Paul and Philo on the Politics of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament 2.reihe) 9783161606465, 9783161606472, 3161606469

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament · 2. Reihe Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich)

Mitherausgeber/Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) ∙ James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) ∙ Janet Spittler (Charlottesville, VA) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

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John-Paul Harper

Paul and Philo on the Politics of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple

Mohr Siebeck

John-Paul Harper, born 1980; 2000 B.Comm. in Mathematics; 2002 M.Comm. in Mathematics; 2009 B.Th. in Theology; 2020 PhD in New Testament from Stellenbosch University; since 2021 Greek Lecturer at the Moravian Theological Seminary of South Africa.

orcid.org/0000-0003-4455-2811

ISBN 978-3-16-160646-5 / eISBN 978-3-16-160647-2 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-160647-2 ISSN 0340-9570 / eISSN 2568-7484 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2021  Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany.  www.mohrsiebeck.com 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 and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed on non-aging paper by Laupp & Göbel in Gomaringen, and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

Preface Quite appropriately does Moses speak of the fruit of instruction as being not only “holy” but “for praise”; for each of the virtues is a holy matter, but thanksgiving is pre-eminently so – Philo (Plant. 126) This present study arose out of my PhD work at the University of Stellenbosch that I completed in 2020. As with any undertaking of this nature, it would not have been possible without the support and encouragement of a whole community. I would firstly like to thank my supervisor, Professor Jeremy Punt, for his many helpful observations and careful guidance throughout the course of my study. I would secondly like to thank Matthew Harmon and Esau McCaulley who provided me with manuscripts of their work which were often nearly impossible to get hold of due to the Covid-19 pandemic. I thirdly express special thanks to Professor N.T. Wright for his hospitality in Oxford and for his guidance and encouragement in my studies. Fourthly, I also express my deep gratitude to Professor David Runia who examined my PhD and gave many thoughtful comments and suggestions that helped me refine my argument and ultimately enrich my study. In the area of scholarly guidance, I finally express my gratitude to Professor Jörg Frey and the editorial team at Mohr Siebeck for the opportunity to publish my work and for their many constructive comments that have likewise enriched my study. I especially thank Tobias Stäbler for his careful reading of my manuscript and editorial improvements. In terms of broader support, I would firstly like to express my gratitude to my church community at Christ Church Stellenbosch who supported me and encouraged me as I pursued this path. Stepping back from full-time pastoral work exposed me to significant financial risk and here I am especially grateful to friends and family who supported us financially during this time to make this possible. Furthermore, I express my gratitude to Stellenbosch University for the Retention Scholarship I received, which came at just the right time when I was unsure of the financial viability of ongoing study. Moving even closer to home, I would also especially like to thank my family for all their love and support during this time. My parents, Paul and Cecile Harper, have always encouraged me with a love of learning and have continued to be a great support. My children, Emma, Adele, and Nathan, were very patient as their father spent many hours in front of the books and computer and

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Preface

even four-year old Nathan came to know well the phrase, “Daddy is working on his P-H-D.” I am especially grateful to my dear wife Julia who made many sacrifices to give me time and space to work on this study and was my consistent support and strength. I am finally grateful to the God who gave me this opportunity for careful study and even the painful experiences that led me to wrestle with this subject. Stellenbosch, 2021

John-Paul Harper

Table of Contents Preface .......................................................................................................... V Abbreviations .............................................................................................. XI

Chapter 1: Introduction .......................................................................... 1 A. Topic and goal of the study ....................................................................... 1 B. Research problem ..................................................................................... 1 C. Hypothesis ................................................................................................ 3 D. Background .............................................................................................. 4 E. Why Land, Jerusalem, and Temple? .......................................................... 7 F. Why Philo? ............................................................................................. 11 G. Paul and Philo on politics and power ..................................................... 17 I. Philo’s politics .................................................................................... 18 II. Paul’s politics ...................................................................................... 21 III. Paul and Philo on power ...................................................................... 23 H. Paul’s ἐκκλησία and Philo’s synagogue .................................................. 28 I. Methodology ............................................................................................ 31 J. Outline of Study ....................................................................................... 35

Chapter 2: Paul on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple ....................37 A. Introduction ............................................................................................ 37

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I. The relationship between the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple ................ 38 II. 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 ...................................................................................... 39 III. Rom 15 ............................................................................................... 40 IV. Gal 4:21–5:1 ....................................................................................... 41 V. The politics of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple ................................. 42 B. The Land ................................................................................................. 44 I. W.D. Davies and Paul’s Christological interpretation of the Land ....... 45 II. M. Forman and Paul’s this-worldly interpretation of inheritance in Romans ........................................................................................... 45 III. E. McCaulley and sharing in the Son’s inheritance in Galatians .......... 50 IV. The challenge to the Pauline “expansion of the land” perspective ....... 53 V. Israel’s restoration and the Land in 1 Cor 1–4 ..................................... 59 1. Israel’s restoration in 1 Cor 1–4 ....................................................... 63 2. The content of “what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9) ....................................................................................... 65 3. The background of “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived” (1 Cor 2:9) ................................................ 70 4. The political aspects of Paul’s rhetoric in 1 Cor 1–4 ........................ 77 VI. Conclusion .......................................................................................... 82 C. Jerusalem................................................................................................ 84 I. Jerusalem and the Temple ................................................................... 85 II. Paul’s ambivalent relationship to Jerusalem ........................................ 86 III. Paul’s refusal to disassociate himself from Jerusalem ......................... 87 1. Paul’s relationship to the Jerusalem church ..................................... 87 2. Paul’s Jerusalem Collection ............................................................. 92 3. Jerusalem in Paul’s eschatological expectation ................................ 99 IV. Paul’s authority not dependent on Jerusalem ..................................... 102 1. Galatians 4:21–5:1 in recent interpretation .................................... 105 2. ‘Jerusalem above’ and the hope of restoration ............................... 110 3. ‘Jerusalem above’ and heavenly citizenship................................... 112 4. ‘Jerusalem above’ as mother .......................................................... 113 V. Paul and the politics of Jerusalem...................................................... 114 VI. Conclusion ........................................................................................ 116 D. The Temple ........................................................................................... 117 I. Paul and the Temple from H. Wenschkewitz to M. Suh .................... 119 II. The source domain for Paul’s Temple metaphor ................................ 124 III. The Temple in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 ............................................................ 126 IV. The Temple and authority in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 ....................................... 129

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V. The Temple community and judgement in 1 Cor 1–4 ........................ 136 VI. The Spirit and authority in 1 Cor 1–4 ................................................ 139 VII. The Temple community in 1 Cor 5–6 ................................................ 143 VIII. Conclusion ........................................................................................ 146 E. Conclusion ............................................................................................ 146

Chapter 3: Philo on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple ................ 149 A. Introduction .......................................................................................... 149 I. Philo’s place in Second Temple Judaism ........................................... 151 II. Philo’s exegesis ................................................................................. 153 B. The Land ............................................................................................... 159 I. The Land in Philonic scholarship ...................................................... 159 II. The Land as cosmos and the sovereignty of the wise ......................... 165 1. The Land as cosmos through Stoic cosmopolitanism ..................... 167 2. The Levitical priests who have no Land but only God as their “inheritance” ................................................................................. 174 III. The Land in Philo’s eschatological expectation ................................. 178 IV. Conclusion ........................................................................................ 181 C. Jerusalem.............................................................................................. 183 I. Jerusalem in Philonic scholarship ...................................................... 184 II. The City of God as the world and as the peaceful soul of the wise .... 191 III. The authority of Jerusalem ................................................................ 194 IV. Conclusion ........................................................................................ 200 D. The Temple ........................................................................................... 201 I. The Temple in Philonic scholarship .................................................. 202 II. Philo’s Diaspora location and the tension between the literal and symbolic ............................................................................................ 207 III. The community as Temple and the sanctity of the synagogue ........... 213 IV. The function of Philo’s allegorical Temple language ......................... 217 V. The Temple, the Spirit, and authority ................................................ 219 VI. Conclusion: God’s House – Temple or Universe? ............................. 222 E. Conclusion ............................................................................................ 223

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Chapter 4: Paul’s ἐκκλησία and Philo’s πολιτεία in the world .. 229 A. Introduction .......................................................................................... 229 B. The Land ............................................................................................... 233 C. Jerusalem.............................................................................................. 241 D. The Temple ........................................................................................... 248 E. Conclusion ............................................................................................ 263

Chapter 5: Conclusion ......................................................................... 267 Bibliography............................................................................................... 273 Index of References .................................................................................... 297 Author Index .............................................................................................. 311 Subject Index.............................................................................................. 317

Abbreviations Abbreviations follow The SBL Handbook of Style.1 Abbreviations not listed in this handbook are noted below. JJMJS Journal of the Jesus Movement in its Jewish Setting. LXX The Septuagint. The Greek text comes from Rahlfs, A. and Hahnhart, R. (eds.) Septuaginta: Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes. 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2006. MT Masoretic Text. Unless otherwise indicated, the MT is quoted from the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Elliger, K. and Rudolph, R. (eds.) 4th ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1990. NETS The New English Translation of the Septuagint: And the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included Under That Title. Pietersma, A. and Wright, B.G. (eds.) New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. NRSV New Revised Standard Version: Anglicized Edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. OTP Charlesworth, J.H. ed. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. 2 volumes. Garden City: Doubleday, 1983, 1985. Unless otherwise noted, English translations of classical, Hellenistic, and Graeco-Roman texts have been taken from the Loeb Classical Library. Likewise, translations of the Old and New Testament come from NRSV unless otherwise noted. English quotations of the Septuagint and Old Greek Scriptures, including the Apocrypha, are taken from NETS. The Septuagint and Old Greek text comes from Rahlfs and Hahnhart (see above, LXX). For the Jewish Pseudepigrapha, I use James Charlesworth’s Pseudepigrapha (see above, OTP).

Billie Jean Collins and Society of Biblical Literature, eds., The SBL Handbook of Style, 2nd ed. (Atlanta, Georgia: SBL Press, 2014). 1

Chapter 1

Introduction A. Topic and goal of the study This study critically compares how Paul and Philo rethought the significant Jewish symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, drawing particular attention to their political significance. I bring together these two politically engaged Diaspora Jews into a mutually illuminating conversation and highlight aspects of their political theology latent in their appropriation of these symbols. In doing so, I aim to demonstrate aspects of both continuity and discontinuity in their perspectives and to account for these in terms of their respective worldviews and social locations. Here I also relate my findings to contemporary discussions of Paul and Philo’s Jewish identity. Through this comparative study, I aim to demonstrate how these symbols offer important insights into how both Paul and Philo conceptualised authority within their local communities and how they understood these as political communities in relation to others. In particular, I focus on the way their appropriation of these symbols communicate how they conceptualised authority in the local community, within the wider “people of God,” and in relation to the Roman Empire. Here I relate my findings to traditional discussions of community leadership and “church order.”

B. Research problem B. Research problem

It is widely recognised that the Land, Jerusalem, and the Temple were central symbols1 of Second Temple Judaism. 2 It is also widely recognised that both 1 I use symbols here in the broad sociological sense as that which is invested by human beings with meaning and which, according to Clifford Geertz, “function to synthesize a people’s ethos – the tone, character and quality of their life, its moral and aesthetic style and mood – and their world view – the picture they have of the way things in sheer actuality are, their most comprehensive ideas of order.” The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1973), 89. 2 While recognizing the diversity of first century Judaism, I use the term here in Ed Sanders’ sense of a “Common Judaism.” Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (London: SCM Press, 1992), 45–314. I continue with caution to use the common terms “Jews” and

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Paul and Philo rethought these symbols in significant ways. Paul, for example, makes little reference to the Jerusalem Temple in his letters,3 but on several occasions applies the designation of “God’s temple” to the ἐκκλησία.4 Philo, likewise, has little to say about the Jerusalem Temple as such, insisting that “The highest, and in the truest sense the holy, temple of God is, as we must believe, the whole universe” (Spec. 1.66). Furthermore, both Paul and Philo seem to demonstrate little interest in the Land promised to Abraham and as such appear to have little hope for a politically autonomous Israel centred around Jerusalem.5 Indeed, both Paul and Philo have historically been interpreted as “spiritualising” these symbols.6 This “spiritualising” approach to Paul has been challenged in recent decades and the question of whether he regarded the ἐκκλησία as replacing or substituting the Jerusalem Temple has also been forcefully raised. 7 Other scholars have insisted that, while “spiritualisation” is a misleading category, Paul does nevertheless see the ἐκκλησία as a fulfilment of what the Temple pointed towards.8 Many prefer the more neutral language of “transference” or simply “Judaism,” recognising the dangers of projecting modern conceptualisations on ancient categories that are now well recognised. See, e.g., Steve Mason “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” JSJ 38 (2007): 457–512. On the centrality of these symbols see, e.g., Nicholas T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 75–196; James D.G. Dunn, “Judaism in the Land of Israel in the First Century,” in Judaism in Late Antiquity: Historical Syntheses, ed. Jacob Neusner (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 251–7. 3 Probably the only explicit references within the undisputed Pauline letters are 1 Cor 9:13 and Rom 9:4. 4 See 1 Cor 3:16–17, 6:19; 2 Cor 6:16. 5 On Paul, see William D. Davies, The Gospel and the Land: Early Christianity and Jewish Territorial Doctrine (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 164–220. Davies observes Paul’s lack of interest in the Land and concludes that for Paul being “in Christ” fulfilled the hope of being in the Land. On Philo, note Samuel Sandmel’s conclusion that, “It cannot be over-emphasized that Philo has little or no concern for Palestine.” Philo’s Place in Judaism: A Study of Conceptions of Abraham in Jewish Literature (New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1971), 116. 6 On Paul, see Albert L.A. Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple: A Historical Interpretation of Cultic Imagery in the Corinthians Correspondence (Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 2–8; Nijay K. Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul: A New Approach to the Theology and Ethics of Paul’s Cultic Metaphors (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2010), 9–26. On Philo, note Daniel Schwartz’s conclusion: “Very frequently his references to the temple actually undercut it by spiritualizing it.” “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” in The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 26. 7 See, e.g., Jonathan Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, 2–13; Eyal Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity: Experiencing the Sacred (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019). 8 In speaking of the church’s mission, e.g., Wright concludes: “Paul seems to have believed that the individual churches . . . were each a living Temple in which the creator God,

C. Hypothesis

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“metaphor” and stress that the central question is not so much Paul’s meaning at face value, but, as Albert L.A. Hogeterp suggests, “its meaning as applied in the context.”9 It has also been recognised in relation to Philo that how one defines “spiritualising” must be nuanced. Although Philo characteristically emphasised the “spiritual” through an allegorical hermeneutic, this does not mean that he regarded the “literal” aspects of the faith as unimportant. 10 Thus, in relation to Philo we may also ask what rhetorical and practical purposes his reframing of these symbols served. In relation to both Paul and Philo, therefore, I will investigate what practical and political aims their reframing of these symbols served for their audiences. I will also explore the degree to which their symbolic use may indicate a marginalisation of their commitment to these as concrete realities. Finally, I will ask what social and theological factors account for their perspectives and at what points these are continuous and discontinuous.

C. Hypothesis C. Hypothesis

The basic hypothesis of this study is that both Paul and Philo’s interest in the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple as concrete realities is generally overshadowed by their interest in symbolically appropriating these for their respective communities. Moreover, both, in distinctive ways, tended to apply these symbols in universalising ways. I will argue, however, that the referent of these symbols also generally differed and that Philo’s appropriation tended to be more individualistic and focused on other-worldly realities while Paul’s tended to be more communal and focused on this-worldly realities. Furthermore, I will argue that, while Philo was more committed to the literal Temple than Paul, neither were especially invested in the hope of a politically autonomous Israel centred around Jerusalem. Finally, I argue that both shared an important charismatic dimension to the way they conceptualised authority, but that Paul’s vision was again more communally oriented. Philo, I will argue, demonstrates little interest in the concrete referents of these symbols for two reasons. Firstly, being more profoundly Hellenised (in

the God who had dwelt in the Temple in Jerusalem, was now dwelling.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 437. 9 Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, 19. 10 Take, e.g., his embassy to Gaius where it is precisely the “literal” Temple that he wants to protect from desecration (Legat. 192). The majority of scholars now recognise that both the literal and symbolic were important for Philo. See, e.g., Jutta Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001).

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the sense of being more acculturated to Greek language and education),11 he found in Greek philosophy a means by which to interpret these symbols as expressive of more significant spiritual realities. Secondly, his Diaspora location, under Roman power and far away from the ancestral homeland, also lent itself to interpretations that marginalised the concrete hopes often associated with these symbols. I will argue that Philo’s main aim in reframing these symbols was to inculcate virtue and to invest his readers with dignity, despite their marginal position within the Empire. This of course does not imply that Philo himself was not politically engaged (indeed he was), but that his overall theologising lent itself to a more quiescent political theology. Paul, I will argue, showed little interest in these concrete realia because he believed that Israel’s story had reached a decisive turning point in the coming of the Messiah. I will argue that Paul generally “universalised” or “transcendentalised” rather than “spiritualised” these symbols and that his inaugurated eschatology played a significant role in his metaphoric usage. This eschatology led to a fundamental reconfiguration of sacred space and time that is evident in his appropriation of these symbols.12 I will argue that Paul reframed these symbols in order to give his audience a sense of belonging to a “larger entity” with a concrete hope and to reframe their views of political authority in the present. In relation to the local community and the broader “people of God,” I will argue that Paul’s use of these metaphors invested considerable authority in the local community and called into question any centralised authority that governed the Christ-movement. In relation to the Roman Empire, I will argue that Paul’s use lent itself to a more strident political theology that was less committed to the status quo than was Philo’s. Finally, I will argue that Paul’s appropriation of these symbols was generally more politicised than Philo’s and that this can be attributed to the fact that Paul was challenging the traditional boundaries of the community in more radical ways than Philo.

D. Background D. Background

I begin by tracing developments in Pauline scholarship and motivating the comparison with Philo. The decision to generally begin with Paul and move toward Philo is largely pragmatic as it allows me to introduce the key issues by 11 For a definition of acculturation see John M.G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora: From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE – 117 CE) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 92–8. 12 Paul can already say of the ἐκκλησία in Corinth “You are God’s temple” (1 Cor 3:16), while the “Jerusalem” he is concerned about remains at present “above” (Gal 4:26). Furthermore, the “Land” remained for Paul a universal future reality to be inherited (Rom 8:17–25).

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way of the disproportionate amount of scholarship on Paul. 13 This also gives me the opportuntity, from the perspective of New Testament studies at least, to move from the generally more to less familiar. The last several decades have seen an intense interest in the concrete social and political contexts in which Paul first exercised his ministry. This can be seen, for example, in the careful “city by city” approach to his letters, in which everything from archaeological to numismatic to literary evidence has been investigated in order to gain a better localised picture of each urban context Paul addressed.14 It can be seen further in the numerous recent studies on Paul’s attitude to “empire” and how he understood his own mission and communities in relation to the political context of first century Rome. Much of this recent study has focussed not merely on Paul’s theology in an abstract sense, but also on his concrete praxis. At the same time, emphasis in many circles has shifted away from attempts to discover the world “behind the text” towards studying the world “of the text” and “in front of the text,” i.e., how Paul’s text functions rhetorically to achieve its purposes and how he has been interpreted throughout history.15 Within this scholarly enterprise, there has also been a growing recognition, coming from broader cultural movements, that questions of meaning cannot ultimately be answered with any kind of detached neutrality or objectivity. We always face the danger of either projecting contemporary political questions back onto the first century, or else of constructing a Paul who merely fits our own political agenda (whether conservative, liberal, progressive or otherwise).16 As this discipline has matured, there has also been a growing recognition that some of the earlier studies that sought to situate Paul on a simple spectrum of “for” or “against” a construct called “empire” were insufficient.17 Furthermore, questions of how power was exercised in Paul’s own communities and Chronologically and conceptually one could of course argue that Philo is prior to Paul and better represents the core of Diaspora Judaism. I am grateful to Prof. David Runia for making me reflect on this question of order. 14 See, e.g., James R. Harrison and Larry L. Welborn, eds., The First Urban Churches, 5 vols., Writings from the Greco-Roman World Supplement Series 7, 8, 9, 13, 16 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015–2019). Along with many recent studies, they follow Edwin A. Judge’s dictum that the Pauline churches ought to be studied, “city by city, institution by institution.” Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays by E.A. Judge, ed. David M. Scholer (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2008), 135. 15 See an introductory history in, e.g., Anthony C. Thiselton, “New Testament Interpretation in Historical Perspective,” in Hearing the New Testament: Strategies for Interpretation, ed. Joel B. Green (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 10–36. 16 See, e.g., Elisabeth S. Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 17–30. 17 See, e.g., Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1271–1319. Note also Jeremy Punt’s conclusion that, “Framing Paul’s political stance in radical, binary opposite positions 13

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how he himself exercised power have increasingly been raised. The realities in question are complex, and the methodology and even terminology (“politics,” “empire,” “power,” “authority” etc.) need to be carefully defined. Finally, the questions that are asked and the way the research is framed will also be critical if we are to avoid the twin dangers of anachronism and ego/ethnocentrism. Keeping these challenges in mind, this study will focus on first century political categories that Paul himself drew upon in his letters to address aspects of these questions. When it comes to community formation, there is an increasing realisation that such political categories are useful lenses through which to explore what Paul understood he was doing. 18 Bruno Blumenfeld, among others, has drawn attention to the political resonances behind Paul’s use of terminology like ἐκκλησία, κοινωνία and the numerous “building” metaphors (ἐποικοδομέω, ἀρχιτέκτων etc.) that we find scattered throughout his letters.19 He argues that Paul is fundamentally a political thinker who “draws borders, organises crowds, sets rules, creates a government, gives a constitution.”20 Although significant work can and has been done by exploring the political dimensions of Paul’s rhetoric21 and terminology (not least ἐκκλησία22 and “the body of Christ” 23), the danger of resting too much weight on individual terms remains. A further danger lies in attributing aspects of Paul’s thought to an exclusively Hellenistic or Jewish background. Most scholars today recognise the importance of both contexts, as well as the importance of focussing more has proved to be too one-sided and unsustainable.” “Pauline Agency in Postcolonial Perspective: Subverter of or Agent for Empire?,” in The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011), 54. 18 See, e.g., John M.G. Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, WUNT 275 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 81–106. In this essay, Barclay argues for a “political” analysis of Paul’s strategies that compares his “constitution” of the church in Corinth to Josephus’ presentation of God’s law as the “constitution” of the Jewish people. See also Brad J. Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy in 1 Corinthians 1–4: Constitution and Covenant, SNTSMS 163 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 33–39. Bitner argues for the broad firstcentury category of politeia through which to explore Paul’s letters as political discourse aimed at establishing an alternative civic ideology. 19 Bruno Blumenfeld, The Political Paul: Justice, Democracy and Kingship in a Hellenistic Framework (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 95–119. 20 Blumenfeld, The Political Paul, 109. 21 See, e.g., Larry L. Welborn, “On the Discord in Corinth: 1 Corinthians 1–4 and Ancient Politics,” JBL 106 (1987): 85–111. Welborn explores parallels between 1 Cor 1–4 and Greco-Roman homonoia speeches. 22 See, e.g., Young-Ho Park, Paul’s Ekklesia as a Civic Assembly, WUNT II 393 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015); Ralph J. Korner, “Ekklēsia as a Jewish Synagogue Term: A Response to Erich Gruen,” JJMJS (2017): 127–36; Blumenfeld, The Political Paul, 95–119. 23 See, e.g., Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); Yung Suk Kim, Christ’s Body in Corinth: The Politics of a Metaphor (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008); Timothy L. Carter, “Looking at the Metaphor of Christ’s Body in 1 Corinthians 12,” in Paul: Jew, Greek, and Roman (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 93–116.

E. Why Land, Jerusalem, and Temple?

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on Paul’s engagement with his various contexts rather than attempts to uncover the exact genealogy of his ideas. 24 Within this analogical approach, the importance of distinguishing between Paul’s own intentions and how he would have been heard by his first audience is also widely recognised. Finally, I suggest that any proposed meaning ought to deepen our understanding of the flow of Paul’s letters as we have them, as well as our understanding of his theologising and praxis as a whole.

E. Why Land, Jerusalem, and Temple? E. Why Land, Jerusalem, and Temple?

In this study, I suggest that an important avenue for exploring Paul’s political theology is his use of the significant Jewish symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. While important work on this has been done,25 it seems to me that the fundamental political insights one gains from this examination have not always been fully appreciated. Furthermore, these symbols have often been treated separately and therefore the full weight of the conclusions has not always been felt. The “umbilical” relationship between these symbols in Second Temple Judaism, where they are often conceptualised as concentric rings representing varying degrees of God’s holiness and presence,26 is widely recognised. The first reason that these symbols have not always received due attention in Pauline scholarship is the fact that they do not appear to surface very often in his letters. A second reason is a long history of spiritualisation in which it was regarded as self-evident that for Paul these symbols merely pointed to spiritual realities with little temporal or political significance.27 This has changed in recent decades, however, with the recognition of the latent dualism often assumed in such constructions.28 When it comes to these symbols, few today 24 Wright comments on this: “To broaden this either/or just a bit: we need to enquire not just about the derivation of Paul’s ideas, as an older history-of-religions project tried to do, but more specifically about Paul’s engagement with his various worlds.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 44. 25 I undertake a thorough review of the secondary literature on each of these symbols in my second chapter. 26 See, e.g., m. Kelim 1:6–9: “There are ten degrees of holiness. The land of Israel is holier than all the [other] lands . . . The walled cities are still more holy than it . . . Within the wall [of Jerusalem the locality] is still more holy . . . The Temple Mount is more holy than that.” 27 See Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, 2–8; Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 9–26. 28 See Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 27–54. By “spiritualisation” I mean here an emphasis on the “spiritual” within a “cosmological duality” of Platonic construction. For various meanings of “dualism,” see Nicholas T. Wright, The New Testament and the People of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992), 252. For a nuanced account of “spiritualisation” in relation to Paul’s cultic metaphors specifically, see Stephan Finlan, The Background and Content of Paul’s Cultic Atonement Metaphors (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 47–69.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

would disagree with William D. Davies’ basic conclusion that, “such a Jew as Paul, we can be sure, would have felt the full force of the doctrine of the land, Jerusalem, and the Temple.”29 I would suggest that Paul alludes to these symbols more frequently than is often realised30 and that Paul’s conviction regarding how these relate to Christ is in fact a powerful driving force behind his mission. N.T. Wright has recently argued, for example, that Paul’s worldwide mission “was part of the enactment of the revised and reborn symbol of the land” and that “Paul’s apostolic task was, so to speak, tabernacle-construction, temple-building.”31 These insights are not entirely new, however, as a previous generation of Pauline scholars had already recognised the centrality of the metaphor of “upbuilding” the church and how these metaphors were rooted in Jewish Temple traditions.32 What has not always been adequately explored is the political dimensions of these metaphors. Whether one is thinking in contemporary or ancient terms, there is little more politically charged subject than that of land. Furthermore, it hardly needs to be mentioned that Jerusalem and the Temple were politically significant places in the first century.33 Jerusalem and the Temple were, after all, closely associated with the hope of the Messiah34 and both played a significant role in the Jewish War. 35 Michael Knibb points out, for example, how the Temple, “very often appears as an object of rivalry and contention” 36 in many Second Temple Jewish texts. Temple building, moreover, was often closely related to claims of political legitimacy both in the Graeco-Roman and Jewish world.37 Furthermore, the close relationship between the Temple and the Spirit Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 166 (emphasis original). On the cultic metaphors see, e.g., Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul. 31 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 367; 1493. 32 See, e.g., Herman N. Ridderbos, Paul: An Outline of His Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), 429–38. 33 Lee Levine comments, e.g., “Often packed with pilgrims during the festivals, the Temple court also served as a convenient venue for the exchange of political views and the airing of declarations, criticisms, and grievances. Sometimes a particularly fervent speech would be delivered, inflaming passions and sparking violence.” Jerusalem: Portrait of the City in the Second Temple Period (538 B.C.E.–70 C.E.) (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2002), 235. 34 See William Horbury, Messianism among Jews and Christians: Twelve Biblical and Historical Studies (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 189–226; Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 90–107. 35 Josephus, e.g., describes how in the last stand against Rome, “The Jews had fled to the temple . . . for they held that the entry of the Romans into the sanctuary meant final capture, while the latter regarded it as the prelude to victory” (B.J. 6.71–74). 36 Michael A. Knibb, “Temple and Cult in Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphal Writings,” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 401. 37 Note, e.g., Simon R.F. Price’s comment on the Graeco-Roman context: “after 33BC only Augustus and members of his family built temples in Rome . . . Temple building placed the emperor in a unique relationship with the gods.” “The Place of Religion: Rome in the 29 30

E. Why Land, Jerusalem, and Temple?

9

and therefore with power and authority in the Jewish tradition also warrants such an investigation. In this area I agree with the relatively recent scholarly affirmation that in the ancient world the realms of “religion” and “politics” were woven into a far more seamless fabric of meaning than they often are today.38 In what ways did the political aspects of these symbols then inform Paul’s theologising? I will argue that these symbols never lose a significant political dimension in Paul’s appropriation. One need only notice, for example, that Paul’s insistence of the community in Corinth, “You are God’s temple” (1 Cor 3:16), is set in relation to the political struggles between factions within the community; or that Paul’s discourse on “Jerusalem above” (Gal 4:26) is set in the context of a sharp political dispute over who can claim to be the true heirs of the promises to Abraham. The political import of these texts has also not always been lost on later interpreters. In the bitter political struggles of the Reformation, for example, both Luther and Calvin had no trouble identifying the Roman Catholic church with the present “Jerusalem” whose authority Paul rejects. Note Calvin’s strong words when commenting on believers having “Jerusalem above” as their “mother” (Gal 4:26): This is a title of wonderful and the highest honour. But the Papists are foolish and worse than puerile when they plead this to annoy us. For their mother is an adulteress, who brings forth into death the children of the devil. How foolish is the demand that the children of God should surrender themselves to her to be cruelly slain! Could not the synagogue of Satan at that time have boasted with far more honest claim than Rome today? 39

Early Empire,” in The Augustan Empire, 43 B.C.–A.D. 69, 2nd ed., CAH X (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 831. Consider also Josephus’ report of Herod’s speech to the Jewish elders in which, “[He] recounted all his strenuous efforts on their behalf, and told them at what great expense to himself he had constructed the Temple, whereas the Hasmoneans had been unable to do anything so great for the honor of God in the 125 years of their reign.” (A.J. 17.161–162). 38 Simon R.F. Price, e.g., comments that one of the major reasons we fail to understand the New Testament is “our assumption that politics and religion are separate areas.” Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 2. See also Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 246–78. 39 John Calvin, The Epistles of Paul The Apostle to the Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians and Colossians, ed. David W. Torrance and Thomas F. Torrance (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 88. See also Luther, who comments on Gal 4:27: “We are not bound to the ceremonies of Moses: much less to the ceremonies of the Pope” or a little later on Gal 4:29: “So at this day they accuse Luther to be a troubler of the Papacy, and of the Roman empire . . . If I speak, the Pope is troubled and overthrown. Either we must lose the Pope, an [earthly and] mortal man, or else Christ which is eternal, and with him eternal life. Let the Pope perish then.” A Commentary on St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians (London: James Clarke & Co., 1953), 428; 432.

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Calvin clearly draws on this text to resist the claim that there is any centralised authority that governs the Christ movement. But how did Paul himself regard the authority of “Jerusalem”? The above observations lead us to ask further questions like why Paul could say “You are God’s temple” while the Temple in Jerusalem still stood, but would not apply that same transference to Jerusalem itself?40 Or what practical and political implications did Paul envision for those who have the “Jerusalem above” as their mother-city (Gal 4:26)? This of course also raises the question of Paul’s political hopes and eschatology and we will have to tie together these themes with other aspects of Paul’s thought. For now, my purpose has simply been to argue that one can make a prima facie case that these symbols had contemporary and political significance for a Diaspora Jew like Paul. I will make the case that each of these symbols offers an important insight into how Paul conceptualised authority at various levels. The Land raises the ultimate question, “To whom does the earth belong?” and it should not surprise us that Paul’s perspective here might shed light on his attitude towards Rome. 41 Jerusalem raises the question of whether there is any centralised authority that governs the people of God. Finally, the Temple addresses aspects of the former questions and the question of the authority of the community itself vis-à-vis its members. Broadly speaking, therefore, I will argue that the structure of authority in the local community, within the wider “people of God,” and in relation to the Roman Empire can be discerned through Paul’s appropriation of the symbols of Temple, Jerusalem, and Land respectively. 42 It is not always clear, however, how Paul’s thought in this area related to other perspectives in the Jewish Diaspora broadly.43 It is in this regard that it 40 Note an interesting potential contrast with the Matthean Jesus who, almost certainly alluding to Jerusalem as a “city on a hill” says of the community, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid.” (Matt 2:14). 41 In commenting on Paul’s “apocalyptic” perspective, Ernst Käsemann highlighted how important this question was to Paul: “Apocalyptic, finally, is the disquieting question which not only moves the apostle but apparently faces every Christian, a question bound up with his task and his existence: who owns the earth?” Perspectives on Paul (London: SCM Press, 1971), 24–5. 42 I work here with Geertz’s thesis that a culture’s symbols embody their “most comprehensive ideas of order.” The Interpretation of Cultures, 89 (emphasis mine). 43 Jill Hicks-Keeton argues that, while Paul’s Jewish context has received significant attention in academic scholarship, “‘diaspora’ (or ‘diasporic’) – is by comparison under-theorized in the study of Paul and Hellenistic Judaism.” “Putting Paul in His Place: Diverse Diasporas and Sideways Spaces in Hellenistic Judaism,” JJMJS 6 (2019): 3. For arguments that highlight the importance of this category for understanding Paul see Ronald Charles, Paul and the Politics of Diaspora (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 1–41. Note also Sanders’ conclusion that: “To understand Paul we must see that he was a Diaspora Jew and that he was not a Pharisaic scholar.” Paul: The Apostle’s Life, Letters, and Thought (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), 22.

F. Why Philo?

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will prove especially instructive to bring Paul into conversation with Philo of Alexandria in order to let their respective political theologies mutually illuminate one another.

F. Why Philo? F. Why Philo?

It is generally recognised that, along with Josephus, Philo is one of our most important primary sources when it comes to understanding Second Temple Judaism. This remains true despite the diversity of the first century Jewish world and despite Philo’s somewhat atypical place within it. 44 Thus Henry Chadwick could claim that, “of all the non-Christian writers of the first century A.D., Philo is the one from whom the historian of emergent Christianity has most to learn.”45 That his conviction has generally been accepted among scholars has been borne out by the proliferation of studies on Philo in the decades since he wrote. The Studia Philonica Annual series, started in 1971, is one such example of this burgeoning interest. Roberto Radice and David T. Runia spoke already three decades ago of “a truly explosive growth of Philonic studies, which shows no sign of abating.”46 But Philo is important not only to New Testament studies generally,47 but also specifically to an historical understanding of the apostle Paul.48 Not only were they near contemporaries, but both were Diaspora Jews who had considerable knowledge of Greek rhetoric and thought forms (although Philo’s education was clearly more formal and Paul’s more practical).49 See, e.g., David T. Runia, “Was Philo a Middle Platonist?,” SPhiloA 5 (1993): 64–6. Henry Chadwick, “St Paul and Philo of Alexandria,” BJRL 48 (1966): 288. 46 Roberto Radice and David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria: An Annotated Bibliography 1937–1986 (Leiden: Brill, 1988), xxiv. 47 On this see the essays by Gregory Sterling, George Nickelsburg, and Larry Hurtado in Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, eds., Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 48 Volker Rabens, e.g., comments in this regard: “together with other strands of JewishHellenistic and Greco-Roman literature, the writings of Philo functioned as intertexts that formed part of the horizon of interpretation of Paul and his readers.” “Pneuma and the Beholding of God: Reading Paul in the Context of Philonic Mystical Traditions,” in The Holy Spirit, Inspiration, and the Cultures of Antiquity (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2014), 295. 49 On Philo, John Barclay summarises: “Philo’s education suggests that he received a thorough training in a gymnasium context.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 114. See further Torrey Seland, “Philo of Alexandria: An Introduction,” in Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 6–7; Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 17–18. On Paul, Stanley Porter concludes: “he may well have acquired the basics of a grammar school education (in Tarsus), including a highly functional use of the Greek language, before proceeding to formal religious training.” The Apostle Paul: His Life, Thought, and Letters (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), 16. On Paul’s knowledge 44 45

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Furthermore, both Paul and Philo, in quite different ways, saw their role in relation to their people as that of teachers of the Scriptures.50 In fact, Peder Borgen can insist that “Philo is primarily an exegete.”51 While Philo saw his role primarily in explaining the meaning of the Scriptures (especially the Law of Moses), Paul saw himself primarily as an apostle with the task of declaring the gospel of God as a fulfilment of those Scriptures.52 Nevertheless, both were teachers who read the same Scriptures in Greek and shared much by way of a common heritage. 53 As evidence of this common Jewish heritage, we might highlight how both were passionately committed to their own people, to the extent that they were willing to give themselves over to death (or worse) for their sake. Paul famously writes in his letter to the church in Rome: For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own people, my kindred according to the flesh (ηὐχόμην γὰρ ἀνάθεμα εἶναι αὐτὸς ἐγὼ ἀπὸ τοῦ Χριστοῦ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀδελφῶν μου τῶν συγγενῶν μου κατὰ σάρκα) (Rom 9:3).

Philo also, when he saw the future of his people in jeopardy, expressed his willingness to die for their historic faith. In relation to confronting Gaius Caligula about the statue that he had demanded be erected in the Temple, Philo writes of the very real possibility of death: Well so be it, we will die and be no more, for the truly glorious death, met in defence of laws, might be called life (ἀλλ’ ἔστω, τεθνηξόμεθα ζωὴ γάρ τίς ἐστιν ὁ ὑπὲρ φυλακῆς νόμων εὐκλεέστατος θάνατος) (Legat. 192).

This spirit of sacrifice, no doubt kindled by the example of the Maccabean martyrs, has deep Jewish roots that can be traced at least as far back as Moses offering his life for his people (Exod 32:32) or Judah offering his life for his brother (Gen 44:33). Of particular interest for my purposes is the fact that both were engaged in political struggles for the survival of their communities. Paul writes from prison to the church in Philippi of his mission as: The defence (ἀπολογία) and confirmation of the gospel (Phil 1:7). of popular philosophy see classically Abraham J. Malherbe, Paul and the Popular Philosophers (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989). See further Sanders, Paul, 13–82. 50 Note Philo’s rare and much cited autobiographical remark: “So behold me daring, not only to read the sacred messages of Moses, but also in my love of knowledge to peer into each of them and unfold and reveal what is not known to the multitude” (Spec. 3.6). 51 Peder Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria,” in The Literature of the Jewish People in the Period of the Second Temple and the Talmud. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 259. 52 See, e.g. Rom 1:1–5 or 1 Cor 15:1–11. 53 For a discussion of Philo’s Judaism see, e.g., Karl-Gustav Sandelin, “Philo as Jew,” in Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 19– 46.

F. Why Philo?

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Philo, in the context of the embassy to Gaius described above, writes that the proper judicial procedure when he had appeared before Gaius should have been that: The opposing parties would stand on either side of him with the advocates who would speak for them, and he would listen in turn to the accusation and the defence (ἀπολογίας) (Legat. 350).

Philo, like Paul, had hoped to give a legal defence regarding the “contention about our citizenship (περὶ τῆς πολιτείας)” (Legat. 349), but this was denied him in a travesty of justice that he goes on to describe. The point is that both these leaders faced numerous encounters with the Roman authorities surrounding their faith. We can only speculate that, if Paul ever stood before Nero,54 his experience would not have been that dissimilar to Philo’s experience before Gaius Caligula twenty years earlier. Furthermore, both saw their communities occupying a special place within the greater world in which Rome held sway. For Philo this meant that God’s judgement would ultimately fall on all who persecuted God’s special people.55 Paul likewise is confident of God’s eschatological judgement on all who now oppose the Jew and gentile communities in Christ. 56 In other words, both these men saw their communities as vital expressions of God’s historic people who enjoyed God’s active providential care. Of further interest for my study is the fact that Philo, like Paul, seemed to show little interest in the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. In fact, prominent Philo scholar Samuel Sandmel insists that, “It cannot be over-emphasized that Philo has little or no concern for Palestine.”57 Furthermore, it is also widely recognised that Jerusalem and the Temple do not feature prominently in Philo’s theologising. Daniel R. Schwartz writes that “very frequently his references to the temple actually undercut it by spiritualizing it.”58 In the final analysis, Schwartz attributes Philo’s perspective to his Diaspora environment which forced a certain negotiation with Rome’s sovereignty. For my purposes I want to ask in what ways Paul and Philo’s perspectives here were similar and different. Can Philo’s lack of focus on these concrete realia, for example, be reduced

A possibility that Paul’s letters and the book of Acts leaves open. See, e.g., his comment on the Roman governor of Egypt who had abused his power over the Jews: “Such was the fate of Flaccus also, who thereby became an indubitable proof that the help which God can give was not withdrawn from the nation of the Jews (τὸ Ἰουδαίων ἔθνος)” (Flacc. 191). 56 Writing to the believers in the Roman colony of Philippi, his desire is that they not be fearful of their opponents and he assures them that this in itself “is evidence of their destruction, but of your salvation” (Phil 1:28). 57 Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 116. 58 Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 26. 54 55

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to pressure from his Diaspora existence and to what extent might this be true of Paul as well? 59 The above observations, however, do not mean in any way to diminish the profound differences that existed between these two significant figures, due not least to Paul’s conviction that Israel’s Messiah had arrived in Jesus. While Philo might, for example, speculatively hint that membership in “Israel” might not be limited to those who are ethnically “Jews,”60 we do not see in him anything like Paul’s commitment to building new multi-ethnic communities of Jews and gentiles. These observations also lead to questions of Paul and Philo’s Jewish identity and to what extent they remained committed to Jewish customs and institutions, such as the celebration of the festivals and participation in the Temple cult. Much twentieth-century scholarship, being deeply influenced by German Lutheranism, simply took it for granted that Paul regarded Jewish institutions such as the Temple cult as obsolete and effectively replaced by the community of the church. 61 In this regard, Paul was often cast as a Hellenistic universalist who abandoned all Jewish particularity. 62 Following the Second World War and the re-evaluation of the theological attitudes that were reflected in earlier scholarship, new work on Paul’s Jewish context began to emerge. 63 E.P. Sanders’ Paul and Palestinian Judaism (1977) particularly sparked the so-called “new perspective”64 that has especially been aware of the tendency to project theological concerns of the Reformation back onto Paul. 59 Schwartz, e.g., commenting on Paul’s focus on Jerusalem “above” (Gal 4:26; Phil 3:20), writes “it seems that Philo too should be viewed as leaning in the same direction, albeit inconsistently and without the polemics.” “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 24. 60 See classically Ellen Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism in Philo’s Thought: Israel, Jews, and Proselytes (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), 220–30. 61 See, e.g., Hans Wenschkewitz, Die Spiritualisierung der Kultusbegriffe Tempel, Priester und Opfer im Neuen Testament (Leipzig: Eduard Pfeiffer, 1932). Note also the earlier roots in Ferdinand C. Baur, Paul: The Apostle of Jesus Christ, trans. Eduard Zeller, 2nd ed., 2 vols. (London: Williams & Norgate, 1876). See further references in Ch. 2. 62 In studying Paul, Baur famously aimed to demonstrate “how Christianity, instead of remaining a mere form of Judaism, and being ultimately absorbed in it, asserted itself as a separate, independent principle, broke loose from it and took its form as a new form of religious thought and life, essentially differing from Judaism, and freed from all its national exclusiveness.” Paul, 1:3. 63 Significant among these were William D. Davies, Paul and Rabbinic Judaism: Some Rabbinic Elements in Pauline Theology (London: SPCK, 1948); Krister Stendahl, “The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West,” HTR 56 (1963): 199–215; Ed P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977). For a brief overview of this history of scholarship see Nicholas T. Wright, Paul and His Recent Interpreters: Some Contemporary Debates (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), 3–25. 64 The nomenclature is typically traced back to James D.G. Dunn, “The New Perspective on Paul,” BJRL 65 (1983): 95–122.

F. Why Philo?

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More recently, there has emerged what Magnus Zetterholm has termed “the radical new perspective” 65 and Mark Nanos the “Paul within Judaism” 66 perspective. These scholars argue that even the so-called “new perspective” has misunderstood Paul’s first-century context and has merely changed the mischaracterisation of first-century Judaism as legalistic into a mischaracterisation of it as ethnocentric. Characteristic of this perspective is an insistence that Paul’s letters should be read as primarily addressed to gentiles, that Paul’s missionary activity took place prior to 70 C.E., and that Paul’s theologising is to be seen as part of an intra-Jewish discourse.67 Within this field, scholars such as Lloyd Gaston, John Gager, Pamela Eisenbaum, and Paula Fredriksen have also sought to demonstrate that assumptions from a contra Iudaeos tradition within the church have also often been projected back onto Paul. 68 This scholarly revision of Paul’s attitude towards his native Judaism has also driven scholars to reconsider his attitude towards some of its central symbols. In this regard, Eyal Regev (2019) has recently argued that Paul’s attitude toward the Temple may have been quite similar to that of Philo’s. Regev suggests that Paul, like Philo, may have remained committed to the literal Temple cult while developing the symbolic meaning of the Temple in “new religious messages” for his gentile audience.69 What did Paul and Philo’s symbolic use imply about their perspectives on this concrete institution? One of the central contentions of this study is that the Temple cannot be considered in isolation, but together with the Land and Jerusalem, and that the underlying narrative that each presupposed must be accounted for. Magnus Zetterholm, Approaches to Paul: A Student’s Guide to Recent Scholarship (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2009), 161. 66 Mark D. Nanos, “Introduction,” in Paul within Judaism: Restoring the First-Century Context to the Apostle, ed. Mark D. Nanos and Magnus Zetterholm (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), 1. 67 In addition to the works of Zetterholm and Nanos cited above, see also William S. Campbell, Paul and the Creation of Christian Identity (London: T&T Clark, 2008); Idem., “Reading Paul in Relation to Judaism: Comparison or Contrast?,” in Earliest Christianity within the Boundaries of Judaism: Essays in Honor of Bruce Chilton (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 120–50. 68 See, esp., Paula Fredriksen, “What ‘Parting of the Ways’? Jews, Gentiles, and the Ancient Mediterranean City,” in The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. Adam H. Becker and Annette Y. Reed (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 35–64. 69 Commenting on Philo’s ability to interpret the Temple cult symbolically while remaining committed to the literal institution, Regev writes: “Philo’s twofold approach is important for assessing the use of the Temple and sacrifices as an analogy, as is found in Paul’s cultic metaphors. Using the cult to represent something else does not necessarily deprive the basic practical aspects of their value. It makes more sense that appreciation of the Temple and sacrifices leads the author to develop their symbolism in new religious messages.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 13. 65

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A consideration of Philo’s political thought in relation to Paul is furthermore important due to Philo’s significant influence on later Christian (political) theology. Through Philo, many of the Church fathers encountered Platonic and Stoic thought in the form of allegorical exegesis of the Scriptures. In time this approach became a very useful tool in commending the Christian faith to their contemporaries.70 Oliver O’Donovan (2012) highlights Philo’s significant influence, especially on the political theology of Eastern Christendom. 71 This influence is also evident in Augustine, whose political theology laid out in The City of God, would prove extremely influential for centuries to come. 72 A further motivation for this approach is that a critical comparison of Paul and Philo has recently proved instructive in relation to other historical and theological questions.73 Recent major studies have compared their perspectives on the sophistic movement, 74 creation,75 grace,76 and their reading of the Abrahamic narrative. 77 Numerous shorter studies have also recently dealt with their respective views on slavery,78 wisdom and folly, 79 divine and human agency, 80 70 For a comprehensive survey of Philo’s influence on early Christian thought, see David T. Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature: A Survey (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993). 71 “Government as Judgement,” in An Eerdmans Reader in Contemporary Political Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 712–30. 72 On Philo’s reflection on the city of Jerusalem in Somn. 2.245–254, e.g., Runia comments: “No one can read this passage without thinking of the much more famous and elaborate treatment of the ‘City of God’ in Augustine.” “The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,” JHI 61 (2000): 377. On Philo’s influence on Augustine through Ambrose, the “Latin Philo,” see Mireille Hadas-Lebel, Philo of Alexandria: A Thinker in the Jewish Diaspora (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 213–4. For Augustine’s profound influence on Christian political theology see Jean B. Elshtain, “Augustine,” in The Blackwell Companion To Political Theology (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004), 35–47. 73 For a helpful overview of some earlier comparative studies of Paul and Philo, see Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature: A Survey, 66–73. 74 See Bruce W. Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 75 See Jonathan Worthington, Creation in Paul and Philo, WUNT II 317 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). 76 See Orrey McFarland, God and Grace in Philo and Paul, NovTSup 164 (Leiden: Brill, 2016). 77 See Klaus Vibe, “The Spirit of Faith: A Comparative Study of Philo’s and Paul’s Reading of the Abraham Story” (PhD, MF Norwegian School of Theology, 2018). 78 See Peter Garnsey, Ideas of Slavery from Aristotle to Augustine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 79 See Christian Noack, “Haben oder Empfangen: Antithetische Charakterisierungen von Torheit und Weisheit bei Philo und bei Paulus,” in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 283–307. 80 See John M.G. Barclay, “‘By the Grace of God I Am What I Am’: Grace and Agency in Philo and Paul,” in Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Environment (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 140–47.

G. Paul and Philo on politics and power

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circumcision,81 Jerusalem,82 and with the Jewish mystical tradition on which they both drew.83 A final motivation for this study is that, although many have investigated Paul and Philo’s political thought independently, there is to my knowledge no sustained attempt to bring these two into conversation with one another on this theme. It is certainly true that those who have studied Philo’s politics extensively have made offhand comments by way of comparison with Paul and viceversa, but a more careful analysis has not been undertaken. This research therefore brings together these two prominent Jewish voices from the first century and attempts to answer some key (political) questions through assessing their respective perspectives on the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple.

G. Paul and Philo on politics and power G. Paul and Philo on politics and power

As will be clear from the forgoing discussion, the “politics” of my title “is defined broadly to include the various ways in which humans order common life.”84 In other words, I am exploring Paul and Philo’s “politics” both in the narrower sense of their perspectives on the institutions and governance of the “state” and in the broader sense of their perspectives on the distribution of power within the communities to which they belonged. 85 As this is of relevance

See Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 61–80. See Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer, “Diaspora Jewish Attitudes to Metropoleis: Philo and Paul on Balanced Personalities, Split Loyalties, Jerusalem, and Rome,” in The Urban World and the First Christians, ed. Steve Walton, Paul R. Trebilco, and David W.J. Gill (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017), 86–98. 83 See Bernhard Heininger, “Paulus und Philo als Mystiker? Himmelreisen im Vergleich (2Kor 12,2–4; SpecLeg III 1–6),” in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 189–204; Rabens, “Pneuma and the Beholding of God.” 84 Craig Hovey and Elizabeth Phillips, The Cambridge Companion To Christian Political Theology, ed. Craig Hovey and Elizabeth Phillips (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), xii. In her recent study of Paul’s politics, Dorothea H. Bertschamann likewise comments: “I am using ‘politics’ quite broadly, to encompass the organization and governance of community life.” Bowing before Christ – Nodding to the State? Reading Paul Politically with Oliver O’Donovan and John Howard Yoder (London: T&T Clark, 2014), 72.. 85 Such an approach is in keeping with the ancient perspective that saw a close relationship between the governance of the household and the city. Note, e.g., Philo’s comment on Joseph’s role in Egypt that reflects the Aristotelian tradition: “For the future statesman needed first to be trained and practised in house management; for a house is a city compressed into small dimensions, and household management may be called a kind of state management, just as a city too is a great house and statesmanship the household management 81 82

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to my study, I briefly survey the state of research with regard to Paul and Philo’s political theology. The sections on their “politics” address the narrower definition and the section on “power” the wider definition. I. Philo’s politics Philo had a great deal to say about Roman rule, both actual and ideal. Along with other aspects of Philo’s thought, this has been quite comprehensively studied over the last number of decades. Most contemporary studies look back to the seminal work of Erwin R. Goodenough (1938) that explored Philo’s attitude toward Roman rule.86 Goodenough’s analysis was generally careful and acknowledged, for example, that Philo was “too large minded not to see the value of much in Greek and Roman thought.” Nevertheless, in the final analysis, he famously concluded that, “he loved the Romans no more than the skipper of a tiny boat loves a hurricane.”87 Goodenough argued that Philo would openly criticise Roman abuses of power when it was politically safe to do so, but that he did so in “code” or by “innuendo” when it would have proved too dangerous.88 In this sense, he argued that Philo was a political realist who generally encouraged a propitiating attitude to Roman rule simply because there was no viable alternative. 89 Furthermore, Goodenough made a careful case that Philo on the whole accepted the Hellenistic theory of kingship coming from Stoic, Platonic and Pythagorean philosophy.90 In this regard, he argued that Philo was constantly measuring Roman rule by this yardstick and that he also presented Jewish rulers like Joseph and Moses as fulfilling this ideal. Goodenough’s thesis, although probably overstated,91 sparked considerable debate that has also played a significant role in debates regarding Paul’s attitude towards Roman rule. of the general public” (Ios. 38). See further D. Brendan Nagle, The Household as the Foundation of Aristotle’s Polis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). When Corin Mihaila comments on 1 Cor 1–4 that: “the σχίσματα of Paul’s time has nothing to do with politics,” he can only mean “politics” in the narrower sense. The Paul-Apollos Relationship and Paul’s Stance towards Greco-Roman Rhetoric: An Exegetical and Socio-Historical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 90. 86 Erwin R. Goodenough, The Politics of Philo Judaeus: Practice and Theory (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1938). 87 Goodenough, The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 25. 88 Goodenough, 1–20; 21–63. 89 Goodenough writes: “He was no fanatic, and knew that so long as the Messiah had not yet come, one must get on with the Romans in the most conciliating spirit possible. So Philo kept his Messianism to himself. But one could secretly think, hope, and hate. And Philo seems to me to be assuring his Jewish friends that he was passionately doing all three.” The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 25. 90 Goodenough, 86–120. 91 While recognising that this remains an open question, Torrey Seland comments: “Many scholars are of the opinion that Goodenough overstates his case.” “Philo as a Citizen: Homo

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Following Goodenough, Harry A. Wolfson (1962) explored not so much Philo’s attitude toward Roman rule as his exposition of the Law as the ideal constitution for which philosophers like Plato and Aristotle had been searching. 92 Wolfson did, however, argue that Philo’s political theory was often at odds with the reigning Graeco-Roman practice, but not in as directly a confrontational manner as suggested by Goodenough.93 In a similar direction, Goodenough’s student Samuel Sandmel (1979) continued to emphasise Philo’s criticism of Roman rule, but saw this as being more specific to the Alexandrian situation.94 In his comprehensive study of Philo’s politics, Ray Barraclough (1984) took this one step further and argued that Philo’s critique was by no means universal, but aimed only at particular abuses of Roman power. With regard to the Roman official Flaccus, for example, he writes: “Philo, however, is criticising the man and not his office; his ire is not directed against Roman rule.”95 Barraclough regarded Philo as having a greater appreciation of Roman rule generally and that the goal of his writings was mainly “to restore the status quo for Jews as established in the earlier years of the Empire.”96 Those texts which Goodenough read as veiled criticism of Roman rule, Barraclough argued were directed either against the arrogance and excesses of gentile rulers generally or otherwise against ochlocracy (“mob rule”). Philo experienced the latter in the Alexandrian pogrom of the late 30s C.E. and Barraclough suggests that this “is a prime factor in his criticism of the misuse of political power.”97 Barraclough concluded that, while there may be some glimmers of messianic hope in Philo, his political ideas “are abstracted from the experiences of major figures in Hebrew history” and that ultimately “his static view of history undergirds his static political ideals.”98 The extent to which Philo was committed to the status quo is a question I will continue to explore, Politicus,” in Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 53. 92 Harry A. Wolfson, Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, rev. ed., 2 vols. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1962), 2:322–438. Wolfson writes: “His purpose was to show that it was unlike any of the other known constitutions; it was better than any of them; in fact, it was the ideal constitution which philosophers had been looking for.” Philo, 2:374–5. 93 Commenting on Philo’s dislike of combining the office of priest and king in Virt. 53– 54, e.g., Wolfson writes, “There is in these words the unmistakable ring of a criticism of a theory or a practice to combine these two offices, and the theory or practice alluded to may be that of ancient Greece and Egypt or of Rome in his own time.” Philo, 2:339. 94 Samuel Sandmel, Philo of Alexandria (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 103. 95 Ray Barraclough, “Philo’s Politics: Roman Rule and Hellenistic Judaism,” in ANRW II.21.1, ed. Wolfgang Haase (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1984), 475. 96 Barraclough, “Philo’s Politics,” 475. 97 Barraclough, 526–27. 98 Barraclough, 551.

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keeping in mind both his privileged social position (which may suggest it), and his own experiences of abuse of power (which may militate against it). I note further that Barraclough generally agrees that Philo was deeply influenced by the Hellenistic ideals of kingship. Augustus and Tiberius are portrayed as fulfilling these ideals in Legatio ad Gaium and In Flaccum, and in his exposition of the life of Moses and Joseph, Philo “seeks to show that the riches in Hellenistic political aspirations were attainable with the Judaistic heritage.”99 More recently, Katell Berthelot (2011) has argued that Philo’s perception of the Roman Empire is less positive than has sometimes been affirmed and that his high praise of previous emperors ought to be read within its particular rhetorical context. 100 She points out how Philo never affirms that divine pronoia is working on behalf of the Romans and how Philo attributes Rome’s ascendancy to unstable Tychè rather than to “Nature.” She finally highlights evidence that “Philo expected all empires – even the Roman Empire – to decline at some point in the course of history, and Israel to rise.”101 More recently still, Maren Niehoff (2018) has argued that scholars have often failed to appreciate the profound way in which Philo’s embassy to Rome impacted his later thought and work.102 She argues that he was drawn away from his earlier Platonic transcendentalism towards a more immanent Stoicism and that he increasingly sought to present Judaism as a philosophically oriented religion that resonated with Roman values.103 While Philo was opposed to tyranny, she concludes: “There is no sign that Philo is in principle opposed to the institution of the Roman Principate . . . To assume that Philo is ‘anti-imperialist’ is to apply modern values.” 104 Scholars like Torrey Seland continue to emphasise the importance of understanding Philo’s particular social location before drawing general conclusions about his politics. In this regard, he highlights the importance of wrestling with

Barraclough, 487. Katell Berthelot, “Philo’s Perception of the Roman Empire,” JSJ 42 (2011): 166–87. 101 Berthelot, “Philo’s Perception of the Roman Empire,” 185. 102 Maren R. Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria: An Intellectual Biography (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018). Niehoff comments: “Philo changed dramatically as a result of his journey to Rome. The embassy to Gaius Caligula became a turning point in his life, drawing him out of his contemplative mode in Alexandria into Roman politics and discourses. He became exposed to a new cultural and intellectual environment.” Philo of Alexandria, 11. 103 Niehoff comments about Philo’s biographies in the Exposition, e.g., “Through the Lives of the biblical patriarchs he positions himself as a Jew in contemporary Greco-Roman discourses and inscribes Judaism among the leading civilizations. His style is easily accessible and offers a splendid introduction to Judaism and Jewish values, placing the Israelite ancestors next to the Roman.” Philo of Alexandria, 130. 104 Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria, 56. 99

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the chronology of events in Alexandria in the late 30s C.E. as well as understanding Philo’s particular use of political terminology. 105 II. Paul’s politics The last several decades have also seen an intense interest in Paul’s political theology, such that contemporary accounts of his theology seem incomplete without some reference to it. Whereas earlier debates revolved around the question of whether Paul was essentially a Jewish or Hellenistic thinker, it is notable that in significant recent works like N.T. Wright’s Paul and the Faithfulness of God (2013), the Roman context is often independently and explicitly studied.106 Previous tendencies to study Paul’s non-Jewish context under one broad rubric of “Hellenism” or the “Graeco-Roman world” in some ways both reflected and reinforced the lack of interest in political questions. This has decisively changed over the last few decades, however, evidenced by many new articles, monographs, and research groups focussed on these questions (notably the SBL Paul and Politics group). The contemporary interest in political questions is multi-faceted, but can certainly be traced back to various broader historical and cultural movements in the twentieth century. These include post-Holocaust debates, civil rights struggles, the women’s movement, anti-colonial struggles, and philosophical challenges to the dominant historical-critical paradigm within biblical scholarship. While most scholars have welcomed the new avenues of research that these questions have opened, most also recognise that this discipline is still in a process of maturing. 107 Most contemporary accounts of the subject look back to Adolf Deissmann’s seminal work, first published in 1908, in which he argued that Paul’s letters espouse “a polemical parallelism between the cult of Christ and the cult of Caesar.”108 Deissmann noted the parallels between key terms in Paul’s letters (e.g., κύριος, εὐαγγέλιον, παρουσία, υἱός θεοῦ) and those of Roman imperial terminology which he argued would have created “a powerful sense of contrast in the mind of people.”109 Deissmann thus distinguished between Paul’s own Seland, “Philo as a Citizen,” 73. Alongside the Jewish (“The faithfulness of the God of Israel”) and Roman (“Rome and the challenge of Empire”) contexts, Wright further divides the Greek world into its philosophical (“The wisdom of the Greeks”) and practical dimensions (“Religion and culture in Paul’s world”). 107 Wright comments: “Studies in the 1990s may perhaps have overreached itself, as scholarly enthusiasms sometimes do, and it is time for a sober appraisal.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1271. 108 Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated by Recently Discovered Texts from the Graeco-Roman World (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1978), 349. 109 Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 343. 105 106

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intention, which he suggested may have had an element of “silent protest” toward other “lords,” and the way his first hearers would have understood him. After the Second World War, these political questions increasingly became the subject of research in the work of (among others) Oscar Cullmann, Ethelbert Stauffer, Klaus Wengst, Dieter Georgi, Richard A. Horsley, Bruno Blumenfeld, Neil Elliot, Peter Oakes, Nicholas T. Wright, John Barclay, Seyoon Kim, James Harrison, Davina Lopez, and Brigitte Kahl.110 Important in this discussion has been the application of James C. Scott’s seminal sociological research on “hidden transcripts” that explored the often concealed ways in which dominated groups might resist their oppressors.111 The relevance of Scott’s work for the study of Paul, together with methodological discussions about what constitutes a coded critique, continue to be debated. 112 Philo also surfaces quite regularly in these debates since he obviously felt quite free to openly criticise Roman rulers like Gaius in Legatio ad Gaium. As has been pointed out, however, this was only done after Gaius’ death and not without praise for the rule of Augustus, Tiberius, and others.113 As with Philo, scholars have continued to debate Paul’s politics generally and his attitude towards Roman rule particularly. One of the ongoing questions is the degree to which the Roman Empire as such was “significant” to Paul. Barclay, for example, in response to the initial wave of enthusiasm that saw implicit critique of Roman rule in many of Paul’s writings, has argued that Paul’s critique is directed more broadly against the “powers” of Sin, Death and the Flesh. 114 Barclay writes in summary: There were undoubtedly numerous aspects of Roman power that Paul would castigate as energised by the Flesh, by Sin or by Death, but since he was not opposed to Caesar or Rome as such, he could also recognise aspects of Roman rule that were at least compatible with the rule of God.115

This story is now told in numerous places. See, e.g., Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 363–88; James R. Harrison, Paul and the Imperial Authorities at Thessalonica and Rome: A Study in the Conflict of Ideology (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 1–18; Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 279–350. 111 Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990). 112 See Richard A. Horsley, ed., Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul (Leiden: Brill, 2004); Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 363–88. 113 On this broader point in relation to Philo, Josephus and Tacitus see Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1315–7. 114 See Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 363–88. See further criticism of anti-imperial readings in Seyoon Kim, Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008); Bertschmann, Bowing before Christ. 115 Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 385 (emphasis original). 110

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I note that Barclay makes the same point that Barraclough made in relation to Philo, namely, that Rome itself is not particularly singled out for criticism. While agreeing with Barclay in many areas, Wright contends that Paul nevertheless saw the “powers” coming together in a unique way through Rome and that Paul would undoubtedly have seen Rome as the final great empire prophesied by Daniel. 116 Wright in fact identifies three broad scholarly positions in relation to how Paul regarded Roman rule, namely, as: 1. 2. 3.

Essentially positive and benign A particular target of Paul’s message A fairly neutral backdrop against which Paul proclaimed a greater story.117

In this regard, he advocates a nuanced version of the second position and primarily has Barclay in mind in the third. Furthermore, he identifies a fundamental tension in Paul between two biblical positions: The two biblical positions belong in fact within the same narrative: (i) at the moment, God has given the pagan rulers sovereignty, and Israel must navigate its way to a seeking of the welfare of the city which does not compromise its ultimate loyalty, but (ii) the time will come when God will overthrow the wicked pagans, not only rescuing Israel but setting it up as the new, alternative world kingdom. 118

Wright goes on to highlight, therefore, the crucial importance of understanding Paul’s inaugurated eschatology in order to understand how he could at the same time call believers to civic obedience in passages like Rom 13:1–7, even while insisting that these same rulers “are doomed to perish” in 1 Cor 2:6. I will provide further arguments in this study that this is indeed the broad narrative within which Paul operated and that the way he conceptualised authority was especially at odds with Graeco-Roman values. III. Paul and Philo on power As I am particularly concerned with how Paul and Philo’s appropriation of these symbols communicate power and authority (“politics” in the broader sense), I also comment briefly on social scientific work in this area. Most accounts look back to the seminal work of the German sociologist Max Weber, especially as expressed in The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, first published as Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft in 1921.119 Weber began with the

Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1307–19. Wright, 1272–3. 118 Wright, 1275. 119 Cited here is Max Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, ed. Talcott Parsons, trans. A.M. Henderson and Talcott Parsons (New York: Oxford University Press, 1947). 116 117

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concept of a “legitimate order,” observing that all human action, especially social action, is “oriented by the actors to a belief (Vorstellung) in the existence of a ‘legitimate order.’”120 Here Weber also presents his famous three-fold taxonomy of legitimate order, namely: 1. 2. 3.

The rational / legal: resting on a belief in the ‘legality’ of the patterns of normative rules and the right of those elevated to authority under such rules to issue commands (legal authority). The traditional: resting on an established belief in the sanctity of immemorial traditions and the legitimacy of the status of those exercising authority under them (traditional authority). The charismatic: resting on devotion to the specific and exceptional sanctity, heroism or exemplary character of an individual person, and of the normative patterns of order revealed or ordained by him (charismatic authority).121

Although these sociological categories have their roots in the study of early Christianity,122 they entered Pauline scholarship in the 1970s largely through the work of John H. Schütz and Bengt Holmberg.123 Schütz argued that one of the unique aspects of Paul’s conception of charismatic authority was that the community themselves “are equated charismatically with him.”124 Thus he argued that, “Where they stand ‘in’ the gospel they stand in the same power as he does and their authority is the same as his.”125 Schütz thus argued that Paul was always aiming at “extending the commonly shared experience of power.”126 He also suggested that Paul’s conception of

Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, 124. Weber, 328. 122 Weber acknowledges, e.g., some indebtedness to Ruholph Sohm for his work on the concept of “charisma.” The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, 328. On how Weber secularised what was for Sohm a fundamentally religious concept, see Peter Haley, “Rudolph Sohm on Charisma,” JR 60 (1980): 185–97. For a broader historical account of the concept of charisma as it has also become significant in contemporary leadership discussions, see John Potts, A History of Charisma (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009). 123 See John H. Schütz, Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975); Bengt Holmberg, Paul and Power: The Structure and Authority in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles (Lund: CWK Gleerup, 1978). For an overview of this area, including scholarly debates about “charisma” and “office,” see James D.G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 565–71. 124 Schütz, Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 275. 125 Schütz, 282. 126 Schütz, 280. 120 121

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authority as “the interpretation of power” 127 was “quickly transformed beyond recognition” in the history of the church. 128 Holmberg, on the other hand, was committed to studying authority as “a social phenomenon, not a theological interpretation of social phenomena.”129 He therefore defined authority strictly as “social relations of asymmetric power distribution considered legitimate by the participating actors.”130 Holmberg’s study was divided into an empirical investigation of the distribution of power in the early church, followed by a critical application of Weber’s categories to discern the structure of authority in those communities. 131 While Holmberg recognised aspects of all three of Weber’s categories,132 he concluded that charismatic authority was clearly dominant and that the early Christ-movement could probably best be described as “an institutionalized charismatic movement.”133 Holmberg also more clearly defined the source of charismatic authority as “contact with ‘the sacred,’” and therefore argued that “the most important basis for the legitimate exercise of power or, in other words, for the exercise of authority in the Primitive Church is proximity to the sacred (Christ and His Spirit).”134 In this regard, Holmberg argued that Paul’s authority in the communities he founded derived from the fact that he mediated the knowledge of Christ to them. As such, he argued that Paul wielded impressive authority because everything they learned about Jesus came from him. 135 Like Schütz, however, Holmberg recognised Paul’s emphasis that “his authority is delegated from a higher source of authority to which, in principle, they themselves have direct access (cf. 1 Cor 3:5–9, 21b-23).”136 While recognising an incipient order in the Pauline churches, Holmberg also pointed out how Paul rationalised and thereby institutionalised authority within

This is a key definition for Schütz who regards authority as “the interpretation of power” in the sense that “authority itself interprets the power behind it so as to make that power available and effective for the purposes the authority has in mind.” Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 13–14. 128 Schütz, Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 278. 129 Holmberg, Paul and Power, 204. 130 Holmberg, 3. 131 Holmberg, 9–122; 123–204. 132 One of the primary criticisms of Weber is that these categories are not mutually exclusive. See Holmberg, Paul and Power, 136–37. Weber himself referred to these categories as “pure types,” recognising that reality is more complex than sociological models. The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, 328. 133 Holmberg, Paul and Power, 199. 134 Holmberg, 145; 199. 135 Holmberg, 187. 136 Holmberg, 188. 127

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this order by introducing higher criteria such “love,” “upbuilding,” and “order.”137 He finally argued for Paul’s “dialectical” approach to authority in which “a dialectic is established between the responsibility of all and the charge of some.”138 Numerous recent studies have taken these questions in new directions and read Paul through the lens of alternative theorisations of power. 139 What many of these studies have in common is a recognition of the power dynamics involved in the writing and interpretation of Paul’s letters 140 as well as a dominant focus on Paul as a figure wielding power. Kathy Ehrensperger has taken a somewhat different approach, exploring a variety of themes and motifs that communicate authority in Paul’s writings. 141 Ehrensperger draws on various contemporary accounts of power, not as determinative frameworks through which to analyse the Pauline discourse, but rather as “conversation partners.” She especially highlights distinctions between “power-over,” “power-to,” and “power-with.”142 Furthermore, she cautions against adopting one particular model because of the complexity of understanding the phenomenon of power across history and cultural divides. 143 More recently, still further methodologies, such as those suggested by postcolonial144 and Diaspora studies,145 have also been applied to the study of Paul and power. Insofar as Philo is concerned, I am not aware of any studies that Holmberg, 192. Holmberg, 202. 139 See, e.g., Elizabeth A. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1991); Cynthia B. Kittredge, Community and Authority: The Rhetoric of Obedience in the Pauline Tradition (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998); Sandra H. Polaski, Paul and the Discourse of Power (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999). 140 Castelli’s writes, e.g., “Though early Christian texts are full of references to, articulations of, and claims to power, paradoxically the interpretation of these texts rarely has taken up the question of the power relations underwritten or enabled by these texts, or examined the implication of power being enacted discursively.” Imitating Paul, 23. 141 Kathy Ehrensperger, Paul and the Dynamics of Power (London: T&T Clark, 2007). 142 Ehrensperger defines “power over” as “strategic or dominating power to enforce one’s will,” “power to” as “communicative power or ability to achieve something together with others,” and “power with” as “transformative power which aims at empowering the ‘weaker’ agent to become an equal partner.” Paul and the Dynamics of Power, 16–34. For further discussion on the application of contemporary theories of power to the study of Paul, see Andrew D. Clarke, A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 104–30. 143 Ehrensperger, Paul and the Dynamics of Power, 16. 144 For an overview of this area, see Christopher D. Stanley, “Introduction,” in The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes, ed. Christopher D. Stanley (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011), 3–8. 145 See, e.g., Charles, Paul and the Politics of Diaspora. 137 138

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read his texts through the lens of a particular sociological theory of power. 146 What one has for Philo is work on his politics in the narrower sense,147 a few studies that explore his gender politics 148 and one that utilises the concepts of postcolonial theory. 149 There is therefore also an opportunity to bring Philo into conversation with contemporary accounts of power. Following Ehrensperger’s lead, I will be reading Paul and Philo not through the grid of one model or framework, but rather seeing these as “conversation partners” with whom to engage. In this I will particularly be concerned with what “legitimate order” Paul and Philo’s metaphoric usage of the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple presuppose. Here I will contend that reflections have often been skewed by Weber’s taxonomy that defines charismatic authority exclusively in terms of the heroic individual.150 As scholars like Von Campenhausen and Schütz have observed, this does not always do justice to the way that Paul sees the community itself as a charismatic community. For Paul, the Spirit dwells first and foremost in the corporate community (1 Cor 3:16). Moreover, the connection that many scholars make between the Spirit and authority has often been loose. 151 I will argue that for Paul it relates especially to the capacity, through Spirit-empowered speech, to rationalise one’s position in light of “the gospel.” Furthermore, I will argue that he was generally confident that the community would recognise the most adequate rationalisations in situations of conflict. I will not be arguing that Paul presented a vision of a “non-hierarchical” or “egalitarian” 146 In a search of Radice and Runia’s comprehensive annotated bibliographies of works on Philo from 1937–2006, e.g., I found no significant references to “Weber” or “Foucault.” Radice and Runia refer to only two studies that explore Philo’s exegesis in relation to some of Foucault’s literary theory. Philo of Alexandria: An Annotated Bibliography 1937–1986, 267; 328. Runia’s updated bibliography refers to only one that utilizes Foucault’s theory of sexuality. Philo of Alexandria: An Annotated Bibliography 1997–2006 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 93–94. 147 See the discussion on “Philo’s politics” above. 148 See, e.g., Colleen Conway, “Gender and Divine Relativity in Philo of Alexandria,” JSJ 34 (2003): 471–91; Mary Rose D’Angelo, “Gender and Geopolitics in the Work of Philo of Alexandria: Jewish Piety and Imperial Family Values,” in Mapping Gender in Ancient Religious Discourses, ed. Todd Penner and Caroline Vander Stichele (Leiden: Brill, 2007). 149 See Torrey Seland, “‘Colony’ and ‘Metropolis’ in Philo: Examples of Mimicry and Hybridity in Philo’s Writing Back from the Empire?,” ed. Jean-François Pradeau, Études Platoniciennes 7: Philon d’Alexandrie 7 (2010): 13–36. 150 On how Weber transformed the Pauline concept, see Potts, A History of Charisma, 108–36. In relation to the Corinthian context, Potts concludes: “Authority is to be exercised by the community as a whole, and is not invested in any charismatic function, whether apostle or speaker in tongues.” A History of Charisma, 47. 151 See, e.g., Schütz’s comment: “Like most of the Greek religious world around him, Paul can regard spirit as something impelling and energizing, a view which fits comfortably with the animating power ascribed to spirit by the Old Testament.” Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 252.

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community as such, but simply that the community as a whole was for him a significant centre of authority. I will also contrast this with Philo who, although conceptualising authority in charismatic terms, saw this predominantly in relation to the individual.

H. Paul’s ἐκκλησία and Philo’s synagogue H. Paul and Philo on politics and power

Since this study addresses Paul and Philo’s rethinking of the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple in relation to their respective communities, I also briefly comment here on the social-historical work of recent decades on this area. Most accounts of this movement look back to the seminal work of Edwin Judge, Abraham Malherbe, Gerd Theissen, and Wayne Meeks, who looked at early Christianity through social-scientific lenses and began to ask fresh questions beyond those proposed by traditional theology. 152 One area that has received considerable attention is the types of first-century community that provide the closest model for comparative social analysis with the Pauline ἐκκλησία. In his ground-breaking work, Meeks identified four categories, namely: households, philosophical schools, synagogues, and clubs/voluntary associations. 153 While highlighting features that each of these shared with the ἐκκλησία, Meeks identified the Diaspora synagogue “as the nearest and most natural model.” He did so because this possessed “what is most visibly lacking” in other models, namely, “the sense of belonging to a larger entity: Israel, the People of God, concretely represented by the land of Israel and the Temple in Jerusalem.”154 While many today are wary of identifying a “nearest model,”155 the recognition that the Pauline ἐκκλησία shared many characteristics of the synagogue and that one of these was a sense of belonging to a larger entity is significant. In this regard, I am particularly interested to explore what it meant for Paul and Philo to belong to a “larger entity” and what political loyalties this may have entailed. One of the key political questions to ask here is whether they regarded the ἐκκλησία and synagogue as subject to any higher authority or if they envisioned them as relatively autonomous communities. In his comprehensive study of the ancient synagogue, Lee I. Levine argues that, “as a communal institution, the synagogue was fundamentally controlled For an account of this history of scholarship see Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 4–9. 153 Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983). 154 Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 80. 155 See, e.g., Richard S. Ascough, “Paul, Synagogues, and Associations: Reframing the Question of Models for Pauline Christ Groups,” JJMJS (2015): 27–52. Ascough warns against drawing too sharp a distinction between “synagogue” and “association.” 152

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and operated by the local community.”156 He interestingly also contrasts this with the later church. Levine writes about the synagogue: No hierarchy governed its proceedings and no set of divinely inspired individuals officiated . . . From its often modest size to its multifocal liturgy, the Byzantine synagogue, in contradistinction to its Christian counterpart, expressed a message of inclusion and involvement, where the congregation per se was of primary importance. In this sense, the Christian church approximates more closely the hierarchical stratification that once existed in the Jerusalem Temple.157

While Levine certainly captures an important aspect of the later Byzantine church, we nevertheless want to ask if this was Paul’s vision of the ἐκκλησία as Temple (1 Cor 3:16)? What authority structure and “order” did Paul’s metaphor presuppose in its original context? And was Paul’s original vision perhaps closer to the synagogue model? In this regard, we may also helpfully investigate how Philo regarded the relationship between the synagogue and the Temple and explore his perspective on the authority of Jerusalem vis-à-vis the Diaspora.158 Levine suggests here that, “The writings of Philo are of inestimable importance.”159 These historical questions are closely related to traditional questions of “church order” which have also been the subject of considerable scholarly debate since the mid-nineteenth century. In a summary of these discussions, Richard N. Longenecker highlights what became something of a scholarly consensus in the early twentieth-century, namely, that the earliest communities of Christ followers exhibited quite varying forms of order at various times and places.160 Burnett H. Streeter summarised this consensus in his 1928 Hewett Lectures: At the end of the first century A.D., there existed, in different provinces of the Roman Empire, different systems of Church government. Among these, the Episcopalian, the Presbyterian, and the Independent can each discover the prototype of the system to which he himself adheres.161

In this regard, Streeter tended to identify the Jerusalem church with an episcopal/monarchical model, the Antioch church with a Presbyterian model, and the 156 Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years, 2nd ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 3. 157 Levine, The Ancient Synagogue, 639–40. 158 Levine writes that this topic “has received a good deal of attention in recent publications.” The Ancient Synagogue, 78. 159 Levine, 89. 160 Richard N. Longenecker, “Introduction,” in Community Formation: In the Early Church and in the Church Today, ed. Richard N. Longenecker (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2002), xi–xix. 161 Burnett H. Streeter, The Primitive Church: Studied with Special Reference to the Origins of the Christian Ministry (London: Macmillan and Co., 1930), ix.

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churches established by Paul with a congregational model. In relation to Paul, Streeter further suggested that, “it would have been natural for him to view the newly founded local communities as synagogues – and to organise them accordingly.”162 There are various factors that led scholars like Streeter to see Paul espousing a more congregational model of governance. Not least among these is the fact that Paul does not especially seem to emphasise leadership structures or functions in his letters.163 It is such observations that led many scholars to contrast the apparently non-hierarchical “charismatic” communities of Paul with the later hierarchical church order that was sometimes pejoratively termed “early Catholicism.”164 More recent studies, however, have resisted such simple distinctions. Holmberg points to various factors that should be adequately weighed when drawing conclusions about Paul’s perspective on leadership.165 More recently, Margaret MacDonald and Andrew Clarke have made similar arguments and pointed to texts like 1 Cor 16:15–18, 1 Thess 5:12–13, and Rom 12:8 that, in Clarke’s words, “show a clear Pauline endorsement of a local hierarchy of leaders.”166 These recent sociological studies see previous studies in

Streeter, The Primitive Church, 77. This is diametrically opposed to F.C. Baur’s thesis that it was the Jerusalem church that followed the Jewish synagogue model more closely. See James D.G. Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity (London: SCM Press, 1977), 108–9. 163 Holmberg comments: “The general impression we get when reading Paul’s letters is that the local offices were rather unimportant. They are seldom mentioned, even if the apostle seems to appreciate them, and there are a number of functions they could be expected to have performed, but which we do not find them doing.” Paul and Power, 113. 164 See Margaret Y. MacDonald, The Pauline Churches: A Socio-Historical Study of Institutionalization in the Pauline and Deutero-Pauline Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 2–9. She highlights these tendencies in especially Rudolph Bultmann, Hans von Campenhausen, Eduard Schweizer, Ernst Käsemann and Hans Conzelmann. See also Andrew Clarke, who notes how this position can be traced back to Rudolph Sohm in late nineteenth-century Germany and is also evident in more recent scholars like James Dunn. Clarke observes that: “This view that the earliest churches were devoid of established structures of leadership dominated scholarly readings of Pauline ecclesiology from the late nineteenth century through to the late twentieth century.” A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 15. 165 Holmberg, Paul and Power, 113–9. These factors in the Corinthian context include the fact that Paul’s approach in addressing the whole church in Corinth can be explained by the fact that the leadership itself was part of the problem, the fact that Paul the founder “has not left the scene,” and that Paul calls prophets rather than the whole congregation to weigh prophecy. 166 Clarke, A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 84. See further MacDonald, The Pauline Churches; Andrew D. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–6 (Leiden: Brill, 1993); Andrew D. 162

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this area as being subject to the fallacy of idealism. By contrast, MacDonald insists that “The nature of community life cannot be explained simply by drawing a causal connection between a theological position and a style of organization.”167 These studies also suggest that conclusions drawn here have often been skewed by excessive focus on the Corinthian situation. In relation to the question of community organisation, Clarke concludes that the early churches adopted “broadly similar” structures to the surrounding society. 168 While seeing these conclusions as helpful correctives to the enthusiasm (in the non-technical sense) of earlier scholars, I will argue that we must also be wary of the opposite extreme. Holmberg equally warns of the danger of the “materialistic fallacy” which suggests that “all ideas are only superstructures of purely social processes determined by economic, political and social forces only.”169 What is needed instead is an awareness of “the continuous dialectic between ideas and social structures.”170 I will comment further below on how my research engages in these discussions.

I. Methodology I. Methodology

In this study I adopt a broad socio-literary approach to the relevant Pauline and Philonic texts. 171 In this regard, I will firstly seek to understand the concrete social-historical context of each of these authors and the particular audience and situations they addressed. Secondly, my focus will be on exploring the literary and rhetorical representations of these situations. In this I do not wish to deny the significance of sources beyond the literary (visual, numismatic, epigraphic etc.), but am merely limiting the scope of the study. 172 My interest in the rhetorical dimensions of Paul and Philo’s texts is not in analysing them according to the canons of classical rhetoric, but rather in seeing these, in C. Clarke, Serve the Community of the Church: Christians as Leaders and Ministers (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000). 167 MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, 6. On the fallacy of idealism see also Holmberg, Paul and Power, 205; Clarke, A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 15. 168 A. Clarke writes: “Given the dominant cultural context of deeply embedded stratification in Graeco-Roman civic society, as well as the voluntary associations, the Jewish synagogue communities and the Mediterranean family, it would perhaps be unsurprising if there were a predisposition for believers to adopt a broadly similar approach to the social structuring of their Christian communities.” A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 88. 169 Holmberg, Paul and Power, 207. 170 Holmberg, 205. 171 For an exposition of a similar approach, see Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 27–54. 172 On the dangers of allowing literary evidence to predominate, see Davina C. Lopez, “Visualizing Significant Otherness: Reimagining Pauline Studies through Hybrid Lenses,” in The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011).

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Clifton Black’s words, “as an instrument for the consolidation of power and cohesion.”173 My focus is also literary in the sense that I am not primarily focussed on the historical question of how authority and leadership actually functioned in Paul and Philo’s communities. This has been done by others and I take for granted, for example, that the vision of community that Paul puts forward in 1 Corinthians was, in Clarke’s words, “almost certainly not reflective of the Corinthian community in reality.”174 Despite this literary and rhetorical emphasis, I situate my study in the broad “social-historical” approach of Meeks and his successors. In particular, the following two research questions posed by John Barclay will be important in directing my focus: 1. How did Pauline churches invent and maintain a durable identity, despite deploying a smaller repertoire of differentiating practices compared to Diaspora Jews? and 2. How did Diaspora Jews and early Christian assemblies negotiate their potentially awkward relationship with Roman power and Roman religion? 175

In this study I slightly reframe the first question to address my particular focus for both Paul and Philo: 1a. How did the Pauline churches invent and maintain a durable identity, despite few concrete links to the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple? 1b. What role did the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple play in Philo’s understanding of Jewish identity?

These were important questions in the Hellenistic world where, as Anthony Le Donne has pointed out, a people was commonly defined with reference to its originating land and polis.176 In this regard, I contend that Paul and Philo’s

C. Clifton Black, “Rhetorical Criticism,” in Hearing the New Testament: Strategies for Interpretation, ed. Joel B. Green (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 263. Likewise Robert C. Tannehill writes: “Rhetoric views communication as persuasive action. Paul wants to persuade his audience, that is, to modify its thinking and acting.” The Shape of the Gospel: New Testament Essays (Oregon: Cascade Books, 2007), 207. 174 Clarke, A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 14. Note also Maren Niehoff’s recent approach to Philo: “To date, Philo’s historical treatises mostly have been studied with a view to the question ‘what actually happened?’ . . . Building on the insights of previous scholarship, I propose to appreciate Philo’s historical treatises in a more comprehensive fashion, namely, as literary texts that express his views on a wide range of topics. Events themselves are not my main concern, but Philo’s interpretation of them.” Philo of Alexandria, 4–5. 175 Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 8. 176 Anthony Le Donne, “Complicating the Category of Ethnos toward Poliscentrism: A Possible Way Forward within Second Temple Ethnography,” in The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017), 3–19. 173

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reinterpretation of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple are especially significant in their effort to shape the identity of their hearers.177 When it comes to identity formation, I draw on the understanding that metaphors are not merely “ornaments of language,” but significant means of mapping out a symbolic universe. 178 That is to say, the metaphors Paul employs (e.g. “You are God’s temple”), are powerful means of reforming the imaginative world of his hearers. Likewise, when Philo calls “great kings” those who have no earthly territory (Plant. 68), he is seeking to reshape his hearers’ symbolic world. When it comes to metaphor then, I affirm with Gupta that, “one must not only ask what they mean, but what they do in his discourses and how they create meaning.”179 Through examining Paul and Philo’s texts, therefore, I aim to better understand the symbolic worlds they inhabited and sought to communicate.180 In terms of literary analysis, I will generally follow Richard B. Hays’ methodology when seeking to determine literary “echoes” and allusions.181 For the purposes of this study, I also limit myself to the undisputed Pauline letters 182 and only draw on the others by way of comparison or example. Insofar as the comparison between Paul and Philo is concerned, I follow Orrey McFarland in “allowing their respective positions to illuminate and question the other.”183 In particular, I follow what Troels Engberg-Pedersen termed 177 The importance of these symbols for identity formation has recently been recognized by a number of scholars. See, e.g., Timothy Wardle, The Jerusalem Temple and Early Christian Identity, WUNT II 291 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010); Kar Yong Lim, Metaphors and Social Identity Formation in Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians (Eugene: Pickwick Publications, 2017). On Philo, see Nijay K. Gupta, “The Question of Coherence in Philo’s Cultic Imagery: A Socio-Literary Approach,” JSP 20 (2011): 277–97; Jonathan R. Trotter, The Jerusalem Temple in Diaspora Jewish Practice and Thought during the Second Temple Period (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 185–203. 178 See K.Y. Lim’s discussion of the application of ancient and modern understandings of metaphor to Paul. Lim, Metaphors and Social Identity Formation, 3–25. See also Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 27–54. 179 Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 1–2 (emphasis original). 180 This will require a close reading and “thick description” of the texts, because our worldview is far more frequently something we look through rather than something we look at. See further Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, 19; Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 536. 181 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 1–33. That is to say that for each proposed echo I will seek to establish “availability,” “volume,” “recurrence,” “thematic coherence,” “historical plausibility,” “history of interpretation,” and “satisfaction.” See also Hays’ more recent response to critique of his earlier work in The Conversion of the Imagination: Paul as Interpreter of Israel’s Scripture (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 163–89. 182 That is to say, Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon. 183 McFarland, God and Grace in Philo and Paul, 21.

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the lex Malherbe, i.e. that “comparison in this field requires a thorough knowledge of each figure to be compared in his own right and on his own premises.”184 I thus seek to understand both Paul and Philo on their own terms and within their own social locations. This approach will heed the warning of Jonathan Z. Smith that such comparisons with ancient “Jewish” or “pagan” thinkers can easily tend to be skewed out of a desire to demonstrate Christian “uniqueness.”185 As John Barclay points out when comparing Paul and Philo’s perspectives on grace: Comparative projects have well-known procedural pitfalls: in this case we have a huge volume of Philo’s philosophical exegesis, in three modes (allegory; exposition; questions and answers), to place alongside just seven highly contextualized letters from Paul; and neither author is famed for his systematic consistency. 186

Recognising these obvious challenges, I will seek to avoid the twin dangers of exaggerating or homogenising the differences between these two thinkers. Another issue of relevance for comparative purposes is the way in which one accounts for the conceptual parallels between Paul and Philo. Gudrun Holtz (2014) has recently explored the three main paradigms often applied, namely, literary dependence, transmission of an oral tradition, and a shared background in Diaspora Judaism. 187 While she generally rules out the first paradigm, she also questions the regnant third paradigm due to lack of concrete evidence in Diaspora Jewish texts.188 She finally suggests the intriguing possibility that Paul may have encountered Philonic ideas in the Diaspora synagogues of Jerusalem. My own study does not assume nor set out to demonstrate any particular relationship. Nevertheless, in the areas I investigate, I conclude that a common background is probably still the best explanation as I do not discover such a close correspondence that would demand the direct transmission of a tradition. I finally proceed in this comparative project with an

184 Troels Engberg-Pedersen, “Self-Sufficiency and Power: Divine and Human Agency in Epictetus and Paul,” in Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Context (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 118. 185 Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1990). 186 Barclay, “‘By the Grace of God I Am What I Am,’” 140. 187 Gudrun Holtz, “Von Alexandrien nach Jerusalem. Überlegungen zur Vermittlung philonisch-alexandrinischer Tradition an Paulus,” ZNW 105.2 (2014): 228–63. 188 Having surveyed the evidence, Holtz concludes: “Mit Blick auf die oben gestellte Frage nach der Möglichkeit, einen ‘common background’ für den für Philo und Paulus skizzierten Kern in der griechischsprachigen Literatur des antiken Judentums zu verifizieren, ist der Befund negativ.” “Von Alexandrien nach Jerusalem,” 251.

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acknowledgement of my own privileged position, in some ways closer to Philo than to Paul in my relative social position. 189

J. Outline of Study J. Outline of Study

Insofar as an outline of this study is concerned, chapters two and three respectively study Paul and Philo’s perspective on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. I begin by drawing upon the relevant secondary sources for both Paul and Philo in order to identify significant texts and provide a basic framework for interpretation. For each of these significant texts in each author, I provide a basic summary of scholarly exegesis and key interpretive questions. I finally proceed to explore the rhetorical purpose of each author’s appropriation with a special focus on the political dimension. In relation to Paul, I begin by briefly exploring a few texts that suggest that these symbols were related at a deep level in his worldview. I then explore his perspective on the Land, drawing especially on the work of Mark Forman and Esau McCaulley who have studied Paul’s language of “inheritance” in Romans and Galatians respectively. I then engage with scholars who dispute that Paul “universalises” the Land. I finally conclude with my own reading of 1 Cor 1– 4 where I discern that the theme of Land as “inheritance” is implicit within the narrative of Israel’s restoration that Paul presupposes. In relation to Jerusalem, I use Frederick F. Bruce’s study as a basic schema to explore Paul’s ambivalent attitude to the city in which he neither disassociates himself from Jerusalem nor is willing to express theological dependence on Jerusalem. In this regard, I explore Paul’s relationship to the Jerusalem church, his Jerusalem Collection, and his eschatological expectation surrounding the city. I finally undertake an exegesis of Gal 4:21–5:1 in which I focus especially on the way Paul conceptualises authority in the Christ-movement. In relation to the Temple, I focus especially on 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 and the work of Brad Bitner who presents a particular proposal of how Paul constructs apostolic and ministerial authority in this text. I seek to clarify the relationship Paul posits between the Spirit and authority and to what degree Paul espouses a type charismatic authority in Weber’s categories. At the same time, I also engage with the recent work of Michael K. Suh who has a distinctive focus on the political dimension of Paul’s Temple discourse. In relation to Philo, I begin with a brief overview of Philo’s place in Second Temple Judaism as well as making some important initial observations about the interpretative framework within which he worked. I lay out a taxonomy of 189 For reflections on how previous scholar’s social locations have to various degrees impacted their reading of both Philo and Paul, see, e.g., Seland, “Philo as a Citizen,” 73; Wright, Paul and His Recent Interpreters.

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various approaches to Philo and seek throughout the chapter to position scholars within this taxonomy before drawing my own conclusions. In relation to the Land, I draw especially on the work of Betsy Halpern-Amaru and Berndt Schaller, who respectively studied Philo’s frequent allegorisation of the Land and some texts that do not fit so neatly in this perspective. I particularly note two important themes in Philo’s appropriation by which he invests his readers with dignity, despite their lack of political autonomy, and by which he appropriates the ethical commands related to the Land. In relation to Jerusalem, I especially engage with the work of Aryeh Kasher, Sarah Pearce, and Torrey Seland to explore the degree to which Philo’s description of Jerusalem as “mother-city” and the Diaspora communities as “colonies” might reflect a particular perspective on the Land as the true “homeland” around which Jewish identity is constructed. I also explore further Philo’s rhetorical aims in appropriating the symbol of Jerusalem and whether Jerusalem held any authoritative status for him. In relation to the Temple, I especially engage with the work of Jutta Leonhardt, M.J. Martin and Michael Tuval and explore the question of Philo’s commitment to the literal Temple cult and whether there may have been a trajectory in his theologising towards greater emphasis on the synagogue. I also explore whether Philo might have given the status of “Temple” to the community as well as how he constructed a type of charismatic authority in his designation of the soul of the sage as a “Temple.” In the fourth chapter, “Paul’s ἐκκλησία and Philo’s πολιτεία in the world,” I broaden the focus to explore firstly Paul and Philo’s perspective on the relationship between the local communities they belonged to and sought to sustain and the wider “people of God” as they conceived them. My interest again is how authority was conceived and where political loyalties lay. Drawing on the conclusions from the previous chapters, I critically compare Paul and Philo’s perspectives on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, highlighting lines of both continuity and discontinuity. Here I also compare their respective eschatologies and comment further on “apocalyptic” aspects of their thought. I finally seek to account for these similarities in terms of their respective worldviews and social locations. In the final chapter, I highlight major conclusions from the study as well as pointing out the respective trajectories of Paul and Philo’s political theologies. At the same time, I also point the way toward further research.

Chapter 2

Paul on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple Paul was born a Jew, lived a Jew, and died a Jew – Michael Gorman1

A. Introduction A. Introduction

Of the most significant symbols that were the focus of Second Temple Judaism’s storied worldview, N.T. Wright identifies “Temple,” “Land,” “Torah,” and “ethnic identity.”2 Even in the Diaspora, where local attachments were important, these symbols retained their significance. 3 Furthermore, “Temple” and “Land” were closely related and represented the sacred space of Judaism’s symbolic universe. In W.D. Davies’ classic study, he pointed out how the Land, Jerusalem, and the Temple were bound together in an “umbilical” relationship, so that “just as Jerusalem became the quintessence of the land, so also the Temple became the quintessence of Jerusalem.” 4 More recently, William Horbury has pointed out that the establishment of the Temple was seen in many Second Temple texts as the natural goal and first duty following the conquest of the Land.5 The author of The Letter of Aristeas (circa second-century B.C.E.) draws attention to all of these symbols as he poignantly describes his journey from Alexandria to Palestine: The next point in the narrative is an account of our journey to Eleazar, but I will first of all give you a description of the whole country (ὅλης χώρας). When we arrived in the land of the Jews we saw the city situated in the middle of the whole of Judea (τὴν πόλιν μέσην κειμένην τῆς ὅλης Ἰουδαίων) on the top of a mountain of considerable altitude. On the summit the temple had been built in all its splendour (τὸ ἱερὸν ἐκπρεπῶς ἔχον) (Let. Aris. 83– 84).

1 Michael J. Gorman, Apostle of the Crucified Lord: A Theological Introduction to Paul & His Letters (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 40. 2 Wright, The New Testament and the People of God, 224–32. 3 See, e.g., Trotter, The Jerusalem Temple. 4 Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 3–160; 152. 5 William Horbury, “Land, Sanctuary and Worship,” in Early Christian Thought in Its Jewish Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 207–24.

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The link between these symbols is perhaps most clearly seen, however, in Solomon’s prayer of dedication for the Temple. When your people Israel, having sinned against you, are defeated before an enemy but turn again to you, confess your name, pray and plead with you in this house, may you hear from heaven, and forgive the sin of your people Israel, and bring them again to the land that you gave to them and to their ancestors (2 Chr 6:24).6

As a Second Temple Jew who was steeped in the Scriptures, we cannot therefore doubt that the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple were significant symbols with which Paul identified. In much past scholarship, however, the way he appropriates these symbols has often been treated in isolation, with a primary focus on exploring the rhetorical purpose of each individual use. The reason for this is simply that these symbols do not often appear to be linked in Paul’s letters themselves. Before investigating each symbol individually, I will briefly highlight recent scholarship that has sought to hold these together, as well as three places in his letters where these symbols especially seem to be linked. I will furthermore highlight how questions of authority and power (that is to say political questions) are also at the fore when Paul reflects on these symbols. In this I want to pay careful attention to the tacit knowledge and implicit worldview that his use of these symbols together and throughout his letters implies. I. The relationship between the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple At least since Davies, a number of scholars have sought to hold these symbols together in Paul. Peter W. Walker (1996), for example, has explored each New Testament author’s perspective on Jerusalem in conjunction with their perspective on the Land and Temple.7 In relation to Paul particularly, Walker saw something of “A new centre,” by which he meant that for Paul the Christ movement was centred on Jesus and no longer had a particular geographical centre.8 He went on to suggest that Paul regarded the Land as an anticipation of the universal messianic kingdom, Jerusalem as having “pragmatic” rather than “theological” significance, and the Temple as an anticipation of the Spiritindwelt communities in Christ.9 Both Gary Burge (2010) and Volker Gäckle’s

Solomon’s dedicatory prayer recorded in both 2 Chr 6:12–42 and 1 Kgs 8:14–53 is replete with references to the “land,” “city,” and “temple.” 7 Peter W. Walker, Jesus and the Holy City: New Testament Perspectives on Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996). 8 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 113–60. 9 Here he agrees with Davies that: “The real centre of his interest has moved from the Land, concentrated in Jerusalem, to the communities in Christ.” The Gospel and the Land, 217. 6

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(2015) recent work on the Land in Paul also recognise the importance of relating this to his perspective on Jerusalem and the Temple.10 In a recent study of the Land from a Jewish perspective, Zee’ev Safrai (2018) likewise affirms: “A study of the attitude toward the Holy Land cannot be limited solely to the Land of Israel but must include Jerusalem.”11 Another scholar who has sought to explore how these symbols are linked throughout the Scriptures is Greg K. Beale (2011), who argues that these are joined in what he calls an “expansive temple-land theology.”12 He argues that the boundaries of the Land were always idealised and draws attention to Old Testament and other Second Temple texts which “universalise” the Land, especially as the promise is linked to the expectation of the messianic kingdom. Beale writes from a biblical-theological perspective, however, and we might yet ask whether such a relationship between the symbols is evident in Paul himself. II. 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 In relation to Paul, Beale particularly draws attention to the interesting shift in metaphor from the “garden (γεώργιον)” to the “building (οἰκοδομή)” in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5. This, he argues, reflects Paul’s underlying Temple and Land theology. The “garden” recalls Eden as the proto-typical “land” and the “building” clearly refers to the Temple that Paul goes on to speak of. 13 Brad Bitner (2015) has recently produced an extensive study of this text, reflecting on the nature of the “planting (φυτεύω)” and “building (ἐποικοδομέω)” metaphors that he argues derive from Jeremiah.14 He draws on Job Y. Jindo’s (2010) recent cognitive-linguistic study of metaphor in Jeremiah, 15 suggesting that Paul’s use indicates a clear “covenantal” discourse that 10 Gary M. Burge, Jesus and the Land: The New Testament Challenge to “Holy Land” Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010), 91; Volker Gäckle, “Die Relevanz des Landes Israel bei Paulus,” ZTK 112.2 (2015): 155–58. 11 Ze’ev Safrai, Seeking out the Land: Land of Israel Traditions in Ancient Jewish, Christian and Samaritan Literature (200 BCE–400CE) (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 207. 12 Greg K. Beale, A New Testament Biblical Theology: The Unfolding of the Old Testament in the New (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011), 753. See also Greg K. Beale, The Temple and the Church’s Mission: A Biblical Theology of the Dwelling of God (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004). 13 Beale, The Temple and the Church’s Mission, 245. On Temple symbolism in Genesis, see Gordon J. Wenham, “Sanctuary Symbolism in the Garden of Eden Story,” in I Studied Inscriptions from Before the Flood: Ancient Near Eastern, Literary, and Linguistic Approaches to Genesis 1–11, ed. Richard S. Hess and David T. Tsumura (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 399–404. 14 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 197–301. 15 Job Y. Jindo, Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah 1–24 (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2010).

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is centred on “the eschatological garden-temple-assembly.”16 Jindo’s study of these metaphors also highlights the clear links in Jeremiah and other prophetic texts between the language of “planting” and “building” to “Edenic restoration” and thus also to the “Land.”17 III. Rom 15 Another text that suggests such a link is Rom 15. Here, at the conclusion of his letter, Paul is reflecting on his worldwide mission and expresses this in significant cultic terminology. He speaks of his task as “the priestly service of the gospel of God, so that the offering of the Gentiles may be acceptable, sanctified by the Holy Spirit” (Rom 15:15). In describing his calling, Paul’s language here is almost identical to 1 Cor 3:10: Because of the grace given me by God (διὰ τὴν χάριν τὴν δοθεῖσάν μοι ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ) (Rom 15:15) According to the grace of God given to me (κατὰ τὴν χάριν τοῦ θεοῦ τὴν δοθεῖσάν μοι) (1 Cor 3:10)

The close verbal parallel indicates that both these passages get close to the heart of how the apostle understood his God-given mission.18 It is not often recognised, however, that, just as Paul continues to speak of his role as an “architect (ἀρχιτέκτων)” with the task of building God’s “temple (ναός)” in 1 Cor 3, his cultic metaphor also extends further into Rom 15.19 Although the specific terminology of “temple (ναὸς)” is missing, the language of both “foundation (θεμέλιος)” and “building (οἰκοδομέω)” is present as he reflects on his goal: To proclaim the good news, not where Christ has already been named, so that I do not build (οἰκοδομῶ) on someone else’s foundation (θεμέλιον) (Rom 15:20).

Both of these terms occur in 1 Cor 3 and the “naming” of Christ here is clearly naming in the cultic context of worship.

Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 248. Jindo, Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered, 177. 18 I was alerted to these parallels by Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 66–7. 19 Gupta, while recognizing the obvious cultic dimensions of λειτουργός, ἱερουργέω and προσφορά in Rom 15:16 does not explore this further. Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 127–32. For an argument that Paul is articulating his mission here in terms of Temple-building see Kathleen Troost-Cramer, “De-Centralizing the Temple: A Rereading of Romans 15:16,” JJMJS 3 (2016): 72–101. 16 17

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I furthermore suggest that the worldwide rhetoric we find in the surrounding context of Romans is precisely a reflection of Paul’s perspective on the worldwide messianic kingdom as a fulfilment of the Land promise. 20 Furthermore, it is noteworthy that Paul describes his ministry as centred around Jerusalem and moving concentrically outwards, “so that from Jerusalem and as far around as Illyricum (ἀπὸ Ἰερουσαλὴμ καὶ κύκλῳ μέχρι τοῦ Ἰλλυρικοῦ) I have fully proclaimed the good news of Christ” (Rom 15:19). His particular choice of Jerusalem as a point of reference indicates a strongly Jewish frame of view,21 while the extension beyond Jerusalem seems to indicate his conviction that territories beyond Judaea must now also be claimed for the Messiah. In fact, he goes on to express his longing to go as far as Spain (Rom 15:24).22 If this is indeed the case, we have here, just beneath the surface of the text, the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple together. IV. Gal 4:21–5:1 Finally, Paul’s discourse on “Jerusalem above” in Gal 4:21–5:1 also clearly links these symbols. Note firstly that Paul’s whole discussion here is aimed at establishing who are the true heirs of the promises to Abraham, i.e. who are those who will share in his “inheritance.”23 Esau McCaulley (2019) has recently made a good case that Paul’s language of inheritance in Galatians is best understood in light of the Abrahamic Land promise. 24 Furthermore, the symbol of the Temple is also evoked through Paul’s quotation of Isa 54:1 in Gal 4:27, as the broader context in Isaiah envisions God’s redemption in terms of the restoration of his tabernacling presence among them (cf. Isa 54:2, 11–12). I will explore this text further below, but it is sufficient to note here that this text also clearly unites the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. 20 When I explore Paul’s perspective on the Land in the next section I will further justify this conclusion, but note briefly the catena of texts he has just quoted from that evoke the theme of the ingathering of the nations (Rom 15:8–13). 21 See James M. Scott, Paul and the Nations: The Old Testament and Jewish Background of Paul’s Mission to the Nations with Special Reference to the Destination of Galatians, WUNT 84 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 179; Volker Rabens, “Paul’s Mission Strategy in the Urban Landscape of the First-Century Roman Empire,” in The Urban World and the First Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017), 99–122. 22 For a recent assessment of Paul’s conceptual map of the world in light of ancient cartography, see Eric Smith, “Paul’s Map and Territory: Rethinking the Work of the Apostle in Light of Ancient Cartography,” HBT 42.1 (2020): 90–107. 23 Paul concludes his discourse with the practical action, “Drive out the slave and her child; for the child of the slave will not share the inheritance with the child of the free woman.” (Gal 4:30). 24 Esau McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance: Davidic Messianism and Paul’s Worldwide Interpretation of the Abrahamic Land Promise in Galatians (London: T&T Clark, 2019).

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A case can therefore be made that these symbols belonged together at a deep level in the apostle’s worldview, even though there is no clear and conscious attempt in his letters to link them. V. The politics of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple I have already observed in my introduction that the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple had a significant political dimension and that we should therefore not be surprised to find this also in Paul’s appropriation of these symbols. In relation to the Land, Mark Forman (2011) has especially explored the political dimensions of Paul’s appropriation of the promise of Land as “inheritance.”25 He argues that Paul’s message, although not explicitly confrontational, was undoubtedly subversive of Roman imperial thought. 26 In relation to Jerusalem, it is clear that “political” questions are again central, especially in his letter to the Galatians. Throughout this letter, Paul is addressing those “Judaizing” believers who had come from Jerusalem making certain authoritative claims. Charles K. Barrett reconstructs the argument of those who had come from Jerusalem as follows: The true descendants of Abraham are the Jews, who inhabit Jerusalem. Here are the true people of God and it will follow that Jerusalem is the authoritative centre of the renewed people of God, now called the Church. Those who are not prepared to attach themselves to this community by the approved means (circumcision) must be cast out; they cannot hope to inherit promises made to Abraham and his seed.27

If this is something of the alternative viewpoint Paul is seeking to address, then it is clear that his reimagining of “Jerusalem” as “above” also served clear political ends. There are also strong hints in this epistle that, in referring to the Jerusalem apostles as “pillars,” Paul is also conceptualising the community of Christ believers as the eschatological Temple.28 Furthermore, as I pointed out above, it is significant that Paul reimagines Jerusalem as “above” in the very context that he addresses who are truly “heirs” of the promises to Abraham (Gal 4:30), thus linking Jerusalem and the Land in his worldview.

Mark Forman, The Politics of Inheritance in Romans, SNTSMS 148 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 58–171. 26 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 11–17. 27 Charles K. Barrett, “The Allegory of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar in the Argument of Galatians,” in Rechtfertigung, Festschrift für Ernst Käsemann zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Johannes Friedrich, Wolfgang Pöhlmann, and Peter Stuhlmacher (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1976), 10. 28 Timothy Wardle has extensively argued this, suggesting about the “pillars” that it is “intrinsically likely that this title derives from a very early date in the emerging Jerusalem church.” The Jerusalem Temple, 209. 25

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Finally, in relation to the symbol of the Temple, I highlight especially the recent work of Brad Bitner (2015) and Michael Suh (2020).29 In exploring Paul’s purposes in the opening chapters of 1 Corinthians, Bitner argues that only a Jewish covenantal framework together with a Graeco-Roman constitutional framework can adequately account for Paul’s rhetoric. In relation to the latter, he interprets Paul through the lens of first century political discourse and argues that Paul’s text seeks to address a “collision of politeiai” and fundamentally to establish an “alternative civic ideology.”30 He furthermore argues that many aspects of Paul’s rhetoric, including his use of ministerial rather than magisterial language and his Jewish metaphor of the assembly as a “gardentemple” aim “to unseat certain deeply rooted social and theological assumptions inherent in the Graeco-Roman topos of the community as building.”31 Michael Suh also recognises the significance of both Paul’s Jewish and GraecoRoman contexts and examines his Temple discourse in light of Exodus traditions and Temple discourses within the Mediterranean world more broadly. In particular, he recognises how questions of power, authority, and appropriate punishments for transgressing sacred space are central to Paul’s concerns. 32 I thus conclude that there is good reason to link these symbols conceptually and that we may learn much about Paul’s (often implicit) political theology by studying his appropriation of these significant symbols. In particular, we may learn both how Paul conceptualised authority within the Christ-believing communities and also something of his stance towards alternative conceptualisations of authority.

See Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy; Michael K.W. Suh, Power and Peril: Paul’s Use of Temple Discourse in 1 Corinthians, BZNW 239 (Walter de Gruyter, 2020). Bitner and Suh build on the pioneering work of L.L. Welborn and Margaret Mitchel, who both demonstrated the value of reading 1 Corinthians in light of ancient political discourse. See Welborn, “On the Discord in Corinth: 1 Corinthians 1–4 and Ancient Politics”; Margaret M. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1992). 30 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 33–43. 31 Bitner, 251. 32 Suh notes how Paul’s Temple discourse in 1 Cor 3:16–17 continues to inform and illuminate other key texts in his letter and comments, e.g., “Here, one can quickly observe themes such as power, Spirit, boundaries, rituals and punishments that must be accounted for in any reading of 5:1–13, 10:1–22, and 11:17–34.” Power and Peril, 13. 29

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B. The Land B. The Land

Land is a central, if not the central theme of biblical faith – Brueggemann33 Although the Land is undoubtedly one of the most significant themes of biblical faith, it is striking that New Testament scholars for a long time paid little attention to it.34 Scholars seem to have regarded the answers to questions concerning the Land as either self-evident or irrelevant. With a renewed focus on socio-political realities in biblical studies, however, this has changed quite considerably in recent decades.35 The discussion of Paul and the Land has also been complicated by various political events in the twentieth-century, not least the formation of the State of Israel in 1948. Contemporary theological and ethical concerns are therefore often at play in these discussions and I proceed with caution to navigate these historical and hermeneutical complexities in the reading of Paul.36 I begin with the seminal work of William D. Davies and then focus especially on the recent contributions of Mark Forman and Esau McCaulley. I then engage with those who challenge the idea that Paul universalised the Land promise and conclude with my own reading of Paul’s appropriation of the Land theme in 1 Cor 1–4. Throughout I have a particular focus on the political dimension.

33 Walter Brueggemann, The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 3. 34 Wright observed more than a quarter-century ago that New Testament scholarship to that point had paid very little attention to it. The New Testament and the People of God, 226. In a far more recent work, Safrai can still write: “the attitude towards the Land of Israel is barely discussed in Christian literature.” Seeking out the Land, 226. 35 Some of the most significant recent studies include Davies, The Gospel and the Land; Brueggemann, The Land; Norman C. Habel, The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Land Ideologies (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995); Moshe Weinfeld, The Promise of the Land: The Inheritance of the Land of Canaan by the Israelites (Berkeley: Univeristy of California Press, 1993); Forman, The Politics of Inheritance; Munther Isaac, From Land to Lands, from Eden to the Renewed Earth: A Christ-Centred Biblical Theology of the Promised Land (Carlisle: Langham Monographs, 2015); Safrai, Seeking out the Land; McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance; Miguel G. Echevarria, The Future Inheritance of Land in the Pauline Epistles (Eugene, Oregon: Pickwick Publications, 2019). 36 For the four major perspectives that predominate in these discussions, see Gäckle, “Die Relevanz des Landes Israel bei Paulus,” 141–9. See further Salim J. Munayer and Lisa Loden, eds., The Land Cries Out: Theology of the Land in the Israeli-Palestinian Context (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2012).

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I. W.D. Davies and Paul’s Christological interpretation of the Land It was W.D. Davies’ classic study, The Gospel and The Land (1974), that especially renewed interest in the subject of the Land. My starting point for reflecting on Paul’s perspective is Davies’ simple observation of “the absence of express references to the Land.”37 Davies first highlights the fact that Paul does not express any interest in the geography of the Land or, for that matter, the places of Jesus’ appearances. Nor does Paul explicitly include the Land among his list of Jewish privileges in Rom 9:4 (although the “promises” are mentioned). Davies goes on to point out that, when Paul discusses Abraham in Rom 4 and Gal 3, he also demonstrates little interest in the promise of the Land, but focuses mainly on the means (faith) and scope (pan-ethnic) of salvation. While it could be that Paul avoids explicit mention of the Land in Romans for political reasons,38 Davies argues that this would not be the case in Galatians and therefore that: His silence points not merely to the absence of a conscious concern with it, but to his deliberate rejection of it. His interpretation of the promise is a-territorial . . . In the Christological logic of Paul, the land, like the Law, particular and provisional, had become irrelevant.39

II. M. Forman and Paul’s this-worldly interpretation of inheritance in Romans More recently, however, several scholars have questioned the somewhat “spiritualising” approach of Davies. Mark Forman (2011) is a significant voice in this regard. Forman points out that, although Davies recognised the significance of the notion of “inheritance” for understanding the Land, he nevertheless “fails to give any attention to the content of the inheritance.”40 Indeed, Forman points out that Davies never even reflects on Paul’s phrase “inherit the world” as it occurs in Rom 4:13. Thus, while agreeing with many of Davies’ basic points, Forman argues that what is most problematic is, “the deduction that since Paul’s inheritance is non-territorial, inasmuch as it is not tied to one specific tract of terrain, it is therefore also necessarily non-material or spiritual in reference.”41 He goes on to point out how many commentators, following Davies, have simply assumed that for Paul “inheritance” has come to be a symbol of God’s blessing, connoting simply God’s relationship with humanity.

Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 166–7. Davies also suggests that Paul uses the phrase “kingdom of God” very sparingly as he was “anxious not to cause any misunderstanding that might disturb Rome.” The Gospel and the Land, 178. 39 Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 179. 40 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 5 (emphasis original). 41 Forman, 6. 37 38

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While Forman’s work is more recent, he in fact draws significantly on the much earlier work of James D. Hester (1968).42 One of Forman’s main purposes is to argue for a concrete this-worldly referent to Paul’s inheritance language, agreeing with Hester that, “the geographical reality of the Land never ceases to play an important part in Paul’s concept of inheritance. He simply makes the Land the eschatological world.” 43 Forman’s work seeks to extend Hester’s by grounding his insights more extensively in the literary contexts of Paul’s letters as well as the socio-political context of his audience in Rome. He thus aims to further establish, “the this-worldly nature of inheritance” (what?), “the political nature of inheritance” (who?), and “the path to inheritance” (how?).44 Forman’s third chapter focuses on Rom 4:13–25 as a literary unit with particular emphasis on Rom 4:13: For the promise that he would inherit the world (τὸ κληρονόμον αὐτὸν εἶναι κόσμου) did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith.

He furthermore studies the κληρονομέω/κληρονόμος word group in the LXX that usually translates ‫“( נָחַל‬to have or get as possession”) and ‫“( נַחֲלָה‬inheritance”), highlighting the fact that its typical meaning extends beyond mere transfer of property to the idea of an “enduring possession.”45 As such, and drawing especially on Walter Brueggemann (2002), he highlights that the Land was fundamentally understood as Yahweh’s gift which was also a pledge: “that Israel will possess actual real estate and therefore will be able to live and be provided for in the material socio-political-economic world.”46 Where Forman extends the work of others,47 is in highlighting the eschatological universal sovereignty of Abraham’s heirs that Paul envisions. Forman argues that this arises from the close link between the promise of numerous

42 For surveys of scholarship on Paul and the Land, see McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 5–27; Echevarria, The Future Inheritance, 1–20. 43 James D. Hester, Paul’s Concept of Inheritance: A Contribution to the Understanding of Heilsgeschichte (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1968), 82. 44 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 13–4. See also the similar diagnostic questions of Hester in Paul’s Concept of Inheritance, 45. 45 Forman, 64–7. 46 Forman, 67. 47 Forman also draws significantly on Nicholas T. Wright, “Romans,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, vol. 10 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002); Kenneth E. Bailey, “St Paul’s Understanding of the Territorial Promise of God to Abraham. Romans 4:13 in Its Historical and Theological Context,” Theological Review: Near East School of Theology 15.1 (1994): 59–69; Scott, Paul and the Nations; Edward Adams, Constructing the World: A Study in Paul’s Cosmological Language (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000).

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descendants and the promise of the Land in Genesis 15 and 17. 48 Forman sees significant precursors to Paul’s perspective in the Intertestamental literature, including 4 Ezra 6:59,49 1 Enoch 5:7, Sirach 44:21, and especially Jubilees with the climactic statement to Jacob in 32:19, “I will give your descendants all of the land that is beneath the sky. They will rule over all the nations as they wish. Afterwards, they will gain the entire earth, and they will possess it [inherit] forever.”50 He highlights further here that the concrete referent of the inheritance for Paul is strongly suggested by the fact that the whole passage is “suffused with resurrection” (cf. Rom 4:17, 24). Forman then enquires into the logic behind Paul’s subsequent emphasis on Abraham’s faith in the face of Sarah’s barrenness (4:19–21). Here he finds precedent in the Jewish interpretative tradition for linking the barren woman with the hope of many descendants who will inherit the earth. In particular, he uses Hays’ criteria for detecting echoes to argue that, in Rom 4:19–21, Paul is alluding to Isa 54:1–3.51 He thus argues for the literary unity of Rom 4:13–21 and highlights how Paul’s thought on the “inheritance” runs throughout this section.52 Finally, Forman argues that the story of the barren woman giving birth was a classic Jewish account of inversion and reversal that would have spoken powerfully to the urban poor in Rome. He thus cautiously sees this message as subversive of the Roman imperial claim to be “lords” of the world. He concludes: This is not to suggest that Paul’s language of inheritance is in any way intended to contribute to specific social policy, but rather that it functions as a vision of the way things were meant to be and thus as a critique of the ways things currently are.53

Forman’s fourth chapter then explores Paul’s “inheritance” language in Rom 8:17–39. Here his focus is especially 8:17 in its surrounding context: Forman, 72–85. The link is seen perhaps most clearly in the climactic restatement of the covenant promise following the binding of Isaac: “I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring (σπέρμα) as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess (κληρονομέω) the gate of their enemies, and by your offspring shall all the nations of the earth gain blessing for themselves, because you have obeyed my voice” (Gen 22:17–18). 49 “If the world has indeed been created for us, why do we not possess our world as an inheritance? How long will this be so?” (4 Ezra 6:59). 50 Forman, 84. 51 Forman, 86–92. “Sing, O barren one who did not bear; burst into song and shout, you who have not been in labour! . . . For you will spread out to the right and to the left, and your descendants will possess the nations (τὸ σπέρμα σου ἔθνη κληρονομήσει)” (Isa 54:1–3). 52 For another account of how Paul’s logic in Rom 4:17–25 has at least partly been shaped by Isaiah, see Karen H. Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother: Metalepsis and Intertextuality in Galatians 4:21–31,” WTJ (1993): 315. 53 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 99–100. 48

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And if children, then heirs (κληρονόμοι), heirs of God and joint heirs (συγκληρονόμοι) with Christ – if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.

He begins by demonstrating the close connection between being “heirs” and obtaining “glory,” a significant phrase that describes the eschatological destiny of believers and that is picked up in Paul’s subsequent argument. 54 He goes on to explore how Paul sees the “heirs” sharing a common fate with creation and Paul’s emphatic conviction that “the creation itself (αὐτὴ ἡ κτίσις)” would ultimately be renewed.55 Thus, he argues that the genitive θεοῦ in 8:17 is best understood not as an objective genitive (i.e. the inheritance is God himself), but rather a subjective genitive or a genitive of source (i.e. the inheritance is “the cosmic and this-worldly renewal of all things”). 56 Forman again argues that there is a close connection between Paul’s language of inheritance (especially “joint-heirs with Christ”) and the future universal sovereignty of the people of God. In particular, he observes how Paul comes back to the theme of “glory” and again makes use of σύν compounds in 8:29–30 and how this flows into the assurance that God will give believers in Christ “all things (τὰ πάντα)” in 8:32. He thus argues that the central idea in the phrase “joint-heirs with Christ (συγκληρονόμοι Χριστοῦ)” is that the people of God ultimately “participate in Christ’s reign over creation.”57 He finally explores the path to this “inheritance” by picking up on the connection between 8:17 (“if, in fact, we suffer with him (εἴπερ συμπάσχομεν)”) and the theme of “suffering conquerors” in 8:35–39. He argues that it is highly probable that Paul’s quote from Psalm 44 (“Because of you we are being killed all day long”) reflects the real socio-political situation in Rome at the time of Paul’s writing, and that the way he depicts believers as “conquerors” is a clear critique of oppressive Roman imperialism. He agrees here with Sylvia Keesmaat’s conclusion that, “Paul is rejecting the imperial categories here of victory, categories beloved by both Israel and Rome, and is replacing them with the category of suffering love.”58 While Forman’s focus is on Romans, he also devotes a chapter to studying Paul’s inheritance language in Galatians (where κληρονόμος and its cognates also occur with significant frequency), mainly to demonstrate that his reading of Romans is consistent with Paul’s thought elsewhere. He firstly addresses the question of how Paul could refer to the content of the promise to Abraham as See also Adams, Constructing the World, 170. Forman, 108–14. 56 Forman, 115. For a similar perspective, see Douglas J. Moo, The New International Commentary on the New Testament: The Epistle to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 505. 57 Forman, 119. 58 Sylvia C. Keesmaat, “Crucified Lord or Conquering Saviour: Whose Story of Salvation?,” HBT 26 (2004): 88. 54 55

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the Spirit,59 when this is nowhere promised in Genesis. Drawing on the work of Sam Williams, 60 he argues firstly that, “God keeps the promise through the work of the Spirit – that is, the promise is the means by which children of Abraham are created.”61 He secondly argues that the possession of the Spirit is closely linked to the idea of the people of God exercising authority as “heirs.” His main focus is on Galatians 4:1–7 and the meaning of “lords of all” in Paul’s metaphor that closely links the “inheritance” with the exercise of authority. 62 Drawing especially on the work of James Scott (1992),63 Forman argues that the phrase “lords of all,” in both religious and political spheres, suggests the idea of universal sovereignty. 64 Here he observes a similar pattern to Rom 4:13–25, namely, a strong connection between Abraham’s “numerous descendants” and “inheriting the world.” The unique element here, however, is the Spirit’s work in bringing this about. Williams expressed the connection like this: “As Abraham’s descendants possess the world, the Spirit through them is bringing the world under the lordship of Christ.”65 Forman goes on to explore the relationship Paul envisioned between believers and the “the elemental spirits of the world (τὰ στοιχεῖα τοῦ κόσμου)” (Gal 4:3 cf. 4:8–11). He concludes again that for Paul the Spirit is the one through whom “the Galatian believers are to embody a new way of life and thereby simultaneously exercise their inherited authority as ‘lords’ over all the world and undermine the ‘powers’ of the world.”66 By drawing attention to Paul’s metaphor of being “clothed with Christ,” and his focus on the suffering of Christ (Gal 3:1; 6:17), he again argues that Paul’s vision is subversive not only of Roman claims to rule but also of the path to that rule.67

59 Paul writes that Christ redeemed his people, “in order that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles, so that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith.” (Gal 3:14). 60 Sam K. Williams, “The Promise in Galatians: A Reading of Paul’s Reading of Scripture,” JBL 107 (1988): 709–20. 61 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 176 (emphasis original). 62 Paul writes: “My point is this: heirs, as long as they are minors, are no better than slaves, though they are the owners of all the property (κύριος πάντων ὤν)” (Gal 4:1). 63 James M. Scott, Adoption as Sons of God. An Exegetical Investigation into the Background of YIOTHESIA in the Pauline Corpus, WUNT II 48 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992). 64 Scott, Adoption as Sons of God, 131–34. 65 Williams, “The Promise in Galatians,” 719–20. 66 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 198. 67 Forman, 200.

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Finally, and drawing particularly on Sylvia Keesmaat (1999),68 he explores Paul’s “new creation” language in 6:14–1569 and suggests that the close connection between participation in the Son and receiving the inheritance reinforces the suggestion that the “inheritance” is itself a new creation. As Keesmaat points out, the strong parallels with the Exodus story throughout the letter further affirm this connection.70 Insofar as Paul’s references to inheriting “the kingdom of God” are concerned, Forman argues from 1 Cor 15 for a concrete this-worldly referent to the kingdom, as suggested by Paul’s focus on Jesus’ physically resurrected body.71 He also argues that Paul’s claim in this text could not but have been subversive of Roman imperial claims. I find Forman’s conclusions broadly persuasive, but due to its limited scope, I think that an even stronger connection can be established between Paul’s understanding of the Abrahamic promise and “the kingdom of God.”72 This can be observed not only in his use of “inheritance” terminology in relation to the kingdom,73 but also in the related theme of the eschatological sovereignty of the people of God.74 III. E. McCaulley and sharing in the Son’s inheritance in Galatians More recently, Esau McCaulley (2019) has argued many similar points through his reading of Galatians. He also argues that, “rather than abandoning the Abrahamic land promise, Paul expands it to encompass the whole earth” and that

68 Sylvia C. Keesmaat, Paul and His Story: (Re)Interpreting the Exodus Tradition (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999). 69 Paul concludes: “May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation is everything!” (Gal 6:14–15). 70 Keesmaat concludes: “Paul’s telling of the Galatian story as such a narrative, from slavery to sonship (3:26–4:7), to the desire to return to slavery (4:8–5:1) and the resultant threat of disinheritance (5:21) should rightly end, if they are not enslaved again, with the inheritance itself: the new creation (6:15). The story of a new exodus is complete in Galatians.” Keesmaat, Paul and His Story, 185. 71 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 215–17. 72 See also McCaulley’s critique: “Forman bases his claim about the worldwide understanding of the land promise on the large number of children who would make up Abraham’s family. I contend that in Galatians the worldwide understanding of the inheritance is rooted in the idea that God promised the Davidic Messiah the world as his inheritance. It is what Paul believes about the kingdom, not the number of converts, that leads to his worldwide interpretation of the land promise.” McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 19. 73 1 Cor 6:9–10; 1 Cor 15:50; Gal 5:21 74 I develop this further below in my exposition of 1 Cor 1–4.

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for Paul the content of the “inheritance” is not merely “salvation,” but the eschatologically renewed world. 75 Moreover, McCaulley helpfully identifies four views that predominate in discussions of Paul and the Land, namely that: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Paul abandons the land promises; Paul replaces the land with the Spirit; Paul replaces the land promises with salvation; Paul believes in the worldwide fulfilment of the land promises.76

Throughout his study, McCaulley addresses deficiencies in each of the former three perspectives, but his focus is especially on the second perspective which is common in scholarship on Galatians. 77 Where McCaulley differs from Forman is his focus on Paul’s messianism and his emphasis on “the connection between the removal of the covenant curses and the eschatological reception of the inheritance.” In relation to the former, he investigates various Second Temple texts in which the claim is made that “royal or messianic figures would enable the final realization of the land promises.”78 Here he argues that Paul shares this broad perspective. In relation to the latter, he agrees with Susan Eastman (2001)79 that the Deuteronomic curses of Ch. 27–29 lie behind Paul’s exposition of the curse that Jesus bears for his people (Gal 3:13). He further develops her work through a close reading of Gal 3:1–4:7 and argues that his reading “explains why Paul moves immediately from a discussion of the curse (3:10–14) to the inheritance (3:15–18).”80 In short, his argument is that: The covenant curses to a large extent focus on the loss of the land inheritance. Therefore, to posit Jesus’s death as the means by which God removes the curse means that his death inaugurates the final realization of the land inheritance.81

Along the way, he posits two revisions to the scholarly consensus, namely that “the blessing of Abraham alluded to in Gal 3:8 and 3:14 refers to the justification that makes the Gentiles Abraham’s seed” and that “the gift of the Spirit described in Gal 3:2–5 and 3:14b does not replace the land inheritance. Instead,

McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 2. McCaulley, 5. 77 McCaulley argues, e.g., “advocates of the ‘Spirit replaces the land’ view run into difficulty when they try to apply that view to the three groups promised an inheritance in Galatians: Abraham, Christ, and believers.” He also highlights six key deficiencies of this view. Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 27; 139–40. 78 McCaulley, 2. He prefers the designation “royal” to “messianic,” since the latter is often contested. Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 199. 79 Susan Eastman, “The Evil Eye and the Curse of the Law: Galatians 3:1 Revisited,” JSNT 83 (2001): 69–87. 80 McCaulley, 117. 81 McCaulley, 100–1. 75 76

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the gift of the Spirit signals the believer’s status as heir and functions as the beginning of the inheritance.”82 Moreover, McCaulley’s reading substantially illuminates the point of Gal 3:28, where Paul is not merely talking about divisions in society generally, but particularly about “the divisions put in place by Torah as it relates to making one an heir.”83 He concludes that: In Gal 3:26–29 Paul wants the Galatians to know that because they were baptised into Christ, the seed of Abraham, the Galatians are all equally κληρονόμοι to the inheritance. Paul contrasts this equal status as heirs to the distinctions that the Torah makes regarding who can be a κληρονόμος to the land inheritance.84

Finally, McCaulley argues from Gal 4:1–7 that Paul does not intend to portray believers as already in full possession of their inheritance, but as “heirs in waiting.” Having surveyed two main options for the background of Paul’s adoption metaphor (Jewish Exodus motifs or Graeco-Roman practices), he concludes that the Graeco-Roman is more likely. Here he sees particular significance in the concept of the peculium, which was an allowance given to a son who came of age and entitled him to various privileges. 85 In this context, the full inheritance still lies in the future and McCaulley makes various arguments (looking ahead to Gal 5:21) that the future inheritance to which Paul refers is to be identified with the kingdom of God. 86 Although McCaulley’s study does not directly address the Roman imperial context, he does make some suggestive comments in his conclusion.87 McCaulley’s contribution toward Pauline scholarship on the Land is primarily seen in the attention he draws to the implicit narrative of exile/curse and restoration within which Paul appears to work. Another recent work that examines the whole Pauline corpus and that arrives at many similar conclusions to Forman and McCaulley is that of Miguel Echevarria (2019). Echevarria also affirms Paul’s perspective on the concrete nature of the inheritance and the link with the kingdom, but where he differs from others is that he also finds this perspective in the disputed letters and strongly McCaulley, 101. McCaulley, 165. 84 McCaulley, 163. 85 McCaulley, 177–8. 86 McCaulley, 170–90. 87 McCaulley writes: “The Roman empire sought to unify diverse peoples under the rule of the emperor. Propagandists of the empire spoke of the peace and prosperity that Rome brought to the world. However, there were clear differences in the rights and privileges given to citizens and non-citizens . . . If Gal 3:28 does indeed address the issue of who has a right to inherit in the Messiah’s kingdom, then Paul’s words about the right to be named an heir also shows who is valued as a citizen in the Jesus’s kingdom. This equality across gender, ethnicity, and class stood in contrast to Roman empire that valued certain groups.” Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 201. 82 83

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argues that Paul does not believe in even a partial present fulfilment of the “inheritance.”88 The latter point is not entirely convincing, however, especially in view of the metaphors of “first-fruits (ἀπαρχή)” (Rom 8:23) and “first instalment (ἀρῥαβών)” (2 Cor 1:22) that Paul uses in relation to the Spirit and that clearly indicate a present reality that is organically linked to a future fullness. The thesis becomes more problematic if one investigates the disputed letters which often exhibit a strong realised element. He fails, for example, to comment on the clearly “realised” aspect of the Land promise in Eph 6:1–3.89 One weakness of both Echevarria and McCaulley’s studies, however, is a failure to engage with a significant number of voices who would suggest another perspective that Paul may have held in relation to the Land. This perspective is that, while Paul may have believed in a worldwide kingdom, he nevertheless saw an ongoing place for Israel in God’s purposes and that the particular Land of Israel had a place in this vision. 90 When McCaulley references Rom 4:13, for example, he fails to engage with any interpretations that do not see an explicit Land reference in it. 91 I therefore turn now to consider the challenge to this perspective. IV. The challenge to the Pauline “expansion of the land” perspective While many scholars may not agree with all the details of Forman and McCaulley’s arguments, a large number are in agreement with their basic thesis that, when Paul uses the language of “inheritance,” he is evoking the promise of the Land to Abraham and that he sees this fulfilled ultimately in an eschatologically renewed world.92 This perspective is not, however, shared by all. The 88 Echevarria, The Future Inheritance, 180: “Paul does not spiritualize the inheritance concept. Nor does he insinuate that the inheritance is realized in the present. Instead, there is sufficient evidence to argue that he looks forward to the tangible fulfilment of this promise in the eschaton.” 89 Echevarria, The Future Inheritance, 164–80. 90 This perspective is common among Dispensational scholars, but should not be limited to them. See Gerald R. McDermott, “Introduction: What Is the New Christian Zionism?,” in The New Christian Zionism: Fresh Perspectives on Israel & The Land, ed. Gerald R. McDermott (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2016). 91 McCaulley simply takes this point for granted, writing: “This is problematic given that Paul explicitly provides a worldwide interpretation of the promise in Rom 4:13.” Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 9. Likewise, Echevarria fails to address other perspectives: “Dispensaltionalist sources are also omitted from this history of research, because for the last twentyfive years there have been few dispensationalist works that, in some manner, address the promise of inheritance.” The Future Inheritance, 5. 92 See, e.g., Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 365–66; Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 492; Moo, Romans, 505–22; Caroline Johnson Hodge, If Sons, Then Heirs: A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 88; Thomas R. Schreiner, Paul: Apostle of God’s Glory in Christ (Downer’s Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2001), 329; Ridderbos, Paul: An Outline of His Theology, 203.

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most recent challenge to a reading of Paul that regards him as expanding the Land promise is that of David Rudolph (2016). Rudolph begins with a criticism of N.T. Wright and others whom he argues hold a “transference theology” in which Israel’s election, gifts, and calling are “transferred” to the church. 93 In this regard, the basic question that Rudolph seeks to address is, “does Paul eliminate particularity for Israel and the land in his portrayal of salvation available for all the world?” 94 Rudolph goes on to insist that Paul “envisions the universal and particular coexisting in God’s kingdom” 95 and that “fulfilment” need not cancel out the validity of a prior practice or institution. Surveying the Second Temple literary evidence, he concludes, “these first-century Jewish texts not only highlight the universal dimension of the Abrahamic promise but also assume the continuation of Jewish particularity in the eschaton.”96 He concludes therefore that, “in the Torah and in Second Temple Judaism, Abraham’s call to be ‘heir of the world’ and the particularity of the land promise were not seen as either-or trajectories but both/and.”97 Rudolph then goes on to present various positive arguments, especially from Rom 9–11, that Paul upheld the continued election, gifts and calling of the Jewish people.98 The basic logic of his argument is therefore that, because Paul believed in the ongoing particularity of Israel,99 therefore he must also have regarded the particular Land as having ongoing significance. I would argue that, although this may suggest an ongoing significance for the Land, this is not a necessary conclusion. Paul may have believed in an ongoing place in God’s purposes for the Jewish people, but not related this specifically to the Land or tied it to any program of return to the Land.100 Of course, as Michael Vanlaningham comments, “even if one grants the universalizing of the land promise, this does not eliminate the possibility that Israel might still possess its Promised Land as its share in the inherited world.”101 David Rudolph, “Zionism in Pauline Literature,” in The New Christian Zionism: Fresh Perspectives on Israel & The Land (Downer’s Grove: IVP Academic, 2016), 167–68. 94 Rudolph, “Zionism in Pauline Literature,” 170. 95 Rudolph, 171. 96 Rudolph, 174. 97 Rudolph, 177 (emphasis original). 98 Rudolph, 182–94. 99 I find his and others’ arguments here broadly persuasive, especially as it relates to Rom 11:29: “for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.” See, e.g., Campbell, Paul and the Creation of Christian Identity. 100 See A. Boyd Luter, “The Continuation of Israel’s Land Promise in the New Testament: A Fresh Approach,” Eruditio Ardescens 1.2 (2014): 1–14; 3. Luter gives a helpful overview of scholars who advocate such a position, which he argues goes back at least to C.E.B. Cranfield and his commentary on Romans. 101 Michael Vanlaningham, “The Jewish People According to the Book of Romans,” in The People, The Land, and the Future of Israel: Israel and the Jewish People in the Plan of 93

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What is less certain is his assertion that, “because of the promises bound up in the Abrahamic Covenant, Israel as a nation in her own land will prosper at the hand of God, expand into the nations, and as the Gentiles see God’s beneficence to the Jewish people, Israel becomes a conduit of His grace to bless them so that God is glorified.”102 Here it is important to note that Paul sees the blessing of Abraham ultimately coming to the gentiles through Christ (Gal 3:14) and now Jew and gentile believers in Christ together being the conduit of God’s grace to the world, with no particular geographical focus (Gal 3:29, cf. Gal 6:10).103 Rudolph’s exegesis of Rom 4:13, however, is worth reflecting on further. Here he draws significantly on an article by Nelson Hsieh.104 Writing from a Dispensational perspective, Hsieh argues that the phrase “heir of the world” in Rom 4:13 is better understood as Abraham being the “heir” of “many nations.” While Hsieh is aware of the typological arguments that many of the aforementioned scholars use, he suggests that no scholars offer significant exegetical justifications for their conclusions. In fact, referring to Bailey’s earlier work,105 he writes: “Kenneth Bailey is the only scholar I could find who has offered a moderate-length defense of this view.”106 While it is unfortunate that he fails to engage with other scholars on this topic, his arguments are nevertheless worth considering. Hsieh suggests that the “primary argument” of those who defend the view that Paul is expanding the Land promise is that the promise is clearly expanded in other Second Temple literature. He argues that scholars have been incredibly selective, however, and that “such limited amount of literature could hardly reflect the entirety of Second Temple Judaism’s view of the Abrahamic land

God (Grand Rapids: Kregel Publications, 2014), 119. Vanlaningham asks some good questions which Paul would no doubt have answered positively (if we can bear the anachronism): “When this time of inheritance comes, will Jewish believers have a right to New York and not Netanya? Will they possess Tokyo but not Tel Aviv?” “The Jewish People,” 119. Paul’s emphasis on Jew and gentile together being Abraham’s offspring (Gal 3:29) would probably suggest, however, that Paul would raise some questions if Jewish believers dwelt alone, without any gentiles, in the renewed Land! 102 Vanlaningham, “The Jewish People,” 120 (emphasis original). This seems to be projecting a particular reading of the prophets onto Paul. 103 There is nothing to suggest that Paul would have still regarded unbelieving Israel living in the Land as being a conduit of God’s blessing to the world. I will reflect further on Rom 9–11 in the section on Jerusalem, but it is noteworthy when we come to Rom 15 that Paul’s vision is that God will be glorified as Jew and gentile together praise God for his mercy (Rom 15:1–13). 104 Nelson S. Hsieh, “Abraham as ‘Heir of the World’: Does Romans 4:13 Expand the Old Testament Abrahamic Land Promises?,” Master’s Seminary Journal 26 (2015): 95–110. 105 Bailey, “St Paul’s Understanding of the Territorial Promise.” 106 Hsieh, “Abraham as ‘Heir of the World,’” 100.

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promise.”107 He goes on to argue, drawing especially on Davies, that there was no “monolithic Judaism” in the first century and indeed that there were various perspectives on the Land. Furthermore, he argues that the Second Temple texts that do extend the Land use far more expansive and detailed language than Paul.108 While it may be true that scholars have too quickly jumped from observing the expansion of the Land in Second Temple literature to affirming that Paul shares this perspective, I do not know of any scholar who suggests that this was a universal perspective within Second Temple Judaism. Norman Habel has especially emphasised the variety of perspectives on the Land that existed.109 The main point in referring to the Second Temple literature, however, is that a clear precedent already existed for thinking of the Land promised to Abraham in more expansive terms. Furthermore, Hsieh fails to account for the eschatological perspective that many of these expansive texts presuppose. In fact, he fails altogether to reflect on the implications of Paul’s inaugurated eschatology (e.g., 1 Cor 10:11). Furthermore, Hsieh is aware of potential connections between Rom 4:13 and Rom 8:17, but argues that the context is different and therefore the latter text should not be read in light of the inheritance promised to Abraham. Insofar as Paul’s references to believers inheriting “the kingdom of God” are concerned, he agrees that Paul regards this as a worldwide kingdom, but that, because Paul never clearly defines the kingdom further, no conclusive connection with the inheritance of the Land can be established. In relation to the kingdom, Hsieh argues that Paul was expecting a Zion-centred messianic reign.110 Insofar as Paul’s language of the kingdom is concerned, I would argue that it is very unlikely that Paul would have had such different referents in view when using the language of “inheritance (κληρονόμος).” The transference of the language of “inheritance” to the kingdom and the promise to Abraham that he would be “heir” of the world seems to indicate that the Land promise and kingdom are now united in his thinking.111 Insofar as the connection between Paul’s inheritance language in Rom 8:17 and Rom 4:13 is concerned, it is true that in the former context the Abrahamic promise is not immediately in view, but this does not suggest an entirely different referent. The strong Exodus connections in Rom 8 (“sonship (υἱοθεσία),” “bondage (δουλεία),” “liberation (ἐλευθερία)” etc.) suggest that Hsieh, 102. Hsieh, 103–4. 109 Habel, The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Land Ideologies. 110 Hsieh comments on Paul’s perspective: “this worldwide kingdom will have its capitol in Jerusalem where the ultimate king of David will reign over both a restored nation of Israel and over all the nations of the earth, who will stream to Jerusalem in order to learn about God and worship God (Isa 2:2–4; Mic 4:1–3).” “Abraham as ‘Heir of the World,’” 106. 111 See also McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 188–90. 107 108

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Paul saw a parallel between the descendants of Abraham journeying towards their “inheritance” and believers in Christ participating in an analogous journey towards an eschatologically renewed creation. Furthermore, as James Scott points out, Paul clearly alludes to the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac in Rom 8:32, so that the Abrahamic story is not entirely out of view.112 What Hsieh sees as most damaging to the view that Paul regarded the Land promise in expansive terms in Rom 4:13, however, is that Paul would then be claiming that Abraham “believed in a truth that was never revealed to him.”113 He argues instead that, by κόσμου in 4:13, Paul intends “humanity” rather than the physical world. That is to say that, “Abraham would beget a worldwide family that he could truly call his own, i.e. his inheritance.”114 He furthermore makes the point that Paul uses the singular of Abraham in 4:13, so that “it is not the descendants of Abraham who are ‘heirs of the world’, but Abraham himself.”115 There are, however, several fundamental misunderstandings in his argument. Firstly, although Paul does use the singular τὸ κληρονόμον αὐτὸν εἶναι κόσμου, he explicitly states before this that it was not through the law that the promise was given “to Abraham or his descendants (τῷ Ἀβραὰμ ἢ τῷ σπέρματι αὐτοῦ)” (Rom 4:13). This strongly suggests that the promise of an inheritance was given to both. Furthermore, Williams points out that the key to understanding the interchangability between the singular and plural of σπέρμα lies in the Hebraic concept of the inclusion of the descendants in the progenitor. In a sense foreign to us, a people’s ancestor and the ancestor’s offspring are identical. The offspring are incorporated in the ancestor and the ancestor is later present as his offspring. Thus Abraham can possess the world though his offspring – or better, as his offspring.116

Secondly, Hsieh’s argument that Paul regards Abraham’s “inheritance” as his descendants, drawn from all the nations of the world, makes little contextual sense. While it is true that the OT can at times speak of people as an inheritance, the only instances Hsieh references are those in which God himself is the subject and his people the inheritance.117 The one text that Hsieh cites in which this is not the case is Ps 2:8, where the Messiah is promised the nations as his inheritance. What Hsieh fails to observe, however, is the synonymous parallelism that continues to promise “the ends of the earth” as the Messiah’s possession:

Scott, Adoption as Sons of God, 249. Hsieh, “Abraham as ‘Heir of the World,’” 99. 114 Hsieh, 108. 115 Hsieh, 107. 116 Williams, “The Promise in Galatians,” 717 (emphasis original). 117 E.g. Isa 19:25; Ps 33:12; Joel 2:17; Ps 33:12: “Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people whom He has chosen for His own inheritance.” 112 113

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Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage ( ‫נַחֲלָה‬, κληρονομίαν LXX) and the ends of the earth your possession ( ‫אֲחו ּז ָּה‬, κατάσχεσιν LXX)118

It is interesting that both of these significant words from the LXX recur in Stephen’s speech in Acts 7:4–5 in relation to the Abrahamic narrative.119 The theme of the Land is thus clearly in view in Ps 2. Hsieh thus fails to cite any text in which people are spoken of as an “inheritance” and in which God is not the subject or the Land promise is not in view. Indeed Hsieh fails to account for the close connection that Forman and others have pointed out between “numerous descendants” and possessing the Land. In fact, many have argued that the expansive nature of the Land is already latent in many aspects of the promise made to Abraham. For example, the promise that all the families of the earth would be blessed in him (Gen 12:3) and that he would have descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore (Gen 15:5; 22:17). If Abraham believed that he was to bless the entire world and that his descendants would indeed be as numerous as the stars, would he also have believed that his descendants would forever have been confined to the region of Canaan? Recent research has in fact demonstrated why it was natural for many Jews to regard the Land promise in more expansive terms. Nili Wazana, for example, suggests that many of the “spatial merisms” we find in various articulations of the Land promise are actually intended to evoke the idea of world rule.120 In his work on the Land, Craig Bartholomew summarises Wazana’s conclusions as follows: “the spatial merisms in promise terminology reflect a land that has no borders at all, only ever-expanding frontiers; they are referring to universal rule, using stock terminology of Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions.”121 Hsieh’s objection that Abraham would have had to believe a truth that was not revealed to him therefore seems to be an overly rigid reading of Paul. What Hsieh and Rudolph do not fully seem to appreciate is the way Paul reads 118 See the significance of this text in McCaulley’s argument as well in Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 153. 119 “Then he left the country of the Chaldeans and settled in Haran. After his father died, God had him move from there to this country in which you are now living. He did not give him any of it as a heritage (κληρονομίαν), not even a foot’s length, but promised to give it to him as his possession (κατάσχεσιν) and to his descendants after him, even though he had no child.” (Acts 7:4–5). 120 Nili Wazana, All the Boundaries of the Land: The Promised Land in Biblical Thought in Light of the Ancient Near East (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013). Wazana points to common merisms like, “from the river of Egypt unto the great river, the river Euphrates” (Gen 15:18–21; Deut 11:24–25) etc. For a detailed discussion of the question of the boundaries of the Land and the relationship between Wazana’s work and that of other scholars, see Isaac, From Land to Lands, 111–20. 121 Craig Bartholomew, Where Mortals Dwell: A Christian View of Place for Today (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011), 36.

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Israel’s narrative as reaching its climax in Christ. Paul can, after all, say “in him every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes’ (ὅσαι γὰρ ἐπαγγελίαι θεοῦ, ἐν αὐτῷ τὸ Ναί)” (2 Cor 1:20). In what way would Paul have regarded the promise of the Land as “Yes” in Christ? That Jewish people from throughout the Diaspora would eventually return to their true inheritance in the Land of Judaea? As I have observed above, there is no indication that Paul read the promise of an “inheritance” to Abraham in this way. As Forman and McCaulley have demonstrated, Paul reads the inheritance as a worldwide dominion which Jew and gentile believers in Christ are ultimately to possess together and which is anticipated now in the gift of the Spirit. Could it be that Paul, like other Diaspora Jews, did not see a particular need for Jews or anyone else to return to the Land of Judaea? 122 While Forman and McCaulley have explored Paul’s appropriation of the Land promise in Romans and Galatians respectively, I turn now to a similar approach focussing especially on 1 Cor 1–4. Here I propose that the underlying narrative of Israel’s restoration that McCaulley discerned in Galatians is also of central importance.123 V. Israel’s restoration and the Land in 1 Cor 1–4 The signficance of 1 Corinthians for understanding Paul’s language of inheritance has not been lost on previous interpreters, and many commentators regard especially 1 Cor 15 as a key text for understanding Paul’s perspective on the kingdom. 124 As I observed above, Forman points out that the content of the inheritance in 1 Cor 15 is a renewed created order which will come about in an explicitly political manner as Christ destroys “every ruler and every authority and power (ὅταν καταργήσῃ πᾶσαν ἀρχὴν καὶ πᾶσαν ἐξουσίαν καὶ δύναμιν)” (1 Cor 15:24).125 What Forman does not observe, however, is how the theme of Israel’s restoration earlier in the letter paves the way for this climactic chapter. Nor does he explore the political overtones of earlier texts like 1 Cor 2:6 that anticipate the announcement of the final overthrow of all powers hostile to God. Furthermore, when reflecting on Paul’s universal 122 On Jews generally being at home in the Diaspora see, e.g., Erich S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002). 123 For recent expositions of how Paul understood this Jewish narrative see Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul; Francis Watson, Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith (London: T&T Clark, 2004); Steve Moyise, Paul and Scripture: Studying the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010); Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 75–196. 124 See, e.g., C.E. Hill, “Paul’s Understanding of Christ’s Kingdom in 1 Corinthians 15:20–28,” NovT 30 (1988): 297–320. Dunn suggests, quite uncontroversially, that Paul’s language of “inheriting the kingdom” was a traditional formulation in early Christianity. The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 45. 125 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 207–28.

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perspective on the Land promise, commentators have often tipped their hats at 1 Cor 3:21–23,126 but its relevance has not been carefully studied in its context. My focus in this section will therefore be on the underlying narrative of Israel’s restoration as it occurs especially in 1 Cor 1–4 with a special eye on the political dimension. I begin by highlighting significant themes related to Israel’s restoration in this section and then focus especially on the difficult question of the “citation” in 1 Cor 2:9. I highlight how the theme of Land as concrete inheritance is implicit throughout and close with some reflections on the political aspects of Paul’s rhetorical appropriation of this theme. Most commentators recognise 1 Cor 1:10–4:21 as the first major division of the letter in which Paul deals predominately with the evident “divisions (σχίσματα)” (1 Cor 1:10) in the Corinthian community.127 Where there has been significant debate is in relation to the nature and background of the divisions,128 especially as it relates to the theme of true and false wisdom. The general consensus in the last century has been that the three main options to consider are proto-Gnosticism,129 Hellenistic-Jewish Wisdom,130 and GraecoRoman social and rhetorical conventions.131 The first possibility is now 126 Robert Jewett comments on Rom 4:13, e.g., “there are indications elsewhere in Paul’s letters that a new form of inheriting the world was in view. The present tense verb in 1 Cor 3:21–23 makes clear that he considers this inheritance to be a matter of current experience among converts.” Romans: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 325. McCaulley also comments: “That Paul casually alludes to a belief in the believer’s possession of all things in Galatians should not be surprising given Paul does so on another occasion: πάντα γὰρ ὑμῶν ἐστιν . . . εἴτε κόσμος εἴτε ζωὴ εἴτε θάνατος, εἴτε ἐνεστῶτα εἴτε μέλλοντα πάντα ὑμῶν (1 Cor 3:21b-22).” Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 173. 127 See Roy E. Ciampa and Brian S. Rosner, The First Letter to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 68. They especially draw attention to the repetition of “I appeal to you” in 1:10 and 4:16. See also Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, rev. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 68–69. Fee draws attention to four elements that characterize this section: “quarrelling” and “divisiveness,” this being carried on in the name of “wisdom,” this being related to “boasting,” and an apologetic element in which Paul is defending his ministry against their “judgement.” For an argument that the issue of divisions pervades the whole letter, see Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation. 128 The debate about the extent of the “divisions” goes back to Johannes Munck who argued that the Corinthians where “bickering” rather than divided into “factions.” He also emphasised that their differences did not relate to points of doctrine. Paul and the Salvation of Mankind (London: SCM Press, 1959), 135–67. 129 This position is generally associated with R. Bultmann, W. Schmithals, U. Wilckens, D. Georgi, H. Conzelmann, C.H. Talbert and F.F. Bruce. See Oh-Young Kwon, 1 Corinthians 1–4: Reconstructing Its Social and Rhetorical Situation and Re-Reading It Cross-Culturally for Korean-Confucian Christians Today (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2010), 21–30. 130 This position is generally associated with B.A. Pearson, J.H.A. Davis and R.A. Horsley. See Kwon, 1 Corinthians 1–4, 31–38. 131 This position is generally associated with E.A. Judge, B.W. Winter, P. Marshall, T.H. Lim, S.M. Pogoloff, B. Witherington III, D. Litfin, and R.B. Hays. See Kwon, 1 Corinthians

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generally discredited132 and there is something of an emerging consensus that the latter option is probably most significant.133 While it is generally recognised that the influence of Graeco-Roman social and rhetorical conventions on the community 134 is what Paul is fundamentally addressing in these chapters, I begin by focusing on the resources Paul draws upon to do so. At the heart of Paul’s response is the message of the cross and the “reversal of values” that this entails. 135 Moreover, Paul draws significantly on the OT prophetic tradition to make his point.136 As Richard Hays puts it: 1–4, 45–55. Mihaila calls this “the oldest proposal for the background of the σοφία language.” The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 82. 132 See Markus N.A. Bockmuehl, Revelation and Mystery in Ancient Judaism and Pauline Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990), 159. Bockmeuhl points out that U. Wilckens himself now repudiates his earlier methodology and conclusions. 133 See Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 69–11; Kwon, 1 Corinthians 1–4, 14– 58; Oh-Young Kwon, “A Critical Review of Recent Scholarship on the Pauline Opposition and the Nature of Its Wisdom (Σοφία) in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” Currents in Biblical Research 8 (2010): 386–427. Note Kwon’s conclusion: “Of those hypotheses, rhetorical and social approaches appear to be the most appropriate method for an adequate description of the nature and background of Corinthian wisdom thoughts as addressed in 1 Cor 1–4.” “A Critical Review of Recent Scholarship on the Pauline Opposition and the Nature of Its Wisdom (Σοφία) in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” 420. So also Fee: “But since very little in the church in Corinth, as seen in this letter, reflects a Jewish background, it seems better to see the problem as stemming from Hellenistic influences. In this case, therefore, it is possible that the key lies with the phenomenon in the Hellenistic world of the itinerant philosopher, many of whom were sophists – more concerned with polished oration than with significant content.” Corinthians, 49. 134 While it may be possible to separate the social dimension (differences in wealth, social status, education etc.) from the rhetorical dimension (manner of speech, style of argument etc.), the fact that social differences were often manifest in speech justifies considering these together. See, e.g., Ramsay MacMullen, Roman Social Relations 50 B.C. to A.D. 284 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974). MacMullen highlight the “lexicon of snobbery” used by Greek and Roman authors that “indicate the range of prejudice felt by the literate upper classes for the lower.” Roman Social Relations, 138. 135 So Anthony C. Thiselton, who points out that, “Paul’s endeavor to provide a cure for them entails . . . an exposition of the nature of the gospel as centered in the cross of Christ (1:18–31; also 2:1–5).” The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 107. Fee also points out how Paul sees the divisions as merely a symptom and that: “The greater issue is the threat posed to the gospel, and along with that to the nature of the church and its apostolic ministry.” Corinthians, 50. See, e.g., H.H. Drake Williams, The Wisdom of the Wise: The Presence & Function of Scripture within 1 Cor 1:18–3:23 (Leiden: Brill, 2001); Hays, The Conversion of the Imagination, 1–24; Roy E. Ciampa and Brian S. Rosner, “1 Corinthians,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament, ed. Greg K. Beale and Donald A. Carson (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007). Ciampa and Rosner point to explicit references to Isa 29:14 136

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The backbone of the discussion in 1.18–3.23 is a series of six OT quotations (1.19; 1.31; 2.9; 2.16; 3.19; 3.20) all taken from passages that depict God as one who acts to judge and save his people in ways that defy human imagination. Paul thus links his gospel of the cross to the older message of judgement and grace proclaimed in Israel’s Scripture, and he challenges the boastful pretensions of his readers.137

Scholars have also recognised the significant background of Jewish apocalyptic, suggested by terms like “hidden wisdom (σοφίαν . . . τὴν ἀποκεκρυμμένην),” “mystery (ἐν μυστηρίῳ),” “this age (τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου),” “Lord of glory (κύριον τῆς δόξης),” “Spirit (πνεῦμα),” and “revelation (ἀποκαλύπτω).”138 At the same time, there has also been an interest in the political dimension of Paul’s discourse, especially as it relates to “the rulers of this age (τῶν ἀρχόντων τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου)” (1 Cor 2:6).139 1. Israel’s restoration in 1 Cor 1–4 Of particular relevance to my purposes here are the elements of Israel’s restoration that Paul sees being “unveiled” in Christ. 140 Ed Sanders has drawn attention to four themes that frequently recur in Israel’s hopes for the future during this period, namely: 1. 2. 3. 4.

The gathering of the whole people Subjection, destruction or conversion of the Gentiles Jerusalem and the temple rebuilt, renewed or purified. Purity and righteousness.141

(1 Cor 1:19), Jer 9:24 (1 Cor 1:26–31), Isa 64:4 (1 Cor 2:9), Isa 40:13 (1 Cor 2:16), Job 5:13 (1 Cor 3:19) and Ps 94:11 (1 Cor 3:20) in this section. “1 Corinthians,” 695–705. 137 Hays, The Conversion of the Imagination, 13. 138 See, e.g., Benjamin L. Gladd, Revealing the Mysterion: The Use of Mystery in Daniel and Second Temple Judaism with Its Bearing on First Corinthians (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008), 108–90; Alexandra R. Brown, The Cross & Human Transformation: Paul’s Apocalyptic Word in Corinthians (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995); Bockmuehl, Revelation and Mystery, 157–79. 139 See, e.g., Demetrius K. Williams, “Paul’s Anti-Imperial ‘Discourse of the Cross’: The Cross and Power in 1 Corinthians 1–4,” SBLSP 39 (2000): 796–823; Richard A. Horsley, “Rhetoric and Empire – and 1 Corinthians,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation. Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl, ed. Richard A. Horsley (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 72–102; John K. Goodrich, “After Destroying Every Rule, Authority, and Power: Paul, Apocalyptic, and Politics in 1 Corinthians,” in Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination, ed. Ben C. Blackwell, John K. Goodrich, and Jason Maston (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016), 275–96. 140 On the significance of the theme of Israel’s restoration in biblical studies generally see, James M. Scott, ed., Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish & Christian Perspectives (Leiden: Brill, 2001); Michael E. Fuller, The Restoration of Israel: Israel’s Re-Gathering and the Fate of the Nations in Early Jewish Literature and Luke-Acts (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2006). 141 Sanders, Judaism, 291.

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Elements of all these themes can be found in this section, as illustrated in the list below: 1.

The gathering of the whole people But to those who are the called (τοῖς κλητοῖς), both Jews (Ἰουδαίοις) and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God (1 Cor 1:24). But God chose (ἐξελέξατο) what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose (ἐξελέξατο) what is weak in the world to shame the strong (1 Cor 1:27).

The significant langage in this context of “calling” (κλητός, κλῆσις, καλέω)142 and of God’s “choice” (ἐκλέγομαι) echoes the prophetic texts that speak of God’s restoration and (re)calling of his people. 143 But you, Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen (ἐξελεξάμην), the offspring of Abraham, my friend; you whom I took from the ends of the earth, and called (ἐκάλεσά) from its farthest corners, saying to you, “You are my servant, I have chosen (ἐξελεξάμην) you and not cast you off” (Isa 41:8–9)144

2.

Subjection, destruction or conversion of the gentiles But to those who are the called (τοῖς κλητοῖς), both Jews and Greeks (Ἕλλησιν), Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God (1 Cor 1:24). Yet among the mature we do speak wisdom, though it is not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are doomed to perish (τῶν καταργουμένων) (1 Cor 2:6).

We observe here in Paul’s appropriation of this theme that the gentiles are both destroyed and converted, depending on how they respond to Christ. The message of the cross divides humanity into those who are perishing and those who are being saved (1 Cor 1:18). 3.

Jerusalem and the temple rebuilt, renewed or purified. What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him (1 Cor 2:9). Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? (1 Cor 3:16).

142 The definite article here “the called ones (τοῖς κλητοῖς)” has a specificity probably derived from Israel’s unique election. 143 The language of election here also echoes that of Israel’s election: “It was not because you were more numerous than any other people that the Lord set his heart on you and chose (ἐξελέξατο) you – for you were the fewest of all peoples. It was because the Lord loved (ἀγαπᾶν) you and kept the oath that he swore to your ancestors” (Deut 7:7–8). 144 See also Isa 1:26; 42:6; 43:1,7; 45:4; 54:6; 62:2, 12.

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Paul highlights here an expectation of future eschatological “glory (δόξα)” (1 Cor 2:7) and regards the present community of Jew and gentile believers in Christ as constituting a renewed Temple. Moreover, the Spirit’s role in the restoration of God’s people and Temple in the coming age is well recognised (e.g. Ezek 36:26–27; 40–43; Joel 2:28–29). 4.

Purity and righteousness He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption (1 Cor 1:30). For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple (1 Cor 3:17b). For as long as there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not of the flesh, and behaving according to human inclinations? (1 Cor 3:3).

Paul’s passionate concern for the holiness and purity of the community is best explained here by his conviction that the promised age of righteousness had arrived in Christ and the gift of the Spirit. 145 Although the first theme of the gathering of the whole people lacks the specificity of the twelve tribes being reunited,146 Paul’s response to the Corinthian situation clearly seems to be predicated on a conviction that the promised age of Israel’s restoration had arrived in Christ. What I am particularly interested in here is the way Paul may have appropriated this theme in relation to the Land. I note firstly that the mention of the Spirit together with the language of “glory” 147 and “revelation”148 in 1 Cor 2:6–16 is very similar to Rom 8:17– 39,149 where I noted earlier that Paul emphasises the believer’s “inheritance” as a “co-heir” with Christ. Thiselton also notes how this language of “glory” anticipates the future “glorious” inheritance in 1 Cor 15.150 Therefore, although the language of “inheritance” is not explicitly present here, Markus Bockmeuhl 145 A case can be made that these early chapters are programmatic for Paul’s concerns for purity throughout the letter. Brian Rosner argues, e.g., that 1 Cor 3:16–17 provides the “theological framework” for expelling the “immoral brother” in 1 Cor 5:1–13 and traces the progression from purifying the “temple” in 5:1–6 to celebrating the Passover in 5:7–8. “Temple Prostitution in 1 Corinthians 6:12–20,” NovT 40 (1998): 336–51. 146 As, e.g., in Jesus choosing twelve apostles (Mark 3:13–19). Interestingly, Sanders is not able to cite any Diaspora literature that highlights the specific expectation of the twelve tribes being reunited. Judaism, 291. 147 “for our glory (εἰς δόξαν ἡμῶν)” (1 Cor 2:7) and “Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8). 148 “revealed to us (ἡμῖν ἀπεκάλυψεν)” (1 Cor 2:10). 149 “the glory about to be revealed to us (δόξαν ἀποκαλυφθῆναι εἰς ἡμᾶς)” (Rom 8:18). Many commentators make this connection, e.g., Archibald T. Robertson and Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the First Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1914), 38; Fee, Corinthians, 113. 150 Thiselton, Corinthians, 243.

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is surely correct to draw this inference when he affirms that: “The content of the hidden wisdom, then, is a deeper knowledge of the inheritance which is in store for those who love God.”151 2. The content of “what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9) I note secondly that this connection can significantly be strengthened by a deeper appreciation of the intertexual resonances of the phrase “what God has prepared for those who love him (ἃ ἡτοίμασεν ὁ θεὸς τοῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν)” (1 Cor 2:9). Most commentators see this as part of the quotation that Paul prefaces with “But, as it is written,”152 and all recognise the difficulty of identifying the source of the quotation. It is generally recognised today that this text does not appear in this form in any extant literary sources prior to Paul. 153 There have, in fact, been many attempts from early on to identify the source of Paul’s quotation, whether in apocryphal works like the Apocalypse of Elijah,154 in an otherwise lost work,155 or even in a lost saying of Jesus.156 In this regard, most scholars follow Clement of Rome 157 in identifying the closest Bockmuehl, Revelation and Mystery, 164 (emphasis mine). See discussion in Thiselton, Corinthians, 248–52; Joseph Fitzmyer, First Corinthians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 177–9; Fee, Corinthians, 114–6. Fee, rightly in my view, stresses the emphasis on the final line of the citation. 153 For some of the problems associated with this quotation, see Klaus Berger, “Zur Diskussion über die Herkunft von I Kor. Ii. 9,” NTS 30 (1978): 270–83; Bo Frid, “The Enigmatic ALLA in 1 Corinthians 2.9,” NTS 31 (1985): 603–11. John P. Heil also devotes a chapter to this verse, concluding that: “The wording of the quote itself as a whole and in this form occurs nowhere in the OT.” The Rhetorical Role of Scripture in 1 Corinthians (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 57. 154 This suggestion goes back to Origen (De principiis 3.6.4) and continues to be defended by James H. Charlesworth, “Paul, the Jewish Apocalypses, and Apocalyptic Eschatology,” in Paul the Jew: Rereading the Apostle as a Figure of Second Temple Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016), 95–6. 155 This suggestion goes back to Chrysostom who regards Isa 52:15 as the most probable reference and concludes that “either then this is his meaning, or probably it was actually written in some books, and the copies have perished” Hom. VII 1 Cor 2:6,7 (NPNF 1/12:36). 156 This suggestion goes back to Helmut H. Koester, “One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels,” HTR 61 (1968): 203–47. Koester suggests a potential parallel with Gospel of Thomas 17. Cristopher Tuckett reviews this suggestion and concludes: “In sum, it appears that the version of the saying in GTh 17 represents a secondary development of the tradition compared with the version which Paul gives in I Cor 2:9.” “Paul and the Jesus Tradition: The Evidence of 1 Corinthians 2:9 and the Gospel of Thomas 17,” in Paul and the Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict. Essays in Honour of Margaret Thrall, ed. Trevor J. Burke and Keith Elliott, NovTSup 109 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 73. 157 That Clement understood Paul to be referring to this text is evidenced by the fact that he changed the quotation in Paul to reflect the ending of Isa 64:3 in the LXX, “For [the Scripture] saith, ‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, 151 152

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literary parallel as Isa 64:4 (64:3 LXX). 158 Thus, most would conclude with Roberson and Plummer that Paul quotes “very freely and with reminiscence of Isa lxv. 17 from Isa lxiv. 4.”159 Here I believe that a significant study by William Horbury on Zion traditions that look forward to a new Zion “prepared and built,” has generally been neglected by scholarship. 160 Horbury examines many texts from the LXX, Qumran and other Jewish literature of the period that echo Moses’ song in Exod 15:17 and that highlight how this song was “read as a Mosaic prophecy of a new temple – the coming divinely-prepared temple.”161 He furthermore argues that this tradition lies behind Paul’s expression “what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9).162 Since Horbury is particularly interested in Paul’s perspective on “Jerusalem above” in Gal 4:26–30, he does not further explore the relevance of this to the Corinthian context. I propose that the immediate context, replete with the language of Israel’s restoration and indeed with the language of a new “temple

the things which He hath prepared for them that wait for Him (ὅσα ἡτοίμασεν τοῖς ὑπομένουσιν αὐτόν).’” 1 Clem. 34.8 (ANF 1:14). 158 This is reflected in the footnotes and cross-references of most Bibles. “From ages past no one has heard (ἠκούσαμεν), no ear has perceived, no eye (ὀφθαλμοὶ) has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him (ἃ ποιήσεις τοῖς ὑπομένουσιν ἔλεον)” (Isa 64:4; 64:3 LXX). 159 Robertson and Plummer, Corinthians, 42. Fee concludes that this is “an amalgamation of OT texts that had already been joined and reflected on in apocalyptic Judaism, which Paul knew either directly or indirectly.” Corinthians, 116. J.P. Heil concludes that Paul here “has brought together various formulations and concepts found in a number of different places in the OT.” The Rhetorical Role of Scripture in 1 Corinthians, 66. I largely agree with Gladd that, “scholarship in general has focused too much on the source(s) of this quotation instead of the OT background.” Revealing the Mysterion, 137. 160 Horbury, Messianism, 189–226. Most scholars merely affirm with Gladd that, “The notion of God “preparing” (ἡτοίμασεν) can be eschatological in nature – either for judgment or restoration.” Revealing the Mysterion, 147. This chapter builds on Horbury’s earlier work in which he already argued that, “Exod 15:17 is a neglected but vital source for the interconnection of the present land and sanctuary, especially in the notion of ingathering into the holy place, and for the conception of a divinely prepared heavenly and future holy place, the ‘ready dwelling’ of the LXX.” “Land, Sanctuary and Worship,” 211. 161 Horbury, Messianism, 198. In relation to the LXX, he particularly notes connections to Isa 54:11–12 and the prophecy of a renewed Jerusalem that God “prepares,” as well as its association with “new creation.” Messianism, 105. Isa 54 is a text which we have already noted that Paul is clearly familiar with (cf. Gal 4:27). 162 Horbury writes: “In Paul himself the association of Exod 15.17 with the prayer and prophecy concerning Zion in Isaiah seems to appear in the adaptation of Isa 64.3 (4) towards Exod 15.17 at 1 Cor 2.9 ‘… the things which God has made ready for those who love him.’” Messianism, 213.

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(ναὸς)” (1 Cor 3:16) that is being “built (ἐποικοδομεῖ)” (1 Cor 3:10), strongly suggests that Paul is indeed drawing on this tradition. 163 I suggest that this connection helps explain the content of what “God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9). Many rightly connect this to what God has decreed “for our glory (εἰς δόξαν ἡμῶν)” (1 Cor 2:7) and to “what God has freely given us (τὰ ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ χαρισθέντα ἡμῖν)” (1 Cor 2:12 NIV),164 but this is also often interpretted in generalised terms as “fellowship with God,”165 “the eschatological blessings of salvation,”166 or even as the gift of wisdom itself.167 Here I propose that the context and content of Moses’ song as it was developed in Israel’s history is significant. As the people of Israel have just been liberated from the oppressive power of Egypt and are poised on entering the Promised Land, Moses sings: Lead them in, and plant (καταφύτευσον) them in the mountain of your inheritance (κληρονομίας), in your prepared dwelling place (ἕτοιμον κατοικητήριόν) that you made, O Lord, A holy precinct (ἁγίασμα), O Lord, that your hands prepared (ὃ ἡτοίμασαν) (Exod 15:17 NETS)

Note firstly the clear link between holy sanctuary and Land suggested by the language of “inheritance (κληρονομίας).”168 This is made explicit a little later 163 I provide further arguments below to substantiate this. Raymond F. Collins also recognizes an allusion to the Exodus tradition here, “Apocalyptic dicta frequently consist of a pastiche of biblical allusions Isaiah 64:3 (cf. Isa 6:10; Jer 5:21–23 [LXX]), with allusion to the Exodus tradition, announces that when YHWH comes to save Israel, he will do things that humankind had never previously experienced.” First Corinthians (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1999), 132. For ways in which Exodus themes are woven through the letter see also Suh, Power and Peril, 29–44. 164 So Robertson and Plummer, “The same blessings appear successively as δόξαν ἡμῶν (v. 7), ἃ ἡτοίμασεν κ.τ .λ. (v. 9), and τὰ … χαρισθέντα (v. 12).” Corinthians, 46. 165 So Robertson and Plummer: “This state of the redeemed, closely corresponding to ‘the Kingdom of God,’ is called ‘the glory of God,’ because as God’s adopted sons they share in the glory of the exalted Christ, which consists in fellowship with God.” Corinthians, 38. 166 Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 179. 167 So Ulrich Wilckens commenting on 1 Cor 2:10: “Was offenbart wird, ist nach dem Voranstehenden klar: Paulus knüpft in 2,10 unmittelbar an das Zitat in 2,9 an, das wiederum die Aussage in 2,7b belegen soll. Die verborgene Sophia, die den ἡμεῖς bestimmt ist, ist Inhalt dessen, was Gott ihnen jetzt schon offenbart hat.” Weisheit und Torheit: Eine exegetische-religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu 1. Kor. 1 und 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1959), 81. Fitzmyer also attributes this perspective to Huby, Héring and Wendland. First Corinthians, 179. This view would lead to the very unsatisfactory and somewhat circular conclusion that God has “prepared” wisdom and given believers wisdom to recognize this wisdom. 168 See also Horbury, “Land, Sanctuary and Worship.”

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in the narrative where Israel are promised protection on their journey to the Land.169 Note secondly how the language of “planting” is echoed in the Psalms to describe God’s “planting” of the nation170 and significantly also in the promise that God would “prepare” an eternal kingdom for David in which David’s son would “build” the Temple.171 The language of “planting” is thus related to the language of “building” the Temple and “preparing/establishing” the kingdom. 172 As I observed earlier, this language of “planting” and “building” recurs again to a significant degree in Jeremiah in relation to Israel’s future hopes.173 Jeremiah’s use of this language is also significantly related to the promise of a return from exile and the establishment of a new/renewed covenant: And just as I have watched over them to pluck up and break down, to overthrow, destroy, and bring evil, so I will watch over them to build and to plant (οἰκοδομεῖν καὶ καταφυτεύειν) (Jer 31:28 LXX 38:28).

Although the promise of God’s spirit does not attend the new covenant in Jeremiah, the language of “planting” and “building” does recur in an important text in Ezekiel which promises the spirit as well as restoration.174

169 “I am going to send an angel in front of you, to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared (εἰς τὴν γῆν, ἣν ἡτοίμασά σοι)” (Exod 23:20). The connection is strengthened by the fact that the verb ἑτοιμάζω occurs only three times in the LXX of Exodus (15:17, 16:5, 23:20). 170 “You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove out the nations and planted it (κατεφύτευσας). You cleared the ground for it; it took deep root (κατεφύτευσας τὰς ῥίζας αὐτῆς) and filled the land” (Ps 79:9–10 LXX). See also Ps 44:2 (LXX 43:3). 171 “And I will appoint a place for my people Israel and will plant (καταφυτεύσω) them, so that they may live in their own place, and be disturbed no more… When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom (ἑτοιμάσω τὴν βασιλείαν αὐτοῦ). He shall build (οἰκοδομήσει) a house (οἶκον) for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever” (2 Sam 7:10–13). 172 In the LXX the verb ἑτοιμάζω frequently translates the Hebrew ‫ן‬ĀĀwhich is frequently used in relation to God “establishing” kings and in relation to “preparation” for building the Temple (e.g. 1 Chr 15:1, 3, 12; 17:11; 22:5, 14 etc.) 173 Firstly in Jeremiah’s programmatic call: “See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build (ἀνοικοδομεῖν) and to plant (καταφυτεύειν)” (Jer 1:9 LXX 1:10). See also Jer 11:17; 18:9; 24:6; 31:28 (LXX 38:28). 174 “And they will say, ‘This land that was desolate has become like the garden of Eden; and the waste and desolate and ruined towns are now inhabited and fortified.’ Then the nations that are left all around you shall know that I, the Lord, have rebuilt (ᾠκοδόμησα) the ruined places, and replanted (κατεφύτευσα) that which was desolate; I, the Lord, have spoken, and I will do it.” (Ezek 36:35–36).

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As is evident in the texts cited above, this theme is developed in the prophets so that the “nations” also come into view in relation to Israel’s future restoration.175 The language of “preparing,” “planting,” and “building” thus looks back to Moses’ expectation upon entering the Land and looks forward to God’s future restoration of his people which will also have implications for the nations. Following this brief sketch, there are several clear resonances with Paul’s discourse in 1 Cor 1–4. Firstly, just as God’s overthrow of Pharaoh’s oppressive power at the time of the Exodus had paved the way for Israel to be led into the glorious inheritance God had prepared (Exod 15:17), so now God’s victory in Christ brings to nothing “the rulers of this age” (1 Cor 2:6) and guarantees the inheritance for those who love him (1 Cor 2:9). Secondly, the language of “planting” and “building” is clearly echoed in the next chapter in relation to Paul’s role in “planting (ἐφύτευσα)” the Corinthian community (1 Cor 3:6) and the ongoing task of “building (ἐποικοδομεῖ)” upon the foundation that had been laid (1 Cor 3:10). Paul clearly regards himself elsewhere as having a covenantal commission similar to Jeremiah (2 Cor 10:8; 13:10; Gal 1:15). The fact that Jeremiah is not far from Paul’s mind here is evidenced by his earlier quotation of Jer 9:24 in 1 Cor 1:31.176 Thirdly, Paul links the “building” of this community to the kingdom. 177 For Paul, Jesus is clearly a kingly figure – “the Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8). As Carey C. Newman has extensively argued, this phrase is “best read against the grid of Jewish apocalypses” and is characteristic of the ‘throne vision’ in such literature.178 Furthermore, as Paul closes this section and reveals what has been the underlying issue he has been addressing all along, he returns to the earlier language of “power” (1 Cor 2:4–5) and threatens discipline predicated on the reality of the kingdom.179 Finally, the presence of the Spirit and the Temple (1 Cor 3:16) is perhaps the most decisive evidence that Paul is indeed drawing on this long tradition of eschatological expectation of a new/renewed covenant, a restored Temple and

Jeremiah’s words, e.g., are oriented towards “building” and “planting” not only Israel, but “nations” and “kingdoms” (Jer 1:9–10). 176 See Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 243–4. 177 As Wright has argued, drawing also on this text, “Temple and kingdom go together.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 392. 178 Carey C. Newman, Paul’s Glory-Christology: Tradition & Rhetoric, NovTSup 69 (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 244. 179 “But I will come to you soon, if the Lord wills, and I will find out not the talk of these arrogant people but their power. For the kingdom of God depends not on talk but on power” (1 Cor 4:20). 175

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indeed a restored Land. Furthermore, as I noted above, there is a strong conceptual link in Jeremiah between “planting” and “building” and return from exile.180 As N.T. Wright has extensively argued, many first-century Jews regarded themselves as still living in “exile,” even after the historic return and periods of “planting” and “building” under Ezra and Nehemiah. 181 In drawing on Jeremiah’s commission in this way, what is Paul saying about return to the Land? The above observations would suggest that for Paul the promised return to the Land is happening, but in a surprising way. It is not now limited to any geographic location, but can be located wherever people are being “built” on the foundation of Jesus Christ (3:11) and wherever the Spirit is present (3:16). The Temple was, after all, the focal point of the Land. At this point I conclude that the content of “what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9) is for Paul a glorious inheritance of a renewed world, already anticipated by the restored “Temple” community. 3. The background of “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived” (1 Cor 2:9) I will argue that the above conclusions can be further sharpened by closer attention to the initial part of Paul’s “citation”: But, as it is written, “What no eye (ὀφθαλμὸς) has seen, nor ear (οὖς) heard, nor the human heart (καρδίαν ἀνθρώπου) conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9)

If Horbury and the above analysis is correct in identifying the source of the latter phrase in Israel’s eschatological expectation of a restored Land and Temple, what of the preceding phrase?182 As mentioned earlier, most see the closest connection with Isaiah: 180 This can be seen in e.g. Jer 24:6 “I will set my eyes upon them for good, and I will bring them back to this land. I will build them up, and not tear them down; I will plant them, and not pluck them up” (cf. 31:1–28, 42:10). 181 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 139–62. Fuller notes the critique of Wright’s somewhat monolithic construction of all first-century Jews regarding themselves as still living in “exile.” The Restoration of Israel, 10. My argument does not depend on this being a universal perception among all Jews, but only that Paul saw the situation prior to Christ in this way. 182 I tend to regard these as separate phrases that Paul has drawn together. This is confirmed by the textual difficulties in the latter phrase which in some texts is introduced by the relative pronoun ἃ and in others (including the early reference by Clement of Rome) by ὅσα. There is evidence, in other words, of scribes seeking to smooth out the grammar here (indicating that Paul was probably not quoting from a single coherent text). See discussion in Thiselton, Corinthians, 248–52.

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From ages past we have not heard nor have our eyes (ὀφθαλμοὶ) seen any God besides you, and your works, which you will do to those who wait for mercy (Isa 64:3 NETS).

Benjamin Gladd suggests that the connection here is that of “sensor-organ language” that was often linked to apocalyptic wisdom in Second Temple Judaism.183 There are, however, some difficulties in the connection to Isa 64:4, not least the fact that the eyes are the only sensory organ explicitly mentioned in the LXX 184 and that the former text is singular and the latter plural. Furthermore, the emphasis in Isaiah is on what has been seen, while Paul is concerned to emphasise what has not been seen. In spite of these difficulties, Gladd has undertaken the most thorough analysis of Paul’s apparent appropriation of this text that I am aware of. 185 Gladd demonstrates the significant link between Isa 64 and the Exodus tradition in which Israel were hardened so as to be unable to perceive God’s work.186 Here he notices especially the description of Israel’s wilderness wanderings in Deut 29:2–4187 where this language is prevalent and concludes, “These passages affirm Israel’s perception of God’s mighty deeds yet without understanding.”188 That Paul is thinking in these terms here is also suggested by his quotation of Jer 9:24 in 1 Cor 1:31 and its concomitant description of Israel as “uncircumcised in heart” (Jer 9:26), with all of the echoes of Deuteronomy (Deut 10:16; 30:6). Gladd concludes by drawing a link to Paul’s appropriation: Sensory language is frequently used with perceiving redemptive events and revelation. Paul is contrasting the rulers’ lacking perception of God’s redemptive plan with the insight of the Spirit filled believer. As a result of their hardened condition, they crucified Jesus. But since Paul and the Corinthians have Spirit-enabled senses, they can understand the redemptive event of the cross.189

I believe Gladd is fundamentally correct to draw attention to this “sensor-organ language,” but also that he does not examine all the relevant texts or draw out the important implications. In the first place, Gladd fails to reflect on the Gladd, Revealing the Mysterion, 149. Surprisingly the LXX of Isa 64:3 does not translate the “ears (‫ ”)אָ זַן‬of the MT, but simply translates the Hebrew as “we have not heard (οὐκ ἠκούσαμεν).” 185 Gladd, Revealing the Mysterion, 136–50. 186 Here Gladd points to the immediately preceding passage in Isa 63:11–19 that “explicitly mentions the hardened state of Israel during the wilderness wanderings.” Revealing the Mysterion, 142. 187 “Moses summoned all Israel and said to them: You have seen all that the Lord did before your eyes in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his servants and to all his land, the great trials that your eyes saw, the signs, and those great wonders. But to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand, or eyes to see, or ears to hear” (Deut 29:2–4). 188 Gladd, Revealing the Mysterion, 143 (emphasis original). 189 Gladd, 149 (emphasis original). 183 184

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recurrence of this language in Isaiah’s significant call and commission in 6:1– 13190 And [the Lord] said, “Go, and say to this people: ‘You will listen by listening, but you will not understand, and looking you will look, but you will not perceive.’ For this people’s heart (καρδία) has grown fat, and with their ears (ὠσὶν) they have heard heavily, and they have shut their eyes (ὀφθαλμοὺς) so that they might not see with their eyes (ὀφθαλμοῖς) and hear with their ears (ὠσὶν) and understand with their heart (καρδίᾳ) and turn – and I would heal them.” (Isa 6:9–10 NETS).

Note firstly that all the sensory organs (eyes, ears, and heart) are explicitly mentioned here. 191 Note secondly the apocalyptic context of a “throne vision,” the emphasis on God’s “glory” (Isa 6:3), and the unveiling of God’s long range purposes in history. Note thirdly the prophetic expectation that Israel would turn and be healed, but also the explicit time frame: Then I said, “How long, O Lord?” And he said: “Until cities become desolate, because they are not inhabited, and houses, because there are no people, and the land will be left desolate. And after these things, God will send people far away (Isa 6:11–12 NETS).

As Oswalt points out, it is clearly the Deuteronomic curses and especially the loss of the Land that is in view here.192 The situation Isaiah thus envisions is one in which the people are presently hardened and blinded and will experience the curse of exile as a result, but not without a hope of their eyes seeing again, their ears hearing, and their hearts perceiving. 193 Notice finally that this “sensory-organ language” recurs in the polemical descriptions of the idolatry of the nations later in Isaiah: The rest he made into a graven god and does obeisance to it, and he prays, saying, “Rescue me, for you are my god!” They did not know how to think, because they were blinded so as

190 John N. Oswalt writes: “The vision which 6:1–8 reports was clearly fundamental to the entire course of Isaiah’s ministry and to the shape of his book.” The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 1–39 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), 176. 191 The juxtaposition of these particular organs in close proximity is very rare, as we will observe below. 192 Oswalt comments: “God’s justice will be carried out to its full extent until the land is empty. So the prophecies of Deuteronomy would come to fulfillment (Deut 28:21, 63; 29:28).” The Book of Isaiah, 190. 193 This hope is effected later in Isaiah through the work of the servant, e.g., “to open the eyes that are blind” (Isa 42:7; cf. Isa 43:8). As Oswalt points out, the hope in Isa 6:13 is rooted in the idea of a righteous remnant. The Book of Isaiah, 191.

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not to see with their eyes (ὀφθαλμοῖς) and understand with their heart (καρδίᾳ) (Isa 44:17– 18 NETS).

This theme that those who worship idols become “blind” and “deaf” like them is frequent in the prophets and can be traced back to the proto-typical incident with the golden calf (Exod 32:1-35).194 If Paul is indeed drawing on this theme in depicting the “rulers of this age” as idolators in Isaianic terms, this would certainly make good sense of the strong adversative “but (ἀλλὰ)” (1 Cor 2:9) that distinguishs them from believers who now “see.”195 But what is the significance of believers now “seeing”? Could it be that, just as Jesus’ death removed the covenant curses and enabled the reception of the inheritance in Gal 3:10–18,196 here also Paul regards the death of “the Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8) as that which overcomes eyes that cannot see and ears that cannot hear and enables the reception of “what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9)?197 Whatever else we might say, it seems clear that Paul regarded the great turning point that Isaiah and Deuteronomy had prophesied 198 as having ocurred in Christ’s death and that now there were at least some who saw and heard.199 This is where Paul’s rhetoric has been aiming: These things God has revealed to us through the Spirit (ἡμῖν δὲ ἀπεκάλυψεν ὁ θεὸς διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος) (1 Cor 2:10). See, esp., Greg K. Beale, We Become What We Worship: A Biblical Theology of Worship (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2008). 195 This makes more sense that Gladd’s proposal: “At the very least, an analogical relationship exists between the first exodus and Israel’s response at the second exodus; this implies that the “rulers” in 1 Cor 2:8 represent callous Israel in 64:4a.” Revealing the Mysterion, 148. 196 See the summary of McCaulley’s work above. 197 This connection can perhaps be strengthened by considering the purpose of Isaiah’s call in ch. 6. As Oswalt puts it: “On the one hand, chs. 1–5 have raised a serious problem. Sinful, arrogant Israel is going to be the holy people of God to whom the nations will come to learn of God (cf. 43:8–14; 49:5, 6; Ezek 36:22–38). But how can this be? Ch. 6 provides the solution. Sinful Israel can become servant Israel when the experience of Isaiah becomes the experience of the nation.” The Book of Isaiah, 174–75. Paul’s claim here is that believers have undergone an Isaiah-like experience in having their sins forgiven and seeing God’s glory in Christ. 198 Exploring other texts as well, Wright argues persuasively that: “Paul’s basic claim about Deuteronomy 30 is that the great change in Israel’s fortunes which that chapter describes – or, as many of his contemporaries would have said, prophesies – is precisely what has come about through Jesus the Messiah.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1172. 194

199 That Paul is familiar with these texts is evident in his quotation from Deut 29:4 in Rom 11:8. That Paul could apply this text to some in Israel in his day does not disprove that the decisive turning point had come, but merely indicates that Paul saw an ongoing process of fulfilment. Paul regarded Israel’s “hardening” as only “partial” or “in part” (Rom 11:25).

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As Thiselton points out, Paul evokes a sense of “awe and wonder” by placing the “to us (ἡμῖν)” in the emphatic position here. 200 Paul seems to be saying that those who have truly understood the message of the cross have seen a glory that even the great prophets like Isaiah could not have conceived. 201 Gladd seems to suggest that Paul is emphasising the timeless principle that some do and some do not understand God’s revelation, whereas I would suggest that Paul deliberately reverses Deut 29:2–4 and Isa 6:9–10 in order to highlight that a decisive turning point has taken place. In his careful study of the rhetorical function of Scripture in 1 Corinthians, Heil highlights both of these texts as important background and in both cases observes how Paul “reverses what is stated” and “reverses the prophetic message.”202 In both cases, however, Heil fails to comment any further on the significance of this. There is, however, one more text that Heil briefly draws attention to that may well have influenced Paul’s usage in 1 Cor 2:9. Along with Deut 29:2–4, Isa 6:9–10, two passages in Sirach,203 and two from Philo,204 the only other proximate ocurrences of “eye (ὀφθαλμός),” “ear (οὖς),” and “heart (καρδία)” in the TLG database of extant Greek literature prior to Paul are in Ezekiel 40:4 and 44:5.205 These texts significantly occur at the beginning and the end of Ezekiel’s vision of a renewed Temple to which the divine “glory (δόξα LXX)” returns (Ezek 43:1–9).206 It is here that Ezekiel receives his commission: And the man said to me, “Have you seen, son of man (υἱὲ ἀνθρώπου)? Look with your eyes (ὀφθαλμοῖς), and listen with your ears (ὠσίν), and set out into your heart (καρδίαν) all that I show you (ὅσα ἐγὼ δεικνύω σοι), for you have entered here in order to show you, and you shall show all that you see to the house of Israel.” (Ezek 40:4 NETS)

Several considerations suggest that this may be a text that Paul is drawing in 1 Cor 2:9. Firstly, the clear apocalyptic tenor of Ezekiel is consonant with Paul’s language in 1 Cor 1–4.207 In the immediate context, Paul has just referred to Thiselton, Corinthians, 255. The thought does not seem too far off from Jesus’ words to his disciples according to Luke, “Then turning to the disciples, Jesus said to them privately, ‘Blessed are the eyes that see what you see! For I tell you that many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.’” (Lk. 10:23–24). 202 Heil, The Rhetorical Role of Scripture in 1 Corinthians, 55. 203 Sirach 17:4 and 38:28. 204 The first text Fug. 123 in fact quotes from Deut 29:4 while Spec. 4.137 appears to be a reflection on Deut 6:6–9. 205 This is based on a search for these words within a twelve-word proximity. 206 Daniel I. Block comments on these final chapters: “The book of Ezekiel concludes on a glorious note, with a vision of Yahweh returning to his temple and establishing his residence in his city in the midst of his people.” The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 25–48 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 494. 207 For the apocalyptic background of 1 Corinthians see, esp., Gladd, Revealing the Mysterion. 200 201

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Jesus as “the Lord of glory,” which Newman suggests is clear evidence that “Paul mined the wealth of the Glory tradition stemming from Ezekiel 1:28.”208 Secondly, the immediate context of Ezek 40–44 is relevant in that it follows on from the defeat and judgement of Gog that threatens to overwhelm Israel again in Ezek 38–39. Daniel I. Block comments how this section serves to “create the impression that Gog is an imperial power with vast military resources.”209 Furthermore, the promise of Israel’s ingathering following the exile (Ezek 39:28) and the outpouring of the Spirit (Ezek 39:29) is again reiterated immediately preceding this vision (cf. Ezek 34:13; 36:24, 27; 37:21). It is striking here that Paul, having observed the final overthrow of the powerful “rulers of this age” (1 Cor 2:6), now by the Spirit has a vision of what “God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9). Moreover, this future is already anticipated by the eschatological Temple in the present (1 Cor 3:10– 17). Thirdly, there is a small textual detail that strengthens the connection. Paul explicitly mentions “the human heart (καρδίαν ἀνθρώπου)” in 1 Cor 2:9, which most commentators rightly take to be emphasising what it is possible to perceive by merely human means versus by the Spirit. 210 There is, however, no reference to what is “human” in any of the other texts that use “sensor-organ language” that we have surveyed. Ezekiel, however, is addressed as “son of man (‫בן־אָ דָ ם‬ĀLXX υἱὲ ἀνθρώπου)” (Ezek 40:4; 44:5). Block points out that this characteristic form of address “highlights Ezekiel’s humanity, his membership in the ʼādām race” and that it draws attention to “his status as a mere human in contrast to the transcendent and glorious divinity of Yahweh.”211 This may at first glance militate against the view that Paul is reflecting on this text, because Paul specifically emphasises what no mere human has seen, heard or conceived in the heart. But the point here is certainly not that Ezekiel could have had unaided insight into these future purposes of God as a mere human being. As Block points out, Ezekiel is, after all, led throughout by a heavenly figure who “in tour guide fashion, escorts the prophet around the temple complex.”212 Furthermore, the “declared genre” of this material in Ezek 40:2 is “divine visions (‫הִ ים‬Āֱ‫ מַ ְראֹ ות א‬LXX ὁράσει θεοῦ).”213 The constant contrast between the divine transcendance of the Lord and the merely human Newman, Paul’s Glory-Christology, 244. Block, The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 25–48, 438–9. 210 Collins suggests that this underscores “the radical divide between what humans can know kata anthropōn and the divine mystery known only to God and to those to whom God chooses to reveal it.” First Corinthians, 132. So also Thiselton, Corinthians, 255–70. 211 Daniel I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 1–24 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 30–1. 212 Block, The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 25–48, 494. 213 Block, 496. 208 209

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Ezekiel may in fact be taken to highlight the absolute necessity of divine revelation to truly understand God’s mysterious purposes in history. There is, however, another indication in the text of 1 Cor 2:6–16 that “what no eye has seen” is best interpreted within the Jewish apocalyptic tradition of divinely revealed mysteries. Twice Ezekiel is told that he is given this vision in order to tell it to “the house of Israel.”214 Paul also goes on to emphasise that the spiritual of the community: Speak of these things in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit, interpreting (συγκρίνοντες) spiritual things to those who are spiritual (πνευματικοῖς πνευματικὰ) (1 Cor 2:13).

This verse has been notoriously difficult to translate, especially as it relates to the appropriate translation of συγκρίνοντες.215 Although the general consensus that this is best translated as “interpret” is almost certainly correct, I do not believe that adequate attention has been paid to its particular usage in the LXX. Of the fourteen occurrences of the verb, ten are found in Gen 40–41 and Dan 5:1–31 and here always in relation to Joseph and Daniel “interpreting” God’s purposes given in dreams and visions. 216 In both these contexts the presence of God’s Spirit as revealer and the presence of divine wisdom is recognised.217 Furthermore, both relate to God’s purposes in relation to his people in the midst of the kingdoms of the world. This shared background with Paul’s discourse in 1 Cor 2:6–16 is surely significant in Paul’s usage of συγκρίνοντες.218 I would suggest that, in drawing on Ezekiel’s vision of a restored Temple and Land (Ezek 40–48), Paul wants to emphasise that believers are now, by the Spirit, given a Joseph and Daniel like insight into God’s grand purposes in history. 219 These purposes include the Ezek 40:4; 44:6. This verb could have the sense of (1) combine (2) compare or (3) explain/interpret and BDAG lists all of these as possible meanings in 1 Cor 2:13 (BDAG, 953). Robertson and Plummer highlight five possible translations turning on the meaning of συγκρίνοντες and whether πνευματικοῖς is taken as masculine or neuter and argue in favour of “interpreting spiritual truths to spiritual hearers,” as reflected in the NRSV. Corinthians, 47–48. So also Thiselton, Corinthians, 266. 216 The other references are Num 15:34, which appears to have a sense of expected divine revelation, and Wis 7:29; 15:18 and 1 Macc 10:71. There is also a strong connection between “dreams” (ἐνύπνιον) and “visions” (ὅρασις) in Genesis and Daniel, e.g. Dan 4:5 “I saw a dream (ἐνύπνιον), and it frightened me, and I was disturbed on my bed, and the visions (αἱ ὁράσεις) of my head confused me” (NETS Theod.). 217 Gen 41:38–39; Dan 5:14. 218 In Gladd’s significant work on the Danielic background to 1 Corinthians he only suggests this but does not take it any further, “Perhaps the verb, συγκρίνω, in 2:13 may also reflect a Danielic background.” Revealing the Mysterion, 130. 219 I regard this inference as true regardless of whether or not Paul is alluding to Ezek 40 here. 214 215

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final overthrow of all powers hostile to God (1 Cor 2:6) and the entrance of God’s people into their eschatological inheritance which must be understood in concrete terms (1 Cor 2:9). In relation to the difficult question of the source of Paul’s “quotation” in 1 Cor 2:9, I suggest then that it is best seen as a composite quotation drawn from a tradition going back Exod 15:17 together with Deut 29:2–4 and Isa 6:9–10, with a strong possibility of an allusion to Ezek 40:4 and 44:5. 4. The political aspects of Paul’s rhetoric in 1 Cor 1–4 Having explored the significant scriptural resources Paul drew on to address the divisions in the Corinthian community, we are now in a position to better appreciate the function of his rhetoric. Most scholars today agree that the divisions in the community were largely related to differences in social background and status 220 that were being expressed in members of the community aligning themselves with prominent leaders who exhibited GraecoRoman style wisdom and eloquence. 221 Such attachment to prominent leaders also seems to have deep roots in the Graeco-Roman patronage system. 222 Moreover, the desire for status that came through such association can be seen against the pervasive backdrop of an honour and shame culture. 223 Beneath this is finally the perrenial problem of human pride and boasting. 224 Andrew Clarke presents a fairly standard summary of the consensus: In secular society, therefore, the conventions of patronage, politics and the sophistic loyalty between pupil and teacher all have strong parallels with the situation in the Corinthian church.225

Most also see how Paul’s discourse of the cross aims at a reversal of these Graeco-Roman values.226 As Mihaila points out, Paul aims to demonstrate this Most look back here to the pioneering work of Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth, trans. John H. Schütz, ed. John H. Schütz (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1982). 221 See, esp., Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists. 222 See, esp., John K. Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992). 223 See, esp., Mark T. Finney, Honour and Conflict in the Ancient World: 1 Corinthians in Its Greco-Roman Social Setting (London: T&T Clark, 2012). Finney highlights various ways in which φιλοτιμία accounts for the divisions in Corinth. 224 See, e.g., Matthew R. Malcolm’s arguments that Paul is primarily critiquing “boastful, present-obsessed human autonomy.” Paul and the Rhetoric of Reversal in 1 Corinthians: The Impact of Paul’s Gospel on His Macro-Rhetoric (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 113–67. 225 Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth, 94. 226 See, esp., Malcolm, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reversal. Malcolm observes a structure of “reversal” in the whole letter and focuses especially on the problem of “boasting.” So 220

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reversal by highlighting God’s choice of the low-status Corinthians for salvation (1 Cor 1:26–31) and the unimpressive style of proclamation that he deliberately adopted (1 Cor 2:1–5).227 Many, like Fee, also point to the irony here: “that the Corinthians in pursuing sophia are pursuing what belongs to this age, which is passing away.”228 Reversal, of course, both brings down the high and lifts up the low. Admittedly much of Paul’s rhetoric aims at the former and this is frequently highlighted in scholarship. I suggest that sufficient attention has not always been paid to the latter and that Paul’s appropriation of the theme of Israel’s restoration, especially as it envisions a renewed world, plays an important role in this. 229 Paul’s point is not merely that the Corinthians are being just like the world in seeking glory and status by aligning themselves with the wise or powerful. His point is that to do so is to fail to reckon with the accomplishments of the cross, that guarantee a status and glory that could never be matched by “the rulers of this age” (1 Cor 2:6–9). In drawing upon Jewish texts that envision a world in which the powers hostile to God’s people have been overcome and a world in which they have a concrete possesion, Paul is highlighting the security of the believer’s position. Is there further evidence that Paul regarded the promises of Israel’s restoration in such concrete terms and not merely in the blessing of “salvation” or “fellowship with God”? Here I suggest that, even before the concrete expressions of resurrection hope in 1 Cor 15, two texts are especially significant. The first is in many ways the rhetorical climax of 1 Cor 1–4 and in it Paul highlights the convictions that he believes will finally overcome the underlying divisions in the community:230 So let no one boast about human leaders. For all things are yours (πάντα ὑμῶν), whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world (κόσμος) or life (ζωή) or death (θάνατος) or the present (ἐνεστῶτα) or the future (μέλλοντα) – all belong to you, and you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God (1 Cor 3:21–23).231 also Thiselton: “The act of God in Christ has brought about a reversal of human evaluations concerning status, achievement, and success.” Corinthians, 176. 227 Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 55. 228 Fee, Corinthians, 114 (emphasis original). 229 Thiselton observes aspects of this function in relation to God’s choice of the Corinthian “nobodies” (1 Cor 1:27): “His love for the nobodies and the nothings discounted as nonentities and as insignificant in the value system of the world puts the world to shame by its reversal of judgment.” Corinthians, 184 (emphasis original). 230 Collins notices that, in returning to the “slogans” of 1:12 and the issue of “boasting,” “The pericope in 3:18–23 brings preliminary closure to the argument of 1:10–3:23.” First Corinthians, 162. 231 McCaulley also draws attention to this text in his discussion of Paul’s metaphor of the son entering into his inheritance when he comes of age in Gal 4:1–7, “That Paul casually

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I suggest that a clear line can be drawn from what “God decreed before the ages for our glory (πρὸ τῶν αἰώνων εἰς δόξαν ἡμῶν)” (1 Cor 2:7) to “what God has prepared for those who love him (ἃ ἡτοίμασεν ὁ θεὸς τοῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν)” (1 Cor 2:9) to “all things are yours (πάντα γὰρ ὑμῶν ἐστιν)” (1 Cor 3:21). Paul seems persuaded that it is a knowledge of a secure possession of “all things” that will ultimately militate against divisions and boasting in the community. Here Paul perceives that all such boasting and competitiveness, characteristic of an agonistic culture, actually comes out of a place of deep insecurity. Such status seeking can only arise among those who do not know that they already have the status of possessing “all things.” Moreover, the specificity of the language of “world (κόσμος),” “life (ζωή),” and “death (θάνατος)” suggests that Paul saw this hope in very concrete terms. 232 I take this text then to be another important expression of the eschatological sovereignty of the people of God that we have observed was closely related to the promise of the Land. This perspective is further confirmed a little later in 1 Cor 4:8233 when Paul uses the language of believers “reigning (βασιλεύω).”234 Although Paul is using the language ironically here, the twice repeated “already (ἤδη)” is noteworthy and suggests that Paul is not taking back the idea of believer’s reigning, but is rather questioning its timing 235 and especially its manner. The fact that Paul goes on to highlight his own “catalogue of afflictions” (1 Cor 4:9–13), his “cruciform lifestyle” (1 Cor 4:14–17), and his “costly discipleship” (1 Cor 4:18–

alludes to a belief in the believer’s possession of all things in Galatians should not be surprising given Paul does so on another occasion.” Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 173. 232 The conjunction of “life” and “death” that looks forward to 1 Cor 15 (the only reoccurrence of “life” in the letter), along with Christ’s “belonging” to God (anticipating 1 Cor 15:28) suggests that Paul does have in view the eschatological kingdom of God (cf. Rom 8:38). Contra those who would see Paul here borrowing a Stoic maxim: “all things belong to the wise man.” For those who take this position, together with references, see Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 208. 233 “Already (ἤδη) you have all you want! Already (ἤδη) you have become rich! You have begun to reign (ἐβασιλεύσατε) – and that without us! How I wish that you really had begun to reign (ἐβασιλεύσατε) so that we also might reign with you (συμβασιλεύσωμεν)!” (1 Cor 4:8). 234 Note also the cosmic language in this section, e.g., “we have become a spectacle to the world (τῷ κόσμῳ), to angels and to mortals” (1 Cor 4:9), “We have become like the rubbish of the world (τοῦ κόσμου)” (1 Cor 4:12). 235 For an argument that Paul is dealing with “realized eschatology” in Corinth, see classically Anthony C. Thiselton, “Realized Eschatology at Corinth,” NTS 24 (1978): 510–26. I do not believe this is a necessary conclusion and agree here with Hays that: “Thiselton’s argument depends on showing repeatedly that Paul appeals to future eschatology in his arguments to correct the Corinthians’ behavior; but this does not prove that the Corinthians had a realized eschatology!” The Conversion of the Imagination, 19.

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21), which he appeals to others to imitate (1 Cor 4:16), suggests once again that Paul is highlighting here an alternative path to the inheritance.236 That this “inheritance” has a concrete referent is further confirmed a little later in the letter when Paul addresses what appear to be financial disputes between believers:237 When any of you has a grievance against another, do you dare to take it to court before the unrighteous, instead of taking it before the saints (τῶν ἁγίων)? Do you not know that the saints (οἱ ἅγιοι) will judge the world (τὸν κόσμον κρινοῦσιν)? (1 Cor 6:1–2)

Most recognise that Paul is picking up a common theme in apocalyptic eschatology that probably derives from the book of Daniel:238 Then judgment was given for the holy ones of the Most High (κρίμα ἔδωκεν ἁγίοις ὑψίστου), and the time arrived when the holy ones gained possession (κατέσχον οἱ ἅγιοι) of the kingdom (Dan 7:22).

Here I simply point out that Paul regards the believers’ future possession of the world in such concrete terms that he sees them judging the world in the future.239 That this Pauline expectation is closely related to the kingdom is confirmed by his warning that immediately follows: “Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God (θεοῦ βασιλείαν οὐ κληρονομήσουσιν)?” (1 Cor 6:9).240 Furthermore, it is striking that Paul appropriates this theme of Israel judging the nations in such a way that it is now Jew and gentile who together will judge not the “nations (ἔθνη),” but the “world (κόσμος).” In some ways Paul’s discourse on the believers possession of “all things” (1 Cor 3:21–23) serves to lay the groundwork for dealing with disputes over present inheritances. He asks the community, “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be defrauded? (διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἀδικεῖσθε; διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον See further reflections in Thiselton, Corinthians, 373. On the counter-imperial aspects of Paul’s discourse of mimesis, see James R. Harrison, “Paul’s Inversion of a Cultural Icon,” in Christian Origins and Greco-Roman Culture: Social and Literary Contexts for the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 213–54. 237 For a standard introduction to the social background, see Bruce W. Winter, “Civil Litigation in Secular Corinth and the Church: The Forensic Background to 1 Cor 6:1–8,” NTS 37 (1991): 559–72. 238 See, e.g., Thiselton, Corinthians, 425; Fee, Corinthians, 256; Collins, First Corinthians, 231. This is a common theme expressed in places like Wis 3:8, “They will govern nations (κρινοῦσιν ἔθνη) and rule over peoples” and other texts like Sir 4:11, 15; Jubilees 24:29; 1 Enoch 1:9; 38:1, 5; 1QH 4:26–27 etc. 239 That Paul uses this to address concrete disputes in the community, probably of a financial nature, highlights that this is no abstraction for him. 240 This important connection has recently been highlighted by Michael Peppard, “Brother against Brother: Controversiae about Inheritance Disputes and 1 Corinthians 6:1–11,” JBL 1 (2014): 179–92. 236

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ἀποστερεῖσθε;)” (1 Cor 6:7b). It is only those who are certain of an inalienable possession, a concrete inheritance, who would even consider this. I thus conclude that Paul appropriated the promises of the Land to Israel in a universal yet concrete way as the eschatological inheritiance of a renewed world. This serves Paul’s rhetorical purpose of highlighting the security of the believer, which in the ancient world, as often today, is tied to the actual possession of property. As Forman puts it, the ordinances regarding the Land were to ensure: That Israel will possess actual real estate and therefore will be able to live and be provided for in the material socio-political-economic world.241

It would appear that Paul wants believers to think of their inheritance in a similarly concrete way. Finally, I note that this claim of future sovereignty and glory has an undeniable political dimension. In John K. Goodrich’s careful study of this text, he discerns an unmistakable “discursive resistance” to imperial rule in that Paul here “destabilizes the rulers’ dominance by forecasting their certain, future destruction (1 Cor 2:6; cf. 1:28).”242 While I certainly agree with Goodrich’s analysis, I also think that Paul’s resistance goes deeper than simply declaring the demise of the present rulers. The repeated emphasis on “glory” (“which God has decreed . . . for our glory,” “crucified the Lord of glory” 1 Cor 2:7–8), the strong adversative “but (ἀλλά)” (1 Cor 2:8), and the allusive yet captivating description of “what God has prepared” (1 Cor 2:9), all suggest a comparison between what God offers and what might be gained by adopting the attitudes and values of the “rulers of this age.” James K. Harrison has discerned a critique of the Roman quest for gloria in Paul’s letter to the Romans,243 and I suggest that much of this is especially relevant to this Corinthian context where “the rulers of this age” are even more explicitly in view.244 Furthermore, I do not see how Paul’s claim that believers Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 67. Goodrich, “After Destroying Every Rule, Authority, and Power,” 284. 243 Harrison, Paul and the Imperial Authorities, 201–70. 244 Harrison notes, e.g., the Roman culture of boasting which would be especially relevant to the Corinthian context (1 Cor 1:29). Paul and the Imperial Authorities, 223–25. Furthermore, he highlights the tendency of philosophers like Sallust in their presentation of gloria to make use of triads like “riches, honour and glory” or “honour, glory and authority.” Paul and the Imperial Authorities, 209–10. This would present a stark contrast to Paul’s description of the Corinthian community in the triad of not being “wise, powerful or of noble birth” (1 Cor 1:26). Harrison’s concluding summary is also relevant to the Corinthian context: “Glory was democratised throughout the Body of Christ and its full expression postponed till the eschaton. As such, it must have appealed to Romans who were marginalised by the ‘glory’ of the rich and powerful celebrity circuit. It challenged the anthropocentric boasting of the Roman nobiles, as much as it challenged the cosmic and ancestral myths of the imperial ruler.” Paul and the Imperial Authorities, 269. 241 242

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in Christ are the true posessors of “all things” could not be seen in contrast to the Roman boast of possessing “all things.”245 In Anathea Portier-Young’s words, Paul, like his predecessors, “unthinks the logic of empire and asserts in its place an alternative vision of reality.”246 VI. Conclusion The question of the Land is complex and is naturally bound up with other issues such as Paul’s attitude towards the Law and his understanding of the covenants. It is also an especially sensitive issue in view of the contemporary political context. Nevertheless, the evidence surveyed above does seem to indicate that Paul began to see the promise of the Land from a new perspective in light of the Messiah’s coming. The Land became a symbol of the eschatologically renewed world that God had promised. The way Paul appropiates this significant symbol, however, is often subsumed under his discourse on Jew and gentile followers of Christ now being part of Abraham’s family and therefore being “children of God (τέκνα θεοῦ)” who share in his inheritance (Rom 8:17). This inheritance should, like the Land, be thought of in concrete terms. As Brueggemann insists about Paul’s use of the Abrahamic narrative: While the Abraham image undoubtedly is transformed, it is inconceivable that it should have been emptied of its reference to land. The Abraham imagery apart from the land promise is an empty form.247

Volker Gäckle’s conclusion therefore seems apt: Man kann hier von einer Entgrenzung der Landverheißung sprechen, jedoch nicht von einer Spiritualisierung oder einem “disenlandisment.” Denn die Verheißung ist zwar grenzenlos geworden, aber dennoch irdisch geblieben (vgl. Röm 8,20–22).248

Although neither Hester, Forman nor McCaulley higlight this, this was in fact the dominant way of reading Paul in the second century. 249 Irenaeus, for example, insists that Paul had the concrete referent of the Land promised to Abraham as an “inheritance” in view in Gal 4:28 and Gal 3:6 (Haer. 5.32.2). For Roman claims to universal rule see Klaus Wengst, Pax Romana and the Peace of Jesus Christ (London: SCM Press, 1987), 7–18; James M. Scott, “Luke’s Geographical Horizon,” in The Book of Acts in Its First-Century, ed. D.W.T. Gill and C. Gempf (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 483–544. Rome’s claim to rule all things can be seen, e.g., in the speech that Josephus places in Agrippa II’s mouth in which he speaks of the foolishness of resisting Roman rule: “And will you alone disdain to serve those to whom the universe is subject (οἷς ὑποτέτακται τὰ πάντα)?” (B.J. 2.361). 246 Anathea E. Portier-Young, Apocalypse Against Empire: Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 44. 247 Brueggemann, The Land, 166. 248 Gäckle, “Die Relevanz des Landes Israel bei Paulus,” 151–2. 249 See Robert L. Wilken, The Land Called Holy: Palestine in Christian History and Thought (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 46–81. Wilken highlights the emphasis 245

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Those who question that Paul has universalised the Land often do so on the basis of Paul’s affirmation of an ongoing divine purpose for Israel “according to the flesh” (Rom 9:3). To affirm such a purpose, however, need not imply that Paul had particular expectations for the Jewish people that were tied to the Land. What these alternative accounts often seem to lack, is an appreciation of the underlying narrative of Israel’s restoration that Paul seems to regard as significantly realised in Christ. Furthermore, I have highlighted that there is an unmistakable “political” dimension to Paul’s appropriation of the symbol of the Land. Paul affirms the ultimate security of the believer who has a share in the concrete inheritance of the renewed creation. This affirmation destabilises the status quo in which “the rulers of this age” claim to be possesors of all things (1 Cor 2:6). Finally, Paul also saw a different path into this inheritance, namely, a willingness to suffer in imitation of Christ.

C. Jerusalem C. Jerusalem

If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its skill. – Ps 137:5 As with the Land, Jerusalem undoubtedly remained one of the most significant symbols of Jewish hopes and aspirations during the Second Temple period. Jerusalem was “the city of the great king” (Ps 48:2), the centre of the nations (Ezek 5:5) and indeed the centre of the earth (Ezek 38:12; cf. Jubilees 8:12; 1 Enoch 26). From the time of David, it had been the religious and political centre of the nation. In the first century it was the centre that thousands of pilgrims from across the Roman Empire would annually journey towards for the great festivals. In his classic study, Joachim Jeremias observed further that, in addition to being the centre for Jewish religious education and expectation, Jerusalem was also the seat of the authoritative Sanhedrin.250 Moreover, the city was also renowned further afield and Pliny the Elder could describe it in the first century as “by far the most famous city of the East and not of Judaea only” (Nat. 5.70). on a concrete earthly kingdom in Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, and Tertullian. In this regard he comments: “The best-documented and most persistent eschatology in the first two Christian centuries was chiliasm, the belief that God would establish a future kingdom on earth centered in Jerusalem.” The Land Called Holy, 56. 250 Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus: An Investigation into Economic and Social Conditions during the New Testament Period (London: SCM Press, 1969), 73– 77. Paul reportedly took advantage of this authority in his former zeal to pursue the church as far away as Damascus (Acts 9:2). On the constitution and authority of the Sanhedrin in the first-century, see now Levine, Jerusalem, 265–69.

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Jerusalem’s significance during the Second Temple period is now well documented by Lee Levine (2002)251 and its significance through the ages in Nitza Rosovsky (1996).252 Yet, in spite of the city’s obvious significance, Peter Walker points out that, until fairly recently, there has been little systematic treatment of Jerusalem in New Testament studies.253 While there are helpful earlier overviews of Second Temple attitudes to Jerusalem,254 it is again Davies who brought careful study of Jerusalem’s place in the New Testament to the fore.255 In relation to Paul particularly, the earlier study of Frederick F. Bruce (1968) helpfully lays out some of the key issues.256 More recently, N.T. Wright (1994) has surveyed New Testament perspectives on Jerusalem and devoted a significant section to Paul.257 Here he argued, among other things, that Paul did not expect a Zion-centred messianic reign. A similar perspective to Wright is presented in Walker’s survey.258 Walker deals with Paul’s present perspective on Jerusalem (looking particularly at Paul’s Hagar/Sarah allegory in Gal 4), Paul’s future expectation for Jerusalem/Zion (looking at 1 Thess 2 and Rom 11), and Paul’s relationship with the Jerusalem church, including his significant “collection.”259 I will draw on all these studies and will generally follow Bruce’s schema which I elucidate below. I. Jerusalem and the Temple Before looking at Paul’s understanding of Jerusalem, however, I briefly address the question of Jerusalem’s significance in its own right in the Second Temple period. Was Jerusalem significant merely because it housed the Temple, or was the Temple merely the primary institution of the capital city of Levine, Jerusalem. Nitza Rosovsky, ed., City of the Great King: Jerusalem from David to the Present (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996). 253 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, x–xii. 254 See, esp., Shmuel Safrai, “Relations Between the Diaspora and the Land of Israel,” in The Jewish People in the First Century, ed. Shmuel Safrai and Menahem Stern (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 184–215. 255 See Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 131–49; 195–207. The former reference contains general reflections and the latter Paul’s treatment of Jerusalem. 256 Bruce argues that: “Jerusalem is for Paul the metropolis on earth of the new Israel in the sense that the people of God there constitute the mother-church of all believers.” “Paul and Jerusalem,” TynBul 19 (1968): 4. He argues therefore that Paul neither dissociates himself from Jerusalem nor is dependent on Jerusalem insofar as his apostolic calling is concerned. 257 Nicholas T. Wright, “Jerusalem in the New Testament,” in Jerusalem Past and Present in the Purposes of God, 2nd ed. (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994), 53–77. 258 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City. Walker was the editor of the former volume in which Wright’s essay appeared. 259 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 127–60. 251 252

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Judaea? Moreover, was there a difference in perspective between Jews who lived in the Land and those who lived in the Diaspora, but who yet looked to Jerusalem as their “mother city”?260 Daniel Schwartz (1996) has argued that there is remarkably little interest in the Temple per se among Diaspora Jews, even though “the Bible and other ancient Judaean texts, by and large, give precedence to the Temple.”261 He suggests rather that, “typical of the Hellenistic Jewish literature is the view which puts Jerusalem first, as the central Jewish polis.”262 He argues that both negative and positive factors led to this re-evaluation. Negatively he highlights “the Hellenistic tendency to undercut the possibility that something spiritual could be contained in something physical.” Positively he highlights “the high valuation of cities in the Greek and Hellenistic tradition, which made Jewish attachment to Jerusalem a virtue, and which legitimised Judaism by defining it as the patria politeia of the Jews’ mother-city.”263 Furthermore, a recent study that seeks to explore Second Temple Jewish identity not via the etic categories of “religion” or “race,” but via the emic category of ethnos, suggests something similar. In this study, Anthony Le Donne (2017) suggests that an important aspect of this category was that “ethnos was defined in relationship to the concept of polis.”264 He highlights that the notion of ethnos was for the Greeks a political category and that the polis was more than a mere “city” and was in fact “a constellation of relationships between urban center, geography, law (or customs), worship, citizenship, wider community, and – of key importance – self-sufficiency.”265 Le Donne argues that this “polis-centric” attitude was also shared by many Diaspora Jews. To what degree did Paul also share this “polis-centric” perspective? In exploring Paul’s attitude towards Jerusalem, therefore, I will ask what role the city continued to play in his symbolic universe and in shaping the identity of his Christ believing communities. In particular, I will also focus on how his use of this symbol serves to convey a particular political theology.

See, e.g., Philo’s Flacc. 46. Daniel R. Schwartz, “Temple or City: What Did Hellenistic Jews See in Jerusalem,” in The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspecitves (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), 115. 262 Schwartz, “Temple or City,” 120. 263 Schwartz, 123. 264 Le Donne, “Complicating the Category of Ethnos toward Poliscentrism,” 3–4. 265 Le Donne, 9. 260 261

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II. Paul’s ambivalent relationship to Jerusalem It is helpful in approaching this question to begin by observing what Bruce called the “ambivalence in Paul’s relationship with Jerusalem.”266 Bruce highlighted how Paul was quite deliberate in neither dissociating himself from Jerusalem nor expressing dependence on the city. Paul does so because: Dissociation from Jerusalem would imply in practice severance from the birthplace of Christianity; yet dependence on Jerusalem would be a denial of his receiving his apostolic call direct from Christ.267

Both of these distinctive emphases come out in Paul’s letter to the Galatians. On the one hand, Paul insists that he did not receive his apostolic call from any man (1:12) nor was his authority conferred on him by the Jerusalem apostles (1:17; 2:6). Indeed, Paul’s primary orientation is toward “the Jerusalem above” (4:26). But, on the other hand, Paul must recognise a certain primacy to the Jerusalem church, even conferring with the “pillars” of the church “in order to make sure that I was not running, or had not run, in vain” (2:2). Furthermore, Paul’s commitment to the Jerusalem church is tangibly expressed in his collection for “the poor,” a project that involved considerable effort and that surfaces throughout his letters (Rom 15:25–29; 1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9). Bruce also believed that Paul saw eschatological significance to this collection and, with echoes of Johannes Munck, he concluded: There is ground for believing that Jerusalem filled an important role in Paul’s eschatological thinking. Not only was the Gentile mission to be, in the purpose of God, the precursor of Israel’s salvation; Jerusalem was to be the place from which this crowning phase of the salvation of mankind would be displayed.268

Bruce makes much of Paul combining in Rom 11:25–27 the prayer of salvation for Israel “out of Zion (ἐκ Σιων)” (Ps 14:7) and the LXX reading of Isa 59:20 which reads: “There shall come a deliverer for Zion’s sake (ἕνεκεν Σιων).” He suggests therefore that, “The large-scale turning of Jews to Christ would, as Paul saw it, be the last stage in the divine programme for the current age” and that “Paul appears to make this final salvation of Israel coincide with the parousia.”269 Although the question of Paul’s eschatological expectation is contested, Bruce’s overall schema is helpful in approaching Paul’s perspective on Jerusalem. In exploring Paul’s perspective, therefore, I begin therefore by highlighting the evidence that Paul consistently refused to disassociate himself from Jerusalem. Here I examine especially his relationship to the Jerusalem church and his collection. I then proceed to explore the evidence that Paul neither saw Bruce, “Paul and Jerusalem,” 5. Bruce, 5 (emphasis original). 268 Bruce, 25. 269 Bruce, 22–3. 266 267

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himself as dependent on Jerusalem, largely through an exegesis of Gal 4:21– 5:1 in its socio-historical context. I conclude with some reflections on the political aspects of Paul’s appropriation of the symbol of Jerusalem. III. Paul’s refusal to disassociate himself from Jerusalem Paul’s relationship with Jerusalem is complex and has been the subject of considerable debate in academic scholarship since at least the nineteenth century. I begin with a brief overview of scholarship on this area before drawing some key conclusions. 1. Paul’s relationship to the Jerusalem church Ferdinand C. Baur (1876) classically saw a fundamental schism between early Jewish (Petrine) and gentile (Pauline) “Christianity” and argued that Paul’s doctrine of justification by faith was largely developed in response to continual attacks by his Jewish-Christian opponents. 270 Commenting on Paul’s report of the Jerusalem meeting in Gal 2:1–10, for example, Baur writes of the Jerusalem leaders: They knew nothing at all of a direct Gentile Christianity, it existed without any co-operation from their side; they had still to be brought to recognise it by Paul, and their recognition appeared entirely as a concession forced onto them.271

Baur subsequently also cast Paul’s opponents as being closely aligned with the Jerusalem church and its major figures. 272 Over time, however, Baur’s historical reconstructions and Hegelian presuppositions began to be questioned and a renewed investigation into the identity and theology of Paul’s opponents was

270 N.T. Wright offers the following summary of this era of scholarship: “This was the picture that dominated German scholarship in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: (a) a focus on ‘religion’ as the primary category; (b) a sharp distinction between ‘Judaism’ and ‘Hellenism’, with Paul as the pioneer of ‘gentile Christianity’; (c) the centrality to Paul of ‘justification’, in Baur’s sense of a new spiritual experience.” Paul and His Recent Interpreters, 15–16. See also Scott J. Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” in Paul’s Message and Ministry in Covenant Perspective: Selected Essays, ed. Scott J. Hafemann (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2015), 666–79. I follow Hafemann extensively below. 271 Baur, Paul, 126. 272 Baur writes that the “false apostles” (2 Cor 11:13) who came to Corinth, “doubtless stood in some connection with the Jewish Apostles of Palestine.” Paul, 277. About the “letters of recommendation” (2 Cor 3:1), he asks a little later, “From what other place then could they bring with them so satisfactory a legitimation as from Jerusalem?” Baur, Paul, 281. In relation to Galatians and Corinthians, Baur is certain that “the Judaising opponents are the same.” Baur, Paul, 256.

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launched. In this regard, Scott J. Hafemann (2015) writes, “No aspect of Pauline studies has received more attention in the twentieth century than the identity and arguments of Paul’s opponents.”273 In the early twentieth century, the work of especially Wilhelm Bousset and Richard Reitzenstein drew scholarly attention to Paul’s Hellenistic background and new suggestions arose that Paul was opposing certain gnostic tendencies that were closely related to the mystery religions. 274 The gnostic hypothesis, picked up by Rudolph Bultmann and others, ultimately proved untenable, however, and Günther Bornkamm and Dieter Georgi proposed a more plausible solution to the Jewish character of those who opposed Paul. Hafemann highlights Georgi’s basic conclusion that: “Paul’s opponents were Jewish-Christian missionaries of Palestinian origin who utilised the propaganda methods of Hellenistic Jewish apologists.”275 Hafemann highlights, however, that these conclusions did not receive universal acceptance and that a nuanced version of Baur’s thesis continued to be advocated, especially in the work of D.W. Oostendorp and C.K. Barrett.276 In particular, he points out how Barrett continued to defend Baur’s arguments for an actual Petrine party in Corinth.277 In most of Barrett’s work he also seemed to see quite a close relationship between Paul’s opponents in Galatia and Corinth and the Jerusalem apostles. 278 In his commentary on Acts, for example, he

Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” 6. The so-called Religionsgeschichtliche Schule (“History of religions school”). See Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” 7–8. 275 Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” 10. 276 Hafemann, 11. 277 See firstly Charles K. Barrett, “Cephas and Corinth,” in Abraham unser Vater: Festschrift für Otto Michel (Leiden: Brill, 1963), 1–12. In his more recent work, he continued to affirm that: “The references to Peter in 1 Corinthians suggest that he engaged in wide-ranging missionary travels.” Charles K. Barrett, On Paul: Aspects of His Life, Work and Influence in the Early Church (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 13. G. Lüdemann, W. Wuellner and M.D. Goulder have made similar arguments for an actual Petrine party in Corinth. For contrary arguments, see Kwon, 1 Corinthians 1–4, 38–44. 278 Note Holmberg’s conclusion based on the earlier work of Barrett and Käsemann: “The intruders are Jewish Christians from Jerusalem, provided with commendatory epistles from the highest authorities in that church. Their task is to inspect the church and strengthen the ties between the Gentile church and the mother church, but this commission was seriously abused by the envoys when they attacked and rejected the authority of Paul, the founding apostle, violently denigrating his character, conduct and spiritual competence and established themselves as the real authorities in Corinth.” Paul and Power, 46. 273 274

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continued to uphold his earlier conclusions about the “letters of recommendation” (2 Cor 3:1), suggesting that, “we must not forget the possibility that men genuinely commissioned may have gone beyond their brief.”279 In his later work, however, he seemed a little more careful in circumscribing the relationship between the “false brothers” and the Jerusalem apostles. 280 In his more recent essay, “Paul and Jerusalem,” his comments on 2 Corinthians 10–13 suggest a clearer distinction between two groups in Corinth (false apostles vs “super apostles”), which he correlates with the Galatian situation. 281 Others disagree that such a close connection can be drawn between Paul’s opponents in Galatia and Corinth. 282 Here an important question is the relationship between Paul’s self-presentation in his epistles and what is related in Acts. 283 The question of the identity of Paul’s “Judaizing” opponents (and whether they differed in different times and places) is therefore complex and in many ways also turns on how one reconstructs Paul’s life and the chronology of his letters. In Hafemann’s overview, first published in 1993, he already spoke of something of a scholarly “deadlock” or “stalemate” in relation to this question.284 This “deadlock” in relation to the identity of Paul’s opponents is closely related to the contested question of Paul’s relationship with the Jerusalem church. Here one of the key issues is whether or not the “Jerusalem council” of Acts 15:1–21 is to be identified with Paul’s Jerusalem meeting in Gal 2:1–10, a position held by the majority of scholars.285 Another closely related issue is 279 Charles K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 2 vols., ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994–1998), 2:741. The idea of a “law-observant gentile mission” is also defended by J. Louis Martyn, Galatians (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 439; 457–66. 280 Barrett suggests here that, “it also raises difficult, perhaps in the end unanswerable, questions about the two groups and their relation with each other.” On Paul, 13. 281 Barrett writes: “As in Galatians, there are two groups, one of which is dismissed in the strongest terms (they are false apostles, evil workers, servants of Satan: 11.13, 15), whereas the other, the “super-apostles,” ὑπερλίαν ἀποστόλοι, meets with nothing worse than gentle irony. The parallel with the false brothers and the Reputed Pillars is so close that it seems almost certain that we must identify the two pairs of groups.” On Paul, 14. Here, however, Barrett may simply be highlighting the situation from Paul’s perspective. 282 Kwon, e.g., comments: “Goulder claims that in the Christian community at Corinth there was something like a Judaizing movement . . . This, however, does not fit the problems of the Corinthian church as described in 1 Corinthians.” 1 Corinthians 1–4, 44. 283 Barrett writes, e.g., “We thus have two pictures of Paul in his relations with the Christians at Jerusalem, for the two accounts that we have surveyed are by no means identical.” On Paul, 22. 284 Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” 11–12. 285 See, e.g., James D.G. Dunn, Beginning From Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 446–50; Magnus Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Antioch: A Sociological Approach to the Separation between Judaism and Christianity (London: Routledge, 2003), 129–77; Markus N.A. Bockmuehl, Jewish Law in Gentile Churches: Halakhah and

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how one understands the “Antioch incident” of Gal 2:11–14. Those who hold that this occurred after the “Jerusalem council” tend to see Paul’s relationship with the church in Antioch and Jerusalem being placed under considerable strain hereafter,286 while those who hold that it occurred before see this as precipitating the crisis that was in principle solved at the council.287 Those who hold to the former position also tend to see Paul’s collection as an attempt, in James Dunn’s words, “to heal the breach with the mother congregations in regard to the wider Mediterranean mission, to restore the fractured koinōnia of Jews and Gentiles.”288 These are difficult historical questions that turn on judgments about the historical reliability of Acts,289 the chronology of Paul’s letters, reconstructions of

the Beginning of Christian Public Ethics (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 72–73. Others hold that Gal 2:1–10 refers to a private meeting in which the agreement reached differs and is probably better identified with Acts 11:27–30. For this perspective see, e.g., Richard Bauckham, “James and the Jerusalem Church,” in The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 415–80; Ben Witherington, Grace in Galatia: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (London: T&T Clark, 1998), 13–20. For further references see Cornelis Bennema, “The Ethnic Conflict in Early Christianity: An Appraisal of Bauckham’s Proposal on the Antioch Crisis and the Jerusalem Council,” JETS 56 (2013): 753–63. 286 So, e.g., Dunn, who highlights several corollaries of Paul’s apparent failure to persuade Peter and the Antioch church of his position: “Paul had in effect been disowned by the church which had first commissioned him as a missionary . . . It is not surprising, then, that in his continuing mission, as we shall see, Paul seems to have worked much more as an independent missionary.” Beginning From Jerusalem, 491. Dunn also affirms: “It would further follow that Paul saw the outcome as constituting an effective breach with the mother church in Jerusalem.” Beginning From Jerusalem, 493. So also Holmberg: “After the Antioch Incident we see Paul emerging as an independent missionary and apostle, striking out far west into areas whole his ‘own’.” Paul and Power, 34. 287 So, e.g., Bauckham, who regards Gal 2:1–10 as an earlier meeting: “This decision, as described in Acts 15, did not contradict the earlier decision but added precision to it, as well as the full and formal authority of a ruling to be officially communicated throughout the churches. Probably, then, the Antioch incident (Gal 2:11–14) belongs to the events which led immediately to the Jerusalem council.” “James and the Jerusalem Church,” 469. 288 Dunn, Beginning From Jerusalem, 944. Here attention is often drawn to Paul’s evident anxiety and appeal for prayer, “that my ministry to Jerusalem may be acceptable to the saints.” (Rom 15:31). 289 On the use of Acts as an historical source for the reconstruction of early Christianity see, e.g., Ben Witherington, ed., History, Literature and Society in the Book of Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Bruce W. Winter, ed., The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993); David E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 77–157.

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the unity and diversity of first-century Judaism,290 and the evidence of subsequent history. One can note, for example, that Paul continued to be revered by subsequent generations of Jewish Christ followers, which would be surprising if his relationship with the leaders in Jerusalem had completely broken down.291 Scholars will differ as to what weight should be accorded this. I will not attempt to answer these questions in any detail, but follow Hafemann in pursuing a “minimalist approach,” which is careful of proposing any “grand hypothesis,” is “text-focused” and is stringently limited in its application of the “mirror technique.”292 I also contend with Hafemann that “renewed study” will recognise that: In countering his opponents Paul drove a wedge between the “pillar apostles” and those who worked in their name by underscoring his essential unity with the Jerusalem apostles while at the same time opposing those who claimed to represent them (cf. Gal 2:1–10; 1 Cor 15:1– 11; 2 Cor 11:5–6).293

From the evidence we have, Paul always regarded himself as in essential unity with the Jerusalem leaders. He had a high view of the Judean churches and spoke in praise of the Thessalonians who “became imitators of the churches of God in Christ Jesus that are in Judea” (1 Thess 2:13). He affirms the apostleship and unique calling of Peter, James, and John, even if he is not overly deferential to their leadership (Gal 2:1–10), and he regards his gospel as in essential unity with theirs (1 Cor 15:1–11).294

What was the historical situation between Jews, God-fearers and gentiles that occasioned the crisis in Antioch? Were there significant halakhic differences that underlay the crisis etc.? See Bockmuehl, Jewish Law in Gentile Churches, 49–84. 291 See, e.g., the evidence for Nazarene Jewish Christianity collected by Ray A. Pritz, Nazarene Jewish Christianity: From the End of the New Testament Period until Its Disappearance in the Fourth Century (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988). More recently, Edwin K. Broadhead has confirmed Pritz’s conclusions about the Nazarenes who were still known in Jerome’s day. Broadhead writes about this group that: “They accept the apostleship and the ministry of Paul. They affirm the mission to the Gentiles with no mention of imposition of Jewish law.” Jewish Ways of Following Jesus: Redrawing the Religious Map of Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 171. 292 Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” 12–3. I note that Wright also brackets these questions in his significant study of Paul. E.g. “The further question, as to whether Paul lost the argument with Peter and if so what happened next, would take us too far afield.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 854. Again he writes: “Paul states the working principle to which he held, fiercely, in Antioch, in the controversy in Galatia, in the Jerusalem Conference (whenever it was held) and, so far as we can tell, throughout his ministry.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 967. 293 Hafemann, “Paul and His Interpreters Since F.C. Baur,” 13. 294 There is no reason to believe that “the gospel of the uncircumcised (εὐαγγέλιον τῆς ἀκροβυστίας)” (Gal 2:7a) is essentially different to the gospel of the “circumcised (τῆς 290

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Furthermore, there is good evidence that, in spite of frequent rejection, Paul continued to identify himself with the Jewish community generally. John Barclay points to Paul’s descriptions of frequently being “endangered” by Jews (2 Cor 11:26), being “persecuted” because of his stance on circumcision (Gal 5:11), and the remarkable testimony of having on five occasions received the synagogue punishment of thirty-nine lashes (2 Cor 11:24) and concludes: It would have been natural for one so repudiated to cut all ties with the Jewish community. In fact, however, Paul kept returning to Diaspora synagogues, as is evidenced both by his repeated repudiation there and by the fact that, in his most extended reflection on the topic (Romans 9–11), he resolutely identifies himself with the Jewish people.295

Perhaps the clearest evidence of Paul’s ongoing commitment to Jerusalem is seen, however, in his collection for “the poor among the saints at Jerusalem (εἰς τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῶν ἁγίων τῶν ἐν Ἰερουσαλήμ)” (Rom 15:26). To this I now turn. 2. Paul’s Jerusalem Collection We know of Paul’s collection largely through his own testimony in his Corinthian and Roman correspondence (1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9; Rom 15:16, 25– 33), together with a disputed reference in Galatians (Gal 2:10). The lack of reference to the collection in Paul’s other letters is probably due to the fact that these letters were written either before he had committed to undertaking the collection (1 Thessalonians, Galatians?) or after its completion (Philippians).296 There is also some further evidence from the book of Acts that is noteworthy. Acts records, for example, Paul’s journey to Jerusalem and mentions a number of representatives of various gentile churches that Paul took with him (Acts 20:4). These are frequently linked to the “delegation” Paul mentions in relation to the collection (2 Cor 8:18–24). Furthermore, Paul’s ability to pay for the Nazirite vows of four men in Jerusalem (Acts 21:23–24) and his words to Felix, “I came to bring alms to my nation and to offer sacrifices (ἐλεημοσύνας ποιήσων εἰς τὸ ἔθνος μου παρεγενόμην καὶ προσφοράς)” (Acts 24:17), are also often seen as veiled references to the collection. The failure of

περιτομῆς)” (Gal 2:7b). As Holmberg puts it: “It is more probably that the Jerusalem agreement implied a division of the missionary responsibility into two geographically distinct areas.” Paul and Power, 30. 295 Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 395 (emphasis original). See the same point made earlier in Ed P. Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), 192. 296 For a detailed discussion of chronology see Alexander J.M. Wedderburn, “Paul’s Collection: Chronology and History,” NTS 48 (2002): 95–110.

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Acts to explicitly mention the collection, and especially its reception, has occasioned much speculation.297 Most, however, continue to look to Paul’s own testimony for primary information. In this regard, Paul’s collection has been comprehensively studied from a variety of perspectives in recent decades and I offer here a brief summary of scholarly conclusions. Most accounts look back to the pioneering work of Karl Holl (1928).298 Holl suggested that the collection be interpreted as an obligation placed on Paul by the Jerusalem leaders in terms similar to that of the annual didrachma Temple tax (Gal 2:10). He also argued that “the poor” (Rom 15:26) was something of an eschatological self-designation of the Jerusalem believers drawn from a characteristic Jewish “anawin piety.” That “the poor” had this sense was largely discredited by the work of Leander Keck (1965).299 Around the same time, Keith Nickle (1966) nuanced Holl’s thesis by drawing attention to the similarities and differences between Paul’s collection and the Temple tax, especially the voluntary nature of the collection.300 Interest in the collection was also renewed around this time by the classic study of Johannes Munck (1959), which argued that Paul’s collection should be interpreted against the backdrop of the eschatological pilgrimage of the nations tradition.301 Munck especially highlighted the importance of the collection for Paul, as is evident by the significant delegation he took with him and his willingness to risk his life in going to Jerusalem. 302 Since Munck first wrote, 297 Dunn concludes that the silence of Acts “is most likely because the Jerusalem church refused to accept the collection.” Unity and Diversity, 277 (emphasis original). Alexander J. Wedderburn likewise comments: “Is it too much to suggest that its silence is deliberate, and that this project failed because the Jewish Christian’s clung on to their spiritual privileges too jealously.” The Reasons for Romans (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 40. Others like Holmberg see a “compromise” solution in Paul’s agreement to pay for the four men’s vows. Paul and Power, 42. On the relationship between what can historically be gleaned from Paul’s letters and Acts, see David J. Downs, “Paul’s Collection and the Book of Acts Revisited,” NTS 52 (2006): 50–70. 298 Karl Holl, “Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus in seinem Verhältnis zu dem der Urgemeinde,” in Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Kirchengeschichte, ed. Karl Holl (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1928), 44–67. 299 Leander E. Keck, “Poor among the Saints in the New Testament,” ZNW 56 (1965): 100–129. Munck had already signalled his disagreement with Holl earlier: “Thus we cannot persuade ourselves that either ‘the saints’ or ‘the poor’ should designate the church in Jerusalem.” Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 288. 300 Keith F. Nickle, The Collection: A Study in Paul’s Strategy (London: SCM Press, 1966), 74–93. Munck also commented earlier that, if the collection were indeed a tax imposed, then, in constantly stressing its voluntary nature, Paul would be “guilty of persistent, conscious and gross untruthfulness.” Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 288. 301 Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 282–308. 302 Munck draws here on Paul’s anxiety in Rom 15:31, the evidence of Acts, and the presence of a costly delegation who accompanied him. Paul and the Salvation of Mankind,

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there has been a particular concern to establish the factors that motivated Paul in the collection. In his comprehensive survey of scholarship in this area, David J. Downs (2008) highlights four recurring interpretations that have been proposed and I briefly survey each here before drawing summary conclusions.303 The first is that of Munck who suggested that Paul saw the collection as an eschatological event. Munck drew a connection between Paul’s ministry strategy in Rom 9–11 and the goal of his ministry expressed in Rom 15:14–32304 and concluded that Paul hoped that the “representative selection” of gentiles and their wealth coming into Jerusalem would serve to make his fellow Jews “jealous” (Rom 11:13–14) and turn to Christ. 305 Here Munck highlighted especially the eschatological prophecy of Isa 60:5.306 Munck was aware that Paul still had plans to minister in the west (Rom 15:28), but argued that Paul nevertheless saw the collection as an important part of his overall strategy by which the “fullness of the gentiles” (Rom 11:25) would be brought in. In any case, he argued, “all eschatological points of time are uncertain . . . Nor is a conception like ‘the fullness of the Gentiles’ quite clear.”307 Keith Nickle and Dieter Georgi (1992) generally agreed and built on Munck’s thesis, highlighting the significant OT allusions in passages motivating the collection (2 Cor 8–9), as well as Paul’s conviction that God’s word would accomplish its purposes (2 Cor 9:10 cf. Isa 55:10).308 Munck’s basic thesis also continued to be defended with some modifications by Sanders (1983)309 and Dunn (2009). Dunn additionally drew attention to the way that Paul’s language of “the offering of the Gentiles” (Rom 15:16) echoes 302–4. Dunn echoes this: “since a large delegation would be expensive in terms of subsistence and travel costs, there must have been a good reason for their number.” Beginning From Jerusalem, 939–40. 303 David J. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles: Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem in Its Chronological, Cultural and Cultic Contexts, WUNT II 248 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 3–26. 304 Here Munck drew a literary connection between the “fullness of the gentiles (πλήρωμα τῶν ἐθνῶν)” (Rom 11:25) and Paul’s “fulfilling (πεπληρωκέναι)” his preaching in the east (Rom 15:19). 305 Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 304–6. 306 Munck, 304. “Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice, because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you” (Isa 60:5). 307 Munck, 304. 308 See Dieter Georgi, Remembering the Poor: The History of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1992), 99–102. According to Nickle, Paul was hoping that a large turning of Jews to Christ would help speed him on his way to Spain and so “the presuppositions for the consummation of the End, in so far as men were instrumentally involved, would be fulfilled.” The Collection: A Study in Paul’s Strategy, 130. 309 Sanders comments: “Paul’s entire work, both evangelizing and collecting money, had its setting in the expected pilgrimage of gentiles to Mount Zion in the last days.” Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People, 171.

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the Isaianic vision (Isa 66:19–20). Drawing on the work of a number of recent studies on the geography of Paul’s mission, together with the fact that Isa 66:19–20 is the “first and only time in the Hebrew Bible that a missionary outreach to the nations is envisaged,”310 Dunn concludes: The collection, in other words, was probably part of Paul’s grand strategy to fulfil the mission of Israel to the nations and to fulfil Israel’s eschatological hopes in regard to the nations.311

Downs, however, questions this thesis on several grounds. He suggests that there are no explicit references to the pilgrimage tradition when Paul mentions the collection,312 that the number of representatives Paul supposedly took with him is problematic, that in Romans Paul placed the burden of the collection on his own shoulders, and that this small group coming into Jerusalem would hardly have been seen as a symbolic act reminiscent of the pilgrimage of the gentiles. 313 Terence Donaldson concurs in relation to the latter point, arguing that that there is a “prima facie absurdity in the suggestion that the tiny band of gentile Christians is somehow to be equated with the vast procession of the nations envisaged in this tradition.”314 I would suggest that the weight Paul places on the collection would suggest that he saw it as an incredibly significant symbolic act, but that he did not necessarily attach any imminent eschatological expectation to it. The second major proposal is that the collection be seen as an obligation placed on Paul by the Jerusalem leaders. As mentioned above, this proposal goes back to Holl and is entirely dependent on the elusive request of the Jerusalem leaders to “remember the poor (τῶν πτωχῶν ἵνα μνημονεύωμεν)” (Gal 2:10). One hears in Holl’s thesis echoes of Baur and the greedy Jewish leaders making Paul pay for the concession of preaching his law-free gospel.315 This interpretation is generally discredited now, not least by Bruce Longenecker’s comprehensive study that highlights how, only in the fourth century, did some begin to suggest that this request was specifically related to the Jerusalem community. 316 Most scholars see this request now as expressive of a concern that Dunn, Beginning From Jerusalem, 542 (emphasis original). Dunn, 541. 312 On the possible allusion to Isa 66 in Rom 15:16, see Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 224–9. 313 Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 7–8. 314 Terence L. Donaldson, Paul and the Gentiles: Remapping the Apostle’s Convictional World (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 196. 315 Recall Baur’s comments on the Jerusalem meeting: “their recognition appeared entirely as a concession forced onto them.” Paul, 126. 316 See Bruce W. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010). Longenecker comments: “Six texts from Tertullian, Origen, Athanasius and Aphrahat suggest that, at least until the middle of the fourth 310 311

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Paul’s predominantly gentile communities reflect a characteristic Jewish concern for the poor.317 Under the category of an obligation one could perhaps also consider the proposal of Stephan Joubert (2000) that the collection be seen as a “benefit-exchange” relationship having its roots in Graeco-Roman conventions of patronage and reciprocal exchange. 318 Joubert suggests that “in this relationship the Jerusalem leadership functioned as the initial benefactors, since they, by recognising Paul’s Law-free gospel, indebted him to them.”319 Joubert’s proposal is problematic, however, in that the explanation of the Jewish roots of the request is far more plausible and Joubert’s proposed reciprocity seems inconsistent with the type of reciprocity Paul himself envisions in Rom 15:27.320 The third major interpretation sees the collection as an ecumenical offering, aimed at expressing the solidarity of the predominantly Jewish churches in Judaea with the predominantly gentile churches of the Diaspora. Here Alexander Wedderburn (2004) represents many when he suggests the likelihood that Paul saw the collection as “a sign to Israel . . . not so much because it recalled biblical promises of the pilgrimage of the nations to Jerusalem; rather it gave concrete expression to Jewish and gentile Christians’ common sharing in the spiritual heritage of Israel.”321 This purpose is evident especially in the language of “fellowship/sharing (κοινωνία)” associated with the collection (Rom 15:27; 2 Cor 8:4; 9:13).322 Paul was evidently hopeful that the collection would be tangible proof to the church in Jerusalem of the gentiles’ genuine transformation of character and submission to the God of Israel – “Because of the service by which you have proved yourselves (τῆς δοκιμῆς τῆς διακονίας ταύτης), others will praise God for the obedience that accompanies your confession of the gospel of Christ, and for your generosity in sharing (τῆς κοινωνίας) with them and with everyone else” (2 Cor 9:13 NIV). century, the ‘poor’ of Gal 2:10 was not thought to refer to members of the early Jesus-movement in Jerusalem.” Remember the Poor, 181. 317 So, e.g., Dunn: “it is most likely that in Gal 2.10 Paul was simply affirming his longstanding and sustained eagerness as a Jesus-believer to maintain the traditional Jewish concerns for the ‘poor’.” Beginning From Jerusalem, 395. 318 Stephan Joubert, Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflection in Paul’s Collection, WUNT II 124 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). 319 Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 6. 320 Paul writes: “They were pleased to do this, and indeed they owe it to them; for if the Gentiles have come to share in their spiritual blessings, they ought also to be of service to them in material things” (Rom 15:27). See further Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 13– 4. 321 Wedderburn, The Reasons for Romans, 40. 322 For a study of the language of the collection, see Dunn, Beginning From Jerusalem, 940–44.

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N.T. Wright sees the collection further as expressing one of the central underlying aims within Paul’s worldview, namely, “reconciliation.”323 The main debate in relation to this point is the degree to which the relations between Jews and gentiles were already strained at this point and whether the collection should be seen as solidifying relationships that already existed (the aim of “unity”) or, in Dunn’s words, “to restore the fractured koinōnia of Jews and Gentiles.”324 Although Paul is particularly concerned to express the solidarity of Jew and gentile Christ followers, there is also evidence to suggest that he may have had broader hopes to present, as Wedderburn suggests, “a sign to Israel.”325 Sze-kar Wan (2000) has gone further to suggest that Paul may also have intended the collection to be a “sign to Rome,” in the sense of its drawing together Jew and gentile in global solidarity in a way that would have challenged the hierarchical Roman patronage system. 326 Although it is clear that Paul sought to sustain an alternative community, I believe that further evidence would be necessary to suggest that he saw the collection as intentionally confrontational in this way.327 Nevertheless, Larry Welborn’s study (2017) on aspects of democratic discourse in Paul’s motivation of the collection, especially the language of “equality (ἰσότης)” (2 Cor 8:13–14), would suggest that Paul clearly regarded the collection as a political and not merely “religious” act.328 The final major interpretation of the collection is as material relief or simply as an act of charity. This is indeed one of the most basic purposes of the collection.329 Several recent studies have aimed to contextualise Paul’s collection Wright comments: “If the goal of ‘reconciliation’ thus belongs in Paul’s worldview as one of his key aims, we may suggest that the Collection, which by the time of 2 Corinthians is a project that Paul and his audience both take for granted, should itself be classified in worldview terms as an intention.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1496. 324 Dunn, Beginning From Jerusalem, 944. 325 See also Kathy Ehrensperger, “The Ministry to Jerusalem (Rom 15:31): Paul’s Hopes and Fears,” in Searching Paul: Conversations with the Jewish Apostle to the Nations: Collected Essays, ed. Kathy Ehrensperger (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 339–52. 326 Sze-kar Wan, “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act: Implications of Paul’s Ethnic Reconstruction,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, ed. Richard A. Horsley (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 191–215. 327 See also Calvin J. Roetzel, “How Anti-Imperial Was the Collection and How Emancipatory Was Paul’s Project?,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, ed. Richard A. Horsley (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 227–30. 328 Larry L. Welborn, “Paul’s Place in a First-Century Revival of the Discourse of ‘Equality,’” HTR 110 (2017): 541–62. 329 Dunn, e.g., comments: “At one level, and perhaps the most enduringly pastoral level, the collection was simply an act of Christian compassion – a highly practical expression of concern for fellow believers in need.” Beginning From Jerusalem, 944. Verlyn Verbrugge and Keith Krell likewise comment: “a ‘fellowship-gift for the poor among the saints’ seems to leave little doubt that charity is one of the primary purposes behind this gift of money.” 323

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within its first-century context and generally found that, while charitable giving was not especially prevalent in the Graeco-Roman world,330 it was nevertheless a central feature of Jewish piety. 331 This difference also helps explain the difficulty Paul must have had in explaining the collection to his churches and his commitment to it. 332 While agreeing that there are elements of ecumenism and charity in the collection, Downs himself draws attention to Paul’s cultic language and suggests that it primarily be seen as an expression of worship. Downs contends: The collection in Paul’s letters is portrayed primarily, and especially through the use of several cultic metaphors, as an act of corporate worship that will result in thanksgiving and praise, not to human benefactors, as the dominant ideology of euergetism in the GraecoRoman world would have claimed, but rather to God, the one through whom all human benefaction is ultimately possible.333

It is of course not necessary to choose between the various interpretations and the above survey would seem to suggest that there were multiple concerns at play as Paul planned and executed his collection. Here I primarily want to highlight Paul’s commitment to the unity of Jew and gentile Christ followers that was expressed in the costly and dangerous Jerusalem Collection. In this sense “Jerusalem” had a deep theological and symbolic significance for Paul as the location of God’s redemptive activity and as the centre from which the good news of Jesus had emanated. One of the key questions remaining is whether he also regarded it, as Bruce contended, “to be the place from which this crowning phase of the salvation of mankind would be displayed.”334

Paul & Money: A Biblical and Theological Analysis of the Apostle’s Teachings and Practices (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2015), 308. 330 See, e.g., Deborah E. Watson, “Paul’s Collection in Light of Motivations and Mechanisms” (PhD, Durham University, 2006), 56–122; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 108– 34; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 102–19. Watson concludes that, although there were mechanisms like the corn dole that the elite used to keep hunger under control: “What seems quite clear . . . is that much of the response to hunger and basic human need, whatever form it took, seems not to have had as its target the desperately poor, the πτωχοι.” “Paul’s Collection,” 55. 331 Watson concludes: “The evidence demonstrates that, in theory and in practice, the Jewish world of the first century maintained the historical emphasis on the centrality of care for and giving to the poor.” “Paul’s Collection,” 121. 332 On several occasions it seems that Paul may have been charged with impropriety in this regard, e.g., 2 Cor 7:2, “We have wronged no one, we have corrupted no one, we have exploited no one” (cf. 2 Cor 12:17). 333 Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 121. 334 Bruce, “Paul and Jerusalem,” 25.

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3. Jerusalem in Paul’s eschatological expectation The question of Paul’s perspective on Jerusalem’s future is distinct from but closely related to his expectation surrounding the collection. Once again, Munck’s perspective is a helpful starting point for discussion. Munck argued that Paul shared similar expectations to the Jerusalem believers. Paul thought, as they did, that the conversion of Israel was the decisive event in the plan of salvation; and there in Jerusalem the last events in the history of the world and of salvation were to take place. There Antichrist was to manifest himself, take his seat in the temple on Sion, and proclaim himself to be God (II Thess. 2.3 f.). But then Christ, by his second coming, would end the lordship of Antichrist, and from Jerusalem would bring in the age of the kingdom of God (II Thess. 2.8–10; cf. the quotation from Isaiah in Rom 11.26 f.).335

Here Munck argues, especially on the basis of 2 Thess 2:8–10 (and Rom 11:26– 32), that Paul envisioned the parousia taking place in Jerusalem. While the question of the authorship of 2 Thessalonians lies outside the scope of this study,336 I simply point out that, were it accepted as genuine, Christ’s παρουσία (2 Thess 2:8) in judgement could be seen as a preliminary “day of the Lord (ἡ ἡμέρα τοῦ κυρίου)” (2 Thess 2:2) that need not coincide with his final coming. 337 The Thessalonians are urged, after all, not to be alarmed by any letters or words that suggest that “the day of the Lord” had already arrived (2 Thess 2:2). As N.T. Wright points out, if Paul understood the “day of the Lord” to be the final end of all things, “the Thessalonians would presumably not need to be informed of the fact via the Roman postal service!” 338 Where Paul reflects on the parousia elsewhere, it is consistently “from heaven” and nowhere else does he link it with Jerusalem (1 Thess 1:10; 4:16; 2 Thess 1:7; Phil 3:20). The one other text that is often drawn into this orbit is Rom 11:25–27, where Paul is reflecting on God’s mysterious purposes with Israel. Paul writes: Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 285. For arguments against Pauline authorship based on literary dependence and differences in eschatology, style, and tone see, e.g., Maarten J.J. Menken, 2 Thessalonians (London: Routledge, 1994). For a defence of Pauline authorship, see Donald A. Carson and Douglas J. Moo, An Introduction to the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005), 532– 53. Wright has recently suggested that previous aversions to “apocalyptic” may have excluded it and that its authorship ought to be reconsidered. Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 56. 337 Wright points out how this would be consistent with “the early Christian tradition, going back to Jesus himself, according to which Jerusalem was to be destroyed.” “Jerusalem in the New Testament,” 64. 338 Wright, “Jerusalem in the New Testament,” 64. More recently Wright has continued to distinguish between Paul’s imminent expectation of a “dark” event because of ongoing Jewish disbelief (1 Thess 2:16) and the final end. For further elaboration on 1 Thess 2:16– 18 especially, see Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1151–6. 335 336

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So that you may not claim to be wiser than you are, brothers and sisters, I want you to understand this mystery: a hardening has come upon part of Israel, until the full number of the Gentiles has come in. And so all Israel will be saved (οὕτως πᾶς Ἰσραὴλ σωθήσεται); as it is written, “Out of Zion (ἐκ Σιὼν) will come (ἡξει) the Deliverer; he will banish ungodliness from Jacob.” “And this is my covenant with them, when I take away their sins.” (Rom 11:25–27)

Here Paul draws on Isaiah’s prophecy about Zion (Isa 59:20–21; 27:9) with the well-known departure from the LXX which reads “And the one who delivers will come for Sion’s sake (ἕνεκεν Σιων)” (Isa 59:20 NETS). Many attribute this departure to other texts that speak of God’s deliverance coming “from Zion” (Ps 14:7; 53:6; 110:2) or to Paul’s transformation of the centripetal missionary focus of Isaiah (e.g., Isa 2:1–5) to a centrifugal one.339 This is a complex and contested text that I certainly cannot begin to fully explore here.340 The key exegetical question for my purposes, however, is whether Paul saw this as a future or past event. Most simply assume, on the basis of the future tense “will come (ἡξει),” that Paul is speaking here of a future event.341 A number of scholars, however, have offered compelling arguments that Paul is expressing here the assurance that “all Israel will be saved” on the basis of Isaiah’s prophecy that he primarily sees as already fulfilled in Christ’s first coming. 342 From this perspective, Paul is simply expressing his conviction, grounded in the biblical promises, that it would be unthinkable that the Deliverer’s coming would not ultimately also lead to an ultimate restoration of “Jacob.” For further explanations for this change see Moo, Romans, 727. See, e.g., Todd D. Still, ed., God and Israel: Providence and Purpose in Romans 9– 11 (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2017); Florian Wilk and J. Ross Wagner, eds., Between Gospel and Election: Explorations in the Interpretation of Romans 9–11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). 341 Moo writes: “It is when Christ comes ‘out of’ heaven that he will ‘turn away ungodliness from Jacob’ and thus fulfill the covenant with Israel.” Romans, 728. Likewise, Charles E.B Cranfield: “By this promised deliverer he probably understood the parousia of Christ (compare 1 Th 1.10).” A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2 vols. (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 2:578. Dunn offers a little more justification: “Since the thought in this section is focused so clearly on the final climax, this is almost certainly the way Paul will have understood the future, ἡξει, as referring to an event (the Parousia) which he expected to play a decisive role in the final turning again of Israel.” The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 682. 342 On Rom 9–11 generally see Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 136–43; Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1156–8. On Rom 11:25–27 specifically see Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1231–52. For further arguments and references see Christopher R. Bruno, “The Deliverer from Zion: The Source(s) and Function of Paul’s Citation in Romans 11:26–27,” TynBul 59 (2008): 119–34.. 339 340

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P.W. Walker goes through an extensive list of Zion related texts in Isaiah that Paul quotes or alludes to in various contexts (e.g., Isa 28:6 in Rom 9:32– 33; Isa 52:7 in Rom 10:15; Isa 49:8 and Isa 52:11 in 2 Cor 6:2, 17) and demonstrates how, in each case, “He believed that God’s act in Christ was a fulfilment of these Zion-prophecies.”343 In fact, I will observe below that in Gal 4:21–5:1, where Paul most expressly makes a theological comment on Jerusalem, he explicitly quotes the Zion prophecy of Isa 54:1 that he regards in a significant sense as fulfilled. One can in fact say more. If Paul is indeed alluding to Ps 14:7 or Ps 53:6 when speaking of God’s deliverance coming from Zion, then one can make a strong case that he sees this deliverance to a significant degree as already realised. This can be demonstrated since he quotes from these texts earlier in the letter (Rom 3:11–12), and here it is indisputable that he sees Christ as the one who has already achieved deliverance in relation to the problem that these texts highlight (Rom 3:21–26). There is naturally also a sense in which God’s redemption has not yet been fully realised, and this may perhaps be why Paul changes the preposition to “from Zion,” in order to emphasise that the good news about Christ’s accomplishment going out from Zion will be the means by which “all Israel will be saved” (Rom 11:27). The point Wright makes forcefully is that we should be careful of suggesting that Paul would suddenly contradict himself in announcing a new “mystery” (Rom 11:25) that expresses a different means by which “all Israel will be saved” (i.e. somehow different to his strategy articulated in Rom 11:13–14).344 In this regard, Wright also asks a poignant question: If, after all, Paul really did believe that those at present ‘hardened’ would sooner or later be rescued by a fresh divine act (perhaps sooner, if he did indeed expect the parousia in a short time), then why the tears? Why the unceasing anguish of heart? 345

That Paul sees hope for the Jewish people in the present and not merely after some undefined time when “the full number of Gentiles has come in” (Rom 11:25), is confirmed a few verses later (echoing Gal 3:22): So they have now been disobedient in order that, by the mercy shown to you, they too may now (νῦν) receive mercy (Rom 11:31).346

Colin G. Kruse captures this reading well: Paul’s meaning is that a hardening of Israel will persist until the full number of Gentiles has come in, and as the Gentiles are coming in, many Jews will be coming in also and in this Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 139. The expectation, in Wright’s words, “of a large-scale last-minute conversion of Israel” at the parousia. Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1246. 345 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1238. 346 Although the “now” is not present in all manuscripts, it is quite clearly the preferred reading. See Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1252. 343 344

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way, and by the time Christ appears the second time, the hardness will have disappeared and all Israel will be saved.347

While I find this reading compelling, I also point out that, even if Paul were referring to Christ’s parousia being out of Zion, this is not sure evidence that Paul also saw Christ returning to Zion. Furthermore, there is little to suggest that Paul also envisioned Jews returning to the Land or other elements of Israel’s restoration that are sometimes associated with this reading. Paul did hold out a very real hope for the transformation of the world as Jews accepted Christ and he can comment, “what will their acceptance be but life from the dead (τίς ἡ πρόσλημψις εἰ μὴ ζωὴ ἐκ νεκρῶν)!” (Rom 11:15). Nevertheless, he also significantly transformed many of the traditional expectations surrounding Israel’s restoration. I conclude this section by affirming that, although Paul transformed many traditional expectations, he nevertheless remained committed to Jerusalem as the salvation-historical centre in which God’s redemptive purposes had been accomplished and from which the good news about Christ continued to emanate. In spite of his message frequently being misunderstood or rejected, he refused to disassociate himself from Jerusalem. I now explore how he neither saw himself as dependent on Jerusalem. IV. Paul’s authority not dependent on Jerusalem The majority of my focus here will be on Paul’s well known Hagar-Sarah allegory in Galatians 4:21–5:1.348 Walker, rightly in my view, affirms that only here does Paul expressly offer “theological comment” on Jerusalem. 349 One interesting point that confirms this is that here Paul does not use the secular Greek terminology for the city (Ἱεροσόλυμα), as he does earlier in the letter (Gal 1:17, 18; 2:1), but the more religiously significant term Ἰερουσαλήμ (the consistent LXX translation).350

Colin G. Kruse, Paul’s Letter to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 442. Significant recent studies include Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother”; Martinus C. De Boer, “Isaiah 54 in Galatians 4.27,” NTS 50 (2004): 370–89; Joel Willitts, “Isa 54,1 in Gal 4,24b–27: Reading Genesis in Light of Isaiah,” ZNW 96 (2005): 188–210; Matthew S. Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free: Paul’s Isaianic Gospel in Galatians (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2010), 123–203; Nicholas T. Wright, “Mother Zion Rejoices: Psalm 87 as a Missing Link in Galatians 4,” in Cruciform Scripture: Cross, Participation, and Mission, ed. Christopher W. Skinner et al. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2021), 225–39. For further detailed bibliography see Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free, 174. 349 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 127. 350 See Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 130; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem: Collected Essays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 53–8. 347 348

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This passage comes on the back of Paul’s plea to the Galatians not to give in to the “Judaizers”351 who might again “enslave” them by requiring adherence to the Law (Gal 4:12–20). Although this passage has often been regarded as something of an afterthought,352 several recent studies tend to see this as the climax of the argument begun in 3:1. 353 Walker highlights recent research which suggests that the primary motivation for the Judaizers insistence that Paul’s gentile converts be circumcised may have been “the rising tide of Jewish nationalism at this time in Palestine.”354 In this regard, Walker points out that, “the Jerusalem church was fearful of being associated with Paul’s Gentile mission, since his dismissal of the need for circumcision could be seen as destroying the national and ethnic cohesiveness of Judaism.”355 The basic message of the Judaizers was therefore that: Paul’s converts were not fully in the family . . . until they had been duly linked to Jerusalem through the outward sign of circumcision and had also acknowledged the authoritative and primary role of Jerusalem within the Church.356

Furthermore, most scholars agree that Paul is responding here to arguments of the Judaizers themselves, who probably used the Abraham story to justify their

351 I will continue to use this common term although some may prefer to use Paul’s own term “agitators” (1:7, 5:10) or perhaps “influencers” for those who write from a social identity theory perspective. On terminology see Mark D. Nanos, The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 193–200. 352 So, e.g., Ernest de Witt Burton who calls this “a supplementary argument . . . apparently as an after-thought.” A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1921), 251. 353 So, e.g., Harmon: “Gal 4:21–5:1 functions as the climax of the argument begun in Gal 3:1.” She Must and Shall Go Free, 173. Similarly Wright: “it is here in 4:21–5:1, rather than in 4:1–11, that the ultimate thrust of Galatians lies.” “Mother Zion Rejoices.” 354 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 128. This observation goes back to Robert Jewett, “The Agitators and the Galatian Congregation,” NTS 17 (1970): 198–212. See further Ian J. Elmer, Paul, Jerusalem and the Judaisers: The Galatian Crisis in Its Broadest Historical Context, WUNT II 258 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 3–26. Walker also points out that, although the “Zealot” party may not finally have been formed until the 60s C.E., it is interesting that Paul describes the Judaizers in this very chapter as “zealous” (Gal 4:17). Jesus and the Holy City, 130. 355 Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 128. 356 Walker, 129.

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position.357 Richard Longenecker suggests that, in a typical style of Jewish argumentation, they suggested that truth comes in a “developed” and “elemental” form and that “Paul’s preaching represented an ‘Ishmaelian’ form of truth.”358 Paul responded to this in what James C. De Young (1960) called, “perhaps the sharpest polemic against Jerusalem in the New Testament.”359 In particular, Paul shockingly identifies those who belong to “the present Jerusalem (τῇ νῦν Ἰερουσαλήμ)” (Gal 4:25) with Hagar, Ishmael, and slavery and consequently as illegitimate heirs of the promises to Abraham. The binary oppositions that Paul puts forward can perhaps best be explored utilising something like the table below (with identifications in brackets implicit). Two mothers Two statuses Two sons Mode of birth Two covenants Two mountains Two cities Present Future

Hagar Slave Ishmael Flesh Law / Old Covenant Mt Sinai in Arabia Present Jerusalem Persecutor No inheritance

(Sarah) Free Isaac Spirit (New Covenant) (Mt Zion) Jerusalem above Persecuted Heir

Karen Jobes (1993) points out that, while much attention has been paid to Paul’s “allegorical” mode of interpretation, insufficient attention has been paid to the function of the Isa 54:1 quote that initially seems out of place in the argument about Abraham’s descendants.360 Following her lead, a number of scholars have increasingly recognised that this quotation forms an integral part of Paul’s argument and is more than merely a proof text to establish that “Jerusalem above” is the “mother” of true believers. I will first highlight some of her central observations before engaging with how others have built on these and finally drawing some of my own conclusions.

357 Philip Esler comments: “Given the attraction that things Israelite held for Paul’s Galatian gentiles, we may fairly safely assume that those proposing circumcision would have cited such strong scriptural corroboration of their case.” Galatians (London: Routledge, 1998), 210. For a plausible reconstruction of their arguments, see Barrett, “The Allegory of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar in the Argument of Galatians.” 358 Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians (Dallas: Word Books, 1990), 199. 359 James C. De Young, Jerusalem in the New Testament (Amsterdam: J.H. Kok & N.V. Kampen, 1960), 106. 360 Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother,” 301.

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1. Galatians 4:21–5:1 in recent interpretation Jobes begins, as many do, by acknowledging the many interpretive difficulties that this passage raises. 361 In seeking to address some of these, she draws significantly on Richard Hays’ work which had suggested that: “It is Isaiah’s metaphorical linkage of Abraham and Sarah with an eschatologically restored Jerusalem that warrants Paul’s use of Isa 54:1.”362 In particular, she utilises Hays’ idea of an “intertextual space” opened up between Galatians, Genesis, and Isaiah to search for resonances between the texts. She notices firstly that, outside of Genesis, Sarah is mentioned by name only in Isaiah 51:2. Secondly, she observes that the key theme that links these two texts is that of “barrenness,”363 which she notices is also applied to the city of Jerusalem in Isaiah. Further, she observes how Isaiah’s prophecy allows Paul to make three key interpretive moves: 1. 2.

3.

For Sarah to be seen as the mother not exclusively of ethnic Israel, but all who pursue the Lord. E.g. “Listen to me, you that pursue righteousness, you that seek the Lord . . . Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you” (Isa 51:1–2). For the development of two female images, derived from the feminine personification of capital cities – “two Jerusalem’s, a barren, cursed Jerusalem, and a rejoicing Jerusalem.” E.g. “Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city (μητρόπολις LXX)” (Isa 1:26). For the introduction of “the concept of a miraculous birth to a barren woman as a demonstration of God’s power to deliver a nation of people from death.”364

The use of “mother-city (μητρόπολις)” in the LXX of Isa 1:26 is especially significant and Jobes argues that this is what Paul is echoing in Gal 4:26. She continues to observe that, “Jerusalem is transformed in Isaiah to be, without mention of circumcision, those who pursue righteousness and seek the Lord, those to whom the Holy Spirit is given.”365 Finally, Jobes argues that Paul saw the prophesied restoration of Jerusalem as fulfilled ultimately in Christ, that is to say, “he construed the resurrection of Jesus Christ to be the miraculous birth which would transform Jerusalem the barren one into Jerusalem the faithful mother-city.”366 Central to her thesis is that Paul is reading the Abrahamic narrative through the lens of Isaiah and therefore that the “two covenants” Paul is contrasting are not straightforwardly the old covenant and the “new covenant,” but rather the Jobes, 299–300. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 120. 363 When we are first introduced to Sarah in Genesis 11:30, we’re told “Now Sarai was barren; she had no child (στεῖρα καὶ οὐκ ἐτεκνοποίει)” which parallels “Sing, O barren one who did not bear (στεῖρα ἡ οὐ τίκτουσα)” (Isa 54:1). 364 Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother,” 308–9. 365 Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother,” 312. 366 Jobes, 314. 361 362

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old covenant and the “older” covenant with Abraham that Paul rereads in light of Christ. 367 She concludes: “when the Galatian Christians were seeking to identify with that historical centre of Judaism through circumcision, Paul must insist that they understand their relationship to Jerusalem not in light of Genesis 21 directly, but in light of Isaiah's transformation of it.” 368 More recently, Joel Willitts (2005) has further explored how Paul reads Genesis in light of Isaiah and broadly agrees with Jobes that insufficient attention has been paid to these connections in the past. 369 Willitts begins by paying attention to Isaiah as “a tale of two cities,” making use of especially the work of William J. Dumbrell (2001).370 Here he observes the significant amalgamation of the notions of “people” and “place,” seen classically in texts like Isa 40:1–2. Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem (Isa 40:1–2)

In relation to Isaiah’s perspective on Jerusalem, Willitts agrees with the basic picture painted by Dumbrell and sees this as a significant lens through which Paul reads the Genesis narrative: Jerusalem becomes a major biblical symbol uniting city and saved community; combining sacred space and sanctified people. Isaiah makes it clear there can be no thought of a restored Israel without the prior restoration of Zion.371

Willitts furthermore agrees with most commentators that the two women in Isa 54:1 are not in fact two different women, but represent unfaithful pre-exilic Jerusalem and redeemed Jerusalem. 372 Willitts especially advances the discussion, however, by taking Paul’s insistence that he is speaking allegorically at face value: “Now this is an allegory (ἀλληγορούμενα)” (Gal 4:24). In particular, Willitts helpfully divides this rhetorical unit into three sections where Paul: 1. 2. 3.

4:21–23 “after summarily introducing the storyline of Abraham . . . asserts that he intends to use this storyline as an allegory (24a).” 4:24b-27 “makes explicit the eschatological realities that he, like a good taxidermist might, intends to place into the skins of the characters in the narrative.” 4:28–5:1 “arrives at his main homiletical proposition.”373

Here she largely agrees with Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 114. Jobes, 316. 369 Willitts, “Isa 54,1 in Gal 4,24b–27,” 189. 370 William J. Dumbrell, The End of the Beginning: Revelation 21–22 and the Old Testament (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2001). 371 Dumbrell, The End of the Beginning, 19. 372 Willitts, “Isa 54,1 in Gal 4,24b–27,” 197. 373 Willitts, 198. 367 368

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Willitts notices that, while Paul uses the typical quotation formula in the first section (γέγραπται γὰρ 4:22), he does not in fact quote from Scripture until the third section (4:30), indicating the importance of the Isaiah quote which contains the deep-level eschatological structure of his argument. Indeed, Paul is not seeking to find some hidden spiritual meaning in the Abrahamic narrative, but merely using it “to illustrate in concrete terms the eschatological truth contained in Isa 54,1.”374 Therefore, the allegory is primarily used rhetorically and is an application, not an interpretation. Along the way, Willitts also explores the important question of whom Paul’s polemic here is ultimately directed against. He firstly rejects some of the older interpretations that see Paul’s argument against “Judaism as a whole” or against “legalistic Judaism,”375 because they fail to see the contrast between the two eschatological “Jerusalems” in Isa 54:1. He secondly rejects the more recent interpretations of J. Louis Martyn (1997) and Martinus de Boer (2004),376 who suggest that Paul’s argument is directed against the Jerusalem church and its “law-observant mission” to the gentiles. 377 Furthermore, Willitts persuasively demonstrates that for Paul both “Jerusalems” are present realities standing in eschatological tension and that this may be part of the reason Paul chose the Hagar / Sarah account, namely, to draw conclusions from a historical situation that gave rise to similar tensions within the covenant family. More recently, Matthew Harmon (2010) has carefully studied the influence of Isaiah on Galatians as a whole.378 In particular, he builds upon the work of Jobes, Willitts, and others in his study of Gal 4:21–5:1.379 His division of the rhetorical unit into three sections is essentially the same as that of Willitts, but he goes further to argue that this unit “functions as the climax of the argument begun in Gal 3:1.”380 Harmon also insists that Paul is not merely using Isa 54:1 for textual justification for linking Sarah with eschatological Jerusalem, but is evoking the entire Isaianic context. That Isaiah is informing Paul’s theologising more broadly is demonstrated by the many allusions to Isaiah earlier in the letter, not least the fact that Paul has just used the unusual verb ὠδίνω from Isa 54:1 to describe his own “birth pangs” in relation to the Galatians (4:19). 381 Willitts, 207. See, esp., De Young, Jerusalem in the New Testament; Andrew T. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet: Studies in the Role of the Heavenly Dimension in Paul’s Thought with Special Reference to His Eschatology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 376 See Martyn, Galatians, 458–66; De Boer, “Isaiah 54 in Galatians 4.27.” 377 Willitts, “Isa 54,1 in Gal 4,24b–27,” 204. 378 Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free. 379 Harmon, 173–84. 380 Harmon, 173–4. 381 For a “Master Chart” of all proposed influences of Isaiah on Galatians, see Harmon, 265. 374 375

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He furthermore offers a series of mediating positions when it comes to addressing some of the key exegetical questions in the text. Instead of insisting that Paul is seeking to contrast the Mosaic covenant with either the new covenant (traditional interpretations) or the Abrahamic covenant (Hays, Jobes etc.), Harmon suggests that the contrast is between the Mosaic covenant and “the Abrahamic covenant (understood christologically).”382 Furthermore, he offers a mediating position on “the present Jerusalem,” which he suggests is neither merely: 1. 2. 3.

“Jerusalem as the center and source of his opponents’ authority” 383 nor “the Jerusalem church as proponent of the Law-observant Gentile mission”384 nor “Judaism as focused on Torah-observance centered in Jerusalem” 385

Rather, he suggests, “the ‘present Jerusalem’ likely refers to any and all who place the Law at the center of their understanding of relating to God and others, regardless of whether they claim to be Christ-followers or not.”386 Harmon is helpful especially in drawing out Paul’s perspective on the Law from this allegory, since it is ultimately the question of the place of the Law in God’s purposes where Paul differs with his opponents. An important exegetical question here is how to identify the woman who is “married” and who her “husband” is in Gal 4:27.387 In the context of the Genesis narrative “the one who is married” must refer to Hagar who was “married” to Abraham (cf. Gen 16:3), but who are these figures in the Galatian context? Here the married woman in context must be “the present Jerusalem” who is in “slavery,” but in relation to the question of her “husband,” Harmon argues that “If in fact Paul intends the reader to make any association, the most likely candidate is husband = Law.”388 He suggests that, “just as Sarah’s attempt in Gen 16 to have children through Hagar was attempting to accomplish an end for which God had a different means, so too is the use of the Law as a husband to bring forth children into the eschatological Jerusalem by Paul’s opponents.”389 Here Harmon agrees with the earlier conclusion of Charles Cosgrove (1987) that Paul is mainly highlighting again the inability of the Law to bring about

Harmon, 174. See, e.g., Longenecker, Galatians, 213. 384 See, e.g., Martyn, Galatians, 439; 457–66. 385 See, e.g., Frederick F. Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 220. 386 Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free, 175. 387 Paul writes: “For the children of the desolate woman are more numerous than the children of the one who is married” (Gal 4:27). 388 Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free, 180. 389 Harmon, 181. 382 383

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the fulfilment of God’s promised redemption. 390 Indeed Isaac was not the “seed” ultimately promised and in that sense Sarah was still “barren” until the coming of Christ (cf. Gal 3:16). As Cosgrove put it: Here, then, is the argument: if Is. 54:1, in speaking of Sarah-Jerusalem, implies that her barrenness extends until the eschatological time of fulfillment, then the law has given Sarah no children. And with this point Paul reinforces in the strongest possible terms the repeated accent in Galatians that life (the Spirit, the realization of the promise, access to the inheritance, the blessing of Abraham) is not to be found in the Torah.391

While this might be the basic theological message, Harmon finally suggests that the basic rhetorical purpose is that the Galatians would “realize that they are already children of the free woman” and therefore realise that “expelling the troublemakers is necessary to preserve their freedom in Christ.”392 What all these recent interpretations have in common is that they highlight the redemptive historical nature of Paul’s argument and hence the importance of understanding his inaugurated eschatology. They are thus wary of characterisations that suggest that Paul is opposing “Christianity” and “Judaism” as “religions” or indeed characterisations of Judaism as a “legalistic” religion. As Wright puts it: This is not a debate about ‘types of religion’. It is a matter of eschatology. Either the longawaited ‘age to come’ has arrived with the Messiah or it has not. Paul announces that it has – precisely through the Messiah’s death and resurrection and the work of the spirit. The message of the ‘agitators’ clearly implies that it has not.393

It is precisely Paul’s eschatological perspective that enables us to appreciate how he has freshly appropriated the symbol of Jerusalem. On the one hand, he is convinced that “the age to come” had arrived and hence that Jerusalem must have been redeemed. On the other hand, the fact that many of his “kindred according to the flesh” (Rom 9:3) had not acknowledged this, must mean that this redemption had taken place on a different plane.394

See Charles H. Cosgrove, “The Law Has given Sarah No Children (Gal 4:21–30),” NovT XXIX (1987): 219–35. This whole section is, after all, implicitly about the place of the Law in God’s purposes: “Tell me, you who desire to be subject to the law” (Gal 4:21). 391 Cosgrove, “The Law Has given Sarah No Children,” 231 (emphasis original). 392 Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free, 184. 393 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1138. 394 We see a certain fluidity between sacred space and time in Paul’s thought here. Ronald Y.K. Fung writes: “What he has actually done, however, is to mingle the two forms, the temporal and the spatial, in such a way as to indicate that the Jerusalem that is to come has already arrived.” The Epistle to the Galatians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 210. 390

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2. ‘Jerusalem above’ and the hope of restoration It is here that Paul draws on the concept of a “Jerusalem above (ἄνω Ἰερουσαλὴμ)” (Gal 4:26). Most commentators point to a number of antecedents to this idea, both in the Old Testament (e.g. Isa 54; Ps 87; Ezek 40–48; Jer 30–31) and in the Second Temple literature more generally (e.g., 1 Enoch 53:6; 90:28–29; 2 Enoch 55:2; 4 Ezra 7:26; 10:25–28; 2 Baruch 4:2–6),395 but it is uncertain of the degree to which Paul would have been familiar with the latter. We certainly do not see anything of the developed theology of, for example, the book of Hebrews (Heb 8:5; 12:22 etc.) in which Jerusalem and the Temple are described as being patterned on a heavenly reality.396 Of particular relevance is Isa 54, which not only calls the “barren one” to rejoice, but also proceeds to envision a new covenant (54:10 cf. Gal 4:24) and a restored city described in transcendent terms: O afflicted one, storm-tossed, and not comforted, I am about to set (ἑτοιμάζω) your stones in antimony, and lay your foundations (τὰ θεμέλιά) with sapphires. I will make your pinnacles of rubies, your gates of jewels, and all your wall of precious stones (Isa 54:11–12).

This description of the restored city interestingly echoes both the God of Israel’s appearance to the elders (Exod 24:10) and the description of the priestly vestments to be worn in the Tabernacle/Temple (Exod 28:17–20).397 William Horbury sees the choice of the verb ἑτοιμάζω in the LXX as significant in echoing Exod 15:17 and reflecting here the hope of a divinely prepared Temple to come.398 The fact that Isaiah 54 blends the restoration of Jerusalem and the Temple can be further seen in what immediately follows the announcement of many children for the “barren one”: Enlarge (πλάτυνον) the site of your tent (σκηνῆς), and let the curtains (αὐλαιῶν) of your habitations be stretched out;

395 For further discussion of the theme of Jerusalem in Second Temple literature see, e.g., Adela Y. Collins, “The Dream of a New Jerusalem at Qumran,” in The Scrolls and Chrisitian Origins (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2006), 231–54; Pilchan Lee, The New Jerusalem in the Book of Revelation: A Study of Revelation 21–22 in the Light of Its Background in Jewish Tradition, WUNT II 129 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 1–229. 396 This development itself was frequently based on Exod 25:40: “And see that you make them according to the pattern for them, which is being shown you on the mountain.” 397 This can be seen in the strong literary parallels (the names for the various precious stones mentioned, e.g., are rare in the OT). 398 Horbury, “Land, Sanctuary and Worship,” 203. See discussion on “Land” above in relation to “what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9).

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do not hold back; lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes (Isa 54:2).

The reference to a “tent” as well as “curtains” clearly echoes the Exodus tabernacle construction (Exod 26:1–6) and the relatively rare word “enlarge” also significantly occurs only once in Exodus following the renewal of the covenant: For I will cast out nations before you, and enlarge (πλατύνω) your borders; no one shall covet your land (τῆς γῆς) (Exod 34:24).

What follows in Isaiah also clearly echoes this expectation: For you will spread out to the right and to the left, and your descendants (τὸ σπέρμα) will possess (κληρονομήσει) the nations (ἔθνη) and will settle the desolate towns (πόλεις) (Isa 54:3).

Moreover, as I noted earlier, these promises clearly echo the Abrahamic promises of numerous descendants who would inherit the Land. I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous (πληθύνων πληθυνῶ τὸ σπέρμα) as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess (κληρονομήσει) the gate (πόλεις) of their enemies (Gen 22:17).

In short, the promised restoration of Isaiah 54 includes ideas of a restored Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, all as the fulfilment of the promises to Abraham. Whatever the source of the traditions Paul was drawing on, he found in the idea of a “Jerusalem above” a useful tool for affirming both that “Jerusalem” had indeed been redeemed and that the present city of Jerusalem could not unambiguously be identified with that redeemed community.399 Indeed the “Jerusalem above” was now accessible to all who had faith in the Messiah, apart from any mediation through the “present Jerusalem.” While I argued earlier that Paul “universalised” the promise of the Land, it seems that he “transcendentalised” the symbol of Jerusalem. 400 Because “Jerusalem” was such a significant symbol, and because, in all likelihood, his opponents invoked it, Paul was in some ways forced in this situation to freshly re-appropriate it. But he clearly also saw in this an opportunity to further instil a new sense of identity in this community of believers. Notice, for example, the emphatic second-person plural, “Now you, my friends, (ὑμεῖς δέ, ἀδελφοί) are children of the promise” (Gal 4:28). In seeking to instil this identity, he may have chosen to address the situation in this particular way because 399 I agree here with Christl Maier that: “For Paul, ‘the Jerusalem above’ is not a future reality but a present entity that represents a people different from the one that actually lives in the city.” “Psalm 87 as a Reappraisal of the Zion Tradition and Its Reception in Galatians 4:26,” CBQ (2007): 485. 400 I take my cue here from Davies’ description: “It belongs to that realm ‘which eye hath not seen nor ear heard,’ that is, it is transcendental.” The Gospel and the Land, 197.

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he was familiar both with the Hellenistic tendency to define one’s group identity by reference to a particular polis, as well as the Diaspora Jewish attachment to Jerusalem as a source of hope. Reading Paul through the lens of contemporary Diaspora studies, Ronald Charles captures something of what Paul is doing in this passage: Paul's Jerusalem from above is invisible; it is the mythical transformation and reconfiguration of the ancestral place; it is heaven on earth, or better still, it is the desired fulfillment of the grand apocalyptic vision of a heavenly city of God.401

Indeed, Paul is through this appropriation of Jerusalem connecting believers both to an ancestral past and giving them, in Meeks’ words, “the sense of belonging to a larger entity: Israel, the People of God.”402 That a sense of belonging was significant to the Galatians is confirmed by their willingness to undergo circumcision, despite the considerable stigma attached to it in the Graeco-Roman world. John Barclay writes that in going through with this rite their desire was to “identify themselves with the local synagogues and thus hold at least a more understandable and recognizable place in society.” 403 3. ‘Jerusalem above’ and heavenly citizenship It may furthermore be helpful, as many commentators recognise, to elucidate Paul’s conceptualisation of “the Jerusalem above” with reference to a similar statement Paul makes in the polemical context of Philippians: But our citizenship (πολίτευμα) is in heaven (ἐν οὐρανοῖς), and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ (Phil 3:20).

It may initially be objected that a distinction is to be made between a “Jerusalem” that is “above” and “citizenship” that is “in heaven.” Here we must recall that the “heavenly” is often spatially conceived as “above.” In fact, Paul has just spoken in the immediate context of Philippians of “the upward call of God (τῆς ἄνω κλήσεως τοῦ θεοῦ)” (Phil 3:14). Moreover, the polemical contexts of both epistles are similar, with Paul’s opponents in both cases claiming some kind of superior status. There is thus good reason to see these texts as mutually illuminating, as Gennadi Sergienko (2013) has recently explored at length.404 Sergienko undertakes a careful socio-historical study of Phil 3:18–20 that concludes that: “the ‘enemies of the cross’ was a deviant group of Christians for whom membership Charles, Paul and the Politics of Diaspora, 182. Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 80. 403 John M.G. Barclay, Obeying the Truth: A Study of Paul’s Ethics in Galatians (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 60. 404 Gennadi A. Sergienko, Our Politeuma Is in Heaven! Paul’s Polemical Engagement with the “Enemies of the Cross of Christ” in Philippians 3:18–20 (Carlisle: Langham Monographs, 2013). 401 402

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in a voluntary association (πολίτευμα) provided the structure and ideological rationale for their alternative ‘walk.’” 405 Furthermore, Sergienko highlights evidence that suggests that voluntary associations frequently participated in the imperial cult which was especially prominent in Philippi. He suggests that, in all likelihood, Paul’s opponents sought to worship Jesus alongside ongoing “devotion to the Roman emperor as to the κύριος and σωτήρ of the nations.” In opposition to this perspective, which boasted in the privileges and security of an earthly πολίτευμα, Paul asserted, “But our citizenship (πολίτευμα) is in heaven” (Phil 3:20). 4. ‘Jerusalem above’ as mother In relation to Gal 4:26, Sergienko also asks where Paul’s image of a maternal “Jerusalem above” is drawn from. While acknowledging the influence of Isa 54, he also draws particular attention to Ps 87 (86 LXX).406 This Psalm’s significance in relation to Paul’s argument is generally noted by commentators, not only because it contains one of the rare addresses to Zion as “mother,” but also because Zion is surprisingly and uniquely addressed as such by gentiles. 407 Here he particularly draws on the work Christl M. Maier (2007), who explored this Psalm in relation to Zion traditions and their reception in Gal 4:26. Maier concluded that: “What he [Paul] derives exclusively from Psalm 87 is the idea that Jerusalem may be called ‘mother’ of foreigners as well as of Israel.”408 More recently, N.T Wright (2021) has further substantiated this allusion to Ps 87 by highlighting the purpose it fulfils in Paul’s overall argument, the close link with the theme of Zion as “mother” in Isaiah, and indeed the type of gezerah shawah link between the “rejoicing” of Ps 87:5 (LXX 86:5) and Isa 54:1.409 Here Wright points out that this puzzling Psalm uniquely envisions the inclusion not only of gentiles, but of Israel’s hated enemies (Babylon, Philistia etc.), and would naturally have been read eschatologically by most Jews. It is also

Sergienko, Our Politeuma Is in Heaven, 185. There are significant differences between the MT and LXX in this Psalm that Maier further comments on. Maier translates the LXX of Ps 87(86):5, e.g., “‘Mother Zion’ will a man say, because a man was born in her, and the Most High himself founded her.” “Psalm 87 as a Reappraisal of the Zion Tradition,” 480. 407 Sergienko, 158. 408 Maier, “Psalm 87 as a Reappraisal of the Zion Tradition,” 485. Although Jobes suggested that this inference can be derived from Isaiah, not many seem to have followed her in this. Perhaps this is because the context of Isa 51:1–2 is quite remote to Isa 54:1 and this text does not itself draw this kind of inference about the expanding people of God. Isaiah certainly is aware, however, of foreigners being drawn into the people of God (e.g. Isa 56:1–8). 409 Wright, “Mother Zion Rejoices,” 228. 405 406

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this that enables Paul to draw the sharp distinction between the present Jerusalem and the Jerusalem “above.”410 Furthermore, Wright argues that “Jerusalem above” should be understood “not in a Platonic sense but in the biblical sense of heaven as the storage-house for God’s future purposes.”411 Wright here agrees with many recent commentators that Paul’s “Jerusalem above” should not be spiritualised in the sense of being thought to exist on a plane completely removed from existence “below.” In regard to the former, I recall Walter Wink’s important observation regarding the pervasive understanding of the ancient world, namely, that, “Nothing in heaven can happen without profound repercussions on earth; indeed, that is the way true change on earth is brought about.”412 One important present implication of all Messiah believers having “Jerusalem above” as their mother-city is that they should not therefore allow the Law to recreate barriers between Jew and gentile (cf. Gal 5:1; 2:11–21). This paves the way for our discussion of what can be concluded about how Paul conceptualises authority through this fresh appropriation of the symbol of Jerusalem. V. Paul and the politics of Jerusalem As Mark Forman argued in relation to the question of inheritance, the question of who will ultimately inherit God’s promises is a fundamentally political question that stands as a challenge to the status quo. In the Galatian context, the question becomes who can legitimately claim Abraham as their father (Gal 3:7) and Jerusalem/Sarah as their mother (Gal 4:21–5:1). The question, however, is not only who will inherit, but also who decides who will inherit and under what conditions. Virtually all commentators agree that the basic message of the Judaizers was something to the effect that gentiles could not be considered to be full members of the covenant family until they had taken upon themselves the yoke of the Law, expressed in the act of circumcision. Moreover, in imposing this demand, the Judaizers claimed the authority not only of the Scriptures but the Jerusalem church itself.413 410 Wright comments that this Psalm “provides one of the most remarkable statements anywhere in Israel’s Scriptures of the divine intention to see foreigners – including the most hated of traditional enemies! – as sharing equally in the birthright of Jerusalem’s own inhabitants. But this points on to the second supporting theme. Paul’s invocation of this Psalm, far more than the implication of Isa 54, enables him to draw, in good Jewish style, the sharp distinction he requires between ‘the present Jerusalem’ and ‘the Jerusalem above.’” “Mother Zion Rejoices,” 229. 411 Wright, 235. 412 Walter Wink, Naming the Powers: The Language of Power in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 60. 413 Paul signals this earlier in the letter when he highlights that the Judaizers who had originally come to Antioch “came from James” (Gal 2:12). It is almost certain that those

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Paul in response gives a very different reading of the Scriptures and a different perspective on the nature of Jerusalem’s authority. As I noted earlier, Paul neither disassociates himself from Jerusalem nor does he allow dependence on Jerusalem for determining the nature of the gospel or the requirements for being a fully-fledged member of the covenant family (which for him is faith in the Messiah – Gal 2:16). As Wright puts it, the fact that the Messiah has come means: “we no longer take orders from ‘the present Jerusalem.’”414 By connecting the Galatian believers directly to “Jerusalem above” and calling them to effectively exercise discipline on those who are imposing the Law’s demands under the authority of Jerusalem,415 Paul creates space for a radical political theology. As I noted earlier, Jerusalem had been the political centre of the nation of Israel for centuries. It was from here that Israel’s kings had ruled. It was here that the high priestly establishment, the highest Jewish authority, was presently situated. It was thus natural to assume that, when the Messiah arrived, he would also rule from here. The argument of the Judaizers that they represented the Messiah’s delegates in Jerusalem thus carried considerable weight. Paul, however, while acknowledging the authority of the “pillar” apostles (Gal 2:1–10; 1 Cor 15:1–11), significantly downplays the geographic centre of Jerusalem. The ultimate source of authority for him is “above” (Gal 1:12; 4:26) and is embedded in “the gospel.”416 In downplaying the significance of any geographical centre of authority, the political theology that arises from Paul’s appropriation of the symbol of Jerusalem therefore calls into question any centralised hierarchy that governs the Christ movement.417 who came to Galatia claimed the same. Wright highlights here that: “Paul is careful not to say ‘James sent certain people’, leaving open the question of whether they represented James’ actual views.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 854. See the discussion above for the debate about the degree to which the “Judaizers” actually represented the views of the Jerusalem church and about a “law-observant gentile mission.” 414 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1139. 415 Along with various authors cited above, Wright sees this text as more about ecclesiology than soteriology. He comments: “If Paul is continuing to speak, not of salvation, but of discipline and of the nature of the Christian community, the following passage makes sense.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1140. 416 Indeed Paul tells of how he challenged Peter, one of the “pillar” apostles, for “not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel” (Gal 2:14). J.H. Schütz also affirms: “For Paul the transcendent norm for action is the ‘gospel’.” Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 259. 417 Although Holmberg argues that, “Paul moves in a social space determined by the charismatic authority of the church in Jerusalem which is greater than that of any other church,” he also writes, “According to Paul every apostle is subordinated to the Gospel and is authoritative because and insofar as he is a faithful preacher of this one and only Gospel – not because he knew the historical Jesus or has access to old and reliable traditions about Him.” Paul and Power, 154; 28–9.

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It is also noteworthy in this regard that Paul calls the local congregation to effectively expel those claiming the authority of Jerusalem – “Drive out the slave and her child” (Gal 4:30). Paul’s discourse on “Jerusalem above” therefore also leans towards something of a congregational polity (to use obviously anachronistic terminology), in which the congregation itself is called to weigh up any teaching (even from Jerusalem) in light of “the gospel” and to take appropriate action. When, however, one considers the effort Paul goes to in organising the Jerusalem Collection, an effort with clear political motivations of “fellowship (κοινωνία)” (Rom 15:26) and “equality (ἰσότης)” (2 Cor 8:13–14), this conclusion should probably be nuanced by affirming that he saw his relatively autonomous communities existing within an interdependent network that acknowledged their salvation-historical roots in Jerusalem. Walker also points out that, if Paul were responding to a situation that was, at least in part, caused by a rising tide of Jewish nationalism, then his emphasis on freedom may have been especially appropriate. The Zealot movement, after all, strove precisely for freedom and Jerusalem was at the centre of their hopes. But Paul responds to this by insisting that the greatest act of liberation had already taken place in Jerusalem (“For freedom Christ has set us free” – Gal 5:1) and that to look anywhere else for hope was fundamentally misguided. For those who would look this way, Walker suggests, “The ‘Jerusalem’ which was at the centre of their aspirations was manifestly still ‘in slavery’ (and under Roman rule); their focus should not be on this ‘present’ Jerusalem, but rather on the ‘Jerusalem above.’”418 This is another way of saying, as I noted when it came to the Land, that Paul saw another path to the inheritance. This path involved a willingness to suffer for the sake of Christ, forgoing the considerable privileges associated with circumcision (Gal 6:12), with the ultimate hope of “new creation” (Gal 6:15). VI. Conclusion As with the Land, it is clear that Paul also freshly appropriated the symbol of Jerusalem in significant ways. Although he remained committed to Jerusalem as the salvation historical centre of God’s redemptive purposes (Rom 15:19), he nevertheless denied it a political authority based purely on its location. Moreover, it was probably his conviction that Jerusalem had been redeemed through Christ, together with the fact that many of his “kindred according to the flesh” (Rom 9:3) had not yet accepted this, that led him to “transcendentalise” Jerusalem as a community already existing “above.” Hereby Paul gives his gentile audience a polis with which they can identify and gives them a sense of belonging to a larger entity with a rich history. Finally, although he continued to hold out significant hope for a transformation of the world as more Jews 418

Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 130.

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responded to Christ (Rom 11:12), it does not seem that he deferred this hope to the future parousia of Christ in Jerusalem. Relating Paul’s perspective on Jerusalem to his perspective on the Land, Volker Gäckle likewise concludes: Aber – so viel wird man sagen können – die eschatologischen Hoffnungen richten sich bei Paulus nicht auf die ihm vor Augen stehende Stadt Jerusalem und damit auch nicht auf das historische Land Israel.419

D. The Temple D. The Temple

We have but one Temple for the one God, common to all as God is common to all – Josephus (C. Ap. 2.193) There can be little doubt that the Temple was among the most significant symbols of Second Temple Judaism. 420 It symbolised the unity of the nation under the one God of Israel and indeed represented the “dwelling” of that one God among his people. As Timothy Wardle puts it, “there was no question that the temple stood at the center of Jewish religious, political, and economic life and was the paramount symbol of the covenant relationship between the God of Israel and his people.”421 The fact that it remained significant even to Jews of the Diaspora can be seen in the annual didrachma tax that many paid in order to support its work and through which they themselves symbolically participated in the sacrificial cult. The fact that many first-century Jews were critical of the Temple and the present rule of the Sadducees did not negate its significance, but merely made them long for its purification. 422 Because of its significance for New Testament studies generally, this symbol has enjoyed considerably more scholarly attention than either the Land or Jerusalem. N.T. Wright has recently spoken of “an explosion of interest in the Temple and what it stood for.”423 It is also true when we come to Paul’s perspective on the Temple that there is considerably more material to work with than when it comes to the Land or Jerusalem. Nevertheless, although Paul lists the Temple worship as among the Jewish privileges (Rom 9:4),424 Walker can Gäckle, “Die Relevanz des Landes Israel bei Paulus,” 150. See, e.g, Sanders, Judaism, 47–314; Levine, Jerusalem, 375–400. For Diaspora perspectives, see Trotter, The Jerusalem Temple. 421 Wardle, The Jerusalem Temple, 8–9. 422 This was true even for the community at Qumran who adopted a radical attitude towards Jewish national life. On this see Bertil Gärtner, The Temple and the Community in Qumran and the New Testament: A Comparative Study in the Temple Symbolism of the Qumran Texts and the New Testament (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), 21. 423 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 95. 424 “The worship (λατρεία)” (Rom 9:4) undoubtedly refers to the Temple worship. 419 420

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still comment that: “Paul rarely refers to the physical Temple in Jerusalem.”425 I have already noted that the degree to which Paul is referring to the Jerusalem Temple in his well-known assertions about the Corinthian congregation, “You are God’s temple (ναὸς θεοῦ ἐστε)” (1 Cor 3:16; 2 Cor 6:16), is contested. 426 In this regard, 2 Thess 2:4,427 which most commentators agree is referring to the Temple, is also generally not regarded as having come from Paul’s own hand and I will therefore not comment further on it here.428 Although Walker is correct in concluding that there are not many direct and unambiguous references to the Jerusalem Temple in Paul, most agree that Paul’s letters are suffused with language drawn from the Temple cult. Among recent studies that explore Paul’s cultic metaphors are those of Stephan Finlan (2004), Martin Vahrenhorst (2008), and Nijay Gupta (2010).429 I will mainly focus, however, on Paul’s fresh appropriation of this symbol in his Corinthian correspondence, which I will argue should be interpreted primarily against the backdrop of the Jerusalem Temple. Due to the scope of my study, I will particularly focus on 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 in its socio-historical context, but will do so with brief reference to 1 Cor 6:12–20 and 2 Cor 6:14–7:1. The Temple served not only as a “religious” centre where cultic activity took place, but also played a significant economic and political role and was thus the centre of considerable controversy in the first century. Because the symbol of the Temple signified unity as well as raised the question of legitimate rule,430 we should not be surprised that Paul also invokes this symbol in response to the factionalism within the Corinthian congregation. I will thus pay careful attention in my exegesis to questions of “power” and “authority” in Paul’s appropriation of this symbol.

Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 119. The clearest reference is probably 1 Cor 9:13. Note, e.g., John R. Lanci’s comment: “The Jerusalem Temple may have been a referent for the allusion in 1 Cor 3:16–17, but there is no evidence that this one sanctuary was the sole referent.” A New Temple for Corinth: Rhetorical and Archaeological Approaches to Pauline Imagery (New York: Peter Lang, 1997), 10 (emphasis original). 427 “He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God (ὥστε αὐτὸν εἰς τὸν ναὸν τοῦ θεοῦ καθίσαι), declaring himself to be God” (2 Thess. 2:4). 428 See the brief discussion of this text in the discussion on “Jerusalem” above. 429 Finlan, The Background and Content of Paul’s Cultic Atonement Metaphors; Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul; Martin Vahrenhorst, Kultische Sprache in den Paulusbriefen, WUNT 230 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). 430 Recall the close connection between the Messiah and the Temple (cf. 2 Sam 7:1–17), the expectation that the Messiah would restore the Temple, and the fact of the Zealots taking control of the Temple at the outbreak of the Jewish War. 425 426

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I. Paul and the Temple from H. Wenschkewitz to M. Suh The history of scholarship on Paul and the Temple is now told in a number of places.431 Most begin their account with Hans Wenschkewitz’s influential Die Spiritualisierung der Kultusbegriffe Tempel, Priester und Opfer im Neuen Testament, first published in 1932, that argued that Paul “spiritualised” the Temple cult in a manner similar to the Stoics. The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947, however, indicated that the transfer of language from the Temple to the community was already present in Palestinian Judaism before Paul’s time. Thus, in 1965, Bertil Gärtner undertook a careful comparative study of the temple symbolism in the Scrolls and the New Testament that emphasised the parallels between Paul and Qumran, but that paid little attention to Hellenistic influences.432 Hereafter the influential study of R.J. McKelvey (1969) further examined literary representations of the new, heavenly, and spiritual temple in Jewish and Greek literature. This study assumed a basic Jewish background to the New Testament’s use of Temple language.433 In 1971, Georg Klinzing again took up Gärtner’s thesis and sought to demonstrate not only parallel Temple language in Paul, but also dependence.434 Elisabeth S. Fiorenza (1976) pointed out, however, that parallels do not necessarily imply dependence and that the shared language may have arisen from quite different theological motivations. 435 Moreover, she suggested that the language of transference avoided much of the confusion associated with the language of spiritualisation. Thus, considerable attention in scholarship has focussed on ascertaining the appropriate background to Paul’s Temple language, whether fundamentally Jewish or Hellenistic. Fiorenza’s study, however, indicated a shift in focus from this question to a more audience-focused approach that sought to explore

431 See, e.g., Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 9–26; Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, 1–26; Philip N. Richardson, Temple of the Living God: The Influence of Hellenistic Philosophy on Paul’s Figurative Temple Language Applied to the Corinthians (Eugene: Pickwick, 2018), 6–25; Wardle, The Jerusalem Temple, 5–7. 432 Wardle points out how Gärtner saw three factors in the shared symbolism: “criticism of the Jerusalem temple and its sacrifices, a belief that the last days had come, and a belief that God had come to dwell within their respective communities.” The Jerusalem Temple, 5. 433 R.J. McKelvey, The New Temple: The Church in the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969). 434 Georg Klinzing, Die Umdeutung des Kultus in der Qumrangemeinde und im Neuen Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971). 435 Elisabeth S. Fiorenza, “Cultic Language in Qumran and in the NT,” CBQ 38 (1976): 159–77. She writes that what is important in this context is: “the concrete situation and theological motives that in each community led to the transference of cultic language.” “Cultic Language,” 61.

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how Paul engaged with the religious and cultural milieu of first-century Corinth. 436 In this regard, John Lanci’s study (1997) was significant because its main focus was on how Paul’s auditors would have interpreted his Temple language. 437 Furthermore, Lanci focused particularly on Paul’s “building” language in 1 Cor 3 and suggested that this be interpreted against the background of Graeco-Roman temple building.438 More recently, Albert Hogeterp (2006) has sought to address the fundamental question, “What does Paul’s cultic imagery signify in view of Paul’s gospel mission to the Diaspora?”439 Hogeterp drew attention to the fact that Paul’s audience included both Jews and Greeks and that both these contexts must be born in mind when seeking to understand Paul’s cultic terminology.440 His basic thesis was that Paul’s Temple imagery “serves a paideutic purpose of teaching the Corinthians a holy way of life” and that “Paul’s concern for proper community building on the basis of his gospel mission constitutes the exigence of 1 Corinthians.”441 Coming from a more metaphorical and cognitive-linguistic approach, Nijay Gupta sought to explore Paul’s rhetorical strategy of using metaphor to reshape the identity of his converts.442 Although he was more focussed on Paul as author than on his audience, he also recognised the predominance of cultic metaphors occurring in the Corinthian correspondence and suggested that, “there were contextual or rhetorical reasons for the extensive employment of cultic metaphors in the Corinthian epistle.”443 Around the same time, Timothy Wardle (2010) also explored how the community as “Temple” functioned to shape the identity of the earliest Christ-following communities. 444 His provocative thesis was that “the decision to proclaim the Christian community as a temple was a bold and calculated move that held particular cultural currency in the first century C.E. It was a culturally recognizable way to register dissent.” 445 While this may have been true in relation to the church in Jerusalem, it is more difficult to assert that Paul’s des-

Lanci’s work is also indicative of a trend towards a careful city-by-city approach in Pauline scholarship that avoids the homogenizing tendency of seeing him simply within a broad Jewish or Graeco-Roman context. 437 Lanci, A New Temple for Corinth. 438 Here Lanci built on the work of Jay Shanor, “Paul as Master Builder: Construction Terms in First Corinthians,” NTS 34 (1988): 461–71. 439 Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, 22. 440 Hogeterp, 273. Hogeterp cites here particularly 1 Cor 1:22–24. 441 Hogeterp, 384; 303 (emphasis original). 442 Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 205–9. 443 Gupta, 84. 444 Wardle, The Jerusalem Temple. 445 Wardle, 3. 436

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ignation of the Corinthian community as “God’s temple” would have been recognised as dissent in the same way at such a geographic and cultural distance.446 Wardle himself recognises that Paul’s transference of Temple language “does not seem to be based upon any denigration of the Jerusalem temple or its priests.”447 What Wardle’s thesis particularly highlights, however, is the political dimensions inherent in the transference of Temple language to the community. In particular, he highlights that critiques of the Jerusalem Temple in the first century were not so much directed at the Temple itself as they were at the high priestly establishment who were routinely criticised for “sexual immorality, halakhic impurity, corruption, and greed.”448 Such criticism, however, was dangerous because, “So much power was concentrated in the temple (and in the hands of the priests that controlled it) that any reaction or opposition to the ruling high priest flung the dissenters away from the center.”449 What Wardle fails to do, however, is to ask how these political dimensions might play out in Paul’s characterisation of the community in Corinth as “God’s temple” and in its leadership.450 A more recent and detailed study that explicitly explores the political dimensions of Paul’s Temple language is that of Brad Bitner (2015). This work explores 1 Cor 1:1–4:6 through the lens of three interlocking elements, “the broad first-century category of politeia, an understanding of 1 Corinthians as political discourse, and the notion of alternative civic ideology.”451 His final and most detailed chapter explores Paul’s Temple metaphor, drawing attention to elements of both Jewish and Hellenistic discourse (the planting/building metaphor and the language of civic monumental construction).452

See, e.g., Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 23–24. The Jerusalem Temple, 211. A similar perspective is evident in Davies’ earlier work: “But this eschatological temple is not expressly opposed to the Jerusalem Temple of which it is the ‘fulfilment.’” The Gospel and the Land, 193. 448 Wardle, The Jerusalem Temple, 177. 449 Wardle, 47. 450 He does interestingly draw attention to Paul’s emphasis on sexual purity together with temple language in 1 Cor 6:12–20. Wardle writes: “That this transference of temple ideology to the Christian community should occur in the context of purity and sexual ethics is particularly intriguing, since sexual misconduct was a leading factor in the dissatisfaction directed toward the temple and priesthood in the Second Temple period.” The Jerusalem Temple, 219. 451 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 33. 452 Bitner, 199. Bitner argues that this is, “signaled most clearly by Paul’s choice of the title architect (3:10), the flow of the language and emphases of ministry as labor, carried out in conformity to stipulations, resulting in payment or penalty and, ultimately, approval in the adprobatio from the one who commissioned and funded the building.” Paul’s Political Strategy, 258. 446 447

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It is evident throughout Bitner’s work that he is seeking to hold together four elements: Paul’s Jewish context, his Hellenistic context, his own unique contribution, and the political dimension. 453 Bitner recognises that this text has featured prominently in discussions about ecclesiology and apostolic authority and devotes one section to exploring the question, “How, precisely, does Paul arrange the lines of authority and participation in the ministry of the assembly?”454 I will especially draw on some of his observations from this section. Although specific attention is not paid to the political dimension, I also briefly note the recent work of Kar-Yong Lim (2017) and Eyal Regev (2019).455 Lim studies Paul’s metaphors, including “You are God’s Temple” (1 Cor 3:16), from the perspective of social identity theory and examines especially the cognitive, emotional, and evaluative dimensions of these metaphors. 456 Here he highlights Paul’s emphasis on the unity of the community at the cognitive level, the danger of desecrating the Temple at the emotive level, and the emphasis on the purity of the Temple at the evaluative level.457 Regev’s study focuses on early Christian attitudes towards the Temple generally and on Paul’s attitude particularly, viewing the Temple as both a concrete institution and a significant symbol of “commitment and proximity to God.”458 Here Regev finds that “Paul’s metaphor is mainly a rhetorical tool for arguing for general sanctity within the community.”459 He generally regards Paul’s use of cultic metaphors as “restricted and thin” 460 and argues that Paul As an example of how he holds the Jewish and Hellenistic discourse together, we may consider the question of whether the evaluation of the builder’s work (1 Cor 3:15) should be considered primarily within the former or latter frame. Bitner writes: “work of poor and unacceptable quality will bring a penalty (ζημιωθήσεται). In each of these conditionals, the language of Jewish apocalyptic and the motif of covenant blessing and cursing are expressed in the conceptual and terminological framework of the building contracts.” Paul’s Political Strategy, 254. 454 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 198; 211. 455 Lim, Metaphors and Social Identity Formation; Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity. 456 For an exposition of this methodology, see Lim, Metaphors and Social Identity Formation, 3–50. 457 Lim, Metaphors and Social Identity Formation, 136–58. Lim concludes: “For Paul, what identifies the Christ-community and what will identify it to the outside world is the fact that this community is a unified community, a holy community, a distinct community being set apart from the surrounding society – one that is transformed by the gospel of Christ.” Metaphors and Social Identity Formation, 158. 458 Regev comments: “This book examines the Temple in early Christianity from two perspectives: the attitude toward the Temple as an institution where pilgrims visit, meet one another, and offer sacrifices; and the Temple as a symbol of commitment and proximity to God.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 1. 459 Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity, 58. 460 Regev means this in the sense that: “He characterizes them as holy and sinless without going into details which the images could provide in the cases of the Temple (pillars, walls, 453

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never proposes an alternative cultic system, but rather appropriates the Temple system metaphorically to serve his rhetorical purposes for his gentile audience.461 He concludes that, while Paul himself did not intend a replacement of the Jerusalem Temple and its cult: 462 In the end, for Paul’s readers, the community and Christ may indeed fulfil the role of the Jerusalem Temple and all it represents. 463

More recently, Michael K. Suh (2020) has carefully studied Paul’s Temple discourse in light of Exodus traditions and Temple discourses in the Graeco-Roman world more broadly. 464 He notes how Paul shares the broad cultural understanding of “sacred space” being simultaneously a place of “power” and of “peril.” In particular, he notes how Paul’s Temple discourse informs significant portions of 1 Corinthians and, highlighting many related themes in these sections, concludes: Just as Exodus is the narration of Israelite experiences of power and danger within proximity to a sacred space known as the tabernacle, so also 1 Corinthians 5:1–13, 10:1–22, and 11:17– 34 stand as important moments of encounters with power and peril within proximity to God's temple.465

He also draws attention to Paul’s particular Christological interpretation of the Exodus events, the “vulnerability” of the community to corruption from external forces, and the importance of meals in this context of sacred space. I will engage all of these perspectives further as we explore Paul’s usage below. I first briefly address the question of the primary source domain that Paul draws upon in his transference of Temple language to the community.

priests, worshipers) and sacrifice (slaughter, flesh, blood, smell, meal). He does not utilize their explanatory potential.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 86. 461 Regev writes, e.g., “Paul never links one metaphor to another and never hints to his readers that he has an image of an alternative and complete cultic system in mind . . . The Pauline cultic images are too multiple, diverse, and duplicated and do not cohere in a holistic, integral whole. Paul does not introduce a systematic web of Temple-priest-sacrifice.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 85. 462 Regev suggests here that “there is no reason to doubt the portrayal of Paul as a lawobservant Jew who worshiped at the Temple.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 93. 463 Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity, 89. 464 Suh comments here: “Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 3:16 evoke a common motif in both the ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern worlds: temples housed the presence of the gods in the midst of humankind, and they functioned as the primary places or spaces where one encountered the gods.” Power and Peril, 195. 465 Suh, Power and Peril, 44.

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II. The source domain for Paul’s Temple metaphor Virtually all scholars recognise that the Jerusalem Temple and all that it signified is an important background context against which to interpret Paul’s metaphorical temple language. 466 The question that scholars like Lanci have raised, however, is the degree to which a predominately gentile audience like those in the congregation of Corinth would have picked up on his references and whether his focus was more on engagement with his audience and their experience of Graeco-Roman temples. This is of course relevant because Paul demonstrates his awareness here, not mentioned in other letters, of the possibility that some may be eating food sacrificed to idols in and around the various temples of first-century Corinth (1 Cor 8:10). Richardson suggests that, “This fact, at the very least, suggests that Paul’s metaphorical temple language would have pointedly contrasted with the reality of Corinth with its many temples.”467 Bitner also thinks it unlikely that the Corinthian congregation would have picked up on all the OT resonances, but suggests that this is precisely why Paul couches his discourse in the commonplace language of civic works construction.468 Not knowing to what degree the Corinthians understood the OT background to Paul’s Temple language, however, does not prevent us from recognising the significant background Paul is indeed drawing on. 469 In his careful study of Paul’s cultic metaphors, Gupta concludes: “the probability that Paul had the Jewish temple in mind can be confirmed by the clustering of allusions and echoes to the OT in 1.18–3.23 as a whole and the scriptural influence on 3.16–17 in particular.”470 Along with the majority of commentators, Gupta also agrees with the basic application of “Colwell’s rule” to the grammar of 3:16 so that,

466 Thus even Richardson, whose main purpose is to explore how Paul’s metaphorical Temple language would have resonated in a primarily Hellenistic context writes: “For Paul, a former Pharisee (Phil 3:5; cf. Acts 23:6; 26:5), the image of the temple had primary reference to the temple in Jerusalem.” Temple of the Living God, 2. 467 Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 3. 468 Bitner writes: “such a Jewish theo-political metaphor may have been largely incomprehensible to many in the assembly. Paul appears to have sensed this and therefore begins in 3:9 to adapt and expand his metaphor.” Paul’s Political Strategy, 249. 469 Some suggest that Paul’s repeated rhetorical questions: “Do you not know (οὐκ οἴδατε)” (3:16; 5:6; 6:2 etc.) suggest that he has taught on these subjects before, while others suggest that Paul merely uses this rhetorical device to express dismay. That he expected the Corinthians to understand some aspects of the Old Testament story and indeed that he inscribes them into that story is evident from 1 Cor 10:1–13. 470 Gupta, Worship That Makes Sense to Paul, 66. On Paul’s use of Scripture in these early chapters of 1 Corinthians see Williams, The Wisdom of the Wise.

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“Paul is emphatically stating that ‘you are the temple of God’ with a distinct transference of language from the Jerusalem temple to the community.”471 The Jerusalem Temple is even more clearly in view when we come to 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 where, as W.D. Davies puts it, “Paul applies to the new community passages from the Old Testament applied to the tabernacle and to the future temple in the land.”472. While there are several difficulties associated with this text,473 most commentators nevertheless regard it as genuinely Pauline (with the qualification that he may have drawn on other sources and that its original place in the correspondence may have been different).474 Recognising the differences between Paul’s Temple metaphor in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 and 2 Cor 6:14– 7:1, John R. Levison writes: The dramatic shift in Paul's application of the temple metaphor suggests that, from his perspective at least, the Corinthians have grasped the point that the temple is universal, but they appear to have done so with no true eye for holiness, for the chasm that separates light from darkness, Christ from Beliar, the temple from idols.475

It is some of these differences, together with the “thick” usage of the Temple metaphor, that leads Regev to conclude that 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 is probably not Pauline.476 Although I agree with Regev that Paul never sought to articulate an alternative cultic system, I believe that Paul’s Temple metaphor is “thicker” than he allows and that Paul draws a closer connection between the ἐκκλησία and the eschatological Temple than he allows. Here I suggest that the narrative of Israel’s restoration in 1 Cor 1–4 is especially significant.477 There still remains the question, however, of what earlier sources Paul might be drawing on in this characterisation. Some, like Gärtner and Klinzing, drew attention to the many parallels between Paul’s metaphorical language and that 471 Gupta, 66. So also, with further references, Fee, Corinthians, 159; Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 159. 472 Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 186. 473 These include the fact that this section appears to break the tone and argument of the letter, to use non-Pauline vocabulary and style, to advocate a non-Pauline theology in which God’s grace follows humanly initiated sanctification (2 Cor 6:17–18), and to contradict Paul’s usual stance towards unbelievers (2 Cor 6:17 cf. 1 Cor 5:9–10). See the discussions in Margaret Thrall, 2 Corinthians 1–7 (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 30–36; Ralph P. Martin, 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2014), 354–60. 474 So, e.g., Martin who concludes: “Yet we also cannot agree with those who see the verses as non-Pauline . . . It seems more probable that Paul borrowed a writing of Essene origin, placed the finishing touches on it, and added it to this letter because of his specific intention.” Martin, 2 Corinthians, 359–60. So also Thrall, 2 Corinthians 1–7, 36; Mark A. Seifrid, The Second Letter to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 287; Paul Barnett, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 337–41. 475 John R. Levison, Filled with the Spirit (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 304–5. 476 Regev writes: “its non-Pauline origin/character is also attested to by the unusual use of Temple imagery in comparison to 1 Cor 3 and 6.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 59. 477 See the exposition of Paul’s perspective on the Land above.

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of Qumran (especially the Rule of the Community). Klinzing even suggested dependence, affirming that: “Wenn die christliche Gemeinde von sich selbst als dem Tempel spricht, kann kein Zweifel darüber bestehen, daß diese Vorstellung aus der Qumrangemeinde stammt.”478 Walker, however, highlights two key differences between the Pauline and Qumran communities that are especially evident in 2 Cor 6:14–7:1. Firstly, he notes that the Qumran community saw themselves as the true remnant within the people of God, while Paul applies quotations associated with the people of God to those born outside the boundaries of ethnic Israel (Lev 26:12; Jer 32:38; Ezek 37:27). Secondly, while the community at Qumran regarded itself as a holy Temple because its worship and lifestyle were pure, Paul regards the Corinthian community as God’s Temple because of the presence of God’s Spirit.479 III. The Temple in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 I come now to explore 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 in its socio-historical context. There is something of an emerging consensus among commentators that Paul is addressing in this letter a variety of issues that all stem from the continuing influence of the broader Graeco-Roman culture within the Corinthian congregation.480 Roy Ciampa and Brian Rosner cite a number of scholars who agree with the basic judgement that most of the problems Paul addresses, “can be traced to their uncritical acceptance of the attitudes, values, and behaviors of the society in which they lived.”481 Most commentators also agree that the rhetorical unit of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, in which Paul first uses Temple language, falls within the broader literary co-text of 1 Cor 1:10–4:21 that addresses the factionalism within the community. From 1 Cor 5 onwards then, Paul begins to address specific issues that have come to his attention. Although one cannot too neatly determine the bounds of the text, I will follow the identification of 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 as a rhetorical unit and accept Klinzing, Die Umdeutung des Kultus, 210. Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 121. See also the discussion in Suh, Power and Peril, 171–90. Many commentators point out that for Paul the constituting element of the community as “Temple” is the presence of the Spirit. This goes back at least to Johannes Weiss, who saw the καί in 1 Cor 3:16 as explicative: “οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ναὸς θεοῦ ἐστε καὶ τὸ πνεῦμα τοῦ θεοῦ οἰκεῖ ἐν ὑμῖν.” Weiss argues that Paul is affirming the community as Temple on the basis of the Spirit’s presence. Der Erste Korintherbrief (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910), 84–5. For further development of this theme, see Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1994), 112–8. 480 See again the discussion of 1 Cor 1–4 in the section on the Land above. 481 Ciampa and Rosner, The First Letter to the Corinthians, 4. They cite B. Winter, R. Hays, W. Schrage, A. Thistleton, R.B. Terry, D. Garland and L. Vander Broek. 478 479

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the basic breakdown of David W. Kuck and Brad Bitner into five subunits as below (with Bitner’s summary):482 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

3:5–9 Paul raises the related issues of a misguided evaluation of ministry (it is service and work, not rule or leadership) and misplaced praise of ministers (acclaim is properly directed to the beneficent giver of growth, not to his staff or contracted workers). 3:10–15 The primary contribution of this sub-unit to the larger passage is its focus on the proper content, manner, and evaluation of ministry. 3:16–17 This central sub-unit asserts a political-ethical frame for ministry in the assembly that is properly eschatological, again with an emphasis, by means of building language, on divine judgment in the verdictive of 3:17. 3:18–23 Paul applies the prospect of future judgment to the present moment of those socially prominent critics of his ministry in a series of three imperatives. 4:1–5 In this second rhetorical climax, Paul moves from a poetic to a propositional mode to conclude his argument in the overall unit . . . That aim–a proper evaluation of ministry and a proper view of the assignment of praise–mirrors the themes and returns to the ministerial metaphors introduced in 3:5–9.483

Bitner makes a strong case that behind Paul’s planting and building metaphors (1 Cor 3:6–11) lies his self-understanding as one sharing a similar covenantal commission to Jeremiah. He argues that the echo of Jer 1:10484 is “undeniable” in 2 Cor 10:8 and 2 Cor 13:10 and has strong resonances here as well. 485 Furthermore, he argues that in Jeremiah, “planting-building becomes oriented to the future and is linked to Yahweh’s direct agency and the presence of the Spirit in the eschatological garden-temple-assembly of Israel.”486 By drawing on these texts that envision Israel’s restoration, I suggested earlier that Paul saw these ancient prophecies being fulfilled in his “planting” and “building” of this community. While Paul would not have thought of these prophecies as “fulfilled” without remainder,487 there is nevertheless a strong present emphasis here. The community already enjoys significant aspects (not least the Spirit) of the future reality now – “You are God’s temple (ναὸς θεοῦ ἐστε)” (1 Cor 3:16).488 That the eschatological garden-temple-assembly is for Paul a microcosm of the future reality of “what God has prepared for those who

482 See David W. Kuck, Judgment and Community Conflict: Paul’s Use of Apocalyptic Judgment Language in 1 Corinthians 3:5–4:5 (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 151–6; Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 205. 483 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 253–7 (emphasis original). 484 "See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant” (Jer 1:10). 485 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 243–4. 486 Bitner, 247. 487 As I noted in relation to the Land, there remains for Paul an undeniable future aspect of the “inheritance” when the creation itself will be renewed (Rom 8:17–25). 488 Note the present tenses: “οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ναὸς θεοῦ ἐστε καὶ τὸ πνεῦμα τοῦ θεοῦ οἰκεῖ ἐν ὑμῖν;” (1 Cor 3:16).

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love him” (1 Cor 2:9), is confirmed by his soaring rhetorical climax: “For all things are yours (πάντα γὰρ ὑμῶν ἐστιν)” (1 Cor 3:21–22). In applying the Temple metaphor, therefore, Paul seems to be doing more than merely calling the community to unity or purity. Here I would suggest that Regev’s metaphorical approach is too limited in scope (focusing only on the verse where the metaphor itself is explicated) and does not fully appreciate the way in which symbols like the Temple were linked to related symbols like the Land and the way these were embedded in Israel’s narrative. 489 Although Fee is non-committal in relation to whether Paul is describing the community as the eschatological Temple here (as the presence of the Spirit may suggest), he does highlight the many commentators who take this view. 490 Moreover, most commentators agree that Paul’s primary purpose in transferring Temple terminology to the community is a combination of an emphasis on unity and purity, all in the context of the appropriate building up of the community. Fee suggests further that, in a city fully of temples, 491 Paul may predominantly be wanting to stress that, “since there is only one God, that one God can have only one temple in Corinth, and they themselves, as a gathered community of believers, are that temple.”492 My particular focus, however, is the political dimension of Paul’s Temple metaphor. IV. The Temple and authority in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 Since the seminal work of Nils Dahl (1967),493 many commentators have seen a significant apologetic for Paul’s own authority in this section. 494 In this tradition, Elizabeth Castelli (1991) drew attention to Paul’s claims to authority, 489 Note also Jorunn Økland’s similar critique of Lanci’s limited metaphorical approach: “When understanding the temple metaphor as ‘mere metaphor’ or imagery apt to ‘hook’ the Corinthian listeners (p. 186), and refuting the possibility that the temple metaphor touches the ontological level too (p. 212), I think an important possibility within the text escapes our view: that perhaps for Paul there is a deeper connection between a temple and the ekklesia.” Women in Their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 156. 490 Fee, Corinthians, 159. 491 For further references on the religious life of first-century Corinth, see Lim, Metaphors and Social Identity Formation, 137–8. 492 Fee, Corinthians, 159 (emphasis original). 493 Nils Dahl, “Paul and the Church at Corinth According to 1 Corinthians 1:10–4:21,” in Christian History and Interpretation: Studies Presented to John Knox (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967). 494 Fee, e.g, stresses this element: “Apart from the personal application to himself and Apollos in the middle (3:5–23) the rest of the response has a decidedly apologetic ring to it, in which Paul is defending not only his own past ministry among them (1:16–17; 2:1–3:4), but also his present relationship to them, since he is being ‘judged’ by them (4:1–21).” Corinthians, 49.

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especially in his call for imitation in 1 Cor 4:16.495 Similarly, Charles Wanamaker (2003) focused on the figure of the paterfamilias (1 Cor 4:15) to examine “the ways in which Paul’s rhetoric in 1 Cor 1.10–4.21 functions ideologically to reassert his power in the Corinthian Christian community.”496 Others like Anthony Thiselton emphasise that Paul’s main aim in this section is to heal the divisions through “a reappraisal of the role and nature of ministers and apostles.”497 While recognising an apologetic aspect of Paul’s purpose, I will particularly highlight the ways in which Paul rationalises his authority as well as the authority he invests in the community as a whole through his rhetoric. What has also been a feature of these discussions is the role that Apollos played in the divisions and whether or not Paul was defending himself here against this more skilled orator. Here Corin Mihaila highlights three main options to consider, namely, that Paul and Apollos were rivals, that Apollos played an unintentional role in the dissensions, or that Apollos was neutral. 498 Given that Apollos is mentioned favourably again in the greetings (16:12), the first option is generally discredited. Mihaila also thinks it unlikely that, having critiqued the rhetorical eloquence characteristic of sophistic teachers (2:1–5), Paul would not have also openly critiqued Apollos, had this been his style. 499 He therefore concludes that Apollos himself was probably more neutral in the divisions and agrees with David Kuck that: Paul singles out Apollos as a case in point, an example of how two of the teachers whom the Corinthians are using as mascots to promote themselves and berate others do in fact not behave that way to each other.500

I will mainly engage, however, with Bitner’s observations in relation to how Paul constructs authority in this unit. Bitner notices firstly that, by drawing on construction language, Paul, “renders the minister directly accountable to the Castelli, Imitating Paul, 98–111. For engagement with Castelli, see Thiselton, Corinthians, 371–73. 496 Charles A. Wanamaker, “A Rhetoric of Power: Ideology and 1 Corinthians 1–4,” in Paul and the Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict. Essays in Honour of Margaret Thrall (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 116. Andrew Clarke, however, warns of the danger of an exclusive focus on Paul’s power: “The contemporary scholarly focus has often been exclusively on aspects of Paul’s exercising of power as if his power were unilateral, without recognizing that power is normally exercised in a more complex exchange.” A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 130. 497 Thiselton, Corinthians, 108. 498 Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 180–212. 499 Mihaila writes: “If the cross requires the style of one’s presentation to be in weakness, devoid of rhetorical eloquence, as Paul’s, it is impossible to see how the cross would allow for a style that is powerful, conforming to contemporary standards of an accomplished orator, allegedly as Apollos.’” The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 188. 500 Kuck, Judgment and Community Conflict, 161. 495

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one commissioning the building project and to the stipulations laid down to guide the work.”501 He notices further that the predominance of ministerial rather than magisterial language would have unseated certain deeply held theological and social assumptions inherent in the Graeco-Roman topos of construction. He suggests that the ministerial titles “servant (διάκονος),” “fellowworker (συνεργός),” “steward (οἰκονόμος),” which draw on the experience of embodied work, would have created quite an unflattering social profile and would have challenged certain status-conscious members in the congregation.502 He also highlights the fact that the phrase “ὁ αὐξάνων θεός” that Paul uses, “bears many of the hallmarks of an acclamatory formula granting public honor to a patron who has beautified his city with monumental building” and that Paul is therefore emphasising to the congregation that “the one who gives the growth gets the glory.”503 Bitner also suggests that Paul is asserting his own authority in quite a forceful way here when he applies to himself the title of “wise architect” (3:10). By drawing on the Graeco-Roman background of construction, he suggests (contra Mihaila) that hereby Paul, “was in fact distinguishing quite strongly his own authority from that of Apollos and others ministering in the community.” He also argues that in all probability Paul was addressing his admonition toward careful building to a specific person or persons in the community, most likely “certain well-positioned ‘partisans’ of Apollos.”504 After surveying several options (Erastus, Titius Justus), he even tentatively suggests that Crispus (1:14), who is not mentioned again in the greetings at the end of the letter and whose introduction in the beginning raises suspicion. 505 While Bitner addresses many questions in relation to how Paul configures authority here, some questions remain. The most significant to my mind relate to how Paul constructs the authority of the congregation itself in relation to Paul and to any other ministers of the congregation. Bitner does insist that, “Paul’s political theology has its epicenter in the ecclesial assembly” 506 and he does draw attention to the proper evaluation of ministry in 1 Cor 3:10–17, but he does not make clear who Paul is suggesting is to carry out the evaluation. If

Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 260. Bitner, 261. 503 Bitner, 283. Bitner comments further: “If, in deconstructing a colonial mode of evaluation and honor, Paul wanted to reconstruct an ecclesial vision of existence centered ultimately not on unity or even purity but on the glory of the gracious divine benefactor and his crucified son, then he displayed his fine craft in 3:5–9, and especially in 3:7.” Paul’s Political Strategy, 284. 504 Bitner, 263–4. 505 Bitner, 267–70. 506 Bitner, 261. 501 502

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anything, Bitner argues that Paul is mainly driving here at his own authority to define approvable ministry. 507 Bitner writes that, although Paul would affirm that any ministers in the community are primarily accountable to God, “Paul also presses on other ministers a secondary accountability to himself.” This is emphasised further because, “he possesses, as the σοφός architect, the revealed wisdom that comes from the divine Spirit (2:6–16; cf. 5:3–5; 7:40b; 14:37–8) and therefore “others ministering at Corinth are therefore subject to double evaluation – Pauline and divine.”508 While it is undoubtable that Paul claimed considerable authority for himself, Bitner seems to downplay Paul’s emphasis on the congregation’s own authority and the fact that Paul may have been laying down the building stipulations (3:10–15) precisely for them to evaluate who is truly building on the “foundation” of Christ.509 Bitner seems to overemphasise the fact that Paul’s rhetoric is aimed at one particular individual or group and therefore downplays the various indefinite pronouns Paul uses, e.g. “Now if anyone builds (εἰ δέ τις ἐποικοδομεῖ)” (3:12 cf. 3:13, 14, 15).510 This should be questioned for several reasons. Firstly, it is clear later that Paul places considerable emphasis on everyone having a place and role in building up the community (cf. 1 Cor 12–14 with its communal emphasis on building the “body” and where “building” terminology especially recurs).511 Secondly, Bitner emphasises that Paul’s possession of the Spirit gives him the wisdom to properly evaluate the ministry of others, but Paul has just affirmed that the Corinthians themselves have received the Spirit of wisdom and revelation that enables them to “judge all things (ἀνακρίνει πάντα)” (2:15a) and

Bitner writes: “The stress on unity in ministry under authority in those verses modulates from 3:10 into an emphasis on Paul’s authority to define approvable ministry.” Paul’s Political Strategy, 264 (emphasis original). 508 Bitner, 272. 509 While Paul explicitly exhorts the congregation not to prematurely judge those who are truly building on the foundation (1 Cor 4:5), the same cannot be said for those who seek to lay a different foundation. See discussion below further. 510 Kuck also comments in this regard: “It would seem that Paul in 3.10–15 is intentionally vague and expects his readers to apply what he says to all their teachers and in an extended sense to themselves as participants in God’s work of building.” Kuck, Judgment and Community Conflict, 172. 511 Observing these links, Økland comments: “Paul's use of building imagery, such as verbs and nouns derived from οἰκοδομ-, contributes to a spatial understanding of the naos. It is significant that building imagery is particularly intense in 1. Cor. 3.9–14 where the naosterm occurs for the first time, as well as in ch. 14 which is part of the section dealing with the ritual gatherings.” Women in Their Place, 155. 507

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also ensures that they are not “under anyone’s judgement (ὑπ’ οὐδενὸς ἀνακρίνεται)” (2:15b).512 Bitner also does not seem to place appropriate weight on Paul’s rhetorical climax in 1 Cor 3:21–23 in which he explicitly includes himself and other prominent leaders as belonging to the community as a whole: So let no one boast about human leaders. For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future – all belong to you (ὥστε μηδεὶς καυχάσθω ἐν ἀνθρώποις πάντα γὰρ ὑμῶν ἐστιν, εἴτε Παῦλος εἴτε Ἀπολλῶς εἴτε Κηφᾶς εἴτε κόσμος εἴτε ζωὴ εἴτε θάνατος εἴτε ἐνεστῶτα εἴτε μέλλοντα, πάντα ὑμῶν) (1 Cor 3:21–23).

As Thiselton points out, this statement looks back to the exclusivist slogans of 1 Cor 1:10–12, “which are now purged of their exclusivism and political overtones.”513 About this “inverted pyramid,” Ben Witherington comments: The leaders belong to the body of Christ, the body belongs to Christ, and Christ belongs to God. Christ is functionally subordinate to God, just as the leaders serve the followers and are functionally subordinate to them, though they are also ontologically equal with them. 514

I will suggest in a moment how this perspective might be reconciled with, for example, Paul’s later exhortation that the community submit to Stephanas’ leadership (16:16). Although Bitner stresses that Paul as the “wise architect (σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων)” sees himself as accountable only to God himself (cf. 4:3–5), we should be careful of suggesting that he would not also be willing to subject himself to the same evaluation that he lays down for others (3:10–15), namely conformity to the message of the crucified Christ.515 Indeed, Paul goes on to weigh up his own life in conformity to the message through his “catalogue of afflictions” (4:9–13), “cruciform lifestyle” (4:14–17) and “costly discipleship”

512 See Richardson for further elaboration that Paul here includes the whole Corinthian congregation (and not merely some elites) as those who have received the Spirit. Temple of the Living God, 161. 513 Thiselton, Corinthians, 325. 514 Ben Witherington, Conflict & Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 135. This hierarchy is clearly recognised in Cynthia B. Kittredge, “Corinthian Women Prophets and Paul’s Argumentation in 1 Corinthians,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, ed. Richard A. Horsley (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 107. 515 It is noteworthy that Paul says it is a “small thing (ἐλάχιστόν)” rather than “nothing” for him to be judged by the Corinthian community (1 Cor 4:3). He is not particularly concerned that he is being judged by them in this case as he believes the criteria of their judgement is not primarily the gospel of Christ crucified, but he leaves the possibility of being judged by the community in some ways open.

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(4:18–21), which he appeals to everyone to imitate (4:16). 516 I suggest that this is a very important way in which Paul rationalises his authority to the community. He only has authority to the degree that he can demonstrate a Christ-like life of costly service. 517 I suggest Paul would hold the same perspective for others who minister in the community. Observe the context in which he calls the community to submit to Stephanas’ leadership: You know that the household of Stephanas were the first converts in Achaia, and they have devoted themselves to the service of the Lord’s people (εἰς διακονίαν τοῖς ἁγίοις). I urge you, brothers and sisters, to submit to such people and to everyone who joins in the work and labours at it (καὶ παντὶ τῷ συνεργοῦντι καὶ κοπιῶντι) (1 Cor 16:15–16 NIV).

Paul can appeal to the community’s own knowledge of Stephanas’ “service (διακονία)” (cf. 3:5), “mutual work (συνεργέω)” (cf. 3:9) and “labour (κοπιάω)” (cf. 3:8; 4:12). Furthermore, Paul seems to be laying down the grounds for submission in generalising from the particular case of Stephanas “to such people and to everyone (τοῖς τοιούτοις καὶ παντὶ) who joins in the work” (16:16). Paul thus echoes the discourse of 1 Cor 1–4 here and emphasises that authority in the community of Christ comes from service and that such authority is by no means limited to himself but to all who labour after the pattern of Christ. 518 Another factor that Bitner emphasises in this unit is Paul’s proleptic judgement that anticipates the judgement of the last day in the present.519 But perhaps he fails to emphasise that Paul also calls the Spirit-filled community to which he belongs to exercise proleptic judgement. This is precisely what Paul continues to urge the community to do in the rest of the letter, sometimes with the explicit call to “judge for yourselves (ἐν ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς κρίνατε)” (11:13 cf. 5:12; 6:1–8). It is furthermore noteworthy in these instances that he does not appeal to the leaders among them to exercise judgement, but implicitly calls the whole 516 So also Schütz: “Paul specifically subjects the figure of the apostle to the norm of the gospel.” Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 284. See further Thiselton, Corinthians, 373. 517 For an exposition of the purpose of Paul’s accounts of his suffering, see Kar Yong Lim, The Sufferings of Christ Are Abundant in Us: A Narrative Dynamics Investigation of Paul’s Sufferings in 2 Corinthians (London: T&T Clark, 2009). Here Lim concludes that: “his suffering in this letter is not simply his personal defence of his call to apostleship but his specific exposition of the nature of his apostleship and ministerial lifestyle this is transformed by and embedded in the story of Jesus.” The Sufferings of Christ Are Abundant in Us, 198 (emphasis original). I would go further and say that it is an appeal to authority based on the inverted authority structure that the story of Jesus evokes (cf. Mark 10:35–45). 518 See also a similar pattern in 1 Thess 5:12–13, “But we appeal to you, brothers and sisters, to respect those who labor among you, and have charge of you in the Lord and admonish you; esteem them very highly in love because of their work (διὰ τὸ ἔργον αὐτῶν).” 519 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 272.

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community to do so. In relation to this judgement, the theme of “wisdom” surfaces again (6:5) and it would seem that “the gospel” as exemplified in the character of Christ is implicitly the standard of judgement (6:7). In this particular passage, regarding disputes among believers, this is evident in Paul’s rhetorical question: “Why not rather be wronged (διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἀδικεῖσθε)?”520 It is also noteworthy here that Paul implicitly calls the community to appoint wise leaders to exercise judgement (6:5). Finally, one of Bitner’s own unique observations seems to tell against too strong an emphasis on Paul asserting his authority over against that of other ministers or the congregation. As an excursus Bitner highlights how the phrase Paul appeals to in 1 Cor 4:6, “Nothing beyond what is written,” has plagued commentators because it cannot be found in any extant literature. He suggests, in line with his whole project, that Paul is appealing “not to the scriptures, nor to a timeless maxim or elite proverb, but to the banter of the work site.”521 He points to evidence that contractual stipulations, including exact dimensions, specific quantities, and precise penalties were either inscribed or publicly posted at the work site because these, “played a part in the legal network of accountability that allowed for public ‘transparency’ during inspection and payment.”522 Is Paul here not publicly highlighting the stipulations of “the gospel,” for the sake of transparency, by which everyone’s actions, including his own, might be judged? It is important to note here that Paul also emphasises the public nature of this message and his own dependence on a prior gospel tradition, “For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received (ὃ καὶ παρέλαβον)” (15:3), and that elsewhere he expressly denies his authority to define a different gospel. 523 If Paul was willing to challenge Peter for not acting consistently with the gospel (Gal 2:1–10), would he not allow others to do the same for him? 524

520 Fee comments on this question: “This is another sure instance of the influence of the teaching of Jesus on Paul (cf. 4:16–17).” Corinthians, 265. I would say Paul has Jesus’ example more than teaching in view. So also Thiselton: “Is Paul’s expectation fair or reasonable? It is no more ‘fair’ and ‘reasonable’ than the divine grace which has eclipsed justice in Christ’s giving up of his person and his ‘rights’ on the cross.” Corinthians, 437. 521 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 299. 522 Bitner, 297–8. 523 Most memorably: “But even if we or an angel from heaven should proclaim to you a gospel contrary to what we proclaimed to you, let that one be accursed!” (Gal 1:8). Holmberg comments in relation to this: “According to Paul every apostle is subordinated to the Gospel and is authoritative because and insofar as he is a faithful preacher of this one and only Gospel – not because he knew the historical Jesus or has access to old and reliable traditions about Him.” Paul and Power, 28–9. 524 Thiselton agrees, commenting in relation to 1 Cor 3:21, “Paul places his own ministry under the critique and judgement of the cross.” Corinthians, 373.

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When Bitner suggests that the stress in 1 Cor 3:10–17 is on “Paul’s authority to define approvable ministry,”525 he does not further observe how Paul rationalises his authority by highlighting the criteria of approvable ministry. What I have argued here is that, even if we do emphasise a unique apostolic authority that Paul claims for himself, we ought to observe at the same time the authority of the community and indeed the authority of “the gospel” that Paul also stresses. Nevertheless, I largely agree with Bitner’s conclusion that this is “a discourse filled with status reversals that aim at disrupting colonial lines of social relations and evaluation.”526 His case for this assertion is weakened, however, by his limited focus on 3:5–4:5. In discussing Paul’s self-designated title as “skilled master builder (σοφὸς ἀρχιτέκτων)” (3:10), for example, he makes no reference to how this might connect to Paul’s wisdom discourse in the previous chapter. 527 While most commentators recognise this connection and lament the unfortunate translation “skilled” (NRSV) or “expert” (NIV 1984) instead of “wise,” not many notice the potential counter-imperial implications in relation to the community itself.528 To be sure, scholars like Wright have made much of 1 Cor 2:8 to assert political and anti-imperial aspects of Paul’s gospel,529 but this insight has not been carried through to the next chapter in relation to how he conceptualises authority within the community of God’s people. In 1 Cor 2:6–16, Paul draws an explicit contrast between the “wisdom of this age” and “God’s wisdom.” In this regard, the former is clearly aligned with the imperial wisdom that “crucified the Lord of glory” and stands fundamentally opposed to the latter (2:6–8). When Paul speaks, therefore, of his laying the foundation of the assembly as a “wise (σοφός) architect” (3:10), he is clearly evoking this discourse and there must be for him something of a counter-imperial character to the community of Christ, perhaps especially in the way authority in the community is structured. 530 V. The Temple community and judgement in 1 Cor 1–4 One factor that has plagued discussions of power and authority in 1 Cor 1–4 is a lack of clarity in discussions around the judgement Paul forbids (4:5). On the Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 264. Bitner, 210. 527 Bitner, 263–64. 528 See, e.g., Fee, Corinthians, 148–9; Thiselton, Corinthians, 307–8. The translation has been changed to “wise” in the NIV 2011 edition. 529 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1068. 530 In spite of its emphasis on describing the Pauline communities as an alternative society to the Roman Imperial order, I could not find a detailed analysis of an alternative authority structure or how Paul conceptualises authority in Richard A. Horsley, ed., Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997). 525 526

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surface it seems clear enough that Paul’s argument is moving towards 1 Cor 4:1–5 and the concluding exhortation: “Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time (ὥστε μὴ πρὸ καιροῦ τι κρίνετε), before the Lord comes” (4:5). As Fee puts it: “The only judgment that counts is the final one.”531 Yet, as I observed above, Paul continues to call the community to “judge” in the rest of the letter (5:12; 6:1–8; 11:13; 14:29). How do we reconcile these? Moreover, how do we bring this together with his discussion in 1 Cor 2:6–16 that concluded that, “The person with the Spirit makes judgments about all things (ἀνακρίνει πάντα), but such a person is not subject to merely human judgments (ὑπ’ οὐδενὸς ἀνακρίνεται)” (2:15).532 This tension often leads commentators to be imprecise or unclear. Mihaila, for example, writes, “The Corinthians have no right to judge their teachers . . . thus allegiance to human teachers based on worldly evaluation is misplaced.”533 In the same breath, therefore, he suggests that the Corinthians should not judge their teachers and implies that they should exercise judgement, but not on the basis of worldly evaluation.534 This tension is often softened by the use of different verbs like “evaluate” or “discern” 535 instead of “judge.” I suggest that this tension can substantially be clarified by interpreting Paul’s call not to judge in 4:1–5 with specific reference to his previous discussion on the eschatological judgement of the Temple community (3:10–17). In this text, it is clear that Paul is articulating the outcome of judgement on those who, although building with different quality materials, are nevertheless building on the one foundation of Jesus Christ (3:12). This is evident not only from the definite article attached to “foundation” – “If anyone builds on this foundation (ἐπὶ τὸν θεμέλιον)” (3:12), but also by the outcome for the builder whose work is burnt up but is nevertheless saved (3:15). This outcome is different to the one who destroys the Temple community (3:17). As Kuck puts it:

Fee, Corinthians, 176. So also Kuck: “One theme stands out clearly: God as judge.” Judgment and Community Conflict, 196. 532 Fee notes the parallel terminology, but mainly to demonstrate that Paul has been thinking about defending himself all along: “At the same time Paul picks up the language of “examining/ judging” from what preceded that (2:14–16) and makes explicit what one may have only suspected heretofore, namely that the Corinthians were in fact passing judgment on the apostle himself.” Corinthians, 171. 533 Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 197. 534 Fee recognizes that Paul cannot mean “they are to make no judgements” but that “the kinds of ‘judgements’ that must cease are those they are currently making about Paul and his ministry.” Corinthians, 177–78. 535 So, e.g., the NRSV translation: “Those who are spiritual discern all things” (1 Cor 2:15). 531

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Paul hastens to add a disclaimer in vv. 16–17. Although work of varying quality will be accepted by God, some kinds of work are out of bounds. One cannot work so as to destroy the holy community and expect to escape unscathed.536

The type of judgement Paul is thus arguing against is a type of comparative (and competitive) judgement that seeks to weigh up the relative contributions of those who are genuinely “servants” (3:5; 4:1) and “workers” (3:8, 9) and who are genuinely building on the foundation of Christ (3:12). Such comparison was clearly being undertaken in Corinth in order to enhance the status of a particular group so that they could “boast” in their superiority to others (4:6). Most commentators recognise this,537 but fail to emphasise that, through this discourse, Paul is nevertheless laying down the criteria by which the community might judge the work in its midst.538 While some see Paul here mainly defending his own ministry or subtly undermining Apollos, 539 Kuck, rightly in my view, emphasises that Paul is laying down criteria by which everyone working in the community might evaluate themselves and others: It would seem that Paul in 3.10–15 is intentionally vague and expects his readers to apply what he says to all their teachers and in an extended sense to themselves as participants i n God’s work of building.540

The reason that Paul’s primary emphasis here is on the Corinthian church not judging their ministers is:

David W. Kuck, “Paul and Pastoral Ambition: A Reflection on 1 Cor 3–4,” CurTM 19 (1992): 179. 537 So, e.g., Mihaila: “Paul thus warns the Corinthians against their destructive boasting in and evaluation of teachers according to secular criteria of wisdom.” The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 199. There is, after all, a clear link between Paul’s exhortation not to judge (1 Cor 4:5) and the whole purpose of his discourse, namely, “so that none of you will be puffed up in favour of one against another” (1 Cor 4:6). 538 Cornelia C. Crocker captures some of this tension when she writes that the new community in Christ “need not only to distinguish between what constitutes the reign of God and what does not, but they must also discern when to judge for themselves about such things and when to leave such judgements up to God. While the new community in Christ continues to face this perplexing dilemma, the great emphasis on examination and decision making in 1 Corinthians makes it clear that the church may not choose to abstain from discerning and judging its own affairs or those of the larger cultural-political context.” Reading 1 Corinthians in the Twenty-First Century (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 206. 539 So, e.g., Paul Barnett: “With great diplomacy, Paul manages to relegate a subsidiary role to Apollos while not dis-affirming his ministry and thereby bringing continuing division in Corinth.” “Paul, Apologist to the Corinthians,” in Paul and the Corinthians: Studies on a Community in Conflict. Essays in Honour of Margaret Thrall, NovTSup 109 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 317. 540 Kuck, Judgment and Community Conflict, 172. 536

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He is convinced that those presently ministering in Corinth (including himself), in spite of their faults of which they may not even themselves be aware (4:4), are nevertheless attested as “servants” and are building on the one foundation (3:10–15).541 He is concerned about the criteria being used for judgement, which has not been the gospel of Christ crucified, but, as Mihaila asserts, has been carried out on the basis of “worldly evaluation.” He is concerned about the purpose of the judgement, which has been to elevate some in the community above others (4:6).

Therefore, to say with Mihaila that “The Corinthians have no right to judge their teachers,”542 perhaps over-simplifies Paul’s discourse. Elisabeth Fiorenza has observed how frequently a close identification with Paul’s insistence on his own fatherly authority, “allows ecclesial and academic ‘fathers’ to claim Paul’s authority for themselves.”543 This is no doubt true, and Paul’s discourse has often been used in this way to claim immunity from judgement. It must be admitted, however, that Paul does see himself as ultimately answerable only to God (4:4b) and therefore can say: “with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court” (4:3). This is a hallmark of “charismatic authority” as Max Weber defined it. Weber writes of the extraordinary qualities that a charismatic leader claims for themselves (in Paul’s case the possession of God’s Spirit) and that “no prophet has ever regarded his quality as dependent on the attitudes of the masses toward him.”544 I turn now to reflect on the relationship between the Spirit and authority in Paul. VI. The Spirit and authority in 1 Cor 1–4 Helmut Koester (1991) began his study on authority and politics in ancient Christianity with the affirmation that: “‘Spirit’ in antiquity was seen as the uncontrollable, dynamic, and numinous presence of divine power.”545 That Paul associates the Spirit’s presence with power is also evident here when he speaks of his preaching as with “a demonstration of the Spirit and of power (πνεύματος καὶ δυνάμεως)” (2:4). Furthermore, it is evident in that, when reflecting on the 541 That he has an overall positive view of those who have been ministering in the community is attested by his conviction that on the day the Lord judges, “Then each one will receive commendation from God.” (1 Cor 4:5). This is noteworthy in that he does not suggest that some might be condemned or even suffer loss (cf. 1 Cor 3:15). 542 Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 197. 543 Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies, 135. 544 Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, 359–60. 545 Helmut H. Koester, “Writings and the Spirit: Authority and Politics in Ancient Christianity,” HTR 84 (1991): 353.

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“spirit (πνεῦμα)” in which he will come to them (4:21), he speaks of the kingdom of God depending “not on talk but on power (ἀλλ’ ἐν δυνάμει)” (4:20). What is striking, as I briefly observed earlier, is that Paul regards the community itself as possessing the same Spirit (2:10; 3:16) and consequently having access to the same power. In 2:6–16 this power is predominantly evident in a new kind of knowledge of God’s own person, purposes, and promises (2:12),546 but is also manifest in speech: “we speak (λαλοῦμεν) of these things in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit” (2:13). By “we” in 2:6–16, Paul clearly understands all believers,547 and Koester observes how in Paul in general, “the spirit functioned as a principle of democratization.”548 It is therefore also with reference to all believers that Paul writes, “The person with the Spirit makes judgments about all things (ἀνακρίνει πάντα), but such a person is not subject to merely human judgments (αὐτὸς δὲ ὑπ’ οὐδενὸς ἀνακρίνεται)” (1 Cor 2:15 NIV). As I pointed out above, this clearly paves the way for Paul’s own defence, “But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court (ὑφ’ ὑμῶν ἀνακριθῶ ἢ ὑπὸ ἀνθρωπίνης ἡμέρας)” (4:3).549 The reference to a “human” court also recalls the earlier contrast between “human wisdom” and wisdom taught by the Spirit (2:13) and further highlights Paul’s unwillingness to be judged by such criteria.550 Drawing especially on 1 Cor 2:6–16, N.T. Wright affirms: “There is, then, an epistemological revolution at the heart of Paul’s worldview and theology.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1355 (emphasis original). On Paul’s apocalyptic epistemology, see classically J. Louis Martyn, “Epistemology at the Turn of the Ages: 2 Corinthians 5:16,” in Christian History and Interpretation: Studies Presented to John Knox (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 269–87. See also Brown, The Cross & Human Transformation. Brown reads 1 Corinthians 1–2 through the lens of speech act theory and demonstrates how Paul’s apocalyptic theology has both epistemological and ethical dimensions. 547 So Thiselton, Corinthians, 229. So also Fee, who comments, “Paul is, as earlier, addressing the whole church and drawing them all into the orbit of what he is saying.” Corinthians, 109. 548 Koester, “Writings and the Spirit,” 354. Wardle also highlights this feature in Paul’s other exposition of the community as Temple in 2 Cor 6:14–7:1, affirming that: “these scriptural injunctions also move toward a democratization of the promises given to David in 2 Samuel 7, as both male and female (‘sons and daughters’) are now inheritors of the promises of God and members of equal standing in God’s temple.” The Jerusalem Temple, 214 (emphasis original). 549 That the verb ἀνακρίνω does not occur in the discourse in between (but twice in quick succession in ch. 2 and ch. 4) reinforces the connection. Furthermore, the verb ἀνακρίνω is relatively unusual for Paul and occurs only in this letter (1 Cor 2:14, 15; 4:3, 4; 9:3; 10:25, 27; 14:24). 550 The adjective “human (ἀνθρώπινος)” occurs only in 1 Cor 2:4, 13; 4:3 and 10:13 in this letter. Again I note that Paul says it is a “small thing (ἐλάχιστόν)” rather than “nothing” for him to be judged by the Corinthian community (1 Cor 4:3). This indicates that, in spite 546

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While it is unsurprising that this text has been abused by those who wish to exempt themselves from judgement,551 a key question to ask is how Paul envisioned disagreements between two or more “spiritual” persons being worked out if neither could judge the other. Much as scholars like Suh may lament this focus on the “horizontal” rather than “vertical” dimension of Paul’s “power” language, at some point one has to ask how authority from “above” is mediated.552 In situations of conflict, appeals to “powerful experiences of the Spirit” would probably be claimed by both sides. In relation to “charismatic authority,” Weber suggested that, “when such authority comes into conflict with the competing authority of another who also claims charismatic sanction, the only recourse is to some kind of a contest, by magical means or even an actual physical battle of the leaders.”553 That Paul would have envisioned some kind of contest I think is well warranted (4:19), but where this contest would differ from Weber’s description is that for Paul it would emphatically be verbal and communal. Paul clearly held that the message of Christ had a “power” (2:4)554 that he also believed would be recognised by the corporate community who had received God’s Spirit (2:12–16). I suggest therefore that for Paul any such contest would take place in the gathered community and would centre upon who by Spirit empowered speech could best rationalise their position on the basis of the gospel message. This seems to be the effect of what he says when we combine his earlier statements (2:1–5) with his conclusion of this section (4:19–20 cf. 2 Cor 10:10– 11).555 Furthermore, in the one clear record we have of such a contest, this is exactly what Paul did (Gal 2:11–14).

of his concern about the criteria they are using for judgement, he is still in principle open to being challenged by their judgement. 551 For a history of reception, see Thiselton, Corinthians, 271–85. 552 Suh writes about many scholars: “They focus only on the horizontal dimension of power language: power is an element within the struggle between the superior apostle and the subordinate Corinthians . . . Seldom is the vertical dimension of Paul's language explored in such studies.” Power and Peril, 45. 553 Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, 361. 554 Schütz comments that for Paul, “the gospel is itself a power or force in human affairs.” Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 284. 555 “My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power” (1 Cor 2:4) and “But I will come to you very soon, if the Lord is willing, and then I will find out not only how these arrogant people are talking, but what power they have. For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power” (1 Cor 4:19–20). Fee comments in relation to the latter text: “When he returns, will they merely have λόγος or will they in their ‘wisdom’ also be able to demonstrate the δύναμις of God? They claim to have the Spirit; will they evidence what for Paul is the crucial matter, the powerful, dynamic presence of the Spirit among them to save and to sanctify (cf. 5:1– 5)? He apparently has little fear of the outcome of such a confrontation.” God’s Empowering

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That this would be Paul’s strategy is also in line with the close connection that Holmberg highlights between authority and reason (ratio),556 where he notices that almost always “authority rests upon the ability to issue communications capable of reasoned elaboration.”557 For Paul, the gospel message is a revelation bringing with it a new kind of reason set against the reasoning of “the world” (2:10–16). For him it seems that authority in the community derives from one’s insight into how to interpret the world from this new perspective and to verbally articulate a judgement based on this interpretation (2:13, 15).558 The Spirit empowers this interpretation and enables others also to recognise it.559 It is in this area of reasoning that Paul’s understanding of the Spirit is different from what was typical in Graeco-Roman antiquity. Here Koester suggests that, “[spirit] had no relation to rationality, nor were human beings masters of this spirit. On the contrary, it was thoroughly irrational and entirely the agent of the gods.”560 Paul’s understanding of God’s Spirit, however, is different in that the Spirit is God’s own person who reorients human rationality so as to be able to understand God’s purposes, especially as revealed in Christ (2:10–16). What is striking again is that Paul highlights that all believers have access to this sacred ratio – “but we have the mind of Christ (ἡμεῖς δὲ νοῦν Χριστοῦ ἔχομεν)” (2:16). Holmberg highlights how, in situations of “charismatic authority,” often, “confidence in the ruler’s access to ratio is greater than confidence in one’s own insight, and in some cases can even cause one to abandon what one knows to be true.”561 Here Paul emphatically does not claim that he alone has access to the divine reason but is, in Schütz’s words, “extending the commonly shared experience of power.”562 For Paul, the Spirit empowers every believer to “speak” in the public assembly (2:13) and to “judge all things” in light of the gospel message (2:15). There is in Paul therefore something of a dialectic between the charismatic authority Presence, 119. I would argue, however, that the power in view is particularly epistemological rather than soteriological. 556 Holmberg writes: “An investigation of the origin of the term authority in ancient Roman history and an analysis of everyday authority relations show that the fact that authority is related to reason (ratio) is its distinctive characteristic.” Paul and Power, 131. 557 Holmberg, Paul and Power, 132. 558 I believe this sharpens Schütz’s definition of “authority as the interpretation of power.” Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 14. As Holmberg points out in relation to Schütz: “we never get a clear picture of what power is.” Paul and Power, 134. 559 This is the principle that many have observed of: “like is known only by like.” See further Fee, Corinthians, 118. 560 Koester, “Writings and the Spirit,” 353. 561 Holmberg, Paul and Power, 132. 562 Schütz, Paul and The Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, 280.

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of the individual and of the community. 563 Suh likewise affirms the “dynamic relationship” between the authority of the one and the many. 564 While Paul’s rhetoric leaves space for an individual potentially standing in the right before God over against the judgement of the whole community (a situation Paul might envision for himself in 4:3–4), the overall force of his rhetoric is to invest considerable authority in the community as a whole. 565 Such a perspective is also consistent with, for example, his call for the whole community to judge issues in its midst, including possibly the weighing up prophecy (14:29).566 Furthermore, it is consistent with the subordination of any leader in the community to the community as a whole (3:21–23). Finally, this is consistent with the link elsewhere in Paul between possession of the Spirit and competence for mutual instruction.567 In Rom 15, for example, Paul concludes his discourse that urges Jewish and gentile solidarity with a prayer that the community may be filled with the power of the Spirit (Rom 15:13) and then immediately moves to affirming their competence to instruct

While I agree with Rudolph Sohm that the charismata themselves are always given to individual believers, I do not therefore believe that monarchical rule is a natural development of this fact. Sohm writes: “Das Charisma ist nie einer Versammlung, auch nicht der Versammlung der Christenheit (dem Leibe Christi) sondern immer nur dem einzelnen Christen (den Gliede Christi) gegeben . . . Aus diesem Grunde ist die Kirchenverfassung von vornherein darauf angelegt, wenn sie zur rechtlichen Ausgestaltung kommt, monarchische Formen hervorzubringen.” Kirchenrecht (Leipzig: Verlag von Duncker & Humblot, 1892), 118. John Potts expresses something of this dialectic when he affirms: “Authority within this community is dynamic, dependent on interaction between charismatic individuals and on self-restraint concerning individual authority or pride. Paul’s accentuation of the communal good is so strong that it forms part of his definition of charisma itself.” A History of Charisma, 49. 564 Suh gives the example of the conflict in the follow chapter: “For example, in 1 Corinthians 5, Paul blurs the lines between what may be perceived as individual spirit and the corporate Spirit that dwells within the community.” Power and Peril, 203. 565 This is not to deny the radical nature of Paul’s idea of each individual in the community possessing the Spirit (1 Cor 2:15; 6:19 cf. Rom 8:9) or on the importance of individual conscience (Rom 14:5). On Paul’s contribution to the contemporary liberal emphasis on the individual, see Larry Siedentop, Inventing the Individual: The Origins of Western Liberalism (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2014), 51–66. Siedentop suggests that Paul’s perspective “provided an ontological foundation for ‘the individual,’ through the promise that humans have access to the deepest reality as individuals rather than merely as members of a group.” Inventing the Individual, 63. 566 For arguments that Paul expected the whole congregation to weigh up prophecy, see Fee, Corinthians, 766–70. For a contrary position see, e.g., Holmberg, Paul and Power, 118– 19; Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 581. 567 In 1 Corinthians this is particularly evident in Ch. 12–14, where, e.g, 1 Cor 12:4–11 affirms that each member of the community is given a manifestation of the spiritual gifts for the building up of the community. 563

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one another (Rom 15:14). The repeated language of “filling” and “all” highlights the close conceptual link: May the God of hope fill (πληρώσαι) you with all (πάσης) joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. I myself feel confident about you, my brothers and sisters, that you yourselves are full of goodness, filled with all (πεπληρωμένοι πάσης) knowledge, and able to instruct one another (Rom 15:13–14).568

The question of how Paul conceptualised authority is complex, but his emphasis on the ἐκκλησία as Temple and on the Spirit who grants the capacity for right judgement in light of “the gospel,” would suggest that he regarded the community as a whole as invested with considerable authority. 569 This is broadly in line with Larry L. Welborn’s recent work on elements of democratic discourse in 1 Corinthians that concluded that: “the ekklēsia of Christ-believers at Corinth appears to have been exceptionally ‘democratic,’ insofar as it was constituted as a politeia in which members might pursue resolution of tensions arising from social inequality on the basis of the principle of equality ‘in Christ.’”570 I conclude this section with a brief reflection on how Paul’s Temple metaphor extends into 1 Cor 5–6. VII. The Temple community in 1 Cor 5–6 There are several good reasons for asserting that the Temple language that Paul introduced in 3:16–17 was intended to guide his discourse in the coming chapters, especially 5:1–6:20. Firstly, the emphasis on the purity of the community tells in this direction. Secondly, the threat of πορνεία that reoccurs several times suggests the same (5:1; 6:13,18; 7:2).571 Thirdly, the use of Exodus traditions that recall the tabernacle construction also suggest this.572 Finally, the fact that the community as Temple is not far from Paul’s mind throughout this section is evidenced by the fact that he explicitly returns to this theme in 6:12– 20 to address the issue of prostitution. Indeed, ideas raised in his first discourse on the “temple,” such as believers belonging to God and to Christ (3:23), are here picked up again: “you are not your own” (6:19). Furthermore, Bitner points to a strong tradition that connects these sections. Already in the fourth-century Chrysostom had suggested that the one who was Note also 1 Thess 5:12–22, where Paul speaks of leaders “admonishing” the community (1 Thess 5:12) as well as everyone “admonishing” one another (1 Thess 5:14), which is ultimately enabled by the Spirit’s presence (1 Thess 5:19) and sanctifying work (1 Thess 5:23). 569 On “the authority of the congregation,” see also Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 593–94. 570 Larry L. Welborn, “How ‘Democratic’ Was the Pauline Ekklēsia? An Assessment with Special Reference to the Christ Groups of Roman Corinth,” NTS (2019): 308. 571 See Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 168. 572 Suh, Power and Peril, 31–37. 568

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breaking down the community and whom Paul was implicitly addressing in 3:16–17 was the “immoral brother” of 5:1.573 Although disagreeing with Chrysostom on the exact identification, Bitner writes, “Exclusion from the community for one who damages God’s living temple, as a possibility latent in the building contracts, remains untapped in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, only to emerge in 5:1– 13.”574 Brian Rosner in fact argues that 3:16–17 provides the “theological framework” for expelling the “immoral brother” in 5:1–13 and traces the progression from purifying the “temple” in 5:1–6 to celebrating the Passover in 5:7–8.575 As noted above, Michael Suh, has recently built further on this work and demonstrated how Temple discourse in fact permeates the letter. The question that is now raised is on what grounds Paul called the community to exercise this discipline, because he clearly gives more content here to what building on the foundation of Christ entails. How precisely is the holiness of the Temple community defined? What lifestyle is consistent with being God’s Temple? One may indeed ask the broader question of the source of Paul’s ethics for the community that he unfolds in the ensuing chapters. Here Bitner, drawing especially on the work of Rosner (1994) and David Lincicum (2010), points to the significant influence of Deuteronomy on Paul’s theology and ethics.576 This is evident in the passage at hand, because Paul concludes his exhortation by an appeal to Deut 17:7 (LXX) to “Drive out the evil person from among you” (5:13). Richard Hays comments on Paul’s use of Scripture here: “Only for readers who stand within this covenant community does the immediacy of Paul’s appeal to Deut 17:7 make sense . . . the implicit claim of 1 Cor 5:13 is made explicit in the metaphorical structure of the typology in 1 Cor 10:1–22.”577 Building on Hays and others, Bitner observes Paul’s application of this ancient covenant treaty of Israel to the new covenant community in Corinth. This justifies his conclusion that Paul is engaged in a significant political project that can be understood in terms of the broad ancient category of politea. Deuteronomy effectively functioned as the “constitution” of Israel as they were about to enter the Land578 and here Paul’s “effortless” use seems to suggest that

Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 267. Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 273. Note, e.g., the language of work (ὁ τὸ ἔργον τοῦτο πράξας) applied to the “immoral brother” in 5:2, echoing 3:2, 5, 10. 575 Rosner, “Temple Prostitution in 1 Corinthians 6:12–20.” 576 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 88–91. See further Brian S. Rosner, Paul, Scripture and Ethics: A Study of 1 Corinthians 5–7 (Leiden: Brill, 1994); Brian S. Rosner, “Deuteronomy in 1 and 2 Corinthians,” in Deuteronomy in the New Testament (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 118–35; David Lincicum, Paul and the Early Jewish Encounter with Deuteronomy (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). 577 Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 97. 578 See Lincicum, Paul and the Early Jewish Encounter with Deuteronomy, 169–79. 573 574

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he indeed saw himself engaged in a grand political project in which the Temple stood at the centre.579 I believe it is this that lies behind Paul’s significant use in this letter of the relatively rare language of “the kingdom of God” (6:9, 10).580 The close proximity between Paul’s discourse on the community as Temple and on the kingdom of God thus highlights the fact that for Paul the community is the focal point of the kingdom. Who belongs to the community and what behaviour is appropriate in the community are Paul’s primary concerns. In order to delineate this, he uses both the purity language associated with the Temple (6:1, 19) and the inheritance language associated with the kingdom (6:9–10). The language of the kingdom, however, like the Land has a distinctively future aspect while the Temple has a present aspect (“You are God’s temple (ναὸς θεοῦ ἐστε)” 3:16 vs “will inherit (κληρονομήσουσιν)” 6:10, 15:24). The community/Temple for Paul then seems to be the vanguard of the kingdom and in its life and judgements it is to anticipate the final kingdom (5:13, cf. 6:9). A final point to note is Paul’s distinctive perspective of the embodied nature of the kingdom. Paul’s “this-worldly” concept of “inheritance” that I observed in relation to the Land is given more weight here when Paul surprisingly calls the very body of individual believers “a temple of the Holy Spirit within you (ναὸς τοῦ ἐν ὑμῖν ἁγίου πνεύματός ἐστιν)” (6:19). In his careful comparison of Paul’s metaphorical Temple language with that of Hellenistic literature more broadly, Richardson concludes, “Whereas the human body is spoken of by philosophers (whether Stoic or Platonic) at best with indifference and at worst with disdain, Paul sees the body itself as the Temple of the Holy Spirit, a sacred place where God’s presence dwells.”581 While some have struggled to reconcile Paul’s transference of Temple language to the individual with his former corporate emphasis, Richardson points out that, even here, Paul carefully balances the individual with the corporate. Commenting on 6:19, he writes: “Paul chooses not to use the plural of σῶμα here. Instead, he expresses himself very carefully with τὸ σῶμα ὑμῶν, which Moulton and Turner class as a distributive singular (something that belongs to each person in a group).”582 The particular accent here is that how one behaves with one’s body is important and that in

Recall the centrality of the one place worship in Deut 12:10–14, where the covenant was especially maintained. 580 He first mentions this in 4:20 (continuing from 4:8) and again in relation to the boundaries of the community in 6:9–10 and is finally again in relation to the resurrection in 15:24 and 15:50. 581 Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 180. 582 Richardson, 178. There are in fact two plural “you’s” in the verse and one singular “body.” “Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you (τὸ σῶμα ὑμῶν ναὸς τοῦ ἐν ὑμῖν ἁγίου πνεύματός ἐστιν), which you have from God, and that you are not your own?” (1 Cor 6:19). 579

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this area again the community of Christ-followers is to be characterised by a distinctive lifestyle. VIII. Conclusion I thus conclude that Paul, like other Jews before him, appropriates the symbol of the Temple primarily to shape the identity of the community to whom he writes. It is a community that is constituted by the presence of the eschatological Spirit and that is called to both unity and purity. Any building up of this community must be done in conformity with the message of the crucified Christ. Moreover, the community itself, as indwelt by the Spirit and possessing “the mind of Christ (νοῦν Χριστοῦ)” (2:16), has the authoritative role of judging any “building” or behaviour in light of the message. Finally, Paul wants his readers to see that this Temple is an anticipation of the final eschatological kingdom and that therefore their embodied behaviour as individuals and a community is highly significant.

E. Conclusion E. Conclusion

In this chapter, I have surveyed Paul’s appropriation of the significant Second Temple Jewish symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. In each case I have noted how Paul’s conviction that the Messiah had arrived and that the promised new age had dawned had significant implications for how re-imagined them. The coming of the Messiah meant for Paul that not only sacred time, but also sacred space, must be re-imagined. The table below is an attempt to capture how Paul has done this. Sacred-time Sacred-space

Land Not-yet Universalised

Jerusalem Now Transcendentalised

Temple Now Local community

Drawing especially on the work of Mark Forman and Esau McCaulley, I noticed in relation to the Land that Paul’s perspective could best be ascertained through exploring his language of “inheritance.” The most significant texts here are those in which Paul evoked the story of Abraham to argue that all who share his resurrection-shaped faith in the Messiah are children of God and consequently heirs of the promises to Abraham (Rom 4:13–25; Gal 3:1–4:7). I observed further that in Rom 8:17–39 the ultimate “inheritance” Paul had in mind was an eschatologically renewed world. Thus, insofar as sacred-time is concerned, the promise of the Land for Paul remained largely unrealised, but in terms of sacred-space it had been universalised. Within the context of Jewish

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expectations of a worldwide messianic kingdom, Paul’s declaration that Abraham was promised that he would be “heir of the world” (Rom 4:13) clearly expressed this universal perspective. This perspective can be seen further in his appropriation of the theme of Israel’s restoration in 1 Cor 1–4 in which he emphasised a concrete future possession of the world for Jew and gentile believers in Christ. I also explored Paul’s appropriation of the symbol of Jerusalem, looking at his relationship to the Jerusalem church, his “collection” and his exposition of “Jerusalem above” (Gal 4:21–5:1). I noticed in this symbol a fluidity between sacred space and sacred time because Paul does not contrast the present Jerusalem with the future Jerusalem, but rather the present Jerusalem with the Jerusalem above. Because of the unhelpful associations with the term “spiritualisation,”583 I argued that Paul “transcendentalised” this symbol. Thus, I argued that “Jerusalem above” is clearly a present reality for Paul that coexists alongside the “present Jerusalem.” Furthermore, I argued that, although Paul held out hope for a great ingathering of the Jewish people (Rom 11:12), this did not necessarily coincide with particular expectations concerning the city. Drawing largely on Brad Bitner, I explored Paul’s appropriation of the symbol of the Temple, looking especially at his transference of Temple language to the community in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5. I noticed Paul’s self-understanding as one commissioned to build a covenant community in terms reminiscent of Jer 1:10 and Paul’s conviction that the messianic age, characterised by the presence of the Spirit, had arrived. Paul was therefore no longer content to affirm that God merely dwelt among his people through a physical structure, but affirmed that the community itself was a Temple in which God dwelt by his Spirit. For Paul this was clearly a present reality, but was localised in the community which must carefully guard its unity and purity. In relation to each of these symbols I also discovered a significant political dimension. In relation to the Land, I noted that the theme of “inheritance” is closely tied to that of the eschatological sovereignty of the people of God. Drawing on Forman and an exposition of 1 Cor 1–4, I argued that such a claim would have been a great encouragement to the socially marginalised in many of Paul’s churches and would have stood as a challenge to the status quo in which Rome claimed universal sovereignty. Paul’s appropriation of the theme of Land thus served to emphasise the security of the believer. Furthermore, a conviction about future universal sovereignty (the who of inheritance) would fuel a willingness to suffer in standing against the present injustices as a different path to the inheritance (suffering-conquerors rather than military victors as in Rom 8:31–39).

Suggesting, among other things, a fundamental distinction between the material and spiritual. 583

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In relation to Jerusalem, I noted the authoritative role Jerusalem played in Second Temple Judaism generally and in the claims of the “Judaizers” in Galatians particularly. I noted further that by connecting believers in Galatia directly to “Jerusalem above” and by authorising them to exercise discipline on those claiming the authority of Jerusalem, Paul emphasised the authority of “the gospel” and the local congregation above any centralised body. The who of the inheritance is determined only by faith in the Messiah and the path to the inheritance is again a willingness to suffer (Gal 4:29; 6:12). Finally, in relation to the symbol of the Temple, I also noted Paul’s communal emphasis on the Spirit-indwelt community as a whole constituting God’s Temple. This community is founded on the message of the crucified Christ which functions in an authoritative way to determine what behaviour is appropriate in the community. Authority in this community comes from work and service rather than magisterial rule and all boasting is excluded because everything comes from God (1 Cor 3:23). Such status reversals stood as a challenge to the values of the Graeco-Roman elites who were seeking power and causing division in the community. Lastly, this Temple stands as an anticipation of the eschatological kingdom and those who belong to it recognise that the path into this inheritance is a willingness to suffer as Paul himself does (1 Cor 4:8–21).

Chapter 3

Philo on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple Philo is a Jew whose theological reflections are embedded in Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman patterns of thought – Karl-Gustav Sandelin1

A. Introduction A. Introduction

Whatever else one may say about Philo, recent scholarship has tended to recognise that he remained a committed Jew throughout his life. It was he who led the Alexandrian Jewish delegation to Gaius Caligula at considerable personal risk to seek justice in relation to the recent anti-Jewish riots in the city (39 C.E.). But this issue in his native city seemed like a small matter to him when he heard of Gaius’ plans to erect a statue of himself in the Temple.2 This he perceived as a threat to all Jewish people everywhere. Philo recounts the delegation’s reception of this news with great emotion and determines with the others that they would not be seen to be, “selfishly pleading for something which concerns us in particular,” but that they would do what they could for their people, entrusting themselves to God’s providential care (Legat. 193– 196). Yet while Philo could demonstrate great commitment to the Jewish people and to its central institutions, it is also clear that he was very much at home in the Diaspora. Although he tells of one visit to the Temple in Jerusalem (Prov. 2.64), he otherwise demonstrates little interest in the Land, Jerusalem, or Temple as such. These concrete realia become symbols for him of a more significant spiritual reality. This perspective was undoubtedly influenced by the Hellenistic environment in which he was educated and lived. Roberto Radice

Sandelin, “Philo as Jew,” 19. For a reconstruction of this conflict, see Sandra Gambetti, The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E. and the Persecution of the Jews: A Historical Reconstruction (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Erich S. Gruen, “Caligula, the Imperial Cult, and Philo’s Legatio,” SPhiloA 24 (2012): 135– 47; E. Mary Smallwood, Philonis Alexandrini Legatio Ad Gaium (Leiden: Brill, 1961), 31– 6. 1 2

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writes of him: “Philo believed only in those principles which are true according to both Moses and Plato.”3 I would add to this, however, that Moses was always primary for him.4 This can be seen by how he saw his own task primarily as exegesis of the Scriptures (rather than exposition of philosophy),5 as well as by his frequent attempts to demonstrate how Moses in fact anticipated the philosophers.6 Before exploring Philo’s perspective on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, it will be worthwhile reflecting briefly on Philo’s place within Second Temple Judaism as well as his exegetical methods more generally.

3 Roberto Radice, “Observations on the Theory of the Ideas as the Thoughts of God in Philo of Alexandria,” SPhiloA 3 (1991): 129. Jerome called Philo “another or a Jewish Plato” (Epist. 70.3.3). Philo himself called Plato “most holy” (Prob. 13). 4 Charles A. Anderson comments: “His loyalty is to Moses, his treatises comment on the books of Moses, not of Plato, and he usually invokes and explains philosophical concepts without actually arguing for them.” Philo of Alexandria’s Views of the Physical World (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 27. According to Philo, Moses at an early stage “had early reached the very summits of philosophy” (Opif. 8). 5 This emphasis on studying Philo primarily as an exegete is typically traced back to the French Philonic scholar Valentin Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Écriture Chez Philon de’Alexandrie (Leiden: Brill, 1977). Peder Borgen called this “a growing trend in Philonic scholarship.” Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for His Time (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 9. Mireille Hadas-Lebel likewise affirms that “what is known to us affirms that Philo is above all an exegete of the Holy Scriptures.” Philo of Alexandria, 117. 6 Anderson writes: “Philo conceptualises Judaism and Hellenism as essentially compatible, with biblical revelation the superior or original source of all that is good in Greek philosophy and culture.” Views of the Physical World, 18. See, e.g., Her. 214, where Philo claims that the Greek philosopher Heraclitus derived his theory of opposites from Moses. On Moses anticipating Plato see, e.g., how he insists that, long before Plato, Moses had already affirmed that chaos existed before the world came into being (Opif. 22, cf. Opif. 8). On the influence of Plato’s Timaeus on Philo’s account of creation see David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria and The Timaeus of Plato (Leiden: Brill, 1986).

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I. Philo’s place in Second Temple Judaism While most scholars recognise that Philo does not represent a typical Diaspora Jew, but rather expresses the viewpoint of the cultured elite,7 most also recognise that there is a great deal to learn about Diaspora Judaism from him.8 Larry Hurtado even warns against distinguishing him too sharply from other Jews in the community, since they clearly respected him enough to appoint him as the head of the delegation to Gaius. Furthermore, his hard labour in “state affairs” also suggests the high regard he enjoyed (Spec. 3.1–6).9 Scholars throughout the twentieth-century have sought to situate Philo against various expressions of Judaism in the first-century. 10 Erwin R. Goodenough saw him as a representative of a kind of Jewish mystery religion. 11 A little later, Harry A. Wolfson argued that he was a unique philosopher, far more closely tied to Palestinian and later rabbinic Judaism than had previously been recognised. More recently, scholars like Maren Niehoff have sought to explore the Roman element in Philo’s life and thought. 12 While the tendency to see Philo as a representative of a kind of Jewish mystery religion or as being closely tied to the Pharisees and Palestinian Judaism has largely been discredited,13 there is still ongoing debate about Philo’s particular expression of first-

7 See, e.g., Ellen Birnbaum’s comment: “Because he came from a wealthy, influential family and was well-educated and thoroughly steeped in Greek philosophy, Philo himself was not typical of most or probably even of many Jews in antiquity.” “Philo’s Relevance for the Study of Jews and Judaism in Antiquity,” in Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 200–1. Cristina Termini also comments: “Philo probably does not represent the typical Jew of the Diaspora.” “Philo’s Thought within the Context of Middle Judaism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 96. 8 See, e.g., Birnbaum, “Philo’s Relevance.” See also Larry Hurtado who comments: “The first thing to emphasize (contra, e.g., Bousset) is that Philo is reflective of the wider Diaspora Jewish experience, and is not the idiosyncratic figure sometimes alleged in the past.” “Does Philo Help Explain Christianity?,” in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 82. 9 Hurtado, “Does Philo Help Explain Christianity?,” 82. 10 See, e.g., Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 1–13; Runia, Philo of Alexandria and The Timaeus of Plato, 7–26. 11 Erwin R. Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935). 12 Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria. This work extends Maren R. Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). In the introduction I noted a similar trend toward examining the Roman “political” influences in Paul. 13 See, e.g., Sandelin, “Philo as Jew,” 20–2. For a sympathetic critique of Goodenough, see Jack N. Lightstone, The Commerce of the Sacred: Mediation of the Divine among Jews in the Greco-Roman World (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 119–30.

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century Judaism and how this relates to Jewish belief and practice in Alexandria14 and indeed in Judaea itself.15 While there are prominent aspects of Middle Platonism in Philo’s thought, 16 it is perhaps most appropriate to classify him broadly with Karl-Gustav Sandelin as, “a representative of the Jewish wisdom tradition.”17 I note further that Philo is aware of the Essene community (Prob.) as well as an otherwise unknown monastic community known as the Therapeutae (Contempl.), but that he himself is a member of neither. Sandelin again summarises what most scholars would agree on in relation to Philo’s position visà-vis the various groups within first-century Judaism: To conclude: Philo is not a Pharisee, still less a Sadducee. He sympathizes with the Essenes and admires the Therapeutae, although he is not a member of these groups. But as a theologian, he does not stand isolated from other Jews.18

14 The above observations would tend to suggest that Philo was not too far removed from Alexandrian belief and practice. As Gregory E. Sterling has recently shown, there is good evidence to suggest that he was probably a well-known teacher in the synagogues and quite possibly a director of a school. “The School of Sacred Laws,” VG 53 (1999): 148–64. His frequent distancing himself from the opinion of the “masses” (e.g. Abr. 147; Somn. 1.39), however, should warn us against too close an identification. 15 See the seminal study of Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period (London: SCM Press, 1974). Hengel demonstrated that, by the first century, many aspects of Hellenistic culture had already had a far more significant impact in Judaea than had previously been recognized. Other scholars like Jacob Neusner have called into question monolithic constructions of “Judaism” presupposed by such divisions, choosing to speak rather of many “Judaisms.” “Defining Judaism,” in The Blackwell Companion to Judaism (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2000), 3–19. Others like Lester L. Grabbe have chosen to speak of various “currents” within Second Temple Judaism. An Introduction to Second Temple Judaism: History and Religion of the Jews in the Time of Nehemiah, the Maccabees, Hillel and Jesus (London: T&T Clark, 2010). Still others like John Barclay have sought to use social scientific concepts such as “assimilation,” “acculturation,” and “accommodation” to measure the degree of influence of Hellenistic culture on Jewish belief and practice. Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 92–7. While accepting the reality of a “Common Judaism” as Ed Sanders defined it, I will also recognize the distinctive expressions of this at different times and places and make use of Barclay’s categories to attempt to better understand Philo’s engagement with his Hellenistic world. Judaism, 45–314. 16 See, esp., John Dillon, The Middle Platonists: 80 B.C. to A.D. 220 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), 139–83; Runia, “Was Philo a Middle Platonist?” 17 Sandelin, “Philo as Jew,” 21. For Philo’s thought in relation to Middle Judaism, see Termini, “Philo’s Thought.” For reflections on Philo’s Jewish identity, especially as it relates to particularism and universalism, see Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer, “Jewish Worship and Universal Identity in Philo of Alexandria,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World: Jüdische Identität in der griechisch-römischen Welt (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 29–54. 18 Sandelin, “Philo as Jew,” 46.

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Sandelin’s final point that Philo does not stand isolated from other Jews is worth also affirming when it comes to the exegetical tradition in which Philo stood.19 II. Philo’s exegesis Here I begin by emphasising that Philo’s Bible was the Greek Septuagint that had been translated in his own hometown some two hundred and fifty years before his birth and that he insisted was identical to the Hebrew Bible (Mos. 2.37–40).20 Furthermore, it is well recognised that he quoted far more from the Pentateuch than anywhere else, evidently because he regarded Moses as more authoritative than any other biblical author.21 It has also been observed that Philo’s approach to the Torah, especially his allegorical method, was in some ways influenced and stimulated by the study of Homer among the Greeks, and that even his division of the Pentateuch into three “genres” reflects something of a “traditional Judeo-Hellenistic scheme.”22 Most commentators also recognise something of broad five-fold division of Philo’s writings into: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

The Quaestiones (which follows a question and answer format), The Allegorical Commentary (which follows a verse-by-verse format), The Exposition of the Law (which follows a more thematic structure) A group of apologetic and historical writings (including In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium) A group of philosophical works (including Quod omnis probus liber sit, De aeternitate mundi, De animalibus and De providentia).23

19 For an introduction to this tradition, see Gregory E. Sterling, “‘The Jewish Philosophy’: Reading Moses via Hellenistic Philosophy According to Philo,” in Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014). 20 The story is famously told in The Letter of Aristeas (circa second-century B.C.E.). On this account and Philo’s reception of it, see Maren R. Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Hadas-Lebel, Philo of Alexandria, 59–66. 21 David Hay comments: “Apparently Philo considers the Pentateuch the basic expression of God’s revelation and the rest of scripture (prophets, psalms, and proverbs especially) as a kind of commentary on it or secondary scripture.” “References to Other Exegetes,” in Both Literal and Allegorical: Studies in Philo of Alexandria’s Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 45. Ellen Birnbaum also notes, e.g., how other teachers who figure in his writings tend to be classified as students of Moses. “Philo’s Relevance,” 214. 22 The three “genres” he divides the Pentateuch into are the “cosmological,” “genealogical/historical,” and the “legislative” (Praem. 1–2). See further James R. Royse, “The Works of Philo,” in The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 45; Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis. 23 Royse, “The Works of Philo.”

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James R. Royse points out further that the Exposition of the Law is generally recognised as exoteric in that it was aimed at more general readers while the Allegorical Commentary is generally recognised as esoteric in that it is aimed at those familiar with the Greek Pentateuch and allegorical modes of interpretation.24 Adam Kamesar summarises Philo’s approach to the Bible as a whole: “to piece together the allegorical meaning while accepting also the literal, even if he will nearly always give prime place to the former.”25 Moreover, he suggests that Philo’s allegorical exegesis is motivated not only by a desire to deal with certain “problems” arising from the literal sense,26 but also by the conviction of what he terms “pan-scriptural didacticism.” With the latter, he describes Philo’s conviction that every part of Scripture (even the seemingly trivial) has a profound meaning.27 Furthermore, it is also generally recognised that Philo’s social context in first-century Alexandria is an important factor to bear in mind when interpreting his allegorical reading.28 Of particular relevance to this study is that, even Royse, 33. Adam Kamesar, “Biblical Interpretation in Philo,” in The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 77. Yehoshua Amir likewise concludes: “on the whole, despite certain escapades, Philo recognizes a dual meaning in Scripture, neither sacrificing the literal meaning to the allegorists, nor allowing the literalists to contest his right to allegorise.” “Authority and Interpretation of Scripture in the Writings of Philo,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1990), 448. 26 These problems include the “healing” of certain “myth-like” material. Philo comments on the talking serpent in Gen 3, e.g., “But, in the allegorical explanations of these statements, all that bears a fabulous appearance is got rid of in a moment, and the truth is discovered in a most evident manner” (Agr. 97). 27 Kamesar, “Biblical Interpretation in Philo,” 78–85. Likewise, Barclay: “Philo’s hermeneutic is founded on an absolutist principle: the text is, and must be shown to be, rational and worthy in its every detail.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 169. 28 Barclay, e.g., comments: “All of Philo’s works, despite offering minimal biographical information, bear the trace of his historical and social context.” Paul and the Gift (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 213. Likewise, Richard Hecht comments: “The corpus, with the exception of the overtly political and polemical works, is not composed of abstract philosophical or exegetical ideas without a social context. Indeed, I have tried to argue that at many points in the corpus, we cannot fully understand his argument, the way that he reads or allegorises the biblical text, or the lines of his interpretation without considering his ‘second exegetical context,’ the social world of late antiquity and the particular environment of Ptolemaic and early Roman Alexandria.” “Philo and Messiah,” in Judaisms and Their Messiahs at the Turn of the Christian Era (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 159. René Bloch has also recently noted how Philo’s description of Moses and of the people’s oppression in Egypt “is heavily colored by personal impressions.” “Leaving Home: Philo of Alexandria on the Exodus,” in Israel’s Exodus in Transdisciplinary Perspective: Text, Archaeology, Culture, and Geoscience (Heidelberg: Springer, 2015), 362; “Alexandria in Pharaonic Egypt: Projections in De Vita Mosis,” SPhiloA 24 (2012): 69–84. 24 25

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in commenting upon the “historical” part of the Pentateuch, Philo demonstrates very little interest in the narratives as historical record.29 The overall orientation of his allegorical exegesis is towards teaching about the human soul and its progress towards a life of virtue, much along the model of the Stoic προκόπτων who works towards mastery over the body and its passions.30 In this light, the biblical characters in the Pentateuch become for Philo both exemplars and paradigms of virtue for others to pursue. Thus, for example, the account of Abraham at its deepest level is an account of, “a virtue loving soul in its search for the true God” (Abr. 68). While the biblical personae in a more traditionalist vision do also serve as exempla, what distinguishes Philo is an emphasis on the personae as “minds” in a Platonic sense. Philo writes about Moses, for example, that he is “beautiful and godlike, a model (παράδειγμα) for those who are willing to copy it” (Mos. 1.158). Although the allegorical sense tended to overshadow the literal for Philo, this does not mean that he rejected the literal. In a well-known text he makes use of the analogy of the body and soul to criticise the so-called “extremeallegorisers” who rejected obedience to the literal sense altogether: It follows that, exactly as we have to take thought for the body, because it is the abode of the soul, so we must pay heed to the letter of the laws (οὕτω καὶ τῶν ῥητῶν νόμων ἐπιμελητέον). If we keep and observe these, we shall gain a clearer conception of those things of which these are the symbols; and besides that we shall not incur the censure of the many and the charges they are sure to bring against us (Migr. 93).

On the other hand, he also criticises mere literalists who do not see any deeper meaning in the historical narratives of Scripture.31 Those who think, for example, that Moses was merely drawing attention to the historical fact that Isaac’s servants dug four wells in Gen 26:17–25 are “micropolitans,” while those who are gifted with true sight recognise the allegorical meaning: Runia sees this as characteristic of Philo in general: “Of crucial importance for Philo's view of Judaism, in my opinion, is the fact that he shows absolutely no interest in history. In his thought all emphasis is placed on structural elements, on the place of man in reality and his relation to the divine.” David T. Runia, Exegesis and Philosophy: Studies on Philo of Alexandria (Aldershot: Variorum, 1990), 12. 30 Barclay comments: “In Philo's allegories the Bible is read not as a record of history (still less, salvation-history) but as a philosophical analysis of the human condition, a depiction of human types and an instruction in human wellbeing.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 170. On Philo’s ethical theory, see David Winston, “Philo’s Ethical Theory,” in ANRW II.21.1, ed. Wolfgang Haase (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1984), 372–416; Carlos Lévy, “Philo’s Ethics,” in The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 146–74. 31 See also Runia who further classifies the types of exegetes Philo refers to into four categories: the “simple literalists,” the “malicious literalists,” “allegorical interpreters,” and “the extreme allegorists.” “Philo of Alexandria and the Greek Hairesis-Model,” VC 53 (1999): 138–39. 29

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It may be that men of narrow citizenship (μικροπολῖται) will suppose that the lawgiver delivers this very full discourse about digging wells, but those who are on the roll of a greater country (οἱ δὲ δὴ μείζονι ἐγγραφέντες πατρίδι), even this whole world (τῷδε τῷ κόσμῳ), men of higher thought and feeling, will be quite sure that the four things propounded as a subject of inquiry to the open-eyed lovers of contemplation are not four wells, but the four parts of this universe, land, water, air, heavens (Somn. 1.39).

Finally, I note a certain elitism that is often presupposed in Philo’s exegesis. In some places he suggests, for example, that the literal sense is for the “multitude” whereas the hidden meaning is reserved for only a few: Such is the natural and obvious rendering (ἐν φανερῷ) of the story as suited for the multitude (τοὺς πολλοὺς). We will proceed at once to the hidden and inward meaning which appeals to the few (ἡ δ’ ἐν ἀποκρύφῳ καὶ πρὸς ὀλίγους) who study soul characteristics rather than bodily forms (Abr. 147).

In some ways this is not surprising when we consider his own educational background and influential family and position in the city. 32 Indeed Daniel Schwartz and others have observed in Philo a certain “aristocratic prejudice against the hoi polloi.”33 I will reflect on this as well as on Philo’s Diaspora background in his appropriation of the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. I will engage especially with the tension between the literal and symbolic meaning in Philo, which has been a subject of considerable debate in Philonic scholarship. Did Philo’s allegorical reading of the Scriptures suggest a marginalisation of his commitment to the literal realities? As Eyal Regev puts it in relation to the Temple, “The fundamental question, then, is, Where does Philo’s heart lie?”34 When it comes to resolving the tension between literal and symbolic aspects of Philo’s thought, I have noted that scholars often emphasise either how Philo elevates the spiritual above the material,35 or how Philo makes a distinction between the body (literal observance) and soul (inner meaning) in which each has its own validity (Migr. 93).36 Those who emphasise the former note how Philo at times distances himself from the opinion of the masses and, as a true sage, sees the allegorical and inner meaning as superior to the literal. In terms

32 Note Josephus’ comments on Philo (A.J. 18.257–260). Torrey Seland notes, e.g., that his brother Alexander Lysimachus was an “alabarch,” probably a significant financial office, and had a good relationship with Claudius. “Philo as a Citizen,” 5. Philo himself may have held a significant position in the city (cf. Spec. 3.1–6). 33 Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 11. 34 Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity, 13. 35 Here Philo’s allegorical usage is often presented as revealing his true “heart.” 36 This seems to be the regnant perspective today and could perhaps be traced back to Nikiprowetsky’s early work on Philo’s perspective on the Temple cult.

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of analysis I will call these interpretative tendencies the symbolic and the integral tendencies respectively. 37 These tendencies also have their correlates in the relative value Philo attributes to the contemplative and practical life. 38 I have also noted that some scholars seek to reduce this tension by a diachronic rather than synchronic approach. Those who adopt a diachronic approach suggest that Philo’s thought may have developed over time and that he came in his later writings to emphasise the material and historical dimension of Jewish existence more strongly. 39 I will frequently refer back to these heuristic tools in my analysis below. These then are some basic aspects of Philo’s exegetical approach in which he both draws on a common Hellenistic-Jewish exegetical tradition and develops this in unique ways. 40 I will not further explore Philo’s method or exact 37 Some adopt a perspectival approach which emphasises that Philo writes from two perspectives. Alan Mendelson comments, e.g., that Philo tends, “to write from what appear to be opposing points of view. Either he writes from within an ideal world, in which case he assumes the point of view of the perfected philosopher, or he writes in a more practical vein from the point of view of an ordinary man.” Secular Education in Philo of Alexandria (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1982), 34. Charles Anderson adopts this perspectival approach to explain how Philo can view the material world both positively and negatively. Views of the Physical World, 169–85. In my taxonomy, those who emphasise the philosophical perspective as representing Philo’s real “heart” would represent the symbolic tendency. 38 Note Goodenough’s conclusions in this regard: “That Philo was thus divided in his interest we have evidence not only in these four autobiographical references, and in the political writings, but in a number of passages where he discusses, often with great contradiction, the relative value of the practical and the contemplative life . . . More characteristically he tries to combine the two, by insisting either that the doors of mystical and philosophic achievement can open only to men who have first purified themselves by conquering the problems of personal and social life, or that the man who stops with contemplation is really incomplete, since the fully developed person will come back to matter and men, as Plato’s visionaries returned to the cave, to help others by the new integration and victory which their own higher insight had given them. It is arbitrary to say that any one of these attitudes is the ‘true Philo’. The ‘true Philo’ was, I repeat, like the true Smith or the true Jones, the Philo of the moment.” An Introduction to Philo Judaeus, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1962), 63. 39 This approach is often traced back to Leopold Cohn, “Einleitung und Chronologie der Schriften Philos,” in Philologus, ed. Otto Crusius, Supplementband 7 (Leipzig, 1899), 385– 436. Recently Niehoff has been a strong advocate of this approach, insisting against homogenising approaches that: “We instead have to face the possibility of significant intellectual developments throughout Philo’s long and rich career.” Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria, 3. Well over a century ago Cohn already recognised that: “Weit mehr Schwierigkeiten als die Frage der Classifikation bietet die der Chronologie der Philonischen Schriften.” Ibid., 426. From a more recent perspective, James R. Royse continues to recognise that, “attempts to fix a chronological sequence have been very controversial.” “The Works of Philo,” 60. I engage some of these issues further below. 40 For examples, see Birnbaum, “Philo’s Relevance,” 216.

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relationship to first-century Judaism here, but in this study will attempt to follow Ellen Birnbaum’s advice: “Rather than attempting to characterize Philo generally as representative or not representative of Jews and Judaism in antiquity, it is best to consider individual issues in all their complexity.”41 David Runia once distinguished between three methodological approaches to Philo, namely the systematic, the historical and the contextual.42 The first seeks to understand Philo’s thought as a systematic whole and is epitomised in the work of Harry Wolfson. The second seeks to understand the historical influences on Philo’s thought and is epitomised in the work of John Dillon on Philo and Middle Platonism. The third approaches Philo “first and foremost as an exegete of Mosaic scripture” and seeks to understand his exposition in the social and historical context in which he lived. 43 While these are not necessarily mutually exclusive, I will generally follow the currently regnant third approach. In this regard, I will also aim to be sensitive to the place of each Philonic treatise in his oeuvre, recognising the broad categories outlined above. I also note that even those who adopt the contextual approach are forced at some point to ask the question of coherence and how the various aspects of Philo’s thought relate to one another. As I have already given a brief overview of general attitudes towards the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple during the Second Temple period, I will focus here on Philo’s distinctive perspective without further introduction. I have also sought in my investigation to engage with the whole Philonic corpus in order to heed Runia’s warning that: “Philo's written remains are so copious that it is easy to make him say whatever one wants.”44 Before turning to the Land, I briefly address the question of whether Philo demonstrates any awareness of the common Jewish conceptualisation of the increasing degrees of holiness of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. While I will argue that Philo does revise Jewish concepts of sacred space in significant ways, I also note from the outset that he clearly understands and to some degree accepts the traditional schema of concentric circles of holiness emanating from

Birnbaum, “Philo’s Relevance,” 225. David T. Runia, “Naming and Knowing: Themes in Philonic Theology with Special Reference to the De Mutatione Nominum,” in Knowledge of God in the Graeco-Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1988), 69–91. 43 Here Runia comments: “There is a growing consensus among Philonic scholars that Philo saw himself first and foremost as an exegete of Mosaic scripture, and that a sound way to start understanding him is to begin at the level of his exegetical expositions, i.e. in the context in which his ideas are first developed.” “Naming and Knowing,” 71–2. 44 Runia, “The Idea and the Reality of the City,” 377–8. 41 42

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the Temple.45 In his putative confrontation of Gaius about his demand for the statue of himself to be placed in the Temple, Philo writes: What is this that you say? do you a mere man seek to annex also ether and heaven, not satisfied with the sum of so many mainlands, islands, nations, regions, over which you assumed sovereignty, and do you deem God worthy of nothing in our world here below, no country (χώρας), no city (πόλεως), but even this tiny area hallowed for Him and sanctified by oracles and divine messages you propose to take away, so that in the circumference of this great earth no trace or reminder should be left of the reverence and honour due to the truly existing veritable God? (Legat. 347).

In this historical treatise at least, Philo clearly espouses a traditional view of sacred space.46 Would Philo then regard Diaspora lands as less holy than the Promised Land? I turn now to the Land in Philo’s thought.

B. The Land B. The Land

For in reality a wise man's soul ever finds heaven to be his fatherland and earth a foreign country – Philo (Agr. 65) I will argue here that Philo transforms the traditional Jewish conceptualisation of the Land in significant ways, but that in this regard due attention has not always been paid to the function of Philo’s allegory. I will begin by surveying Philonic scholarship on the Land that has largely emphasised the way Philo allegorises this as “wisdom,” “philosophy” or a “spiritual” inheritance. I will then seek to further nuance these contributions to account for how Philo can still see many of the concrete commands related to the Land as of abiding significance. Here I will examine two rhetorical strategies Philo employs to reinterpret the Land for his audience and by which he invests them with a sense of dignity despite their lack of political autonomy. I finally conclude with some reflections on Philo’s eschatological perspective on the Land. I. The Land in Philonic scholarship Scholars in the early and mid-twentieth century generally paid little attention to the theme of the Land in Philo. Most recognised the predominance of Philo’s allegorical treatment and probably agreed with Samuel Sandmel that “Philo has little or no concern for Palestine.”47 Betsy Halpern-Amaru (1981) noted in an early study on the theme of the Land in Josephus that: “A systematic study of In this regard I cannot fully accept the conclusion of Lightstone that for Philo, “Ordered ‘world’ no longer is constituted of concentric circles of humanity about the Temple.” The Commerce of the Sacred, 8. 46 See also the relationship between Land, “holy city,” and Temple in Mos. 2.71ff. 47 Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 116. 45

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the place of land theology in Philo’s thought is yet to be undertaken.”48 She herself addressed this lacunae in scholarship a few years later in an essay exploring Land theology in Philo and Josephus.49 I will use this as a basic starting point for investigation. Along the way, I will draw attention to the work of more recent scholars like Moshe Weinfeld, Ze'ev Safrai, Daniel Schwartz and a number of others, as well as seeking to nuance some of their conclusions. Halpern-Amaru investigated Josephus and Philo’s Land theology by looking at four general areas, namely, the patriarchal narratives in which the Land is presented in terms of a covenantal triad of God-People-Land, the unique qualities ascribed to the “Promised Land,” places where Torah legislation is Landlinked, and the Land as expressed in the context of biblical messianism. Along the way she observes that it was their exposition of the Scriptures that forced both Philo and Josephus to deal with this theme. She notes firstly that, throughout the patriarchal narratives, the Land is presented as a gift and that “the Land is a central focus for the covenant.”50 She notes, however, that for Philo the migration of Abraham to Canaan is described as a journey “into a desert country” (Abr. 69–72). This is significant for Philo because seclusion is important for the mystic who wants to know God. She notes further that, at both the literal and the allegorical levels, Abraham is described in Abr. 68 as “a virtue-loving soul in its search for the true God.”51 She notices how Philo reverses the biblical pattern so that for Abraham the journey to Canaan is not a journey towards the foreign, but a journey back to the familiar and a recovery of his true self. Furthermore, she notices how Philo explicitly says that the borders of the land in Gen 15:18 should not be interpreted as meaning “a section of country (χώρας ἀποτομὴν)” but rather “the better part of ourselves” (Somn. 2.255). Here Egypt is represented by the river and is excluded as the realm of the passions. 52 In short, she maintains that, Betsy Halpern-Amaru, “Land Theology in Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities,” JQR 71 (1981): 228. Berndt Schaller likewise lamented at this time that the theme of Land had not yet been adequately studied in Jewish Diaspora texts: “Das überkommene jüdisch-hellenistische Schrifttum ist hierzu bislang kaum ausgewertet worden.” “Philon von Alexandria und das ‘Heilige Land,’” in Das Land Israel in Biblischer Zeit: Jerusalem-Symposium 1981 der Hebräischen Universität und der Georg-August Universität (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983), 172. 49 Betsy Halpern-Amaru, “Land Theology in Philo and Josephus,” in The Land of Israel: Jewish Perspectives (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986), 65–93. Around this time Berndt Schaller also recognized that “spiritualisation” cannot be the final word on Philo’s perspective on the Land. “Das Land Israel.” 50 Halpern-Amaru, “Land Theology in Philo and Josephus,” 67. 51 Halpern-Amaru, 68. 52 On Philo’s perspective on Egypt as “The Land of the Body,” see now Sarah Pearce, The Land of the Body: Studies in Philo’s Representation of Egypt, WUNT 208 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). 48

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“When Philo develops these verses allegorically, the Promised Land becomes knowledge of God, Wisdom, and Virtue.”53 She notes further that Philo is well aware of the concept of covenant, but that he sees this as a general symbol of grace (Mut. 53) and that he hereby breaks the link between covenant, people and Land. She concludes: In his dealings with Land theology, Philo seems consciously to avoid making any connection between divine promise, divine gift, and the Land as real estate. His reluctance to do so is evident even at the literal level . . . Somewhere in that universalistic perspective a sense of a real people and a real land is lost.54

When it comes to the special qualities of the Land, Halpern-Amaru notes firstly how Philo at the literal level “generally avoids romanticized allusions to the Land.”55 She highlights, however, that he is quite capable of allegorising these qualities so that, for example, the rivers become a “shower of . . . virtues gushing forth to drink” (Spec. 1.303). Indeed, “Allegorically the land of Canaan represents a stage in the development of the soul, but it is not a particularly positive state, and certainly no final haven.”56 When it comes to the Land in the Torah legislation proper, she notes how Philo’s predominant mode of exposition remains allegory. The produce of the Land, for example, becomes a symbol of the gradual acquisition of wisdom and virtue. As another example, she highlights how in Cher. 119–123, “The prohibition against selling the Land in perpetuity is to remind us that this world is only a foreign city in which God is the sole true citizen.” She concludes: “In these allegories Philo not only destroys the sense or real, physical land, but also reduced the Land aspect of the biblical covenantal relationship to a schoolhouse where the adolescent Israel acquires basic sensitivity.”57 Finally, she discusses Philo’s perspective on the Land in relation to biblical messianism and begins by noting how Philo never mentions the kingship of David or Solomon. 58 She points out how Philo, like Josephus, seems to draw some hope from Balaam’s famous third oracle in Num. 24:7 (Mos. 1.290–291; Praem. 95–97), but that this prophecy of a future leader is muted. In relation Halpern-Amaru, “Land Theology in Philo and Josephus,” 68. Likewise, Schaller observed how the Land in Philo is often allegorised as wisdom, virtue or philosophy: “Das verheißene Land erscheint als Symbol der Weisheit, der Tugend oder der Philosophie.” “Das Land Israel,” 173. 54 Halpern-Amaru, 71. 55 Halpern-Amaru, 74. In this regard, Schaller points to texts like Spec. 2.162–170 that clearly speak to the special qualities of the Land in a literal sense. “Das Land Israel,” 176– 7. Philo writes, e.g., “The land which has fallen to their lot is not derelict nor indifferent soil, but good land, well fitted for breeding domestic animals and bearing fruits in vast abundance” (Spec. 2.169). 56 Halpern-Amaru, 75. 57 Halpern-Amaru, 77. 58 Halpern-Amaru, 82. 53

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to Philo’s eschatology, she naturally focusses on De praemiis et poenis in which Philo largely explores the blessings and curses at the end of Deuteronomy. Insofar as the Land is concerned, she points out that the most significant aspect to explore is the notion of the “ingathering of the exiles.” Even here she suggests that Philo so interweaves the physical and spiritual senses that in the end, “it is impossible to decipher to what extent he is in fact committed to a physical restoration to a physical Land.”59 She argues here that Philo uses the “Land idea” to express his own “commitment to a Judaism based on common religious ties rather than on common ethnic descent.”60 She notices, for example, how Philo highlights the hope of proselytes joining Israel because God is “God of all” (Praem. 123) and the hope in his other writings of foreigners being welcomed on equal terms with the “native born” (Spec. 1.52). The hope for return from exile expressed in Deut 30:4 is transformed by Philo, “in order to express the ever-available opportunity for a return to wisdom and knowledge of God.” She argues that both Philo and Josephus “have a sense of a world far wider than that of Judea,” that Philo’s concern is primarily for his Diaspora community, and that these are ultimately the factors that transform his perspective.61 Subsequent scholarship has generally confirmed many of Halpern-Amaru’s conclusions. Moshe Weinfeld (1993) also notes the transformation of the Land theme in Josephus and Philo, as well as the general tendency in the Second Temple sources towards less emphasis on “the land” and more emphasis on “the city” and “the Temple.”62 He also sees this transformation as consequent upon the political realities of the day, where the “land” in the territorial sense could no longer adequately express the essence of Jewish identity in the Diaspora. What constituted Jewish identity in the Diaspora, he argues, was rather consanguinity, observance of Torah, and loyalty to Jerusalem and the Temple.63 In relation to Philo in particular he concludes: 59 Halpern-Amaru, 83. Goodenough and Wolfson had both seen a clear physical restoration here that they also regarded as being closely linked to Philo’s hope of a Messiah. The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 115–20; Philo, 2:395–429. This continues to be debated by e.g., Hecht, “Judaisms and Their Messiahs”; Lester L. Grabbe, “Eschatology in Philo and Josephus,” in Judaism in Late Antiquity. (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 163–85. I will return to this below. 60 Halpern-Amaru, 84. 61 Halpern-Amaru, 85–6. 62 Weinfeld, The Promise of the Land, 201–16. 63 Weinfeld, 206–7. Similarly, Safrai who notes: “To some degree, the emphasis on the importance of Jerusalem replaces the preoccupation with the Land of Israel.” Seeking out the Land, 208. Eyal Regev also makes this comment in relation to Diaspora Jewish identity: “It seems that both the realistic and the symbolic attitudes toward the Temple are regarded from an ethnic perspective, in which the Temple designates and symbolizes the essence of Jewish identity in relation to the pagan Gentiles.” Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity, 13 (emphasis original).

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In this conception of Jews as constituting a nation that transcends race and citizenship, Philo formulates a new conception of nationality, one expressed in terms not of race or territory, but of religion and culture. Palestine, symbolized by its capital city Jerusalem, was looked upon as the mother country of all the Jews. 64

For Philo he also insists that the political realities of the day “had the effect of providing for the spiritualisation of physical territorial concepts.” Weinfeld thus employs the category of “spiritualisation” to Philo and this is probably a fair assessment as the Platonic dualism implied in this category is far more evident in Philo than, for example, Paul. 65 More recently, Daniel Schwartz (2009) has given a nuanced account of Philo’s overall perspective on the Land. He argues that this is shaped by three factors: his Diaspora experience, his admiration for Hellenistic philosophy and the political realities in which he lived.66 He firstly notes that, “any Diaspora creates a pressure for God to be conceived of as transcendent, universally available.” He secondly points to the Hellenistic tendency, evident in Philo’s thought, to view everything important dualistically and that this “engendered a devaluation of real things and places.” Finally, Schwartz suggests that it was natural for Philo to sever being Jewish from the Land because of Rome’s pervasive rule that encompassed Judaea, Alexandria, and most of the known world. Given these factors, he concludes, “it would have been quite natural for Philo to develop a point of view undermining the importance of Judea (and, accordingly, avoiding the need to oppose Rome).” Schwartz argues that Philo’s true position on the Land can be seen in his account of what caused Gaius to order his statue to be placed in the Temple in the first place (Legat. 200–203). Here Philo records how some inhabitants of Jamnia had erected an altar which they knew the local Jewish population would not tolerate and how, upon the Jewish destruction of the altar, complained to Gaius by way of letter. Schwartz argues that Gaius’ response was quite reasonable because: While Gaius could tolerate Jewish houses of worship, he could not be expected to tolerate the continued existence of the palace of an unconquered king. Accordingly, because the Jamnia incident showed that many Jews viewed the temple in that way, Gaius moved, quite logically, to complete the Roman conquest of Judea by taking over the temple.67

Schwartz then observes a certain reserve in Philo to identify with these Jews who were responding to a desecration of “the Holy Land.” Philo only says that they were greatly incensed. He concludes that Philo “could not bring himself Weinfeld, The Promise of the Land, 216. Weinfeld does include in a footnote that, “one should not ascribe to Philo a total negation of the physical aspect of the land of Israel.” The Promise of the Land, 216. I will also argue further below that the physical aspect cannot be completely excluded from his vision. 66 Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 25–26. 67 Schwartz, 29. 64 65

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to adopt as his own the Jamnians’ notion of the Holy Land. But neither could he condemn them, just as he was totally upset and distraught by the threat to the temple that they engendered (Legat. 189–190).” Ultimately Schwartz therefore argues that Philo was inconsistent. His theology says he should not care about the earthly Land or Jerusalem, but he still acts in defence of it.68 Others have also recently studied the Land in Philo without particular reference to this political dimension. Sarah Pearce has further studied the flip side of Philo’s allegorisation of the Land as Wisdom and Virtue in which “Egypt always represents the material sphere, ‘the land of the body.’”69 Again her dominant conclusion is that the Land for Philo “represents divine wisdom” and he is more concerned with Abraham’s movement as a “journey in moral progress.”70 In a more recent study from a Jewish perspective, Ze’ev Safrai (2018) also explores the Land as it is expressed in Philo and concludes that he “only partially shared the feelings of awe and admiration for the Land.”71 He notes how Philo was not overly familiar with the Land and its conditions, but how he nevertheless “deals extensively with commandments that according to halakha apply only in the Land of Israel.”72 While Philo does recognise that some commands are to be obeyed only in the Land (Spec. 4.205), Safrai notes “the general tendency in his writings to downplay the sanctity of the Land of Israel.”73 While many scholars have emphasised Philo’s spiritualising and individualising appropriation of the Land, Berndt Schaller (1983) pointed to a number of Philonic texts and themes that suggest that this cannot be the final word. 74 Schaller pointed to Philo’s apologetic for the conquest of the Land (Hypoth. 6.6–7), his familiarity with events unfolding in the Land (Legat. 200–202), and what seemed to be his expectation that the Jewish people would return to the Land (Spec. 2.162–170). As with Goodenough and Wolfson, he especially sees evidence for Philo’s eschatological hope for a return to the Land in Praem. 153–171.75 Here he insisted that Philo is not only a philosopher, but also a practical politician.76 What Schaller particularly added to the conversation was 68 Schwartz writes that Philo “could not bring himself to accept the consequences of his own ideas and abandon the preservation of the sanctity of their shrine in what they saw as their holy city.” “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 30. 69 Pearce, The Land of the Body, XXI. 70 Pearce, 105. 71 Safrai, Seeking out the Land, 18. 72 Safrai, 21. 73 Safrai, 86. 74 Schaller comments about the standard picture of Philo: “Es gibt im philonischen Schrifttum einige Aussagen, die sich in das bisher gezeichnete Bild nicht ohne weiteres einfiigen lassen.” “Das Land Israel,” 174. 75 Schaller, “Das Land Israel,” 178–82. 76 Disagreeing with Ulrich Fischer, he writes: “In ihm ist völlig ausgeblendet, daß Philon nicht nur das kontemplative Leben eines philosophischen und religiösen Esoterikers geführt,

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his suggestion that Philo’s spiritualisation of the Land might belong to his earlier works and that his later works like Flacc., Legat. and Praem., written at a time when Jewish life was under threat, forced him to turn back to “den geschichtlichen Faktoren des Judentums.”77 While Halpern-Amaru, Weinfeld, and Schwartz tend to resolve the tension in Philo synchronically and emphasise the superiority of the spiritual for Philo, Schaller therefore seeks to do this diachronically. Without agreeing with all of his analysis, I pick up Schaller’s basic insight and ask what more might be said on Philo’s perspective on the Land and his rhetorical appropriation of it for his audience. II. The Land as cosmos and the sovereignty of the wise While agreeing with Halpern-Amaru and previous scholars, I would like to further nuance the nature of Philo’s allegory by drawing attention not only to Philo’s spiritualisation, but also to his universalisation of the Land. Here I will reflect further on the way Philo appropriates the theme of the universal sovereignty of God’s people that I noted in my previous chapter is closely tied to the theme of the Land in the Second Temple literature. 78 This theme goes back to the promise to Abraham in Gen 15 where the Land and numerous descendants who will “inherit” the Land are closely linked. 79 Here I will particularly extend the work of others by examining two rhetorical strategies Philo employs to reinterpret the Land for his audience. I want to begin by affirming those many passages in Philo that do see the Land as a symbol of the true heavenly inheritance that the wise can look forward to. Perhaps the fullest expression of this can be seen in Philo’s comments on the Tower of Babel episode in De confusione linguarum. Here Philo contrasts those like the inhabitants of Babel who continue to dwell in the land of foolishness with the wise whom Moses consistently represents as “sojourners (παροικοῦντες).” Moses represents them as sojourners because: Their way is to visit earthly nature (περίγειον φύσιν) as men who travel abroad to see and learn. So when they have stayed awhile in their bodies, and beheld through them all that sense and mortality has to shew, they make their way back to the place from which they set out at the first. To them the heavenly region, where their citizenship lies, is their native land (πατρίδα μὲν τὸν οὐράνιον χῶρον ἐν ᾧ πολιτεύονται); the earthly region in which they became sojourners is a foreign country (ξένην δὲ τὸν περίγειον ἐν ᾧ παρῴκησαν) (Conf. 77– 78; cf. Somn. 1.181). sondern sich persönlich auch ganz aktiv als Politiker betätigt hat.” “Das Land Israel,” 179– 80. 77 Schaller, “Das Land Israel,” 181. 78 See the section on the Land in the previous chapter. 79 Halpern-Amaru and others seem to have overlooked the language of “inheritance” in Philo.

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Again, when Moses says he is a “sojourner” in a foreign land (Exod 2:22), Philo says that this means that for Moses, “his tenancy of the body is not to him merely that of the foreigner as immigrant settlers count it. To alienate himself from it, never to count it as his own, is, he holds, to give it its due” (Conf. 82). Adopting Plato’s metaphor of the ascent of the soul, the Land which Philo ultimately seems interested in is a heavenly country.80 Furthermore, Philo can suggest quite explicitly that the entrance into the Land spoken of in Exod 23:20–21 was in fact symbolic of “entry into philosophy, (which is), as it were, a good land and fertile in the production of fruits, which the divine plants, the virtues, bear” (QE 2.13). But Halpern-Amaru seems to focus almost exclusively on texts like these and tends to downplay those places in Philo, especially in his exposition of legislation related to the Land, where he takes the commandments quite literally. Philo praises, for example, the practice of leaving the Land uncultivated on the Sabbath year as well as the practice of returning the Land to its original owners in the year of Jubilee: And there are other laws about the fiftieth year which is marked not only by the course of action just related, but also by the restoration of inheritance (τῶν κληρουχιῶν ἀποκατάστασις) to the families which originally possessed them (εἰς τοὺς ἐξ ἀρχῆς λαχόντας οἴκους), a very necessary procedure abounding in humanity and justice (πρᾶγμα φιλανθρωπίας καὶ δικαιοσύνης μεστόν) (Decal. 164).

Again, in commenting on the regulations for the redemption of the Land in Lev 25:31, he argues that this was intended to protect the foreigner: His reason is that he wishes to give the newcomers also a basis on which they may feel themselves firmly established in the country. For since they have no apportionment of land (ἐπειδὴ γὰρ μετουσίαν γῆς οὐκ ἔχουσιν) as they were not counted when the holdings were distributed, the law assigned to them their houses in fee simple in its anxiety that those who had come as suppliants and refugees to the laws should not be cast adrift (Spec. 2.118).

How can Philo insist on the importance of these material concerns and even that Jews ought to “love the incomers, not only as friends and kinsfolk but as themselves both in body and soul (κατά τε σῶμα καὶ ψυχήν)” (Virt. 103),81 while at the same time investing so little value in the earthly realm? Why indeed would he fight for Jewish rights in Alexandria when their true citizenship is in heaven? The metaphor of the journey of the soul is especially prominent in Plato’s Phaedo. See, e.g., Phaed. 67b–68b, 69b–d, 80d–81b, 82c, 114c. In Philo, see further Her. 126–128, Spec. 1.37–40, 2.44–46, Legat. 5–6. On this theme see Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 235–42; David T. Runia, On the Creation of the Cosmos According to Moses (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 229– 33. 81 Philo continues here to highlight the need to provide the foreigner with “food and drink and raiment and all the rights concerning daily life and necessary needs (ὅσα περὶ δίαιταν καὶ τὰς ἀναγκαίας χρείας)” (Virt. 104). 80

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While there is a profound tension here that I cannot fully explore,82 I do wish to reflect on how Philo’s appropriation of the theme of the Land might shed further light on this tension. In particular, I want to highlight two rhetorical strategies Philo adopts to reinterpret the Land for his audience. I will firstly highlight how Philo adapts Stoic cosmopolitanism to reinterpret the Land not only in spiritual, but also in universal terms as “the world (ὁ κόσμος).” I will secondly highlight how he emphasises the superiority of the Levitical priests who have no Land but who have God himself for their “inheritance (κληρονομία).” Philo does this firstly, I will argue, in order to reinterpret Jewish identity in a universal way, while still retaining some of the ethical demands related to the Land.83 He does this secondly, I will argue, in order to invest Jews with dignity in spite of their lack of political autonomy. 1. The Land as cosmos through Stoic cosmopolitanism I will begin by examining Cher. 119–123 in which Halpern-Amaru suggested that Philo diminished the importance of the Land. In commenting on the law against selling the Land in perpetuity in Lev 25:23 (where the law is grounded in Yahweh’s ultimate ownership of the Land),84 I note how Philo significantly universalises the Land to be “the universe” or “the whole creation” (Cher. 108– 124).85 Commenting on Lev 25:23 Philo writes: A clear proof surely that in possession all things are God’s (ὅτι κτήσει μὲν τὰ πάντα θεοῦ), and only as a loan do they belong to created things. For nothing, he means, will be sold in 82 This tension can be seen more broadly in relation to Philo’s ambivalence toward the material world generally. Charles Anderson has extensively examined how Philo can regard the material world both positively as the good creation of God and negatively as a realm to be transcended in order to reach God, but his proposed synthesis has not been accepted by all. Views of the Physical World, 168–85. See, e.g., David T. Runia, “Review of Philo of Alexandria’s Views of the Physical World, by Anderson, C.,” SPhiloA XXIV (2012): 252– 54. On this tension in relation to Philo’s asceticism, see also Winston, “Philo’s Ethical Theory,” 405–14. Likewise, Carlos Lévy recognizes in Philo “a tension between a very strong ascetic vocation and an ethical realism more inclined to accept the constraints of the body and of the external world.” “Philo’s Ethics,” 166. 83 Jacobus C. de Vos came to a somewhat similar conclusion in his examination of Philo’s perspective on the Land: “Das Land Israel ist demgegenüber das Partikulare, das durch das Universale überstiegen, aber nicht abgelöst wird.” Heiliges Land und Nähe Gottes: Wandlungen alttestamentlicher Landvorstellungen in frühjüdischen und neutestamentlichen Schriften (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 96. 84 “And the land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for all the land (πᾶσα ἡ γῆ) is mine” (Cher. 108). 85 See, esp., Philo’s comment: “Yet he who has the use does not thereby become possessor, because there is one lord and master of all, who will most rightly say ‘all the land is mine [ἐμὴ πᾶσά ἐστιν ἡ γῆ] (which is the same as ‘all creation is mine’[ἴσον τῷ, τὸ γενητὸν ἅπαν ἐμόν]), but ye are strangers and sojourners before me’” (Cher. 118). Here Philo explicitly interprets the Land as everything created.

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perpetuity to any created being, because there is but One, to whom in a full and complete sense the possession of all things (ἡ τῶν ὅλων κτῆσις) is assured (Cher. 108–109).

It is God’s ownership of the whole creation then that grounds ethical responsibility and careful stewardship in relation to what he has entrusted: And if we recognize that we have but their use, we shall tend them with care (ἐπιμελησόμεθα) as God’s possessions (ὡς θεοῦ κτημάτων), remembering from the first, that it is the master’s custom, when he will, to take back his own (Cher. 118).86

Reflecting a classic Stoic doctrine of apatheia,87 Philo goes on to insist that looking upon everything as ultimately belonging to God is also a great “consolation (παρηγορίαν)” against losing anything in the world.88 Halpern-Amaru suggested that here Philo downplays the significance of the Land by his insistence that “this world is only a foreign city in which God is the sole true citizen.”89 While this is true in the sense of Philo radically transforming the traditional conception, what she fails to notice is Philo’s larger rhetorical purpose,90 the way God’s sole citizenship is only relatively understood (Cher. 121), and the many other texts where God’s people are said to share in his possessions and in world citizenship alongside him. A good place to see this is in Philo’s account of Moses’ life, which Gregory Sterling has recently argued should be seen as an introduction to Philo’s Exposition of the Law.91 Drawing together the fact that God possesses all things, that Moses is called a “friend of God” (Exod 33:11), and the Greek proverb “what belongs to friends is common,”92 Philo concludes that God shares all his possessions with Moses (Mos. 1.155–156). Moreover, he writes: And that is but natural, for he is a world citizen (κοσμοπολίτης), and therefore not on the roll of any city of men’s habitation (οὐδεμιᾷ τῶν κατὰ τὴν οἰκουμένην πόλεων ἐνεγράφη),

86 It’s interesting in this section that he also draws attention to the fact that he is soul and body, “I am formed of soul and body (ἐκ ψυχῆς καὶ σώματος), I seem to have mind, reason, sense, yet I find that none of them is really mine” (Cher. 113). 87 On apatheia in Philo, see Winston, “Philo’s Ethical Theory,” 400–405. 88 Philo writes, “And so the thought that the world and all that therein is (τὸ τὸν κόσμον καὶ τὰ ἐν κόσμῳ) are both the works and the possessions of Him that begat them becomes not only a truth but a doctrine most comfortable” (Cher. 119). 89 Halpern-Amaru, “Land Theology in Philo and Josephus,” 77. 90 Philo’s main aim here is to emphasize that everything is ultimately God’s possession and that this should prevent human boasting about obtaining anything independently of God (Cher. 124–130). In this section Philo is particularly reflecting on the impropriety of Eve’s words “I have gotten a man through God” (Cher. 40; 124). 91 Gregory E. Sterling, “Philo of Alexandria’s Life of Moses: An Introduction to the Exposition of the Law,” SPhiloA XXX (2018): 31–46. 92 A proverb already well-known to Plato, e.g., Resp. 424a.

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rightly so because he has received no mere piece of land (μέρος χώρας) but the whole world as his portion (ὅλον τὸν κόσμον κλῆρον λαβών) (Mos. 1.157).

Here Moses is represented as the ideal sage whom Philo calls on others to imitate (Mos. 1.158–159). What is particularly interesting is his use of Stoic cosmopolitanism to represent Moses as a “world citizen” who has a cosmic inheritance. In spite of the proliferation of studies on Philo, and the fact that Philo’s texts are the earliest extant texts in which the specific term κοσμοπολίτης is used,93 I could not find a study devoted to Philo’s unique appropriation of the cosmopolitan theme. 94 Most studies on cosmopolitanism look back to Diogenes of Sinope’s famous response to the question of where he came from: “I am a citizen of the world (κοσμοπολίτης).”95 About this cosmopolitanism that Diogenes bequeathed to later Stoicism, Anthony A. Long writes: “His worldwide city should be regarded as the community of the wise, an ideal of enlightened persons united not by local or relational ties but by the common values they share – a group that understands what human nature needs in order to perfect itself.”96 In this regard, it is unsurprising that Philo might present the most pre-eminent Jewish leader in such terms that would resonate with his audience.97 What is perhaps surprising, is that Philo would explicitly say that Moses “received no mere piece of land (μέρος χώρας)” as his “portion (κλῆρος),” when it was precisely a piece of land that he was promised as his “portion” in the Exodus account.98 93 Runia comments: “Philo's exploitation of the themes of the cosmos as megalopolis and man as kosmopolitês (citizen of the world) is all the more striking when we consider that the terms he uses scarcely occur outside his works. Traditionally it has been held that Philo is adapting Stoic ideas, such as are found elsewhere in authors like Cicero, Plutarch, Seneca, Dio Chrysostom, and Epictetus.” “The Idea and the Reality of the City,” 366. 94 In a recent volume devoted to Cosmopolitanism and Empire, Tamara Chin observes how Philo is often overlooked in studies of the topic and the conclusion of her own brief study is that Philo’s cosmopolitanism is quite different to the Stoics in that Philo’s kosmopolitēs lives by the Mosaic Torah. Furthermore, Philo does not seem to mimic imperial discourse here and, as such, “Philo’s kosmopolitēs is a citizen of a non-imperial universe.” “What Is Imperial Cosmopolitanism? Revisiting Kosmopolites and Mundanus,” in Cosmopolitanism and Empire: Universal Rulers, Local Elites, and Cultural Integration in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 136. 95 Reported in Diogenes Laertius Vit. phil. 6.63. 96 Anthony A. Long, “The Concept of the Cosmopolitan in Greek & Roman Thought,” Daedalus 137 (2008): 55. 97 The intended audience of De vita Mosis has been debated over the years. Sterling reflects a fair summary of the consensus that: “Today it is widely recognized that the audience of both The Life of Moses and the Exposition includes non-Jews, even if the primary audience was Jewish.” “Philo of Alexandria’s Life of Moses,” 41. 98 See, e.g., “I will bring you into the land that I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; I will give it to you for a possession (ἐν κλήρῳ). I am the Lord” (Exod 6:8).

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Philo is clearly wanting to detach Jewish identity from the Land here and to reinterpret them as being at home in “the world (κόσμος).”99 In another one of Philo’s relatively rare uses of κοσμοπολίτης, 100 he reflects on God’s promise to make Abraham a “great” nation (Gen 12:2), and he sees this “greatness” as proximity to God which “the wise man,” who is identified with the “worldcitizen,” enjoys (Migr. 59). Philo’s usage of κοσμοπολίτης in fact often presupposes an identity of “the wise” with the “world-citizen” and interestingly opens up the possibility that this identity might not be limited only to Jews. When commenting on what he calls the first feast recorded in the Law, for example, he identifies “All who practice wisdom, either in Grecian or barbarian lands” as “true ‘cosmopolitans’ (κοσμοπολῖται) who have recognised the world to be a city having for its citizens the associates of wisdom” (Spec. 2.44–45). This is quite a striking identification as neither of the “lands” mentioned are the Land of Israel,101 and so, just as Philo tends towards universalising the Land, he also tends towards universalising who might be classed among the “wise” who have this universal perspective on the world.102 It seems at times that this company of wise souls might even be identified with “Israel” (Praem. 43–44).103 At the very least, the wise cosmopolitans are represented here as fulfilling God’s Law as they celebrate every day as a “feast” (Spec. 2.41–49). Bloch has also recently observed how in this treatise Philo studiously avoids any mention of the final destination of the Exodus and how this tendency is evident in other JewishHellenistic texts generally. He comments on Mos. 1.65–84, e.g., “Philo’s God tells Moses that he would soon become the leader of their migration from Egypt, but forgets to tell Moses where to take his people.” “Leaving Home,” 359. 100 Philo uses κοσμοπολίτης 8 times (Opif. 3, 142, 143; Gig. 61; Conf. 106; Migr. 59; Mos. 1.157; Spec. 2.45). Only in Gig. 61 is it used in a negative sense in that Philo here suggests that true men of God “have refused to accept membership in the commonwealth of the world and to become citizens (κοσμοπολῖται) therein.” He also uses the related κοσμοπολίτιδες once in Somn. 1.243. 101 Unless, reflecting Greek usage, he might classify Judaea as a “barbarian” land. Philo can refer to non-Greek speaking Jews as barbarians without, it would seem, any derogatory connotation (Mos. 2.27). 102 It is clear from what follows that he sees this number of wise souls as few (Spec. 2.47), but he holds out great hope for the world if their number should increase (Spec. 2.48). 103 On Philo’s distinction between “Jews” and “Israel,” see esp. Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism. Termini writes of Philo’s usage of the honorific title “Israel” that: “In his allegorical exegesis the special bond that unites Israel to God is elevated beyond history and is transformed into the wise soul’s belonging to God.” She suggests further that in Philo “Israel” could be seen as “an elite group of sages who achieved perfection in virtue and have reached the apex of spiritual progress.” “Philo’s Thought,” 123. See also Cesar Rios’ assessment: “Therefore, it seems reasonable to affirm that Philo does not close the group called Israel, and does not equal it to that of the Jews, but nothing consistently suggests that this overture was such as to include someone completely ignorant of Mosaic Law as a member of Israel.” “Philo of Alexandria: An Introduction to the Jewish Exegete and His Intercultural Condition,” Scriptura 114 (2015): 4. 99

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What I also note here is that, in keeping with Philo’s generally positive use of κόσμος,104 the κοσμοπολῖται are represented not as escaping from the material world,105 but rather living a virtuous and ascetic life in it (Spec. 2.46), which would ultimately lead to the blessed state of human flourishing described by εὐδαιμονία (Spec. 2.48).106 Philo’s appropriation of the cosmopolitan theme is perhaps most clearly explicated, however, with reference to his treatise De opificio mundi that stands at the head of his Exposition. In this exposition of the creation account, Philo represents the first man as a “citizen of the world” who lives according to the natural law embedded in the κόσμος.107 It is well known, furthermore, that Philo regarded this natural law as being most perfectly manifest in the Mosaic Law. Philo can write, for example, that all of Moses’ commandments “seek to attain to the harmony of the universe and are in agreement with the principles of eternal nature (ἀιδίου φύσεως)” (Mos. 2.52).108 This is why, Philo argues, unlike other legislators, Moses begins his Law with an account of creation (Opif. 1–3). Furthermore, since Jews have access to this universal law in the Torah, they also have a special cosmic and priestly responsibility to play in relation to the rest of humanity. In the context in which Moses is called a κοσμοπολίτης, for example, Philo also writes that God “thought good to requite him with the kingship of a nation more populous and mightier, a nation destined to be consecrated above all others to offer prayers for ever on behalf of the human race that it may be delivered from evil and participate in what is good” (Mos.

See Anderson, Views of the Physical World, 74–102. While Philo describes them as philosophers whose souls contemplate heavenly things, he also notes that “their bodies are firmly planted on the land” (Spec. 2.45). 106 Philo laments that the number of such wise souls is currently small in the cities (Spec. 2.47), but holds out hope that if men everywhere would like them live in accordance with nature, then “the cities would have been brimful of happiness (εὐδαιμονίας ἂν αἱ πόλεις ἐγένοντο μεσταί), utterly free from all that causes grief and fears, and packed with what produces joys and states of well-being, so that each season as it comes would give full opportunity for cheerful living and the whole cycle of the year would be a feast.” (Spec. 2.48). 107 Philo writes: “Now since every well-ordered State has a constitution (ἔχει πολιτείαν), the citizen of the world (κοσμοπολίτῃ) enjoyed of necessity the same constitution as did the whole world: and this constitution is nature’s right relation (ὁ τῆς φύσεως ὀρθὸς λόγος)” (Opif. 143 cf. Ios. 28–31). On Stoic natural law theory in Philo generally, see Winston, “Philo’s Ethical Theory,” 381–8. 108 Runia writes: “The Law of Moses is not identical with the cosmic or natural law, but a far-reaching harmony exists between them.” On the Creation of the Cosmos, 107. For the relationship between the Law of Nature and the Mosaic Law in Philo, see further Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Écriture Chez Philon de’Alexandrie, 117–55; Hindy Najman, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhiloA 11 (1999): 55–73. 104 105

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1.150).109 This theme of the Jews’ mediatorial role in relation to humanity is also seen in Jewish worship in which “the High Priest of the Jews makes prayers and gives thanks not only on behalf of the whole human race but also for the parts of nature (τῶν τῆς φύσεως μερῶν), earth, water, air, fire. For he holds the world (τὸν κόσμον) to be, as it in very truth is, his country (ἑαυτοῦ πατρίδα)” (Spec. 1.97). Here, like Moses, the high priest regards not merely Judaea, but the world to be his “fatherland (πατρίδα).”110 But I particularly want to focus here on how Philo also appropriates this cosmopolitan theme in relation to the Land in Spec. 2.162–175. Here Philo is commenting on the feast of the “Sheaf” 111 and again stresses the universal role that Israel play on behalf of humanity when they offer the first-fruit “both of the land which has been given to the nation to dwell in and of the whole earth (τῆς συμπάσης γῆς)” (Spec. 2.162). He goes on in a lengthy reflection to emphasise how the Jews have been given the unique responsibility to direct the worship of the polytheistic nations towards the one true God and in this regard also defends the Jews against the common charge of misanthropy (Spec. 2.163– 167).112 It is here, as Schaller realised, that we get one of the most detailed pictures of Philo’s perspective on the Land. Philo argues here that the Jews give thanks to God at this time for two reasons: First, because they do not continue for ever wandering broadcast over islands and continents (οὐκ αἰεὶ σποράδην ἀλώμενοι κατά τε νήσους καὶ ἠπείρους) and occupying the homelands of others as strangers and vagrants, open to the reproach of waiting to seize the goods of others. Nor have they just borrowed a section of this great country for lack of means to purchase, but have acquired the land and cities for their own property, a heritage (κλῆρον) in which they live as long-established citizens and therefore offer first-fruits from it as a sacred duty. Secondly, the land which has fallen to their lot is not derelict nor indifferent soil, but good land, well fitted for breeding domestic animals and bearing fruits in vast abundance (Spec. 2.168–169).

Philo goes on to praise the good qualities of the Land and also to reflect on the fact that the Land they received had previously been inhabited by a powerful nation, but that “the whole nation, except for a small fraction, has disappeared, 109 On Israel’s universal priesthood see also Abr. 98; Spec. 1.97, 167, 168, 189; Spec. 2.162, 167. See also Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 257. 110 Torrey Seland comments on this text that: “This description is undoubtedly partly influenced by Stoic conceptions of the wise person as a world citizen.” “The ‘Common Priesthood’ of Philo and 1 Peter: A Philonic Reading of 1 Peter 2.5, 9,” JSNT 57 (1995): 94. I will reflect on this theme further in the section on Philo’s perspective on the Temple. 111 Philo is referring here to the first-fruits of barley that would be brought as an offering to the priest (Lev 23:10–14). 112 On Philo’s response to the charge of misanthropy generally, see Katell Berthelot, Philanthropia judaica: le débat autour de la “misanthropie” des lois juives dans l’Antiquité (Leiden: Brill, 2003).

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partly through wars, partly through heaven sent visitations” (Spec. 2.170).113 Philo attributes their diminution to their “monstrous practices of iniquity . . . aimed at the subversion of nature” 114 and sees this as an historical object lesson for the Jews: that if they emulate deeds of vice they will suffer the same doom, but if they pay honour to a life of virtue (ἀρετῆς) they will possess the heritage (κλῆρον) appointed to them and be ranked not as settlers but as native-born (οὐκ ἐν μετοίκοις ἀλλ’ ἐν αὐτόχθοσιν) (Spec. 2.170).

It was here that Schaller suggested that Philo had some eschatological expectation that Jews would return to the Land, because Philo could not possibly have thought that Jews currently possess the Land in this way. 115 I would suggest, however, that Philo does regard this possession of the Land as largely a present reality, since his whole argument about Jews currently offering their first-fruits in the Land depends on it. 116 I would tend to see it more as a warning of the possibility of losing the Land (through overzealous opposition to Rome?) and as such represents Philo’s general acquiescence to Roman rule.117 Furthermore, I note that, when he presents the Land as concrete reality, it is especially Stoic notions he draws upon for its positive representation. He goes on to praise “nature (φύσις)” as the one who has begotten humanity and “who has not grudged to man a share in the goods which are her very own” (Spec. 2.173).118 Unlike the Stoics, however, he ultimately praises God, “Who provides for His guests the whole earth as a truly hospitable home ever filled not merely with necessaries, but with the means of luxurious living” (Spec.

113 On the way Philo interprets the Conquest of the Land generally, see Katell Berthelot, “Philo of Alexandria and the Conquest of Canaan,” JSJ 38 (2007): 39–56. 114 The Stoic language of natural law (τῆς φύσεως θεσμῶν) recurs here (cf. Opif. 143). 115 Schaller writes: “Im Rückblick auf bereits geschehene Ereignisse oder im Blick auf einen gegenwärtigen Zustand läßt sich dieser Satz kaum verstehen. Er kann im Grunde nur im Vorausblick auf die Zukunft gesagt sein.” “Das Land Israel,” 178. 116 So also de Vos: “Ich meine aber gegen Schaller, dass in spec. II 168 keine eschatologische Landerwartung vorliegt, und jedenfalls Philos Aussageabsicht nicht darin besteht .” Heiliges Land und Nähe Gottes, 94. 117 I do not think that Philo is primarily thinking about Diaspora Jews continuing to enjoy their homelands here, although there is obviously a lesson for all Jews. This is clear from his statement: “Thus should those who took their place as inhabitants (οἱ ἀντὶ τούτων εἰσοικιζόμενοι)” (Spec. 2.170). Contra de Vos who comments: “Man bekommt den Eindruck, dass der Satz ‘wenn sie aber an einem Leben der Tugend festhalten, das ihnen zugewiesene Land besitzen und nicht als Beisassen, sondern als Eingesessene gelten werden,’ auch für die Juden in der Diaspora gemeint ist, Das ‘Land’, in dem sie als Eingesessene.” Heiliges Land und Nähe Gottes, 94. 118 For a recognition of the Stoic background here, see also Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria, 164–65.

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2.173).119 All Jews everywhere, therefore, can celebrate this festival as they give thanks for their harvests outside the Land. Thus, although Philo often views the Land allegorically as “the realm of the body” to be transcended, he can also present it positively as the whole world of nature in which humanity must give praise to its creator. 120 When Philo presents the Land positively like this, it is through the lens of Stoic cosmopolitanism, which also allows him to universalise the Land. This universalism, however, has a macrocosmic and microcosmic dimension evident elsewhere in Philo’s thought. 121 It seems that, just as Jewish worship in the Temple represents the worship of humanity as a whole, so also the offering of the first fruits in the Land also represents the giving of the whole earth. In this way the Land is transcended but not replaced. 122 Here Philo also differs from classic Stoic cosmopolitanism which deemphasises all local ties. Through this, Philo is also able to emphasise the responsibility of all Jews everywhere to live in accordance with nature and indeed to live by the ethical standards that were laid out in relation to the Land. 2. The Levitical priests who have no Land but only God as their “inheritance” The second rhetorical strategy by which Philo appropriates the Land for his audience is by emphasising the superiority of the Levitical priests. Here I also pay careful attention to Philo’s usage of the language of “inheritance,”123 which 119 In his study of φύσις and κόσμος in Philo, Anderson also points out that “Through all these expressions, in a manner consistent with Stoicism, Philo clearly attributes the order and structure of the universe to φύσις with the difference that he places God above cosmic φύσις.” Views of the Physical World, 130. Commenting on Philo’s perspective on creation, Runia writes: “The true philosopher therefore maintains an attitude of absolute admiration for God the creator and relative admiration for the created cosmos.” Philo of Alexandria and The Timaeus of Plato, 460 (emphasis original). 120 Quite naturally most of the negative statements on the Land occur in the Allegorical Commentary while the Exposition of the Law contains more positive expressions. 121 Philo often draws on the common Greek idea of the human being consisting of soul and body being a microcosm of the universe consisting of logos and material reality (Opif. 69, 82; Post. 58; Mos. 2.135; Plant. 28–31). Philo also extends the analogy, e.g., when he comments that “the Jewish nation is to the whole inhabited world what the priest is to the State (πρὸς πόλιν)” (Spec. 2.163). In discussing this analogy in Philo’s creation account, Runia comments: “The analogy between the macrocosm (God and the world) and the microcosm (the intellect in the human being) is probably Stoic in origin (cf. Cicero Somn. Scip. 26; Seneca 65.24).” On the Creation of the Cosmos, 227. 122 See also de Vos who concludes: “Das Land Israel ist demgegenüber das Partikulare, das durch das Universale überstiegen, aber nicht abgelöst wird.” Heiliges Land und Nähe Gottes, 96. 123 I am not aware of a careful study of this. There are a few comments on Philo’s usage in De plantatione in Albert C. Geljon and David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria On Planting: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 159–60.

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almost always has the usual sense of “that which is assigned by lot or simply given as a portion” (κλῆρος BDAG, 548). Here I observe, however, that Philo tends to use the word in one of two ways.124 Firstly, his usage often leans more towards that of the biblical wisdom literature where it is used in the generalised sense of a reward or punishment. 125 But secondly, he can also think of “inheritance” in more concrete terms. Here it is clear that he is very familiar with the notion of Land as “inheritance” and spends considerable time engaging with it.126 In particular, Philo often positively comments on the fact that the tribe of Levi had no inheritance in the Land, because the Lord himself is their “inheritance” (most frequently quoting from Deut 10:9).127 This high praise and positive perspective on the priesthood leads many to affirm the plausibility of Jerome’s statement that he came from a priestly family. 128 Philo can comment, for example, about the tribe of Levi: For he deemed it meet and right that a whole tribe, which had taken refuge at God's footstool, should be allotted no part of the country (τῆς χώρας), like the other eleven tribes, but should receive the pre-eminent privilege of the priesthood, a possession not earthly (ἐπίγειον) but heavenly (ὀλύμπιον κτῆμα) (Plant. 63).

What is interesting in this context is that Philo again seems to open up the bounds of who might belong to this privileged group, because a little earlier Philo identifies those who have God as their inheritance not only as the Levitical priests but “the company of wise souls (ψυχῶν σοφῶν ὁ θίασος).”129 What 124 In my research I carefully investigated Philo’s usage of the κληρονομέω / κληρονομία / κλῆρος lexemes closely associated with the Land in the LXX. The verb κληρονομέω occurs 31 times and the nouns κληρονομία and κλῆρος occur 9 and 119 times respectively. 125 About Cain and Abel, e.g., Philo concludes, “Well, then, let goodly men, having obtained joy and hope as their happy portion (κλῆρον), either enjoy or at all events expect good things” (Det. 140). About Isaac and Ishmael he concludes, “For wisdom is Isaac's inheritance (κεκλήρωται) and sophistry Ishmael’s” (Sobr. 9). Also, e.g., “Passion becomes the portion of the lover of passion” (Leg. 2.52). This usage is similar to the Proverbs, “The wise will inherit honor, but fools get disgrace.” (Prov 3:35). 126 Philo clearly saw this as an important theme in the scriptures. Runia notes, e.g., how the theme of κλῆρος is used to structure parts of Philo’s treatise De plantatione. “The Structure of Philo’s De Plantatione and Its Place in the Allegorical Commentary,” SPhiloA 29 (2017): 123. Given the way Philo links important key words, Runia even suggests that: “Philo must have studied the terms used in the Pentateuch for various activities and concepts very carefully and that he may have used some kind of concordance, unless he could draw on the resources of what as clearly a formidable memory.” “The Structure of Philo’s De Plantatione,” 125. 127 See, e.g., Leg. 2.51, Plant. 63, Spec. 1.131. 128 See Jerome’s statement in Vir. ill. 11 and further references in Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 11. 129 Commenting on the fact that Israel are called God’s inheritance in Exod 15:17, Philo writes, “Marvel not at all, then, if the title of special portion of God (εἰληχότος ἐξαίρετος

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is also interesting above is that he does not use the usual word for “heaven (οὐρανός),” but rather ὀλύμπιον κτῆμα – an “Olympian possession.” One has to keep reading to see what he means by this. Philo goes on to reflect on what a great thing it is for the Levites to have God as their inheritance and concludes that they are greater than those who have, “made themselves masters of all earth’s regions to its fullest bounds, all nations, Greek and barbarian alike, all rivers, and seas unlimited in number and extent” (Plant. 67). Such people, who have acquired such a vast dominion over the world (the Romans?), “would be reckoned ordinary citizens when compared with great kings (μεγάλων βασιλέων) who received God as their portion (θεὸν κλῆρον ἔλαχον)” (Plant. 68). Philo goes on to insist that the “inheritance” of the wise is greater than the whole world: But Moses considers wisdom an object of such admiration and emulation, that he thinks its worthy portion (κλήρον) to be not merely the whole world (σύμπαντα κόσμον), but the very Lord of all (Plant. 69).

In particular, Philo emphasises here that the priestly people of God somehow share also in God’s universal sovereignty, albeit on a different plane. I suggest that Philo’s usage of royal terminology here is to invest the Jew’s with dignity and is aimed at reconceptualising rule so that it is “the wise” who ultimately rule, even without a Land to call their own. This seems to be the clear force of the text quoted above that negatively compares those who have “made themselves masters of all earth's regions” with the “great kings (μεγάλων βασιλέων) who received God for their portion (θεὸν κλῆρον ἔλαχον)” (Plant. 68). This same perspective can be seen in Philo’s account of Israel’s victory over the Amalekites on the border of the Promised Land in Exod 17:8-16. In explaining the significance of Israel winning the battle whenever Moses’ hands were raised and losing the battle whenever they were lowered, Philo writes: But whenever his hands were weighed down the enemy prevailed. Thus, by symbols, God shewed that earth and the lowest regions of the universe (γῆ καὶ αἱ τοῦ παντὸς ἐσχατιαὶ) were the portion assigned as their own to the one party, and the ethereal, the holiest region (αἰθὴρ ὁ ἱερώτατος), to the other; and that, just as heaven holds kingship in the universe and is superior (βασιλεύει καὶ κρατεῖ) to earth, so this nation should be victorious over its opponents in war (Mos. 1.217).

Here Philo seems to open up the space for Jewish superiority, even if they have no inheritance on earth, because those who have “heaven” for their inheritance in fact “reign over” those who have the earth. 130 Once again, Moses is the κλῆρος) the universal Ruler, to whom sovereignty over all pertains, is bestowed upon the company of wise souls (ψυχῶν σοφῶν ὁ θίασος)” (Plant. 58). 130 The point of the account, of course, is that Israel was precisely given an earthly inheritance in the Land and not merely a heavenly inheritance.

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preeminent example that Philo would have the wise imitate. Philo writes that Moses was indeed a king, but not in the ordinary fashion of one who gains this position by military force, but rather: Without the gifts of speech or possessions or money he was made a king (βασιλεὺς), he who eschewed the blind wealth and embraced that which has eyes to see, and, as we may say without reserve, held that all he owned was to have God for his heritage (τὸν θεοῦ κλῆρον ἰδίαν οὐσίαν ὑπολαμβάνων) (Praem. 54).

Again, in commenting on the Canaanites recognising Abraham as “king” among them (Gen 23:6), even though he had no Land (!), Philo comments: Rather they perceived the kingship in his mind (τῇ διανοίᾳ βασιλικὴν), and thus Moses confesses that the Sage alone is king (μόνον τὸν σοφὸν βασιλέα). For in truth the prudent man is ruler of the imprudent (ὁ μὲν φρόνιμος ἡγεμὼν ἀφρόνων) (Mut. 152–153; cf. Somn. 2.244).

Here Philo makes use of a classic Stoic paradox that, as much as it goes against common sense, “the Sage alone is king.”131 I would suggest that hereby Philo wants his fellow Jews to adopt the same “royal disposition” that Abraham had and to recognise that, as they pursue wisdom, they also can be “kings” without possessing the Land. 132 Philo in fact seems to see pursuit of wisdom as the way by which Israel will bless the nations.133 In commenting on the promise of the Land and blessing to the nations reiterated to Jacob in Gen 28:14, for example, Philo speaks of Israel as “Wisdom’s race” and writes: The man of worth is not just a good to himself but a common good to all men (κοινὸν ἀγαθὸν ἅπασιν). From his ready store he proffers the boon which is his to give (Somn. 1.176).

131 Philo says that the Canaanites “did not consider his material resources, for what such were there in an emigrant, who was not even the inhabitant of a city but a wanderer over a wide and desolate and trackless land” (Mut. 152). Philo often draws on this theme in, e.g, Sobr. 57; Migr. 197; Mut. 152; Somn. 2.244; Abr. 272; Prob. 27 and QG 4.76. Diogenes Laertius expresses something of the Stoic conception behind this, “Moreover, according to them not only are the wise free, they are also kings; kingship being irresponsible rule, which none but the wise can maintain: so Chrysippus in his treatise vindicating Zeno’s use of terminology. For he holds that knowledge of good and evil is a necessary attribute of the ruler, and that no bad man is acquainted with this science” (Vit. phil. 7.122). On this theme, see further René Brouwer, The Stoic Sage: The Early Stoics on Wisdom, Sagehood and Socrates (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 57–60. 132 Goodenough comments in relation to this text and others that: “It is obvious that to Philo and his audience the term king properly meant not anyone with royal power or title, but one who ruled according to the Law of Nature.” The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 91. 133 Chee-Chiew Lee, e.g., comments: “for Philo, the people of other nations may be blessed on account of a wise individual, when such individuals, who are blessed richly by God due to their righteousness, share their possessions with others, intercede for others, and influence others for the better by their good character.” The Blessing of Abraham, the Spirit, & Justification in Galatians: Their Relationship and Significance for Understanding Paul’s Theology (Eugene: Pickwick Publications, 2013), 7.

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This is closely akin to the theme of Israel’s mediatorial role in relation to the world that I noted above. The path to the inheritance for Philo is therefore Israel pursuing wisdom and living in accordance with the Law of Moses and thereby blessing the nations. In emphasising the superiority of the priests who have God as their inheritance, it would seem that Philo is self-consciously engaging with Roman conceptions of rule.134 In particular, he seems to want to cut their claims of universal rule down to size while simultaneously elevating the wise who know God to the position of the true rulers on the heavenly plane. 135 Philo thus seems eager to articulate a Jewish identity that is not dependent on claims to any earthly territory. Although they might not enjoy political autonomy, he nevertheless wants to invest their status of belonging to the one true God as having such great dignity that this would not overly concern them. He hereby reshapes the classic Jewish conception of the Land so that the Jew who knows that “the earth is the Lord’s” (Lev 25:23), also knows that they share in his universal sovereignty on the heavenly plane. III. The Land in Philo’s eschatological expectation The question still remains, however, whether Philo ever saw the earthly and heavenly planes meeting, so that the wise who are now heavenly “kings” would ultimately be kings upon the earth as well. It is generally recognised here that, although Philo does not frequently engage in this kind of national or cosmic eschatological reflection,136 there are nevertheless a few key exceptions.137 Philo’s expectation as expressed in De praemiis et poenis has especially been the subject of considerable debate. In this treatise that ends Philo’s Exposition, he famously reflects on the blessings and curses expressed in Deut 134 So also Berthelot, who reflecting on Plant. 67–68, concludes: “Whereas the Romans have received that which God has made – that is, the world and its wealth, or at least part of it – the Jews have received as their lot God himself, and are therefore immensely superior to the Romans.” “Philo’s Perception of the Roman Empire,” 183. 135 That Philo is engaging with the boastful claims of political leaders is evident from Plant. 67 where he concludes, “In the face of this let those cease their proud boastings who have acquired royal and imperial sway.” Furthermore, it is only Rome in Philo’s day who might make the claim that they have “made themselves masters of all earth’s regions to its fullest bounds, all nations, Greek and barbarian alike, all rivers, and seas unlimited in number and extent” (Plant. 68). 136 Grabbe can even conclude: “In the end, Philo has no cosmic eschatology – or, rather, his cosmic eschatology is not distinguished from his individual eschatology. All emphasis is placed on the goal and fate of the individual’s souls.” “Eschatology,” 173. John J. Collin’s also comments: “The majority of scholars have tended to discount his interest in practical nationalism.” Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 132. 137 See especially Praem. 79–172, Mos. 1.290–291, Deus. 176 and Virt. 119–120.

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27:15–30:20. Goodenough and Wolfson had both seen Philo expressing here a clear hope of physical restoration to the Land which they also saw being closely linked to Philo’s hope of a Messiah (Praem. 95).138 Richard Hecht (1987) rightly criticised their monolithic constructions of first-century Judaism, however, and highlighted how both were too quick to harmonise Philo’s expectation of a ‘Messiah’ and a coming ‘messianic era’ with other first-century Jewish expectations.139 Regardless of Philo’s exact relationship to “native” or later rabbinic Judaism, however, we may yet inquire into his perspective on this area. Here Hecht concludes that: “Philo presents a thoroughly dehistoricized description of the messianic drama when compared to other contemporary visions. The particularism gives way to a general vision of a Golden Age.”140 Agreeing with Yehoshua Amir,141 he also thinks that Philo is engaging here with the ideas of “popular messianists,”142 but that he transforms these ideas so that the messianic language of a “man” (Praem. 95) is not to be taken as referring to a personal figure, but rather as God himself or as “an allegorical designator for the Logos.”143 Philo’s expectation of a physical restoration (and to varying degrees a personal messianic figure) continues to be defended in a nuanced way, however, by scholars like James M. Scott, Peder Borgen, and John J. Collins.144 In this area, I would tend to agree with Collins that the importance Philo attached to Goodenough, The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 115–20; Wolfson, Philo, 2:395–426. Hecht concludes: “Both have committed a religio-historical error in assuming a unified and singular Judaism in late antiquity.” “Judaisms and Their Messiahs,” 147. 140 Hecht, “Judaisms and Their Messiahs,” 155. For a similar perspective, see Burton L. Mack, “Wisdom and Apocalyptic in Philo,” SPhiloA 3 (1991): 21–39. 141 Yehoshua Amir, “The Messianic Idea in Hellenistic Judaism,” Imm 2 (1973): 58–60. 142 Hecht writes: “This social and political situation in Alexandria provides a fertile context for messianism and apocalypticism as attested to by the Sibylline Oracles . . . We may assume that the messianism in Philo's De Praemiis et Poenis is a reflection of the ideas of popular messianists.” “Judaisms and Their Messiahs,” 160–61. A fuller exposition of this thesis can now be found in Thomas H. Tobin, “Philo and the Sibyl: Interpreting Philo’s Eschatology,” SPhiloA 9 (1997): 84–103. Goodenough already noted how many previous commentators saw Philo’s reflections here as “traditional flourishes for his conservative audience.” The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 116. 143 Hecht, “Judaisms and Their Messiahs,” 158. 144 James M. Scott, “Philo and the Restoration of Israel,” SBLSP (1995): 553–75; Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 261–81; Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem, 132–37. In commenting on Mos. 1.289–291 and Praem. 93–97, for example, Borgen writes about the “man” of Philo’s expectation that: “although not a Davidic king, carries the features of the Messiah, in accordance with the messianic interpretation of Num 24:7 in the Targums.” Philo of Alexandria, 271. Collins recognises that, although Philo seems more interested in “the spiritual triumph of virtue rather than in the physical victory of a messianic king,” he does nevertheless seem to have held some expectation of “a visible triumph of Judaism.” Between Athens and Jerusalem, 136. 138 139

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the letter of the law would suggest that he envisioned some “visible triumph of Judaism.” Although Halpern-Amaru and others think it impossible to decipher Philo’s commitment to a physical restoration,145 it seems clear to me, in De praemiis et poenis at least, that Philo is conscious of interpreting real external blessings promised.146 He explicitly states this (Praem. 118) and quite deliberately signals when he also takes some of the literal promises allegorically (Praem. 158). I would also emphasise that Philo’s vision is broader than merely Jews returning to the Land and that he presents a more universalistic picture of the future of humanity, who may choose a life of either virtue in obedience to God’s laws or a life of vice (Praem. 126, 152, 162, cf. 2). 147 It is also often noted that Jerusalem and the Temple do not feature in Philo’s eschatological vision148 and in this way Jewish particularity is further deemphasised in Philo’s envisioned future. 149 I would thus conclude that, although the Land of Judaea does not feature strongly in Philo’s vision of the future, a real physical restoration does nevertheless remain in view. What I also want to emphasise here is the path that Philo envisioned into this future. Here it is clear that Philo saw Israel entering its “inheritance” through pursuing virtue rather than through organised military conflict. In commenting on Balaam’s oracle of a man coming forth who would “subdue great Halpern-Amaru writes: “it is impossible to decipher to what extent he is in fact committed to a physical restoration to a physical Land.” “Land Theology in Philo and Josephus,” 83. Fuller writes: “Even if a literal element is retained in Philo's notion of the regathering to the Land, the physical dimension is clearly demoted in importance in comparison with the spiritual or allegorical aspect.” The Restoration of Israel, 96. I would even question this conclusion, as it seems that Philo spends most of his time in Praem. unpacking the literal blessings and curses and only occasionally does he move to an allegorical reading. 146 Here Goodenough made a good point that, just because the hope of a physical restoration cannot so neatly be placed into Philo’s “system,” does not mean that it should entirely be discarded. Goodenough writes: “People who have limited their hearts’ desires to the logical possibilities of a system have lived only in the imaginations of historians.” The Politics of Philo Judaeus, 117. 147 For a good exposition of this universal aspect, see Fuller, The Restoration of Israel, 86–100. 148 A point I will observe further below and that distinguishes Philo’s vision of the future from other contemporary Jewish accounts. 149 This point should also not be overly stressed as the blessings Philo envisions do come to those who respect “the laws” and “ancestral customs” (Praem. 98, 106) and the curses come to those who “have forgotten the teaching of their race and of their fathers” (Praem. 162). The explicit mention of proselytes sharing the blessing (Praem. 152) should also temper conclusions about Philo’s universality. Perhaps it is better to say that, while Philo could envision a future without Jerusalem and the Temple, he could not envision a future without God’s Law. Philo also continues to uphold Jewish particularity in his hope that all the nations will come to obey Moses’ Law in Mos. 1.290–291. 145

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and populous nations” (Num. 24:7), he writes that Moses here predicts that this “man”: will win not only a permanent and bloodless victory (νίκην ἀναιμωτὶ) in the war but also a sovereignty which none can contest (κράτος ἀρχῆς ἀνανταγώνιστον), bringing to its subjects the benefit which will accrue from the affection or fear or respect which they feel (Praem. 97).

Philo trusts that the figure here envisioned will be of such a nature that people will willingly submit themselves to him, either out of good will, fear, or shame (Praem. 97).150 I note, however, that this hope is consequent upon people coming to obey God and to “always and everywhere cleave to His commandments (περιεχομένοις ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ τῶν προσταγμάτων αὐτοῦ)” (Praem. 98). Indeed Philo ends his reflection in De praemiis et poenis, not with the hope of the Messiah, but the hope of people turning to virtue. He takes the classic image of messianic hope, that of the cut down tree sending out new shoots (Isa 6:13; 11:1), but speaks of the hope not as the “seed” of the Messiah, but “a tiny seed . . . of the qualities which promote virtue” (Praem. 172). In De virtutibus he expresses a similar hope that people would be moved to virtue and to obedience to Moses’ Law which will in turn lead to “supreme happiness (εὐδαιμονίαν)” (Virt. 119). He expresses this hope as follows: Hitherto, indeed, these things live only in our prayers, but they will, I am convinced, become facts beyond all dispute, if God, even as He gives us the yearly fruits, grants that the virtues should bear abundantly. And may some share in them be given to us, who from well-nigh our earliest days have carried with us the yearning to possess them (Virt. 120).151

IV. Conclusion I conclude, therefore, that Philo has indeed transformed the traditional Jewish conception of the Land in significant ways. I agree with Halpern-Amaru and others that Philo generally allegorises the Land along Platonic lines so that it symbolises the inheritance of wisdom or the journey of the soul back to its true home in heaven. But I have sought to further nuance this discussion by drawing 150 Philo seems to dislike any type of coercion or force and also comments about Moses: “For he did not become king in the ordinary way by the aid of troops and weapons or of the might of ships and infantry and cavalry. It was God who appointed him by the free judgement of his subjects (ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ θεοῦ χειροτονηθεὶς ἑκουσίῳ γνώμῃ), God who created in them the willingness to choose him as their sovereign” (Praem. 54). In commenting on Philo’s interpretation of the Conquest of Canaan, Berthelot has also noted four hermeneutical strategies Philo adopts in order to avoid representing Israel as an aggressive or war-like people. “Philo of Alexandria and the Conquest of Canaan.” Remarkably, e.g., Philo suggests in Hypoth. 6.5–7 that the Canaanites voluntarily gave up their land. 151 In Mos. 1.290–291 he likewise expresses this hope, but here includes the hope of gentiles being converted to Moses’ Law.

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attention to the way that Philo also reconceptualises “the Land” as “the world (κόσμος)” in which the wise are called to live according to the law of nature. Drawing on Stoic cosmopolitanism, Philo can make Jews at home anywhere in the world and also has a vocabulary to positively praise nature as a beautifully ordered cosmos. In this way Philo further disconnects Jewish identity from the Land, but also enables Jews to apply the concrete commandments related to the Land in a universal way in the sense of exercising good stewardship of their possessions. In emphasising the superiority of the priests who have only God as their “inheritance,” I have also argued that Philo wished to invest his fellow Jews with a sense of dignity in spite of their loss of political autonomy in the Land. They can, like Abraham who owned no Land, consider themselves “kings” if they pursue wisdom and obedience to the Law of Moses. Through this means, they will be a blessing to all nations and perhaps one day the universe will be brought to perfect harmony as others are also drawn towards pursuing virtue. If I had to answer the heuristic questions of Mark Forman in relation to Philo’s perspective on the “inheritance,”152 I would probably say that the content (what?) of the inheritance is God himself or “the vision of God.” The people who inherit (who?) are the wise who may be more than Jews by birth. Finally, the path into the inheritance (how?) is the pursuit of virtue in accordance with the Law of Moses. I would also say that there are some hints that when Philo is thinking corporately instead of individually, an integral rather than symbolic tendency may be more appropriate as he does seem to have held to a literal physical restoration. In this case, however, the content (what?) of the inheritance is clearly universal (the creation) rather than limited to the Land of Judaea. What does Philo’s cosmopolitan reinterpretation of the Land as a heavenly city over which the wise already rule say about his politics? In Dio Chrysostom’s thirty-sixth logos, he recounts his visit to the beleaguered city of Borysthenes and his philosophical discussions there on the nature of the ideal divine city and its relationship to the earthly city (Borysth. 1–23). At one point one of the elders interrupted him and asked him to rather speak about “the divine form of government” about which they were far more excited. They therefore asked Dio rather to “postpone your discussion of the mortal city (τῆς θνητῆς πόλεως)” (Borysth. 24–27). In his study of the Stoic concept of the city, Malcolm Schofield comments on this episode: “As often, the dispossessed prefer the prospect of heaven to political thought.”153 See Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 13–14. Forman uses these diagnostic questions in relation to Paul’s perspective on the “inheritance” and applying this to Philo will prove valuable for later comparison. 153 Malcolm Schofield, The Stoic Idea of the City (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999), 63. 152

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Philo’s appropriation of the cosmopolitan theme could in a similar way be thought of as an escape from real political engagement, but Philo’s own life would seem to testify that he did not give up on the earthly realm altogether. Although Philo’s interpretation could be understood along the lines of Marx’s “consolation” or “opiate” for the powerless, such a hermeneutics of suspicion probably does not do justice to Philo’s own motivations, which seem by all means to be sincere. Nevertheless, Philo’s overall position does seem to tend to a more quiescent political philosophy as we might expect from someone of his more privileged position.

C. Jerusalem C. Jerusalem

Therefore do not seek for the city of the Existent among the regions of the earth, since it is not wrought of wood or stone – Philo (Somn. 2.250). Jerusalem, like the Land, is a theme which Philo cannot avoid in both his exposition of the Scriptures and in his political engagement for the sake of his people. It is interesting, however, that the title “Jerusalem” itself occurs only five times in his extant writings, four of which are found in the historical work Legatio ad Gaium and reflect the secular Greek spelling Ἱεροσόλυμα.154 Only once does Philo make use of the standard LXX spelling Ἱερουσαλὴμ, and here we get an important insight into his symbolic interpretation of the city.155 The title “holy city (ἱερόπολις)” is found a further ten times 156 and “city of God (θεοῦ πόλις)” only twice.157 Pieter W. van der Horst points out here that the contraction ἱερόπολις for ἱερὰ πόλις seems to be a distinctively Philonic creation and that “he may have coined the term to distinguish Jerusalem from other so-called ‘holy cities’ in the ancient world.”158 I note further that there is no reference in Philo’s writings to “Zion (Σιών),” perhaps because the term does not occur in the Pentateuch and perhaps because of its association with a Davidic king.159 See Legat. 157, 278, 313, 315. This is probably due to the wider intended audience. Philo here also explains the etymology of the name as he perceives it, “Now the city of God (ἡ δὲ θεοῦ πόλις) is called in the Hebrew Jerusalem (Ἱερουσαλὴμ) and its name when translated is ‘vision of peace’” (Somn. 2.250). 156 “Holy city (ἱερόπολις)” is found in Mos. 2.73, Spec. 3.53, 130; Flacc. 46; Legat. 225, 281, 288, 299, 346 and “holy city (ἱερὰ πόλις)” in Somn. 2.247. 157 See Somn. 2.250, 253 for “city of God (θεοῦ πόλις).” 158 Pieter W. van der Horst, Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 141. 159 David Goodblatt also notes this absence and suggests that: “One could try to explain this by noting that Philo focuses on the Pentateuch, where Zion is never mentioned by name.” Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 177. He also recognizes that this is not an entirely satisfactory explanation as Philo is aware 154 155

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Although we may have wished that he had said more, I will argue that we can ascertain a fairly accurate picture of how he conceptualised the city, especially as we relate it to the symbols of the Land and Temple. Jerusalem is also a symbol which I will argue has undergone a significant transformation in Philo’s conceptualisation so that, although it remains a significant symbol of Jewish identity and unity, it is no longer looked upon as a source of authority or political hope. I will begin by surveying Philonic scholarship on Jerusalem and “the city” in general before proceeding to my own observations and conclusions. I especially focus on the function of Philo’s allegorical appropriation of Jerusalem, his eschatological expectation, and the question of whether he regarded Jerusalem as a source of authority for the Diaspora. I. Jerusalem in Philonic scholarship The theme of “the city” generally and Jerusalem particularly has been the subject of considerable recent research. What has especially been the focus of study is how to reconcile Philo’s more allegorical approach to the city as represented in De somniis with his more literal descriptions in the historical treatises In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium. In relation to the latter, Philo’s description of Jerusalem as “mother-city (μητρόπολις)”160 and his terminology drawn from the rhetoric of Greek colonisation has especially been the subject of debate. How important was Jerusalem for Philo? Why was it important to him and did he attach any political hope to the city? I take as my starting point the fact that Philo’s conceptualisation of Jerusalem ought to be situated within the broader matrix of his reflections on the city in general. Here David T. Runia’s article on The Idea and Reality of The City in Philo (2000) is a helpful starting point. Runia’s basic argument is that Philo exhibits a certain ambivalence towards the city and that this ambivalence is related to both his Jewish and Greek contexts. On the one hand, it cannot be denied that Philo was “homo urbanus, accustomed to living in the hubbub of the large city.” Moreover, “the notion of order and sound organization . . . is precisely what Philo appreciated in the city.”161 Runia in fact argues that for Philo, “The books of Moses can be read as enjoining civic life in the idealised Mosaic polity.”162 On the other hand, Philo can severely criticise the city as a place where immorality flourishes.163 Much of what the books of Moses describe, in fact, relate to life outside the polis and in the “desert.” Thus, although Philo’s Jewish cultural heritage led of other biblical texts and Temple traditions in which “Zion” would almost certainly have featured. 160 See Flacc. 46; Legat. 203, 281, 295, 305, 334. 161 Runia, 364. 162 Runia, 379. 163 Runia, 370–2.

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him to transform some classical Greek concepts of the city, he nevertheless maintained an ambivalent relationship towards the city as a whole. Insofar as the city of Jerusalem is concerned, Runia builds on the earlier study of Hans-Josef Klauck (1986) that drew three major conclusions.164 Firstly, that Philo regarded Jerusalem as the holy city par excellence, investing it with considerable emotional and religious capital because of his Jewish identity and loyalties. Secondly, that Philo speaks of Jerusalem most frequently in relation to concrete issues, especially in Legatio ad Gaium. And thirdly, that Philo described the relationship between Jerusalem and the Jewish communities in the Diaspora in terms of a “mother-city” and its colonies. Drawing particular attention to Philo’s description of the Temple as a place of pilgrimage where those coming can find “a general haven and safe refuge from the bustle and great turmoil of life” (Spec. 1.68), Runia concludes that for Philo Jerusalem is “not so much an ideal city as the concrete embodiment of a religious ideal.”165 He points to further evidence of this in Philo’s allegorical treatment of Jerusalem based on Ps 45:5 LXX166 in which Philo identifies the “city of God” with the cosmos and with the soul of the wise. Runia concludes, therefore, that Jerusalem is for Philo both an important symbol of Jewish identity as well as the embodiment of a religious ideal. It is Klauck’s third point that Philo represents Jerusalem as a “mother-city” and the Diaspora communities as “colonies” that has invoked considerable debate. In this regard, Aryeh Kasher’s study (1985) is a frequent starting point of engagement. 167 Kasher essentially challenged the notion that the Jews felt at home in the Diaspora and suggested that there was always an ultimate hope of return to the true “homeland.” Kasher made much of the commonly accepted idea that the Jewish community of Alexandria constituted a πολίτευμα, an independent legal body that had the rights of self-government, and suggested that any commitment Philo expressed to his Diaspora community as “home” was: Only in the political sense, for it was a place in which a Jewish ‘colony’ – organised as a separate ethnic union with a recognised political and legal status (politeuma) – had been established.168 164 Hans-Josef Klauck, “Die Heilige Stadt: Jerusalem bei Philo und Lukas,” Kairos 28 (1986): 129–36. 165 Runia, “The Idea and the Reality of the City,” 376–77. See also Andrea Lieber, “Between Motherland and Fatherland: Diaspora, Pilgrimage and the Spiritualization of Sacrice in Philo of Alexandria,” in Heavenly Tablets: Interpretation, Identity and Tradition in Ancient Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 200. Lieber argues that this passage may reflect for Philo “a model for his eschatological vision.” 166 “The strong current of the river makes glad the city of God” (Ps 46:5). 167 Aryeh Kasher, The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt: The Struggle for Equal Rights (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985). 168 Kasher, The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt, 238.

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More specifically, Kasher reads Philo’s references to Jerusalem as mother-city through the lens of Philo’s allegorical treatment of the Land that makes use of the same terminology: For surely, when men found a colony (τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἀποικίαν στειλαμένοις), the land which receives them (ἡ ὑποδεξαμένη δήπου πατρίς) becomes their native land instead of the mother city (ἀντὶ τῆς μητροπόλεως), but to the traveller abroad the land which sent him forth is still the mother to whom also he yearns to return (εἰς ἣν καὶ ποθοῦσιν ἐπανέρχεσθαι) (Conf. 78).

Kasher concludes from this that Philo is expressing his conviction that every Jew ought to consider Jerusalem as their true “homeland,” while they ought to consider their Diaspora communities as only a “host homeland” or “second homeland.” In a similar vein, Maren Niehoff (2001) proposed that Philo’s usage of this terminology was intended to encourage Jews to identify primarily with Jerusalem rather than their local homeland. Niehoff argued that Philo wished to construct Jewish identity in a way that the city of Jerusalem and its Temple became “their first priority” and indeed that “local issues should not unduly engage their attention and evoke dissatisfaction with Rome.”169 Niehoff argues that Philo goes about this by articulating Jewish identity in a way that “Romanized” Jews among them would understand and draws attention to various ways in which Philo’s description of the Jewish nation spread throughout the world through its “colonies” is intended to echo Rome’s selfunderstanding. 170 Here Erich Gruen (2002) also noted that “the expression ‘colony’ had a ring of pride and accomplishment, signaling the spread of the faith and its adherents, not a fall from grace.”171 More recently, Sarah Pearce (2004) has challenged both Kasher and Niehoff’s thesis.172 In relation to Kasher, and in light of more recent research, she calls into question his problematic construction of the Jewish πολίτευμα as a legally constituted autonomous body.173 She also challenges the practice of

Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture, 36. Niehoff observes the Roman identification of Urbs with Orbis, donations brought to the city, veneration of the city etc. Here she concludes: “Philo modelled the role of Jerusalem on the position of Rome in the empire. He hoped to render the idea of Jerusalem’s centrality attractive for educated contemporary Jews. Loyalty to Jerusalem would provide them with the same kind of identity as Roman citizenship – an identity which, though ethnic in origin, transcended the narrow boundaries of a specific state and created the sense of world-wide community.” Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture, 36. 171 Gruen, Diaspora, 242. 172 Sarah Pearce, “Jerusalem as ‘mother-City’ in the Writings of Philo of Alexandria,” in Negotiating Diaspora: Jewish Strategies in the Roman Empire (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 19–37. 173 On this, see further Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 60–71; Gambetti, The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E., 57–76. 169 170

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reading Philo’s allegorical usage of this terminology into his historical treatises.174 In relation to Niehoff, she calls into question many of her assumptions around Philo’s intended readership as well as her basic assumption that in Roman colonisation, “a colonist’s primary allegiance is to the mother-city rather than to the colony.” Pearce argues against the idea that Philo is echoing Roman conceptualisations of colonisation and against the idea that Alexandrian Jews needed to be persuaded that the Temple was important, which she suggests was taken for granted.175 Pearce then offers her own reading which focusses more on the particular contexts of In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium. Here she argues that, in the former treatise, Philo’s concern, “is to emphasize the threat of the spread of unlawful actions against Jews rooted in communities throughout the world.”176 She goes on to point out that, in Legatio ad Gaium, Philo’s concern is not merely for the Temple, but for what the desecration of the Temple will mean for Jews everywhere. When it comes to the question of why Philo uses the terminology of “metropolis (μητρόπολις)” and “colony (ἀποικία),” she argues that “Philo’s primary influence here is not Greek descriptions of colonization, but the language of the translators of the Greek Bible.”177 These words are used in the LXX to describe both Jerusalem (e.g., Isa 1:26) and Jewish communities living abroad (ἀποικία translating the Hebrew galut or golah). Furthermore, sometimes μητρόπολις is used simply to designate capital cities in Greekspeaking societies. The conclusion of her study is that: In the writings of Philo, there is no tension between the notion of Jerusalem as mother-city and Alexandria as home.178

Building on the work of Pearce, Andrea Lieber (2007) focused particularly on the gendered language Philo uses to describe the Diaspora condition (“mothercity” and “fatherland”) and concluded that Philo was eager to represent the Diaspora as a sign of Jewish strength rather than weakness. 179 More recently still, all of these perspectives have been evaluated by Torrey Seland (2010), who has studied these terms through a postcolonial lens. Seland begins by setting Philo’s socio-historical context and carefully distinguishing between Greek and Roman forms of colonisation. Regarding the Greek form, Pearce, “Jerusalem as ‘Mother-City,’” 24–7. Pearce, 29–31. 176 Pearce, 32. 177 Pearce, 33. 178 Pearce, 36. 179 Lieber writes: “Rather than viewing diaspora as a result of domination and disempowerment, the Jews according to Philo are ‘too large’ to be contained in one land – which is also perhaps an image of masculinity. Rather than a mark of weakness, the fact that Jews live spread out among distant lands is a sign of their virility.” “Between Motherland and Fatherland,” 198. 174 175

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he argues that colonies were from the outset politically independent, although they did maintain cultural and religious ties with the metropolis. He points out that the Roman form had a more imperial nature and indeed that their colonies “were overwhelmingly of a military character.”180 Drawing on the work of Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin,181 he argues that there are broadly speaking three perspectives from which authors in a colonial context might write: “[the] literate elite whose primary identification is with the colonising power,” a privileged class of “natives” who write under imperial license, and finally “those being colonized, and writing from the oppressed and colonized perspective.”182 Seland suggests that Josephus, with some qualifications, falls into the second category and that Philo, with some qualification, should be read from the colonised perspective. While appreciating much previous work on explaining Philo’s distinctive use of “metropolis” and “colony,” especially that of Pearce, he particularly questions her thesis that Philo is drawing primarily on the LXX usage of these terms. His own research finds, for example, that, “The noun ἀποικία, which in its various forms are used 43 times by Philo, is never used in the same way as in the Septuagint, that is as a word for the Jewish ‘exile.’”183 Similarly, he questions whether Philo’s distinctive use of μητρόπολις is influenced by the LXX and he furthermore observes that these terms never occur together in the LXX (whereas they are central in descriptions of Greek colonisation). Seland suggests that in In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium we are meeting “Philo as a Jewish politician” and that: The function of his mentioning and labelling the Jewish settlements ‘colonies’ seems to be to emphasize their interrelationship with each other and with Jerusalem, and by thus stating the warning that if the Emperor would grant peace to Jerusalem, it would also profit many other cities of his empire.184

In the use of this terminology, Seland argues that Philo is “mimicking the colonization processes, both Roman and Greek” 185 and in this area agrees with Niehoff. In this process of mimicry, Seland suggests that Philo primarily wants to warn his readers of the consequences of incensing such a numerous nation as the Jews who have colonies all over the world. While not agreeing with all of Goodenough’s conclusions, he does agree that there is something of a coded warning here. Seland concludes: “As a writer, writing back from the Empire,

Seland, “‘Colony’ and ‘Metropolis’ in Philo,” 15. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literature (London: Routledge, 2002). 182 Seland, “‘Colony’ and ‘Metropolis’ in Philo,” 18–19. 183 Seland, 24. 184 Seland, 26. 185 Seland, 28 (emphasis original). 180 181

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he tried to defend his Jewish people and their presence in the Roman empire by describing them in these terms.”186 In his recent study of Diaspora Jewish attitudes towards the Temple, Jonathan Trotter (2019) also concludes that Philo’s characterisation is not intended to advocate loyalty to Alexandria above Jerusalem, “but instead encouraged acceptance of a universal Jewish identity originating from their shared association with Jerusalem and the temple.”187 Recognising the apologetic character of Philo’s historical writings, Dorota Muszytowska (2018) comments on Philo’s particular usage: “Philo uses this term in a rhetoricized way, aiming to show mainly to non-Jewish recipients that Jews who often live in foreign lands have their own mother-city, and thus have their own heritage of culture, religion, and Law.”188 I believe that these studies in many ways serve to clarify Philo’s relationship to Jerusalem. I firstly consider Pearce’s focus on the particular literary context and purpose for which Philo uses this terminology to be helpful. I nevertheless find her expression of Philo’s purpose too narrow when she writes about the relevant passage of In Flaccum: Philo’s concern in this passage is to emphasize the threat of the spread of unlawful actions against Jews rooted in communities throughout the world, through imitation of the attacks on Jews in Alexandria.189

While Philo himself is obviously concerned for all Jews everywhere, he certainly would not have expected the emperor or other Roman officials to have shared this concern. He would certainly not have expected this from someone like Gaius whom he reports as having been ill disposed towards all Jews. 190 Philo was not merely concerned to demonstrate the threat to Jews everywhere, but the threat of political instability to the Romans if the Jews continued to be provoked.191 I agree therefore with Seland (and Goodenough before him) that there is a veiled warning here. Nevertheless, this does not diminish the fact that Philo also expresses something of a common Diaspora Jewish attitude here towards Jerusalem and its Temple. While I agree with Pearce that Philo was not advocating that Diaspora

Seland, 29. Trotter, The Jerusalem Temple, 195. 188 Dorota Muszytowska, “Jerusalem in the Writings of Alexandria and in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Jerusalem as the Text of Culture, ed. Dorota Muszytowska, Janusz Kręcidło, and Anna Szczepan-Wojnarska (Berlin: Peter Lang, 2018), 145. 189 Pearce, “Jerusalem as ‘Mother-City,’” 32. 190 Philo writes of Gaius, “how disposed he is to look unfavourably upon the whole race of Judaea (ἀλλοτριώτατα διάκειται πρὸς ἅπαν τὸ Ἰουδαϊκὸν γένος)” (Legat. 201). 191 I take the majority view (contra Niehoff) that Philo’s intended audience were not only Jews. 186 187

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Jews identify more closely with Jerusalem than with their Diaspora communities,192 she sometimes seems to downplay the sense of common identity that commitment to Jerusalem entailed. Here I think that Anthony Le Donne’s recent study that observes how an ethnos was most commonly defined with reference to a polis in the first-century Mediterranean world also sheds significant light on Philo’s particular usage here.193 It is interesting, for example, that in Agrippa’s purported letter to Gaius, he refers three times to Jerusalem, rather than Judaea, as his πατρίς (Legat. 278, 281, 283).194 Although it is highly unlikely that the words reflect the actual letter Agrippa wrote, if indeed he wrote one, 195 we see here at least that Philo constructs ideal Jewish identity in relation to Jerusalem rather than Judaea.196 When he describes Jerusalem as “mother-city (μητρόπολις),” he wants to make it clear that it is such “not of one country Judaea (οὐ μιᾶς χώρας Ἰουδαίας) but of most of the others (ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν πλείστων) in virtue of the colonies (διὰ τὰς ἀποικίας) sent out at divers times to the neighbouring lands Egypt, Phoenicia, the part of Syria called the Hollow and the rest as well and the lands lying far apart” (Legat. 281).

192 On Diaspora Jews generally being at home outside the “homeland,” see Gruen, Diaspora, 232–52. 193 Le Donne, “Complicating the Category of Ethnos toward Poliscentrism,” 3–4. 194 Philo reports Agrippa as writing: “I as you know am by birth a Jew, and my native city (πατρίς) is Jerusalem” (Legat. 278). The letter continues, “While she, as I have said, is my native city (πατρίς) she is also the mother city (μητρόπολις) not of one country Judaea but of most of the others . . .” (Legat. 281). While πατρίς is also commonly “a relatively restricted area as locale of one’s immediate family and ancestry” (BDAG 788), the emphasis throughout is clearly on Jerusalem rather than the Land itself. 195 Josephus has a different account of how Agrippa won Gaius over through a banquet rather than a letter (A.J. 18.289–301). Smallwood notes various attempts to reconcile these and concludes: “The letter given by Philo is probably not a verbatim copy of that actually written by Agrippa, but, in accordance with the conventions of ancient historiography, merely reproduces its general contents. There can be little doubt that Philo and his companions were in touch with Agrippa in Italy.” Philonis Alexandrini Legatio Ad Gaium, 292. Daniel Schwartz, however, represents the view of many scholars “that it is highly unlikely that Agrippa had anything to do with this letter.” Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990), 200. Niehoff likewise concludes: “Philo has created Agrippa in his own image and playfully speaks through his letter, much like the anonymous author who invented the exchange of letters between Seneca and Paul. The Judean king not only advocates the same Jewish values as Philo, but also expresses his appreciation of Tiberius and his sense of impotence vis-à-vis Gaius.” Philo of Alexandria, 44. My argument does not depend on its historicity either way, but is more concerned with Philo’s representation of Jewish identity. 196 Of course we must not forget the fact that, as Barclay points out, “the Jews’ very name (Ἰουδαῖοι) linked them to the land (Ἰουδαία) from which they could be thought to derive.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 422.

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Jerusalem for Philo is no longer primarily the focal point of the Holy Land, but rather the “mother-city” of Jews throughout the world. The Land itself, although Philo can call it the “Holy Land (τὴν ἱερὰν χώραν)” (Legat. 330), is thus subtly displaced. Furthermore, I would agree with Lieber and Niehoff that Philo intends to represent the Jewish Diaspora as a sign of strength and a source of pride, rather than associating it negatively with “exile.” II. The City of God as the world and as the peaceful soul of the wise While Philo’s historical treatises especially reveal that he shares with Diaspora Judaism a commitment to Jerusalem as a unifying symbol, I here want to further reflect on how Jerusalem functions as the concrete embodiment of a “religious ideal” in his other writings. Here the most significant text to consider is that section of De somniis where Philo is reflecting on the meaning of the “river” in Pharaoh’s dream. Philo links the key word “river” of Pharaoh’s dream to the river of Eden (Somn. 2.241) and then to the river mentioned in Psalm 45:5 (LXX): “The strong current of the river makes glad the city of God (εὐφραίνει τὴν πόλιν τοῦ θεοῦ).” Philo insists here that this cannot be speaking of Jerusalem itself: For the existing holy city (νῦν οὖσα ἱερὰ πόλις), where the sacred temple also is, does not stand in the neighbourhood of rivers any more than of the sea. Thus it is clear that he writes to shew us allegorically something different from the obvious (Somn. 2.246).

Philo goes on to suggest that, what the Psalmist must therefore be referring to, is the stream of the divine word that “does overflow and gladden the whole universe through and through” (Somn. 2.247). Thus the “city of God” can in one sense be seen as referring to “the whole universe”: For God's city is the name in one sense for the world (πόλιν γὰρ θεοῦ καθ’ ἕνα μὲν τρόπον τὸν κόσμον καλεῖ) (Somn. 2.248).

Here the “the city of God” is symbolically for Philo that place into which God’s word and wisdom is constantly streaming, and, since this is true of the whole world, there must be a sense in which the world itself is “the city of God.”197 I suggest that one function of Philo’s allegorisation of “the holy city” as “the world” is to emphasise that those living far away in the Diaspora could enjoy the benefits and experience the “joy” of the city wherever they are.198 Diaspora Jews can experience, without the necessity of pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the See also, e.g., Cher. 121 where the cosmos is also identified as “the city of God.” Trotter has recently argued something similar in relation to the idealised portrayals of Jerusalem in Diaspora literature. He comments: “Such idealized portrayals of Jerusalem and the temple could have been one of the contexts within which the audiences of these texts indirectly experienced the contemporary Jerusalem temple while living at a distance from it.” The Jerusalem Temple, 11. 197 198

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“joy” of the “city of God” as they recognise God’s wisdom in all places. Philo’s understanding of “the holy city” in this sense can be seen as another expression of his cosmopolitanism that I noted in the previous section. 199 But the second sense in which Philo interprets “the city of God” here is as the soul of the wise. He continues: In another sense he uses this name for the soul of the Sage (καθ’ ἕτερον δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν τοῦ σοφοῦ), in which God is said to walk as in a city. For “I will walk in you,” he says, “and will be your God” (περιπατήσω ἐν ὑμῖν, καὶ ἔσομαι [ἐν] ὑμῶν θεός) (Somn. 2.248).

As I will particularly observe in the next section, there was a significant Greek tradition in which God is said to dwell in the soul of the wise man and Philo has clearly appropriated that here. Philo’s usage reflects both his privatised ethic as well as his commitment to the city as a symbol of order that we observed earlier. What is particularly interesting is that he does not add the final clause to the quotation from Lev 26:12 “and you will be my people (καὶ ὑμεῖς ἔσεσθέ μοι λαός),” although he is certainly aware of the fuller quotation (Sacr. 87). I would suggest that he fails to continue the quotation because of its corporate overtones and because he believes that individual virtue is ultimately the building block of a virtuous society. Following this is the only time in his extant writings that Philo refers to Jerusalem with the standard LXX usage Ἱερουσαλὴμ: Now the city of God (ἡ δὲ θεοῦ πόλις) is called in the Hebrew Jerusalem (Ἱερουσαλὴμ) and its name when translated is “vision of peace.” Therefore do not seek for the city of the Existent (ὄντος πόλιν) among the regions of the earth (ἐν κλίμασι γῆς), since it is not wrought of wood or stone, but in a soul, in which there is no warring (ἐν ψυχῇ ἀπολέμῳ), whose sight is keen, which has set before it as its aim to live in contemplation and peace (Somn. 2.250).

Here Philo follows one of his standard practices of drawing inferences from the etymology of words 200 and, because he is convinced that there can be no ultimate peace amongst changeable created things (Somn. 2.253), this must refer to the soul that is at peace. Indeed, he writes, “what grander or holier house could we find for God in the whole range of existence” (Somn. 2.251). There seems to be a certain blurring of distinctions here between city and Temple, because usually the soul would house the latter, while here Philo insists it is the former. If asked where God dwells, however, it seems clear that Philo would be hesitant to identify that place as any earthly community but would rather point to the immaterial soul of the wise individual. The theme of “the city of God” as the world and as the soul of the wise can also be understood with reference to Philo’s cosmology. He famously describes 199 Cosmopolites are, after all, those “who have recognized the world to be a city (κόσμον ἐνόμισαν εἶναι πόλιν) having for its citizens the associates of wisdom” (Spec. 2.45). 200 On this practice see Lester L. Grabbe, Etymology in Early Jewish Interpretation: The Hebrew Names in Philo (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988).

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the creation of the world through drawing on the metaphor of the city. It could be said of Adam that he was not only the first man, but also the first citizen and that “the world was his city and dwelling-place (ἦν γὰρ οἶκος αὐτῷ καὶ πόλις ὁ κόσμος)” (Opif. 142). But belonging to this city also required that he lived according to its constitution, which is the law of nature (Opif. 143). That is to say, that his soul would be ordered in the same way as that universal city which is the world.201 Both metaphors therefore aim of the ordering of the soul according to God’s universal blueprint. This is not to say that Philo no longer had any concern for the earthly Jerusalem. Nor is it to say that, in allegorising “the city of God” as the peaceful soul, he did not see any concrete or political entailments. Through his allegory, he is concerned once again to inculcate virtue and it is through this that he is convinced that external peace will also ensue. Philo writes in his account of creation that, if the war against vice in the human soul could be brought to an end, God would again shower the blessing of external goods on humanity, as he did at the beginning of creation: But if the unmeasured impulses of men's passions were calmed and allayed by self-mastery . . . if, in a word, the vices and the fruitless practices to which they prompt were to give place to the virtues and their corresponding activities, the warfare in the soul (πολέμου τοῦ κατὰ ψυχήν), of all wars veritably the most dire and most grievous, would have been abolished, and peace (εἰρήνης) would prevail and would in quiet and gentle ways provide good order for the exercise of our faculties, and there would be hope that God, being the Lover of virtue and the Lover of what is good and beautiful and also the Lover of man, would provide for our race good things all coming forth spontaneously and all in readiness (Opif. 81).

Philo clearly did not see this peace as a reality that had yet been achieved (Virt. 119–120). What is interesting in the De somniis text is that Philo refers to “the holy city” as the one that “exists at present (νῦν οὖσα)” (Somn. 2.247), which might suggest that Philo attached some eschatological significance to the city. This is what Lieber argues from another well-known passage that speaks of pilgrimage to the city (Spec. 1.68–69),202 which she suggests serves as “a model for his eschatological vision.”203 201 On this macrocosm-microcosm relationship that is evidently drawn from Plato, see Runia, Philo of Alexandria and The Timaeus of Plato, 465–6; Anderson, Views of the Physical World, 80. 202 “Countless multitudes from countless cities come, some over land, others over sea, from east and west and north and south at every feast. They take the temple for their port as a general haven and safe refuge from the bustle and great turmoil of life, and there they seek to find calm weather, and, released from the cares whose yoke has been heavy upon them from their earliest years, to enjoy a brief breathing space in scenes of genial cheerfulness” (Spec. 1.68). 203 Lieber, “Between Motherland and Fatherland,” 200. I would tend to agree with Trotter that such idealisations are rather vicarious ways in which Diaspora Jews can experience the city while living at a great distance from it. The Jerusalem Temple, 11.

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In perhaps his clearest eschatological reflection, however, where he speaks of the hope of the scattered Jews being gathered together, he makes no mention of Jerusalem or “the city of God,” but simply that the exiles will be gathered to “one appointed place (ἕνα . . . ἀποδειχθέντα χῶρον)” (Praem. 165).204 Furthermore, when Philo speaks earlier in this text of the hope of a Messiah from Balaam’s oracle in Num. 24:7 (Praem. 95), there is no connection to Jerusalem and his hope again seems to be a miraculous and general turn towards virtue (cf. Mos. 2.43–44). Perhaps Philo’s paucity of references to Jerusalem, however, is a consequence of the fact that the city is never explicitly named in the Pentateuch. Pearce’s conclusion about the symbol of Jerusalem as “vision of peace” seems apt: Philo’s Pentateuch-centric piety guides his conception of the holy land as a place to be journeyed towards: from the standpoint of the reader of the Pentateuch, it is a place not yet reached.205

III. The authority of Jerusalem A question of particular relevance to my study is whether Philo regarded Jerusalem as having some kind of authoritative status vis-à-vis Alexandria and the rest of the Diaspora. In his study of Jerusalem during the Second Temple period, Lee Levine highlights evidence of various ways in which Jerusalem’s leaders were involved in Diaspora affairs, including a measure of disciplinary action in synagogues outside Judaea,206 making normative pronouncements on the observance of the sabbatical year, 207 and issuing halakhic advice.208 In one case, it appears that Hillel was consulted by Alexandrian Jews for advice on a marital issue (t. Ketub 4.9). 204 Philo writes of a future time when “those who but now were scattered in Greece and the outside world over islands and continents will arise and post from every side with one impulse to the one appointed place” (Praem. 165). 205 Pearce, “Jerusalem as ‘Mother-City,’” 36. 206 See, e.g., the apparent authority given to Paul (Acts 9:2). The degree to which the Sanhedrin exercised such authority outside Judaea is uncertain. Emil Schürer comments: “The extent to which Jews outside Judaea were willing to obey the orders of the Sanhedrin always depended on how far they were favourably disposed towards it. It was only within the limits of Judaea proper that it exercised direct power.” The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C. – A.D. 135), ed. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, and Matthew Black, rev and ed., 3 vols. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973–1987), 2:218. Barrett believes the account about Paul being given the authority by the Sanhedrin plausible based on the known close relationship between Jerusalem and Damascus. He comments: “Known compliance with the policy of the Sanhedrin may have been a reason contributory to the choice of Damascus as a place in which to pursue anti-Christian action.” Acts, 1:447. 207 See, e.g., t. Sanh. 2.5–6; y. Sanh. 1, 2, 18d; b. Sanh. 11a. 208 Levine, Jerusalem, 373.

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Trotter has recently argued that in other Diaspora Jewish texts, like the Letter of Aristeas and 3 Maccabees, there appears to be some appeal to Jerusalem and the Temple to legitimate Diaspora communities. 209 In relation to the former, he concludes: The Jerusalem temple provides the context from which the authority and legitimacy of the diaspora Jewish communities originate. In the Letter of Aristeas, the copies of the law and the translators of the law into Greek, the text which provides a basis for diaspora Jews’ identity and observance, come from Jerusalem at the command of the High Priest of the Jerusalem temple.210

Is there evidence that Philo also sought to legitimate Diaspora existence with reference to Jerusalem or that he granted Jerusalem some authority over Diaspora life? I have already noted that Philo’s designation of Jerusalem as “mother-city,” while affirming Jerusalem as the fons et origo of all the Diaspora communities, is unlikely to indicate such an ongoing authoritative relationship. When Philo tells the story of the translation of the Septuagint (Mos. 2.25– 44), for example, there is no attempt to emphasise the authority of Jerusalem. One of the interesting ways in which Philo’s account differs from the Letter of Aristeas,211 is that Philo also calls the high priest in Jerusalem “king (βασιλεύς)” (Mos. 2.31) 212 and he explains further that the king and high priest were at that time “the same (ὁ γὰρ αὐτὸς ἦν)” (Mos. 2.31). Jennifer Dines suggests some plausible reasons for this anachronistic addition of the title of king.213 She does not, however, note the somewhat limiting designation of Eleazar as “high priest and king of Judaea (τῆς Ἰουδαίας),” when Philo could equally have described him as high priest and king of the Jewish people or the Jewish nation (τὸ Ἰουδαίων ἔθνος).214 This is perhaps a small hint that Philo 209 One of the questions Trotter sets out to address is: “In what ways does the temple have authority for those living outside of the homeland?” Here he especially explores the Letter of Aristeas and 3 Maccabees. The Jerusalem Temple, 3; 139–62; 163–84. 210 Trotter, The Jerusalem Temple, 161. 211 On the differences between Philo’s account and the Letter of Aristeas, see Jennifer M. Dines, The Septuagint (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 65–67. 212 In the Letter of Aristeas Eleazar is simply given the title “high priest” (Let. Aris. 32, 35). 213 Dines suggests: “Perhaps Philo wants to put him on the same level as Philadelphus, despite the anachronism (the Hasmonean priestly dynasty adopted the title of king only in the time of Aristobulus I, 104–103 BCE, or Alexander Jannaeus, 103). Or perhaps ‘king and priest’ go so closely together in Philo’s treatment of Moses that the identification affects the notion of high priesthood as such: for Philo, Moses was necessarily king and high priest, and here the identification may be working in reverse.” The Septuagint, 66. 214 Earlier in the treatise Moses himself is called “the founder of the whole Jewish nation (σύμπαντος Ἰουδαίων ἔθνους ἀρχηγέτης)” (Mos. 1.7). Philo’s preferred way of speaking about the Jewish people as a whole appears to be some variant of τὸ Ἰουδαίων ἔθνος (Decal.

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did not regard his kingly authority as extending into the Diaspora. On the whole Philo’s concern in recounting the translation of the Septuagint seems to be affirming the universal recognition of the divine character of Moses’ Law rather than emphasising the authoritative status of Jerusalem. 215 It is also worthwhile exploring why Philo at times elevates the priesthood above kingship (Legat. 278; QE 2.105; Mos. 2.131; Spec. 1.229),216 even though they ideally belong together (Praem. 56).217 Philo seems to attribute this superiority to the fact that the priest “worships God” while the king “cares for men.”218 What is especially striking is that he puts the affirmation of priestly superiority on the lips of king Agrippa in his purported letter to Gaius: It fell to me to have for my grandparents and ancestors kings, most of whom had the title of high priest, who considered their kingship inferior to the priesthood (τὴν βασιλείαν τῆς ἱερωσύνης ἐν δευτέρᾳ τάξει τιθέμενοι καὶ νομίζοντες), holding that the office of high priest is as superior in excellence to that of king as God surpasses men (ὅσῳ θεὸς ἀνθρώπων διαφέρει κατὰ τὸ κρεῖττον, τοσούτῳ καὶ βασιλείας ἀρχιερωσύνην) (Legat. 278).219 96; Spec. 2.163, 166; Spec. 4.179, 224; Virt. 212, 226; Prob. 75; Flacc. 170, 191; Legat. 117, 210, 373; Hypoth. 6.10). 215 Philo ends his account with the annual celebration of the translation on the island of Pharos, where not only Jews but “multitudes of others” join in and where “the laws are shewn to be desirable and precious in the eyes of all” (Mos. 2.41–43). 216 On these texts Wolfson simply comments: “Theoretically, therefore, in matters of the government of the state, the two offices should not come into conflict with one another and there should be no question of precedence between them.” Philo, 2:342. This avoids the precedence Philo clearly seems to highlight. When commenting on Philo’s censure of combining the office of priest and king subsequent to Moses (Virt. 54), Wolfson sees an “unmistakable ring of criticism” which may be directed towards Graeco-Roman, Egyptian or Hasmonean practices. Philo, 2:339. See also David Goodblatt, “The Union of Priesthood and Kingship in Second Temple Judea,” Cathedra 102 (2001): 20–21. Goodblatt argues that, in principle, Philo is not averse to combining the offices of priest and king and reservations in texts like Virt. 54 relate only to practical difficulties. 217 Robert Hayward notes the royal attributes of the priest in Philo and comments: “On his head the high priest wears a tiara (kidaris), signifying that while he acts as priest he is superior to all, even kings (De Vit. Mos. II. 131). Already ben Sira had alluded to the royal aspects of the high priest’s office, with special reference to his attire; it seems that Philo has further developed these traditional notions.” The Jewish Temple: A Non-Biblical Sourcebook (London: Routledge, 1996), 115–16. 218 Philo comments, e.g., “For the office of one is to worship God (θεοῦ θεραπείαν), of the other to have charge of men (ἀνθρώπων ἐπιμέλειαν)” (Legat. 278) or again on the priesthood and kingship, “one of which professes the service of God (θεοῦ θεραπείαν), the other the guardianship of men (ἀνθρώπων ἐπιμέλειαν)” (Virt. 54). Here Philo probably draws on ancient political theorists who agreed that kingship is the art of “caretaking” ἡ ἐπιμελητική (e.g. Plato, Pol. 276d–e). 219 Wolfson sees Philo expressing a similar perspective to T. Jud. 21:2–4 in the mouth of Agrippa here, but does not comment further on this representing Philo’s own perspective. Philo, 2:342–4.

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Smallwood rightly observes that “the historical development was in fact the reverse of that indicated here,” in that the Hasmonean rulers were at first high priests and only later did they bear the title “king.”220 Philo seems to present the same reverse historical order when, again affirming that priesthood “surpasses the greatest kingship,” writes: And it seems to me that the early kings were at the same time high priests who by their acts showed that those who rule over others should themselves be servants in ministering to God (QE 2.105).

I suggest that this idealised picture of the combined office of priest and king in earlier days, with due acknowledgement of the superiority of the former, may be a subtle expression of Philo’s dissatisfaction with the present status quo. It seems highly unlikely that the historical Agrippa would have wanted to highlight the superiority of the priesthood to Gaius and that we are here seeing Philo’s own perspective coming through. 221 Philo’s idealised Agrippa declares to all Jews that the true role of kings is as priestly servants. 222 At the very least, a true king respects the priesthood. This seems to be the function of Philo presenting Herod a little later as “delighting himself” in the Temple, its priests, and services (Legat. 294–297). Elsewhere, when Philo discourses on kingship and priesthood, he explains the function of the former in relation to the latter. In the earlier part of QE 2.105 cited above, Philo is answering the question of why Aaron commanded his sons to light the lamps in the tabernacle (Exod 27:21) and he here critiques subsequent priests for not delighting in this service and instead delegating it to others. This becomes the context in which he praises priestly “service of God (θεῷ δουλεύειν)” above kingship and suggests that kings should at the same time imitate such service. This is also the clearest place I am aware of where Philo critiques what appears to be the present practice of priests in the Jerusalem Temple.223 Smallwood, Philonis Alexandrini Legatio Ad Gaium, 293. Aside from the many historical difficulties of accepting the authenticity of the letter, the only reason Agrippa may have wanted to express a link between kingship and priesthood would be to appeal to the Roman precedent of the imperator also being pontifex maximus. Although the high-priesthood was subsumed in the person of the emperor from Augustus onwards, there is no indication that this was a Roman ideal per se or that they regarded the priesthood as superior. On Roman religion in the early Empire, see Price, “The Place of Religion: Rome in the Early Empire.” 222 I suggest that a document like Legat. would have enjoyed a wide readership among Jews and probably wider afield as well. So also, e.g., van der Horst in relation to the closely related Flacc. Philo’s Flaccus, 15–16. 223 Wolfson suggests that: “the reference is undoubtedly to the actual practice in the Temple of Jerusalem, as Philo himself observed it there, of assigning the task of lighting the perpetual lamp to one of the subordinate priests by means of lots.” Philo, 2:344–5. Wolfson also cites the rabbinic sources m. Tamid 3:1, 9 and m. Yoma 2:3. 220 221

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It is also noteworthy that, when Philo comments on the unique figure of Melchizedek, who was both priest and king (Gen 14:17–24), he takes the opportunity to reflect on true kingship and to distinguish the “king (βασιλεὺς)” from the “despot (τύραννος)” (Leg. 3.79). What distinguishes the true king from the despot is for Philo his use of “persuasion (πείθει)” rather than “decrees (ἐπιτάγματα)” and the way he empowers others to live according to the right principle of nature (Leg. 3.80). There may therefore be a few hints of Philo’s dissatisfaction with the present situation in Judaea, but there is little doubt that he continues to recognise the ongoing legitimacy of the Temple cult in Jerusalem. This is not to say, however, that Philo regarded Jerusalem as having any authoritative teaching role in relation to Alexandria. For this the Greek Septuagint, together with local priests and elders, seems to have been sufficient. Firstly, as I noted above, it is clear that Philo believed the Greek translation to be identical to the Hebrew and thought that both should be regarded “with awe and reverence as sisters, or rather one and the same (ὡς μίαν καὶ τὴν αὐτὴν), both in matter and words” (Mos. 2.40). Secondly, although Philo mentions being indebted to teachers before him, 224 none of these teachers appear to be from Jerusalem. Moreover, teachers from Jerusalem never feature in his significant descriptions of Jewish instruction. In the seven different occasions on which he reflects on the sabbath day synagogue service, for example, it is always a local “priest,” “elder,” or “teacher” who expounds the Law. 225 Philo regards these local leaders as “proficient (ἔμπειρος)” (Prob. 82; Contempl. 31) and capable of “well reasoned and wise discourse (λογισμοῦ καὶ φρονήσεως)” (Contempl. 31). Morevoer, he consistently represents the people as growing in knowledge and virtue through their instruction. In one account, where Philo is addressing the common accusation that Jews are idle on the Sabbath, he even highlights the people’s own competence to instruct one another: And so they do not resort to persons learned in the law (θεσμῳδοὺς) with questions as to what they should do or not do, nor yet by keeping independent (καθ᾿ ἑαυτοὺς) transgress in ignorance of the law, but any one of them whom you attack with inquiries about their ancestral institutions can answer you readily and easily. The husband seems competent to transmit

224 When commenting on the purpose of circumcision, e.g., Philo writes: “These are the explanations handed down to us from the old-time studies of divinely gifted men who made deep research into the writings of Moses” (Spec. 1.8). For Philo’s references to other allegorists and other literal exegetes, see David M. Hay, “Philo’s References to Other Allegorists,” SPhilo 6 (1979): 41–75; Hay, “Both Literal and Allegorical.” 225 The texts to consider are Mos. 2.209–216, Spec. 2.56–63, Decal. 96–100, Prob. 81– 83, Contempl. 30–34, Hypoth. 7.11–14 and Legat. 156–158. For an overview of the similarities and differences of these descriptions in their socio-historical context, see Dulcinea Boesenberg, “Philo’s Descriptions of Jewish Sabbath Practice,” SPhiloA 22 (2010): 143–64.

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knowledge of the laws to his wife, the father to his children, the master to his slaves (Hypoth. 7.14).

Although there is a strong apologetic element in this description, 226 one gets the sense that this is also an ideal for Philo. Since he has just affirmed that the people learn from local teachers knowledgeable in the law (Hypoth. 7.13), his statement that the people “do not resort to persons learned in the law” may even be stressing the superfluity of appealing to external teachers in relation to practical matters (περὶ τῶν πρακτέων).227 Furthermore, there is no unambiguous reference in Philo to the Jerusalem based Sanhedrin.228 Although Philo sometimes refers to the seventy elders appointed by Moses (Num. 11:16),229 there is only one possible connection to the Jerusalem Sanhedrin. This occurs when Philo is commenting on Abraham being called an “elder” in Gen 24:1 and he writes: Thus too it is Moses’ way to give the name of “elder” to those counsellors of the Godbeloved (τοὺς συνέδρους τοῦ θεοφιλοῦς), whose apportioned number was that of seven times ten (Sobr. 19).

Wolfson suggested that Philo’s description of these men as synedroi was a conscious attempt to connect them to the Jerusalem Sanhedrin of his day,230 but this seems highly unlikely because of the generic use of σύνεδρος as “counsellor” in both Philo and Josephus and the far more prevalent use of συνέδριον to refer to the Jerusalem body.231 This interpretation seems more in line with Wolfson’s own project to bring Philo closer to rabbinic Judaism and is based on a number of questionable assumptions. 232 The above observations also serve See Boesenberg, “Philo’s Descriptions of Jewish Sabbath Practice.” Josephus also uses the expression περὶ τῶν πρακτέων in relation to the practical requirements of God’s Law (A.J. 3.89, 222). 228 The noun συνέδριον occurs seven times and always in the general sense of a “council” without any connection to Jerusalem (Ebr. 165; Conf. 86; Somn. 1.193; Praem. 28; Prob. 12; Contempl. 27; Legat. 213). The cognate noun σύνεδρος occurs five times and usually with the sense of “councillor” or “assessor” (Sobr. 19; Legat. 244, 254, 350). 229 See Gig. 24–25, Migr. 201, Fug. 186, Mos. 1.189. 230 Wolfson writes: “His description of them as synedroi would seem to suggest a conscious effort on the part of Philo to connect the Synedrion of Jerusalem at his own time with the seventy elders of Moses, thus reflecting the native Jewish tradition that the Synedrion of Jerusalem had a continuous history, under various names, from the council of the seventy elders of Moses.” Philo, 2:350. 231 Note Philo’s generic use of σύνεδρος in Legat. 244, 254, 350 and Josephus in A.J. 16.30 and B.J. 1.540, 2.38. Only once in Josephus does σύνεδρος refer to a member of the Sanhedrin in A.J. 14.172. Moreover, these are the only four references to σύνεδρος in Josephus. On the other hand, Josephus refers to a συνέδριον forty times and often in relation to the Jerusalem body. 232 Levine, e.g., notes on Josephus’ references to the Sanhedrin that: “Nowhere do we read of the synedrion functioning as an autonomous legislative-judicial body, nor is it ever mentioned in any of the crises concerning the various procurators . . . Rabbinic literature, 226 227

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to confirm Sanders’ basic observation that: “Diaspora Jews were capable of reading and interpreting the Bible, and that they did not sit, patiently waiting for the Houses of Hillel and Shammai to send them their disagreements, so that they would know at least two ways of resolving a given issue.”233 Yehoyada and Niehoff’s conclusion about Philo therefore seems apt: He neither recommended living in Ereẓ Israel nor did he look to Jerusalem for spiritual guidance. Other exegetes mentioned by him, as far as can be established, are fellow Alexandrians rather than teachers from Ereẓ Israel.234

The Jewish authorities in Alexandria were the local priests or elders of the synagogue together with the local gerousia or body of elders,235 some of whom Philo mentions by name.236 It seems then that, in speaking of Jerusalem and the Diaspora communities in terms taken from Greek colonisation, Philo accurately describes the reality of the religious and political independence of these communities from Jerusalem. It seems that for him Torah, interpreted by the local community, functions as the highest authority. That there was no particular tension between leaders in Jerusalem and Alexandria is also evident in Philo’s symbolic appropriation of Jerusalem, which bears no traces of politicisation or polemical engagement. IV. Conclusion I conclude that Philo has transformed the traditional symbol of Jerusalem in significant ways, even while retaining certain key emphases. Jerusalem remains for Philo a significant unifying symbol of the Jewish people, but not a source of political hope or teaching authority. Symbolically “the city of God” is used as a metaphor to express the beauty and order of creation which must specifically Mishnah and Tosefta Sanhedrin, seems to reflect an idealized picture of an institution that, in fact, never existed in Second Temple Jerusalem.” Jerusalem, 269. 233 Ed P. Sanders, Jewish Law from Jesus to the Mishna: Five Studies (London: SCM Press, 1990), 256. Note also Martin Goodman’s general conclusion that: “There is good evidence that the priests in Jerusalem could not – and probably did not usually try to – impose their will on the diaspora.” Judaism in the Roman World: Collected Essays (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 22. 234 Amir Yehoyada and Maren R. Niehoff, “Philo Judaeus,” in Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2nd ed. (Detroit: Macmillan, 2007), 61. 235 Philo mentions thirty-eight members of the gerousia at the time of writing In Flaccum (Flacc. 74). On the transition of leadership in the Jewish community of Alexandria from the earlier ethnarch to the gerousia, see Louis H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World: Attitudes and Interactions from Alexander to Justinian (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 63–65; Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 60–71. On the rights of residence of Alexandrian Jews in the Roman period, see now Gambetti, The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E., 57–76. 236 Philo writes: “Three of the members of this council of elders, Euodius, and Trypho, and Audro, had been stripped of all their property” (Flacc. 76).

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also be wrought in the human soul. When peace is wrought in the human soul then at last peace will be established in the external world as well. I thus note a certain ambivalence in Philo’s attitude to Jerusalem. While he is committed to the literal city and its Temple, he often seems to put more weight on its symbolic significance and the literal city does not seem to feature in his vision of an idealised future. We cannot adequately understand Philo’s attitude towards “the holy city,” however, without understanding his attitude towards the Temple. To this I now turn.

D. The Temple D. The Temple

The highest, and in the truest sense the holy, temple of God is, as we must believe, the whole universe – Philo (Spec. 1.66) Philo’s attitude toward the Temple, like his attitude toward Jerusalem, is complex. On the one hand, it is clear that he was committed to the Temple and its services and even tells of one of his own journeys to the Temple “to offer up prayers and sacrifices (εὐξόμενός τε καὶ θύσων)” (Prov. 2.64). He can also idealise pilgrimage to the Temple as expressive of true virtue and the Temple itself as a type of utopian space towards which pilgrims journey.237 As I have already noted, Philo was willing to risk his life for the sake of the sanctity of this central institution and symbol of Jewish life. On the other hand, it is clear that he has no trouble allegorising the Temple and its services, as he does with the symbols of Jerusalem and the Land. The Temple can also be understood by Philo as the cosmos or as the soul of the sage (Somn. 1.215). Sacrifices can include the sacrifice of the soul or of purity or virtue. The exegetical question then becomes how the literal and symbolic were related for him, as well as what function his allegories were intended to fulfil. In this regard, Philo has much more to say about the Temple than Jerusalem or the Land. The noun ἱερὸν alone occurs two-hundred and fifty-six times in his extant writings, σκηνή seventy-eight times, and ναός forty-five times. What is also noteworthy is that he seems to devote a disproportionate amount of space to explaining the Temple cult (e.g. Spec. 1.66–298). Although this does not necessarily demonstrate his own priestly heritage, Schwartz nevertheless 237 Note Philo’s lofty language: “Countless multitudes from countless cities come, some over land, others over sea, from east and west and north and south at every feast. They take the temple for their port as a general haven and safe refuge from the bustle and great turmoil of life, and there they seek to find calm weather, and, released from the cares whose yoke has been heavy upon them from their earliest years, to enjoy a brief breathing space in scenes of genial cheerfulness” (Spec. 1.69).

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argues that Philo demonstrates hereby his own admiration for the priestly line and his considerable familiarity with rites associated with the Temple and its services.238 Philo’s attitude towards the Temple has also been the subject of considerable research over the last several decades. This has most often been undertaken as a subsection of studies devoted to general Hellenistic-Jewish attitudes to the Temple, but sometimes also in its own right. Some of these studies explore the genealogy of Philo’s ideas, whether in Platonic or Stoic philosophy or in previous Jewish-Hellenistic sources. Most recognise the difficulty of this task, however, and are cautious in their conclusions. I will briefly survey some of these studies here before seeking to draw my own conclusions. I. The Temple in Philonic scholarship Many earlier Philonic scholars like Goodenough, Wolfson, and Sandmel focused much attention on situating Philo within his Hellenistic and Jewish contexts and reflected primarily on his metaphysics, ethics, and political thought. In these earlier studies, not much attention was paid to Philo’s approach to the Temple and its cult on the whole. While Wolfson, for example, could study the role of the High Priest in Philo’s thought, this was subsumed under a broader discussion of his political theory. 239 It was the French Philonic scholar Valentin Nikiprowetzky (1967) who drew fresh attention to Philo’s representation of the Temple and particularly noticed how Philo’s allegory tended not to condemn the cult of sacrifice.240 Nevertheless, he observed that in Philo there was a clear “interiorization” of worship, which led him to conclude that Philo was standing at the crossroads between biblical and Greek philosophical understandings of sacrifice. Writing from a more recent perspective, Jonathan Klawans (2006) also concluded that: Philo’s is the most thorough symbolic exposition of sacrificial ritual known from ancient Jewish times.241

Another study that picked up some of the themes from Nikiprowetzky is that of Klauck referenced earlier.242 Among other things, Klauck emphasised that “spiritualisation” of the Temple cannot be taken as the final word on Philo. What Klauck particularly pointed out was that the uniqueness and centrality of the Temple has a clear theological foundation for Philo in the oneness of God. 238 Daniel R. Schwartz, “Philo’s Priestly Descent,” in Nourished with Peace: Studies in Hellenistic Judaism in Memory of Samuel Sandmel (Chico: Scholars Press, 1984), 155–71. 239 Wolfson, Philo, 2:337–45. 240 Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “La Spiritualisation Des Sacrifices et Le Culte Sacrificial Au Temple de Jérusalem Chez Philon d’Alexandrie,” Sem 17 (1967): 97–116. 241 Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 142. 242 Klauck, “Die Heilige Stadt.”

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One finds such a commitment clearly expressed in texts that discuss Moses’ instructions about the Temple/Tabernacle: But he provided that there should not be temples built either in many places or many in the same place, for he judged that since God is one (εἷς ἐστιν ὁ θεός), there should be also only one temple (καὶ ἱερὸν ἓν εἶναι μόνον) (Spec. 1.67).243

Nikiprowetzky and Klauck thus represent a trend in scholarship towards emphasising that Philo’s allegorisation of the Temple and its cult were not done at the expense of the literal Temple and its services. 244 Another study along similar lines was the comparative study of Seland (1995). Seland also suggested that Philo held a “rather conservative view” of the Temple cult and that this should caution scholars against applying the somewhat simplistic category of “spiritualisation.”245 While acknowledging with Hans Wenschkewitz that Philo’s views on the Temple and priesthood are “hard to fit into a consistent picture,” he nevertheless sees Philo’s allegorical perspective working alongside the literal and doing so at both a micro and macro-cosmic level. In this regard, he explores the theme of the Jewish people being priests for the sake of the world (Spec. 2.162) and concludes: The regulations of the Law are to be carried out, and not to be neglected or abolished. But Philo goes further: there is both a macrocosmos, the world at large, and a microcosmos, the soul of humans. There is not only the Temple of Jerusalem and its priests and sacrifices. The world at large is like a temple, and the Logos may play a role as High Priest both in the world and in the soul of humanity. And there is the priesthood of Jerusalem. But there is also a kind of ‘common priesthood’. The Jewish people are to be perceived as a priesthood in relation to the world: what the priest is to the state the Jews are to the world, and their sacrifices and prayers are on behalf of all.246

A further significant contribution came with Robert Hayward’s study (1996) that devoted a chapter to exploring Philo’s perspective on the Temple, the High Priest, various aspects of the Temple service, and the festivals. He concluded that the philosophy of Plato and the Stoics undoubtedly influenced Philo’s presentation of the Temple and its service, but that Jewish tradition was also never far away. 247 Hayward also contributed to the discussion by not only asking to what degree Philo believed the literal Temple and sacrifice to be important, but also what role Philo’s allegorising played. Here he suggests that

The similarities with Josephus are obvious: “We have but one Temple for the one God (Εἷς ναὸς ἑνὸς θεοῦ), common to all as God is common to all” (C. Ap. 2.193). 244 Philo’s polemic against the “extreme-allegorisers” in Migr. 93 is again significant. 245 Seland, “The ‘Common Priesthood,’” 91. 246 Seland, 99. 247 Hayward writes: “Even the cosmic and universal explanations of the Temple Service, so congenial to educated non-Jews, have their place in the writings of his Jewish predecessors such as Jesus ben Sira and the writer of Aristeas.” The Jewish Temple, 140. 243

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Philo “comes close to the idea that the virtuous individual, freed from the confinement of the passions, expresses what is symbolised by the Temple and its Service.”248 Noting especially Philo’s description of the Therapeutae, Hayward also suggests that Philo comes close to identifying the community itself as a Temple. Here he asks: “if the various items of the Service might properly be symbols of virtuous behaviour, might not those who exhibit such be properly a sort of Temple?”249 A far more comprehensive study was undertaken, however, by Jutta Leonhardt (2001). Her careful study drew a number of significant conclusions, both in better understanding Philo’s Jewish and Hellenistic contexts, and the purpose behind his allegory. Firstly, she insists: The evidence in Philo has shown two things above all: he firmly adheres to the conviction that the Pentateuch instructions about the details of Jewish worship must be observed in the literal sense, and at the same time he is certain that the observable rites symbolise an immaterial reality which links the Jewish worship to the one and only creator God.250

Secondly, she further explores the critical question of Philo’s knowledge of Jewish traditions of worship and concludes that this was probably broader than has previously been assumed. This then raises the question as to why Philo does not refer to these traditions more explicitly. Here she concludes that Philo is seeking to portray Jewish worship along the lines of the Hellenistic cults that many of his readers would have been familiar with.251 She observes, for example, that “he repeatedly refers to the worship as ‘ancestral’ rites of the Jews and as an expression of their ‘piety’, concepts both highly important for the traditional Greek cult” and that even his expression of Jerusalem as “metropolis” serves to strengthen the civic aspects of Judaism. Therefore, “Philo’s Judaism is the ultimate Hellenistic cult.” This cult does justice to humanity’s social needs, contains all the virtues of the ancient civic cults, and offers a philosophical system that might further the ascent of the soul. Leonhardt concludes: Philo wholeheartedly embraces the material rites of Judaism and adds a symbolic significance to them . . . the material rites are important for the bodily and social aspects of human life, while the symbolic meaning of the rites leads the worshipper directly to a life in relation with the invisible creator God, through the mediation of earthly worship and the spiritual Logos.252

Hayward, The Jewish Temple, 140. Hayward, 141. 250 Leonhardt, Jewish Worship, 293. 251 Here Leonhardt comments on Philo that: “he clothes Jewish worship in Hellenistic forms. Judaism is described as one of the Hellenistic cults (festivals, prayers, vows, hymns, temple).” Jewish Worship, 294. 252 Leonhardt, 294. 248 249

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Subsequent scholarship has generally confirmed many of her conclusions, especially insofar as she observes that Philo’s allegorising is not aimed at denigrating the literal Temple. Cana Werman (2004), for example, has compared Philo’s attitude to the Temple with other Hellenistic Jewish attitudes and especially those reflected in the Qumran writing Florilegium (4Q174). Here she notes that both affirm the present Temple and a “better” Temple, but that: The difference between the two lies in each one’s identification of the other, superior temple. Philo points to the universe whereas Florilegium points to the future earthly temple.253

Thus, she suggests that there is a difference in eschatology between Philo and the perspective represented in the Qumran text. While both these affirm the present Temple, she also highlights other Hellenistic Jewish sources like 3 Maccabees and Acts 7:1–60 which use language like χειρόκμητον in a pejorative way. She argues that these two main streams of thought (a positive or negative perspective on the earthly temple and sacrifice) can be traced back to Nathan’s prophecy in 2 Sam 7:1–17.254 While Werman and Leonhardt generally emphasised Philo’s commitment to the literal Temple, Kåre Fuglseth (2005) more carefully explored Philo’s ambivalent statements. 255 He particularly drew attention to texts that seem to express the superfluity of buildings and sacrifices in the true worship of God. Philo can write, for example: But it is not possible genuinely to express our gratitude to God by means of buildings and oblations and sacrifices, as is the custom of most people, for even the whole world were not a temple adequate to yield the honour due to Him (οὐδὲ γὰρ σύμπας ὁ κόσμος ἱερὸν ἀξιόχρεων ἂν γένοιτο πρὸς τὴν τούτου τιμήν) (Plant. 126).

In the final analysis, Fuglseth thinks that the tension between the literal and symbolic should be understood in relation to Philo’s perspective on the relationship between the body (literal observance) and soul (inner meaning), 256

253 Cana Werman, “God’s House: Temple or Universe,” in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 319. 254 Werman, “God’s House,” 309. 255 Kåre S. Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism in Perspective: A Sociological, Historical, and Comparative Analysis of Temple and Social Relationships in the Gospel of John, Philo and Qumran, NovTSup 119 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 187–250. 256 Recall Philo’s remarks on the “extreme-allegorisers” who putatively suggest neglecting the literal Temple: “It follows that, exactly as we have to take thought for the body, because it is the abode of the soul, so we must pay heed to the letter of the laws. If we keep and observe these, we shall gain a clearer conception of those things of which these are the symbols” (Migr. 93). Sanders comments here: “The biblical legislators seem to have known a great secret of human psychology: act in a desirable way, and your feelings will take care of themselves.” Jewish Law, 271.

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where the former retains its importance and deepens understanding of the latter.257 Fuglseth thus concludes: In spite of his criticism of animal sacrifices and the fundamental rejection of temples of stone, and the location of the universal God to one locale, Philo was a Jerusalem temple adherent.258

Writing recently and from a more philosophical perspective, Philip Richardson (2018) also has a chapter devoted to Philo’s philosophical perspective on the Temple and its cult. His study is more descriptive, but helpfully summarises Philo’s account of sacrifice (both literal and non-literal), priesthood (where the priest is often Reason and represents divine direction in the soul), and the Temple itself.259 Here he largely affirms the conclusions of previous scholars. Richardson also highlights a Philonic text that Seland had explored in relation to Israel’s “common priesthood” and points out how each home in Israel at the time of Passover is characterised as a Temple (QE 1.10). I will return to this question below. Richardson also briefly explores the possibility that Philo may have considered not only the soul (ψυχή) or mind (διάνοια) of the wise man as a Temple, but even their body. 260 Here he particularly draws on Philo’s account of the creation of man in which Philo says that God: Selecting the best from it all, out of pure material taking the purest and most subtly refined, such as was best suited for his structure; for a sacred dwelling-place or shrine was being fashioned for the reasonable soul (οἶκος γάρ τις ἢ νεὼς ἱερὸς ἐτεκταίνετο ψυχῆς λογικῆς) (Opif. 137).

While this clearly seems to be a reference to Adam’s physical body, Richardson and Seland caution that Philo saw a distinction between the first man and subsequent humanity.261 It is therefore unlikely that Philo would have cosidered the physical body of even the wise as a Temple. Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, 218–19. In speaking particularly of Philo’s transference of temple language, Fuglseth writes: “In one way, these transferences reflect a superior reality, but in another way, he is dependent on the phenomena that these transferences represent. Through observance, the allegorist gains an improved knowledge of the inner meanings of the external symbols.” Johannine Sectarianism, 218. 258 Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, 219. 259 Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 121–53. 260 Richardson, Temple of the Living God, 148. 261 See Opif. 134 where Philo makes the distinction. For further reflection on the fact that Philo sees subsequent human beings as only copies of the archetypal man, see Seland, “The ‘Common Priesthood,’” 93. Runia also comments on this text: “The imagery emphasizes the high value that Philo attaches to the body in this context . . . To my knowledge this is the only text in Philo where the body is called a temple. For the head as dwelling-place or temple for the mind cf. QG 1.5 (perhaps alluding to Plato Tim. 44al); QE 2.51, 100. More common is the depiction of the soul as a shrine or temple for the indwelling of God; cf. Somn. 1.149, 215.” On the Creation of the Cosmos, 335. 257

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Recently Maren Niehoff (2018) has also contributed to all these questions from a distinctively diachronic perspective that is critical of the homogenising tendencies of previous interpreters. 262 She argues that Philo’s encounter with Rome also significantly impacted his perspective on the Temple and that, rather than presenting its cult in Hellenistic terms (Leonhardt), Philo now presented it in distinctly Roman (Stoic) terms. Focussing on his Exposition, and drawing attention to his emphasis on thanksgiving in worship, she concludes: Philo thus renders Jewish worship congenial to Cicero’s summary of Stoic theology, which is based on the idea that gratitude for benefactions is the beginning of each god’s particular cult. More importantly, Cicero describes Stoic theology as an approach that respects the traditional cults while reinterpreting them in a philosophical vein. 263

When exploring his accounts of pilgrimage, she also interestingly suggests that Philo disconnects the Temple from some of its traditional political associations: Philo creates a religious focus for his people that is devoid of national and political connotations. The Temple, instead of worldly leadership, defines Jewish identity. In a world populated by many local temples, but only one emperor, Jewish culture neatly fits into the wider landscape of the empire without competing with contemporary structures of power. 264

Before reflecting further on Niehoff’s diachronic approach, I will further explore some of the tensions often associated with a synchronic approach. II. Philo’s Diaspora location and the tension between the literal and symbolic From the brief survey above, there seems to be a tendency among many recent Philonic scholars to see little tension in Philo between a commitment to the literal Temple and its sacrifices and his frequent symbolic appropriation of the same. These scholars have a tendency towards what I referred to in the introduction as an integral perspective. There are some scholars, however, who question the degree and particularly the motivation for Philo’s commitment. Thus, there are a fair number who see in Philo a tendency away from commitment to the literal institution and often attribute this to his Diaspora experience. What is often noted in relation to Diaspora communities is a focus on the Torah and perhaps even on the sanctity of local places of meeting (synagogue/proseuche). Jack Lightstone expresses this perspective when commenting on Jewish pilgrimage and the annual didrachma Temple tax: 262 Niehoff laments, e.g., “One of the main factors hampering the discussion is the eclecticism of modern scholars, who use passages from Philo’s later and earlier works interchangeably, without awareness of their respective historical and philosophical contexts.” Philo of Alexandria, 226. 263 Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria, 166. 264 Niehoff, 168.

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Through such support one might participate vicariously in the sacrificial service and its benefits, even if the intensity of the experience was considerably lessened by distance . . . Still the link with the Temple of such a vicarious kind could hardly have sufficed, and what little world-maintaining function the cult could play for the Greco-Roman Jews of the diaspora ceased after 70 in any case. Torah provided the only medium of sacrality sanctioned by revelation.265

In relation to Philo particularly, Lightstone comments on his designation of Jerusalem as “mother-city”: Philo views the demography of the Judaic world not as one in which most Jews inhabit a chaotic exile, but as a world studded with ‘colonies’ of that mother of all sacred space, Jerusalem. Here each community is in itself a locus of sacred order, given birth by the home city, to be sure, but also with independent access to order in the midst of chaos. 266

A similar perspective can be seen in the more recent work of Wally Cirafesi. He concludes that, although Philo never disparages the Temple, Nevertheless, his life situation as a Diaspora Jew from Alexandria – and the likelihood that his readers were also Diaspora Jews unable to worship daily at Jerusalem – seem to have led to him to develop a somewhat de-centralized temple attitude in these texts.267

Cirafesi cites as evidence for this, Philo’s well-known identification of the ultimate Temple as either the whole world or the soul of the wise and “God’s dwelling supremely in and among his ‘kingdom.’” While the former two metaphorical characterisations of the Temple are well-known, the final “communal” sense is a relatively rare suggestion.268 In this regard, Cirafesi cites only a single text in which Philo reflects on what it means for Israel to be a “the palace and priesthood of God” (Exod 19:6). Philo joins this together with Noah’s blessing of Shem and he writes of him: In whose houses it was prayed that God might dwell (οὗ τοῖς οἴκοις ἦν εὐχὴ τὸν θεὸν). For surely by “palace” is meant the King's house, which is holy indeed and the only inviolable sanctuary (ἱερὸς ὄντως καὶ μόνος ἄσυλος) (Sobr. 66).

Lightstone, The Commerce of the Sacred, 63–4. Collins also comments, e.g, on 3 Maccabees: “Inevitably, the temple could not play a great role in the practical religion of the Diaspora, despite the sending of offerings and the pilgrimages, which were undoubtedly common, although they are not noted here. The practical allegiance of the Jews of Alexandria was to the law, which regulated their daily lives. Jerusalem and its temple had a less immediate role which was largely symbolic.” Between Athens and Jerusalem, 130. 266 Lightstone, The Commerce of the Sacred, 8. 267 Wally V. Cirafesi, “The Temple Attitudes of John and Qumran in the Light of Hellenistic Judaism,” in Christian Origins and Hellenistic Judaism: Literary and Social Contexts for the New Testament, Texts and Editions for New Testament Study 10 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 323. 268 Although, as I noted above, Hayward and Richardson suggested that Philo may have been leaning in this direction. 265

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While Philo might be suggesting here that the nation as a whole could be regarded as God’s “house,” this remains fairly abstract at the level of the nation. One can scarcely argue from this text alone that the theme of the community as God’s Temple is a dominant one or indeed that this constitutes a trajectory away from literal observance. It does raise the question, however, whether Cirafesi, Richardson, and Hayward are right in noting a transference of Temple terminology to the community in Philo. It also raises the question of whether there is any tension or indeed trajectory in Philo’s thought with regard to the Temple. In this regard, several scholars have recently engaged with an unpublished dissertation by M.J. Martin that argued that the Temple was important to Philo mainly on a political and communal level. 269 Martin particularly draws attention to the reason why Philo is committed to the literal Temple. He places weight on Philo’s description of the need for the Temple “made with hands (χειρόκμητον)” and Philo’s self-distancing from the perceptions of the uneducated masses. Philo classically affirms that: The highest, and in the truest sense the holy, temple of God (ἀνωτάτω καὶ πρὸς ἀλήθειαν ἱερὸν θεοῦ) is, as we must believe, the whole universe . . . There is also the temple made by hands (τὸ δὲ χειρόκμητον); for it was right that no check should be given to the forwardness (ὁρμὰς ἀνθρώπων μὴ ἀνακόψαι) of those who pay their tribute to piety and desire by means of sacrifices either to give thanks for the blessings that befall them or to ask for pardon and forgiveness for their sins (Spec. 1.66–67).

Where scholars like Leonhardt or Werman suggest that there are no negative overtones when Philo emphasises the material need for the Temple,270 Martin sees Philo subtly distancing himself from the impulses of the masses. He writes: At one level Philo attributes to the Temple a role as guide for those Jews who lack the intellectual sophistication of men like Philo himself to apprehend the true nature of the worship of God in the Temple of the rational soul. Philo construes two types of people in the world – the sages (like himself) and the mob (ὁ ὄχλος); those who love God, and those who fear Him. The Temple is for the benefit of the latter.271

Martin further points out how the Temple is conspicuously absent in Philo’s description of the ideal Jewish community (the Therapeutae), as well as how it does not feature in his eschatological vision. He concludes, therefore, that it M.J. Martin, “The School of Virtue and the Tent of Zion: An Investigation into the Relationship between the Institutions of the Graeco-Roman Diaspora Synagogue and the Jerusalem Temple in Late Second Temple Judiasm: Philo of Alexandria: A Case Study” (PhD, University of Melbourne, 2000). 270 Werman says Philo is simply emphasizing the importance of the Temple “to fulfil human religious needs” and Leonhardt “for the bodily and social aspects of human life.” “God’s House,” 310; Jewish Worship, 294. 271 Martin, “The School of Virtue,” 250. 269

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is mainly important for Philo insofar as it symbolized Roman recognition and protection of Jewish rights. In relation to the Therapeutae, for example, he writes: The Therapeutic community . . . dwells within a utopian universe. God may be approached by these individuals through the agency of their lives of scriptural study and spiritual devotion. The Temple in Jerusalem and its sacrificial worship is not necessary to them; it is indeed revealed to be ultimately irrelevant.272

In relation to the threat to the Temple recorded in Legatio ad Gaium, Martin writes, “Philo accurately perceives that the right to lead a Jewish life in the Roman Empire is tied to the political fate of the Jerusalem Temple.”273 Martin actually goes further to suggest that for Philo the synagogues as “schools of virtue” (Spec. 2.61–63) encapsulated much of the Temple’s function and that Philo “can envisage a world where the Temple is no longer possessed of significant function.”274 Martin represents a tendency towards what I have termed a symbolic perspective in that he harmonises Philo’s ambivalence by privileging his allegorical reading as representing his real “heart.” Leonhardt-Balzer (2007) responded to this thesis in various ways in her more recent essay exploring Philo’s construction of Jewish identity. While Martin makes much of the distance of the Temple for most Diaspora Jews, Leonhardt-Balzer responds: It is important to remember that it is possible to appreciate and value an institution and to regard it as fundamental for one’s identity, even if it is impossible to participate in its rites in person on a regular basis.275

She also points out how Martin, without any contextual warrant, interprets Philo’s exposition of the life of the synagogue (προσευχή) in Spec. 2.61–63 in relation to the Temple and in relation to his eschatology. She goes on to explore how Philo did in fact regard the synagogue, as evidenced in In Flaccum and its record of how many of the Alexandrian synagogues were desecrated during the riots. She notes how the Jews, in response to the good news that Flaccus had been arrested, moved to nearby beaches to celebrate and worship through the night in prayer and praise (Flacc. 121–124). She thus concludes that the synagogue was a “flexible institution” that operated at quite a different level to the Temple. She further reinforces this by observing Philo’s complete breakdown at hearing the news about the impending fate of the Temple and how the threat to the Temple was regarded by all Jews as far greater than the threat to the synagogues. She concludes:

Martin, 310. Martin, 364. 274 Martin, 346. 275 Leonhardt-Balzer, “Jewish Worship and Universal Identity,” 43–4. 272 273

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There is no indication anywhere that Philo would have adapted to the loss of the Temple easily or that he would not have faced the same problems as the rabbis and other Jews after 70CE.276

More recently, Michael Tuval, inspired by Martin’s study, has adopted a similar basic position in his analysis of Josephus’ Jewish context.277 Tuval suggests that many scholars like Leonhardt-Balzer argue something along these lines in relation to Philo: If he says so many good things about the Temple, describes its sacrificial cult in such detail, and thinks it must be defended even at the cost of one’s own life, then it must have been crucial to his interpretation of what Judaism was all about.278

Tuval firstly argues that this interpretation fails to account for Philo’s repeated insistence that the real Temple is not the one in Jerusalem. In writing about how it is necessary to purify our souls so that God may dwell in them, for example, Philo strongly rejects the idea that God can dwell in a mere material structure: What house shall be prepared for God the King of kings, the Lord of all, who in His tender mercy and loving-kindness has deigned to visit created being and come down from the boundaries of heaven to the utmost ends of earth, to show His goodness to our race? Shall it be of stone or timber? Away with the thought (ἄπαγε), the very words are blasphemy. For though the whole earth should suddenly turn into gold, or something more precious than gold . . . yet there would be no place where His feet could tread. One worthy house there is – the soul that is fitted to receive him (Cher. 99–100).

Secondly, Tuval notes that it is quite possible for Philo to reflect on the concept of the Temple without reference to the Jerusalem Temple. In reflecting on the significance of the High Priest’s vestments prescribed by the Law (Somn. 1.214), Philo famously remarks: For there are, as is evident, two temples of God (δύο γάρ, ὡς ἔοικεν ἱερὰ θεοῦ): one of them this universe (ἓν μὲν ὅδε ὁ κόσμος), in which there is also as High Priest His First-born, the divine Word, and the other the rational soul (ἕτερον δὲ λογικὴ ψυχή), whose Priest is the real Man; the outward and visible image of whom is he who offers the prayers and sacrifices handed down from our fathers, to whom it has been committed to wear the aforesaid tunic, which is a copy and replica of the whole heaven, the intention of this being that the universe may join with man in the holy rites and man with the universe (Somn. 1.215).

Tuval notes that, of the two Temples Philo names, neither one is the Jerusalem Temple. Leonhardt-Balzer would argue here that the Jerusalem Temple is in view by reference to the High Priest who puts on the tunic and representatively Leonhardt-Balzer, 51. Michael Tuval, From Jerusalem Priest to Roman Jew: On Josephus and the Paradigms of Ancient Judaism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013). In his survey of previous scholarship Tuval writes: “As will become clear from the following analysis of Diaspora writings, I accept Martin’s conclusions as valid.” From Jerusalem Priest, 39. 278 Tuval, From Jerusalem Priest, 74. 276 277

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offers sacrifices on behalf of the Jewish nation and the world. 279 Nevertheless, this does seem to play a secondary role in Philo’s thought as the High Priest is only a copy of “the real Man (ἀλήθειαν ἄνθρωπος)” whose “rational soul (λογικὴ ψυχή)” is constituted a Temple. The third text that Tuval highlights is Philo’s description of Yom Kippur. Here Philo has been demonstrating the universal admiration for the Law of Moses and writes about this significant day (whose rites are presumably being meticulously observed in Jerusalem): But in our fast men may not put food and drink to their lips, in order that with pure hearts, untroubled and untrammelled by any bodily passion, such as is the common outcome of repletion, they may keep the holy-day, propitiating the Father of All with fitting prayers, in which they are wont to ask that their old sins may be forgiven and new blessings gained and enjoyed (Mos. 2.24).

Tuval comments on this text: “in other words, the prayers uttered by the Alexandrian Jews on Yom Kippur (presumably, in their synagogues) were powerful enough to effect expiation of their sins before God.”280 If Philo fails to mention the Jerusalem Temple, so important on this day, Tuval asks whether he might not also see other aspects of Jewish life likewise transferred to the synagogue. Ultimately this is an argument from silence, but this is precisely what Tuval and others are suggesting. Namely, that Philo is frequently silent in relation to the Jerusalem Temple and, while enjoining obedience to the literal rites in a few places, these do not seem to dominate his horizons. Tuval thus agrees with Martin that ultimately the Jerusalem Temple “was mainly important for Philo because it symbolized the Roman recognition and protection of the Jewish communities.”281 The position of Martin and Tuval is similar to that of Schwartz in that they all draw attention to Philo’s elitism and self-distancing at points from his fellow Jews.282 The question of a tension between the literal and symbolic in Philo has also recently been taken up again by Trotter. Trotter argues in this regard that “previous treatments have not given appropriate attention to the diversity of perspective on the place of the Jerusalem temple in diaspora Jewish thought.”283 In relation to Philo particularly, Trotter concludes:

279 On the representative nature of the High Priest’s worship, see Leonhardt, Jewish Worship, 230–3. About the uniqueness of the Temple, she writes: “All the rites are ultimately linked with the Temple in Jerusalem.” Jewish Worship, 251. Note also Trotter’s recent critique of Tuval at this point: “there is an intimate connection between the temple service on earth and what it symbolizes on the cosmic plane.” The Jerusalem Temple, 198. 280 Tuval, From Jerusalem Priest, 76. 281 Tuval, 77. 282 Which may not be surprising given that Schwartz supervised Tuval’s PhD studies. 283 Trotter, The Jerusalem Temple, 6.

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In the end, it seems necessary in my opinion to acknowledge and embrace the tension within Philo’s writings and not come down too strongly on one side or the other, an approach which Philo himself promotes.284

On the whole, however, Trotter represents an integral tendency in that he seeks to hold all of Philo’s texts together (without suggesting any development) and that he emphasises that the spiritual does not detract from the material emphasis.285 Eyal Regev’s recent study comes to similar conclusions: Thus Philo uses the allegorical method to seek the ultimate meaning of the Temple . . . Nonetheless, Philo’s allegoric interpretation of sacrifice does not come at the expense of adherence to the Jerusalem Temple. Philo seeks the true meaning of sacrifice without discrediting its importance to religious life. 286

I will return to this question below after further exploring the question of Philo’s perspective on the community as Temple and the function of his allegory in his Diaspora context. III. The community as Temple and the sanctity of the synagogue While some scholars suggest that Philo could have metaphorically regarded the community itself as Temple, this is certainly not clearly established. In fact, the well-known text cited above that insists that there are “two temples” (Somn. 1.215), neither of which is the community, would seem to militate against this position. The clearest place in which this perspective might be discerned is Philo’s perspective on the Passover. Reflecting on Exod 12:6 (“all the multitude shall sacrifice”), Philo asks the question of why everyone (and not only the priests) are enjoined to sacrifice. The first obvious answer to this is the fact that the priests have not yet been appointed and the Temple not yet built. But Philo gives another intriguing reason, namely: That the nation might be an archetypal example to the temple-wardens and priests and those who exercise the high-priesthood in carrying out the sacred rites (QE. 1.10).

The idea that the nation might be an “archetypal example” 287 suggests that the priesthood of the nation for Philo in fact precedes (ontologically and not only chronologically) the priesthood of the Levites or any others who perform the rites of the Temple. Because of the priority that Philo affords the “archetypes” Trotter, 199. Trotter concludes a little later: “an emphasis on the immaterial heavenly temple of God does not marginalize the earthly Jerusalem temple . . . Therefore, it makes most sense to conclude that Philo’s perspective is accessible in all the texts that were written by him, even if that means that he held certain views in tension.” The Jerusalem Temple, 203. 286 Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity, 13. 287 Which the LCL translators of the Armenian are confident reflects the original Greek παράδειγμα ἀρχετύπον. 284 285

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and “ideas,” we should probably take quite seriously his previous statement that: He showed that the dwelling together of several good persons in the home was a temple and altar (QE. 1.10).

This reveals at least that Philo did not see the physical structure as of the essence in constituting the Temple. Nevertheless, Philo expressly points out twice in this section that the reason Israel were permitted to use their homes as a Temple was because “a temple had not yet been built” (QE 1.10). Moreover, in his Exposition, he expressly points out how Moses denied each individual family the liberty to sacrifice in their own home as this would deny the unity of the nation. 288 Thus, while it is quite clear that Philo designates the whole nation of Israel as “priests” (Abr. 98; Mos. 1.149; Spec. 2.162), further evidence is necessary to demonstrate that he would typically designate the local assembly as a Temple. One could perhaps make such an argument from another place in the Exposition where Philo reiterates his discussion of Passover. Here he speaks in the present tense, without seeming to draw any distinction between “then” (original Passover) and “now”: And each house is at that time invested with the character and dignity of a temple (σχῆμα ἱεροῦ καὶ σεμνότητα) (Spec. 2.148).

Perhaps here, however, Philo’s use of σχῆμα (“outward appearance, form, shape” BDAG, 981) might indicate that not too much weight should be placed on this characterisation. Philo’s awareness, then, that there is a difference between the original Passover and his own day should probably be taken seriously. If Philo did think that the community might have constituted a Temple in some ideal primitive state, then we could perhaps expect that eschatologically this might again be the case. Many have noticed, however, that the Temple does not seem to feature in Philo’s eschatology 289 and have therefore concluded that Philo does not think about what the Temple might symbolise in relation to the future. Perhaps this is because there is little Temple symbolism in Philo’s most overtly eschatological text De praemiis et poenis. I want to want to draw attention, however, to one interesting text where Philo does draw on Temple imagery in an eschatological reflection. Tuval drew attention to a text in De cherubim where Philo recoils at the idea that the “King of kings” might dwell in a house “of stone or wood” (Cher. 100). What is particularly interesting in this text, however, is how Philo’s discussion 288 Philo writes: “Further, he does not consent to those who wish to perform the rites in their houses, but bids them rise up from the ends of the earth and come to this temple.” (Spec. 1.68). 289 For similar conclusions see Werman, “God’s House.”

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develops from that point. Philo insists that the one worthy “house (οἶκος)” for God is “the soul that is fitted to receive Him (ψυχὴ ἐπιτήδειος).” He then goes on to discuss metaphorically how the Temple might be built up in the human soul. Firstly, he says: Let its foundations (θεμέλιοι) be laid in natural excellence and good teaching, and let us rear upon them (ἐποικοδομείσθωσαν) virtues (ἀρεταὶ) and noble actions (καλῶν πράξεων), and let its external ornaments be the reception of the learning of the schools (τῶν ἐγκυκλίων προπαιδευμάτων) (Cher. 101).

From elementary instruction, he continues to envisage the soul being built up with knowledge of grammar, poetry, and history and finally with knowledge of music, rhetoric, and public speech (Cher. 105).290 But then, in an eschatological reflection, he envisages what the world might look like if virtue is thus pursued: And if such a house be raised amid our mortal race (οἴκου παρὰ τῷ θνητῷ γένει), earth and all that dwells on earth (τἀπίγεια πάντα) will be filled with high hopes, expecting the descent of the divine potencies. With laws and ordinances from heaven they will descend, to sanctify and consecrate them (καθαγιάσαι καὶ καθιερῶσαι) on earth, according to their Father’s bidding. Then, joined in commonalty of daily life and board with virtue-loving souls, they sow within them the nature of happiness (εὔδαιμον) (Cher. 106).

Philo goes on from here to quote one of his favourite texts, “for all the land is mine” (Lev 25:23), and to envision a situation in which God would give all good things to the wise and which would in turn “lead up to the consummation of the whole world (πρὸς τὴν τοῦ κόσμου παντὸς ἐκπλήρωσιν)” (Cher. 110). Here at least it is clear that Philo employs Temple language to express this hope. The degree to which this hope is communal or individual, however, is difficult to ascertain. The predominant idea is probably that when a critical mass of individual souls attain to such levels of virtue, then “our mortal race” will again be showered with blessings from above. 291 It is noteworthy, however, that in this eschatological vision, a secular education (the encyclia) seems to play an important role in catalysing this future. Philo would no doubt also want to add to this basic education the type of instruction characteristic of the synagogue (Spec. 2.61–63), so that, as wise souls are instructed in virtue, the hoped for concord of the universe might ensue. 292 I would be cautious, however, in saying that Philo also characterised the community as a Temple as this On Philo’s perspective on Greek education, see Mendelson, Secular Education in Philo of Alexandria; Karl O. Sandnes, The Challenge of Homer: School, Pagan Poets and Early Christianity (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 68–78. 291 The “house” is presumably the company of wise souls, perhaps being designated a Temple in some manner. 292 In Philo’s allegorical exposition of Abraham’s life, he represents Abraham as one who acquired wisdom through teaching and highlights how an encyclical education precedes the study of genuine Jewish wisdom (Congr. 1–120). Here he allegorically presents Hagar as 290

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seems to be only a minor theme. Moreover, he only explicitly uses such a designation for a single day of the year, namely, Passover. Another related question is whether Philo might describe Jewish places of meeting as holy places, in some manner extending Temple sanctity. It is clear that Philo can distinguish generally between degrees of sanctity of a place293 and, with reference to the Levitical “cities of refuge” (Num 35:6), can even refer to each of these as a “holy city (ἱερόπολιν)” and “in a sense a secondary temple (δεύτερον ἱερόν)” (Spec. 3.130). Philo also clearly describes the synagogues of the Essenes as “sacred spots (ἱεροὺς τόπους)” (Prob. 81), but it may be that he is here simply presenting their own self-understanding. Philo’s clearest expression of synagogue sanctity that I am aware of comes when he is reflecting on the desecration of the synagogues under Flaccus. Here he writes: They are the only people under the sun who by losing their meeting-houses (προσευχαῖς) were losing also what they would have valued as worth dying many thousand deaths, namely, their means of showing reverence to their benefactors, since they no longer had the sacred buildings (ἱεροὺς περιβόλους) where they could set forth their thankfulness” (Flacc. 48).

In terms of the broader Alexandrian context, Steven Fine comments, “The epigraphic remains suggest that the ‘sanctity’ of the Ptolemaic proseuchē was adapted from the temple culture of Ptolemaic Egypt.”294 In relation to Philo particularly, Fine recognises the important apologetic nature of this text and comments, “This text is significant in light of the rise of the emperor cult at this time. The ‘prayer place’ is portrayed as an institution not unlike a temple to the emperor in purpose.”295 Also recognising Philo’s apologetic purpose, I would agree that Philo’s main aim in presenting the synagogue as a “sacred place” is to present it in terms that would resonate with his audience. The paucity of other references to synagogue sanctity would probably suggest that Philo himself was not strongly

representing the former and Sarah the latter, insisting that, “the virtue that comes through teaching, which Abraham pursues, needs the fruits of several studies, both those born in wedlock, which deal with wisdom, and the base born, those of the preliminary lore of the schools” (Congr. 35). See further Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 163–4. 293 When commenting on the rash use of God’s name in the taking of oaths, e.g., Philo can write, “But so great is the lightness and heedlessness shown by some that they pass by all these works of creation and allow their words to dash on to the Maker and Father of all, never staying to examine whether the place is profane or holy (μὴ τόπους εἰ βέβηλοι ἢ ἱεροί), whether the occasion is suitable, whether they themselves are pure in body and soul, whether the business is important or the object necessary” (Spec. 2.6). One gets the impression the Philo would see it as more appropriate to take oaths in a sacred place which should probably not be limited to the Temple. 294 Steven Fine, This Holy Place: On the Sanctity of the Synagogue during the GrecoRoman Period (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997), 27. 295 Fine, This Holy Place, 27.

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committed to it, but that he was happy to accept it as common ground in relation to his audience. This would also confirm Martin Goodman’s conclusion that the idea of synagogue sanctity at this time probably arose firstly because gentiles thought of Jewish meeting places in this way. 296 I would conclude therefore that there is little sense in which Philo might see Jewish meeting places as replacements for the sanctity of the Temple. IV. The function of Philo’s allegorical Temple language It is not difficult on the whole to assess Philo’s motivations for allegorising the Temple. Characteristic of many Hellenistic thinkers, he was convinced that the inner essence was just as important, if not more important, that the outward reality. Leonhardt is surely right that, while Philo advocated commitment to the literal Temple, “at the same time he is certain that the observable rites symbolise an immaterial reality.”297 Philo seems to be particularly distressed that some might think that the outward observances are sufficient in themselves. Shortly before he calls the faithful to ensure that their souls are fit for the “King of kings,” he writes of others that: They cleanse their bodies with lustrations and purifications, but they neither wish nor practise to wash off from their souls the passions by which life is defiled. They are zealous to go to the temples (τὰ ἱερὰ) white-robed, attired in spotless raiment, but with a spotted heart they pass into the inmost sanctuary (ἄχρι τῶν ἀδύτων) and are not ashamed (Cher. 95).

He even goes on to warn that God will find some other place to make his home if people are not cautious to make their souls a fitting place for God’s dwelling: Else He will pass silently into some other home (εἰς ἕτερον οἶκον), where He judges that the builder’s hands have wrought something worthier (Cher. 98).

Thus, Philo’s appropriation of the individual soul as the Temple of God fits neatly into his wider concern of the progress of the soul towards the vision of God.298 Philo’s appropriation of the world or cosmos as Temple of God also deserves further reflection. In characteristic fashion, this conviction arises out of his basic exegesis of the Scriptures, using the thought forms and vocabulary of 296 Goodman, Judaism, 219–32. Goodman concludes: “If gentiles tended to assume that synagogues were sacred places, Jews might feel it wise to concur: on the most cynical level, this pagan attitude evidently helped to protect the synagogue site and to win exemption from liturgies for synagogue officials.” Judaism, 231. 297 Leonhardt, Jewish Worship, 293. 298 So also, Nijay Gupta: “What would be his purpose in communicating that every person is a temple, and that the mind is the priest that aids the soul in offering sacrifices of virtue and piety? Undoubtedly his interiorizing or psychologizing allegorization is tropological – interpreting a symbol for the purpose of ethics.” “The Question of Coherence,” 294.

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Greek philosophy. This can perhaps be seen most clearly in Philo’s treatise De plantatione, where he reflects on Noah’s “planting” of a vine (Gen 9:20). Here he observes that it is God himself who is the ultimate “planter,” first “planting” creation itself (Plant. 2–31), then “planting” a garden in Eden (Plant. 32–46) and then, from Miriam’s song in Exod 15:17, “planting” his people in his “inheritance” (Plant. 47–61). He writes: Bring them in, plant them in the mountain of Thine inheritance (ὄρος κληρονομίας σου), in the place, Ο Lord, which is ready, which Thou wroughtest for Thee to dwell in, the sanctuary (ἁγίασμα), Ο Lord, which Thy hands have made ready: the Lord is sovereign for ever and ever (Plant. 47).

Philo reflects carefully on several aspects of this song, characteristically interpreting “inheritance” universally as the “world (κόσμον)” and attributing to it the holiness of the Temple. He continues: And mark how well the epithets that follow harmonize with that which was put first. The world, we read, is God's house in the realm of sense-perception, prepared and ready for Him (τὸν κόσμον εὐτρεπῆ καὶ ἕτοιμον . . . οἶκον). It is a thing wrought, not, as some have fancied, uncreate. It is a “sanctuary,” (ἁγίασμα) an outshining of sanctity, so to speak, a copy of the original (μίμημα ἀρχετύπου); since the objects that are beautiful to the eye of sense are images of those in which the understanding recognizes beauty. Lastly, it has been prepared by the “hands” of God, his world-creating powers (τῶν κοσμοποιῶν αὐτοῦ δυνάμεων) (Plant. 50).

This characterisation seems firstly to have an apologetic concern, contra some strands of Greek thinking, of affirming the whole world as the creation of God.299 Gupta in fact argues that Philo’s macrocosmic cultic allegories by and large serve this purpose in the sense of providing “legitimation/self-definition” for the Jewish community. Gupta writes: Philo’s macrocosmic cultic allegories seem particularly appropriate in terms of his social purposes. In many of his treatises, he appears to be defending the Scriptures and widening the appeal of the Jewish religion. 300

This is certainly an important dimension as Philo often stresses that Jewish Temple worship is undertaken on behalf of the world (Abr. 98; Spec. 1.97, 167, 168, 189; Spec. 2.162, 167). I also note the possibility of Philo’s characterisation of the world as “Temple” as expressing a desire in some sense to extend the holiness of the Temple beyond the building itself. It is well known that such an extension of Temple

299 For Philo’s position on the creation of matter and creation ex nihilo, see Runia, On the Creation of the Cosmos, 152–5. 300 Gupta, “The Question of Coherence,” 293 (emphasis original).

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sanctity had happened in relation to Jerusalem in the Second Temple period.301 In some ways it was therefore natural to want to see the holiness of the Temple extend to all creation (which for Philo is the original and archetypal Temple). Philo’s insistence that the world itself is a Temple in which a holy life ought to be pursued thus seems a natural development, especially in view of his Diaspora context.302 That Philo, in designating the world a holy “house of God,” is concerned not merely with metaphysics but ethics is confirmed by what he says in between the two sections quoted above: So he prays that in this we may be planted. He would not have us become irrational and unruly in our natures. Nay, he would have us comply with the ordering of the All-perfect, and faithfully copying His constant and undeviating course, pursue without stumbling a life of self-mastery: for to attain the power to live as nature bids (ἀκολουθίᾳ φύσεως ἰσχῦσαι ζῆν) has been pronounced by the men of old supreme happiness (εὐδαιμονίας) (Plant. 49).

Here I observe again the importance for Philo of living by the law of nature that God has embedded in the cosmos and that will lead to εὐδαιμονία – “happiness.”303 Philo’s concern that the individual soul be purified so that it can be a Temple of God is thus complemented by a more universal picture of the wise living out this holiness in the universal Temple of creation. V. The Temple, the Spirit, and authority Thus far I have observed little in Philo that would suggest that the Temple was for him “an object of rivalry and contention” as it often appears to have been in the Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphal literature. 304 As with Jerusalem, this irenic perspective is probably due to his Diaspora location and the general lack of priestly attempts to control life in that context. This raises the question of whether the symbol of the Temple might still be used to ascertain aspects of how Philo conceptualised authority. Here I suggest that Philo’s perspective on the soul of the sage as a “Temple,” which is consequently open to the empowerment of the divine spirit, is an important area to explore. Davies notes how the city and Temple became increasingly identified in the post-exilic period and how laws were enacted to secure this (e.g., the dead were not to be buried in the city walls). The Gospel and the Land, 153. 302 On the desire of the Pharisees particularly to observe Temple regulations outside the bounds of Jerusalem, N.T. Wright comments: “It is more a matter of translating the life of the Temple into everyday life, a matter of particular importance for those who lived some distance away from Jerusalem, not least in the further reaches of the Diaspora.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 92. 303 On eudaimonism in Philo and his cultural milieu, see David T. Runia, “Eudaimonism in Hellenistic-Jewish Literature,” in Shem in the Tents of Japhet: Essays on the Encounter of Judaism and Hellenism (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 304 On this phenomenon generally, see Knibb, “Temple and Cult in Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphal Writings.” 301

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It is firstly noteworthy how Philo links the ability to rule rightly with possession of the spirit. Philo insists, for example, that Moses as the ideal ruler had to be not only king, lawgiver, and high-priest, but also a divinely inspired prophet who might “declare by inspiration what cannot be apprehended by reason (ὅσα μὴ λογισμῷ καταλαμβάνεται θεσπίζῃ)” (Mos. 2.187). The same perspective is evident in his account of Abraham who was admired as a “king” among the natives of the Land (Virt. 217). Philo goes on to explain the reason for this: Whenever he was possessed, everything in him changed to something better, eyes, complexion, stature, carriage, movements, voice. For the divine spirit (θείου πνεύματος) which was breathed upon him from on high made its lodging in his soul, and invested his body with singular beauty, his voice with persuasiveness, and his hearers with understanding ( Virt. 217).

John R. Levison points out how rhetorical skill was associated in the GraecoRoman period with the ability to rule properly and concludes that: According to Philo, Abraham fulfils this ideal combination of inward virtue and external beauty when he is possessed by the spirit. His beauty is not natural, his rhetorical skill not learned through practice, and his kingship not his by birth or social class. It is rather the divine spirit which causes Abraham to become the ideal Greco-Roman ruler.305

Of the first man, Adam, Philo also asserts that “the divine Spirit had flowed into him in full current (ῥυέντος εἰς αὐτὸν τοῦ θείου πνεύματος)” (Opif. 144) and goes on to highlight how this cosmopolitan sage consequently possessed “wisdom and royalty (σοφίας . . . καὶ βασιλείας)” (Opif. 148), as evidenced by his bestowal of names on the animals (Gen 2:19). The divine spirit’s work is further exemplified for Philo in the wisdom and skill given Bezalel in designing the tabernacle furnishings. This is so to the degree that, on the basis of Exod 31:1–5, he affirms that, “in these words we have suggested to us a definition of what the spirit of God is (ὥστε τὸ τί ἐστι πνεῦμα θεῖον ὁρικῶς διὰ τῶν λεχθέντων ὑπογράφεσθαι)” (Gig. 23). Philo goes on immediately to reflect on how the same spirit that was on Moses was also distributed to the seventy elders so that they could share the burden of rule with him (Gig. 24–25). Here Philo makes possession of the spirit so constitutive of legitimate rule that he can say of them: Those seventy who cannot be in real truth even elders, if they have not received a portion of that spirit of perfect wisdom (τοῦ πανσόφου πνεύματος) (Gig. 24).

That Philo espouses a type of charismatic authority is also evident in his praise of Moses for appealing to God himself as “the God of the spirits of all flesh (ὁ θεὸς τῶν πνευμάτων καὶ πάσης σαρκὸς)” in the appointment of Joshua as a John R. Levison, “Inspiration and the Divine Spirit in the Writings of Philo Judaeus,” JSJ 26 (1995): 315. 305

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successor (Virt. 53–65). Philo takes care to emphasise how Moses bypassed the “natural” and traditional form of succession by not passing the authority on to his sons or nephews (Virt. 59).306 Levison has also drawn attention to how Philo seems to legitimate his own teaching authority by appealing to the spirit’s work, especially as he represents his own experience of inspiration (Spec. 3:1–6) in terms similar to Moses’ experience of ascending the mountain to receive revelation (Gig. 53–54). In particular, Levison highlights how both Moses and Philo are represented as leaders of a band of initiates who are distinguished from the masses. 307 Moses is the hierophant “and the teacher of divine rites, which he will impart to those whose ears are purified” (Gig. 54). Philo likewise, having received insight into the text, sees his purpose to “unfold and reveal what is not known to the multitude” (Spec. 3.6). In other places Philo also clearly attributes his ability to ascertain the higher level of meaning of the Bible to the divine spirit (Cher. 27; Somn. 2.252). These examples serve to highlight how Philo seems, in Max Weber’s categories, to hold to a more charismatic rather than traditional or rational/legal view of authority. This is further confirmed by the fact that he seems at times to commend groups of Jewish vigilantes who are “full of zeal for the laws (ζηλωταὶ νόμων)” (Spec. 2.253) and who take it upon themselves to exercise judgement when there has been a flagrant transgression of Torah (Spec. 2.252– 254; 1.54–57; 1.315–318).308 In some descriptions he quite explicitly excludes any due process of law and legitimates the actions of those who “give full scope to the feelings which possess them, that hatred of evil and love of God which urges them to inflict punishment without mercy on the impious” (Spec. 1.55).309 Here Philo envisions a type of charismatic group action motivated by a “zeal for virtue (ζῆλον ἀρετῆς)” and in defence of “religion (ὁσιότητος)” (Spec. 1.55). 306 Likewise, in Mos. 2.142, he highlights how Aaron and his sons were chosen on the basis of their “piety and holiness” and that hereby “he was not giving precedence to his own family” because he bypassed his own sons. 307 Levison, “Inspiration,” 294–8. 308 On these cases of Jewish self-redress, see Torrey Seland, Establishment Violence in Philo & Luke: A Study of Non-Conformity to the Torah & Jewish Vigilante Reactions (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 103–82. Seland points out how Phinehas’ “zeal” in Num 25:1-18 represents the central legitimating text for Philo (Spec. 1.54–57) and that “Philo’s description of the agents seem not to indicate any definable and consistent group-formation, but to point to persons taking action on the spot because of violations of Torah.” Establishment Violence, 178. The particular crimes addressed in these texts are apostasy, false prophecy, and perjury. 309 In this case Philo says those taking such action, “should think that the occasion has made them councillors, jurymen, high sheriffs, members of assembly, accusers, witnesses, laws, people, everything in fact, so that without fear or hindrance they may champion religion in full security” (Spec. 1.50).

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While Philo can therefore express his admiration of democracy as “the best of constitutions (τὴν ἀρίστην πολιτειῶν)” (Deus 176)310 and can represent the appointment of Aaron as happening “with the consent of the whole nation (μετὰ τῆς ἅπαντος τοῦ ἔθνους γνώμης)” (Mos. 2.143), it seems that Philo would largely link legitimate authority to some kind of charismatic endowment. Such endowment is usually thought to rest on particularly exemplary leaders like Adam, Abraham, and Moses, but could potentially be embodied in the action of a group. It must be noted, however, that the spirit is not explicitly mentioned in relation to the “zeal” of the group because for Philo it would seem that God dwells primarily in the soul of the individual. VI. Conclusion: God’s House – Temple or Universe? I return now to the question of where Philo’s emphasis lies. While everyone agrees that he characterises both the cosmos and the Jerusalem Temple as God’s House and that he regards both the literal and symbolic as important, the question of whether he leans in favour of one over the other is difficult to finally answer. Insofar as the Temple and synagogue are concerned, Leonhardt’s position seems persuasive to me that Philo did not regard these as rival institutions (contra Martin and others). This does not in my mind, however, negate Tuval’s insistence that the synagogue was “the main communal institution of Diaspora Judaism.”311 Furthermore, I have highlighted that, when Philo uses Temple language to express his hopes for the future, this is closely tied to education in virtue rather than the Jerusalem Temple. I also do not believe that those who tend towards an integral perspective have adequately addressed the way that Philo at times seems to distance himself from the opinion of the masses. The Temple made with hands, for example, seems for Philo to be a concession “that no check should be given to the forwardness of those who pay their tribute to piety” (Spec. 1.67). Furthermore, the literal commandments are to be obeyed mainly because they aid the understanding of the symbolic and so that “we shall not incur the censure of the many and the charges they are sure to bring against us” (Migr. 93). Philo seems here to be hinting at an accommodation of his own views in order that he might not, in Barclay’s words, “flout the conservative instincts of this community or risk their censure for failure to observe the law.”312

310 On Philo’s perspective on the ideal constitution in which the principle of equality is especially upheld, see Wolfson, Philo, 2:374–95. Wolfson comments here: “It is equality in this sense, the equality of proportion, which means, as Aristotle says, ‘for every man to enjoy his own,’ and which he himself refers to as democracy, that Philo finds embodied in the Mosaic constitution.” Philo, 2:392. 311 Tuval, From Jerusalem Priest, 39 (emphasis original). 312 Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 67.

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As Schwartz also points out, Philo quite often speaks of the Jews and their tendencies in terms of “they” and not “we,” thus perhaps distancing himself from their behaviour or suggesting that he himself had a slightly different perspective or would not be so rigid.313 It may be here, however, that Philo mainly makes this distinction in his historical treatises where it is politically wise to distance himself from the “Jews” and thus appear to be a more objective and neutral third-party. From a synchronic perspective, it would seem that one must with Fuglseth affirm Philo’s “ambivalence” towards the Temple in that he “could combine negative and positive statements towards the Jerusalem temple and its cultus.”314 In this regard, Fuglseth seems to agree with Schwartz that Philo is ultimately inconsistent. I believe that it is this inconsistency that scholars of Philo are still wrestling with, because at some point an inconsistent worldview breaks down and we want to see how these tensions would resolve. Was the literal Temple worth fighting for and was it worth dying for? I find it interesting that both LeonhardtBalzer and Schwartz feel the need to offer some “what if” reflections in relation to the Jewish War and the final destruction of the Temple.315 I will therefore also indulge my own as I seek to draw together how the themes of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple functioned in Philo’s political theology.

E. Conclusion E. Conclusion

In some ways the question before us comes down to whether we can separate Philo’s “religion” from his “politics.” Tuval draws a distinction between Philo as a “religious thinker,” who in his heart of hearts is committed to the symbolic above the literal, and as a “political activist” who seeks to defend the Temple in order to protect his people’s freedom in the Roman empire.316 In a review of Tuval’s book, Steve Mason asks, however, “But could Philo himself have recognized such a distinction? What ancient Greek, Hebrew, or Latin terms could he have used to express such a post-Enlightenment isolation of ‘religion’ from Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 28–9. Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, 187–219; at 219. 315 Leonhardt-Balzer writes: “There is no indication anywhere that Philo would have adapted to the loss of the Temple easily or that he would not have faced the same problems as the rabbis and other Jews after 70CE.” “Jewish Worship and Universal Identity,” 51. Schwartz writes: “Those interested in ‘what-if?’ exercises may wonder whether, if Philo had chastised the Jews of Jamnia in 39 CE, a process would have begun that might have prevented the chain of events that was to bring his nephew, a generation later, to preside over the burning down of the temple his own father, Philo’s brother, had so extravagantly funded.” “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 31. 316 Tuval, From Jerusalem Priest, 74. 313 314

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the rest of life?”317 Mason, of course, has a good point and Philo must be interpreted within his first-century political context. Nevertheless, it is worthwhile asking how real political pressure might reveal Philo’s ultimate allegiances. As I have studied Philo’s perspective on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, I have observed how in different ways he affirms both the literal and symbolic in each. I have also noted the scholarly tendencies to emphasise either that the allegorical and spiritual represent Philo’s real “heart” (the symbolic approach) or to emphasise that for him both the literal (body) and symbolic (soul) each has its own validity (the integral approach). I have also noted how some like Schaller and Niehoff have emphasised a diachronic approach that has sought to resolve these tensions by suggesting significant development in Philo’s thought. Here it is argued that Philo placed more emphasis on the material realities of life in his later “mature period.” While I am largely persuaded that Philo’s thought did develop in this direction over time, I would also caution against drawing these lines too sharply. Niehoff highlights, for example, how Philo places greater emphasis in his Exposition on knowing God through his creation, rather than through mystical contemplation. She can even comment that for Philo “the creation is the main epistemological tool for grasping God.” 318 This forms part of an argument that Philo has moved away from his earlier Platonic transcendentalism towards a more immanent Stoicism. While this may generally be true,319 she fails to reckon with texts within the Exposition itself that suggest a different perspective. In Praem. 43–46, for example, Philo continues to admire, above those who have inferred God’s existence from creation, those who have a direct experience of God gained “not from any other source, not from things on earth or things in Heaven.”320 I also note that a diachronic approach does not resolve all tensions, as some of the debated texts highlighted in this chapter come from this later period (e.g., Steve Mason, “The Priest Josephus Away From The Temple: A Changed Man?,” RevQ 26 (2014): 392. 318 Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria, 106 (emphasis mine). 319 Here her examples from the Exposition and the contrasts with the Allegorical Commentary are generally persuasive. So also Carlos Lévy: “La question la plus complexe demeure donc celle de la présence des dogmes stoïciens dans le corpus philonien et de l’attitude de l’Alexandrin à leur égard. Les exemples qui nous sont donnés pour montrer que l’Exposition leur est plus favorable que le Commentaire sont souvent convaincants.” “Review Philo of Alexandria: An Intellectual Biography, by Maren Niehoff,” SPhiloA XXX (2018): 188. 320 For a further detailed review of Niehoff, see Lévy, “Review of Philo of Alexandria.” While appreciating much of Niehoff’s work, Lévy concludes by highlighting two main problems with Niehoff’s thesis: “les conséquences de l’ambassade romaine, sans doute réelles mais qu’il est impossible de définir avec une précision historique, et la distinction trop rigide à notre sens entre platonisme et stoïcisme, identifiés respectivement avec Alexandrie et Rome.” Ibid., 190. 317

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Legat. 189–190; Spec. 1.66–67). It is in his Exposition, for example, that Philo insists that the “highest” and “truest” Temple is the cosmos itself (Spec. 1.66). One therefore has to explore each particular case and take seriously the purpose of each particular treatise in order to discern Philo’s real “heart.”321 When it comes to the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, it seems clear that the latter two as concrete realities became more important to him in his later years, but it is difficult to discern whether this was mainly due to the imminent threat posed to them. In relation to the Land, it also seems that he increasingly reflected on this as a concrete reality (esp. Spec. 2.162–175), but here he also universalised it so that it lost some of its traditional particularity. Here Schwartz is probably correct that Philo’s reinterpretation of the Land is an understandable expedient to avoid conflict with Rome.322 As such, Philo seems to have held out little hope that the Jews would enjoy political autonomy as a kingdom centred around Jerusalem. Although he seems to have envisioned a real physical restoration, this takes place within a universalistic vision in which there is no reference to these particulars. Philo seems in the present to have made peace with Roman hegemony and is content with the Jews accepting that they have a far greater “inheritance” in knowing the one God to whom the whole world belongs. Niehoff arrives at a somewhat similar conclusion, suggesting that, even in his “mature period,” Philo was largely at peace with the loss of Jewish political rights in Alexandria under Claudius. 323 Furthermore, Philo was quite at home in the Diaspora. He even presented it positively, not as a result of “exile,” but as a result of the Jews being far too populous to fill one nation and therefore spreading out like colonies from the mother-city of Jerusalem (Legat. 214). Finally, because of his emphasis on “peace” and on freedom rather than coercion, I could not imagine him, were he alive in 66 C.E, advocating that young Jews from Alexandria join the Zealots in Jerusalem in their struggle against Rome. 324 Not being willing to fight for something, however, is not the same as not being willing to die for something. When it came to the threat on the Temple, I do not doubt that Philo was genuinely willing to die. It is interesting, however, how he expresses this willingness:

321 Here again I believe Ellen Birnbaum’s advice is significant when she writes: “it is best to consider individual issues in all their complexity.” “Philo’s Relevance,” 225. 322 Schwartz, “Philo, His Family, and His Times,” 26. 323 Commenting on Legat., e.g., Niehoff writes: “He has retroactively introduced himself as someone whose aspirations to religious freedom will be fulfilled by Claudius, while relegating the issue of civic rights to the very margins of the Embassy.” Philo of Alexandria, 42. 324 Neither of course would he have condoned his nephew Tiberius Alexander serving as Titus’ chief of staff on the Roman side in the war (B.J. 5.45–46, 6.237). Note, e.g., Philo’s disagreements about providence with his nephew in Prov. 1–2.

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For the truly glorious death, met in defence of laws (ὁ ὑπὲρ φυλακῆς νόμων), might be called life (Legat. 192).

He does not say “in defence of the Temple” or “in defence of the Land” but “in defence of laws,” by which he certainly means the Jewish way of life embodied in Torah observance. His main concern is “the perdition of the body politic (ἡ πολιτεία)” and “the annihilation of our common name and nation (τὸ κοινὸν τοῦ ἔθνους ὄνομα)” (Legat. 194). In other words, he is concerned for the Jewish people and their way of life which is symbolised for him by the Temple.325 In this sense the “laws” for Philo are his “religion” and cannot be separated from his “politics.” Josephus, although writing from quite a different Diaspora context, interestingly expresses a similar attitude. While some mocked the idea that the Jews did not fight or take up arms on the Sabbath, Josephus writes: Dispassionate critics will consider it a grand and highly meritorious fact that there are men who consistently care more for the observance of their laws and for their religion (νόμων φυλακὴν καὶ τὴν πρὸς θεὸν εὐσέβειαν) than for their own lives and their country’s fate (σωτηρίας καὶ πατρίδος) (C. Ap. 1.212).

Josephus’ comment is all the more striking as the martyrs are said to care more about their “laws” than their “country/fatherland (πατρίδος).” It would seem that there is a similar disconnection between Land and Law beginning in Philo. Although it is not as stark, I think he would also disapprove of dying for the “Land,”326 but would approve of dying for his people and their way of life. Philo had made peace with the fact that he could live a Jewish life away from the Land, but could not rest when that way of life itself, symbolised in the unity of the Temple, was under threat. 327 Were Philo living in the traumatic aftermath of the Jewish War, I am certain with Leonhardt-Balzer that he would have equally shared the trauma of the loss of the Temple. I doubt, however, that he would have been an advocate of seeking to reclaim the Land and, if this were not possible, it is doubtful that he

325 So also Regev, who comments: “It seems that both the realistic and the symbolic attitudes toward the Temple are regarded from an ethnic perspective, in which the Temple designates and symbolizes the essence of Jewish identity in relation to the pagan Gentiles.” The Temple in Early Christianity, 14 (emphasis original). 326 This is consistent with his perspective that Jews already possess the Land as “a heritage in which they live as long established citizens” (Spec. 2.168). 327 In another place Philo interestingly draws a connection between loss of one’s ability to follow one’s ancestral customs and loss of one’s homeland. In his recollection of how one of the rulers of Egypt sought to undermine Jewish observance of the Sabbath, Philo describes how, in this undermining of the Law, the Jews “shewed themselves as mournful and disconsolate as they would were their native city (πατρίδος) being sacked and razed” (Somn. 2.124).

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would have supported building another Temple.328 He would probably attribute the loss of Jerusalem and the Temple to the restless souls of those who had not seen the true God and would encourage the faithful to be at peace in their souls. When Jerusalem and its Temple are built in the souls of the wise, perhaps others would also be drawn to virtue and the world would finally enjoy peace.

328 It seems a fair inference from Philo’s silence in relation to the alternative Jewish Temple in Leontopolis, as well as his insistence that there can be only one Temple for one God (Spec. 1.67), that he would not support any Temple outside Jerusalem.

Chapter 4

Paul’s ἐκκλησία and Philo’s πολιτεία in the world But with St. Paul the hypothesis of direct or even indirect dependence is unlikely, and for this reason the correspondences between Philo and St. Paul are the more interesting. Both writers draw on a common stock of hellenistic Jewish tradition. The principal interest lies in the different ways in which they made use of it – Henry Chadwick1

A. Introduction A. Introduction

Having laid the groundwork in the previous chapters, I now proceed to constructively compare Paul and Philo’s perspectives on the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. I suggest that such a comparison is interesting both where their perspectives are similar and where they differ. If they are similar, I will inquire into the underlying probable causes and the degree to which these might be held for different reasons. If their perspectives differ, I will inquire how and why they differ and to what degree they do so. In doing so I aim to follow Jonathan Z. Smith’s advice: What is required is the development of a discourse of ‘difference’, a complex term which invites negotiation, classification and comparison, and, at the same time, avoids too easy a discourse of the ‘same’.2

In this I am also interested in Paul and Philo not only as thinkers, but as practitioners. Neither were merely interested in abstract theologising, but also concrete application of the Scriptures to the respective communities to which they belonged. Indeed, as I noted in my introduction, both were engaged in political struggles for their communities. Even Philo’s preference for the contemplative life should not, I believe, lead us to read him as if he did not see any practical entailments flowing from his exegesis. 3 I thus also seek to explore the manner Chadwick, “St Paul and Philo of Alexandria,” 290. Smith, Drudgery Divine, 42. 3 For his preference of the contemplative life see, e.g., Spec. 3.1–6 or his admiration of the Therapeutae discussed in De vita contemplativa. Note also, however, his insistence that God is one who works and rests and thus exemplifies both the practical and contemplative life. In reflecting on the commandment to observe the Sabbath and on God’s creative activity and rest he writes, e.g., “Let us not then neglect this great archetype of the two best lives, 1 2

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in which Paul and Philo’s appropriation of these symbols served certain political ends. Because the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple were central markers of Jewish identity, I will also make observations along the way of how we might situate Paul and Philo among first-century Jewish perspectives. I begin with the initial observation that both Paul and Philo were clearly concerned with both local and universal expressions of “the people of God.” One cannot miss the fact that almost all Paul’s letters were addressed to local communities, but also that all these letters sought to maintain a wider set of relationships between these communities. 4 Paul opens many of his letters, for example, with a reminder of the broader worldwide community to which the addressees belong.5 Moreover, Paul’s Jerusalem Collection is further concrete evidence of his commitment to sustaining these relationships. Wayne Meeks sees here a clear Jewish pattern of thought, affirming that “there can be little doubt that the concept of belonging to a single, universal people of God, which so distinguished the Pauline Christians from other clubs and cults, came directly from Judaism.”6 Philo likewise is concerned with both the local community of Jews in Alexandria as well as the universal body of Jews everywhere. As I noted earlier, Philo goes on an embassy to Gaius Caligula to seek to uphold local Jewish rights in Alexandria, but when he discovers the plan to erect the statue in the Temple, he does his utmost to avert this eventuality that he perceives as a threat to all Jewish people everywhere (Legat. 194–196). Philo is aware of Jewish communities spread throughout the Mediterranean world as well as those in Babylon and beyond and sees the fate of any of them as closely related to all of them (Legat. 281–285). Another important initial observation is that both Paul and Philo were in some way engaged in rethinking “the people of God.” One of Paul’s central contentions was that gentiles could enter the one “people of God” through faith in Christ and without the need to take on the yoke of the Law (Gal 2:15–16, Rom 3:20–26).7 Moreover, he could distinguish between an ethnic and faiththe practical and the contemplative, but with that pattern ever before our eyes engrave in our hearts the clear image and stamp of them both, so making mortal nature, as far as may be, like the immortal by saying and doing what we ought” (Decal. 101, cf. Praem. 11). 4 For an account of these dynamics see, e.g., Holmberg, Paul and Power, 9–122; Ehrensperger, Paul and the Dynamics of Power, 35–62. 5 See, e.g., 1 Cor 1:2: “To the church of God in Corinth, to those sanctified in Christ Jesus and called to be his holy people, together with all those everywhere (ἐν παντὶ τόπῳ) who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,” or Rom 1:8: “First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is being reported all over the world (ἐν ὅλῳ τῷ κόσμῳ).” 6 Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 108. 7 On Paul’s rethinking of “the people of God,” see Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 774–1041. Wright emphasises how Paul’s thought in this area is intimately related to his Christology and Pneumatology and he sees this exemplified in Paul’s description of the

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based identity in contending that “not all who are descended from Israel are Israel” (Rom 9:6 NIV). Philo’s rethinking is evident from the fact that he makes a distinction between “Israel,” who could be defined more broadly as the wise who “see God” (Post. 92), and “the Jews” who are generally defined in sociological categories as a “nation (ἔθνος)” or “people (λαός).”8 Thus Philo could envision a category of people belonging to “Israel” who were not necessarily directly identified with “the Jews.”9 Nevertheless, where Paul and Philo would emphatically differ would be the grounds on which gentiles could be welcomed into the Jewish community. While there might be some wise sages “out there” who could be said to “see God,” when it came to joining the Jewish community, Philo clearly saw the need for proselytes to abandon their “strange laws and monstrous customs” in order to enter the Jewish “commonwealth (πολιτεία)” (Virt. 219).10 Furthermore, Philo’s hope for the future was that “each nation would abandon its peculiar ways, and, throwing overboard their ancestral customs, turn to honouring our laws alone” (Mos. 2.44). Paul, on the other hand, could insist that gentiles belonged to “the people of God” without any need to live within the Jewish believing communities as God’s Temple. In relation to this designation he concludes: “Here the major themes of Paul’s thought meet and merge: Israel’s God, coming back to rescue his people and the world and to dwell with them for ever; Israel itself, God’s people, redefined around the Messiah and spirit who were themselves the means and mode of that dwelling.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1041. Others like William Campbell are more cautious in affirming that Paul would apply the title “Israel” to the church (cf. Gal 6:16) and suggest that in Paul’s mind these are “separate but related entities.” Paul and the Creation of Christian Identity, 121–39. In relation to Gal 6:16 particularly, John Barclay affirms, “the majority of commentators take the ‘Israel of God’ to refer to current believers in Christ.” Paul and the Gift, 420. 8 Although “Israel” and “the Jews” do not perfectly overlap in Philo’s terminology, they are nevertheless closely identified. Termini points out that those termed “Israel” are those who have attained to the apex of spiritual progress but also that “the best way to reach this level of perfection remains closely joined to the Torah and to Jewish religious tradition.” “Philo’s Thought,” 123. On these distinctions, see further Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism. 9 Termini comments: “it appears that belonging to Israel is not linked to ethnic or sectarian factors. Israel is an elite group of sages who achieved perfection in virtue a nd have reached the apex of spiritual progress.” “Philo’s Thought,” 123. Reflecting on Philo’s admiration of some non-Jews like the Persian Magi, Birnbaum concludes: “Although he never calls these people ‘Israel’ or speaks of them as seeing God per se, his description of them would lead one to think that they meet the requirement for belonging, namely, that they have the spiritual ability to apprehend the existing God.” The Place of Judaism, 224. 10 On Philo’s perspective on proselytes, see further Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism, 193–219. Birnbaum highlights several texts in which proselytes are said to come over to the Jewish πολιτεία (Spec. 1.51, Virt. 219; cf. Virt. 175) and concludes: “Since Philo uses this word in connection with the Jews but not with ‘Israel,’ we may logically assume that he views proselytes as joining the πολιτεία of the Jews, i.e., the community of people who live according to the constitution of Moses.” The Place of Judaism, 216–7.

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πολιτεία. Moreover, Paul’s negative statements about the Law and his assigning it a temporary place in God’s purposes (Gal 3:23–25; Rom 7:1–6, cf. 10:4) would especially have set him apart from Philo and from just about every first century Jew.11 Although Karin Neutel has discerned a type of Jewish cosmopolitanism in Paul’s assertion of “Neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female” (Gal 3:28), the type of cosmopolitanism envisioned is therefore quite different to Philo’s. 12 Both had an ideal of a unified human community, but for Paul the Law could assume a negative role in limiting who could rightfully be “heirs” (Gal 3:23–29),13 whereas for Philo the Law was the closest expression of the universal Law of nature which must necessarily govern the “heirs” of God’s promises (Opif. 3; Mos. 2.51–52). This observation helps us to understand Paul’s highly polemical appropriation of a symbol like Jerusalem (Gal 4:21–5:1). He was challenging the traditional boundaries of “the people of God” to a far greater degree than Philo. While there may be a few hints of tension in the Alexandrian Jewish community between the “literalists” and those who shared Philo’s allegorical approach to the Scriptures,14 one can scarcely imagine Philo receiving the thirty-nine

Adherence to and admiration of Moses’ Law was perhaps the definitive and taken-for granted feature of the “common Judaism” shared by Palestinian and Diaspora Jews. See, e.g., Sanders, Judaism, 48; Wright, The New Testament and the People of God, 227–30. Even granted that Paul’s negative statements about the Law were largely formulated in response to the Galatian crisis, Paul’s perspective on the Law is undeniably atypical of a first century Jew. On the polemical context of Paul’s reflections on the Law in Galatians, see Fabian E. Udoh, “Paul’s Views on the Law: Questions about Origin (Gal 1:6–2:21; Phil 3:2– 11),” NovT 42 (2000): 214–37. Note also Barclay’s conclusion from Romans: “Even in this most positive letter Paul’s tone is radically different from that total commitment to the law which we have found in writers as diverse as Aristeas, Josephus, Philo and the author of 4 Maccabees.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 387. 12 Karin B. Neutel, A Cosmopolitan Ideal: Paul’s Declaration “Neither Jew Nor Greek, Neither Slave Nor Free, Nor Male and Female” in the Context of First-Century Thought (London: T&T Clark, 2015). Neutel writes: “I would conclude that we should consider Paul’s eschatological thought as a form of Jewish cosmopolitanism. Paul’s thought is no less Jewish for being cosmopolitan, but stands in a tradition that includes such diverse texts as the Sibylline Oracles and the works of Philo.” A Cosmopolitan Ideal, 141. 13 See McCaulley, Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance, 163–70. 14 This is evident in the scorn with which Philo sometimes speaks of the “literalists,” which suggests some kind of confrontation. In commenting on the verse “Adam knew his wife” (Gen 4:1), e.g., he insists that all the wives whom Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are said to have “known” are in fact symbols of virtue and ridicules those who might see things otherwise. The wives are said to be symbols of virtue because “the virtues have their conception and their birth pangs, but when I purpose to speak of them let them who corrupt religion into superstition close their ears or depart. For this is a divine mystery and its lesson is for the initiated who are worthy to receive the holiest secret . . . The sacred revelation is 11

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lashes punishment for his deviant views, as was the case for Paul (2 Cor 11:24).15 As Barclay points out, this difference of perspective is also evident from the fact that, unlike Philo, “In Paul's theology the pattern of the Scriptures has been reconfigured to make Abraham rather than Moses its seminal figure (Gal 3; Rom 4).”16 I thus observe that Paul’s appropriation of especially the symbol of Jerusalem (and to some degree the Temple) is more highly politicised than Philo’s and this is due to the fact that Paul’s theologising and praxis challenged the traditional boundaries of the community in more radical ways than did Philo’s. As I proceed to explore their perspectives on these three symbols below, I will continue to highlight further these continuities and discontinuities.

B. The Land B. The Land

In the previous chapters I noted that both Paul and Philo transformed traditional Jewish conceptualisations of the Land in significant ways. To begin with, I noted that Paul expressed little interest in the geographic region of Judaea. Much of his ministry was in fact aimed at reaching communities far beyond the “homeland” of Israel (e.g., Rom 15:17–24). This does not mean, however, that Paul abandoned all hope of an “inheritance (κληρονομία)” for the people of God. I noted, in fact, that for Paul the promise of the Land to Abraham was always intended to signify the universal possession of the world. Significantly Paul says in Rom 4:13 that Abraham was promised that he would be heir of “the world.” I also noted that this was closely tied to the promise of numerous descendants and their future universal sovereignty. The “inheritance” which the people of God are journeying towards is therefore the eschatologically renewed world that has been secured through Jesus Christ’s resurrection from not for those others who, under the spell of the deadly curse of vanity, have no other standards for measuring what is pure and holy but their barren words and phrases and their silly usages and ritual” (Cher. 42). See also, e.g., Somn. 1.94; 2.301. Montgomery J. Shroyer comments on these references, “We see in this group a type of ultra conservatism that worried such an enlightened man as Philo.” “Alexandrian Jewish Literalists,” JBL 55 (1936): 275. 15 On balance, however, one does not get a sense of serious tension between Philo and his Alexandrian Jewish contemporaries. Fuglseth concludes: “Although Philo may reject the literal reading (Conf. 190) and sometimes also the allegorical reading (Abr. 99), his way of arguing against those who read the scripture in these ways, reduces the impression of a severe internal tension among Alexandrian Jews.” Johannine Sectarianism, 105. 16 Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 387. Runia comments on Philo’s perspective on Moses generally: “The veneration that Philo has for Moses jumps forth every page of his writings. Nearly twenty times, for example, he calls him the ‘most holy (ἱερώτατος) Moses.’” “Philo of Alexandria and the Greek Hairesis-Model,” 133.

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the dead (Rom 8:17–25). I agreed with numerous recent scholars that the category of “spiritualisation” would be misleading since the concept of “inheritance” appears in Paul to retain a this-worldly reference. Nevertheless, his perspective on the Land, as for many other symbols, is governed by his eschatology. There is a distinctive “now” and “not-yet” dimension. Although Paul could sometimes refer to believers possessing “all things” in the present (1 Cor 3:21–23), his language of inheritance was typically future. Furthermore, I argued that Paul’s application of the language of “inheritance” to “the kingdom” (Gal 5:21; 1 Cor 6:9–10, 15:24) is a strong indicator that he saw this as closely related to the Land promise.17 I noted finally, adopting the language of Mark Forman, that Paul saw the path into this inheritance as one in which the people of God are willing to suffer as they follow in the footsteps of the Messiah. Philo, I also noted, expressed little interest in the geographic region of Judaea. He appears to have been quite at home in his Diaspora location in Alexandria and nowhere does he express a desire to return to the Land. In fact, he could present the Diaspora situation positively in terms taken from Greek colonisation. It is therefore a sign of strength, “for so populous are the Jews that no one country can hold them” (Flacc. 46). Most frequently, however, Philo allegorises the Land as the true heavenly homeland to which virtuous souls long to return.18 I also noted, however, that this “spiritualisation” of the Land is not the final word on Philo’s perspective. At times Philo draws on Stoic cosmopolitanism to universalise the Land and represent Jews as at home in “the world” (Mos. 1.157). He hereby also highlights the responsibility of all Jews everywhere to live in accordance with nature and to join in the thanksgiving of all creation for God’s goodness expressed through it (Spec. 2.163–167). Philo also has frequent praise for the Levites, who do not possess any earthly inheritance, but have the far greater gift of God himself as their heavenly inheritance.19 Here Philo insists that those who have the heavenly realm as their inheritance are in a spiritual sense the true rulers of the earthly realm as well. In fact, I argued that Philo wants his readers to regard those who have “heaven” as their inheritance as the true “kings” and “rulers,” even though they may be marginalised in the actual power dynamics of the world (Plant. 67–69; Mos. 1.217). Finally, I also noted that for Philo the path into this inheritance was not one of violent resistance, but would depend on a miraculous act of God by which people would freely turn towards virtue (Praem. 97, 172). One gets the sense from reading both Paul and Philo that their lack of interest in the geographic region of Judaea at least in some measure reflects a broader 17 This was typical of many strands within Second Temple Judaism. Commenting on the phrase “possess the land,” e.g., Wilken concludes: “As we have seen, it is a recurring refrain in Jewish history and in Jesus’ time it was one way of designating the messianic kingdom centered in Jerusalem.” The Land Called Holy, 48. 18 See, e.g., Conf. 77–78, Somn. 1.181, or Agr. 28 discussed in the previous chapter. 19 See, e.g., Plant. 69, Det. 62, Mos. 1.157 discussed in the previous chapter.

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Diaspora perspective.20 The Diaspora had forced Jews for many centuries to make their homes far beyond the ancestral homeland and to explore means of living faithfully as the people of God apart from a theocratic state.21 Both Paul and Philo seem to have a sense of a world far bigger than Judaea and both in different ways “universalise” the Land. 22 For both Paul and Philo, however, the symbol of the Land clearly remained significant, even though its referent came to differ from Judaea. It is also the referent, however, where Paul and Philo differ. For Paul, the “inheritance” of God’s people was the this-worldly renewal of all things, sometimes expressed as “the kingdom of God” (1 Cor 15:24). For Philo, the “inheritance” is far more frequently expressed in spiritual terms as a heavenly homeland to be journeyed towards. Although Philo appears to have had a genuine hope of a corporate and physical restoration (Praem. 79–172), the hope of the virtuous individual remained an escape from the material world (Somn. 1.137–139; Gig. 12–15; Cher. 114; QE. 2.40). In relation to personal eschatology, Sami Yli-Karjanmaa

See, e.g., Erich S. Gruen, Constructs of Identity in Hellenistic Judaism: Essays on Early Jewish Literature and History (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2016), 283–312. In speaking about the idealisation of the Land in Hellenistic Jewish literature, e.g., Gruen comments: “Broad pronouncements about love of one’s country accord with general Hellenistic attitudes and expressions . . . It is noteworthy that the texts that speak of reverence for the patris do not speak of the ‘return.’” Constructs of Identity, 296. In relation to Philo’s comments in Flacc. 46 particularly, Gruen concludes: “That fervent expression eradicates any idea of the ‘doctrine of return.’ Diaspora Jews, in Philo’s formulation at least, held a fierce attachment to the adopted lands of their ancestors.” Constructs of Identity, 300. 21 Aside, of course, from the brief period of independence under the Hasmoneans. 22 Paul can say that Abraham was promised that he would be heir of “the world” (Rom 4:13) and, quoting from Lev 25:23 “All the land is mine,” Philo can explicitly say that this expression is the same as “all creation is mine” (Cher. 108). 20

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has in fact recently made a case that Philo accepted some form of Greek metempsychosis or the transmigration of souls. 23 In any case it is clear that Philo never espouses anything like a view of personal resurrection. 24 Here the most natural explanation is Philo’s far deeper acculturation to his Greek environment that tended to downplay the material in favour of the spiritual. In terms of Philo’s background, Barclay suggests that: “There is nothing to indicate that Philo’s cultural formation took place in a context other than the schools and sporting institutions shared by other Greek youths of his social class.”25 In this regard, Paul is also different. Barclay points out, for example, that, “at no point does Paul prize the Greek paideia which was valued so highly by Jews like Aristeas and Philo.” He argues further that, “the broad spectrum of Hellenism entered Paul’s mind only through the filter of his conservative Pharisaic environment.”26 It was undoubtedly this Pharisaic environment, 27 together with Paul’s belief in Jesus’ physical resurrection (Rom 8:17–25; 1 Cor 15:12– 58) that led him towards an emphasis on a this-worldly “inheritance.”28 While there may be a few hints of ontological dualism in Paul’s thinking,29 there is nothing like the developed dualism that we find in Philo. While Paul and Philo differ in this regard, both have clearly appropriated the theme of the sovereignty of God’s people that was closely associated with the promise of the Land. Having asserted that Abraham was promised that he Sami Yli-Karjanmaa, Reincarnation in Philo of Alexandria (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015). Yli-Karjanmaa highlights how this was in fact a longstanding view in Philonic scholarship going back to at least the sixteenth century. Reincarnation, 9–19. Although disagreeing with some of Yli-Karjanmaa’s emphasis, Runia’s survey of the evidence concludes: “These reveal, in my view, that Philo was not strongly committed to the doctrine of reincarnation . . . Philo had many opportunities to be more explicit about this doctrine if he was committed to it in his role as exegete, but he did not make use of them.” “Does Philo Accept the Doctrine of Reincarnation?,” SBLSP (2016): 14. Note also David Winston’s earlier conclusions: “Philo’s sparse references to reincarnation reveal a reluctance on his part to give undue prominence to a Platonic conception which was essentially alien to Jewish tradition.” Logos and Mystical Theology in Philo of Alexandria (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1985), 42. 24 Grabbe summarises the general consensus: “There is no reference to a resurrection in Philo . . . One cannot imagine Philo’s looking with favor on the idea of a general resurrection in which the souls of the righteous were again reunited with the body.” “Eschatology,” 173. 25 Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 160. 26 Barclay, 383; 384. 27 In terms of Pharisaic belief in the resurrection, Sanders concludes: “This was not a distinctive Pharisaic belief, since many other Jews shared it, but it was characteristic of the Pharisees, and Josephus listed it as one of their most characteristic beliefs.” Paul, 50. 28 On the relationship between Paul’s belief in Jesus’ resurrection and his concrete interpretation of the “inheritance,” see Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 209–18. 29 Consider, e.g., Paul’s distinction between “spiritual (πνευματικός)” and “material (σαρκικός)” blessings (Rom 15:27 cf. 1 Cor 9:11). 23

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would be “heir of the world (τὸ κληρονόμον . . . κόσμου)” (Rom 4:13), Paul goes on to reflect on Abraham’s resurrection-shaped faith that, in spite of Sarah’s “dead” womb, he would be “the father of many nations” (Rom 4:18–24). Those who share such a faith in the Messiah, Paul insists, are God’s children and therefore “heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ” (Rom 8:17). Forman pointed out that the central idea of the phrase “joint heirs with Christ (συγκληρονόμοι δὲ Χριστοῦ)” is that believers “participate in Christ’s reign over creation.”30 Furthermore, drawing special attention to the note of suffering that concludes this chapter, a major function of these themes seems to have been providing reassurance for the marginalised and persecuted believers in Rome.31 I also noted in 1 Corinthians that the “glory (δόξα)” that Paul sees believers destined for (1 Cor 2:7) turns out to be possession of “the world” (1 Cor 3:21– 23) such that ultimately “the saints will judge the world (οἱ ἅγιοι τὸν κόσμον κρινοῦσιν)” (1 Cor 6:2). It is this future rule that is envisaged in the language of inheriting the kingdom of God (1 Cor 6:9). Here the language of “reigning” is appropriate (1 Cor 4:8), but is oriented towards the future and highlights again that the path to the inheritance is a willingness to suffer like Paul and like Christ (1 Cor 4:9–21). While this “inheritance” remains largely in the future, there are also indications that Paul intended this future to invest believers with dignity in the present. Writing about the privilege of being “heirs,” Paul can speak in the present tense of believers being “owners of all the property” or “lords of all (κύριος πάντων ὤν)” (Gal 4:1). Paul could even use the present tense in affirming that believers possess “the world” (1 Cor 3:21–23), but his usage here may be due to the fact that he was simultaneously making a point about order within the community. Philo likewise linked the theme of “inheritance” to sovereignty by insisting that those who have God as their inheritance are the true “kings” who are superior to those who have conquered all the regions of the earth (Plant. 67–69). In the previous chapter I wrestled with whether Philo ever saw this present heavenly kingship also being realised on earth. As I noted above, Philo does seem to have envisioned some such corporate restoration (Praem. 93–97, 162– 172; Mos. 1.289–291; 2.43–44).32 30 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 119. Commenting on the further connections to Romans 5, Wright likewise comments: “The reign of human beings is what will matter in the new world. Humans are not to be passive recipients of God’s mercy and grace; they are to have ‘glory’, in the sense that they are to be given stewardship of the world, as the creator always intended.” Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 488 (emphasis original). 31 Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 121–35. 32 Note also Winston’s conclusions in this regard: “It is immediately apparent that he could not free himself entirely from the prophetic messianic expectation, yet in the light of his philosophical and mystical universalism and his diluted concept of covenant, it is only

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Commenting on this, Termini writes that we find here, “the hope for a better ‘near future’, a utopia within history, characterized by observance of the law” and that this represents something of Philo’s “traditionalist bent.”33 She distinguishes this quite sharply from the apocalyptic outlook that saw no hope within history and that was often characterised by “the expectation of an earthly or celestial figure who is to annihilate the enemies of Israel and the forces of evil and establish a glorious reign.”34 Although she recognises a “messianism of Mosaic coloring” in Praem. 95, she insists that, “Philo’s more profound hope is in a human soul at peace with itself on the inside.” She argues therefore that for Philo the promised blessing is ultimately “dependent on human choices,” rather than God’s action beyond history.35 I largely agree with Termini that Philo did not have a developed messianic hope. I pointed out in the previous chapter, for example, how he transformed the classic messianic image of the stump of Jesse putting forth shoots (Isa 11:1) into an image of a seed of virtue in the human soul (Praem. 172). I would question Termini’s suggestion, however, that Philo placed his final hope in “human choices,” as his expressions of eschatological hope frequently also use the “divine passive,” highlighting his understanding of the need for divine grace to be operative.36 I nevertheless do agree that Philo saw this hope largely dependent on Jews returning to the Mosaic Law, which in its turn he hoped would lead to other nations also abandoning their customs in favour of the most “desirable and precious” laws (Mos. 2.43).37

natural that his messianism exhibits a persistent tendency to spiritualise the nationalistic component within it whenever possible. Moreover, it is very likely that Goodenough is correct in emphasizing Philo’s natural reserve in disclosing his messianic hopes within the context of a political reality in which Rome’s military might was irresistible.” Logos, 55. 33 Termini, “Philo’s Thought,” 110. 34 For the possibility of Philo engaging with ideas of “popular messianists” reflected in some of the Sibylline Oracles, see Tobin, “Philo and the Sibyl.” 35 Termini, “Philo’s Thought,” 111. 36 See, e.g., how Philo interprets the return from exile promised at the end of Deuteronomy: “When they have gained this unexpected liberty, those who but now were scattered in Greece and the outside world over islands and continents will arise and post from every side with one impulse to the one appointed place, guided in their pilgrimage by a vision divine and superhuman (ξεναγούμενοι πρός τινος θειοτέρας ἢ κατὰ φύσιν ἀνθρωπίνην ὄψεως) unseen by others but manifest to them as they pass from exile to their home” (Praem. 165). On the relationship between divine and human agency in Philo, see further Barclay, “‘By the Grace of God I Am What I Am.’” 37 Grabbe also distinguishes Philo’s perspective from some of the apocalypticists and comments on the latter half of Praem.: “Although this has parallels to some of the apocalyptic scenarios, Philo is basically following the text of Lev 26 and Deut 28. There is no indication that this will be according to some sort of divine timetable or plan but, rather, that it will be a natural consequence of that obedience.” “Eschatology,” 173.

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Here Paul is also different. When Paul quotes from Isa 11:10 in Rom 15:12, he is clearly referring to Jesus as “the root of Jesse” in whom gentiles are beginning to place their hope. Furthermore, for Paul the inheritance is guaranteed not finally by human choices or human faithfulness, but by the faithfulness of the Messiah (Rom 3:21–26; Phil 3:9). Paul’s ultimate hope, however, did lie beyond history in the sense that he looked forward to the parousia when Christ would return to renew the bodies of believers and the whole cosmos (Phil 3:20– 21; 1 Cor 15:20–28). I would add, however, that this does not mean that Paul saw no hope within history. Wright comments on 1 Cor 15:25 especially that: “Paul believes that he is living in the world over which Jesus, the Messiah, already reigns as lord.”38 I would also argue that Paul’s mission itself was driven by the fact that he saw hope within history, even if the ultimate hope was deferred. It also seems clear to me that both Paul and Philo explicitly engaged with Rome’s claims to universal sovereignty. In the face of such a dominant power that tended to undermine the dignity of those subjected to it, it is not surprising that both take time to develop the theme of the sovereignty of the people of God. Both insist that it is the people of God who are the true “heirs” of the world. Here, however, Philo’s vision tends to be more spiritualised (emphasising their present superiority on a higher spiritual plane) 39 and Paul’s more eschatological (emphasising their future reign in the renewed world). 40 Although both Paul and Philo see a future eschatological reversal, Philo tended to speak in more general terms of the downfall of “the enemies who rejoiced in the misfortunes of the nation” (Praem. 169–171), whereas Paul tended to be more explicit in prophesying the demise of “the rulers of this age” (1 Cor 2:6). Philo perhaps hints at the Romans when he describes these enemies as “thinking that they themselves would have a heritage (κλῆρος) which nothing could destroy” (Praem. 169), but this is not made explicit. 41

Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 546. See, e.g., his comparison of those who have “made themselves masters of all earth's regions” who are mere “ordinary citizens when compared with great kings who received God as their portion” (Plant. 67–68). 40 See, e.g., his comments in 1 Cor 2:8–9: “None of the rulers of this age understood this; for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. But, as it is written, ‘What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him.’” 41 Paul of course does not explicitly name “the rulers of this age” as the Romans, but the mention of “rulers (ἄρχων)” is more explicit than Philo in identifying the asymmetric power relations between the people of God and their enemies. In his study of “apocalyptic” in 1 Corinthians, Goodrich also makes the point that Paul does not explicitly single out Rome and insists that: “Paul has a plurality of political entities in view when he forecasts their defeat.” “After Destroying Every Rule, Authority, and Power,” 295. 38 39

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Finally, it is interesting that both Paul and Philo see the path into this “inheritance” as generally peaceful rather than being won through violent resistance. For Paul this perspective undoubtedly arose from his conviction that the crucified Jesus was the Messiah. His “conversion” or “call” clearly led to a re-evaluation of his former violent “zeal” (Gal 1:13–14; 4:18).42 The call of believers in the Messiah was now to suffer with him in order that they might also be glorified with him (Rom 8:17; Phil 1:29). It is more difficult to ascertain the rationale of Philo’s commitment to a nonviolent approach to oppressive rule in the world. It is quite probable that there are both Jewish and Greek influences at play. Radice and Runia point to the work of Gerardo Zampaglione who argued that in Philo’s conception of peace there was “a cosmopolitan emphasis derived from Stoic thought which leads to a mature affirmation of religious tolerance.”43 I would argue that Philo did not oppose violence per se, as he frequently praised Roman “peace” that was often won through subduing the “barbarous” nations around (e.g., Legat. 8, 309).44 Moreover, he saw warfare generally as an important context for the expression of the virtue of courage (Virt. 22–50). It seems more likely that he simply saw any opposition to Rome as futile at present and therefore the best one could do was to advocate that rulers respect Jewish ancestral customs. This is indeed what Philo argues that the earlier emperors did (Flacc. 50; Legat. 291). One of the primary functions of his historical treatises seems to be calling the present rulers back to such protection of Jewish rights. 45 Thus, it seems that for both Paul and Philo the Land as geographic territory had ceased to be a central feature of their Jewish identity or hope, but that it nevertheless retained an important symbolic significance. For Philo it largely symbolised the heavenly homeland towards which virtuous souls are heading, as well as their present superiority on the spiritual plane. For Paul it largely symbolised the eschatologically renewed world that believers would inherit by virtue of the Messiah’s resurrection, as well as the universal sphere in which his present mission took place. Both also believed in a final eschatological reversal in which the enemies of God’s people would be disempowered or destroyed and the people of God exalted, but Philo’s writings as a whole seem to indicate greater acquiescence to present Roman rule. Philo could, after all, describe Jews as having in the present “acquired the land and cities for their own property, a heritage (κλῆρον

See Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 86. Radice and Runia, Philo of Alexandria: An Annotated Bibliography 1937–1986, 179. 44 Paul could also of course see the Roman authorities bringing a measure of “good,” sometimes through forceful restraint of evil (Rom 13:1–7). 45 See, e.g., Barraclough, “Philo’s Politics,” 475. 42 43

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ἴδιον) in which they live as long established citizens” (Spec. 2.168). The “inheritance” that dominated Paul’s horizons, however, lay quite emphatically in the future (1 Cor 15:50).

C. Jerusalem C. Jerusalem

I noted in the previous chapters that both Paul and Philo were aware of Jerusalem’s significant symbolic weight within the biblical tradition, but that both also transformed this traditional symbol in significant ways. Agreeing with Fredrick F. Bruce’s terminology, I suggested that Paul had a somewhat “ambivalent” attitude towards the holy city. He neither disassociated himself from the birthplace of the early Christian movement nor did he express dependence on the other apostles in Jerusalem for his own authority. In the polemical context of Galatians, for example, he expressed a more negative attitude towards “the present Jerusalem” (Gal 4:25), but in Romans he saw it as the centre from which his own ministry had been exercised (Rom 15:19). In a recent essay that compares Paul and Philo’s perspectives on Jerusalem, Jutta Leonhardt-Balzer affirms that Paul’s attitude was certainly “nuanced and complex.”46 In my second chapter, I agreed with Peter W. Walker that the best inroads to understanding Paul’s theological perspective on the city was a thorough exploration of his allegory of Sarah and Hagar in Gal 4:21–5:1. Here Paul climactically sought to illustrate to the Galatian believers the theological significance of gentiles submitting to the Law. This he saw as nothing less than a return to slavery with the consequent threat of disinheritance (Gal 4:30). I also noted that Paul’s eschatology, reflected in his quotation from Isa 54:1, was central to how he read the Genesis narrative. The promised redemption of Jerusalem had arrived in the Messiah and in the presence of the life-giving Spirit. Therefore, all who have faith in the Messiah are now born into Abraham’s family, while those who seek to enter the family “according to the flesh” (linked in Paul’s eschatology with the old aeon of Sin and Death), are still in slavery. Because the promised era of redemption had arrived and because many of Paul’s “kindred according to the flesh” (Rom 9:2) had not accepted the validity of this claim, Paul concluded that this redemption had taken place on a different plane. The redeemed Jerusalem which is the mother of all believers remains at present “above,” while “the present Jerusalem” remains in slavery (Gal 4:25). I also noted the necessity of Paul freshly appropriating the symbol of Jerusalem, both to give the communities he had founded a sense of belonging to a wider community and because it is precisely the authority of Jerusalem which his opponents were claiming. Paul denied any unique authority to Jerusalem, 46

Leonhardt-Balzer, “Diaspora Jewish Attitudes to Metropoleis,” 97.

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however, insisting that final authority is “above” and is embodied in “the gospel” (Gal 1:12; 4:26).47 It is indeed on the basis of “the gospel” that Paul challenged one of the “pillar apostles” in Jerusalem (Gal 2:14). Thus wittingly or unwittingly, Paul’s polemic generates a political theology in which any central authority governing the Christ movement is called into question and in which the local congregation is called to evaluate theological claims directly in light of “the gospel.”48 While Paul could sometimes distinguish between traditions he received (1 Cor 7:25) and his own personal judgements on practical matters (1 Cor 7:10), we never see him deferring to the authority of “Jerusalem” or the other apostles. When it comes to Philo, I also noted a certain ambivalence toward Jerusalem in the sense that he was clearly committed to the literal city as a unifying centre for all Jews, but that he also frequently allegorised “the city of God” as the whole world or as the soul of the wise (Somn. 2.246–254). In relation to his perspective on the literal city, I noted especially the way he used terminology taken from Greek colonisation to describe how the Jews had spread out in “colonies (ἀποικία)” from the mother-city (Legat. 281). Here I agreed with Sarah Pearce and others that this description was not in any way expressing a sense of desire or obligation on the part of Diaspora Jews to return to the true homeland.49 He was rather explaining the situation of the Jewish people in terms understandable to Greeks and Romans. I also suggested that Anthony Le Donne’s recent work on the ancient category of ethnos as defined with reference to a polis helps further illuminate Philo’s usage here.50 Furthermore, I agreed with Torrey Seland that Philo’s frequent descriptions of the Jewish people as “numerous” and spread throughout the Roman Empire was most likely a veiled warning to Roman officials who would overlook the historic rights of Jews in any place.51 I also noted, however, that Philo allegorised “the city of God (ἡ πόλις τοῦ θεοῦ)” as “the world (ὁ κόσμος)” and as the peaceful soul of the wise (Somn. 2.246–248). The motivation for the former sprang firstly from his conviction

47 Noting the parallels between Paul’s discourse on Jerusalem in Gal 4:21–5:1 and earlier in the letter, Jill Hicks-Keeton astutely comments: “His spatial arrangement in the allegory is consistent with his bifurcation of two planes earlier in the letter: one horizontal (= human, frequently associated with [earthly] Jerusalem) and one vertical (= direct from God or revelation of the risen Jesus) . . . Paul thus takes pains to represent his call as legitimate because it came straight from Jesus (the vertical plane) and was unadulterated by human mediation (the horizontal place).” “Putting Paul in His Place,” 16–17. 48 This is not to deny that Paul saw “the gospel” itself as an inherited common tradition (e.g., 1 Cor 15:3). 49 Pearce, “Jerusalem as ‘Mother-City,’” 36. 50 Le Donne, “Complicating the Category of Ethnos toward Poliscentrism.” 51 Seland, “‘Colony’ and ‘Metropolis’ in Philo.”

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that the divine presence and order, as expressed in the ideal of the city, is diffused throughout the whole world. Recalling that Philo argues this through his exegesis of Ps 45:5 LXX,52 there may also have been a pastoral motivation in the sense that he was encouraging Diaspora Jews that they could experience the joy of “the city of God” wherever they recognised God’s good ordering of the world. Drawing on the etymology of Jerusalem as “the sight of peace,” Philo also suggested that “the city of God” could be understood as the soul of the wise that is at peace (Somn. 2.250). Here I suggested once again that his underlying purpose was to inculcate virtue through which he also believed external peace would follow. I finally noted that Jerusalem did not seem to feature in Philo’s eschatological vision, nor did it seem to function as a centre of teaching authority. In comparing Paul and Philo, I begin by noting that both make relatively little mention of Jerusalem in their significant bodies of work. Where Jerusalem is mentioned, there is quite often no explicit theological judgement or reflection. It is indeed noteworthy that neither look to Jerusalem as a centre of theological or spiritual authority, much less a source of political authority. In her comparative essay, Leonhardt-Balzer insists that Jerusalem was relevant to Philo “exclusively in terms of cult and culture” and that “Jerusalem does not represent a rival political power center to Rome.”53 She also highlights that, in Philo’s depiction, “All the practices of the Judean and the diaspora Jews are governed by the Torah, not by a religious authority in Jerusalem, nor even by the High Priest.” This conclusion is in line with my more detailed study in the previous chapter where I noted that Philo generally assumed the competence of local teachers to educate the people in Torah. While Paul clearly felt the pull of Jerusalem to a greater degree,54 he also rejected it as a source of final authority. What functioned as the authority in the life of the Christ following communities Paul established seems to have been “the gospel” as interpreted within a generally Jewish moral framework drawn from Torah. James W. Thompson has argued that Paul’s moral instruction generally “appealed to the readers’ knowledge of the story of Jesus,” “[placed] the story of Jesus and the readers’ own experience within the narrative of Israel,” and finally also appealed to Torah to shape the moral conduct of his communities. 55 In relation to the latter point, Thompson concludes: “The strong current of the river makes glad the city of God” (Ps 45:5 LXX). Leonhardt-Balzer, “Diaspora Jewish Attitudes to Metropoleis,” 93. 54 This is probably due to Paul’s closer connection to Palestinian Judaism, the fact that the “pillar apostles” resided in Jerusalem, and the fact that his opponents claimed their authority. 55 James W. Thompson, Moral Formation According to Paul: The Context and Coherence of Pauline Ethics (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011), 207–8. See also Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 625–69. Dunn argues that “Paul’s ethics can be summed up in terms which directly reflect the emphases of his gospel - justification by faith, participation 52 53

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While he does not insist that his converts keep commandments that serve as boundary markers of Jewish identity (circumcision, the Sabbath, and food laws), he gives moral instructions that are derived from the Torah and correspond largely to the summaries of the law that Jews in the Diaspora had developed . . . His primary focus on sexual laws and love for others within the community indicates the special importance of the Holiness Code (Lev 17–26) for his moral instruction.56

Drawing attention to texts like Rom 1:18–25 and 1 Cor 11:2–16, Thompson also argues that, “like Philo of Alexandria, he assumed the agreement between the law of nature and the Torah.” It was Paul’s relaxation of the “boundary markers,” as I argued above, that would have especially set him apart from Philo.57 There are also some further analogies between the way Torah represented for Philo the ideal politeia58 and the way that “the gospel” functioned for Paul in such a way that believers might conduct themselves as citizens in a manner “worthy” of it (Phil 1:27).59 It is interesting, for example, that Philo recognises the Patriarchs as “living and rational laws (ἔμψυχοι καὶ λογικοὶ νόμοι)” (Abr. in Christ, and the gift of the Spirit.” The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 634. Furthermore, he argues that Paul sought to maintain a balance between internal motivation and external norm. In relation to the latter concludes: “The external norm can be variously defined. It can be defined in terms of traditional wisdom, vices and virtues commonly recognized as such, notions of what is right and wrong accepted by all those of good will, ideas of communal interdependence and good order at the heart of society. In each case, however, a Christian perspective and memory of Christ’s love and self-giving adds a distinctive further element which infuses the whole. Again, given the through and through Jewish background of Pauline Christianity, the external norm, not surprisingly, may also be defined as the law. But this is the law insofar as it expresses faith, the law insofar as it has been reinforced by Christ, both his teaching and his example.” The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 668. 56 Thompson, Moral Formation, 208. For a similar perspective on an identifiable core of moral instruction in the Jewish Diaspora, see Gregory E. Sterling, “The Place of Philo of Alexandria in the Study of Christian Origins,” in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen, ed. Roland Deines and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, WUNT 172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 31–40. 57 Paul’s “anthropological pessimism” is another notable difference to Philo. Thompson writes: “In contrast to the Greek focus on knowledge as the basis of the moral life and the Jewish insistence that the keeping of the law is a possibility, Paul spoke with pessimism about human potential for doing the good.” Moral Formation, 209. On this “pessimism” in its Jewish context, see further Stephen Westerholm, “Paul’s Anthropological ‘Pessimism’ in Its Jewish Context,” in Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Environment, ed. John M.G. Barclay and Simon Gathercole (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 71–98. 58 For a detailed analysis of how Philo uses this political terminology to represent the Jewish people as “Mosaic citizens” who are a concrete embodiment of the ideal human community, see Caroline Carlier, La Cité de Moïse: Le Peuple Juif Chez Philon d’Alexandrie (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008). 59 Barclay has compared the way the Law functioned as the constitution of the Jewish politeia in Josephus and Paul’s “constitution” of the church in Corinth and a similar comparison with Philo suggests itself. Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews, 81–106.

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3–5) who embodied the Torah before it was given.60 Here he drew his conclusion from the “regular sequence (τοὺς νόμους κατὰ τὸ ἑξῆς)” of the Law that these men were in fact “models (ἀρχετύπους)” of the later laws to come (Abr. 3). Paul likewise draws conclusions from the order of salvation history (Rom 4:10; Gal 3:17), but for him the Patriarchs functioned more as paradigms of faith rather than embodiments of the Law. Their faith, however, was forward looking to the Christ (Gal 3:24), who does seem to have functioned as a type of “living law” for Paul. This can be seen in his frequent calls to believers to follow the suffering/glory pattern of the Messiah61 and indeed to, “be imitators of me, as I am of Christ (μιμηταί μου γίνεσθε, καθὼς κἀγὼ Χριστοῦ)” (1 Cor 11:1). In his recent study of this subject, Joshua Jipp concluded that, “Paul’s construction of ‘the law of Christ’ and his statements regarding Christ’s fulfilment of the law are best understood within the context of ancient political discussions of the king as living enactment of the law.”62 It is interesting, for example, that Philo also drew attention to the fact that Abraham who was a “living law” was also recognised as a “king” (Mut. 152, Somn. 2.244) and that Moses is recognised as both the ultimate king and a “living law” (Mos. 2.4–5). In continuity with a broad Diaspora perspective therefore,63 Paul and Philo do not generally attribute any teaching or political authority to Jerusalem. Their lack of attribution of such authority I would suggest is also indicative of the fact that neither were invested in the hope of a politically autonomous people of God centred around Jerusalem. This can be seen further in the fact that Jerusalem did not seem to feature prominently in either of their eschatological visions.64 For both, however, Jerusalem remained important as a unifying symbol of identity and belonging for the people of God. Philo is at pains, especially in his historical treatises, to point out the significance of Jerusalem to all Jews everywhere. Jerusalem is indeed the “mother-city (μητρόπολις)” from which they He also recognizes the same of Moses (e.g. Mos. 1.162). See, e.g., Rom 8:17, Phil 3:10. 62 Joshua W. Jipp, Christ Is King: Paul’s Royal Ideology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), 75. See also the recent dissertation of Jonathan More that examines Paul’s thought against the backdrop of the Hellenistic kingship topos and concludes that the idea of the king as “living law” helps illuminate the way Paul saw Christ as overcoming the shortcomings of the written law. “Is Jesus King? A Critical Examination of Paul’s Thought in the Context of the Hellenistic Kingship Topos” (PhD, Stellenbosch University, 2017), 283. 63 On this point Sanders concludes: “On relatively few points was there such uniformity that Jerusalem could dictate Diaspora practice: practice in Jerusalem itself was not tightly controlled . . . There were means of communication, and for major items these were probably used. Yet Diaspora practice, where we can test it, seems not to have been dependent on rules from Jerusalem - much less on rules originating from the Pharisees there.” Jewish Law, 257. 64 Recall that Philo interprets the theme of the ingathering of the exiles as them coming together simply to “one appointed place (τὸν ἀποδειχθέντα χῶρον)” (Praem. 165). 60 61

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had all historically been sent (Legat. 281). Moreover, it is the city to which they continue to return on pilgrimage (Legat. 312) and where they continue to contribute gifts for the Temple (Legat. 315). In her comparative essay, Leonhardt-Balzer suggests that Paul’s collection should be understood along similar lines as being “the equivalent of the temple dues that all diaspora Jews send to Jerusalem to demonstrate their unity and their belonging to the one God.”65 She thus concludes that for Paul “the earthly Jerusalem did not have a theological authority, it had a social function.”66 I would argue, however, that Paul’s appropriation of the symbol of Jerusalem nevertheless represented more of a future embodied hope than did Philo’s. As Wright points out, Paul’s “Jerusalem above” should be understood “not in a Platonic sense, but in the biblical sense of heaven as the storage-house for God’s future purposes.”67 Although the earthly city itself does not appear to have been a centre of eschatological expectation, it is evident that his discourse in Galatians 4:21–5:1 still turns around who will ultimately share in the “inheritance (κληρονομία).” As I have already noted, this relates to a future embodied and communal hope. This is certainly how Paul was read by the prominent voices of Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, and Tertullian in the second century. 68 Irenaeus, for example, insisted that Paul had the concrete referent of the Land promised as an “inheritance” in view in Gal 4:28 (Haer. 5.32.2) and that Paul’s statement concerning “Jerusalem above” in Gal 4:26 should be read in light of the hope that Jerusalem will be “rebuilt after the pattern of Jerusalem above” (Haer. 5.35.2).69 Although Paul does not speak in this context of “Jerusalem above” coming down to transform the earthly realm, I noted that in a closely parallel text Paul did in fact envision such a hope that could be understood as the heavenly politeuma being manifest on earth (Phil 3:20–21). He certainly spoke in what appears to be imperial terminology of the Lord Jesus Christ coming down, transforming believer’s bodies to be like his glorious body (cf. Rom 8:23), and 65 Leonhardt-Balzer, “Diaspora Jewish Attitudes to Metropoleis,” 98. I am happy with a broad analogy with the Temple tax, as long as it is not suggested that this was placed on Paul as an obligation by the Jerusalem apostles. What Leonhardt-Balzer suggests here is perhaps closer to the ecumenical purpose of the collection that I identified in chapter 2. 66 Leonhardt-Balzer, 98. 67 Wright, “Mother Zion Rejoices,” 235. 68 See Wilken, The Land Called Holy, 62–81. Wilken comments in this regard: “The bestdocumented and most persistent eschatology in the first two Christian centuries was chiliasm, the belief that God would establish a future kingdom on earth centered in Jerusalem.” The Land Called Holy, 56. 69 Here Irenaeus insists that Paul’s “Jerusalem above” should not be thought of in a Gnostic sense: “He does not say this with any thought of an erratic Æon, or of any other power which departed from the Pleroma, or of Prunicus, but of the Jerusalem which has been delineated on [God’s] hands” (Haer. 5.35.2).

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subjecting all things to himself (cf. Ps 8:6).70 Moreover, the fact that he continued to describe the Philippians as his “joy and crown (στέφανος)” (Phil 4:1) and to make use of the apocalyptic language of the “book of life (βίβλος ζωῆς)” (Phil 4:3 cf. Dan 12:1) suggests that he foresaw an ensuing reign on earth following Christ’s parousia.71 Philo’s perspective, on the other hand, tended to be more static: Therefore do not seek for the city of the Existent among the regions of the earth (ὥστε μὴ ζήτει τὴν τοῦ ὄντος πόλιν ἐν κλίμασι γῆς), since it is not wrought of wood or stone, but in a soul, in which there is no warring (Somn. 2.250).

There is no future envisioned in which the realm above transforms the realm below. In fact, the communal image of the city is translated into the soul of the individual. Elsewhere when Philo is commenting on God’s words to Moses to come up on the mountain (Exod 24:12), he speaks in general about the ascent of the soul and contrasts those souls that are drawn back down again to Tartarus with those who permanently dwell in the “placeless” presence of God and therefore “do not return from the holy and divine city” (QE 2.40). While I did note Philo’s hope of some corporate and physical restoration, the ultimate goal for the individual at death continues to be a disembodied existence in the spiritual city of God above. Thus, both Paul and Philo have transformed the traditional symbol of Jerusalem in significant ways although ultimately to serve different purposes. In this regard I agree with Mark Verman’s conclusion that “each formulated the concept of heavenly Jerusalem independently and in a distinctive manner, as part of their larger intellectual enterprise.”72 Although it remained important as a symbol of unity and belonging to the people of God, neither appear to attach Wright comments on this passage: “Instead of Caesar coming from Rome to rescue a beleaguered colony, Jesus will come from heaven to transform the world, and particularly to give new bodies to his own people. He is the sōtēr, the saviour; he is the kyrios, the lord; he is Christos, the Messiah, the Jewish king destined to be lord of the whole world.” Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1293. 71 Here I disagree with Bertschmann who writes about Phil 3:20–21: “This transformation happens on earth, not in heaven, as has been rightly pointed out. However, we do not quite learn what follows afterwards. The Christians welcome their Lord but no further activity corresponds to the transformation of the body, neither praise and worship nor ruling and judging with Christ.” Bowing before Christ, 119. I tend to think that Paul saw his “crown” in more concrete terms as enjoying future eschatological rule. 72 Mark Verman, “Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem in Philo and Paul: A Tale of Two Cities,” in With Letters of Light: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls, Early Jewish Mysticism, Apocalypticism, Magic, and Mysticism (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2011), 133. I do think, however, that by conflating Philo’s perspective on the Temple and city (which are obviously closely related), he overstates the case that Philo articulates a very clear perspective on a “heavenly” Jerusalem. “Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem,” 142–3. The text from QE 2.40 cited above probably comes closest to such an articulation. 70

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significant political hope to the city. Neither do they look to Jerusalem as a source of religious or political authority. Paul, however, still had a clear embodied and communal hope which is less evident in Philo.

D. The Temple D. The Temple

As I have already observed, the Temple was perhaps the central religious and political institution for Second Temple Jews. We might therefore expect both Paul and Philo’s perspectives to reveal significant insights into their respective political theologies. In relation to Paul, I noted how he applied Temple terminology both to local communities of Jews and gentiles in Christ (1 Cor 3:5– 4:5; 2 Cor 6:14–7:1) as well as to the individual bodies of believers as understood within the larger communal body (1 Cor 6:12–20).73 I also noted how for Paul it was the presence of the eschatological Spirit that constituted the Temple (1 Cor 3:16) and that by this metaphor he stressed the necessity of both the unity and purity of the community. I further observed in relation to 1 Cor 3:5– 4:5 that Paul’s “planting” and “building” metaphors revealed his self-understanding as a minister of the new covenant in terms drawn from Jeremiah’s commission (Jer 1:10; 24:6). Paul therefore seemed to regard the time in which he lived as one in which the promised return from exile was taking place and one in which God’s people were again being “planted” and “built.” Where this was taking place, however, was not limited to the geographic area of the Land, but wherever the foundation of Christ was being laid and wherever the eschatological Spirit was present. Paul saw himself as a builder of this eschatological garden-temple community that would one day rule the world with Christ when the kingdom of God came in its fullness (1 Cor 3:21–23; 4:8; 15:25, 50–58). I further noted, especially in 1 Cor 3:5–4:5, that Paul evoked this Temple metaphor in relation to conflicts over leaders in the community and that Paul hereby intended to stress significant aspects of how authority in the congregation was structured. Drawing on a long history of interpretation, I agreed with Brad Bitner that one of Paul’s primary concerns in this passage was the proper building up of the community and the proper evaluation of ministry to that end.74 Here Paul insisted that all ministry must conform to the message of the crucified Christ, which is the foundation of the assembly (1 Cor 3:10). I argued, however, that Paul was not only stressing his own authority to evaluate proper ministry, nor only God’s final role as judge, but was also implicitly calling the Thompson comments on this Temple terminology applied to the individual: “In using the singular ‘body’ in 6:19 rather than the plural ‘bodies’ (cf. 6:15), Paul has brought together the collective and individual understandings of the body, indicating that they are not separable categories.” Moral Formation, 51. 74 Bitner, Paul’s Political Strategy, 260–70. 73

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Spirit-filled community to evaluate proper ministry in light of the public message of “the gospel.” I suggested that Paul’s surprising “inverted pyramid” (1 Cor 3:21–23) that stands at the climax of his Temple discourse, and in which leaders are subordinated to the community, suggested that he regarded the community as a whole as a significant centre of authority. This does not mean, however, that Paul would have envisioned conflicts being settled through some kind of silent democratic vote. I argued that Paul would have envisioned such conflicts in the public assembly being resolved on the basis of who, by Spiritempowered speech, might most adequately rationalise their position on the basis of “the gospel” (1 Cor 4:19–21; 2:1–5; cf. 2:13–16). Moreover, Paul remained confident that the Spirit-filled community would generally recognise this (1 Cor 2:6–16; 4:19–21). I argued further that Paul regarded authority in the community to derive largely from service to the community (1 Cor 4:1–2 cf. 16:15–18; 1 Thess 5:12–13) and that there appears to be a relationship for Paul between the Spirit’s presence and the ability of the community to mutually instruct one another (1 Cor 12:4–11; Rom 15:13–14; 1 Thess 5:14–22). I argued finally that Paul regarded the “wisdom” upon which the community was founded (1 Cor 3:10) as fundamentally opposed to the “wisdom of this age (σοφία τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου),” which he equated with the imperial wisdom that “crucified the Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:6–9). I further observed the close connection between 1 Cor 3:5–4:5 and the chapters that follow in which he begins to address various issues in the community. The purity language of the Temple is present throughout and Paul explicitly returns to this theme in 1 Cor 6:19 in addressing the issue of prostitution. I suggested that his quotations and allusions to Deuteronomy, which functioned as Israel’s “constitution,” as well as his use of “the kingdom of God” in this section (1 Cor 4:20; 6:9–10), strongly implies that he saw himself engaged in a grand political project which had the eschatological garden-temple assembly at the centre. Although he did not explicitly critique the Jerusalem Temple and its cult, his transference of Temple terminology to the community of believers in Christ therefore has a distinct decentring effect on his political theology as a whole. In relation to Philo, I noted a certain ambivalence toward the Temple in that, while he remained committed to the literal Temple and its rites, he spent more time exploring their symbolic significance. The two other “Temples” that Philo often identified were the cosmos itself and the soul of the sage (Somn. 1.215; Spec. 1.66). In relation to the former, I suggested that Philo firstly wished to affirm, contra some strands of Greek thinking, that the whole creation is the work of God (Plant. 50). Moreover, I suggested that this characterisation was also typical of Diaspora Jewish tendencies to want to extend the holiness of the Temple beyond its boundaries. If the cosmos itself is in one sense a Temple of

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the one true God, this would demand that his people “live as nature bids” (Plant. 49). I suggested that Philo’s characterisation of the individual soul of the wise as a “Temple” was typical of several strands of Greek philosophy and that it expressed a concern for the soul’s progress towards moral perfection. I further highlighted how Philo saw a comprehensive encyclical education as critical to this task (Cher. 101–105). What is especially noteworthy is how Philo applies Temple building language to the individual soul. He writes, for example, “Let its foundations (θεμέλιοι) be laid in natural excellence and good teaching, and let us rear upon them (ἐποικοδομείσθωσαν) virtues (ἀρεταὶ)” (Cher. 101). I also noted how Philo saw the local synagogue as a central institution for disseminating such instruction (Spec. 2.61–63) and that he seemed to have attached some eschatological hope to such an education being enjoyed by a sufficient number (Cher. 106). While Philo generally regarded local synagogue teachers as competent to instruct the people from the Law (Spec. 2.62; Prob. 82; Contemp. 31), in one apologetic text he surprisingly highlighted how the people themselves do not need to resort to external experts, but that “the husband seems competent to transmit knowledge of the laws to his wife, the father to his children, the master to his slaves” (Hypoth. 7.14). Although there are some passages that suggest that Philo may have characterised the community itself as a “Temple,” most notably QE. 1.10 and Spec. 2.148, I concluded that this was a relatively minor theme and that Philo more characteristically applied Temple terminology to the soul of the individual. I also agreed with Torrey Seland that, despite the one text that suggests that the original man’s body was a “Temple” for his rational soul (Opif. 137), Philo would not typically characterise the bodies of even the wise in this way. 75 Finally, I generally agreed with scholars who noted that the Temple does not feature in Philo’s eschatological vision. In comparing Paul and Philo, I begin by noting that neither in their extant writings denigrated the literal Temple or critiqued the high priestly establishment. Timothy Wardle highlights how such critiques were common in the first century and I would suggest that it is largely Philo’s Diaspora location and consequent distance from the Temple institution that accounts for this lacuna. 76 75 Seland, “The ‘Common Priesthood,’” 93. It is not difficult to see why Philo would avoid such an identification when he can characteristically refer to the body as “wicked and a plotter against the soul . . . even a corpse and a dead thing” (Leg. 3.69), “a tomb” (Spec. 4.122) and “a prison” (Leg. 3.40). 76 Wardle, The Jerusalem Temple, 46–97. I noted one Philonic text, namely QE 2.105, that may perhaps be taken as a critique of the present priestly establishment. Wardle comments in relation to first-century Jewish critiques of the Temple institution: “this critical assessment of the temple and priesthood appears to have arisen almost exclusively in circles geographically and socially contiguous to these two institutions, with most, if not all, of the

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I would also suggest that the subject of the Temple does not arise frequently in Paul’s letters because it was not generally an issue he had to address in relation to his primarily gentile audiences.77 While I noted the cultic terminology of “building,” “foundation,” and “naming” in Paul’s description of his mission in Romans, 78 he does not explicitly identify the community here as a “Temple” as he does in the Corinthian correspondence. This is perhaps surprising as it could have served his rhetorical purposes of uniting Jews and gentiles in Rome. One potential reason for this is that such an explicit identification may have further exacerbated the problem of gentile “boasting” (Rom 11:25) or that Paul may have been cognisant of Jewish sensibilities in such an identification.79 Because of a lack of further evidence, assessing Paul’s attitude towards the Jerusalem Temple as a whole is complex. Would he have advocated that Jewish believers continue to pay their Temple tax? Would he have participated in rites in the Temple? It does seem, especially if Acts 21:17–26 is to be believed, that Paul would to some degree have recognised the Temple’s ongoing validity. 80 Such a perspective could be defended on the grounds of the positive perspective Paul attached to “the worship (λατρεία)” uniquely entrusted to Israel (Rom 9:4), as well as their abiding election (Rom 11:28–29). Kathy Ehrensperger (2019) has recently argued that Paul’s collection itself may have been intended to help facilitate the joint worship of Jew and gentile which would have found its most natural expression in the Jerusalem Temple (Rom 15:7–13, 25–

condemnation originating in Judea and its environs. In addition, this criticism likely developed in circles closest to the Jerusalem priests, as they, along with the emerging scribal class, were the only people with the education, finances, connections, and literary acumen to compose such literature.” The Jerusalem Temple, 95. 77 Note also Walker’s comment on Paul’s lack of teaching on this subject: “because this Temple-issue was not a burning one for those to whom he was writing.” Jesus and the Holy City, 126. 78 Note his self-description as a “minister (λειτουργός)” with a “priestly service (ἱερουργοῦντα)” (Rom 15:16) and his task “to proclaim the good news, not where Christ has already been named (ὠνομάσθη), so that I do not build on someone else’s foundation (θεμέλιον οἰκοδομῶ)” (Rom 15:20) 79 It seems likely to me at least, based on internal criteria, that the Jewish audience of Romans was significantly larger than that of Corinthians. On the audience of Romans see, e.g., Moo, Romans, 9–13. On the audience of 1 Corinthians, see Fee, Corinthians, 1–4. Fee comments: “Although there were some Jewish believers in the community, very little in the letter itself points to a Jewish background.” Corinthians, 4. 80 F.C. Baur commented on the unreliability of this episode in Acts, suggesting that here Paul “is made to accommodate himself to Judaism in a way to which he could not have consented without utterly deserting his principles.” Paul, 196. Most recent commentators, however, do not see good reason to doubt the overall picture of this episode in which Paul seems to have been willing to follow his own principles and “become all things to all people” (1 Cor 9:22). See discussion further in Dunn, Beginning From Jerusalem, 959–62.

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29).81 While Paul’s perspective on the Temple may have been informed by such a longing for it to be a place where the Messiah is worshipped, this should also be held in tension with his present lament over Zion as a place in which many still stumbled over “the stumbling stone” (Rom 9:30–33). Because Torah and Temple were closely linked, it is also possible that he came to regard Temple worship as a matter of adiaphora, much like his perspective on circumcision (1 Cor 7:19) or the food laws (Rom 14:14). What we assuredly do have in Paul’s writings is a frequent application of cultic metaphors to the community (1 Cor 3:16; 2 Cor 6:16; Rom 12:1), to describe Christ’s achievements (Rom 3:25; 1 Cor 5:7), and to describe his own ministry (1 Cor 9:13; 15:15–16; Phil 2:17). This, together with the fact that he never directly reflects on this central institution of Jewish life, would all seem to suggest a marginal interest and that it was the Christ-following communities that lay at the centre of his vision. Philo, on the other hand, in spite of his symbolic appropriation, clearly has great admiration for the physical Temple (Spec. 1.70–75), positively portrays pilgrimage (Spec. 1.68), and sees it as an institution that must be supported through the annual didrachma tax (Spec. 1.78, Legat. 216, 312).82 Moreover, in his criticism of the “extreme-allegorisers,” he explicitly mentions neglect of the Temple as one of the negative consequences of their position: Why, we shall be ignoring the sanctity of the Temple and a thousand other things, if we are going to pay heed to nothing except what is shewn us by the inner meaning of things (Migr. 92).

These factors would seem to suggest that the Jerusalem Temple played a more significant role in Philo’s religiosity, probably especially in his later years. When it comes to the Temple as symbol, it also becomes clear that Paul and Philo differ in substantial ways. Paul’s transference of Temple terminology to the community is clearly intended to foster a communal vision in which the unity and purity of the community are central. Philo, on the other hand, seems more concerned with the purity of the individual soul rather than with community formation as such. Their difference in perspective can readily be seen in how Paul applies Lev 26:12 to the community as “Temple” (2 Cor 6:16) and how Philo applies the same text to God walking within the soul of the individual (Somn. 1.148; 2.248). Here Philo typically leaves off the corporate note of

81 Ehrensperger, “The Ministry to Jerusalem (Rom 15:31): Paul’s Hopes and Fears.” While appreciating much in this essay, I think it should also be noted that Paul’s express intention is to deliver the collection, not to Jews generally, but to “the poor among the saints in Jerusalem (εἰς τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῶν ἁγίων τῶν ἐν Ἰερουσαλήμ)” (Rom 15:26). 82 For Philo’s perspective on pilgrimage and the annual tax, see Jonathan Trotter, “Going and Coming Home in Diasporan Pilgrimage: The Case of Philo’s Ἱεροποµποί and DiasporaHomeland Relations in Alexandrian Jewish Perspective,” JSJ 50.1 (2019): 26–51.

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“you shall be my people” at the end of the quotation, even though he is aware of the fuller quotation (Sacr. 87). It is interesting, however, that both draw on temple-building metaphors to express their vision. For Philo the “foundation (θεμέλιος)” of this Temple within the individual soul are “natural excellence and good teaching (εὐφυΐα καὶ διδασκαλία),” upon which “virtues (ἀρεταὶ)” might be built (Cher. 101). He goes on to speak in Aristotelean terms of how these virtues might be strengthened by habit and how the soul may be “decorated” with knowledge of grammar, poetry, music, geometry, and so forth (Cher. 101–105). For Paul the “foundation (θεμέλιον)” of the Temple is the message of Jesus Christ (1 Cor 3:11) and the “building” that he is primarily concerned with is the community as a whole. Furthermore, while Philo is clearly interested in an encyclical education as preparation for philosophical studies and the pursuit of virtue, it seems that Paul is more concerned with practical behaviour consistent with a generally Jewish moral framework interpreted in light of the message of Christ.83 While Paul’s designation of the community as Temple (1 Cor 3:16) is largely aimed at fostering a communal vision, his later designation of the individual bodies of believers as a “Temple” (1 Cor 6:9) also highlights his concern for individual purity. Although Philo would undoubtedly also eschew sexual immorality generally and prostitution in particular (Spec. 3.51), his general devaluation of the body explains his lack of willingness to designate the body itself a “Temple.”84 Although both Paul and Philo draw on a common Jewish wisdom tradition, Philo’s more significant acculturation to his Hellenistic environment is clearly evident in his focus on individual happiness/flourishing (εὐδαιμονία)85 along with an emphasis, among other things, on inculcating the cardinal virtues of prudence (φρόνησις), temperance (σωφροσύνη), courage (ἀνδρεία) and justice (δικαιοσύνη) (Leg. 1.63).86 The absence of this and other terminology related

83 See again Thompson, Moral Formation. Thompson highlights both the affinity of Paul’s moral instruction with that of other Diaspora Jewish literature and its transformation in the light of Christ. 84 On Philo’s perspective on the body, Pearce concludes: “Philo’s evaluation of the body, in general, is profoundly influenced by Platonic dualism. The world of the body is utterly other than the world of God. The transcendent Being is alone good and perfect, eternal and unchanging; the finite world of matter, from which the human body is created, is imperfect.” The Land of the Body, 85. 85 The term occurs 81 times in Philo’s extant works. 86 On the Greek virtues and the Mosaic Law in Philo, see Naomi G. Cohen, “The Greek Virtues and the Mosaic Laws in Philo: An Elucidation of De Specialibus Legibus IV 133– 135,” SPhiloA 5 (1993): 9–23.

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to Greek ethical discourse highlights Paul’s quite different background.87 Karl Sandnes summarises what sets Paul apart from the philosophical approach: Paul argues that virtue is achieved not by education, but by the Spirit. Virtue is mediated independently of both Law and education. Paul thus speaks from within the virtue-system, but alters it considerably; virtue is not taught, but inculcated by God. In the ancient virtuesystem, virtue was a characteristic of the philosopher, ‘an activity engaged in by the very few who belonged to the leisure classes of society’. This is not so with the Spirit-generated virtues of which Paul speaks; they apply to Jews and Gentiles, male and female, masters and slaves all alike (Gal 3.28; cf. 1 Cor 12.13). The question of encyclical studies as a preparation for virtue is not raised.88

In terms of eschatology, the Temple does not feature prominently in either Paul or Philo. There is of course an aspect of realised eschatology in Paul’s designation of the community of believers as God’s Temple in the present (1 Cor 3:16), but his eschatological vision tends to focus more on the parousia (1 Thess 4:17; Phil 3:20). Nevertheless, the present Temple is closely related to the future kingdom of God in which believers will “reign” with Christ (1 Cor 3:21–23; 4:8; 4:20; 6:9; 15:25–58). Furthermore, Paul’s perspective is dynamic in the sense of representing the community as a Temple that is growing and being “built” in anticipation of that future in which all work done to this end will be judged (1 Cor 3:10–17). In this regard, it is hard to imagine Paul, like Philo, designating the cosmos as a Temple in the present (Somn. 1.215; Plant. 50). Such a transference would be more appropriate for him to the renewed creation, as suggested by the terminology of “glory (δόξα)” and the pervasive presence of the Spirit (Rom 8:19–23). For Paul, the present creation is “subjected to futility” and in “bondage to decay” (Rom 8:20–21). This cosmological pessimism should not be interpreted dualistically, however, since it is “creation itself (αὐτὴ ἡ κτίσις)” (Rom 8:21) which will ultimately be liberated.89 Philo’s picture of the cosmos as Temple in the present, on the other hand, is more static. The cosmos as material reality in fact points beyond itself to the greater “house of God” that lies beyond the realm of sense-perception (Plant. 50). Although Philo can envision something of a redemption of creation in

Thompson comments in this regard: “The language of Greek ethical discourse is rare in the Pauline literature. Paul speaks explicitly of virtue only once (Phil 4:8) and never mentions the four cardinal virtues. Nor does he speak of the pursuit of the individual’s eudaimonia (human flourishing), one of the principal themes of Greek ethics. The undisputed letters do not contain the common term eusebeia (piety). Nor do such aristocratic ideals as kalokagathia (nobility), eleutheriotēs (freedom of spirit), megalophrosynē (greatness of mind), megalopsychia (greatness of soul, magnanimity), and megaloprepeia (magnificence) appear in Paul’s letters.” Moral Formation, 59. 88 Sandnes, The Challenge of Homer, 262. 89 See Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 108–17. 87

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which even the wild animals will be tamed (Praem. 85–92 cf. Isa 11:6–9),90 the fact that he does not envision death itself being overcome, means that the ultimate goal of life remains a disembodied existence in this immaterial house of God.91 Even those who partake in the great physical and material blessings promised in the future are ultimately “guided by a heavenward yearning (ποδηγετούμενον ὑπ’ ἔρωτος οὐρανίου)” (Praem. 84) and the “chief reward” for the individual remains to see “God through God, light through light” (Praem. 44–46), without the mediation of the material world. This is where Philo’s philosophy ultimately leads him. It was the Scriptures and his ties to the Jewish community, however, that kept bringing him back to the promises of corporate blessing in the physical and material realm.92 In relation to the political dimension, there are again interesting similarities and differences between Paul and Philo. While neither look to Jerusalem or the Temple as a source of political or teaching authority, the way they conceptualise authority differs at key points. For Paul the ἐκκλησία is a political body whose boundaries must be guarded (1 Cor 5–6) and whose founding charter places it in tension with any forces that operate according to the “wisdom of this age” (1 Cor 2:8; 3:10–11). The authority in this community is the public message of the crucified Christ that overturns the wisdom and values of “the world” (1 Cor 1:18–25). Furthermore, the authority of “the gospel” is interpreted by the community itself who by God’s Spirit is empowered to understand life from the vantage point of this message (1 Cor 2:6–16). As a result, the community is empowered to make appropriate judgements regarding behaviour that is consistent with the message (1 Cor 5:3–5; 6:1–5; 10:15; 11:13). I noted how Paul exhibits characteristics of what Max Weber defined as “charismatic authority” (1 Cor 2:4; 4:3–4), but that he specifically applied these characteristics to every Spirit-filled believer (1 Cor 2:15–16) and attributed the Spirit’s presence to the community as a whole (1 Cor 3:16). That he regarded the community itself as a significant centre of authority is also evidenced, as I noted above, by the fact that he subordinates any leader to the community as a whole (1 Cor 3:21–23) and by his general confidence in the 90 Philo writes: “When that time comes I believe that bears and lions and panthers and the Indian animals, elephants and tigers, and all others whose vigour and power are invincible, will change their life of solitariness and isolation for one of companionship, and gradually in imitation of the gregarious creatures show themselves tame when brought face to face with mankind” (Praem. 89). 91 Commenting on Philo’s frequent appropriation of the Platonic motif of the heavenly ascent, Anderson comments: “For Philo the highest telos of human existence is to see God and become like him.” Views of the Physical World, 155. Since God himself is immaterial, this assimilation necessarily involves a stripping away of material reality. 92 Drawing particular attention to the social dimension, Barclay also comments that, “it was precisely the pull of such community loyalty which kept Philo from spinning into philosophical abstraction.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 163.

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community’s ability to mutually instruct one another (1 Cor 12:4–11; Rom 15:13–14; 1 Thess 5:14–22). For Philo, as I noted in the previous section, it was Torah that functioned as the final authority in the community. The authority of Torah was typically interpreted by the local synagogue elders, as attested by his various descriptions of synagogue instruction (Spec. 2.62; Prob. 82; Contemp. 31). I noted how once, in an apologetic context, Philo also held up the ideal that the people mutually instruct one another (Hypoth. 7.14), but that this competence was not linked to any spiritual endowment. I also noted that Philo held to a type of “charismatic authority” in which legitimate rule was tied to endowment with the divine spirit and wisdom. This was evident in his accounts of at least Adam (Opif. 144–148), Abraham (Virt. 217), and Moses (Mos. 2.187) and in the way he insisted that the seventy elders who ruled with Moses could not truly have been designated “elders” without possession of the spirit (Gig. 24). This was further evident in the way he attributed his own teaching authority and insights into the Bible to divine empowering (Spec. 3.1–6; Cher. 27; Somn. 2.252). Finally, his commendation of groups of Jewish vigilantes who might execute judgement on flagrant transgression of Torah without any due legal process (Spec. 1.54–57; 1.315–318; 2.252–254) also suggested this perspective. In terms of comparing Paul and Philo in this area, I begin by noting an important point of contact within the Jewish mystical tradition.93 Drawing on the work of H.-C. Meier, Volker Rabens argues in this regard that both Paul and Philo share “a form of religiosity which has the immediate experience of divine reality as its center. This experience, which transcends everyday consciousness and cognition based on reason, is at the same time the experience of an intimate closeness to the divine reality.”94 In particular, Rabens examines close conceptual parallels between 2 Cor 3:18 and Migr. 34–37, Legat. 4–5, and QE 2.7 and concludes that: “in both authors we find the thematic connection of the work 93 Although scholarly interest in “mysticism” as a category for studying both Paul and Philo has waxed and waned over the years, there appears to be a renewed interest in this area today. In a 2004 essay comparing Paul and Philo’s accounts of their heavenly ascents in 2 Cor 12:2–4 and Spec. 3:1–6 respectively, Bernhard Heininger could begin by asserting: “Mystik ist wieder en vogue.” “Paulus und Philo als Mystiker? Himmelreisen im Vergleich (2Kor 12,2–4; SpecLeg III 1–6),” 189. In relation to Paul, see classically Albert Schweitzer, The Mysticism of St. Paul (London: A. & C. Black, 1931). These themes have been raised again more recently by Alan F. Segal, Paul the Convert: The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990). The seminal discussion of Philo’s mysticism is Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism. This has now been nuanced and restated by Christian Noack, Gottesbewusstsein: Exegetische Studien zur Soteriologie und Mystik bei Philo von Alexandria (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). For further reference to studies on both Paul and Philo’s Jewish “mysticism,” see Rabens, “Pneuma and the Beholding of God,” 294. 94 Rabens, “Pneuma and the Beholding of God,” 293.

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of the Spirit as enabling an intimate, mystical beholding of God that leads to a transformed, virtuous life.”95 Both Paul and Philo in this sense see the Spirit as the one that empowers the reception of otherwise inaccessible insight into spiritual reality (1 Cor 2:12–15; Leg. 1.37–38). Furthermore, both Paul and Philo can divide humanity into those who possess the Spirit and those who do not 96 and both in some ways link possession of the Spirit to adoption and filial intimacy with God.97 Of particular interest for my study is that both Paul and Philo link possession of the Spirit to wisdom and to legitimate rule that is expressed especially through speech. Paul sees his own authority in the Corinthian community as closely tied to his endowment with the Spirit (1 Cor 2:1–5 cf. 1 Cor 3:10; 4:20– 21) and this authority is largely mediated through speech (1 Cor 2:4, 13; 4:21– 22 cf. 2 Cor 10:10–11). Philo likewise, especially in his account of Abraham as “king” among the people, notes how the divine spirit “invested his body with singular beauty, his voice with persuasiveness (τοῖς δὲ λόγοις πειθώ), and his hearers with understanding” (Virt. 217). Levison explains the link between speech and rule in this context, highlighting that “the goal of rhetorical skill during the Greco-Roman period was the ability to rule properly, and to this end rhetoric was a central component in the education of Rome’s leading citizens.”98 This context explains the lengths Paul goes to in addressing the issues of “wisdom (σοφία)” and “speech (λόγοις)” in Corinth (1 Cor 2:1–16). He was not merely addressing appropriate “preaching,” but especially questions of legitimate rule in the community. 99 In particular, his claim to Spirit-given knowledge was also a claim to authority. The same was true of Philo, who Rabens, 326. See, e.g., Paul’s distinction between living according to the “flesh” or “Spirit” and his insistence that “Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him” (Rom 8:9). See Philo’s affirmation that: “So we have two kinds of men, one that of those who live by reason, the divine inbreathing (θείῳ πνεύματι), the other of those who live by blood and the pleasure of the flesh” (Her. 57). 97 For further links and parallels between Paul and Philo’s retelling of the Abraham story, see Rabens, “Pneuma and the Beholding of God,” 296–97. 98 Levison, “Inspiration,” 314. Seneca comments, e.g., “It becomes a guardian of the law, the ruler of the state, to heal human nature by the use of words, and these of the milder sort, as long as he can, to the end that he may persuade a man to do what he ought to do, and win over his heart to a desire for the honourable and the just, and implant in his mind hatred of vice and esteem of virtue” (Ira. 1.6). On rhetoric and rhetorical education in the early Empire, see George A. Kennedy, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World: 300 B.C.–A.D. 300 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 301–486. 99 So also Alexandra Brown, who recognises speech as an important form of power. She argues that “in 1 Corinthians 1–2 Paul strives through preaching the cross to dislocate common worldly conventions, including conventions about power.” The Cross & Human Transformation, 153. 95 96

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seemed to be legitimating his own authority when he recounted his philosophical ascent into the heavens to receive “the light of wisdom” (Spec. 3.1–5) and his subsequent descent to “unfold and reveal what is not known to the multitude” (Spec. 3.6). I noted in my second chapter that when Paul spoke of the spiritual person’s ability to interpret divine things (1 Cor 2:13), he was probably alluding to the ability of Joseph or Daniel to interpret divine visions and was in some ways imbuing the spiritual person with the same royal authority. Levison has interestingly also noted how Philo recounts his own spiritual insights into the biblical text (Somn. 2.252; Cher. 27) in terms similar to his account of the Joseph story in Ios. 107–116.100 There is therefore considerable common ground in terms of Paul and Philo’s understanding of the Spirit’s role in imparting knowledge, empowering speech, and legitimating rule. Where Paul and Philo differ is firstly that for Philo the divine spirit empowers someone like Abraham to fulfil the ideal of the Graeco-Roman ruler, whereas for Paul the Spirit enables a person to subvert that ideal.101 Paul stresses, for example, that he came to the Corinthians in “weakness” and “without plausible words of wisdom (οὐκ ἐν πειθοῖς σοφίας λόγοις)” (1 Cor 2:3–4). While Philo saw the wisdom embedded in Torah as aligned with but surpassing the wisdom of the Greeks, Paul sharply contrasted divine wisdom with that of the Greeks (1 Cor 1:20; 2:6).102 What made the difference for Paul was undoubtedly the “foolishness” of the crucified Christ that overturned so many Graeco-Roman values, including the ideal of the healthy bodied and eloquent orator as ruler (1 Cor 1:22–24).103

Levison, “Inspiration,” 304. This is not to deny that Philo elsewhere rejects sophistic rhetoric particularly (Contempl. 31; Det. 32–38; Congr. 67; Mos. 2.212) or to affirm that Paul rejects all rhetoric tout court. On Philo’s response to sophism generally, see Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists, 60–112. On Paul’s assessment of rhetoric, see Mihaila, The Paul-Apollos Relationship, 119–45. For further similarities and differences between Paul and Philo in this regard, see Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists, 231–44. 102 Barclay sees this as something of the puzzle of Paul in that, “Despite years of association with Gentiles, Paul’s letters show little acculturation in the core of his theology, and he rarely attempts to effect any cultural synthesis with the Graeco-Roman world he sought to evangelize . . . Instead, we find in Paul a strongly antagonistic cultural stance, combined with a radical redefinition of traditional Jewish categories.” Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 387–88. 103 Barclay notes a similar subversive dynamic when comparing Paul and Philo’s perspectives on grace: “For Paul, grace is revealed and enacted in the Christ-event, and thus an eschatological event of new creation. It is this sense of novelty which give his theology its greater subversive dynamic, its capacity to destabilize narratives of nature, tradition and progress.” “‘By the Grace of God I Am What I Am,’” 157 (emphasis original). 100 101

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While both Paul and Philo in characteristic Jewish fashion decried all forms of boasting (1 Cor 1:26–31; Spec. 1.311–312; Det. 136–137)104 and while both emphasised the importance of leaders being (priestly) servants (1 Cor 3:5; 4:1; QE 2.105), Paul’s convictions about the crucified Christ as ruler seem to have made him warier of Graeco-Roman ideals. Clarke has noted, for example, Paul’s “apparent avoidance of or reluctance to use the commonly available leadership terminology.”105 Philo, on the other hand, seems more at home with the positive use of terminology such as ἄρχων and ἡγούμενος, both at the allegorical level of the soul ruling over the body 106 and the literal level of community leadership.107 Furthermore, as James Harrison has recently demonstrated, Paul’s discourse of imitation is in many ways subversive of the Graeco-Roman ideal of imitating the “Great Man.”108 Where Paul and Philo differ secondly is that Philo tended to see spiritual empowerment more exclusively and individualistically. While he could commend a kind of charismatic group action (Spec. 1.54–57), he was more typically concerned with the individual spirit-empowered leader (Virt. 217; Mos. 2.187). When he describes his own spiritual experiences, he does not affirm that others might share a similar experience (Spec. 3:1–6; Migr. 34–37). When he describes the gatherings of the ideal community of the Therapeutae, he can note how “universal applause arises” after the learned discourse of the “president (πρόεδρος)” of the assembly (Contempl. 80), but we do not often get the sense of the whole community having insight or being empowered to teach one another. The president teaches those “not so clear-sighted (τοῖς εἰ καὶ μὴ ὁμοίως ὀξυδορκοῦσι)” (Contempl. 75) and divine insight is often limited to the few (Abr. 146; Spec. 3.6). 104 On the similarities and differences between Paul and Philo’s appropriation of the denunciation of boasting in Jeremiah 9:22–23, see Arkady Kovelman, “Jeremiah 9:22–23 in Philo and Paul,” Review of Rabbinic Judaism 10 (2007): 162–75. Kovelman concludes: “the two thinkers use a strikingly similar discourse structure, blending axiology, psychology, and epistemology. The axiology includes the rejection of ‘external’ and ‘carnal’ goods in favor of ‘understanding’ and ‘knowledge of God,’ while the psychology and epistemology explain the character of ‘knowledge’ and the way to ‘understand and know’. Jeremiah 9:22–23 must have been a common subject for Hellenistic Jewish exegesis.” “Jeremiah 9:22–23 in Philo and Paul,” 175. 105 Clarke, A Pauline Theology of Church Leadership, 1–2. Clarke notes particularly the striking lack of terms like ἄρχων and ἡγούμενος which were commonly used to describe leadership roles in the LXX. 106 See, e.g., Opif. 69; Det. 23, 25, 134, 141; Agr. 31, 41; Virt. 205. 107 See, e.g. Mos. 2.215; Prob. 30; Leg. 3.88. Philo can describe Sabbath gatherings in terms of “the ruler (ήγεμόνος) expounding and instructing the people” (Mos. 2.215). 108 Having surveyed ancient mimetic discourse, Harrison concludes that Paul “was urging his urban believers to imitate the crucified Christ over against the much fêted ‘great men’ of the first-century world, each with his own network of hierarchically based patronage.” “The Imitation of the ‘Great Man’ in Antiquity,” 218.

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Paul’s repeated and emphatic first person plurals suggest a more communal picture: “these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit (ἡμῖν δὲ ἀπεκάλυψεν ὁ θεὸς διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος)” (1 Cor 2:10), “now we have received (ἡμεῖς δὲ . . . ἐλάβομεν)” (1 Cor 2:12), “and we speak of these things (ἃ καὶ λαλοῦμεν)” (1 Cor 2:13), “but we have the mind of Christ (ἡμεῖς δὲ νοῦν Χριστοῦ ἔχομεν)” (1 Cor 2:16). This communal vision is exemplified in Paul’s designation of the community as Temple (1 Cor 3:16) and the subordination of leaders to the community as a whole (1 Cor 3:21–23). Furthermore, for Paul the experience of spiritual illumination is in principle open to all and he assumes that the community shares this experience, even if they might not always act consistently with it (1 Cor 3:1–4).109 Where Paul and Philo differ thirdly is in their perspectives on the Spirit’s relation to history. Philo regularly reflects on the Spirit as original gift to humanity when God “breathed into” Adam the breath of life (Gen 2:7) (Opif. 148; Leg. 1.31; 3.161; Det. 80; Plant. 19; Her. 56; Somn. 1.35), but he never reflects on the prophetic and eschatological promises of the Spirit (e.g., Ezek 36:22– 38; Joel 2:28–29; Isa 59:20–21). Paul, on the other hand, only once reflects on the original gift (1 Cor 15:45), but frequently alludes to and presupposes the outpouring of the eschatological Spirit (Rom 5:5; 8:2; Gal 3:14; 4:4–6). We see again here Philo’s generally static vision of history in which there is little distinction between creation and salvation.110 For Paul, on the other hand, “the holy spirit . . . ties believers to the drama of God’s promises, once anticipated and now fulfilled.”111 It is here also where Paul and Philo’s “mysticism” diverges. Both are “mystics” in the sense of claiming extraordinary experiences of transcendent reality (2 Cor 12:2–4; Spec. 3:1–6) and asserting the necessity of divine empowerment for a true apprehension of spiritual reality (1 Cor 2:14; 12:3; Leg. 1.37–38), but Paul’s mysticism is deeply shaped by the Christ event that divides history into two ages. The Spirit is for Paul emphatically the Spirit of Christ (Rom 8:9) rather than the Spirit that endowed humanity with rationality in the beginning. It is in this regard that Paul’s outlook is often classified as “apocalyptic,” although here definitional clarity is also important. Drawing on John J. Collins’ well-known definition of the apocalyptic genre, Ben Blackwell et al. have So also Christopher Rowland: “In contrast with the exclusive character of the heavenly ascent texts, Paul offers a mystery which is open and accessible to all even if it is still hidden in its significance from many because of their darkened minds, until the revelation of all things in the future (1 Cor 2:6; 1:18).” The Mystery of God: Early Jewish Mysticism and the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 144. 110 Noticing Philo’s general lack of distinction between common grace given in creation and special grace given to those who seek virtue, Barclay also comments that for Philo “creation and salvation are not clearly distinguishable categories.” Barclay, “‘By the Grace of God I Am What I Am,’” 143. 111 Levison, Filled with the Spirit, 259. 109

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identified three key axes along which to explore Paul’s apocalyptic theology. These include the temporal axis (eschatological salvation), the spatial axis (the intersection of the heavenly and earthly realms), and the epistemological axis (the impact of God’s revelatory activity on Paul’s epistemology). 112 If one were to define “apocalyptic” along only the spatial or epistemological axes, with an attendant emphasis on its character as the revelation of divine mysteries, then one could quite plausibly place Philo in this category. 113 The fact that it is often asserted that Philo was not an “apocalyptic” thinker, 114 highlights that many regard the temporal axis to be critical to the definition. Moreover, I get the sense that many include an implicit political dimension in their definition that incorporates particular attitudes towards the dominant powers. One must ask, for example, why scholars are hesitant to classify Philo’s outlook as “apocalyptic,” when he quite clearly envisioned a future in which, “Everything will suddenly be reversed, God will turn the curses against the enemies of these penitents” (Praem. 169). Is this not Philo thinking along the temporal axis? In what ways is this perspective different to Paul who speaks of “the rulers of this age, who are doomed to perish” (1 Cor 2:6)? The beginning of an answer is that texts like De praemiis et poenis are atypical and that Philo typically depoliticises and individualises such themes. I would further highlight how, even in De praemiis et poenis, Philo does not single out rulers in his eschatological reversal, nor does he envision their complete destruction, but leaves their future open-ended. 112 Ben C. Blackwell, John K. Goodrich, and Jason Maston, “Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction,” in Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016), 3–22. 113 Barclay notes this as the first common sense in which the word is frequently used. Referring back to a 2014 SBL meeting on the subject, he comments: “At the SBL session which inaugurated this volume, I sensed the term ‘apocalyptic’ being used in at least six ways: i) for the revelation of mysteries; ii) for a strong sense of newness (compatible with ‘new covenant’), perhaps accompanied by shock or surprise; iii) for eschatology of a particular kind; iv) for the expectation of an imminent end; v) for an epistemological stance, whereby truth is ascertained, first and foremost, through the Christ-event; vi) for a threeactor drama (involving God, humanity, and evil forces), in which God saves by invading the world.” “Apocalyptic Allegiance and Disinvestment in the World: A Reading of 1 Corinthians 7:25–35,” in Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016), 257. 114 Termini, e.g., comments, “One does not yet find in Philo that tragic outlook on the present that is typical of the apocalyptic literature written around the juncture of the first and second centuries CE.” “Philo’s Thought,” 110. Likewise, Grabbe comments on De praemiis et poenis, “Philo’s interpretation is a long way from the apocalyptic one.” “Eschatology,” 173. Schaller, who recognised something of a real hope of corporate restoration in Praem. 153–171, nevertheless commented in this regard, “Daß er darüber kein Apokalyptiker geworden ist, überrascht nicht, sondern versteht sich angesichts seiner Bildung und Lebensumstände von selbst.” “Das Land Israel,” 26.

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This perspective can be seen, for example, when Philo speaks of the former “masters (δεσπόταις)” of the Jews setting them free without any reference to the masters receiving their due reward or to the Jews now ruling over them (Praem. 164). These former masters will simply be “ashamed to rule over men better than themselves” (Praem. 164). The picture Philo ends with is in fact not of rulers particularly but of envious “enemies who have mocked at their lamentations . . . in general made the unhappiness of others their own happiness” (Praem. 171). Moreover, as the people of God begin again to flourish, these general enemies seem again to be put to shame rather than destroyed (Praem. 170–172). It is therefore especially Paul’s emphasis on final demise of the “rulers of this age” (1 Cor 2:6) and the future rule of the saints who will “judge the world” (1 Cor 6:2) that sets him apart from Philo. While Philo is happy to characterise the wise as true rulers on the spiritual plane (Plant. 67–69; Mut. 152–153; Somn. 2.244), he does not envision the Jews of his local synagogue literally ruling over the cultured elites of the Empire – not even when that great turning point in Israel’s fortunes is realised. For Paul, however, the humiliated Jesus who was vindicated by his resurrection as the “Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8), makes such a scenario not only plausible but certain. It seems, in other words, that it is often the intensity of the classic Jewish motif of reversal that leads scholars to classify one perspective as “apocalyptic” and another not. 115 Here it would seem wise to acknowledge, however, that these perspectives exist on a spectrum. The above observations would also suggest again that Philo’s perspective on Roman rule was generally more quiescent than Paul’s. This leaves us finally with the puzzle of why, if this is the case, we never find an injunction toward civic obedience like Rom 13:1–7 in Philo. Here the most plausible answer is probably that it was simply not necessary for Philo to emphasise this in his particular context. When Philo does touch on this area, he is at pains to represent Jews as generally peaceable and law-abiding citizens (Flacc. 48, 94; Legat. 161, 230, 312). Despite the apologetic nature of these texts, there is little reason to doubt that this was the ideal Philo himself held to. Philo also highlights how such loyalty was expressed through sacrifices offered at the Temple on behalf of the emperors (Legat. 232, 356). As a loyal Jew, however, he shudders at Gaius’ complaint that the sacrifices were merely offered for him and not to him (Legat. 357). This would have been one step too far. But, while he was clearly opposed to such worship of any human being, he was quite happy to describe Augustus as “our saviour and benefactor (ὁ σωτὴρ καὶ εὐεργέτης)”

115

On this motif, see esp. Malcolm, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reversal, 7–26.

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(Flacc. 74) and to ascribe the peace, stability and order of the world to his beneficent rule (Legat. 145–147).116 While Paul also called believers to honour the emperor (Rom 13:1–7), it is hard to imagine him, even in an apologetic context, ascribing the title of “Saviour” to Caesar. Such a title would belong exclusively to Jesus Christ who alone would bring about the glorious transformation of the world that had been promised by imperial rhetoric but never realised (Phil 3:20–21). While the Roman rulers ideally played the role of “God’s servant (θεοῦ διάκονός)” (Rom 13:4), they were also the ones who “crucified the Lord of glory (τὸν κύριον τῆς δόξης ἐσταύρωσαν)” (1 Cor 2:8). In this regard, Wright points out how Paul’s injunction to civic obedience is rooted in the Jewish wisdom tradition generally, concluding that: The Jewish story which Paul assumed as basic thus carried with it both the injunction to patience and civic virtue in the present and the hope for a very different future in which the present rulers would be called to account – and would be replaced with God’s own people.117

On the whole, therefore, and in spite of his acknowledgement of the limited “good (τὸ ἀγαθόν)” that the authorities may fulfil,118 it would seem that Paul’s theology presented a deeper challenge to the legitimacy of the dominant powers than Philo’s. Philo was largely happy to maintain the status quo and his static image of the cosmos already constituting a Temple in the present tended to reinforce this. Paul tended to push against the status quo and his image of the community as Temple which was constantly growing and being built up by an alternative “wisdom” was decidedly more dynamic and indeed political.

E. Conclusion E. Conclusion

As Diaspora Jews with a deep love of the Scriptures, neither Paul nor Philo could ignore the significant symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple in their theologising. Both, however, transformed these traditional symbols in significant ways. While remaining committed to the Jewish people and way of life,

Philo writes of him: “This is the Caesar who calmed the torrential storms on every side, who healed the pestilences common to Greeks and barbarians . . . This is he who not only loosed but broke the chains which had shackled and pressed so hard on the habitable world. This is he who exterminated wars both of the open kind and the covert which are brought about by the raids of brigands . . . This is he who reclaimed every state to liberty, who led disorder into order and brought gentle manners and harmony to all unsociable and brutish nations” (Legat. 145–147). 117 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1279 (emphasis original). 118 On the possible bounds of this “good” (Rom 13:4), see Bertschmann, Bowing before Christ, 126–70. 116

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especially as represented by Jerusalem and the Temple, Philo tended to interpret these symbols as pointers to a spiritual reality in a manner that would be understandable to his Hellenistic audience. Paul interpreted these through the lens of Christ and in light of an inaugurated eschatology which reconfigured sacred space and time. The Land for Paul was always intended to signify the world. In the present time it stimulated his mission to claim new lands for Christ and in the future it would be the “inheritance” of all of the Lord’s people. The Land for Philo signified the ultimate spiritual homeland towards which all virtuous souls were heading. Even in the present, however, those who already enjoyed God as their “inheritance” could rightly be regarded as the world’s true rulers on the spiritual plane. Thus, both link the symbol of Land to the theme of rule in a typically Jewish fashion, but Paul retained a more earthly emphasis. Both also saw the path into this “inheritance” as essentially non-violent. Jerusalem was for Paul an ambivalent symbol which functioned both as the centre from which his mission emanated (Rom 15:19) and a place which had no ultimate theological or spiritual authority over him (Gal 2:1–10). Paul was also critical of Jerusalem as a centre of political authority for the Christ movement and insisted that, just as believers belong to the “Jerusalem above” (Gal 4:26), true authority is from “above” and embedded in “the gospel.” Nevertheless, Jerusalem still functioned as an important unifying centre for the early Christ movement and Paul went to great lengths in his Jerusalem Collection to seek to maintain this political unity. For Philo, Jerusalem was also an ambivalent symbol, being both a unifying centre of identity for all Jews everywhere, and symbolising the order of the cosmos and of the individual human soul. Furthermore, Jerusalem did not function for Philo as a centre of spiritual or political authority. This lack of authority in both Paul and Philo probably reflects the realities of the Diaspora in which it would be difficult to exercise such authority or impose any sanctions far away from the centre of power. Where Paul differs is the explicit theological basis he gives for the relative independence of the local community. Although Paul never denigrates the Jerusalem Temple, it was the community of Christ as Temple that was at the centre of his vision. This community is founded on the message of the crucified Christ and constituted by the presence of the eschatological Spirit (1 Cor 3:5–16). Moreover, this community is a type of “pilot plant” in advance of the kingdom of God when it would one day rule and judge the world with Christ (1 Cor 3:21–23; 6:2; 15:25–58). As indwelt by the Spirit of wisdom, this community has considerable authority to evaluate any work within it by the measure of the public message of the crucified Christ. Finally, this community is founded on a wisdom fundamentally opposed to “the wisdom of this age” (1 Cor 2:6), which Paul equated with the imperial wisdom that “crucified the Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8).

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Philo, on the other hand, had a fundamentally positive regard for the Jerusalem Temple and remained committed to it as a unifying symbol for all Jews everywhere. He also taught, however, that the cosmos itself and the soul of the wise could be regarded as a Temple. In this regard his metaphoric use of the Temple image was both more static and individualistic than Paul’s growing Temple community. Furthermore, both looked to the local community as the source of authority in interpreting Torah and “the gospel” respectively, but Philo’s “charismatic authority” tended to focus more on individuals while Paul’s tended to focus more on the community. I have thus discovered elements of both continuity and discontinuity in Paul and Philo’s perspective on the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. Neither spend much time focussing on these concrete realia and as such appear to have held out little hope for a politically autonomous Israel centred around Jerusalem. Paul’s more highly politicised appropriation of the symbol of Jerusalem and the Temple are due to the fact that he was challenging the traditional boundaries of “the people of God” to a far greater degree than Philo. In terms of ongoing commitment to the concrete realia, especially the Temple and its rites, it seems that Philo was more committed. Both, however, spent considerable time exploring the symbolic significance of these central markers of Jewish identity. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that these symbols frequently arise as significant themes in the Scriptures and in Jewish practice generally. Most of the continuity in their perspectives, such as the belief in the final sovereignty of the people of God, can be attributed to their common reading of the Scriptures and their common Diaspora Jewish context. The discontinuity, on the other hand, seems to have come mostly from their varying degrees of acculturation to their Hellenistic environment and significantly in Paul’s conviction that the eschaton had arrived in Christ. Furthermore, their social location may well also have played some role, especially in relation to the political dimension. Philo’s more privileged position would tend towards him accepting a more static perspective on social structures that is more accommodating of the status quo. Paul’s more marginal position and especially his perspective on a marginal Christ would tend towards a greater longing for social change. This longing is evident across Paul’s letters and perhaps most poignantly expressed in his longing for the people of God to enjoy the “inheritance” of the universalised Land, for the “Jerusalem above” to be manifest, and for the Temple community to take its place in the consummated kingdom of God.

Chapter 5

Conclusion I set out in this study to critically compare Paul and Philo’s appropriation of the significant Jewish symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. I did so with special reference to their political significance so as to explore aspects of their respective political theologies latent in their use of these symbols. I began by pointing out that both Paul and Philo have historically been interpreted as “spiritualising” these symbols and that their perspectives have thus often been regarded as substantially similar. As David Runia points out, this is evidenced by the fact that Philo was for many centuries regarded as a Church father honoris causa.1 In some ways this is understandable when both are read through a predominantly Greek philosophical lens. When Paul speaks of believers belonging to the “Jerusalem above” (Gal 4:26), it is in some ways natural to think that he would join in Philo’s admonition: “do not seek for the city of the Existent among the regions of the earth, since it is not wrought of wood or stone” (Somn. 2.250). A deeper look, however, reveals that substantial differences also existed. In order to explore elements of both continuity and discontinuity in their theologising, I chose to focus on a broadly “socio-literary” approach. That is to say, I chose to focus on Paul and Philo’s texts in which these symbols arose and to place these within their relevant socio-historical contexts. I furthermore chose to consider the symbols of Land, Jerusalem, and Temple together due to their close conceptual link in most Second Temple literature and due to their political significance. In particular, I was interested in how their use of these symbols reveal the symbolic universes they inhabited and sought to communicate to their audiences. My focus was also particularly on the political dimension of these symbols, namely, how they were used to shape the understanding of power and authority of their respective audiences. In this regard, I was interested in how authority in the community itself was structured, how that community related to the broader “people of God,” and how that community negotiated its place within the Roman Empire. Along the way I have sought to engage with the relevant secondary sources and to situate this research within current biblical scholarship in this area. I highlight in closing a few core conclusions together with some reflection on tendencies in Paul and Philo’s political theology. 1

Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature: A Survey, 3–33.

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My first basic conclusion from this study is that neither Paul nor Philo spent significant time reflecting on the concrete realia of the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple. The Land as a place of God’s historic revelation and action does not feature significantly in either of their writings, nor does Jerusalem feature as a significant political centre. The Temple gets more attention, especially in Philo, but one gets the sense that this may largely be due to the imminent threat posed by Gaius’ attempt to erect his statue in it. One does not see in Paul or Philo, for example, a concern for the Temple’s purity or a critique of its high priestly leadership that we see in other Second Temple Jewish literature of the period. This lack of focus on these concrete realia I suggested was largely due to their Diaspora experience and the political realities with which they lived. Neither seemed particularly invested in the people of God gaining political autonomy and living independently as a nation centred around Jerusalem. Paul may have had such aspirations as a zealous Pharisee (Gal 1:13–14; Phil 3:6), but these were significantly transformed by his encounter with Christ. The event he now anticipated above all was the parousia of Christ (1 Thess 1:10; 4:16; Phil 3:20–21). Philo also seems to have made peace with his Diaspora situation, as long as historic Jewish rights were being upheld. His few eschatological reflections significantly do not centre around the Land or Jerusalem (Praem. 165). I also noted how both seemed to regard violent resistance to Rome as inappropriate or futile. While neither Paul nor Philo had a particular focus on Land, Jerusalem, and Temple as concrete realia, both offer substantial reflections on the significance of these as symbols. It is here also that they differed most substantially. When it comes to the Land, Paul’s language of “inheritance” embedded in his reading of the Abraham story (Rom 4; Gal 3–4), is most significant in determining his perspective. I agreed with many recent scholars that when Paul spoke of Abraham being promised that he would be “heir of the world” (Rom 4:13), that this was not merely reflecting a general or abstract spiritual blessing, but a concrete this-worldly possession of a universalised Land that his many descendants would enjoy. The Land was therefore expanded by Paul to be the eschatologically renewed world that the Messiah’s people would inherit (Rom 8:17–25). I also agreed with Mark Forman that this claim to future universal sovereignty would have stood as a challenge to Rome’s present claim to sovereignty. 2 Moreover, I suggested that Paul’s appropriation of this language was intended to invest the suffering believers with dignity and hope in light of this future. It is they who would finally be “conquerors” and would share in Christ’s glory (Rom 8:17–39). I reinforced this conclusion through my own reading of 1 Cor 1–4 in which I discerned the narrative of Israel’s restoration and in which Paul also significantly emphasised the universal rule of the Messiah’s people and explicitly set this against Roman claims of rule (1 Cor 2:6–9; 3:21–23; 6:1–2). 2

Forman, The Politics of Inheritance, 121–34.

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Furthermore, I proposed a tentative solution to the difficult problem of Paul’s “citation” in 1 Cor 2:9 by suggesting that it be seen as a composite quotation drawn from a Jewish tradition envisioning a restored Temple (Exod 15:17) and Paul’s deliberate reversal of the prophetic indictments of the people as having eyes but not seeing, ears but not hearing, and hearts but not understanding (Deut 29:4; Isa 6:9–10). For Philo, the Land was also a significant symbol, most frequently of the final spiritual homeland of wise souls (Plant. 69; Det. 62; Mos. 1.157). I also noted Philo’s frequent praise of the Levites who had no “inheritance” in terms of Land, but for whom God himself was their “inheritance” (Plant. 63). Philo was at pains to demonstrate that having God as an inheritance is vastly superior to having any earthly inheritance. Almost certainly echoing Roman self-understanding, he negatively assessed those who have “made themselves masters of all earth's regions” to be mere “ordinary citizens when compared with great kings who received God as their portion (κλήρον)” (Plant. 67–68). Thus, while both Paul and Philo sought to invest believers with dignity in the face of Rome’s all-conquering power, Philo emphasised their present superiority on the spiritual plane while Paul emphasised their future sovereignty on the earthly plane. I argued that this difference is best accounted for by Philo’s greater appropriation of Hellenistic thought patterns and Paul’s conviction about the resurrection of Jesus. While the symbol of the Land gave us insight into how Paul and Philo regarded their communities in relation to the political might of Rome, Jerusalem and the Temple provided further insight into how they conceptualised authority within the community and within the people of God itself. I pointed out that both Paul and Philo’s appropriation of Jerusalem demonstrate that they regarded it as a significant unifying symbol of the people of God. Paul was concerned to maintain ties with the Jerusalem church as is evidenced by his significant collection (Rom 15:25–29; 1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9). Philo reminded his audience of how all Jews everywhere looked to Jerusalem as their “mothercity (μητρόπολις)” (Legat. 281). I also pointed out, however, that neither looked to Jerusalem as a source of political or teaching authority and I saw this as representative of a broad Diaspora perspective. Paul was careful in Galatians especially to insist that his own authority was not dependent on Jerusalem (Gal 1:11–2:10) and Philo likewise nowhere expressed deference to Jerusalem’s authority to adjudicate in spiritual or practical matters. For Paul authority was from “above” and was embedded in “the gospel” (Gal 1:6–12). Furthermore, by connecting believers to “Jerusalem above” (Gal 4:26) and calling them to expel the Jerusalem based teachers (Gal 4:30), he called into question any centralised body that might govern the Christ movement. For Philo, on the other hand, authority was vested in the Torah which it seems was interpreted and applied by the leaders of the local synagogue communities. Paul’s more highly politicised appropriation of the

270

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symbol of Jerusalem is evidence of the fact that he was challenging the traditional boundaries of the community to a far more significant degree than Philo. In relation to the Temple, I argued that Philo was more committed to the literal institution than Paul (Migr. 92) and that this was poignantly expressed in his willingness to die for the sake of its sanctity (Legat. 192). While Paul never denigrated the literal Temple, I argued that it was the communities in Christ that were at the centre of his vision (1 Cor 3:16; 2 Cor 6:14–7:1). In particular, I discerned a narrative of Israel’s restoration in 1 Cor 1–4 and argued that Paul identified the community in Christ as the eschatological “Temple” to a greater degree than some limited metaphorical approaches might suggest. Furthermore, I explored how the community as “Temple” might also communicate the way Paul conceptualised authority and drew special attention to the rhetorical climax of his discourse in which he subordinated any leaders to the community as a whole (1 Cor 3:21–23). While Paul exhibited characteristics of Max Weber’s “charismatic authority” (1 Cor 4:3), I noted how he applied these characteristics to every believer (1 Cor 2:15) and that this created something of a dialectic between the authority of the one and the many. I further argued that the primary way in which Paul envisioned conflicts of authority being resolved would have been on the basis of who, by Spirit empowered speech, might best rationalise their position to the community on the basis of “the gospel” (1 Cor 2:1–5, 13–16; 4:19–21). I finally argued that Paul regarded authority in the community to derive largely from service to the community (1 Cor 4:1–2 cf. 1 Cor 16:15–18; 1 Thess 5:12–13) and noticed a relationship between the Spirit’s presence and the ability of the community to mutually instruct one another (1 Cor 12:4–11; Rom 15:13–14; 1 Thess 5:14–22). Philo’s symbolic appropriation of the Temple, on the other hand, tended to be more static and individualistic. Philo could refer to both the cosmos itself and the soul of the sage as God’s Temple (Somn. 1.215). While the former was in line with Stoic cosmopolitanism and was concerned with encouraging conduct that accorded with the universal law of nature, the latter was concerned with encouraging virtue in the individual soul. I also noted how Philo linked legitimate authority to possession of the Spirit (Virt. 217; Mos. 2.187; Gig. 24), but how there was little indication that this authority might be shared within the community. Thus, while both Paul and Philo envisioned their communities as interdependent but locally governed communities within the wider “people of God,” it was Paul’s emphasis on the authority and responsibility of each member that would especially have set his ἐκκλησίαι apart from Philo’s synagogues. Finally, Paul appropriated the symbol of the Temple in such a way that its growth was central to its identity, as evidenced by the predominance of “planting” and “building” metaphors (1 Cor 3:5–16). Philo’s image of the cosmos already constituting the “highest” and “truest” Temple, however, tended towards a more static perspective of history (Spec. 1.66).

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It is perhaps this area of their perspective on history that accounts for the most significant differences in their appropriation of these symbols. Paul had a strong sense of a cosmic story that had reached its climax with the in-breaking of the new age with the Messiah’s coming (Gal 1:4; 4:4–5). It is this that drove his theologising and led him to rethink sacred space and sacred time as it related to these symbols. Philo, on the other hand, appeared to be more concerned with eternal truths. Although he entertained some eschatological reflections and even envisioned some kind of physical restoration, I by and large agree with Ray Barraclough’s conclusion that Philo was not particularly interested in history and that “his static view of history undergirds his static political ideals.”3 There is little doubt that it was Philo’s greater acculturation to his Hellenistic environment, which tended to emphasise universals above the particulars of history, that primarily accounts for this feature. Moreover, Paul’s more marginal social position and his convictions about a marginalised but vindicated Christ also undoubtedly fuelled a greater longing for social change than we find in Philo. E.P. Sanders once commented that, “Hillel and Philo could probably have figured each other out, but Philo would not have changed his purity practices just because Hillel said so.”4 One of the questions of this study has been whether Philo and another Pharisee, Paul of Tarsus, might also “have figured each other out.” While this is probably an impossible question to finally answer, we can certainly say that their mutual commitment to the God of Israel and to the Scriptures would certainly have made for a lively discussion. I have tried to outline in these pages what such a discussion might have looked like in relation to the way they rethought the Land, Jerusalem, and Temple, but much more could of course be said. I had originally set out to do a comparative study of Paul and Philo’s political theology as a whole, but soon realised the scope of the project and thus settled on the present limitation. This present study has, however, highlighted many potential avenues for further research. Comparative studies of their perspectives on the Law, the ideal ruler and constitution, and further research on their perspectives on the ruling authorities immediately suggest themselves as interesting areas of inquiry.

3 4

Barraclough, “Philo’s Politics,” 551. Sanders, Judaism, 256.

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Werman, Cana. “God’s House: Temple or Universe.” Pages 309–20 in Philo und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen. Edited by Roland Deines and KarlWilhelm Niebuhr. WUNT 172. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. Westerholm, Stephen. “Paul’s Anthropological ‘Pessimism’ in Its Jewish Context.” Pages 71–98 in Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Environment. Edited by John M.G. Barclay and Simon Gathercole. London: T&T Clark, 2008. Wilckens, Ulrich. Weisheit und Torheit: Eine exegetische-religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu 1. Kor. 1 und 2. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1959. Wilk, Florian, and J. Ross Wagner, eds. Between Gospel and Election: Explorations in the Interpretation of Romans 9–11. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010. Wilken, Robert L. The Land Called Holy: Palestine in Christian History and Thought. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992. Williams, Demetrius K. “Paul’s Anti-Imperial ‘Discourse of the Cross’: The Cross and Power in 1 Corinthians 1–4.” SBLSP 39 (2000): 796–823. Williams, H.H. Drake. The Wisdom of the Wise: The Presence & Function of Scripture within 1 Cor. 1:18–3:23. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Williams, Sam K. “The Promise in Galatians: A Reading of Paul’s Reading of Scripture.” JBL 107 (1988): 709–20. Willitts, Joel. “Isa 54,1 in Gal 4,24b–27: Reading Genesis in Light of Isaiah.” ZNW 96 (2005): 188–210. Wink, Walter. Naming the Powers: The Language of Power in the New Testament. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984. Winston, David. Logos and Mystical Theology in Philo of Alexandria. Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1985. ———. “Philo’s Ethical Theory.” Pages 372–416 in ANRW II.21.1. Edited by Wolfgang Haase. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1984. Winter, Bruce W. “Civil Litigation in Secular Corinth and the Church: The Forensic Background to 1 Cor 6:1–8.” NTS 37 (1991): 559–72. ———. Philo and Paul among the Sophists. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. ———, ed. The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting. Vol. 1. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993. Witherington, Ben. Conflict & Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995. ———. Grace in Galatia: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Galatians. London: T&T Clark, 1998. ———, ed. History, Literature and Society in the Book of Acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Wolfson, Harry A. Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Rev. ed. 2 vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1962. Worthington, Jonathan. Creation in Paul and Philo. WUNT II 317. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Wright, Nicholas T. “Jerusalem in the New Testament.” Pages 53–77 in Jerusalem Past and Present in the Purposes of God. 2nd ed. Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994.

Bibliography

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———. “Mother Zion Rejoices: Psalm 87 as a Missing Link in Galatians 4.” Pages 225–39 in Cruciform Scripture: Cross, Participation, and Mission. Edited by Christopher W. Skinner, Nijay K. Gupta, Andy Johnson, and Drew J. Strait. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2021. ———. Paul and His Recent Interpreters: Some Contemporary Debates. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015. ———. Paul and the Faithfulness of God. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013. ———. “Romans.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary. Vol. 10. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002. ———. The New Testament and the People of God. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992. Yehoyada, Amir, and Maren R. Niehoff. “Philo Judaeus.” Pages 59–64 in Encyclopaedia Judaica. 2nd ed. Detroit: Macmillan, 2007. Yli-Karjanmaa, Sami. Reincarnation in Philo of Alexandria. Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015. Zetterholm, Magnus. Approaches to Paul: A Student’s Guide to Recent Scholarship. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2009. ———. The Formation of Christianity in Antioch: A Sociological Approach to the Separation between Judaism and Christianity. London: Routledge, 2003.

Index of References A. Hebrew Scriptures and Septuagint Genesis 2:7 2:19 3:1 4:1 9:20 12:2 12:3 14:17–24 15:5 15:18 15:18–21 16:13 22:17–18 22:17 23:6 24:1 26:17–25 28:14 40–41 41:38–39 44:33 Exodus 2:2 6:8 12:6 15:17 17:8-16 19:6 23:20–21 23:20 24:10 24:12 25:40 26:1–6

260 220 154 232 218 170 58 198 58 160 58 108 47 111 177 199 155 177 76 76 12 166 169 213 66–69, 77, 110, 175, 218, 269 176 208 166 68 110 247 110 111

27:21 28:17–20 31:1–5 32:1–15 32:32 33:11 34:24

197 110 220 73 12 168 111

Leviticus 17–26 23:10–14 25:23 25:31 26:12

244 172 167, 178, 215, 235 166 126, 192, 252

Numbers 15:34 24:7 25:1–18 35:6

76 179 221 216

Deuteronomy 6:6–9 7:7–8 10:9 10:16 11:24–25 12:10–14 17:7 27:15–30:20 28:21 29:2–4 29:4 30:4

74 63 175 71 58 145 144 179 72 71, 74, 77 73 162

2 Samuel 7:1–17

139, 205

298

Index of References

7:10–13

68

1 Kings 8:14–53

38

1 Chronicles 15:1–12 17:11 22:5–14

68 68 68

2 Chronicles 6:12–42 6:24

38 38

Psalms 2:8 8:6 14:7 33:12 43:3 LXX 45:5 LXX 48:2 53:6 79:9–10 LXX 86:5 LXX 87:1–7 94:11 137:5

57 247 86, 100–101 57 68 185, 243 83 101 68 113 110, 113 61 83

Proverbs 3:35

175

Isaiah 1:26 2:1–5 6:3 6:9–10 LXX 6:11–12 LXX 6:13 11:1 11:6–9 11:10 19:25 28:6 29:14 40:1–2 40:13 41:8–9 42:7

63, 105, 187 56, 100 72 67, 72, 77, 269 72 72 238 255 239 57 101 61 106 61 63 72

43:8 44:17–18 LXX 49:8 51:1–2 52:7 52:11 52:15 54:1 54:1–3 54:2 54:3 54:11–12 55:10 56:1–8 59:20 59:20–21 60:5 63:11–19 64:3 LXX 66:19–20

72 73 101 105, 113 101 101 65 41, 101, 104–107, 113 47 41, 111 111 66, 110 94 113 86 100, 260 94 71 61, 66, 71 95

Jeremiah 1:10 LXX 5:21–23 LXX 9:24 9:26 11:17 24:6 30–31 32:38 38:28 LXX

68, 127, 147, 248 67 61, 69, 71 71 68 70 110 126 68

Ezekiel 5:5 34:13 36:22–38 36:26–27 36:35–36 37:27 38–39 39:28–29 40–48 40:2 40:4 43:1–9

83 75 260 64 68 126 75 75 75–76 75 74–77 74

Daniel 4:5

76

299

Index of References 5:1–31 5:14

76 76

Joel 2:17 2:28–29

57 64, 260

Micah 4:1–3

56

7:22 12:1

80 247

B. New Testament Matthew 2:14

10

Mark 3:13–19 10:35–45

64 133

Acts 7:1–60 7:4–5 LXX 9:2 11:27–30 15:1–21 20:4 21:17–26 21:23–24 23:6 24:17 26:5

205 58 83, 194 89 89 92 251 92 124 92 124

Romans 1:1–5 1:8 1:18–25 3:11–12 3:20–26 3:21–26 3:25 4:10 4:13 4:13–25 4:13–21 4:17 4:18–24

12 230 244 101 230 101, 239 252 245 45–46, 53–57, 60, 147, 233, 235, 237 46, 49, 146 47 47 237

4:19–21 5:5 7:1–6 8:2 8:9 8:17–39 8:17–25 8:17 8:18 8:19–23 8:23 8:31–39 8:32 8:38 9–11 9:2 9:3 9:4 9:30–33 9:32–33 10:4 10:15 11:8 11:12 11:13–14 11:15 11:25–27 11:25 11:26–32 11:27 11:28–29 11:29

47 260 232 260 142, 257, 260 47, 64, 146, 268 4, 234, 236, 268, 127 56, 82, 237, 240, 245 64 254 53, 246 147 57 79 55, 94, 100 241 12, 83, 109, 116 2, 45, 117, 251 252 101 232 101 73 117, 147 94, 101 102 86, 99, 100 73, 94, 101, 101, 251 99 101 251 54

300

Index of References

11:31 12:1 12:8 13:4 13:1–7 14:5 14:14 15:1–13 15:8–13 15:12 15:13–14 15:14–32 15:15 15:16 15:17–24 15:19 15:20 15:24 15:25–29 15:26 15:27 15:28 15:31

101 252 30 263 23, 240, 262, 263 142 252 55 41 239 143, 249, 270 94 40 40, 92, 94, 251 233 94, 116, 241, 264 251 41 86, 269 92–93, 116, 252 96–96, 236 94 90, 93, 252

1 Corinthians 1:1–4:6 1:2 1:10–4:21 1:10–12 1:10 1:17 1:18–25 1:18 1:19 1:20 1:22–24 1:24 1:26–31 1:26 1:27 1:29 1:30 1:31 2:1–16 2:1–5 2:3–4 2:4

121 230 60, 126 132 60 64 255 63 61 258 120, 258 63, 63 61, 78, 259 81 63, 78 81 64 69, 71 257 78, 257, 270 258 139, 140, 255, 257

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

3:17 3:19 3:20 3:21–23

3:21

64, 76, 135, 139, 249, 255 78, 249, 268 59, 62–63, 69, 75, 77, 81, 83, 239, 260, 261, 262, 264 81 64, 67, 79, 237 239 69, 73, 81, 135, 255, 262, 263, 264 60–70, 73–81, 128, 269 257 67, 260 270 76, 258, 260 139, 260 255 136, 139, 142, 270 61, 260 260 25 259 35, 39, 118, 125, 126, 144, 147, 248, 249 264, 270 127 69 75, 130, 135, 254 255 40, 67, 69, 248, 249, 257 122, 138 2, 43, 64, 118 4, 9, 27–29, 63, 67, 69, 118, 122, 126, 127, 248, 252–255, 260, 270 64 61 61 60, 78, 80, 128, 132, 237, 248, 249, 254–255, 260, 264, 270 79, 134

301

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

148 136 249, 270 255 132, 139, 270 131, 137, 138 134, 137 148 79, 237 237 79 79 79 129 80 79, 140, 249, 270 257 69, 249 64 131, 255 252 125 144 255 80 237, 262 81 234 80, 237, 253 118, 121, 248 142, 145, 249 242 252 242 124 236 2, 118, 252 251 144 124 56 255 245 244 255 131 260 142, 249, 256, 270 254

15:1–58 15:1–11 15:3 15:12–58 15:15–16 15:24 15:25 15:28 15:45 15:50 16:1–4 16:15–16 16:15–18 2 Corinthians 1:20 1:22 3:1 3:18 6:2 6:14–7:1

50, 59, 64, 78, 79 12, 91, 91, 115 242 236 252 59, 145, 145, 234, 235 239 79 260 50, 241 86, 92, 269 133 30, 249, 270

6:16 7:2 8–9 8:4 8:13–14 9:10 9:13 10:8 10:10–11 11:5–6 11:13 11:24 11:26 12:2–4 12:17 13:10

59 53 89 256 101 118, 125, 126, 139, 248, 270 118, 252 98 86, 92, 94, 269 96 97, 116 94 96, 96 69, 127 140, 257 91 87 92, 233 92 256, 260 98 127

Galatians 1:4 1:6–12 1:8 1:11–2:10 1:12 1:13–14 1:15 1:17–18

271 269 134 269 115, 242 240, 268 69 102

302 2:1 2:1–10 2:11–21 2:11–14 2:12 2:14 2:15–16 2:16 3:1–4:7 3:1 3:2–5 3:6 3:7 3:8 3:10–18 3:13 3:14 3:16 3:17 3:22 3:23–29 3:24 3:26–29 3:28 3:29 4:1–7 4:1 4:3 4:4–5 4:8–11 4:12–20 4:17 4:18 4:21–5:1 4:21 4:24 4:25 4:26 4:27 4:28 4:29 4:30 5:1

Index of References 102 87, 89, 91, 115, 134, 264 114 90, 140, 90 114 115 230 115 51, 146 49 51 82 114 51 73 51 51, 55, 260 109 245 101 232 245 52 52, 232 55 52, 78 237 132, 139, 270 271 49 103 103 240 35, 41, 87, 101, 107, 114, 147, 232, 241, 242 109 106, 110 104, 241 4, 9, 10, 14, 66, 105, 110, 113, 246, 264, 267, 269 9, 41, 66, 108 82, 111, 246 148 42, 116, 241, 269 114

5:11 5:21 6:10 6:12 6:14–15 6:15 6:16 6:17

92 50, 52, 234 55 116, 148 50 116 230 49

Ephesians 6:1–3

53

Philippians 1:7 1:27 1:28 1:29 2:17 3:6 3:10 3:14 3:18–20 3:20–21

4:1 4:8

12 244 13 240 252 268 245 112 112 239, 246, 247, 263, 268 14, 99, 112, 113, 254 247 254

1 Thessalonians 1:10 2:1–20 2:13 2:16 4:17 5:12–13 5:14–22

99, 268 84 91 99 254 30, 133, 249, 270 143, 249, 256, 270

2 Thessalonians 1:7 2:2 2:4 2:8–10

99 99 118 99

Hebrews 8:5 12:22

110 110

3:20

303

Index of References

C. Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphical Literature Wisdom of Solomon 3:8 80 7:27 76 15:18 76 Sirach 4:11 17:4 38:28 44:21

80 74 74 47

1 Maccabees 10:71

76

3 Maccabees 1–7

195, 205

4 Maccabees 1–18

232

2 Baruch 4:2–6

110

1 Enoch 1:9 5:7 55:2 90:28–29

80 47 110 110

2 Enoch 55:2

110

4 Ezra 6:59 7:26 10:25–28

47 110 110

Letter of Aristeas 1–322 32–35 83–84

195 195 37

Jubilees 8:12 24:29 32:19

83 80 47

D. Dead Sea Scrolls 1QH (Hodayot) 4:26–27

80

1QS (Rule of The Community) 1–11 126

4Q174 (Florilegium) 1.1–10 205

E. Philo De Abrahamo 3–5 68 69–72 98 99 146

245 155, 160 160 172, 214, 218 233 259

147 272

152 177

De agricultura 28 31 41

234 259 259

304

Index of References

65 97

159 154

De cherubim 27 40 42 95–98 99–100 100 101–110 108–124 108 114 119–123 121 124–130

221, 256, 258 168 232 217 211 214 215, 250, 253 167–168 167, 235 235 161, 167 168, 191 168

De confusione linguarum 77–78 165, 186, 234 82 166 106 170 190 233 De congressu eruditionis gratia 1–120 215 35 215 67 258 De vita contemplativa 1–90 152 27 199 30–34 198 31 198, 258 75–80 259 De decalogo 96 96–100 101 164

195 198 229 166

Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat 23–25 259 32–38 258 62 234, 269 80 260 134 259 136–137 259

140 141

175 259

Quod Deus sit immutabilis 176 178, 222 De ebrietate 165 In Flaccum 46 48 50 74 76 94 121–124 170 191

199 85, 183–184, 234– 235 216, 262 240 200, 263 200 262 210 195 13, 195

De fuga et inventione 123 74 186 199 De gigantibus 12–15 23–25 24 53–54 61

235 199, 220 256, 270 221 170

Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 56 260 57 257 126–128 166 214 150 Hypothetica 6.5–7 6.10 7.11–14

164, 181 195 199, 250, 256

De Iosepho 28–31 38 107–116

171 17 258

305

Index of References Legum allegoriae I, II, III 1.31 260 1.37–38 257, 260 1.63 253 2.51–52 175 3.40 250 3.69 250 3.79–80 198 3.88 259 3.161 260 Legatio ad Gaium 4–5 5–6 8 117 145–147 156–158 157 161 189–190 192 193–196 200–203 201 203 210 213 214 216 225 230–232 244 254 278 281–285 281 288 291 294–297 295 299 305 309 312 313 315 330

256 166 240 195 263 198 183 262 164, 225 3, 12, 270 149, 226, 230 163–164 189 184 195 199 225 252 183 262 199 199 183, 196 230 183, 184, 242, 246, 269 183 240 197 184 183 184 240 246, 252, 262 183 183, 246 191

334 346 347 349–350 350 356–357 373

184 183 159 13 199 262 195

De migratione Abrahami 34–37 256, 259 59 170 92 252, 270 93 155, 156, 203, 205, 222 197 177 201 199 De vita Mosis I, II 1.7 1.65–84 1.149 1.150 1.155–159 1.157 1.158 1.162 1.189 1.217 1.290–291 2.4–5 2.24 2.27 2.31 2.37–40 2.40 2.41–43 2.43 2.43–44 2.44 2.51–52 2.52 2.71 2.73 2.131 2.135 2.142–143 2.187 2.209–216 2.212

195 170 214 171 168–169 170, 234, 269 155 245 199 176, 234 161, 178–181, 237 245 212 170 195 153 198 196 238 194, 237 231 232 171 159 183 196 174 221–222 220, 256, 259, 270 198 258

306 2.215

Index of References 259

De mutatione nominum 53 161 152–153 177, 245, 262 De opificio mundi 1–3 3 8 22 69 81 82 134 137 142–143 142 143 144–148 148 De plantatione 19 28–31 47–61 49 50 58 63 67–69 68 126

171 170, 232 150 150 174, 259 193 174 206 206, 250 193 170 170–173 220, 256 260 260 174 218 250 249, 254 175 175, 269 176, 178, 234, 237, 239, 262, 269 33 205

De posteritate Caini 58 174 92 231 De praemiis et poenis 1–2 153 2 180 11 229 28 199 43–46 224, 255 43–44 170 54 177, 181 56 196 79–172 178, 235

85–92 95–97 95 97–98 97 106 118 123 126 152 153–171 158 162–172 162 165 169–171 169 172

255 161, 179, 237 179, 194, 238 180–181 234 180 180 162 180 180 164, 261 180 237, 262 180 194, 238, 245, 268 239 261 181, 234, 238

Quod omnis probus liber sit 12 199 13 150 27 177 30 259 75 195 81–83 198 81 216 82 250, 256 De providentia I, II 1–2 225 2.64 149, 201 Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum I, II 1.10 206, 214 2.7 256 2.13 166 2.40 247 2.51 206 2.100 206 2.105 196–197, 250, 259 Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin I, II, III, IV 1.5 206 4.76 177

Index of References De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini 87 192, 253 De sobrietate 9 16 19 57 66 De somniis I, II 1.35 1.39 1.94 1.137–139 1.148 1.149 1.176 1.181 1.193 1.215 1.243 2.124 2.241–253 2.244 2.246–248 2.247 2.248 2.250 2.252 2.253 2.255 2.301

175 199 199 177 208 260 152, 156 232 235 252 206 177 165, 234 199 201, 211, 213, 249, 254, 270 170 226 16, 191, 192, 242 177, 245, 262 242 193 252 183, 243, 247, 267 221, 256, 258 192 160 232

De specialibus legibus I, II, III, IV 1.8 198 1.37–40 166 1.51 231 1.52 162 1.54–57 256, 259 1.55 221 1.66–298 201 1.66–67 209, 225 1.66 2, 201, 249, 270 1.67 203, 222, 227 1.68–69 193, 201 1.68 185, 214, 252 1.70–78 252

1.131 1.167–168 1.189 1.229 1.303 1.311–312 1.315–318 2.6 2.41–49 2.45 2.56–63 2.61–63 2.62 2.118 2.148 2.162–170

307

3.6 3.51 3.53 3.130 4.122 4.137 4.179 4.205 4.224

175 172, 218 172, 218 196 161 259 256 216 170 192 198 210–210, 215, 250 256 166 214, 250 161, 164, 172, 174, 225 203, 214, 218 234 195 226, 241 221 151, 156, 221, 229, 256–260 12 253 183 183, 216 250 74 195 164 195

De virtutibus 22–50 53–65 53–54 54 103–104 119–120 175 205 212 217 219 226

240 221 19 196 166 181, 193, 178 231 259 195 220, 256–259, 270 231 195

2.162 2.163–167 2.163 2.168 2.252–254 3.1–6

308

Index of References

F. Josephus Contra Apionem 1.212 2.193

226 117, 203

Antiquitates judaicae 3.89 199 3.222 199 14.172 199 16.30 199 17.161–162 8

18.257–260 18.289–301

156 190

Bellum judaicum 1.540 2.38 2.361 5.45–46 6.71–74 6.237

199 199 82 225 8 225

G. Patristic Sources Chrysostom Homiliae in epistulam i ad Corinthios 5 65 1 Clement 34:8

65

Gospel of Thomas 17 65 Irenaeus Adversus haereses

5.32.2 5.35.2

82, 246 246

Jerome Epistulae 70.3.3 150 De viris illustribus 11 175 Origen De principiis 3.6.4

65

H. Other Greek and Latin Sources Cicero De republica 6.26

174

Dio Chrysostom Borysthenitica (Or. 36) 24–27 182 Diogenes Laertius Lives 6.63 169 7.122 177

Plato Phaedo 67b–68b Politicus 276d–e Respublica 424a Timaeus 44a Pliny the Elder Naturalis historia 5.70

166 196 168 206

83

309

Index of References Seneca De ira 1.6

257

I. Rabbinic Sources Kelim 1:6–9

7

Tamid 3:1, 9

197

Yoma 2:3

197

Kettubot 4:9

194

t. Sanhedrin 2:5–6

194

y. Sanhedrin 1 2 18d

194 194 194

b. Sanhedrin 11a

194

Author Index Adams, Edward 46, 48 Amir, Yehoshua 154, 179 Anderson, Charles A. 150, 157, 167, 171, 174, 193, 255 Ascough, Richard S. 28, Ashcroft, Bill 188 Aune, David E. 91 Barclay, John M.G. 4, 6, 11, 22–23, 32, 92, 112, 152, 154–155, 222, 232– 233, 236, 244, 258, 260–261 Barnett, Paul 125, 137 Barraclough, Ray 19–20, 240 Barrett, Charles K. 42, 88–89, 104, 194 Bartholomew, Craig 58 Bauckham, Richard 90 Baur, Ferdinand C. 14, 30, 87–88, 96, 251 Beale, Greg K. 39, 61, 73, Bennema, Cornelis 90 Berger, Klaus 65 Berthelot, Katell 20, 172–173, 178, 181, Bertschmann, Dorothea H. 17, 22, 247, 263 Birnbaum, Ellen 14, 151, 153, 157–158, 170, 225, 231 Bitner, Brad J. 6, 39–43, 121–135, 144– 145, 248 Black, C. Clifton 32 Blackwell, Ben C. 260–261 Bloch, René 154, 170 Block, Daniel I. 74–75 Blumenfeld, Bruno 6 Bockmuehl, Markus N.A. 61, 64 Boesenberg, Dulcinea 198–199 Borgen, Peder 12, 150–151, 166, 172, 179, 216 Broadhead, Edwin K. 91 Brouwer, René 177

Brown, Alexandra R. 62, 139, 257 Bruce, Frederick F. 35, 84–87, 99, 108, 241 Brueggemann, Walter 44, 46, 82 Bruno, Christopher R. 100 Burge, Gary M. 38–39 Calvin, John 9–10 Campbell, William S. 15, 54, 231 Carlier, Caroline 244 Carson, Donald A. 61, 99 Carter, Timothy L. 6 Castelli, Elizabeth A. 26, 128–129 Chadwick, Henry 11, 290 Charles, Ronald 10, 112 Charlesworth, James H. 65 Chin, Tamara T. 169 Chow, John K. 77 Ciampa, Roy E. 60–61, 126 Cirafesi, Wally V. 208 Clarke, Andrew D. 26, 30–32, 77, 129, 259 Cohen, Naomi G. 253 Cohn, Leopold 157 Collins, Adela Y. 110 Collins, John J. 179, 208, 260 Collins, Raymond F. 67, 75, 78, 80 Conway, Colleen 27 Cosgrove, Charles H. 108–109 Cranfield, Charles E.B. 100 Crocker, Cornelia C. 137 Dahl, Nils 128 Davies, William D. 8, 14, 37–38, 45, 84, 111, 121, 125, 219 De Boer, Martinus C. 102, 107 De Vos, Jacobus C. 167, 173–174 De Witt Burton, Ernest 103 De Young, James C. 104, 107

312

Author Index

Deissmann, Adolf 21 Dillon, John 152, 158 Dines, Jennifer M. 195 Donaldson, Terence L. 95 Downs, David J. 93–98 Dumbrell, William J. 106 Dunn, James D.G. 2, 14, 24, 30, 59, 89– 90, 93–100, 142–143, 243, 251 Eastman, Susan 51 Echevarria, Miguel G. 44, 46, 52–53 Ehrensperger, Kathy 26–27, 97, 251– 252 Elmer, Ian J. 103 Elshtain, Jean B. 16 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels 33–34 Esler, Philip F. 104 Fee, Gordon D. 60–61, 64–66, 78, 126, 128, 134–143, 251 Feldman, Louis H. 200 Fine, Steven 216 Finlan, Stephan 7, 118 Finney, Mark T. 77 Fiorenza, Elisabeth S. 5, 119, 138 Fitzmyer, Joseph 65, 67, 79 Forman, Mark 42, 44–50, 53, 58–59, 81–82, 114, 182, 234–237, 268 Fredriksen, Paula 15 Frid, Bo 65 Fuglseth, Kåre S. 205–206, 223, 233 Fuller, Michael E. 62, 70, 180 Fung, Ronald Y.K. 109 Gäckle, Volker 38–39, 44, 82, 117 Gambetti, Sandra 149, 186, 200 Garnsey, Peter 16 Gärtner, Bertil 117, 119, 125 Geertz, Clifford 1, 10 Geljon, Albert C. 174 Georgi, Dieter 22, 60, 88, 94 Gladd, Benjamin L. 62, 66, 71–76 Goodblatt, David 183, 196 Goodenough, Erwin R. 18–19, 151, 157, 164, 177, 179–180, 188–189, 202, 238, 256 Goodman, Martin 200, 217 Goodrich, John K. 62, 81, 239 Gorman, Michael J. 37

Grabbe, Lester L. 152, 162, 178, 192, 236, 238, 261 Gruen, Erich S. 59, 149, 186, 190, 235 Gupta, Nijay K. 2, 7, 31–33, 40, 118– 120, 124–125, 217–218 Habel, Norman C. 44, 56 Hadas-Lebel, Mireille 16, 150, 153 Hafemann, Scott J. 87–91 Haley, Peter 24 Halpern-Amaru, Betsy 159–168, 180– 181 Harmon, Matthew S. 102–103, 107–109 Harrison, James R. 5, 22, 80–81, 259 Hay, David M. 153, 198 Hays, Richard B. 33, 47, 59, 61–62, 79, 105–106, 144 Hayward, Robert 196, 203–204, 209 Hecht, Richard D. 154, 162, 179 Heil, John P. 65–66, 74 Heininger, Bernhard 17, 256 Hengel, Martin 152 Hester, James D. 46, 82 Hicks-Keeton, Jill 10, 242 Hill, C.E. 59 Hogeterp, Albert L.A. 2–3, 7, 33, 120 Holl, Karl 93, 95 Holmberg, Bengt 24–26, 30–31, 90, 92– 93, 115, 134, 141–142, 230 Holtz, Gudrun 34 Horbury, William 37, 66, 70, 110 Horsley, Richard A. 22, 62, 97, 132, 135 Hovey, Craig 17 Hsieh, Nelson S. 55–58 Hurtado, Larry W. 11, 151 Isaac, Munther 44, 58 Jeremias, Joachim 83 Jewett, Robert 60, 103 Jindo, Job Y. 39–40 Jipp, Joshua W. 245 Jobes, Karen H. 47, 104–108, 113 Johnson Hodge, Caroline 53 Joubert, Stephan 96 Judge, Edwin A. 5, 28, 60 Kamesar, Adam 154

Author Index Käsemann, Ernst 10, 30 Kasher, Aryeh 185–186 Keck, Leander E. 93 Keesmaat, Sylvia C. 48, 50 Kennedy, George A. 257 Kim, Seyoon 22 Kim, Yung Suk 6 Kittredge, Cynthia B. 26, 132 Klauck, Hans-Josef 185, 202–203 Klawans, Jonathan 2, 202 Klinzing, Georg 119, 125–126 Knibb, Michael A. 8, 219 Koester, Helmut H. 65, 138–141 Korner, Ralph J. 6 Kovelman, Arkady 259 Kruse, Colin G. 101–102 Kuck, David W. 127, 129, 131, 136– 137 Kwon, Oh-Young 60–61, 88–89 Lanci, John R. 118, 120, 124, 128 Le Donne, Anthony 32, 85, 190, 242 Lee, Chee-Chiew 177 Lee, Pilchan 110 Leonhardt, Jutta 3, 17, 152, 204–212, 217, 222–226, 241–243 Levine, Lee I. 8, 28–29, 83–84, 117, 194, 199 Levison, John R. 125, 220–221, 257– 258, 260 Lévy, Carlos 155, 167, 224 Lieber, Andrea 185, 187, 191, 193 Lightstone, Jack N. 151, 159, 207–208 Lim, Kar Yong 33, 122, 133 Lincicum, David 144 Lincoln, Andrew T. 107 Long, Anthony A. 169 Longenecker, Bruce W. 95, 98 Longenecker, Richard N. 29, 104, 108 Lopez, Davina C. 22, 31 Luter, A. Boyd 54 Luther, Martin 9 MacDonald, Margaret Y. 30–31 Mack, Burton L. 179 MacMullen, Ramsay 61 Maier, Christl M. 111, 113 Malcolm, Matthew R. 77, 262 Malherbe, Abraham J. 12, 28

313

Martin, Dale B. 6 Martin, M.J. 209–212 Martin, Ralph P. 125 Martyn, J. Louis 89, 107–108, 139 Mason, Steve 2, 223–224 McCaulley, Esau 41, 46, 50–53, 56, 58– 60, 78, 82, 232 McDermott, Gerald R. 53 McFarland, Orrey 16, 33 McKelvey, R.J. 119 Meeks, Wayne A. 28, 32, 112, 230 Mendelson, Alan 157, 215 Menken, Maarten J.J. 99 Mihaila, Corin 18, 61, 77–78, 129–130, 136–138, 258 Mitchell, Margaret M. 43, 60 Moo, Douglas J. 48, 53, 99–100, 251 More, Jonathan 245 Moyise, Steve 59 Munayer, Salim J. 44 Munck, Johannes 60, 86, 93–94, 99 Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome 102 Muszytowska, Dorota 189 Nagle, D. Brendan 18 Najman, Hindy 171 Nanos, Mark D. 15, 103 Neusner, Jacob 152 Neutel, Karin B. 232 Newman, Carey C. 69, 75 Nickle, Keith F. 93–94 Niehoff, Maren R. 20, 32, 151, 153, 157, 173, 186–191, 200, 207, 224– 225 Nikiprowetzky, Valentin 150, 156, 171, 202–203 Noack, Christian 16, 256 O’Donovan, Oliver 16 Økland, Jorunn 128, 131 Oswalt, John N. 72–73 Park, Young-Ho 6 Pearce, Sarah 160, 164, 186–189, 194, 242, 253 Peppard, Michael 80 Polaski, Sandra H. 26 Porter, Stanley 11 Portier-Young, Anathea E. 82 Potts, John 24, 27, 142

314

Author Index

Price, Simon R.F. 8–9, 197 Pritz, Ray A. 91 Punt, Jeremy 5 Rabens, Volker 11, 17, 41, 256–257 Radice, Roberto 11, 27, 149–150, 240 Regev, Eyal 2, 15, 122–125, 128, 156, 162, 213, 226 Richardson, Philip N. 119, 121, 124– 125, 132, 143, 145, 206, 209 Ridderbos, Herman N. 8, 53 Rios, Cesar M. 170 Robertson, Archibald T. 64, 66–67, 76 Roetzel, Calvin J. 97 Rose D’Angelo, Mary 27 Rosner, Brian S. 60–61, 64, 126, 144 Rosovsky, Nitza 84 Rowland, Christopher 260 Royse, James R. 153–154, 157 Rudolph, David 54–55, 58 Runia, David T. 5, 11, 16, 27, 150–152, 155, 158, 166–169, 171, 174–175, 184–185, 193, 206, 218–219, 233, 236, 240, 267 Safrai, Shmuel 84 Safrai, Ze’ev 39, 44, 160, 162, 164 Sandelin, Karl-Gustav 12, 149, 151–153 Sanders, Ed P. 12, 14, 62, 64, 92, 94, 117, 152, 200, 205, 232, 236, 245, 271 Sandmel, Samuel 2, 13, 19, 159, 202 Sandnes, Karl O. 215, 254 Schaller, Berndt 160–161, 164–165, 172–173, 224, 261 Schofield, Malcolm 182 Schreiner, Thomas R. 53 Schürer, Emil 194 Schütz, John H. 24–25, 27, 77, 115, 133, 140–141 Schwartz, Daniel R. 2, 11, 13–14, 85, 156, 160, 163–165, 175, 190, 201– 202, 212, 223–225 Schweitzer, Albert 256 Scott, James C. 22 Scott, James M. 41, 49, 57, 62, 82, 179 Segal, Alan F. 256 Seifrid, Mark A. 125

Seland, Torrey 27, 35, 156, 172, 187– 189, 203, 206, 221, 242, 250 Sergienko, Gennadi A. 112–113 Shanor, Jay 120 Shroyer, Montgomery J. 233 Siedentop, Larry 142 Smallwood, E. Mary 149, 190, 197 Smith, Eric 41 Smith, Jonathan Z. 34, 229 Sohm, Rudolph 24, 30, 142 Stanley, Christopher D. 26 Stendahl, Krister 14 Sterling, Gregory E. 11, 152–153, 168– 169, 244 Still, Todd D. 100 Streeter, Burnett H. 29–30 Suh, Michael K.W. 43, 67, 123, 126, 140, 142–144 Tannehill, Robert C. 32 Termini, Cristina 151–152, 170, 231, 238, 261 Theissen, Gerd 28, 77 Thompson, James W. 243–244, 248, 253–254 Thrall, Margaret 125 Tobin, Thomas H. 179, 238 Troost-Cramer, Kathleen 40 Trotter, Jonathan 33, 38, 117, 189–195, 212–213, 252 Tuckett, Christopher 65 Tuval, Michael 211–214, 222–223 Udoh, Fabian E. 232 Vahrenhorst, Martin 118 Vanlaningham, Michael 54–55 Verbrugge, Verlyn D. 97 Verman, Mark 247 Vibe, Klaus 16 Walker, Peter W. 38, 84, 100–103, 116– 118, 126, 251 Wan, Sze-kar 97 Wanamaker, Charles A. 129 Wardle, Timothy 33, 42, 117, 119–121, 139, 250 Watson, Deborah E. 98 Watson, Francis 59

Author Index Wazana, Nili 58 Weber, Max 23–27, 138–140, 221, 255, 270 Wedderburn, Alexander J.M. 92–93, 96–97 Weinfeld, Moshe 44, 160, 162–165 Weiss, Johannes 126 Welborn, Larry L. 5–6, 43, 97, 143 Wengst, Klaus 22, 82 Wenham, Gordon J. 39 Wenschkewitz, Hans 14, 119, 203 Werman, Cana 205, 209, 214 Westerholm, Stephen 244 Wilckens, Ulrich 60–61, 67 Wilk, Florian 100 Wilken, Robert L. 82, 234, 246 Williams, Demetrius K. 62 Williams, H.H. Drake 61, 124 Williams, Sam K. 49, 57 Willitts, Joel 106–107

315

Wink, Walter 114 Winston, David 155, 167–168, 171, 236–237 Winter, Bruce W. 16, 77, 80, 258 Witherington, Ben 90, 132 Wolfson, Harry A. 19, 151, 158, 162, 164, 179, 196–199, 202, 222 Worthington, Jonathan 16 Wright, Nicholas T. 21–23, 33, 37, 44, 53–54, 69–70, 73, 84, 87, 91, 97, 99–103, 109, 113–115, 117, 135, 139, 219, 230, 232, 237, 239–240, 246–247, 263 Yehoyada, Amir 200 Yli-Karjanmaa, Sami 235–236 Zetterholm, Magnus 15, 89

Subject Index Abraham 16, 41–42, 46–59, 82, 103– 109, 155, 170, 177, 182, 215, 220, 233, 245, 256–258 Apocalyptic 10, 62–81, 139, 238, 247, 260–262 Authority 23–32, 77–82, 103–116, 129– 143, 194–200, 219–222, 243–248, 256–265 – apostolic 122, 135 – charismatic 24–28, 138–143, 220– 222, 255–261 – of the community 116, 131–143, 198, 221, 259

– in Philo 170–171, 230–232 – offering of 95–96 see also Jerusalem collection Ideal ruler 18, 169, 197, 220–222, 258– 259 Inheritance 45–59, 64–65, 80, 165–178, 182, 233–239 Israel – and the Jews 14, 170–171, 231 – mediatoral role 171–172, 177, 211– 212 – restoration 62–70, 110–112, 178– 181

Cosmopolitanism 167–174, 182–183, 192, 220, 232, 234, 240 Creation – in Paul 48–50, 254, 260 – in Philo 167–168, 171–174, 193, 206, 218–219, 254

Jerusalem – as location of the parousia 99–102 – as mother-city 10, 84–85, 105, 113– 114, 184–191, 208, 242 – authority of 115–116, 194–200, 241– 245 – collection 92–99, 230, 246, 251–252 – heavenly 110–114, 247 – in Paul’s perspective 84–116 – in Philo’s perspective 183–200 Judaism – definitions 1–2, 14–15, 152 – Palestinian 14–15, 119, 151–152

Diaspora 10, 13–14, 34, 85–86, 151, 163, 185–191, 207–213, 234–235 Empire – in Paul 21–23, 49–52, 77–82, 262– 263 – in Philo 18–21, 169, 176–178, 186– 189, 223–227, 262–263 Epistemology 139, 261 Eschatology – in Paul 79–80, 109, 146–148, 235, 254 – in Philo 178–181, 235–236, 254 Exegesis 16, 58–59, 153–159, 217 Gentiles – in Paul 14–15, 55, 63, 95–102, 114, 230–232

Kingdom of God 50–56, 68–69, 79–80, 145–148, 225, 234–235, 249, 254 Land 44–83, 159–182, 233–241 – inheritance see Inheritance – restoration see Eschatology Law 108–115, 155, 182, 203, 230–233, 244–245

318

Subject Index

Messiah 8, 14, 50, 73, 82, 109, 111, 115, 161–162, 179–181, 194, 237, 239–241, 245 Metaphor 2–3, 6, 8, 33 Moses 12, 18, 66–67, 150, 153, 155, 166–172, 176–177, 220–222, 233, 245 Mysticism 256–260 Natural law 171, 193, 219, 232, 244 Paul – as political thinker 6, 145 – education 11 – Jewish identity 14–15, 230–233, 244, 251–252 – Pharisaic background 10, 236, 268 Peace 188, 192–194, 201, 225–227, 238, 240, 242–243, 262–263 Philo – education 11, 156, 215 – Jewish identity 14–15, 151–153, 162–163, 178, 182–190, 210, 230– 233 – social location 151–156, 271 Pilgrimage 185, 191–193, 201, 207– 208, 246, 252 – of the nations 93–96, 238 see also Eschatology Platonism 7, 16–20, 114, 150–152, 155, 158, 163, 166, 181, 193, 202–203, 224, 236, 246, 253 Politics – ancient 6, 17, 43, 245 see also Empire – and religion 8–9 – definition 17–18 – of biblical studies 5, 9–10 Power 23–28, 123, 129, 135, 138–143 see also Authority Redemptive history 245

Roman Empire see Empire Sacred space and time 37, 43, 106, 109, 123, 146–147, 158–159, 208, 216 Sanhedrin 84, 194, 199–200 Spirit 49–53, 64, 73–76, 126, 131–132, 139–146, 219–222, 248–249, 254– 260 Spiritualisation 2–4, 7, 53, 114, 119– 120, 163–165, 203, 234, 239 Stoicism 16, 18–20, 79, 119, 155, 167– 174, 177, 182, 203, 207, 224, 234, 240 Symbol 1–2, 33, 268 Synagogue 28–31, 92, 112, 198, 210, 213–217, 222 Temple – community as 125–126, 139, 143– 145, 213–217, 253, 263 – heavenly 66, 110, 112, 119, 213, 247 – Jerusalem 29, 85–86, 118, 121–126, 150, 191, 195, 197, 206, 210–213, 222–223, 249–252 Transference – and metaphor 2, 119–125 – theology 54 Universalisation 146–147, 165, 170, 174, 180, 225, 234–235 Virtue 155, 180–182, 193, 215, 253– 254 Wisdom 60–61, 71, 76, 132, 135, 177, 220, 249, 253–258 Yom Kippur 212 Zion 66, 87, 100–102, 113–114, 183 see also Jerusalem

Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Edited by Jörg Frey (Zürich) Associate Editors: Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) ∙ James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) ∙ Janet Spittler (Charlottesville, VA) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

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