Allegory Transformed: The Appropiation of Philonic Hermeneutics in the Letters to the Hebrews (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament 2.Reihe) 9783161499685, 9783161516122, 3161499689

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

269

Stefan Nordgaard Svendsen

Allegory Transformed The Appropriation of Philonic Hermeneutics in the Letter to the Hebrews

Mohr Siebeck

Stefan Nordgaard Svendsen, born 1976; 2004 MA from the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen; 2007 Ph. D. at the University of Copenhagen; currently postdoc at the Centre for Naturalism and Christian Semantics at the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen.

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-151612-2 ISBN 978-3-16-149968-5 ISSN 0340-9570 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. © 2009 by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed by Laupp & Göbel in Nehren on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

Preface The present work is a revised and slightly altered version of my Ph.D.dissertation, handed in to the Faculty of Theology at the University of Copenhagen in the spring of 2007. Many people have contributed to the making of this book and it is a pleasure for me to convey my deepest sense of gratitude to these friends and colleagues. First of all, I would like to thank my supervisors Henrik Tronier and Troels Engberg-Pedersen, both of whom have invested far more time and energy in this work than I could ever have hoped for. Their apt criticism, incisive comments and words of encouragement have meant more to my work than they probably know. Likewise my colleague Gitte Buch Hansen has contributed greatly with her deep knowledge of ancient philosophy and her exceptional ability to extract new and surprising meanings from familiar texts. I would also like to thank the members of the assessment committee, Gregory Sterling, Martin Karrer and Mogens Müller, for supplying me with helpful comments and germane points of criticism. Harold Attridge and Margaret Mitchell have both responded to papers emerging from my struggles with Hebrews and Philo. Their criticial voices have forced me to continuously sharpen the force of my arguments which is much appreciated. I am also greatful to Jörg Frey and Henning Ziebritzki for recommending and accepting my work for the WUNT II series and to Anna Krüger and Tanja Mix for all their efforts during the process of publication. My sincere thanks are also due to Peter Orr who took the time to amend my linguistic and stylistic blunders. Lastly, I would like to thank all my colleagues, past and present, at the Department of Biblical Exegesis in Copenhagen for innumerable hours of joyful chatting. September 2009

Stefan Nordgaard Svendsen

Table of Contents Preface ..................................................................................................... V Table of Contents ................................................................................... VII Abbreviations ......................................................................................... XI Introduction .............................................................................................. 1 Part I – Allegory

Chapter 1 – The Stoics ......................................................................... 9 Allegory .............................................................................................. 10 Stoic Allegory in Context .................................................................... 13

Chapter 2 – Alexandrian Predecessors ........................................... 17 Aristeas ............................................................................................... 18 Aristobulus .......................................................................................... 23

Chapter 3 – Philo of Alexandria ...................................................... 29 Metaphysics ........................................................................................ 29 Allegory .............................................................................................. 36 Allegory and Apologetics .................................................................... 46 Part II – Preliminaries

Chapter 4 – The Hermeneutics of Hebrews ................................... 55 Allegory and Typology........................................................................ 55 Apocalyptic Metaphysics .................................................................... 60 Allegory in Hebrews ........................................................................... 66

Chapter 5 – Historical Setting .......................................................... 69 Author ................................................................................................. 69 Date .................................................................................................... 70

VIII

Table of Contents

Addressees .......................................................................................... 74 Aim ..................................................................................................... 76 Part III – Exegesis

Chapter 6 – Hebrews 1:1-5:10 ......................................................... 83 Hebrews 1:1-14 ................................................................................... 84 1:1-4 ................................................................................................ 84 1:5-14 .............................................................................................. 87 Hebrews 2:1-3:6 .................................................................................. 93 2:1-4 ................................................................................................ 93 2:5-9 ................................................................................................ 95 2:10-18 ............................................................................................ 96 3:1-6 .............................................................................................. 102 Hebrews 3:7-4:13 .............................................................................. 105 3:7-19 ............................................................................................ 107 4:1-11 ............................................................................................ 109 Excursus 1: Philo and Divine Rest ................................................. 112 4:1-11 Continued ........................................................................... 117 4:12f. ............................................................................................. 120 Hebrews 4:14-5:10 ............................................................................ 121 4:14-16 .......................................................................................... 121 5:1-6 .............................................................................................. 121 5:7-10 ............................................................................................ 123

Chapter 7 – Hebrews 5:11-10:18 ................................................... 130 Hebrews 5:11-6:20 ............................................................................ 130 5:11-6:3 ......................................................................................... 130 6:4-12 ............................................................................................ 133 6:13-20 .......................................................................................... 137 Hebrews 7:1-28 ................................................................................. 140 7:1-10 ............................................................................................ 145 7:11-19 .......................................................................................... 151 7:20-28 .......................................................................................... 154 Hebrews 8:1-10:18 ............................................................................ 157 8:1-6 .............................................................................................. 158 Excursus 2: Philo and the Tabernacle ............................................ 162 8:1-6 Continued ............................................................................. 167

Table of Contents

IX

8:7-13 ............................................................................................ 168 9:1-10 ............................................................................................ 171 9:11-14 .......................................................................................... 176 9:15-28 .......................................................................................... 179 10:1-10 .......................................................................................... 183 10:11-18 ........................................................................................ 188 Excursus 3: Philo and the High Priest ............................................ 188 10:11-18 Continued ....................................................................... 193

Chapter 8 – Hebrews 10:19-13:25 ................................................. 196 Hebrews 10:19-39 ............................................................................. 196 10:19-25 ........................................................................................ 196 10:26-31 ........................................................................................ 199 10:32-39 ........................................................................................ 200 Hebrews 11:1-12:3 ............................................................................ 205 11:1-7 ............................................................................................ 206 11:8-22 .......................................................................................... 212 11:23-31 ........................................................................................ 217 11:32-40 ........................................................................................ 220 12:1-3 ............................................................................................ 223 Hebrews 12:4-29 ............................................................................... 227 12:4-11 .......................................................................................... 227 12:12-17 ........................................................................................ 229 12:18-24 ........................................................................................ 231 12:25-29 ........................................................................................ 234 Hebrews 13:1-25 ............................................................................... 235 13:1-6 ............................................................................................ 236 13:7-16 .......................................................................................... 237 13:17-25 ........................................................................................ 243 Conclusion ............................................................................................ 247 Bibliography ......................................................................................... 249 Index of Sources ................................................................................... 255 Index of Modern Authors ...................................................................... 269 Subject Index ........................................................................................ 271

Abbreviations General AB ALGHJ

Anchor Bible Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte des hellenistischen Judentums

BDAG

Bauer, W., F. W. Danker, W. F. Arndt & F. W. Gingrich 1999, GreekEnglish Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 3 rd ed., University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL Biblica Brown Judaic Studies Bibliotheca Sacra Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

Bib BJS BSac BZNW

CBQMS CRINT

Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Compendium rerum iudicarum ad Novum Testamentum EBib Etudes bibliques

EKKNT

Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament

FBE FRLANT

Forum for bibelsk eksegese Forschung zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments

HTR

Harvard Theological Review

ICC

International Critical Commentary

JBL JETS JRS JSNTSup JSOT JTS

Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Roman Studies Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal of Theological Studies

KEK

Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament (Meyer Kommentar)

LCL LSJ

Loeb’s Classical Library Liddell, H. G., R. Scott & H. S. Jones 1990, A Greek-English Lexicon. 9 th ed. with revised supplement, Clarendon, Oxford Septuagint, the Greek version of the Old Testament

LXX

XII

Abbreviations

MT

Masoretic text, the Hebrew version of the Old Testament

NEB NIGTC NovT NRTh

New English Bible New International Greek Testament Commentary Novum Testamentum La Nouvelle Revue Théologique

OTP

Charlesworth, J. H. (ed.) 1983-85, The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. 2 vols., Darton, Longman & Todd, London

PACS PhilAnt

Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series Philosophia Antiqua

RSV

Revised Standard Version

SBLDS SBLSCS SNTSMS SPAW SPAW.PH

Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Sitzungsberichte der preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaft Sitzungsberichte der preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaft. Philosophischhistorische Klasse Studia Philonica Annual Studia evangelica Studien zum Neuen Testament Studia Neotestamentica Arnim, H. von 1964, Stoicorum veterum fragmenta. 4. vols. [1905-24], Teubner, Stuttgart

SPhA StEv StNT StudNeot SVF

THL TU

Theory and the History of Literature Texte und Untersuchungen

WMANT WUNT

Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament

ZNW

Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

Ancient texts Aristotle Metaph. Rh.

Metaphysica (Metaphysics) Rhetorica (Rhetoric)

Athanasius C. Ar.

Contra Arianos (Against the Arians)

Augustine Civ.

De civitate dei (On the City of God)

Abbreviations Cicero Nat.

De natura deorum (On the Nature of Gods)

Cornutus Comp.

Theologiae graecae compendium (Compendium on Greek Theology)

Dio Cassio Hist.

Historia Romana (Roman History)

XIII

Diogenes Laertius Vit. phil. Vitae philosophorum (The lives of the Philosophers) Epictetus Diss.

Dissertationes (Dissertations)

Eusebius HE PE

Historia ecclesiastica (Ecclesiastical History) Praeparatio evangelica (Preparation for the Gospel)

Dead Sea Scrolls 1QpHab Pesher Habbakuk 11QMelch Melchizedek CD Cairo Genizah copy of the Damascus Document Hesiod Op.

Opera et dies (Works and Days)

Ignatius of Antioch Magn. Epistula ad Magnesianes (Letter to the Magnesians) Jerome Vir. inl.

De viris inlustribus (On Illustrious Men)

John Chrysostom Hom. Hebr. Homiliae in epistulam ad Hebraeos (Homilies on the Epistle to the Hebrews) Josephus A.J. B.J. C. Ap.

Antiquitates judaicae (Jewish Antiquities) Bellum judaicum (Jewish War) Contra Apionem (Against Apion)

Philo Abr. Agr. Cher. Conf. Contempl. Congr. Decal. Det. Deus

De Abrahamo (On the Life of Abraham) De agricultura (On Agriculture) De cherubim (On the Cherubim) De confusione linguarum (On the Confusion of Tongues) De vita contemplativa (On Contemplative Life) De congressu eruditionis gratia (On the Preliminary Studies) De decalogo (On the Decalogue) Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat (That the Worse Attacks the Better) Quod Deus sit immutabilis (That God is Unchangeable)

XIV Ebr. Flacc. Fug. Gig. Her. Ios. Leg. Legat. Migr. Mos. Mut. Opif. Plant. Post. Praem. Prob. Prov. QE QG Sacr. Somn. Spec. Virt.

Abbreviations De ebreitate (On Drunkenness) In Flaccum (Against Flaccus) De fuga et inventione (On Flight and Finding) De gigantibus (On Giants) Quis rerum divinarum heres sit (Who Is the Heir?) De Iosepho (On the Life of Joseph) Legum allegoriae (Allegorical Interpretation) Legatio ad Gaium (On the Embassy to Gaius) De migratione Abrahami (On the Migration of Abraham) De vita Mosis (On the Life of Moses) De mutatione nominum (On the Change of Names) De opificio mundi (On the Creation of the World) De plantatione (On Noah’s Work as a Planter) De posteritate Caini (On the Posterity of Cain) De praemiis et poenis (On Rewards and Punishment) Quod omnis prober liber sit (That Every Good Person Is Free) De providentia (On Providence) Questiones et solutiones in Exudum (Questions and Answers on Exodus) Questiones et solutiones in Genesin (Questions and Answers on Genesis) De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini (On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain) De somniis (On Dreams) De specialibus legibus (On the Special Laws) De virtutibus (On the Virtues)

Plato Crat. Phaed. Resp. Tim.

Cratylus (Cratylus) Phaedo (Phaedo) Respublica (Republic) Timaeus (Timaeus)

Plotinus Enn.

Enneades (Enneads)

Plutarch Comm. not. De communibus notitiis adversus Stoicos (Against the Stoics on Common Conceptions) Frat. De fraterno amore (On brotherly Love) Stoic. rep. De Stoicorum repugnantiis (On Stoic Self-Contradictions) Pseudo-Aristeas Ep. Arist. Aristeae ad Philocratem epistula (Letter of Aristeas to Philocrates) Seneca Ben. Ep. Prov.

De beneficiis (On Benefactions) Epistulae (Letters) De providentia (On Providence)

Sextus Empiricus Math. Adversus mathematicos (Against the Professors) Stobaeus Ecl.

Ecloge (Selected Writings)

Abbreviations

Tacitus Ann.

Annales (Annals)

Tertullian Apol. Pudic.

Apologia (Apology) De pudicitia (On Modesty)

XV

Introduction Tradition has it, so Eusebius informs us, that Philo once visited Rome during the reign of Claudius (41-54 CE) to speak with the apostle Peter. The bishop does not inform us of the topic or the purpose of the conversation, but he considers the tradition credible given that Philo later composed a treatise (the De vita contemplativa) on the lifestyle and hermeneutics of an ascetic Christian community (HE 2.17.1). The treatise reveals, he adds, not only that Philo was familiar with Christianity, but also that he “welcomed (  ), admired ( ) and honoured (

) the apostolic men of his day ( )” (2.17.2).1 Obviously, this is all legend.2 Philo never met with Peter, and he probably never visited Rome after his failed mission to Gaius Caligula in 39/40 CE. And whatever he was doing in the Contempl., he certainly was not describing a Christian monastic community. Even so, the tradition (and the fact that Eusebius so willingly accepts it) is enlightening since it reveals that Christian writers of the patristic era were eager to embrace Philo, to domesticate him and to make him ‘one of their own’. For several of the church fathers the writings of Philo were a major source of inspiration, and the tradition that he was also personally known by figures of the early church is indicative of their welcoming attitude towards his works. Some authors even went further than Eusebius. Jerome not only claimed that Philo met with Peter, but also that he enjoyed his friendship (… apostolo Petro eiusque habuisse amicitias) (Vir. inl. 11). And according to one fifth century account (the Acta Johannis), Philo even converted to Christianity before his death.3 Philo’s influence on later Christian authors such as Clement, Origen and Augustine is widely recognized among scholars.4 In this study, I shall argue that Philo, or at least the tradition of which he was a part, also played a formative role for a much earlier Christian thinker, the anonymous writer of the letter to the Hebrews. This has been argued before, but whereas pre1 Unless otherwise indicated, all translations from Greek, Latin and Hebrew are my own. 2 For the Philo Christianus tradition see Runia 1993, 3-33 and Sterling 2004, 21f. 3 Sterling 2004, 21f. 4 See above all Runia 1993, 94-332.

2

Introduction

vious studies have detected lines of influence only in the realms of language, cosmology and theology, I shall argue that they also exist in the realm of scriptural exegesis. Indeed, I shall claim that these lines of influence are the most significant ones. The suspicion that Philo looms somewhere in the background of Hebrews, though not as old as the Philo Christianus tradition,5 is still fairly old. It arose with Hugo Grotius who as early as 1644 suggested that the writer might have been acquainted with the Alexandrian philosopher.6 Since then scholars have been forced to consider the legitimacy of his proposal.7 Its most significant and sizeable defence emerged in 1952 and 1953 with Çeslas Spicq’s massive two volume commentary, in which he devoted more than fifty pages to the accumulation of parallels between Philo and Hebrews in terms of vocabulary, rhetorical figures, literary style, types of argument and patterns of thought.8 The overwhelming amount of material led Spicq to conclude that the writer had to have been a disciple of Philo before converting to Christianity.9 And even though Christian doctrine had reshaped the writer in important ways, Philo’s continuing impact remained obvious.10 The cue from Spicq was picked up in 1965 by Sidney Sowers, who likewise concluded that “the writer of Heb. [came] from the Alexandrian school which historically runs from the LXX through Wisdom of Solomon, Aristobulus, and The Letter of Aristeas to Philo”.11 Similar judgments were reached in 1975 and 1982 by Lala Kalyan Kumar Dey and James W. Thompson.12 All of these scholars agreed that, in spite of notable differ5

Even though Eusebius does mention Philo and Hebrews in the same sentence. In HE 12.17.2 he suggests that Philo could have been listening to readings of Hebrews when staying with the community discussed in the Contempl. 6 “… Philonem quem legisse videtur hic scriptor” (quoted in Spicq 1952-53, 1.39). 7 For excellent and concise histories of research see Sterling 2001, 191-3 and Schenck 2002, 112-5. 8 Spicq 1952-53, 1.39-91. 9 In Spicq’s (1952-53, 1.91) famous and oft-cited judgment, he was “un philonien converti au christianisme”. 10 Spicq 1952-53, 1.91: “Certes, la doctrine de Hébr. est avant tout et totalement évangélique; mais l’homme demeure sous le chrétien; la structure de l’esprit, les démarches propres de la pensée ne sont pas modifiées par la lumière de foi”. 11 Sowers 1965, 73. Sowers reproduces much of the evidence amassed by Spicq (above all, he emphasizes the similarities between Philo’s doctrine of the logos and Hebrews’ doctrine of Christ). At the same time, he argues that Hebrews was influenced by some of the exegetical methods and results of Philo, though not – as we shall see – by his allegorical hermeneutics (137). 12 Dey (1975, passim) stresses Philo’s and Hebrews’ parallel perceptions of the ‘intermediary world’ and their similar views of the concept of perfection. Thompson 1982 comprises a set of articles, each of which elucidates difficult passages in Hebrews

Introduction

3

ences, Philo and the author of Hebrews essentially shared the same Platonically inspired dualistic worldview. For both, the world was divided into a realm of sense-perception and a realm of transcendence, and for both the former was a shadowy replica of the latter. Interestingly, the issue of the letter’s metaphysical orientation led a different group of scholars to dismiss the theory of Philonic influence. In 1956 C. K. Barrett published an article whose main objection to Spicq was later accepted and developed by R. P. C. Hanson, Ronald Williamson and Lincoln D. Hurst. These interpreters all argued that Hebrews is characteristically un-Platonic and does not share Philo’s metaphysical outlook. Hebrews focuses on Heilsgeschichte, not on timeless philosophical truths, and the letter betrays a distinctively Christian perspective, whose roots are to be found, not in Philo of Alexandria, but in the traditions of Jewish apocalypticism. The worldviews of Hebrews and Philo are completely incompatible because Philo as a Platonic philosopher operated with a ‘vertical’ distinction between the worlds of immanence and transcendence, whereas the author of Hebrews operated with a ‘horizontal’ distinction between the present world and the world to come.13 The presupposition that Hebrews must be governed either by a vertical or by a horizontal perspective has dominated the Hebrews-Philo debate for decades. In the course of this study, I shall argue that it is unhelpful and misleading. Hebrews is governed both by a vertical and by a horizontal orientation. A few scholars have pointed this out in the past. In 1978 George MacRae argued that the writer’s outlook was Platonic, but that apocalyptic (eschatological) perspectives entered his discourse because they were held by members of his audience. As a result, Hebrews contains

through comparisons with Philo’s work. The present study is indebted to many of Thompson’s insights. I find his chapters on “Faith in Hebrews” (53-80) and “The Katapausis Motif in Hebrews” (81-102) particularly instructive. 13 Barrett 1956, 393 et passim; R. P. C. Hanson 1959, 65-96, esp. 93; Williamson 1970, 309-85; Hurst 1983; 1990, 7-42. Williamson’s work is by far the lengthiest. Williamson spends no less than 580 pages refuting Spicq’s theory. In the end, Williamson concludes: “It is possible, I suppose, that the Writer of Hebrews had once been a Philonist but had broken on his conversion to Christianity, with his past in a radical and total way that is rarely repeated in human experience … Or it is possible that the writer of Hebrews had never been a Philonist, had never read Philo’s works, had never come under the influence of Philo directly or indirectly. This is the conclusion to which the evidence set out above in this study seems to me to point” (579). (For a critical review of Williamson’s contribution see Schenck 2002.) Hurst (1990, 13-7) largely accepts the observations of Williamson, but adds that some of the terms used by the author which even Williamson allows to have a Platonic ring (such as  [‘shadow’] in 8:5 and 10:1 and   [traditionally rendered ‘copy’] in 8:5) should really be understood in a nonPlatonic way. These claims will be discussed in detail in chapter 8.

4

Introduction

different, and indeed mutually contradictory, metaphysical conceptions.14 Gregory Sterling picked up on that theory in 2001, but reversed it. In his view, the Platonizing traditions “were already held by the community”, whereas the notion of eschatology was “the primary concern of the author”.15 These contributions are valuable because they take seriously the letter’s combined vertical and horizontal orientation. In this study, however, I shall try to develop the understanding of this orientation in a slightly different direction. Unlike Sterling and MacRae, I will not seek to explain the presence of both vertical and horizontal perspectives by isolating different strands within the letter and assigning these to different people’s beliefs. Rather, I will argue that they are part of the same metaphysical outlook, viz., that of Jewish apocalypticism. Despite common assumption, Jewish apocalyptic thought was not characterized only by a temporal orientation, but also by a spatial one. However, I will also argue that the particular way in which apocalyptic metaphysics are deployed in Hebrews is significantly coloured by Platonic and Philonic thought.16 The answer to the question of a Platonic or an apocalyptic background to Hebrews is therefore both simpler and more complex that what has usually been assumed. Once this has been realized, we can turn to the real focus of this study, viz. the question of whether or not Hebrews was also hermeneutically influenced by Philo. Did the writer in any way appropriate Philo’s allegorical method? For decades, if not for centuries, scholarship has spoken almost in unison on this issue. Practically all interpreters – even those who advocate very close connections between Philo and Hebrews – have agreed that he did not. The writer occasionally interpreted the Old Testament in non-literal ways, but he always applied typology, not allegory. Spicq, for instance, writes: “jamais on ne trouve chez notre auteur la moindre trace de cette exégèse allégorique”.17 Instead, he suggests, he chose “une lecture 14

MacRae 1978, 190f. Sterling 2001, 210; cf. Sterling 2004, 45. 16 Recently, this has also been argued by Eisele (2003, 337): “Aufs ganze gesehen ist es also durchaus möglich, daß der Hebräerbriefautor das apokalyptische Schema von Urbild und Abbild übernommen und platonisch interpretiert hat”. In his study, which focuses on the letter’s conception of the parousia, Eisele compares Hebrews to Philo, Plutarch, Seneca and Alcinous and concludes that the eschatological expectations of the letter were decisively shaped by Middle Platonic views: “Es ist deutlich …, daß der Parusiegedanke, der im Hebräerbrief an einigen wenigen Stellen anklingt, in der Komposition des Schreibens und im theologischen Entwurf seines Verfassers eine tiefgreifende Umformung erfahren hat. Diese läßt sich am klarsten dadurch bestimmen, daß man die inhaltliche Affinität des Hebräerbriefes zu mittelplatonischen Konzepten in den Bereichen der Eschatologie, Protologie und Angelologie wahrnimmt” (427). 17 Spicq 1952-53, 1.61. 15

Introduction

5

profondément religieuse et singulièrement pénetrante”, viz., typology.18 Sowers agrees: “the writer has excluded Alexandrian hermeneutics par excellence”.19 Williamson similarly states that “[t]here is no allegorical exegesis of the O.T. in Hebrews, except for the brief allegorical etymology of the name Melchizedek” in 7:2.20 Hanson reaches the same conclusion, while adding that even this one instance of allegory is “so simple and obvious that even though Philo reproduces it also we cannot call it characteristically Alexandrian, much less characteristically Philonic”.21 It is this opinio recepta that I wish to challenge. I will argue that both Philo and the author of Hebrews read the Old Testament allegorically and furthermore that the author of Hebrews was drawing specifically on the hermeneutical tradition that Philo represents. Thus, I shall claim that he appropriated Philo’s allegorical method and even developed his argument around certain of Philo’s exegetical results.22 It will be clear, however, that the two writers did not read the Old Testament in exactly the same way. There are significant differences, but it is crucial that they are understood, not as reflecting a dichotomy between allegory and typology (as has so often been understood), but as modifications within the allegorical method itself. As mentioned above, a fuller understanding of Hebrews’ worldview will enable us to clarify and explain these modifications. The study is divided into three parts. Part I (chapters 1-3) will provide a survey of different allegorical readers in the Graeco-Roman world. Chapter 1 will focus on the Stoics, whose readings of Homer and Hesiod have often been perceived as a source of inspiration for Philo’s readings of scripture. Drawing on recent research, I shall try to clarify the flaws in this understanding. Even though Philo was influenced by the Stoics on a number of points, the roots of his allegorical hermeneutics should be sought else18

Spicq 1952-53, 1.64. Sowers 1965, 137. For Sowers this does not mean that the exegetical results put forth by Alexandrian allegorists were unfamiliar to the author. On the contrary, these results paradoxically formed a preliminary step towards the author’s own typological dismissal of Jewish practices. The Alexandrian attempts to portray Judaism, through allegory, as a universal religion are precisely the foundation for the writer’s deprecatory evaluation of the Law and the Jewish sanctuary as incomplete and temporary representations of the new covenant in Christ: “In this way Jewish allegorical apology was a Vorgeschichte to Christian preaching as it is seen in Heb” (138). 20 Williamson 1970, 532. 21 R. P. C. Hanson 1959, 86. For further references see chapter 4, p. 56 n. 139. A few scholars have deviated slightly from this consensus. Sterling (2001) accepts the existence of Philonic allegorical procedures in Hebrews, but suggests that they reflect the position of the recipients. Schenck (2002) points to allegory both in 7:2 and in 9:6-9. I agree with Schenck, but would like to take his stance much further. 22 Of course, we cannot know whether the writer was directly acquainted with Philo’s work or had access to it only through intermediary sources. 19

6

Introduction

where. Chapter 2 will examine the works of Pseudo-Aristeas and Aristobulus. These Jewish authors deciphered the Torah in ways that clearly anticipated the works of Philo. However, as we shall see, they never reached the same level of elegance and sophistication. In chapter 3 we will turn to Philo himself and examine his metaphysical beliefs, his allegorical proceedings and the ways in which he used allegory as a means to defend Judaism and Jewish identity over against non-Jewish detractors. Part II (chapters 4-5) will discuss a number of preliminary issues and clarify the presuppositions for the readings of Hebrews in part III. Chapter 4 will treat the pivotal question of how to construe the non-literal hermeneutics of Hebrews. The question will be answered along the lines sketched above. Chapter 5 will examine the historical setting of the letter and focus on the traditional questions of author, date, addressees and purpose. I shall suggest that Hebrews was written at some point between 50 and 70 by an unknown (male) author to a group of gentile Christians, who considered following the Torah in order to avoid any further harassment from the Roman authorities. Part III (chapters 6-8) will provide a commentary on Hebrews from beginning to end. The analysis will mainly seek to substantiate the claims made in part II, but will also address some of the classical problems raised by the text. At appropriate places, excursuses on Philo’s allegorical readings of selected Jewish identity markers will be included.

Part I

Allegory

Chapter 1

The Stoics Until fairly recently it was widely assumed that the differences between Philonic and Stoic allegory were rather insignificant. In 1965, for instance, Sidney Sowers wrote: Philo’s allegorical method unmistakably places him in the long line of Greek and Hellenistic allegorical tradition whose chief exponents were the Stoics. … In fact Philo’s continual use of technical terminology used by the Greek allegorists links him unequivocally with the same hermeneutical method of secular philosophy and rhetoric.1

Much the same view can be found in John Dillon’s modern classic on the Middle Platonists: Philo had learned from the Stoic (and perhaps Pythagorean) exegesis of Homer what philosophical truths could be concealed behind battles and fornications … and it must have suddenly struck him that this was just what was going on in the Pentateuch.2

Scholars now generally think otherwise. Of course, certain similarities do exist between the hermeneutics of Philo and the Stoics. Philo perceived the Mosaic literature as a source of philosophical wisdom to be analyzed through non-literal hermeneutical means. Similarly, the Stoics scrutinized Homer and Hesiod in the search for philosophical truth. Moreover, Philo and the Stoics all believed that these hidden insights surpassed the wisdom that humans can now attain through ordinary cognitive means. However, they differed on at least one essential point: Philo revered Moses as a divinely gifted philosopher. The Stoics never believed the poets to have been philosophers at all. In their view, they were the producers of fables and impious myths (Cicero, Nat. 2.70f.) and, as such, the representatives of an all-time low in human history. The literature of Homer and Hesiod could be exposed to allegorical hermeneutics, but their authors had never intended them to be read that way. 3 This chapter will provide a survey of 1

Sowers 1965, 20. Dillon 1977, 142 (also quoted in Long 1997, 199). 3 Boys-Stones 2003, 189. Against Sowers (1965, 20), who argues that the Stoic allegorical method “grew out of the assertion that the Greek poets were really writing their views about natural science in the dress of metaphor” (for Stoic allegory in general see also Dawson 1992, 23-72, Long 1992, Long 1997 and Boys-Stones 2001, 44-59. The present analysis is indebted mainly to the works of Boys-Stones). 2

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Stoic allegory and an attempt to establish how it coheres with Stoic philosophy in general.

Allegory The Stoics’ interest in Homer and Hesiod was not based on trust in their epistemological achievements. It was based on a belief that these poets had unwillingly and unknowingly passed on wisdom from an even earlier stage in history. According to the Stoics, the very first members of the human race had lived in complete harmony with nature and had therefore been characterized by supreme ethical standards. As a result, they had been blessed with extraordinary insights about the order of the world.4 These insights had now regrettably been lost, but, according to Stoic philosophers, traces of them could still be found in the writings of the poets. The Stoics believed that the poets had heard bits and pieces of the ancients’ deliberations and incorporated them into their works. Unfortunately, they had lacked the ability to understand what the ancients were really talking about. For instance, the ancients had recognized – in good Stoic fashion – that the world was permeated by God. As a result, they identified natural elements and principles as aspects of the divine. This kind of subtlety was beyond the poets. Apparently, they believed that the ancients’ discourse about facets of the divine was in fact a discourse about individual divine beings.5 As a result, they transformed the ancients’ sound observations about nature (air, for instance) into fictitious narratives about anthropomorphic gods and goddesses (… Hera).6 4 That these ancients were wise and virtuous was universally held among Stoic philosophers. They did, however, disagree on whether they were philosophers in a technical sense of the word. As Boys-Stones (2003, 193-216) explains, the earlier Stoics denied this. In their view, philosophy constitutes an attempt to free one’s mind from corruption and decadence, and since humanity was originally virtuous, no need for philosophy existed at this early stage. What the ancients possessed was pre-philosophical (innocent, we may say) wisdom. Drawing on Posidonius (135-51 BCE), however, later Stoics argued that the corruption of humanity could be explained only if people had always had a natural inclination towards evil. Thus, philosophy was always required and had to have emerged with the ancients themselves. 5 Boys-Stones 2001, 42. 6 A different view of the emergence of mythology (on which the Stoics may have been drawing) can be found in Aristotle’s Metaph. .8 1074 b1-14. Aristotle did not share the Stoics’ understanding of human history as one of decline. Quite the opposite, he perceived it as a teleological development in which people, and philosophers in particular, continually reached ever-increasing heights of wisdom and technical skill. However, due to periodically recurring disasters that eradicate all civilizations and exterminate all human life except for that of barbarians living in the mountains, the wisdom of the philoso-

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Stoic allegorical exegesis might best be described as an attempt to undo the damage of the poets. Through retranslating the divine names back into their original forms, they tried to reach behind the authorial intentions of the writers and restore the thoughts of the ancient sages. In Nat. 2.63f. Cicero provides us with an example of how such an operation might be carried out. Here Cicero’s Stoic spokesman, Balbus, points to the wellknown myth of how the god “Caelus was castrated (exsectum) by his son Saturn, and Saturn himself tied up (vinctum) by his son Jupiter”. Balbus emphasizes that this story has the damaging effect of filling “man’s life with superstitions of all sorts”. Nevertheless, it enshrines a “delicate scientific theory” (physica ratio non inelegans) that emerges once its mythological traits have been removed. If ‘Caelus’ is taken to refer to the element of ‘celestial aether’, the philosophical lesson turns out to be that aether, even though it generates all things, has no need for sexual organs. Similarly, Saturn signifies time. Hence the story conveys the point that time was bound by God in order that it “might not have unlimited (inmoderatos) courses”.7 Allegorical procedures enabled the reader to unfetter the thoughts of the ancients from their present mythological setting. But the Stoic reader soon encountered another problem; for even though the poets were clearly drawing on philosophical sources, not everything they said could be trusted to have a philosophical origin. Some of their stories had undoubtedly arisen from their own imaginative thinking. Furthermore, stories that did have a philosophical origin could have been corrupted by the later insertions of purely fictitious material. The reader had to distinguish between narrative elements with and narrative elements without a pre-poetical origin. But how?

phers always ultimately perishes. But parts of it survive as the barbarians in the mountains live to pass it on to the next generations of mankind, though now of course in a distorted and mythological form (cf. Boys-Stones 2003, 191-3). 7 Balbus justifies his reading of Saturn on etymological grounds, arguing that his name must be derived from “saturatetur annis” (saturated with years), just as the Greek form ‘Kronos’ clearly derives from   (time). Stoic philosophers disagreed about the provenance of the allegorical form in which the thinking of the ancients is now accessible to us. According to the early Stoics, the narrative and mythological form emerged with the poets. Later Stoics, however, believed that the ancients themselves spoke in allegories. It is unclear why this belief emerged. Boys-Stones (2003, 205-16) argues that it reflects a growing suspicion among the Stoics that the complexity of the world cannot be accounted for in rational speech: The world is a riddle and symbolic speech might convey something of its unfathomable nature. I hesitate to accept this analysis since Boys-Stones is unable to produce any Stoic sources to support his theory, only Middle and Neo Platonic ones. As will be developed further in chapter 3, Stoic and Platonic (Philonic) allegory have very little in common.

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In his introductory handbook to allegory (the Theologiae graecae compendium), the first century CE Stoic Lucius Annaeus Cornutus provides us with an answer.8 Reading through this work, it becomes increasingly clear that the Stoics did not just look to the Greek classics for traces of the ancients’ beliefs. Rather, they believed that the thoughts of the ancients had found their way into a variety of national traditions. Therefore, a way to overcome the above-mentioned problem – one that Cornutus himself applied – was to compare the various mythological traditions and determine where they overlap. In all likelihood such overlapping would indicate a common source behind the stories, a source that could safely be identified with primordial philosophy. In Comp. 28.5 Cornutus thus engages in a literar-kritische reading of the story of Hades’ kidnapping of Demeter’s daughter, Persephone. This story clearly deserves the attention of philosophers since it is paralleled by material in Egyptian and Phoenician traditions. In Egypt the same mythological structure appears in the story of “Osiris, who was sought and rediscovered by Isis”. And a Phoenician variant tells of “Adonis, who is alternately above the ground and below the ground for six-month periods”. All of these stories, Cornutus explains, are mythological expressions of the same primordial philosophical insight about the changing of the seasons. Persephone, Osiris and Adonis all represent the seed that disappears “under the earth for a certain time”. However, Cornutus does not accept the Greek legend in its entirety since it contains a description of Demeter’s search for Persephone throughout the cosmos. This feature is missing from the Egyptian and Phoenician sources and must be rejected as a poetic addition.9 8 Boys-Stones 2003, 196-204. Quotations from Cornutus are from Boys-Stones’ unpublished translation, which he has kindly shown me. The Greek text is printed in Lang 1881. 9 According to Long (1992, 53f.), Long (1997) and Dawson (1992, 23-72), Stoic readers only provided etymological, not allegorical, interpretations of ancient myth. These scholars focus on the fact that Cornutus spends an incredible amount of time analyzing divine names and very little time interpreting the narratives in which they appear. Boys-Stones (2003, 196), however, rightly warns against misconceiving the nature and purpose of Cornutus’ work. His book was intended to help the hermeneutical novice (cf. 35) get started on his own allegorical readings. To that end he equips the reader with a list of etymological analyses, not because such analyses are enough in themselves, but because they are required as a preliminary step in the more comprehensive task of allegorical interpretation, which also includes analysis of the narrative context. Purely etymological analysis did exist in the ancient world. Our best source for this is Plato’s Cratylus, in which Socrates carries out a number of etymological investigations. Like the later Stoics, Socrates suggests that the first people were genuine philosophers. These individuals invented language and formed its words as condensed expressions of their own philosophical beliefs. Thus, every word in the Greek vocabulary contains

Chapter 1 – The Stoics

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As we can see, Stoic allegory has little to do with literary hermeneutics. Rather, it constitutes an archaeological tool in the Stoics’ search for prehistoric wisdom. In this search, the texts under scrutiny are perceived as nothing more than sullied windows that partly allow and partly prevent the philosophical student to enter the intellectual world of his ancestors. And the poets play the role of the villains whose contributions and authorial intentions must be by-passed.

Stoic Allegory in Context It is clear that Stoic allegory reflects the particular way in which Stoic philosophers perceived the history of mankind. In the following, I shall try to establish that it also reflects Stoic philosophical thinking more generally. One of the most significant aspects of Stoic philosophy is its famous rejection of the Platonic doctrine of ontological duality.10 Only that which can either affect or be affected has real existence, and that description fits material objects only. As a result, everything is corporeal and nothing exists beyond the realm of sense perception. Abstract ideas (

) are frequently formed by the human mind, but strictly speaking they correspond to nothing in the objective world.11 The Stoics believed that the reason of fragments of the ancients’ thoughts. The word ‘aether’ (  ), for instance, should be interpreted as a compressed form of the phrase ! " #  $ %$ . The ancients apparently believed that aether “always runs and flows about the air”. Previous scholarship has agreed that the Crat. should be perceived as a satire, intended to ridicule the etymological schools of Plato’s day. According to this view, Socrates does not take his own analyses seriously. Sedley (2003), however, persuasively argues otherwise. The narrative Socrates does believe that etymology enables people to enter the mindsets of their ancestors. But even so, he advises them not to rely on it in the search for philosophical truth. Unlike the Stoics, he does not trust the ancients’ judgment. It is clear, he argues, that they disagreed among themselves and that some of them even believed that notions such as justice and wisdom are subject to change in much the same way as material phenomena are. He therefore implores his readers to dismiss etymology and to rely on dialectic investigation instead. In the end, philosophical truths must be sought behind their linguistic representations. What is important in all of this is to notice that unlike Plato’s Socrates the Stoics rarely confined their analyses to individual names. Most often they examined the role of those names within the narrative contexts in which they appear. Thus, for instance, the insight that aether generates all things without the aid of sexual organs cannot be extracted from the name Caelus itself; it has to be extracted from the whole story that the Hesiodic myth provides. 10 For Stoic metaphysics see Long and Sedley 1987, 162-89, 266-344 and Algra et al. 1999, 382-411. 11 The Stoics operated with four different kinds of ‘incorporeals’: sayables ( & [which constitute the meaning, as opposed to the reference, of an utterance]), void, place

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God (the logos) suffuses and animates the universe. Thus, they spoke of the world as a composite of an active and a passive principle (#'

and #  ). This distinction may appear Platonic, but it should be noted, first, that the Stoics considered the active principle corporeal (a blend of fire and air) and, second, that the active and passive principles were thought to intermingle in such a way that neither ever exists independently of the other. Indeed, the Stoics believed that everything in the cosmos is ‘blended’ in such a way that even to speak of ‘things’ or ‘entities’ is inaccurate.12 The world is a flux of interrelated material events in which the boundaries between individual objects exist only in the eyes of the beholder.13 It is intriguing to observe how this radically monistic understanding of reality corresponds to the ‘monistic’ nature of the Stoics’ allegorical hermeneutics. Contrary to Philo, who insisted on two equally true levels of meaning, the Stoics never supported more than one. In their view, only the allegorical level of meaning speaks truthfully about the world. The literal (mythological) one must be dismissed as pure fiction.14 It is impossible, I concede, to prove a connection between these metaphysical and hermeneutical principles, but the correspondence should be noted, nonetheless. Stoic allegory furthermore echoes Stoic ethical theory. The claim that the first generations of mankind lived in accordance with nature is hardly coincidental since that description matches the Stoic ethical ideal of ( &).15 As mentioned above, the Stoics believed the universe to be infused with God’s reason. As a result, nature as a whole was considered divine (the Stoics even defined God as nature [* ]). Furthermore, since humanity is part of nature, all people participate in the divine logos.16 According to the Stoics, the goal of all moral striving is to bring one’s own logos into harmony with that of the cosmos. This ethical readjustment reand time (cf. Sextus Empiricus, Math. 10.218 [SVF 2.330], quoted in Long and Sedley 1987, 162). Although incorporeals, as Long and Sedley (1987, 164) put it, form “an ineliminable part of the objective furniture of the world”, they are incapable of affecting and of being affected and as such do not exist. 12 The distinction between the active and the passive principles is therefore ontologically false though analytically valuable. 13 Chrysippus apparently held that the release of a single drop of wine into the ocean would affect the ocean as a whole (Plutarch Comm. not. 1078e [SVF 2.480], quoted in Long and Sedley 1987, 290). 14 Bernhard (1997) accordingly identifies Stoic hermeneutics as ‘substitutive allegory’. 15 For Stoic ethics see Long and Sedley 1987, 344-437. 16 According to the Stoics, the quality of an object is defined by the way in which the logos intermingles with it, i.e., by its ‘tenor’. They distinguished between four different classes of tenor: that of lifeless objects, +,, that of plants, * , that of animals, -. , and that of humans, & (Long and Sedley 1987, 280-9).

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quires that the individual recognizes that everything in the world happens for a reason, by fate and necessity. The sage accepts anything that happens as a proper expression of God’s will and seeks to adjust his own will to the will of the cosmos – i.e. God. By suggesting that the ancients lived ‘in accordance with nature’, Stoic allegorical readers thus implicitly corroborated their explicit claim that these generations of humanity were embodiments of ethical perfection. By living in accordance with nature, the Stoics claimed, one becomes a ‘citizen of the world’ (a  &)/). As we have seen, they believed that everything in the world is insolubly connected. This metaphysical belief is mirrored in the ethical concept of ) .17 The Stoics generally discriminated between what people consider ‘their own’ (things )) and what they consider ‘alien’ (things &&), and )  refers to the process through which the subject includes more and more of the outside world in the category of " and hence in his own sphere of interest and moral responsibility. Children are radically self-centred and regard as ‘their own’ only what is immediately relevant to their own selfpreservation. Once they grow up, however, they manage to extend their selves so as to include other people with whom they are connected – relatives, friends and compatriots – and to transfer these people from the realm of && into that of ". For most people, )  stops there. Even those who progress very far towards virtue tend to remain in a state at which the major part of the cosmos remains alien. The true sage, however, who recognizes ( &) as the only true good and acknowledges his connectedness to the world in its entirety, perceives the whole universe as ‘his own’. He still has an interest in his own welfare and in that of his loved-ones, but this is ultimately no greater than his interest in the welfare of everyone else. As Marcus Aurelius put it, he assumes a ‘view from above’18 through which he can see how everything rightly belongs to the sphere of ". Having completed the process of ) , the sage no longer feels any special attachment to family or friends, nor – importantly – to compatriots. Ethnic differences ultimately become irrelevant. In that light, it is noteworthy that the Stoics relegated the climax of human wisdom to an era that precedes the establishment of ethnic demarcation: the ancients themselves were  &). This means that the cognitive ascent that the Stoic philosopher has to complete to reach ethical perfection corresponds to the interpretive movement back in time that the allegorical reader has to perform in order to retrieve the thoughts of the ancients. In both cases, the 17 For the concept of )  see Algra et al. 1999, 677-81, where it is termed ‘affiliation’. 18 Engberg-Pedersen 2000, 59.

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Part I – Allegory

goal is to reach a cosmopolitan’s state of mind where attentiveness to national differences does not play any role.19 One might therefore have expected the Stoics to advise people to avoid any contact with myth and traditional theology. Considering that the different national pantheons emerged only as a result of the folly of poets, they might have thought it impious to attend religious services and take part in traditional rites. Interestingly, however, they did not. Everything happens for a reason and in accordance with God’s will. This is true also of the emergence of traditional religion. Hence to oppose national religious customs would be uncalled for. Stoic philosophers therefore recommended participation in such practices. However, one should not be overly pedantic about preserving one’s own national heritage. To remain committed to the distinctiveness of one’s own ethnic and religious background even when living abroad would be quite unjustified: When in Rome, do as the Romans do! Any other conduct would betray a fundamental misconception of the nature and provenance of ancestral religion. Furthermore, of course, one should not be led astray by the surface meanings of religious texts and practices. In fact, Cornutus wrote his introduction to the allegorical method precisely in order to protect the young from superstition and false belief. At Comp. 35.4 he therefore concludes his work on the following note: When the young are being inducted into sacrifice and prayer, and taught how to worship and swear measured oaths appropriate to the time and circumstances, you will come to grasp your ancestral traditions about the gods and their cult and everything that exists in their honour, and indeed the universal account of all these things, only in so far as it leads you to piety, not superstition.

These remarks reveal the ambiguity of the Stoics’ approach to traditional religion. As a social institution it should be preserved and revered by any responsible citizen. It should of course also be treasured as an invaluable source to our ancestors’ exquisite philosophical thinking. But at the same time, it must be handled carefully. Unless submitted to strict hermeneutical control, it might lead people dangerously astray and fill their lives, as Balbus puts it, “with superstitions of all sorts”.

19

Notice that according to Cornutus the way to isolate the philosophical truths behind the mythological stories is to strip them of all ethnic particularities.

Chapter 2

Alexandrian Predecessors On the basis of chapter 1, we may conclude that Philo’s hermeneutical practices were not rooted in the Stoic allegorical school. Both Philo and the Stoics exposed selected texts to allegorical procedures, but their methods had very little in common.1 Philo was influenced by the Stoics on a number of points, but exegetically his primary sources of inspiration lay elsewhere, in the Jewish allegorical tradition that emerged in Alexandria sometime during the second century BCE. Our knowledge of this tradition is somewhat limited. Philo occasionally refers to other Jewish allegorical readers, but he never provides us with any names or details about their identities. We do, however, have access to two representatives of this tradition: Pseudo-Aristeas,2 the elusive figure behind the composition of the Letter of Aristeas to Philocrates, and Aristobulus, an apparently prominent Jewish philosopher and interpreter of the Mosaic scriptures. Like the Stoics, these figures used allegorical techniques to bring out intellectually defensible meanings from texts that on the surface appear to contain only mythological and philosophically disturbing material. As opposed to the Stoics, however, they did not do so on the basis of a theory of cultural decay and transmission of knowledge. These interpreters sought to bring out nothing more than what they perceived as the intended meaning of the writer behind the text. In their view, allegorical exegesis was justified precisely because the writer of the Pentateuch, Moses, intended his scriptural legacy to be interpreted that way. Thus, whereas the Stoics conceived the poets as obtuse, Aristeas and Aristobulus revered Moses as a gifted philosopher who deliberately chose to veil his insights in the guise of allegorical speech. Both Aristeas and Aristobulus lived in the Diaspora, as Jews in the midst of a Greek dominant society. As will be developed below, their insistence on the Pentateuch’s deliberately allegorical form furnished them with powerful ammunition in a situation of cultural encounters.3 By inscribing Hellenistic philosophical doctrines into the text of the Pentateuch, 1

So also Long 1997. For the sake of convenience, ‘pseudo-’ will be left out in what follows. 3 See Dawson 1992, 73-82, Barclay 1996, 138-57 and Gruen 2002, 124f., 214-28. 2

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they could argue that these doctrines were in fact developed by Moses and therefore inherently Jewish. This interpretive interest seems to dominate their exegetical activity. But while this is true of both writers, one should be sensitive to the differences between their hermeneutical strategies. In what follows, the two authors will be discussed separately.

Aristeas The Aristeae ad Philocratem epistula provides us with one of the earliest examples of Jewish allegorical hermeneutics.4 The fame of this text derives partly from its allegorical exposition of the dietary laws of the Torah, partly from its account of the emergence of the LXX. As John Barclay has pointed out, however, the latter was hardly central to the author’s interests.5 Rather, it constitutes a narrative framework within which the author carries out a refined discussion of the relationship between Jewish and Greek culture. The author of the text poses as a Greek courtier by the name of Aristeas, who served under the Alexandrian King Ptolemy II Philadelphus (285-247 BCE). A number of anachronisms and factual errors, however, betray the pseudonymity of the letter, and scholars generally agree that it cannot have been composed until the beginning of the second century BCE.6 All we can say about the author is that he must have been a learned Alexandrian Jew and that he may have been associated with the royal court.7 Formally, the document takes the form of a letter, in which Aristeas relates his experiences as a member of Philadelphus’ embassy to Jerusalem, to his wisdomloving brother, Philocrates. But the letter-form is surely as fictitious as the asserted authorship. Deprived of its epistolary framework, the document presents itself quite simply as a narrative text.8 After the author’s introductory salutations, the narrative opens in Alexandria with the librarian Demetrius’ request to the king to organize a translation of the Jewish laws. The royal library, which already contains an impressive 200,000 volumes, regrettably lacks this work, which, as Demetrius affirms, is “worth transcribing” and which Aristeas has already praised as “holy” and “divine” (3, 5). The king immediately consents and 4 The Greek text is printed in Swete 1914, 533-606. Shutt provides an English translation in OTP 2.94-122 with an introduction on pp. 2.83-93. 5 Barclay 1996, 138f. 6 The question of dating is virtually insoluble. I here discuss Aristeas before Aristobulus, but the order could well be reversed. 7 See OTP 2.83-93, Dawson 1992, 78 and Barclay 1996, 138f. 8 Barclay 1996, 138.

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issues an order for an embassy – headed by Aristeas and the king’s chief bodyguard Andreas – to be sent to Jerusalem, in order to ask the high priest Eleazer to send 72 educated men to his court to perform the translation. At this point, Aristeas takes the opportunity to raise the political issue of the vast number of Jews who presently live in Alexandria as slaves and soldiers as a result of the king’s father’s military campaign in Syria and Palestine (12-16): “Since the law which we wish not only to transcribe but also to translate belongs to all Jews, what justification (& ) shall we be able to find for our embassy, while such a vast group remains in slavery in your kingdom?” (15). After a moment’s thought, the king agrees to release the slaves (while compensating their owners) and to grant the Jewish soldiers a considerable raise. In addition, he equips the embassy with extravagant gifts for the temple in Jerusalem. After a detailed description of the gifts, Aristeas proceeds to a grandstyle portrayal of Eleazer’s garments, the worship in the temple and the land of Judea (83-120),9 and in §§127-171 the high priest presents his famous allegorical exposition of the Jewish dietary laws. The next part – which takes up almost half the text (172-300) – describes the cordial reception of the Jewish guests in Alexandria and the seven banquets during which the king seeks guidance from his guests on questions of ethics, religion and good government. The last section (301-322) relates the circumstances surrounding the translation of the Pentateuch and the praise it receives from everyone present.10 The principal theme of the letter is the relationship between Jewish and Greek culture. In that light, it is striking that the author develops his narrative within an atmosphere of harmony and mutual respect. Jews and Greeks consistently address each other in the most reverential manner and appear to share the same values and ideals. This appears not least in the banquet discussions where the king repeatedly extols his guests’ impeccable answers and is praised, in return, by them as being the most virtuous and judicious ruler (230, 276 and 282). The text has therefore sometimes

9 The author here betrays the pseudonymity of the text through his lack of command of Judea’s geography. Thus, he informs us that the river Jordan surrounds ( ") the land of Judea and “like the Nile rises at the time of harvest and irrigates much of the land” (116) (cf. Barclay 1996, 149). The translation of Shutt (OTP 2.106) is misleading at this point: “The river Jordan … flows through the land”. 10 In Mos. 2.25-42 Philo provides a comparable, but more embellished version of the origin of the LXX. Unlike Aristeas he insists that each of the 72 writers worked independently of each other, but nevertheless reached the exact same translation through divine inspiration (cf. Jobes & Silva 2000).

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been read as a proclamation of the compatibility of Jewish and Greek culture.11 On closer inspection, however, another picture emerges. The author is anything but sympathetic towards Greek culture and religion.12 This appears most noticeably in Eleazer’s speech in §§129-169. Here the high priest affirms that the Jewish people are unique and alone embody true monotheistic faith (134). By contrast, the rest of humanity believes in the existence of many gods (&&0 0 1   ). ) – not least the Greeks, whom Eleazer explicitly rebukes for their belief in a pantheon whose gods in reality are nothing but early human benefactors.13 In the light of the letter’s otherwise harmonious atmosphere, this reproach comes as a surprise. Eleazer, however, unbendingly continues while adding in a tone of sarcasm that the Greeks even consider the manufacturers of these myths the wisest among themselves (!  ).  2 ' &3  ! .  4 5&& 2*6 ) (137).14 It is clear from these remarks that Eleazer regards the Jewish nation as a culturally secluded group, characterized by superior beliefs and ethical standards. As he goes on, he demonstrates that the dietary laws of the Torah were designed to enable the Jews to maintain that status. Through these laws, Eleazer explains, Moses “hedged us about with impenetrable fences and iron walls in order that we should not in any way mix with people of other nations (7  / !4 8&&  4  6 9 /3 $ )”, thereby ensuring that the Jews remain “pure in body and soul, separated (&&  ) from false beliefs, honouring the one God, who is powerful above the whole creation” (139). The laws were not given at random but “to aid the quest for virtue and for the sake of the perfection of righteousness” (144). This ethical dimension emerges as soon as one exposes the allegorical meaning of the laws (their &  : ), a task to which he then proceeds. Eleazer comments on three particular principles: the distinction between the clean and the unclean birds (cf. Leviticus 11:13-19), the instruction only to eat animals that cleave the hoof and chew the cud (Leviticus 11:18) and the directive not to eat any animals that creep such as mice and weasels (Leviticus 11:29f.). With respect to the first and the last points, the 11

For references see Gruen 2002, 335 n. 10. As emphasized by Dawson 1992, Barclay 1996 and Gruen 2002. 13 The author here draws on Stoic theory (Boys-Stones 2003, 195). 14 Shutt (OTP 2.137) translates: “the makers and authors of these myths think that they are the wisest of the Greeks”. Though this is also syntactically possible, Eleazer is less likely to be commenting on the poets’ self-perception than on their esteem among the Greeks (cf. Barclay 1996, 144; Gruen 2002, 214f.). 12

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deeper meaning turns out to be an instruction not to embrace the unethical qualities that these animals embody. “The birds”, Eleazer explains, “which are forbidden to eat … you will find to be wild and carnivorous, oppressing the others by means of their own strength and obtaining food by preying – with injustice – on the tame birds mentioned above. And not only that, but they also seize lambs and kids, and injure people too, both dead and alive. Therefore he gave a sign ( /  ) through those whom he named unclean that the ones for whom the legislation was ordained must act with righteousness in their souls and not oppress anyone in reliance upon their own strength nor rob them of anything, but steer their lives with justice, just as the aforementioned tame birds consume the different kinds of pulse that grow upon the earth and do not oppress their own kindred to the point of destruction. Through such things, then, the legislator gave a sign to the wise (" . ") that they must be just and do nothing by force and oppress no one in reliance upon their own strength. (146-148)

Much the same interpretation is carried out with respect to the laws on mice and weasels. Like the unclean birds, these animals symbolize behavioural traits that Jews ought to avoid. Mice are known for their natural destructiveness, and weasels “conceive (.&& : ) through the ears and give birth ( ") through the mouth” (165). In that way, they symbolize the group of informants who are justly punished and destroyed by Philadelphus (163-169). The section about the division of the hoof and the chewing of the cud contains another moral lesson. By prescribing animals that cleave (3 $&& ) the hoof, Moses instructed the Jews to distinguish carefully between their own actions and avoid defiling themselves through the kind of sexual promiscuity that characterizes the nations. Thus the Jews have also been distinguished and set apart (& ) from the rest of humanity (151). Furthermore, the chewing of the cud should be taken as a symbol of memory. Through Leviticus 11:1-8 the Jews are instructed to remember their divine blessings and the appropriate fear of the divine (153-161). Nothing in the high priest’s speech suggests that Greeks and Jews are culturally on a par. On the contrary, the entire discourse highlights the differences between Jews and gentiles and underscores the inadequacy of Greek religion. In that light, it may seem odd that the high priest and the Jewish guests remain reverential towards the Alexandrian king. In my view, however, it is in this tension between respect for the Alexandrian king and disrespect for Greek culture that the key to the author’s rhetorical strategy is to be found. We should ask ourselves why, according to the writer, Philadelphus deserves the respect and the recognition of the Jewish authorities. The answer lies in his attitude towards the Jews, which is not only one of respect, but also one of actual submission. This appears most clearly in the banquet scene where the author emphasizes not only that the Jewish guests receive

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special treatment in the form of kosher food, but also that they are spared from witnessing any of the pagan religious ceremonies: When they had taken their seats, [Philadelphus] commanded Dorotheus to carry out everything in accordance with the habits ("   " ) to which those who had come to him from Judea were accustomed. Therefore he dispensed with the sacred heralds and the sacrificing priests and the others who usually offered prayers. And he called upon Eleazer,15 who had come with us and who was the oldest of the [Jewish] priests, to offer prayer instead (184).

Philadelphus’ conduct here reveals his unreserved recognition of the superiority of Judaism and Jewish customs. As a result of this recognition, he refrains from exposing his guests to any of the religious practices of his own cultural heritage. But whereas Jews cannot be expected to honour Greek religion, the opposite does not hold true. Apparently, the king finds it only appropriate that he himself, his family and his court receive the benedictions of a Jewish priest.16 This act of submission is quite representative of the king’s behaviour. Throughout the narrative, Philadelphus does everything he can to please the Jews (not least through his lavish gifts and his release of the slaves) and to accommodate himself to Jewish values. Indeed, his very wish to possess the Mosaic scriptures confirms his willingness to appropriate Jewish culture. Presumably, it is these acts of accommodation that prompt the Jews to acknowledge his worth. In their view, he is a proficient and virtuous monarch because he rules in accordance with the ideals of Judaism and not in accordance with those of his own cultural background. As we can see, allegorical exegesis allows Aristeas to demonstrate that Mosaic doctrines match the standards of Greek and Hellenistic philosophy. But this paradoxically also allows him to deprive the Greeks of their own philosophical achievements. Through Eleazer’s speech, the author clarifies that what really characterizes Greek culture is myth and superstitious beliefs, not philosophical erudition. The author, in other words, divests the Greeks of their cultural achievements, inscribes them into the Jewish scriptures and presents Judaism as the cultural ideal to which any wisdom-

15 Not the high priest. According to Josephus, his real name was Elisha (cf. OTP 2.111 n. 184). 16 This bias is visible also in the idealized description of Eleazer and the templeworship in §99: “Their appearance [Eleazer’s garments] created such awe and confusion (*: ! ) as to make one think that one had approached someone not of this world. I am convinced that anyone ( 8   ) having entered upon the spectacle which I have described would be filled with consternation and indescribable wonder (  ,&/, +, !.  #  / ) and be profoundly affected ( $ ) in his mind through all the details of the sacred service”.

Chapter 2 – Alexandrian Predecessors

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loving Greek ought to strive.17 In that connection, the behaviour of the Alexandrian king comes out as a description of how Greeks in general ought to behave. Like Philadelphus, they should recognize the superiority of Jewish religion, submit to it and dismiss their own cultural heritage.

Aristobulus As we have seen, Aristeas applies allegory as a means to prove the cultural and philosophical superiority of the Jewish nation. In what follows we shall see that a similar agenda governs the writings of Aristobulus. But before leaving Aristeas behind I would like to draw attention to one critical weakness in his basic line of reasoning. Aristeas uses allegory to bring the Torah into line with the teachings of Greek and Hellenistic philosophy. Furthermore, he claims that the ideals and values contained within it are absent from Greek and Hellenistic thought. Greeks can acquire them only by appropriating the wisdom of the Mosaic Law. He also maintains that such an appropriation has been impossible up until the reign of Philadelphus: Due to the lack of a proper translation, “literary men, poets and the mass of historical writers” have been prevented from referring to it (31).18 This last assertion is troublesome. Obviously, it serves to emphasize the need for the composition of the LXX and the pioneering role played by the Alexandrian king. But it lays the document open to critique. For clearly the kind of ethical and religious teaching that Aristeas identifies as the allegorical meaning of the Torah did exist in Greek literature prior to the composition of the LXX. One may wonder how he would respond to critics pointing to ethical and monotheistic doctrines in the works of, say, Plato and Aristotle. According to what he says, they should not have been able to do what everyone knew that they did. I point out this weakness because it allows us to identify an important difference between Aristeas and Aristobulus. The two writers are alike in many respects (both are hostile towards myth and both perceive the Torah 17 This is brought out well in Dawson 1992. As will be developed below, however, his overall reading of the Ep. Arist. is not entirely persuasive. 18 Near the end of the narrative, the librarian informs the king that two Greek poets (Theopompus and Theodektes) tried to incorporate pieces of the Mosaic writings into their own works. However, since God found it inappropriate that his scriptures should be communicated to commoners and merely out of curiosity, these poets were struck with disease until they abstained from their work (312-316). Whatever the exact point of this comment, it clearly suggests that Greek literature is unaffected by the philosophical achievements of the Jewish lawgiver.

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as a document about ethics).19 But they do not visualize the relationship between Jewish and Greek culture in exactly the same way. As we have seen, Aristeas argues that civilized Greeks ought to learn from the Mosaic literature. According to Aristobulus, this is precisely what some of them did. Unlike Aristeas, Aristobulus recognizes the existence of a Greek philosophical tradition; only he maintains that this tradition was a faint imitation of Moses’ wisdom. Of Aristobulus’ apparently extensive work, only five scattered fragments have survived to us, all of which are transmitted by Eusebius in his Historia ecclesiastica and Praeparatio evangelica.20 Considering the meagreness of our sources, we should be cautious not to make any rigid assertions; but judging from the material that we do have, Aristobulus’ literary activity appears to have been of a predominantly apologetic nature. One might divide his contributions into three categories: (1) justifications of anthropomorphic descriptions of God, (2) inscriptions of the Jewish calendar into nature and (3) subordination of Greek culture to Judaism. All these will be discussed in the order given. (1) Anthropomorphic descriptions of God are treated at some length in fragment 2. This is the only place where Aristobulus explicitly comments on the need for allegorical exegesis. To avoid mythological and “popular” ( 6  ) beliefs one must acknowledge that the lawgiver often makes use of “words that refer to other things” when speaking about “things of a higher order” ( &    ). Aristobulus does not explain why. Instead, he proceeds to interpret individual anthropomorphic descriptions of God, while acknowledging that his own analytical skills may not do justice to the depths of the lawgiver’s wisdom. Aristobulus recognizes that there are those who deplorably “cling to the letter” and for whom Moses’ speech accordingly must appear obtuse. On the other hand, “those who are endowed with brilliant intelligence are amazed at his wisdom and divine spirit” (2/PE 8.10.4f.). These intellectuals would no doubt agree with Aristobulus that when Moses speaks of God’s limbs, he does not do so in a mythological sense. Rather, he speaks symbolically of the divine powers (2/PE 8.10.8). This reading, he argues, almost presents itself, since words such as ‘hand’ are often used by ordinary people metaphorically to denote the strength or authority of a given 19 In fragment 4, Aristobulus claims that “the whole structure of our law has been drawn up with concern for piety, justice, self-control and other qualities that are truly good” (4/PE 13.12.8; cf. Ep. Arist. 161). 20 They are as follows: HE (1/7.32.16-18) and PE (2/8.10.1-7; 3/13.12.1f.; 4/13.12.38; 5/13.12.9-16). Numbers before the dash refer to the numbers of the fragments, numbers after the dash refer to their place in Eusebius. All fragments are collected with translations, introduction and notes in Holladay 1985.

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person. Similarly, God’s ‘standing’ should be read as a symbol of the stability that he provides for the world. And near the end of the fragment, he explains, rather cryptically, that God’s descent on Mount Sinai should be taken as a symbol of his ubiquitous presence. This last example is intriguing, since Aristobulus allows the motif of the divine descent to merge with that of the burning bush (cf. Exodus 3:2f.) and since the outcome of that fusion points us towards the roots of his philosophical framework of thought. Thus, in 8.10.15f. he emphasizes that the fire on the mountain “burned irresistibly” without consuming anything, something that would not have happened “unless the divine power had been in it” ( ;#9''.    in ways that are usually reserved for God. Most importantly, he depicts it as eternal (cf. /) and ungenerated ( / ), and Philo did not believe the logos to be self-sustained or without an origin. In his view, it came into being only at God’s initiative and only through his creational activity. The terms may be appropriate, nonetheless. Even though the logos is not without an origin, it certainly belongs to the sphere of eternity. It will last forever and remains unchangeable, and the word  / may imply nothing more than that it does not belong to the realm of $  (cf. Opif. 12). One might also protest that the active cause could not be the logos because it is described as superior even to the highest of the noetic ideas. But on closer inspection that description, too, fits the logos. According to Philo, the logos is superior to the ideas because it comprises the world of ideas in its entirety. It is, as he states in §25, “the archetypal idea of ideas” (E$.$4  4 ) and hence superior to any individual idea. In §8 and in the work as a whole Philo thus promotes a conception of the world as a tripartite structure within which the physical cosmos constitutes an image (6 ) of the logos, which itself is an image of God (cf. 25).14 At the creation, God produced the noetic world through an act of thinking and used that world as a paradigm for the construction of the world of phenomena (19), and according to Philo the realm of ideas continually sustains the material world through its rationality (Her. 188; Fug. 110-112). Thus, besides serving as God’s creative principle, the logos also serves as his agent of providence. As mentioned above, the Stoics also considered the logos a providential principle, but obviously they would object to the identification of the logos with the realm of ideas. It is clear that Philo’s reading of Genesis is vastly indebted to Plato’s account of the creation of the world in the Timaeus. However, one should 14

This ontological scheme is recognized by all interpreters, including Wolfson, Dillon and Runia. My disagreement with these scholars concerns only the construal of Opif. 8.

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not perceive the Opif. as a mere inscription of Platonic theory into the Mosaic narrative. Philo’s reception of the Tim. is not uncritical and he often modifies and reinterprets Platonic doctrine in substantial ways.15 Stoic influence seems obvious here. As we have seen, Philo conceives the world of ideas as the product of God’s cognition.16 At this point, the Athenian philosopher would disagree. According to Plato, the creator god (the demiurge) did not produce the intelligible world. Rather, that world existed independently of God prior to the act of creation. When giving shape to the realm of matter, the demiurge fixed his eyes upon the world of ideas and used it as a paradigm for his creative activity. In that way, pre-existent matter was given shape and order through God’s agency from an independent and ontologically self-sustained realm of intelligibility (Tim. 2829a). This means that in Plato’s view the world of ideas was either equal or perhaps even superior to God – a corollary which fully explains Philo’s reluctance towards that part of his theory.17 Philo disagrees with Plato at another significant point as well. According to Tim. 34b-36b, the demiurge not only provided the world with form, he also furnished it with a soul of his own making. That soul, we are told, permeates and governs the world as a providential intermediary between the realm of eternity and the world of transience. But while the creation of this cosmic soul occupies a central position in Plato and later Platonic thought, Philo never refers to it in positive terms.18 In fact the whole theme of the cosmic soul appears strikingly absent from his thought.19 This does not mean that its providential role is left vacant, though. As we have seen, that function is assigned to the logos instead (cf. also Mut. 223).20 Although committed to his Platonic heritage, Philo thus carried out a thorough revision of Platonic metaphysical theory. As Dillon aptly puts it, Philo’s thinking could be characterized as a “‘tidying-up’ of Plato’s thought”.21 In Plato, the status of the ideal world vis-à-vis the demiurge is left ambiguous and its provenance never touched upon. In Philo, it is me15

This is carefully and persuasively developed by Runia (1986). Whether, as Wolfson (1947, 1.204-10) claims, the world of ideas was first conceived within the mind of the divine and then assigned some sort of independent existence outside it is uncertain. I suspect that Wolfson attributes more systematism to Philo’s thought than is appropriate at this point. 17 Wolfson 1947, 1.200-4. Eisele (2003, 182) correctly argues that the identification of the ideal world with the thoughts of God “dient der Absicht, das platonische UrbildAbbild-Schema mit dem jüdischen Monotheismus und seiner absoluten Souveränität Gottes kompatibel zu machen”. 18 Except in one rather obscure Armenian fragment (Runia 1986, 203f.). 19 See, besides Runia 1986, 201-4, Reydams-Schils 1995, 92f. 20 Runia 1986, 204-8. 21 Dillon 1977, 159. 16

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ticulously defined as the thoughts of God and assigned a position unambiguously beneath him. In Plato, the world of ideas exists side by side with a cosmic soul. In Philo, these principles coalesce and all creational and providential activity is ascribed to the logos.22 It is vital to appreciate how this ‘tidying up’ of Plato’s thought affects Philo’s understanding of the relationship between the transcendent and the immanent worlds. We have seen that he, like Plato, considers the world of ideas the template behind the construction of the physical world. Both philosophers believe that sense-perceptible phenomena derive their essence from the ideas on which they ontologically depend. However, since Philo effectively fuses the world soul with the realm of ideas, he brings the transcendent and the immanent worlds into much closer contact than Plato did. As can be seen in Opif. 8, Philo believes the realm of / to be present   " = as an activating principle. Plato would never allow that. In his view, any contact between the immanent and transcendent worlds would have to be mediated through the demiurge or the world soul. Philo, on the other hand, literally allows it to mingle with the world of phenomena. In a number of passages he thus discusses the noetic world, in a way that paradoxically appears strikingly indebted to Stoic metaphysics, as a force that suffuses the universe and keeps it from falling apart. Plant. 9f., for instance, reads: Extending itself ( )) from the centre to the ends and from the extremities to the centre, it runs through the course of nature (&  #  G *     ), uniting (.  ) and compressing (*) ) all its parts. For the father who produced it (( 

) made it an unbreakable bond of the whole. Surely, then, the whole earth will not be dissolved by all the water that its hollows contain, nor fire be quenched by air, nor, on the other hand, air be ignited by fire. For the divine logos stations itself as an intermediary (').&.    ), like a voice between voiceless elements, in order that the universe may produce a harmony (. / H) like that of a piece of literature.23

In a way that would have struck Plato as heresy, Philo describes the world of transcendence, not only as the paradigm behind the construction of the world, but also as an active and dynamic force that pervades the physical world – as an ideal and conceptual structure that exists and operates within the world of matter.24

22

There are, however, limits to the tidiness of Philo’s thought. Thus, he is not entirely clear on whether or not un-formed matter existed prior to the act of creation. Her. 160 suggests that it did, Leg. 2.2 and Prov. 18 suggest that it did not (Dillon 1977, 158; Runia 2001, 152f.). 23 Cf. Runia 1986, 204-8 and the texts discussed there. 24 Tronier 1994, 20f.

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Part I – Allegory

But Philo goes even further. He not only locates the ideal world within the world of sense-perception; he also deprives it of its ontological independence from that world. Philo’s insistence on a non-temporal meaning of the six days of creation should be taken quite seriously: There never was a time when the ideal world existed apart from its material counterpart. And the world of ideas came into being only because God intended it to be used for further creational purposes. This appears from Opif. 24 where Philo provides a definition of the world of ideas. That world, he explains, is “nothing else than God’s logos when he was engaged in the act of creation” ($ … +  … ? ' &  I/  ' ). Philo implies here that God’s ‘thinking’ of the realm of ideas cannot be divorced from his creation of the material world. These worlds are two sides of the same coin.25 This survey reveals that Philo basically operated within a Platonic framework of dualistic thought but also that his conception of the link between the two levels of reality had been decisively shaped by Stoic thinking. In the end, he nearly agreed with the Stoics that the world’s active and passive principles are only conceptually and analytically distinguishable. Obviously, he conceived of these principles in a markedly non-Stoic way, but his understanding of their inner relationship owed much to Stoic monistic theory. As we shall see, this had a crucial impact on his conception of allegory.

Allegory For Philo (as well as for Plato) true philosophical knowledge requires that the mind penetrate the physical coating of the world and base its reasoning on noetic reflection instead of on the activity of the senses. According to Philo, this movement towards noetic perception is a movement not only towards a higher degree of truth, but also towards inner peace. The mind, Philo claimed, is related to the realm of ideas. As a result, it does not feel at home in the world of matter. The moment it leaves sense-perception behind, however, and commits itself to theoretical reflection, it begins to recognize itself in the transcendent structures within the physical phenomena: So when the soul begins to know itself ( ) 5. ) and acquaints itself with the noetic realities that it perceives ( " /"   &"     ), it will thrust away that part of the soul which is inclined towards sense-perception (# # )/ ) (Migr. 13).

25

Tronier 1994b, 20f.; Eisele 2003, 181.

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According to Philo, this recognition of the transcendent realities leads to another discovery as well. Having initially perceived the world as chaotic and disorderly, the mind suddenly realizes that the world is governed by the rationality of the logos. After familiarizing itself with the noetic order within the physical world, it therefore also begins to feel at home in the world of matter and to perceive it as “the most perfect piece of work” (Opif. 9; cf. Migr. 13, 209).26 This description of the soul’s movement from alienation towards familiarization with the world is modelled on the Stoic notion of ) . The mind begins its journey from a point of isolation, then perceives the noetic structures within the physical world, acknowledges these structures as " to itself (Migr. 209) and finally achieves a sense of closeness to the world in its entirety. However, although Philo employed Stoic terminology, it is clear that he perceived the process of )  in a characteristically un-Stoic way: According to Philo, true )  can be achieved only through the recognition of the existence of a world of transcendence. This epistemology perfectly reflects his metaphysical beliefs. Recognition of the world’s order requires that the mind move beyond the realm of sense-perception and acknowledges that individual phenomena derive their essence from superior ideas. This approach to ontology and epistemology also informed his biblical hermeneutics. According to Philo, the Pentateuch contains two distinct levels of meaning, one literal and one allegorical, each of which corresponds neatly to the immanent and the transcendent levels of the world. This appears most forcefully in a famous passage in the Contempl., where Philo lauds the Therapeutae for their approach to the Torah. According to Philo, their exegesis aims at … the inner meanings (  ) ) conveyed in allegories. For to these men the whole legislation appears to resemble a living being (JC) with the literal commandments (%/9,) for its body and for its soul the invisible meaning (  ' ) laid up in its wording ($ )    " &$, ). It is in this meaning that the rational soul (E&;-. ) begins to distinguish things of its own order (9"), observing through the words, as through a mirror, the extraordinary beauties of the concepts ( /3  ), removing and unfolding the symbolic coverings ( 9 B  :& , ) and bringing to light the naked thoughts for those who, with only a little reminding, are able to discern the hidden (9* G ) through what is visible (78).

Obviously, what Philo describes here is also his own approach to the bible, and what immediately strikes the reader is the portrayal of the psychological results of that approach. Above, we saw that familiarity with the transcendent level of reality issues forth in a process of ) . Apparently, familiarity with the allegorical level of the bible has a similar effect. The moment the rational soul commits itself to allegorical readings, it rec26

Tronier 1994a, 258f.; Tronier 1994b, 21-8.

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ognizes ‘things of its own order’ and begins to feel at home in the text. At this point, Philo does not describe how this hermeneutical process ultimately leads to an appreciation of the literal level of the text as well, but we shall later see that this is precisely what he means. Just as the world of transcendence is meticulously expressed through the world of phenomena, so the literal level of the bible constitutes an accurate expression of the ‘naked thoughts’ contained within its allegorical meaning. Philo’s conception of the bible is rooted not only in a metaphysical framework of thought, but also in a theory of the bible’s provenance. As we have seen, the Stoics considered the Greek classics allegorizable because they passed on traces of primitive wisdom, although their authors were unaware of it. Philo’s view of the bible differs significantly. In his opinion, Moses, the author of the Pentateuch, had achieved the summit of philosophical insight and was fully aware of the truths that he enclosed within his writings. In his biography of the lawgiver, he thus describes how Moses progressed in wisdom throughout his youth – a development that reached a climax in connection with the giving of the Law. At that point, Moses received a unique revelation through which the entire noetic world was stamped upon his soul. Having climbed Mount Sinai, he … entered into the darkness (#   * ) where God was, that is into the unseen and invisible and incorporeal paradigmatic essence of all things (; G!  !6  4 K   ; ) ) and perceived ( 4 ) what is imperceptible (9$ ) to mortal nature (Mos. 1.158).

Through this revelation, Moses enjoyed unlimited epistemological access to the logos, and, according to Philo, it is precisely this vision of the logos that he later passed on in writing: “I am not unaware”, he says, “that all things written in the sacred books are oracles (/ )) delivered through him” (Mos. 2.188). Against that background, it is not surprising that Philo associates the bible’s allegorical level of meaning with the world of transcendence. The allegorical level of the bible quite literally contains the noetic vision that Moses received. The moment the reader penetrates the surface of the biblical text and proceeds towards its allegorical meaning, he or she catches if only a partial and fractional glimpse of the full revelation that Moses received. Philo’s hermeneutical attention was focused primarily on these allegorical meanings. Above all, he sought to uncover the noetic truths that Moses had enclosed within his writings. But he did not for that reason reject the literal meanings.27 Philo almost consistently presupposed that allegorical and literal meanings exist side by side. At the allegorical level of meaning Moses passed on his vision of the logos; at the literal level of meaning he 27

Dawson 1992, 100.

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provided a truthful account of Israel’s past. These meanings do not cancel each other out. Rather, as we shall see, they mutually reinforce one another. Unlike the Stoics, Philo thus advocated a bifocal allegorical hermeneutic. This appears not least in Questiones et solutiones in Genesin and Questiones et solutiones in Exudum, where he consistently expounds first the literal (# %/ ) then the allegorical meaning (# #   ), and in Abr. 68, where he comments on the journeys of Abraham in the following way: The migrations described at the literal level of scripture (A B  %/A G *G) are made by a wise man. According to the laws of allegory, however ( 9 B 0   &&/)L  .), they are made by a virtue-loving soul ( *&$.-.G) in search for the true God (# &/G/ / ).28

The journeys of Abraham, Philo claimed, should be read as an allegory of the pious soul’s journey towards divine wisdom, but also as a reliable account of the historical Abraham’s actual migrations. This difference between Stoic and Philonic allegory reflects the different philosophical underpinnings of their methods. Whereas Stoic allegory was rooted in a theory of the transmission of knowledge, Philo’s allegorical method was rooted in a theory of (Stoically revised) Platonic ontology. Thus, the bifocal nature of Philo’s exegesis corresponds to the bifocal nature of his metaphysical beliefs. And just as the existence of a transcendent level of being does not contradict the existence of a world of phenomena, so the allegorical meaning of the Torah does not efface the literal meaning of the text. The former exists at a higher level of conceptuality, but the two meanings are equally real and equally reliable.29 The Platonic orientation of Philo’s hermeneutics manifests itself at another point as well. According to Platonic metaphysics, the world of ideas is characterized by uniqueness and the world of phenomena by multiplicity. For instance, only one idea of the beautiful exists, but that idea is reproduced an infinite number of times in the realm of matter (Phaed. 100c). This logic recurs in Philo’s hermeneutics. Philo interpreted the migrations of Abraham as a symbol of the soul’s progression towards wisdom, but he also believed that that idea was expressed in the narrative of the exodus. The Israelites’ journey from Egypt through the Read Sea to the land of Canaan should also be read as a symbol of the soul’s journey from carnality and sense-perception (Egypt) through cleansing (the sea) to an episte-

28

Also quoted in Dawson 1992, 101. There are exceptions, of course. Philo occasionally dispenses with literal readings when offensive or nonsensical meanings are conveyed (e.g., Opif. 157; Fug. 108). 29

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mological stage of noetic contemplation (Canaan).30 But, of course, the historical exodus did still take place. In Philo’s view, Moses thus expressed the same noetic truths several times at the literal level of the Pentateuch. As a result, different biblical narratives may have the same allegorical meaning. The following model captures the logic: 1

Allegorical Level

Literal Level











[…]

According to Philo, Moses conveyed his insights through narrative and legislation. Apparently, he never expressed himself straightforwardly. “Practically all or most of the law-book”, we learn, “is an allegory” (&&/") (Ios. 28). Scholars have discussed why that might be so. Why, according to Philo, did Moses choose to express himself in allegories and not by means of technical philosophical discourse? Homer and Hesiod, the Stoics claimed, spoke in allegories because they did not understand what they were talking about. But Philo never expresses any doubt about the lawgiver’s genius. In his view, Moses fully understood the wisdom that he conveyed, and he certainly wished for his message to be understood. Why, then, did he not present it in ordinary speech? Interestingly, Philo never tells us why. Apparently, he did not have to. In the first century CE, the defensibility of the allegorical method was long established, and the majority of Philo’s readers may have assumed that Moses spoke in allegories without ever really asking why. It is unlikely, however, that Philo did not have a view on the matter. Being who he was, he must have pondered why Moses chose to express himself the way he did. In his work on Philo and Hebrews, Sowers provides us with the following theory: According to Philo, Moses expressed himself in allegories because it allowed him to benefit the intellectual elite and those without philosophical training at one and the same time.31 Had he expressed himself in scientific language, this latter group would have gained nothing from his writings. Allegorical speech, however, enabled him to reach people of different intellectual standards. Sowers points to Deus 60-68, where Philo asks himself why Moses occasionally speaks of “feet, hands, entries and departures in connection with the uncreated, or of his arming to defend himself against his enemies” (60). Obviously, such language is inappropri30 31

Tronier 1998, 79. Sowers 1965, 26f.

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ate of the divine, but according to Philo it might be beneficial, nonetheless. People who … from nature have been furnished with sluggishness and deficiency or who have been damaged (&/ &/$ ) through their early training (!B9 !*),32 since they are incapable of perceiving clearly (M,0N . ' ), need physicians in the shape of admonishers, who will contrive the proper treatment for their present condition (## ). For such inerudite and foolish slaves a terrifying master (*:$/) may be beneficial (O*$& ), for they fear his threats and menaces and are thus involuntarily edified through fear. Let all such people learn (   $3   ) the lies (9-.G), through which they may benefit, if they cannot be brought to wisdom by means of the truth (63f.).

According to Sowers, Moses expressed himself in allegories because it allowed him to train the elite (at the allegorical level of meaning) through philosophy while admonishing the obtuse (at the literal level of meaning) through fear. The last sentence of the quotation reveals that Sowers is wrong. Deus 60-68 does not discuss the lawgiver’s allegorical mode of expression. According to Philo, Moses normally expressed himself truthfully both at the allegorical and at the literal level of meaning. In Deus 60-68 he discusses the exception to that rule and examines why Moses occasionally lies. Interestingly, Philo does not at this point argue that anthropomorphic descriptions of the divine should be taken as oblique references to higher philosophical truths (61f.).33 On the contrary, he concedes that they are downright wrong, and he asks himself why Moses might have chosen to pass them on, nonetheless. In defence of his choice, the Alexandrian argues that even a lie can be beneficial in certain contexts. But that, we should remind ourselves, has nothing to do with allegory (cf. Somn. 1.234237). Dawson presents us with a different solution. In his view, Moses spoke in allegories because ordinary human speech does not adequately reflect the true structures of the world. Dawson traces Philo’s beliefs on the origin and development of language and examines his view of the bible in that light. He begins with Philo’s discussion of the origin of human speech in Opif. 148-150. According to the Alexandrian philosopher, language came into being when God brought the animals of Eden to Adam and when Adam provided these animals with their names (cf. Genesis 2:18-20). Obviously, God knew beforehand what their names should be, but in bringing them to Adam he wished to put him to a test and to see whether he would be able to distinguish their true natures and give proper expression to them. 32 Literally: “through their childhood-nourishment”. For Philo’s use of foodmetaphors in educational theory see below on Hebrews 5:11-6:3. 33 Though elsewhere he does (cf. above p. 30).

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Adam passed. Standing in front of the animals, he sensed “the physical impressions emitted from their bodies” (9* )4   ), recognized their true inner essences, transformed his knowledge into words and furnished each animal with names that were perfectly apt. According to Philo, Adam passed with such success that he attained “the very limit of human happiness” (149f.).34 Adamic naming was characterized by complete congruity between names and things – a happy result of Adam’s prelapsarian acumen. But most people lack Adam’s intellectual gifts. As a result of the fall, human cognition has dropped to a level far beneath that of primordial man. But according to Dawson’s analysis, the Adamic potential for true perception lived on in Moses, who should be seen as “a ‘second Adam’”.35 However, even though Moses was intellectually on a par with Adam, he was unable to express himself with the same sort of linguistic accuracy – partly because human language experienced a transformation in connection with the fall,36 partly because Moses, unlike Adam, used language not only to pinpoint different objects, but also to speak of these objects in a propositional manner. According to Dawson, this move from Adamic naming towards the formation of complete sentences implied that linguistic precision could no longer be retained. In Dawson’s words, “[t]he move from Adamic naming to scriptural language is a move from single names to complete statements or propositions, from nouns that supposedly reproduce the natures of things to syntactical units that make affirmations about things. Syntactical and referential certitude seems to have suffered in this move”.37 Moses, apparently, was faced with a conundrum. On the one hand, his message was perfectly clear; on the other hand, he had to convey it through intrinsically inaccurate means. Although Dawson is not completely clear on this matter, he appears to believe that Moses’ allegorical discourse should be seen as a way of circumventing the inaccuracy that unavoidably clings to human speech. By using language, which itself is inaccurate, in a consistently symbolic way, the clarity of the lawgiver’s message might paradoxically be brought to light. Dawson writes: Although the Adamic capacity for accurate knowledge is denied to ordinary human beings, it lives on in the extraordinary Moses. Like Adam, Moses has accurate knowledge of what he wishes to communicate. Unfortunately, the only language available to Moses 34

As Dawson (1992, 84f.) observes, Adam’s manner of perception is described in distinctively Stoic terms. 35 Dawson 1992, 94. 36 Dawson does not say so explicitly, but as we shall see he does speak of ‘postlapsarian language’. 37 Dawson 1992, 89.

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is a postlapsarian language with all the deficiencies noted above. But Moses is not like “most men,” because his perceptions are superior to the language at his disposal. His name-giving flows from an accurate “knowledge that has to do with things”; consequently, he “is in the habit of using names that are perfectly apt and expressive” (Agr. 12). Even so, Moses is forced to use ordinary language to express his extraordinary insights. As a result, his message is always clear and determinate once it is perceived, but it lies hidden in very indirect linguistic expressions marked by various forms of semantic indeterminacy. 38

Dawson’s analysis is hardly more convincing than that of Sowers. The nucleus of his argument is that Philo should have considered linguistic precision in propositional sentences impossible – a claim that is very hard to substantiate. The Stoics, to be sure, did hold such a view. In their opinion, ‘sayables’ or & (the meanings of complete verbal utterances) constitute nothing more than human abstractions. As such they can never be in complete conformity with the conditions of the objective world.39 Nothing suggests, however, that Philo agreed with the Stoics on that point. Dawson produces no evidence in support of his theory,40 and I fear that he has uncritically applied the position of the Stoics to the Alexandrian philosopher.41 It is true that Philo often accuses people of expressing themselves inaccurately, but he ascribes their inaccuracy, not to the shortcomings of language, but to the shortcomings of human cognition. As Dawson argues elsewhere, “[o]ur language merely passes on the results of [our] indeterminate perception”.42 38

Dawson 1992, 92. Long & Sedley 1987, 195-202. 40 Dawson (1992, 89) does refer to QG 1.34, according to which the serpent deceived Eve through “an ambiguity of words”, but Philo does not identify ambiguity as a characteristic of language as such. On the same page, Dawson argues that “the serpent’s cunning closely parallels the indirection of scripture itself”. I am not sure that Philo would be happy with that comparison. 41 An important inconsistency in Dawson’s analysis should be noted as well. Initially, he claims that Moses’ biblical language was in fact characterized by the kind of precision that distinguished Adamic speech. Thus, at one point he describes the Torah as “a virtual extension of Adamic naming” (Dawson 1992, 87). 42 Dawson 1992, 91. I would like to object also to Dawson’s notion of postlapsarian language. It seems clear to me that even though Philo believed Adamic perception to have been lost to humanity at large, he believed that Adamic language remains at our disposal. In Leg. 2.15 he distances himself from the “Greek philosophers”, who ascribed the origin of language to “wise men” (* ). Had language been developed by a multitude of people, he claims, names “would inevitably have been incongruous and illmatched, different people imposing them on different principles”. As it is, however, it was developed by one man only, Adam, who brought about “harmony between name and thing”. Philo does not appear to be speaking about a language that existed only prior to the fall. (It is quite likely that Leg. 2.15 should be read as a response to Plato’s Crat. according to which, as we have seen, language was developed by a large number of peo39

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Neither Sowers’ nor Dawson’s analysis is very helpful, but Dawson is correct to draw attention to Philo’s view of the aptitudes and insufficiencies of language. His theory is amiss only because it ascribes a Stoic linguistic theory to the Alexandrian that he clearly did not espouse. Philo’s understanding of language was rather more Platonic (cf. e.g., Migr. 12 and below). To appreciate why, in Philo’s view, Moses expressed himself allegorically, i.e., through an account of the history of the Jewish people and its laws, we must recall exactly what Philo believed the lawgiver to have enclosed within his writings, viz., the logos – not scattered philosophical doctrines, but a complete representation of God’s rationality.43 This is important because Philo distinguishes between the nature of human and divine communication. In Migr. 47-49 he refers to Exodus 20:18, which curiously affirms that “all the people saw (56) the voice” of God in connection with the giving of the Law. Philo triumphantly observes that no one heard his voice and explains that this is so because “words of God (' ' &.) are seen the way light is seen” (47). Moses correctly portrays ordinary speech as “audible” (. ), “but the voice which consists not of verbs (%/  ) and nouns (M   ) but of God, which is seen by the eye of the soul (( $ / AG-.GK ), he appropriately describes as visible ((;   )” (48). According to Philo, the logos may enlighten individuals through noetic revelation, but it cannot be conveyed through words. Philo does not explain why, but presumably it is because the logos contains the noetic world in its entirety, and because the timeless and indivisible quality of that totality cannot be reproduced in human speech, which by definition is fragmentary and progresses in time. In that light, one might have expected Philo to encourage philosophers to remain purely contemplative and to refrain from any sort of verbal communication. However, he carefully emphasizes that noetic contemplation should be accompanied by speech and, indeed, by rhetorical aptitude. The story of Cain and Abel reveals what might otherwise happen. According to Philo, Abel is a symbol of the soul endowed with “faultless perception” ( & C …  )L) and Cain a symbol of the cunning rhetorician. According to Philo, Abel was overpowered by Cain precisely because of his lack of rhetorical skill (Migr. 74). Having recognized the importance of communication, “the all-wise Moses” (P .G( *), by contrast, called upon Aaron, the symbol of excellent speech, “from the moment God began to flash into him (  A) the light of truth ple, meaning that the words passed on to us contain mutually incompatible philosophical messages, some of which, of course, must be wrong.) 43 The following proposal has been suggested to me by Henrik Tronier in personal conversation.

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(# &/) *$)” (76, cf. 78). Only by activating and refining the faculty of speech was he able to defeat the sophists, the sorcerers of Egypt (83), who, despite their unfamiliarity with truth pose with rhetorical artistry as knowledgeable (cf. 72). Philo thus distinguishes between the two meanings of the term &, ‘reason’ and ‘speech’, and affirms that true sages must be endowed with both (70-73).44 Discourse not rooted in noetic apprehension is deceptive. Unarticulated noetic perception, however, may be valuable, but is also incapable of refuting philosophical fraud. Philo therefore affirms that philosophers should express themselves verbally, though he concedes that speech applies only to objects of the sense-perceptible order: Whenever the mind is moving around matters concerned with the ruler of all, it needs nothing else for its study ( ! ;   ) ), for unaided mind (  /  ) is the most sharp-sighted eye of the noetic realities (4  /4 ). But when it is occupied also with matters of sense-perception (" 9 >/ ) or of passion () or of the body (4 ), of which the land of Egypt is a symbol, it will also need the art together with the power of words (  ! G ! &. $ / ( ' ! .   ) (77).

This view of language and of its relationship with contemplative thought sheds light on how Philo may have made sense of Moses’ decision to express himself allegorically. On Mount Sinai, Moses was granted a complete vision of the logos, and it is this vision that he wished to pass on in his writings. This ambition was certainly laudable – philosophical insights should be conveyed to a wider audience. But a vision of the logos cannot be passed on through words. Hence the only legitimate and meaningful way to speak about the logos is to do so indirectly by speaking of how it operates within the sense-perceptible order. According to Philo, this is precisely what Moses did. Through his account of the world’s genesis he revealed how the logos once gave form to the material world and how it now continually sustains it. As we shall see, particularly in chapters 6 and 7, Philo believed that his retelling of the history of the Jewish people elucidates how selected individuals have been guided from lower to higher forms of cognition through the agency of the logos; how the logos informs the commandments of the Jewish Law and how it is inscribed within the various institutions of Jewish religion. Thus, when passing on his vision of the logos, Moses did not explain what the logos is. Any attempt to do so would be quite in vain. He explained instead what the logos does. The result is allegorical speech. I thus agree with Dawson that, according to Philo, Moses spoke in allegories because human language could not grasp what he wished to convey. 44

Philo here draws on the Stoic distinction between the &   and the

&*.

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Part I – Allegory

But I do not agree that he considered all propositional language inaccurate. Moses could probably have expressed himself adequately on most matters without the use of allegory. It is the particular object of his biblical discourse, the logos, that forced him to resort to allegorical speech. The totality of God’s reason transcends what can be contained within human language and must therefore be conveyed circuitously, through discourse on the effect that it has on the world of matter.

Allegory and Apologetics After these discussions, we can now turn to the issue of how Philo applied allegorical techniques as a means to defend Jews and Judaism against nonJewish detractors and to prove the philosophical legitimacy of the Jewish way of life. Philo, to be sure, had every reason to be defensive. In Alexandria, at the time of his literary activity, Jews were under heavy fire, both intellectually and physically, from the surrounding non-Jewish community. Physically, conflicts reached a climax with the pogrom in 38 CE.45 Intellectually, Jews were attacked in a number of historical and philosophical treatises. Our knowledge of the incentives behind these attacks is sparse, but it appears that Jewish people’s unwillingness to merge with the surrounding society attracted considerable hostility.46 One of the most prominent critics of the Jews was the Alexandrian Homeric scholar Apion.47 None of his works survives to us, but through Josephus we get an impression of his censure and perhaps of the general tensions between Jews and non-Jews in first century CE Alexandria. Judging from Josephus’ account, Apion attacked the Jews mainly on two accounts. First, he accused them of intellectual inferiority. They had never produced any geniuses of Socrates’, Zeno’s or Cleanthes’ calibre (C. Ap. 2.240). Second, he accused them of inconsistency. On the one hand, they wanted Alexandrian citizenship (and thus exemption from the &*), the poll tax imposed on all foreigners [peregrini]).48 On the other hand, they refused to venerate Alexandrian religious traditions: “Why, then, if 45

See Philo’s In Flaccum and Barclay 1996, 48-81. Cf. Barcley 1996, 55-60; Dawson 1992, 117. Gruen (2002, 54-83) is probably correct, however, that tensions between Alexandrian Jews and gentiles have been exaggerated in the scholarly literature. Jews were no doubt ridiculed and scoffed, but up until 38 CE violent conflicts appear to have been at a minimum. 47 At the pinnacle of his career, Apion headed a Greek-Alexandrian delegation to the Roman emperor Caligula (either in 38 or in 39 CE) to complain about the behaviour of the Jews in the Alexandrian community. To defend their civic rights, the Jews sent a delegation of their own, headed, incidentally, by Philo (Barclay 1996, 55-60). 48 Cf. Barclay 1996, 49f. 46

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they are citizens (ciues)49 do they not worship the same gods as the Alexandrians?”, he asked (2.66). At first glance, Apion’s calumny appears somewhat juvenile. At one point, he even passes on a parody of the Exodus narrative according to which the Jewish nation descends from a group of lepers expelled from Egypt in the mid-eighth century BCE under Moses’ leadership (2.15-21).50 However, even though his criticism occasionally takes the form of satire, it appears to be philosophically well-founded. Apion made his career as a Homeric scholar and we can tell that he held Socrates, Zeno and Cleanthes in high regard. In that light, there is good reason to assume that he was a representative of the Stoic allegorical school.51 If that is the case, his hostility towards the Jews makes very good sense indeed. We saw in chapter 1 that Stoic allegorical readers believed that national religious traditions consisted partly of mythical retellings of primitive wisdom and partly of mere poetic fiction. What is important at this point is to remember how the Stoics distinguished between authentic philosophical material and later poetic additions. According to the Stoics, only material common to different national traditions could be considered authentic. Any motif peculiar to only one tradition should be written off. As a result, Stoic philosophers considered exclusive loyalty to any one tradition unjustified. Since national traditions convey philosophical truths only when they speak in unison, it would be intellectually indefensible not to allow one’s religious heritage to merge with those of other nationalities. Obviously, a conscientious citizen should venerate his own national traditions, but when living abroad he should adapt to his new environment.52 Apion’s calumny against the Jews probably reflects such ideas. He may have believed that since the Alexandrian Jews were living within a predominantly (Graeco-) Egyptian society, they ought to adjust themselves and their religious behaviour in accordance with this fact. By refusing to do so, they revealed that they were tragically unaware that truth is to be found in what different traditions have in common, not in what sets them apart – that they based their beliefs precisely on those parts of their heritage that have no roots in ancient wisdom. From a Stoic point of view, the Jews’ refusal to venerate Egyptian religion would seem doubly absurd if, as Apion appears to have believed, the Jewish nation had descended from the Egyptian one. Since Jewish traditions would then be younger than 49

This part of the treatise survives only in Latin. According to Apion, the word ‘Sabbath’ derives from the Egyptian word for disease, ‘sabbo’ (2.21). 51 Josephus furthermore informs us that Apion relied on Posidonius, who was important to the later Stoic allegorists, for his anti-Jewish slander (2.79). 52 Cf. Boys-Stones 2001, 66-75. 50

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those of Egypt, which the Jews refused to embrace, they would clearly be less likely to contain traces of primordial wisdom. For a Stoic intellectual, then, it would make excellent sense to depict the Jewish nation as intellectually degenerate.53 Obviously, not all Alexandrian Jews were opposed to cultural assimilation. Philo’s own nephew, Tiberius Julius Alexander, made a spectacular career in Roman politics, which – as Barclay argues – must have required him to leave practically all his Jewish heritage behind.54 Philo himself, however, was an ardent defender of cultural seclusion. In his view, Jews ought to distinguish themselves from the nations, not through physical segregation, but through “the distinctiveness of their peculiar customs” (;  ,$ 4 /) (Mos. 1.278). Against critics such as Apion, Philo had to establish that the Jewish people was not intellectually degenerate. He had to prove that the Jews had indeed produced geniuses of an exquisite calibre and that the Jewish people’s loyalty towards their peculiar customs was not an expression of philosophical inanity. Allegorical hermeneutics proved valuable in either case. Philo claimed not only that the Jewish nation comprised thinkers of Socrates’, Zeno’s and Cleanthes’ quality, but also that these Greek luminaries actually owed their insights to the Jews.55 In chapter 2, we saw that Aristobulus used the allegorical method to inscribe the achievements of Greek philosophy into the Mosaic literature and thus to portray Moses as the original source of these insights and the Greek philosophers as imitators of his wisdom.56 By and large, Philo followed the same procedure. He, too, claimed that Greek philosophers picked up inspiration from the lawgiver and copied his insights into their works. Heraclitus, for instance, is reported to have stolen the laws and opinions from Moses “like a thief” (QG 1.152). Zeno, too, borrowed from his thoughts (Prob. 57) and even the doctrines of Socrates were anticipated in the Jewish scriptures (Somn. 1.58).57 Greek philosophers’ dependence on Moses could be proved through allegorical readings of the Torah, which in Philo’s view antedates all of the Greek philosophers by centuries. Like Aristobulus, Philo thus

53

Cf. Boys-Stones 2001, 66-75. Barclay 1996, 105f. After a successful military career, he reached the office of governor of Egypt (Josephus B.J. 2.309). 55 Dawson 1992, 83-113. 56 As Runia (1993, 8) explains, the Neopythagorean Numenius interestingly appears to have accepted this claim. At one point (fragment 8), he agrees that Plato was nothing more than a “Moses who spoke in Attic”. 57 For these and further references see Dawson 1992, 109f. 54

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performed a complete reversal of intellectual history and presented Greek thinking as a diluted version of Jewish wisdom. Although Philo followed Aristobulus’ lead on this point, his superior knowledge of Greek philosophy and the fact that he assigned the wisdom of Moses to divine revelation allowed him to carry out his revisionary programme with greater elegance. As Jaap Mansfeld demonstrates, Philo exploited his familiarity with Greek philosophy to reveal how non-Jewish thinkers constantly disagree among themselves, thereby exposing the fact that firm knowledge remained beyond their reach.58 In one place (Her. 246f.) Philo thus expounds how the history of Greek philosophy is essentially a history of discordance and strife. The representatives of the various parties all share the same goal, viz., “insight into the facts of nature” (3 )  4  G *     ), but other than that they disagree about practically everything. Some believe that the world is created, others not; some believe that it is destructible, others not; some argue that “man is the measure of all things”, whereas others hold that firm knowledge can be achieved. Indeed, Philo claims, “sun and moon and the whole heaven, earth and air and water and all that they produce (,4 ) have been the cause of strife () and rivalry (*& ))”. However, Greek philosophers do not disagree because of incompetence, but because firm knowledge ultimately transcends the faculty of human cognition: The history of philosophy (9B9; *&*) ) is full of discordance ( * )3 ) because the truth flees from the mind which deals with conjectures and probabilities (# )  !#  ' ). For it is its nature to elude discovery and pursuit, and it is this, I believe, which has brought such quarrels about (248).59

It is because human beings are generally incapable of firm knowledge that philosophers constantly disagree among themselves. But whereas “man is a natural doubter” (QG 1.55), “it is alien to the divine power to be in doubt” (1.21). The thoughts of God are always clear, determinate and unchangeable, and as we have seen it is precisely the thoughts of God that Moses rendered accessible through his writings. While Greek philosophers thus provided us with human conjecture, Moses provided us with the wisdom of God. By identifying Greek philosophy with human cognition and Mosaic wisdom with divine revelation, Philo gave his ‘reversal of the history of ideas’ more coherence and credibility than Aristobulus had done. While Aristobulus merely claimed that Greek philosophers stole from Moses’ reserve, Philo also explained why they had to do so. It was because Greek philosophy arose from fallible human deliberation that Greek intellectuals 58 59

Mansfeld 1988, 89-102. Also quoted in Mansfeld 1988, 90.

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had to consult the Jewish lawgiver. Only through his writings might human epistemological imperfection be circumvented and firm knowledge achieved. In itself this repetition and refinement of Aristobulus’ programme should be enough to establish both that the Jewish people did comprise philosophical geniuses and that Jews in general were justified in remaining loyal to the Torah. Obviously, Moses’ genius could not be questioned if the finest among the Greeks thought it wise to emulate him. Similarly, anyone should be able to understand why the Jews would not want to adopt any other customs than those instigated by the philosopher to whom the noetic world in its entirety alone had been revealed and through whom the very thoughts of God had been disclosed. However, Philo defended the Jewish right to cultural seclusion in another way as well, viz., by interpreting Israel’s neighbouring countries as symbols of inferior forms of cognition. This will be developed in greater detail in chapter 6, but the essentials can be touched upon now. To appreciate the force of Philo’s strategy we need to return to his notion of Moses’ allegorical discourse and to the way in which he conceptualized the relationship between the allegorical and the literal levels of his speech. In the section on metaphysics, we saw that Philo defined the world of transcendence, not as a secluded realm of intelligibility that exists outside the world of immanence, but as a conceptual structure that pervades and exists within the world of immanence. Philo perceived the relationship between the allegorical and the literal levels of the Pentateuch in much the same way. At Contempl. 78, quoted above, he describes how the allegorical level of meaning has been “laid up” ( )   ) in the literal wording of the text. This should be taken quite seriously. According to Philo, allegorical meanings must be seen as abstract rational structures within the literal meanings. This means that literal meanings should not be conceived as arbitrary representations, but rather as manifestations of their allegorical counterparts. An example might serve to illustrate this. We have previously seen that Philo interpreted the migrations of Abraham as a symbol of the virtueloving soul’s epistemological progressions towards wisdom, while at the same time maintaining that the historical Abraham did complete the journeys described in the Genesis account. However, Philo also maintained that Abraham performed the spiritual journeys of which his physical ones were symbols. The patriarch not only travelled from Haran to Canaan, he also travelled, epistemologically, from sense-perception to noetic contemplation. This means that Abraham not only signifies the virtue- and wisdom-loving soul; he also embodies it. This is why Philo explicitly referred to Abraham as (* and praised the patriarch, “the founder of the na-

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tion”, for having lived a truly virtuous life in complete harmony with divine law (Abr. 275f.). Here, as elsewhere, Philo implies that biblical symbols take part in the nature of their allegorical correlates. Hence to explore allegorical meanings is to explore the inner nature of whatever is subjected to allegorical analysis. It is in this light that Philo’s allegorical analyses of Israel’s neighbouring countries should be assessed. We have already seen that he perceives Egypt as a symbol of sense-perception, passion and everything connected with the body (Migr. 77). As with the example of Abraham, this symbolic meaning is not coincidental. In Philo’s view, it reveals precisely that Egyptians are steeped in sense-perception and are governed by bodily passions – and he never tires of mocking them for it. At Mos. 1.117 he remarks that Egypt’s being watered from below (through the inundations of the Nile) reveals that Egyptians are completely unreceptive to divine gifts. And at Decal. 79f. he gleefully jeers at Egyptian zoolatry, asking: What could be more ridiculous (& ) than this? Indeed, strangers when they first arrive in Egypt, before its nonsense takes residence in their minds ( !  #  6 '*  ) "  )), nearly die with laughter ( Q. &. ) at it, while everyone who has tasted right instruction () MG   ), horrified at this veneration (  ) ) of things that should not be venerated, pities those who render it and regards them, with good reason, as more miserable (& $.) than the creatures that are honoured, their souls having been transformed into those [of the creatures], so that they appear to be walking around as animals in human shape (R  G/) " " ).

Throughout his oeuvre, Philo portrays the Egyptians as a uniquely depraved people, completely incapable of true perception and fatally imbued with greed, vice and licentiousness.60 According to Philo, other nations symbolize, and embody, slightly higher forms of cognition, but Israel alone signifies true philosophical insight. The Alexandrian interprets Israel as a symbol of the soul that “sees God” (#  (4 ) (Her. 78, cf. Migr. 39; Leg. 2.34),61 and again this symbolic meaning is not coincidental. The Jewish nation is characterized by true perception of God, by accurate contemplation of “all things of nature” (Her. 279) and by “the highest standard of virtue” (Spec. 4.179). It is the one people to which God has openly revealed his universal wisdom (partly through the Mosaic scriptures, partly through the examples of divinely enlightened patriarchs) – the one nation where the rationality of the logos is truly manifest. 60

For Philo’s view of Egyptians see the excellent analysis by Niehoff (2001, 45-74), which also discusses the texts cited here. 61 Cf. his etymology of the Hebrew word for Israel as ‘the man who sees God’ (  ]).

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These allegorical readings, too, substantiate why the Jewish populace must distance themselves from their surroundings and remain ‘purely Jewish’. Interestingly, Philo agreed with pagan philosophers that virtuous living and true philosophy consist in the pursuit of what is universal. But unlike the Stoics, he ascribed universality, not to that which transcends ethnic distinctions, but to that which sets the Jewish ethnos apart from everyone else. Universal truth is to be found nowhere else than in Jewish culture, because Jewish culture alone reflects and embodies the structures of the logos.62 Other nations may possess certain degrees of insight, but no one comes even close to the wisdom embodied in the Jews. Hence to live in accordance with what is particularly Jewish is to live in accordance with what is truly universal. At the beginning of the Opif., Philo accordingly declares, in a manner that would have struck any Stoic as preposterous, that “the man who observes the [Jewish] Law immediately becomes a citizen of the world” ('  ) .  # 0 K   &).) (Opif. 3). Through allegorical readings, Philo thus sought to prove that Jewish culture alone embodies the highest transcendent realities and hence universal truth. This strategy is almost universally visible in his writings. At this stage, I will provide no further examples. Instead, three excursuses in chapters 6 and 7 will show that Philo subjected not only the Jewish nation itself, but also its most central identity markers to allegorical analysis in order to prove that each of them neatly reflects the most admirable noetic realities. Before concluding the chapter I would like to emphasize once again that Philo could use allegorical readings in this way as a means to ascribe universal truth exclusively to the Jewish ethnos only because of the peculiar nature of his allegorical method, according to which allegorical meanings exist within their literal counterparts. I emphasize this point because it will be of vital importance for the following comparison with Hebrews. In the next chapter I shall argue that the writer of Hebrews was familiar with Philo’s allegorical method and applied it in certain contexts, but also that he transformed it and significantly altered the intimate relationship that Philo had established between the literal and the allegorical meanings. As we shall see, this transformation had serious consequences for the way in which allegorical readings could be strategically applied.

62

Sterling (2004, 46) aptly terms this perspective ‘universal particularism’.

Part II

Preliminaries

Chapter 4

The Hermeneutics of Hebrews We saw in the Forschungsbericht above that nearly all New Testament scholars have agreed that Philo and the writer of Hebrews differed at least with respect to their choice of biblical hermeneutics. Both writers interpreted scripture non-literally, but whereas Philo applied allegory, the author of Hebrews used typology. In this chapter, I shall try to counter that assessment, arguing that the writer of Hebrews did in fact make use of allegorical techniques and that these techniques exhibit clear signs of dependence on the hermeneutical tradition that Philo represents.

Allegory and Typology In the previous chapters allegory has been thoroughly discussed, and there should be no need for further introduction. It might, however, be worth noting how typology has traditionally been defined and distinguished from the allegorical method. The classic definition is that of Auerbach, who refers to typology here as ‘figural interpretation’: Figural interpretation establishes a connection between two events or persons, the first of which signifies not only itself but also the second, while the second encompasses or fulfils the first. The two poles of the figure are separate in time, but both, being real events or figures, are within time, within the stream of historical life. Only the understanding of the two persons or events is a spiritual act, but this spiritual act deals with concrete events whether past, present, or future, and not with concepts or abstractions; these are quite secondary, since promise and fulfillment are real historical events, which have either happened in the incarnation of the Word, or will happen in the second coming. 1

In a more concise manner, Sowers defines typology as … the interpretation of earlier events, persons and institutions in Biblical history which become proleptic entities, or “types,” anticipating later events, persons and institutions, which are their anti-types.2

On a similar note, Bienert writes:

1 2

Auerbach 1984, 53 (quoted in Dawson 1992, 253f. n. 59). Sowers 1965, 89.

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Allegory is the vertical manner of interpretation, since it establishes unhistorical-timeless relationships between images (allegories) and their spiritual archetypes; typology, in contrast, is the horizontal manner of interpretation, since it transports the historical events of the past into the present and future.3

Even if these definitions are not completely alike, they all agree that whereas allegory links historical entities ‘vertically’ to noetic archetypes, typology links such entities ‘horizontally’ to later historcal ones, which are then, in turn, perceived as their fulfilments and ultimate realizations. This can be more or less illustrated below: 

1

According to many scholars, the distinction between allegory and typology is a distinction not only between two forms of exegesis, but also between two modes of thinking.4 Allegory belongs to a Greek philosophical tradition, whereas typology belongs to a Jewish and Christian mode of thought. These ways of thinking are so inherently different that allegory and typology are mutually incompatible.5 The distinction between allegory and typology has been prevalent in the Hebrews/Philo debate, and virtually everyone agrees that in contrast to typology, allegory is nowhere to be found in Hebrews. Few Hebrewsscholars dwell on the issue today, but the general consensus outlined here and in the introduction surfaces in recent works as well.6 However, certain classicists and New Testament scholars have started to question the validity of the dichotomy between allegory and typology. More concretely, they have raised the issue whether a specifically typological method really existed in the ancient world and whether, if it did, it could legitimately be construed as the opposite of allegory. 7 These scholars notice that no ancient writers show any awareness of a distinctively typological hermeneutics. No one ever reflects on how typology differs from allegory, and the word ‘typology’ never appears in ancient sources. The English word obviously derives from the Greek terms   and &/&), but the compound .&) is unrecorded in ancient literature.8 Similarly, they observe that a number of ancient writers, 3

Bienert 1972, 42 (quoted in Martens 2004, 8). Sowers 1965, 138. 5 Williamson 1970, 529-38; cf. the discussion in Dawson 1992, 255 n. 52. 6 Cf. e.g., Attridge 1989, 29; Lindars 1991, 50f.; Weiss 1991, 149; deSilva 2000, 324

5. 7

See above all Dawson 1992, 14-7 and Martens 2004. Neither is the adverb .4 ever used to distinguish a certain hermeneutical practice. By contrast, the word &&/) had wide currency (Martens 2004, 17). 8

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such as Origen and Augustine, applied what has generally been identified as typology alongside indisputably allegorical techniques without ever commenting on the differences.9 Apparently, these writers were unaware of any tension. In that light, it seems unlikely that allegory and typology should have formed two diametrically opposed hermeneutical procedures, each of which should furthermore have been representative of one of two mutually incompatible worlds of thought. As a result, David Dawson suggests that typology should be understood “to be simply one species of allegory”.10 Similarly, Richard Hays has proposed that “typology is a particular species of the genus allegorical interpretation”.11 These statements are well-balanced. I nevertheless suggest that we dispense with the word typology altogether (at least in the present context), partly because of its non-existence in the Greek vocabulary, partly because of its often unfortunate use in modern scholarship. As Dawson explains, the category of typology has frequently been used by protestant theologians to identify what they perceive as legitimate non-literal reading techniques in contrast to the allegorical techniques of the Catholic church.12 Thus, the allegory/typology distinction is rarely applied in a value-neutral way,13 and it is almost always used in ways that reflect modern theological interests. Therefore, to avoid any anachronism or inappropriate value judgment, I will refrain from speaking of typology, even though I agree that there are significant differences between the hermeneutics of Philo and those that we encounter in certain New Testament texts such as Hebrews. I will not attempt to analyse all occurrences in the New Testament of what has normally been characterized as typology to see how each of them might relate to the general concept of allegory. Only the text of Hebrews will be in focus. As I noted, I recognize that there are important differences between what we find in Hebrews and in Philo, but these differences should not be conceptualized in terms of a dichotomy between typology and allegory. The hermeneutics of Hebrews should rather be seen as a variation of Philo’s allegorical method. I will seek to demonstrate both 9

Damgaard 2003, 109-14; Martens 2004. Dawson 1992, 16. 11 Hays 1989, 215 n. 87. 12 Dawson 1992, 15f. 13 This is certainly true of some Hebrews scholarship. As mentioned in the introduction, Spicq (1952-53, 1.64) extols typology as “une lecture profondément religieuse et singulièrement pénétrante”. On a similar note, Williamson (1970, 532) lauds the author of Hebrews for his freedom “from the strong tendency to arbitrariness of the purely allegorical method of interpretation”. At one point he even describes certain of Philo’s proceedings as “fanciful and perverse” (529). This bias has been strongly and justly criticized by Schenck (2002, 123f.). 10

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that certain structural similarities exist between the hermeneutics of Philo and Hebrews and also that the writer of Hebrews adopted and processed a number of Philo’s concrete exegetical results.14 It is time to be more exact. In this chapter and in the rest of the study, I will argue that the writer of Hebrews performs allegorical readings of three central Jewish identity markers and that all of these readings betray inspiration from Philo. Influence from the Alexandrian is visible in other places as well, but hermeneutical influence is detectable specifically in the author’s construction of (1) the Land of Canaan (3:7-4:11), (2) the tabernacle in the desert (8:1-6; 9:1-10) and (3) the Jewish high priest (mostly, but not only, 9:11-10:18). It goes without saying that the writer often interprets Old Testament texts without the use of allegory. For instance, no allegory is to be found in the ‘Catena of Scriptures’15 in 1:5-14 or in most of the tribute to the heroes of faith in chapter 11.16 Indeed, the author most often interprets scripture in non-allegorical ways, but in the three instances mentioned above I believe that he draws on Philo’s allegorical techniques in order to achieve certain hermeneutical and rhetorical effects. These effects will be discussed at the end of this chapter. The author’s readings of the Land of Canaan, the tabernacle and the Levitical high priest have all been characterized as typological in the scholarly literature.17 And not without good reason. At least the author’s interpretation of the high priest does involve certain features that are completely absent from Philonic allegory, but match the definitions of typology cited above. It is clear, for instance, that the writer understands the Jewish high priest to be symbolically related to the heavenly high priest, Jesus. This means that the Levitical high priest is linked, not to an abstract ideal entity, but to another person – a divine person, to be sure, but an individual nonetheless who feels, acts and thinks. Furthermore, the high priest points beyond himself ahead in time to a later fulfilment in Christ. Obviously, Philo would never allow anything similar. In that sense, the typological model sketched above fits Hebrews well. Hebrews certainly establishes a link between two historical individuals on an axis of horizontality. But there is more to be said. It is true that the Jewish high priest points beyond himself temporally towards a later fulfilment. But he also points beyond himself vertically towards the realm of heaven. Of course, it is sig14

As mentioned in the introduction, I obviously cannot determine whether the writer was directly or only indirectly acquainted with Philo’s thought. 15 Attridge 1989, 49. 16 Though see the commentary on 11:13-16 below. 17 Cf. Sowers 1965, 107, 119-23; Rissi 1987, 18 (cited in Laansma 1997, 275 n. 107); Attridge 1980, 284-7.

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nificant that Christ emerged as a high priest centuries after the inauguration of the Levitical priesthood. But it is also significant that when he finally did, he appeared in the form of a heavenly high priest. As emerges from 9:23-25 he delivered his sacrifice in heaven, and even though he lived on earth for a certain period of time, 7:26 and 8:5 inform us that he now resides in the world of heaven and performs his priestly duties there. What we have, then, is a combined hermeneutical movement from past to present and from earth to heaven. The above model should therefore be reshaped as follows: 1

Transcendence

Immanence



1

Already at this point, the hermeneutics of Hebrews seem a little less alien to Philo. But the model needs further refinement. We saw in the previous chapter that Philo often connects different biblical incidents with one and the same allegorical correlate. Abraham and Moses’ journeys towards Canaan are both symbolic of the virtuous soul’s epistemological progressions towards wisdom – a hermeneutical logic that reflects the Platonic presupposition that a single noetic idea can be reproduced an infinite number of times in the world of matter. In that light, it is worth noting that Hebrews emphatically observes that the Jewish high priests are many, whereas Christ is one. Notice above all 7:23f.: “And they are many (&) $  ) who have become priests because through death they were prevented from remaining ( &  $  ), but because he remains (9 # $  ) he has an inviolable office” (cf. 7:28). In Hebrews the Levitical priests are characterized precisely by the kind of multiplicity that according to Platonic philosophy and Philonic hermeneutics distinguishes the immanent world from the world of transcendence. Christ, on the other hand, is heavenly and hence unique. We should therefore dispense with the above model, too, and represent the letter’s reading of the high priest in the following way:

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Transcendence

Immanence











[…]

1

It should be clear from this that the category of typology, as defined by Auerbach, Bienert and Sowers, does not capture the complexity of the author’s exegesis. The writer does not establish a merely temporal connection between two historical individuals, but a combined horizontal and vertical set of connections between a number of earthly high priests and a single celestial one. In my estimation, all of this should allow us to at least consider the idea that the author of Hebrews could have been hermeneutically influenced by the Alexandrian philosopher. Although tilted to the right, this final model comes conspicuously close to the Philonic one sketched in chapter 3. However, significant differences remain. As I have noted, the writer of Hebrews conceives the correlate of the Jewish high priest as a person, not as an archetypal idea, and he also establishes a time span between the different poles of the symbolic sequence (hence the tilt). If, as I have argued, the author was influenced by Philo’s allegorical proceedings, how might we explain these differences? Why did he supplement Philo’s hermeneutical method with a notion of temporal development, and why did he conceptualize the allegorical correlate of the high priest as a person and not as a noetic idea? The answer, I suspect, is that even though he appropriated Philo’s hermeneutical method, he did not adopt his metaphysical outlook. Whereas Philo operated within a worldview of Middle Platonism, our author assumed a fundamentally apocalyptic approach to reality. My contention is that the author assumed Philo’s hermeneutical method, but severed it from the Platonic metaphysics within which it was developed and incorporated it into his own apocalyptic conception of the world. In order to understand the hermeneutical differences between Hebrews and Philo, it is therefore necessary to appreciate how Jewish apocalypticism differs metaphysically from Middle Platonism.

Apocalyptic Metaphysics It is sometimes assumed that what distinguishes apocalypticism from Platonism is the fact that apocalyptic writers think horizontally, whereas Pla-

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tonic philosophers think vertically. 18 The former operate along a temporal axis from the past over the present towards the future, whereas the latter operate along a conceptual axis from the phenomena of the immanent world to the ideas of the transcendent one. More or less as captured in the models below: Platonism

Apocalypticism

Transcendence Present World

World to Come

Immanence

Though overly simplified, of course, the characterization of Platonism here is fairly accurate. The depiction of apocalypticism, on the other hand, is not. It is correct that apocalyptic writers, unlike Platonic philosophers, operate with a notion of eschatological dualism, i.e., with a distinction between the present and the future worlds. But they also operate with a notion of vertical duality, i.e., with a distinction between a visible, tangible world and a world of transcendence, although their conception of vertical duality is somewhat different from what we find in Platonic philosophy. Moreover, we must realize that these vertical and horizontal perspectives, which both characterize apocalyptic thinking, are mutually connected. Henrik Tronier has argued, to my mind persuasively, that Platonism and apocalypticism should be considered to be much more intimately connected than is usually assumed and that apocalyptic literature might even be conceptualized as an off-shoot of Platonic thought.19 In the previous chapter it appeared that Platonic thinkers perceived the world as divided into two distinctive realms of being and that they conceptualized the world of transcendence, not as a physical location, but rather as a noetic structure that underlies and, in Philo’s view, even pervades and sustains the world of matter. According to Tronier, apocalyptic writers inherited the Platonic idea of a distinction between two different levels of being, but transformed the Platonists’ notion of transcendence into what might be characterized as a spatial or dynamic one. In their view, the world of transcendence is an actual place, which exists, quite literally, on top of the visible world.20 To capture the difference, we might contrast Philo’s construal of the

/#   with the description of the heavenly world that we en18

Barrett 1956, 389; Hofius 1970, 91-101; MacRae 1978, 195f.; Runia 1993, 78; Sterling 2001, 208-10; Dunn 2006, 117. 19 See above all Tronier 1994a. 20 Tronier 1994a, 260; Tronier 2001, 175f.

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counter in 2 Enoch. As might be recalled, Philo defines the world of transcendence as a “most God-like paradigm” intended by God to be used as a blueprint for the construction of “a younger likeness (  ) … which would contain as many sense-perceptible kinds (/9 $ /) as there are intelligible kinds ( /) in the other” (Opif. 16). Contrast this idea with the description of the transcendent world in 2 Enoch 20.1-21.1. Immediately prior to the passage to be quoted, Enoch has ascended through the six lower heavens, and in the company of angels he has now arrived at the seventh: And I saw a great light, and all the fiery armies of the incorporeal ones, archangels, angels and the shining otanim stations. And I was terrified and I trembled. And the men picked me up with their […] And they said to me “Be brave, Enoch. Don’t be frightened!” And they showed me from a distance the Lord sitting on his throne. And all the heavenly armies assembled, according to rank, advancing and doing obeisance to the Lord. And then they withdrew and went to their places in joy and merriment, immeasurable light, but gloriously serving him by night, nor departing by day, standing in front of the face of the Lord carrying out his will – with all the army of cherubim around the throne, never departing, and the six-winged ones covering his throne, singing in front of the face of the Lord.21

For Philo the world of transcendence is a complex of noetic ideas. In 2 Enoch it is depicted as a physical place that houses divine and quasi-divine beings. Platonic and apocalyptic worldviews both represent a vertically dualistic approach to reality. Both presume that two different worlds exist at one and the same time, one of which, the world of transcendence, is epistemologically inaccessible to most individuals. However, whereas Platonic thinking is ontologically dualistic, apocalyptic thinking is cosmologically dualistic. Philo and other Platonic philosophers believed that the worlds of immanence and transcendence represent two different forms of being, the first of which is material and sense-perceptible, whereas the latter is immaterial and perceptible only to the mind. Apocalyptic writers presupposed that both worlds are material and sense-perceptible, but that they exist at spatially distinct places. The realm of transcendence is epistemologically inaccessible to most people simply because it is physically inaccessible to most people. To gain knowledge of that world one has to ascend through the heavens and travel to a different part of the cosmos – something most people are obviously unable to do. Once that journey has been completed, however, the heavenly world can be grasped through the senses. As can be seen in the quotation above, Enoch quite simply sees the angels, the ‘immeasurable light’ and the divine one sitting on his throne. In short, we might say that Platonic thinkers operated with a notion of two different 21

The citation is from recension [A] in OTP 2.135.

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kinds of being, each of which exists at one and the same place, whereas apocalyptic writers operated with only one kind of being that exists at two different places.22 What might justify the characterization of apocalypticism as a development of Platonic thinking is not, however, the mere fact that both systems of thought are vertically dualistic and that both of them operate with a notion of transcendence. Many forms of thought (including Old Testament prophecy) share that characteristic. The essential point of correspondence is that, for both, the notion of transcendence serves the same hermeneutical function, viz., that of providing individuals with an interpretive lens through which to perceive the true structures behind the phenomena of the tangible world.23 We have seen that Philo conceives the world of transcendence as a noetic structure within the realm of phenomena. As a result, noetic perception (besides being valuable in itself) also serves the purpose of enriching the subject’s appreciation of the world of matter. It is precisely Moses’ vision of the transcendent realities that enabled him to perceive the physical world as “the most perfect piece of work” (Opif. 9) and to convey the true ordering of the world to a wider audience in his scriptures.24 Similarly, in much apocalyptic literature, the visionary ascends to heaven and receives information about hidden transcendent realities, most of which relate to phenomena on earth. The reception of this information enables the seer to grasp the true meaning of the phenomena that he and everyone else encounters in the world below. However, whereas in Middle Platonism the apprehension of the transcendent realities leads to a recognition of the correspondence between the transcendent and the immanent worlds and hence to admiration of the orderliness of the latter, the apocalyptic seer’s journeys to heaven lead him in the opposite direction. Through visions of the heavenly realities and through communication with interpretive angels, he discovers the true order of the world, but he also discovers that this order is lamentably absent from the world below. Most importantly, he sees that in heaven the righteous ones are exalted whereas the sinners are punished, that “the actions of men are weighed in the balance” (1 Enoch 41.1) and that each is judged in accordance with righteous-

22

Tronier 1994a, 260f. Tronier 1994a, 253-5. 24 At Leg. 3.100 Philo praises the Mosaic mind, which “has been initiated into the great mysteries” (9 & .  ./)), for its ability to behold God and through that vision “to apprehend both himself [scil. God] and his shadow, namely the logos as well as the world” (# & : !; 9 '@7S   & ! #   ). 23

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ness.25 This is certainly not the case on earth, where the wicked rule and the righteous suffer. This absence of divine order on earth is neatly epitomized in 1 Enoch 42.1f., which discusses the location of God’s wisdom: Wisdom found no place where she might dwell; Then a dwelling-place was assigned her in the heavens. Wisdom went forth to make her dwelling among the children of men, And found no dwelling-place: Wisdom returned to her place, And took her seat among angels.

With Philo we saw that God’s wisdom suffuses the world of phenomena. Here, by contrast, wisdom cannot find a single place on earth to dwell.26 Through his journey to heaven, the apocalyptic seer realizes both the order of the transcendent realities and the disorderliness of the world on earth. Hence he realizes that the latter constitutes a disorganized counterimage of the former.27 Thus, although apprehension of the transcendent realities in apocalypticism serves a hermeneutical function that is comparable to its function in Middle Platonism, its interpretive net result is exactly the opposite. With Philo, transcendent perception leads to a transformation of the mind that causes the philosopher to appreciate the tidiness of the world and even to feel at home in the world. In apocalyptic literature it leads the visionary to perceive the visible world as disorderly and flawed. As a result, he must dissociate himself from that world and identify himself with the heavenly realm instead (see, e.g., 1 Enoch 39.9-14). According to Tronier, it is because of this discomfort with the tangible world and this longing for the heavenly realities that apocalyptic thought is also characterized by a temporal, eschatological orientation.28 Harmony between the subject and the world cannot be attained through a transformation of the subject since the world in which he or she lives is essentially flawed. The defective character of the world is precisely what the seer comes to realize through his heavenly journeys. Hence, in order for him to find peace with the world, the world itself has to be transformed. This is precisely what will happen at the eschatological events. At the eschaton, the world below will perish and give way to the heavenly one, and its social structures will be transformed so that the sinners, who are now in power, will receive their due punishment: 25 Tronier 1994a, 263. In addition, he perceives the true order behind the various meteorological and astronomical phenomena that everyone experiences on earth (e.g., 1 Enoch 43f.). 26 Contrast this with Sirach 24.1-22, where Wisdom searches out the earth and decides to settle in the land of the Jews. 27 Tronier 1994a, 263. 28 Tronier 1994a, 264-7; Tronier 2001, 178-80

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And when the Righteous One shall appear before the eyes of the righteous, Whose elect works hang upon the Lord of Spirits, And light shall appear to the righteous and the elect who dwell on earth, Where then will be the dwelling of the sinners, And where the resting-place of those who have denied the Lord of Spirits? It had been good for them if they had not been born … From that time those who possess the earth shall no longer be powerful and exalted … Then shall the kings and the mighty perish And be given into the hands of the righteous and holy. (1 Enoch 38.2-5)

The eschatological events will mark the ultimate and universal manifestation of the divine order that has so far been restricted to heaven. In that way, the temporal orientation of apocalyptic thought corresponds neatly to the spatial one. What will arrive at the eschatological events is that which already exists in a superior world. We should therefore dispense with the model sketched above and represent apocalypticism in the following way: 29 Transcendence

Immanence / Present World

World to Come

I would like to clarify at this point that I fully accept Tronier’s construction of apocalypticism. However, for the following argument it is immaterial whether apocalypticism is thought of as a branch/development of Platonism or whether Platonism and apocalypticism are merely considered structurally comparable. My argument hinges only on the idea that apocalyptic writers viewed the present tangible world as a disorderly and inferior version of the transcendent realities and that they conceptualized the eschatological events, not necessarily as the introduction of something com29

This understanding of apocalypticism comes fairly close to the one propounded by Collins (1979, 9), who defines the genre of apocalypse as a type “of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial insofar as it involves another, supernatural world” (de-italicized). Collins, however, does not identify the immanent world as a disorderly reflection of the world of transcendence. Stone (1984, 394) defines apocalypticism as a “pattern of thought, primarily eschatological in character”. As cited above, Tronier, by contrast, defines eschatology as a side product to the vertical perspective. Himmelfarb (1993) similarly lays emphasis on the vertical orientation, while (to my mind, correctly) arguing that apocalypses should be understood “not as literary adaptions of personal experiences but as imaginative literature” (vii) (see also the discussion in Laansma 1997, 253-7).

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pletely new,30 but as a universal realization of what already exists in the realm of heaven.31

Allegory in Hebrews As suggested above, the author of Hebrews promotes an outlook very similar to that of Jewish apocalypticism. It should be noted, though, that he holds a less negative view of the visible world than some apocalyptic writers do. He never claims that it is in the hands of evil forces (as does Paul in 2 Corinthians 4:4).32 But he does claim that it lacks stability and that it will perish and give way to the transcendent realities. This appears most forcefully in 12:25-27: See that you do not refuse the one who is speaking! For if they did not escape when they refused the one who admonished them on earth, how much less will we who turn away from the one who admonishes from the heavens, whose voice then shook the earth, but who now has promised, saying, “yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heaven”? The ‘once more’ portends a removal of the things that are shaken (4  &. $   ), as things that have been made, in order that what is not shaken may abide (T  ) H9 ;&.  ).33

This world, including the visible heavens, will disappear, and the world of the divine, the ‘unshakable realities’, will remain. We can now return to the theme of the author’s hermeneutics and to the differences between Hebrews and Philo noted above. The question, of course, is: What happens if Philo’s allegorical method is separated from its Middle Platonic context and inserted into a worldview of Jewish apocalypticism? Exactly, I would answer, what we have seen in the author’s reading of the Jewish high priest. Due to the author’s apocalyptic, ‘spatial’ conception of the transcendent realities, the divine world now assumes a dynamic and non-conceptual form, which allows for divine individuals to take the place that in Philo’s worldview is occupied by Platonic ideas. As a result, 30 It should be added that some apocalypses (e.g., 4 Ezra and the canonical Apocalypse of John) do anticipate the creation of a new heaven and a new world. But as we shall see, Hebrews has no expectations of that sort. 31 Eisele (2003, 377) distinguishes between Platonism and apocalypticism in the following way. In apocalyptic thought “[d]as Urbild hat … einen anderen Ort und eine andere Zeit als das Abbild, liegt aber nicht außerhalb von Raum und Zeit. Im Gegensatz dazu ist das Platonische Urbild in raumzeitlichen Kategorien nicht adäquat zu erfassen. Es unterscheidet sich vom wahrnehmbaren Abbild in Raum und Zeit dadurch, daß es als Idee den ontologischen Status einer rein verstandesmäßigen Realität hat”. This, to me, seems just right. 32 See also Eisele 2003, 415f. 33 The quotations within are from Haggai 2:6, 21.

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the transcendent correlate to what is allegorized may now take the form of a divine person (Jesus) instead of the form of an archetypal idea. Furthermore, because of the introduction of eschatology, a temporal distance between what is allegorized and its correlate can now emerge. It is quite natural that the Jewish high priests reflect a heavenly high priest who, as a high priest, came into being only at a later point in history. 34 The combined horizontal and vertical trajectory of the author’s allegorical reading corresponds to the combined horizontal and vertical orientation of apocalyptic metaphysics. In my view, all obstacles for conceiving the author’s reading of the high priest as allegorical, and indeed as influenced by Philo, have now been removed. As we saw in chapters 1-3, ancient allegory was a malleable hermeneutical method that was often modified according to the needs of different interpreters. In Hebrews, Philo’s allegorical method has been stretched and reconfigured in important ways, but not so much as to render it completely unrecognizable. These considerations help us understand the hermeneutical differences between Philo and Hebrews. However, before concluding this chapter, we should address the question of why the author chose to espouse Philo’s method and to modify it the way he did. The answer, I believe, is that Philo’s allegorical hermeneutics (when reconfigured) enabled him to interpret Jewish religion in such a way as to render illegitimate any observance of the Torah after the inauguration of the new covenant. At the end of chapter 3 we discussed how Philo used the allegorical method apologetically to demonstrate that adherence to Jewish customs is required in order to live in accordance with divine rationality and universal truth. He could do so on the assumption that allegorical symbols not only point to but also embody the transcendent realities that they signify – an assumption which furthermore rests on the idea that the world of matter is an accurate physical expression of the world of /. We have now seen that the writer of Hebrews adopted Philo’s allegorical method, but separated it from its Middle Platonic context and incorporated it into an apocalyptic system of thought, where the world of transcendence was thought to exist at a spatially distinct place on top of the visible universe and where the visible world was therefore held to be characterized by a lack of contact with the transcendent one. This manoeuvre affects the way in which allegorical symbols relate to their allegorical correlates. Now, these symbols are characterized, no longer by possessing, but rather by lacking the nature of their 34

According to Hebrews, Christ existed before the creation of the world, but he was not always a high priest. The exact time for this appointment is disputed, but no one claims that he was high priest prior to his incarnation (for an overview of the scholarly positions see Peterson 1982, 191-5).

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allegorical counterparts. In Hebrews, allegorical links come to highlight the contrast rather than the correspondence between symbols and what is symbolized. As we shall see in the commentary in part III, the writer of Hebrews connects the Jewish high priests to Jesus by means of allegory precisely in order to emphasize their mutual differences and to demonstrate that the former lack the latter’s celestial features. The writer of Hebrews performs allegorical readings of the Land of Canaan, the tabernacle and the Levitical high priest. I shall later argue that all of these readings are indebted not only to Philo’s method, but also to his specific allegorical readings of these objects. The writer interprets these identity markers in ways that are conspicuously similar to what we find in Philo. However, despite his exegetical debt to the Alexandrian, he consistently modifies the logic of his readings in accordance with his apocalyptic metaphysics so that his own readings turn out to establish differences rather than resemblances between these identity markers and the heavenly objects that they signify. In the end, his allegorical readings turn out to reveal that the Promised Land, the desert tabernacle and the Levitical high priest fall short of the transcendent realities to which they point (viz., God’s rest, heaven and Christ). Through these readings, I will suggest, the writer hoped to persuade his audience that subjection to the Jewish Law was uncalled for now that these transcendent realities had themselves finally been revealed. After the inauguration of the new covenant, we can tell that Jewish religion is nothing more than a faint shadow of the new dispensation. Hence to submit to Jewish customs after the Christ event has taken place is to admit to preferring shadows to originals, which of course would be an insult to Christ, whose sacrifice made these originals available.

Chapter 5

Historical Setting Hebrews is one of the most enigmatic documents of the New Testament canon, and the questions of authorship, date, addressees and aim continue to arouse scholarly disagreement. In this chapter these questions will be discussed in order to clarify some of the presuppositions for the commentary in part III.

Author The identity of the author behind the letter remains unknown to us. In the earliest surviving manuscript, the Chester Beatty II papyrus (P 46) from c. 200, the epistle features among the letters of Paul (between Romans and 1 Corinthians). Ancient as well as modern commentators, however, hesitate to accept the implication of a Pauline authorship.1 Paul and the writer of Hebrews share a number of stylistic characteristics and theological ideas (both, for instance, criticize the Law and stress the humiliation and exaltation of Christ),2 but Paul almost certainly cannot be the author. In addition to stylistic differences,3 the affirmation in 2:3 that the writer received the gospel, not from Christ himself, but from the original hearers is incompatible with Galatians 1:11-16, where Paul emphasizes that he was commissioned directly “through revelation of Jesus Christ”. Several other authors have been suggested. The candidates include Barnabas, Apollos, Priscilla, Peter, Aquila, Silas, Silvanus, Epaphras,

1 Pauline authorship was first proposed by Pantaenus (apud Eusebius HE 6.14.2-4) then accepted by Clement of Alexandria and other Eastern theologians. Western church fathers generally dismissed it (Attridge 1989, 1-3; Gräßer 1990-97, 1.19-21; Weiss 1991, 61f.; deSilva 2000, 23f.; Koester 2001, 23, 27, 42f.). 2 Koester 2001, 42f. 3 Hebrews contains no less than 154 hapax legomena, unlike the Pauline letters it continually oscillates between exposition and exhortation, and it furthermore has no epistolary introduction (for these and further differences see Attridge 1989, 2 and Koester 2001, 43).

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Timothy, Philip, Aristion, Jude and even the Virgin Mary.4 Attridge laconically remarks that the list of possibilities “reads like a roster of the supporting actors on the stage of the New Testament”.5 Many of these suggestions are possible, but none are compelling, and the accumulation of possibilities tells us less about the identity of the writer than about our own uneasiness with the anonymity of the letter. The evidence allows us to conclude only that the writer was male,6 that he was well versed in the Old Testament in its Greek form and that he must have received some form of rhetorical and possibly also philosophical training. Other than that, his identity remains obscure, and he is very likely to have been someone otherwise completely unknown to us.

Date The date of composition of Hebrews is almost as difficult to determine as the identity of its author. Certain factors, however, allow us to establish a reasonably plausible time range. In combination three passages point to the year 50 as the letter’s terminus a quo. In 2:1-5 the author admonishes his readers in the following way: We must keep holding fast to what we have heard so that we do not drift away. For if the word spoken through angels was valid, and every transgression and act of disobedience received its just reward, how might we escape (E "*., ) if we neglect such a great salvation, which, having originally been proclaimed through the Lord, was validated (::6/ ) for us by those who heard it, while God corroborated the testimony (.  .' ) with signs and wonders and different powerful deeds and with distributions of the holy spirit according to his will?

The exhortation implicitly, but unambiguously, indicates that neither the author nor the recipients were ever in direct contact with the historical Jesus. All of them had to rely on the missionary activity of the original hearers. This suggests that at least a decade may have passed from the inception of the Christian mission to the conversions of the writer and the recipients. Two passages, 5:12 and 10:32-34, indicate that an additional period of time must have passed from the foundation of the community to the composition of the letter. In 5:12 the author declares that considering the time 4

Cf. Attridge 1989, 3-5; Gräßer 1990-97, 1.21; deSilva 2000, 24-7; Koester 2001, 42-

6. 5

Attridge 1989, 4. Notice the masculine participle in 11:32: !)&$ U&)- 9/ 3    (   !V6 @ W@ &X (“and what more shall I say? For time will run out as I speak about Gideon, Barak, etc.”). 6

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that has passed since their conversion (cf. 9 #    ), his readers should now have been able to act as teachers (M*)&  1  3 &) and not still be in need of basic instruction. Whatever the incentives behind this reproach, it tells us that some years must have elapsed from the conversion of the recipients to the writing of the letter. The same is true of 10:32-34. Here the writer calls upon his readers to remember “the first days in which [they] were enlightened”. At that time, he recalls, they gladly endured hardships and adversity, and he encourages them to find the strength to act with the same laudable spirit now in their present calamities. As with 5:12, this tells us that Hebrews must have been written some years after the conversion of its readers. In sum, any date prior to the year 50 is very implausible. As for a terminus ad quem scholars generally point to the quotations of Hebrews 1:3-5, 7 and 13 in 1 Clement 36.2-6. These quotations definitely establish Hebrews as the earlier document. But since the dating of 1 Clement itself is uncertain, this tells us little about the dating of Hebrews. Due to its mention of “the sudden and repeated misfortunes (. *) and calamities (6) which have befallen us” (1.1), scholars have often associated 1 Clement with the persecutions of Domitian (81-96), but nothing forces us to do so. As a result, some interpreters date the document as late as 140,7 which produces a terminus ad quem for Hebrews at about 130. This date can be pressed further backwards if, as some suggest, the person mentioned in 13:23 by the name of Timothy was in fact Paul’s famous assistant. As Attridge remarks, “[i]t is difficult to imagine Timothy still alive, well, and ready to travel much beyond 100”.8 The classic conundrum in all of this is whether Hebrews was written prior to or after the destruction of the temple and the termination of the sacrificial cult in the year 70. Some interpreters contend that the temple must have been operative at the time of the letter’s composition.9 Four arguments have been advanced in support, and even though not all of them are equally compelling, their accumulative force is significant. (1) The writer consistently speaks of the cult in the present tense (7:27f.; 8:3-5; 9:7f., 25; 10:1-3, 8; 13:10f.). This argument initially appears convincing, but must be dismissed since numerous post-70 writings also speak of the cult in the present tense (C. Ap. 2.77; A.J. 4.9.1-7; 1 Clement 40; Diognetus 3).10 Hence no significance can be attached to the writer’s choice of grammar. 7

Cf. Attridge 1989, 7. Attridge 1989, 9; cf. also Koester (2001, 50), who argues for a date no later than 90. 9 R. P. C. Hanson 1959, 84f.; Bruce 1964, xlii-xliv; Buchanan 1972, 256-63; Lindars 1991, 20; Laansma 1994, 264 n. 64; Gordon 2000, 32; deSilva 2000, 20. 10 Cf. Attridge 1989, 8; Koester 2001, 53; Eisenbaum 2005, 225. 8

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(2) The writer does not mention the fall of the temple. Throughout the letter he argues for the supersession of the Levitical cult, and if the destruction of the temple had taken place at the time of the letter’s composition, one might have expected him to point to that event as a sign of divine disapproval of the cult. According to the advocates of a post-70 date, however, this observation, too, is insignificant since the writer never shows any interest in the temple, but only in the precursor to the temple, the desert tabernacle. Any knowledge of the fate of the temple would therefore have been immaterial to his line of reasoning.11 I do not find this objection completely germane. Even though the writer focuses on the desert sanctuary, there is no reason why he could not also have pointed to the destruction of the temple as final and decisive proof of the termination of the legitimacy of the cult. Even though arguments from silence should always be treated with care, this one is not so easily dismissed. (3) At one point the writer almost explicitly confirms that sacrifices are still being offered. At 10:1f. he says: For since the Law contains a shadow of the goods things to come, not the very image of the realities, it can never perfect those who draw near with the same yearly sacrifices which they perpetually offer. Otherwise, would they not have ceased to be offered (! Y   *  ), since the worshippers once cleansed would have no consciousness of sin?

The last comment would appear odd if sacrifices had indeed ceased to be offered.12 In the words of Bruce, “[i]t might be argued that the author, writing after A.D. 70, means that if perfection was attainable under the Levitical economy, its sacrificial system would have come to an end long before it did – even within the Old Testament period. But that is a much less natural interpretation of his words; it is simplest to regard them as an incidental pointer to the dating of the epistle before A.D. 70”.13 I fully agree with Bruce’s analysis. 10:1f. may not count as decisive proof of a pre-70 date, but it certainly points in that direction. (4) The fourth argument, which is slightly more complex, is the most compelling one. In 9:1-10 the writer discusses the structure of the tabernacle and the symbolic meaning of its inner compartments. Here he mentions that ordinary priests “continually” (9  ) enter the Holy Place,

11 Attridge 1989, 8; Weiss 1991, 77; Eisenbaum 2005, 225; cf. Gräßer 1990-97, 1.25; Koester 2001, 52; Lieu 2002, 77; Dunn 2006, 116. 12 deSilva 2000, 20; Gordon 2000, 32; cf. Koester 2001, 53. 13 Bruce 1964, 227. In a footnote he adds: “Had [the author] been writing after A.D. 70 and had worded his argument precisely in these terms, it could have been said: ‘Well, they have ceased to be offered’ – a superficial objection, no doubt, but even so one to which such a skilful disputant is not likely to have laid himself open”.

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whereas the Holy of Holies is entered only once a year and only by the high priest. “By this”, he explains, … the holy spirit reveals that the way into the Holy of Holies (;  4  Z)  ( )14 has not yet been disclosed as long as the first tent is still standing ( G 6/ / G / ), which ([) is a symbol ( :& ) of the present time (#  # #  /), and according to which ( [ ) gifts and offerings are being presented, which are unable to perfect the worshipper in conscience (9:8f.).

Both exegetically and syntactically this passage is exceedingly demanding, and I cannot here enter into all the controversial details. For now it will suffice to notice only that the author regarded the outer tent both as the locus of the sacrificial cult and as a symbol of the present time (#  # #  /).15 This would seem to suggest that he perceived ‘the present time’ as a time characterized by Jewish sacrificial activity.16 These arguments notwithstanding, a number of scholars maintain that Hebrews must have been written after the destruction of the temple.17 Four arguments have been proposed. (1) Some interpreters argue that ::6/ in 2:3 refers, not to acts of ordinary preaching, but to acts of formal sanctioning. As Eisenbaum puts it, the word “is not likely referring to casual oral communication, but to more official, or officially recognized, types of testimony that validated what was previously spoken”.18 If that is true, 2:3 could be proof of a relatively late date. (2) The use of the word $  (veil/curtain) in 6:9f. and 10:19f. could indicate that the writer was familiar with the gospel literature. In the New Testament the term appears only here and in the synoptic gospels, and like Hebrews these gospels associate the $  of the inner sanctuary with the death of Christ. Eisenbaum therefore argues that Although Hebrews does not describe the tearing of the curtain, the connection between gaining entry into the inner sanctum of the temple and Jesus’ death is striking. It is difficult to imagine that Jesus’ crucifixion would have been linked to entry into the inner sanctum as an independent theological tradition or that such a theological interpretation would have naturally come to mind prior to the destruction of the temple.19

Hence, she concludes, a ‘post-destruction’ date must be assumed. (3) Hebrews has a number of affinities with Christian literature written after 70 and in some cases even after 100. According to Attridge, the high 14

Cf. the commentary on 9:1-10. Like the majority of interpreters, I take G6// Gas the correlate of [ . 16 R. P. C. Hanson 1959, 85. 17 Gräßer 1990-97, 1.25; Weiss 1991, 76-8; Eisenbaum 2005, 224-31; Georgi 2005, 243. Attridge (1989, 9) argues for a date between 60 and 100, and Koester (2001, 54) contends that “[i]nterpretation cannot assume or preclude the existence of the Temple”. 18 Eisenbaum 2005, 227; cf. Attridge 1989, 67. 19 Eisenbaum 2005, 229. 15

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Christology of the letter has parallels in “the Lukan corpus, the Pastorals and 1 Peter”, which could place the letter well into the 70s or 80s.20 Eisenbaum opts for an even later date, arguing that the “elevated style” of the letter, its being written for “broader audiences” and its “sustained line of argumentation about a theological issue” places it beyond the first century, where such literary qualities were not very common.21 (4) The maltreatment of the recipients mentioned in 10:32-34 and 12:411 could be connected with the persecutions of Domitian. If that is the case, these passages would clearly rule out a pre-70 date.22 In my estimation, none of these arguments is compelling. W: can refer to acts of official sanctioning, but does not have to.23 The writer’s association of the death of Christ with the curtain of the inner sanctuary hardly proves that he had knowledge of the temple’s fall or that he was acquainted with the gospel literature. This sort of symbolism could arise on other grounds. The Christology of Hebrews may be comparable to the Christologies of Luke/Acts, 1 Peter and the Pastorals, but it does not for that reason have to rely on any of these documents (it could well be the other way around). The letter is hardly characterized by a significantly more ‘elevated style’ or ‘sustained line of argumentation’ than, e.g., Romans (written in the mid or late 50s), and it is very unlikely, as Eisenbaum presumes, that Hebrews was written for a broader audience (see below). Finally, the theory of a connection to Domitian is tenuous since 12:4 denies that anyone among the recipients should have “resisted unto blood”. All things considered, we arrive at a date between 50 and 70.

Addressees Even though the title \#]:). has patristic attestation (Tertullian Pudic. 20; Eusebius HE 4.14.2-4) and ample manuscript support (P46, , A, B, etc.), scholars unanimously agree that it represents, not the truth, but an early conjecture about the letter’s intended audience. The identity of the recipients must be deduced on other grounds. A small group of interpreters holds that the writer actually did not have any particular audience in mind. This position has most recently been defended by Gräßer, according to whom the letter was addressed to the 20

Attridge 1989, 9. He does not, however, take these parallels as decisive proof of a post-70 date. 21 Eisenbaum 2005, 229f. 22 Gräßer 1990-97, 1.25; Weiss 1991, 77; Georgi 2005, 243. 23 BDAG “:: ”, 1: “to put someth. beyond doubt, confirm, establish”; 2: “to make a pers. firm in commitment, establish, strengthen”.

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church generally,24 and by Eisenbaum, who speaks of an “ideal audience imagined by the author”.25 Advocates of this view generally fasten upon the paucity of geographic and personal references and on the classification of the document in 13:22 as a “word of exhortation” ('&.;3 &  ).26 However, the very personal nature of the admonition in 5:11-14, the words of reassurance in 6:9-12 and the references to the experiences of the recipients in 10:32-34 and 12:4 very much confirm that a particular group of people was being addressed.27 The question, of course, is: what sort of group? Interpreters mostly reflect on the community’s location and ethnic background. The former issue is certainly “the least significant” one.28 Still Rome, Jerusalem, Spain, Corinth, Colossae, Ephesus, the Lycos Valley, Alexandria, Antioch and Cyprus have all been suggested as possible destinations.29 As with the question of authorship, nothing can be said with certainty. In light of the greetings from “those from Italy” (13:24), the quotations of Hebrews in 1 Clement and the affinities with 1 Peter (both of which were written in Rome) most scholars favour a Roman destination.30 This would be compatible with my own reading of the letter, but it would be unwise to insist on this view. The question of ethnicity is far more intriguing and can be answered with a higher degree of plausibility. It is clear from the appeals to the readers to hold on to their confession (3:6, 14; 4:14; 10:23) that they must have been Christians, but whether they were Jewish or gentile converts (or possibly a mixed body) is open to debate. In the fourth century, John Chrysostom (Hom. Hebr. praef.) proposed a Jewish-Christian readership, and his theory was largely accepted for one and a half millennia.31 Scholars in favour of this view argue that the letter – with its plethora of scriptural 24

Gräßer 1990-97, 1.24f. Eisenbaum 2005, 231; cf. also Swetnam (1969, 261) who defines Hebrews as “basically a homily, with a few words attached at the end after the manner of a letter”. 26 See in particular Eisenbaum 1997, 3-12 and Eisenbaum 2005, 231-7. 27 In addition one might mention the classic epistolary ending in 13:22-25, even though Gräßer (1990-97, 1.22) considers it “eine fiktive Situationsangabe …, die dem Hebr apostolische Würde geben soll”. 28 Attridge 1989, 9. 29 Cf. Gräßer 1990-97, 1.24; Koester 2001, 48 n. 104. 30 Moffatt 1924, 247; Bruce 1964, xxiv-xxv; Attridge 1989, 10; Weiss 1991, 76; Gordon 2000, 175; Koester 2001, 48-50. The first and the third arguments could also be advanced in support of a Roman origin. Cf. deSilva 2001, 22. Buchanan (1972, 255f.) argues for Jerusalem as the intended destination, whereas Lindars (1991, 17-19) regards the question as practically insoluble. 31 Modern proponents of this theory include Bruce 1964, xxiii-xxx, Buchanan 1972, 255f., 266, Dahms 1977, Hughes 1979, 26-51, Loader 1981, 251-60, Peterson 1982, 186, Lindars 1991, 4-15, Dunnill 1992, 24f. and Dunn 2006, 116. 25

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quotations and constant juxtapositions of the new and the old covenants, the priesthood of Christ and the priesthood of the Jews and the sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Yom Kippur – would have been of most interest to a Jewish audience. Similarly, they point to the characterization of the readers as descendants of Abraham in 2:16. Finally, they argue that a Jewish readership would be most likely to have been familiar with the tradition of the angelic mediation of the Law (2:2) and with Jewish exegetical techniques such as gezerah shawah (4:4f.) and arguments from silence (7:3).32 From the nineteenth century onwards, however, other scholars (predominantly German ones) have argued for a gentile audience.33 Above all, these interpreters contend that the description of the readers’ initial Christian training as one about “repentance from dead works”, “faith in God”, “resurrection from the dead” and “eternal judgment” (6:1f.) coheres poorly with the scenario of a community already familiar with Jewish religion.34 Although certainty cannot be achieved, I find myself rather persuaded by this argument. Furthermore, 13:9 with its warning against ‘strange (,$ ) teachings’ seems a strong indication of a gentile readership. As will be argued ad loc. the author here almost certainly refers to Jewish regulations on food and drink, and the plausibility of an author referring to such teachings as ‘strange’ when addressing a Jewish audience strikes me as very limited.35 (The characteristics of Hebrews highlighted by the defenders of a Jewish readership hardly prove that the readers were ethnically Jewish, only that they were familiar with and interested in the Old Testament and the Jewish exegetical and religious traditions – as were the gentile recipients of Paul’s letter to the Galatians.)36

Aim The traditional understanding of the aim of Hebrews is linked to the assumption of a Jewish-Christian readership. According to this view, the 32

See the careful argument in Bruce 1964, xxiii-xxx and the précis in Koester 2001,

46f. 33 Among modern commentators see Moffatt 1924, xvi, Sowers 1965, 73f., Käsemann 1984, 24, Weiss 1991, 70-2 and the literature cited in Koester 2001, 47 n. 101; cf. also Gräßer 1990-97, 1.24. 34 Cf. again the fine summary in Koester 2001, 47. 35 Although Dahms (1977, 374) contends that ‘strange’ really means ‘strange to Christianity’. 36 Attridge (1989, 12f.) and Koester (2001, 42) remain undecided on the issue. deSilva (2000, 6) similarly argues that the letter would be “meaningful to Christians of any ethnic origin”.

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recipients were tempted to leave Christianity in favour of a return to Judaism, either because of some sort of longing towards the cult and halakhic living rules37 or, as David Peterson argues, because of a wish “to escape the hostility and suffering associated with being Christian” (cf. 10:32-34; 12:4-13).38 It is this danger of a ‘relapse into Judaism’ that Hebrews was intended to preclude. Thus, it is argued, the author polemically disqualified the Jewish religious institutions (the Levitical priesthood, above all) as means of salvation and presented Jesus as superior to them in the attempt to prove the profitability of remaining within the Christian community and at a distance from Judaism. This theory, while dominant for centuries, has been dismissed by a number of commentators in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Among the detractors, Käsemann has been exceptionally assertive: This prejudice has given rise to so much exegetical confusion that its final burial would be equivalent to liberation from a sinister ghost. It is a product of fantasy to read from our letter a Judaizing disintegration threatening the Christian community or the danger of apostasy toward Judaism. It merely closes off understanding for this most unique writing of the New Testament and cannot be confirmed by enlisting the advocates of the thesis, however great.39

Käsemann’s own reading of Hebrews (on which see the commentary on 3:7-4:11) may not have many supporters today, but many readers agree with him that Hebrews does not reflect a situation of ‘Judaizing disintegration’. Indeed, some scholars detect no anti-Jewish polemic at all.40 These interpreters operate with a very different scenario of the recipients. Koester, for instance, speaks of three stages in the history of the intended audience.41 (1) At some point in the past, the recipients (whether Jews or gentiles) converted to Christianity (cf. 2:3f.). While this transition was probably undramatic, it “planted the seeds of conflict between the listeners’ community and the wider society”. 42 (2) Some time after the foundation of the community, open conflict became a reality. As can be seen in 10:32-34, members of the community were deprived of their possessions and “made public spectacles through denunciations”. Some even appear to 37

E.g., Spicq 1952-53, 1.226. Peterson 1982, 186; cf. Bruce 1964, xxx; Loader 1981, 258; Dunnill 1992, 24f. 39 Käsemann 1984, 24. 40 Cf. e.g., Thompson 1982, 141-51; deSilva 2000, 261-4. Klassen (1986, 15) writes: “It is doubtful … that Jews of the first century, even Jews devoutly attached to the Temple, would have any great difficulty with the epistle to the Hebrews. … It is highly unlikely that Jews of the first century before 70 C.E. would have found this epistle offensive”. 41 Koester 2001, 64-73. For similar readings see Attridge 1989, 9-13, Weiss 1991, 7274, Croy 1997, 162-4 and deSilva 2000, 7-15. 42 Koester 2001, 67. 38

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have been imprisoned on account of their religious beliefs. The mention of imprisonment in particular suggests that “[o]fficials in local government”43 were behind these actions. These acts of harassment were performed partly “to pressure the Christians into relinquishing their beliefs” and partly “to marginalize those that persisted in their faith and to dissuade others from joining their group”.44 The recipients, however, withstood the pressure and remained committed to their Christian convictions. (3) The hostilities that characterized stage 2 continued, and over time the recipients grew weary and less enthusiastic about their religious commitment (cf. 2:1, 3; 5:11; 6:12; 10:25). “Apostasy” Koester writes, “could be the culmination of these tendencies” (3:12; 6:4-6; 10:26; 12:16f.),45 although nothing suggests that it had come to this. According to many interpreters, it was this state of fatigue and lack of commitment that the writer sought to remedy through his letter. Rather than being troubled by any threat of a ‘relapse into Judaism’, he was concerned to alleviate his readers’ malaise and to persuade them not to give in to the pressure from the non-Christian world. A third and very interesting theory has been promoted by Lindars. His theory involves a scenario in which neither a threat of relapse into Judaism, nor of apostasy to the gentile world ever existed.46 According to Lindars, the readers (whom he takes to be Jewish converts) merely considered adding observances of the Torah and participation in synagogue meals and worship to the way in which they already practised their Christian faith. The author, however, considered this idea incompatible with the terms of the new dispensation and regarded it as de facto apostasy. According to Lindars, the recipients had two reasons for wishing to re-embrace their former practices. On the one hand, they had started to doubt the continual efficacy of the Christ event. They had learned that the death of Christ was sufficient to atone for sins committed prior to conversion, but what about those committed after baptism? Since the Christ event was a once-and-forall affair, it might seem prudent to seek atonement for those sins through the means provided by the Torah.47 On the other hand, the recipients’ break with Judaism engendered significant antagonism from the local Jewish community. Unlike Koester and the majority of modern scholars, Lindars thus believes that the agents behind the persecutions mentioned in chapters 10 and 12 were representatives of the local Jewish populace. And he argues that a final break with the synagogue would be likely to “renew

43

Koester 2001, 67. Koester 2001, 70. 45 Koester 2001, 71. 46 Lindars 1991, 4-15; cf. Buchanan 1972, 255f., 266; Dahms 1977. 47 Lindars 1991, 12. 44

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old bitterness and hostility” (cf. 10:32-34).48 If, by contrast, the readers would re-embrace their former Jewish practices and associate with the Jewish community, its leaders might perhaps be willing to call off the harassments.49 My own solution is a modified version of Lindars’ theory that incorporates insights from both of the other two hypotheses.50 The strength of Lindars’ theory is that it takes seriously both the incidental pointers in Hebrews that the recipients were still committed to their Christian beliefs51 and the writer’s uncompromising critique of the Jewish Law and priesthood.52 In my estimation, neither of the other two theories takes the combination of these factors sufficiently into account. Hence I agree with Lindars that no danger of apostasy or of a ‘relapse into Judaism’ ever existed. The readers merely wished to add observances of the Torah to their Christian practices. I also agree that the readers wished to do so because such a move might relieve them of their present calamities (I cannot find any indication, though, that they should have been worried about the continual efficacy of the Christ event). However, as mentioned above I doubt that the readers were originally Jewish. This may seem insignificant, but is rather important since if the readers were not Jewish, then the agents behind their persecutions could not have been Jewish either. We know that many Jewish communities in the Roman Diaspora (not least in Alexandria) had a high degree of selfgovernment,53 and certain New Testament texts even indicate that its leaders had the authority to punish fellow Jews for a failure to conform to their ancestral ways (cf. 2 Corinthians 11:24). But nowhere were these leaders ever licensed to punish gentiles. Hence, since some of the members (or affiliates) of the community addressed by Hebrews were imprisoned for their religious beliefs (and since imprisonment would always require legal sanction), a gentile readership precludes the possibility of Jewish leaders looming in the background of chapters 10 and 12.

48

Lindars 1991, 11. Lindars does not discuss this latter motivation in detail, but what I say here seems a fair inference from what he does say on p. 11. 50 I will present my position (which concurs with that of Sowers 1965, 74, though he does not discuss the issue in detail) only cursorily here and postpone the full discussion to the appropriate places in the commentary. 51 See in particular the commentary on 6:11 and 13:13. Cf. also Dahms (1977, 365) who correctly observes that the writer never has to defend the Messiahship of Christ. 52 For this see in particular the discussion on pp. 137-41 and the commentary on 7:1119. 53 For the measure of Jewish autonomy in Alexandria see the helpful discussion in Gruen 2002, 67-83. 49

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This brings me to concur with the proponents of theory number two that the harassments must have been carried out by representatives of the gentile, i.e., Roman, political and legal establishment. For my reading, this immediately produces a new problem. For how might submission to the Mosaic Law save the recipients from persecution from the Roman authorities? Here, the proponents of the relapse-theory might be able to help. The question of a full conversion to Judaism was probably never an issue for the readers, but even so they may have felt attracted to the outward and visible customs of that religion since Judaism, unlike Christianity, appears to have been tolerated by those in power in the mid-decades of first century CE Rome. Thus, submission to the Torah would actually make sense in a situation of persecution, even if the agents behind the persecutions themselves had no affiliation with Jewish religion.54 All of this leaves us with the following scenario, which of course should be taken as a surmise, not as a set of incontrovertible facts: In my estimation, Hebrews was written at some point between 50 and 70 by a male but otherwise unidentifiable author to a group of gentile Christians (possibly, but not necessarily, situated in Rome) who considered submitting to the Torah in order to avoid the harassments to which they were currently exposed by Roman officials as a result of their Christian beliefs. The letter to the Hebrews was designed to persuade these Christians not to do so.

54

See further the commentary on 10:32-34.

Part III

Exegesis

Chapter 6

Hebrews 1:1-5:10 After these considerations we can now finally turn to the analysis of Hebrews. I have divided the letter into three parts each of which, I believe, served different purposes. Part I (1:1-5:10) served to prepare the readers for the central argument and to render them favourably disposed towards its message, part II (5:11-10:18) served to develop the argument, whereas part II (10:19-13:25) served to clarify how it might be relevant to the situation of the recipients. Due to its function, 1:1-5:10 is characterized by a remarkably friendly tone. In his commentary on 1:5-14, deSilva observes that the writer is surprisingly uncritical of his readers and takes great care not to express any beliefs that might offend or alienate them. “Rather”, he affirms, “we should expect everyone in the congregation to be nodding with approval at the words being read to them”.1 I agree with deSilva’s analysis, which in my view is appropriate not only with respect to chapter 1, but also with respect to part I as a whole. This amiable tone, however, reflects a choice of strategy rather than any actual contentment with the community addressed. As deSilva further remarks, it would be poor rhetorical form to risk “alienating the hearers by ‘correcting’ them too quickly (before trust has been fully established within the speech)”.2 The writer will later launch a series of attacks on his audience, but in this part of the letter he proceeds with care. In that sense 1:1-5:10 could be characterized as an extended captatio benevolentiae – as an attempt to establish an atmosphere of geniality and concord between the writer and his readers. But the section equally importantly serves to pave the way for the argument of part II. In 1:1-5:10 the writer discusses a number of issues to which he will later return – the relationship between Christ and the representatives of the Sinai covenant, the danger of apostasy and the status and function of Christ as high priest after the order of Melchizedek – and he discusses these issues in a way that could only command general assent among his readers. Later, however, he will return to these issues, exploit the consent that he has (hopefully) 1 2

deSilva 2000, 95. deSilva 2000, 95.

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achieved and develop these themes in a direction that might take his audience by surprise.

Hebrews 1:1-14 1:1-4 In his opening statement, an elaborate sentence that comprises the whole of 1:1-4, the author sets up a contrast between God’s speech in the past and his speech in the present.3 According to 1:1-2a, God previously addressed himself &. 4 ! &.  through prophets to the fathers. Now “at the end of these days”, however, “he has spoken to us through a son (  .2A)”. This declaration prepares the readers for the central argument of the letter, in which the contrast between God’s prior and present revelations will be carefully discussed. It is unclear at this point to what these revelations refer, but 2:1-4 will clarify that the writer has the old and the new covenants in mind. The author describes God’s prior revelations as &. $ and & 3 . In Koester’s view, this implies nothing more than that the “witness of the prophets came ‘on many occasions’ … over many generations”.4 Most interpreters, however, agree that it also points to the quality of these revelations. According to Bruce, it reveals that God previously expressed himself “in fragmentary and varied fashion” and that his prior discourse was distinguished by a sense of vagueness and incompletion.5 Bruce is probably correct. The adverbs &. 4 and &.  are not inherently positive terms, and there is no reason to doubt that the author wished to draw attention not only to the quantitative, but also the qualitative differences between God’s past and present forms of address. A glance at the way in which Philo applied these terms may help us understand the nature of these differences. \&. $ appears only once in

3

Interpreters are generally impressed by the sophistication of the opening paragraph, which, besides being well-balanced, comprises figures such as assonance and alliteration. According to Attridge (1989, 36), “[t]he rhetorical artistry of this exordium surpasses that of any other portion of the New Testament”. Löhr (2005) argues that the writer made conscious and deliberate use of rhetorical categories and conventions. I can see no reason to disagree. 4 Koester 2001, 176. 5 Bruce 1964, 1 n. 1; cf. Attridge 1989, 37; deSilva 2000, 86 n. 5; BDAG “&. 4”: “in various parts”, “&. ”: “in many ways”. Weiss (1991, 138) correctly writes: “wesentlich für den Autor ist dabei im Grunde nur, daß beide Adverbien gleichermaßen die Vorläufigkeit von Gottes einstiger Rede kennzeichnen”.

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Philo, &  rather more frequently.6 Both terms, however, are almost consistently used to characterize earthly and sense-perceptible realities. In Her. 234-236 Philo observes that while God’s logos is undivided, it is nevertheless the source of all division, since it gave form to the physical world through processes of dissection: “Even though the divine itself is without mixture or infusion or parts, it has become to the whole world a cause of mixture, infusion, division and multiplicity of parts (&. )3 )” (236). Philo also claims that the earthly man (like the physical cosmos, but unlike his heavenly counterpart)7 is characterized by mixture and multifariousness. In his view, he possesses “a changeful disposition (&.C… $) fashioned and moulded of elements of all sorts ( ) )” (Plant. 44). As we can see, Philo considered &. $and &.) distinguishing features of the visible realities.8 The author of Hebrews probably held a similar view. In chapter 4 we saw that he believed multiplicity to be a characteristic of the world below,9 and it is quite likely that his description of God’s prior discourse should be assessed in that light. Even though revelations of the past certainly had a divine origin, they were nevertheless characterized by the qualities that cling to the earthly realities (cf. 12:25). Correspondingly, they were also delivered through human agents (the prophets). God’s prior revelations contrast with his present speech (cf. v. 2a) on two accounts. At this point, the author does not comment on the quality of God’s present address, but in the rest of the epistle we learn that it is characterized precisely by the opposite of &. $ and &.), viz., “singularity and finality”. 10 Equally importantly, it was delivered not through human intermediaries but through God’s own son, whose heavenly qualities are developed in the rest of the exordium. According to vv. 2b-4, this son is the heir of all things (&/     ), the agent through whom (^) God made the cosmos, the radiance (  ) and impression ( ) of his essence, the one who sustains (*$ ) the world through his word, who effected purification (  ) for sins, took a seat next to the divine majesty and became greater () ) than the angels. Except for v. 3c, all seven designations11 point either to the 6 According to Borgen, Fuglseth & Skarsten (1997, “& ”), it has 33 occurrences. 7 Philo’s distinction between the heavenly man, created in the image of God, and the earthly man, moulded out of clay, has been the subject of intense debate (cf. Runia 1986, 471f.). 8 For further references see Dey 1975, 130-2 and Attridge 1989, 37 n. 17. 9 Or at least of the earthly high priests (cf. the commentary on 10:11-14). 10 Attridge 1989, 37; cf. also deSilva 2000, 86. 11 Bruce 1964, 3; Meier 1985a, 170-6.

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transcedence of the son (vv. 2c, 3ab, 4) or to his closeness to the divine (vv. 2b, 3d).12 Indeed, the title ‘son’ itself bears witness to their mutual proximity.13 1:1-4 thus establishes a categorical contrast between God’s prior revelations to the fathers and his present revelation to us. What is important at this point is to notice the way in which he subtly associates the former revelations with earthliness through the adverbs &. $  and &.3 4 and through the mention of the human intermediaries through whom they were delivered. At the same time, he associates the latter revelation with the realm of transcendence by stressing that this one was delivered through God’s heavenly son. This will be developed further in 1:5-14. But before moving into that section, I would like to attach a few comments to the exordium’s portrayal of Christ, since it will be of crucial importance for the discussion of the priesthood of Christ vis-à-vis that of the Jews in part II. Christ is depicted here in terms that are highly reminiscent of Philo’s descriptions of the logos. Some interpreters isolate other sources behind the author’s Christology, and it is true that Proverbs 8:22-24 speaks of wisdom as a pre-existent and heavenly principle, that Sirach 24.3f. mentions its divine origin and heavenly throne and that the Wisdom of Solomon identifies it as the  )/ behind the creation of the world (7.21), as God’s    (7.26) and as his agent of providence (7.24, 27).14 The author may have been acquainted with these traditions, but it is more likely that he has Philo’s doctrine of the logos in mind.15 As we have seen, Philo conceives the logos as God’s reflection (Opif. 25) and as the agent through whom he formed (Opif. 12-16) and sustains (Fug. 106-118) the world. He refers to it as the firstborn son of God (Somn. 1.215), and as we shall see he furthermore defines it as a transcendent high priest in much the same way that Hebrews does Christ (Somn. 1.215; Mos. 2.133f.). These parallels seem more comprehensive than any set of similarities we may find in other sources.

12

Meier (1985a, 170) notices that only 1:3c touches directly upon the main theme of the letter – the self-sacrifice of Christ. The remaining six designations are not for that reason irrelevant, though, since they establish the metaphysical background against which his sacrifice should be assessed. 13 1:4b stresses that the name of the son surpasses the name(s) of the angels. Most commentators agree that this name is the title ‘son’ itself (Bruce 1964, 8; Dey 1975, 147; Attridge 1989, 47; Weiss 1991, 153f.; deSilva 2000, 91f.; Gordon 2000, 40). 14 Williamson 1970, 412; Gordon 2000, 39; cf. Attridge 1989; Koester 2001, 187f. 15 Weiss (1991, 145 n. 43) is open to influence from different sources including Philo. Käsemann (1984, 101-17) argues for a gnostic background to Hebrews and sees the myth of the Urmensch-redeemer behind 1:1-4.

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1:5-14 The affirmation in v. 4 about the son’s superiority over angels leads naturally into an extended comparison in 1:5-14. The passage comprises a mosaic of scriptural quotations whose original meanings are consistently modified by the author’s questions and remarks. Formally, the paragraph serves to confirm and verify the claim staked in 1:4b (notice the  at the beginning of v. 5).16 Scholars have long discussed why the author chooses to introduce the letter with such an extended synkrisis. Some, rather creatively, suggest that the author might be countering tendencies towards angel worship17 or angel-Christology18 in the community. None of these proposals is supported by the text, and most commentators correctly agree that the answer must be linked to the comments in 2:2 about the “the word spoken through angels”.19 In intertestamental Judaism a tradition arose that associated the angels with the giving of the Law. According to Jubilees 1.27-29, the writing of the Law was performed by “the angel of the presence”. A variant of this tradition surfaces in Galatians 3:19, where Paul declares that the Law was given “by angels through a mediator” (Moses). Similarly, Acts 7:38 informs us that angels were speaking to Moses on the mountain.20 It is no doubt this tradition that prompts the author to compare Jesus to the angels. By establishing the supremacy of the former, he can prove that the revelation given through him surpasses the one given through the angels. In that way, 1:5-14 relates not only to 1:4, but also to 1:1-2a. The writer compares Christ to the angels by associating each of them respectively with the transcendent and tangible worlds. Christ is identified as the creator of the world and as the one who dwells with God and lives 16

Weiss 1991, 155. According to Meier (1985a, 169), “there is both a numerical symmetry and a symmetry in the movement of theological thought between 1,1-4 and 1,5-14”. Thus, Meier believes that the quotations in 1:5-14 correspond to each of the Christological declarations in 1:1-4 and that both paragraphs proceed along the following lines: (1) From the exaltation of the son (2) back to the world’s creation (3) back to the son’s essence (4) to the conservation of the world (5) to the sacrifice (6) to his exaltation (7) to the results of the exaltation (189; cf. Meier 1985b; Koester 2001, 198). It is difficult to see, though, how v. 5d should connect with v. 2c and v. 7b with v. 3b (for further criticism see Attridge 1989, 50 n. 14). 17 Moffatt 1924, 7; Gordon 2000, 41; cf. Colossians 2:18. 18 Dey 1975, 154. For a history of research see Attridge (1989, 50-3), who remains undecided. According to Weiss (1991, 158-60), the comparison serves to establish a true perception of the soteriological significance of Christ over against any other means or agents of salvation. 19 Bruce 1964, 27; Gräßer 1990-97, 1.71f.; Lindars 1991, 38; Laansma 1997, 270; deSilva 2000, 93-103. Koester (2001, 190-205) does not comment on the issue. 20 Cf. deSilva 2000, 93.

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eternally. The angels, by contrast, are defined as belonging to the created order.21 As Thompson observes, this view of the angels differs significantly from what we encounter in most apocalyptic literature, where angels are usually considered members of the divine court and residents of the world of transcendence.22 Unlike the apocalypses, however, Philo also perceives the angels as inhabitants of the physical world.23 In Somn. 1.133145, for instance, he remarks that “the air is the home (1) of the incorporeal souls (-.4   )” that ascend and descend through the air as God’s messengers (135). A similar view is expressed in Gig. 6-18, where Philo observes that every part of the cosmos is inhabited by beings proper to it. The stars inhabit the superlunary world, whereas humans and animals inhabit the land and the water. And the incorporeal souls known as angels dwell in the air.24 Angels fulfil the role as God’s messengers while being part of the world of immanence. As such Philo considers them subordinate to the logos, which also carries the title of “chief messenger” or & (Somn. 1.157; Her. 205). Ordinary angels are & that assist the chief logos in its doings (Somn. 1.157; Leg. 3.177).25 But even though the logos and the angels are ontologically dissimilar, they nevertheless fulfil the same task of providence, enlightenment and communication. Philo therefore admires the angels and praises them for being “excellent and perfectly pure” (Somn. 1.140).26 21 22

Against Käsemann 1984, 100. Thompson 1982, 134f. He refers to 1 Enoch 15.2, 39.5, 47.2, 104.1 and Revelation

5:11. 23

Thompson 1982, 134. For Philonic angelology see Wolfson 1947, 1.366-84, Dillon 1977, 171-4, 1983, Nikiprowetzky 1980 and Eisele 2003, 196-236. 25 Cf. Wolfson 1947, 1.377f.; Dillon 1977, 171, 4. 26 Whether Philo believed in the existence of evil angels is controversial. According to Wolfson (1947, 1.383f.), he did; according to Nikiprowetzky (1980), he did not. Wolfson’s view is based on Gig. 16, where Philo distinguishes between “angels who are worthy of the title” ($&. 0 B  G    ,).) and those who are “unworthy of the title” ( ,). ;   ). These latter ones are also termed 8&  /) (cf. Psalm 78[77]:49). Nikiprowetzky (1980, 58), though, argues that evil angels are souls that have fallen into human bodies and have therefore ceased to be angels in the proper sense of the word: “La conception même d’anges scélérats ( /)) implique donc une incarnation préalable. Mais alors, ces âmes cessent ipso facto d’être des anges pour déchoir dans la condition humaine. Par conséquent, lorsque Philon emploie l’expression d’8& ' ' il entend designer exclusivement des hommes”. Nikiprowetzky’s stance is accepted by Dillon (1983, 203-5, though Dillon agrees with Wolfson in 1977, 173f.) and Eisele (2003, 218-21). According to Martin (2004), most ancient philosophers took belief in evil angelic beings as the very definition of superstition (  ) [lit. ‘fear of daimons’]). At the beginning of Gig. 16, Philo declares that the passage is intended to free people from   ). In that light, 24

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The fact that Philo perceives the link between the angels and the logos as one of harmony reflects his conception of the link between the immanent and the transcendent worlds as one of positive correspondence. He can relegate the angels to the realm of matter without implying that they should be unconnected to the divine.27 In Hebrews, by contrast, where the realm of transcendence is considered spatially disconnected from earthly realities, the relegation of angels to the world below immediately leads to a negative, or at least much less flattering, estimation of their status. Hence the writer stresses both that the angels differ from Christ and that they do not take part in his divine sonship. Indeed, he emphasizes that they are perishable and will ultimately be transformed into wind and fire. Even though the writer is clearly indebted to an apocalyptic discourse, we can see that he adopts Philo’s stance on the location of angels. At the same time, he allows that stance to be coloured by an apocalyptic understanding of the link between the tangible cosmos and the world of transcendence. He does this, I suggest, because it enables him to separate the angels from Christ and the world of transcendence as much as possible. In the end, this manoeuvre serves the purpose of contrasting the old and the new covenants. By relegating the angels to the world below, the writer is able to connect the Mosaic Law, “spoken through angels”, to that world as well.28 One may wonder why the author chooses to devalue the Law specifically by associating it (through the angels) with the tangible world. He could have chosen other means to do so. However, he probably does so because it allows him to prepare his readers for the allegorical readings of the Promised Land, the tabernacle and the Jewish high priest in the following chapters. By associating the Law and its representatives (see also on Moses in 3:1-6) with the created order and the new covenant and its chief representative with the world of transcendence, he seeks to provide his readers with the necessary conceptual tools for appreciating his subsequent Nikiprowetzky’s position seems rather persuasive. If angels turn evil, they lapse into human form and lose their purely spiritual nature. As a result, any fear of evil angels would be groundless. 27 Whether Philo conceived of angels as material or immaterial beings is ambiguous. On the one hand, he claimed that they are inapprehensible by the senses. On the other hand, he maintained that they move about in the air (Somn. 1.135f.). Dillon (1983, 200-3) convincingly argues that Philo could be thinking of them as made up of Stoic ‘creative fire’ ('  ) (for the concept of creative fire see Long & Sedley 1987, 274-88). 28 The author associates the angels with the world of immanence for strategic purposes, not because he is unfamiliar with the apocalyptic view of the matter. This is clear from the way in which he later installs the angels in heaven in a classic apocalyptic fashion and refers to them as inhabitants of the heavenly Jerusalem where God dwells (12:22).

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claim that Jewish religion should be conceived as a faint earthly reflection of the transcendent realities now revealed through Christ. However, before going any further, we should look more closely at the way in which the comparison between Christ and the angels is carried out. In the exordium, the unique status of Christ was established through emphasis on his transcendent nature and his kinship with God. In 1:5-14 his superiority over the angels is confirmed on the basis of these credentials. Structurally, vv. 5 and 13 form an inclusio around vv. 6-12.29 Both 1:5 and 1:13 are introduced by rhetorical questions (to be answered in the negative) and both point to the bond of intimacy between Christ and God. 1:6-12, on the other hand, focus on the transcendence and the eternity of the son. In all cases, the status of Christ differs from that of the angels. The angels belong to the realm of transience and are not part of the divine family. The comparison opens with a question (“For to whom of the angels did he ever say …”), which leads into the quotations of Psalm 2:7 and 2 Samuel 7:14 (= 1 Chronicles 17:13). Both texts focus on the theme of sonship, Psalm 2:7 reading: “You are my son, today I begot you”, and 2 Samuel 7:14 reading: “I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me”. In their original contexts, both verses reflect the idea that the Jewish king was adopted by God after his ascension to the throne. But as Attridge explains, they were both applied as Messianic proof texts already at Qumran just as Psalm 2:7 figures in the synoptic gospels in connection with the baptism of Christ (Matthew 3:16f.; Mark 1:10f.; Luke 3:21f.).30 Thus, no one would probably object to a Christocentric reading of these texts. Considerable amounts of ink have been spilled on the question of when the ‘begetting’ mentioned in the psalm is supposed to have taken place. Does it refer to the son’s generation prior to the creation of the world, to his incarnation or to his post-mortem exaltation? Most interpreters opt for the third possibility.31 Attridge, however, rightly objects that 2:11-13 and 5:8 also speak of Jesus as son during his time on earth. In all probability, the writer was not very concerned with the question.32 He quotes the

29

deSilva 2000, 95f. According to Weiss (1991, 156), the inclusio begins in v. 3d with   (cf. . in v. 13b. vv. 3 and 13 both refer to Psalm 110[109]:4; cf. also Thompson 1982, 130f.). 30 Attridge 1989, 53; cf. Buchanan 1972, 14f.; deSilva 2000, 96. 31 Moffatt 1924, 9; Bruce 1964, 13; Peterson 1982, 85; Käsemann 1984, 97f.; Meier 1985b, 505; Koester 2001, 191. 32 Attridge 1989, 54f.; cf. Weiss (1991, 161): “entscheidend ist lediglich, daß hier – in Ps 2,7 – ein eindeutiges Zeugnis für die ‚Sohnshaft’ des Erhöhten vorliegt”. It does not appear to concern the writer that $

/ (Psalm 2:7) is in the perfect, whereas   and  (2 Samuel 7:14/1 Chronicles 17:13) are in the future tense.

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psalm, not to encourage any subtle Christological speculation, but to verify the sonship of Christ and to establish that it does not extend to the angels. In v. 6 the exposition turns directly to the issue of hierarchy. Quoting Deuteronomy 32:43 or Psalm 97(96):7, the author states that “when again (7 B& ) he brings the firstborn into the world (; . $ / ), he says: ‘and all the angels33 of God shall worship him’”. Again, scholars are divided as to the time of the son’s introduction into the world. Does the writer refer to the incarnation,34 to the exaltation35 or to the parousia?36 The first option is unlikely, partly because the word order suggests that &

modifies the verb and does not serve to link scriptural texts,37 partly because 2:5-9 clearly implies that the angels did not worship Christ during his earthly sojourn. The second option is more plausible, but still not convincing, since it requires that ; . $ / should refer, not to the ordinary human world (its meaning in the LXX), 38 but to the world of transcendence. Advocates of this interpretation point to 2:5, where the author speaks of ; . $ / ;  $&&. (“the world to come”). In their view, this verse indicates that the author never uses . $ / of the earthly world, but only of the world of heaven, “which, from the perspective of those on this earth, is still to come”.39 As Attridge observes, however, it is more likely that the author qualifies ;  . $ /  in 2:5 as ;  $&&. precisely in order to distinguish its meaning there from its more ordinary meaning in 1:6.40 In sum, it is most plausible that v. 6 refers to the parousia. The angels must worship Christ when he is re-introduced into this world at the eschaton. But again these considerations may have been more important to the scholarly community than to the author himself. When subjected to Christological exegesis, Deuteronomy 32:43 and Psalm 97(96):7 confirm that the angels are inferior to the son, and that is all the author is interested in. In vv. 7-12 the writer adds that whereas the son is eternal and above the created world, the angels are transient and parts of the world. The throne of Christ will last “forever and ever” (v. 8),41 he once laid the foundation of 33 Like LXX Psalm 96:7 the author has 8& instead of .2) as in Deuteronomy 32:43, which he otherwise follows to the letter. The amendment reflects his wish to safeguard the title of ‘son’ for Christ (Thompson 1982, 132 n. 17). 34 Attridge 1989, 56. 35 Thompson 1982, 132; Meier 1985b, 507; Weiss 1991, 163f.; deSilva 2000, 97f.; Koester 2001, 192f.; Eisele 2003, 49-65. 36 Käsemann 1984, 101; cf. the overview in Attridge 1989, 55-7. 37 As Attridge (1989, 55) argues. 38 Meier 1985b, 507. 39 Meier 1985b, 507. 40 Attridge 1989, 56. 41 Quoting Psalm 45(44):7f., the author refers to Jesus as “God” ( ().

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the earth and formed the heavens with his hands (v. 10), he will always “remain” (cf.  $ ) (v. 11), and remain “the same” (() and his years “will have no end” (&)-. ) (v. 12).42 The angels, by contrast, will be transformed into “winds” (  ) and “a fiery flame” (.#*&) (v. 7).43 Like the heavens and the earth, we must assume, they “will perish” (&' ), “grow old” (&   ) and be “rolled up” (&),) like a cloak (vv. 11f.). As argued above, vv. 7-12 is designed to allocate the son and the angels to different places within the order of the world. The angels “do not stand above the created order, as does the exalted son. As objects of God’s creative activity, being made into    and .#*&, they belong to the created order”.44 Not only do the angels not take part in the divine family, they also belong to the realm of transience. In v. 13 the author returns to the theme of the son’s closeness to God. Quoting Psalm 110(109):1, which he referred to also in 1:3b, he asks: “But to whom of the angels did he ever say: ‘Sit at my right hand until I place (4) your enemies as a footstool for your feet’?” In its original context, the psalm conveys God’s speech to the Jewish king. Hebrews, however, reads it as a witness to the son’s unique relationship with God and as evidence of his future reign. Besides elaborating on that theme, the quotation also foreshadows the reference to the son’s victory over satanic forces in 2:14f.45 and the identification of Christ with Melchizedek in 5:10 and 6:20-7:3 (cf. Psalm 110[109]:4). 1:8b-9, serve the same purpose. By depicting Christ with royal epithets (sceptre and oil) and as a promoter of justice (3  / , cf. the Hebrew ), the author seeks to facilitate the Christological interpretation of Melchizedek to come.46 The paragraph ends with a conclusion that, besides bringing the comparison between Christ and the angels to an end, also introduces a new and rather intriguing element into the discourse. As we might expect, the writer describes the angels as nothing more than “ministering spirits” (&.9   ) (v. 14a), but he then adds that these spirits are being “sent out for those who are to inherit (&/  " ) salvation”. Through that comment, the scope of the comparison in 1:5-14 widens so as to encompass not only Christ and the angels, but also the believers, here 42

1:10-12 quotes Psalm 102(101):26-28. 1:7 quotes Psalm 104(103):4. Unlike Hebrews, the MT suggests that fire and wind are transformed into servants of God, not the other way around. The translation in the LXX renders Hebrew’s application of the text possible (cf. Bruce 1964, 58f.; Attridge 1989, 57f.). Relying on Ellingworth 1993, 120, deSilva (2000, 98) oddly argues that Hebrews and the LXX text are in conformity with the MT. 44 Thompson 1982, 133. 45 Attridge 1989, 62. 46 Attridge 1989, 59. 43

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identified as the heirs of salvation. We have encountered the root &/3

 - once before, viz., in 1:2b where Christ was described as the ‘heir of all things’. We noted at that time that the author’s choice of terminology reflects his wish to associate the son as closely as possible with God through a bond of kinship. In that light, it is interesting that he now chooses to characterize the believers precisely as &/  . In 1:5-14 he is at pains to exclude the angels from the divine family. By invoking the language of inheritance, otherwise exclusively reserved for Christ, in connection with the believers he subtly suggests that they, by contrast, do belong to that family.47 This will be confirmed in 2:10-18 and will be of vital importance to his case against the Law and to his paraenesis later in the epistle (12:4-11). We have seen that 1:5-14 establishes the superiority of Christ over the angels. This is important in itself. But I would like to emphasize once again the importance of the metaphysical background against which the comparison is carried out. Christ is superior to the angels because he as the creator of the world and as the son of God transcends the created order, whereas the angels belong to it. Christ and the angels are compared because they represent the new and the old covenants respectively. And they are associated with different realms of existence because that prepares the ground for the allegorical readings of the Jewish identity markers in the chapters to come.

Hebrews 2:1-3:6 2:1-4 1:5-14 and 2:5-9 both discuss the relationship between Christ and the angels. 2:1-4 forms a bridge between these passages 48 and focuses the readers’ attention on how the appreciation of Christ’s superiority over the angels should affect their religious behaviour. The recipients may have been astonished at this move. deSilva argues: Hebrews 2:1 may catch the hearers by surprise, possibly because of the expansiveness of the lofty demonstration in 1:5-14. Since the addressees would agree that the Son is superior to the angels, they will have been listening with approval to the foregoing discussion, never dreaming that the point of that discussion was to underscore the importance of their now responding appropriately to the message spoken through the Son.49

47

Readers might have been intrigued in v. 6 by the description of Christ as God’s

 . Apparently, Christ was only the firstborn son of God. 48 49

Attridge 1989, 63. deSilva 2000, 104.

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Still, I suspect, they would not disagree. But they might be slightly unsure about relevance of the contrast between the son and the angels for their own religious practices. The importance of 2:1-4 for our understanding of 1:5-14 has already been discussed, but it is worth emphasizing that according to the author the content of 2:1-4 follows logically from what was established in the preceding section (cf. 9' at the beginning of 2:1).50 The author’s line of reasoning works along the following lines: God has spoken to us through a son (1:2). The son is greater than the angels (1:4 and 1:5-14). Therefore, knowing that retribution for transgressions intensifies with the prominence of the command, we should pay greater attention to the message conveyed through the son than we did to the one conveyed through the angels (2:1f.).51 As deSilva explains, 2:1-4 contains the first of many appeals to “the pathos of fear”.52 The writer clearly seeks to catch the readers’ attention by hinting at the dire consequences of not remaining steadfast in devotion to the word of the son. In vv. 2-4 he asks: If the word spoken through angels was valid, and every transgression and act of disobedience received its just reward (   ) ), how might we escape (E " *., ) if we neglect (  &  ) such a great salvation, which, having originally been proclaimed through the Lord, was validated (::6/) for us by those who heard it, while God corroborated the testimony ( .  .' ) with signs and wonders and different powerful deeds and with distributions of holy spirit according to his will?

The question is rhetorical. As will be spelled out later in the epistle (6:8), no escape will be possible.53 The writer is very vague about what ‘negligence’ of the promise of salvation might imply. He is probably being deliberately vague, trying not to affront his audience this early in the discourse. But I would suggest that it has to do with the readers’ penchant for the Torah. In the author’s view, submission to the Torah after the inauguration of the new covenant would imply a disregard of the new and efficient means of salvation brought about through the sacrifice of Jesus. 50

I take 9' to refer not only to 1:14, but to the whole of 1:5-14. deSilva 2000, 104, slightly modified. According to 2:1, we should hold on to “what we have heard ("  " ) in order that we do not drift away ( 4 )”. The metaphor, though somewhat loose (Atridge 1989, 64), has clear nautical connotations, bringing to mind the image of a ship lost at sea (Weiss 1991, 183; deSilva 2000, 104f.; Koester 2001, 205, 8). 2:1 thus anticipates 6:19 with its metaphor of hope as an anchor for the soul (8 … G G ) “reaching into the interior of the veil”. 52 deSilva 2000, 106f. (cf. also 4:1-13; 6:4-8; 10:26-31; 12:25). 53 Weiss 1991, 186. 51

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2:5-9 In 2:5-9 the author returns to the relationship between the son and the angels – only now with an emphasis on the contrast between the son’s appearance in the present visible cosmos and his status in the world above. Again he connects the argument causally with what precedes, this time through the particle : “For he [i.e., God] did not subordinate the coming world to angels” (2:8). We must assume that the author is still elaborating on the necessity of paying heed to the word spoken through the son as opposed to the one spoken through angels. Because the world to come is in the hands of the son, the message conveyed through him is superior to the one conveyed through the ministering spirits. In 2:5-9, the author verifies the future authority of the son through a rather creative reading of Psalm 8:5-7. In its original Hebrew form, the psalm glorifies Yahweh as the creator of the world, contrasts his majesty with the (relative) insignificance of humans and praises him for making humans only slightly ( !") inferior to gods (#$),54 having adorned them with glory and splendour. The LXX retains this basic meaning, but opens for ambiguity by replacing !" with :   which, as opposed to its Hebrew equivalent, may have a quantitative as well as a temporal significance, meaning either ‘a little bit’ or ‘for a little while’.55 At the same time, it substitutes $&. for #$.56 The writer exploits these changes and transforms the psalm from a tribute to God into a prophetic witness about the humiliation and glorification of the son: 8   and .2#  6. in v. 5 (Hebrews 2:6) do not refer to humanity in general, but to Christ who for a short period of time, i.e., for the duration of his life on earth, was made inferior to angels, but who has now, after his exaltation and ascension to heaven, been crowned with glory and honour. Along with changing the referent of ‘man’ and ‘son of man’, the author thus also establishes a temporal gap between vv. 6a and 6b (Hebrews 2:7a and 7b), each of which comes to describe different stages in Jesus’ career.57 54 Or, possibly, to himself. The term #$ is ambiguous and can be taken either as singular (referring to God) or as plural (referring to the assembly of minor gods at the heavenly court). 55 BDAG “: ”, 2, 3. 56 Attridge 1989, 71; deSilva 2000, 109f.; Koester 2001, 213-8. 57 According to some commentators, the author maintains an inclusive meaning of 8  . If that were true, the author would be suggesting that the world to come will be subjected not only to Christ, but also to humanity in general (Moffatt 1924, 23; Bruce 1964, 34-6; deSilva 2000, 110; Koester 2001, 215-23). This reading has no support in the text. 2:8f. reveals that the author applies the psalm exclusively to the son: v. 8: … A … A … A …, v. 9: … _/' … (cf. also Peterson 1982, 52; Attridge 1989, 75; Weiss 1991, 197f.).

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In 2:8f. the author concedes that at present we do not experience the son’s universal dominion even if we do see him as glorified. But as deSilva notices, this concession only increases the force of the argument of 2:5: Since scripture always speaks the truth and since the authority of the son is not yet manifest, the psalm must be an oracle about the future.58 At the same time, v. 9 establishes an (all things considered, not very surprising) causal connection between vv. 6a and 6b of the psalm. It is precisely because of his subjection to ‘the suffering of death’ (9 # /  '  .) – because of his having ‘tasted death for everyone’ – that the son has now been exalted and crowned with honour. 2:10-18 The author develops this link of causality by elaborating on the necessity of the son’s suffering: “For it was fitting ( ) for the one for whom and through whom everything exists – in leading59 many sons to glory – to perfect the pioneer of their salvation through sufferings (#  /# 60 G  /) 4  9 /   &4). For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all stem from a single source (, 5 #  )” (2:10-11a). As Attridge observes, this comment is “rather bold” since few Graeco-Roman theologians would have thought it appropriate to associate God with suffering.61 However, the qualification of God as the source of all indicates that the ‘fittingness’ refers not to God’s nature, but to his relationship with and providential care for his creation. As creator it is appropriate for him to sustain humanity or, more accurately, to sustain the believers (here defined as sons) and ensure their salvation. And because (notice the  in 2:11a) Christ and the believers share the same origin (i.e., the same father, viz., God),62 salvation can be reached only through the son’s suffering. 58

deSilva 2000, 110. The phrase is awkward because the participle   is in the accusative, but modifies the dative A. The author probably chose the accusative because the participle serves as the logical subject of the infinitive &4 (Attridge 1989, 82f.). 60 The exact meaning of /  is debated. The question is whether the term designates only the son’s temporal priority (… the first to reach the salvation which awaits them) or also a causal function (… the one who initiated their salvation). Given that Christ is defined here as the pioneer of their salvation – i.e., not of his own – the latter possibility seems most convincing (so also Peterson 1982, 57f.). 61 Attridge 1989, 82. 62 A few commentators argue that 5  refers either to Adam (Riggenbach 1913, 52 [cited in Käsemann 1984, 145]) or to Abraham (Buchanan 1972, 32; Dunnill 1992, 20913). These suggestions hardly fit the author’s argument. Adam features nowhere in the epistle, and in chapter 7 the author does everything he can to dissociate Christ and his priesthood 9; , P&$ from Abraham. By contrast, both Christ (1:2, 459

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This brings us to a very controversial issue in Hebrews scholarship: What does it mean that Christ was perfected through sufferings (9 3 /   &4) (2:10)?63 The verb & appears repeatedly throughout the epistle. It is used three times with reference to the perfection of Christ (2:10; 5:9; 7:28) and even more frequently in connection with the perfection of the believers (7:19; 9:9; 10:1, 14; 11:40; 12:23). In addition, the letter speaks of Christ as “the perfecter (&  ) of faith” (12:2), exhorts its recipients to act as “perfect” (&) ), not as  (5:14) and urges them to be brought to “perfection” (&/) (6:1). For the moment, only the application of the term in 2:10-18 will concern us. In classical and Hellenistic Greek, & has a relatively wide range of meaning. At the highest level of generality it refers to actions of making “something complete, whole or adequate”,64 but in philosophical and religious contexts it often has rather more subtle connotations. In Stoic theory (Diogenes Laertius Vit. Phil. 7.128; Plutarch Stoic. Rep. 27; Stobaeus Ecl. 2.65.7) it relates to the attainment of virtue – an ethical dimension which surfaces also in Philo (Leg. 1.94; 3.74, 100, 131; Migr. 139, 174.). In the LXX, the term appears principally in cultic contexts to designate the cleanness and perfection either of the human worshipper or of the sacrificial animal. Furthermore, it appears in the formula for the consecration of the Levitical priests, &'  9 ) (Exodus 29:9, 29, 33, 35; Leviticus 8:33; 16:32; Numbers 3:3), and in non-Jewish literature it features in connection with rites of initiation into mystery cults.65 As Attridge remarks, “Hebrews’ use of perfection language is complex and subtle and does not just reproduce any of the various perfectionist ideals of the first century”.66 At least it does not reproduce the Stoic use: “Christ’s perfection is certainly not a development in his moral capabilities, and he is not required, in a Stoic sense, to attain complete virtue, for he is presumed to have been sinless”.67 As 4:15, 7:26 and 9:14 indicate, Christ was ethically flawless right from the beginning of his earthly career and no kind of moral growth was therefore required or even possible. Does 6) and the believers (2:10) have been identified as sons of God in what precedes (cf. Bruce 1964, 44; Attridge 1989, 89; Weiss 1991, 212-4; deSilva 2000, 114). Käsemann (1984, 144-7), also takes 5  as a reference to God, but speaks, in a gnostic sense, of Jesus’ and his brothers’ .$  and pre-existence in the realm of light. Hofius (1970, 216 n. 830) correctly rejects Käsemann, but then, very implausibly, takes 5  as an allusion to the priesthood after the order of Melchizedek. 63 See in particular Peterson 1982, 49-125, but also Dey 1975, 215-26. 64 Attridge 1989, 83f.; LSJ “& ”, 1. 65 Attridge 1989, 83-7; deSilva 2000, 194-7. 66 Attridge 1989, 86. 67 Attridge 1989, 86.

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this mean that &4 does not refer to any personal or inner development in Christ at all? A number of scholars believe so and argue that the son’s &)  refers solely to his exaltation. Riggenbach regards &4 and ,    as essentially synonymous.68 Koester affirms that “‘through’ suffering [Christ] was brought to glory”,69 and in the same vein deSilva concludes that “the perfection of Christ signifies chiefly his arrival at his heavenly destiny”.70 These readings are hard to reconcile with the context. It is true that 2:9 establishes that the son was raised and glorified 9 # / ' ., but that idea is not reproduced in 2:10-18. As Peterson observes, it is crucial to distinguish between  with the accusative in 2:9 and with the genitive in 2:10. In 2:9 it suggests that Christ was exalted because of (i.e., as a reward for) his suffering of death. In 2:10, on the other hand, it suggests that he was perfected through his sufferings. Furthermore, one should be sensitive to the differences in number: In 2:9 the author speaks of ‘the suffering of death’ in the singular. In 2:10 he speaks of Jesus’ ‘sufferings’ in the plural. As Peterson remarks, these latter sufferings need not be directly associated with his death, but may “reflect a broader perspective”.71 There is good reason to assume that 2:10-18 discusses how the son’s sufferings up until the point of his death led him towards a higher degree of perfection before his death and ascension to heaven. Let us examine how. If, as Attridge observes, Christ was always morally blameless and did not need to attain sinlessness, in what sense might perfection be necessary, and how might such perfection be brought about through pain? 2:10 indicates that Christ’s perfection through suffering was required for human salvation. The rest of the chapter develops why. Christ had to suffer because anguish and pain constitute basic human conditions of existence, and, as 2:14-18 informs us, he needed to be completely assimilated to his brothers in order to be able to act as a high priest on their behalf. Why? Because, it appears, only his own experience of suffering would equip him with the kind of clemency that a merciful high priest must possess: Therefore he had to become like ((  G ) his brothers in all respects in order to become (T  ... $ ) a merciful and faithful high priest in matters pertaining to God,

68

Riggenbach 1913, 47 n. 20 (quoted in Peterson 1982, 67). Koester 2001, 236. See also Weiss 1991, 207-9. 70 deSilva 2000, 199. On his way to exaltation Christ passed through pain and anguish and was perfected ‘by way of’, but not ‘by means of’ suffering. deSilva’s position is not entirely clear. On p. 198 he writes: “God may have used suffering to develop certain qualities in Jesus without using suffering to ‘perfect’ him per se”. 71 Peterson 1982, 68f. 69

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so that he might make expiation for the sins of the people. For having suffered and been tested himself, he can help those who are being tested (2:17f.).

The author’s line of reasoning is surprising, but clear enough. On the basis of texts such as Philippians 2:6-11, we might be accustomed to picturing Christ as having voluntarily left his celestial splendour and willingly given himself up for the sake of human salvation. According to Patrick Gray, this is also how the author of Hebrews envisions it. In Gray’s view, the author consciously draws upon the ancient philosophical theme of *&&*) to present Christ as the ideal older brother who altruistically conformed himself to his brothers to secure their inheritance.72 The picture is a lot more complex, though. Nothing suggests that Christ actually chose to suffer for the sake of humanity. Rather, the incarnation and the sufferings associated with it seem to have come about solely on God’s initiative (2:10). To put it differently, pre-incarnational Christ appears to have been quite apathetic towards humanity, and as 2:17f. informs us he would have remained so had he not been led through sufferings on earth. The experience of human agony, however, mellowed him and taught him the kind of compassion that he required to fulfil his soteriological task.73 While it may be true that ‘perfection’ in 2:10 does not refer to some sort of ethical progress in a Stoic or otherwise philosophical sense, it does refer to an inner personal development.74 The sufferings that Christ experienced prior to his actual death were intended by God as part of an educational process that should provide Jesus with the ability to empathize with humanity. Only after having attained that ability would he be able act as high priest and secure humanity’s deliverance from the devil and from the fear of death (2:14f.). Any identification of ‘perfection’ with ‘glorification’ at this point is therefore misleading. 2:10-18 describes the perfection of Christ for the office of high priest, and this perfection came about not through exaltation, but through its very opposite, humiliation. 72 Gray 2003, 335-51. Gray’s study relies principally on Plutarch’s De fraterno amore. 73 Koester (2001, 241) paraphrases 2:17b in the following way: “By sharing in human blood, flesh, and suffering, Jesus showed that he was ‘merciful and faithful’” (emphasis added). But this rendering ignores the T  …$ / construction, which indicates that Christ was given human shape in order to become merciful (cf. also Peterson 1982, 73: “The incarnation is necessary that he might become ‘a merciful and faithful priest’”). Koester (2001, 241) emphatically denies this: “To say that he suffered to ‘become’ a merciful and faithful high priest does not mean that he was once callous and only later learned mercy or that he was faithless and only later became faithful, but that these qualities emerged through testing in ways that would not otherwise be evident”. If that were so, we should have expected the author to use a verb such as *)   in the T sentence, not )   74 Cf. Peterson 1982, 67-73.

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We may summarize the author’s view as follows: Depraved and sinful humanity required a high priest to atone for its guilt (2:18). As the remainder of the letter will illustrate, only the son was able to fulfil that role. However, since he lacked the kind of empathy that a high priest must possess, God provided him with it by leading him through suffering and temptation (2:10), which in the end qualified and perfected him for his priestly task (2:17f.). As a consequence, Christ now stands in a position where he knows human distress and can therefore help those who are being tested.75 Salvation is therefore attainable. I would like once again to emphasize that the author operates with two different kinds of suffering in connection with Christ: The first, mentioned in 2:10-18, did not eradicate human guilt. Rather, it enabled the son to do so. By edifying him according to the will of the father it produced a willingness within him to experience the second kind of suffering, viz., the one directly associated with his death. That kind of suffering is discussed in 2:9 and frequently throughout other parts of the epistle. It might appear odd that the author should want to present Jesus in such a dubious light and to claim that the experience of suffering was necessary for him in order to arrive at perfection and indeed for him to learn obedience to God (cf. 5:8). We shall later see, however, that this portrayal serves his paraenetic purposes well. The recipients of Hebrews were being harassed by officials of the surrounding non-Christian society. As argued in the previous chapter, they were therefore considering submission to the Torah as a means to avoid any further persecution. In order to forestall such a move, the writer seeks to persuade them not to flee from their present sufferings, but to embrace them as signs of divine blessing (12:4-11). In order to do so, he has to prove (in advance) that sufferings can be beneficial and indeed necessary for the attainment of perfection and salvation. He therefore explains to them that even the sinless Christ had to be moulded through the experience of suffering in order to become pleasing to God.76 After the experience of anguish and distress, Christ certainly appeared as the compassionate and caring brother that Gray describes. In 2:11b-13, the writer stresses the bond of intimacy between Christ and the believers: 75

The link between suffering and temptation might be understood in two ways: (1) either Christ suffered by his temptations (Bruce 1964, 53), or (2) his sufferings led to temptation (Peterson 1982, 65f.; Attridge 1989, 96). While the first possibility cannot be ruled out, the second appears more plausible. The discomfort associated with suffering tempted the son to disobey the will of his father. This, at least, seems to be what 5:7-9 implies and it would render the experience of Christ more applicable to that of the recipients (cf. 12:1-13). 76 See further below on 12:4-11.

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Therefore [i.e., because Christ and the believers stem from ‘a single source’] he is not ashamed of calling them his brothers ( &* ), saying: “I will proclaim your name to my brothers ("&*" .). In the middle of the assembly I will sing your praise”. And again (!& ): “I will have faith in him”. And again (!& ): “Behold, I and the children ()) whom God has given me”.

The introductory remark in 2:11b indicates that Jesus is the speaker of at least the first and the third citations.77 Christ proclaims the name of the father (the common source) to his brothers in the assembly and he draws attention to the children given to him by God. The identity of the speaker behind v. 13a, on the other hand, is ambiguous. According to Peterson, it, too, is Christ. Jesus expresses his faith in God, and the quotation should be taken as a reference to his experiences on the cross.78 Attridge, however, convincingly argues that the insertion of !& between the quotations of Isaiah 8:17 and 18 indicates “that two distinct points are being made”,79 and that the speaker should be identified as a believer in Christ. Thus, in v. 12 Jesus proclaims the name of God to his brothers. These brothers then respond with faith in v. 13a, which means (v. 13b) that Jesus and the believers now stand as a unity.80 On the one hand, 2:11-13 obviously seeks to emphasize Christ’s sympathy with and consideration for the believers and to anticipate the characterization of Jesus as a merciful high priest in 2:17f. and 4:14-5:6. On the other hand, and perhaps more importantly, it seeks to identify the believers as sons of God and hence to tie them as closely as possible to Christ. In that way, the passage confirms what was already implied in 1:14, viz., that the believers in Christ take part in the divine family. And although v. 16b does not make exactly the same point, it significantly characterizes them as “Abraham’s offspring” ($ `: ). The author appears to consciously apply terms that belong to the sphere of family – heir, brother, offspring – to believers in order to associate them with Christ, who was introduced in the exordium as ‘son’. He furthermore, once again, excludes the angels from what now has the contours of an inner circle. Christ, we are told (v. 16a), did not arrive on earth for the sake of angels, only for the sake of Abraham’s progeny.

77

The quotations are from Psalm 22(21):23 and Isaiah 8:17, 18. Peterson 1982, 60f; cf. Koester 2001, 231. 79 Attridge 1989, 90. 80 According to deSilva (2000, 116), A in v. 13a refers to Jesus. This is possible, but it is more likely that the writer seeks to emphasize the concordance between Christ and the believers than the devotion of the latter to Christ. 78

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At this point in the letter, the identification of the believers as sons of God (and Abraham) serves primarily to dissociate them from the covenant that has now been coupled with the angels. In 12:4-11 another and equally important point will be made. Here the theme of sonship will be tied to the experience of pain and serve to shape the recipients’ perception of suffering as outlined above. 3:1-6 In chapters 1 and 2, the author has compared Christ to the angels against the background of his dualistic approach to reality, assigning Christ to the world of transcendence and the angels to the world on earth. In 3:1-6, he performs a similar manoeuvre with Christ and the other main representative of the Jewish Law, Moses.81 This comparison, too, serves to prepare the audience for the impending attack on the Torah and to establish the metaphysical premise for the allegorical readings of the Jewish identity markers as previously suggested. It is true, as deSilva contends, that 3:1-6 is not polemical in itself,82 but by preparing the ground for these allegorical readings it will serve polemical ends later in the epistle. The passage begins and ends with exhortation: “Therefore” (7 ), i.e., because Christ has suffered and is able to help those who are now being tested (cf. 2:18), the addressees should think carefully about Jesus, “the apostle and high priest of our confession (G ( &) E 4 )” (3:1). The appeal is remarkable, not so much because of the designation of Christ as high priest and apostle,83 but because of the way the writer addresses his audience. According to 3:1a, the readers are “holy brothers” (&*! F) and “partakers of a heavenly calling” (&   . ). $3 ). The address is cordial and contrasts strongly with the author’s style in 5:11-14.84 At the same time, it contains a subtle hint of exhortation. The author stresses that the readers are partakers, not of the heavenly realities, but of a heavenly calling, thus implying that a response on their behalf is required. Eventually, they may become sharers in the heavenly 81

Hughes 1979, 9: “The setting up of a comparison between Jesus and Moses is fairly certainly to be regarded as an extension of the theme enunciated in the prologue statement and opened out in the section on angels, i.e., as a comparison of the revelations given in the old and the new covenants respectively” (cf. also D’Angelo 1979, 66f.). 82 deSilva 2000, 134f. 83 The author refers to Christ as high priest in 2:18 and 3:1. Final proof of his highpriestly identity is offered at 4:14-5:6. The title ‘apostle’ is used of Christ only here in the New Testament, but I doubt that we should attach too much significance to it. It probably refers to the notion that God’s present discourse is conveyed through the son as suggested in the exordium. 84 Notice again how familial language is applied to the recipients.

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realities, but in order to do so they must respond appropriately to the calling they have now received.85 The proper response to the heavenly calling is to remain faithful (3 ) in exactly the way that Jesus and Moses did (v. 2).86 As Lindars suggests, the mention of Moses’ name might be a calculated appeal to the readers who “obviously retain great respect for him as the giver of the Law”.87 A reference to the esteemed Moses might inspire the readers to follow his example of faithfulness. The comparison between Jesus and Moses in vv. 3-6, however, reveals that the author’s real aim is less to establish the Lawgiver as a role model for the recipients than to prove his inferiority to Christ:88 For he [Christ] has been deemed worthy of greater glory than Moses, to the extent that ( 7 ) the one who builds (( .) a house has greater honour than the house ( '>.). For every house is built by someone, but God is the builder of everything. And Moses was faithful in his whole house ( 7&CA>C') as a servant (R  ) to bear witness of the things that have been spoken. Christ, on the other hand, as a son (R.2) over his house (!# 1 '); and we are his house if we hold on to the audacity and the boast of hope.

The passage is not entirely easy, not least because the meaning of 1 is ambiguous. In the first half of the quotation, it has cosmological connotations and refers, metaphorically, to the universe (cf. in particular v. 4).89 In vv. 5f., on the other hand, it refers to the people of God. In all events, the superiority of Christ is established on the basis of the fact that he, as son, stands outside or above the house of God, whereas Moses, as servant, belongs to it. And judging from v. 3b, Jesus not only transcends the house, he also built it. 85 Attridge (1989, 106) perceptively argues that the notion of participation is applied here “not as a descriptive, ontological, or epistemological category, but as a moral and religious imperative”. I doubt, however, that he is correct in detecting distinctively Platonic overtones in the author’s use of the term (“The terminology of participation thus has, at least in this context, some of the connotations associated with the Platonic notion that things in the material world of change and decay have their reality by ‘participation’ in an ideal realm”). Although Platonic/Philonic influence is evident elsewhere in the letter, it hardly is here. As argued above, the readers take part, not in the heavenly realities, but in a heavenly calling. Furthermore, terminology of participation appears elsewhere in the epistle without Platonic overtones (cf. 1:9; 2:14; 3:14; 5:13; 6:4; 7:13; 12:8). 86 In Jesus’ case, the author must be referring to the time after his experience of human suffering. 87 Lindars 1991, 48. 88 I disagree with Koester (2001, 248), who suggests that “[t]he point of the comparison is not to disqualify Moses as God’s servant, but to magnify Jesus’ glory as God’s Son”. Polemic against Moses and the Law may not be explicit at this point, but it will be later in the epistle (cf. also Buchanan 1972, 59). 89 Weiss 1991, 248.

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It should be noted that Attridge rejects this inference. In his view, v. 3b is an “illustrative analogy”, nothing more: “The argument is made unnecessarily complex by the assumption that there is a material correspondence between the terms of the analogy. Hebrews is not suggesting that Jesus is the builder of the house”.90 It merely compares him to such a builder. However, while it is true that the author does not explicitly identify Jesus as the fashioner of the 1, the argument would lose much of its rhetorical force if such an identification was not implied. Would it make sense, we might ask, to claim that Jesus surpasses Moses in glory “to the extent that” (7 ) the builder of a house is superior to the house itself, if he was not in any way involved in the construction of the house to which Moses ‘materially’ did belong?91 In any case, we should imagine that the original readers, having familiarized themselves with 1:2c and 7-12, would have inferred from 3:3 that Christ was the creator of the house, and that the house should be taken as a metaphor for the cosmos. Taken that way, 3:3 is structurally similar to the argument of 1:5-14. Like the angels, Moses belongs to the created order, whereas Christ as God’s agent of creation surpasses it. However, from 3:4 onwards, the author’s line of reasoning seems to change. Somewhat unexpectedly, he now assigns all creational activity to God. It is tempting to suggest, as Moffatt does (but then rejects), that  should be taken in the sense of ‘divine’ and thus as an honorific reference to Christ (as in 1:8), but this is hardly justifiable.92 It is more likely that the remark is added as an “edifying aside”93 or as a corrective to the previous comment, clearing up that God should be recognized as the ultimate source of all and that Christ was only his instrument of creation. In vv. 5f., the comparison continues and the superiority of Jesus is confirmed along the lines sketched above: Jesus is a son over the house and Moses a servant within the house.94 Christ is transcendent, Moses is not. But in v. 6b, the writer significantly adds that “we”, i.e., the believers, are the house if indeed we prove ourselves worthy. As mentioned before, the word ‘house’ now loses its cosmological connotations and assumes new demographic ones (which, incidentally, are more in keeping with its original meaning in Numbers 12:7). The house of God now refers unambigu90 Attridge 1989, 110. Dey (1975, 181) likewise describes the passage as “a comparison from analogy in which the analogy does not bear a one-to-one relationship with the comparison itself”. 91 Cf. Bruce 1964, 57; Buchanan 1972, 57; deSilva 2000, 137. 92 Moffatt 1924, 42. 93 Moffatt 1924, 42. 94 The notion of Moses as a faithful servant in God’s house derives from Numbers 12:7. In its original context, the designation unmistakably serves to glorify Moses, not to relativize his honour.

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ously to God’s people. This change of meaning sheds new light on, but does not undermine the legitimacy of the preceding argument. Since the people of God are obviously part of the created order, the insistence on Moses’ membership of the 1 still implies that he, unlike Christ, belongs to the realm of earth. The fact that the metaphorical meaning of 1 changes from ‘the universe’ to ‘the people of God’ allows the author to end the paragraph the way he opened it, viz., with an exhortation. That way the passage leads seamlessly into the following argument (3:7-4:13), which also emphasizes the need for ). But between the opening and the conclusion a comparison between Christ and the chief representative of the old covenant has been squeezed in, in which the latter, like the angels, is consigned to a place on earth while the transcendence of Jesus is once again confirmed. This is hardly accidental. In the next section, the author will carry out the first of three allegorical readings of Jewish identity markers. He has therefore prudently allowed his readers to familiarize themselves with the idea that the essentials of Jewish religion all belong to the earthly realm of existence.

Hebrews 3:7-4:13 In 3:7-4:13 the author develops what is generally referred to as the 3 . motif. The passage has given rise to much speculation about the letter’s intellectual background.95 In 1939 Ernst Käsemann published an influential study, 96 already cited here a few times, which argued that Hebrews should be interpreted against the background of the gnostic myth of the redeemed redeemer. Hebrews 3:7-4:13 was central to Käsemann’s argument partly because it represents the people of God as wandering on “a highway leading through the cosmos to heaven”,97 partly because it portrays heavenly rest as “a purely spatial entity” and hence as “the name for a heavenly place”.98 The people’s wandering towards the heavenly 3 . reverberates with the gnostic concept of the soul’s return to the realm of light. It should be noted, though, that Käsemann did not consider Hebrews a gnostic document. Rather he imagined that the author wrapped his orthodox Christian message in gnostic mythic language in order to adapt it to the thought world of his audience: “the myth is drawn upon to make clear the Christ kerygma in a Hellenistic environment, but only 95

See the helpful survey and discussion in Laansma 1997, 10-13, 335-56. Here discussed on the basis of the English translation from 1984. 97 Käsemann 1984, 86. 98 Käsemann 1984, 68. 96

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within strict limits, without its being allowed to define or overrun this proclamation”.99 Käsemann’s argument was largely accepted by Theißen,100 but vehemently rejected by Hofius. The latter agreed with Käsemann that rest in Hebrews should be conceived as a spatial designation, but he denied that such a concept should be particularly gnostic. Apocalyptic writers, too, thought of rest as a place, and according to Hofius the letter is much better placed within a framework of apocalyptic thought.101 At the same time, Hofius denied that the writer should have envisaged Christian life as a process of wandering. Rather, he thought of it as a state of waiting.102 In the very near future, the world that is now hidden in heaven will appear, but Christians must wait patiently for that event to take place and cannot accelerate their own entrance into the . through any sort of wandering. Very few people today support Käsemann’s view,103 not least because a distinctively gnostic movement is hard to trace until the beginning of the second century CE.104 But Hofius’ interpretation is also inadequate. His insistence on a spatial meaning of . fails to convince,105 and more importantly apocalyptic sources are insufficient to account for the 99

Käsemann 1984, 167 (also quoted in Laansma 1997, 10 n. 54). Käsemann nevertheless accepts that gnosticism may have had an impact on Hebrews beyond the merely terminological one. On pp. 174f. he adds: “Form and content are simply not to be lightly separated. Each conceptual form is an expression of a specific understanding of self and the world; as such and at any given time it gives to the content it embraces the stamp of the understanding of self and the world from which it originally derives and the historical development of which it reflects. We cannot simply pour any given content into any given form and render caprice the artificer of historical life or shaper of spiritual development”. 100 In the conclusion to his discussion of Käsemann’s analysis, Theißen (1969, 152) writes: “Für meinen Teil halte ich es in seiner grundsätzlichen religionsgeschichtlichen Einordnung des Hb für zutreffend”. 101 Hofius 1970, 29-32, 51f., 91-101 102 Hofius 1970, 146: “Nicht das wandernde, sondern das wartende Gottesvolk sei Thema des Hebr”. Käsemann’s assumption of ‘Wanderschaft’ as a leitmotif in Hebrews has been defended by Gräßer (1986). 103 Though see Gräßer 1990-97, 1.210. 104 See e.g., Weiss 1991, 104. 105 Attridge (1989, 127 n. 55) observes that . clearly refers to a state of rest in Exodus 35:2, 1 Maccabees 15.1 and Josephus A.J. 17.2.4 and that the expression 3 G   in Isaiah 66:1 and Judith 9.8 “would be extraordinarily awkward if . itself meant place of rest”. It should also be noted that the rest that God enjoyed after his creation of the cosmos (4:3f.; cf. Genesis 2:2) was not a place, but a state (see also Attridge 1980, 282f.). This, of course, does not exclude that the God’s rest is to be enjoyed in a particular place, viz., in heaven. Gräßer (1990-97, 1.209f.), Weiss (1991, 268f.) and Laansma (1997, 277-83) all support the local interpretation.

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dynamics of the author’s juxtaposition of earthly and heavenly rest. Philo’s thinking, I contend, must be included.106 3:7-19 In 3:7-11, the writer picks up on the theme of ) in 3:1f. and 6 and brings a full quotation of Psalm 95(94):7-11. In that psalm, the speaker (variously identified in 3:7 as the holy spirit and in 4:7 as David)107 admonishes the readers not to repeat the behaviour of the desert generation (as described in Exodus 17:1-7, Numbers 14 and 20).108 The author of Hebrews reads that exhortation as a direct address to the present generation of believers.109 According to the psalm, the fathers in the desert “tested” () ) God and saw his works for forty years (v. 9).110 As a result, he was angered by them and swore in his “wrath” (M