]; Dan 3.43; Mal 2.2; 4 Macc 1.12; T.Ab. A 18.11; LAE 4.2; John 9.24; Acts 12.23; Rom 4.20; Rev 11.13; 2 Clem. 17.7. 326   Cf. Bennett 201. 327   See Elliott 378. 328   See Selwyn 253–58.

534

1 PETER

ὥστε τὴν πίστιν ὑμῶν καὶ ἐλπίδα εἶναι εἰς θεόν. θεόν. The meaning of the final phrase, and specifically the ὥστε + infinitive construction, is open to some debate. One issue is whether the ὥστε should be taken to convey the sense of purpose (cf. Matt 10.1; Luke 20.20), representing God’s ultimate intention in raising Christ from the dead (‘so that your faith… might be in God’),329 or rather as expressing accomplished result (cf. Matt 12.22; Mark 4.37), thus marking the actual outcome of Christ’s resurrection (‘with the result that your faith…are in God’).330 In classical Greek, a demarcation was usually made between an intended result, which was communicated by ὥστε + infinitive, and an actual result, which was marked by ὥστε + indicative.331 But over time, this distinction was obscured, and by the Koine period it had completely disappeared.332 In fact, the use of ὥστε with the indicative is only found on two occasions in the NT (John 3.16; Gal 2.13). For the most part, ὥστε + infinitive had become the predomi�nant construction. And when it was employed, it tended to mark result much more frequently than purpose.333 This fact should weigh heavily on how the construction is interpreted in v. 20. It is particularly important given that elsewhere the Petrine author consistently 329   So, e.g., Luther 68; Pott 57; Selwyn 147–48; Michaels 70; Bénétreau 108; Elliott 379; Skaggs 27; Osborne 167; Schreiner 91; cf. Frederick, ‘Theme of Obedience’, 38; Prasad, Foundations, 317. This interpretation is also reflected in some ancient translations: Vulgate (ut fides vestra et spes esset in Deo) and Syriac Peshitta (‫)ܕܗܝܡܢܘܬܟܘܢ ܘܣܒܪܟܘܢ ܢܗܘܐ ܥܠ ܐܠܗܐ‬. 330   So, e.g., de Wette 16; Alford 342; Cook 184; Johnstone 103; Huther 94; Hort 85; Blenkin 39; Senior 45; Jobes 119; Dubis 35; cf. Rogers, ‘Function of ὥστε’, 319. While Picirilli (129–30) understands ὥστε as denoting result, he reads vv. 20–21a as a digression and thus connects the result clause to the redemption of Christ described in vv. 18–19. 331   Kühner-Gerth, Satzlehre, 2:499–501; Goodwin, Moods and Tenses, 223–31; Smyth, Grammar, 507 (§2257–58). Even within Attic Greek, there is a noted movement toward ὥστε with the infinitive to communicate actual result (see Robertson, Grammar, 1000), and by the end of the classical period, considerable variation can be noted (see Hult, Syntactic Variation in Greek, 123–25). 332   See further MHT 1:209–210; BDF §391; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 121–22 (§350). On its absence in the papyri, see di Bartolo, ‘Purpose and Result Clauses’, 32–34. 333   There are only a handful of instances in the NT where ὥστε + infinitive denotes purpose (see Votaw, Use of the Infinitive, 10, who notes only seven occurrences).



1.17–21

535

represents purpose using ἵνα (1.7; 2.2, 12, 21, 24; 3.1, 9, 16, 18; 4.6, 11, 13; 5.6).334 So while their trust in God has come by means of Christ (διʼ αὐτοῦ), because it is God who has raised and glorified Christ, the ultimate basis and sure foundation for that trust is God. Despite the christological focus of these verses, the author is clear, as elsewhere, that God is the centre and foundation of faith (see, e.g., 1.3–5; 4.19; 5.10), a theocentrism underlined here with the emphatic placement of εἰς θεόν at the end of the sentence. The second issue concerns the relationship of πίστιν and ἐλπίδα. One possibility, which was especially popular within early German scholarship, is that ἐλπίδα should be taken as a predicate of πίστιν, such that the phrase means something like ‘so that your faith is (or, may be) hope in God’.335 In this interpretation, καί would function adverbially (‘even’), rather than joining two coordinate nouns, and the construction would indicate that faith is part of a larger subset described as hope.336 The benefit of such a rendering is that it avoids the tautology created by the phrase πιστοὺς εἰς θεόν in v. 21a, and it is believed to be supported by the placement of the personal pronoun before καί.337 The problem is that comparable construc  Cf. Hort 85; Monnier 78.   Among an earlier generation of scholars, this view was very popular (see, e.g., Schott 79; Brückner 45; Fronmüller 24; Hofmann 50; Keil 73; Burger 241; Huther 94; Beck 107; Kühl 127–28; Weiss 303; Lightfoot 107; Gunkel 262; Knopf 78; Moffatt 108), though it has not gained as many adherents in more recent scholarship. Modern proponents include: Hauck 50; Schneider 56; Beare 82; Holmer–de Boor 63–64; Elliott 379; Schlosser 103; cf. Cothenet, ‘La portée salvifique’, 253; Schlosser, ‘La resurrection de Jésus’, 449. The fullest defence of this position is provided by Dalton, ‘So That Your Faith’, 262–74. 336   This is an important point of clarification, particularly given how the construction has been read in the past. For instance, Bultmann adopts the view that ἐλπίδα is a predicate. The exegetical conclusion that is drawn from this view is that ‘confident waiting for the divine future is part of faith’ (TDNT 2:531 n. 105). In point of fact, the exact opposite relationship would be implied if ἐλπίδα were a predicate (or more specifically, an object complement). If this were the case, as Wallace notes, ‘faith would be part of hope rather than vice versa, since the object functions semantically like a typical subject in an equative clause, viz., to describe an entity that belongs to the larger category described by the predicate’ (Granville Sharp’s Canon, 206 n. 79). 337   Based on comparative evidence, Huther (94) argues that if the pronoun modified both nouns, the structure that would have been expected is either τὴν ὑμῶν πίστιν καὶ ἐλπίδα (cf. Rom 1.20; Phil 1.25; 1 Thess 2.12) or τὴν πίστιν καὶ ἐλπίδα ὑμῶν (Phil 1.20; 1 Thess 3.7). But this objection has no basis given 334 335

536

1 PETER

tions provide no indication that ἐλπίδα should be understood as a predicate.338 Alternatively, πίστιν and ἐλπίδα could be taken as two substantives, governed by a single article and connected by a conjunctive καί. This has become the majority view among commentators,339 and it appears to be the most likely solution. The formula represents an impersonal TSKS (aka Granville Sharp) construction, which means that the substantives are viewed in a close relationship. While some have understood the terms to be virtually synonymous,340 πίστις and ἐλπίς are not identical and should not be equated.341 It is more likely, given how impersonal nouns are regularly combined in this construction,342 that the author wishes to present ἐλπίς as a part of πίστις. In other words, aside from its basic sense of trust and devotion, πίστις also involves a confident expectation about the future. that the same structure is found throughout the NT, with the pronoun modifying both substantives (see Matt 24.36; Mark 16.14; Acts 1.25; Eph 3.5; 2 Thess 1.4; 2 Pet 1.1, 11; 3.18; Rev 1.9; 13.2). 338   Grudem rules out the predicate function of ἐλπίδα based on statistics, claiming that ‘a search of all 656 NT instances of adverbial kai [listed in the GRAMCORD database]…yielded no other examples of the sequence kai with predicate nominative with eimi or ginomai’ (86 n. 2). However, rather than beginning with a preconceived function and seeking to determine the structure by which it is communicated, it is better to start with a given structure and examine how it normally functions. In this case, there are no other instances in the NT where multiple substantives, connected by καί, could (potentially) function as the accusative subject of εἶναι. Nevertheless, parallel constructions do exist. There are some passages where impersonal substantives are connected in a TSKS construction but which could also (potentially) be construed as an object–complement construction (see Mark 16.14; Eph 3.12; Titus 2.13; 2 Pet 1.10; Rev 5.12; cf. 1 Clem. 40.2; 59.2; Herm. Vis. 2.2.2; 5.5–6; Herm. Sim. 8.6.2; 9.26.1). While the anarthrous substantive in each case could (technically) be understood as a complement, there is nothing to indicate that they should be taken this way. In fact, in many cases, such an interpretation would be nonsensical or even impossible. The same applies in 1 Pet 1.21. 339   See, e.g., Mason 397; Hort, 85–86; von Soden 140; Masterman 88; Monnier 78; Wand 58; Selwyn, 147; Kelly 78; Grudem 86; Goppelt 121 n. 79; Achtemeier 133; Senior 45; Dubis 35; Osborne 163–64. 340   See Forbes 45: ‘the single art[icle] is governing both nouns in a coordinate sense, making them almost synonymous’. Cf. also Davids 75 n. 15; Achtemeier 133; Schreiner 91. 341   Cf. Best 92; Waltner 62. 342   For more on the semantics of impersonal substantives in a TSKS construc�tion, see Wallace, Granville Sharp’s Canon, 187–210 (with a discussion of 1 Pet 1.21 at pp. 205–208).



1.22–25

537

A Call to Love based on Rebirth from Divine Seed (1.22–25) Initial Bibliography Christian Blendinger, ‘Kirche als Fremdlingschaft (1. Petrus 1,22–25)’, Communio Viatorum 10 (1967): 123–34; Elena Bosetti, ‘La Parola della rigenerazione nella Prima lettera di Pietro’, in “Generati da una parola di verità” (Gc 1,18): Scritti in onore di Rinaldo Fabris nel suo LXX compleanno, ed. Santi Grasso and Ermenegildo Manicardi, RivBSup 47 (Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniane, 2006), 313–24; Martin Evang, ‘Ἐκ καρδίας ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε ἐκτενῶς. Zum Verständnis der Aufferorderung und ihrer Begründungen in 1 Petr 1,22f’, ZNW 80 (1989): 111–23; Eugene A. LaVerdière, ‘A Grammatical Ambiguity in 1 Pet 1:23’, CBQ 36 (1974): 89–94; Matthew R. Malcolm, ‘Governing Imagery and the Translation of the Words philadelphia and anachusis in 1 Peter 1.22 and 4.4’, BT 70 (2019): 9–15; Katherine A. Marcar, Divine Regeneration and Ethnic Identity in 1 Peter: Mapping Metaphors of Family, Race, and Nation, SNTSMS 180 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2022); Troy W. Martin, ‘Translating λόγος as DNA in First Peter 1:22–25’, in Listening Again to the Text: New Testament Studies in Honor of George Lyons, ed. Richard P. Thompson (Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2020), 133–49; Samuel Parsons, ‘We Have Been Born Anew: The New Birth of the Christian in the First Epistle of St. Peter (I Peter 1:3, 23)’ (Ph.D. diss., St. Thomas Aquinas Pontifical University, 1978); Jacob Prasad, Foundations of the Christian Way of Life according to 1 Peter 1, 13-25: An Exegetico-Theological Study, AB 146 (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2000); Armand Puig i Tàrrech, ‘Une semence, une fraternité: lecture de 1P 1,22–2,3’, in La parola edifica la comunità: Liber amicorum offerto al padre Jacques Dupont in occasione del suo 80° compleanno e del 60° anniversario di professione monastica, ed. Enzo Bianchi (Magnano: Comunità di Bose, 1996), 173–95; Martin H. Scharlemann, ‘Why the Kuriou in 1 Peter 1:25?’, CTM 30 (1959): 352–56; Jacques Schlosser, ‘La “philadelphie” selon Pierre et Paul’, in Bible et paix: Mélanges offerts à Claude Coulot, ed. Eberhard Bons, Daniel Gerber, and Pierre Keith, LD 233 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2010), 251–66

Text 22

Τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν ἡγνικότες(a) ἐν τῇ ὑπακοῇ τῆς ἀληθείας(b) εἰς φιλαδελφίαν ἀνυπόκριτον ἐκ καθαρᾶς(c) καρδίας ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε ἐκτενῶς 23 ἀναγεγεννημένοι οὐκ ἐκ σπορᾶς φθαρτῆς ἀλλὰ ἀφθάρτου διὰ λόγου ζῶντος θεοῦ(d) καὶ μένοντος(e). 24 διότι πᾶσα σὰρξ ὡς(f) χόρτος καὶ πᾶσα δόξα αὐτῆς(g) ὡς ἄνθος χόρτου· χόρτου· ἐξηράνθη ὁ χόρτος καὶ τὸ ἄνθος(h)

538

1 PETER

ἐξέπεσεν· 25 τὸ δὲ ῥῆμα κυρίου(i) μένει εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα. ἐξέπεσεν· αἰῶνα. τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν τὸ ῥῆμα τὸ εὐαγγελισθὲν εἰς ὑμᾶς. ὑμᾶς.

(a) P72 provides the marginal heading περὶ ἁγνία alongside the ἡγνικότες of v. 22. (b) A considerable number of Greek MSS add διὰ πνεύματος after ἀληθείας, and this is the established reading of the Byzantine tradition (and found in the texts of Elzevir and Lachmann, although the latter includes it with suspicion). But the earliest and best witnesses agree on the text above (P72, ‫א‬, A, B, C, 33, 1739, etc.) as does the Vulgate (though here caritatis is read instead of ἀληθείας). The addition is easier to explain, as a subsequent ‘theological expansion’ (Metzger, TCGNT, 617), than an omission. It is possible that it represents an effort to introduce a trinitarian dimension to the text (in connection with the role of the Father and Son described in vv. 13–21, see Prasad, Foundations, 324), but it is probably more likely an attempt to temper the human role in the process of conversion (cf. Achtemeier 135 n. 1; Elliott 384; Green 47 n. 38; Schreiner 96 n. 181). (c) The adjective καθαρᾶς is omitted in A, B and the Vulgate. This shorter reading is reflected in the texts of Lachmann and Tischendorf, and is offered as an alternative reading in ECM. In support, proponents suggest that καθαρᾶς is perhaps an interpolation that has been influenced by similar language in 1 Tim 1.5 and 2 Tim 2.22 (see Hort 90; Kühl 128–29 n. 3; Spicq 74; Kelly 80; Michaels 72 n. b; Achtemeier 135 n. 2; cf. Wachtel, Der Byzantinische Text, 244–45; Evang, ‘Zum Verständnis der Aurrorderung’, 123 n. 25). But καθαρᾶς, which is attested in P72 and ‫( *א‬though ‫א‬2 changes this to καρδίας ἀληθινῆς) and is also supported by C-S (see Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 261), may be affirmed with reasonable confidence here (cf. Beare, ‘Text of 1 Peter’, 256; Grudem 89; Davids 77 n. 6; Donelson 50 n. c; Schlosser 107 n. a). The most likely explanation for its absence in these sources is homoioarcton, with the scribe’s eyes likely skipping over καθαρᾶς due to the presence of two consecutive words beginning with κα(cf. Hofmann 52; Elliott 387; Prasad, Foundations, 324–25). (d) Some MSS (including Ψ) give θεοῦ ζῶντος but this goes against the unanimous witness of the earliest texts. ζῶντος λόγου θεοῦ appears in the citation in Didymus of Alexandria, while 2818 omits θεοῦ. These variants reflect the grammatical ambiguity in the phrase (on which see the Exegesis at 1.23). (e) After μένοντος many later Greek minuscules add εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα, which became the established Byzantine reading and came to be included in the TR. However, given its absence from the earliest MSS, and the evidence for its omission across a range of text-types and traditions (Latin Vulgate, Coptic Sahidic and Bohairic, Syriac Harklensian, and Ethiopic) it is not to be accepted here but rather regarded as either a liturgically influenced expansion, or perhaps ‘an intrusion from ver. 25’ (Metzger, TCGNT, 618).



1.22–25

539

(f) In place of ὡς (as in P72, B, C, etc., and the Byzantine MSS), ‫ *א‬has ὡσεί, though ‫א‬2 deletes this, thus agreeing in omission with A, Ψ, 33, 1739, etc., plus some Latin, Syriac, and Georgian MSS. The omission of ὡς, which is found in the text of Lachmann, might perhaps reflect the influence of the LXX text of Isa 40.6 (πᾶσα σὰρξ χόρτος κτλ.). (g) There is some variation in respect of αὐτῆς (P72, ‫א‬2, A, B, C, 33, 1739, etc.) with some witnesses (‫ *א‬and 629) reading αὐτοῦ, others (Ψ, 69, 104, et al.) reading ἀνθρώπου (which became the established Byzantine reading and the TR), and a later Latin tradition (T) even supporting the reading σαρκός (carnis). P125 apparently contained none of these, reading simply δόξα ὡς. Again, ἀνθρώπου assimilates the quotation to the LXX which perhaps also influences the choice of αὐτοῦ. An interesting proposal is offered by Jobes, who, following a suggestion from Robert Kraft, suggests that ἀνθρώπου may have been the original reading. More specifically, she proposes that ‘the scribal abbreviation of ἀνθρώπου, ΑΝΟΥ, was corrupted to ΑΥΤΟΥ (αὐτοῦ), which was then changed to ΑΥΤΗΣ (αὐτῆς) to achieve grammatical agreement with σάρξ’ (‘Septuagint Textual Tradition’, 318; cf. Marcar, ‘Quotations of Isaiah’, 6 n. 40; 8). One difficulty with this suggestion is that even though ἀνθρώπου has widespread attestation, it does not appear in the textual record until very late. This fact raises the question of how αὐτῆς—which, in this view, represents an interpretative correction once removed from the original—becomes the nearly unanimous testimony of our earliest witnesses. If ἀνθρώπου were the initial reading, why is there not more variation in the textual record? Did every early copyist make this same mistake? Moreover, this proposal also assumes that ἀνθρώπου would have been written (i.e., abbreviated) in a similar way to nomina sacra in the late first century. While the date and origin of such abbreviations in Christian writings is controversial (see Hurtado, ‘Origin of the Nomina Sacra’, 655–73), most recognise that the first terms to receive this treatment were Ἰησοῦς, Χριστός, Κύριος, and Θεός. Other words (including ἄνθρωπος) followed somewhat later. Based on these considerations, Jobes’ theory is difficult to sustain. Consequently, the reading αὐτῆς is to be preferred. (h) Many texts (including C and 1739) add αὐτοῦ after τὸ ἄνθος, which became the established Byzantine reading, though P72, ‫א‬, A, B, Ψ, 33, many other Greek MSS, plus the Latin Vulgate, Syriac Peshitta and Harklensis, and Armenian MSS traditions, omit it. (i) A few witnesses (254, 1524, syp, Did) read τοῦ θεοῦ in place of κυρίου. While this has no claim to be taken seriously as the initial reading, it is interesting insofar as it shows assimilation to the text of the LXX, from which our author has strikingly deviated here—assuming he knew this and not some other version of the LXX text.

540

1 PETER

Exegesis 22 Τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν ἡγνικότες ἐν τῇ ὑπακοῇ τῆς ἀληθείας εἰς φιλαδελφίαν ἀνυπόκριτον The author now returns, somewhat abruptly,343 to exhortation. But the nature of these instructions is a matter of dispute. Most generally agree that the verb ἁγνίζω conveys a sense of the ‘purified’ status that marks the readers (cf. 1 Pet 1.2; 3.2). In the Jewish scriptures, requirements for purification related to the cultic or ritual purity that was necessary for access into God’s presence, particularly for priests and Levites (e.g., Num 8.21; 2 Chr 29.5, 34), but also for the people as a whole, especially at particular times and seasons (e.g., Exod 19.10; cf. John 11.55; Acts 21.24, 26; 24.18). The verb is also used to refer to the consecrating of oneself to God, such as in a vow (Num 6.2–8; cf. on 1.15–16) and for other kinds of purity or cleansing (e.g., Num 19.11–13; 31.21–24). Here, given the link with obedience, commentators regularly discern a moral connotation, describing a purification from moral defilement (cf. Jas 4.8; 1 John 3.3).344 But the different facets of the term—as with the ἅγιος terminology in 1.15–16—are perhaps not so easily distinguished, especially given the various echoes of the Exodus story in 1 Peter, where the consecration of the people to their God at the iconic encounter at Mt. Sinai is stressed (Exod 19.1–17).345 A number of earlier commentators understood the participle ἡγνικότες as expressing attendant circumstance and thus sharing the imperatival force of the main verb. As such, it was thought to   Since the verse does not contain a connective particle by which to provide an explicit indication of how it relates to what precedes (cf. 1 Pet 2.13), some earlier interpreters attempted to connect this verse to the preceding in creative ways. In one instance, Ewald (9, 26–27), who translated ἀναστράφητε as though it were a participle (ἀναστρεφόμενοι) in v. 17, understood vv. 18–21 as parenthetic. As such, v. 22 serves as the apodosis of the protasis of v. 17: ‘if you call the one who judges impartially father…then love one another’ (cf. Gerhard 133; Ritschl, Der biblische Stoff der Lehre, 363). In another case, Hottinger (108) treats all of vv. 14–21 as a parenthesis. Slightly different readings are provided by those who suggest an alternative division between the end of v. 21 and the beginning of v. 22. For instance, Oecumenius (PG 119:528) connects τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν ἡγνικότες with the previous verse. 344   E.g., Achtemeier 136; Elliott 383. 345   Cf. Beare 109. Because the perfect tense is used, Richard (69–70) under�stands it as ceremonial or cultic holiness. 343



1.22–25

541

represent an implicit directive that must be undertaken if the readers are to accomplish the second and primary command (ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε).346 When the participle is interpreted this way, such cleansing is not a one-time event that happens at conversion; it is, instead, the duty of believers to be performed throughout the entirety of their Christian lives.347 The alternative is to interpret the participle in reference to a past event;348 more specifically, the purification of the readers that would have been accomplished at conversion (or baptism).349 Accordingly, what remains is for Christians to focus on the primary command: loving one another. The interpretive basis for both views derives (in large part) from the perfect tense of ἡγνικότες. Those who judge purification to be a past event often do so because they understand the tense form to reflect a present condition resulting from a previous action; in other words, the readers were purified at conversion and the effects continue into the present. On the other hand, those who read this language as the sanctification process emphasise the continuing force of the perfect tense. Nevertheless, given the current debates surrounding the aspectual force of the perfect tense, and especially 346   See, e.g., Calov 1475; Hensler 68; Steiger 1:260–61; de Wette 16; Schott 81; Hofmann 52; Alford 342–43; Keil 75; Huther 95; Fronmüller 27; Kühl 129; Hart 52; cf. also Frattallone, Fonamenti dell’agire morale, 196; Porter, Verbal Aspect, 400. This imperative force of ἡγνικότες is made explicit in the Luther Bible: ‘machet keusch eure Seelen… und habt euch untereinander inbrünstig lieb’ (cf. also Pott 57, who reads the participle as though it were ἁγνίζετε). 347   A similar view is adopted by Grudem (87–88), although on a different basis. Based on a somewhat narrow conception of obedience and purification, he understands ἡγνικότες as the sanctifying process that takes place in the lives of believers following their conversion (see also Powers 74). For a refutation of Grudem’s view, see Schreiner 95–96. 348   See W. Kelly 101: ‘It is not a wish or a prayer that they should be purified, but rather is assumed as a settled fact, as surely as they were faithful’. Cf. also von Soden 140; Kelcy 38. 349   Cf. Prasad, Foundations, 341: ‘It is quite clear that what is intended here by the perfect participle ἡγνικότες is a past event whose effect continues, i.e., the point of conversion; in this point of conversion baptism definitely had the pride of place in the early Church’. Others have similarly connected this cleansing to baptism (see, e.g., Benson 195; Hart 52; Blenkin 39; Wand 59; Spicq 72–73; Knoch 55; Richard 69–70; Keating 46; cf. Blendinger, ‘Kirche als Fremdlingschaft’, 130; Sosa, ‘1ra Carta de Pedro Santidad’, 200–201). Some, however, have been more cautious about identifying such purification with baptism (e.g., Witherington 109 n. 132; Schreiner 95 n. 176).

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since the traditional understanding has been strongly challenged,350 it may be best to look for other clues to decide. Ultimately, a slightly stronger case can be made for the view that τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν ἡγνικότες is a reference to conversion.351 First, to claim that personal purification is a prerequisite for loving other members of the Christian community—as assumed by an attendant circumstance function—is a somewhat strained notion. It is much more common for perfect participles to express the cause or basis of the main verb,352 an idea that would make sense in this context.353 Second, and perhaps more importantly, is the means (ἐν) by which the recipients experience purification.354 It is said to be achieved by 350   Traditionally, grammarians have taken the perfect tense to indicate a present condition resulting from a previous action (see, e.g., BDF §340; Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 290–305; Wallace, Grammar, 572–82). But more recently, it has been argued that the perfect communicates either a stative idea, which represents the condition of the subject of the verb (see McKay, New Syntax of the Verb, 27–34; Porter, Verbal Aspect, 245–90), or imperfect aspect, representing an intensified or heightened spatial proximity beyond the present tense (Campbell, Indicative Mood, 161–211). 351   The choice of the word ψυχάς as the object of ἡγνικότες (cf. Jer 6.16: εὑρήσετε ἁγνισμὸν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν) may be somewhat more significant than simply a way of referring to the readers’ (whole) selves, as most commentators understand it. As discussed elsewhere (see Exegesis at 1.9), it may be better to understand ψυχή as a reference to the central part of a human being that transcends mortal life (cf. Grudem 88; Feldmeier 90; see also Frattallone, Anthropologia naturale e soprannaturale, 30–35). 352   See Wallace, Grammar, 631. As a result, many have read ἡγνικότες as a causal participle in the present verse (e.g., Demarest 91; Dubis 36; Schreiner 94). An alternative is proposed by Achtemeier (136), who assigns it a temporal force (‘now that you have sanctified your lives’), claiming that the ground on which the love command is based is the new birth described in the participle ἀναγεγεννημένοι. Yet, as Forbes notes, ‘that merely begs the question as to why both [participles] cannot have this force’ (49). 353   It is also noteworthy that perfect tense participles are rarely employed with an attendant circumstance function (cf. Johnstone 104–105; Hort 87). This task is more commonly performed by aorist participles (see Wallace, Grammar, 642). Beare (109; cf. also Giesen, ‘Gemeinde als Leibesgemeinschaft’, 139) argues that the perfect tense of ἡγνικότες rules out the possibility that it could be used as an independent imperatival participle, like that in 1 Pet 1.14. But while the imperatival participles uncovered to this point are all in the present or aorist tenses, perfect participles can function independently (see P.Tebt. I 14). 354   According to Forbes (49), the active voice of the participle (ἡγνικότες) somewhat undermines the notion that the purification in question takes place at conversion. Had this been the case, he contends, the passive would have been a



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ὑπακοὴ τῆς ἀληθείας.355 The significance of obedience as a key designation of both Christian conversion and ongoing living has already been highlighted and linked with the call to holiness (see Exegesis at 1.2, 14). Here it is specifically described as ‘obedience to the truth’ (cf. Gal 5.7), an objective genitive, in the sense that it is obedience directed towards the truth (cf. 2 Cor 10.5; 1 Pet 1.2), rather than obedience that flows from that quality.356 It was, thus, the readers’ obedience that facilitated the purification of their souls. This is the only occasion on which the author uses the noun ἀλήθεια. As it does elsewhere,357 the articular form most likely more natural option. But this objection is not borne out by the evidence. Although the act of purification is sometimes described by a passive verb (most commonly in 1–2 Chronicles), the only place that God’s involvement is directly noted is in Jer 12.3, where it represents a metaphorical use (viz. God preparing an animal for slaughter). Otherwise, humans undertake the act of consecration by themselves, as denoted by the middle voice (Num 8.21; 11.18; Jos 3.5; 1 Sam 21.6; Isa 66.17; cf. instances where an active verb is employed with a reflexive pronoun: John 11.55; 1 John 3.3). In fact, in one instance, God specifically directs human agents to perform the task (Josephus, Ant. 1.341). Thus, the present verse is merely another instance where self-purification is described (cf. Sib. Or. 3.591–593; Jas 4.8). 355   Most commentators have understood the preposition ἐν as denoting means (e.g., Masterman 89; Monnier 80; Dubis 37), although a few have taken it as describing the state or sphere in which the purification takes place (so, e.g., Huther 96; Selwyn 149; Wagner-Vouga 58). Others leave open the possibility of either interpretation (see Plumptre 104; Hiebert 111–12). 356   Cf. Jachmann 135; Alford 343; Cook 184; Burger 241; Johnstone 105; Huther 96; Selwyn 149; Windisch 57; Kelly 78; Beare 83–84; Achtemeier 136–37; Schreiner 95. Elsewhere in the NT, it is common for ὑπακοή to take a subjective genitive modifier (see Rom 5.19; 15.18; 16.19; 2 Cor 7.15; 10.6; Phlm 21—although these all contain personal referents). Consequently, it is possible to understand ἀληθείας as a subjective genitive (or, more accurately, a genitive of production), indicating that truth produces (or demands) obedience (as argued, e.g., by Hort 88–89; Masterman 89). According to this interpretation, ‘[t]ruth has a claim, not only to be accepted intellectually, as truth, but to alter moral conduct in accordance’ (Mason 397). The problem is that this tends to emphasise ἀλήθεια more than ὑπακοή, despite the fact that the phrase describes the (active) means by which the readers’ cleansed themselves from moral defilement. Alternatively, ἀληθείας has been read as an attributive genitive, ‘true obedience’ (Schwank 29). But this is ruled out by the fact that ἀληθείας has a more specific referent than simply ‘truth’ (viz. the gospel). 357   The identification of ἡ ἀλήθεια with the gospel is explicit in a few instances (Eph 1.13; Col 1.5), In a number of other places the designation is connected with ideas about salvation, belief, or regeneration (Gal 5.7; 2 Thess 2.10, 12–13; 1 Tim 2.4; 3.15; 4.3; 6.5; 2 Tim 2.15, 18, 25; 3.7–8; 4.4; Titus 1.1, 14; Heb 10.26; Jas

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represents the gospel. This becomes clearer as the passage continues, with the focus becoming the readers’ new birth experience that resulted from the proclamation of the good news (vv. 23–25). The orientation of the whole passage, then, seems to focus on the audience’s initial entrance into the Christian community (note: ἡγνικότες stands in parallel with ἀναγεγεννημένοι); hence, the purification must have taken place at conversion. By first stating what has taken place in the lives of the readers, the indicative and imperative are closely linked, the first providing motivational grounds for the second. The goal or purpose (εἰς)358 of these purified lives is φιλαδελφίαν ἀνυπόκριτον.359 Among members of the community, the love that is to characterise relationships is φιλαδελφία. This term appears in the late-classical and early Koine periods (see Alexis, Frag. 334 [Kock]) and is only used sporadically in non-Jewish and Christian sources, although it is given considerable attention in the treatise by Plutarch, Frat. amor. (Mor. 478A–492D). It refers specifically to love among siblings (‘brotherly and sisterly love’),360 a family-like bond that was widely valued as a moral virtue.361 In early Chris1.18; 5.19; 2 Pet 1.12; 2.2), which may also indicate a similar referent. Compare ὑπήκουσαν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ (Rom 10.16) with τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μὴ πείθεσθαι (Gal 5.7). 358   Cf. Dubis 37; Forbes 49. There are some who understand εἰς as denoting result (‘so that you have sincere love for the brothers and sisters’, cf. NRSV, NIV, GNT, CEV, NEB), indicating that the readers have in fact shown genuine love toward fellow Christians (e.g., Grudem 89; Davids 76). While it is possible that such love has been displayed, it is more likely that the preposition was meant to indicate intentionality more than any actual outcome. 359   The prepositional phrase εἰς φιλαδελφίαν ἀνυπόκριτον has occasionally been read in connection with the imperative that follows (ἀγαπήσατε), rather than the participial phrase. When understood in this way, it is either viewed as equivalent to διά, thus marking agency (Oecumenius [PG 119:528]), or as a clear indication that the love in question is brotherly love (Gerhard 135). According to Gerhard, some contemporary interpreters also took the phrase as equivalent to ἐν φιλαδελφίᾳ, demarcating the terminus of love: love one another with a brotherlytype love. 360   An interesting illustration of this type of love is found in an ex voto under�taken on behalf of the emperors Caracalla and Geta (ca. 209–211 CE). This inscription, which was dedicated in Cilicia, extols the φιλαδελφία of the Caesars (IGRR III 860); yet the term was later erased following the murder of Geta, who was declared a public enemy. 361   See, e.g., Eratosthenes, Catasterismi 1.10; Arius Didymus, Liber de philosophorum sectis, p. 90,1 (Mullach); Memnon, Frag. 2 (Müller); Appian, Bell. civ.



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tian literature this extends to those who are related to one another through their new identity (Rom 12.10; 1 Thess 4.9; Heb 13.1; 2 Pet 1.7bis; cf. 1 Clem. 47.5; 48.1). Although the author of 1 Peter does not refer to Christians as ἀδελφοί, except when referring to Silvanus (5.12), he does initiate a substantive use of ἀδελφότης to denote the Christian groups as a collective unit (2.17; 5.9), indicating, as here, his sense that they are a community of siblings (cf. also 3.8).362 And as 2.17 makes clear, his focus is upon a (familial) love focused inward upon the community, as was characteristic of early Christianity and other close-knit sectarian groups such as that at Qumran.363 Here there is no hint that this quality is specifically exhorted in order to overcome divisions in the community; rather it is part of the mutual support that sustains the group in a hostile social context.364 This love is to be ἀνυπόκριτος, a rare word outside the NT (cf. Wis 5.18), which should be taken here in the sense of ‘authentic’, ‘sincere’, or ‘genuine’, without any (mere) acting or pretence.365 It represents the only place in the classical or Koine periods—aside from 1 Clem. 47.5 (περιβόητος φιλαδελφία, ‘renowned love for others’)— where φιλαδελφία is modified by an adjective, used to describe the type of sibling-love in question.

5.6.54; Lucian, Dial. d. 25.1. On the meaning of the term, see further TDNT 1:144–46; cf. also Sedlaczek, ‘φιλαδελφία nach den Schriften’, 272–95; Klauck, ‘Brotherly Love’, 144–56; Kloppenborg, ‘Φιλαδελφία, Θεοδίδακτος and the Dioscuri’, 265–89; Schlosser, ‘La “philadelphie” ’, 251–66. 362   To emphasise this familial bond, Malcolm (‘Governing Imagery’, 10–12) proposes that φιλαδελφία be rendered ‘love of the brothers and sisters’ (cf. NASB, NCV) rather than in ways that omit this filial sense (e.g., ‘love for other believers’ [NIV, GNT, CEB]; ‘mutual love’ [NRSV, NAB, NET]). 363   See Rom 12.10; 1 Thess 4.9; Heb 13.1; 2 Pet 1.7; 1 John 3.11, 14; 1QS 1.9–11. Cf. also Lucian, Peregr. 13: ‘it was impressed on them by their original lawgiver that they are all brothers (ὡς ἀδελφοί), from the moment that they are converted’ (trans. Fowler). 364   Cf. Knoch 55. It is probably best not to translate φιλαδελφία as ‘brotherly love’, describing the type of one’s affections, but ‘love of brother/sister’ (or, ‘brother/sister-love’), indicating the object of one’s affections. In other (somewhat archaic) words, φιλαδελφία does not mean ‘ “love men as though they were your brothers,” but “love men because they are your brothers” ’ (Masterman 89; cf. Hunter 104). 365   See TLNT 3:406–13, esp. 412–13; also BDAG 91.

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ἐκ καθαρᾶς καρδίας ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε ἐκτενῶς The second half of the verse presents a direct instruction with the imperative ‘love one another’ (ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε). This command ‘was from the beginning a conspicuous part of Christian ethical instruction’,366 often expressed using very similar phrasing (e.g., John 13.34–35; 15.12, 17; Rom 12.10; 13.8; Gal 5.13; 1 Thess 3.12; 1 John 3.11). In 1 Thess 4.9, Paul equates φιλαδελφία with ἀλλήλους ἀγαπᾶν, and a similar connection seems to be drawn by the Petrine author in this instance: purification makes φιλαδελφία possible, and on this basis, the readers are thus exhorted ἀλλήλους ἀγαπήσατε. Just as φιλαδελφία is further explained with an adjectival modi­ fier, so too in this case the readers are specifically urged to love one another ἐκ καθαρᾶς καρδίας and ἐκτενῶς. The first phrase is placed for emphasis at the opening of the clause,367 and essentially reiterates the point conveyed by ἡγνικότες and ἀνυπόκριτος—that the love directed towards community members should be genuine and pure in character. Elsewhere, the phrase ἐκ (τῆς) καρδίας (‘from the heart’) marks the source from which an emotion arises,368 indicating that it is deep-seated and not merely superficial (cf. Job 8.10; Matt 15.18; Mark 7.21; Rom 6.17; Herm. Sim. 9.26.5bis).369 When an adjectival modifier is added, as it is here (on the inclusion of καθαρᾶς see Text at 1.22 n. c), an extra layer of accountability is added.370 Loving ἐκ 366   Michaels 176. The widespread use of this command makes it difficult to locate an echo of Lev 19.18 in this verse, as suggested by some interpreters (e.g., Carrington, Catechism, 18; Selwyn 371; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 57; Lockett, ‘Use of Leviticus 19’, 464–66). 367   Cf. Dubis 37. 368   By contrast, the phrase ἐξ ὅλης (τῆς) καρδίας marked the extent of one’s action or devotion. Its frequent use in Deuteronomy (e.g., 4.29; 6.5; 10.12; etc.) served to popularize the phrase in Jewish and Christian literature (2 Chr 15.12; Jer 3.10; 24.7; Joel 2.12; Zeph 3.14; 4 Macc 7.18; 13.13; Wis 8.21; T.Levi 13.1; 2 Clem. 3.4; 17.1, 7; 19.1; Herm. Vis. 1.3.2; 3.12.3; 3.13.4; 4.2.5; Herm. Mand. 6.1.5; 12.5.2; 12.6.1; Herm. Sim. 7.4bis; 8.6.2; 8.11.3; 9.14.6; 9.33.3). 369   The same idea is often communicated by ἀπὸ (τῆς) καρδίας (cf. Judg 16.17; Isa 59.13; Sir 50.27). However, such a metaphorical sense is only occasionally attested among secular authors (see Aristophanes, Nub. 86; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 2.5.2; cf. Euripides, Iph. aul. 475; Plutarch, Adul. amic. 22 [Mor. 63A], which use ἀπό). 370   Other Christian texts employ similar language: ἐκ καθαρᾶς καρδίας, ‘from a pure heart’ (1 Tim 1.5; 2 Tim 2.22; Acts Paul 44.25); ἐξ εἰλικρινοῦς καρδίας,



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καθαρᾶς καρδίας does not simply mean that Christians are to love members of the community from the depths of their hearts. Rather, this deep-seated love is to flow from a heart that has been cleansed from impurity, and is thus free from pretence. The second modifier is the adverb ἐκτενῶς, whose adjectival cognate (ἐκτενής) is used in 1 Pet 4.8, also in relation to the love Christians display toward one another. Its meaning may be understood either as expressing intensity (so many translations: ‘fervently’ [Geneva, Tyndale], ‘earnestly’ [RSV, ESV], ‘deeply’ [NIV, NRSV])371 or consistency over time (‘constantly’, ‘unremittingly’).372 At times, these ideas tend to merge, and it can be difficult to distinguish the two based on limited contextual clues.373 For instance, ἐκτενῶς is frequently employed in inscriptions that record the praiseworthy manner in which an individual carried out services toward a civic community (e.g., I.Eph. 637; IAph2007 11.508).374 Both the intensity and duration of such contributions are often equally appreciated. Elsewhere in the LXX and NT, ἐκτενῶς has the sense of intensity, usually describing prayer or appeal (Joel 1.14; Jonah 3.8; Jdt 4.12; 3 Macc 5.9; Acts 12.5; cf. Luke 22.44; 1 Clem. 34.7), but here there is also some focus on something that is committed and ongoing, sustained until the end (cf. 1.13, 15, 17). Some argue for an emphasis on persistence based on the claim that the intensity of love is already denoted by the prepositional modifier,375 but this is not entirely convincing since ἐκ καθαρᾶς καρδίας marks the source from which the love arises rather than the fervency of commitment it displays. A stronger basis for this view is found in the wider context. In the second justification for why the readers should love one another (vv. 23–25), stress is laid ‘from a sincere heart’ (2 Clem. 9.8). Cf. also ἐξ ἀγαθῆς καρδίας, ‘from a glad heart’ (Pss. Sol. 3.2). 371   So, e.g., Doddridge 192; Demarest 92; Plumptre 104; Bennett 203; Bigg 123; Schelkle 52; Picirilli 132; Goppelt 125. 372   So, e.g., Macknight 445; Schott 84; Lumby 57; Hort 90–91; Cranfield 57; Brox 85; Achtemeier 137; Richard 71; Elliott 387; Feldmeier 123; Dubis 37. 373   As a result, it was common among earlier commentators to combine these two meanings into one so that both ideas are represented (i.e., an ongoing, intense love): Huther 97; Keil 75; Kühl 130; Weiss 303–304; Fronmüller 27–28; von Soden 140; Knopf 79. 374   For more examples, see the fuller discussion in TLNT 1:457–61. 375   See, e.g., Richard 71; cf. Prasad, Foundations, 350.

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on the permanence and durability of the divine means by which the readers experienced re-birth: persistent love is in accordance with the divine permanence that generated their new life.376 Nonetheless, both intensity and duration may be implied here, and it is perhaps unwise to decide for one or the other. 23 ἀναγεγεννημένοι οὐκ ἐκ σπορᾶς φθαρτῆς ἀλλὰ ἀφθάρτου διὰ λόγου ζῶντος θεοῦ καὶ μένοντος. μένοντος. Just as v. 22 began with a declaration as to what has already taken place in the lives of the readers, introduced with a perfect participle (ἡγνικότες), so the exhortation to love one another is followed now by another such declaration, again with a perfect participle (ἀναγεγεννημένοι). Both such participles function causally,377 and thus serve as a motivating basis for this behaviour.378 The use of ἀναγεννάω recalls 1.3, though here the basis for this new birth is spelt out in more detail, with one of the author’s characteristic ‘not this, but that’ constructions (e.g., 1.12, 14, 18–19). As Elliott notes, a reference to birth (and the ensuing images of the generative ‘seed’) is logical ‘in a context dealing with brotherly love and familial relations’.379 Again, there are some—and particularly   Cf. Evang, ‘Zum Verständnis der Aufforderung’, 117: ‘Sie begründet ἐκτενῶς insofern, als sie das mit ihm bezeichnete Moment der Beharrlichkeit als ein den Seinsstatus der Aufgeforderten qualifiierendes Wesenmerkmal betont herausstellt: Beharrlich, dauerhaft, unablässig sollen die Briefempfänger einander lieben, weil ihrem Sein vom (göttlichen) Ursprung her die Qualität der (ewigen) Dauer eignet. Für ἐκτενῶς kommt an dieser Stelle darum nur die zeitliche Bedeutung in Betracht.’ 377   The participles are generally read as causal (e.g., Best 94; Arichea–Nida 46; Grudem 90; Jobes 124; Donelson 50–51 n. d; Schreiner 97; Keener 115 n. 212; although Feldmeier [123] describes ἀναγεγεννημένοι as participle of result). As such, they mark an important contrast in the nature of re-begetting: ‘While ἡγνικότες in verse 22 describes conversion from the perspective of human activity, ἀναγεγεννημένοι describes it from the perspective of divine activity’ (Dubis 38; cf. Forbes 50, who highlights the active voice of the former in contrast to the passive voice of the latter). 378   Scholars disagree over the nature of this cause, with some claiming that v. 23 describes why it is possible for Christians to love one another (Kelly 80; Spicq 75; Achtemeier 138–39) and others arguing that v. 23 implies that the nature of regeneration entails a new lifestyle (Blenkin 40; Schelkle 53; Grudem 92). Ultimately, these views are not mutually exclusive, and the participial phrase may assume both at the same time. 379   Elliott 388. 376



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those who read 1 Peter as a baptismal homily—who connect this language to baptism.380 But this referent, as noted by Senior, seems too narrow: ‘it is likely that the author refers to the entire inaugural experience of the Christian, one rooted in God’s own act of salvation, signified in the baptismal ritual of initiation and expressed in a transformed moral life’.381 The author has already declared an expectation that the readers become like God, through an imitation of divine holiness (cf. 1.15–16). Now he explains that this moral imperative actually has an ontological basis:382 the reason why the readers are able to emulate God’s holy character is because their new birth experience was generated by the very seed of God. This reference to God’s role in procreation is noteworthy in that it offers specificity related to the process through which re-begetting occurred and thereby identifies it as a gendered act. In this instance, the rebirth of the audience is explicitly said to have occurred through the fluids (σπορά) generated by male reproductive organs. This is somewhat distinct from the Johannine literature (John 1.12–13; 3.3; 1 John 2.29; 3.9; 4.7; 5.4, 18), where the process of divine regeneration is only implicitly connected to gendered categories through its association with the fatherhood of God (John 1.14; 20.17; 1 John 2.14; 3.1; 2 John 2.4). Given the male-gendering of God’s role in this instance, it is interesting to see that later the Petrine author supplements this idea by an implicit reference to God acting toward the readers in a distinctively female manner: as a mother providing breast milk for the spiritual growth of her children (1 Pet 2.2). In describing how this re-begetting took place, the author identifies the source (ἐκ) as σπορά, a word that only occurs here in the NT (although cf. 2 Kgs 19.29; 1 Macc 10.30; T.Reu. 2.8). Despite the fact that in this instance many equate σπορά with σπέρμα (‘seed’, ‘offspring’), etymologically, there would seem to 380   E.g., Kelly 80; Beare 111; Goppelt 126; Donelson 53; cf. Giesen, ‘Gemeinde als Leibesgemeinschaft’, 136. 381   Senior 48. Others have similarly been sceptical about limiting this language to the ritual of baptism in this instance (e.g., W. Kelly 106; Picirilli 132; Achtemeier 139). 382   Cf. Barbarick, ‘Theosis in 1 Peter’, 297: ‘For 1 Peter…theosis is both moral and ontological. The community will embody the holiness of God (moral transformation), but they do so only because they have been born anew from the imperishable seed of the word of God (ontological transformation)’.

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be a distinction. The former usually describes the process of sowing or planting (see Plato, Amatores 134e; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 10.17.4; P.Mich. IX 565) while the latter, formed with a -μα suffix, denotes what was sown in this process (i.e., ‘seed’). If this distinction is maintained here,383 the author’s focus would not be on the substance of generation, but on the process by which it occurs. Nevertheless, there are some instances, due to metonymy, wherein the process of sowing (σπορά) stands for what is sown (σπέρμα).384 In such cases, σπορά denotes ‘seed’, both with reference to a plant’s unit of reproduction as well as human semen.385 What makes this latter interpretation more likely here is that it would be highly unusual to describe an act or process as ἄφθαρτος. In the past, commentators have debated whether this ‘seed’ imagery was drawn from plant reproduction or human sexuality.386 Yet the distinction is not so easy to make, given both the ancient understanding of human procreation and the imagery of flowers and grass in the following verse. In early Greek writings, it is common to find a semen–seed analogy. Accordingly, there was a widespread notion that male seed was planted in a female womb (e.g., Aeschylus, Eum. 657; Euripides, Orest. 552; cf. Aristotle, Gen. an. 763B, where he attributes this view to Anaxagoras; Plato, Tim. 91, implies this view). The most sustained defence of this view was provided by Aristotle, who argued that the semen of the male mixes with the 383   Some commentators have sought to maintain this distinction, arguing that the act of sowing—whether planting or procreation—is in view (e.g., Aretius 47; Bengel 52; Morus 119; Augusti 217; Hensler 70–71; Hottinger 108; Mason 398; Fronmüller 28; Selwyn 150–51; Michaels 76; Waltner 64). 384   The term could also denote the product of sowing, namely, a crop or offspring (see 1 Macc 10.30; I.Kibyra 97; TAM II 947; Ps.-Callisthenes 1.10, 13). 385   See, e.g., PGM I.32: ‘Come to me, O holy Orion, [you who lie] in the north, who cause [the] currents of [the] Nile to roll down and mingle with the sea, [transforming them with life] as it does man’s seed in sexual intercourse (καθώσπερ ἀνδρὸς ἐπὶ τῆς συνουσίας τὴν σπορὰν)’ (trans. Betz). Cf. Josephus, Ant. 2.306; Corp. herm. 13.2; P.Leid. W11. Due to the fact that the earliest attested use of σπορά to denote ‘seed’ is found in Philo (Leg. 3.180), Pardee suggests that ‘the source of this image is hellenistic Jewish philosophy’ (‘New Birth in 1 Peter’, 299). 386   Those who connect the seed imagery with plant reproduction include: Monnier 82; Bigg 123. Those who connect it to human sexuality include: Alford 343; Keil 75; Kühl 131; Schelkle 53; Marshall 59; Achtemeier 139; cf. Davids, ‘Immigrants in Our Own Land’, 22 n. 4.



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menses of the female, each thus contributing something different to the process (cf. Philo, Opif. 132; Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.48.1–2).387 If, therefore, all life (whether plant or human) was born from seed, it is only natural for the Petrine author to declare that the new life of believers also begins with seed.388 The readers’ existence as new-born infants (cf. 2.2) has come from seed that is not φθαρτός but ἄφθαρτος.389 While there can be some moral nuance attached to these words—as in the contrast between what is ‘corruptible’ and what is not subject to corruption (cf. 1 Cor 15.33; 2 Cor 11.3; 1 Pet 3.4)—the primary sense here is that which is, or is not, subject to decay, perishable (cf. 1 Cor 9.25; 15.53).390 The same contrast is then illustrated in the scriptural quotation that follows in vv. 24–25, with the perishable seed that comes from ephemeral flowers and grass, and the word of the Lord that endures forever.391 It is important also to consider what sense should be given to the prepositions ἐκ and διά. Many interpreters equate σπορά and λόγος,392 which leads them to claim that the prepositions share the same basic meaning: both reflect the means by which the readers’ re-begetting occurred.393 In support, proponents point to other

387   For a brief summary of the Aristotelian view, see Martin, ‘Christians as Babies’, 108; idem, ‘Tasting the Eucharistic Lord’, 520–21. The single-seed theory advocated by Aristotle was not the only perspective on human procreation in antiquity. There were some who adhered to a dual-seed theory (see Preus, ‘Galen’s Criticism’, 65–85; Boylan, ‘Galenic and Hippocratic Challenges’, 83–112; idem, ‘Galen’s Conception Theory’, 47–77). According to this view, males and females both produce semen, which is fused together to produce the fetus. It was on this basis that proponents were able to explain why children bear a physical resemblance to both father and mother. 388   As noted by Vahrenhorst 96. 389   The author is fond of these words, which are not used frequently in the NT: 5 of the 14 occurrences of these two words appear in 1 Peter (as well as here, see 1.4, 18; 3.4). 390   See further TDNT 9:93–106. 391   Elliott 389. 392   So, e.g., Macknight 446; Weiss 304; Marshall 61; Elliott 388–89; Jobes 124; Donelson 52; Forbes 50–51; Watson 40; Vahrenhorst 96. If σπορά and λόγος are the same, then it is possible to see some connection with the Stoic concept of logos spermatikos (cf. Boring 89). 393   On the equivalence between ἐκ and διά, see Johnstone 106; Monnier 82; Achtemeier 139; Dubis 38; cf. Bosetti, ‘La Parola della rigenerazione’, 319 n. 17.

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instances where these same prepositions occur together with little distinguishable difference (e.g., Rom 3.30; Gal 2.16). But unlike those instances, no convincing reasons have been offered to explain why the prepositions would share the same meaning here. Barring some otherwise unknown necessity to interpret the prepositions as such, it is best to allow them their usual distinction: ἐκ denoting source and διά denoting instrumentality. In this case, then, σπορά and λόγος represent different aspects of the regenerative process.394 It is possible that the former phrase (ἐκ σπορᾶς) alludes to the influence of the Holy Spirit,395 but it is probably better to leave the image in its specific domain (i.e., the semen of God initiating the generative process), without pressing the language further. The final phrase (διὰ λόγου ζῶντος θεοῦ καὶ μένοντος) is subject to some grammatical ambiguity (hence the textual variants, see Text 1.23 n. d). At issue is which substantive (λογοῦ or θεοῦ) the adjectival participles ζῶντος and μένοντος are intended to modify.396 Some have connected the participles with θεοῦ, ‘the word of the living and unchanging God’ (cf. Goodspeed, Knox).397 For support, they point to the fact that ‘living God’ is a common idiom in Jewish and Christian literature.398 Many read the phrase as an echo of Dan 6.27 (LXX): θεὸς μένων καὶ ζῶν.399

  Cf. Masterman 90; Wand 60; Best 94; Brox 87; Osborne 168.   As suggested by de Wette 17; Demarest 93; Caffin 12; Osborne 168. 396   While most translators and commentators attach both participles to the same substantive, the Phillips translation divides them, reading the phrase, ‘permanent Word of the living God’. 397   Among commentators, the list includes: Calvin 57; Grotius 4509; Estius 506; Hensler 71–72; Jachmann 136; Barnes 132; Hort 92; Hart 53; Blenkin 40–41; Michaels 76–77; Richard 72–73; cf. Bishop, ‘Word of a Living and Unchanging God’, 15–17. This position was especially popular among early Latin commentators (e.g., Cassiodorus [PL 70:1363–64]; Martinus [PL 209:223]; Bede 79), perhaps due to the influence of the Vulgate, which renders the text, per verbum Dei vivi et permanentis (‘through the word of God who lives and abides’). 398   See Deut 4.33; 5.26; Josh 3.10; 1 Sam 17.36; 2 Kgs 19.4, 16; Esth 6.13; 16.16[8.12q]; Ps 41.3[2]; 88.3[2]; Hos 2.1; Isa 37.4, 17; Dan 4.22; 5.23bis; 3 Macc 6.28; 1 En. 3.1; T.Job 37.2; T.Ab. A 17.11; Jos. Asen. 8.5–6; Matt 16.16; 26.63; Acts 14.15; 2 Cor 3.3; 1 Thess 1.9; 1 Tim 3.15; 4.10; Heb 3.12; 9.14; 10.31; 12.22; Rev 7.2. 399   It should also be noted that the order of this Greek expression in Daniel is taken from the text of Theodotion, which was put together in the second century CE, thus 394 395



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Ultimately, this argument does not prove to be convincing, however. Not only is λόγος also described as ‘living’ (see Heb 4.12), but there are certain structural considerations that point away from this reading.400 First, unless they are being used emphatically, attributive modifiers—in this case, the participles ζῶντος and μένοντος—normally follow the noun they modify.401 Since it is difficult to see how ζῶντος is emphatic but not μένοντος, the placement of both participles suggests a connection with λόγου not θεοῦ.402 Second, genitives usually follow the nouns they modify, unless they are being emphasised.403 Again, there is no indication that God is emphatic;404 in fact, the opposite is the case: it is λόγου that requires definition.405 Based on these considerations, most interpostdating the time of 1 Peter (as pointed out by Johnstone 107). Nevertheless, it is likely that the textual basis for Theodotion’s text dates earlier, as indicated by its use among NT authors (see, e.g., Matt 21.44; 28.3; 1 Cor 1.24; Heb 11.33; Jas 1.12; Rev 1.7, 19; 9.20; 10.4–6; 11.7, 13; 12.7–8; 13.7; 16.18; 19.6; 20.4, 11). 400   According to Martin, the unusual word-order is meant to indicate that the participles modify both substantives (Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 173 n. 127; cf. Beare 86). He attributes this structure to the rhetorical technique of hyperbaton, in which every word receives emphasis. But this position suffers from the same problems that arise when the participles are taken to modify θεοῦ, and as Prasad has noted, ‘hyperbaton occurs generally with adverbs and particles of negation, not with adjectives’ (Foundations, 338). 401   See further Winer, Grammar, 657; Porter, Idioms, 291. Further, when two or more attributive modifiers are involved, both are usually placed before or after the substantive (e.g., Matt 25.21; Luke 23.50; 1 Tim 2.2; Rev 3.14; see Winer, Grammar, 659). 402   Pace MHT 4:125, who describes this as ‘an oratorical jolt in the word order’, rendering the phrase, ‘through the Word of the living God—and the abiding’. 403   See Mayser, Grammatik, II,2 143; Robertson, Grammar, 502; BDF §168. The Petrine author clearly follows this pattern, placing the genitive modifier after the word it modifies. While there are exceptions to this practice, many cases involve good classical form with the genitive located inside the article–noun construction (1.17, 18; 3.1, 4, 20; 4.4, 13, 14, 17; 5.1, 4). Otherwise, there are only a handful of instances where the genitive is moved forward (1.3, 7; 2.16; 3.16, 21; 4.2, 5.9), and in each case, a certain emphasis can be discerned. 404   Cf. Feldmeier 124 n. 86: ‘That God is living is self-evident’. Some manuscripts (Ψ, 88, 307, 431, 453, 621, 629, 720, 915, 918, 1678) reverse the order of ζῶντος θεοῦ, presumably to make it clear that the participles modify θεοῦ. Given the date of these manuscripts, it is possible that they have been influenced by the translation of the Vulgate. 405   Brox 87.

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preters understand the participles to be attached to λόγου.406 Aside from the structural considerations, this view also finds support in the scriptural citation that follows, where it is the ῥῆμα that endures (μένει, v. 25). While λόγος is occasionally used among NT authors to refer to the Son of God (John 1.1, 14; 1 John 1.1; Rev 19.13),407 here it is probably best to understand the term as a reference to the spoken utterances of God408 (hence, θεοῦ is a subjective genitive).409

406   E.g., Benson 196–97; Pott 59–60; Kelly 80; Best 95; Hiebert 115; Bénétreau 112; Skaggs 29; Senior 48; Green 47 n. 40; Watson 40; cf. Bosetti, ‘La Parola della rigenerazione’, 319–20. For the fullest defence of this position, see LaVerdière, ‘Grammatical Ambiguity’, 89–94. 407   A few commentators have posited a similar reading of λόγος in this instance (e.g., Hort 93; Masterman 90–91; de Pury 42; Beare 112; Bony 59; Schlosser 111; cf. Bishop, ‘Word of a Living and Unchanging God’, 17; Schlosser, ‘Ancien Testament et christologie’, 71–72; Prasad, Foundations, 364–73). 408   Powers (75) claims that ‘both the spoken and the written word of God are probably included’. However, there is no indication in the immediate context or even the wider context of the letter that λόγος θεοῦ refers to a scriptural text. In fact, the author goes on to clarify that the ‘word of God’ in question is what was preached (εὐαγγελισθέν) to them (1.25). 409   In Aristotle’s discussion of animal generation, λόγος is the principle that dictates how an animal will form: ‘each thing comes into being in accordance with a certain formula (λόγῳ τινὶ ἕκαστον γίγνεται), so also from the beginning does it form the product of nature (οὕτω καὶ ἐξ ἀρχῆς συνίστησι τὸ φύσει γιγνόμενον)’ (Gen. an. 740b; trans. Platt). On this basis, Martin (‘Translating λόγος’, 1–9) argues that λόγος in 1 Pet 1.23 is the formula that shapes the fetal development of believers such that in their new lives as Christians they resemble God, their father. As such, he contends that the best rendering of the term is ‘DNA’. But as appealing as this suggestion might be, especially in connection with the reference to σπορά, it is probably not reflective of the Petrine author’s intention. In the immediate context, λόγος is best understood as the gospel. This is indicated by the fact that, structurally, it is equivalent to ἀλήθεια in v. 22a, and that the following scriptural citation focuses on the word of God that was preached to believers (vv. 24–25). Further doubt concerning Martin’s proposal may relate to Aristotelean views on the nature of embryological development. It is true that the λόγος is the defining principle that dictates the development and ultimate form of an animal, and in that way one could (technically) say that it plays an instrumental role in the process. From the perspective of Aristotle, however, one is never begotten ‘through’ (διά) the λόγος, but ‘in accordance with’ (κατά) the λόγος (see Gen. an. 716a, 718b, 728b, 756a, 762a, 773b, 775b). Therefore, we might say that in Aristotelean embryology, the λόγος dictates how the seed will form once it is sown; whereas in 1 Pet 1.23, the λόγος θεοῦ is the means by which the seed is sown.



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24 διότι πᾶσα σὰρξ ὡς χόρτος καὶ πᾶσα δόξα αὐτῆς ὡς ἄνθος χόρτου·· ἐξηράνθη ὁ χόρτος καὶ τὸ ἄνθος ἐξέπεσεν· χόρτου ἐξέπεσεν· Characteristically, having made his point, the author supports it from scripture (cf. 1.16; 2.3, 6; 4.18; 5.5), quoting Isa 40.6–8. The citation is explicitly introduced, though very concisely, with the single word διότι (cf. the longer formula with διότι in 1.16; 2.6).410 Although the particle normally functions causally, here it performs an explanatory or illustrative function.411 The quotation serves to elaborate the contrast just mentioned, between perishable seed and the imperishable seed and enduring word of God. Consistent with the author’s general tendency, the citation is drawn from the text of the LXX, as demonstrated by a few key similarities:412 (1) the MT reading of Isa 40.7b (‫ )כי רוח יהוה נשבה בו אכן חציר העם‬is absent from both the LXX and 1 Peter. Most have considered this to be a strong indication that 1 Peter is drawing from the LXX; yet the fact   See further Exegesis on 1.16. The fact that διότι is not an explicit citation formula has occasionally been taken to indicate that the readers would have been familiar enough with the Jewish scriptures to identify a quotation. From this, it is further deduced that the audience must have been made up of Jewish Christians, given that Gentile Christians would not have been so scripturally perceptive (see Kühl 132; Weiss 304). Others have used this citation, and in particular its departure from the Hebrew text, to reach the opposite conclusion. For instance, Cook argues that ‘St Peter follows the Septuagint so closely as to prove that he addressed persons who would be more familiar with it than with the original Hebrew’. These differences include the LXX’s omission of Isa 40.7, along with ‘the adoption of “glory” for “comeliness” or “grace,” of “grass” in the second clause for “the field,” and “falleth off” for “witherest” ’ (185). Nevertheless, it is highly debatable whether any firm conclusions can be drawn about the audience from such citations. They are much more likely to reveal something about the author and his reading/studying preferences (see Introduction: 1 Peter as a Pseudonymous Composition). 411   Cf. Best 95; Schreiner 98–99. 412   Another similarity that is commonly noted between 1 Peter and the LXX, which distinguishes them from the MT, is the rendering of the Hebrew verb ‫נבל‬ with the Greek ἐκπίπτω (see Achtemeier 141; Moyise, ‘Isaiah in 1 Peter’, 176; Marcar, ‘Quotations of Isaiah’, 6). Drawing a distinction at this point does not seem to be appropriate, however. The reason is because the Hebrew term is not consistently translated throughout the LXX. Out of 24 occurrences, a total of 17 different Greek verbs are employed to capture its meaning. Most common among them is πίπτω and its prefixed forms: πίπτω (Job 14.18; Isa 34.4bis); ἀποπίπτω (Ps 36.2); ἐκπίπτω (Isa 28.1, 4). In Isa 40.7, therefore, one could make the case that the Greek translator has faithfully rendered the Hebrew term. 410

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that the original hand of 1QIsaa also reflects the same omission,413 at least raises the possibility that this variation existed in Hebrew manuscripts predating the translation of the LXX. In other words, the omission would not represent a distinctly Septuagintal reading, but one that could have arisen from a Hebrew source as well.414 Nevertheless, since the omission became a part of the LXX text that was consistently transmitted over time—in contrast to 1QIsaa, which may represent an individual scribal error that was eventually corrected—it seems best in this instance to attribute the influence to a Greek source. (2) Both the LXX and 1 Peter agree in reading δόξα as the rendering of the MT ‫חסד‬. This is important considering that it represents the only place where δόξα is selected as the translational equivalent to ‫ חסד‬in over 250 occurrences in the MT. With there being no variation on ‫ חסד‬in the Hebrew text (i.e., MT and 1QIsaa), it would seem that the LXX translator has adopted a unique angle on the text;415 thus 1 Peter’s agreement on this point is significant. (3) Rather than the MT ‫‘( ציץ השדה‬flower of the field’), both the LXX and 1 Peter read ἄνθος χόρτου (‘flower of the grass’). Although, as Marcar notes, the same Greek term is used to translate ‫ שדה‬elsewhere in Isaiah (15.16; 37.27), ‘[t]his represents a departure from the Hebrew’.416 Despite the agreements between 1 Peter and the LXX, there are points at which they diverge. It is possible, as many have suggested, that these differences simply reflect the author’s use of a different LXX manuscript tradition.417 Alternatively, the author may have simply been quoting from memory.418 Nevertheless, the evidence, while not definitive, seems to point in a third direction, viz. that the   The omission in 1QIsaa most likely represents a case of haplography resulting from parablepsis (see Williamson, Book Called Isaiah, 255–56), a fact acknowledged by Petrine interpreters (e.g., Schutter, Hermeneutic, 124; Moyise, ‘Isaiah in 1 Peter’, 176 n. 5; Marcar, ‘Quotations of Isaiah’, 7). It was later corrected by a second hand, who writes the passage horizontally between the lines as well as vertically in the left column. 414   See further Lim, Holy Scripture, 143–46; McLay, Use of the Septuagint, 116. 415   On the LXX translator’s preference for the term δόξα, see further Brockington, ‘Greek Translator of Isaiah’, 23–32. 416   Marcar, ‘Quotations of Isaiah’, 6. 417   This possibility is raised by various interpreters (e.g., Hort 94; Blenkin 41; Michaels 77; Elliott 390). 418   Cf. Keil 77; Knopf 82–83; Johnstone 109; Selwyn 152. 413



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Petrine author has intentionally introduced these alterations. This explanation is the most probable option given that the divergences are explicable in light of the author’s tendencies and concerns. One deviation is the presence of the comparative particle (ὡς), which transforms the sentence from a metaphor to a simile. It is typical of the Petrine author to include ὡς, as a marker of some kind of comparison or metaphor (cf. 1.14, 19; 2.2, 5, 11, 25; 5.8), so it would be unsurprising that he added it to the LXX text.419 A similar conclusion can be reached from the reading αὐτῆς in 1 Peter. The presence of the pronoun in v. 24 is sometimes taken to indicate that the Petrine author was familiar not only with the Greek text of Isaiah but also with the Hebrew, which has the third person suffix (‫ )ו‬attached to ‫חסד‬.420 Yet the fact that the Greek versions of Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion all read καὶ πᾶν τὸ ἔλεος αὐτῆς opens the possibility that a Greek text lies behind the reading.421 In the end, attributing αὐτῆς to the author’s source-text leaves a number of unanswered questions, suggesting purposeful alteration as the most likely option. In contrast to the textual variants in 419   Others have explained ὡς as a deliberate alteration by the Petrine author (e.g., Elliott 390; cf. Schutter, Hermeneutic, 125; Prasad, Foundations, 379). The force of this argument may seem to be relativised by the fact that ὡς is also represented in a few manuscripts and versional witnesses of Isaiah (for the evidence, see Ziegler, Isaiah, 267). Yet, as Jobes notes, this is most likely a case where the comparative particle was ‘added here by the author of 1 Peter for stylistic reasons and subsequently influenced manuscripts of Isa 40’ (‘Septuagint Textual Tradition’, 317; cf. Osborne, ‘L’Ancien Testament’, 67; Moyise, ‘Isaiah in 1 Peter’, 176 n. 6). This would not, however, account for the presence of the comparative particle in later targumim: ‫‘( כעסבא‬like grass’) and ‫‘( כמוצא‬like chaff’) (Tg. Isa. 40.6). 420   Schutter, Hermeneutic, 124–25. 421   Various scholars have attributed the pronoun to a variant Greek text that served as the source of the Petrine author (see, e.g., Hort 94; Michaels 77). Consistent with this proposal, Egan points to the versions of Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion as indicating ‘a consistent effort in the textual transmission to alter this term in light of the Hebrew text’. If other Greek texts similarly contained the pronoun, he concludes, ‘[t]his makes it difficult to assert that Peter has changed the text here’ (Scripture Narrative, 89). But what these proposals have not fully taken into account is the (implausibly) mixed character that such a source-text would have had to display. It would have shared with the LXX the omission of Isa 40.7b–8a (over against the versions of Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion), while reading the feminine pronoun found in Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion (over against the LXX which has ἀνθρώπου) but not the substantive τὸ ἔλεος (cf. LXX: δόξα).

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1 Peter (ἀνθρώπου and αὐτοῦ), which suggest that σάρξ is being understood with personal referent, the feminine pronoun αὐτῆς seems to indicate that σάρξ has been taken to refer to the form of transient physical life (see below). This would be consistent with the meaning assigned to the term elsewhere in 1 Peter. Finally, as most recognise, the reading κυρίου instead of θεοῦ is best explained as an intentional alteration by the Petrine author.422 Among Jewish interpreters from the Second Temple period, the prologue of Isaiah 40 (vv. 1–11) was of considerable importance, as indicated by its frequent citation. The majority of this attention was focused on the first five verses.423 Only very rarely do we find allusions to Isa 40.6–8.424 For the Petrine author, Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 40–55) is clearly an important influence, being referenced here and more fully in 2.21–25. As a number of commentators point out,425 the wider context of Isaiah 40 is especially pertinent to the message the author of 1 Peter wishes to convey to readers deemed to be in a situation comparable to that of the ancient Judeans: experiencing oppression and social estrangement that felt to many like they were in exile, these fragile Christian communities needed a message of hope to remind them of what God had done for them and what, in turn, was required of them. 422   Cf. Johnstone 110; Elliott 391; Scharlemann, ‘Why the kuriou?’, 353–54; Prasad, Foundations, 379–80; Marcar, ‘Quotations of Isaiah’, 7–8. See further Exegesis at 1.25. 423   See Snodgrass, ‘Streams of Tradition’, 24–45. Some of the texts that draw from Isa 40.1–5 include: Sir 48.24; 1 En. 1.6; Pss. Sol. 11.4; T.Mos. 10.4–7; 1QS 8.12–15; 9.18–21; Lev. Rab. 10.2. 424   Glenny claims that this passage ‘is not quoted or closely paralleled in the Dead Sea Scrolls nor is it treated in the Mishnah or Talmud’ (‘Use of the Old Testament’, 86). Yet a good case can be made for seeing an allusion to Isa 40.6–8 in a wisdom text from Qumran: 4Q185 (see Goff, Discerning Wisdom, 126–27). The text reads, ‘And you, sons of men (‫)בני אדם‬, woe to you! For he (man) sprouts from his ground like grass (‫)כחציר‬, and his grace (‫ )חסדו‬blossoms like a flower (‫)כציץ‬. His [gl]ory blows away and his grass dries up (‫)יבש‬, and the wind carries away its flower’ (1–2 i 9–11; trans. Vermes). Christensen (‘Relationship’, 104–105) suggests that 2 Bar. 82.3–8 may also contain an allusion to Isa 40.6–8, although in this case there is only a connection with the withering of grass (v. 7), which is a common image in the Jewish scriptures. 425   See Selwyn 152; Elliott 390; Jobes 125–30. In contrast, Sargent argues that ‘there is no clear indication that Peter has in mind the historical situation of his citation’s first audiences. Peter is interested in only one audience and he assumes that Scripture is the same’ (Written to Serve, 62).



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In its emphasis on transience, the quotation begins by noting that all σάρξ is (ἐστιν being implicit here) like grass. Most commentators take πᾶσα σάρξ, by way of synecdoche, as a reference to all human beings.426 This is surely the primary focus for the author (as in Isa 40),427 though we should not too quickly assume that the meaning of σάρξ here is specifically ‘humanity’. In all of its uses in 1 Peter, while it is Christ or other humans who are in view, σάρξ appears to designate the sphere or form in which physical life takes place (3.18, 21; 4.1, 2, 6). Christ suffered and was put to death σάρκι but made alive πνεύματι (3.18; 4.1); the readers’ remaining time on earth is described as τὸν ἐπίλοιπον ἐν σαρκὶ… χρόνον (4.2). By contrast, it is their ψυχαί that will attain salvation (1.9). In this phrase, then, the author may be expressing the thought that all physical life is transient and ephemeral, whatever its precise kind of σάρξ (cf. 1 Cor 15.39).428 This is not to deny, of course, that the author’s key focus is on the physical life of humans, and specifically the glories that they achieve—not least the celebrated conquests and buildings of the Roman Empire—and on their impermanence and subjection to decay. As Achtemeier notes, ‘the contrast between what is transitory and what is permanent…would be highly appropriate for a beleaguered community of Christians facing what gave every appearance of being the permanent, even eternal, power and glory of the Roman Empire’.429 While the term χόρτος can refer to a food-source of humans, usually vegetation or green herbage (Hipponax, Frag. 26 [West]; Gen 3.18; P.Teb. I 27), it normally describes uncultivated grass in a field (Amos 7.2; Matt 6.30), which is eaten by animals (Herodotus, Hist. 9.41.2; Xenophon, Cyr. 8.6.12; Pss 103.14; 105.20). The 426   E.g., Burger 242; Huther 99; Kühl 132; Kelly 81; Michaels 77–78; Elliott 390; Vahrenhorst 96. 427   Examples of this designation in the LXX include: Gen 6.12; Ps 64.3; Job 34.15; Isa 66.23; Jer 39.27; Joel 3.1; Sir 39.19; Jdt 2.3. From the NT, the following passages could be cited: Matt 24.22//Mark 13.20; John 17.2; Rom 3.20; 1 Cor 1.29; Gal 2.16. 428   Cf. Benson 197; Lenski 74; Grudem 92. Some go even further, claiming that σάρξ should be identified with the nature of sinful humans prior to regeneration (cf. John 3.6; Gal 5.17; see Bengel 52; Hottinger 109; Steiger 1:275; Jachmann 136; cf. also Glenny, ‘Use of the Old Testament’, 93; Christensen, ‘Relationship’, 130). However, no negative connotations can be observed here. 429   Achtemeier 142.

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focus here is on the latter.430 In the midst of uncultivated, green grass (cf. Mark 6.39; Rev 8.7), wild flowers (ἄνθεα) stand out in stark contrast due to their bright colours.431 Using a simile of grass in a field, the author draws on a common topos in the Jewish scriptures: the brevity of human life. Like grass, which springs forth only to be withered by the sun and then scattered by the wind (LXX Pss 36.2; 101.5; 128.6; Isa 37.27; 51.12; Jer 12.4), human life is fleeting (Ps 102.15; 4Q185 i 9–11). Even the moments of grandeur and distinction, marked here as a ‘flower’ (ἄνθος), will quickly fade away (Job 14.2; 15.30, 33; Isa 28.1, 4). The destruction of these plants is represented by ἐξέπεσεν and ἐξηράνθη, respectively. Each verb functions as a gnomic aorist, a rare usage that describes a timeless or universal fact.432 In other words, ‘it does not refer to a particular event that did happen, but to a generic event that does happen’.433 English idiom, thus, requires that the verbs be rendered with the present tense (‘the grass withers and the flower falls’).434 25 τὸ δὲ ῥῆμα κυρίου μένει εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα. αἰῶνα. τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν τὸ ῥῆμα τὸ εὐαγγελισθὲν εἰς ὑμᾶς. ὑμᾶς. In contrast to the passing life and splendour of what is fleshly, τὸ δὲ ῥῆμα κυρίου μένει εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα. Instead of the more common λόγος, the author, following the source of his quotation, has ῥῆμα,   This meaning is extended by Macknight, who claims that χόρτος ‘denotes not only grass, but all kinds of herbs; and among the rest those which have stalks and flowers’, noting further that ‘it seems to be used for shrubs’ (447; cf. Hiebert 116). 431   Based on modern descriptions of Palestine (see Stanley, Sinai and Palestine, 138–39), some have claimed that ἄνθος refers to the bright flowers (e.g., scarlet anemones, tulips, poppies) that live among the grass during the springtime (so Hort 95; Bigg 124; Blenkin 41). It is possible that this could have been the referent of Deutero-Isaiah, but there is no indication that the Petrine author would have been familiar with the landscape of Judea or that he was specifically referring to it here. 432   Cf. Johnstone 111; Williams 23; Monnier 84; Forbes 51. Some grammarians deny the existence of the gnomic aorist function altogether (e.g., Winer, Grammar, 346; Moule, Idioms, 12–13). But this represents ‘special pleading in light of a predisposition to equate the aorist tense-form with past time’ (Porter, Idioms, 38). For more on this function, see Buttmann, Grammar, 201–202; MHT 1:134–35; Robertson, Grammar, 836–37. 433   Wallace, Grammar, 562. 434   Some older translations miss this point by rendering the verbs as past tense: ‘The grass has withered and [its] flower has fallen’ (Darby; cf. Wycliffe). 430



1.22–25

561

which usually denotes words that are spoken.435 Like the Hebrew ‫דבר‬, ῥῆμα can also be used to refer to ‘an event that can be spoken about’, hence ‘thing, object, matter, event’.436 Here it denotes the ‘word’ that originates with God (as in v. 23). Since the quotation was introduced in support of the author’s claim about the ‘word of God’ in v. 23, it is natural to conclude that ῥῆμα and λόγος are synonymous, at least in terms of their referent.437 Nevertheless, one distinction can be drawn from the author’s christological reading of Deutero-Isaiah. There is good reason to regard the author’s use of κυρίου in place of τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν as a deliberate change. Elsewhere, he uses the title κύριος for Jesus (1.3; 2.3), notwithstanding a couple of ambiguous examples (2.13; 3.12). This is made explicitly clear in 3.15 where τὸν Χριστόν is added to a quotation from Isa 8.12–13, where κύριον originally referred to YHWH.438 In this case, then, ‘the author has corrected the text of the Old Testament quotation as part of his christologising tendency’.439 What is left uncertain by this reading is whether the genitive κυρίου should be taken as subjective (i.e., the word spoken by the Lord)440 or as objective (i.e., the word about the Lord).441 In Isaiah, the sense is clearly that of the subjective genitive, with YHWH   LSJ 1569.   BDAG 905; cf. MM 563; Abbott-Smith, Lexicon, 397. See, e.g., Luke 1.37; Matt 16.18 and 2 Cor 13.1 (both citing Deut 19.15). 437   Cf. Grudem 93; Davids 79 n. 10; Picirilli 134; Senior 48; Osborne 169; Forbes 52. Although the terms can be used interchangeably, in their most basic senses they have slightly different shades of meaning: λόγος being a general concept or idea and ῥῆμα representing the individual words used to express that concept or idea. As Selwyn (151–52) has noted, the reason why λόγος was employed in v. 23, rather than consistently repeating ῥῆμα, was because of the popularity of the phrase (ὁ) λόγος (τοῦ) θεοῦ within early Christianity (e.g., Matt 15.6; Luke 8.21; Acts 18.11; Rom 9.6; 1 Thess 2.13; 2 Tim 2.9; Heb 13.7; 2 Pet 3.5; Rev 6.9). The use of ῥῆμα in v. 25b appears to have been dictated by its reference in the Isaiah quotation cited in v. 25a. 438   The opposite type of alteration is made in 1 Pet 5.5, where the author quotes from Prov 3.34 (see Christensen, ‘Relationship’, 127). In doing so, he changes the LXX reading κύριος to θεός, presumably to maintain the distinction between Christ as κύριος and the Father as θεός. 439   Prasad, Foundations, 379. Cf. Best 96; Schelkle 54; Brox 89. This reading is challenged by Richard, who suggests ‘that “word of the Lord” is parallel to “word of God” (v. 23)’, with κύριος thus referring to God (74). 440   So, e.g., Michaels 79; Dubis 40–41; cf. Giesen, Jesu Heilsbotschaft, 339. 441   So, e.g., Blum 227; Achtemeier 141; Elliott 391; Schlosser 112; Schreiner 99. 435 436

562

1 PETER

promising to restore the Judean exiles. Yet, despite this being still part of the quotation, the author’s understanding is subtly different, and implies the objective genitive. Support for this interpretation is found in the brief explanatory comment that follows the citation: ‘this is the word (τὸ ῥῆμα) that was preached to you’ (v. 25b). This statement indicates that the ‘word’ (ῥῆμα) received from Christian missionaries was the same ‘word’ (λόγος) that contributed to their new birth. The message proclaimed to these Anatolian readers likely consisted of traditional themes related to the death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ, and from the perspective of the Petrine author, the Christian missionaries who transmitted the message were not merely communicating human words, by preaching the gospel, they were communicating the very ‘word of God’ (λόγος θεοῦ).442 This word is enduring εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα, an idiomatic phrase well established in Greek literature to mean, in effect, ‘forever’.443 In the final sentence of the verse, after the end of the quotation from Isaiah, the author adds an explanation of what exactly is meant by ῥῆμα. A few commentators have suggested that τοῦτο is the predicate of the sentence (‘the word preached to you is this very word spoken of here’),444 but most recognise it as the subject, referring back τὸ ῥῆμα κυρίου (v. 24), as indicated by the location of the demonstrative pronoun before the arthrous ῥῆμα (‘this is the word’).445 The phrase τοῦτο… ἐστιν is sometimes understood as a formulaic equivalent to ‫ פשר‬in the Qumran pesharim, which leads interpreters to take the author’s interpretive comment in v. 25b as representing pesher-like exegesis.446 However, we must be careful 442   See further Williams, ‘Delivering Oracles’, 346–48. Extending the meaning beyond the general identification between the word of God and the gospel message that was preached by missionaries (and received by the readers), Dubis proposes that a more specific identification is in view, viz. that this gospel received by the audience was the message of restoration from exile declared by God in Isa 40 (Messianic Woes, 52–53). 443   See BDAG 32 1b; cf. 1 Pet 4.11; 5.11. 444   E.g., Schott 90; Alford 344. 445   See Wiesinger 129; Huther 100; Weiss 304; Monnier 85; Dubis 41. 446   On the connection with the pesher formula (‫)פשר‬, see Mudendeli, ‘L’utilisation de l’Ancien Testament’, 31; Schutter, Hermeneutic, 127; Cooper, ‘Exegetical Method’, 74–75; cf. also Longenecker, Biblical Exegesis, 84; Ellis, ‘Biblical Interpretation’, 696. On pesher-like exegesis in v. 25, see Cavin, New Existence, 49; Vahrenhorst 96.



1.22–25

563

about drawing too much from this construction, as τοῦτο… ἐστιν is a common (and very basic) explanatory clause in Greek (cf. Thucydides 2.86.3; Euripides, Iph. aul. 21; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. phil. 3.10).447 What is, nevertheless, suggested by this sentence is the continued influence of Isaiah 40; the verb εὐαγγελίζω appears twice in v. 9, shortly after the end of 1 Peter’s quotation from vv. 6–8. This word, then, is explicitly identified as that word which was ‘announced as good news’ (εὐαγγελισθέν), another connection with the vocabulary and thought of 1.10–12 (also 4.6), where the author’s hermeneutical key regarding the Jewish scriptures is revealed: the things into which the prophets enquired νῦν ἀνηγγέλη ὑμῖν διὰ τῶν εὐαγγελισαμένων ὑμᾶς (1.12). As 1.10–12 also indicates, the heart of this good news concerns the sufferings and glories of Christ: God’s raising of him from the dead is the basis for the living hope to which the letter’s recipients have been called (1.3–5). The final words of the sentence once again reiterate this focus on the addressees: the glorious saving purposes of God, planned from before the foundation of the world and brought to fruition in this last age—all this is εἰς ὑμᾶς. In classical Greek, the verb εὐαγγελίζω normally took a dative indirect object to denote those to whom the message was proclaimed, a pattern followed in the NT.448 Nevertheless, there are also instances where the accusative is used to perform the same function (Luke 3.18; Acts 8.25, 40; 14.21; 16.10; Gal 1.9; 1 Pet 1.12; Rev 10.7).449 What is unusual to find is εὐαγγελίζω modified by the prepositional phrase εἰς ὑμᾶς.450 This construction, which is similar to κηρύσσω + εἰς (Mark 13.10; Luke 24.47; 1 Thess 2.9), only appears on a handful of occasions in Greek literature (see 2 Cor 10.16; Justin Martyr, Dial. 136.3). Among older commentators, it was common to attribute a spatial sense to the prepositional phrase: ‘among you’, ‘into your midst’

447   On the inappropriateness of equating τοῦτο… ἐστιν with ‫פשר‬, see Lim, ‘Qumran Scrolls’, 60–61. 448   Cf. Luke 2.10; 4.43; Acts 8.35; Rom 1.15; 1 Cor 15.1–2; 2 Cor 11.7; Gal 1.8; 4.13; Eph 2.17; 1 Thess 3.6; 1 Pet 4.6. 449   See further Robertson, Grammar, 474, 483; BDF §152(2); MHT 3:245. 450   However, there is no indication that it represents ‘a Semitic (perhaps Aramaic) construction’ (MHT 4:129, followed by Prasad, Foundations, 384).

564

1 PETER

(Geneva, NMB).451 To this, some also added a sense of motion. In other words, ‘The gospel was not among the churches, to whom Peter wrote, as a thing that had sprung up and was proclaimed there, but it was among them, as having been brought to them’.452 The parallel constructions weigh against this suggestion, however.453 Others find little difference between the prepositional phrase and the simple dative (ὑμῖν). As such, the construction is taken to mean that the gospel proclamation was addressed to the readers (in the sense that they represent the goal or direction) without implying any specific movement.454 This is possible, especially given that in the Koine period εἰς + accusative was taking over many of the duties once performed by the dative;455 but elsewhere the author employs other forms with the same verb (cf. 1.12; 4.6). It seems preferable to take the prepositional phrase as denoting advantage or benefit: ‘which was preached for your sake’.456 The same prepositional phrase is used two more times in this chapter, and each is intended to describe that it was on the readers’ behalf that certain aspects of salvation were performed (cf. 1.4, 10). In each case, the language expresses the ‘for-you-ness’, as Elliott nicely captures it, which characterises the author’s form of communication to his readers.457 This is a psychologically powerful strategy as part 451   See, e.g., Wiesinger 130; Alford 344; Johnstone 111–12; Usteri 80. This interpretation was defended by Winer on the basis that the object of the preposition is always a plural substantive (Grammar, 267; cf. Robertson, Grammar, 535). It must be recognised, however, that such a conclusion is based on a very small dataset. 452   Steiger 1:280; cf. Erasmus 675; Hort 96; Wohlenberg 80. 453   In 1 Thess 2.9, Paul modifies the verb κηρύσσω with an accusative of thing (τὸ εὐαγγέλιον) and the prepositional phrase εἰς ὑμᾶς. Normally, in such instances a dative would be used in place of the prepositional phrase (e.g., Luke 2.10; Acts 8.35; 2 Cor 11.7). Its absence here may simply be an indication that εἰς + accusative has further encroached upon the traditional territory of the dative. The same is true of the prepositional phrase in Justin Martyr, Dial. 136.3: οὐ πιστεύει τοῖς τῶν προφητῶν κηρύγμασι τοῖς αὐτὸν εὐαγγελισαμένοις καὶ κηρύξασιν εἰς πάντας. 454   Advocates of this position include: Hensler 73; Hottinger 109; Jachmann 136; Huther 100; Bigg 124; Dubis 41; cf. Moule, Idioms, 69; BDAG 289 1bβ. 455   See Robertson, Grammar, 535. 456   So, e.g., Lenski 75; Beare 112; Michaels 79–80; Achtemeier 142; Elliott 392; Schlosser 113; Forbes 52; cf. Prasad, Foundations, 385. 457   Elliott 392.



1.22–25

565

of an attempt to console and encourage a suffering and harassed minority group, one way in which they may acquire a positive sense of their own identity and status, whatever the judgment of their wider society. Summary In the opening section of the letter-body, the author has adopted a tone of exhortation, urging his readers to alertness and clarity of focus as they set their hope on their eschatological reward (v. 13), to holiness in their way of life (v. 15), and to love one another (v. 22). This is a way of life characterised as one of obedience (vv. 14, 22), which involves a thorough and radical break from former patterns of life (vv. 14–15), a purification of their lives (v. 22). The change in identity is presented as nothing less than a rebirth (v. 23), a theme already announced in the opening blessing (1.3) and taken up again in the following section (2.2). This new life is again presented as orientated eschatologically, characterised by hope (vv. 13, 21). The key exhortations (vv. 13–15, v. 17, v. 22) are followed by various justifications and motivations: scriptural quotation (v. 16), a note of warning regarding God’s impartiality (v. 17), and declarations about the nature of the redemption God has provided in Christ (vv. 18–21) and about the permanence and quality of the ‘good news’ which the readers have received (vv. 23–25). Both of these latter declarations also express the contrast between perishable material things (vv. 18, 23a) and the precious and enduring means by which the recipients’ new birth and final salvation have been accomplished (vv. 19, 23b). Apart from the instruction to love one another, the exhortations are broad in nature, and do not specify exactly what behaviour will properly exhibit the qualities of holiness, obedience, proper conduct, and so on (this generic style often characterises the NT’s ethical exhortation, not least in Paul’s letters). Nonetheless, the overall force of the instruction is clear in its emphasis on the need for holy non-conformity, rooted both in the anticipation of great reward (soon) and in the new status the recipients now enjoy. These opening exhortations thus cohere with a strategy in which the author calls for faithful commitment to a new way of life, which implies and requires a certain critical distance from that of their contemporaries (which they formerly shared, v. 14). This call is supported and

566

1 PETER

motivated by the assurance that, despite appearances, their glorious new identity has been secured at great cost and with firm permanence. The quotation from Isa 40.6–8 may specifically assure them, however counter-factual the claim may seem, that all the apparent ‘glories’ around them—imperial buildings, statues, the achievements of Rome—are no more than ephemeral grass compared to the message of hope conveyed to them. The next section of the letter continues with the exhortation (2.1–2) but also reaches a climactic point in terms of its declarations about the identity of the letter’s addressees (2.9–10), contrasting their fortunate fate with that of those who are disobedient (2.7–8).

A N E X H ORTAT IO N TO C R AV E SPI RI TUAL FO O D FO R G R O WTH (2.1–3)

Initial Bibliography Cliff Barbarick, ‘Milk to Grow On: The Example of Christ in 1 Peter’, in Getting ‘Saved’: The Whole Story of Salvation in the New Testament, Charles H. Talbert and Jason A. Whitlark (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 216–39; James Francis, ‘ “Like newborn babes” – The Image of the Child in 1 Peter 2:2–3’, in Studia Biblica 1978. III. Papers on Paul and Other New Testament Authors, ed. E. A. Livingstone, JSNTSup 3 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980), 111–17; Heinz Giesen, ‘Gemeinde als Liebesgemeinschaft dank göttlicher Neuzeugung zu Petr 1,22–2,1–3’, SNTU 24 (1999): 135–66; Karen H. Jobes, ‘Got Milk? Septuagint Psalm 33 and the Interpretation of 1 Peter 2:1–3’, WTJ 64 (2002): 1–14; Katherine A. Marcar, Divine Regeneration and Ethnic Identity in 1 Peter: Mapping Metaphors of Family, Race, and Nation, SNTSMS 180 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2022); Troy W. Martin, ‘Christians as Babies: Metaphorical Reality in 1 Peter’, in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students, ed. Eric F. Mason and Troy W. Martin, RBS 77 (Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 99–112; idem, ‘Tasting the Eucharistic Lord as Usable (1 Peter 2:3)’, CBQ 78 (2016): 515–25; Dan G. McCartney, ‘λογικός in 1Peter 2,2’, ZNW 82 (1991): 128–32; Alicia D. Myers, ‘Pater Nutrix: Milk Metaphors and Character Formation in Hebrews and 1 Peter’, in Making Sense of Motherhood: Biblical and Theological Perspectives, ed. Beth M. Stovell (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2016), 81–99; Torrey Seland, ‘ “Like Newborn Infants”: The Readers of 1 Peter as Newly Converted Christians?’, in The Church and Its Mission in the New Testament and Early Christianity: Essays in Memory of Hans Kvalbein, ed. David E. Aune and Reidar Hvalvik, WUNT 404 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 227–42; Philip L. Tite, ‘Nurslings, Milk and Moral Development in the Greco-Roman Context: A Reappraisal of the Paraenetic Utilization of Metaphor in 1 Peter 2,1–3’, JSNT 31 (2009): 371–400.

Text 1

Ἀποθέμενοι οὖν πᾶσαν κακίαν καὶ πάντα δόλον καὶ ὑποκρίσεις(a) καὶ φθόνους καὶ πάσας καταλαλιὰς(b) 2 ὡς ἀρτιγέννητα βρέφη τὸ λογικὸν(c) ἄδολον γάλα ἐπιποθήσατε, ἐπιποθήσατε, ἵνα ἐν αὐτῷ αὐξηθῆτε εἰς σωτηρίαν(d), 3 εἰ(e) ἐγεύσασθε ὅτι χρηστὸς(f) ὁ κύριος. κύριος.

568

1 PETER

(a) Rather than the plural ὑποκρίσεις, a few witnesses read the singular ὑπόκρισιν (‫א‬2a, B, Clement of Alexandria, Ambrose, Augustine), which is reflected in the text of Westcott and Hort. It is difficult to make a ruling on this matter based on internal considerations (pace Michaels 82 n. a) since the term is situated directly between both singular (κακίαν, δόλον) and plural designations (φθόνους, καταλαλιάς). Nevertheless, the strength of the external evidence – P72, ‫*א‬,2b, L, most Greek witnesses and other versions – seems to commend the given reading as the initial text. Likewise, 621 and some later versions read the singular φθόνον. (b) ‫( *א‬along with 88 and a few other MSS and versions) reads the singular πᾶσαν καταλαλίαν (corrected by the second corrector); A omits πάσας. P125 has the singular reading συνκαταλαλία.1 (c) A number of Greek texts (33, 642, 1448, 1611, 2344), other versions (vgww, syh), and patristic witnesses (Eusebius, Didymus) add καί here, but the earliest uncials are unanimous in omitting it, as do most Greek MSS, the Byzantine texts, Latin Vulgate, etc. (d) Some Greek MSS, including L and 049, omit εἰς σωτηρίαν (a reading supported, e.g., by Huther 101). This became established as the reading of the TR (cf. Stephanus [1550], Scrivener [1894], and Robinson-Pierpont [1995]), but the inclusion is supported by P72 (though the sigma of εἰς is erroneously omitted), ‫א‬, A, B, C, K, P, Y, 0142, many Greek MSS and patristic witnesses, as well as the Latin, Coptic, Syriac, Armenian, Georgian, and Old Slavonic versions. Two possibilities could account for the omission: either an error in copying, as the eye of the scribe skipped from ΕΙΣ to ΕΙΕ (the opening letters of v. 3), or a theologically motivated change, representing the copyist’s discomfort with the idea of attaining salvation through spiritual growth when it is elsewhere described as an eschatological gift (supporting the latter: Michaels 82 n. b; Green 47 n. 41). (e) A number of witnesses read εἴπερ (‫א‬2, C, P, Ψ, 5, 33vid, 81, 307, 1611, 1739, 1852, 2344, 2492), an emphatic form wherein the reality of the condition is assumed to be true for the sake of argument. This became the established Byzantine reading, and thus it was espoused by many earlier commentators (e.g., Steiger 2:18; Alford 345). Yet the emphatic form likely represents a stylistic improvement (Metzger, TCGNT, 619) for εἰ, which has a strong external pedigree (P72, P125, ‫*א‬, A, B, 1735, Clement of Alexandria and the Vulgate [si…]). (f) Various witnesses read Χριστός at this point (P72, 33, 442, 642, 1243, 1611, 1735, 1852, 2344, Byzpt samss bo). This could be explained by the fact that the similar pronunciation of η and ι in Hellenistic Greek often led language-users to confuse the letters (as well as η and ει; ηι and ει), a phenomenon that was widespread by the second century CE (see Robertson, Grammar, 191). This variant may also indicate that Christian readers of the 1

  See Chapa, ‘First Letter of Peter’, 17–22.



2.1–3

569

LXX found, unsurprisingly, a christological statement in the words of Ps 33.9 (cf. 326, which reads Ἰησοῦς Χριστός). P72 abbreviates both this word and κύριος as nomina sacra here (ΧΡΣ Ο ΚΣ), as apparently did P125,2 and C-S similarly gives ΧϹ as a nomen sacrum (it is perhaps unfortunate that ECM does not indicate that the nomen sacrum is abbreviated at these points, since the vowels that distinguish χρηστός from χριστός do not, of course, appear in the abbreviated form).3 These witnesses indicate that the phrase was taken as a christological confession from the very earliest point in our extant MS traditions (see further Caulley, ‘The Chrestos/Christos Pun’, 376–87)— whether or not the scribes of these MSS also recognise the echo of Ps 33.9.4 The connection between vv. 3 and 4 suggests that the author had already seen this christological reading of the psalm (see Quinn, ‘Notes on the Text of the P72’, 244).5 Vaticanus and Sinaiticus, however, abbreviate κύριος (ΚϹ) but not χρηστός. The Latin versions, unable, of course, to make the same word play, use words equivalent to χρηστός (suavis, dulcis, bonus).

Introduction With the opening participle and conjunction of 2.1 (cf. 1.13) a second section of exhortation is begun, closely connected with what has preceded in 1.3–25, most obviously through the link between the image of rebirth (1.23) and identity as new-born infants (2.2). As in 1.13–25 there is again a pattern of exhortation (2.1–2), supported by scripture (2.3), and (in the next sub-section) this is followed by supporting and motivating declarations about the salvation God has achieved for the readers, and what this means for their status and identity (2.4–10).6

2   The text is lacunose at this point, but the available space implies that both words were abbreviated as nomina sacra (see Chapa, ‘First Letter of Peter’, 17–22). 3   On C-S here, see Bethge, ‘Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 261; Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 164–65, who translates the text as, ‘the Lord is a Christ’. 4   Quinn (‘Notes on the Text of the P72’, 244) comments that ‘P72 makes this original word play quite explicit by using the abbreviation for the nomen sacrum’, while Beare (‘Text of I Peter’, 254) thinks that ‘the scribe has not recognized the use of Ps 33 (34) 9’, and has taken the phrase ‘to be a confessional formula’ (cf. idem, ‘Remarks on the Text’, 264; Karrer and de Vries, ‘Septuagintatext’, 139). The addition of ἐπιστεύσατε in P72 lends some support to Beare’s view. 5   See Quinn, ‘Notes on the Text of the P72’, 244. 6   Cf. Knoch 57: ‘Sie [vv. 1–3] schließen die vorausgehenden Einzelmahnungen 1,13ff ab und leiten zur ermahnenden Schlußaussage 2,4–10 über’.

570

1 PETER

Exegesis 1 Ἀποθέμενοι οὖν πᾶσαν κακίαν καὶ πάντα δόλον καὶ ὑποκρίσεις καὶ φθόνους καὶ πάσας καταλαλιὰς The conjunction οὖν indicates the beginning of a new unit of thought (as in 4.1; 5.1, 6); yet it serves both to signal the resumption of exhortation (cf. 1.22) and to draw a logical connection with what has preceded: the injunctions that follow are made on the basis of the new identity that re-birth has inaugurated (1.23).7 These instructions begin with a focus on the types of sinful behaviours that need to be removed from the lives of believers. In terms of the metaphorical image that the verb ἀποτίθημι (‘to take off’, ‘to remove or put away’) was intended to invoke, many earlier interpreters looked to baptismal catechesis. At issue, it was thought, was the removal of defilement through (ritual) washing.8 Support for this interpretation was drawn from the mention of the ‘removal (ἀπόθεσις) of dirt from the flesh’ at baptism in 1 Pet 3.21. Further�more, advocates pointed to the later practice wherein baptizands removed their clothing before entering the water, and then put on new garments upon exiting as a way to symbolise the divestment from their former lives and their adoption of a new lifestyle (cf. Hippolytus, Trad. ap. 21; Cyril of Jerusalem, Myst. Cat. 2.2; John Chrysostom, Hom. Col. 6; Zeno of Verona, Sermons 1.23, 49). Consistent with this perspective, some have interpreted the participle (ἀποθέμενοι) as describing an act that the readers had previously undertaken at baptism (‘since you have rid yourselves of all malice…’).9   Cf. Dubis 42; Elliott 395. Achtemeier (144) regards it as ‘not so much resump� tive as it is consecutive’. 8   E.g., Bigg 125; Hart 54; Wand 63; Selwyn 153. 9   This interpretation has been adopted by numerous commentators (e.g., Kelly 83; Davids 80 n. 1; Bénétreau 113; Richard 77; Bosetti 73; Donelson 56; Schlosser 116), and it is consistent with the structure of the letter’s exhortation in this section, where instructions are often grounded in what had previously been accomplished on their behalf: their ransom by the blood of Christ was intended to motivate their lifestyles (1 Pet 1.17–21); and the purification of their souls was intended to motivate mutual love (1.22). But when such a causal link is drawn, it is usually communicated through perfect tense participles (εἰδότες [1.18]; ἡγνικότες [1.22]). Further, as Elliott points out, ‘later exhortation to abstain from “fleshly desires” (2:11; 4:2–3) indicates that the renunciation in baptism is not regarded as a once-for-all occurrence but requires continual reenactment of a one-time commitment’ (396). 7



2.1–3

571

Recent scholars, however, have been quick to separate any metaphorical images invoked by ἀποτίθημι from the actual rituals undertaken within the Anatolian congregations.10 Interpreters have pointed out that the verb was used to describe various situations involving the removal of, or separation from, a given object or idea. This might include the shedding of material garments from one’s body (2 Macc 8.35; Jos. Asen. 13.2; Josephus, Ant. 8.266; Mart. Pol. 13.2) as well as the attempt to avoid certain acts and emotions (Jub. 4.7; Philo, Post. 48; 1 Clem. 13.1; Herm. Sim. 9.16.2–3). It is commonly employed in the NT in contexts where the theme of turning away from the vices of a former life is in view (Rom 13.12; Eph 4.22, 25; Col 3.8; Heb 12.1; Jas 1.21).11 As such, it is more likely that ἀποθέμενοι functions as an attendant circumstance participle and thus carries an imperatival force (‘put away’, ‘set aside’).12 Semantically, the imperatival sense of this participle derives not from its independent usage, but from its association with the main (imperative) verb ἐπιποθήσατε (v. 2).13 In this way, ἀποθέμενοι provides a prerequisite that must be carried out prior to fulfilling the

  See Jobes 131; Witherington 111.   Martin (‘Tasting the Eucharistic Lord’, 518–20) has made the case for interpreting the participle against the background of ancient nutritional theory. Serving as the foundation of this proposal is the principle that guided dietary discussions: food consists of substances that adhere to and are then assimilated with the various body parts that are similar to themselves—either because food is made up of small particles of bone, tissue, blood, etc. (the view of the preformationists) or because the substance of food is altered in the nutritive faculty (the view of the alterationists)—and they are repelled by the parts that are different. The point that Martin raises from these discussions is that the rejection of dissimilar substances is often expressed through the verb ἀποτίθημι. It is difficult to rule out the possibility that such imagery stands in the background of the Petrine author’s thought; nevertheless, there is a significant difference that distinguishes the present usage of ἀποτίθημι from ancient nutritional theories. In this context, the situation involves the readers being actively exhorted to undertake specific actions, whereas the repulsion of dissimilar food substances is a natural process performed by the body. This does not negate the possibility of a subtle echo, but it should make us cautious about pressing the nutritional connection too far. 12   Along similar lines, some argue for a temporal function that denotes ante�cedent action, ‘after you reject’ (e.g., Martin, ‘Tasting the Eucharistic Lord’, 520). 13   Cf. Kühl 134; Michaels 84; Hiebert 120–21; Dubis 42; Forbes 55. Consistent with the author’s use elsewhere, some take ἀποθέμενοι as an independent imperatival participle (e.g., Hart 54; Goppelt 128 n. 32; Elliott 395). 10 11

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primary command:14 before the readers can properly hope to yearn for the pure λογικός milk, they must remove any vices that might currently mark their lives.15 The list of vices that believers are to ‘put away’ is given in what follows. How one understands this list is shaped, to a large degree, by the meaning attached to κακία and the function assigned to the threefold repetition of πᾶς. Throughout Greek literature, κακία is used broadly to represent that which is judged to be morally wrong.16 In this way, it frequently denotes the category of vice that stands in contrast to ἀρετή, the general term for virtue.17 Based on its generic nature, Bigg suggests that κακία should be regarded ‘as the general term which is defined by the following specific vices’ (cf. NLT: ‘So get rid of all evil behavior. Be done with all deceit, hypocrisy…’; see also GNT).18 But while the potential for such a usage cannot be denied,19 without any specific structural indicators of its headline status such a suggestion is unlikely. In early Christian vice lists, κακία is commonly included alongside other moral failings (e.g., Rom 1.29–31; Eph 4.31; Col 3.8; Titus 3.3; Did. 5.1; Barn. 20.1). When this occurs, the term carries a more specific meaning as ‘a 14   With a slightly different nuance, a few interpreters have claimed that the participle denotes the means by which the readers were to long for λογικός milk, ‘by putting away… crave’ (e.g., Jobes 140; cf. Stewart, ‘Inaugurated Soteriology’, 228; Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 108). 15   In contemporary literature, the aorist form of this participle is commonly used to communicate a necessary antecedent action in connection with a finite verb (see Polybius, Hist. 3.84.14; Diodorus Siculus 1.92.5; 4.83.6; Dionysius Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 9.65.3; 10.54.4; Plutarch, Rect. rat. aud. 12 [Mor. 43F]). 16   This meaning has been assigned to κακία in the present verse by various commentators (e.g., Cranfield 60; Selwyn 153). 17   Cf. Isocrates, De Pace 120; Xenophon, Mem. 2.1.21; Plato, Phaed. 93E; Philo, Opif. 73. See further LSJ 861. 18   Bigg 125. Cf. also Fausset 503; Lumby 62; Johnstone 113–14; Beare 113; Hillyer 58. One could also argue that the generic nature of δόλος (which is also preceded by πᾶς) means that the first two terms are comprehensive vices under which the following items are subsumed, providing specific examples or illustrations. This is the view adopted by Jobes (131). What this proposal leaves unexplained, however, is why πᾶς is connected with καταλαλιά at the end of the list. 19   An example of such a usage is found in Philo, Leg. 1.86, in which he claims that ‘insight and courage are able to raise a wall as a fortification against the opposite evils (κακιῶν), foolishness and cowardice’.



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mean-spirited or vicious attitude or disposition’.20 Such appears to be the case in this instance, and thus it is best translated, ‘malice’ (cf. ESV, NASB, HCSB, NAB, NIV) or ‘ill-will’ (cf. CEB).21 How, then, should we explain the presence and absence of πᾶς throughout this list? The adjective is used to modify the first two vices as well as the last. To add further complexity, the singular form is connected to the first two items, while the last three are plural. This shift led some early copyists to change either one or more of the plural terms to the singular (see Text at 2.1 nn. a–b). Assuming the originality of the present text, however, scholars have offered various explanations for this structure. Some contend that the three-fold use of πᾶς is meant to group the vices into different categories.22 Yet even though it is true that this adjective can modify a string of consecutive vices connected by καί (cf. Eph 4.31; Col 3.8; Jas 1.21), here it would only encompass as a category the middle grouping (πάντα δόλον καὶ ὑποκρίσεις καὶ φθόνους), leaving πᾶσαν κακίαν and πάσας καταλαλιάς as categories containing only a single vice. This is possible only if ὑποκρίσεις καὶ φθόνους are taken as specific instances of what may broadly be included as forms of deceit or guile. Others have suggested that the plural forms serve as replacements for πᾶς.23 Such a mixture of singular and plural forms is not unusual in early Christian vice lists (cf. Mark 7.21–22; Rom 1.29–31; 2 Cor 12.20; Gal 5.19–21).24 Even with regard to the use of particular words, authors tend to alternate between the two forms. In this case, both ὑπόκρισις and φθόνος commonly appear in the singular; yet the plurals are occasionally found (ὑποκρίσεις: Philo, Legat. 162; Did. 5.1; φθόνος: 3 Bar. 13.4; T.Jos. 1.7; T.Sol. A 6.4; 18.38; Philo, Mut. 95). But this too is not without problems: although the pluralising of abstract nouns is meant to ‘lay stress on the separate acts’   BDAG 500.   Cf. Benson 200; Steiger 2:3; Alford 344; Huther 104; Achtemeier 144 with n. 22. See also Elliott 396, who notes that the author’s use of the term may allude to the accusations that the recipients may face of ‘wrongdoing’ (2.12; 4.15). 22   E.g., Bengel 53; Keil 78; Hiebert 121. Alternatively, Goppelt (128) argues that the three-fold use of πᾶς derives from a traditional form of the vice list (cf. also Vögtle, Die Tugend- und Lasterkataloge, 45, 218–21). 23   Hort 99; Michaels 86. 24   Michaels 86; Achtemeier 144. 20 21

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that are represented,25 this would leave us to explain why πᾶς was also added before the final plural vice. In the end, it seems likely that πᾶς was employed before the first two terms—κακία and δόλος—given their singular form and attitudinal focus, but it was not necessary or appropriate for the plural forms ὑποκρίσεις and φθόνους, which may have been listed as specific examples of the category denoted by δόλος. Despite the plural form of the final term, καταλαλιάς, the adjective may have seemed appropriate both to establish a symmetry of literary construction and (more significantly) to emphasise this particular vice. Indeed, in terms of explaining the author’s use of πᾶς, it is notable that the three words to which the adjective is added are those that feature more prominently elsewhere in the letter, whereas ὑπόκρισις (but see 1.22) and φθόνος do not.26 Whatever the reason for the inclusion/exclusion of πᾶς, its use with an anarthrous singular noun generally signifies an individualised (rather than a holistic) focus (cf. Matt 3.10; John 15.2). It is meant to represent every instance of a given category, in the sense of ‘any’ rather than ‘each one’ (the latter requiring ἕκαστος).27 When connected with abstract nouns, as it is here, this distributive sense often shifts to a categorical notion, such that it represents any instance belonging to a particular class or category represented by the substantive, ‘every kind of’ (Matt 5.11; Luke 12.15; Rom 1.18).28 Hence, the author’s intention is for the readers to eradicate every type of κακία and δόλος that mark their lives (cf. GW, ISV).29 This grammatical observation should be read in conjunction with the fact that similar vice lists are found in Jewish and Hellenistic literature of the period.30 The repetition of such items as part of what appears to

25   Robertson, Grammar, 408. The plural form is particularly common in connection with several other abstract nouns (cf. MHT 3:27–28). 26   For κακός/κακία: 1 Pet 2.12, 14, 16; 3.9–13, 17; 4.15; δόλος: 2.2, 22; 3.10; καταλαλέω: 2.12; 3.16. 27   See BDF§275(3); MHT 3:199. Cf. also Middleton, Greek Article, 102–103. 28   Johnston, Use of Πᾶς, 67–74. 29   Similarly, the plural πάσας with an anarthrous substantive reflects a weakened sense wherein totality is excluded (see MHT 3:200). 30   E.g. 1QS 4.2–11; 10.21–23; Wis. 14.24–26; 4 Macc. 1.26–27; T.Reu. 3.2–7; T.Jud. 16.1; Diogenes Laertius, Lives 7.93; Plutarch, Superst. 7 (Mor. 468B). For more examples of virtue/vice lists from Greco-Roman, Jewish, and Christian literature, see Fitzgerald, ‘Virtue/Vice Lists’, 857–59.



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be somewhat traditional and stereotypical lists should warn against taking them too directly as indicative of issues the author felt were specifically relevant to his audience.31 The term ὑποκρίσεις mirrors the earlier demand that love within the family of Christians must be ἀνυπόκριτος (1.22); it denotes forms of behaviour that are deceptive, concealing one’s real intentions, deriving originally from its frequent use to describe acting a role in a play.32 In terms of its form, φθόνος usually appears in the singular, denoting ‘envy’ (Matt 27.18; Mark 15.10; Rom 1.29; Phil 1.15; 1 Tim 6.4; Titus 3.3; Jas 4.5), though the plural also appears, as here, in a list of vices in Gal 5.21. While the word itself is rare in the LXX (and only in the singular form), the notion of jealousy— expressed with other words, or through the notion of the ‘evil eye’ (cf. Matt 20.15; Mark 7.22)—is not.33 The final item in the list, καταλαλιάς, is once again marked with πᾶς and is also in the plural (as in 2 Cor 12.20). ‘Here’, Hort suggests, ‘the variety of forms is doubly emphasized by the plural and by πάσας’.34 He goes on to note that Jas 4.11 forms an especially significant parallel (for Hort an ‘antecedent’) with its threefold use of the verb καταλαλέω (as in 1 Pet 2.12; 3.16).This vice is often condemned in early Christian literature.35 It is difficult to ascertain, not least due to the somewhat stereotypical listing of vices, whether the author’s main concern in relation to these various forms of conduct is with relations between members of the Christian assemblies or with their relations with outsiders. Further, one might ask, why these five items were chosen, given that so many others are included in early Christian vice lists. Some earlier commentators believed that these were singled out because they represented specific faults of the Jews.36 Yet there is no reason 31   This conclusion is meant to counter readings that claim the verse ‘implies that before they had been wrapped up in these sins’ (Mason 399 [original emphasis]; cf. Caffin 112). 32   See further TLNT 3:406–13; BDAG 1038. 33   For φθόνος, see Wis 2.24; 6.23; 1 Macc 8.16; 3 Macc 6.7 (cf. also Sir 14.10). ζηλόω κτλ. is frequent in this sense (e.g., Gen 26.14; 30.1). The ‘evil eye’ may express envy or greed, among other things (cf. Sir 14.9–10; 31.13). For a thorough study on this topic, see Elliott, Beware the Evil Eye; cf. also Elliott 397–98. 34   Hort 99. 35   Herm. Mand. 2.2–3; 8.3; Herm. Sim. 9.15.3; 9.23.2–3; 1 Clem. 30.1; 35.5; Barn. 20.2; Pol. Phil. 2.2; 4.3; cf. Michaels 86; Elliott 398. 36   E.g., Grotius 73; Calov 1477; Plumptre 106; Mason 399; Mitchell 245.

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to interpret the choice with such anti-Jewish prejudice (see also on 2.7–8). Most recent interpreters tend to provide a sociological explanation that focuses on internal relationships: these vices create difficulty for the type of reciprocal love that the author intends his readers to display towards one another (cf. 1.22). Achtemeier, for example, sees concern for relations among members of the Christian community as primarily in view.37 It is likely, not least following on from the exhortation to familial love in 1.22, that relations within the community are at least partly in view, but the author is probably also—and perhaps primarily— concerned about external relationships, particularly given his use of καταλαλέω to describe the way outsiders slander the Christians (2.12; 3.16) and his insistence that gentle speech and good conduct should characterise Christian interaction with such outsiders (2.12, 16–17; 3.1–4, 16), following Christ’s example in relation to his accusers (2.22–23). The instruction of the letter shows that the author is concerned with conduct and interaction both within and beyond the Christian assemblies.38 While the letter gives no hint of specific problems or concerns regarding relationships within these communities, there is plenty of focus on the difficult relationships between Christians and outsiders, not least in matters of accusation and slanderous speech. 2 ὡς ἀρτιγέννητα βρέφη τὸ λογικὸν ἄδολον γάλα ἐπιποθήσατε, ἐπιποθήσατε, ἵνα ἐν αὐτῷ αὐξηθῆτε εἰς σωτηρίαν, σωτηρίαν, As is common in 1 Peter, the author shifts from a negative to a positive point.39 In doing so, he identifies his readers as ἀρτιγέννητα βρέφη. The comparative particle (ὡς), used frequently and in a range of ways in 1 Peter (see on 1.14), functions here not simply to indicate a simile or comparison (as, e.g., in 5.8),40 but more to identify the readers in one specific or particular way (cf. 1.14).   Achtemeier 145. Cf. Hort 99; Elliott 398: ‘vices detrimental to brotherly love and community cohesion’. 38   Cf. Michaels 85. 39   Cf. Elliott 398; see, e.g., 1 Pet 1.12, 14–15, 23. 40   Many refer to the phrase ὡς ἀρτιγέννητα βρέφη as a simile (e.g., Bigg 126; Mitchell 245; Richard 78; cf. Martin, ‘Christians as Babies’, 106). Michaels (86), on the other hand, argues that the author is using the phrase ‘not as a simile but as a metaphor’. 37



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Through the force of comparison, then, this image serves as the foundation for the exhortation that follows: just as newborn infants crave milk, so you, as newborn infants yourselves, must crave the milk appropriate to your growth and development.41 There are only a handful of contemporary uses of the adjective ἀρτιγέννητος, and most apply to newborn animals.42 The only time that ἀρτιγέννητος is employed with reference to a human child is in Lucian’s Dialogi Marini, which refers to a father locking his daughter and her newborn baby into a chest and giving it to sailors to toss overboard at sea (12.1: αὐτήν τε καὶ βρέφος αὐτῆς ἀρτιγέννητον; cf. also IG XII,5 739: ἀρτίγονον βρέφος, ‘just born baby’). The combination of ἀρτιγέννητος with βρέφος is sometimes said to represent needless repetition;43 but this is not the case. The adjective is necessary to demarcate the age of the child in view. In antiquity, the term βρέφος could refer to an unborn fetus, a newborn that was only a few days or weeks old, infants up to a year old, as well as young children from one to four years old.44 Although Philo seems to indicate the age of five as the end of this childhood stage (Spec. 2.33),45 one tombstone inscription uses βρέφος to refer to an eight-year-old child (IGUR III 1177). Whether or not this example reflects the adoption of standard terminology from a

41   As Lindeman Allen points out, the metaphor of a nursing infant would have been a particularly relevant image within a community that gathered in the homes of its members. She notes, ‘it is possible, if not probable, that in many of the communities who received this letter, as the words of the epistle were being read, community members would have been able to glance over at an actual infant nursing at the breast as a concrete reference point for the author’s metaphor’ (‘Babies and Building Blocks’, 348). 42   These include: dog (Longus, Daphn. 1.18.1; Cyranides 2.21); snake (Lucian, Alex. 13.7; cf. 14.23); sheep (Longus, Daphn. 1.9.1); calf (Longus, Daphn. 1.15.3; 2.4.3); and deer (Aristophanes, Nomina aetatum, p. 277 [Miller]). 43   See Francis, ‘ “Like Newborn Babies” ’, 113; Achtemeier 145; Elliott 399. 44   Unborn fetus: Sir 19.11; Ps.-Phoc. 184; Luke 1.41, 44; Josephus, Ant. 20.18; Philo, Opif. 124. Newborn: 2 Macc 6.10; T.Sol. A 13.3–4; Philo, Aet. 67; Luke 2.12, 16; Acts 7.19; Sib. Or. 8.477; I.Pisidia 5. Infants up to a year old: Jub. 47.3; IMC Catania 174; IG XIV 525; IGUR 1216. Young children from one to four years old: I.Symrna 520; Kaibel, EG 371; IGUR III 1272; Gk. Apoc. Ezra 4.11. 45   Pace Monnier 88, who claims that the term ‘désigne chez les juifs les enfants de 2 ou 3 ans au plus’.

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catalogue of epigraphic language,46 the point is that βρέφος could refer to young children at different stages of development. The purpose of the combination in 1 Pet 2.2, then, is to emphasise that the child was only recently (ἀρτι-) born,47 which would necessitate frequent feeding with (breast)milk, unlike older toddlers whose food sources are more varied. The image of newborn infants has sometimes been taken to suggest that the addressees were recent converts who had just been baptised,48 an interpretation often related to (and taken to support) the broader view, once prominent in studies of 1 Peter, that the letter (or parts of it) was a baptismal discourse or liturgy (see Introduction: Genre, Literary Integrity, and Structure). Such a specific interpretation is unlikely, however, not least given the letter’s circular address to Christian communities across a very wide area.49 Moreover, the direction in which the comparison with newborn infants is developed (viz. craving food that is appropriate for such infants) suggests that it is not age but activity that is in view.50 There is no hint in this text that milk is somehow a food only for those who are young in the faith, still less any implied criticism of their immaturity (as in 1 Cor 3.2; Heb 5.12–13).51 Indeed, the   Given that the language of epigrams was often (slavishly) copied from other tombstones, the use of βρέφος for such older children may not accurately reflect its normal semantic range (see New Docs 4:40–41). 47   See Chamberlain, Exegetical Grammar, 16. Contrast this description with similar designations whose semantic range would make it possible to refer to a slightly older stage of development: νήπια βρέφη (Plutarch, Alex. fort. 337D; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 11.30; Herm. Sim. 9.29.1; cf. 1 En. 99.5 [restored]). 48   This position has been advocated by numerous interpreters (e.g., Barnes 135; Keil 78; Kühl 134–35; Wand 64; Windisch 59; Kelly 84; Cranfield 61; Beare 114; Clowney 78). In support, many have pointed to the similarities in the language used to describe Jewish proselytes (e.g., Wolf 105; Steiger 2:5; Usteri 83; Mason 399; Huther 104 n. 1), the connection being initially drawn by Schöttgen (Horae Hebraicae, 1036–38; cf. also Wettstein, Novum Testamentum Graecum, 684). For the problems with this comparison, see Francis, ‘ “Like newborn babes” ’, 111–12. This question has been taken up more recently by Seland, ‘Readers of 1 Peter’, esp. 237–41. 49   Cf. Achtemeier 145. See further Exegesis at 1.12. 50   Elliott 399; cf. Cervantes Gabarrón, ‘Sacerdocio y reino’, 577. 51   Cf. Selwyn 154: ‘since this is in no way contrasted…with any stronger diet such as would be suitable to later years, we need not suppose that there is any allusion to the length of time during which the readers had been Christians’ (cf. also Best 90). 46



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imperative, ἐπιποθήσατε,52 is explicitly intended to indicate that they should have a yearning desire, a longing for it. What they must crave is τὸ λογικὸν ἄδολον γάλα, a phrase that is, as Hort notes, ‘unquestionably difficult’.53 In Greek literature, the food most commonly associated with βρέφη is milk (3 Macc 5.49; Philo, Spec. 3.199–200; Josephus, War 6.205; Cyranides 2.21), a means of sustenance that they were known to anticipate eagerly (Philo, Somn. 2.204) and that was thought to contain considerable medicinal value (cf. Pliny, Nat. 28.123; Galen, de Marcore 9).54 Yet various suggestions have been made as to its specific allusions here. Perdelwitz connected this reference to the mystery cults, wherein initiates were given milk (and honey) to symbolise their new birth.55 Others, opposing this view, stress the connections with baptism and the (somewhat later) references in Christian literature to the milk and honey given to the newly baptised (cf. Tertullian, Cor. 3.3; Marc. 1.14; Hippolytus, Trad. ap. 23.1–3; Ambrose, Cain 1.5; Jerome, Lucif. 8).56 However, such direct connections are unlikely and unnecessary given the naturalness of the image—babies craving milk—and, more specifically, the established use of milk in early Christianity to indicate, figuratively, the kind of instruction   Most of the NT uses of this verb are in the Pauline letters and express the yearning that Paul and others have to see and encourage other Christians (Rom 1.11; 2 Cor 9.14; Phil 1.8; 2.26; 1 Thess 3.6; 2 Tim 1.4; see further TLNT 2:58–60). In the LXX, the Psalms in particular, it is employed of a longing for God (e.g., Pss 41.2; 83.3; 118.20). The prefixed ἐπι- has been thought to add direction to the verbal idea (see Alford 345). But based on its modification by the preposition ἐπί elsewhere (cf. LXX Deut 13.9; 32.11; Ps 41.2; 61.11), it is more likely that it adds intensity, ‘fervently long for’ (see Spicq, ‘Ἐπιποθεῖν, desirer ou chérir?’, 186 n. 1; cf. Weidner 122; Hiebert 124; Elliott 399). 53   Hort 100. 54   Even though the milk of cows or goats was consumed in antiquity (see Virgil, Ecl. 3.3–6; Pliny the Elder, Nat. 28.33–34; Alciphron, Farm. 13), normally babies were fed the breastmilk of their mothers or a wet nurse. 55   Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 57–59. Cf. also Beare 115; TDNT 1:646–47. The parallels include: Sallust, De deis et mundo 4: ‘we are fed on milk as though being reborn’; PGM I.20: ‘Take the honey with milk, and drink it before the rising of the sun, and there will be something in your heart that is divine’. See further Wyss, Die Milch im Kultus. 56   See, e.g., Leaney 30; Cross, 1 Peter, 47. Cf. also Yarnold, Rites of Initiation, 39–40. The combination ‘milk and honey’ is well established in the Tanak as a way of indicating the fecundity of the land (e.g., Exod 3.8; Lev 20.24; Deut 6.3; cf. 4Q378 11 6; 4Q385a 14 1). 52

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and teaching in the faith that converts require (1 Cor 3.2; Heb 5.12–6.2; Barn. 6.17; cf. also 1 Thess 2.7).57 Also striking is the use of milk imagery in the Odes of Solomon (a Jewish-Christian writing of the late first or early second century CE), where Christ speaks: ‘I fashioned their members, and my own breasts I prepared for them, that they might drink my holy milk and live by it’ (8.14; trans. Charlesworth; cf. also 19.1–4; 35.5).58 The specific type of milk that is in view is described by two adjectives: λογικόν and ἄδολον.59 While the latter is relatively straightforward, the specific meaning of the former (elsewhere in the NT only at Rom 12.1) presents some difficulties. Within Hellenistic literature, λογικός described what is rational (or reasonable), and consequently, it was a favourite term among (especially Stoic) philosophers.60 Given the frequency with which this usage appears, many have proposed a similar connection in the present verse (‘rational milk’; cf. Douay-Rheims; see also Darby: ‘mental milk’).61 It is thought to represent ‘food capable of sustaining those powers by which man [sic] beholds truth, and becomes capable of wisdom’, a food that, at the same time, ‘would calm down passion and appetite, the ruling powers of humanity in the heathen life’.62 In this way, the word is said to echo earlier references to 57   Cf. Achtemeier 146; Elliott 399. Within philosophical writing from the GrecoRoman world, similar uses of milk can be found which describe progress through various levels of understanding (e.g., Quintilian, Inst. 2.4.5–6; cf. Epictetus, Diatr. 2.16.39). 58   Cf. also Selwyn 154. 59   The Wycliffe Bible takes the adjectives to modify βρέφη: ‘as now young children, reasonable, without guile, covet ye milk’. But this is impossible given the lack of agreement between the noun (plural) and the adjectives (singular). 60   See LSJ 1056; TDNT 4:142–43. Cf. also van Kooten, ‘Is Early Christianity a Religion?’, 396–403. This would explain the Latin versions, which render the term rationale, rationabile, or rationabiles (VT 26.1, 97); note also Tyndale’s rendering, ‘that reasonable mylke’. 61   E.g., Hammond 403; Hort 100–101; Masterman 93; Wand 64–65; Margot 35; Harink 65; Forbes 57; Schreiner 103–104. Calvin claims that λογικός is the opposite of and complementary to ἄδολος. He suggests that the Petrine author ‘bids them to desire milk free from guile, and yet mixed with right understanding’, and in this way, Calvin contends that simplicity and rationality ‘ought to be mixed together, lest simplicity should become insipid, and lest malicious craftiness should creep in for want of understanding’ (62). 62   Hort 101. An alternative basis for the reasonableness of this milk is proposed by Glenny (‘1 Peter 2:2a’, 441–48). He claims, ‘This “milk” is “reasonable” or



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the intellect and desires (cf. 1 Pet 1.13–14; cf. 1.22). Nevertheless, such a stress on rationality or reason seems foreign to the present context, and to 1 Peter’s theological perspective more generally (cf. 1.23–25; 4.1).63 An alternative interpretation is to set λογικός in contrast to milk as a literal food source for physical nourishment. Within this approach, two aspects receive emphasis. Focusing on the representative quality of λογικός, many believe that the adjective was employed to convey that the milk in question is to be taken figuratively (‘metaphorical milk’).64 This reading finds support in sources that postdate 1 Peter by a few centuries. In one Christian martyrdom account, for instance, a young virgin named Pelagia comes across Linus, the bishop of Tarsus, who describes himself as ‘a shepherd of the sheep of Christ’; but when she interprets the reference to sheep in a literal manner, he explains that he is referring to the ‘spiritual sheep of Christ’ (λογικῶν προβάτων τοῦ Χριστοῦ).65 Often in combination with this interpretation, others have stressed that λογικός was, at times, used to denote the incorporeal (in contrast to the physical) nature of a given entity. Some ancient authors, it is noted, employ this adjective to describe spiritual offerings/sacrifices performed apart from ritual killing (cf. T.Levi 3.6; Corp. herm. 1.31; 13.18, 21) in a way that is similar to πνευματικός. Viewed from this perspective, the present phrase would be rendered ‘spiritual milk’ (cf. ASV, RSV, NEB, NLT, NRSV, NIV, ESV, CEV, HCSB, NET), denoting milk that feeds the spiritual (as opposed “rational” because it is the interpretation of γραφή intended by the Holy Spirit (1:11), which Spirit-led ministers preach in this age (1:12), and the minds of members of God’s “spiritual house” (2:5) that he is building in this age are able to grasp the force of the evidence and proof for this gospel found in γραφή’ (447). 63   Cf. Steiger 2:10–11: ‘For how could the sense of the Apostle be: Search out for yourselves that doctrine, which is reasonable (i.e., which may appear reasonable to you)—whether it be the Christian or some other—that ye may grow; and not rather: Be ever applying to yourselves the Christian doctrine as that which alone is truly reasonable?’ 64   E.g., Huther 105; Alford 345; Mason 399; Johnstone 115; Michaels 87; Black 57; Powers 77. 65   See Usener, ed., Legenden der Pelagia, 19–20. A comparable usage is found in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.1.4, which describes collecting information from ancient sources as ‘plucking flowers as from a metaphorical meadow (ὡς ἂν ἐκ λογικῶν λειμώνων)’.

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to the physical) needs of believers.66 But as with the ‘rational’ interpretation, neither of these options (metaphorical, spiritual) is without problems. With regard to the former, it is noteworthy that the Petrine author uses metaphorical imagery throughout the letter without any explicit notification.67 In the case of the latter, the author does describe ‘spiritual’ realities on occasion, yet when this occurs, πνευματικός seems to be his word of choice (cf. 1 Pet 2.5bis). The most natural way of interpreting λογικός in 1 Pet 2.2 may be to read it against the backdrop of the immediate context. Having just mentioned the ‘word of God’ (λόγος θεοῦ) that generated the new birth of the readers (1 Pet 1.23–25), the Petrine author employs an adjectival form that derives from the substantive λόγος. The suffix -κος, in this case, would convey the sense, ‘belonging to’ or ‘with characteristics of’ in relation to the root to which it is attached.68 As such, the kind of milk in question would be λόγος-milk.69 Rather than describing milk that is in some way connected to rationality or understanding, λογικός would relate to the spoken word (cf. 1.25: τὸ ῥῆμα τὸ εὐαγγελισθὲν εἰς ὑμᾶς).70 This interpretation has been set on a firm philological foundation by McCartney, who has demonstrated that in the Hellenistic world ‘the very common meaning of “rational” was often closely tied to 66   This interpretation has been defended by a variety of scholars (e.g., Knopf 86; Selwyn 155; Beare 115; Kelcy 42–43; Best 98; Goppelt 131 n. 47, Grudem 95; Senior 49). Cf. Keener 124, who claims that the term connotes both what is rational and what is metaphorical. 67   Cf. Kühl 135. 68   See MHT 2:377–79. Cf. also Robertson, Grammar, 157–58; Smyth, Grammar, 237. 69   Some have questioned this translation (e.g., Huther 105; Johnstone 115; Blenkin 44), with a few even declaring it to be an impossible rendering (e.g., Hort 100; Beare 115). It is important, however, not to confuse an explicatory translation with a description of a form’s actual function. Although the sense of denominative adjectives with -κος suffixes can sometimes be conveyed by merely supplying an -ly ending to the English root word (e.g., Heb 9.1: τό ἅγιον κοσμικόν, ‘earthly sanctuary’), there is no standard means of communicating such forms in English. Often, it requires translating the adjective as though it were a genitive modifier (cf. Titus 3.9: μάχας νομικάς, ‘quarrels about the law’), which is the case in the present instance. Lacking a suitable English equivalent, it is perfectly natural to treat λογικός as though it were functioning like a genitive: ‘milk of the word’. 70   Some argue that ‘milk’ refers to written scripture (e.g., Grudem 95–96; Clowney 79–81). But at issue is the oral proclamation of the gospel message, as 1 Pet 1.25 makes clear.



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the facility of speech’ (cf. Dionysius Halicarnassus, Comp. 11.119; Plutarch, Alc. 2.5). Furthermore, he has noted that λογικός is even used, on occasion, to describe verbal communication (cf. Plutarch, Cor. 38),71 which seems to be the case in the present instance. The adjective describes milk that consists of the spoken word, undiluted and without contamination.72 Since it is difficult to communicate this exact sense with an equivalent English term, the adjective is often treated as though it were the genitive (τοῦ) λόγου in order to bring out its meaning. Hence, the KJV (following the Geneva Bible), translates the phrase, ‘milk of the word’ (cf. CEB, NASB, EHV, CSB, NKJV, WEB), a rendering that has been popular among commentators, both older and more recent.73 This brings us to the referent of γάλα (‘milk’) in v. 2. Based on the mention of ‘tasting’ the Lord in v. 3, some have taken milk as a reference to Christ, a view that extends all the way back to the church fathers (Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.44; cf. Augustine, Tract. ep. Jo. 3).74 Others have advocated a much wider application, one involving the pursuit of any and all of the various ways that spiritual growth might be nurtured in the life of one who has experienced re-birth.75 This is the approach taken, most notably, by   See McCartney, ‘λογικός in 1Peter 2,2’, 128–32 (quotation from 132).   One of the strongest objections raised against this position is its circumlocu� tion. In her critique of this view, Jobes notes, ‘The straightforward phrase “word of God” (logos tou theou) occurs in almost every book in the New Testament and more than eighty times throughout the whole. If Peter meant to restrict the referent of the metaphor to the preaching of the gospel or the reading of scripture, he had a straightforward way to say that’ (‘A Petrine Metaphor’, 122). What this objection overlooks, however, is how such an alteration would have impacted the semantics of the passage. If the author had written τὸ ἄδολον λόγον θεοῦ (‘the uncontaminated word of God’), the metaphor of the new birth would have been compromised. Even τὸ ἄδολον γάλα λόγου (‘uncontaminated milk of the word’) would have communicated something slightly different, placing the focus on λόγος rather than γάλα. The explanation for the present construction, then, seems to lie in the author’s intent to maintain the metaphorical focus that has been carried along through the previous few verses. 73   See, e.g., Gerhard 152; Bengel 53; Steiger 2:15; Fausset 506; Mitchell 245; Bigg 126; Cranfield 61; Kelly 85; Achtemeier 147; Elliott 400–401; Witherington 112. 74   E.g., Weiss 128; Kühl 136; von Soden 141; Hart 54; Knopf 86–87; Wand 65; Beare 116. 75   There are different variations within scholarship concerning what this might look like. See, e.g., Michaels 87–89; McKnight 104; Richard 79–80; Jobes 134–37; Watson 45; Forbes 57. 71 72

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Jobes.76 Questioning whether a connection should be made with the preceding verses (1.23–25) and their references to the word of God, Jobes seeks the referent in the more immediate context of 2.1–3 (and of Ps 33 LXX, quoted in v. 3).77 She argues for a broader meaning: ‘milk that is true to the nature of the new eschatological reality established by the resurrection of Jesus Christ and into which Peter’s readers have been re-born’.78 To the extent that the author’s plea is ‘not … to crave the word of God, as if to listen to more sermons or to read more Scripture’, but rather that ‘God in Christ alone both conceives and sustains the life of the new birth’ and that ‘[i]t is the Lord God they are to crave for spiritual nourishment’, Jobes makes a fair point.79 However, reading the Bible and listening to sermons is hardly an adequate gloss on what 1 Peter might intend by the λόγος θεοῦ, and given the tight thematic connection between rebirth (ἀναγεγεννημένοι… διὰ λόγου, v. 23) and being newborn infants it seems likely that the verbal resonance between λογικός and the λόγος θεοῦ should be attributed due weight.80 Most equate γάλα with the word of God that was proclaimed to the readers, generating their new birth into the family of God (1 Pet 1.23, 25).81 Since other NT texts connect milk with Christian teaching (see above), and since the author has glossed the ‘word concerning Christ the Lord’ with the phrase ‘the word that was proclaimed as good news’, it would seem best to interpret λογικός as ‘pertaining to the word’, where that word stands for the gospel message in which the readers find their salvation (cf. 5.12) and on which others stumble (2.8). This message includes the story of Christ, which is thought to apply to every aspect of their lives, providing not only the way of redemption in the past but also a pattern for Christian living in the present.82 In this way, the means of 76   Jobes, ‘Got Milk?’, 13; cf. also p. 7. Her arguments are reiterated and further developed in eadem, ‘A Petrine Metaphor’, 121–26. Those who have followed this view include: du Toit, ‘Expression λογικόν ἄδολον γάλα’, 221–29; Liebengood, ‘Augustine con leche’, 131; Durham, ‘Crave the Milk’, 142. 77   See Jobes, ‘ “O Taste and See” ’, 241–51 (esp. 245–50). 78   Jobes, ‘Got Milk?’, 13; cf. also p. 7. 79   Jobes, ‘Got Milk?’, 12. 80   Cf. Achtemeier 147; Elliott 401. For a full critique of Jobes’ proposal, see Miller, ‘Meaning of Milk’, 64–71. 81   For a defence of this view, see Miller, ‘Meaning of Milk’, 71–79. 82   Cf. Barbarick, ‘Milk to Grow On’, 216–39; idem, ‘Craving the Milk’, 133–40.



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an individual’s re-birth is the same means of their spiritual growth within the Christian faith.83 Those who are born through the word of God are nourished by the milk which conveys that word. This interpretation of λογικός—as indicating that the milk is the substance through which the word of salvation is communicated to these ‘infants’—would seem to be strengthened by the second adjective, ἄδολος, which appears only here in the NT and LXX (cf. the adverbial form in Wis 7.13). The term is ordinarily used to describe the unsullied nature of actions (Plutarch, Brut. an. 4), relationships (Dionysius Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 7.32.2), or moral qualities (Philo, Her. 95; Ios. 148). When it is employed with reference to material substances, it reflects a purity without any mixture of contamination, such as gold that has undergone the process of refining (cf. Cornelius Alexander, Frag. 18.21; Eup. 2.15; Philo, Leg. 1.77). While ἄδολος is rarely connected to food in literary sources, it appears frequently in the papyri as part of loan contracts, leases, and sales receipts that record the quality of agricultural products.84 One example is found in a contract that was written up for the lease of a piece of property in the village of Kerkeosiris (southern part of the Fayum, 103 CE). It states, ‘The appointed rent shall be paid every year by Ptolemaios to Horion or one sent by him in the month of Payni, with the payment being made in wheat that is new, pure, and uncontaminated in any way (πυρὸν νέον καθαρὸν ἄδολον ἀπὸ πάντων)’ (P.Tebt. I 105). From other references, it appears that this undiluted form referred to its lack of mixture with dirt or other food products (cf. SB XII 10942, XX 14301; P.Wisc. I 7; P.Tebt. II 370). In the present verse, the adjective clearly makes sense as a description of milk that is uncontaminated or undiluted. The word mirrors the positive form δόλος in v. 1, listed as one of the vices the   Erdman 63.   The adjective is used to describe the uncontaminated form of various products: wine (P.Col. X 280; CPR 18 5; P.Grenf. II 90); corn/grain (P.Mich. II 121; BGU XI 2024; P.Flor. I 72); grain (BGU VI 1268, X 1943, 1944); herbs (BGU IV 1015); olives (BGU XIII 2333); radish seed (SB X 10532); oil (P.Ryl. II 97). But wheat is by far the most common (BGU III 1005; P.Col. VII 176, 178; P.Mich. V 312, 321, IX 567, XII 633; P.Oxy. XII 1474; P.Ryl. IV 601; P.Tebt. I 11, 105, 109, II 388). This connection with ἄδολος in the non-literary papyri was drawn early by Deissmann, Bible Studies, 256; cf. also MM 10. 83 84

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readers should completely avoid. It is notable that this word, in its LXX and NT occurrences, consistently means deceit or treachery,85 and in its other occurrences in 1 Peter (one of which cites Ps 33 LXX), it refers to the use of deceit in speech (2.22; 3.10). Here, then, as the opposite of such deceitful communication, the author describes the milk they should crave as that which is without deceit, that is, as milk that communicates the gracious word of the gospel with truth and integrity. Further insight into this usage can be gained through a closer examination of the ancient source domain of this metaphor: the ancient physiology of infant nutrition.86 Among ancient medical theorists, breast milk was thought to be a combination of excess menstrual blood that the growing fetus pressed up into the breast (Hippocrates, Gland. 16.572; Aulus Gellius, Noch. att. 12.1.12–14; cf. Lev. Rab. 14.3) and male semen that heated the blood (Aristotle, Gen. an. 2.4; 4.8). As such, ‘[b]reast milk…was a semen-infused concoction that enable[d] the creation, restoration, and completion of life’.87 Without reference to the role of a woman in the process of birth (cf. Gal 4.4), and given the fact that the milk on which these newborns feast ultimately derives from the procreative seed of God (cf. 1.23), it would seem that 1 Peter is focused exclusively on God’s male-gendered role in the process of regeneration. Yet another important assumption about milk in antiquity suggests that the gendering of divine activities may be more fluid in this passage. In antiquity, the process of breastfeeding was believed to impact not only the physical but also the moral development of the child.88 Specifically, the disposition of the nurse was thought to dictate the quality of the milk supplied to the child, which in turn shaped 85   The eight NT uses outside 1 Peter are found in Matt 26.4; Mark 7.22; 14.1; John 1.47; Acts 13.10; Rom 1.29; 2 Cor 12.16; 1 Thess 2.3. Examples from among the 59 occurrences in the LXX include: Gen 27.35; Exod 21.14; Lev 19.16; Pss 9.28; 23.4; 1 Macc 1.30. 86   For a discussion of ancient views of embryonic development and breast�feeding, see Martin, ‘Christians as Babies’, 99–112; Myers, ‘Pater Nutrix’, 81–99. 87   Myers, ‘Pater Nutrix’, 86. 88   See further Tite, ‘Nurslings, Milk and Moral Development’, 378–86; Penniman, Raised on Christian Milk, 52–78. On this theme in the context of the Hebrew Bible and related to ethnic identity in particular, see Chapman, ‘Breast Milk’, 1–41.



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character formation.89 This assumption explains the importance that many assigned to finding a proper wet nurse in the event that the mother did not breastfeed (see Soranus, Gyn. 2.19–27; Plutarch, Lib. ed. 5 [Mor. 3D–F]). Here, therefore, the Petrine author seems to imply not simply that the milk consumed by the audience originated from the deposit of God’s seed (a male-gendered act), but also that God has undertaken an importantly motherly role in the suckling of children (a female-gendered act),90 which guarantees a positive impact on the character formation advocated in the letter. Viewed from this perspective, ἄδολος relates to the wholesomeness of the milk in question. Since not all milk was equally beneficial for the baby, particularly that which was thin or watery and that which quickly soured (cf. Soranus, Gyn. 2.11–15), the Petrine author describes this milk as completely nourishing in that it derives from the breasts of God. The influence of a nurse’s disposition on the character of a child plays directly into the purpose (ἵνα) of drinking such milk, which in this case is for the readers ‘to grow up’ (αὐξηθῆτε). The passive form is not infrequently used intransitively with the active sense of growing or increasing (cf. Matt 13.32; Mark 4.8), though the active form is also employed in this way in later Greek (e.g., Matt 6.28; Eph 4.15;91 2 Pet 3.18, where the idea of growing in grace and knowledge of Christ forms a parallel to this verse).92 In this case, milk is the means of growth (αὐτῷ, referring back to γάλα), and the goal of growing up—expressed here with εἰς, with the telic sense of

89   Cf. Aulus Gellius, Noch. att. 12.1.14, 20: ‘it is believed not without reason that, just as the power and nature of the seed are able to form likenesses of body and mind, so the qualities and properties of the milk have the same effect…. And there is no doubt that in forming character the disposition of the nurse and the quality of the milk play a great part (quoniam videlicet in moribus inolescendis magnam fere partem ingenium altricis et natura lactis tenet); for the milk, although imbued from the beginning with the material of the father’s seed, forms the infant offspring from the body and mind of the mother as well’ (trans. Rolfe [LCL]). 90   Cf. Donelson 57. Reese also notes that this metaphor has ‘distinctly feminine overtones’ (‘1 Peter and Identity’, 204). 91   Hort (102) sees the phrase in 1 Pet 2.2 as ‘doubtless founded on Eph. iv. 15’, though this overstates the closeness of the parallel. 92   See LSJ 277; BDAG 151.

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the intended result93—is salvation (σωτηρίαν; see on 1.5). The idea of growing ‘towards’ salvation might have looked theologically dubious to some early scribes—hence the omission in some MSS (see Text at 2.2 n. d). But, as in the other places where 1 Peter speaks of σωτηρία (1.5, 9–10), it is depicted as a future hope—confidently anticipated, to be sure, but the goal of faith (1.9) rather than a present possession.94 For a hard-pressed and suffering readership, the idea that their salvation was already present and being enjoyed would be hard to accept; the eschatological focus of the letter, with its assurance that the promised future will very soon arrive (cf. 1.6; 4.17), fits more readily into such a situation. 3 εἰ ἐγεύσασθε ὅτι χρηστὸς ὁ κύριος. κύριος. Much like he does elsewhere (e.g., 1 Pet 1.15–16; 1.23–25), the Petrine author follows his exhortation with a supporting citation from scripture, though in this instance no marker or formula indicates that it is a quotation. The phrase comes from Ps 33.9 LXX, a psalm that is quoted again, more extensively, in 3.10–12 and that some have argued was in the author’s mind and an influence

93   Cf. Achtemeier 147; Dubis 44; Schreiner 104. In combination with αὐξάνω, the preposition εἰς could denote reference or respect (cf. Hippocrates, De aëre aquis et locis 14; Aristotle, Hist. an. 520b; 1 Chr 14.2; 23.17), ‘so that you might grow with reference to salvation’ (NASB, AMP). If this is the case, σωτηρία would represent a process capable of growing (and, presumably, of languishing). This interpretation is also represented in some translations that render the construction, ‘mature/grow up in (your) salvation’ (NIV, NCV). But since this construction is commonly used to denote the anticipated aim of growth (see Sib. Or. 2.134; Eph 4.15) or the actual results of growth (see Herodotus, Hist. 1.58; Gen 30.30; Diodorus Siculus 15.82.3; Philo, Spec. 2:217), and since in 1 Peter elsewhere describes σωτηρία not as a process but as a future event (cf. 1.5, 9), it is best to assign εἰς a telic force, ‘to(wards) salvation’ (cf. RSV, NET). 94   Van Rensburg denies that the purpose clause could mean ‘that through the milk the addressees will grow and as a consequence of the growth receive salvation’. Instead, he understands the verse to mean ‘that the milk will enable them to live up to their status as children of God’ (‘Eschatology in 1 Peter’, 486; original emphasis). Yet, to place the emphasis solely on the present aspect of salvation (as van Rensburg does) results in a distortion of the future dimensions. Without recognising that in 1 Peter future reward/redemption is dependent upon and conditionally tied to one’s present behaviour (see 1.7, 17; 3.6, 9–12; 4.7, 13), the nerve that connects ethics and soteriology is severed.



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throughout the letter.95 In the psalm, the verbs are imperative: γεύσασθε καὶ ἴδετε. But since the author of 1 Peter connects this phrase to the preceding exhortation to crave milk, only the verb ‘to taste’ is relevant here.96 Further, the mood of the verb is altered so that it forms the protasis of a first-class condition (introduced by εἰ), wherein the ‘tasting’ is assumed to be true for the sake of argument. Many fail to recognise the rhetorical force of the construction, describing it as a real or factual condition and translating it with a causal force, ‘since’ (cf. CEB, HCSB, NCV).97 This, however, ‘short-circuits the process, removing the contingency that the author wanted his readers to consider’.98 Whether they have actually ‘tasted’ the food in question is a matter that the conditional element forces the readers to answer for themselves. In this context, ‘taste’, while obviously appropriate given the connection to milk, means ‘to experience something cognitively or emotionally’, a figurative use of tasting evident elsewhere too.99 One can understand how some might find a eucharistic reference in this phrase,100 since Psalm 33 LXX (= Heb 34) was later sung during   A maximalist case for the influence of Ps 33 (LXX) was first set out by Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, 143–65. Cf. also Kelly 87: ‘the whole psalm was present in his mind as he wrote the letter’. Bornemann’s case has been heavily criticised, notably by Schutter, Hermeneutic, 44–49. But for a reassessment of the importance of Ps 33 (LXX) in 1 Peter, see Woan, ‘Psalms in 1 Peter’, 219–26; idem, ‘Use of the Old Testament’. 96   By omitting καὶ ἴδετε, the verb γεύομαι is modified by a ὅτι-clause followed by indirect discourse (cf. Selwyn 156; Michaels 90), which is an unusual Greek construction (see Moule, Idiom Book, 36; cf. Robertson, Grammar, 1035). The only other place where a similar usage is found prior to or contemporaneous with 1 Peter is in Prov 31.18 (LXX): ἐγεύσατο ὅτι καλόν ἐστιν τὸ ἐργάζεσθαι. Grotius, perhaps as a way to offset this irregularity, translated ὅτι as quam (‘how’): ‘if you have tasted how good the Lord is’ (74; cf. Arichea–Nida 53). 97   E.g., Heupler 620; Grudem 96 n. 2; Schelkle 57 n. 2; Dowd 371; Elliott 402; Senior 51; Witherington 113; Powers 78; Schlosser 119; Vahrenhorst 100 n. 193; cf. Christensen, ‘Solidarity in Suffering’, 347. Others move too far in the opposite direction by claiming that the conditional form implies doubt on the author’s part (e.g., Sadler 96). 98   Schreiner 105. Cf. also Steiger 2:18; Johnstone 116; Warden 97. On the meaning of the first-class condition, see Wallace, Grammar, 690; BDF §372. 99   BDAG 195; cf. LSJ 346. See, e.g., Herodotus, Hist. 4.147: ἐπείτε ἐγεύσατο ἀρχῆς (‘when he had a taste of supreme power’); 6.5: οἷα ἐλευθερίης γευσάμενοι (‘now that they had tasted freedom’). 100   Based on the aorist tense of the verb, Wordsworth claims that it points ‘to a particular time, viz. their baptism, when they tasted the goodness of the Lord’ 95

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the time of the Eucharist.101 This view can be traced back to the early days of modern, critical scholarship, although recent advocates have been very few.102 The position has been given a much stronger foundation recently through the work of Martin, who appeals to the source domain of ancient nutritional theory.103 Nevertheless, while a connection with this sacred meal may have been drawn in the minds of some early readers, it is doubtful whether this was the author’s intent in the present literary context.104 What the recipients of the letter are assumed to have already tasted is ὅτι χρηστὸς ὁ κύριος, an exact quotation from Psalm 33 (LXX). In the psalm, as the Hebrew text makes clear, ὁ κύριος is YHWH. In 1 Peter, as we have seen (cf. Exegesis at 1.25), κύριος generally refers to Christ, and that is certainly the case here, given the clear wordplay we shall go on to explore as well as the undoubtedly christological focus of the following verse (v. 4). This does not necessarily mean that the author intended to identify Christ with YHWH or even suggest that he was divine;105 rather, as in 1.25, his appropriation of the Jewish scriptures is christologically focused. (53; original emphasis). However, more recent work on the Greek verbal system has shown that the aorist is not limited to a punctiliar sense (see Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 255–82). 101   See Kelly 87, who cites Const. ap. 8.13.16; Cyril of Jerusalem, Cat. myst. 5.20; Jerome, Ep. 71.6; Liturgy of St James (ANF 7.548, at the Rite of Fraction); Mozarabic Liturgy (‘Gustate et videte quam suavis est Dominus’); similarly Goppelt 133 n. 58. 102   For earlier proponents of this view, see Huther 105 n. 1. Other advocates include: Leaney 30; Kelly 87; Davids 83–84; Schelkle 57. However, many who have been favourably disposed toward the position have only entertained it very cautiously (see, e.g., Selwyn 157; Beare 116; cf. also Lohmeyer, ‘Das Mahl in der ältesten Christenheit’, 296). 103   Martin, ‘Tasting the Eucharistic Lord’, 515–25. 104   Cf. Goppelt 133, who suggests that echoes of the Eucharist here are ‘hardly intentional’. Aside from the subtlety of such an allusion, this proposal would require the author to transition from a metaphorical image (newborn babies ingesting milk from God) to the literal experience of the Anatolian readers (partaking of the Eucharist) without any indication that his language had shifted. 105   Others have likewise been reticent about making this equation (e.g., Hort 104; Blenkin 45). It would be hard to argue that 1 Peter identifies Jesus as God in the sense of later orthodox confessions, since the letter primarily presents a functional Christology (see Richard, ‘Functional Christology’, 121–39; Kraftchick, ‘Reborn to a Living Hope’, 83–85), which emphasises the humanity of Jesus, and in particular, his experience of suffering (see Tuñi, ‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 292–304; Williams, ‘Reception of Jesus’, 277–95). Some, in fact, have



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The quality that is attributed to Christ (‘the Lord’) is that he is χρηστός. Structurally, the adjective is in first predicate position, and thus receives slightly more emphasis.106 What is not as clear is the precise meaning attached to it. In its original Septuagintal usage, the term relates to the (moral) goodness of God as evidenced by the benevolence and kindness displayed toward the people of God. This usage of χρηστός is a common way to describe God throughout the Psalms,107 and it is consistent with its application to personal referents in ancient Greek.108 For this reason, most argue that the same quality is in view with reference to Christ (hence, ‘the Lord is kind’; cf. LEB, GNT, or ‘the Lord is good’; cf. NRSV, NIV, ESV, NAB).109 But aside from denoting a moral trait, χρηστός was also used to describe a standard of excellence. This usage is found on numerous occasions in connection with food products (e.g., wheat, olives, sauce, wine), wherein it expresses their superior quality.110 There have been some, therefore, who have emphasised the appetizing taste that is in view (cf. ‘the Lord is sweet’: Wycliffe, DouayRheims, NMB), connecting the verse with the larger metaphor of infant sustenance (cf. 1 Pet 2.1–2).111 Further precision has recently been added to this latter position by Martin, who considers ancient views on the relationship between gone so far as to claim that the Christology of the letter borders on an adoptionistic perspective through its description of the exaltation of the human Jesus in 1 Pet 3.18–4.6 (see Krafft, ‘Christologie und Anthropologie’, 120–26). 106   See Wallace, Grammar, 307–308. 107   See Pss 24[25].8; 85[86].5; 99[100].5; 105[106].1; 106[107].1; 118[119].68; 135[136].1; 144[145].9; cf. Dan 3.89; Nah 1.7; 2 Macc 1.24; Wis 15.1; T.Sol. 2.36; 5.2, 12; 8.32; 10.2, 7. 108   Herodotus, Hist. 5.109; 6.13; Sophocles, Phil. 437; Oed. tyr. 610. See further, LSJ 2007. The term is common in ancient epitaphs. Very often, χρηστός is the only description of the deceased aside from their name (e.g., IG2 11599, 11671, 12286). 109   E.g., Schott 96; Fausset 503; Hofmann 61; Huther 107; Monnier 90; Blenkin 45; Donelson 57; Schlosser 119. 110   Wheat: P.Cair.Zen. II 59177; BGU XVI 2610. Olives: BGU I 14, 34; P.Abinn. 72; P.Bad. IV 54; P.Dubl. 16; P.Lund. IV 11; P.Oxy. VI 937, XIV 1753; P.Ross. Georg. I 5; P.Ryl. IV 627, 629, 630, 637, 639; PSI VIII 890; P.Stras. IV 299; SB XX 15066. Sauce: P.Oxy. XIV 1759, XLI 2983. Wine: Luke 5.39; Plutarch, [Apoph. lac.] Gorgo (Mor. 240D); Aelius Promotus, Δυναμερόν 78.10; Athenaeus, Deipn. 13.49 (Kaibel); P.Oxy. XXXI 2596. 111   E.g., Alford 345; Mason 400; Usteri 86; Bigg 127; Wand 65. Both the beneficial nature as well as the quality of taste is emphasised by Spicq 81.

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taste and nutrition. What he has demonstrated is that taste was thought to be directly related to the usefulness of a given food for the nourishment of the body.112 Since not every food was believed to be an appropriate source of nutrition (cf. Galen, Nat. fac. 1.10; cf. Aristotle, Eth. nic. 3.10.9), taste was viewed as the sense that provided discernment (Galen, Alim. fac. 1.4). When food tasted pleasant, it was an indication that it contained substances that were consistent with the animal’s or human’s nature and thus useful (χρηστός) for deriving nutriment (cf. Galen, Nat. fac. 2.8; 3.7). So while this verse seems to be an admonition to continue striving towards spiritual growth on the basis that their initial experience of Christ had been pleasant (or ‘good’),113 the means of persuasion goes deeper than a sense of taste. There is a direct correlation between the quality of this food and its ability to nourish those who receive it.114 One of the main questions about this phrase is whether the author intended the wordplay on χρηστός/Χρίστος. Elliott notes the possibility that χρηστός might be ‘written, spoken, or heard’ as Χρίστος, but concludes: ‘While this would be consistent with the Christological sense of the passage, the reading [χρηστός] meaning “good” has superior manuscript support… and is more compatible with the image of tasting’.115 However, given the evidence that η and ι were pronounced indistinguishably (not least from the itacisms   Martin, ‘Tasting the Eucharistic Lord’, 522–25.   This is the interpretation adopted by most commentators (e.g., Plumptre 107; Bennett 207; Mitchell 246; Elliott 402–403). As an alternative, Selwyn (156–57) stresses the fact of tasting, rather than taste itself. That is, he claims the admonition is given on the basis that the readers had already begun the initial step of entrance into the Christian faith (and thus they should continue therein). 114   Van Rensburg (‘Referent of Egeusasthe’, 103–19; cf. idem, ‘Salvific Metaphors’, 387–88) suggests that the original act of ‘tasting’ is intended to recall the colostrum produced by new mothers. The value of this substance, he argues, would not have been lost on the readers: ‘The author of 1 Peter and his addressees, although fully aware of the sustaining effect of colostrum, would not have been able to explain this effect’ (114 n. 22). This view, however, suffers from anachronism. Within ancient medical discussions, colostrum was actually viewed as unwholesome and thus often avoided (see Garnsey, Food and Society, 106–107). Aristotle claims that the milk of a pregnant animal is, at first, unfit for use (Hist. an. 3.20), while Soranus recommends that a wet nurse be used for twenty days (or possibly only three, depending on the textual reading) after the birth because the mother’s milk is unwholesome (Gyn. 2.17–18). 115   Elliott 404. 112 113



2.1–3

593

common in NT MSS; see Text at 4.16 n. f), it seems hard to imagine that the word-play encapsulated in the scriptural quotation—which immediately becomes thereby a concise credal confession central to early Christian faith (cf. Rom 10.9; 1 Cor 12.3; Phil 2.11)—was not perceived by the author and by those who heard the letter read out loud.116 Indeed, this would seem very likely to be one of the main attractions of this particular scriptural citation. Such a hypothesis is made more probable still by the observation that early Christian apologists frequently played on the similarity between χρηστός/Χρίστος to argue that despite their vilification as anti-social criminals, Christians were in fact ‘good’, ‘useful’people.117 The textual variants (see Text at 2.3 n. f) also make clear that the christological resonance of the phrase was soon perceived, even if the orthographical choice that must inevitably be made prevents both alternatives being equally represented—except insofar as the contracted form of the nomen sacrum does not include the vowels. P72, for example, clearly shifts the weight onto the christological confession, not only by rendering χρηστός as Χρίστος (in the form ΧΡΣ) but also through the singular reading ‘if you have tasted and believed’. A similar tendency is evident in some texts of citations of the phrase in Clement of Alexandria.118 We may assume, then, that the author saw the christological significance of this phrase, as well as its connection with the imagery of nourishment. Summary Similar to the previous section of the letter body (1.13–25), the author offers his readers exhortation concerned to reinforce the reorientation of their lives away from past vices and towards the 116   See Stevick, ‘A Matter of Taste’, 709. Cf. also Plumptre 107; McKnight 105 n. 11; Achtemeier 148. Some have denied this connection, however (e.g., Huther 107; Schreiner 106 n. 226). 117   E.g., Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 4.1, 5; 46.4; Theophilus, Ad Auto. 1.1, 12; Tertullian, Apol. 3.5. 118   Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.44.1 has χρηστὸς ὁ κύριος, but ms Μ has Χσ ὁ κύριος (see GCS ed., p. 116); the same variation occurs at Strom. 5.10.66.3 in ms L (GCS ed., p. 370). Prot. 9.87.4 has χρηστὸς ὁ θεός, with Χσ in mss P and M* (GCS ed., p. 65). Elliott (404) cites two of these instances from Clement as examples of the rendering ‘the Lord is Christ’, but does not indicate that the substitution of Χριστός for χρηστός occurs only in some MSS and is textually doubtful.

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new goals of holiness, purity, and, ultimately, salvation; as in 1.3–5, we see 1 Peter’s focus upon the final outcome of the saving work of God. The central aspects of their new identity and orientation, expressed as statements and indicatives in the opening blessing (1.3–12)—their identity as reborn (1.3), as heading for salvation (1.5, 9), and so on—are here used to support and motivate the exhortation (ὡς ἀρτιγέννητα βρέφη…). The vices from which they are urged to turn away are focused particularly on the kinds of malicious and deceitful accusations that they are encountering from their wider critics, and which the letter elsewhere urges them not to reciprocate (2.22–23; 3.9–16). Positively, the identification of the readers as newborn infants (2.2; cf. 1.23), with a divine parentage and formative nourishment in Christ, constructs their identity as a new people, a profoundly ethnic reconfiguration (seen climactically in 2.9–10), albeit one that goes beyond the earthly distinctions of geographical or biological origin.119 This identity is more than metaphorical—the readers are reborn to a new identity, begotten of God—but (like ethnic and racial identities) it is ideologically and socially constructed and hence precarious, needing to be affirmed and enacted—which is, in part, the purpose of the letter.

119   On this theme in 1 Peter, see Ok, Ethnic Identity, and Marcar, Divine Regeneration. On the topic in NT studies more generally, see Horrell, Ethnicity and Inclusion. On the engagement between ‘historical-geographical race’ and ‘cosmological race’ in John’s Gospel (but relevant here too), see Benko, Race in John’s Gospel.

C H R I S T T H E C H O SE N C O R N E RSTONE AND T H E C O MMU N IT Y A S A C H O SEN PEOPLE (2.4–10)

Initial Bibliography Ernest Best, ‘I Peter II, 4–10 – A Reconsideration’, NovT 11 (1969): 270–93; John Chryssavgis, ‘The Royal Priesthood (Peter 2.9)’, GOTR 32 (1987): 373–77; Lutz Doering, ‘Gottes Volk: Die Adressaten als “Israel” im Ersten Petrusbrief’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studies zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 81–113; rev. and exp. as ‘ “You are a Chosen Stock…”: The Use of Israel Epithets for the Addressees in First Peter’, in Jewish and Christian Communal Identities in the Roman World, ed. Yair Furstenberg, AJEC 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 243–76; John H. Elliott, The Elect and the Holy: An Exegetical Examination of 1 Peter 2:4–10 and the Phrase βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, NovTSup 12 (Leiden: Brill, 1966); R. T. France, ‘First Century Bible Study: Old Testament Motifs in 1 Peter 2:4–10’, Journal of the European Pentecostal Theological Association 18 (2015): 26–48; Caleb T. Friedeman, ‘The Rhetorical Design of 1 Peter 2,9–10’, Bib 101 (2020): 124–31; José Cervantes Gabarrón, ‘Sacerdocio y reino en 1 P 2,4–10’, EstBib 66 (2008): 577–610; Nijay K. Gupta, ‘A Spiritual House of Royal Priests, Chosen and Honored: The Presence and Function of Cultic Imagery in 1 Peter’, PRSt 36 (2009): 61–76; Gudrun Guttenberger, ‘ “…nun aber Volk Gottes” (1 Petr 2,10): Der erste Petrusbrief im Kontext des “Parting of the Ways” - Prozesses’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 115–39; Stanislas Hałas, ‘Sens dynamique de l’expression λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν en 1 P 2,9’, Bib 65 (1984): 254–58; Paul A. Himes, ‘Why Did Peter Change the Septuagint? A Reexamination of the Significance of the Use of Τίθημι in 1 Peter 2:6’, BBR 26 (2016): 227–44; David G. Horrell, ‘ “Race”, “Nation”, “People”: Ethnic Identity-Construction in 1 Peter 2.9’, NTS 58 (2011): 123–43, rev. and exp. in Becoming Christian, 133–63; idem, ‘ “Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk”: 1 Pet 2:4–10, Its History of Interpreta� tion in Germany (1855–1978), and the Important Contribution of Leonhard Goppelt’, in Bedrängnis und Identität: Studien zu Situation, Kommunikation und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes, ed. David S. du Toit, BZNW 200 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 327–51; Gerhard Hotze, ‘Königliche Priesterschaft in Bedrängnis. Zur Ekklesiologie des Ersten Petrusbriefes’, in Hoffnung in Bedrängnis, Studien zum Ersten Petrusbrief, ed. Thomas Söding, SBS 216 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2009), 105–29; Susann Liubinskas,

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‘Who’s Stumbling on the Stumbling Stone? A Reassessment of 1 Peter 2:4–10 in Light of a Dynamic Understanding of Holiness and Election’, in Kingdom Rhetoric: New Testament Explorations in Honor of Ben Witherington III, ed. T. Michael W. Halcomb (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2013), 216–34; Frédéric Manns, ‘A Jewish Reading of 1Peter 2,1–10’, SBFLA 60 (2010): 173–87; Katie Marcar, ‘Building a Holy House: Identity Formation in the Community Rule, 4QFlorilegium, and 1 Peter 2.4–10’, in Muted Voices of the New Testament: Readings in the Catholic Epistles and Hebrews, ed. Katherine M. Hockey, Madison N. Pierce, and Francis Watson, LNTS 565 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2017), 41–54; Pierre Prigent, ‘I Pierre 2,4–10’, RHPhR 72 (1992): 53–60; Philip Richardson, ‘What are the Spiritual Sacrifices of 1 Peter 2:5? Some Light from Philo of Alexandria’, EvQ 87 (2015): 3–17; Eduard Schweizer, ‘Glaubensgrundlage und Glaubenserfahrung in der Kirche des allgemeinen Priestertums: 1Petr 2,1–10’, in Kirche und Volk Gottes. Festschrift für Jürgen Roloff zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Martin Karrer, Wolfgang Kraus, and Otto Merk (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2000), 272–83; Torrey Seland, ‘The “Common Priesthood” of Philo and 1 Peter: A Philonic Reading of 1 Peter 2.5,9’, JSNT 57 (1995): 87–119; Jim R. Sibley, ‘You Talkin’ to Me? 1 Peter 2:4–10 and a Theology of Israel’, SwJT 59 (2016): 59–75.

Text 4

πρὸς ὃν προσερχόμενοι λίθον ζῶντα ὑπὸ(a) ἀνθρώπων μὲν ἀποδεδοκιμασμένον,, παρὰ δὲ θεῷ ἐκλεκτὸν ἔντιμον, ἀποδεδοκιμασμένον ἔντιμον, 5 καὶ αὐτοὶ ὡς λίθοι ζῶντες οἰκοδομεῖσθε(b) οἶκος πνευματικὸς εἰς(c) ἱεράτευμα ἅγιον(d) ἀνενέγκαι πνευματικὰς θυσίας εὐπροσ­ εὐπροσ­ (e) 6 δέκτους τῷ θεῷ διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Χριστοῦ. διότι περιέχει ἐν(f) γραφῇ· ἰδοὺ τίθημι ἐν Σιὼν λίθον ἀκρογωνιαῖον ἐκλεκτὸν(g) ἔντιμον,, καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ. ἔντιμον καταισχυνθῇ. 7 ὑμῖν οὖν ἡ τιμὴ τοῖς πιστεύουσιν, πιστεύουσιν, ἀπιστοῦσιν(h) δὲ λίθος(i) ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες, οἰκοδομοῦντες, οὗτος ἐγενήθη εἰς κεφαλὴν γωνίας 8 καὶ λίθος προσκόμματος καὶ πέτρα σκανδάλου· οἳ προσκόπτουσιν τῷ λόγῳ ἀπειθοῦντες εἰς ὃ καὶ ἐτέθησαν. ἐτέθησαν. 9(j) ὑμεῖς δὲ γένος ἐκλεκτόν, ἐκλεκτόν, βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, ἱεράτευμα, ἔθνος ἅγιον, ἅγιον, λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν, περιποίησιν, ὅπως τὰς ἀρετὰς ἐξαγγείλητε τοῦ ἐκ σκότους ὑμᾶς καλέσαντος εἰς τὸ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ(k) φῶς· 10 οἵ ποτε οὐ λαός, λαός, νῦν δὲ λαὸς θεοῦ, θεοῦ, οἱ οὐκ ἠλεημένοι, ἠλεημένοι, νῦν δὲ ἐλεηθέντες.. ἐλεηθέντες

(a) Instead of ὑπό, some manuscripts (C, 307c, 1175, 1243, 1611, 1739, 1852, 2492) and a few later translations (arm, geo, slavms) read ἀπό (cf. 5 and 623, which read ὑπέρ). This change could perhaps be explained as ‘an error of the ear provoked by the crasis inherent in ζῶντα ὑπό’ (Achtemeier 149 n. 1), but it is also possible that the variant represents a visual error in which ΑΠΟ was confused for ΥΠΟ.



2.4–10

597

(b) The reading οἰκοδομεῖσθε is supported by a strong list of Greek MSS (P72, A*, B, Ψ, 1243, 1735, 1852, 2718, Byz) along with some patristic witnesses (Eusebius, Origen). As a result, most commentators (e.g., de Wette 20; Usteri 86 n. 1; Huther 101; Hort 108; Achtemeier 149 n. 3; Elliott 412) argue that the prefixed form (ἐποικοδομεῖσθε) represents an attempt by later scribes to align the text with other uses of the verb in the Pauline and deutero-Pauline writings (cf. 1 Cor 3.10–14; Eph 2.20; Col 2.7). What is less often recognised is that ἐποικοδομεῖσθε—which was the reading in Tischendorf—has an equally strong external pedigree (‫א‬, A2, C, 81, 93, 323, 436, 623, 1739, 2344, 2464, 2541, Cyril of Alexandria, Didymus of Alexandria, and Procopius Gazaeus, Latin Vulgate [superaedificamini]), particularly when the manuscripts are considered with regard to their relationship to the initial text of 1 Peter, rather than simply the date of their composition (see Introduction: Text). If this latter reading were adopted, it might imply that Christ is the foundation upon which the readers are being built (‘you are being built [upon him] into a spiritual house’). The christological nuance added by the preposition might perhaps indicate that the expansion is more likely a secondary improvement, though the decision is finely balanced; it is listed as an alternative reading in ECM. (c) In the majority of MSS, the preposition εἰς is omitted, which reflects the reading found in the TR (cf. also Benson 206–207; Steiger 2:35). Through this omission, ἱεράτευμα ἅγιον is set in apposition to οἶκος πνευματικός (‘a spiritual house, that is, a holy priesthood’) instead of indicating the purpose for which this ‘spiritual house’ exists. It is possible that a theological motivation lies behind the omission (viz. ‘because its presence seemed to imply that the Christians were not already priests’ [Metzger, TCGNT, 619]); but regardless of how this variant arose, the presence of εἰς is strongly attested by the unanimous witness of the earliest MSS (P72, ‫א‬, A, B, C, Ψ) and should undoubtedly be accepted here. (d) Another of P72’s marginal summaries appears at this point: περὶ ϊεράτευμα ἅγιον. (e) While it does not impact the interpretation of the passage, the article (τῷ) before θεῷ is omitted in ‫*א‬, A, B, C, Ψ, 323, 436, 1739, 2541, etc. The omission is reflected in the text of NA28 and ECM (cf. Lachmann, Tischendorf), while it is bracketed in NA27. The reading is difficult to determine on external grounds, especially given the weight of the evidence in favour of the article’s inclusion (P72, ‫א‬2, 81, 623, 1735, 1852, 2464, 2718). But the Petrine author’s preference for the article with θεός (cf. 1.3; 2.12, 17; 3.18; 4.11bis, 16; 5.5, 10)—excluding those instances where the noun functions either in a genitive relationship to a head noun or within a prepositional phrase, both of which affect whether the article is used (see Wallace, Grammar, 206–54)— may lend support to the view that it was part of the initial text. (f) The reading ἐν τῇ γραφῇ (supported by K, L, P, 049, etc.) eventually came to be found in the TR and Majority Text (Stephanus, Scrivener, Robinson-Pierpont). However, P72, ‫א‬, A, B, Ψ, omit the article, which should

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be accepted (cf. Donelson 60 n. e; Schreiner 113 n. 259). In the text of Lachmann, the reading ἡ γραφή is found (C, 81, 642, 1175, 1243, 1448, 1611, 1739, 1852, 2492, Byzpt), thus attributing a personal force to the construction (followed by Calvin 66; for comparative uses, see Exegesis at 2.6). (g) In some Greek manuscripts, the order of ἀκρογωνιαῖον ἐκλεκτόν is reversed (B, C, 307, 1175, 1243, 2492, etc.), which would allow the adjectival modifiers to be divided between λίθον and ἀκρογωνιαῖον: ‘a stone that is elect, a cornerstone that is precious’. A few commentators have adopted this alternative order, which is given as an alternative reading in ECM (so, e.g., Hort 115–16; Weiss 129; Blenkin 48). Nevertheless, since this aligns the text with the LXX of Isa 28.16, the order in P72, ‫א‬, A, etc. is more likely to be original, with other texts assimilating to the LXX (cf. Kühl 143). (h) The Majority Text reads ἀπειθοῦσιν (‘disobedient ones’) in place of ἀπιστοῦσιν (‘unbelievers’). Yet the latter is clearly to be preferred on the basis of its broad support among the early witnesses (P72, ‫א‬, B, C, Ψ, etc.) and the likelihood that the former probably arose under the influence of v. 8 (cf. Michaels 93 n. e; Achtemeier 149 n. 8). (i) In Ps 117.22 (LXX), the source-text of the quotation, the text reads λίθον. This form was originally created by inverse attraction (i.e., the nominative antecedent, λίθος, assimilating to the case of the relative pronoun; see Robertson, Grammar, 717–18). Consistent with the LXX, various witnesses support the accusative form in v. 7 (‫א‬, C2, P, Ψ, 5, 81, 1175, 1243, 1448, 1735, 1739, 2344, Byz, vgmss sa). But as a departure from the LXX, the nominative (λίθος) reflects the more likely reading, especially given its strong external support among the earliest MSS (P72, ‫א‬2, A, B, C*) and versions (lat, bo, syh, arm, geo). (j) P72 here gives another marginal heading: περὶ γένος ἐγλεκτὸν [sic]1 βασίλιον ϊεράτευμα ἔθνος ἅγιον λαὸν περιποησιν [sic]. (k) P72 and C-S agree here, against all Greek MSS, on omitting the αὐτοῦ (a reading supported only by P125, one patristic witness [Theodotus of Ancyra], and some Coptic and Old Slavonic versions). Bethge (‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 262) comments that this is one of the few occasions where P72 and C-S agree against [virtually] all other witnesses. Since these two texts share a similar provenance (see Introduction: Text), it is possible that the reading reflects a local variant only. Since this is the lectio difficilior—one can well imagine αὐτοῦ being added for style and sense.

Introduction Though connected grammatically with what precedes, an abrupt change of imagery marks the transition to a new section, which forms a climactic, rich, and highly significant part of the letter, the 1

  This spelling also appears in P72’s text at this point.



2.4–10

599

culmination of the first main section of the letter body (1.13–2.10). The passage contains the most complex and intricate exegetical engagement with scripture in the letter and has long been characterised as ‘midrashic’,2 or, more specifically, as similar in character to the pesharim from Qumran, in which biblical texts are cited and then interpreted.3 One must be wary of identifying the genres too closely, however: ‘midrash’ has perhaps been too broadly applied as a term to NT passages that comprise scriptural citation and interpretation; and, unlike the Qumran pesharim, the author of 1 Peter does not signal explicitly the distinction between quotation and interpretation.4 Nonetheless the author’s use of scripture and exegetical technique bear close similarities to these contemporary Jewish writings, and the structure of scriptural quotation and contemporary interpretation is particularly evident in vv. 6–8. The author’s exegetical technique also parallels other Jewish exegesis in its use of catchwords to link citations—most notably λίθος in vv. 6–8.5 The use of these scriptural ‘stone’ texts, which are cited elsewhere in the NT (esp. Rom 9.33, though there are also some points of difference), has also led to discussions about whether the Petrine author had access to some kind of collection of scriptural texts that served as testimonia (see Excursus: The Quotation of ‘Stone’ Texts [LXX Isa 8.14; 28.16; Ps 117.22]). The existence of such collections as such is hard to substantiate, but it is clear enough that the author demonstrates knowledge and awareness of the scriptural texts that had already been found to be of significance in earliest Christian reflection, though he also exhibits direct (and sophisticated) knowledge of the Jewish scriptures that goes well beyond established or favourite citations.

  E.g., Selwyn 164; Michaels 95 (‘the heart of vv 4–10 is a midrash…’).   See further Schutter, Hermeneutic; Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, 310–12; Cooper, ‘Exegetical Method’, 65–80. 4   Phrases like ‘the interpretation of the word’ (‫ )פשר הדבר‬or ‘its interpretation’ (‫ …)פשרו‬are formulaic in the Qumran pesharim (see, e.g., 4Q162, 4Q165, 1QpHab). On the need for caution in using these labels in relation to 1 Peter’s exegetical activity, see Liebengood, Eschatology, 94–97. 5   See Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, 311. However, the catch-word connections operate less clearly in relation to the second cluster (vv. 9–10), where λαός does not connect the various citations to the same extent. 2 3

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Verses 4–5 introduce and summarise some of the key ideas that are expressed in the interpreted quotations and phrases set out on vv. 6–10;6 more specifically, v. 4 encapsulates the texts and comments about Christ the stone in vv. 6–8, and v. 5 introduces some of the themes of vv. 9–10, specifically the holy and priestly identity of the Christian community and its offering of worship to God. However, rather than understanding the biblical quotations in vv. 6–10 as merely illustrating or confirming the points the author has himself made in vv. 4–5, it is more convincing to see the scriptural material in vv. 6–10 as the generative source for the introductory summary that is presented in vv. 4–5.7 Moreover, not every point emphasised in vv. 6–10 finds specific resonance in vv. 4–5; for example, the significant and climactic emphasis on identity as a ‘people’ (vv. 9–10, where γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός all appear) is not captured in v. 5.8 The extent to which vv. 4–5 capture the key points of vv. 6–10 should not therefore be overemphasised. For example, vv. 4–5 link Christ and community via the image of living stone(s); but the stone imagery finds no expression in vv. 9–10. Indeed, one of the distinctive achievements of the opening section vv. 4–5 is to draw this ‘stone’ link, extended into the building imagery, which also finds no expression in vv. 9–10. The overall structure of the passage may broadly be set out as follows.9 Introduction (vv. 4–5): Jesus the elect and living stone (v. 4); The community as living stones, a building and a holy priesthood (v. 5); Scriptural texts interpreted and applied (vv. 6–8): The elect stone (vv. 6–8): three texts plus interpretative comments (Isa 28.16; Ps 118.22; Isa 8.14); The elect people (vv. 9–10): three texts (Isa 43.20–21; Exod 19.5–6; Hos 2.25 LXX [partly overlapping with Hos 1.6, 8, 9; 2.3 LXX]).   Cf. Frankemölle 42.   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 48, 196. See, e.g., Brox 94–96; Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, 310–11. For a different view (specifically on the relationship between vv. 5 and 9), see Best, ‘I Peter II 4–10’, 282; Michaels 101. 8   Pace Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, 310, who sees the key theme of ‘people’ anticipated in v. 5. 9   Cf. the outline in Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, 310, along with the detailed discussion of Elliott, Elect and Holy, 16–49. 6 7



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Exegesis 4 πρὸς ὃν προσερχόμενοι λίθον ζῶντα While the relative pronoun ὅν (referring to Christ, ὁ κύριος) connects this verse grammatically with what precedes, the imagery changes abruptly to that of Christ as stone, which then enables a shift to a corporate focus on the community as stones that comprise a building. Various suggestions have been offered to explain the shift of metaphor from babies/milk to stones/building. Long ago, Perdelwitz maintained that a connection could be drawn to the Phyrgian mother-goddess whose temple housed a black meteorite.10 According to Hillyer, the proper ‘linking of ideas in this passage is not milk: stone, but rather the Hebraic one of babes: house’. This claim is based on the lexical observation that ‫‘( בנה‬to build’) and ‫‘( בית‬house’) are related: ‘To be built is to become a house; to become a house is to obtain children’.11 Others have noted similar connections in the prophecy of Joel 3.18 (LXX), which describes hills flowing with milk, and in the tradition cited by Paul in 1 Cor 10.4, which mentions consuming spiritual drink from the spiritual rock, which is Christ.12 It is doubtful that any of these associations are specifically reflected in the present verse, however. The connection between ‘growing up’ (v. 3) and becoming a ‘building’ (v. 5) is also found elsewhere: growth and building are closely associated in Ephesians (2.21, 4.12, 16).13 In any case, the author not infrequently mixes metaphors and images, changing rapidly from one to another, as the following verses show (stone/building and priests/ sacrifices, etc.). The continuing influence of Psalm 33 LXX is apparent in the opening phrase πρὸς ὃν προσερχόμενοι, which echoes Ps 33.6 (προσέλθατε πρὸς αὐτόν). This verse from Psalm 33 is doubly significant, since it concludes by promising that those who come to 10   Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 69–70. A similar proposal is submitted (although not adopted) by Beare. He contends that the language of milk and stones might conjure up the image of the goddess Artemis, whose temples were spread across Asia Minor and whose breasts provided sustenance for her devotees. Thus, ‘[i]nstead of the dead stone image of the mother-goddess with manifold breasts, the Christians come to the living Christ, who feeds them with the “spiritual milk” ’ (95). 11   Hillyer, ‘Spiritual Milk’, 126. Cf. also Hillyer 60. 12   E.g., Hart 55; Wand 66. 13   Michaels 93.

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him ‘will not be put to shame’ (οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ), precisely the phrase from Isa 28.16 quoted in v. 6, where the scriptural quotation that undergirds this thought is presented.14 An immediate grammatical question relates to the function of the participle προσερχόμενοι.15 It is commonly understood as conveying an imperatival force, ‘Come to him!’ (cf. RSV, NAB, NSRV, REB, CEV, GNT, NCV, NJB),16 perhaps as an attendant circumstance participle in association with οἰκοδομεῖσθε in v. 5 (which is sometimes read as imperative, see below). In support, appeal is made to the structural similarities with 1 Pet 2.1–2, where the participle is followed by a finite verb and often thought to communicate a command. However, given the fact that it is functioning with a relative clause, which continues the indicative mood of v. 3, and considering that οἰκοδομεῖσθε is most plausibly read as indicative (see below),17 the participle likely functions adverbially, denoting the means by which the ‘building up’ takes place (‘by coming to him’).18 On a syntactical level, the verb προσέρχομαι19 is normally modified by a dative, especially ‘when the object approached is a   Cf. Bigg 128; Blenkin 45; Michaels 98.   For a fuller discussion of the arguments related to the function of the parti�ciple προσερχόμενοι, see Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, 16–18. 16   So, e.g., Steiger 2:23; Fronmüller 32; Keil 80; Leaney 30; Arichea–Nida 55; Brox 96; Goppelt 137; Senior 53; Watson 47; cf. also Minear, ‘House of Living Stones’, 240; Treux, ‘God’s Spiritual House’, 192 n. 22; Hotze, ‘Königliche Priesterschaft’, 115 n. 44; Blanco, Blanco, ‘Pueblo Sacerdotal’, 54 n. 197, 59. 17   What is more, when the participle is understood as an imperative, ‘the idea of the main verb is subordinated to that of the participle—the real sense is “Come… that you may be built”; and it is doubtful if this transference of the weight is justified’ (Beare 119). 18   Others who interpret the participle in an adverbial sense include: Kühl 138; Best 99; Michaels 97; Elliott 409; Schlosser 121. Among these, a few have specified that προσερχόμενοι denotes the means by which the building process takes place, ‘by coming to him… you are being built’ (e.g., Miller 185; Achtemeier 153–54; Dubis 45–46; Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 111). 19   Various commentators have drawn attention to the connection between the verbal form used in the present passage (προσέρχομαι) and the term for ‘proselyte’ (προσήλυτος), noting that the readers’ incorporation into the people of God may have been in the back of the author’s mind (so, e.g., Usteri 86; Hort 105; Blenkin 46; Elliott 409). Others claim that there is an actual correspondence such that the phrase refers to proselytes (e.g., Danker, ‘I Peter 1,24–2,17’, 95). Both of these connections seem somewhat strained, however. 14 15



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person’.20 The use of προσέρχομαι + πρός has therefore led some to conclude that the author is wishing to indicate a more forceful movement or a closer sense of intimacy;21 yet there is little to support this hypothesis. Not only is προσέρχομαι + πρός common in classical literature,22 both constructions are used throughout Greek literature without any real discernible difference.23 The more important question is: what action or event is meant by this ‘approach’ toward Christ? Some argue that the present tense is intended to describe a continual or repeated action, and as such, they understand this movement as the perpetual need for believers to approach Christ in intimate communion.24 Nevertheless, it is doubtful that this view sufficiently explains the connection with οἰκοδομεῖσθε (v. 5). If this movement refers to a recurring communion with Christ, it would significantly disrupt the construction metaphor, requiring stones to enter and leave the building on a regular basis. Furthermore, in this position the personal relationships that individuals cultivate with Christ are somehow thought to facilitate the growth of the corporate structure. It is better, therefore, to understand this movement as the conversion of believers viewed in connection with the larger Christian movement. By ‘coming to’ Christ, the readers, along with other Christians from different

  Winer, Grammar, 539; MHT 3:242. See, e.g., Jub. 17.16; T.Ab. A 17.7–8; Philo, Sacr. 12; Deus 8; Matt 15.1; Mark 6.35; Luke 23.52; John 12.21; Heb 7.25; Josephus, Ant. 7.245; 10.190; Liv. Pro. 3.12; Hist. Rech. 14.4. 21   Argued by Steiger 24; Hofmann 63; Kühl 138; Stibbs-Walls 98; Hiebert 130. 22   As noted by Selwyn 157. Examples of προσέρχομαι + πρός where a personal object is being approached: Aristophanes, Av. 1212; Plut. 928; Demosthenes, Theocr. 63; Aristotle, Hist. an. 9.3; Polybius, Hist. 8.15.4; Josephus, Ant. 14.346; Ps.-Clement, Hom. 11.35.5, Life of Aesop, Vita G 60; Epictetus, Diatr. 4.1.152; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 52.7; et al. In one instance, Diodorus Siculus uses this same construction to describe the drawing near to the temple of Hemithea: ‘anyone who has touched a hog or eaten of its flesh is not permitted to draw near to (προσελθεῖν πρός) the sacred precinct’ (5.62.5; trans. Oldfather [LCL]). 23   This same construction is common in the LXX, both with a personal object (Gen 42.24; 43.19; Exod 12.48; 34.32; Num 9.14; 10.4; 18.4; 31.48; Deut 5.23; Josh 14.6; Judg 20.24; 1 Sam 4.16; 14.36; 15.32; 17.40; 1 Kgs 21.22; Ps 33.6; 90.10; Isa 8.3; Dan 7.16; Jonah 1.6; 1 Macc 2.16; Sir 24.19) and an impersonal object (Lev 9.7–8; 20.16; 21.23; Num 18.3; Deut 20.10; Ezek 44.16; Dan 3.93). 24   Proponents of this view include: Alford 345; Huther 108; Wand 66; Beare 119; Grudem 98; Hiebert 129; Elliott 209; Powers 81; cf. Kehinde, ‘Christianity amidst Violence’, 82; Zeller, ‘Intertextuality in 1 Peter 2.9–12’, 122. 20

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locations, are being built into a spiritual house.25 In this way, the present tense προσερχόμενοι carries a distributive force, reflecting the progress of the Christian mission around the world.26 Introducing the catchword that connects the quotations cited and interpreted in 2.6–8, the author describes Christ as a λίθος (‘stone’). Selwyn draws a distinction between this term and other words for rocks or rock-formations. He contends that ‘λίθος is the usual word for a worked stone, whether a stone used in a building or a precious stone; and it is to be distinguished from πέτρος, a loose stone lying on field or roadside, and from πέτρα, a rock, or simply rock in contrast with e.g. sand or metal’.27 Such a contrast is not borne out in the ancient literature, however.28 The term itself has a much broader 25   Cf. Bigg 128; Michaels 97. If this interpretation is correct, then it would mean that the metaphorical images of newborn babies (vv. 1–3) and building construction (vv. 4–5) are not representative of exactly the same process. This conclusion runs contrary to the suggestion by von Soden (141), who claimed that different images reflect the same underlying reality: with οἰκοδομέω (v. 5) corresponding to αὐξάνω (v. 2), both describing progression toward maturity, and προσέρχομαι (v. 4) corresponding to ἐπιποθέω (v. 2), both describing the effort of the readers to arrive at this goal. 26   A reference to the readers’ initial conversion has been proposed by some (e.g., Luther 86; Benson 204; Davids 85–86). But opponents have claimed that if this event were in view, we might have expected the aorist participle (see Johnstone 117; Hiebert 129 n. 2). What these interpreters have overlooked is that an aorist form could imply that the Christian mission had been completed, a notion that the author would want to avoid (cf. 1 Pet 3.1). 27   Selwyn 158. Others have worked from this same distinction (e.g., Best 100; Hiebert 130; Achtemeier 154 n. 59; Waltner 74; Witherington 113; Schlosser 135; Vahrenhorst 101; cf. Treux, ‘God’s Spiritual House’, 188). 28   The fact that λίθος is sometimes modified with a descriptor that marks its unhewn condition (cf. Ps.-Hec. 6.17; 1 Kgs 6.1, 7; 1 Macc 4.47; 1 En. 10.5) could be taken as an indication that it was generally a stone that had undergone a process of preparation. The problem is that ancient sources similarly noted if a λίθος had been hewn (e.g., Homer, Il. 18.504; Xenophon, Anab. 3.4.10; Manetho, Frag. 11; Cassius Dio 41.24.3; Diodorus Siculus 8.11.1; 1 Kgs 10.22; 2 Kgs 12.13; 22.6; 1 Chr 22.2; 1 Esdr 6.8; Jdt 1.2; 1 Macc 13.27), suggesting that, by itself, the term did not indicate a prepared stone. In antiquity, the distinction between πέτρος and λίθος was not preparation (cf. Pindar, Nem. 10, which describes a polished πέτρος). Instead, πέτρος was a relatively rare term used to refer primarily to small rocks, while λίθος was the more general, all-encompassing word for stones of all shapes, sizes, and functions. The latter is frequently employed to describe small rocks that were thrown in battle or another conflict situation (Thucydides 4.34.1–2; Aristophanes, Ach. 236; Xenophon, Hell. 2.4.28; Polybius, Hist. 1.43.6; T.Jud. 3.6; Liv. Pro. 2.1). At the same time, it could also represent larger stones



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meaning.29 Its connection with hewing and preparation flows out of the fact that the ancient source domain from which the image is drawn is building/construction (see below). The Petrine metaphor does not simply depict Christ as a stone; he is declared to be a ‘living stone’. With λίθον ζῶντα standing in apposition to the relative pronoun ὅν, the sentence represents an identification: Christ is a living stone. Some translations avoid this direct connection by adding the phrase ‘like/as unto’ (cf. KJV, NKJV, NASB, CEB);30 yet this rendering ‘takes off from the striking, attracting effect of the sudden metaphor’.31 It is also best to avoid making the label definite (‘the living stone’; cf. NIV, CEV, EHV, GNT, NCV, NLT).32 Its anarthrous form indicates that the author is interested in stressing the characteristic nature of the image—which will later be applied to the readers—rather than identifying Christ in connection with any preexisting expectation. But what meaning does the author intend to convey by describing this stone as ‘living’ (ζῶντα)? Similar terminology was employed by classical authors (Ovid, Her. 6.88; Metam. 5.317; Virgil, Aen. 1.167; 3.688) to depict a stone ‘in its natural untouched condition’.33 The designation was intended to represent a stone that was ‘fresh and unaffected by exterior agencies, appearing to live still with the by which tombs were sealed (Matt 27.60; John 11.38). In some cases, it refers to stones found in nature (Gen 28.11; Job 14.19; Diodorus Siculus 5.26.1; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 1.79.5). 29   There is no reason to see any connection with the authorial ascription, Πέτρος (as suggested by Spicq, ‘témoignage évangélique’, 57–59; Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 346; idem, ‘Further Verba’, 222). 30   This position is also advocated by a few commentators as well (e.g., Benson 204; Jachmann 138). 31   Mason 400. Cf. Plumptre 107. 32   This is how Hiebert (130) translates the phrase. 33   Kreitzer makes the interesting, though highly speculative, claim that ‘[t]he unusual image may be due, in part, to the writer’s familiarity with the local versions of the flood story [in Phrygia], or perhaps even direct knowledge of Ovid’s tale of Deucalion and Pyrrha’ (‘Eschatological Ark of God’, 262). The basis for this suggestion is the connection of Noah’s ark with the region of Phrygia and the way that the Noah legend was commonly associated with Greek flood stories, particularly the tale of Deucalion. Kreitzer notes that in the latter account stones play an important role in the re-population of the world (cf. Pindar, Ol. 9.43–46; Lycian, Salt. 39). Specifically, ‘as Deucalion and Pyrrha go about casting stones over their shoulders, they are creating a new people’ (original emphasis). This suggestion, however, seems like quite an interpretative stretch.

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breath given it by nature’,34 which was to be contrasted with, and distinct from, stones that had been hewn and shaped by craftsmen. In the past, some have used these references to interpret the Petrine imagery,35 though it is doubtful that this concept was widespread within the common parlance of the Greek East. Not only is comparable terminology lacking among Greek writers, the specific phrase, ‘living stone’ (vivum saxum), is present in only one Latin text (Tacitus, Ann. 4.55). Furthermore, the subsequent references to οἰκοδομοῦντες (‘builders’, v. 7) and to the stone’s rejection (vv. 4, 7) indicate that hewn stones are in view. The Petrine author uses similar terminology elsewhere in the epistle to describe the ‘hope’ that the readers gain through the resurrection of Christ (1.3) and the ‘word of God’ that generated their re-birth (1.23). In this instance, ‘living’ (ζῶντα) is a description that serves in part to indicate that λίθος is being ‘used in a non-literal sense’ (cf. 2.2, 5),36 but more importantly points to Christ’s identity as the resurrected one (cf. 1.3, 3.18, 21–22). It may also imply that Christ imparts life to those who follow him, especially given that believers are said to be ‘living stones’ in the following verse.37 This oxymoronic image thus allows the author to remind his readers that they serve a living saviour, while also allowing him to develop the thought of Jesus’ rejection.38   Plumpe, ‘Vivum saxum’, 6. Within (non-Christian) Greek literature, the only other examples of this phrase—aside from the reference in Jos. Asen. 12.2 mentioned below—come from later medical writings, where it describes a magnet (cf. Aetius Amidenus, Iatricorum 7.41.39; 7.61.13, 22; 15.15.653; Paulus Aeginta, Epitomae medicae libri septem 7.17.75). 35   E.g., Cleriucus 587; Steiger 2:25–27; Spicq 83; Davids 86 n. 20; cf. also TLNT 2:397. Further specificity has been added to this view by Martin, who suggests that the language arises from ‘the natural rock on the temple mount that served as an altar’ (Metaphor and Composition, 175 n. 132). This structure is described in the works of Josephus as being ‘composed of unhewn, loose stones which have been gathered together’ (Ag. Ap. 1.198), and thus ‘formed without any iron tool’ (War 5.225; cf. Exod 20.25; 1 Macc 4.47). But such a specific referent, whose material composition was not likely to have been widely known, seems doubtful and overly subtle; if the stones from the temple altar were in view, further indications would have been expected. 36   Selwyn 158. Cf. also Michaels 98. 37   Cf. Holmer–de Boor 76. 38   The contradictory nature of this image would have been recognised in antiq� uity just as it is today, for within classical writings stones are often equated with death. This is the case in the work of Palaephatus on Greek mythology. He notes, 34



2.4–10

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ὑπὸ ἀνθρώπων μὲν ἀποδεδοκιμασμένον, ἀποδεδοκιμασμένον, παρὰ δὲ θεῷ ἐκλεκτὸν ἔντιμον,, ἔντιμον Encapsulating in summary form what will be spelt out in greater detail through the quotations and comments in vv. 6–8, two balancing phrases describe the contrasting perspectives, human and divine, on this living stone. The μέν…δέ construction not only signals the two-sides of the comparison, but also serves, as elsewhere in 1 Peter, to contrast the more preliminary (and negative) outcome with the more significant (and positive) one (cf. 3.18; 4.6),39 a pattern somewhat comparable with the author’s tendency to contrast negative and positive perspectives in that order (‘not this, but that’; cf. 1.12, 18–19; 3.3–4, 9, etc.). Human beings rejected the stone (ὑπὸ ἀνθρώπων μὲν ἀποδε­ δοκιμασμένον); in v. 7, where the same verb appears in the quotation from Ps 117.22 LXX, it is specifically ‘the builders’ who reject the stone, the negative results of which are specified ominously in v. 8. Here, the author draws from the context of ancient construction and, in particular, from the process of selecting appropriate building materials.40 Those responsible for evaluating the stones used for a given project were called λιθόλογοι (cf. Plato, Leg. 858b). While haste sometimes dictated which stones were selected,41 in most cases ‘They say that Niobe, a living woman (γυνὴ ζῶσα), turned into stone (λίθος) on the tomb of her children. Anyone who believes that a human being turned into a stone or a stone into a human being is a fool’ (De incredibilibus 8; trans. Stern). From this rhetoric, it is clear that stones and life were sometimes held in opposition. There are a few places in Jewish and Christian literature, however, where stones are treated as capable of acts reserved for the living (TDNT 4:270–71). In Luke 19.40, the possibility of stones ‘crying out’ is raised by Jesus (cf. Hab 2.11), while the procreative power of stones is mentioned in other places (Matt 3.9//Luke 3.8). The same phrase found in 1 Pet 2.5 also appears in some editions of the Jewish romance Joseph and Aseneth (for the text, see Burchard, Joseph und Aseneth). In a prayer delivered by Aseneth, mention is made of large stones which have been placed as the foundational pieces holding up the earth upon the waters. These are described as ‘living stones’ (λίθοι ζῶντες), which is intended to describe their obedience to God’s commands in holding up the world (12.2). 39   Cf. Hort 106: ‘like other previous clauses in which the principal point is contained in the second member, and the first member leads up to it by contrast’ (listing 1.7, 8, 20 as examples). See also Michaels 99; Dubis 46. 40   On this process more generally, see further Adam, La construction romaine. 41   In some cases, structures were put up in haste, and consequently, the stones were not hewn but simply picked out based on their natural shape (see Thucydides, Hist. 1.93.2; 4.4.2: 4.31.2).

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factors such as shape, size, durability, and appearance all came into play.42 This situation is reflected in the vision received by Hermas concerning the construction of a tower (which is representative of the church). After describing the stones that were dragged from the deep as well as the ones that were brought from the dry land, he notes, ‘many other stones were lying around the tower, and they were not using them for the building, for some of them had a rough surface (ἐψωριακότες); others had cracks (σχισμὰς ἔχοντες); others were too short (κεκολοβωμένοι); and others were white and round and did not fit (ἁρμόζοντες) into the building’ (Herm. Vis. 3.2.8; cf. Herm. Sim. 9.6.3–8). As this text implies, one of the most important considerations in the selection process was how well a stone fit within the overall structure (cf. Herodotus, Hist. 1.163.4; Diodorus Siculus 2.8.2). The ideal situation would be the one represented by the stones that Hermas says were dragged from the deep: ‘they were fit together so closely that their joints were not even visible, and the tower structure appeared as though it were built from a single stone’ (Herm. Vis. 3.2.6). The perfect tense of the participle ἀποδεδοκιμασμένον provides a clue to the situation standing behind this image, including the group towards which the author attributes blame. It is not sufficient to claim that the author has ‘the current rejection of the Christian faith by secular Greco-Roman society’ generally in view.43 Given that the aorist form ἀποδοκιμασθέντα would have been the more likely choice for transforming the LXX expression into a passive participle, the perfect tense was likely chosen to emphasise an impactful event with enduring consequences.44 The hostile rejection 42   The Roman architect and civil/military engineer Marcus Vitruvius Pollio provided instructions on the process by which quarry stones were evaluated in order to find out which ones were without ‘defect’ (vitium). He notes, ‘Two years before the commencement of the building, the stones should be extracted from the quarries in the summer season; by no means in the winter; and they should then be exposed to the vicissitudes and action of the weather. Those which, after two years’ exposure, are injured by the weather, may be used in the foundations; but those which continue sound after this ordeal, will endure in the parts above ground’ (De Architectura 2.7.5; trans. Gwilt). 43   Achtemeier 154. Cf. also Michaels 99; Christiansen, ‘Chosen and Honoured’, 85. 44   Cf. Johnstone 120; Schelkle 57–58.



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of Christ demonstrated in his crucifixion, rather than being an isolated historical event, has generated an enduring stance up to the time of the letter, as experienced by the readers.45 For this reason, the author provides a more inclusive term to represent the agents of rejection than the one that will be used below (viz. ‘the builders’). It is ‘human beings’ (ἀνθρώπων) that rejected Christ and that ‘now obstinately continue to adhere to their adverse evaluation’.46 While most commentators take the reference to ἄνθρωποι as a general description of unbelievers throughout the world, whether they be Jewish or non-Jewish, it is notable—and unfortunate—that some German commentators from the first half of the twentieth century took this to refer specifically to the Jewish people, who, as a people, rejected Christ and persist in unbelief.47 Here in v. 4, there is no exegetical reason to see the contrast as anything other than a general one indicating the hostile human reaction to Christ—which the recipients continue to experience in their societal context— compared with the ‘true’ divine perspective (see further on vv. 7–8). Even if the events of Christ’s rejection and execution are primarily in view (hence, the perfect tense of the participle), the author depicts this as a general rejection (which, after all, was exhibited and enacted by Romans as well as by the Jewish leadership and some of the populace, even if the Gospels in various ways exhibit signs of casting the blame more fully onto the latter; see, e.g., Mark 15.10–14; Matt 27.15–26; Luke 23.1–25; John 18.35–19.16).48 The divine perspective (παρὰ δὲ θεῷ)49 is that the stone is ἐκλεκτὸν ἔντιμον. Most commentators and translations take these   See esp. Watson 47. Cf also Boring 97; Senior 53.   Hiebert 131. Some claim that the absence of the article before ἀνθρώπων is an indication that the referent is to be narrowed so as to include only unbelievers (cf. Steiger 2:28; Hofmann 64). A better explanation is that ‘the article is wanting in order to emphasize the character of those by whom Christ is rejected, as compared with God’ (Huther 109; cf. Schott 100). In this way, the verse contrasts humanity with the divine. 47   E.g., Windisch 58 (1st edn), 61 (2nd and 3rd edns); Wohlenberg 61; cf. also Schlatter, Petrus und Paulus, 98. See further Horrell ‘ “Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk” ’, 327–51. 48   See the central argument of Rivkin, What Crucified Jesus? 49   Some interpret this phrase as indicating the location of Christ when God’s evaluation was rendered: ‘Christ in His glory, in that place where the reward of the faithful is kept in store’ (Lumby 71; cf. Hiebert 131). More likely, it describes 45 46

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as two parallel adjectives (as the addition of καί in some MSS [e.g., 1505, 1881] would also suggest): ‘chosen and precious’ (cf. RSV, NRSV, ESV, NIV).50 The suggestion of Dubis that ‘ἐκλεκτὸν [sic] is substantival and ἔντιμον is adjectival (“valuable chosen [one]”)’ seems awkward and unlikely.51 Both of these terms are drawn from Isa 28.16, as quoted in v. 7, and are appropriate to describe the author’s view not only of Christ, but also of the letter’s recipients, whose experience and identity are frequently paralleled with Christ’s in this letter. Indeed, the opening verse of the letter identifies them as ἐκλεκτοί, just as Christ is here designated as ἐκλεκτός. In most cases, ἔντιμος is translated ‘precious’ (see also on v. 7), and is linked with the semantic field of τιμή (‘honour’), meaning ‘held in honour or in high esteem’ (cf. Num 22.15; Deut 28.58; Sir 10.19– 20; Luke 7.2; 14.8; Phil 2.29).52 There is thus a further connection between Christ and those who trust and follow in his steps: they too are promised ‘honour’ (τιμή, 2.7; cf. also 1.7). As 2.9–10 will go on to declare, a highly honourable status has already been given (implicitly by God) to those who believe; yet, as 1.7 makes clear, the fulfilment of this eschatological hope stands painfully at odds with the Christians’ present reputation in society. However, there may be more specific resonances at play. Watson questions whether the idea of honour (versus shame) is at issue in this verse, arguing that the focus is on the stone’s ‘usefulness for building’.53 Several points might support this contention: the emphasis on building imagery in Isa 28.16 (quoted more fully in the divine assessment of a given situation that is intended to serve as the ultimate standard of comparison; hence, ‘from God’s perspective’ (see Harris, Prepositions, 172). Similar uses of the same phrase include: 1 Cor 3.19; Gal 3.11; Jas 1.27; cf. 2 Pet 3.8. 50   E.g., Selwyn 159; Michaels 99; Elliott 410–11. Some translations render the adjectives as though they are in a predicate relationship: ‘chosen as valuable’ (cf. GW, GNT). But this is doubtful in that a similar relationship already exists between λίθον and ἐκλεκτόν: a living stone is chosen. 51   Dubis 46. 52   For ‘precious’, see KJV, NJB, HCSB, NIV. For ‘honoured’, see CEV, NLT; cf. also Cranfield 64; Beare 122; Miller 188; Elliott 410, Forbes 61–62. Note also its substantival use to denote ‘nobles’, esp. in Nehemiah (2.16; 4.8, 13, etc.). See further Hort 107–108; Achtemeier 154. On the use of honour-related vocabulary in 1 Peter, see Elliott 411; idem, ‘Disgraced yet Graced’, 166–78. 53   Watson 47.



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2.7); and the use of ἔντιμος elsewhere, not least in the LXX, to indicate the value or worth of stones (which could also, on occasion, be referred to as ἐκλεκτός).54 It is probably right to see this specific focus on the special worth of Christ as stone here—hence, he can serve as the crucial cornerstone (v. 7) around which the building is built—but without denying the wider resonances of honour and value: after all, the quotation from Isa 28.16 in v. 6 links this stone explicitly with the promise that those who trust in it/him will not be put to shame (οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ) but will instead receive ‘honour’ (τιμή). 5 καὶ αὐτοὶ ὡς λίθοι ζῶντες οἰκοδομεῖσθε οἶκος πνευματικός The opening καὶ αὐτοί shifts the focus onto the letter’s recipients,55 who are now addressed in a way directly parallel to the description of Christ, as λίθοι ζῶντες. One might have expected the author to use ὑμεῖς (as in 2.9; 4.1), but as in 1.15, αὐτοί is employed to signal and emphasise the move to address the readers. This intensive pronoun, which modifies an understood ὑμεῖς, stresses the identity of the addressees (‘you yourselves’; cf. NET, ESV, HCSB, CEB).56 While ὡς sometimes marks a metaphor or simile in the letter (e.g., 5.8), elsewhere it denotes something more like ‘in this role or capacity’ (see on 1.14; also 2.2). Here it seems to encompass both these dimensions: there is a sense in which the readers’ identity as stones is clearly metaphorical, yet there is also a sense in which this denotes their identity or role in the process by which God is

54   For ἔντιμος, see Tob 13.17; 1 En. 24.2; Posidonius, Frag. 78; Diodorus Siculus 2.50.1. For ἐκλεκτός, see Isa 54.12; Jer 38.39; Ezra 5.8; 1 En. 8.1; Jos. Asen. 2.7; 5.6; Strabo, Geogr. 1.3.18. 55   In this verse, καί carries as adjunctive force (‘also’; cf. ASV, EHV, NASB, MEV, NIV). From a discourse analysis perspective, it ‘signals the reader to look for some corresponding element in the context’, and in doing so, ‘makes the parallelism explicit, attracting extra attention to it’ (Runge, Discourse Grammar, 339). 56   Some take αὐτοί as applying to both λίθοι ζῶντες and οἰκοδομεῖσθε, rather than just the former (see, e.g., Wiesinger 140; Johnstone 120–21). In this way, the point would be that the readers are not only living stones like Christ, but that they are also being placed into the temple structure similar to the way that Christ was set as the cornerstone (cf. v. 6).

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(really!) building them corporately as a spiritual house.57 Referring to Christians as stones, as Achtemeier notes, ‘is unique here in the NT’ (slightly later, see Herm. Vis. 3.2–3, 5–7; Sim. 9.3–9, 13–16, 30–31, discussed above), though the imagery of the community as a building, with Christ as foundation or cornerstone, is found elsewhere (1 Cor 3.9–14; Eph 2.20–22).58 A number of interpreters take the verb οἰκοδομεῖσθε as an imperative, in which case its form could be understood as either middle (‘build yourselves up’; cf. Goodspeed, Williams) or passive (‘let yourselves be built up’; cf. GNT, NAB, NCV, NRSV). The former was adopted by a few earlier interpreters.59 But while the verb can convey this meaning, it usually requires the reflexive pronoun ἑαυτόν/ἑαυτούς as its direct object.60 Most who adopt an imperatival reading therefore interpret οἰκοδομεῖσθε as a passive.61 Since 57   Selwyn (159) notes that ὡς is used for the readers as stones but not for Christ as stone, suggesting the explanation that their identity as stones is derivative from his, and thus ‘doubly metaphorical’. Goppelt (139; cf. Hiebert 131) says that it indicates that their identity has been transferred from that of Christ (noting 1.19; 2.2, 11 as other examples of this indication of transferral). The author is not averse, however, to using ὡς in relation to identifications of Christ (1.19), and it may be simply that ὡς would not have fit logically into the earlier phrase πρὸς ὃν προσερχόμενοι: they do not turn to him ‘as’ a living stone, but to him, who is then identified as such—another instance in which the author’s imagery shifts somewhat fluidly. 58   Achtemeier 155 n. 75. 59   E.g., Luther 88; Steiger 2:30–31; Schott 98, 101; Fronmüller 32; Plumptre 108; Hauck 51. For a fuller discussion of how this passage was translated within an earlier generation of scholarship, see Goodspeed, New Testament Translation, 194–95, who translates it as a middle imperative. 60   Cf. Grudem 100 n. 1. The clearest examples of this construction are found in 1 Cor 14.4 (ὁ λαλῶν γλώσσῃ ἑαυτὸν οἰκοδομεῖ) and Jude 20 (ἐποικοδομοῦντες ἑαυτοὺς τῇ ἁγιωτάτῃ ὑμῶν πίστει). Later Christian texts imitate this language, e.g., Didymus Caecus, Commentarii in Zacchariam 3.217; Gregory of Nyssa, In Canticum canticorum 15; In illud 19.12–13; 20.2 (Downing); Epiphanius, Pan. 2.169 (Holl); Ephraem Syrus, Capita Centum. Quomodo quis humilitatem sibi Comparet 28. Nevertheless, the middle form can express this idea without the reflexive pronoun (see Pol. Phil. 3.2). 61   Those who interpret οἰκοδομεῖσθε as a passive imperative include: Brückner 48–49; Alford 346; Mason 400; Huther 109–110; Bigg 128; Knopf 88–89; Moffatt 114; Windisch 58; Schneider 58; Goppelt 144; Schelkle 57; Brox 94; McKnight 106; Perkins 43; Richard 85; Feldmeier 134; Vahrenhorst 103; cf. Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 181; Berder, Psaume 118,22–23 et son emploi, 326–27; Hotze, ‘Königliche Priesterschaft’, 115 n. 44. Attempting to somehow



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this specific morphological form was rarely employed in ancient literature,62 the case must be argued from the context. The strongest objection against an imperatival interpretation is the metaphor itself. The idea that stones might build themselves up is barely sensible, as is the command for them to carry out a task that is reserved for the builder.63 Further, the imperative seems less likely given the indicative thrust of the whole passage from 2.4–10.64 For these reasons, most commentators rightly favour the passive indicative (‘you are being built up’; cf. NIV, ESV, HCSB, NASB, NET),65 indicating that God, the divine builder, is constructing a new place of dwelling out of those who enter into a relationship with Christ. Another issue that makes the grammar of the verse less than straightforward is the double nominative construction (λίθοι/ οἶκος). Taking λίθοι ζῶντες as the subject of the passive verb, many understand οἶκος πνευματικός to be in apposition to the implied subject (ὑμεῖς) of the verb, which would yield a translation such as ‘you, as living stones, as a spiritual house, are being built

include both senses, Skaggs claims, ‘It should be viewed as indicative rather than imperative although it has some imperative sense’ (32). 62   Opponents of the imperatival reading sometimes raise the objection that οἰκοδομέω is not used elsewhere in the LXX or NT as an imperative in its middle/passive form (see, e.g., Selwyn 159; Achtemeier 155; Dubis 47–48; cf. Parker, ‘Renewed Israel’, 50 n. 12). But this overlooks the fact that the form appears almost exclusively in later Christian quotations of this verse. The only other unrelated occurrence of οἰκοδομεῖσθε is found in the fourth-century CE rhetorician, Libanius, who describes how the people of Antioch have distinguished themselves among the cities of Asia. He notes, ‘you build (οἰκοδομεῖσθε) lavish temples for the Muses, both to educate young men and to honor the goddesses’ (Or. 11.188). 63   Cf. Michaels 100. 64   Hort 109: ‘The strain from here to v. 10 is continuous, assertive here as further on, being thus analogous to the indicatives of i. 6, 8 bis, and to the sense of i. 21.’ See also Elliott 413. 65   So, e.g., Bengel 54; Wiesinger 139; Hofmann 65; Usteri 87–88; Kühl 140; Hort 109; Hart 55; Wohlenberg 54–55; Selwyn 159; Michl 118; Beare 119; Best 101; Michaels 100; Davids 87; Achtemeier 155; Elliott 413; Jobes 156; Prigent 54; Watson 48; Schlosser 122; Wagner-Vouga 65; Schreiner 110–11; cf. Giesen, ‘Gemeinde als Leibesgemeinschaft’, 136; Gäckle, Allgemeines Priestertum, 404. Although it is rare, on occasion the verb is translated as a present middle indicative (‘you are building yourselves up’; cf. ISV).

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up’ (cf. CSB).66 However, the process of passivisation suggests that οἶκος is best understood as the complement in a double nominative subject-complement construction. In Koine Greek, like many other languages, an active sentence could be transformed into a passive sentence by advancing the direct object to the subject position and by changing the subject to the agent who performs the action of the passive verb. When passivisation occurs in a construction containing a double accusative object-complement, both accusatives are converted to nominatives,67 with the object serving as the subject of the sentence and the complement functioning as the predicate nominative.68 Since οἰκοδομέω is a verb that does, on occasion, take a double accusative object-complement,69 this appears to be what has occurred in the present verse. In an active form, the sentence would have read, ὑμᾶς οἰκοδομεῖ ὁ θεὸς οἶκον πνευματικόν (‘God is building you into a spiritual house’; cf. NLT); but when it is passivised, ὑμᾶς becomes the imbedded subject, while οἶκον functions as the predicate nominative.70 Given the complement construction and also the telic εἰς that follows (see below), it would seem better to translate the clause, ‘you, yourselves, as living stones are being built as [rather than “into”] a spiritual house’ (so ESV; contrast NIV).71 66   Proponents of this interpretation include: Hofmann 66; Keil 81; von Soden 141; Jobes 150; Donelson 60 n. c; Watson 48; Forbes 62; Schreiner 109. 67   The change in case that results from passivisation is generally recognised by grammarians. See, e.g., Goodwin, Grammar, 228–29; Radermacher, Grammatik, 120; Funk, Grammar, 278. Examples of this phenomenon include: Matt 21.13; Acts 4.36; 1 Cor 4.2; 2 Cor 5.3; Rev 5.4. 68   For a fuller explanation of double nominative constructions, see Culy, ‘Double Case Constructions’, 83–87. On the semantics of this construction, see Wallace, ‘Object-Complement Construction’, 91–112. 69   E.g., Exod 20.25: οὐκ οἰκοδομήσεις αὐτοὺς τμητούς (‘you shall not make them hewn’); Dan 9.25: οἰκοδομήσεις Ιερουσαλημ πόλιν κυρίῳ (‘you will build Jerusalem as a city for the Lord’). 70   A similar explanation is offered by Achtemeier 155, although he confus�ingly suggests elsewhere that ‘a spiritual house’ ‘is to be construed as standing in apposition to the implied subject “you” ’ (149 n. 2; cf. Harink 68 n. 6, who follows Achtemeier). 71   Proponents of this interpretation include: Plumptre 108; Usteri 88; Monnier 94; Michaels 100; Schlosser 136; Dubis 48. A similar view is adopted by Elliott. He contends that ‘the nominative [οἶκος] suggests an implied ellipsis’ of the equative verb (412, cf. 414), in connection with which οἶκος serves as a predicate nominative (cf. Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 163–64). As such, he translates the



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Various questions surround the meaning of οἶκος πνευματικός. Is οἶκος to be understood primarily as household—that is, as a community of people—or as a building? And if a building, then is it specifically (if implicitly) a temple? And does πνευματικός serve to indicate that this is a metaphorical, not physical, οἶκος, or, more specifically, an οἶκος of the Holy Spirit? Elliott has argued forcefully against the ‘temple’ interpretation, and in favour of construing οἶκος as house(hold).72 In light of the verb οἰκοδομέω (v. 5), he acknowledges that some type of architectural structure must be in view. But since οἶκος is not the usual term employed to denote a building where cultic activities took place (ἱερόν and ναός being the more standard terms), Elliott limits the concept merely to an unspecified edifice.73 Further, he emphasises that οἶκος is used elsewhere in 1 Peter to represent the community of believers (4.17). This consideration, combined with the domestic focus that extends throughout much of the letter (cf. 2.13–3.9), leads Elliott to conclude that οἶκος relates to the household as well.

sentence, ‘you, yourselves, also as living stones are being built up; [you are] a house(hold) of the Spirit’ (Elliott 406). This explanation is unnecessary, however, given the frequency with which the double nominative construction occurs. 72   Elliott, Elect and Holy, 149–59; idem, Home for the Homeless, 165–266; Elliott 414–18. Prior to the work of Elliott, some other interpreters similarly rejected the ‘temple’ interpretation (e.g., Hofmann 66; Schlatter 28–29; cf. also Vielhauer, Oikodome, esp. 60–62, 145–50). 73   Despite the fact that ἱερόν and ναός were the more common terms used to denote the physical building in which gods and goddesses took up residence, οἶκος frequently carries this same meaning. In the Hellenic world, the word describes the entire edifice (Theocritus, Idyllia 17.109; Herodas, Mimiambi 1.26; I.Cos 8; IG V,2 125; UPZ I 79; P.Oxy. XI 1380), while at other times it refers to a specific portion of the sanctuary in which dining occurred (I.Mylasa 336; P.Coll. Youtie I 52; P.Oxy. XIV 1755; see further Robert, ‘Inscriptions d’Athènes’, 7–14; Gilliam, ‘Invitations to the Kline of Sarapis’, 324). The designation (ὁ) οἶκος (τοῦ) θεοῦ (‘house of God’) is frequently employed in the LXX to describe the temple in Jerusalem (e.g., 1 Chr 22.38; 26.27; 29.2–3; 2 Chr 3.3; Ezra 5.2, 8; Neh 6.10; 10.38–40[37–39]; Amos 2.8; Dan 5.2; Jdt 9.1; Tob 14.4–5), a trend that carried over into Jewish and Christian literature from the Second Temple period (1 En. 25.5; T.Job 17.4; T.Mos. 5; Matt 12.4; Barn. 16.1). Even without modifiers, the term οἶκος was sufficient to describe the temple (Let. Arist. 88, 101; Eup. 2.22; Luke 11.51; John 2.16; Acts 7.47). For this reason, the presence of οἶκος (rather than ἱερόν or ναός) in v. 5 should not be viewed as a reason to disassociate the reference from a temple.

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It is difficult, as Elliott points out, to exclude either the building or the community dimensions of οἶκος here: the identification of the readers as ‘living stones’ must imply the image of an edifice as that into which they are being built. Nonetheless, since the author goes on immediately to describe the purpose of this οἶκος—and implicitly the identity of the readers (cf. v. 9)—as ‘for a holy priesthood’, it is also difficult to deny that the ‘living stones’ also constitute a community of people (cf. Acts 10.2; 1 Cor 1.16; 1 Tim 3.4; Titus 1.11), who corporately function as priests; though it is not entirely certain whether the house(hold) is directly identified as the priesthood or not (see below). These two dimensions help explain the author’s choice of οἶκος. Its semantic flexibility, in contrast to alternative terms (e.g., ἱερόν; ναός), allowed it to perform both of these functions.74 The mixture of metaphors and images the author weaves together—from newborn infants, to stones and buildings, then to priests offering sacrifices—means that the connections between them cannot be neatly sewn. Given the direct subject-complement connection between λίθοι ζῶντες and οἶκος πνευματικός, however, it would seem that the image of a building is to the fore (cf. 1 Cor 3.16; Eph 2.21). What is more, the close association of οἶκος with a variety of terms that normally relate to the ritual and ceremonial life of the Jewish cultus would seem to indicate that the building in question is a temple.75 Designating the οἶκος as πνευματικός—which comes to prominence as a word with religious connotations only in the NT and early Christian literature76—indicates that its character, like that of the sacrifices offered in it (see below) is ‘spiritual’. What exactly 74   Others have similarly noted that οἶκος was an ideal term to describe a physical architectural structure as well as a group of individuals (see Masterman 96–97; Bennett 208; Bigg 128; Jobes 150). 75   See n. 73 above; and cf. Green 60 n. 68. In the LXX, the combination of οἶκος and οἰκοδομέω is often used to refer to the construction of the temple in Jerusalem (1 Kgs 3.2; 6.2–3, 7; 1 Chr 22.6–8; 2 Chr 3.1; Ezra 1.3–4; Hag 1.2). Further, the mention of a body of priests, who are marked by holiness and who perform sacrifices, clearly indicates a connection with the rites and rituals associated with the temple. 76   Cf. Selwyn 281–85, who notes that it does not appear in the LXX, and that in other Greek literature it generally has connections with air or wind. See further LSJ 1424.



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this conveys is complex, since in the NT its range of meanings (like that of πνεῦμα) encompasses that which pertains to the human spirit (cf., e.g., 1 Cor 14.14–16), that which is ‘spiritual’ as opposed to fleshly or material (cf. 1 Cor 10.3–4; 15.44–46), and that which emanates from the Spirit of God (cf. 1 Cor 12.1; 14.1); moreover, as some of the references just cited also indicate, the distinctions between these various categories often cannot neatly be drawn. In early Christian usage, that which is spiritual is not physical but belongs to the realm of the Spirit of God, which infuses believers and animates their life and conduct. As Selwyn notes, the term πνευματικός ‘became a normal one to use of the mature Christians and the settled Christian community’ and thus was extended ‘to the things which entered into their spiritual life’. In 1 Peter, consequently, ‘[t]he house is spiritual because it consists of spiritual persons and exists for spiritual purposes’.77 The idea that a community of faith might describe itself as the dwelling place of the divine is consistent with other representations of group identity in ancient Judaism and early Christianity.78 A close parallel is found in the Community Rule from Qumran.79 This text reads, When these become in Israel—the Council of the Community being established in truth—an eternal plant, the House of Holiness (‫ )בית קודש‬consisting of Israel, a most holy assembly for Aaron, (with) eternal truth for judgment, chosen by (divine) pleasure to atone for the earth (‫ )לכפר בעד הארץ‬and to repay the wicked their reward. It shall be the tested wall, the costly cornerstone. Its foundations shall neither be shaken nor be dislodged from their place. (They shall be) a most holy dwelling for Aaron, with all-encompassing knowledge of the covenant of judgment, offering up a sweet odor. (They shall be) a house of perfection

  Selwyn 284–85.   See further Hacham, ‘Where Does the Shekhinah Dwell?’, 399–412; Flusser, Judaism and the Origins of Christianity, 41–43. 79   For a comparison of the community-as-temple motif in the Community Rule and 1 Peter, see Marcar, ‘Building a Holy House’, 41–54. Based on similarities between the two texts, Regev, ‘Community as Temple’, 629–31, has suggested that 1 Peter may have known the Community Rule. This speculation is tenuous at best, however. It is unlikely that the Community Rule would have been in circulation outside the yaḥad. 77 78

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Perceiving the temple to be defiled through improper ritual and calendric practices, the yaḥad described its functions as a community in ways that were analogous to the rituals performed in the Jerusalem cult (cf. 4Q174 1 + 2 + 21 6–7), and in doing so, they interpreted their situation as the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophetic prediction of a tower in Zion that God would build (Isa 28.16). Many commentators, reading both the texts from Qumran and 1 Peter through a supersessionist lens, interpret the reference to οἶκος πνευματικός as a polemic against the Jewish cult. They maintain that the passage is suggesting that the spiritual activities undertaken by Christian communities somehow eclipse the rituals performed within the Jerusalem temple. As such, they equate this ‘spiritual’ house with the ‘true’ temple of God.80 Yet without further comment on this ‘spiritual house’, we should be careful about reading the situation of the yaḥad into 1 Peter. Even this interpretation of the evidence from Qumran might need some revision. Within the Dead Sea Scrolls, the communityas-temple metaphor is not an ultimate and final end,81 as though the group had progressed toward some greater reality;82 instead, as Botner has correctly noted, the end of this motif ‘is always heuristic: to invite the community to envisage itself in terms of sacred space, analogous to but by no means the replacement of the Jerusalem

  See, e.g., Selwyn 160; Spicq 84–85; Schelkle 58–59; Boring 101; Senior 59; Jobes 148–51. Cf. Gärtner, Temple and the Community, 73: ‘behind the word [πνευματικός] there seems to lie the meaning of “true,” the “true” temple of God’; see also McKelvey, New Temple, 125–31; Wardle, Jewish Temple, 216–17. 81   Cf. Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, 168: ‘sectarians saw their community as a provisional replacement for a temple, even though their provisional replacement fails by comparison to a temple itself. While the community takes on certain characteristics of the temple, the texts themselves do not assert that the community is better than or even as good as a temple would be. Indeed, compared to the temple that they themselves envision in the Temple Scroll, the community offers limited access to the divine presence and relatively inadequate means of achieving atonement’. 82   The texts from Qumran that display the community-as-temple concept actually avoid using the specific term ‘temple’/‘sanctuary’ (‫)מקדש‬, preferring instead a more general word like ‘house’ (‫ ;בית‬see 1QS 8.5–6; 9.6; CD 3.19). 80



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temple’.83 For the Petrine author, the οἶκος πνευματικός may well represent the only acceptable means of worshipping God, but this point is not made in the present verse. The community-as-temple idea is simply the metaphor through which he wants the audience to approach their service to the divine. More than anything, this image—along with the reference to priests, sacrifices, and so on—is intended to emphasise the group’s holy character.84 εἰς ἱεράτευμα ἅγιον ἀνενέγκαι πνευματικὰς θυσίας εὐπροσδέκτους τῷ θεῷ διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Χριστοῦ. There are two potential interpretations of the preposition εἰς, each indicating something slightly different about this spiritual dwelling place. It is possible that εἰς modifies the noun οἶκος and is intended as a replacement for the dative of advantage: ‘for [the benefit of] a holy priesthood’ (cf. HCSB, NASB, LEB).85 In this case, the idea would be that the holy priesthood makes use of the building that God is constructing.86 One drawback of this interpretation is that it gives the impression that the ‘spiritual house’ and the ‘holy priesthood’ are distinct entities, with the latter making use of the former. An alternative is to assign the preposition a telic function: ‘so that you might be(come) a holy priesthood’ (cf. ASV, ESV, NAB, NET,

83   Botner, ‘Spiritual House’, 418. As proof of this interpretation, one could point to the fact that the yaḥad viewed itself as in temporary exile (1QpHab 11.6; 1QM 1.2) awaiting the future time when they would return to Jerusalem (4Q171 iii 10–11) where they would continue the practice of sacrifice (1QM 2.4–6; 7.10–11; 11Q18 16ii + 17i 1–5), presumably in a future temple (11QTa 29.9; 11Q18 13 4). 84   See Regev, ‘Community as Temple’, 620: ‘the intention of the temple-priests– sacrifice imagery is to reinforce and increase the value of holiness and closeness to God to the readers so they will be scrupulous in their interpersonal relationships and instilled with a consciousness of holy community similar to the sanctity of the people of Israel to God’. 85   Proponents of this view include: Alford 346; Kühl 141; Hort 109; Blenkin 46; Beare 122; Michaels 92, 100; Richard 85–86. There is some confusion caused by the translation ‘for a holy priesthood’. At issue is the fact that it could potentially represent either advantage or purpose in that it does not specify whether εἰς is modifying οἶκος or οἰκοδομέω. Although the translation is generally adopted by advocates of the former, some proponents of the latter have also espoused this rendering even though they understand εἰς as telic (e.g., Dubis 36, 48). 86   This idea is most explicit in the translation of the TEV: ‘let yourselves be used in building the spiritual temple where you will serve as holy priests’.

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NIV, NRSV).87 According to this interpretation, the preposition modifies the verb οἰκοδομέω, denoting the penultimate purpose of the construction process, and the ‘spiritual house’ is thereby equated with the ‘holy priesthood’.88 The resulting logic of this structure does, admittedly, seem somewhat incoherent, though the whole passage from 2.1–10 contains a rich range of images and metaphors that are not smoothly consistent. The difficultly lies in the fact that a body of priests is somehow thought to be the natural development from a building. But if the dual function of οἶκος is taken into account, the problem (mostly) dissipates. In this case, the emphasis lies on the communal nature of οἶκος wherein the construction of a corporate community leads to the creation of a (corporate) priesthood. Though the distinction is small, and the answer difficult to decide upon, the telic use of εἰς seems perhaps most likely, not least given the author’s identification of the community as a priesthood in 2.9, and the smoother transition this provides to the infinitive of purpose (ἀνενέγκαι) that follows.89 The community as a whole is designated a ἱεράτευμα ἅγιον, that is, a priesthood that is set apart for service to God (on ἅγιος see Exegesis at 1.15). The significance of the designation is indicated by the marginal summary at this point in P72, which denotes the theme as ‘concerning a holy priesthood’ (see Text at 2.5 n. d). In the NT, the noun ἱεράτευμα occurs only here (and 2.9), and in the LXX 87   Proponents of this view include: Masterman 96–97; Hiebert 133; Achtemeier 156; Elliott 412–13; Forbes 62; Schreiner 110 n. 241. 88   A similar, but slightly different, option is to take εἰς as a replacement for the predicate accusative (Johnston 122–23; Selwyn 160), a function that is common within Jewish and Christian literature (on this usage, see BDF §157[5]; Radermacher, Grammatik, 20–21; MHT 1:71–72; MHT 2:462–63). The problem is that when this usage occurs, it is usually found in place of a complement in a double accusative subject–complement construction (cf. 1 Macc 10.54; 11.62; Jdt 5.11; Jos. Asen. 13.12; Matt 21.46; Acts 7.21; 1 Clem. 42.4). In this particular instance, however, the term οἶκος, which has been turned into a nominative through passivization (see above), is already performing this function. 89   Some have argued for a telic function on the basis that οἰκοδομέω + εἰς is used in the LXX, on occasion (cf. 1 Chr 22.5; 28.10), to denote purpose (see Achtemeier 156 n. 91; Dubis 48). Nevertheless, this fact cannot be taken as evidence for preferring a telic usage, since the combination performs a variety of functions including temporality (Ps 88.3, 5; Tob 1.4; 14.5; Sir 48.17), direction (Amos 9.6), spatiality (LAE 37.5; Pol. Phil. 3.2), goal/product (Philo, Leg. 2.38), and limit/extent (Philo, Somn. 2.284).



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only at Exod 19.6; 23.22 (in some MSS); and 2 Macc 2.17, and it does not occur in Greek outside the Jewish and Christian traditions.90 According to the -ευμα suffix, the term is a nomen actionis,91 which is closely connected to the action of the -ευω verb from which it was formed. The various nuances that these suffixed forms can convey (in relation to their verbal counterparts) has been closely documented by Elliott.92 One particular group of terms appears to ‘have retained not only an active quality but also the personal aspect of the original nomen actionis’; in doing so, however, they tend to emphasise a ‘communal aspect’.93 In other words, three key connotations are represented in the use of these terms: ‘a (1) collectivity of (2) persons (3) exercising a specific function’.94 This group includes words such as βούλευμα (‘council’), τεχνίτευμα (‘guild of artisans’), and πρέσβευμα (‘embassy’). Each stresses the collective function of the group rather than the isolated activities of individuals who make up the body. The clear use of Exod 19.5–6 LXX in 1 Pet 2.9 suggests that ἱεράτευμα be understood in a similar way here (cf. Jub. 16.18; 33.20; T.Levi Greek frag. 67; Philo, Sobr. 66; Abr. 56).95 As in Exodus, the term is employed to designate the community as a whole (see further on 2.9), and this group has been tasked with particular responsibilities. In the present verse, they are expected   See LSJ 820; MM 300; BDAG 469.   For other examples of this suffixed form, see Kretschmer and Locker, Rückläufiges Wörterbuch, 60–62. 92   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 64–70. 93   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 66 (emphasis removed). Cf. also Cervantes Gabarrón, ‘Sacerdocio y reino’, 597. 94   Elliott 420. This three-fold sense of the term is echoed by Blanco, ‘Pueblo Sacerdotal’, 72. 95   While this comparison helps to stress the collective nature of ἱεράτευμα, as Best points out, ‘it leaves unresolved the relationship of the individual to the group’. He notes, ‘whereas it may be argued that a senator is only able to exercise his senatorial function within the senate and this implies a necessary corporateness, the same is not true of the artisan or the ambassador’ (‘I Peter II 4–10’, 286). Further, he notes that unlike some of the other collective terms used in the passage, ‘there exists a cognate word, ἱερεύς, describing the one who performs the function’. The conclusion that he draws from this evidence is that ‘just as a Christian cannot exist in isolation but is always such as a member of a church, so Christians exercise priestly functions but always as members of a group who all exercise the same function’ (287; cf. Wheeler, ‘Petrine Model’, 530–31). 90 91

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to offer ‘spiritual sacrifices’ to God; later, their duties are said to include ‘proclaim[ing] the excellencies’ of God (2.9). Such connotations impact the translation of ἱεράτευμα. While the term is often rendered ‘priesthood’ (cf. NRSV, ESV, NET, HCSB, NAB, NIV),96 this sense is perhaps too static in that it merely reflects an abstract category. To fully capture the active nature of the term, Elliott suggests a phrase such as ‘body of functioning priests’.97 It is understandable that this text (and 2.9) has been influential in arguments about the nature of priesthood in the church, and specifically important for those who maintain the doctrine of the priesthood of all believers.98 Nevertheless, it is not directly the author’s concern to assert ‘the priestly status of each individual Christian’ but rather ‘the common priestly vocation’ of the whole community.99 The verb ἀναφέρω, while it has a range of meanings,100 is used in the LXX and NT as a cultic term to describe the act of ‘offering up’ sacrifices, a usage distinctive to biblical Greek (see further on

96   Early German commentators often translated ἱεράτευμα as ‘Priesterschaft’ (Huther 111; Kühl 141; von Soden 141), emphasising the collective idea of a body of priests rather than the office of priest, as in Luther’s translation, ‘Priestertum’. 97   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 69. 98   Many commentators have used this passage (along with v. 9) to argue for the Reformation doctrine of the universal priesthood of believers (e.g., Huther 112–13; Weidner 124; Monnier 94). Others, however, point out that the same universality is attributed to the people of Israel, to whom God declares, ‘you (pl.) shall be for me a kingdom of priest and a holy nation’ (Exod 19.6; cf. Isa 61.6). This epithet, they note, did not ‘prevent a particular tribe being set apart to administer a Sacerdotal system of sacrifices and oblations in the tabernacle or temple: and so the fact of all Christians being priests does not prevent a ministry existing in the church to whom Christ has committed the highest sacerdotal functions’ (Sadler 98; cf. Wordsworth 53). For overviews of the history of interpretation of these passages, see Brox 108–10; Elliott 449–55; cf. also Sänger, ‘Kultisches Amt’, esp. 651–53. 99   Achtemeier 156–57. This is a key argument of Elliott, Elect and the Holy; cf. also Gäckle, Allgemeines Priestertum, esp. 385–470. Despite their agreement with this point, some have defended the priestly status of individual believers by noting that ‘Peter’s comments [about the collective] apply by implication to individuals as well’ (Schreiner 111; cf. Dubis 49). Others have read this designation as marking a distinction between the priesthood of the laity, which is understood as the ‘royal priesthood’, and ordained priesthood (see Chryssavgis, ‘Royal Priesthood’, 376). 100   See LSJ 125; BDAG 75. These meanings include ‘to lead or take up’, as in Mark 9.2 par. and Luke 24.51.



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2.24).101 Just as the ‘house’ into which Christians are being built is described as πνευματικός, so too the sacrifices (θυσίας)102 are πνευματικάς, indicating that they are something other than the material objects that might be offered in sacrifice103 and, more broadly, belong to the spiritual realm in which Christians are to live (see above). What precisely these ‘spiritual sacrifices’ entail, the author does not specify. Some have suggested that the Eucharist may be in view here, in light of the fact that this ritual meal came to be described as a ‘sacrifice’ (θυσία) in some later Christian sources (Did. 14.1–3; Justin Martyr, Dial. 117.1).104 The present context gives no specific indication of this connection, however.105 Clues about the referent of these ‘spiritual sacrifices’ are provided by the wider use of the tradition about non-material sacrifices in antiquity, both in Jewish and Christian sources as well as in the wider ‘pagan’ literature. Some of the closest connections with the Petrine language can be found in the Dead Sea Scrolls.106 In the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, songs of praise sung to God are described using similar sacrificial imagery: ‘Sing praises to the mighty God, make 101   E.g., Gen 8.20; 22.2, 13; Lev 2.16; Heb 7.27; 9.28; 13.15; Jas 2.21. For a fuller discussion, see TDNT 9:60–61. 102   This is the standard term for sacrifices (most often in the plural) across a range of Greek literature spanning the pre- and post-Christian eras. See LSJ 812; TDNT 3:181–82; and the papyri cited in MM 295. 103   Cf. Michaels 101; Selwyn 161. Pace Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 175–76, though Elliott is correct to insist (176) that there is no indication of any explicitly anti-Jewish polemic here, despite earlier commentators often having seen precisely such opposition (e.g., Windisch 61; Wohlenberg 61–63; Schlatter 28–34; see further Horrell, ‘ “Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk” ’). 104   E.g., Selwyn 162–63, 294–98; Best, ‘Spiritual Sacrifice’, 279; Boismard, ‘Pierre (Première épître de)’, col. 1435; Kelly 92; Feuillet, ‘Les “sacrifices spirituels” ’, 704–28. 105   Cf. Hill, ‘ “To Offer Spiritual Sacrifices…” ’, 61, who notes that ‘it is not particular rites (baptismal or eucharistic) that are the focus of attention, but rather the totality of Christian living which ought to glorify God’. See also Mbuvi, Temple, Exile and Identity, 108. 106   These associations began to be drawn soon after the discovery and publi�cation of the Scrolls (see, e.g., Best, ‘I Peter II 4–10’, esp. 284–88; Schüssler Fiorenza, ‘Cultic Language’, 166). It would be a mistake, however, to press these similarities to the point of claiming a direct literary relationship between 1 Peter and the Community Rule (as proposed by Flusser, ‘Dead Sea Sect’, 52–54). On the independent use of this tradition within 1 Peter (and elsewhere), see Green, ‘Similarity of Views’, 165–75.

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the choicest spiritual offering (‫;)במנת רוח רוש‬107 make me[lod]y in the joy of God, and rejoice among the holy ones through wondrous melodies, in everl[asting] joy’ (4Q403 1 i 39–40; trans. Wise, Abegg, Cook).108 What is particularly noteworthy from this corpus is that among the Qumran community(-ies) there was a communal dimension to atonement in which the presence and operation of the group had significance for all who humbly submitted to its standards (1QS 2.25–3.12; 5.1–7; 8.1–10; CD 3.21–4.4; 4Q174 1.3–7). Prayer, in particular, appears to have been treated—if only temporarily and thus provisionally—as a substitute for the material sacrifices that were carried out in the Jerusalem temple (1QS 9.4–5).109 But despite these similarities, what distinguishes this usage from that in 1 Peter is that for the Scrolls community(-ies) physical sacrifices had not been permanently replaced; instead, the community(-ies), realising its/their situation was provisional, looked forward to a future time when tangible sacrifices would be made again.110 Closer parallels to illuminate the author’s sense of ‘spiritual sacrifices’ must therefore be sought within the early Christian writings.111 There are two levels on which such sacrificial language is used in these sources. Some authors depict moral qualities or ethical   Vermes (Dead Sea Scrolls, 334) renders the phrase ‫ במנת רוח רוש‬as ‘with an offering of the princely spirit’. This is a possible translation, but in the end not as likely. As Newsom points out, ‘Though the phrase ‫ רוח רוש‬could refer to a single angelic figure, it is unclear why the angels would be exhorted to praise “with the portion of the chief spirit.” More likely, ‫ רוח‬qualifies ‫ מנת‬as “spiritual” rather than “material” ’ (Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, 220). The noun ‫ רוח‬is used this way elsewhere in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice (see 4Q400 1 i 5: ‫מעשי רוח‬, ‘spiritual creatures/statutes’). 108   Cf. 4Q403 1 ii 26: ‫‘( ותרומת לשוניהם‬the offering of their tongues’). See also 1QS 10.8, 14. 109   Earlier scholars concluded that activities such as prayer, praise, or exegetical study were viewed as a replacement for the ministries of the temple (see, e.g., Baumgarten, ‘Sacrifice and Worship’, 141–59; Gärtner, Temple and the Community). More recently, some have attempted to qualify this popular view, claiming that prayer is merely an expression of righteousness rather than a substitute for sacrifice (see Arnold, ‘Qumran Prayer’, 509–29; Heger, ‘Did Prayer Replace Sacrifice’, 213–33). 110   See, e.g., Kugler, ‘Rewriting Rubrics’, 90–112; Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, esp. 111–74. 111   See further Young, Use of Sacrificial Ideas; Ferguson, ‘Spiritual Sacrifice’, 1151–89. Most notable, with regard to the early Christians’ replacement of animal sacrifices with ‘spiritual’ sacrifices, is Ullucci, Christian Rejection. 107



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actions as equivalent to material sacrifices offered to the gods (cf. Ps 141.2). This association is made frequently in the NT, where specific acts are described using sacrificial language (Acts 10.4; Rom 15.16; Phil 2.17; 4.18; 2 Tim 4.6; Heb 13.15–16; Rev 8.3–4). In other cases, certain dispositions and activities are understood to be a replacement for (and thus a supercession of) material sacrifices.112 To communicate this notion, some stressed that their sacrifices were ἀναίμακτος, ‘bloodless’ (Athenagoras, Leg. 13.4; Origen, Fr. Ps. 15.4; Acts and Martyrdom of Apollonius 8, 44). Among the various deeds that were included in these types of sacrifices were prayer, praise, and good works (for more, see Minucius Felix, Oct. 32; Lactantius, Inst. 6.25). Sometimes these were even described as ‘spiritual’ (πνευματικός) acts performed in service to God (cf. Ptolemy the Gnostic, Flor. 5.10 [in Epiphanius, Pan. 33.5.10]). In 1 Peter, a similar idea comes to the fore.113 Given that v. 9 describes the purpose of this priestly community as ‘proclaiming the excellencies of God’, and considering that the letter as a whole stresses the need for proper conduct, what is implied by these πνευματικαὶ θυσίαι is living in obedience to the will of God by maintaining a holy lifestyle that conforms to divine (rather than human) standards (cf. Rom 12.1).114 The following phrase suggests that orientation towards God is primary, but, as in 2.9, this does not take away from the fact that it also includes a life of good works displayed before outsiders. ‘Spiritual sacrifices’ is an

  While some passages from the Jewish scriptures might seem to move in this direction (cf. 1 Sam 15.22; Pss 40.6–8; 51.16–17; 69.30–31; Prov 21.3; Hos 6.6; Amos 5.20–25), such rhetoric does not indicate a rejection of the physical rituals or material sacrifices altogether (see Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice). At issue is the participants’ lack of accompanying obedience or right action and attitude, which may render such sacrifices unacceptable, even abhorrent. Even a Jewish interpreter like Philo, whose allegorical approach toward sacrifice moves him to attribute an equivalent value to the dispositions of those who offer sacrifices (Spec. 1.201; Plant. 108; Somn. 2.73), does not abrogate the need for material sacrifices (on ‘spiritual sacrifices’ in Philo, see further Richardson, ‘Spiritual Sacrifices’, 3–17). Later Christian authors echo this language with the intent of arguing for the replacement of physical rituals with non-material forms of worship/service (e.g., 1 Clem. 18.16–17; 52.4; Barn. 2.10; Irenaeus, Haer. 4.17.1–4). 113   For a fuller treatment of this concept, see Bénétreau 137–41. 114   See further Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 174–98. 112

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all-encompassing expression which describes the variegated ways that Christians might serve God.115 Beyond the mere identification of these sacrifices as ‘spiritual’, the author emphasises their acceptability. The LXX uses δεκτός as the equivalent of εὐπρόσδεκτος, and never the compound form that is found here in 1 Peter. It appears in contexts of sacrifice (Lev 1.3; 19.5; Jer 6.20; Isa 56.7) and places where the imagery of sacrifice is being appropriated (Prov 15.8; Job 33.26).116 What it indicates is that a sacrifice is ‘acceptable’, in the sense that it will be wellreceived (εὐ + δεκτός),117 more or less equivalent to εὐάρεστος (cf. Rom 12.1; Phil 4.18 [θυσίαν δεκτήν, εὐάρεστον τῷ θεῷ]; 1 Tim 5.4; Heb 13.16). The compound form, εὐπρόσδεκτος, found only occasionally outside of Christian literature, seems to communicate a more intensive idea.118 Like ἀναφέρω, it does not belong exclusively to the sphere of cultic sacrifice (see 2 Cor 6.2; Plutarch, Praec. ger. rei publ. 4). While it is employed with such a referent in early Christian texts (e.g., Rom 15.16; 1 Clem. 40.4; Herm. Sim. 5.3.8), it is often connected to language and imagery where sacrifice is appropriated (e.g., Rom 15.31; 2 Cor 8.12). In almost every instance, the standard of acceptability is defined by a deity, whether the subject in question is sacrifice, prayers, or actions.119 What is not as clear is how this term is to be construed within its immediate context. Balch has proposed that εὐπρόσδεκτος is most naturally understood as a qualification of πνευματικὰς θυσίας, which would leave θεῷ to serve as the indirect object of ἀνενέγκαι (hence, ‘to offer acceptable spiritual sacrifices to God’; cf. GNT).120 This structure, he argues, is the one most commonly found with   Cf. Grudem 101; Jobes 150–51. More specifically, this likely describes ‘costly obedience to God in the face of abuse’ (Eve 1266; cf. Hunt 532, who extends this to include ‘the suffering that rejection entails’). 116   See TDNT 2:58–59. 117   In the LXX, δεκτός is regularly used in sacrificial contexts to denote that which is acceptable (e.g., Exod 28.38; Lev 1.3–4; 22.19–21). Cf. προσδεκτός in Prov 11.20; Wis 9.12. 118   TLNT 2:137. 119   Sacrifice: Aristophanes, Pax 1054 (scholia); SIG3 1042 (ἀπρόσδεκτος ἡ θυσία παρὰ τοῦ θεοῦ). Prayers: Apollonius, Apotelesmata, p. 1378 (Nau); Apoc. Adam 2.12; Porphyry, Marc. 24; CCAG VII, p. 178). Actions: 1 Clem. 35.5; Vitae Aesopi W 8 P. 120   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 134. Cf. also Wiesinger 144–45. 115



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the verb ἀναφέρω (viz. ‘an accusative describing what is offered, which is then followed by the dative telling to whom it is offered’).121 Interpreted in this way, the passage would imply that God only accepts certain spiritual sacrifices and rejects others. Nevertheless, while Balch has correctly identified a common Greek idiom, which is employed most frequently in Jewish and Christian literature, what his argument overlooks is that in the present construction two adjectival modifiers are used with θυσία. This distinguishes it from the other examples he provides. When this same construction (adjective–noun–adjective) is employed elsewhere, the first adjective normally serves as an attributive modifier while the second carries a predicate force.122 In this case, therefore, the construction is best rendered, ‘to offer spiritual sacrifices that are acceptable’ (cf. NET, CEB, NASB). Further division exists over whether εὐπροσδέκτους is modified by διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (‘acceptable through Jesus Christ’; cf. HCSB, NAB) or whether the prepositional phrase should be read in connection with ἀνενέγκαι (‘to offer spiritual sacrifices though Jesus Christ’; cf. CEV, NLT).123 According to the latter position, divine acceptance depends on the nature of the sacrifice that is offered.124 The reason why some sacrifices are acceptable to God is because they are ‘spiritual’ in form, potentially implying that physical sacrifices are no longer appropriate. A parallel construction is found in Heb 13.15, where a sacrifice of praise is offered 121   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 134. Examples of this structure include: 1 Sam 18.27; 1 Chr 29.21; 2 Chr 8.12; 23.18; Isa 18.7; 2 Macc 10.7; Heb 13.15. Other examples outside of the LXX could also be cited: Jub. 4.1; Philo, Leg. 1.50; Mos. 2.237; LAE 29; Josephus, Ant. 11.76. Variations of this construction also occur: Philo, Sacr. 51; 2 Clem. 2.2. 122   See Wallace, Grammar, 314. A similar construction is found in 1 Pet 1.18, where ἀναστροφή is also modified by two adjectives. Instead of interpreting both as attributive adjectives, most correctly assign a predicate force to the second adjective (πατροπαράδοτος); thus it is commonly translated ‘the futile life that was inherited from your ancestors’ (cf. Robertson, Grammar, 656). 123   Choosing between these two is not easy. Indeed, some have concluded that it is not possible to discern the author’s intended meaning (e.g., Spicq 86; cf. Schlosser 124). Others think that both meanings may be in view, such that offering spiritual sacrifices and being considered acceptable to God are both accomplished through Jesus Christ (so Schott 104–105; Caffin 70; Hiebert 135). 124   This view is not as widely held, although it has been defended by some inter�preters (e.g., Benson 207; Alford 346; Hart 56; Bauer 25; Beare 123).

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(ἀναφέρω) to God ‘through him’ (i.e., Christ).125 What stands against this interpretation is the word order, with the prepositional phrase being separated from the infinitive by some distance.126 As a result, most have adopted the former interpretation, wherein the acceptability of spiritual sacrifices depends on the work of Christ, which opens the way for this form of service to God (cf. Heb 13.21).127 Such a declaration is typically Christian, expressing the conviction that Jesus Christ, raised from the dead by God, provides the basis and means for acceptable offering to God, as well as the foundation for Christian living. 6 διότι περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ· Many who understand οἰκοδομεῖσθε (v. 5) as an imperative, interpret διότι as providing the reason or justification for the previous exhortations;128 nevertheless, since this form more likely carries an indicative function, the conjunction provides evidence from scripture that relates to the claims made about Christ and believers in vv. 4–5 and that further explains what has preceded.129 With the most extended citation formula used in the letter (cf. also 1.16,

125   Additional support for this interpretation is offered by Blinzler (‘ΙΕΡΑΤΕΥΜΑ’, 51), who argues that διά is not used elsewhere with εὐπρόσδεκτος (or its synonyms), but that it is employed on occasion with the verb ἀναφέρω (cf. Heb 13.15). This argument is not entirely accurate, however. On a few occasions, εὐπρόσδεκτος is modified by διά (cf. Cyril of Alexandria, Comm. Isa. 4.19.20–21 [PG 70:473]; Marcus, De paenitentia 11), and even if this were not the case, we would need to be hesitant in the use of such evidence given the rarity of the adjectival form. 126   Cf. Dubis 49. However, Elliott notes that ‘[t]he separation of component parts of a sentence is not unusual’ in 1 Peter (Elect and the Holy, 161 n. 1). As proof, he cites 3.21 where δι᾿ ἀναστάσεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ is placed at the end of the sentence and is thus far removed from the verb that it modifies (σῴζει). While there is some validity to this point, it is important to recognise that 3.21 does not provide a precise parallel. Unlike the situation in 3.21, the prepositional phrase in 2.5 could plausibly modify a form that is in closer proximity than the main verbal idea. 127   See, e.g., Hort 114; Selwyn 162; Cranfield 67 n. 1; Goppelt 143 n. 41; Michaels 102; Achtemeier 158; Elliott 423; Skaggs 33; Watson 49; cf. Elliott, Elect and Holy, 161; Gäckle, Allgemeines Priestertum, 428 n. 180. 128   As suggested, e.g., by Huther 113; Richard 87; Watson 49. 129   Cf. Johnstone 123; Michaels 102; Schreiner 112.



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24),130 the author introduces not only the quotation from this verse, but also the series of quotations woven into two blocks in vv. 6–8 and vv. 9–10.131 The clause περιέχει ἐν γραφῇ is an unusual construction. Elsewhere in the NT, περιέχω only occurs at Luke 5.9, where it conveys a somewhat different meaning. In the present instance, the verb describes the possession of certain content(s) within a given document.132 When this usage is employed, the written source material often serves as the (authoritative) basis for a particular course of actions. In the documentary papyri, the term appears in contracts and in receipts of sales/rentals. It is regularly appended to the end of the document, referencing the agreed upon terms and conditions that have been previously written down and sometimes even specifying their enduring nature: μενούσης κυρίας τῆς τοῦ κλήρου μισθώσεως ἐφʼ οἷς περιέχει πᾶσι, ‘the lease of the allotment remains in force with all of the provisions it contains’ (P.Mich. III 195).133 The compound form carries an intransitive force, in accordance with the tendency of Hellenistic Greek.134 When this occurs, περιέχω generally functions personally in connection with an explicit nominative subject (cf. 2 Macc 11.16, 22; T.Levi 10.5; P.Mich. III 212; P.Oxy. XIV 1725). Within the epigraphic record, for instance, the construction καθώς (ἡ ὠνή/τὸ ἔγγραφον/ἡ διαθήκη) περιέχει is a standard legal formula which stipulates that certain obligations or responsibilities were being carried out in accordance with written specifications.135 But it can (as it does in v. 6) 130   Achtemeier’s comment (317 n. 171) that the author does not normally indicate a scriptural quotation, and that here ‘the RSV has added a gratuitous “it stands in scripture” ’ is erroneous. 131   So Elliott 423. 132   BDAG 800–801; LSJ 1373. 133   Cf. P.Mich. III 197, 199, XVIII 792; P.Tebt. II 392; P.Fay. 96, 344R; P.Soter. 6; P.Oxy.Hels. 29; P.Oxy. I 95. 134   On the intransitive nature of περιέχω, see Robertson, Grammar, 800; MHT 2:321; MHT 3:51–52; BDF §308. The verb can function transitively, however (cf. Diodorus Siculus 2.1.1; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 1.39). For more on the use of the verb, see Buttmann, ‘Beiträge zur Kritik und Grammatik’, 504–16. 135   Cf. I.Smyrna 208, 235; I.Side 229; TAM IV,1 276; SGDI 2208; I.Tralles 184. This language also appears in honorary inscriptions, where it is noted that a decree (ψήφισμα) was passed with the intent of commending a certain individual who

630

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function in an impersonal manner with a force that is similar to a passive (thus, ‘it is contained’; cf. KJV, ASV, HCSB, NASB).136 A comparable usage is found in a record of correspondence from King Darius to Sisinnes and Sathrabuzanes, which is cited in Josephus. It reads, ‘After finding a copy of this letter among the records of Cyrus, I have sent it (to you). I want all things to be done just as it is contained therein (ἐν αὐτῇ περιέχει)’ (Ant. 11.104; cf. P.Lond. III 1164; P.Oxy. II 249).137 It is highly unusual in NT usage for γραφή to appear in the singular without the article (hence, the insertion, which became the established Byzantine reading; see Text at 2.6 n. f). When this occurs elsewhere, it is used in reference to a particular document (Ezra 4.7; 7.22; T.Naph. 5.8; Jan. Jam. A 4.21; Jan. Jam. B 2.12) or to the content of what has been inscribed (3 Macc 2.27; Gr. Apoc. Ezra 4.31). This same prepositional phrase appears occasionally throughout Greek literature (including the LXX), carrying the meaning, ‘in writing’.138 As a result, some have posited a similar usage in the present verse, translating the phrase, ‘it stands in writing’.139 This rendering would not necessarily exclude a reference to scripture; it would merely designate the scriptural quotation in a more general manner, excluding any specifically authoritative attribution. has contributed to the welfare of the community (MAMA IV 128; SEG 2:721; I.Aph2007 11.16; TAM V,2 828; I.Side 70; cf. IG XII,3 274). In such cases, the erected inscription testifies to the community’s effort to perform their prescribed duties to honour distinguished service. 136   Some view the following scriptural citation in 1 Pet 2.6 as the subject of the verb (so, e.g., Robertson, Grammar, 392; MHT 3:292; MHT 4:129; Moule, Idiom, 28). An alternative is to supply ἡ περιοχή or ὁ τόπος as the subject with the quoted material functioning as the object, a position that is proposed by some interpreters but not adopted (see, e.g., Huther 113; Johnstone 124). In the end, it seems most natural to simply posit a passive sense (cf. Winer, Grammar, 316), especially given similar usages elsewhere. 137   Cf. Krebs, Observationes, 398. 138   E.g., Hippocrates, Artic. 33; 1 Chr 28.19; 2 Chr 2.10; Sir 39.32; 42.7; 44.5; Demetrius, Eloc. 226; Heraclides, Fragmenta 35; Lucian, Quomodo historia conscribenda sit 16; Polybius, De barbarism et soloecismo 285 [Nauck]; Aristocles, Fragmenta f6; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.29.182. Alternatively, the phrase can describe pictorial representation (‘in a picture/painting’): Euripides, Ion 272; Aristotle, De an. 427b; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 6.1; Cassius Dio 60.25.2. 139   E.g., Hort 115; Blenkin 47.



2.4–10

631

On the other hand, it would also allow for the possibility that the Petrine author might be referring to ‘a documentary source other than the text of Scripture itself’.140 Those who have adopted this latter position have claimed that either an early Christian hymn is being cited or that the author is quoting from a pre-existing collection of proof-texts that were used in early Christian apologetics.141 The difficulty with interpreting ἐν γραφῇ as merely ‘in writing’ is that when this idiom is employed elsewhere, it is intended to emphasise the written nature of communication in contrast to alternative forms. While stress is placed, to some degree, on the written medium in the present verse,142 the author’s focus is not simply on the form of communication (see below). Most understand γραφή as a reference to Jewish scripture.143 The major obstacle for this view is the lack of the article: the most common formulation for referring to scripture as a whole is αἱ γραφαί (e.g., Matt 21.42; Mark 14.49; Luke 24.45; 1 Cor 15.3), and references to specific texts (in the singular) usually employ the article (e.g., Mark 12.10; Luke 4.21; Rom 4.3; 9.17).144 A variety of reasons have been given to explain this anarthrous form—all of which possess some validity.145 But the most important, perhaps,   Selwyn 163.   Early Christian hymn: Selwyn 268–77; Martin, ‘Composition of 1 Peter’, 31. Collection of proof-texts: Moffatt 116; Spicq 86–87; Hillyer 66. Regardless of which specific source text might be in view, this hypothesis has been important for those who deny any literary relationship between Romans and 1 Peter, for it would establish a common source rather than requiring one to have borrowed from the other. 142   A point that is stressed by Witherington 116. 143   Some believe it refers to scripture as a whole (e.g., Goppelt 144 n. 44; Marshall 70), while others—often claiming that the singular can never refer to the scriptures more broadly—think it refers to a specific scriptural passage (e.g., Keil 83; Mason 401; Johnstone 124; cf. BDF §258[2]). A few translations render γραφή as a plural: ‘in the scriptures’ (cf. CEV, ERV, NLT). 144   Both John 19.37 and 2 Tim 3.16 are partial exceptions, since each has an adjectival modifier that limits their referents. The closest parallel to the present usage is found in 2 Pet 1.20. 145   These include: (a) it had become a technical term and thus did not require the article (Hart 56; Wand 68; Hiebert 135); (b) within prepositional phrases the article is often omitted (Grudem 102–103 n. 1); (c) the author is quoting from more than one scriptural work (Jobes 151); and (d) it is consistent with the style of the Petrine author, which tends to omit the article in places where it might otherwise be expected (Schlosser 137; cf. Bigg 4; MHT 4:129). 140 141

632

1 PETER

relates to the semantics of anarthrous nouns. In this case, it would be difficult to claim that γραφή is indefinite (‘in a scripture’), especially given that multiple sources are cited. It would be equally problematic to claim that the form is definite (‘in the scripture’; cf. KJV, GNT, MEV). Although it could function in this way given that it is the object of a preposition,146 this concept is unparalleled within other Jewish and Christian literature.147 The most natural way of reading this term is as a qualitative noun (‘in scripture’; cf. NET, ESV, NASB, NIV, HCSB, NRSV, NAB). In this way, it stresses the nature or essence of the written testimony. It is not just the fact that support is being drawn from written documents (as significant and privileged as that medium may have been in antiquity); what matters is that the author is drawing from scriptural writings that held an authoritative status for the author and the readers. ἰδοὺ τίθημι ἐν Σιὼν λίθον ἀκρογωνιαῖον ἐκλεκτὸν ἔντιμον, ἔντιμον, καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ. καταισχυνθῇ. The quotation that follows reproduces most of Isa 28.16 LXX.148 In terms of its content, the Petrine author replaces ἐγὼ ἐμβαλῶ εἰς τὰ θεμέλια with τίθημι ἐν (a verb he uses again in v. 8). To some degree, this is closer to the Hebrew text, which has ‫בציון יסד‬ (iel, meaning ‘to found’ or ‘to establish’), though as Hort points out τίθημι is rather a ‘vague’ word to represent ‫יסד‬, for which one might expect θεμελιόω.149 The same opening of the quotation, Ἰδοὺ τίθημι ἐν Σιών, appears in Paul’s citation of the same source (Rom 9.33),150 possibly reflecting common knowledge of a different text-form, perhaps derived ‘from earlier Jewish or Jewish Christian adaptations of the Isaiah texts’;151 but given the differences between the quotations in Rom 9.33 and here, this seems unlikely 146   See Robertson, Grammar, 791; BDF §255; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 58–59; Wallace, Grammar, 247. 147   Cf. Achtemeier 159. 148   The text of Isa 28.16 (LXX) reads: Ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ ἐμβαλῶ εἰς τὰ θεμέλια Σιων λίθον πολυτελῆ ἐκλεκτὸν ἀκρογωνιαῖον ἔντιμον εἰς τὰ θεμέλια αὐτῆς, καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ’ αὐτῷ οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ (‘See, I will lay for the foundations of Sion, a precious, choice stone, a highly valued cornerstone for its foundations, and the one who believes in him will not be put to shame’, NETS). 149   Hort 116; cf. Abbott-Smith, Lexicon, 205. 150   See Excursus: The Quotation of ‘Stone’ Texts (LXX Isa 8.14; 28.16; Ps 117.22). 151   Michaels 103.



2.4–10

633

and is at best speculative. Our author omits the phrase εἰς τὰ θεμέλια on both of its occurrences in Isa 28.16 LXX (the second, with αὐτῆς, also omitted, being in any case somewhat redundant), perhaps because he does not want to retain the specific idea of the stone being the foundation of Zion itself. He also omits πολυτελῆ and reverses the order of ἐκλεκτὸν ἀκρογωνιαῖον (on the textual variants, see Text at 2.6 n. g). This has the effect of placing ἀκρογωνιαῖον immediately adjacent to λίθον, as a substantive in apposition to it, followed by two further adjectives that modify ἀκρογωνιαῖον (‘a stone, a cornerstone, chosen and precious’; cf. RSV, NAB, NRSV, ESV),152 thus giving greater prominence to this word, which is rare in biblical Greek and unknown outside of Jewish or Christian texts.153 What exactly ἀκρογωνιαῖος means has been debated. Among earlier commentators, the term was understood as a ‘cornerstone’, a stone situated at the corner of a structure (i.e., where two walls met) that was set in place at the beginning of the building process.154 In this capacity, it served as the standard that fixed the placement of subsequent stones which made up the structural walls. However, this interpretation was challenged many years ago by Jeremias, who proposed that the stone in question was actually a ‘capstone’ (or ‘topstone’), a stone that held a prominent architectural position as the final piece in the construction of a building.155 152   Dubis (50) argues that ἐκλεκτόν is also substantival, although, in our opinion, this seems implausible. 153   The term first appears in the LXX, where it describes a cornerstone used for the foundations of Zion (Isa 28.16). This passage seems to lie behind the two other uses of ἀκρογωνιαῖος in the earliest Christian literature: Eph 2.20 (an allusion to Isa 28.16) and Barn. 6.2 (a direct quotation). The uncompounded form (γωνιαῖος) had a slightly broader circulation, although its usage was still somewhat limited. This adjective described something that was angular and thus in a corner (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 3.22.9 [of a pillar]; Josephus, War 5.147 [of a tower]). The term sometimes appears as an attributive modifier of λίθος; hence ‘cornerstone’ (Job 38.6; IG II2 1666, 1671; IG XI,2 165; P.Ryl. IV 567; P.Cair. Zen. IV 59745). 154   E.g., Bullinger 39; Calvin 67–68; Luther 96–97; Estius 513; Calov 1482; Benson 208; Pott 71. For a defence of this view, see McKelvey, ‘Christ the Cornerstone’, 352–59; idem, The New Temple, 195–204; cf. also Whitaker, ‘ “Chief Corner-Stone” ’, 470–72; Schäfer, ‘Zur Deutung von ἀκρογωνιαῖος’, 218–24. 155   Jeremias, ‘Der Eckstein’, 65–70; idem, ‘Κεφαλὴ γωνίας—Ἀκρογωνιαῖος’, 264–80; idem, ‘Eckstein—Schlußstein’, 154–57. Cf. also Dhorme, L’emploi

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1 PETER

In support of this thesis, Jeremias was able to point to a few places where ἀκρογωνιαῖος appears to bear such a meaning.156 The problem in this instance is that the Petrine author is quoting directly from Isa 28.16, where even Jeremias admits the term refers to a ‘cornerstone’.157 What is more, the passage envisions a stone over which people would be prone to trip and stumble (v. 8), suggesting that it is located on the ground. Describing this foundational cornerstone as ἐκλεκτὸν ἔντιμον repeats exactly the adjectives used to describe the living stone in 2.4. (As suggested above, it is probably the scriptural texts cited in vv. 6–10 that are the source and basis of the ideas and vocabulary in vv. 4–5.) The vast majority of scholars today thus correctly understand ἀκρογωνιαῖος as the cornerstone of the building. The final phrase of the quotation speaks of the one who places trust upon this stone (καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπʼ αὐτῷ). The Hebrew text, ‫‘( המאמין‬the one who trusts/believes’), has no equivalent to métaphorique, 24; Witherington 117. This interpretation was held by a few early church fathers as well (e.g., Hippolytus, Haer. 5.7.35; Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3.7; Aphraates, Hom. 1.6–7). Some have taken this idea further by claiming that ἀκρογωνιαῖος refers to a ‘keystone’, a stone placed at the apex of an arch or vault that locks the other stones into position (e.g., Best, One Body in Christ, 166). However, ‘[s]uch keystones were not common in the Semitic architecture of the time’ (Hillyer, ‘ “Rock-Stone” Imagery’, 70). A variation of Jeremias’ theory was recently offered by Siegert (‘Christus, der “Eckstein” ’, 139–46). Reading this passage in connection with Eph 2.11–22, and stressing the vertical dimension of the building process, Siegert claims that the structure in question consists of a lower part (Judaism) and an upper part (the Christian community). Christ’s function as a ἀκρογωνιαῖος is therefore intended as the foundation upon which a roof or vault (i.e., the church) is being constructed. 156   Most notable is a passage in the Testament of Solomon, where the stone in question is placed into the structure at the end of the building process. While the temple was nearing completion, Solomon wanted to situate the ἀκρογωνιαῖος ‘at the head of the corner for the purpose of completing the sanctuary of God (εἰς κεφαλὴν γωνίας τῆς πληρώσεως τοῦ ναοῦ τοῦ θεοῦ)’ (22.7; cf. 22.17). The term is also employed to denote a ‘topstone’ in a few places in the Greek translation of Symmachus. At 2 Kgs 25.17, ἀκρογωνιαῖος is used three times to render the Hebrew term ‫כתרת‬, ‘captial [of a pillar]’ (see Field, Origenis Hexaplorum, 1:699). Similarly, in Ps 117.22, where the LXX renders the Hebrew ‫ לראש פנה‬with a very literal translation (κεφαλὴν γωνίας), Symmachus reads ἀκρογωνιαῖος (see Field, Origenis Hexaplorum, 2:270). 157   See TDNT 1:792. Early Jewish interpretation of Isa 28.16 also understood the use of ἀκρογωνιαῖος in this way (see McKelvey, ‘Christ the Cornerstone’, 355–57).



2.4–10

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ἐπʼ αὐτῷ. Most translations render the prepositional phrase as ‘in him’ (e.g., RSV, NIV, ESV), the neuter and masculine forms being identical in Greek. However, this rather prematurely departs from the stone metaphor, which continues here and in the following verses. Clearly the stone is to be identified with Christ (as in v. 4), but within the context of the quotation it is a matter of placing one’s trust (probably the best rendering of πιστεύω here) in the stone; that is, in ‘it’ (cf. NAB).158 Aside from other quotations of Isa 28.16, πιστεύω + ἐπί with a personal object in the dative is used only a few other times within the early Jewish and Christian literature (1 Tim 1.16; T.Dan 5.13; Josephus, Ant. 19.54; Acts John 23).159 This construction, albeit focused grammatically on the stone (‘it’), ‘denotes the placing of one’s complete reliance and trust on a person (Christ) who affords a firm support or a solid foundation’.160 Whether the prepositional phrase ἐπʼ αὐτῷ was original to the Old Greek text of Isa 28.16, or whether it represents a later Christian interpolation is difficult to answer with any certainty.161 While the evidence is not overwhelming,162 the reading ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ seems 158   Cf. Dubis 36, 50. Against Elliott, it is unclear why the addition in the LXX text of ἐπʼ αὐτῷ should be seen as ‘implying that “stone” refers to a person’ (426; cf. Michaels 104). Some English translations of Isa 28.16 (LXX) also render this ‘in him’ (e.g., NETS, Brenton), perhaps being too influenced by the christological significance of the phrase. It is clearly possible to place one’s trust in objects, not least those on which one might rest one’s weight: bridges, chairs, supports, etc. 159   The same construction with an impersonal object is found in Luke 24.25, where it means ‘on the basis of’ (cf. BDF §187[6]). The construction πιστεύω + ἐπί is also found with a personal object in the accusative (Matt 27.42; Acts 9.42; 11.17; 16.31; 22.19; Rom 4.5, 24; cf. Phylarchus, Fragmenta 2a,81,F frag. 59; Wis 12.2; Acts John 47). See further Regard, Contribution à l’étude des prépositions, 465. 160   Harris, Prepositions, 235. 161   The importance of this question lies in its (potential) impact on the establish� ment of the relationship between Romans and 1 Peter. If the prepositional phrase was not part of the Old Greek translation of Isa 28.16, then it is possible that the language originated with Paul, who provides the earliest Christian citation of the passage. The attribution of the phrase to Paul would then create a strong literary link between Romans and 1 Peter, indicating that the latter likely borrowed from the former. In order for this hypothesis to contain any validity, however, one would need to be able to establish that the phrase was first introduced by Paul, a proposition that not only runs contrary to Pauline syntax (see Müller, Anstoss und Gericht, 74–75), but one that would ultimately be impossible to demonstrate. 162   For the material evidence on this reading, see Ziegler, Isaias, 219.

636

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to have arisen within the earliest Greek translation of Isaiah.163 This is suggested by the strong link with another ‘stone’ passage in Isa 8.14, where the translator adds similar language (ἐὰν ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ πεποιθώς).164 Its presence does not imply that Isa 28.16 was being read messianically by the original translator or by other Jewish interpreters prior to the Christian era.165 The referent was, however, understood personally, which eventually allowed later interpreters like the author of 1 Peter to exploit the passage for their own chris�tological purposes.166 The final phrase οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ is also rather different from the Hebrew text: ‫לא יחיש‬, which some translations render ‘will not be in haste’ (RSV, ESV; cf. KJV), although the hiphil of ‫ חוש‬may mean something like ‘tremble’, ‘be alarmed’, or ‘panic’ (cf. e.g., NIV, NRSV).167 The strong and emphatic declaration that the one 163   Cf. Koch, ‘Beobachtungen zum christologischen Schriftgebrauch’, 179 n. 18; Dekker, Zion’s Rock-Solid Foundations, 11–12 n. 6. Among Petrine interpreters, this seems to be the most popular understanding (see Schlosser, ‘Ancien Testament et christologie’, 77; Snodgrass, ‘I Peter II.1–10’, 99), although there have been some who have claimed that the phrase is a later Christian gloss inserted into the LXX (e.g., Schelkle 61). 164   See Wagner, Heralds of the Good News, 145–46; idem, ‘Faithfulness and Fear’, 85–86. Further support for the originality of the reading in the Old Greek translation of Isa 28.16 is the ‘lack of influence by 1 Peter on the Greek manuscripts of Isaiah’. That is, ‘[s]ince none of 1 Peter’s other deliberate, and especially Christological, changes were inserted back into the corresponding OG texts, it seems unlikely that, if such an interpolation was introduced into Isaiah, it was due to the influence of 1 Peter’ (Jobes, ‘Septuagint Textual Tradition’, 331). 165   While some have claimed that this passage was understood messianically within Second Temple Judiasm (e.g., Himes, ‘Use of Τίθημι’, 235; cf. Carson, ‘1 Peter’, 1024), very little (if any) evidence has been produced to support this hypothesis. A collective referent is evident at Qumran, where the group (the council of the yaḥad) considered itself to be the precious stone from Isaiah’s reference (1QS 8.7–8). Later, in Tg. Isa. 28.16, a personal referent is assigned to the stone, but it is doubtful that this was a messianic reading. While the stone is described as a ‘severe, mighty and fearsome king’, he is not the one who delivers the people; instead, he sends them into exile (vv. 17–19). Furthermore, the object of the preposition in this targum is not an individual. The text reads, ‫וצדיקיא דהימינו‬ ‫‘( באלין‬the righteous who believe in these things’), with the prepositional phrase referring to the words of the prophet. 166   For an appeal to the scriptures to prove that Christ was, among other things, to be a ‘stone’, see Justin Martyr, Dial. 34, 36. 167   BDB 301, which provides the translations, ‘shew haste’ or ‘hasten away’. On the basis of Ugaritic and Akkadian parallels, however, Hays translates ‘will not



2.4–10

637

who trusts οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ (‘will not experience shame’; cf. also Ps 33.6 LXX)168 once again reflects the cultural importance of honour and shame: just as Christ is held in honour (ἔντιμος), so Christians are promised that their trust will result in honour and vindication by God (1.7; 2.7), and the flip-side is the assurance that they will not suffer the fate of being ashamed. While outsiders currently regard their allegiance to Christ, and its associated practices, as a cause of shame (cf. 4.16), it is those outsiders, in the end, who will be shamed for their erroneous judgments (3.16).169 This claim is made as part of a litotes, a deliberate understatement in which an affirmation is expressed through the negation of its contrary: the statement ‘you certainly will not experience shame’ conveys the positive implication ‘you will definitely experience honour’.170 The real focus, then, is not on what could (but definitely will not) be suffered, but on what will be gained. Unlike the citation in Rom 9.33, the Petrine author preserves the emphatic negation (οὐ μή) found in the LXX. Used in combination with a subjunctive verb, this construction is ‘the strongest way to negate something in Greek’.171 Excursus: The Quotation of ‘Stone’ Texts (LXX Isa 8.14; 28.16; Ps 117.22) Norman Hillyer, ‘ “Rock-Stone” Imagery in 1 Peter’, TynBul 22 (1971): 58–81; Dietrich-Alex Koch, ‘The Quotations of Isaiah 8,14 and 28,16 in Romans 9,33 and 1Peter 2,6.8 as Test Case for Old Testament Quotations in the New Testament’, ZNW 101 (2010): 223–40; Paul S. Minear, ‘The House of Living Stones: A Study of 1 Peter 2:4–12’, Ecumenical Review 34 (1982): 238–48; Douglas A. Oss, ‘The Interpretation of the “Stone” Passages by Peter and Paul: tremble’ (‘Covenant with Mut’, 215 with n. 15). 168   The verb καταισχυνθῇ is commonly understood as a passive (‘to be put to shame’; cf. NAB, HCSB, NIV, ESV, NASB, NET, NRSV); but as Dubis (51) points out, this may be an instance where the -θη verb is a middle (‘to experience shame’; cf. NMB, ISV, NLV) that has been replaced by passive morphology. 169   Cf. also Elliott 427. 170   Others have similarly noted this figure of speech (e.g., Beare 124; Mcknight 107 n. 16; Dubis 51). 171   Wallace, Grammar, 468. He notes that this combination is even more emphatic than οὐ with the indicative, for ‘while οὐ + the indicative denies a certainty, οὐ μή + the subjunctive denies a potentiality’ (original emphasis). For more on this construction, see Radermacher, Grammatik, 169; MHT 3:95–97.

638

1 PETER

A Comparative Study’, JETS 32 (1989): 181–200; Folker Siegert, ‘Christus, der “Eckstein”, und sein Unterbau: Eine Entdeckung an 1 Petr 2.6f.’, NTS 50 (2004): 139–46; Jocelyn A. Williams, ‘A Case Study of Intertextuality: The Place of Isaiah in the “Stone” Sayings of 1 Peter 2’, RTR 66 (2007): 37–55. Isaiah 28.16 (LXX) is the first of a series of scriptural quotations that appears in 1 Pet 2.6–8. The second (in v. 7) is from Ps 117.22 (LXX) and the third (in v. 8) from Isa 8.14 (LXX). What unites these passages is their reference to a ‘stone’ (λίθος). Among the various observations that could be made about these citations, two stand out as most pertinent for the interpretation of this section. First, all three of the texts mentioned above are cited elsewhere in early Christian literature and are clearly identified as of particular christological significance: Ps 117.22 is cited in the Gospel traditions (Matt 21.42; Mark 12.10–11; Luke 20.17) and alluded to once in Acts (4.11); Isa 8.14 and 28.16 appear in Romans (9.33; 10.11).172 1 Peter is both unique and significant in citing all three verses together.173 It is not difficult to see the attraction of these texts for the early Christians: the idea of a stone, rejected by ‘the builders’ but surprisingly becoming foundational to the building, a cause of stumbling to those who reject it but of vindication to those who trust ἐπʼ αὐτῷ, lends itself readily to christological appropriation, given the fundamental early Christian conviction that Jesus, though rejected (and killed) by people, was chosen and vindicated by God as the means by which salvation would be achieved. The second point of interest is the textual form represented in these citations. While the quotation of Ps 117.22 is an exact reproduction of the LXX, the same is not the case with the references from Isaiah. Both Romans and 1 Peter depart in significant ways from the LXX; yet when this occurs, the two often share the same reading. The table below illustrates these differences.174 Isa 28.16 (LXX)

Rom 9.33a, c

1 Pet 2.6

172   One place where Isa 8.14 and Ps 117.20 [LXX 118.22] may also appear together is in 4Q173A (for this reconstruction, see Holst, ‘4Q173A’, 119–27). 173   On the use of the stone passages at Qumran and in other Jewish literature, see Snodgrass, ‘I Peter II.1–10’, 97–106, and Elliott, Elect and Holy, 26–33. 174   For a fuller discussion of these similarities and differences, see Koch, ‘Quotations of Isaiah 8,14 and 28,16’, 223–40.



2.4–10

639

ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ ἐμβαλῶ εἰς τὰ θεμέλια Σιων λίθον πολυτελῆ ἐκλεκτὸν ἀκρογωνιαῖον ἔντιμον εἰς τὰ θεμέλια αὐτῆς, αὐτῆς καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ

ἰδοὺ τίθημι ἐν Σιὼν λίθον . . . καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ οὐ καταισχυνθήσεται

ἰδοὺ τίθημι ἐν Σιὼν λίθον ἀκρογωνιαῖον ἐκλεκτὸν ἔντιμον, καὶ ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ

Isa 8.14 (LXX) καὶ οὐχ ὡς λίθου προσκόμματι συναντήσεσθε αὐτῷ οὐδὲ ὡς πέτρας πτώματι

Rom 9.33b λίθον προσκόμματος καὶ πέτραν σκανδάλου

1 Pet 2.8 καὶ λίθος προσκόμματος καὶ πέτρα σκανδάλου

Key: Double underline represents agreements of both quotations with the LXX. Single underline represents agreements between one of the quotations with the LXX. Bold represents the shared departures of both quotations. There are several places where Rom 9.33 and 1 Pet 2.6 contain shared readings that depart from the text found in the LXX translation of Isa 28.16: (a) the pronoun ἐγώ is absent in both; (b) both read the verb τίθημι rather than ἐμβαλῶ; (c) both lack τὰ θεμέλια; and (d) both read ἐν Σιών rather than εἰς Σιων.175 The same is true with the citation from LXX Isa 8.14. Most notable here is the removal of the explanatory additions (ἐὰν ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ πεποιθὼς… συναντήσεσθε αὐτῷ) by which the LXX translators have given the passage a new meaning—a meaning that significantly departs from the Hebrew text. Whereas the Hebrew text presents the negative consequences for ‘both houses of Israel’ (v. 14), the LXX turns the statement into a conditional idea with a positive outcome. Both Rom 9.33 and 1 Pet 2.8, however, lack this condition and focus instead on the role of the stone in the punishment of the unbelievers. Further, both verses read σκάνδαλον rather than πτῶμα. The question, then, is how one might explain these similarities (a topic which relates to the literary sources of 1 Peter).176 Some explanations that have been offered must be judged as highly unlikely. This is the case with   Given that many Greek texts of Isa 28.16 lack the prepositional phrase ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ, its presence in both Rom 9.33 and 1 Pet 2.6 might also be considered significant. 176   See further Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. 175

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the hypothesis of Weiss, who proposes a direct literary relationship, with the apostle Paul copying from 1 Peter.177 Another unlikely suggestion is that both authors shared a Greek text that was identical to the LXX, but that each author independently made identical changes.178 A more plausible explanation would be that both Paul and the Petrine author shared an alternative form of Isaiah, which both reflect in their own unique ways.179 Support for this theory comes from the fact that the similarities displayed in Rom 9.33 and 1 Pet 2.8 are also found in other known Greek translations. The version of Aquila contains the reading σκάνδαλον, while all three major recensions (Symmachus, Theodotion, and Aquila) lack the conditional idea that is present in the LXX. The problem is that the same explanation cannot be posited for the quotation of Isa 28.16, as those similarities are not otherwise attested in any Greek witness. Another proposal that seeks to explain the similarities of these texts is that both were drawing from written collections of particular texts (testimonia) deemed to be of special importance to early Christians,180 a proposal that was popularized by Harris.181 These groups of scriptural proof-texts are known to have been in circulation during the third and fourth centuries,182 and the discovery of similar collections at Qumran (e.g. 4Q175 [4QTestimonia]) make it possible that they date back to the time of the NT.183 But whether this explanation is likely here remains uncertain. The appearance of these particular ‘stone’ passages in NT literature is not exactly extensive: the uses of Ps 117.22 in the Gospels all derive from Mark 12; and the Isaiah texts are quoted only in Romans and 1 Peter. Within recent Petrine scholarship, therefore, most have simply claimed that both Paul and 1 Peter were drawing from previously formed Christian tradition without necessarily specifying its

  See Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 406–25. Cf. also Fronmuller 9; Kühl 145–50. 178   E.g., Johnstone 124–25; Bigg 130. This is the claim that Himes (‘Use of Τίθημι’, 227–44) makes regarding the reading τίθημι in place of ἐμβαλῶ. 179   This is the theory espoused by von Soden 142; cf. also Wagner, Heralds of the Good News, 134; Dekker, Zion’s Rock-Solid Foundations, 19. 180   Those who espouse the testimonia view include: Blenkin 48; Best 105; Hillyer 66; Michaels 103; Schelkle 62; Davids 89. For a more complete defence of this view, see Albl, ‘And Scripture Cannot Be Broken’, 265–85. 181   Harris, Testimonies. At the time when Harris’ work was produced, similar theories had already been proposed to explain the composite citations in the NT (see, e.g., Hatch, Essays in Biblical Greek, 203–14; Vollmer, Die alttestamentlichen Citate, 38–48). 182   E.g., Tertullian, Adversus Judaeos; Cyprian, Testimonia adversus Judaeos; Gregory of Nyssa, Collectanea Sacra; Bar Ṣalibi, Against the Jews. 183   See Fitzmyer, ‘ “4QTestimonia” and the New Testament’, 513–37. 177



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nature.184 The problem with this view is that it is not able to account for the unique similarities that distinguish these two citations from all other ancient reference to the Isaiah passages. Perhaps the simplest and most likely explanation for these similarities is that the author of 1 Peter knew the reshaped Isaiah citations from Romans.185 Various connections indicate the influence of Paul’s letter on the composition of 1 Peter,186 and so it should be no surprise to find that Pauline phrasing has been adopted in this instance. Many, however, are hesitant to attribute the similarities to a direct intertextual relationship, pointing toward the differences between the two citations187 and claiming that they oppose a literary connection.188 But the similarities between two writings reveal more about a potential literary relationship than any differences they may display.189 And since many of the similarities between 1 Pet 2.6, 8 and Rom 9.33 are unique among ancient citations of Isaiah, it stands to reason that some form of literary borrowing has occurred, even if the author of 1 Peter has also further amended the quotation. Nevertheless, the situation involves more than the Petrine author’s dependence on Rom 9.33. The author of 1 Peter is engaged in an intricate interpretative task wherein he interjects material from a Greek text of Isaiah   Representatives of this approach include: Hiebert 135; Achtemeier 159; Elliott 430–31. Cf. also Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Romans?’, 87–137. 185   This was the view of many within an earlier generation of Petrine scholarship (e.g., Usteri 90; Hort 116; Masterman 100; Bennett 210; cf. Barnett, Paul becomes a Literary Influence, 60); lately, however, it has fallen out of favour (although, see Koch, ‘Quotations of Isaiah 8,14 and 28,16’, 230–32; Marcar, ‘Quotations of Isaiah’, 20; cf. also Keener 134, who is open to this possibility). 186   See Introduction: Pauline Tradition. 187   The differences are summarised by Oss, ‘Interpretation of the “Stone” Passages’, 190: ‘(1) The texts are quoted at different lengths; (2) the texts are combined differently; (3) the texts are introduced in different contexts; (4) the texts are given somewhat different interpretations’. 188   The treatment of Himes is a case in point: ‘I do not believe that the agree�ment of the first five words of the citation in Romans and 1 Peter necessitate [sic] intertextuality when the remainder exhibits significant differences’ (‘Use of Τίθημι’, 242). 189   See Williams, ‘Intertextuality and Methodological Bias’, 180. Cf. Leonard, ‘Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions’, 249: ‘The presence of shared language may serve to indicate a connection between texts or traditions. More importantly, however, the fact that a text contains additional language that is idiosyncratic or not shared in no way undermines the possibility of a connection. Unique or idiosyncratic language may be a reflection of the creativity or writing style of a given author. It may even point toward an author’s use of multiple sources. It tells us very little, however, about the existence or nonexistence of allusions in the language that is shared with other texts’ (original emphasis). 184

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that was similar to the LXX, introduces new material from another scriptural source, and arranges the citations to fit his exegetical purposes. His efforts in this instance are often underappreciated, even by those who discount literary dependence. Their objections normally centre on the complexity involved in constructing the present passage in light of the known source materials: not only would the Petrine author have to disentangle the two Isaiah quotations found in Rom 9.33, he would also need to insert portions of the LXX that were omitted by Paul.190 As an alternative, the Petrine author is portrayed as reproducing and transmitting scriptural texts that had previously been removed from their contexts and inserted into topical collections within early Christian communities. Yet the fact that the author of 1 Peter also quotes from Isa 8.12–13 later in the epistle (see 1 Pet 3.14–15), a passage that is not cited elsewhere in the NT, indicates that he is independently engaging this broader section of Isaiah for his own purposes. While we would not deny either that Paul was responsible for certain changes to the Isaiah text or that early Christians were interpreting the ‘stone’ passages of Isaiah messianically, it is important to emphasise the interpretative creativity of the Petrine author. Rather than slavishly reproducing a single source-text (whether it be the LXX, Romans, or a collection of testimonia), he is engaged in a complex exegetical argument for which he has employed and reshaped multiple sources. What is most striking is that he combines a ‘stone’ quotation known and used in the Gospel tradition (Ps 117.22) and the ‘stone’ quotations from Isaiah, known and used by Paul. This use of scripture, then, is perhaps another indication of the author’s acquaintance with a wide range of early Christian traditions,191 as well as his undoubted knowledge of the Greek Scriptures.

*** 7 ὑμῖν οὖν ἡ τιμὴ τοῖς πιστεύουσιν, πιστεύουσιν, The quotation from scripture is followed by an explanatory comment that relates the quotation to the readers of the letter. After the assurance in the citation that those who trust in the stone will not experience shame, the author here asserts the positive counterpart related to ἡ τιμὴ τοῖς πιστεύουσιν. This short phrase is, however, not entirely straightforward. All recognise that an equative verb (e.g., ἐστιν) must be supplied. What is not as clear is whether τιμή should be understood as the subject of this implied   See, e.g., Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 31–32; Michaels 94; Hillyer 66; Witherington 118; cf. also Dodd, According to the Scriptures, 43. 191   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. Cf. also Horrell, Becoming Christian, 7–28. 190



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verb, or whether the copula should be understood to express an implied subject (‘he is…’), in which case τιμή would function as the predicate nominative. Along with this, questions surround the function of the dative ὑμῖν. Most translations take the clause as describing the high value that the stone possesses in the estimation of Christians: ‘To you therefore who believe, he is precious’ (RSV; cf. NKJV, NAB, NIV, CEV, NEB, NCV, NRSV, NET). This ascribes a perspectival sense to the pronoun ὑμῖν (‘in your estimation’), with the believers’ perception of the stone set in contrast to that of unbelievers, who reject the stone (vv. 7b–8). More importantly, this approach reads λίθος as the subject of the implied copula. Such an interpretation was first proposed by Erasmus, and then later adopted by a variety of scholars from an earlier generation.192 However, as Hort points out, ‘in this form the translation is simply impossible, not merely difficult; it makes ἡ τιμή the predicate, while it can be only the subject’.193 As an alternative, Hort’s solution is to take the phrase to mean ‘For you therefore… is the preciousness’, that is, ‘for you that stone is before God of great price; the benefit of its high prerogatives accrues to you’.194 In this way, he reads ὑμῖν as a dative of reference, while understanding τιμή—which functions as the subject of the sentence—as expressing a meaning equivalent to that of ἔντιμος in v. 6. But this too seems less than compelling, for it overlooks the connection of τιμή with its more immediate context (ὁ πιστεύων ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ οὐ μὴ καταισχυνθῇ).195 192   Erasmus 676. Others who have adopted this view include: Luther 100; Calvin 69–70; Bengel 54; Pott 72; Augusti 223; Barnes 139; Bennett 211. 193   Hort 117. On the grammatical difficulty of this interpretation, see also Alford 347; Bigg 131. 194   Hort 118. Others had previously adopted a similar interpretation (e.g., Wiesinger 153–54; Johnstone 126; Lumby 75). 195   One could also make the case that τιμή cannot function as an exact equivalent to ἔντιμος, despite the fact that many have interpreted the term this way (e.g., Fausset 504; Johnstone 127–28; Masterman 99). While τιμή is regularly used in commercial contexts to describe the cost of a given entity (P.Oxy. XI 1382; O.Wilck. 318; P.Tebt. III.1 703; IG I2 349), it is not employed to ascribe value to a particular entity in a way that sets it apart from similar items, which is the primary function of ἔντιμος. The former represents an objective amount that must be given in exchange to complete a transaction; the latter is a subjective assessment which designates that an entity possesses desirable qualities (see further Bigg 131;

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The best solution, adopted by most recent commentators, is to take τιμή properly as the esteem or respect that is afforded to believers as a result of their new status (‘honour’), which requires ὑμῖν to function as a dative of advantage.196 The clause could thus be rendered: ‘the honour, therefore, is for you who have faith’ (cf. ESV, HCSB, LEB, WEB; see also CEB: ‘God honors you who believe’).197 This forms a directly positive counterpart to the assurance expressed in negative form in the closing phrase quoted from Isa 28.16: rather than experiencing shame, believers are promised honour. Further, it connects the honour in which Christ is held (ἔντιμος) with the honour that will accrue to those who trust in him, thus reiterating a theme expressed elsewhere (1.7; cf. also 4.14–16). Interpreters generally understand the article with τιμή to be functioning anaphorically.198 Some take it as specifically referring back to ἔντιμος in v. 6a;199 but while the etymological connection certainly links the terms together, the honour in view relates to the larger idea of experiencing shame in v. 6b. If the final sentence of this verse is a litotes (as noted above), then the Petrine author has read the avoidance of shame as a promise of honour; so this is ‘the honour’ in question.200 Scholars have debated whether such honour is the present possession of believers or a future reward they will Grudem 104). Thus, we might say that ‘τιμή connects… with ἔντιμος, or rather accords with it in sound, without having, as considered in its simple signification, the same sense’ (Steiger 2:45). 196   Various scholars have understood ὑμῖν as a dative of advantage (e.g., Alford 347; Brox 101; Achtemeier 161), in which case the following ἀπιστοῦσιν would be interpreted as a dative of disadvantage. An objection has been raised against this view by Dubis, who takes the pronoun as a dative of reference. He claims that ‘although the disadvantage label would work well with the citation in v. 8, the opening citation in v. 7 is more “about” unbelievers than describing a “disadvantage” accruing to them’ (51). 197   So, e.g., de Wette 21; Plumptre 109; Caffin 70; Wand 69; Selwyn 164; Grudem 104–105; Michaels 104; Marshall 72; Achtemeier 160–61; Elliott 427; Vahrenhorst 106; Wagner-Vouga 69; Schreiner 115; cf. deSilva, ‘Turning Shame into Honor’, 185–86 n. 26. Hort (118) objects to this possibility, but his reasons— that it makes the sentence weak and superfluous, merely repeating in positive form what was said in v. 6, that οὖν must be understood in an unusual way, and that it loses the connection between ἔντιμος and τιμή—do not seem fully convincing. 198   See Porter, Idioms, 106. 199   E.g., Spicq 88; Achtemeier 160 n. 144. 200   Cf. Huther 114; Usteri 91; Kühl 144; Beare 124.



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receive at the final judgment.201 However, it is probably unnecessary to choose between these options.202 Throughout the letter, the author stresses the privileged status that Christ-followers inherit at conversion (1 Pet 2.4–5, 9–10); at the same time, he notes that their ultimate vindication will be received at the eschaton (1.7, 13; 4.13; cf. 2.12). Those who have received this honour and upon whom further honour will be bestowed in the future are ‘those who trust/have faith’ (τοῖς πιστεύουσιν). This participle is often thought to be an appositional modifier of ὑμῖν.203 More technically, it could be described as an attributive modifier that functions similar to a relative clause204—although there is very little difference in the resultant meanings. What is noteworthy is the location of the participle. As an attributive, it would normally be situated in close proximity to the pronoun. In this case, however, it is placed at the end of the clause, right beside the antithetical participle ἀπιστοῦσιν, for rhetorical effect.205 Trust or faith thus comes to define Christians over against outsiders. ἀπιστοῦσιν δὲ λίθος ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες, οἰκοδομοῦντες, οὗτος ἐγενήθη εἰς κεφαλὴν γωνίας The declaration about those who have faith is balanced by a constrasting statement (marked with δέ) about those who do not believe (ἀπιστοῦσιν).206 This provides the point of connection 201   Present possession: Beare 124. Future reward: Michaels 104; Achtemeier 160–61; Dubis 51–52; Schreiner 115. 202   Cf. Kelly 93; Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 95 n. 126. 203   So, e.g., Keil 83; Hort 118; Hiebert 137; Forbes 64. 204   See Dubis 52. It should be pointed out that while attributive participles are often equated with relative clauses, the two are not exactly equivalent: the former represents a more restrictive construction with reference to the antecedent than the latter (see further Hayes, Attributive Participle). 205   See BDF §473: ‘Such a word, torn out of its natural context and made more independent, is emphatic even when placed at the end of the sentence’. Cf. Winer, Grammar, 688; Robertson, Grammar, 418. 206   Although the vast majority of interpreters identify the ἀπιστοῦντες (v. 7) and the ἀπειθοῦντες (v. 8) as non-Christians, Liubinskas has proposed that ‘the reference to unbelievers and the disobedient in 2:7–8 includes those believers in the community who are choosing accommodation as a means of escaping persecution and suffering’ (‘Who’s Stumbling?’, 233). The defence of this position is not quite convincing, however. Liubinskas’ hypothesis rests on the possibility that the

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for the next scriptural quotation, from Ps 117.22 LXX,207 which is cited following the LXX exactly, as it is in Mark 12.10 (//Matt 21.42; Luke 20.17):208 λίθος ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες οὗτος ἐγενήθη εἰς κεφαλὴν γωνίας. Despite this immediate grammatical connection, its presence is somewhat unexpected. As a way to balance the previous statement concerning the outcome for those who have faith (viz. the reception of honour), the most natural contrast would have been a statement about the shame received by those who do not believe. Instead, the author ‘inserts (by a quotation) the historical fact that brought the shame, viz. the disappointment of their own design, and the glorious completion of that which they opposed’.209 Again, this reflects the Petrine author’s hesitance to depict the punishment of those who reject the gospel. Some older commentaries, particularly in Germany, took ‘unbelievers’ here to refer specifically to Jews, with ‘the builders’ of the quotation taken to represent the leaders of the Jewish people (cf. Acts 4.8–11, where that identification of the builders is made explicit).210 Yet, as in 2.4 (ὑπὸ ἀνθρώπων), there is no indication that the author of 1 Peter has such a specific target in mind; the Christians across Asia Minor had reacted in specific ways to the conflict situation, and that the Petrine author was responding to these reactions in the letter. What is overlooked is that simply because a warning is present in the epistle does not mean that the action was being performed by members of the Anatolian congregations. The view of Liubinskas is further compromised by certain exegetical leaps. She notes that ‘the larger context of these OT texts [cited in 1 Pet 2.7–8] indicate that those who stumble include all persons, especially and including members of God’s elect, who fail to hear the Lord, disregard his holiness, and trust either in themselves or other earthly powers rather than in him’ (232). Yet, she provides no basis for assuming that the situational contexts of these scriptural citations must be the same as those of the Petrine churches. 207   See further Berder, Psaume 118,22–23 et son emploi, 323–65. 208   In Mark 12.10 and Matt 21.42 the quotation continues into v. 23 of the psalm. The citation in Acts 4.11 is much looser. 209   Mason 402. Cf. Michaels 105: ‘Although the psalm quotation serves to define unbelief as the rejection of the “choice and precious stone,” in itself it makes no statement about the fate of “unbelievers” ’. 210   See further Horrell, ‘Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk’, 327–51. The same interpretation can be found among older English commentators as well (e.g., Macknight 455; Demarest 106; Mason 402; Masterman 99). Some more recent commentators have also identified this group with unbelieving Israel (e.g., Reicke 92; Picirilli 141).



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anarthrous ἀπιστοῦσιν suggests a more open-ended and general reference.211 The subsequent description of this group as those who reject the gospel (v. 8), may suggest that it refers to those with whom Christians are in conflict.212 One question that arises from this passage is how to interpret the function of the dative ἀπιστοῦσιν. When it is connected with ἐγενήθη, a negative connotation seems to be attributed to κεφαλὴ γωνίας, which is contrary to its usage in the original psalm and all references to it in subsequent citations. Hofmann seeks to resolve this issue by rearranging the sentence, such that λίθος functions as the cornerstone for believers but as a stumbling block for unbelievers.213 Hort takes ἀπιστοῦσιν as dative of reference dependent on the entire quotation that follows (not just ἐγενήθη): ‘for such as are unbelieving [the Psalmist’s word is true], The stone which the builders rejected &c’.214 A few earlier interpreters even sought a way around this problem by adopting an alternative text form. Following the omission of the quotation from Ps 117.22 LXX in the Syriac (Peshitta) version, they connected ἀπιστοῦσιν directly to the citation of Isa 8.14 in v. 8, claiming that the words have been transposed from Matt 21.42.215 But given that the descriptions in v. 7a and v. 8 both relate to the advantage or disadvantage experienced by believers and unbelievers respectively, it is probably best to interpret ἀπιστοῦσιν in the same

211   Some take the anarthrous form of the participle as an indication that unbelievers were not envisioned as a determinate group (so, e.g., Wiesinger 154; Hort 119; Bigg 131; Spicq 88; Hiebert 138; Achtemeier 161 n. 157). Others claim that the construction was intended to emphasise quality rather than identity (Lenski 95; Stibbs-Walls 102). Forbes (64) is cautious about drawing such distinctions from this form. 212   Cf. Kelly 93; Achtemeier 161; Watson 50. 213   See Hofmann (70), who claims that both clauses (ὑμῖν οὖν ἡ τιμὴ τοῖς πιστεύουσιν and ἀπιστοῦσιν δὲ λίθος ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες, along with an understood ὤν) are in apposition to οὗτος, and that believers and unbelievers are referenced in turn through the following designations: the first (εἰς κεφαλὴν γωνίας) describes believers and the next two (λίθος προσκόμματος and πέτρα σκανδάλου) describe unbelievers (cf. also Keil 84–85). 214   Hort 119, who provides parallels where a dative of reference intro� duces a scriptural quotation (Matt 13.14; Jude 14). Others have similarly taken ἀπιστοῦσιν as a dative of reference (e.g., Bengel 55; Beare 124; Dubis 52). 215   So, e.g., Grotius 77, Semler 93–94.

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way.216 Thus, a fuller rendering might be: ‘but to the detriment of those who do not believe…’. Although the citation from Ps 117.22 LXX does not generally emphasise the negative risk of encountering the κεφαλὴ γωνίας, this theme is not without precedent. The same passage is quoted in Luke 20.17, with Jesus explaining the citation to mean, ‘Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls’ (20.18, NRSV).217 In grammatical terms, the clause λίθος ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες functions as a pendens construction, or, in linguistics terms, as dislocation.218 Therein, the author introduces a new subject (λίθος ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες) by detaching it from the main clause, but then resumes it through a pronoun (οὗτος), which refers back to the dislocated element. In this way, λίθος ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες functions as the logical (but not the syntactical) subject of ἐγενήθη. This construction—at least, in the present instance—is used for emphasis, placing stress on the logical subject by allowing for rhetorical buildup. Prominence is afforded to ‘the stone that the builders rejected’ by introducing it at the beginning of the sentence, but the reason for its importance is not disclosed until the sentence is completed by way of the resumptive pronoun. Since the clause is not so long and complex as to cause confusion about where the dislocation ends, the insertion of οὗτος serves to highlight the topical reference to the stone: it is not just any stone that has become the chief cornerstone; it is the very one that was rejected.219

216   Others who read ἀπιστοῦσιν as a dative of disadvantage include: Steiger 2:46; de Wette 22; Huther 115. 217   Some have noted that the building imagery itself may denote a potential for harm. They understand the language as describing the cornerstone sticking out and potentially tripping anyone who turns the corner uncautiously (see Horneius 60–61; Steiger 2:47; Bloomfield 709). 218   On nominativus pendens (from a grammatical perspective), see BDF §466(2); Wallace, Grammar, 51–53; Porter, Idioms, 85–86. On dislocation (from a linguistic perspective), see Runge, Discourse Grammar, 287–313. 219   Cf. Steiger 2:47: ‘As a forcible resumption of the noun substantive…, [οὗτος] includes within itself the meaning which αὐτὸς [sic] properly expresses; therefore it is equivalent to this, (and no other); which is sometimes expressed more at large by αὐτὸς οὗτος’. Others have similarly noted the emphatic force of οὗτος (e.g., Elliott 428; Forbes 65).



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The second clause of the quotation, with οὗτος emphasising the positive declaration being made about the λίθος, expresses an idea closely parallel to Isa 28.16, where the stone laid in Zion is an ἀκρογωνιαῖος. The verb ἐγενήθη could be taken as a middle voice (‘has become’; cf. NAB, HCSB, NRSV, CEB, ESV, NIV, NET), which would be consistent with the sense of the Hebrew verse.220 But given that the psalm emphasises God’s role in deliverance, even stressing that the stone’s placement as chief cornerstone was ‘from the Lord’ (Ps 117.23), it may be best to understand the form as a divine passive (‘has been made’; cf. KJV, ASV, Douay-Rheims).221 As with ἀκρογωνιαῖος, Jeremias has argued that κεφαλὴ γωνίας refers to a ‘chief corner-stone’, a ‘final stone’ in the sense that it is set last and at the top of the building.222 However, modern commentators have generally preferred the view that this stone is depicted as the cornerstone of the foundation (see Exegesis at 2.6). Elliott notes that κεφαλὴ γωνίας ‘can designate the outermost corner of a stone at the horizontal level’ (note the parallel between λίθον εἰς γωνίαν and λίθον εἰς θεμέλιον in Jer 28.26 LXX [MT 51.26]).223 The detail of the building metaphors is hardly our author’s concern, but the image of a foundation stone that marks the basic lines and angles for the building best fits both the specific context (with the following image of the stone on which one may stumble) and the wider conviction that Christ raised and vindicated is the foundation on which the hope of the living stones is built, not the culmination of their building project. This quotation from Ps 117.22, as noted above,224 is already deployed within the Synoptic tradition. It is found at the close of the parable of the vineyard keepers who kill the owner’s son (Mark 12.1–12 par. Matt 21.33–46; Luke 20.9–19), with the narrative recording that the chief priests (along with scribes, or, in Matthew, Pharisees) perceive it to be spoken against them (Mark 11.27; 12.12;   This is argued by Johnstone 129 and Dubis 53.   So Michaels 105; cf. BDF §130.1, on divine passives. 222   TDNT 1:792–93. 223   Elliott 429. The construction is not found in any Greek literature prior to its usage in Ps 117.22 LXX, and it is echoed thereafter in Jewish and Christian literature. It only appears once in secular writings, being used to describe the location of body parts (Galen, De usu partium, vol. 3, p. 63 [Kühn]). 224   See Excursus: The Quotation of ‘Stone’ Texts (LXX Isa 8.14; 28.16; Ps 117.22). 220 221

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Matt 21.45; Luke 20.19). Broadly the same Jewish leadership is in view in Acts 4.11, where the verse is quoted as part of a speech by Peter (see Acts 4.1–6).225 Here in 1 Peter, however, there is no direct indication that the Jewish leadership or the Jewish people are specifically in view, just as there is no hint of critical polemic against Israel anywhere in the letter. The letter’s focus, rather, is on the opposition from society—from all those who reject or ‘disobey’ the good news—faced first by Christ and now by those who follow in his steps.226 8 καὶ λίθος προσκόμματος καὶ πέτρα σκανδάλου· οἳ προσκόπτουσιν τῷ λόγῳ ἀπειθοῦντες Only καί introduces the next scriptural quotation, linking it with what precedes somewhat imprecisely.227 It is clearly drawn from Isa 8.14 LXX, though more loosely than in the previous two quotations (and, notably, Isa 8.12–13 are quoted in 3.14–15). The relevant part of Isa 8.14 LXX reads as follows: καὶ οὐχ ὡς λίθου προσκόμματι συναντήσεσθε αὐτῷ οὐδὲ ὡς πέτρας πτώματι (‘and you will not encounter him as a stumbling caused by a stone nor as a fall caused by a rock’, NETS). The form found in 1 Peter (λίθος προσκόμματος καὶ πέτρα σκανδάλου) diverges significantly from this, yet is identical to the form of the quotation found in Rom 9.33 (except that there the two nouns are in the accusative case), where it is woven into a composite quotation combining Isa 28.16 and 8.14.228 It is the word σκανδάλον, and the overall form of the phrase, that particularly ties Rom 9.33 and

  See further Elliott 428–29.   A point emphasised by Goppelt (‘the stone rejected by humankind, not only by Israel’ [137]; cf. also 140; 145–47); see further Horrell ‘Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk’, 327–51. 227   According to Wagner-Vouga, ‘Das καί in V. 8a hat keine reihende Funktion…, sondern es hat einräumenden Wert : Auch die Heiden werden durch die durch Christus und die Christen repräsentierte Botschaft – wenn auch auf dem mühsamen Weg der anfänglichen Ablehnung – in Bewegung gesetzt’. 228   One of the earlier interpreters of this passage, Jerome, noted that both Paul and 1 Peter diverge from the LXX and contain a reading that is much closer to the Hebrew text (Ep. 57.9). But rather than focusing on the source of this departure from a literary perspective, his concern was theological, viz. that each is interpreting the scriptures according to their meaning and thus not constrained to reproduce specific words. 225 226



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1 Pet 2.8 together—a word resonantly used by Paul (1 Cor 1.23; Gal 5.11). Given that both texts reflect a number of identical divergences from the LXX,229 this may suggest some kind of literary relationship (see Excursus: The Quotation of ‘Stone’ Texts [LXX Isa 8.14; 28.16; Ps 117.22]).230 Some of these same changes are also reflected in the Greek versions of Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion, which read εἰς λίθον προσκόμματος καὶ εἰς πέτραν πτώματος (Aquila = εἰς στερεὸν σκανδάλου), though these all post-date Romans and 1 Peter and so could possibly be influenced by their wording. The common wording between 1 Pet 2.8 and Rom 9.33 may reflect an (independent) effort on the part of both writers to make use of a form of the Greek scriptures that provided a sense that was different from the LXX,231 but it is also possible that this compact formulation of Isa 8.14 had a certain currency in early Christian circles, perhaps via Paul, for whom the word σκανδάλον encapsulates the ‘offence’ of the message about Christ crucified.232 Indeed, despite the differences—which show the author of 1 Peter’s independent reworking of his traditions (something common to instances of literary borrowing, rather than evidence against it)233—awareness   These similarities include the fact that (a) both lack the negative conjunctions οὐχ and οὐδέ (making God the cause of stumbling—similar to MT); (b) both lack the two comparative particles, ὡς (making the comparison direct); (c) both lack the main verbal element (συναντήσεσθε) and its direct object (αὐτῷ); and (d) rather than reading πέτρα as a genitive modifier, both have the term as a head noun with σκανδάλου (which replaces πτῶμα) in the genitive. 230   Cf. Lightfoot 111: ‘St. Peter… can hardly be independent of St. Paul here’ (emphasis removed). On the other hand, many have denied any direct dependence on Romans at this point based on the fact that in the latter the two Isaiah quotations are woven into one integrated sentence (see Bigg 132; Schelkle 62; Achtemeier 162; Elliott 431; Schreiner 117). For these interpreters, it is difficult to imagine the Petrine author subsequently unpacking this composite citation. Nonetheless, since the author of 1 Peter displays independent knowledge of the wider context of this Isaiah passage (cf. 1 Pet 3.14–15, where Isa 8.12–13 LXX is cited) as well as other passages in Isaiah (see 2.21–25), he clearly demonstrates independent knowledge of Isaiah. 231   See Bigg 132; Richard 89. 232   See Koch, ‘Quotations of Isaiah 8,14 and 28,16’, 240. 233   The borrowing strategy of 2 Peter, which disrupts the tight and complex structure of Jude (see Frey, Second Letter of Peter, 182–92), should serve as a caution about being too prescriptive about what an ancient author might do with their source-text. 229

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of Paul’s citations of Isa 28.16 and 8.14 in Rom 9.33 seems a likely explanation of the similarities in their quotations. Some commentators distinguish between the two types of rocks in this verse, λίθος being a stone that was prepared for use in a building and πέτρα being a rough, uncut stone found in its natural environment.234 Such a distinction is reflected in various places throughout ancient literature (Xenophon, Anab. 4.7.4; Agatharchides, De mari Erythraeo 82; Diodorus Siculus 3.39.8; Mark 15.47//Matt 27.60; Herm. Sim. 9.9.7; Pausanias, Descr. 3.21.4), although it does not always hold true (see Exegesis at 2.4). There are instances where the terms are used synonymously (Plato, Leg. 838e; Diodorus Siculus 2.52.9; Wis 11.4), and this appears to be the case here.235 Related to this, it is significant to note that the parallelism of λίθος and πέτρα comes from Isa 8.14; so it cannot be taken to indicate any specifically Petrine interest (nor the influence of Paul).236 The term πρόσκομμα can denote an obstacle or something that causes stumbling (cf. Exod 23.33; Jer 3.3; Rom 14.13; 1 Cor 8.9); but in this case it represents the act of stumbling itself.237 It is the genitival form that communicates a causal sense (‘rock that causes/produces stumbling’; cf. NIV, NCV).238

  E.g., Blenkin 49; Achtemeier 162; Watson 50.   Cf. Arichea–Nida 61: ‘in this particular context the parallelism of the two clauses indicates clearly that no important distinction should be introduced, for in both instances the reference is to the Lord’ (cf. Johnstone 129; Schlosser 139). 236   Against the proposal of Moule (‘Some Reflections’, 56–59), who suggests that πέτρα could mark a connection with the named author of the letter (Πέτρος), which could then explain why this ‘stone’ imagery was employed (cf. also Hillyer 67; idem, ‘ “Rock-Stone” Imagery in 1 Peter’, 63–64). 237   Due to the -μα ending (see Robertson, Grammar, 151; MHT 2:355), Lenski suggests that the term πρόσκομμα (from the verb προσκόπτω) ‘is not a word that expresses an action, “stumbling,” but a term that indicates a result’; hence, he understands its use here as a reference to ‘the smash or crash accomplished’ (96). Yet, while it is true that sometimes πρόσκομμα does denote the injury that results from stumbling (Sir 31.30; Plutarch, Stoic. rep. 30 [Mor. 1048C]; Athenaeus, Deipn. 3.52), it comes to be used in the LXX as a description of the act of stumbling (Sir 34.16; Isa 8.14), and in the present verse, this latter meaning is suggested by its combination with σκάνδαλον, which emphasises as action more than a result. 238   As others have noted, προσκόμματος is best understood as a genitive of product (cf. Dubis 54; Forbes 65). For this category of genitive, see Wallace, Grammar, 106–107. 234 235



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The author now proceeds, as in v. 7a, to offer his own comment, applying the citations to the ‘unbelievers’ he mentioned in v. 7.239 It is impossible to say for sure whether 1 Peter originally contained any diacritical marks.240 But in an unaccented form of the text, it is possible to understand οι as either the article (οἱ), used in connection with a substantival participle, ἀπειθοῦντες (hence, ‘the disobedient stumble over the word’241), or as the relative pronoun (οἵ), in which case it is the previously mentioned ‘unbelievers’ who are in view (hence, ‘those who do not believe…who stumble’). The latter is probably the better of the two options.242 In this case, the downfall of the unbelievers is related to ‘stumbling’ (προσκόπτουσιν, a verb closely related to the noun πρόσκομμα cited from Isa 8.14) and ‘disobedience’ (ἀπειθέω, a verb that echoes ἀπιστέω in v. 7), and at the heart of this rebellion is their response to the ‘word’. The articular form (τῷ λόγῳ) serves either to mark out this ‘word’ as a well-known entity, or it is used to hearken back to the previous mention of λόγος in 1.23 (or perhaps both). In view, then, is the message of the gospel.243

239   Pace Forbes (65), who asserts that the antecedent is οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες, the relative pronoun (οἵ) refers back to ἀπιστοῦντες (cf. Usteri 92; Selwyn 164; Windisch 61). 240   Although accents are rare in our earliest NT MSS, they do appear on occasion as a way to clarify ambiguous readings (see Heilmann, ‘New Testament Manuscripts’, 184). This practice was common outside the NT as well (see Laum, Das alexandrinische Akzentuationssystem, 327–452). 241   A few have understood the sentence this way (e.g., Macknight 455–56; Demarest 109; cf. also Vinson 100). 242   Cf. Donelson 60 n. h. Both interpretations are possible based on Petrine syntax. Relative clauses are common in the letter (1.8, 12; 2.7, 10, 22–24; 3.3–4, 6, 21–22; 4.5, 11; 5.9), and the article is frequently separated from its modifier (1.3, 5, 10–11, 17; 2.9–10; 4.5). The difficulty with the former interpretation, however, is that it requires a sudden shift in the metaphor: having just stated that unbelievers stumble over the stone (v. 8), the object of stumbling would be identified as the word (v. 9) only one verse later. Further, the author elsewhere connects ‘disobedience’ (ἀπειθεῖν) to the ‘word’ (3.1; cf. 4.17). 243   Although this interpretation is rare, a few have understood λόγος as a reference to Christ (Demarest 108; Kehinde, ‘Christianity amidst Violence’, 87; cf. also Wand 60, who pondered, ‘Is it possible that “the word” is already beginning to bear some of its Johannine significance?’). However, the author’s consistent use of λόγος elsewhere to describe either a spoken utterance (3.15; 4.5) or, more specifically, the message of the gospel (1.23; 3.1) weighs against this hypothesis.

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The main ambiguity in the phrase is whether λόγῳ should be taken with προσκόπτουσιν or with ἀπειθοῦντες.244 Some older translations and a few earlier commentators adopted the former interpretation (‘who stumble over the word, being disobedient’; cf. Tyndale, Geneva, KJV, Darby, Douay-Rheims, ASV).245 In this way, the gospel message is said to present a stumbling block. References to ‘stumbling over the word’ in later writings (Origen, Comm. Matt. 16.16; Porphyry, Christ. Frag. 6) suggest that this idiom would not have been completely foreign in a Christian context; nevertheless, various considerations weigh against this construal. The verses that precede have focused entirely on the stone image, and as part of this metaphor, the stone is identified as the cause of stumbling. To make ‘the word’ the obstacle for unbelievers would change the metaphor. Furthermore, this interpretation would suggest that ‘stumbling’ involved an intellectual rejection of the message of the gospel. But this would stand opposed to the type of ‘stumbling’ indicated previously, which involves destructive consequences. A better alternative is to take the main verb προσκόπτουσιν absolutely,246 and to understand λόγῳ as modifying ἀπειθοῦντες: ‘who stumble because they are (or, by being; cf. NAB) disobedient to the word’ (cf. GNT, NIV, ESV, NASB, NET).247 The participial phrase thus describes the reason why (or, perhaps, how) this stumbling occurs. This construal coheres with the author’s use of similar constructions in other parts of the letter (cf. 3.1: ἀπειθοῦσιν τῷ λόγῳ; 4.17: ἀπειθούντων τῷ τοῦ θεοῦ εὐαγγελίῳ). Just as

244   Following the suggestion of Hort (122), some commentators have claimed that λόγῳ modifies both προσκόπτουσιν and ἀπειθοῦντες: ‘stumble at the word, disobeying it’ (cf. Masterman 100; Monnier 102; Bigg 132; Blenkin 49; Selwyn 164; Michaels 106; see also Hart 57). But this suggestion not only fails to solve the problems associated with the first view (see below), it also represents a mere sidestepping of the grammatical structure of the sentence. 245   Among the commentators who have adopted this view, see Erasmus 676; Luther 103; Calvin 72; Macknight 455–56; Pott 75; Lenski 97–98. 246   The absolute use of προσκόπτω is found frequently (e.g., Prov 3.23; 4.19; Dan 11.19; Tob 11.10; Sir 13.23; Pss. Sol. 3.5, 9; John 11.9–10). 247   Among an earlier generation of interpreters, this view was espoused on occasion (e.g., Calov 1484; Wolf 112; Benson 211; Steiger 2:52–53; Alford 348). By the twentieth century it became the dominant position, and it remains the consensus today (see, e.g., Beare 125; Goppelt 147 n. 57).



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Paul refers (distinctively)248 to a positive response to the Christian message as ‘obedience’ (Rom 6.16; 15.18; 16.19; 2 Cor 10.5–6), and specifically to ‘the obedience of faith’ (ὑπακοὴ πίστεως, Rom 1.5; 16.26), so too the author of 1 Peter characterises converts as those who have shown ‘obedience’ (1.14, 22). Conversely those who have rejected the message are described as being ‘disobedient’ (cf. John 3.36; Rom 2.8; 11.30–31; Heb 3.18), specifically disobeying the λόγος, that is, the gospel, the Christian message about Christ (cf. 1 Pet 1.25; 3.1; 4.17). εἰς ὃ καὶ ἐτέθησαν. ἐτέθησαν. The final clause is not complex grammatically, but it does raise difficult theological issues as it explains that this rebellion in some way relates to the plans and purposes of God (with εἰς serving to indicate the purpose, use, or end for which this appointment was made).249 One question is the specific referent of the relative pronoun ὅ. It could refer either to προσκόπτουσιν or (conceivably) to the phrase τῷ λόγῳ ἀπειθοῦντες,250 or to ‘the entire preceeding thought, namely, that unbelievers stumble over the stone they have rejected through unbelief’, which may be the most likely option (see further below).251 How it relates is (partially) determined by the meaning of the semantically flexible verb τίθημι. This term is used broadly in ancient writings to describe the placing or arranging of an object in a given location (Herodas 4.34; Jos. Asen. 16.11; Gos. Pet. 12.51), the setting or establishing of certain laws (Sophocles. El. 580; Herodotus, Hist. 1.29; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 1.269), the putting aside or storing up of resources (Demosthenes 52.3; 1 Cor 16.2; Plutarch, Vit. aere al. 4 [Mor. 829B]), the causing of change to a person’s condition or status (Xenophon, Cyr. 4.6.3; Aelian, Var. hist. 13.6; Rom 4.17), or the appointing of persons to a particular task or function (1 Tim 2.7; 248   Uses of the noun ὑπακοή in the NT are confined to Paul (11 out of 15) and 1 Peter (3 out of 15), except for Heb 5.8 (referring to Jesus ‘learning obedience’). Most of the Pauline references are to the response of converts to the gospel (or its messengers). 249   On this use of εἰς, see BDAG 290 §4d. 250   Cf. Dubis 55. Hort (123) takes the reference of εἰς ὅ as ‘to the principal verb of the preceding clause (προσκόπτουσιν), ἀπειθοῦντες being subordinate and practically adverbial’. Similarly, Bigg 133 and Michaels 107. 251   Achtemeier 162.

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2 Tim 1.11; Diogn. 6.10). In this case, the final meaning seems to be intended.252 The passive form of the verb (ἐτέθησαν, ‘they were appointed’) implies that God is the one who performs the action (cf. 1 Thess 5.9).253 Elsewhere in biblical literature when τίθημι describes the activities of God, it usually involves ‘the thought of God settling what shall be by sovereign decision’.254 With the author specifying God’s active involvement with the rejection of the gospel and the punishment that ensues, a difficult theological question arises, namely, whether the author means to convey the idea that those who stumble through their unbelief have been ‘appointed’—in the sense of predestined—to this fate. This possibility was affirmed some years ago by Calvin, who reached this conclusion on the basis of the referent of the relative pronoun (ὅ),255 as well as the καί (on which, see below). Finding the antecedent in the nearest verbal element (ἀπειθοῦντες), he understood the passage to indicate that those who reject the gospel ‘had been appointed to unbelief’.256 Many commentators have resisted this idea,257 however, seeing (in the words of Kühl) ‘belief and unbelief as causes of the different kinds of fate’, such that the thought here ‘has nothing to do with absolute predestination’.258

252   BDAG 1004 §5aα lists this usage as an example of a change in the experience or condition of unbelievers. But when such a meaning is intended, the construction usually involves some descriptive term (in the accusative) that reflects the new status or condition (cf. Luke 20.43; Rom 4.17; Heb 1.2), which is not the case here. 253   So, e.g., Achtemeier 162 (‘surely a divine passive’); Dubis 55. 254   NIDNTT 1:477; cf. also TDNT 8:152–58. 255   Grammatically, the neuter relative pronoun can ‘refer to a verbal idea or to the whole sentence’ (Robertson, Grammar, 714; cf. Boyer, ‘Relative Clauses’, 247), and as a result, the referent of ὅ in 2.8 must be determined by contextual clues. 256   Calvin 73. He continues: ‘all the reprobate are destined for the same purpose. And what inclines me to this meaning is the particle καὶ [sic] (also) which is put in.’ Cf. also Beza 568. 257   Interestingly enough, some allow for the possibility that 1 Peter supports the doctrine that certain individuals are predestined to achieve salvation; nevertheless, they deny the possibility that the letter might support the reciprocal idea, viz. that certain individuals are predestined for punishment (see, e.g., Wand 70–71; Jobes 155). 258   The full quote in German is as follows: ‘der Segen, welcher den πιστεύοντες zu Theil wird, ist dem Verderben, das die ἀπειθοῦντες ereilt, gegenüber gestellt, so dass der Nerv der Aussage nicht in den Bemerkungen über Glauben und Unglauben



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Over the centuries, interpreters have undertaken various—and in some cases, ingeniously imaginative—exegetical approaches to absolve God of any role in predestining individuals to condemnation. Some have supplied an additional reciprocal notion to the verse such that the ‘appointment’ of unbelievers reflects a state that they prepared for themselves.259 Others have sought to modify the text in some way, and thereby to remove the difficulties.260 Still others have understood the passage as a reference to corporate entities rather than individuals. More specifically, they have connected this ‘appointment’ to stumbling and unbelief with the rejection of Christ by the Jewish people, an action which, in turn, allowed salvation to be extended to the Gentiles; in this way, they compare the text with Paul’s argument in Rom 11.11–32.261 A few have even suggested that the language of ‘appointment’ refers not to the predetermined destinies of individuals, but to the prediction found in the scriptures that foretells of the rejection of God’s messiah.262 Ultimately, however, none of these approaches proves convincing. als Ursache des verschiedenartigen Schicksals liegt. Der hier ausgesprochene Gedanke hat mit absoluter Prädestination nichts zu thun’ (Kühl 151). 259   See, e.g., Didymus (PG 39:1763): ‘ad non credendum a semetipsis sunt positi’; Oecuminius (PG 119:533): Οὐχ ὡς ἀπὸ τοῦ Θεοῦ εἰς τοῦτο ἀφωρισμένοις, εἴρηται· οὐδευία γὰρ αἰτία ἀπωλείας παρὰ τοῦ πάντας ἀνθρώπους θέλοντος σωθῆναι βραβεύεται· ἀλλὰ τοῖς ἑαυτοῖς σκευή κατηρτικόσιν ὀργῆς καὶ ἡ ἀπείθεια ἐπηκολούθησε, καὶ εἰς ἣν παρεσκεύασαν ἑαυτοὺς τάξιν ἐτέθησαν. Cf. also Horneius 64; von Soden 142; Mazzeo 89. 260   Some interpreters have read the prepositional phrase εἰς ὅ as though it were εἰς ὅν (‘on which they are placed’), creating a reference either to λίθον, and thus to Christ, or to λόγον, describing the gospel (Luther 104; see also Luther’s translation: ‘darauff sie gesetzt sind’). Some manuscripts also reflect this approach (ECM 132). A few sought to replace εἰς ὅ with ἐφ᾿ ᾧ, creating a causal idea, ‘on account of which’ (see those earlier commentators mentioned by Steiger 2:56). Alternatively, Harris, conjectured that ἐτέθησαν should be emended to read ἐτέθη, describing the placement of the stone: ‘for which cause also the stone was laid’ (‘An Emendation to 1 Peter II.8’, 155–63). 261   See, e.g., Mason 403; Masterman 100; Selwyn 165; Windisch 61; Reicke 93; Davids 90. Envisioning a literary relationship between Romans and 1 Peter, Blenkin even goes so far as to say that ‘St Peter in these words εἰς ὃ καὶ ἐτέθησαν is briefly summarizing St Paul’s argument, in which he shewed that Israel’s apostasy, guilty though it was, was designed to subserve God’s eternal purpose of love’ (50). 262   So, e.g., Picirilli 142; cf. Hillyer, ‘ “Rock-Stone” Imagery in 1 Peter’, 63. This is the interpretation that is reflected in some translations (e.g., MSG: ‘They trip and fall because they refuse to obey, just as predicted’).

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The most common method of explaining this verse without affirming the notion of reprobation is to trace the antecedent of the relative pronoun back to προσκόπτουσιν,263 such that God merely ‘appointed’ the mechanisms by which rewards and punishments are meted out.264 In other words, it is not that the disobedience and unbelief of individuals were pre-determined in the plans of God; what was established beforehand was the fact that God would deal with such responses to Christ in certain ways. According to this view, disbelief is the cause, and stumbling is the effect: unbelievers disobey, and as a result, they receive the punishment that was preordained for that disobedience. Such efforts to evade what Achtemeier calls ‘the obvious thrust’ of this phrase are not entirely convincing, ‘however offensive [the author’s statement] may be to modern sensibilities’.265 Most notable is the fact that, as Schreiner points out, such an interpretation is ‘prosaic and obvious’,266 and there is little reason why it would need to be stated. Conversely, the sentence, as it is written, creates ambiguity. If the author had intended to connect the relative clause with the ‘appointment’ of God, the confusion could have been easily alleviated by the addition of the noun πρόσκομμα (‘for which stumbling they were also appointed’).267 Finally, the plural form of   Cf. Grotius 77; Hammond 407–408; Hensler 89; Huther 116–17; Fronmüller 34; Bigg 133; Knopf 94; Calloud-Genuyt 128–29; Michaels 107; Hiebert 141; Miller 196. 264   Those who explain the verse in this way include: Bengel 55–56; Steiger 2:54; Bloomfield 710; Hillyer 64; Marshall 73; Knoch 61; Elliott 433–34; Warden 107; Witherington 119; Schlosser 127; Osborne 183; cf. Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 93; Panning, ‘What Has Been Determined’, 48–52; Fagbemi, ‘Identity of the “Elect” in 1 Peter’, 373. 265   Achtemeier 162. As Hort remarks with typical candour and insight: ‘All attempts to explain away the statement, as if e.g. it meant only that they were appointed to this by the just and natural consequences of their own acts, are futile. True as that would be, it is not the truth that St Peter wished to insist on here. When we try to think of both views together, they seem to contradict each other: but the same apparent contradiction lies in truth in all attempts to combine in thought Divine action and human or natural action’ (123; cf. also Beare 126). 266   Schreiner 118. Cf. Wand 70, who notes that this interpretation ‘is almost a truism’. 267   Some claim that πρόσκομμα is understood in the relative clause: εἰς ὃ (πρόσκομμα) καὶ ἐτέθησαν (Bloomfield 710; Demarest 109). But this assump� tion lacks any evidential support. 263



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the verb ἐτέθησαν is significant (‘they have been appointed’).268 If the passage referred to God establishing a process or mechanism by which disobedience was punished, the singular ἐτέθη (‘it has been established’) would have been the more natural choice. The only alternative, then, is to take the antecedent of the relative pronoun (ὅ) as ‘the entire preceeding thought, namely, that unbelievers stumble over the stone they have rejected through unbelief’.269 In this case, God’s will and action are understood to be what ‘appoints’ unbelievers to their fate,270 similar to the way that the Petrine author regards Christ’s role and position as the result of divine ‘appointment’ (v. 6). This interpretation finds support in the presence of καί.271 Many English translations (and commentaries) ‘do not explicitly account for the καί’,272 and those that do generally assign it an adjunctive function in which it indicates merely an additional consideration (‘also’; cf. KJV, NKJV, ASV, NIV, NASB).273 This meaning is possible, especially if the author’s purpose is to hearken back to the ‘placing’ (τίθημι) of the stone in v. 6, thus ‘forming an inclusion that makes vv 6–8 a unit’.274 But in light of 268   This point has been made by others (see, e.g., Grudem 108; Dubis 55), although it has been challenged by Forbes, who claims that ‘[i]t is not the subj[ect] of the v[er]b that gives this sense but the antecedent of the rel[ative] pron[oun]’ (66). Such an assertion is simply not accurate, however. The plural subject of the divine passive (ἐτέθησαν) might be otherwise written as, ‘God appointed them’. 269   Achtemeier 162. Others have similarly argued that the relative pronoun refers back to the entire preceding clause (e.g., de Wette 22; Wiesinger 156; Hofmann 71–72; Alford 348; Usteri 94; Johnstone 132; Spicq 89; Dubis 55). 270   So, e.g., Best 106–107; Grudem 107–10; Schreiner 118–20; Donelson 65–66; Vahrenhorst 107; cf. Williams, Salvation, 70–72. 271   Cf. Calvin 73. 272   Dubis 55. Those English translations that leave καί untranslated include: RSV, NRSV, NET, NAB, HCSB, GNT, ESV, CEB, NJB. Among commentators, Elliott (433–34) makes no comment on the καί, nor does it feature in his translation (‘as they were set to do’). 273   See, e.g., Alford 348; Johnstone 132–33; Abernathy, ‘Exegetical Considera�tions’, 31. 274   Michaels 107; cf. Dubis 55. Translations generally do not convey the repeti�tion of τίθημι, though Elliott (406) does (‘I am setting… as they were set’). Cf. Hort 123: ‘The Cornerstone in Zion and the men [sic] who should stumble at it were both of God’s appointing’ (cf. the uses of τίθημι in John 15.16; Acts 13.47 [citing Isa 49.6 LXX]; 1 Thess 5.9; 1 Tim 2.7; 2 Tim 1.11). This suggestion would seem more plausible if the previous verses had discussed believers being ‘appointed’.

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the placement of καί after the relative pronoun, the particle seems to add an intensive force (‘even’, ‘indeed’; cf. Geneva, NTE, CEB).275 This is how the construction (relative pronoun + καί) is consistently employed elsewhere.276 This is by no means a developed doctrine of ‘double predestination’, the idea that God elects some to salvation and some to damnation, though it is difficult to deny that its seeds may be found here (if not, of course, exclusively here). The authors of the NT— most notably, Paul—express both the idea that having faith or not having faith, obeying or disobeying, is a human decision that can be urged, and the results of which render people culpable, and also the firm conviction that all this is somehow under the sovereign will of God, who elects and rejects, calls and hardens, according to his will (cf. esp. Rom 9.10–21; 1 Thess 5.9).277 While describing God’s role in the process of disbelief and stumbling, the Petrine author is able to thus express hope that some outsiders might be converted to the faith through the lifestyle and witness of individual believers (cf. 3.1–2). This same tension is present in the letter’s description of believers’ elect status: even though the readers have been chosen by God, this status is not guaranteed without a concomitant perseverance and moral orientation (cf. 1.17). In both cases, a person’s   Cf. Winer, Grammar, 546, who suggests rendering καί in v. 8 as ‘indeed’ or ‘just’. Hiebert (140) labels καί as an ‘intensive particle’, although he translates it as ‘also’. He then proceeds to argue that the presence of the conjunction ‘indicates that the appointment follows from their unbelief and disobedience’ (140; cf. Bengel 55–56). But exactly how he reaches this conclusion is never explained. 276   The case for the intensive function of καί has been made most cogently by Williams (Salvation, 71), who notes that in each of the other NT occurrences where the neuter relative pronoun (ὅ) is followed by καί, the particle adds emphasis (Acts 11.30; 26.10; 1 Cor 11.23; 15.1, 3; Gal 2.10; Col 1.29; 4.3; 2 Thess 1.11; 2.14). It is necessary to slightly qualify this claim, however. The idiom should not be limited only to those cases where the neuter relative pronoun is employed; the same sense should be expressed by relative pronouns in other cases as well. Further, while in most cases the force of this construction seems to hold true (along with the list from the NT numerous other examples could be added, e.g., 2 Chr 29.9; Liv. Pro. 2.8; 11.2; Aristob. 2.5; Philo, Sacr. 66; Congr. 178; Josephus, Ant. 7.75; 10.78; 15.116; Acts Pet. Paul 80.7), some may debate whether, in certain occurrences of this construction, καί might display an adjunctive force (see Buttmann, Grammar, 283). 277   On the tension between the ideas of ‘limited’ and ‘universal’ salvation in Paul, see Hillert, Limited and Universal Salvation. 275



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salvation is somewhat fluid during his or her lifetime, with their actions—and pursuit of a particular way of life, good or bad (3.16; 4.2–4)—ultimately determining/revealing its true nature. In Paul’s most tortured and complex reflections on the subject of divine election, the goal at which the argument eventually arrives is God’s mysterious plan to have mercy upon all (Rom 11.25– 32).278 Here, however, our author says nothing further about the permanence or otherwise of the ‘stumbling’ to which the disobedient have been appointed.279 Unlike with Paul, in Romans 9–11, the question of Israel’s fate and future are simply not in view (see further below), and questions about the ultimate fate of humans are also not of apparent interest (though the author’s reticence about specifying [negatively] the fate of unbelievers is notable; see on 3.12). In the context of a letter of encouragement and exhortation, addressed to those who feel themselves to be a persecuted and harrassed minority, shamed by their wider society, the author’s priority is to insist that God is in control, and that—despite current appearances—God’s will is to honour and vindicate those who put their trust in Christ and to put to shame those who currently revile them (cf. 3.16). 9 ὑμεῖς δὲ γένος ἐκλεκτόν, ἐκλεκτόν, βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, ἱεράτευμα, ἔθνος ἅγιον, ἅγιον, λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν, περιποίησιν, The author now turns back (cf. v. 7a) to the letter’s addressees, a shift signalled with the emphatic and contrastive ὑμεῖς δέ.280 What follows in vv. 9–10 is a second block of material constructed largely   Hort 123. Indeed, Hort sees these chapters of Romans as the ‘real source’ of the ideas expressed here, and goes on to note the goal towards which Paul’s argument moves. Though Paul does not specify the outcome of this divine desire for universal mercy, it does suggest that ‘universalism’ is less alien to ‘scripture’ than Bigg (133) suggests. 279   For example, commenting on 2.8, which he sees as specifically indicating the fate of the Jewish people, Schlatter raises the question that seems to cause Paul so much anguish: ‘Wird es der letzte, endgültige Wille sein?’ Yet the answer in this context is agnostic: ‘Davon spricht Petrus nicht’ (Petrus und Paulus, 98). 280   Rather than being used in an adversative sense, a few interpreters have argued that δέ marks the resumption of the author’s description of believers, which was left off at v. 6b (Achtemeier 163; Feldmeier 140; cf. Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 143–44 n. 418). But, with most interpreters, it is probably best to understand the particle as denoting a contrast between the privileges of believers with the situation of unbelievers described in v. 7b–8 (e.g., Kelly 95; Best 107; Grudem 278

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from the Jewish scriptures, though with fewer marked or extended quotations compared to vv. 6–8. In many ways, it parallels the material found in v. 5, although with an important difference: in v. 5 there was no explicit focus on identity as a ‘people’, whereas that comes to the fore here. The first set of phrases (with an implied ἐστε) is drawn from Isa 43.20–21 and Exod 19.6.281 The opening of the verse is also comparable with Exod 19.6 (ὑμεῖς δὲ ἔσεσθέ μοι),282 though a direct influence at this point seems unlikely,283 or at least difficult to ascertain, given the author’s frequent use of such second-person pronouns and the entirely unsurprising phraseology (cf., e.g., 1.4, 12, 20; 2.7; 4.1, 12). In what follows, the identity-designations are drawn in a broadly chiastic pattern, with Isa 43.20–21 (γένος ἐκλεκτόν and λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν) framing the collection and Exod 19.6 (βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα and ἔθνος ἅγιον) in the middle.284 Some have suggested that this structure may be intended to place stress on the fact that Christians are elect just like Christ (cf. 2.4, 9).285 An alternative, which has been proposed by Friedeman, is that this arrangement was made for rhetorical effect: ‘By placing γένος ἐκλεκτόν as the first term, a phonetic resemblance is created with the third term, ἔθνος ἅγιον. The two phrases are similar both in their number of syllables (five) and their final sounds (-ος and -ον).’286 A similar type of connection is made between the second and fourth designations, each—if ἱε- is understood as a single 111; Davids 90; Richard 90; Donelson 66; Watson 51; Forbes 68; Schreiner 120; cf. Best, ‘I Peter II 4–10’, 276). 281   It is inexplicable that NA28 (unlike NA27) does not list Exod 19.5–6 as a citation here, particularly v. 6 for the phrase βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα ἔθνος ἅγιον, quoted in this verse. 282   Cf. Elliott 434–35; also idem, Elect and the Holy, 142. Achtemeier comments that if the opening words are also drawn from Exod 19.6, then the verse is one in which ‘the passage from Isaiah [is] interpolated into the phrases from Exodus’ (163). But given the closing phrases of the verse, where Isaianic language is clearly to the fore, this puts the weight too far onto the Exodus text. 283   So Michaels 108. 284   Cf. Dubis 55–56. 285   See, e.g., Kelly 96; Achtemeier 163; Elliott 435. Cf. Christiansen, ‘Chosen and Honoured’, 87: ‘The special concern in v.9 is to unfold the present aspect of chosen and honoured’. 286   Friedeman, ‘Rhetorical Design’, 127; cf. also Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 96 n. 133.



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663

syllable—possessing eight syllables. As such, the author seems to have placed these titles in an A-B-A′-B′ pattern much like the one found in v. 10.287 According to this design, special emphasis is placed on the purpose clause (ὅπως τὰς ἀρετὰς ἐξαγγείλητε τοῦ ἐκ σκότους ὑμᾶς καλέσαντος εἰς τὸ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ φῶς), which stands between the coordinated parallels. The labels chosen to denote the identity of the readers are noteworthy. They represent what commentators have long recognised as the Ehrentitel Israels (the honorific titles of Israel),288 designations that are presented during the covenant ceremony at Mt. Sinai (Exod 19.6) and in the lofty depictions of return from the Babylonian exile (Isa 43.20–21).289 But what is perhaps most surprising is that 1 Peter applies these labels to his Christian communities—probably largely Gentile in composition290—without giving any indication that the titles belonged to other communities. This is passed over in silence as the Petrine author appropriates Israel’s scriptural identity   The pattern is as follows: Α γένος ἐκλεκτόν, Β βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, Α′ ἔθνος ἅγιον, Β′ λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν, ὅπως τὰς ἀρετὰς ἐξαγγείλητε τοῦ ἐκ σκότους ὑμᾶς καλέσαντος εἰς τὸ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ φῶς· Α οἵ ποτε οὐ λαός, Β νῦν δὲ λαὸς θεοῦ, Α′ οἱ οὐκ ἠλεημένοι, Β′ νῦν δὲ ἐλεηθέντες 288   E.g., Windisch 61; Schneider 62; also Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church, 172–73. See further Horrell, ‘Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk’, 327–51. In a study of the maintenance of identity through distinction (Abgrenzung), focused particularly on the book of Jubilees, Schwarz (Identität durch Abgrenzung, 53–57) identifies three fundamental identity-forming designations (Identitätsgründende Aussagen) of Israel: Israel as ‘holy people’, Israel as ‘chosen people’, and Israel as a people who belong to God, God’s special possession (Eigentumsvolk). It is striking that all three of these designations are repeated in 1 Pet 2.9, a text that falls quite outside the purview of Schwarz’s study. 289   By listing each epithet as an anarthrous form, Hiebert notes that ‘attention is focused on character rather than identity’ (142). Yet this statement might more accurately reflect the author’s intentions if it had read, ‘more than’ instead of ‘rather than’. 290   See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity. 287

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and makes it seem as if ‘the scriptures of the Old Testament belong to [the Christian communities], not in any secondary or spiritualized application, but in their primary sense and purpose’.291 Also striking is that in this verse, as part of his phrasing, the author takes up three ‘people’ terms (γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός) and uses them to characterise the readers of his letter.292 The opening phrase, γένος ἐκλεκτόν, is clearly from Isa 43.20 (τὸ γένος μου τὸ ἐκλεκτόν), where for the Hebrew ‫ עם‬the LXX (unusually) has γένος.293 There are only two places in the LXX where γένος ἐκλεκτόν occurs: here in Isaiah and once in the Old Greek version of Esther (16.21 [8.12t]: τοῦ ἐκλεκτοῦ γένους),294 though the idea of being ‘chosen’ is of course more widely prominent (e.g., Deut 7.6; 14.2; Ps 33.12; Isa 65.22). As a term, γένος can be applied to both human and non-human groups, to sorts and kinds of things as well as to what we might call ethnic or racial groups.295 At times, it is used as ‘a subdivision of ἔθνος’,296 with the two terms occasionally being employed synonymously.297 But generally γένος has a somewhat ‘more specialised meaning’ than ἔθνος, ‘with its focus

291   Beare 127. For more on 1 Peter’s (silent) appropriation of Israelite privileges, see Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’, 144–77. 292   The significance of this is something to which we return in the Summary section below. 293   Aside from the connection to Exod 19.5, Vanhoye (‘L’Epître (I P 2,1–10)’, 27) also finds allusions to Deut 7.6 and 14.2 in this scriptural citation. Cf. Lenski 99, who references Deut 7.6–7; Isa 43.10; 44.1–2. 294   Cf. the similar terminology elsewhere: T.Job 1.5; Mart. Pet. Paul 5.3; Acts Pet. Paul 26.3. It is hard to see why Jobes (158) says that ‘[t]he phrase “a chosen race” (γένος ἐκλεκτόν, genos eklekton) echoes Isa. 43:3, which announces that God himself is Israel’s only savior’. She goes on to note the specific relevance of Isa 43.20. 295   Cf. Homer, Il. 12.23: ‘the race of half-divine men (ἡμιθέων γένος ἀνδρῶν)’; Il. 2.852: ‘the race (γένος) of wild she-mules’. Aelius Aristides, Or. 45.1: ‘the race of poets’ (τὸ τῶν ποιητῶν γένος). Cf. MM 124, for the common use in the papyri for ‘a species or class of things’, as well as uses corresponding ‘to gens, a tribe or clan’. 296   LSJ 480; cf. 344; as in e.g., Herodotus, Hist. 1.101: ‘Deioces, then, united the Median nation (τὸ Μηδικὸν ἔθνος)… These are the Median tribes (Μήδων γένεα)…’. 297   Hall, Ethnic Identity, 36; Sechrest, Former Jew, 90. See, e.g., Herodotus, Hist. 1.56–57; Aelius Aristides, Or. 1.50 (173D).



2.4–10

665

on the notion (however fictive) of shared descent’;298 hence the translation ‘race’ (NAB, CEB, NRSV, ESV, HCSB, NET) or ‘stock’. One could also contrast γένος with λαός, which is somewhat more widely used. The latter is the loosest of the ‘people’ terms, insofar as it can be used to describe various kinds of assembled groups— such as an assembled crowd—whereas γένος most clearly implies a specifically ‘ethnic’ type of identity. This idea of shared descent is particularly relevant in 1 Peter, where those who enter into the Christian faith are said to undergo a ‘new birth’ experience (1.3, 23).299 This is the only time in the NT where the word γένος is used to denote members of the Christian assemblies, a fact that is highly significant in that this kind of ‘ethnoracial’ language becomes prominent and influential in subsequent descriptions of Christians as a ‘new race’ (καινὸς γένος, Diogn. 1.1), a ‘third race’ (τρίτον γένος, Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.5.41), and so on.300 It would be rash to propose that 1 Pet 2.9 is somehow the direct source for all talk of Christians as a γένος. Nonetheless, whatever the extent of its direct influence, it is clearly the first application of the term to Christians, in the context of a clear and extensive description of the members of the churches in ethnic or ‘people-group’ terms.301 This usage thus marks the beginning of a particular way of

  Cf. Fronmüller 34; Vahrenhorst 108.   Hall, Ethnic Identity, 36. Cf. Homer, Il. 13.354: ‘Both were of one stock (γένος) and of one parentage (πάτρη)’; Homer, Od. 15.267: ἐξ Ἰθάκης γένος εἰμί (‘I am from Ithaca by birth’), which seems to mean, in effect, ‘I am an Ithacan’; Sophocles, Oedipus Tyr. 1383: γένους τοῦ Λαΐου (‘from the race of Laius’). 300   See further Horrell, ‘ “Race”, “Nation”, “People” ’, 123–43; idem, Becoming Christian, 133–63. 301   Based on the ‘obvious echoes of the Hebrew Bible’s description of Israelites as the chosen people’, Gruen argues that the Petrine author ‘had no intention of viewing Christians as a “third race” ’. He also denies that ‘the language evoke[s] any sense of ethnic connotation’ (‘Christians as a “Third Race” ’, 237). While it would be difficult to assess the extent to which the Petrine author viewed Christians as a distinct ‘race’, given his silence about (other) Israelites, the facets of identity he constructs share much in common with the characteristics commonly identified with ethnic identities. See further Horrell, Becoming Christian, 133–63; idem, Ethnicity and Inclusion; Ok, Ethnic Identity, esp. 35–60. 298 299

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constructing social identity.302 Unlike the label Χριστιανός, which seems to have arisen as an outsiders’ label, gradually claimed as an insiders’ self-designation (see Exegesis at 4.16), the description of Christians as a γένος seems to have arisen as a facet of Christian self-definition, even if similar language also came to be used by outsiders. Indeed, it is possible—though no more than this—that the process is the reverse of that which took place with the label Χριστιανός: Christian self-description in ethnic terms, drawing of course on Jewish identity discourse, and reinforced by the kinds of exclusivism that led to hostile criticism (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44), shaped outsiders’ perceptions and descriptions. The central phrases—βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, ἔθνος ἅγιον— are drawn verbatim from Exod 19.6 LXX (repeated in some LXX MSS at Exod 23.22 [Rahlfs]), where the only difference is that a καί connects the two word-pairs. There has been much debate surrounding the origin and meaning of the Septuagintal rendering βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, which translates the Hebrew text ‫ממלכת‬ ‫‘( כהנים‬a kingdom of priests’). Since it would have been possible— as the Greek version of Aquila demonstrates—to translate the Hebrew construction in a more literal manner, Hort proposed that the LXX was rendering a different source text. He suggested that in the exemplar of the LXX, ‘the final ‫ ת‬of the construct state was replaced by ‫)מ ְמ ָל ָכה( ה‬, ַ with the sense “a kingdom, priests” ’.303 But such a hypothesis is unnecessary in that the variation found among the ancient witnesses can be sufficiently explained by ‘the degree of ambiguity inherent in the MT’.304 It is more likely that the LXX represents a translation of the same text found in the MT. As suggested by Elliott, this translation may have been intended to reshape the meaning of the Hebrew for a new milieu. In this case, βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα could be read as two independent substantives (‘royal residence, community of priests’).305 However, the chiastic structure 302   For further discussion, see Horrell, ‘ “Race”, “Nation”, “People” ’, 123–43; idem, Becoming Christian, 133–63. 303   Hort 124; cf. Cerfaux, ‘Regale Sacerdotium’, 6; Dabin, Le Sacerdoce Royal de Fidèles, 30; Abernathy, ‘Exegetical Considerations’, 32–37. 304   Davies, A Royal Priesthood, 67. For a critique of the alternative Hebrew text theory, see Blinzler, ‘ΙΕΡΑΤΕΥΜΑ’, 61; Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 121–23; cf. also Sandevoir, ‘Un Royaume de Prêtres?’, 224. 305   So, e.g., Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 70–76; Hiršs, Ein Volk aus Juden, 96 n. 21, 114–15.



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(i.e., adjective–noun καί noun–adjective) created when βασίλειον is read as an adjective points in another direction.306 It suggests that the LXX translators adapted the Hebrew in an effort to account for its perceived meaning. This consideration has an important bearing on how the expression may have been used in 1 Peter. When βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα is employed in 1 Pet 2.9, commen�tators are presented with the same interpretive options: the first term could either be a noun or an adjective (i.e., the neuter form of βασίλειος). Grammatically and morphologically, either is possible. The most detailed treatment of this issue was undertaken by Elliott, who argues at length that the construction βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα represents independent substantives that provide two separate designations for the Christian community.307 Like the previous usage in 1 Pet 2.5, ἱεράτευμα is described as a body of priests (see Exegesis at 2.5). The semantic range of the noun βασίλειον is much broader, however. Elliott points out that it can denote the territory ruled by a sovereign (‘kingdom’, ‘empire’)308 or the power and authority wielded by a sovereign during his or her rule (‘sovereignty’, ‘reign’).309 The term is also used to describe entities associated with monarchic rule, including a capital city, a palace, and a crown.310 For Elliott, the Petrine usage is connected with a place of divine dwelling (cf. 2.5: οἶκος πνευματικός), and as such, he translates the term, ‘royal residence’. Building on the previous arguments of Holzmeister and Selwyn, Elliott sets out the following evidence in support of his position. 306   Rather than reading βασίλειον as a noun in Exod 19.6 (LXX), many understand it as an adjective (e.g., Mosetto, ‘Sacerdozio regale’, 575; Schlosser 140; cf. NETS: ‘a royal priesthood’). 307   See Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 50–128, 149–54; Elliott 435–37. This position has been adopted by others as well (e.g., Holzmeister 248; Selwyn 165–66; Kelly 96–98; Best 107–108; Dalton 905; Brox 103–104; cf. Best, ‘1 Peter II,4–10’, 288–91; Seland, ‘ “Common Priesthood” ’, 104–109; Mbuvi, Temple, Exile and Identity, 105). 308   Cf. Pss. Sol. 17.4, 6; Rev 1.6; 5.10; 2 Clem. 6.9; T.Jud. 17.6; 22.3; Sib. Or. 3.159; Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 32.2; Acts John 5.1. The use of βασίλειος as an equivalent for βασιλεία represents a later development (see Thackery, Grammar of Old Testament, 157; BDF §50). 309   Cf. Dan 4.32; 7.22; 1 Esdr 4.40, 43; 2 Macc 2.17; Wis 1.14; 2 Clem. 17.5. 310   Capital city: Polybius, Hist. 3.15.3; Diodorus Siculus 19.18.1; Strabo, Geogr. 1.2.25. Palace: Prov 18.19; Esth 1.9; 2.13; Dan 5.0; 6.19[18]; Nah 2.6; 2 Chr 28.4; Ep Jer 58; Philo, Sobr. 66; Luke 7.25. Crown: 2 Sam 1.10; 2 Chr 23.11; Wis 5.16.

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First, he notes the disproportionate number of occurrences between the noun (βασίλειον) and the adjective (βασίλειος), with the uses of the former far exceeding those of the latter in the LXX.311 But while such figures are valuable, they cannot be used prescriptively, as though proportionality of usage were in some way determinative in any given instance. The second piece of evidence, which is much stronger than the first, is that most early interpretations and translations of Exod 19.6 (LXX) seem to have taken βασίλειον as a noun.312 Elliott distinguishes two streams of tradition based on their renderings of βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα. One stream read the two terms as mutually dependent—whether as an attributive adjective construction (Vulgate: regale sacerdotium) or as a genitive construction (Aquila: βασιλεία ἱερέων; Jub. 16.18 [Lat.]: regnum sacerdotale). In another stream of tradition, reflected in a variety of Jewish and Christian materials,313 βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα was understood as consisting of two independent substantives. Again, however, while this information is suggestive—providing an important window into how the tradition may have been received by the Petrine author— it still remains to be demonstrated that 1 Peter reflects one stream of tradition rather than the other. For this reason, the validity of Elliott’s argument rests on the evidence specifically related to the Petrine usage of βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα. In 1 Pet 2.9, Elliott draws attention to two features thought to support his thesis. One relates to the dictates of Greek grammar upon word-order. According to Elliott, as an attributive modifier 311   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 72–73. Excluding Exod 19.6 and 23.22 (which is closely connected to it), there are only two examples of the adjective βασίλειος in the LXX: 4 Macc 3.8 and Wis 18.15. The noun βασίλειον, on the other hand, appears 24 times. 312   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 73, 150; Elliott 436–37. 313   Jewish literature: 2 Macc 2.17: τὸ βασίλειον καὶ τὸ ἱεράτευμα (‘the monarchy and the priesthood’); Philo, Sobr. 66: βασίλειον καὶ ἱεράτευμα θεοῦ (‘the kingdom and priesthood of God’); Abr. 56: βασίλειον καὶ ἱεράτευμα (‘a kingdom and priesthood’); Jub. 16.18 (Eth.): ‘a kingdom and priests’. Christian literature: Rev 1.6; 5.10; cf. also 20.6. Translations: Greek versions of Symmachus and Theodotion: βασιλεία ἱερεῖς (‘a kingdom, priests’); Tg. Onq. Exod 19.6: ‫‘( ואתון תהון קדמי מלכין כהנין ועם קדיש‬and you will be before me kings, priests, and a holy people’); Tg. Ps.-J. Exod 19.6: ‫ואתון תהון קדמי מלכין קטרי כלילא וכהנין משמשין‬ ‫‘( ועם קדיש‬and you will be before me kings wearing crowns, ministering priests, and a holy people’); Tg. Neof. Exod 19.6: ‫ואתון תהוון לשמי מלכין וכהנין ואמה קדישא‬ (‘and you will be kings and priests and a holy people for my name’).



2.4–10

669

of ἱεράτευμα, the adjective βασίλειον ‘would have been an exception to the general rule that an adjective follows its referent unless preceded by a definite article’.314 Since βασίλειον precedes ἱεράτευμα, Elliott claims that it is more naturally understood as an appositional construction. This is not an accurate assessment of adjectival word-order, however. In anarthrous (attributive) constructions, the order adjective–noun is commonly employed throughout the NT (e.g., Luke 19.17; 2 Pet 1.19; 2 John 1).315 Moreover, as has commonly been pointed out, the construction βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα in 1 Pet 2.9 merely reflects the word-order found in the LXX. The second feature is the close connection that Elliott draws between v. 5 and v. 9. As previously noted, vv. 6–10 provide the (scriptural) basis for the points that the author makes, by way of introducing and summarising the material, in vv. 4–5. This structure, in combination with the fact that v. 5 contains the only other NT occurrence of ἱεράτευμα, leads Elliott to conclude that βασίλειον and ἱεράτευμα in v. 9 correspond (as two substantives) to οἶκος and ἱεράτευμα in v. 5.316 But this argument, too, seems less than convincing. The relationship between v. 5 and v. 9 is not as ‘obvious’ as Elliott contends,317 and there is no reason why it would be necessary to interpret the meaning of βασίλειον from the earlier use of οἶκος. Aside from the lack of evidence in 1 Peter to suggest that the construction βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα was intended to be understood 314   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 151. In support of this assertion, he cites Blass, Grammatik, 169 (§270). 315   Cf. Wallace, Grammar, 309, who notes that this construction ‘occur[s] hundreds of times in the NT’. 316   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 152; Elliott 437. In connection with this argument, Elliott draws attention to the fact that Philo (Sobr. 66) also used βασίλειον as a synonym for οἶκος, defining the former as the dwelling place of a king. The uniqueness of this Philonic usage leads Elliott to conclude that the Petrine author ‘was not only acquainted with a traditional [Exod 19.6] text form in general but found an interpretation of Philo in particular as useful for his discourse in 2:4–10’ (Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 152). But these similarities only exist if Elliott’s interpretation is adopted. As such, they provide no proof of a literary influence. Upon closer examination, a connection between the two seems tenuous, for the specific features in Philo that indicate that βασίλειον is a noun (viz. the presence of καί) and that it is synonymous with οἶκος (viz. an equative clause) are not present in 1 Peter. 317   Cf. Michaels 100–101; Achtemeier 159.

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as consisting of two independent nouns, there are two weighty objections against this interpretation. First, each of the other labels used to describe the identity of the people of God includes a noun and a modifier. To maintain consistency with this pattern, the noun ἱεράτευμα would require a modifier,318 which is most naturally understood as the adjective βασίλειος.319 Second, the meaning assigned to the substantival use of βασίλειος would not be congruent with the other Petrine designations. All of the other terms employed in v. 9 represent groups of people, whereas βασίλειος would be denote an inanimate object, a ‘royal dwelling’ (i.e., palace).320 Based on these considerations, most translations and commentators take βασίλειος as an adjective (‘royal priesthood’; cf. NKJV, NRSV, NIV, NET, NASB, NAB, HCSB, ESV, CEB),321 an approach that is consistent with the way that 1 Pet 2.9 was interpreted the church fathers.322 318   Although not determinative for the interpretation of βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα in v. 9, the use of ἱεράτευμα in v. 5 also has an adjectival modifier (ἅγιον). 319   Elliott (Elect and the Holy, 151) has responded to this argument by pointing to the final designation in the list, noting that the Petrine author chooses a prepositional phrase to modify the noun (λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν). This decision, he contends, disrupts any noun–adjective pattern, which could have been maintained with a phrase from Exod 19.5 (λαὸς περιούσιος), and undermines the argument against taking βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα as two independent nouns. There is some validity to this point, especially if the constructions λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν and λαὸς περιούσιος communicate the same meaning (as argued by Lightfoot, On a Fresh Revision, 262–63). In either case, however, the other three designations consist of a noun and its modifier. 320   Best (108) attempts to alleviate this problem by suggesting that βασίλειον could be understood as ‘a body of kings’. Yet, as he himself admits, this sense is not attested anywhere else. 321   Among more recent interpreters, this view is adopted, e.g., by Margot 40; Schiwy 44; Schelkle 64; Davids 91–92 n. 30; Bénétreau 130; Goppelt 149; Achtemeier 164–65; Senior 55; Donelson 60 n. i; Dubis 56; Schlosser 140; Osborne 184; Forbes 68; Schreiner 121 n. 299; cf. also Arndt, ‘A Royal Priesthood’, 241–49; Ketter, ‘Das allgemeine Priestertum’, 50; Vanhoye, ‘L’Epître (I P 2,1-10)’, 27; Coppens, ‘Le sacerdoce royal des fidèles’, 71; Gäckle, Allgemeines Priestertum, 441–44. 322   While it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between a quotation from Exod 19.6 and 1 Pet 2.9 in patristic literature, when βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα is cited, the former term is generally taken as an attributive adjective (cf. Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 4.59.3; Origen, Cels. 4.32; 5.10; Mart. 5; Gregory of Nyssa, De sancto Theodoro [PG 46:736]; De occurs domini [PG 46:1152]; Contra Julianum imperatorem 1 (orat. 4) [PG 35:561]; Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.4.6; Gregory of Nazianzus,



2.4–10

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But what exactly did the author intend to communicate through this construction? When used as an attribute, the adjective βασίλειος indicates that the term it modifies is in some way associated with a monarchy (‘royal’).323 In connection with this usage, some have argued that βασίλειος describes the exalted character of the priesthood.324 Others have read the adjective as an indication that believers are assigned royal prerogatives alongside their sacerdotal functions. In this way, they possess the status of both priests and kings.325 However, the majority of commentators rightly understand the adjective as expressing the object of service. As a community of priests, Christians belong to the royal court; that is, they render their priestly service to God, the king.326

Contra Julianum imperatorem 2 (orat. 5) [PG 35:697]; De pace 1 (orat. 6) [PG 35:744]; De pauperum amore (orat. 14) [PG 35:876]; Athanasius, Expositiones in Psalmos [PG 27:124]; Homilia de semente [PG 28:161]; Ps.-Macarius, Sermones 64 (collection B) 40.2.2 [Berthold]; Const. ap. 2.57; 3.16; John Chrysostom, Exp. Ps. [PG 55:244]; Synopsis scripturae sacrae [PG 56:327]; Cyril of Alexandria, Commentarius in xii prophetas minores, vol. 2, p. 510 [Pusey]; Commentarii in Joannem, vol. 2, p. 581 [Pusey]; Glaphyra in Pentateuchem [PG 69:333, 516, 553]; Commentarius in Isaiam prophetam [PG 70:1244]). On occasion one will find βασίλειον being understood as a substantive (e.g., Gregory of Nyssa, Adversus Arium et Sabellium de patre et filio [PG 3,1:79]; Melito, De pascha, line 494 [Perler]). One difficultly when assessing these data is that in a few cases the writings of a given church father may reflect both readings. For example, Didymus seems to understand βασίλειον as an adjective in one instance (Commentarii in Psalmos 29–34, p. 226 [Gronewald]), while reading it as a substantive in his commentary on 1 Peter (21). 323   According to Selwyn, this usage ‘seems to connote a more intimate and per�sonal relationship than βασιλικός, and to be almost equivalent to τοῦ βασίλεως’ (166). 324   Variations exist within this view: a priestly body that is magnificent and respected (Hottinger 114), or a priesthood that is worthy of a king (Hofmann 73–74). Cf. also Gupta, ‘A Spiritual House’, 73: ‘the implications of becoming royal priests means a new sense of dignity and pride’. 325   So, e.g., Calvin 75; Grotius 77–78; Wiesinger 158; Johnstone 134; Bennett 213; Hart 57; Knopf 96; Gunkel 267; Lenski 101; Stibbs-Walls 104; Hiebert 142–43. 326   So, e.g., Huther 118; Mason 403; Usteri 96; Kühl 152; Hort 124–26; von Soden 143; Masterman 101; Monnier 105; Bigg 134; Mitchell 248; Blenkin 50; Wand 72; Cranfield 66; Reicke 93; Michaels 108–109; cf. Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 125; Cerfaux, ‘Regale Sacerdotium’, 13–14; Blinzler, ‘ΙΕΡΑΤΕΥΜΑ’, 59. A few interpreters have assigned βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα a

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The phrase ἔθνος ἅγιον in Exod 19.6 renders the Hebrew ‫ גוי קדוש‬with what Bertram calls ‘philological accuracy’.327 It is an unusual phrase (contrast Deut 7.6), ‫גוי‬/ἔθνος being more commonly employed (often in the plural) to denote nations or people-groups other than Israel328 and λαός being most often used to refer to Israel (generally rendering the Hebrew ‫)עם‬.329 Nonetheless, ἔθνος is one of the Greek terms that can denote groups of people,330 whether the inhabitants of a particular polis, or a larger population,331 or members of clubs, guilds, and associations.332 It is also found in the LXX and later Jewish literature (along with γένος and λαός) referring to the Jewish people.333 Again, it is striking to note that only twice in the NT—here and (less directly, more debatably) in Matt 21.43—is the term ἔθνος used to denote the members of the Christian community. While the phrase ἔθνος ἅγιον is thus unusual meaning that is more consistent with the Hebrew: ‘a kingdom that consists of priests’ (e.g., Schott 116–17; Keil 89; cf. Gess, Christi person und werke, 394). 327   TDNT 2:366. Cf. Hort 126, though ἔθνος ἅγιον (as opposed to λαὸς ἅγιος) is not quite ‘unique’ here (see Exod 19.6; 23.22 [LXX]; Wis 17.2). 328   This use of ἔθνος is especially prominent in (though not exclusive to) biblical Greek (see BDAG 276 §2; MM 181, who note uses of ἔθνη to denote the rural barbarians living outside the polis). For non-biblical ‘pagan’ uses, see e.g., Aristotle, Pol. 7.2.5 [1324b 10]: ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν (‘the non-Hellenic nations’); Cassius Dio 36.41.1. It is also employed to denote foreign groups in Rome (Appian, Bell. civ. 2.2.13; 2.26.107; 3.35.140) and (immigrant) groups in Athens (IG II2 1283 [260–59 BCE]). Thanks are due to John Kloppenborg for drawing our attention to the latter inscription. 329   See TDNT 4:29–33; HRCS 853–62. Among the 17 Hebrew words listed as possible equivalents for λαός, ‫ עם‬is the term in the vast majority of cases. 330   Some have pointed to the etymological distinctions between ἔθνος, which reflects a group distinguished by shared customs, and γένος, which reflects a group distinguished by shared descent (e.g., Steiger 2:62; Usteri 96–97; Monnier 105–106). But there is no indication that the Petrine author intended to make use of such a distinction (cf. Johnstone 134–35). 331   Cf. Herodotus, Hist. 1.57; 5.77; 7.161; 8.73. See further Hall, Ethnic Identity, 34–35. 332   LSJ 480. See also Saldarini, Christian-Jewish Community, 59–60. More generally, it could be employed to designate ‘a class of beings who share a common identification’, human or animal: Homer, Il. 2.459 (birds); 2.87 (bees), 2.469 (flies); 2.91; 3.32 (warriors). See Hall, Ethnic Identity, 35. 333   See 1 Esd 1.4 (τὸ ἔθνος αὐτοῦ Ἰσραήλ); 8.66 (τὸ ἔθνος τοῦ Ἰσραήλ); cf. also 1.32, 34, 49; 2.5; 5.9; 8.10, 13, 64; Philo, Legat. 117, 119, 137, 161, 279; Josephus Ag. Ap. 2.220; War 1.232, 581; 2.282; Ant. 14.290; 18.6. For more on these terms, see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 135–45.



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as such in the LXX and unique as a designation of the Christian people in the NT, the idea that the people of God must be ‘holy’ is hardly strange. The idea is prominently expressed across a range of biblical literature, not least in the Levitical holiness code, which our author has already quoted in 1.16, and in references to the people of Israel as a λαὸς ἅγιος (Deut 7.6; 14.2, 21; Isa 30.19; Hos 11.12). The last of the descriptions is λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν, a phrase not found in this exact form in the LXX but clearly drawn from Isa 43.21.334 A similar idea (with comparable vocabulary) is expressed in Exod 19.5 (λαὸς περιούσιος; cf. also Deut 7.6; 14.2),335 which may also have influenced the author’s choice of the phrase here,336 though the form of expression in 1 Peter suggests the more direct influence of Isaiah at this point. The precise phrase εἰς περιποίησιν occurs in Hag 2.9 and Mal 3.17 (and in the NT in 1 Thess 5.9; 2 Thess 2.14; Heb 10.39), though it is uncertain whether either of these texts is a direct influence.337 While the term περιποίησις is employed in an active sense to describe the acquisition of something (Vettius Valens, Anthologiarum libri ix, 2.24; P.Tebt. II 317) or even the preservation of what one owns (Plato, [Def.] 415c; 2 Chr 14.12[13]; T.Zeb. 2.8), here it is used in a more passive sense to denote what has been acquired, namely, the possession itself.338 As in 1 Pet 2.5, the εἰς indicates purpose, such that the readers are expected to see 334   It is evident that the phrase derives from Isa 43.21 (LXX) given the way the verse continues (see below), though in this source-text the verbal form περιποιησάμην is employed (cf. Acts 20.28). 335   This adjective appears in the NT only at Titus 2.14; cf. also 1 Clem. 64.1. 336   Some commentators have maintained that Exod 19.5 is the primary source of this expression (so, e.g., Hammond 408; Benson 213; Demarest 110; Lenski 102). 337   Hort is too confident when he asserts that there is ‘no doubt that he [sc. the author] has taken the exact phrase of the LXX. in Malachi to express the substance of the phrase of the LXX. in Isaiah’ (127; cf. also Huther 119; Jobes, ‘Minor Prophets’, 143). 338   See further TLNT 3:100–102. Given that περιποίησις is used elsewhere in the NT to describe the future acquisition of salvation (cf. 1 Thess 5.9; 2 Thess 2.14; Heb 10.39), and that εἰς is employed of eschatological/soteriological realities in 1 Peter (cf. 1.3–5; 2.2), Michaels suggests that the term should be understood as the equivalent to σωτηρία. As such, the expression would describe future salvation: ‘a people destined for vindication’ (109–10; see also Schott 118–19; Waltner 78; cf. Halas, ‘Sens dynamique de l’expression’, 254–58). But unlike the other examples that Michaels cites, this use of περιποίησις lacks a genitive modifier indicating some aspect of eschatological salvation. In this way, it functions more

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themselves as a people whom God desired as a special and treasured possession.339 ὅπως τὰς ἀρετὰς ἐξαγγείλητε τοῦ ἐκ σκότους ὑμᾶς καλέσαντος εἰς τὸ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ φῶς· The declaration about the honourable and exalted identity of the readers is followed by a clause, based again on Isa 43.21 (τὰς ἀρετάς μου διηγεῖσθαι), that indicates the purpose (ὅπως…) of their existence as such a people, their task and raison d’être. Such responsibilities, as Green has pointed out, indicate that for the Petrine author, ‘to embrace the mantle of Israel’s identity as God’s people is inescapably to embrace Israel’s vocation to mediate the purpose and blessings of God to the world’.340 The parallel between v. 5 and v. 9 suggests that this purpose clause delineates more fully the spiritual sacrifices described in v. 5.341 In place of Isaiah’s verb διηγεῖσθαι the author of 1 Peter uses ἐξαγγέλλω. Both verbs can denote simple narration—telling or describing—but ἐξαγγέλλω has a more vivid and striking force, conveying the sense of revealing or disclosing previously unknown information (Xenophon, Hell. 1.1.8; Plato, Leg. 932b; Demosthenes, 1 Philip. 18; Dinarchus, Phil. 10). As such, it was occasionally associated with oracles and predictions of the future (Euripides, Ion 1605; Sophocles, Oed. tyr. 148; Herodotus, Hist. 1.21). A slightly different nuance is attested in the LXX. In this corpus, uses of ἐξαγγέλλω occur mostly in the Psalms, and in almost all of its occurrences (the exception is Prov 12.16) it refers either to the declaration of praise to God (Pss 9.15[14]; 72.28; 78.13; Sir 39.10; 44.15), the announcement of God’s righteousness, deeds, and so on (Pss 70.15; 72.28; 106.22; 118.13; Sir 18.4), or the speaker’s telling of his/her own experiences to God (Pss 55.9[8]; 118.26). One can therefore see why an author familiar with the language

like Eph 1.14 (εἰς ἀπολύτρωσιν τῆς περιποιήσεως), an example that he admits is ‘slightly different’. 339   The specific connection as God’s possession is made explicit in some later citations of this verse, which write the phrase, λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν θεοῦ (see Ps.-Clement, Epistulae de virginitate 1.9.4; Const. ap. 5.15). 340   Green 220–21; emphasis added. 341   Cf. Ketter, ‘Das allegemeine Priestertum’, 50; Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 184.



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of the LXX would substitute ἐξαγγέλλω for the more bland and generic διηγέομαι. Along with ἀγαθός, the term ἀρετή was the most powerful word of commendation used by Greek society, marking out the one to whom it was attributed as possessing the most desirable and valued qualities in character and conduct (‘excellence’, ‘goodness’).342 Although the means by which this virtue was displayed changed with the needs and expectations of society, the significance of the designation did not. In early Greek culture, the highest commendation was bestowed upon ‘manly’ qualities such as military accomplishment (Homer, Il. 11.90; 15.642; Thucydides 2.71.3) or athletic achievement (Homer, Od. 4.629; Pindar, Ol. 3.37).343 Within philosophical discourse, however, ἀρετή was eventually connected with moral and cooperative virtues. Prominent individuals were thus recognised not simply for their ἀρετή,344 but for their ἀρετή in connection with qualities such as εὔνοια (‘goodwill’), δικαιοσύνη (‘uprightness’), φιλοδοξία (‘love of honour’), εὐσέβεια (‘piety’), καλοκἀγαθία (‘nobility’), σωφροσύνη (‘moderation’), or εὐεργεσία (‘beneficence’).345 In many cases, the term came to be treated as the category under which other qualities were subsumed.346 Based on the long, established use of ἀρετή to describe exceptional 342   See esp. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility; Bryant, Moral Codes and Social Structure. 343   See further LSJ 238; BDAG 130; TDNT 1:457–61; cf. also Danker, Benefactor, 318. 344   On various occasions, ἀρετή is distinguished and honoured on its own: ἀρετᾶς ἕνεκα, ‘because of (his/her) excellencies’ (e.g., IG XII,3 494, 505, 509, 517; IG IV 595, 612; IGLPalermo 46; IG IV2,1 654). 345   This is particularly common in the epigraphic record, where individuals are lauded for their ἀρετή in connection with many other qualities: εὔνοια (IG XII,3 101, 170; I.Kalchedon 2; IG IX,1 729; IG XII,4 2:1060; IG XII Suppl. 147; IG IV2,1 657; IG XII,1 86, 867; I.Knidos 218), δικαιοσύνη (IG XII Suppl. 139A-B; SEG 322:485A; IG IX,12 2:417; IG VII 21), φιλοδοξία (IG XII,1 43, 102, 846; Lindos II 131e, 299b; Tit. Cam. 90, 96a; I.Rhod. Peraia 155), εὐσέβεια (Lindos II 195; CID 4:88; Tit. Calymnii 148; FD III 3:223; IG XII Suppl. 62), καλοκἀγαθία (IG XII,3 254, 288, 495, 497, 500, 502, 881; IG IV2,1 650; SEG 52:791), σωφροσύνη (IG XII,3 868, 869, 1404, 1405; IG XII,4 2:838; SEG 26:944), and εὐεργεσία (IG IV2,1 637, 644; IG IV 846; IG IX,12 1:154; SIG3 616; FD III 1:526; 4:244; CID 4:103). 346   This is regularly communicated through the addition of the adjectival modifier πᾶς: ‘every virtue’. For instance, on a funerary inscription from the city of Aphrodisias (IAph2007 11.1), an ostler named Theseus is described as being ‘a

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character, including several occurrences in the NT (Phil 4.8; 2 Pet 1.3, 5),347 some have argued for a similar usage in 1 Pet 2.9. That is, they contend that ἀρετάς refers to the attributes or qualities of God, such as power and wisdom as well as God’s moral perfections; thus, it is rendered, ‘excellencies’ (cf. ESV, NASB) or ‘virtues’ (cf. NET).348 Since admirable qualities are recognised through the impression they make on others, usually through concrete actions, ἀρετή was also employed (usually in the plural) to describe specific actions that demonstrated one’s exceptional character, ‘praiseworthy deeds’ (cf. Herodotus, Hist. 9.40; 3 Bar. 11.9). This meaning was applied, in particular, to the actions of the gods, where the term denoted manifestations of their divine power, ‘miracles’, ‘glorious deeds’ (cf. Strabo, Geogr. 17.1.17; SIG3 1172; IG XIV 966).349 Drawing upon this usage, many have argued that in the present verse ἀρετάς refers not to the character of God, but to what God has done for the readers, specifically as it relates to God’s effort to bring about the redemption of humanity through the work of Christ, ‘mighty deeds’ (cf. NRSV, CEB, CEV, GNT, NEB, REB).350 Still, a third meaning is possible. On occasion, ἀρετή was also employed to describe the special prominence that was achieved when one demonstrated excellence through praiseworthy deeds man of every virtue’ (ὃς πάσης ἀρετῆς ὤν). Cf. also IG II2 3740; IG IV2,1 84; IG V,1 534; et al. 347   The ethical sense of ἀρετή as virtue (‘praiseworthy qualities’) appears in other Jewish and Christian writings (e.g., Wis 4.1; 5.13; 8.7; 2 Macc 6.31; 3 Macc 6.1; Sedr. 1.17; Acts Phil. 77.4), most frequently in 4 Maccabees. 348   Those who adopt this view include: Steiger 2:64–65; Bloomfield 710; Words�worth 54; Alford 348; Plumptre 110–11; Keil 89; Usteri 97; Johnstone 136; Huther 120; Kühl 153; Lightfoot 112; Grudem 112; Hiebert 145; Donelson 66. 349   One of the first to draw attention to this meaning of ἀρετή was Reinach, ‘Les arétalogues dans l’antiquité’, 257–65. 350   Proponents of this view include: Selwyn 167; Kelly 99–100; Spicq 93; Beare 131; Best 108–109; Blum 231; Michaels 110–11; Davids 92–93; Bénétreau 124; Brox 103 n. 342; Goppelt 150 n. 66; Miller 199; Achtemeier 166; Senior 56; Jobes 163; Green 62; Feldmeier 141–42; Dubis 57; Osborne 186; Watson 52; Forbes 69; cf. Detering, ‘Exodus Motifs’, 62; Williams, Salvation, 77–78. Those who espouse this view sometimes compare the meaning of ἀρετάς in this view to the expression τὰ μεγαλεῖα τοῦ θεοῦ in Acts 2.11 (see, e.g., Schott 121; Bigg 135; Moffatt 118; Schelkle 65).



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(‘fame’, ‘glory’), and in this way, it was synonymous with δόξα (cf. Hesiod, Op. 313; Pindar, Nem. 5.53; Sophocles, Phil. 1420). This meaning is picked up in the LXX, where ἀρετή is used twice to translate the Hebrew term ‫‘( הוד‬magnificence’, ‘splendour’; see Hab 3.3; Zech 6.13), and four times to render the word ‫תהלה‬ (‘glory’, ‘praise’; see Isa 42.8, 12; 43.21; 63.7). As a result, some take the plural form ἀρετάς as a reference to the recognition of God’s prominence through expressions of approval, ‘praises’ (cf. KJV, NKJV, NAB, HCSB, NIV).351 It is difficult—and probably not altogether necessary—to distinguish between these interpretative options because they represent three aspects of an interconnected social system: when someone performed actions that were valued by society (‘praiseworthy deeds’), they in turn received public recognition (‘fame’, ‘praise’), marking them as one who possessed exceptional qualities (‘excellencies’). Similarly, from the Petrine perspective, it is impossible to separate the praises rendered to God from God’s mighty deeds, for it is the latter that give rise to the former, and such praiseworthy actions are merely the natural outflow of God’s character.352 Yet, if it is necessary to distinguish between the individual aspects of this process, it is probably best to see this use of ἀρετή as a recognition of God’s preeminence through expressions of approval. This meaning is consistent with the Petrine author’s source-text. Barring some indication from the immediate context, it is reasonable to assume that the same meaning is adopted here.353 Further support is found in the lexical form that is substituted by the Petrine author. In place of διηγέομαι, he includes ἐξαγγέλλω,   So, e.g., Benson 213, Hensler 91–92; Hottinger 114, Monnier 106; Elliott 439–40; Richard 91–92; Schreiner 122–23; cf. Hatch, Essays in Biblical Greek, 41; Deissmann, Bible Studies, 96. 352   Cf. Zeller, ‘Intertextuality in 1 Peter 2.9–12’, 146. 353   Grudem claims that ‘[ἔπαινος] (1 Pet. 1:7; 2:14) or perhaps [αἴνεσις] (Heb. 13:15) would have been the expected word if Peter had meant to say “praise” ’ (112 n. 1). This observation would hold some weight if the Petrine author were not quoting from Isa 43.21. As it stands, his word-choice is dictated by his source. This is particularly important given the changes that are made to the verse. While the verb διηγέομαι is replaced with ἐξαγγέλλω and ὅπως + subjunctive is swapped for the infinitive, the author nonetheless keeps τὰς ἀρετάς, suggesting a close connection to the source-text at this point. 351

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which is often connected with the declaration of God’s praise in the LXX (see above). Thus, it is the greatness of God’s excellent qualities and deeds that is to be declared by the people, effectively an act of praise. There is some disagreement over whether this is viewed primarily as an act of worship directed toward God or an act of evangelism directed towards outsiders.354 Many commentators rightly see both dimensions as pertinent: declaring the praises of God is fundamentally an act of worship, yet equally an act of witness and proclamation in society (cf. Pss 9.1–15; 57.9–11; 96.1–13).355 As Elliott notes, ‘this proclamation of God’s honor is fitting not only within but also beyond the boundaries of the Christian community’.356 Just as the purpose of the readers’ existence as the chosen people is to declare God’s praises, so too the reason for their doing so is expressed in the description of their being called from darkness into light. God is implicitly the subject of τοῦ… ὑμᾶς καλέσαντος,357 and as Elliott notes, the theme of God’s ‘calling’ of his people is ‘especially prominent in the book of Isaiah’—not least in the chapters of deutero-Isaiah cited here in 1 Peter (Isa 41.9; 42.6; 43.1; 48.12)—as well elsewhere in the NT (e.g., Rom 8.30; 1 Cor 1.9; Gal 1.6; Eph 4.1, 4; Heb 9.15).358 The use of darkness and light to represent negative and positive states of being is well established

  Those who find the primary emphasis to be Christian worship: Holzmeister 252; Michaels 110; Hillyer 69; Skaggs 35; Schlosser 131; cf. Chevallier, ‘Condition et vocation’, 396–97; Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 133; Mosetto, ‘Sacerdozio regale’, 580; Seland, ‘ “Common Priesthood” ’, 116–18; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 157–59. Those who find the primary emphasis to be evangelism: McKnight 110; Senior 62; Vinson 104; Osborne 186. Related to the former interpretation, a few have claimed that this declaration of God’s praises specifically relates to the Eucharist (e.g., Kelly 100–101; cf. Jonsen, ‘Moral Theology’, 99; Boismard, ‘Pierre (Première Épître de)’, 1437–39). 355   Cf. Clowney 96; Goppelt 149–51; Boring 101–102; Green 62; Schreiner 122. See also Fagbemi, Who Are the Elect in 1 Peter? 105–20; Seland, ‘Resident Aliens’, 583–85, who (somewhat differently from his earlier work, cited above) opposes Balch and concludes that the term includes a sense of missionary proclamation. 356   Elliott 439–40; original emphasis. 357   Pace Jachmann 143, who identifies the subject of the clause as Christ. 358   Elliott 440. 354



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in the Jewish scriptures,359 as is the specific motif of God’s deliverance bringing people from darkness into light (esp. Isa 9.2; 42.16; Mic 7.8; cf. Matt 4.16). The same contrast is present in the literature from Qumran where the righteous members of the community (‘the sons of light’) are differentiated from unrighteous outsiders (‘sons of darkness’; see 1QS 1.9–10; 1QM 1.1, 11). Similarly, the NT, particularly the Gospel of John, depicts Jesus’ coming as the arrival of light (John 1.5–9; 3.19; 8.12; 12.35, 46; cf. Rom 13.12; 1 John 2.8) and characterises conversion as a turning from darkness to light.360 In the phrase in v. 9, ἐκ σκότους is moved forward for emphasis, with ‘darkness’ serving as ‘a polemical characterization of the customs and heritage of the letter’s recipients’.361 In contrast, φῶς is given greater theological weight by its description as specifically τὸ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ φῶς (‘God’s marvellous light’). This transfer from darkness to light has already taken place, yet it remains also an eschatological hope (as in Rom 13.12; 1 Clem. 36.2), awaiting its final consummation (cf. 1 Pet 5.10).362 10 οἵ ποτε οὐ λαός, λαός, νῦν δὲ λαὸς θεοῦ, θεοῦ, οἱ οὐκ ἠλεημένοι, ἠλεημένοι, νῦν δὲ ἐλεηθέντες.. ἐλεηθέντες The declarations about the identity of this called and chosen people continue in the final verse of this section, with the opening of the verse connecting back to the ὑμεῖς of v. 9a (cf. also ὑμᾶς in 9b).363 In two balanced phrases, the verse depicts ‘you’ as ‘the ones…’, a force conveyed in the standard translation, ‘Once you were…’ (cf. RSV, NAB, NRSV, ESV), though this obscures the direct connection with v. 9a. It is unclear whether the initial οἵ is meant as a 359   E.g., Pss 112.4; 139.11–12; Isa 5.20; Jer 13.16; Amos 5.18, 20; cf. Matt 6.23; Luke 1.79; 11.34. 360   Cf. Acts 26.18; Eph 5.8; 1 Thess 5.5; cf. 1 Clem. 36.2; 59.2; Barn. 14.5–6; Acts Pet. Andr. 11.2. The same imagery (darkness to light) is also used in Second Temple Judaism to describe conversion (e.g., Jos. Asen. 15.13; Philo, Virt. 221). 361   Vinson 104; cf. Watson 52. 362   Cf. Michaels 111, though he exaggerates the future (only) dimension when he writes: ‘The divine call is not to something present but to something future’. 363   Some understand a poem (Davids 93; Forbes 70) or a hymn (Selwyn 277–81) to lie behind this language, but there is no indication of this (see Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 46).

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relative pronoun or the article. While the former has been assumed by some interpreters,364 the latter is probably more likely (with the accent deriving from the enclitic ποτέ that follows; cf. Eph 2.13).365 In this way, the ‘article nominalizes the entire expression ποτε οὐ λαός, νῦν δὲ λαὸς θεοῦ (“formerly-not-a-people-but-now-peopleof-God-ones”)’.366 The pairing ποτέ… νῦν gives a contrast between past and present that governs both phrases in the verse, though only the νῦν is repeated (cf. 3.5, 20 for ποτέ denoting the past). The content of the verse reflects language found in Hosea 1–2 LXX (especially 1.6, 9; 2.1, 3, 25), but the specifics of the Petrine citation are most consistent with Hos 2.25 (LXX): καὶ ἐλεήσω τὴν Οὐκ-ἠλεημένην καὶ ἐρῶ τῷ Οὐ-λαῷ-μου Λαός μου εἶ σύ (‘I will have pity on Not Pitied, and I will say to Not My People, “You are my people” ’, NETS).367 Some of the same material is quoted more extensively by Paul in Rom 9.25–26. A literary connection between the two is often denied, particularly among more recent commentators.368 They argue that the similarities likely indicate that this prophetic text had acquired a certain significance in early Christian reflection. As proof of this independence, most point out that each author (apparently) quotes from a different Greek version of Hosea, with Paul’s source containing ἀγαπᾶν (‘to love’) and 1 Peter’s containing ἐλεεῖν (‘to have mercy’).369   E.g., Hiebert 146; Elliott 441; cf. Williams, Salvation, 79.   The reason why this is the case is because the article οἱ is a proclitic, i.e., a word that is read so closely with what follows that it is normally unaccented. By rule, ‘If a word before an enclitic is itself a proclitic (except οὐ, οὐκ, οὐχ) or an enclitic, it has an acute accent on the ultima’ (Carson, Greek Accents, 49; cf. Porter, Reed, and O’Donnell, New Testament Greek, 14). 366   Dubis 57. He contends that οἱ ‘stands in apposition to the λαὸς [sic] in verse 9’. But as a plural, it is probably more likely that the article should be connected back to ὑμεῖς (v. 9). 367   Commentators regularly state that the citation in 1 Pet 2.10 represents the conflation of multiple verses from Hosea (1.6, 9; 2.25 LXX). But rather than drawing on a number of separated passages, one can account for the Petrine language merely through a citation of Hos 2.25 (cf. Achtemeier 167 n. 241). 368   See, e.g., Selwyn 280; Kelly 102; Achtemeier 167–68; Schreiner 123. Among an earlier generation of commentators, it was much more common to posit a literary connection with Paul in this instance (e.g., Hort 130; Monnier 107; Blenkin 52; Beare 133). 369   Another argument that is sometimes put forward in support of independence is that the Hosea passage is applied differently in Romans and 1 Peter (see Kelly 364 365



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But while the differing text-forms do add weight to this view,370 it is also important to consider what this theory leaves unexplained. One consideration for which shared tradition does not adequately account is why both authors reverse the order of Hosea’s description of his children, with Οὐ-λαός-μου being referenced before Οὐκ-ἠλεημένη. It is also important to note the limited impact of the Hosea passage on subsequent Christian tradition. If the language of Rom 9.25–26 and 1 Pet 2.10 represents the influence of early Christian tradition,371 then we would assume that the Hosea passage experienced some level of popularity within Christian communities; yet it is not cited by any other NT author. What is more, when the language of Hosea is eventually referenced by the church fathers, its origin can be traced back to identifiable written sources without any indication of earlier (oral) influence.372 These considerations require at least some openness to the possibility that the Petrine 102; Davids 93 n. 35). But if the Petrine author did borrow from Paul, there is no reason why he would be obliged to use the text in exactly the same way. 370   It is possible that the different verbal forms reflect the Petrine author’s inter�pretive interaction with both Hosea and Romans. It is clear that 1 Peter adapts his source(s) to fit his needs, as evidenced by the addition of temporal indicators (ποτε… νῦν). If his intention was to create an inclusio to mark off a major section of the letter (see below), it would have been necessary to depart from the Pauline language (τὴν οὐκ ἠγαπημένην) and to include the wording of Hosea (τὴν οὐκ ἠλεημένην). 371   Often overlooked is the fact that Paul uses a citation formula to designate exactly from where his language was drawn: ὡς καὶ ἐν τῷ Ὡσηὲ λέγει (‘as indeed it says in Hosea’). From this, it is clear that he was not citing an oral source that was in circulation in the church, but a written document, the text of Hosea. 372   The use of the Hosea language in early Christian writings appears to have originated from one of three distinct and clearly defined written sources: (a) the text of Hosea, as evidence by their citation formula (Justin Martyr, Dial. 19.5: ὡς καὶ Ὠσηέ, εἷς τῶν δώ δεκα προφητῶν, φησί; cf. Clement of Alexandria, Ecl. 4.1; Origen, Hom. Jer. 9.2; Eusebius, Dem. ev. 2.3.40; Didymus, Comm. Zach. 1.162) or by their text-form (John Chrysostom, Synopsis scripturae sacrae [PG 56:383]; Cyril of Alexandria, Commentarius in xii prophetas minores [PG 1:35]); (b) Paul’s letter to the Romans, as indicated by the reverse order from Hosea and by the substitution of ἀγαπᾶν (Irenaeus, Haer. 1.4.1; Theodoret, Interpretatio in xii prophetas minores [PG 81:1560]); and (c) the letter of 1 Peter, as indicated by the reverse order from Hosea as well as the temporal adverbs (Clement of Alexandria, Prot. 4.59.3; Origen, Sel. Deut. [PG 12:817]; Cyril of Alexandria, Glaphyra in Pentateuchum [PG 69:196, 312]). We also find an amalgam of the Pauline and Petrine versions in Apos. con. 3.16: οἵ ποτε οὐ λαός, νῦν δὲ ἠγαπημένοι καὶ ἐκλεκτοί.

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author may have been reading Hosea through the lens of Paul (for a parallel, cf. John Chrysostom, Hom. Tit. 2:11, 16). Unlike Paul, the author of 1 Peter extracts from Hosea only restricted phrases—the labels naming and renaming the prophet’s children. The designation οὐ λαός is first mentioned in Hos 1.9 where it is the name the prophet is commanded to give to his son (Οὐ-λαός-μου), illustrating the infidelity of Israel towards YHWH. This symbol of rejection is reversed in the declaration that Οὐ-λαός-μου will be called Λαός-μου (Hos 2.3, 25 LXX). It is possible, as some have proposed, to supply θεοῦ before λαός to maintain balance with the second half of the sentence: ‘At one time you were not God’s people, but now you are his people’ (GNT).373 According to this rendering, the negative particle would be connected with the implied verb ἦτε. But such an interpretation amounts to a truism: it goes without saying that these readers were not (part of) the people of God prior to their conversion. This is why it seems more likely that οὐ is intended to negate the noun λαός.374 At first glance, this construction may seem unusual given that the negative particle is rarely used to modify nominal forms, this being the task normally assigned to the negative prefix. However, the particle is used this way on occasion (cf. Rom 9.25; 10.19),375 and when it occurs, οὐ ‘denies and annuls the idea of the noun’.376 This means that the description goes beyond merely indicating that a change occurred over time, as implied in most translations (e.g., ‘Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people’, NRSV). The point is that they were formerly a ‘not-people’; that is to say, they were ‘a body of persons in whom the characteristic features of a λαός were not to be found’.377 This represents a sharper contrast: rather than simply being excluded from the people of God

  So, e.g., Grotius 78–79; Steiger 2:67; Kühl 154; Hort 131.   Cf. Keil 90; Mason 404; Huther 121; Lenski 104. 375   See Robertson, Grammar, 1163. 376   Thayer, Greek–English Lexicon, 460. 377   Johnstone 138. Cf. Wiesinger 163–64: ‘Die Negation οὐ λαός… soll nicht blos sagen, daß sie einst nicht waren, was sie jetzt sind, sondern daß sie Gegentheil dessen waren’. The RSV captures this sense the best, ‘Once you were no people’ (cf. ASV, NAB). 373 374



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prior to their conversion, these readers were not even a people at this time. The author of 1 Peter appropriates the contrasting labels in a somewhat different way than Paul, to speak of how the Gentile converts addressed in the letter have now become λαὸς θεοῦ.378 Although rarely addressed by commentators, it is difficult to know what to make of the anarthrous construction. It could be taken in an indefinite sense (‘a people of God’).379 On the other hand, numerous examples could be cited wherein both the genitive modifier and its head noun are anarthrous (excluding instances within a prepositional phrase or in connection with pronominal or adjectival modifiers) yet still definite.380 Multiple occurrences of this very construction are found in 1 Peter (cf. 4.2, 10–11). If this is the case here, λαὸς θεοῦ would be translated, ‘the people of God’ (cf. KJV, ASV, NASB, NIV, NKJV).381 It is also possible to assign the construction a qualitative sense (‘people of God’), emphasising the readers’ identity as it related to their connection to God.382 The second contrast is drawn from the name given to Hosea’s daughter, Οὐκ-ἠλεημένη (Hos 1.6, 8), and the reversal expressed in the promise ἐλεήσω τὴν Οὐκ-ἠλεημένην (Hos 2.25 LXX). The identifier is made plural in order to fit as a description of the letter’s addressees (ὑμεῖς…οἱ οὐκ ἠλεημένοι), and just as the change from 378   This verse is commonly used to argue for a primarily Gentile audience (see, e.g., Benson 214; Macknight 458; Huther 122 n. 1). Nevertheless, on the basis that the original message was directed to Israel, some have made the case that it better supports a predominantly Jewish readership (see Hensler 94–95; Jachmann 143; Wordsworth 54; Plumptre 111; Kühl 154–56; Witherington 121; cf. Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 119). The latter position is undermined by the fact that the same passage is applied to Gentile readers by the apostle Paul (cf. Rom 9.25–26). 379   So, e.g., Monnier 108. 380   Cf. Matt 14.33; 27.43; Mark 1.1; Luke 1.35; 2.40; 3.2; John 19.7; Acts 7.55; Rom 1.1, 16–18; 3.21–22; 7.25; 8.9, 14; 1 Cor 1.24; 2.7; 6.9–10; 7.19, 40; 15.10, 50; 2 Cor 6.16; Gal 5.21; Eph 6.17; Phil 3.3; 1 Thess 5.18; 1 Tim 3.5; Heb 2.9; 6.5; Jas 1.20. 381   The construction (ὁ) λαός (τοῦ) θεοῦ is used only a few times in the LXX (Judg 20.2; 1 Sam 14.45; 2 Sam 14.13; Esth 10.10 [3g]; cf. Philo, Sacr. 5). However, it is much more common to find references to ὁ λαός μου (e.g., Exod 3.10; 1 Sam 9.16; 1 Kgs 8.16; Ps 49.7; Isa 10.24; Amos 7.8). In each case, this designation refers to the people of Israel. 382   Many translations adopt this understanding by rendering the construction, ‘God’s people’ (e.g., NRSV, NET, NAB, HCSB, GNT, ESV, CEB).

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(God’s) direct speech to reported declaration required the change from λαός μου to λαὸς θεοῦ in v. 10a, so here the author renders the point expressed directly in Hos 2.25 by ἐλεήσω with a passive participle ἐλεηθέντες, where the implied agent is God. Just as in the case of οὐ + noun, the presence of οὐ with the participle is noteworthy. Normally, the negation of participles was the duty of μή.383 But in this case, οὐ is employed for emphasis: ‘the presence of οὐ with the participle means that the negative is clear-cut and decisive’.384 This is consistent with the change in participial tense. With the perfect participle (ἠλεημένοι), the author portrays their pre-conversion existence as a state, extending over some period of time. The shift to the aorist participle (ἐλεηθέντες), on the other hand, is intended to portray an event or an act in its entirety.385 In connection with the temporal adverb νῦν, a wide referent is probably intended, extending back either to the death of Christ or to the readers’ conversion. From a literary perspective, this reference to ‘mercy’ (ἐλεηθέντες) may have been intended to create an inclusio with in 1 Pet 1.3 (ἔλεος), marking the end of a major section of the letter.386 Summary These rich and complex verses are crucial to the overall message and strategy of 1 Peter, as well as to our understanding of its achievements in terms of the making of Christian identity. As Elliott rightly remarks, ‘[t]hese verses bring to a resounding climax the line of thought begun in 1:3’.387 Here the status of the addressees as the elect and special people of God is emphatically declared, a culmination of the affirmations and the exhortations found in 1.13–2.10 and the foundation for the instruction that is to follow in the second major section of the letter (2.11–4.11). It is notable that   See Buttmann, Grammar, 350; MHT 1:231–32; BDF §430.   Robertson, Grammar, 1137–38. 385   On the difference between the perfect and aorist tenses in this verse, see Winer, Grammar, 431; Robertson, Grammar, 1117; cf. Porter, Verbal Aspect, 395–96. 386   As suggested, e.g., by Holzmeister 253; Achtemeier 168 n. 248; Schlosser 132; Schreiner 124; cf. Schutter, Hermeneutic, 28. 387   Elliott 407; cf. Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 199–218. We see the letter-body as beginning at 1.13, rather than 1.3 (see above), but the main point holds. 383 384



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P72 gives a lengthy marginal summary at this point, suggesting the significance of the material in these verses (see Text at 2.9 n. j). We have already noted the connection in 1 Peter between indicative (‘this is who/what you are’) and imperative (‘so you ought to do this’; see, e.g., on 1.22). ‘Here’ in 2.4–10, Elliott writes, ‘the fundamental indicative for the entire epistle has been spoken’.388 In its declarations about the status of Christ as foundation-stone, the passage is of christological as well as ecclesial significance.389 Nevertheless, the contrasting perspectives on Christ—precious corner-stone, or rock of offence and cause of stumbling—connect directly with the contrasting fates of believers and unbelievers, all of which come under the appointing power of God’s will. While the fate and status of unbelievers is not described in any detail, the honourable and esteemed identity of those who trust in Christ—the addressees of the letter—is richly depicted. The richness and extent of this description invite reflection in social-psychological, postcolonial, and theological terms. First, from a social-psychological perspective, the author’s strategy may be seen as an attempt to reverse the negative verdict and shameful social identity that outsiders currently place upon the addressees. It is the outsiders who will stumble, while Christians will not experience shame. On the contrary, they will be held in honour and esteem. A sense of positive group identity is constructed using the most esteemed labels that can be derived from Jewish scriptural tradition. This, in a sense, is the positive counterpart of their earlier designation as aliens and strangers in the diaspora (see 1.1; 2.11); as such, they are God’s γένος ἐκλεκτόν, God’s special people, destined to receive their glorious and imperishable inheritance. From a postcolonial perspective, just as the letter-frame positions the readers with regard to the empire in an essentially negative way—the ‘achievements’ of empire are experienced, or at least interpreted, as dislocation and dispersion—so this climactic and positive set of declarations announces that Christians have a positive   Elliott, Elect and the Holy, 217.   Cf. Blumemthal, ‘Das politische Potential’, 228: ‘Mit diesem kurzen Aufblitzen einer “Entortungsekklesiologie” ist signalisiert, dass man als Erwählte trotz der Fremdheit gegenüber der Mehrheitsgesellschaft und der Ausrichtung auf den himmlischen Heilsraum schon im Erdenraum durch eine konsequente Orientierung an Jesus Ansätze einer festen Zugehörigkeit erfahren kann’. 388 389

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and far superior basis for hope: their election by God and the inheritance God has promised to them. Insofar as Augustus was heralded as a saviour who brought good news, put an end to war, and whose birthday marked ‘the beginning of all things’,390 the letter does indeed present a counter-narrative, and one with certain elements of at least implicitly polemical parallelism.391 Yet it does this not by any direct or explicit confrontation (as we shall see in 2.13–17), but rather by locating the readers within an identity-defining narrative that offers a different perspective on their existence, describing this in exalted terms. It is absolutely clear from this passage that the positive identitydesignations of the readers are drawn from Jewish scripture. What commentators have long called the Ehrentitel Israels, the honorific titles of Israel, are here applied to the largely Gentile congregations addressed by the author. Hence, Achtemeier suggests that ‘Israel has become the controlling metaphor for the new people of God’.392 The difficult theological question raised by this appropriation of Israel’s identity designations is whether it implies that the Christians have replaced the Jews as the chosen people of God (i.e., whether the church has taken the place of Israel). When Achtemeier suggests that this ‘rhetoric’ about Israel ‘has passed without remainder into that of the Christian community’, the implications of this ‘without remainder’ demand careful consideration.393 Commentators have given contrasting answers to this question, partly reflective of their socio-political and temporal location. For example, among those who have seen the ‘unbelievers’ and the ‘builders’ as specifically the Jewish people and their leaders,   See, e.g., OGIS 458; Price, Rituals and Power, 54–55.   For the phrase, applied to claims about Christ that used terms also familiar from their application to the deified emperors or from the context of emperor worship, see Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 346. Cf. also Barnett, ‘Polemical Parallelism’, 111–20; Meggitt, ‘Taking the Emperor’s Clothes Seriously’, 157. 392   Achtemeier 72; see also 69–72 and further Achtemeier, ‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 140–54. 393   Achtemeier 72. Cf. also Brox 103: ‘Für den 1Petr sind solche Aussagen von vornherein auf die christliche Gemeinde hin und für niemand sonst gemacht’. Achtemeier insists that ‘[t]his is evidently not an instance of anti-Semitism’. But this skates too quickly over the issues: what does this ‘without remainder’ mean, and what are the implications for the continuing status of Israel as God’s people? 390 391



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there is a corresponding tendency to interpret the positive declarations of 2.9–10 as not only a transfer of the Ehrentitel Israels to the Christian community but also an indication that this Christian community has replaced (‘unbelieving’) Israel as the people of God.394 A different perspective is given by Goppelt, who marks something of a turning point in the discussion. Without denying that in 2.9–10 central scriptural designations of Israel’s identity and calling are applied to the church, Goppelt nonetheless insists that in 2.4–10, and throughout 1 Peter as a whole, the author’s focus is not on the church in relation to Israel but rather the church in relation to the world, and specifically to a hostile society in which Christians must exist as a harrassed minority.395 The distinctions drawn between insiders and outsiders, between those who have faith and those who do not, and the exalted and honourable status given to members of the Christian communities, are all intended to provide a basis for existence in such a hostile society. In determining an exegetically cogent response to this difficult issue, certain features of the text must be given due notice: (1) there is no explicit mention of Jews as those who have ‘failed’ to believe (contrast John 8.22–44; Rom 9–11; 1 Thess 2.14–16)—the refer� ences in the text are all non-specific or generic (see on 2.4, 7–8); (2) there is no contrast drawn between an ‘old’ and ‘new’ Israel, or between an (inferior) old covenant and a (superior) new one, as is common in early Christian literature (e.g., 1 Cor 10.18; Gal 4.21–31; Heb 7.18–19; 8.6–13; 9.11–15; Barn. 16.5–8; Melito, Peri Pascha 43); and (3) the descriptions of the people of God in 2.9–10 all appear without the definite article (contrast, e.g., Isa 43.20, though indefinite constructions appear in Exod 19.6).396 Overall, these observations indicate a silence about the ongoing status of

  See, e.g., Spörri, Der Gemeindegedanke, 143–44; Windisch 61; Schlatter, Petrus, 98; Schlatter 31, 33; Schneider 62. 395   See Goppelt 147–51; further discussion in Horrell, ‘Das im Unglauben verharrende Judenvolk’, 327–51. 396   It is difficult to know how much significance to afford this point, but it should at least be noted. 394

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non-Christian Jews,397 whether that silence be read positively or ominously.398 In terms of the broader strategy and concerns of the letter, it seems exegetically convincing to follow Goppelt in insisting that the author is simply not concerned with the relationship between Israel and the church, but rather with the Christians’ existence and survival in a hostile society. In seeking to encourage his readers with a positive view of their group-identity, the author applies to them the most honourable attributes given to Israel, whose scriptures provide the main source for his identity-defining and conduct-shaping material. Yet there is no evidence of any interest on his part in denying that identity to other (Jewish) groups, nor (perhaps surprisingly) any indication of exactly how he regarded these other groups, of whose existence he must surely have known, nor, indeed, any clear indication of how he sees the groups of Χριστιανοί in relation to (or even as a sub-group of) Ἰουδαῖοι. A contemporary theological response to the issue of supercessionism and Christian anti-Semitism is another task again, one that would take us well beyond the exegetical analysis and constraints. Certainly, one might read 1 Peter critically, as claiming for the Christians all that had previously belonged to Israel, with (implicitly) negative consequences for the status of the Jewish people. The silence of 1 Peter on such matters, however, does at least leave theological room for other constructions, such as the one suggested by Lindbeck, in which the church can and should be seen as ‘Israel’, but in conjunction with the view that the Jews also remain Israel, that ‘the covenant with the Jews has never been revoked’ (cf. Rom 11.29).399

397   See Michaels 107: ‘The titles of honor are used with no awareness or recognition of an “old” Israel, as if they were applicable to Christians alone and had never had any other reference. If there is “anti-Jewish polemic” here, it is a polemic that comes to expression simply by pretending that the “other” Israel does not exist.’ Cf. Richardson, Israel, 173: ‘there is no hint of interest in Israel in 1 Peter’; see also Lieu, Christian Identity, 40. 398   Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’, 144–77, for example, reads the silence of 1 Peter critically here, as part of a colonising strategy. 399   Lindbeck, ‘What of the Future?’, 358. See also Givens, We the People.

S E C O N D MA JO R SE C TI ON O F T H E L E T T E R -B O DY (2.11–4.11)

E X H O RTATIO N TO G O O D C O N DUCT W HI LE LIV IN G A S S T R A N G ERS (2.11–12)

Initial Bibliography Marco Adinolfi, ‘Stato civile dei Cristiani “forestieri e pellegrini” (1 Pt 2,11)’, Anton 42 (1967): 420–34; Marinus de Jonge, ‘Vreemdelingen en bijwoners. Enige opmerkingen naar aanleiding van 1 Petr 2:11 en verwante teksten’, NedTT 11 (1956–57): 18–36; H. G. Meecham, ‘A Note on 1 Peter ii.12’, ExpTim 65 (1953–54): 93; Andreas Obermann, ‘Fremd im eigenen Land. Die Heimatkonzeption frühchristlicher Gemeinden nach dem 1. Petrusbrief und ihre praktischen Implikationen heute’, KuD 51 (2005): 263–89; Torrey Seland, ‘The Moderate Life of the Christian paroikoi: A Philonic Reading of 1 Pet 2:11’, in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen. I. Internationales Symposium zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum, 1.–4. Mai 2003, Eisenach/Jena, ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 241–64; Claude Tassin, ‘ “Comme des étrangers résidents et des migrants” (1 P 2,11): approche exégétique de l’élaboration d’un éthos chrétien’, in Bible et morale, ed. Philippe Bordeyne, LD (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 2003), 119–36.

Text Ἀγαπητοί, παρακαλῶ ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους(a) Ἀγαπητοί, ἀπέχεσθε(b) τῶν σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν αἵτινες στρατεύονται κατὰ τῆς ψυχῆς· 12 τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν(c), ἵνα ἐν ᾧ καταλαλοῦσιν(d) ὑμῶν ὡς κακοποιῶν ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων ἐποπτεύοντες(e) δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεὸν ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς. ἐπισκοπῆς. 11

(a) Some Greek and Latin MSS add τοῦ κόσμου τούτου /in hoc saeculo or in hoc mundo1 here (e.g., 206, 378, 429), a spiritualising interpretation. (b) Ancient witnesses are divided over whether the verbal form should be read as the present infinitive ἀπέχεσθαι (ℵ, B, Ψ, 307, 436, 642, 1175, 1448, 1611, 1739, Byzpt lat sa, C-S)2 or the present imperative ἀπέχεσθε (P72, A, C, P, 5, 33, 81, 442, 1243, 1735, 1852, 2344, 2492, Byzpt vgmss syh bo). (Note that ECM reads the infinitive, while giving the imperative as an alternative.) 1 2

  For the Latin variants, see VT 26/1, 110.   On C-S here, see Bethge, ‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 262.

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As a result, commentators have lined up behind both readings: imperative (e.g., Wordsworth 54; Huther 123; Bigg 135; Wohlenberg 67; Wand 74; Grudem 115 n. 1; Michaels 114 n. a; Richard 104) and infinitive (e.g., Kühl 156 n. 1; Kelly 103; Spicq 98 n. b; Hiebert 154; Elliott 462; Donelson 68 n. b; Schlosser 144 n. b; Forbes 74; Schreiner 129 n. 7). Both sides have appealed to regular patterns in Greek syntax. Those who favour ἀπέχεσθε argue that the imperative more easily explains the omission of ὑμάς, while those who support ἀπέχεσθαι note that the infinitive (not the imperative) normally follows παρακαλῶ as a marker of indirect discourse (as is common in Paul, e.g., Rom 12.1; 15.30; 16.17; 2 Cor 2.8; also Acts 24.4; 27.34). But there are exceptions in each case. The verb παρακαλῶ can function absolutely in connection with an imperative (cf. T.Job 39.8: Παρακαλῶ, κελεύσατε τοῖς στρατιώταις ὑμῶν; Acts Andr. 9.1: παρακαλῶ, σοῦ τὸν Ἰησοῦν φίλησον); however, there are other instances where παρακαλῶ + infinitive (or an equivalent form) stands without an explicit accusative (e.g., 3 Bar. 4.14; 4 Macc. 8.5; Josephus, Ant. 8.114; Acts 14.22; 1 Tim 2.1; Heb 13.19; Acts Phil. 66.2). What is more, since both endings could be attributed to scribal error caused by iotacism, neither can be prioritised on transcriptional grounds. Even resolving the issue on the basis of intrinisic probability is difficult. The Petrine author, as some have pointed out, normally prefers the aorist imperative over the present (see Hort 131). And even though present imperatives are employed in the epistle, most can be explained on the basis of function (see Exegesis at 2.17) or form (i.e., most present imperatives in 1 Peter are third person: 3.3; 4.15–16; 4.19). This could be viewed as providing a slight advantage to ἀπέχεσθαι. However, the only other instance where the Petrine author employs the vocative ἀγαπητοί (4.12), it is followed by a present imperative; and the only other instance of παρακαλῶ in the letter is also followed by an imperative (5.1–2), which lends some support to ἀπέχεσθε (which we have therefore followed above). It is also more likely that scribes might assimilate to the common style (with infinitive; see Exegesis). In the end, however, the matter remains finely balanced. (c) The textual record exhibits some variation in the order of the words here (see ECM 134–35), with the participle being placed at the beginning (ἔχοντες καλήν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν: 323, 2718, Byz), the middle (ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν: ℵ, A, B2, C, Ψ, 81, 436, 623, 1739, 1852), and the end (ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν καλήν ἔχοντες: P72, 1243, 2492) of the clause. Nevertheless, the weight of the evidence strongly favours the order found in NA28. (d) A number of Greek MSS have καταλαλῶσιν (L, P, 623, 1243, 2344, 2464, 2541, 2718, etc.), but the change to the subjunctive in proximity to the ἵνα is an understandable ‘improvement’. Plus, the indicative has much stronger external support (P72, ℵ, A, B, C, K, Ψ, 81, 93, 1739, 1852, etc.). (e) The aorist participle ἐποπτευσάντες, which is found in the TR (cf. Griesbach), is represented not only in the Byzantine tradition but in a variety of important witnesses (A, Ψ, 5, 81, 323, 436, 623, 1735, 2344, 2464, 2541,



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Clement). Nevertheless, even though ἐποπτευσάντες has been defended by those who display a strong inclination toward the Received Text (e.g., Bloomfield 711), most prefer the present tense ἐποπτεύοντες (e.g., Huther 102; Hort 136; Michaels 114 n. c; Elliott 468; Green 66 n. 6). Aside from strong manuscript support (P72, ℵ, B, C, 945, 1243, 1448, 1739, 1852, 2298), this reading is better able to account for transcriptional probability; that is, scribes would have more likely understood the ‘observing’ to precede the glorification of God and thus would have substituted the aorist form to reflect such antecedent action.

Introduction The first main section of the letter-body was brought to a close with the rich and climactic description of the readers’ honoured and prestigious identity. With the direct address, ἀγαπητοί, the author signals the opening of a new section of the letter (2.11–4.11), one in which exhortation and instruction will come much more to the fore (indicated by the opening παρακαλῶ). These verses also serve as a ‘structural transition’ in connecting both with what precedes and with what follows, ‘at once resumptive and prefatory’.3 There are particularly close parallels, though, with verses that follow, both in 3.16 and 4.10–11.4 The latter, in fact, provides a kind of closing inclusio to this major section of the letter. These two verses serve as an introduction not only to the codes of instruction relating to the contexts of both empire and household but also to the whole section of which these codes form a part.5 They also establish programmatically two fundamental and complementary aspects—expressed ‘first negatively, then positively’6—of the way of life the Christian addressees are urged to adopt: to ‘abstain’, and to do what is ‘good’. Exegesis 11 Ἀγαπητοί Ἀγαπητοί,, παρακαλῶ ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους The use of the vocative ἀγαπητοί is by no means necessarily or always an indicator of a new paragraph or major section-break   The last phrase is from Selwyn 169. On these verses as a ‘structural transition’, see Elliott 474–76. 4   See Elliott 475. On the parallels with 3.16, see Michaels 115; on the parallels with 4.10–11, see Chevallier, ‘1 Pierre 1/1 á 2/10’, 141. 5   Cf. Michaels 115. 6   Goppelt 155. 3

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(cf., e.g., Rom 12.19; 2 Cor 7.1), though it can serve either to intro�duce a section of a letter or to mark a point where a writer wishes to stand back and draw consequences from their argument (cf., e.g., 1 Cor 10.14; 15.58; Phil 2.12; 4.1; 2 Pet 3.1; 1 John 2.7; 4.1; Jude 3). Here, though, Martin is right to note that it ‘functions… as a major transitional device introducing this section’.7 The use of the verb παρακαλῶ also indicates the opening of a section of appeal and exhortation (cf. Rom 12.1; 1 Cor 1.10; 2 Cor 10.1; Eph 4.1; 1 Tim 2.1).8 The term ἀγαπητοί is a common NT label for members of the community, sometimes linked with ἀδελφοί (as in Phil 4.1; Jas 1.16, 19; 2.5) or functioning more or less as its equivalent.9 While the idea that the addressees are loved by God might be in view here,10 it is the affection of the author for the recipients of his letter that is most likely at issue.11 The comparative phrase ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους is often connected to ἀπέχεσθαι, indicating the reason why the readers should abstain from particular behaviours.12 Those who adopt this interpretation base their decision on the absence of the object (ὑμᾶς) with παρακαλῶ. But while we might have expected ὑμᾶς, the omission of the object is not without precedent (cf. Demosthenes, Ep. 1.10; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 8.42.1).13 The sense of ὑμᾶς can be supplied from the vocative 7   Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 194. Cf. also Masterman 103; Bennett 214; Beare 134. 8   See further Bjerkelund, Parakalô. 9   In later papyri, the term became a common expression of affection used for designating members of one’s family (both biological and spiritual): brother (P.Grenf. II 73; P.Amh. II 145; P.Ant. III 192; P.Herm. 4; O.Douch. 508, O.Waqfa. 4); father (P.Lond. III 981; P.Berl.Sarich. 11; P.Lond. VI 1924; O.Douch. 361; O.Waqfa. 19); son (P.Giss. 103; P.Kell. 66; P.Lond. 1658; O.Trim. 532). For more on the use of this term, see van Leeuwen, ‘Ἀγαπητοί’, 139–51; Spicq, Agape in the New Testament, 2:429–39; Wischmeyer, ‘Das Adjectiv ΑΓΑΠΗΤΟΣ’, 476–80. 10   Cf. Michaels 115; Achtemeier 173; Schreiner 127. 11   Cf. Elliott 457; Dubis 59. 12   So, e.g., Beza 569; Bengel 57; de Wette 24; Wiesinger 165; Schott 126; Alford 349; Monnier 109; Hart 58; Knopf 101; Grudem 115; Hiebert 154; Schelkle 69 n. 2; Goppelt 155 n. 5. 13   See Winer, Grammar, 179; BDF §407. It is unnecessary, therefore, to claim that the accusatives παροίκους and παρεπιδήμους are the subjects of the infinitive ἀπέχεσθαι (as suggested by Beare 135). What further complicates this suggestion is that both accusatives are part of a comparative phrase (ὡς).



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(ἀγαπητοί) with which it is attached, and the fact that it is understood by the author is indicated by the accusative form of the nouns παροίκους and παρεπιδήμους. An alternative, then, is to link the comparative phrase with παρακαλῶ, wherein it indicates why the author is exhorting them: his appeal is grounded in their new social status.14 Support for this interpretation is found in the paraenetic pattern used elsewhere in the epistle: the Petrine author commonly appeals to the identity of the readers (often denoted by ὡς) as the basis for his exhortation (1.14; 2.2, 5). As such, the readers are exhorted not only as ‘beloved’ but more specifically in their identity ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους (cf. Eph 2.19: ξένοι καὶ πάροικοι; Heb 11.13).15 Here the author picks up again the term that describes the readers at the opening of the letter (παρεπίδημοι, 1.1) and links it with another, already hinted at by the use of the related term παροικία in 1.17. While the noun παρεπίδημος is rare in Greek literature, and occurs only twice in the LXX (Gen 23.4; Ps 38.13; see on 1.1),16 πάροικος is more common, often with the sense of ‘neighbour’ (cf. Bar 4.14, 24). It is employed frequently in the LXX to refer to the ‘resident alien’ or ‘foreigner’ dwelling among the people of Israel (e.g., Exod 12.45; Lev 25.6, 45, 47; Num 35.15; Deut 14.21; Jdt 4.10) and also to the Israelites’ existence in Egypt or other foreign lands (Gen 15.13; Exod 2.22; 18.3; Deut 23.8; cf. Acts 7.6, 29). These terms

14   So, e.g., Benson 216; Hofmann 77–78; Johnstone 142–43; Huther 123; Watson 57. 15   On the uses of ὡς in the letter, see on Exegesis at 1.14. 16   See esp. Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 8–12, who notes: ‘Der… Begriff παρεπίδημος begegnet sowohl im biblisch-jüdischen wie im paganen Schriftum ausgesprochen selten’ (8; original emphasis). Cf. also Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 80; TDNT 2:64; for occasional references in the papyri, see MM 493. In literature prior to the time of 1 Peter, see, e.g., Polybius, Hist. 32.6.4, who refers to the Greek παρεπίδημοι in Rome; Callixenus Frag. 2. The sense, and the close connection with ξένος—noted by Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 10—is clearly conveyed in a comment from the grammarian Aristophanes, Nomina aetatum p. 279.3: Ξένος· ὁ ἐξ ἑτέρας πόλεως παρεπίδημος. Uses of the verbal form παρεπιδεμέω are somewhat more common (e.g., in Polybius, Hist. 4.4.1, etc.; Diodorus Siculus 1.83.8, etc.). The abstract noun παρεπιδημία, ‘residence in a foreign city’ (LSJ 1337), is occasionally found, as, e.g., metaphorically in Plato, Spuria, p. 365.b: παρεπιδημία τίς ἐστιν ὁ βίος; and in Polybius, Hist. 4.4.2; 33.15.2, etc.

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have been prominent in discussions of the identity of the addressees of the letter and of the letter’s overall strategy, especially since the influential arguments presented by Elliott in A Home for the Homeless (see further Introduction: Socio-Political Identity). The pairing of παρεπίδημος and πάροικος in 2.11 suggests that the words function in 1 Peter as a hendiadys, both equally appropriate to describe the addressees. This usage implies that the author is employing the terms to convey something about the character of their experience rather than their literal socio-political status (in which case someone would be either a πάροικος or a παρεπίδημος).17 More crucially, the use of παρεπίδημος and the pairing of πάροικος with παρεπίδημος indicate the decisive influence of the LXX on the author’s language. Specifically, 2.11 appropriates the language with which Abraham voices the nature of his residence among the Hittites (Gen 23.4). There he describes himself as ‘a stranger and an alien’ (πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος, ‫)גר־ותושב‬.18 Further texts in the LXX, echoing this self-description, indicate a kind of broadening or spiritualising of the term, beyond a strictly literal or socio-political designation,19 as in 1 Chr 29.15: πάροικοί ἐσμεν ἐναντίον σου (i.e., YHWH), clearly spiritualising, to some extent, since the verse ends: ὡς σκιὰ αἱ ἡμέραι ἡμῶν ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπομονή (‘Our days on earth are like a shadow, and there is no endurance’, NETS).20 This is not to deny that the terms, at least in 1 Peter, are used to depict a sense of social alienation, or estrangement from the world due to the hostility of the wider society,21 which is a key 17   The use of ὡς might also suggest that the author is intending a metaphorical depiction of their identity, given some such uses of ὡς elsewhere in the letter: 1.19; 2.2, 5, 25; 5.8 (cf. Achtemeier 173 n. 14). However, not all uses of ὡς are of this kind (cf. 2.12–14, 16; 4.10–12, 15–16; 5.3, 12), so the point cannot bear much weight. 18   Cited also by Philo, Conf. 79. On the Hebrew coupling, see further Reynolds and Tannenbaum, Jews and God-Fearers, 48, 58–59. 19   Pace Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 27–29. See further Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 39–54, 207–208; idem, ‘ “Nation” of Strangers’, 244–47, on ‘self-description as strangers before God’ in the post-exilic situation. 20   Cf. also Lev 25.23: πάροικοι… ἐναντίον μου; Ps 38.13 [Heb. 39.12]: πάροικος ἐγώ εἰμι παρὰ σοὶ καὶ παρεπίδημος. 21   Cf. Vinson 109: ‘Most of the readers probably still lived where they lived before their conversion; they spoke the same language, wore the same clothes, ate



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point in Elliott’s argument.22 It does, however, strongly suggest that the terms as employed in 1 Peter do not reflect their use as socio-political designations in Greco-Roman society but rather their use in Jewish tradition to express the alienation and estrangement of God’s people from the world.23 Indeed, Seland has shown how these terms are employed specifically to refer to proselytes.24 In particular, ‫ גר‬is commonly rendered προσήλυτος.25 ‘This does not mean’, Seland insists, ‘that the author considered the readers to have been former proselytes but that, in his perception of the social world of his Christian recipients, their social situation had become similar to that of Jewish proselytes’.26 As such, the terms describe not the addressees’ socio-legal status prior to conversion, but their socio-spiritual status consequent on their conversion.

the same foods. But they no longer worshiped their ancestral gods… and they no longer lived by the same ethical standards…and these changes separated them in real and important ways from their neighbors, friends, and families.’ 22   Against those who read παρεπίδημος and πάροικος as emphasising the heavenly citizenship of Christians (e.g., Macknight 458; Plumptre 112; Johnstone 142; Huther 123), Elliott has pointed out that ‘the fundamental contrast in 1 Peter is not a cosmological but a sociological one: the Christian community set apart from and in tension with its social neighbours’ (Home for the Homeless, 42–43). 23   See the central arguments of Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde; idem, ‘ “Nation” of Strangers’. One factor that tends to skew Elliott’s interpretation is that he employs two different definitions for the technical, legal meaning of πάροικος (see Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 25). The first focuses on their geographical displacement (cf. TDNT 5:841–53), while the second emphasises non-citizenship (cf. Schaefer, ‘Paroikoi’, 1695–707). Elliott gives precedence to the former, which was born out of the LXX usage, even going so far as to use it as the lens through which the latter is understood. The problem, as Bechtler has pointed out, is that ‘the terms πάροικοι and peregrini—as technical terms—were not simply legal designations for resident aliens but denoted a recognized social stratum that included both native and nonnative residents who were not fully citizens and so did not possess the rights of citizenship’ (Following in His Steps, 73; original emphasis; cf. Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 12–17). 24   Seland, ‘Proselyte Characterizations’, 239–68. 25   Hort 132. E.g., Exod 12.48–49; 20.10; 23.9, 12; Lev 16.29; 17.8, 10, 12, 13, 15; Deut 1.16, 5.14, 10.18–19; Jer 7.6, 22.3; Ezek 14.7; 22.7, 9; Zech 7.10; Mal 3.5; Pss 94[93].6; 146[145].9. 26   Seland, Strangers in the Light, 61. A few Petrine interpreters have understood this terminology to indicate that the readers were actual proselytes (so, e.g., Benson 215).

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ἀπέχεσθε τῶν σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν αἵτινες στρατεύονται κατὰ τῆς ψυχῆς· It is precisely as those who are alienated and estranged from the world, from society, that the readers are urged ἀπέχεσθε τῶν σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν. The verb ἀπέχεσθε, in the middle voice, is found elsewhere in the NT in contexts where an ethical instruction to renounce or ‘keep away’ from certain things or actions is stressed (Acts 15.20, 29; 1 Thess 4.3; 5.22; 1 Tim 4.3; cf. Prov 23.4; Job 1.1, 8; 2.3; 28.28; Sir 28.8). The infinitive is used in most of these NT parallels (except 1 Thess 5.22, where the imperative appears) and the textual choice between imperative and infinitive is difficult to decide with any certainty (see Text at 2.11 n. b). The idea of abstaining from desires (ἀπέχειν ἐπιθυμιῶν) was an established topic in Greek ethical instruction,27 and it later made its way into Christian discourse as well.28 While ἐπιθυμία can be understood in a positive sense (cf. Luke 22.15; Phil 1.23; 1 Thess 2.17), as elsewhere in 1 Peter (1.14; 4.2–3), the term denotes negatively those desires or impulses that belong to the converts’ former lives and should now be renounced. In this case, the article (τῶν), as Hort suggests, should probably be afforded due weight, its force being ‘to group the desires here called fleshly emphatically together’ (cf. 2 Tim 2.22: τὰς νεωτερικὰς ἐπιθυμίας φεῦγε; see also Titus 2.12; 2 Clem. 17.3; Did. 1.4).29 This negative sense of ἐπιθυμία is expressed by a qualifier: σαρκικός (cf. 1.14: πρότερον ἐν τῇ ἀγνοίᾳ ὑμῶν; 4.2: ἀνθρώ­ πων).30 Unlike the anthropological perspective of Paul, σάρξ does not have intrinsically negative connotations in 1 Peter; instead, it 27   See, e.g., Plato, Phaed. 82c, 83b; Leg. 8.835e; Diodorus Siculus 31.27.7; Josephus, Vita 80; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 18.2; Aelius Aristides, Πρὸς Πλάτωνα ὑπὲρ τῶν τεττάρων, p. 278 (Jebb); Iamblichus, Protrepticus, p. 67 (Pistelli). 28   See, e.g., Did. 1.4; Herm. Vis. 1.2.4; 3.8.4; Theophilus, Autol. 2.12; Acts Thom. 13.1; Athanasius, Doctrina ad Antiochum ducem, 2.10. 29   Hort 133. 30   The comparative form, ‘lusts of the flesh’ (ἐπιθυμίαι σαρκός), was widespread in Christian circles (Gal 5.16; Eph 2.3; 2 Pet 2.18; 1 John 2.16; Barn. 10.9; cf. Titus 2.12: ἐπιθυμίαι κοσμικαί), although somewhat rarer in secular literature (although cf. Plutarch, Suav. viv. 14 [Mor. 1096C]). The adjectival form is first attested here, with subsequent appearances in later Christian writings (cf. Did. 4.1; Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.6.31; Strom. 2.9.41; Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 1.1.4).



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merely denotes the sphere or form in which physical life takes place, in contrast to life ἐν πνεύματι, or as ψυχή (see on 1.9, 24; cf. 3.18, 21; 4.1, 2, 6). However, these ‘fleshly’ desires—which belong to the realm of physical, earthly life—are depicted as standing in violent conflict with the ψυχή, the wellbeing and salvation of which is the priority and goal of faith.31 The patterns of conduct that tend to mark this ‘fleshly’ existence in society are characterised by vices that the author elsewhere makes clear must be firmly renounced (2.1; 4.3). So while the author is not quite calling his readers to asceticism,32 there is an expectation that conversion will transform their lifestyle, creating a distinct break with the past. The reason why believers must abstain from the desires and cravings that marked their physical existence prior to conversion is specified by the relative pronoun αἵτινες, which relates to the previous clause in a causal manner (i.e., abstain from fleshly lusts because they wage war against the soul). Although the indefinite form ὅστις often takes the place of a simple relative pronoun in Koine Greek,33 the classical distinction is still retained in many cases, and this seems to be the case here. Some have argued that the form carries a generic function, wherein it ‘gathers up into a class the ἐπιθυμίαι and asserts [something about] all of them’.34 If this is the case, the indefinite form emphasises that all σαρκικαὶ ἐπιθυμίαι—and not just certain ones—stand opposed to the ψυχή. It is probably best, however, to interpret the pronoun as denoting a qualitative sense, emphasising the nature or essence of the σαρκικαὶ ἐπιθυμίαι:35 these are ‘the very things’ that wage war against the ψυχή.

  Cf. Beare 135; Michaels 116. According to Schweizer (TDNT 9:653), this is ‘the most strongly Hellenised ψυχή passage in the NT. It…seems to be a part of man, the flesh being another part.’ See discussion at 1.9. 32   See Countryman, ‘Asceticism or Household Morality’, 376–81. 33   BDAG 730; see also MHT 1:91–92; Radermacher, Grammatik, 75; BDF §293. 34   Alford 350; cf. Hiebert 156. 35   Cf. Lenski 106; Dubis 60. On the distinction between the generic function (denoting membership in a certain class or group) and a qualitative function (emphasising qualities or characteristics of a given entity) of the relative pronoun ὅστις, see Wallace, Grammar, 343–45. 31

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The use of a military term like στρατεύω (cf. 1 Cor 9.7; 2 Tim 2.4) is closely comparable to Rom 7.23 and Jas 4.1, which describe internal struggles.36 Paul employs similar imagery elsewhere to depict non-physical powers in battle on behalf of Christ (2 Cor 10.3–6). The battle waged by the physical desires is directly against the ψυχή. While commentators often insist that ψυχή should be understood to refer to a person’s ‘life’37—or, even more generally, ‘life’ itself38—we have already seen reasons to question this rather generic rendering, and to understand ψυχή more specifically ‘as the innermost center and “higher self” of the human being’ (see on 1.9).39 According to the Petrine author, the readers had already experienced a purifying of their ψυχαί through their commitment to the Christian gospel (1.22), and in some sense their ψυχαί were already experiencing salvation (1.9), having been guarded by Christ, their shepherd (2.25). At the same time, the final deliverance of their ψυχαί had not yet taken place, and as such, the readers found themselves in a precarious situation: they were required to entrust their ψυχαί to God (4.19) while continuing to live the kind of lifestyle that was generating hatred and prejudice from outsiders.   See also Pol. Phil. 5.3; Acts John 19.4. The use of στρατεύω to denote a battle taking place within oneself is rare outside of early Christian writings (although see Cassius Dio [Xiphilini epitome] S303: κατὰ τῶν βαρβάρων ἐπιθυμίᾳ δόξης ἐστράτευσε; cf. Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 3.31). 37   E.g., Jachmann 144; Schott 127; Cranfield 72; Kelly 104–105; Michaels 117; Achtemeier 176 with n. 52; Schweizer 49; Mazzeo 101–102; Watson 58; Schreiner 129–30. 38   Elliott 465, who renders κατὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ‘against life’ and sees the expression as having ‘the form of a general principle applying to the lives of all persons collectively… it is life that is under attack from compulsive cravings…’. 39   Feldmeier 90. This interpretation was expounded by Oecumenius (PG 119:536), but it may perhaps be reflected as early as Polycarp’s letter to the Philippians, which reads, πᾶσα ἐπιθυμία κατὰ τοῦ πνεύματος στρατεύεται (5.3). If Polycarp made use of the epistle of 1 Peter (see Introduction: Early Citations, Canonicity, and the Catholic Epistles), the change from ψυχή to πνεῦμα might reflect an equating of the terms. Understanding ψυχή as a reference to the human soul has generally been the consensus since the earliest days of critical scholarship (see de Wette 24–25; Wiesinger 167; Fronmüller 39; Alford 350; Huther 124; Johnstone 144). Modern proponents of this view include: Selwyn 169; Grudem 115; Davids 95; Feldmeier 90; Schlosser 147. Some take this idea further by claiming that ψυχή is the soul that has been born again through the Holy Spirit (Calov 1487; Steiger 2:70–71; Best 111; Hiebert 156). 36



2.11–12

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The struggle, it seems, involved the desire to partake of the former ways of life in conformity to social pressure. Any effort to do so, the author suggests, would place the readers’ ψυχαί at risk. 12 τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν, καλήν, Following immediately the instruction to abstain from fleshly impulses, the author gives a corresponding positive instruction that functions much like a consequence of obeying the first: to exhibit good behaviour. This conforms to the author’s tendency to present exhortation in a negative-then-positive pattern (e.g., 1.14–15; 2.2; 3.9; 4.12–13). The term ἀναστροφή is used more frequently in 1 Peter than in any other NT book (also 1.15, 18; 3.1, 2, 16; and ἀναστρέφω in 1.17). It denotes a pattern of conduct or way of life (see on 1.15).40 The whole phrase τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν is placed in front of the verbal element (the participle ἔχοντες), highlighting the shift in focus towards the impact that the Christians’ way of life has on outsiders: ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν uses standard Jewish terminology (generally translated ‘Gentiles’) to refer to outsiders, non-members of the community (e.g. Isa 61.9; Hos 8.8; Amos 9.9; Hag 2.7; Zech 14.3; Tob 3.4; 1 Macc 1.13–15; 2 Macc 8.5; 3 Macc 5.6).41 As Michaels notes, in view of passages like 2.9–10, the author’s ‘consistent way of referring to his Gentile Christian readers as though they were Jews is reinforced on the negative side by designating those outside their fellowship as “the Gentiles” (τὰ ἔθνη; cf. 4:3)’.42 Despite the likelihood that a majority of the readers were of ‘Gentile’ origin,43 the symbolic map of their identity is redrawn such that they are the ‘chosen race’, God’s own people (2.9–10) in the midst of ‘the nations’. 40   For reflections on 1 Peter’s perspective on the good way of life, in comparison with other ancient authors, see Lang, ‘Lebenskunst und Ethos’, esp. 68–76. 41   As a result, many interpreters throughout the years have taken this language as an indication that the letter was addressed to a primarily Jewish audience (see, e.g., Plumptre 112; Kühl 158; Wand 74–75). However, this is an unnecessary deduction to draw from the language, since ‘le monde qui entourait les chretiens ne pouvait être designé autrement’ (Monnier 111). The Petrine author uses the term ἔθνος in a religious sense, denoting those who are outside the Christian faith, rather than as an ethnic designation, marking out Jews from non-Jews (cf. Johnstone 146; Lenski 107; Best 111; Senior 65). 42   Michaels 117. 43   See Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity.

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It is among (ἐν) these people that the Christians must live out their way of life. Grammatically, ἔχοντες has been interpreted in a few different ways. Many, including most modern translations (cf. RSV, NRSV, ESV, NET, NIV, HCSB, CEB, NASB, NAB), take the participle as conveying an imperatival force.44 As a result, the author would be issuing two distinct commands: abstain from fleshly desires and maintain good conduct. This sense is generally thought to arise from either an attendant circumstance function, which is carried out in connection with the request in v. 11 (ἀπέχεσθε),45 or from an independent usage, much like the other imperatival participles scattered throughout the letter.46 Both of these explanations have significant limitations, however. An attendant circumstance function would be the least likely of all possibilities, given that the construction does not fit the usual parameters of such a usage.47 An independent usage, on the other hand, has slightly more to commend it. Since the accusative case (ἔχοντα) would have been consistent with the implied subject of ἀπέχεσθαι (the infinitive being widely accepted here; but see Text at 2.11 n. b) in v. 11 (i.e., ὑμᾶς), some have argued that the nominative (ἔχοντες) is employed to mark its independent function.48 What weighs against this suggestion is that, as with many proposed imperatival uses of the participle in 1 Peter, there is a nearby finite form with which ἔχοντες could be connected. This makes an independent function unnecessary and therefore unlikely (see Excursus: Imperatival Participles in 1 Peter). As it stands, 44   See, e.g., Picirilli 147; Bénétreau 144; Elliott 465; Jobes 173; Schlosser 150; Watson 58. 45   See, e.g., Selwyn 141; Beare 137; cf. Atkinson, ‘Semantics of ἐν ᾧ’, 120. 46   See, e.g., Michaels 117; Dubis 61; Osborne 187; Forbes 75. 47   Attendant circumstance participles generally precede the main verb, and they are usually in the aorist tense (see further Wallace, Grammar, 642). 48   This is the argument made by Steiger 2:71–72 and Knopf 102. Alternatively, many have suggested that the nominative case (ἔχοντες) was selected for the sake of emphasis. According to Johnstone, this usage ‘is in accordance with a tendency, found not unfrequently in the Epistles, to give to participial clauses which contain a particularly important thought more prominence and independence of form than they might otherwise have, by employing the nominative even where regular construction would require an oblique case’ (145; cf. Usteri 101; Huther 125; Monnier 111). Similar uses can be found in Eph 4.1–2 and Col 3.16. See further Winer, Grammar, 716; Jelf, Grammar, §707; Buttmann, Grammar, 298–99.



2.11–12

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ἔχοντες is most naturally understood as an adverbial participle, denoting means or, more likely, result (‘abstain from fleshly desires with the result that you maintain good conduct’).49 Crucially, this way of life is described as καλός, thus introducing what will be a Leitmotif of the chapters that follow—the theme of ‘doing good’—though this will generally be described using ἀγαθός-vocabulary (2.14–15, 18, 20; 3.6, 10–11, 13, 16–17, 21; 4.19). It is notable that almost all of these references come in chs. 2–3, where the patterns of required conduct are set out, and that the only other use of καλός in the letter, besides the two that occur in this verse, comes at the close of this major section of the letterbody (4.10), forming a kind of inclusio (though one that may be coincidental rather than of particular significance). Understanding the theme of ‘doing good’ in 1 Peter is thus of considerable impor�tance (see Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter). Many distinguish between καλός, which is said to describe something whose beauty and goodness is recognisable from its appearance, and ἀγαθός, which denotes something that is intrinsically fine and noble regardless of whether it is so acknowledged. It is suggested that the Petrine author expressedly chose the former rather than the latter, ‘because it implies that the conduct in question not only is good, but also appears so’.50 But as Masterman notes, this ‘distinction is not always clearly retained’.51 In 1 Peter the terms function synonymously, reflecting words or actions whose goodness is measured by the fact that they are in accordance with the standards and will of God. This collocation (i.e., the adjective καλή modifying ἀναστροφή) is rare within the Greek literary record. The only contemporary example is found in Jas 3.13, which reads, δειξάτω ἐκ τῆς καλῆς ἀναστροφῆς τὰ ἔργα αὐτοῦ ἐν πραΰτητι σοφίας (‘from his good conduct, let him show his works in the gentleness of wisdom’),

49   Those who interpret ἔχοντες as an adverbial participle of means include: de Wette 25; Demarest 116; Keil 92; Achtemeier 177; Senior 65; Green 65 n. 4; Donelson 68 n. c; Schreiner 130. Those who have interpreted it as a participle of result include: Alford 350; Johnstone 144; Kühl 157; Hort 134. 50   Selwyn 170. This classical distinction between καλός and ἀγαθός has been pointed out by many other commentators as well (e.g., Hort 134–35; Monnier 111; Blenkin 55; Wagner-Vouga 79). 51   Masterman 104.

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and this may be due to a literary relationship between the letters.52 Where these terms (or some variation, e.g., the adverbial form καλῶς instead of καλός) are found together most frequently is in the epigraphic record.53 In this context, there are numerous references to ‘living well’ and to ‘noble conduct’,54 and just as in 1 Peter, the terms frequently appear in an object–complement relationship.55 An honorary inscription from Epidauria, for instance, recognises Archilochus Aristophantos as ‘a noble and good man (ἀνὴρ καλὸς κἀγαθός)’ who ‘made his conduct and citizenship noble and honourable (τάν τε ἀναστροφὰν καὶ πολιτείαν πεποίηται καλῶς καὶ ἐνδόξω[ς])’. In the present verse, since the adjective is in a (second) predicate relationship to the noun, the construction functions similarly to a relative clause; hence, what is envisioned is not simply ‘good conduct’ (cf. RSV, NAB, NET), which would have been communicated by

  See Introduction: Other New Testament/Early Christian Traditions.   Beyond this linguistic parallel, there is one further connection between the language of 1 Peter and the inscriptional evidence: although the observers of this praiseworthy conduct are often left unstated in honorary inscriptions, in some instances the audience is explicitly mentioned using a similar formula to that found in 1 Pet 2.12 (viz. ἐν + dative). At Delphi, the noble conduct of those sent by King Attalos is said to have been carried out ἐν τᾶι πόλει (‘before the city’); whereas in Syros, Bernice Nicomachus displayed her virtuous lifestyle ἐν πᾶσιν (‘before everyone’). Cf. also ἐν τᾶι πόλει (FD III,4 135; SIG3 608); ἐν πᾶσιν (IG XII,5 655); ἐν τῶι ἀρχείωι (I.Délos 1500); ἐν πᾶσιν τοῖς κατὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν (IG II2 1008, 1011); ἐν Δελφοὺς (SEG 13 [1963] 361). 54   So, e.g., FD III,1 451; FD III,4 175; SIG3 534, 534B; SEG 40 (1994) 141; Tit. Cam. 110; IG VII 2850; IG IX,12.2 209; I.Délos 1502; I.Asklepieion 21; IGBulg I2 13; CID IV 135; IG II2 1023; SEG 13 (1963) 361; Daux, ‘Inscriptions de Delphes’, 276–77 (no. 27). For more on ἀναστροφή in the epigraphic record, see Larfeld, Handbuch, 1:492–93; Danker, Benefactor, 358–59. 55   Frequently, the third-person form of ποιέω is modified by the direct object ἀναστροφήν along with the complement καλῶς (or sometimes the accusative form of καλός), e.g., FD III,4 133, 135, 362; IScM I 32; SIG3 608; SEG 2:184, 332; IG V,2 367; IG XII,5 829; IG IX,12.2 209; FD III,2 92, 164, 249; I.Délos 1500, 1503; SIG3 682, 740; IG IX,2 69; IG II2 1008, 1011, 1039, 1043; SEG 13:361; IG XII,Sup 139A–B. Some variation in this phraseology does occur. For instance, an alternate verb might occasionally be substituted for ποιέω (I.Perge 12: τήν τε ἀναστροφὴν παρείσχηται εὐσχήμονα καὶ καλὴν καὶ στοιχοῦσαν τῶι ἐπιτηδεύματι) or καλῶς (or καλός) might be replaced by ἀγαθός (IG XII,5 655: ἀγαθήν τε καὶ εὐσχήμοναν τὴν ἀναστροφὴν πεπόηται ἐν πᾶσιν). This same connection was made some years ago by Hicks, ‘On Some Political Terms’, 6. 52 53



2.11–12

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an attributive position, but ‘conduct that is good’.56 This predicate sense is further emphasised by the separation of the adjective at the end of the clause.57 Such noteworthy behaviour was meant to stand in stark contrast to the ‘futile conduct’ (ματαία ἀναστροφή) that the readers inherited from their ancestors (1 Pet 1.18). ἵνα ἐν ᾧ καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν ὡς κακοποιῶν ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων ἐποπτεύοντες δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεὸν ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς. ἐπισκοπῆς. The purpose (ἵνα) of this good pattern of conduct is explained in a lengthy and complex final clause. Before this purpose is expressed, however, the verse includes crucial phrases that reveal much about how the author perceives both the situation of his addressees and the appropriate response to that situation. There is a close parallel with the saying attributed to Jesus in Matt 5.16 (ὅπως ἴδωσιν ὑμῶν τὰ καλὰ ἔργα καὶ δοξάσωσιν τὸν πατέρα ὑμῶν τὸν ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς), sufficient to suggest the influence of that saying on the formulation here.58 Indeed, the Sermon on the Mount provides a number of the closest parallels between 1 Peter and the Gospel tradition (e.g., Matt 5.10//1 Pet 3.14; Matt 5.11//1 Pet 4.14). Nevertheless, the inclusion of this material does not represent an indiscriminate adoption of popular tradition (nor does it indicate any type of literary relationship with the Gospel of Matthew). The version found here departs from Matthew in significant ways,59 56   On the meaning of the adjective in second predicate position, see Robertson, Grammar, 789; Wallace, Grammar, 308. 57   Cf. Demarest 116; Johnstone 146; Hort 134. 58   This is a point of agreement in the debate between Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” in 1 Peter’, 340 and Best, ‘1 Peter and the Gospel Tradition’, 109–10. The parallel probably shows, at most, only an awareness of the saying in some form rather than direct use of Matthew; hence, we would reject the theory of literary dependence proposed by Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangelium, esp. 49–68. 59   See Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 168–71. The differences between 1 Pet 2.12b and Matt 5.16b include: (a) the way that 1 Peter extends the temporal fulfillment of God’s glorification. According to 1 Pet 2.12b, God will be honoured ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (‘on the day of visitation’), whereas no such time indication is provided in Matthew. (b) The Petrine author arranges the syntax differently so as to accommodate the eschatological timeframe. Whereas the Matthean text contains two finite verbs in paratactic coordination (ἴδωσιν… καὶ δοξάσωσιν) with τὰ καλὰ ἔργα serving as a direct object, the Petrine version is construed with a finite verb and an adverbial participle along with the prepositional phrase ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων (for the function of these various elements, see below). (c) In 1 Pet 2.12b,

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forcing us to consider how the Petrine author has carefully adapted the Jesus tradition to the situation of his Anatolian audience. The interpretation of the verse rests, in large part, on the meaning of the prepositional phrase ἐν ᾧ, which is used throughout the letter, not always with an entirely clear antecedent (cf. 1.6; 3.16, 19; 4.4).60 Many ascribe a temporal force to this construction (‘when’; cf. ESV, GNT, NKJV, ISV, CSB). This view was popularised by Reicke, who undertook a detailed examination of the usage of ἐν ᾧ in 1 Peter.61 From his analysis, Reicke concluded that the function of the prepositional phrase at 2.12 is distinct from all other uses, except for that found in 3.16. What the two share in common, he maintained, is the lack of a specific antecedent and a function similar to a temporal conjunction (‘whenever’, ‘during which time’). When understood in this way, the good works prescribed by the author serve as a means of extinguishing popular hostility.62 Although Reicke was not the first to espouse such a view, his treatment has become very influential in subsequent scholarship.63 When modern interpreters adopt similar conclusions, it is usually his work that is being followed. But what most do not recognise is there appears to be conflict prior to the undertaking of these good deeds, with the Petrine version mentioning the slander of outsiders (ἐν ᾧ καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν ὡς κακοποιῶν). In contrast, the Matthean tradition contains no indication of previous hostility. Based on differences like these, it is difficult to follow Zeller (‘Intertextuality in 1 Peter 2.9–12’, 85–91, 166–78) who suggests that this text should be the read in the same way as the Jesus tradition (for a critique of this view, see Atkinson, ‘Semantics of ἐν ᾧ’, 121–22). Against the claim that such an approach ‘posits too sharp of a dichotomy between 1 Pet 2:12 and Matt 5:16’ (Schreiner 131 n. 16), we would merely point out that the same type of redactional approach would be employed if 1 Pet 2.12 were found in a gospel. In this case, we are simply comparing how two authors adopted and adapted Jesus tradition in slightly different ways to communicate slightly different points. 60   See discussion in Fink, ‘Use and Significance’, 33–39. 61   Reicke, Disobedient Spirits, 110–15. 62   This exegetical conclusion serves to separate the cause of the slander (which is left unstated) from the remedy (which is good works). The same separation is also created by a concessive meaning (‘although they slander you as evildoers …’), a view which is represented in some translations (NRSV, NET, NIV, TNIV, NLT) and among a few commentators (Jobes 167; Prigent 60; Green 66 n. 5). 63   Others who have espoused a temporal function for ἐν ᾧ include: Hensler 100; Schott 128; Windisch 62; Schelkle 68; Michaels 117; Brox 114; Achtemeier 177; Elliott 467; Senior 64–65; Donelson 68; Schreiner 130–31 n. 16; cf. also Fink, ‘Use and Significance’, 34; Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle im ersten Petrusbrief, 142.



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that Reicke’s interpretation was part of a larger attempt to reconcile the chronological discrepancy that exists for a temporal reading of ἐν ᾧ in 2.12. As many before him had noted, the prepositional phrase ἐν ᾧ must be construed with both καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν ὡς κακοποιῶν (an event that was taking place at the present time) and δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεὸν ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (an event that would take place in the eschatological future), which makes a temporal function difficult to sustain. To avoid this disparity, Reicke defined ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς, ‘not [as] the Last Day but [as] the day in earthly life when the person in question is converted by reason of his [sic] realization of the blamelessness of the Christians’.64 What those who follow Reicke’s proposal often overlook is that unless his understanding of ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς is also adopted—which is the most problematic aspect of his theory (see below)—the temporal meaning of ἐν ᾧ is unsustainable. A more plausible interpretation presents itself when we look more closely at the construction. Very often, ἐν + the relative pronoun has no stated antecedent and thus requires one to be supplied.65 This is the case here. As others have pointed out, ἐν τούτῳ seems to be implied in this particular instance (‘in the very matter in which’; cf. Wycliffe, NASB, JUB).66 This just leaves us to determine the function of ἐν. Following Steiger, we would suggest that the preposition most likely denotes ‘the cause (Ursache) or the occasion (Veranlassung), for the sake of which any thing is done’.67 In other words, the glorification (δοξάσωσιν) that is expected to take place when Christ returns will be grounded in and flow out of the exact same behaviours for which the readers are currently being slandered (καταλαλοῦσιν ὑμῶν).68 The slander and negative accusation to which Christians were subjected are expressed in the following chapters with equally strong but varied terms: λοιδορέω (2.23), λοιδορία (3.9), ἐπηρεάζω   Reicke, Disobedient Spirits, 110–11.   See Robertson, Grammar, 719–21; BDF §294(4); Moule, Idiom Book, 130. 66   Cf. Hofmann 79; Huther 125; Blenkin 55; Bigg 136–37; Spicq 98–99; Kelly 105; Knoch 71; Holmer–de Boor 86, 90 n. 100; Bénétreau 146; Bony 97; Feldmeier 145. 67   Steiger 2:72; cf. Winer, Grammar, 484 n. 1. See also Atkinson, ‘Semantics of ἐν ᾧ’, 126. 68   See 1 Pet 3.16 for the same verb, elsewhere in the NT only at Jas 4.11. Cf. the nominal forms in Rom 1.30; 2 Cor 12.20; 1 Pet 2.1. 64 65

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(3.16), βλασφημέω (4.4), ὀνειδίζω (4.14).69 Such negative prejudice against Christians is recorded by the Roman historians Tacitus (Ann. 15.44) and Suetonius (Nero 16.2).70 More specifically, the readers are maligned ὡς κακοποιῶν, where ὡς indicates the identity-category into which those who slander them place them.71 The term κακοποιός (used in the NT only in 1 Peter [2.14; 4.15]) is a general term related to acts of evil.72 It is most frequently employed in astrological works, particularly among authors like Critodemus, Serapion, Dorotheus, and Antiochus. In these contexts, κακοποιός is used to describe celestial objects that exert a negative influence on humanity.73 But the word also depicts malicious human activity. In one instance, Polybius lists the planning and orchestration of murder as an example of κακοποιός (Hist. 15.25.1–2). The nature of such an accusation is also evident in the Acts of Pilate, where the Jewish crowd explains to Pilate the seriousness of the Jesus’ crimes. They note, ‘If this man were not an evil-doer (κακοποιός), we would never have handed him over to you’ (3.1). Such an explanation implies that κακοποιός involved some type of criminal activity, perhaps those misdeeds that could only be handled by the supreme judicial official in the province. The verbal form (κακοποιέω) similarly meant to do evil or to cause harm. Sometimes this damage involved destruction to property or possessions (Xenophon, Mem. 3.5.26; Polybius, Hist. 8.12.1; Let. Aris. 164), but it could have also been related to physical harm to one’s person, whether through acts of war or violence (Polybius, Hist. 4.6.10; Num 35.23; 1 Macc 5.48; Diodorus Siculus 11.64.4). Although this type of activity might be carried out by anyone, in certain instances it is specifically associated with thieves (Aristophanes, Pax 730).   Cf. Elliott 467.   More broadly on this social prejudice, see Holloway, Coping with Prejudice; idem, ‘1 Peter and Prejudice’, 199–220; cf. also Graser and Stenschke, ‘Coping with Discrimination’, 101–12. 71   Pace Dubis 63, who takes ὡς here as introducing ‘a comparative clause involving ellipsis: “people slander you as they slander evildoers” ’. On the uses of ὡς in the letter, see on 1.14. 72   See TDNT 3:485–86. 73   Cf. Claudius Ptolemy, Tetrabiblos 1.21.23; Artemidorus, Onirocriticon 4.59; see also Ps.-Clement, Recognitions 10.11.3; Plutarch, Is. Os. 48 (Mor. 370C). 69 70



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Given how κακοποιός was used in antiquity, the broad consensus in English-language scholarship, that the situation indicated here is one only of ‘malicious gossip and slander, not… legal charges’, is open to serious question and has been challenged in recent years.74 While the term need not indicate a specifically legal context, the vocabulary of this verse could well refer to accusations that led to formal charges, just as much as to informal slander and criticism. In the present verse, κακοποιός is likely to denote a serious accusation of wrongdoing. This is suggested by the way the term is referenced only two verses later, where the author describes the Roman governor as one who is sent to the provinces ‘to punish evildoers’ (εἰς ἐκδίκησιν κακοποιῶν, v. 14). Since less-significant matters would fall under the jurisdiction of local civic officials,75 the fact that the governor takes action against ‘evil-doers’ indicates a more serious accusation. Indeed, given the accusatorial process by which Christians generally came to be prosecuted in the pre-Decian period, we should view the informal and judicial facets of the hostility faced by the early Christians as related points on a spectrum rather than in terms of the ‘alternatives’ of official persecution or public hostility.76 While this hostility is what the readers of the letter seem likely to be experiencing in the present, a different outcome is hoped for in the future. The specific processes by which this would occur relate to what outsiders observe from Christians. The verb ἐποπτεύω represents more than simply a casual look; it describes the close inspection or evaluation of a given situation.77 Sometimes this 74   Selwyn 170; cf. also Michaels 117; Elliott 467–68. Besides our own work, others who have challenged this consensus, based in part on the use of κακοποιός, include: Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 67–68, 177; Cook, Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians, 244. 75   At times governors chose to hear cases that could have been handled at the local level (AE 1976: 673; cf. Plutarch, Praec. ger. rei publ. 19 [Mor. 815a]). But given the great demand for gubernatorial attention, it was much easier to let local communities handle smaller matters themselves (I.Kyme 17, based on the reading of Crook, ‘Augustan Inscription’, 23–29). In fact, there are known instances in which a governor refused to hear matters that could be handled by civic officials (IGRR III 582; cf. P.Yale 1606, where a governor refused to hear a case that had been previously tried in a local court). 76   See further Horrell, ‘Label Χριστιανός’, 370–76; Becoming Christian, 183–97; Williams, ‘Suffering from a Critical Oversight’, 271–88. 77   TDNT 5:373–75.

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involved the responsibilities of persons in authority examining the work of slaves and other labourers (Homer, Od. 16.140; Hesiod, Op. 767). At times, such assessment was carried out by gods or goddesses, who were able to provide particularly close inspection (Aeschylus, Eum. 224). In the LXX, in fact, the substantival form (ἐπόπτης) is used to describe YHWH as one who closely observes human affairs, offering both aid and judgment (cf. Esth 15.2 [5.1a]; 2 Macc 3.39; 7.35; 3 Macc 2.21).78 But how exactly will the observation of Christian conduct lead outsiders to glorify God? The answer depends on how one construes the syntactical function of ἐποπτεύοντες as well as the referent of ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς. Related to the former, many different suggestions have been offered to explain the participle function, especially in relation to the prepositional phrase ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων. Without an expressed object, some have claimed that ἐποπτεύοντες functions absolutely, much like a parenthetical note.79 As such, the prepositional phrase would modify δοξάσωσιν, describing the reason why glorification will eventually take place,

78   Since ἐπόπτης became a technical term for initiates in the mystery religions (cf. Plutarch, Alc. 22.3; Iamblichus, De mysteriis 3.13; 6.1; I.Eleusis 138), some think that this is the background from which the author is drawing (see Plumptre 113; Beare 138). But in its most basic sense, ἐπόπτης denotes one who watches or observes something or someone, the term being most commonly used with reference to the gods (Pindar, Nem. 9; Timaeus, Fragmenta et titulus, p. 225; Apollodorus, Frag. 34; Chionis Epistulae 16.6; Cornutus, Nat. d., p. 9; SB I 1323; OGIS 666). In such instances, particular emphases come forward, including their guardianship or protection (Artemidorus, Onir. 2.70; Aelian, Nat. an. 17.47) or their oversight and management (Epictetus, Diatr. 3.11.6). They are often portrayed as those who observe all the words and deeds of humans, whether they are good or bad (Musonius Rufus, Dissertationum a Lucio digestarum reliquae 15; Herodian, An excess divi Marci 1.17.2; Sextus Empiricus, Math. 9.16; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. phil. 7.151; Porphyry, Marc. 12, 21), and occasionally this involves serving as a witness or one who verifies certain facts or actions (Diodorus Siculus 4.54.4; 16.49.5; Plutarch, Ages. 14.1). The roles of humans are also described using the same word. As an ἐπόπτης, one might be assigned to manage and oversee people or events (Demosthenes, Philippica 25; Josephus, Ap. 2.187; Pausanias, Descr. 5.9.5; 8.10.2; Athenaeus, Deipn. 5.40), or simply to be someone who sees or observes something as a spectator or witness (Aeschylus, Prom. 301; Aristotle, Hist. an. 633a; Cassius Dio 41.33.1). 79   E.g., Wiesinger 169–70; Fronmüller 39; Usteri 102; Johnstone 149; Huther 125; Kühl 158; von Soden 144; Dubis 63–64.



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namely, because of the readers’ good works. The sense would be: ‘so that from your good works—that is, by observing (them)—they might glorify God’. Yet positing an absolute function for the participle leaves an awkward sense that could be alleviated if it were assigned an adverbial function. Further, the word order of the sentence (i.e., ἐποπτεύοντες being placed between ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων and δοξάσωσιν) would make it difficult to argue that ἐκ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων modifies δοξάσωσιν. It is better to connect the prepositional phrase to the participle ἐποπτεύοντες, not as a direct object but as a modifier of an understood τὴν καλὴν ἀναστροφήν (cf. 3.2), denoting its source.80 That is, it is as a result of directly observing (ἐποπτεύοντες) the Christians’ good deeds that their critics may instead be led to glorify God. In this case, the participle functions adverbially denoting cause/ result, but since it relates to the subjunctive, it carries a futuristic force, although still slightly prior to the main verb (‘because they will have observed’). As such, it conveys the unbelievers’ future recollection of the readers’ past conduct.81 In other words, the critics are already observing the good deeds of the Christians, even if they do not yet acknowledge them as good. The eschatological resonance of the final phrase (on which see below) makes it best to see the anticipated result—glorifying God—as occurring at the final judgment, rather than in their present encounters with Christians, though one should not exclude the hope on the part of the author 80   See Meecham, ‘Note on 1 Peter ii.12’, 93; cf. also Brox 114 n. 378; Goppelt 155; Jobes 167; Osborne 187–88. Some have understood the preposition ἐκ as expressing a partitive sense and functioning as the object of ἐποπτεύοντες: ‘by observing some of your good works’ (see Demarest 118; Achtemeier 178; Forbes 75; cf. Atkinson, ‘Semantics of ἐν ᾧ’, 123 n. 9). Although this represents a valid function of the preposition (cf. BDF §164[2]), it seems out of place in the present context. To say that outsiders only need to see some of the readers’ good deeds to be convinced relativises the need for a consistently ‘good’ lifestyle. 81   Cf. Hammond 409; Hort 136–37; Achtemeier 178. This interpretation is opposed by Dubis, who claims that ‘the “seeing” in Matt 5:16 is best understood as a “seeing” (and resulting conversion) that takes place in this present life’ (63–64). However, this interpretation—like Matt 5.16—also posits a ‘seeing’ that takes place in this life (hence, ‘will have seen’). It is the resultant outcome (‘glorifying God’) that is temporally separate. Furthermore, 1 Peter contains an additional (eschatological) temporal marker (ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς), not found in the Matthean tradition.

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that the good deeds of Christians may ‘win over’ unbelievers, either in terms of changing their verdict or in securing their conversion, in advance of that time of final reckoning (cf. 3.1–2).82 Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter Dominique Charles, “Volonté de Dieu” et “faire le bien” dans la Prima Petri. Origine et portée éthique d’une association féconde, EBib 74 (Leuven: Peeters, 2016); Douglas Holm, ‘Holy Engagement: “Doing Good” as a Missional Response in 1 Peter’, Leaven 20 (2012): 110–16; Karl Olav Sandnes, ‘Revised Conventions in Early Christian Paraenesis – “Working Good” in 1 Peter as an Example’, in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, ed. James M. Starr and Troels Engberg-Pedersen, BZNW 125 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004), 373–403; David M. Shaw, ‘Called to Bless: Considering an Under-appreciated Aspect of “Doing Good” in 1 Peter 3:8–17’, BTB 50 (2020): 161–73; Sean du Toit, ‘Negotiating Hostility through Beneficial Deeds’, TynBul 70 (2019): 221–43; W. C. van Unnik, ‘The Teaching of Good Works in 1 Peter’, NTS 1 (1954–55): 92–110; Travis B. Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World, WUNT 337 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014); Bruce W. Winter, ‘The Public Honouring of Christian Benefactors: Romans 13.3–4 and 1 Peter 2.14–15’, JSNT 34 (1988): 87–103. A central theme in 1 Peter is the exhortation to ‘do good’ (2.14, 15, 20; 3.6, 11, 17; 4.19), to undertake ‘good works’ (2.12a), and to maintain ‘good conduct’ (2.12b, 3.16). Because of the prominence of this motif in the overall message of the epistle, it naturally plays a key role in diagnosing the author’s social strategy. Within scholarship, there has been broad agreement concerning the meaning and function of good works in 1 Peter. Most view the standard by which these acts are judged to be ‘good’ as the agreed-upon ethical norms of Greco-Roman society.83 From this, the author’s strategy becomes clear: by

  On the intended attractiveness of the Christians’ way of life, see Lang, ‘Lebenskunst und Ethos’; Tàrrech, ‘Mission according to the New Testament’. 83   This position has been adopted by most recent commentators (e.g., Michaels 117–18; Schelkle 71–72; Davids 96–98, 101; Knoch 73; Bénétreau 188–90; Goppelt 158–62, 177–79; Brox 113–15, 120–21; Achtemeier 176–78, 184–85; Boring 113–14; Elliott 466, 469; Richard 105–108, 112–14; Schreiner 130–32; Senior 65–67, 72; Jobes 174–76, 228; Prigent 63; Feldmeier 188 n. 124; Donelson 69–70; Schlosser 147; Watson 65) as well as others who have addressed the subject (e.g., Chevallier, ‘Condition et vocation’, 397; Neugebauer, ‘Zur Deutung und Bedeutung’, 82–84; Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 81–116; Légasse, ‘La soumission aux authorités’, 387–88; Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle, 389–92; 82



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aligning their behaviour with popular codes of conduct, Christians would gain the approval of outsiders and thus curtail the animosity shown towards the group. In other words, the good works theme is an ethical strategy designed to impact outsiders—both as a means of converting individuals to the faith while at the same time defending the faith against slander.84 The interpretative basis for this view rests on certain lexical forms employed in the epistle as well as the positive response that such good deeds are expected to generate. On a lexical level, commentators often distinguish between καλός and ἀγαθός.85 As it is used in 1 Pet 2.12, the former is said to focus not simply on the moral quality of the Christians’ actions, but on how they are perceived. Such behaviour must have an aesthetic appeal, capable of being recognised as beautiful by outside observers. Even more important in this reconstruction, however, is the way that others are expected to respond to such good deeds. Drawing on this same passage, Volf argues that ‘1 Peter entertains a lively hope that precisely the Christian difference—outwardly visible in their good deeds—will cause non-Christians to see the truth and eventually convert (2:12, 15; 3:1; 3:16)’. On the basis of this favourable reaction, he concludes, ‘This expectation presupposes overlap between Christian and non-Christian constellations of values. The good works of Christians can be appreciated by non-Christians and look attractive to them.’86 That is, a positive response from outsiders indicates an acceptable pattern of behaviour. Thurén, Argument and Theology, 135, 192–95; Sandnes, ‘Revised Conventions’, 373–403; Dryden, Theology and Ethics, 131–32; Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 174–91). For the fullest explanation of ‘good works’ from this perspective, see van Unnik, ‘Good Works in 1 Peter’, 92–110. 84   Since the good works theme has been mostly understood as directed toward outsiders (see Münch, ‘Geschwister in der Fremde’, 148), it has played an important role in the way that interpreters have understood the missionary aim of 1 Peter. See, e.g., Bieder, Grund und Kraft; Brandt, ‘Wandel als Zeugnis’, 10–25; Lippert, ‘Leben als Zeugnis’, 226–68; Heilgenthal, Werke als Zeichen, 123–26; Feldmeier, ‘Die Außenseiter als Avantgarde’, 161–78; Boyley, ‘Mission Document?’, 72–86; Tàrrech, ‘Mission according to the New Testament’, 237–46; Stenschke, ‘Mission and Conversion’, 221–63; idem, ‘Mission according to First Peter’, 180–219; idem, ‘Early Christian Mission’, 107–26; Seland, ‘Resident Aliens’, 565–89; Holm, ‘Holy Engagement’, 110–16; Flemming, ‘Missional Identity’, 50–66; Akin, ‘Missiological Motivation’, 7–21; George, ‘Petrine Missional Ethics’, 51–63; Khobyna, ‘Reading 1 Peter through a Missional Lens’, 7–16; idem, ‘Missional Reading of 1 Peter’, 49–64. 85   See Selwyn 170: ‘καλός and not ἀγαθός is the adjective used [in 1 Pet 2.12], because it implies that the conduct in question not only is good, but also appears so’. Others have made a similar distinction between καλός and ἀγαθός (e.g., Hort 134–35; Monnier 111; Blenkin 55; Wand 74; Elliott 466; Richard 105–106; Prigent 63; cf. Dryden, Theology and Ethics, 132 n. 50). 86   Volf, ‘Soft Difference’, 25.

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Whether the similarities in conduct arise out of the overlap in ethical standards between Christians and non-Christians or due to the conformity of Christians to what is expected by the latter, most are in agreement that an important line would not be crossed: ‘Where civic and Christian good intersect, the Christian is to perform it; where they diverge, the Christian is to follow God’s will, not the emperor’s decrees’.87 This is significant in that it requires interpreters to assume that the readers could continue the very things that caused conflict (e.g., not participating in the traditional pagan cultus), yet by being partially subject in other areas (e.g., conforming to the traditional social hierarchy as far as possible), the problem would be resolved. The difficulty with this line of argumentation has been pointed out by Carter. He notes, ‘Insisting that the commands to honor and submit imply exceptive clauses and propose selective (non-)submission means maintaining what seems already to be practised! Refusal to participate in the sacrificial ritual of associations and households would continue the status quo of suspicion, verbal animosity, and hostility’.88 In other words, this popular reading maintains that Anatolian society would respond in the exact opposite manner towards the very same Christian actions. Given the difficulties associated with this interpretation, Carter reads the letter’s strategy as one of total conformity; in this way, he suggests that ‘doing good’ meant conformity to the standards of society, ‘going all the way’ including pagan sacrifice and worship. Another way that scholars have attempted to resolve the fact that partial conformity would not resolve the existing conflict is by identifying the good works with exceptional acts of civic responsibility. As far back as the early   Achtemeier 185. Cf. Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy’, 73: ‘But where Christians adherence to pagan values, customs, and moral standards would violate the will of God, and obscure the distinction between the respect due the emperor and the fear reserved for God alone (2:17); where retaliation sanctioned in society would betray the solidarity Christians have with their nonretaliating Lord (2:18–25; 3:9, 15–16); where exploitation of role and rank would deny humility, love, and mutual service owed by all believers to one another (1:22, 2:17, 4:8–11, 5:2–5) as “good household stewards of god’s varied grace” (4:10–11); where continued association with nonbelievers and their sinful desires and futile ways (1:18; 2:11; 4:2–4) would contradict the reality of their conversion, their holy union with God and Jesus Christ and their incorporation into a new family united by a distinctive faith and hope (1:3–2:10); then in such instances when the distinctive identity, cohesion, and commitments of the brotherhood are at stake, the household of God is to manifest its distinctiveness through behavior consonant with the will of God and through social disengagement, nonconformity, and resistance’ (see also Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 90). 88   Carter, ‘Going All the Way?’, 26. Elsewhere, he makes a similar point: ‘It is difficult to imagine how the letter’s strategy to overcome negative reports about Christians and rehabilitate them socially (2.12; 3.16) can be accomplished if Christians refuse to participate in cultic sacrifices and feasting’ (25). 87



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twentieth century, scholars have associated ‘doing good’ with a popular socio-political convention in the Hellenistic world through which municipal elites contributed to the welfare of their communities: civic benefaction (euergetism).89 The fullest articulation of this view was set forth by Winter, who laid out the specific procedures behind the convention of euergetism and then applied his discoveries to the text of 1 Pet 2.14–15.90 These benefactions, Winter maintained, may have included acts such as supplying grain during times of famine, erecting, adorning, or refurbishing public buildings, constructing roads, or even embarking on embassies in order to gain privileges for the city. What is important about this proposal is that benefaction would have been one of the few practices valued by popular society (and thus potentially being able to alleviate the hostility), yet still considered permissible by Christian standards. Despite the tremendous potential of the benefaction position, however, it is unlikely that the author is encouraging his readers to become involved in euergetistic practices when he exhorts them to ‘do good’. In light of how the convention was practised in the ancient world, this explanation is neither economically nor socio-politically feasible.91 Further, there are clues within the letter itself that make it difficult to identify euergetism as the literal referent behind 1 Peter’s admonitions. Most notably, the author states on multiple occasions that good works were expected to result in further conflict with non-Christians (2.20; 3.14, 16; 4.19), which seems difficult to explain if these acts involved benefiting others in recognisable ways.92 89   Some of the early proponents of this view include: Ewald 33–34; Monnier 117; Hart 60; Knopf 107; Gunkel 271; Moffatt 122; Selwyn 170, 173; Beare 142–43; cf. van Unnik, ‘Good Works in 1 Peter’, 92; Sleeper, ‘Political Responsibility’, 282–83; Jones-Haldeman, ‘Function of Christ’s Suffering’, 141–76. 90   Winter, ‘Christian Benefactors’, 87–103, the content of which is essentially reproduced and further elaborated on in idem, Seek the Welfare of the City, 12–40. Others have also suggested that these ‘good works’ would have included acts of benefaction (e.g., Marshall 84–85; Hiebert 166–67; Witherington 35, 144–45; cf. also Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 112–14; Poh, ‘Social World of 1 Peter’, 130–34; Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations, 234–35; Fagebemi, ‘Transformation, Proclamation, and Mission’, 215–16, seems to support this position; Burge, Green, and Cohick, New Testament in Antiquity, 400–401; Bird, Abuse, Power and Fearful Obedience, 82; Starling, ‘Hermeneutics of Empire’, 122–23; Kloppenborg, ‘Associations, Christ Groups’, 46). 91   For a fuller critique of the benefaction position, see Williams, ‘Benefiting the Community’, 147–95; idem, Good Works in 1 Peter, 68–104; cf. also Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 286–89. 92   An attempt to address this problem is made by du Toit, who provides three potential explanations for why the Petrine author expects actions that are positively evaluated within Greco-Roman culture to be negatively received when performed by Christians: (a) It is possible that outsiders ‘may have misinterpreted these

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Nevertheless, the Petrine author does seem to have drawn from the domain of euergetism—as this is the primary (and in some cases, the only) place where such terminology was employed93—in order to shape the ethical

deeds’ (du Toit, ‘Negotiating Hostility’, 240). To support this suggestion, he offers examples such as accusations of incest, cannibalism, and infanticide. All of these, however, represent examples of negative responses toward distinctively Christian activities, not acts that were widely perceived as beneficial. (b) It is possible that ‘outsiders may have accurately perceived that the intention of these works is to reduce hostility or to seek their conversion’ (du Toit, ‘Negotiating Hostility’, 240). While this is an interesting hypothesis, no evidence is provided to support it. On the other hand, the ancient literary record reveals various cases where Christians conformed to the standards of popular society and, as a result, did not encounter the same (level of) conflict (see Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 186–201). (c) It is possible to attribute this hostility to ‘specific good works that, according to 1 Peter, do not overlap with Graeco-Roman concepts’ (du Toit, ‘Negotiating Hostility’, 240; original emphasis). This represents an interesting concession in that it is an acknowledgment that in 1 Peter the standard of good works can be something other than societal preferences. When this possibility is allowed, however, it seems to undermine the missionary and apologetic strategy defended by du Toit (‘Negotiating Hostility’, 242–43). If the Petrine author consistently encourages his readers to undertake activities that would (knowingly) perpetuate conflict, how does this represent a solution to the problem? 93   An alternative is to situate this language within the ancient discourse of moral philosophy, as argued most recently by du Toit (‘1 Peter and Negotiating Life’, 267–308; ‘Negotiating Hostility’, 222–28; cf. also Poh, ‘Social World of 1 Peter’, 81–110). This is a promising strategy, for the Petrine author was not the only ancient writer who applied good works language to the ethical sphere (as discussed in Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 105–62; see further Horn, ‘Der Güterbegriff der antiken Moralphilosophie’, 61–62; Zimmerman, ‘Das “Gute” als ethische Norm’, 53–60). However, two important caveats should shape such an approach. First, any attempt to connect the good works language of 1 Peter with the writings of Hellenistic moral philosophy must extend beyond simple uses of καλός and ἀγαθός (which is one limitation of du Toit’s studies). The reason is because 1 Peter displays much more variety, referring to ‘good works’ (καλὰ ἔργα), ‘noble conduct’ (ἀναστροφὴ καλή [2.12]; τὴν ἀγαθὴν ἀναστροφήν [3.16]), ‘doing good’ (ἀγαθοποιέω [2.15, 20; 3.6, 17]; ἀγαθοποιός [2.14]; ποιεῖν ἀγαθόν [3.11]), and those who are ‘eager to do good’ (τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ζηλωταί [3.13]). Locating this precise vocabulary within the relevant source materials would be key to establishing the influence of another semantic domain. This is an important consideration that—along with spatial constraints—shaped our prior focus on the context of euergetism. During the first century CE, all of the specific good works terminology found in 1 Peter was most commonly employed with reference to the activities of wealthy elites who contributed (monetarily) to a particular civic community (for the evidence, see Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 49–66); thus, we have attempted to follow the evidence where it seemed to lead. This



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discourse of the letter. In 1 Peter, the good works theme represents a concen� trated94 application of specific terms and phrases commonly used to describe the beneficient acts of wealthy elites as a way to represent the moral behaviour prescribed for the Christian readers.95 In doing so, the system of recognition and reward are reconfigured. According to 1 Peter, the value assigned to good deeds derives not from their congruence with the standards of the wider culture or even their benefit to society, but from the fact that such behaviour is modeled by Christ and thus represents the will of God.96 While such a lifestyle may generate further conflict with their non-Christian neighbours, doing good is instrumental to attaining eschatological salvation.97 Only those who live in this way will receive the heavenly inheritance when Christ returns. In this way, the type of conduct included within the category of good works often extended beyond behaviours that were normally commended in Greco-Roman society (e.g., using one’s spiritual gift[s] for the benefit of the church, 1 Pet 4.10–11). Nevertheless, this is not to claim that Petrine ethics are entirely unique. They do not represent a complete and total departure from all of the moral standards that are espoused in popular culture. The ethical

point naturally flows into the second caveat: it is important to recognise that the language employed to depict moral excellence in Hellenistic philosophy is shaped by and intended as a response to the use of the same terminology to describe elite social status. By thus surveying the good works motif in the writings of moral philosophers, it would provide important insight into competing ethical norms as well as key points of comparison that may reveal how other ancient thinkers shaped the discourse. Yet the source of this language—both for ancient moralists and the Petrine author—remains the prominence that individuals gained within a particular community through the benefits they provided to others. 94   The author of 1 Peter is not the only writer, or even the only Christian writer, to draw upon the language of good works to depict ethical behaviour. The author of the Pastoral Epistles does something similar. What sets the Petrine author apart is the prominence he affords to this theme as well as the unique way that he reinscribes language that normally marked wealth and privilege as a strategy to shape the social identity of a group experiencing disadvantage. 95   Cf. Wheatley, Patronage in Early Christianity, 25: ‘Like Luke, Peter used some traditional benefaction language, but articulated substantial changes in the operation of the ideal. As such, he confirmed the redirection of the paradigm given by Jesus of Nazareth.’ 96   Others have similarly noted that good works in 1 Peter are defined according to the standards of God, not the surrounding culture (e.g., Zeller, ‘Intertextuality in 1 Peter 2.9–12’, 167–69; Schultz, ‘Los destinatarios’, 149). Cf. Röder, ‘Was ist “gut” im Neuen Testament’, 128: ‘Der Richtwert, der Dreh- und Angelpunkt der guten Lebensführung ist Gott, dessen Wille das Gute befördert und nicht das Schlechte. Der Wille Gottes ist eine weitere Voraussetzung – die entscheidende –, damit wir das Leben lieben und schließlich gute Tage sehen können’. 97   For a fuller defence of the view, see Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 246–54.

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lives of the audience would have looked in some ways similar to those who were not part of the Christian community, based on the fact that Christians and non-Christians shared certain values in common. As such, the good works theme is not an attempt by the Petrine author to construct a completely new system of moral behaviour. This explanation represents a challenge to the role that the good works theme is normally assigned in the letter’s overall social strategy. The primary aim of this motif, we would argue, is neither to increase the opportunity for evangelism nor to decrease the hostility displayed by opponents—despite the ways that good deeds might contribute towards the accomplishment of such goals in specific situations. The good works theme is designed for the benefit of insiders, not outsiders. By appropriating the language of wealth and privilege and then reinscribing it with a new (Christianised) meaning, the Petrine author seeks to reshape the social identity of a group that has been marginalised by society. Since the redefinition of good works was in accordance with a standard in which the audience could excel, they would be able to achieve a much more positive outcome and, consequently, a positive self-concept. This shifting of the playing field made the readers privy to the kind of honour that was normally reserved for elite members of society who monopolised power and prestige.98

*** Unlike the Jesus tradition reflected in Matt 5.16, the time when unbelievers will glorify God is here specified as ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (‘on the day of visitation’).99 The phrase itself is drawn from 98   In his discussion of symbolic inversion in early Christianity, Heen notes that status reversal ‘may help to explain the attraction the euangelion of Christ held for people living in the Greek cities of the East. Open resistance to the public discourse was not tolerated. Only in the relative safety of subaltern sites could one imagine—by means of symbolic inversion—something different.’ Further, he suggests that the status reversals which were characteristic of the Jesus tradition (e.g., last/first) were ‘potentially attractive to the large portion of the ancient city’s population that had been scripted into various kinds of subordinate and humiliating roles in the public discourse on a daily basis’ (‘Symbolic Inversion’, 130). 99   Some have viewed the anarthrous character of ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς as an indication that the phrase is meant to be read in an indefinite sense and, thus, not ‘the day of visitation’ (so, e.g., Giesen, Jesu Heilsbotschaft und die Kirche, 380; Schlosser 148–49). However, as the object of a preposition, the phrase does not require the article in order to be definite (see BDF §255; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, §182); in fact, when the object of a preposition is used with an accompanying genitive modifier, both are commonly anarthrous (cf. Robertson, Grammar, 792–93).



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Isa 10.3, though similar phrases, also with eschatological resonance, are found in LXX Jer 6.15; 10.15; Wis 3.7, 13; Sir 18.20, whether the time is depicted as one of vindication and blessing or of judgment. The meaning of ἐπισκοπή in this context is that of scrutiny, of a time when deeds done will be exposed to God’s evaluative gaze (cf. 2 Pet 3.10: τὰ ἐν αὐτῇ ἔργα εὑρεθήσεται). The Qumran texts also refer to a time of ‘visitation’ (‫ )פכדה‬as the eschatological ending of the present age (1QS 3.18; 4.6–8, 11–13, 18–19, 26). What remains unclear is the precise timing of this event and how it relates to the readers’ current antagonists when it occurs. One possibility is suggested by Elliott, who contends that ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς refers to ‘God’s visitation of individual nonbelievers as an occasion of testing when they are confronted with the winsome behavior of the believers and are thereby motivated to join the Christians in their glorification of God’.100 In other words, this ‘day of visitation’ refers not to a single, definitive moment at which all people are equally affected, but to the repeated divine intervention in the conversion of individuals who were—up to that point— opposed to the Christian faith. To support this idea, Elliott points to the fact that within Jewish thought, God could visit (ἐπισκοπή) the people of God in order to bring blessing in this life (cf. Gen 50.24–25; Exod 3.16; 13.19; Isa 23.17; Pss. Sol. 11.1, 6). However, when ἐπισκοπή is used with a temporal designation (e.g., ὥρα, ἡμέρα, καιρός), it refers almost invariably to a decisive and corporate eschatological event wherein God brings either blessing (Wis 3.7; Sir 18.20; Luke 19.44) or punishment (Isa 10.3; Jer 6.15; 8.12; 10.15). Since the author refers to the ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς, therefore, an eschatological event is likely envisioned.

  Elliott 471 (original emphasis). Others have reached similar conclusions about the meaning of this text (see, e.g., Beza 569; Calvin 79; Estius 522–23; de Wette 26; Bloomfield 711; Alford 350; Johnstone 149–50; Maunoury 171; Sadler 103–104; Knopf 103–104; Vrede 131; Selwyn 171; Willmering 1179; Reicke 94; Michl 126; Spicq 99; Kelcy 54; Blum 232; Mounce 31; Powers 92; cf. also Schückler, ‘Wandel im Glauben’, 292–94; Giesen, ‘Lebenszeugnis in der Fremde’, 128–31; Seland, ‘Resident Aliens’, 576–77). Some early interpreters added further specificity to this position, arguing that ἡμέρα ἐπισκοπῆς refers to a time of inquiry before human magistrates or governing officials. It was during these times that God would reveal the innocence of the people of God and perhaps convert antagonists (see Wolf 116; Bengel 58; Valentine 104). 100

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Most agree that when glorification occurs it will involve an act of honouring and worshipping God that implies an acknowledgment of God’s status and worthiness. What is not entirely clear is whether the unbelievers’ recognition of good deeds and their glorifying God on this eschatological day of judgment implies their prior conversion and salvation or only that they will ultimately (and possibly to their regret) recognise and acknowledge, as will the whole creation, the sovereignty of God. Those who adopt the former position note that it is consistent with other passages in the letter where the conversion of outsiders is predicated upon observing the lifestyle of Christians (e.g., 3.1–2).101 What is more, elsewhere in 1 Peter the act of glorifying God is performed by believers rather than unbelievers (cf. 4.16). But while the Petrine author does not by any means rule out conversion on the basis of observing good works, his expectation is that the good deeds of Christians will more frequently be met with further antagonism (cf. 1 Pet 2.20; 3.14, 16–17; cf. 3.6; 4.19),102 and the glorification of God at the final judgment is not reserved for those who are redeemed. In some Jewish and Christian writings, even the wicked who stand under divine wrath will acknowledge their faults and will revere the power and glory of God (cf. Phil 2.11).103 At times, this admission of wrongdoing carries with it

101   Those who believe that glorifying God in this verse implies a prior conver�sion include: Spicq 99; Kelly 106; Michaels 118; Grudem 116–17; Marshall 80–81; Goppelt 159–60; Watson 59; cf. also Senior, ‘Conduct of Christians’, 429; Kelhoffer, ‘Responses to Persecution’, 268–69. When the verse is read in this way, it indicates that a missional element plays a key role in the letter’s overall social strategy. 102   According to those who interpret the verse as a reference to conversion, it is understood to mean: ‘they will glorify God at the eschatological judgment because they will have seen your good works and will have been converted by them during their lifetimes’. Yet, this requires the reader to supply an additional detail (viz. the italicised portion) that is not found in the passage. While such optimism might be present in Matthew’s citation of this same Jesus tradition, we cannot force the Petrine author into this same mould. 103   According to 1 En. 62.6, after the Son of Man is seated upon his throne, ‘the kings, the mighty, and all who possess the earth will praise, glorify, and exalt him who rules over all—the One who was hidden’. This same group is said to ‘fall down before him on their faces, and worship, placing their hopes in that Son of Man, petitioning him and pleading for mercy from him’ (62.9; cf. 63.1–10). In the



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regret over the mistreatment of God’s people.104 One could argue, then, that a slightly stronger case can be made for the latter position, which involves retribution and vindication.105 The eschatological resonance of this final phrase suggests that the focus here is on the final day when the true verdict on the Christians’ conduct and way of life will become inescapable. Confirmation of this view is found in 1 Pet 3.16, where close structural and terminological parallels recommend a similar interpretation (see further Exegesis at 3.16). In that passage, the audience’s opponents are said to be ‘put to shame’ (καταισχυνθῶσιν) for maligning the good deeds of Christians. What the present verse states, then, is that those who are currently antagonising the readers ‘will give glory to God then [i.e., at the eschatological judgment] about the same things for which they slander Christians now’.106 Or, to put it another way, on the final day of God’s judgment, those who are hostile towards the Christian faith will glorify God as they recall the noble conduct of believers which consisted in their good deeds. While this verse does not negate a missionary focus, it does represent a somewhat less than optimistic view that the Christian witness will be positively received by outsiders.

end, however, ‘he will turn them over to the angels, for punishment, to execute vengeance upon these who have oppressed his children and his chosen ones’ (62.11; trans. Olson). 104   Cf. Wis 5.1–4: ‘Then the righteous will stand with great confidence in the presence of those who have afflicted (τῶν θλιψάντων) them and those who make light of their labors. When they see them, they will be troubled with terrible fear and will be amazed at the unexpected salvation of the righteous. Repenting, they will say amongst themselves (and through distress of spirit will groan): “These are they whom we once held in derision and as a byword of reproach—we fools! We thought their life to be folly (μανίαν) and their end to be without honor (ἄτιμον)” ’ (NETS). 105   Those who believe that glorifying God in this verse implies that antago� nists will ultimately (and possibly to their regret) recognise and acknowledge the sovereignty of God include: Davids 97; Achtemeier 178; McKnight 127–28; Green 69–70; Donelson 69–70; Schreiner 132–34; Ostmeyer 52; cf. also van Unnik, ‘Good Works in I Peter’, 103–106; Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 87–88; Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 159–61; Sun, True Grace, 78–79. 106   Davids 97 n. 10. See also Zeller, ‘Nominal unbestimmtes ἐν ᾧ’, 272: ‘Was der Grund für die Schmähung ist, ist auch der Grund dafür, dass die Heiden “am Tag der Heimsuchung” Gott verherrlichen’.

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In the end, however, it may not be appropriate to distinguish too sharply between the glorification of God that arises out of the salvation of the righteous and the judgment of the wicked.107 The situation that the Petrine author is describing is (and must be) a fluid one, with the boundaries separating insiders from outsiders being somewhat porous. Despite acknowledging the reality of the opposition that has been (and likely will continue to be) shown towards believers, he must leave open the possibility that some members of the wider society will be converted and will readily join the Christians in glorifying God (cf. 3.1–2), even if others remain obstinate in their disbelief only to be forced to admit their error in the end. Summary Having described in the first major section of his letter the glorious salvation to which God has called his elect and holy people, the author now turns to ‘the consequences for the behavior of Christians in the structures of society’.108 These two verses introduce this major section of exhortation and instruction, serving as a kind of headline to what follows in 2.13–3.12. In this, they capture two key dimensions of the Christians’ ambivalent relationship to the world. First, their distinction and alienation is expressed in an emphatic repetition of their estranged identity (ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους) which requires separation from ‘fleshly desires’— evidently the kinds of desires that shaped their former existence and continue to characterise the lives of those among whom they live (4.2–4). But second, another Leitmotif of the letter is stressed here: the need to ‘do good’. The author expresses some optimism about the possibility that such Christian behaviour might gain the favour of hostile outsiders through their good conduct (cf. 3.1–2), a kind of optimism—the belief that convincing argument and virtuous conduct might yet persuade—we continue to encounter in the writings of apologists like Tertullian, who echoes 1 Peter in his arguments against those who condemn the Christians purely on account of their name (Apol. 2–3) and insists that Christians are 107   Others have similarly posited that the passage may refer to both salvation and judgment (see Osborne 188; cf. Wheeler, ‘Petrine Model’, 533). 108   Goppelt 151.



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good, ‘useful’ people.109 Such optimistic appeals for Christian good conduct do not, then, by any means presume a context free of imperial hostility or persecution; the context of accusation can include the courtroom. At the same time, as this passage reveals, the Petrine author recognises that the approving acknowledgement of their conduct by antagonists might not occur until the eschaton, when all humanity will confess the lordship of Christ and the merit of his followers. Until that occurs, the audience is encouraged to maintain ‘good conduct’. The following sections of instruction will spell out more specifically what this should look like.

109   The wordplay on the Χριστός/χρηστός was one means by which this case was made (see above on 2.3, Text and Exegesis).

S U B MI S S IO N A N D F R E E D O M W I THI N THE S T R U C T U R E O F IMPE R IA L POW ER (2.13–17)

Initial Bibliography Anneli Aejmelaeus, ‘Pauline Heritage in 1 Peter: A Study of Literary Depend�ence in 1 Peter 2:13–25’, in The Early Reception of Paul, ed. Kenneth Liljeström, Suomen Eksegeettisen Seuran julkaisuja 99 (Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 2011), 125–47; Ernst Bammel, ‘The Commands in I Peter II.17’, NTS 11 (1964–65): 279–81; Warren Carter, ‘Going All the Way? Honoring the Emperor and Sacrificing Wives and Slaves in 1 Peter 2.13–3.6’, in A Feminist Companion to the Catholic Epistles and Hebrews, ed. Amy-Jill Levine, Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings 7 (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 14–33; Martin Evang, ‘ “Jedes menschliche Geschöpf” und “treuer Schöpfer”: Schöpfungstheologische Aspekte in 1. Petr 2,13; 4,19’, in Eschatologie und Schöpfung. Festschrift für Erich Grässer zum siebzigsten Geburtstag, ed. Martin Evang, Helmut Merklein, and Michael Wolter, BZNW 89 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1997), 53–67; Horst Goldstein, ‘Die politischen Paränesen in 1 Petr 2 und Röm 13’, BibLeb 14 (1973): 88–104; Friedrich W. Horn, ‘Gute Staatsbürger: zur politischen Ethik des 1. Petrusbriefs’, in Ethos und Theologie im Neuen Testament. Festschrift für Michael Wolter, ed. Jochen Flebbe and Matthias Konradt (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Theologie, 2016), 371–90; idem, ‘Vom Missbrauch, von der Missdeutung und vom Bewahren der Freiheit: Galater 5,13 und 1. Petrus 2,16’, in Bestimmte Freiheit, ed. Martin Bauspieß (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2020), 81–94; David G. Horrell, ‘ “Honor everyone…” (1 Pet 2.17): The Social Strategy of 1 Peter and its Significance for the Develop�ment of Christianity’, in To Set at Liberty: Essays on Early Christianity and its Social World in Honor of John H. Elliott, ed. Stephen K. Black; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2014), 192–212; Giorgio Jossa, ‘La sottomissione alle autorità politiche in 1Pt 2,13–17’, RivBib 44 (1996): 205–11; Jan Lambrecht, ‘Christian Freedom in 1 Pet 2,16: A Grammatical and Exegetical Note’, in idem, Collected Studies on Pauline Literature and on the Book of Revelation, AnBib 147 (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2001), 319–25; Simon Légasse, ‘La soumission aux autorités d’après I Pierre 2,13–17: version spécifique d’une parénèse traditionnelle’, NTS 34 (1988): 378–96; Jacques Schlosser, ‘ “Aimez la fraternité” (1 P 2,17). À propos de l’ecclésiologie de la première letter de Pierre’, in À la recherche de la parole. Études d’exégèse et de théologie biblique, ed. Jacques Schlosser, LD 207 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2006), 463–81; P. Benedikt Schwank, ‘Wir Freie—aber als Sklaven Gottes

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(1 Pe 2,16). Das Verhältnis des Christen zur Staatsmacht nach dem Ersten Petrusbrief’, ErbAuf 36 (1960): 5–12; C. F. Sleeper, ‘Political Responsibility according to 1 Peter’, NovT 10 (1968): 270–86; Scot Snyder, ‘1 Peter 2:17: A Reconsideration’, Filología Neotestamentaria 4 (1991): 211–15; Lauri Thurén, ‘Jeremiah 27 and Civil Obedience in 1 Peter’, in Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und römische Herrschaft. Vorträge auf der ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies, ed. Michael Labahn and Jürgen Zangenberg, TANZ 36 (Tübingen: Francke Verlag, 2002), 215–28; Travis B. Williams, ‘The Divinity and Humanity of Caesar in 1Peter 2,13. Early Christian Resistance to the Emperor and His Cult’, ZNW 105 (2014): 131–47; Bruce W. Winter, ‘The Public Honouring of Christian Benefactors: Romans 13.3–4 and 1 Peter 2.14–15’, JSNT 34 (1988): 87–103.

Text Ὑποτάγητε(a) πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει διὰ τὸν κύριον, κύριον, εἴτε βασιλεῖ ὡς ὑπερέχοντι 14 εἴτε ἡγεμόσιν ὡς δι᾿ αὐτοῦ πεμπομένοις εἰς ἐκδίκησιν(b) κακοποιῶν κακοποιῶν,, ἔπαινον δὲ ἀγαθοποιῶν, ἀγαθοποιῶν, 15 ὅτι οὕτως ἐστὶν τὸ θέλημα τοῦ θεοῦ ἀγαθοποιοῦντας φιμοῦν τὴν τῶν ἀφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἀγνωσίαν σίαν, , 16 ὡς ἐλεύθεροι καὶ μὴ ὡς ­ ἐπικάλυμμα ἔχοντες τῆς κακίας τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἀλλ᾿ ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι(c). 17 πάντας τιμήσατε, τιμήσατε, τὴν ἀδελφότητα ἀγαπᾶτε(d), τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε, φοβεῖσθε, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε. τιμᾶτε. 13

(a) Most Greek minuscules add οὖν here, which became the established Byzantine reading, taken up as the ΤR and Majority Text and defended by some earlier commentators (e.g., Benson 219; de Wette 26; Wiesinger 173). However, it is absent from the earliest MSS (P72, ℵ, A, B, C, Ψ). Clearly, it is a later addition, smoothing the transition between vv. 11–12 and vv. 13–17 (cf. Michaels 121 n. a; Dubis 64). (b) After ἐκδίκησιν, some MSS (C, P, 323, 424, 1243, 1739, 1852, 2718, etc.) add μέν, which is most likely a stylistic improvement. (c) The order of the phrase θεοῦ δοῦλοι is reversed in many MSS (A, 1243, 1735, 2344, 2718), including the Byzantine tradition from which the TR and Majority Text developed (and it is given as an alternative reading in ECM). Yet the weight of this external testimony is weak compared to the witnesses supporting the order given in NA28 (P72, ‫א‬, B, C, Ψ, 81, 323, 623, 1852, etc.). This latter reading, which reflects the less usual order (see Exegesis at 1.23), is to be preferred. (d) The Byzantine texts read the aorist imperative ἀγαπήσατε here, as does the Majority Text (Robinson-Pierpont) but not the TR (cf. Stephanus, Scrivener), following some Greek MSS. Notably, 049* and 424* have this reading, but their correctors return to the present tense (ἀγαπᾶτε). The aorist is probably introduced after the pattern set by τιμήσατε, the only aorist verb in the v. 17.



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Introduction The first section of specific and detailed instruction deals with the topic of appropriate conduct towards those in authority, particularly the emperor and provincial governors. As such, it picks up a topos in early Christian teaching and specifically echoes Rom 13.1–7 at a number of points (see Introduction: Pauline Traditions). This portion of the letter is often regarded as part of the extended ‘household code’ or Haustafel (see on 2.18–25).1 Certainly, it is closely connected with the teaching that follows in 2.18–3.7, especially in initiating (with a main imperative) the continuing refrain concerning subordination (using ὑποτάσσω). But the integration of the two traditions concerning conduct in relation to authorities (Rom 13.1–7) and conduct within the household (Col 3.18–4.1; Eph 5.21–6.9) may be the achievement of the author.2 The two traditions, again linked by the verb ὑποτάσσω, are also placed in close proximity in Titus 2.1–10 and 3.1–2, though they are not connected there as closely as here. Despite introducing the Haustafel material that follows, the block from 2.13–17 is to some degree self-contained,3 with an inclusio marked by the opening and closing reference to the emperor, ὁ βασιλεύς, and by an all-encompassing instruction indicated by πᾶς. Exegesis 13 Ὑποτάγητε πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει διὰ τὸν κύριον, κύριον, εἴτε βασιλεῖ ὡς ὑπερέχοντι The opening imperative (ὑποτάγητε) serves as a headline instruction, which is then repeated at key structural points throughout the following sections of the household code (2.18; 3.1; cf. also 3.5; 5.5).4 The same verb is used both in Paul’s instructions on submission   See, e.g., Michaels 121; Elliott 505–11 (‘1 Peter constitutes the sole NT example of the immediate association of civil [2:13–17] and domestic conduct [2:18–3:7; 5:1–5a] as it is found in the Oikonomia tradition and the only instance in which slaves are addressed first’ [510]). Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 118, 129, regards the whole section 2.11–3.12 as the household code. 2   Cf. Brox 116, who sees 2.13–17 as part of a wider section of traditional materials on the subject of ‘Unterordnungs-Ethik’ taken over and adapted by the author, but not part of the household code (2.18–3.7) as such. 3   So also Elliott 485. 4   Cf., e.g., Achtemeier 182: ‘a programmatic introduction to the material through 3:7’. Pace Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 204 with n. 235, who 1

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to governing authorities (Rom 13.1, 5; cf. Titus 3.1), which probably influenced the shape and content of the text here,5 and in the Haustafeln of Colossians and Ephesians (Col 3.18; Eph 5.21, 24; cf. Titus 2.5, 9). In those household codes, ὑποτάσσω represents the expected stance of wives towards husbands, but ὑπακούω is used in relation to slaves and children (Col 3.20, 22; Eph 6.1, 5). In this instance, the author employs ὑποτάσσω throughout (as also in Titus 2.5, 9; 3.1), except when reporting Sarah’s story in 3.6.6 The meaning of the verb is indicated by the ταγ- root in Greek, which has to do with order (as in τάγμα, τάξις, and the English ‘subordinate’),7 and the passive is best understood with the force of a middle,8 probably with the sense ‘subordinate yourselves’ (cf. ‘submit yourselves’: KJV, GNT, NASB, ISV, NIV; ‘subject yourselves’: LEB, WEB); that is, place yourselves in the appropriate position in relation to others, specifically those who are deemed to be in positions of authority and dominance (e.g., emperor, governors, masters, husbands, elders).9 Calling for such subordination does not necessarily equate to calling for obedience, as commentators often point out;10 indeed, the author was probably well aware that adhering to the Christian ἀναστροφή could, and sometimes did, require resistance to practices ordered by those in authority— making sacrifices to the Roman gods, or to the emperor’s genius, following the religious practices of the head of household, or argues that the imperative πάντας τιμήσατε in 2.17 ‘serves as the superscription of this section’ (to 3.12). 5   For the parallels, see Introduction: Pauline Traditions; Horrell, Becoming Christian, 16–18; Achtemeier 180–81. 6   Cf. Michaels 124. 7   See further Elliott 486–87. 8   The use of the passive in a medial sense is common among NT authors (see Winer, Grammar, 327–28; Buttmann, Grammar, 51–52), and this is the way that most commentators understand it here (e.g., Steiger 2:75; Alford 350; Lenski 110; Dubis 64; Wagner-Vouga 82). There are a few, however, who attribute to ὑποτάγητε a passive sense, ‘be made subject’ (see, e.g., Wiesinger 172; Carter, Restored Order, 138). 9   Cf. Kroeger, ‘Pastoral Understanding’, 83, who claims that the term represents ‘a call to Christians for compliance with the structures necessary for the peaceful functioning of society and a discharge of all rightful obligations of citizenship’. For more on the meaning of ὑποτάσσω, see Kamlah, ‘Υποτάσσεσθαι in den neutestamentlichen “Haustafeln” ’, 237–43; Carter, Restored Order, 261–66. 10   E.g., Michaels 124; Achtemeier 182.



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cursing Christ, and so on (cf. Pliny, Ep. 10.96–97; also on 2.17; 3.1–6; 4.2–4, 15–16). The careful wording of 2.17 (see below) reflects precisely his awareness of such pressures, and the careful drawing of limits to Christian conformity. The immediate focus of the instruction, however, is not a specific person or body of officials, but a wide-ranging category: πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει. How this phrase is to be understood is difficult to discern. The adjective ἀνθρώπινος means ‘human’, in the sense of that which pertains or belongs to human beings, either in general or in distinction from that which belongs to animals or the gods.11 More problematic is the meaning of κτίσις, often translated ‘institution’,12 referring to a ‘system of established authority that is the result of some founding action’.13 According to this reading, the author is urging submission towards the institutional hierarchy of the Roman government. Defence of this interpretation extends as far back as the time of Didymus,14 and it became the consensus among an older generation of critical commentators. It is still quite popular within more recent treatments as well.15 The main reason why scholars adopt this view is because of the extent to which submission is to be taken: recipients are instructed to ‘submit to every human κτίσις’ (v. 13). Proponents contend that 11   So, e.g., ‘human hands’ (Acts 17.25); ‘human wisdom’ (1 Cor 2.13); used absolutely, ‘in human terms’ (ἀνθρώπινον λέγω, Rom 6.19); what is ‘common to human beings, or the human condition’ (1 Cor 10.14). 12   This interpretation is very widely followed among modern translations. See, e.g., ‘institution’ (RSV, NAB, NJB, NRSV, NABS, NET, CEB, ESV, Traducion Oecuménique [1988]); ‘authority’ (NIV, GNT, HCSB); ‘Ordnung’ (Lutherbibel [1984]; Einheitsübersetzung [1980]). While adopting the same basic understanding of κτίσις, other translations have read ἀνθρώπινος not as a human institution (focusing on its origin or invention), but as a mode of life exercised by and for humans; hence it is rendered ‘ordinance’ (Geneva, Tyndale, KJV, NKJV, ASV). This latter interpretation has been followed by various commentators as well (e.g., Calvin 80; Beza 569; Grotius 80; Hensler 103; Wordsworth 55). 13   BDAG 573. 14   Didymus (PG 39:1765–66). 15   Older commentators that held to this view include: Luther 123–24; Benson 219; Hottinger 115; Schott 136; Hofmann 81–82; Alford 350–51; Huther 128–29; Hort 139; Monnier 115; Bigg 139. Those who have adopted this interpretation more recently include: Schelkle 73; Knoch 74; Brox 119; McKnight 144–45; Boring 114–15; Jobes 174; Prigent 67; Green 75; Watson 64; Keener 166; cf. also Gielen, Tradition und Theologie, 396–400; Jossa, ‘La sottomissione’, 208 n. 23; Carter, Restored Order, 139–41.

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the alternative interpretation (viz. submitting to every human being/ creature) would result in significant problems both contextually and pragmatically.16 Nevertheless, a major difficulty surrounding this approach is the lack of any comparative usage. In BDAG, three possible meanings are listed for the entry κτίσις: (1) an act of creation (‘creation’); (2) the result of a creative act (‘that which is created’); and (3) a system of established authority that is the result of some founding action (‘governance system’, ‘authority system’). The only example that is produced to support the final usage, however, is 1 Pet 2.13, a fact that seems highly suspect.17 Apart from the lexical difficulties associated with interpreting κτίσις as ‘institution’, there is also a significant contextual hurdle. If the author’s intention was to enjoin obedience to governmental authorities, why would he employ such an ambiguous phrase? When Paul encourages his Roman audience towards a similar ethic, the designation he chooses is much clearer: ‘let every person be subject to governing authorities (ἐξουσίαις ὑπερεχούσαις)’ (Rom 13.1). As it is, the Petrine author is forced to explain what he means by κτίσις in the following verses (vv. 13b–14); whereas it would have been more economical (and less confusing?) to say, ‘submit to governing authorities [v. 13a], because the will of God is to silence the foolish talk of ignorant people by doing good [v. 15]’. The strain of these lexical and contextual difficulties can be alleviated if we assign κτίσις the meaning that it normally carries in biblical literature, viz. ‘creature’ or ‘created being’ (cf. Tob 8.5, 16   There are two points to consider when assessing this objection. First, even if κτίσις refers to an ‘institution’, a similar problem persists. Does this mean that the readers are to submit to every human institution—even one, for instance, that is created by someone with no authority and is designed to oppose the will of God? Second, a broader referent finds support from the inclusio formed in 1 Pet 2.13 and 17 (cf. Elliott 485, 497). In both cases, the term πᾶς is meant to be expansive. 17   A further illustration of how some interpreters are content to argue their case apart from any evidential support can be found in the commentary of Beare. He admits, ‘No useful parallel can be cited for the meaning of κτίσις that we have here [viz. “institution”]’. But instead of adopting an alternative reading that is supported by the evidence, Beare proceeds to (conveniently) suggest that, ‘in all probability, [the author] is employing a common expression for which we happen to have no example in extant documents’ (141; cf. also Bloomfield 711; Bennett 216; Windisch 63; Bauer 31). This type of argumentation surely represents a case of special pleading.



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13; Rom 8.39; Col 1.23; Heb 4.13).18 For this reason, many modern interpreters have moved in this direction.19 Aside from common usage, support for this reading is derived from the specific instances that follow, which refer to persons (βασιλεύς and ἡγεμών) rather than institutions. These designations, one might argue, could also refer to offices; but in this case the pronoun in 2.14 (δι ̓ αὐτοῦ) implies that a personal agent is in view, as does the wider context of the Petrine Haustafel, which enjoins ‘subjection’ (ὑποτάσσω) to other persons—whether masters (2.18) or husbands (3.1). Moreover, the rendition ‘creature’ accords better with the adjectival modifier ἀνθρώπινος.20 As evidence of this, we might point to the alterations by a few early copyists who changed κτίσει to φύσει.21 Elsewhere, this combination of ἀνθρωπίνη φύσις also carries the meaning ‘human creature’ (cf. Pseudo-Callisthenes, Historia Alexandri Magni 1.10.1). In this case, however, the variant may be an attempt to place greater emphasis on the human nature of the emperor, as ἀνθρωπίνη φύσις is often contrasted with θεία φύσις.22 Either way, the combination with ἀνθρώπινος—regardless of the term (κτίσις/φύσις) employed—is intended to denote a human creature. Such a rendering appears to be the appropriate interpretation here. This reading also strengthens the inclusio connecting vv. 13 and 17, both of which express an all-encompassing duty towards all people that is then specified in particular 18   Along with this, we must also recognise that the Petrine author is not calling for an indiscriminate form of submission (as some have assumed). The purpose of his statement is to demarcate two specific office holders towards whom appropriate (yet limited) obedience should be directed: the emperor and the governor. This is indicated by his use of parallel disjunctive particles (εἴτε… εἴτε). 19   So, e.g., Kelly 108; Michaels 124; Davids 98–99; Bénétreau 149–50; Goppelt 182–83; Achtemeier 182; Schweizer 51; Elliott 489; Donelson 71; Schlosser 154–55; Dus 124–25; cf. also Teichert, ‘1 Petr 2,13—eine crux interpretum?’, 303–304; Evang, ‘Schöpfungstheologische Aspekte’, 57–59. Although this interpretation remained a minority view among earlier commentators, it was nonetheless advocated by some (e.g., Erasmus 676; Estius 523; Pott 82–83; de Wette 26; Demarest 120). 20   Pace Warden, ‘Alienation and Community’, 213, who argues in the opposite direction, claiming that if κτίσις carries the meaning ‘creature’, then ‘the adjective ἀνθρώπινος seems strangely out of place’. 21   Support for this reading is found in C, 104, 459, 996, 1661, 1838, 1842 (see ECM 136). 22   See TDNT 9:251–77, esp. 254–55.

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ways. (Comparable in drawing together a duty towards all people and especially towards rulers are 1 Tim 2.1–2 and Titus 3.1–2.)23 The reason why Christians are expected to subordinate themselves to governing officials is given in the phrase διὰ τὸν κύριον (‘because of the Lord’), a motivation also typical of the NT household code instructions (cf. Eph 5.21–22; 6.1, 5–8; Col 3.18, 20, 22–24; Titus 2.9–10). With this qualification, the author removes any notion that the reigning political establishment possessed any inherent value that might demand honour and admiration.24 It is debated whether κύριος refers here to God or Christ. Kelly, for example, argues for God because—relating to the implied agent of κτίσις—‘it is God who created the world and men [sic]; it is therefore out of regard for Him as Creator that we ought to behave humbly towards our fellow-creatures’.25 Moreover, as this sub-section proceeds there are a number of references to God that provide the basis and rationale for the required pattern of conduct (2.15, 16, 17).26 However, usage elsewhere in 1 Peter points towards Christ as the likely referent (1.3, 25; 2.3; 3.15; a possible exception being the scriptural citation at 3.12),27 and it is Christ whose conduct will be set forth as the example of submissive conduct in 2.21–25.28 A decision   See Michaels 125.   As Schertz notes, by locating the ultimate motive in one’s responsibility toward God, ‘the human creations are not only relativized but in some sense rendered irrelevant’ (‘Nonretaliation and the Haustafeln’, 268). 25   Kelly 109. Similarly, Luther 124; Steiger 2:76; Schott 137; Fronmüller 40; Weiss 309; Kühl 161; Knopf 106; Schelkle 73 n. 2; Miller 208; Achtemeier 182; Elliott 489; Richard 112; Senior 68; Watson 64. 26   Cf. Schelkle 73 n. 2; Achtemeier 182. 27   The majority of scholars through the years have adopted this position. Propo� nents include (among others): Grotius 80; Benson 219; Bengel 59; Semler 114; Hottinger 116; Jachmann 145; Alford 351; Huther 129; Monnier 116; Michaels 124; Davids 99; Green 73; cf. also Schwank, ‘Wie Freie’, 9. 28   There is some disagreement over whether διά is intended to be retrospective (‘because of the Lord’; cf. HCSB, EHV, YLT), explaining that submission is grounded in the example or teachings of Christ (so, e.g., Bigg 139; Blenkin 57; Selwyn 172), or whether it is meant to be prospective (‘for the sake of the Lord’; cf. NIV, NASB, ESV, NET, CEB, GNT, NRSV), delineating that this type of submission will help believers avoid bringing dishonour to the name of Christ (so, e.g., Hofmann 82; Keil 94; Usteri 105). It is difficult to decide between them and perhaps unnecessary. Elsewhere the author stresses the need to follow the example set down by Christ (2.21–25; 4.1), and by doing so, the readers would be conducting themselves honourably. 23 24



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is finely balanced and depends to a considerable degree on whether one takes the immediately contextual motivations for conduct (τὸ θέλημα τοῦ θεοῦ [v. 15], etc.) as expanding the meaning of διὰ τὸν κύριον or whether that meaning is thought to be found in the pattern of following Christ’s example, which itself embodies the will of God. Given the rather consistent usage of κύριος in 1 Peter, the balance may shift slightly towards Christ, but it is impossible to place much weight on this decision. The first of two specific categories of persons to whom the instruction to be subordinate applies is now introduced, using the conjunction εἴτε (most often used in pairs, or for even longer lists)29 and continuing the dative case that indicates the relationship to the headline imperative. The designation βασιλεύς (sometimes translated, ‘king’, cf. KJV, NAB, EHV, NASB) refers to the emperor (cf. Luke 23.2; John 19.12, 15; Acts 17.7).30 In the context of the Roman Empire, it is he who is supreme, above all others (ὡς ὑπερέχοντι; cf. Rom 13.1, where the same verb is used). The particle ὡς is taken as causal by some (i.e., Christians should submit to the emperor because he has supreme authority),31 but more likely it indicates the perspective from which the role of the emperor is viewed: he is one who holds supreme authority in the empire.32 To understand what the Petrine author intends by applying the designation ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις to the Roman emperor, it is important to recognise the political and religious realities that marked this 29   LSJ 498: ‘generally doubled… so that two cases are put as equally possible or equivalent’. This structure is represented in NT usage as well (e.g., 1 Cor 8.5; 15.10; Eph 6.8; Phil 1.20; Col 1.20; 1 Thess 5.10; 2 Thess 2.15). For multiple uses, see, e.g., Rom 12.6–8; 1 Cor 3.22; Col 1.16. 30   So, e.g., Achtemeier 182 with n. 44; Michaels 125; Elliott 490. As Achtemeier notes, βασιλεύς is also used in the NT with the meaning ‘king’, though its referent is then stated (e.g., as cited by Achtemeier, Matt 1.6 [David]; Matt 2.1 [Herod]; Matt 2.2, Mark 15.22 [sic = 26], John 1.49 [Jesus as king of the Jews/Israel]). 31   So, e.g., Johnstone 156; Huther 130; Williams 32; Kühl 161; Michaels 126; Jobes 174. But, as Dubis rightly points out, the ‘grounds for obeying the imperative’ is given rather in διὰ τὸν κύριον (65). 32   Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 1140; BDAG 1104–105. It is unnecessary, as advocated by Donelson, to stress the hypothetical nature of this particle (‘as if’), in the sense that Christians are called to submit ‘ “as if” the emperor were superior to them, when in fact this emperor is not’ (72). Such a distinction would hardly need to be stated. Instead, the author is simply describing the political role or position held by the emperor.

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period. Imperial cults were pervasive across the urban landscape of first-century CE Asia Minor,33 and in the material and documentary evidence, the title θεός is often attributed to a deceased emperor. This tendency is prominently displayed in the designation ‘son of god’ (θεοῦ υἱός) that is so frequently employed on coins and in inscriptions. Even living emperors, on occasion, were referred to in this way.34 An inscription from Priene refers to Domitian as, ‘Emperor Domitian Caesar Augustus Germanicus, the unconquered god (θεὸν ἀνίκητον)’, and in Laodicea, one Neronian coin reads, ‘the divine (θεός) Nero Augustus’.35 Elsewhere, the titles of divinity used for the emperor were intended to serve as indicators of their elevated social status; nevertheless, the Petrine author—like many later Christian writers36—interacted with the language on the level of ontology. This is indicated by his   Few would question the pervasiveness of the imperial cults within the province of Asia. But some Petrine scholars might be sceptical of the institution’s prevalence in the central and eastern portions of Asia Minor (for a response to this concern, see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 245–54; cf. also Hardin, Galatians and the Imperial Cult, 23–81). Others are hesitant to find any connection with the imperial cults here (e.g., Keener 170 n. 203). 34   The designation θεός was often avoided in provincial cult contexts, especially during the early Empire. Nevertheless, it did appear with somewhat more frequency in municipal cults (see Habicht, ‘Die Augusteische Zeit’, 83–84; cf. also Fujii, ‘Imperial Cult’, 159–66). 35   Domitian: I.Priene 229. Nero: RPC I 2923. Other examples include: RPC I 1427, 2247, 2312, 2343–2345, 2433–2434, 3107, 3841; I.Tralleis 35; I.Stratonikeia 511; I.Ankara 2; IGRR IV 145; I.Eph. 17–19; P.Lond. VI 1912; Holleaux and Paris, ‘Inscriptions de Carie’, 79–80 (no. 10). See further Price, ‘Gods and Emperors’, 81–85. 36   In the Acts of Phocas, for instance, the Christian position is clearly portrayed as focused on the rejection of divinity: ‘Africanus the governor said: “Is this Phocas who neither affirms the existence of the gods nor regards emperor Trajan as a god (θεόν)? Now, has not every warring nation been destroyed by his hands? What then can he be other than a god (θεός)?” ’ (3; cf. Acta Pionii 8). A similar distinction is drawn in by Theophilus of Antioch in his apology for Christianity. He notes that the emperor is to be honoured but not worshipped, ‘for he is not a god (θεός) but a man (ἄνθρωπος) appointed by God’ (Autol. 1.11). Tertullian even references 1 Pet 2.13 in this regard, qualifying the honour due to the emperor as demanded only ‘when he keeps to his own sphere (rebus)’. By this he means, ‘when he has distanced himself from divine honours’ (Scorp. 14.3). The problem for Tertullian was the fact that those who ‘call the emperor “god” (deum) are mocking him by calling him what he is not’ (Nat. 1.17.8; cf. Scap. 2.7; 5.4 Apol. 33.3; 34.3–4; Marc. 1.7). 33



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unusual word-choice. The ambiguity of the expression ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις, which then requires further specification, suggests that he is sacrificing clarity in order to make a point. Since the term κτίσις is most commonly associated with the creative act or creative results of God, especially in biblical literature, the point must be in some way related to the emperor and his creatureliness. The adjectival modifier ἀνθρώπινος would appear to confirm this thesis, for it is commonly used to contrast the human with the divine (cf. 4 Macc 1.16–17; 4.13; Josephus, War 6.429; SIG3 526, 721, 798). What this means is that ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις indicates a conscious opposition to the divinisation of the emperors and their descendants expressed in the titles given to them and the worship offered in forms of imperial cults.37 It is intended to draw an ontological distinction between the emperor, who is merely a human creature, and God, who is the divine creator (cf. 1 Pet 4.19). By thus referring to the emperor under the general category of ‘human creature’, the Petrine author adopts an expression in which ‘imperial power is subtly but decisively demystified, desacralized, and relativized’.38 At this point, and also in 2.17, 1 Peter goes beyond the instructions of Paul in Rom 13.1–7, expressing a certain critical reserve towards the status and identity of the emperor.39 Paul 37   Others have similarly drawn a connection between 1 Pet 2.13 and the imperial cults—especially as they relate to the divinity of the emperor (e.g., Achtemeier 182–83; Black 72; Witherington 141; Vinson 114–15; Schlosser 155; Watson 64; Vahrenhorst 115–16; Schreiner 139; cf. also Evang, ‘Gewalt und Gewaltlosigkeit’, 26; Himes, ‘First Peter’s Identity Theology’, 127–29). These critical nuances in the author’s instruction regarding submission to civil authorities are insufficiently acknowledged by Thurén, ‘Jeremiah 27 and Civil Obedience’, 215–28. For a fuller treatment of this issue, see Williams, ‘Divinity and Humanity of Caesar’, 131–47. 38   Elliott 489. Cf. Blumenthal, ‘Das politische Potential’, 230–31: ‘Dem in der ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις-Charakterisierung aufscheinenden Gedanken, dass die Repräsentanten dieser Ordnung trotz ihrer scheinbaren Überlegenheit nur über eine begrenzte, weil irdische Macht verfügen’. Others have similarly noted the (subtle) resistance behind the designation (e.g., Phillips, Kirche in der Gesellschaft, 31; Kolden, ‘Complicated World’, 424; Sun, True Grace, 83; Christensen, ‘Balch/ Elliott Debate’, 184; Wagner-Vouga 82–83). 39   If the Petrine author’s instructions on the Christian’s responsibilities toward the State (2.13–17) are shaped by the language of the Pauline letters, especially that of Rom 13.1–7 (see Horrell, ‘Product of a Petrine Circle?’, 36–38; Aejmelaeus, ‘Pauline Heritage’, 131–32), then the wording used here is even more pronounced, for it would represent a conscious decision to alter the (simpler) Pauline directives.

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insists that human authority only exists ὑπὸ θεοῦ (Rom 13.1), but equally insists that the authority has been appointed by God (v. 2) and operates as God’s διάκονος (v. 4). The author of 1 Peter avoids any such divine legitimation of human authorities, invoking God only implicitly as the creator of all humans. The careful circumscription of the Christians’ relationship to these human authorities is further expressed in 2.17.40 14 εἴτε ἡγεμόσιν ὡς δι᾿ αὐτοῦ πεμπομένοις εἰς ἐκδίκησιν κακοποιῶν,, ἔπαινον δὲ ἀγαθοποιῶν, κακοποιῶν ἀγαθοποιῶν, The second (and final) person in the list of those in authority to whom subordination is due is the ἡγεμών. This designation has a range of meanings.41 It is used in a general way of someone or something that leads or guides (Homer, Od. 15.310; Thucydides 7.50.2; Plato, Leg. 670e; Xenophon, Cyr. 1.5.12). In other places, the term focuses less on the leadership task and more on a specific position of leadership. This might include a military commander (Homer, Il. 2.365; Herodotus, Hist. 6.43.2), a king (Xenophon, Hell. 3.5.14), a director of a chorus (Pollux, Onom. 4.106), or the president of a gymnasium (IG VII 3196). Because of the term’s flexibility, even the Roman emperor could be so designated (Plutarch, Cic. 2.1; cf. also Strabo, Geogr. 4.3.2). But since ἡγεμών is described as a Roman official under the emperor’s ultimate jurisdiction, the most obvious meaning (especially to readers in Asia Minor) would be the provincial governor.42 Not only was the governor the most powerful 40   As we shall see further in 1 Pet 5.9, it is by no means convincing to claim the author as expressing a ‘neutral stance concerning the emperor and his representatives’ which ‘would be inconceivable if, in fact, the Christian community throughout the world (5:9) were the target of official Roman prosecution’ (Elliott 494). Elliott goes on to add that this is a further reason to date 1 Peter ‘during the early Flavian period (73–92 CE), for which there is no evidence of Roman opposition to the messianic movement’. Yet the kind of comments made about honouring and obeying the emperor (within limits) in early Christian literature that clearly does come from a time when persecution and criminal accusation could be experienced shows that such a stance towards the authorities could equally well be made during such circumstances. See further Horrell, Becoming Christian, 183–97; idem, ‘ “Honour Everyone…” ’, 192–210. 41   LSJ 763. 42   Some translations thus render ἡγεμών too generally when they translate the word as ‘rulers’ (Darby, WE) or ‘leaders’ (ERV, NCV) or ‘officials’ (NLT). In the same way, it is incorrect to claim that the term ‘includes high Roman officials as



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official in the provinces (barring interference from the emperor, Dig. 1.18.4), the purpose of his commission is consistent with that described in v. 14 (see below).43 These governors are said to have been ‘sent’ to their provinces, with the present participle πεμπομένοις conveying an iterative force (i.e., the act of sending is portrayed as an event that occurs over regular intervals of time).44 While some have argued that the agent (διʼ αὐτοῦ) who ‘sends’ is God (cf. NLV, Message),45 it is best to understand the αὐτοῦ as a reference to the Roman emperor.46 This commissioning represents a point of difference from Romans 13, where Paul depicts the task in very similar language, yet explicitly describes it as done in God’s service (v. 4).47 Whether this well as local city authorities’ (Warden 127). For the latter were not sent by the emperor but were members of the community who held positions of influence and power, usually due to their material wealth. On the administration of cities in Asia Minor, with particular reference to local officials and their duties, see Magie, Roman Rule, 639–51; Dmitriev, City Government. 43   For more on the office of provincial governor, see Stevenson, Roman Provincial Administration, 1–35; Richardson, Roman Provincial Administration, 11–26. 44   Cf. Plumptre 114; Johnstone 156; Bigg 140; Spicq 102. 45   So, e.g., Calvin 82; Gerhard 255–56; Estius 525; Best 114; Keener 170; cf. Filson, ‘Partakers with Christ’, 407; Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 110–11 n. 41, 114. Grammatical objections are often raised against this interpretation. Since διά + genitive normally indicates intermediate agency (see Robertson, Grammar, 820; Porter, Idioms, 65; Wallace, Grammar, 433–34), it is argued that διὰ κυρίου would have been avoided, and instead, the author would have written ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ to express ultimate agency (cf., e.g., Alford 351; Hiebert 166). But, on occasion, the (ultimate) actions of God are portrayed through the construction διὰ κυρίου (Josh 11.20; 1 Sam 28.6; 2 Sam 5.19, 23; Isa 29.15; 51.20; Jer 3.23; T.Jos. 18.2; T.Job 47.7). What weighs more heavily against this interpretation is the fact that βασιλεύς is a closer referent to αὐτοῦ than κύριος. 46   Cf. Benson 221; Steiger 2:79; Mason 406; Michaels 126; Goppelt 185; Achtemeier 183; Schlosser 156; Wagner-Vouga 84. Alternatively, some have suggested that the construction (διʼ αὐτοῦ) alludes indirectly to divine authority: ‘The king appears here not as the source of the governor’s authority, but as the channel by which Divine authority is conveyed to him’ (Hort 141; cf. also Johnstone 156; Masterman 107; Hart 60; Blenkin 57; Grudem 120; Carter, Restored Order, 143). However, this seems to import the theology of Rom 13 into the present verse. Further, in some instances, διά + genitive may legitimately be understood as expressing ultimate agency (see BDF §223[2], who cite Rom 11.36; 1 Cor 1.9; Heb 2.10, et al.). 47   Cf. Bigg 140, notes that the author does not go as far as Paul: ‘What he says is that the magistrate is to be obeyed because Caesar sends him’.

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description reflects the Petrine author’s ignorance of the prescribed processes by which governors were commissioned or simply his attempt to represent the practical influence of the emperor beyond his prescribed duties,48 it does not fully represent the variations that existed across Asia Minor. By the end of the first century CE, there were two types of governors within the Anatolian provinces.49 The first were assigned to provinces that held out the possibility of further expansion through military conquest. Beginning in the time of Augustus, these governorships had been assigned to friends and members of the imperial family. Since the emperor held imperium maius (‘ultimate power’) over these areas (Cassius Dio 53.32.5), the legati were assigned the praetorian rank and given the lesser imperium pro praetore, indicating that their power was derived from the emperor. Thus, the official title of these governors was legati Augusti pro praetore, while the provinces they administered came to be referred to as imperial provinces. Since the traditional military, task-oriented provinciae were taken by imperial legates, public magistrates (both consuls and praetors) were left only to attend to the geographically defined provinces in which the primary task was administration and protection. These provinces, which in name belonged to the People of Rome, are referred to as public provinces. Among the provinces that are listed in 1 Pet 1.1, Galatia and Cappadocia were among the imperial provinces, while Asia and Pontus-Bithynia were public provinces.50 48   The first possibility is suggested by Best: ‘though the Roman constitution distinguished between governors appointed by the Emperor and those appointed by the Senate our author was probably not aware of this distinction and assumes that all are sent by the emperor’ (114). The second possibility is reflected in the commentary of Bennett: ‘As a matter of form, some governors were appointed by the Roman Senate, but these appointments were controlled by the emperor; and practically all the governors were his representatives’ (216). 49   Another type of provincial governor, which holds little relevance for the provinces of Asia Minor, is the praesidial procurator. These were men appointed by the emperor and chosen not from among the senatorial ranks but from the lower, equestrian order (cf. Tacitus, Ann. 12.60) to govern certain provinces (e.g., Raetia, Noricum, Thracia). One might also mention the prefect, to whom the emperor assigned the duties of administering other provinces (e.g., Egypt, Judea). 50   There were some minor differences between the two offices: (a) the manner in which they were chosen: legati were selected by the emperor; proconsuls were appointed to their province by lot; (b) the length of tenure: legati served until they



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Regardless of the type of governor in view, each was sent for a defined task,51 with εἰς serving to indicate and introduce this particular purpose.52 There were three areas of responsibility to which all provincial governors were expected to devote significant attention.53 All governors held some military responsibility. Even in ‘unarmed provinces’ (inermes provinciae) such as Asia or PontusBithynia, a proconsul would have possessed at least a small number of troops to command.54 Where foreign enemies posed a much more serious threat and where military glory could still be won was in the imperial province of Galatia-Cappadocia. A second area of responsibility was the administration of the province. In practice, administrative duties took a variety of forms. One of the first tasks of a governor was the publication of were replaced; proconsuls served for one year; (c) the number of lictors: legati possessed five lictors; the number of proconsulate lictors varied according to their position as ex-consul or ex-praetor; (d) their dress: legati wore a sword and military attire; proconsuls did not (cf. Cassius Dio 53.13). Nevertheless, both types of provincial governor possessed unlimited imperium in their respective provinces. 51   Some have suggested that the clause εἰς ἐκδίκησιν κακοποιῶν, ἔπαινον δὲ ἀγαθοποιῶν refers back to both ὑπερέχοντι and πεμπομένοις (see Schott 138; Hofmann 83). As a result, the authority of upholding law and order in the State is the responsibility of the highest authority (i.e., the emperor), but it is delegated to a lesser authority (i.e., the governors). This interpretation, however, forces a rather awkward structure onto the sentence. 52   The description echoes the language of Rom 13.4, suggesting some intertex� tual connection (see Horrell, Becoming Christian, 17). Indeed, the two phrases the author uses to depict this task are both indebted to the vocabulary of Rom 13.3–4: ἔπαινον δὲ ἀγαθοποιῶν (τὸ ἀγαθὸν ποίει, καὶ ἕξεις ἔπαινον ἐξ αὐτῆς· [Rom 13.3]) and ἐκδίκησιν κακοποιῶν (ἔκδικος… τῷ τὸ κακὸν πράσσοντι [Rom 13.4]). It is typical of our author that he places these descriptions of the governors’ task in order of negative followed by positive, the opposite order to Paul. 53   For the duties of provincial governors, see Dig. 1.16–19. cf. also Burton, ‘Powers and Functions’; Drogula, ‘Office of the Provincial Governor’, 357–419. 54   In the provinces of Asia and Pontus-Bithynia, there is evidence for an increasing military presence during this same period. During the time of Pliny, Pontus-Bithynia was home to two active auxiliary cohorts (Pliny, Ep. 10.21, 106; see Saddington, ‘Roman Auxiliary Forces’, 193–94), which were most likely stationed in the province during the Flavian period. In Asia, we find evidence for the presence of two cohorts under the command of M. Aemilius Pius in ca. 69–71 CE (AE 1920: 55). This reveals that even governors in inermes provinciae were responsible for some type of military presence under the Flavians. See further Sherk, ‘The Inermes Provinciae’, 400–13; Eck, Die Verwaltung des römischen Reiches, 2:187–202. cf. Ritterling, ‘Military Forces’, 28–32.

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his provincial edict, which set forth the body of law on which his administration would be based.55 But beyond merely producing legislation, a governor was also required to enforce it. Provincial governors normally travelled the extent of their territories, examining the affairs of provincial communities. The governor and his staff journeyed along an announced circuit, visiting each of the major civic communities in the province. During an average stop, the governor might examine the financial affairs and infrastructure of a city. The final area of a governor’s provincial responsibilities, which was also carried out on his assize tour, was his service as the supreme judicial arbitrator of the province.56 At each location, public tribunals were set up to hear the cases brought by the inhabitants of the surrounding district. The focus in v. 14 is particularly on the last of these responsibilities: enforcing justice. Part of the governor’s duties would have included punishing κακοποιοί.57 Here the term clearly has a judicial connotation (see further on 2.12; 4.15). Such a description sounds very similar to the tasks prescribed for a governor in Uplian’s Duties of a Proconsul (book 7): It befits a good and responsible governor to see that the province he rules is peaceful and orderly. This he will achieve without difficulty, if he works conscientiously at ridding the province of wicked men and at seeking them out to that end. For he is dutybound to search out blasphemers, robbers, hijackers, and thieves and to punish them each according to the evil he has done and to jail those who harbour them without whose help a robber cannot lie hidden for too long. (Dig. 1.18.13; trans. Watson)

55   It was common for governors to simply issue (a revised version of) an edict from a previous administration. This was particularly the case in the province of Asia, where the edict of Q. Mucius Scaevola (Pontifex), governor in 98/97 BCE, became a standard model that most either completely adopted or slightly adapted (Valerius Maximus, 8.15.6; cf. Cicero, Att. 6.1.15). 56   For a fuller treatment of the judicial responsibilities of a provincial governor, see Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter, 156–76. 57   The term ἐκδίκησις can describe the proper allotment of justice to one who has been wronged (cf. Luke 18.7–8; Acts 7.24). This appears to be the sense assigned to the word by Oecuminus, who notes, ἔδειξε δἐ καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ Πέτρος, τίσι καὶ ποίοις ἄρχουσιν ὑποτάσσεσθαι δεῖ, ὅτι τοῖς τὸ δίκαιον ἐκδικοῦσιν (PG 119:537). In this way, he limits those to whom submission should be given.



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Even though some laws provided the accused safeguard against the threat of violence,58 each governor determined the appropriate punishment for a convicted criminal at his own discretion.59 Usually, the form of punishment was dependent upon a number of factors: the nature of the crime, the social standing and legal status (e.g., free vs. slave; citizen vs. non-citizen; etc.) of the defendant,60 the personal inclinations of the governor, and even practicality (e.g., Mart. Pol. 12.2, where ad bestias execution was prevented by the fact that the games had ended). Sentences could therefore range from a fine for less serious offences to hard labour in the mines and even death for more severe criminal actions.61 The second task represents the positive side of the coin. Governors are expected to reward ἀγαθοποιοί, a term that stands opposed to κακοποιοί. It describes exceptional merit, often relating to one’s   The lex Valeria (Cicero, Rep. 2.53) and three leges Porciae (Livy 10.9.3–6; Cicero, Rep. 2.54; Rab. Perd. 4.12; Sallust, Bell. Cat. 51.21–22) protected Roman citizens from summary physical abuse as well as providing them with the opportunity to appeal a death sentence through provocatio ad populum (cf. Acts 16.35–39; 25.6–12). The same Porcian laws offered considerable protection for those who committed capital crimes. According to these regulations, a citizen could choose exile rather than face capital punishment (Sallust, Bell. Cat. 51.22, 40; cf. Cassius Dio 40.54.2; Polybius, Hist. 6.14.4–8). Nevertheless, these laws were not always followed in the treatment of suspected criminals (cf. CIL VIII 10570). 59   Whether a magistrate, using his own personal discretion, could decide the penalty in criminal cases during the latter half of the Principate has been a matter of some debate. While some have argued that imperial legislation bound the magistrates to prescribed penalties (so, e.g., De Robertis, ‘Arbitrium iudicantis e statuizioni imperiali’, 219–60), others have claimed that they possessed unfettered judicial discretion (so, e.g., Levy, Gesammelte Schriften, 2:459–90). Though the weight of the evidence tends toward the former (see Bauman, Crime and Punishment, 136–39), both sides agree that during the early Principate, judges (and especially provincial governors) had their own discretion in selecting penalties for criminal cases. 60   Aubert (‘Double Standard’, 94–133) shows that there was a three-tiered (rather than two-tiered) system of punishment during the Principate. Not only was a person’s social class (honestiores vs. humiliores) used in determining the nature of punishment, one’s legal standing (free vs. slave) also played a crucial part (cf. Rilinger, Humiliores-Honestiores). 61   On the various means of capital punishment in the Roman penal system, see Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 911–44. The assortment of punishments faced by Christians is described by Tertullian: crucifixion, beatings and lacerations, decapitation, casting to wild beasts, setting on fire, condemnation to the mines and quarries, and exile (Apol. 12.3–5; cf. 30.7; 39.6; Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 4.51). 58

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beneficence toward another.62 The overwhelming majority of occurrences appear in astrological contexts wherein the term refers to stars or planets that exert a favourable influence toward humans.63 For instance, Claudius Ptolemy notes, the ancients accepted two of the planets, Jupiter and Venus, together with the moon, as beneficent (ἀγαθοποιούς) because of their tempered nature and because they abound in the hot and the moist, and Saturn and Mars as producing effects of the opposite nature, one because of his excessive cold and the other for his excessive dryness.64

The adjective is also present in the magical papyri in connection with the beneficent practices of the gods. A fourth-century CE text, for instance, petitions Hermes with the words, ‘Come to me, lord Hermes so-and-so; do good to me (εὐεργέτησον), benefactor (ἀγαθοποιέ) of the land’ (P.Lond. I 122). Other magical papyri employ the term with reference to various rituals and spells intending to bring benefit or to achieve a positive response (PGM IV.2675, 2678, 2872). In this instance, the language of ‘doing good’ has been taken to suggest that being an ἀγαθοποιός refers specifically to exceptional acts of civic responsibility that are praised by the authorities. As far back as the early twentieth century, scholars associated these acts with a popular socio-political convention in the Hellenistic world: civic benefaction (euergetism) (see Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter). One of the first to draw this connection was Hart, who suggested that the praise (ἔπαινος) bestowed by   On this word group, see further TDNT 1:17–18; TLNT 1:1–4.   Cf. Artemidorus, Onirocriticon 4.59; PGM IV.48; XIII.1028, 1033. Authors who make use of the adjective ἀγαθοποιός in an astrological context include: Critodemus (third century BCE); Serapion of Alexander (first century CE?); Anubion (first century CE); Balbillus (first century CE); Dorotheus of Sidon (first century CE); Antiochus of Athens (second century CE); Claudius Ptolemy (second century CE); Antiginos of Nicaea (second century CE); Vettius Valens (second century CE); Maximus (second/fourth century CE?); et al. 64   Claudius Ptolemy, Tetra. 1.5.1; trans. Robbins (LCL). Cf. Plutarch, Is. Os. 42 (Mor. 368B): ‘Osiris is beneficent (ἀγαθοποιός), and his name means many things, but not least of all, an active and beneficent (ἀγαθοποιόν) power, as they put it. The other name of the god, Omphis, Hermaeus says means “benefactor” (εὐεργέτην) when interpreted’ (trans. Babbitt [LCL]). 62 63



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governors ‘is exemplified in the crowns, decrees and panegyrics with which the Greek and Jewish States rewarded their benefactors if not mere well-doers’.65 It was not until the work of Winter, however, that a fully articulated form of this theory took shape. In his initial treatment of the subject, Winter set forth the specific procedures behind the convention of euergetism in the Hellenistic world and then applied his discoveries to the text of 1 Pet 2.14–15.66 Citing various parallels in the terminology of Greek honourific inscriptions and the text of 1 Peter, he argued that the ‘good’ for which Christians would be praised and which would ultimately silence their detractors was nothing other than beneficent works that were performed on behalf of the larger citizen body. But despite an impressive number of verbal parallels with Greek honourific inscriptions, the benefaction position is insufficient to explain the various nuances—textual, historical, social, political, and economic—surrounding the use of the good works theme in 1 Peter.67 One of the major difficulties arises within the current verse. It pertains to the participants involved in the public recognition of civic benefactors. According to Winter, it was the ‘rulers’ who ‘praised and honoured those who undertook good works which benefited the city’.68 Later he identifies this group more 65   Hart 60. Others who have attached a similar referent to this verse include: Ewald 33–34; Monnier 117; Knopf 107; Gunkel 271; Moffatt 122; Selwyn 170, 173; Schwank 46; Beare 142–43; cf. van Unnik, ‘Good Works in 1 Peter’, 92; idem, ‘A Classical Parallel’, 107; Sleeper, ‘Political Responsibility’, 282–83; Jones-Haldeman, ‘The Function of Christ’s Suffering’, 141–76. 66   Winter, ‘Christian Benefactors’, 87–103, expanded in idem, Seek the Welfare of the City, 12–40. For a list of others who have suggested that these ‘good works’ would have included acts of benefaction, see Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter. 67   Many commentators have objected to understanding the ‘good works’ language in the letter (and especially this verse) as a call to perform acts of civic benefaction (e.g., Green 75; Schlosser 156; Schreiner 141; cf. Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 89 n. 153). Overall, there are three significant obstacles that prevent the theory from being an acceptable solution: the hostility with which the Petrine author expects the good deeds to be met, the lack of economic and socio-political feasibility of such a strategy, and the inappropriateness of munificent practices for the early Christian readers. These problems are discussed in further detail in Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 68–104; cf. also Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 286–89. 68   Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, 26. Cf. Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 112: ‘Giving public distinction (ἔπαινος) to benefactors is a role of the Roman ruler’ (citing van Unnik, ‘A Classical Parallel’, 107, 109).

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specifically as the civic authorities.69 In 2.14, however, the official who is said to ‘praise those who do good’ is the provincial governor (ἡγεμών). This is an important distinction for which Winter does not adequately account.70 Ordinarily gubernatorial acclaim was not the normal method by which benefactors were recognised in the Greek world.71 The cities—and, in particular, the βουλή and the δῆμος—were the ones who issued praise in the form of monuments and inscriptions, because they were the ones who experienced the benefit. If any type of gubernatorial recognition did take place, it was more often directed to the governor from the citizens (e.g., CIL III 6817; IGRR III 125; I.Ankara 35). There was some relationship between governors and wealthy citizens, but this resulted more in personal favours than in public praise. Rather than describing the recognition of civic benefactors, this verse represents a common topos on the appropriate administration of governing authorities.72 After stating that governors punished evildoers, it is natural to assume the other side of the coin, viz. that they also rewarded the good.73 In this way, the Petrine author adopts popular discourse that prescribes how gubernatorial duties should   Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, 28, 36.   Note that in translating ἡγεμών in 1 Pet 2.14, Winter renders the word ‘ruler’ (Seek the Welfare of the City, 38; cf. Spicq 103, who refers to them as ‘magistrates’). At times, the term can mean ‘ruler’ in a very general sense, denoting one who holds a preeminent position (see above). In this case, however, it must refer to the chief administrative official in a Roman province. This is evident from the fact that the ἡγεμών is sent by the emperor (2.14), something that would not be true of local civic authorities. 71   Drawing on available literary, epigraphic, and papyrological sources, Drogula (‘Office of the Provincial Governor’, 447–93) provides a list of some 1,287 references to gubernatorial activities within the Roman provinces (31 BCE to 235 CE). What is striking is that none of these examples describe a governor praising individual citizens for civic benefaction. The closest parallel is found in CIL XIII 31662, but even this is related more to personal favours than to public recognition. 72   See, e.g., Lysias, Or. 31.30; Xenophon, Mem. 3.4.8; Cyr. 1.6.20; Oec. 9.14; Diodorus Siculus 1.70.6; 5.71.1; 11.46.1; 15.1.1; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 39.2; cf. Philo, Legat. 7; Spec. 4.77; Mos. 1.154; Virt. 227; Josephus, War 6.134; Ant. 6.267. 73   Similar to Paul, the author presumes that the role of governing authorities is to correctly identify what is bad and what is good (cf. van Unnik, ‘Teaching of Good Works’, 99), though again he is less explicitly optimistic than Paul about the extent to which they fulfill this role: while Paul (rather puzzlingly) can insist that his readers have nothing to fear if they do what is good (Rom 13.3), our author makes no comment on the extent to which the governors do or do not rightly discern good 69 70



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be carried out: good works should be rewarded not punished,74 and therefore the audience should be able to expect protection from doing good.75 But, as shown by the readers’ own experience, a great distance often separates expectation (or the ideal) from reality. The key for the author is that despite the difficulties that would arise, the addressees must continue to practise good works and thus place themselves within the auspices of praise under which the governor should be working. Therefore, rather than viewing this text as an indication of the author’s optimistic expectation of a cordial relationship between the church and the Roman State,76 it is best to understand this passage as a strategic attempt to undergird the ethic toward which the author is admonishing his readers, an ethic that need not be shared by Anatolian society (see Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter). 15 ὅτι οὕτως ἐστὶν τὸ θέλημα τοῦ θεοῦ ἀγαθοποιοῦντας φιμοῦν τὴν τῶν ἀφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἀγνωσίαν, ἀγνωσίαν, A further comment about the importance and purpose of ‘doing good’ now follows. Commentators have been divided over how this statement should be understood in relation to its surrounding context. Some interpret this verse as a parenthetical comment, providing a general explanation (ὅτι) of why governors are sent ‘to praise those who do good’ (v. 14).77 This would mean that the primary thrust of the passage, which is the command to be subordinate (v. 13), is not picked back up again until v. 16, where the author describes how the readers’ obedience should be lived out. But it is probably better to see the ὅτι as connecting back to the and evil. As we saw in 1 Pet 2.12, the author hopes that outsiders will perceive the Christians’ way of life as ‘good’, and will thus offer praise and glory to God, but recognises that such true insight may not come until the eschaton. 74   As noted by Johnstone, ‘in the vast majority of cases’, this type of reward involved ‘simply the securing to them of peace and liberty’ (157). 75   Cf. Demarest 121: ‘The Apostle… speaks of governors as they should be, or of their avowed intention; not of them as they sometimes are. He is prescribing their duty, not stating facts as to the way they discharge it.’ 76   As suggested, e.g., by Kühl 162; Masterman 108; Kelly 110; Elliott 494; Jobes 176. 77   E.g., de Wette 27; Bloomfield 711; Hort 142; Monnier 118; Hart 60; Michaels 127; Elliott 494; cf. Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 352.

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opening imperative of v. 13 (ὑποτάγητε), which continues even beyond this to govern the passage in the ὡς clauses of v. 16.78 Other uses of ὅτι in 1 Peter do not entirely settle the matter: it often introduces an explanatory comment related to what has preceded (cf. 1.16; 2.21; 3.9, 12, 18; 4.1, 8, 14, 17; 5.5, 7), although in this instance that could be related to the opening imperative of v. 13, or the immediately preceding ἔπαινον δὲ ἀγαθοποιῶν. However, the logic of prior connection works much better with the imperative of v. 13, with διὰ τὸν κύριον corresponding broadly to τὸ θέλημα τοῦ θεοῦ.79 An equally important issue is whether the adverb οὕτως, which is used in this particular instance as a predicate adjective where τοῦτο might have been expected,80 refers to what precedes or what follows. Some have argued that οὕτως is retrospective (i.e., anaphoric), referring to what precedes.81 Depending on how one understands the function of ὅτι (see above), the adverb would either be representing the ‘will of God’ as subordination to governing authorities (v. 13) or as receiving recognition from governing authorities for doing good (v. 14).82 The most substantial defence of this position was provided by Hort. His argument on behalf of an anaphoric function places the focus on the common use of this form. In doing so, he points out, ‘As regards general usage, οὕτως is habitually retrospective’.83 This consideration, combined with the fact that elsewhere in 1 Peter οὕτως refers to what precedes (3.5), might seem to make the retrospective function the natural choice. Yet it is noteworthy that Hort immediately qualifies his statement on the ‘general usage’ of the form, admitting, 78   So, e.g., Steiger 2:94; Fausset 505; Alford 351; Keil 94; Usteri 106; Huther 131; Knopf 107; Hiebert 167; Achtemeier 185; Dubis 67; Watson 65. 79   Cf. Achtemeier 185. 80   On the adjectival function of οὕτως, see BDF §434(1); cf. also Ljungvik, ‘Zum Gebrauch einiger Adverbien’, 26–31. 81   Those who understand οὕτως as retrospective include: Mason 407; Huther 131; Masterman 108; Blenkin 57; Selwyn 143; Kelly 110; Beare 143; Achtemeier 185; cf. also Carter, Restored Order, 146–47. 82   Hort 143. 83   Cf. NLV: ‘Obey the head leader of the country and all other leaders over you. This pleases the Lord. Obey the men who work for them. God sends them to punish those who do wrong and to show respect to those who do right. This is what God wants’ (see also NMB, NTE).



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The only exceptions are where it (a) is followed immediately or almost immediately by a correlative particle, ὡς ([John vii.46 v.l.;] James ii.12; 1 Cor. iii.15; iv.1; ix.26bis; 2 Cor. ix.5; [? Eph. v.28, 33]), καθώς (Phil. iii.17), ὥστε (John iii.16; Acts xiv.1), [καθ ̓] ὅν τρόπον (Acts i.11; xxvii.25),—but not with ἵνα 1 Cor. ix.24 … ; or (b) introduces spoken or written words (Mt. vi.9; Lc. xix.31; Acts vii.6; xiii.34, 47; Rom. x.6; 1 Cor. xv.45; Heb. iv.4); or (c) lastly introduces a complete narrative headed by a single descriptive phrase (Mt. i.18; John xxi.1).84

Rather than strengthening his case, this list of ‘exceptions’ actually calls into question the validity of Hort’s notion of a ‘general usage’. From this list, one might naturally wonder whether οὕτως followed by an infinitive could be another ‘exception’ to this ‘rule’.85 What we discover is that elsewhere this same construction results in a prospective function for the adverb οὕτως,86 a function that might be expected given that οὗτος regularly occurs in apposition to an infinitive.87 What is more, a retrospective interpretation leaves the following clause (ἀγαθοποιοῦντας φιμοῦν τὴν τῶν ἀφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἀγνωσίαν) without any natural grammatical connection.88 It is better, then, to understand οὕτως as prospective (i.e., cataphoric), referring to what follows: ‘this is the will of God, namely, to silence the foolish talk of ignorant people by doing good’ (cf. EHV, LEB, Mounce).89 Such a cataphoric usage ‘focuses attention on how the will of God is accomplished rather than on   Hort 143.   The fact that the only other usage of οὕτως in 1 Peter functions retrospectively (3.5) actually reveals little about its usage in 2.15, because the syntax of the two verses is not the same. The presence of the infinitive (φιμοῦν) in 2.15 contributes an additional element that is not present in 3.5. 86   See Gen 29.26 (LXX): εἶπεν δὲ Λαβαν οὐκ ἔστιν οὕτως ἐν τῷ τόπῳ ἡμῶν δοῦναι τὴν νεωτέραν πρὶν ἢ τὴν πρεσβυτέραν (‘And Laban said, “This is not possible in our locality, namely, to give the younger before the older” ’). 87   See Robertson, Grammar, 700, 1078, who lists 1 Pet 2.15 as an example. Cf. Winer-Schmiedel, Grammatik, 217, who also lists 1 Pet 2.15 as an example, while providing many other examples from the classical and Koine periods. 88   Cf. Schlosser 161; Forbes 80. 89   So, e.g., Wiesinger 181; Hofmann 84; Alford 351; Cook 194; Keil 94; Monnier 118; Lenski 112; Spicq 103; Grudem 121; Bénétreau 151; Brox 115–16; Goppelt 186 n. 37; McKnight 146 n. 13; Jobes 174; Witherington 142–44; Dubis 68; Schreiner 141–42; cf. Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 352–53. 84 85

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what is accomplished’.90 In this interpretation, the infinitive φιμοῦν is epexegetical to οὕτως, and ἀγαθοποιοῦντας is a participle of means,91 with its accusative case referring back to the implied subject of the infinitive (ὑμᾶς).92 The main thought of 1 Pet 2.13–15 is for the readers to be subordinate to the Roman emperor and the provincial governors, because God wants to silence the foolish speech of detractors through the good deeds of Christians. For the author, then, it would appear that proper subordination to governing authorities was one form of ‘doing good’. The author refers to θέλημα θεοῦ on a number of occasions (also 3.17; 4.2, 19). It seems to encompass not only doing of what is good and right but also the suffering that may result (see on 3.17; cf. 2.19–21).93 In other words, the notion of God’s will here is broader than rules to be followed; it denotes rather the plans of God that are carried out in human lives. In this case, θέλημα θεοῦ refers to the silencing of detractors. The verb that is used to describe this stifling of opposition is φιμόω, which occasionally refers to the act of closing the mouth of an animal with a muzzle (Deut 25.4; Strabo, Geogr. 3.2.6; Cyranides 2.21; Pausanias, Ἀττικῶν ὀνομάτων συναγωγή Α169). More generally, it marks any way that someone is silenced. This might involve extreme measures such as filling one’s mouth with sand (T.Job 27.3) or employing the services of daimons (Josephus, War 1.607); at other times, it involves persuasive argumentation (Matt 22.34; Lucian, Peregr. 15; Inf. Gos. Thom. Rec. 1 6.2e) or even authoritative force (Sus 60; Mark 4.39). The means by which the silencing occurs in this instance is through the good works of Christians. By ‘doing good’ (ἀγαθοποιοῦντας) believers will be able to silence the expression of ‘ignorance’ (ἀγνωσία).94 In the present   Michaels 127.   Cf. Achtemeier 185; Dubis 68; Michaels 127. This is the way that virtually all translations render the participle (cf. NAB, HCSB, NASB, NIV, ESV, NET, NRSV). 92   On the use of the accusative case to explain the presence of an implied ὑμᾶς, see MHT 3:148. 93   For more on the concept of the ‘will of God’ in ancient Jewish and Christian literature, see Charles, “Volunté de Dieu”, 75–119, 145–74, 191–229, 293–311. 94   The repetition of sounds at the end of this sentence put the rhetorical abili�ties of the Petrine author on display. As Thomas and Thomas note, ‘The last three words of this line in Greek begin and end with the same sounds and repeat an 90 91



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context, ἀγνωσία is more than a ‘descriptive’ term indicating ‘an inability to understand the beliefs and practices of one religious community’.95 Further, it does not indicate a state of ignorance that can be resolved if properly informed; instead, ἀγνωσία represents a lack of understanding that arises from a person’s unconverted spiritual state.96 Prior to their conversion, the readers themselves were in a similar situation (1.14). The author is not simply excusing the actions of the opponents due to their need for conversion, however. They are portrayed as entirely culpable for their ignorance (cf. 1 Cor 15.34),97 which is expressed in wrongly judging those who ‘do good’ to be κακοποιοί. Indeed, the negative, critical view of those who make such errors is expressed in the description of them as ἄφρονες ἄνθρωποι (cf. Luke 11.40; 1 Cor 15.36; Eph 5.17). They are people who are foolish and ignorant, lacking insight. The substantival use of ἄφρων (‘fool’) is frequent in Jewish wisdom literature, describing one who stands opposed to God (Pss 13[14].1; 73.22). While internal vowel. The sound pattern highlights the strong, vivid depiction of a key point the author makes in the central section of the letter; it is further reinforced by the first two of the three words… having an equal number of syllables’ (Structure and Orality, 65). 95   Michaels 127. 96   This is similar to how the term is used in the context of ancient mystery religions, where it describes the state of an individual prior to the reception of divine revelation (i.e., lacking the necessary knowledge about spiritual realities). See, e.g., Corp. herm. 1.27: ὦ λαοί, ἄνδρες γηγενεῖς, οἱ μέλῃ καὶ ὕπνῳ ἑαυτοὺς ἐκδεδωκότες [καὶ] τῇ ἀγνωσίᾳ τοῦ θεοῦ, νήψατε, παύσασθε δὲ κραιπαλῶντες [καὶ] θελγόμενοι ὕπνῳ ἀλόγῳ (‘O people, earthly men, you who have devoted yourselves to drunkenness and sleep and ignorance of god, be sober! Stop your reveling and stop being enchanted by irrational sleep!’). See further Reitzenstein, Die hellenistischen Mysterienreligionen, 292–93; cf. also TDNT 1:118–19. 97   The culpability of this ignorance is stressed by others (e.g., Hiebert 168; Achtemeier 185 n. 81). For Beare, who reaches a similar conclusion, this interpretation is grounded in a distinction between ἀγνωσία and ἄγνοια. ‘The latter’, he claims, ‘is used of the ignorance which is a mere lack of knowledge, which is therefore pardonable and may be overlooked’; the former, on the other hand, ‘means culpable ignorance, the ignorance that shuts out and rejects knowledge which is offered; thus it involves moral delinquency’ (143; cf. Lightfoot 113). Nevertheless, it is doubtful that the terms can be differentiated like this on lexical grounds alone. There is simply too much overlap between them (see TDNT 1:116–19). The culpability of this ignorance is rather indicated by its connection to ‘fools’ (ἄφρονες).

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‘fools’ might justify their actions and avoid reproof (Prov 12.15; 15.2; 23.9; 27.22), their way of life is wrong (Prov 10.23; 13.16; 14.18, 24; 16.27) and leads to ruin (Prov 6.12; 10.21; 18.7; 22.3; 24.9). This portrayal of the opponents as ‘foolish people’ acting out of ‘ignorance’ helps to shape how we understand the nature and timing of the silencing. Many interpret the verse as meaning that the slanderous accusations levelled by detractors were expected to be brought to an end during the present age, as the opponents of Christianity observed the good deeds of believers and began to approvingly acknowledge their merit. Interpreters often stress the optimism with which the Petrine author sets forth this strategy.98 Yet, given that the author recognises that good works will not ultimately alleviate conflict (cf. 2.20; 3.14, 17), it is better to imagine that the conflict will be brought to an end only through God’s eschatological intervention.99 In this way, the verse reflects the same situation as the one mentioned in 2.12. While the outcome was previously described in relation to the opponents’ positive acknowledgment of God (δοξάσωσιν τὸν θεόν), here it depicts the cessation of their animosity towards believers (φιμοῦν τὴν τῶν ἀφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἀγνωσίαν).100 Once again, the situation that is depicted does not necessarily imply an absence of criminal accusations or judicial involvement. The author has indicated that the task of governors is to punish wrongdoing and reward what is good, without presuming that these responsibilities are always fulfilled (v. 14). In this case, the phrasing, as in v. 12, suggests that some people will (falsely) label the Christians as κακοποιοί, an action that may either remain at the level of informal hostility or take the form of formal accusations, the only   See, e.g., Best 115: ‘Perhaps the writer is a little optimistic in believing that the good deeds of Christians will end the calumnies and attacks of those who do not think of them as God’s people’. Cf. also Moffatt 123; Richard 113. 99   Cf. Donelson 74. 100   Selwyn (173) proposed that the phrase φιμοῦν τὴν τῶν ἀφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἀγνωσίαν represents a quotation from the Theodotion version of Prov 26.10, which reads, καὶ φιμῶν ἄφρονα, φιμοῖ χόλους (‘and the one who silences a foolish person, silences anger’). He bases this hypothesis on the possibility that Theodotion may have been from Asia and that this form of the proverb may have therefore been in circulation across Asia Minor. Ultimately, however, this theory has too many contingencies to merit serious consideration. 98



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legitimate route (at least following Trajan’s rescript to Pliny [Ep. 10.97]) by which Christians could generally be prosecuted.101 16 ὡς ἐλεύθεροι καὶ μὴ ὡς ἐπικάλυμμα ἔχοντες τῆς κακίας τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἀλλ᾿ ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι. δοῦλοι. Since this verse does not begin with a conjunction, and it lacks a main verb, questions arise about how it relates (grammatically) to its literary context. It may be attached either to what precedes or to what follows,102 and could be punctuated to reflect either possibility.103 A few interpreters have understood the clause in connection with v. 17, claiming that it provides the motivation for (‘since you are free’) or the explanation of how to carry out (‘as free people’) the commands that are listed.104 The difficulty is that the use of one’s freedom, which is the subject of v. 16, is not relevant as an introduction to the specific injunctions found in v. 17, as though some issue related to the former would have impacted the readers’ ability/propensity to carry out the latter. For this reason, most connect the verse with what precedes. Some have drawn a connection to ἀγαθοποιοῦντας in v. 15.105 In this case, v. 16 would delineate the manner in which the readers were expected to ‘do good’. But if this were the case, ‘we would 101   See Introduction: Socio-Historical Context. Cf. also Exegesis at 3.15–16; 4.15–16. 102   Some believe that the adjective (ἐλεύθεροι) and the participle (ἔχοντες) are functioning independently, and thus they assign both an imperatival force: ‘live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a covering for evil’ (see Moffatt 123; Beare 143–44; Miller 209; Charles 322–23; Donelson 71 n. c; cf. also Giesen, ‘Lebenszeugnis in der Fremde’, 391). This is the approach adopted by many modern translations (e.g., NRSV, NIV, NASB, HCSB, GNT, NCV). Others supply an imperative with adjective ἐλεύθεροι while treating the participle ἔχοντες adverbially, ‘live as free people, not using your freedom as a cover for evil’ (NET, NAB, ESV). But not only does this completely disconnect the clause from its surroundings (cf. Forbes 81), it introduces a new imperatival idea when one can be supplied from the context. 103   Based on its usage elsewhere in the epistle, the particle ὡς would support either connection (cf. 1.14 and 2.2, looking forwards; 2.11 and 5.2–3, where the verb of appeal precedes it). 104   See, e.g., Steiger 2:95–96; Jachmann 146; Plumptre 115; Fronmüller 41; Michaels 128; cf. also Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 200–207. 105   As suggested, e.g., by Pott 84; Wiesinger 182–83; Alford 352; Hofmann 85; Hart 60; Hiebert 173 n. 28; Elliott 495–96; Vinson 117; Osborne 191–92; Vahrenshorst 118.

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expect the substantives ἐλεύθεροι, ἔχοντες, and δοῦλοι to be in the accusative case in agreement with the implied ὑμᾶς that is the referent of the participle and the subject of the infinitive’.106 Connecting ὡς ἐλεύθεροι back to the headline ὑποτάγητε (v. 13) would seem to be the most natural construal, and one that makes good exegetical sense, qualifying and explaining the manner in which subordination is to be practised: ‘be subordinate… as free people’ (cf. CSB, CJB).107 This does not mean that some connection with v. 17 cannot also be seen, though this is secondary to the link with ὑποτάγητε; the final verse of this section spells out in both general and specific terms what kind of behaviour this stance of subordination, exercised by people who are (with regard to earthly authorities) free, will entail.108 To insist that the readers, despite being called to subordination (not obedience; see on v. 13), are ἐλεύθεροι is to give them a status most obviously in contrast to that of δοῦλοι, a comparison invited by the vocabulary of the verse itself (see below).109 Indeed, just as Paul insists that ὁ… ἐν κυρίῳ κληθεὶς δοῦλος ἀπελεύθερος κυρίου ἐστίν (1 Cor 7.22a), so too it may have been especially resonant to slaves among the addressees (such as the οἰκέται addressed in 2.18) to be told that they were ἐλεύθεροι. Since οἰκέται are presumably included within those designated as ἐλεύθεροι it makes little sense to take this latter term as denoting ‘the social and legal status of the   Dubis 68; cf. Plumptre 115.   This reflects the majority view within scholarship, both among an earlier generation of commentators (e.g., Bengel 59; Gerhard 259–60; de Wette 27–28; Schott 141; Johnstone 159–60; Huther 131–32; Usteri 107; Hort 145; Monnier 119) and more recent interpreters (e.g., Selwyn 173; Marshall 85; Knoch 75; Brox 122; Achtemeier 186; Senior 69; Watson 65; Schlosser 161–62; Schreiner 143; Keener 171 n. 212; cf. also Légasse, ‘La soumission aux autorités’, 382; Lambrecht, ‘Christian Freedom’, 323). See also Horn, ‘Vom Missbrauch’, 90, who suggests that the primary connection is with v. 13, but that a secondary connection is made with ἀγαθοποιοῦντας in v. 15. 108   Michaels (121) translates the verse as if the main connection were with v. 17, but sees a grammatical connection with v. 13 as well as v. 17: ‘Once it is recognized that the four imperatives of v 17 resume and expand on the single imperative of v 13, a better alternative presents itself. The connection of v 16 with the ὑποτάγητε of v 13 is most easily maintained not by suppressing its connection with v 17 but precisely by emphasizing it.’ 109   See also the examples from the papyri cited in MM 203. 106 107



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specific persons here addressed’.110 Neither is it adequate to describe this statement as a theological declaration,111 except in the sense that the status as ‘free’ is matched by, and in a way based on, the corresponding insistence that they are θεοῦ δοῦλοι (just as Paul uses such theological categories to counterbalance the corresponding socio-political position: the verse quoted above continues, ὁμοίως ὁ ἐλεύθερος κληθεὶς δοῦλός ἐστιν Χριστοῦ, 1 Cor 7.22b).112 The subtle political edge to the designation ἐλεύθερος should not be missed. It is inadequate and insufficiently related to the context to suggest that the author ‘has in mind not political or social freedom…but freedom in Christ from the “ignorance” (1:14) and “darkness” (2:9) of paganism’.113 Given the governing imperative, ὑποτάγητε, it is much more likely the case that the author is emphasising that, despite the duty to be subordinate to all people in ways appropriate to their role, they are nonetheless, in terms of their relationship to such human authorities, fundamentally free, and that it is (only) as such free people that they practise such subordination. That has political as well as theological resonance for all the addressees, who are residents in provinces under the imperial domination of Rome. Just as the designation of the emperor as a ‘human   Elliott 496. Elliott cites Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 192, in support of this point (though wrongly referred to here, and on p. 495, as R. P. Martin), but Martin is more cautious in suggesting only that the term ‘has political connotations’ (192) and that ‘[o]ur author in 2:16 likens his readers to free men’. 111   Since the term ἐλεύθερος only appears in the Synoptic Gospels at Matt 17.24–27, which involves Peter and the payment of the Temple tax, Tellbe (‘Temple Tax’, 41) suggests that this ‘freedom’ might relate to lack of responsibility toward Jewish cultic regulations. But aside from the questionable basis upon which this thesis rests, it is further undermined by the fact that Tellbe imagines that ‘there is a tradition behind the letter that predates 70 CE and that goes back to the apostle Peter’ (38). On the problems with this assumption, see Introduction: Authorship. 112   See Martin, Slavery as Salvation, 63–68. 113   Michaels 128; cf. also Carter, Restored Order, 148–50. Some define this ἐλευθερία as freedom from sin (e.g., Demarest 122; Johnstone 160–61) or freedom from the Mosaic law (e.g., Heupler 621). See also Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 349, who reads this verse as an echo of the words of Jesus found in Matt 17.27. After being asked about paying taxes and stating that ἐλεύθεροί εἰσιν οἱ υἱοί (‘the children are free’, v. 26), Jesus sends Peter to procure money through a fishing expedition so as to avoid offending political sensibilities (v. 27: ἵνα δὲ μὴ σκανδαλίσωμεν αὐτούς). 110

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creature’ likely represents subtle resistance to the claims of imperial power and cult (2.13), so too the insistence that Christians are ‘free’, even while (choosing) to subordinate themselves within imperial and social structures, embodies a measured but significant opposition to the declarations of empire. Despite the claims expressed in Roman architecture, texts, coins, and so on, that ‘the whole world’ has been subjected to Rome,114 the author insists that these particular inhabitants of the provinces of Asia Minor are ‘free people’, and only voluntarily subject to their imperial dominus. Just as the description of the addressees as παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους (2.11; cf. 1.1) gives them an identity that estranges them from the empire, so the declaration that they are ἐλεύθεροι characterises and circumscribes their political loyalty. This is indeed a theologically grounded freedom, but one which equally has political relevance. However, the author immediately proceeds to qualify this statement by setting forth the implications of this freedom and explaining how it should be lived out. The grammatical construction of the verse indicates that the contrast is not (technically) between ἐλεύθερος and δοῦλος, despite how the verse is commonly understood. The second ὡς in the sentence should thus be connected with ἔχοντες, which functions as a substantival participle (‘those who use’),115 and not the ἐπικάλυμμα.116 To balance this antithetical clause, ὄντες (functioning as a substantival participle) must be supplied to ἀλλ᾿ ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι (‘but those who live as slaves of God’; cf. ESV).117 114   Prominent examples include Augustus’ Res Gestae, which were inscribed on imperial temples in Asia Minor (notably in Ancyra) and in Rome, and which open by declaring ‘the acts of the Deified Augustus by which he placed the whole world under the sovereignty of the Roman people (Rērum gestārum dīvī Augusti, quibus orbem terra[rum] īmperio populi Rom[ani] subiēcit)’ (trans. Shipley [LCL]). For representations of conquered peoples, see, e.g., Smith, ‘Simulacra Gentium’, 50–77. Specifically related to the context of Galatia, see further Kahl, Galatians Re-imagined. 115   Many translations render the participle ἔχοντες with an imperatival force, ‘do not use your freedom’ (cf. NRSV, NIV, HCSB, CEV, NASB, GNT, NCV). However, since the focus in the previous clause is on the identity of the readers (ὡς ἐλεύθεροι, ‘as free people’) rather that their actions, it is best understood as substantival. 116   Cf. Alford 352; Mason 407; Johnstone 161; Hort 145; Monnier 119. 117   Some supply an understood ἔχοντες in connection with ἀλλ᾿ ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι, ‘but using it as slaves of God’ (cf. NASB, EHV, GW). This, however, requires not only that the verbal element be supplied but also the direct object (ἐλευθερίαν).



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This means that the contrast (μή… ἀλλ᾿) is between free persons who use their freedom as cover for evil and free persons who live as slaves of God.118 The specific purpose of this contrast is indicated by καί. Rather than carrying a contrastive force (‘and yet…’),119 the conjunction functions epexegetically (‘as free people, that is, not as those who use…’), indicating that the μή… ἀλλ᾿ clause further defines what it means to be ‘free’.120 Such a definition serves to emphasise that the ultimate purpose of freedom is theocentric, not anthropocentric. In other words, the author stresses that Christian freedom is not afforded to individuals so that they can use it for their own selfish pleasures, fulfilling any desires that were constrained by the absence of freedom; instead, the focus of freedom is godward, in that freedom provides believers the opportunity to serve God in a way that would not have been possible otherwise. As is typical in the author’s style, he first explains how this freedom should not be lived out and then gives its positive basis. Free persons are not to use their freedom as a ‘cover’ (ἐπικάλυμμα) under which they may do what is evil (κακία—the same root as in the compound κακοποιός, and listed as a vice in 2.1). The term ἐπικάλυμμα is a relatively rare word that describes a type of covering (cf. κάλυμμα, a covering or veil) used to conceal something. It is often found in biological descriptions where it denotes a structure that covers an aperture or orifice. This might include the eyelid of a human (Aristotle, De an. 422a) or the gills of a fish (Hist. an. 505a) or the operculum of a crustacean (Hist. an. 527b). The term might also represent an artificial covering of human construction (Exod 26.14; 39.21; 2 Sam 17.19). At times, however, ἐπικάλυμμα took on a metaphorical sense in which it describes actions that mask certain activities (Job 19.29 [‘be afraid of a cover-up’, NETS]; Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 2.22.6; Paed. 2.10.96) or that conceal the truth of a given situation (Heliodorus, Aeth. 1.25). A pertinent parallel is found in a fragment of Menander: πλοῦτος δὲ πολλῶν ἐπικάλυμμ’ ἐστὶ κακῶν, ‘wealth is a cover-up for many evils’ (Frag. 90). Clearly, given the author’s insistence that Christians must be people who do good and not evil, any use of freedom as an excuse for what the   See further Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 200–201 with n. 222.   As suggested, e.g., by Michaels 129. 120   Cf. Huther 132; Kühl 164; Knopf 109; Dubis 69; see also Horn, ‘Vom Missbrauch’, 90. 118 119

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author regards as evil121 would be unthinkable—though given this declaration of freedom, it is not surprising that he wishes to make this clear (cf. Rom 6.1–23). The final phrase of the verse, ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι, forms the positive counterpart to the preceding clause, marked as in contrast to it by ἀλλά. It is as God’s slaves (cf. Rom 6.18–22; 1 Cor 6.19–20; 7.23) that they stand as free in the political and social realm, and as such that they practice the expected forms of social subordination. As Michaels notes, the placement of this short phrase in the final position draws emphasis to it, ‘decisively qualifying ἐλεύθεροι’, and establishing the basis on which the readers act, not only in ‘being subordinate’ but also in the specific instructions that follow in v. 17.122 By portraying the readers as θεοῦ δοῦλοι, the author draws from the imagery of ancient slavery to inform their situation. In doing so, he seeks to shape their identity in important ways.123 In some cases, ancient slaves were sold into the possession of a god(dess) with the result that they were bound to a particular sanctuary or its land (and referred to as ἱερόδουλος).124 But even in connection with the 121   The reference to κακία would certainly include any of the criminal acts for which a governor might punish individuals, including the types of accusations commonly levelled at Christians (see 1 Pet 4.15–16; cf. Horn, ‘Vom Missbrauch’, 91–92). Nevertheless, in this particular instance, the wickedness of the acts in question seem to be defined by the Petrine author more so than legal standards (cf. 1 Pet 2.1, where κακία is used alongside other Christian vices). This is clear from the temptation that is addressed: whereas the introduction of Christian freedom might lead some to pursue acts that overstepped prior moral standards (e.g., dietary or sexual [1 Cor 6.12–20]), it is more difficult to imagine that one would immediately feel at liberty to participate in illegal activity (e.g., murder). 122   Michaels 128–29. 123   Cf. Hunt 527: ‘Whereas the addressees have been used to thinking of themselves as Romans or Jews or Galatians, the slave of this one, the wife of that one, the devotee of this deity, this letter attempts to redraw the boundaries such that, while still functioning in some of those capacities, the people he is writing to begin to make salient their identity as the chosen slaves of God’. 124   On ‘temple slaves’ in the Greek world, see Debord, ‘L’esclavage sacré’, 135–50. A similar phenomenon is found in Jewish inscriptions from the nearby Bosphorus Kingdom, where obligations of manumitted slaves appear to have been transferred from their masters to the Jewish house of prayer. See CIRB 70: ‘I, Chreste, former wife of Drusus, in the prayerhouse set my slave Heraklas free (ἀφείημι… ἐλεύθερον) once and for all according to my vow, [to be] unassailable and undisturbed by any heir, to go wherever he should want without restraint just



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manumission process, the participation of a deity was commonly involved. When this occurs, it is described as sacral manumission.125 This is generally thought to involve a fictive sale or consecration, wherein the ownership and service of a slave was transferred from a human master to a god(dess); nevertheless, the god(dess) does not enforce his or her rights over the slave, thus granting the slave freedom. By creating a relationship with a god(dess), the process was intended to prevent others from taking advantage of the slave’s newly manumitted status and forcing him/her back into bondage.126 In this letter, the Petrine author has already established that the readers have been ‘ransomed’ from their former lives by the blood of Christ (1.18–19), and now as θεοῦ δοῦλοι they belonged to God. Rather than providing these slaves with complete autonomy, this new relationship demands that they live according to the standards of God. Another aspect that is informed by the ancient practice of slavery is the seemingly paradoxical status of one who is both ἐλεύθερος (v. 16) and δοῦλος (v. 17). In sacral manumission contracts, it is common to find a paramone clause (from παραμένειν, ‘to stay’) after the declaration of freedom. A manumission inscription from Delphi is typical in its formulation: … on these conditions Kleomantis son of Dion dedicates the sale of Eisias for the purpose of freedom (ἐπ᾽ ἐλευθερίᾳ), for the price of two silver minae. Guarantor, according to the laws of the polis: Aiakides son of Eukleides. Let Eisias remain (παραμεινάτω) with Kleomantis as long as he lives, doing everything that is ordered as a slave (ὡς δούλα). Should Eisias not remain and not do what is ordered, let Kleomantis have the

as I vowed, except for submissiveness and service to the prayerhouse’ (χωρὶς ἰς τὴν προσευχὴν θωπείας τε καὶ προσκαρτερήσεως)’ (trans. Gibson). Cf. also CIRB 71, 73; SEG 43:510. For more on the possible interpretations of these inscriptions, see Gibson, Jewish Manumission Inscriptions, 124–52. 125   See further Zelnick-Abramovitz, Not Wholly Free, 86–99. Three types or categories of such transactions have been defined: the fictive dedication or consecration of a slave to a god, the fictive sale of a slave to a god, and the general protection that a god provides to a (former) slave. For this taxonomy, see Calderini, La manomissione, 94–95. 126   Cf. Motte, L’expression du sacré, 128; Caneva and Pizzi, ‘Given to a Deity?’, 170–72.

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This clause stipulates that a slave was required to fulfill certain obligations following manumission. Such requirements might include anything from providing other slaves as replacements (SGDI 1717) to maintaining a gravesite (SGDI 1775, 1796, 1801, 1807) to learning a particular trade (SGDI 1899, 1904); but most commonly the paramone clause stipulated that a slave continue in the service of his or her master for an allotted time-period (usually until the death of the master). The complexity of this situation has created difficulty for modern scholars seeking to define the status of these manumitted slaves, with some arguing that they remained in the same servile status128 and others claiming that they were no longer under the legal ownership of anyone.129 Rather than representing the situation of slaves according to binary categories (i.e., one is either a slave or free), it is better to envision some overlap in these statuses such that freedom could be the possession of a slave without that freedom being fully realised.130 That is, manumitted slaves under a paramone condition were bound by obligation to their former master, but were free in relation to all other people. This is clear in an inscription from Tithora, which notes that ‘Nikasin and Stroge will remain with (παρμενεῖ) Anasiphoros to serve (δουλεύουσαι) for as long as he lives, but let them be free in relation to all others (τοῖς δὲ λοιποῖς ἐλεύθεραι ἔστων)’ (IG IX,1 194; cf. IG IX,1 192; IG IX,12 3:754). In the same way, the readers of 1 Peter are portrayed as unbound   FD III 3:329 (trans. Zelnick-Abramovitz). For more on the paramone clause in manumission contracts, see Adams, Paramoné und verwandte Texte. 128   Advocates of this position include: Mitteis, Reichsrecht und Volksrecht, 387–88; Beauchet, Le droit de famille, 495–96; Bloch, Die Freilassungsbedingungen, 30; Sosin, ‘Manumission with Paramone’, 325–81. 129   Proponents of this view include: Bömer, Die sogenannte sakrale Freilassung, 40; Samuel, ‘Role of Paramone Clauses’, 221–29; Waldstein, Operae Libertorum, 93–101; Canevaro and Lewis, ‘Khoris Oikountes’, 109. 130   Cf. Koschaker, Über einige griechische Rechtsurkunden, 46–49; Westermann, ‘Between Slavery and Freedom’, 213–27; Kränzlein, ‘Bemerkungen zu den griechischen Freilassungsinschriften’, 237–47; Zelnick-Abramovitz, ‘Status of Slaves Manumitted’, 377–401. 127



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by any obligation to outsiders (including the emperor), but as slaves of God they are obligated to do what is right (in God’s eyes), including fulfilling what are deemed to be proper socio-political responsibilities. 17 πάντας τιμήσατε, τιμήσατε, τὴν ἀδελφότητα ἀγαπᾶτε, ἀγαπᾶτε, τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε,, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε. φοβεῖσθε τιμᾶτε. Before turning to address specific groups in detail (2.18–3.7), the author concludes the present section (2.13–17) with four imperatival forms connected by asyndeton, giving the verse a kind of staccato effect.131 The words πᾶς and βασιλεύς form something of an inclusio with v. 13,132 and a connection with the immediately preceding verse is apparent in the sense that it is precisely as the free people who are God’s slaves that they are to conduct themselves in the manner now specified.133 The question that has long been debated is, how do the four commands relate to one another? What makes this question difficult is the fact that the first command is an aorist imperative, while the subsequent forms are all present tense. After surveying this problem, some interpreters have concluded that there is no meaningful (or recognisable) difference between the aorist and present imperatives in 1 Pet 2.17.134 Working from this assumption, a large number of scholars have shifted the focus away from the syntax of the verse and onto its structure, specifically the claim that the four injunctions in 2.17 form a chiasmus (A-B-B′-A′).135 Support for this contention derives from the fact that v. 17a and v. 17d contain forms of   For more on this verse, see Horrell, ‘ “Honor everyone …” ’, 192–212.   So Elliott 485, 497. 133   Cf. Michaels 130. 134   Those who have (explicitly) argued against a meaningful distinction between the tenses in this verse include: Schelkle 77 n. 1; Grudem 122–23; Schreiner 144–45; cf. Moule, Idiom Book, 21; Neal, ‘In the Original Greek’, 12–13. Others have attributed these differences either to the erosion of the classical distinction between aorist and present tenses (e.g., Bigg 116, 142; Kelly 112; Davids 103 n. 14), or to an accidental mistake by the author (e.g., Huther 134), or even to the author’s literary ineptitude (e.g., MHT 3:128). 135   Argued most cogently by Bammel, ‘Commands in I Peter II.17’, 279–81. This view has subsequently adopted by many others as well (e.g., Kelly 112; Bénétreau 153; Brox 122–23; Elliott 497; Witherington 146; Dubis 69–70; Schlosser 158; Osborne 192; cf. also Combrink, ‘Structure of 1 Peter’, 40–41, 131 132

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the same verb (τιμάω), constituting a kind of inclusio pattern. The problem that few have sufficiently acknowledged, however, is that the middle portion of this proposed chiasmus (v. 17b [τὴν ἀδελφότητα ἀγαπᾶτε] and v. 17c [τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε]) is not actually parallel.136 Beyond this, the larger difficulty for the chiasmus position is the fact that the tense variation in this passage appears to represent intentionality on the part of the Petrine author. This is a crucial consideration for which proponents of the chiastic view have not adequately accounted.137 In the NT, contrary to earlier periods in Greek literature, the aorist imperative appears quite frequently. What grammarians have discovered with regard to this corpus is that tense usage is often the result of personal style and idiolect among individual authors. ‘In the imperative’, Robertson notes, ‘different writers will prefer a different tense. One writer is more fond of the aorist, another of the present.’138 Noteworthy is the fact that the aorist imperative is the preferred choice of the Petrine author; he employs it—rather than the present-tense imperative, which is more common in NT epistolary literature—approximately eighty percent of the time.139 The question then is not so much why he uses the aorist imperative in 2.17, but why he shifts immediately to three present-tense imperatives in a set of closely connected injunctions. It is this question 56; Schröger, Gemeinde im 1. Petrusbrief, 131–37; Légasse, ‘La soumission aux autorités’, 384; Carter, Restored Order, 152). Windisch (64) identifies it as a ‘vierzeilige Sentenz’, divided into two ‘Doppelzeiler’. 136   As pointed out by Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 120 n. 71. 137   Bammel attempts to explain the tense variations in 1 Pet 2.17 by stating that, ‘the imperative aorist is used as a synecdoche to stress the effectiveness of the expected acts’ (‘Commands in I Peter II.17’, 280). He then cites other instances where a string of commands is begun with one tense form and then is carried on by another (cf. 2 Tim 4.5; Herm. Mand. 8.2–6). However, Bammel does not give due consideration to the aspectual differences between the aorist and present tense forms of the imperative, nor to the individual tense-preferences of the Petrine author. 138   Robertson, Grammar, 856. 139   The author of 1 Peter employs the aorist imperative 25 times (1 Pet 1.13, 15, 17, 22; 2.2, 13, 17; 3.10, 11 [×4], 15; 4.1, 7 [×2]; 5.2, 5 [×2], 6, 8 [×2], 9, 12, 14); whereas the present imperative is found 10 times (2.17 [×3]; 3.3; 4.12, 13, 15, 16 [×2], 19). Grammarians have long noted the unusual pattern of aspectual usage with regard to the imperatives in 1 Peter (see MHT 1:174; Robertson, Grammar, 856; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, 79; MHT 3:77).



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that the chiastic interpretation fails to answer, and it is here that we must focus closer attention.140 The treatment of this issue has resulted in a variety of grammatical fallacies.141 One of the most common has been the tendency to distinguish between the aorist and present imperatives on the basis of Aktionsart (i.e., kind of action). According to this view, the present tense (in its very essence) expresses durative or iterative action (‘continue doing’), while the aorist (in its very essence) represents punctiliar or instantaneous action (‘do’ or ‘begin to do’).142 When the imperatives in 1 Pet 2.17 are approached from this perspective, commentators suggest that the tense shift represents alternative types of action, for example, ‘Take up once for all (aorist imperative) as a permanent stance the attitude of respect for all. In practice this works out as continuously (present imperative) loving the brotherhood of believers, fearing God, and honoring the king.’143 140   For example, it was common for older commentators to claim that the aorist imperative in 1 Pet 2.17 (τιμήσατε) made the command more emphatic or more forceful (see Johnstone 164; Hort 146; Masterman 109–10). 141   As a way of alleviating this grammatical difficulty, Wilson (‘Text of I Peter II.17’, 193–94) has proposed amending πάντας τιμήσατε to πάντας ποιήσατε and connecting the reading with the latter half of v. 16 (ὡς θεοῦ δοῦλοι); hence, ‘do all things as slaves of God’. As ingenious as this solution is, however, its basis in conjecture rather than any actual evidence from the textual record rules it out as a plausible option. 142   This distinction represents much older scholarship on the subject. It is found, for instance, in works such as: Burton, Moods and Tenses, 75; Stahl, Syntax des griechischen Verbums, 74; MHT 1:122–26; Radermacher, Grammatik, 154; BDF §335; MHT 4:74–78. 143   Hillyer 80. See also Keil 95; Selwyn 174; Michaels 130; cf. Goldstein, ‘Die politischen Paränesen’, 100. Another example of this type of grammatical mistake can be found in the treatment of Achtemeier. Concerning the relationship between the aorist and present imperatives, he suggests, ‘Perhaps the first imperative was attracted to the aorist tense of v. 13, while the remaining three indicate the author’s intention that such activity become a regular and repeated part of the Christian life’ (187–88; cf. Lenski 113; Picirilli 151). Aside from the problem of attributing intentionality to the last three imperatival tense-forms but not the first (see also Forbes 82), Achtemeier falls into the trap of interpreting these commands on the basis of Aktionsart, and thus he assumes that the present imperatives must express durative or iterative action (cf. also Sisson, ‘Rhetoric and Philosophy’, 317). Concerning this assumption, we might ask: Was ascribing honour to all people (v. 17a) not also intended to be a regular part of the Christian life? Did the author seek to minimise the frequency or regularity of this practice by employing the aorist tense? Such questions expose the weakness of this type of approach.

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The problem with this approach becomes evident when we recognise that grammarians have now shown that the difference between the two tense-forms is best explained by verbal aspect, not Aktionsart.144 For this reason, a proper perspective on the present and aorist-tense imperatives found in 1 Pet 2.17 begins with an accurate understanding of their aspectual distinction. Present and aorist imperatives, as noted by Fanning, are ‘viewpoint aspects’. That is, they ‘picture the occurrence either from an internal perspective, focusing on the course of internal details of the occurrence but with no focus on the end-points (present), or from an external perspective, seeing the occurrence as a whole from beginning to end without focus on the internal details which may be involved (aorist)’.145 Within these broad parameters, each tense can function in a number of (overlapping) ways.146 Therefore, contextual factors—among other considerations—are important for judging a command’s specific usage.147 In 1 Pet 2.17, two contextual factors are determinative. First, the sudden shift from an aorist imperative to three present-tense imperatives in an asyndetic construction suggests that the initial command may, in some way, be distinct from those that follow.148 This inference is confirmed by the second consideration, viz. the   See Porter, Verbal Aspect, 335–63.   Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 326. Cf. McKay, ‘Imperatival Constructions’, 206–207: ‘In the imperative the essential difference between the aorist and the imperfective [i.e., present] is that the former urges an activity as whole action and the latter urges it as on-going process’. 146   Scholars have demonstrated that the aorist and present imperatives can be employed in identical contexts and can carry a wide variety of overlapping meanings; for instance, it is possible for an aorist imperative to describe a durative action, while a present imperative can just as easily express a punctiliar notion. On this evidence, see Donovan, ‘Greek Jussives’, 145–49; Naylor, ‘Prohibitions in Greek’, 26–30; Poutsma, Over de tempora van de imperativus, 30–41. 147   Cf. Voelz, ‘Present and Aorist Imperatives’, 49–54. On the verbal aspect of present and aorist imperatives, see Campbell, Non-Indicative Verbs, 79–95. 148   The objections raised against this view largely focus on questions about whether the latter three instructions can plausibly be seen as specific instantiations of the first (see Beare 144; Feldmeier 164 n. 44; Donelson 75). But there is no reason why loving the community of Christians, reverencing God, and honouring the emperor cannot all be seen as appropriate expressions of the broad and general expectation that the Christians will act in ways that are honourable. For answers to the objections commonly raised against this position, see Snyder, ‘1 Peter 2:17’, 213–15. 144 145



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specificity of the objects. Given the fact that the aorist imperative is modified by a general object (πάντας), whereas the objects of the three present imperatives are more specific (ἀδελφότητα, θεόν, βασιλέα), it would appear that the author is making a distinction between the aorist imperative and the following present imperatives. The most natural conclusion that can be drawn from this is that the initial command, based on the unmarked tense-form of the aorist, is a more general, overarching injunction that is further specified by the three following directives,149 each containing the more heavily marked present tense-form specifying particular instances of how the general command should be carried out; thus, ‘give due honour to all: love to the brotherhood, reverence to God, honour to the emperor’ (cf. REB, NCV, CJB, DLNT).150 The initial injunction, πάντας τιμήσατε, highlights the importance of honour as a central cultural value.151 A variety of meanings have been assigned to the term τιμάω,152 but the most likely sense is that one should treat others with the necessary honour and respect that arises from one’s relationship with them (cf. Rom 13.7).153 Elliott cites a notable parallel in Plutarch where the ‘knowledge of what is noble (τὸ καλόν) and what is shameful (τὸ αἰσχρόν)’, which philosophy can enable one to attain, entails a wide range of modes of appropriate relationship among different groups: 149   This structure is reversed by Miller, who places ‘the first three as separate, and arranged in climactic order, with the fourth standing by itself’ (211; cf. Mason 407). But this is to disregard the differences in tense forms. 150   Others who have reached this same conclusion include: Alford 352; Knopf 109; Blenkin 58; Hiebert 170; McKnight 149 n. 24; Jobes 177; Charles 323; Warden 130; see also Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 204; Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 120 n. 71; Lambrecht, ‘Christian Freedom’, 321. Also notable as a point in favour of this interpretation is the (rather later) rendering of Theophylact, Expositio in Epist. 1. Pet. 363 [PG 125:1216]: πάντας τιμήσατε, τὴν ἀδελφότητα μὲν ἀγαπῶντες, τὸν δὲ θεὸν φοβούμενοι, τὸν βασιλέα τιμῶντες. A little later, Theophylact also cites the verse exactly as it appears in our text, indicating that he knew it in this form, but understood it in the sense suggested by his paraphrase. 151   For its prominence in 1 Peter, see Elliott, ‘Disgraced yet Graced’; idem, Conflict, Community, and Honor. 152   E.g., de Wette (28) claims that in this verse τιμάω is equivalent to ὑποτάσσω, and Bengel (59) understands the verb to denote a polite or courteous treatment. The former sense is too forceful, while the latter is too weak. 153   Cf. Alford 352; Bennett 217.

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1 PETER to reverence the gods (θεοὺς μὲν σέβασθαι), to honour one’s parents (γονέας δὲ τιμᾶν), to respect one’s elders, to be obedient to the laws, to yield to those in authority (ἄρχουσιν ὑπείκειν), to love one’s friends (φίλους ἀγαπᾶν), to be chaste with women, to be affectionate with children, and not to be overbearing with slaves (De lib. ed. 10 [Mor. 7D–E]; trans. Babbitt [LCL]).

This command is intended to extend across a broad spectrum, including anyone with whom the audience comes into contact.154 Some find it difficult, however, to imagine that the injunction might include one’s duty to honour God, a duty which would be specifically enacted through the offering of reverence or worship.155 Yet, in the Jewish scriptures, there is sufficient indication that an appropriately worshipful and reverent relationship to God might be described as ‘honouring’ God (e.g., 1 Sam 2.30; 15.30; Dan 11.38–39). There are also plenty of instances in the NT where an appropriate relationship towards God is described in terms of offering ‘honour’ (John 5.23; Rom 1.21; 2.23; 1 Cor 6.20; 1 Tim 1.17; 6.16; Rev 4.11; 5.13; also Did. 4.1).156 More generally, offering appropriate honour to others—whether divine or human— is depicted as the proper pattern of conduct, not least in Jewish texts written in Greek (e.g., Wis 14.15 [for gods], 14.17 [for a king]; Sir 3.3, 5, 8 [for one’s father]). Following this headline command, the other instructions are represented as specific instances of relating to others in a way that honours them. The first specific injunction is τὴν ἀδελφότητα ἀγαπᾶτε. As is generally the case in the NT, with the (important) exceptions of Matt 5.44//Luke 6.27; Luke 6.35; and 1 Thess 3.12, the command to show love in human relationships is something   Noting that the context is focused on the Christian response to those in authority, some have argued that the referent of πάντας is much more limited. For instance, Macknight contends that since ‘the adjective πάντας hath no substantive expressed, the word to be supplied is not ἀνθρώπους men but ἄρχοντες, all having dignity or power’ (461; cf. Hensler 110; Demarest 123). This limitation is unwarranted, however. 155   See Kelly 112. 156   Elliott, ‘Disgraced yet Graced’, 174, includes δόξα within the semantic field of honour. In the LXX, both δοξάζω and τιμάω are used to render ‫( כבד‬see Abbott-Smith, Lexicon, 121, 445). τιμή can be included in doxologies, as in 154

1 Tim 6.16 and Rev 5.13.



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primarily directed towards fellow Christians. This is certainly the focus in 1 Peter (1.22; 3.8; 4.8; 5.14).157 That this could go handin-hand with an exhortation to honour one another is shown by Rom 12.10. Also common in early Christian literature, especially in Paul’s letters, is the designation of fellow Christians as ἀδελφοί.158 In 1 Peter, this label is used only once in relation to an individual (5.12); the conviction that the community members constitute a group of siblings is expressed using the substantive ἀδελφότης (also in 5.9) and by denoting the kind of love they should share for one another as φιλαδελφία (1.22; cf. 3.8). It was common in later Greek to use the suffix -οτης with adjectives and substantives to form an abstract noun.159 But ἀδελφότης is rather uncommon, especially prior to 1 Peter. When it does appear, it is used in an abstract sense of the familial affection that brothers (or sisters) display towards one another (cf. 1 Macc 12.10, 17; 4 Macc 13.19, 27; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 38.15, 45).160 Its occurrence here may constitute the first time that it is employed in a concrete sense to denote a community of ἀδελφοί, ‘the brotherhood’ (cf. 1 Clem. 2.4).161 In subsequent Christian literature, the term becomes common as a designation for the Christian community.162 With this   See Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity, 105–16, who sees ἀγάπη as the centre of 1 Peter’s ethic, arguing that this exclusive love is one of few points of difference between early Christian and Stoic ethics, with the latter expressing a more universal concern. 158   See further Horrell, ‘From ἀδελφοί to οἶκος θεοῦ’, 293–311, repr. in Making of Christian Morality, 75–96; Aasgaard, Christian Siblingship in Paul. 159   See MHT 2:367; Robertson, Grammar, 154; BDF §110(1). 160   The same term is also attested in the second century BCE, where the cities of Plarasa/Aphrodisias, Kibyra, and Tabai swear oaths not to oppose one another or the Romans. In this agreement, their mutuality is stressed as they recount that they ‘made blood-offerings for their natural alliance, eternal concord, and brotherhood (ἀδελφότητος) with each other’ (IAph2007 8.210; trans. Reynolds, Aphrodisias and Rome, doc. 1). 161   The more concrete sense is probably also evident in three occurrences in 4 Maccabees (9.23; 10.3, 15). Nevertheless, the date of 4 Maccabees is uncertain, and may well be roughly contemporaneous with 1 Peter (for a date of ca. 90–100 CE, see Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 449; Klauck, 4. Makkabäerbuch, 668–69). Earlier, Perdelwitz set forth the proposal that the term was influenced by the Mithraic cult (Mysterienreligion, 79–80); but this has correctly been rejected by most (cf. Kelly 112–13; Achtemeier 188 n. 109). 162   See, e.g., 1 Clem. 2.4; Pol. Phil. 10.1 (extant only in Latin at this point: fraternitatis amatores). Later, the word may be used to denote the Christian 157

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brief injunction, the author therefore seeks to reinforce the ‘internal cohesion’ and ‘distinctive collective identity’ of the Christian communities, encouraging bonds of love and commitment among the members.163 The second specific command indicates how the addressees are to honour God: τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε. In this context, the meaning of φοβέομαι, as with the Latin timeo, is well captured by Louw– Nida: ‘to have profound reverence and respect for deity, with the implication of awe bordering on fear—“to reverence, to worship” ’.164 In Jewish and Christian literature, various persons and things are commanded to be the object of fear.165 Yet the command to ‘fear the Lord/God’ is by far the most frequent, representing a fundamental and central requirement for the people of God.166 Again, the author of 1 Peter expresses this duty concisely, though not in any specifically striking or innovative way—except insofar as it is distinguished from obligations towards the king/emperor (see below). The final injunction, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε, repeats the verb used in the opening summary instruction. The present tense (τιμᾶτε) indicates that the responsibility to honour the emperor is not marked out as a duty of exceptional importance, as though it eclipsed all other forms of allegiance; instead, the command is one specific instance of the general exhortation to ‘show due honour to all people’ (v. 17a); the emperor is afforded no more privileged loyalty than his position demands. Taken together with the previous phrase, this gives a carefully worded and nuanced indication of the Christians’ responsibilities towards God and the emperor; less enigmatic community in general, the local congregation (as in Eusebius Hist. eccl. 6.45.1), or a religious or monastic community, or as a form of address to members of councils, groups of bishops or clergy (see PGL 31). 163   Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 270; cf. 107, 140, et passim. See also Beare 145. 164   Louw–Nida, Lexicon §53.58. Cf. also BDAG 1061 §2; MM 673 (5399 §2); TDNT 9:189–219. 165   E.g., parents (Lev 19.3); doing evil (1 En. 101.1); the bishop (Ign. Eph. 6.1); the works of the devil (Herm. Mand. 7.3); the mark of the cross (Acts Andr. Mth. 29.4). 166   See Josh 24.14; 1 Sam 12.24; 1 Chr 16.30; Pss 21.24[23]; 32.8; 33.10[9]; 66.8[7]; Prov 3.7; 24.21; Eccl 5.6; 12.13; Sir 7.31; Zeph 3.7; T.Zeb. 10.5; T.Dan 6.1; T.Ben. 3.3; T.Sol. A 5.9; 17.4; Matt 10.28; Luke 12.5; Rev 14.7; 2 Clem. 5.4; Herm. Mand. 1.2; 7.1, 4; 12.6.3; Prot. Jas. 9.2.



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than Mark 12.17 and par., and more critically equivocal in urging loyalty and submission than Paul (Rom 13.1–7; see Exegesis on 2.13–14). Commentators have long noted the influence of Prov 24.21167 (φοβοῦ τὸν θεόν… καὶ βασιλέα) at this point.168 Yet, given this parallel, the author’s use of two different verbs to distinguish responsibility towards God and emperor is significant and (one must assume) deliberate (cf. Sir 7.31, which distinguishes God and priests in the same way).169 A strikingly similar distinction appears in an exhortation found in some rescensions of the Lives of Aesop: ‘Child, above all, worship the deity, honour the emperor, and prepare yourself for your enemies, lest they despise you’ (Τέκνον, πρὸ πάντων σέβου τὸ θεῖον, τὸν βασιλέα δὲ τίμα· καὶ τοῖς μὲν ἐχθροῖς σου δεινὸν σεαυτὸν παρασκεύαζε, ἵνα μὴ καταφρονῶσί σου).170 While honour can also be appropriately directed towards God (or the gods), the author denotes φόβος as the required attitude, avoiding this in the case of the emperor.171 When this topic is addressed, most scholars demarcate a clear boundary between acceptable and non-acceptable expressions of honouring the emperor, with the latter being defined as any action that compromises one’s subordination to the will of God (cf. Acts 5.29).172 However, the usual sense of limits on the honour that might   E.g., Horneius 81; Plumptre 116; Hort 146.   Theophilus of Antioch interestingly renders the phrase Τίμα… θεὸν καὶ βασιλέα, in a context where, heavily influenced by 1 Pet 2.17, he insists that the emperor should be honoured, not worshipped, since God alone should be worshipped (Ad Auto. 1.11; see Grant, Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum, 14–17). 169   Noted also by Windisch 64. Brox (123) does not see any critical significance in the verbal distinction drawn here, nor any critical stance towards the emperor expressed in vv. 13–14. By contrast, Spörri (Gemeindegedanke, 94) rightly notes how in 2.17 the Petrine author breaks the ultimate authority of the State, if only ‘delicately’ (zart). 170   Vitae Aesopi, Vita Pl vel Accursiana (sub auctore Maximo Planude) (Recensio 1), p. 288; cf. also: ἄκουσον τῶν ἐμῶν λόγων, Ἥλιε, δι’ ὧν καὶ πρότερον παιδευθεὶς οὐκ ἀληθῆ μοι τὰς χάριτας ἀπέδωκας· πρῶτον μὲν θεὸν σέβου, βασιλέα τίμα· τὸ κρατοῦν ἰσόθεον. (Vitae Aesopi, Vita G, 109). 171   On the emotion of ‘fear’ in 1 Peter, see Exegesis on 1.17. 172   See Bennett 218: ‘if claims to obedience conflict, the fear due to God would override the honour due to the emperor’. Cf. also Benson 223; Davids 104; Achtemeier 184–88; Schreiner 138. 167 168

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be shown to the emperor has been challenged by Carter, who points out that there were only a limited number of ways that one could ‘honour the emperor’ in the Imperial era, the most fundamental being through cultic sacrifice.173 Carter argues that when 1 Peter encourages its readers τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε, this is a call to ‘go all the way’, including active participation in the imperial cults. This, Carter maintains, is a survival strategy that involves simultaneously (and secretly) reverencing Christ as Lord in their hearts, and as such, represents a kind of hidden resistance. What this means is that the strategy of the epistle is one of accommodation—at least in terms of appearances. The proposal of Carter is valuable both in grappling with the ways that 1 Peter seeks to offer a survival strategy in difficult circumstances and in attempting to answer the question of what, in practical terms, ‘honouring’ the emperor might entail. Nonetheless, there are significant difficulties with the argument that the letter calls its readers to full participation in the imperial cults and in honouring the emperor through sacrifice or prayer—even if it is just an outward response unreflective of inner conviction.174 To start, the procedure followed by Pliny (Ep. 10.96) indicates his awareness that making an offering to the emperor is precisely what Christians are known to refuse to do.175 The letter itself calls its readers to maintain a distinctive Christian commitment, including non-participation in certain social and religious activities (1 Pet 1.14, 18; 4.3–4). Further�more, the distinction between ‘worshipping’ and ‘honouring’ the emperor is repeated in martyrdom accounts, where the protagonists are executed despite their willingness to do the latter (see further below). How far a dualism between cultic honouring of the emperor 173   Carter, ‘Going All the Way?’, 17–33. Others have followed this interpretation (e.g., Bird, Abuse, Power and Fearful Obedience, 81–83; Loader, New Testament on Sexuality, 413; Kloppenborg, ‘Associations, Christ Groups’, 47–49). 174   For more extended critical engagement with Carter’s proposal, see Horrell, ‘Between Conformity and Resistance’, 134–37; idem, Becoming Christian, 231–34; Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 206–209; du Toit, ‘Practising Idolatry in 1 Peter’, 411–30. 175   Carter (‘Going All the Way?’, 25) uses Pliny’s evidence to suggest that some Christians did ‘go all the way’ in thus honouring the emperor. How many apostasised in this way is difficult to know; but Pliny’s conviction that a true Christian will not do this and his sentencing of Christians to execution adds to the improbability that 1 Peter is commending precisely this course of action.



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and inner reverence for Christ resists the dominant hegemony is also open to question.176 How, then, would Christians who were unwilling to participate in cultic devotion to the emperor fulfill this command to display honour in a way that recognises the emperor’s position and yet shows ‘worship’ only to God? In the literature from the Greek world, it is rare to find a βασιλεύς depicted as ‘receiving’ honour. More often, the king was the one who extended honour to those of inferior status (cf. Herodotus, Hist. 7.135; Xenophon, Anab. 1.9.4; Diodorus Siculus 9.35.2; Chariton, Chaer. 5.6.1). When honour was directed toward a king, it was normally received from a higher source (cf. Homer, Il. 11.46; Theocritus, Id. 17; Parthenius, Narrationes amatoriae 32.3). In a few instances, however, kings are honoured by their subjects with gifts and riches (Diodorus Siculus 2.3.2; 17.24.3), with a commitment to observe their customs (Plutarch, Them. 27.4), or with statues (Polybius, Hist. 18.16.1). The clearest way in which the early Christians sought to honour the emperor was in following the Jewish practice of offering prayers for his welfare (1 Tim 2.2; 1 Clem. 60.4–61.2; Pol. Phil. 12.3).177 Tertullian, for example, stresses that Christians pray for the emperor and for the stability of the empire, while at the same time refusing to swear by the emperor’s genius (Apol. 30.1–32.1), ‘to offer sacrifice for the well-being of the emperor’ (Apol. 28.2; cf. 10.1), or to participate in imperial festivals (Apol. 35.1–5).178 Beyond this, Christians might potentially demonstrate their loyalty by erecting an inscription to the emperor or even dedicating a public structure on his behalf, though this level of economic activity is unlikely in the time of 1 Peter.179   See Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter, 207–208, drawing on Mitchell, ‘Everyday Metaphors of Power’, 545–77. An effective strategy of hegemonic discourse is the construction of what appear to be areas of autonomous action, but that both mask the extent to which persons/groups are subjugated and represent the institutional requirements of the empire (carried out by the body) as unassailable. 177   Cf. Davids 104; Elliott 500–501; Schlosser 159. On the Jewish practice of offering prayers and sacrifices for the emperor’s welfare, see Ezra 6.10; 1 Macc 7.33; m. ’Abot 3.2; Philo, Legat. 157, 232, 279–80, 356; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 2.76–78. 178   See also Origen, Cels. 7.64–66; 8.64. 179   On these possible forms of activity, see Harland, ‘Honouring the Emperor’, 115. The economic feasibility of some of the activities suggested by Harland might be questioned, however (see Williams, ‘Benefiting the Community’, 147–95). 176

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Many scholars see this verse as evidence against the idea that the letter reflects any ‘official’ or imperial persecution, or expresses any critical stance towards Rome (see Introduction: Socio-Historical Context). Bechtler, for example, puts it clearly: the one passage in the letter in which the emperor is explicitly mentioned—2.13–17—tells against imperial persecution. Here the letter enjoins fear of God and honor of the emperor in a single breath and commands subjection to the emperor as ὑπερέχων. Nor does 1 Peter elsewhere exhibit the kind of hostility to, or at least wariness of, Rome to be expected in a document dealing with imperial persecution.180

Yet evidence from Christian sources in the second century and beyond suggests otherwise, indicating that 2.13–17, and v. 17 in particular, fit rather well into a setting where a measured but conscious resistance to imperial demands is required, including the specific context of trials, such as those described by Pliny (Ep. 10.96).181 Indeed, without confrontation with the imperium as part of its context, the precise wording of 1 Pet 2.17 lacks a Sitz im Leben. The distinction between ‘honouring’ Caesar but ‘worshipping’ or ‘fearing’ only God is frequently reiterated in later martyrdom accounts and apologies.182 These references indicate something of the influence of 1 Pet 2.17. They do not necessarily prove that 1 Peter reflects a similar situation, where Christians are facing trials and martyrdom for their faith. But the wording of 2.17 certainly cannot 180   Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 50. Cf. Elliott 502: ‘this passage [2.13–17] offers strong incidental support for the conclusion that Rome played no discernible role in the hostility and sufferings encountered by the addressees’; see also Michaels lxiii. 181   Cf. Michl 127: ‘diese Unterscheidung… ist vielleicht getroffen wegen der bereits aufkommenden Vergötzung des Kaisers’. Caulley sees resistance to imperial cults here and elsewhere in 1 Peter, but diagnoses the suffering evidenced in the letter as ‘not official persecution’ but ‘unofficial, spontaneous abuse of these Christians by their neighbors’ (‘Title Christianos’, 204). 182   See Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter. Examples of this distinction from later martyrdom accounts and apologies include: Mart. Pol. 10.1–2; Act. Scil. 8–9; Mart. Apollonius 6, 37, Tatian Or. 4, Theophilus, Ad Auto. 1.11; Tertullian, Ad. Scap. 2.6–8; Scorp. 14.2–3; more broadly Apol. 29–36.



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be used against this view. In fact, the rather careful distinction it draws—a distinction that represented a polite but firm resistance to imperial demands that was sufficient to warrant condemnation and execution—lends weight to the view that 1 Peter is already aware of this dimension to Christian suffering, and formulates what would prove to be a precise stance with regard to imperial demands, and one that would characterise the mainstream Church’s response henceforth. Summary In this first section of concrete and specific ethical instruction, the author has introduced the theme of subordination, and related it particularly to the Christians’ duties with reference to governing authorities. This demand for subordination raises difficult issues for modern readers, in relation to the State as well as in the contexts of household and marriage, although with regard to the State it is less unconditionally expressed than Paul’s notorious instruction in Rom 13.1–7. Indeed, the perceived duty to respect and accept the authority of earthly rulers has from the beginning required a challenging act of negotiation and balance on the part of Christians, as well as Jews and others (cf. Acts 5.29). But as well as exercising a certain critical distance towards this ancient pattern of ethical instruction, we should also recognise that the author of 1 Peter sets this call for subordination in the context of instruction that at the same time expresses some critical distance in relation to the imperium, not least in his depiction of the emperor as a ‘human creature’, his insistence on the Christians’ freedom, and his stance of cautious resistance that will still prove sufficiently rebellious to incur the death penalty. There is no good reason to conclude that this passage could only have been written at a time when there was no perceived opposition from Rome. On the contrary, the measured critique and carefully articulated duties fit well—as the later martyr accounts and apologies show—into a context where precisely such a threat is a reality. The concluding set of instructions concisely given in 2.17 encapsulate remarkably well the essential aspects of the author’s social strategy and teaching and, in so doing, express in nuce some of the main contours of Christian ethical responsibility. Beneath an overall requirement to act honourably towards all, the author issues

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the fundamental requirement to reverence (only) God, to exhibit familial love towards fellow Christians, and to treat the emperor and his authorities with respect, yet without offering worship— a stance of ‘polite resistance’ that would find resonance in the accounts of Christians facing trials and martyrdom in the immediately following centuries.

I N S T R U C T IO N S T O S L A V E S THROUGH A N A P P E AL T O T H E E X A MPL E OF CHRI ST (2.18–25)

Initial Bibliography Paul J. Achtemeier, ‘Suffering Servant and Suffering Christ in 1 Peter’, in The Future of Christology: Essays in Honor of Leander E. Keck, ed. Abraham J. Malherbe and Wayne A. Meeks (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 176–88; Jan H. Barkhuizen, ‘Betekenis en funksie van 1 Petrus 2:21b–25’, Acta Patristica et Byzantina 17 (2006): 86–99; John H. Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward “In His Steps”: Following Jesus from Rome to Raymond and Beyond. The Tradition, Redaction, and Reception of 1 Peter 2:18–25’, in Discipleship in the New Testament, ed. Fernando F. Segovia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 184–208; Volker Gäckle, ‘Jesus, the Slaves, and the Servant(s) in 1 Peter 2:18–25’, in Isaiah’s Servants in Early Judaism and Christianity: The Isaian Servant and the Exegetical Formation of Community Identity, ed. Michael A. Lyons and Jacob Stromberg, WUNT 2/554 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 273–93; Gudrun Guttenberger, ‘ “Teilhabe am Leiden Christi”. Zur Identitätskonstruktion im Ersten Petrusbrief’, in Der Erste Petrusbrief. Frühchristliche Identität im Wandel, ed. Martin Ebner, Gerd Häfner, and Konrad Huber, QD 269 (Freiburg: Herder, 2015), 100–25; David G. Horrell, ‘The Image of Jesus in 1 Peter and its Paradigmatic Significance: Sociological and Psychological Correlations’, in Jesus - Gestalt und Gestaltungen. Rezeptionen des Galiläers in Wissenschaft, Kirche und Gesellschaft. Festschrift für Gerd Theissen zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Petra von Gemünden, David G. Horrell, and Max Küchler, NTOA 100 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 299–315; idem, ‘Jesus Remembered in 1 Peter? Early Jesus Traditions, Isaiah 53, and 1 Peter 2.21–25’, in James, 1 & 2 Peter, and Early Jesus Traditions, ed. Alicia J. Batten and John S. Kloppenborg, LNTS 478 (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 123–50; Danielle Jodoin, ‘Au cœur de la dispersion, un appel personnel à la suite du Christ: lecture narratologique de 1 P 2,18–25’, LTP 65 (2009): 515–30; Valentin N. Kapambu, ‘La portée de χάρις en 1 P 2,20c’, Teresianum 54 (2003): 423–44; Thomas P. Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering: A Source-Critical and Theological Study of 1 Peter 2,21–25’, Bib 64 (1983): 381–408; Hermann Patsch, ‘Zum alttestamentlichen Hintergrund von Römer 4,25 und 1. Petrus 2,24’, ZNW 60 (1969): 273–79; Sharon Clark Pearson, The Christological and Rhetorical Properties of 1 Peter, Studies in Bible and Early Christianity 45 (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 2001), 115–51; François Vouga, ‘Textproduktion durch Zitation. Ist der Erste Petrusbrief der Autor

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der Gottesknechtslieder (1 Petr 2,21–25)?’, in Was ist ein Text? Alttestamentliche, ägyptologische und altorientalische Perspektiven, ed. Ludwig Morenz and Stefan Schorch, BZAW 362 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007), 353–64; idem, ‘Christ, le Serviteur souffrant (1 Pierre 2,21–25)’, in Analyse narrative et Bible: Deuxième colloque international du RRENAB, Louvain-la-Neuve, avril 2004, ed. Camille Focant and André Wénin, BEThL 191 (Leuven: Peeters, 2005), 167–79; Chris L. de Wet, ‘The Discourse of the Suffering Slave in 1 Peter’, Ekklesiastikos Pharos 95 (2013): 15–24; Travis B. Williams, ‘Reciprocity and Suffering in 1 Peter 2,19–20: Reading χάρις in Its Ancient Social Context’, Bib 97 (2016): 421–39; Christian Wolff, ‘In der Nachfolge des leidenden Christus. Exegetische Überlegungen zur Sklavenparänese I Petr 2,18–25’, in Exegese vor Ort. Festschrift für Peter Welten zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Christl Maier, Rüdiger Liwak, Klaus-Peter Jörns (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2001), 427–39.

Text Οἱ οἰκέται ὑποτασσόμενοι ἐν παντὶ φόβῳ τοῖς δεσπόταις(a), οὐ μόνον τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς καὶ ἐπιεικέσιν ἀλλὰ καὶ(b) τοῖς σκολιοῖς. σκολιοῖς. 19 τοῦτο γὰρ χάρις(c), εἰ διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ(d) ὑποφέρει τις λύπας πάσχων ἀδίκως. ἀδίκως. 20 ποῖον γὰρ κλέος, κλέος, εἰ ἁμαρτάνοντες καὶ κολαφιζόμενοι(e) ὑπομενεῖτε(f); ἀλλ᾿ εἰ ἀγαθοποιοῦντες καὶ πάσχοντες ὑπομενεῖτε, ὑπομενεῖτε, τοῦτο χάρις παρὰ θεῷ. θεῷ. 21 εἰς (g) τοῦτο γὰρ ἐκλήθητε, ἐκλήθητε, ὅτι καὶ Χριστὸς ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν ὑμῖν(h) ὑπολιμπάνων ὑπογραμμόν, ὑπογραμμόν, ἵνα ἐπακολουθήσητε τοῖς ἴχνεσιν αὐτοῦ, αὐτοῦ, 22 ὃς ἁμαρτίαν οὐκ ἐποίησεν οὐδὲ εὑρέθη δόλος ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτοῦ 23 ὃς λοιδορούμενος οὐκ ἀντελοιδόρει, ἀντελοιδόρει, πάσχων οὐκ ἠπείλει, ἠπείλει, παρεδίδου δὲ τῷ κρίνοντι δικαίως(i), 24 ὃς τὰς ἁμαρτίας ὑμῶν(j) αὐτὸς ἀνήνεγκεν ἐν τῷ σώματι αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὸ ξύλον, ξύλον, ἵνα ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ἀπογενόμενοι τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ ζήσωμεν(k), οὗ τῷ μώλωπι(l) ἰάθητε ἰάθητε.. 25 ἦτε γὰρ ὡς πρόβατα (m) πλανώμενα , ἀλλ᾿ ἐπεστράφητε(n) νῦν ἐπὶ τὸν ποιμένα καὶ ἐπίσκοπον τῶν ψυχῶν ὑμῶν. ὑμῶν. 18

(a) After δεσπόταις, the possessive pronoun (ὑμῶν) is added by ‫ א‬as well as numerous ancient versions (co, syp, geo, slav, eth). The Latin Vulgate, Syriac Harklensian and Armenian follow the vast majority of Greek MSS in omitting it. (b) The omission of καί in this instance (P72, 69, 81, 614, 2464, samss) is the more difficult reading in that its absence causes a rougher correlation, stylistically, than does the longer reading (οὐ μόνον… ἀλλὰ καί), and thus it has been defended by a few commentators (e.g., Michaels 133 n. b; Achtemeier 189 n. 3). Nevertheless, as seen through genealogical relationships in the textual tradition, the omission represents an involuntary change that likely



2.18–25

775

occurred on several occasions throughout the history of transmission (see Strutwolf, ‘Scribal Practices’, 148–49). (c) Various forms of clarifying supplements are added to χάρις at this point (see ECM 140): παρὰ τῷ θεῷ (C, 323, 1243, 1739, 1852), παρὰ θεῷ (Ψ, 436, 2344, 2541), θεοῦ (5, 623, 2805), θεῷ (467, 1848, 2464), in each case making clear that the ‘favour’ or ‘credit’ is in the sight of God (not the slave-owners). The text without these additions is found in P72, ‫א‬, A, B, etc. (d) P72 and 81 read ἀγαθήν between συνείδησιν and θεοῦ (cf. συνείδησιν θεοῦ ἀγαθήν: A*, 33, 2344), while C, Ψ, etc., read συνείδησιν ἀγαθήν and omit θεοῦ (pace Kelly 117, who claims that καθαράν is the adjective that is inserted). Such variants reflect the ‘difficulty of interpreting the expression συνείδησιν θεοῦ, a collocation that occurs only here in the New Testament’ (Metzger, TCGNT, 619). (e) In place of κολαφιζόμενοι, which describes a specific form of punishment involving beating with one’s hand/fist, some witnesses (P72, ‫א‬2, Ψ, 323, 1739, etc.) employ the more general term for abuse, κολαζόμενοι (a reading preferred by Grotius 83 and Semler 130). The former, however, not only has a stronger external pedigree (‫*א‬, A, B, C, 81, 623, 1852, Byz, etc.), but is easier to explain through transcriptional probability: either the change resulted from unintentional scribal error caused by the similarity of the terms (so, e.g., Michaels 134 n. d; Achtemeier 189 n. 5), or it was an intentional alteration aimed at broadening the type of suffering envisioned (and thus its applicability). (f) While some important witnesses read the present tense ὑπομένετε (P72, 2 ‫ א‬, Ψ, 323, 1739, Cyr, Dam—similarly with the second instance of the same verb, see ECM 141), the future form (ὑπομενεῖτε), which is also strongly attested (‫*א‬, A, B, C, etc.), is the lectio difficilior here (see Michaels 134 n. e; Dubis 75). This is because εἰ with the future is comparatively rare in the NT (though, see, e.g., Matt 26.33//Mark 14.29).1 (g) The reading ἔπαθεν is supported by a weighty group of ancient witnesses (P72, A, B, Cvid, 81, 323, 1739, 1852, 2718, Byz, vg, syh, co), and for this reason, it is generally adopted in most editions (e.g., Griesbach, Lachmann, Tischendorf, NA28) and commentaries (e.g., Kelly 119; Schelkle 81 n. 2; Goppelt 202; Brox 135; Jobes 201; Osborne 200; Schreiner 157 n. 136). Nevertheless, there is something to be said for the alternative, ἀπέθανεν (defended by Wohlenberg 77), whose external support should not be ignored (P81, ‫א‬, Ψ, 5, 468, 623, 2464, syp, arm, Cyr, Dam)—even if, in the end, certain internal considerations tip the scales in favour of the former. While ἔπαθεν could have been introduced to better relate to the audience’s situation, this seems difficult to reconcile with the fact that πάσχειν + ὑπέρ is nowhere else employed in the NT (although, see Ign. Smyrn. 6.2; Acts Thom. 25.3) 1   Note, however, BDF §372.1.c: εἰ with the future is often used in the papyri ‘for veiled threats and the like’ (p. 190).

776

1 PETER

to represent Christ’s suffering (cf. Acts 9.16; Phil 1.29; 2 Thess 1.5, where it describes Christian suffering). By contrast, ἀποθανεῖν + ὑπέρ is common with reference to the death of Christ (Rom 5.6–8; 14.15; 1 Cor 15.3; 2 Cor 5.14–15; 1 Thess 5.10; cf. John 11.50–51; 18.14). Such an early credal formula and dominant pattern of Christian expression suggests that scribes would have been more likely to introduce ἀπέθανεν than ἔπαθεν.2 P72, A, and 1735 read περί in place of ὑπέρ (possibly on analogy with 3.18), but the weight of evidence strongly favours ὑπέρ here (cf. Wachtel, Byzantinische Text, 248). (h) Various permutations of these two pronouns are represented in the MS tradition, with different word-order and variation between ὑμῶν/ἡμῶν and ὑμῖν/ἡμῖν (see ECM 142–43). The combination of first-person pronouns (ἡμῶν, ἡμῖν), which has only very meagre support (1243, 2344, 2718, 2805, Cyr, et al.), was defended by some earlier commentators (e.g., Benson 226–27; Macknight 463; Wiesinger 192; Schott 153–54; Hofmann 91). Yet, this reading represents the most inclusive option, and thus the one most naturally preferred by scribes. More difficult is the combination of first- and secondperson pronouns (ἡμῶν, ὑμῖν), a reading reflected in the texts of Scholz and Tischendorf (33, 323, 623, 2464, 2541, Byz). This option is sometimes said to represent a ‘harshness’ that the other two readings were attempting to remove (Bloomfield 713). But this reading, too, seems to be impacted by a desire to make the suffering/death (ἔπαθεν/ἀπέθανεν) of Christ inclusive (‘for us’ rather than ‘for you’). Given the proclivity of scribes toward such inclusiveness, the two second-person pronouns (ὑμῶν, ὑμῖν), reflected in a number of important witnesses (P72, P81, ‫א‬, A, B, Ψ, 81, 1739, 1852, syh), actually provide the most difficult (and therefore, most likely) option (cf. Davids 109 n. 11; Schreiner 157 n. 136). (i) Interestingly, a number of Latin (and later Georgian) sources—Clement of Alexandria (Adumbr.), Cyprian (Ad Quirinium 3.39; De Non Patientiae 9), and the Latin Vulgate (and K [Old Carthaginian] text)—read iudicanti se iniuste (= τῷ κρίνοντι αὐτὸν ἀδίκως), which gives a completely different meaning to this clause (possibly under the influence of v. 19).3 The one to whom Christ handed himself over was not God—whom he trusted to judge justly—but his earthly judge (presumably Pilate is in view) who condemned him unjustly. Thus, in the Knox translation (which was made from the 2   Achtemeier 189 n. 9; Elliott 524; Feldmeier 166; Green 81 n. 47; Donelson 80 n. g; Schlosser 164 n. d; cf. Wachtel, Byzantinische Text, 247; idem, ‘External Criteria’, 118–21. 3   Cf. Goppelt 212 n. 63, who records this variant as occurring in six lectionaries (though this is not indicated in ECM 144) and suggests that it ‘may well have come about quite early through an inadvertent approximation to the end of v. 19’. Note also that Harnack (Zur Revision der Prinzipien, 89–90) argued for the originality of this reading.



2.18–25

777

Vulgate), the phrase is rendered, he ‘gave himself up into the hands of injustice’. While there are no grounds at all for taking this reading as original (cf. Beare 149), it does exploit the range of meaning possible given the fact that the identity of ὁ κρίνων is unspecified here (see Exegesis at 2.23). (j) The majority of MSS and versions, including P81, ‫א‬, A, C, K, L, P, Ψ, 33, 1739, have ἡμῶν at this point, which is the reading found in NA28. Alternatively, several manuscripts (P72, B, 621*, 1595, 1729) have ὑμῶν, a reading now supported by C-S (n‐netn\nobe), which adds significant weight to the early evidence.4 Confusion between first- and second-person plural pronouns occurs at a number of points in the letter, and in this verse, we also have the conjunction of first- and second-person plural verbs (ζήσωμεν… ἰάθητε). Isaiah 53.4 LXX has ἁμαρτίας ἡμῶν (cf. v. 11: ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν; v. 12: ἁμαρτίας πολλῶν), and this is also the usual form of such expressions in the NT (1 Cor 15.3; Gal 1.4; 1 John 2.2; 4.10; Rev 1.5). The reading ἡμῶν would also create congruence with the first-person verb ζησωμεν in the purpose clause that follows (see Michaels 134 n. i; Schlosser 164 n. g). All this provides reasons why an improvement from ὑμῶν to ἡμῶν might have been made, and as such, it indicates that ὑμῶν is the lectio difficilior (cf. Achtemeier 190 n. 13; Forbes 92; pace Schreiner 161 n. 148, who claims that the first-person plural is the more difficult reading). It is possible that ὑμῶν is simply a mistake, with scribes hearing a letter (or word) incorrectly due to itacism. However, the evidence from the textual tradition of 1 Peter seems to indicate that changes between the first- and second-person pronouns normally represent intentional alterations.5 Consequently, there seems to be good grounds—especially given the early MS attestation—to favour the secondperson pronoun.

4   See Bethge, ‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes’, 262 (despite the translation of Willis, ‘The Letter of Peter’, 177 [‘our sins’], noting that other Sahidic Coptic MSS differ from C-S at this point). 5   One would assume—all things being equal—that if textual variation between the first- and second-person plural pronouns (ἡμεῖς and ὑμεῖς, along with their declinations) were caused by unintentional scribal confusion of ὑ and ἡ due to itacism, then the evidence should be randomly distributed between places where liturgical concerns and/or doctrinal matters are at stake as well as places where there are none. But that is not what is found in the manuscript record of 1 Peter (as can now be examined in ECM). When the evidence is weighed in order to determine whether a reading invites intentional alteration on confessional or theological grounds, certain trends are discernible. Little to no variation appears in instances where alteration would have created either a nonsensical contextual reading (e.g., 1 Pet 1.13: ἀναζωσάμενοι τὰς ὀσφύας τῆς διανοίας ὑμῶν; 2.12: τὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἔχοντες καλήν; 3.2: ἐποπτεύσαντες τὴν ἐν φόβῳ ἁγνὴν ἀναστροφὴν ὑμῶν; 3.15: κύριον δὲ τὸν Χριστὸν ἁγιάσατε ἐν ταῖς καρδίαις ὑμῶν; 5.7: πᾶσαν τὴν μέριμναν ὑμῶν ἐπιρίψαντες; 5.12:

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1 PETER

(k) There is strong support for ζήσωμεν as the initial reading (P72, P81, ‫א‬, A, B, Ψ, 5, etc.), but it is interesting at least to note the reading of C (συνζήσωμεν [sic]; cf. συζήσωμεν in 323, 1241, 1739, 2298, 2718), which perhaps reflects the influence of Pauline language (see Rom 6.8; 2 Tim 2.11). None of the recorded variants uses the second-person plural form, which is notable in view of the following ἰάθητε. (l) Some witnesses (‫*א‬, P, 436, Byz, sy) include the pronoun ἀυτοῦ after μώλωπι. This reading became established in the TR and was thus preferred by many commentators of an earlier generation (e.g., Steiger 2:135; de Wette 31; Wordsworth 57; Wiesinger 199; Schott 173–74; Hofmann 96). Defenders often pointed to the fact that the inclusion of the pronoun made for a more difficult reading—the relative pronoun οὗ causing ἀυτοῦ to be superfluous. Nevertheless, as the manuscript evidence for the omission has mounted over the decades (P72, P81vid, ‫א‬2, A, B, C, Ψ, etc.), opinions have shifted (early supporters of the omission: Usteri 112 n. 1; Johnstone xvi; Huther 103; Kühl 177 n. 1; Monnier 133 n. 1; Bigg 149). Aside from the external testimony, ἀυτοῦ is a predictable addition due to its presence in the text of Isa 54.5 (LXX). (m) Both the TR and the Majority Text read the neuter accusative participle πλανώμενα, which would be connected (adjectivally) to πρόβατα, stressing the image of the straying animal (‘you were like wandering sheep’). The strength of its external testimony (P72, C, Ψ, 33, 81, 323, 436, 1739, 1852, 2344, 2541, Byz) has led some, particularly older commentators, to adopt this reading (e.g., Steiger 2:137; Bloomfield 714; Wordsworth 58). Most modern commentators, however, prefer the nominative masculine participle πλανώμενοι (e.g., Michaels 134 n. l; Elliott 537), which is supported by various ancient witnesses (‫א‬, A, B, 5, 623, 1735, 2464, sy, PsDion) whose testimony is almost as compelling as the former. According to this reading, the participle would function periphrastically (ἦτε…πλανώμενοι), emphasising the readers’ act of wandering (‘you were wandering like sheep’). Both are possible on internal grounds. While it is uncommon to find adjectival modifiers connected to the substantive πρόβατον, it does occur,6 and sheep ὑμῖν … ἔγραψα) or a nonsensical syntactical reading (e.g., 1 Pet 4.1: καὶ ὑμεῖς τὴν αὐτὴν ἔννοιαν ὁπλίσασθε). On the other hand, a large amount of textual variation is found in verses where doctrinal issues or liturgical concerns are more prominent (e.g., 1 Pet 2.21: Χριστὸς ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν/ἡμῶν; 3.21: ὑμᾶς/ἡμᾶς ἀντίτυπον νῦν σῴζει βάπτισμα; 5.10: ὁ καλέσας ὑμᾶς/ἡμᾶς). This suggests that while itacistic errors arising out of faulty hearing and/or pronunciation probably did occur in antiquity, this phenomenon may not have been as prevalent as intentional alteration due to the theological or liturgical proclivity of scribes. 6   E.g., αἰώνιος, ‘ageless’ (Job 21.11); ἰσχυρός, ‘strong’ (Ezek 34.20); ἀσθενής, ‘weak’ (Ezek 34.20); ἅγιος, ‘holy’ (Ezek 36.38); ἄμωμος, ‘unblemished’ (Lev 5.25; 23.12; Ezek 43.23).



2.18–25

779

are occasionally described as ‘wandering’ (Isa 13.14; Jer 27.17; cf. Deut 22.1). Yet, there are also places where the finite form πλανάω is connected to ὡς πρόβατον/πρόβατα (see Ps 118.176; Isa 53.6). Defenders of πλανώμενοι often claim that a nominative masculine would have naturally been changed to align with the immediately preceding neuter accusative πρόβατα (Huther 103; Kühl 184 n. 1; Schlosser 164 n. h; Forbes 93; Schreiner 162 n. 158; see also Metzger, TCGNT, 620). This may be true, but it must also be pointed out that the accusative represents a departure from Isa 53.6 (LXX), where the comparative image (ὡς πρόβατα) stands without a modifier. As such, it is also possible that a scribe would have sought the most natural way of aligning the present text with the LXX—which, given the imperfect ἦτε, would have been the periphrastic construction. Since transcriptional probability could go either way, this may be another instance where both alternatives should be listed as potential candidates for the initial text. But the author’s tendency to use adjectives or adjectival participles to add description to nouns after ὡς (1.19; 2.2, 5; 3.7; 4.10; 5.8) together with the rarity of periphrastic constructions in the letter (only at 3.22) incline us (tentatively) towards πλανώμενα. (n) Several manuscripts read the aorist passive imperative ἐπιστράφητε, ‘return!’ (‫א‬, P, 5, etc.), while C, 1739, 1852, and a handful of other Greek minuscules, have the aorist active indicative ἐπεστρέψατε, ‘you returned’ (some others have ἐπιστρέψατε). However, the middle/passive form is far less common in the NT, making it more likely that a scribe might make the change to the active form than vice versa.7 Given the strong MS support for ἐπεστράφητε (P72, A, B, C, Ψ, 81, 623, etc.), this reading should be preferred.

Introduction The ‘household code’ or Haustafel proper begins in 2.18 and continues to 3.7, with exhortation and instruction addressed to certain groups within the household: domestic slaves, wives, and husbands. In Col 3.18–4.1 and Eph 5.22–6.9, the most complete and formally structured NT household codes, wives and husbands, children and fathers, slaves and masters are all addressed, in that order. Here, similarly to the Pastoral Epistles, most of the comparable instruction is directed to the subordinate social groups: slaves and wives 7   Relevant examples where the active is used include Acts 3.19; 9.35; 11.21; 2 Cor 3.16; Gal 4.19; 1 Thess 1.9; Jas 5.19. Only 4 of the 36 occurrences of the verb in the NT use the passive (Matt 10.13; Mark 5.30; 8.33; John 21.20). Dubis (82) suggests that some scribes may have misunderstood the middle voice of the verb (the passive here being best read as a middle; see Exegesis at 2.25) and changed it to active, though the passive interpretation does not create any difficulties. Indeed, it is favoured by many commentators.

780

1 PETER

(1 Tim 2.8–15; 5.3–16; 6.1–2; Titus 2.1–10; cf. also 1 Clem. 1.3; 21.6–8; Pol. Phil. 4.2–3). The absence of direct address to masters/slave owners has led some to suggest that such individuals were not among the membership of the Christian communities (or that there were very few of them).8 This is, however, a precarious assumption, given the other NT texts where reciprocal teaching is also lacking, but where the existence of household-heads among the assemblies is explicitly indicated (cf. 1 Tim 3.1–12; Titus 1.5–7).9 As in these other examples, it seems likely that those addressed as πρεσβύτεροι are among the more socially senior members of the congregations, male heads of household, who exercise leadership on account of their social position (see on 5.1–4).10 The instructions to elders and to the junior members of the community (5.1–5) are separate from the household code section, though there are certain points of literary connection.11 But it is notable that in the forms of household-code teaching that develop in early Christian literature, instruction concerning slaves and women is often found in close conjunction with instruction for younger members of the community and for those who are older, particularly those in positions of leadership (1 Tim 2.8–6.2; Titus 1.5–2.10; 1 Clem. 1.3; 21.6–8; Ign. Pol. 4–6; Pol. Phil. 4.2–6.3).12 8   E.g., Eisele, ‘Alles in Ordnung?’, 132: ‘in der Haustafel nur diejenigen Stände angesprochen werden, die zur Abfassungszeit des Briefes in den angeschriebenen Gemeinde auch tatsächlich vertreten waren. Demnach stellten die Sklaven und die Frauen mit Abstand die größte Gruppe innerhalb der christlichen Gemeinden, gefolgt von einigen wenigen freien Männern. Letztere werden jedoch nicht in ihrer Rolle als Sklavenhalter oder Väter angesprochen und dementsprechend auch nicht die Kinder im Verhältnis zu ihnen. Dies weist auf eine Situation hin, in der keineswegs ganze Häuser den Glauben an Jesus Christus angenommen haben, sondern nur einzelne Sklaven, Frauen und Männer.’ Cf. also Elliott 516; Keener 191. 9   See esp. the instruction to slaves in 1 Tim 6.1–2 and Titus 2.9–10, where it is clear that the leaders of the churches are heads of household (1 Tim 3.1–12; Titus 1.5–7). The fact that these households included more than just a wife and children is indicated by 1 Tim 3.12: ‘Let deacons be married only once, and let them manage their children (τέκνων) and their households (τῶν ἰδίων οἴκων) well’ (NRSV). 10   See further Campbell, The Elders. On the socio-economic composition of the communities addressed in 1 Peter, see Introduction: Socio-Economic Status. 11   Cf. Elliott 508–11, who sees 5.1–5 as a further section of the household code material. 12   On the connections between household code-type teaching and patterns of leadership, see Horrell, ‘Leadership Patterns’, 309–37.



2.18–25

781

The concise, balanced, direct, and reciprocal forms of instruction to the various groups within the household found in Colossians and Ephesians are rather distinctive in form. But the pattern of expectation and instruction about ‘appropriate’ relationships within the household is clearly derived from Greco-Roman moral teaching. In an important and influential study, Balch traces the precedents back to Plato and Aristotle.13 Particularly significant is Aristotle’s discussion of ‘household management’ (οἰκονομία) in which he details the ‘primary and smallest parts of the household’ as ‘master and slave, husband and wife, father and children (δεσπότης καὶ δοῦλος, καὶ πόσις καὶ ἄλοχος, καὶ πατὴρ καὶ τέκνα)’, and examines ‘the proper constitution and character of each of these three relationships’ (Aristotle, Pol. 1.1253b; trans. Rackham [LCL]).14 These ‘classical topoi as they appear in Plato and Aristotle’ were widely known and appropriated in the Roman era, among various groups, including hellenised Jews.15 Balch argues that it was the behaviour of women and slaves in particular that was likely to be the target of criticism, especially when they belonged to what were, from a Greek and Roman perspective, ‘eastern’ cults, including Judaism and Christianity.16 Furthermore, slaves and wives, as subordinate social groups, were most likely to suffer at the hands of their masters/husbands, especially if they adopted a new ‘religion’ that was not followed by the head of their household and that was the cause of suspicion. The author begins his instruction by focusing on domestic slaves; these to some degree stand as paradigmatic for the experience of the community as a whole, not least in their vulnerability to ill-treatment and hostility. Their exhortation to follow in the footsteps of Christ, even in suffering, is a pattern for all within the community.17 Verses 21–25 form the second of three major christological sections in the epistle (1.18–21; 2.21–25; 3.18–22). Windisch originally identified these three texts as Christ-hymns (Christuslieder).18 13   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive. For a broader overview, see Balch, ‘Household Codes’, 25–50. 14   For a discussion, see Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 33–34. 15   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 62. 16   Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive, 65–80. 17   Cf. Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 206–207; Achtemeier 192; Elliott 523. 18   Windisch 65, 70.

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1 PETER

Building on and refining Windisch’s observation, Bultmann attempted to reconstruct the underlying sources, and argued that a single christological credal confession (Bekenntnis) underlay 1.20 and 3.18–19, 22, while a separate hymn (Lied) was adapted in 2.21–24.19 Following Bultmann’s identification of this latter passage as a hymn, Boismard also identified 2.22–25 as one of four early Christian baptismal hymns in 1 Peter, though this one was ‘the least discernible of them all’.20 Recently, scholars have been more hesitant about postulating the existence of pre-formed traditional material in the text.21 On this text in particular, some scholars (especially in English-language scholarship) have been more inclined to identify it as the author’s own work, drawing heavily on Isaiah 53,22 though there are also those who defend its traditional, hymnic character.23 The direct use of Isa 53.4–12 is evident in vv. 22–25, while v. 21 serves as something of an introduction to these verses, which set out in detail the kind of example Christ represents.24 19   Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente’, 1–14. Bultmann’s proposal is not quite accurately conveyed in Pearson’s comment (Christological, 5; cf. 203–204): ‘His reconstruction is a hymn derived from three passages: 1:20, 2:21–24, and 3:18–22’. 20   Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales, 14 (‘la moins discernable de toutes’); see 111–32 on this hymn, including an assessment of its influence on Paul (119–29) and on 1 John (129–32). Others have similarly posited a hymn underlying this passage (e.g., Lohse, ‘Paränese und Kerygma’, 58; Schlier, ‘Die Botschaft des Ersten Petrusbriefs’, 60; Barkhuizen, ‘Betekenis en funksie’, 87–88). Cf. also Wengst, Christologische Formeln, 83–86, who builds on Bultmann’s analysis but suggests that this is not a ‘Lied’ but rather a ‘katechetische Lehrstück’ (85). 21   For a word of caution about the identification of hymns in 1 Peter, see Lash, ‘Hymn-Hunting’, 293–97; cf. also, more broadly, Peppard, ‘ “Poetry”, “Hymns” and “Traditional Material” ’, 319–42. 22   See, e.g., Best 119–20; Michaels 137; Achtemeier 192–93; Elliott 548–50; Feldmeier 167–68; Jobes 193; Witherington 154; Donelson 83–84; Osborne 200; Schreiner 157 n. 134; cf. Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 381–408; Achtemeier, ‘Suffering Servant’, 179. For an overview of the various scholarly proposals concerning the character and origin of 2.21–25, see Pearson, Christological, 116–24. 23   Among more recent scholars, see Pearson, Christological, 134, 147–48, though she offers extensive analysis of the use of Isa 53 in this passage, seeing it as of primary importance. 24   Cf. Achtemeier 199–200: v. 22 ‘begins the explication of the “pattern” (ὑπογραμμόν) provided to Christians for their behavior by the behavior of Christ in a situation of unjust suffering’.



2.18–25

783

Important historical questions arise from this source-critical discussion, particularly about the authorship of the letter. Some view this passage as the personal reflections of the historical Peter who was profoundly impacted by the passion of Jesus.25 According to these interpreters, while the eyewitness perspective might be partially concealed through the scriptural quotations from Isaiah 53, it can nonetheless be discerned in the interpretative comments added by the author. In contrast to the letter’s framing of Jesus as the Suffering Servant of Deutero-Isaiah, Cranfield has argued that in v. 23, ‘the language suggests rather the eye-witness’s memory of what had actually happened’.26 But, as others have pointed out, a major problem with this suggestion is that the Gospels do not actually place the historical Peter at the crucifixion.27 Despite this, a perspective informed by memory studies allows that the historical Peter could nonetheless have communicated such a viewpoint: over time, as communal traditions began to take shape among the Jesus followers, and standard versions of events emerged, the influence of social memory would have shaped the personal eyewitness memories of the apostles, even to the extent that their subsequent rehearsal of the past would have sounded very traditional.28 Where these views about eyewitness reflections in 1 Peter actually prove unsustainable is the underlying assump�tion from which they operate, viz. that an eyewitness might provide memories of the historical Jesus unencumbered by the traditions that later accumulated in the decades following his death. Such ‘uninterpreted’ memories do not exist.29 25   E.g., Moffatt 127; Kistemaker 110; cf. also Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 347; Maier, ‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, 108. 26   Cranfield 85; cf. also Selwyn 27–33; Stibbs-Walls 31–36; Wheaton 1242. 27   This point is made, e.g., by Windisch 65 and Achtemeier 200 n. 151. A further problem with the claim of Cranfield is the assumption that eyewitness memory necessarily represents ‘what actually happened’ in the past. To claim that any ancient source material—eyewitness or otherwise—provides such unmediated access to the past is fallacious (see Olick and Robbins, ‘Social Memory Studies’, 110). The only representation of Jesus’ suffering and death to which modern interpreters have access is one in which his life and influence were interpreted by the Jesus community. Memory in and of itself is an artificial construct that selectively represents the past in ways that are informed by the needs of the present. 28   See further Williams, History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls, 221–41. 29   Williams, ‘Petrine Epistles’, 277.

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Others object to the possibility that this passage might reflect the perspective of the historical Peter on the basis that it draws so heavily from the text of Isaiah. According to Best, ‘[t]he dependence on the OT in 1 Peter argues against authorship by an eye-witness or dependence on an eye-witness’.30 But this too represents a misinformed perspective on memory. The scriptural interpretation of Jesus’ life and death need not have begun only in later Christian tradition; but, insofar as their schemas were formed by scriptural traditions, may have started with Jesus and his disciples. On a cognitive level, the human brain processes experience through pre-formed memory schema supplied from one’s cultural environment—which, in the case of ancient Jews, would have involved the scriptures.31 From the perspective of memory theory, then, the scripturalised version of the crucifixion found in vv. 22–25 could have been written by an eyewitness. So, despite the use of this passage to argue for both the letter’s authenticity and its pseudonymity, the question of the historical Peter’s involvement must be decided on grounds other than source criticism. Exegesis 18 Οἱ οἰκέται ὑποτασσόμενοι ἐν παντὶ φόβῳ τοῖς δεσπόταις, δεσπόταις, The first group to be offered specific instructions is the οἰκέται. Since the vocative and the nominative forms are identical in the plural, questions have been raised about the function of οἰκέται. The presence of the article has led a few to understood the form as a simple nominative, with the result that the verse is describing the responsibilities of slaves from a third-person perspective (‘slaves must be subordinate to their masters’; cf. NTE, Mounce).32 But this is unnecessary given that the nominative—whether articular or anarthrous—was occasionally used as a form of direct address (cf. Mark 5.8; Luke 8.54; Rom 1.13).33 Here, the articular nominative   Best 119.   See Williams, History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls, 201–20. 32   It is rare to find commentators defending this view, but there have been a few (e.g., Steiger 2:100; von Soden 146). To create concord with the verbal forms that are present in the verse, proponents have been required to supply a third-person form (ἔστωσαν) with which to connect the nominative substantive (see Jachmann 147). 33   On the use of the nominative for vocative, see Moule, Idiom Book, 31–32; BDF §147; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, §33–34; Wallace, Grammar, 56–59. 30 31



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οἰκέται functions as a vocative;34 the author is not speaking about slaves, but to them (cf. also 3.1). This is indicated by the use of the second-person verb (ὑπομενεῖτε) in v. 20. It is possible that the articular nominative was selected because it provided a less direct and more reserved form of address, although the semantics of this function are debated.35 Some earlier commentators attributed the use of the designation οἰκέται, as opposed to the more generic and common δοῦλοι (cf. 2.16), to the fact that the letter was addressed to a Jewish audience who would not view those who worked in their households with the same level of contempt as would Gentiles.36 But while the term οἰκέτης was occasionally employed with a view toward the fact that it represented a more honourable designation than δοῦλος (cf. SB V 8071), there is no indication that Jewish sensibilities are a concern here. Others have claimed that οἰκέτης was chosen for its referential breadth. That is, it allowed the Petrine author to include not only slaves among those so designated, but also freedmen who had remained in their master’s house.37 It is true that οἰκέτης can describe both slaves and those possessing free status. The term simply refers to ‘all the servants, male and female, free and slaves born in the household, in the service of the master of the house,   Cf. Beare 147; Goppelt 194 n. 14; Senior 77; Jobes 184–85; Vinson 137 n. 45.   In classical Greek, the use of the nominative for the vocative is said to represent a ‘graver and more respectful’ tone ‘because it appeals to character’ (Gildersleeve, Syntax, 1:4). In Koine Greek, other nuances have been proposed. Some maintain that the articular form of the nominative for the vocative reflects a sense of ‘descriptiveness’ (MHT 1:70). According to Louw, ‘[t]he nominative, in contradistinction to the vocative, is less exclamative, less direct, more reserved and formal because it merely states the nominative idea’ (‘Linguistic Theory’, 80; cf. Porter, Idioms, 86–87). Questions about this diagnosis for specific NT examples have been raised, however (see Wallace, Grammar, 57 n. 71). 36   See, e.g., Benson 224; Wordsworth 56; Mason 408. From the opposite perspective, some have understood οἰκέται as equivalent to δοῦλοι (Grotius 82; Calov 1490). There is some evidence that might support this position, namely, certain instances where the terms appear to be used synonymously (Aristotle, Pol. 1252b; Longus, Daphn. 4.19.5; P.Lille I 29; IG V,1 1390; I.Knidos 34). But οἰκέται are often marked out as distinct from δοῦλοι (see Plato, Leg. 763a, Plutarch, Ag. Cleom. 7.2). 37   Many have noted that both slave and free might be included in this designa�tion (e.g., Calvin 86; Steiger 2:100; Alford 352; Plumptre 116; Keil 96; Johnstone 165; Masterman 111; Bennett 218; Blenkin 59). 34 35

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from cooks and porters to stewards and tutors’.38 As a result, it can sometimes be difficult to distinguish the status of the person in question. Nevertheless, certain indicators usually point toward a servile status. These might include a reference to manumission (P.Oxy. XXVII 2474; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 31.51; IG IX,2 1117c) or, contextually, a contrast might be made with those who are free (Demosthenes, Cor. 258; 1 Esd 3.19; Philo, Cher. 80). In this case, the mention of δεσπόται probably signals a reference to slaves, especially since the Petrine author describes the punishment and violence that these masters might inflict upon them (1 Pet 2.20; cf. Xenophon, Mem. 2.1.16; Philo, Deus 64; Fug. 3). It is certainly possible that the author avoided using the terms δοῦλος and κύριος (employed in the Haustafeln of Colossians and Ephesians [Col 3.22; 4.1; Eph 6.5, 9]) in an effort to prevent his readers from drawing any conceptual links with their position as δοῦλοι of God (2.16) who are devoted to the κύριος (2.13).39 The choice of terminology may also reflect a concern for the social unit of the οἶκος,40 which also plays a part in the author’s construction of a corporate identity for his readers (cf. 1 Pet 2.5; 4.17), though the prominence of this image within the letter should not be emphasised as much as some have suggested.41 By addressing οἰκέται, the author’s focus is on domestic slaves used in the household rather than in agricultural or industrial activity.42 This does not exclude the possibility of a rural location, though 38   TLNT 1:384. Cf. Athenaeus, Deipn. 6.93 (Kaibel): ‘that “domestic” (οἰκέτης) may mean anyone living in the house, even if he be a free person, is generally known’. 39   See Goppelt 194; Feldmeier 169; cf. also Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle, 408. If this is the case, then it is unnecessary to question whether slaves and masters were in view simply on the basis that the terms δοῦλος and κύριος were not employed (as suggested by Barnes 149). 40   Cf. Selwyn 175; Hart 60; Schweizer 61; Achtemeier 194. 41   Cf. the thesis of Elliott, Home for the Homeless, and the criticisms levelled by Feldmeier, Christen, 205–206. 42   The connection between οἰκέτης and the household is most clearly described by Philo, Spec. 1.127, who notes that ‘domestic servants, whether or not it is desired, are always around and dwelling with us, preparing bread and wine and food for their masters and standing by the tables and carrying away the left-overs’. Broughton (‘Roman Asia Minor’, 840) concludes that ‘the great majority of the slaves and freedmen that are mentioned in inscriptions [in Asia Minor] did belong to this class’. On the distinction between urban and rural slaves, see Wiedemann, Greek and Roman Slavery, 122–53.



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it does more likely point to an urban context, where the majority of οἰκέται were used.43 Given the variety of slave roles and statuses, and of owners’ treatment of their slaves, it would be misleading to imply that the socio-economic standing of all slaves was identical.44 Nonetheless, in general slaves were allocated rations, clothing, and living quarters that were basic, amounting to ‘a fairly bleak material regime for most Roman slaves’.45 Slaves’ living conditions were not necessarily worse than for many of the empire’s free poor; indeed, slaves may have had somewhat greater material security given their owners’ duty and incentive to provide for them.46 But, as Bradley points out, ‘slaves were especially vulnerable in times of crisis’;47 moreover, ‘[e]ven when food was not in short supply it was axiomatic that slaves should eat the poorest and cheapest food in the household’.48 They are therefore among the more socially, politically, and economically disadvantaged members of the Christian assemblies. What is more, ‘by virtue of their proximity to their masters’, household slaves ‘were often more susceptible to physical and sexual abuse by the master and other family members’.49 The exhortation to subordination is specified using the participial form (ὑποτασσόμενοι; cf. 3.1, 7). Within an earlier generation of scholarship (and to some extent, among more recent interpreters as well), it was common to assign the participle an adverbial force. Interpreters claimed that it modified one of the finite imperatives 43   A point also made by Elliott (Home for the Homeless, 69), though overall he favours a rural location for the addressees of 1 Peter. An inscription from Sardis detailing the estate of Mnesimachus, which includes villages with their inhabitants, shows that the word οἰκέτης could also be used of slaves in such rural contexts (see Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 631–32). 44   Slaves were appointed to a range of positions, with a consequently varied status, both in rural and urban contexts (see further Martin, Slavery as Salvation, 1–49). On the variety of roles, material welfare, and power among slaves, see Bradley, Slavery and Society, 55–80. 45   See Bradley, Slavery and Society, 81–106 (quotation on 89); also Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 54 n. 65. 46   Bradley, Slavery and Society, 92. 47   Bradley, Slavery and Society, 100. Cf. Cassius Dio 55.26.1. 48   Bradley, Slavery and Society, 101. Cf. Tertullian, Apol.14.1; Musonius, Frag. 18B. 49   Tracy, ‘Redemptive Suffering’, 289, who cites Juvenal, Sat. 6.474–85 as an illustration of this situation. A similar point about the vulnerability of household slaves (as opposed to those who worked on agricultural estates) is made by Davids (‘Exalted Lord’, 260).

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from the preceding section and thus described how the command was to be carried out. A few have traced this connection all the way back to the initial injunction in 2.11–12.50 It has been more common, however, to attach ὑποτασσόμενοι to the imperative ὑποτάγητε in 2.1351 given their shared lexeme.52 While this lexical connection might help alleviate the difficulties created by the great distance between these forms, it does not explain the use of the participle συνοικοῦντες in 3.7, which would also fall under this same umbrella. Furthermore, if both the primary and subordinate clause share the same lexeme, it would result a very unusual sense (‘submit… by submitting’).53 Alternatively, some connect the participle to one or all of the imperatives in 2.17.54 But this suggestion is beset by difficulties as well. It makes little sense to take ὑποτασσόμενοι as a modifier of all four commands in 2.17. Even attaching the participle to the first command (πάντας τιμήσατε), as most do, does not solve the problem.55 For one must explain why

  So, e.g., Steiger 2:100; Schott 146; cf. Campbell, Rhetoric of 1 Peter, 124.   So, e.g., Bengel 59; Keil 96; Mason 408; Johnstone 165, 167–68; Huther 134; Masterman 112; Bennett 218; Wohlenberg 74; Lenski 114–15; McKnight 185 n. 23; Richard 116; Powers 97; Wagner-Vouga 90; cf. Gielen Tradition, 482–83; Steetskamp, ‘Durchkreuzte Unterordnungen’, 29; Wypadlo, ‘Jesus Christus als Urbild’, 144. See also Boyer, ‘Classification of Participles’, 174; Runge, Discourse Grammar, 267 n. 36. Some go so far as to say that the participles in 1 Pet 2.18; 3.1, 5 ‘have the force of imperatives only if they are understood to be subordinate to ὑποτάγητε in 2:13’ (Sisson, ‘Rhetoric and Philosophy’, 316). 52   Cf. Johnstone 168: ‘The fact that both in this section and in the next (iii. 1 foll.) the special duty enjoined is subjection, and that both sections are introduced by the participle of that same verb of which the imperative is given in ver. 13, naturally leads a reader to think that in the apostle’s mind the same general exhortation was being carried forward with different special references’. 53   This was acknowledged even by those who have interpreted ὑποτασσόμενοι adverbially (see, e.g., Kühl 167; Knopf 111). 54   So, e.g., Hottinger 117; de Wette 28; Demarest 126; Alford 352; Fronmüller 45; Kühl 167; Monnier 124; Bigg 142; Knopf 111; Achtemeier 194; Donelson 79 n. a; Vahrenhorst 121; cf. Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 205; Eisele, ‘Alles in Ordnung?’, 130; Mills, ‘Clause Patterns’, 128. The fullest defence of this position is found in Stirwalt, Discourse Analysis, 70–78, 122–32. 55   Connecting the participle with the final imperative in 2.17 (τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε) also creates problems. For, as Schmidt notes, ‘die Unterordnung unter die Herren hat nur sehr indirekt mit der Ehrung des Kaiser zu tun’ (Mahnung, 241 n. 221). 50 51



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a connection is made with this command while any connection with the other three is circumvented. The imperatival function of the participle is well-established in Hellenistic Greek, and it is especially common in 1 Peter, with ὑποτασσόμενοι in this verse serving as one of the more commonly agreed-upon examples (see Excursus: Imperatival Participles in 1 Peter). Nevertheless, there is some disagreement about how this force is achieved. Some claim that the strength of these injunctions is derived from the surrounding context, where the author is consistently engaging his readers through commands;56 others consider that the participle represents a periphrastic expression in which a finite imperative has been elided.57 Yet, in light of its established use in Hellenistic Greek, it is best to view the participle as carrying an imperatival force independently of any contextual factors including any adjacent finite forms.58 The participle urges slaves to ‘subordinate themselves’59 τοῖς δεσπόταις, that is, to their owners and masters, probably heads of households. As with its use in 2.13, the verb ὑποτάσσω does not entail complete and total submission to another’s will. It simply requires one to recognise and respect existing structural orders by subjecting oneself to the responsibilities inherent within that hierarchy. The use of this term represents another instance in which the Petrine author is viewed by some as adopting a strategy of accommodation, particularly since such behaviour conformed to the culturally expected duties of the Greco-Roman household.60   Cf. Hiebert 176: ‘In force, the participle may be viewed as a substitute for the imperative, but the construction used makes clear that the exhortation is dependent on a thought already expressed’ (see also Feldmeier 167). 57   Different forms of εἰμί have been supplied: ἦτε (Oecumenius [PG 119:541]); ἐστέ (Grotius 82; Calov 1490; Pott 86; Hensler 112; Jobes 200–201; cf. Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle, 153). 58   So, e.g., Lightfoot 113; Michaels 137–38; Grudem 125; Hillyer 88; Bénétreau 156; Brox 131 n. 426; Elliott 516; Green 76 n. 35; Dubis 71; Schlosser 165; Forbes 86; Schreiner 151; cf. Meecham, ‘Participle’, 208; Synder, ‘Participles and Imperatives’, 197. 59   On the force of the middle voice here, see Exegesis on 2.13. 60   See esp. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive. Balch is not alone in his assessment of this section. Many who have approached the epistle from a feminist perspective have concluded that the author only compounds the problem of inequality and oppression by encouraging an ethic of submission to the kyriarchal structures of 56

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The slaves’ disadvantaged social location provided them little recourse beyond accommodation, however.61 Further, it is noteworthy that the Petrine author does not invite this socially vulnerable group to surrender its freedom of religious choice, an act that was proscribed within the traditional values of Greco-Roman society.62 Such partial compliance, regardless of the extent to which their obedience was taken in other areas, would have been viewed as anything but conformity by those to whom subordination was due.63 So while this ethic represents an example of complicit acquiescence to (normative) social expectations, it is the minimum level of compliance required for a powerless social group in the Roman Empire. And given its uncompromising commitment to the religious independence of slaves, these instructions present themselves more as an example of feigned deference, which cautiously undercuts the powerbase of the standard hierarchy of household management. In other words, where there is accommodation in 1 Peter, there is also resistance.64 One question that is difficult to answer is whether the φόβος that is to characterise their subordination (ἐν παντὶ φόβῳ)—made emphatic and intensified by the πᾶς—is directed towards their the Greco-Roman world (see, e.g., Briggs-Kittredge 618; Corley 352–54; Hawley Gorsline 727–29; Bird, Abuse, 86–109). 61   Slaves possessed a number of options when faced with a brutal master (see Phillips, Kirche in der Gesellschaft, 39). Aside from accommodation, slaves could have attempted to subvert the will of their owners in some way—whether by running away, stealing from the master’s resources, becoming insolent in the face of the owner’s demands, or even encouraging others toward open rebellion (see Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity, 149–50). Each of these latter strategies, however, would have eventually resulted in further, escalated abuse or even death. 62   On a slave’s adoption of his or her master’s religion, see Bömer, Epilegomena, 247. 63   See Dowd 370: ‘Their neighbors would have understood this behavior [i.e., devotion to a god not approved by the master] as subversive of the very foundations of the social order, because worship of the gods of the head of the household was thought to guarantee stability in home and society. To their neighbors, the Christians of Asia Minor looked like a countercultural fringe group with values that tended to undermine those of society’ (cf. Briggs-Kittredge 616). 64   Cf. deSilva, ‘Turning Shame into Honor’, 168: ‘The author would encourage Christian slaves… to continue to resist the significant pressures that their masters could put upon them to compel them to participate in domestic rites or to perform services that would compromise their commitment to obey God’s commandments. In such cases, “submission” does not preclude resistance’ (see Davids, ‘Immigrants in Our Own Land’, 23 n. 16).



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masters or towards God. There are other instances in 1 Peter where the referent of φόβος is equally ambiguous (3.2, 16). The majority of modern interpreters associate φόβος with the audience’s relationship to God, and thus the term is commonly translated as ‘fear’ (cf. KJV, ASV, HCSB, NIV) or ‘reverence’ (NAB).65 In this case, the extent of the slaves’ submissiveness to their masters is dictated by their view of God. When the will of their masters runs counter to the will of God, then it is this ‘fear’ that leads them to prioritise the latter over against the former. There are various reasons that might support this view. First, in the cases where it is unambiguous, 1 Peter depicts φόβος as something properly shown towards God; indeed, the immediately preceding verse has drawn this distinction carefully (2.17; cf. 1.17). Secondly, there are places in 1 Peter where the readers are urged not to fear the threats that people commonly fear (3.6, 14). Finally, the immediately following verse (2.19) explicitly mentions ‘awareness of God’ (συνείδησις θεοῦ) as a motivation for right conduct. While it has become popular to understand God as the object of φόβος, this has not always been the case. Among an earlier generations of commentators, φόβος was widely thought to refer to the respect or deference that slaves were to display toward their masters as a way of acknowledging their differentiated social statuses.66 Despite the fact that this view represents a minority opinion today and that it is clearly a less appealing interpretation given modern critical convictions with regard to slavery (which may in part

  See, e.g., Bigg 142; Knopf 111–12; Margot 46; Beare 147; Kelly 116; Mounce 34–35; Michaels 138; Schelkle 80; Goppelt 194–95; Achtemeier 195; Elliott 516–17; Senior 74–75; Feldmeier 170; Harink 80 n. 24; Donelson 81; Schlosser 166; Osborne 197; Vahrenhorst 121–22; Wagner-Vouga 90; Schreiner 151–52; cf. Brandt, ‘Wandel als Zeugnis’, 19; Thompson, ‘Be Submissive to your Masters’, 70; Wolff, ‘In der Nachfolge des leidenden Christus’, 430; Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 162; Hockey, Role of Emotion, 199. 66   This was the consensus prior to a major shift that began to occur around the turn of the twentieth century (e.g., Benson 224; Hensler 112; de Wette 28; Alford 352–53; Plumptre 116–17; Keil 96; Usteri 110; Johnstone 168–69; Huther 134; Williams 33; Wohlenberg 74). In fact, as Kühl surveyed the interpretive landscape in 1897, he noted that ‘ἐν παντὶ φόβῳ wird fast von allen Auslegern von der Furcht vor den irdischen Herren verstanden’ (167). Among the few exceptions to this trend were Weiss, Der Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 169 and Kühl 167. 65

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influence the shift in the interpretative landscape),67 there is still much to commend it. One point worth noting is that such a command would be consistent with the expectations of the master–slave relationship in the ancient world. As noted by various authors, slaves were expected to ‘fear’ their masters.68 But more importantly, this interpretation better explains the adjectival modifier (παντί) and the overall structure of the verse. Related to the former, it is significant that the author encourages the readers not just towards φόβος, but πᾶς φόβος. Elsewhere, the singular anarthrous construction lays stress on the individualised parts of the abstract noun, focusing either on the uniformity that exists among the members, ‘any φόβος’ (cf. Sir 22.18; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 7.11.65; Cyranides 3.3), or as a reference to all members without exception, ‘every φόβος’ (cf. Polybius, Hist. 16.23.4; Ezek 38.21; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.8.40; Lucian, Syr. d. 20; Ps.-Lucian, Ocypus 109). The latter seems to reflect the meaning here. But why, if φόβος is directed toward God, would this modifier be needed? The qualifier suggests that the author is intending to emphasise what might otherwise be neglected:69 the most likely temptation in this situation—in light of the ‘freedom’ that was ascribed to these slaves (cf. 2.16)—would be to neglect the honour due to their masters. Another consideration that points even more strongly in favour of this view is the word-order of the sentence. By placing the prepositional phrase between ὑποτασσόμενοι and τοῖς δεσπόταις the author has, in effect, limited the object of φόβος. If he had intended to describe the fear of God as a factor directing the subordination of slaves, then it would have been more appropriate to locate the prepositional phrase at the beginning of the sentence.70 This meaning 67   Those who defend this position include: Wand 79; Grudem 125; Knoch 83; Brox 131; cf. Prostmeier, Handlungsmodelle, 409–10. Some English translations also reflect this interpretation, rendering φόβος as ‘respect’ (RSV, NASB, GNT, ESV, CEB) or ‘deference’ (NRSV). 68   Cf. Philo, Fug. 3: ‘Children flee from their parents and slaves (οἰκέται) from their masters (δεσπότας), out of fear (φόβῳ)’; Const. ap. 7.24: ‘For the glory of fathers is the holiness of their children, and the honour of masters is the fear of their servants (τιμὴ δεσποτῶν οἰκετῶν φόβος)’. 69   Cf. Monnier 124. 70   Some textual witnesses reflect this approach, presenting the verse as: ἐν παντὶ φόβῳ ὑποτασσόμενοι τοῖς δεσπόταις (e.g., ‫א‬, Ψ).



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could also have been made explicit through the addition of a genitive modifier. When God is the object of fear in similar statements, it is normally indicated by θεοῦ or κυρίου.71 In a very close parallel to this verse, in fact, that is exactly how the phrase is constructed: ὑποτασσόμενοι ἀλλήλοις ἐν φόβῳ Χριστοῦ (‘submit[ting] to one another out of reverence for Christ’, Eph 5.21).72 At issue here, then, is not a reverence for God that dictates the extent to which slaves can comply with human authority, but the level of complete respect that slaves must demonstrate toward their masters.73 οὐ μόνον τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς καὶ ἐπιεικέσιν ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς σκολιοῖς. σκολιοῖς. This subordination is to be offered to all masters, whatever their temperament and moral character. There are, on the one hand, those described as ἀγαθός and ἐπιεικής. Elsewhere, these terms are used together,74 and sometimes even equated (Aristotle, Eth. nic. 1137a–b). In view of 1 Pet 2.14–15, ἀγαθός should probably be taken to denote conduct that is good and upright, in keeping with what is just,75 while ἐπιεικής indicates a demeanour that is reasonable, moderate, even kind.76 Both are used to depict the temperament of masters in their treatment of slaves. 71   See, e.g., ἐν φόβῳ θεοῦ (Neh 5.9; Wis 6.5; 17.40; 18.7, 9, 11; T.Levi 13.7; T.Naph. 2.9; 2 Cor 7.1; Acts Pet. Paul 58.1; Acts Pet. Andr. 5.3; Acts Phil. 119.3) or ἐν φόβῳ κυρίου (2 Chr 19.9; 26.5; Prov 14.26; 23.17; Sir 9.16; 27.3; 40.26; 45.23; T.Reu. 4.1; T.Sim. 3.4; Mart. Pet. Paul 37.3) or ἐν φόβῳ σου (Ps 5.8[7]). 72   Had the Petrine author intended to draw a distinction between subordination to human authorities that flows out of a fear for God, there were ways to make this explicit, as in Col 3.22: Οἱ δοῦλοι, ὑπακούετε κατὰ πάντα τοῖς κατὰ σάρκα κυρίοις… φοβούμενοι τὸν κύριον (‘Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything… fearing the Lord’, NRSV). 73   Similarly, Eph 6.5: Οἱ δοῦλοι, ὑπακούετε τοῖς κατὰ σάρκα κυρίοις μετὰ φόβου καὶ τρόμου (‘slaves, obey your human masters with fear and trembling’); Barn. 19.7: ὑποταγήσῃ κυρίοις ὡς τύπῳ θεοῦ ἐν αἰσχύνῃ καὶ φόβῳ (‘be submissive to your masters, who are a symbol of God, with respect and fear’). 74   Cf. Plutarch, Max. princ. 4 (Mor. 779B); Jos. Asen. 12.15; Julian, Εὐσεβίας τῆς βασιλίδος ἐγκώμιον 16. There are also instances in which ἐπιεικής is used in connection with χρηστός (Ps 85.5; Wis 5.12; Joseph, Ant. 6.92; 7.391). 75   Elliott (517), however, translates ἀγαθός as ‘kind’ here (cf. also Johnstone 169; Huther 135). 76   TDNT 2:588–90; TLNT 2:34–38. Cf. Suetonius Aug. 53.1, where the qualities aequum and bonum are used to denote an ideal and desirable master: ‘He [i.e. Augustus] always shrank from the title of Lord as reproachful and insulting. When the words “O just and gracious Lord (O dominum aequum et bonum)!” were

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Although slavery was generally a harsh way of life, seen as something to be avoided as far as possible, and by its very nature exploitative, there were of course owners who developed fondness for their slaves, and owners who were (relatively) moderate and fair. For instance, when Lamon was responding to the possibility of Daphnis being taken to serve Astylus, he notes, ‘I have no objection to him becoming the slave (δοῦλον) of Astylus, for he will be a good servant to a good and honourable master (καλὸν οἰκέτην καλοῦ καὶ ἀγαθοῦ δεσπότου)’ (Longus, Daphn. 4.19.5).77 Indeed, among moral philosophers, there are voices urging moderation and kindness in the treatment of slaves, even when they do wrong. For instance, Seneca asks, Whenever a man is provoked, therefore, let him say to himself… What right have I to make my slave (servi mei) atone by stripes and manacles for too loud a reply, too rebellious a look, a muttering of something that I do not quite hear? Who am I that it should be a crime to offend my ears? Many have pardoned their enemies; shall I not pardon the lazy, the careless, and the babbler? (de Ira 3.24.1–2; trans. Basore [LCL]).78

Nonetheless, the abuse and mistreatment of slaves—including assuming their sexual availability to their owners—in Greco-Roman society is well-documented.79 Harsh treatment, including flogging, mutilation, and other forms of physical and sexual abuse, were uttered in a farce at which he was a spectator and all the people sprang to their feet and applauded as if they were said of him, he at once checked their unseemly flattery by look and gesture, and on the following day sharply reproved them in an edict’ (trans. Rolfe [LCL]). 77   Other examples where δεσπόται are described as ἀγαθός include: Xenophon, Mem. 1.5.5; Plato, Phaed. 69e; Phaedr. 274a; Resp. 343b; Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 10.107.3; Themistius, Περὶ φιλανθρωπίας ἢ Κωνστάντιος, p. 9 (Harduin). Other examples where δεσπόται are described as ἐπιεικής include: Philo, Somn. 2.295. 78   For other calls for moderation in the treatment of slaves, see, e.g., Seneca, Ep. 47; de Ira 1.15.3; 3.12.6–7; 3.35.1–2 (all cautioning against acting in anger); Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.137–43. 79   See, e.g., Suetonius, Aug. 67.2; Cal. 32.1–7; Tacitus, Ann. 4.54; 16.19; Cassius Dio 54.23.1–2; Petronius, Satyr. 45, 53; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 4.15.6. On the punishment of slaves, see further Klees, Sklavenleben im klassischen Griechenland, 176–217.



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clearly common80 and written about as part of what was expected for such low-status people.81 As Xenophon notes, ‘But now let us see how masters (δεσπόται) treat such servants (οἰκέταις). Do they not starve them to keep them from immorality, lock up the stores to stop their stealing, clap fetters on them so that they can’t run away, and beat the laziness out of them with whips?’ (Mem. 2.1.16; trans. Marchant). The treatment of slaves was obviously dependent upon a number of factors,82 but the general disposition of an owner played an important role in this process. It is unsurprising, then, that some of those addressed would have experienced owners who were σκολιός. Nevertheless, subordination is owed, the author insists, not only to the former type but also to these latter, with the grammatical construction (οὐ μόνον… ἀλλὰ καί) making this emphatically clear. The adjective σκολιός, literally meaning curved or bent, was used of features such as paths or rivers,83 and also metaphorically to mean 80   Bauman-Martin (‘Feminist Theologies of Suffering’, 69–71) has suggested that some of the hostility faced by the female slaves in the Anatolian congregations may have been due to their scorning of sexual advances from their unbelieving masters. If she is correct—and this seems to be a highly plausible suggestion given what we know about the master–slave relationship in antiquity (e.g., Horace, Sat. 1.2.116–119; Petronius, Sat. 75.11; Plutarch, Conj. praec. 16 [Mor. 140B]; Musonius, Discourse 12.30–45)—then sexual abuse would be both a cause and a form of Christian persecution. On slaves as the sexual property of their owners, see Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity, 50–53; Joshel, Slavery in the Roman World, 151–52; Green, ‘Witnesses and Participants’, 143–62. 81   Regulations dealing with slaves indicate that cruel treatment—such as abandoning sick slaves (Suetonius, Claud. 25.2) or cutting out their tongues (Dig. 21.1.8 [Ulpian])—was not uncommon. Quintilian, for example, indicates that beatings were seen as a punishment most applicable to slaves (Justinian, Inst. 1.3.14), and Seneca’s comments on restraining anger show how common this practice was (De ira 3.12.5–7; 3.19.2; 3.32.1–2). In many cases, therefore, slaves wore scars on their bodies marking their violent mistreatment (see Kamen, ‘Representing Slave Marks’, 95–110). 82   The obedience of slaves also dictated, in larger part, how they were treated. For those slaves addressed in 1 Peter, the conversion to Christianity could have created serious difficulty, especially considering that slaves were expected to adopt the religion of their masters (see above). 83   E.g., Pindar, Pyth. 85; Herodotus, Hist. 1.185; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 3.25.5; Strabo, Geogr. 17.1.37. Cf. the more literal uses to describe rough ground in Isa 40.4; 42.16 (cf. Luke 3.5); and probably Isa 27.1, where Leviathan is described as ὄφιν σκολιόν—a twisted or coiled serpent.

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crooked in the sense of unjust, dishonest, or perverse.84 It is rarely applied to people in Greek literature (although, cf. Hesiod, Op. 194, 221), though it is employed a number of times in the LXX, especially in Proverbs, to describe individuals whose ways or speech are ‘crooked’ (e.g., Prov 2.15; 4.24; 8.8; 21.8; 22.5), and in the phrase γενεὰ σκολιά (Deut 32.5; Ps 77.8; Odes 2.5), which is picked up in the NT (Acts 2.40; Phil 2.15). It indicates a way of speaking and acting that is the opposite of just, upright, and pure. Here, given the contextual contrast between σκολιός and ἀγαθὸς καὶ ἐπιεικής, and also the indication that slaves may be made to suffer λύπας ἀδίκως (v. 19), it is probably best understood in the sense of unfair, unjust, cruel, or harsh.85 Unbelieving masters are likely in view, although this cannot be deduced simply from the use of σκολιός.86 19 τοῦτο γὰρ χάρις, χάρις, εἰ διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ ὑποφέρει τις λύπας πάσχων ἀδίκως. ἀδίκως. Having exhorted the οἰκέται to subordinate themselves to both gentle and harsh masters alike, the author now provides an explanatory and motivational basis (γάρ) for this injunction. The τοῦτο with which this verse begins is the subject of an implied ἐστιν. Since the demonstrative pronoun, when used adjectivally, normally agrees with the substantive that it modifies in number and gender, we would have expected αὕτη in connection with the predicate nominative χάρις. But in this case, the neuter τοῦτο ‘present[s] a more separate and abstract notion than αὕτη would have done’,87 and points forward to the conditional idea that follows.88 There is a chiastic structure to vv. 19–20, such that the first τοῦτο should be   Cf. LSJ 1613; MM 578.   Cf. Elliott 517. Cf. also Johnstone 170: ‘A δεσπότης σκολιός is one whom his servants find it almost impossible to please, because, when they have worked along the line which from his former utterances seemed likely to satisfy him, they find always that his likings have twisted themselves into a new direction’. 86   As suggested by Schott 147. 87   Robertson, Grammar, 704. Wallace describes this as an example of constructio ad sensum wherein ‘the agreement is conceptual only, since the pronoun refers to a phrase or clause rather than a noun or other substantive’ (Grammar, 330; cf. Buttmann, Grammar, 128). 88   Cf. Michaels 139; Achtemeier 196; Dubis 72–73. Elliott (518) suggests that τοῦτο refers, in effect, both to the imperative in v. 18 and the conditional clause in v. 19 (cf. also Mason 408); grammatically, however, the τοῦτο is likely to function more precisely to anticipate the following clause. 84 85



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taken as pointing forward to the εἰ clause that follows, while the second points backwards, drawing a conclusion from the εἰ clause that preceded it:89 τοῦτο γὰρ χάρις, εἰ… ποῖον γὰρ κλέος, εἰ… ἀλλ᾽ εἰ… τοῦτο χάρις

This A-B-A′ structure is also evident in the move from positive illustration of what qualifies as χάρις (v. 19), to a negative illustration of what will not bring κλέος (v. 20a), back to a positive illustration of what is χάρις (v. 20b). Many have suggested that the term χάρις refers here to the divine provision of unmerited favour upon those who please God (‘this is grace from God’; cf. Wycliffe, NAB, NCB, JUB, CJB).90 Within this view, scholars diverge on precisely how this provision of ‘grace’ takes place. Some have understood it as a form of supernatural enablement granted to the readers in a time of difficulty.91 From this perspective, unjust suffering was viewed as a channel of grace: endurance was enabled by, and served to generate more of, God’s grace. Others view suffering as a mark or indication of God’s grace in the lives of the readers.92 Similar to the description in Paul, unjust suffering is thought to be a gift from God (cf. Phil 1.29: ὑμῖν ἐχαρίσθη τὸ ὑπὲρ Χριστοῦ, οὐ μόνον τὸ εἰς αὐτὸν πιστεύειν ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ πάσχειν). This would allow the readers a much more positive perspective on their situation. Still others view God’s provision of χάρις as representative of the fact that suffering takes place in and is surrounded by grace.93 According   Cf. Michaels 142.   This interpretation coincides with much of the early work on χάρις within NT studies. Biblical scholars and theologians alike have long assigned an important theological significance to the term, which distinguishes it from its traditional usage within other Greco-Roman source materials. A few of the more notable studies that take this approach include: Moffatt, Grace in the New Testament; Mason, ‘Grace in the New Testament’, 33–60; Winkler, ‘Die Gnade im Neuen Testament’, 642–80; Schultz, Meaning of Charis. 91   So, e.g., Schelkle 80; Perkins 52; Jobes 191; Harink 82; Watson 68; cf. Butler, ‘Grace and Suffering’, 58–60; Watson, ‘Body and Abuse’, 275. 92   So, e.g., Jachmann 147; Wiesinger 189; Schott 148; Bennett 219; Holmer– de Boor 98–99; Miller 221; Schweizer 98; Boring 119; Donelson 81–82; cf. Schmidt, ‘Die Gnade des Leidens’, 320–24. 93   So, e.g., Beck 163; Bénétreau 157; Goppelt 199–200; Brox 132–34. 89 90

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to this interpretation, the readers are assured that the trials they face are merely an expression of the new existence into which they have entered, an existence in which God is graciously working to bring about eschatological salvation. None of these views, however, makes good sense of this text. Most problematic is the fact that while χάρις is used elsewhere in the epistle to denote divine beneficence, in vv. 19–20 χάρις is defined as a human action (hence, ‘this is χάρις’,94 not ‘this produces χάρις’; see further below). The focus is not on what God has done or will do in providing for the people of God during their time of trial.95 Instead, χάρις is somehow defined as the patient endurance of undeserved suffering. Due to the problems surrounding a strictly theological interpretation of χάρις as God’s grace, many have advocated a more ‘secular’ meaning, comparable with other uses of the term in the Hellenistic world: χάρις may be understood as a human action that secures a favourable response (from God). The idea would be that the endurance of unjust suffering is pleasing in God’s sight. Hence, the word is translated as ‘commendable’ (cf. NIV, MEV, NKJV, Mounce, WEB), ‘acceptable’ (cf. ASV, Darby), or even ‘credit’ (cf. NRSV, NTE).96 But although proponents are correct that χάρις in this and the following verse indicates God’s positive evaluation of human actions, the specific lens through which this action is interpreted has not been as precise as it could have been. Rather than merely representing an action that achieves the favour of God, or counts as creditable in God’s eyes, χάρις in this passage refers to the human reciprocation of God’s beneficence (see further Exegesis at 2.20).97

  In the phrase τοῦτο χάρις, the equative verb ἐστιν is understood.   Pace Keener 192, who translates the phrase, ‘this brings God’s favor’. 96   This was the most popular interpretation among older commentators (e.g., Calvin 87; Luther 141; Grotius 83; Wolf 119; Hottinger 118; Bloomfield 712–13; Wordsworth 56; Alford 353; Plumptre 117; Keil 96; Johnstone 171–72; Bigg 143). It also represents the majority opinion in more recent scholarship (e.g., Selwyn 176; Kelly 116; Michaels 139; Davids 107–108; Marshall 88–89; Picirilli 154–55; Achtemeier 196; Elliott 518; Senior 75, 78; Prigent 77; Feldmeier 171–72; Powers 98; Dubis 73; Witherington 152; Vinson 125; Keating 66; Schlosser 168; Osborne 196; Forbes 87; Schreiner 155–56). 97   For a full defence of this view, see Williams, ‘Reciprocity and Suffering’, 421–39. Others have similarly interpreted the use of χάρις in vv. 19–20 within the context of ancient reciprocity (e.g., Buol, Martyred for the Church, 98). 94 95



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In addition to denoting beneficient disposition or actions (see Exegesis at 1.10), χάρις was also widely used to describe the expression of gratitude in response to benefits received. On the surface, this function may appear to indicate little more than an internal feeling of appreciation (‘thanks’; cf. Rom 6.17; 7.25; 2 Cor 8.16). It is noteworthy, in fact, how closely this usage comes to the meaning of εὐχαριστία. However, when χάρις is employed within the social context of reciprocity, it often extends beyond mere thanks—although this idea is present—to describe the socially obligatory return of previously granted favours.98 In this way, χάρις not only represents gifts bestowed, but also gifts requited, gifts that perpetuate an unbroken circle of exchange (cf. Seneca, Ben. 1.3.2–5; Sophocles, Ajax. 522).99 The ancient epigraphic evidence is replete with examples in which χάρις is employed with the terminology of exchange (e.g., ἀποδιδόναι, ‘to return’; ἀμείβειν, ‘to repay’; ἀμοιβή, ‘repayment’; ἀντάμειψις, ‘exchanging’; ἐν μέρει, ‘in turn’) in order to represent the obligation to reciprocate favours.100 It is particularly common in connection with the beneficent practices of wealthy citizens. One of the most noteworthy examples comes from an honourific decree in the city of Cardamylae. In this inscription, the benefactor Poseidippos is praised for his generous contributions to the city, and in return is awarded with a number of prestigious honours:

  See Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 40–43.   See esp. de Silva, ‘Patronage and Reciprocity’, 32–84; Barclay, Paul and the Gift, 24–51. 100   E.g., OGIS 248; IGRR I 864; SIG3 618; I.Délos IV 1521; SEG 8:527. This sense of exchange is also present in the work of the ancient epistolary theorist Pseudo-Demetrius. When discussing the gratitude that the ‘thankful’ letter is designed to recall, the author provides the following example as a display of deference for benefits received: ‘I hasten to show in my actions how grateful I am to you for the kindness (εὐεργέτησας) you showed to me in your words. For I know that what I am doing for you is less than I should, for even if I gave my life for you, I should still not be giving adequate thanks for the benefits I have received (ἀξίαν ἀποδώσειν χάριν ὧν εὖ πέπονθα). If you wish anything that is mine, do not write and request it, but demand a return (χάριν). For I am in your debt’ (Ps.-Demetrius, Epistolary Types 21; trans. Malherbe). In this instance, χάρις extends beyond a simple expression of gratitude (‘thanks’). This is clear from the fact that χάρις is portrayed as a response to the situation of a debtor repaying a lender. The term thus represents a reciprocal gift that the recipient of benefits/ favours is obliged to return. 98 99

800

1 PETER …it was resolved by the People and the City and the ephors to praise Poseidippos the son of Attalos on account of the aforesaid kindnesses and also to return never-ending gratitude (ἀτελῆ χάριν) in recompense of (his bestowal of) benefits; and also to give to him the front seats at the theatre and the first place in a procession and (the privilege of) eating in the public festivals which are celebrated amongst us and to offer willingly all (the) honour given to a good and fine man in return for the many (kindnesses) which he provided, while giving a share of the lesser favour (ἐλάττονος χάριτος), (nevertheless) offering thankfulness (εὐχαριστίας) to the benefactors of ourselves as an incentive to the others, so that choosing the same favour (χάριν) some of them may win (the same) honours. And (it was resolved) to set up this decree on a stone stele in the most conspicuous place in the gymnasium, while the ephors make the solemn procession to the building without hindrance, in order that those who confer benefits may receive favour (χάριν) in return for love of honour, and that those who have been benefited, returning honours, may have a reputation of thankfulness (εὐχαριστίας) before all people, never coming too late for the sake of recompense of those who wish to do kindly (acts).101

Here the city’s response is depicted within the context of ancient gift exchange: in response to Poseidippos’ beneficence, he has been recompensed with a number of honourific awards, which are described as a ‘lesser favour’ (ἐλάττονος χάριτος). This return of favours does not complete the process, however. The praise and adulation that is received is designed to garner more gifts and favours for the community, not just from Poseidippos, but from all benefactors who witness the display of gratitude with which civic munificence is met. What this (and the other evidence cited above) indicates is that when used within the context of reciprocity and gift-exchange, the flexibility of χάρις allowed it to refer not only to the initial favours granted to someone, but also to the counter-gift whereby the beneficiary offered a socially obligatory response.102 This is how   SEG 9:948 (trans. Harrison). Cf. IG XII,9 899; SEG 24:1100; OGIS 248.   In the Greco-Roman world, the relationship of people to the gods is under�stood in much the same way (cf. Mott, ‘Power of Giving and Receiving’, 60–72). The gods are thought to grant favours to humanity (cf. SEG 8:549: Ἶσι… πάντες τέρπονταί τε βροτοὶ σῶν χαρίτων ἕνεκα), and in return, humans respond with 101 102



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the term functions in the present verse.103 By employing a common topos from Jewish and Christian literature (viz. God as benefactor), the letter portrays the audience as recipients within the system of ancient gift-exchange. But instead of asking his readers to reciprocate God’s bounty through traditional means, the author shifts the normative categories by defining the appropriate response as the non-retaliatory endurance of unjust suffering.104 A series of three conditional clauses (each introduced with εἰ)105 delineates the specific type of conduct that counts as an appropriate reciprocal response toward the beneficence of God. The first depicts creditable behaviour in quite general terms (using τις)—perhaps an indication that the author intends to extend the experience of slaves to that of the community in general, who may have to endure trouble and grief (1.6).106 One feature of this conduct is that it is done διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ. This is a striking and somewhat difficult phrase (as the textual variants show; see Text at 2.19 n. d). A few commentators, led most notably by Selwyn, have interpreted συνείδησις as the inner faculty of individuals that impacts their moral decision-making, translating the term as ‘conscience’.107 This lexical definition has, in turn, shaped the interpretation of θεοῦ, with Selwyn describing it as a genitive of ‘inner reference’.108 But serious questions surround this position on both interpretative fronts. thankfulness and service to the gods (cf. Michel, Recueil d’inscriptions grecques, 252, no. 334: ἀποδῷ τὰς ἀξίας χάριτας τοῖς θεοῖς). This relationship continues as the gods reciprocate with gratitude (cf. SIG3 708: παρὰ θεῶν τις χάρις καὶ τῶν εὐεργετηθέντων). 103   It is interesting to contrast this motivation to maintain subordination to existing hierarchical structures with the one offered to wives in 1 Pet 3.1–2. In the case of the latter, the author attempts to prompt Christian women toward submission in hopes that their husbands might be converted to the faith. The same prospect is not held out for slaves, however. ‘Perhaps’, as Schertz posits, ‘the author thinks that hope is unrealistic’ (‘Nonretaliation and the Haustafeln’, 272). 104   As Ostmeyer has noted, ‘Leiden ist die im ersten Petrusbrief wichtigste Form menschlicher Kommunikation mit Gott’ (‘Das Verständnis des Leidens’, 277). 105   All three of these are first-class conditions in which εἰ + indicative denotes an instance assumed to be true for the sake of the argument (see Wallace, Grammar, 690–94). 106   Cf. Michaels 140; Brox 128; Achtemeier 197. 107   For the fullest defence of this position, see Selwyn 176–78. Others who have adopted this view include: Wolf 120; Bengel 60; Bennett 219; Schelkle 80 n. 1. 108   Others, who do not all define συνείδησις as ‘conscience’, have taken θεοῦ as a subjective genitive, describing God’s consciousness of human suffering (see,

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Although there is a long history of translating συνείδησις as ‘conscience’,109 it should not be assumed that the term refers to some kind of inner moral compass, as a modern understanding of ‘conscience’ might imply. Even in Paul, where most of the NT occurrences appear, and where the term seems to be used in a way that can denote some kind of moral orientation (e.g., Rom 2.15; 9.1; 2 Cor 1.12), it is clear that the sense cannot simply be that of ‘conscience’ as understood in modern psychological terms. For example, those who are sensitive and scrupulous about eating food offered to idols are described as having a ‘weak’ συνείδησις.110 The etymology of the word, like that of the Latin conscientia, suggests the idea of ‘knowledge shared with another’, ‘co-knowledge’, such that συνείδησις can refer to communication, knowledge, consciousness or awareness, including of right- or wrong-doing.111 Here, as most commentators now agree, it is best taken in the sense of ‘consciousness’ or ‘awareness’.112 This meaning also helps to inform the function of θεοῦ, which in this case is most likely employed as an objective genitive: it is a person’s awareness or consciousness of God that should cause (διά) them to act in a certain way.113 The particular kind of commendable disposition is described as enduring pain or distress (ὑποφέρει… λύπας). In terms of its meaning, ὑποφέρω is similar to ὑπομένω, which appears twice e.g., Horneius 83; Morus 137; Fronmüller 45). 109   This rendering is found in numerous early English translations: Wycliffe, Tyndale, Coverdale, Matthew’s, Great Bible, Bishops Bible, Geneva, KJV. It is represented in a few recent translations as well (cf. ASV, NET, NASB, NKJV). 110   See Horrell, Solidarity and Difference, 189–91, and further references there. 111   LSJ 1704. Cf. also BDAG 967–68; MM 604–605. See further TDNT 7:898– 919; TLNT 3:332–36; Stelzenberger, Syneidesis im Neuen Testament; Eckstein, Der Begriff Syneidesis bei Paulus; Jewett, Paul’s Anthropological Terms, 402–46. 112   At least some of the Pauline uses also seem to bear this sense of ‘conscious�ness’ or ‘awareness’, whether of God or of others or in some broadly moral sense. See further Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 640–44. 113   In support for this interpretation of θεοῦ, it could also be noted that when συνείδησις is modified by a genitive—excluding those instances where it is modified by a genitive personal pronoun—the genitive invariably functions as an objective genitive (cf. Diodorus Siculus 4.65.7; 29.25.1; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 1.78.1; Philo Det. 146; Spec. 2:49; Virt. 124; QE 2:32; 1 Cor 8.7; Heb 10.2; Josephus, War 4:193; Heraclitus, All. 37.2; Soranus, Gyn. 1.4.3; Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 29.3).



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in the following verse; indeed, the literary context requires that they be more or less synonymous. Nonetheless, as Michaels notes, there are some distinctions in the shades of meaning:114 ὑποφέρω (normally with a direct object, as here) means ‘to bear up under trouble or difficulty’, to endure something, in a passive sense, while ὑπομένω (here in v. 20 without any direct object) conveys the more active sense ‘to maintain a belief or course of action in the face of opposition’.115 It is noteworthy that this strategy contrasts with the one prescribed later for women who were married to an unbeliever: whereas the latter are encouraged to a submissive obedience that is intended to lead to the husband’s conversion (3.1–2), the former are simply asked to endure the inevitable mistreatment. This speaks to the different levels of influence possessed by the two groups, despite their shared experience of domestic abuse.116 What these slaves are to endure is λύπας,117 which refers to various forms—note the plural—of grief, sorrow, or affliction (cf. Luke 22.45; John 16.6; Rom 9.2; 2 Cor 2.1; Phil 2.27). Within the Stoic taxonomy of the emotions (πάθη), λύπη (‘distress’) is also key. It is a primary emotion under which other emotions were grouped, and   Michaels 140.   BDAG 1042 and 1039, respectively. 116   See further Fitzgerald, ‘Early Christian Missionary Practice’, 24–44. 117   The accusative λύπας could be the direct object of ὑποφέρει (‘if any endures afflictions while suffering unjustly’; cf. NAB, CEB, NET ESV, HCSB, NRSV) or of πάσχων (‘if anyone endures while suffering afflictions unjustly’; cf. DLNT). A defence could be made for either construction. In support of the latter, it could be noted that elsewhere πάσχω and λύπη are closely connected (Euripides, Herc. fur. 1388; Plato, Tim. 64d; Ps.-Clement, Hom. 12.5.1; Plutarch, De proverbiis Alexandrinorum frg. 6; Galen, De placitis Hippocratis et Platonis 4.5.34). Even though Michaels points out that ‘πάσχειν never takes a direct object in its eleven other occurrences in 1 Peter’ (140; cf. Forbes 88), the construction πάσχειν λύπην does appear a few times (Irenaeus, Haer. 1.4.1; Libanius, Or. 55; Cyril of Alexandria, Comm. Isa. [PG 70:537]). Nevertheless, these examples all derive from later literature, whereas earlier writings tend to reflect a slightly different connection: sorrow (λύπη) arises out of or causes suffering (πάσχω) (Plato, Tim. 86c; Chionis Epistulae 14.3; Josephus, Ant. 5.147; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 7.2.3; Artemidorus Daldianus, Onir. 2.11). A slightly stronger case can, therefore, be made for the former interpretation. Not only does word order favour this position, but it is more common to find λύπη as the direct object of ὑποφέρω (Herm. Mand. 10.2.6) or closely associated terms (e.g., ὑπομένω: Aristotle, Eth. eud. 1221a, 1232a; Eth. nic. 1171b; [Mag. mor. 2.6.27]; Alciphron, Epistulae 4.18.14; John Chrysostom, Epistulae 18–242 [PG 52:664]). 114 115

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it stands opposed to χαρά (‘joy’).118 The phrase in v. 19—including the crucial final two words—conveys in a kind of summary form the pattern of commendable conduct that will then be spelled out in more detail in v. 20b. It is not simply enduring distress that the author regards as creditable, but specifically enduring afflictions in which one is suffering unjustly (πάσχων ἀδίκως).119 The verb πάσχω, which is used in this verse as a temporal participle (‘when/ while you suffer’; cf. NRSV, ESV, NASB, EHV), is a particular favourite of the author of 1 Peter: it appears here for the first time, but is employed a total of 12 times in the letter,120 including at points where reference is made, in concise and credal formulations, to Christ’s vicarious death, where one might have expected ἀποθνῄσκω (see Exegesis at 2.21). Already, then, this depiction of unjust suffering, endured as a result of one’s awareness of God, sets up a comparison with the experience of Jesus, which will be set out as a paradigm in vv. 21–25. Christ’s entrusting of himself to the one who judges δικαίως (2.23) forms a clear contrast to the kind of unjust judgment he endured from his contemporaries, like that which slaves may undergo from their masters, especially those who are perverse and harsh, and which other members of the Christian communities may experience from those who accuse them of wickedness and criminality. 118   See further TLNT 2:417–22; TDNT 4:313–24; Hockey, Role of Emotion, 106–16. With respect to λύπη, it is not just any grief that is in view (such as what might naturally occur when one initially receives bad news, for example), but a special kind of grief/distress that is excessive (so Gill, Structured Self, 221–22). Ps.-Andronicus, On Passions 1, defines λύπη as ‘an irrational contraction, or a fresh opinion that something bad is present, at which people think it right to be contracted’ (trans. Long and Sedley). The ‘contraction’ is describing the psychophysical state, which they take to be excessive, and would more appropriately be called something along the lines of depression. 119   There are various contexts in which ancient authors describe ‘suffering unjustly’ (πάσχειν ἀδίκως) (cf. Euripides, Orest. 1127; Demosthenes, Mid. 99; Eub. 7; [Olymp.] 12; Aristotle, Soph. elench. 180b; Anaximenes of Lampsacus, Rhet. Alex. 36.50; Menander, Sam. 656; Josephus, Ant. 2.50; 10.115; War 2.337; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 14.21; Lucian, Abdic. 8; Aelius Aristides, Πρὸς Πλάτωνα ὑπὲρ τῶν τεττάρων, p. 271 [Jebb]). A particularly interesting parallel is found in Plutarch. Although he does not employ the verb πάσχω, he does describe situations where wives in mourning would ‘punish their slaves (οἰκέτας) and maidservants excessively and unjustly (ἀδίκως)’ in their sadness (Cons. ux. 4 [Mor. 609C]). 120   At 1 Pet 2.19, 20, 21, 23; 3.14, 17, 18; 4.1bis, 15, 19; 5.10.



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20 ποῖον γὰρ κλέος, κλέος, εἰ ἁμαρτάνοντες καὶ κολαφιζόμενοι ὑπομενεῖτε;; ὑπομενεῖτε After declaring that the endurance of unjust suffering is considered to be an appropriate reciprocal response (χάρις) towards God’s beneficence (v. 19), the author now further specifies (γάρ) the particular type of suffering that qualifies under this perspective.121 Following the first conditional clause in v. 19 (εἰ …), this verse presents two further εἰ clauses, the first preceded by its apodosis (ποῖον γὰρ κλέος), as in v. 19, the second followed by its apodosis (τοῦτο χάρις παρὰ θεῷ).122 The closing phrase with τοῦτο χάρις also forms an inclusio with the opening of v. 19, binding the two verses together as a chiastically shaped unit (see on v. 19).123 At the opening of v. 19, the τοῦτο points forwards; at the end of v. 20 it refers back to the immediately preceding phrase. As a way of explaining why it is specifically ‘suffering unjustly’ (πάσχων ἀδίκως) that is praiseworthy, the author poses a rhetorical question: ποῖον γὰρ κλέος (with an implied ἐστιν). The term κλέος occurs only rarely in biblical Greek (elsewhere only LXX Job 28.22; 30.8). In many translations and commentaries, it is viewed in an accounting sense, where it is thought to be something that procures reward, and thus is rendered ‘credit’ (cf. NRSV, NIV, ESV, NASB, NAB, GNT, HCSB, NET).124 This definition is not entirely accurate, however. The word, which can describe a rumour or a report of some kind (cf. Homer, Od. 16.461; Pindar, Pyth. 4.125; Sophocles, Phil. 251), ordinarily refers to the fame or 121   In classical Greek, the interrogative particle ποῖος usually carried a qualitative sense, referring to a particular class or type (although, cf. Jannaris, Historical Greek, 163, where some weakened forms are listed). But this sense was often weakened in Hellenistic Greek so that it functioned merely as the equivalent of τίς in the introduction of interrogative sentences (cf. Matt 24.43; Rev 3.3). In this case, however, the qualitative sense seems to be preserved, ‘what kind of κλέος’ (see Robertson, Grammar, 740; cf. also BDAG 843–44). 122   Achtemeier 197; Dubis 73–74. 123   Some see a chiasm across vv. 19–20 (e.g., Michaels 142; Achtemeier 196). Others claim that v. 20 is amplifying and clarifying v. 19 (e.g., Elliott 518, 520; Dubis 73–74). 124   See, e.g., Blenkin 61; Selwyn 178; Miller 221; Elliott 520; Green 80; Wither�ington 153; Forbes 88; Schreiner 155. The translation ‘credit’ may be influenced by the rendering of this term in BDAG. Even though the editors provide the English glosses ‘fame’ and ‘glory’ for the term, when referring to its use in 1 Pet 2.20, they provide the translation, ‘what credit is it, if’ (547).

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reputation that someone achieves within a group or community.125 In Greek epic poetry, a person’s heroic death was understood as a means of attaining undying and imperishable κλέος (Homer, Il. 9.412–416; Od. 4.584; 7.333).126 Such fame might take the form of a memorial tomb (Il. 7.91; Od. 4.584), or one’s memory might even be preserved in song (Il. 6.357–358; Od. 3.204). In this way, a person could gain immortality.127 In the Greco-Roman period, the word is used in much the same way, with fame also being accomplished in the present life (Philo, Virt. 204; Josephus, War 1.293; IG IV2,1 590). The hope was that one’s reputation would be widely disseminated (cf. PSI 341; Job 28.22). But to claim that it denotes the ‘credit’ or ‘reward’ that one earns before God is to stretch its semantic domain beyond the limits of established usage.128 It is best to define κλέος in 1 Pet 2.20 as the good reputation that one achieves within a particular social group through commendable behaviour. In this case, it is especially concerned with the acclaim that is bestowed by the slave master.129 This meaning serves as a foil in the comparative purposes of the author. The first half of this comparison (v. 20a) relates to the human sphere. As Michaels points out, ‘slave masters, even those who are good and fair, are not likely to be impressed by the patient endurance of a disobedient or rebellious slave who (in their terms) gets what he deserves’.130 In contrast, an alternative and more important perspective is afforded to the readers through their relationship with God (v. 20b). 125   This meaning is reflected in the fact that κλέος is often connected with the terms ἔπαινος (Plato, Leg. 663a; SB XX 14626; P.Oxy. XXIV 2407; Epiphanius, Pan. vol. 3, p. 491 [Holl]) and τιμή (Euripides, Andr. 774; Aristophanes, Ran. 1035; Josephus, Ant. 18.5; CIBR 140). See van Unnik, ‘A Classical Parallel’, 107. 126   See LSJ 958. Cf. also Nagy, Comparative Studies, 229–61; Greindl, ‘Κλέος, Κῦδος, Εὖχος, Τιμή, Φάτις, Δόξα’, 104–19. 127   It is not surprising, therefore, to find that κλέος is commonly employed in Greek sepulchral epigrams (see Ecker, Grabmal und Epigramm, 34–40, 189–217). 128   Cf. Dubis 74: ‘The translation “credit” that appears in many English versions (so also BDAG, 547) does not quite capture the meaning of “acclaim” that this noun carries’. See also Watson 68–69. 129   See de Wette 29; Wiesinger 190; Schott 150; Keil 97; Huther 137; Masterman 112; Monnier 126; Wagner-Vouga 92. Others argue that κλέος pertains to a person’s relationship to God (e.g., Bengel 60; Pott 87; Kühl 169; Bigg 145; Hart 61; Mitchell 256; cf. Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 165). 130   Michaels 141.



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In both conditional clauses,131 the main action is the same: ὑπομενεῖτε. This refers to an active endurance, standing one’s ground, or holding out (cf. on ὑποφέρει in v. 19). Even though the verb is placed in the future tense, it is best rendered using the present tense in English, reflecting a timeless situation (cf. τις in v. 19).132 The two contrasting situations in which such endurance might be practised are described with present participles. In the first scenario of endurance, someone ‘sins’ (ἁμαρτάνοντες) and, as a consequence,133 is physically punished (κολαφιζόμενοι); that is, beaten or struck. The verb κολαφίζω, which is rare outside of Christian literature and not found prior to the time of the NT, can be used in a more specific sense to describe a slap with the hand (Matt 26.67//Mark 14.65),134 or as a somewhat more general reference to mistreatment (1 Cor 4.11; 2 Cor 12.7; Mart. Pol. 2.4; cf. SB III 6263, which implies correction is involved). This reflects the vulnerable situation of slaves in the Greco-Roman world, which

131   The conditional sentences in v. 20 call into question the strong tendency among Petrine commentators to understand the first-class condition as a statement of fact (‘since’). In this case, two opposite scenarios are considered, one involving justified suffering and the other involving unjust suffering. As such, both cannot reflect the (simultaneous) reality of the situation among the readers (see Wallace, Grammar, 708 for similar examples). It is best, then, to translate this sentence (and all first-class conditions) as reflecting the assumption of truth for the sake of argument (‘if’). 132   Some translations render the verb as a future, ‘you shall take it patiently’ (KJV, ASV). The Petrine author’s choice of the future tense extends beyond the corollary with the present tense participles (as suggested by Michaels 134 n. e). When εἰ + future indicative is used in the protasis of a conditional sentence, emphasis is generally placed on expectation (see Porter, Verbal Aspect, 312–16). This is evident from the fact that the construction was commonly used for threats or warnings (cf. CGCG 552; Mayser Grammatik, II,1 283). 133   As Dubis (75) notes, κολαφιζόμενοι, though ‘syntactically parallel with ἁμαρτάνοντες… refers to a temporal event that results from ἁμαρτάνοντες’. Nonetheless, the author does not justify such punishment in the way implied by REB: ‘the beating you deserve’ (cf. also CJB, GNT). 134   The verbal form derives from the noun κόλαφος, which was used in the vernacular for κόνδυλος meaning ‘knuckle’ (Phrynichus, Ecloga 175 [Lobeck]; Pausanias, Ἀττικῶν ὀνομάτων συναγωγή, Κ38; see further MHT 3:407). Elsewhere, it is employed to describe the physical abuse of a parent that results in the death of a child (Cyranides 3.39; Physiologus 4; T.Jos. 7.5).

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often involved physical abuse.135 Whatever we might wish, the author does not make any critical comments about such physical punishment, seeing it as a consequence of genuine wrongdoing (a judgment made clear by the choice of ἁμαρτάνοντες). Enduring such punishment brings no particular acclaim or positive reputation to the one who suffers it. ἀλλ᾿ εἰ ἀγαθοποιοῦντες καὶ πάσχοντες ὑπομενεῖτε, ὑπομενεῖτε, τοῦτο χάρις παρὰ θεῷ. θεῷ. By contrast, the other condition described is equally one in which endurance is displayed (with ὑπομενεῖτε repeated, exactly as in the previous clause), but this time the subjects are doing what is good (ἀγαθοποιοῦντες, which is part of the crucial vocabulary introduced in 2.14). The second participle, πάσχοντες, stands in parallel to κολαφιζόμενοι in the previous conditional phrase, and refers in this context to suffering that is inflicted upon slaves (and other members of the Christian assemblies), though its range is potentially broad, from verbal criticism and abuse to physical punishment. As we have seen, πάσχω is a significant word for 1 Peter, first introduced in 2.19 (see ad loc.); indeed, the phrase ἀγαθοποιοῦντες καὶ πάσχοντες expands and clarifies what the author had in mind in the phrase πάσχων ἀδίκως (2.19). The use of ἀγαθοποιοῦντες in this particular phrase also helps to clarify what the author has in mind by such activity (cf. on 2.12, 14). Despite the fact that one may be doing what is ‘good’, the result is—or may be—suffering, and suffering inflicted in the same way as implied in the parallel phrase with κολαφιζόμενοι.136 It is difficult, as Michaels notes, to imagine in this context that ἀγαθοποιοῦντες indicates doing what social convention generally, and slaves masters in particular, would have agreed and defined as 135   References to the abuse of slaves are common in the ancient literary record: Sir 42.5; Cicero, Fin. 4.27.76; Quintilian, Inst. 1.3.13; Martial, Epigr. 2.66; 8.23; Tacitus, Ann. 16.19; Juvenal, Sat. 6.474–85, 490–91; Ps.-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 2.8.2; Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 5.17.8–9; Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesian Tale 2.6. 136   Since the two halves of v. 20 are parallel in nature, the causal connection of the participles in v. 20a (ἁμαρτάνοντες καὶ κολαφιζόμενοι, ‘when you are beaten because you do wrong’) should be reproduced in v. 20b: ἀγαθοποιοῦντες καὶ πάσχοντες, ‘when you suffer because you do good’ (cf. Johnstone 174; Huther 138; Windisch 65; Goppelt 199; Achtemeier 197 n. 111).



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‘good’: even with masters who are perverse, punishment in such cases is unlikely. ‘Doing good must therefore be understood here as doing what pleases God even when it is not to the master’s advantage… Without being more specific, Peter raises here the possibility of Christian slaves at some point facing a conflict between their faith and their household responsibilities.’137 In other words, what the author defines as ‘doing good’ may include some behaviours that are socially approved, such as showing honour and subordination towards one’s master, and others that are not, such as worshipping only one God, and showing exclusive allegiance to Christ (see Excursus: ‘Doing Good’ and the Strategy of 1 Peter). The fact that such good conduct is done fundamentally out of commitment to God, and in awareness of God’s will, has already been shown in the phrase διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ (2.19). It is underlined again here in the closing phrase, τοῦτο χάρις παρὰ θεῷ, which forms the inclusio with the opening of v. 19 (where the τοῦτο pointed forward). In this case, τοῦτο points back to the immediately preceding conditional phrase. As we mentioned above (see Exegesis at 2.19),138 a variety of meanings have been assigned to χάρις in this and the previous verse. For the most part, scholars have generally reached their exegetical conclusions from one of two approaches. Based on the fact that χάρις is parallel to κλέος in a contrastive sentence, many have understood the terms to be synonymous, with both understood to refer to actions that are ‘creditable’.139 But there are difficulties with this popular construal. As noted above, κλέος denotes the good reputation or fame achieved before other members of society. This is not quite the same behaviour that is ‘commendable’ (χάρις) before God; in fact, early Christian writings never speak of achieving κλέος before God.140 Thus, the lexical change

  Michaels 142.   For more on the various ways that χάρις has been interpreted in these passages, see Kapambu, ‘La portée de Χάρις’, 436–38. 139   Examples of those who interpret κλέος and χάρις as conveying the same meaning in this passage include: Achtemeier 198; Elliott 518–22; Feldmeier 172; Warden 136; Schlosser 168; Forbes 88; Schreiner 155; cf. Charles, “Volonté de Dieu”, 393–94. Both the Syriac (Peshitta) and the Ethiopic translations reflect this understanding (see ECM 142). 140   Cf. Watson 68–69. Occasionally, the use of the term in 1 Clem. 54.3 is cited in this regard (e.g., Michaels 141), but this clearly refers to reputation or acclaim 137 138

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from κλέος to χάρις is not simply stylistic; it is substantive. The former relates to the reputation one attains on a human level, while the latter describes how one responds to a divine benefactor. Based on linguistic and thematic parallels, it is often claimed that the author of 1 Peter echoes the tradition in Luke 6.32–35.141 In the Lukan passage, it is clear that χάρις describes the credit or benefit that one receives as a result of a particular action (cf. Did. 1.3; 2 Clem. 13.4; Ign. Pol. 2.1). The Petrine author would thus be echoing such an idea by describing χάρις as a human act that gains divine approval. Key differences weigh against this suggestion, however. In Luke 6.32–35, χάρις is connected to the indirect object ὑμῖν, which creates a reciprocal idea (‘χάρις to you’); this idea is not present in 1 Pet 2.20. Moreover, χάρις in Luke 6.32–35 is interpreted by its juxtaposition with μισθός, focusing on the reward that one receives (from God, v. 35) as a result of loving indiscriminately. But 1 Pet 2.19–20 contrasts χάρις (in relation to God) with κλέος (as reputation before other humans). The second issue concerns the specific phrasing χάρις παρὰ θεῷ, which is often seen as a shorthand form of the popular LXX idiom, εὑρίσκειν χάριν ἐναντίον [or: ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖς] τινός (‘to find favour before [or: in the eyes of] someone’; cf. Gen 6.8; Exod 33.13; Judg 6.17; 1 Sam 1.18).142 If so, it would suggest that the term χάρις was meant to communicate something that is praiseworthy in God’s eyes. This expression was picked up and frequently employed by later Jewish and Christian authors (cf. T.Reu. 4.8; Jos. Asen. 15.14; Pr. Levi 9; Philo, Deus 86; Acts 7.46). However, 1 Pet 2.20 does not use the verb εὑρίσκειν and includes the prepositional

within the Christian community: the result of actions that bring μέγα κλέος ἐν Χριστῷ is that such a person ‘will be welcomed everywhere’ (πᾶς τόπος δέξεται ἀυτόν). Even within non-Christian literature, the association of κλέος with the divine realm is found only on rare occasions (e.g., Plato, Leg. 663a: ‘Come, tell me, is fair fame (κλέος) and praise from the mouths of men and gods a noble and good thing, but unpleasant, while ill-fame is the opposite?’; trans. Bury [LCL]). 141   E.g., Selwyn 429; Stibbs-Walls 114–15; Elliott 519–20; cf. also Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” ’, 341; Wilkes, ‘Synoptic Tradition’, 51. Charles (“Volonté de Dieu”, 356) goes one step further, claiming that ‘cela semble confirmer la dépendance de l’auteur de l’épître vis-à-vis de Luc’. 142   See, e.g., Monnier 125; Hart 61; Wand 80; Hiebert 178; cf. Bechtler, Following in His Steps, 191 n. 14; Kapambu, ‘La portée de Χάρις’, 442.



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phrase παρὰ θεῷ rather than ἐναντίον θεοῦ.143 Even where παρὰ θεῷ appears without εὑρίσκειν in connection to χάρις (as in Exod 33.12; Luke 2.52), as with the idiom εὑρίσκειν χάριν ἐναντίον [or: ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖς] τινός, the focus is personal—on someone who finds favour with God. Here the focus is impersonal (τοῦτο). Certain clues indicate that the Petrine author’s use of χάρις in this and the previous verse was intended to describe the reciprocal response that a person or group made towards favours received, χάρις being conventionally used for both the initial gift and its reciprocated response, even as ‘thanks’ (see on v. 19). One such clue is the equative nature of the sentence (τοῦτο χάρις παρὰ θεῷ, with an implied ἐστιν). A similar construction is used later in the epistle to show that, contrary to the readers’ expectations, the unjust suffering on which the letter partly focuses represents part of God’s beneficence towards them (see on 5.12: ταύτην εἶναι ἀληθῆ χάριν τοῦ θεοῦ). In both places, the author seems concerned with a need to define χάρις. Here in 2.19–20, the issue relates to human action and, in particular, to the slaves’ response to suffering (see on 2.19). Their action in enduring unjust suffering while continuing to do good constitutes χάρις, in the sense of an appropriate response to God’s χάρις, central to the ‘good news’ they have received (see on 1.10). As such, χάρις is not merely an action that is pleasing to God (‘this is commendable [or “creditable”] before God’; cf. NIV, CEB, NKJV, WEB), but one that is an appropriate reciprocation of God’s favour or beneficence. The author asks slaves—and the community more generally—to understand the letter’s prescribed response to unjust suffering as a means of returning their gratitude toward God and completing the circle of reciprocity. The final words, παρὰ θεῷ, indicate something that is evaluated or appraised from the viewpoint of God (cf. Prov 17.15; 4 Macc 13.3; Philo, Leg. 3.89; Mig. 196; Rom 2.13; Jas 1.27), and thus it is best translated, ‘from the perspective of God’.144 An analogous usage is found in 1 Cor 3.19, where Paul argues that, ‘the wisdom of this   The construction εὑρίσκειν χάριν παρὰ τίνι is known (e.g., Philo, Leg. 3.77; Deus 74, 104, 109, 111; Abr. 131; Luke 1.30; Herm. Sim. 5.2.10), though in these instances, the meaning of χάρις is still shaped by its connection with εὑρίσκειν. 144   The prepositional phrase παρὰ θεῷ is sometimes translated, ‘in the sight of God’ (see Harris, Prepositions, 172). While this rendering is acceptable, the 143

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world is foolishness from the perspective of God (παρὰ τῷ θεῷ)’. The prepositional phrase thus distinguishes God’s appraisal from human standards (cf. the contrasts in 3.18 and 4.6). In the same way, the statement, ‘this is χάρις παρὰ θεῷ’ (1 Pet 2.20) differentiates God’s perspective on χάρις from that of popular society. It is God who evaluates endurance in the midst of unjust suffering as χάρις. By framing his instructions within the context of ancient giftexchange, the author provides a distinctive perspective on the situation of the audience. Along with more conventional means of returning thanks to God—such as declaring God’s excellent virtues (2.9)—he specifically defines as χάρις the non-retaliatory endurance of unjust suffering. But along with more conventional means of returning thanks—such as declaring God’s excellent virtues (2.9)—the author specifically defines as χάρις the non-retaliatory endurance of unjust suffering. The shame and humiliation that threatened the Christian communities have now been valorised as a reciprocal gift to be returned to God. This marks one more way that the author encourages his audience to find positive value even in their suffering, and empowers them to discover agency even in their relative powerlessness145—in the act of enduring unjust suffering. Whatever the difficulties with the legacy this leaves,146 it represents a step towards a prominent motif in Christian identity as that of ‘a sufferer’.147 Acceptance of unjust suffering is given a new significance. 21 εἰς τοῦτο γὰρ ἐκλήθητε, ἐκλήθητε, ὅτι καὶ Χριστὸς ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν Having urged a certain pattern of conduct upon household slaves, the author now offers some explanatory motivation (signalled by γάρ) for this behaviour. The demonstrative pronoun τοῦτο echoes translation, ‘from God’s perspective’, more fully captures the author’s attempt to (re-)define the nature of χάρις for his readers (cf. 1 Pet 2.4; 2 Pet 3.8). 145   The valorisation of suffering has significant implications in terms of status display within the Christian community. For slaves, who normally found themselves on the lowest level of the social hierarchy, they now have the greatest opportunity to return the beneficence of God and to imitate Christ (2.21–25). In this way, the author deconstructs the advantages held by those who are free and who would thus normally find themselves in a more preferable position (cf. Moxnes, ‘Body, Gender and Social Space’, 163–81). 146   See Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter. 147   Cf. Perkins, Suffering Self.



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the previous usage in vv. 19 and 20 and specifically refers back to the phrase ἀγαθοποιοῦντες καὶ πάσχοντες ὑπομενεῖτε.148 That is, the purpose for which these slaves have been called (ἐκλήθητε) is to maintain a resolute commitment to doing good, even when it means enduring suffering.149 Although the ‘you’ in view here is specifically the οἰκέται of v. 18, for whom harsh treatment and suffering was likely to be a feature of daily life, it is clear that for 1 Peter this calling belongs to all who would follow Christ.150 The calling is that of God (as in 1.15; 2.9; 5.10), implicit in the passive verb (cf. the same phrase in 3.9, also pointing backwards to the preceding clause); and it is the call to the Christian life, with both its promised glory (5.10) and its ethical responsibility (1.15).151 Some associate this ‘calling’ with the rite of baptism,152 although the Petrine author never explicitly draws this connection. The reason (ὅτι) why they have been called to endure in the midst of unjust suffering is that Christ also walked this difficult 148   This was the majority opinion among earlier commentators (e.g., Steiger 2:109; de Wette 30; Wiesinger 191; Alford 354; Johnstone 175; Huther 138; Bigg 145; Knopf 114), and it remains the consensus in more recent scholarship (Michaels 142; Goppelt 201; Achtemeier 198; Elliott 523; Schlosser 168; cf. Wilkins, ‘Peter’s Theology’, 64–65). Nevertheless, there have been a few who think that τοῦτο refers forward to the suffering of Christ (see Bengel 60; Jachmann 147; Masterman 113; Blenkin 61). 149   Vinson argues that the verse is intended to communicate that ‘suffering is part of a Christian’s calling’ (127). In this way, he argues, ‘the example Jesus set for the readers is not just in how he suffered, but in that he suffered’ (128; original emphasis). But the referent of τοῦτο indicates that the Petrine author’s point is not that believers were ‘called’ to a life of suffering (as pressing as this issue is for the intended readers), ‘but to perseverance in good actions even when unjust suffering accompanies these actions’ (Osborne, ‘Guidelines for Christian Suffering’, 390). 150   Cf. de Wet, ‘Discourse of the Suffering Slave’, 23: ‘The metaphor of the Christic suffering slave becomes a semantic nexus, a central point for constructing meaning and purpose within suffering. The suffering of the institutional slave is related to Christomorphism, and the suffering of the Christians under persecution is also a form of Christomorphism’. 151   Cf. the uses of καλέω and κλῆσις in 1 Cor 7.15–24, and the illuminating discussion in Bartchy, First-Century Slavery, esp. 132–59; more broadly on these terms, see TDNT 3:487–93; Shaw, ‘A People Called’, esp. 28–41. 152   E.g., Kelly 118; Davids 108; Goppelt 201; cf. Popp, ‘Christus als Leitbild’, 64; Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 166. By contrast, Dunn (Baptism in the Holy Spirit, 215–23) argues that the marks of a person’s initiation into the Christian faith is connected to the baptism of the Holy Spirit.

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path (Χριστὸς ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν).153 A similar conviction, that Christ ‘died (ἀπέθανεν) for us’ (see Text at 2.21 n. g), became established very early as an essentially credal formula. This concise and repeated expression, combined with the conviction that Christ ‘died and rose’ (and was thus exalted as Lord), stands at the centre of early Christian faith (see esp. 1 Cor 15.3–4; 1 Thess 4.14; also, e.g., Mark 8.31; 9.31; 10.33–34; Luke 24.26; Rom 4.24–25; 8.34; 10.9; 1 Thess 1.10), though our evidence for it depends very largely (and unsurprisingly) on the Pauline letters.154 It is possible therefore that the present construction has been influenced by the popular credal formula. Rather than focusing on the death (ἀπέθανεν) of Jesus, however, the emphasis here is placed on Christ’s suffering (ἔπαθεν), likely as a way to draw a connection with the experience of the Anatolian readers. The specific meaning of this construction (καὶ Χριστὸς ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν) is shaped by two interpretative issues. First, there is the function of καί. As in 1 Pet 3.18, this conjunc�tion carries an adverbial sense (‘also’) and thus emphasises the connection between the unjust suffering experienced by Christ and the suffering that could be expected by believers whose lives are marked by doing good.155 Some limit the nature of this parallel by insisting that καί modifies only the verb ἔπαθεν.156 As such, the endurance of unjust suffering is grounded in the fact of Christ’s suffering; that is, the reason why believers are expected to persevere in the midst of trials is because their situation parallels the experience of Christ. However, there is no reason why such a limitation should be drawn, and consequently, many connect the conjunction to the entire clause, ἔπαθεν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν.157 In this 153   It is probably best to take ὅτι as giving the reason (so Achtemeier 198; Forbes 89) rather than the motivation (so Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 390) for their conduct. 154   Cf. Goppelt 202. The earliest such reference is 1 Thess 5.10; cf. also Rom 5.6, 8; 14.15; 1 Cor 8.11 [with διά]; 15.3; 2 Cor 5.14–15; note comparable formulations, presented as prophecy, in John 11.50–51; 18.14. 155   Cf. Huther 139; Hart 61; Hiebert 182; Elliott 523. A few have attributed an ascensive force to καί, noting that it marks an important focus: ‘even Christ—who was completely innocent—suffered’ (Demarest 132; Fronmüller 46). 156   See, e.g., Huther 139; cf. Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 390; Dryden, Theology and Ethics in 1 Peter, 188; Park, ‘Christology as Motivation’, 53. 157   See, e.g., Wiesinger 193; Hofmann 91; Keil 97; Usteri 113.



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case, the endurance of unjust suffering is grounded in the benefits received by the suffering of Christ; that is, the point of this encouragement to household slaves (and to all the letter’s recipients) to do good despite suffering is that Christ not only suffered, but that he did so for their sake (ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν). The second issue involves the specific meaning assigned to the phrase ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν. Rather than focusing on the nature of redemption, many emphasise the exemplary character of Christ’s suffering.158 According to this approach, πάσχω refers to the trials experienced by Christ during his lifetime,159 and is not a reference to his death. What is more, the benefit (ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν) that the afflictions of Christ hold out for believers is that they provide an example of how to endure unjust suffering, as explained in the remainder of the verse (v. 21c–d). Various considerations support this interpretation. First, proponents note that when a substitutionary idea is present within early Christian texts, it is more commonly expressed through the verb ἀποθνῄσκω, which appears nowhere in 1 Peter (see Text at 3.18 n. a, also 2.21 n. g).160 The present construction thus contrasts with other formulations, particularly those in the Pauline letters.161 Further, advocates draw attention to the fact that the sufferings of Christ set an example (ὑπογραμμός) that believers are expected to follow, and since the sufferings of Christians are not understood to be vicarious in any way, the emphasis, they contend, must be on Christ as moral exemplar. 158   Those who emphasise the paradigmatic nature of Christ’s suffering in this verse include: Benson 227; Mason 409; Masterman 113; Bigg 145; Grudem 128; Michaels 143; Achtemeier 199; Watson 69; cf. Popp, ‘Christus als Leitbild’, 64. 159   Note, e.g., Hillyer 84: ‘Although the NT often speaks of Christ’s sufferings when it means his death, here the emphasis is on the unwarranted afflictions of Jesus, for Peter is referring to Christian slaves being beaten, not killed’; cf. also Grudem 128. 160   Along with the NT references given above, see also Ign. Rom. 6.1; Pol. Phil. 9.2. Even when the expression ἀποθνῄσκω + ὑπέρ is used, it need not describe a vicarious death. This is clear from the fact that the same construction depicts a human action taken with reference to God/Christ (Ign. Rom. 4.1; Mart. Andr. A 10.3) or even for the name of God/Christ (Acts 21.13). Further, in some contexts, the construction ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν describes both the death and the resurrection of Christ (2 Cor 5.15), and while the death of Christ may have been substitutionary, it is less common to describe the resurrection in this way. 161   See Breytenbach, ‘ “Christus litt euretwegen” ’, 263.

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As these interpreters have clearly demonstrated, the paradigmatic nature of Christ’s suffering is at the forefront of this verse. But ultimately, it is difficult to separate the exemplary character from its redemptive value. This is clear, as many have pointed out,162 from the strong substitutionary emphasis found in the verse.163 The presence of the phrase ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν indicates that more than the example of Christ is involved. By the Koine period, the preposition ὑπέρ had encroached upon the semantic domain of ἀντί (‘instead of’, ‘in place of’), often emphasising a substitutionary idea.164 While such a usage is by no means required here, especially given the fact that in the vast majority of instances the construction πάσχειν + ὑπέρ means only ‘to suffer because of’ or ‘to suffer for the benefit of’,165 certain considerations suggest that the phrase 162   Those who emphasise the redemptive nature of Christ’s suffering in this verse include: Johnstone 176; Monnier 129; Lenski 119; Cranfield 83; Marshall 92; Goppelt 202; Donelson 83; Schreiner 158. 163   There are some who would challenge the cultic background behind much of the early Christian language describing the death of Jesus, specifically that expressed through the preposition ὑπέρ. Instead of connecting this language to the sacrificial rites in the Hebrew Bible (hence, a vicarious atonement), the death of Jesus is thought to be portrayed according to the righteous martyr traditions from the Greek and Roman worlds (see, e.g., Versnel, ‘Quid Athenis et Hierosolymis?’, 162–96; idem, ‘Making Sense of Jesus’ Death’, 213–94; see further Breytenbach, ‘ “Christus starb für uns”, 447–75; Eschner, Gestorben und hingegeben “für” die Sünder). Similarly, Vahrenhorst (125) seems to allow for a broad background (including Greek, Roman, and Jewish ideas) to contribute to conceptions of the death of Jesus. 164   Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 630–32; Radermacher, Grammatik, 139; Moule, Idiom Book, 64; Wallace, Grammar, 384–88; cf. also Davies, ‘Christ in our Place’, 81–90; Harris, Prepositions, 211–16. This usage is commonly found in the documentary papyri, where it is employed within the illiteracy formulas denoting that one person writes in the place of another who is illiterate: ἔγραψα ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ ἀγραμμάτου (see Rossberg, De praepositionum Graecarum, 41; Robertson, ‘Use of Ὑπέρ’, 321–27; Mayser, Grammatik, II,2 460–61; on this formula more generally, see Majer-Leonhard, ΑΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΟΙ; Calderini, ‘Gli ἀγράμματοι’, 14–41; Youtie, ‘ΑΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΟΣ’, 161–76). Although the usage was rare, it was also occasionally found in classical Greek (see Jannaris, Historical Greek, 398). 165   See, e.g., Acts 9.16; Phil 1.29; 2 Thess 1.5; Josephus, Ant. 13.199; Plutarch, Brut. 10.6; Appian, Bell. civ. 1.2.15; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 80.5; Ign. Smyrn. 6.2; Lucian, Tox. 6; Herm. Sim. 8.3.6–7; 9.28.2; Justin Martyr, Dial. 41.1; 95.2; Epistle from the Churches of Vienna and Lugdunum 1.41; Irenaeus, Haer. 1.1.20; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 4.9.75; Acts Thad. 3.4; Mart. Bart. 6.1; Acts. Thom. 25.3; 110.1. However, some of the force of this argument is impeded by the fact that



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is intended to denote vicarious suffering. Since ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν has the potential to obscure the parallel (καί) between the suffering of Christ and his followers, it appears to have been included to make a point about the representative nature of Christ’s suffering.166 This is confirmed by what follows. Throughout the remainder of this section, the author quotes directly from Isaiah 53, where the substitutionary death of the Suffering Servant is described (see Exegesis at 2.22–25). Some have argued that Isaiah 53 stands behind this credal formula and its idea of vicarious death,167 and Liebengood has recently suggested that v. 21 therefore ‘functions as the theme verse for the “midrashic” activity (2.21–25)’, with the Isaianic influence on the credal formula the initial impetus for the author’s extended use of Isaiah 53 to describe the Passion of Jesus.168 This is a complex issue for at least two reasons: one is the difficulty in determining whether Isaiah 53 is likely a direct influence on the credal formula found in 1 Cor 15.3 given the lack of direct verbal connections;169 the second is the uncertainty as to whether Isaiah 53 influenced the Gospel traditions (whether historically authentic or not) in which Jesus interprets his death as a vicarious act (Mark 10.45; 14.24).170 Direct in the ancient Greek vernacular the construction πάσχω + ἀντί was not used to denote suffering in someone else’s place. As a result, it would be improper to rule out a substitutionary idea in the present verse simply due to the absence of ἀντί. 166   Cf. Windisch 65. According to Kelly, the phrase ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν was included not ‘to emphasize in any special way the vicarious aspect of Christ’s sufferings, but mainly because it was an integral part of the credal sentence quoted’ (119; cf. Schelkle 81). Yet, Kelly also claims that the καί was not included in the original creed but was added by the Petrine author. This would indicate that the author was not completely constrained by his source and could have altered it if necessary. 167   E.g., Farmer, ‘Reflections on Isaiah 53’, 263; Hofius, ‘Fourth Servant Song’, 177–80. According to Langkammer, the use of Isa 53 to reflect on the suffering of Jesus happened very early in Christian history (‘Jes 53 und 1 Pet 2,21–25’, 94–95). 168   Liebengood, Eschatology, 89; see further 89–97. 169   In contrast to the firm confidence of Farmer and Hofius on this point above (see n. 167), Hooker sees only ‘one clear echo of Isaiah 53 in Paul, and that is in Romans 4:25’ (‘Use of Isaiah 53’, 101). 170   Contrast, for instance, the sceptical stance of Bultmann (Theology of the New Testament, 1:31: ‘the synoptic predictions of the passion obviously do not have Is. 53 in mind’) and Hooker (Jesus and the Servant; idem, ‘Use of Isaiah 53’, 88–103) with the arguments in favour of such influence presented by Betz (‘Jesus and Isaiah 53’, 70–87) and Stuhlmacher (‘Isaiah 53 in the Gospels and Acts’, 147–62). Goppelt considers that ‘the oldest christological formula tradition on the

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influence of Isaiah 53 on the phrasing of v. 21 seems somewhat unlikely. Indeed, the use of πάσχω in 1 Peter may point us more in the direction of the early Jesus traditions (whether or not these are in turn influenced by Isa 53), since the verb does not appear in Isaiah 53171 but is used in the predictions of the Son of Man’s suffering (Mark 8.31//Matt 16.21//Luke 9.22).172 Although it is noteworthy that the Petrine author employs the verb πάσχω rather than ἀποθνῄσκω, the former can just as easily denote the violent death of Christ. For, as Goppelt notes, already at this point ‘the verb πάσχειν had become a Christian technical term for Jesus’ suffering, especially his suffering unto death’.173 That this meaning is likely intended here is indicated by the fact that elsewhere the Petrine author employs the substantive πάθημα (‘suffering’) to describe the death of Christ (cf. 1.11; 5.1). Even though the use of the phrase πάσχειν ὑπέρ to denote Christ’s vicarious and redemptive suffering is unique in the NT (although, cf. Col 1.24: παθήμασιν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν), it is not without explanation. The author clearly favours this verb (see on 2.19), perhaps because it enables a closer link to be drawn between Christ’s suffering and the suffering of Christians. Whether or not the latter involves a suffering to the point of death, πάσχω can encompass the whole range of ‘sufferings’ that the readers might experience.174 So while the suffering of Christ is clearly portrayed as paradigmatic in the present verse, it is also presented as uniquely redemptive.175 meaning of atonement with regard to the death of Jesus, in, e.g., I Cor. 15:3 and Rom. 4:25, does not reach back, surprisingly, to Isaiah 53’ (209). He notes that the ὑπέρ formula reflects the influence of Jesus’ own words (Mark 14.24 par. and probably Mark 10.45 par.), which themselves reflect ‘an intuitive dependence on Isaiah 53’ (209). Only later was ‘the formula… developed theologically with the aid of OT declarations’ (210). 171   In fact, πάσχω appears only infrequently in the LXX, and then mostly in (later) writings composed in Greek (2 Maccabees; 4 Maccabees; Wisdom of Solomon). Other uses are in Esth 9.26; Amos 6.6; Zech 11.5; Ezek 16.5; Sir 38.16; Ep Jer 1.33. See further TDNT 5:907–909. 172   Cf. Liebengood, Eschatology, 91, who mentions Mark 8.31. 173   Goppelt 202; cf. Kelly 119; Cervantes Gabarrón, La Pasión de Jesucristo, 167; Le Roux, Ethics in 1 Peter, 167. Examples of this usage include: Luke 22.15; 24.26, 46; Acts 1.3; 3.18; 17.3; Heb 9.26; 13.12. 174   See further Horrell, ‘Leiden als Diskriminierung’, 110–32. 175   Various commentators have stressed both the exemplary and redemptive nature of Christ’s suffering in this verse (e.g., Fronmüller 46; Moffatt 126; Beare



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ὑμῖν ὑπολιμπάνων ὑπογραμμόν, ὑπογραμμόν, ἵνα ἐπακολουθήσητε τοῖς ἴχνεσιν αὐτοῦ, αὐτοῦ, The more specific and immediate point that the author wishes to make is that, in his suffering, Christ has left behind an example ‘for you’ (ὑμῖν, placed at the opening of this phrase for emphasis176). In making this statement, the author employs two rare terms. The verb ὑπολιμπάνω is only attested a few times in literary and documentary sources prior to the composition of 1 Peter (cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 1.23.2). It represents an Ionic form of the more common ὑπολείπω.177 With the prepositional prefix (ὑπο-) adding a perfective idea,178 the term generally denotes the act of leaving something behind, whether it be a particular sum of money (P.Hib. I 45; P.Col. III 52; PSI IV 392), a remainder in a mathematical equation (Heron, Geometrica 12.17, 37; 20.5, 6, 11; 21.2; Geodaesia 12.1), or the dross produced from the smelting of metal (Zosimus, Περὶ τοῦ θείου ὕδατος, vol. 2, p. 142 [Berthelot and Ruelle]). In this case, what is left behind by Christ is a ὑπογραμμός. This term is also a NT hapax and is extremely rare outside of Christian writings. It is used to denote either a pattern, from which children can copy or trace the letters of the alphabet (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 5.8.49) or an outline or sketch that others can fill in (2 Macc 2.28; Aelianus, Tact. 8.1; Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.9.84).179 In early Christian literature, ὑπογραμμός came to be employed in a moral sense of one who sets an example of a particular type of behaviour.180 The point of the image in 1 Pet 2.21, as becomes 148; Hiebert 182; Elliott 524–26; Senior 79; Osborne 200; cf. Goldstein, ‘Die Kirche als Schar derer’, 53). For a fuller treatment from this perspective, see Dryden, Theology and Ethics in 1 Peter, 185–89. 176   Cf. Hiebert 182. 177   MM 658. On the relationship between ὑπολιμπάνω and ὑπολείπω, see MHT 2:214, 247. 178   Cf. Robertson, Grammar, 634. 179   See LSJ 1877. Cf. also Lee, ‘Words Denoting “Pattern” ’, 166–73; Millauer, Leiden als Gnade, 67–69. Selwyn (179) points to an illuminating parallel in Aeschylus, Choeph. 209–10 (with ὑπογραφαί), where ‘Electra claims to recognize her brother’s footprints in the sand through their resemblance to her own’. 180   See, e.g., 1 Clem. 5.7; 16.17; 33.8; Pol. Phil. 8.2; Ps.-Clement, Hom. 4.16.1; Origen, Hom. Luc. 19; Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 2.35.9. The use of ὑπογραμμός to denote a particular pattern of behaviour is also found occasionally outside of

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clear in the following clause, is that Christ set out a pattern that is to be followed, not in precise or specific details but in its key characteristics:181 the resolute (and non-retaliatory) commitment to do good despite suffering.182 Indeed, the specific purpose (ἵνα) of Christ’s suffering, in this context, is that the readers might ‘follow after’ (ἐπακολουθήσητε)183 him, tracing his footsteps.184 This language is similar to that found in the Synoptic Gospels, where a life of dedication to Jesus is described as following (ἀκολουθέω) him (cf. Matt 8.22; Mark Christian writings. In the first century CE, the city of Iulia Gordos (Lydia) honours the deceased Stratonike, the wife of Attalos, son of Dionysius, with a statue and painted portrait (TAM V,1 688). On the attached funerary inscription, the qualities of Straonike that are extolled include her character within the domestic and public spheres. As a result, it is stated that she ‘set a new example of household management’ (κα[ι]νὸν ὑπογραμμὸν εὑρηκέναι αὐτὴν οἰκοδεσποσύνης). 181   Cf. Schrenk, TDNT 1:773: ‘Christ in His suffering has left footprints which we must take as models or examples in the way that the scholar follows the guiding lines of his teacher’. Schrenk denies any sense of imitatio Christi here, but sees in ὑπογραμμός an expression of ‘commitment to the lines (steps) traced out by Him’. 182   On the importance of Christ’s example of suffering in 1 Peter, see Steenberg, ‘Solution to Suffering’, 392–400. Some use the paradigmatic quality of Jesus’ suffering to defend the idea that slavery can in the context be positively used as a metaphor for the Christian life (e.g., Nordling, ‘Positive View of Slavery’, 69–73). 183   In this positive sense, cf. Isa 55.3; Philo Virt. 64; Legat. 185; Ign. Smyr. 10.1. The same verb is often used to depict the proscribed activity of ‘going after’ other gods, ‘idols’, etc. (e.g., Lev 19.4, 31; Deut 12.30). 184   The dative ἴχνεσιν is labelled by Wallace (Grammar, 158; cf. Forbes 90) as a ‘dative of rule’, a usage that ‘specifies the rule or code a person follows or the standard of conduct to which he or she conforms’ (Grammar, 157). This interpretation is challenged by Dubis (77) on the basis that ἐπακολουθέω regularly takes the dative for its direct object (cf. Lev 19.4; Deut 12.30; Josh 14.8; 1 Tim 5.10). Nevertheless, one consideration that may support Wallace’s reading is that when ancient authors wished to communicate the idea of following someone’s footsteps, they did so using one of two constructions: (ἐπ)ακολουθεῖν ἴχνεσιν (Lucian, Hermot. 73; Plontinus, Enneades 6.7.7; Eusebius, Comm. Ps. [PG 23:184]) or (ἐπ)ακολουθεῖν κατ᾿ ἴχνος/ἴχνη (Sostratus, Frag. 1a,23,F, frg. 4 [Jacoby]; Origen, Comm. Jo. 19.14.86; Comm. Matt. 15.19). There does not appear to be any discernible difference between them. In fact, sometimes both constructions are employed interchangeably by the same author (cf. Philo, Fug. 130; Virt. 64; Themistius, Ὑπατικὸς εἰς τὸν αὐτοκράτορα Ἰοβιανόν, p. 63, 68, 104, 105 [Harduin]; Πενταετηρικός, p. 104 [Harduin]). If the two uses are synonymous, then it may indicate that ἴχνεσιν denotes a standard or norm (κατά) that is being followed.



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8.34; Luke 18.22).185 It is probably best, therefore, to understand the prepositional prefix (ἐπι-) as indicating the direction in which these efforts should be focused.186 This direction is further specified by the term ἴχνος, which can mean the sole of the foot (its most common meaning in the LXX, as in Deut 11.24; 28.35, 65, etc.) or even the palm or wrist of the hand (as in 1 Sam 5.4; 2 Kgs 9.35), but also footsteps or tracks (as in Ps 76.20; Prov 5.5) including, more metaphorically, a ‘way’ or path (Prov 30.19; Job 11.7; Wis 5.10; Sir 13.26).187 Elsewhere, this idea of following someone’s footsteps is employed in a literal manner to describe the detective work of tracing another’s trail. For instance, the wife of Cyanippus, who had grown suspicious that her husband had taken up with another woman, followed his tracks, seeking to determine where he was spending his time (Plutarch, Parallela minor 21 [Mor. 310E]; cf. Philo, Fug. 130; Lucian, Hermot. 73; Chariton, Chaer. 5.2.1; Physiologus 1). The idiom is also used metaphorically to represent the act of following someone’s example, not in reproducing their actions exactly or in detail but with the same attitude, orientation, and purpose (Philo, Virt. 64; Plontinus, Enneades 6.7.7; Themistius, Ὑπατικὸς εἰς τὸν αὐτοκράτορα Ἰοβιανόν, p. 63, 68, 104, 105 [Harduin]; cf. Rom 4.12; 2 Cor 12.18; Ign. Eph. 12.2; Mart. Pol. 22.1).188   See Best 119; Elliott 527; cf. also Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums, 168–69, 209, 215–18; Weihs, ‘Zur Soteriologie des Ersten Petrusbriefes’, 64–65. 186   Cf. Kelly 120; Hiebert 183. Some take the prepositional prefix as adding an intensive force, ‘follow closely’ (e.g., Alford 354; Masterman 113; Blenkin 61; Senior 75; Witherington 155; Forbes 90). While an ἐπι- prefix can indicate greater intensity in some cases (compare γινώσκω with ἐπιγινώσκω in 1 Cor 13.12), the only other uses of the verb ἐπακολουθέω in the NT (Mark 16.20; 1 Tim 5.10, 24) exhibit ‘a sense not appreciably different from that of the simple verb’ (Johnstone 178). 187   See TDNT 3:402–406. 188   Le Roux (Ethics in 1 Peter, 168) claims that ‘[t]he combination of the two words ἐπακολου θέω [sic] and ἴχνος is unique to 1 Peter’. The idea behind this combination is reflected elsewhere, however. In one epistle to Genialis, for instance, Pliny the Younger states, ‘I am pleased that you have read my speeches with your father at your side. It will help you vastly to get on, to have a splendid scholar to tell you which passages deserve praises, and which the reverse, and that you should be trained to make a practice of giving a true opinion. You see whom you ought to follow, and in whose footsteps you should tread (Vides quem sequi, cuius debeas implere vestigia). You are indeed lucky to have a living model to 185

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22 ὃς ἁμαρτίαν οὐκ ἐποίησεν οὐδὲ εὑρέθη δόλος ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτοῦ Drawing from the Jewish scriptures, the author now describes the pattern of behaviour that Jesus demonstrated, which should be followed by the readers. The direct use of Isa 53.4–12 begins here and dominates the rest of the section (vv. 22–25). The relative pronoun ὅς with which v. 22 opens not only connects the clause with the preceding thought in v. 21, but is also one of the features often taken to indicate the hymnic character of these verses.189 It is true (as critics of the pre-formed hymn hypothesis often point out) that the author employs relative pronouns frequently elsewhere (31 times in the letter), where they are clearly part of his style rather than a reflection of pre-shaped hymnic material (e.g., in 1.8, 12; 2.4; 3.3; 4.5).190 Nonetheless, it remains striking that four relative pronouns are used successively in vv. 22–24 to introduce four clauses about Christ, and especially that the first three of these are in the nominative form ὅς. This nominative masculine form of the relative pronoun occurs only here in 1 Peter, and in 3.20—often also seen as hymnic in character (cf. also Phil 2.6; Col 1.15; 1 Tim 3.16, all opening with ὅς). There are certainly good grounds for seeing the author’s own biblical exegesis and theological reflection on display, not least in v. 23, which in particular ‘bears the mark of the author of the letter’.191 The lack of extant NT parallels may also raise suspicion about copy, who is one of the best of men, and also your nearest relative; and lucky that he, whom of all others you ought to imitate, is the very person to whom Nature has willed that you should bear the greatest resemblance’ (Ep. 8.13; trans. Firth; cf. also Ep. 6.11). 189   The use of participles and relative pronouns in liturgical and credal materials was classically analysed by Norden, Agnostos Theos, 250–76, 380–87 (note the reference to the “Relativstil” in 1 Pet 2.21–25 on p. 385). See Introduction to 2.18–25 above. 190   So, e.g., Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 388; Achtemeier 192; Elliott 549. Michaels (137) also makes the point (followed by Elliott) that elsewhere in places where the author is thought to be using hymnic or credal material, the distinguishing feature is passive participles, not relative pronouns (e.g., 1.20; 3.18–19). 191   Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 394. Others have made similar points. See, e.g., Wengst, Christologische Formeln, 85: ‘Diese Vorlage wird nun vom Verfasser… aufgenommen und gewendet’; and Goppelt 208: ‘The author has incorporated into the context a tradition that has already become his own’.



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identifying this passage as containing hymnic or shared tradition,192 though it is worth noting that other passages frequently identified as hymnic also contain unique or unusual vocabulary.193 Yet it also seems entirely reasonable, not least given the literary construction of vv. 22–25, to suspect that the author is drawing to some extent on the kinds of declarations about Christ that were expressed (and sung?) in Christian meetings. Indeed, it would be surprising if this were not the case.194 This passage is of considerable significance as the most extensive NT reflection on the Isaianic Suffering Servant material (52.13–53.12, esp. 53.3–12), which is here clearly and explicitly understood messianically, compared with its surprisingly restricted use elsewhere in the NT.195 The author may certainly be responsible for the final form, but it would be surprising if his engagement with the scriptural text were not influenced by some already evident identification of its significance and christological reflection upon it. However, attempts to distinguish pre-existing hymnic or credal material, here as elsewhere, inevitably become rather speculative.196 Following the introductory pronoun, the remainder of the verse is an exact quotation from Isa 53.9 (LXX), apart from the change from ἀνομίαν to ἁμαρτίαν.197 This latter word appears elsewhere   So Elliott 549.   E.g., Phil 2.6 (ἐν μορφῇ θεοῦ… ἁρπαγμόν); Col 1.20 (ἀποκαταλλάξαι… εἰρηνοποιήσας). 194   Debates about pre-existing material versus the author’s own work have too often operated with an overly sharp either–or approach, and perhaps an overly individualised notion of authorship. Assuming the author participated in Christian assemblies, why would his language not, in places, be shaped by forms familiar from that context? 195   Noting the allusions in Matt 8.17; Mark 10.45; Luke 22.37; Rom 4.25a; and the fuller citation in Acts 8.32–33, Achtemeier stresses the significance of 1 Peter’s engagement with Isa 53 (‘Christology of 1 Peter’, 147; cf. also Hillyer, ‘Servant of God’, 159; Jobes 192–93). In post-NT texts, see, e.g., 1 Clem. 16.3–14 (a lengthy quotation of Isa 53.1–12, primarily used to demonstrate Christ’s humility); Justin Martyr, Dial. 72.3; Melito, Peri Pascha 4, 64, 71, Frag. 9 (Hall). 196   As in the classic analysis of Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente’, 1–14. 197   Most believe that this reading represents a change made by the Petrine author (see, e.g., Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 393–94). A strong case can be made for this position based on the frequency with which ἁμαρτία is used in 1 Peter. If so, it would represent the earliest attested reading of ἁμαρτίαν in a citation of Isa 53.9. It is noteworthy that this reading became popular among later 192 193

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in 1 Peter (including later in this passage, 2.24bis, and in another possibly credal formulation, 3.18; also 4.1, 8), but neither ἀνομία nor any forms associated with νόμος is found in the epistle. So ἁμαρτία coheres more naturally with the author’s theological vocabulary,198 and specifically with the connection he wishes to draw between Christ’s behaviour and that of his followers (cf. 2.20, 24; 4.1–2), though the word is also present in phrases in Isa 53.4 and 12, which the author cites in v. 24. While Jesus was viewed as a sinner by some of his Jewish contemporaries (Matt 11.19; John 9.24), many of his followers were led to conclude that his life was actually sinless (cf. John 8.46; 2 Cor 5.21; Heb 4.15; 1 John 3.5).199 The basis for this assertion seems to have been the soteriological interpretation of Jesus’ death: only a perfect sacrifice could atone for the sins of humanity. This perspective is espoused by the Petrine author, who portrays Jesus’ death like that of ‘a lamb without defect or blemish’ (1.19). Nevertheless, this statement is more than just an abstract theological assertion about the person of Jesus. Although the author no doubt envisions the spotless nature of Jesus’ conduct to have extended throughout his lifetime,200 his current focus is on how the sinlessness of Jesus was Christian writers (e.g., Pol. Phil. 8.1; Origen, Cels. 1.69; Hippolytus, Fr. Ps. 11; Gregory of Nyssa, Antirrheticus adversus Apollinarium [PG 3,1:146]; Eusebius, Dem. ev. 1.10.16; Epiphanius, Pan. vol. 3, p. 428 [Holl]), although ἀνομίαν is still represented in some sources (e.g., 1 Clem. 16.10; Justin Martyr, Dial. 13.6; Athanasius, Inc. 34.4). One of two conclusions could be drawn from this evidence: either 1 Peter had an important and widespread influence on the subsequent citation of this Isaiah passage, or the reading ἁμαρτίαν may have originated elsewhere sometime prior to (or contemporary with) the composition of 1 Peter. 198   That the selection of ἁμαρτίαν instead of ἀνομίαν was influenced by the author’s theological vocabulary, rather than any important semantic distinctions between the terms, is indicated by the fact that both are commonly employed as synonyms (see Pss 31[32].1, 5; 50.4[2], 7[5], 11[9]; Job 10.6; Heb 10.17; 1 John 3.4). 199   On the development of the tradition surrounding the sinlessness of Jesus, see Siker, Jesus, Sin, and Perfection. 200   Standing in contrast to the imperfect tense verbs used in v. 23 (ἀντελοιδόρει and ἠπείλει), which represent an individualised portrayal of past events and scenes, the aorist forms in v. 22 (ἐποίησεν and εὑρέθη) present the faultless life of Jesus as a whole (Johnstone 179–80; Blenkin 62); hence, the stress is not upon the fact that Jesus avoided sin in every single instance (pace Alford 354; Hiebert 184), but upon the totality of his life. The summary nature of Jesus’ sinlessness is further



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displayed when he experienced ill-treatment. It was Jesus’ refusal to retaliate against those who levelled false accusations against him and who physically abused him that the Petrine author wants the readers to imitate.201 The second phrase (οὐδὲ εὑρέθη κτλ.)202 reflects the author’s particular concern with speech as one aspect of behaviour in which doing good rather than evil must be displayed (see esp. 2.1; 3.9–11, 15–17). This concern is found not only in this highly important scriptural quotation but also in the extended quotation of Ps 33.13–17 at 1 Pet 3.10–12, suggesting that it was an influence on the choice of scriptural passages deemed of particular relevance.203 The word δόλος denotes deceit, particularly in the sense of using treachery or cunning.204 It appears in both quotations (see 1 Pet 2.22 and 3.10, where it is in parallel to the more general κακός) as well as in 2.1 (in conjunction with κακία), where it forms part of a general list of the kinds of behaviour to be avoided, among which sins of speech are prominent (καταλαλιά; see on 2.1; cf. also 2.12; 3.16). By following the reading of the LXX, which contains indicated by the fact that the exoneration includes both his words (οὐδὲ εὑρέθη δόλος ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτοῦ) and deeds (ἁμαρτίαν οὐκ ἐποίησεν). Consequently, too much emphasis is placed on the immediate context when interpreters conclude that the passage, ‘enthält… kein Urtheil über das frühere Leben Christi und über seine sündlose Volkommenheit, die er mitbrachte, als er leiden sollte, sondern über die Art und Weise, wie er sich während des Leidens und durch sein ganzes Leiden hindruch verhielt’ (Kühl 175; cf. Mason 409; Usteri 115; contrast these views with Schreiner 158). 201   Cf. Michaels, ‘Catholic Christologies’, 278. 202   The reading δόλον is found in numerous ancient witnesses to Isaiah, representing a sense that is closer to the Hebrew version. Similarly, there are a few Isaianic texts that lack εὑρέθη (see further Ziegler, Isaiah, 323). Based on this evidence, Beare (148–49; cf. Achtemeier 200 n. 155) has suggested that the Petrine author introduced the reading εὑρέθη δόλος based on his (faulty) citation from memory. Others have claimed that the text found in 1 Peter reflects the influence of Zeph 3.13, οὐ μὴ εὑρεθῇ ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτῶν γλῶσσα δολία (so, e.g., Hart 61; Knopf 116; Schelkle 84 n. 2). However, it is unnecessary to adopt either of these suggestions, given the strength of the LXX reading (which is grounded, in part, on the presence of εὑρέθη δόλος in 1 Clem. 16.10, a text that was apparently not influenced by 1 Peter, as indicated by the presence of ὅτι ἀνομίαν instead of ὃς ἁμαρτίαν). 203   See Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. Cf. also Exegesis at 3.10–12. 204   BDAG 256.

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the verb εὑρίσκω, despite the lack of any equivalent sense in the Hebrew text, stress is laid not merely on the presence of deceptive speech, but on its discovery.205 That is, the phrase emphasises that the verbal response of Jesus toward his detractors was above reproach even from an outside perspective. 23 ὃς λοιδορούμενος οὐκ ἀντελοιδόρει, ἀντελοιδόρει, πάσχων οὐκ ἠπείλει, ἠπείλει, παρεδίδου δὲ τῷ κρίνοντι δικαίως, δικαίως, The focus on speech continues initially in the opening of this verse, the first two phrases of which constitute a kind of ‘commentary on the last clause of v 22’.206 Again, the verse opens with the relative pronoun ὅς, followed by three phrases, the first two of which display a closely parallel structure.207 There is no direct citation from Isaiah 53 in this instance, though the influence of that chapter is probably still evident to some extent:208 Isa 53.7 refers twice to the Servant’s silence in the face of mistreatment (οὐκ ἀνοίγει τὸ στόμα [cf. στόμα in 1 Pet 2.22]); vv. 10–11 suggest that God’s will is to cleanse and remove his suffering from him (cf. παρεδίδου δὲ τῷ κρίνοντι δικαίως);209 and vv. 6 and 12 use παραδίδωμι to describe the Servant’s ψυχή being handed over to death. Equally, the influence of early traditions about the trial and passion of Jesus, and of his life more generally, seems evident in this passage, and in   At issue is the distinction between the verb εὑρίσκω in place of εἰμί, the latter of which might have been expected in this verse. As noted by Winer, ‘whilst εἶναι indicates the quality of a thing in itself, εὑρίσκεσθαι indicates the quality in so far as it is discovered, detected, recognised in the subject’ (Grammar, 769). 206   Michaels 145. 207   Cf. Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 395, who sees this part of vv. 22–25 as displaying the most hymn-like structure, yet as ‘almost certainly the creation of the author himself’. 208   For an alternative conjecture about the source of the Petrine author’s language, see North, ‘ “Qui cum percuteretur non repercussit” ’, 316–37. 209   The LXX here differs significantly from the (somewhat obscure) MT, which reads, ‫ויהוה חפץ דכאו החלי אם תשים אשם נפשו יראה זרע יאריך ימים וחפץ יהוה בידו יצלח‬ ‫‘( מעמל נפשו יראה ישבע בדעתו יצדיק צדיק עבדי לרבים ועונתם הוא יסבל‬Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him with pain. When you make his life an offering for sin, he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days; through him the will of the LORD shall prosper. Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge. The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities’, NRSV). 205



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vv. 22–23 in particular.210 Indeed, though rarely considered as such, this passage is an important witness to early traditions about the historical Jesus and the impressions he made: Isaiah 53 is clearly the most direct source for the language of the passage (though least so in v. 23, where the echoes of the Passion Narratives are strongest), yet memories and traditions about Jesus’ trial and execution shape the selection and presentation of material. In effect, elements of the Passion Narrative are scripturalised (i.e., expressed in the language of scripture).211 In the wider Greco-Roman world, there was an expectation that violence or rebuke would be met with a similar form of retaliation. In fact, similar grammatical constructions (x ἀντί x) are prevalent in ancient literature when referring to such revenge.212 A refusal to engage in ‘a contest of insults’ was thus recognised as a virtuous and noble stance (cf. Philo, Agr. 110; Plutarch, Inim. util. 8 [Mor. 90D]). The two verbs used in this first phrase clearly mirror one another: λοιδορέω means ‘to speak in a highly insulting manner’, to revile or slander someone through abusive speech;213 whereas οὐκ ἀντελοιδόρει indicates that Jesus was remembered as one who did not return such invective.214 The latter term is quite rare prior to the 210   Goppelt (211–12) suggests that ‘[t]he three parts of the verse [23] reflect fundamental aspects of the Passion narrative’: abuse, Jesus’ silence, and his trusting the judgment to God. 211   See further Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered’, 141–50. Liebengood (Eschatology, 89–94) argues that 1 Pet 2.21–25 constitutes a kind of Passion pesher, but expresses caution about use of the terms midrash or pesher to describe 1 Peter’s exegetical activity (94–97). On ‘scripturalisation’, see Goodacre, Scripturalization’, 39–45. 212   E.g., Aeschylus, Ag. 1560 (ὄνειδος ἥκει τόδ᾽ ἀντ᾽ ὀνείδους); Cho. 309–313 (ἀντὶ μὲν ἐχθρᾶς γλώσσης ἐχθρά… ἀντὶ δὲ πληγῆς φονίας φονίαν πληγὴν τινέτω). For a discussion of these and other texts, see North, ‘Christian Trajectory’, 316–37; cf. also Schottroff, ‘Non-violence’, 9–39. 213   Louw–Nida, Lexicon §33.393. A focus on insulting speech is evident in the other NT uses of this word (cf. John 9.28; Acts 23.4, where Paul does not follow this example!). The closest parallel is found in 1 Cor 4.12, where Paul describes his approach toward opposition: λοιδορούμενοι εὐλογοῦμεν, διωκόμενοι ἀνεχόμεθα (‘when we are reviled, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure’). 214   Very early in the interpretation of the letter, some commentators pointed out that Jesus did speak threateningly to Judas while also chastising the Jewish leadership (see, e.g., Oecumenius [PG 119:544]). It is true that Jesus does employ harsh

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composition of 1 Peter, but it is found on occasion, describing a vengeful response within a conflict situation (cf. Plutarch, Ant. 42.5; Inim. util. 5 [Mor. 88F]; Lucian, Symp. 40), sometimes resulting in legal disputes.215 Recollections of Jesus’ earthly life, and in particular the passion narrative traditions, seem an obvious source for this observation (Mark 14.56–61; 15.3–5, 16–20, 29–32 and par.; cf. also Acts 8.32–33, also citing Isa 53).216 Michaels suggests, nonetheless, that the author does not explicitly note the silence of Jesus before his accusers, because he rather wants to present the behavioural pattern of responding appropriately, with gentleness and blessing (cf. 1 Pet 3.9, 15–16; Luke 6.28; 1 Cor 4.12; Diogn. 5.15).217 Some interpret the imperfect tense verbs (ἀντελοιδόρει, ἠπείλει, παρεδίδου) as suggesting a consistent practice in this regard or as denoting the habitual action of Jesus.218 But the author’s description of Jesus’ approach toward hostility focuses on the events of the passion, not the entirety of his ministry.219 As a result, the imperfects are probably meant to add vividness to the portrayal. The second phrase broadens the scope to include physical suffering (πάσχων), to which the recorded response of Christ is that ‘he did not threaten’ (οὐκ ἠπείλει). While this is, once again, words on occasion, but the focus here is on Jesus’ reaction to verbal and physical abuse during the Passion. 215   An example from the papyri illustrates this usage well. In an epistolary petition addressed to King Ptolemy, a Greek visitor to the Fayum named Herakleides describes a situation in which an Egyptian woman (Psenobastis) empties her chamber pot on him. The letter depicts the situation this way: ‘Psenobastis leaned over and poured urine down upon my clothing… I was vexed and upbraided her, and she abused (ἐλ[οιδόρησε]) me; and when I told her off in return (ἀντιλοιδοροῦντος)… Psenobastis, with her right hand, yanked the part of my cloak that lay upon my shoulder…’ (P.Enteux. 79; trans. Bauschatz). Cf. also P.Gurob. 2. 216   See further Schnabel, ‘Silence of Jesus’, 203–57. 217   Michaels 146. 218   See, e.g., Alford 354; Mason 410; Bigg 146; Achtemeier 200–201; Elliott 529; Osborne 202; Forbes 91; Schreiner 159. To convey this sense, Michaels renders the verse, ‘who would never insult in return… never threatened’ (145–46). Many who adopt such an interpretation often assume that this one particular function (i.e., a customary or habitual action in the past) reflects the totality of the imperfect tense. Nevertheless, an imperfect can be used in a variety of ways with different nuances (for examples, see Wallace, Grammar, 540–53). 219   Cf. Lenski 121; Hiebert 184; Watson 69.



2.18–25

829

an essentially verbal kind of (non)response,220 we should not limit the implied scenario to one of verbal interchange, either for Christ or the readers of the letter. After all, the author also broadens his concerns to include a wider range of suffering threatening his readers (cf. 2.20, 23–24; also 2.1, 14; 3.9; 4.15, etc.), and the suffering of Jesus was evidently such as to culminate in his death. The verb ἀπειλέω and its cognates can certainly convey the threat to act violently towards someone (Gen 27.42; 4 Macc 9.5; Sus 28; T.Jud. 5.1; T.Jos. 3.1; Mart. Pol. 11.2; for cognates, cf. Acts 9.1; Eph 6.9). Here, given the reciprocity implicit in the structure of the clause, we should probably interpret the phrase to mean that, despite being made to suffer, ‘Jesus did not threaten those causing his suffering with suffering in return’.221 Precisely in what sense this is meant is open to discussion. Some suggest that the meaning is that Jesus did not respond to his tormentors by mentioning the judgment and punishment they would one day experience from God, unlike some Jewish and (later) Christian martyrs.222 In view of 1 Peter’s reluctance to detail the fate of the ungodly (see Exegesis on 3.12), this may well be at least part of the picture. However, the Gospels do contain plenty of instances— whether historically authentic or not—where Jesus does predict destruction and punishment for those who oppose him.223 It is also plausible to read the phrase as indicating that Jesus refused to meet violence with violence, a stance of non-retaliation that is clearly   So Michaels 146; Achtemeier 200.   Elliott 530. Louw–Nida, Lexicon §33.291 also suggest that a certain reciprocity is implicit in the words ἀπειλέω and ἀπειλή such that they translate the verse, ‘when he suffered, he did not say he would make them suffer’. 222   See, e.g., Michaels 146; Davids 111; Goppelt 211 with n. 59. Various examples from Jewish and Christian texts could be cited here: 2 Macc 7.16–17, 19, 31, 34–36; Mart. Pol. 11.2; Mart. Perp. & Fel. 18.8; cf. also Pol. Phil. 2.1. 223   Cf. Matt 12.34–37; 23.31–36; 24.45–51; 25.30, 46; 26.24; Mark 12.9–12; Luke 6.24–25; 16.22–23; 19.27, 43–44; 20.16–19; 22.22. These texts, plus the parallels to a stance of non-retaliation in Jewish sources (see n. 225 below), raise some questions about the strong contrast Goppelt draws between Jesus’ stance and that of the Jewish martyrs. The latter are said to have ‘expected compensatory revenge for what befell them. But Jesus set in opposition to evil not recompense but unlimited forgiveness’ (Goppelt 212). After an extensive study of Jewish and early Christian texts, Zerbe concludes that ‘the non-retaliatory ethics in the New Testament stand solidly in the tradition of the non-retaliatory ethics in early Judaism’ (Non-Retaliation, 294). 220 221

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recorded in the Gospel accounts (Matt 5.38–44; 26.51–55; Luke 6.27–31; 22.48–53; John 18.3–11, 36)224 and finds a clear place in early Christian ethics, not least in the traditional teaching included in 1 Pet 3.9 (cf. Rom 12.17; 1 Thess 5.15).225 The refusal to retaliate, whether verbally or physically, is the key point here.226 The verb in the final clause (παρεδίδου) lacks an explicit direct object, which has led to a number of possibilities and proposals. A view reflected in a variety of translations and commentaries is that παρεδίδου functions in a reflexive sense, with the verb modifying an understood pronoun, ἑαυτόν (‘he entrusted himself’; cf. NIV, NRSV, ESV, NET, NASB, NAB, HCSB).227 This interpretation establishes a parallel with the later exhortation for the readers to entrust their ψυχαί to the creator (4.19), connecting the actions of Jesus with the expectations of the audience.228 Further, there is a parallel use of παραδίδωμι in Isa 53.6 (καὶ κύριος παρέδωκεν αὐτόν) and 12 (παρεδόθη εἰς θάνατον ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ), a passage that is undoubtedly in the author’s mind. This would also be supported by the use of παραδίδωμι in the almost formulaic references to Jesus’ giving himself up (Gal 2.20; Eph 5.2, 25; cf. Luke 23.46; John 19.30), as well as in many NT references (using παραδίδωμι) to Jesus himself being handed over, whether by God or by his human betrayer(s).229   The Gospels of Matthew, Luke, and John in different ways, expand the tradi�tion in Mark 14.47 to indicate explicitly that Jesus renounces violence to defend himself. 225   See further Zerbe, Non-Retaliation, 176–294; Piper, ‘Hope as the Motivation of Love’, 218–23. The Jewish parallels and precedents to this stance should also be noted, e.g., Josephus, Ant. 2.5.1; CD 9.2–8; 1QS 10.17–21; 11.1–2; T.Benj. 5.4; 2 En. 50.3–4; b. Šabb. 88b. Cf. also Str-B 1:368–71 (on Matt 5.44). 226   Cf. Epictetus, Diatr. 3.22.53–54: ‘while being thrashed, he must love (φιλεῖν) those who beat him as though he were the father or brother of them all’ (trans. Hard). On non-retaliation as a mark of the true Cynic, see Feldmeier 174–75 n. 80. 227   Interpreters who have espoused this view include: de Wette 30; Bigg 146; Wand 82; Selwyn 179–80; Best 121; Senior 76; Donelson 80 n. h; Forbes 91; Schlosser 170–71; cf. also Winer, Grammar, 738; Gielen, Tradition und Theologie, 503–504. This interpretation was also adopted by some of the earliest interpreters of 1 Peter, who made it explicit by adding the reflexive pronoun (see, e.g., John Chrysostom, In triduanum resurrectionem domini [PG 50:821]). 228   On this parallel, see Dubis, Messianic Woes, 178–82. 229   E.g., Mark 14.10–11, 21, 41–42, 44; 15.1, 10 [and par.]; Luke 24.7, 20; John 18.30, 35; 19.11, 16; 21.20; Acts 3.13; Rom 4.25; 8.32; 1 Cor 11.23. 224



2.18–25

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The problem is that the verb παραδίδωμι does not communicate a reflexive sense on its own; throughout Greek literature, it usually requires a reflexive pronoun.230 A slightly different emphasis is placed on the passage by those who understand the object as a reference to the cause of Jesus, supplying a phrase such as τὰ ἑαυτοῦ.231 According to this interpretation, the verse indicates not that Jesus was concerned with his own fate, but that he entrusted the vindication of his life and ministry to God (cf. Josephus, Ant. 4.33; 7.199). Another possibility is to supply an object from the immediate context, which happens occasionally with the verb παραδίδωμι (see Cassius Dio 56.3.2; Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 3.19). Among an earlier generation of scholars, the object τὸ λοιδορεῖσθαι καὶ πάσχειν was commonly supplied (‘he entrusted his reproach and suffering to the one who judges righteously’);232 thus, in the difficult situation in which Jesus found himself, his trust was placed in God. An alternative is to view the actions of Jesus as focused on those who were causing him difficulty. As such, some have proposed that Jesus’ enemies are the implied object of παρεδίδου,233 supplying the pronoun αὐτούς. By connecting the two parties referenced in the first half of the verse (i.e., Jesus was maligned by his enemies) to the current construction (Jesus entrusted his enemies to God), proponents argue that internal consistency is maintained. Others are more specific, claiming that it is the judgment of the enemies that is in view, and thus they supply κρίσιν in connection with the participle κρίνοντι (‘he entrusted their judgment to the one who judges righteously’).234

230   Among the numerous examples, see Aristophanes, Nub. 436; Thucydides 7.85.1; Herodotus, Hist. 1.45; Xenophon, Cyr. 3.3.47; Plato, Phaed. 82c; Polybius, Hist. 5.50.8; Diodorus Siculus 11.26.6; Philo, Legat. 233. 231   Advocates include: Calvin 90; Hottinger 119; Steiger 2:119; Gerhard 292–93; Fronmüller 47; Lightfoot 114; Windisch 62; Kelly 121; McKnight 168; Elliott 531; cf. also Buttmann, Grammar, 145 n. 2. 232   See, e.g., Wiesinger 194–95; Schott 155; Usteri 115; Huther 140; Keil 98; Kühl 176; Knopf 117. 233   Proponents of this view include: Alford 354–55; Masterman 114; Michaels 147; Richard 122; Hunt 535; cf. Michaels, ‘Passion Narrative’, 392. 234   Those who supply κρίσιν as the object of παρεδίδου include: Estius 529; Grotius 84–85; Calov 1492; Pott 90; Goppelt 212.

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It is difficult to reach a firm conclusion on this issue.235 In fact, it may be inappropriate to seek one interpretation to the exclusion of the others. Jesus’ refusal to retaliate represents an entrusting of his own fate, as well as that of his opponents, into the hands of God, a stance which in effect includes all of the options above.236 In other words, since an object could have easily been included, the author may have left the construction deliberately vague. Since the dominant focus in the other NT uses of παραδίδωμι is Jesus’ being handed over, or handing himself over, to the authorities, to trial and to death, it is understandable that ὁ κρινῶν—whose identity remains unspecified—came to be understood as a reference to Jesus’ earthly judge: Pontius Pilate. This probably explains the reading ἀδίκως in some MSS, a more apposite description of Pilate’s judgment of Jesus (see Text at 2.23 n. i; cf. 1 Tim 6.13). But there is no doubt that the intended referent here is God, the ultimate and just judge (cf. Ps 7.11; Jer 11.20; Isa 50.7–9; 2 Tim 4.8; 1 Pet 1.17),237 to whom Jesus entrusted himself and whose place alone it is to determine judgment and recompense (cf. Isa 49.4; Rom 12.19; Heb 10.30; 1 Pet 4.19; Pol. Phil. 2.1). 24 ὃς τὰς ἁμαρτίας ἡμῶν αὐτὸς ἀνήνεγκεν ἐν τῷ σώματι αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὸ ξύλον, ξύλον, The verse again begins with the relative ὅς, the third time this pattern is repeated. The opening phrase is closely drawn from Isa 53.4, 11, and 12, combining words from each (and probably changing ἠμῶν to ὑμῶν; see Text at 2.24 n. j): οὗτος τὰς ἁμαρτίας ἠμῶν φέρει (v. 4); τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν αὐτὸς ἀνοίσει (v. 11); αὐτὸς

235   So Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 397, who finds the inter�pretation ‘hands his case over’ most likely, but insists that ‘we must recognize the impossibility of determining the unspecified grammatical object of παρεδίδου’. 236   Others have similarly argued that the referent must include more than just a single option (e.g., Grudem 130; Osborne 200; Schreiner 160; cf. Davids 112 n. 20). According to Rosauer, ‘the lack of a direct object for παραδίδωμι (“delivered… over”) causes an ambiguity that results in a double entendre: παραδίδωμι expresses both the self-abandoning devotion that Christ displayed toward God, and the realisation that this giving over of himself elicited the justice of God because he took sins upon himself’ (‘Atonement Theology’, 152; emphasis removed). 237   Webber (‘Mercy and Justice’, 327 n. 14) proposes that this language may in fact represent an echo of Gen 18.25 (LXX): ὁ κρίνων πᾶσαν τὴν γῆν οὐ ποιήσεις κρίσιν (‘will the one who judges the entire earth not do what is right?’).



2.18–25

833

ἁμαρτίας πολλῶν ἀνήνεγκε (v. 12).238 The author’s particular wording focuses Christ’s vicarious activity specifically on the readers (whether we read ὑμῶν or ἠμῶν),239 and, having begun the phrase with the characteristic ὅς (cf. Pol. Phil. 8.1), adds an emphasis on Christ’s action by placing αὐτός immediately before the verb.240 While some have suggested that this might be significant, stressing that Christ himself bore the sins of the people, unlike the High Priest, αὐτός derives from the Isaianic source-text and is more likely to emphasise a contrast between ‘us’ and ‘him’.241 In Jewish and Christian literature, ἀναφέρω was a technical term for the offering up of sacrifice (‘to offer, present’). In fact, the verb is commonly employed in the idiom ἀναφέρειν τι ἐπὶ τὸ θυσιαστήριον, describing the duties performed by a priest who placed a sacrificial offering upon the altar.242 This usage is reflected earlier in the chapter, where believers are said to perform the task of offering up spiritual sacrifices (ἀνενέγκαι πνευματικὰς θυσίας) that are acceptable to God (1 Pet 2.5). When this meaning is applied to the present verse, Jesus is viewed as performing a priestly function and offering up the sins of humanity (‘he offered our sins in his body on the tree’).243 In this way, ἁμαρτία is viewed as a sin-offering and ξύλον is equated with the altar on which the offering is consumed.244 Despite the strength of this established usage, however, such an interpretation runs into difficulties. In the relevant literature, ἁμαρτία is never the object of ἀναφέρω, as though a priest might place sin on the altar; instead, a sacrificial object (usually an animal) 238   Cf. also Isa 53.11: τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν αὐτὸς ἀνοίσει. In vv. 4 and 12, the Hebrew verb used to describe the removal of sins/infirmities is identical: ‫נשא‬. 239   As Michaels 147, notes, πολλῶν ‘may have seemed too impersonal and too wide in its application (cf. Heb 9:28)’. 240   On the intensive use of αὐτός, see Robertson, Grammar, 723. 241   So Jachmann 148; Fausset 506. For the suggestion of a contrast here between Christ and the high priest (cf. Heb 9), through whose ritual sins were placed onto another, such as the scapegoat, see Huther 143; Windisch 65–66. 242   Cf. Gen 8.20; Exod 29.18; Lev 4.26; 7.5; 8.21, 28; 9.10, 20; 16.25; Deut 12.27; 1 Kgs 3.4; 2 Chr 1.6; 8.12; Ps 50.21[19]; 1 Macc 4.53; T.Job. 15.9; Jas 2.21. 243   Those who subscribe to this view include: Beza 570–71; Semler 140–43; Schelkle 85; cf. Schott 157–61, who adopts this meaning of ἀναφέρω, although supplying Jesus’ body—not sins—as the object of sacrifice. 244   On ἁμαρτία as a sin-offering, see Bigg 147. On the equation of the cross with an altar, see, e.g., Calov 1493; Pott 91; Jachmann 148; Fausset 506.

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is placed on the altar to atone for sin.245 This distinction is particularly clear in Lev 16.25: τὸ στέαρ τὸ περὶ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἀνοίσει ἐπὶ τὸ θυσιαστήριον (‘he [i.e., the priest] will offer up the fat, which is for sin, on the altar’; cf. also Lev 9.10). Furthermore, there are no other instances among Christian interpreters where the cross is identified as an altar.246 Given these considerations, it is much more common for interpreters to assign ἀναφέρω a passive sense with reference to one who bears up under certain conditions or who takes on a particular burden. This is how the verb is used, on occasion, in classical Greek, where it describes the bearing of difficulties or troubles (e.g., Thucydides 3.38.3; Polybius, Hist. 1.36.3; Diodorus Siculus 15.48.4). It is quite uncommon, however, to find such a usage in the context of sacrifice (although, cf. Heb 9.28). What leads most in this direction is the verb’s meaning in Isaiah 53, from which the Petrine author draws this citation. In Isa 53.11, ἀναφέρω translates the Hebrew term ‫סבל‬, which refers to bearing a burden (cf. Gen 49.15; Lam 5.7),247 while in v. 12, it is used to render ‫נשא‬, which expresses the idea of bearing the consequences of sins (cf. Lev 19.17; Num 14.33; Ezek 4.4–6).248 It is this latter usage that serves as the point of comparison. Commentators generally understand ἀνήνεγκεν in 1 Pet 2.24 as a reference to Christ taking the burden of ἁμαρτία upon himself: ‘he himself bore our sins in his body on the tree’ (cf. NRSV, NAB, NIV, NASB, NET, ESV, HCSB).249 When the verb is interpreted this way, ἁμαρτία is often assigned a legal connotation, as the punishment that results from breaking the commands of God.250   As some have pointed out (e.g., Wand 83; cf. Goldstein, ‘Die Kirche als Schar derer’, 43–44), there are a few parallels with the scapegoat ritual of the Day of Atonement (Lev 16.1–34), though again these are not sufficiently precise to suggest a direct allusion. In particular, the scapegoat, which bears the sins of the people, is sent away into the wilderness rather than sacrificed on the altar (vv. 20–22). For direct use of this ritual as a parallel to Christ’s death, see Barn. 7.6–10. 246   Cf. Huther 142; Elliott 532. 247   HALOT 741. 248   HALOT 726. 249   E.g., Moffatt 127; Cranfield 85–86; Stibbs-Walls 120; Kelly 122–23; Beare 149–50; Best 121–22; Hiebert 187; Goppelt 213; Elliott 532; Jobes 197; Warden 141; Schlosser 171–72; Donelson 85; Schreiner 161. 250   See, e.g., Pott 91; Steiger 2:126; Bloomfield 713; Demarest 134. 245



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In a substitutionary or expiatory sense, when Jesus’ body was slain on the cross, he was taking the punishment of the sins of humanity upon himself.251 The problem with this interpretation is that it runs counter to the established use of ἐπί + accusative (see below), and it would reflect a variation from the meaning of ἁμαρτία only two verses prior, where Jesus is said not to have committed any acts of wrongdoing (2.22). A more appropriate alternative may be to distinguish the Petrine usage from the meaning of its source-text—especially in light of the additions made to the Isaian passage—and to read ἀναφέρω in an active sense, denoting the act of carrying sins to the cross:252 ‘he himself, with his body, carried our sins to the cross’ (cf. NEB, GNT).253 The basis for this view lies in the prepositional modifier ἐπὶ τὸ ξύλον. While it is true, as some have pointed out, that ἐπί + accusative can denote location, ‘on’, ‘upon’ (cf. Matt 19.28; Mark 4.38; Rev 4.4),254 the object of the preposition has a significant impact

  There is no justification for reading the aorist tense of ἀνήνεγκεν as an indication that Jesus ‘carried up our sins by one act alone, done once for all’ (Wordsworth 57; cf. Rehfeld, ‘Die “Gottesknechtsgrammatik” ’, 122). On this fallacy, see Stagg, ‘Abused Aorist’, 222–31; Carson, Exegetical Fallacies, 68–73; cf. also Smith, ‘Errant Aorist Interpreters’, 205–26, although he presses the case against a constantive function of the aorist too far. 252   Some attribute a double meaning to ἀναφέρω (‘bear’ and ‘carry’), such that Jesus is the priest who carries the sins of the people to the cross and also the victim who bears the punishment for those sins (e.g., Steiger 2:132; Alford 355; Plumptre 119; Bigg 147; Hart 62). This ‘pregnant’ use of ἀναφέρω reflects modern theological reflection more than the language of the Petrine author. 253   See, e.g., Hammond 410; von Soden 147; Monnier 134; Lightfoot 115; Michaels 148; cf. Breytenbach, ‘ “Christus litt euretwegen” ’, 447; Harris, Prepositions, 144–45. Drawing from the ancient literary and documentary evidence, Deissmann (Bible Studies, 88–91) proposed a similar reading, although with reference to a legal context rather than a sacrificial setting. He pointed out that ἀναφέρω sometimes denotes the forensic transfer of debt or payment from one party to another, especially in connection with ἐπί + accusative (see Aeschines, Ctes. 215; Isocrates, Phil. 32; P.Petr. 38). When the Petrine usage is read from this perspective, ‘the writer intends merely to establish the fact that Christ in His death has removed the sins of men’ (Bible Studies, 91), and any notions of substitution or expiation are lacking. The problem is that in the examples used to establish this forensic meaning the object of the preposition is a person, making the idiom inapplicable to the present usage (see further MM 39; TLNT 1:117–19). 254   E.g., Johnstone 184; Beare 149–50; Kelly 123; Dubis 80. 251

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on this usage.255 The preposition’s connection with ξύλον demonstrates a consistent pattern throughout antiquity: when referring to the cross as an instrument of capital punishment, the construction ἐπὶ τὸ ξύλον always expresses movement toward the object (‘to the cross’).256 On the other hand, the locative idea, in which something takes place ‘on a/the cross’, is consistently conveyed with the genitive: ἐπὶ (τοῦ) ξύλου.257 The author’s choice of ἐπί + accusative, therefore, probably reflects a sense of motion towards: Christ carried sins—understood as acts of disobedience to the commands of God—to the cross. While substitution is not explicit in this verse, it is implied that the cross is nonetheless the place where, and the instrument through which, sins are dealt with. The role of Jesus in carrying the sins of others is pointedly and emphatically focused ἐν τῷ σώματι αὐτοῦ and specifically ἐπὶ τὸ ξύλον. These supplement the phrase from Isaiah, indicating the author’s distinctive Christian elaboration. In some ways, he is echoing language and convictions that are encountered elsewhere in early Christian reflection: the emphasis on the body (or flesh) of 255   It is also important to consider which verb is modified by the preposition. The construction ἀναφέρειν τι ἐπί + accusative commonly carries the meaning, ‘to bring something to someone/towards something’. An example is provided by Herodotus, who describes the wartime rituals of the Scythians: ‘Of enemies that they take alive, they sacrifice one man in every hundred, not as they sacrifice sheep and goats, but differently. They pour wine on the men’s heads and cut their throats over a bowl; then they carry the blood up on to the pile of sticks (ἀνενείκαντες ἄνω ἐπὶ τὸν ὄγκον τῶν φρυγάνων) and pour it on the scimitar’ (Hist. 4.62.3 [trans. Godley]; cf. Exod 18.26; Diodorus Siculus 5.42.5; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 2.14.3). 256   Cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 12.6.6; Lucian, Peregr. 34, 45; Mart. Pet. Paul 60.1; Mart. Andr. A 13.5; Chariton, Chaer. 4.3.3; 4.4.10; 5.10.6; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. phil. 6.45. There are two (apparent) exceptions to this usage; yet they both represent a slightly different idiom. These examples employ verbs that describe the act of stretching out over something: T.Sol. A 15.10 (ἕως τοῦ θεοῦ ὁ υἱὸς τανυσθῇ ἐπὶ ξύλον) and Acts of Carpus, Papylus, and Agathonice 45 (ἀγαλλιωμένη ἐφήπλωσεν ἑαυτὴν ἐπὶ τὸ ξύλον). 257   Cf. Sib. Or. 5.257; T.Benj. 9.3; T.Sol. A 12.3; Acts 5.30; 10.39; Gal 3.13; Barn. 5.13; Mart. Andr. B 9.1. The same sense is expressed through the construction, ἐπὶ (τοῦ) σταυροῦ (Diogenes of Sinope, Epist. 283; Philo, Flacc. 84; Strabo, Geogr. 3.4.18; John 19.19, 31; Acts John 99; Mart. Pet. Paul 58.5; Acts Pet. Paul 79.5; Mart. Andr. A 16.7; Acts Andr. Mth. 28.3; Acts Pil. 9.5; 26.1; Origen, Cels. 2.56). Occasionally, the dative is also found: Justin Martyr, Dial. 105.5; Origen, Cels. 1.66; 2.61.



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Christ as the locus where sin was dealt with (cf. Rom 7.4; Col 1.22; Heb 10.10), and the reference to the wood (of the cross) as the place where his body was hung in the process of dealing with sin (Acts 5.30; 10.39; 13.29; Gal 3.13). A number of explanations have been offered to account for the presence of the former phrase. Some assign it a theological purpose, in that it was intended to counter ancient docetic views which maintained that Jesus only appeared to take on human flesh,258 or to connect the punishment with the payment: sin was performed by humans, and so a human Jesus had to pay for it.259 Others have assigned it a literary explanation, claiming that the reference to σῶμα connects to the words of Jesus at the Last Supper (Luke 22.19; 1 Cor 10.16; 11.27).260 A simpler solution is that ἐν τῷ σώματι αὐτοῦ was intended to explain the emphatic pronoun αὐτός,261 further delineating the instrument through which this remission of sins was accomplished (‘with his body’).262 The term ξύλον is used for a variety of objects. It can denote a natural tree (Gen 1.29; Pss. Sol. 11.5; Rev 22.2; 1 Clem. 23.4) or wood that has been prepared for use, whether burning (Homer, Il. 8.507; T.Sol. A 11.7; Sib. Or. 3.651) or building (Thucydides 7.25; Xenophon, Anab. 6.4.4; Demosthenes, Περὶ τῶν πρὸς Ἀλέξανδρον συνθηκῶν, 28). It frequently describes an instrument of punishment that has been made out of wood. This might include a collar around the necks of prisoners (Aristophanes, Nub. 592; Lys. 680) or the stocks around their feet (Herodotus, Hist. 9.37; Demosthenes, Cor. 129; Acts 16.24). Sometimes it describes an instrument on which someone experiences capital punishment, whether it be gallows on which one is hanged (Aristophanes, Ran. 736; Esth 5.14; 6.4), a   See Benson 231; Hiebert 187.   See Demarest 134–35; Witherington 157. 260   See Hart 62; cf. also Weiss, Die Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 273. 261   Cf. Pott 91; Michaels 147. 262   Alternatively, the phrase ἐν τῷ σώματι αὐτοῦ may indicate a spatial sense (‘in his body’). Although the difference between them is minimal, the latter emphasises the instrument that is employed, while the former stresses the process by which this instrument was used. Either way, it is unnecessary to translate αὐτοῦ with a reflexive sense: ‘in his own body’ (KJV, NKJV, MEV, CEB, NLV). When a reflexive sense is intended, NT writers generally favour the form ἑαυτοῦ rather than αὐτοῦ (see Buttmann, Grammar, 111). Some, nevertheless, insist that the pronoun receives some emphasis due to the fact that it could have otherwise been omitted (so, e.g., Alford 355). 258 259

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stake on which one is impaled (Alexis, Frag. 222 [Kock]), or a cross on which one is crucified. This latter sense is uncommon in secular literature, but it is often employed among Christian writers where it came to be used synonymously with σταυρός, ‘cross’ (Acts 5.30; 10.39; 13.29; Gal 3.13; Barn. 5.13; 8.5; 12.11; Pol. Phil. 8.1). Some have suggested that, like Paul’s citation in Gal 3.13, this language is intended to echo the curse pronouncement in Deut 21.23,263 which states that ‘anyone hanging on a tree is cursed by God’ (κεκατηραμένος ὑπὸ θεοῦ πᾶς κρεμάμενος ἐπὶ ξύλου).264 However, the Petrine formulation with ἐπί + accusative distinguishes it from this source, and there is no allusion to the idea of curse here; so there is no need to align the phrase with the Pauline ‘curse’ exegesis.265 ἵνα ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ἀπογενόμενοι τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ ζήσωμεν, ζήσωμεν, οὗ τῷ μώλωπι ἰάθητε. ἰάθητε. This carrying away of the readers’ sins is (of course) for a purpose (ἵνα), which is now concisely summarised in a phrase that is strongly reminiscent of Paul (Rom 6.1–11, esp. v. 11; cf. 8.10). There are two balanced parts to the phrase: the first using a participle and the second—on which the weight clearly falls—using a subjunctive verb, in the first-person plural, that conveys the main purpose. Since Christ himself has carried away their sins, the readers are correspondingly to have nothing more to do with such sins (cf. 1.14; 2.11; 4.1). But exactly how this process works is debated, the reconstruction being dependent upon the precise meaning assigned to ἀπογενόμενοι. In its most basic sense, the verb ἀπογίνομαι describes the separation or disassociation from a given entity.266 When applied to the present passage, this meaning would designate the abandonment of 263   Every use of ἐπὶ ξύλου in the LXX refers to execution by hanging someone from a tree (Gen 40.19; Deut 21.22–23; Josh 8.29; Esth 8.7; cf. also 11Q19 64.8–12). 264   This connection is commonly drawn by Petrine interpreters (e.g., Fronmüller 47; Bigg 147; Blenkin 62; Lenski 123; Grudem 131–32; Davids 112–13; Elliott 533; Osborne 203; Schreiner 161; cf. Rosauer, ‘Atonement Theology’, 155). Nevertheless, some have been more hesitant (see Michaels 148; Achtemeier 202 n. 176; cf. Weiss, Die Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 267). 265   Cf. Elliott 533–34. 266   LSJ 194.



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sin or the removal of oneself from sinful practices (‘freed from sin’; cf. NRSV, NAB, NTE). Although this view has become popular among recent interpreters,267 it is not without problems. When this meaning was intended by ancient authors, the point of departure or separation was represented using either the simple genitive or ἀπό/ ἐκ + genitive.268 There are no examples in classical or Koine Greek where ἀπογίνεσθαι is modified by a dative denoting separation.269 In light of this consideration, some interpreters have suggested that ἀπογενόμενοι is best understood as a euphemism for one’s separation from the present life (i.e., death), a usage that is common in the literary and documentary evidence.270 This would give the sense, ‘having died to sin’ (cf. NASB, NIV, ESV, NKJV, HCSB, GNT).271 Aside from the use of the dative (rather than the genitive),

  Proponents of this view include: Grotius 85; Demarest 135; von Soden 147; Bigg 148; Mitchell 257; Selwyn 181; Kelly 123; Michaels 148; Achtemeier 202–203; Elliott 535; Jobes 197; Donelson 85; Vahrenhorst 129; Schreiner 161–62 n. 153; cf. Weiss, Die Petrinische Lehrbegriff, 284; Breytenbach, ‘ “Christus litt euretwegen” ’, 447. In some cases, however, it would appear that part of the appeal of this view is that it facilitates the removal of Pauline influence on 1 Peter. 268   Genitive: Thucydides 1.39.3; Herodotus, Hist. 9.69; Teles, Περὶ ἀπαθείας, p. 59 [Hense]; Josephus, Ant. 19.178; Maximus, Dissertationes 32.5; Sextus Empiricus, Math. 10.308. Ἀπό + genitive: Aeschines, Fals. leg. 126; Aristotle, Phys. 262b. Ἐκ + genitive: Josephus, Ant. 5.1. 269   Examples of ἀπογίνεσθαι + dative are rare within Greek literature. One of the few occurrences is found in the Epidemics of Hippocrates. When recounting the situation following the equinox and the Pleiades, Hippocrates describes various patients and their conditions. One was an elderly man who is said to have lost a great deal of blood: γέροντι πάνυ σφόδρα ἀπεγένετο (Epid. 4.1.2). While one could make the case for translating this phrase as ‘a large amount (of blood) departed from an elderly man’, understanding γέροντι as the source of departure, the wider context prevents this. From the start of the discussion, Hippocrates calls to attention individual patients by placing each at the beginning of the sentence in the dative case. In this structure, it seems, each functions as a dative of reference; hence, ‘with reference to an elderly man, a large amount (of blood) came out’. Cf. also Heliodorus, Aeth. 2.24.6; Alexander, De febribus 19.2. 270   Cf. Thucydides 2.98.3; Herodotus, Hist. 2.85; Demosthenes, [Macart.] 57; Aristotle, Ath. pol. 50.2; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 4.15.5; Strabo, Geogr. 17.1.31; Plutarch, [Cons. Apoll.] 15 (Mor. 109F); Dio Chrysostom, Or. 36.30; Pausanias, Descr. 8.32.4; Cassius Dio 5.21.3; see also P.Ryl. II 65; P.Grenf. I 69; P.Yadin I 22. 271   Proponents of this interpretation include: Bengel 61; Steiger 2:134; Alford 355; Hart 62; Windisch 66; Davids 113; Goppelt 214; Senior 76; Dubis 80; Vinson 267

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which denotes reference,272 the symmetry with the verb ζάω suggests that this meaning is most appropriate. Functioning temporally, the participle reflects an antecedent event (viz. death to sin) that served as the basis for righteous living.273 The departure from Pauline language should be noted here. Aside from the typical use of ἀποθνῄσκω to describe the spiritual death of believers, Paul often refers to sin in the singular. Standing in contrast to this Pauline pattern is the Petrine author’s choice to employ the arthrous plural (ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις), which helps to clarify the nature of the ‘death’ experienced by the readers. It is not merely that the readers were freed from the punishment of sin, as though the effects of Christ’s death were primarily concerned with a forensic declaration of justification.274 Even describing this ‘death’ as the breaking down of the dominion and power of sin so that believers are freed from sin’s control,275 is not entirely consistent with the language of 1 Peter. The use of the plural here suggests a focus on concrete actions: death marks a break with all of the specific ways that the readers formerly disobeyed the will of God. The positive goal, which is the main focus of the purpose clause, now follows: the readers are no longer to orientate their lives towards sin, but to live in a way that is orientated towards righteousness (with the dative δικαιοσύνῃ denoting reference).276 The first-person plural verb (ζήσωμεν) marks a switch from the 129; Osborne 200; Watson 70; cf. Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 400–401; Barkhuizen, ‘Betekenis en funksie van 1 Petrus 2.21–25’, 92. 272   Cf. Rom 6.2; Gal 2.19; BDF §197; Wallace, Grammar, 144–46. This seems more likely in both instances here than the dative of advantage (pace Michaels 149; BDF §188; BDAG 426 §3.b). 273   Forbes 92. According to Dubis (80), ἀπογενόμενοι is a participle of means (‘that we might live to righteousness by having died to sin’). Although the differences in meaning are minimal, the death to sin does not seem to be explaining how one lives a righteous life, but merely providing a necessary prerequisite to it. 274   This is the position defended by a few earlier commentators (e.g., Doddridge 201; Wordsworth 57; Demarest 135–37). According to Macknight, the blotting out of sinners’ guilt ‘is the immediate effect of Christ’s death as a sacrifice for sin, and the greatest encourgement [sic] to live righteously’ (465). 275   So, e.g., de Wette 31; Blenkin 64. 276   Achtemeier 203 with nn. 191–92, sees this second dative as a dative of sphere, and translates the sentence, ‘that we may live in righteousness’. Retaining a parallel between the two uses of the dative in the two balanced phrases seems more likely, however (so Elliott 535; Dubis 80–81).



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second-person plurals that dominate the passage before and after this point (on ἠμῶν/ὑμῶν at the opening of the verse, see Text at 2.24 n. j) and may hint at the use of traditional material.277 Here, too, the theology is strongly reminiscent of Paul, though the distinctiveness of the phrasing should be noted. While ‘righteousness’ and ‘life’ are clearly linked in Paul’s various expressions (cf. Rom 1.17; 5.17, 21; 6.13; 8.10; Gal 3.21), he nowhere exactly speaks of living ‘to’ or ‘for’ righteousness. His more usual formulation is of living to God (ἵνα θεῷ ζήσω; Gal 2.19; cf. Rom 6.10–11, 13; 12.1). In Paul, δικαιοσύνη most frequently refers either to the righteousness of God (e.g., Rom 1.17; 3.21) or to the state of being justified (or ‘righteoused’), which is bestowed, by God’s grace, upon those who have faith (e.g., Rom 4.22–25). In this instance, however, the exhortation to live τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ seems most likely to refer to living in accordance with God’s will,278 doing what is good, since this would cohere strongly with the overall thrust of the letter and, more specifically, with the other passage in which δικαιοσύνη appears (3.13–17).279 As elsewhere, then, while the influence of Pauline language and theology should not be denied,280

  Pace Elliott 532–33. Cf. Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente’, 12: ‘Die Vorlage redete in der ersten Person, die der Verf. am Anfang [v. 21] in die zweite umsetzte, um den Anschluß an die vorausgehenden Sätze zu gewinnen’. 278   The article before ἁμαρτίαις is sometimes understood to be anaphoric, pointing back to the sins that were carried away (see, e.g., Michaels 149). To balance the construction, some have interpreted the article before δικαιοσύνῃ similarly, claiming that it describes ‘the righteousness that belongs to the new life of freedom’ (Masterman 117; cf. Johnstone 188). While such an interpretation seems to be on target, the problem is that the article is pointing backwards. The article is commonly used with abstract nouns. When this occurs, the ‘quality is “tightened up,” as it were, defined more closely, distinguished from other notions’ (Wallace, Grammar, 226). This usage, thus, represents a concretizing of δικαιοσύνη such that it reflects the type of behaviour that is prescribed in the letter. 279   Langkammer (‘Jes 53 und 1 Petr 2,21–25’, 97) sees δικαιοσύνη in 2.24 as having a primarily ethical sense, making it conceptually closer to Matthew’s use of the term than to Paul’s, ‘wo sie rein soteriologish als Heil qualifiziert ist’, though he also notes its connection with salvation (cf. ἰάθητε) here. 280   Pace Achtemeier 203, who concludes on the basis of such differences that ‘[d]irect influence of Paul is thus to be discounted’ (cf. also Cranfield 86). On the Pauline influence in this verse, see Plumptre 120; Beare 150; Feldmeier 176; cf. also Aejmelaeus, ‘Pauline Heritage’, 142. For a fuller comparison of the 277

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the author uses his own distinctive turns of phrase and articulates his own particular theological emphases. The final phrase of the verse returns directly to Isaiah 53, quoting words from v. 5 (τῷ μώλωπι αὐτοῦ ἡμεῖς ἰάθημεν), with two changes being made to the source-text: the possessive pronoun αὐτοῦ is replaced by the relative pronoun οὗ, a change driven by the particular structuring of the phrases by the Petrine author, and the change from the first-person ἰάθημεν to the second-person ἰάθητε.281 Although the Isaiah text itself contains a mix of first-, second-, and third-person plural forms,282 the first-person plural is prominent (vv. 2, 4–6); and our author has used a first-person plural verb in the immediately preceding phrase. This change to ἰάθητε may suggest that the second person is the dominant mode of the author’s presentation here, and that the first-person verb ζήσωμεν indicates the influence of a traditional credal formulation (as noted above). It may also represent an intentional shift that allows the author to directly address the group toward whom this section was originally focused: the οἰκέται.283 The word μώλωψ is employed only here in the NT and is doubtless derived from Isa 53.5 (as also in 1 Clem. 16.5; Barn. 5.2). It generally refers to a wound or welt on the skin that results from being struck, often by a whip or staff (Sir 28.17; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 16.5.2; Lucian, Somn. 4; Philops. 20).284 Many connect the referent of μώλωψ to the stripes and lacerations that Christ experienced when he was scourged prior to his crucifixion.285 This seems to be the interpretation adopted by most English translations, which render μώλωψ as a plural: ‘stripes’ (cf. KJV, ASV, NKJV) or ‘wounds’ (cf. NRSV, NAB, ESV, HCSB,

perspectives of Paul and 1 Peter on sin and ‘sinlessness’, see Röhser, ‘Sünde und “Sündlosigkeit” im 1. Petrusbrief’, 391–414. 281   The Hebrew text also uses a first-person plural suffix: ‫לנו‬. 282   Cf. Elliott 533 (though Isa 52.14 does not seem relevant). For second person, note 53.10 (δῶτε… ὑμῶν); for third person, 53.11–12 (ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν, bis). 283   See, e.g., Macknight 465; Steiger 2:135. 284   See TDNT 4:829. Such bodily trauma often caused the skin to be bruised and discoloured (Strabo, Geogr. 14.1.39; Plutarch, Aem. 19.9; Quaest. conv. 12 [Mor. 634C]; cf. Dioscorides Pedanius, Mat. med. 1.52.5). When skin is hard and calloused, however, such welps can no longer form (Plutarch, Rect. rat. aud. 16 [Mor. 46D]). 285   So, e.g., Bigg 149; Hart 62; Mitchell 257; Selwyn 181.



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NASB, NET, NIV).286 Attempting to account for the singular form (μώλωψ), however, others connect the referent with the death of Christ.287 The ‘wound’ of Christ is thus understood as a metonymy for all that he experienced during his trial and execution. Both of these interpretations have been challenged by Martin. He argues that μώλωψ is not limited to the bodily response toward trauma, but that its meaning derives from the source domain of ancient physiology. Martin notes that in medical traditions from antiquity the body was believed to heal itself ‘by drawing the damaged tissue away from the healthy tissue so that the latter can remain healthy’.288 This consideration is key to Martin’s interpretation of this verse. For it is on this basis that he argues that ‘a μώλωψ does not emphasize the trauma itself but rather points to the body’s response in an effort to heal itself from the destructive trauma’.289 That is to say, the Petrine author is not intending to refer specifically to a bruise, stripe, or wound, but to the broader process by which these individual bodily responses contribute to the healing of the body. As informed as Martin’s treatment of ancient physiology is, its application in the present verse may be questioned. One point that is not fully established—even though it is crucial for the validity of the proposal—is that μώλωψ can represent the general process of healing rather than a specific example of bodily trauma (e.g., wound, stripe). When μώλωψ appears in the ancient source materials, it is commonly portrayed as one among many types of

286   Only a few English translations actually render μώλωπι in v. 24 as a singular, ‘wound’ (e.g., Wycliffe, JUB, NTE). 287   So, e.g., Steiger 2:136; Keil 100; Mason 411; Huther 147; Holzmeister 273; Michaels 150; Elliott 536–37; Green 89–90; Dubis 81; Watson 70–71. 288   Martin, ‘Christ’s Healing Sore’, 146. The text that most clearly illustrates this idea is found in Plutarch, Quaest. conv. 3.10.3 (Mor. 659D), which describes the effects of driving a bronze nail into one’s skin. It reads, ‘someone might claim that the nail in being driven through collects moisture to itself, since there is always attraction to the hurt part (ἐπιφορᾶς ἀεὶ γιγνομένης πρὸς τὸ πάσχον). This is why people remark that in that area itself one sees something like a bruise and a stain (μώλωπα καὶ σπῖλον); since the morbidness gathers there (τῆς φθορᾶς ἐκεῖ συντρεχούσης), it stands to reason that the rest of the flesh will remain sound’ (trans. Clement [LCL]). 289   Martin, ‘Christ’s Healing Sore’, 150.

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injuries, not a general category.290 It is interesting, moreover, that other ancient Christian writers, who shared the same ancient physiological background as the Petrine author, make no reference to μώλωψ as the process of healing. They, instead, connect μώλωψ with the death of Christ (Justin Martyr, Dial. 43.3) or with the specific wounds he experienced prior to death (Origen, Cels. 1.54). What is more, no evidence from the present context is provided that would indicate that μώλωψ is meant to refer to the process of healing. Martin’s theory, as he himself acknowledges,291 assumes a particular type of relationship between Christ and the members of the Christian community, viz. believers must be conceived of as part of the body of Christ.292 Only this type of relationship will allow the healing affects of Christ’s trauma to draw out the damaging effects of the sinful acts of individual members. The problem is that the Petrine author never uses the body metaphor to describe believers’ union with Christ.293 It seems more natural, then, to interpret the language in light of its use in Isa 53.5 (LXX). There, μώλωψ is closely related to being wounded (τραυματίζω) and being made weak (μαλακίζομαι). It is the equivalent of one being disciplined (παιδεία) so that another could have peace. Such imagery places the focus on the trauma itself, not the process of healing. From this perspective, the present   In combination with ὑπώπιον and οὐλή (Aristotle, [Probl.] 9.1 [889b]); with τραῦμα and πληγή (Isa 1.6); with οὐλή (Plutarch, Sera 25 [Mor. 565B]); with τραῦμα (Gen 4.23; Jdt 9.13; Epistula ecclesiarum apud Lugdunum et Viennam 1.23); with ἴχνος (Epictetus, Diatr. 2.18.11); with ἕλκος (Epictetus, Diatr. 2.18.11); with σμῶδιξ (Galen, Vocum Hippocratis glossarium, vol. 19, p. 139 [Kühn]; Pausanias, Ἀττικῶν ὀνομάτων συναγωγή Ζ.6); with καυτήριον and τραῦμα (Epistula ecclesiarum apud Lugdunum et Viennam 2.2). 291   See Martin, ‘Christ’s Healing Sore’, 151: ‘This hygienic-salvific metaphor… exceeds its source domain since a sore on one body does not heal another body much less many other bodies. To be effective, a sore must have a connection with the body or body part that it heals.’ 292   For this ‘body’ metaphor in the Pauline and deutero-Pauline epistles, see 1 Cor 12.12–27; Col 1.18, 24; 2.17–19; 3.15; Eph 1.22–23; 4.10–16; 5.23–32. 293   One could argue that this notion of incorporation into the body of Christ is represented in the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ (1 Pet 3.16; 5.10, 14; see Christensen, ‘Reborn Participants’, 341–43), but this explanation remains unconvincing. The Petrine author employs the phrase quite differently than does Paul or the later Pauline interpreters (see Exegesis at 3.16). Even when he represents this relationship in some type of dynamic connection with Christ, he does not employ the metaphor of a ‘body’. 290



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verse is merely another way of saying that Christ’s death provides benefits for those who place their trust in him.294 The use of μώλωψ is particularly appropriate in this context for two reasons.295 One is that it recalls the specific punishments inflicted on Jesus, whose whipping is recorded in the Passion narratives (Mark 15.15 par.; John 19.1; cf. Matt 20.19//Luke 18.33); the other is that such trauma wounds would have likely been the common experience of household slaves,296 for whom beatings were a regular occurrence.297 This description of Christ’s suffering therefore draws a close parallel between his experience and that of the slaves (2.19–20) who are, along with all the readers of the letter, urged to follow in his steps (2.21). The difference, of course, is that Christ’s sufferings are depicted as vicarious and redemptive, offering the promise of salvation (cf. also 1.9, 18–19). Thus, by living righteous lives, these slaves might experience the beatings and wounds that derive from their position of servitude; nevertheless, they are promised that the similar punishments experienced by Jesus will provide them with (eschatological) healing.298

294   How Christ’s suffering brings healing to his followers is not explicitly detailed by the Petrine author (see Kühl 184). But it is unnecessary to assume that he ‘relies on his ancient audience’s understanding of how a sore works’ (Martin, ‘Christ’s Healing Sore’, 146). Instead, it is much more natural to think that the answer to this question could be deduced from the first half of the verse (v. 24a), where he is working from sacrificial imagery. 295   As noted by Selwyn 181 and Elliott 536. 296   Cf. Plumptre 120; Blenkin 64. Against Michaels 150, who comments that ‘[t]he language is only marginally more appropriate—if at all—for slaves than for any other group of believers’ (cf. Goppelt 214). 297   See Sir 23.10: ‘just as a household slave (οἰκέτης) who is continually examined will not be in need of a wound (ἀπὸ μώλωπος οὐκ ἐλαττωθήσεται), so also the one who swears and always speaks the name will never be cleansed from sin’. There is unlikely to be any direct influence of Sir 23.10 here, as Achtemeier 202 n. 198, points out. But that does not make its indication that beatings and its resulting wounds were a common slaves’ experience any less relevant to the interpretation of this passage. 298   This is just one example of how the Petrine author ‘generated a unique ritual of sickness that elevated the weak body as a source of identity and power’, which was designed to ‘reverse the “rituals of the well” in antiquity’ (Henning, ‘In Sickness and Health’, 195).

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25 ἦτε γὰρ ὡς πρόβατα πλανώμενα, πλανώμενα, ἀλλ᾿ ἐπεστράφητε νῦν ἐπὶ τὸν ποιμένα καὶ ἐπίσκοπον τῶν ψυχῶν ὑμῶν. ὑμῶν. The opening words (ἦτε γάρ) form a connection between the preceding quotation from Isa 53.5 and the next phrase, drawn from Isa 53.6, which reads, πάντες ὡς πρόβατα ἐπλανήθημεν. The conjunction γάρ indicates that the link is specifically an explanatory one. The opening of this verse shows why the readers needed ‘healing’ and the second clause indicates the form of that healing: a turning to Christ.299 The author does not reproduce πάντες from Isa 53.6, and changes the first-person plural verb ἐπλανήθημεν to the participle πλανώμενα, linked adjectivally with πρόβατα (assuming a finely balanced textual decision to favour πλανώμενα over πλανώμενοι, see Text at 2.25 n. m). With ἦτε, the generally consistent and deliberate second-person plural formulation of vv. 21–25 (with the exception of ζήσωμεν in v. 24) continues here. The description of the people as (straying) ‘sheep’ is a well-established metaphor in the Jewish scriptures (e.g., Pss 79.13; 95.7), and is also taken up elsewhere in the NT (e.g., John 10.1–16, 27; 21.15– 17). It is particularly utilised in the Hebrew Prophets where the ideas of wandering or straying are prominent, sometimes linked with the idea of God (or other leaders) as shepherd (e.g, Isa 13.14; Jer 12.3; 23.1; 50.6; Ezek 34.2–31; Mic 2.12; Zech 10.2; cf. Matt 9.36; 10.6; 15.24; Mark 6.34). In this case, it refers to people who, prior to their conversion, were not ‘God’s people’ (cf. 2.10; also 1.14, 18; 4.2–3). In effect, the construction ἦτε…ὡς πρόβατα πλανώμενα describes their pre-Christian past (cf. John 10.16; 1 Cor 12.2).300 It is not surprising, therefore, that the author links going astray with (re)turning (to the shepherd).301 Some have proposed that the link between healing (v. 24) and turning (v. 25) may have been suggested by Isa 6.10, which is clearly an influential scriptural text cited elsewhere in the NT   Cf. Achtemeier 204; Dubis 81.   The imperfect periphrastic ἦτε πλανώμενοι denotes an extended period (cf. Achtemeier 203 n. 201; Osborne 204; Schlosser 178). More specifically, this construction communicates a customary sense that ‘denotes a generalized multiple occurrence or one which is characteristic of a broad period’ (Fanning, Verbal Aspect, 315). 301   Cf. Michaels 150, who cites 1 Clem. 59.4; Pol. Phil. 6.1 and 2 Clem. 17.2 as other relevant instances where the theme is turning back those who wander. 299 300



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(Matt 13.14–15; Mark 4.12; John 12.38–40 [which links Isa 53.1 and 6.10]; Acts 28.27).302 Yet it seems more likely that the use of imagery and vocabulary is influenced by Ezek 34.1–16 (and perhaps Jer 23.1–3), where the people are depicted as wandering sheep whom God promises to seek out and bring back: πλανάω and ἐπιστρέφω are linked in Ezek 34.4 and 16.303 Liebengood proposes that Zechariah 9–14 also shapes the author’s depiction of sheep and shepherd in this passage, but the Isaianic material remains the most explicit and direct source.304 The change (ἀλλά) that has taken place in the lives of the readers is indicated by the verb ἐπεστράφητε. This aorist tense form seems to carry a consummative force, reflecting an action or event that was completed in the past but whose results or implications continue to the present.305 In this case, the enduring nature of the event is indicated by the adverb νῦν (cf. Rom 5.11; 11.30; Eph 3.5; 1 Pet 1.12). Some have read ἐπεστράφητε as a true passive (‘have been [re]turned’, ‘have been brought back’, cf. GNT, MEV), suggesting that the process was carried out through divine initiative.306 Although this has the attraction of forming a literary inclusio with ἐκλήθητε in v. 21,307 it is unlikely. The aorist passive form of ἐπιστρέφω is regularly used with an active (‘to turn’) or middle

  Goppelt 215 with n. 82.   Cf. Elliott 537–38; Dubis 82; Bosetti 116. 304   Liebengood, Eschatology, 97–104; cf. also Jobes, ‘Minor Prophets’, 144–45, who is open to the influence of Zechariah at this point. According to Liebengood (Eschatology, 100–102), the author of 1 Peter may have linked Isa 53.5–6 and Zech 10.2 (which, interestingly, has ‘healing’ [ἴασις] in the LXX but ‘shepherd’ [‫ ]רעה‬in the MT) in vv. 24–25. There is, however, little clear indication that the author has gone beyond Isa 53.5–6 in formulating the phrasing of these verses. 305   See Forbes 93–94; cf. also Wypadlo, ‘Jesus Christus als Urbild’, 148 n. 50. On the consummative function of the aorist, see Wallace, Grammar, 559–61. Based on this function, some compare the usage to the perfect tense (so, e.g., Bigg 149; Achtemeier 204 n. 297). 306   E.g., Wiesinger 200; Schott 175; Goppelt 216 with n. 89; Achtemeier 204 n. 205; Elliott 538–39; cf. TDNT 7:728; Manns, ‘Souffrances et joie’, 268; Wolff, ‘In der Nachfolge des leidenden Christus’, 437; Liebengood, Eschatology, 86. 307   As noted by Elliott 538–39. 302 303

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sense (‘to turn oneself’, ‘to return’),308 which appears to be the case here.309 In some ancient contexts, ἐπιστρέφω was employed to describe the act of converting someone to a particular opinion or viewpoint, and in early Christian literature, it denotes persuading someone toward a religious commitment (i.e., conversion).310 It is generally agreed that this latter sense is intended here, a point stressed with the νῦν, which marks the temporal contrast between former and present lives (ἦτε…, ἀλλά… νῦν), as also in 2.10 (ποτε… νῦν),311 and also identifies the present (eschatological) time as the time of the announcement of salvation (see on 1.12; cf. also 3.21). The question is whether this represents a ‘turning’ to Christ (cf. NLT, CJB) or a ‘return’ to Christ (cf. NRSV, NIV, ESV, NAB, NASB, HCSB, NET). Most understand the verb according to the latter sense, but hesitation sometimes arises from the fact that the construction ἐπιστρέφειν + ἐπί can communicate either idea.312 Generally, the 308   See LSJ 661; BDAG 382 §4.b. Examples include: Exod 7.23; 16.10; 34.31; Num 14.25; 23.5; Deut 1.7; 1 Sam 14.21; Jer 3.10; 11.10; 41.10; 1 Macc 4.24; Matt 10.13; Mark 5.30; 8.33; John 21.20. A true passive sense might be possible in a few instances, such as 4 Macc 13.5. 309   Cf. Alford 355; Johnstone 189–90; Masterman 117; Dubis 82–83. 310   Opinion or viewpoint: Lucian, Quomodo historia conscribenda sit 5; Plutarch, Alc. 16.9; Epictetus, Diatr. 2.20.22. Religious commitment: Acts 9.35; 11.21; 14.15; 15.19; 26.20; 1 Clem. 18.13; Acts Phil. 113.2; Acts Thom. 42.3; 58.1. However, it is rather misleading to translate the verb ‘be converted’, as does the KJV in a number of places where ἐπιστρέφω is used, including NT citations of Isa 6.10 (Ps 51.13; Matt 13.15; Mark 4.12; John 12.40 [Textus Receptus]; Acts 3.19; 28.27). BDAG 382 §4.b also suggest this rendering for the Textus Receptus of John 12.40 and for Herm. Mand. 12.4.6. For criticism of this translation, see MM 246 and Field, Notes on the Translation, 8–9, 246–51. 311   Cf. Michaels 151. 312   As it relates to ‘turning to(ward)s’ someone or something, the construction ἐπιστρέφειν + ἐπί is used of interpersonal movements, wherein one individual turns to face another (1 Sam 4.19; 2 Chr 26.20; Dan 10.8, 16), but also to describe military positioning (Polybius, Hist. 11.22.11; Diodorus Siculus 2.18.8; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 3.53.2; Asclepiodotus, Tactica 10.5), geographic movements (Deut 2.3; Strabo, Geogr. 15.1.26), moral/philosophic pursuits (Diogenes of Sinope, Epist. 34.1), and religious devotion (Deut 31.18). When the construction is employed to describe the ‘return to(wards)’ someone or something, it appears in many of the same contexts: interpersonal movements (1 En. 99.5), punishment for wrongdoing (Deut 28.60; 2 Sam 16.8), geographic movements (Eccl 1.6; 12.7; Dan 11.9, 28; Zech 1.16; 8.3), moral/philosophic



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broader context provides an indication of whether this act involves a return to something prior or a turn in a new direction. Occasionally this situation is aided by specific verbal clues (e.g., πάλιν [Gal 4.9; Acts Thom. 46.4]; ὡς ἦν [Eccl 12.7]; πρότερον [Jer 11.10]). In this case, the metaphor of ‘straying’ sheep implies that a ‘return’ is in view, as recognised by most interpreters. Nevertheless, some have cautioned against this translation, noting that it could convey the idea that the readers had some association with Christ prior to their time of wandering.313 But this difficulty only arises if the metaphor is pressed beyond its natural limits. The image of wandering sheep is employed merely to emphasise the lostness of the readers prior to conversion.314 When this is acknowledged, questions about the audience’s past relationship with the shepherd are moot.315 The ‘shepherd’ (ποιμήν) to whom the readers have returned may be either God or Christ. Since Christ is also described as the ἀρχιποίμην (‘chief shepherd’, 5.4), he seems to be the most likely candidate, as the majority of commentators rightly judge.316 While God is sometimes depicted as the shepherd of his people in the Jewish scriptures (e.g., Ps 23.1; 28.9; Ezek 34.15; cf. Philo, Agr. 50–52), this role is also assigned to leaders of the people (e.g., pursuits (Jer 11.10; Bar 2.30), and religious devotion (Deut 30.2; 2 Chr 15.4; 19.4; Ps 50.15[13]; Isa 55.7; Jer 24.7; Jdt 5.19; Sir 17.25, 29). 313   So, e.g., Selwyn 181; Hiebert 189–90; Forbes 94. 314   Cf. Best 123, who suggests that the image of sheep returning to the shepherd ‘implies… that the natural place for sheep is in the flock with the shepherd and that the readers by their conversion and baptism have found this place’. 315   This is especially important when assessing claims that the letter was addressed to a predominantly Jewish audience, with the verb ἐπεστράφητε (‘you have returned’) serving as one of the bases (see, e.g., by Kühl 185; Witherington 158). 316   Cf. Michaels 151; Achtemeier 204; Elliott 538–39. There are some, however, who consider God as a possible, and perhaps even the most likely, referent (e.g., Mitchell 257; Brox 139; cf. Weiss, Der petrinische Lehrbegriff, 122; Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 403–405). One of the reasons why some are hesitant to see Christ as the referent is because the readers had not formerly been followers of Christ and thus could not (technically) ‘return’ (ἐπιστρέφειν) to him. Yet, since the readers are portrayed as (primarily) Gentile recipients who turned away from paganism (see Introduction: Ethno-Religious Identity), they would not have had any prior contact with God either. In this case, therefore, it is important not to press the shepherd metaphor too far by assuming the existence of any previous relationship.

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Jer 2.8; 23.1; 50.6; Ezek 34.2–7), and hopes for a future kingly (or messianic) ruler sometimes use the shepherd image to denote the character of that role (cf. Isa 40.11317; Jer 23.4; Ezek 34.23– 24; Mic 5.2–4; Zech 11.16; 13.7; Pss. Sol. 17.40). Moreover, the NT clearly identifies Christ as shepherd, while this designation is nowhere explicitly applied to God (Matt 25.32; 26.31//Mark 14.27; John 10.11–16; Heb 13.20; cf. also 1 Clem. 16.1; 44.3; 54.2; 57.2; Mart. Pol. 19.2).318 The parallel between Heb 13.20 and 1 Pet 5.4 is especially pertinent, even if there is no indication of any direct literary relationship.319 In the Tanak, the role of ‘overseer’ (ἐπίσκοπος) is attributed to God (Job 20.29; cf. Wis. 1.6; Philo, Mut. 39.216; Somn. 1.91) as well as to various kinds of human actors (e.g., Num 4.16; 2 Kgs 11.18; 2 Chr 34.12; Neh 11.9; 1 Macc 1.51). The specifically pastoral sense of God’s oversight is later reflected in 1 Clem. 59.3: τὸν παντὸς πνεύματος κτίστην καὶ ἐπίσκοπον. But in this case, Christ is ἐπίσκοπος as well as ποιμήν. The grammatical construction indicates that the two terms describe one and the same person,320 with ἐπίσκοπος perhaps serving as a functional term to interpret the more metaphorical ποιμήν.321 This would suggest that its meaning here is a pastoral sense of ‘oversight’—taking care, protecting, nurturing, as well as disciplining—as opposed to the ‘scrutiny’ of judgment implied in 2.12 (cf. also 1.17; Wis. 3.13).322 This linking of the imagery of pastoring and overseeing is also evident in 5.1–4, such that Christ functions as a model for leaders in the churches (cf. also John 21.15–17; Acts 20.28; Ign. Magn. 3.1). There is insufficient indication, from such a brief reference here in 2.25, that ἐπίσκοπος   Here the expected shepherd is evidently YHWH (v. 10, MT), but the escha�tological vision of the coming κύριος lends itself to messianic/christological appropriation. 318   Maier (‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, 110) considers it likely that the earthly Jesus identified himself as ‘shepherd’ and thus cautiously suggests ‘daß 1. Petr. 2,25 auf Jesus selbst zurückgeht’. 319   Cf. Osborne, ‘Guide Lines for Christian Suffering’, 405. On the relationship between Hebrews and 1 Peter, see Introduction: Sources, Traditions, and Affinities. 320   This is another instance of the Granville Sharp rule (see Wallace, Grammar, 274; cf. Robertson, Grammar, 787). 321   Cf. Goppelt 215; see also Michaels 151, who notes the author’s ‘tendency not to leave metaphors unqualified or unexplained’. 322   Cf. Elliott 539. 317



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had acquired its specifically ecclesial meaning, denoting the office of bishop;323 the use of the participial form (ἐπισκοποῦντες) in connection with πρεσβύτεροι in 5.2 suggests a less formalised structuring of leadership roles (see on 5.1–4). What it is that Christ is said to shepherd and oversee is τῶν ψυχῶν ὑμῶν (cf. Wis. 3.13: ἐν ἐπισκοπῇ ψυχῶν).324 As in 1.9 and 22, this may be taken simply to mean ‘your selves’, or ‘your lives’, as a reference to their ‘whole persons’.325 But it seems likely that the use of the word ψυχή would suggest a somewhat more specific anthropology, implying that innermost, highest, and immortal aspect of the person, which is the recipient of salvation and eternal life (see Exegesis on 1.9). Summary This passage makes an important contribution to the overall message of the letter. At one level, it forms a subsection within the household-code material, addressed to domestic slaves. Yet these slaves are not only addressed as one specific sub-group within the assemblies. They exemplify the vulnerability to ill-treatment and hostility that the Christian community as a whole seems to be experiencing and as such form a paradigm case for the appeal to do what is good despite experiencing unjust suffering.326 Although the required behaviour is framed as being subordinate to their masters, showing them full respect, and thus includes aspects that would have widely been recognised and approved as ‘good’, it is also clear that the motivation for doing good derives from a sense of God’s will. Moreover, since even doing what is ‘good’ may result in suffering, it seems that this pattern of conduct does not fundamentally represent a conformity to social expectations, even if it is nearer to the ‘conformity’ end of the scale than some might have preferred—then as well as now. Rather, it involves a conformity to what is deemed to be God’s will, whether 323   This is argued by some (e.g., Johnstone 190; Schelkle 86) on the basis of texts like Acts 20.28 and Phil 1.1. 324   This language is understood by McCruden (‘Compassionate Soteriology’, 45) as an example of what he describes as ‘Christ’s continuing, compassionate presence to the faithful’ in 1 Peter. 325   Elliott 539. 326   Cf. Achtemeier 192; Elliott 542.

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or not that meets with the approval of earthly masters. Indeed, this pattern of behaviour constitutes χάρις, best understood as an appropriate response to the initial gift of God which is the good news. The valorisation of suffering that this strategy represents, while it may be seen as a valuable part of a survival strategy for the weak,327 is not without its problems. Most notably, it contributes to a legacy within the Christian tradition that has at times served to keep oppressed and weaker members of society—not least slaves and women—in their place, even when they are suffering abuse (see Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter). But despite this regrettable situation, the passage itself does contribute some important nuance to ancient Christian reflection on slavery, particularly when compared to other household codes (cf. Eph 6.5–9; Col 3.22– 4.1).328 Not only does the Petrine author acknowledge the flaws in the system (viz. cruel masters, unjust suffering), his depiction offers a veiled critique of the convention. As Watson notes, ‘[b]y tying the situation of the slaves to the circumstances faced by Christ himself, he implicitly criticizes those who mistreat others by associating cruel slave masters with those who cruelly crucified Christ’.329 The appeal to domestic slaves provides the occasion to present an extended depiction of the sufferings experienced by Christ, and his patient and non-retaliatory endurance. This is a model of behaviour   See Aageson, ‘1 Peter 2.11–3.7’, 47–48: ‘The writer of 1 Peter tries to cast instructions and imperatives in terms of theology, yet the comments regarding slaves and women do not seem…to derive exclusively from theology. On the contrary, they appear to flow in good measure from the exigencies of the community’s situation as a persecuted minority whose horizon is limited by its eschatological expectation.’ Cf. also Evang, ‘Gewalt und Gewaltlosigkeit’, 28. 328   For a comparison of this evidence, see Still, ‘ “Paul,” “Peter,” and Slaves’, 231–40. 329   Watson, ‘Body and Abuse’, 280; cf. Foulkes 882. Others have taken the opposite view. For instance, Moxnes argues, ‘Since there is no parallel admonition to the masters the exhortation [to endure unjust suffering] amounts to a full scale acceptance of the slave system even in its perverted form. Moreover, it is exactly with regard to these situations where the slave system is exposed as unjust that the text introduces God to legitimatise willing subordination… The indirect criticism of slave masters as “cruel” and of unjust suffering does not lead to any criticism of the system as such; the foreseen action taken is quiet subordination’ (‘Beaten Body of Christ’, 135–37). 327



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set out for all of the letter’s addressees.330 Though clearly drawing heavily on material from Isaiah 53, the passage also reflects knowledge of the story of Jesus’ passion, based on early traditions perhaps independent of, even prior to, the Synoptic Passion Narratives, or at least in a form not directly derived from them. What we find here is a kind of ‘scripturalisation’ of the Passion story; that is to say, history and tradition presented and expressed in the language of scripture.331 The extended use of Isaiah 53 is of considerable significance. Debate continues about how far Isaiah 53 influenced early Christian understanding of the death of Christ (e.g., in Rom 4.25), but what is indisputable is that the references to Isaiah 53 in the NT are infrequent, often brief or oblique, or undeveloped with regard to the passion and death of Jesus, even in the lengthy quotation in Acts 8.32–33. The hermeneutical perspective explained in 1 Pet 1.10–12 underpins the author’s christological appropriation of the Suffering Servant material, a move that was of considerable significance for the history of Christian theology (see Introduction: Impact and Influence of 1 Peter).

  For the problems associated with applying the model of Christ’s suffering to the modern world, see Visser, ‘Following the Man’, 337–57. 331   See further Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered’, 143–50. 330