Christ-Believers in Ephesus: A Textual Analysis of Early Christian Identity Formation in a Local Perspective (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) 9783161500480, 9783161515316, 3161500482

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

242

Mikael Tellbe

Christ-Believers in Ephesus A Textual Analysis of Early Christian Identity Formation in a Local Perspective

Mohr Siebeck

Mikael Tellbe, born 1960; 1993 Th.M. at Regent College (Vancouver, Canada); 2001 Ph.D./D.Theol. at Lund University (Sweden); 2008 Docent/Associate Professor at Lund University, since 1989 Lecturer in New Testament Studies at Örebro School of Theology (Sweden).

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-151531-6 ISBN 978-3-16-150048-0 ISSN 0512-1604 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available on 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 Gulde-Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Acknowledgements The present monograph is the result of my study in the Swedish research project ‘Christian Identity ― the First 100 Years’ (Lund University), supported by the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation in 2003–2006. First of all, my thanks go to Prof. em. Bengt Holmberg, who invited me to participate in this project. In particular, I would like to express my gratitude for Bengt’s supervision of this rewarding project, marked throughout by his scholarly enthusiasm, judicious insights and great devotion. I would also like to thank my research colleagues Dr. Bo Brander (Lund University), Prof. Samuel Byrskog (Lund University), Ph.D. Cand. Fredrik Ivarsson (Gothenburg University), Assoc. Prof. Dieter Mitternacht (Lund University), Ph.D. Cand. Rikard Roitto (Linköping University), Prof. Anders Runesson (McMaster University, Hamilton), Dr. Rúnar Mâr Thorsteinsson (Lund University), and Assoc. Prof. Håkan Ulfgard (Linköping University), for the time we spent together in the project, for numerous exciting discussions and for valuable comments on my study. A couple of persons read the first draft of my manuscript and responded with constructive comments. In particular, I would like to thank my collegue Josef Berdahl (Örebro School of Theology), Ph.D. Cand. Rikard Roitto (Linköping University), Prof. Karl Olav Sandnes (MF Norwegian School of Theology) and Prof. Lauri Thurén (Joensuu University, Finland). My thanks also go to Prof. Paul Trebilco (University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zeeland) for his interest in my study and for graciously offering me his manuscript The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to Ignatius before it was published. I am also grateful to Prof. Rolf Lidskog (Professor of Sociology, Örebro University) for valuable discussions at the initial stage of this project. I want to express my appreciation for the editors of this series, Prof. Dr. Jörg Frey, who accepted the manuscript for publication, and to Dr. Henning Ziebritzki and his editorial staff for their able assistance in the process of formatting the text for publication. My thanks also go to my proofreaders Gerd Swensson and David Holford for their proficient work. To all those mentioned above, I am deeply grateful. Needless to say, any mistakes remain my own. This book would never have been written without financial support, primarily from the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation but also from

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the Swedish Research Council. To them also I express my deepest gratitude. Finally, my thanks go to God for his strength and continuous mercy in my life and family.

Örebro, June 2009

Mikael Tellbe

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements……………………………………………………………….

v

Table of Contents………………………………………………………………….

vii

Chapter 1. Diversity and Identity: How Diverse Was the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus? ……………………………. ...

1

1. Recent Studies on the History of the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus…………………………….……………...……….…………………….. 1.1. Background: From Walter Bauer to Thomas Robinson……………………. 1.2. Werner Thiessen: Competing Heterogeneous Groups and Theologies Relating to Jewish-Gentile Issues…………………………………….….…. 1.3. Mattias Günther: A Non-Heterogeneous Movement from the Founding of Apollos to the Triumph of John the Prophet……………………………. 1.4. Helmut Koester: A Number of Diverse and Competing Groups Centred around Paul the Apostle and John the Prophet………………………….…. 1.5. Rick Strelan: A Jewish-Christian Pauline Community Interchanging with a Johannine Community………………………………………………. 1.6. Michael Fieger: The Story of the Success of the Pauline Mission………... 1.7. Rainer Schwindt: The Complex Religious Climate at the Time of Paul’s Mission in Ephesus and at the Time of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians……….…….…….………………………………………………. 1.8. Paul Trebilco: Coexisting Pauline and Johannine Communities in Non-Hostile Interaction…………………………………………………. 1.9. Stephan Witetchek: Several Christian Communities Mainly Centered around Apollos, Paul and John the Prophet………………………………..

2. Evaluation and Discussion….….….….….…...……………………….………

3 3 7 9 12 14 15

16 17 20

Ephesus and the Pauline Tradition…………………………………………. Ephesus and the Johannine Tradition.….……..….….…………….….….... The Diversity of the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus….….……….. Text and Community………………………………………………………..

22 22 30 39 47

3. The Focus and Procedure of the Present Study………………….………….

52

2.1. 2.2. 2.3. 2.4.

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Chapter 2. Ethnicity and Identity: Jewish Boundary Markers and Christian Communities in Ephesus….…………….…….……...

57

1. Jewish Diaspora Identity……………….……………….……….……….……..

58

2. Jewish Boundary Markers in Ephesus in the First Century BCE and the First Century CE………………………………………….……….………....

65

3. The Jewish Origin of the Christian Movement in Ephesus according to Luke’s Account in Acts…………………………………………….……... ...

76

4. Ethnicity and Universality in the ‘Canonical’ Texts……………………... ... 4.1. First and Second Timothy…………………………………………………… 4.2. The Johannine Letters……………………………………………………….. 4.3. The Book of Revelation………………………….…………………………..

5. The Second Century Evidence………...……….…...………………………...

83 85 92 100

5.1. Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians….…...……………...………………….... 5.2. Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho….……………...…………………………… 5.3. Irenaeus and Polycrates……….…………...………………………………...

111 112 118 127

6. Concluding Remarks.….….….….………………..………………………….. ..

129

Chapter 3. Deviance and Identity: Towards a Theory of Social Identity Formation in Ephesus………….…...…….………….. ..

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1. The Formation of Social identity and Theories on Social Conflict, Deviance and Self-Categorization……………………………….…….……… 1.1. 1.2. 1.3. 1.4.

Social Conflict Theory………………………………………….…………… Sociology of Deviance…………………………………………………..…... Self-Categorization Theory.………………....…….…….…….…….……. ... A Theory of the Formation of Early Christian Identities in Ephesus.……...

2. The Process of Labeling and Identity Formation in First and Second Timothy………………………………………….…….……………….………. ... 2.1. Motifs of Labeling…………………………….……….…………………….. 2.2. Vertical and Horizontal Identity.….….….……….………….……….…... ... 2.3. The Prototypical Believer: Timothy as the Ideal Typos....….………..….….

139 139 141 149 152

154 160 166 172

3. Concluding Remarks.….…..……………………………………..…..…………. 179

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Chapter 4. Legitimacy and Identity: Textual Prototypes in Ephesus in Comparison and Competition.….….….….………….….….… 183 1. Prototypes in Comparison.….………………………………………………….. 1.1. 1.2. 1.3. 1.4.

The Prototype of the Pastor…………………………………………………. The Prototype of the Prophet……………….……….….…………………… The Prototype of the Presbyter……...……….….……..….……...………… Comparative Analysis….………...……….….….……....…………………..

2. Prototypes in Competition …………….…….…...………….…….…...………. 2.1. 2.2. 2.3. 2.4.

The Presbyter in Response to the Pastor.…....…….….….….……………… The Prophet in Response to the Pastor.…..…...….….………....….….……. The Prophet in Response to the Presbyter….….….….………....….….…… The Tradition of the Pastor (as Articulated by Bishop Ignatius) in Response to the Prophet.….……….....……...…....….….…….….….….……….……. 2.5. The Tradition of the Pastor (as Articulated by Bishop Ignatius) in Response to the Presbyter….….….….….….………....….….…….….……….………. 2.6. The Reception of the Tradition of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter in Ephesus and Western Asia Minor in the Second Century CE.…….…….

3. Concluding Remarks………….….…….…………………………………….…

187 187 192 197 203 207 207 211 216 218 228 230 236

Chapter 5. Commonality and Identity: What Held the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus Together?.…….….….………….………. 239 1. Translocal Networks……….……….…………………………………………… 241 2. The Commonality of the Story of Jesus and Ethical Response in the ‘Canonical’ Texts.….….….….….………....….….…….….….….…….………. 248 2.1. The Story of Jesus……………………...…....….….…….………………… 2.1.1. The Story of Jesus in First and Second Timothy.….….….….….….…… 2.1.2. The Story of Jesus in the Johannine Letters…… ...….….….…….……. 2.1.3. The Story of Jesus in the Book of Revelation.…….....….………....…… 2.1.4. The Commonality of the Story of Jesus in First and Second Timothy, in the Johannine Letters and in the Book of Revelation….….…..….…..

260 261 266 270 276

2.2. The Ethical Response……………………….….…..……………………… 2.2.1. The Ethical Response in First and Second Timothy.….….….….….…... 2.2.2. The Ethical Response in the Johannine Letters…………………………. 2.2.3. The Ethical Response in the Book of Revelation………………………..

278 279 281 284

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Table of Contents 2.2.4. The Commonality of the Ethical Response in First and Second Timothy, in the Johannine Letters and in the Book of Revelation.………………….

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3. The Story of Jesus and the Ethical Response in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians…………………....….….……...……………………………………… 289 3.1. The Story of Jesus in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians….….….….……… 3.2. The Ethical Response in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians…....….…..…...

290 295

4. Concluding Remarks….….….….………....….….…….…….….….….……….

302

Bibliography…………………………………………………………….……….…. 309 Index of Ancient Sources………………………………………………………... 332 Index of Modern Authors………………………………………………………..

357

Index of Subjects………………………………...………………………………...

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Diversity and Identity: How Diverse Was the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus? The last two decades of New Testament studies demonstrate a new interest in the history of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus.1 Since 1995, eight major studies, which deal with the early Christian movement in Ephesus in the first and second century CE, have been published: Walter Thiessen (1995), Mattias Günther (1995), Helmut Koester (1995), Rick Strelan (1996), Michael Fieger (1998), Rainer Schwindt (2002), Paul Trebilco (2004) and Stephan Witetschek (2008).2 There are a number of reasons 1 Since we have no clear indications of Christ-believers in the geographical area of Ephesus being addressed as ‘Christians’ (Xristiano/j) before the time of Ignatius, I will avoid using this term in the present study. Arguing from the nature of the name Xristiano/j, where the Latin suffix -ianus classifies people as partisans of a political or military leader, Judge (1994: 363) and Taylor (1994b: 76–77) convincingly contend that the name is not a Jewish one but a Roman invention introduced to distinguish the early Christian movement as something other than ‘common’ Judaism (cf. also Horrell, 2007: 362–65). In 1 Pet. 4:16; Acts 26:28; Tacitus, Ann. 15.44; Suetonius, Nero 16; Pliny, Epist. 10.96, the term ‘Christian’ is associated with accusation and defence. The term ‘Christ-believer’ helps as a reminder that the early Christian movement largely considered itself to be Jewish rather than a ‘third race’ in opposition to Judaism. Ignatius does not use the term Xristiano/j in his Letter to the Ephesians, but it occurs in Ign.Magn. 4.1; Ign.Rom. 3.2; Ign.Pol. 3.2). The term Xristianismo/j (‘Christianism’/ ‘Christianity’) occurs in Ign.Magn. 10.1, 3; Ign.Phil. 6.1; Ign.Rom. 3.3. For the sake of simplicity, I will use the term ‘Christian movement’ rather than ‘Christ-movement’. 2 M. Günther, Die Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1995); H. Koester, Ephesos in Early Christian Literature, Ephesos, Metropolis of Asia: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Its Archaeology, Religion, and Culture, 119–40, ed. H. Koester (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1995); W. Thiessen, Christen in Ephesus: Die historische und theologische Situation in vorpaulinischer und paulinischer Zeit und zur Zeit der Apostelgeschichte und der Pastoralbriefe, Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 12 (Tübingen: Francke Verlag, 1995); R. Strelan, Paul, Artemis and the Jews in Ephesus, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 80 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1996); M. Fieger, Im Schatten der Artemis: Glaube und Ungehorsam in Ephesus, Arbeiten zur Religion und Geschichte des Urchristentums 1 (Bern/Frankfurt: Lang, 1998), R. Schwindt, Das Weltbild des Epheserbriefs: Eine religionsgeschichtlich-exegetische Studie, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 148 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), P. Trebilco, The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to Ignatius, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 166 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), and S. Witetschek, Ephesische Enthüllungen 1:

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behind this renewed interest. First of all, although Anatolia and western Asia Minor ― with Ephesus as the third largest city in the Empire after Rome and Alexandria3 ― has been acknowledged for a long time as one of the most important geographical centers of the early Christian movement in the ancient world, there has been a notable lacuna concerning the history of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus.4 At the same time, new archaeological and inscriptional evidence that illuminate the historical and social setting of this movement in a local perspective have continually been published over the last decades.5 Accordingly, a number of scholars have pointed out the need for a new and thorough study of the development of the early Christian movement in the Ephesus area.6 Secondly, as much as half of the New Testament writings may be located to western Asia Minor with Ephesus as its main center. This provides us with a remarkable range of material for the consideration of the current and much-debated issue of unity and diversity in the history and theology of the early Christian movement in a local perspective.7 It is not my intention here to give a broad survey of the history of research of the early Christian movement in Ephesus, particularly because

Frühe Christen in einer antiken Großstadt zugleich ein Beitrag zur Frage nach den Kontexten der Johannesapokalypse, Biblical Tools and Studies 6 (Leuven: Peeters, 2008). 3 The estimations of the number of citizens of Ephesus by the end of the first century CE differ: c. 180,000 (Duncan-Jones, 1974: 261), 200,000 (Magie, 1950: 146), 200,000– 225,000 (Schwindt, 2002: 72), and 225,000 citizens (Thiessen, 1995: 17 n. 35). According to Mitchell (1993: 243–44), there is clear evidence that Pergamum’s population was between 180,000 and 200,000 in this period; Ephesus was at least as large as Pergamum. Witetschek (2008: 58–59, 65) is very careful in his estimation: “Über die absolute Bevölkerungszahl kann man freilich nur spekulieren.” Cf. also Warden-Bagnall, 1988: 220–223. 4 E.g., von Harnack (1908: 76) saw Ephesus as “the third capital of Christianity”, and Beasley-Murray (1974: 73) notes, “the church in Ephesus was the most important in Asia Minor, and possibly the most influential church in the world at the end of the first century AD”. Cf. Hemer (1996: 39): “As the most strategic cosmopolitan city of Asia it [Ephesus] may have become temporarily the headquarters of the whole church after the fall of Jerusalem.” 5 E.g., Horsley (1981, 1982, 1987, 1992), Koester (1995), Friesinger and Krinzinger (1999). 6 Lüdemann (1984: 134 n. 177) suggests, “The early Christianity in Ephesus needs to be analysed thoroughly”. Murphy O’Connor (1988: 458) articulates a similar need: “there is no book on Ephesus in the first century that would bring to life the social texture of the city.” 7 Robinson (1988: 101–07) even tries to locate ― in one way or the other ― all New Testament writings (except Matthew and James) to western Asia Minor.

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others have done this previously.8 I will instead take my point of departure in the recent major studies from 1995 onwards, and specifically in what these studies say concerning the make-up and diversity of the early Christian movement in Ephesus from the time of Paul to Ignatius (c. 55– 110 CE).9 In particular, I am interested in how the issue of diversity, unity and identity is dealt with from a local perspective. In this chapter, I will therefore begin by outlining the main views regarding the composition and diversity of the early Christian movement in Ephesus. I will then proceed to discuss the texts employed and a legitimate methodology for utilizing these texts for this purpose. However, before turning to the recent studies (and in order to give a background to the discussion concerning diversity), I will begin by highlighting two important contributions that have had some bearing on recent discussions concerning the development of the early Christian movement in western Asia Minor, namely the studies by Walter Bauer (1934) and Thomas Robinson (1988).

1. Recent Studies on the History of the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus 1.1. Background: From Walter Bauer to Thomas Robinson Walter Bauer’s classic study from 1934, Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum (translated into English in 1971) has had a major impact on scholarly discussions concerning the development and formation of the Christian movement in the first and second centuries CE as well as on discussions about the local diversity of this movement in western Asia Minor.10 Bauer summarizes his main argument in the following way: Perhaps ― I repeat, perhaps ― certain manifestations of Christian life that the authors of the church renounce as ‘heresies’ originally had not been such at all, but, at least here and there, were the only form of the new religion ― that is, for those regions they were simply ‘Christianity’. The possibility also exists that their adherents

8 See, especially, Günther, 1995: 4–12. Among some of the most important contributions to the research on the history of the early Christian movement in Ephesus belong, e.g., Schwegler (1846: 257–70), Zimmermann (1874), Weizsäcker (1886: 493– 97), von Harnack (1897: 659–80; 1924: 7987), Zahn (1900: 175–217), Holl (1928: 44– 67), Koester (1965), Bauer (1972: 77–94), Meinardus (1973), Baugh (1990), and Schnackenburg (1991). 9 For a general review and discussion of the first five of these studies (not including Trebilco, 2004), see Schnabel, 1999: 349–82. However, Schnabel’s article lacks a discussion concerning the issue of diversity. 10 Bauer, 1972: 77–94. (My references refer to the first British edition from 1972.)

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constituted the majority, and that they looked down with hatred and scorn on the orthodox, who for them were false believers.11

Bauer proposes thus that the heresies were generally both early and many, and they did not only represent the dominant form of ‘Christianity’ but in most areas also the original form of ‘Christianity’, in particular those of Gnostic origin. The claim that what became ‘orthodox Christianity’ involved the triumph of the ‘winners’ gains much support from Bauer. The weaker orthodox group engaged in a power play in order to concentrate power in the hands of one man, the monarchical bishop, whom its adherents hoped would represent the minority (i.e., anti-Gnostic) viewpoint.12 ‘Orthodoxy’, he says, “represented the form of Christianity supported by the majority in Rome” that became ascendant in the second century and victorious in other areas to the east around 200 CE.13 In western Asia Minor and Ephesus, the early Christian movement was primarily of Gentile origin, and Bauer stresses the influence of a successful Gnostic movement in particular. Elaborating mainly on the Pastoral and the Johannine Letters, the Book of Revelation and the Letters of Ignatius, Bauer argues that there was a strong majority of heretical and diverse groups of Christ-believers and a weak minority of orthodox groups in this area during the first and second century CE. Bauer acknowledges that there was an influential Pauline community from the start (he says nothing about Apollos). However, by the late first century, the memory of Paul as the founder of the Christian community had been lost.14 Bauer rejects the traditional ‘takeover’ theory, i.e., the assumption that there had been a transfer of leadership of the Ephesian community of Christ-believers from Paul to John. He suggests instead that a Jewish community of Christbelievers with John the Presbyter, the disciple of the Lord, as its leader, had exchanged Jerusalem for Ephesus due to the turbulence under the Romans at the time of the fall of Jerusalem. In Ephesus, the JewishChristian element gained impetus through the immigration of outstanding members of the Palestinian ‘Christianity’. Addressing the originally Pauline community, the Book of Revelation demonstrates that “the recollection of the Pauline establishment of the church of Ephesus appears to have been completely lost, or perhaps deliberately suppressed”.15 There seems to have been no room for Paul at that time. Bauer continues, it will be but a short time before the apostle to the Gentiles will have been totally displaced in the consciousness of the church of Ephesus in favor of one of the 11

Bauer, 1972: xxii. Bauer, 1972: 62. 13 Bauer, 1972: 229. 14 Bauer, 1972: 83–85, 87. 15 Bauer, 1972: 83. 12

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apostles, John. In Ephesus, Paul had turned out to be too weak to drive the enemies of the church from the battlefield . . . Orthodox Christianity underwent reorganization and now found an apostolic patron in that member of the twelve who shared his name with the apocalypticist, and who established close connection with Jesus more securely than had Paul, which was considered to be the highest trump in the struggle with heresy. 16

Bauer uses Ephesus as “a particularly instructive example of how the life of an ancient Christian community, even one of apostolic origin, could erode when caught in the turbulent crosscurrents of orthodoxy and heresy”.17 The union of the Palestinian immigrants with anti-Gnostic Pauline elements resulted in a movement that adopted certain Jewish traits. For Baur, this alliance marked the significant turning point for the Christian movement in this area; from this point onwards, “the line of demarcation . . . no longer runs between Jewish and Gentile Christianity, but rather, between orthodoxy and heresy”.18 Thus, Bauer reconstructs an originally orthodox Pauline community as a minority, which subsequently came under the leadership of John the Presbyter, the disciple of the Lord.19 While some scholars have applauded Bauer’s radical reconstruction of orthodoxy and heresy in the early history of the Christian movement,20 others have expressed their hesitance or protested strongly.21 One of the most thorough objections to Bauer, specifically to his reconstruction of the early Christian movement in western Asia Minor, is provided by Thomas Robinson in The Bauer Thesis Examined: The Geography of Heresy in the Early Christian Church (1988). While Robinson does not deny the existence of heresies in western Asia Minor, he contests Bauer’s main thesis that heresies were generally the dominant and original form of the early Christian movement, and he proposes that they “were neither early nor were they strong”.22 Moreover, Robinson refutes the existence of a very successful Gnostic movement early on in western Asia Minor and even questions the existence of several competing groups:

16

Bauer, 1972: 83–85. Bauer, 1972: 82. 18 Bauer, 1972: 87. 19 Bauer is ambiguous about whether this John should also be identified with the author of Revelation. Bauer seems to distinguish generally between John the Presbyter and John the Prophet, but he could also positively affirm the identification of the presbyter with the prophet (Bauer, 1972: 84 n. 15). 20 For an attempt to reformulate the legacy of Bauer, see particularly RobinsonKoester (1971), Koester (1982), Lüdemann (1996) and Ehrman (2003). 21 In addition to Robinson (1988), there are other strong objections to Bauer’s thesis, e.g., Turner (1954), Norris (1976), McCue (1979), Harrington (1980), Burke (1984), Harland (1994), Pearson (1997) and Trebilco (2006). 22 Robinson, 1988: 199; cf. idem., 161. 17

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Yet, when we look for evidence of numerous, disunited heretical elements (so essential to Bauer’s thesis), such evidence simply cannot be found . . . it is the catholic community, not the gnostic, that represents the character of the majority in western Asia Minor in the early period.23

Over all, Robinson argues for the existence of a more homogenous Christian movement in the first and second century CE than Bauer proposes. In terms of Ephesus, Robinson conjectures that by the turn of the first century there were at least five hundred Christ-believers in Ephesus, scattered in dozens or scores of house church units.24 Robinson builds his case on the numerous writings of the canon that reflect a western Asia Minor context, including the Book of Acts, several Pauline letters (including the pseudonymous Pastoral Letters), the Johannine literature, Revelation and the Letters of Ignatius. Robinson calls attention to the fact that almost all of the classic attacks against heresy in the early period come from the western Asia Minor area.25 Acknowledging the diversity of the Christian community in Ephesus (with probably a Pauline group along with a Johannine group), Robinson points out that Revelation addresses the Ephesian groups of Christ-believers as one community and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians demonstrates that some central authority kept these groups together.26 According to Robinson, it was the bishop as the head of the unit that gave a sense of membership in a common body to groups that regularly met separately.27 This leadership structure did not arise out of a group in search of some effective power structure that it did not possess; “rather it rose out of a group fully aware of its own position of strength and rightful leadership”.28 Furthermore, Robinson questions Bauer’s hypothetical Jewish-Pauline alliance of “ecclesiastically oriented Paulinists” with Palestinian immigrants in minority against “Gnosticising Paulinists in majority”.29 Such an alliance could not be demonstrated; the situation was more complex and points to a mix of Jewish and anti-Jewish strains both in the JewishPauline alliance and the Gnostic position. However, Robinson points out that the large Jewish community in Ephesus “does not mould early Christian community into a consciously Jewish group”.30 Robinson also questions Bauer’s suggestion of the loss of Pauline influence in the Ephesus area; the Book of Revelation does not provide evidence enough 23

Robinson, Robinson, 25 Robinson, 26 Robinson, 27 Robinson, 28 Robinson, 29 Robinson, 30 Robinson, 24

1988: 171, 203. 1988: 107 n. 160, 120, 197. 1988: 102. 1988: 143 n. 34, 197–98. 1988: 198. 1988: 165. 1988: 129–39. 1988: 68.

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for such a conclusion. On the contrary, the growth of the post-Pauline literature and the Acts material indicates that Paul was not readily forgotten in western Asia Minor.31 Bauer and Robinson represent two quite different ways of modelling the early Ephesian community of Christ-believers. While Bauer’s model moves from disunity to unity (from disunified heretical groups to a more unified orthodox movement), Robinson argues for unity in diversity more or less from the start (separate groups that were held kept together by orthodoxy and, later on, by some central authority). With these two significant reconstructions in mind, we shall now turn to the recent studies from 1995 onwards of the early Christian movement in Ephesus. 1.2. Werner Thiessen: Competing Heterogeneous Groups and Theologies Relating to Jewish-Gentile Issues In the Heidelberg dissertation Christen in Ephesus, Die historische und theologische Situation in vorpaulinischer und paulinischer Zeit und zur Zeit der Apostelgeschichte und der Pastoralbriefe from 1990 (published 1995), Werner Thiessen sets out to reconstruct the early Christian community until the turn of the second century. Thiessen uses primarily Acts and the Pastoral Letters as his main sources, only briefly touching on the letter to the Ephesians and Revelation. Due to the problems involved in locating the Johannine literature, Thiessen deliberately refrains from any use of these writings in his reconstruction.32 Acts gets thus a key place in his reconstruction: out of four main parts of the thesis, three of them deal with Acts 18–20 and the fourth part with the Pastoral Letters. Consequently, he confines his study to look on the Pauline and the postPauline mission in Ephesus. According to Thiessen, the material relating to Ephesus in Acts contains a relatively large amount of historical data. Due to the role that Ephesus plays in Luke’s account and to Luke’s knowledge of details concerning the city, Thiessen even suggests that Acts was composed in Ephesus.33 The history of the Christian movement in Ephesus started with the mission of Apollos, who founded a Jewish community of Christ-believers (the disciples referred to in Acts 19:1–7 belonged to this original group of believers) but was soon accompanied by the more disputed Gentile orientated mission of Paul and his fellow-workers.34 Early on, the Christian 31

Robinson, 1988: 143. Without further explanation, Thiessen (1995: 27 n. 83) promptly dismisses the use of the Johannine literature with the following comment, “und z.B. die Frage nach der Lokalisierung der Johanneischen Schriften nicht mehr einbezogen werden”. 33 Thiessen, 1995: 226–47. 34 Thiessen, 1995: 85–86, 139–42. 32

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movement in Ephesus was characterized by several heterogeneous and rival groupings with varied types of structures. By the death of Paul, Ephesus had developed into a center of Pauline tradition with an influential Paulus-Schule (the sources give us not enough indications to consider other ‘schools’, although they most likely existed). 35 Both Acts and the Pastoral Letters stem from this Schule. Thiessen’s main thesis is that the development of the Christian movement in Ephesus was particularly characterized by the transition from a Jewish movement to a more Gentile one, reflecting the “Hauptproblem der Geschichte des frühen Christentums” during the first century, i.e., the long process of the separation of the early Christian movement from Judaism and the synagogue communities.36 Dabei war für die Christen in Ephesus von Anfang an, als das Christentum in diese Metropole kam, vor allem das eine Problem charakteristisch, wie aus einer Vielzahl von Gemeindemitgliedern, aus verschiedenen Gruppierungen und aus differierenden und konkurrierenden Theologien eine Gemeinschaft und eine Gemeinde werden kann. 37

Both Acts and the Pastoral Letters try to come to terms with post-Pauline influences that wanted to hold back the Jewish oriented forces in the church. According to Thiessen, Acts was written by an Hellenistic Jewish Christian follower of the Paulus-Schule, who wanted to articulate Paul’s vision to hold Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers together in one community.38 While Luke aims to keep Jewish and Gentile believers in one church, the author of the Pastoral Letters wants to correct this view and to cut off the group of deviant Jewish Christian teachers, consisting of a group of Law observant itinerant Jewish Christian Pharisees who appealed to Pauline theology (Thiessen rejects any Gnostic bearing on this group): “Offensichtlich versuchen die Pastoralbriefe hier eine Korrektur der lukanischen Schriften”.39 In this process, the institutional structures functioned as an integrating force, developed in order to isolate the deviant group from the rest of the community. At the same time, both Acts and the Pastoral Letters indicate that the introduction of a church organization with two kinds of leaders, the Pauline (Hellenistic) e0pi/skopoj and the Jewish presbu/teroj, was a constructive step with the purpose of holding the core of the community together.40

35

Thiessen, 1995: 342. Thiessen, 1995: 347. 37 Thiessen, 1995: 352 (italics original). 38 Thiessen, 1995: 226–47, 342–43, 347–48. 39 Thiessen, 1995: 317–38, 346–48. 40 Thiessen, 1995: 290–316, 345. 36

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The address of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians (PROS )EFESIOUS) stems from an Hellenistic Jewish Christian group who wanted to articulate the Pauline theology of the reality of unity between Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers in one community (Eph. 2:11–22).41 According to Thiessen, the author of Revelation was a wandering Jewish Christian prophet from Palestine, who opposed the influence of the Nicolaitans in Ephesus. John the Prophet warns his addressees of this strongly Gentile orientated group, which still practiced the Apostolic decree and tried to seduce Jewish Christ-believers into uncleanness and fellowship with Gentiles. The author of Revelation thus demonstrates similarities with the Lucan position (wanting to hold Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers together), while the Nicolaitans show similarities with the position of the author of the Pastoral Letters (the desire to cut off the Jewish orientated group).42 1.3. Mattias Günther: A Non-Heterogeneous Movement from the Founding by Apollos to the Triumph of John the Prophet Mattias Günther commences his dissertation entitled Die Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus (Göttingen, 1995) with the following statement: “Eine eingehende Analyse der Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus fehlt”.43 Günther is acquainted with Thiessen’s (1995) previous study, but remarks that this study is too narrow in scope.44 Hence, Günther sets out to reconstruct the tradition about the early Christian movement in Ephesus by examining all relevant written sources related to Ephesus from the first and second century CE, i.e., texts that mention Christian activity in connection to Ephesus, including the Letters of Paul, Acts, the Pastoral Letters, Ignatius, Irenaeus, Eusebius (Polycrates, Apollonius), Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian, the Acts of Paul and the Acts of John.45 In addition, he also covers Second and Third John, Justin Martyr (Dial. 80–82) and Papias (Eusebius) and other texts by Eusebius that could be connected to Ephesus.46 Since, in Günther’s view, Luke’s agenda is colored by his attempt to restore Pauline Christianity in Ephesus, he is highly critical of 41

Thiessen, 1995: 348–50. Thiessen, 1995: 351–52. 43 Günther, 1995: 1. 44 Günther, 1995: 1 n. 2. 45 The most important texts examined are: 1 Cor. 15:32; 16:8, 19; 2 Cor. 1:8; Rom. 16:5; Acts 16:6; 18:19, 21, 24; 19:1, 10, 17, 26–27; 20:16–17; Eph. 1:1; 1 Tim. 1:3; 2 Tim. 1:15, 18; 4:12; Rev. 1:11; 2:1; Ign.Eph. 12.2; Irenaueus, Adv. haer. 1.1; 3.4; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.3–4 (Papias), 4.18.6 (Justin), 5.18.9, 14 (Apollonius), 5.24.2–3 (Polycrates), Clement of Alexandria (Quis. div. sal. 42.2); Tertullian, Scap. 5.1; ActPaul and ActJohn. 46 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.3–4; 5.1.3–4.3; 5.18; 23; 24.2–17. 42

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the historical value of Acts. Accordingly, he argues his case primarily from the perspective of the undisputed Pauline Letters. Günther divides his study into four historical periods: from 41 to 54 CE (the Pauline mission), to the end of Domitan’s reign (96 CE; Acts 20 and 2–3 John), from 98 to 117 CE (Rev. 2:1–7, Cerinthus and Ignatius), and from 118 to 197 CE (Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho and other evidence from Eusebius). Before analyzing the relevant sources, Günther begins by a survey of the political and religious history of Ephesus. At the end of the first century, there were, Günther calculates, about 2,000 Christ-believers in Ephesus (out of a total population of about 200,000).47 He concludes that, as a social and political entity, Ephesian Christianity played quite a minor role up to the end of the second century.48 Günther wants to challenge the old concept of a juxtaposition of Pauline and Johannine Christianity in Ephesus.49 He sets out to demonstrate instead the failure of Paul’s mission to Ephesus. Before Paul’s mission to Ephesus, Apollos, who promoted an “individualistisch-pneumatischen Paulinismus”, had already founded a community in the city, and it was Apollos — not Paul — that became the most influential person for the formation of the primitive Christian movement in Ephesus.50 Under the leadership of Apollos, this movement developed into a kind of “hyperpaulinismus” with some implicit “antipaulinischen” notions.51 Although Paul attempted to integrate his mission with the work of Apollos, Paul never managed to take the lead of this community. Instead, due to the resistance, Paul escaped from the city (2 Cor. 1:8–10). From this, Günther concludes: “Paul hat zu keiner Zeit seines Aufenhaltes in Ephesus Fuß fassen können.”52 Central to Günther’s thesis is the “Niedergang des apollinischen Christentums”, i.e., the decline of the Christian community influenced by Apollos, and the idea of a second and independent foundation of ‘Christianity’ in Ephesus by John the Presbyter after 70 CE.53 Arguing from the account of Papias (apud Eusebius), Günther claims that this John is the author of Second and Third John (First John belongs to a Syrian providence and cannot be used as evidence for Christ-believers in 47

Günther, 1995: 27. Günther, 1995: 27–28. 49 Günther’s (1995: 4–12) survey of the history of New Testament research demonstrates that this concept has been the dominant understanding of the early Ephesian Christ-movement in the nineteenth and twentieth century. 50 Günther, 1995: 29–53. Günther builds his case primarily on Acts 18:25; 1 Cor. 1:12; 3:4–6; 15:32a; 16:9, 12; 2 Cor. 1:1–10; Rom. 16:3–4. 51 Günther, 1995: 67. 52 Günther, 1995: 53. 53 Günther, 1995: 121–23, 206. Here Günther follows an earlier proposal by Weizsäcker, 1886: 493–97. 48

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Ephesus), not, however, to be identified with the author of Revelation (which is regarded as a pseudonymous work from the time of Trajanus). John the Presbyter was a chiliast (argued on the basis the frequent use of his works by Papias the chiliast) with an earthly expectation of the Parousia. In a society that had become increasingly hostile (Revelation) and where strong heretical groups operated both inside and outside the Johannine community, the challenge of this community was to keep the unity, to maintain control and to uphold its authority of the tradition (Ignatius).54 Towards the end of the second century, Günther sees three lines of development of the Christian movement in Ephesus.55 First, there was the political interpretation of the Antichrist, which comes to the foreground in the political perspective of Revelation (e.g., Rev. 13:1–10) and which prepared the ground for the chiliasm of the Montanists. Secondly, we find the reinforcement and development of the prohibition of any contacts with ‘deviant’ believers (2 John 10), for example, with the Nicolaitans and Cerinthus. Thirdly, there was the development of hierarchical structures of leadership, articulated most clearly by Ignatius’s emphasis of the monoepiscopacy. Finally, Günther wants to question the current concept of a particularly diverse Christian movement in Ephesus: “Von der These eines Nebeneinanders einer Mehrzahl christlicher Gruppen als Charakteristikum der Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus sollte Abstand genommen werden”.56 Accordingly, when Günther speaks of the Christian movement in Ephesus, he speaks in singular. Günther proposes that there runs a distinct line of continuity from the founding of Apollos to the triumph of the Johannine ‘Christianity’ towards the end of the first century and throughout the second century. Thus, Günther argues that the old concept of a Pauline ‘Christianity’ that was taken over by an apostolic Johannine type of ‘Christianity’ in Ephesus needs to be revised by the concept of a line of development from a type of ‘Christianity’ that was marked by the influence of the pneumatiker Apollos in the first century to the influence of John the Presbyter, i.e., from the end of the first to the end of the second century. Following the failure of Paul and the decline of the community of Apollos, the Ephesian ‘Christianity’ became loyal to the heritage of the presbyter throughout the end of the second century. Hence, Günther concludes: “Ephesinisches Christentum ging weder direkt auf apostolische Gründung noch direkt auf apostolische Prägung zurück.”57 54

Günther, 1995: 159. Günther, 1995: 207–08. 56 Günther, 1995: 209. 57 Günther, 1995: 209. 55

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1.4. Helmut Koester: A Number of Diverse and Competing Groups Centered around Paul the Apostle and John the Prophet In a concise article entitled “Ephesos in Early Christian Literature” (1995), Helmut Koester sets out to stress the importance of Ephesus, “the metropolis of Asia”, as “the center of the early Christian missionary enterprise ― as much as half of the writings of the New Testament may have originated from it”. 58 In particular, Koester gives empasis to the diverse character of the Christian movement in Ephesus: From its very beginning in the middle of the first century, the Christian community of Ephesos exhibits a remarkable diversity. Literary testimonies demonstrate that this diversity continued well into the second century, spanning the entire spectrum from prophetic-apocalyptic enthusiasm (witnessed in the Revelation of John) to the sacramental orientation of an Episcopal church (advocated in the letter of Ignatius of Antioch).59

Koester’s primary sources cover the period from Paul’s letters to the end of the second century: the genuine Letters of Paul (including Romans 16, which is interpreted as a cover letter for a copy of Romans that Paul sent to Ephesus), the Book of Revelation, the Letters of Ignatius, the Pastoral Letters (dating from the middle of the second century), the early Church Fathers (mainly Polycarp, Papias, Irenaeus) and the Acts of John. Koester is highly critical of the Lucan account of Paul’s successful ministry in Ephesus: “Little historical information, however, can be gleaned from Luke’s narrative.”60 Most of Acts is treated as either legend or a reflection of the situation in Ephesus of Luke’s time: “Acts therefore does not reveal much about Paul’s stay in Ephesos.”61 According to Koester, Luke suppresses information about the diversity of the Christian community in favor of presenting the church of Ephesus as a united group. The conclusion that a number of competing Christian groups must have existed in the city by the turn of the first century is primarily confirmed by Revelation, written by an unknown prophet. Koester then identifies this John with John the Presbyter, not with the disciple and the apostolic author of the Johannine literature.62 Koester doubts that John the Prophet/the Presbyter was addressing the same community of Christ-believers as Apollos and Paul had founded, and 58

Koester, 1995, 119–40 (xviii). The article was originally presented at a “Symposium on Ephesos”, bringing archaeologists from the Austrian excavations at Ephesus together with American scholars of archaeology, the classics, history of religions, New Testament studies and the history of ancient Christianity. Later on, Koster restates his case in a condensed article (1999: 297–305). 59 Koester, 1995: 139–40. 60 Koester, 1995: 128. 61 Koester, 1995: 131. 62 Koester, 1995: 137–38.

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which Luke knew. Thus, at the end of the first century, a variety of groups and sects existed in Ephesus: disciples of John the Baptist, a circle of Christ-believers that claimed allegiance to Apollos, a church that derived its origin from Paul, a prophetic “conventicle” (to which John the Prophet sent his book from Patmos) and a sect called the Nicolaitans.63 The congregation that Ignatius addresses is the same as the one that was founded by Paul, but “this congregation does not seems to have been the only ― and perhaps not even the dominating ― group of Christians in Ephesos”.64 Koester stresses the absence of any Johannine tradition in the Letters of Ignatius, the Letters of Polycarp (“a church leader in the tradition of Paul”) or in the apologist Justin Martyr. The evidence from Eusebius and Clement of Alexandria of the existence of an historical person called John in Ephesus is interpreted as referring to John the Presbyter, the author of Revelation.65 According to Koester, the connection of the apostle John, the assumed author of the Fourth Gospel, with Ephesus is due to a fiction that Irenaeus of Lyon created in order to lend greater authority to the Fourth Gospel. Koester points out that there are no traces of this Gospel in western Asia Minor before the middle of the second century (Koester makes no comments concerning the provenance of the Johannine Letters). Thus, Koester concludes that there are only two church leaders who can be associated with Ephesus with “absolute certainty”, namely Paul the apostle and John the Prophet/the Presbyter.66 In addition, there are indirect testimonies that the Alexandrian teacher Apollos was one of the earliest missionaries to Ephesus and that Paul’s co-worker Timothy was a postapostolic leader in that city.

63 In an earlier article, Koester (1965: 316) presents a slightly different list of rival groups operating simultaneously in Ephesus: “the originally Pauline church, supported by the Qumran-influenced Paulinists who wrote Ephesians, but also represented by the author of Luke-Acts . . ., a Jewish-Christian ‘school’ engaging in a daring interpretation of the Old Testament, represented by the Gnostic Cerinthus; ― a Jewish-Christian conventicle producing the apocalyptic Revelation of the Christian prophet John.” 64 Koester, 1995: 133. 65 References are made to Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.5–6, and Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. salv. 42.1–2 (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.23.5–19). 66 Koester, 1995: 140.

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1.5. Rick Strelan: A Jewish-Christian Pauline Community Interchanging with a Johannine Community Rick Strelan’s doctoral study on Ephesus from 1995 (University of Queensland), Paul, Artemis and the Jew in Ephesus (1996), has two primary aims: to demonstrate the significance of the Artemis cult and other cults (mainly the Imperial cult) in Ephesus, and to examine the mission of Paul among Jews and Gentiles in Ephesus.67 For the first purpose, Strelan argues from relevant archaeological, inscriptional and literary material, and for the second purpose, he bases his argument primarily on data drawn from Acts and Paul’s undisputed letters (it is, however, not clear whether or not he treats “Luke’s story” as an historical account).68 From this material, Strelan repeatedly argues two main points throughout his study. First, the cult of Artemis and other cults in Ephesus remained strong and influential, and the Christian community made virtually no impact on other cults or on the city itself. Secondly, Strelan challenges the common opinion that Paul was successful among the Gentiles in Ephesus; whatever success Paul did achieve was more likely among Jews than among Gentiles.69 Strelan brings these two main points together in the following statement: “If Paul was successful among Gentiles, then it is quite likely that he had success among some cultists of Artemis.”70 But Strelan finds no support for such a conclusion, neither in Acts 18–19, in the Pauline Letters, nor in the inscriptional data. Consequently, he concludes that Paul had no immediate success among Gentiles in Ephesus, and that the community of Christ-believers there was composed primarily of Jews to the extent that we should speak of “Pauline Jewish Christianity” in Ephesus.71 As evidence of the Jewish-Christian character of the community, Strelan points to the fact that Ephesus did not participate in the collection for Jerusalem; “it is possible that there were too few Gentiles at Ephesus to contribute to the collection”.72 In discussing the importance of Ephesus after Paul, Strelan questions the common assumption that the Pauline community and that of John at Ephesus were one and the same, and that there was some kind of 67

Strelan, 1996. Strelan shows no knowledge of the work of W. Thiessen and M. Günther. 68 Strelan, 1996: 20–23. We will come back to this in the discussion below, 2.1, and chapter 2, 3. The texts treated in Paul are primarily 1 Cor. 1:11; 4.6–13; 15:30–33; 16:8– 9, 12–19; 2 Cor. 1:8–11; Rom. 16. 69 Strelan, 1996: 2, 23, 295. 70 Strelan, 1996: 11. 71 Strelan, 1996: 273, 295. Strelan (p. 129) estimates that about 25–40 Gentiles followed Paul after his mission to Ephesus (with an overall population of 200,000 people). 72 Strelan, 1996: 203.

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‘takeover’, a progression or evolution from Paul to John (Strelan does not define who he thinks this ‘John’ was).73 In a city the size of Ephesus, it must have been possible for both a Pauline and a Johannine community to exist independently of each other. A possible scenario is thus that the two communities interchanged and interacted, “so that it was possible for one leader to be ‘Pauline’ and then the next one from the same community to be more ‘Johannine’.”74 In the later tradition, however, it is clear that the Johannine communities were the stronger ones (this is particularly confirmed by the Acts of John). 1.6. Michael Fieger: The Story of the Success of the Pauline Mission The study of Michael Fieger, Im Schatten der Artemis: Glaube und Ungehorsam in Ephesus (1998), is confined to an analysis of mainly Acts 18–19 (18:19–21, 24–27a; 19:1–20:1).75 In the center of Fieger’s investigation is the historical question, “Was darf dabei als historisch gesichert gelten?”76 According to Fieger, Luke was an educated Hellenistic Christian, who wrote to Hellenistic Christ-believers in the third generation after the apostles.77 Luke, the author (“der Literaten Lukas”), used his sources ― primarily written ones ― rather freely in order to create the story of Paul’s mission to Ephesus.78 Accordingly, Luke should be regarded more as a theologian than as an historian and, as such, he is more of a charismatic agent of narrative theology than a systematic theologian.79 Luke’s glorified picture of Paul in Ephesus is taken as an expression of a development of the hagiographical process.80 Despite the apparent hostility from various opponents (Jews and Gentiles), Fieger takes the account of Acts 19:20 as an indication that Paul’s mission to Ephesus 73

Strelan, 1996: 10, 301. Strelan, 1996: 302. 75 Fieger’s analysis of Acts 18:19–20:1 is divided into six separate sections: “1) Paulus und Apollos (Acts 18:19–21, 24–27a; 19:1–7); 2) Das folgenreiche Wirken des Paulus in Ephesus (19:8–10); 3) Die außergewöhnlichen Taten (19:11–12); 4) Erfolglose Nachahmer des Paulus (19:13–20); 4) Reisepläne des Paulus (19:21–22); 5) Der Aufstand der Silberschmiede (19:23–40); 6) Der Abschied des Paulus von Ephesus (20:1).” Fieger gives no explanation why he does not deal with the speech in Miletos (20:17–38). The author is acquainted with the works of Thiessen, Günther and Strelan, although he comments on them only briefly (1998: 15–16, 27–28). 76 Fieger, 1998: 11. 77 Fieger, 1998: 9. 78 Fieger, 1998: 173–74. 79 Fieger, 1998: 178–85. In the concluding chapter, Fieger elaborates primarily on the ecclesiology, pneumatology, Christology and the theme of belief and unbelief in Acts 18–19. 80 Fieger, 1998: 177. 74

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should be regarded as rather successful. Luke wants to portray Paul’s visit to Ephesus as the climax of his mission (“einen absoluten Höhepunkt”); in fact, the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus is the most important community in Luke’s story of Paul’s mission.81 Concerning the foundation of the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus, Fieger concludes that the sources do not reveal very much.82 Luke gives a rather diverse account of the beginning of the early mission to Ephesus where there were several different groups of Christ-believers (the disciples of John, the group of Apollos, the group of Paul, Priscilla and Aquila). At the same time, Luke stresses the contribution of Paul, who brought unity among these groups.83 However, Fieger doubts the validity of the use of Acts as a source by which to reconstruct the history of the early Christian movement in Ephesus: Aufgrund von Apg 18,19–21.24–27a; 19,1–20,1 läßt sich keine Geschichte der ephesinischen Stadtchristen und ihrer Stadtgemeinde zur Zeit des Aufenhaltes [sic] Pauli in der Provinzhauptstadt von Asien schreiben, denn das historisch brauchbare Material, das Lukas benutzt, zu dünn ist [sic].84

Hence, due to the confinement of Fieger’s study to Luke’s account alone, and his evaluation of this source as mainly fictive in character, he does not provide us with much further material for the elaboration of the issues of the development and diversity of the early Christian movement in Ephesus. 1.7. Rainer Schwindt: The Complex Religious Climate at the Time of Paul’s Mission in Ephesus and at the Time of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians The doctoral study from 2000/01 entitled Das Weltbild des Epheserbriefes: Eine religions-geschichtlich-exgetische Studie (2002) by Rainer Schwindt deals with the historical setting, the conception of the world and the theology of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians. 85 Crucial for Schwindt’s thesis is that he can locate this letter to the city of Ephesus and western Asia Minor. Even though the oldest manuscripts (p46, 298 )* B*, etc.), including some of the third and fourth century Church Fathers (Origen, Basil, etc.), 81

Fieger, 1998: 10, 174. Fieger, 1998: 16, 39–74. 83 Fieger, 1998: 179. 84 Fieger, 1998: 178. Fieger then continues (rather surprisingly and abruptly), “Folgendes Ergebnis dieser Studie darf festgehalten werden: Zur Zeit des Aufenthaltes Pauli in Ephesus, zu Beginn der Regierungszeit des Kaisers Nero, war vermutlich der Hafen der Metropole am Kaystros für den Fernverkehr, nicht aber für den Fischfang gesperrt”. 85 Schwindt is acquainted with the previous work of Günther, Thiessen, Koester, Strelan and Fieger. 82

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omit the reference to Ephesus (e0n 0Efe/sw?, Eph. 1:1), Schwindt argues in favor of a connection with Ephesus for reasons of grammar (e.g., the phrase toi=j ou)si=n in 1:1 would be incomplete without a location) and the use of Paul’s Letter in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians.86 Thus, Schwindt deals with the city of Ephesus during the Imperial period, and he focuses primarily on the local religious cults (in particular on the cult of Artemis), and on the concept of the world in ancient cultures (primarily in the Hellenistic and the Roman cultures). Schwindt then relates all this to the theology of the Letter to the Ephesians. Concerning Luke’s account of Paul’s mission in Ephesus (Acts 19), Schwindt aknowledges the Lokalkolorit of this account, in particular as it comes to the socio-political and religious setting. Although colored by Luke’s theological Tendenz, this account is taken as an overall historical account. Luke depicts Paul’s mission as having taken place within a complex religious and spiritual climate, which included belief in demonical and spiritual powers, in a variety of local gods (especially Artemis) and set within an influential Jewish community (and which also included strong anti-Jewish sentiments among their Greek and Roman neighbours).87 However, since Schwindt does not deal explicitly with the make-up and development of the early Christian movement in Ephesus, and since I doubt that Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians was originally addressed to Christ-believers in the city of Ephesus,88 I do not intend to interact further with this study in the following analysis. 1.8. Paul Trebilco: Coexisting Pauline and Johannine Communities in Non-Hostile Interaction In The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to Ignatius (2004), Paul Trebilco presents by far the most comprehensive analysis of the history and contemporary life of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus. After discussing issues related to the historical background of ancient Ephesus (the city, the Artemis cult, the Imperial cult and the Jewish community), Trebilco covers all relevant New Testament texts and early second century texts connected with Ephesus in order to reconstruct the history of the early Christian movement in Ephesus: the undisputed Pauline Letters (mainly 1–2 Cor. and Rom. 16), Acts 18–20, the Pastoral Letters, Revelation, the Johannine Letters and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians. Significant for Trebilco’s treatment of these sources is that he argues that Luke’s account in Acts is historically valuable, and that the communities 86

Schwindt, 2002: 55–62. Schwindt, 2002: 72–87. 88 In the below (section 3), I will come back to this issue. 87

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addressed in the Johannine Letters are to be located in or close to Ephesus (stemming from John the Presbyter). 89 Trebilco believes that there was a Christian group in Ephesus that originated from the Jerusalem Pentecost community, even before Paul’s mission to the city. Apollos had an impact prior to Paul’s main work in the city, but there is no evidence for an “Apollos party”.90 Paul had some success, both among Jews and Gentiles, in Ephesus. In the light of the opposition mentioned in 1 Cor. 15:32; 16:9 and 2 Cor. 1:8–11, Luke seems to have downplayed the negative side of Paul’s ministry.91 By around 55 CE, most of the Christ-believers in Ephesus were ‘Pauline’ and they saw themselves as a separate group, apart from the Jewish community.92 Trebilco argues against the view that there was a single “Christian community in Ephesus”.93 Rather, he proposes that already at the conclusion of the Pauline mission, there were some indications of diversity within this community, which subsequently developed into different groups or separate communities within the city.94 Trebilco argues, as part of his main thesis, that the Pastoral Letters and the Johannine Letters address different groups of readers (in the period from around 80–100 CE). Further, the readers of the Pastoral Letters and the readers of the Johannine Epistles were not antagonistic towards one another and would have seen each other as part of the same wider movement, even if they also wished to maintain the integrity of their separate groups. 95

Trebilco thus argues against the ‘merger’ or ‘takeover’ theory, which would suggest that the Pauline and Johannine groups merged, or that the Pauline group was taken over by Johannine influence, and that there was only one community of Christ-believers in Ephesus at any one time. Rather, the Pauline and the Johannine communities remained distinct and separate communities.96 However, in Revelation, written by an unknown Palestinian prophet, John seeks to address both groups, although he is 89

Trebilco, 2004: 104–07, 263–71. Trebilco also locates the Gospel of John at Ephesus (2004: 237–63), but here he follows the lead from Bauckham and others (see Bauckham, 1998: 9–48), who do not think it is possible to reconstruct the history and contemporary life of ‘the Gospel community’ from a Gospel. 90 Trebilco, 2004: 152. 91 Trebilco, 2004: 102–03. 92 Trebilco, 2004: 152–53, 196. 93 Trebilco, 2004: 5. 94 Trebilco, 2004: 712. 95 Trebilco, 2004: 5. 96 Trebilco, 2004: 712–13, 715. Trebilco (2004: 271) supports the suggestion that the Johannine community had its beginning in a person called John, who moved to Ephesus from Palestine around the time of the Jewish war (66–70 CE).

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aware that some of his readers will not listen to his message. In support of this conclusion Trebilco primarily refers to John’s universal language and that John seems to have had some local knowledge of both the cities and his readers.97 Hence, Trebilco does not assume that there existed any separate “John of Revelation community” in Ephesus. Trebilco builds his main case on a comparative study between the Pastoral Letters, the Johannine Letters and Revelation, and he attempts to describe in detail some aspects of the life of the different communities addressed by these writings (the most extensive section of his book).98 Issues that can be seen as significant dimensions of the identity of the groups are examined, i.e., the relationship between Christ-believers and the wider community in which they lived, issues about material possessions, leadership and the locus of authority, the situation of women and the terms used as ‘labels’ of self-designation. In each case, Trebilco finds somewhat different attitudes and behaviors, particularly in the community of the Pastorals, on the one hand, and in the Johannine community, on the other. For example, Trebilco observes that both the author and the readers of the Pastoral Letters are more acculturated and assimilated than the author and the readers of the Johannine Letters. Furthermore, while the Pastorals reflect “the beginnings of institutionalisation”, the locus of authority in the Johannine Letters is the entire community; while women are involved in leadership in the Pastorals, the subject of women’s ministry seems to be “off the agenda” in the Johannine Letters. According to Trebilco, the nonhostile interaction between the Pauline and the Johannine communities could find support in the use of ideas and concepts in the respective text corpus that points to a “probable linguistic influence in both directions: The likely influence of the Johannine tradition on the Pastorals and the likely influence of the Pastorals and the Pauline tradition on 2 and 3 John”.99 Regarding Revelation, Trebilco could not find any case where the evidence contradicts his hypothesis that John the Prophet wrote to all Christ-believers in Ephesus. The silence of Paul in Revelation is explained by the hypothesis that John’s opponents stood in a Pauline tradition and used Paul as their authority and inspiration, and for that reason John deliberately neglected this tradition.100 Trebilco also finds that Ignatius wanted to address and unite all Christbelievers in the city by the establishment of the mono-episcopacy. Those addressed by Ignatius and those who were resisting the bishop, were not ‘heretics’ but other Christ-believers, who resisted a change in church 97

Trebilco, 2004: 340–42. Trebilco, 2004: 351–627. 99 Trebilco, 2004: 613. 100 Trebilco, 2004: 621–27. 98

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order, including among others Johannine Christ-believers who valued a looser church structure.101 Ignatius warns his readers against a Docetic group of Christ-believers, who had developed from the Johannine secessionists of First and Second John, but these were not included among Ignatius’s addressees.102 Thus, Trebilco finds evidence of the rather diverse character of the local Christian movement, which consisted of a number of groups or communities: the Pauline group addressed in the Pastorals, the Johannine group spoken of in the Johannine Letters, the opponents in the Pastoral Letters (forming a separate group), the Johannine secessionists (1–3 John) and the Nicolaitans (Rev. 2:6).103 Instead of speaking of unity among these groups, Trebilco prefers to speak of their commonality: “whilst preserving their distinctive identity, we can suggest that they would have been willing to acknowledge the validity of each other’s claim to be part of the wider movement that we call early Christianity.”104 1.9. Stephan Witetchek: Several Christian Communities Mainly Centered around Apollos, Paul and John the Prophet In the first volume of the doctoral study from 2006/07 entitled Ephesische Enthüllungen 1: Frühe Christen in einer Antiken Grossstadt zugleich ein Beitrag zur Frage nach den Kontexten der Johannesapokalypse (2008), Stephan Witetschek discusses the background setting of the letter of John the Prophet to the church in Ephesus (Rev. 2:1–7).105 Witetschek does this most thoroughly, covering the city of Ephesus in antiquity and the Jewish and Christian community in Ephesus, and he also gives a survey of the New Testament texts that could be connected to Ephesus in some way or other. His study begins with a detailed account of the historical, political, social, ethnical, economical and religious setting of the city of Ephesus from the second century BCE to the first century CE.106 Witetschek emphasizes the Roman influence in the city during the first century CE, especially the political structures, the administration, the issue of citizenship and the influence of the Imperial cult. Having discussed in detail the New Testament texts that could hypothetically be located to Ephesus, Witetschek draws the conclusion that the following Pauline Letters were written from Ephesus: First Corinthians 101

Trebilco, 2004: 668–70, 682–83, 715. Trebilco, 2004: 689–99, 711. 103 Trebilco, 2004: 712. 104 Trebilco, 2004: 716–17. 105 Witetschek interacts with all the earlier works on Ephesus mentioned above, in particular with the study of Trebilco (2004). 106 Witetschek, 2008: 7–139. 102

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(including the letter mentioned in 1 Cor. 5:9), Philippians (Witeteschek argues that Paul was probably imprisoned for a period in Ephesus), Philemon, and possibly Galatians.107 He concludes that neither the Letter to the Ephesians, nor Romans 16 was addressed to a Christian community in Ephesus.108 Further, he questions the idea of a Pauline and/or a Johannine “school” in Ephesus on the basis that there is just not enough evidence to connect the Deutero-Pauline letters and the Gospel of John to this city.109 Witetschek suggests that the Gospel of John should be located to Alexandria, and that a Johannine group may possibly have come to Asia Minor and produced the Johannine Letters later on in the early second century.110 The New Testament texts that could be most clearly located to Ephesus are the Lucan double work (Luke–Acts) and the Book of Revelation.111 Luke wanted to depict the period in Ephesus as “der Höhepunkt des paulinschen Mission”.112 Accordingly, Luke’s account of the Pauline mission in Ephesus (Acts 19) is clearly colored by the literary and theological intentions of Luke. Further, Paul’s address in Miletos to the Ephesian elders (Acts 20:18–35) indicates that Luke wanted to address his own contemporaries through “das Testament des Paulus”.113 The Book of Revelation, he believes, explicitly addresses a Jewish-Christian community in Ephesus through an unknown Jewish-Christian prophet. 114 Concerning the foundation and the make-up of the Christian community in Ephesus, Witetschek comes to the conclusion that “das Christentum in Ephesos von Anfang ein vielschichtiges Phänomen war”.115 At the time when Paul came to the city, there was already a group of Christ-believers that belonged to Apollos (Acts 18:24–28) and another group that belonged to Prisca and Aquila (1 Cor. 16:19). The Pauline group did not merge with any of these groups; they all continued to exist as separate groups or house churches throughout the first century.116 In the late first century, there were then several Christian communities in Ephesus. Besides the ‘Apollos-group’ and the Pauline groups (attested by Luke–Acts), there was a Jewish-Christian group (addressed in Rev. 2:1–7), which was established in Ephesus after the fall of Jerusalem. The Nicolaitans (Rev. 2:7) was yet another (liberal) group, possibly connected to either 107

Witetschek, 2008: 177–207. Witetschek, 2008: 174–77, 208–20. 109 Witetschek, 2008: 207–243, 263–99. 110 Witetschek, 2008: 263–98. 111 Witetschek, 2008: 243–62, 299–348. 112 Witetschek, 2008: 260. 113 Witetschek, 2008: 261–62, 406. 114 Witetschek, 2008: 299–344. 115 Witetschek, 2008: 417. 116 Witetschek, 2008: 350–63, 410–11. 108

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the group of Apollos or one of the Pauline groups.117 Probably, there were in the city by then also other Christian communities unknown to us. However, by the end of the first century, there is no evidence of a citywide church organization in Ephesus.

2. Evaluation and Discussion Where do we go from here? This summary of the results of the most recent reconstructions of the history and life of the early Christian movement in Ephesus highlights, not only the lack of consensus on crucial issues, but also some of the complicated methodological problems involved. The results reached are, of course, first of all related to the different aims and purposes of these studies. In fact, it is only Günther, Koester, Trebilco and Witetschek who write with an explicit intention to cover all available Christian literary sources that could be connected to Ephesus during the first century CE. The results are also dependent on the essential task of the provenance, location and dating of the various primary texts: which are the valid sources that can be used in the task of reconstructing the early Christian movement in Ephesus? Since all reconstructions are profoundly dependent on this issue, I will begin by commenting briefly on this question. The survey above also raises questions about a legitimate methodology by which to utilize these sources: how far is it possible to reconstruct the history and life of the communities behind these texts? In particular, I will raise some crucial questions concerning the relationship between the text itself, its author and the community/group addressed. 2.1. Ephesus and the Pauline Tradition All studies agree that the beginning of the Christian movement in Ephesus cannot be found in the Pauline mission, but in the mission of the Alexandrian Christ-believer Apollos.118 Further, seven of eight studies (all except Günther) affirm the existence of a Pauline group and a Pauline tradition at Ephesus in the first century CE. In particular, Thiessen, Koester, Trebilco and Witetshek affirm the impact of Paul’s mission in Ephesus. Thiessen argues for a particular Paulus-Schule with a continuing impact and influence in Ephesus. However, while the studies agree on the existence of a Pauline community and tradition connected with Ephesus, they vary in their views about the success and influence of Paul’s mission. 117

Witetschek, 2008: 400–16. Trebilco (2004: 109) seems to be the only one who traces the beginning of the Christ-movement in Ephesus back to the Jerusalem Pentecost in Acts 2. 118

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In various degrees, all the studies acknowledge that Luke seems to have overstated Paul’s success in his attempt to recount the Pauline mission to Ephesus. Strelan clearly articulates this when he argues that Paul had no immediate success among Gentiles in Ephesus and that the Christian community there was primarily composed of Jews — to the extent that we should speak of a ”Pauline Jewish Christianity” in Ephesus. Strelan draws the conclusion that Ephesus was not a strong Pauline center, and only some people held to Paul there.119 Günther takes the most sceptical view about the success of Paul’s mission to Ephesus. He even denies the existence of any Pauline group after the apostle had left the city. In spite of Günther’s negative position, the textual support of some Pauline impact and tradition connected with Ephesus must be considered as quite strong. Several texts of various genres affirm, not only Paul’s presence in Ephesus, but also his continuing influence on the community (-ies) of Christ-believers there: Acts (18:19–20:1, 13–38), the undisputed Pauline Letters (1 Cor. 15:32; 16:8–9 and 2 Cor. 1:8–11), and the Pastoral Letters (1–2 Tim.). Since Ignatius in his Letter to the Ephesians calls his addressees his ‘fellow-initiates with Paul’ (Pau/lou summu/stai, Ign.Eph. 12.2), he also affirms the presence of a Pauline tradition in Ephesus.120 Even though Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians most likely functioned as a circular letter originally, it’s present address (toi=j a(gi/oij toi=j ou]sin [e0n 0Efe/sw?]), attested in a wide variety of manuscripts, indicates that quite soon this letter became connected with the early Christ-believers in Ephesus (probably preserved or collected there). Thus, although the letter was likely not originally addressed to Christ-believers in Ephesus, the Pauline tradition was soon connected with Ephesus. This is also confirmed by the second century tradition in Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 3.3.4): ‘Then, again, the Church in Ephesus, founded by Paul, and having John remaining among them permanently until the times of Trajan, is a true witness of the tradition of the apostles.’121 It is not Günther’s treatment of Luke’s account of Paul’s Ephesian mission in Acts that I find most problematic in his analysis (I will come back to this below), but his evaluation of the evidence from the undisputed Pauline Letters.122 Paul is certainly speaking about hardships in Ephesus (1 119

Strelan, 1996: 275. This piece of evidence in Ignatius of a Pauline tradition in Ephesus is simply rejected by Günther (1995: 71) with the following comment: “Die Verbindung der ephesinischen Gemeinde mit Paulus deutet auf die Unkenntnis des Ignatius sowohl über die Arbeit des Heidenapostels als auch über die Gründungsgeschichte der ephesinischen Gemeinde hin.” 121 Cf. Esebius, Hist. eccl. 3.23.4. 122 Overall, I find it problematic that Günther regularly sets forth his own suggestions and conclusions without discussing alternative readings and views. 120

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Cor. 15:32; 16:9b), but he also says that at Ephesus ‘a wide door for effective work has opened for me’ (qu/ra ga/r moi a)ne/w?gen mega/lh kai\ e0nergh/j, 1 Cor. 16:8a). Günther correctly points out that this expression is not enough in itself to speak about the success of Paul in Ephesus, particularly since in 2 Cor. 12:2 the same expression does not imply success.123 Nevertheless, these accounts in conjunction with the rest of the textual evidence point in the direction of a flourishing Pauline mission rather than towards a failure on the part of Paul in Ephesus. Further, Günther takes the neglect of any mention of Christ-believers in Asia ― and in Ephesus in particular ― in the instruction concerning the collection for Jerusalem (1 Cor. 16:1–4) as evidence that Paul’s missionary endeavours in Ephesus failed, and that there was in fact no ‘Pauline community’ in Ephesus from which to make such a collection.124 This claim is, however, too far-reaching and could easily be used in support of the opposite: given that 1 Cor. was sent from Ephesus, it is most likely that the Ephesian Christ-believers had already contributed to the collection.125 Further, Günther has to deal with a number of intriguing questions that will challenge his conclusions. If Paul’s mission to Ephesus was such a failure, how should we account for his long stay in the city (two years and three months according to Acts 19:8–10), which is in fact, the longest period that Paul spent in any one city during his missionary travels?126 On other occasions, Paul seems to have moved on rather quickly whenever his mission made no progress, for example from Athens and when, according to Acts 16:6–7, Paul changed his missionary plans. Moreover, since Ephesus stands out as the place from which several of the ‘Pauline’ Letters either originated (1 Cor., the major part of 2 Cor. and Gal.?) or to where they were addressed (1–2 Tim., and possibly Eph.), it seems odd to assume that this would not have been related to the role which Ephesus played in Paul’s mission. Interestingly, Günther is most critical of precisely those two sources on which alone his compatriot Thiessen builds his extensive analysis, namely Acts and the Pastoral Letters. Regarding the provenance and the use of the Pastorals, Günther seems rather ambivalent. On the one hand, he refers to 1 Tim. 1:3 and 2 Tim. 1:15 in support of his thesis of “Antipaulinismus” in Ephesus, while he, at the same time, categorically denies Ephesus or Asia Minor as the provenance of these letters (and suggests, rather

123

Günther, 1995: 33–34. Günther, 1995: 30, 47–53. 125 Cf . Trebilco, 2004: 63–64. See also Knox, 1987: 63–64. 126 Cf. the critique of Günther by Roloff (1997: 142–45 [145]) and Schnabel (1999: 372; idem., 2005: 1227). 124

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speculatively, a “relokalisierung” of the letters to Corinth).127 He never discusses this position in detail. That the Pastoral Letters claim to concern problems related to Ephesus is explicitly spelled out in 1 Tim. 1:3 and 2 Tim. 1:18; 4:12, 19. However, Günther, together with Witetschek and quite a number of scholars, regard the letters as pseudonymous; they do not recognize them as letters addressing a believing community in a specific location, but rather as general and paradigmatic letters sent to Christbelievers in a wider geographical area. Accordingly, they regard the polemic of the Pastorals as stereotyped and the addressees as types, which are both features that are typical for letters that do not address any actual historical problem in any particular community. Martin Dibelius and Hans Conzelmann capture this position as they propose that: “The author [of the Pastorals] attempts to characterize his opponents as broadly as possible, in order to create an apologetical vademecum for all sorts of anti-Gnostic conflicts.”128 This position could be challenged on several points. First of all, it is important to keep the question of authorship separate from the question of the location of First and Second Timothy; a pseudonymous authorship does not necessarily imply a fictional setting or a general audience for these letters.129 Secondly, the letter as a genre seems generally to presuppose and address historical settings or specific problems. There are many details in First and Second Timothy that seem to presuppose a specific setting or specific circumstances behind the letters, for example the names and details referring to certain persons, the description of the false teaching and the situation of Timothy and Paul themselves. The letters give the impression that they are written by someone who had ‘inside’-information about a local believing community with certain problems. Several scholars have pointed out close parallels between the false teachers in the Pastorals and the situation that Paul faced in Corinth.130 This speaks in favor of a local setting also behind the problems dealt with in First and Second Timothy.

127

Günther, 1995: 80–83. However, it seems hard to come around the fact that both Colossians and Ephesians speak in favor of a Pauline tradition in western Asia Minor. The rhetorical question of Roloff (1997: 145) captures the crux of Günther’s thesis: “Hätte der Briefautor es sich leisten können, unter der Autorität des Paulus Anweisungen für in Wahrheit nicht existente paulinische Gemeinden in der Asia zu erteilen.” 128 Dibelius-Conzelmann, 1972: 66 (2–5). Cf. also Trummer, 1978: 137–41, 160; Quinn, 1990: 8–9, 14–15; Fatum, 2005: 177. 129 E.g., Witetschek (2008: 238–39) assumes that since the author of the Pastorals is pseudonymous, the destination of the letters must be fictive. 130 See, especially, Towner, 1987: 98–115; idem., 1989: 33–42; Schlarb, 1990: 102– 106, 120–27.

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Thirdly, although I acknowledge that parts of the polemics of the Pastorals are stereotyped, the adoption of a standard polemical schema and the use of polemical ‘stock language’ do not imply that the false teachers in the letters were not real.131 For example, in his analysis of the polemical schema of the Pastorals, Robert Karris mentions ‘greed’ as the first element of the traditional schema that could also be found in the critique of the sophists by Philo (Vit.Mos. 2.212) and other ancient writers.132 But we cannot draw the conclusion from this alone that the false teachers in First and Second Timothy could not have been real. All we can say is that similar typoi are used, and that there are some similarities in the critique of the sophists in Philo and the critique of the false teachers in First and Second Timothy. Further, in the Letters to Timothy we find some very specific polemic and particular features of the false teaching that do not seem to have been taken from a standard polemical schema, for example the specific names of the teachers, the handing over of Hymenaeus and Alexander to Satan, and the teachers who ingratiate themselves into the homes of believers in order to ‘gain control over weak-willed women’ (1 Tim. 1:20; 2 Tim. 3:6). To acknowledge the use of a polemical schema in First and Second Timothy does not mean that these letters were not originally addressed to a specific location. In fact, Karris himself does not arrive at this conclusion; on the contrary, he proposes that we have to do with “a ‘real’ heresy” and that “the heterodox are quite concrete and historical”.133 Egbert Schlarb draws a similar conclusion in his analysis of the false teaching in the Pastorals: “Darüber hinaus beschränkt sich aber der Verfasser nicht darauf, nur traditionelle Topoi und übliche Polemik anzuhäufen, sondern er sieht die Kontroverse sehr wohl als eine situationsbezogene und aktuelle an.”134 Fourthly, as pointed out above, there is a strong New Testament tradition not only that Paul spent considerable time in Ephesus, but also that he met severe opposition and fought against false teachers there (1 Cor. 15:32; 16:8–9; 2 Cor. 1:8–10; cf. Acts 18:19–20:38). Since this tradition identifies an opposition to Paul similar to the one we find in the Pastorals, the burden of proof lays on those who say that the Pastorals do not reflect a local situation. Fifthly, the early reception of First and Second Timothy connects these letters to the geographical area of Asia Minor. Two of the earliest plausible sources for the use of the Pastorals are Polycarp of Smyrna (c. 120 CE)

131

Trebilco, 2004: 208. See Karris, 1973: 552. 133 Karris, 1973: 563 n. 58. I will come back to this in chapter 3. 134 Schlarb, 1990: 65. 132

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and Irenaeus, a native of Asia Minor.135 Furthermore, Eusebius explicitly refers to the tradition that Timothy was ‘the first appointed bishop (th_n e0piskoph/n) of the diocese of Ephesus’ (Hist. eccl. 3.4.5).136 In summary, I conclude ― together with the majority of the scholars who have addressed this issue ― that Paul’s Letters to Timothy were addressed to Timothy in order to deal with a specific situation among the early Christ-believers at Ephesus. We also need to pay attention to the fact that even scholars who assume a general fictional setting behind First and Second Timothy, and who date the letters to the end of the first century, or even to the middle of the second century, can argue that the author relied on a tradition about Paul’s activity in Asia Minor, following his imprisonment in Rome. Koester, for example, concludes “whatever is said in the Pastoral Letters about Ephesos reveals that, at the beginning of the second century, a Pauline tradition connected with Timothy existed in Ephesos”.137 Hence, Koester uses both First and Second Timothy as valid sources in his attempt to reconstruct the situation of the Christian community in Ephesus. (He does, however, date the Pastorals in the middle of the second century).138 Regarding the Pauline tradition in Acts, I will confine myself to a brief comment. It is not only Günther who is critical to the historical value of Acts; so too are Fieger and Koester in their analyses, while Strelan demonstrates an odd ambivalence.139 Although Thiessen takes most of Luke’s account as historical, he makes some critical remarks.140 According to Witetschek, Luke’s account of the Pauline mission in Ephesus (Acts 19) is evidently colored by the literary and theological intentions of Luke.141 135 Pol.Phil. 4.1; 8.1; 12.3; Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.13.7; 2.14.7; 3.14.1; 4.16.3; 5.17.1; 5.20.2; 3.1.1; 2.21.2. 136 Witetschek (2008: 402) acknowledges Eusebius’s reference on this point, but suggests that Eusebius was influenced by the Pastoral Letters (Eusebius also refers to Titus as the bishop of Crete). This is, however, hard to prove and it relates to Witetschek’s overall thesis concerning the authenticity of the Pastorals. 137 Koester, 1995: 125. 138 Cf. Schnackenburg (1991: 53), who concludes concerning 1–2 Tim., “Die kirchliche Tradition entspricht dem Bild, das man sich von Ephesus um die Wende des 2. Jahrhunderts machen kann”. 139 According to Strelan (1996: 21), one cannot construct history on the basis of Luke’s work “simply because the data are not available. At best, Luke’s story can only be retold, and retold as Luke’s story”. But his analysis of the Artemis cult and Paul’s mission to Ephesus seems to contradict this position, especially as he generally takes ‘Luke’s story’ as an historical account. In fact, he concludes: “There is much that is historically reliable in Acts, especially information not available in Paul’s letters” (1996: 23). For a harsh critique of Strelan on this point, see Barclay, 1998: 260–63. 140 E.g., Thiessen (1995: 143) takes the view that Paul’s speech in Miletos is fictive and simply refers to some sort of scholarly consensus. 141 Witetschek, 2008: 262.

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Nevertheless, Witetschek makes frequent use of Luke’s writings in his analysis, generally without discussing the historical value of the text further. Koester takes an interesting position; he discredits the historical value of Acts 19 because he regards most of the material as legendary (something more or less assumed), but he does not arrive at the same conclusion as Günther, who thinks that Paul had no success in Ephesus. Evidently, Koester bases his conclusion, not only on Acts, but also on the overall evidence of the New Testament. Quite clearly, Acts was written by an admirer of Paul, partly in order to convey a positive view of Paul and his mission for the purpose of promoting the mission to Gentiles and partly to point out the non-hostile attitudes of the Christian movement towards the Roman authorities. But this theological Tendenz on the part of Luke does not necessarily mean that the general account must be invalidated.142 For example, several commentators have drawn attention to the Lokalkolorit of the account of Paul’s mission in Ephesus in Acts 19. Most notable is Peter Lampe’s analysis of the text against the backdrop of archaeological (mostly inscriptions), numismatic and ancient literary evidence. Following a comparison of this account with the available ancient material, Lampe concludes: “Lukas selber als hellenistischen Autor ist ein Großteil der guten Lokalkenntnis anzurechnen.”143 Accordingly, anyone who rejects the historical value of Acts 19 must face this question: why should Luke have been concerned about local conditions and about local linguistic usage, if he was not concerned to convey a reasonably reliable account of the early 142

In my point of view, much of the debate concerning the historical reliability of Acts suffers from an unfortunate dichotomy between fact and fiction, between historiographical writing and fictional texts in ancient historiography. Byrskog (1999: 303–04) appropriately captures the relationship between fact and fiction (or to use his labels, “history and story”) in his study of ancient oral history: “As the historians illustrate well, selectivity, explanation, interpretation, etc., were means by which one made sense of one’s own existence in producing stories about matters of the past . . . The historians’ grand patterns of interpretation functioned as a bridge between the two worlds, bringing history and story together.” Many scholars, e.g., Hengel (1979: 35–39, 59–68), argue that the Lucan story in Acts should be taken as a good example of a Hellenistic historical monograph, and that the modern polarization between objective history and theological Tendenz is not sufficient for ancient historiography. Cf. also Shauf, 2005: 50–84, 318–31. Commenting on her own studies of Herodotus and Luke, Levinskaya (1996: viii) pertinently remarks, “a novelistic genre and a strong theological framework . . . can go hand in hand with first-rate social, cultural, ethnographical and historical information”. Considering that Luke seems to have had both an historical and a theological purpose for his two writings (Luke 1:1–4), the challenge today is to take both the historiographical function and the theological-rhetorical conception of this double work at face value. 143 Lampe, 1992: 76.

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Pauline mission to Ephesus? Is it really reasonable to claim that Luke wrote his account, say for the second or third generation of Christbelievers, and deliberately conveyed an incorrect account of Paul’s mission to Ephesus? That Luke may have exaggerated his version of what actually happened in Ephesus is one thing, but it is not reasonable to assume that he should be totally wrong in his description of Paul’s mission to Ephesus.144 Therefore, I find Günther’s conclusion that Paul had no success in Ephesus rather strained. In the perspective of the interests of this study, Acts 18–19 seems initially to confirm at least two basic conclusions. First, Paul had some success in Ephesus and after Paul had left the city, there was a group of Christ-believers, or even several groups, that were clearly influenced by Paul and his mission. Secondly, the Lucan description in Acts gives the impression that, from the very beginning, the Christian movement demonstrated some sense of diversity. Prior to the Pauline representation of the Jesus-tradition in that city, there was the impact of Apollos (who also had a distinct ‘group’ of followers in Corinth) and there was also a group of disciples of John the Baptist (Apg 18:24–26; 19:1– 7).145 I therefore conclude that the attestations of Koester, Strelan, Thiessen, Trebilco and Witetschek to the existence of both a Pauline community and a Pauline tradition, albeit not a “Pauline school”, in Ephesus should clearly be preferred compared to Günther’s forced thesis about a Pauline failure in that city.146 Finally, Witetschek argues that the Lucan Doppelwerk (Luke–Acs) was written in Ephesus c. 90–100 CE and that this work attests to a Pauline tradition in Ephesus by the end of the first century. Witetschek argues his case primarily from the central role that Paul’s mission in Ephesus plays in Acts 18–20, in particular in the content of Paul’s speech to the Ephesian elders in Miletos (20:18–35).147 Although this is an interesting thesis, it 144

Hence, there is an increasing tendency nowadays to take the bulk of Luke’s account of Paul’s mission to Ephesus as fairly reliable. Today the pendulum seems to have swung from the hypercritical position that has characterized much scholarly work on Luke and Acts since the days of F. C. Baur and the Tübingen School to a more moderate position. In several recent treatments of Acts, a new evaluation and a more thorough reading of Greek, Roman, Jewish, and later Christian historiography and hagiographical biography have resulted in a more positive assessment of the value of Acts as an historical source. This can be seen particularly in the current work of several scholars, e.g., Hemer (1989), Thornton (1991), Taylor (1994a), Levinskaya (1996), Barrett (1994, 1998), Jervell (1998), Fitzmyer (1998), Riesner (1998), Witherington (1998), Porter (1999), and Bock (2007). 145 See also chapter 2, 3. 146 Several scholars (e.g., Conzelmann, 1979; Schnelle, 2003: 23, 146, 152) have argued for a ‘Pauline school’ in Ephesus. As pointed out by Witetschek (2008: 402–10), this must still be regarded as a hypothesis. 147 Witetschek, 2008: 259–62.

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must be regarded as a mere hypothesis. All we can say is that Luke seems to demonstrate a particular interest in Paul’s mission in Ephesus, and he even gives a very good Lokalkolorit to this account, but this cannot be taken as evidence that Luke’s work was located in Ephesus.148 2.2. Ephesus and the Johannine Tradition There is no common understanding about the definition, existence and identity of a Johannine tradition in Ephesus and/or of a Johannine community there.149 Günther and Trebilco both agree that the Johannine Letters are connected to Ephesus and to John the Presbyter, and that they belong within a late first century setting. They differ in that Günther only acknowledges that Second and Third John relate to Ephesus, while Trebilco acknowledges an Ephesian connection for all the Johannine Letters.150 The Book of Revelation was written either by a pseudonymous author (Günther) or by an unknown Jewish prophet (Trebilco). Strelan also recognizes a Johannine tradition in Ephesus, but he does not elaborate on the identity of this ‘John’. Koester, on the contrary, denies the existence of any Johannine tradition in Ephesus in the first century; he only accepts the tradition of Revelation, written by John the Prophet (whom Koester identifies with John the Presbyter). Accordingly, he sees a separate community, “a prophetic conventicle”, in Ephesus connected with John the Prophet/the Presbyter. Thiessen takes a similar position and simply denies the possibility that any of the so-called Johannine writings (the Gospel and the Letters) might be located in Ephesus. According to Thiessen, an unknown wandering Jewish prophet wrote Revelation. Witetschek follows this line and argues that it is only the patristic evidence from late second century (Irenaeus) and on, not the Johannine texts themselves, which speaks in favour of locating the Johannine writings to Ephesus. Hence, Witetschek suggests that the Gospel of John should be located to Alexandria. He thinks that later on, in early second century, a Johannine group came to Asia Minor and produced the Johannine Letters there. He also argues that the Book of Revelation has strong connections to Ephesus, and that it was written by an unknown Jewish-Christian prophet. 148 As Witetschek (2008: 255–59) himself demonstrates, there have been many suggestions about the place of origin of Luke’s work (besides Ephesus, e.g., Philippi, Antioch, Caesarea and Rome). We might tentatively argue that there could have been several other reasons besides the one suggested by Witetschek for the extended section about Ephesus in Acts (e.g., Ephesus was the major center of the Christian movement at the time when Luke wrote Acts). 149 Fieger and Schwindt do not deal with this issue. 150 Günther (1995: 111) locates 1 John in Syria (together with the Fourth Gospel), not in Ephesus.

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It is correct that it is the patristic evidence which most clearly connects the Johannine writings to Ephesus. However, this tradition could be considered as quite strong, since it is attested from the second century CE onwards. In his comments on Papias, Eusebius, who was the bishop of Hierapolis during the first half of the second century, identifies two ‘Johns’ and two tombs of ‘John’ in Ephesus: John, ‘the Lord’s disciple’ (identified by Eusebius as ‘the evangelist’, o( eu)aggelisth/j) and John ‘the Elder’ (o( presbu/teroj).151 However in Papias’s own words, this distinction is not so clear, since he only seems to distinguish between the twelve (being named oi9 presbu/teroi) and ‘the other of the Lord’s disciples’ (tw~n tou~ kuri/ou maqhtw~n).152 Papias says that John ‘the Presbyter’ belonged to the latter group. According to Eusebius, Papias had heard John the Presbyter himself and he says that Papias also quotes from the First Letter of John.153 Polycrates, the bishop of Ephesus in the last decade of the second century CE, also speaks of a ‘John’, identified as the one ‘who lay on the Lord’s breast, who was a priest wearing the breastplate, and a martyr and teacher (martu/j kai\ dida/skaloj). He sleeps at Ephesus’.154 In addition, Irenaeus, who also came from Asia Minor and who was a pupil of Polycarp, the bishop of Smyrna, makes the connection between John and Ephesus. He maintains that John, ‘the disciple of the Lord’, was the author of all the Johannine writings, including Revelation.155 Irenaeus also calls this John ‘the Apostle’ (Adv. haer. 1.9.2–3).156 Finally, the Acts of John, probably dating from the middle of the second century and most likely reflecting a tradition from

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Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.4–6. Apud Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39.3–4), Papias said: ‘And I shall not hesitate to append to the interpretations all that I ever learnt well from the presbyters and remember well, for of their truth I am confident. For unlike most I did not rejoice in them who say much, but in them who teach the truth, nor in them who recount the commandments of others, but in them who repeated those given to the faith by the Lord and derived from truth itself; but if ever anyone came who had followed the presbyters, I inquired into the words of the presbyters (tw~n presbute/rwn), what Andrew or Peter or Philip or Thomas or James or John or Matthew, or any other of the Lord’s disciples (h)/ tij e(/teroj tw~n tou~ kuri/ou maqhtw~n), had said, and what Aristion and the presbyter John (o( presbu/teroj I)wa&nnhj), the Lord’s disciples, were saying. For I did not suppose that information from books would help me so much as the word of a living and surviving voice.’ 153 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.7, 17. As correctly pointed out by Witetschek (2008: 290), this is the testimony of Eusebius, not by Papias himself. 154 Apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.3–4. 155 Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.16.3; 3.16.5, 8; 4.20.11; 4.30.4. 156 Cf. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 2.22.5; 3.3.4. 152

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Asia Minor, knows of John the Apostle and the son of Zebedee, whom the author locates in Ephesus where he was a miracle-worker.157 Trebilco questions the traditional interpretation of these pieces of evidence and argues that this Papias-Polycrates-Irenaeus-line of tradition does not refer to John the Apostle (the son of Zebedee), but to John the Presbyter and the author of the Fourth Gospel.158 Trebilco suggests that Papias, who lived in Hierapolis, had some personal knowledge of the Presbyter.159 Furthermore, he argues that, in referring to John as ‘a priest’, Polycrates was partly dependent on a local tradition, which goes back to Papias, and which identified this John, not with John the Apostle, but with the unknown John of Acts 4:6, who was a member of the High Priest’s family.160 The Muratorian Canon (a late second century text?) seems to follow Papias, particularly since it speaks of John as ‘one of the disciples’ in contrast to Andrew, who is ‘one of the apostles’.161 Trebilco further argues that the explicit references to John, ‘the disciple of the Lord’ or ‘the disciple’ (altogether sixteen times) as the author of the Johannine writings (including Rev.) in Irenaeus is compatible with Papias’s reference to the presbyter as the author of the Fourth Gospel. Trebilco explains the passages in which Irenaeus does call the author of the Fourth Gospel ‘the apostle’ as a reflection of Irenaeus’s convictions about apostolicity in the battle against Gnostics: “For Irenaeus, ‘apostle’ means one who is reliable and who has been authorised by Christ, in contrast to the secret tradition claimed by the Gnostics.”162 In any case, Irenaeus makes an explicit 157

See Trebilco, 2004: 258–60. For the location of the Acts of John, see Hill, 1999; idem., 2004: 258–63. Witetschek (2008: 289–90) questions the value of this tradition. 158 Trebilco (2004: 242–58) builds his case primarily on the detailed argument in Bauckham, 1993b: 24–69. 159 Building his case on Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.7: ‘The Papias whom we are now treating confesses that he had received these words of the Apostles from their followers, but says that he actually heard Aristion and the presbyter John. He (lit. ‘therefore’, gou=n; my addendum) often quotes them by name and gives their traditions in his writings.” 160 Bauckham (1993b: 44) draws the conclusion: “The John to whom Polycrates ascribed the Fourth Gospel was a very definite person. His tomb was at Ephesus. Polycrates could have explained how he was related to him. He was not the son of Zebedee, one of the twelve, but he was a personal disciple of Jesus. He must be John the Elder, a disciple of the Lord, to whom Papias referred in the famous passage of his prologue (ap. Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 3.39.4).” For Polycrates on John, see Bauckham, 2006: 438–52. 161 For arguments in favor of the view that the Muratorian follows Papias, see Trebilco, 2004: 249. Bauckham (1993b: 65) concludes: “In Asia, the tradition from Papias early in the second century to Polycrates at its end was that this John, the beloved disciple and the author of the Gospel, was John the Elder, a disciple of the Lord but not one of the twelve, who had died in Ephesus.” For a defence of an early dating of the disputed Muratorian canon, see Bauckham, 1993b: 53 n. 86. 162 Trebilco, 2004: 253. See, especially, Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.9.2–3; 3.3.4.

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connection between the Gospel and Ephesus (Trebilco argues that Polycarp was the basis for this tradition).163 Finally, Trebilco suggests that the connection between John ‘the apostle’ and Ephesus in the Acts of John (probably mid-second century) stems from a local Egyptian tradition or, alternatively, from an Asia Minor tradition that is also attested in the Epistle of the Apostles (also mid-second century) and from Valentinian teachers at the second half of the century. This is either an independent tradition opposed to the Papias-Polycrates-Irenaeus line of tradition or, alternatively, the tradition behind the Acts of the John has misunderstood the latter one. In either case, the Acts of John provide further evidence, which locates ‘John’ in Ephesus.164 On the whole, Günther argues in a similar vein. He stresses specifically that Papias was in personal contact with John the Presbyter, and thus Papias guarantees the tradition from John. Günther also points to terminological similarities between Papias (Fragment 2.3f.) and Second and Third John, which indicate that Papias stood in the Johannine tradition. Thus, he concludes that Papias supports the conclusion that Second and Third John were written in Ephesus.165 Koester, on the other hand, objects to this interpretation of the evidence concerning the Johannine tradition in Ephesus. He points to the lack of evidence of any usage of the Johannine tradition in western Asia Minor before the middle of the second century CE.166 According to Koester, neither Polycarp, the Bishop of Smyrna, nor the apologist Justin Martyr, who stayed in Ephesus for some time, refer to the Johannine literature. Although Eusebius reports that Papias quoted from the First Letter of John, Papias does not seem to reveal any explicit knowledge of John. Hence, Koester argues that it was Irenaeus, who first identified its author with the well-known John of Ephesus, and who ascribed both the Fourth Gospel and Revelation to him, in order to lend greater authority to the Fourth Gospel. Consequently, Koester draws the conclusion that the tradition that John the Apostle wrote both the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Letters in Ephesus is late and did not arrive at Ephesus until the second half of the second century. Basically, Witetschek’s argument is the same as Koester’s (although he tentatively dates the Johannine Letters to the early second century in Ephesus).167

163

See Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.1.1 (=Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.8.4); 3.3.4 (=Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.14.3–8). 164 Trebilco, 2004: 258–61. 165 Günther, 1995: 85–111. 166 Koester, 1995: 135–39. 167 Witetschek, 2008: 287–93.

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However, I find this evaluation of the evidence at hand somewhat problematic. First, we have to do with several seemingly independent traditions that speak in favor of locating either John the Apostle or John the Presbyter, or even both of them, in Ephesus. Koester exaggerates the lack of evidence of the Johannine tradition/literature in western Asia Minor: Polycarp of Smyrna clearly seems to allude to First John in his Letter to the Philippians (Pol.Phil. 7.1–2).168 In Eusebius’s quote of Papias of Hierapolis, Papias lists the first six disciples in the order that seems to reflect the order in John’s Gospel.169 The evidence from Justin Martyr is more ambiguous than Koester acknowledges; in fact, there are a couple of occasions that suggest that Justin also knew and used the Fourth Gospel.170 Besides this, there are possible allusions to the Johannine Letters in the Letters of Ignatius and in the Letter of Diognetus.171 Secondly, Koester’s identification of John the Prophet with John the Presbyter on the basis of Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39.11–12) seems rather speculative, especially since neither Papias nor Eusebius himself make this connection.172 Evidently, Eusebius mentions Papias’s belief in an earthly pre-millenialism reign, but this could only tell us that, at that time, Papias 168

Pol.Phil. 7.1 (‘For everyone who does not confess that Jesus Christ has come [e)lhluqe/n ai, perf. inf.] in the flesh is an anti-Christ’) recalls both 1 John 4:2–3 (‘Every spirit who confesses Jesus Christ come [e0lhluqo/ta, perf. ptc.] in the flesh . . . Every spirit who does not confess Jesus . . . is of the Antichrist) and 2 John 7 (‘Many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not confess Jesus Christ coming [e0rxo/menon, pres. ptc.] in the flesh. There is . . . the Antichrist’). The phrase ‘is of the devil’ (e)k tou= diabo/lou e)s ti/n) in Pol.Phil. 7.1 echoes 1 John 3:8: ‘For everyone who does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is an anti-Christ; and whosoever does not confess the testimony of the Cross is of the devil (e0k tou= diabo/lou e0s ti/n ). Cf. also Pol.Phil. 7.2 (‘Wherefore, leaving the foolishness of the crowd, and their false teaching, let us turn back to the word which has delivered us from the beginning [e0c a)rxh=j]’) and 1 John 2:7, 24; 3:8, 11; 4:2–3; 2 John 7, and the use of the term e)piqumi/a on Pol.Phil. 7.1b and 1 John 2:16–17 (cf. Brown, 1982: 8–9; Strecker, 1996: xxix). Somewhat speculatively, Hill (2004: 418–20) argues for traces of John’s Gospel in Pol.Phil. 5.2; 7.1. 169 Eusebius quotes Papias in Hist. eccl. 3.39.4; cf. John 1:40; 21:2. Irenaeus refers to John 14:2 in Adv. haer. 5.34.2, most likely citing from a book by Papias. Cf. Hill, 2004: 385. 170 Cf. Dial. 88.7 and John 1:15, 20, 23; 1 Apol. 61.4 and John 3:3, 5, and 1 Apol. 64.2 and John 6:51–58. See Hengel, 1989: 12–14. 171 E.g., Ign.Eph. 7.2 (‘God having come in flesh’, e0n sarki\ geno/m enoj qeo/j ; G L) may allude to 1 John 4:2–3, and Diognetus 10.3 (‘how greatly will you love Him who so loved you first?’) to 1 John 4:19. 172 Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39.11–12a): ‘The same writer [Papias] adduces other accounts, as though they came to him from unwritten tradition, and some strange parables and teachings of the Saviour, and some other more mythical accounts. Among them he says that there will be a millennium after the resurrection of the dead, when the kingdom of Christ will be set up in material form on this earth.’

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was influenced by this kind of teaching, and that he possibly had some contact with the writings of the author of Revelation. It is quite a step to argue from this evidence alone for an identification of John the Presbyter with John the Prophet. In conclusion, an evaluation of the data at hand seems to give enough evidence to justify for speaking of a Johannine tradition connected to the city of Ephesus.173 At the same time, we must acknowledge that the support for this tradition is rather late. I find it reasonable to argue that there was in Ephesus a leading Christ-believer (or even two) called ‘John’, who was (or were) more probably connected with the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Letters than with Revelation (which implies that John the Prophet was another ‘John’). Hence, by the end of the first or the beginning of the second century CE, there was most likely a Johannine tradition in Ephesus that was primarily related to the Johannine Letters.174 It should be pointed out though, that even if we find a Johannine tradition, or even a Johannine community, ‘school’ or ‘circle’ in Ephesus at that time, this does not imply that the Johannine tradition originated there. As pointed out by many scholars, the situation of the Johannine community, having been driven out of the synagogue (John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2) seems to reflect a Palestinian, a Syrian or even an Alexandrian setting.175 Accordingly, we also have to consider other alternatives for the location of the Johannine Letters.176 173

Cf. Hill (2004: 473), who concludes his extensive analysis of the Johannine tradition in the early church with the following words: “The tradition of Ephesus may not be recoverable before the time of Hegesippus and Irenaeus, but other factors support an origin in Christian Asia Minor if not specifically the city of Ephesus. The influence of the Fourth Gospel on Ignatius, as he passed through Asia Minor, on Polycarp writing in Smyrna, in Papias and his elders in and around Hierapolis, and very profoundly on the Epistula Apostolorum in Asia Minor, and on the Asian émigrés in Vienne and Lyons, argues for this, as does the fictional, geographical placement of the adventures of John in the Acts of John. The explicit Asian setting of the Johannine Apocalypse and the corroboration by Justin in Ephesus also constitutes evidence, to the extent that this work’s author was identified with the author of the Fourth Gospel.” 174 That the Johannine Letters belong to western Asia Minor or the Ephesus area is today argued by a vast majority of scholars, e.g., Barrett (1978: 123–24), Brown (1982: 101–03), Bruce (1970: 13–15), Burge (1997: 595–96), Dodd (1953: 3–9, 444–53), Ellis (1999: 200–02), Guthrie (1970: 890–93), Hengel (1989: 30–32), Lemcio (1986: 222), Lüdemann (1996: 170), Olsson (2005: 207), Painter (1986: 49), Robinson (1976: 285–86, 303), Schnackenburg (1968: 149–52), Schnelle (1999: 460, 468–70), Smalley (1984: xxxii), Strecker (1996: xxxv–xlii), Trebilco (2004: 263–71), Wengst (1978: 30), Westcott (1966: xxxii), and Witetschek (2008: 298). 175 E.g., Wedderburn, 2004: 178–79; Witetschek, 2008: 293–98. 176 E.g., Günther’s (1995: 85–111) suggestion that 1 John was written in Syria. So also Kümmel, 1975: 246–47, 445; Koester, 1982: 195.

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While there is evidence in support of a Johannine tradition in Ephesus, I am more sceptical about the attempts to reconstruct the social group (the ‘community’, ‘school’ or ‘circle’) behind this tradition. First, I am in sympathy with the conclusions of Richard Bauckham and others that the Gospels were not primarily written for specific Christian communities, but for wider audiences.177 I also agree with Trebilco’s conclusion that “we should not read John’s Gospel as a narrative about the community to which John belonged, and we cannot reconstruct the history and contemporary life of ‘the Johannine community’ from John’s Gospel.”178 With regard of the Fourth Gospel, there are too many uncertainties involved for us to pursue such a task. I also find problems with the reconstruction of a Johannine community from the Johannine Letters. In particular, I am critical of Trebilco’s elaborate attempt to reconstruct the social community of the Johannine Letters in Ephesus. Trebilco maintains that John the Presbyter, who wrote the Gospel, also wrote the Johannine Letters (similarities in vocabulary and style point to this conclusion).179 So far I agree, but I find it more difficult to follow his conclusion that First John was written for a community in Ephesus, while the Second and Third Letters were written to communities close by Ephesus.180 There is evidently some external support for the argument that the Johannine Letters were circulated at an early date in the area of Ephesus and western Asia Minor,181 but there is little support for Trebilco’s clear distinctions here. The proposal that the author of the Johannine Epistles should be located in Ephesus does not mean that the audience of these letters necessarily lived there. In fact, it seems more reasonable to argue that, while the author should be located in Ephesus, the letters were written to communities outside the city. First, why should the author, who lived in Ephesus himself, write letters to his own community in the same city? Letters (even ‘tracts’) seems to be primarily communicative vehicles between people living at some distance from one 177

See Bauckham, 1998. Trebilco, 2004: 240. For this conclusion, see also Hägerland, 2003: 309–22. 179 Trebilco, 2004: 263–71. The obvious differences between the Gospel of John and the Johannine Letters can be explained as differences in genre, subject matter, audience and purpose. 180 Trebilco, 2004: 267. Trebilco (2004: 270) draws his conclusion primarily from 3 John 6 (‘You will do well to send them [the brothers and sisters] on in a manner worthy of God’), arguing that 3 John “suggests several days journey separated the house churches of 3 Jn from those of 1 Jn”. Trebilco simply presumes (without any explicit support) that 1 John was written to a church in Ephesus. 181 Most importantly Pol.Phil. 7.1–2. Ireneus (Adv. haer. 3.3.4) connects Cerinthus, ‘the enemy of the truth’ and a Docetic teacher, to John the Apostle and Ephesus. For further arguments, see Trebilco, 2004: 268–70. 178

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another. Trebilco’s proposal that First John does not suggest a geographical distance between the author and his readers is too vague. Secondly, the first clear allusion to First John is by Polycarp of Smyrna in his Letter to the Philippians (7.1–2), which should probably be dated shortly after Ignatius (c. 120 CE).182 This gives an indication that this letter was known and circulated in this area early on, but it can hardly be used in support of an Ephesian origin. Thirdly, as Trebilco also notes, the closest parallel to the secessionists in First and Second John are the Docetists in Smyrna and Tralles against whom Ignatius wrote about 110 CE.183 Is it not more reasonable, then, to argue that while the author of these letters was located in Ephesus, his addressees were located in Smyrna or in a nearby city in western Asia Minor? First John, with its general content and lack of personal greetings, could even have been intended as a circular letter or tract.184 Moreover, Trebilco himself seems clearly ambiguous in his conclusions, since he first locates Second and Third John “close by” Ephesus, and then goes on to state that “we have evidence for the use of 1–2 John near Ephesus . . . and we can proceed with confidence then to place 1–3 John in Ephesus”.185 He then proceeds to argue that the situation behind 3 John 6 (‘You will do well to send them [the brothers and sisters] on in a manner worthy of God’) points to a location of this letter outside Ephesus: “This suggests that a several days journey separated the house churches of 3 Jn from those of 1 Jn.”186 Trebilco seems to be not only unclear about where to locate these letters, but he builds his case on a rather hypothetical reasoning. I agree that there are reasons (supported by evidence in Ignatius and Irenaeus) to argue that the false teachers referred to in the Johannine Letters could also have operated in Ephesus,187 but to reconstruct the believing community as a social entity in Ephesus on the basis of these 182

Concerning the dating of Polycarp, the old view that chaps. 13–14 were written shortly after Ignatius’s departure and chaps. 1–12 were written much later is decreasing and regarded by many as unnecessary (see Hill, 2004: 416). Accordingly, Berding (2002: 13–24) argues that the majority of Pol.Phil. (chaps. 1–12 or possibly 1–12+14) was probably close to 120 CE. 183 Trebilco, 2004: 269. Cf. Ign.Smyr. 1.1–5.2; Ign.Trall. 6.1–11.2. 184 So Schnackenburg, 1991: 60. 185 Trebilco, 2004: 269 (italics mine). 186 Trebilco, 2004: 270. 187 There are some similarities between the secessionists of 1 John 2:18–25; 4:1–6; 5:1–8 and the false teachers in Ign.Eph. 7.2; 18.2 (e.g., the distinction made between Jesus and Christ, and the emphasis on Jesus as Christ and the baptism in response to this teaching. Moreover, Cerinthus, ‘the enemy of the truth’, operated in Ephesus according to Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.3.4. Uebele (2001: 147–57) argues convincingly that a similar group of Docetists as in Ignatius’s Letters is also attacked in the Johannine Letters. I will further elaborate on the teaching of the secessionists in chapter 2, 4.2.

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letters is quite another issue. The problems become even more acute when Trebilco proceeds to make elaborate comparisons between the Johannine and the Pauline communities in Ephesus. In fact, the social group, which Trebilco envisages behind the Johannine Letters, may not be a community in Ephesus at all. My conclusion then is that there is positive evidence in support of speaking about a Johannine tradition in Ephesus at the end of the first century. We have at least two ‘Johns’ in the city: John the Presbyter (the transmitter of the tradition behind the Gospel and the Johannine Letters, who was occasionally confused with John the Apostle) and John the Prophet (the author of Revelation).188 Furthermore, there is clear evidence that the Johannine Letters circulated in this geographical area early on, and there is even some evidence in favor of speaking of Ephesus as the center of the Johannine tradition, and even of a ‘school’ or a ‘circle’. The Letters of John (especially 2 John 12 and 3 John 13–14) do however indicate that, within the Johannine community as a whole, there existed a number of local house churches, which were scattered over a wide area.189 Hence, while I acknowledge the location of a Johannine tradition in the Ephesus area, I am more pessimistic concerning the possibility of reconstructing a local social group or community in Ephesus that would have been behind the Gospel or the Johannine Letters. In the Book of Revelation, John the Prophet explicitly addresses a community of believers in Ephesus in Rev. 2:1–7 (cf. 1:11). Although we 188 Although there are some similarities in language between the Johannine Gospel and the Epistles, on the one hand, and Revelation, on the other, I do not hold it likely that they originate from the same author. Papias (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.6) does not equate John the Presbyter and the author of Revelation. As pointed out by Müller (1993: 322), “such an equation is not very likely (often assumed in modern scholarship), because the ‘presbyter’ John, as well as other ‘presbyters’, is a transmitter of oral tradition; they are early Christian teachers, not charismatic figures like John, the author of Revelation”. Discussing the authorship of Revelation in detail, Aune (1997: lvi) draws the following conclusion: “Though Revelation has been linked with the other Johannine writings in the New Testament, there are in fact very few features that suggest that this author was part of the Johannine community in any meaningful sense.” In a similar vein, Beale (1999: 36) concludes: “Regardless of which John wrote, the author of the book identifies himself as a prophet (e.g., 1:1–3, 10–19; 4:1–2; 17:1–3; 21:9–10; 22:6–7). Therefore, it is probable that John should be socially identified with a group of early Christian itinerant prophets.” 189 Cf. Smalley, 1984: xxxii. It seems likely that the Johannine communities also transmitted the Johannine traditions, i.e. some sort of ‘school’ or ‘circle’. For the existence of a Johannine ‘school’, see Cullmann, 1976; Schüssler Fiorenza, 1976–77; Hengel, 1989: 80–83, 124–35; Strecker, 1996: xxxv–xlii. Schnelle (1987: 212–28) argues in favor of both a Pauline school and a Johannine school located in Ephesus at the end of the first or the beginning of the second century.

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cannot know for sure, it seems to be a valid conclusion that he attempts to address the citywide group of Christ-believers. 190 David Aune, primarily referring to the ancient tradition associating both John the Apostle and John the Presbyter with Ephesus, even suggests that the prophet had Ephesus as his home base.191 It would not be surprising to find that the prophet had established a particular contact with the most influential community of Christ-believers in western Asia Minor at that time. Of course, this is a matter of pure speculation. 2.3. The Diversity of the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus So far we have found support for both a Pauline and a Johannine textual tradition connected with Ephesus towards the second half of the first century and the first part of the second century CE. We cannot say definitely that all the texts we have examined address Christ-believers in Ephesus: First and Second Timothy, Revelation and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians do, but all we can say concerning the Johannine Letters is that they were connected to Ephesus from an early date, most likely because John the Presbyter lived in Ephesus (the communities addressed were probably situated somewhere close by). We shall now turn to the issue of diversity. How many different groups of Christ-believers could there have been in Ephesus towards the end of the first century CE? Recent studies of the early Christian movement in Ephesus make different proposals. Koester, Strelan and Trebilco argue for two main coexisting Christian communities, a Pauline one and Johannine 190

A central thesis in Trebilco’s work (2004: 335–42, 589–627) is that John intended to address the citywide community of all Christ-believers in Ephesus. Trebilco asserts five reasons for this position: i) the universal language of Revelation strongly suggest that John is writing to all Christ-believers; ii) the author shows familiarity with the local geography, suggesting that he knows the situation of the Christ-believers in each location, iii) the genre of literature (not primarily a letter but a prophecy/apocalypse) suggests a broader audience, iv) John shows awareness of other groups of Christbelievers, v) there is are no clear grounds on which we can say that John is writing to a particular group of Ephesian Christ-believers. However, according to Witetschek (2008: 309–10), John the Prophet addressed a specific Jewish-Christian group in Ephesus (but he does not provide any further information about the reasons why he comes to this conclusion). 191 Aune (1981: 27–28) finds support for his thesis in the following: i) John had his visionary experience on Patmos, off the cost of Miletus, closest to Ephesus of any of the seven church; ii) an ancient tradition associates both John the Apostle and the Presbyter with Ephesus (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.5–7; 7.25.16; Hieronymus, De uir. inl. 9; cf. also Justin, Dial. 81.4); iii) John addresses the Ephesian community first of all, and iv) the opposition to the Nicolaitans seems to have been more successful in Ephesus than anywhere else, suggesting that John himself had led this opposition prior to his departure for Patmos.

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one, but Koester and Trebilco differ in their identification of ‘John’, an issue we have noted in the discussion above. Also Witetschek argues for several coexisting groups of Christ-believers. Interestingly, Günther and Thiessen, who both published their studies in the same year (1995), came to quite opposite conclusions. Thiessen, on the one hand, reckons only with a Paulus-Schule (although he acknowledges that the Christian movement in Ephesus was characterized by several heterogeneous and rival groupings with varied types of structures) and he does not think it is possible to reconstruct the Johannine tradition. Günther, on the other hand, refutes the existence of a Pauline community in Ephesus and reckons only with a Johannine one. As pointed out above, they both seem to push the evidence to the extreme in order to argue their theses with some novelty. (One may wonder if they would not have benefited from some interaction with one another in this case.) Furthermore, we have seen that most studies affirm the presence of several coexisting groups of Christ-believers in Ephesus, most explicitly so do Koester and Trebilco, who identify several, separate groups of deviant teachers and their followers. Günther is the only one who explicitly questions such a reconstruction, and who argues in favor of a distinct line of continuity from the founding by Apollos to the triumph of the Johannine Christianity towards the end of the first century and throughout the second century. As already pointed out, Günther has to reject the information given about early Christ-believers in Ephesus, both in Acts and the Pastorals (interestingly, the two primary sources of Thiessen’s analysis) in order to argue his case. In my perspective, there is enough evidence in support for speaking in terms of some kind of diversity in the early Christian movement in Ephesus. In addition to what has been said so far, there are primarily two reasons why this seems to be a reasonable position. First, and as pointed out particularly by Strelan, time and again New Testament scholarship has assumed that there was one ‘church’ in Ephesus.192 This kind of vocabulary fails, not only because of the fact that it is collective and easily leads us to the assumption of a unified and orthodox Ephesian ‘church’ from the very beginning, but also because the term is anachronistic and builds on the assumption that the Christian movement was clearly distinguished and separated from Judaism already during the first century (I will discuss this issue in chapter two). Unless we speak in clear theological categories, the word ‘church’ carries too many historical and modern connotations and should therefore be avoided as a collective 192 Strelan, 1996: 15. E.g., Prigent (2001: 156) speaks of “the church of Ephesus”, relating Rev. 2, 1 Tim. and Ignatius to the one ‘church’ in Ephesus. Also Koester (1995: 122–24) regularly speaks of “the church in Ephesus”.

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description of early Christian communities. We paid attention above to the fact that the Christian movement in Ephesus seems to have reflected some kind of diversity from the very start (consisting of at least two or three distinguishable groups of Christ-believers referred to in Acts 18–19) and this diversity seems to have continued to some extent. Therefore, we do better to speak of the Christian movement(s), or of communities or groups of Christ-believers than of the ‘church’ in Ephesus. The term ‘group’ denotes some sense of commonality between two or more individuals that distinguishes them from the ‘others’.193 Thus, a group is defined by a sense of group consciousness, commitment and shared beliefs, attitudes, values, rituals or behaviours. A group may be discernible from another whenever the documents point out differences that distinguish this group from another group (e.g., ‘they do not belong to us because of…’). For example, in the texts relating to Ephesus, there are certain ‘deviants’ (from the perspective of the author) that are made into a group of ‘outsiders’ (e.g., the Nicolaitans in Rev. 2:6), who are clearly distinguished from the group of ‘insiders’. But it could also be certain interests or certain perspectives that distinguish one group from another (without hostile attitudes between the groups), e.g., a more apocalyptically and charismatically oriented group (gathered around John the Prophet) may potentially be distinguished from a group of followers of the Pauline tradition. This brings me to my second point. There are a notable number of texts, which relate to Ephesus and which make certain distinctions and demarcations between those who belong to the ingroup and those who do not belong to this group. In fact, all the canonical evidence (including 1–2 Tim., 1–3 John, Rev. and Acts 18–20) and the post-apostolic Letter to the Ephesians by Ignatius confirm the presence of persons/groups, i.e., ‘outsiders’ that the author for one reason or another wants to differentiate and separate from his understanding of the true members of the ingroup (e.g., the result of the author’s demarcations in 1–2 Tim. would have been a group of teachers, including their followers, who would have been excluded from the ingroup of believers). In order to question the diversity of the early Christian movement in Ephesus, Günther must dismiss the actual presence and impact of these deviant groups (which is somewhat 193 Cf. Elliott, 1993: 130: “The most generically inclusive term denoting a set of two or more individuals who are in reciprocal communication. Social groups are composed of persons whose relationships with one another are a consequence of an interrelated set of statuses and roles. Groups vary in size, duration, stability, mode of contact, objectives, manner of admission, formality, role prescriptions, degree of acquaintance among members, sanctions, etc., and can view themselves as ‘ingroups’ in contrast to ‘outgroups’ (‘we’ vs. ‘they’) from which they distinguish themselves and for which they feel antipathy.”

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surprising, since he obviously presupposes the existence of both the Docetists in 2–3 John and the Nicolaitans in Rev. 2). 194 It is Trebilco who most clearly spells out the importance of these people/groups for the formation and development of the early Christian movement in Ephesus: We also note that in texts related to Ephesus authors are regularly arguing against another group that they regard as “opponents”. Thus in Ephesus, as elsewhere, from at least the time of the Pastorals there was a drawing of lines by some Christians in order to exclude others who regarded themselves as Christians. This is a clear tendency of our documents ― the Pastorals, the Johannine Letters, Rev. and Ignatius. Thus, one continuing element in the life of Christians in Ephesus was conflict between Christians, and the presence of differing strands of Christian faith. A focus on admissible and inadmissible belief ― and clarifying what was meant in both cases ― is clearly a feature of Ephesian Christian communities. 195

Although some of these people/groups obviously belonged to the ingroup at the time of writing, we may suspect that, if the various authors made some success with their polemical writings, it would only be a matter of time before these people/groups would have been cut off and separated from the ingroup and then they would have become a separate group of ‘outsiders’. Thus, from a sociological point of view, we may, at least in theory, speak of various ‘groups’, ‘circles’ or ‘communities’ of Christbelievers in Ephesus at the end of the first and the beginning of the second century.196 However, and this is crucial, we should be careful not to make an immediate connection between a specific text and a socially distinct and distinguishable group in the sense that each text must represent different and socially distinct groups, particularly since John the Prophet (Rev.) and Ignatius seem to have had the intention to address a more general group, or community, of Christ-believers in Ephesus.197 Trebilco concludes that both the Pastorals (1–2 Tim.) and the Johannine Letters address two distinguishable and separate communities in Ephesus, but this does not need to be the 194

See Günther, 1995: 111–23, 133–39. Trebilco, 2004: 716. 196 This conclusion is also reached by Schnackenburg (1991: 58) as he remarks that by the end of the first century, “Es gab im kleinasiatischen Raum verschiedende Sekten . . . Aber darin wird E. Schüssler-Fiorenza Recht haben, daß am Ende des 1. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. verschiedende Schulen und Zirkel koexistierten und sich in Kleinasien überschnitten.” 197 As previously pointed out, I think there are reasons to suppose that John the Prophet intended to address all Christ-believers in Ephesus with his apocalyptic message; he is charged to write tw?~ a)gge/lw? th~j e0n )Efe/sw? e)kklhsi/aj (Rev. 2:1). I also hold it likely that Ignatius wrote with a similar intention, addressing the whole Christian community in Ephesus: th?~ e0kklhsi/a? th?~ a0ciomakari/stw? th?~ ou)/sh e0n )Efe/sw? th~j 0A si/aj (Ign.Eph., inscr.) For a more elaborated discussion on this issue, see Trebilco, 2004: 645–83. 195

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case. While I basically agree with Trebilco that these two texts differ on major issues (we will come back to this in chapter four), I believe that there may also have been groups, or clusters, of early Christ-believers in Ephesus towards the end of the first century that were actually in contact with both these textual traditions, but which were not typically defined as either Pauline or Johannine communities. For example, there is evidence of groups which, as a result of the labels attached to them by authors who describe them as ‘deviant’, may have been designated as outgroups clearly distinguishable from the ingroups addressed by the main texts (e.g. the Nicolaitans of Rev. 2 and the ‘Antichrists’ of 1 John are examples of such recently designated outgroups). In addition, Günther and Koester suggest a separate ‘John of Revelation community’. Trebilco questions this idea and argues that John the Prophet sought to address all Christ-believers in Ephesus. (His argument relates to the universal language, John’s knowledge of the local geography, the literary genre, etc.) Although it seems reasonable to argue that John intended to speak to an all-inclusive group of Christ-believers in the cities that he addressed, it would not be difficult to imagine that the kind of prophetic-apocalyptic understanding of the world that is represented by Revelation would have attracted some believers specifically and may even have resulted in the formation of a group that was oriented towards that kind of ‘apocalyptic Christianity”.198 While Walter Bauer argues that there were numerous, diverse ‘heretical’ groups in western Asia Minor at the beginning of the second century, we noticed that Thomas Robinson finds it unlikely that there would have been several competing groups.199 As is so often the case in scholarly discussions, the truth probably lies somewhere in between. We do not know the size of these ‘deviant’ groups, but their role in creating boundaries and pointing out specific identity markers should not be neglected (I will come back to this in chapter three). We have to keep in mind that the victors regularly write the history, which must allow for Bauer’s thesis ― or at least the possibility thereof ― that the ‘heretical’ groups were both early and strong without necessarily concluding that they were the dominant or the original form of early Christ-belief. In his critique of Bauer, Robinson seems to have neglected this perspective as he asserts: “it is the catholic community, not the Gnostic, which represents the 198 Using the terminology of Dunn, 1993: 309–34. Schlüssler Fiorenza (1976–77: 25) suggests that John the Prophet headed a prophetic school and addressed a particular group of Gemeindepropheten who functioned as the teachers and transmitters of the visions told in Rev. In support of the theory that John addresses a particular group of Christ-believing prophets is particularly the use of u(mi=n in Rev. 22:16 (cf. 22:9; Aune, 1989: 103–16), and that the prophets seem to be distinguished from the ‘saints’ in Rev. 11:18 (for this reading, see Aune, 1998: 645). 199 Robinson, 1988: 171–72.

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character of the majority in western Asia Minor in the early period.”200 This is, of course, the obvious conclusion, considering the literary material that has survived from this period. However, the Pastoral Letters lend some support to Bauer’s thesis that it was the ‘heretical’ element that was in majority (or at least the most influential) and that that the ‘orthodox’ party was weak and in minority. Although I generally agree with Robinson that the “number of heretics has no proportional relationship to the decibel of the polemic raised against it”.201 First and Second Timothy point in another direction. Timothy, Paul’s spokesperson, seems to have found it hard to make his voice heard in Ephesus. He was close to giving up his task, and Paul, who had been left alone and in chains, complains that his co-workers and friends had left him in Asia (1 Tim. 1:18–20; 2 Tim. 1:6– 18; 4:6–12). This seems to provide some support for speaking of a weak ‘orthodox’ minority and the ‘deviants being in majority’ ― if not numerically, at least in impact and influence. The question whether this was also an early form of ‘deviants in majority’ is, of course, related to the question about the dating of these letters. We must take into account the possibility that the winners have eliminated the writings (if there were any) of those whom they labeled as ‘deviants’ ― a scenario that Robinson seems to have ignored.202 Even if we do not have many remains of the writings of the second century Gnostics, we do have some evidence that indicates that they were quite active in producing their own literature.203 Above all, I think that Trebilco is right when he points out that “a focus on admissible and inadmissible belief ― and clarifying what was meant in both cases ― is clearly a feature of Ephesian Christian communities.”204 Accordingly, we must also take the influence of various kinds of early Christ-belief and groups (‘orthodox’/‘canonical’ as well as ‘deviating’ ones) into account as we discuss the identity issues and the formation of the early Christian movement in Ephesus. We have seen that the traditional way of describing the development of the early Christian movement in Ephesus is to assume that the Pauline community was the original one and that Johannine apostolic authority followed smoothly after Paul, i.e., that there was some sort of ‘takeover’ by the Johannine tradition or a merging between the Pauline and Johannine communities. This description could be found already in Irenaeus, who comments on ‘the church in Ephesus’ which has held on to the apostolic tradition: ‘Then, again, the Church in Ephesus, founded by Paul, and 200

Robinson, 1988: 203. Robinson, 1988: 203. 202 See Robinson, 1988: 199–200. 203 See Bauer, 1972: 147–92. 204 Trebilco, 2004: 716. 201

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having John remaining among them permanently until the time of Trajan, is a true witness of the tradition of the apostles’ (Adv. haer. 3.3.4).205 This way of describing the development of the early Christian movement in Ephesus has been the traditional view ever since the early nineteenth century and it is commonly represented in New Testament studies from the twentieth century onwards.206 As we have noticed, Robinson also defends this opinion. Even Bauer, who explicitly says that he wants to question the so-called ‘takeover theory’, ends up with a variant of this theory as he suggests that ‘orthodox Christianity’ replaced Paul with John the Apostle, in order to establish a close connection with Jesus which was more secure than what Paul represented.207 As outlined above, several recent studies seek to question and modify this model in various ways. It has been argued that the main problem with the traditional view is that it is too simplistic and that it builds on the concept that there was an early, unified Pauline ‘church’ in Ephesus, which was later taken over by John, and this implies that there was only one community of Christ-believers in Ephesus at any one time. Both Strelan and Trebilco want to replace the traditional view with the idea of a coexistence of a Pauline and a Johannine community engaged in nonhostile interaction with one another. 208 Since the Johannine Letters are generally dated around 90–100 CE, such a ‘theory of coexistence’ (my terminology) does of course presuppose a date for the Pastoral Letters around 80–100 CE. In order to elaborate further on this thesis, as primarily Trebilco does, it must also be argued that the Johannine Letters should not only be located in Ephesus, but that they reflect the life of a Johannine community in that city. Since there is evidence that a Pauline tradition existed in Ephesus from the middle of the first century until the time of Ignatius at the beginning of the second century and also a Johannine tradition from the end of the first century, it seems reasonable to assume some kind of ‘coexistence’, at least at the end of the first and the beginning of the second century (from 70 CE 205

Also quoted by Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.23.4. Günther (1995: 4–9) follows this development from Albert Schwegler (1846) until the end of the twentieth century. Also Strelan (1996: 301) refers to this opinion in W. Ramsay, C. Weizsäcker, J.B. Lightfoot, A. Schlatter, H. Lietzmann, and J. Moffatt. 207 Bauer, 1972: 85. 208 This is also the position of Robinson, 1988: 143 n. 34, and Trudinger, 1988: 291, 295. Cf. also Schnackenburg (1991: 64) on this view: “Die Koexistenz zwei solcher Gemeinden schien uns aus den Verhältnissen in Ephesus und den bescheidenen Anfängen der joh Gemeinde erklärbar zu sein. Allmählich scheinen die joh Gemeinden ihre Eigenverfassung aufgegeben zu haben und sich in die Großkirche integriert zu haben.” Vouga (1994: 215–27) sees the coexistence of three simultaneous communities at Ephesus: a Johannine, an apocalyptic and a post-Pauline community. 206

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onwards?). However, there are some problems with this theory. First, it assumes the presence of a distinguishable Johannine community in Ephesus at the end of the first century, which could be reconstructed from the Johannine Letters. As I have pointed out above, while I accept a Johannine tradition in Ephesus at that time, I find some major problems about any reconstruction of a Johannine community in Ephesus on the basis of the Johannine Letters. Secondly, I also doubt that the ‘coexistence theory’ is enough as it basically reckons with only two ‘types’ of Christbelief in Ephesus. Even if I find it likely that in his apocalyptic vision, John the Prophet may have had the intention of addressing a variety of groups of, or even all, the Christ-believers in Ephesus, there is no clear indication that he himself belonged to any of these groups.209 Furthermore, there were, as we noted, also other subgroups, for example the false teachers of the Pastorals (Jewish Gnosis-teachers?) and the ‘Antichrists’ (Docetists?) in the Johannine Letters.210 We must also consider the Nicolaitans (Rev. 2) as a separate group, which is not easily linked with any of the other groups.211 Another issue that we need to consider is the relationship between the local Jews and the early Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers, including the possibility that there may have been Christbelievers in Ephesus that identified with the Jewish community rather than with any socially distinctive ‘Christian’ group (I will discuss this issue in chapter two). We therefore need a more fluid model, which will allow for groups who identified with the Pauline tradition as well as groups who identified with the Johannine tradition, and also for the existence of groups that may have been influenced by both or none of these traditions.

209

Koester (1995: 133) doubts that John the Prophet “was addressing the same Greekspeaking, Gentile, Christian church of Ephesos that Apollos and Paul had founded and that Luke ― a contemporary of the prophet John ― knew”, while Trebilco (2004: 342) suggests that the indications that John disagrees with the majority of his readers makes it likely that he writes to a variety of Christian groups. Since this John does not seem to presume that he will receive a hearing, it is not likely that he belonged to a particular group. See Aune, 1981: 19–29; cf. Trebilco, 2004: 335–42. 210 Even if the false teachers in 1–3 John were not to be located in the Ephesus area, it is clear that these teacher were itinerant. We can be quite sure that their teaching sooner or later reached Ephesus (cf. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.3.4). The false teacher of the Pastorals and those in 1–3 John were most likely not the same: while the main problem with the false teachers in 1–3 John is Christological, there is no hint in the Pastorals that this belonged to the author’s problem with the false teachers reported in these letters. 211 As pointed out by Trebilco (2004: 335), the information given about the Nicolaitans (food offered to idols and idolatry) does not seem to square with what we know about the opponents in the Pastoral Letters (in particular since they seem to have seen a continuing relevance in the Jewish Law in some way, it is not likely that they would also have advocated eating meat offered to idols or any involvement in idolatry).

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Thus, I find it likely that there were various types or groups of Christbelievers in Ephesus towards the end of the first and the beginning of the second century.212 In a city the size of Ephesus, with approximately 200,000 citizens, including 500–2,000 Christ-believers, at the end of the first century CE, it is not difficult to imagine several communities of believers, structured in small communities (probably house churches) at the same time ― they may even have existed independently without being fully aware of one another.213 However, when it comes to the possibility of reconstructing clearly distinguishable communities or groups of Christbelievers in Ephesus, I remain more pessimistic. 2.4. Text and Community In discussing issues related to texts and to social groups, I will now respond to the recent attempts to reconstruct these separate Christian communities in Ephesus, and particularly to Trebilco’s elaborated attempt to reconstruct, not only the separate social communities addressed by the Pastorals and the Johannine Letters respectively, but also the interrelationship between them. The problem involved in reconstructing the history and the life of these communities and their relationship to one another mainly concerns the way in which we view and use these ancient texts. Clearly, and in my view quite correctly, Trebilco positively acknowledges the historical and social realities behind the documents: “we are able to discern some of the characteristics with regard to the addressees of our particular documents from what the respective author says.”214 However, Trebilco offers no further methodological discussion 212 1 Cor. 16:19 (su\n th?= kat 0 oi]kon au)t w~n e)kklhsi/a?) demonstrates that Prisca and Aquila had a group of believers in their home in Ephesus. In addition, the greeting from ‘all the brothers’ (1 Cor. 16:20) points to other Christ-believers in Ephesus who did not meet at Aquila’s home. See Gehring, 2004: 143–44. 213 Robinson (1988: 107 n. 60, 120) suggests that in Ephesus by 100 CE there could have been dozens or even scores of house churches of 30 people each, suggesting a figure of at least 500 Christ-believers in Ephesus at the end of the first century (based on the approximation of fifteen converts each year). Muddiman (2001: 45) also suggests that there was about 500 Christ-believers in Ephesus at the end of the first century. He acknowledges a Pauline group and a Johannine ‘circle’ in Ephesus, maintaining that “It is impossible that the two groups would not have known of each others existence” (2001: 37). Günther (1995: 26–27) gives an amount of about 2,000 Christ-believers in Ephesus at the end of the first century. Of course, all these figures are estimates; nevertheless, they can give us a sense of the size of the Christian community in Ephesus at this time. As Robinson (1988: 160 n. 77) points out, we should avoid thinking in terms of an early central city presbytery exercising control over each house church. Probably each ‘theological/tradition group’ exercised its authority over its own little collection of house churches. 214 Trebilco, 2004: 10 (italics original).

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about how he intends to pursue this complex task. As he deals with each specific document and discusses separate issues, he generally shows an awareness of the problems involved.215 But the issue becomes more acute when he sets out to compare the communities with one another. His method of working consists of seeking possible examples of vocabulary and ideology shared with another group, and then of demonstrating that there was some influence by one community on the other with regard to this vocabulary. For example, Trebilco finds two examples that indicate the influence of a Johannine tradition in the Pastorals, e.g. the good confession before Pilate (1 Tim. 6:13–14; cf. John 18:36–37) and the phrase me/nein e)n (1 Tim. 2:15; 2 Tim. 3:14; cf. John 8:31; 15:9–10; 1 John 4:16; 2 John 9).216 In a similar vein, Trebilco finds a couple of examples that indicate the influence of the Pastorals on the Johannine Letters, for example the greetings in 2 John 3 demonstrate particular similarities with 1 Tim. 1:2; 2 Tim. 1:2 (e.g., the use of e)/leoj and qeou= patro/j) and the mission language in 3 John 6–8 (e.g. the use of prope/mpw, sunergo/j and a)ci/wj) seems to reflect some influence of the Pauline sphere.217 Trebilco is careful to point out that this linguistic evidence is primarily marshalled in an attempt to remove a counter argument to his overall hypothesis of the existence of non-hostile relations between the two groups (if there had been no linguistic contact, it would suggest that the two communities had had nothing to do with each another). He does not suggest social contact on the basis of only linguistic contact.218 Nevertheless, Trebilco goes on to suggest “that there was some contact between the two communities and that we would not envisage communities that were water-tight and hermetically sealed off against each other and unexposed to other influences.”219 He concludes, the evidence for linguistic contact between the two groups removes a possible argument against our thesis of non-hostile relations between these two communities, 215 E.g., as Trebilco discuss the issue of leadership in the Pastorals (2004: 472) or Ignatius and his recipients on (2004: 635–37). Trebilco also shows awareness of the difference between self-designations preferred by the author and those used by the addressees, although it is not quite clear how he makes these distinctions (e.g., 2004: 569, 576, 585). 216 Trebilco, 2004: 596–601. 217 Trebilco, 2004: 605–12. 218 Trebilco, 2004: 613, 626. As Trebilco (2004: 622–25) deals with the contact between the Pauline community and John the Prophet (Revelation), he does not take the lack of linguistic contact in evidence of no social contact but in evidence of that Paul and the Pauline tradition is not an ally in the battle that John is involved in and that Paul is seen as the source of inspiration of the opponents that John wants to combat. Needless to point out, such a speculative argument is hard to prove. 219 Trebilco, 2004: 626.

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since if there had been no linguistic contact this would suggest the communities had nothing to do with one another.220

My main point of critique is that Trebilco time after time discusses more in terms of the community behind the text rather than in terms of the author of the text. I doubt that the influences, which Trebilco seeks to identify, say anything at all about the actual social contact between, or the attitudes held by the communities that are addressed. At the very best, some of the examples of intertextuality to which he points may indicate that the author in question had been in touch with another tradition. Alternatively, the linguistic similarities could indicate that a specific author is drawing on “a common body of ideas” ― a thesis of which Trebilco seems to be well aware.221 For example, Trebilco’s conclusion that the greeting in 2 John 3 (‘Grace, mercy and peace will be with us, from God the Father and from Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father, in truth and love’) is clearly influenced by a Pauline tradition and that the author uses Pauline language is not obvious to me. The data could be interpreted in other ways, for example that this greeting follows the precedent of most other New Testament letters, originating in a common Jewish-Christian tradition. Others scholars have also argued for a Pauline tradition behind 2 John 3 (and I do not deny the possibility of this), but they seem to be more cautious in their conclusions.222 Therefore, Trebilco’s attempt to reconstruct the relationship between the Pauline and the Johannine communities in Ephesus, particularly on the ground of linguistic contact, must be regarded as exceedingly hypothetical. Even if Trebilco is aware that linguistic contact does not necessarily imply social contact, he repeatedly uses linguistic evidence (and only this evidence) in support of social contact or of the lack thereof.223 As a result, Trebilco overestimates the amount of reliable information about the sociological situation that can be gained from analyses of vocabulary and syntax, and even more so since we only have recourse to sample texts of such minuscule size as the Pastorals and the Johannine Letters. And, as pointed out above, we have no clear evidence that the communities addressed in the Johannine Letters were actually located in Ephesus at all. Thus, taken as a whole, the evidence for linguistic contact between these two communities in question seems in my view 220

Trebilco, 2004: 716. Trebilco, 2004: 604. 222 E.g., Funk (1967: 424–30), as he comments on the greeting formula in 3 John: “Since the Pauline structure, so far as is known, is a unique development in the history of the letter, it is possible that the author has been influenced by Paul or the Christian letter tradition stemming from it.” 223 E.g., Trebilco, 2004: 588, 590, 594, 602, 604, 613, 626, 716. 221

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to concern the authors and their use of traditions rather than the social life of the communities addressed.224 In the end, Trebilco’s conclusions appear rather blurred concerning the relationship between the text, its author and its recipients. In Christian Identity in the Jewish and Greco-Roman World (2004), Judith Lieu expresses her doubts concerning the possibility of reconstructing ancient historical and social contexts behind the texts themselves. According to Lieu, this can never be more than an exercise in imaginative recreation, subject to challenge, especially since the historical realities are for the most part only accessible to us through the texts that have survived. We only have access to the world of the text itself, and not to the world behind the text: “We can catch partial, but only partial, glimpses of a wider range of social experience than that directly represented by the texts.”225 Although texts address contexts, they primarily shape and construct the context addressed. Lieu continues, Indeed, even when we attend to the voice of the text, often that of a particular author, we may not always be confident of how far it is articulating an existing consensus, or how far it is engaged in construction, and only fully successful in that enterprise once it is internalized and authorized within the community.226

Hence, Lieu argues that texts construct realities rather than reflect them. Instead of talking about social communities, she follows Brian Stock’s thesis about “textual communities”, i.e., of groups formed around a text and its interpreters.227 For Lieu, texts construct a sense of ‘who we are” ― the “textualisation of identity” ― even when they seem to be engaged in doing something quite different.228 Lieu continues, Texts construct a world; they do this out of the multiple worlds, including the textual ones, that they and their authors and readers already inhabit and experience as ‘reality’; that new world itself becomes part of a subsequent ‘reality’ within and out of which new constructions may be made.229 224 While also Witherington (2006: 602) is sceptical to Trebilco’s elaborated conclusions, he makes a similar mistake concerning the communities of 1–2 Tim. and 1– 3 John (based on the negative result of the linguistic data) in suggesting: “there was not a great deal of influence in either direction, even influence from the founding figures of each of these communities.” 225 Lieu, 2004: 9, cf. 300. 226 Lieu, 2004: 9. E.g., Lieu points out that literary texts tend to be more exclusive than social experience. 227 Lieu, 2004: 28. Stock (1990: 150) defines “a textual community” as “a group that arises from somewhere in the interstices between the imposition of the written word and the articulation of a certain type of social organization. It is an interpretative community, but it is also a social entity.” 228 Lieu, 2004: 30–31. 229 Lieu, 2004: 61.

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Trebilco and Lieu represent two different positions of how to view and use ancient texts. While Trebilco primarily wants to reconstruct the historical and social reality behind the text, Lieu focuses on the constructing function of the text. I agree with Lieu that texts construct realities, especially when a text is ascribed an authoritative or ‘sacred’ status.230 Thus, we must always ask how a given text is designed to affect and form its addressees. In the case of the New Testament texts the eventual goal was to persuade and to modify the addressees’ thoughts, values and behaviour.231 Most importantly, since the text reflects the values and rhetorical perspective of the author, we must be careful to distinguish between textual constructions and socio-historical reconstructions.232 I also find the use of “textual communities” helpful. The early Christian communities were formed through its texts, and specific formative texts lay at the heart of these communities. Such formative texts provided a decisive influence on the self-understanding and organization of the community. At least as far as we know, the formation of early Christian identity, is to a considerable extent, the result of the interpretation of its seminal texts. Texts played a key role in the struggle to control the early Jesus tradition, and the proper use of literature was a key element in the ongoing tensions and conflicts. However, this does not mean that we should avoid the demanding task of historical reconstructions. The text should be regarded as a vehicle, which not only constructs the self-understanding of the reader/s (individual and social identities) but which may also reflect the existing realities (both relating to the author and to the community of the addressees). It is therefore the responsibility of the exegete to reconstruct the realities in and behind the ancient text (whenever it is possible), particularly in the light of the vast amount of archaeological and inscriptional evidence at our disposal today (this concerns the city of Ephesus in particular). We thus need to consider the fact that texts both potentially construct the ‘imaginative’ or cognitive world of the readers and reflect in some way the social, political and religious world of their authors (and to some extent also of its readers). Although Trebilco demonstrates an essential awareness of the distinction between the beliefs of the author and the social context of the readers,233 he speaks too frequently only of the social community 230

See, e.g., Sawyer, 1999: 143–70. Cf. Thurén, 2000: 25, 181. 232 Accordingly, Pogoloff (1992: 87) proposes, “the ‘world’ of the text is neither fiction nor fact, but a value laden interpretation of a situation shared by reader, implied author, and implied intended reader”. 233 E.g., Trebilco (2004: 10) points out, “In particular, from the documents we have we can ascertain some features of the theology of the authors concerned, but we are often unable to ascertain the theology of the group of readers addressed.” I do also appreciate 231

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behind the text. Sometimes he ends up with an advanced form of ‘mirrorreading,’ particularly when he sets out to investigate the interrelationship between the communities addressed in the Pastoral Letters, the Johannine Letters and the Revelation respectively. Therefore we need to be sensitive to the constructing and cognitive function of the text when we seek to reconstruct the social communities behind this text, being aware that the author’s attempt to construct the socio-historical reality of his readers may not in fact have succeeded. Following from this discussion, the present study will focus on these texts primarily as vehicles that construct and form the identity of their readers. This does not mean that I take no interest in historical reconstruction, nor that I deny the value or the possibility of such a task (as will become evident in chapter two). The aim of this study is, however, to focus on the identities formed and reinforced by the various authors and texts, and on how these identities relate to one another rather than on the reconstruction of the groups that the texts address and on any possibly scenario of interrelationship between these groups.

3. The Focus and the Procedure of the Present Study What we know about the early Christ-believer in Ephesus we learn from mainly paraenetical letters. Following the discussion above, there are three texts that explicitly address early Christ-believers in the geographical area of Ephesus. First, we have the text-corpus consisting of First and Second Timothy. The material in these letters derives from a redactor standing in a Pauline tradition and/or possibly from Paul himself. It is, however, extremely difficult to date the Pastoral Letters, since they may reflect a situation anywhere from the last period of Paul’s life to a decade or so prior to Ignatius, roughly somewhere between 65 and 95 CE. 234 The second the careful discussion of Ignatius’s rhetoric, demonstrating that Trebilco (2004: 634–37) is quite aware of the problems involved in reconstructing a situation behind a text colored by the author’s rhetorical devices. 234 Although a majority of scholars regard the Pastorals as pseudonymous or inauthentic, some of the more recent commentaries on the Pastorals demonstrate that the questions of the authorship and of the dating of the Pastorals (two issues that should be kept apart) are still open. In particular, see the detailed argument for Pauline authorship in Mounce, 2000: lxxxiii–cxxix; Johnson, 2001: 20–97; Towner, 1995; idem., 2006: 9– 26, 83–88. Marshall (1999: 59–79) takes a ‘middle’ position as he argues for a date in the 70s, shortly after the death of Paul. Nevertheless, he considers most of the content to derive, directly or indirectly, from Paul himself (proposing the term ‘allonymity’ [a student or follower of Paul edits the notes of the deceased apostle] instead of ‘pseudonymity’). I will presume that the Pastoral Letters derive from Paul, but that they

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text that explicitly address Christ-believers in Ephesus is the letter to the ‘church in Ephesus’ in Rev. 2:1–7, most likely written (or finally redacted) by John the Prophet towards the end of the reign of Domitian (c. 95–96 CE).235 We do not know whether John intended to address a completely different, a partly different or the same group of Christ-believers as First and Second Timothy, although much speaks in favor of Trebilco’s thesis that John had a broad ‘scope’ in focus and probably aimed at addressing Christ-believers in Ephesus in general (whether or not they belonged to the Pauline tradition). I will also assume that the author of Revelation intended to address Christ-believers in Ephesus not only in the letter of Rev. 2:1–7, but implicitly also in the book as a whole. Our third text is Ignatius’s Letter to ‘the church . . . at Ephesus in Asia’ (th?= e)kklhsi/a ? . . . th?= ou)/sh? e)n )Efe/sw? th=j 0Asi/aj, inscr.), written during the latter part of the reign of Trajan (98–117) and most likely about 110 CE.236 While questions about the authenticity of Ignatius’s Letters is still discussed, there is today a fair amount of general agreement among scholars that they are the work of Ignatius, written during his travel by foot through western Asia Minor on his way to martyrdom in Rome.237 Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians seems may have been slightly revised into their present form by a Pauline co-worker after the death of the apostle. Ignatius’s Letters point to the conclusion that the church polity argued in the Pastorals belongs to an earlier period, at least one or two decades earlier (Polycarp is the earliest explicit evidence of the Pauline authorship of 1–2 Tim.; see Berding, 2002: 152–55). In my opinion, the intriguing proposal of Prior (1989), who suggests that the personal letter of 2 Tim. is an authentic Pauline letter, needs further consideration. 235 So Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 5.30.3. For a dating of the Book of Revelation towards the end of the first century, see, e.g., Mounce, 1977: 31–36; Collins, 1984; 69–77; Schüssler Fiorenza, 1985: 193–94; Hemer, 1986: 7–12, 210–12; Bauckham, 1993c: 14–17; Friesen, 1995: 245–50; Beale, 1999: 4–27; Prigent, 2004: 68–84 (cautiously); Witetschek, 2008: 310–20. Aune (1997: lvi–lviii) suggests that the first edition of the book was composed in the decade of 60s CE, but that the final edition of Revelation was completed towards the end of the reign of Domitian. Although there are some noteworthy similarities between the Book of Revelation and the Johannine Letters (most notably in Christology), it is the differences that are most salient (grammar, vocabulary, themes, etc.). 236 As it comes to the dating Ignatius’s Letters to the second half of the reign of Trajan (98–117 CE), I follow the consensus of the majority of scholars (e.g., Hammond Bammel, 1982; Trevett, 1992: 6–9; Isacson, 2004: 13; Trebilco, 2004: 629–31; Myllykoski, 2005: 341). A date before or about 110 CE seems likely, especially in view of that Ignatius does not seem to know anything about the edict of Pliny (Epist. 10.96) from 110 CE forbidding political associations in Pontus and Bithynia. 237 Some modern scholars have reopened the discussion concerning the authenticity of Ignatius’s Letters, e.g., Joly, 1979 (arguing that the letters were composed by a forger after the death of Polycarp) and Rius-Camps, 1980 (arguing that Ign.Phld., Smyr., and Pol. are the creations of a forger). For a detailed discussion and critique of these theories, see Hammond Bammel, 1982.

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to address a general range of Christ-believers in Ephesus. At the same time, Ignatius was also aware that not all Christ-believers in Ephesus were prepared to follow his instructions concerning episcopacy (I will elaborate further on this in chapter four). In addition, I will consider the Johannine Letters as a text-corpus that should be connected to the geographical area of Ephesus. Despite the uncertainty about the actual location of the addressees, I have argued above in favor of placing ‘John’ and the Johannine tradition in western Asia Minor and Ephesus towards the end of the first, or at the beginning of the second century.238 As we noted in the analysis above, second century witnesses (primarily Polycarp of Smyrna) confirm the continued use of this tradition in western Asia Minor. Thus, I will presume that the identity of the Christ-believers argued in the Johannine Letters existed in the area of Ephesus towards the end of the first century. Concerning Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, I will refrain from making any immediate use of this text in my analysis. The locality of the addressees (e0n 0Efe/sw?, Eph. 1:1) is absent in the oldest manuscripts (p46, 298 ) * B*, etc.), including some of the third and fourth century church fathers (Origen, Basil, etc.), which point to the conclusion that this was originally a circular letter written for a wider audience in western Asia Minor.239 The general character of the letter also supports this thesis, particularly the lack of personal greetings.240 Thus, there is no clear indication dating from the first century that this letter was written to, or connected with, Christbelievers specifically situated in Ephesus.

238 Most scholars date the Johannine Letters between 90–110 CE. E.g., Brown (1982: 101) dates 1 John to c. 100 CE and 3 John to 100–110 CE, Smalley (1984: xxxii) suggest 90–100 CE for all three letters, and Schnelle (1999: 447–80) opts for a date around 90 CE for 2–3 John and after 95 CE for 1 John. Strecker (1996: xli–xlii) dates 2–3 John about 100 CE and 1 John to the beginning of the second century, while Günther (1995) dates 2–3 John to the time before 100 CE, most likely during the time of Domitian (81– 96 CE). Due to close similarities in style, I regard 1–3 John as deriving from the same author or source (following Brown, 1982: 14–19), here being identified as ‘the presbyter’ (using the self-designation of the author of 2 and 3 John). 239 Cf., e.g., Best, 1982: 276–78; Lincoln, 1990: 1–4; Witetschek, 2008: 214–18. Although Hoehner (2002: 78–79) and Schwindt (2002: 55–62) argue in detail in favor of the conclusion that Paul’s letter was originally written to Christ-believers in Ephesus, they do not present a valid explanation to the omission of e0n 0Efe/sw? in the earliest mss. 240 The connection with Ephesus was probably made in the beginning of the second century at the earliest and then onwards. Ign.Eph. inscr. indicates that Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians had a special connection with Ephesus (see Schwindt, 2002: 57–59). Ignatius may thus be taken in evidence that Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians was considered to be addressed to believers e0n 0Efe/sw? (1:1) long before the fourth century witnesses of )c A B3 D, etc. indicate.

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My conclusion is thus that, from the end of the first and the beginning of the second century CE, we have at least three ‘canonical’ texts and one ‘non-canonical’ text that are connected with the Ephesus area, and all of them claim the right to define and to articulate the authoritative belief and behaviour of the followers of Jesus Christ. Turning to chapter two, I will begin by focusing on the most important context for the identity formation of the early Christian movement in the first and second century, namely the formation and articulation of identity/-ies among Christ-believers in relation to the Jewish ‘matrix’. Assuming that there was an influential Jewish community in Ephesus in the first century BCE and in the first century CE, it is of interest how the texts that we may locate to Ephesus describe the identity of early Christbelievers in ethnic terms: how do the authors of these texts define the relationship to Judaism and to Jewish boundary markers? What is the relationship between ethnicity and identity among the authors who addressed early Christ-believers in Ephesus? And how do these authors define the relationship between Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers, and between non-believing Jews and Christ-believers, respectively? And at what point can we talk of a distinguishable Christian movement, clearly separated from Judaism, among these authors? Since the early Christian textual traditions that relate to Ephesus all involve internal rivalry, conflicts and struggle between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’, I will elaborate further on some social theories of identity formation in chapter three, and particularly on theories concerning conflicts, deviance and self-categorization as well as on the use of antitypes and prototypes in the process of identity formation. I will exemplify this by elaborating on the process of forming social identity reflected in First and Second Timothy. In particular, I will focus on the use of the prototypical believer as a counterpart to the moral standards of the threatening group of ‘deviant’ teachers. Recognizing that the authors that address Christ-believers in Ephesus form prototypes of the ideal believer, chapter four will focus on an analysis of issues of authority and legitimacy, and on a comparison of the descriptions of the prototypical Christ-believer in First and Second Timothy, in the Book of Revelation, in the Johannine Letters and in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians. The context of this polemic with the ‘others’ in the early Christian movement was primarily a struggle for power and authority within the groups addressed. It focused primarily on the right to define, to transmit and to preserve the true Jesus-tradition. Accordingly, the idea of prototypicality is ultimately used in order to seek authority and legitimacy for the authors’ understanding of this corporative tradition. I will here consider the possibility that the ‘canonical’ authors

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present their prototypes not only in contrast to those deviating prototypes that are explicitly pointed out in the texts, but also in competition and in response to other existing prototypes, which were familiar within this geographical area. Finally, in chapter five I will raise the crucial question of commonality and identity: what held the early Christian movement in Ephesus together? I will point to sociological factors, such as trans-local networks and itinerant leaders, and, most importantly, to points of commonality in the various ways of describing early Christ-belief. Even if we may find some notable differences in the terminology, the themes and the perspectives between the various ways of telling the story of Jesus in our texts, I will argue that there is a remarkable coherency and consistency in the texts that belong to the Ephesus area with regard to the basic structure of the story of Jesus and with regard to the ethical ideals that were expected in response to this story.

Chapter 2

Ethnicity and Identity: Jewish Boundary Markers and Christian Communities in Ephesus The term ‘identity’ is basically a social concept; identities, whether modern or ancient ones, are shaped and formed in relation to other individuals or groups. The British sociologist Richard Jenkins even argues that “all human identities are by definition social identities”.1 As a social construct, ‘identity’ is not static or single; it normally consists of a complex compound of multiple social, ethnic, political, and religious factors, and is formed, modified, and reshaped in the continuous dialectic process between social relations and social structures, between the individual and society.2 ‘Social identity’ is thus the outcome of a process, whereby an individual’s patterns of thoughts, feelings and actions have been attributed to significant group members and the individual has incorporated these as a mental image. Accordingly, ‘social identity’ results in an individual’s perception of belonging to a social group.3 The process of defining ‘us’ also involves defining a range of ‘them’. Individuals are identified, by themselves and by others, in terms of what distinguishes them from, as well as by what connect them with, other individuals or groups. Difference and similarity reflect each other across a shared boundary; “at the boundary we discover what we are in what we are not”.4 The boundary between groups can be seen as the dialectical synthesis of internal thesis and external antithesis; the identity is in important senses the boundary.5 Members of the group are seen and described in ways that accentuate their similarities, the features that bind them together, while they are sharply distinguished from outsiders. This process may be referred to as a form of categorization, a process that is 1 Jenkins, 2004: 4 (italics his). Jenkins (2004: 5) defines ‘identity’ as “our understanding of who we are and of who other people are, and, reciprocally, other people’s understanding of themselves and of others (which include us)”. 2 Cf. the phenomenological discussion of identity in Berger-Luckmann, 1967: 173–80. 3 Cf. Turner, 1982: 23. 4 Jenkins, 2004: 79. 5 Jenkins, 2004: 118.

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based on stereotyping, whether positively (of group members) or negatively (of non-members): “When we stereotype people we attribute to them certain characteristics that are seen to be shared by all or most of their fellow group members.”6 Accordingly, groups identify themselves (the ‘insiders’) against, and in their relationship with, other groups (the ‘outsiders’); members must thus be told who they should be and who they should not be.7 The process of self-definition and identity formation thus implies differentiation from one or more ‘others’ by the drawing up of boundary lines. The ‘other’, or the enemy, becomes an intrinsic part of a group’s self-definition; the authors understand themselves and their readers in terms of the ‘other’, by insisting on what one is not. Hence, the definition of deviants, antitypes and ‘outsiders’ becomes significant as a way of defining the prototypical member, the normative ‘insider’, and the social identity of the group (in chapter three, I will elaborate further on social theories to which this relates). In this chapter, we shall pay attention to issues related to one of the most ― if not the most ― significant group of ‘others’ as we elaborate on the process of early Christian identity formation, namely Christian self-definition(s) in relation to the Jewish matrix. The relationship between early Christ-believers ― whether of Jewish or Gentile background ― and Judaism was so fundamental for early Christian self-definition and self-understanding that we cannot discuss issues relating to the formation of early Christian identity in Ephesus without elaborating on this relationship. In this chapter, I am particularly interested in the gradual process, by which Jews and things ‘Jewish’ in early Christian writings are being transferred from the realm of the insiders to the realm of the outsiders, to the ‘others’.

1. Jewish Diaspora Identity In the process of forming and defining social groups, the notion of ‘identity’ is closely related to the complex idea of ‘ethnicity’.8 As has been pointed out, the knowledge of one’s membership of a social group, together with the value and significance that is attached to this membership, constitutes the ‘social identity’ of its subject. In this sense the 6

Brown, 2000: 290. Jenkins, 2004: 82–86. 8 For a general discussion of the defintion and relation between the concepts of ‘identity’ and ‘ethnicity’, see Lieu 2004: 13–17. In the following discussion, ethnicity will refer to the combination of the experience of kinship (shared genealogy) and custom (common behaviour). Cf. Barclay, 1996: 402–03. 7

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ethnic group is a social, rather than biological, category; it is defined by socially and discursively constructed criteria rather than by physical indicia.9 Accordingly, Jonathan Hall defines an ethnic group “as a social collectivity whose members are united by their subscription to a putative belief in shared descent and to an association with a primordial homeland”.10 The ethnic identity of a group becomes particularly salient when confronted with other groups; in fact, it can be said that an ethnic group is made by its boundaries. Any ethnic group that gives itself a name is implicitly or explicitly naming itself in relation to, and/or in opposition to, some other name or group. It thus claims that its members are not the members of some other group, and it asserts that its members constitute an ‘us’ versus the members of other groups, who constitute ‘them’.11 Thus, ethnic identity can only be constituted by opposition to other ethnic identities. However, it is not the boundary itself that makes the ethnic group; it is the ethnic group that makes the boundary, thereby articulating the share of its members in a sense of common origin, a distinctive history and destiny, and in a collective uniqueness and solidarity: “It is the myth of a common and unique origin in time and place that is essential for the sense of ethnic community.”12 In the ancient Mediterranean culture, individuals generally considered themselves in terms of the group(s), in which they experienced themselves as inextricably embedded. Ancient Mediterranean culture was clearly ethnocentric; people were corporately defined in relation to other groups of people (‘group-oriented personalities’ or ‘dyadic persons’),13 particularly in relation to other ethnic groups: Awareness of sameness and of difference, of a shared past and agreed values, of continuities and of boundaries, whether physical or behavioral, were all present, either implicitly or explicitly, as Greeks and Romans viewed themselves and others.14

The emergence of an ‘ethnic identity’ or of ‘Greek self-definition’, a sense of what differentiated ‘us’ from ‘others’, goes back to the fifth century BCE.15 Such a notion must have become particularly pressing during the Hellenistic period of the late Republic and the early Empire, as horizons extended and as people needed to find their place within a wider world, which could claim both unity and multiple differences.16 In Greek 9

Hall, 1997: 32–33. Hall, 1997: 36. 11 Barth, 1969: 14. 12 Smith, 1981: 66. 13 See Malina, 2001: 62. 14 Lieu, 2004: 17. 15 Lieu, 2004: 17; referring to Hall, 1997. 16 Lieu, 204: 17. 10

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antiquity, the members of an ethnic group were often described as those who share certain common social customs and, even more significant, cults and rituals that were thought to unite the members. However, the primary constitutive elements in the construction of ancient Greek ethnic consciousness were not behavioural but discursive elements, “articulated through myths of ethnic origins which spoke, not only of ethnic ancestors, but also of primordial territories”.17 For example, it was not the adoption of Dorian customs or of the Doric dialect that primarily defined the Megarians as Dorians in Greek antiquity, but rather the fact that they considered themselves to be the descendants of the Dorians, who had invaded the Megarid at the time when Kodros was the king of Athens. In antiquity, Jewish notions of ethnicity were shaped, articulated and reinforced particularly during the centuries of exile, oppression and dispersion. ‘Jew’ is predominantly the terminology used by the outsiders, and when it appears as a self-designation, it does so in contexts that speak of dealings with outsiders.18 Significantly, we find the first appearance of the term i0oudai+smo/j, ‘Judaism’, in the Maccabean literature, where it describes the most articulated encounters between Jews and Hellenistic culture.19 For example, in 2 Maccabees the climax of oppression is reached when ‘it was not possible to observe the Sabbath or to keep the ancestral festivals, or even to admit to being a Jew ( 0Ioudai=on o(mologei=n ei]nai)’ (6:6). By their minds and manners the Jews erected a boundary between themselves and the rest of humanity, the non-Jews (i.e., ‘the Gentiles’). At the core of Jewish Diaspora, identity was found in the notion of shared ethnicity or in the ethnic bond, expressed in the combination of ancestry and custom. The Jews in the Diaspora claimed their right to be different, to be free ‘to live according to their ancestral customs’ (2 Macc. 11:25). In discussing the central thread of Jewish identity in the Diaspora, John Barclay draws attention to at least five strands that belonged to this identity.20 First, the Diaspora literature emphasizes the significance of ‘the nation’, ‘the race’ or ‘the people’ as the bearers of the Jewish tradition, and the Jews were ‘the people of the same race’, bound together by a common ethnicity.21 Although Josephus, for example, portrays Judaism as the supremely good politei/a (‘political administration’/‘government’; C.Ap. 17

Hall, 1997: 40. It was probably the Seleucids who first categorized the Jews as an e!qnoj. See Bickerman, 1988: 23–29. 19 2 Macc. 2:21; 8:1; 14:38. Cohen (1999: 7–8) suggest that we should translate i0oudai+smo&j as ‘Jewishness’, since this term implies more than religion: “the most distinctive of the distinctive characteritsics of he Jews was the manner in which they worshipped God.” (italics mine) 20 See Barclay, 1996: 404–13. 21 E.g., Philo, Vit. Mos. 2.43–44; Praem. 166. 18

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2, passim), he is consistent in his description of the Jews as members of a nation and as those who recognize fellow Jews as ‘people of the same race’ (o(mo/fuloi) and non-Jews as ‘people of other races’ (a)llo/fuloi, a)lloeqnei=j or a)llogenei=j). Secondly, non-Jewish authors and authorities also consistently refer to Judaism as an ethnic entity. Strabo, for example, refers to the spread of the Jewish ‘tribe’ (fu=lon) throughout the world, and he points out that the Romans allowed the Jews to practice their ‘ancestral customs’ and to live in accordance with their ‘ancestral laws’ (Strabo apud Josephus, A.J. 14.115).22 Thirdly, proselytes who joined the Jewish community underwent a thorough resocialization process so that they acquired a new ‘ethnicity’ in kinship and custom. This conversion process meant that they were transferred into the Jewish nation, and this points to the significance of ethnicity.23 Philo, for example, describes the process of conversion, i.e., ‘the passage to piety’ (pro\j eu)se/beian), as the entry into a ‘new and godly citizenship’ (kainh=? kai\ filoqe/w? politei/a ?, Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.51). When the proselyte is welcomed as a member of the Jewish community with equal rights, the proselyte is given an ‘alternative citizenship, family and friendship’ (e(te/rwn po/lewn kai\ oi)k ei/wn kai\ fi/lwn, Spec. Leg. 1.52; cf. Virt. 103). Fourthly, the recognition of the importance of endogamy and the ban on exogamy by Diaspora Jews also underlines the significance of ethnicity.24 Mixed marriages were generally discouraged on the grounds that the nation should be kept ‘pure’ (C.Ap. 2.69). Joseph and Asenath, i.e., the story about Joseph’s marriage to Asenath, a foreign, Hamitic girl who was the daughter of an idolatrous priest, is a good, almost extreme, example of the sensitivity of the Diaspora Jews on this matter.25 Finally, the emphasis on the upbringing and education of Jewish children in the Jewish way of life was a way to ensure that Judaism continued as an ethnic phenomenon.26 Philo mentions that Jews were trained ‘even from the cradle’ or ‘from their earliest years’ to honor the One God and to observe the laws (Legat. 115; 210; cf. Philo, Praem. 162). 22

Cf., e.g., Josephus, A.J. 14.235, 258, 260, 263. For a more detailed study of the process of becoming a Jew in antiquity, see Cohen, 1999: 140–74. 24 E.g., Philo, Spec.Leg. 3.29; Josephus, A.J. 4.131–55; 8.191; 12.187 25 Cohen (1999: 241–262) points out that a general prohibition of intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews does not appear anywhere in the Tanakh. Attitudes changed in the wake of the destruction of the Temple in 587 BCE and the time of Diaspora that followed. In these new circumstances, marriage to outsiders came to be seen as a threat to Jewish identity. 26 E.g., 4 Macc. 18:10–19; Philo, Hypoth. 7.14. 23

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The social requirement that members of the community should raise the next generation as practicing Jews, who in turn would do the same for their offspring, was a self-evident expectation that made up the core of the Jewish Diaspora identity. Barclay continues by listing three aspects of Jewish communal life that specifically bound local Jews together in religious, social and financial affairs.27 First, annual Jewish observances, festivals and feasts, particularly the main festivals of the Jewish calendar (the Passover, the Feast of the Tabernacles and the Day of Atonement), enabled Diaspora Jews to express their solidarity with one another and afforded them an alternative identity. The attractiveness of the festivals to non-Jews (attested by Philo, Josephus, Paul, etc.) indicates how prominent such events could be.28 Secondly, the Sabbath gatherings played a crucial role in legitimizing the Jewish way of life on a weekly basis, and in binding the community together in a common loyalty to their distinctive way of life. Josephus, for example, refers to the regular instructions concerning the Sabbath as the opportunity for Jews to ‘gain thorough and accurate knowledge’ of their legislation (C.Ap. 2.175), which would enable them to avoid transgression (A.J. 16.43). Thirdly, the annual collection for the Jerusalem temple, the ‘halfshekel’ tax, which each adult Jewish male was obliged to pay, tied the families of the Jewish Diaspora communities together. When the tax was transferred in 70 CE into contributions for the fiscus Iudaicus, it became the obligation of every individual, man, woman and child, and thus made the Jews ever conscious of their social and political distinction in the Roman Empire.29 In addition to these markers of Jewish identity that bound the Jews together with one another as an e)/qnoj in the Diaspora, Barclay also refers to their links with Jerusalem, ‘the homeland’ and with other Diaspora communities, to the reading and exposition of the Law and Jewish scriptures, to the rejection of alien, pluralist and iconic cults, to Jewish dietary regulations and separatism at meals and to male circumcision as other such markers.30 Each one of these customs and 27

Barclay, 1996: 415–18. E.g., Philo, Vit. Mos. 2.41–43; Josephus, C.Ap. 2.282; Gal. 4:10; Col. 2:16. 29 See Tellbe, 2005: 24–25. 30 Barclay, 1996: 424–42. Cf. Casey (1991: 12) who identifies eight aspects of Jewish identity of Second Temple Judaism: ethnicity, scripture, monotheism, circumcision, Sabbath observance, dietary laws, purity laws and major festivals. Cohen (1999: 25–68) argues that, in antiquity, associating with Jews and observing Jewish rituals and practices would establish a presumption of Jewishness but not any certainty. In fact, the Diapora Jews of antiquity succeeded in maintaining their identity without becoming conspicious: “Jews looked like everyone else, dressed like everyone else, spoke like everyone else, had names and occupations like those of everyone else, and, in general, closely resembled their Gentile neighbors. Even circumcision did not always make male Jews 28

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practices reinforced the Jewish ethnic identity and supported the social fabric of the diverse Jewish communities in the Diaspora. Fundamental for this understanding of the Jewish Diaspora identity is, of course, the sense of sharing a common origin, a distinctive history and destiny, and a collective uniqueness and solidarity. This ethnic sense of identity was primarily shaped by the common ‘myth’ or the story, of election, i.e., the awareness of the uniqueness of the Jews as God’s people in history ― they alone are the chosen ones, God’s beloved. In discussing the formation of the early Christian identity in Ephesus, there are ― as we shall see ― good reasons to assume that the early Christian movement in that city was from the beginning an intra-Jewish movement. But for how long did it continue to be predominantly a Jewish movement? Today the process of ‘the parting of the ways’ ― the emergence of a Christian distinctiveness and the pulling apart of Christianity and Judaism ― is perceived by many scholars as a long, gradual, and complex process, which hardly ended in the first century CE. Rather, with the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, ‘the parting of the ways’ accelerated, and the following decades up to the second revolt in 132–135 CE determined the final outcome (even though the process continued throughout the second century).31 This model represents a major shift, away from the previous view that saw Judaism as monolithic, to use as the starting-point the recognition that Second Temple Judaism was pluralistic and lacked any organs by which to control the intepretation of the tradition. However, as we evaluate this model, we need to keep in mind that neither ‘Judaism’ nor ‘Christainty’ should be envisaged as discrete and enclosed religious systems; they have never been that (except as scholarly systems).32 Furthermore, while the process of ‘the parting of the ways’ may have been gradual and complex, this does not imply that it did not begin at an early stage at the local level, nor that it escaped tensions from the very beginning. Even though I maintain that the ancient synagogue communities should generally be reckoned as the womb of the early Christian movement, we must allow for the possibility that its particular ‘birth’ in various locations could have taken place in many different forms in various locations. Hence, the call of Judith Lieu for more precise analyses of the complex process of ‘the parting of the ways’ is surely welcome: “What we need is a more nuanced analysis of the local

distinctive, and as long as they kept their pants on, it certainly did not make them recognizable” (p. 67). 31 E.g., Dunn, 1991: 230–43; Sanders, 1993: xxi–xxii; Wilson, 1995: 285–86; Zetterholm, 2003: 170–74. 32 Cf. Lieu, 2006: 215; see also idem., 2004: 305.

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and specific before we seek to develop models, which will set them within a more comprehensive overview.”33 With regard to definitions, we need to distinguish between Christbelieving Jews and Christ-believing Judaism, even if distinctions between ethnicity and religion may be fluid. The first category, ethnicity, is ethnically defined (those who belong to the Jewish people), while the other, religion, is religiously defined (those who, whether of Jewish or nonJewish origin, practice the customs and rites prescribed by the Torah). This means that we must also distinguish between ‘Christian’ Judaism (which mostly included Jews) and non-Jewish ‘Christianity’ (which mostly included Gentiles). However, while making use of clear distinctions, the boundaries between Judaism and Jewish Christianity were not as fixed as might be expected, and we cannot know whether ancient individuals or groups preferred to call themselves ‘Jews’, ‘Christ-believers’/‘Christians’ or a combination of these labels (or even something else).34 We also need to keep in mind that even though an author may make a polemical case in favor of a separation between Jews and Christ-believers, this may not have been the case socially, nor was it necessarily the result of his appeal. Several of the recent analyses of the early Christian movement in Ephesus, most notably those by Thiessen (1995), Strelan (1996) and Trebilco (2004), particularly their analyses of Luke’s account in Acts 18– 19, deal with the relation between the local Jewish community and the early Christ-believers at Ephesus. But what happened after Paul’s mission in that city? How did the early Christian texts, which we have located to Ephesus, articulate issues that relate to both Jewish ethnicity and early Christian identity? Was the Christian movement an intra-Jewish phenomenon by the end of the first and the beginning of the second century CE? As pointed out in chapter one, the primary focus of the present study is not to reconstruct the history of early Christianity in Ephesus, but to focus on the process of identity formation in the early Christian texts connected to Ephesus. However, in our analysis of issues that concern the relationship between the early Christ-believers and the Jewish community in Ephesus, we may gain insights from other 33

Lieu, 1994: 108 (cf. Lieu, 2002: 18). As Lieu (2004: 306) cogently points out concerning this terminologi in T.12 Patr. and Apoc. Adam: “Here, the application of labels either ‘Jewish’ or ‘Christian’, or even ‘Jewish-Christian’, may be either to demand a self-conscious exclusivity or a selfdefinition that the texts themselves forbid, or to fix in a moment of time texts that were fluid in their reception and in the identities they produced. It is for this reason that the language of ‘Judaeo-Christian’ is deceptive with its assumption that each element can at the same time be isolated from the other and then be combined; the hyphen that intersects the terms measures both sameness and difference, while sameness feeds on difference, and difference on sameness.” (italics original) 34

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contemporary texts and archaeological evidence that provide valuable information about the setting of the Jewish matrix in Ephesus at this time. Accordingly, I will begin with a brief survey of the status of the Jewish community and the expressions of Jewish boundary markers at Ephesus in the first century BCE and the first century CE. I will then proceed to make some comments on Luke’s account in Acts 18–19 (the beginning of Christian mission in Ephesus), particularly since the interpretation of this passage has some bearing on the discussion of Jewish-Christian relations in Ephesus. Thereafter, I will turn to the main section of this chapter, namely to an analysis of the process of identity formation in the ‘canonical’ texts (1–2 Tim., Rev. and 1–3 John) and in the texts that belong to the second century (primarily Ignatius and Justin Martyr).

2. Jewish Boundary Markers in Ephesus in the First Century BCE and the First Century CE The documentary material, which relates to Jews in Ephesus in the first century BCE and first century CE, is mainly restricted to the literary evidence of Josephus’s Antiquitates, a passage in Philo (Legat. 315) and some epigraphic material.35 Acknowledging that Josephus and Philo wrote for different audiences and with different purposes, it can be said that both of them were involved in the shaping and reinforcing of Jewish identity in the Diaspora. Josephus, who is our primary source, obviously used his material primarily for the sake of historical and apologetic effect; the text is undoubtedly one-sided, written solely from the perspective of the sociopolitical history of the Jews and evidently colored by Josephus’s own aims. Nonetheless, the endeavor to defend the Jewish traditions before the Imperial Courts and Greco-Roman society constantly gave him reason to articulate and reinforce the Jewish self-understanding before the Romans.36 According to Josephus, there was a Jewish community in Ephesus in the mid-third century BCE.37 In his report of a dispute between the Jews of 35

For a survey, see Witetschek, 2008: 141–143. See Josephus, A.J. 14.186–88. In the final paragraphs of the documents written in the Augustan era, Josephus concludes: ‘And if I frequently mention these decrees, it is to reconcile the other nations to us and to remove the causes for hatred which have taken root in thoughtless persons among us as well as among them’ (A.J. 16.174–75). 37 Bürchner (1980: 2799) suggests there were Jews in Ephesus already by 409 BCE. Josephus reports in C.Ap. 2.39 that the Jews in Ephesus and throughout the area of Ionia ‘bear the same name as the indigenous citizens’ (toi=j au)qige/nesi poli/t aij o)mwnumousi=n) by gift of the Diadochi. Josephus also writes (A.J. 12.119) that Seleucus Nicator (312–280 BCE) gave the Jews in Asia equal pivileges (i0soti/moi) with the Macedonians and the Greeks. According to Mussies (1990: 186), this does not mean that 36

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Ionia and their cities, caused by Jewish resistance to participate in the civic cults, which was heard by Marcus Agrippa in 14 BCE, Josephus (A.J. 12.125–26) claims that Antiochus II Theos (262/61–246 BCE) granted citizenship (politei/a) to the Jews in Ephesus.38 There is also evidence of large Jewish communities in Asia Minor, and we may suspect that Ephesus, the greatest commercial city in Asia Minor, also attracted early Jewish settlers.39 In any case, by the time that the Roman Province of Asia was created in 129 BCE, Jewish communities were most probably established both at Ephesus and elsewhere in Ionia.40 Josephus’s documents, which relate to Jews in Ephesus, and which range from 49 BCE to 2/3 CE, all concern conflicts about Jewish rights the Jews had exactly the same rights as the Greek citizens, but rather “that their own laws and customs and the local rights and laws would be equally respected”. 38 It is debated whether or not the Jews actually received citizenship on this occasion (only individuals could receive citizenship rights in a Greek city). For details, see Tcherikover, 1966: 328–29; Smallwood, 1981: 121; Trebilco, 1991: 168–69; Barclay, 1996: 261–62. Josephus’s second account (A.J. 16.27–60) of the dispute in 14 BCE between the Jews of Ionia and their cities that was heard by Marcus Agrippa (cf. 12.125– 26) gives no mention of citizenship. However, Hemer (1986: 38, 224–25; so also Schürer, 1986: 129–30) sees no conflict between the two accounts, arguing that the very fact of Jewish citizenship was the underlying cause of friction (if the Jews had the privilege of citizenship they had to conform to civic norms). Hence, he argues in favor of citizenship for at least some influential Jews in Ephesus. But apart from the ambiguous record of Josephus, it is difficult to find any definite evidence of citizenship for Jews in Ephesus. Today a majority of scholars has abandoned the view that the Jews living in Greek cities normally enjoyed equality of rights. The prevailing consensus (e.g., Tcherikover, 1966: 309–32; Applebaum, 1974: 444, 449; Rutgers, 1994: 59–60; Barclay, 1996: 63–65; Noethlichs, 1996: 33–34, etc.) is that although some Jews ― often of prominent social status ― evidently were citizens of their cities (e.g., some of the Alexandrian Jews apparently enjoyed citizen status, cf. CPJ 144 [13 BCE], Josephus, C. Ap. 2.38–39, 41, 65; A.J. 18.259; 20.100, 147), the Diaspora Jews did not on the whole have the citizenship but occupied the position of privileged residents or resident aliens (me/toikoi/ka/toikoi or ce/noi/peregrini). See, e.g., Philo, In Flacc. 46, 54, 172; Josephus, A.J. 16.172; CIJ 775. Claudius describes the Alexandrian Jews as living in a po/lij foreign to them (‘in a city which is not their own,’ CPJ 2.153.95), implying that the Jews as a body did not possess civic rights. Hence, if the Jews in Ephesus did have citizenship, it is likely that this refers to some prominent Jews only and not to the entire Jewish community. On the whole, it is more likely that the Jews of Ephesus insisted on i0sonomi/a with other groups within the po/lij. 39 E.g., Josephus (A.J. 12.148–53) mentions that Antiochus III gave instructons in a letter (some time between 212 and 205/04 BCE) to Zeuxis, the governor of Lydia, for the relocation of 2,000 Jewish families from Babylonia to Lydia and Phrygia in an attempt to maintain internal security in the region (for arguments in favor of the authenticity of this letter, see Trebilco, 1991: 5–6). It is likely that some of these Jews moved to Ephesus later on. So Trebilco, 2004: 38; Witetschek, 2008: 145–46. 40 Rajak, 2001: 304; Trebilco, 2004: 37–38.

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and privileges that arose between the local Jewish community and its Greek neighbors.41 Josephus’s main purpose in referring to these decrees and edicts was to remind the reader of the Roman attitudes behind earlier grants in order to make a case for the acceptance of the practice of Judaism in the Greek cities of the East. Josephus is careful to point out that the material to which he refers is just a small selection of letters and decrees issued by Roman authorities on behalf of the Jews. He is convinced that this will be enough to prove Roman favor towards the Jews, for, as he concludes the paragraph on the documents written in the time of the Republic, ‘I cannot suppose that anyone is so stupid that he will actually refuse to believe the statements about the friendliness of the Romans towards us’ (A.J. 14.267). The many privileges enjoyed by the Diaspora Jews under the Roman protection were a recurring source of irritation to the Greek citizens, who contested these Jewish social and religious rights. At a local level, the Jews were therefore obliged continuously to claim rights that had previously been granted to them under both Greek and Roman rule.42 There are two 41

The material concerning Jewish rights and privileges in the A.J. falls into six blocks (14.185–267, 301–23; 16.31–65, 160–78; 19.280–91, 303–11), of which the first and fourth block concern the Jews in Ephesus. The first block (A.J. 14.185–267), with material dating from 49–41 BCE, relates to the Hasmonean High Priest and Ethnarch, Hyrcanus II, and his request to Julius Caesar to confirm ‘the treaty of friendship and alliance’ (14.185) between Rome and the Jews. This is exemplified by a list of decrees and letters sent to different locations in the Empire (Sidon, Phoenicia, Parium, Ephesus, Laodicea, Miletus, Sardis, Pergamum, etc.), all of them deriving from this period. Block number four (A.J. 16.160–78) contains six decrees by Augustus, Marcus Agrippa, and two proconsuls to the Jews of Asia, of Cyrene, Ephesus, and Sardis, all dating from 31 BCE–2/3 CE. Despite these flaws and even if skeptical voices have been raised, contemporary scholars of the last twenty years or so have generally argued for the authenticity of both the genre and the period of these documents (see Ben Zeev, 1998: 6– 11, 357–373, 405–08; cf. Barclay, 1996: 262–64; Tellbe, 2001: 24–25, 38–39 with further references). I will follow this current positive assessment without entering into a detailed discussion concerning these issues of authenticity unless they have a direct bearing on my argument and conclusions. 42 The Jews never claimed that there was any general Roman law granting them Jewish rights and privileges but appealed to their ancient traditions and the protection which they had previously enjoyed under Greek and Roman rule (Josephus, A.J. 16.58– 60). Rajak (1984; followed by, e.g., Witetschek, 2008: 156–58) correctly challenges the traditional way of describing the legal situation of Diaspora Judaism in the first century CE as being protected by a special legal status with specific rights enshrined in a charter (“a Jewish Magna Charta” or “a charter of Jewish rights”). She seems, however, to push the evidence somewhat too far. While not all Jewish rights were explicitly articulated or legally definable, the Jewish rights and privileges repeatedly affirmed by the Roman authorities throughout the Empire were not without legal force (cf. Josephus, A.J. 19.287–91). As a matter of fact, the Roman measures contributed to the creation of a sort of ‘official’ Judaism that was generally authorized throughout the empire. As things

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privileges in particular that dominate in Josephus’s documents which relate to the Jews in Ephesus: exemption from military service for Jews who were Roman citizens (A.J. 14.228–30, 234, 240 [49 BCE], 14.223–27 [43 BCE]), and permission to collect and transport the Temple tax to Jerusalem (16.167–68 [14 BCE?], 172–73 [9–2 BCE]).43 Regarding military service, in 43 BCE Dolabella, the governor of Asia, ‘wrote to Ephesus, the chief city of Asia, about the Jews . . . that they cannot undertake military service because they may not bear arms on the days of the Sabbath; nor can they obtain the native foods to which they are accustomed’ (Josephus, A.J. 14.224–26). Further, since life in the Roman army was closely connected to the Imperial cult, and the Roman soldiers were known to be the most loyal supporters of this cult, the Jewish exemption from military service was most probably related to this issue as well.44 Disputes about the second privilege, the Temple tax, which dominate in Josephus’s documents, became “the chief bone of contention” between the Jews and the Greek civic authorities in the East.45 Josephus reports that the Greeks seized this money on several occasions and the Roman authorities answered by repeatedly reasserting the Jewish rights (A.J. 16.28, 45, 160– 68). As a result, the Temple tax was on occasion classified as ‘sacred money’ (i9era_ xrh/mata, 16.169–70; cf. 163–64), and the Romans protected the transport thereof from Ephesus to Jerusalem (16.172; c. 4 BCE). Anyone who stole the tax was declared ‘sacrilegious’ (i9ero/suloj, 16.164) and became subject to Roman, or even Jewish, criminal jurisdiction (16.164–65, 168). In addition to these privileges, we also hear of permission given to the Jews in Ephesus to assemble, to maintain the Sabbath observance and ‘to do all those things which are in accordance with their native customs without interference from anyone . . . they shall be permitted to do all those things which are in accordance with their own laws’ (14.262–64 [42 BCE]). The existence of Jewish political, religious and social privileges are also generally confirmed by Philo, who cites a document in which Gaius Norbanus Flaccus, the Proconsul of Asia, writing to the magistrates developed, Judaism in the first century CE was thus granted a legal standing in Roman society, which in practice seems to have been more specific than what is actually conveyed by the more general Roman expression collegium licitum. I have dealt with these issues in detail elsewhere, see Tellbe, 2001: 54–59. See also Ben Zeev, 1995: 31– 37; 1998: 412–29; 439–50. 43 E.g., Josephus, A.J. 14.223–30; 16.167–68, 172–73. Duncan (1929: 40–42; cf. Trebilco, 2004: 40) suggests that Ephesus was most probably the center for the collection of the Temple tax from the Jewish communities in the wider geographical area. For the Temple tax as a significant identity marker for Diaspora Jews, see Tellbe, 2005: 20–25. 44 See Applebaum, 1974: 459. 45 Smallwood, 1981: 143. Cf. Barclay, 1996: 417–18.

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of Ephesus, refers to a letter of Augustus which says that the Jews ‘wherever they may be, regularly according to their old peculiar custom, make a rule of meeting together and subscribing money which they send to Jerusalem’ (Legat. 315 [12 BCE]).46 A number of conclusions may be drawn from these documents about the Jewish self-understanding and identity in ancient Ephesus.47 First, the Jews in Ephesus seem to have been careful observers of key Jewish practices and beliefs, and they were concerned to maintain significant facets and markers of Jewish identity. Ephesians Jews were evidently concerned to observe food laws, to keep the Sabbath and to retain strong links with Jerusalem by collection and sending the Temple tax. The close links between the Jews in Ephesus and those in Jerusalem is also suggested by the fact that it was Hyrcanus Alexander, the son of the high-priest and Ethnarch of the Jews, who in 43 BCE appealed to Dolabella, the Prefect of Asia, for Jewish exemptions and rights.48 The documents also indicate that the Jewish community had a degree of communal life and organization: the Ephesian Jews actively approached political bodies and gained permission to assemble regularly, to build a synagogue and to administer their own finances.49 Documents in Josephus generally imply the existence of a local synagogue, in particular when we are told that the Jews were given permission ‘to come together for sacred and holy rites in accordance with their law’ (A.J. 14.227 [43 BCE]). When Paul arrived in Ephesus, he, according to Luke, ‘entered the synagogue and reasoned with the Jews’ (Acts 18:19; cf. 18:26; 19:8). This implies that, at that time, there was at least one synagogue building in Ephesus.50 However, no synagogue has yet been found in the city, nor any explicit inscriptional evidence of any synagogue building.51 All we have is an inscription from the Imperial 46

For the dating, see Ameling, 2004: 149. Cf. Trebilco, 2004: 39–43. 48 Josephus, A.J. 14.225–27. 49 E.g., Josephus, A.J. 14.227, 262–64; 16.27–30, 172–73. 50 As pointed out by Horsely (1992: 122), “The wording in Acts could equally allude to the particular synagogue where the Christians habitually met early on, until tensions with the Jewish community grew after Paul had been there for three months.” 51 Commenting on the inscriptions from Ephesus, Horsley (1992: 121) says: “One of the surprises, a real disappointment, is how little Jewish material emerges among the 3750 inscriptions.” Acknowledging the fact that more than five thousand inscriptions have been discovered in Ephesus, Levinskaya’s (1996: 146) comment may explain this phenomenon, at least in part: “This is understandable in terms of the fact that the part of the city where Jews could have had their quarters has not been excavated.” Another fact to consider is that Jewish synagogues may have been transformed into Christian churches; the great missionary John of Ephesus tells of at least one such case in Ionia (Armeling, 2004: 146). 47

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period, which mention a)rxisunago/goi and presbute/roi,52 as well as an undated inscription that reads ]to\ qusiasth/rion (altar or sanctuary), followed by a menorah.53 Secondly, from mid-first century BCE to the beginning of the first century CE (49 BCE–2/3 CE), the documents in Josephus and Philo speak of regular conflicts between the Jewish community and the Greek citizens in Ephesus concerning Jewish rights and privileges. Apart from the report that the Greeks reacted with annoyance because of certain Jewish rights and privileges, no more explicit causes for Greek reactions are mentioned. The Greeks seem to have reacted frequently when Jewish communities, which were both wealthy and influential, failed to contribute enough to the welfare of the city.54 On some occasions the issue of citizenship appears to have contributed to the problem (as it apparently did in Alexandria later on).55 Under the surface, the civic pride of the Greeks had been wounded by the political, social, and economic circumstances of Roman rule. That a foreign ethnic group, whom the Greeks disdained as ‘barbarians’, was granted favored status by Roman intervention within the Greek cities ― in certain aspects a status that was superior even to that of the Greek citizens themselves ― served as a constant reminder of the subjection of the Greeks to Rome. Above all, the Jewish monotheistic belief and their refusal to participate in the traditional and civic cults seem to have been a major cause of these conflicts.56 In addition, the Jews sent significant amounts of money out of the Greek cities and regions at times of local economic hardships.57 Josephus tells of several occasions when the Jews in Ephesus were granted their rights because of their ‘friendship with the Romans’ (A.J. 14.262–67). The frequent appeals by the Jews in Ephesus

52 IvEph. 1251: t?w~n? a)r?xisunagwgw~n kai\ pres(bute/rwn) polla_ ta_ {ta} e)/th. For the date of this inscription, see Horsley, 1992: 122; Ameling, 2004: 152–53. 53 IvEph. 4130. See Ameling, 2004: 153–54. Pointing to the scant evidence of a public synagogue building in Ephesus, Witetschek (2008: 162–63) suggests that the Ephesian synagogue in the first century CE could have been located in a private house. 54 E.g., Josephus, A.J. 16.41, 45. 55 Josephus, A.J. 12.119–24; 19.280–85; 16.160–61; B.J. 7.44–62. 56 The entire society of the Greek po/lij was based on the principle that everyone should participate in the cult on which the city was founded, and non–participation was interpreted, not only as atheism, but also as a deliberate undermining of the religious and political convictions implicit in the Greek city-state tradition. Cf. how Apion questions why the Alexandrian Jews, though they are citizens (si sunt ciues), do not take part in the worship of the Egyptians gods (Josephus, C. Ap. 2.65). 57 Trebilco, 2004: 41. Referring to evidence of the Jews in Babylon (Josephus, A.J. 18.312–13), Strelan (1996: 198) suggests somewhat speculatively that the Ephesian Jews may have banked with the temple of Artemis and the Greeks therefore reacted to the removal of that money to Jerusalem.

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indicate that their privileges were not routinely upheld and that they had to be regularly confirmed by the officials.58 Josephus records no reports of any conflicts between the Jewish communities and Greek citizens in Asia Minor after 2 CE. This had most probably to do with the fact that better relationships between the Jewish communities and their Greek neighbors had been established in Asia Minor after the reign of Augustus had ended. Hence, Paul Trebilco concludes: We can suggest that after 2 CE Jewish communities in Asia Minor, including Ephesus, generally lived peaceably and interacted positively with their wider communities, which was one factor that enabled them to flourish and to share in the prosperity of urban life in Asia in this period. 59

However, even if the relationship between the Jews and the Greeks in Ephesus most probably improved during the first century CE, this silence of Josephus does not imply that there were no further tensions or conflicts. Luke, for example, refers to hostile attitudes on the part of some Greek citizens in Ephesus in the 50s CE, partly caused by the fact that local Jews and Christ-believers did not participate in the cult of Artemis (Acts 19:23– 40). Thirdly, the literary documents found in Josephus and Philo suggest that the Jewish community in Ephesus in the mid first century BCE was to some degree significant in the wider society.60 There are several pieces of evidence that point in this direction. For example, in 49 BCE, the Consul Lucius Lentulus Crus exempted ‘those Jews who are Roman citizens’ (poli/taj 9Rwmai/wn 0Ioudai/ouj) in Ephesus from military service (Josephus, A.J. 14.228; cf. 14.229–30, 234, 240). This notice indicates that by then, there must have been a Jewish community in Ephesus of some influence and importance, particularly since we hear of Jews who had Roman citizenship, and that a small and insignificant Jewish Diaspora community would hardly have caused such strong Greek reactions as those mentioned.61 Furthermore, the amounts collected for the Temple tax was of

58

Cf. Strelan, 1996: 196–97. Trebilco, 2004: 41. See also Smallwood, 1981: 143; Trebilco, 1991: 183–84; Barclay, 1996: 279–81. 60 Commenting on the conflicts between Jews and Greek in Asia Minor, Barclay (1996: 276) concludes, “in general one can only explain Gentile hostility on the grounds that the Jewish community was of influence and importance ― perhaps growing importance ― within the life of the city”. 61 Barclay (1996: 271) points out that the Jews in Ephesus and other Asian cities were “sufficiently many to make it worthwhile to issue special directives about them”. As indicated by Josephus, A.J. 14.231–32, this exemption covered all Jewish citizens in Asia. According to Philo (Legat. 155, 158), a considerable number of Jews in Rome had become cives Romani. For further references to Jews as Roman citizens, see, e.g., 59

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such considerable size that the collections caused not only strong reactions from the Greeks, but the Romans even granted permission for the Jews to travel to Jerusalem ‘under escort’ (Josephus, A.J. 16.172), i.e., the Roman authorities provided practical collaboration and protection.62 Marcus Agrippa not only expressed his will that the care and custody of the Temple tax should be given to the Jews, but equated those who stole the ‘sacred monies’ (oi9 i9ero/suloi) with temple-robbers and he, accordingly, allowed the Jews to judge such offenders in their own courts (A.J. 16.167– 68; cf. 16.172–73). The speech by Nicolas of Damascus before Agrippa in Ionia in 14 BCE (A.J. 16.31–57) makes it clear that the Jewish communities of western Asia Minor had a reputation for prosperity (16.41) and for containing some “extremely wealthy individuals”.63 Moreover, some Jews were obviously sufficiently articulate and well connected (and with sufficient funds) to gain exemption from the duty to appear in court ‘on the Sabbath or in the day of preparation for it (Sabbath eve) after the ninth hour’ (A.J. 16.163; cf. 16.27).64 To sum up, the literary evidence points to the existence of a substantial Jewish community with certain freedom and influence in the wider society of Ephesus in the first century CE.65 Josephus, A.J. 14.232–40; Vita 43; Philo, Legat. 155–57; CIJ 2.770; CPJ 3.473; OGIS 1.428; cf. Williams, 1998: 6.1–14 62 Since the export of gold and silver from the provinces could on some occasions be banned by the Roman senate or by a governor of a province, the Jews needed a special concession (privilegium) for the sending of the Temple tax. While Flaccus was governor in Asia he issued an edict (62 BCE) banning the export of gold from his province and he confiscated the Jewish Temple tax, which the Asian Jews were attempting to send to Jeruslaem (see Cicero, Flac. 28.67). Cf. Levinskaya (1996: 145): “It is probable that we have quite a number of documents from Ephesus concerning the Jewish tax simply because, since the time of Augustus, it had become the capital of the province, and for that reason it was viewed as the centre from which decisions were to be forwarded to other Asian cities.” 63 Barclay, 1996: 268. 64 Since we do not hear of any granting to the Jews of Ephesus their place of assembly (to/p oj), as strongly as the grant made to the Jewish community in Sardis (cf. Josephus, A.J. 14.259–61 [Sardis] and 14.262–64 [Ephesus]), Strelan (1996: 192–93) suggests that the Jewish community in Ephesus may not have been as prominent there as they were elsewhere. However, since Josephus does not usually mention such privileges, we cannot draw any conclusions from his silence. 65 It is often argued that the Jewish poli/teuma formed “a separate, semi–autonomous civic body” within the Greek po/lij (e.g., Smallwood, 1981: 225; cf. idem., 1999: 177). So, Horsley (1992: 122) and Strelan (1996: 198) suggest that the Jewish community in Ephesus formed a poli/t euma in the city. However, the common assumption that the Jewish Diaspora communities were typically constituted as poli/teuma throughout the Greco-Roman world has been contested. As a matter of fact, no Jewish poli/teuma is clearly attested outside Alexandria (Let. Aris. 310), and even here it is not clear to whom

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Turning to the inscriptional evidence, the impression given by the texts about the integration of the Jews in the civic life of Ephesus seems to be generally confirmed.66 However, epigraphic material, which indicates a Jewish presence in ancient Ephesus, is noticeably scant and it is all later than the first century CE.67 A second century inscription mentions a tomb of a Jewish official municipal doctor (a)rxi/atroj), which indicates that this Jew held a prominent municipal office; he most probably belonged to the upper social strata.68 Seen as one group, the Jewish community in the city ([oi9 e0n 0Efe/]sw? 0Ioude=oi) was entrusted with the care of this tomb. Another tomb-inscription about a priest, Marcus Aurelios Moussios, from the late second century, makes a similar case in favor of assuming that the Jews, as a community, were responsible for the care of the tomb.69 These inscriptions have been taken as evidence that good relations existed between the Jewish community and the wider society; the Jews were responsible for the care of the graves “presumably because they were respected as reliable people”.70 However, this is to push the evidence somewhat too far, especially since the Jewish community would have been expected to take responsibility for the care of its own tombs.71 What these it refers. Evidence from Berenice in Cyrenaica (CIG 3.5361) suggests the existence of a Jewish poli/teuma organization (see Zuckerman, 1988: 184–85; Lüderitz, 1994: 204– 21). Various other terms and organizational forms were apparently also used by/for the Jewish communities (see Schürer, 1986: 3.1.87–91). The common pattern during the Hellenistic period, which also became the rule under the Romans, was that Jewish communities in the Greek cities continued to function rather autonomously, both socially and religiously, managing their own judicial and religious affairs in order to keep their own identity distinct (cf. Let. Aris. 35–38, 44–45). 66 According to Barclay (1996: 277), the general impression of the Jews in Asia Minor is that they were well integrated into the civic life of their wider communtites and that they played a prominent part in the life of the cities they inhabited: “it is as businesspartners, litigants, market users, even potential ‘liturgists’ that the Jews are noticed and their peculiarities resented.” Barclay (1996: 279) also refers to evidence in Acts that suggests that “Jews were a respectable segment of the population” (Acts 13:16, 48–50; 14:1; cf. 16:14; 17:4, 12). 67 IvEph. 46.5, 4135.25–26, 3822, 2209. Concerning other Jewish archaeological evidence found in Ephesus (Jewish glass flask, Jewish lamps [II/III–VI CE], two magical amulets with Jewish characteristics [Imperial period], menorah cut in the steps of the library of Celsus, etc.), see Ameling, 2004: 151–152. 68 IvEph. 1677.6–7: [tau/t hj th=]j sorou= kh/don–[tai oi9 e)n 0Efe/] sw? 0Ioude~oi. See Mussies, 1990: 187–88; Ameling, 1996: 53; Levinskaya, 1996: 146–47; Trebilco, 2004: 44–45. 69 IvEph. 1676: to\ mnhmei=o/n e)s ti M[a=rkou] Ar[h/liou] Moussi/ou i9aire/oj: zh?=: kh/dontai oi( 0Ioudai=oi. Since this is a Jewish tomb, the reference is most probably to a Jewish priest. See Horsley, 1992: 124; Ameling, 2004: 157–59. 70 Smallwood, 1981: 508. 71 Horsley, 1992: 124.

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two inscriptions do imply is however, in the word of Trebilco, that “the Jews of Ephesus had some formal organizational structure, and that the Jews of the city identified themselves as a coherent community”.72 Trebilco suggests that this citywide organizational structure was developed primarily because the Jews needed to adopt a united front in the face of Greek hostility, and also when they argued their case with the city authorities and the Roman administration.73 This was most probably the case, especially as it is only from Rome that we have clear evidence that the Jews were not organized as a citywide community (even the sizeable and significant Jewish community in Alexandria had a citywide organization).74 Thus, a citywide organization seems to have been the regular and most convenient structure and we must therefore be careful not to make any specific assumptions about any different form of organization among the Jews in Ephesus. We must also consider the fact that we have no evidence that there was more than one synagogue in Ephesus in the first century CE. 75 I do not doubt that social and economic factors in the wider society forced the Jews to adopt a united front. For mere ethnical and practical reasons (food and marriage regulations, the care of tombs, etc.) the Diaspora Jews were normally organized as a citywide and united community. This does of course raise intriguing questions about the organization of the early Christbelievers in Ephesus as well. Trebilco suggests that the Christ-believers in Ephesus formed a number of different groups, which, prior to Ignatius, 72 Trebilco, 2004: 46 (cf. idem., 1999: 329). Trebilco also refers to the indications in the documents preserved by Josephus that the Jews on some occasions acted as a united body or community, e.g., ‘the Jews in the city’ (tw~n e0n th?= po/lei) of Ephesus petitioned the proconsul Marcus Junius Brutus that they might be able to observe their customs (A.J. 14.262–64 [42 BCE]; cf. 16.172–73 [9–2 BCE]). 73 Trebilco, 2004: 49. 74 Both the structure of the synagogues in Rome and the various titles of their officials are attested by some 130 inscriptions, indicating that the Roman Jewry was by no means a homogenous body, but a diverse community of individually structured congregations with democratic constitutions, that is, without a single, controlling organization or council (gerousi/a; comparable to that of the Jews in Alexandria) that supervised the individual synagogues, and without an Ethnarch who represented his people before the authorities. See Williams, 1994: 136–37; Leon, 1995: 168–70; Tellbe, 2001: 150–51. The Jewish community at Sardis is another example of a citywide organisation of the Jews (Josephus, A.J. 14.235, 259–61). 75 Cf. Ameling, 2004: 152: “Sehen wir einmal von der Frage ab, ob es in Antioch Syr. tatsächlich eine ‘Hauptsynagoge’ gab, so erwähnen die Quellen für Ephesos immer nur eine Synagoge im Singular, und in 32 u. 33 [IvEph. 1677 and 1676] werden oi9 0Ioudai=oi als feststehende Gruppe mit der Sorge um Gräber beauftragt: es gab also nur eine rechtlich feststehende Gruppe von Juden: müßte man nicht bei mehreren Synagogen, wie in Rom, eine Bezeichnung nach der Synagoge erwarten?”

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followed more than one possible organizational strategy.76 This seems to be quite a natural development, since the Christ-believers gathered in their homes and formed house churches without any central building or administration. However, this theory also assumes that some of the texts that address early Christ-believers in Ephesus represent distinct and separate groups ― an assumption which I questioned in chapter one. In any case, by the time of Ignatius we see a clear attempt to form a citywide organization among Christ-believers in Ephesus as well. We can only speculate about the size of the Jewish community in Ephesus in the first century CE. Without giving any definite numerical data, Josephus tells that, at the time when the Jews of Ionia appealed to Agrippa and Herod, there was ‘a great multitude of Jews (polu__ plh=qoj 0Iodai/wn), who lived in its cities’ (A.J. 16.27; cf. 16.166 ).77 The Jewish population in Asia Minor is generally estimated to have made up between 5–15% of the total population,78 which would mean that there were between 10,000 and 25,000 Jews in Ephesus in the first century CE (based on the estimate that the total population numbered about 200,000 citizens).79 Thus, even if we assume that the lower figure of 10,000 Jews is correct, this means that we must assume that there was quite a substantial and significant Jewish community in Ephesus in the first century CE.80 Given that there was such a sizeable and significant Jewish community as this, we may also suppose that some interaction between this community and early Christ-believers would have been inevitable. This is of course, significant for the origin and make up of the early Christian community in Ephesus, and to this we will now turn our attention.

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Trebilco, 1999: 333. According to Philo, the Jews in Asia and Syria were ‘very numerous (pamplhqei=j ) in every city’ (Legat. 245). 78 Meeks (1983: 34) suggests that the Jews made up about 10–15% of the Mediterranean population, and Ameling (1996: 30) suggests that the Jews in Asia Minor made up less than 5% of the total population. 79 Trebilco, 2004: 51 (cf. idem., 1999: 328–29). Strelan (1996: 181) calculates with up to 25,000 Jews in the city. Robinson (1988: 114) suggests that 7,500 Jews in Ephesus is the lower limit, while 75,000 is the upper limit. 80 Mussies (1990: 186) adduces further argument from Targumic evidence (the Targum of Chronicles, in the Table of Nations in 1 Chron. 1:5, and the Palestinian Targum j.Meggilah 1.11 [8], 56–63) to support the idea of a large Jewish community in the city at a later period. According to Mussies (1990: 186), “There must have lived so many Jews, especially in Ephesus, that the name of the town simply became the equivalent of ‘Ionia’ for the Jews in Palestine”. Smallwood (1981: 121) suggests that Ephesus hosted the largest concentration of Jews in Asia Minor. 77

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3. The Jewish Origin of the Christian Movement in Ephesus according to Luke’s Account in Acts It is not my intention to provide a detailed analysis of Luke’s account of the origin of the early Christian movement in Ephesus. However, since the interpretation of Luke’s account has had some bearings on the discussion concerning the relationship between the early Christ-believers and Judaism towards the end of the first century CE (discussed particularly in Rick Strelan’s study), I will make some brief comments on this account. Luke’s account of Paul’s mission in Ephesus is colored by his overall intention to describe the success of the early Christian mission, and several scholars have therefore questioned its historicity. Luke writes from a specific theological perspective, and any interpretation must consider his overall agenda.81 While I find no reason to question Luke’s overall account of either the Jewish presence in Ephesus, or of Paul’s contacts with local Jews and Gentiles, I still believe that we need to consider the information he gives about Jewish-Christian relations in that city carefully. From Luke’s account of Paul’s mission in Ephesus in Acts 18:19–19:41 and 20:13–38, we can make a couple of relevant observations. First, the reports by Josephus and Philo that the local Jewish community had a strained relationship with the local Greek citizens seem to be generally confirmed. In particular, Luke’s description of the city-riot (19:23–41), caused by the immediate reaction to Paul’s mission on the part of some local silversmiths, which gave rise to ‘no small disturbance’ (ta/raxoj ou)k o)li/goj, 19:23) and caused the ‘whole city to react in uproar’ (19:28), tells of the approach of the Jewish community to this incident.82 When the crowd was aroused, the Jews pushed their spokesman Alexander to the forefront in order to make a defence, most probably for the Jewish right not to participate in the civic cults and probably also to make some kind of 81

Cf. my comments on the historicity of Acts in chapter 1, 2.1. As pointed out by several scholars, Luke’s description of the riot in Ephesus shows accurate local knowledge of the city (e.g., Conzelmann, 1987: 164–65; Johnson, 1992: 351; Lampe, 1992; Trebilco, 1994: 302–57; idem., 2004: 155–70; Witetschek, 2008: 393–94). Trebilco (2004: 157) concludes concerning Luke’s account of the riot in Ephesus: “Thus, what Luke says (to pick just some examples), about the silversmiths, the significance of the temple of Artemis, the fame of the city of Ephesus as the ‘temple keeper’ of Artemis, the presence of the Asiarchs, the behaviour of the unruly mobs in the Greco-Roman city, the attitude of the town clerk to a disturbance in the city and the way he defends the city’s reputation and much more is all abundantly confirmed by literary and archaeological evidence.” Even Koester (1995: 129–30), who on other occasions do not give much historical value to Acts, asserts: “The story of the riot of the silversmiths (Acts 19:23–40), in contrast, reflects the milieu of Ephesos and attests to Luke’s knowledge of the Ephesian political and religious situation.” 82

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demarcation against Paul and his mission: ‘But when the people realized that he was a Jew, they all shouted in unison for about two hours: ‘Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!’’ (19:34).83 Instead of resolving the conflict, the realization of a Jewish presence increased the hostile reactions of the crowd. As a result, the chief magistrate in Ephesus, o( grammateu/j (19:35),84 obviously anxious of not disturbing the pax Romana in the city, intervened in order to silence the crowd: ‘For indeed we are in danger of being charged with rioting (sta/sewj) because of today’s event, there is no real cause for this; and in this case we shall be unable to account for this disorderly gathering” (19:40).85 Hence, Luke’s account confirms not only the information given by Josephus and Philo that there were strong Greek reactions to the local Jews, but also the Jewish attempts to claim their rights and privileges as well as the general willingness on the part of the city administration to grant them protection ― or at least to keep the status quo. Moreover, Luke portrays the local Jews as clearly concerned to prevent any serious hostility against them and their desire to preserve their distinctive identity as separate from the Christ-believers. However, according to Luke, the city authorities apparently saw the early Christbelievers as part of an intra-Jewish movement (if they would ever had made any such distinctions), and therefore they did not intervene.86

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Cf. Haenchen, 1971: 574–75; Bruce, 1990: 419; Witherington, 1998: 596. We do not know anything further about this Alexander, althogh it is not unlikely that it could be the same ‘Alexander, the metalworker’ who had caused Paul ‘a great deal of harm’ (2 Tim. 4:14). If this is correct, the Jews would, quite appropriately, have put forward a person who may himself have been a member of the guild of metalworkers in Ephesus, and who would thus have been well known to Demetrius. 84 This title is attested passim in the inscriptions, e.g., OGIS 2.493.11; 510.11 (II CE). Cf. Sherwin–White (1978: 86): “The prominence accorded to the town clerk in Acts fits the fairly copious evidence about this office at Ephesus and other cities of Asia Minor.” Cf. also Horsley, 1992: 136. 85 ‘Rioting’ (sta/sij) and breach of the civic peace was a most serious crime (cf. the accusations brought against Paul in Acts 17:6–7; 24:5–6 [sta/sij]), which according to Roman law could result in beating, imprisonment and even death (Dig.Justin., 48.19.38.2; 48.19.28.3 (in Rapske, 1994: 118). In Claudius’s stern letter from 41 CE, the Alexandrian Jews were accused of ‘fomenting a common plague for the whole world [empire]’ (CPJ 2.153.99–100). In the wake of Claudius’s expulsion of the Jews from Rome (Suetonius, Claud. 25.4 [c. 49 CE]), one may suspect that the Greek administration would some years later be especially sensitive to charges of sedition and rioting. For a riot (sta/sij) caused by the union of bakers in Ephesus (mid II CE), see IvEph. 215. 86 The same point is made in Acts 18:12–17; 23:27–30; 24:10–16. Cf. Stoops (1989), who argues that Luke’s account of the riot in Ephesus should be read against the background of the Jewish claims to toleration and autonomy within the Greek cities, and that Luke assumed that the Christ–believing assemblies were entitled to the same privileges, so long enjoyed by the Jewish Diaspora communities.

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Secondly, Luke’s account tells of contacts between several groups of Jews and Paul in Ephesus. When Paul first entered the synagogue in Ephesus, he made some initial positive contacts with the local Jews, ‘who asked him to spend more time with them’ (18:20). Furthermore, Paul was in touch with ‘some disciples’ (tinaj maqhtai/) who were baptized with John’s baptism (19:1–7), most probably a group of Jewish disciples of John the Baptist,87 and a group of Jewish exorcists (19:13–16). Following the general pattern of negative Jewish reactions to Paul’s mission recorded in Acts, Paul’s relationship to the Jewish community soon became tense: when Paul had taught in the synagogue for three months ‘some [Jews] became hardened and disobedient (tinej e0sklhru/nonto kai\ h0pei/qoun), and began to speak evil of the Way before the multitude’ (19:9). We are never told that Paul made a definite break with the synagogue community. Since Luke accounts for a number of Jewish Christ-believers in Ephesus (18:24–28; 19:10, 17), we may assume that Paul had continuous contacts with the Jewish community there. Thirdly, Luke claims that Paul was successful, not only among the Jews, but also among the Gentiles in Ephesus. As a result of the negative reactions in the synagogue, Paul turned to the hall of Tyrannos, where he taught for two years, ‘so that all the Jews and Greeks who lived in the province Asia heard the word of the Lord’ (19:10). Luke then points out a couple of times that Paul made some success among both the Jews and the Gentiles in Ephesus (19:17–20, 26, 30–31; 20:21). Moreover, Luke wants to give the impression that Paul made contacts with the city administration, with ‘some of the officials of the province, friends of him’ (tine\j de\ kai\ tw~n 0Asiarxw~n, o)/ntej au0tw?~ fi/loi, 19:31).88 We cannot draw the conclusion from this that these officials were Christ-believers, only that

87

Although Luke uses the term maqhth/j as a technical designation for a ‘Christ– believer’ everywhere else in Acts, the use of the term here (without the definite article) points to the conclusion that John does not refer to ‘Christ-believers’, but to disciples of John the Baptist (cf. Luke 5:33; 7:18–19). After all, these maqhtai/ did not believe in ‘the one who came after John, that is in Jesus Christ’ (Acts 19:4). Thus, most incidents speak in favor of taking this group of ‘disciples’ as a Jewish baptizing group, who had either not heard of Jesus Christ or who were, for some reason or other, hesitant about adopting this ‘Christ-belief’. Cf. Strelan, 1996: 234–45; Witherington, 1998: 569–71. 88 For the attestion and funcion of the 0A sia&rxhj in Ephesus (IvEph. 740, 3070), see Friesen, 1993: 92–113; Kearsley, 1994: 363–76. Friesen (1993: 113) argues that this office was either redefined or reinvigorated in the 80s CE: “In the second and third centuries CE Asiarchs performed a variety of public sevices that were especially related to municipal life in Asia. Their duties were sometimes priestly and sometimes involved provincial temples, but Imperial cults were not a necessanry component of the Asiarchate.”

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Luke wants to indicate that Paul made some very influential and wealthy Greek friends in Ephesus.89 From Luke’s account, it is traditionally argued that Paul’s mission soon led to a majority of Gentile Christ-believers in the church in Ephesus.90 For example, Paul Trebilco draws the conclusion in his detailed analysis and evaluation of Luke’s record in Acts 18–20 that by the mid-50s, there was a significant group of Jewish Christ-believers, albeit the Gentile section of the Christian community grew quickly and some of them may have been God-fearers and other devotees of Artemis.91 When Paul left the city, most of the Ephesian Christ-believers were, according to Trebilco, “Pauline” and they saw themselves as basically a separate and distinct (social) group, apart from the Jewish community.92 Helmut Koester argues a similar case, assuming that Luke is a Gentile Christ-believer and that he constructs a Christian movement separate and distinct from Jews and Judaism.93 Koester bases his conclusion, mainly on an analysis of Romans 16, which he believes was aimed for the Christian community in Ephesus, and he also maintains that, by the end of the 50s, there was a clear Gentile majority of Christ-believers in this community.94 Walter Bauer takes this a step further by suggesting that, by the end of the first century, most Pauline “churches” in western Asia Minor, including the church in Ephesus, were almost totally of “a Gentile-Christian type”.95 However, Rick Strelan objects to such conclusions and sets out to challenge the common opinion that Paul was succesful in his Gentile mission to Ephesus. As we noticed in chapter one, Strelan argues as his main thesis that the Pauline community at Ephesus was predominantly Jewish with Gentiles in the minority: “the strength of the evidence is that Christian Jews [at Ephesus] far outnumber Gentile Christians.”96 On the whole, Strelan assumes that Luke’s account is historically accurate and he makes his case primarily on the basis of a strict reading of Luke’s record in Acts 18–20. He points to the fact that various Jewish groups dominate Paul’s mission in Ephesus (the synagogue community, the disciples of

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In order to argue for the likehood of this event, Trebilco (2004: 165–66) points to the conversion of Sergus Paulus, the proconsul of Cyprus (Acts 13:4–12). 90 Schnackenburg (1991: 47) is a good representative of this opinion since he draws the conclusion that, in the Christ–believing community of Ephesus, “Die Gläubigen waren überwiegend Heidenchristen”. 91 Trebilco, 2004: 152–53 92 Trebilco, 2004: 196. Cf. idem., 2004: 170. 93 Koester, 1995: 126–31. 94 Koester, 1995: 123–24, 129. 95 Bauer, 1972: 89. 96 Strelan, 1996: 210. Cf. the anlysis of Strelan’s study in chapter 1.

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John the Baptist, the sons of Sceva, Apollos, Alexander, etc.).97 Strelan concludes, “nearly all episodes [in Acts] demonstrate the ‘success’ of Paul among Jews . . . what success Paul does have is not from among Gentiles in the city, but from among Jews, so that it is possible to speak of Pauline Jewish Christianity in Ephesus”.98 Hence, Strelan claims that “Ephesus is a Jewish ― not a Gentile ― centre for the Christian movement there”.99 In my opinion, Strelan rightly pays attention to the prominence in Luke’s account of Paul’s contacts with the local Jews and to his success among them, and he makes an important corrective to all the readings of Paul’s mission, which too hastily come to the conclusion that the early community of Christ-believers in Ephesus was initially predominantly Gentile. Any such reading must consider Paul’s contacts with the influential Jews as well as the fact that it falls within Luke’s overall agenda to demonstrate the hardness of the Jews and the openness of the Gentiles towards Paul’s mission. However, in order to argue his case, Strelan more than once overstates the evidence in favor of his argument and he finds it hard to accept the plausibility of any readings that speaks against his overall thesis. Strelan consistently downplays the evidence in Acts that speaks in favor of Gentile encounters with Paul’s message or of Gentile conversions (e.g., Acts 19:8–10, 17–18, 26; 20:21; 21:28–29). In my opinion, he correctly concludes that Paul’s movement from the synagogue to ‘the lecture hall’ (sxolh/) of Tyrannos (Acts 19:9) does not necessarily imply that Paul intended to break with the local Jews, but he is more speculative when he puts forward his assumption that Tyrannus may have been a Jewish teacher, and that his sxolh/ was a Jewish institution, “probably directly associated with the synagogue”.100 This conclusion can be questioned on both lexicographical and contextual grounds. Tyrannus is most likely the name of a Gentile,101 and the term sxolh/ does not seem to

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Strelan generally takes most of Acts as a reliable historical account, although he ambiguously claims concerning Luke’s work that “it is almost impossible to construct history on its basis simply because the data are not available” (1996: 21). Of course, this position implies considerable tensions, in particular since Acts is the main source for Strelan’s thesis, and he offers no criteria for his evaluation of the historical value of Acts. For a harsh critique of Strelan’s ambiguous use of Acts, see Barclay, 1998: 261–62. Cf. also chapter 1, 2.1. 98 Strelan, 1996: 265, 295. 99 Strelan, 1996: 204. 100 Strelan, 1996: 254. 101 Tu/r annoj is attested in first century CE inscriptions from Epehsus, e.g., IvEph. 20B40 [54–59 CE]; 1001.5 [time of emperor Tiberius]; 1012.4 [92–93 CE]). See Hemer, 1989: 120–21.

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denote a Jewish building, but rather a guild or a lecture hall,102 and the context in Acts 19 seems to clearly imply a more neutral meeting place ― particularly as Paul met resistance in the synagogue and to the conversion of both Jews and Greeks. Luke somewhat hyperbolically asserts that ‘all the Jews and Greeks ( 0Ioudai/ouj te kai\ (/Ellhnaj) who lived in the province of Asia heard the word of the Lord’ (19:10). Strelan suggests that the (/Ellhnai in this verse does not refer to ‘the Greeks’ in the ethnic meaning of ‘the Gentiles’, but in the cultural meaning of ‘everyone’ or at least of ‘the non-observant Jews’.103 Such a reading is the result of his overall thesis about Paul’s mission in Acts rather than a plain reading of the text itself. This is particularly plausible since ‘Greeks’ ( (/Ellhnai) in Acts is generally used in the ethnic meaning of ‘non-Jews’ or ‘Gentiles’.104 In a similar way, Strelan goes on to argue that the saying in Acts 19:17 (‘And this became known to all the Jews and the Greeks, all the residents of Ephesus [pa=sin 0Ioudai/oij te kai\ (/Ellhsin toi=j katoikou=sin th_n )/Efeson]; and fear fell upon them all, and the name of the Lord Jesus was extolled’) refers to an internal Jewish incident, and that the 0Ioudai/oij te kai\ (/Ellhsin is a reference to “those Jews and non-Jews who made up the synagogue communities”.105 This may have been the case, although the phrase polloi\ te tw~n pepisteuko/twn (perf. ptc.) in Acts 19:18 seems to refer to Gentile ― not Jewish ― conversions, and the ‘practices’ (pra/ceij, 19:19) refers in its literary context to magical pagan practices.106 In particular, Strelan is forced to dismiss the plain reading of the complaint of Demetrius, the silversmith, that Paul’s mission has ‘persuaded and led astray (pei/saj mete/sthsen) a considerable people, not only here in Ephesus, but in almost all of Asia’ (Acts 19:24–27 [26]).107 According to Strelan, the use of the verb meqi/sthmi in this context indicates that Luke does not refer to the conversion of the Gentiles, but merely to the change of “people’s opinions about whether or not gods

102 Cf. Plutarch, Mor. 42A; Aristotle, Pol. 1313B; Epictetus, Diss. 3.21.11. Horsley (1981: 130) suggest that sxolh/ refers to a group of people who met under the aegis of Tyrannos, to whom addresses were given during their leisure hours. 103 Strelan, 1996: 255–56. 104 See Acts 14:1; 16:1, 3; 17:4; 18:4; 19:10, 17; 20:21; 21:28. In a footnote Strelan (1996: 256 n. 235) admits that “when the term [ )/Ellhnai is used in conjunction with ‘Jew’ it would be logical to understand it as a reference to aliens, that is, non–Jews”. In a similar awkward way, Strelan (1996: 303–06) suggests that ta\ e)/qnh in Luke and Paul refers to Jews living outside Judaea/Israel. 105 Strelan, 1996: 263–64. 106 So Barrett, 1998: 912; Fitzmyer, 1998: 651; Schnabel, 1999: 375. 107 On the historicity of this passage, see Trebilco, 2004: 157–63, 168–69.

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made by human hands are in fact gods at all”.108 This would certainly have been included, but would it not have implied that the Gentiles also were ‘converted’ to the message of Paul? How could Paul’s message otherwise have had such an impact that Demetrius and the other silversmiths reacted so strongly? Since Strelan does not assume that Luke has freely invented the scene of the riot in Ephesus, he — rather than taking Luke’s account at face value — simply insists as his a priori thesis that Paul had no success among Gentiles in that city.109 In order to argue his case that the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus was predominantly Jewish in character further, Strelan turns to Romans 16, Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians and to the Pastoral Letters for evidence. Unfortunately, here his analysis is rather brief and sweeping, and there is not much in these letters that actually supports his overall thesis. Some scholars, such as Koester (above), suggest that Romans 16 was originally meant for Ephesus, but this thesis fails, due to a lack of any firm textual support.110 Not even Strelan himself seems to believe that the community addressed in Romans 16 should be located in Ephesus.111 Concerning the evidence from Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, Strelan seems clearly ambivalent: he acknowledges the problems about the authorship and the addressees of this letter, but he still makes use of it in order to support his overall thesis.112 Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians clearly indicates that the author was concerned about Jewish-Gentile relations (Eph. 2:11–21), but the general character of the letter’s address and its content make it more or less impossible to reconstruct a local community behind it.113 All we can say is that the author of this letter seeks to create a 108 Strelan, 1996: 138. Strelan builds this conclusion on the use of the verb meqi/s thmi (also used by Luke in Luke 16:4; Acts 13:22; 19:26). Quite correctly, he notes that Paul does not use the terms meta/noia or pi/stij here. But, given that Luke records the words of Demetrius, a non-believing Gentile, this piece of evidence seems ambiguous. 109 Cf. Schnabel’s (2005: 1224) criticism of Strelan on this point: “If Demetrios’ complaint does not presuppose considerable success of Paul’s missionary work in Ephesus, then only two options remain: either the author of the Book of Acts has freely invented the scene (something that Strelan does not assume), or Strelan simply insists on his priori opinion that Paul had no success among the Gentile citizens of Ephesus.” 110 In particular, Gamble (1977) argues a strong case for the authenticity of Rom. 16 and the integrity of Rom. 1–16. Cf. also Lampe, 1987: 124–35. 111 Strelan, 1996: 289–90. 112 Strelan, 1996: 291–93; cf. 171. 113 Also Thiessen (1995: 348–50) makes use of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians in order to argue that Jewish-Gentile relationships were of great concern in Ephesus. According to Thiessen, the address of the letter (1:1) stems from an Hellenistic Jewish Christian group (c. 80–90 CE) who wanted to articulate the Pauline idea of the reality of the unity between Jewish and Gentile Christians within a mainly Gentile community (Eph. 2:11– 22).

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self-understanding among his readers that defines their religious identity in non-ethnic terms. Evidently, as time went by, this letter took on a particular connection with Ephesus and continued to form the idea that a united community of both Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers existed in that city. Finally, Strelan turns very briefly to the Pastorals, about which he claims: “There is little evidence for strong Gentile numbers in Timothy. Instead, it is clear that the false teaching has strong Jewish elements.”114 Unfortunately, Strelan does not offer any evidence in support of this conclusion. It seems quite clear that the ‘false’ teachers in the Letters to Timothy had some Jewish connections, but this does not need to imply that the addressees were of Jewish origin (I will come back to this issue below). In an appendix to his study, Strelan concludes: “Christian communities in Ephesus continued to be marked by Jewish ways of thinking and practice well into the second century.”115 In support, Strelan refers primarily to second century evidence found in the works of Justin Martyr and Polycrates of Ephesus. To sum up, Strelan correctly stresses the Jewish context of Paul’s mission and the continuing link between that and the local Jewish community in Ephesus described by Luke. But Strelan’s conclusion that, according to Luke, Paul’s mission in Ephesus involved only very few Gentiles turns out to be a rather forced reading and does not seem to correspond to Luke’s overall intention behind his text. If Strelan is right about the specific ‘Jewishness’ of the early Christian movement in Ephesus, we would expect to find some evidence of this in the way the early Christians texts we have located in Ephesus address their readers and form their self-understanding. We will first turn to the early ‘canonical’ texts and then to the second century evidence, mainly as witnessed by Ignatius and Justin Martyr, who both had connections with that city.

4. Ethnicity and Universality in the ‘Canonical’ Texts It seems reasonable to assume that the authors of the ‘canonical’ texts that I have located in Ephesus were all of Jewish origin. As we shall see, they all considered themselves to be part of the longstanding Jewish tradition. But how do these authors articulate issues of ethnicity and identity when they address their readers? In investigating these issues, I suggest that we look for two things in particular: i) Boundary and identity markers and ii) Definitions of the ‘people of God’.

114 115

Strelan, 1996: 294 (italics original). Strelan, 1996: 306–07.

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i) Boundary and Identity Markers. In the documents of Josephus and Philo, the Jews at Ephesus seem to be concerned about obedience to the Torah, in particular to regulations about Jewish rites and customs, i.e., the Sabbath, festivals, diets and the collection of the Temple tax. Although never specifically mentioned in the documents that relate to the Jews in Ephesus, we may also assume that circumcision was a prime identity marker, particularly since the practice of circumcision was the focal point of the conflicts with the Jews reported in the Pauline letters. Do the ‘canonical’ texts that relate to Ephesus discuss any of these typically Jewish identity markers, which according to the New Testament caused tensions and conflicts in Christian communities in other locations? Or, do we find other boundary and identity markers discussed? We have noted that the Jewish community in Ephesus was of a considerable size and influence, and that it had a rather long history of established rights and privileges in that city. We also noted that Luke’s account of the riot caused by the craftsmen in Ephesus involved local Jews and issues concerning Jewish rights. Do the authors address any issues that relate to the sociopolitical status of the believing community? Can we find any evidence of conflicts between the local Jews and the Christ-believers concerning Jewish social and religious privileges? I will first look for boundary markers that may indicate how the various authors view the relationship between the Christian group, which they address, and the Jewish community. Does the author expect his readers to practice Jewish customs and rites? Is there any evidence of any internal tensions and conflicts that relate to typically Jewish issues? Are there any typical social and religious Jewish identity markers in the texts that we know were of importance for Diaspora Jews? And can we say anything about the way in which the authors understand the relationship of the Christ-believers to the synagogue community? ii) Definitions of the ‘people of God’. I will also look for definitions and designations employed as definitions of the members of the ingroup. I will look for specific terms of self-designation, as well as for universal language and terminology. I am primarily interested in ‘insider language’, i.e., in terms that the authors use to address a specific group in order to form an ingroup identity (I doubt, however, that we can decide whether or not the ingroup members themselves made use of this language).116 What 116

I acknowledge the work done by Trebilco (2004: 553–88) on the issue of selfdesignation in the Pastoral Letters, the Johannine Letters and Revelation, and I will basically draw from his detailed analysis. However, I doubt that it is possible to distinguish, as Trebilco does, between the preferred terms of the author and the selfdesignations used by the addressees. Since the author (and his text) wants to form the self-definition of the readers, I doubt that we can find any such distinctions (see my

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are the terms employed to address and designate the members of the ingroup? Are these self-designations typically Jewish categories? How does the author define the people of God? What are the titles, images and parameters employed? And what can we deduce about Jewish-Christian relationships from these designations? 4.1. First and Second Timothy i) Boundary and Identity Markers. Evidently, the author of the Letters to Timothy operates within fundamental Jewish convictions and parameters. For example, echoing the Shema and the basic notion of Jewish belief, the author asserts that ‘God is one’ (ei[j qeo/j, 1 Tim. 2:5). God is also described the as the creator of both sexuality and food; ‘for everything created by God is good’ (1 Tim. 4:4). Furthermore, a central issue in the Letters to Timothy is both the use and abuse of the Jewish Scriptures. First Timothy begins with the refutation of a group of false teachers: they ‘want to be teachers of the Law (qe/lontej ei]nai nomodida/skaloi), but they do not know what they are talking about or what they so confidently affirm’ (1:7). In response to their misuse of the Law, the author clearly affirms a proper use of the Torah: ‘We know that the Law is good, if one uses it properly’ (1 Tim. 1:8). He continues by listing a set of moral instructions that parallels the list of the Decalogue (1:9–11). Further, in 1 Tim. 5:18, the author quotes from Deut. 25:4, and he affirms the sacred status of ‘the holy Scriptures’ (2 Tim. 3:15–17). Thus, the Jewish Scriptures, at least the moral teaching of the Law, are seen as the authoritative word of God. Its practical use is, however, defined in relation to Jesus Christ: ‘you have known the Holy Scriptures (i9era_ gra&mmata), which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Jesus Christ’ (2 Tim. 3:15). Since we are told that the false teachers of First and Second Timothy ‘want to be teachers of the Law’, it seems obvious that they had some relationship to Judaism. However, it is not clear how we should define this relationship. It is commonly argued that these teachers were of Jewish origin, particularly since we are told that the deviants in the Letter to Titus belong to ‘those of the circumcision’ (oi9 e0k th=j peritomh=j, Tit. 1:10),117 that they teach ‘Jewish myths’ ( 0Ioudai+koi=j mu/qoij, 1:14), and that they incite ‘quarrels about the Law’ (ma&xaj nomika_j perii/+stasa, 3:9). critique of Trebilco’s methodology in chapter 1, 2.4). I therefore find no point in distinguishing between the terms used by the author and the self-designations used by the readers. 117 The phrase oi9 e0k th=j peritomh=j (with e0k ) is elsewhere mainly used with reference to Jewish Christ-believers (Acts 10:45; 11:2; Col. 4:11). But, as pointed out by Marshall (1999: 195), the phrase does not necessarily imply that circumcision was an issue in this situation.

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Although it is never explicitly said in the Letters to Timothy that the teachers who operated in Ephesus were Jews, it is likely that these teachers were roughly of the same kind as those who operated on Crete.118 Werner Thiessen connects the ascetic stance taken against food in 1 Tim. 4:3 with the counter-saying ‘to the pure, all things are pure’ (pa/nta kaqara\ toi=j kaqaroi=j) in Tit. 1:15, where he argues that this stance was motivated by Jewish purity regulations, and that the deviants were Jewish-Christian Wanderprediger.119 Taking this argument a step further, David Sim suggests that the false teachers in the Pastorals “represented the ‘old enemy’ of the Pauline law-free gospel, law-observant Christian Judaism”.120 However, it is hard to find any clear evidence for such a conclusion in the Pastoral Letters alone, especially since we are never told that the teachers in the Letters to Timothy promoted a message that involved typical Jewish identity markers and some typical ‘works of the Law’, which we could also find elsewhere in the New Testament whenever the relationship of the Christ-believers to Judaism is discussed (for example in discussions of issues concerning circumcision, the Sabbath observance, dietary laws, etc.).121 As a matter of fact, issues other than Jewish purity regulations may have motivated the ascetic stance towards marriage and food.122 It is also possible to argue the opposite: since the author of First 118

The Jewish background of the deviants is more explicitly spelled out in Titus than in 1–2 Tim.: ‘There are also many rebellious people, idle talkers and deceivers, especially those of the circumcision’ (ei0si/n ga_r polloi\ [kai\] a)n upo/taktoi, mataiolo/goi kai\ frenapa/tai, ma/lista oi9 e0k th=j peritomh=j, Tit. 1:10) . . . ‘paying attention to Jewish myths and human commandments’ (prose/x ontej 0I oudai+koi=j mu/qoij kai\ e0n tolai=j a)nqrw&pwn, 1:14) . . . ‘But avoid stupid controversies, genealogies, dissensions, and quarrels about the Law, for they are unprofitable and worthless’ (mwra\j de\ zhth/seij kai\ genealogi/aj kai\ e1reij kai\ ma/xaj nomika\j perii5staso, 3:9). Terms like a)n upo/taktoi, mataiolo/g oi, mu/qoi, zhth/seij and genealogi/a are used in the descriptions of the deviants in both 1–2 Tim. and Tit. This favors the conclusion that we are dealing with roughly the same kind of teachers in all the Pastoral Letters. 119 Thiessen, 1995: 326–38. 120 Sim, 1998: 175. 121 The reference to works (ta_ e1rga) in 2 Tim. 1:9 is general and does not specifically refer to any works of the Law. 122 There is no evidence from 1–2 Tim. alone that the teachers promoted Torah observance and Jewish purity regulations. Rather, the argument of 1 Tim. 4:1–8 suggests that the deviants’ ascetic practices or physical training (h( swmatikh\ gumnasi/a, 4:8) were motivated by ‘godless myths and old wives’ tales’ (oi9 bebh/loi kai\ graw&deij mu/qoi, 4:7) and a transformed eschatological outlook that the author corrects in 4:8: ‘while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come (e0paggeli/an e1xousa zwh=j th=j nu=n kai\ th=j mellou&shj).’ As with the prohibition against marriage, the teachers may

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and Second Timothy counters the ascetic practices by a creationperspective (‘they forbid marriage and demand abstinence from food, which God created . . . for everything created by God is good,’ 4:3–4), it seems likely that the author defends fundamental Jewish convictions, which the teachers are accused of having abandoned, rather than arguing themselves in favor of observing Jewish purity regulations.123 Although the teachers are described as having a ‘desire to be nomodida/skaloi’ (1 Tim. 1:7), this aspiration seems to have had something to do with their use of Old Testament myths and genealogies (1:4; cf. Tit. 1:9) rather than indicating that they themselves actually promoted ‘the works of the Law’.124 The expression ‘desire to be’ (qe/lontej ei]nai) could even imply that the author wanted to point out that these teachers were not themselves of Jewish but of Gentile origin (in contrast to the situation in Crete).125 In any case, all we may conclude from this is that the false teaching was related to Judaism, since its proponents based their teaching on myths and genealogies found in the Torah. But the main features of this teaching do not seem to remind us of what we know from elsewhere to be typically Judaizing matters. Instead, we note some rather un-Jewish features in this basically dualistic gnw~sij-teaching (1 Tim. 6:20), e.g., the understanding of the resurrection as something that has already taken place, the negative view of marriage and the teaching role of women.126 This could be taken as have claimed that the material world (including food) was tainted and belonged to the old age, and contacts with certain foods therefore needed to be curtailed. By drawing attention to the use of mu~qoi and genealogi/ai in discussions concerning genealogy, cosmology and Urgeschichte in Philo (Vit. Mos. 2.45–47), Egbert Schlarb suggests that the teachers made use of Jewish tradition about the Urgeschichte in Gen 1–9 to promote the view that marriage, sexuality and certain kinds of food (flesh) were tainted because of the fall (Schlarb, 1990: 88–90). A similar case is argued by Towner (1989: 103–04), suggesting that the teachers could have been attempting “to enact the life of resurrection paradise by following the model given in Genesis 1 and 2”. Hence, the teachers may have claimed that the former age, with its way of life, had passed away and the resurrection of Jesus had thrust the community into the new age to come. Cf. Schlarb (1990: 133): “Sexualität und bestimmter Speisengenuß sind keine Lebensmöglichkeit mehr für den, der in der Taufe der Auferstehung teilhaftig geworden, in den Urzustand zurückgekehrt ist und Anteil am Lebensgeist Gottes besitzt.” 123 The author seems to draw from both the wisdom tradition (Eccl. 5:18–19) and from Jesus (Mark 7:18–23 w. par.). 124 For examples of Jewish speculative allegorizations of the Old Testament genealogies and creation accounts, see Kittel, 1921: 49–69. Cf. 1QS 3.13–15. 125 So Schlarb, 1990: 91. Arguing for a Gnostic orientation of the deviant teaching, Merkel (1991: 10) even suggests that the Jewish features of this teaching are nothing more than conformity to Pauline style. 126 The deviant theology in the Pastorals had a fundamental dualistic profile, distinguishing between good and evil in creation (1 Tim. 4:3–4). It is however extremely difficult to determine the precise nature or the origin of this dualism. It is commonly

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evidence that the teachers were not of Jewish origin or, more likely, that they were Hellenistic Jews.127 In any case, contra the proposal of Sim, I would affirm that it is hardly “the ‘old enemy’ of the Pauline law-free gospel” that we encounter in the Pastoral Letters. There are, however, interesting parallels between the structure of the Christian community according to the Pastorals and that of the synagogue community. In particular, James Burtchaell has paid attention to functional similarities between early Christian communities and synagogue communities: “It is fair to say that the Jews who formed the archetypical churches followed the basic structural lineaments of community organization already familiar to them in the synagogue.”128 This may of course not be surprising, he continues, “since it was synagogues they thought they were forming at first”. Burtchaell also points to clear similarities in the structures of the community offices: The presiding offices, the college of elders and the assistant appear to carry over from synagogue to church. As in the Jewish context, so in the Christian: the authority to

argued that sexual asceticism, abstention from certain food and the reference to the Creator is a response to negative Gnostic beliefs (e.g., Trummer, 1978: 166–68; Schmithals, 1983). The exhortation to watch out for ‘what is falsely called knowledge [gnw~sij]’ (1 Tim. 6:20) demonstrates that we are dealing with some type of gnōsis teaching, but such teaching or terminology is certainly not limited to Gnosticism alone (see, e.g., see 1QHab 11.1; 1 QS 10.9, 12; 11.6, 15; 1QH 2.18; 11.24; CD 2.4). This is not to deny the parallels between the deviant teaching and later Gnosticism, but we must acknowledge the methodological problems involved in reconstructing this New Testament phenomenon from second century evidence. We have no evidence in favor of the conclusion that the dualism promoted in 1–2 Tim. was as radical as that of the later Gnostics, which included a belief in an evil creator and in gnōsis as the means of salvation from the material world. Moreover, one does not need to turn to the second century to find types of ascetic practices similar to those described in these letters (e.g., 1 Cor. 7:1; Col. 2:16–23) or similar arguments concerning clean and unclean food (e.g., Mark 7:15; 1 Cor. 10:23–30). Therefore, we do better to speak of the deviant theology of 1–2 Tim. as some kind of early gnōsis teaching or pre-Gnosticism, containing “elements that later went to make up the Gnostic package but which are not yet themselves compounded together in the characteristically Gnostic fashion” (Marshall, 1999: 49–50; cf. Towner, 1989: 37; Mounce, 2000: lxxv). 127 Acknowledging the hazardous task of judging a person’s background from his or her name alone, the names of the deviants in 1–2 Tim. may point to the conclusion that most of them were not of Jewish origin. Only one of the three false teachers explicitly named in 1 Tim. 1:20 and 2 Tim. 2:18 (Hymenaeus, Alexander and Philetus) was possibly of Jewish origin (Alexander; for the Jewish use of this name, see CIJ 85, 92, 140, 370, 501, 1284; cf. Mark 15:21; Acts 4:6; Dunn, 1993: 160; Quinn-Wacker, 2000: 145, 679). However, in ancient society coppersmiths and metalworkers were often involved in fashioning pagan idols. His profession therefore favors the conclusion that he was a Gentile, 128 Burtchaell, 1992: 340.

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initiate and formulate policy in behalf of the community resides in a group, and that group is served by a presiding officer who appears to be stable in that position. 129

As pointed out above, we know of a Jewish inscription from the Imperial period that mentions a)rxisunago/goi and presbute/roi in Ephesus.130 This community structure parallels that of the e)pi/skopoj and a group of presbute/roi (1 Tim. 3:1–7; 5:17–20), in the Pastorals, and this indicates that the author of the Pastorals operated within a framework of Jewish leadership structures.131 Like the community addressed in the Pastorals, synagogue assemblies were often held in household settings. The customs of public reading of ‘scripture’ (h( grafh/) and of ‘gathering for prayer’ (proseu/xomai) (1 Tim. 2:8; 4:13; 2 Tim. 3:14–17) are further indications that we have to do with an author who presupposes close links to the synagogue.132 Further parallels may be found in the articulated need for clear structures with regard to the care of the widows, the stress on the father as the head of the family and the importance of the upbringing and teaching of the children ‘in the faith’. As we observed above, the religious education of children was an essential part of the upholding and articulating of Jewish ethnicity and identity in the Diaspora. The emphasis on the householders and the fathers in the Christian households, whose property made them patrons and hosts of their entire communities (1 Tim. 3:1–7), finds their counterpart in the Jewish institution of the father and the mother of the synagogue, which were positions given to honored patrons and members.133 Moreover, the Pastoral Letters contain blessings and confessions in language that seems to resound the tones of Hellenistic Jewish synagogues and the devotions practiced is referred to by the Hellenistic word eu)se/beia, which is a word not used in the undisputed Pauline Letters, but which is indicative of the world of Hellenistic Judaism.134 Thus, although there are certain points of departures from the synagogue pattern in the Pastorals, for example in the development of a distinctive nomenclature for offices,135 we can say that the writer promotes 129

Burtchaell, 1992: 339. IvEph. 1251 (cf. section 2 above). 131 Young (1994:108–09) even suggests that the presence of presbute/roi in the Pastoral Letters reflects a time when ”there was a tendency for formalisation according to established Jewish patterns and structures, and the organisation implied in the Pastorals reflect increasing influence of Jewish precedent”. 132 Burtchaell, 1992: 221–22. 133 Burtchaell, 1992: 249–51, 340. For inscriptional evidence, see CIJ 1.88, 93, 319, 494, 508, 509, 523, 537, 533, 606, 639. 134 Young, 1994: 121. Cf. The analysis of eu)se/beia in chapter 3, 2.3. 135 E.g., Burtchaell (1992: 340–48) points out that there was no senior elder (gerousia/rxhj), no Levitical priests or no notables (a)/rxontej) in the Christian 130

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a community structure that has clear parallels in the synagogue communities. We cannot conclude from this that the Christ-believers addressed in the Letters to Timothy were assumed to be meeting within the local synagogues, but we can at least conclude that the author of these letters expected the community addressed to function roughly on the same lines as those of the structures of the synagogue community. ii) Definitions of the ‘people of God’. The key concept in First and Second Timothy is the term ‘faith’/‘faithfulness’ (pi/stij), which is used altogether twenty-seven times.136 The object of this ‘faith’ is usually not defined. In the perspective of the author, faith clearly includes both faith in ‘God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord’ (1 Tim. 1:2; 2 Tim. 1:2) but, more specifically, the believer is defined by ‘faith in (e)n) Jesus Christ’ (1 Tim. 1:14; 3:13; 2 Tim. 1:13; 3:15). This object of faith is further defined by Christ’s Jewish heritage, ‘Jesus Christ . . . descended from David’ (2 Tim. 2:8). Thus, the author confirms the fundamental Jewish belief in God, ‘the One’ and ‘the creator’ (1 Tim. 2:5; 4:3–5), but it is as ‘a good minister of Christ Jesus’ that Timothy is supposed to teach this to the ‘brothers’ (4:6). From the start of the argument of First Timothy, the false teaching is contrasted with the author’s understanding of the normative belief; ‘myths and endless genealogies that promote speculations’ are contrasted with ‘the divine plan through faith’ (oi0konomi/an qeou~ th\n e0n pi/stei, 1:4). The interpretation offered by George Knight probably captures the many nuances of the ambiguous expression oi0konomi/a qeou~ best: “the outworking, administration or stewardship of God’s plan of salvation through the gospel and its communication.”137 In the perspective of the author, ‘God’s plan of salvation’ is clearly universal: God ‘is the savior of all people’ (1 Tim. 4:10), and God desires ‘everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth’ (2:4). Jesus Christ is the means for this salvation, since he gave himself as ‘a ransom for all men’ (2:6). Moreover, Paul is described as the ‘teacher of the true faith to the Gentiles’ (dida/skaloj e0qnw~n e0n pi/stei kai\ a)lhqei/a ?, 2:7), and God’s salvation in Jesus Christ ‘was proclaimed among the Gentiles/nations’ (e0khru/xqh e0n e)/qnesin, 3:16). There is thus a clear universal thrust in these letters; the communties. Further, the Christ-believers settled on e)kklhsi/a as a substitute for sunagwgh/, dia/konoj rather than u(p hre/thj, and e)pi/skopoj rather than a)rxisuna/gwgoj. This, Burtchaell argues (ibid., 44), implies “not that their structures were dissimilar, but that despite structural resemblances they thought their officers functioned in a new way”. 136 1 Tim. 1:2, 4, 5, 14, 19, 19; 2:7, 15; 3:9, 13; 4:1, 6, 12; 5:8, 12; 6:10, 11, 12, 21; 2 Tim. 1:5, 13; 2:18, 22; 3:8, 10, 15; 4:7. 137 Knight, 1992: 75–76. This understanding of oi0konomi/a qeou= is also adopted by Marshall, 1999: 367.

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‘people of God’ or, in the words of the author, ‘God’s household which is the church of the living God’ (oi)/kw? qeou~ . . ., h(/tij e)sti\n e)kklhsi/a qeou= zw~ntoj, 3:16), includes all peoples and nations. How does the author designate the people of God? He defines the identity of the members of the ingroup in both horizontal and vertical categories (I will elaborate on this further in chapter three). The vertical identity is primarily spelled out in terms of ‘the believing ones’ or ‘the faithful ones’ (oi9 pistoi/). In total, pisto/j is used seven times in First and Second Timothy to designate the member of the ingroup.138 This terminology has a distinct Jewish background, although the author follows the meaning predominant in non-Christian usage, i.e., they are ‘faithful’ in the sense of ‘dependable’.139 The second word group employed by the author to designate the true members of the ingroup, in contrast to the teachers, has to do with terms that express the horizontal or communal aspects of the group and particularly the term a)delfo/j/a)delfh/.140 This kind of terminology also has its background within a Jewish tradition and in the titles of the people of Israel. 141 However, as previously pointed out, it also finds its background in the family life in antiquity generally. 142 Other designations employed to express the identity of the believers in First and Second Timothy are ‘the saints’ (oi9 a#gioi, 1 Tim. 5:10) and ‘the elect’ (oi9 e)klektoi/, 2 Tim. 2:10; cf. 1:9; Tit. 1:1). Having their background as honorific titles of Israel in the LXX and in Hellenistic Judaism, these designations articulate the unique status of belonging to God himself that this people enjoyed.143 As such, these terms serve the author’s overall purpose as reinforcements of the identity of the members of the ingroup as the true believers in God. Thus, the terminology of the ascribed status of the ingroup in First and Second Timothy is primarily drawn from a Jewish background and marks the members of the ingroup as the continuation of the true people of God (Israel) in history. Following the 138 1 Tim. 4:3, 10, 12; 5:16; 6:2,2; 2 Tim. 2:2. As pointed out by Trebilco (2002: 254), “it is much more prominent with the meaning of ‘the faithful one’ or ‘the believer’ in the Pastorals than it is in the undisputed Paulines, where it is found with this meaning only in 2 Cor. 6:15; Gal. 3:9”. For a detailed elaboration of this terminology, see chapter 3, 2.2. 139 Barth, EDNT 3: 97. This is the common usage in the Pauline literature where pisto/j refers to people (1 Cor. 4:17; 7:25; Col. 1:7; 4:7, 9; Eph. 6:21). It is also reflected in the saying pisto\j o( lo/g oj (‘the trustworthy word’) in the Pastorals (1 Tim. 1:15; 3:1; 4:9; 2 Tim. 2:11; Tit. 3:8). 140 The term a)delfo/j is used four times in 1–2 Tim. (1 Tim. 4:6; 5:1; 6:2; 2 Tim. 4:21), and a)delfh/ once (1 Tim. 5:2). 141 See Ringgren, TDOT 1:188–93; von Soden, TDNT 1:144–46; Horrell, 2001: 296– 99. 142 See Aasgaard, 1998: 41–127. 143 Balz, EDNT 1: 18–19; Eckert, EDNT 1: 417–18.

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Pauline tradition, the author frequently employs the language of kinship, although not as frequently as in the undisputed Pauline Letters. We note that, while this language may certainly be found in the literature of the Jewish Diaspora, it is not a terminology exclusively confined to Jewish writings. Hence, this kind of kinship language may reflect a time of transition, when the Christ-believers found new avenues along which to express their own self-understanding. iii) Conclusion. While the author of the Letters to Timothy demonstrates close contacts with structures and practices of Jewish Diaspora communities (the reading of the Scriptures, leadership structures, etc.), there are no clear indications that the author expected his readers to practice Jewish rituals, to keep Jewish identity markers or even to live within the parameters of the synagogue setting. Although the false teachers in First Timothy ‘want to teach the Law’, we find no clear traces of any explicit clashes with the Jews or the Jewish matrix. Despite Rick Strelan’s claim that “There is little evidence for strong Gentile numbers in Timothy”,144 the Letters themselves do not easily sustain this. In fact, it is very difficult to decide from these Letters alone whether there was Jewish or Gentile predominance in the community addressed.145 Nevertheless, the most that can be said is that there is no definite indication that the author operated solely within a Jewish matrix. Quite clearly, while the author addressed his readers by using Jewish titles and self-designations, he did not define the believing community in purely ethnic terms. This points to the conclusion that the Letters to Timothy reflect a time of transition, when the Christ-believers (the author and his addressees) were forming distinctive ways in which to express their identity and to practice their belief within the Greco-Roman culture. 4.2. The Johannine Letters i) Boundary and Identity Markers. At a first glance, the Johannine Letters seem to give very little information about how the author perceived his and his readers’ relationship to Judaism and the Jewish community. We do not find any typical Jewish boundary and identity markers discussed, neither any explicit references to tensions between Jews and Christ-believers. At the same time, it seems to be a reasonable conclusion that the author operated with a Jewish framework in mind. He defines sin in terms of ‘lawlessness’ (a)nomi&a): ‘Everyone who sins breaks the Law; in fact, sin is 144

Strelan, 1996: 294. E.g., Young (1994: 21) draws the opposite conclusion to Strelan: “Probably the people gathered in the church communities of the Pastorals were Gentiles, not Jews, and the Jewish elements of their culture were mediated to them through the Christian tradition.” 145

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lawlessness’ (1 John 3:4). Further, when the author expounds the meaning of hate and love (3:11–13), he refers to the story of Cain and Abel, a story frequently referred to by Jewish Diaspora writers.146 Moreover, the dualistic terminology resembles that of the Qumran community very much, particularly in the stress on love and hatred and on light and darkness.147 Finally, the only office we hear of in the Johannine Letters is that of the ‘Elder’ (presbu/teroj) in Second and Third John, which may be taken as an indication that the author operated within a setting close to the Jewish community, or at least that he was influenced by similar community structures.148 All this points to the conclusion that the author operated in close relationship to the Jewish matrix.149 Birger Olsson takes this a step further and argues that the Johannine Letters are parts of an intra-Jewish process within the range of the Jewish synagogue community. Locating the Johannine Letters in Asia Minor and Ephesus, Olsson suggests that the presbyters Gaius and Diotrephes operated within synagogues of which some of the Jews were Johannine Christ-believers. The problem with Diotrephes in Third John was that, He had changed his mind about the itinerant Jews who preached Jesus as Messiah and waited for the parousia, and in this situation he did not acknowledge the authority of the Presbyter and his co-workers and spread false charges against them.150

The secessionists in First John are thus identified as Jews, who had left the community, because they could no longer confess that the Messiah, Xristo/j, had come in Jesus of Nazareth (2:19, 22). They had now visited Johannine Christ-believers and had sought to convince them that their belief in the Messiah was wrong. Olsson suggests that the home or house (oi)ki/a) in which the itinerant teachers should not be welcomed (2 John 10) probably refers to “a more official synagogue or a semi-official one”.151 Hence, Olsson connects this setting with references to exclusion from the synagogue in the Fourth Gospel (John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2) and with regard of the setting of the Johannine Letters, he concludes that: “The inner Johannine separation process of the Letters may be connected to the events that resulted in some Johannine Christians having to leave the Jewish synagogue.”152 The strongest argument in support of this proposal is in fact John 9:22: ‘the Jews had already decided that anyone who acknowledged that Jesus 146

E.g., Philo, Post. 38; Migr. 74; Josephus, A.J. 1.53, 60. See Brown, 1982: 44–45; Strecker, 1996: 26–27. 148 Cf. Burtchaell, 1992: 292–99. 149 So also Brown, 1982: 44–45. 150 Olsson, 2005: 205–07. 151 Olsson, 2005: 206. 152 Olsson, 2005: 207. 147

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was the Christ (e0a&n ti au)to_n o(mologh/sh? Xristo/n) would be put out of the synagogue.’ This text corresponds to the passages in the Johannine Letters that define the true believer as the person who confesses that Jesus is o( Xristo/j (1 John 2:22; 4:2; 5:1; 2 John 7). Hence, it is quite likely that the writer addressed Jewish Christ-believers, who had now been excluded from the synagogues. The so-called Birkat ha-minim, the twelfth berakhah in the old Jewish prayer Shemoneh ‘Esreh (b.Ber. 28b), which according to the tradition (Tosefta) was formulated by Rabbi Gamaliel II at Yavneh at about 90 CE, functioned as a curse against Jewish heretics, which eventually and most probably also included Jewish Christbelievers.153 Olsson suggests that the Birkat ha-minim may have been in use locally already in the 80s, i.e., in the period following the turbulent aftermaths of the destruction of the Temple, when the Rabbis began to urge greater unity among the Jews.154 As a result, some Christ-believing Jews returned to Judaism while others, who confessed Jesus as the Messiah, were forced to leave the synagogue community. However, Olsson’s argument that, at the time when the Johannine Letters were written, the addressees still belonged to the synagogue community could be questioned, particularly since 1 John 2:19 (‘they went out from us’) assumes that those who denied that Jesus is Messiah/Christ had separated from the Johannine group of readers before the composition of the letter ― and not the other way round.155 The secessionists most probably returned to the synagogue community, which means that Olsson’s proposal will only work if he thinks that the secessionists had left a Johannine group, which was still operating as an official or semi-official synagogue, in favor of another Jewish (synagogue) group. However, in practice this would mean that the Johannine group operated as a separate group, which most probably had already separated from the synagogue. 153

See Horbury, 1982; van der Horst, 1994; Olsson, 2005: 216–17. Contrary to this position, Boyarin (2004: 68–69) does not think that the Birkat ha-minim was in use either at the end of the first or the beginning of the second century CE. The very first attestation of this institution is found in the Tosefta (mid-third century), which provides a terminus ante quem for the development. Wilson (1995: 181) also points out that we cannot assume the Rabbis at Yavneh were in a position to dictate to the Jewish community in its entirety. However, this does not exclude the possibility that the Birkat ha-minim, or some early version thereof, was in use locally before the second century. As noted by Wilon (1995: 181), “The rabbinic account of the introduction of the Birkat haminim is thus a retrospective, punctiliar summary of what was in reality a lenghty process. The spread of their influence was gradual and almost certainly did not encompass all Jewish communities until well beyond the second century”. Justin’s mention of the cursing of Christ-believers is the first explicit reference to the Birkat haminim (see below, 5.2). 154 Olsson, 2005: 217. 155 Cf. Strecker, 1996: 64, 70.

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Evidently, the term ‘house’/‘household’ (oi]koj) could be used about synagogues, but nothing that is said about these houses in Second and Third John suggests that they were anything other than ordinary homes or households.156 Moreover, if the Johannine readers had operated within the Jewish synagogues, we should expect that it was not only the issue about the Messiahship of Jesus that was at stake, but also the relationship of the Christ-believers to the Torah and to Jewish customs and practises, and that we would have found discussion of, for example, the Jewish feasts and customs similar to those we find in the Fourth Gospel. But we hear nothing of this in the Johannine Letters. Therefore, it is more likely that the author of the Johannine Letters reflects a situation when the early Christ-believers lived on the margins of the Jewish community or even that they had separated socially from the synagogue community.157 Terry Griffith has developed this argument in detail, suggesting that First John should be read as a witness to the process of separation that was taking place between the Christian communities and the Jewish synagogues within the Jewish communities in the first century CE and “at a time when some Jewish-Christians belonging to the Johannine community had reverted to Judaism”.158 First John should be seen as the product of the continuing debate between Jews and Jewish Christ-believers about whether or not Jesus was the Messiah. Arguing that the ending of the letter (‘Keep yourselves from idols’, 1 John 5:21) is inspired by the idol polemics of the LXX and the Hellenistic Jewish literature of the period (notably Jos.Asen. and T.12Patr.), Griffith suggests that this rhetoric, encouraging the believers to avoid idols, had a primary application within Judaism itself, namely to promote Jewish identity and to articulate what it means to remain faithful to one’s Jewish heritage. The term ei)/dwlon functions as a polemical term within a strategy that aims to develop selfidentity and to maintain group boundaries. Griffith argues that this typically Jewish topos was employed in the Diaspora, where it is unlikely that the issue that was being confronted was one of actual apostasy, i.e., the turning to pagan images: “Rather, what was at stake was the perceived loss of other Jewish identity markers, and these issues were brought within the rubric of an idol polemic precisely because of the powerful influence 156

We also note that these houses are called e0kklhsi/a (3 John 6, 9, 10), and not sunagwgh& or proseuxh&, the more the standard designations for Jewish synagogue buildings. I acknowledge that a synagogue could be called oi]koj and synagogue assemblies in antiquity could be called e)kklhsi/a (cf. Runesson, 2001: 172), but since we have nothing else in the Johannine Letters that points to a typical synagogue setting, this could not be used in favor of this conclusion. 157 So Martyn, 1979: 64–81; Brown, 1979: 40–43, 66–69. 158 Griffith, 2002: 1. Griffith leans towards an early dating of 1 John in the 60s or 70s (p. 209).

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that this tradition exerted in the Jewish psyche.”159 Griffith then connects this reading to the central issue of profession that Jesus was the Messiah and to the defection of ethnically Jewish Christ-believers back to Judaism as reported in First John. On the whole Griffith presents a coherent reading, which makes First John work well within a Jewish setting. What Griffith calls a “new look” at First John, i.e., that the letter should be brought firmly within the horizons of Hellenistic Judaism, is certainly worth considering, and doing so brings an intriguing challenge to the majority view that First John was a response to later dualistic Gnostic heresies.160 Concerning the identity of the secessionists, there are some clear similarities between the Christology of the Johannine secessionists and the ‘low Christology’ of the Ebionites, who denied that Jesus was an incarnate divine figure.161 However, it is not only the question whether Jesus was the Messiah that was at stake in the Johannine Letters; the secessionists also denied that Jesus Christ had come e)n sarki/ (1 John 4:2; 2 John 7). Further, that Jesus is the Christ means more for the presbyter than that he is the promised Messiah; Jesus, the Son of God, is almost equated with the Father: ‘And we are in him who is true ― even in his son Jesus Christ; he is the true God and eternal life’ (5:20; cf. 2:23–24).162 The presbyter’s insistence on the coming ‘by blood’ (5:6) would have been a remarkable stress on the humanity of Jesus if this had been aimed at people who denied his divinity.163 This way of arguing, in combination with the seemingly dualistic view of the secessionists, including the fact that John never uses the Scriptures to prove that Jesus is the Messiah (which is so frequently the case in the Fourth Gospel) and the fact that we find no typical Johannine polemic against ‘the Jews’, nor against any characteristic Jewish identity markers (which also appears in the Fourth Gospel), suggests that we have to do with issues that go beyond

159

Griffith, 2002: 208. For other scholars, who read the Johannine Letters as parts of an intra-Jewish process, see, e.g., Windisch-Preisker, 1951: 127; O’Neill, 1966; Klauck, 1991: 144–45. 161 See Smalley, 1984: xxiii, xxxi, 37, 112, 185. 162 The secessionists denied ‘that Jesus is Christ’ (2:22), which most probably refers to a denial of the earthly Jesus as the son of God (the heavenly, exalted Christ); the denial of Jesus as ‘Christ’ is equated with a denial of ‘the Son’ in 1 John 2:22–23; cf. also 2 John 3; 1 John 1:3; 3:23; 5:1, 5–6, 20. Clear distinctions between God and the Son have disappeared in 1 John 5:20. 163 First suggested by Tertullian, Praescr. 33. See Brown, 1982: 53. In order to argue his case, Griffith (2002:165) has to deny the polemical thrust of 1 John 5:6–8. However, as 5:1 indicates (‘Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ . . .’), the polemical argument against the secessionists (cf. 2:19–22; 4:1–3) runs throughout this passage (5:1–12). 160

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an intra-Jewish discussion and solely Jewish expectations.164 Here we probably find a debate that was increasingly influenced by the beliefs enshrined in some Hellenistic systems of salvation.165 We may of course still be dealing with Hellenistic Judaism, and it is not only possible, but even probable, that these demarcations reflect positions, which could have been argued by Hellenistic Jews and Gentiles alike.166 The Johannine Letters probably belong to a period when Jewish Christ-believers did not demand either circumcision or any other ritual actions required by the Mosaic Law, as the community of Christ-believers was progressively made up of more and more Gentiles.167 Hence, the presbyter writes at a time of transition from a Jewish setting to a more Gentile one, from the social setting of the synagogues to that of the house churches.168 With this setting in mind, I find no reason to limit the application of the final exhortation to ‘keep yourselves from idols’ (5:21) only to Judaism 164 Cf. Brown (1982: 52): “The fact that there is not a single OT quotation in I and II John is an eloquent objection to the thesis that the adversaries were non-Christian Jews.” Brown (1982: 52) also raises the appropriate question why we find no negative references to the Jews in the Johannine Letters similar to those of which we find plenty in the Fourth Gospel, if 1–3 John deal with Jews who hesitated about Jesus: “Granted the frequency of hostile references in John to ‘the Jews’, the lack of that designation in I John is a challenge even to ‘the lapsed Jews’ hypothesis. Moroever, would the recipients of I and II John really need to be admonished not to let lapsed Jews into their house as friends and not to pray for them? If these works were written after the expulsion from the synagogue (described in John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2), the recipients would have been suspicious of Jews without any help from the author.” 165 E.g., Strecker (1996: 69–76) and Uebele (2001: 147–57) point to the similarities between the so-called Docetic deviants in Ignatius’s Letters and the secessionists in John’s Letters. 166 Hence, Smalley (1984: xxiii) suggests that the Johaninne community consisted of two groups of members: on the one hand, there were Jewish-Christians who were still loyal to Judaism and, on the other hand, Hellenistic-Christians (mainly Gentiles) who emerged from a pagan religious background. The first group thought that Jesus was less than God and had to be reminded of his divinity, and the second group thought that Jesus was less than man and had to be assured of his humanity. In a similar vein, Painter (1986: 67) argues that the Johannine community was made up of two disparate groups: Jewish believers who had been through the struggle with the synagogue and Gentile believers who had entered the community after the breach with Judaism (and consequently did not understand the Johannine tradition in the context of the struggle with Judaism). 167 Dealing with controversy about the Sabbath, John 9 could reflect these tensions between Jews and Jewish Christ-believers as the Jews set Moses in opposition to Jesus. As a result of this conflict, Jewish Christ-believers were thrown out of the synagogues (9:22, 34–35). 168 E.g., Painter (1986: 48–49) suggests that the Johannine Letters were written in response to the problems caused by Gentiles who had entered the community and interpreted the Johannine tradition (from John’s Gospel) without reference to the Jewish conflict in which it was formed.

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itself, especially since this terminology was developed and reinforced in reaction to Jewish apostasy to pagan idolatry.169 Hence, the presbyter ends the letter with a warning against any false gods ― whether literal or conceptual ones ― that may threaten the profession of Jesus as ‘the true God’ (5:20–21). Jewish and Gentile readers alike should not accommodate themselves either to the position of the secessionists, nor to the cultural and religious values of the wider society. Thus, while I doubt that the Johannine Letters reflect only an intraJewish debate, I find it probable that, among the group of secessionists, there were ethnic Jews, who had become Christ-believers, and who were on their way to return to the synagogue, thereby denying their formerly held belief that Jesus was the Messiah. This implies that the author of the Johannine Letters most probably addressed a situation in which the demarcations between the Jews and the Christ-believers (Jewish and Gentile alike) had become increasingly tense. Irrespective of whether or not these letters explicitly address Christ-believers located in Ephesus, they came to be circulated in this geographical area, which bears witness to the growing need to erect and to reinforce boundaries of self-understanding and identity, which were distinct from the traditional Jewish demarcations. ii) Definitions of the ‘people of God’. The author of the Johannine Letters is clearly engaged in the process of forming and reinforcing the identity of his group of readers: deviants are defined and boundaries are drawn up. Throughout the Letters, the fundamental identity marker is defined by the confession of the Messiahship and divinity of Jesus of Nazareth, and by attitudes and acts of love towards ‘the brothers’, i.e., those who belong to the ingroup.170 This is highlighted particularly in sayings such as, ‘Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God’ (5:1; cf. 4:2, 15), and ‘Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God’ (4:7; cf. 4:16, 20–21). Hence, as we will see in chapter four, the typos believer is defined as the one who holds on to ‘the truth’ and who loves ‘the brothers’. This definition of the members of the people of God is further reflected in the presbyter’s presentation of the universal scope of God’s salvation. Although the stress is clearly on the boundaries between 169 E.g., it seems not clear to me how Griffith (2002: 44) can draw the conclusion from the warnings of idolatry in T.Reub. 4:5–6 that “Such warnings of apostasy in this literature do no reflect a real danger that Jews were being tempted to worhip idols”. I agree that “idolatry is held up as a foil as that which is to be avoided”, but in a society that was so permeated by cultic expressions in all levels of society as the Greco-Roman society this would certainly also have included any kind of participation (active or passive) in pagan cults. 170 Lieu (1991: 34) makes a legitimate caution: “that ‘everone who loves has been born of God’ (4:7) does not mean that anyone anywhere who exercises love can be called a child of God, but that love is the defining characteristic of believers.”

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the ingroup and the outside, the evil ‘world’, Jesus Christ is described as ‘the Savior of the world’ (4:14), whose atoning death takes away ‘the sins of the whole world’ (2:2). Hence, the presbyter reminds his readers that the believing community is not an end in itself; it exists for the sake of the outsiders as well. The outsiders are referred to once with the term e0qnikoi/: ‘It was for the sake of the Name, that they [the itinerant brothers] went out, receiving nothing from the pagans (mhde\n lamba/nontej a)po\ tw=n e)qnikw~n)’ (3 John 7). In other occurrences of the term e)qnikoi/ in the New Testament ― all in the Gospel of Matthew (5:47; 6:7; 18:17) ― the Gentiles are contrasted to the believer/the Jew. J.A.T Robinson maintains that “e)qniko/j is used in the typically Jewish contemptuous sense of ‘the heathen’”, and from this he draws the conclusion that the Johannine Letters are addressed to Jewish Christ-believers.171 However, I find it questionable to draw such a conclusion from this term alone, especially since the term is a typical generic term for ‘outsiders’.172 The designations of the believers employed by the author fall primarily into two groups. First, the author speak of his readers as ‘brothers’ (a)delfoi/), an inclusive term that probably also included the ‘sisters’, used altogether sixteen times.173 The term is a typical ‘insider’ term, which was only used about members of the group and not of ‘outsiders’. In 1 John 3:10–11, the call to love ‘one another’ is further defined as love towards ‘his brother’. Accordingly, Raymond Brown calls the use of the term a)delfo/j in John, “a term of inner-Johannine affection’.174 This is further confirmed by the fact that the term is never used of the secessionists. However, the term is not exclusively used for ingroup members; in 3 John 5 itinerant ‘brothers’ are included, which indicates that they and the readers were part of the same wider movement.175 The second designation used by the author is ‘children of God’ (te/kna qeou=), which is used altogether four times.176 The background to this usage can probably be found in the notion of being ‘born of God’ (e.g., 4:7; 5:1): since the readers have been ‘born of God’, they are also ‘children of God’ (3:9–10). The idea of being ‘born of God’ and therefore being ‘children of 171

Robinson, 1976: 285. Cf. the use of e0qnikoi/ in Herm.Mand. 10.1.4 (the only occurrence in the Apostolic Fathers). Also the use of e0qniko/j together with ‘tax-collectors’ and in contrast to the believing community (twice called e)kklhsi/a) in Matt. 18:17 points to the conclusion that the term is also used in Matthew a generic, non-ethnic way. 173 1 John 2:9, 10, 11; 3:10, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17; 4:20, 20, 21; 5:16; 3 John 3, 5, 10. 174 Brown, 1982: 270. 175 Trebilco, 2004: 572. 176 1 John 3:1, 2, 10; 5:2. The author also uses tekni/a (1 John 2:1, 12, 28; 3:7, 18; 4:4; 5:21) and paidi/a (2:14, 18) to address readers directly. 172

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God’ probably harks back directly to the teaching of Jesus as recorded in John’s Gospel (1:12; 11:52). Thus, we find two designations that mark the ‘horizontal’ and ‘vertical’ identity respectively, and as such they should be seen as complementary.177 None of the terms says anything explicitly about the addressees’ relationship to Judaism and to the Jewish community, although it may be argued that both terms have their roots in the Old Testament. The designation ‘brothers’ is clearly an insider term that says more about the boundaries drawn against outsiders than about the identity of those within the group. However, since the designation ‘children of God’ probably harks back to the teaching of Jesus himself, this terminology may serve to articulate a distinctive self-understanding of the community of Christfollowers. iii) Conclusion. The author of the Johannine Letters is involved in a process of identity formation for Christ-believers, whose confession of Jesus as Christ (o( Xristo/j) had been challenged by people who denied this claim, and who no longer wanted to stay within the community of Christ-believers. I find it probable that the Johannine Letters should be read as a witness to the process of the separation between the early Christbelievers and the Diaspora synagogue communities (where some of the secessionists may have reverted to Judaism). However, I doubt that these letters reflect only an intra-Jewish debate. The lack of references to typical Jewish boundary markers, in combination with the lack of arguments from the Hebrew Scriptures when the author defends the Messiahship of Jesus, point to the conclusion that there were other factors involved as well. In particular, the dualistic tension between Jesus and Christ and the denial that Jesus Christ has come ‘in flesh’ (e0n sarki/) points in the direction of a type of Diaspora Judaism that had picked up Hellenistic notions of salvation, and that had most likely also attracted an increasing number of Gentile believers. On the one hand, the addressees had been increasingly cut off and marginalized from mainstream Judaism, because of their belief in Jesus as ‘Christ’, and, on the other hand, they had been separated from the Gentile world, because of their refusal to accommodate themselves to the cultural and religious values and norms of the wider society. In all this, the presbyter forms an identity of his readers, which is no longer ethnically defined. 4.3. The Book of Revelation i) Boundary and Identity Markers. The letter to ‘the church in Ephesus’ (Rev. 2:1–7) reveals very little about the prophet’s relationship to Judaism. 177

Trebilco, 2004: 576.

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Rick Strelan suggests that the warning that the lampstand (the menorah) may be removed from Ephesus points to the conclusion that the Christian community in Ephesus was of Jewish origin.178 Although this conclusion is probably correct in general (at least according to evidence drawn from Acts 18–19), it is not prompted by the text itself, but by Strelan’s overall thesis about the origin of the early Christian movement in Ephesus. Further, with regard to the identity of ‘the false apostles’ (Rev. 2:2) that operated among the Ephesian believers, we do not have enough information to say whether or not they were of Jewish origin. A minority of scholars argue that the Nicolaitans in Rev. 2:6 were Jewish in origin. For example, Helmut Koester suggests that this group was the same as ‘those who say that they are Jews’ in Smyrna and Philadelphia (Rev. 2:9; 3:9), and he thinks that the Nicolaitans were “a hostile Judaizing group” that had developed a Docetic Christology.179 In a later work, Koester calls them “Jewish-Christian Gnostics”.180 However, there is nothing to suggest that the group of ‘Jews’, who operated in Smyrna and Philadelphia, should be connected with the Nicolaitans. Furthermore, it is not likely that ‘those who say that they are Jews’ ― probably endangering the Christian communities from outside ― were Christ-believing Jews (I will return to this below). According to Rev. 2:14–15, the Nicolaitans, who as a group also operated within the believing community in Pergamum, promoted ‘eating food sacrificed to idols and committing immorality’ (fagei=n ei)dwlo/quta kai\ porneu=sai). This description is hardly typical for people who are ‘Judaizing’. If we pick up the critique of the Old Testament prophets against idolatry and spiritual adultery, the reference to porneu/w is more about idolatry than immorality, and it most likely refers to apostasy caused by active participation in pagan cults and associations.181 Thus, the conflict was not only about eating meat and indulging in spiritual 178

Strelan, 1996: 194. Strelan (p. 193) imaginatively suggests that when Ephesus is threathened with the removal of its most sacred symbols (the lampstand) ‘from its place (to/p oj)’ this could mean that the Jews in Ephesus had been legally granted their place of assembly (to/poj). Also Witetschek (2008: 309–10) presupposes that John the Prophet addressed a Jewish-Christian group in Ephesus. 179 Koester, 1965: 310. 180 Koester, 1982: 253. 181 For this symbolic or conceptual use of the term, see Hos. 6:10; 9:1; Jer. 3:2, 9; Ezek. 23:19. The verb porneu/w is used in this sense in Rev. 18:3. Although the Nicolaitans most probably anticipated the stance of later Gnostics, it is important not to read second and third century evidence into Rev. 2:7 (a number of church fathers, e.g., Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.26.3; 3.11.1; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.118.3; 3.25.5–6; Tertullian, Praescr. 33; Adv. Marc. 1.29.2; Epiphanius, Pan. 25.1.1–7.3, equate the Nicolaitans with a libertine, Gnostic sect). Cf. Janzon (1956: 102–08), who draws the conclusion that the Nicolaitans was a syncretistic local group who commited spiritual fornication by participation in pagan cults.

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fornication, but also about the general response towards cultural and religious accommodations that these practices symbolized: should one compromise with, and conform to, such pagan practices?182 Further, the fact that the Nicolaitans are identified with ‘the teaching of Balaam’ (2:14) is not enough proof for saying that they are Jewish,183 especially since the author of Revelation regularly applies Old Testament epithets and titles without necessarily claiming anything Jewish in an ethnic sense.184 Hence, I find nothing in the text that prompts the conclusion that the Nicolaitans were Judaizers, nor that they were necessarily of Jewish origin.185 In spite of the silence in the letter to ‘the church in Ephesus’ about the author’s relationship to Judaism, there is much in the other letters in Rev. 2–3, and even in the entire writing, that increases our understanding of the perspective of the author on issues relating to the Jewish ‘matrix’. That he is of Jewish origin himself seems obvious with regard to the clear Semitic influences in his use of Greek language, and his language and imagery are continuously drawn from Old Testament prophecies and from Jewish apocalyptic literature, and his self-understanding is that of a prophet of the Lord.186 However, there is a complete absence of any controversial Jewish issues and terms, such as the Law, the covenant, circumcision, the Sabbath, the festival observances, fasting and the legitimacy of sacrifices.187 None of these issues seems worth discussing, and this suggests that the author operated outside the synagogue setting and without any typical framework of Jewish boundary markers. David Aune suggests that all this may point 182 For the identity of ‘the Nicolaitans’, see Hemer, 1986: 87–94; Aune, 1981: 27–29; 1997: 148–49, 203; Räisänen, 1995: 1603–06; Prigent, 2004: 152–54; Trebilco, 2004: 307–35. For the general issue of religio-political pressures upon Christ-believers to conform to traditional social practices in Roman Asia, see Slater, 1998; Harland, 2000. 183 Pace Strelan, 1996: 169; cf. Sanders, 1993: 179. Besides the similarities in practice between ‘the Nicolaitans’ and ‘the teaching of Balaam’ (Rev. 2:14), there is a probable world play between the Greek phrase nika?~ lao/n (Nicolaos, ‘he conquers the people’) and the Hebrew M( (lb (Balaam, ‘he devoured the people’; cf. b.Sanh. 105a). 184 E.g., the name Jezebel for the prophetess in Thyatira (2:20) or Jerusalem for the believing community (21:9) say nothing about their actual ethnic background. 185 I will come back to the identity of the Nicolaitans in chapter 4, 1.2 and 2.3. 186 Collins (1984: 34–50) deals with these issues in some detail. She concludes that the author “was probably a Jew by birth and either was a native of Palestine or lived there for an extended period. He knew one or more Semitic languages, as well as Greek” (p. 50). The author also shows a pronounced affinity with the Jewish Sibylline tradition (in particular Sib. Or. 4). His quotations from the Old Testament are closest to the kaige recension, probably reflecting an attempt to correct the LXX in the direction of the Hebrew text. 187 Truly, the Feast of Tabernacles plays a crucial role in Rev., but primarily as a symbolic and theological motif and not as a festival which the readers are expected to celebrate (see Ulfgard, 1989).

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to the conclusion that the author, while certainly of Jewish origin, “espoused a ‘Pauline’ inclusivism”.188 That the author operates with other paradigms is further indicated by his stance towards ‘the Jews’. While the prophet himself was evidently a Jew, he speaks of those ‘who say that they are Jews though they are not’ (tw~n lego/ntwn 0Ioudai/ouj ei]nai e9autou\j kai\ ou)k ei0si/n), and he condemns them with the strong derogatory phrase, ‘the synagogue of Satan’ (sunagwh\ tou~ Satana~, 2:9; 3:9).189 There are three main suggestions about the identity of this group. Like Koester, Heinrich Kraft connects this group to the Nicolaitans, suggesting that they were syncretistic Jewish Christ-believers, who compromised with the state and the pagan cults, and who had fled to the synagogue to avoid Roman persecution.190 However, as already pointed out, the connection with the Nicolaitans is problematic. It is also difficult to imagine why the Romans would have persecuted Jewish Christ-believers if they had been so willing to compromise. 191 Secondly, Stephen Wilson argues that the phrase, ‘those who say that they are Jews though they are not’ should be interpreted literally as a reference to a group who claimed a Jewish identity without actually being of Jewish origin. Hence, Wilson suggests they were Gentile Christian Judaizers (similar to those whom Ignatius opposed in Philadelphia and Magnesia),192 who had identified themselves with the Jewish community in order to claim Jewish rights and privileges, and to avoid any official harassment and persecution. 193 Ignatius evidently says that ‘it is better to hear Christianity from the circumcised than Judaism from the uncircumcised’ (Ign.Phld. 6.1), which must be a clear reference to Gentile Judaizers (see below). However, in the long recension of the Letters of Ignatius (probably late fourth century) the yeudoioudai/oi refers to ‘Jews’ in an ethnic sense.194 Further, even though it is possible that one group of Christ-believers could have caused serious problems for another such group in the Greco-Roman society, I find it improbable that they would have sought to resolve their differences by recourse to the civic authorities.195 In any case, that does not explain why the prophet calls them ‘the synagogue of Satan’ (italics mine). Wilson suggests that this is 188

Aune 1997: 165. The phrase ‘the synagogue of Satan’ reminds of the attitudes towards Jews in John’s Gospel, e.g., ‘You are of the devil, your father’ (8:44). 190 Kraft, 1974: 60–61. 191 Wilson, 1995: 162. 192 Ign.Phld. 6.1; Ign.Magn. 8.1; 9.1; 10.3. These texts are discussed below, 5.1. 193 Wilson, 1995: 163. This is also argued by, e.g., Gager, 1983: 132; Johnson, 1975: 111; Zetterholm, 2001: 261. 194 Lightfoot, 1889–90: 160, 212. 195 Cf. Collins, 1986: 313. 189

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justified by the assumption that Gentile Christ-believers who ‘Judaized’ would have been “allying themselves with those who might have been suspected of instigating harassment at other times”. 196 Of course, this is a possible reading, although not the plain one. There are several arguments in favor of the assumption that the phrase ‘those who say that they are Jews though they are not’ is a reference to a group of ethnic Jews, who opposed the Christ-believers. First, ‘the synagogue of Satan’ is a curious nomenclature for any groups other than Jews (something Wilson willingly admits). Secondly, we hear of several occasions when Jews were causing explicit problems for Christ-believers in the Greco-Roman society by ‘slander’ or ‘blasphemy’ (blasfhmi/a, 2:9),197 or more specifically, we hear of denunciation of Christ-believers before the Roman or other civic authorities (as suggested by 2:10).198 Thirdly, the author reacts strongly against these opposing Jews and polemically claims that the 0Ioudai=oj (‘a Jew’ or ‘Judean’) should not be defined in terms of ethnicity, but as a reference to the true or faithful believer, i.e., to the Christ-believer. Jews and Christ-believers in the communities of western Asia Minor were engaged in a struggle over values: “They shared a common Scripture and messianic tradition, but disagreed over their interpretation and application . . . the two groups competed for status in the eyes of the authorities as the legitimate heirs to the heritage of Israel.”199 Therefore, the vilification in Rev. 2:9 and 3:9 has a social function of casting doubt on the legitimacy of the rival group, and of demarcating and defining the group of ‘insiders’. In fact, the author claims that the real 0Ioudai=oi are those who believe in Jesus Christ. Thus, the author thinks of belief in Jesus Christ as the true kind of Judaism, and of a ‘post-Christ’ Judaism without belief in Jesus Christ as a false kind. This radical redefinition of the people of God is definitely in line with what is taking place elsewhere in Revelation (see below).200 Hence, 196

Wilson, 1995: 163. The blasfhmi/a of Rev. 2:9 probably refers to the claim of the Jews that Christbelievers were not true Jews (see Aune, 1997: 162–63). Sanders (1993: 170) suggests that the Jews in Smyrna had been recriminating against the Christ-believers there by calling them ‘the synagogue of Satan’. 198 E.g., John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2; Acts 18:12–17; 25:1–7; 1 Thess. 2:14–16; Justin, Dial. 16.4; 17.1; 47.4; 93.4; 95.4; 96.2; 108.2–3; 110.5; 117.3; 131.2; 133.6; 137.2; Mart.Pol. 12.1; 13.1; 17.2; 18.1; Tertullian, Nat. 1.14; Scorp. 10.10. Cf. Hemer, 1986: 7– 9; Collins, 1986: 313; Aune, 1997: 162–63. 199 Collins, 1986: 314. 200 Cf. the redefintion of the true believer in Qumran, where apostate Jews are called ‘an assembly of deceit and a congregation of Belial’ in contrast to true Jews in the Qumran community who have ‘leaned on your covenant’ (1QH 2.22). Similarly 1QH 7.34 contrasts the elect with ‘the assembly of hypocrites’. Cf. also 1QM 15.9: ‘They are a congregation of wickedness and all their works are in darkness.’ 197

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together with the majority of commentators, I find it most likely that ‘the Jews’ here refer to ethnic Jews who caused problems for Christ-believers by officially slandering or denouncing them.201 We should, however, keep in mind that we are dealing with a conflict, which was in part still an intraJewish dispute: Jews who did not believe in Jesus as the Messiah were slandering Christ-believing Jews and Gentiles.202 There were two issues in particular that led to increased tensions between Jews and Christ-believers towards the end of the first century CE, and that may be the background of John’s harsh stance towards Jews who ‘slander’. We have already touched upon the insertion of the curse of the minim in the Shemoneh ‘Esreh (b.Ber. 28b) about 90 CE: ‘May the Nazarenes (i.e., the Jewish-Christians) and the minim (i.e., the heretics) die in a moment, may they be blotted out of the Book of Life and not be enrolled with the righteous.’203 Wherever this curse was spoken in the services of synagogues, the definite separation became evident. We may suspect that this frequently led to the exclusion of Jewish Christ-believers from synagogue communities ― at least locally. Besides this, we hear of public conflicts between Jews and civic authorities in connection with the collection of the fiscus Iudaicus under Domitian. When the half-shekel Temple tax was turned into a Roman tax, after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, and handed over to the rebuilding of the temple of the victorious Jupiter Capitolinus, the Jews reacted strongly.204 Even if the Temple tax gave the Jews unique privileges in terms of religious freedom, it also created a social stigma, especially since this Jewish tax defined them as a defeated and punished ethnic minority and reminded them of Roman political, economic and religious sovereignty by associating all Jews with the rebellion in Judaea and distinguishing them from their Roman and Greek neighbors as a group of people who owed extra dues to Rome.205 Thus, this tax came to function as a distinct identity marker: paying or not paying the Temple tax distinguished the Jew from the non-Jew, and, 201

Cohen (1999: 27) interestingly suggests that the phrase ‘those who say they are Jews and are not’ may well have been a current expression in the first century CE, being originally applied to Gentiles who “act the part of Jews” but were not in fact Jews. The expression was thus deliberately and cleverly misapplied by Revelation to the Jews themselves. 202 Commenting on the conflict between Jews and Christ-believers in Rev. 2–3, Bauckham (1993c: 124) makes an important reminder: “This is not the Gentile church claiming to supersede Judaism, but a rift like that between the temple estbalishment and the Qumran community, who denounced their fellow-Jews as ‘an assembly of deceit and a congragation of Belial’ (1QH 2.22).” 203 See Billerbeck, 1928: 218–19. 204 Cf. Josephus, B.J. 7.218. 205 Barclay, 1996: 76.

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according to Suetonius, Domitian seems to have upheld this distinction with the utmost rigor.206 Since this fiscus had been placed on the mark of circumcision, regardless of religious loyalties, it put non-circumcised Christ-believers, who sought protection under Jewish identity in order to enjoy the social and political advantages of the Jews, in a precarious position.207 Thus, I find it very likely that the background to the phrase ‘the synagogue of Satan’ can be found in conflicts between ethnic Jews and Christ-believers, and that it is related to the fiscus Iudaicus in the late first century CE, which resulted in official action against Christ-believers who, under the Jewish umbrella, sought protection from participation in the civic cults.208 The fiscus Iudaicus brought a new cause for tensions, not only between Jews and Christ-believers in general, but also between Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers, on whom the situation impinged in a different way. Assuming that each letter in Rev. 2–3 is a vehicle for addressing all the churches, we may conclude that the author reflects a fundamental clash between Judaism and the Christian movement. The prophet refuses to acknowledge Jews, who persecute Christ-believers, as true Jews and, accordingly, non-Christian Judaism as true Judaism. Thus, the Book of Revelation reflects a situation in which the Christ-believers 206

In order to avoid the tax, some Jews sought to keep their Jewish identity a secret. Suetonius reports that Domitian’s agents collected the tax very strictly and ‘with the utmost rigor’ (acerbissime actus est, Domit. 12.2), especially as they took proceedings, not only against those who kept their Jewish identity secret (‘those who concealed their origin’), i.e., who were Jews by birth, but also against those who lived as Jews without professing Judaism, i.e., non-Jews who lived a Judaizing lifestyle. (For a detailed discussion of the identity of these groups, see Keresztes, 1973; Smallwood, 1981: 371– 85; Williams, 1990.) Suetonius goes on to describe how appalled he had been as a boy when he once attended a crowded court where the Imperial agent sought to learn if a ninety-year-old man was subject to the fiscus Iudaicus and had him inspected to establish whether or not he had been circumcised. Nerva apparently realized the inadequacy of the equation between the ethnic Jew and the religiously observant, and he issued coins (early 96 CE) with the legend FISCI IUDAICI CALUMNIA SUBLATA (‘The Cessation of Malicious Accusations Relating to the Fiscus Iudaicus’; see Williams, 1998: 104; cf. Dio Cassius, 68.1.2). As a consequence non-religious ethnic Jews were released from the duty to pay this tax. See also Goodman, 1989. 207 So Keresztes (1973: 9–10) notes, “Any Christian incidentally denounced to the fiscus for ‘living Jewish life’ or conceiling their Jewish origin could confess their Christian religion or chose to pay for ‘tax-evasion’. It follows from the very nature of the fiscus Iudaicus that it, prima facie, concerned itself with people who appeared to cheat the fiscus, i.e., people who were circumcized and/or ‘lived like Jews’”. See also Goodman, 1992: 32–33. 208 Hemer (1986: 4, 9–10) proposes, “individual Jews may have informed against individual Christians, or the syngagogues may have provided on occasion lists of bona fide members of their congregations”. There is no evidence of such lists though.

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encountered hostility from the local Jews, not only in Smyrna and Philadelphia, but also generally throughout western Asia Minor. Looking at the sharp controversy between the Jews and Christ-believers in Revelation, we must of course draw the conclusion that a definite separation between them had not yet taken place, but was evidently an ongoing process, and we may suspect that the Christ-believers, at least Jewish ones and the former God-fearers, lived socially close to the synagogues.209 However, the silence about the local Jews and the relationship of the Christ-believers to Judaism reflected in the letter to ‘the church in Ephesus’ (Rev. 2:1–7), a city with a large and influential Jewish community, may in fact suggest that this process of ‘the parting of the ways’ had been going on longer here than in Smyrna and Philadelphia. 210 ii) Definitions of the ‘people of God’. The author of the Book of Revelation frequently redefines the people of God. ‘Those who claim to be Jews though they are not’ in Philadelphia (3:9) are defined as false Jews, which implies that the Christ-believers are the true bearers of this title.211 This is also highlighted in the description of Jesus Christ in the address of the letter: Christ is presented to the Philadelphians as the one ‘who holds the key of David; what he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open’ (3:7). The ‘key of David’ refers to the account of Eliakim, who controlled the entry to the house of David in Jerusalem (Isa. 22:22).212 Christ is thus presented as the one who holds the key to the ‘New Jerusalem’, the city of the true people of God (Rev. 21:9–22:5). Such an assurance would be profoundly relevant to Christ-believers faced with hostility and expulsion from the synagogue: “His [Christ’s] opening is doubtless primarily the admission of Gentiles despite Jewish resistance. His shutting is the exclusion of unbelieving Israel despite their parentage and privileges.”213 In Rev. 7:1–8, the prophet hears about a multitude on earth that is marked with ‘the seal of the living God’. This multitude consists of ‘144,000 from all the tribes of Israel’, described as prepared for war. In the 209

Cf. Lohse, 1993: 122. E.g., Hemer (1986: 40) suggests, with regard to the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus: “Severance from the synagogue may not have been so recent or so critical and experience as at Smyrna and Philadelphia; the pressure of Imperial cult or pagan society, while certainly powerful, may not have been so insistent as upon the weaker and divided churches of Pergamum and Thyatira.” 211 This redefinition of the term ‘Jew’ reminds us of Paul in Rom. 2:28–29; Phil. 3:3; cf. Gal. 6:15 (‘God’s Israel’). 212 Tg.Isa. 22:22 expands on the promise to Eliakim: ‘And I will place the key of the sanctuary and the authority of the house of David in his hand; and he will open, and none shall shut; and he will shut and none shall open.’ (italics mine) 213 Hort, 1908: 34. 210

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next sequence (7:9–17), the vision is expanded and the prophet sees ‘a great multitude that no one can count’ in heaven. This is most probably a reference to the same multitude, but it now consists of people ‘from every nation, tribe, people and language’.214 The ethnic Israel has now been redefined in universal terms as the people of God, which no longer consist of only one nation, but of many different nations.215 Furthermore, the literal city of Jerusalem, the city in which ‘their Lord was crucified’, is renamed by the apostate locations of ‘Sodom and Egypt’ (11:8),216 and the coming ‘New Jerusalem’ implies that the old Jerusalem no longer exists (21:9–22:5). The ‘New Jerusalem’ is defined as the city of the nations (21:24–26),217 made up of the peoples of the twelve tribes of Israel and of the twelve apostles of the Lamb (21:12–14). Hence, it will no longer be only Israel that will be God’s people, with whom God dwells (21:3). The Book of Revelation is full of universalistic language.218 The true people of God are portrayed as multi-ethnic, multicultural and multilingual, and it is made up of all the different peoples of the earth. Richard Bauckham, in particular, has demonstrated that the theme of the conversion of the nations ― the transfer of the sovereignty of the whole 214

Rev. 7:9 repeats the same four units as in 5:9, but alters the order and places the term ‘nation’ (e)/qnh) first instead of ‘tribe’ or ‘family’ (fulh/). Hays comments cogently on this: “The probable reason for this is to draw a distinction between the use of ‘tribe’ [phylē] here in 7:9, where the term refers to the ‘tribes’ of the world, and ‘tribe’ [phylē] in 7:4–8, where the term refers to the ‘tribes’ of Israel. By placing ‘nations’ first in 7:9, John indicates that he is clearly not referring to physical, literal Israel in that verse.” 215 Hays (2003: 196–98) correctly points out the connection between Rev. 5:9; 7:9 and Gen. 10:10–11, where the scattered, separated people of the world are defined according to family/tribe, language, territoty and nation. 216 Beagley (1987: 69–70) exaggerates when he reads the entire Book of Revelation from this verse, arguing that the present earthly Jerusalem is viewed negativly in Rev. in so far as it is representative of unbelieving and persecuting anti-Christian Judaism as Israel, which rejected Christ and which continues to reject his messengers and the gospel which they preach. The critique of Israel in Rev. is definitely there, but Beagley stresses this theme at the cost of the critique of Rome (17:6), the main target of the prophet’s polemics. Beagley’s (1987: 97–102) attempt to read Babylon for Jerusalem, and not for Rome, is particularly forced. However, it is important to see the connection of the critique of Jersualem and Rome; Jews are condemned as they cause afflictions and conflicts for Christ-believers before the civic auhtorities. Cf. the issues involved in the conflict according to 1 Thess. 2:14–16 and Acts 17:5–9 (see Tellbe, 2001: 105–23). 217 Rev. 21:24 is a key verse for connecting the universal character of the New Jerusalem with the hope for the conversion of the nations (cf. Isa. 60:3; 2:2–4). 218 ‘The nations’ (ta_ e)/qnh) occurs ten times (2:26; 11:2, 18; 16:19; 19:15; 20:3, 8; 21:24, 26; 22:2), ‘all the nations’ five times (12.5; 14:8; 15:4; 18:3, 23), ‘the inhabitants of the earth’ ten times (3:10; 6:10; 8:13; 11:10, 10; 13:8, 14, 14; 17:2, 8; cf. also 13:12; 14:6), and ‘the kings of the earth’ seven times (1:5; 6:15; 17:2, 18; 18:3; 19:19; 21:24; cf. 16:14).

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world from the dragon and the beast to God the almighty ― stands “at the centre of the prophetic message of Revelation”.219 This theme is first introduced in Rev. 1:7 by the phrase ‘all the peoples of the earth’ (pa=sai ai9 fulai\ th=j gh=j), which literally picks up the promise to Abraham in Gen. 12:3 (LXX). The immediate effect of the Lamb’s victory in Rev. 5:1– 10 is the redemption by his bloody sacrifice of a universal people for God, a people made up out of ‘every tribe and language and people and nation’ (5:9). This verse is a combined allusion to Dan. 7:14 (people, nation, language) and Gen. 10:20, 31 (languages, territories, nations).220 The fourfold formula (fulh/, glw~ssa, lao/j, e)q/ noj) occurs throughout Revelation, altogether seven times (5:9; 7:9; 10:11; 11:9; 13:7; 14:6; 17:15).221 This formula stresses the ethnic and cultural diversity of the people gathered around the throne of God particularly: “Thus John indicates that the ultimate purpose of the Lamb’s conquest is to win all the nations of the world, designated by the fourfold phrase, for his kingdom.”222 Another example of universalistic language is the Song of Moses and the image of the new exodus in Rev. 15:2–4, a passage that should be interpreted in line with the most universalistic strains of the Old Testament hope: all the nations will come to acknowledge the God of Israel and to worship him (e.g., Ex. 15:11; Jer. 10:6–7; Ps. 86:8–10; 98:1– 2). There are further examples of universal language and theology in Revelation, but these are enough to demonstrate the centrality of the universalistic perspective in Revelation.223 The redefinition of the people of God is also elaborated in the titles and designations used to address and to describe the community of believers in Revelation. The prophet addresses the true people of God primarily by two terms: ‘the saints’ (oi9 a(g / ioi) and ‘the servants’/‘the slaves’ (dou=loi), and both terms relate to the vertical dimension (the relationship of the readers to God).224 The designation ‘the saints’ occurs thirteen times in all and is used as an

219

Bauckham, 1993a: 238. See Hays, 2003: 196. 221 Bauckham (1993a: 326) writes: “In Revelation, four is the number of the world, seven is the number of completeness. The sevenfold use of this fourfold phrase indicates that reference is being made to all the nations of the world. In the symbolic world of Revelation, there could hardly be a more emphatic indication of universalism.” The sequence order of the terms in the formula is different each time. For an attempt to explain this complex problem, see Bauckham (1993a: 327–37). 222 Bauckham, 1993a: 336. 223 For further examples, see Bauckham, 1993a: 238–337. 224 There are a number of other terms used to designate Christ-believers in Rev.: a)delfo&j (1:9; 6:11; 12:10; 19:10; 22:9), ui9o/j (21:7), and martu&j (2:13). 220

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inclusive term for all Christ-believers.225 This terminology is clearly derived from Jewish traditions and notions, where it can refer to both the people of God and the angels,226 particularly to express the special relationship between God and his people (Ex. 19:6; cf. Rev. 1.6; 5:10). The terminology stresses the strong boundaries of God’s people: just as God is designated ‘holy’ in Revelation (4:8; 6:11), so his people is holy, i.e., it is a people separated from the evil world and set apart for God. By using oi9 a(g / ioi of his addressees, the prophet underlines the continuity between the people of God in the Old Testament and the new people of God redeemed by the Lamb.227 In Dan. 7, which is a passage of central importance for the author’s theological imagination, God’s people are called ‘the saints of the Most High’ (7:18), and the term ‘saints’ occurs five times in descriptions of the future of God’s people (Dan. 7:21, 22, 25, 25, 27). The other main designation in Revelation is ‘slave’ or ‘servant’ (dou~loj), which is used at least seven times for the Christ-believer.228 The background of this usage of dou~loj in the LXX demonstrates that the term reflects both a broad sense, in which all God’s people are described as his dou~loi,229 and a narrower sense, in which prominent individuals are described as dou~loj kuri/ou or dou~loj qeou~.230 The slave – master relationship was an exclusive one that implied ownership; like the people of God in the Old Testament, so the true people of God in Revelation are called God’s own people, his ‘servants’. In particular, in Revelation the title ‘servants’ should be connected to the strong emphasis on worshipping God alone and not the beast. Hence, this title becomes an honorific title for those who particularly ‘serve’ God as his trusted representatives, whether the reference is to ‘his servants the prophets’ (10:7; cf. 22:9), or to a more general sense of all the faithful Christ-believers (7:3; 2:20; 19:5; 22:3– 4).231 225

Rev. 5:8; 8:3, 4; 11:18; 13:7, 10; 14:12; 16:6; 17:6; 18:20, 24; 19:8; 20:9; cf. 22:11. The term o( a(/gioj/oi9 a(/gioi is also used of Christ (3:7), God (4:8; 6:10), the angels (14:10), the people (20:6) and of Jerusalem (11:2; 21:2, 10; 22:19). 226 Aune, 1997: 359. E.g., 1 Enoch 38:4, 5; 41:2; 43:4; 48:1; 50:1; 51:2; 58:3, 5; 62:8; 65:12; 99:16; 100:5; 1QM 6.6; 10.10; 12.1b; 16.10. 227 Trebilco, 2004: 579. 228 The term dou~loj occurs fourteen times altogether (eleven times metaphorically). At times the exact reference is debatable. Aune (1997: 13) notes: “These metaphorical uses of dou~l oj refer to Moses (15:3), to John himself (1:1), to prophets (10:7; 11:18), but most frequently to Christians generally (1:1 [2x]; 2:20; 7:3; 19:2, 5; 22:3, 6; see TDNT 2:273–77), though at least two of the references in the last category may refer to Christian prophets (1:1; 22:6…), though the fact that the revelation is intended for those who hear it read aloud suggests that ‘servant’ may rather mean all Christians.” 229 E.g., 2 Chron. 6:3; Ezra 5:11; Neh. 1:6; Ps 33:23; Isa. 42:19; Dan. 3:26. 230 E.g., 2 Sam. 3:18 (David); 1 Kings 18:36 (Elijah); 2 Kings 18:12 (Moses). 231 Trebilco, 2004: 581–82.

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iii) Conclusion. The overall purpose in Revelation is to shape a new and different imaginative world of the addressees in order to give meaning to their prevailing conflicts and hardships.232 Within this context, Adela Yarbro Collins properly notes: “John’s polemic was part of the struggle of Christians in western Asia Minor to survive physically and to establish an identity as legitimate heirs to the heritage of Israel.”233 Being cut off from the Jewish community with its long-standing religious traditions and sociopolitical privileges and gradually being more marginalized in the wider society, John’s readers were in need of an understanding of their role within the overall plan of God, as well as in society at large. Although the letter ‘to the church in Ephesus’ does not say anything explicitly about their relationship to Judaism and the local Jewish community, the overall message of Revelation demonstrates that the author wants to warn hostile ethnic Jews and encourage Christ-believers ― whether of Jewish or Gentile origin ― to stand firm in their faith by redefining the basic meaning of Judaism and of being a ‘Jew’. The fundamental redefinition of the people of God in Revelation, which consist of both Old Testament believers (the tribes) and New Testament believers (the apostles) brought together in one (Rev. 21:12–14), serves to create and portray a different world-view and to articulate a new identity for the readers. The Christian communities stand in continuity with the people of God and should understand themselves as the genuine Jews and as the ‘New Jerusalem’, i.e., as a people made up of all the nations of the world. Hostile ethnic Jews, who cause affliction to the Christ-believers, no longer belong to the true community of God, but to ‘the synagogue of Satan’. Thus, the true people of God are no longer ‘those who say that they are Jews’, but those who worship the almighty God as revealed in the Lamb that was slain.

5. The Second Century Evidence The second century texts relating to the early Christian movement in Ephesus consist mainly of Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians (c. 110 CE) and Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho (written c. 160 CE). In addition, we also find some pieces of information from Irenaeus of Lyon (in the latter part of the second century) and from Polycrates, the bishop of Ephesus (towards the end of the second century). What conclusions can we draw 232 Cf. Bauckham (1993c: 17): “Revelation provides a set of Christian prophetic counter-images which impress on its readers a different vision of the world . . . The visual power of the book effects a kind of purging of the Christian imagination, refurbishing it with alternative visions of how the world is and will be.” 233 Collins, 1986: 319–20.

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from these authors’ understanding of ethnicity and identity among the early Christ-believers in Ephesus in the second century CE? 5.1. Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians Ignatius’s Letters are generally regarded as the first explicit evidence of a definite separation, at least in theory, between Judaism and Christianity.234 In fact, the specific term Xristianismo/j, ‘Christianism’/’Christianity’, occurs here for the first time in the Christian literature (altogether four times), and in the rest of the Apostolic Fathers, the term only occurs once outside the Letters of Ignatius (see Mart.Pol. 10.1).235 This may indicate that Ignatius was responsible for creating a terminology that was fitting for his purpose. For Ignatius, ‘Christian’ and ‘Christianism’ were essentially terms of self-definition; by weaving them into a network of related words, he created a new semantic field of belonging.236 Ignatius clearly filled the originally outsider terminology of being a Xristiano/j with positive connotations; for example he assures ‘the church at Ephesus’ that he longs to have a share ‘in the lot of the Christians of Ephesus’ (Eph. 11.2), and he encourages the believers in Magnesia, not only to be called Christians, but actually to be so (Magn. 4.4). In a rather sweeping way, Ignatius asserts that ‘Christianism (o( Xristianismo/j) is not the work of persuasiveness, but of greatness, when it is hated by the world’ (Ign.Rom. 3.3). The term Xristianismo/j is here used as a comprehensive term for the belief of those who do not only want to ‘be called a Christian (Xristiano/j), but who may also be found to be Christians’ (Ign.Rom. 3.2). Above all, the term Xristianismo/j signals that Ignatius understands belief in Jesus Christ as something both distinct and distinguishable from Judaism. This occurs in the two letters where Ignatius explicitly introduces the question of Judaism in relation to ‘Christianism’, i.e., the Letters to Magnesia and to 234

In dealing with Ignatius, I will assume that he not only transferred problems from Antioch to western Asia Minor (albeit Ignatius obviously had his own agenda), but also that he dealt with local problems that he had come across in the communities he had visited himself (Philadelphia and Smyrna) or about which he had received inside information from the messengers from the various communtities he wanted to address. 235 Ign.Magn. 10.1, 3; Rom. 3.3; Phld. 6.1. We do not know whether it was Ignatius who invented this terminology or if it was already in existence. Since the proper noun Xristiano/j (Acts 11:26; 26:28; 1 Pet. 4:16; cf. Ign.Eph.11.2; Magn. 4.1; Rom. 3.2; Pol. 7.3; Did. 12.4) and the comprehensive term 0I oudai+smo/j (Gal. 1:13–14; 2 Macc. 2:21; 8:1; 14:38; cf. Ign.Magn. 8.1; 10.3, 3; Phld. 6.1, 1) were already in use, there was a ready model for the creation of a noun to describe the distinctive identity of the Christian movement. Cf. Schoedel, 1985: 126. Accordingly, since Ignatius clearly contrasts 0Ioudaimso/j with Xristianismo/j, I follow Lieu (2004: 251–52) in the use of the term ‘Christianism’. 236 Cf. Lieu, 2004: 250.

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Philadelphia. In the Letter to the Magnesians, Ignatius makes a sharp contrast between Xristianismo/j and 0Ioudaimso/j: ‘It is monstrous to talk of Jesus Christ and to practice Judaism (i)oudai%zein). For Christianism did not base its faith on Judaism, but Judaism on Christianism (o( ga\r Xristianismo/j ou)k ei0j 0Ioudai+smo_n e0pi/steusen, a)ll 0 0Ioudai+smo_j ei)j Xristianismo&n), and every tongue that believes in God was brought together therein’ (Magn. 10.3). Here, Ignatius makes a contrast between a belief that is ethnically defined (Judaism) and a belief that is universally defined (Christianism), and that brings ‘every tongue’ (pa~sa glw~ssa) together.237 For Ignatius, Judaism yielded to Christianism, not Christianism to Judaism: “Christianity, for Ignatius, fulfils the prophets (Scripture) but negates ‘Judaism’ (the misunderstanding of Judaism).”238 When Ignatius ambiguously asserts that ‘Christianism did not believe in Judaism, but Judaism in Christianism’ (o( ga_r Xristianismo_j ou)k ei)j 0Ioudai+smo_n e)pi/steusen, a)ll ) 0Ioudai+smo/j ei)j Xristianismo/n), he probably recalls the first generation of Jewish Christ-believers, who had left their old belief and turned to Jesus Christ.239 From Ignatius’s perspective, the practices of Judaism and Christianism cannot be combined: ‘It is monstrous to talk of Jesus Christ and to practice Judaism (i)oudai%zein)’, a saying which most probably refers to Christ-believers who ‘talked’ about Jesus Christ but practiced and promoted Torah observance. In Magn. 8.1, Ignatius sounds very much like Paul in asserting, ‘For if we have hitherto lived according to Judaism, we now confess that we have not previously received grace’, although Ignatius here opposes, not the Law and the grace (cf. Gal. 5:2–4; Rom. 6:14), but Judaism and grace.240 Writing from a perspective clearly outside Judaism, Ignatius regards Christianism and Judaism as essentially two incompatible religious systems. It is not possible to be both a Christian and a practising Jew. Here, Judaism is not only denigrated but simply excluded.241 A similar contrast between Judaism and Christianism is repeated in Phld. 6.1: ‘But if anyone interprets Judaism to you (e)a_n de/ tij i0oudai+smo_n e9rmhneu&h? u(mi=n), do not listen to him; for it is better to hear Christianism from the circumcised than Judaism from the uncircumcised.’ Here, Ignatius attacks members of a group who promoted Judaism. They apparently belonged to the ingroup, i.e., to the community of Christbelievers, and they ‘expounded Judaism’ (i0oudai+smo_n e9rmhneu/h?), an 237

Ignatius could here have had Isa. 45:23 in mind (e)comologh/setai pa=sa glw~ssa tw?~ qew?~; cf. Phil. 2:11; Rom. 14:11. 238 Schoedel, 1985: 126. 239 So Schoedel, 1985: 126. 240 Cf. Lieu, 1996: 29. 241 Cf. Lieu, 1996: 28–29; Zetterholm, 2001: 4, 256.

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expression that obviously refers to their interest in Judaism. In this passage, Ignatius seems to have two groups in mind: a group of circumcised Jewish Christ-believers and, more debated group of uncircumcised Gentile Christ-believers.242 Thus the issue at stake seems to be, not only, or not even primarily, whether or not Jewish Christ-believers should continue their Jewish religious customs, but also whether or not it was proper for Gentile Christ-believers also to take up such practices. Although Ignatius apparently prefers real Judaism rather than the Judaism promoted by uncircumcised Gentiles, he believes that any entanglement with Judaism negates Christianity and, according to Ignatius, this is a problem caused by a misinterpretation of the Scriptures (cf. Phld. 8.2; 9.1).243 Ignatius seems to jettison any argument based on the Scriptures, i.e., on ‘the archives’, if it threatens his reading of ‘the gospel’ (Phld. 8.2; cf. Smyr. 5.1; Magn. 8.2). What concerned Ignatius most about the Judaizers was that they blurred the boundaries between Judaism and Christianity and thus compromised the distinctive identity of the latter.244 Judaism ― and Christianism for that matter ― which does not focus on 242

Cf. Schoedel, 1985: 202. That we have to do with Gentile Judaizers in Philadelphia and Magnesia is also suggested by the use of the verb i)oudai%zein in Magn. 10.3: ‘During this period, Jews could not Judaize, only non-Jews could.’ Cf. Gal. 2:14, see also Lieu, 1999: 31. According to R. Joshua, circumcision was not necessary for the proselyte (b.Yebam. 46a). It is not certain however how this report should be evaluated (see Bamberger, 1968: 42–43, 46). According to Nolland (1981: 194), there are no indications of any Jewish group who admitted uncircumcised proselytes, at least not during the first century CE. Thus, the Judaizers in Philadelphia cannot have insisted on observing the whole Torah. In a similar way, the Judaizers in Magnesia are criticized not for their insistence on circumcision but for Sabbath observance (Magn. 9.1). Further, they teach ‘strange docrines’ and ‘old fables’ (tai=j e(terodoci/aij mhde_ muqeu/masin toi=j palai=oj, Magn. 8.1), a saying that reminds of the deviants in 1–2 Tim. who ‘want to be teachers of the Law’ (1:7), ‘teaching strange doctrines’ (e(terodidaskalei=n) and ‘myths and endless genealogies’ (mu/qoij kai\ genealogi/aij, 1:3–4). This suggests that, like the ‘false’ teachers in the Pastorals, the Judaizers in Magnesia, and probably also in Philadelphia, propagated a type of Hellenistic Judaism that was not strictly concerned with Torah observance. Contrary to Sanders (1993: 187–88), who argues that Sabbath observance was the issue in Magnesia and scriptual authority in Philadelphia, I doubt that the issues relating to Judaism and Judaizing is different in Magnesia and Philadelphia. Myllykoski (2005: 354–64) cogently connects the teaching of the Judaizers to “an overheated Christological debate”; some Judaizing Christians had made Ignatius nervous with Christological ideas that saw Jesus as the last high priest (Phld. 9.2) and the last true prophet (Magn. 8.2). 243 In Phld. 8.2 those who caused division in the community accepted the gospel only as far as it could be proved by the archives (a)rxei=a), a reference which most probably refers to the Jewish scriptures. Sumney (1993: 355) concludes, “The opponents see the Hebrew Scriptures as the primary authorithy from Christianity while Ignatius accepts a larger canon, with Jesus Christ as the final authority”. 244 Wilson, 1995: 165.

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Jesus Christ, is rejected, or even declared dead: ‘Both of them, unless they speak of Jesus Christ, are to me like the tombstones and the sepulchers of the dead, on whom only the names of men are written’ (6.1b). Hence, the only kind of Judaism acknowledged by Ignatius is the one that accepts Jesus Christ. Interestingly, when addressing the issue of Jewish influence in Philadelphia, Ignatius says nothing about any opposition from the synagogue, which we found attested in Rev. 3:9. If we take the record in Revelation at face value (and not only as a rhetorical device), this must mean that the situation was not acute and the opposition may even have ceased by the time that Ignatius wrote (about fifteen years later than the author of the Book of Revelation). While the separation between Jewish and Christian communities in Philadelphia may have continued or may have become more permanent, we hear of both Jewish and Gentile Christbelievers, who were attracted to Judaism (and who from Ignatius’s perspective would have failed to conceive of Christianity as a faith both distinct and superior to Judaism) and who must therefore still have been in close contact with the local synagogue community. In fact, I doubt that the sweeping conclusion of Martin Hengel and C.K. Barrett, that Ignatius “in his polemics shows himself to be the first author of a purely Gentile Christianity” is correct, either in practice or in theory.245 There were obviously both Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers in the communities at Philadelphia and Magnesia, and as long as they ― whether they were Jews or Gentiles ― did not practice Judaism nor advocate Jewish boundary and identity markers, they were welcomed in Ignatius’s community (whether that community was imaginary or real). As the Letter to the Smyrnaeans reveals, Ignatius does not envisage ‘a purely Gentile Christianity’ but ‘one body of the church of Christ’ (italics mine), and he declares that the saints and believers may be drawn from either the Jews or from the Gentiles (‘whether among the Jews or among the Gentiles ‘, Ign.Smyr. 1.2).246 Turning to Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, Ignatius argues against another type of deviant teaching, which most probably held some type of Docetic beliefs about Christ.247 Interestingly, we find no clear 245 Hengel-Barrett, 1999: 37. In a similar way, I doubt that Zetterholm (2001: 256) is right when he claims that ‘Christianity’ according to Ignatius “should be a Gentile, nonJewish movement completely separated from Judaism”. It is one thing to say that ‘Christianity’ according to Ignatius should be separated from Judaism, but another to maintain that this implies that Ignatius envisioned a movement that should be purely Gentile in composition. 246 This is also confirmed by Ign.Phld. 4, where Ignatius speaks to the schism in the community (between a Judaizing group and the others) and commands them to celebrate one Eucharist. 247 See Isacsson, 2004: 51–56.

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demarcations against anything typically Jewish in this letter.248 In contrast to the Letters to Philadelphia and Magnesia, Ignatius says nothing to the Ephesians about the Sabbath observance, circumcision, Jewish (mis-) interpretation of Scriptures nor about any other Jewish boundary markers. His silence on these matters in the Letter to the Ephesians is not enough in itself to support any firm conclusion, but in view of what Ignatius says on these matters in the Letters to the Philadelphians and the Magnesians, the silence in the former letter may give us some hints about his views. The absence of any critique of the Judaizers in the Letter to the Ephesians suggests that there were no Judaizers present or actively operating among the Christ-believers in Ephesus or, at least, that there were no Christbelievers known to Ignatius who were in critical danger of reverting to the synagogue community. If issues relating to the practice of the Torah had been present, we would have expected that Ignatius, a keen admirer of Paul and on other occasions ready to declare Judaism dead, would have addressed this in some way or other. Furthermore, considering Ignatius’s sharp demarcations against Judaism and Jewish boundary markers in the Letters to the Philadelphians and the Magnesians, it is not likely that the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus operated within the Jewish community. This also seems to confirm the conclusion suggested by Revelation that, by the end of the first century, there was no acute or explicit conflict between the Christian community and the large Jewish community in Ephesus. Thus, we may conclude that, by the time Ignatius wrote the Letter to the Ephesians, the separation between Judaism and Christianity in western Asia Minor had become more permanent or lasting, although this varied at the local level.249 While Ephesus, the leading city of the province, seems to represent a more long-lasting parting, Philadelphia and Magnesia represent communities in which individual Christ-believers evidently still lived in close contact with the local Jewish community. However, we should be careful not to make any too sharp distinctions here. Judaizing parties may also have shown up in Ephesus at some point. 248

Goulder (1999) suggests that the deviants in Ign.Eph. were not Docetists but Jewish Christians, Ebionites, who advocated prophetic, possessionist Christology. However, as Myllykoski (2005: 371–72) points out that, “there is nothing specifically Jewish in the heresy of those who denied the true birth, suffering and resurrection of Jesus Christ. If their speculation on heavenly things was an irritating part of their Christology (Smyr. 6.1; 7.2; cf. Trallians 4–5), it is reasonable to assume that they are closer to Cerinthus who taught that Christ descended from above and entered Jesus (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.26.1). Contravening our knowledge about the Ebionites and the heretics attacked by Ignatius, Cerinthus, according to Irenaeus, proclaimed that Christ descended into Jesus from the supreme Power.” (italics original) 249 Cf. the careful treatment of the local settings of Ignatius in Lieu, 1996: 49–50.

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In the Letter to the Ephesians, we can see Ignatius’s program for identity formation at work. On the one hand, Ignatius keeps specific Jewish traits as the Holy Scriptures, the concepts of covenant, the promises and the Messiah (cf. Ign.Smyr. 5.1, 3; 7.2), by claiming twice, for example, that Jesus is of the seed/family of David (Ign.Eph. 18.2; 20.2). On the other hand, Ignatius dejudaizes vital Jewish central identity-markers, for example the ‘temple of God’ becomes the key metaphor for the community of believers (5.2; 9.1–2; 15.3) and the notion of God’s commandments becomes the ‘commandments of Jesus Christ’ (9.2).250 Thus, Ignatius transforms key Jewish identity markers into his own system of Christianity, but we can also see that Ignatius avoids any typically Jewish designations. No typical Jewish titles such as a(/gioi, pistoi/, dou=loi and e)klektoi/ are found in the Letter to the Ephesians ― and very sparsely elsewhere in his letters.251 In fact, Ignatius uses only two designations to speak to, or of, his readers in the Letter to the Ephesians, namely a)delfoi/ (10.3; 16.1)252 and Xristianoi/ (11.2).253 This probably reflects a stage in the process of ‘the parting of the ways’, when Christ-believers were increasingly finding their own terminology to express their new selfunderstanding and identity.254 Ignatius expresses his longing to to ‘be found in the lot of the Christians of Ephesus’ (11.2). In this context, the comprehensive term Xristianoi/ is used as an affirmation of the identity of those who followed Christ and the tradition of the apostles, and neither as a counter-term to the Jews, nor to anything Jewish.255 Ignatius wants to form a clearly christo-centric identity for his readers, whether they are of Jewish or Gentile origin: he greets them in Jesus Christ, he appeals to them ‘by Jesus Christ’ (1.3), he calls them ‘Christ-bearers’ (9.2) and he urges them to ‘resemble Christ’ (1.3), ‘to glorify Jesus Christ’ (2.2), to ‘sing through Jesus Christ’ (4.2), to ‘do all things in Jesus Christ’ (8.2), etc. Such a center produces identity and creates its own boundary lines by which to define the insiders and to exclude any others.

250

Cf. also Ign. Magn. 7.2; Phld. 7.2–8.1; Rom. 2.2; 4.2; Trall. 7.2. E.g. Ignatius employs the term a(/gioi only once for believers (Smyr. 1.2). Otherwise, it used in Magn. 3.1 (the presbyters) and Phld. 5.2 (the prophets). The term pistoi/ is used twice (Magn. 5.2; Smyr. 1.2). The term dou=loi is not used as a title of Christ-believers. 252 Ignatius uses the term a)delfoi/ also Phld. 3.3; 5.1; Pol. 13.1; Rom. 6.2. 253 The term Xristiano/j is aso used in Ign.Magn. 4.1; Pol. 7.3; Rom. 3.2. 254 In addition, two times Ignatius uses the term te/kna in speaking of his readers (Phld. 2.1; Pol. 8.2). 255 Ignatius nowhere constructs an opposition between Xristiano/j (used in Eph.11.2; Magn. 4.1; Pol. 7.3; Rom. 3.2) and 0I oudai=oj (used only once, Smyr. 1.2), similar to the clear distinction between Xristianismo/j and 0I oudai+smo/j, 251

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5.2. Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho According to Eusebius, Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho (written about 160 CE)256 was ‘held in the city of Ephesus against Trypho, the most distinguished Jew of the day’ (Hist. eccl. 4.18.6). Although we cannot know definitely if the dialogue between Justin and Trypho was an original historical debate, Eusebius’s location of the dialogue is worthy of note.257 Since Justin himself says nothing about the specific location, we assume that Eusebius relies on later well-established traditions.258 There were probably two issues in particular that contributed to the choice of Ephesus as a suitable location of this debate. First, Justin himself became a Christbeliever in Ephesus. According to tradition, Justin studied philosophy and did evangelistic work in Ephesus shortly after his conversion in about 130 CE.259 Secondly, with its sizeable and well-established Jewish community 256

The Dial. was written after 1 Apol. (151–155 CE), anytime between 155–167 CE (see Allert, 2002: 33–34). 257 Goodenough (1923: 90) sees Dial. as “a collection of all possbile arguments rather than a report of a discussion in which each argument was actually brought up as recorded”. For a similar view, see Sanders, 1993: 50. In contrast, Barnard (1967: 23–24) argues that details of the meeting of Justin and Trypho in which Justin says that he is a refugee who has lately escaped from the Jewish War of 132–35 CE (Dial. 1.3; 16.2; 108.3) and the emotions which move both sides speak in favor of that the Dial. is an original historical debate. A similar position is taken by Williams (1930: xxiv): “The details of the meeting of Justin and Trypho, and of the emotions with which from time to time both they and Trypho’s friends are moved, are related to naturally to be fictious.” Cf. also Chadwick, 1965: 280. Not unlikely, there is a historical kernel to the debate from about 132 CE that Justin subsequently elaborated on more freely. Hence, Lieu (2006: 104; cf. idem., 1996: 104) reasonably concludes: “Justin’s account of his dialogue with a Jew, Trypho, contains enough echoes of authenticity to persuade many that it is rooted in genuine encounter(s), but even it clearly betrays the controlling and constructive pen of its author.” A similar position is argued by Wilson, 1995: 260–61. In any case, cogently pointed out by Setzer (1994: 135), “Justin’s Trypho provides a window into secondcentury debates between Jews and Christians, whether or not he ever existed”. 258 Goodenough (1923: 90–91) suggests that Eusebius’s source may have been the work’s lost prologue. Justin himself (Dial. 1.1; cf. 9.3; 142.2) locates the dialogue in ‘the walks of Xystus (custo/j)’, usually being a place for gymnastics. The gymnasium portion of the harbour baths in Ephesus, built in 89/90 CE, was called ‘Xystus’ (custo/j); see IvEph. 1104, 1125, 1155 (Friesen, 1993: 127, 137). The covered colonnades of the Xystos were a popular context for philosophical discussions in other places (Cicero chose such places for his discussions). Further, the vague reference to ‘a certain field not far from the sea’ (Dial. 3.1) would fit a location like Ephesus (as well as many others of course). For the location of the Dial. to Ephesus, see Barnard, 1967: 7, 21; Hemer, 1986: 217; Wilson, 1995: 277; Lieu, 1996: 103, 156, 160; Ameling, 2004: 150; Trebilco, 2004: 49. Günther (1995: 161–70) argues compellingly that the phrase par ) h(mi=n a)nh/r tij in Dial. 81.4 (cf. 82.1, para_ ga_r h(mi=n) indicates that Justin also locates the author of Revelation to Ephesus (cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.18.8). 259 Chadwick, 1966: 10.

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and the emergence of Ephesus as one of the major centers for the Christian movement at this time, it was a suitable location for a two-day debate between a learned Jew (and his friends) and a Christ-believer concerning matters such as the Law, the Messiah and Jesus Christ. Whether or not we regard the dialogue with Trypho as an historical debate, there are good reasons to regard the opinions articulated in the Dialogue as representative of the local circumstances in Ephesus by the mid-second century CE. Justin states that he himself is ‘uncircumcised’ (Dial. 28.2; cf. 29.2–3; 41.3).260 He was born in Samaria (in Flavia Neapolis, formerly Shechem) at the turn of the century, but he was brought up as a Gentile and had a Greek education.261 After his conversion he continued to wear the philosopher’s cloak and he was still involved in the study of Greek literature. He probably only learnt about Moses and the prophets as an adult. The Dialogue clearly demonstrates that Justin has good working knowledge of the LXX and of Jewish post-biblical practices, beliefs and exegetical methods.262 Apart from the Dialogue, we do not know anything about Trypho, the Jew. According to Dial. 1.3, he came to Asia Minor and Greece (Corinth) in connection to the Jewish War (132–135 CE). Unsuccessful attempts have been made to identify Trypho with Rabbi Tarphon, who belonged to the second generation of Mishna teachers (c. 90–130 CE).263 However, the Trypho of the Dialogue is not an actual Pharisaic Jew, nor a rabbi strictly trained in rabbinical methods of interpretation, but an Hellenistic layman, with a philosophical training versed in Jewish lore.264 Accordingly, L.W. Barnard proposes the following tentative description of Trypho: Combining the culture and inquiring spirit of the Hellenistic world with a knowledge of Scripture and Haggadic interpretation, he represents not the strict Judaism of the Pharisees, nor the Judaism of the extreme Hellenisers, but a mediating Judaism, perhaps native to Palestine, which has as much right to be considered ‘normative’ as the rest.265

260

All translations are taken from Slusser, 2003. Cf. 1 Apol. 1.1. For a background to Justin’s life, see Barnard, 1967: 1–13; Osborn. 1973: 6–10. Cf. Eusebius’s account of the life of Justin, Hist. eccl. 4.8.3–5; 4.11.8–11; 4.16.1–4.18.10 262 See Barnard, 1967: 39–52. In particular, there is considerable similarity between Justin’s exegetical method and the rules of Hillel. Of some surprise, there are few similarities between Justin’s exegesis and that of Philo. See Osborn, 1973: 95–97. 263 See Barnard, 1967: 24. 264 Contra Simon, 1996: 13. 265 Barnard, 1967: 25. According to Goodenough (1923: 95), Justin “created in Trypho a Jew who embodies the best of both schools of Judaism, one who knows Scripture and the Rabbinic interpretations . . . and yet who has all the open-mindedness and cosmic sense of Hellenistic Jews . . . It is useless in such a case to scatter energy in 261

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The Dialogue with Trypho gives an invaluable insight into JewishChristian relations in the mid-second century CE. There are a couple of observations about this relationship and about ethnicity and identity that we can make here. First, by the time of Justin, it is fairly clear that the relationship between Judaism and early Christian belief had developed into two more or less incompatible religious systems, Judaism and Christianity (albeit Justin never uses the latter term). Justin clearly acknowledges the continuity between Judaism and Christianity, but it is the discontinuity that is stressed. For Justin, the Christian belief is something new and clearly distinguishable from Judaism.266 He assumes that the name of Christians is associated with oppression, and he blames the Jews for initially spreading rumours about the ‘godly heresy of the Christians’ (ai(/resin a)/qeon Xristianw~n, Dial. 17.1). He makes clear distinctions between believers ‘from among the Gentiles’, as those who do not practice idolatry and godlessness, and the Jews whom, he says, do engage in such practices (Dial. 19.6; 34.7–8; 85.3; 120.2; 130.4; 141.4). Accordingly, for Justin, a non-believing Gentile becomes equivalent with a non-Christian Jew. Following in the steps of Paul, Justin is the first Christian writer to make a consistent reinterpretation of the main Jewish boundary markers, in particular of circumcision, of the food regulations and of the observance of the Sabbath and other Jewish feasts.267 In the discussion between Justin and Trypho, these Jewish identity markers are repeatedly at the center of the debate; Jewishness is demonstrated by the upholding of these boundary markers. According to Justin, the major Jewish objection to Christbelievers concern their non-observance of key Jewish boundary markers: ‘My friends, is there any accusation that you make against us other than this, that we do not observe the Law, nor circumcise the flesh as your forefathers did, nor observe the Sabbath as you do?’ (Dial. 10.1). Further, Trypho expresses his surprise that the Christ-believers do not separate themselves from the pagans and that they eat things offered to idols (Dial. 8.4; 10.3; 19.1; 20.2; 35.1; 46.2). Justin maintains that the commandments to observe food regulations, feasts and rituals, and to keep purity regulations were given to the Jewish people because of ‘your sins’, i.e., ‘your unrighteousness’ (a)diki/aj u(mw~n, Dial. 21) and ‘because of your hardness of heart’ (43.1). Furthermore, the sacrifices offered to God were instituted in order that this weak Jewish people ― all spoken from the an attempt to class Trypho as either Palestinian or Hellenistic.” Lieu (1996: 110–11) regards any combination of a Palestian and Hellenistic Judaism in tension as a modern construct, arguing in favor of a synthesis in the person of Trypho. 266 E.g., Justin speaks of Jesus Christ as ‘the new Lawgiver’ (Dial. 14, 18) and the bringer of a ‘new covenant’ (Dial. 11, 34, 68). 267 E.g., Dial. 8.4; 10.3; 18; 19.1; 20.2; 26–27, 35.1; 46–47, 67, 92, 114.

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perspective of Justin ― would not fall into idolatry, and the Sabbaths were given so that they would remember God (Dial. 19.6). The circumcision, the principal ― and most controversial ― distinguishing mark that separated Jews and Christ-believers, is an important theme for Justin. Justin’s main point is that, since there was apparently no need of the observance of circumcision before Abraham, nor ‘of the Sabbaths, festivals, and the sacrifices before Moses’, there is no longer any need of them now (Dial. 23.2; cf. 46.3–5): ‘And why did he not instruct those people who lived before the time of Moses and Abraham to observe these same precepts; the men who were called just and who were pleasing to God, even though they were not circumcised in the flesh, and did not keep the Sabbaths?’ (Dial. 27.5) Hence, Justin speaks of another (a second) circumcision (Dial. 12.3; cf. 43.1; 114.4), i.e., of a spiritual circumcision, made by Jesus Christ: ‘he circumcises with knives of stone all those who want it, that they might become a righteous nation, a faithful, truthful and peace-loving people’ (Dial. 24.2). The key to Justin’s reinterpretation of the Jewish boundary markers is his christocentric interpretation of the Jewish scriptures (Justin uses the plural more frequently than the singular). The problem with the Jews, says Justin, is that they do not understand their own scriptures.268 For Justin, faith in Christ is the only key to understanding the Hebrew Scriptures; they are Christian and they should thus be understood only christologically. The bulk of Dial. 32–110 is taken up by various Christological disagreements, in particular the claim that Jesus is the Messiah and the threat to monotheism implied by the divinity of Jesus; for, as Trypho argues, if Jesus is the Messiah, then he is human ― not divine (49.1; cf. 67–68). For Justin, the Hebrew writings are Christian writings, and as such they need to be interpreted by the Christian traditions. Justin speaks to Trypho of ‘your scriptures, or rather not yours, but ours. For we believe and obey them, whereas you, though you read them, do not grasp their spirit’ (Dial. 29.2). For this reason the prophecies are called to mind in order to prove the event of Jesus Christ.269 Justin’s interpretation is clearly typological in it’s outworking and he uses the Hebrew writings to show Trypho two main truths: Jesus as the New Testament or the Law (14; 34; 43; 51; 67; 110; 118; 121; 122), and Jesus as the Logos of God (61–62; 127; 129).270 Justin repeatedly tries to prove to Trypho that God has a second person, distinct in number from himself. Throughout the Dialogue, Justin is very concerned to define the Jews as those who do not believe in the Logos. The section on the theophanies (Dial. 56–62; 75; 126–129), where Justin 268

Cf. 1 Apol. 31. See Allert, 2002: 158–62. 270 Allert, 2002: 168–83, 223–53. 269

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draws on older testimonial material that proved the existence of a ‘second God’ in the Old Testament and where he develops this into a general theory about Old Testament theophanies, is probably one of Justin’s most original exegetical contributions.271 All this results in the idea that religion is separate and distinct from ethnicity. Daniel Boyarin argues that the establishment of a binary opposition between the Christ-believers and the Jews over the question of the Logos accomplishes two purposes at once. First, it articulates the Christian identity as theological (as distinct from the non-Christian Jew, the Christian believes in Jesus Christ as the Logos). Secondly, by founding this distinction between non-believing Jews and Christ-believers on theological grounds, the Jews are made into heretics, i.e., they are those who do not believe in the Logos.272 Thus, Justin works with two binary pairs, namely Judaism/Christianity and heresy/orthodoxy. Boyarin concludes, “The double construction of Jews and heretics ― or rather of Judaism and heresy ― effected through Justin’s Dialogue thus serves to produce a secure religious identity, a self-definition for Christians”.273 Secondly, the Dialogue casts some light on tensions between Jews and Christ-believers in the mid-second century. Compared to the earlier evidence in First John, Revelation and Ignatius, the schism between Jews and Christ-believers is more explicit in the Dialogue. Justin gives the first explicit reference to the practice of cursing (anathematizing) Christ and Christ-believers in the synagogues, which probably refers to an early local use of the Birkat ha-minim (or some early version thereof): ‘For, in your synagogues you curse all those who through him are called Christians, and the Gentiles put into effect your curse by killing all those who merely admit that they are Christians’ (Dial. 96.2; cf. 16.4; 47.4; 93.4; 95.4; 108.3; 123.6; 133.6).274 Justin makes no explicit distinction here between Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers, although the context of the cursing suggests that it was primarily aimed at Jewish Christ-believers.275 Justin 271

So Skarsaune, 1982: 411. Boyarin, 2004: 39 (cf. p. 43). 273 Boyarin, 2004: 39. 274 Boyarin (2004: 68–69), however, doubts that this refers to Birkat ha-minim. See above (4.2). However, as Wilson (1995: 182) notes about this reference to the cursing of Christians in the synagogues: “It is true that his [Justin’s] reference to the cursing of Christians are vague, but it is hard to know what they refer to if not to the Birkat haminim. An absolute correspondence between the two is not to be expected.” 275 Implicilty, Gentile Christ-believers would also have been included. Hence, I agree with Horbury (1982: 28) concerning the situation disclosed by Justin: “In the western diaspora of the second century the word [Nazarenes, i.e., the term in the curse that designated Christ-believers] need not to have been restricted to Jewish Christians, and Tertullian’s view that Nazareni was used of all Christians can be accepted. If then, as is 272

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provides evidence of enforced apostasy of Jewish Christ-believers during the time of the Bar Kochba revolt in Palestine. According to 1 Apol. 31, Bar Kochba ordered that Christ-believers alone should be cruelly punished unless they would deny that Jesus is the Messiah ( 0Ihsou~j o( Xristo/j) and would also blaspheme. However, not all contacts between Jews and Christbelievers were marked by hostility. As the debate with Trypho apparently demonstrates, interactions with the minim continued and dialogues on friendlier terms could also be held. Notably, Trypho points out that the dialogue with Justin is held in spite of the curse on the Christ-believers and the command by the Rabbis not to hold any discussions with them: ‘It would be better for us . . . to have obeyed our teachers, who warned us not to listen to you Christians, nor to converse with you on these subjects, for you have blasphemed many times’ (Dial. 38.1). We also note that Justin is the first to know of Jewish Christ-believers who observe Jewish practices, such as Sabbath observance, circumcision, the Jewish feasts and the like, ‘while at the same time they place their hope in Christ’ (Dial. 47.2). He also knows of Gentile Christ-believers ‘who have been induced to follow the practices of the Jewish Law, and at the same time profess their faith in the Christ of God’ (47.3). Interestingly, Justin accepts both groups, although with some reluctance, as long as they ‘wish to live with us Christians (Xristianoi=j) and believers’ (47.2). Justin thus acknowledges the existence of Christ-believing Jews, who continued to practice the Torah as well as a type of Christian Judaism that included Torah-practicing Gentiles, although he does not seem to encourage this combination of the practice of the Torah and belief in Christ. However, Justin cannot approve of Christ-believing Jews, who ‘profess their belief in Christ, and at the same time force the Gentiles, who believe in this Christ, to observe the Law instituted through Moses, or refuse to share with them this same common life’ (47.3). Apostates, i.e., those who had adopted Jewish customs and then abandoned their belief in Christ in favor of joining the synagogue, ‘cannot be saved unless they repent before their death’ (47.4). They, he says, count as Jews, who do not believe in Christ. Accordingly, Justin favors a social separation between the Christian and the Jewish communities. Even though he accepts Christ-believers, who associate with synagogue communities (which in practice they must have done in order to follow Jewish festivals and dietary rules), the ideal is that believers ― whether of Jewish or Gentile origin ― should not associate with Jewish communities. For him, the model is that they ‘live with us Christians and believers’ and he thus encourages Christ-believers to likely, the imprecation known to Justin mentioned Nazarenes, credit can still be given to his complaint that Christians in general were being cursed.”

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‘associate with them in every way as kinsmen and brethren’ (47.2). It is important for Justin that the Christ-believers, who do practice ‘Christian’ Judaism, and who uphold Jewish boundary markers within the Christian community, should not induce other believers ‘to be circumcised like themselves, nor to observe the Sabbath, or to perform any other similar acts’ (47.2). Justin cannot stand any Jew, or any Gentile for that matter, who persuades or compels others to keep the Jewish regulations, and who tells others ‘that they cannot be saved unless they do so’ (47.1). Thus, Dial. 47 demonstrates that Justin knew of both Jewish and Gentile Christbelievers, who upheld Jewish boundary markers. Evidently, some of them continued to keep in touch with the Jewish community, while others had separated themselves from that. In the end, it is only the last group that finds acceptance in the eyes of Justin. Thirdly, the notion of verus Israel, the true Israel, is a key feature in the Dialogue. From the start, Justin makes it clear that ‘we are the true spiritual Israel, and the descendants (ge/noj) of Judah, Jacob, Isaac, and Abraham, who, though uncircumcised, was approved and blessed by God, because of his faith, and who was called the father of many nations (e)qnw~n)’ (Dial. 11.5). The ultimate purpose behind Justin’s redefinition of key Jewish boundary markers is the redefinition of the people of God: Jesus Christ ‘circumcises with knives of stone all those who want it, that they might become a righteous nation (e)/qnoj), a faithful, truthful and peace-loving people (la/oj)’ (24.2). The idea of the true Israel dominates particularly in the third section of the Dialogue (111–142), where the main point of Justin’s argument is the salvation of the Gentiles and the universality of God’s people. Justin repeatedly points to the universal promises given to the fathers and the prophets. The holy people promised to Abraham in Gen. 12:1–3 are now made up of Christ-believers: by listening to God’s voice through the apostles, they have been called, just like Abraham (Dial. 119). In this context Justin significantly points out that ‘we are not a contemptible people (dh=moj), nor a tribe (fu=lon) of barbarians, nor just any nations (e)/qnh) as the Carian and the Phrygians’ (119.4). By taking up Isa. 65:1, ‘Behold, I am God, to a nation (e)/qnoj) which has not called upon my name’, Justin denies that the promise to Abraham to be the father of many nations could refer to ‘the Arabs, or Egyptians, or the Idumaeans’ (119.4), since different nations have different progenitors. Instead, he argues, it must anticipate ‘us’, the community of Christ-believers, and he makes his point: ‘Thus, God promised Abraham a religious and righteous nation (e)/qnoj) with faith like his, and a delight to the Father, but that is not you, in whom there is no faith’ (119.6). In a similar way, Justin reads Ps. 2:7–8 christologically and points to the universal promise given to the Son: ‘You are my Son, this day have I

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begotten you. Ask of me, and I shall give you the Gentiles (nations, e)/qnh) for your inheritance and the utmost parts of the earth for your possession’ (122.6). In particular, Justin makes use of passages from the prophet Isaiah that contain some universal strain. For example, he quotes Isa. 42:6 (‘I the Lord have called you in justice, and I will take you by the hand, and strengthen you, and I will give you for a covenant to the people, for a light to the Gentiles [e)/qnw~n], to open the eyes of the blind, and to lead forth the prisoner out of prison’), and he stresses the following implication for Trypho and his friends: ‘These words, also, gentlemen, have been spoken of Christ and concern the enlightened Gentiles (tw~n e)qnw~n tw~n pefwtisme/nwn)’ (Dial. 122.3). When Justin emphasizes that the new Israel is a different Israel, Trypho reacts with surprise: ‘Are you Israel?’ (123.7). Justin then makes it clear that it is not enough to be a proselytizing Gentile in order to become a member of God’s people, because the true sons of God are defined by Christ: ‘Therefore, as your whole people was called after that one Jacob, surnamed Israel, so we who obey the precepts of Christ, are, through Christ who begot us to God, both called and in reality are, Jacob and Israel, and Judah and Joseph and David and true children of God’ (123.9; cf. Isa. 42:1–4). In Dial. 134, Justin makes a typological reading of the story of Rachel and Leah, who represent two antitypes, ‘our church’ and ‘your people and the synagogue’. As Jacob served both for Rachel and for Leah, so Christ now serves both for the church and the synagogue. Laban’s spotted sheep prefigured the church of many nations. Jacob was Israel and Israel is Christ: ‘Jacob was surnamed Israel, and it has been shown that Israel is also Christ, who is called Jesus’ (134.6).276 In the closing sections, Justin points out that his account of the new Israel is quite simple; there are ‘two seeds of Judah, and two races (du/o ge/nh) . . . : the one born of the flesh and blood, the other of faith and the Spirit’ (Dial. 135.6). Christ is the true Israel in persona and the race that comes from him in his begetting of the sons of God is the new and spiritual Israel.277 Hence, the true people of God are no longer ethnically defined but defined by Christ alone. Therefore, the universality of the new Law, which is Christ, extends beyond the limits of any national boundaries (Dial. 93.1–2). Triumphantly Justin declares the universality of his belief in Christ: ‘But there is not a single race (ge/noj) of men, whether barbarians, or Greeks, nor persons called by any other name, nomads, or vagabonds, or herdsmen who dwell in tents, among whom prayers and thanksgivings are not offered to the Father and the Creator of the universe

276 277

Cf. Dial. 75.2; See also Dial. 100 and 114. Cf. Osborn, 1973: 177.

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in the name of the crucified Jesus’ (Dial. 117.5).278 Hence, Justin’s ultimate goal is not simply to apply to the Christ-believers the prophecies of God’s eschatological people, but also to claim for them the right to the title ‘Israel’ (cf. 123–125; 135). Justin continually takes honorary titles and designations of ethnic Israel and applies them to the community of Christ-believers; those who believe in Christ are called ‘the sons of Abraham’ (Dial. 25.), ‘the sons of God’ (123–124), ‘Israel’/‘Israelites’ (11.5; 117.2; cf. 119; 125; 130; 135), ‘a holy people’ (119.3), ‘those who are called’ (121.4), ‘the true high-priestly race of God’ (ge/noj tou~ qeou~, 116.3), ‘the pious and the righteous ones’ (52.4), ‘the Godfearing and the righteous ones’ (52.4; 119.4–5), etc. This use of Israel’s honorary designations stresses both the continuity and the discontinuity between Israel and the new people of God. Above all, it underlines Justin’s view of the Christ-believers as the true and honored members of the people of God. As such, whether they are Jews or Gentiles, they should call one another ‘kinsmen and brethren’ (o(mospla/gxnoij kai\ a)delfoi=j, 47.2). By the time of Justin, it is clear that this new community called themselves ‘Christians’ (Xristianoi/). In fact, Justin is the first ancient writer to make an extended use of the name ‘Christian’ (Xristiano/j), and he does so with pride, confidence and a specific selfunderstanding.279 In the debate with Trypho and his friends, we need to consider the vituperative character of this apologetic literature.280 Justin writes in a language marked by competition and uncompromising take-over.281 The enemy, in this case Trypho, becomes an intrinsic part of the self-definition that Justin forms for his audience, which was most likely made up primarily of Christ-believers, who were either drawn from the synagogues (Jews or Godfearing Gentiles) or who were potentially on their way to succumb to the Jewish faith.282 Justin offers his readers a sharp either/or 278

In 1 Apol. 53, Justin claims that there were more Christ-believers from the Gentiles than from the Jews or the Samaritans. 279 E.g., Dial. 17; 63–64; 80; 94; 110. Justin makes use of the term e)kklhsi/a in three occasions only (Dial. 42; 63; 134). See Osborn, 1973: 171–75. 280 Cf. Rajak, 2001: 512–13. Rajak concludes (p. 522): “In principle, we might sum up the Trypho as a defence of the Christian religion organized around an extended engagement with Judaism, an engagement which takes the dual and inevitable forms of appropriation and assault.” 281 Cf. Lieu, 1996: 136–37. 282 I agree with Sanders (1993: 52) that Justin’s intended audience in Dial. is primarily Christian, “to which he provides ammunition for arguing with Jews”. Wilson (1995: 265) takes a similar position, “the Dialogoue could be in part an attempt to forearm and protect Christians”. Rajak (2001: 530–31) envisages a Jewish-Christian audience. Allert (2002: 61) suggests that the Dial. was probably written for a Jewish audience in the context of missionary activity between Jews and Christ-believers, but

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decision. The Jews are portrayed as the others or as the outsiders, and Justin describes Judaism as something that is clearly distinguishable from the Christian belief. The ideal Christ-believer has left the Jewish boundary markers behind and now belongs to a community that is socially distinct from the Jewish one. The people of God are no longer ethnically defined; Christ redefines Israel and, accordingly, the true people of God. Jewish honorary terms are repeatedly used to define the community of Christbelievers, which is made up of people from all the nations. On occasions, Justin appears “to be replacing the old Jewish exclusiveness with a new Gentile exclusiveness”.283 Justin knows of Jewish Christ-believers, who keep in touch with the synagogue, and also of Gentile Christ-believers who Judaize, but he sees no future for them while they continue to associate with the Jewish community and to promote the observance of the Torah. From the location of this debate with Trypho in Ephesus, we can draw the conclusion that Justin found his theological stance as a representative for Jewish-Christian relations in this geographical area. In terms of the complex process of ‘the parting of the ways’, we may say that Justin marked the end of the road. 5.3. Irenaeus and Polycrates Other second century evidence of the Jewish influence on the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus is quite scarce. In refuting the misinterpretation by Theodotion, the translator, and others of the prophecy, ‘Behold, a young woman shall conceive, and bring forth a son’ (Isa. 7:14), Irenaeus mentions that Theodotion was ‘a Jewish proselyte’ from Ephesus (Adv. haer. 3.21.1).284 This does not necessarily imply that there must have been some Jewish influence in the Christian community at Ephesus in the mid-second century CE, but it does demonstrate that there were people who transferred from one community to the other. Towards the last decade of the second century CE (c. 195 CE), the aged bishop of Ephesus (the eighth bishop of his family), Polycrates presided over a synod of Asiatic bishops who had come together to consider the

since it was written within the Christ-believing community Justin intended to address also Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers. However, as Marcovich (1997: 64–65) points out, much of Justin’s arguments make sense only if applied to prospective converts to Judaism, not to Christianity. Lieu (1996: 106) takes a similar position, suggesting that the intended audience is a “‘bridge-group’, perhaps gentiles strongly attracted to Judaism, on the verge of becoming proselytes, yet who now provide fertile ground for Christian proselytising”. 283 Wilson, 1995: 274. 284 This text is also picked up by Eusebius, Hist eccl. 5.8.10.

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matter of the date of the paschal feast.285 Polycrates stood up as a spokesman and defender of the Quartodecimans, ‘the fourteeners’, who celebrated the end of the fast and the resurrection of Jesus on the fourteenth day of Nisan i.e., to coincide with the Jewish Passover, whatever day of the week that might be. This issue was related to the question of how ‘Jewish’ Christianity actually was. In the 140s or 150s, Bishop Polycarp had spoken for the Asian Quartodeciman Easter against the alternative practice in use in Rome. He and bishop Anicetus had respectfully agreed to differ, although variations in practice would have hampered relations between Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers in Rome and elsewhere. A few decades later, Pope Victor attempted to secure agreement that the Feast of Easter should be uniformly celebrated on a Sunday. This position gained many supporters, but Polycrates of Ephesus cited ‘the great luminaries’ of the apostolic age (in particular John ‘who lay on the Lord’s breast’ and one of Philip’s daughters, who both had their tombs in Ephesus), several revered martyrs and church leaders (Polycarp, Melito, etc.) as well as his own kinsmen and predecessors in the episcopate, who had kept the Quartodeciman tradition: ‘All these kept the fourteenth day of the Passover according to the gospel, never swerving’ (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.6.). As a result, Victor excommunicated the Asian churches, to against which Polycrates reacted strongly. There was not just diversity, but a proud distinctiveness in Asia Minor, where catholic leaders stood their ground, despite the claims of the differing practices in Rome.286 Strelan takes these controversies about the date of the celebration of Easter as an indication that Jewish influences survived in the Christian communities of Asia Minor, particularly in Ephesus, and even as an indication that there were many Jews in this community.287 Strelan goes on to argue that, as a proponent of the Quartodecimans, Polycrates must have been of Jewish descent himself, and that Polycrates’s reference to John, ‘who lay on the Lord breast’ and ‘who was a priest wearing the breastplate (to_ pe/talon)’ (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.3), indicates that John had once been the leader of the Jewish community in Ephesus.288 According to Richard Bauckham, the language of Polycrates (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.6), when he describes the 14th of Nisan as the day ‘when the people (o( lao/j) remove the leaven’, reflects contemporary Jewish practice and also the language used for that practice: Polycrates 285 For details concerning the controversies about the Quartodeciman Easter practice, see Eusebius, Hist eccl. 5.23.1–24.18. 286 Trevett, 2006: 320. 287 Strelan, 1996: 307. 288 Strelan, 1996: 308. So also Frend, 1985: 34.

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“can speak of things Jewish in an accurately Jewish way”.289 Bauckham also holds it probable that Polycrates on exegetical grounds identified the Beloved disciple with John the high priest of Acts 4:6.290 From all this, Paul Trebilco draws the conclusion that Polycrates probably lived in close proximity to the large Jewish in community in Ephesus, “perhaps he was part of a church with a strongly Jewish background”.291 In a similar vein, Stephen Wilson suggests that the practice of the Quartodeciman Easter indicates the presence of influential Judaizing Christians in Ephesus by the end of the second century.292 I do not doubt the possibility of any of these interpretations, although Strelan’s conclusion regarding the Jewish descent of Polycrates and that John was once the leader of the local Jewish community is clearly to read far too much into Eusebius’s account of these controversies. In fact, we cannot say definitely that the Quartodeciman controversy had to do with a certain Jewish bent on the part of the Christian community in Ephesus; it may be related to the sole fact that Polycrates favored the Quartodecimans because this tradition squared with the calendar of John’s Gospel. Polycrates’s emphasis on John and the fact that his tomb was located in Ephesus could be taken as evidence for such a conclusion. On the other hand, it is worth noting that nobody doubted that the Paschal feast was kept according to a Christian and apostolic ordinance. The controversy over the Jewish calendar and the positive stance taken by Polycrates of Ephesus in favor of this position may be an indication that there were some Jewish influences in the community of Christ-believers in Ephesus towards the end of the second century. If this conclusion is correct, this may also suggest that the vituperative rhetoric of Ignatius and Justin had not reached its full effect.

6. Concluding Remarks 1. Textual evidence (primarily from Josephus) as well as archaeological finds point to the conclusion that the Jewish community in Ephesus in the first century BCE and the first century CE was of a significant size. However, through contacts and conflicts with their Greek neighbors, the local Jews were forced to seek help from the Roman authorities regularly in order to plead their rights and privileges, granted to them by the early Emperors. In these disputes, a couple of Jewish boundary markers seem to 289

Bauckham, 1993b: 37. Bauckham, 2006: 445–52. 291 Trebilco, 2004: 50. 292 Wilson, 1995: 252. 290

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have been particularly important, i.e., the right to keep the food regulations and the Sabbath ordinances and also the right to collect the Temple tax. In addition, the refusal, due to Jewish monotheistic belief, to participate in the traditional civic cults seems to have been the main cause of conflicts with their neighbors. We may therefore make a general conclusion that the Jewish community in Ephesus was careful to follow the regulations and customs stipulated by the Torah. 2. The early Christian movement in Ephesus was most likely an intraJewish phenomenon from the very start, with its origin in the local synagogue community. The traditional understanding that early on, the Christ-believing group(s) in the city included a considerable number of Gentiles has been challenged by Rick Strelan’s proposal that the Pauline community at Ephesus was predominantly Jewish, with Gentiles in a clear minority. Strelan therefore argues, “the Christian communities in Ephesus continued to be marked by Jewish ways of thinking and practice well into the second century”.293 However, the present study questions Strelan’s reading of Luke’s account in Acts as well as his reading of the other New Testament evidence. The canonical texts that may be located to Ephesus (1–2 Tim., 1–3 John and Rev.) are all involved in the process of boundary marking and identity formation in relation to the Jewish matrix. Critical features in this process of self-definition are the place of Jesus as the Messiah/the Christ, the reading and reinterpretation of the Jewish scriptures and the adoption of old Jewish designations as well as the construction of a new terminology and new definitions. Although issues relating to Judaism are not always explicitly addressed in these texts, they do sustain an absolute claim to what we might call the Jewish heritage of the author and/or their addressees (the points of continuity), while developing a sense of what it was that united the Christ-believers over against the ethnic Jews (the points of discontinuity). On the whole, where the conflicts concern issues of ethnicity (Who are members of the true Israel?), the main definitions are taken from the Jewish scriptures. However, the reason was not the desire to sustain old categories, but rather to provide the addressees with a common language of self-understanding that was not based on ethnic definitions. An interesting observation is that the more explicit conflict with the Jewish community and Jewish values, the more inclined the writers seem to be to employ Jewish attributes and designations as they address their readers. It seems as if the closer the relationship was, the more intense the conflict became, and the greater need grew to make clear distinctions and demarcations against the others (we will elaborate further on this in the next chapter). However, they could not achieve any of this by distancing 293

Strelan, 1996: 306–07.

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themselves from the designations of the others (i.e., of the Jewish communities) but rather by claiming the right to use and to redefine the meaning of these designations. Interestingly, while the conflict between the Jews and the Christ-believers is most explicit in the Book of Revelation, it is particularly in this work that we find descriptions of Christ-believers constituted by typically Jewish notions. The redefinition of the people of God is made most explicit when it serves the overall purpose of providing the suffering addressees with a distinctive and imaginative world-view that would hold them together in their hardships.294 The Christian communities stand in continuity with the people of God and should understand themselves as genuine Jews and as the New Jerusalem, i.e., as a community made up of people from all the nations. 3. While all the ‘canonical’ authors in focus of this study demonstrate close contacts with the structures and practices of the Jewish Diaspora communities, we have no clear indications that they envisaged a Christian community, which should continue to practice the Jewish rituals and keep the Jewish identity markers. One feature common to the canonical texts that we have located to Ephesus is that they lack discussions about any typical Jewish boundary markers, such as circumcision, food regulations, the Sabbath observance and the Temple tax. There is for example, a remarkable difference between Paul’s Letter to the Romans and Paul’s Letters to Timothy in terms of how issues of ethnicity and identity are dealt with; whereas in Romans, Paul explicitly shapes a self-understanding in Jesus Christ common to both Jews and Gentiles, we could not find anything of this terminology (e.g., righteousness and circumcision) in any of Paul’s Letters to Timothy. Apparently, issues that marked typical Jewish identity were not of such importance that the authors in question found any reason to address them. This is a rather surprising fact, particularly if we imagine that the early Christ-believers in Ephesus had come from the rather large synagogue community and may have continued to keep close contact with the local Jewish community. This could of course possibly be explained by the fact that the authors and their addressees all agreed on the Torah observance and that Jewish boundary markers were simply not a matter of debate at the time. However, this is not very likely, considering 294 Cf. Bauckham (1993c: 17): “Revelation provides a set of Christian prophetic counter-images which impress on its readers a different vision of the world . . . The visual power of the book effects a kind of purging of the Christian imagination, refurbishing it with alternative visions of how the world is and will be.” In this context, Adela Yarbro Collins (1986: 319–20) properly notes: “John’s polemic was part of the struggle of Christians in western Asia Minor to survive physically and to establish an identity as legitimate heirs to the heritage of Israel.”

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the role that these boundary markers had in the shaping of the fundamental notion of membership of the true people of God in Diaspora Judaism. Hence, these features must be taken at face value and they point to the conclusion that the authors who addressed the Christ-believers in Ephesus did not describe the majority of the believers, who kept immediate contact with the local Jewish community. Moreover, these features also speak against Strelans’s thesis that the Christian communities in Ephesus “continued to be marked by Jewish ways of thinking and practice” (italics mine). I acknowledge that the deviant groups addressed in the Pastorals and the Johannine Letters probably had some relationship to Judaism, but they were not rejected because of their insistence on keeping Jewish regulations, nor for imposing typically Jewish identity markers on Gentile believers. This may point to the conclusion that these groups cannot be defined as existing solely within the Jewish matrix. On the other hand, I question Trebilco’s assertion that already by 55–60 CE, “the Jewish and Christian communities in Ephesus saw themselves as distinct groups, as (sic) least to some extent”.295 This conclusion seems to be based on a literal reading of Luke’s account and makes too sharp distinctions between non-Christian Jews and Christian non-Jews. But what about Christ-believing Jews? Evidently, Luke seems to make a case in favor of an early separation between Jews and Christ-believers, but this may not have been the case socially, particularly as we may suspect that there was a considerable number of Jews among the early Christ-believers in the city, and that they had strong social and religious bonds to the local synagogue and also to their families. 296 4. Although we have been mainly interested in the rhetorical strategies of the authors, we may tentatively discern a diachronic development in the descriptions of the relationship between the local Jewish community and the Christ-believers in the early Christian texts that belong to the Ephesus area (I assume that First and Second Timothy should be dated c. 65–95 CE, the Johannine Letters c. 90–100 CE and the Book of Revelation in the mid90s CE). First and Second Timothy speak of a group of deviants, who ‘want to be teachers of the Law’ (1 Tim. 1:7), which most probably means that they promoted some kind of Judaism. Although I doubt that their dietary regulations (1 Tim. 4:3) were motivated by obedience to the Torah,

295

Trebilco, 2004: 196. While affirming his position that there were early distinguishable social groups, Trebilco (2004: 170 n. 56) seems to come closer to the actual situation in a footnote-text: “there was probably on-going in-depth contacts and complex inter-relationships between the two groups.” 296

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these teachers used the Jewish scriptures to argue their position.297 However, we do not hear of any kinds of hostile conflicts between nonbelieving Jews and Christ-believers in these Letters. In the Johannine Letters a group of teachers had left the community because they were hesitant about identifing Jesus of Nazareth with the Messiah, o( Xristo/j. There were probably people of a Jewish background in this group, although I doubt that we are dealing with a solely intra-Jewish debate. Thus, compared to the Letters to Timothy, we may discern a more strained situation reflected in the Johannine Letters, partly related to Jewish convictions about the Messiah. We cannot assume from this evidence only that the author of the Johannine Letters addressed a group of readers who operated within a synagogue setting. All we can say is that here we may find indications of conflicts about Jesus as the Christ, caused by Jewish convictions and beliefs. Turning to the Book of Revelation, we discerned an even tenser situation between the Jews and the Christ-believers. The local Jewish communities in Smyrna and Philadelphia were rejected by the derogatory phrase ‘the synagogue of Satan’, which created a sense of distinct otherness. However, even if the prophet did want to create and portray for his readers a world-view and a self-understanding that contained certain points of discontinuity with the Jewish matrix, we should be careful not to draw the conclusion that at that time the prophet envisaged a definite break between the Jewish and the Christian communities. It is more likely that, when Revelation was written, there were both Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers who were in close touch with the Jewish communities at the local level (as the letters to Smyrna and Philadelphia seem to assume). Despite this, there is interestingly enough no explicit intention in Revelation to break with the Jewish categories but rather an interest in redefining and changing the old ones. Hence, true belief in Christ is here presented as true Judaism (‘they say that they are Jews but they are not’). 5. It is only at the beginning of the second century that we find evidence of more explicit arguments in favor of a clear separation between the Jewish communities and the Christ-believers in the Ephesus area. It is not likely that Ignatius regarded the Christian community in Ephesus as part of the local Jewish community. From the perspective of Ignatius, the practice of Judaism and Christianity can simply not be combined. Because ‘Christianism’ and Judaism are essentially two incompatible religious systems, it is not possible to be both a Christian and a practicing Jew. Ignatius explicitly redefines the people of God, but not in particularly 297 If these deviants were the same as in the letter to Titus (not a necessary thesis though), we do certainly have a group of Jewish teachers operating within the Christian community (‘those of the circumcision group’, Tit. 1:10).

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Jewish terms. For Ignatius, there is only one type of Christ-belief, the nonJewish type. This is the only acceptable type of belief and it disregards the ethnic background of the believers. By contrast, Justin Martyr repeatedly defines the Christian community in Jewish honorary terms. The true people of God are no longer ethnically defined; Christ redefines Israel and, accordingly, also the true people of God. Thus, in Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho, located to the city of Ephesus, we find the first testimony to a consistent reinterpretation of all the main Jewish boundary markers. Although not as radical in his definitions as Ignatius, Justin describes a Christian movement that is clearly distinguished from Judaism. Justin is, however, more inclusive than Ignatius: somewhat reluctantly, he allows for both Christ-believing Jews and Gentiles to practice Jewish customs and rites ― as long as they do not promote this position among other Christ-believers. For Justin, the ideal Christian community is a community that is socially distinct from the Jewish community. Thus, in comparison to the earlier evidence in First John and Revelation, the break between the non-believing Jews and the Christ-believers as described by Ignatius and Justin Martyr seems to have deepened. Both of them bring important contributions to the process of the formation of early Christian identity at the time when Jewish identity markers and things Jewish were clearly transferred from the realm of the insiders to the realm of the outsiders, to the others. After Justin, becoming a ‘Christian’ no longer entailed becoming an ethnic or a national Jew, since a believer still joined the verus Israel, the true Israel.298 6. According to Walter Bauer, the Pauline communities in Asia Minor “were almost totally of a Gentile type”.299 However, in post-apostolic times, Bauer continues, “a large segment of the Gentile Christians became less and less suited for ‘ecclesiastical’ fellowship, so that, in the developing church, the emphasis would automatically shift sharply in favor of the Jewish element”. In addition, Bauer argues that, after the fall of Jerusalem, there was a Jewish influx from Palestine. The union of the Palestinian immigrants with anti-Gnostic Pauline elements resulted in a Christianity that adopted certain Jewish traits. According to Bauer, this alliance marked a significant turning point for the development of the Christian movement in this area. From this point and onwards, “the line of 298 As Boyarin (2004: 73) concludes concerning Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho: “The boundary between Jew and Greek, the definition of Jewishness as national or ethnic, was breached or gravely threatened by the self-definition of Gentile Christianity as ‘Israel’, leading to a reconfiguration of the cultural features that signal the boundary, indeed a reconfiguration of the understanding of the substance of the boundary itself from the genealogical to the religious. Hence orthodoxy/heresy came to function as a boundary marker, because the boundaries had indeed been blurred.” 299 Bauer, 1972: 89.

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demarcation . . . no longer runs between Jewish and Gentile Christianity, but rather, between orthodoxy and heresy”.300 For two reasons, I doubt that Bauer’s reconstruction is correct on this point. First, we have seen that there are reasons to believe that there were strong Jewish elements in the early Christian movement in Ephesus from the very beginning. Secondly, in First Timothy and Ignatius, there seems to be a connection between Judaism and certain types of gnōsis-teaching, something that Bauer regarded as mutually exclusive. Few scholars would today make such a clear distinction. As we noted in Ignatius and Justin, there are still lines of demarcations between Jewish and Gentile Christianity, in Ignatius even between anything Jewish and anything Gentile, in a way that makes Bauer’s conclusions about orthodoxy and heresy unacceptable. As we have seen, both Ignatius and Justin continuously make demarcations against Jewish notions of identity. 7. Commenting on the Birkat ha-minim, Daniel Boyarin suggests, it was the threat of Gentile Christianity to the borders of Jewish peoplehood in Asia Minor, represented by the new second-century Christian claim to be Verus Israel (first attested in Justin, but surely not originated by him), that may have given rise to non-liturgically formalized or even popular curses on Gentile Christians and to the reviling of Christ in the synagogues. 301

Boyarin proposes that this development probably first took place in areas in which non-believing Jews and Gentile Christ-believers were in tense and intense contact, “precisely in an area such as western Asia, that is, Asia Minor”. From here it later spread to other areas. Hence, Asia Minor may have been “a possible point of origin for the discursive work of partitioning off a new religion, Christianity, from its Jewish other”.302 From the perspective of the present study we cannot say much about the origins of this schism, but we can confirm the impression that western Asia Minor and Ephesus became a significant center for the developments related to the complex process of ‘the parting of the ways’.303 The ‘canonical’ first century texts located to Ephesus reflect a time of transition when the authors were redefining old categories in order to form a distinct self-understanding for their communities. And from the first half of the second century, we find here strong proponents of a Christian selfunderstanding that defined Gentile Christ-believers as standing in clear 300

Bauer, 1972: 87. Boyarin, 2004: 71. 302 Boyarin, 2004: 67. 303 This may, for example, be one reason why Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, originally a circular letter, became particularly associated with the city of Ephesus. Eph. 2:11–22 does of course spell out the crucial idea of Jews and Gentiles united in Jesus Christ. 301

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continuity with the Jewish people of God, and who would even claim that the Gentile church is now the verus Israel, the true people of God, and that Christianity is a religious system fundamentally distinct from Judaism. In due course, it was this concept that came to be the main definition of the emerging universal Christian movement.

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Deviance and Identity: Towards a Theory of Social Identity Formation in Ephesus In the first chapter we noticed that all the early Christian texts that address Christ-believers in Ephesus are explicitly polemical and contain demarcations against people or groups, who for some reason or the other are excluded or marked off from the ingroup of Christ-believers. In First and Second Timothy, there is a group of Jewish-Christian gnosis-teachers who promote an ascetic lifestyle that are marked off from the ingroup of believers (1 Tim. 4:1–3; 6:20; 2 Tim. 2:18), in the letter to the church in Ephesus in Rev. 2, we hear of a group called the Nicolaitans, which is accused of practicing idolatry and fornication, and in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, there is a group that teach ‘heresy’ and ‘evil doctrine’, which most probably refers to some kind of Docetic teaching (Ign.Eph. 6.2; 9.1; cf. 7.2; 8:1–2). In the Johannine Letters, attested in the area of western Asia Minor from the beginning of the second century, we meet a group of antichrists who, from the perspective of the author have false views of Jesus Christ, and who probably promoted a not yet fully developed Docetic teaching (1 John 2:18–27; 4:1–6). This picture of a diverse movement with several fractions is confirmed by Luke’s story in Acts 18–19 about the early Christian mission in Ephesus, and particularly by Paul’s prophetical ex eventu-address to the Ephesian elders in Miletos: ‘I know that after my departure savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock, and from among your own selves men will arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after them’ (Acts 20:29–30). In the texts that address the early Christ-believers in Ephesus, we thus find evidence that the authors favored a rather exclusive stance towards other groups of Christ-believers (I suppose that this is how they would have identified themselves). These authors define themselves and their addressees in a constant rivalry and controversy towards the ‘others’, towards those who they ― for one reason or another ― define as ‘deviant’, ‘false’ or ‘apostate’. Hence, Paul Trebilco fittingly sums up his study of early Christ-believers in Ephesus Ignatius with the following observation:

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Thus in Ephesus, as elsewhere, from at least the time of the Pastorals, there was a drawing of lines by some Christians in order to exclude others who regarded themselves as Christians . . . one continuing element in the life of Christians in Ephesus was conflict between Christians, and the presence of differing strands of Christian faith. A focus on admissible and inadmissible belief ― and clarifying what was meant in both cases ― is clearly a feature of Ephesian Christian communities.1

Since it seems that it was particularly the times of conflict and rivalry that were the key moments for the development of the early Christian movement in Ephesus, we need to pay attention to this setting as we investigate issues relating to the process of Christian identity formation in this area. In doing so, I suggest that we draw from three distinctive social theories that elaborate on group dynamics and on the formation of social identity, namely social conflict theory, the sociology of deviance and selfcategorization theory. My presupposition is that theories about the construction of social identity transcend time and history, at least at a general level. Although I will make explicit use of the social sciences in this chapter, I do not intend to create a hermeneutical model or a grid, through which to run the texts. I regard the social sciences as heuristic devices that can help interpreters to pay attention to social aspects and processes of identity formation in the texts. While general social theories cannot answer specific historical questions, they can help an interpreter to pay attention to social processes and to raise interesting questions about the historical material under investigation.2 Thus, the following survey of social theories of conflict, deviance and self-categorization is undertaken in order to gain theoretical tools for an exegetical task: social theories on conflict allow a fuller understanding of the characteristics and dynamics of discordant social interaction, 3 deviance theories can shed light of how and why cultures identify individuals as deviants and why they enter into opposition and conflict over social norms and values,4 and theories of selfcategorization and prototypicality may give insights about the role of

1

Trebilco, 2004: 716. The present study acknowledges the close relationship between history and sociology. However, sociological theories must be used in conjunction with minute historical analysis of the ancient sources and cannot fill in the gaps they leave. In asking ‘why’-type questions and in hypothesizing about what ‘must have been true’, I will also use analogies drawn from relevant and comparable ancient literary sources and archaeological remains that are chronologically, geographically, and socially close to the object or issue under investigation. 3 For a survey of New Testament scholars who has employed insights from conflict theory in their work, see Still, 1999: 108–09. 4 For a survey of New Testament scholars who has employed insights from the sociology deviance in their work, see Still, 1999: 86–88. 2

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examples (prototypes) in group-dynamics and the shaping of social identities.5 In the first section of this chapter, I will briefly outline the main ideas of these social theories and then, in the second section, I will make a reading of First and Second Timothy from the perspective of the main insights found in them. I will deliberately confine my study to these two letters since, in my opinion, Rev. 2:1–7, the Johannine Letters and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians do not provide enough material for a more detailed analysis of the process of identity formation from the perspective of theories of social conflict, deviance and self-categorization. However, I will comment briefly on these letters in the concluding discussion of this chapter.

1. The Formation of Social Identity and Theories on Social Conflict, Deviance and Self-Categorization 1.1. Social Conflict Theory We shall take our starting point in theories on conflict and rivalry in group settings. The struggles between competing groups of believers in the early Christian movement over the right to control the doctrinal tradition and to define normative belief and behavior belong to the realm of social conflicts. Potentially, all social conflicts serve “a positive function in solidifying social groups and in shaping the complex symbolic and institutional apparatus needed to sustain them”.6 Elaborating on the propositions concerning social conflicts given by the German sociologist Georg Simmel (1858–1918), Lewis Coser provides a classic analysis of the role of conflicts in social settings in The Functions of Social Conflicts (1956). Even though Coser’s conclusions have been modified by more recent studies (particularly the functionalistic assumptions which underpin his observation), his main theories on group conflicts and social identity are still helpful in considering the impact of conflict in the history of the early Christian movement and in processes of identity formation.7 Coser

5 Esler (1996, 1997, 2003), in particular, has employed insights from sociopsychological theories on self-categorization and prototypicality in his studies. 6 Gager, 1975: 79. 7 For a critique of Coser, see Rex, 1981: 74; Porter-Taplin, 1987: 6. Functionalism often implies ‘illegitimate theology’, the notion that conflict comes about because if its consequences, which are described as its social function. Where functionalism speaks of functions, the so-called ‘structuration theory’ (according to Anthony Giddens), with its insistence on reproduction and transformation through time, refers to the (often

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defines social conflict as a “struggle over values and claims to scarce status, power and resources, in which the aims of the opponents are to neutralize, injure, or eliminate their rivals”.8 A basic thesis for Coser is that “a certain degree of conflict is an essential element in group formation and the persistence of group life”, proposing that ingroup and outgroup conflicts in a social setting have at least four potential characteristics.9 First, conflict may serve as a boundary-maintaining and group-binding function. This means that conflict with other groups contributes to the establishment and reaffirmation of the identity of groups and to the maintenance of their boundaries against the surrounding world.10 Secondly, the closer the relationship, the more intense a conflict seems to be. In conflicts with close groups (e.g., with heretics), it is likely that one side hates the other more intensely the more the opposing group is felt to be a threat to the unity and identity of the ingroup. 11 Thirdly, conflicts may serve to define and strengthen group structures and may result in ingroup solidarity, enhanced awareness of ingroup identity and a tightening of the group boundaries. A conflict with another group may lead to the mobilization of the energies of the group members, and hence to an increased cohesion of the group itself. Groups engaged in continued struggle with the outside world tend to be intolerant within; they are unlikely to tolerate more than limited departures from the group unity.12 Fourthly, ideology (the collective aims) that transcends personal interests will make struggles between competing groups more intense. If the antagonists have in common the search for truth and the protection of ideals of the group that they represent, the conflict is likely to be more radical and merciless than conflicts fought for personal reasons.13 In social psychology, it is well-known that ingroup and outgroup conflicts can serve to shape and enforce the identity of the group, to clarify boundary markers and to strengthen the difference between ‘us’ and ‘them’, between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’.14 In particular, the drawing up and articulation of boundaries play an important role in the creation and perpetuation of conflict. The greater the similarity between the group unintended) consequences of social activities that in turn become the (often unacknowledged) conditions of further activity (see Horrell, 2002: 314). 8 Coser, 1956: 8. 9 Coser, 1956: 31. 10 Coser, 1956: 33–38. 11 Coser, 1956: 67–72. 12 Coser, 1956: 87–110. 13 Coser, 1956: 111–119. 14 Of course, conflict with an outgroup may potentially also divide and destroy an ingroup.

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members with regard to values and aspirations, the more acute the social competition within the intergroup becomes.15 In intragroup conflicts, people normally dislike ingroup members who diverge from ingroup norms even more than they dislike outgroup members.16 Frequently, conflicts with an ingroup may heighten ingroup bias and results in a stereotypical perception and portrayal of the outsiders by the insiders.17 That is to say, ingroup glorification and outgroup denigration are common dynamics of groups engaged in conflict. As already pointed out by Simmel, deviant members generally generate a kind of . . . hostility whose intensification is grounded in a feeling of belonging together, of unity, which by no means always means similarity . . . This hatred is directed against the member of the group, not for personal motives, but because the member represents a danger to the preservation of the group. 18

This explains why deviants can play a crucial role, not only in the preservation of an ingroup, but in the shaping, enforcement and articulation of the identity of this group. 1.2. Sociology of Deviance Closely related to theories on social conflicts is the sociology of deviance, a particular branch of sociological inquiry into crime and rule breaking, which has risen to great prominence especially in North America in the last fifty years. In the struggle for power and authority in the early Christian movement, we may speak of ‘deviant’ and ‘normal’ forms of belief and behavior.19 Of course, labeling someone as a ‘deviant’ or a ‘normal’ or ‘normative’ believer has to do with the choice of perspective and cannot be objectively defined. But as soon as someone claims to have or to represent a ‘normative’ behavior or belief, there are others who at the same time turn out to represent ‘deviant’ forms of behavior or belief. In the pioneering work Outsiders: Studies in the Sociology of Deviance (1963), Howard Becker gives his account of theories on deviance and labeling theory, primarily drawn from the analysis of the behavior and treatment of marihuana users in the United States in the 1950s. Becker

15

Ashmore et al., 2001: 25. Marques et al., 2003: 402. 17 So Kidder-Stewart, 1975: 26–35. 18 Simmel, 1955: 48–49; cf. Marques et al., 2003: 400–02. 19 We should speak of deviant forms of belief rather than of heresies or heretics, especially since this kind of terminology is an anachronism. ‘Heretics’ and ‘apostates’ are the labels for the losers in the doctrinal struggle and ‘orthodoxy’ has to do with the final result rather than with the point of departure of a complex and prolonged process. 16

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defines deviance “as the infraction of some agreed-upon rule”.20 He continues, I then go on to ask who breaks rules, and to search for the factors in their personalities and life situations that might account for the infractions . . . social groups create deviance by making the rules whose infraction constitutes deviance, and by applying those rules to particular people and labeling them as outsiders. From this point of view, deviance is not a quality of the act the person commits, but rather a consequence of the application by others of rules and sanctions to an ‘offender.’ The deviant is one to whom that label has been successfully applied; deviant behavior is behavior that people so label. 21

As a social construct, deviance is the result of social interaction: societies, groups or individuals use a common system of norms and values to point out, mark off and isolate individuals or groups that for some reasons are defined as deviant (e.g., drug-addicts, prostitutes, homosexuals, criminals or other law-breakers). Deviance cannot be predicated about actions as such. This label can only be applied to actions as they receive a negative social response or reaction.22 Deviance is nearly always linked to a theme of moral meanings, of a desire to distinguish the evil and wicked from the good: “A key feature of deviance is that people who are different; who depart from societal, group, or even individual standards of ‘natural’ behavior are considered to be not just different but bad.”23 Accordingly, deviance denotes any understanding or behavior that is perceived by a particular social group as a violation of their given norms or conventions: “In social science theory, deviance refers to those behaviors and conditions assessed to jeopardize the interests and social standing of persons who negatively label the behavior or condition.”24 Interactionist theories of deviance, like interactionist theories generally, pay attention to how social actors define each other and their environments. The advantage of an interactionist perspective is that it continually reminds us to ask whose definitions we are hearing and whose interests they serve. 25 One of the forerunners of the symbolic interactionist approach to social deviance, Edwin Lemert, distinguishes between primary and secondary deviation: primary deviance is concerned with how deviant behavior arises (norm-violating acts before a pejorative label is affixed), and secondary deviation is concerned with the social process by which the deviants come to be regarded as outsiders, and with the consequences of 20

Becker, 1991: 8. Becker, 1991: 8–9. 22 Cf. Barclay, 1995: 115. 23 Marques et al., 2003: 401. 24 Malina-Neyrey, 1991a: 100. 25 Barclay, 1995: 125. 21

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such labeling for the deviants (norm-violating acts after the pejorative label has been affixed).26 An important aspect in this interactionist perspective is the categorization or labeling of someone/something as deviant by the ascription of names, titles, abuses, invectives, etc. Labeling theory focuses on the interaction between deviants and those who label them as deviants: “A central facet of labeling theory is that deviance should not be regarded simply as a set of characteristics possessed by the deviant.”27 The purpose of labeling is to cut off the rule-breaker from the rest of the social group by invoking socially shared assumptions that someone thus labeled is essentially and qualitatively different from other members of this group, i.e., an outsider.28 The result of this process of deviance is a total change of the identity of the rule-breaker into that of a deviant. As a result, the deviant “acquires a master status derived from the particular area of deviance engaged in”.29 The crucial value for the present study of the process of name-calling and boundary-making is that it points to the important function of shaping and enforcing boundaries, of isolating the deviants and of maintaining unity and reinforcing norms and normative value systems within a social group, i.e., the formation of a shared social identity.30 Howard Becker highlights three key questions in the labeling process: i. Who applies the label of deviant to whom? ii. What consequences does the application of a label have for the person labeled? iii. Under what circumstances is the label of deviant successfully applied? 31

These questions can be further elaborated by an outline of the typical process of deviance. Building on descriptions by Bruce Malina and Jerome Neyrey of the characteristic elements of a typical deviance process, four main stages can be delineated. A group, community or society, i. interprets some behavior or understanding as deviant; ii. defines the alleged person(s) who behave or understand like that as deviant(s) (labeling); iii. accords the treatment considered appropriate to such deviant(s) (denunciation); iv. shapes a master status for the alleged deviant(s) (retrospective interpretation).32

Particular attention should be given to the group that interprets and defines the deviant(s). As pointed out by Kai Erikson, “The critical variable in the study of deviance . . . is the social audience rather than the individual 26

Lemert, 1951: 22–23, 75–76; idem., 1972: 48. Pietersen, 1997: 346. 28 Malina-Neyrey, 1991a: 106–07. 29 Pietersen, 1997: 347. 30 Cf. Marques et al., 2003: 400–24. 31 Becker, 1964: 3. 32 Malina-Neyrey, 1991a: 102–07. 27

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actor, since it is the audience which eventually determines whether or not an episode of behavior or any class of episodes is labeled as deviant”.33 The person or group that defines deviance is formally known as ‘the agent of censure’, i.e., the people who make and reinforce societal rules or norms.34 These can be ‘the rule creators’, i.e., those who make and enforce societal rules and/or ‘moral entrepreneurs’, i.e., the primary agents, who construct and apply meanings to persons and behavior that they define as morally adequate or inadequate respectively. Rule creators and moral entrepreneurs (not necessarily the same people) form interest groups, which are coalitions focusing on shared and distinct interests of group members. A rule maker or enforcer must justify the existence of his position and win the respect of those with whom he deals. 35 They do this by defining certain behaviors or actions and those who engage in them as inimical to their values and interests. As a result, these agents of censure give groups a sense of cohesion by drawing or redrawing social and ideological boundaries. All this can be achieved by converting others to one’s own point of view, that is, by developing a counter ideology, i.e., alternative values, attitudes and beliefs, which can then be introduced in order to redirect a group’s tolerance or intolerance.36 Harold Garfinkel describes the process of deviance in terms of a “status degradation ceremony”. This ceremony is defined as, “Any communicative work between persons, whereby the public identity of an actor is transformed into something looked on as a lower in the local scheme of social types”.37 According to Garfinkel, this is a public ceremony, which involves several components: the denouncer, the party to be denounced (the perpetrator), the thing that is being blamed on the perpetrator (the event), and the witnesses to the denunciation. Garfinkel identifies eight steps of public denunciation: i. Both the perpetrator and the event must be removed from the realm of the ordinary and placed in the realm of the extraordinary. ii. Both the perpetrator and the event must not be seen as unique, but as typically symbolic of some negative feature(s) of human existence. The typical characteristics of both the perpetrator and the event must be appreciated by the witnesses by means of the availability of a dialectical counterpart. In this way the witnesses cannot, ideally, conceive of the perpetrator or the event without reference to this positive counter-conception.

33

Erikson, 1964: 11. Malina-Neyrey, 1991a: 102. 35 Becker, 1991: 156. 36 Malina-Neyrey, 1991a: 103–04. 37 Garfinkel, 1956: 420. 34

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iii. The denouncer must be regarded by the witnesses as a public rather than a private figure. As a public figure, the denouncer is perceived to draw upon communal experience rather than upon unique, personal experiences. iv. The denouncer must highlight the core values of the witnesses and deliver the denunciation in the name of those core values. v. The denouncer must be invested with the right to speak in the name of these ultimate values. vi. The denouncer must be seen by the witnesses as a supporter of these values. vii. The witnesses must be made to experience their distance from the person who is being denounced. viii. The denounced person must be defined as standing outside the legitimate order. He must be placed ‘outside’; he must be made ‘strange’.38

This way of outlining the process of deviance gives us a hint of the main issues involved. The deviance process normally consists of the deviant(s) (the outsider[s]), the denouncer (the agent of censure), the core group of witnesses (the insiders) and the norms and values applied and reinforced. This outline demonstrates that a process of deviance is ultimately a matter of a social degradation, in that it removes a person (persons) from an accepted social position into a position of denunciation and shame. So far, this discussion has drawn attention to a couple of important issues. First, deviance is the product of social interaction and must be understood in the context of social conflicts. Responsibility for morality and deviance does not rest with the individual alone but with the social body, the group in which the individual is embedded: “It is because something is amiss in the functioning of the social body that individual deviance crops up.”39 Furthermore, the process of deviating is a contest of power. According to John Lofland, Deviance is the name of the conflict game in which individuals or loosely organized small groups with little power are strongly feared by a well-organized, sizable community or by a majority who have a large amount of power.40

Hence, deviance is ultimately a struggle for power and the process of deviating concerns a struggle of the right to power and authority within a group: who claims the right to create and impose rules and norms? Whose values and norms will win? As a result, deviance processes may affirm and reinforce certain authority structures. Normally those within a group who enjoy economical, political or religious influence and power impose their norms and values on others and decide what is normative and deviant behavior respectively. But to break somebody’s rules is not anything unique in the type of conflict called deviance. As Lofland points out, 38

Garfinkel, 1956: 422–23. I am here using Pieterson’s (1997: 347–48) concise adaptation of Garfinkel’s steps. 39 Malina, 2001: 65. 40 Lofland, 1969: 14.

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The issue, then, is not rule violation per se; rather it is rule violation in the context of relative power, size, degree of organization and sense of fear among the parties in conflict. Deviance is rule violation only in the limited sense that it involves violating the rules of relatively large minorities or majorities who are powerful, well organized and highly fearful of individuals or loosely organized or small groups who lack power.41

A common denominator to all labeling processes is that those who feel threatened by somebody will categorize or label the other as belonging to a certain category.42 The rule-maker or moral entrepreneur may thus be in a position in which he does not actually have the right or the power to denounce someone, but his denunciation may be a sign of his struggle for power and ultimately of the struggle for his own existence. We must also keep in mind that an individual or a group may be labeled deviant, not because a rule or norm has actually been broken, but because the individual or the group has shown disrespect to the enforcer of the rule. The perception of someone as deviant discredits and devalues them, and thus reduces their persuasive powers.43 Thus, several studies demonstrate that the identification of deviants can perform the positive function of maintaining the boundaries of an insecure community.44 Collective responses and condemnation of deviant acts may sustain the solidarity and coherence of the community. The derogation of deviants legitimizes people’s beliefs in positive ingroup distinctiveness, with the result that people’s commitment to the group is reinforced.45 Rodney Napier and Matti Gerschenfeld capture this well: Deviance helps members to master norms (it is a demonstration of what should not be done) and helps them to be more articulate about these norms. In addition, it helps them to comprehend what their group is and what their group is not (to feel offended by an act and to see others similarly offended provides information on oneself and on the group that could be gained in no other way). Often, the individual perceives his or her social identity only when it has become problematic . . . In a sense, the deviant behavior provides a social identity. 46

The deviance process can be described as the process through which a group arrives at common understandings or revives a waning solidarity. Derogation of those who deviate from the ingroup is a prescriptive process, which depends on norms that describe whether the ingroup characteristics are ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in light of the perceivers’ motivations. In analyzing social group processes, in which people evaluative and upgrade likable 41

Lofland, 1969: 19. Cf. Lofland, 1969: 42–50. 43 Marques et al., 2003: 401. 44 Barclay, 1995: 117–18. 45 Marques et al., 2003: 417–19. 46 Napier-Gerschenfeld, 1993: 156. 42

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ingroup members and downgrade unlikable ingroup members (‘the black sheep effect’), Marques et al. conclude that deviants are particularly severely derogated when they deviate from the norms that define positive ingroup distinctiveness.47 At the same time, deviance ultimately contributes to the reinforcement of the group’s normative system: “deviant acts, or rather the collective responses of condemnation and punishment which they attract, serve to sustain the solidarity and coherence of the community, providing a fundamental source of moral instruction”.48 To a certain extent then, deviance may become functional for the ingroup: “By punitively reacting to those who fail to commit themselves to the group, normative members may express, discover, or reinforce their own commitment to those norms.”49 Thus, we acknowledge that the outcome of deviance normally reflects some underlying power struggles. In the early Christian texts in focus of this study, there is a basic conflict of power and authority between the author of these letters and the deviants under attack therein. Whose norms and values will win? What are the tools employed in this struggle for power and legitimacy? Which authority structures are enforced through this struggle? Lloyd Pietersen notes that the results of the deviance process “are profoundly influenced by techniques of persuasion and pressure. Propaganda is thus a key weapon in the deviance process.”50 The exaggeration of hostility, whether conscious or not, serves both to sharpen the identity of the ingroup and to strengthen its internal cohesion.51 Accordingly, we need to pay close attention to the polemical and rhetorical methods employed in this process by the authors concerned. We also become aware of the close connection between the power structures and the right to create and enforce rules and norms.52 We have noted the fact that the study of making and unmaking rules is an intrinsic part of the study of deviance. Every system of social organization imposes a discipline on its members: it specifies goals that they may legitimately pursue, and the means they may legitimately employ. Thus, every rule creates a potential for deviance; wherever there are rules, there is potential 47

Marques et al., 2003, 408–09. Hewstone, 1995: 180. 49 Marques et al., 2003: 417. 50 Pietersen, 1997: 347. 51 Cf. Gager, 1975: 88. 52 In social psychology, there is sometimes a distinction made between ‘rules’ and ‘norms’. With the term ‘norms’, I refer to values that define acceptable and unacceptable attitudes and behaviours, i.e., propositions that prescribe beliefs, perceptions and behaviours of group members. In a social context, ‘norms’ prescribe members of a group what they should think, feel and behave if they are to belong to the group and share its identity. Cf. Esler, 2003: 20; Marques et al., 2003: 402. 48

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deviance.53 Furthermore, norms and rules provide the basis for differentiation between the ingroup and the outgroup (what is normal is generally contingent with the given cultural context). Norms and rules are also criteria that define acceptable and proscribed ranges of deviance within a group. This leads us to reflect further on the crucial role that the making of rule and norm play in the formation process of social identity. The labeling perspective has its vigorous critics.54 It is often argued that the theory is not a systematic theory, and that it is so relativistic that nothing is really deviant. Further, the approach does not intend to explain the origins or the motivation of the deviant act as such, or to explain why societies react as they do to acts that they consider deviant, but it focuses on the reaction to these acts and the effects of that reaction. This may give the impression that the deviant is merely passive, like “(some)one whose actions are simply pounced upon by arbitrary labeling authorities”.55 The labeling perspective has also been criticized for being too relativistic and too imprecise in identifying who is doing the labeling, what labels are being used, who is considered deviant and what the results of being labeled actually are.56 I acknowledge that there are certain limitations to the interactionist sociology of deviance. However, when applied to particular, people, places and events, the labeling theory becomes a useful conceptual tool. Investigating and understanding the local circumstances of a conflict and process of deviance are therefore crucial. Due to the fragmentary character of the New Testament texts, we cannot pay attention to actors on both sides of the labeling process, since we do not have first hand access to the deviants, but only to the remains of the norms and values enforced by the rule-maker or the denouncer for the purpose of appealing to the core values of the group of witnesses (the ingroup). Nevertheless, labeling theory is 53

Cf. Cohen, 1966: 4–6. The sociology of normative rules is concerned with both those rules that define deviant acts or offences, and those that define deviant roles and characters (Cohen, 1966: 31). 54 E.g., Taylor-Walton, 1973: 139–71; Gove, 1980; Sumner, 1994; Downes-Rock, 1998: 202–08. See also Barclay, 1997: 117–18; Still, 1999: 92–94, 97–98. 55 Barclay, 1995: 117. 56 In an additional chapter in the second edition to his classic Outsiders from 1963, Becker demurs to “what has rather unfortunately been called ‘labeling theory’” (1991: 178). In particular, Becker complains that his and others’ original statements concerning the process of ‘categorization’ have been called theories, “at least theories of the fully articulated kind they are now criticized for not being”. Becker (1991: 181) gives his own definition: “Labeling theory, then, is neither a theory, with all the achievements and obligations that go with the title, nor focused so exclusively on the act of labeling as some have thought. It is rather, a way of looking at a general area of human activity; a perspective whose value will appear, if at all, in increased understanding of things formerly obscure.”

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valuable for the purpose of analyzing the deviant groups in the biblical texts precisely because it begins with the assumption that no act is intrinsically deviant in itself.57 From the perspective of this study, the benefit of the labeling theory is that it draws attention to the significance of the labelers in the process of defining the deviance and to the effect that this process may have on the deviant(s) as well as on the members of the ingroup. 1.3. Self-Categorization Theory The third theoretical perspective that I find helpful in discussing the construction of early Christian identities is the theory of selfcategorization, which originated in European social psychology in the 1970s and 1980s. In the discussion so far, it has become rather evident that conflict and deviance processes are closely related to the processes of identity formation. According to social psychologist Henri Tajfel, “social groups are not ‘things’; they are processes”.58 Further, a group exists because people categorize themselves as members of the group.59 In a series of experiments, Tajfel has demonstrated that, when people were categorized into groups, they immediately started to discriminate in favor of their own group. Once people had categorized themselves and identified with the group, they started to compare themselves with relevant outgroups and to seek positive distinctiveness. Merely the sense of belonging to a particular group may thus in itself engender certain attitudes to those who, in relation to the group boundary, are categorized as insiders. In addition, those who belong to the same group do so because they cultivate the same interests, ideas or norms, which express their self-understanding and identity within the belief/ideology and praxis/behavior that they cultivate and articulate together. This keeps the ingroup members together, creating a sense of belonging that may make them different from those outside the group. Stressing the interaction between personal and social identity, the social identity theorist John Turner argues that a person’s self-conception tends to vary in particular group situations, notably by a movement along a continuum from pronounced personal identity at one end of the spectrum to a pronounced social identity at the other. The central idea is that of selfcategorization, which refers to the operation of the categorization process as the cognitive basis for group behavior. Self-categorization means that people define themselves in terms of their membership to particular shared 57

Cf. Pietersen, 1997: 345–46, n. 3. Tajfel, 1982: 485. 59 See Tajfel, 1981. 58

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social categories.60 According to Turner, “There is a depersonalization of the self ― a ‘cognitive re-definition of the self’ ― from unique attributes and individual differences to shared category memberships and associated stereotypes”.61 For example, when a member participates in a group activity, he tends to depersonalize himself and to think of himself in terms of the other members of the group, or at least in contrast to other groups. Self-categorization as a group member leads people to develop a shared group-level fate and regulates whether or not people conform, and expect others to conform, to the group norms. Further, group behavior occurs when people cognitively structure a social context in a way that maximizes the clarity or distinctiveness of the intergroup boundaries (a process that has been formally described in the terms of ‘the principle of metacontrast’).62 In any such categorization process, people tend to exaggerate the differences between the categories (accentuation of intergroup difference) and simultaneously to minimize the differences within the categories (assimilation or intragroup similarity).63 According to Turner, members of a social group belong together in the sense that they stereotype themselves in order to enhance the sense of identity shared with ingroup members and to accentuate their similarities within the group and the features that bind them together (intraclass similarities), while heightening the sense of contrast between themselves and accentuating differences to outgroups (interclass differences).64 Marques et al. draw a similar conclusion from a series of tests on likable and unlikable ingroup and outgroup members: ingroup identification increased intragroup differentiation, which, in turn, reinforced ingroup identification.65 This points to the conclusion that derogation of the ingroup deviants increases the subjective validity of the social identity of the ingroup. As an image of depersonalization, i.e., when a person stops being preoccupied by personal agendas and becomes concerned with the interests of the group, Turner draws attention to the development of the idea of prototypicality, i.e., to the prototypical group member.66 Social identity theory and self-categorization theory see the self, the group and the prototypical group member as cognitive categories. This means that they are representations in the mind. Contexts create categories and categories 60

Turner et al., 1987: 42–43, 49. Cf. Esler, 2003: 25. Turner, 1999: 11: cf. Turner et al., 1987: 50–51. 62 Turner et al., 1987: 46–47. 63 Horrell, 2002: 312. Cf. Tajfel, 1981; Tajfel-Turner, 1979. 64 Turner et al., 1987: 49. 65 Marques et al., 2003: 417. 66 Turner et al., 1987: 46–47, 79–80. 61

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generate the prototypical group member. This idea develops from the practical behavior of the actual group members, in particular from its most prominent members, such as the leader(s) of the group: Consistent with this perspective, one important way in which self-categorization theory conceptualises the leader (the group member who is likely to exercise most influence in any given instance) is as the ingroup prototype. As the (most) prototypical group member the leader best epitomizes (in the sense of both defining and being defined by) the social category of which he or she is a member. This means that to be seen as displaying leadership in a given context a person needs to be maximally representative of the shared social identity and consensual position of the group. 67

Inside the group, members who act like the prototypical group member will be more appreciated, gain a higher status and have more influence on the other members. Members who deviate from the ideals of the group will be less liked and some sort of reprimand (accusations, shame, expulsion, etc.) will be affected if the deviation is large enough. In cases where the members identify enough with the group and the group values, these reprimands makes the member more motivated to change in order to reestablish his honor within the group. In other words, the ingroup members who conform to the ingroup prototype validate people’s social identity, and thus attract positive reactions. By contrast, deviant behavior jeopardizes people’s confidence in the distinctiveness of the ingroup’s positive characteristics, which are compared to relevant outgroups and which thus result in negative reactions. As previously pointed out, derogation of ingroup deviants may be functional for the group since it protects its positive social identity by enforcing normative solidarity.68 Turner points out that a factor that tends to affect the reaction of the individual to different types of crises in the group relates to his or her degree of commitment to the group.69 When a group is threatened, a member with a low commitment saves himself by leaving the group, while a member with a high commitment affirms the group by stereotyping the outgroup and by exalting the ingroup. In effect, threats may serve to strengthen ingroup identity and group cohesion. In conclusion, Rikard Roitto provides a useful summary of the multiple functions of the ingroup prototype for the social dynamics of the group: i. Description of the group: The prototype describes what the group is like; its character, its value, its goals, its belief and its norms.

67

Haslam-Platow, 2001: 66. Marques et al., 2003: 406. 69 Turner et al., 1987: 52–53, 60–61. 68

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ii. Distinctiveness of the group: The prototype contrasts the group with the outgroup stereotype(s) and ideally makes the group feel distinct. The prototype therefore changes with the context. iii. Value of the group: The prototype is used to compare the group with the outgroup stereotype(s) and to state why the group is better, which can increase self-esteem. iv. Evaluation of the group: The prototype is the standard, by which the group evaluates itself. v. Self-stereotyping of the individual: The individual group-members, who identify with the group, strive to perceive themselves and to be perceived by others as similar to the prototype. vi. Normative guidance for the individual in the group: The prototype prescribes norms. The norms regulate behavior, attitudes and beliefs. vii. Evaluation of individuals: Those who do not adhere to the norms of the prototype can be judged as deviants. Those who fulfill the norms are praiseworthy exemplars. The prototype also gives a standard for group members, by which to evaluate both themselves and others. viii. Ingroups status differentiation: The prototype differentiates ingroup status. Those members who manage to present themselves as prototypical will have more influence and status.70

1.4. A Theory of the Formation of Early Christian Identities in Ephesus Where do we go from here? As pointed out, the early Christian texts that relate to Ephesus show that conflict and rivalry between various groups of Christ-believers played a vital role in the local processes of identity formation. That there were several groups of Christ-believers in Ephesus under the influences of various Jesus-traditions (Pauline, Johannine and other traditions) by the end of the first century seems evident, but I doubt that we can say much more beyond this point. As pointed out in chapter one, our main focus must be on the texts as the main vehicles for forming and articulating the authors’ understanding of Christian identity in that geographical area. When elaborating on a theory of identity formation among the early Christ-believers in Ephesus, we must first acknowledge the crucial role that struggles and rivalries played in the development and formation of distinct Christian identities. Conflicts related to doctrine and behavior shape and define boundaries and, these boundaries reveal and articulate in turn significant markers of boundaries and identity. In these conflicts, we find an ongoing process of stereotyping and labeling others as untrue, false, heretical or apostate (these labels are, of course, always in accordance with the view of those who apply them). Accordingly, we need to pay attention to the processes of status degradation, through which 70

Roitto, 2008: 109.

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deviant status is ascribed to certain persons and groups in order to separate the outsiders from the insiders.71 The results of deviant behavior reflect the underlying power struggles. In Ephesus, we find fundamental conflicts of power and authority over the control of the Jesus-tradition between, on the one hand, the authors and the ingroup members addressed in the early Christian texts and, on the other, those who are labeled as deviants. What are the boundary lines drawn in the various texts in question? Whose norms and values will win? What are the tools employed in this struggle for power? Which are the structures of authority and legitimacy enforced in this struggle? Since the results of deviance are profoundly influenced by techniques of persuasion and pressure, through which rhetorical propaganda becomes a key weapon in the process of deviating (particularly when a group is in a minority position, as for example Paul and Timothy were in 1–2 Tim.), we need to pay particular attention to the polemical and rhetorical devices employed in this process. Furthermore, we must pay particular attention to the language employed in order to increase the cohesion of the ingroup. In the group-oriented and the fiercely competitive, or agonistic, cultures of the ancient Mediterranean societies, honor and shame were key concepts by which to describe the function of social control and the ways in which people structured their social interactions.72 Honor and shame became the central elements that bound a society or a group together or, in conflicts, the various groups in society who were competing over the right to be honorable. In ancient sources, this kind of terminology (honor discourse) was primarily used as a group-maintaining device, often employed as a “means of enhancing adherence to the group and defusing the positive appeal of other groups or the negative pressure put on the minority group by the larger society”.73 In the heavily group-oriented world of the ancient Mediterranean culture, ethnic groups and families were the most significant groups and the prime carriers of honor.74 As we will see, the concept of family/household (oi]koj /oi0ki/a) is the key group-maintaining device in First and Second Timothy.

71

E.g., Pietersen, 2004: 31–34. See Malina, 2001: 27–52; deSilva, 1999: 1–33. According to Malina and Neyrey (1991: 25–26), “Honor is the positive value of a person in his or her own eyes plus the positive appreciation of that person in the eyes of his or her social group. In this perspective, honor is a claim to positive worth along with the social acknowledgment of that worth by others . . . At stake is how others see us, and so, how we see ourselves . . . Honor, then, serves as a register of social rating which entitles a person to interact in specific ways with equals, superiors, and subordinates, according to the prescribed cultural cues of society.” 73 deSilva, 1996: 51. 74 Malina, 2001: 134–36; cf. Esler, 1997: 124. 72

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We have also paid attention to issues of ethnicity and identity in chapter two. Secondly, since we do not actually know whether the early Christian texts relating to Ephesus were received, accepted and embraced in the way that the authors desired or expected, I suggest that we do better to look for textual prototypes of Christian identities that we do know existed among the early Christ-believers in Ephesus rather than seeking, more or less hypothetically, to reconstruct the specific social groups behind the texts. In doing this, I suggest that we should pay particular attention to the authors’ use of contrasting models: positive and negative examples, antitypes and prototypes, etc. The authors want to bring the ingroups together by stereotyping others and by reminding them of the single category (beliefs, traditions and norms) that they have in common. In doing so, they form the idea of the prototypical group member and they seek to encourage the members of the ingroups to identify with these prototypes, in order to increase the cohesion within the groups.75 Hence, the idea of the prototypical group member will be a key concept in the following analysis. Towards the beginning of the second century CE we may discern several attempts to spell out the prototypical group member with distinct types of identities being formed and reinforced in Ephesus (I will elaborate further on this in chapter four). We now turn to the most explicit identity, the one that is spelt out in the Letters to Timothy.

2. The Process of Labeling and Identity Formation in First and Second Timothy Today there is a growing scholarly awareness that the Pastorals, and in particular First and Second Timothy, should not be read primarily as a general church manual on ecclesiastical discipline or order,76 but as a direct response to the serious threat of the activities of ‘false’ teachers in a local community of believers in Ephesus.77 In fact, there is no other 75

A prototype of a group of people will be a representation of a person thought to typify the group. Such a prototype will not be a current or an actual member of the group, but rather the image of an ideal person who embodies the character of the group. See Smith-Zarate, 1990: 243–62. 76 So, e.g., Weiss, 1894: 29; Zahn, 1909: 29–33, 43. 77 This is clearly spelt out by Lütgert in his commentary from 1909. Before him, Bauer (1835: 56–58, 75–75, 86–88), deWette (1847: 3, 25, 62, 118–20), Mangold (1856), Holtzmann (1880: 1–6) and others had stressed the importance of reading the Pastorals against the backdrop of false teaching. For some modern scholars who stress the significance of false teaching for the shaping of the argument of the Pastorals, see Fee, 1988: 7–10; MacDonald, 1988: 177–80; 225–29; Towner, 1989:21–45, 140–41, 241 (cf.

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argument in any of the letters traditionally ascribed to Paul that is so strongly colored by a group of opponents and the theme of false teaching. Although the identity of the opponents and the content of their teaching are not spelt out in detail in First and Second Timothy, the polemic against false teaching forms the backdrop of the argument at almost every turn. In fact, more than a third of these letters are more or less directly concerned with false teaching or with opponents to the faith.78 Accordingly, Egbert Schlarb appropriately opens his detailed study on the role of sound teaching in the Pastorals: “Die Pastoralbriefe sind Zeugnisse einer massiven und intensiven Auseinandersetzung mit Irrlehre und Irrlehrern, mit Häresie und Häretikern.”79 In a similar way, D.G. Horrell asserts with regard to the rhetorical aim of the Pastoral Epistles that they “are concentrated attempts to stigmatize and marginalize alternatives, to portray them as destructive, threatening and worthless, using a host of conventional pejoratives.”80 The discussion concerning the ‘false’ teachers in the Pastorals has generally aimed at defining the specific identity and teaching of those teachers. I do of course not deny the value of such analyses, but we should also remember the purpose of these letters. They were obviously not written in order to correct the teachers or to change their views or positions, but in order to form a coherent and united social identity in the ingroup, an identity that was so distinct that the addressees of the letters would be motivated and prepared to separate from those who were labeled as deviants. As a means to reach this goal, the author employs his strongest rhetorical arsenal. Hence, it is not the reprimand of these teachers per se that is the ultimate intention of the Pastorals. Rather, those who were labeled as deviants are used as negative stereotypes, in order to form a positive normative identity, or a normative prototype in the ingroup. Such a kind of polemical rhetoric does not even aim at those who are hesitant; it

idem., 2006: 41–50); Schlarb, 1990: 14–15; Thiessen, 1995: 317–38; Pietersen, 1997: 349; Mounce, 2000: lviii–lix; Trebilco, 2004: 209–35. 78 We find the clearest description of the ‘false’ teachers/teaching in 1 Tim. 1:3–7, 18–20; 4:1–5; 6:3–5, 20–21; 2 Tim. 2:14–18, 23; 3:1–9, and 4:3–4. There are also some passages that reflect false teaching activities in the believing community in more general terms, i.e., 1 Tim. 1:8–11; 2:1–7, 9–15; 3:14–16; 4:6–10; 5:11–15; 6:6–10; 2 Tim. 1:13– 15; 2:24–26, and 3:14–17. In addition, there are a couple of passages that generally speak of opposing or reverting persons without them being explicitly pointed out as ‘false’ teachers, especially 2 Tim. 1:13–15 and 4:14–15. In addition to this, the virtue lists of bishops, presbyters, and deacons (1 Tim. 3:1–13) may function as dialectical counterparts to the behavior of the deviants. 79 Schlarb, 1990: 14. 80 Horrell, 1993: 97.

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served ultimately to approve Timothy in his mission, as well as those who were prepared to identify with this mission. Sean Freyne pays attention to the fact that social conflicts in the Hellenistic-Roman world were often expressed in oral and written rhetorical compositions by means of the conscious set of rules for vituperatio.81 The aim of this rhetorical device was to destroy the social and political persona of the adversary.82 Analyzing the language of vituperation in Matthew and John, Freyne concludes that these authors employ two complementary motifs, which could be seen as the reverse sides of the same coin, namely community building.83 The first motif concerns the discrediting of the opponents, employed at the points where particular and exclusive claims for the author’s own community need to be established. The second motif concerns the use of the opponent’s failures and inadequacies as a means of warning for the author’s own community. These two motifs are clearly evident in the use of polemical motifs in First and Second Timothy. Both the author and the deviating teachers were engaged in a struggle over values, status and authority. In this context, the rhetoric of vituperatio serves to demarcate the opponents by casting doubt on their claims to authority and legitimacy, and to discourage any potential adherents from listening to them and following them.84 Robert Karris pays attention to the “stock schema” behind the polemic in the Pastorals, by which the Greco-Roman philosophers typically attacked the sophists, and which resulted in a stereotypical description of the opponents.85 In particular, Karris draws parallels to this language in the works of philosophers such as Plato, Aristotle, Dio Chrysostom and Maximus of Tyre. Philo, the proponent of Jewish wisdom, and the advocates of Christian wisdom, Tatian, Athenagoras and Clement of Alexandria, also make similar attacks on the sophists. The common features of such a “stock schema” include the following elements: the opponents are accused of being greedy deceivers, they do not practice what they teach, they cause verbal disputes and quibbles and they are morally corrupt.86 Karris notes that the main intention behind the employment of such a schema is “to cause aversion for the sophist and sympathy for the 81

See Freyne, 1985: 118–19. Aristotle (Rhet. 3.19.1; 1.9.4, 41) gives the following list of virtues that should be mentioned in a laudatio: justice, courage, self-control, magnificence, magnanimity, liberality, gentleness, practical and speculative wisdom. An evil character is proved by the opposites; cf. Cicero, De Orat. 2.43.182; 2.11.45–46. 83 Freyne, 1985: 132. 84 Cf. Collins, 1986: 313–14. 85 Karris, 1973: 551–55. 86 E.g., Philo, Vit. Mos. 2.212; Post. 86; Det. Pot. 73; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 4.33–36; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.2.21.2–3.24.4. See Karris, 1973: 551–54. 82

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writer’s position in the minds of his readers”.87 This is particularly highlighted in Lucian’s brief description of the purpose of such language; it ‘induces the public to laugh and sneer at us’ (Piscator 25). Most importantly, Karris continues, “it is the author’s desire to show that he alone has the right to and actually does impart the truth, which he and his disciples alone have the power to teach correctly”.88 Hence, the stock character of the polemic of the Pastorals warns us to be methodologically careful about using this polemic to ascertain the teachings and behavior of the opponents. However, this kind of terminology does not necessarily imply that that the opponents are fictitious. Karris finds five distinct elements in the polemics, which do not conform to the scheme, and which point to real elements of the opponents’ teaching.89 In First and Second Timothy, the public denunciation of the opponents, by which the status of the ‘false’ teachers is effectively changed, is clearly part of the argument in this letter. This is accomplished through the act of labeling: “One of his [the author of the Pastorals] key weapons against the opponents is name-calling.”90 This involves a systematic downplaying of the opponents by minimizing their qualities and by exaggerating their defects.91 In stereotyping the opponents, this kind of polemics serves to remove the deviants out of the realm of the ordinary and to place them in the realm of the extraordinary. In particular, Lloyd Pietersen in his study The Polemic of the Pastorals: A Sociological Examination of the Development of Pauline Christianity (2004) discusses the labeling process in the Pastorals. Drawing from insights from theories of the sociology of deviance, Pietersen distinguishes between the different elements and their role in the process of deviance: the denouncer (Paul), the party to be denounced (the ‘false’ teachers), the thing that is being blamed on the perpetrator (their behavior and teaching), and the witnesses to the denunciation (the believing community). Pietersen outlines eight steps in the act of public denunciation in the Pastorals

87

Karris, 1973: 556. Karris, 1973: 563. 89 Karris (1973: 562–63) finds the following real elements in the description of the deviant teachers in the Pastorals: i) the teachers are Jewish Christ-believers who teach the Law, 1 Tim. 1:7; Tit. 3:9; cf. Tit. 1:14; ii) they teach Jewish myths, Tit. 1:14; cf. 1 Tim. 1:4; 4:7; 2 Tim. 4:4, and genealogies, 1 Tim. 1:4; Tit. 3:9; iii) they forbid marriage and enjoin abstinence from food, 1 Tim. 4:3–5; iv) they teach that the resurrection has already occurred, 2 Tim. 2:18; v) they may have had significant success among the women, especially because of their teaching about emancipation, 2 Tim. 3:6–7; cf. 1 Tim. 2:11–15; 5:13; Tit. 2:5. 90 Karris, 1973: 549. 91 Cf. Spicq, 1969: 86 n. 1. 88

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(building on the eight steps of Garfinkel’s status degradation process; see above): i. The opponents are removed out of the realm of the ordinary. Hymenaeus and Alexander are blasphemers and must be handed over to Satan (1 Tim. 1:20). The opponents pay attention ‘to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons’ (1 Tim. 4:1); they are like Jannes and Jambres who opposed Moses (2 Tim. 3:8). ii. The stereotypical nature of the polemics of the Pastorals, in particular the vice lists of 1 Tim. 1:9ff.; 6:4ff.; 2 Tim. 3:2–5; and Titus 3:3, serve to detract from specific events and to typify the opponents as evil. Paul (1 Tim. 1:13–16; 2 Tim. 3:14), Timothy (1 Tim. 4:12–16), and Titus (Tit. 2:7f) function as dialectical counterparts to the opponents. The qualities of e0pi/skopoi, presbu/teroi and dia/konoi (1 Tim. 3:1–13; Tit. 1:5–9) likewise serve as dialectical counterparts to the deeds of the opponents. iii. The denouncer is no less than Paul himself, whose identity as apostle (1 Tim. 1:1; 2:7; 2 Tim. 1:1; Tit. 1:1), herald and teacher (1 Tim. 2:7; 2 Tim. 1:11) highlights Paul as a public figure. Paul, as denouncer, underscores the core values of the witnesses (the communities addressed in the Pastorals). For example, he highlights love, a good conscience, and sincere faith in 1 Tim. 1:5; godliness is a major emphasis (1 Tim. 2:2; 3:16; 4:7, 8; 6:3, 5, 6, 11; 2 Tim. 3:5; Tit. 1:1). iv. Throughout the Pastorals, Paul’s right to speak in the name of these values is simply assumed. v. Paul’s insistent exhortation to Timothy and Titus to teach these duties (e.g., 1 Tim. 4:11; 6:2; 2 Tim. 4:2; Tit. 2:1) emphasizes that Paul himself is a firm supporter of these values. vi. Timothy and Titus (and through them the communities addressed) are urged to distance themselves from the opponents and their practices (e.g., 1 Tim. 4:7; 6:11, 20; 2 Tim. 3:5; Tit. 3:9–11). vii. Hymenaeus and Alexander, as key opponents, have been ritually separated from a place in the legitimate order; they have been turned over to Satan (1 Tim. 1:20). Although hope is held out that the opponents may return to the fold (2 Tim. 2:24ff.), they are currently perceived as in the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will (2 Tim. 2:25). Titus is exhorted to have nothing more to do with anyone who persists in causing divisions after two warnings (Tit. 3:10). 92

In this way, the author of the Pastorals turns a group of insiders into a group of outsiders; the positive merits of the teachers are reduced and their negative qualities are accentuated. The teachers, including their followers (e.g., 1 Tim. 1:5) are made into stereotypes with the purpose of moving them from the realm of the accepted/normal (the marks of the insiders) to the realm of the non-accepted/abnormal (the marks of the outsiders). Simultaneously, they are used as antitypes in order to strengthen the solidarity and self-understanding of the ingroup.

92

Pietersen, 2004: 33–34.

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Pietersen proposes that those who were labeled as deviants were not just ordinary insiders, but prominent insiders.93 He justifies this conclusion by the observation that the opponents functioned as teachers, and that the struggle between them and Paul/Timothy is a struggle about sound teaching.94 In the Pastoral Letters, the ministry of teaching belongs to the leaders as part of the task of the over-seer and the elders (1 Tim. 3:2; 5:17; cf. Tit. 1:9). Maybe these ‘deviants’ had first entered the community as travelling teachers, maybe even as Paul’s associates (cf. 2 Tim. 3:6; 2 Tim. 1:15), who argued that they were true representatives of the Pauline teaching or tradition.95 We get the impression that when First and Second Timothy were written, some of the leading teachers operated as members, or even as prominent leaders of the community of believers.96 To judge by the author’s strong denunciation of the teachers, it seems that the very existence of the Pauline group of believers in Ephesus was at stake. Of course, we cannot know if this really was the case, or if this was just part of the rhetorical strategy on the part of the author. In any case, in the 93 Pietersen, 2004: 33–34. Cf. Fee, 2000: 151; Trebilco, 2004: 211–12. From this Fee (1988: 7–8) suggests that 1 Tim. reflects the situation hinted at in Paul’s address to the Ephesian elders-overseers in Acts 20:30: ‘Even from among your own selves men will arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after them.” 94 See 1 Tim. 1:3, 7; 2:7, 12; 4:1, 11, 13, 16; 6:3; 2 Tim. 3:7, 14–17; 4:2–3. In contrast to the speculative use of the Law (1 Tim. 1:3–7), Timothy is called to a correct use of ta\ i9era_ gra/mmata (2 Tim. 3:13–17). 95 It is commonly suggested that the ‘false’ teachers were travelling apostles/teachers (e.g., Müller, 1976: 62; Thiessen, 1995: 325, 338; Marshall, 1999: 51). This impression is confirmed by the fact that we find a similar deviant phenomenon also occurring on Crete. Given the similarities between the deviant teaching in 1 Cor. and the Pastorals, it is likely that the deviants had their origin in the local community of believers (cf. the connection made between these communities in 1 Cor. 16:8, 12). However, as pointed out by Schlarb (1990: 141), “Von daher muß also zuerst an eine Wanderbewegung bzw. an ortsungebundene Wandercharismatiker gedacht werden. Die Irrlehrer der Pastoralbriefe könnten sich vielmehr aufgrund ihrer Bezeichnung als Paulusschüler bzw. ihrer Herkunft aus paulinischer Tradition in einem bestimmten Kreis bekannter Gemeinden bewegen und leben, ohne dabei einer der damaligen Wanderbewegungen angehören zu müssen.” The teachers’ prohibition of marriage may have been a development of Paul’s understanding of celibacy (1 Cor. 7:7–11), their view of female leadership a reflection of a Pauline understanding of man and woman ‘in Christ’ (Gal. 3:28), and their understanding of the resurrection as already realized (2 Tim. 2:18) an application of a Paul’s teaching on baptism and resurrection (Rom. 6:3–11; Col. 2:12; 3:1; Eph. 2:6). Cf. Thiessen, 1995: 330–31; Pietersen, 2004: 138–43. 96 Verner (1983: 179–80) suggests that the use of a)n upo/t aktoi (not rebellious) in the list of qualifications for elders in Tit. 1:6 indicates that the ‘false’ teachers came from subordinate groups in the community of believers rather than from the official leadership itself. However, the use of this term for unbelieving, disobedient persons in 1 Tim. 1:9 indicates that a)nupo/taktoi in Tit. 1:6 had more to do with general life-stile matters than with opposition of certain leadership structures.

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struggle for authority and influence within the ingroup, Paul and Timothy seem to have been the ‘underdogs’: Timothy is about to give up his mission of reproving those who ‘teach deviant doctrines’ (e9terodidaskalei=n; 1 Tim. 1:3–4, 18–20; 2 Tim. 1:6–8), and Paul himself is described as having been abandoned by his close co-workers and friends (2 Tim. 1:15–18; 4:9–10). Paul is about to lose the struggle for influence and authority over the group. This precarious situation is crucial for our understanding of the pungent rhetoric in this letter. 2.1. Motifs of Labeling There are two main reasons for labeling the teachers in First and Second Timothy: i) The teachers are portrayed as morally corrupt, and ii) they are described as a threat to common household values. First, and crucial for the rhetorical strategy of the author, is the apparent ambition to portray the ‘false’ teachers in negative ethical terms. This is mainly accomplished by the critique of the deviants’ moral deficiency, particularly in 1 Tim. 6:3–11 and 2 Tim. 2:22–3:9.97 These two passages have in common the elaboration of the argument through a contrast between the antitypes of the ‘false’ teachers and the prototype of the ‘true’/’faithful’ believer (Timothy). The primary purpose of these lists is to produce the effect of posters and to cause aversion towards the deviants in the minds of the readers.98 The author evidently wants to portray the deviant teachers as abnormal and obnoxious. In effect, boundaries are drawn that give practical markers of who belongs to the insiders and to the outsiders respectively. 97

It is however doubtful that the list of vices of 1 Tim. 1:9–10 is applicable to the moral behavior of the deviants themselves, especially since it seems to reflect a standard vice list of sinners and only severe and extraordinary crimes are mentioned: ‘the law is not made for a righteous man but for those who are lawless and disobedient, for the godless and sinful, for the unholy and profane, for those who kill their fathers or mothers, for murderers, fornicators, sodomites, slave traders, liars, perjurers and whatever else is contrary to [the] sound teaching.’ This list parallels the Decalogue, probably addressing the deviants’ aims to be teachers of the Law. As noted above, the author employs a traditional schema similar to the polemic of philosophers against sophists. The basic ethical values are Jewish, as correctly pointed out by Dibelius-Conzelmann (1972: 23) the list represents “a Hellenistic transformation of a Jewish ethics”. In fact, there is nothing specifically ‘Christian’ in this list; Jews and pagans would condemn these vices alike. The point intended with the list is to demonstrate that the deviants, who themselves wanted ‘to be teachers of the Law’ (1 Tim. 1:7), ironically are themselves condemned by the Law they seek to teach (cf. Marshall, 1999: 378). Hence, they are transformed into ‘outsiders’; they stand in practice alongside sinners, profanes and criminals, outside the community of true believers. 98 Cf. Dibelius-Conzelmann, 1972: 23; Karris, 1973: 554.

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In 1 Tim. 6:3–11, it is obvious that the object of the labeling is the ‘false’ teachers: they are portrayed as ‘conceited’ (tetu/fwtai), they ‘understand nothing’ (mhde\n e0pista&menoj), because they have a morbid interest in controversial questions and disputes about words, out of which arise ‘envy’ (fqo/noj), ‘strife’ (e)/rij), ‘abusive language’ (blasfhmi/ai), ‘evil suspicions’ (u(po/noiai ponhrai/), and ‘constant friction between men of depraved mind and deprived of the truth, who suppose that godliness is a means of gain’ (1 Tim. 6:5). Thereafter the teachers are seen in contrast to Timothy, who is portrayed as having the opposite qualities of the teachers: ‘righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness’ (dikaiosu/nhn, eu)se&beian, pi/stin, a)ga&phn, u(pomonh/n, prau+paqi/a n; 6:11). In 2 Tim. 2:22–3:9, the prototype Timothy is first described by a terminology similar to the previous passage: ‘righteousness, faith, love, peace . . . and gentleness’ (dikaiosu/nhn, pi/stin, a)ga&phn, ei0rh/nhn . . . e)n prau/+thti; 2:22, 26). The antitype is cast in an eschatological setting (e0n e0sxa/taij h(me/raij), followed by nineteen pejorative terms and expressions (2 Tim. 3:1–5). Most of the vocabulary has parallels in JewishHellenistic sources, particularly in 1QS 4.9–11 and in the writings of Philo.99 A word-play with the terms fi/lautoi (lovers of self) and fila/rguroi (lovers of money) describes the teachers as selfish and greedy. This is followed by an alliteration of negative (a-) terms: they are ‘ungrateful’ (a)xa&ristoi), ‘unholy’ (a)no&sioi), ‘unloving’ (a)/storgoi), ‘irreconcilable’ (a!spondoi), ‘without self-control’ (a)kratei=j), ‘brutal’ (a)nh/meroi), ‘haters of the good’ (a)fila/gaqoi, 3:2–3). This is further reinforced by a set of derogatory terms: they are ‘boastful’ (a)lazo/nej), ‘arrogant’ (u(perh/fanoi), ‘revilers’ (bla/sfhmoi), ‘disobedient to [their] parents’ (goneu=sin a)peiqei/j), ‘malicious gossipers’ (dia&boloi), ‘treacherous’ (prodo/tai), ‘reckless’ (propetei=j) and ‘conceited’ (tetufwme/noi, 3:2–4). With full force, the teachers are labeled as deviant, disgusting and distasteful: they are ‘lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God’ (3:4), ‘men of depraved minds’ (3:8), and ‘evil men, impostors . . . deceivers’ (3:13). As pointed out above, this kind of terminology can serve one purpose only: the author wants to create such strong feelings of discomfort towards the teachers that the ingroup, who stands together with the apostle, Paul, and his representative, Timothy, will reject the ‘false’ teachers strongly and unanimously. The second motif for the labeling employed in First and Second Timothy seems to be somewhat more specific than the first: the teachers are described as a threat to fundamental household values. With an ascetic 99

For further references, see Dibelius-Conzelmann, 1972: 115–17; Marshall, 1999: 772–74.

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teaching that ‘forbids marriage’ (1 Tim. 4:3), the teachers ‘enter into households and captivate weak women’ (2 Tim. 3:6). A group of younger widows ‘have already turned away to follow Satan’ (1 Tim. 5:15), and in order not to give the enemy an occasion for reproach, they are exhorted ‘to get married, bear children (teknogonei=n), and keep house’ (5:14). The exhortation to the women in 1 Tim. 2:15 should probably be understood in this setting: ‘But women shall be saved through child-bearing (teknogoni/aj) if they continue in faith and love and sanctity with selfrestraint.’ The particular problem with these women is that they ‘exercise authority over men’ (au)qentei=n a)ndro/j, 2:12).100 All this points to the conclusion that the teachers threatened the basic standards of the household with regard to the relationship between man and woman in general, and between husband and wife in particular.101 Accordingly, the driving force behind the Pastorals is the need to reestablish the proper rule in the home and between sexes (gamikh&). The social arena for Christian behavior and praxis is the family, built on the existing household structures. The author urges the ideal believer to be loyal and to behave in a way that will not bring the community of believers into disrepute (cf. 1 Tim. 2:2; 3:7, 13; 5:7, 14; 6:1). The teachers become antitypes to the ideal family member, who is not seen to ‘provide for his own, but for those of his household’ (1 Tim. 5:8).102 This is probably also the most reasonable background to the emphasis on the family and family relationships (oi]koj/oi0ki/a), i.e., on the normative structure for social identity and community life in First and Second Timothy.103 At the center of the author’s shaping of group norms, we find the establishment and reinforcement of regulations of rather hierarchical household structures. The ideal group member is either a married man with children, or a married submissive woman, i.e., someone who conforms to the regulations given for the family. These structures are reinforced in that the whole group is addressed as the ‘household of God’ (oi]koj qeou~, 1 Tim. 3:15).

100

The usage of ou)de\ in 1 Tim. 2:12 (I do not allow a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man) indicates that there is a connection between the teaching activity of these women and their exercise of authority over men. Cf. the analysis of this passage in Köstenberger, 1995: 81–103. 101 Cf. Verner, 1983: 175–80. 102 Not improbably, the ‘false’ teachers had neglected to manage their own family and/or they had encouraged others to neglect their family responsibilities. As a result, the children show ‘disobedience to their parents’ (2 Tim. 3:2). 103 Attention should be paid to the use of oi0ki/a (1 Tim. 5:13; 2 Tim. 2:20; 3:6) and oi]koj (1 Tim. 3:4, 5, 12, 15; 5:4; 2 Tim. 1:16; 4:19) in 1–2 Tim. Cf. Horrell, 2001: 293– 311.

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And they are also stressed in the explicit connection between the task of the e)pi/skopoj and his duties as household father (3:4–5).104 It seems reasonable that the list of qualifications for the prototypical community leader, the overseer (e)pi/skopoj), in 1 Tim. 3:1–7 should be read with this background in mind. In analysing the lists of qualifications for leaders in 1 Tim. 3:1–13 and 5:17–23, William Mounce proposes: “Almost every quality Paul specifies here has its negative counterpart in the Ephesian opponents.”105 At the risk of overstating his case, Mounce provides a list that contrasts almost every item required of the leaders with the opposite character of the opponents.106 But we need to be careful not to mirror-read these lists consistently. On the other hand, we need to pay attention to the obvious contrasts between the qualifications of the leaders and the missing characters of the deviants: for example, the overseer should be ‘self-controlled’ (sw&frwn, 1 Tim. 3:2), in contrast to the teachers who are described as ‘uncontrolled’ (a)k rath/j, 2 Tim. 3:3). Further, the deacons should not be ‘double-tongued/gossipers’ (dilo/goi, 1 Tim. 3:8) and not ‘slanderers’ (dia&boloi, 3:11) in contrast to those younger widows, who ‘are gossipers’ (flu/aroi) and who follow the deviant teachers (1 Tim. 5:13–15; cf. also the use of dia&boloi in the description of the deviants in 2 Tim. 3:3). It seems however methodologically reasonable to argue that an item, which occurs several times in the lists of qualifications for the leaders and also in other passages in the Letters may correspond to the assumed moral failure of the deviants. For example, the phrase ‘the husband of one wife’ (mia~j gunaiko_j a!ndra, 1 Tim. 3:2, 12; cf. Tit. 1:6) occurs twice in the list of qualifications for leaders and its female equivalent occurs once in the paraenesis section concerning the widows (e9no_j a)ndro_j gunh/, 1 Tim. 5:9). This ambiguous phrase could have several possible meanings, but it probably refers to the 104

The prohibition of marriage was possibly connected to the understanding of the community of believers as the new family of God (oi]koj qeou~). The abolition of established family values and household structures is well known from second century Gnostic circles (cf. Sælid Gilhus, 1997: 247). In response to such threatening Gnostic influences (1 Tim. 6:20), the author of 1–2 Tim. puts forward the Christian family as the basic structure for o( oi]koj qeou~ (1 Tim. 3:1–16). The basic leadership structures are thus established locally (in the families), and this would have been an effective way to protect the families from false teaching. 105 Mounce, 2000: 153. Cf. Schlarb’s (1990: 68) conclusion concerning the deviant teaching: “Damit wird klar, daß die Auseinandersetzungen ihren deutlichen Reflex finden in der positiven inhaltlichen Gestaltung der Paränese in den Formen der Haus- und Pflichtentafeln, und sie gehen ebenso ein in die Einzelanweisungen; die sonst doch häufig eher als bloß formal eingestuften Stücke der Gegnerpolemik haben also durchaus ihre sehr konkreten Auswirkungen.” 106 Mounce, 2000: 156–58.

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need for marital faithfulness among the leaders.107 Considering the teachers’ prohibition against marriage (1 Tim. 4:3; cf. 2:15) and their seduction of women (2 Tim. 3:6; cf. 1 Tim. 5:14–15), this expression could also be taken in a more general sense as a transfer of a positive counterpart to the restrained position of the teachers with regard to marriage and family relationships.108 In contrast to those who forbid marriage, the e)pi/skopoj, the dia/konoi should take care of their families and manage their own households (3:4–5, 11). In this way, the prototypical leader and teacher becomes a positive counterpart to those teachers who were labeled as deviants.109 Thus, we find the following set of antitypes and prototypes in First and Second Timothy: Antitype ‘ungodliness’ (a)se/beia, 2 Tim. 2:16)

Prototype ‘godliness’ (eu)sebei/a, 1 Tim. 4:6–7)

‘uncontrolled’ (a)krath/j, 2 Tim. 3:3)

‘self-controlled’ (sw/frwn, 1 Tim. 3:2)

‘teachings resulting in quarrels’ (ma/x aj, 2 Tim. 2:23; cf. Tit. 3:9) ‘hardened in their own conscience’ (kekausthriasme/nwn th\n i)di/an sunei/dhsin, 1 Tim. 4:2); cf. ‘both their mind and their conscience are defiled’ (memi/antai au)tw~n kai\ o( nou~j kai\ h( sunei/dhsij, Tit. 1:15) ‘godliness is a means of profit’ (porismo/n, 1 Tim. 6:5; cf. 6:9–10; cf. Tit. 1:11), ‘lovers of money’ (fila/rguroi, 2 Tim. 3:2) ‘younger widows who gossip’ (flu/aroi), (1 Tim. 5:13–15; cf. the use of dia/boloi, malicious gossip, of the deviants in 2 Tim. 3:3)

‘not quarrelsome’(a)m / axoj, 1 Tim. 3:3; cf. Tit. 3:2) ‘with a clear conscience’ (e)n kaqara?~ suneidh/sei, 1 Tim. 3:9), ‘a clean heart and a clear conscience’ (kaqara=j kardi/aj kai\ suneidh/sewj a)gaqh=j, 1 Tim. 1:5), ‘clean heart’ (kaqara=j kardi/aj, 2 Tim. 2:22) ‘not a lover of money’ (mh\. . . a)fula/rguroj, mh\ ai)sxrokerdei=j, 1 Tim. 3:3, 8; cf. 6:6, 8; Tit. 1:7)

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‘not be double-tongued/a gossiper’ (mh\ dilo/goi, 1 Tim. 3:8) and ‘not slander’ (mh\ dia/boloi, 3:11)

So most of the recent commentators, e.g., Marshall, 1999: 155–58; Mounce, 2000: 170–73; Quinn-Wacker, 2000: 256–57; Johnson, 2001: 213–14; Collins, 2002: 81. 108 It is not clear that sexual immorality should be included in the critique of the teachers. Mounce (2000: 549) takes the phrase a)go/m ena e)piqumi/aij poiki/l aij in 2 Tim. 3:6 as a reference to sexual promiscuity among the deviants. The use of e)piqumi/a in 2 Tim. 2:22 may point in this direction. In the vice list of 2 Tim. 3:2–4, sexual immorality is possibly referred to, but not necessarily, by the terms a)krath/j (uncontrolled, EDNT 1: 54) and filh/donoj (pleasure loving, EDNT 3: 426). 109 Further, the house codes in the New Testament aimed to encourage, or in some cases to restore, the participation of believers in the social structure in the way that would be acceptable to the pagan onlooker. By rejecting the approved social role, namely, the domestic life through remarriage, the deviants lay the community open to criticism from outside. Cf. Towner, 1989: 187.

Deviance and Identity Antitype ‘disobedient to their parents’ (goneu=sin a)p eiqei=j, 2 Tim. 3:2); cf. ‘rebellious’ (a)nupo/taktoi, Tit. 1:10)

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Protoype ‘managing his own household well, having submissive children’ (tou= i0di/ou oi)/kou kalw~j proi+sta/menoi, te/kna e)/x onta e)n u(potagh=, 1 Tim. 3:4, 12; cf. Tit. 1:6)

‘forbidding marriage’ (kwluo/ntwn ‘the husband of one wife’ (mia=j gunaiko\j gamei=n, 1 Tim. 4:3; possibly also child- a!ndra, 1 Tim. 3:2, 12; (e(no\j a)ndro\j bearing, 2:15) and seducing women (2 gunh/, 1 Tim. 5:9); cf. Tit. 1:6 Tim. 3:6; cf. 1 Tim. 5:14–15)

Interestingly, the teachers under attack are nowhere described in terms of deviant belief in Jesus Christ, but only in terms of deviant behavior. Therefore, the belief in Christ does not in itself seem to be enough as the only rule for describing the prototypical believer.110 The author’s one-sided emphasis on the critique of the moral failures of the deviants has led several commentators to the conclusion that there was no major, or no clear, doctrinal flaws in the deviants’ theology and that the problem in the Pastorals has more to do with sociology than with ideology.111 Indeed, compared to the undisputed Pauline letters that deal with deviant believers, there are remarkably few doctrinal statements in First and Second Timothy. However, even though the author according to Karris “does not tell us the grounds, the rationale for their teaching, nor does he pick up their terms and turn them in his own advantage”,112 this does not need to imply that ideology or theology was not an issue of controversy. The apparent silence concerning this matter may simply relate to the fact that Timothy was expected to be familiar with the doctrinal flaws of their teaching. We also need to consider the possibility that emphasis on the moral behavior of the teachers rather than on their theology may have been part of the rhetorical strategy of the author. Social analyses have demonstrated that sects, who threaten established and valued social norms or insti-tutions (e.g., the family) are generally met by strong hostility by the surrounding society.113 Often, it is not the ideology of the group/the sect that is 110 It may of course be argued that belief in a future resurrection is normative for the prototypical believer (cf. 2 Tim. 2:18), but this is not explicitly stated. Nor are the more dogmatic passages such as 1 Tim. 3:14–16 and 2 Tim. 1:6–12 be enough for such a conclusion. 111 Cf. MacDonald, 1988: 227–29. Kidd (1990: 98) suggests, “More plausible than the thesis of the rise of a coherent and compelling form of heresy is that of the emergence of some people who have been invested with an authority that, at least in the estimation of our author, their spiritual maturity and theological discernment do not warrant.” 112 Karris, 1973: 562. 113 In an analysis of processes of deviance relating to the Mormons and the Moonies in North America, Hampshire and Beckford draw attention to the central role that behavioral norms and ethics play in the societal reactions to new sects: “New sects that

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attacked, but its moral standards and behavior. In a similar way, the author of First and Second Timothy may have employed a kind of ethos-rhetoric in his attack on the teachers’ moral behavior, particularly on their threat to the basic household structures, and all for the purpose of ex-ecuting his denunciation with extra force. 2.2. Vertical and Horizontal Identity We have noticed that, in the process of identity formation in First and Second Timothy, the image of the normative or prototypical believer plays a crucial role. In response of the teachers as antitypes, the author creates his image of the exemplary or typos believer, the positive or normative identity of the true ingroup member. The crucial role of creating moral or ethical typoi in ancient moral writings can hardly be overestimated. In both the Hellenistic-Roman and the Jewish societies, young men were expected to imitate their fathers, students their teachers and subjects their rulers. The perfect model of virtue serves to give the readers an example of the ideal person, or character, to imitate and follow.114 Benjamin Fiore in particular has drawn attention to the similarities between the use of the exemplary model in the Pastorals and in ancient literature, above all in the Socratic epistles, and he has demonstrated that the Pastorals stand in a contemporary popular philosophical tradition of hortatory language, devices and techniques.115 Although we must distinguish between parallels of observable phenomena and the conclusion that the authors stand in the same paraenetical tradition, Fiore succeeds in demonstrating the similar use of the hortatory and paradigmatic role of the personal examples, especially when used in order to promote a specific mode or conduct. A particular experience opposition do so largely because their practices seem to threaten established and respected social norms or institutions such as the family. Innovative religious movements which do not conjure up such evident hostility may be doctrinally esoteric but do not usually depart from the dominant social norms of their host societies to the same degree” (Hampshire-Beckford, 1983: 225). Thus, the everyday use of ‘sects’ tends to imply perceptions of social rather than doctrinal deviance: The Mormons in the midnineteenth century of the USA were considered sectarian because of their religiously legitimated deviant social behavior. Of course, this does not imply that there were no doctrinal issues involved. 114 Cf. Seneca, Ep. 11.8–10: ‘Cherish some man of high character, and keep him ever before your eyes, living as he was watching you, and ordering all your actions as if he beheld them . . . The soul should have someone to respect − one by whose authority it may make even its inner shrine more hallowed. Happy is the man who can make others better, not merely when he is in their company, but even when he is in their thoughts! . . . Choose a master whose life, conversation and soul-expressing face have satisfied you; picture him always to yourself as your protector and your pattern. For we must indeed have someone according to whom we may regulate our characters.” 115 Fiore, 1986: 224–31.

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feature these two literary traditions have in common is the offset of positive examples by negative examples in an antithetical relationship. Fiore draws the conclusion that, “the two letter corpora face their challenges with a full panoply of hortatory devices and techniques, primarily among which are personal examples of the ideal attitudes and conduct”.116 The image of the ideal group-member is a crucial part of the rhetorical strategy employed by the author of the Pastorals. The aim is to encourage the identification of the addressees with his positive images so that they may perceive themselves to be the true believers. The terms employed in ascribing the positive status or identity of the believers can be divided into two groups, characteristically pointed out by Paul Trebilco as reflecting a horizontal and a vertical identity respectively.117 The vertical identity is primarily spelt out in terms of the faithful believer: those who are faithful to Paul’s teaching are described as ‘the believers’ or ‘the faithful ones’ (oi9 pistoi/). In total, pisto/j is used seven times in First and Second Timothy to designate a member of the ingroup. 118 The author’s use of the term follows the meaning predominant in non-Christian usage, i.e., ‘faithful’ in the sense of ‘dependable’.119 In the view of the author, a believer is clearly a faithful and trustworthy ingroup member, for example, the counterpart to those of the younger widows who have turned away to follow Satan (1 Tim. 5:15) is a pisth/ (5:16).120 Further, in contrast to the ‘false’ teachers, the true believers are described as ‘those who believe and know the truth’ (toi=j pistoi=j kai\ e0pegnwko&si th_n a)lh/qeian, 1 Tim. 4:3). Here is an occurrence where oi9 pistoi/ is best understood in the sense of ‘those who are faithful’.121 This sense of oi9 pistoi/ should also be applied to the continuing argument: ‘Let no one despise your youth, but set the faithful (tw~n pistw~n) an example in speech and conduct, in love, in faith, in purity’ (4:12). This sense is also conveyed by 2 Tim. 2:2: ‘What you have heard from me through many witnesses entrust to faithful men (pistoi=j

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Fiore, 1986: 230. Trebilco, 2002: 257; cf. idem., 2004: 568. 118 1 Tim. 4:3, 10, 12; 5:16; 6:2,2; 2 Tim. 2:2. As pointed out by Trebilco (2002: 254), “it is much more prominent with the meaning of ‘the faithful one’ or ‘the believer’ in the Pastorals than it is in the undisputed Paulines, where it is found with this meaning only in 2 Cor. 6:15; Gal. 3:9”. 119 Barth, EDNT 3: 97. This is the common usage in the Pauline literature when pisto/j refers to people (1 Cor. 4:17; 7:25; Col. 1:7; 4:7, 9; Eph. 6:21). It is also reflected in the saying pisto\j o( lo/goj (‘the trustworthy word’) in the Pastorals (1 Tim. 1:15; 3:1; 4:9; 2 Tim. 2:11; Tit. 3:8). 120 Note the textual variant that reads pisto\j h@ pisth/ (D K L Y etc). 121 So also Johnson, 2000: 238; Mounce, 2000: 232; Collins, 2002: 112; Trebilco, 2002: 254 (idem., 2004: 565). 117

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a)nqrw&poij) who will be able to teach others as well’ (2 Tim. 2:2).122 Hence, in the view of the author, the true ingroup member is a faithful and dependable believer.123 Trebilco notes the significance of the pist-word group in the Pastorals: pisteu/w occurs six times, pi/stij 33 times, pisto/j 17 times and pisto/w once, a total of 57 occurrences.124 Howard Marshall points out that this is a figure “which is almost three times as high as one would have expected in comparison with the use of the word-group in the earlier epistles of Paul”.125 From this, Trebilco concludes, “Thus oi9 pistoi/ (‘the faithful ones’) came to be used as an insider term for one who has faith and accepts ‘the faith’ or lives by this body of doctrine”.126 Commenting on the use of this expression as a term of self-designation of the addressees, he continues, “Clearly, for this group, ‘faith’ is central to the formation of their ‘Christian’ identity, to the extent that their most prominent internal ‘self-designation’ was derived from this term”.127 However, both Trebilco and Marshall neglect to point out the main reason for the high frequency of this word group. Its usage is clearly related to the vilification of the ‘false’ teachers and the contrast made between them, ‘those who are faithless’ (a)pistou~men, 2 Tim. 2:13), and the faithful ingroup members. The phrase oi9 pistoi/ sets the member of the ingroup in relation to, not only the true doctrine but, first of all, to the true God. Thus, the term “can be seen to reflect ‘vertical’ identity, in the sense that it relates to God (we are ‘the believing one’ ― by implication, believing in God), although in the Pastorals it also relates to a human activity of ‘believing’”.128 In his analysis of terms of self-designation in the Pastorals, Trebilco fails to point out another expression that is employed (twice) to convey this vertical meaning, namely the phrase ‘a man of God’ (a1nqrwpoj qeou~). This phrase occurs 68 times in the LXX, usually with a reference to the leaders and prophets as the agents of God.129 Philo uses the phrase a couple of times as a collective term for the true people of God.130 In the New Testament, it occurs only in First and Second Timothy (1 Tim. 6:11; 2 Tim. 3:17). The expression is first used to urge Timothy to diligence in 122

So KJV, NRSV; cf. reliable men (NIV), men you can trust (NEB). This understanding of pisto/j is also demonstrated by the use of pi/stij in contrast to the deviant teaching (1 Tim. 1:5, 19). 124 Trebilco, 2002: 254; cf. idem., 2004: 565. 125 Marshall, 1999: 214. 126 Trebilco, 2002: 256; cf. idem., 2004: 567. 127 Trebilco, 2002: 256; cf. idem., 2004: 567. 128 Trebilco, 2002: 257; cf. idem., 2004: 568. 129 E.g. Deut 33:1; Josh 14:6; 1 Sam 9:6, 10; 1 Kings 2:27; 17:18, 24; 2 Kings 1:10; 4:7, 9; 1 Chron 23:14; Neh 12:24; Ps 89:1. 130 Philo, Gig. 61; Mut. 24–25, 125–28. 123

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the faith and the ministry (su_ de/, w} a1nqrwpe qeou=, 1 Tim. 6:11). Commenting on the context of this expression, Mounce correctly remarks: “Its use here is explained by the need to contrast Timothy with the opponents . . . Timothy is a man of God akin to the prophets of old with the authority to fight the ‘false’ teachers of Ephesus.”131 The closest parallel is found in the Letter of Aristeas, where a1nqrwpoi qeou~ was used of the Jews by the leading priests among the Egyptians, a phrase ‘ascribed exclusively to those who worship the true God’ (140). In 1 Tim. 6:11, the phrase is probably used polemically (su_ de/, w} a!nqrwpe qeou~), thus sharply contrasting Timothy as ‘a man of God’ with the ‘false’ teachers (6:3–10), and even suggesting that the author has picked up a selfdesignation used by the ‘false’ teachers themselves.132 That the phrase could also be used in a more wide-ranging sense is demonstrated by its second occurrence in 2 Tim. 3:17 (o( tou~ qeou~ a1nqrwpoj), where it is employed in a more generic sense. The phrase is also found in a context where the author deals with the ‘false’ teachers (2 Tim. 3:13; 4:1–5). Hence, in contrast to them, ‘the man of God’ (o( a1nqrwpoj tou~ qeou~) designates the true believer as a person who belongs to God and who is characterized by the virtues of God (‘a godly man’; cf. 1 Tim. 6:11).133 The second word group employed by the author to designate the true ingroup members in contrast to the teachers has to do with terms expressing the horizontal or communal aspects of the group, particularly the terms a)delfo/j/a)delfh/.134 In 1 Tim. 4:6 and 2 Tim. 4:21, the plural oi9 a)delfoi/ conveys the inclusive sense of being siblings, ‘brothers and sisters’.135 In addition, the author also employs the term beloved (a)gaphtoi/, 1 Tim. 6:2) ― once again in order to stress the horizontal identity of the ingroup members.136 This kind of kinship terminology has its background partly within a Jewish tradition and in the titles of the

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Mounce, 2000: 353. Since the phrase a!nqrwpoj qeou~ is clearly a phrase used of the ‘man of God’ in the Old Testament, the deviants usage of Old Testament myths and legends (1 Tim. 1:4; 4:7; 2 Tim. 4:4) may speak in favor of this conclusion (the phrase only occurs in 1–2 Tim. in the New Testament). In Corp. Herm. 1.32; 13.20, the reborn person is called ‘your man’ (o( so_j a1nqrwpoj). Cf. Dibelius-Conzelmann, 1972: 87. 133 Hence, the phrase a!nqrwpoj tou~ qeou~ is best taken as a possessive or an attributive genitive (genitivus qualitatis). 134 The term a)delfo&j is used four times in 1–2 Tim. (1 Tim. 4:6; 5:1; 6:2; 2 Tim. 4:21), and a)delfh& once (1 Tim. 5:2). 135 This is particularly clear in 2 Tim. 4:21 (‘Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Prudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers [oi9 a)delfoi\ pa&n tej]’), referring to both men and women. 136 The term is also used of Timothy in 2 Tim. 1:2 (Timoqe/w? a)gaphtw?~ te/knw??) . 132

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people of Israel.137 However, as Reidar Aasgaard demonstrates in his analysis of what it means to be siblings in the Pauline literature, these kinds of metaphors also have their background in the family life of antiquity.138 Aasgaard comments on the function of such kinship language: “By calling his co-Christians siblings, he [Paul] allots to them a common identity with mutual rights and obligations . . . The sibling metaphor thus serves as a central boundary marker in cases of internal conflict.”139 Wayne Meeks even calls this kinship terminology “the language of belonging”, a language that plays a vital role in the process of resocialization and in the creation of an exclusive sense of group identity, distinct from the outsiders.140 On the whole, the use of a)delfo/j is clearly less frequent in the Pastorals than elsewhere in the undisputed Pauline letters.141 Both David Horrell and Paul Trebilco explain this phenomenon by the proposal that the Pastorals reflect a more hierarchical pattern of leadership, and a group structure which had led to the decline of the use of a)delfo/j, at least by the author.142 This can mainly be seen, they argue, in the stress on the community of the Christ-believers as the ‘household of God’ (oi]koj qeou~, 1 Tim. 3:15) in the Pastorals, which brought about a fading use of the more egalitarian a)delfo/j as an insider term. In particular, 1 Tim. 5:1–2 demonstrate that relationships with in the community of believers should be ordered according to seniority (probably both of age and faith): while an older man (presbu/teroj) or woman (presbute/ra) should be recognized as a father (path/r) and mother (mhth/r) respectively, a younger man (new&teroj) or woman (new&tera) should be recognized as a brother (a)delfo/j) and sister (a)delfh/) respectively. As pointed out above, the reinforcement of the hierarchical structure of the ‘household of God’ (oi]koj qeou~) in First and Second Timothy seems to be directly related to the author’s attempt to protect the households from the teachers, who used these structures as the operational basis for their activities. Whether this development of hierarchical structures actually led to a reduction of the ethos of being ‘brothers and sisters’ is hard to tell from these Letters; all we can say is that, probably because of the author’s 137

See Ringgren, TDOT 1:188–93; von Soden, TDNT 1:144–46; Horrell, 2001: 296–

99. 138

Aasgaard, 2004: 34–116. Aasgaard, 2004: 303. 140 Meeks, 1983: 85–86. 141 Trebilco, 2002: 249: “Whilst a)delfo/j or a)delfh/ is used as a fictive kinship term to refer to other ‘Christians’ on average once per page of Nestle-Aland’s 26th edition of the Greek New Testament, the usage in the Pastorals is 0.28 times per page.” For the statistics, see also Horrell, 2001: 311. 142 Horrell, 2001: 306–08; Trebilco, 2002: 250–53; cf. idem., 2004: 561–64. 139

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strong attempt to enforce structures that would secure the community from ‘false’ brothers, this kind of terminology is less frequent here than in the undisputed Pauline letters. This may also indicate that it was not the hierarchical structures themselves that was the reason for a decline in the use of the kinship language in the Pastorals, but the abuse of this kind of language among the ‘false’ teachers, for example on the grounds that in Christ there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female (cf. Gal. 3:28). This is suggested by 1 Tim. 6:1–2 particularly, which is contextually located within an argument that deals with the ‘false’ teachers (5:24–25; 6:3–10). The believing slaves are here urged not to be disrespectful to their masters on the grounds that they are brothers (o#ti a)delfoi/ ei0sin). The believing slaves seem to have taken advantage of their spiritual relationship with their believing masters. The connection between this behavior and the ‘false’ teaching is highlighted by the proceeding exhortation: ‘Teach and urge these duties; whoever teaches otherwise. . .’, 6:2b–3a.143 In addition, the presence of emancipated women in the community of believers speaks in favor of the thesis that the overrealized eschatology of the teachers (cf. 2 Tim. 2:18) had led to the dissolution of the essential social structures in the community, which the author finds reason to reinforce. Thus, the decline in the use of a)delfo/jterminology in the Pastorals may reflect not only a hierarchical ecclesiology, but could also be seen as an immediate response to an abuse of kinship terminology by the ‘false’ teachers. To sum up, the designation of the addressees in First and Second Timothy fall in two complementary groups: the pisto/j-group reflects a horizontal identity and the a)delfo/j-group a vertical identity. The terminology of the ascribed status of the ingroup is primarily drawn from a Jewish background and marks the continuation of the ingroup members as the people of God (Israel) in history. This way of designating the ingroup members serves to underscore the identity of the insiders as the true and faithful people of God, to strengthen the ties between the ingroup members and their sense of belonging together, and to mark off clear distinctions and boundaries between them and the group of ‘false’ teachers (who are labeled as ‘unfaithful’, 1 Tim. 5:8, and ‘liars’, 4:2).144 The ascribed status 143

Note the verb e9terodida/skalw in 1 Tim. 6:3, which connects this saying with the opening description of the ‘false’ teachers in 1:3 (i3na paraggei/lh?j tisi\n mh_ e9terodidaskalei=n). The transitional formula tau=ta di/daske kai\ para/kalei (6:2b) should thus be connected to the preceding verses (5:3–6:2a). A similar formula occurs in 1 Tim. 4:11; 2 Tim. 2:14 (cf. Tit. 2:15; 3:8): “In all of these cases it appears to refer to what precedes and not to what follows” (Knight, 1992: 247; cf. Quinn-Wacker, 2000: 486). 144 Cf. Aasgaard’s (2004: 311) conclusion concerning the rhetorical function of Christian siblings in Paul, which “aims at arousing a family ‘feel’ in his co-Christians . . .

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of the ingroup members thus has the essential function of providing the readers with a strong sense of social identity and belonging. 2.3. The Prototypical Believer: Timothy as the Ideal Typos The typos of First and Second Timothy is exemplified in the life and ministry of Paul and Timothy. Paul is described as the superior model, the ‘prototype’ (u(potu/pwsij) for all the believers (1 Tim. 1:16) and especially for Timothy, because he has received God’s grace and mercy (1 Tim. 1:12–17), for the administration and proclamation of the ‘sound teaching’ (2 Tim. 1:3–18), and because of his willingness to endure hardship and to suffer for the sake of Jesus Christ (2 Tim. 2:1–13; 3:10– 4:8). In turn, Timothy is charged to ‘show himself an example (tu/poj) of the believers’ (1 Tim. 4:12), and to hold on to the prototypical (u(potu/pwsij) teaching of Paul (2 Tim. 1:13). Timothy is thus called, not so much to be an example of the community of believers in general but of the ideal or prototypical believer.145 Hence, Timothy should enact the shared identity of the group, which is clearly an example of the idea of self-categorization and prototypicality as outlined in the theories of Tajfel and Turner reported above. The image of the household goods as good or bad utensils (2 Tim. 2:20– 21) describes the typos-believer in terms of honor and shame (timh//a)timi/a): in a large household there are vessels, not only of gold and silver but also wood and clay, ‘some to honor (ei0j timh/n) and some to dishonor (ei0j a)timi/an). Therefore, if a man cleanses himself of these things, he will become a vessel for honor (ei0j timh/n), sanctified and useful to the master, and prepared for every good work’ (2 Tim. 2:20–21). As previously pointed out, this kind of terminology is typically employed as a group-maintaining device and as a means of enhancing the adherence to the ingroup and of defusing the positive appeal of the outgroups or the negative pressure put on the minority group by the larger society.146 In the perspective of this author, the honored believer is the true believer, set in contrast to the deviant, dishonored believer.147 There are at least three Sibling address also functions to underscore and strengthen the ties between him and his co-Christians . . . Paul also employs the metaphor as a mean to mark off boundaries against deviant Christians, so-called false siblings. In addition, he utilizes the metaphor in his strategies for handling conflicts.” 145 Cf. Wolter, 1988: 191–95. 146 deSilva, 1996: 51. 147 This kind of terminology, used as the means by which to honor the faithful believer, is also picked up in 2 Tim. 2:10: ‘For this reason, I endure all things for the sake of those who are chosen, that they also may obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus and with it eternal glory (do/chj ai)wni/ou).’

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characteristic features of this typos-believer whom the author honors in contrast to the dishonored teacher in First and Second Timothy: the prototypical believer is primarily described as the godly, the well-content and the persevering believer. a) The godly and noble believer. Terms connected to the eu)se/beiagroup belong to the key terms of the Pastoral Letters, in particular First and Second Timothy, where they occur eleven times altogether.148 As pointed out by many commentators, this terminology is of vital importance to the author’s view of the Christian life and ethics, especially since the author’s notion of true faith and belief is captured by the term ‘godliness’, eu)se/beia. In contrast to the ‘impiety’ or ‘godlessness’ (a)se/beia) of the ‘false’ teachers (2 Tim. 2:16), the true believer should be characterized by ‘godliness’ (eu)se/beia, 1 Tim. 4:7–8; 6:3, 5–6, 11). The background and use of this terminology is a much-debated issue. Is it part of the author’s own notion of the Christian faith, or has he just picked it up in order to justify the place of the community of Christ-believers in Hellenistic society, or in response to the deviating type of faith that threatened the community? Many scholars draw attention to the secular Greek and Roman background of eu)se/beia, arguing that ‘piety’ (lat. pietas) was a highly regarded virtue and duty, which expressed both the inner attitude and the actual worship paid to the gods by cultic acts.149 Arguing from a purely Hellenistic background, Dibelius and Conzelmann understand eu)se/beia as part of an ethical shift that took place in the community of Christ-believers at the time of the Pastorals, because Christ did not return.150 Of particular importance is the analysis by W. Foerster, later expanded in the analysis by Dibelius and Conzelmann, which stresses that Greek literature and inscriptions speak of eu)se/beia as behavior that demonstrates a proper “respect and honor for the established order”, i.e., as asecular piety for the created order of the world, such as for relatives, elders, rulers, oaths and the law in general. But even though the concept had a broad meaning, it became restricted to denoting the proper attitude towards the gods. 151 Several scholars have reacted to Foerster’s analysis and have argued that his definition of eu)se/beia is too narrow, particularly since eu)sebei/a is 148 1 Tim. 2:2; 3:16; 4:7, 8; 6:3, 5, 6, 11; 2 Tim. 3:5; Tit. 1:1 (eu)se/beia), 1 Tim. 5:4 (eu)sebe/w), 2 Tim. 3:12; Tit. 2:12 (eu)sebw~j). Jfr. 2 Tim. 2:16 (a)s e/b eia) and 1 Tim. 1:10 (qeose/beia). 149 For a more detailed survey of the history of interpretation of eu)s e/beia, see Marshall, 1999: 135–44. 150 Dibelius-Conzelmann, 1972: 20. 151 So Foerster, TDNT 7: 168–96; cf. idem., 1958–59. Foerster (TDNT 7: 178) concludes, “the true content of eu)se/beia for the educated Greek is reverent and wondering awe at the lofty and pure world of the divine, its worship in the cultus, and respect for the orders sustained by it”.

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used for the response of faith expressed by the behavior of Christbelievers.152 For example, by referring to the terminology of the popular philosophers, H. von Lips and J. Roloff point out that eu)sebei/a described not only a reverent attitude towards the gods, but also the knowledge which ensured such reverence. Hence, Lips and Roloff argue that eu)sebei/a encompasses both ‘knowledge’ (gnw=sij) and conduct, that eu)sebei/a is derived from a genuine knowledge of God and that it describes a visible life lived by the grace of God in every sense.153 This understanding of eu)se/beia comes close to more recent analyses of the use of the eu)se/beiagroup in Hellenistic Judaism.154 The noun eu)se/beia occurs 59 times in the LXX and reflects the attempt to translate traditional Old Testament concepts into the Greek language. Having surveyed the data, Howard Marshall concludes that in the LXX, “eu)se/beia appears to gather together into one comprehensive idea the knowledge of God and the appropriate response (fear of the Lord)”.155 Rather than seeing the use of this wordgroup as an expression of Hellenization, Jerome Quinn suggests that it was used by the Hellenistic Jew “for explaining and expressing himself to contemporary society”.156 Hence, the eu)se/beia-terminology was broad enough to express the Jewish idea of piety or spiritual life, encompassing both the right knowledge of God and the proper conduct following such knowledge. That the terminology is integrated into the author’s understanding of the Christian faith and behavior is suggested, not only by the frequent use of this terminology in the letters, but also by its rather non-polemical use in 1 Tim. 2:1–2 and 3:16, which demonstrates that eu)se/beia had a distinct Christian connotation when First and Second Timothy were written.157 Even if the author picks up a term that belongs to the common religious tradition of ancient society, 2 Tim. 3:12 shows that his understanding of the term has been ‘Christianized’: the believers are referred to as ‘all those who want to live godly lives in Jesus Christ’ (pa/ntej de\ oi9 qe/lontej eu)sebw~j zh=n e0n Xristw?~ 0Ihsou= diwxqh/sontai). Nonetheless, this does not exclude the proposal that this terminology was not part of the deviants’ terminology.158 Considering its popular use in Hellenistic societies, for example in a city such as Ephesus, well-known for its cults, it seems that we should rather expect that a faith with a mixture of Christian, Jewish and 152

So Brox, 1963: 174–77. Lips, 1979: 80–87; Roloff, 1988: 117–18. 154 See Quinn, 1990: 282–91; Knight, 1992: 117–18; Marshall, 1999: 139–41. 155 Marshall, 1999: 141. Cf. Isa. 11:2; 33:6; Prov. 1:7. 156 Quinn, 1990: 287–88. 157 Cf. Wainwright, 1993: 219. 158 So Spicq, 1969: 482–92; Fee, 1988: 63; Towner, 1989: 147–54. 153

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Hellenistic notions would naturally have expressed itself by such terminology, thereby claiming that its understanding of the Christian existence was an expression of true piety. The author counters this idea by accusing the deviants of only showing the outward form of piety (e1xontej mo/rfwsin eu)sebei/aj) but denying its power (2 Tim. 3:5). The deviants’ claim to eu)se/beia was probably also connected to their claim to have knowledge of the divine (cf. 1 Tim. 6:20). The main critique of the deviants in 2 Tim. 3:1–5 thus concerns their separation of the notion of eu)se/beia from any outward behavior or ethics.159 Furthermore, besides 1 Tim. 2:2 and 3:16, we must consider the fact that eu)se/beia is frequently used in the explicit polemic sections against the ‘false’ teachers. This is particularly the case in 1 Tim. 4:7–8 and 6:3–6 (where the term occurs altogether five times). In 1 Tim. 4:7–8, eu)se/beia is set in contrast to the deviants’ asceticism and to their use of Old Testament mu/qoi, but not in a way that suggests that they could not have used eu)se/beia as their own catchword. The polemic suggests that it is rather a matter of how eu)se/beia is defined. The author freely uses the word and fills it with a distinct Christian understanding (4:6, 9–10). 1 Tim. 6:5 suggests that the deviants themselves had claimed that ‘godliness is a means of gain’ (porismo\n ei]nai th\n eu)se/beian). The author counters this notion by adding: ‘Of course, godliness is a means of great gain when it is combined with contentment (meta\ au)tarkei/aj)’ (6:6). Again, it seems that a correct understanding of the concept of eu)se/beia was central to the conflict and the struggle for authority and legitimacy in the Pastorals. The critique of the deviant teachers seems thus to have concerned their, deliberate or unconscious, separation of proper spiritual cognitive knowledge from proper moral conduct. This typos of godliness, promoted in contrast to the deviant behavior, is particularly captured in the recurring theme of ‘good works’ (kala\ e1rga/e1rgon a)gaqo/n),160 combined with the core themes of pi/stij and a)ga/ph. Integral to the author’s thinking is the link between belief in/experience of God’s salvation and the good works as expressed in the typically Pauline concepts of pi/stij and a)ga/ph.161 As a complement to these two concepts, the author employs another set of terms (a)gaqh\ 159

Towner, 1989: 149, 152. Cf. the critique of the deviants in Tit. 1:16: ‘They profess to know God, but by their deeds they deny him, being detestable and disobedient, and worthless for any good deed.’ 160 1 Tim. 2:10; 5:10, 10, 25; 6:18; 2 Tim. 2:21; 3:17. 161 Of the thirteen occurrences of pi/stij in lists of virtues in the Pastorals, nine include a)ga/ph (1 Tim. 1:5, 14; 2:15; 4:12; 6:11; 2 Tim. 1:13; 2:22; 3:10; Tit. 2:2). The combination of these terms in the undisputed Pauline letters occurs seven times (1 Cor. 13:13; Gal. 5:6, 22; 1 Thess. 3:6; 5:8; 2 Thess. 1:3, Phlm. 5) and two times in Eph.-Col. (Eph. 6:23; Col. 1:4).

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sunei/dhsij, kaqara_ kardi/a),162 which denote the proper inward attitude and the correct behavior of the prototypical believer. For example, as expressed in Timothy’s instruction to the believers: ‘The aim of the instruction is love that comes from a pure heart, a good conscience and sincere faith’ (1 Tim. 1:5), ‘so that you may fight the good fight, having faith and a good conscience’ (1:19; cf. 3:9). Typical for the polemics of the Pastorals, these virtues and attitudes are constantly developed in response to deviant behavior, for example a good conscience is set against the deluded and false conscience of the ‘false’ teachers (1 Tim. 1:19; 4:2), which ultimately serves the purpose of portraying the true and noble believer. b) The self-controlled and well-content believer. In contrast to the debauchery and greedy behavior of the deviant teachers, the author poses the notion of the content and the self-controlled believer. This is primarily done by the use of the swfrosu/nh word- group and the term au)tarkei/a, terms commonly used in the catalogues of virtue of the contemporary moral philosophers, especially among the Stoics.163 The terminology belongs to the swfrosu/nh word-group and is used altogether ten times in the Pastorals (four times in 1–2 Tim).164 In Hellenistic ethical thought, swfrosu/n h was one of the cardinal virtues, which expressed self-control within the established order, in a way appropriate to one’s place within that order. The terminology conveyed ideas such as the virtues of prudence, moderation and self-control.165 In First and Second Timothy, the virtue of self-discipline is further explained by reference to the virtues required by the e0pi/skopoj and the dia/konoi, for example by ‘not being addicted to wine . . . not a lover of money’ (1 Tim. 3:2; cf. 3:8). While our author essentially seems to follow the ideals of the Hellenistic moral philosophers concerning swfrosu/nh, he adds another aspect by ‘Christianizing’ this terminology. In particular, the author stresses the importance for the Christ-event to attain swfrosu/nh (1 Tim. 2:9–10; 2 Tim. 1:7; cf. Tit. 2:12).166 In a similar way, he fashions in 1 Tim. 6:6 his understanding of the typical Stoic and Cynic ideal of self-sufficiency (au)tarkei/a) with eu)se/beia: ‘But godliness (h( eu)se/beia) is a means of great gain when it is combined with contentment (meta_ au)tarkei/aj).’ As noted above, the 162

In 1–2 Tim., the term ‘conscience’ (sunei/dhsij) occurs in 1 Tim. 1:5, 19; 3:9; 4:2; 2 Tim. 1:3, and kardi/a in 1 Tim. 1:5; 2:22. For a detailed analysis of the usage of these terms in the Pastorals, see Towner, 1989: 154–59. 163 Cf. also the use of a)krath/j (‘uncontrolled’) in 2 Tim. 3:3. 164 Statistics for the usage of the swfrosu/nh word-group in the Pastorals: swfrw~n (1 Tim. 3:2; Tit. 1:8; 2:2, 5), swfrosu/nh (1 Tim. 2:9, 15), swfronismo/j (2 Tim. 1:7), swfro/nwj (Tit. 2:12), swfroni/zw (Tit. 2:4), and swfrone/w (Tit. 2:6). 165 Luck, TDNT 7: 1098–100. 166 Towner, 1989: 161–62.

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author’s understanding of eu)se/beia has clearly to do with the Christ-event (particularly as explained in the traditional saying in 1 Tim. 3:16; cf. also 2 Tim. 3:12). Evidently, the au)tarkei/a that the author has in mind is related to trust in God, not to self-sufficiency. In contrast to the greed of the deviant teachers, who apparently had sought to make money by their teaching, the prototypical believer should be content with food and clothing (6:8). Wealth is not seen as the ideal of the believer; the wealthy are encouraged not to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God, who richly supplies us with all things to enjoy (6:17). Once again we have an example in which the author does not simply take over the ideals of the surrounding society without further reflection, as is often argued with regard to the Pastorals, but of a deliberate attempt to ‘Christianize’ secular terms ― all for purpose of shaping a distinct socioeconomic self-definition and identity for the ingroup of believers. The frequency of particularly the eu)se/beia and swfrosu/nhterminology in the Pastorals has led many scholars to the conclusion that the author has more or less taken over the prevailing ethical notions of the current Greco-Roman society.167 Inscriptional evidence from Ephesus from the first and second centuries CE demonstrate the frequency of this terminology in descriptions of the ideal citizen. 168 According to Martin Dibelius and Hans Conzelmann, this terminology demonstrate that the Pastorals promote an ideal of christliche Bürgerlichkeit, i.e., as a consequence of the delayed parousia, the author wants the addressees to make a positive commitment to the surrounding society, which might result in a reduction of the negative reactions towards them.169 There is evidently a higher frequency of moral terms with a Greco-Roman background in the Pastorals than in the undisputed Pauline letters. It also seems to be a valid conclusion that the author does not want the addressees to offend other people (1 Tim. 3:2, 7; 6:1). However, this does not necessarily imply that the author describes a prototype of the true believer that is only an adjustment to the surrounding society. We need to pay attention to the recurring modification of this terminology when it is applied to those who are labeled as deviants. In contrast to the deviants’ ‘ungodliness’ (a)se/beia, 2 Tim. 2:16), the true believer should be ‘godly’ (eu)se/beia, 1 Tim. 4:7–8; 6:3, 5–6, 11). As pointed out above, the ‘false’ teachers 167 E.g., Taylor (1993: 84): “The personal qualifications are not created in a vacuum but are essentially adopted from society.” 168 For the inscriptional evidence of eu)se/beia/eu)s ebh/j connected to Ephesus, see IvEph. 27.84, 118, 367, 384, 418, 429 (the Salutaris inscription, 103/4 CE). For the use of the sw/frwn word-group, see IvEph. 6a.14; 614b.18; 683a.10; 1340b.4; 1606.10; 2488.1; 2579.2. 169 Dibelius-Conzelmann, 1972: 8–10, 39–41.

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probably also claimed eu)se/beia, something which the author refutes by the saying, ‘they hold to a form of godliness (e1xontej mo/rfwsin eu)sebei/aj), although they have denied its power’ (2 Tim. 3:5).170 In addition, the swfrosu/n h-terminology seems to be employed against the ascetic practices of the teachers and also against those who want to make a profit from their teaching (1 Tim. 4:3; 6:3–10; 2 Tim. 3:2). Although the author of the Pastorals, as previously pointed out, draws on a terminology that belongs to the common stock language of ancient religious tradition and moral philosophy, we should keep in mind that he frequently ‘Christianizes’ this kind of terminology (e.g., eu)sebw~j zh=n e0n Xristw?~ 0Ihsou=, 2 Tim. 3:12; cf. 1 Tim. 2:5–10, 15; 2 Tim. 1:7–10; Tit. 2:11–12). This also includes the use of au)tarkei/a, in particular since this term in 1 Tim. 6:6 is connected to the understanding of eu)se/beia: ‘Godliness (h( eu)se/beia) actually is a means of great gain, when accompanied with contentment (meta\ au)tarkei/a).’ Thus, it is hardly an adjustment to the ideals of the outsiders but rather an ambition to win their confidence.171 The author seems to be conscious, for example, that his ideals of a monotheistic belief (1 Tim. 1:17; 6:15–16) and his restrained position to wealth and material goods are in conflict with the established values of his contemporary society.172 Since he awaits negative reactions from outsiders (e.g., hardships in 2 Tim. 3:12), he could hardly have expected a full adjustment to the values of the surrounding society. c) The persevering and suffering believer. As we noted in the discussion above (3.1a), the ideal believer in First and Second Timothy is regularly referred to as o( pi/stoj, ‘the faithful one’. This definition of the typos-believer is further elaborated by terms such as u(pomonh/ (‘perseverance’)/u(pome/nw (‘persevere’/‘endure’),173 and makroqumi/a (‘patience’).174 These terms are frequently used in ancient philosophical and moral literature, as well as in the Old Testament, to describe the exemplary person or believer.175 In First and Second Timothy, they refer both to Paul and Timothy, and particularly to the ministry that Timothy is summoned to 170 Notice should be taken of the frequency of the eu)se/beia-terminology in the polemic against the teachers in 1 Tim. 4:7–8 and 6:3–6 (in total 5 times). 171 Towner (1989: 187–90, 197–98) in particular demonstrates that it is the idea of mission that is the driving force behind the paraenesis of the author: “mission provides the impulse for the concern for outsiders” (1989: 197). Cf. 1 Tim. 1:15; 2:1–4; 6:1. 172 Cf. Kidd, 1990: 115, 117, 131, 157, 140, 200; Trebilco, 2004: 380–83. Commenting on author’s position concerning wealth and richness, Kidd (1990: 200) concludes that, “in these letters the language of the ideal Bürger is used in such an antibürgerlich way.” 173 1 Tim. 6:11; 2 Tim. 3:10/2 Tim. 2:10, 12. 174 2 Tim. 3:10. 175 See Hauck, TDNT 4: 581–84; Horst, TDNT 4: 374–79.

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model combating the deviant teaching. As a ‘man of God’ (a1nqrwpoj qeou~), Timothy should pursue ‘perseverance and gentleness, fighting the good fight of faith’ (6:11–12). In 2 Tim. 3:12, the eu)se/beia promoted is clearly connected to a willingness to suffer persecution: ‘Indeed, all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted’ (kai\ pa/ntej de\ oi9 qe/lontej eu)sebw~j zh=n e0n Xristw?~ 0Ihsou= diwxqh/sontai, 2 Tim. 3:12). Finally, the call to endurance is closely linked to the eschatology presented by the author. The present struggles are motivated by the hope of the future: ‘For it is for this we labour and strive, because we have our hope set on the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe’ (1 Tim. 4:10). This hope is particularly associated with belief in ‘Christ Jesus, who is our hope’ (1 Tim. 1:1).

3. Concluding Remarks 1. In this chapter, we have paid particular attention to the crucial role that conflict, deviance and self-categorization play in the process of social identity formation. The process of defining ‘us’, the ingroup, is closely related to defining a range of ‘them’, the outgroup. Individuals are identified, by themselves and by others, in terms which will distinguish them from certain individuals or groups and which will also connect them with other individuals or groups. This process may be referred to a form of self-categorization process, based on stereotyping, whether positively (of group members) or negatively (of non-members). Thus, difference and similarity reflect each other across a shared boundary; “at the boundary we discover what we are in what we are not”.176 In particular, we have paid attention to the shaping of norms and values embraced in order to exclude the deviants and to form a coherent ingroup identity. The idea of the prototypical group member, i.e., the key member (usually a leader) who best epitomizes (in the sense of both defining and being defined by) the social category of which he or she is a member, plays a central role in this process. 2. We then turned to elaborate on the process of social identity formation in the polemical arguments of First and Second Timothy. The main rhetorical device in these Letters is the repeated use of a group of ‘false’ teachers as antitypes in contrast to the ideal or prototypical believer. The author uses these teachers both as a warning about what the addressees need to avoid, and as a counterpart to what they ought to attain. In defining the ‘false’ Christ-believer, the true Christ-believer is positively 176

Jenkins, 2004: 79.

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characterized as the godly, well-content and persevering ingroup member. The prototypical believer is thus shaped in contradiction to the negative moral standards of the ‘false’ teachers. The leaders, including Paul and Timothy, become the representatives of these group values, in order to strengthen the members’ sense of belonging to the group and to confirm their true group identity. The purpose of such a polemic and labeling is to denounce an accepted group of leaders and to transfer them into a nonaccepted outgroup. In this way boundary markers and norms are shaped and articulated, and they define both the insiders and the outsiders respectively. This is a typical example of a process of categorization, by which the differences between the ingroup and the outgroup are exaggerated (accentuation), and the differences within the ingroup are reduced and captured in the image of the prototypical member of the household (assimilation). In order to strengthen the self-understanding of the ingroup members as the true possessor of the Jesus-tradition, and as those who stand in a unique relation to God and to each other, the author labels the ingroup-members as ‘the faithful’, ‘the chosen’ and ‘brothers and sister’. The key notion of the community of believers becomes the ‘family/household of God’ (oi]koj qeou=). 3. I have deliberately confined the analysis in this chapter to First and Second Timothy. We could have made a similar analysis of the other texts that address Christ-believers in Ephesus (Rev. 2, the Johannine Letters and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians), although they do not provide us with the same amount of information concerning the deviant group. However, in these texts we find a similar process of labeling, status degradation and the formation of the prototypical believer as we have seen in First and Second Timothy. For example, in First John there is a group of ‘false’ teachers, who are labeled as Antichrists (a)nti/xristoi, 2:18). Throughout this letter, the author stereotypes his opponents and uses this group as antitypes in order to outline the true, prototypical believer. This is particularly spelt out in the many antitheses of the Johannine Letters: the true Christ-believer loves his brother, keeps to the truth, walks in the light, hates the world, belongs to God, etc., whereas the ‘anti-Christ-believer’ hates his brother, promotes lies, walks in the darkness, loves the world, belongs to the evil one, etc. (e.g., 1 John 2:7–17; 3:4–10). In the letter to the church in Ephesus (Rev. 2:1–7), the Nicolaitans become the antitypes to the notion of the prototypical believers. According to Rev. 2:14, the Nicolaitans promote idolatry and fornication (probably a symbolical expression for unfaithfulness), whereas the true believers worship ‘the one who sits one the throne’ and faithfully ‘follow the Lamb wherever he goes’ (14:4). In Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, we find a similar rhetorical device: the deviants are portrayed as ‘wild beasts’, ‘ravening dogs’, (7.1), ‘carnal’

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(8.2), ‘proud’ (10.2) and as followers of ‘the prince of this world’ (17.1), etc., whereas the believers ‘belong to God’ (8.1), are ‘spiritual’ (8.2), ‘gentle’ (10.2), ‘imitators of the Lord’ (10.2), etc. Thus, we find the same kind of stereotyping and group maintenance language in these texts as we found in First and Second Timothy. An analysis of the identity of the opponents in these letters need to consider the fact that the primary goal of this kind of polemical language (vituperatio) is not primarily to give a strict account of the doctrinal or moral position of the opponents, but to describe them by such strong negative words that their social and moral persona will be destroyed and they will be deprived of power and influence in the ingroup. Hence, the authors initiate a process of creating deviants by labeling them as ‘false’ believers and by marking them off as deviants. Central to this way of articulating and constructing a group’s identity is the claim of the power to define the other, by denying them their own voice and self-description. Group boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’ are reinforced, and the ingroup members are bound together through a sharpened definition of the outsiders and thus also by a heightened awareness of their own shared social identity. This analysis raises the question of which self-definition came first, ‘ours’ or the ‘others’? Does the recognition of that which is ‘not-us’ make it possible to speak of ‘us’, or is the articulation of who ‘we’ are already achieved by the subsequent description of the ‘others’? These questions could hardly be answered in absolute terms, as Judith Lieu argues, “both because in practice what we find is a dialectic between the two, and because once we decide that identity is constructed, then clearly both the sense of self and that of the other are constructed in mutual interaction”.177 In any case, it indicates that recognition of other alternatives, i.e., the process of identifying, stereotyping ― sometimes even demonizing ― of the ‘others’ play a crucial role in the articulation of self-understanding and of the formation of identity within a social group. The context of this polemic with the ‘others’ within the early Christian movement was the struggle for the right to exercise power and authority within the group addressed. This focused primarily on the right to define, to transmit and to preserve the true Jesus-tradition. The process of naming deviants is ultimately a contest of power. In this process, the idea of prototypicality is employed in order to claim authority and legitimacy for the authors’ understanding of the sacred tradition. To this we now turn in the next chapter.

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Legitimacy and Identity: Textual Prototypes in Ephesus in Comparison and Competition The idea of prototypicality concerns much more than the processes of labeling and making deviants of ‘false’ teachers, which we have discussed in the previous chapter. In the present chapter, I will elabrorate on the idea of prototypicality as the authors articulate the normative values aimed at holding the groups together. In particular, I will pay attention to the fact that the texts that could be located to the Ephesus area at the end of the first, or the beginning of the second, century CE (i.e., 1–2 Tim., Rev., 1–3 John and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians) were all composed as part of a struggle for authority and legitimacy in the ongoing process of institutionalization of the early Christian movement.1 It is well known that the question of the legitimate succession within a socio-religious group or movement arises inevitably with the disappearance of the original charismatic leader.2 Various solutions to this dilemma are usually available, often in competition with one another, and they often include appeals to various sources of authority (revelation, heredity authority, prior selection by the leader, special offices, etc.). The initial stages of consolidation or institutionalization are in practice characterized by intense conflicts between the competing forms of legitimacy (e.g., revelation as opposed to heredity authority) as well as between divergent interpretations of the same form of legitimacy (e.g., Whose revelation is authentic? Who stands in the line of authoritative,

1 I follow the definition of ‘institutionalization’ given by MacDonald (1998: 235): “the transformation of the early church from its loosely-organized, charismatic beginnings to its more tightly structured nature of the second century . . . As time passes and groups grow, greater organization is required.” However, I do not regard evidence of institutionalization merely as a second century-phenomena, in particular as we find evidence of an ongoing process of institutionalization in the undisputed Pauline Letters, e.g., 1 Thess. 5:12; 1 Cor. 16:15–16; Phil. 1:1. This is clearly spelled out by Holmberg, 1978: 186–95. 2 This is particularly elaborated in Max Weber’s description of ‘charisma’ and the ‘routinization of charisma’, see Weber, 1964: 324–92.

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apostolic succession?).3 Elaborating on Max Weber’s description of ‘charisma’ and the ‘routinization of charisma’, Bengt Holmberg argues that this process, in which “a charismatic form of authority that is continuously being institutionalized and reinstitutionalized through the dialectical interaction of persons, institutions and social forces at many different levels within the structure of the Church”, was a complex and an essentially “open” process, which began in the earliest stages of interaction and proceeded in many directions, i.e., it did not lead to uniform results.4 Even after the institutionalization of one generation, the tradition was relatively open and variable, especially with regard to new conditions and problems. As Holmberg points out, “Different apostles and missionaries within the same tradition may go different ways in the continuous process of institutionalization”.5 Thus, the process of institutionalization in the early Christian movement should not be regarded as a fixed or predetermined process, although we must acknowledge that, as time passes, the institutionalization of church life will be increasingly guided by corporate tradition and, accordingly, progressively less free to develop in variety of directions.6 Holmberg argues that, in this continuous process of institutionalization in the primitive church, proximity to the “sacred tradition” is the most crucial basis of authority. In order to claim the authority and legitimacy of the tradition, the most imperative requirement is to be in close contact with the sacred ratio, the divine Word. It was the apostles, prophets and teachers who became the real authorities during the first century of the Christian movement: “The most powerful manifestation of charisma is to have received the commission to preach the Gospel from the Lord himself or to mediate divine revelation direct from the Spirit, or to expound the Holy Scriptures and transmit the Jesus-tradition.”7

3

Gager, 1975: 68. Holmberg, 1978: 204–05. In addition to the sociological theories of Max Weber, Holmberg builds his thesis on insights from the sociology of knowledge of BergerLuckmann (1967). Holmberg’s (1978: 176, 178) distinction between ‘institutionalization’ and ‘routinization’ of the tradition is helpful: Institutionalization is the whole process of consensus generalization, structural solidification, legitimation, etc., and is present from the very inception of the charismatic movement, whereas routinization is part of a secondary phase in this general process, viz., a change in the set of personal motives of the actors, and as such it operates alongside other established factors, such as the laws of consensus generalization, the ideal interests of the group and the systematic needs of the group. 5 Holmberg, 1978: 186. 6 Holmberg, 1978: 200. 7 Holmberg, 1978: 198–99. 4

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It is thus the corporative tradition and the struggle to preserve and guard this tradition and its bearers (the group of tradition-bearers) that guide the emerging functional differentiation and its institutionalization in the primitive church. At the local level, we can observe a functional differentiation, which within a short time becomes institutionalized, i.e., develops into offices.8 Consequently, the process of the institutionalization of authority in the local community of believers is effected through “the dialectical interplay between the greater, institutionalized apostolic authority and the lesser, emergent local authority.”9 According to the sociologists Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, the appearance of a new party or a new generation requires that the institutionalized world should be legitimized in “ways by which it [the institutional world] can be explained and justified”.10 The overall process in which legitimacy operates in the formation, expansion, solidification and transformation of structures is described by Holmberg as “cumulative institutionalization”, which he aptly divides into primary institutionalization (the process that had already begun in the group around Jesus) and secondary institutionalization (the process that continues in the community of Christ-believers into a system of doctrine, cult and organization).11 In analyzing the texts in focus for this study, it is this secondary stage that we deal with, in which the author seeks authority and legitimacy for the ‘sacred tradition’. We should not assume that the process of institutionalization necessarily led to uniform results, even within a limited geographical area. I will therefore pay particular attention to questions of how the authors of the texts in focus in this study define the issues of authority and legitimacy of their respective traditions and where they place the locus of authority. I will begin by briefly outlining the way in which each author or text seeks to establish contact with, and to define proximity to the ‘sacred tradition’. This attempt to claim closeness to ‘the divine Word’ is not only crucial for the authority and identity that the author claims for himself, but also for the legitimacy which the author receives from the communities of believers and, in turn, for the process of

8

Holmberg, 1978: 198. Holmberg, 1978: 203. 10 Berger-Luckmann, 1967: 79. 11 Applying Holmberg’s theories, MacDonald (1988: 17–18, 29) finds three stages of “cumulative institutionalization” within the Pauline churches: i) community-building institutionalization (Paul’s authentic letters), ii) community-stabilizing institutionalization (Colossians/Ephesians), and iii) community-protecting institutionalization (the Pastoral Letters). 9

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formation of social identity.12 As we shall see, the claim to authority and legitimacy, and the shaping of the prototypical leader and group member/believer belong together. Since it is normally the key member (usually a leader) who best epitomizes (in the sense of both defining and being defined by) the social category, of which he or she is a member, I will assume that the prototypical leader is essentially the same as the prototypical believer. However, the idea of prototypicality concerns not only leadership qualifications; it has also to do with fundamental notions of structures, norms and metaphors that together express the ideal community standards of the author. Hence, this terminology will be used in a broad sense to conceptualize all kinds of norms (attitudes, behaviors, beliefs and organizational structures) that aim to keep the community together by forming a common idea of belonging and a social identity. In analyzing these texts, I will focus primarily on five essential areas, which all articulate ideas of prototypicality and social identity: i) the locus of authority and legitimacy; ii) leadership organization and the community offices; iii) community images and metaphors; iv) relationships between the community of believers and the wider society, and v) key ideas and descriptions of the prototypical believer. It is not within the scope of this study to make a comprehensive and detailed analysis of all these issues, but to map out the main features of each prototype respectively.13 I will begin by analyzing the ‘canonical’ texts. For the sake of convenience ― but certainly with the risk of generalization ― the prototypes will be artificially categorized as the prototype of the Pastor (1–2 Tim.), the prototype of the Prophet (Rev.) and the prototype of the Presbyter (1–3 John). Of course, these are my own heuristic constructions, although I assume that there were real authors behind these writings. In a sense, the implied author also becomes the implicit prototype, although I distinguish between the author and the prototype created by each author respectively.14 In the following, I intend to make a comparative analysis between the prototypes created by these authors, to investigate possible interrelationships and interactions between these prototypes, including the possibility that the authors of the texts in focus may have been familiar 12 For a discussion of the close relation between the personal identity of the author/prophet and the legitimacy of the social group addressed, see Carlsson, 2004: 22– 27. 13 For a more elaborate analysis of issue no. i, ii and iv in the Pastorals, the Johannine Letters, Revelation and Ignatius’s Letters, see Trebilco, 2004: 351–711. 14 I thus differentiate between, e.g., the pastor (the author) and the prototype of the Pastor (the cognitive model; with capital letter) and the tradition of the Pastor (the ideas that was formed, protected and transmitted). My use of ‘the presbyter’ in this chapter does not necessarily imply identification between ‘the presbyter’ of the Johannine Letters and ‘John the Presbyter’ of the witness of Papias (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.3–4).

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with other kinds of existing prototypes of Christ-believers besides the explicit deviant ones, and accordingly may have written in response to, or even in competition with, each other. Here I will bring Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians into the discussion. But before elaborating on these intriguing issues, we need to outline the prototypes of identity for whose existence I argue on the basis of each text respectively.

1. Protoypes in Comparison 1.1. The Prototype of the Pastor In First and Second Timothy, the authority of the Jesus-tradition goes back to Paul’s encounter with the risen Christ on the road to Damascus: Paul’s legitimacy is derived from the greater authority of Jesus. The rhetorical function of 1 Tim. 1:12–20 is not only to legitimize Paul’s ministry as an apostle of Jesus Christ at the beginning of the argument in this letter, but also to legitimize Timothy as Paul’s representative in Ephesus. From the beginning of the argument of First Timothy, the author wants to stress that the task given to Timothy to encounter the group of deviant teachers in the community ultimately rests on Paul’s own encounter with the risen Christ. This has been made clear in accordance with prophecies previously made concerning Timothy (1:18), which highlight and legitimize the close relationship between Paul and his appointed successor in the community.15 The same point is picked up at the beginning of Second Timothy (1:8–14): Jesus Christ has been revealed to Paul and he has entrusted him (paraqh/k hn mou, 1:12) with the true gospel and, by the work of the Spirit, this tradition has also been entrusted to Timothy, who is therefore urged to be a good guardian of the tradition handed over to him by the apostle (th\n kalh\n paraqh/khn fu/lacon, 1:14).16 As Paul’s ‘true child in the faith’ and his appointed agent in Ephesus, Timothy shares Paul’s authority and legitimacy. Timothy is thus given a position of authority over the community of believers, which includes the responsibility to keep the ‘sacred tradition’ pure (1 Tim. 1:3–4; 4:6–16), to order the life of the community (5:1–16), and to appoint elders as well as to exercise discipline and to mete out justice (5:17–22).17 Hence, the structures of authority and the legitimacy created ultimately rest on Paul’s own call to be an apostle and teacher of Christ (1 Tim. 1:1; 2:7; 2 Tim. 1:1, 11). 15

Oberlinner-Vögtle, 1992: 51–52. Cf. 2 Tim. 2:8. The authority of Paul among the addressees is also evident in 1 Tim. 5:21: ‘I solemnly charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus and of his chosen angels to maintain these principle.’ 17 Cf. Dunn, 1993: 352. 16

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Since Paul himself is not present, the true Jesus-tradition entrusted to him ― and in turn to Timothy ― should be guarded and passed on carefully.18 In order to safeguard this tradition, the author argues for structures of authority and leadership that rest on personal relationships and confidence: Jesus – Paul – (many witnesses)19 – Timothy – faithful people – the community of believers: ‘And the things you have heard from me through many witnesses, these entrust to faithful people [tau=ta para/qou pistoi=j a)nqrw/poij], who will be able to teach others also’ (2 Tim. 2:2; italics mine). Although we may not find a formal or institutionalized chain of succession argued here,20 the verb parati/qhmi suggests some kind of idea of succession, which was built into the authority structures of First and Second Timothy.21 Emphasis is given to the necessity of properly transmitting the authoritative Jesus-tradition, the sound teaching, and to the authority of the tradition that is linked to the authority of carefully selected and authoritative local teachers: “The author sees a strong and respected leadership structure as the crucial way of maintaining the integrity of the community.”22 Hence, in order to protect the true tradition, the author creates certain Sicherungselemente,23 particularly manifested in the central role given to the teacher (dida/skaloj)24 and the explicit hierarchical leadership 18

Cf. Wilson (1979: 62): “In the Pastorals the importance and authority of church offices are ultimately secondary to the ‘sound teaching’, the apostolic tradition. It is this which provides the rationale for the existence of offices, for it is to the preservation and dissemination of sound teaching that church leaders are committed.” 19 The mediation through ‘many witnesses’ (dia\ pollw~n martu/rwn) can become actual presence, giving the sense that ‘in the presence of (supported by) many witnesses’. See Opeke, TDNT 2.66; Marshall, 1999: 725. 20 Contra Oberlinner-Vögtle, 1992: 67–68. 21 The verb parati/qhmi is picked up from 1 Tim. 1:18, where Paul ‘entrusts’ (parati/qemai) Timothy to carry on the mission he himself has been entrusted by Jesus Christ. In the Pastorals the idea of paraqh/kh (‘property entrusted to another’, Trummer, EDNT 3.22) occurs three times (1 Tim. 6:20; 2 Tim. 1:12, 14), all these occasions stress the idea of guarding the true tradition that has been entrusted to Paul and Timothy. 22 Trebilco, 2004: 473. 23 Schlarb, 1990: 360. 24 1–2 Tim. display a particular high frequency of terms belonging to the didask– word group (didaskali/a, didaxh/, dida/skaloj, dida/s kw, didaktiko/j): the term didaskali/a is used eleven times (1 Tim. 1:10; 4:1, 6, 13, 16; 5:17; 6:1, 3; 2 Tim. 3:10, 16; 4:3 (didaskali/a occurs altogether fifteen times in the Pastorals, over against six in the whole of the rest of the NT). The term dida/skaloj occurs three times (1 Tim. 2:7; 2 Tim. 1:11; 4:3), dida/skw four times (1 Tim. 2:12; 4:11; 6:2; 2 Tim. 2:2), didaktiko/j two times (1 Tim. 3:2; 2 Tim. 2:24), and didaxh/ once (2 Tim. 4:2). For evaluation of this terminology in the Pastorals, see Schlarb, 1990: 274–313. In 1 Tim. 2:7 and 2 Tim. 1:11, the title dida/skaloj is connected to the title kh=ruc and a)po/stoloj, indicating the crucial role of being teacher in Paul’s ministry. Schlarb (1990: 287) comments on this:

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structures of 1 Tim. 3:1–13 and 5:17–20, which evolve around the roles of the e0pi/skopoj, presbu/teroi/presbuth/rion and dia/konoi respectively.25 These structures are closely interconnected in the patriarchal and hierarchical structures of the ancient family, particularly since the model e0pi/skopoj should be a married man who manages his own household well (1 Tim. 3:4). Accordingly, the family becomes the standard notion for the community of God, which is significantly labeled as ‘God’s household’ (oi)/koj qeou~, 1 Tim. 3:15; cf. 2 Tim. 2:20–21), an image which primarily stresses the idea of orderliness.26 Thus, we find that First and Second Timothy exhibit a clear degree of cumulative institutionalization and routinization with regard to leadership structures.27 The Pastoral Letters articulate a stage in the primitive church when the contours of organization are becoming more pronounced; here “we see the beginning of co-ordination of the organization and ministry of “Von diesen Bemerkungen her wird deutlich, daß die Titulierung des Paulus auch als dida/skaloj die Bedeutung hat, sowohl der Garant und Bürge für eine ‘wahrhaftig gesunde’ und ‘gesunde’ Lehre und für ‘richtige’ Glaubensaussagen zu sein als auch der autoritative Bezugspunkt, dessen Stellung in der Vermittlung der Heilsoffenbarung nicht übersprungen werden kann. Dafür steht seine – auch sprachlich festgehaltene – Singularität.” Also the recurring themes of ‘truth’ (a)lh/qia) and ‘sound teaching’ (u(giai/nousa didaskali/a, u(g iai/n ontej lo/goi) in 1 Tim. 1:10; 6:3; 2 Tim. 1:13; 4:3 highlights the role of the teacher and sound teaching. 25 I consider it likely that the e00pi/skopoj of 1–2 Tim. was part of the group of presbu/teroi but that the term presbu/teroj is not equivalent with the e)pi/skopoj; all e)pi/skopoi were presbu/teroi, but all presbu/teroi were not e)p i/skopoi (for a similar position, see Marshall, 1999: 170–81; 2002: 119). In Tit. 1:5–7 the terms are used more or less interchangeably (cf. Meier, 1973: 338; Trebilco, 2004: 450–51). The term presbu/teroj is used of a senior man in general (1 Tim. 5:1), but could also refer to a particular office that involved ruling and teaching (5:17), in particular to the role of bearing the apostolic tradition (see Young, 1994: 108–11). 26 Marshall (2002: 113) comments on the image of ‘the household of God’ in the Pastorals: “The implication of this metaphor is that God is like a householder who exercise authority over his household, and so there should be appropriate behavior within the church.” As pointed out in chapter 3, this image is probably developed in response to the deviant teachers, who threatened core values of the believing community. 27 Trebilco (2004: 462–64) finds the following signs of a degree of institutionalization in the Pastorals: i) there are established and formal leadership positions; ii) there are lists of qualifications for those who hold the offices; iii) there are tests for potential officeholders prior to them taking up office; iv) the ordination has developed as a ritual for the commencement of ministry (the laying on of hands, 1 Tim. 4:14; 2 Tim. 4:6); v) there seems to have been some financial or material payment (1 Tim. 5:17), and vi) a particular connection is made between the Spirit and the institution of church-leadership (2 Tim. 1:6–7; cf. 1 Tim. 4:14). Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, originally a letter that circulated in a wider region and that was later connected to Ephesus, demonstrates the emergence of clear leadership structures in the Pauline churches, in particular Eph. 4:11–12 stressing different leadership roles (apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers.

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the congregations”.28 Paul the apostle is no longer present to exercise leadership and supervision, and the locus of authority is found in the representative ministry of Timothy and in a local leadership, which preserves the authoritative teaching of the apostle from deviant teachings and which provides stability in the life of the community. The relationship to the outsiders and the wider society in First and Second Timothy could be described as open, i.e., it is not a separatist position that is argued. In his comprehensive analysis of societal relations in the Pastorals, Trebilco concludes that the author of the Pastorals was acculturated to some degree, and that the community he addresses is also acculturated, or even to some degree assimilated, to the wider society to a significant extent, viz., that linguistic, educational and ideological aspects of a given cultural matrix are reflected in the text. 29 As we pointed out in the previous chapter, today it is commonly noted that the Pastorals frequently adopt and echo contemporary terminology and standards in the paraenesis; for example, the emphasis put on the notions of eu)se/beia, sw&frwn, au0tarkei/a and e)pifa/neia, a terminology that was also prominent in contemporaneous Hellenistic Jewish and Greco-Roman language and literature.30 The author seems to share fundamental attitudes, values and patterns of religious associations of antiquity (e.g., fixed constitution, offices, orderly meetings, its own treasury) and of respectable behavior with the wider society (e.g., regarding the qualities required in leaders in 1 Tim. 3:1–7).31 As pointed out in the previous chapter, there are clear indications that some members of the community of believers belonged to the upper social strata, i.e., they held a societal position that not only presupposed some degree of acculturation, but also some degree of assimilation (1 Tim. 6:17–19).32 There are no tendencies to reject the 28

Marshall, 1999: 171. Cf. also Meier, 1973: 345. Trebilco, 2004: 351–84. In elaborating on the theme of societal relations, Trebilco (adopting a model from Barclay, 1996: 92–98) employs the terms of acculturation (relating to language, values and intellectual traditions, including cultural ideals), assimilation (concerns social contacts, interactions and practices, involving the political, social, material and religious aspects of Hellenization), and accommodation (the way acculturation is to build bridges with the wider culture). 30 Cf. chapter 2. As Nock (1972: 342–43) points out: “as we pass from the Pauline Epistles to the Pastorals . . . there is an approximation to the phraseology of the world around, a lessening of the feeling of isolation, and an increase in intelligibility to the ordinary contemporary man, had he happened upon these books.” 31 Lampe-Luz, 1993: 263–74; Trebilco, 2004: 368. 32 Cf. Fatum (2005: 192): “The goal of the Pastorals’ political strategy may well be called integration, but, according to the criteria of our later times, it does seem rather like assimilation, which would be fully consistent with the author’s change of focus and interpretative perspective, as we have seen, from a vertical non-worldly orientation towards the future to the horizontalized and domesticated acceptance of worldly life 29

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world in the Pastorals; the addressees are not explicitly urged to draw back, nor to disassociate themselves from society, but to pray particularly for kings and all who are in authority. The overall purpose in doing this is ‘that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity (e0n pa/sh? eu)sebei/a? kai\ semno/thti)’ (1 Tim. 2:2). Moreover, the author seems very conscious of the outside world and about how the community of believers is being judged by the wider society (cf. 1 Tim. 3:7; 5:14; 6:1). In First and Second Timothy, there is thus a connection between social respectability and the desire to communicate belief in Christ to the surrounding society.33 In fact, the main reason for this concern seems to be, not a general aspiration for acculturation or assimilation, but a concern for the respectable reputation of the community of believers in the wider society.34 At the same time, we may find clear evidence of interaction with the wider society, and also clear demarcations made against contemporary social values and norms, for example, the demarcations against pagan cults (particularly against the Imperial cult in 1 Tim. 1:17; 6:13–16) and against the standard views of wealth and material goods (e.g., the charge not to be conceited, nor to put any hope in the uncertainty of riches but in God in 1 Tim. 5:17).35 Thus, the situation of the community addressed by the author of First and Second Timothy is not adequately described only by the term ‘assimilation’. The situation was more complex and this term does not do full justice to the distinctiveness of the Christian community in the wider society that the author strives to maintain and to safeguard. The faithful need to be encouraged to remain loyal to Christ under pressure, and they are constantly at risk of being seen as socially disruptive and of being

under ordinary social and political condition.” However, the eschatology of 1 Tim. 6:14– 17; 2 Tim. 4:1–8 and Tit. 2:11–13 demonstrate that the parousia plays a vital role in the theology of the Pastorals. 33 Cf. MacDonald, 1988: 170. 34 See 1 Tim. 2:2; 3:2, 7; 5:14; 6:1. As pointed out by Thiessen (1995: 288; italics original): “Die Frage jedoch ist, warum es der Verfasser für notgewändig hält, zu einem ‘ruhigen und stillen’ Leben und zum Gebet für den Staat aufzufordern. Hätte sich die Gemeinde wirklich ‘in der Welt eingerichtet’, dann wäre diese Ethik alltäglich und verbreitet, und eine Ermahnung dazu wäre überflüssig.” Towner (1989: 197) correctly concludes that the ultimate purpose for the paraenesis of the Pastorals is the idea of mission: “mission provides the impulse for the concern for outsiders” (see also ibid., 187–90, 197–98; cf. Lampe-Luz, 1993: 274–79). 35 According to MacDonald (1988: 201) a condemnation of the accumulation of wealth in the Pastorals, coupled with an acceptance of already established wealth on the condition that the wealthy recognize their responsibility to the poor, is characteristic of love-patriarchalism: “social distinctions are maintained with those in authority demanding the obedience of subordinate groups while ensuring their care and protection.”

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marginalized and alienated in the Greco-Roman society.36 Consequently, contra Dibelius and Conzelmann, I do not find it particularly helpful to characterize the ethical attitudes of the Pastorals as “bourgeois”.37 In the previous chapter, we noted the portrayal of the prototypical believer in First and Second Timothy who was primarily addressed as ‘the faithful one’ (o( pisto/j) and by the typical family-term, ‘brother’ (a)delfo/j). We also noticed that the typos-believer is described as the godfearing (1 Tim. 6:11; 4:7; 2 Tim. 3:12), the self-controlled (1 Tim. 6:3–11; 2 Tim. 1:7) and the suffering believer (2 Tim. 3:12), particularly exemplified in the lives and ministries of Paul and Timothy themselves. In First and Second Timothy, the prototypical believer is consistently defined in Christological terms, i.e., it is ultimately his belief in, and his relationship to, Jesus Christ that defines the meaning and content of these virtues.38 1.2. The Prototype of the Prophet In the Book of Revelation, the locus of authority is spelt out in clearly divine terms as having its origin in God and in the risen Jesus Christ. The authority of John the Prophet is founded on a ‘revelation of Jesus Christ’ (a)poka/luyij )Ihsou~ Xristou=) which God gave to him, and on the commission to prophetic ministry received by the risen Jesus Christ on Patmos (Rev. 1:1–2, 9–20). John makes clear from the start that his prophecy is divinely inspired. He speaks the word of God on the basis of a direct calling of God and of Jesus Christ (1:11, 19); the story is not his own ― it is ‘the revelation of Jesus Christ’. In fact, his words are not his own, he is only a witness and prophet of the word of God (1:3; 22:7, 10, 18–19).39 Marking the inclusio of John’s revelations, the Book closes with Jesus himself reappearing in order to give the final authority and legitimacy to John’s visions (22:12–16). In this inclusion we also find a promise of blessing for those who read it (1:3; 22:7), which underlines the significance of the text at hand. In 22:18–19, John reinforces his blessings by adding a threat: whoever would add or subtract from the message 36

Cf. Young, 1994: 40–46. Pace Dibelius and Conzelmann, 1972: 8–10, 39–41. For a detailed analysis and critique of the theme of christlische Bürgerlichkeit in the Pastorals, see particularly Schwarz (1983), Verner (1983) and Kidd (1990). 38 Cf. Young’s (1994: 34) comments concerning the value-system in the Pastorals, “although it reflects Greco-Romans values, we must also assert that this ethical material is Christianized and brought into a fundamental theological frame”. 39 Carey (1999: 122) points out that in Revelation, the concept of witness plays a crucial role in legitimizing John and his message: “Like the ‘faithful and true witness’ Jesus, John’s words are ‘faithful and true’. So John is identified not only with the saints of the highest status, his discourse assumes the authority of Christ.” 37

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should expect damnation. Furthermore, the Jesus-tradition is validated by the prophet’s heavenly journeys, where the prophet receives visions of God on his throne, and of the slaughtered but victorious Lamb. What John sees and hears is important, absolutely fundamental, to his claim to authority.40 Here we find a tradition of authority that draws from Jewish apocalypse, in which the apocalyptic literature typically builds the locus of authority and legitimacy on heavenly journeys accompanied by propheticcharismatic visions and utterances. Thus, from a rhetorical perspective, apocalypse is especially effective for the building up of an ethos and for establishing authority.41 The emphasis on the prophetic tradition is strong in Revelation: John is given the title the prophet (profh/thj) and he writes prophecy (1:3; 10:7, 10–11; 11:6, 18; 19:10; 22:7–10, 18–19), divinely inspired by the Spirit (1:10; 4:2; 17:3; 21:10).42 Thus, as a prophet, John speaks the words of Jesus Christ (2:1, 8, 12, 18; 3:1, 7, 14), and he is commissioned to ‘write what you have seen, what is, and what is to take place after this’ (1:19; cf. 1:11; 10:8–11; 21:5). Revelation contains two call-narratives, one in 1:9– 20 and the second in 10:8–11:2. The second functions as a resumption of the first call. The function of these narratives is to legitimize John, as a receiver and transmitter of revelatory visions.43 The locus of authority of Johns’s prophetic activities does not rest on John himself, not even on the 40

The form ei1don (I saw) occurs forty-seven times and the form h)/kousa (‘I heard’) twenty-seven times in Rev. 41 Cf. Carey (1999: 77–92 [92]): “Through dreams, dialogues with heavenly figures, tours of heavenly regions, and lessons about primeval history or the fundamental elements of the cosmos, visionaries demonstrate their exclusive knowledge.” Carlsson (2004: 22–29) maintains that heavenly travels were essential in communicating the identity and legitimacy of the seer: “The heavenly travelers had, unlike the others, received the ability to have direct contact with God. This ability made up the primary consequence of their new identity” (2004: 24). Legitimacy often came only from the inner circle of followers: “The Tradition Groups who transmitted narratives of heavenly journeys were often made up of marginalized people within Judaism and Christianity, while other groups/directions within both religions were sceptical. This is reflected in the heavenly journey texts which, in several cases, have a polemicizing characteristic. The legitimacy which a group gave to the heavenly travelers was built upon views which had arisen because of the special religious and social context in which it lived” (2004: 26– 27). 42 Following Bauckham (1993c: 16, 115–17) in reading ‘the Spirit’ in Rev. 1:10; 4:2; 17:3; 21:10 as a reference to God’s spirit, “the agent of visionary experience”, not to the human spirit (pace NRSV). This is also the implication of Rev. 19:10, ‘the testimony of Jesus is the Spirit of prophecy’ (h( ga_r marturi/a )Ihsou= e)stin to_ pneu=ma th~j profhtei/aj). Hence, the references to the Spirit in Rev. include a claim that John’s prophecy is divinely inspired. In defence of the representative character of John as an early Christian prophet, see Aune, 1981: 21–22. 43 Aune, 1981: 20.

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office given to him, but on God the Father and on the risen Christ. 44 The readers should pay careful attention to this and should read his prophetic scroll as a sacred writing with divine authority (explicitly expressed in the inclusio of 1:3 and 22:18). Thus, in presenting himself as a prophet, John seeks legitimacy and wants to secure “the absolute and unconditional acceptance of the divine authority of his apocalyptic message”.45 The Book of Revelation is a book of conflicts. First, there are ingroup conflicts. John the Prophet confronts other local, rivaling prophetic groups or circles that were active in the churches of Asia Minor (e.g., the false apostles of the Nicolaitans, the group ‘who hold on to the teachings of Balaam’ and the prophetess Jezebel), persons and groups who are labeled as ‘false’ (yeudei=j, 2:2) and who promote ‘the deep things of Satan’ (ta_ baqe/a tou~ Satana~, 2:24).46 In dealing with these issues, there is a remarkable silence about local structures of leadership and authority. We meet the more general group of ‘the saints and the apostles and prophets’ (18:20), and faithful believers are described generally as ‘saints and prophets’ (16:6; cf. 11:18; 18:24). On the whole, the terminology used for positions of leadership and offices is veiled in apocalyptic and symbolic language. Instead of explicitly addressing the local church leader(s), the author ambiguously addresses ‘the angel of the church’.47 Even the frequently used title ‘the Elder’ (presbu/teroj), is veiled in spiritual and symbolic language and does not refer to the local, earthly leadership positions, but to heavenly beings in front of the throne of God.48 The title 44

Trebilco (2004: 499–500) notices that by calling himself a servant (1:1), a title given to all believers in Rev. (2:20; 7:3; 19:2, 5; 22:3, 6), John seems deliberately to play down his own status and identify with his readers as he also does by emphasizing that he is a ‘brother and a partner’ (o( a)delfo_j u(mw~n kai\ sugkoinwno_j, 1:9). 45 Aune, 1981: 22. I find it likely that John addressed a specific circle of prophets (referred to in 22:9, 16), who served as transmitters and teachers in the distribution and presentation of Revelation to the seven churches. For detailed arguments in favor of this view, see Aune, 1989. John also knows of a female prophet-teacher, Izebel of Thyatira, who seems to have been strong enough to counter the authority of John. As Schüssler Fiorenza (1983: 300) points out, despite the attack on this prophetess, “John does not discredit female prophecy as such”. Later on, Thyatira became a center of the Montanist movement, a movement well known for its acceptance of female prophets. 46 Thiessen (1995: 351) suggests that ‘the false apostles’ (2:2) and the Nicolaitans (2:6) refer to the same group of deviant teachers. The latter group may have been a part of the first group, but it is not possible to decide whether the author intended a complete identification between these groups. 47 The ambiguous title ‘the angel of church’ (tw?~ a)gge/lw? th=j e)kklhsi/aj, 2:1 etc.) may refer to either human or heavenly beings. But since a)/ggeloj exclusively refers to heavenly beings in Rev., the expression probably refers to an angelic being, representing the church before the heavenly council. For a good discussion of this expression, see Aune, 1997: 108–12. 48 See Rev. 4:4, 10; 5:5, 6, 8, 11, 14; 11:16; 14:3; 19:4. Cf. Bornkamm, TDNT 6.669.

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‘apostle’ (a)po/stoloj) is used of itinerant deviant prophets or teachers in the letter to the church in Ephesus (‘those who call themselves apostles’, 2:2), which indicates that these were not resident leaders. On other occasions, the title is used in a more general way (18:20), or with reference to the twelve apostles (21:14). Thus, we conclude that the prophets are the only officers in the communities of believers addressed in Revelation. This does of course not imply that John was not familiar with other kinds of leadership terminology and structures. On the other hand, if any other officers had been familiar to him, it seems quite remarkable that he does not address them. It is also worth noting the fact that John the Prophet speaks of the twelve apostles without including Paul or even mentioning that Paul had also been called to be an apostle. He completely neglects the impact of the Pauline tradition, which is a remarkable fact, considering that both the Pastorals and Ignatius bear witness to a Pauline tradition and influence in western Asia Minor and in Ephesus during this period.49 Was the author of Revelation not familiar with the Pauline tradition? Or, as Walter Bauer suggests, was the Pauline heritage no longer present in this geographical area?50 Considering the impact of Paul on other early Christian texts from the same and later periods, it seems quite unlikely that Paul would have been completely forgotten in western Asia Minor. It is more reasonable to assume that the prophet deliberately made no use of his knowledge of Paul.51 As a matter of fact, this neglect of Paul could be connected to the prophet’s neglect of church-offices in general, which points to the conclusion that John the Prophet wanted to articulate another interpretation and application of the Jesus-tradition, either in response or in contrast to the Pauline tradition (we will come back to this below).

49

This neglect has been pointed out by several scholars, e.g., Lohse, 1991: 365–66; Aune, 1997: cxxvi–cxxvii; Trebilco, 2004: 615–25. 50 Bauer, 1972: 83–84. 51 There is no scholarly concensus concerning the identity of the Nicolaitans. Several scholars draw parallels between the strong at Corinth and the Nicolaitans in Rev. 2:6, and suggest that the Nicolaitans may have been influenced by Paul, or may have radicalized his teaching. Thiessen (1995: 351–52) argues that the Nicolaitans was a strongly Gentile orientated group that still practiced the Apostolic decree and tried to seduce Jewish Christ-believers into uncleanness and fellowship with Gentiles. According to Witetchek (2008: 413), the Nicolaitans was a liberal Jewish group of ‘Pauline’ Christ-believers. Taeger (1998: 195–203; followed by Trebilco, 2004: 331–35; 622–25) suggests that the Nicolaitans were an off-shot of Pauline Christianity and in order to combat them John deliberately neglected or played down this tradition. This is an interesting hypothesis, although hard to prove. I find it more likely that John had quite a different understanding of the Jesus-tradition that stood in tension with the Pauline tradition on some vital points concerning authority and legitimacy.

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Obviously, the main conflict in Revelation is that between the community of believers and the wider society: “Revelation advances a thorough-going prophetic critique of the system of Roman power.”52 For John the Prophet, the community of believers and the pagan society are diametrically opposed. The prophet articulates a critical and separatist understanding in relation to the surrounding society: “John the Seer is wholeheartedly against any significant form of social integration by Christians and is seeking to convince his readers also to take this approach and to participate as little as possible in the social intercourse of the wider culture.”53 The author incorporates elements of the surrounding GrecoRoman culture and of pagan worship (such as the Imperial cult) in order to oppose and polemicize vigorously against these elements.54 In addressing Christ-believers in Ephesus, it is those who were involved in pagan worship, the so-called Nicolaitans, who are specifically condemned. This means that there were local Christ-believers who must have been more involved in the surrounding majority culture than John would like them to be, and who most probably participated in different cults, including in their banquets and feasts.55 This is also indicated by the situation in the communities in Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis and Laodicea, which demonstrates that wealthier members of the communities of believers shared the standards of the wider society. 56 The author condemns this lack of demarcation and those members of the community of believers who compromised with common norms and values (2:6, 14–15), and urges his readers to take a separatist stance towards the outsiders. The believers are exhorted to resist the political beast and to ‘come out’ from the unrighteous socio-economical system of luxury and materialism envisaged by the great harlot (13:1–10; 18:1–4): the community is engaged in a holy war against evil spiritual, political, economical and religious powers and systems, dramatically portrayed by the dragon, the two beasts and the great whore.57 The ideal believers are thus described as those ‘who follow the Lamb wherever he goes’ (14:4), and urged to join the army of 52

Bauckham, 1993c: 38. Trebilco, 2004: 398. Cf. Aune (1981: 28): “John, with his apocalyptic tradition of nonconformity and opposition to the influence of the dominant alien culture represents a conservative approach to the question of accommodation to paganism.” 54 E.g., Aune (1983) points out the explicit polemic with and critique of the cult of Domitian elaborated in Rev. 4:1–11. 55 So Müller, 1993: 318–19; Trebilco, 2004: 398, 403. 56 E.g., the believing community in Laodicea is considered materially rich but spiritually poor (Rev. 3:17–18), partaking in the standards of the society of Laodicea (cf. Hemer, 1986: 195, 208–09). 57 Following Bauckham’s (1993a: 210–37) proposal to read Revelation as a Christian War Scroll. 53

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the Lamb and to fight against these evil powers together with the Lamb (17:14). The image of the followers of Lamb as an army becomes the main image by which to stress the prophet’s immediate call to join ranks with the Holy one. This image finds it complement in the description of the community of believers as the bride, Jerusalem (21:9), the community of the redeemed and the holy ones. John addresses the believers primarily as ‘the saints’ (oi( a(/gioi)58 and ‘the servants’ (oi( dou~loi),59 which signals the call to uncompromising obedience as the true representatives of the people of God in the world.60 The only way to enact true discipleship is by following the Lamb and by identifying with the suffering and the sacrificial death of this Lamb. Accordingly, the idea of the prototypical believer is characterized by spiritual pureness and chastity, expressed by the model of the virgin (pa&rqenoj, 14:4), and by perseverance and suffering, expressed by the model of the martyr, the suffering witness (ma/rtuj, 6:9–11; 12:11; 13:9–10; 14:12). However, central to the understanding of the typos believer is his transformation from a victim to the victor.61 The victory of the believer consists of pureness and martyrdom, which includes the renunciation of any active resistance to the Roman state power and to the surrounding hostile society.62 To the ones who overcome are given promises of heavenly, eternal rewards and blessings (2:7, 11, 17, 26; 3:5, 12, 21). Consequently, we find a triad of the prototypical believer in the typoi of the virgin, the martyr and the victor. 1.3. The Prototype of the Presbyter First John has a clear polemical thrust, since it was written in response to a group of people who have left the ingroup of believers because of their specific understanding of the identity of Jesus Christ (2:19–23; 4:1–6; 5:1– 5).63 However, no hint is given in the letter of a community structure that 58

E.g., Rev. 8:3–4; 13:10; 14:12; 19:7–8. E.g., Rev. 2:20; 7:3; 10:7; 19:5; 22:3–4. 60 See Trebilco, 2004: 577–87. 61 See Barr, 1984: 42, 50. 62 Müller, 1993: 316. 63 Brown (1982: 47–68, 762–63) reads the Johannine Letters as a polemic against these secessionists, arguing that John aimed at combating the secessionists in four areas (whose views could have arisen from a one-sided reading of John’s Gospel; cf. also Painter, 1986): the secessionists i) stressed the divine principle in Jesus at the cost of his earthly dimensions (Christology); ii) they claimed that they were sinless or perfect (moral behavior); iii) they denied future aspects of eschatology; iv) they claimed to speak under the guidance of the Spirit (pneumatology). In order to distance the secessionists from the ingroup of believers, those deviating from the norms of the author are labeled ‘antichrists’ (a)nti/x ristoi, 2:18, 22), ‘liars’ (oi9 yeu&stai, 2:4, 22; 5:10), ‘deceivers’ (oi9 planw&t oi, 2:26), ‘of the devil’ (e0k tou= diabo/lou, 3:8, 10), ‘false prophets’ (oi9 59

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speaks of specific leaders or offices in a superior position, who are appointed to guard the tradition and the community of believers against deviant teaching. According to 1 John 1:1–4, the author is a witness (not an ‘apostle’) who belongs to a group of collective witnesses (‘we’). 64 The purpose of First John is not to distinguish this group from other Christbelievers, but rather to include the readers (‘you’) in the group of witnesses and, hence, together with the Father and the Son; that you may have fellowship (koinwni/a) with us ― and our fellowship (koinwni/a) is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ (1:3).65 The author does not seek authority as an individual, but together with his readers; he belongs to a group that saw ifself as standing in continuity with the first witnesses and as maintaining the continuity and unity of the tradition rooted in their testimony.66 Together they will form a community that bears witness of the tradition of Jesus Christ. The author appeals to no other forms of external authority in order to buttress his position; the authority is rooted, not in the appointed offices, nor in the inherited roles, but in a group of witnesses and, as such, it is potentially available to every member of the community.67

yeudoprofh=t ai, 4:1, 4). Trebilco (2004: 277–92) concludes that the secessionists had Docetic tendencies (so also Barrett, 1993: 339–41; Strecker, 1996: 69–76), although he is more cautious not to read the Johannine Letters as fundamentally polemical documents. However, while clear parallels can be adduced between early Cerinthian (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.26.1; 3.3.4) or Docetic teaching (Ign.Eph. 18–19; Ign.Smyr. 1–3; 6:2) and the Johannine Letters, none of these teachings perfectly mirrors the teaching of the secessionists in the Johannine Letters. As we paid attention to in chapter 2 (4.2), there seems to have been a mixture of Jewish and Hellenistic elements in the teaching of the secessionists. 64 Brown (1982: 94–97) identifies ‘we’ as the tradition bearers and interpreters, who constitute “the Johannine school”. 65 Sproston (1992: 53) suggests that John’s authoritative status in relation to his readers in 1 John 1:1–4 is best compared to authoritative structures in Paul (e.g., the introduction to Romans). But this is clearly neglects John’s stress of the collective, corporate role of tradition-bearing, something not stressed so clearly by Paul. 66 A key-word in the Johannine Letters is the verb marture/w (use ten times, 1 John 1:2; 4:14; 5:6, 7, 9, 10; 3 John 1:3, 6, 12, 12). In 1 John 4:14 and 5:10, the author uses the verb in inclusive meaning (‘us’), including the readers as witnesses to the tradition about Jesus as God’s Savior of the world. 67 Lieu, 1991: 24–26. Although the author of 1 John regularly addresses the recipients as tekni/a (e.g., 1 John 2:1, 12, 28), paidi/a (2:14, 18) or a)g aphtoi/ (1 John 2:7; 3:2, 21; 4:1, 7, 11; 3 John 1, 2 , 5, 11), he associates himself with the community as one of its member (2:28; 4:7). This is particularly highlighted by the author’s inclusive use of ‘we’ throughout the letters (e.g., 1 John 4: 12–16), referring to the whole community (together with the author). The author claims little of himself that cannot be said of the community (cf. 1:3 with 1:5; 1:2 with 4:12; 1:3 with 1:6, and so on). As pointed out by Lieu (1991:

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It is thus this community itself, not the author himself nor any specific persons or offices, which is the primary locus of authority. The locus of authority is placed in the presence of the Spirit, who is the Spirit of truth (4:6), in the community of the believers: ‘But you have an anointing from the Holy One, and you all know (the truth)’ (2:20). The Spirit, who is given to all believers, will not only lead them to the truth, but will also give legitimacy and will guarantee the true Jesus-tradition: ‘And as for you, the anointing which you received from him abides in you, and you have no need for anyone to teach you’ (2:27). The ‘anointing’ (xri=sma) dwells within the believers, which indicates that this expression has primarily to do with the indwelling of the Spirit in the community of believers.68 Nonetheless, since the Spirit guarantees the truth and the central content of this truth concerns true knowledge and understanding of Jesus as Xristo/j (2:20–22), the xri=sma does not only refer to the presence of the Spirit in the community, but also to the received word, teaching or tradition.69 The main point of the author’s argument is that, because of the presence of this anointing in the community of believers, there is no need for a teacher. As a matter of fact, no leadership title of any sort is mentioned in First John. Instead, the locus of authority is first of all located in the true Jesus tradition as proclaimed and transmitted by its first witnesses (1 John 1:1–4) and as received by the community of believers (1:5; 2:7, 24; 3:11; 5:20; 2 John 5).70 Accordingly, the locus of authority in First John is ultimately collective. Since the Spirit is given to everybody, it is located in the whole community of believers. 71

25), the author’s “individual identity becomes absorbed in that of the community as a whole and of each member”. 68 Cf. Burge, 1987: 175. 69 In 1 John 3:24 and 4:13, the Spirit is related to knowledge and in 2:24 the Spirit’s presence is connected to the proclaimed Word and the received tradition that Jesus is Christ (notice the probablly deliberate wordplay, xri=s ma – xristo/j – a)nti/x ristoi). Hence, anointing and receiving God’s word are equivalent (cf. 2 Cor. 1:21–22). Lieu (1991: 30) points out concerning the anointing (xri=sma): “Rather than the community’s confidence being essentially ‘charismatic’, the spirit can pose problems (4:1f.); it is the received teaching or tradition which is more likely to be at the heart of their confidence.” Smalley (1984: 107) aptly draws the conclusion that “John is deliberately using the idea of xri=sma to signify both the Spirit and the word of God” (italics original). 70 This is particularly highlighted by the frequent use of the a)lh/q-terminology in 1–3 John: a)l h&qeia (1 John 1:6, 8; 2:4, 21, 21; 3:18, 19; 4:6; 5:6; 2 John 1, 1, 2, 3, 4; 3 John 3, 4, 8, 12), a)lhqh/j (1 John 2:8, 27; 3 John 12), a)lhqw~j (1 John 2:5) and a)lhqino/j (1 John 2:8; 5:20, 20, 20). 71 See 1 John 2:7, 20–27; 5:19–20. Cf. the conclusion by Lieu (1991: 27): “For 1 John authority lies within the life and experience of the believing community; finding the way forward is a shared enterprise, and examination of their present Christian life is done

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The author of Second and Third John refers to himself as the Presbyter/Elder (o( presbu/teroj, 2 John 1; 3 John 1), without further definition of the meaning. However, the title presbu/teroj seems to be used here without the same technical meaning as in the Pastorals (or Ignatius), where authority is specifically connected with appointment of an office.72 Even if the title indicates a position of authority over the recipients of the letters (and could potentially even refer to the role of an overseer),73 the appointed or official meaning of the title is clearly played down. It seems rather to refer to a person who exercises authority by virtue of his role as a venerated old man and as a bearer of the Jesus-tradition and, as such, he has a position of authority.74 But, as the dispute about authority with Diotrephes in Third John demonstrates, he does not seem to have been the prime leader of the local community (at least not of that community).75 Diotrephes, ‘who loves to be first among them’ (o( from within and not from outside.” The corporate aspect of authority and legitimacy is also clearly spelt out by Trebilco, 2004: 475–82. 72 Campbell (1994: 207) calls the use of presbu/teroj in singular in 2–3 John, “the most puzzling use of presbu/t eroj in the New Testament”. While I basically agree with Lieu (1991: 92; cf. also Smalley, 1984: 317) that “there is nothing in the title ‘Elder’ or in the letters to align their author with a particular ‘non-institutional’, and even less charismatic, style of ministry”, the author of 3 John does not seem to use the title with clear reference to a certain office. I doubt though that there is evidence enough in order to conclude with Trebilco (2004: 484) that we have to do with “a conflict between a form of institutional authority (found in Diotrephes) and ‘personal’ authority (found in the elder)”. 73 So Campbell (1994: 208), who argues (mainly from the Pastorals) that the title presbu/teroj is a flexible term that could often refer to those who held other offices or were known by more precise titles. Considering that the presbyter of 3 John writes to th?= e)kklhsi/a? (v. 9) where Gaius has a position of leadership, I doubt though that Campbell is right when he proposes that the presbyter was the “mono-episkopos” and Gaius and Diotrephes were household leaders. To write a letter would indeed be an odd way to deal with a situation in the presbyter’s own group. 74 Having made a detailed survey of the use of this title in the primitive and ancient church, Lieu (1986: 63–64) concludes that the title remains oblique, although “Certainly the title can hardly avoid implying some claim to seniority in the Christian faith”. There are clear indications among the authors of the second century that presbu/t eroj was a term that did not identify men who had a particular office but men of high standing in the early church (e.g., Papias [apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.4], Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.27; 4.26–27; 5.33; Clement of Alexandria, Ecl. Proph. 11.1; 27.1, 4). See TWNT 6.651–83, cf. Trebilco, 2004: 482–90. Lieu (1986: 152–53) points out the recent tendency among scholars to interpret the title o( presbu/teroj in 2–3 John as of one who “saw himself as the guarantor of Johannine tradition with the right to address and visit other churches of the ‘Johannine’ communion” (italics original). 75 Cf. Brown, 1982: 649. It is not clear whether the dispute was only related to practical matters concerning hospitality (e.g., Lieu, 1986: 154–55), or whether it also concerned doctrinal issues (e.g., Strecker, 1996: 365).

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filoprwteu&wn au)tw~n, 3 John 9), was certainly a leader in a prominent position, who refused to welcome itinerant brothers and who excluded disobedient members (v. 10); in fact, Diotrephes may even have viewed himself as the appropriate e)pi/skopoj of the community in question. Hence, this controversy seems to correspond to the fundamental struggle ‘between Spirit and office, church order and the independent charismatic life”.76 If this reconstruction of the situation is correct, it is even more interesting to note that even though the conflict between John the Presbyter and Diotrephes seems to have been a conflict about authority and office (Diotrephes claims sovereign authority over against the presbyter, who refrained from stressing the positions and offices), the presbyter avoids addressing the conflict with Diotrephes by reference to certain titles or positions.77 This follows the demarcations made in First John, where we saw a clear tendency to play down certain offices in favor of the crucial role of the community itself. Furthermore, although John the Presbyter has a sense of his own authority, the primary locus of authority is not derived from his own position, but from the true Jesus-tradition (as defined by the author) and from the community of believers as the bearer of this tradition (1 John 1:1– 4; 2 John 1–2, 5, 9; 3 John 3–4, 12). As for the rest, there is a remarkable lack of hierarchical structures in the Johannine Letters. It is rather the horizontal, family relationships that are highlighted; the author repeatedly addresses the group of believers as a whole (e.g., 1 John 1:1–5) and the recipients are addressed as ‘the children’, beloved’ or ‘the brothers’ (e.g., 2:1, 7, 12, 14, 18, 28; 3:7, 13, 18; 3 John 2). The use of the phrase ‘the children of God’ (1 John 3:1–2) and the specifically family-oriented expression, ‘the chosen lady and her children’ (2 John 1), combine the ideas of horizontal and vertical identity. Having been reborn into the family of God, the true believers now live together in a community of family relationships.

76

Strecker, 1996: 261. Cf. Bultmann (1973: 100), who points out that the presbyter “disparagingly avoids or replaces the real title of Diotrephes, i.e., e)pi/skopoj”. Barrett (1993: 337; cf. Dodd, 1946: 161) also suggests that the inner structures of the community of John and the community of Diotrephes “seem to have been monarchical”, maintaining that Gaius and Diotrephes were members of different churches. The definite article of th?= e)kklhsi/a? (in contrast to the more general allusion to a church audience [e0kklhsi/aj] in v. 6) suggests, however, that the same church as in the previous verses is addressed. Smalley (1984: 354; cf. also Brown, 1982: 730–31) proposes that John writes Gaius a second time (3 John) since the presbyter’s earlier communication with Diotrephes had been rejected. Although Diotrephes certainly was a prominent leader, we cannot thus deduce from 3 John that Diotrephes was a monarchical bishop. 77

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John’s vision of the community of believers is made up of clear distinctions between the outgroup and the ingroup. The Johannine Letters are permeated by ingroup language; the fellowship (koinwni/a) and the care of the ingroup, the love between brothers, is repeatedly emphasized (1 John 3:6–7; 4:20–21; 5:16). 78 The ingroup perspective is also picked up by the dualistic terminology of light – darkness, truth – lie, love – hate, Christ – antichrist, etc.79 The relationship to the surrounding society is expressed in terms of separation and clear demarcations of group boundaries; sharp lines are drawn between the community of believers and o( ko/smoj (2:15– 17; 3:1, 13), and the readers are not ‘of the world’ but ‘of God’ (4:4–6), and they are being urged ‘not to love the world, nor the things in the world’ (2:15), particular since ‘the whole world lies in the power of the evil one’ (5:19).80 This kind of terminology points to a prototype characterized by a low level of assimilation. John the Presbyter stresses the difference between the group of believers and the wider society and he does not seem to want the ingroup of believers to participate to any significant extent in the activities of the wider society. The world ‘out there’ should be shunned and even rejected. The prototypical believer is described in terms that reflect the overall setting of these letters. First, in order to sharpen the demarcations against the secessionists, the ideal believer demonstrates ‘the truth’ (a)lh/qeia) both in his belief and his behavior (by contrast to the deviants, who are labeled yeu/dai/yeudoprofh=tai/a)nti/xristoi; e.g., in 1 John 2:18–27; 4:1–6). Secondly, in order to strengthen the bounds between the ingroup members, the prototypical believer is depicted as the one who demonstrates ‘love’ (a)ga/ph) towards the brothers (e.g., 3:11–24; 4:7– 21).81 The use of a)lh/qeia and a)ga/ph is clothed in the mystic language of indwelling and abiding: the prototypical believer abides in the Father and 78

Lieu (1991: 57) points out that 1 John, in contrast to most New Testament writings, is “focused only on intra-communal relations”. 79 E.g., 1 John 1:5–8; 2:8–11, 18–22; 3:18–19; 2 John 1–4; 3 John 1–4. 80 When the author uses ko/s moj in a positive sense it is used in the general sense of ‘people’ (e.g., 2:2; 4:9, 14). Lieu (1991: 84) properly captures the meaning of the ‘world’ in 1 John: “Whether we are to think of active hostility or passive concern, of official action or popular reaction, of Jew or of Greek, or both, for the author it is undifferentiated world.” Bauer’s (1972: 92) point concerning the secessionists seems valid, at least within a theological perspective: “And perhaps we do more justice to the actual historical situation if we suppose that it was not the heretics who withdrew, but rather the orthodox who had retreated in order to preserve what could be protected from entanglement with ‘the world’.” 81 Notice the combination of truth (a)l h/qeia) and love (a)ga/ph) in 1 John 2:4–5; 3:18–19; 2 John 1–3. Concerning the emphasis of the theme of love in 1 John, Lieu (1991: 70–71) comments that, “love is the decisive commandment and necessary sign of belonging to the community”.

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the Son, and the Father ‘abides in him’ (me/n ei e0n au)tw?~), which also means that the believer abides in the truth and the love (cf. 2 John 1; 3 John 1).82 1.4. Comparative Analysis The following diagram gives a summary and a survey of the most significant features of the different prototypes that we have found in the texts in focus for this study: Prototype The Pastor (1–2 Tim.)

The Prophet (Rev) The Presbyter (1–3 John)

Authority and Legitimacy Apostolicity and offices

Leadership structures Hierarchical structures

Community metaphors God’s household

Societal relations Openness/ acculturation

Visions of and commissions from God and Christ The community of the Spirit/ the ‘anointing’

Vague structures

The army of the Lamb/ the bride Jerusalem God’s family

Criticism/ conflict/ separation

The protoypical group member - the godfearing - the selfcontrolled - the suffering - the virgin - the martyr - the victor

Separation/ distance

- the truthful - the loving

Moderated/ unemphasized structures

In comparing the prototypes of early Christ-believers in First and Second Timothy, Revelation and the Johannine Letters, there are a number of interesting emphases in terminology and ideas. Authority, Legitimacy and Leadership Structures. The text-corpuses examined all belong to the second (or third) generation of believers who sought contact with and established the sacred tradition. We found specific tradition-bearers in all the texts, but they are not the same and their ways of claiming the authority and legitimacy of the true Jesus–tradition differ. Whereas the author of First and Second Timothy locates the locus of authority in the Pauline tradition and its transmission by authorized and appointed leaders and teachers, the author of Revelation seems deliberately not only to neglect the Pauline tradition, but also to play down certain leadership structures. Instead of locating the locus of authority in apostolicity, tradition and the role of the teachers and sound teaching, John the Prophet locates the authority in divine encounters and in the direct commission to speak the word of God and of the risen Christ to the community. In the Book of Revelation, the role of the prophets and of revelations is emphasized at the expense of the role of the teachers and the 82

1 John 2:6, 10, 14, 17, 19, 24, 27, 28; 3:6, 9, 14, 15, 17, 24; 4:12, 13, 15, 16; 2 John 1–2, 4–6, 9; 3 John 1, 3–6.

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transmission of the tradition by certain officers. By stressing the role of the prophet and direct inspired speech and visions, the author wants to establish an alternative way to protect the ‘sacred tradition’ and to keep it vibrant. He plays down the ‘routinization of the charismata’ of certain offices and leadership structures that most probably prevailed in most of the Christian communities in western Asia Minor. By contrast, the authority and legitimacy of the true Jesus-tradition in the Johannine Letters is neither built on apostolic callings, nor on prophetic ascensions, but on the presence and indwelling of the Spirit in the community of the believers. The presbyter plays down the use of certain titles and offices, and even stresses explicitly that the communities of believers do not need any teachers (since they all share the Spirit). Accordingly, the Presbyter communicates a more relational, even mystical (particularly expressed with the me/nw–terminology), structure or understanding of authority and legitimacy. The locus of authority is not derived from a particular leader or office, but from the community of witnesses as a whole, which functions as the tradition-bearer under the ‘anointing’ (by the Spirit/the tradition). Thus, in terms of community policy, the prototypes of the Prophet and the Presbyter stand in clear contrast to the explicit ‘routinization of charisma’ which is characteristic of the prototype of the Pastor. But there are also some tensions between the claim of direct visions and prophetic utterances in the prophet and the presbyter’s emphases of the role of the community.83 We thus find three distinct ways of claiming authority over the ‘sacred tradition’: by stressing the role of the teachers, the role of the prophets or the role of the community. Societal Relations. Although not totally uncritical to the values and norms of the surrounding society, the author of First and Second Timothy is clearly concerned about the good reputation of the Christ-believers in the city of Ephesus, and he even testifies to some degree of assimilation on the part of his readers. In comparison to the prototype of the Pastor, the prototype of the Prophet articulates a noticeably more critical and separatist understanding of the relationship to the wider society. John the Prophet is clearly engaged in a critical response to fundamental values and ideas of the Greco-Roman society, encouraging his readers to distance themselves, to withdraw and to separate from the fundamental political, economical and religious values of the wider society, which is drastically portrayed as the agent of Satan. Also John the Presbyter portrays the wider 83

Cf. Aune (1981: 23): “If a continuum of simple to complex polity were constructed, the Apocalypse and the Johannine Letters should be placed at the lower end of the scale, the Pastorals and Ignatian corpus at the upper end and the remaining [New Testament documents] documents scattered at various points in between.”

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society in diabolical terms: he rejects the ‘things of the world’ and articulates his contempt for the values of ‘the world’. While he draws clear lines of separation between the ingroup and the outgroup, he is not engaged in the same type of critical dialogue with the wider society as John the Prophet is. Hence, in contrast to the prototype of the Pastor and particularly to the Prophet, the prototype of the Presbyter has the ingroup in focus and this protoype focuses mainly on the relationships and attitudes within the group itself; it even goes so far as to restrict the love and concern of the ingroup members to the ‘brothers’. Thus, even if we may find tensions with the wider society in all our text-corpuses, the prototype of the Pastor articulates a somewhat more assimilated understanding of the relationship between the community of believers and the wider society than do the Prophet and the Presbyter respectively. Community Metaphors and the Prototype of the Christ-believer. Both the prototype of the Pastor and the prototype of the Presbyter emphasize the community of believers as the family or the household of God.84 However, the Pastor’s image of ‘God’s household’ (oi)/koj qeou=) puts greater stress on the idea of orderliness and hierarchical structures than the image of God’s family and the relationship terms that accompany this image in the writings of the Presbyter. While the protoype of the Pastor stresses the vertical aspects of the image of God’s household, the Presbyter puts more emphasis on the horizontal elements. Both of these images stand in sharp contrast to the Prophet’s vivid image of the community of believers as ‘the army of the Lamb’. While the prototype of the Pastor and the prototype of the Presbyter stress ingroup order and relationships, the prototype of the Prophet puts little emphasis on ingroup relationships and structures; here, it is the prophetic role of the community of believers in an unbelieving and hostile society that stands in focus. The description of the prototype of the ideal group-member is clearly marked by the respective author’s understanding of, on the one hand, those who are being labeled as deviant and, on the other hand, the relationship between the society of believers and the wider society (of course, this also includes the attitudes to the Jewish matrix with which we dealt in chapter two). While the author of First and Second Timothy picks up some fundamental values and norms of the surrounding society in the description of the prototypical believer, the author of the Johannine Letters stresses values that emphasize the idea of contrast, separation and conflict between the community of believers and the wider society. Once again, the 84 Although the term ‘family’/’household’ is not explicitly used by the Presbyter, the idea is evident in the description of God as ‘the Father’ (o( path/r) and the ingroup members as te/knoj/tekni/a and paidi/a (e.g., 1 John 2:1; 3:1–2; 2 John 4).

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Presbyter expresses the ideal of the Christ-believer in pure ingroup-terms (as the true and loving believer). While both the prototype of the Pastor and the prototype of the Prophet stress the suffering believer, the prototype of the Presbyter does not explicitly include this idea.85 Conclusion. We have found several understandings and definitions of the prototypical Christ-believer that circulated in the local area of Ephesus towards the end of the first and the beginning of the second century: the three prototypes examined may be categorized as hierarchical (the Pastor), apocalyptic-prophetic (the Prophet) and mystic-relational (the Presbyter) understandings of the relationship between tradition, authority and legitimacy.86 Apparently, the on-going process of institutionalization among the early Christ-believers in this geographical area was addressed in different ways. But it is was not a matter of tension between charismatic and institutionalized structures, nor was it the case that some of the structures were more or less charismatic or institutionalized than the others. Writing in the second or third generation, all our authors were part of the continuous process of institutionalization and of claiming the validity and legitimacy of the true Jesus-tradition. For example, the authors of First and Second Timothy, Revelation and the Johannine Letters all connect the role of the Spirit to the transmission and protection of the true Jesus-tradition (1 Tim. 4:1; Rev. 19:10; 1 John 4:1–3, 6; 5:6–8), and all of them assume the crucial role of the Spirit in their respective claims of authority. However, when spelling out the specific task of the Spirit, we may discern different emphases. In First and Second Timothy the role of the Spirit is connected to the authority of the church offices, in particular to the office of the teacher (1 Tim. 4:14; 5:17–22; 2 Tim. 1:6–14), in Revelation the role of the Spirit is related to divine utterances, prophetic visions and to the office of the prophet (Rev. 1:4; 2:7, 11, 17, 29; 3:6, 13, 22; 14:13; 19:10; 22:17), whereas in First John the role of the Spirit is connected to the authority of the community itself (1 John 2:20–21, 27).

85 The closest we come to this idea in 1–3 John is 1 John 3:13: ‘Do not be surprised, brothers, if the world hates you.’ This saying would imply some resistance from and conflict with the surrounding society, although it is too vague to draw any further conclusions regarding the actual meaning of this enmity. 86 Cf. Kee (2002: 355–57), who distinguishes between a range of basic conceptual models and organizational structures in the early church: the eschatologically oriented, the mystically oriented and the order/structure oriented (he also distinguishes the ethnically and culturally inclusive community).

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2. Prototypes in Competition In the previous chapters we have noted the remarkable fact that the prototypical believer in our text-corpuses is formed in response to deviating prototypes. There were local rivalries and conflicts over authority and over the right to define and control the Jesus-tradition in Ephesus. The prototypes of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter were all shaped polemically against other concurrent and deviating prototypes of the ideal Christ-believer, for example, the Jewish-Christian gnosis-teachers of First and Second Timothy, the Nicolaitans of Revelation, the secessionists of the Johannine Letters and the Docetists of Ignatius’s Letter. However, there are reasons to suspect that the author of the Pastorals, the author of Revelation and the author of the Johannine Letters did not only write in response to deviating prototypes, but that they were also engaged in some kind of response to other prevalent prototypes of early Christ-belief in Ephesus. In the following section, I will therefore elaborate on the thesis that the prototypes of the Pastor, the Presbyter and the Prophet were formed in response to, and in competition with, each other. The central issue at stake in these writings concerns the right to define and to control the Jesus-tradition, and between them they demonstrate a remarkable diversity in terms of how the authors define and argue issues relating to authority and legitimacy. We cannot assume that all the texts that were later deemed to be ‘canonical’ agreed on fundamental matters, such as how to claim authority and legitimacy, especially since we may find evidence of other kinds of debates within the New Testament canon.87 I will also read Bishop Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians in a similar way, i.e., not only as a letter in response to Docetic teaching (the traditional reading), but also as a letter in response to other possible contemporary prototypes of Christ-belief in Ephesus. 2.1. The Presbyter in Response to the Pastor As we concluded in chapter one, most of the evidence points to the conclusion that the Pauline tradition was established at Ephesus with the 87 The tension between the theme of faith – actions in Paul and James is classic. Leppä (2005: 211–37) sets out to demonstrate that the New Testament Canon represents views of Christ-believers in sharp conflict. In particular, she argues for the emergence of “two opposing streams of Christianity”: the disciples of Paul who shared the opinions expressed in Col., 1 Tim. and Tit., and the Jewish Christ-believers represented in Rev. and Jude. She concludes (ibid., 237): “Thus at the end of the first century CE early Christianity was not a coherent religion but consisted of several groups which sometimes entered into direct debate with each other.”

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beginning of Paul’s mission in the first half of the 50s CE. The Johannine tradition was most probably established in Ephesus after the Pauline tradition, and it may possibly have had it’s beginning with John (the Presbyter), who moved to Ephesus from Palestine around the time of the Jewish war (66–70 CE) or after the fall of Jerusalem. 88 In fact, it may even have been in Ephesus that the Johannine tradition came into contact with the Pauline tradition for the first time.89 As the Johannine tradition sought establishment in Ephesus, its representatives were probably aware of the influence of the Pauline tradition and the Pauline way to define and articulate the Jesus-tradition in this geographical area, including the ongoing routinization of this tradition in certain hierarchical community structures. Trebilco’s main thesis is that the Pastorals and the Johannine literature were written to two distinct communities in Ephesus: “the readers of the Pastorals and the readers of the Johannine Letters would have been aware of each other’s existence and would not have refused contact with one another.”90 Trebilco describes this contact between these two communities as non-hostile. I have already criticized the methodology behind this thesis, in particular as it is built on the assumption that a text presupposes a distinct social group or community, and that the text expresses fundamental values of these group (rather than of the author).91 In addition, we must face the difficulties involved in the task of reconstructing groups from exceedingly polemical texts. Trebilco attempts to demonstrate links between the community of the Pastorals and the community of the Johannine Letters in terms of vocabulary and theology, but as previously pointed out, I doubt that the influences which Trebilco seeks to identify 88

This thesis is argued by a number of scholars, e.g., Aune (1997: 1), Bauer (1972: 85–87), Dahl (2000: 457), Hemer (1986: 39), Günther (1995: 121, 211), Lohse (1991: 365), Robinson (1976: 303–04), Robinson (1988: 95), Theissen (1999: 245), Trebilco (2004: 271), and Witetschek (2008: 415–16). Josephus, speaking of the Procuratorship of Gessius Florus in 64–66 CE, says (A.J.20.256): “The ill-fated Jews [of the province of Judaea], unable to endure the devastation by brigands that went on were one and all forced to abandon their own country and flee, for they thought that it would be better to settle among Gentiles, no matter where.” Cf. Josephus, B.J. 7.410–19. Some of these Palestinian refuges may have left Jerusalem for Asia Minor and its provincial city, Ephesus. Polycrates (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.31.3; 5.24.2) says that Philip the evangelist, having left Jerusalem for Caesarea (Acts 8:40; 21:8–10), emigrated at some point to Hierapolis with his daughters. Not unlikely, the presbyter may have come to Ephesus in a similar way. Hemer (1986: 39) even suggests (at the risk of overstating his case) that Ephesus, as the most strategic cosmopolitan city of Asia, “may have become temporarily the headquarters of the whole church after the fall of Jerusalem”. 89 So Schnelle, 1987: 226. 90 Trebilco, 2004: 626. 91 See chapter 1, 2.4.

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say anything at all about the factual social contact, or the attitudes, between the communities that are addressed. At the very best, some of these influences may indicate that the authors in question had been in touch with each other’s tradition. I have therefore suggested that we should speak more in terms of the authors or of the textual prototypes in response to other prototypes than in terms of social communities that may or may not have been in contact with each other. Thus, I propose that the author of the Johannine Letters wrote towards the end of the first century, or at the beginning of the second, in critical response to the contemporary definitions of fundamental community and traditional values articulated by the author of the Pastorals. The primary reason that speaks in favor of this thesis is the fundamentally different definitions of issues that concern authority and legitimacy in the Pastoral Letters compared to the Johannine Letters. Several scholars have pointed out that the Pauline and the Johannine traditions stand quite close to each other in terms of Christology, anthropology, pneumatology, eschatology and ethics.92 However, as far as issues relating to the structures of authority and legitimacy are concerned, there are some significant differences. As a matter of fact, the presbyter seems to avoid the idea of a tradition based on certain offices, particularly the role of teachers, as those who safeguard the true Jesus-tradition. As we have noted, the presbyter writes First John without mentioning any leaders at all, whereas the author of First and Second Timothy stresses the role of the recognized and authorized teachers. The author of First John denies the role of specific teachers and places the locus of authority, not in the specific office of the teacher, but in the community of believers as a whole. This emphasis should not only be taken as a direct response to the suggested role of teachers among the secessionists (including a deliberately anti-gnostic thrust),93 but as a general reflection of the author’s understanding of church ministry and of the role of the community of believers. As we have also noted previously, although the presbyter does acknowledge some leadership structures (mainly the presbyters in 2–3 John), he seems, at the same time, deliberately to play down any hierarchical community structures, and to place the locus of authority in the tradition and in the community itself (this is particularly evident in his treatment of Diotrephes in 3 John). The role of the Spirit in these respective text-corpuses also seems to confirm this conclusion. Both the author of First and Second Timothy and the author of the Johannine Letters connect deviant teaching with ‘deceitful/false spirits’ (1 Tim. 4:1; 1 John 4:1, 6) and they both stress the 92 93

E.g., Schnelle, 1987: 214–25; Marshall, 2004: 593–601. Contra Houlden, 1973: 82–83.

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importance of keeping to the sound or the true tradition (1 Tim. 4:13–14; 2 Tim. 1:6–14; 1 John 3:24–4:6). Furthermore, both authors seem to have valued prophetic authority and activities (1 Tim. 4:1, 14; 1 John 4:1, 13; 5:6–8). However, while the Spirit in First and Second Timothy is clearly connected to certain persons engaged in ministry, particularly in the task of leadership and teaching (1 Tim. 4:13–14; 2 Tim. 1:6–14), in the Johannine Letters the Spirit is connected to the indwelling and presence of God in all the believers and in the community of believers as a whole (1 John 2:27; 3:24).94 It is not only in terms of ministry and offices that we find differences between First and Second Timothy and the Johannine Letters; differences can also be observed in terms of general social structures. The author of First and Second Timothy articulates his understanding of the hierarchical structures and orders in all areas; from the task of the husband as the e)pi/skopoj of both the family and the church, and of women in prominent teaching roles, to the role of the widows, the older and younger men and women and the slaves. Such social structures are almost totally absent in the Johannine Letters; women and slaves are not addressed at all, and as far as concerns the older and younger members of the community, these are addressed by the ambiguous terms pate/rej, neani/skoi and paidi/a (2:13–14).95 Once again, the author does not argue in terms of certain community structures and orders. His vision of the community of believers seems much more egalitarian, as he stresses the community as a corporate entity wherein all the members are witnesses to the tradition and therefore have the potential role of sharing in authority. We may thus suspect that the Presbyter not only presents another way of validating the true tradition, but that he does so in deliberate response, or as a reaction, to the routinization of offices in the hierarchical structures, such as those we find evidence of in the Pauline tradition that belongs to Ephesus.

94 Cf. Lieu’s (1991: 47) assertion concerning the Spirit in the Johannine Letters: “The focus is one the spirit present in the community rather than in the hearts of individual believers, and it is the community rather than the individual which provides the battlefield.” 95 Trebilco’s (2004: 528–38) conclusion that the terms pate/rej and neani/skoi refer to two male groups and that women were therefore not to be considered as an important part of the community, must be considered as a mere hypothesis, in particular since the presbyter uses inclusive language throughout the letters (e.g., the use of a)delfoi/ and tekni/a). As pointed out by Watson (1989: 99), the use of this terminology in 1 John 2:13–14 is primarily a rhetorical device, “as an example of the figure of thought called distributio . . . It derives it name from the fact that ‘after mentioning a thing as a whole, the parts are afterwards enumerated’”.

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2.2. The Prophet in Response to the Pastor As pointed out in the introduction to this chapter, a majority of scholars today argue for a late date for the Book of Revelation, which should most probably be dated towards the end of the Emperor Domitian’s reign (95–96 CE). In spite of the complexities involved in dating the Pastoral Letters, much speaks in favor of the assumption that these Letters were written before the end of the first century CE. The development of the monoepiscopacy found in Ignatius’s Letters (about 110 CE) demonstrate particularly that the kind of leadership structures for which the Pastor argues were already in existence some time (or even some decades?) before Ignatius.96 This means that the Book of Revelation was most probably written after the Pastoral Letters (or at the latest, at about the same time). We may in any case suspect that such hierarchical church structures existed in western Asia Minor when John the Prophet gave his message to the Ephesian church. Thus, I propose that the prophet was not only familiar with the influence of the Pauline tradition in this area and with the institutionalization of the Pauline churches, but that he also wrote in response, or in reaction, to the situation among these believers. There are several reasons in favor of this proposal. First of all, we noticed the lack of awareness or even ignorance of Paul and Pauline theology in Revelation. Walter Bauer suggests that Paul is “even deliberately suppressed” in Revelation and concludes from this that Pauline influence was no longer present in Ephesus at the time that John wrote Revelation.97 But this conclusion seems rather far-fetched, particularly since Ignatius refers explicitly to the Pauline tradition in Ephesus (Ign.Eph. 12.2) and several second century witnesses from this geographical region refer to Pauline writings (I will come back to this below). It can also be demonstrated that there are traces of Pauline theology in Revelation.98 Besides this neglect of Paul, we have also noted that John the Prophet seems deliberately to play down the role of the local church officers. Ulrich Müller maintains that the silence of Revelation on this point is deliberate, and that it conveys well the point of view that John took. For John, the presbyters and episcopes could not in any case have been the addressees of the revelation that had been entrusted to him.99 96 As Phil. 1:1 demonstrates, the offices of e)pi/s kpoj and dia/konoj were present in the Pauline churches already in the beginning of the 60s CE (the probable date of the Letter to the Philippians). 97 Bauer, 1972: 83–84. 98 E.g., Schüssler Fiorenza (1976–77: 421–22) finds similarities in eschatology between Rev. and Paul in Rev. 1:3b; 12:10 (cf. Rom. 13:11; 1 Cor. 7:29; Phil. 4:5) and Rev. 3:2–3; 16:15 (cf. 1 Thess. 5:2–3). 99 Müller, 1976: 33–34.

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Arguing a similar case, David Aune proposes that John intentionally ignored the local church officers, since his role as an itinerant prophet and mediator of divine revelation transcended the concerns of the local community, and also because his message was directed to the entire church, not only to its leaders.100 Accordingly, Aune suggests that the absence of any criticism of local officials could be partially related to the reason that John, as a traveling prophet, did not desire “to alienate those upon whom he might someday be dependent”.101 Paul Trebilco gives an alternative explanation, suggesting that the Nicolaitans emanated from the Pauline group in Ephesus. They were thus influenced by Pauline theology and tradition, and therefore John wanted to distance himself from this tradition.102 However, the Nicolaitans, as well as other so-called ‘deviant’ groups in Revelation, were local phenomena (mentioned only in the letters to Ephesus, Pergamum and Thyatira) and this does not explain John’s general silence regarding church officials and structures. Adela Yarbro Collins does better by her more general remark when she suggests regarding this neglect in the Book of Revelation that John “was perhaps in competition with them (the bishops, elders or deacons in any of the communities) in influencing the points of view of the other readers”. 103 Following this suggestion, I propose that John’s silence regarding the Pauline tradition and certain church offices belong together; John plays down this tradition deliberately in order to seek acceptance for an alternative way of arguing for the authority of the ‘sacred tradition’, namely for the authority founded on divine visions and prophetic utterances. In particular, John the Prophet plays down the office of the teacher, which is otherwise so prevalent in the Pastorals Letters. As a matter of fact, the office of teacher is completely neglected by the prophet; the terms dida/skaloj and didaskali/a do not even occur in Revelation, and when the term didaxh/ is used, it has clearly negative connotations (almost a pejorative word), being used of false teaching in the believing communities.104 Moreover, John does not build his authority and legitimacy as a prophet on a received tradition, but on a revealed tradition: the proclamation of the ‘word of God’ (lo/goj tou~ qeou~) is not built on the tradition conveyed by appointed teachers, but on prophetic utterances and 100

Aune, 1981: 24–26. Aune, 1981: 26. 102 Trebilco, 2004: 335–35. 103 Collins, 1984: 137. 104 The term didaxh/ is only used (three times) of the activities of false prophets in Ephesus, Pergamum and Thyatira: th_n Balaa_m (2:14), th\n didaxh_n [tw~n] Nikolai+tw~n (2:15; cf. 2:6) and toi=j e0n Quatei/roij, o(/soi ou)k e)/x ousin th\n didaxh_n tau&thn, oi/(tinej ou)k e)/g nwsan ta_ baqe/a tou= Satana= (2:24). 101

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apocalyptic visions, mediated by inspired prophets.105 Accordingly, in defining issues of legitimacy and identity, we find certain tensions between the more routinized understanding of the charisma in the Pastorals and the more inspirational understanding of the charisma in Revelation, a development that we may also discern in other parts of the New Testament.106 These tensions are not easily harmonized and they are best explained by a deliberate response on the part of John the Prophet to defend the communities of believers, not only against false prophets/teachers, but also against such community structures that he considered less divinely inspired. In his reconstruction of the early Christian movement, Gerd Theissen sees the primitive Christian prophetic criticism as a response and challenge of the renewal of “early catholic church Christianity”.107 According to Theissen, John’s vision of the ideal community was given in order to challenge a more institutionalized understanding of the church: “[John the Prophet] completely ignores the offices in the church which already existed at that time . . . His ideal community is egalitarian and charismatic internally, but externally he insists on a clear separation from this world.”108 Secondly, John explicitly takes the role of a prophet. The general role of a prophet in the Old Testament is frequently that of a seer or an oracle engaged in radical critique of the present orders and practices, which are often declared oppressive or unjust, and in the vision of a new world of order and justice. The successful prophet is one who brings into being the transformation of the old order and a vision of the new. 109 Applying this to the author of Revelation, we may find the implications in his greater vision of a new heaven and a new earth, as well as in his critique of the existing political and social orders, including certain structures of the community of believers. Furthermore, there is some evidence from other prophetic and apocalyptic writings that eschatological symbols were employed in order to undermine the structures of power and also in order to articulate the 105

As pointed out particularly by Hill (1971: 411–12), o( lo/goj tou~ qeou~ is a central concept in Revelation (Rev. 1:2, 9; 6:9; 17:17; 19:9, 13; 20:4; 21:5; cf. 1:3; 3:8, 10; 22:6, 7, 9, 10, 18, 19), expressing the divine inspiration of the words of the prophet. 106 Cf. Dunn (1993: 359): “In short, if the increasing institutionalization of early Catholicism begins to emerge within the New Testament itself, in part in Luke-Acts and most strikingly in the Pastorals, so too does a protest against early Catholicism, in part in Hebrews and Revelation, in part even in Acts, more strongly in John’s Gospel and the Johannine epistles, and most strongly probably in III John.” 107 Theissen, 1999: 257–58. 108 Theissen, 1999: 245. A similar case is argued by Lemcio (1986: 233): locating 1–2 Tim. Rev. and the Gospel of John to Ephesus, he suggests that Rev. and John “seem to ignore, if not protest, church structures [as advocated in 1–2 Tim.]”. 109 Gager, 1975: 32, 70.

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prophet’s critique of the institutionalizing tendencies in late Judaism as well as in the early Christian movement.110 As pointed out by James Dunn, “apocalyptic eschatology has never fitted very comfortably into the orthodoxy of the great Church”.111 For example, the Ascension of Isaiah, a Christian apocalypse roughly contemporary with Revelation (most probably dating from the early decades of the second century CE),112 could be read as an explicit reply to other prophetic schools and to the institutionalization of church offices. In Asc.Isa. 3:21–31, the seer criticizes people ‘who love offices’, predicting that ‘many wicked elders and shepherds’ (3:24) will arise in the communities of believers, and that they will act as false prophets, making ‘ineffective the prophecy of the prophets who were before me, and my visions also . . . they will make ineffective, in order that they may speak what bursts out of their hearts’ (3:31). 113 The seer reacts against a corrupt church in the hands of leaders with false ambitions for power, positions and certain offices; ‘there will be much respect of persons in those days, and lovers of the glory of this world’ (3:25). The text lashes out against clerical officialdom, warning that, ‘among the shepherds and the elders there will be great hatred towards one another’ (3:29). The primary complaint against the office-holding elders is that ‘they will make ineffective the prophecy of the prophets’ (3:31), and will not pay attention to visions. In contrast to the low estimation of the elders, the Ascension of Isaiah praises the ministry of ‘a circle of prophets’, consisting of some forty prophets who had come together to exchange prophesies and to mediate the principal prophet’s (Isaiah’s) ecstatic visions to the people. 110 E.g., Hanson (1979) argues that post-exilic society was shattered by divisions between the hierarchy party, represented by Haggai, Zechariah and Eze. 40–48, and a visionary party, represented by Isa. 56–66 and Zech. 9–14. The hierarchy wanted to preserve the Temple tradition as it was before the exile, while the visionaries emphasized social care and the covenant relationship with God. Drawing from the sociologist Karl Mannheim, Hanson defines the attitudes of the two rival groups: “The hierarchy were ideologists, while the visionaries were utopian. Both sides made use of eschatological symbols, but they did not use them in the same way: The hierarchy used them to confirm their positions of power, while the visionaries used them to undermine the structures of that power.” 111 Dunn, 1993: 338. 112 Knibb (1985: 149–50) dates the Martyrdom of Isaiah (chapters 1–5) before the first century, the Christian apocalypse (Asc.Isa. 3:13–4:22) to the end of the first century, and the Vision of Isaiah (chapters 6–11) to the second century, but he dates the combination of these sources to the third or fourth century CE. Charles (1900: xlv) dates all the parts to the end of the first century CE or earlier. Hall (1990: 300–06) argues for a date at the end of the first or the beginning of the second century CE. This also argued by Hannah, 1999: 85. 113 Transl. Knibb, 1985.

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Elaborating on the rhetorical and social setting of the author of the Ascension of Isaiah, Robert Hall argues that this writing stems from an early Christian prophetic school at war with other similar early prophetic schools.114 Hall proposes that the Ascension of Isaiah in its stress on the descent and ascent of the Beloved and its belief in the possibility of heavenly ascents to see God (Asc.Isa. 6:1–17; 3:13–4:22) combated other prophetic schools, but went beyond them in this writing by stressing the experience of heavenly trips to see God. In particular, Hall suggests that the Ascension of Isaiah polemicizes against the prophetic school of John’s Gospel, which found the supreme revelatory experience, not in heavenly trips, but in a heavenly visitor (John 3:13; 6:46). Referring to the refutation of false elders, shepherds and prophets in the Ascension of Isaiah (3:21– 31) and recognizing that both works come from a similar environment (Syria), Hall also argues that the Ascension opposes precisely the sort of prophetic episcopacy that was represented in Ignatius (we will come back to this below).115 This social setting addressed by the Ascension of Isaiah has some interesting parallels to that of First and Second Timothy, where we, in addition to the critique of false elders and prophets,116 also find the regular presence of charismatic gifts and prophetic utterances in the community (mentioned in connection with the offices and the leadership, 1 Tim. 1:18; 4:14; 2 Tim. 1:6) and belief in the descent of a heavenly visitor (e.g., 1 Tim. 2:4–5; 3:16).117 In a similar way as the author of the Ascension of Isaiah, John the Prophet does not only play down any hierarchical leadership structures in favor of the charismatic office of the prophet, but he also bases divine revelation, not primarily on the descent of Jesus, but on heavenly trips to see God (the ascent of the prophet). Since the seer of the Ascension of Isaiah seems to have written in response to the ongoing routinization of the charismata in the communities of believers in Syria or Palestine, John the Prophet ― in his downplay of certain offices (in particular, the teachers) and in his renewal of the prophecy ― seems to have been engaged in a similar critical response to the continuous 114

Hall, 1990: 306. Bauckham (1993a: 85–91) sees a similar social setting of Asc.Isa., although he does not stress the polemical context so strongly. 115 Hall, 1990: 305–06. 116 E.g., love, faith and purity of the ideal believer in Asc.Isa. 3:21 parallels the ideal given in 1 Tim. 4:12. The warning of leaders ‘who love money’ in Asc.Isa. 3:25, 28 echo the warning given in 1 Tim. 6:9–10. 117 Knibb (1985: 149, 153) suggests that “the picture of the corruption of the Church which is given in [Asc.Isa.] 3:21–31 invites comparison with the descriptions of the church given in 1 and 2 Timothy . . . The author, like the authors of 1 and 2 Timothy and 2 Peter, was concerned to warn his readers in no uncertain terms of the dangers which faced the Christian community”.

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institutionalization and the routinization of the Pauline churches in western Asia Minor.118 We have also noted that John the Prophet argues for different attitudes towards the surrounding society compared to those maintained by the writer of First and Second Timothy. While the Pastorals reflect an open attitude towards the wider society and demonstrate some evidence of assimilation, John the Prophet represents a separatist position, which is reflected in the typical attitudes of apocalyptic and later millennial groups.119 In Revelation, evil forces demonize the politics and culture of the wider society. John the Prophet distances himself from believers who compromise with social values and norms, and he warns those with power and position in the wider society of their futile future. In Revelation, we find neither any intention to pray for kings and all who are in authority, nor any exhortations to political quietism (1 Tim. 2:1–2). On the contrary, he wants his readers to come away from a society that is in the hands of evil powers (Rev. 18:1–4). Quite obviously, the prophet wanted to address believers whom he found to be compromising with the surrounding society, and not only those who went to the extremes (such as the Nicolaitans), but also those that were too assimilated with the wider society. It would be of no surprise if we had found some of these believers in the community addressed by the author of First and Second Timothy also. 2.3. The Prophet in Response to the Presbyter We also need to consider the possibility that John the Prophet wrote in response to John the Presbyter.120 As pointed out above, most speaks in favor of the thesis that the tradition of the Presbyter was established in the Ephesus area after the fall of Jerusalem, i.e., prior to the prophetic activities of John the Prophet in this region. Although the linguistic and theological differences between the Gospel of John and Revelation are so striking that these writings were most probably not written by the same author, it seems quite clear that John the Prophet was well acquainted with 118

Bauckham (1993a: 85–91) also sees parallels between Asc.Isa. and Rev. in terms of the experience of prophetic inspiration by a group of prophets and in the mediation of prophetic visions to a wider circle of believers. Interestingly, in contrast to Asc.Isa., Hermas the Shepherd (mid-second century CE) seems to have accepted the institutionalized structures of bishops, presbyters, deacons, apostles and teachers (Herm.Vis. 3.1, 5; Sim. 9.22, 27). While Hermas explicitly addresses the presbyters in order to reform the community (Vis. 2.4), we find no explicit critique of these leaders. Cf. Pernveden, 1966: 144–55, 223–38. 119 Cook, 1995: 32. 120 This thesis does of course presuppose that different authors wrote Revelation and the Johannine Letters.

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the vocabulary and theology of the Johannine tradition.121 We have also noticed that both texts play down certain church structures and promote a separatist stance towards the wider society. There is however one significant difference in the perspectives of the respective authors: while John the Prophet writes from a distinct outgroup-perspective (and is clearly concerned about Christian testimony in the wider society), John the Presbyter writes from a clear ingroup-perspective (with his primary focus on ingroup relationships). John the Prophet seems not to embrace the Johannine tradition completely but seems to be making a response to this tradition, particularly with regard to the introspective tendencies of the presbyter. As we have noted, the focus of the presbyter is clearly on the relationship between God and the believers (particularly displayed in the me/nw- terminology) and between the members of the ingroup rather than on social relationships (he draws sharp lines between the community of believers and ‘the world’). While John the Prophet picks up several themes that are central to the Johannine tradition, he consistently avoids the mystic language of relationships also found in this tradition.122 The prophet argues for an active response on the part of the Christ-believers to the challenges of the surrounding hostile society, not for introspective ingroup relationships. As pointed out above, Hall suggests that the Ascension of Isaiah polemicizes against the prophetic school of John’s gospel, which found the supreme revelatory experience, not in a heavenly trip but in a heavenly visitor. Interestingly, we find similar traditions in the Johannine Letters, which emphasize the earthly manifestation of Christ (1 John 1:1–4; 4:2; 5:6–8; 2 John 7) and even argue for the impossibility that any human being should see God (e.g., 1 John 4:12, 20). This stands in sharp contrast to Revelation, which emphasizes the importance of heavenly revelations and direct visions of God and the Lamb (e.g., Rev. 4:1–5:13). Moreover, we 121 On the relationship between Revelation and the Gospel of John, see Schüssler Fiorenza, 1976–77: 410–18; Böcher, 1980–81: 311–16; Prigent, 2004: 36–50. Revelation probably belonged to the peripherals of the Johannine circle or tradition (see Hengel, 1989: 126–27; Schnelle, 1995: 200–01). Prigent (2004: 50) pertinently points out that, “it comes from the same milieu, whether or not the idea pleases the critical irony of those who denigrate the hypothesis of the Johannine circle”. Since the Johannine tradition in Ephesus was most probably earlier than that of John the Prophet (at least in western Asia Minor), it seems to have been the tradition of the Prophet that was developed and modified in response to the tradition of the Presbyter rather than the other way around. 122 E.g., the typically Johannine verb me/nw is only used once in Rev. 17:10, and then with a clear non-introspective meaning. The same applies to the e0n au)tw?~ -expression, which is not used in the typically Johannine sense of abiding in the Father/Son (only used twice in Rev. 10:6; 11:1). The verb pisteu/w (used 9 times in 1–3 John) is completely omitted in Rev.

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may also find tensions between the eschatological perspectives of the presbyter and that of the prophet. Whereas the presbyter stresses the realization of eschatology in the present, the prophet articulates a distinct future perspective.123 The contrasts between the two texts are obvious, and this not only points to two different ways of locating the authority and the legitimacy of the true Jesus-tradition, but also to two different ways of experiencing God and of expressing belief in Jesus Christ. None of the data given above may in themselves be taken in evidence that John the Prophet wrote in response to the tradition of John the Presbyter, but taken together the evidence seems to point to the conclusion that the prophet wanted to articulate an alternative and more radical way of expressing early Christian identity than the presbyter did.124 2.4. The Tradition of the Pastor (as Articulated by Bishop Ignatius) in Response to the Prophet About 110 CE, Ignatius addresses ‘the Christians in Ephesus, who also were of one mind with the Apostles in the power of Jesus Christ’ (Ign.Eph. 11.2). Moreover, they are ‘fellow-initiates with Paul, . . . who in every epistle makes mention of you in Christ Jesus’ (Pau/lou summu/stai . . . o(/j e0n pa/sh? e)pistolh=? mnhmoneu/ei u(mw~n e0n Xristw?~ 0Ihsou~, 12.2). These sayings presume that Ignatius saw the apostolic tradition as particularly strong in Ephesus, and that his addressees had a long-standing, congenial contact with the early apostles, particularly with Paul and the Pauline tradition.125 In fact, although Ignatius does not explicitly refer to the 123

Cf. the comparison between the eschatology of the Johannine literature and that of Rev. by Schüssler Fiorenza, 1976–77: 416–18, and Böcher, 1980–81: 314–15. The realized eschatology of the presbyter is obvious in 1 John 2:18, 22; 3:18–24; 4:3; 2 John 7. 124 Cf. Schüssler Fiorenza (1976–77: 427), who suggests that “it is possible that the eschatological option of the Johannine school has developed or was modified in response to and in dialectical interaction with the early Christian prophetic-apocalyptic school tradition that is developed in the Apoc.”. 125 Bauer (1972: 83) suggests that the reference to Paul in Ign.Eph. 12.2 is “in no way based upon Paul’s apostolic activity but rather on the fact that the road to martyrdom, which Paul also traveled, leads past this city”. However, this conclusion does not do due justice to the fact that Ignatius explicitly connects his Ephesians readers with Paul the apostle (according to Ign.Eph. 1.3–2.1, Ignatius had spoken to several of them). The phrase e0n pa&sh? e0pistolh=? (Eph. 12.2) should be taken as a hyperbole (cf. 1 Thess. 1:8; 1 Cor. 1:2; Col. 1:23). Alternatively, it may be translated ‘in an entire letter’ (see AndrénBeskow, 1992), referring to Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians. The Eph.inscr. demonstrates that Ignatius was aware of the Letter to the Ephesians (see Rathke, 1967: 45–46; Schwindt, 2002: 57–59). He was also particularly familiar with 1 Cor. (note the quote of 1 Cor. 1:19–20 in Ign.Eph. 18.1, and of 1 Cor. 6:9–10 in Ign.Eph. 16.1 [and Ign.Phld. 3.3]), and with the Pastoral Letters (see Rathke, 1967: 22, 30–41, 64–65, 98).

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Pastoral Letters, as far as the structures of authority and leadership are concerned, it seems quite obvious that Ignatius follows the Pauline tradition and develops further the hierarchical structures of authority presented in First and Second Timothy.126 This is particularly elaborated in his view of the threefold ministry of one bishop (e)pi/skopoj) in each city, with a leadership of elders (presbuth/rion) and deacons (dia/konoi)127 by his side (Ign.Eph. 2.1–2; 3.2; 4.1–2; 20.2).128 As a rhetorical device for enforcing these structures, Ignatius’s teaching is dominated by the concepts of type, archetype and mystical union.129 Ignatius argues that fellowship with God and Jesus Christ is achieved through fellowship with the bishop (2.2; 5.1–3), and he ends up equating the bishop with the Lord himself: ‘We must regard the bishop as the Lord himself’ (6.1).130 For 126

Ignatius is clearly an admirer of Paul (see Ign.Eph. 11.2–12.2; Ign.Rom. 4.3), who compares and contrasts himself to Paul (Ign.Eph. 12.2; Ign.Trall. 5.1; cf. 1 Cor. 9:27; Rom. 9:2). Ignatius probably came in contact with the Pauline tradition already in Antioch. Concerning Ignatius’s knowledge of the Pastoral Epistles, Rathke (1967: 98) aptly concludes: “Dafür kommt Ignatius in seinen Anschauungen den Pastoralbriefen näher, deren innere und äußere Situation eher dem Ignatius entspricht, wenngleich hier wörtliche Zitate aus den Paulusbriefen fehlen.” 127 The ministry of oi9 dia/k onoi is not explicitly advocated in Ign.Eph., although it seems to be presupposed in the mentioning of Burrhus, Ignatius’s ‘fellow-slave’ (su/n douloj), a term only used of deacons (Ign.Magn. 2; Ign.Phld. 2; Ign.Smyr. 12.2.): ‘Burrhus, your deacon [diako/nou] by the will of God’ (Ign.Eph. 2.2). However, we find the ministry of the deacons clearly spelt out in Ign.Magn. 6.1; Ign.Trall. 2.2–4; Ign.Smyr. 12.2; Ign.Pol. 6.1. 128 Ignatius seems more or less to presuppose these structures as a matter of fact (see Ign.Trall. 3.1; Ign.Phld. 10.2; cf. Schoedel, 1985: 142). Ignatius assumes that there was only one bishop in Smyrna (Smyr. 8; cf. Phld. 4.1; Eph. 3.2) and the bishop of Ephesus is named Onesimus (Ign.Eph. 1.3; 2.1; 5.1). Isacson (2005: 336–37) suggests three reasons why it is unlikely that Ignatius would have tried to introduce a new order in the churches he addressed: i) since the exhortation to follow the bishop is not the main theme of Ignatius’s Letters, the claim that Ignatius wrote in order to introduce mono-episcopacy seems unjustified; ii) since Ignatius uses several different expressions to exhort the addressees, this indicates that he had no fixed, settled and well-developed thought about mono-episcopacy, and iii) some of the addressees are praised because they already follow the bishop (Ign.Eph. 4.1; Ign.Trall. 2.2; 3.2). 129 See Pettersen, 1991: 44–45. 130 The reference to the Lord (ku/rioj) in Ign.Eph. 6.1 probably refers to Christ (cf. the use of this title in Ign.Eph. 7.2; 10.3; 15.3; 17.1–2; 19.1; 20.2), not to God, the Father (contra Isacson, 2004: 46–48). Also in Ign.Magn. 6.1; Ign.Trall. 3.1, and Ign.Smyr. 8.1– 2, the bishop is the representative of God the Father and Jesus Christ. According to Isacson (2004: 75), “It is important to recognize that the purpose behind both unity and fellowship with the bishop, and behind the warning to avoid false teaching/teachers, is fellowship with God and Jesus Christ.” Throughout the Letter to the Ephesians there are two poles: on the one hand, the divine pole (God, Jesus Christ, Ignatius and the Ephesians), and on the other hand the opponents and the false teachers. Isacson (2004:

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Ignatius, God the Father is ‘the bishop of all’ (Ign.Magn. 3.1; cf. 6.1; Ign.Trall. 3.1), and as Jesus Christ is ‘the will of the Father’, so the bishops officiate by ‘the will of Jesus Christ (Ign.Eph. 3.2; cf. 6.1). Thus, the bishop is the personification of the community; he is the image of God and the visible representative of the invisible bishop, Jesus Christ. The relationship between the church and the bishop is even compared to the relationship between the church and Jesus Christ (5.1); the purpose of church order is ultimately to unite the believers with God and Jesus Christ.131 Consequently, the Ephesians can only be in harmony with the will of God, if they remain in harmony with the bishop. God’s authority is thus mediated through the hierarchy of the community of believers and manifested in the following structure of authority: God – Christ – the bishop – the presbyters – the deacons – the laity.132 For Ignatius the Bishop, the ideal community of Christ-believers is characterized by submissiveness, concordance and solidarity, and by their standing together as one under the leadership.133 The main objective of Ignatius’s argument is ‘harmony’ (o9mo/noia), ‘unity’ (e(no/thj) and, most important of all, ‘union’ (e(/nwsij), demonstrated in submission to the bishop and loyalty to the goals of the community, which result in union with God/Christ: ‘It is therefore profitable for you to be in blameless unity (e9no/thti ei]nai), in order that you may always commune with God’

75–77, 208–09; cf. idem, 2005: 319–23) concludes that Ignatius uses primarily four rhetorical devices in order to support the exhortation to be united: associations and dissociation from God/Jesus Christ, repetition of words and themes, laus (praise) and vituperation (blame). 131 This is particularly pointed out by Isacson, 2004: 46; idem, 2005: 320–21. See also Brent 1992: 67–68. Cf. Corwin’s (1960: 193) comment on the hierarchical structure of the community of believers: “There is a structural hierarchy throughout the great church, and the effect of the intermediate steps is not to set apart the higher ranks, but on the contrary to link the humble Christian with God.” 132 The hierarchical structure of this threefold ministry is evident in Ign.Magn. 2.1; 3.1; 6.1–2; 7.1. Ignatius seems to favor the scheme in which the bishop is compared to the Father, the deacons to Jesus Christ and the presbyters to the Apostles (see Trall. 3.1; Magn. 6.1). As the passage of Ign.Eph. 2.1–4.2 demonstrates, it is however not a matter of a strong monarchical episcopacy, according to which the bishop acts as an autocratic ruler. I therefore prefer to use the term mono-episcopacy (one bishop in every church that may be little more than a chair of a group of elders), instead of the traditionally used term, the monarchical episcopacy (a term that assumes that Ignatius saw the bishop as having unlimited power, i.e., as a ruling bishop). See further Schöllgen, 1986: 47–51; Trevett, 1992: 202–03. 133 According to Schoedel (1985: 21), “The theme of unity may well represent the central concern of the Letters of Ignatius”. The importance of this theme in Ignatius is also stressed by, e.g., Richardson, 1935: 33–39; Camelot, 1958: 20–55; Paulsen, 1978: 132–44; Trebilco, 2004: 678–81.

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(Ign.Eph. 4.2).134 As a model image for God’s community, Ignatius employs the image of a choir, singing in harmony at the Eucharistic meal (Ign.Eph. 4.1), ‘which is the medicine of immortality’ (20.2). The presbyters ‘should be attuned to the bishop as the strings to a harp’, and the community of believers is urged to sing to Jesus Christ ‘by your concord and harmoniously love’: ‘Now do each of you join in this choir, that being harmoniously in concord you may receive the key of God in unison, and sing with one voice through Jesus Christ to the Father’ (4.1–2; cf. 5.1; 11.2; 20.2). The community of believers demonstrates its spiritual unity and solidarity as they come together ‘around the altar’ to eat the ‘bread of God’ (5.2). By stressing the sacramental setting, Ignatius indirectly gives the bishop alone the authority to preside at the Eucharist (cf. 13.1; 20.2).135 From this flows Ignatius’s main image for the community of believers as God’s temple, the dwelling place of God and as the only place where man can receive salvation, take part of his bread (the Eucharist) and grasp the true doctrine (5.2; 9.1–2; 15.3).136 Ignatius describes the bishop, the presbyters and the deacons as ‘types’ (tu/poi) of the Father, the Son and the spirit-filled apostles.137 As such, they also become the typoi for the Christ-believers. In fact, it is the combination of Christ, Ignatius himself and the local bishop and presbyters that exemplify the tu&poj-believer. Two kinds of prototypes predominate. First, the ideal group member is explained in terms of the faithful, loving, loyal and obedient believer, who demonstrates submission and unity by following the instructions laid out by Ignatius and the local bishop and the

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In Ign.Eph. the nouns o(mo/noia occur in 4.1–2; 13.1 (also used in Magn. 6.1; 15.1; Trall. 12.2; Phld. 1.1; 11.2) and e(no/thj in 4.2, 2; 5.1; 14.1 (also used in Phld. 2.2; 5.2; Smyr. 12.2; Pol. 3.2; 8.1, 3; 9.1). The term e(/n wsij occurs in Ign.Magn. 1.2; Trall.11.2; Phld. 4.1; 7.2; 8.1; Pol. 1.2; 5.2. For a detailed analysis of ‘union’ as a key concept in Ignatius, see Corwin, 1960: 247–71. 135 This is spelt out explicitly in Ign.Smyr. 8.1–2; Ign.Phld. 4.1. Ignatius also stresses structures that gave the bishop social control, e.g., that those who would marry must do so with the approval of the bishop (Ign.Pol. 5.2). Schoedel (1985: 273) comments on this measure: “This development put into the hands of the bishop a potent instrument of social control – ‘group endogamy’ – and no doubt contributed significantly to the tightly knit texture of the Christian community.” 136 The importance of the Temple motif and its connection to Christology in Ignatius is particularly elaborated by Legarth, 1992. Cf. also Ign.Trall. 7.2; Magn. 7.2; Rom. 2.2; 4.2 Phld. 7.2–8.1. 137 In the ecclesiology of Ignatius’s own community, the bishop was to be regarded as tu/p oj qeou=, the presbyters was the tu/p oj of the apostolic council (Magn, 6.2; Trall. 2.2; 3.1; Phld. 5.1; Smyr. 8.1), and the deacons were to be respected ‘as Jesus Christ’ (Trall. 3.1). Cf. Trevett, 1983: 10; Brent, 1992: 68–70.

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presbyters (Ign.Eph. 2.1; 4.1–2; 8.1; 10.3; 11.2; 13.1; 14.1–2).138 Secondly, using Christ and himself as the supreme model, this obedient believer is ultimately displayed as the prototypical believer, as the suffering believer or as the martyr, the tu&poj and mimhth/j of the suffering God the Father and Jesus Christ (1.2; 3.1; 8.1; 9.2; 10.3; 11.2; 18.2; 21.1).139 Ignatius writes about his death in sacrificial terms: ‘I am your lowly offering and I dedicate myself to you Ephesians’ (peri/yhma u(mw~n kai\ a(gni/zomai u(mw~n )Efesi/wn, 8.1; cf. 18.1; 21.1–2), thus describing himself together with Ephesians as participants in a sacrificial procession as ‘God-bearers (qeofo/roi) and temple-bearers (naofo/roi), Christ-bearers (xristofo/roi), and bearers of holy things (a(giofo/roi)’ (9.2).140 In the face of hostility from the wider society, the believers should imitate Christ by showing patience and endurance (10.2–3).141 In fact, Ignatius’s own authority could only be validated by his willingness to suffer faithfully for Christ even until death (Ign.Rom. 4.3).142 138

The good order and unity of the community of believers is expressed by the terms ‘faith’ (pi/s tij, Ign.Eph. 8.2; 9.1; 14.1–2; 16.2) and ‘love’ (a)ga/ph, Ign.Eph. 1.3; 2.1; 3.2; 4.1; 9.1–2; 14.1–2; 20.1) particularly: ‘for the beginning [of life] is faith and the end is love’ (Ign.Eph. 14.1). For the importance of these themes in Ignatius, see Tarvainen (1967). 139 Concerning the relationship between the unity and suffering in the life of the believer, Bommes (1976: 81–82) aptly concludes: “Das Leiden und Sterben Jesu Christi ist Ursprung und bleibender Grund allen Christseins in dem Sinne, daß es das Leben der Glaubenden bis in seine äußere Gestalt und in alle seine Vollzüge hinein prägt . . . Dies wirkt sich dann in ihrem Leben aus im Bewahren der kirchlichen Einheit, aber auch immer in einem geduldigen Ertragen von Leiden und Verfolgung, welche aus der Zugehörigkeit zum Christus paqhto/j erwachsen und als sinnvoll erfahren werden, wie als Teilhabe an seinem Todesgeschick auch für den christen Weg in die Lebensgemeinschaft mit Gott sind.” 140 Ignatius’s terminology of sacrificial procession is close to the terminology used of processions of the mystery cults, the cult of Artemis Ephesia and the Imperial cult (see Brent, 1998: 39–42; Harland, 2003: 487–99). As pointed out by Harland (2003: 499), this language is important for the formation of the identity of the believers and for establishing “a sense of place within local culture or society while also forming a basis from which to assert distinctiveness and even pre-eminence (for the group or its God)”. 141 Ignatius draws the dividing line between true and false believers more sharply than between the community of believers and the wider society. Ignatius is aware that believers meet with hostility from the surrounding society (‘wrath . . . proud speaking . . . blasphemy . . . cruelty’, Eph. 10.2). Yet he advises the believers to prove themselves as brothers of the unbelievers around them: ‘Let us be proved their brothers by our gentleness . . .’ (10.3). Believers should not cause offense to the surrounding society and should offer no grounds for criticism of the community of Christ-believers (cf. Ign.Trall. 8.2). See Schoedel, 1985:14. 142 The theme of imitation and suffering is essential to Ignatius’s self-understanding, e.g., Ign.Eph. 1.1; 10.3 (see chapter 5, 3.2). Ignatius thinks of his martyrdom as fulfilling the requirement of his ministry: ‘Suffer me to follow the example of the Passion of my

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Thus, we find a prototype of leadership and organization that seems to be an extension and a development of the prototype of the Pastor (1–2 Tim.), particularly as far as the structures of authority, legitimacy and leadership are concerned.143 Ignatius elaborates on the typically Pauline notion of the community of believers as the temple of God.144 Similar to the Pastorals, Ignatius stresses the locus of authority in the ministry of the teacher, o( dida/skaloj, although he makes the point that ‘there is only one teacher’ (ei(/j ou=n dida/skaloj, Ign.Eph. 15.1; cf. Magn. 9.1–2), i.e., Jesus Christ.145 The locus of authority and legitimacy is now explicitly placed in the office of the bishop and the presbyters, who guarantee the authenticity and reliability of the true Jesus-tradition.146 Ignatius could thus be taken as evidence that the Pauline tradition in Ephesus continued well into the second century. However, there are some indications that Ignatius was also familiar with other Christ-believers in Ephesus. Ignatius had apparently a broad scope in focus when he wrote ‘to the church, worthy of all felicitation, which is at Ephesus in Asia’, Ign.Eph. inscr.), which is most probably an address to all the Christ-believers in Ephesus intended to unite them all under one bishop.147 Nevertheless, Ignatius was apparently aware of people who were not part of the community, over which Bishop Onesimus presided, who were not ‘within the sanctuary (qusiasth/rion),’148 and who did ‘not join in the common assembly’. They are God’ (Ign.Rom. 6.3). Stoops Jr. (1987: 176) particularly points out the importance of this theme for Ignatius’s claim of authority and legitimacy: “The condemnation of Ignatius did not create a radically new kind of authority – that of a martyr – but gave him an opportunity to give final and decisive proof that God had spoken and continued to speak through him.” In Ign.Rom. 4.3, Ignatius compares himself to the apostles Peter and Paul and concludes that he will attain their state as free only through suffering. 143 Cf. Schoedel (1985: 23): “The situation of the Pastoral Epistles is not entirely clear, but it appears that the churches known to Ignatius have moved at most but a step beyond them.” 144 See Rathke, 1967: 76; Legarth, 1992: 346. 145 Other dida-terms used in Ign.Eph. are didaskali/a (16.2; 17.1), dida/skw (15.1) and didaxh/ (9.1), all of them being used to combat deviant teaching. The stress on Jesus as ‘the only teacher . . . who ‘spoke and it came to pass’’ (Ign.Eph. 15.1), which speaks of Jesus as active in the creation, is probably aimed at a Docetic cosmic interpretation of Christ (so Corwin, 1960: 105; Schoedel, 1985: 77–78). 146 In Ignatius, the role of the appointed teachers has been taken over by the office of bishops and presbyters; when Ignatius speaks of dida/skaloj (used only once in Ignatius), this term is reserved for Jesus Christ, the supreme teacher (ei(/j ou=n dida/skaloj, Eph. 15.1). This follows the development that we may also discern in Did.15.1, where bishops and deacons ‘minister to you the ministry of the prophets and teachers’. 147 This also seems to be indicated by Ign.Eph. 5.2; 11.2. Cf. Trebilco, 2004: 646–47. 148 The term qusiasth/rion is probably used in a figurative sense as a reference to the community of believers (Schoedel, 1985: 54).

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warned, ‘not to oppose the bishop’ (Ign.Eph. 5.2–3).149 The exhortation to come together in obedience and unity under the bishop and the presbyters is repeated in Ign.Eph. 13.1: ‘Seek, then, to come together more frequently . . . for when you come together frequently the powers of Satan are destroyed’ (cf. also 20.2), which implicitly assumes that some people did not meet with the bishop or did not acknowledge the office of the bishop. Considering the fact that Ignatius commends the Ephesians for their ‘good order in God, for you all live according to truth (a)lh/qeian), and no heresy dwells among you’ (Ign.Eph. 6.2; cf. 9.1), it seems not primarily to have been doctrinal issues that caused some to ‘oppose the bishop’.150 What then could it have been? In connection with the saying about those who do ‘not join in the common assembly’ and who ‘oppose the bishop’ (5.2–3), Ignatius ambiguously refers to ‘the silence of the bishop’ (6.1). It is not clear what this much-debated expression refers to, but this shortcoming seems to have caused some of the Ephesian believers to question the authority and legitimacy of the bishop.151 As pointed out by William Schoedel, “We may conjecture that those who stayed away from worship found little in their inarticulate bishop to interest them”.152 Furthermore, Ignatius’s consistent justification and defense of the office of the bishop, even insisting that the bishop must be regarded ‘as the Lord himself’ (6.1),153 also points to the conclusion that some believers resisted a change to the leadership structure on the grounds that they did not see the bishop as such an authority. Thus, the accumulative evidence points towards the conclusion that, when Ignatius wrote his Letter to the Ephesians, it was a time of transition with regard to mono-episcopacy in Ephesus, as well as in other places.154 It seems probable that we should conclude that those, who argued for other kinds of structures of authority

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Trevett, 1992, 48, 81; Trebilco, 2004: 648–54. The problem of people or groups meeting ‘apart from the bishop’ was also prevalent in the other communities addressed by Ignatius (e.g., Ign.Magn. 4.1; 7.1–2; Ign.Phld. 4; 7.2–8.1; Ign.Smyr. 7.1–8.2). 150 So also Trebilco, 2004: 654–55. 151 The phrase ‘the silence of the bishop’ is also repeated in Ign.Phld. 1.1–2. For a survey of different interpretations of this expression, see Isacson, 2004: 47–48. 152 Schoedel, 1985: 56. According to Schoedel (ibid.), the bishop’s silence refers to ‘the ability in debate to turn back false teaching’ (cf. Ign.Eph. 15; Ign.Phld. 1; so also Trebilco, 2004: 658). Trevett (1983: 6–10; 1992: 50), followed by Hall (1990: 305), suggests that the bishop’s silence had to do with that the lack of prophetic inspiration (the bishop did not speak as a prophet). 153 Cf. Ign.Eph. 3.2; Ign.Magn. 3.1–2; 4.1; 6.1; 13.2; Ign.Trall. 2.1; 3.1; Ign.Phld. 3.2; Ign.Smyr. 8.1–2; 9.1; Ign.Pol. 6.1. 154 There seems to have been people who opposed the bishop in a similar way also in Philadelphia (Ign.Phld. 6.3; 7.1–3) and Smyrna (Ign.Smyr. 7.1–9.1).

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and legitimacy in the community of believers, questioned the position of the bishop.155 Who could those who opposed the bishop have been? Although somewhat tentatively suggested, they would probably not have been found among those who were influenced by the prototype of the Pastor (1–2 Tim.). It is more likely that they would have been found among believers who argued for other kinds of authority structures, for example, among those who were influenced by the prophetic-apocalyptic tradition of John the Prophet. As previously observed, Revelation plays down the kind of leaderships structures found in the Pastorals in favor of the charismatic leadership of the prophets. At the time that Ignatius wrote his seven letters, he was active in mainly the same geographical area as John the Prophet, who also wrote seven letters (although this seems to be a mere coincidence), and he explicitly addressed three of same churches as those addressed in Rev. 2–3 (Ephesus, Philadelphia and Smyrna).156 We have no definite evidence that Ignatius knew Revelation, but writing about a decade later, the bishop would most probably have been aware of the ideas articulated by John the Prophet in this area.157 There are several reasons that speak in favor of this proposal: In addition to the two groups of opponents traditionally recognized in Ignatius’s Letters, the Docetists and the Judaizers,158 it also seems that 155

This view is further argued by Trevett, 1989: 128–29; 1992: 43–48, and Trebilco, 2004: 659–68. 156 Bauer (1972: 79) suggests that the reason why Ignatius addresses the communities of believers in Ephesus, Smyrna and Philadelphia, and not the others whom John the Prophet addressed, was that these three communities were not influenced by heresies to the same extent as the others: “there was nothing Ignatius could hope from the Christian groups represented at Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, and Laodicea, because no points of contact existed for him there.” However, this hypothesis builds on the presupposition that Ignatius intended to write to all the church mentioned in Rev. 2–3, something which cannot be proved. 157 Lightfoot (1885: 1109) found no quotations of Rev. and only three similarities to Rev. in Ignatius (Rev. 3:8 and Ign.Phld. 9; Rev. 11:1; 14:17–18 and Ign.Eph. 5). Harrison (1936: 232) reprints a table of Lightfoot’s list and draws the conclusion that there is no clear evidence that Ignatius knew Rev. There are though some striking similarities between Rev. 12 and Ign.Eph. 19 (a woman that gives birth to a Savior, stars in the sky, the sun and the moon, warfare in heaven and earth, the defeat of Satan, etc.). These similarities do not require literary dependence, although they demonstrate the influence of apocalyptic tradition in Ignatius (“as an outgrowth of apocalyptic thinking”; Schoedel, 1985: 94). Commenting on the relationship between Revelation and Ignatius, Trevett (1989: 123–24) writes: “I do not think he [Ignatius] had ever read the work [Revelation], though I think he may have known of its existence and had perhaps discussed some of its teaching.” 158 There is no agreement among scholars on whether Ignatius opposed one, two or three different opponents (for a survey of proposals, see Myllykoski, 2005: 345–72). As

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Ignatius faced opposition from a third group, namely from prophetic Christ-believers, who resisted his current attempts to impose episcopal order, and who accused Ignatius of false prophecy.159 Ignatius counters by insisting that the idea of the mono-episcopacy is not his own, but ‘the preaching of the Spirit’ (to_ de\ pneu=ma e0kh/russen, Ign.Phld. 7.1–2).160 Ignatius may have been aware that some of his addressees valued charismatic gifts, particularly the gift of prophecy, and he was therefore concerned to articulate that he also has the inspiration of the Spirit: “Ignatius’s prophecy had been tested and found wanting, for he was dealing with a group which knew all about prophecy.”161 Hence, Ignatius is careful to point out that the threefold structure of bishop – presbyters – deacons is established by Jesus Christ so that, ‘with certainty and according to his own will by his Holy Spirit’ (Ign.Phld. incr.) the divine power is operative in the threefold ministry of bishop, presbyters and deacons. Ignatius’s other letters also show evidence of a similar kind of prophetic group. In the Letter to the Trallians, Ignatius claims charismatic gifts and prophetic inspiration for himself and for the bishops, maintaining that he also understands prophetic thing and has esoteric knowledge of ‘heavenly things’ (ta\ e)poura/nia) and ‘of angelic locations’ (ta\j topoqesi/aj ta\j a)ggelika/j, Ign.Trall. 5.1–2). In the Letter to Bishop Polycarp, Ignatius expects other bishops to function as prophets since they are endowed with every charism, and he urges Polycarp to seek revelation of the invisible

Sumney (1993: 347–49) points out, this is dependent on whether the letters were intended to be read together or, as he suggests, individually. Although the lack of clear-cut definitions, most evidence points in favor of two groups of opponents in Ignatius’s Letters: a Judaizing group of Jewish and Gentile Christ-believers (Philadelphians, Magnesians) and a Docetic-oriented group (Ephesians, Trallians, Smyrneans). Although the allusions to deviants are very vague in the entire Ign.Eph., it is plausible that Ignatius confronts some variant of (monophysite) Docetic belief here (see 7.1–2; 17.1–19.3). This is also argued by a majority of scholars, e.g., Corwin, 1960: 52–86; Schoedel, 1985: 61, 87–94, 152–58; Legarth, 1992: 124–27; Trevett, 1992: 80; Strecker, 1996: 73–74; Uebele, 2001: 44–48; Isacson, 2004: 52–56. 159 Trevett (1983: 1–18) in particular has paid attention to this group of opponents in Ignatius’s Letters. As he points out, (ibid., 15), the anti-episcopal activities cannot simply be associated with either or both the Docetists and the Judaizers, particularly since these groups would not have worshipped within Ignatius’s ‘orthodox’ congregations or under his jurisdiction (e.g., as Ign.Eph. 5.1–2 would presume). 160 Trevett (1989: 129; cf. 1983:6) suggests that the interest of lo/goj tou= qeou= in Rev., the Botenformel ta/de le/gei and o( e)/x wn ou]j a)k ousa/tw ti/ to_ pneu=m a le/g ei in Rev. 2:1, 7, 8, 11, 12, 17, 18, 29; 3:1, 6, 7, 13, 14, 22 are echoed in Ignatius’s own prophetic authorization formula in Phld. 7.2 (to\ de\ pneu=ma ekh/r ussen le/gon ta/de). 161 Trevett, 1989: 129.

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things (Ign.Pol. 2.2; cf. 1.3).162 Christine Trevett suggests on this basis that there were some pneumatics who engaged in “anti-episcopal activities” in the communities of believers addressed by Ignatius, and who opposed the authority structures argued by Ignatius: “The authority vested in the bishop’s office, as Ignatius understood it, threatened to exclude the exercise of the Prophetic gifts.”163 Following this proposal, Robert Hall suggests that Ignatius opposed precisely the sort of prophetic group that produced the Ascension of Isaiah.164 Just like the prophetic groups in the Ascension of Isaiah, Ignatius’s ideal community order reflects and represents an heavenly order and establishes the intimate connection between the heavens and the church, in particular because the bishops, presbyters and deacons typify God, Christ and the apostles.165 The prophetic school of the Ascension of Isaiah combated false shepherds and elders in the communities of believers who claimed authority from God and who sought positions of power (Asc.Isa. 3:21–31). With this parallel in mind, it is likely that Ignatius responded to a similar critique of the mono-episcopacy from a prophetic group, who maintained that the ongoing routinization of the charismata, embedded in the offices of the bishop and the presbyters, demonstrated the lack of prophetic inspiration and the corruptness of the church. As a matter of fact, such a group may have been inspired by the activities of John the Prophet.166 On several occasions in the Letter to the Ephesians, Ignatius claims spiritual status for himself as well as for the local bishop, and he refers to his ‘spiritual fellowship’ with his readers (5.1), to the inspired ‘word of Jesus’ (o( lo/gon )Ihsou~, 15.2),167 and to the revelations (expressed by the 162

The connection between the office of the bishop and the prophet in Ignatius has been recognized by a number of scholars, see, e.g., Weinel, 1899: 86–88; Müller, 1975: 25–26, 51–53, 174–75. 163 Trevett, 1983: 13–14. See also Trebilco, 2004: 672–73. 164 Hall, 1990: 304–06. 165 Ign.Eph. 5.1–2; Ign.Smyr. 8–9; Ign.Trall. 2.2; 3.1; Ign.Magn. 6.1; 13.2. 166 There are some significant parallels between the Pauline Letter to the Ephesians (Rev. 2:1–7) and Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, in particular in the commendation of the addressees for their rejection of deviant apostles and teaching (Rev. 2:2; Ign.Eph. 6.2). Cf. Hemer’s (1986: 54) comments on these similarities: “The parallels are in some cases close and striking, though apparently independent.” 167 Trevett (1989: 129) comments on Ign.Eph. 15.2: “Ignatius was responding negatively to those who claimed to have the ‘word of Jesus’ for true possession . . . , for in his view they had failed to hear Jesus’ silence. A ministry of teaching (in this case a suspected one, and something also associated with Christian prophets) was involved and in Eph. 15, as elsewhere in the letters, Ignatius was contrasting mere ‘words’ and deeds. I wonder whether we should look to the Apocalypse to explain at least part of the background to this enigmatic passage.” As already pointed out, o( lo&goj tou= qeou= is a

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verb a)pokalu/ptw, 20.2). As pointed out above, ‘the silence of the bishop’ (6.1) could have had to do with some criticism of the local bishop’s lack of authoritative words and charismatic or prophetic authority. Thus, Ignatius the Bishop wants to show that he himself is familiar with prophecy, and that he anticipates that his readers would recognize the prophetic language that he uses. Ignatius seems anxious to be acknowledged as a prophet, and he wants to hold together both the idea of the monarchical episcopacy and the prophetic ministry. The most likely setting for this is Ephesus, where he confronted a prophetic group of people, who did not acknowledge the idea of mono-episcopacy, and who caused tensions between their own prophetic-apocalyptic activities and the episcopal structures, between the prophetic and the priestly ministry.168 Thus, although Ignatius may not have written in immediate response to John the Prophet, much speaks in favor of the assumption that he wrote in response to a similar kind of early Christian prophetic tradition as the one we meet in Revelation. 2.5. The Tradition of the Pastor (as Articulated by Bishop Ignatius) in Response to the Presbyter Could there have been some Christ-believers who expressed their belief with the prototype of the Presbyter among those who ‘resisted the bishop’ (Ign.Eph. 5.2–6.1)? Ignatius probably wrote his Letter to the Ephesians a decade or so (or even less) after that of John the Presbyter, and we may suspect that the prototype of the Presbyter was still in sway in western Asia Minor at the time when Ignatius wrote. Believers who had absorbed or adopted the prototype of the Presbyter, who had played down the hierarchical structures and placed the locus of authority in the community of believers as a whole and not in any specific offices, would probably have had some difficulties with such distinct transitions of the leadership structures as those argued by Ignatius. Paul Trebilco argues strongly that Johannine Christ-believers were among those who resisted the bishop, and he suggests that the Johannine communities, would have resisted the developments towards a much more institutionalized church structure, including the development of the mono-episcopacy with the bishop claiming to have authority over all Christians in Ephesus. They would have valued a

central concept in Rev. (1:2, 9; 6:9; 17:17; 19:9, 13; 20:4; 21:5; cf. 1:3; 3:8, 10; 22:6, 7, 9, 10, 18, 19). Cf. Hill, 1971–72: 401–18. 168 The Didache, which was most probably written in Antioch towards the end of the first century, shows clear attempts to keep the ministry of the bishop together with the ministry of the prophet, and even argues (in accordance with Ignatius) that the bishops and deacons ‘minister to you the ministry of the prophets and teachers’ (Did. 15.1).

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much freer model of collegiality and mono-episcopacy would have been a very significant development for them.169

There are even some traces of influence from Johannine vocabulary and theology in Ignatius. First of all, the deviating group (of Docetists?) in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians and the secessionists in First John could have been quite close to each other in terms of Christological convictions; both groups denied that Christ had come in the flesh and both the bishop and the presbyter refuted those who denied the bodily manifestation of Christ.170 The common frontier against these deviant groups must have created some sense of belonging together between the readers of Ignatius and those of the presbyter. Secondly, Ignatius clearly connects to the tradition of the Presbyter in Ign.Eph. 14.2, accentuating actions as the authentication of the believer’s life: ‘No man who profess faith sins, nor does he hate who has obtained love.’ In terms clearly reminiscent of First John, Ignatius declares the incompatibility of faith and sin (cf. 1 John 3:4– 10; 5:18) and of love and hate (1 John 4:20).171 This indicates not only that Ignatius himself was acquainted with the Johannine tradition, but also seems to imply that his readers were familiar with this tradition. Thirdly, in making a case for the acceptance of the bishop as the Lord’s representative (Ign.Eph. 6.1) in a passage in which Ignatius also specifically warns those who resist the bishop, he seems to pick up the sending formula of John 13:20 (in reference to the Father’s sending of the Son): ‘For every one whom the master of the house sends to do his business ought we to receive as him who sent him’ (o(\n pe/mpei . . . w(j au)to_n to\n pe/myanta).172 Could this be a deliberate attempt to win over the adherents of the Johannine theology? Of course, this is mere conjecture, although it would fit neatly into the larger picture of the Christ169

Trebilco, 2004: 645–70 (669). Cf. Schoedel (1985: 56): “We may conjecture that those who stayed away from the bishop found little in their inarticulate bishop to interest them.” 170 See 1 John 2:22–24; 4:1–6; 5:1–8; 2 John 7; Ign.Eph. 7:2; 18.1–2; 19.3. Uebele (2001: 147–57) in particular argues that a similar group of Docetists is attacked in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians and in the Johannine Letters. Refuting the idea that the Docetists in these Letters could be related to Cerinthus (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.26.1), Uebele parallels instead the Docetism of the Gnostics with that of Saturnius (c. 100–130 CE) and Cerdo (who moved to Rome c. 140 CE) who originated in Syria and who represented a type of Gnosis that was known to Ignatius in his home town. 171 Schoedel, 1985: 76. 172 Ign.Eph. 6.1 (o4n pe/mpei o( oi0kodespo/thj ei0j i0di/an oi0konomi/an, ou[twj dei= h(ma=j au)to_n de/x esqai, w(j au)to_n to\n pe/myanta) in reference of the bishop is clearly a reminder of the reference to the sending of Christ in John 13:20 (o( lamba/nwn a)/n tina pe/myw e)me\ lamba/nei, o( de\ e0me\ lamba&nwn lamba&n ei to\n pe/myanta/ me). See Schoedel, 1985: 56 n. 15; Trebilco, 2004: 670.

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believers in Ephesus, who held on to the Johannine tradition and who opposed the structures of mono-episcopacy advanced by Ignatius.173 In conclusion, I have argued that Ignatius, in his claim to authority and legitimacy, stands close to the Pauline tradition, particularly in his stress of the supreme role of the office of the e0pi/skopoj and the presbu/teroj. The reader(s) of the Pastorals would probably have been willing to accept the authority of the one bishop quite readily. On the other hand, I doubt that those Christ-believers in Ephesus, who followed the tradition of the Prophet or that of the Presbyter, would have accepted this transition of the leadership structures without some objections. In Ignatius’s concern to unite all local believers in Ephesus under one bishop, he is quite concerned to keep together the office of the bishop with that of the Prophet, and he claims prophetic inspiration for himself as well as for the local bishop. We have also seen how Ignatius, by stressing the authority of the community and by opposing a similar group of deviants, also seems to urge those who belonged to the tradition of the Presbyter to come together with the other believers in unity and submission under the bishop. Accordingly, writing in the first or second decade of the second century, Ignatius wanted to keep local Christ-believers of different traditions together by stressing the significance of the local mono-episcopacy. Addressing the citywide community of Christ-believers, Ignatius is aware of other opinions concerning the mono-episcopacy, and he therefore writes with the intention of bringing these different traditions and groups together under Onesimus as the only bishop in that place. 2.6. The Reception of the Tradition of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter in Ephesus and Western Asia Minor in the Second Century CE What happened to the tradition of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter in Ephesus after Ignatius had written his Letter to the Ephesians? Did Ignatius succeed in his endeavor to bring these traditions together? According to Walter Bauer, the Pauline influence vanished from western Asia Minor in the early second century. 174 I doubt, however, that this conclusion is correct, especially since Bauer draws this conclusion mainly 173

Why does not Ignatius explicitly mention John then? Trebilco (2004: 676–78) gives four reasonable reasons: i) John the Presbyter (not ‘the apostle’) was probably not seen by his contemporaries nor by those who lived shortly after him as a figure of absolutely critical significance; ii) since John’s activities in the Ephesus area were later, Paul was the stronger focus for unity because he established the Christian group in the city; iii) some Johannine Christians were most likely among those who opposed the bishop, and iv) of the worthies of the past, Ignatius only mentions Paul and Peter, and both as examples of martyrdom. 174 Pace Bauer, 1972: 83–85, 212–28.

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from the neglect of Paul in Revelation. As argued above, this silence can have other, and more plausible, explanations than the one that Bauer suggests. Several scholars have pointed to the insufficient reading of the Apostolic Fathers behind Bauer’s conclusion, particularly as he does not pay due attention to the references to Paul in First Clement, in Ignatius’s Letters and in Polycarp’s Letter to the Philippians.175 In particular, Polycarp, the bishop of Smyrna, who seems to have been an admirer and a follower of Paul, made use of a number of Pauline Letters when he wrote to the Philippians (c. 110–120 CE).176 In referring to both presbu/teroi and dia/k onoi, Polycarp follows the Pauline tradition of church polity, which was obviously influenced by the structures of leadership for which the Pastoral Letters and, later on, Ignatius’s Letters argued.177 Accordingly, we have a rather strong case to suggest that the Pauline tradition continued in Smyrna at that time. As far as Ephesus is concerned, the evidence is however scant. We could find a rather strong Pauline tradition connected with Ephesus up until the first decades of the second century. This seems to have originated in the middle of the first century and run on up until Ignatius’s references to Paul in the first or second decade of the second century, but after that, we have no text that explicitly connects the Pauline

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Norris (1976), Lindemann (1990) and Berding (2002) in particular have challenged Bauer on this point. Lindemann (1990: 45) concludes, “There is certainly no basis for the notion that Paul was forgotten or unimportant in the (wing of the) church in which ‘Clement,’ Ignatius and Polycarp did their work.” Norris (1976: 43) rejects Bauer’s reading of the Apostolic Fathers: “Frankly, he [Bauer] misreads the texts. One should be cautious in following his lead in places where there are few texts and much silence, when it can be demonstrated that he does not proceed on good grounds with the existent texts.” Berding (2002: 189) concludes his thorough analysis of Polycarp’s use of Paul: “Polycarp’s letter stand as one witness against the idea that Paul’s letters were neglected during the early and middle parts of the second century. Polycarp not only used Paul’s writings, he enthusiastically commended their use (Pol.Phil. 3.2).” 176 E.g., Gal. 6:7 in Pol.Phil. 5.1; Rom. 14:10–12 in Pol.Phil. 6.2; 1 Cor. 6:2 in Pol.Phil. 11.2. Polycarp refers to Paul three times, Pol.Phil. 3.2; 9.1; 11.2–3, he knew and drew upon Rom., 1–2 Cor., Gal., Eph., Phil., 1–2 Tim., and probably also 2 Thess. For Polycarp’s use of Paul, see especially Berding (2002) and Hartog (2002: 177–79; 195, 202–03, 223–31). Berding (2002: 188) concludes his study concerning Polycarp’ use of Paul: “The extent to which Paul’s letters were used in such a short letter is in itself remarkable. Polycarp quoted from Paul in a way that seems to assume that the Philippians had a collection of Paul’s letters that was the same as his own.” 177 Polycarp refers to the presbu/teroi (Pol. Phil. 1.1; 5.3; 6.1) and dia/konoi (Pol.Phil. 5.2; cf. 1 Tim. 3:8–10). He also follows the tradition of 1 Tim. concerning widows (Pol.Phil. 4.3; cf. 1 Tim. 5.5) and wealth (Pol.Phil. 4.1; cf. 1 Tim. 6:7–10). In his personal letter addressed to Polycarp, Ignatius gave him clear directions concerning the role of the bishop and the presbyters (Ign.Pol. inscr., 5.2; 6.1).

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tradition to the city of Ephesus.178 Of course, this raises questions about the Pauline tradition: did the Pauline tradition lose its influence in this area? The silence could of course be taken in evidence for this, although the evidence from Polycarp points to the conclusion that the Pauline influence was still strong in western Asia Minor towards the middle of the second century CE. There seems to be evidence of the Johannine tradition in Ephesus from the end of the first century and onwards.179 Actually, the first evidence we have of the Johannine Letters come from western Asia Minor. We have already noticed the allusions to First John in the Letter of Polycarp of Smyrna to the Philippians (7.1), a passage that is uniquely close to two Johannine passages (1 John 4:2–3; 2 John 7). 180 According to Eusebius, Papias of Hierapolis (writing between 120–135 CE) ‘used testimonies from the Letter of John and also that of Peter’.181 In addition, Papias also demonstrates knowledge of John’s Gospel, particularly when he gives the names of first six disciples in the same order as John does.182 There is also extensive evidence of the knowledge of the Gospel of John and the Johannine Letters in the Epistula Apostolorum, which was most probably written sometime in the 140s in Asia Minor (Smyrna?).183 Furthermore, the allusions to First John by Justin Martyr, who had studied philosophy and who undertook evangelistic work in Ephesus shortly after his conversion in about 130 CE,184 indicate the use of this letter in the churches by the middle of the second century at the latest.185 Apollonius of Ephesus, a prominent Asian, Anti-Montanist writer from about 200 CE, complains about a Montanist named Themiso, who ‘dared, in imitation of the apostle, to compose an epistle general, to instruct those whose faith was better than 178

Ign.Eph. 12.2, and evidence primarily taken from 1 Cor. 15:32; 16:1–9, 19–20; Acts 19–20 and 1–2 Tim. Also Paul’s (circular) Letter to the Ephesians indicates the connection between the Pauline tradition and Ephesus. Cf. chapter 1, 2.1. 179 With support from Revelation, the Johannine Letters and the second century Church Fathers. See also chapter 1, 2.2. 180 See chapter 1, 2.2. 181 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.17. Papias may also have known of 3 John; cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.3 (a)p au)th=j...th=j a)lhqei/aj) and 3 John 2 (u(po_ au)t h=j th=j a)lhqei/aj). 182 See chapter 1, 2.2. Cf. Hill, 2004: 385–96. 183 Hill (1999: 1–53; idem, 2004: 366–74) argues a strong case for the connection of this tradition with Asia Minor, and more specifically with Smyrna. 184 According to Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.18.6), Justin’s response to Trypho the Jew took place at Ephesus (see chapter 2, 5.2). 185 Justin, Dial. 123.9 (te/kna qeou=) alludes to 1 John 3:1–2 (even the sentence structure in Justin points to the use of this passage in 1 John; cf. also 1 John 2:3; 3:22; 5:3). There are also allusions to 1 John 3:8 in Dial. 45.1, and to 1 John 1:7 in 1 Apol. 32.7. Cf. Hill, 2004: 344.

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his’ (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.18.5). In all probability the apostolic epistle general in view in this context is First John.186 We can thus trace the Johannine tradition in western Asia Minor from the arrival of John the Presbyter in Ephesus around 70 CE, via the Johannine tradition in the Johannine Letters, and the continuing influence of this tradition on Ignatius, Polycarp, Papias and the author of the Epistula Apostolorum.187 In the last decade of the second century CE, Polycrates, the bishop of Ephesus and the spokesman for the Quartodecimans, defended the Johannine tradition as the tradition of the apostles Philip and John. 188 In his opposition to Pope Victor’s attempt to secure the uniformly celebration of the feast of Easter on a Sunday, Polycrates confirms the Johannine tradition as he refers back to a ‘John’, a priest, martyr and teacher, who ‘leant back on the Lord’s breast’ and who fell ‘asleep at Ephesus’. 189 On the other hand, in his office as a bishop, Polycrates claims to stand in a tradition of bishops, and that he himself was the eighth bishop in a row of seven of his own kindred: ‘For seven of my family were bishops and I am the eighth’ (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.6). This reference to the succession of bishops harks back to the prototypes of the Pastor (the Pauline tradition) and Ignatius, implicitly confirming that the hierarchical kind of mono-episcopal structures promoted in these texts were well established in Ephesus well before the end of the second century CE.190 Accordingly, Bishop Polycrates serves as a late second century witness of the presence of both the Johannine tradition (explicitly) and the Pauline tradition (implicitly) in Ephesus. What happened to the tradition of the Prophet? We know that this tradition also survived and was established in western Asia Minor in the second century. It is particularly demonstrated by the use of the Book of Revelation by Papias of Hierapolis. Although Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39) does not list Revelation among the New Testament writings known to Papias, some of the statements attributed to him seem to echo a personal 186

See Hill, 2004: 138. Cf. Trebilco, 2006: 40. 188 See chapter 2, 5.3. 189 Apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.31.3; 5.24.2–7. For a detailed analysis of this text, see Günther, 1995: 194–203; Hill, 2004: 118–21. Hengel (1989: 5) comments on the significance of the Johannine tradition for this dispute about the date of Easter and the Montanist movement in Asia Minor, “the typology of the Passover Lamb and the chronology of the passion in the Fourth Gospel support the Quartodeciman custom of the Paschal Feast as practised in Asia Minor; the new prophetic movement starting from Montanus and his prophetesses could hardly have come into being without the link between the Gospel and the Apocalypse.” 190 This aspect of the tradition of Polycrates is neglected by Günther (1995: 194–204, 208–09) in his consistent denial of the existence of a Pauline tradition in Ephesus. 187

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knowledge of this writing. He says ‘that there will be a millennium after the resurrection of the dead, when the kingdom of Christ will be set up in material form on this earth’ (3.39.12).191 The Montanist movement from the latter half of the second century, known as ‘the Phrygian heresy’, which stressed the role of true, ecstatic and prophetic speech, shows clear influences from the prophecies in Revelation, particularly by their eschatological interpretation of an earthly millennial reign and of the heavenly Jerusalem as suspending the geographical Jerusalem (Rev. 20– 21).192 Referring to the refutation of the Montanists in Phrygia, Eusebius says that Apollonius of Ephesus ‘makes quotations from Revelation and tells how by divine power a dead man was raised by John the Apostle at Ephesus’ (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.18.14). This tradition, which stems from about 180 CE, also connects both John (the apostle) and Revelation with Ephesus.193 Finally, according to Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.26.1–2), Melito, the bishop of Sardis (one of the seven churches addressed by John the Prophet) in the last third of the second century, wrote a treatise on the Book of Revelation. Justin was also familiar with Revelation: ‘Moreover, a man among us (par ) h(mi=n a)nh/r tij) named John, one of Christ’s apostles, received a revelation and foretold that the followers of Christ would dwell in Jerusalem for a thousand years’ (Dial. 81.4).194 Justin explicitly connects Revelation with the city of Ephesus, where he seems to have met Christ-believers of the tradition of the Prophet.195 It is particularly noteworthy that Eusebius, who did not himself accept the apostolic authorship of Revelation, mentions that Revelation is, according to Justin, ‘clearly . . . the work of the apostle’ (Hist. eccl. 4.18.8). Thus, we find traces of all three traditions in western Asia Minor in the second century CE. There is best support for the tradition of the Presbyter, which is most explicitly referred to by Polycrates, the bishop of Ephesus, but we have also found evidence of the tradition of the Prophet and 191

Also Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 5.33.3–4) refers his teaching of the millennial reign to the oral tradition of the so-called presbyters and, in turn, on a written record by Papias, bishop of Hierapolis. 192 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.16.7–15; 5.17.3; Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3.24.4. 193 According to Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 5.18.9), a Montanist called Alexander ‘was convicted by Aemilius Pompinus, Proconsul in Ephesus, not for being a Christian but for his daring robberies, and he was an old offender’. This record also connects the activities of the Montanists, heavily drawn from the tradition of Revelation, to Ephesus. For a detailed analysis of this account in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.18, see Günther, 1995: 185–94 194 Cf. also 1 Apol. 28 for clear allusions to Rev. 12:9; 20:2. 195 The phrase par ) h(mi=n in Justin Dial. 81.4 (cf. 82.1) seems to assume that the author of Revelation had lived in Ephesus (Günther, 1995:165–70). Cf. Dial. 82.1: ‘You should realize from the fact that among us (para_ ga_r h(mi=n) Christians charisms of prophecy exist down to the present day that the gifts that previously resided among your people have now been transferred to us.’

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indications of the hierarchical structures of the tradition of the Pastor. We may thus conclude that the textual traditions connected with Ephesus continued to exercise significant importance well into the second century.196 In his elaborated analysis of Die Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus (1995), Matthias Günther concludes that towards the end of the second century, there were three lines of development in the Christian movement in Ephesus.197 First, the political interpretation of the Antichrist that comes to the foreground in the political perspective of Revelation (cf. 2 John 7; Rev. 13:1–10) and the application of this tradition by Christians in Lyon and Vienna (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.3–3.3), prepared the ground for the chiliasm of the Montanists (Rev. 20:2–6; Justin, Dial. 81.4; 80.5). Secondly, the reinforcement and development of the prohibition of contact (das Kontaktverbot) with deviant believers, was articulated by the John the Presbyter in 2 John 10, and applied, for example, in relation to the Nicolaitans (Rev. 2:2–6), the Docetists (Ign.Eph. 6.1; cf. Ign.Smyr. 6.2) and to Cerinthus (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.3.4). Thirdly, there was the development of leadership structures into the hierarchical structures articulated by Ignatius’s mono-episcopacy as a safeguard against false teaching (Ign.Eph. 6.2; 9.1) and confirmed and reinforced by bishop Polycrates towards the end of the second century. There are interesting points of agreement between Günther’s three lines of development and the traditions and prototypes of the Prophet, the Presbyter and the Pastor, which I have elaborated on in this chapter. The first line of development agrees with the tradition of the Prophet, with its prophetic and political interpretation and which was later confirmed in the geographical area of Ephesus by the use of the prophetic tradition of Revelation by Papias, Justin, Melito, Apollonius and the Montanists.198 The second line agrees with the tradition of the Presbyter, which stressed strong ingroup boundaries and made sharp demarcations between the community of believers and deviant groups, and which was applied and reinforced by several second century authors, most explicitly by Ignatius and Irenaeus. The third line finds parallels in the tradition of the Pastor, which articulated hierarchical leadership structures, most explicitly expressed in the mono-episcopacy of Ignatius and reinforced by Polycarp 196 Lemcio (1986: 234) sees Ephesus as “the microcosm of Christianity as a whole”, and even argues that Ephesus became a Sitz im Lebens des Kanons (building on a proposal by Goodspeed, 1937: 22–49). Chapter 5 elaborates further on this. 197 Günther, 1995: 207–08. Cf. chapter 1, 1.3. 198 Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.37.1; 5.17.4) also refers to Philip’s daughters, Quadratus and Ammia and to the Montanist women and men who appealed to them as the ‘succession’ of prophecy.

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and Polycrates. However, our studies differ on one significant point: whereas I have argued that there were three types of traditions and prototypes that circulated in the geographical area of Ephesus, Günther ascribes all these lines of development to the Johannine tradition and he consequently denies the presence of the Pauline tradition in Ephesus. As pointed out in chapter one (2.1), Günther’s analysis is clearly forced on this point, especially as he neglects, not only the evidence of the Pauline tradition in Ephesus according to Acts 18–20 and First and Second Timothy, but also the influence of this tradition both on Ignatius and later on as attested by Bishop Polycarp. As I have pointed out in this chapter, it is not primarily the Johannine tradition (the Presbyter) that lies behind the church polity advocated by Ignatius, but the Pauline tradition (the Pastor). Accordingly, there was a more diversified early Christian movement in Ephesus than Günther’s reconstruction allows for.

3. Concluding Remarks 1. By the end of the first and the beginning of the second century CE, there were several textual traditions and prototypes of early Christ belief and behavior that can be located to the geographical area of Ephesus. On the one hand, we find the prototypes argued in the ‘canonical’ texts from this area (1–2 Tim., Rev. and 1–3 John) and in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, and, on the other, the prototypes advocated by those who were labeled as deviant in this group of texts. By the turn of the first century CE, we find explicit rivalries and struggles concerning the right to claim the authoritative Jesus-tradition and to define the legitimate identity of the true Christ-believer. In the ‘canonical’ texts, there are three distinct ways of claiming authority and legitimacy of the Jesus-tradition: First and Second Timothy (the prototype of the Pastor) stress the role of the hierarchical structures of leadership, particularly the role of appointed teachers, Revelation (the prototype of the Prophet) emphasizes to the role of prophetic ministry and prophets, while the Johannine Letters (the prototype of the Presbyter) stress the corporate role of the community of believers. Since all these texts were addressed readers in Ephesus and/or were kept and circulated early on in this geographical area, it is likely that the authors did not only articulate their convictions in response to explicitly ‘deviant’ groups, but also in response to each other. The texts in focus give no evidence of any uniform community organization or structures among the early Christ-believers in Ephesus. Instead, we find certain internal tensions in the way the authors attempt to connect to the ‘sacred tradition’ and argue their legitimacy.

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2. The authors in question are thus involved in the continuous process of institutionalization in the early Christian movement in western Asia Minor. We have to be careful not to think of this process as a process of only moving from charismatic authority to their institutionalization in certain offices and leadership structures, for example, as those we see in the Pastoral Letters. In fact, by stressing the role of the Spirit in the process of transmitting the tradition, the texts in question give evidence of a charismatic understanding of the Jesus-tradition. However, they differ in the way they understand the role of the Spirit in issues that relate to authority and legitimacy. While the prototype of the Pastor connects the Spirit to the appointment of officers and to the protection of the tradition, the prototype of the Prophet stresses the connection between the Spirit and prophecy, and the prototype of the Presbyter emphasizes the relationship between the Spirit and the community. The comparison between the prototype of the of the Pastor, on the one hand, and that of the Presbyter and the Prophet on the other, suggests that the continuous institutionalization of leadership structures, such as those we find in First and Second Timothy, was not necessarily a very late first, or early second, century phenomenon, as has commonly been suggested.199 In fact, our analysis gives some support of the thesis that both the prototype of the Presbyter and that of the Prophet assume and respond to an institutionalized or routinized understanding of community organization (such as the one we find in the Pastorals). Accordingly, the different prototypes should not necessarily be seen as a diachronic development from charismatic authority into the routinization of authority along a chronological path, but as the terminals of two opposite poles.200 In the texts that circulated at the end of the first, and the beginning of the second, century in the Ephesus area, we find this most clearly expressed in the argument for the locus of authority put forward by the author of the Pastorals and the author of the Johannine Letters. This marks a tension between office-based and community-based authority structures. Hence, we must allow for more fluid models. Addressing the citywide community of Christ-believers, Bishop Ignatius seems clearly aware of other opinions concerning the mono-episcopacy, and thus he writes with the intention to bring together different traditions and groups in Ephesus under Onesimus as the only bishop in that place. 199

So, e.g., MacDonald, 1988: 235. Cf. the warning given by Holmberg (1978: 161) as he comments on the development of the authority structures in the Pauline churches: “The rather noncharismatic character of charismatic authority in Pauline churches should warn us from being too quick to postulate a theory of development that holds that every church must pass from a chaotic, ‘charismatic’ state to an ordered, non-charismatic one.” 200

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From Ignatius’s attempt to bring the traditions of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter together under the authority of one bishop, we may conclude that the institutionalization of the life of the Christian communities was increasingly guided by corporate traditions and, accordingly, it became progressively less free to develop in a variety of directions. 3. Finally, we have seen that the prototypes of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter continued to exist in the geographical area of Ephesus well into the second century CE. Although the evidence at hand speaks most explicitly of a Johannine tradition (the prototype of the Presbyter) in Ephesus towards the second century, we have also found evidence of the prophetic-apocalyptic tradition (the prototype of the Prophet) as well as indications of the presence of the Pauline tradition (the prototype of the Pastor). Thus, contrary to the claims of Bauer and the traditional ‘take-over theory’, it was not one tradition that took over in this area; it was rather several traditions and prototypes that continued to influence and impact the process of the identity formation of the local Christ-believers. Neither will the ‘co-existence theory’ (the co-existence of the Pauline and the Johannine movements) as presented by Trebilco,201 suffice for a description of the plurality of the Christian movement in Ephesus towards the end of the first, and the beginning of the second, century CE. In portraying the development of the Christian movement in Ephesus, we do better to speak of a kind of ‘synthesis theory’, with Ignatius as a unifying force through his attempt to bring together the Pauline (1–2 Tim.), the Johannine (1–3 John) and the prophetic (Rev.) prototypes of Christian identity in Ephesus. And still, there were evidently yet other prototypes and groups around who also claimed the right to define the ‘sacred tradition’.

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Cf. chapter 1, 2.3.

Chapter 5

Commonality and Identity: What Held the Early Christian Movement in Ephesus Together? We have noted that the process of deviation and of drawing up of lines of exclusion is a central feature common to the early Christian texts that we have located in Ephesus at the end of the first, and the beginning of the second, century. As pointed out, in this process the authors articulate crucial issues of identity and self-understanding for the purpose of unifying the ingroup and in order to exclude the deviant group (thus insiders become outsiders). Rule-making is an act of boundary-making; by transferring their norms and values, the authors act as rule-makers, creating borders that define, marginalize and exclude deviants. Hence, the authors’s positive affirmations of ingroup values create normative rules and standards for ideal belief and behavior. In the previous chapter, I have pointed out some crucial issues that caused tension and diversity between the various prototypes used by the authors, particularly concerning issues of authority and legitimacy. We will now turn our attention to issues of commonality in the texts and traditions that belong to the Ephesus area. There is a current tendency in New Testament studies to accentuate the diversity of the early Christian movement and to neglect the unifying factors of this movement. In fact, today it seems more opportune to speak of early ‘Christianities’ or early Christian movements than of early ‘Christianity’.1 As we noted in the survey of recent studies of the early Christian movement in Ephesus (chapter one), it is today common to stress the diversity and variety of early Christian belief and behavior even within a limited geographical area (most notably in the studies by Koester, Trebilco and Witetschek). And, as far as Ephesus is concerned, I think it is legitimate to speak in terms of diversity. However, none of the recent studies of the early Christian movement in Ephesus elaborate on the unifying factors or forces of this 1 E.g., see Koester, 1965; Robinson-Koester, 1985; Smith, 1994; Ehrman, 2003. Although Dunn (1993) still speaks of early ‘Christianity’ in singular, he mainly focuses on the diversity of the early Christian movement.

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movement. John Reumann articulates this concern in his analysis of the unifying factors in the early house churches: “Given the pluralism in house churches, our question for early Christianity becomes not, ‘Why the differences?’ but ‘What held the communities of Jesus Christ together?’”2 Consequently we should ask, he continues, “what united the several house churches in a given city region, even where the house churches all had the same missionary founder?” I do not assume that there was a unified movement, a single theology or some sort of ‘catholicism’/‘orthodoxy’ at the beginning of the second century CE. Nevertheless, since the texts in question survived and were later on included in the Christian canon, they must obviously have had some features in common, some sort of commonality that was recognized and that singled them out from other concurrent and competing texts. In his analysis of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus, Paul Trebilco raises the question of commonality between the Pastorals, the Johannine Letters and Revelation. However, he confines his study to the examination of the social relationship between the communities addressed, and he discusses issues such as their relationship to the wider culture and their views on leadership, material possessions, women and also various selfdesignations.3 His interest is clearly sociological. His main focus is not “What held these groups together?”, but “How many groups of Christians do the text represent and how did these groups relate to each other?”4 Accordingly, he does not elaborate on issues of commonality in the texts, and particularly not on issues that concern common belief and behavior, i.e., on a commonality of theology and ethos.5 The quest for commonality in belief and behavior is primarily motivated by the fact that the call for ‘tradition’, ‘sound teaching’ and ‘truth’ is present in all our texts (particularly in 1–2 Tim., 1–3 John and Ignatius, but also in Rev. 2–3). There was obviously a strong sense of doctrinal and behavioral self-consciousness on the part of our authors. I have previously pointed out that the process of establishing true belief and behavior over 2

Reumann, 1998: 112–13. Trebilco (2004: 716) suggests that there was a commonality between the readers of the Pastorals and the readers of 1–3 John, “they clearly retained the distinct identity of their separate groups. We can perhaps speak of commonality ― that, whilst preserving their distinctive identity, we can suggest that they would have been willing to acknowledge the validity of each other’s claim to be part of the wider movement that we call early Christianity”. 4 Trebilco (2004: 5) states as the goal of his study: “I will argue that there were different groups or communities of Christians in the city, and I will seek to describe in detail some of the facets of the life of these different groups.” 5 However, Trebilco raises questions concerning commonality in a later article (see Trebilco, 2005). 3

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against what the authors understood to be deviant belief and behavior was crucial for the process of identity formation of the early Christian movement(s) in western Asia Minor.6 How then can we define this ‘sound teaching’ or ‘truth’? Is there a common core or center? As Judith Lieu points out, we must presume that individuals, such as Paul or Ignatius, did not attempt to forge unity de novo, but that they did, at the very least, betray some disposition towards it: From very early, even texts that are locally conditioned convey a sense of the threads that connect them with others, perhaps particularly inspired by Paul’s own selfunderstanding, and this means that the literary construction of Christianity’s universal domain begins there also. 7

Since we are dealing with ‘canonical’ texts, we are evidently looking for hints of what became ‘orthodoxy’ in the later period (I will comment further on the issue of ‘orthodoxy’ in the concluding remarks of this chapter). I will thus search for issues that our texts (1–2 Tim., Rev., 1 John and Ign.Eph.) have in common, and specifically how they articulate their view of the right belief and behavior of the Christ-believer. We may assume that issues that are stressed in common also became key notions in the normative self-definition that would have held certain believers together while excluding others. However, before dealing with issues of belief and behavior in the texts, something needs to be said about the role of the authors and their texts as a unifying force.

1. Translocal Networks Speaking of the need of apostolic authority, Papias of Hierapolis, points out that he is not content with ‘information from books’ but that he looks for ‘the word of a living and surviving voice’ (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.3). In the quest for ‘truth itself’ (a)p 0 au0th=j . . . th=j a)lhqei/aj, 3.39.3), it was of crucial importance for Papias to look for living individuals as witnesses and tradition-bearers of this truth. Turning to the period some decades before Papias, we should not to forget that early belief in Jesus Christ ― whether or not we talk of a form of belief that was later on considered as ‘orthodox’ ― was articulated, transmitted and safeguarded by individuals who acted as bearers, transmitters and authorities of what 6

Norris (1976: 38–39) suggests that Asia Minor made four important contributions to ‘orthodoxy’: i) the early development of the office of mono-episcopacy (before Ignatius); ii) the theological justification of the place of the bishop in the life of the church; iii) the early distinction between ‘heresy’ and ‘orthodoxy’ (Ignatius), and iv) early canonical development. 7 Cf. Lieu, 2004: 22.

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was regarded, at least from their perspective, as the truth.8 A significant feature, which the early Christian texts that we have located to Ephesus have in common, is that they were all written by individuals with a translocal or itinerant ministry within the early Christian movement. First and Second Timothy clearly address a community of believers and they are written by an individual, whether Paul himself or a co-worker (or most probably by a combination of the two), who did not himself belong to the local community, and who did not serve only the local community in Ephesus but several other communities as well. The author connects his readers with a translocal movement of contacts with individuals and communities within a wide geographical range: from Galatia and Pisidia (Antioch, Iconium, Lystra,) in the East, via western Asia Minor (Ephesus, Miletus and Troas), Macedonia (Thessalonica), Achaia (Corinth), Dalmatia to Italy (Rome) in the West.9 The writer also gives general instructions, which assume that his readers were part of a larger, translocal movement. For example, he stresses the universality of the instruction given: ‘I want men in every place (e)n panti\ to/pw?) to pray, lifting up holy hands’ (1 Tim. 2:8; italics mine),10 and, ‘I write so that you may know how one ought to conduct himself in the household of God, which is the church of the living God’ (3:15).11 The general impression throughout the Pastorals is that the readers, together with the writer, belong to a translocal movement with a network of relationships with other communities of believers.12 Turning to the Book of Revelation, John the Prophet obviously functioned as an itinerant prophet, who had contacts with at least seven communities of Christ-believers in western Asia Minor (Rev. 1:4, 11). We may assume that, among the intentions behind Revelation, John wrote in order to unite these communities through his prophetical vision and in the common struggle for the belief in Christ. Visions are recurrently recorded 8

In particular, see Bauckham’s (2006) elaborated analysis of the role of the eyewitness in the process of transmitting and protecting the Jesus-tradition. 9 See 2 Tim. 1:15–18; 3:11; 4:10–13, 20. Of the locations mentioned, we know of Pauline communities (i.e., communities Paul was in contact with) in Asia (2 Tim. 1:15), Rome (1:18), Antioch, Iconium and Lystra (3:11; cf. Acts 13:1–14:20), Thessalonica (4:10), Galatia (4:10), Troas (4:12; cf. Acts 20:5–12; 2 Cor. 2:12), and Corinth (4:20). 10 The phrase e0n panti\ to/pw? is typically Pauline (1 Cor. 1:2; 2 Cor. 2:14; 1 Thess. 1:8), probably developed from Mal. 1:11 (LXX). As pointed out by Marshall (1999: 444), this background requires more than a simple local reference to prayer “in all the house churches” (pace Fee, 1988: 71; Knight, 1992: 128); it stresses the universality of the instructions in 1 Tim. 2:1–8. 11 The general expression ‘God’s household’ seems to presuppose that the local group of believers is a part of a translocal gathering of believers (cf. Mounce, 2000: 107). 12 Also the saying of Tit. 1:5 (‘appoint elders in every town’) assumes that the group of believers addressed in Titus were part of a movement larger than the local group.

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of a universal and multi-ethnic movement of people who stand united against the powers of evil and who worship in unison before God and the Lamb (e.g., 7:9–10; 14:1–5; 21:1–4). In Rev. 22:9, an angel answers John: ‘I am a fellow servant of yours and of your brethren the prophets and of those who keep the words of this book.’ Here the writer is not only connected with believers in general (‘those who keep the words of this book’), but also with a group of prophets.13 As David Aune suggests, the prophets in this text most probably refer to a group of visionaries, who served as envoys and bearers of the prophetic tradition to the local communities of believers.14 Accordingly, in his separate and collective address to the seven local communities scattered around western Asia Minor, John presupposes that they are united and he wants them to focus on the concerns that they have in common. The Johannine Letters suggest that there were a number of house communities throughout a specific local area. Second and Third John particularly were written to house communities, or groups of house communities at some distance from the presbyter, which he hopes to visit (2 John 12; 3 John 13–14). Further, the presbyter had contact with a group of itinerant ‘brothers’ (a)delfoi/) and ‘co-workers’ (sunergoi/), and he is asking his readers for support and hospitality (3 John 6–8). Thus, even though the house communities of the Johannine Letters seem to have been scattered across a limited geographical area within reasonable traveling distance, the presbyter connects them to a translocal body of believers.15 These communities were held together, not only by their local leadership, but also by translocal leaders, who connected them with ‘brothers’ gathered in other locations. When Ignatius, the Bishop of Antioch, addressed five Christian communities in western Asia Minor (Ephesus, Magnesia, Tralles, Smyrna and Philadelphia), he was traveling by foot, guarded by ten soldiers (‘ten leopards’, Ign.Rom. 5.1), on his way to Rome, his final destination. During the stops he visited local Christian communities and received visitors from others. After a visit to Philadelphia, Ignatius reached Smyrna, where he received visitors from Ephesus, Magnesia and Tralles, and where he wrote letters to these communities. During a brief visit to Troas, he also wrote to the Philadelphians, the Smyrnaeans and to Polycarp, the Bishop of Smyrna.16 We have noted (chapter four, 2.4), that the theme of unity and 13

Cf. Rev. 19:10; 22:16. For this interpretation, see Aune, 1989: 109. So Aune, 1989: 111. 15 Cf. Trebilco, 2004: 269–70. 16 As indicated by e.g., Ign.Rom. 10.1–2; Eph. 2.1; Phld. 11.1; Smyr. 10.1; 13.1, Schoedel (1985: 12) points out that Ignatius’s meetings with other believers seem to have been carefully planned by himself and his friends. 14

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solidarity permeates all these letters. In the Letter to the Ephesians, Ignatius pleads for unity among the believers locally (inscr., 2.2; 3.2; 4.1– 2; 5.1–6.1; 11.2–12.2) as well as translocally (21.1–2). He connects the Ephesians with Polycarp, the Bishop of Smyrna (21.1), and urges them to ‘pray for the church in Syria’ (21.2). Ignatius addresses ‘the church . . . which is in Ephesus in Asia’, and he describes it as ‘predestined from eternity for abiding and unchangeable glory’ (Eph.inscr.). They are, indeed, ‘Ephesian Christians’ ( 0Efesi/oi oi9 Xristianoi/, Eph. 11.2), but as Judith Lieu points out, “yet the sense of place here is determined not by the status of Ephesus within the province of Asia, but by its heritage that stretches back to Paul and to the other apostles”.17 The local and translocal perspectives therefore belong together. The local community is determined by the presence of the bishop, who represents the universal or translocal unity of all local communities in Jesus: ‘Wherever the bishop appears let the congregation be present; just as wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church’ (Smyr. 8.2). Thus, it is particularly through the person of the bishop that Ignatius holds together, in Lieu’s words, “the inalienability of the local with the constitutive nature of the ‘universal’’.18 In his Letter to the Magnesians, Ignatius sends greetings from the Ephesians, whom he has met in Smyrna (Ign.Magn. 15.1). This is repeated in his Letter to the Trallians, by which Ignatius sends greetings from ‘the Smyrnaeans and the Ephesians’ (Ign. Trall. 13.1; cf. Ign.Rom. 10.1; Ign.Phld. 11.2). The Letter to the Philadelphians was written from Troas ‘by the hand of Burrhus, who was sent with me by the Ephesians and Smyrnaeans as a mark of honor’ (Ign.Phld. 11.2). We are told that the Letter to the Romans was written from ‘Smyrna by the blessed Ephesians’ (Ign.Rom. 10.1), which probably indicates that the representative from Ephesus carried the letter.19 Through the written communications of Ignatius, the communities of believers in Ephesus, Smyrna, Magnesia, Tralles and Philadelphia were not only connected with each other (the letters in Rev. 2–3 suggest that some of them already were in touch with each other), but also with other communities in a union that extended all the way from Antioch in the East to Rome in the West. Thus, Lieu aptly concludes concerning the connection between the local and translocal perspectives in Ignatius: For him, the determinative place of belonging is the local community, with its sense of interconnection with the past as well as with other similarly located communities; the primary boundaries are those of the local community which, at the same time, replicate those of the ‘catholic church’.20 17

Lieu, 2004: 233. Lieu, 2004: 234. 19 Schoedel, 1985: 191. 20 Lieu, 2004: 234. 18

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Another feature common to the texts in focus for this analysis is the appeal for hospitality. In his discussion of the communication between first century Christian communities (which he fittingly calls “the holy internet”), Michael Thompson sees hospitality as “so important to the early Christians that it became a paraenetic topos”, ensuring “social cohesion and solidarity for each smaller network within the larger Christian web, as the first generation of believers worked out the meaning of love.”21 In our texts, we notice that hospitality has become a basic requirement of ‘the over-seer’/‘the bishop’ (o( e)pi/skopoj) in First Timothy (3:2; cf. Tit. 1:8).22 This virtue is also stressed in the Johannine Letters as a requisite for being ‘fellow workers with the truth’ (sunergoi\ ginw/meqa th?~ a)lhqei/a ,? 3 John 8). John the Presbyter stresses how important it is to be a part of a translocal network of travelling teachers, who have been sent out (by the presbyter?) in order to bring a message to the Christ-believers and to hold the various communities together (3 John 5–10). From the instructions in 2 John 10–11 not to extend hospitality to heretical teachers, it becomes clear that the Christian home was the prime place for the transmission of traditions and teachings by traveling preachers or teachers. Here, the author straightforwardly associates the evil of the false teachers with anyone who hosts them.23 In Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, there were apparently some itinerant teachers, who had been welcomed to operate within the community: ‘Some from elsewhere who have stayed with you have evil doctrine’ (Ign.Eph. 9.1). It is also clear that there was a highly valued tradition of receiving itinerant teachers in the communities addressed by Ignatius (Ign.Eph. cf. 6.1; 7.1). Ignatius himself had experienced the hospitality of the churches in western Asia Minor (Ign.Rom. 9.3). Finally, in John’s letter to the Ephesians in Rev. 2:1–7, the community is commended for not tolerating ‘evil men, . . . those who call themselves apostles, but who are not, and you found them to be false’ (2:2). As pointed out by several commentators, the ‘false apostles’ probably refers to a group of itinerant missionaries, who traveled between various Christian communities in order to assert their claim to authority and legitimacy.24 As in Second John, the virtue of hospitality found certain

21

Thompson, 1998: 55–56 (italics original). Although hospitality is not mentioned in Ignatius, we can draw the conclusion from Didache (11–12), 1 Clement (1.2; 10.7; 11.1; 12.1; 35.5) and Hermas (Mand. 8.10; Sim. 9.27.2) that this virtue became the mark of the bishop. See also Riddle, 1938; Arterbury, 2005: 122–29. 23 Arterbury (2005: 119) points out, “the ancients often made evaluations about the character of either the host or the guest based upon their counterpart in a hospitality relationship”. 24 E.g., Mounce, 1977: 87; Hemer, 1986: 39; Aune, 1997: 144. 22

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restrictions here, where it was paired with the need to test these traveling apostles. Finally, in chapter two we noted that the authors in question actively sought to establish the notion of a universal people of God.25 People with no ethnic connections are depicted as belonging together in a worldwide movement. Each author establishes this notion in his own characteristic way: First Timothy stresses the universal scope of salvation (2:4; 3:16), First John the idea of ‘the children of God’ (3:1), Revelation the vision of ‘every tribe and language and people and nation’ (5:9; 7:9), and Ignatius emphasizes the bishops, who have been appointed ‘throughout the world’ (Eph. 3.2), and who hold ‘the whole Church’ together in unity (5.1–2). To sum up, we can discern a pattern common to the early Christian text located to Ephesus in which the local believers are affiliated and interconnected to a translocal or supralocal network, a “holy intranet” of communities of believers.26 Local communities are bound by adhesions working in many directions, through correspondence, embassies and hospitality. Here we may find parallels to Jewish Diaspora communities, which were scattered all around the Roman Empire, and which formed a web of translocal networks which included their connections with Jerusalem.27 In addition, some voluntary associations in antiquity had translocal links, and were even referred to as oi0koumenh/j, ‘universal’ or ‘world-wide’ (e.g., the associations of merchants and traders, and the worshippers of the Egyptians gods).28 By forming a network of Christian communities, the authors of our texts establish the notion of universal brotherhood and invisible unity, an ‘ecclesiological’ consciousness and identity that communicated to their addressees that they belonged to a larger movement, to a worldwide people, in which the members supported one another.29 The networks of John the Prophet and Ignatius the Bishop seem to have partly been the same, since both of them address Christian communities in Ephesus, Smyrna and Philadelphia. And it is not implausible that the network of John the Presbyter was also partly the same, which is particularly suggested by the similarities between the secessionists referred to in the Johannine Letters and the Docetists 25

See chapter 2, 4.1–3, 5.1. Terminology from Hvalvik, 2005: 143. The late second century CE Bishop Polycrates of Ephesus confirms the translocal character of the local Christian movement when he claims, ‘I have conversed with the brethren from all parts of the world’ (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.7). 27 See Burtchaell, 1992: 339–40; Ascough, 1997: 234–36. 28 Ascough, 1997: 228–34. 29 Even if we talk about translocal and universal ideas, we should, of course, be careful not to think about the early Christian movement by this time as a universal movement. Cf. Ascough, 1997: 240. 26

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mentioned in Ignatius’s Letters to the Ephesians, the Trallians and the Smyrnaeans. In any case, the network of communities in the Johannine Letters was probably located within a limited geographical area. The Pauline network in the Pastorals seems to differ somewhat, primarily by the wide range of the locations mentioned, which covers a large part of the Roman Provinces, extending as it does from Pisidia in the East to Rome in the West.30 From this, we may tentatively conclude that those who were in touch with the Pauline tradition in Ephesus were connected to a larger network of communities than those who were only in touch with the Johannine tradition. The role of these authors in linking the various local communities to a translocal movement of Christ-believers should not be neglected. We thus need to refrain from postulating from the outset that it was primarily a fixed set of doctrines, or a common belief, that kept these believers in social contact with others communities of believers. Rather, it was various itinerant bearers of the ‘sacred tradition’ who kept these groups and communities in touch with others, and who created specific groupings or clusters. While the self-definition of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus were embodied locally, fundamental aspects of their beliefs, rites and behaviors were brought to them from outside by traveling leaders, who were not themselves part of these communities, but who served the wider Christian movement. Thus, the identities of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus should not be seen as the outcome only of local factors, but as a dialectic process, consisting of both local and translocal factors and ideas.

30 Hvalvik (2005) demonstrates how Paul held his churches together by the establishment of “a broader ecclesiological unity” (p. 126). The local communities are reminded of the affiliation to a greater community of faith 1) by Paul’s direct references to other churches (e.g., Rom. 1:8; 1 Thess. 1:7–8; 1 Cor. 16:1); 2) by Paul’s references to an ecumenical tradition (1 Cor. 4:16–17; 7:17), and 3) by the conveying of greetings (1 Cor. 16:19; Phil. 4:22; Rom. 16:16). Paul also stimulated direct contact between the various churches (e.g., Phil. 4:22; Rom. 16:1–2; 1 Cor. 16:17), in particular by his collection for Jerusalem (2 Cor. 8:19, 23; 1 Cor. 16:3–4).

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2. The Commonality of the Story of Jesus and Ethical Response in the ‘Canonical’ Texts We shall now elaborate on the theological notions and ideas that came to hold various strands of Christ-believers together in Ephesus. So far, we have concluded that the formation of Christian identity could be seen as a dialectical process consisting of both local factors and translocal ideas. In analyzing the process of formation of early Christian identity, Ben Meyer distinguishes between ‘identity’ and ‘self-definition’. Although a modern and somewhat categorical construction, far from the minds of its original bearers, this distinction could be helpful in our discussion. According to Meyer, ‘identity’ is what the core of one’s allegiance makes one to be, while ‘self-definition’ is identity culturally and historically incarnated and expressed through a process, by which man is actively engaged in the shaping of himself and his world.31 Accordingly, Meyer takes ‘identity’ to be the principle of unity and ‘self-definition’ to be the principle of diversity.32 Thus, self-definition presupposes identity and is the answer to the question of how Christian identity is realized or incarnated in different cultures. There was thus one identity among the early Christ-believers, but many self-definitions.33 However, it would be a mistake to suppose that the central concern of early Christianity was to establish its own self-definition. Its central concern, Meyer suggests, was to testify that Jesus of Nazareth had been raised from the dead.34 Thus, it was through “the Easter experience” that the first Christ-believers appropriated a conscious ecclesial and electionhistorical identity, and this identity, “articulated and secured by kerygma and confession, allowed scope for various concrete self-definitions, simultaneously and successively.”35 To the core of this identity also belonged “a proper response to the God who summoned into being this new people”.36 Identity, Meyer argues, is thus defined by “the gospel of God’s universal saving acts” and ‘self-definition’ through the cultural

31 Meyer, 1986: 25, 174. According to Meyer (1986: 26–28), ‘self-definition’ is a structured process having three moments: i) Horizons (the limit of one’s field of vision, knowing and caring); ii) self-understanding (the process of understanding one-self in the specific ‘horizons’); iii) self-shaping (the integration of self-understanding and the renewal of selfhood). 32 Meyer, 1986: 19; idem., 1992: 156. 33 Meyer, 1992: 160. 34 Meyer, 1986: 19. 35 Meyer, 1986: 173. 36 Meyer, 1986: 183.

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contextualization of this “Easter kerygma”. Since there was one and only one gospel, there was one and only one Christian identity. 37 Meyer’s definition of the one and only identity is not without problems. Of course, there is only one Easter event, but early on there were several understandings and interpretations of the meaning of this event, and of how it should be experienced. Can we then talk of one identity? Which were the necessary components of the Easter kerygma that defined this one Christian identity? Meyer’s definitions nevertheless provide a more profound understanding to the classic discussion of unity and diversity in early Christianity. There were certain notions and ideas, which transcended specific locations, and which became more widespread and therefore proved more long-lasting in time. Applying Meyer’s definitions to the early Christian textual traditions that belong to the Ephesus area, we may say that, when these texts were received by their readers, they came to represent local contextualizations and specific expressions (or ‘selfdefinitions’) of the respective author’s understanding of Christian identity. However, in our quest for commonality between these traditions, we are not looking for various self-definitions, but for the common, or the translocal, identity expressed in these texts. Meyer defines, and I think quite correctly, this identity in relation to the kerygma, i.e., the core identity that came to hold these traditions together was their common understanding of “God’s universal saving acts” and “a proper response to God”. In the now almost classic work Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (1977), James Dunn elaborates both the unity and the diversity in the New Testament (although the accent falls heavily on diversity). Dunn claims that “there was no single normative form of Christianity in the first century”, and he distinguishes four different types of early Christianity: Jewish Christianity, Hellenistic Christianity, Apocalyptic Christianity and Early Catholicism ― each of which viewed the other as too extreme in one respect or other.38 Interestingly, we may find at least three of these types in the texts in focus in the present study: apocalyptic Christianity finds parallel with the tradition of the Prophet (Rev.) and Early Catholicism with the tradition of the Pastor (1–2 Tim. and Ignatius). Hellenistic Christianity is, “the growing edge of Christianity as it began to compete more and more effectively with the ancient Greco-Roman religions, the mystery cults and the philosophical speculations”,39 and this could actually find parallels in all our traditions, particularly since Dunn defines this kind of Christianity mostly in anti-Gnostic or anti-Docetic 37

Meyer, 1992: 159. Dunn, 1993: 235–366 (quote from p. 373). 39 Dunn, 1993: 268 38

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terms. We find evidence of Hellenistic Christianity in the anti-gnōsis sayings of the Pastorals (1 Tim. 4:5–6; 6:20; 2 Tim. 2:16–19), in the antiDocetic teaching of the Johannine Letters (1 John 2:18–27; 4:1–6; 5:1–5; 2 John 7) and in the general refutation of Greco-Roman cults and preGnostic or dualistic influences in Revelation (Rev. 2:5, 13–15; 9:20–21). Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians is also representative of anti-Docetic teaching (Ign.Eph. 7.1–2; 16.1–19.3). All our traditions may thus be, in Dunn’s terminology, Hellenistic Christianities, but they were not all Apocalyptic or Early Catholic. Once again, this highlights the crucial role that other competing Hellenistic pre-Gnostic and Docetic groups played in the formation of specific issues that were part of the self-understanding and identity expressed in the texts that belong to the Ephesus area. In the end, I doubt however that Dunn’s clear-cut distinction between Jewish and Hellenistic Christianity works, either at an ideological or at a local level (e.g., the deviant teachings of the Pastorals and the Johannine Letters carried both Jewish and pre-Gnostic/Docetic influences). We need better categories and better definitions than this. Examining the kerygma of Jesus, Luke (Acts), Paul and John, Dunn concludes that there is no single or unified kerygma in the New Testament, but a multiple of diverse kerygmata. Even “within the NT itself we have not simply diverse kerygmata, but in fact kerygmata that appear to be incompatible.”40 However, there are common elements present in these different kerygmata. With proper qualifications, Dunn sets forth the unified “core kerygma of the New Testament” in its three components: 1) the proclamation of the risen, exalted Jesus; 2) the call for faith in response to the proclamation, and 3) the promise held out to faith (i.e., the benefits that come when the proclamation is appropriated in Christ).41 However, he warns: It must clearly be understood that the unified core kerygma outlined above is an abstraction. No NT writer proclaims the kerygma as such. No NT writer reduces the kerygma to this core . . . We must therefore beware when we talk about ‘the NT kerygma’. For if we mean the core kerygma, then we are talking about a kerygma which no evangelist in the NT actually preached.42

For Dunn, this “core kerygma” is christologically defined by the affirmation of the identity of the man Jesus with the risen Lord: “that which really distinguishes Christianity from its first-century rivals is Jesus, the man and the exalted one, Christ crucified and risen marking out both

40

Dunn, 1993: 26. Dunn, 1993: 29–30. 42 Dunn, 1993: 30. 41

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centre and circumference.”43 Undoubtedly, Dunn is correct in this Christological definition of the center of the New Testament writings. In a couple of articles, Eugene Lemcio addresses issues of unity and diversity in the early Christian movement. In an article from 1986, Lemcio interestingly proposes Ephesus as the main center for the formation of the New Testament canon, a “microcosm for Christianity as a whole” and a Sitz im Lebens des Kanons. He locates, in various ways, several of the key persons of the early Christian movement (Paul, Luke, Apollos of Alexandria, John the Baptist, Timothy, Mark, and John the Presbyter) as well as a vast amount of New Testament documents to Ephesus (LukeActs, John, Ephesians, 1–2 Tim., 1–3 John, Rev., and several of the nondisputed Pauline letters [1–2 Cor., Phil., Gal., and Philem.]).44 Accordingly, Lemcio finds Ephesus a place of great diversity of persons, genres and points of view. Following the main line of reasoning of Dunn’s Unity and Diversity in the New Testament, Lemcio argues that there were clear tensions in terms of theology in the area: tensions between the apocalyptic eschatology of Revelation and the inaugurated eschatology of John the Presbyter between the institutionalized tradition of the Pastorals and the egalitarian tradition of the Johannine literature (the Gospel, the Letters and Rev.), and between the cosmic Christology of Ephesians and the incarnational Christology of the Johannine tradition. Nevertheless, these same documents, Lemcio argues, plead “most eloquently for the church’s unity and for the maintenance of standards which keep the diversity from being open-ended”.45 Lemcio points to the thrust for unity of belief and behavior in several of the writings that he locates to Ephesus (e.g., Eph. 4:1–32; John 17:1–26; 1 John 1:3–8, and Rev. 2–3), but he does not elaborate any further on what it is was that actually held the various traditions in this geographical area together. Without explicitly elaborating on the Ephesian setting, Lemcio comes back to the issue of a kerygmatic core in the New Testament. He demurs to Dunn’s supra-literary or trans-textual definition of the New Testament kerygma, arguing that “there is in fact evidence for a kerygma that is concrete, not abstract or reductionist, and wide-ranging enough to be regarded as a core running through the New Testament”.46 He finds this through a literary and descriptive treatment of the New Testament and not, as Dunn does, through an historical and reconstructive treatment. Contrary to Dunn, Lemcio finds a discrete kerygmatic core that integrates the manifold plurality of the New Testament. This core contains six constant 43

Dunn, 1993: 370; cf. 227. Lemcio, 1986: 213–21. Lemcio builds his case on Goodspeed, 1937: 22–49. 45 Lemcio, 1986: 229. 46 Lemcio, 1988: 5. 44

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items, usually, but not always, introduced by a statement that signals that what follows is kerygma, gospel, or a word about (1) God who (2) sent or raised (3) Jesus. This is regularly followed by (4) a response (receiving, repentance, faith) (5) towards God (6) which brings benefits (variously described).47 In two articles Lemcio demonstrates how this core works in nineteen of the New Testament writings and in a sample of second century post-apostolic, apologetic and apocryphal literature (1 Clem., Pol.Phil., Diogn., Justin’s Dial., and Acts Paul).48 The basic themes continue to be repeated in fragmentary form well into the second century, although there obviously this gradually tapers off. Lemcio concludes: “Thus, it seems that the phenomenon of a well-defined, circumscribed outline of Christians’ fundamental story belongs primarily to the New Testament.”49 In turning to the ‘canonical’ texts in focus of the present study, and beginning with First and Second Timothy, Lemcio finds the first three items of his kerygmatic core in 1 Tim. 3:16b (1) God (2) ‘took up’ (3) Jesus ‘in glory’ (a)nelh/mfqh e)n do/ch? rendered in active voice), which expresses ‘the mystery of godliness’ (to_ th=j eu)sebei/aj musth/rion, 3:15). In 1 Tim. 4:7–8, this mystery of eu)se/beia is not only confessed but practiced and is a promise of value, both in the present life and in that which is to come (this is pisto\j o( lo/goj, 4:9). In the meantime, toil and striving are motivated by (4) hope in (5) the living God who is (6) the Savior of all. In Second Timothy, the core is found in the passage of 2:8– 15, introduced by the formula pisto\j o( lo/goj (2:11): ‘remember (3) Christ Jesus (2) raised from the dead (1) [by God] . . . according to my gospel.’ Paul suffers for the sake of the believers so that (6) they may obtain salvation in Jesus Christ (2:9–10). Therefore, Timothy must urgently (4) present himself (5) to God as a worthy workman (2:15).50 Turning to First John, Lemcio finds in the passage of 4:7–10 the following kerygmatic core in John’s attempt to authenticate the claim (4) to know (5) the God of Love (1) who (2) sent his (3) only son into the world (6) to save it and provide atoning sacrifice for sins.51 (He acknowledges that references to the resurrection fail to also occur here.) Concerning the Book of Revelation, Lemcio finds the kerygmatic core in the passage of 12:1–11, 17: once the magnificent woman’s (3) son is born, he is (2) snatched away from the dragon’ jaws (1) by God to his throne. Salvation then comes in two phases: God’s forces under Michael expel Satan to earth where he can (6) no longer prosecute them before God. With little time left, the ancient 47

Lemcio, 1988: 6. See Lemcio, 1988 and 1990. 49 Lemcio, 1990: 8. 50 Lemcio, 1990: 6. 51 Lemcio, 1990: 7. 48

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serpent proceeds to make war against the rest of the woman’s offspring who (4) keep the commands (5) of God and maintain the witness which Jesus gave.52 With this literary and descriptive treatment of the various texts Lemcio succeeds ― at least to some extent ― to demonstrate that “amid the unquestionable pluralism of the New Testament, there lies a unifying, kerygmatic center. It is formal and specific rather than abstract and general, internal and native rather than external and artificial.”53 There is a distinguishable kerygmatic core of many New Testament writings, which are not kept together by a unified terminology or confession, but by a similar internal or narrative structure. I have however two objections to Lemcio. First, in his list of six items Lemcio neglects to pay due attention to the language that expresses the sending or the coming of Christ in more specific terms. Even if the explicit terminology does not occur in all the New Testament writings, the idea that God becomes man is implied in most of the sending formulas. As we will see in the texts in focus of the present study, various expressions of the humanity of Jesus are significant in all of these texts. Secondly, by concentrating on human responses to God’s saving acts as attitudes of “receiving, repentance, faith” (4) and as various benefits given (6), the second part of Lemcio’s list fails to pay due attention to the ethical or moral responses and obligations that follow upon God’s sending/raising of Jesus Christ (item 1–3). It should be pointed out more clearly that the kerygma also required a human response and carried ethical obligations. In The Rise of Normative Christianity (1994), Arland Hultgren argues that there is a “family resemblance” among the documents that make up the New Testament; “they share in affirming that the man Jesus of Nazareth, crucified and raised from the dead, is the incomparable revealer of God and redeemer of humanity”.54 According to Hultgren, and contra Walter Bauer (against which Hultgren makes clear demarcations), there was an early broad stream of Christian traditions that coexisted prior to orthodoxy, and which together constituted major foundations for the latter. For all its risks, Hultgren adopts the term “normative Christianity”, in order to embrace “the totality of what is found in the canonical (=normative) writings gathered in the New Testament and other expressions of Christian faith, literary or otherwise, that are congruent with the canonical writings”.55 While Hultgren affirms the diversity within the early Christian religion from the very beginning, he argues that the 52

Lemcio, 1988: 11. Lemcio, 1988: 13. 54 Hultgren, 1994: 2. 55 Hultgren, 1994: 105. 53

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beginnings of “normative Christianity” can also be traced to very early times, through the commonality found in the writings of Matthew, the Pastorals and the Johannine Gospel and in Paul’s Letters to the early communities, the Q community and the communities of Christ-believers in Palestine. Hultgren proposes at least six basic expressions of ‘Christianity’ as found in the New Testament and in other early Christian writings form the late first, and early second, centuries, six factors that also marked off “normative Christianity” from other forms that developed in antiquity: i. The God of Israel can be loved and trusted as the Creator of all that is and as benevolent towards humanity. ii. Jesus of Nazareth can be trusted as the one sent by God to reveal God and to redeem humanity. iii. In spite of human failure, which would disqualify one from salvation, trust in God’s redemptive work in Christ is the way to salvation, which is begun in this life, but completed beyond it. iv. The person saved by faith in God’s redemptive work in Christ is expected to care about, indeed to love, others and to be worthy of other people’s trust. v. Those, who trust in Jesus as the revealer of God and redeemer of humanity, are expected to live as disciples in a community, whose ethos is congruent with the legacy of his life and teaching. vi. Those, who live in communities of faith, belong to a fellowship that is greater than that provided by the local community. It is an extended fellowship.56

From the perspective of the present study, Hultgren’s makes an interesting case for an early pattern or ‘normative’ model of belief and practice: “The combination of what was to be believed and how a community was to live in conformity with that belief ― both sound belief and sound ethos ― led to the rise of normative Christianity.”57 Acknowledging the presence of struggles for power between various parties and persons in the shaping of this tradition, Hultgren correctly points out that “the penchant for leaving the matter at that in some quarters of modern scholarship is reductionistic”.58 This “normative Christianity”, centered on a common understanding of God’s revelation in Christ and on what it means to live according to this belief, kept certain groups of Christ-believers together and affirmed that those who lived in these communities also belonged to a fellowship that is greater than that provided by the local community. In A Theory of Primitive Christian Religion (1999), Gerd Theissen gives a compelling contribution to the understanding of unity and diversity in the New Testament.59 Similar to Dunn, albeit with other categories and 56

Hultgren, 1994: 86. Hultgren, 1994: 112. 58 Hultgren, 1994: 104. 59 Theissen, 1999: 249–285 (English version by SCM Press, also published by Fortress Press, The Religion of the Earliest Church: Creating A Symbolic World, 1999). 57

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definitions, Theissen discerns four basic currents of primitive Christianity: Pauline Christianity, Jewish Christianity, Synoptic Christianity and Johannine Christianity. In the second century, these four basic currents merged into “early catholic church Christianity”. The Pastorals belong to a “right wing Paulinism’” and the Apocalypse to the “primitive Christian prophetic criticism,” defined as “the expression of a structural crisis, which dogged Christianity from the beginning”.60 Actually, the results found in the present study agree better with Theissen’s categories and definitions than with those suggested by Dunn. In the texts that belong to Ephesus, we have found evidence of two of Theissen’s four basic currents, namely of Pauline Christianity (1–2 Tim.) and of Johannine Christianity (1–3 John). Theissen sees the Pastorals, which in his view stem from “right-wing Paulinism”, as belonging to the same phase as the Apostolic Fathers. Theissen correctly regards the prophetic criticism of Revelation as a response to “early catholic church Christianity”, a reading that I also suggested in the conclusion to chapter four. In dealing with issues of plurality and unity, Theissen speaks of primitive Christian belief in terms of an objective cultural sign system, characterized as “a combination of three forms of expression which are combined in this way only in religion: myth, rites and ethics”.61 According to Theissen, the first form of expression of a religion is its myth or its basic narrative of the divine.62 In the biblical tradition, this myth became a narrative of salvation history that was linked with a concrete history in the midst of time, and which was extended throughout history to cover the present also. Rites are patterns of behavior, by which people break up their everyday actions in order to describe the reality that is indicated in the myths. Early Christ-believing Jews and Gentiles began to replace traditional ritual actions (e.g., bloody animal sacrifices) by new (bloodless) rites, for example, by the Eucharist, baptism, the laying on of hands, footwashing and by the holy kiss.63 The third aspect of this religious sign language concerns ethics. In Judaism, the integration of ethical behavior and an increasing theologizing of everyday life were consistently carried out; all moral norms and values were summed up in the Torah. This continued in primitive Christianity, where it resulted in two opposing tendencies; “on the one hand a radicalization of the norms to the limits of what is psychologically and socially possible (and often even beyond), and

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Theissen, 1999: 260. Theissen, 1999: 2–3. Interestingly, Morgan (1996: 231) uses simlilar categories, “belief, worship and moral practice”. 62 The following section is primarily based on Theissen, 1999: 3–5, 13–16. 63 Theissen, 1999: 123–24. 61

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on the other hand a radicalization of the relaxation of norms (to the limits of what is socially tolerable).”64 Together these “signs” form a system, a “semiotic cathedral” or a “unitary” language that has an inner grammar, guided by certain rules of what may or may not be combined. To form a system means to organize something from its center (conduct and developments are not only guided from outside) and such a system has the capacity to distinguish itself from its environment (to differentiate between reference to itself and reference to outsiders). According to Theissen, “A theory of primitive Christian religion will concern itself with getting to know such a ‘grammar’ of primitive Christian sign language”.65 Attempting to outline the shape of the “semiotic cathedral” of primitive Christianity, Theissen takes the starting point in the grammar of the Jewish religion and its two basic axioms, namely exclusive monotheism and covenantal nomism. In primitive Christianity, these axioms were changed: monotheism is still the first axiom, but it is modified by the second axiom, i.e., by belief in a redeemer. These two axioms form the foundation for every other part of the cathedral of primitive Christianity. At the second level, Theissen finds eleven theological basic motifs, the “pillars” of his cathedral, in which the two basic axioms becomes concrete.66

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Theissen, 1999: 15. Theissen, 1999: 5. 66 Theissen (1999: 274–82) finds the following eleven motifs: the motif of creation (God is the creator that the being and non-being of all things is exclusively connected to), the motif of wisdom (he world is created by God’s Wisdom and Word, being made accessible in a paradoxical way through Christ and the cross), the motif of miracle (miracles are actions of a kind that are performed by God and by human beings, and miracles are signs illuminating the meaning of events), the motif of alienation (human being are separated from God by guilt and suffering, finitude and death, and also by dark numinous powers, and in this way are also alienated from their own origin), the motif of renewal (history is permeated by an expectation of a new world which has already begun in the midst of this world), the motif of representation (persons and living beings can be bound together as active analogies as articulated in Adam and Christ as representatives of all human beings), the motif of indwelling (God is present in human beings through his spirit, in Christ through incarnation, in the rites through sacramental presence, in the church as ‘house’ and as ‘body’), the motif of faith (God and salvation disclose themselves to human beings through faith as a total of acts and trust, by which human beings find a foundation for their lives that lies outside themselves), the motif of agape (love is the foundation of a positive relationship to God and to human beings – especially in its extension to the enemy, the stranger and the sinner), the motif of a change of position (God casts down and exalts, makes the first last and requires a readiness to relinquish status), and the motif of judgment (human beings will be answerable before God’s forum of judgment but on the basis of their faith they will be justified apart from their deeds). 65

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These motifs are the result of a process of trial and error: they were “shaped actively by the human self and survived because they furthered the community”.67 Since the motifs occur at all levels, there can be interpretative bridges between myth, rite and ethics, so that these hold together and create a meaningful whole. Theissen notes the fundamental Jewish character of these motifs, which bind primitive Christianity closely to Judaism. The difference from Judaism lies above all in the “christocentric reorganization of images, motifs, narratives and sign elements which the two religions share.”68 Theissen is open to additional basic motifs and to the fact that the details of this “grammar” of the primitive Christian faith may have varied at different times and in different local contexts. Nevertheless, the coherence of this basic “grammar” of belief inevitably led to conflicts with other “grammars” that deviated on crucial issues, for example, the Gnostic “grammar”. Theissen notes in connection to this that, “it was not external means of power but the inner normativeness of primitive Christian faith which led to the exclusion of the Gnostics. Thus, the grammar of primitive Christian faith forms the inner canon within the canon. The writings merely established themselves because they corresponded to this inner canon.”69 Accordingly, Theissen acknowledges the important role that crises and conflicts play in the process of forming and defining the religious sign system: “the issue of all crises is the autonomy of the religious sign system.”70 Theissen’s discussion of a sign system is helpful as we look for commonality between the different traditions from a local perspective.71 From a ‘canonical’ point of view, there were obviously certain convictions and expressions of early Christ-belief that, on the one hand, united the tradition of the Pastor, the Presbyter and the Prophet and, on the other, distinguished them from other competing traditions and definitions of this belief in western Asia Minor. In the following analysis, I will accept Theissen’s two basic axioms, monotheism and belief in a redeemer, as the basic foundation common to early Christian belief. In the pursuit of common denominators, I will primarily focus on two of Theissen’s three

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Theissen, 1999: 294. Theissen, 1999: 291. 69 Theissen, 1999: 283. 70 Theissen, 1999: 210. In an earlier article, Theissen (1994: 85–86) expresses the same idea in the following words: “Der Kampf um die Einheit der Kirche ist im Urchristentum ein Kampf um die innere Autonomie des urchristlichen Glaubens. Wo das Christentum zum Ziel eines anderen Überzeugungssystems und damit heteronom wird, verliert es seine Identität und Kohärenz.” 71 However, see Byrskog (2003) for a critique of Theissen’s main theses. 68

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expressions of religion, namely on basic myth, story and ethics.72 Concerning rites, we may find some information in the Letters to Timothy (about prayer, the laying on hands, Scripture reading, etc.), but we cannot find enough information in the Johannine Letters and Revelation in order to elaborate further (inasmuch as we take the silence as proof of nonexistence). Whatever else can be said, religions have two primary expressions ― belief and practice. I will therefore confine my analysis to the main features of the story of Jesus and to the ethical ideas embedded in this story. This is reminiscent of the six items of Lemcio’s kerygmatic core, but my investigation is not restricted to basic kerygmatic formulas or expressions. I will also pay greater attention than Lemico does to moral responsibility as the human response to ‘the story of Jesus Christ’. The commonality between various expressions of Christ-belief in Ephesus cannot primarily be found in the use of a similar terminology, but in a commonality of stories and ideas. I would thus suggest that the narrative substructure, or the system of signs and motifs, in the story of Jesus Christ (which combines Christology, soteriology, eschatology and pneumatology) and the ethical response to this story, functions as a significant unifying factor of our texts and forms a translocal notion of identity, which came to hold the various groups or clusters of Christ-believers together. Although most of Theissen’s eleven theological basic motifs are present in the texts in focus of this study, I will not take them as my point of departure, particularly because they have been elaborated as representatives of the ‘canonical’ texts of the New Testament in general. The social identity theorist Daniel Bar-Tal recognizes that social identity is not solely based on the mere fact of categorization but on “group beliefs” held by the members.73 In particular, a common history and narrative could provide a rationale and character to group existence.74 In our discussion of issues of identity and ethnicity (chapter two), we found that it is not the boundary itself that makes the ethnic group, but the ethnic group itself makes the boundary, thereby articulating that its members share a sense of common origin, a distinctive history and destiny, and a collective uniqueness and solidarity: “It is the myth of a common and unique origin in time and place that is essential for the sense of ethnic community.”75 The common ‘myth’ of the Jews is, of course, the story of 72 Since the term ‘myth’ is loaded with various definitions and pre-understandings in the history of New Testament studies, I will exchange this term in preference for the more neutral terms ‘story’ and ‘narrative’. 73 Bar-Tal, 1998: 94. See also Bar-Tal, 1990. This way of articulating New Testament theology in social identity categories is particularly captured by Esler, 2005: 3–8. 74 Bar-Tal, 1998: 112. 75 Smith, 1981: 66.

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Israel as the people of God. But Gentile Christ-believers also have a common faith-narrative that emerges as they begin to speak of the story of God’s people in history (Heilsgeschichte) as their story, and to see themselves as partakers of this story, i.e., as incorporated into a common story or ‘myth’ through the work of Jesus Christ. It is the story of Israel as recounted in the Jewish scriptures that is the basic narrative that frames the story of Jesus. Common to our authors is the use of these Scriptures as they narrate and affirm the story of Jesus. This narrative of God’s saving acts in history and in Jesus Christ was the basic structure of the common group beliefs, which held various clusters of early Christ-believers together, and which shaped their common social identity.76 In turn, significant or key narratives create a certain ethos, normative patterns of behavior.77 In the New Testament, we can see how the story of Jesus established a scheme for the proper ethical response and for the way to handle various situations and matters as a Christ-believer. For example, the suffering of Christ is used as an interpretative model, and as an example to imitate in hardships. Jesus Christ thus becomes an example of the prototypical group member, the example who shapes the standards and norms of the group. The narrative of the group thus becomes intertwined with the narrative of Jesus Christ himself. We can also see how other individuals in many various narratives function as examples and models to follow (Abraham, Moses, Sarah, David, Paul, Peter, etc.). The themes and individuals in these narratives are used as interpretative patterns in the process of forming common standards, a shared social self-understanding and identity. I will thus follow Meyer’s definition of early Christian identity by proposing that the core of this identity has to do with both the understanding of Gods universal savings acts and with a proper response to this. Thus, my basic thesis in the quest for commonality in the texts that address Christ-believers in Ephesus is that there is a common pattern, structure or narrative, and that this pattern or structure consists of the twin themes of the story of Jesus and a proper ethical response to this story. I will initially suggest a common pattern or structure, and within this pattern I will seek to do justice to particular emphases in terminology and theology employed by each author respectively. I will begin with an analysis of the story of Jesus and the ethical response in the ‘canonical’ 76 Hence, Lieu (2004: 310–16) suggests that the narrative was the medium through which the first Christ-believers formed their identity. 77 E.g., in analyzing the use of history for the construction of national identity, Reicher-Hopkins (2001: 151) conclude: “The past is powerful in defining contemporary identity because it is presented in terms of a narrative ongoing drama. This narrative is all the more potent because it is typically construed in its most personalized form; activities and achievements of individuals who embody the nation’s activities.”

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texts (1–2 Tim., 1–3 John and Rev.), and then turn to Ignatius. It should be acknowledged from the start that the strict circumstantial character of the writings in question controls the following investigation; the terminology and ideas employed are heavily dependent on the rhetorical and contingent context of the writings. For example, in First and Second Timothy, we do not find any hint that the problem with the deviants concerned Christology; the deviants are only blamed on moral or ethical grounds. On the other hand, in the Johannine Letters, the problem seems to be mainly christologically defined, albeit the deviants are also blamed on moral grounds. In both these writings, the story of Jesus and the ethical response play a crucial role in defining Christian belief and behavior, although this is expressed quite differently. However, we only catch a glimpse of contingent key symbols and issues that were highlighted in the rivalry with the other types of belief and behavior which, for some reason or other, were condemned by the authors as deviant forms of belief and behavior. Nevertheless, it is in these conflicts with competing groups and ideas that we find to be an important opening, a tangible hint of the specifically significant issues that formed and defined the self-understanding and identity of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus. 2.1. The Story of Jesus In describing the story of Jesus in the ‘canonical’ writings that belong to Ephesus (1–2 Tim., 1–3 John and Rev.), I will not primarily look for kerygmatic formulas (although these will be included) but for various expressions of God’s saving acts in and through Jesus Christ. My thesis is that there is a commonality in the basic structure of the story told about Jesus. This narrative contains at least ten core items: (1) In continuity with the Scriptures (continuity), (2) God, the Father (the subject), (3) is revealed in Jesus Christ (revelation), (4) the man Jesus (humanity) (5) and the exalted Christ (exaltation) (6), the mediator or means of salvation (the means) and (7) in order to bring about God’s salvation (the result) (8) on behalf of all men (universality), (9) this was confirmed by the prophetic Spirit (the Spirit) and (10) will be brought to completion at the future return of Jesus Christ (consummation). It is not my intention to make a detailed analysis, but to collect enough material for a comparative analysis. I will therefore limit the analysis to the most significant features of the story of Jesus in each textual tradition respectively.

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2.1.1. The Story of Jesus in First and Second Timothy Several scholars have pointed out the all-importance of the theme of salvation and revelation (e0pifanei/a) in the Pastoral Letters. 78 This theme is particularly highlighted in two ways. First, it is stressed in the soteriological orientation of the presentation of God and Christ as swth/r. Compared to the undisputed Pauline Letters, this title is remarkably frequent in the Pastorals.79 In First and Second Timothy, it is used altogether four times, three times describing God as ‘Savior’ (1 Tim. 1:1; 2:3; 4:10), and once Christ Jesus as ‘our Savior’ (2 Tim. 1:10). In addition, God is constantly presented as the ultimate source of the plan of salvation (1 Tim. 2:3–5; 4:10; 2 Tim. 1:8–9).80 Two things should be pointed out here: God is never described as ‘Savior’’ in the remainder of the Pauline corpus, which may point either in the direction to another author behind these letters or/and to some specific reason why this aspect is stressed in the presentation of God and Christ. In addition, the descriptions of Christ in the Pastorals are much less diversified than in the non-disputed Pauline Letters. Apart from swth/r, mesi/thj (1 Tim. 2:5) and a)/nqrwpoj (2:5), the “titles or names of Christ [in the Pastorals] reveal little thematic development.”81 This points to the conclusion that we do not primarily have to do with a Christological problem in these letters (an issue that we have also discussed in chapter three). Further, it also shows that the author wants to communicate a certain emphasis of his understanding of Jesus Christ: as o( swth/r, Jesus Christ is the means of God’s plan of salvation (1 Tim. 1:15; 2:5–6; 3:16; 2 Tim. 1:9–10).

78 E.g., Donelson, 1986: 133–54; Towner, 1989: 75–119; idem., 2005: 219–20, 43; Young, 1994: 47–59. The term e9pifanei/a (1 Tim. 6:14; 2 Tim. 1:10; 4:1, 8; Tit. 2:13) and the verb e)pifai/nw (Tit. 2:11; 3:4) are key-terms in the Pastorals. They are used only once in the remainder of the Pauline corpus (2 Thess. 2:8). The epiphany in the Pastorals has two foci: a) the future coming of Christ (1 Tim. 6:14; used as a synonymous to parousi/a), and b) the historical appearance of Christ as Savior (2 Tim. 1:10). 79 Out of the mere eight times that swth/r occur as a designation of God in the NT, it is used six times in the Pastorals (1 Tim. 1:1; 2:3; 4:10; Tit. 1:3; 2:10; 3:4). The term swth/r is used of Jesus Christ in 1 Tim. 1:10; Tit. 1:4; 2:13; 3:6. In the undisputed Pauline literature it only occurs in Phil. 3:20, and among the disputed letters in Eph. 5:23. Besides this title, the verb sw?&zw is used seven times (1 Tim. 1:15; 2:4, 15; 4:16; 2 Tim. 1:9; 4:18; Tit. 3:5), swthri/a twice (2 Tim. 2:10; 3:15) and swth/rioj once (Tit. 2:11) in the Pastorals. This terminology is probably stressed, in particular in combination with e0pifanei/a, as a demarcation against the cultural religious-political milieu; the strong imperial propaganda in the Ephesus area is clearly contrasted by God’s salvation in Jesus Christ. 80 God is described as the one ‘who desires everyone to be saved’ (1 Tim. 2:4) and as the one ‘who has saved us . . . according to his purpose and grace’ (2 Tim. 1:9). 81 Towner, 1989: 51.

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Secondly, the theme of salvation is also highlighted in the traditional doctrinal expressions in First and Second Timothy. In fact, one of the most striking things about the theological structure of these letters is the presence of a number of traditional theological expressions, which the author uses to underline his message or to make claims to authority, most explicitly in the passages of 1 Tim. 1:15; 2:3–6; 3:16; 4:10 and 2 Tim. 1:9– 10; 2:8–13.82 These expressions reflect more than a general interest in tradition on the part of the author, particularly since all of them occur in contexts where the author deals with, or makes demarcations against, deviant teaching.83 Taken together, these expressions expound a specific understanding of the Christ-event and of salvation, they form “a constellation of consistently repeated patterns,” 84 that provides a fairly good understanding of the main features of the ‘sound teaching’ that the author wanted to highlight and to safeguard in his fight against the deviants. Interestingly, the much-discussed pisto_j o( lo/goj formula in the Pastorals (1 Tim. 1:15; 3:1; 4:9; 2 Tim. 2:11; Tit. 3:8) is invariably attached to statements about God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ. Frances Young convincingly concludes: “that the phrase does not simply signal a reliable Pauline tradition, or a secure doctrine, but rather heralds an assurance of the gospel . . . The so-called ‘faithful sayings’ are words of salvation.”85 Interestingly, apart from the use in 1 Tim. 3:1,86 all of the occurrences of this formula are found in connection with traditional doctrinal expressions. Altogether, this material demonstrates that the concept of salvation stands at the center of the theological argument of the Pastorals. There are a couple of kerygmatic or confessional sayings in First and Second Timothy that expound the story of Jesus in concentrated form, 82

There are two further traditional expressions in Tit. 2:11–14; 3:4–7. The saying of 1 Tim. 1:15 occurs in an argument that is framed by the author’s criticism of the deviants (1:3–11, 18–20); 2:3–6 precedes Paul’s claim of authority and his demarcation of the deviant women teachers; 3:16 is preceded by the emphasis of the need of order in ‘God’s household’ and precedes the section on deviant asceticism (4:1– 5) that leads up the saying of 4:9–10; 2 Tim. 1:9–10 is the central part of a section where the author encourages Timothy to complete the mission given to him in Ephesus, and the section of 2:8–13 is an essential part of the argument that leads up to the explicit denunciation of the deviants in 2:16–19. 84 Towner, 1989: 75. 85 Young, 1994: 56–57. Cf. Houlden (1976: 60): “It is best to say that that the writer uses this phrase to designate certain chiefly doctrinal affirmations which he considers to be of central significance.” 86 However, also in 1 Tim. 3:1 the formula is embedded in a salvation context, where it functions as a remark that concludes the previous section about the women who will saved by childbearing (2:15). So Houlden, 1976: 76; Schlarb, 1990: 208–10; Young, 1994: 56–57; Quinn-Wacker, 2000: 234–35; Collins, 2002: 77–78. 83

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most clearly in the creed of 1 Tim. 2:5–6 (which emphasizes Christ’s role as the mediator between God and humanity), in the Christ hymn of 1 Tim. 3:16 (which tells the story of the revelation, the proclamation and the exaltation of Christ) and in ‘the gospel’ of 2 Tim. 1:9–11 (which stresses the gracious saving act of God in Christ Jesus and its consequences for human life and death). Together these three sayings contain most of the items of the story of Jesus (in fact all of them, except item no. 9, i.e., the expectations of the parousia). Thus, the basic story of Jesus, highlighted in the traditional expressions of First and Second Timothy, consists of the following components: 1) Continuity. The story of Jesus stands in continuity with the Scriptures: ‘All Scripture is inspired by God’, and ‘the sacred writings … are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus’ (2 Tim. 3:15–16). In 1 Tim. 5:18, the Hebrew Scriptures (Deut. 25:4) and a saying of Jesus (Luke 10:7) are used to strengthen the ethical imperative, indicating that Jesus’s teaching stands in continuity with the Scriptures.87 As such, the story of Jesus is ‘the witness’ (to\ martu/rion) to the world at the appointed, divine moment in history (1 Tim. 2:6). 2) The subject. God, the Father (1 Tim. 1:2; 2 Tim. 1:2) and creator (1 Tim. 4:3–5) is described as ‘our Savior’ (2:3; cf. 1:1), who ‘before the beginning of time’ (2 Tim. 1:9) planned to save mankind. This is ‘the economy of God which is by faith’ (oi0k onomi/an qeou~ th_n e0n pi/stei, 1:4).88 3) Revelation. God’s salvation has ‘been revealed (fanerwqei=san) through the appearing (th=j e)pifanei/aj) of our Savior, Christ Jesus’ (2 Tim. 1:10; cf. 1 Tim. 3:16). 4) Humanity. Jesus Christ89 has ‘appeared in flesh’ (e0fanerw&qh e0n sarki/), and he is explicitly spoken of as ‘the mediator between God and men, the man (a)/nqrwpoj), Christ Jesus’ (1 Tim. 2:5).90 87 Cf. the use of the Old Testament in 1 Tim. 5:1 (Lev. 19:32); 6:8 (Prov. 30:8), 9 (Prov. 28:22), 11 (Deut. 33:1); 2 Tim. 2:7 (Prov. 2:6), 19 (Isa. 28:16; Num. 16:5, 26); 3:8 (Exod. 7:11, 22). 88 The ambiguous expression oi0konomi/a qeou= probably includes a reference to both behavior and theology, i.e., to the practical way of ordering the ‘household of God’ (oi1koj qeou=, 3:16) that was threatened by the speculations of the deviant teachers. Hence, Johnson (2001: 157) suggests that oi0konomi/a qeou~ should be rendered “God’s way of ordering things” and Marshall (1999: 368) suggests “the kind of responsibility given to stewards in God’s household”. The saying indicates that theology and ethics belong together in the mind of the author: ‘God’s economy’ or plan of salvation is paramount for the [Pastoral] epistles, and the ordering of God’s household is clearly part of the outworking of that plan” (Young, 1994: 55). 89 The relative pronoun o(/j in 3:16a is exchanged with qeo/j in ) c A2 C2 Dc etc, but this reading is clearly a later attempt to clarify the meaning of the text. The use of the

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5) Exaltation. Jesus Christ was ‘vindicated in spirit’ (e0dikaiw&qh e0n pneu&mati) and ‘seen by angels’ (w!fqh a)gge/loij, 3:16). After his death, Jesus Christ, ‘the Lord’91, was ‘raised from death’ (2 Tim. 2:8) and ‘taken up in glory’ (a)nelh/mfqh e0n do/ch?, 1 Tim. 3:16). 6) The means. Jesus Christ is ‘the one mediator between God and humankind’ (1 Tim. 2:3; cf. 2 Tim. 1:10). As such, Christ saves sinners (1 Tim. 16). God’s salvation was accomplished in that Jesus Christ ‘gave himself a ransom for all (a)nti/lutron u(pe\r pa/ntwn)’ (1 Tim. 2:6).92 7) The result. Jesus Christ ‘has abolished death and brought life and immorality to light’ (2 Tim. 1:10), thus bringing ‘salvation . . . and eternal glory’ (2 Tim. 2:10). As a result, believers ‘receive eternal life’ (1 Tim. 1:16; cf. 4:8; 6:12, 19; 2 Tim. 1:10). 8) Universality. God’s salvation is universal: God ‘is the Savior of all people’ (1 Tim. 4:10). God desires ‘everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth’ (2:4). Therefore, God’s salvation ‘was proclaimed among Gentiles/nations’ (3:16; cf. 2 Tim. 4:17) for the purpose of rescuing even the worst of sinners (1 Tim. 1:13–16). 9) The Spirit. The prophetic Spirit speaks the truth and foretells the coming of the spirits of deception (1 Tim. 4:1). Further, the tradition is guarded ‘through the Holy Spirit who dwells in us’ (2 Tim. 1:14). 10) Consummation. God’s salvation in Jesus Christ still awaits its full consummation, but this will be completed at ‘the appearing (th=j e0pifanei/aj) of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (1 Tim. 6:14) and the future judgment (2 Tim. 2:12; cf. 4:1, 8). Then, the believers will ‘live’ and ‘reign with him’ (2 Tim. 2:10–11).

masculine pronoun o(/j probably refers to ‘the mystery’ (neuter, 3:16a), which at the same time is a person (masc.), i.e., Christ. 90 Commenting on 1 Tim. 2:5–6, Towner (2005: 29) correctly points out: “Thus, rather than suggesting equivalence [with God], the thrust of the statement is to locate Jesus’ mediatorship precisely in his humanity, with the phrase ‘the man Christ Jesus’ defining ‘mediator’.” The stress on Christ’s humanity, as well as of God as the creator (1 Tim. 4:3–5), has probably a Gnostic background (cf. 6:20). Thielman (2005: 416–17) appropriately suggests that this stress on Christ’s humanity could have been highlighted against deviants who, like Saturninus (cf. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.24.1), claimed that fleshless heavenly beings bypass the angelic creators of the world and mediates between the unknown God and people who possess an implanted spark of the divine. 91 The title ku/rioj in 1–2 Tim. refers both to the resurrection and the exaltation of Christ (e.g., 1 Tim. 6:13–14; 2 Tim. 1:18; 2:7–8; 4:17–18). 92 The term a)nti/lutron is only used here in the New Testament (lu/tron is used in Matt. 20:28; Mark 10:45). The compound a)n ti/ intensifies the thought of substitution and the phrase u(pe\r pa/ntwn probably expresses a note of representation, cf. Tit. 2:14 (cf. EDNT 3.397; NIDNTT 3.1179–80, 1196–97; TDNT 8.507–16).

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To sum up, the basic story of Jesus is centered on God’s plan of salvation, revealed in the present for all humankind and awaiting its full consummation in the future. This completion is given to the believers as a gift of grace, but also as a responsibility to live out God’s ordering in the present. The stress on the universal dimensions of God’s salvation gives a specific missiological focus to the author’s presentation of this salvation. At the center of the traditional expressions stands the conviction that God wants to save all men (1 Tim. 2:3; 4:10; cf. Tit. 2:10–11) and that the revelation of Jesus Christ was proclaimed among the people (e0khru/xqh e0n e)/qnesin, 1 Tim. 3:16). The vision of God’s universal salvation, as revealed and accomplished in Jesus Christ, is set in an explicitly eschatological framework. The present reality of salvation is clearly stressed by the traditional sayings. Paul’s own experience of salvation is advanced by support of this claim particularly (1 Tim. 1:12–17). However, it is not correct to draw the conclusion from this fact that “the End [in the Pastorals] was surely no longer regarded as imminent”.93 There is obviously a certain stress of salvation in the present in the traditional sayings, but it is also a matter of fact that, in the mind of the author, this salvation awaits completion through the future saving act of God, i.e., in the eschatological coming of Christ (1 Tim. 6:14). The over-realized eschatology of the deviating teaching (2 Tim. 2:18) is countered by the presentation of God’s salvation in Jesus Christ as something that still awaits completion (2:11–13). This notion is also conveyed by the author’s description of salvation as ‘eternal life’ (1 Tim. 1:16; 6:12, 19; 2 Tim. 1:1; cf. 4:18) and by the emphasis on the future ‘revelation’ (h( e0pifanei/a) of Jesus Christ (1 Tim. 6:14; 2 Tim. 4:1, 8, 18; cf. Tit. 2:11, 13) and the coming of ‘that day’ (2 Tim. 1:12, 18; 4:8), i.e., ‘the day of the Lord’. Hence, the epiphany-language emphasizes that salvation began with Christ’s first appearance (1 Tim. 3:16; 2 Tim. 93 Houlden, 1982: 64. So also Dibelius-Conzelmann (1972: 9–10): “The traditional material is not interpreted but inculcated and established as the means of salvation from the present . . . The presupposition is that salvation has become reality in the epiphany of the past; salvation in the future appears to be nothing but the shadow of this past epiphany.” Dibelius-Conzelmann (1972: 10) continue, “The church [of the Pastorals] has obviously adjusted to the thought of the world’s duration and has learned to become at home in it”. However, the eschatological outlook with its stress on the ‘already, but not yet’ aspect of salvation characteristically of the Pauline literature could also be found in the Pastorals. Simply to argue, as Dibelius-Conzelmann do, for a disappointment brought about by the delay of Christ’s return or a reduced expectancy of the future salvation in these letters does not do proper justice to the eschatological features of the Pastorals. As pertinently pointed out by Towner (1989: 74): “If the diminished anticipation of the parousia is at all present in the Pastorals, it is most evident in the eschatology of the false teachers, whose wholly realized outlook rendered the Event irrelevant.”

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1:10), and will be brought to completion at his second epiphany (1 Tim. 6:14). On that day, the ‘righteous judge’ (2 Tim. 4:8) will appear ‘to judge the living and the dead’ (4:1).94 2.1.2. The Story of Jesus in the Johannine Letters Due to the teaching of the secessionists, who denied that ‘Jesus is the Christ’ (1 John 2:22), the story of Jesus becomes central to the Johannine Letters. However, we only find this story in parts. We have already commented that the teaching of secessionists probably had a Jewish background mixed with a dualistic/early Docetic understanding of Jesus Christ that prevented the identification of the risen and divine Christ, the Son of God, with the earthly man, Jesus.95 Throughout First John the presbyter therefore gives his understanding of the true tradition of the story of Jesus as the Christ. However, since the Johannine Letters focus so clearly on a Christological flaw, the story told does not elaborate richly on other aspects and features of this story (the Fourth Gospel indicates that the tradition was much more elaborate). It is crucially important in these letters that Jesus Christ has come ‘in the flesh’ (e0n sarki/, 1 John 4:2; 2 John 7), i.e., that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, in human appearance. The puzzling statement that ‘Jesus Christ has come by water and blood, not by the water alone, but by the water and the blood’ (5:6) is probably an affirmation of this thought. 96 However, to confess Jesus as the Christ, or as the Son of God, means something more than belief in Jesus ‘who has come in the flesh’. As the one sent by God, he is the means of salvation and the source of forgiveness, particularly by virtue of his death (1:5–2:2).97 This is probably stressed in response to the secessionists’ understanding of the meaning of the humanity of Jesus Christ and of sin, which seems to have diminished the significance of the death of Christ. 98 The author evidently thinks that 94 The expressions u9ste/roi kai/r oi (1 Tim. 4:1) and e1sxatoi h9me/r ai (2 Tim. 3:1) also articulate the imminence of the end of time. Cf. the author’s use of o( nu=n ai0w~n (1 Tim. 6:17; 2 Tim. 4:10; cf. Tit. 2:12) of the present age and his use of ei0j to_ me/llon of the coming age (1 Tim. 6:19). 95 See chapter 2, 4.2 and chapter 4, 1.3. 96 See, e.g., Schnackenburg, 1975: 256–60; Brown, 1982: 77–78, 573–80; Strecker, 1996: 182–92. 97 Lieu, 1991: 77. 98 Brown (1982: 79) suggests that the secessionists’ understanding of the death of Jesus was probably related to a misreading of the Gospel of John: “there are elements in the tradition of the Gospel of John that might have led the secessionists to deemphasize the crucifixion as a salvific ‘coming’ and to regard it simply as a continuation of that revelation of the glory of the preexistent which began through the Baptist’s baptizing with water.”

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the message of salvation is jeopardized by false belief about Jesus. To deny that Jesus is the Christ is to deny that there is a Savior (4:1–10). For John, it is of crucial importance that Jesus has laid down his life for man and has shed his blood in a way that has made him an atoning sacrifice (i9lasth/rion) for sins.99 Interestingly, there are no explicit references to Jesus’s birth, resurrection or exaltation in the Johannine Letters. Obviously, it is not the historical events in themselves that stand in the focus for the author’s interest. John’s specific use of the story of Jesus highlights two significant features of his theological thinking: the stress on the present realization of God’s salvation (realized eschatology) and the significance of personal experience and knowledge of God.100 A note on the terminology: the key concept of the story of Jesus in the Johannine Letters is the verb fanero/w (‘to reveal’).101 The verb is used of his incarnate life (1 John 3:5, 8; cf. 1:2; 4:9) as well as of his future coming (2:28; 3:2). It can also be used of present events: the falseness of the secessionists ‘will be revealed’ (fanerwqw~sin, 2:19). Another key term is the verb ‘to know’ (ginw/skw) altogether used twenty six times but not the noun ‘knowledge’ (gnw~sij). The purpose of this central idea of knowing is to give the readers confidence and assurance in their faith, particularly against the secessionists.102 Furthermore, the swth/rterminology used so frequently in the Pastorals is almost completely lacking in the Johannine Letters. The only occurrence is the use of this title in the kerygmatic expression of 1 John 4:14: ‘We have seen and testify that the Father has sent the Son to be the Savior (to_n swth=ra) of the world.’ The absence of the title ‘the Lord’ (ku/rioj) is also notable. The titles ‘Christ’ (Xristo/j) and ‘the Son of God’ are used instead. Another key word of the story of Jesus in First John is ‘life’ (zwh/), which is used altogether thirteen times.103 In the introduction, Jesus is 99

Marshall, 2004: 540. The understanding of Jesus’s death in traditional terms is analogous to the sacrifice associated with the Day of Atonement (i9lasth/rion) of Lev. 16–17, which implies that the death of Jesus is understood as a substitutionary sacrifice (cf. Thielman, 2005: 549–51). Bultmann takes 1 John 1:7; 2:2 and 4:10 as “redactional glosses” (1976: 54), concluding “the thought of Jesus’ death as an atonement for sin has no place in John”. It is however hard to find justification for such a conclusion from the text itself. 100 As pointed out by Lieu (1991: 75): “his coming, death and continuing presence are not past events to be locked back to and reflected on; they are important in so far as they become part of contemporary experience . . . and even his death is more implied in the concern for what it achieves than proclaimed as a fact to confront, stumble over or struggle to interpret.” 101 The verb fanero/w occurs in 1 John 1:2, 2; 2:19, 28; 3:2, 2, 5, 8; 4:9. 102 For the theme of knowing in 1–3 John, see Lieu, 1991: 27–31. 103 1 John 1:1, 2, 2; 2:25; 3:14, 15; 5:11, 11, 12, 12, 13, 16, 20.

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metaphorically called ‘life’ (1:1–2) or ‘eternal life’ (1:2). This personal identification is then dropped and ‘eternal life’ is described more in terms of the result of God’s saving work (2:25; 3:14–15). The circle is however brought to its conclusion as the letter closes by bringing the terms ‘life’ and ‘Son’ together again (5:11–13, 20): ‘He who has the Son has the life’ (5:12), and the Son Jesus Christ is ‘the true God and eternal life’ (5:20). Jesus Christ is life because he gives life. ‘Eternal life’ is thus not ultimately about a qualitative or quantitative life, but about a person, Jesus Christ, the true God.104 Thus, the story of Jesus in the Johannine Letters runs as follows: 1) Continuity. The introductory words connect the story of Jesus with the story of Genesis: ‘That which was from the beginning . . .’ (o(/ h]n a)p ) a)rxh=j, 1 John 1:1; cf. John 1:1). This is also suggested by the use of the story of Cain and Abel in 1 John 3:12 (Gen. 4:8). Thus, the story of Jesus is read in continuity and in relation to the primeval story. 105 2) The subject. God is depicted throughout as the Father (sixteen times), who acts in love on behalf of mankind (1 John 3:1) ― ‘God is love’ (4:8, 16). 3) Revelation. First John emphasizes the idea of God’s revelation in Jesus Christ: ‘the life was revealed (e)fanerw/qh), . . . and it was revealed (e)fanerw/qh) to us’ (1:2; cf. 3:5). The letter continues, ‘The son of God was revealed (e)fanerw&qh) . . .’ (3:8), and God ‘has revealed (e)fanerw&qh) his love’ (4:9) by sending ‘his one and only Son’ (4:9–10, 14). 4) Humanity. Jesus Christ has ‘come in the flesh (e)n sarki/)’ (4:2; 2 John 7). This is further explained as ‘Jesus Christ having come by the water and the blood, not by the water alone, but by the water and the blood’ (5:6). 5) Exaltation. Although the resurrection or exaltation is not explicitly mentioned in the Johannine Letters, a central thesis is that Jesus is the Christ/the Messiah (Xristo/j, 2:22; 4:2; 5:1, 5, 20). This terminology combines the human Jesus with the divine Son of God, the exalted Christ (2:22–23; cf. 2 John 3; 1 John 1:3; 3:23; 5:1, 5–6, 20). 6) The means. The means of God’s salvation is ‘the blood of Jesus’ (1:9). Jesus is ‘the atoning sacrifice’ (i9lasmo/j, 2:2; 4:10),106 and ‘Jesus 104

Strecker (1996: 211) aptly compares the Christological climax of 1 John 5:20 to that of John 20:28: “As the fourth evangelist sees the culminating point of the Gospel in the disciple Thomas’s confession of the true godhead and lordship of Christ, so the author of 1 John makes clear that it is his real intention to demonstrate the reality of God’s revelation in Jesus Christ and its meaning for the Christian community.” 105 Cf. the allusions to the Old Testament in 1 John 1:8 (Prov. 20:9), 9 (Ps. 32:5; Prov. 28:13); 2:16 (Prov. 2:16), 27 (Jer. 31:34); 3:5 (Isa. 53:9), 17 (Deut 15:7). 106 This is the only use of i(lasmo/j in the New Testament (i9lasth/rion is used in Rom. 3:25; Heb. 9:5 and i(/lewj in Matt. 16:22; Heb. 8:12). The debate over the precise

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Christ has laid down his life for us (u(pe\r u(mw~n)’ (3:16).107 Jesus Christ is the ‘advocate’ (para/klhtoj) with the Father on the behalf of the believers (2:1). 7) The result. The result of God’s saving acts in Christ is purification (1:9) and forgiveness of sins (2:12): ‘he was revealed (e)fanerw/qh) so that he may take away our sins’ (3:5). Furthermore, ‘The Son of God appeared (e)fanerw/qh) for this purpose, that he might destroy the works of the devil’ (3:8). The purpose of God’s saving acts is ‘fellowship (koinwni/a) with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ’ (1:3), that we should become the children of God (3:1–2), know the Father (2:13–14) and attain to ‘eternal life’ (2:25; 3:14–15; 4:9; 5:11–13, 20). 8) Universality. The salvation of God is presented with a clear universal scope: Jesus Christ is depicted as ‘the Savior of the world’ (4:14), and God’s salvation takes away ‘the sins of the whole world’ (2:2). 9) The Spirit. ‘The Spirit of truth’ (4:6), who is also simply referred to as ‘the anointing’ (2:20), plays a central role in the thinking of the author by confirming and bearing witness to the knowledge and truth about Jesus Christ: ‘And we know by this that he abides in us, by the Spirit whom he has given to us’ (3:24; cf. 2:26–27; 4:1–3, 13–14; 5:6). 10) Consummation. The work of God in Jesus Christ awaits completion: ‘For we know when he will be revealed (fanerwqh?=), we will be like him’ (3:2). The theme of the future appearance of Christ is used as a motivation to holiness: ‘Abide in him, so that when he will be revealed (fanerwqh?=), we may have confidence and not shrink away from him in shame at his coming (th?= parousi/a ? au0tou~)’ (2:28). Central to the story of Jesus Christ in the Johannine Letters is the sending of the Son by the Father into the world in order to bring forgiveness and eternal life.108 John clearly stresses the present reality and experience of knowledge of the Father and of the Son. “There is much more awareness [in First John] of what believers already are, than of what is yet in store.”109 Eternal life is a present possession (5:12–13) and the believers meaning of the term is classic. Both the sense of objective meaning (2:1–2, the paraclete pleading the case of the sinner) and subjective meaning of the term (4:9–10, God demonstrates his love) seem to be present in 1 John. 107 In 1 John 3:16 (e)kei=noj u(p e\r u(m w~n th_n yuxh_n au)tou~ e)/qhken) the sacrificial death of Christ has vicarious implications (cf. 2:2), even if the element of imitation remains (3:16b). 108 Cf. Kümmel, 1973: 327. 109 Lieu, 1991: 88. Cf. Kümmel’s comment (1973: 328) on the Johannine eschatology: “For John . . . the present life is the time of salvation only because in the past God sent the man Jesus as ‘savior of the world’ and because through the Spirit the exalted Christ causes those who are his to participate in this salvation.”

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have already passed over from death to life (3:14). Even the secessionists are described as having eschatological qualities; they are false antichrists, whose appearance to oppose God and his people, is an expected mark of ‘the last hour’ (2:18). This is the time of testing and decision. However, this “historizing of eschatology”, as Bultmann has so aptly phrased it,110 is balanced by traditional future eschatology, mainly in 1 John 2:22–3:2 and 4:17–18, where the themes of the coming parousia and the day of judgment are significant. As we noticed in chapter four, the community (ecclesiology) plays a crucial role in the theology of the Johannine Letters. Salvation and confidence is not individualistic experiences but belongs to the community. Hence, in contrast to the secessionists who have left the fellowship, the defining characteristics of the true Christ-belief are fellowship with God, membership in God’s family as ‘the children of God’ and the exercise of mutual love, particularly ― if not exclusively ― between fellow-members of the believing community. This emphasis on ingroup relationships is made almost totally at the expense of any clear missiological concerns. 2.1.3. The Story of Jesus in the Book of Revelation The Book of Revelation is firmly rooted in the tradition of apocalyptic literature, both as far as the symbolic language is concerned and also with regard to its setting in a situation of imminent crisis. However, John writes not only against the backdrop of the marginalization, suffering and impending persecution of Christ-believers in western Asia Minor, but also against the false leaders and incorrect tendencies within the communities of believers. The latter holds true for the letter to the ‘church in Ephesus’ in particular, whose urgent needs are articulated as the typical ingroup problem of deviant members (false apostles). The main figure, who addresses these communities and who enacts the will of God in history and calls the believers to faithful response, is Jesus Christ himself. In fact, it is the specific role of Christ that sets Revelation apart from other Jewish apocalypses, and even from other apocalyptic texts in the New Testament (such as Mark 13 and 1–2 Thess.), as a specifically Christian apocalypse.111 In Revelation, the story of Jesus is told in the form of stories. Theological claims are embedded in these stories, although stories and 110

Bultmann, 1976: 39. Cf. Dunn, 1993: 333–34. This is aptly captured in Boring’s analysis (1986: 264) of the theology of Revelation: “The goal and climax of the mighty acts of God in Israel’s history is the Christ. Because the Christ is Jesus, the Jesus-event is the definite event by which all history is to be understood. John is a Christian apocalyptic prophet.” 111

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descriptions cannot easily be demythologized and translated into theological ideas. Clothed with symbolic language, Jesus Christ is presented as the main character of John’s apocalyptic drama. In fact, we are told that this is a)poka&luyij 0Ihsou~ Xristou~, ‘the revelation from (and about) Jesus Christ’ (1:1). 112 Jesus Christ is the sole mediator of the divine revelation given to John (1:1–3), but, together with God himself, he also plays the key role in this drama. The role of Christ in God’s history is elaborated throughout the entire book, though mainly concentrated to five visions, of which the first and the last function as an inclusio of the whole book (1:12–20; 22:6–20).113 The first vision is given in the form of a Christophany (primarily drawing on the vision of Daniel, Dan. 7:9–14). Christ is presented as a glorious heavenly being, ‘one like a son of man’, described in terms of a priest, a king and a judge (1:12–16). The main emphasis in this vision is on the presentation of the glorious and exalted state of Christ: John falls prostrate and is told that the son of man is ‘the first and the last’ (1:17; cf. 1:8), which is an application of the exclusive monotheistic saying of Isa. 44:6: ‘I am the first and the last; besides me there is no God.’ Jesus Christ is thus boldly identified with the one God of Israel and this sets the scene for worship of Jesus in Revelation (e.g., 5:8– 14; 7:10; 11:15).114 In Rev. 2–3, the introductory vision of Jesus is picked up in the description of Jesus as the judge of the seven local communities. In terms of the macro-structure of Revelation, the second vision (Rev. 5:1–14), given in terms of a heavenly throne vision, plays a central role, not only in initiating the sequence of the seals and the trumpets, but primarily in presenting God, ‘the one who sits in the throne’, as the creator, the deliverer and the Savior. Christ is first depicted as a lion (‘the lion of the tribe of Judah’), i.e., as the symbol of power and majesty, and then as a lamb, which is an image employed by John as a symbol for weakness and humility. This lion-lamb figure is given the authority to 112 Although the immediate context (1:1–2; cf. 22:16, 20) favors the subjective genitive of I)hsou~ Xristou= (‘from Jesus Christ’), the overall intention with Rev. speaks in favor of the objective meaning (‘about Jesus Christ’), which may also have been intended. 113 I do not intend to discuss the angelo-morphic visions of, e.g., Rev. 10:1–11; 14:14–20. Although these may intend to be visions of Christ (particularly, 14:14–16), they do not add anything essential to the general understanding of the story of Jesus in Rev. 114 The identification of Christ with God is already signaled by the use of Dan. 7:13– 14 (LXX), where ‘the ancient of days’ and ‘the one like a son of man’ are merged into a single figure (cf. Aune, 2005: 311). As pointed out by Bauckham (1993: 58), the identification of Christ with God in Rev. “does not designate him a second god, but includes him in the eternal being of the one God of Israel who is the only source and goal of all things”.

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enact God’s will and intentions for the world by breaking the seals and unfolding the scroll with writings on both sides. The image of the slaughtered lamb who is yet alive speaks primarily of Christ as a redemptive sacrifice: ‘you were slain (e)sfa/ghj) and with your blood you have purchased (h)go/rasaj) men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation’ (5:9; cf. 5:12). The image of the blood of the Lamb speaks of Jesus as the Passover Lamb being prepared for the eschatological exodus.115 That the lamb is alive signals that he has conquered death and that the victim has become the victor.116 Hence, the image of the lamb also becomes a figure of war and conquest, of a ruler who gathers and leads the army of God in the eschatological battle against God’s enemies (14:1–6; 17:14).117 The third vision, Rev. 12:1–12, contains the most elaborated story of the birth, death and ascension of Jesus Christ in Revelation. The story of Jesus is a continuation of the story of Israel: ‘a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of seven stars’ (Israel, 12:1) gives birth to a kingly son, ‘a male child, who will rule all the nations with an iron scepter’ (12:5; cf. Ps 2:9). ‘The child was caught up (h(rpa/sqh) to God and his throne’ (12:5),118 and this is followed by a heavenly war between the dragon (Satan) and his angels and Michael and his angels. The dragon is overcome ‘by the blood of the Lamb and by the words of their testimony’ (12:11), which portrays the announcement and proclamation of the sacrificial death of Christ. In the fourth vision (Rev. 19:1–21), Christ is portrayed in a double vision, first as the bridegroom (19:1–10) and then as a divine warrior (19:11–21). These visions depict the consummation of history in two parts by speaking of reward and judgment. The reward is the celebration of the righteous, while judgment befalls the beast, the false prophet and their associates, and subsequently the dragon, Satan himself (20:1–10). Hence, this double vision describes the double role of Jesus Christ in God’s 115

The theme of Exodus is particularly developed in Rev. 15:2–4, where the martyrs are seen as the people of the new exodus, who stand beside the Red Sea. The plagues of the bowls in 16:1–21 are modeled on the plagues of Egypt. 116 Cf. Barr, 1984: 41–42. 117 John has probably fused the traditions of the lamb as a sacrificial metaphor (Ex. 12:1–20, 43–49; 29:42; Lev. 23:12, etc.) and the lamb as a metaphor for a leader/ruler (T. Jos. 9:3; 1 Enoch 89:11–12). See Aune, 1997: 367–73. Throughout Rev. runs the language of messianic war, of conquering (2:7, 11, 17, 28; 3:5, 12, 21; 5:5; 12:11; 15:2; 17:14; 21:7) and battle (11:7; 12:7–8, 17; 13:7; 16:14; 17:14; 19:11, 19). Bauckham draws parallels between the War Scroll of Qumran (1QM) and reads Rev. as a “Christian war scroll” (Bauckham, 1993a: 210–37; cf. idem., 1993c: 67–70). 118 In the remainder of the New Testament the verb a(rpa/zw is used of the ascension of Paul (2 Cor. 12:2, 4) and that of the believers (1 Thess. 4:17), but never of Christ.

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triumph in history: Jesus Christ acts as God’s agent to the reward of the righteous and to judge the unrighteousness. The fifth vision closes the Book through a dialogue between John himself and the risen Christ (Rev. 22:6–21). This vision is reminiscent of the first one, in particular as John falls prostrate at the feet of an angel, who explicitly tells him to worship God (22:8–9). Once again, Christ is called ‘the first and the last’, now with the addendum ‘I am the alpha and the omega . . . the beginning and the last’ (22:13), which picks up the theme of the identification of Christ with God from 1:8, 17.119 Three times ― in the introduction, in the middle section and in the conclusion ― Christ says: ‘I am coming soon’ (22:6, 12, 20), which highlights the eschatological thrust of this section. Taken together, the revelations of Jesus Christ contain all ten items of the story of Jesus: 1) Continuity. The story of Jesus Christ in the Book of Revelation is embedded in numerous analogies and allusions drawn from the Hebrew Scriptures. Jesus Christ is continuously depicted in terms that allude to the story of Israel, e.g., in Rev. 4–5 the story of the Lamb is read against the backdrop of story of creation and the calling of Isaiah (4:6–8, 11), in Rev. 7 the story of Jesus Christ is read with the story of the counting of the tribes of Israel (Num. 1–2, 26) in mind, in Rev. 12–13 it is read against the background of the story of God’s conquest of the evil powers and as the paradigm of the suffering and people of God, in Rev. 17–18 the same story is read against the story of Babylon, in Rev. 19–22 the story of Jesus is connected to prophetic and apocalyptic texts that describe the triumph of God in history, etc. In telling the story of Jesus, the main motifs and themes are drawn from the Old Testament.120 2) The subject. God, the Father (1:6; 2:28; 3:5, 21; 14:1) is described as the creator, the ‘Almighty’ (1:8; 4:8; 11:17; 15:3; 16:7; 19:6; 21:22) and as the one ‘who sits on throne’ (4:9; 5:1, 7, 13; 6:16; 7:15; 21:5), who rules creation and the history of men in sovereignty. 3) Revelation. God gives ‘revelation’ (a)poka/luyij), ‘the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ’, to and through Jesus Christ (1:1–

119

Bauckham (1993c: 57) points out the chiastic arrangement of the identification of Christ with God (A-B-B1-A1) in Rev.: God is the alpha and omega (A, 1:8), Christ is the first and the last (B, 1:17), God is the alpha and omega, the beginning and end (B1 , 21:6), and Christ is the alpha and omega, the first and last, the beginning and end (A1 , 22:13). 120 See Moyise, 1995; Beale, 1999: 76–99. Beale (1999: 97) concludes: “for John the Christ-event is the key to the understanding of the Old Testament, and yet reflection on the Old Testament context leads the way to further comprehension of this event and provides the redemptive-historical background against which the apocalyptic visions are better understood.”

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2). God reveals himself and demonstrates his presence and power in the Lamb (5:1–14).121 4) Humanity. Jesus becomes man: the woman (Israel) gives ‘birth to a son, to a male child’ (12:5; cf. 12:13). 5) Exaltation. The Son, who is portrayed as a king ‘who will rule all the nations with an iron sceptre’ (cf. Ps. 2:9), ‘was snatched up to God and to his throne’ (12:5). Throughout the Book, the Son/ the Lamb is described as the risen (1:5, 18; 2:8) and the exalted One (5:12–13; 7:17; 11:15; 12:10; 22:12–13). 6) The means. The Lamb carries out the commands of God and is the means by which ‘the One who sits on the throne’ acts in history (5:1–10). It is ‘with the blood of Lamb’ that men are purchased (5:9; 14:3) and the dragon is overcome (12:11). Jesus Christ ‘has released (lu/santi) us from our sins by his blood’ (1:6).122 7) The result. The Lamb has ‘purchased men for God’ and made them ‘to be a kingdom and priests to our God’ (5:10). The Lamb redeems people from the earth (14:3–4). The results of God’s saving works is ‘life’ (zwh/), metaphorically spoken of as ‘the book of life’ (3:5; 13:8; 17:8; 20:12, 15), ‘the crown of life’ (2:10), ‘the tree of life’ (2:7; 22:2, 14, 19), and ‘the water of life’ (7:17; 21:6; 22:1, 17). 8) Universality. The theme of universality runs throughout Revelation. The Lamb has ‘purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation’ (5:10; cf. 7:9); ‘the eternal gospel’ is proclaimed ‘to every nation, tribe, language and people’ (14:6). Further, ‘all nations (pa/nta ta_ e)/qnh) will come and worship’ Almighty God (15:4).123 9) The Spirit. ‘The seven spirits’ (1:4; 3:1; 4:5; 5:6), who are also ‘the Spirit of prophecy’ (19:10), are the mediators of heavenly revelations (1:10; 4:2; 17:3; 21:10) and divine words (2:7, 11, 17, 29; 3:1, 6, 13, 22). The Spirit speaks and confirms the word of God (14:13; 22:17). The Lord is ‘the God of the spirits of the prophets’ (22:6). The Spirit is connected to the redemptive role of Jesus in his presence as ‘the seven spirits’ in, and 121

The verb fanero/w (used in Rev. 3:18; 15:4) is not used in reference to God’s revelation through Jesus Christ. In Rev. 15:4 God’s ‘righteous acts’ are revealed (e0fanerw&qhsan). 122 The usage of verbs of redemption in Rev. is confined to a)gora&zw (5:9; 14:3–4; also used with redemptive meaning in 1 Cor. 6:20; 2 Pet. 2:1; cf. the use of e)cagora/zw in Gal. 3:13; 4:5) and lu/w (cf. the use in Eph. 2:14; 1 John 3:8). The noun swthri/a occurs in Rev. 7:10; 12:10; 19:1. (The title swth/r is not used in Rev.) There is no clear understanding of the death of Jesus Christ as a substitute in Rev. (with no occurrence of the typical u(pe/r [u(mw~n] terminology). 123 Bauckham (1993a: 238) sees the question of the conversion of the nations as “the centre of the prophetic message of Revelation”.

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even as part of, the image of the Lamb (5:6) and as ‘the Spirit of prophecy’ who bears witness to ‘the testimony of Jesus’ (19:10).124 The Spirit is identified with the Lamb; the Lamb has ‘seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth’ (5:6). 10) Consummation. The work of God awaits completion until the coming of Jesus Christ (1:7; 22:7–20). Revelation depicts this consummation in a series of visions: the wedding banquet (19:1–10), the holy war against the evil powers (19:11–20:10), the judgment of the dead (20:11–15), and as a new heaven and a new earth (21:1–22:5). To sum up, the story of Jesus in Revelation is the story of the sovereign God and Creator, who sends his Son and agent, the universal king (the lion) and the living sacrifice (the lamb), the ‘the Son of Man’ and the divine warrior, to redeem people from all the nations by the power of the death of Christ, to judge the evil powers and to restore his creation to completeness. Jesus Christ is described by his various roles, taken from Old Testament teaching, as the Messiah, the Son of Man, the Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God. Although the humanity and earthly life of Jesus is not particularly emphasized, it functions as a prerequisite to the story of the victory of God through his agent, Jesus Christ. However, the only act of the earthly Jesus mentioned in Revelation is his death (nothing is said about his life, teaching or miracles). It is clearly emphasized that it is the death and resurrection of Jesus that constitute the focal events and that mark his decisive victory over the evil powers. Above all, it is the exaltation of Christ that marks his cosmic sovereignty as the ‘Lord of lords and King of kings’.125 The eschatological focus is quite naturally futuristic, but the present time is also understood as the realization and anticipation of the end times. The Book opens and closes with the words of imminent urgency: ‘the time is near’ (1:3; 22:10; cf. also 1:1 and 22:20). This has a particular Christological basis, since God has already won the decisive battle through the death and resurrection of Christ, and everything should henceforth be seen from the perspective of heaven. As a result, the victory over the evil powers is interpreted as an already past action (the prophetic perfect): ‘Babylon is fallen’ (14:8; 18:2). 124 Discussing the ambiguous expression ‘the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy’ (h( ga_r marturi/a 0I hsou= e0stin to\ pneu=ma th=j profhtei/aj) in Rev. 19:10, Bauckham (1993c: 119) aptly concludes: “Difficult as it is, this must mean that when the Spirit inspires prophecy, its content is the witness of Jesus.” See also the discussion of this concept in chapter 4, 1.2. 125 Cf. Dunn (1993: 334): “In short, the seer of the apocalypse holds together the historical Jesus, the exalted Christ and the soon coming Lord as firmly and as clearly as any other NT writer.”

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In Revelation, soteriology and missiology belong closely together. John frequently uses the most universalistic strains of the Old Testament hope, namely the expectation that all the nations will acknowledge the God of Israel and worship him.126 The death of Christ is for all the nations (5:8) and people from ‘every tribe and language and people and nation’ are called to resist the evil powers and to acknowledge and participate in the heavenly worship of God and the Lamb (7:9–10; 13:7; 14:6; 17:15). Thus, the believers are called to take part in God’s redemptive acts in history by following the Lamb. Although John addresses seven local Christian communities, the local and ecclesiological focus is almost totally lost. This is not only related to the absence of any leadership structures and church orders, but also to the emphasis on the readers as the universal and heavenly people of God. 2.1.4. The Commonality of the Story of Jesus in First and Second Timothy, in the Johannine Letters and in the Book of Revelation There are certainly some differences and tensions in the various ways of telling the story of Jesus in these texts, for example, between the emphasis of the futuristic perspective in Revelation and the (almost but not fully) realized eschatology of First John, between the specific roles given to the Spirit, or in the vocabulary employed to elaborate both the meaning and the results of the death of Jesus Christ. Of course, the specific contribution of each author to the understanding of the early Christian kerygmata should not be ignored. However, it is not the task of the present enquiry to elaborate on the diversity of our textual traditions, but to focus on the question of commonality and unity, and on what could have kept these traditions and those believers, who were in touch with them, together. Above all, we find all ten items of the story of Jesus in the three text corpuses examined, although expressed with a variety of terminology and emphasis related to the following contingent factors: in continuity with the Scriptures and confirmed by the prophetic Spirit, God, the Father and Creator, has revealed himself in the death of Jesus Christ, the human and exalted One, in order to bring universal salvation to all mankind and to bring all things to completion. A distinct eschatological perspective frames this story, in which the death of Jesus Christ marks the inauguration of a new age and the imminence of the end of history. In conclusion, there is a coherent center and a fundamental unity in the ways that this story is told,

126

E.g., see Rev. 15:3–4 (alluding to Jer. 10:6–7; Ps. 86:8–10; Zech. 2:10–11) and 14:6–7 (Ps. 96:2–13).

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particularly between the Pauline and the Johannine traditions.127 Considering that Ephesus was a location in which both the Pauline and the Johannine traditions flourished, it is not unlikely that these traditions first encountered each other in Ephesus and then developed a more coherent understanding of the Christ-belief.128 As a matter of fact, I would even propose that the substructure of the story of Jesus common to our texts is more conspicuous than the diversities and particular emphases or details in the way that the respective authors tell this story. In particular, there is a significant commonality in the understanding of the meaning of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and of the universal saving results of this event (none of the texts seems particularly interested in the man Jesus, in his upbringing, his ministry, his teaching, his miracles, etc.). All our authors read the death of Jesus in sacrificial (paschal) terms (1 Tim. 2:5; 1 John 2:2; Rev. 5:8), and they all stress that the effect of his death concerns all people and the whole world (1 Tim. 2:4–6; 1 John 4:14; Rev. 5:9; 7:9; 14:6). In each text, the effect of God’s salvation is eternal or everlasting life (e.g., 1 Tim. 1:16; 6:12; 1 John 2:25; 3:14–15; 5:20; Rev. 2:7, 10; 3:5; 22:1–2).129 It is only the Pauline and Johannine traditions that elaborate on the death of Jesus Christ in explicitly substitutionary terms (Christ dying u(pe\r u(mw~n/pa/ntwn; 1 Tim. 2:6; 1 John 3:16), but the idea that Jesus Christ died ‘for our sake’ is also present in Revelation, specifically in the use of the image of his blood (1:5; 5:9; 7:14; 12:11).130 Furthermore, in First and Second Timothy, and in the Johannine Letters there is a specific emphasis on the coming of Jesus Christ ‘in the flesh’ (the idea is also implicitly present in the story of woman and the child in Rev. 12:1–6). In both the Pauline and the Johannine traditions, we find the explicit saying that Jesus Christ has come e0n sarki/ (1 Tim. 3:16; 1 John 4:2; 2 John 7). The emphasis on his coming ‘in the flesh’ is probably related to the fights against proponents of a 127

For other close parallels between the Pauline and the Johannine traditions (Christology, anthropology, ethics, pneumatology and eschatology), see Schnelle 1987: 214–225. 128 This is also suggested by Schnelle, 1987: 225–26. 129 Although the expression zwh_ ai)w&nioj does not occur in Rev., the image of future or everlasting life is essential in the concept of ‘the book of life’ (3:5; 13:8; 17:8; 20:12, 15), ‘the crown of life’ (2:10), ‘the tree of life’ (2:7; 22:2, 14, 19), and ‘the water of life’ (7:17; 21:6; 22:1, 17). 130 Since the image of the blood presupposes a sacrificial background (Jesus as the paschal Lamb), this terminology also implies that Christ died as a substitute sacrifice (the paschal lamb took the place of the sinful people and carried their sins). Cf. the use of this terminology in 1 John 1:7; 5:6, 8. Hence, the saying ‘he has released us from our sins by his blood’ (Rev. 1:5) comes very close in meaning to ‘who gave himself as ransom for all’ (1 Tim. 2:6), ‘who gave himself for us’ (Tit. 2:14), or ‘he laid down his life for us’ (1 John 3:16). Cf. Aune, 1997: 46.

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dualistic and spiritualized understanding of the story of Jesus in which both the author of the Pastorals and the author of the Johannine Letters were engaged.131 This is probably also the background to the stress on the universal effects of the death and resurrection of Jesus in these writings, since we may suspect that such influences led to a more exclusive reading of the story of Jesus.132 All this points towards the conclusion that the substructure of the story of Jesus was the most significant ideological factor that held our authors and traditions together. This is probably also the most determinative factor, which formed a sense of belonging and commonality between the various groups of believers. On the other hand, the same story would have created lines of exclusions towards believers of a more dualistic or Docetic understanding of Jesus Christ as well as against those of a more traditional Jewish understanding of the Messiah. 2.2. The Ethical Response We will now turn to the ethical response to God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ. This is a main theme of the texts in focus of this study, particularly of the Letters to Timothy and of the Johannine Letters: true belief must be paired by true behavior. Common to our texts is that behavior is used as a critical test of authenticity and legitimacy. As with the story of Jesus, I suggest that we can find a common pattern in the way in which our authors articulate the ethical response to God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ. This pattern consists of at least six items: in reply to God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ, man is called to (1) a committed and proper response (of receiving, repentance, believing), by forming a community of responding/believing members, and (2) in the manifestation of Christ-like attitudes and virtues (love, godliness, humility) towards one another, to (3) high moral 131

Cf. Dunn (1993:281–82, 295–305), who suggests that the deviants of 1–2 Tim., 1– 3 John and Rev. 2:1–7 all belong to a Gnostic oriented kind of Hellenistic Christianity. 132 It is commonly suggested that the deviants of the Pastorals promoted some sort of elitism due to their present understanding of Christian existence and eschatology (e.g., Lütgert, 1909: 55; Kelly, 1963: 63; Marshall, 1999: 45). While I do not think it is unlikely that this could have been another corollary, we must acknowledge that such a reading is not based on any explicit saying about the deviant theology as such, but on the author’s repetition of the universal theme that God desires to save all men (1 Tim. 2:1–4; 4:10). The same goes for the proposal that the false teachers promoted a Docetic understanding of Christ (cf. 1 Tim. 2:5; 3:16), which is also suggested by their dualistic tendencies (4:3–5). On the other hand, we lack any explicit evidence that points to the conclusion that there was a major Christological flaw among these teachers. Hence, Towner’s (1989: 29) warning not to take the traditional formulas scattered throughout the Pastorals as “dependable ‘negatives’ from which the false teachers’ beliefs can be developed” seems to be a valid caution here.

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standards, to (4) renunciation of the things of this world (worldly values/material possessions), to (5) non-participation in pagan cultic life (idolatry), and to (6) a willingness to suffer for the sake of Christ. All the authors seem to presuppose that a proper response brings people into the relationship of a community of responding/believing members, in which Christ-like attitudes and lifestyles are expressed in a community setting. In the following, I will point out the most significant features of the ethical response in the texts in focus of this study. 2.2.1. The Ethical Response in First and Second Timothy The need for an ethical response to the story of God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ plays a central role in the Pastoral Letters. As we have already noticed (see chapter two), this is mainly related to the condemnation of the deviant’s lack of any proper ethical response. We have also observed that there is a desire for social respectability coupled with a belief in universal salvation in First and Second Timothy. The author is clearly concerned about the Christian witness to the wider society and about the impression made on outsiders. However, it is not a matter of assimilation only, particularly since there are clear demarcations made against contemporary social values and norms, for example, against devotions to pagan cults (1 Tim. 1:17; 6:13–16) and against standard views of wealth and material goods (5:17).133 The basis for the paraenesis in First and Second Timothy is the Jewish Law. On several occasions the author calls upon Jewish religious and social traditions in order to counter disorder in the community, whether it concerns moral standards in general (1 Tim. 1:8–11) or the submission of women (2:9–15). Although the author picks also up virtues that were conventional among Greco-Roman moral philosophers, the general features in the lists of virtues have a characteristically Jewish flavor, such as the view on created matters, the virtue of hospitality, the emphasis on the avoidance of deceit and double-talk, on marital ethics, and on norms of purity and holiness, etc.134 However, due attention should be paid to the particular role of Jesus Christ in the ethical arguments and the seemingly conscious attempts to ‘Christianize’ traditional and social moral values on the part of the author.135

133

See chapter 4, 1.1. Cf. chapter 2, 4.1. 135 As pointed out by Young (1994: 39), “It is all too easy to focus on the ‘patriarchal’ ethos of the codes, and miss the essentially religious and spiritual grounding of the practical advice given in order to express Christian values in a particular social context threatened by what was seen to be a dangerous rejection of the world and society as 134

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In First and Second Timothy, the ethical response consists of the following characteristics: 1) A proper response. The proper response to God’s plan of salvation in Jesus Christ is faith (oi0konomi/an qeou~ th\n e0n pi/stei, 1 Tim. 1:4; cf. also 4:6; 2 Tim. 1:13; 3:15),136 and a godly life-style, for ‘godliness (eu)sebei/a) is of value for all things’ (1 Tim. 4:8). 137 Paul is the example, not only of how God saves sinners through Jesus Christ, but also of how to respond to the call of God (1 Tim. 1:12–17; 2:7; 1:8–12). God’s saving acts should result in a responsible life: ‘God has saved us and called us to a holy life’ (2 Tim. 1:8). 2) Christ-like attitudes and virtues. Integral to the author’s thinking is the link between belief in/experience of God’s salvation and ‘good works’ (kala\ e1rga/e1rgon a)gaqo/n).138 Frequently combined with this expression is the typically Pauline concepts of ‘faith’/’faithfulness’ (pi/stij) and ‘love’ (a)ga/ph),139 as well as another set of terms (e.g., a)gaqh\ sunei/dhsij, kaqara\ kardi/a) that denote the proper inward attitude and the correct character and behavior of the prototypical believer.140 In 1 Tim. 6:11–13, the list of virtues is implicitly connected to the ‘good confession’ of Jesus Christ. In 2 Tim. 3:12, the godly life is lived in Jesus Christ (eu)sebw~j zh=n e)n Xristw?~ )Ihsou=). 3) High moral standards. There is a certain stress on high moral standards in First and Second Timothy, highlighted in particular in the quest for ‘a good conscience’ (1 Tim. 1:5; 4:2) and by the moral

ordered by God”. For an elaboration of the vital role of Christology in the ethical teaching of the Pastorals, see Donelson (1986: 129–52). 136 Elaborating on the relationship between ‘the plan of God’ and ethics in the Pastorals, Donelson (1986: 153) concludes, “Ethics forms the heart of the plan of salvation in that God saves by making virtue possible and by rewarding it in the hereafter”. The terms ‘faith’, ‘trust’ or ‘faithfulness’ (pi/stij) occurs thirty-three times in the Pastorals. In most of the cases they are used as a virtue of the believer, implying both right belief and behavior. 137 For the particular usage and meaning of the eu)seb-terminology in the Pastorals (1 Tim. 2:2; 3:12, 16; 4:7, 8; 5:4; 6:3, 5, 6, 11; 2 Tim. 3:5, 12; Tit. 1:1; 2:12), see chapter 3, 2.3. 138 1 Tim. 2:10; 5:10, 10, 25; 6:18; 2 Tim. 2:21; 3:17. 139 Of the thirteen occurrences of pi/stij in lists of virtues in the Pastorals, nine include a)ga/ph (1 Tim. 1:5, 14; 2:15; 4:12; 6:11; 2 Tim. 1:13; 2:22; 3:10; Tit. 2:2). The combination of these terms in the undisputed Pauline letters occurs seven times (1 Cor. 13:13; Gal. 5:6, 22; 1 Thess. 3:6; 5:8; 2 Thess. 1:3, Phlm. 5) and twice in Eph.-Col. (Eph. 6:23; Col. 1:4). 140 In 1–2 Tim., the term sunei/dhsij occurs in 1 Tim. 1:5, 19; 3:9; 4:2; 2 Tim. 1:3, and kardi/a in 1 Tim. 1:5; 2:22. For a detailed analysis of the use of these terms in the Pastorals, see Towner, 1989: 154–59.

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obligations that follow from this (1:8–11; 4:12; 5:2).141 Women should be properly dressed (2:9–10) and those in prominent leadership positions ‘must be above reproach’ (3:2) in all areas, particularly when it comes to sexuality, economy and sobriety (3:2–13). This emphasis on moral purity seems to have been developed in opposition to the practice of deviant, unmoral behavior (2 Tim. 3:1–6).142 4) Renunciation of worldly things/material possessions. Issues concerning wealth and material possessions are explicitly addressed in the lengthy passage of 1 Tim. 6:3–10, 17–19. The believers are warned ‘against the love of money’ and the temptations of wealth (6:9–10). In turn, wealthy believers are warned, not to put their hope in their riches but in God, and to become ‘rich in good deeds’ (6:18–19). 5) Idolatry. In stressing the sovereign rule ‘by the only God’ (1 Tim. 1:17) and ‘the only ruler, the King of kings and the Lord of lords’ (6:15) the author advocates exclusive monotheism. The practical implications of this conviction would be non-participation in all forms of pagan cult practices. 6) Sufferings. In Second Timothy, there is a particular emphasis on suffering as the true mark of the believer: ‘all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted’ (2 Tim. 3:12). This is especially exemplified in the life of Jesus Christ and in the life and ministry of Paul the apostle (1:12, 16; 2:8–13; 4:6–8, 16–18).143 2.2.2. The Ethical Response in the Johannine Letters The ethical response in the Johannine Letters is clearly connected to the teaching and behavior of the secessionists. In the view of the author, those deviants did not only err in terms of Christology, but also by lack of proper response to God’s acts in Jesus Christ. In fact, John the Presbyter devotes more attention to their moral behavior than to their doctrinal claims, which indicates that it was not their claims to life with God that was wrong, but their failure to draw the ethical implications from the relationship with

141 This is particularly highlighted in the use of a(gnei/a (‘purity’, 1 Tim. 4:12; 5:2), a word that carries sexual connotations (‘chaste’/‘chastity’, cf. EDNT. 1.19–20). 142 This is particularly stressed by Mounce, 2000: 155–59. The theme of sexual impurity is however not singled out as something particularly significant for the deviants. 143 There are reasons to assume that the stress on suffering in 2 Tim. should be related to the denial of suffering on the part of the deviants (an issue seldom raised in the analysis of the deviant teaching of 1–2 Tim; exception made for Lütgert, 1909: 73–75). This view of sufferings was most likely a corollary idea of their over-realized eschatology; suffering was considered to belong to the old age and was a sign of weakness, not the mark of the spiritual person.

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God that they claimed to have.144 Raymond Brown properly calls the secessionists “indifferentists who attributed no salvific importance to moral behavior by believers”, i.e., people who did not take sin seriously enough, and who even claimed that they were without sin or that they had not sinned (1:8–10).145 Accordingly, ethical conduct seems not to have been of importance for them. We do not know exactly what led them to this position, but it is not unlikely that it was related to a radicalized dualistic reading of the sayings about sin in John’s Gospel.146 In response, the presbyter emphasizes both the present fact that the believer is a sinner (1:9–10) and the ideal state of the child of God, who does not continue to sin (3:6, 9). Several solutions to this apparent inconsistency have been suggested, but it should probably be seen as an expression of the eschatological perspective of the author, i.e., of the tension between the inauguration of the future and the incompleteness of the present (cf. 3:1– 2).147 John is particularly concerned to hold together knowledge and conduct, belief and behavior ― his emphasis on true belief and true behavior runs concurrently throughout the letter: ‘whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did’ (2:6).148 The definition of the proper ethical response is clearly colored by the dualism of the author: light and darkness, truth and falsehood, love and hatred etc. Of these, love becomes the predominant theme of the proper ethical response. Every attitude and behavior seems to be an outcome of the acceptance of, and the response to, God’s love in Jesus Christ (3:16; 4:11). The demonstration of love is put at the same level of importance as correct belief in Jesus Christ (3:23). The secessionists’ lack of love for their fellow brothers, demonstrated by their departure from the community, is the most telling of all their various sins (most explicitly explored in 2:15–3:24). Sin is ultimately defined as the failure to love (3:4–12). Accordingly, the twin themes of knowledge of God and love for the brothers ― mostly defined by the rather abstract theme of ‘brotherly love’ 144

Lieu (1991: 51) wants to play down the role of the secessionists in the ethics of 1 John on the grounds that “the so-called ‘moral-debate’ is conducted without reference to the ‘antichrist(s)’”. It is correct that the issues brought up are mostly general issues that concern the whole community, but it is equally clear that the presbyter on several occasions counters a distinct position concerning ethical matters, especially with regard to the view of sin (note especially the ‘if we say-saying’ in 1 John 1:6–10, and ‘the one who says’ in 2:4, 6, 9) 145 Brown, 1982: 80. 146 So, e.g., Brown, 1982: 80–85, 230–42; Thielman, 2005: 546. The secessionists could have argued that they were abiding in Jesus and, like him, they could not be convicted of sin (John 8:46). Hence, they were not guilty of sin (9:41; cf. 15:22, 24). 147 Cf. Lieu, 1991: 61–62; Thielman, 2005: 547–59. 148 See also 1 John 1:7; 2:9–11; 3:4–10, 16–24; 4:19–21.

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(internal love) ― run concurrently throughout the Letters; lives spent without love cannot be lived in fellowship with God (1 John 2:3–11; 3:11– 24; 4:7–21; 5:2–3; 2 John 4–6; 3 John 5–8).149 Hence, the following items can spell out the proper ethical response according to the Johannine Letters: 1) A proper response. The proper response to God’s saving acts is obedience to God’s commands (1 John 2:4–8), primarily expressed by the twin verbs ‘to believe’ and ‘to love’: ‘And this is his commandment, that we believe in his son Jesus Christ, and love one another’ (3:23; cf. 4:16).150 A proper response can only be expressed in a community of responding members, particularly as the proper response could only be expressed by the use of the theme of love: ‘Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love another’ (4:11), and, ‘this is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers’ (3:16). 2) Christ-like attitudes and virtues. Jesus Christ is the supreme example of ethical behavior: the believers are summoned to ‘walk as Jesus did’ (1 John 2:6; cf. 3:16). Righteousness is expressed by right behavior (3:10, 29), particularly displayed in the attitudes and acts of love (2:5–10; 3:18–24). John focuses on one commandment specifically: ‘to love one another’ (2:10; 3:23; 4:21). 3) High moral standards. The true believer is expected to walk ‘in the light’ and not ‘in the darkness’, which implies a quest for the cleansing of sins and an obligation to moral purity (1 John 1:5–10). The believer should not ‘love the world or anything in the world’ (2:15).151 This includes the denunciation of ‘the desire of the flesh and the desire of the eyes’ (2:16). The one who is born of God ‘will not continue to sin’ (3:9). 4) Renunciation of worldly things/material possessions. The negative attitude to the things of the world includes a renunciation of the things of this world, ‘the desire of the flesh and the desire of the eyes’ (1 John 2:16). Believers demonstrate love by sharing their wealth and material possessions with other believers, who need practical forms of assistance (3:17–18). 5) Idolatry. The rejection of idols, whether literal or symbolic, is a prime virtue of the believer. This is explicitly expressed in the closing 149 See Rese (1985) for an elaboration of the theme of brotherly love in 1–3 John as a reflection of a particularly strong sense of internal cohesion (and external disregard). 150 The verb pisteu6w is used nine times in 1 John (3:23; 4:1, 16; 5:1, 5, 10, 10, 10, 13; the noun pi/stij only occurs once, 5:4), three times together with a)g apa&w/a)ga&ph (3:23; 4:16; 5:1). 151 The term ko/smoj (‘world’) is a key word in 1–2 John, altogether used 24 times. It has clearly negative connotations in 2:15–17 (used six times), 3:1, 17; 4:5, 5:4–5, 19. Here it is used for the place of evil inclinations and hostile attitudes against the believers.

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charge of First John: ‘Dear children, keep yourselves from idols’ (1 John 5:21).152 6) Sufferings. In the Johannine Letters, the believers are not explicitly called to suffer or to die for Christ. However, there is a clear awareness of attitudes of hostility and antagonism on the part of their neighbors: ‘Do not be surprised, brothers, if the world hates you’ (1 John 3:13). For example, non-participation in pagan cult life (5:21) would sooner or later have caused hostile reactions from the surrounding society. 2.2.3. The Ethical Response in the Book of Revelation An analysis of the ethical response in Revelation cannot be separated from its specific setting of crisis, marginalization and conflict experienced by the communities of believers in western Asia Minor. Although John the Prophet is not unconcerned about the internal situation of the communities of believers (Rev. 2–3), his main focus is clearly on their relationship to the wider society. It is thus not the attitudes required for dealing with ingroup conflicts (e.g., love and humility) that are being stressed, but attitudes required to face such opposition and antagonism (e.g., faithfulness and perseverance) that are stressed. Even though the prophet writes from a universal perspective, it was not a matter of a general or wide-ranging setting of opposition and persecution of Christ-believers, but rather the local conflicts and hostility from the wider society which was part of a clash of religious ideologies that he is addressing.153 John writes 152 For differing interpretations of ei)/dwla in 1 John 5:21, see Griffith, 2002: 12–27. Bultmann (1973: 90–91) suggests that the aorist imperative fula/cate (‘keep yourself from’) indicates a new situation in which it urges the readers to distance themselves from the practices of the deviant teachers. Although nothing is previously said in the letter concerning such practices on the part of the deviants, this would probably have been included in their lack of ethical concerns. Although most scholars take this warning against idolatry as a more general reference to ‘false ideas/teaching/belief/gods’ or ‘Godsubstitutes’ (e.g., Houlden, 1973: 138; Brown, 1992: 80; Smalley, 1984: 309–10; Hengel, 1989: 176), the temptation to succumb to idolatry would have been real and constant for John’s readers (cf. Dodd, 1946: 141–42; Painter, 1986: 53). Hills (1989: 310) cogently argues that the reference to the ei)/dwla is inspired by the polemics and critique against idols in the LXX, where it functions as the “negative counterpart to Jesus Christ”. As such, the warning against idolatry serves to urge Johannine Christ-believers to maintain their identity by remaining faithful to their confession. Griffith (2002: 28–57) in particular, demonstrates that the term ei)/dwla functions as a polemical term within a strategy that aims to develop self-identity and maintain group boundaries: “The rejection of idols, according to John, is the obverse of knowing the true God.” (p. 57) 153 In fact, Rev. tells us only about two martyrs, Jesus Christ (o( ma&rtuj o( pisto/j, 1:5) and Antipas (o( ma&rtuj mou o( pisto/j mou, 2:13). Thompson’s (1990: 96–115, 158– 67) forced conclusion that Imperial cult played no role in the production and theology of Rev., needs to be balanced by the more nuanced analyses of Friesen (1995, 2001) and

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from the perspective of the prophet who offers a sharp critique of the wickedness and falseness of the present social, political and economic orders. Accordingly, there is no room for balanced assessments but only for sharp warnings and urgent calls for repentance. Everything is read from the perspective of the victory won through the death of the Lamb and the eschatological manifestation of this victory. God’s victory over Satan calls for immediacy: ‘the time is near’ (1:3 cf. 22:7, 16) and ‘the time is short’ (12:12). Hence, John’s prophetic perspective demands an appropriate and urgent response. In the end, for John, the only appropriate way to express true belief and behavior is to follow the Lamb – even to the point of death. Thus, the scheme of the ethical response in Revelation runs as follows: 1) A proper response. A proper response to God’s saving acts in history is expressed by repentance and worship (Rev. 2:5, 16, 21; 3:3, 19; 11:13). The people living on the earth are summoned to ‘fear God and give him glory’ (14:7). By responding to God’s redemptive call, they are made into a people ‘from every tribe and language and people and nation’ (5:9). Accordingly, the improper response is expressed by the refusal to repent from idolatry and by not giving appropriate glory to God (2:20–21; 9:20– 21; 14:9–10; 16:10–11). 2) Christ-like attitudes and virtues. The virtues asked for from the believers are primarily endurance (u(pomonh/) and faithfulness (pi/stij). Twice it is stated that: ‘This calls for patient endurance and faithfulness on the part of the saints’ (Rev. 13:10; 14:12, NIV).154 Jesus Christ, ‘the faithful witness’ (o( ma&rtuj o( pisto/j, 1:5; 3:14), is the supreme example of faith expressed in faithfulness. 3) High moral standards. The theme of purity is especially highlighted in the designation of the believers’ ‘virginity’ (Rev. 14:4). The believers should keep themselves clean and pure. It is also stressed in the condemnation of fornication and sexual immorality (pornei/a), which is frequently used metaphorically in Revelation to denote spiritual intercourse with pagan gods.155

others (e.g., Harland, 1996; Brent, 1998), who have pointed to the increasingly important role the local provincial cult of the emperor played on all levels of the eastern Mediterranean society. 154 The term u(p omonh/ is used seven times (Rev. 1:9; 2:2, 3, 19; 3:10; 13:10; 14:12). The noun pi/stij is used four times (2:13, 19; 13:10; 14:12), always with the meaning of ‘faithfulness’. The adjective pisto/j is used eight times (1:5; 2:10, 13; 3:14; 17:14; 19:11; 21:5; 22:6) 155 Cf. 4 Kgdms. 9:22; Wis. 14:12; Ex. 32:15–16; Isa. 47:10; Nah. 3:1–4. The noun pornei/a is used seven times (Rev. 2:21; 9:21; 14:8; 17:2, 4; 18:3; 19:2), and the verb porneu/w, used five times (2:14, 20; 17:2; 18:3, 9). The literal sense is kept only in 9:21; 21:8; 22:15.

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4) Renunciation of worldly things/material possessions. The prophet’s response to economic values and materialistic possessions is most explicit in the letter to the community of believers in Laodicea (Rev. 3:14–22) and in the condemnation of the beast (13:16–17) and the whore of Babylon (18:1–24). The Christ-believers in Laodicea, a city well known for its wealth and affluence, are encouraged to invest their lives, not in materialistic possessions, but in spiritual values (3:17–18).156 Babylon, the great prostitute, is condemned and judged by God because of her pride, wealth and luxury; ‘the merchants of the earth grew rich because of her excessive luxuries’ (18:3).157 5) Idolatry. The theme of non-participation in pagan cult life runs throughout Revelation and is particularly highlighted in the call to worship God, ‘the One who sits on the throne’, and the Lamb (e.g., Rev. 5:12–14; 7:9–17; 11:15–18; 14:6–7; 21:26).158 The issue of true and false worship is absolutely fundamental to John’s prophetic insight.159 Repentance is expressed by repentance from idolatry (2:20–21; 9:20–21; 19:2). the Nicolaitans, a group who operated in Ephesus, are condemned because they eat food sacrificed to idols (fagei=n ei)dwlo/quta) and commit acts of immorality (2:6, 14–15).160 6) Sufferings. The believers are summoned to follow the Lamb and to suffer for Christ (Rev. 13:10). Jesus Christ is ‘the faithful witness’ (o( ma&rtuj o( pisto/j, 1:5). John himself (1:9) and Antipas the martyr (o( ma&rtuj mou o( pisto/j mou, ‘my faithful witness’; 2:13) are two witnesses who become models for dedicated endurance and suffering. The destiny of the believer under pagan (Roman) rule is conflict and harassment (17:6; 18:24; 19:2). The communities of believers in Smyrna and Philadelphia are encouraged to stand firm in the prevailing afflictions (2:8–13; 3:7–13), and the martyrs are urged to wait patiently for their retribution (6:9–11; 20:4).

156

See Hemer, 1986: 178–82, 196–201. For a pertinent analysis of the economic critique of Rome in Rev., see Bauckham, 1993a: 338–83, and Kraybill, 1996. 158 Cf. Aune (1983) and Morton (2001), who read the throne vision of Rev. 4–5 as a disapproval of Roman Imperial court ceremonial. 159 For an elaboration of this theme in Rev., see Bauckham, 1993c: 34–35, 114–21, 160–62. 160 The Nicolaitans are said to ‘commit fornication’ (porneu=sai), which probably refers to disloyalty to the Christ-belief by active participation in the pagan cults (picking up the critique of the Old Testament prophets against idolatry and adultery). 157

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2.2.4. The Commonality of the Ethical Response in First and Second Timothy, in the Johannine Letters and in the Book of Revelation What then are the factors in common to the ethical response outlined in First and Second Timothy, the Johannine Letters and Revelation? First of all, the survey above of the ethical response demonstrates a similar scheme of ethics in the text corpuses related to Ephesus. We found expressions of all six items of the ethical response in these texts: they all agree that the story of Jesus requires an appropriate response expressed in certain attitudes, virtues and deeds. The separation of knowledge and ethics by the deviant groups is acute in all the texts, but most explicitly so in the Pastorals and the Johannine Letters, although it also present in the Book of Revelation.161 Those who deviated from the Pauline tradition did so by justifying immoral behavior ideologically or theologically, and those who deviated from the Johannine tradition did so by indifference to moral behavior (particularly to the commandment to love one another). 162 In both cases, deviance is defined in terms of a lack of morality, good deeds or loving acts. Thus, true behavior becomes a critical test of authority and authenticity. Right belief or doctrine is not enough; theology and ethics are inseparable, and true belief must therefore be expressed in true behavior.163 The shaping and articulation of ethical norms in these writings thus become a crucial way to form the self-understanding and identity of the addressees, as well as to create boundary lines for the exclusion of others. The authors emphasize differently in describing the significant mark(s) of the true or prototypical believer. The critical test of authenticity and identity in terms of behavior and ethics in First and Second Timothy is morality and ‘good works’. In the Johannine Letters it is the love of God and the need for actions motivated by love, and in Revelation it is faithfulness and suffering. Further, the difference between the ingroup perspective of the Johannine Letters and the public critique of political and economical structures in Revelation is noticeable. We may also discern different perspectives concerning issues relating to wealth and material possessions in First and Second Timothy and in the Johannine Letters respectively; while material possessions in First John are used to define and to reinforce group boundaries (love is restricted to the brothers and hospitality is used to define whom a group accepts, 1 John 3:17; 3 John 5– 161 The separation of knowledge and ethics seems also to have been representative of the Nicolaitans, ‘the teaching of Balaam’ and ‘the woman Jezebel’ in Rev. 2:2, 6, 14–15, 20. 162 Cf .Thielman, 2005: 663. 163 In articulating the need for ethical response, our authors clearly distinguish themselves from the common view in Greco-Roman religion where morality was not regarded as an integral part of religious life (see Young, 1994: 24).

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8), the wealthy people in First Timothy are called to do ‘good works’, not only within the group but also to strangers (1 Tim. 6:17–19).164 However, since these virtues are contextual expressions of what it means to follow Christ in the settings addressed by the various authors, these differences should not be overstated. All the writers would probably have agreed that following Jesus Christ in a pagan society means to turn away from pagan cult practices and, as a consequence, to endure the stigma of marginalization and hostility from the wider society for the sake of Jesus Christ.165 Further, even if it is only the Pauline and the Johannine traditions that explicitly speak of Jesus Christ ‘in the flesh’, all our traditions would probably have agreed about the danger of separating created matters from spiritual matters.166 All of them would probably also have agreed on the need to demonstrate hospitality, good works and actions motivated by love towards all people, believers as well as nonbelievers, although this is not stated explicitly anywhere.167 While it is only the author of First and Second Timothy that draws explicitly on the ethical laws and codes of the Torah, the paraenesis in the Johannine Letters and in Revelation also build on central Jewish ideas and concepts.168 Finally, we also find the motif of the parousia and the imminence of the end of time common to our traditions as an incentive and a motivation to right behavior and holiness. Even though the emphasis of this theme is variously articulated by the traditions, it is always followed by a plea for responsible living and concrete actions.169 The bottom line of all this is that it is ultimately the basic structure of the ethical response defined as Christ-like attitudes, virtues and conduct that unite the various traditions. The key factor and the basis for this quest for true behavior is ultimately the story of Jesus. All three authors use a similar pattern of indicative and imperative verb forms. The story of Jesus 164

Cf. Trebilco, 2004: 404–45. See 2 Tim. 3:12; 1 John 3:12; 5:19; Rev. 13:10–17. 166 God as the creator of physical matters is particularly stressed in 1 Tim. 4:5–6 and Rev. 4:11; 10:6. The stress on Jesus coming ‘in the flesh’ (e0n sarki/) in 1 Tim. 2:5; 3:16; 1 John 4:2; 2 John 7 presumes a positive view on physical and created matters on the part of the authors. 167 The themes of good works and love are connected to the theme of universality in 1 Tim. 2:1–6 and 1 John 4:7–14. In Rev. we may find clear expressions of the universal scope of God’s salvation, but it is not explicitly connected to performing good works or actions of love. Although the theme of ‘love’ (a)ga/ph), the love of God/Christ and love between believers, is not prominent in Rev. it occurs in 1:5; 2:5, 19; 3:9; 20:9. 168 E.g., 1 Tim. 1:8–11; 4:3–5. In 1 John 3:12, the story of Cain and Abel (Gen. 4:1– 16) is used in elaborating on the theme of hate and love, and the central urge for endurance and suffering in Rev. 13:10; 14:12 is taken from Jer. 15:2; 43:11. 169 E.g., 1 Tim. 6:11–16; 2 Tim. 2:10–13; 4:1, 6–8; 1 John 2:28–3:3; 4:17; Rev. 14:1– 6; 16:15; 22:7, 12. 165

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calls for an ethical and moral response within a community of believers. The eschatological perspective of the story of Jesus Christ challenges its readers to reread history. However, the story of Jesus is not only a story that demands a certain standard of ethics or morals; it is a story that calls for participation and for the re-enactment in the life of the believers as they are challenged to follow and imitate Christ. By displaying Christ-like attitudes and virtues and by the renunciation of worldly values and material possessions and, ultimately, by walking in the same path as Christ did, i.e., by suffering and dying for him, the believers make their Christian life and witness plain for others to imitate.170 The story of Jesus is thus not only a story about God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ, but also a story about what it means to follow Jesus. In sum, it is not too much to conclude that there is a clear sense of commonality in the way by which our authors urge an ethical response from their readers. This commonality is not found in a specific terminology or in certain idioms, but in the common ethos ― particularly in the encouragement to re-enact the story of Jesus Christ.

3. The Story of Jesus and the Ethical Response in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians In turning to Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians, we noted in chapter four that Ignatius connects with several textual traditions and prototypes that circulated among Christ-believers in western Asia Minor and Ephesus at the beginning of the second century CE. As Ignatius sought to bring his readers together under one bishop in each city, he connects to the tradition of the Pastor, the Prophet and the Presbyter. The analysis of Ignatius has so far been confined mainly to issues of authority, legitimacy, leadership structures and the idea of the prototypical believer. However, it is not only in these matters that we can see his clear attempts to hold together the various traditions, but also in his theology and ethics. In fact, most of the items, which we found in the pattern of the story of Jesus and the ethical response advocated in First and Second Timothy, the Johannine Letters and Revelation, we can also find in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians.

170 The theme of imitatio Christi is clearly present in all three traditions: 2 Tim. 2:8– 13; 3:12; 1 John 2:6; 3:16; Rev. 14:4; 17:6, 14; 18:24 (notice especially the imitation of Antipas, ‘my faithful witness’, 2:13; cf. 1:5).

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3.1. The Story of Jesus in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians The main theme of Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians is the relationship between the Ephesians and God and Jesus Christ.171 Related to this main theme are two secondary ― but not less important ― themes: unity in submission to the bishop and avoidance of deviant teachers. The story of Jesus in Ignatius’s Letter has the specific function of reinforcing Ignatius’s overall appeal for the unity of the Christ-believers and for their submission to one local bishop. This does not mean, however, that the story of Jesus plays a secondary role in his argument. On the contrary, the story of Jesus, particularly his coming ‘in the flesh’ and the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, plays such a significant role that this can be said “to be the special mark of Ignatius’s theology”.172 Quite clearly, the deviant teaching combated by Ignatius (probably some variant of Docetism)173 had certain implications for the specific choice of terminology and themes, particularly for the central position of the humanity of Christ. The story of Jesus in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians runs as follows: 1) Continuity. That the story of Jesus and its ethical demands stand in continuity with the demands of the Hebrew Scriptures is particularly marked out in the quotations and allusions of, for example, Ign.Eph. 5.3 (Prov. 3:34) and 15.1 (Ps. 33:9; 148:5; Jdt. 16:14).174 2) The subject. God is ‘the Father’ (e.g., Ign.Eph. 4.2; 7.2), who has ‘predestined from eternity’ his will concerning the believers (inscr.). God acts in history according to his ‘plan of salvation’ (the dispensation of God, oi)konomi/an qeou=, 18.2; cf. 20.1). 3) Revelation. The salvation of God is revealed in his Son (Ign.Eph. 4.2), Jesus Christ, ‘our Savior’ (1.1). In Jesus Christ, ‘God was revealed as man’ (qeou~ a)nqrwpi/noj faneroume/nou, 19.3; cf. 19.2).175 4) Humanity. In Jesus Christ God has become man: ‘There is one Physician, who is both flesh (sarkiko/j) and spirit, born (gennhto/j) and not yet born, who is God in man (e0n a)nqrw&pw? qeo/j), true life in death, both of Mary and of God, first passible and then impassible’ (Ign.Eph. 171

This is specially emphasized by Isacson, 2004: 75. Schoedel, 1985: 17. 173 See chapter 4, 2.4. 174 Ignatius marks the continuity with the prophecies and the Law of Moses in Smyr. 5.1 (cf. Phld. 8.2). In Magn. 8.2, he also asserts that the divine prophets lived according to Jesus Christ. 175 The use of the verb fanero/w and the idea of God revealing himself in Jesus Christ are also found in Ign.Magn. 8.2: ‘there is one God, who manifested himself (o( fanerw&saj e9auto/n) through Jesus Christ his son, who is his Word proceeding from silence.’ Cf. also Ign.Magn. 6.1: ‘Jesus Christ, who was from eternity with the Father and was made manifest (e0fa/nh) at the end of the time.’ For the importance of the theme of silence and revelation in Ignatius, see Corwin, 1960: 118–30. 172

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7.2). Central to ‘God’s plan/economy’ (oi0konomi/an qeou=) is God-becomeman: Jesus Christ ‘was conceived by Mary Jesus Christ . . . he was born’ (18.2; cf. 19.1–3; 20.2), ‘who was of the family of David according to the flesh (kata\ sa/rka)’ (20.2).176 5) Exaltation. Jesus Christ is resurrected (Ign.Eph. 20.1) and the exalted ‘Lord’, o( ku/rioj (20.2 cf. 7.2; 17.1–2; 19.1).177 The divinity of Christ, Christ as qeo/j, is frequently affirmed, explicitly (inscr.; 18.2) or implicitly (1.1; 5.2; 7.2; 15.3).178 6) The means. Jesus was crucified (Ign.Eph. 16.2). The means of salvation is ‘the blood of God’ (1.1), i.e., the blood of Christ.179 Ignatius talks about ‘the faith of God for the sake of (u9pe/r) which Jesus Christ was crucified’ (16.2). The cross is the effective means of resurrection for men (9.1). 7) The result. The death of Christ has brought about ‘the abolition of death’ (Ign.Eph. 19.3). Jesus Christ has brought ‘salvation and eternal life’ (swthri/a kai\ zwh_ ai)w&nioj, 18.1; cf. 19.3), ‘true life’ (a)lhqino_n zh=n, 11.1) and ‘immortality’ (17.2) to the believers. 8) Universality. The message of salvation also concerns those outside the community of believers: ‘Now for other men ‘pray unceasingly’, for there is in them a hope of repentance, that they may find God’ (Ign.Eph. 10.1). While the theme of mission is not strongly stressed by Ignatius, it is clear that he thinks in terms of the salvation of Gentiles.180 9) The Spirit. The Spirit confirms the humanity: Jesus Christ is of [the seed] of Holy Spirit (Ign.Eph. 18.2). The Spirit is ‘a rope’ in ‘the crane of Jesus Christ (which is the cross)’ that carries believers to the heights as ‘the stones of the Father’s temple’ (9.1).181 The Spirit here works together with the cross through the image of the divine ‘crane’ (mhxanh/, here as a reference of the cross) that builds up the temple of God, a symbolic 176

The coming of Jesus ‘in the flesh’ ([e0n] sarki/) is also stressed by Ignatius in Ign.Phld. 5.1; Smyr. 1.1–2; 3.1–2; 12.2; cf. Ign.Rom. 7.3, Phld. 4.1. The two usages of ‘God’s plan/economy’ (oi)konomi/an qeou=) in Ign.Eph. 18.2 and 20.1 indicates that the idea of incarnation was central to this plan (Eph. 19). 177 The resurrection of Jesus is also confirmed in Ign.Phld. inscr., 8.2; 9.2; Smyr. 1.2; 3.1, 3; 7.2; 12.2; Magn. 11.1; Trall. inscr. Jesus Christ as o( ku/rioj is a key concept in Ignatius, used both of his earthly life (cf. Ign.Eph. 17.1; 19.1; Magn. 7.1; Phld. inscr.; 9.2; Smyr. 4.2; 5.2) and about the one who is present in his church (Phld. 4.1; 11.2; Trall. 8.1). 178 Cf. Ign.Rom. inscr. (bis); 3.3; 6.3. Pol. 8.3; Smyr. 1.1. 179 Cf. Acts 20:28. Although Ignatius probably refers to the Eucharist by this saying, the reference to the passion of Christ is not lost (contra Legarth, 1992: 135). 180 Cf. chapter 2, 5.1, where we noticed the theme of universality in Ignatius (e.g., Ign.Smyr. 1.2). 181 Translation from Schoedel, 1985: 65.

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description of the Spirit’s role in the work of redemption.182 Hence, the work of the Spirit is connected both to the humanity of Jesus and to his crucifixion. 10) Consummation. Although not a central theme in Ignatius’s theology, the idea of completion is still there: Jesus Christ is vaguely described as ‘our common hope’ (Ign.Eph. 21.2; cf. 1.2). The believers are ‘carried up’ (a)nafero/menoi) to the heights (9.1), an implicit allusion to their future resurrection.183 Further, the ultimate punishment for the deviant teachers is ‘the unquenchable fire’ (16.2). In conclusion, the story of Jesus Christ is of central concern for Ignatius theological thinking: it is about God, who reveals himself by sending his Son Jesus Christ in the flesh, born of a woman, to die and rise again in order to give life and salvation to those who believe. Ignatius’s theology is clearly christocentric; it is “einer Theologie, die ganz von Christus als ihrem Mittelpunkt bestimmt ist”.184 Both the divinity and the humanity of Jesus Christ are stressed: “Actually his total theology, as distinct from his polemic against the Docetists, springs from the paradox that Christ is both God and Man.”185 However, it is not the passion and resurrection of Jesus Christ that stands at the center (although we may find some brief references), but his nativity: ‘Jesus Christ has come as man’ (e0n a)nqrw&pw? qeo/j, Ign.Eph. 7.2). The story of Jesus Christ marks the coming of the future, ‘These are the last days . . . therefore let us either fear the love to come, or love the grace which is present’ (11.1), and the beginning of the destruction of death itself (19.3). These sayings give Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians a certain eschatological framework. However, the letter lacks any explicit references to the parousia of Jesus Christ. The expectations for the future are vaguely summarized in the saying ‘Jesus Christ, our common hope’ (21.2).186 Another theme that is present but not particularly stressed is the theme of 182

Schoedel, 1985: 66–67; Legarth, 1992: 166–69. Schoedel, 1985: 27. Ignatius also speaks of the resurrection of the believers in Pol. 7.1; Rom. 2.2; Smyr. 5.3; Trall. inscr. 184 Rathke, 1967: 92. Cf. Corwin, 1960: 91–115; Legarth, 1992: 131–42. 185 Orwin, 1960: 92. In Ign.Eph. both the divinity (inscr.; 4.2; 7.2; 15.3; 18.2; 20.2) and the humanity (7.2; 18.2; 19.3; 20.2) of Jesus Christ is clearly stressed. 186 Ignatius explicitly refers to the parousia in Ign.Phld. 9.2 (h( parousi/a tou= swth=roj, kuri/ou h(mw~n 0I hsou= Xristou=). It is however the idea of ‘attaining (tugxa/nein) God’ (Ign.Eph. 10.1; Magn. 1.2; Smyr. 9.2; cf. Pol. 4.3), i.e., the communion with God after suffering unto death, that seems to have become more prevalent for Ignatius than the imminence of the parousia. For the theme of ‘attaining God’ in Ignatius, see Corwin, 1960: 252–55; Bommes, 1976: 246–48, 159–64; Schoedel, 1985: 28–29. 183

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universality. Ignatius is clearly concerned about the reputation of the believers in the wider society and about the non-believers’ need to repent (10.1). Even if Ignatius is aware that believers meet with hostility from their pagan neighbors (10.2), he urges them to prove themselves ‘brothers’ to the unbelievers around them (10.3). Thus, all the ten items of the story of Jesus found in the ‘canonical’ texts connected with Ephesus can also be found in Ignatius. Although he addresses different settings and opponents, there is a certain commonality between the various traditions in their use of the basic narrative about Jesus Christ. There are several examples of how Ignatius seems to bring together various strands and to share themes and emphases with the other traditions, and particularly with the Pauline and the Johannine traditions.187 I do not argue for any literary dependence on any occasion, but we can see distinct traits of the various traditions picked up in Ignatius’s Letter. These were most probably oral traditions and we may also suspect that the authors used their sources in common. First, in chapter four, we observed Ignatius’s particular connection to the Pauline tradition as far as leadership structures and church order are concerned (cf. Ign.Eph. 12.2). With regard to the story of Jesus, Ignatius describes Jesus Christ as the Savior, as ‘our Savior’ (tw?~ swth~ri h(mw~n, 1.1), who brings ‘salvation’ (swthri/a, 18.1) to mankind.188 As we saw in the analysis of the ‘canonical’ texts, this terminology is particularly emphasized in the Pastoral Letters. Another feature that connects Ignatius to the Pauline tradition is his use of oi0konomi/an [qeou=] (18.2; 20.1), i.e., of the idea of the divine economy in the universe, which, according to Johannes Quasten, is “the core of Ignatius’ theology”. 189 This terminology, when used in a theological sense, occurs only in the Pauline tradition of the New Testament.190 The phrase oi)konomi/an [qeou=] occurs in 1 Tim. 1:3 and particularly in Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians (1:10; 3:2, 9; cf. Col.

187 Several studies demonstrate Ignatius’s relationship to, and dependence on, the Pauline tradition in particular, see especially Moffat, 1930; Bultmann, 1953; Schneemelcher, 1964; Rathke, 1967. Ignatius’s relationship to the Johannine tradition has also been underlined by several scholars (e.g., Loewenich, 1932; Burghardt, 1940; Maurer, 1949; Brent, 1992: 73–80; Hill, 2004: 421–43), but this relationship is not as close or direct as his relationship to the Pauline tradition. 188 Jesus Christ is also called swth/r (Ign.Magn. 1.1) and swthro&j (Ign.Phld. 9.2; Smyr. 7.1). 189 Quasten, 1986: 65. 190 Except for the use in the parable of the unrighteous steward (Luke 16:1–8; three times in vv. 2–4), the term oi0konomi/a only occurs in the New Testament in 1 Cor. 9:17; Eph. 1:10; 3:2, 9; Col. 1:25; 1 Tim. 1:4.

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1:25), a letter that Ignatius was clearly acquainted with.191 Moreover, the result of the work of Christ in Ignatius is particularly expressed by the phrase ‘eternal life’ (zwh_ ai0w&nioj, 18.1; cf. 19.3). Here we may suspect that Ignatius draws from a common tradition, although it is interesting to note the particular use of this phrase in the Pauline tradition of First and Second Timothy (1 Tim. 1:16; cf. 4:8; 6:12, 19; 2 Tim. 1:10), as well as in the Johannine Letters (1 John 2:25; 3:14–15; 4:9; 5:11–13, 20). Ignatius’s connection to the Johannine tradition is particularly highlighted by his use of the theme of revelation and in the fanhrterminology. In Jesus Christ, ‘God was revealed as man’ (qeou~ a)nqrwpi/noj faneroume/nou, Ign.Eph. 19.3; cf. 19.2), a saying that is clearly reminiscent of the use of this terminology in First John.192 Further, Ignatius also uses the typically Johannine terminology of ‘sending’, pe/mpein (Ign.Eph. 6.1; Magn. 8.2). However, we also noticed the fanhrterminology in 1 Tim. 3:16 (o(/j fanerw&qh e0n sarki/) and in 2 Tim. 1:10 (fanerwqei=san de\ nun dia_ e0pifanei/aj tou= swth~roj h(mw~n Xristou~ 0Ihsou~). Further, Ignatius’s stress on Jesus as revealed ‘in the flesh’ also brings the Pauline and the Johannine traditions together. As we have noted, this theme is particularly stressed in 1 John 4:2; 5:6 and 2 John 7, but it is also picked up in 1 Tim. 2:5 and 3:16. Ignatius also follows the Pauline and the Johannine traditions in speaking of the death of Christ in substitutionary terms, ‘Jesus Christ died for (u(pe/r) man/us’ (16.2; cf. 1 Tim. 2:6; Tit. 2:14, and 1 John 2:2; 3:16).193

191

Note especially Ign.Eph. inscr. (alluding to Eph. 1:3–5, 7, 10, 11, 19, 23; see chart in Rathke, 1967: 45–46; cf. Schoedel, 1985: 37; Schwindt, 2002: 58–59). For other possible echoes of Ephesians, see Ign.Eph. 1.1; 12.2; 20.1 (cf. Magn. 7:1–2; Smyr. 1.2; Pol 1.2; 5.1; 6.2. Although Ignatius is generally free in his use of Paul, “the cumulative effect of the parallels is impressive” (Schoedel, 1985: 37; cf. also Rathke, 1967: 22, 98). Discussing the relationship of Ign.Eph. inscr. and Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, Isacsson (2004: 34–35) concludes: “The parallels and allusions are so many that it is reasonable to assume that Ignatius used that letter in order to formulate this prescript, and maybe to allude deliberately to Paul’s authority, and to flatter the addressees by showing that he knew what had been written to them in the past.” Ignatius may thus be taken as evidence that Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians was considered to be addressed to believers e0n 0Efe/sw? (1:1) long before the fourth century witnesses of ) c A B3 D etc. indicate. 192 The connection to the Johannine tradition is also suggested by Ignatius’s use of the motif of God sending Christ in Ign.Magn. 8.2 (tw?~ pe/myanti au)t o/n). 193 Ignatius also refers to the substitutionary death of Christ in, e.g., Rom. 6.1 (to\n u(pe\r u(m w~n a)p oqano/n ta), Trall. 2.1 (kata_ 0Ihsou=n Xristo\n to\n di0 h(ma=j a)p oqano/n ta), Smyr. 2.1 (tau=t a ga\r pa&nta e)/p aqen di0 h(ma=j, i(/na swqw~m en), 3.1. (tou= swth/roj h9m w~n 0Ihsou~ Xristou= th/n u(pe\r tw&n a(m artiw~n h(m w~n paqou~s an). Ignatius even describes his own death in substitutionary terms, he himself ‘will die for the sake of (u(pe/r) God’ (Ign.Rom. 4.1).

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Thirdly, in Ignatius’s apocalyptic version of the story of Jesus in Eph. 19.1–3, the bishop seems to draw on a similar apocalyptic tradition as John the Prophet does in Rev. 12:1–12.194 Above all, the overall themes of the nativity and the humanity of Jesus and the defeat of evil by his death are present in both traditions. These texts have several details in common, particularly the story of the woman (Mary, Ign.Eph. 19.1), who gives birth to a child that is hidden away from Satan (‘the prince of this world’, 19.1) and the connection of this story with the death of the Lord and the ‘abolition of death’ (Ign.Eph. 19.1, 3; cf. Rev. 12:11). There are also other details, such as the images of the stars, the sun and the moon that the two stories have in common. Of course, these similarities do not require literary dependence, but they do at least demonstrate the influence of the apocalyptic tradition in Ignatius.195 To sum up, in elaborating on the story of Jesus, Ignatius uses a similar narrative pattern as we found in the other early Christian texts related to Ephesus, and particularly in the Pauline tradition of First and Second Timothy and the Johannine tradition of the Johannine Letters.196 Of course, these are not the only traditions from which he draws, but the point made here is that readers, who would have connected to one or several of the prevalent textual traditions in Ephesus, would most probably have found some sense of kinship or commonality in the story told about Jesus, and particularly in Ignatius’s stress of the humanity and the death of Jesus Christ. 3.2. The Ethical Response in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians The demand for an ethical response also plays an integral part in Ignatius’s overall elaboration of the Ephesians’ relationship to God/Jesus Christ and in his appeal for unity and solidarity in the congregation. In fact, the true response to God’s work in Jesus Christ is manifested in the harmony and unity of the church. First, the Ephesians should demonstrate unity by submitting to their bishop, especially since the bishop should be regarded 194 Schlier (1929: 5–81) argues that the Gnostic redemption myth is reflected in Ign.Eph. 19.1–3: a) a hidden descent of the redeemer, his birth and death (19.1), b) his glorious ascent of a star (19.2), and c) the results of his epiphany on earth (19.3). Schoedel (1985: 88–89) correctly demurs, and maintains instead that we are dealing “with developments in eschatological and cosmological speculation that lie at the base of many later theologies — orthodox and Gnostic alike”. See also the detailed critique of Schlier by Corwin, 1960: 175–85. There are parallels in terminology between Ign.Eph.19.1–2 and the apocalyptic tradition of, e.g., Sib.Or. 12:30–33; 1 Enoch 18:12– 19:3; 21:1–10; 72:3; 75:1, 3; 82:1–10; Asc.Isa. 9:12–15; 11:2. 195 Schoedel, 1985: 94. 196 Cf. Quasten (1986: 66): “All in all, the foundation of Ignatius’s Christology is St. Paul, but influenced and enriched by the theology of John.”

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‘as the Lord himself’ (Ign.Eph. 6.1). To follow the bishop and to be united are the conditions for fellowship with God and Jesus Christ. To follow the bishop is to follow God, and to imitate God is to follow the bishop (cf. 4.1–5.1). Secondly, the Ephesians should stand united against the deviant teaching that threatened to tear their congregation apart. The deviants function as antitypes, not only of the true belief but also of the true behavior and the proper ethical response (16.1–19.3). Thus, the pattern of the ethical response in Ignatius’s Letter to the Ephesians runs as follows: 1) A proper response. Man is called to turn away from magic, wickedness and ignorance (Ign.Eph. 19.3), to repent (10.1) and ‘to live in harmony with the will of God’ (3.2). This means more specifically to respond to God with ‘faith and love’ (pi/stin kai\ a)ga&phn, 1.1).197 Those who respond to the call of God belong to the community of ‘the blessed’, ‘the predestined’ and ‘the chosen ones’ (inscr.). 2) Christ-like attitudes and virtues. Ignatius addresses his readers as ‘imitators of God’ (mimhtai\ o)/ntej qeou~, Ign.Eph. 1.1; cf. Trall. 1.2; Rom. 6.3),198 and exhorts them to be ‘imitators of the Lord’ (mimhtai\ tou~ kuri/ou, 10.3).199 This imitation is particularly articulated as the core virtues of faith and love (‘for the beginning is faith and the end is love, and when the two are joined together in unity it is God, and all other noble things follow after them’, 14.1; ‘for your faith is your windlass and love is the road which leads up to God’, 9.1), or in the demonstration of ‘love’ alone (1.3; 2.1; 3.2).200 Ultimately, the life of ‘faith and love’ has been 197

The noun pi/stij occurs fourteen times in Ign.Eph. (1.1; 8.2, 2; 9.1; 13.1; 14.1, 1, 2, 2; 16.2), regularly denoting the right attitude to God rather than a doctrine (not even in 16.2, where pi/stij qeou~ is set in contrast to false doctrines, does Ignatius refer solely to doctrines about God). 198 The phrase mimhtai\ [tou~] qeou~ occurs only once in the NT, namely in Eph. 5:1, a letter that Ignatius is clearly familiar with (cf. Ign.Eph. inscr.). 199 The theme of imitation is central in Ignatius, expressed by the noun mimhth/j which occurs five times (Ign.Eph. 1.1; 10.3; Phld. 7.2; Trall. 1.2; Rom. 6.3) and the verb mimei/s qai wich occurs once (Magn. 10.1). The object of the noun is always God or Jesus Christ, e.g., ‘be imitators of Jesus Christ (mimhtai_ gi/nesqe I)hsou~ Xristou=), as was he also of his father’ (Phld. 7.2); ‘Suffer me to follow the example (mimhth\n ei]n ai) of the passion of my God’ (Rom. 6.3). 200 The term ‘love’ (a)ga&ph) occurs sixty-four times in total in Ign. (in Ign.Eph. 1.3; 2.1; 3.2; 4.1; 9.1–2; 14.1–2; 20.1), sixteen times together with ‘faith’ (pi/stij). Interestingly, the term ‘faith’ appears alone or with words other than ‘love’, only nine times in total in Ign. (in Ign.Eph. 8.2; 9.1; 14.1–2; 16.2). For Ignatius ‘faith and love is everything’ (Smyr. 6.1). The meaning of these two primary virtues in Ignatius is close to one another: “the two conceptions are more alike than different” (Corwin, 1960: 242; see, e.g., Ign.Magn. 13.1; Smyr. 6.1; Trall. 8.1). For a detailed analysis of these virtues in Ignatius, see Corwin, 1960: 237–42, and especially Tarvainen, 1967.

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demonstrated by Jesus Christ himself (20.1). For Ignatius the state of affairs of ‘faith and love’ is primarily expressed in the unity and good order of the community of believers (14.2; cf. 4.1–2; 5.1; 8.2; 11.2; 13.1; 20.2).201 Closely connected to the quest for ‘faith and love’ is the quest for endurance, steadfastness and long-suffering (3.1–2; 10.2–3; cf. 14.2). 3) High moral standards. The believers are called to be ‘imitators of the Lord’ by remaining ‘in all purity and sobriety (e0n pa/sh? a(gnei/a? kai\ swfrosu/n h?) in Jesus Christ’ (Ign.Eph. 10.3; cf. Phld. 7.2). Furthermore, they are called to ‘be sanctified (h(g iasme/noi) in all things’ (2.2), not to live unworthy of God (7.1) but to avoid carnality (8.2). In particular, Ignatius uses the significant theme of ‘the temple of God’ to motivate his readers to holiness (9.1–2; 15.3; 16.1–2).202 4) Renunciation of worldly things/material possessions. The renunciation of the things of this world or of material possessions is not expressed in explicit terms in Ign.Eph., although it is essential to Ignatius’s general understanding of what it means to imitate God and Jesus Christ. In Ign.Rom. 6.1–2, Ignatius expresses his concern that he himself should imitate Christ until martyrdom and not to be ‘deceived by material things’ (cf. 7.1), for the ends of the earth and the kingdoms of this world shall profit me nothing. Ignatius’s social concern is also discerned in his exhortations about the care of the widows: ‘Let not the widows be neglected’ (Ign.Pol. 4.1; cf. Smyr. 6.2; 13.1). 5) Idolatry. There is no explicit warning against idolatry in Ign.Eph., but on a couple of occasions Ignatius seems to assume non-participation in pagan cult praxes. For example, Ignatius calls his readers ‘his fellow travelers (su/nodoi)’ on his way to martyrdom in Rome. They are ‘Godcarriers’ (qeofo/roi),203 ‘temple-carriers’ (naofo/roi), ‘Christ-carriers’ (xristofo/roi), and ‘carriers of sacred things/holiness’ (a(giofo/roi) (Ign.Eph. 9.2). This language has clear cultic allusions through the descriptions of his addressees as partakers of a sacrificial procession on their way to worship God.204 This would be an effective way of expressing an exclusive claim to the recognition of the one and only God.205

201

Schoedel, 1985: 25. See Legarth, 1992: 139–83, 207–17, 307–22. 203 Ignatius styles himself by this name/title and begins his letter with the words: ‘Ignatius, who is also called Theophorus’ (Eph. inscr.). 204 Ignatius refers to small miniature temples that were carried in the parade in honor to of the Ephesian Diana (cf. Acts 19:24). See Schoedel, 1985: 67; Harland, 2003: 490– 92. 205 In commenting on Ignatius’s processional cult language, Harland (2003: 499) points out: “From an outsider’s perspective, this general similarity [between associations in the Greco-Roman world and Christian congregations] might help to make sense of 202

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Furthermore, the hostile reactions from the outsiders (10.1–3) were probably caused by the believers’ refusals to participate in civic cultic activities. 6) Sufferings. The twin themes of imitation and suffering are central to Ignatius thinking (although we noted in item no. 3 that Ignatius also uses the theme of imitation in a more general sense). First of all, Jesus Christ is set forth as the supreme example of suffering and martyrdom (Ign.Eph. 3.1–2; 7.2). To follow Jesus Christ in his suffering and death is Ignatius’s own primary goal as a Christ-believer.206 He then, like Paul the apostle (12.2), uses his own life as a prisoner on his way to death as an example to demonstrate the need for true discipleship (1.2; 11.2). Ignatius describes himself in sacrificial ― even close to vicarious ― terms: ‘I am your lowly offering and I dedicate myself to you Ephesians’ (peri/yhma u(mw~n kai\ a(gni/zomai u(mw~n )Efesi/wn, 8.1; cf. 18.1; 21.1–2).207 To suffer for the sake of Jesus Christ is the destiny and honor of every believer in a hostile society (10:1–3): ‘Let us be imitators of the Lord, and seek to suffer the more wrong, to be more destitute, more despised’ (10.3). what was in other respects quite strange: a group of ‘atheists’ that insisted that only their god and no one else’s was deserving of recognition or honor.” 206 Cf. Bommes’s conclusion of the importance of this theme in Ignatius (1976: 119): “Das Leiden und Sterben Jesu Christi ist für Ignaius der tiefste Grund seines Martyriums, und zwar in einem umfassenden Sinn: Die Passion ist die eigentliche und bleibende Ursache, der beständige Bezugspunkt und in einem bestimmten Sinn auch das Ziel des Leidens und Sterbens des Ignatius.” The idea that true discipleship is demonstrated in martyrdom for Christ is clearly present in Ign.Rom. 4.2; 5.3; 6.3; Smyr. 4.2. The believers should not only imitate Christ, they should embody Christ (cf. Ign.Eph. 1.1, 10.3; Magn. 9.1; Pol. 3.2): “For unless Christians were ready of their own accord to die unto Christ’s passion, his life was not in them” (Pettersen, 1991: 52). However, there is no need to distinguish in Ignatius between imitation as following after Christ (Nachfolge) and as replicating Christ-like qualities (Nachahmung): “Die Passion gibt den Weg an, den Ignatius in seinem Martyrium nachahmt und nachgeht, aber sie ist auch selbst in diesem Martyrium wirksam, denn es geschieht in der Kraft des wahrhaft menschgewordenen, gekreuzigten und auferstandenen Christus, in Verbundenheit mit ihm und in der Zielrichtung zu ihm hin, der für Ignatius auch in seiner Passion stets Gott bleibt” (Bommes, 1976: 120; cf. ibid., 88–89, italics original). As pointed out by Schoedel (1985: 30), imitation in Ignatius envisages both an action directed by the grace of God and an action springing from a godly character (cf. Ign.Eph. 1.2; 10.3; 21.2). 207 Transl. Schoedel, 1985: 63. Ignatius is close to talking of his death as vicarious, particularly in his use of a)n ti/yuxon in Ign.Eph. 21.1 (cf. 4 Macc. 6:29; 17:21; Perler [1949] argues strongly that Ignatius drew largely on the imagery of 4 Macc. for his vision of martyrdom). However, as indicated by 18.1 (peri/yuma to_ e0m o_n pneu~m a tou~~ staurou~), it is not likely that Ignatius himself thinks of his death in vicarious terms. As pointed out by Schodel (1985: 64), it is more likely that “he sacrifices himself ‘for God’ to attain discipleship (cf. Ign.Rom. 2.2; 4.1–2)”. Hence, LOEB translates Ign.Eph. 8.1: ‘I am dedicated. . . to you (peri/yuma u(mw~n) Ephesians’ and Ign.Eph. 18.1: ‘My spirit is devoted (peri/yuma to_ e0mo_n pneu~ma) to the cross.’

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To sum up, the life of the Christ-believer is the response of men to the saving act of God that has already taken place in the coming, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The key notions of Ignatius’s understanding of the ethical obligations of the Christ-believers are love and imitation: “What is explicitly characteristic of the Ignatian approach to the Christian way of life is his insistence on union in the love of God and the imitation of Christ that constitute the Christian community.”208 However, this discipleship and imitation of Christ consists not only of ethical obligations, but also in conforming oneself particularly to the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ. For Ignatius, martyrdom is the perfect imitation of Christ; the only true disciple of Christ is he who is prepared to sacrifice his life for him.209 The basic structure in Ignatius’s ethical thinking is thus made up of the story of Jesus Christ with the particular emphasis on his coming ‘in the flesh’ and the crucifixion. The Christ-believers are called to participate in, and to re-enact, the story of Jesus by submission to God and to the bishop, by living together in faith and love, by being prepared to meet hardships with endurance and by suffering. Thus, we find an overall similar ethical pattern in Ignatius as in the canonical texts that belong to the Ephesus area. Even though the commands to disassociate from idolatry or to reject material possessions are not explicitly stated in Ignatius, this is implicitly assumed in his own story. He has left material things behind and is on his way to face a death sentence, which to a certain extent was caused by his own rejection of the Greco-Roman cults. As in the ‘canonical’ texts, the story of Jesus told by Ignatius calls for participation and re-enactment in the life of the believers, because they are called to follow and to imitate Christ. In fact, in Ignatius’s Letter, we do not only find a plea for the readers to model their own way of life on the story of Jesus Christ, but Ignatius himself is on his way to Rome, and in this, he himself serves as an example or a typos of this story. Ignatius clearly shows connections with the ‘canonical’ traditions and particularly with the Pauline and the Johannine traditions. The linking of faith with love is typical of both the Pauline tradition in the Pastorals (e.g., 1 Tim. 1:4–5, 14; 2 Tim. 1:13; cf. Eph. 3:17; 6:23),210 and the Johannine

208 Murphy, 1992: 50. Tarvainen (1967: 97) concludes about the theme of love in Ignatius: “Die Ethik des Ignatius kann als eine Ethik der Liebe charakterisiert werden. In ihr wird das tägliche, praktische Leben von der Agape getragen. Sie ist der Grund, auf den der Christ mit seinem Leben und seinem Tun bauen kann. Sie steht aber auch am Ende des Glaubenskampfes.” 209 Cf. Quasten, 1986: 71. 210 Cf. also cf. 1 Thess. 3:6; Gal. 5:6; 1 Cor. 16:13–14; Phlm. 5.

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tradition (1 John 3:23; 5:1–4).211 Furthermore, Ignatius’s linking of faith, love and endurance (Pol. 6.2) echoes the use of this triad of godly virtues in the Pastorals (Tit. 2:2; cf. 1 Tim. 6:11; 2 Tim. 3:10).212 The crucial expression, ‘for the beginning is faith and the end is love’ (Ign.Eph. 14.1) is reminiscent of the elaboration of this theme in 1 Tim. 1:4–5 (‘the goal of this command is love, which comes from . . . a sincere faith’). From these similarities William Schoedel draws the following conclusion: “It seems likely, then, that Ignatius is dependent in such matters on tradition alive in circles affected by Pauline theology or closely related streams of GentileChristian thought.”213 There are also other ethical standards in Ignatius that may echo a Pauline tradition in First and Second Timothy, for example, the ideal of ‘self-discipline’, swfrosu/n h (Ign.Eph. 10.3; cf. 1 Tim. 2:9, 15), and of ‘stillness’/‘silence’, h(suxi/a (Ign.Eph. 15.2; 19.1; cf. 1 Tim. 2:11– 12; 1 Thess. 3:12). Typical for both Paul and Ignatius is the notion of being imitators (mimhtai/) of both God and Christ (Eph. 5:1–2; cf. Ign.Eph.10.3; Phld. 7.2). Ignatius is particularly influenced by the Pauline theology on martyrdom and ‘dying for Christ’. Paul is explicitly referred to as the model martyr, ‘in whose footsteps may I be found when I shall attain to God’ (Ign.Eph. 12.2). Paul’s idea that ‘to die for Christ’ is a gain (Phil. 1:21, 23) is picked up by Ignatius’s saying, ‘It is better for me to die for Christ Jesus’ (kalo/n moi a)poqanei=n ei0j Xristo_n 0Ihsou=n, Ign.Rom. 6.1), and the notion of ‘being poured out as a drink offering on the sacrifice’ (spe/ndomai e0pi_ th?= qusi/a?, Phil. 2:17; cf. e)/gw ga_r h(/dh spe/ndomai, 2 Tim. 4:6) is picked up in Ignatius’s saying, ‘that I be poured out to God, while an altar is still ready’ (spondisqh=nai qew?~, w(j e)/ti qusiasth/rion e(/toimo/n e)stin, Ign.Rom. 2.2).214 Moreover, the Pauline idea of the immanence of God and the indwelling of Christ also plays a central role in Ignatius’s ethical thinking: ‘Let us therefore do all things as though he were dwelling in us, that we may be his temples, and that he may be our God in us’ (Ign.Eph. 15.3).215 However, not only is Christ in the believers, but in the Pauline manner, Ignatius repeatedly asserts that the believers are also ‘in Jesus Christ’ (e0n 0Ihsou~

211 Cf. Tarvainen’s (1967: 98–99) conclusion of his study on Ignatius’s use of belief and love: “In den Begriffen Glaube und Liebe sind gewissermassen das paulinische und johanneische Erbe vereinigt . . . Der paulinische Glaube und die johanneische Liebe ― hier haben wir das gesamte Erbe des Neuen Testamentes, das Ignatius getreulich bewahrt und weitergegeben hat.” 212 This triad is used only once in the non-disputed Pauline letters (1 Thess. 1:3). 213 Schoedel, 1985: 25. 214 For further parallels of the use of the theme of suffering and martyrdom in Paul and Ignatius, see Rathke, 1967: 68–75, 78–80. 215 Cf. Legarth, 1992: 214–17.

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Xristw?~).216 Ignatius characteristically stresses repeatedly that the believers are united with Christ only when they are one with their bishop through faith, obedience and particularly through participation in the Eucharist (3.1–2; 5:1–3; 20.2). Another theme in Ignatius that connects with both the Pauline and the Johannine traditions is the polarity between ‘flesh’ (sa/rc) and ‘spirit’ (pneu=ma) or between the corresponding adjectives (and adverbs) ‘fleshly’ (sarkiko/j) and ‘spiritual’ (pneumatiko/j).217 In quite a typically Pauline manner Ignatius treats flesh and spirit as two modes of human existence, in which flesh is characteristically connected with the state of unbelievers (e.g., Ign.Eph. 16.2). But Ignatius also goes beyond the Pauline tradition as he seeks to deny the incompatibility between the flesh and the spirit: ‘But even what you do according to the flesh is spiritual, for you do all things in Jesus Christ’ (8.2).218 Ignatius here assumes that the flesh represents, not the sphere of sin, but the sphere of corruptibility and thus it should be spiritually transformed. 219 Turning to the Johannine tradition, the saying, ‘No man who professes faith sins, nor does he hate, who has obtained love’ (Ign.Eph. 14.2) is clearly reminiscent of the Johannine sayings of the incompatibility of faith and sin (1 John 3:4–10; 5:18), and of love and hatred (4:20). In addition to the centrality of love as the key virtue of the godly life in Ignatius and the Johannine Letters (see above), Ignatius’s stress on ‘the truth’ and his use of the a)lhq-terminology in combating deviant teaching echoes a similar use of this terminology in the Johannine Letters.220 Thus, we conclude that we could find traces of both the Johannine tradition and the Pauline tradition (the most explicit tradition) in Ignatius.

216 The phrase e0n 0I hsou~ Xristw?~/e0n Xristw?~ 0I hsou~ is used eleven times in Ign.Eph. (1.1, 1; 3.1, 2; 8.2; 10.3; 11.1; 12.2; 20.2, 2; 21.2). 217 See Ign.Eph. 7.2; 8.2; 10.3; 16.2; 20.2 218 The closest parallel in Paul is Phlm. 16 (‘both in the flesh and in the Lord’). Schoedel (1985: 23 n. 116) denies direct Pauline inspiration of the polarity between flesh and spirit in Ignatius on the grounds that Ignatius can use ‘flesh’ (sa&rc) in a more neutral way. However, 1 Cor. 1:26 and 10:18 (a letter well known to Ignatius) demonstrates that Paul also can use this terminology in a more neutral way (cf. also Gal. 1:16; 4:14). 219 See Schoedel, 1985: 23. 220 The term a)lh&qeia is used in Ign.Eph. 6.2, 2 (used twenty times in 1–3 John), a)lhqino/j in 1.1; 7.2; 11.1 (1 John 2:8; 5:20, 20, 20), and a)l hqw~j in 15.2; 17.2 (1 John 2:5). The terminology is typically used in both Ignatius’s Letters and in 1–3 John to express the contrast between truth and falsehood, between true and false teaching.

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4. Concluding Remarks 1. In this chapter I have been searching for issues that could potentially have held the early Christian movement together and that created a sense of commonality between the various groups and individuals of Christbelievers in western Asia Minor with Ephesus as its center. First, we noted the significant role of itinerant leaders, who connected the local communities of Christ-believers to a translocal network of communities. While the identity of the early Christ-believers in Ephesus were embodied locally, fundamental ideas of their beliefs, rites and behaviors were brought to them from outside and reinforced by apostles, teachers, elders and prophets, who were not themselves part of these communities but served a wider network. This network created a significant platform for social contacts, exchange of news and, not least, the transmission and communication of the Jesus tradition. 2. In the texts in focus of the present study, there is a common pattern of the story of Jesus and the ethical response elicited. While there are some clear differences in the terminology, themes and perspectives in the various ways of telling the story of Jesus in our texts, there is also a notable coherence and consistency in the basic structure of the story of Jesus and the ethical response expected. The story contains at least ten theological and six ethical items. The theological items are: (1) In continuity with the Scriptures, (2) God, the Father, (3) is revealed in Jesus Christ, (4) the man Jesus (5) and the exalted Christ, (6) the mediator or means of salvation, and (7) in order to bring about God’s salvation (8) on behalf of all men, (9) this was confirmed by the prophetic Spirit and (10) will be brought to completion at the future return of Jesus Christ. The ethical items, elicited in response to God’s saving acts in Jesus Christ are (1) man is called to make a committed and proper response (by receiving, by repentance, by believing) and by forming a community of responding/believing members. This response should be manifested (2) in Christ-like attitudes and virtues (love, godliness, humility), (3) in high moral standards, (4) by the renunciation of the things of this world (worldly values/material possessions), (5) by non-participation in pagan cultic life (idolatry), and (6) by a willingness to suffer for the sake of Christ. Although our texts make different claims concerning the authority and legitimacy of the true Jesus-tradition (as demonstrated in the previous chapter), there is a remarkable consistency in the basic structure of the story of Jesus in these traditions.221 The story of Jesus contains not only 221

Other corollary themes may also have been developed in this analysis (e.g., the sin of men and the judgment of the wicked), but these items are enough to demonstrate that

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theological convictions about Jesus Christ, but also a demand for an ethical response. As a complement to James Dunn, who finds the unifying strand and the integrating center of the New Testament in the unity between the historical Jesus and the exalted Christ (“that which really distinguishes Christianity from its first-century rivals is Jesus, the man and the exalted one, Christ crucified and risen marking out both the centre and the circumference”),222 I would suggest from the results of the present analysis, that the ethical response expected from those who hold this belief seems to have been equally important in distinguishing false belief from the true belief in Jesus Christ.223 The story of Jesus called for followers. As a matter of fact, those persons who kept the diverse Christian movement together were also individuals who modeled the story of Jesus in their own lives. Whether it is Paul the apostle in prison, John the Prophet deported to Patmos or Bishop Ignatius in chains on his way to Rome, we meet in these texts some followers and imitators of Jesus Christ, who were not only involved in shaping theoretical ideas and theological doctrines about what they considered to be true and false belief in Jesus Christ, but we also meet individuals, who not only talked about the story Jesus but also walked in the way of Jesus. In the end, it was their readiness to suffer for Jesus Christ that gave authority to both their words and their lives. 224 It was not only their teaching that shaped the notion of the prototypical believer, but also their lives as examples and prototypes of the true Christ-believer. All this contributed to a more coherent or ‘normative’ articulation of the narrative structure of the early Christian self-understanding and identity. Common meta-narratives and stories have deeper structures, which give a social group meaning and self-understanding, and they play a crucial role in the shaping of cohesion, solidarity and unity within a group. The story of Jesus is a typical example of such a story or narrative. First, by quoting from the sacred Scriptures, the story of Jesus is set within the greater narrative framework of the story of Israel: God’s acts in Jesus Christ stand in continuity with God’s preceding saving acts in history. Thus, the authors stand in continuity not only with the story of Israel, but they continue to there is a coherent center in the canonical texts as far as theology and ethos are concerned. 222 Dunn, 1990: 369. 223 Cf. Reumann (1991: 290), who finds the unity in the New Testament in Jesus and in the experience of faith (“the way that hearers or readers are asked to respond in faith, by believing in God and Jesus Christ, trusting, lining with the obedience of faith”), or Thielman (2005: 691–98), who also sees “faith as response to God’s gracious initiative” as belonging to the core of New Testament theology. 224 This is particularly clear in Ignatius’s use of the motif of martyrdom as a way to legitimize his ministry in the congregations (cf. Bommes, 1976: 198–213).

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tell this story from the perspective of Jesus Christ. Secondly, when this story of Jesus was told with all its facets ― the stress on the humanity, the death and the exaltation of Jesus Christ in continuity with the Scriptures and the call for a proper response in faith and love, in moral purity, by endurance, suffering and by the renunciation of this ‘world’ ― it created a sense of commonality and shared identity. The individual believer’s conversion and continuing experience could be accommodated as “the lengthy, difficult process of reinterpreting his or her personal history in the light of the narratives and symbols that give the Christian community its identity”.225 It is this hearing of the story of Jesus, and the process of bringing people into a relationship with it, that, in Rowan Williams’s words, lies at the heart of “what is mysterious in Christian beginnings”.226 The story of Jesus in history, retold orally and re-enacted and modeled by believers, corporately and individually, shaped the boundary lines of belonging as well as of exclusion; this narrative would have united some, others would have been disqualified and excluded. In particular, we may suspect that those who responded positively to the ethical obligations of our authors distanced themselves from the common social norms and expectations in the surrounding Greco-Roman society, and particularly from the expectation to participate in the civic cults. 3. In urging the Ephesian believers to come together under one local bishop and to stand united against Docetic influences, Ignatius draws on various textual traditions. In the previous chapter we noted how Ignatius himself forms the prototype of the charismatic bishop, prophet and teacher, who brings the believers together in faith, love and unity. In this chapter, we saw that Ignatius makes use of basically the same narrative structure in his presentation of the story of Jesus and its ethical obligations as the Pauline (1–2 Tim.), the Johannine (1–3 John) and the prophetic traditions do (Rev.). Most of the items are present in Ignatius, although some of them are not as explicitly stressed as in the ‘canonical’ texts (e.g., the renunciation of material possession or the demarcations against pagan cults). I do not argue for a literary dependence on the part of Ignatius, but he clearly stands in a tradition with connections to both to the Pauline and the Johannine traditions, and possibly also to the apocalyptic tradition of John the Prophet. It is part of Ignatius’s strategy to make use of these traditions in order to argue his case (e.g., his use of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians points in this direction). Readers who were connected with one or several of the ‘canonical’ textual traditions in Ephesus would most

225 226

Stroup, 1981: 241. Williams, 1989: 17.

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probably ― at least at a theoretical level ― have identified with the basic aspects of the story of Jesus Christ as told by Ignatius.227 4. At least since the publication of Walter Bauer’s Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum in 1934, many scholars have seen the diversity of the early Christian movement as the norm throughout the first and second centuries, with no single network at hand ― and certainly no recognizable ‘orthodox’ network ― which at the same time held a cohesive set of beliefs and a numerical majority in the communities of believers together. According to Bauer, there was no sense of ‘right belief’ or ‘center of the faith’ during the period from around 65 to 135 CE; ‘orthodoxy’ was simply the view of the later winners (who also wrote the history).228 Concerning the development in Ephesus, Bauer writes: Even Ephesus cannot be considered as a center of orthodoxy, but is rather a particularly instructive example of how the life of an ancient Christian community, even one of apostolic origin, could erode when caught in the turbulent crosscurrents of orthodoxy and heresy. 229

As we noted in chapter one, Bauer draws this conclusion mainly on the grounds that the Pauline influence in that community was in decline (e.g., John’s silence of Paul in Revelation) and the presence of rivalry and conflicts among the groups of Christ-believers. As far as Ephesus is concerned, I think it is legitimate to talk about the Christian movement(s) there as a diversity of groups, both sociologically and theologically. Actually, the case for several concurrent and competing understandings of the Jesus-tradition in Ephesus could be made more strongly than Bauer attempted. I also generally agree with Bauer that we could find traces of ‘heresies’ early on, and that some of them may also have been in majority locally (e.g., this seems to have been the case in 1–2 Tim.). However, the recognition of the existence of competing claims in Ephesus does not necessarily mean that Ephesus could not have been “a center of orthodoxy.” It seems actually to be precisely the struggle for truth and sound teaching that created an environment, in which new developments in thought and practice evolved, and in which a strong need 227 Commenting on the author of Revelation and Ignatius, Bauer (1972: 77) argues: “It would not be easy to uncover significant common features that would permit us to group the two authors together as representatives of the same sort of Christian religious position.” Although there is some justification for this conclusion (as we noted in chapter 4), I suggest ― in reponse to Bauer ― that as far as the basic story of Jesus and the ethical response to that story are concerned, there are also some considerable similarities that would probably have created a sense of affiliation, or even of kinship, between the two authors in question. 228 Bauer, 1972: xxi–xxv. 229 Bauer, 1972: 82 (italics original).

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for coherency and unity emerged. The quest for true Christ-belief and proper behavior formed common patterns and structures (what Gerd Theissen labels a “grammar of belief” or “the inner normativeness of primitive Christian faith”) that would, at least potentially, have created a sense of commonality between some groups of Christ-believers and drawn lines of exclusions towards others.230 In the texts in focus of this study, we have found a strong sense of how the authors apply criteria by which to judge whether a certain belief or behavior is in keeping with ‘the tradition’, with ‘sound teaching’ or with ‘the truth’.231 This points to a strong doctrinal and ethical self-consciousness on the part of the ‘canonical’ authors. As we have seen, amidst all the diversity that existed among earlier writers, who are usually regarded as playing for the side that won, there are certain theological commonalities visible, many of which also served as boundaries between them and many of the ‘losers’. The present study speaks in favor of a diversified Christian movement in Ephesus at the beginning of the second century with influential translocal leaders and writers, who wanted to hold the believers and the groups together by building networks with other groups through their understanding of the story of Jesus. Finally, the commonality in the way in which the story of Jesus Christ is told (belief and behavior) in the ‘canonical’ writings that belong to this geographical area is generally in continuity with later orthodoxy. As far as western Asia Minor is concerned, this commonality suggests that ‘orthodoxy’ was “not a later imposition of an alien form, but rather a natural outgrowth of something that had its roots in the NT period”.232 ‘Orthodoxy’ should thus not be seen as a later victory by those in powerful positions, or as something determined by the majority, but as something that belonged to an earlier period (although it would be anachronistic to 230

Theissen (1999: 283) concludes: “It was not external means of power but the inner normativeness of primitive Christian faith which led to the exclusion of the Gnostics. Thus the grammar of primitive Christian faith forms the inner canon within the canon. The writings merely established themselves because they correspond to this inner canon.” 231 There are three tests common to 1–2 Tim., 1–3 John, Rev., and Ign.Eph. that are frequently applied to attempts to define true or normative belief and behavior: the incarnational test (God as creator and that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh; 1 Tim. 2:5; 3:16; 1 John 4:2; 2 John 7; Rev. 4:1–5:13; Ign.Eph. 7.2; 19.3), the moral test (the quest for moral purity and a godly life; 1 Tim. 4:1–14; 2 Tim. 3:1–5; 1 John 1:6–10; 2:3–6; Rev. 2:6, 14–16; Ign.Eph. 8.1–2; 19.3), and the suffering test (the willingness to suffer for Christ; 1 Tim. 3:12; 1 John 3:13; Rev. 13:10; 14:12; Ign.Eph. 1.2; 10.3). 232 Trebilco, 2006: 41. As an example of this, John the Prophet praises the Christbelievers in Ephesus for their intolerance of ‘false apostles’ (Rev. 2:2). He apparently perceived Ephesus as one of the better ‘orthodox’ communities mentioned among the seven.

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speak of ‘orthodoxy’ in that period).233 This does not necessarily contradict Bauer’s thesis that ‘heresy’ came first, but it does cast doubt on the simple idea that ‘orthodoxy’ is only a response to ‘heresy’. In fact, ‘orthodoxy’ and ‘heresy’ seem to presuppose each other and we therefore need to allow for parallel developments.234 On the whole, then, there is much more of commonality between the textual traditions that belong to Ephesus than Bauer’s thesis actually allows. Contrary to Bauer, much indicates that, already at the beginning of the second century, the Christian movement in Ephesus had developed a sense of theological commonality to such a degree that we may indeed speak of Ephesus as a ‘center of orthodoxy’.

233 Early in the second century, we find examples of the terminology in question. Ignatius uses the adjective kaqolikh/ to describe h( e)kklhsi/a (Smyr. 8.2), which at least includes the notion of universality. In Diogn. 11.2 the phrase o)rqw~j didxaqei/j is used in reference to the disciple who had been rightly taught. Cf. also Justin’s (Dial. 80.5) with its reference to right-minded (o)rqognw&monej) Christians. Hill (2004: 5) argues from this that “There was . . . not only a concept of what belonged to ‘right’ or ‘orthodox’ teaching and what was characteristic of the ‘catholic’ Church in the second century, but also an evolving use of these very terms.” 234 I think Boyarin (2004: 3) comes closer to the truth when he says, “orthodoxy and heresy must, of necessity, come into the world of discourse together. Orthodoxy and heresy are decidedly not things, but notions that must always be defined in each other’s context.” (Italics original.)

Bibliography 1. Primary Sources 1.1. Ancient Texts and Translations The Ante-Nicene Fathers: Translation of the Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325. 10 vols. Eds. A. Roberts and J. Donaldson. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977–86. The Apostolic Fathers. 2 vols. LCL. Transl. K. Lake. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1912–13. The Ascension of Isaiah Translated from Ethiopic Version, which together with the New Greek Fragment, the Latin Versions and the Latin translation of the Slavonic is here published in full. Transl. R. H. Charles. London: Black, 1900. The Babylonian Talmud. 17 vols. Ed. I. Epstein. London: Soncino, 1935–42. Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Eds. W. Rudolph, K. Elliger. New ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1977. The Dead Sea Scrolls in English. 3rd ed. Transl. G. Vermes. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987. De Apostoliska fäderna. Transl. Andrén, O. and P. Beskow. Stockholm: Verbum, 1992. The Mishnah. Transl. H. Danby. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933. Novum Testamentum Graece. Ed. E. Nestle et al. 27th ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1993. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Ed. J. H., Charlesworth New York: Doubleday, 1985. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Father of the Christian Church, vol. 3: Theodoret, Jerome, Gennadius, Rufinus. Eds. P. Schaff and H. Wace. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983. Septuaginta: Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes. Ed. A. Ralphs. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1935. Talmud: The Gemara. Eds. H. Goldwurm and N. Scherman. New York: Mesorah Publications, 1990. Aristotle. The ‘Art’ of Rhetoric. LCL. Transl. J. H. Freese. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926. Cassius Dio. Roman History. 9 vols. LCL. Transl. E. Cary. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1914–27. Cicero. 28 vols. LCL. Transl. H. Rackham et al. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1912–99. Dio Chrysostom. Discourses. 5 vols. LCL. Transl. J. W. Cohoon, H. Lamar, H. Crosby. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1932–51. Epictetus. The Discourses as Reported by Arrian, the Manual, and Fragments. 2 vols. LCL. Transl. W. A. Oldfather. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928. Epipanhius. Ancoratus und Pandarion. Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte. Ed. K. Holl. Leipzig: Hinrich, 1915. Eusebius. The Ecclesiastical History. 2 vols. Transl. K. Lake, J. E. L. Oulton. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926–32.

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1.2. Inscriptions and Papyri Boeckh, A., ed. (1828–77). Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum. 4 vols. Berlin. Dittenberger, G., et al. (1873–1939). Inscriptiones Graecae. 14 vols. Berlin. Dittenberger, W., ed (1903–05). Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae: Supplementum Sylloges Inscriptionum Graecarum. 2 vols. Leipzig: Apud S. Hirzel. Frey, P. J.-B., ed. (1975). Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum: Corpus of Jewish Inscriptions: Jewish Inscriptions from the Third Century B.C. to the Seventh Century A.D., vol. 1: Europe. Prolegomenon by B. Lifschitz. New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1975. Horsley, G. H. R., ed. (1981). New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, Vol. 1: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri published in 1976. Macquarie University: The Ancient History Documentary Research Centre. Horsley, G. H. R., ed. (1982). New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, Vol. 2: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri published in 1977. Macquarie University: The Ancient History Documentary Research Centre. Horsley, G. H. R., ed. (1987). New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, Vol. 4: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri published in 1979. Macquarie University: The Ancient History Documentary Research Centre. Mommsen, T., et al., eds. (1862–). Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Berlin. Noy, D., eds. (1993–95). Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tcherikover, A. and A. Fuks, eds. (1957–64). Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum. 3 vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

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Index of Ancient Sources A. The Old Testament Genesis 1:10–11 1–9 4:1–6 4:8 10:23 10:31 12:3

108 87 288 268 109 109 109

Exodus 7:11 7:22 12:1–20 12:43–49 15:11 19:6 29:42 32:15–16

263 263 272 272 109 110 272 285

Leviticus 16–17 19:32 23:12

267 263 272

Numbers 1–2 16:5 16:26 26

273 263 263 273

Deutoronomy 15:7 25:4 33:1

268 263 168, 263

Joshua 14:6

168

1 Samuel 9:6

168

2 Samuel 3:18

110

1 Kings 2:27 17:18 17:24 18:36

168 168 168 110

2 Kings 1:10 4:7 4:9 18:12

168 168 168 110

1 Chronicles 1:5 23:14

75 168

2 Chronicles 6:3 23:14

110 168

Ezra 5:11

110

Nehemiah 1:6 12:24

110 168

Psalms 2:7–8 2:9 32:5 33:9 33:23 86:8–10 89:1 96:2–13 98:1–2 148:5

124 272, 274 268 290 110 109, 276 168 276 109 290

Index of Ancient Sources Proverbs 2:6 2:16 3:34 20:9 28:13 28:22 30:8

263 268 290 268 268 263 263

Ecclesiastes 5:18–19

87

Isaiah 2:2–4 7:14 22:22 28:16 42:1–4 42:6 42:19 44:6 45:23 47:10 53:9 56–66 60:3 65:1

108 127 107 263 125 125 110 271 113 285 268 214 108 124

Jeremiah 3:2 3:9 10:6–7

101 101 109, 276

333

15:2 31:34 43:11

288 268 288

Ezekiel 23:19

101

Daniel 3:26 7:9–14 7:13–14 7:14 7:18 7:21 7:22 7:25 7:27

110 271 271 109 110 110 110 110 110

Hosea 6:10 9:1

101 101

Nahum 3:1–4

285

Zechariah 2:10–11 9–14

276 214

Malachi 1:11

242

B. The New Testament Matthew 5:47 6:7 16:22 18:17 20:28

99 99 268 99 264

Luke 1:1–4 5:33 7:18–19 10:7 16:1–8 16:4

28 78 78 263 293 82

Mark 7:15 7:18–23 10:45 13 15:21

88 87 264 270 88

John 1:1 1:12 1:40 3:3

268 100 34 34

334 3:5 3:13 4:6 6:46 6:51–58 8:31 8:44 8:46 9:22 9:34–35 9:41 11:52 12:42 13:20 14:2 15:9–10 15:22 15:24 16:2 17:1–26 18:36–37 20:28 21:2

Acts 4:6 8:40 10:45 11:2 11:26 13:1–14:20 13:4–12 13:16 13:22 13:48–50 14:1 16:1 16:3 16:5 16:6–7 16:14 17:4 17:5–9 17:6–7 17:12 18–19 18–20 18:4 18:12–17 18:19

Index of Ancient Sources 34 215 129 215 34 48 103 282 35, 93, 97, 104 97 282 100 35, 93, 97, 104 229 34 48 282 282 35, 93, 97, 104 251 48 268 34

32, 88 208 85 85 112 242 79 73 82 73 73, 81 81 81 9 24 73 73 108 77 73, 81 14f., 29, 64f., 101 7, 17, 29, 41, 79, 236 81 77, 104 9, 69

18:19–21 18:19–19:41 18:19–20:1 18:19–20:38 18:20 18:21 18:24 18:24–26 18:24–27 18:24–28 18:25 18:26 19 19–20 19:1 19:1–7 19:1–20:1 19:4 19:8 19:8–10 19:9 19:10 19:11–12 19:13–16 19:13–20 19:17 19:17–18 19:17–20 19:18 19:19 19:23 19:23–40 19:23–41 19:24 19:24–27 19:26 19:26–27 19:28 19:30–31 19:31 19:34 19:35 19:40 20:1 20:5–12 20:13–38 20:16–17 20:17–38 20:18–35 20:21 20:30 20:29–30

15f. 76 15, 23 26 78 9 9 29 15f. 21, 78 10 69 17, 21, 27f., 81 232 9 7, 15, 29, 78 16 78 69 15, 24, 80 78, 80 9, 78, 81 15 78 15 9, 78, 81 80 78 81 81 76 71, 76 76 297 81 78, 80–82 9 76 78 78 77 77 77 15 242 23 9 15 21, 29 78, 80f. 159 137

Index of Ancient Sources 21:8–10 21:28 21:28–29 23:27–30 24:5–6 24:10–16 25:1–7 26:28

208 81 80 77 77 77 104 1, 112, 291

Romans 1:8 2:28–29 3:25 6:3–11 6:14 9:2 13:11 14:10–12 14:11 16 16:1–2 16:3–4 16:5 16:16

247 107 268 159 113 219 211 231 113 11, 14, 20, 82 247 10 9 247

1 Corinthians 1:2 1:11 1:12 1:19–20 1:26 3:4–6 4:6–13 4:16–17 4:17 4:17 6:2 6:9–20 6:20 7:1 7:7–11 7:17 7:25 7:29 9:17 9:27 10:18 10:23–30 13:13 15:9

242, 218 14 10 218 301 10 14 247 167 91 231 218 274 88 159 247 91, 167 211 293 219 301 88 280 21

15:30–33 15:32

335

16:1 16:1–4 16:1–9 16:3–4 16:8 16:8–9 16:9 16:12 16:12–19 16:13–14 16:15–16 16:17 16:19 16:20

14 9f., 18, 23f., 26, 232 247 24 232 247 9, 24, 159 14, 23, 26 9, 18, 24 9, 159 14 299 183 247 9, 21, 47, 247 47

2 Corinthians 1:1–10 1:8 1:8–10 1:8–11 1:21–22 2:12 2:14 6:15 8:19 8:23 12:2 12:4

10 9 10, 26 14, 18, 23 199 242 242 91, 167 247 247 24, 272 272

Galatians 1:13–14 1:16 2:14 3:9 3:13 3:28 4:5 4:10 4:14 5:2–14 5:6 5:22 6:7 6:15

112 301 114 91, 167 274 159, 171 274 62 301 113 175, 280, 299 175, 280 231 101

Index of Ancient Sources

336 Ephesians 1:1 1:3–5 1:7 1:10 1:11 1:19 1:23 2:6 2:11–22 2:14 3:2 3:9 4:1–32 4:11–12 5:2 5:23 6:21 6:23

9, 17, 54, 82, 294 294 294 293f. 294 294 218 159 9, 82, 135 274 293 293 251 189 296 261 91, 167 175, 280

Philippians 1:1 1:21 1:23 2:11 2:17 3:3 3:20 4:5 4:22

183, 211 300 300 113 300 107 261 211 247

Colossians 1:4 1:7 1:25 2:12 2:16 2:16–23 3:1 4:7 4:9 4:11

175, 280 91, 167 293 159 62 88 159 91, 167 91, 167 85

1 Thessalonians 1:3 1:7–8 1:8 2:14–16 3:6

300 247 218, 242 104, 108 175, 280, 299

3:12 4:17 5:2–3 5:8 5:12

300 272 211 175, 280 183

2 Thessalonians 1:3 2:8

175, 280 261

1 Timothy 1:1 1:2 1:3 1:3–4 1:3–7 1:3–11 1:4 1:4–5 1:5 1:6–12 1:6–14 1:7 1:8 1:8–11 1:8–14 1:9 1:9–10 1:9–11 1:10 1:12 1:12–17 1:12–20 1:13 1:13–16 1:14 1:15 1:15–18 1:16 1:17 1:18 1:18–20 1:19 1:20 2:1–2

158, 179, 187, 261, 263 48, 90, 263 9, 24f., 159, 171, 293 114, 160, 187 155, 159 262 87, 90, 157, 169, 263, 280, 293 299f. 158, 164, 168, 176, 280 280 210 85, 87, 114, 132, 157, 159f. 85 279, 281, 288 187 91, 158, 261, 263 160 85, 155 172, 188f. 187 172, 265, 280 187 172 158, 264 90, 187, 280, 299 91, 167, 178, 261f. 160 172, 264f., 277, 294 178, 191, 279, 281 187f., 215 44, 155, 160, 262 90, 168, 176, 280 26, 88, 158 174

Index of Ancient Sources 2:1–4 2:1–6 2:1–7 2:1–8 2:2 2:3 2:3–5 2:3–6 2:4 2:4–5 2:4–6 2:5 2:5–6 2:5–10 2:6 2:7 2:8 2:9 2:9–10 2:9–15 2:10 2:11–12 2:11–15 2:12 2:15

3:1 3:1–7 3:1–13 3:2 3:3 3:4 3:4–5 3:5 3:7 3:8 3:8–10 3:1–13 3:8 3:9 3:11 3:12 3:13 3:14 3:14–16

178, 278 288 155 242 158, 162, 173, 175, 191, 280 261, 263–65 261 262 90, 246, 261, 264 215 277 85, 90, 261, 263, 277f., 288, 294, 306 261, 263f. 178 90, 242, 264, 277, 294 90, 158f., 187f., 280 89 176, 300 176, 281 155, 279 175, 280 300 157 159, 162, 188 48, 90, 162, 164f., 176, 178, 261f., 280, 300 91 89 158, 189 159, 163–65, 176f., 188, 191, 245, 281 164 162, 165, 189 163f. 162 162, 177, 191 164 231 155 163f., 176 90, 184, 176, 280 163f. 163, 165, 280, 288, 306 90, 162 48 155, 165

3:15 3:16

4:1 4:1–3 4:1–5 4:1–8 4:1–14 4:2 4:3 4:3–4 4:3–5 4:4 4:5–6 4:6 4:6–7 4:6–10 4:6–16 4:7 4:7–8 4:8 4:9 4:9–10 4:10 4:11 4:12 4:12–16 4:13 4:13–14 4:14 4:14–15 4:16 5:1 5:1–2 5:1–16 5:2 5:4 5:5 5:7 5:8 5:9 5:10

337 162, 170, 189, 242 90f., 158, 173–75, 177, 215, 246, 252, 261–65, 277f., 280, 288, 294, 306 90, 158f., 188, 206, 209f., 264, 266 137 155, 262 86 306 164, 171, 176, 280 85, 91, 132, 162, 164f., 167, 178 87 90, 157, 263f., 278, 288 85 250, 288 90f., 169, 175, 188, 280 164 155 187 86, 158, 169, 173, 192, 280 173, 175, 177f., 252 86, 158, 173, 264, 280, 294 91, 167, 252, 262 160, 175, 262 90f., 167, 179, 261f., 264f., 278 158f., 171, 188 90f., 167, 172, 280f. 158 89, 159, 188 210 189, 206, 210, 215 164 159, 188, 261 91, 169, 189, 263 170 187 91, 169, 281 173, 280 231 162 90, 162, 171 163, 165 91, 175, 280

338 5:11–15 5:12 5:13 5:13–15 5:14 5:14–15 5:15 5:16 5:17 5:17–20 5:17–22 5:18 5:21 5:24–25 5:25 6:1 6:1–2 6:2 6:2–3 6:3 6:3–5 6:3–6 6:3–10 6:3–11 6:4 6:5 6:5–6 6:6 6:6–16 6:7–10 6:8 6:9 6:9–10 6:10 6:11

6:11–12 6:11–13 6:11–16 6:12 6:13–14 6:13–16 6:14 6:14–17 6:15 6:15–16 6:17

Index of Ancient Sources 155 90 157, 162 163f. 162, 191 165 162, 167 91, 167 159, 188f., 191, 279 89, 189 187, 206 85, 263 187 171 175, 280 162, 177f., 188, 191 171 91, 158, 167, 169, 188 171 158, 171–73, 177, 188f., 280 155 175, 178 169, 171, 178, 281 160f., 192 158 158, 161, 164, 175, 280 173, 177 158, 164, 175f., 178, 280 155 231 164, 177, 263 263 164, 215, 281 90 90, 158, 161, 168f., 173, 177f., 192, 263, 280, 300 179 280 288 90, 264f., 277, 294 48, 264 191, 279 261, 264–66 191 281 178 177, 266

6:17–19 6:18 6:18–19 6:19 6:20 6:20–21 6:21

2 Timothy 1:1 1:2 1:3 1:3–18 1:5 1:6 1:6–7 1:6–8 1:6–12 1:6–14 1:6–18 1:7 1:7–10 1:8 1:8–9 1:9 1:9–10 1:9–11 1:10 1:11 1:12 1:13 1:13–15 1:14 1:15 1:15–18 1:16 1:18 2:1–13 2:2 2:7 2:7–8 2:8 2:8–13 2:8–15 2:9–10 2:10 2:10–11 2:10–13

190, 281, 288 175, 280 281 264–66, 294 87f., 137, 158, 163, 175, 188, 250, 264 155 90

158, 187, 265 48, 90, 169, 263 176, 280 172 90 215 189 160 165 206 44 176, 192 178 280 261 86, 261 261f. 263 261, 263–65, 294 158, 187f. 188, 265, 281 90, 172, 189, 280, 299 155 188, 264 24, 159, 242 242 162, 281 9, 25, 242, 264f. 172 91, 167f., 188 263 264 90, 187, 264 262, 281, 289 252 252, 262 91, 172, 178, 261, 264 264 265, 288

Index of Ancient Sources 2:11 2:11–13 2:12 2:13 2:14 2:14–18 2:15 2:16 2:16–19 2:17–18 2:18 2:19 2:20 2:20–21 2:21 2:22 2:23 2:24 2:24–26 2:25 2:26 3:1 3:1–5 3:1–6 3:1–9 3:2 3:2–4 3:2–5 3:3 3:4 3:5 3:6 3:7 3:8 3:10 3:11 3:12 3:13 3:13–17 3:14 3:14–17 3:15 3:15–17 3:16 3:17 3:21 4:1

91, 167, 252, 262 265 178, 264 168 171 155 252 164, 173, 177 250, 262 264 88, 90, 137, 157, 159, 171, 265 263 162 172, 189 175, 280 90, 161, 164, 175, 280 155, 164 158, 188 155 158 161 266 161, 175, 306 281 155 162, 164f., 178 161, 164 158 163f. 161 158, 173, 175, 178, 280 26, 159, 162, 164f. 159 90, 158, 161, 263 90, 172, 178, 188, 280, 300 242 173f., 177, 178f., 192, 280f., 288f. 161, 169 159 158 89, 159 85, 90, 261, 280 85 188 168f., 280 175, 280 261, 264–66, 288

339

4:1–5 4:1–8 4:2 4:2–3 4:3 4:4 4:6 4:6–8 4:6–12 4:7 4:8 4:10 4:10–13 4:12 4:14 4:14–15 4:16–18 4:17 4:18 4:19 4:20 4:21

169 191 158, 188 159 188f. 169 189, 300 281, 288 44 90 261, 264–66 179, 242, 266 242 9, 25, 242 77 155 281 264 261, 265 25, 162 242 91, 169

Titus 1:1 1:3 1:4 1:5 1:5–7 1:5–9 1:6 1:7 1:8 1:9 1:10 1:11 1:14 1:15 2:1 2:2 2:4 2:5 2:6 2:7–8 2:10 2:10–11 2:11 2:11–12 2:11–13 2:11–14 2:12

91, 158, 173, 280 261 157 242 189 158 159, 163, 165 164 176, 245 87, 159 85f., 133, 165 164 85f. 85, 164 158 175f., 280, 300 176 157, 176 176 158 261 265 261, 265 178 191 262 173, 176, 266, 280

Index of Ancient Sources

340 2:13 2:14 2:15 3:2 3:3 3:4 3:4–7 3:5 3:5–11 3:8 3:9 3:10

261, 265 264, 277, 294 171 164 158 261 262 261 158 91, 167, 171, 262 85f., 157, 164 158

Philemon 5 16

175, 280, 299 301

Hebrews 8:12 9:5

268 268

1 Peter 4:16

1, 112

2 Peter 2:1

274

1 John 1:1 1:1–2 1:1–5 1:2 1:1–4 1:3 1:3–8 1:5 1:5–10 1:5–2:2 1:6 1:6–10 1:7 1:8 1:8–10 1:9 1:9–10 2:1

267f. 267 201 198, 267f. 198f., 201, 217 96, 198, 268f. 251 198f. 283 266 198f. 282, 306 267, 277, 282 199, 268 282 268f. 282 99, 198, 201, 205, 269

2:1–2 2:2 2:3 2:3–6 2:3–11 2:4 2:4–5 2:4–8 2:5 2:5–10 2:6 2:7 2:7–17 2:8 2:9 2:9–11 2:10 2:11 2:12 2:13–14 2:14 2:15 2:15–17 2:16 2:16–17 2:17 2:18 2:18–25 2:18–27 2:19 2:19–22 2:20 2:20–21 2:20–22 2:20–27 2:21 2:22 2:22–23 2:23–24 2:24 2:25 2:26–27 2:27 2:28 2:28–3:3 3:1

268 99, 267–69, 277, 294 232 306 283 199, 282 202 283 199, 202, 301 283 203, 282f., 289 34, 198f., 201 180 199, 301 99, 282 282 99, 203, 283 99 99, 198, 201, 269 210, 269 201 283 201f., 283 268, 283 34 99, 198, 203 99, 180, 198, 201, 218 37 137, 202, 250 93f., 203, 267 96 199, 269 206 199 199 199 93f., 96, 218, 266, 268 96, 268 96 34, 199, 203 267–69, 277, 294 269 199, 203, 206, 210, 268 99, 198, 201, 203 267, 269 288 99, 202, 246, 268, 283

Index of Ancient Sources 3:1–2 3:2 3:4 3:4–10 3:4–12 3:5 3:6 3:6–7 3:7 3:8 3:9 3:9–10 3:10 3:10–11 3:11 3:11–24 3:12 3:13 3:14 3:14–15 3:15 3:16 3:16–24 3:17 3:17–18 3:18 3:18–19 3:18–24 3:19 3:22 3:22–24 3:23 3:24 3:29 4:1 4:1–3 4:1–6 4:1–10 4:2

4:2–3 4:3 4:4 4:4–6 4:5

202, 205, 232, 269, 282 99, 198, 267, 269 93 180, 229, 282, 301 282 267–269 203, 282 202 99, 201 34, 232, 267–69, 274 203, 282f. 99 99, 283 99 34, 199 283 268, 288 99, 201f., 206, 284, 306 99, 203, 267, 269 268f., 277, 294 99, 203, 267 99, 269, 277, 282f., 289, 294 282 99, 203, 268, 283, 287 283 99, 199, 201 202 218, 283 199 232 229 96, 268, 282f., 300 203, 210, 269 283 198f., 209f., 283 96, 202, 269 37, 137, 202, 229, 250 267 94, 96, 98, 217, 266, 268, 277, 288, 294, 306 34, 232 218 99 202 98, 283

4:6 4:7 4:7–10 4:7–14 4:7–21 4:8 4:9 4:9–10 4:10 4:11 4:12 4:12–16 4:13 4:13–14 4:14 4:15 4:16 4:17 4:17–18 4:19 4:19–21 4:20 4:20–21 4:21 5:1 5:1–4 5:1–5 5:1–8 5:1–12 5:2 5:2–3 5:3 5:4 5:4–5 5:5–6 5:6 5:6–8 5:7 5:8 5:9 5:10 5:11 5:11–13 5:12 5:12–13 5:13 5:16 5:18

341 199, 206, 209, 269 98f., 198 252 288 283 268 267, 269, 294 268 267f. 198, 282f. 198, 203, 217 198 203, 210 269 99, 198, 267–69, 277 98, 203 48, 98, 203, 268, 283 288 270 34 282 99, 217, 229, 301 98, 202 99, 283 94, 96, 98f., 268, 283 300 250 37, 229 96 99 283 232 283 283 96, 268 198f., 266, 268f., 277, 294 96, 206, 210, 217 198 277 198 198, 283 267 268f., 294 267f. 269 267, 283 99, 202 229, 301

342 5:19 5:19–20 5:20 5:20–21 5:21

2 John 1 1–2 2 3

Index of Ancient Sources 202, 283, 288 199 96, 199, 267–69, 277, 294, 301 98 95, 97, 99, 284

9 10 10–11 12

199–203 201, 203 199, 202f. 49, 96, 199, 202f., 268 199, 202f., 205 283 199, 203 203 34, 94, 96, 217f., 232, 235, 250, 266, 268, 277, 288, 294, 306 48, 201, 203 11, 93, 235 245 38, 243

3 John 1 2 3 3–4 3–6 4 5 5–8 5–10 6–8 6 7 8 9 10 12 13–14

200, 202f. 201f., 232 99, 198f., 202 201 203 199, 202 99 282, 287 245 48, 243 36f., 95, 198, 201 99 199, 245 95, 200f. 95, 99, 201 198f., 201 38, 243

Revelation 1:1 1:1–2 1:1–3

110, 194, 271, 275 192, 271, 273 38, 271

4 4–6 5 6 7

1:2 1:3 1:4 1:5 1:6 1:7 1:8 1:9 1:9–20 1:10 1:10–19 1:11 1:12–16 1:12–20 1:17 1:18 1:19 2 2–3

2:1 2:1–7

2:2 2:2–6 2:3 2:4 2:5 2:6

2:7 2:8 2:8–13 2:9 2:10 2:11 2:12 2:13 2:13–15 2:14 2:14–15 2:14–16 2:15

213, 228 192–94, 211, 213, 228, 275, 285 206, 242, 274 108, 274, 277, 284– 86, 288f. 110, 273f. 109, 275 271, 273 109, 194, 213, 228, 285f. 192f. 193, 274 38 9, 38, 192f., 242 271 271 271, 273 274 192f. 40, 43, 46, 137, 180 102, 105f., 225, 240, 244, 251, 271, 284 9, 42, 193f., 226 20f., 38, 53, 100, 107, 139, 180, 227, 245 101, 194f., 227, 245, 285, 287, 306 235 285 197 250, 285, 288 20, 41, 101, 194, 196, 212, 277, 286f., 306 21, 101, 197, 206, 226, 272, 274, 277 93, 226, 274 286 101, 103f. 104, 274, 277, 285 197, 206, 226, 272, 274 193, 226 109, 284–86, 289 250 102, 180, 212, 285 101, 196, 286f. 306 212

Index of Ancient Sources 2:16 2:17 2:18 2:19 2:19–23 2:20 2:20–21 2:21 2:22 2:24 2:26 2:28 2:29 3:1 3:2–3 3:3 3:5 3:6 3:7 3:7–13 3:8 3:9 3:10 3:12 3:13 3:14 3:14–22 3:17–18 3:18 3:19 3:21 3:22 4:1 4:1–2 4:2 4:1–6 4:1–11 4:1–5:13 4:4 4:5 4:6–8 4:8 4:9 4:10 4:11 5:1 5:1–5 5:1–10 5:1–14 5:5

285 197, 206, 226, 274 193, 226 285, 288 197 110, 194, 197, 285, 287 285f. 285 197 194, 212 108, 197 272f. 206, 226, 274 193, 226, 274 211 285 197, 272–74, 277 206, 226, 274 107, 110, 193, 226 286 197, 213, 225, 228 101, 103f., 115, 288 108, 197, 213, 228, 285 197, 272 206, 226, 274 193, 226, 285 286 196, 286 274 285 197, 272f. 206, 226, 274 198 38 193, 274 197 196 306 194, 198 274 273 110, 194 273 273 273, 288 273 197 109, 274 271, 274 194, 272

5:5–14 5:6 5:8 5:8–14 5:9 5:10 5:11 5:12 5:12–13 5:12–14 5:13 5:14 6:9 6:9–11 6:10 6:11 6:15 6:16 7:1–8 7:3 7:4–8 7:9 7:9–10 7:9–17 7:10 7:14 7:15 7:17 8:3 8:3–4 8:4 8:13 9:20–21 9:21 10:1–11 10:6 10:7 10:8–11 10:10–11 10:11 11:1 11:2 11:6 11:7 11:8 11:9 11:10 11:13 11:15 11:15–18 11:16

343

194, 274f. 110, 194, 276f. 271 108f., 246, 274, 277, 285 110, 197, 274 194 272 274 286 273 194 213, 228 197, 286 108, 110 109f. 108 273 107 110, 194, 197 108 108f., 246, 274, 277 243, 276 108, 286 271, 274 277 273 274, 277 110 197 110 108 250, 285f. 285 271 217, 288 110, 193, 197 193 193 109 217, 225 108, 110 193 272 108 109 108 285 271, 274 286 194

344 11:17 11:18 12 12:1 12:1–11 12:1–12 12:5 12:7–8 12:9 12:10 12:11 12:13 12:17 13:1–10 13:7 13:8 13:9–10 13:10 13:10–17 13:12 13:14 13:16–17 14:1 14:1–5 14:1–6 14:3 14:3–4 14:4 14:6 14:6–7 14:7 14:8 14:9–10 14:10 14:12 14:13 14:14–16 14:14–20 14:17–18 15:2 15:2–4 15:3 15:3–4 15:4 16:6 16:7 16:10–11 16:14 16:15 16:19

Index of Ancient Sources 273 43, 108, 110, 193f. 225 272 252 272, 295 108, 272, 274 272 234 109, 211, 274 197, 272, 274, 277, 295 274 252, 272 196, 235 109f., 272, 276 108, 274, 277 197 110, 197, 285f., 288, 306 288 108 108 286 273 243 272, 288 194, 274 274 180, 196f., 285, 289 108f., 274f., 277 276, 286 285 108, 275, 285 285 110 197, 285, 288, 306 206, 274 271 271 225 272 109, 272 273 276 108, 274 194 273 285 108, 272 211, 288 108

17:1–3 17:2 17:3 17:4 17:6 17:8 17:10 17:14 17:15 17:17 17:18 18:1–4 18:1–24 18:2 18:3 18:9 18:20 18:23 18:24 19:1 19:1–10 19:1–21 19:2 19:4 19:5 19:6 19:7–8 19:8 19:9 19:10 19:11 19:11–21 19:13 19:15 19:19 20–21 20:2 20:2–6 20:3 20:4 20:6 20:8 20:9 20:11–15 20:12 20:15 21:1–4 21:1–10 21:2 21:3

38 108, 285 193, 274 285 108, 286, 289 108, 274, 277 217 197, 272, 285, 289 109, 276 213, 228, 274 108 196, 216 286 275 101, 108, 285f. 285 110, 194f. 108 110, 194, 286, 289 274 272, 275 272 110, 194, 285f. 194 110, 194, 197 273 197 110 213, 228 109, 193, 206, 243, 274f. 272, 285 272 213, 228 108 108, 272 234 234 235 108 213, 228, 286 110 108, 285 110, 288 275 274, 277 274, 277 243 272 110 108

Index of Ancient Sources 21:5 21:6 21:7 21:9 21:9–10 21:9–22:5 21:10 21:12–14 21:14 21:22 21:24 21:24–26 21:26 22:1 22:1–2 22:2 22:3 22:3–4 22:6 22:6–7 22:6–20 22:7–20 22:6–21 22:7 22:7–10 22:7–20 22:8–9

193, 213, 228, 273, 285 273f., 277 109, 272 197 38 107f. 110, 193, 274 108, 111 195 273 108 108 108, 286 274, 277 277 108, 274, 277 110, 194 110, 197 110, 194, 213, 228, 273f., 285 38 271 275 273 192, 213, 228, 285, 288 193

22:9 22:10 22:11 22:12 22:12–13 22:12–16 22:13 22:14 22:15 22:16 22:17 22:18 22:18–19 22:19 22:20

345 43, 109f., 194, 213, 228, 243 192, 213, 228, 275 110 273, 288 274 192 273 274, 277 285 43, 194, 243, 271, 285 206, 274, 277 194, 213, 228 192f. 110, 213, 228, 274, 277 271, 273, 275

273

C. Apocrypha and Septuagint 4 Kingdoms 9:22

285

8:1 11:25 14:38

60, 112 60 60, 112

Judith 16:14

290

Wisdom of Solomon 14:12 285

2 Maccabees 2:21

60, 112

Index of Ancient Sources

346

D. Jewish Pseudoepigrapha Ascension of Isaiah 3:13–4:22 3:21 3:21–31 3:24 3:25 3:28 3:29 3:31 6:1–17 9:12–15 11:2

1 Enoch 18:12–19:3 21:1–10 38:4–5 41:2 43:4 48:1 50:1 51:2 58:3 58:5 62:8 65:12 72:3 75:1 75:3

215 215 214f., 227 214 214f. 215 214 214 215 295 295

295 295 110 110 110 110 110 110 110 110 110 110 295 295 295

82:1–10 89:11–12 99:16 110:5

295 272 110 110

Letter of Aristeas 35–38 44–45 140 310

73 73 169 72

4 Maccabees 6:29 17:21 18:10–19

298 298 61

Sibylline Oracles 4 12:30–33

102 295

Testament of Joseph 9:3 272

Testament of Reuben 4:5–6 98

E. Dead Sea Scrolls 1QH 2.18 2.22 7.34 11.24

88 104f. 104 88

1QHab 11.1

88

1QM 6.6 10.10

110 110

12.1 16.10 15.9

110 110 104

1QS 3.13–15 4.9–11 10.9 10.12 11.6 11.15

87 161 88 88 88 88

Index of Ancient Sources CD 2.4

347

88

F. Philo Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat (Det. Pot.) 73 156

In Flaccum (In Flacc.) 46 66 54 66 172 66

Hypothetica 7.14

61

Legatione ad Gaium (Leg.) 115 61 155 71 155–157 72 158 71 210 61 245 75 315 65, 69

De Gigantibus (Gig.) 61 168

De migratione Abrahami (Migr.) 74 93

De Vita Mosis (Vit. Mos.) 2.41–43 62 2.43–44 60 2.45–47 87 2.212 26, 156

De mutatione nominum (Mut.) 24–25 168 125–128 168

De posteritate Caini (Post.) 38 93 86 156

De praemiiset poenis (Praem.) 162 61 166 60

De specialibus legibus (De spec. leg.) 1.51 61 1.52 61 3.29 61

De virtutibus (Virt.) 103 61

348

Index of Ancient Sources

G. Josephus Antiquitates Judaicae 1.53 93 1.60 93 4.131–155 61 8.191 61 12.119 65 12.119–124 70 12.125–126 66 12.148–153 66 14.115 61 14.186–188 65 12.187 61 14.185 67 14.186–267 67 14.223–227 68 14.223–230 68 14.224–226 68 14.225–227 69 14.227 69 14.228 71 14.228–230 68 14.229–230 71 14.231–232 71 14.232–240 72 14.234 71 14.235 61, 74 14.240 68, 71 14.258 61 14.259 61 14.259–261 72, 74 14.262–264 68f., 72, 74 14.262–267 70 14.263 61 14.267 67 14.301–323 67 16.27 72, 75 16.27–30 66, 69 16.28 68 16.31–35 67 16.31–57 72 16.41 70, 72 16.43 62 16.45 68, 70 16.58–60 67 16.160–161 70 16.160–168 68

16.160–178 16.163 16.163–164 16.164–165 16.166 16.167–168 16.169–170 16.172 16.172–173 16.174–175 18.259 18.312–313 19.280–285 19.280–291 19.287–291 19.303–311 20.100 20.147 20.256

67 72 68 68 75 68, 72 68 66, 68, 72 68f., 72, 74 65 66 70 70 67 67 67 66 66 208

Bellum Judaicum 7.44–62 7.218 7.410–419

70 105 208

Contra Apionem 2 2.38–39 2.39 2.40 2.65 2.69 2.175 2.282

60 66 65 66 66, 70 61 62 62

Vita 43

72

Index of Ancient Sources

349

H. Rabbinic Sources Targum Isaiah 22.22

107

b.Berakot 28b

94, 105

b.Yebamot

j.Meggilah 1.11 1.56–63

75 75

b.Sanhedrin 105a

102

46a

114

I. Apostolic Fathers 1 Clement 1.2 10.7 11.1 12.1 35.5

Ignatius of Antioch 245 245 245 245 245

To the Ephesians inscr.

1.1 Didache 11–12 12.4 15.1

245 112 228

Diognetus 10.3 11.2

34 307

Shepherd of Hermas Mandates 8.10 10.1.4

245 99

Similutudes 9.22 9.27 9.27.2

216 216 245

Visions 2.4 3.1 3.5

216 216 216

1.2 1.3 1.3–2.1 2.1 2.1–2 2.2 3.1 3.1–2 3.2 4.1 4.1–2 4.1–5.1 4.2 5.1 5.1–2 5.1–3 5.1–6.1 5.2 5.2–3 5.3 6.1 6.2 7.1

42, 54, 223, 244, 290f., 292, 294, 296f. 222, 290f., 293f., 296, 298, 301 222, 292, 298 117, 219, 222, 296 218 219, 222, 243, 296 219 219, 297, 306 222, 301 297f., 301 219f., 222, 224, 244, 246, 296, 301 219, 221f., 296 219, 221f., 244, 297 296 117, 221, 290, 292 219–21, 227, 297 224f., 227, 244, 300 219, 224, 301 244 117, 221, 223, 291 224 290 219f., 224, 228–30, 235, 245, 294, 296 137, 224, 227, 235, 301 180, 245, 297

350 7.1–2 7.2

8.1 8.1–2 8.2 9.1 9.1–2 9.2 10.1 10.1–3 10.2 10.2–3 10.3 11.1 11.2 11.2–12.2 12.2 13.1 14.1 14.1–2 14.2 15.1 15.2 15.3 16.1 16.1–2 16.1–19.3 16.2 17.1 17.1–2 17.2 18–19 18.1 18.1–2 18.2 19 19.1 19.1–2 19.1–3 19.2

Index of Ancient Sources 250 34, 37, 137, 219, 229, 290f., 292, 298, 301, 306 222, 298 137, 306 117, 181, 222, 296f., 301 137, 222–24, 235, 245, 291f., 296 117, 221f. , 296f. 117, 222, 297 291f., 293, 296 298 181, 222, 293 222, 297 117, 219, 222, 293, 296–98, 300f., 306 291f., 301 112, 117, 218, 221–23, 244, 297f. 219, 244 23, 211, 218f., 232, 293f., 298, 300f. 223f., 224, 296f. 221, 296, 300 222, 296 229, 296f., 301 223f., 227, 290 227, 300f. 117, 219, 221, 291f., 297, 300 117, 218 297 250 222f., 291f., 294, 296, 301 180, 223, 291 219, 291 291, 301 198 218, 222, 291, 293f., 298 229 37, 117, 222, 290f., 292f. 291 219, 225, 291, 295, 300 295 291, 295 290, 294f.

19.3 20.1 20.2

21.1 21.1–2 21.2

229, 290–92, 295f., 306 222, 290f., 293f., 296f. 117, 219, 221, 224, 228, 291f., 297, 300f. 222, 244, 298 222, 244, 298 244, 292, 298, 301

To the Magnesians 1.1 293 1.2 221, 292 2 219 2.1 220 3.1 117, 220 4.1 1, 112, 117, 224 4.4 112 5.2 117 6.1 219–21, 224, 227, 290 6.1–2 220 6.2 221 7.1 220, 291 7.1–2 224, 294 7.2 117, 221 8.1 103, 112–14 8.2 114, 290, 294 9.1 103, 114, 298 9.1–2 223 10.1 1, 112, 296 10.3 1, 103, 112, 114 11.1 291 11.2 244 13.1 296 13.1–2 224 13.2 224, 227 15.1 221, 244

To the Philadelphians inscr. 226, 291 1.1 221, 224 1.1–2 224 1.2 294 2 219 2.1 117 2.2 221 3.2 224 3.3 117, 218

Index of Ancient Sources 4 4.1 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1–2 7.1–3 7.2 7.2–8 8.1 8.2 9.1 9.2 11.1 10.2 11.2

115, 224 219, 221, 291 117, 221, 291, 294 117, 221 1, 103, 112f. 294 224 226 224 221, 296f., 300 117, 221, 224 221 114, 290f. 114, 225 291–93 243 219 221

To Polycarp inscr. 1.2 1.3 2.2 3.2 4.1 4.3 5.2 6.1 6.2 7.1 7.3 8.1 8.2 8.3 9.1 13.1

231 221 227 227 1, 221, 298 297 292 221, 231 219, 224, 231 300 292 112, 117 221 117 221, 291 221 117

To the Romans inscr. 2.2 3.2 3.3 4.1 4.1–2 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.3

291 117, 221, 292, 298, 300 1, 112, 117 1, 112, 291 294 298 117, 221, 298 219, 222f. 243 298

351

6.1 6.1–2 6.2 6.3 7.1 7.3 9.3 10.1 10.1–2

294, 300 297 117 223, 291, 296, 298 297 291 245 244 243

To the Smyrnians 1–3 1.1 1.1–2 1.1–5.2 1.2 2.1 3.1 3.1–2 3.3 4.2 5.1 5.2 5.3 6.1 6.2 7.1 7.2 8 8–9 8.1 8.1–2 8.2 9.1 9.2 10.1 12.2 13.1

198 291 291 37 115, 117, 291 294 291, 294 291 291 291, 298 114, 117, 290 291 117, 292 116, 296 198, 235, 297 293 116f., 224 219 227 221 219, 221, 224 244, 307 224 292 243 219, 221, 291 243, 297

To the Trallians inscr. 2.1 2.2 2.2–4 3.1 3.2 4–5 5.1 5.1–2 6.1–11.2

291f. 224, 294 219, 221, 227 219 219f., 221, 224, 227 219 116 219 226 37

Index of Ancient Sources

352 7.2 8.1 12.2 11.2 13.1

117, 221 291, 296 221 221 244

Martyrdom of Polycarp 10.1 112 12.1 104 13.1 104 17.2 104 18.1 104

4.3 5.1 5.2 5.3 6.1 6.2 7.1 7.1–2 7.2 8.1 9.1 11.2 11.2–3 12.3

231 231 34, 231 231 231 231 34, 232 34, 36f. 34 26 231 231 231 26

Polycarp To the Philippians 1.1 3.2 4.1

231 231 26, 231

J. Corpus Hermeticum 1.32

169

13.20

169

K. Patristic Sources Clement of Alexandria

Epiphanius

Stromateis 1.2.21.2–3.24.4 2.118.3 3.25.5–6

Panarion haereses 25.1.1–7.3 101

156 101 101

Eusebius of Caesarea Quis dives salvitur 42.1–2 13 42.2 9 On Prophecy (Ecl. Proph.) 11.1 200 27.1 200

Historia ecclesiastica 3.4.5 27 3.23.4 44 3.23.5–19 13 3.31.3 208, 232f., 241 3.37.1 235 3.39 233 3.39.3–4 9, 31, 186 3.39.4 32, 34, 200 3.39.4–6 31

Index of Ancient Sources 3.39.5–6 3.39.5–7 3.39.6 3.39.7 3.39.11–12 3.39.12 3.39.17 4.8.3–5 4.11.8–11 4.16.1–4.18.10 4.18.6 4.18.8 4.26.1–2 5.1.3–3.3 5.1.3–4.3 5.8.4 5.8.10 5.16.7–15 5.17.3 5.17.4 5.18 5.18.5 5.18.9 5.18.14 5.23.1–24.18 5.24.2 5.24.2–3 5.24.2–7 5.24.3 5.24.6 5.24.7 7.25.16 5.34.3–4 23 24.2–17

13 39 38 31f. 34 234 31, 232 119 119 119 9, 118, 232 234 234 235 9 33 127 234 234 235 9, 234 233 9, 234 9, 234 128 208 9 233 128 128, 233 246 39 31 9 9

Irenaeus Adversus haereses 1.1 9 1.9.2–3 32 1.13.7 27 1.16.3 31 1.24.1 264 1.26.1 116, 198, 229 1.26.3 101 1.27 200 2.14.7 27 2.21.2 27 2.22.5 31 3.1.1 27, 33

3.4 3.3.4. 3.11.1 3.14.1 3.16.5 3.16.8 3.21.1 3.39.11–12 4.14.3–8 4.16.3 4.20.11 4.26–27 4.30.4 5.17.1 5.20.2 5.33 5.33.3–4 5.34.2

353 9 23, 31–33, 36f., 45f., 198, 235 101 27 31 31 127 34 33 27 31 200 31 27 27 200 234 34

Justin Martyr Dialogue with Trypho 1.1 118 9.3 118 10.1 120 10.3 120 11 120 11.5 124, 126 12.3 121 14 120f. 16.2 118 16.4 104, 122 17 126 17.1 104, 120 18 120 19.1 120 19.6 120f. 20.2 120 21 120 23.2 121 24.2 121, 124 25 126 26–27 120 27.5 121 28.2 119 29.2 121 29.2–3 119 34 120f. 34.7–8 120 35.1 120

354 38.1 41.3 42 43.1 45.1 46.2 46.3–5 46–47 47.1 47.2 47.3 47.4 49.1 51 52.4 56–62 61–62 63 63–64 67 67–68 68 75 75.1–2 80 80.5 80–82 81.4 82 82.1 85.3 88.7 92 93.1–2 93.4 94 95.4 96.2 108.2–3 108.3 110 110.5 114 114.4 116.3 117.2 117.3 117.5 118 119 119.3 119.4

Index of Ancient Sources 123 119 126 120f. 232 120 121 120 124 123f., 126 123 104, 122f. 121 121 126 121 121 126 126 120f. 121 120 121 125 126 235, 307 9 39, 118, 234f. 118 234 120 34 120 125 104, 122 126 104, 122 122 104 118, 122 121, 126 104 120 121 126 126 104 126 121 124, 126 126 124

119.4–5 119.6 120.2 121 121.4 122 122.3 122.6 123.6 123.7 123.8–9 123.9 123–124 123–125 125 126–129 127 129 130 130.4 131.2 133.6 134 134.6 135 135.6 137.2 141.2 142.2

126 124 120 121 126 121 125 125 122 125 125 232 126 126 126 121 121 121 126 120 104 104, 122 125f. 125 126 125 104 120 118

1 Apology 1.1 28 31 32.7 53 61.4 64.2

119 234 121, 123 232 126 34 34

Tertullian Adversus Marcionem 1.29.2 101 3.24.4 234 Ad Nationes 1.14

104

De Praescr. Haereticum 33 101

Index of Ancient Sources Ad Scapulam Liber 5.1 9

Scorpiace 10.10

355

104

L. Other Greek and Latin Literary Sources Aristotle

Pliny

Politica 1313B

81

Rhetorica 1.9.4 1.9.41 3.19.1

156 156 156

Epistulae 10.96

1, 53

Plutarch Moralia 42A

81

Cicero Seneca De Oratore 2.43.182

156

Pro Flacco 28.67

72

Epistulae Morales 11.8–10 166

Suetonius Cassius Dio 2.11.45–46 68.1.2

156 156

Claudius 25.4

77

Domitian 12.2

106

Nero 16

1

Dio Chrysostom Orationes 4.33–36

156 Tacitus

Epictetus Discourses 3.21.11

Annales 15.44

1

81

M. Major Sources of Inscriptions Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicum (CIJ) 1.85 88 1.88 89 1.92 88

1.93 1.140 1.370 1.319

89 88 88 89

Index of Ancient Sources

356 1.494 1.501 1.508 1.509 1.523 1.533 1.537 1.606 1.639 1.1284 72 2.770

89 88 89 89 89 89 89 89 89 88 72

Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum (CIG) 3.5361 73

Corpus Papyrorum 1.149 2.153.95 2.153.99–100 3.473

Judaicarum (CPJ) 66 66 77 72

Die Inschriften von Ephesos (IvEph) 6a14 177

20B40 27.84 118 167 384 418 429 614b.18 683a.10 1001.5 1012.4 1104 1125 1155 1251 1340b.4 1606.10 2488.1 2579.2

80 177 177 177 177 177 177 177 177 80 80 118 118 118 89 177 177 177 177

Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae (OGIS) 1.428 72 2.493.11 77 2.510.11 77

Index of Modern Authors Aasgaard, R. 91, 170f. Allert, C. D. 118, 121, 176 Ameling, W. 69, 70, 73–75, 118 Applebaum, S. 66, 68 Arterbury, A. E. 245 Ascough, R. S. 246 Ashmore, R. D. 141 Aune, D. E. 38f., 43, 46, 53, 102–104, 110, 193–196, 204, 208, 212, 243, 245, 271f., 277, 286 Bagnall, R. S. 2 Bamberger, B. J. 114 Barclay, J. M. G. 27, 58, 60, 62, 66–68, 71–73, 80, 105, 142, 146, 148, 190 Barnard, L. W. 118f. Barr, D. L. 197, 272 Barrett, C. K. 29, 35, 81, 115, 198, 201 Bar-Tal, D. 258 Barth, F. 59, 91, 167 Bauckham, R. 18, 32, 36, 53, 105, 108f., 111, 128f., 131, 193, 196, 215f., 242, 271–275, 286 Bauer, W. 3–7, 43–45, 79, 134f., 145, 154, 202, 208, 211, 218, 230f., 238, 253, 305, 307 Baugh, S. M. 3 Beagley, A. J. 108 Beale, G. K. 38, 53, 273 Beasley-Murray, G. R. 2 Becker, H. S. 141–144, 148 Beckford, J.A. 165f. Ben Zeev, M. P. 67f. Berding, K. 37, 53, 231 Berger, P. L. 57, 184f. Best, E. 54 Bickerman, E. 60 Billerbeck, P. 105 Bock, D. L. 29 Böcher, O. 217f. Bommes, K. 222, 292, 298, 303 Boring, M. E. 270

Boyarin, D. 94, 122, 134f., 307 Brent, A. 220–222, 285, 293 Brown, R. E. 34f., 54, 58, 93, 95–97, 99, 197f., 200f., 266, 282, 284 Brox, N. 174 Bruce, F. F. 35, 77 Bultmann, R. 201, 267, 270, 284, 293 Burge, G. M. 35, 199 Burghardt, W. J. 293 Burke, G. T. 5 Burtchaell, J. T. 88–90, 93, 246 Bürchner, E. 65 Byrskog, S. 28, 257 Camelot, P. T. 220 Campbell, R. A. 200 Carey, G. 192f. Carlsson, L. 186, 193 Casey, M. 62 Chadwick, H. 118 Charles, R. H. 214 Cohen, A. K. 148 Cohen, S. J. D. 60–62, 105 Collins, A. Y. 53, 102f., 103f., 111, 156, 212 Collins, R. F. 164, 167, 262 Conzelmann, H. 25, 173, 177, 192 Cook, S. L. 216 Corwin, V. 220f., 223, 226, 290, 292, 295f. Coser, L. A. 139f. Cullmann, O. 38 Dahl, N. A. 208 deSilva, D. A. 153, 172 deWette, W. M. L. 154 Dibelius, M. 25, 160f., 169, 173, 177, 192, 264 Dodd, C. H. 35, 201, 284 Donelson, L. R. 261, 280 Downes, D. 148 Duncan-Jones, R. 2

358

Index of Modern Authors

Duncan, G. S. 68 Dunn, J. D. G. 43, 63, 88, 187, 213f., 239, 249–251, 254f., 270, 275, 278, 303 Ehrman, B. 5, 239 Elliott, J. H. 41 Ellis, E. E. 35 Erikson, K. 143f. Esler, P. F. 139, 147, 150, 153, 258 Fatum, L. 25, 190 Fee, G. D. 154, 159, 174, 252 Fieger, M. 1, 15f., 27, 30 Fiore, B. 166f. Fitzmyer, J. A. 29, 81 Foerster, W. 173 Frend, W. H. C. 128 Freyne, S. 156 Friesen, S. 53, 78, 118, 284 Friesinger, H. 2 Funk, R. W. 49 Gager, J. G. 103, 139, 147, 184, 213 Gamble, H. 82 Garfinkel, H. 144f., 158 Gehring, R. W. 47 Gershenfeld, M. K. 146 Goodenough, E. R. 118f. Goodman, M. 106 Goodspeed, E. J. 235, 251 Goulder, M. D. 116 Gove, W. R. 148 Griffith, T. 95f., 98, 284 Guthrie, D. 35 Günther, M. 1, 3, 9–11, 14–16, 22–25, 27–29, 30, 33, 35, 40f., 42f., 45, 47, 54, 118, 208, 233–236 Haenchen, E. 77 Hall, J. 59f. Hall, R. G. 214f., 217, 224, 227 Hammond Bammel, C. P. 53 Hampshire, A. P. 165f. Hannah, D. D. 214 Hanson, P. D. 214 Harland, P. A. 5, 102, 222, 285, 297 Harrington, P. N. 5 Hartog, P. 231 Haslam, S. A. 151

Hays, J. D. 108f. Hägerland, T. 36 Hemer, C. J. 2, 29, 53, 66, 80, 102, 104, 106f., 118, 196, 208, 227, 245, 286 Hengel, M. 28, 34f. 38, 115, 217, 233, 284 Hewstone, M. 147 Hill, C. E. 32, 34f., 37, 232f., 293, 307 Hill, D. 213, 228 Hills, J. 284 Hoehner, H. W. 54 Holl, K. 3 Holmberg, B. 183–185, 237 Holtzmann, H. J. 154 Hopkins, N. 259 Horbury, W. 94, 122 Horrell, D. G. 1, 91, 140, 150, 155, 162, 170, Horsley, G. H. R. 2, 69f., 72f., 77, 81 Hort, F. J. A. 107 Houlden, J. L. 209, 262, 265, 284 Hultgren, A. J. 253f. Hvalvik, R. 246f. Isacson, M. 53, 219f., 224, 226, 290 Janzon, P. 101 Jenkins, R. 57f., 179 Jervell, J. 29 Johnson, L. T. 52, 76, 164, 167, 263 Johnson, S. E. 103 Joly, E. G. 53 Judge, E. A. 1 Jussim, L. 141 Karris, R. J. 25, 156f., 160, 165 Kearsley, R. A. 78 Kee, H. C. 206 Kelly, J. N. D. 278 Keresztes, P. 106 Kidd, R. M. 165, 178, 192 Kidder, L. H. 141 Kittel, G. 87 Klauck, H.-J. 96 Knibb, M. A. 214f. Knight III, G. W. 90, 171, 174, 242 Knox, J. 24

Index of Modern Authors Koester, H. 1–3, 5, 12f., 16, 22, 27–30, 33–40, 43, 46, 76, 79, 82, 101, 103, 239 Kraft, H. 103 Kraybill, J. N. 286 Krinzinger, F. 2 Kümmel, W. G. 35, 269 Köstenberger, A. J. 162 Lampe, P. 28, 76, 82, 190f. Legarth, P. V. 221, 223, 226, 291f., 297, 300 Lemcio, E. E. 35, 213, 235, 251–253, 258 Lemert, E. M. 142f. Leon, H. J. 74 Leppä, O. 207 Levinskaya, I. 28f., 69, 72f. Lieu, J. 50f., 58f., 63f., 98, 112–114, 116, 118, 120, 126f., 181, 198–200, 202, 210, 241, 244, 259, 266f., 269, 282 Lightfoot, J. B. 45, 103, 225 Lincoln, A. T. 54 Lindemann, A. 231 Lofland, J. 145f. Lohse, E. 197, 195, 208 Luckmann, T. 57, 184f. Lüdemann, G. 2, 5, 35 Lüderitz, G. 73 Lütgert, W. 154, 278, 281 Luz, U. 190f. MacDonald, M. Y. 154, 165, 183, 185, 191, 237 Magie, D. 2 Malina, B. J. 59, 142–145, 153 Mangold, W. 154 Marcovich, M. 127 Marques, J. M. 141–143, 146f., 150f. Marshall, I. H. 52, 68, 85, 88, 90, 159– 161, 164, 173f., 188–190, 209, 242, 263, 267, 278 Martyn, J. L. 95 Maurer, C. 293 McCue, J. F. 5 Meeks, W. A. 75, 170 Meier, J. P. 189f. Meinardus, O. F. A. 3 Merkel, H. 87

359

Meyer, B. F. 248f., 259 Mitchell, S. 2 Moffat, J. 45, 293 Morgan, R. 255 Mounce, R. H. 53, 245 Mounce, W. D. 52, 88, 16f., 155, 165, 167, 169, 242, 281 Moyise, S. 273 Muddiman, J. 47 Murphy, F. X. 299 Murphy O’Connor, J. 2 Mussies, G. 65, 73, 75 Müller, U. B. 38, 159, 196f., 211, 227 Myllykoski, M. 53, 114, 116, 225 Napier, R. W. 146 Neyrey, J. H. 142–144, 153 Nock, A. D. 190 Noethlichs, K. L. 66 Nolland, J. 114 Norris, F. W. 5, 231, 241 O’Neill, C.96 Oberlinner, L. 187f. Olsson, B. 35, 93f. Osborn, E. F. 119, 125f. Painter, J. 25, 97, 197, 284 Paulsen, H. 220 Pearson, B. A. 5 Pernveden, L. 216 Perler, O. 298 Pettersen, A. 219, 298 Pietersen, L. K. 143, 147, 149, 153, 155, 157–159 Platow, M. J. 151 Pogoloff, S. 51 Porter, J. N. 139 Porter, S. E. 29 Preisker, H. 96 Prigent, P. 40, 53, 102, 217 Prior, M. 53 Quasten, J. 293, 295, 299 Quinn, J. D. 25, 88, 164, 171, 174, 262 Räisänen, H. 102 Rajak, T. 66f., 126 Rapske, B. 77 Rathke, H. 218f., 223, 292–294, 300

360

Index of Modern Authors

Reicher, S. 259 Rese, M. 283 Reumann, J. 240, 303 Rex, J. 139 Richardson, C. C. 220 Riddle, D. W. 245 Riesner, R. 29 Rius-Camps, J. 53 Robinson, J. A. T. 99, 208 Robinson, J. M. 5, 239 Robinson, T. A. 2f., 5–7, 35, 43–45, 47, 75, 208 Rock, P. 148 Roitto, R. 151f. Roloff, J. 24f., 174 Runesson, A. 95 Rutgers, L. V. 66 Sælid Gilhus, I. 163 Sanders, J. T. 63, 102, 104, 114, 118, 126 Sawyer, J. F. A. 51 Schlarb, E. 25f., 87, 155, 159, 163, 188, 262 Schlier, H. 195 Schmithals, W. 88 Schnabel, E. J. 3, 24, 81f. Schnackenburg, R. 3, 27, 35, 37, 42, 45, 79, 266 Schneemelcher, W. 293 Schnelle, U. 29, 35, 38, 54, 208f., 217, 277 Schoedel, W. R. 112–114, 219–226, 229, 243f., 290–292, 294f., 298f., 300f. Schwarz, R. 192 Schwegler, A. 3, 45 Schwindt, R. 1f., 16f., 30, 54, 218, 294 Schürer, E. 66, 73 Schüssler-Fioreenza, E. 38, 42, 53, 194, 211, 217f. Schöllgen, G. 220 Setzer, C. J. 118 Shauf, S. 28 Sherwin-White, A. N. 77 Sim, D. C. 86, 88 Simmel, G. 139, 141 Simon, M. 119 Skarsaune, O. 122 Slater, T. B. 102

Slusser, M. 119 Smalley, S. S. 35, 38, 54, 96f., 199– 201, 284 Smallwood, E. M. 66, 68, 71–73, 75, 106 Smith, A. D. 59, 258 Smith, E. R. 154 Smith, J. Z. 239 Spicq, C. 157, 174 Sproston, W. E. 198 Stewart, V. M. 141 Still, T. D. 138, 148 Stock, B. 50 Stoops, J. R. F. 77, 223 Strecker, G. 34f., 38, 54, 93f., 97, 198, 200f., 226, 266, 268 Strelan, R. 1, 14–16, 23, 27, 29f., 39f., 45, 64, 70–72, 75f., 78–83, 92, 101f., 128–130, 132 Stroup, G. W. 304 Sumner, C. 148 Sumney, J. L. 114, 226 Taeger, J.-W. 195 Tajfel, H. 149f., 172 Taplin, R. 139 Tarvainen, O. 222, 296, 299f. Taylor, I. 148 Taylor, J. 1, 29 Taylor, W. F. 177 Tcherikover, V. 66 Tellbe, M. 62, 67f., 74, 108 Theissen, G. 208, 213, 254–258, 306 Thielman, F. 264, 267, 282, 287, 303 Thiessen, W. 1f., 7–9, 14–16, 22–24, 27, 29f., 40, 64, 82, 86, 155, 159, 191, 194f. Thompson, L. L. 284 Thompson, M. B. 245 Thornton, C.-J. 29 Thurén, L. 51 Towner, P. H. 25, 52, 87f., 154, 164, 174–176, 178, 191, 261f., 264f., 278, 280 Trebilco, P. R. 1, 3, 5, 17–20, 22, 24, 26, 29f., 30, 32, 33, 35–40, 42–53, 64, 66, 68–71, 73–76, 79, 81, 84f., 91, 99f., 102, 110, 118, 129, 132, 137f., 155, 159, 167f., 170, 178, 186, 188–190, 194–198, 200, 208,

Index of Modern Authors 210, 212, 220, 223–225, 227–230, 233, 238–240, 243, 288, 306 Trevett, C. 53, 128, 220f., 224–227 Trummer, P. 25, 88, 188 Turner, H. E. W. 5 Turner, J. C. 57, 149–151, 172 Uebele, W. 37, 97, 226, 229 Ulfgard, H. 102 van den Horst, P. 94, 178 Verner, D. C. 159, 162, 192 von Harnack, A. 2f. von Lips, H. 174 von Loewenich, W. 293 Vouga, F. 45 Vögtle, A. 187f. Wacker , W. C. 88, 164, 171, 262 Wainwright, J. J. 174 Walton, P. 148 Warden, P.D. 2 Watson, D. F. 210 Weber, M. 183f. Wedderburn, A. J. M. 35 Weinel, H. 227

361

Weiss, J. 154 Weizsäcker, C. 3, 10, 45 Wengst, K. 35 Westcott, B. F. 35 Williams, A. L. 118 Williams, M. H. 72, 74, 106 Williams, R. 304 Wilson, S. G. 63, 94, 103f., 114, 118, 122, 126, 129 Windisch, H. 96 Witetschek, S. 1f., 20–22, 25, 27–33, 35, 39f., 53f., 65–67, 70, 76, 101, 208, 239 Witherington, B. 29, 50, 77f. Wolter, M. 172 Young, F. 89, 92, 189, 192, 261–263, 279, 287 Zahn, T. 3, 154 Zarate, M. A. 154 Zetterholm, M. 63, 103, 113, 115 Zimmermann, G. A. 3 Zuckerman, C. 73

Index of Subjects Acculturation 190f. Acts, historicity 27–30 Acts of John 9, 12, 15, 31–33, 35 Acts of Paul 9 Alexandria 2, 9, 13, 21f., 30, 35, 66, 70, 72, 74, 77, 101, 156, 200, 251 Apollonius 9, 232, 234f. Ascension of Isaiah 214f., 217, 227 Assimilation 150, 180, 190f., 202, 204, 216, 279 Authority 183–238 Artemis, the cult of 14f., 17, 27, 70f., 76f., 79, 222 Birkat ha-minim 94, 122, 135 Bürgerlichkeit, christliche 177, 192 Cerinthus 10f., 13, 36f., 116, 229, 235 Circumcision 62, 84–86, 97, 102, 106, 114, 116, 120f., 123, 131, 133 Diognetus, Letter of 34 Docetism/Docetists 20, 36f., 42, 46, 97, 101, 115f., 137, 198, 207, 223, 225, 229, 235, 246, 249f., 266, 278, 290, 292, 304 Epistula Apostolorum 35, 232 Ethics 278–301 Ethnicity 57–63 Ephesus, – city of 1–22, 76–83, 35, 51, 76, 118f., 232 – the Jews of 65–75 Episcopacy 11, 19, 211, 215, 224, 226– 230, 235, 237 Eschatology 171, 179, 191, 197, 209, 211, 214, 218, 265, 267, 269f., 276–278, 281 Eusebius 9f., 13, 27, 31–34, 38f., 45, 118f., 127–129, 186, 200, 208, 232– 235, 241, 246

First Clement 231 Historical reconstruction 50–52 Hospitality 243, 245f., 279, 287f., 200 Identity, – prototypical 149–154, 172–181, 185f. – social 137–152 – self-categorization 149–152 – self-definition 248f. – text 47–52 – theory 137–154 – vertical/horizontal 166–172 Idolatry 98, 101, 120f., 137, 180, 279, 281, 283, 285f., 297, 299, 302 Ignatius the Bishop 220–230, 243–246, 289–301 Imperial cult 14, 17, 20, 68, 78, 107, 191, 196, 222, 284 Institutionalization 183–185, 189, 206, 211, 213f., 216, 237f. Irenaeus 9, 12f., 23, 27, 30–35, 38–39, 186, 201–202, 204, 216–218, 228, 230, 233, 235, 245f., 251, 266, 281 Jerusalem, Fall of 2, 4, 21, 63, 105, 134, 208, 216 Johannine tradition in Ephesus 30–39 John the Apostle 32–34, 36, 38f., 45, 234 John the Presbyter 4f., 10–13, 18, 30–36, 38–39, 186, 201–202, 204, 216–218, 228, 230, 233, 235, 245f., 251, 266, 281 John the Prophet 9, 5, 12f., 19f., 30, 34f., 38f., 41–43, 46, 48, 53, 101, 192, 194– 196, 203–205, 211–213, 215–218, 225, 227f., 234, 242, 246, 284, 295, 305f. Joseph and Asenath 61, 95 Justin Martyr 9–12, 31–35, 38, 186, 200, 232–235, 241

Index of Subjects Monanism/Montanists 11, 194, 232–235 Muratorian Canon 32 Nicolaitans 9, 11, 13, 20, 41–43 Norms 66, 100, 138, 141–154, 162, 165– 175, 180, 186, 191, 196f., 204f., 216, 239, 255f., 259, 279, 287, 304 ‘Normative Christianity’ 253f. Orthodoxy 4f., 122, 134f., 141, 214, 240f., 253, 305–307 ‘Parting of the Ways’ 63, 107, 117, 127, 135 Pauline tradition in Ephesus 22–30 Polycarp of Smyrna 12f., 26, 31, 33–35, 37, 53f., 128, 226, 231–233, 235f., 243f. Polycrates of Ephesus 9, 31–33, 83, 111, 127–129, 208, 233–236, 246 Prototypicality 149–154, 172–181 Quartodeciman controversy 128f., 233

363

Sabbath observance 60, 62, 68f., 72, 84, 86, 97, 102, 114, 116, 120f., 123f., 130f. Social theories – labeling theory 141–143, 146, 148f., 152, 154, 157, 160f., 180f., 183 – social conflict theory 139–141 – sociology of deviance 141–149 – self-categorization theory 149–152 Sufferings 281, 284, 286, 298 Synagogue, – in Ephesus 69, 74, 78–81 – of Satan 103f., 106, 111, 133 Tax, – Temple 68f., 71f., 84, 105, 130f. – Jewish (fiscus Iudaicus) 62, 105f. Vituperatio 156, 181, 220