Rediscovering the Apocryphal Continent: New Perspectives on Early Christian and Late Antique Apocryphal Texts and Traditions 3161519949, 9783161519949

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) · James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL) · Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

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Rediscovering the Apocryphal Continent: New Perspectives on Early Christian and Late Antique Apocryphal Texts and Traditions Edited by

Pierluigi Piovanelli and Tony Burke With the collaboration of Timothy Pettipiece

Mohr Siebeck

Pierluigi Piovanelli, born 1961; 1987 MA; 1992 PhD; Professor of Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity at the University of Ottawa (Ontario, Canada). Tony Burke, born 1968; 1995 MA; 2001 PhD; Associate Professor of Early Christianity at York University (Toronto, Ontario, Canada).

e -ISBN 978-3-16-153849-0 ISBN 978-3-16-151994-9 ISSN 0512-1604 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2015  by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen using Minion Pro typeface, printed by ­Gulde-Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Otters­ weier. Printed in Germany.

This volume is dedicated to the memories of Pierre Geoltrain (1929–2004) and François Bovon (1938–2013), without whom nothing of this would have been possible.

Acknowledgments The essays published in this volume are revised versions of the papers presented at a series of conferences held in Groningen (Netherlands), Edinburgh (Scotland, U. K.), and Ottawa (Ontario, Canada) in 2004 and 2006. We would like to thank not only the authors who accepted our invitation to publish their contributions in the present volume, but also all the colleagues who participated in the events. The conferences in Groningen and Edinburgh were part of the Society of Biblical Literature International Meetings organized under the supervision of Kent H. Richards (SBL Executive Director). The workshop in Ottawa was generously funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the University of Ottawa. Our gratitude for the assistance received in organizing the Ottawa workshop goes especially to Lesley Strutt (Research Facilitator), Geoffrey Greatrex (Chair of the Department of Classics and Religious Studies), George Lang (Dean of Arts), and Robert Major (Vice-president, Academic). Rajiv Bhola and Robert M. Edwards, graduate students in the Department of Classics and Religious Studies, helped us in editing some of the articles, while Timothy Pettipiece prepared a first draft of the complete manuscript. Among the colleagues and friends who have constantly encouraged us, we wish to thank Ann Graham Brock, Lorenzo DiTommaso, André Gagné, Jean-Daniel Kaestli, Simon C. Mimouni, Enrico Norelli, Louis Painchaud, Anne Pasquier, Paul-Hubert Poirier, Jean-Michel Roessli, and Claudio Zamagni. We are also deeply grateful to Jörg Frey, Henning Ziebritzki, and all Mohr Siebeck’s editorial staff for their kindness and competence in making this publication possible. Last but not least, this volume is dedicated to the memories of the late Pierre Geoltrain and François Bovon, the founders of the Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne, to whom all of us are so indebted. 

Ottawa and Toronto, January 7, 2015

Pierluigi Piovanelli Tony Burke

Table of Contents Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII

I. Introduction Pierluigi Piovanelli The Christian Apocryphal Texts at the Society of Biblical Literature International Meetings (2004–2006) and the Ottawa International Workshop (2006): Retrospects and Prospects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

II. General Perspectives Tony Burke Entering the Mainstream: Twenty-five Years of Research on the Christian Apocrypha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Ian H. Henderson The Usefulness of Christian Apocryphal Texts in Research on the Historical Jesus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 James R. Davila Did Christians Write Old Testament Pseudepigrapha That Appear to Be Jewish? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Annette Yoshiko Reed “Jewish-Christian” Apocrypha and the History of Jewish / Christian Relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87

III. From Early Christian Texts to Late Antique Apocryphal Literature Louis Painchaud On the (Re)Discovery of the Gospel of Judas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Minna Heimola Christians and Jews in the Gospel of Philip . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

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Theodore de Bruyn Christian Apocryphal and Canonical Narratives in Greek Amulets and Formularies in Late Antiquity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Stephen J. Shoemaker Mary in Early Christian Apocrypha: Virgin Territory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 Pierluigi Piovanelli Why Mary and Peter? From the Early Christian Gospel of Mary to the Late Antique Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 Peter W. Dunn Luke’s Acts or the Acts of Paul: Which Looks More Like a Second-Century Text? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 Cornelia B. Horn Depictions of Children and Young People as Literary Motifs in Canonical and Apocryphal Acts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Vahan Hovhanessian The Repose of the Blessed John in the Armenian Bible: Deconstructing the Acts of John . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245 Timothy Beech Unraveling the Complexity of the Oracula Sibyllina: The Value of a Socio-Rhetorical Approach in the Study of the Sibylline Oracles . . . . . . . . 267 Michael Kaler Gnostic Irony and the Adaptation of the Apocalyptic Genre . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283 Timothy Pettipiece The Manichaean Reception of Apocryphal Traditions: The Case of the “Five Limbs” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303

IV. The Pseudo-Clementines: Early Christian Traditions in Late Antique Editions F. Stanley Jones John the Baptist and His Disciples in the Pseudo-Clementines: A Historical Appraisal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317

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Kelley Coblentz Bautch The Pseudo-Clementine Homilies’ Use of Jewish Pseudepigrapha . . . . . . . . . 337 Giovanni Battista Bazzana Healing the World: Medical and Social Practice in the Pseudo-Clementine Novel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351 Dominique Côté Rhetoric and Jewish-Christianity: The Case of the Grammarian Apion in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369 Nicole Kelley Pseudo-Clementine Polemics against Sacrifice: A Window onto Religious Life in the Fourth Century? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391 Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Index of Ancient Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Index of Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

401 403 424 436

I. Introduction

The Christian Apocryphal Texts at the Society of Biblical Literature International Meetings (2004–2006) and the Ottawa International Workshop (2006): Retrospects and Prospects Pierluigi Piovanelli 1. Fostering a new approach to Christian apocryphal texts In November 2003, at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL) in Atlanta (Ga.), Kent H. Richards, who was at that time the executive director of the SBL and with whom I had already collaborated on the organization of the SBL International Meeting in Lausanne (Switzerland) in 1997, asked me if I would be interested in taking the direction of the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Section of the SBL International Meeting for the next three years. I accepted his offer with enthusiasm and as soon as I returned to Ottawa I started making plans for the next international conference to be held in Groningen, July 25–28, 2004. Originally, the focus of that section was on Jewish Second Temple deuterocanonical (the so-called Apocrypha) and apocryphal texts (the so-called Pseudepigrapha). However, because of the ambivalent nature of many so-called Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (such as the Life of Adam and Eve, the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, the Testament of Job, the Ascension of Isaiah, and the Paraleipomena of Jeremiah) that, in spite of their apparently Jewish aspect, were written (or rewritten) by (Jewish) Christians, I felt that the time was ripe to also take into account the phenomenon of the Jewish pseudepigraphic traditions written and / or appropriated by Christian authors.1 Moreover, on account of the 1 In the wake of the researches carried out by M. de Jonge, R. A. Kraft, E. Norelli, and a few others. See especially M. de Jonge, Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament as Part of Christian Literature: The Case of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the Greek Life of Adam and Eve (SVTP 18; Leiden 2003); idem, “The Authority of the ‘Old Testament’ in the Early Church: The Witness of the ‘Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament’,” in The Biblical Canons (ed. J.-M. Auwers and H. J. de Jonge; BETL 163; Leuven 2003), 459–86; R. A. Kraft, “Setting the Stage and Framing Some Central Questions,” JSJ 32 (2001): 371–95, reprinted in idem, Exploring the Scripturesque: Jewish Texts and Their Christian Contexts (JSJSup 137; Leiden 2009), 35–60; E. Norelli, Ascension du prophète Isaïe (Apocryphes 2; Turnhout 1993); idem, L’Ascensione di Isaia. Studi su un

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absence of any specific international section devoted to the study of Christian apocryphal texts and in order to stress the continuity existing between Jewish and Christian parabiblical writings,2 I chose to open, for the first time in its history, the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha International Section to specialists of early Christian apocryphal literature. An ad hoc call for papers was then sent to the members of the SBL, the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies (CSBS), the Associazione italiana per lo studio del giudaismo (AISG), the Enoch Seminar, and the Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne (AELAC). This initiative was so welcomed that at the meeting in Groningen we were able to organize no less than four panels devoted, respectively, to Second Temple Jewish Apocrypha3 and Pseudepigrapha,4 their Christian rewritings and / or counterparts,5 and Christian apocryphal texts.6 After an interlude in Singapore in 2005, which only a handful of specialists was able to attend,7 four other sessions were organized once again in apocrifo al crocevia dei cristianesimi (Origini, n.s. 1; Bologna 1994). More recently, see R. Nir, The Destruction of Jerusalem and the Idea of Redemption in the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch (SBLEJL 20; Atlanta, Ga. 2003) (even if Nir’s hypothesis of a Christian authorship for 2 Baruch is hardly receivable, her provocative monograph still contains many insightful and useful observations on the permeable boundaries of late Second Temple Jewish and early Christian pseudepigraphic literature); J. R.  Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden 2005); T. Elgvin, “Jewish Christian Editing of the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha,” in Jewish Believers in Jesus: The Early Centuries (ed. O. Skarsaune and R. Hvalvik; Peabody, Mass. 2007), 278–304; P. Piovanelli, “In Praise of ‘The Default Position,’ or Reassessing the Christian Reception of the Jewish Pseudepigraphic Heritage,” NedTT 61 (2007): 233–50. 2 As I argued in P. Piovanelli, “Rewritten Bible ou Bible in Progress? La réécriture des traditions mémoriales bibliques dans le judaïsme et le christianisme anciens,” RTP 139 (2007): 295–310. 3 M. A. Christian, “Reading Tobit Backwards and Forwards: In Search of ‘Lost Halakhah’ ”; S. Beyerle, “ ‘Release Me to Go to My Everlasting Home’ (Tob. 3:6): A Belief in an After-Life in Late Wisdom Literature?”; E. T. Noffke, “Adam, Man of Glory or First Sinner? The figure of Adam in the Book of Sirach.” 4 H. Eshel, “Diverei ha-Me’orot and the ‘Apocalypse of Weeks’ ”; H. C. Kim, “An Apology for God: Psalms of Solomon 11 and Its Jerusalem Tradition”; B. Embry, “The Name Solomon as a Prophetic Hallmark in Jewish and Christian Apocryphal Texts”; D. Patterson, “ ‘Mother, Embrace Your Children’: Maternal Imagery and the Corporate Community in 2 Esdras.” 5 J. R. Davila, “Did Christians Write Old Testament Pseudepigrapha that Appear to be Jewish?”; J. R. C. Cousland, “The Gospel of Adam and Eve: The Latin Life of Adam and Eve as Gospel Antetype”; K. Coblentz Bautch, “The Pseudo-Clementines’ Use of Jewish Pseudepigrapha.” 6 P. Luomanen, “The Nazoreans’ Commentary on Isaiah”; M. Laine Heimola, “Christians, Jews and Gentiles: Inter-faith Relationships and Identity in the Gospel of Philip”; T. Nicklas, “The Death of Peter”; P. Piovanelli, “Why Peter? The Authoritative Role of Peter in the Monophysite Collections of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles”; C. Horn, “Children as Literary Device in the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts”; V. Hovhanessian, “The Rest of the Evangelist John and the Armenian Bible.” 7 H. C. Kim, “The Key Signifier of ‘Forever’ in Psalms of Solomon 11”; M. Harding, “The Destruction of Jerusalem: Guilt and Hope in the Baruch Tradition and Josephus”; R. Nir, “The Struggle Between ‘The Image of God’ and Satan in the GLAE (10–12)”; J. M. Asgeirsson, “The Framing of the Gospel of Thomas: Logion 2”; J. W. Ludlow, “Notions of Death and Afterlife in

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Edinburgh in 2006 on “Second Temple Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha,”8 “More Old Testament Pseudepigrapha,”9 “Christian Reception and Apocryphicity,”10 and “Christian Apocryphal Texts.”11 As it happens, in the course of my triennial mandate as chair of the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha International Section there were no less than thirty-two papers presented on Jewish Apocrypha (Tobit, Sirach, additions to Esther) and Pseudepigrapha (1 Enoch, Jubilees, Psalms of Solomon, Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities, 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch), Christian pseudepigraphic (re)writings (Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, Joseph and Aseneteh, Life of Adam and Eve, Odes of Solomon) and apocryphal texts (Gospel of Thomas, Gospel of Philip, On the Origin of the World, Jewish Christian Gospels, Pseudo-Clementine Homilies, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles), as well as some transversal themes (such as pseudepigraphy and apocryphicity, resurrection, sacred space, and children). Some from among the best and most engaged young specialists of Jewish Second Temple and early Christian literature contributed to those panels and several of those lectures were eventually published.12 the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs”; E. Israeli, “The Messiah’s Expiatory Death in the Fourth Vision of IV Ezra (9:26–10:59).”  8 M. Tait, “Glorious and Resplendent? The Resurrection and the Resurrection Body in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha”; D. A. Fiensy, “Sacred Space in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha”; I. Fröhlich, “The Temple as a Theme in the Book of Tobit”; P. J. Jordaan, “Text, Ideology and Body in the Additions to Esther”; J. T. A. G. M. van Ruiten, “Chronological and Spatial Symmetry in the Book of Jubilees”; J. Hopkins, “The Description of Sacrificial Worship in the Book of Jubilees: Its Interpretation by and Authoritative Status for the Dead Sea Scrolls Movement.”  9 A. T. Wright, “Philo and the Book of Watchers”; M. H. McDowell, “Jael in Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum: A Comparative and Intertextual Approach”; R. Cousland, “When, Where, and Why: Space and Time in the Books of Adam and Eve”; J. R. Davila, “More Jewish Pseudepigrapha.” 10 B. J. Embry, “A Story of Love? Use of Song of Songs in the Odes of Solomon”; R. Nir, “The Conversion of Aseneth in a Christian Context”; P. Piovanelli, “Christian Apocryphal Texts for the New Millennium: Achievements, Prospects, and Challenges”; I. Czachesz, “Cognitive Constructs of the Divine in Apocryphal Literature.” 11 P. Luomanen, “Jewish-Christian Gospels: A New Reconstruction”; B. van Os, “The Date and Provenance of the Gospel of Philip”; J. Brankaer, “Myth as Demonstration: The Program of On the Origin of the World (NHC II, 5; XIII, 2)”; V. Hovhanessian, “The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas: A Glance at a Lost Original or an Orthodox Revision?”; J. M. Asgeirsson, “Between the God of the Hebrews and the God of the Sun: Building the Kingdom of Heaven in the Latin Passio-Version of the Acts of Thomas”; P. G. Schneider, “The Johannine Origins and Purpose of the Lord’s Secret Sacrament in the Acts of John.” 12 See H. Eshel, “Dibre Hame’orot and the Apocalypse of Weeks,” in Things Revealed: Studies in Early Jewish and Christian Literature in Honor of Michael E. Stone (ed. E. G. Chazon, D. Satran and R. A. Clements; JSJSup 89; Leiden 2004), 149–54; S. Beyerle, “ ‘Release Me to Go to My Everlasting Home …’ (Tob 3:6): A Belief in an Afterlife in Late Wisdom Literature?” in The Book of Tobit: Text, Tradition, Theology. Papers of the First International Conference on the Deuterocanonical Books, Pápa, Hungary, 20–21 May, 2004 (ed. G. G. Xeravits and J. Zsengellér; JSJSup 98; Leiden 2005), 71–88; B. J. Embry, “The Name ‘Solomon’ as a Prophetic Hallmark in Jewish and Christian Texts,” Henoch 28 (2006): 47–62; M. A. Christian, “Reading Tobit Backwards and Forwards: In Search of ‘Lost Halakhah’,” ibid., 63–95; B. van Os, “Was the Gospel of Philip Written

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The release, then, of the second volume of the Écrits apocryphes chrétiens in 2005, edited by the late Pierre Geoltrain (1929–2004) and Jean-Daniel Kaestli on behalf of the AELAC, and hosting a wide selection of apocryphal texts produced in a variety of milieus and at different epochs,13 provided a splendid occasion for organizing an international workshop on “Christian Apocryphal Texts for the New Millennium: Achievements, Prospects, and Challenges,” held in Ottawa (On.), September 29–30 and October 1st, 2006.14 Twelve of the twenty-three papers presented there were devoted to three main areas of research – (1) the shadowy interface between Jewish Pseudepigrapha and Christian Apocrypha;15 (2) some methodological problems in the study of Christian apocryphal texts;16 and (3) Pseudo-Clementine literature as a privileged source for the history of the relations between Jews, Christians, and their cultural environment in late antique Syria17 – all inspired by, or related to, the guiding principles and textual choices of the Pléiade volume, while the remaining papers addressed specific texts and / or traditions.18 in Syria?” Apocrypha 17 (2006): 87–93; E. Noffke, “Man of Glory or First Sinner? Adam in the Book of Sirach,” ZAW 119 (2007): 618–24; R. Nir, “Did Adam and Eve Have Sex in the Garden of Eden? The Pseudepigraphic-Apocalyptic Tradition Between Judaism and Christianity,” Henoch 36 (2014): 1–14. See also D. Arbel, J. R. C. Cousland and D. Neufeld, “… And So They Went Out”: The Lives of Adam and Eve as Cultural Transformative Story (London and New York 2010); V. D.  Arbel, Forming Femininity in Antiquity: Eve, Gender, and Ideologies in the Greek Life of Adam and Eve (Oxford and New York 2012). 13 P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli, eds., Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, vol. 2 (Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 516; Paris 2005). It was preceded by F. Bovon and P. Geoltrain, eds., Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, vol. 1 (Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442; Paris 1997). 14 Thanks to a generous grant of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and with the support of both the Faculty of Arts and the University of Ottawa. 15 L. DiTommaso, “Jewish Pseudepigrapha and Christian Apocrypha: Definitions, Boundaries, and Points of Contact”; J. R. Davila, “More Christian Apocryphal Texts”; R. Phenix, Jr., “The Problem of the Source of Balai’s Sermons on Joseph and the Nachleben of Pseudepigraphical Joseph Material.” 16 T. Burke, “Researching the New Testament Apocrypha in the Twenty-First Century”; I. Henderson, “The Usefulness of Christian Apocryphal Texts in the Research on the Historical Jesus”; C. A. Evans, “The Apocryphal Jesus: Assessing the Possibilities and Problems”; P. Piovanelli, “Using Labels and Categories in a Responsible Way: The Making and Evolution of Early Christian Apocryphal Texts with the Gospel of Mary as a Test Case”; M. Kaler, “Gnostic Irony and the Adaptation of the Apocalyptic Genre.” 17 A. Y. Reed, “New Light on ‘Jewish-Christian’ Apocrypha and the History of Jewish / Christian Relations”; N. Kelley, “Pseudo-Clementine Polemics against Sacrifice: A Window onto Religious Life in the Fourth Century?”; F. S. Jones, “Jewish Tradition on the Sadducees in the Pseudo-Clementines”; D. Côté, “Orphic Theogony and the Context of the Clementines.” 18 T. Beech, “Unraveling the Complexity of the Oracula Sibyllina: The Value of a Socio-Rhetorical Approach in the Study of the Sibylline Oracles”; L. Painchaud, “À propos de la redécouverte de l’Évangile de Judas”; P.-H. Poirier, “La Prôtennoia trimorphe (NH XIII,1), le Livre des secrets de Jean et le Prologue johannique”; P. W. Dunn, “The Acts of Paul as an Experimental Control for the Criticism of the Acts of the Apostles”; F. Bovon, “The Revelation of Stephen or the Invention of Stephen’s Relics (Sinaiticus graecus 493)”; D. R. MacDonald, “The Gospel of Nicodemus (or, the Acta Pilati) as a Christian Iliad and Odyssey”; C. Horn, “From Model

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The novelty of the AELAC approach, concretized in the different publications of the Association,19 including the two-volume anthology, is essentially the blurring and breaking of the traditional boundaries between Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and New Testament Apocrypha, as well as early Christian and late antique / early medieval texts, in order to rediscover the continuity of the production of new memorial traditions and narratives about Christian origins.20 Consequently, renewed attention is also paid to texts as late as, e. g., the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies and Recognitions21 or to regional rewritings such as the Coptic, Arabic, and Ethiopic collections of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles or the Syriac Life of the Virgin, texts which are normally marginalized in the usual introductions or anthologies of translations devoted to Christian apocryphal literature.22 Contrary to common belief, the production of new apocryphal narratives did not come to an end somewhere in the third century to be replaced by a new wave of hagiographic or, perhaps more appropriately, homiletic texts.23 Actually, those early Christian traditions and texts that did not become canonical, be they more or less “Jewish Christian,” “gnostic,” “encratite,” “proto-orthodox” – a series Virgin to Maternal Intercessor: Mary, Children, and Family Problems in Late Antique Infancy Gospel Traditions”; S. J. Shoemaker, “Mary in Early Christian Apocrypha: Virgin Territory”; T. de Bruyn, “The Power of Apocryphal Narratives in Late Antiquity: The Testimony of Amulets”; T. Pettipiece, “Manichaean ‘Apocrypha’? From Mani to Manichaeism”; A. Bara, “The Convergence between Canonical Gospels, Apocryphal Writings and Liturgical Texts in Nativity and Resurrection Icons in Eastern Churches.” 19 Nineteen volumes of the Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum, three volumes of Instrumenta, fourteen volumes of the paperback series Apocryphes – the most recent one devoted to the Syriac version of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions translated into English –, twenty-five issues of the journal Apocrypha, and twenty-one fascicles of the Bulletin de l’AELAC published since 1983. 20 On this and other “paradigmatic changes” introduced by the AELAC, see the insightful comments of T. Niklas, “ ‘Écrits apocryphes chrétiens’: ein Sammelband als Spiegel eines Weitreichenden Paradigmenwechsels in der Apokryphenforschung,” VC 61 (2007): 70–95. One should not think, however, that such a new perspective was adopted without long and sometimes stormy debates between rather conservative and more progressive scholars. 21 Besides the integral translation of the Greek and Latin texts in the second Pléiade volume, see also the impressive volume of proceedings published by F. Amsler et al., eds., Nouvelles intrigues pseudo-clémentines – Plots in the Pseudo-Clementine Romance. Actes du deuxième colloque international sur la littérature apocryphe chrétienne, Lausanne–Genève, 30 août–2 septembre 2006 (PIRSB 6; Lausanne 2008). 22 In this regard, the monograph of S. J. Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (OECS; Oxford and New York 2002), focused on both late antique and early medieval rewritings of the Dormition traditions, is quite exemplary. 23 A phenomenon that I have especially discussed and highlighted in two complementary studies: P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005): 31–40; idem, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien,’ et comment ça marche? Quelques suggestions pour une herméneutique apocryphe,” in Pierre Geoltrain, ou comment “faire l’histoire” des religions. Le chantier des “origines,” les méthodes du doute, et la conversation contemporaine entre disciplines (ed. S. C. Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BEHESR 128; Turnhout 2006), 173–86.

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of problematic labels that we use only for the sake of convenience24 – or others, underwent a constant process of recycling and rewriting which occurred at every moment of the historical evolution from early to late antique Christianity and beyond. Thus, during the first three centuries c.e. the various groups and communities in dialogue and competition seem to develop rather different apocryphal genres (such as apocalypses, revelatory dialogues, ascents to heaven, acts of the apostles, etc.) and adopt different sets of characters in order to build their own narratives of their origins.25 Originally produced to promote different understandings of what constitutes the essence of Christian identity, by the fourth century these writings were inherited by a new generation of more “globalized” Christians, who progressively transformed them into a new collection of more or less “orthodox” stories. Then, when centrifugal forces led to the emergence of new, regional churches, local editions and compilations of apocryphal texts started to see the light – and it took until the new, great globalization of the nineteenth and twentieth century to rediscover the extraordinary alterity of those late antique and medieval cultural artifacts.26 If these were among the new perspectives that brought us together in Groningen, Edinburgh, and Ottawa between 2004 and 2006, two recent developments in the study of early Christianity and Christian literature have since then emerged to challenge too conventional understandings of our apocryphal texts. The first concerns the unceasing need to reassess, on the one hand, the enthusiastic allegations of the specialists who think that newly discovered texts are necessarily as ancient and meaningful as, for example, the Gospel of Mark or the Gospel of Thomas, and on the other hand, the apologetic counterclaims of those who dismiss every extra-canonical text as desperately late, secondary, and 24 One should consider, for example, the extreme difficulty in categorizing an early Christian text as elusive as the Paraleipomena of Jeremiah: is it to be regarded as the outcome of a Jewish Christian, a proto-orthodox, a heterodox Johannine, or an early Valentinian circle? See Piovanelli, “In Praise of ‘The Default Position’,” 248–49. 25 A. G. Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority (HTS 51; Cambridge, Mass. 2003), has drawn attention to the tendency to polemically emphasize, in both canonical and extra-canonical texts, the roles played by different heroes of the Jesus movement. 26 I have described some aspects of such a complicated process in P. Piovanelli, “Le recyclage des textes apocryphes à l’heure de la petite ‘mondialisation’ de l’Antiquité tardive (ca. 325–451). Quelques perspectives littéraires et historiques,” in Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques. Études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod (ed. A. Frey and R. Gounelle; PIRSB 5; Lausanne 2007), 277–95; idem, “The Reception of Early Christian Texts and Traditions in Late Antiquity Apocryphal Literature,” in “The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity: Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006 (ed. L. DiTommaso and L. Turcescu; The Bible in Ancient Christianity 6; Leiden 2008), 429–39. Also see, in more general terms, P. Piovanelli, “Apocrifi e pseudepigrafi del Nuovo Testamento,” in Dizionario del sapere storico-religioso del Novecento (ed. A. Melloni; 2 vols.; Bologna 2010), 1:43–52; idem, “La réécriture des traditions mémoriales des origines dans le judaïsme et le christianisme anciens,” Annuaire de l’École pratique des hautes etudes, Section des sciences religieuses 121 (2014): 205–7.

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biased. As more accurate textual, literary, and historical analyses demonstrate, the situation is rarely that simple and, even if early Christian texts are relatively rare, late antique apocryphal (re)writings can still preserve earlier and invaluable traditions and, so much as modern forgeries, may still have a lot to teach us.27 The second aspect we need to take into account is the “disintegration” of not only the traditional category of “Gnosticism” as a distinct religious phenomenon – to be eventually replaced with “Two Powers in Heaven” Jewish mysticism and “Sethian,” “Valentinian,” and other varieties of gnostic, intellectual, and / or mystical Christianities28 –, but also the notion of a clear-cut separation between the faithful belonging to two well-defined religious entities called “Judaism” and “Christianity” before, at least, the fourth century c.e.29 There should be no doubt that the progressive dismantling of these and other dubious categories is going to have a considerable impact on our understanding of the web of socio-rhetorical relations between the different texts and groups. This will certainly contribute, in 27 In

this very subjective domain I prefer to direct the reader to my own researches, regardless of how personal and debatable they might be. See P. Piovanelli, “Pre‑ and Post-canonical Passion Stories: Insights into the Development of Christian Discourse on the Death of Jesus,” Apocrypha 14 (2003): 99–128 (on the Gospel of Peter); idem, “L’Évangile secret de Marc trente trois ans après, entre potentialités exégétiques et difficultés techniques,” RB 114 (2007): 52–72, 237–54; idem, “Une certaine ‘Keckheit, Kühnheit und Grandiosität’… La correspondance entre Morton Smith et Gershom Scholem (1945–1982). Notes critiques,” RHR 228 (2011): 403–29; idem, “Halfway Between Sabbatai Tzevi and Aleister Crowley: Morton Smith’s ‘Own Concept of What Jesus “Must” Have Been’ and, Once Again, the Questions of Evidence and Motive,” in Ancient Gospel or Modern Forgery? The Secret Gospel of Mark in Debate. Proceedings from the 2011 York University Christian Apocrypha Symposium (ed. T. Burke; Eugene, Or. 2013), 157–83; idem, “ ‘Un gros et beau poisson.’ L’Évangile selon Thomas dans la recherche (et la controverse) contemporaine(s),” Adamantius 15 (2009): 291–306; idem, “Thomas in Edessa? Another Look at the Original Setting of the Gospel of Thomas,” in Myths, Martyrs, and Modernity: Studies in the History of Religions in Honour of Jan N. Bremmer (ed. J. Dijkstra, J. Kroesen and Y. Kuiper; Numen Book Series 127; Leiden 2010), 443–61; idem, “Thursday Night Fever: Dancing and Singing with Jesus in the Gospel of the Savior and the Dance of the Savior around the Cross,” Early Christianity 3 (2012): 229–48. 28 See the groundbreaking monographs of M. A. Williams, Rethinking Gnosticism: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton, N. J. 1996); K. L. King, What Is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, Mass. 2003); I. Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York 2008); D. Brakke, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity (Cambridge, Mass. 2010). Needless to say, as P.-H. Poirier, “Comment les gnostiques se sont-ils appelés? Comment doit-on les appeler aujourd’hui?” SR 33 (2004): 209– 16, aptly reminds us, the target of such a constructive criticism should be more the traditional way of looking at Gnosticism than the reality of the phenomenon itself. 29 Called especially into question by D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Divinations; Philadelphia 2004), and many contributors to the collective volume edited by A. H.  Becker and A. Y.  Reed, The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (TSAJ 95; Tübingen 2003; 2nd ed., Minneapolis 2007). A stimulating discussion of Boyarin’s theses can be found in Henoch 28 (2006): 7–30 (interventions of V. Burrus, R. Kalmin, H. Lapin and J. Marcus) and 30–45 (Boyarin’s response). Also see D. Boyarin, “Rethinking Jewish Christianity: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (to Which Is Appended a Correction of My Border Lines),” JQR 99 (2009): 7–36.

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the end, to the relativization of the boundaries between literary corpora as artificial and conventional as the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, the New Testament Apocrypha, and the Gnostic / Nag Hammadi Scriptures.30 In the meantime, just after the much-awaited publication of the first volume of the seventh edition of the prestigious Hennecke and Schneemelcher’s Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung under the new, highly significant title of Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung,31 and the first volumes of the equally momentous Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures and New Testament Apocrypha: More Noncanonical Scriptures,32 these new perspectives cannot but increase our expectations.

2. The present volume Because of the high quality and thematic coherence of the Groningen and Ottawa papers, my original intention was to have them published as two different proceedings. However, in spite of numerous attempts and announcements, this was not possible. In 2007 I became the chair of our department of Classics and Religious Studies and, for the following five years, most of my energies were spent in dealing with administrative matters, an activity on behalf of the common good that I do not regret, but that did not leave me much space for the completion of major research and publication projects. As a result, the Groningen and Ottawa proceedings remained, so to speak, on the shelves until I had the chance to meet with Henning Ziebritzki, Mohr Siebeck’s editorial director for theological and Jewish studies, at the occasion of the SBL Annual Meeting in San Francisco in 2011. Henning suggested submitting the plan of the volume to Jörg Frey, the editor in chief of the prestigious Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament series, who readily accepted to publish it. My heartfelt gratitude goes to both of them. Finally, in September 2013, at the occasion of the second Christian Apocrypha Symposium organized by Tony Burke at York University, 30 On the artificiality of such collections, see J.-C. Picard, “L’apocryphe à l’étroit. Notes historiographiques sur les corpus d’apocryphes bibliques,” Apocrypha 1 (1990): 69–117 (reprinted in idem, Le continent apocryphe. Essai sur les littératures apocryphes juive et chrétienne [Instrumenta Patristica 36; Turnhout 1999], 13–51); A. Y. Reed, “The Modern Invention of ‘Old Testament Pseudepigrapha’,” JTS 60 (2009): 403–36. 31 C. Markschies and J. Schröter, in collaboration with A. Heiser, eds., Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung. I. Band: Evangelien und Verwandtes (2 vols.; Tübingen 2012). The guiding principles of this new edition have been anticipated by C. Markschies, “ ‘Neutestamentliche Apokryphen’: Bemerkungen zu Geschichte und Zukunft einer von Edgar Hennecke im Jahr 1904 begründeten Quellensammlung,” Apocrypha 9 (1998): 97–132. 32 R. Bauckham, J. Davila and A. Panayotov, eds., Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, Volume 1 (Grand Rapids, Mich. 2013); T. Burke and B. Landau, eds., New Testament Apocrypha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, Volume 1 (Grand Rapids, Mich. forthcoming).

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Toronto (On.), Tony agreed to become the coeditor of the volume, thus securing its publication in an effective way with a reasonable delay. Obviously enough, it was no longer a question of editing the proceedings of a couple of conferences of the past, but instead of selecting the most representative papers given over a four-year period by a small group of scholars driven by similar interests and concerns for a meaningful renewal of studies on Christian apocryphal literature.33 Thus, the majority of the essays included in the present volume derive from a choice of the papers presented at the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha International Section held in Groningen in 2004 and at the Ottawa workshop in 2006, while a few others come from occasional lectures hosted by the Department of Classics and Religious Studies of the University of Ottawa in 2007. The twenty essays in this volume (with two exceptions, previously unpublished)34 are arranged in a series of thematic and chronological sequences.35 By way of introduction, Tony Burke’s “Entering the Mainstream: Twenty-five Years of Research on the Christian Apocrypha” insightfully maps the sometimes overlapping territories of North American and “continental” scholarship, the former being more concerned, for obvious theological reasons, with situating Christian apocryphal texts as early as possible in service to the ever-changing quest for the historical Jesus, while the latter is more sensitive to the never-ending development of early as well as late antique, medieval, and / or modern Christian narratives, their literary forms and ideological contents. Burke also provides a critical survey of the newly discovered and / or published texts, the most significant studies on Christian apocryphal literature, the major collections of texts in translation, as well as an extremely useful overview of the resources available on the Internet and in other media. “The Usefulness of Christian Apocryphal Texts in Research on the Historical Jesus” is, then, directly addressed by Ian Henderson, who advocates for a new, non-positivistic understanding of the 33 Comparable, in scope, to the volume edited by A. D. DeConick, Paradise Now: Essays on Early Jewish and Christian Mysticism (SBLSymS 11; Atlanta, Ga. 2006), which contains a number of papers delivered by the members of the Early Jewish and Christian Mysticism Group at the occasion of the SBL Annual Meetings since 1996. 34 Davila’s paper, presented in 2004 at the SBL International Meeting in Groningen, was later expanded to become the second chapter of his 2005 monograph The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha, while Painchaud’s essay was initially published in French in 2006. 35 References to primary and secondary sources have been standardized according to the guidelines set up by P. H. Alexander et al., eds., The SBL Handbook of Style: For Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Early Christian Studies (Peabody, Mass. 1999). Abbreviations not found there – e. g., ASE = Annali di storia dell’esegesi; BEHESR = Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Sciences religieuses; JCTCRS = Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies; OECGT = Oxford Early Christian Gospel Texts; PIRSB = Publications de l’Institut romand des sciences bibliques; SAAA = Studies on the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles; SECA = Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha; TENTS = Texts and Editions for New Testament Study – will be easily identifiable through a simple search on any online database.

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historiographic nature of both canonical and apocryphal early traditions about Jesus and biographies of Jesus: “the most important contribution of increased knowledge of non-canonical gospels to historical understanding of Jesus” – so Henderson argues in the footsteps of Klaus Berger’s renewed “form-criticism” and Vernon Robbins’ socio-rhetorical analysis – “is a broadened understanding of the generic character not only of text-production and text re-production, but also of the underlying processes of narration, argumentation, tradition, and memory.”36 With James Davila’s programmatic study of the “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha That Appear to Be Jewish,” but were actually written by Christians, we make another path towards a new understanding of Christian apocryphal literature more englobing than the traditional – not to say reductionist – category of the New Testament Apocrypha. By the same token, we also open the Pandora’s box of the exact provenance of a number of “para-biblical” texts to which the previous generation of scholars was perhaps too quick to attribute the label of Jewish Pseudepigrapha37 and too eager to use as an appropriate background for the study of the New Testament.38 Such a dramatic change of perspective is concretized in the choice to include in the first volume of the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures new anthology no less than eighteen texts whose Christian authorship goes (almost) without discussion.39 While, on the one hand, specialists of both Second Temple and/ or rabbinic Judaism and early and / or late antique Christianity should take this phenomenon into due account in order to avoid, at least, embarrassing anchronisms, on the other hand, those scholars who are involved in the study of Jewish-Christian relations should use it to question the pertinence of the old heresiological construction of “Jewish 36 Henderson,

“The Usefulness of Christian Apocryphal Texts,” in this volume, 54. above, n. 1. 38 As R. D. Chesnutt, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Meal Formula in Joseph and Aseneth: From Qumran Fever to Qumran Light,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Second Princeton Symposium on Judaism and Christian Origins (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; 3 vols.; Waco, Tex. 2006), 2:397–425 at 399, aptly notes about scholarship’s proclivity to find traces of Qumranic theological ideas in a variety of Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, “[a]lthough such connections are entirely possible and must be evaluated on a case-by-case basis, the number and nature of the proposals suggest that an infectious ‘Qumran fever’ has sometimes impaired scholarly judgment, blurred the distinction between similarities and actual connections, and predisposed some to find traces of Qumran in every nook and cranny of Judaism and early Christianity. This fever raged most intensely in the first two decades after the initial Qumran discoveries, but intermittent outbreaks have continued down to the present.” 39 Notably, Adam Octipartite / Sectipartite, the so-called Apocryphon of Seth (actually, a citation of the Revelation of the Magi), the Story and the Legend of Melchizedek, the Syriac History of Joseph, the Tiburtine Sibyl, the Selenodromion of David and Solomon, the Hygromancy of Solomon, The Questions of the Queen of Sheba and Answers by King Solomon, The Heartless Rich Man and the Precious Stone, Jeremiah’s Prophecy to Pashhur, the Seventh Vision of Daniel, The Relics of Zechariah and the Body buried at His Feet, Fifth and Sixth Ezra, the Latin Vision of Ezra, The Cave of Treasures, and the Palaea Historica. 37 See

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Christianity.” This is precisely the purpose of Annette Yoshiko Reed’s essay on “ ‘Jewish-Christian’ Apocrypha and the History of Jewish / Christian Relations,” mainly devoted to the study of the information we can gather from Christian apocryphal texts – the Apocalypse of Peter, the Protevangelium of James, the Didascalia apostolorum, the Pseudo-Clementines, the Book of the Rooster, and the Gospel of Nicodemus – that seem to preserve “Jewish Christian” traditions or to be the more familar with Jewish and / or rabbinic discourses. The main body of the volume is then devoted to the examination of specific texts, literary ensembles, or questions. Louis Painchaud’s contribution, “With Regard to the (Re)Discovery of the Gospel of Judas,” was among the first attempts, made as early as 2006, to set the record straight about the true narrative character of Judas Iscariot – friend or foe? – in the newly discovered eponymous Coptic gospel. Minna Heimola’s essay deals with the intriguing question of the treatment of the figures of “Christians and Jews in the Gospel of Philip.” Theodore de Bruyn carries out an extremely useful survey of “Christian Apocryphal and Canonical Narratives in Greek Amulets and Formularies in Late Antiquity.” Stephen Shoemaker does the same about the figure of “Mary in Early Christian Apocrypha” – from late antique Dormition narratives, Apocalypses, and Lives of the Virgin back to the early Christian Gospel of Mary –, a field of research that he does not hesitate to qualify as “Virgin Territory.” An alternative path is taken in Pierluigi Piovanelli’s essay, “Why Mary and Peter? From the Early Christian Gospel of Mary to the Late Antique Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” which tries to put into historical perspective the replacement of the character of a “Gnostic” Mary of Magdala with those of Mary the mother and / or Peter the apostle in late antique “orthodox” rewritings. The articles of Peter Dunn, “Luke’s Acts or the Acts of Paul: Which Looks More Like a Second-Century Text?” and Cornelia Horn, “Depictions of Children and Young People as Literary Motifs in Canonical and Apocryphal Acts,” explore the narrative, ideological, and social views of both the canonical and apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, while Vahan Hovhanessian, in “The Repose of the Blessed John in the Armenian Bible: Deconstructing the Acts of John,” argues for an independent, non-gnostic origin of the episode of the apostle John’s death in Acts of John 106–115. The way to a socio-rhetorical analysis of the Christian edition of the Sibylline Oracles is opportunely cleared by Timothy Beech, “Unraveling the Complexity of the Oracula Sibyllina: The Value of a Socio-Rhetorical Approach in the Study of the Sibylline Oracles.” Another reconfiguration of Jewish apocalyptic literature is then examined by Michael Kaler, “Gnostic Irony and the Adaptation of the Apocalyptic Genre,” notably in the two similar cases of the Apocalypse of Paul (NHC V,2) and the Apocalypse of Adam (NHC V,5). Finally, Timothy Pettipiece’s essay, on “The Manichaean Reception of Apocryphal Traditions: The Case of the ‘Five Limbs’,” reminds us that a certain number of Jewish and / or Christian “apocryphal” traditions were positively received by the prophet Mani and his followers.

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The last section of the volume includes five essays devoted to various aspects of Pseudo-Clementine literature, a series of novelistic writings essentially composed of two different fourth-century forms: the Recognitions in ten books, whose Greek text, presently lost, is preserved in Rufinus’ integral Latin version and in a partial translation into Syriac; and the Homilies in twenty sermons, still extant in Greek. As is well known, these two texts derive from an earlier third-century work called in German Grundschrift, or “Basic Writing,” which can at least in part be reconstructed and whose Jewish Christian (perhaps Ebionite) nature is almost universally accepted.40 While previous generations of specialists have concentrated their efforts on the elusive shapes of the Grundschrift’s hypothetical sources (the famous Kerygmata and Periodoi Petrou) or the Grundschrift itself, scholarly attention has now shifted in the direction of a more synchronic and rhetorical study of the two surviving late antique editions.41 Thus, the contributions of F. Stanley Jones (“John the Baptist and His Disciples in the Pseudo-Clementines: A Historical Appraisal,” on negative views of John the Baptist found in the Grundschrift), Kelley Coblentz Bautch (“The Pseudo-Clementine Homilies’ Use of Jewish Pseudepigrapha,” especially Enochic traditions),42 and Giovanni Battista Bazzana (“Healing the World: Medical and Social Practice in the Pseudo-Clementine Novel,” on an interesting difference of attitude towards medical practice between the Pseudo-Clementines and the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles [NHC VI,1]) operate at the level of the Basic Writing. Meanwhile, the contributions of Dominique Côté (“Rhetoric and Jewish-Christianity: The Case of the Grammarian Apion in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,” on the Homilist’s attitude towards Greco-Roman paideia, rhetoric, and philosophy) and Nicole Kelley (“Pseudo-Clementine Polemics against Sacrifice: A Window onto Religious Life in the Fourth Century?” proposing to interpret such a polemic in the light of the Neo-Platonist critique of sacrifices) are more oriented towards its fourth-century rewritings and their late antique social and cultural contexts.

3. What prospects for future studies? We are confident that consideration of the essays collected in this and similar volumes43 will contribute to correct some misconceptions about Christian 40 See, most recently, J. N. Bremmer, “Pseudo-Clementines: Texts, Dates, Places, Authors and Magic,” in The Pseudo-Clementines (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SECA 10; Leuven 2010), 1–23. 41 See the history of the research drawn by F. Amsler, “État de la recherche récente sur le roman pseudo-clémentin,” in Nouvelles intrigues pseudo-clémentines, 25–45. 42 For an analogous reconfiguration of the same traditions on the “gnostic” side, see now P. Pio­vanelli, “From Enoch to Seth: Primeval Patrons in Jewish-Apocalyptic and Christian-­ Gnostic Traditions,” Judaïsme ancien – Ancient Judaism 2 (2014): 79–112. 43 For example, J. Frey and J. Schröter, eds., Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen. Beiträge zu ausserkanonischen Jesusüberlieferungen aus verschiedenen Sprach‑ und Kulturtra-

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apocryphal texts, bringing the underground to the foreground, so to speak, and opening new avenues for the study of Jewish and Christian memorial traditions and “scripturistic” – certainly a better term than “para-biblical” – literature as a global phenomenon encompassing both “canonical” and “apocryphal” productions. More specifically, from a methodological point of view it would be highly beneficial, on the one hand, for too rigid source‑ and redaction-critical approaches to give way to more flexible socio-rhetorical studies of the different texts and traditions, and on the other hand, for “Jewish” and “Christian,”44 “orthodox” and “heretical,” early and late texts and traditions to be put together in historical perspective and studied in the long term, albeit without denying the social and ideological peculiarities of the different milieus that produced them.45 Hopefully a day will come when it will no longer be necessary to advertise the edition of a new Coptic or Syriac apocryphal text discovered in a late antique or medieval manuscript as containing traditions as early and sensational as those transmitted by the Q source or the Gospel of Thomas.46

ditionen (WUNT 1.254; Tübingen 2010); A. Gagné and J.-F. Racine, eds., En marge du canon. Études sur les écrits apocryphes juifs et chrétiens (L’écriture de la Bible 2; Paris 2012); J. Schröter, ed., The Apocryphal Gospels within the Context of Early Christian Theology (BETL 260; Leuven 2013); J.-M. Roessli and T. Nicklas, eds., Christian Apocrypha: Receptions of the New Testament in Ancient Christian Apocrypha (Novum Testamentum Patristicum 26; Göttingen 2014); or T. Burke and B. Landau, eds., Forbidden Texts on the Western Frontier: The Christian Apocrypha in North American Perspectives (Eugene, Or. forthcoming). 44 In this respect, an extremely promising line of research is offered by the joint study of Jewish mystical and Christian apocalyptic texts. See, most recently, D. M. Burns, Apocalypse of the Alien God: Platonism and the Exile of Sethian Gnosticism (Divinations; Philadelphia 2014), and P. Piovanelli, “ ‘A Door into an Alien World’: Reading the Ascension of Isaiah as a Jewish Mystical Text,” in The Ascension of Isaiah (eds. J. N. Bremmer, T. R. Karmann and T. Nicklas; SECA 11; Leuven forthcoming). 45 See the considerations expressed by J.-M. Roessli, “North American Approaches to the Study of the Christian Apocrypha on the World Stage,” in Forbidden Texts on the Western Frontier, forthcoming, and P. Piovanelli, “Scriptural Trajectories Through Early Christianity, Late Antiquity, and Beyond: Christian Memorial Traditions in the longue durée,” ibid. 46 A welcome exception being R. van den Broek, Pseudo-Cyril of Jerusalem On the Life and the Passion of Christ: A Coptic Apocryphon (VCSup 118; Leiden 2013), who resisted the temptation to antedate an extremely interesting late antique sermon attributed to Cyril of Jerusalem in spite of the fact that it is replete with earlier apocryphal traditions.

II. General Perspectives

Entering the Mainstream: Twenty-five Years of Research on the Christian Apocrypha* Tony Burke In 1988 James H. Charlesworth published his article “Research on the New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha.”1 The article features a comprehensive bibliography on the Christian Apocrypha (CA)  – condensed from his 1987 volume for the American Theological Library Association2 – and a discussion of pressing issues in the study of the literature. In a brief overview of previous research, Charlesworth divides scholarship on the CA into four phases. The last of these phases began in 1965 and is marked by a tendency to evaluate the texts critically as evidence (alongside the canonical gospels) for early forms of Christianity. Twenty-five years have elapsed since Charlesworth’s work, and there have been great developments in the study of the CA in this period. The time is right, then, to look back at the past two-and-a-half decades of scholarship in the field, to celebrate its achievements, reflect on its setbacks, and consider what directions it might take in the years to come. Among the significant developments of recent years are to be counted the broadening of criteria for the selection of texts in CA collections, the publication of new manuscripts of both known and newly-discovered works, the increased interest in the CA among the wider public, and the preliminary efforts at using the Internet to make the texts and new scholarship on the texts available to the wider public. Noncanonical Christian texts have never been so popular, but popularity is no barometer for quality of work. Among the challenges facing the study of the CA today is the gulf that exists between the truly excellent work of specialists on the CA and the discussions of the literature found in works by non-specialists, both scholarly and non-scholarly. Narrowing that gulf will lead * This essay was prepared for the Ottawa Apocrypha Workshop in 2006. It appears here in revised form to reflect developments in the field over the intervening years. 1 J. H. Charlesworth, “Research on the New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha,” ANRW 2.25.2 (1988): 3919–68, revised in idem, Authentic Apocrypha: False and Genuine Christian Apocrypha (The Dead Sea Scrolls and Christian Origins Library 2; North Richland Hills, Tex. 1998). 2 J. H. Charlesworth, The New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha: A Guide to Publications, with Excurses on Apocalypses (ATLA Bibliography Series 17; Metuchen, N. J. 1987).

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to a greater understanding of the CA for all those who are intrigued by these fascinating texts.

1. Defining “Christian Apocrypha” Charleworth’s identification of the fourth, and arguably still ongoing, phase of CA research is indisputably generalized – not all scholars view the CA as valuable texts for the study of early Christianity. The past several years in particular have seen a backlash from conservative scholars over the efficacy of using these texts to reconstruct early Christian history, particularly for recovering the life and teachings of Jesus. Also in contention is the traditional term “New Testament Apocrypha” and its utility for describing and delineating noncanonical Christian literature. The origin of the term “New Testament Apocrypha” as a corpus of literature defined in relation to the canon has been credited to Johann Albert Fabricius and his seminal anthology, Codex Apocryphus Novi Testamenti (1703; 17192). This definition endured into the twentieth century, influencing the contents of CA collections, including Edgar Hennecke and Wilhelm Schneemelcher’s influential 1959–1964 third edition of the Neutestamentliche Apokryphen.3 But in 1971, when a group of Swiss and French scholars met to discuss the possibility of a new French translation of CA, it became apparent that the traditional definition of “New Testament Apocrypha” would be an obstacle in promoting thoughtful study of the literature.4 Ten years later this group of scholars formed the Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne (AELAC) and began the work of the group with a critique on the limitations placed on Christian apocryphal literature by the term “New Testament Apocrypha.” The principal voices in the discussion were Éric Junod and Jean-Claude Picard who called for an expansion of the CA corpus to include: 1) texts composed after the fourth century and, 2) texts written by Christians but focused on Old Testament figures and events.5 In response to Junod’s concerns, Schneemelcher revised his definition 3 E. Hennecke and W. Schneemelcher, eds., Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung (2 vols.; Tübingen 1959–1964; ET: New Testament Apocrypha [trans. R.McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; Philadelphia 1963–1965]), subsequently replaced by the fifth edition edited by W. Schnee­ melcher alone, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung (2 vols.; Tübingen 1987– 1989; ET: New Testament Apocrypha [trans. R.McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; Louisville, Ky. 1991–1992]). 4 For details, see J.-D. Dubois, “L’AELAC, vingt ans après,” Bulletin de l’AELAC 11 (2001): 24–30. 5 É. Junod, “Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament ou apocryphes chrétiens anciens? Remarques sur la désignation d’un corpus et indications bibliographiques sur instruments de travail récents,” ETR 59 (1983): 409–21; idem, “La littérature apocryphe chrétienne constitue-t-elle un objet d’études?” REA 93 (1991): 397–414; J.-C. Picard, “L’apocryphe à l’étroit. Notes historiographiques sur les corpus d’apocryphes bibliques,” Apocrypha 1 (1990): 69–117 (reprinted in idem, Le continent apocryphe. Essai sur les littératures apocryphes juive et chrétienne [In-

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for the fifth edition of the Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in 1987–1989, but not to the AELAC’s satisfaction – the edition still neglects later texts and Old Testament Pseudepigrapha written by Christians.6 Willy Rordorf, in support of Junod and Picard, has suggested completely abandoning the term “New Testament Apocrypha” and replacing it with “anonymous or pseudepigraphical, extra-biblical Christian literature.”7 Junod, however, has resigned himself to keeping the adjective “apocryphal” but eliminating “New Testament” to form the new term “Écrits apocryphes chrétiens” (Christian Apocryphal Writings). Participants in the AELAC have taken seriously this redefining of the CA corpus. Scholarship published under the aegis of the group, including the journal Apocrypha and the Écrits apocryphes chrétiens volumes published in the Pléiade series,8 has brought needed attention to later Christian texts (e. g., the Dormition/ Transitus of Mary) and opened up questions about the supposed Jewish origins of several Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (e. g., Lives of the Prophets). In addition, severing the literature from the New Testament – in content, genre, and time period – has encouraged the examination of noncanonical texts for their own sake as valid and fascinating expressions of early Christian belief and not merely as texts that aid in understanding the origins of the New Testament. Jean-Daniel Dubois, in his 2001 overview of the history of the AELAC, states that the debate on defining the CA appears now to have lost its urgency;9 but popular editions and studies of the CA continue to use the canon to establish the parameters of their work. And, continuing the discussion, one AELAC-affiliated scholar, Pierluigi Piovanelli, advocates widening the scope of the field even further to embrace all Christian Apocrypha, including examples as recent as Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ and L. H. Dowling’s The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ.10 Charlesworth, for his part, took great pains to separate “authentic strumenta Patristica 36; Turnhout 1999], 13–51). For overviews of the debate see W. Rordorf, “Terra Incognita: Recent Research on the Christian Apocryphal Literature, especially on some Acts of Apostles,” in Biblica et Apocrypha, Orientalia, Ascetica: Papers Presented at the Eleventh International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 1991 (ed. E. A. Livingstone; StPatr 25; Leuven 1993), 143–47; S. C. Mimouni, “Le concept d’apocryphité dans le christianisme ancien et médiéval. Réflexions en guise d’introduction,” in Apocryphité. Histoire d’un concept transversal aux religions du livre. En hommage à Pierre Geoltrain (ed. S. C. Mimouni; BEHESR 113; Turnhout 2002), 1–30.  6 See É. Junod’s critique in “ ‘Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament’: une appellation erronée et une collection artificielle. Discussion de la nouvelle définition proposée par W. Schneemelcher,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 17–46.  7 Rordorf, “Terra Incognita,” 146.  8 F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli, eds., Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442, 516; Paris 1997–2005).  9 Dubois, “L’AELAC, vingt and après,” 28. 10 P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005): 31–40; idem, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien,’ et comment ça marche? Quelques suggestions pour une herméneutique apocryphe,” in Pierre Geoltrain, ou comment “faire l’histoire” des religions. Le chantier des “ori-

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apocrypha” from “forgeries” such as the Letter of Lentulus (and even the Secret Gospel of Mark); yet, as Piovanelli argues, the only distinction between these two groups of texts is temporal and is based, again, on using the New Testament to define the corpus. The debate over the limits of the CA may have lost its urgency but, for some, the debate is far from settled. Attitudes toward the CA differ in the United States, where the majority of scholarly and non-scholarly attention is lavished upon those apocryphal texts believed to be important for recovering the life and teachings of Jesus. Helmut Koester, James Robinson, John Dominic Crossan, Elaine Pagels, and Bart Ehrman are leading representatives of such an approach. Critic Darrell L. Bock has dubbed these scholars the “new school” (because they present a “new vision” of Christian origins based on “new texts”) and characterizes their work as seeking to prove there were “competing and alternative Christianities with no real orthodoxy present in [the] early period.”11 Though the scholars Bock names hardly agree on the usefulness of the earliest CA texts (for example, Ehrman and Crossan are diametrically opposed on the value of the Gospel of Peter), they are in agreement that certain non-canonical texts are equally as likely as canonical texts to preserve early traditions about Jesus. The most well-known example of such an approach is Crossan’s The Historical Jesus.12 Here, Crossan includes an assortment of non-canonical texts in his list of independent sources for Jesus traditions; the more often a tradition is found in independent sources, Crossan claims, the more likely it is to be authentic. Alas, Crossan is selective about which texts he includes in his study – i. e., he focuses on sayings, thereby neglecting narratives; therefore, sayings gospels, such as the Gospel of Thomas or the Dialogue of the Savior, receive much attention, but story-cycles, such as the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, are ignored. gines,” les méthodes du doute, et la conversation contemporaine entre disciplines (ed. S. C.  Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BEHESR 128; Turnhout 2006), 173–86. 11 D. L. Bock, The Missing Gospels: Unearthing the Truth Behind Alternative Christianities (Nashville, Tenn. 2006), xxv. Bock’s book, while useful for understanding objections to the scholarship of the “new school,” is rather uncritical in its use of the primary sources (for one, the “missing gospels” he disparages include the Letter to Rheginos and the Valentinian Exposition, which, while useful for understanding gnostic thought, are not CA texts); also, it is inadequate in its use of secondary sources (he draws heavily on general introductions to the CA rather than on the broad range of scholarship that they try, but often fail, to condense), and so polemical that he characterizes the New Testament authors unjustifiably as theologically consistent with each other and CA authors as merely “people associating themselves with Christianity” (8, emphasis mine). For other criticisms of this “new school,” see M. J. Wilkins and J. P. Moreland, eds., Jesus Under Fire (Grand Rapids, Mich. 1995); P. Jenkins, The Hidden Gospels: How the Search for Jesus Lost Its Way (Oxford 2001); B. Witherington III, The Gospel Code: Novel Claims About Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Da Vinci (Downers Grove, Ill. 2004); idem, What Have They Done with Jesus? Beyond Strange Theories and Bad History – Why We Can Trust the Bible (San Francisco 2006); J. P. Burgess, “Going Creedless: Alternative Christianities,” ChrCent 121 (2004): 24–28. 12 J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco 1991).

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The spirit of the “new school” also infuses the work of Robert Funk’s Jesus Seminar.13 Two of the Seminar’s publications particularly promote the view that certain CA texts are of equal value to the canonical gospels for recovering Jesus traditions: the Five Gospels,14 which features the Gospel of Thomas alongside the canonical gospels for determining the authenticity of sayings of Jesus, and The Complete Gospels,15 which again places noncanonical texts alongside canonical texts and even boasts that it includes “everything you need to empower your own search for the historical Jesus.”16 The work of both the “new school” and its critics is transparently polemical. The “new school” scholars read twenty-first century liberal values (egalitarianism, relativism) into first-century Christianity, while their critics fight the public’s attraction to the “new school’s” views by rehashing the arguments of the heresiologists to reestablish the view of an early, consistent orthodoxy.17 In the “new school’s” defense, Bock and his ilk tend to misrepresent and exaggerate their opponents’ claims; indeed, Witherington goes so far as to demonize his adversaries in stating, “these scholars, though bright and sincere, are not merely wrong; they are misled. They are oblivious to the fact that they are being led down this path by the powers of darkness.”18 But the “new school” scholars do tend to reach hasty conclusions from the evidence and advance (perhaps intentionally) provocative claims. A reasonable middle ground between the two extremes can be achieved and likely the majority of New Testament scholars would place themselves within it. Nevertheless, the interests of the “new school” have been and continue to be influential in North America. Bart Ehrman’s best-selling New Testament text13 The publishing wing of the Seminar, Polebridge Press, has issued several books related to the CA: R. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas (The Scholars Bible 2; Santa Rosa, Calif. 1995); R. J. Miller, Born Divine: The Births of Jesus and Other Sons of God (Santa Rosa, Calif. 2003); K. L. King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala: Jesus and the First Woman Apostle (Santa Rosa, Calif. 2003); D. R. MacDonald, The Acts of Andrew (Early Christian Apocrypha 1; Santa Rosa, Calif. 2005); J. V. Hills, The Epistle of the Apostles (Early Christian Apocrypha 2; Santa Rosa, Calif. 2009); H. W. Attridge and J. V. Hills, The Acts of Thomas (Early Christian Apocrypha 3; Salem, Or. 2010); R. F. Stoops, The Acts of Peter (Early Christian Apocrypha 4; Salem, Or. 2012); and C. N. Jefford, Didache: The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles (Early Christian Apocrypha 5; Salem, Or. 2013). 14 R. W. Funk, R. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar, The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus: New Translation and Commentary (New York 1993). For an early response to the work of the Seminar, see L. T. Johnson, The Real Jesus: The Misguided Quest for the Historical Jesus and the Truth of the Traditional Gospels (San Francisco 1996), and R. J. Miller’s rejoinder, The Jesus Seminar and Its Critics (Santa Rosa, Calif. 1999). 15 R. J. Miller, The Complete Gospels: Annotated Scholars Version (Sonoma, Calif. 1992; 4th ed., with a slightly different title [The Complete Gospels: The Scholars Version], Salem, Or. 2010). 16 These words, attributed to John Dominic Crossan, are emblazoned upon the book’s front cover. 17 For an overview of the conflict between the two groups see T. Burke, “Heresy Hunting in the New Millennium,” SR 39 (2010): 405–20. 18 Witherington III, The Gospel Code, 174.

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book and companion reader feature the early CA prominently,19 bringing these texts to the attention of thousands of college and university students every school year. Ehrman’s other CA‑related books20 add to the promotion of the literature. And other U. S. scholars, such as Nicola Denzey Lewis and Crossan, are regularly called upon by the media when the CA come to the public’s attention. While all of this interest is welcome and beneficial to the field, it narrows the perception of why these texts are important, making them useful merely as sources for reconstructing the teachings of Jesus. Once mined for golden nuggets of perceived early Jesus traditions, the texts are routinely discarded. And once a scholar persuasively refutes claims for the texts’ independence from the canonical gospels, the texts return to being considered heretical nonsense.21 In U. S. scholarship there is little effort to understand and appreciate the texts in their entirety as legitimate products of Christian imagination, as the AELAC advocates. Little wonder, then, that the editions and commentaries by the AELAC members rarely cover the same texts as those of their North American counterparts. Unfortunately, this limits the opportunity for fruitful exchange of information and collaboration between the two groups of scholars. But they are not isolated entirely; some North American scholars (such as Pierluigi Piovanelli, F. Stanley Jones, and others) participate in the AELAC projects – indeed, Harvard’s professor François Bovon was a founding member of the group and contributed to both American and European research and guided new CA scholars through graduate school. As for defining the CA, certainly some precision is necessary in determining which texts belong to the category. Texts noncanonical or even heretical are not necessarily apocryphal, though in some collections and commentaries the distinction is blurred.22 Ehrman’s poorly-named Lost Scriptures, for example, includes several texts commonly considered among the Apostolic Fathers as well as a few Valentinian tractates (the Letter to Rheginos and Ptolemy’s Letter to Flora); none of these texts fit anyone’s definition of “apocryphal,” nor were they ever 19 B. D. Ehrman, The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings (New York 1997; 5th ed., 2012); idem, The New Testament and Other Early Christian Writings: A Reader (New York 1998; 2nd ed., 2004); idem, A Brief Introduction to the New Testament (New York 2004; 2nd ed., 2009). 20 Including B. D. Ehrman, Peter, Paul and Mary Magdalene: The Followers of Jesus in History and Legend (New York 2006); idem, The Lost Gospel of Judas Iscariot: A New Look at Betrayer and Betrayed (New York 2006); idem, “Christianity Turned on Its Head: The Alternative Vision of the Gospel of Judas,” in The Gospel of Judas (ed. R. Kasser and al.; Washington, D. C. 2006; 2nd ed., 2008), 77–120 (79–102 and 181–82 of the 2nd ed.); and additional works discussed below. 21 Bock’s attack on the “new school,” for example, argues against claims that texts like the Gospel of Thomas feature a more human Jesus by emphasizing their gnostic affinities, thereby doubtlessly leading his readers to think all noncanonical texts are gnostic and CA scholarship on the whole as “seriously flawed when it comes to describing early Christianity” (The Missing Gospels, 212). 22 See the discussion on ancient assessments of select texts from the Apostolic Fathers in Charlesworth, “Research,” 3926, n. 6. For another modern edition that combines the two groups, see W. Rebell, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen und apostolische Väter (Münich 1992).

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considered sacred. Perhaps the solution lies in redrawing the lines that divide the traditional CA from the Apostolic Fathers and the Nag Hammadi texts (the pseudonymity of the Epistle of Barnabas makes the text a good candidate for the CA, and any Nag Hammadi texts attributed to apostles and / or documenting the teachings or activities of New Testament figures likewise deserve inclusion).23 And although the term “New Testament Apocrypha” is objectionable on many levels, it remains effective as a brand; as J. Keith Elliott notes in the introduction to his own collection, “most readers turning to a book with this title are usually aware of the sort of literature they expect to find within its covers.”24 “Christian Apocryphal Literature” or “anonymous or pseudepigraphical, extra-biblical Christian literature” may be more accurate terms, but they are less likely to draw as many readers or tweak the interests of college and university students shopping for titillating electives.

2. Major studies on Christian apocryphal texts Some particular CA texts have received a great deal of attention in the years since Charleworth’s article. Thanks to diligent investigative work in libraries and some shady negotiations with antiquities dealers, several new manuscripts have been brought to light either presenting us with entirely new texts or helping us to better establish texts already known. In addition, scholars have given the CA significant exposure in some key works aimed at reconstructing important aspects of early Christian history. The apocryphal acts have benefited greatly from recent manuscript discoveries. These texts present challenges to scholars because most witnesses are heavily edited by an orthodox Christianity interested more in the apostles’ martyrdoms and travels than their esoteric speeches and astonishing miracles. The recovery of the Acts of Philip, for one, has been aided by François Bovon’s discovery of a new manuscript containing chapters 11–15, a good third of the work.25 Bovon 23 Charlesworth adheres more to the traditional definition of the CA (“Research,” 3924) and lists as exclusions the Apostolic Fathers, the Nag Hammadi Library (because these texts are gnostic), and the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Bock draws a distinction between the orthodox Epistle to Barnabas, which is “not tied to the Barnabas of the New Testament” (The Missing Gospels, 124), and the heretical CA. CA collections tend to include few Nag Hammadi texts chiefly because they can be found so readily in James Robinson’s well-established volume, The Nag Hammadi Library in English (4th ed.; Leiden 1996) or its recent update: M. Meyer et al., eds., The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition (New York 2007). 24 J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation Based on M. R. James (1993; corrected paperback ed., Oxford 2005), xii. 25 The discovery was noted first in F. Bovon, “Les Acts de Philippe,” ANRW 2.25.6 (1988): 4431–527. This was followed with a critical edition and commentary (F. Bovon, B. Bouvier, and F. Amsler, Acta Philippi – Textus [CCSA 11; Turnhout 1999]) and an English translation (F. Bo­ von and C. R. Matthews, The Acts of Philip: A New Translation [Waco, Tex. 2012]).

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documents the discovery and editing of the manuscript in “Editing the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” an invaluable essay for CA scholars wishing to pursue textual criticism. The essay opens a volume on the apocryphal acts edited by and with contributions from participants in Bovon’s Harvard Divinity School seminars.26 The book does much to advance scholarship on these texts and even includes editions of two new texts: the Martyrdom of the Holy Apostle Ananias and the Memorial of Saint John the Theologian.27 In recent years, Bovon turned his attention to texts related to Stephen, the first martyr.28 The five “great” apocryphal acts also have been examined in recent scholarship. Dennis R. MacDonald, known for his interest in illustrating Homeric intertextuality in early Christian literature, applied his approach to the problem of determining the original extent of the Acts of Andrew.29 Work on the Acts of Paul has advanced thanks to three new discoveries: a Greek manuscript from St. Catherine’s Monastery, additional pages from a previously-published Greek papyrus, and a Coptic fragment containing the beginning of the text.30 Also noteworthy are the conference paper collections and dissertations in the series Studies on Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (now Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha) edited by Jan N. Brenner,31 and an issue of Semeia dedicated to “The 26 F. Bovon, “Editing the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (ed. F. Bovon et al.; Harvard Divinity School Studies; Cambridge, Mass. 1999), 1–35. 27 F. Bovon and E. Zachariades-Holmberg, “The Martyrdom of the Holy Apostle Ananias (BHG 75y),” in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 309–31; Y. Taniguchi, F. Bovon and A. Antonopoulos, “The Memorial of Saint John the Theologian (BHG 919fb),” ibid., 333–53. 28 F. Bovon, “The Dossier on Stephen, the First Martyr,” HTR 96 (2003): 279–315; idem, “Beyond the Book of Acts: Stephen, the First Christian Martyr, in Traditions Outside the New Testament Canon of Scripture,” PRSt 32 (2005): 93–107; F. Bovon and B. Bouvier, “Étienne le premier martyr. Du livre canonique au récit apocryphe,” in Die Apostelgeschichte und die hellenistische Geschichtsschreibung. Festschrift für Eckhard Plümacher zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (ed. C. Breytenbach and J. Schröter; AJEC 57; Leiden 2004), 309–31; eidem, “La Révélation d’Étien­ ne ou l’Invention des reliques d’Étienne, le saint premier martyr (Sinaiticus Graecus 493),” in Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques. Études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod (ed. A. Frey and R. Gounelle; PIRSB 5; Lausanne 2007), 79–105. Bovon and Bouvier built on the work of Andrzerj Strus, who published new manuscripts of the literature in “La passione di santo Stefano in due manoscritti greci,” Salesianum 58 (1996): 21–61; idem, “L’origine de l’apocryphe grec de la passion de S. Étienne. À propos d’un texte de deux manuscripts récemment publiés,” Ephemerides liturgicae 112 (1998): 18–57. 29 D. R. MacDonald, The Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals (SBLTT 33, Christian Apocrypha 1; Atlanta, Ga. 1990); idem, Christianizing Homer: The Odyssey, Plato, and the Acts of Andrew (Oxford and New York 1994); idem, The Acts of Andrew (see above, n. 13). 30 The new evidence is discussed by Rordorf, “Terra Incognita,” 148–49. The Coptic fragment was finally published, after a substantial delay, by R. Kasser and Ph. Luisier, “Le Papyrus Bodmer XLI en édition princeps. L’épisode d’Éphèse des Acta Pauli en copte et en traduction,” Mus 117 (2004): 281–384. 31 Titles published in the series to date include: J. N. Bremmer, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of John (SAAA 1; Kampen 1995); idem, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (SAAA 2; Kampen 1996); idem, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism

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Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives” edited by Robert F. Stoops.32 Several texts well-known for their complicated transmission histories have received much-needed and long-deserved attention from textual critics. The first of these, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, suffered from neglect for decades after scholars determined that it was not the “Gospel of Thomas” often mentioned in antiquity. No-one seemed ready, willing, or able to arrange the numerous sources for the text – in Greek, Syriac, Latin, Slavonic, Ethiopic, and Georgian – into a comprehensive critical edition. But such an edition is nearer in sight thanks to Thomas Rosén’s edition of the Slavonic manuscripts,33 my own edition of the published and unpublished Greek witnesses,34 updated work on the Syriac tradition,35 and several important contributions by Sever Voicu, including a critical synopsis of the sources for the gospel, a landmark discussion of its original form, and, most recently, an overview of the important early Latin branch of the manuscript tradition.36 Mention should be made also of the work on Infancy Thomas by Reidar Aasgaard. His 2009 monograph on the text, The Childhood of Jesus: Decoding the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas,37 features detailed examina(SAAA 3; Leuven 1998); idem, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Andrew (SAAA 5; Leuven 2000); idem, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (SAAA 6; Leuven 2001); P. J. Lalleman, The Acts of John: A Two-Stage Initiation into Johannine Gnosticism (SAAA 4; Leuven 1998); I. Czachesz, Commission Narratives: A Comparative Study of the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts (SECA 8; Leuven 2007). The broadened scope of the series has allowed for volumes devoted to CA texts other than the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: J. N. Bremmer and I. Czachesz, eds., The Apocalypse of Peter (SECA 7; Leuven 2003); eidem, eds., The Visio Pauli and the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul (SECA 9; Leuven 2007); J. N. Bremmer, ed., The Pseudo-Clementines (SECA 10; Leuven 2010); ); J. N. Bremmer, T. R. Karmann and T. Nicklas, eds., The Ascension of Isaiah (SECA 11; Leuven 2015). 32 R. F. Stoops, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives (Semeia 80; Atlanta, Ga. 1997). 33 T. Rosén, The Slavonic Translation of the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas (Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, Studia Slavica Upsaliensia 39; Uppsala 1997). 34 T. Burke, De infantia Iesu euangelium Thomae graece (CCSA 17; Turnhout 2010), a revision of my doctoral thesis, T. Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas: The Text, Its Origins, and Its Transmission” (Ph.D. diss.; University of Toronto, 2001). 35 T. Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas from an Unpublished Syriac Manuscript: Introduction, Text, Translation, and Notes,” Hugoye 16 (2013): 225–99. 36 S. Voicu, “Notes sur l’histoire du texte de l’Histoire de l’enfance de Jésus,” Apocrypha 2 (1991): 119–32; idem, “La tradition latine des Paidika,” Bulletin de l’AELAC 14 (2004): 13–21; idem, “Verso il testo primitivo dei Παιδικὰ τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ ‘Racconti dell’infanzia del Signore Gesù’,” Apocrypha 9 (1998): 7–95; idem, “Ways to Survival for the Infancy Apocrypha,” in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities (ed. C. Clivaz et al.; WUNT 1.281; Tübingen 2011): 401–17. For a response to Voicu’s “Verso il testo primitivo,” noting some omissions and indicating new avenues of investigation, see T. Chartrand-Burke, “The Greek Manuscript Tradition of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Apocrypha 14 (2004): 129–51. 37 R. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus: Decoding the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas (Eugene, Or. 2009). Also adding her voice to the study of the gospel is U. U. Kaiser, who contributed the entry on the text to the Markschies and Schröter collection (Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung [see below, n. 76], 2:930–59) and has written also “Jesus als

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tions of the text’s putative origins, narrative and literary features, and theological propensities. But most interesting is Aasgaard’s argument that the gospel should be understood as “Christianity’s first children’s story” – a text written specifically for the education and entertainment of children. Another text with a rich and complex manuscript base is the Dormition of Mary; at last count it is extant in 62 versions, in eight different languages. The Dormition traditions, though certainly popular throughout Christian history, are less well-known to Christians today. This neglect is due in part to the late date of origin for the text – the earliest Dormition text, the Ethiopic Liber Requiei, likely was composed in the fifth century, outside the time period of the formation of the New Testament, and therefore outside the purview of most CA collections. But that has not prevented Simon Mimouni, Michel van Esbroeck, and Stephen Shoemaker from contributing significant studies of the text.38 Shoemaker’s monograph in particular does much to determine the relationships between the versions of the Dormition while also challenging the assumptions lying behind previous research on the text. In addition, it offers valuable English translations of some of the less accessible witnesses: Ethiopic, Coptic, Armenian, and Georgian. Finally, much attention has been paid in recent years to the Pseudo-Clementine Romance. F. Stanley Jones, in particular, has contributed much to its study, including work on isolating Jewish-Christian sources from the extant materials and efforts to bring awareness to the very early Syriac fragments (one is dated to 411 c.e.) of the Recognitions.39 Bringing attention to the Pseudo-Clementines would be aided by featuring the text more prominently in CA collections; the Kind. Neuere Forschungen zur Jesusüberlieferung in den apokryphen ‘Kindheitsevangelien’,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen. Beiträge zu ausserkanonischen Jesusüberlieferungen aus verschiedenen Sprach‑ und Kulturtraditionen (ed. J. Frey and J. Schröter; WUNT 1.254; Tübingen 2010), 253–69, and “Die sogenannte ‘Kindheitserzählung des Thomas’. Überlegungen zur Darstellung Jesu als Kind, deren Intention und Rezeption,” in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities, 459–81. 38 S. C. Mimouni has published numerous works on the text, the most comprehensive being Dormition et Assomption de Marie. Histoire des traditions anciennes (ThH 98; Paris 1995), and “Histoire de la recherche relative aux traditions littéraires et topologiques sur le sort final de Marie,” Marianum 58 (1996): 111–82 (repr. in idem, Les traditions anciennes sur la Dormition et l’Assomption de Marie. Études littéraires, historiques et doctrinales [VCSup 104; Leiden 2011], 1–73). For van Esbroeck’s contributions, see his collected articles in Aux origines de la Dormition de la Vierge. Études historiques sur les traditions orientales (Variorum Collected Studies Series 472; Aldershot 1995). Shoemaker’s major work is Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (OECS; Oxford 2002); see further his contribution in this volume. 39 Including F. S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity Pseudo-Clementine “Recognitions” 1.27–71 (SBLTT 37, Christian Apocrypha 2; Atlanta, Ga. 1995), and idem, “Evaluating the Latin and Syriac Translations of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 237–57; see also his contribution in this volume. The Pseudo-Clementines were the focus also of a 2006 colloquium, with papers collected in F. Amsler et al., eds., Nouvelles intrigues pseudo-clémentines – Plots in the Pseudo-Clementine Romance. Actes du deuxième colloque international sur la literature apocryphe chrétienne, Lausanne–Genève, 30 août–2 septembre 2006 (PIRSB 6; Lausanne 2008).

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new French translations of the Homilies and Recognitions included in the Pléiade volumes is a welcome change, but an up-to-date English translation is long overdue. As significant as these developments are for CA scholarship, the bulk of attention outside the field has been drawn to two newly-published texts: the Gospel of the Savior and the Gospel of Judas. The Gospel of the Savior was published in 1999 by Charles Hedrick and Paul Mirecki from a sixth-century Coptic manuscript (P. Berolinensis 22220).40 The text is extremely damaged and no title survives; the editors called it Gospel of the Savior simply because of its prevalent use of the Christological title “Savior,” which, though rare in the New Testament, is prominent also in the Gospel of Mary and the Dialogue of the Savior. Subsequent work on the text by Stephen Emmel has led to a re-ordering of the pages and has established a possible connection with the unknown gospel of the so-called Strasburg Coptic Papyrus.41 More recently Emmel posited a relationship between the gospel and the Coptic version of the Old Nubian “Stauros-Text” which came 40 C. W. Hedrick and P. A. Mirecki, Gospel of the Savior: A New Ancient Gospel (California Classical Library; Santa Rosa, Calif. 1999). The manuscript first came to scholars’ attention in a paper by Hedrick read at the Sixth International Congress of Coptic Studies in 1996 and published as “A Preliminary Report on Coptic Codex P. Berol. Inv. 22220,” in Ägypten und Nubien in spätantiker und christlicher Zeit. Akten des 6. Internationalen Koptologenkongresses, Münster, 20.–26. Juli 1996, vol. 2: Schrifttum, Sprache und Gedankenwelt (ed. S. Emmel et al.; Sprachen und Kulturen des christlichen Orients 6.2; Wiesbaden 1999), 127–30. 41 S. Emmel, “The Recently Published Gospel of the Savior (‘Unbekanntes Berliner Evangelium’): Righting the Order of Pages and Events,” HTR 95 (2002): 45–72; idem, “Unbekanntes Berliner Evangelium = The Strasbourg Coptic Gospel: Prolegomena to a New Edition of the Strasbourg Fragments,” in For the Children Perfect Instruction: Studies in Honor of Hans-Martin Schenke on the Occasion of the Berliner Arbeitskreis für koptisch-gnostische Schriften’s Thirtieth Year (ed. H.-G. Bethge et al.; NHMS 54; Leiden 2002), 353–74; idem, “The ‘Gospel of the Savior’: A New Witness to the Strasbourg Coptic Gospel,” Bulletin de l’AELAC 12 (2002): 9–12. In a response to Emmel’s early work on the text, Hedrick (“Caveats to a ‘Righted Order’ of the Gospel of the Savior,” HTR 96 [2003]: 229–38) urged caution in assigning the Strasburg Papyrus to the Gospel – perhaps they are related texts rather than two copies of the same text. Other scholars have also weighed in on the discussion, with P. Nagel, “ ‘Gespräche Jesu mit seinen Jüngern vor der Auferstehung’  – zur Herkunft und Datierung des ‘Unbekannten Berliner Evangeliums’,” ZNW 94 (2003): 215–57, making a case for Coptic, not Greek, composition, and J. Frey, “Leidenskampf und Himmelsreise. Das Berliner Evangelienfragment [Papyrus Berolinensis 22220] und die Gethsemane-Tradition,’ BZ 46 (2002): 71–96, arguing for a second-century origin. On the related questions of the original language, the date, and the nature of this apocryphal text, see also U.-K. Plisch, “Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen des Unbekannten Berliner Evangeliums (UBE),” ZAC 9 (2005): 64–84; J. L. Hagen, “Ein anderer Kontext für die Berliner und Strassburger ‘Evangelienfragmente’. Das ‘Evangelium der Erlösers’ und andere ‘Apostelevangelien’ in der koptischen Literatur,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen, 339–71; P. Piovanelli, “Thursday Night Fever: Dancing and Singing with Jesus in the Gospel of the Savior and the Dance of the Savior around the Cross,” Early Christianity 3 (2012): 229–48. Piovanelli’s essay is one of six papers on the Gospel of the Savior presented in two sessions devoted to the text at the 2011 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. Another two of these presentations, along with two additional papers on the Gospel of the Savior, were edited by Piovanelli and published in Apocrypha 24 (2014).

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to light in 196542 and was published recently by Peter Hubai.43 Hedrick and Mirecki’s initial work on the Gospel of the Savior began in 1991; when the news of it emerged in 1996, newspapers spoke of an unknown gospel that would shed a completely new light on the origins of Christianity. But, when finally published, the text attracted virtually no attention in the media – likely its esoteric contents were considered unpalatable to an audience hoping for sensational new insights about the historical Jesus. A similar reaction heralded news of the publication of the long-lost Gospel of Judas. The text became known to select members of the scholarly community as early as 1983 but was not made available for study until 2004 when the manuscript’s owners allowed Rodolphe Kasser to prepare a critical edition. An arrangement was made with the National Geographic Society to publish the text; the NGS planned a television special, a feature magazine article, and two books for simultaneous release at Easter 2006.44 Not everyone was happy with the monopoly that Kasser and the Society had on the text. James Robinson, famed for his efforts to make the Nag Hammadi library accessible, publicly called the secrecy surrounding the document “skullduggery”45 and published his own book on the text detailing his efforts to acquire the codex in the eighties.46 In another development, Charles Hedrick circulated photographs, a transcription, and a translation of several pages from the text to colleagues and these were leaked, apparently without Hedrick’s permission, to the Internet in early 2006. All of this intrigue only helped to stimulate interest in the text and Judas was certainly on everyone’s minds that Easter. Unfortunately, the media focused only on the text’s apparent elevation of the infamous apostle and attempted to maneuver scholars into declaring that the historical Judas was a hero, not a villain.47 The gospel’s 42 S. Emmel, “Preliminary Reedition and Translation of the Gospel of the Savior: New Light on the Strasbourg Coptic Gospel and the Stauros-Text from Nubia,” Apocrypha 14 (2003) 9–53; idem, “Ein altes Evangelium der Apostel taucht in Fragmenten aus Ägypten und Nubien auf,” ZAC 9 (2005): 85–99. 43 P. Hubai, Koptische Apokryphen aus Nubien. Der Kasr el-Wizz Kodex (trans. A. Balog; TU 163; Berlin 2009 [original Hungarian ed., Budapest 2006]). 44 The Coptic text was promptly published by R. Kasser, et al., The Gospel of Judas, Together with the Letter of Peter to Philip, James, and a Book of Allogenes from Codex Tchacos (Washington, D. C. 2006). The more journalistic story of the manuscript’s discovery along with an English translation was provided in H. Krosney, The Lost Gospel: The Quest for the Gospel of Judas Iscariot (Washington, D. C. 2006). Also see the new translations and commentaries of J. Brankaer and H.-G. Bethge, Codex Tchacos. Texte und Analysen (TU 161; Berlin 2007); M. Meyer, “The Gospel of Judas,” in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures, 755–69; L. Jenott, The Gospel of Judas: Coptic Text, Translation, and Historical Interpretation of ‘the Betrayer’s Gospel’ (STAC 64; Tübingen 2011). 45 J. M. Robinson, “From the Nag Hammadi Codices to The Gospel of Mary and The Gospel of Judas,” lecture delivered at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, held in Philadelphia, Pa., 20 November 2005. 46 J. M. Robinson, The Secrets of Judas: The Story of the Misunderstood Disciple and His Lost Gospel (New York 2006; 2nd ed., 2007). 47 The first generation of publications on the Gospel of Judas include Ehrman, The Lost Gospel

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main contents – gnostic cosmogogical speculation in dialogue form – were ignored. Work on the Gospel of Judas has continued in subsequent years, though without the media interest that greeted its release. New interpretations of Judas’ role in the text – he may be more villain than hero after all – likely will not reach many of those attracted by the sensationalism of the early reports.48 An additional new text that also prominently features Judas deserves mention: the Book of the Rooster (also referred to as the Book of the Cock). Excerpts from this fifth-century passion narrative circulated in the West as early as the seventeenth century, but the entire text was not published (in a French translation from Ethiopic) until 2005.49 As Pierluigi Piovanelli reports, the text holds a privileged place in the liturgy of the Ethiopian church and is extant, in whole or in part, in at least thirty manuscripts. The Book of the Rooster contains some controversial additions to the story of Jesus’ final days, including assigning a key role to Paul in Jesus’ arrest and scourging.50 Yet, because the text is a relatively late apocryphon, its publication did not produce a media spectacle nor stir much interest among New Testament scholars. The media did take some interest, however, in the Revelation of the Magi, a relatively unknown infancy gospel translated into English in 2010 by Brent Landau.51 The text, found within an eighth-century Syriac manuscript of the of Judas Iscariot; E. Pagels and K. L. King, Reading Judas: The Gospel of Judas and the Shaping of Christianity (New York 2007); A. D. DeConick, The Thirteenth Apostle: What the Gospel of Judas Really Says (London and New York 2007; 2nd ed., 2009); S. Gathercole, The Gospel of Judas: Rewriting Early Christianity (Oxford and New York 2007). 48 For the debates about the nature of Judas’ character in this text, see the volumes published by M. Scopello, ed., The Gospel of Judas in Context: Proceedings of the First International Conference on the Gospel of Judas. Paris, Sorbonne, October 27th–28th, 2006 (NHMS 62; Leiden 2008); A. D. DeConick, ed., The Codex Judas Papers: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Tchacos Codex Held at Rice University, Houston, Texas, March 13–16, 2008 (NHMS 71; Leiden 2009); E. E. Popkes and G. Wurst, eds., Judasevangelium und Codex Tchacos. Studien zur religionsgeschichtlichen Verortung einer gnostischen Schriftsammlung (WUNT 1.297; Tübingen 2012); as well as L. Painchaud’s article in this volume. 49 P. Piovanelli, “Le Livre du coq,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 2:137–203. For an introductory discussion of the text, see particularly idem, “Exploring the Ethiopic Book of the Cock: An Apocryphal Passion Gospel from Late Antiquity,” HTR 96 (2003): 427–54. 50 For more details on these interesting additions to the Passion story see P. Piovanelli, “The Book of the Cock and the Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish Christian Traditions in Fifth Century Palestine,” in The Changing Face of Judaism, Christianity and Other Greco-Roman Religions in Antiquity (ed. I. H. Henderson and G. S. Oegema; SJSHRZ 2; Gütersloh 2006), 308–22; idem, “Rabbi Yehuda versus Judas Iscariot: The Gospel of Judas and the Apocryphal Passion Stories,” in The Codex Judas Papers, 223–39; idem, “The Toledot Yeshu and Christian Apocryphal Literature: The Formative Years,” in Toledot Yeshu (“The Life Story of Jesus”) Revisited: A Princeton Conference (ed. P. Schäfer et al.; TSAJ 143; Tübingen 2011), 89–100. 51 B. Landau, Revelation of the Magi: The Lost Tale of the Wise Men’s Journey to Bethlehem (San Francisco 2010). It is one of two projects deriving from Landau’s doctoral dissertation, “The Sages and the Star-Child: An Introduction to the Revelation of the Magi, An Ancient Christian Apocryphon” (Ph.D. diss.; Harvard University, 2008); the second is a complete critical edition, to be published in the CCSA.

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Chronicle of Zuqnin, was published previously in Latin and French translations. Landau’s English translation, however, was aimed at a popular market and appeared before Christmas in 2010, just the right time of year to attract attention. According to the tale, a group of twelve (not three) Magi journey from the mythical land of Shir to see Jesus; their path is directed by Christ, who takes the form of a star. The Magi knew to follow the star because they are descendants of Seth, the third child of Adam and Eve; Seth passed on to them a prophecy revealed to him by his dying father. The Revelation of the Magi is of interest also because it features parallels with other Syriac literature, specifically the Book of the Bee and the Cave of Treasures, and with another infancy gospel usually referred to as the J Compilation, which has been re-examined in recent years.52 Another text enjoying renewed interest of late is the Secret Gospel of Mark. For decades scholars have kept this text at a distance, fearing it will one day be proven a forgery.53 But a few scholars, including Helmut Koester,54 Marvin Meyer,55 and Scott Brown,56 have defended the gospel’s authenticity and have integrated it into discussions of the transmission history of Mark and of solutions to the Synoptic Problem. The debate over Secret Mark’s authenticity was reignited in 2005 with the publication of Stephen Carlson’s The Gospel Hoax, which makes new arguments for the gospel as the creation of Morton Smith, the man who discovered the text.57 Carlson, who began his professional career as a lawyer but now holds a Ph.D. in Religious Studies from Duke University, departed from standard approaches to the text by employing modern handwriting analysis and other techniques to prove his argument that the text is a hoax. However, not everyone has been convinced by his evidence, including Brown and Allan Pantuck, who have become Carlson’s most vocal critics.58 But whether 52 J.-D. Kaestli and M. McNamara, “Latin Infancy Gospels: The J Compilation,” in Apocrypha Hiberniae. Part 1: Evangelia infantiae (ed. M. McNamara et al.; 2 vols.; CCSA 13–14; Turnhout 2001), 1:619–880; J.-D. Kaestli, “Mapping an Unexplored Second Century Apocryphal Gospel: The Liber de Nativitate Salvatoris (CANT 53),” in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities, 505–59. 53 On the different aspects of the controversy over the text’s origins, see P. Piovanelli, “L’Évangile secret de Marc trente trois ans après, entre potentialités exégétiques et difficultés techniques,” RB 114 (2007): 52–72, 237–54. 54 Most prominently in H. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels (Philadelphia 1990), 293–303. 55 In essays collected in M. Meyer, Secret Gospels: Essays on Thomas and the Secret Gospel of Mark (New York and London 2003). 56 S. G. Brown, Mark’s Other Gospel: Rethinking Morton Smith’s Controversial Discovery (ESCJ 15; Waterloo, On. 2005). 57 S. C. Carlson, The Gospel Hoax: Morton Smith’s Invention of Secret Mark (Waco, Tex. 2005). 58 S. G. Brown, “Factualizing the Folklore: Stephen Carlson’s Case against Morton Smith,” HTR 99 (2006): 291–327; idem, “The Question of Motive in the Case against Morton Smith,” JBL 125 (2006): 351–83; idem, “Reply to Stephen Carlson,” ExpTim 117.4 (2006): 144–49; idem, “The Letter to Theodore: Stephen Carlson’s Case against Clement’s Authorship,” JECS 16 (2008): 535–72; S. G. Brown and A. J. Pantuck, “Morton Smith as M. Madiotes: Stephen Carlson’s Attribution of Secret Mark to a Bald Swindler,” Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus 6 (2008): 106–25; eidem, “Stephen Carlson’s Questionable Questioned Document Examination,” Salainan

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one stands with Carlson or Brown and Pantuck, all of these writers should be praised for stimulating discussion on a text which, in Charles Hedrick’s words, had reached “a stalemate in the academy.”59 Carlson’s dissenting voice has been joined by that of Peter Jeffery, a musicologist and specialist of the history of Christian liturgy, who formulated other objections to the authenticity of Morton Smith’s discovery.60 Meanwhile, in an attempt to vindicate Smith’s honor, Guy Stroumsa published the correspondence exchanged by Smith and his mentor and friend Gershom Scholem; the correspondence details the efforts Smith made to understand the text in the years subsequent to its discovery.61 And, hoping to authenticate the text once-and-for-all, the magazine Biblical Archeology Review enlisted the efforts of a Greek handwriting analyst and a paleographer; in short, the experts concluded that the manuscript was created by a native Greek writer in a difficult-to-duplicate eighteenth-century hand, which, some would argue, was beyond Smith’s capabilities to manufacture.62 In response to this flurry of interest in the gospel, and in an effort to seek consensus between the prominent voices in the debate over Secret Mark’s authenticity, a symposium dedicated to the text was organized at York University in 2011.63 Though full consensus was not reached, scholars attending the symposium did agree that some of the weaker arguments for forgery advanced by Carlson and others can no longer be sustained. Several other developments in the current phase of CA scholarship must be acknowledged. The field has benefited recently from studies of apocryphal texts

evankelista (posted 14 April 2010; online: http://salainenevankelista.blogspot.com/2010/04/ stephen-carlsons-questionable.html). 59 C. W. Hedrick, “The Secret Gospel of Mark: Stalemate in the Academy,” JECS 11 (2003): 133–45. This fascicle of the journal features additional essays on Secret Mark by B. D. Ehrman and G. Stroumsa. 60 P. Jeffery, The Secret Gospel of Mark Unveiled: Imagined Rituals of Sex, Death, and Madness in a Biblical Forgery (New Haven, Conn., and London 2007). For a lengthy reaction to Jeffery’s arguments see S. G. Brown’s review in RBL (posted 15 September 2007; online: http://www.​ bookreviews.org/pdf/5627_5944.pdf), and Jeffery’s rejoinder (posted 2008; online: http://mu​ sic.​princeton.edu/~jeffery/Review%20of%20Biblical%20Literature-Jeffery%20reply%20to​%​2​0​ Brown.pdf). 61 G. G. Stroumsa, Morton Smith and Gershom Scholem, Correspondence 1945–1982 (Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture 9; Leiden 2008). For a critical review of this edition, see P. Piovanelli, “Une certaine ‘Keckheit, Kühnheit und Grandiosität’… La correspondance entre Morton Smith et Gershom Scholem (1945–1982). Notes critiques,” RHR 228 (2011): 403–29. 62 Editor H. Shanks announced the initiative in his contribution to a four-part series of articles on Secret Mark, “Restoring a Dead Scholar’s Reputation,” BAR 35.6 (Nov./Dec. 2009) 59–61, 90–91. The reports are available, along with responses from A. J. Pantuck and P. Jeffery as well as other articles, at http://www.bib-arch.org/scholars-study/secret-mark.asp. 63 The symposium included papers from Brown, Pantuck, Jeffery, Hedrick, Shanks, Piovanelli, C. Evans, and M. Meyer. The proceedings are available in T. Burke, ed., Ancient Gospel or Modern Forgery? The Secret Gospel of Mark in Debate (Eugene, Or. 2012).

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and traditions extant in Irish,64 Anglo-Saxon,65 Ethiopic,66 Arabic,67 and Armenian.68 Greek, Latin, Coptic, and Syriac sources have long dominated scholars’ interests, but the lesser-known languages are becoming increasingly important for recovering the texts. It remains to be seen, however, if other scholars – particularly those who produce survey articles, monographs, or collections of primary texts – will integrate effectively the results of these studies into their work. However, research on the CA is not limited to texts; art and iconography have long been noted as repositories of apocryphal traditions. David Cartlidge and J. Keith Elliott have catalogued 2000 examples of paintings, mosaics, and sculptures displaying scenes or characters from the CA in Art and the Christian Apocrypha and its companion web site.69 64 See Apocrypha Hiberniae. Part 1, and M. McNamara, “Jesus in (Early) Irish Apocryphal Gospel Traditions,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen, 685–739. 65  J. E. Cross, ed., Two Old English Apocrypha and Their Manuscript Source: The Gospel of Nicodemus and the Avenging of the Saviour (Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 19; Cambridge 1996); M. Clayton, The Old English Apocryphal Gospels of the Virgin (Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 26; Cambridge 1998); R. Faerber, “La tradition littéraire de la dormition et de l’assomption de Marie en anglais ancien,” Apocrypha 10 (1999): 99–138; K. Powell and D. G. Scragg, eds., Apocryphal Texts and Traditions in Anglo-Saxon England (Publications of the Manchester Centre for Anglo-Saxon Studies 2; Cambridge 2003). 66 A. Bausi has published numerous articles on Ethiopic texts; the most recent is “La Colle­ zio­ne aksumita canonico-liturgica,” Adamantius 12 (2006): 43–70. For an overview of Ethiopic apocrypha, see P. Piovanelli, “Les aventures des apocryphes en Éthiopie,” Apocrypha 4 (1993): 197–224 (ET: “The Adventures of the Apocrypha in Ethiopia,” in Languages and Cultures of Eastern Christianity: Ethiopian [ed. A. Bausi; Variorum, The Worlds of Eastern Christianity (300–1500) 4; Farnham, Surrey 2012], 87–109); Tedros Abraha and Daniel Assefa, “Apocryphal Gospels in the Ethiopic Tradition,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen, 611–53. 67 L. Moraldi, Vangelo arabo apocrifo dell’apostolo Giovanni. Da un manoscritto della Biblioteca Ambrosiana (Biblioteca di Cultura Medievale; Milan 1991); G. Troupeau, “De quelques apoca­ lypses conservées dans des manuscripts arabes de Paris,” ParOr 18 (1993): 75–87; C. B. Horn, “Apocryphal Gospels in Arabic, or Some Complications on the Road to Traditions about Jesus,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen, 583–609; M. van Esbroeck, “Les Actes apo­ cryphes de Thomas en version arabe,” ParOr 14 (1987): 11–77; idem, “Les Actes syriaques de Philippe à Carthagène en version arabe,” OrChr 79 (1995): 120–45; idem, “Une collection de 35 apocryphes apostoliques,” ParOr 24 (1999): 179–99; A. Bausi, “A First Evaluation of the Arabic Version of the Apocalypse of Paul,” ParOr 24 (1999): 131–64. 68 See particularly L. Leloir, Acta Apostolorum Armeniaca (2 vols.; CCSA 3–4; Turnhout 1986–1992); V. Calzolari, “Les texts apocryphes chrétiens en langue arménienne: un aperçu,” BCPE 49 (1997): 17–25; eadem, Les Apôtres Thaddée et Barthélemy. Aux origines du christianisme arménien (Apocryphes 13; Turnhout 2011); eadem, “Les récits apocryphes de l’enfance dans la tradition arménienne,” in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities, 560–87; V. Calzolari Bouvier et al., eds., Apocryphes arméniens. Transmission – traduction – création – iconographie. Actes du colloque international sur la littérature apocryphe en langue arménienne (Genève, 18–20 septembre 1997) (PIRSB 1; Lausanne 1999); I. Dorfmann-Lazarev, “La transmission de l’apocryphe de l’Enfance de Jésus en Arménie,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen, 557–82; A. Terian, The Armenian Gospel of the Infancy with Three Early Versions of the Protevangelium of James (Oxford and New York 2008). 69 D. R. Cartlidge and J. K. Elliott, Art and the Christian Apocrypha (London 2001). Cartlidge first discussed the project in “An Electronic Database of Pictorial Images Paralleled in

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Of all the characters who feature prominently in the CA the one that has most captured recent scholarly and non-scholarly attention is Mary Magdalene. Along with several popular translations of the Gospel of Mary, Mary Magdalene has been the focus of several major studies, including Which Mary? The Marys of Early Christian Tradition edited by F. Stanley Jones (with contributions from Karen L. King, Antti Marjanen, and Stephen J. Shoemaker),70 and Ann Graham Brock’s published dissertation Mary Magdalene, The First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority.71 Brock’s work in particular illustrates the North American propensity to use both canonical and noncanonical texts to reconstruct early Christian history. Given such interest in Mary Magdalene’s place in the life of Jesus, it is surprising that this “first apostle” is scarcely mentioned in Amy-Jill Levine’s A Feminist Companion to the New Testament Apocrypha.72 Levine’s volume instead follows the earlier work by Stevan Davies and Virginia Burrus in focusing primarily on the roles afforded ascetic women in the apocryphal acts of the apostles.73 All of this discussion of women in the CA, whether in gospels or acts, appeals to a growing need to envision early Christianity as a sort of proto-feminist utopia eventually suppressed by patriarchal orthodoxy. It is encouraging to see the CA play such a large role in the discussion. Unfortunately, the ghettoization of the CA is by no means a phenomenon of the past. Despite efforts to include apocryphal texts in a rechristened “Early Christian Studies” or field of “Christian Origins,” the CA remain outside the interest of most New Testament scholars. The sensationalism that surrounds such texts as the Gospel of Judas or Secret Mark, while helpful for bringing attention to the material, tends ultimately to alienate New Testament scholars from these texts, as they react with understandable cynicism to the exaggerated claims that regularly attend news of their discovery. Nevertheless, those working within the Christian Apocrypha,” Apocrypha 7 (1996): 301–3. The companion web site is http://apocicon. maryvillecollege.edu. 70 F. S. Jones, ed., Which Mary? The Marys of Early Christian Tradition (SBLSymS 19; Atlanta, Ga. 2002). 71 A. G. Brock, Mary Magdalene, The First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority (HTS 51; Cambridge, Mass. 2003). Also noteworthy are A. Marjanen, The Woman Jesus Loved: Mary Magdalene in the Nag Hammadi Library and Related Documents (NHMS 40; Leiden 1996); E. A. de Boer, The Gospel of Mary: Beyond a Gnostic and a Biblical Mary Magdalene (JSNTSup 260; London and New York 2004); eadem, “Followers of Mary Magdalene and Contemporary Philosophy: Belief in Jesus According to the Gospel of Mary,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen, 315–38. 72 A.-J. Levine with M. M. Robbins, eds., A Feminist Companion to the New Testament Apocrypha (Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings 11; Cleveland, Ohio 2006). 73 S. L. Davies, The Revolt of the Widows: The Social World of the Apocryphal Acts (Carbondale, Ill. 1980); V. Burrus, Chastity as Autonomy: Women in the Stories of the Apocryphal Acts (Studies in Women and Religion 23; Lewiston, N. Y. 1987). For a recent response to the position of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles as women’s literature, see E. Y. L. Ng, “Acts of Paul and Thecla: Women’s Stories and Precedent?” JTS 55 (2004): 1–29.

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CA field continue to benefit from the work of their peers, enjoying increasingly better critical editions, a deepening knowledge of the forms of Christianity reflected in the literature, and a growing appreciation for later, neglected texts.

3. Collections of Christian apocryphal texts and related series The CA collection is the point of entry for non-specialists looking for a quick, yet thorough treatment of an apocryphal text. It is the public face of the field and, ideally, should represent the best scholarship on each of the individual texts. Unfortunately, the quality of these collections often does not meet expectations. As a result, non-specialists come away from reading them with insufficient or erroneous information. This is particularly the case for scholarship in English, which has yet to see a truly comprehensive CA collection. Other languages fare much better. Earlier collections in Spanish and Italian, considered pioneering because of the breadth of texts included in their pages, are joined now by similarly wide-ranging collections in French and German. In 1988 Charlesworth had available to him the latest CA collections by Italian scholars Mario Erbetta and Luigi Moraldi.74 He praised the two for including documents many scholars had not previously seen. But aside from a second edition of Moraldi in 1994, scholarship in Italian has been relatively scarce in recent years.75 As for German scholarship, the fifth edition of the CA collection by Wilhelm Schneemelcher appeared in 1987–89, shortly after Charleworth composed his article. As noted above, Schneemelcher has been criticized for ignoring Old Testament-related Christian texts and late antique apocrypha, but his collection still is praiseworthy for its utilization of contemporary scholarship and thereby has rightfully achieved a prominent place in the field. A new edition under the editorial guidance of Christoph Markschies and Jens Schröter promises to include new and formerly unpublished texts stretching into the eighth century. The first volume of this new collection appeared in 2012 under the title Antike christ­ liche Apokryphen,76 indicating that Junod’s arguments against Schneemelcher’s

74 M. Erbetta, Gli apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento (4 vols.; Turin 1966–1981); L. Moraldi, Apo­ crifi del Nuovo Testamento (2 vols.; Classici delle religioni 24; Turin 1971; 2nd ed. in 3 vols., Casale Monferrato 1994). 75 Notable exceptions include A. Lenzuni’s collection of essays from a lecture series held in Florence in 2000–2001, Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento (Letture patristiche 10; Bologna 2004), M. Pesce’s impressive anthology, Le parole dimenticate di Gesù (Scrittori greci e latini; Milan 2004), and the “critical synopsis” of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas by Voicu mentioned above. Not to be overlooked, also, are those works written in French and English by Bausi and the Italian contributors to the Pléiade volumes. 76 C. Markschies and J. Schröter, in collaboration with A. Heiser, eds., Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung. I. Band: Evangelien und Verwandtes (2 vols.; Tübingen 2012).

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definition have carried the day.77 Though the Markschies and Schröter volumes certainly are important, German scholars were not idle while they waited for them to materialize. In 1995, Gerhard Schneider produced Apokryphe Kindheitsevangelien, which presents the various infancy gospels in their original languages; regrettably, however, it utilizes manuscript evidence from much-outdated critical editions.78 More serviceable is Dieter Lührmann’s Fragmente apokryph gewordener Evangelien in griechischer und lateinischer Sprache from 2000; this collection features critical editions and German translations of such fragmentary works as the Gospel of Peter, the Jewish Christian gospels, and the Greek manuscripts of the Gospel of Thomas.79 In the popular market, Alfred Pfabigan, Walter Rebell, and Uwe-Karsten Plisch have provided brief introductions and German translations to a select number of texts, though relying again on older studies.80 For new and significant work on the CA, German readers must turn to Hans-Josef Klauck’s introductions to the apocryphal gospels and acts.81 Klauck’s works are studies of the most well-known apocryphal writings, not collections of texts, but aside from a few infelicities and omissions, they draw upon a wide range of international scholarship to present the most current knowledge on the texts. He even breaks tradition by presenting chapters on such rarely examined “gospels” as the Dormition of Mary and the Toledot Yeshu.82 German scholars have also contributed to two new CA series: the aforementioned Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha edited by Bremmer and the Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, a new subseries of the prestigious Die Griechischen Christlichen Schrifsteller der ersten Jahrunderte, from de Gruyter, which has so far yielded two volumes: Thomas

77 Markschies states as much in his study, “ ‘Neutestamentliche Apokryphen’: Bemerkungen zu Geschichte und Zukunft einer von Edgar Hennecke im Jahr 1904 begründeten Quellensammlung,” Apocrypha 9 (1998): 97–132. 78 G. Schneider, Evangelia infantiae apocrypha = Apokryphe Kindheitsevangelien (Fontes Christiani 18; Freiburg im Breisgau 1995). 79 D. Lührmann with E. Schlarb, Fragmente apokryph gewordener Evangelien in griechischer und lateinischer Sprache (Marburger theologische Studien 59; Marburg 2000). Also significant is Lührmann’s collection of previously published work, Die apokryph gewordenen Evangelien. Studien zu neuen Texten und zu neuen Fragen (NovTSup 112; Leiden 2004). 80 A. Pfabigan, Die andere Bibel. Mit Altem und Neuem Testament (Die andere Bibliothek 68; Frankfurt am Main 1990); Rebell, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen und apostolische Väter; U.-K. Plisch, Verborgene Worte Jesu – Verworfene Evangelien. Apokryphe Schriften des frühen Christentums (Brennpunkt: die Bibel 5; Berlin 2000; 2nd ed., 2002). 81 H.-J. Klauck, Apokryphe Evangelien. Eine Einführung (Stuttgart 2002; 3rd ed., 2008; ET: Apocryphal Gospels: An Introduction [trans. B. McNeil; London and New York 2003]); idem, Apokryphe Apostelakten. Eine Einführung (Stuttgart 2005; ET: The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: An Introduction [trans. B. McNeil; Waco, Tex. 2008]). Also see Klauck’s collection of studies devoted to various Christian apocryphal texts, Die apokryphe Bibel. Ein anderer Zugang zum frühen Christentum (Tria Corda 4; Tübingen 2008). 82 On which see now the proceedings published by P. Schäfer et al., eds., Toledot Yeshu (see above, n. 50).

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J. Kraus and Tobias Nicklas’s edition of the Gospel of Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter and Hans Förster’s study of the Coptic tradition of the Transitus Mariae.83 In the English-speaking world, the most comprehensive CA collection released to date is J. Keith Elliott’s updated version of Montague Rhodes James’s The Apocryphal New Testament.84 While Elliott’s collection features excellent introductions and bibliographies, it appeals too readily to the same critical editions (Tischendorf and Lipsius-Bonnet) used seventy years earlier by James. Up-todate introductions certainly are welcome, but up-to-date texts are required also. Furthermore, despite Elliott’s assertions to the contrary,85 there are few texts in the volume that fall outside the typical time limit of the fourth century. Elliott’s publisher, Oxford University Press, has since released a number of other CA-related studies. The first of these is the Oxford Early Christian Gospel Texts series headed by Christopher Tuckett and Andrew Gregory. The series was launched in 2007 with an edition of the Gospel of Mary; the Greek fragments of apocryphal gospels followed in 2008,86 and volumes are planned on the Jewish Christian gospels, the Gospel of Judas, and the Epistula Apostolorum. Each volume features a comprehensive introduction, the extant text(s), English translation(s), and, where possible, manuscript photographs. Tuckett and Gregory are also compiling the Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Apocrypha to be published in 2015. Oxford also recently released Bart D. Ehrman and Zlatko Pleše’s The Apocryphal Gospels: Texts and Translations.87 Though the aims of this new collection are modest – with a focus only on early Christian gospels and featuring translations of previously published (and somewhat outdated) editions – the editors must be credited for bringing together the material in one useful volume and for including some texts absent from Elliott’s collection (in particular, a number of texts from the Acts of Pilate cycle). A somewhat wider scope is applied in Ehrman’s other compilation for Oxford, Lost Scriptures, which features translations of a range of gospels, acts, letters, and apocalypses; but, intended as an accessible an-

83 T. J. Kraus and T. Nicklas, Das Petrusevangelium und die Petrusapokalyse. Die grieschischen Fragmente mit deutscher und englischer Übersetzung (GCS NF 11, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen 1; Berlin 2004); H. Förster, Transitus Mariae. Beiträge zur koptischen Überlieferung. Mit einer Edition von P. Vindob. K. 7589, Cambridge Add. 1876 8 und Paris BN Copte 12917 ff. 28 und 29 (GCS NF 14, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen 2; Berlin 2006). 84 Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament. The collection was followed a few years later by a popular treatment of the literature, The Apocryphal Jesus: Legends of the Early Church (Oxford and New York 1996). Noteworthy also is Elliott’s helpful tool A Synopsis of the Apocryphal Nativity and Infancy Narratives (NTTS 34; Leiden 2006). 85 Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament, xii–xiii. 86 C. Tuckett, The Gospel of Mary (OECGT; Oxford and New York 2007); T. J. Kraus, M. J. Kruger and T. Nicklas, Gospel Fragments (OECGT; Oxford and New York 2009). 87 B. D. Ehrman and Z. Pleše, The Apocryphal Gospels: Texts and Translations (Oxford and New York 2011); also available in translation only as eidem, The Other Gospels: Accounts of Jesus from Outside the New Testament (Oxford and New York 2013).

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thology of primary texts to be read alongside his Lost Christianities monograph, the collection merely translates old editions.88 A few other endeavours in English scholarship focus more narrowly on individual CA texts or a select groups of texts. Andrew Bernhard published a Greek and English collection of the Greek fragments similar to Lührmann’s Fragmente apokryph; Thomas A. Wayment presented new editions and photographs of CA extant on papyrus and parchment from the first five centuries;89 Michael J. Kruger prepared his own edition and commentary of one of these manuscripts, P.Oxy. 840;90 Paul Foster contributed a new edition of the Gospel of Peter91 and edited The Non-Canonical Gospels, a multi-author volume of introductions to some of the more widely-known texts, such as the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Judas, and the Gospel of Mary;92 and, as mentioned earlier, Polebridge Press has published five volumes of translations in their Early Christian Apocrypha series: the Acts of Thomas, the Acts of Andrew, the Acts of Peter, the Epistle of the Apostles, and the Didache.93 In progress also is a multi-volume collection of little-known and newly-published texts in translation entitled New Testament Apocrypha: More Noncanonical Scriptures which I am editing with Brent Landau.94 The collection is inspired by a related project for Old Testament Pseudepigrapha led by Jim Davila.95 While all of these initiatives provide CA scholars with an impressive set of tools and resources, they do not match the boldness and accessibility of the French and German apocrypha collections, nor even the earlier Italian volumes. English CA scholarship is not short of talent but it does lack a unifying direction. The much-needed interplay between groundbreaking essays, up-to-date critical editions, and comprehensive CA collections has been achieved only by the French and Swiss scholars who form the AELAC. The group began publishing critical editions and concordances in their Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum in 1983. The journal Apocrypha followed in 1990, followed by the association’s Bulletin in 1991, the invaluable bibliographical work Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti in 1992,96 and a series of pocketbook editions of individual 88 B. D. Ehrman, Lost Scriptures: Books that Did Not Make It into the New Testament (Oxford and New York 2003), idem, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford and New York 2003). 89 T. A. Wayment, The Text of the New Testament Apocrypha (100–400 CE) (London 2013). 90 M. J. Kruger, The Gospel of the Savior: An Analysis of P. Oxy. 840 and its Place in the Gospel Traditions of Early Christianity (TENTS 1; Leiden 2005). 91 P. Foster, The Gospel of Peter: Introduction, Critical Edition and Commentary (TENTS 4; Leiden 2010). 92 P. Foster, ed., The Non-Canonical Gospels (London 2008). 93 See above, n. 13. 94 Formally announced and described in T. Burke, “More Christian Apocrypha,” Bulletin for the Study of Religion 41.3 (2012): 16–21. 95 J. Davila, R. Bauckham and A. Panayotov, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids, Mich. 2013). 96 M. Geerard, Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti (CCSA; Turnhout 1992).

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texts (La collection de poche Apocryphes) in 1993. The AELAC grew out of a need for a new CA collection in French. That goal was realized when the group put their collective energies into the two-volume Écrits apocryphes chrétiens published in 1997 and 2005. The AELAC is a lesson in synergy, with its members simultaneously producing high-quality and well-regarded critical editions, articles, popular-market introductions, and contributions to the CA collection. Nevertheless, the group has its shortcomings, as even some of the AELAC’s own members have pointed out. First, the production of critical editions has been rather sporadic, with only seventeen volumes of the major series, together with one concordance and two editions of some auxiliary texts in the Instrumenta subseries,97 now in print. The choice of which text(s) to edit and the edition’s speed of completion depends entirely upon the interests and availability of the individual members; as a result, some planned projects have been abandoned or delayed because of either disagreements among scholars, increasing awareness of the complexity of the manuscript evidence, or the premature deaths of contributors.98 The paperback series also has had mixed success, with some recognizable texts selling well (e. g., the Gospel of Nicodemus) but lesser-known texts languishing (e. g., the Acts of Mar Mari). As for the Pléiade volumes, contributor Pierluigi Piovanelli has praised the editions for including some late antique texts and Christian-authored Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, but criticized them for inexplicably neglecting others. He also questioned the wisdom of leaving out the vast majority of gnostic texts (except for the Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Mary) in anticipation of a separate Pléiade edition of the Nag Hammadi library.99 As the “public face” of CA scholarship, the apocrypha collections ideally present the best work on the individual texts by scholars writing in a particular language. This regional division must not obscure the fact that the AELAC, for its part, is no longer an exclusively French association – it has become an international organization, with members from such countries as Canada, Georgia, Germany, and the U. S. contributing not only in French, but also in English, Italian, and German. French CA scholars, therefore, are not any more or less capable than their English, German, or Italian colleagues. Nevertheless, readers of English are in dire need of a CA collection that effectively keeps non-specialists informed about developments in the field and provides translations of the texts based on current text-critical work.

97 F. Amsler, Concordantia Actorum Philippi (CCSA, Instrumenta 1; Turnhout 2002); Z. Izydorczyk and W. Wydra, Evangelium Nicodemi in Polonia asservatum – A Gospel of Nicodemus Preserved in Poland (CCSA, Instrumenta 2; Turnhout 2007); R. Gounelle, Evangelium Nicodemi Byzantinum – Les recensions byzantines de l’Évangile de Nicodème (CCSA, Instrumenta 3; Turnhout 2008). 98 Dubois, “L’AELAC, vingt ans après,” 26. 99 Piovanelli, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien’,” 176.

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4. Christian Apocrypha on the Internet and in other media The Internet is the most significant scholarly tool to appear in the past twenty-five years.100 Yet few CA scholars have embraced the Internet as a means of promoting and advancing work on the CA. The majority of the web sites dedicated to the literature do little more than present electronic versions of outdated, public domain editions of the main texts.101 Of course, many of the administrators of these sites are not scholars but hobbyists using their programming knowledge to share their interest with other novices.102 A few sites, however, have contributed to the study of the CA, primarily by drawing on the Internet’s capabilities for rapid and broad communication. Perhaps the most well-known hobbyist site is Peter Kirby’s “Early Christian Writings.” As the name suggests, the site is more than a selection of CA texts – it covers also canonical and patristic literature. At last count, the site featured 226 entries, arranged in chronological order from the hypothetical Passion Narrative in 30–60 to the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies in 320–380. For each text, Kirby presents at least one public-domain English translation, a brief introduction, links, and a select bibliography. Wieland Willker’s “Neutestamentliche Apokryphen” site is similar.103 Andrew Bernhard, administrator of “gospels.net” (formerly “Jesus of Nazareth in Early Christian Gospels”), has more scholarly credentials than Willker and Kirby – along with a degree in molecular biology, Bernhard has a Master’s Degree in Greek and Roman history from Oxford University and assembled the edition of the apocryphal gospel fragments mentioned earlier. His academic expertise in the CA and proficiency in Greek contribute to a site that is much more useful to scholars: it includes Greek editions of the texts, English translations (sometimes his own), and images of important manuscripts. In 2006, the year of the Ottawa Apocrypha Workshop, the scarcity of CA-related information on the Internet compelled me to create several pages on my own web site dedicated to CA texts,104 including a page on the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, some bibliographical resources, and a companion page to the More Noncanonical 100 In most cases, the URLs for the Internet resources discussed here are not provided as sites often change location. To find the resource, simply enter both the name of the site and its administrator (if provided) into a search engine. 101 Most often, the texts are taken over from ANF 8, presented in full at, among other sites, Christian Classics Ethereal Library (http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/anf08.toc.html). 102 For example, computer network administrator G. Trowbridge’s “The Whole Bible: Analysis of the Canonical and Apocryphal New Testament Scriptures” (http://www.maplenet.net/​~trow​ bri​d​ge/contents.htm), and G. Davis’s “The Development of the Canon of the New Testament” (http://www.ntcanon.org). Educational institutions fare little better: the site of the Wesley Center for Applied Theology (http://wesley.nnu.edu/sermons-essays-books/noncanonical-literature) features either public domain e-texts or links to sites which host public domain e-texts. 103 See the section on “NT Apocrypha” on the page http://www-user.uni-bremen.de/~wie/ bibel.html#apo. 104 http://www.tonyburke.ca.

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Scriptures project. I also began the first CA blog, “Apocryphicity,” which has since been joined in cyberspace by April DeConick’s “The Forbidden Gospels” (now accessible at DeConick’s eponymous web site), Julio Cesar Chaves’s “Apocrypha gnostica,” Timo Panaanen’s “Salainen evankelista,” and self-titled blogs by Alin Suciu and Brice C. Jones. CA-related posts also appear regularly on Jim Davila’s “PaleoJudaica” and Mark Goodacre’s “NT Blog.” The CA text that receives the most attention on the Internet is the Gospel of Thomas. Computer programmer Michael Grondin’s “Gospel of Thomas Resource Center” features an interlinear translation of the Coptic text with a concordance and notes.105 It also conveniently links to several other sites, including Sytze van der Laan’s “Gospel of Thomas” page with bibliography, texts, and translations,106 and Peter Kirby’s “Gospel of Thomas Commentary” which includes quotations from scholars, Kirby’s own notes, and comments from readers.107 All three sites are laudable for truly utilizing the capabilities of the Internet, rather than merely making outdated editions widely available. The Gospel of Thomas is not the only CA text with an online presence. István Czachesz has a site dedicated to the apocryphal acts of the apostles.108 Unfortunately, the content is rather bare – it includes primarily bibliographies and links to sites (such as Kirby’s and the Wesley Center’s) with outdated translations. The situation is much the same for the Dormition of Mary texts featured on Stephen Shoemaker’s site.109 My own web site fares a little better, with several otherwise unavailable translations of versions of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas (Ethiopic, Slavonic, Arabic, and new translations of Latin and Syriac texts).110 The shortage of new and dynamic work available on CA-related Internet sites is unfortunate, but it should be noted that scholars’ reluctance to do so is due, at least in part, to proprietary rights of print-publishers. Scholars under contract with publishers or wishing to publish new work in scholarly journals rarely are able to post the same work, or a significant portion of that work, online, at least not without special permission. This restricts CA scholars’ abilities to widely disseminate advances in the field to scholarly and non-scholarly audiences and results in a failure to take advantage of the dynamic nature of the Internet. That said, two texts in particular have benefited greatly from the rapid and broad dissemination of information afforded by the Internet: the Gospel of Judas and Secret Mark. The existence of the Gospel of Judas manuscript was revealed to the world in 2001 on the web site of Dutch art-dealer and Scotland Yard informer Michel van Rijn. The site also leaked photographs, a transcription, and an Eng105 http://gospel-thomas.net/.

106 http://www.agraphos.com/thomas/.

107 http://www.earlychristianwritings.com/thomas/.

108 http://www.religionandcognition.com/aaa/index.php/7/-1. 109 http://www.uoregon.edu/~sshoemak/.

110 http://www.tonyburke.ca/infancy-gospel-of-thomas/ .

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lish translation of the text before its official publication, and followed the story of the recovery of additional missing pages from the manuscript.111 The various developments in the purchase and publication of the gospel were followed thoroughly also by Roger Pearse, a software consultant from Suffolk with an interest in Tertullian.112 The desire to disseminate up-to-the-minute information on controversial texts has led also to heavy online exposure for Secret Mark. Pearse, Willker, and Kirby each devote considerable space to the on-going debate about the text’s authenticity, and Stephen Carlson, author of The Gospel Hoax continued the debate for a short time on his “Hypotyposeis” blog, before turning his attention to other interests. More significant, however, is Timo Panaanen’s “Salainen evankelista” blog, which grew out of Panaanen’s Master’s thesis, “A Conspiracy of the Secret Evangelist: Recent Debate Concerning Clement of Alexandria’s Letter to Theodore” (University of Helsinki, 2009), but became also a venue for several scholars to present new arguments in the debate on Secret Mark,113 and revealed a number of interesting facts about the status of the manuscript.114 Biblical Archaeology Review took full advantage of the Internet’s immediacy by posting to their Scholars Study page the full texts of the reports by the experts commissioned to examine Secret Mark. The page also features several follow-up articles by scholars Brown, Jeffery, and Pantuck.115 The Internet is being used also by academic societies for the dissemination of news on conferences and publications. The AELAC site includes announcements of the group’s various meetings, details the group’s publishing projects, and makes available bibliographies and its member contact list from their annual Bulletin.116 The Westar Institute, home to the Jesus Seminar, provides information on 111 The material was available originally at http://www.michelvanrijn.nl/artnews/judastotal. htm but van Rijn’s presence largely has been absent from the Internet since 2006. 112 http://www.tertullian.org/rpearse/manuscripts/gospel_of_judas/#Publication. 113 See the guest posts by S. G. Brown and A. J. Pantuck, “Stephen Carlson’s Questionable Questioned Document Examination” (http://salainenevankelista.blogspot.com/2010/04/ste​p​h​ en-​carlsons-questionable.html) and R. Viklund, “Tremors, or Just an Optical Illusion? A Further Evaluation of Carlson’s Handwriting Analysis (the shorter blog version) by Roger Viklund” (http://salainenevankelista.blogspot.com/2009/12/tremors-or-just-optical-illusion.html); idem, “The Difference Between Real Photographs and Printed Photographs: Part II – A Guest Post by Roger Viklund” (http://salainenevankelista.blogspot.com/2010/02/difference-between-realphotographs-and_10.html). Viklund’s posts are summaries of an online article, “Tremors, or Just an Optical Illusion? A Further Evaluation of Carlson’s Handwriting Analysis,” from his own site, “Jesus granskad” (posted 12 December 2009; online: http://www.jesusgranskad.se/theodore2. htm), which also features three other Secret Mark-related articles, including “Distortion of the Scribal Hand in the Images of Clement’s Letter to Theodore,” published in print form in VC 67 (2013): 235–47. 114 See “A Short Interview with Quentin Quesnell” (http://salainenevankelista.blogspot.co​m​ /​2011/06/short-interview-with-quentin-quesnell.html) and “Per Beskow and the Elusive MS: A Guest Post by Roger Viklund” (http://salainenevankelista.blogspot.com/2009/11/per-beskowand-elusive-ms-guest-post-by.html). 115 http://www.bib-arch.org/scholars-study/secret-mark.asp. 116 http://www2.unil.ch/aelac/.

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their publishing efforts (including CA-related works) and access to select articles from their journal The Fourth R.117 Something similar would be welcome for the Christian Apocrypha Section of the Society of Biblical Literature, which once had a rudimentary web page, but the site has been unavailable for several years. Clearly, the CA needs to have a greater, and more sophisticated, presence on the Internet. While scholars and publishers are understandably leery about losing revenue and diluting the quality of the work (if published / posted without refereeing) by making scholarship available online, it is possible to strike a balance between traditional print publishing and the creation of tools that take advantage of the Internet’s strengths (particularly hypertext capabilities). Until that balance is found, Internet users will continue to read and use inadequate texts and, for the most part, dated scholarship. The field can also learn from the stories of Secret Mark and the Gospel of Judas to use the Internet for the rapid dissemination of information, particularly information that is otherwise restricted to a small group of scholars. Work on individual texts in the CA could be improved if knowledge of new manuscripts is circulated widely and quickly. One of the persistent problems in the study of the CA is that non-specialists tend to lag far behind scholars in the field. Nowhere is this delay more apparent than on the Internet. Growing interest in the CA has led also to an increased presence of the texts in popular fiction, television, and films. This increased presence is both helpful and harmful to the study of the texts. For example, many viewers of the film Stigmata (1999; dir. R. Wainwright) learned for the first time of the Gospel of Thomas, but they were made to believe the text is actively suppressed by the Catholic Church in a scheme to deny believers individual paths to salvation. A satirical episode of the once-popular science-fiction drama X-files (“Hollywood A. D.,” 2000) mentions the Gospel of Mary, which according to Agent Scully is a text “long rumoured to be in existence;” however, the text has been available to scholars since 1955.118 Apocryphal traditions appear in Mel Gibson’s controversial film The Passion of the Christ (2004), Abel Ferrara’s Mary (2005), Roger Young’s Jesus: The Greatest Story of All Time (1999), and provide details on the family of Jesus in Catherine Hardwicke’s The Nativity Story (2006). Stories of Jesus’ childhood are used also by Anne Rice in Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt (2005), her first novel in a series on the life of Christ.119 The book grew out of Rice’s reconnection with Catholicism, but doubtless many Catholics would not appreciate her use of apocryphal gospels to fill in the early years of Jesus, nor would many of the 117 http://www.westarinstitute.org/.

118 A transcript of the episode can be found at http://www.insidethex.co.uk/transcrp/scrp718.

htm.

119 A. Rice, Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt (New York 2005). A second book in the series, Christ the Lord: The Road to Cana (New York 2008), appeared a few years later. A planned third volume, Christ the Lord: Kingdom of Heaven, was shelved when Rice became disenchanted with the church.

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conservative New Testament scholars (including N. T. Wright, Martin Hengel, and Larry Hurtado) she praises in her concluding “Author’s Note.” But the most well-known use of the CA in fiction is Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code (2003).120 Its claims about the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene, established in part from the Gospel of Mary and the Gospel of Philip, have spawned a cottage industry of books by the likes of Bart Ehrman, Darrell Bock, and Ben Witherington seeking to correct Brown’s historical infelicities121 and a rash of television documentaries acquainting viewers with the “secret lives” of Jesus.122 Brown is not the first novelist to use the impact of revelations from lost apocryphal gospels as a theme; Robert M. Price reviews and analyses over forty such novels in Secret Scrolls: Revelations from the Lost Gospel Novels,123 though in the majority of these tales the “lost gospel” is not a true CA text from antiquity but is wholly the invention of the writer. For all the problems attending these uses of CA in popular culture, they nevertheless contribute to the study of the texts in several notable ways: they stimulate outsiders’ interest in the texts, they have the potential to draw CA scholars into the public eye to comment on the material for the media (thereby showing the world that the texts are the focus of serious study), and they illustrate the ongoing urge to expand and reinterpret the story of Jesus. Scholars frustrated with the misuse of the CA in non-print media may find Banned from the Bible (2003 and 2007), a two-part documentary produced by the History Channel in the U. S., more satisfying. The documentary features discussions of several Old Testament Pseudepigrapha along with the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, the Protoevangelium of James, the Gospel of Mary, the Gospel of Nicodemus, and the Apocalypse of Peter (in part one), and the Acts of Peter, the Acts of Paul and Thecla, Secret Mark, and the Gospel of Judas (in part two). The commentary – by Marvin Meyer, John Dominic Crossan, Bart Ehrman, Kirsti Copeland, and others – is scholarly, but could have benefited from appearances by specialists in the featured texts.124 A number of other documentaries have appeared since – including Secret Lives of the Apostles (National Geographic, 2012), an episode of the six-part series Bible Secrets Revealed (The History Channel, 2013), and an episode of BBC2’s two-part series The Bible Hunters (2014) – each

120 D. Brown,

The Da Vinci Code (New York 2003). The film appeared in 2006.

121 B. D. Ehrman, Truth and Fiction in The Da Vinci Code: A Historian Reveals What We Really

Know about Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Constantine (New York 2004); D. L. Bock, Breaking the Da Vinci Code: Answers to the Questions Everyone’s Asking (Nashville, Tenn. 2004); Witherington III, The Gospel Code. 122 December 2006 saw the airing of the National Geographic Channel’s “The Secret Lives of Jesus,” Fox’s “The Birth of Jesus” (which includes a discussion of apocryphal traditions), and both “The Secret Family of Jesus” and “The Lost Gospels” on BBC4 in the U. K. 123 R. M. Price, Secret Scrolls: Revelations from the Lost Gospel Novels (Eugene, Or. 2011). 124 Ehrman was involved in the publication of the Gospel of Judas, but he is not a Coptologist. Meyer is qualified to discuss the Gospel of Mary, but he did not appear in the segment on Judas.

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of which presents information and scholarship on a selection of apocryphal texts with varying levels of sensationalist hyperbole and historical accuracy.

5. Assessment Undeniably, the past twenty-five years of CA scholarship have been fruitful. Scholars have entered into much-needed discussions over defining the parameters of the field and shedding restrictive and pejorative terminology; the trend of examining both canonical and noncanonical texts as equally-valid expressions of early Christianity has continued; new discoveries have aided in establishing better critical editions and recovering previously-lost texts; and the incorporation of apocryphal traditions into popular culture has helped stimulate interest in the literature. CA scholars have begun also to examine their own history of interpretation  – a sure sign of a healthy discipline.125 Unfortunately, scholars outside of the field are not as appreciative of these developments. Some are hostile to claims that certain CA are early and independent of the canonical gospels; some resist the notion that the CA provide evidence for variety in Christianity from its very beginning; and others continue to disparage the CA as heretical nonsense. Even the most liberal of New Testament scholars tend to interact with apocryphal texts only when they aid in understanding the canonical texts. Later apocrypha, therefore, remain largely ignored outside the field despite efforts to broaden standard CA collections to include such material. Though the popularity of The Da Vinci Code has helped bring CA scholarship out of the shadows, there is still much that could be done to improve the reception of work in the field. For one, CA collections, the primary source for information by non-specialists, need to follow the model used in continental European scholarship, with a broad range of texts based on up-to-date critical editions and studies. This model is particularly needed in English scholarship where the state of the collections has precipitated reliance on outdated editions of the texts and has led to a lack of knowledge of later works important in the history of Christian thought. The gulf between the work of specialists and non-specialists requires drastic narrowing so that scholars can communicate meaningfully about the texts. And critical editions, which contribute significantly to the utility of CA collections, need to appear with more regularity. The AELAC editions, for 125 See several works by I. Backus, including “Praetorius’ Anthology of New Testament Apocrypha (1595),” Apocrypha 12 (2001): 211–36; eadem, “Christoph Scheurl and His Anthology of ‘New Testament Apocrypha’ (1506, 1513, 1515),” Apocrypha 9 (1998): 133–56; eadem, “Renaissance Attitudes to New Testament Apocryphal Writings: Jacques Lefèvre d’Etaples and His Epigones,” Renaissance Quarterly 51 (1998): 1169–98; and her forthcoming monograph La réception des apocryphes aux 16e et 17e siècles. Also noteworthy are Markschies’ article on Schneemelcher noted above (n. 77) and R. Gounelle, “Voltaire, traducteur et commentateur de l’Évangile de Nicodème,” REAug 43 (1997): 173–200.

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example, are valuable resources, but they are published sporadically and, to date, have focused on texts with limited audiences. The series seems to lack direction, even though the association has no shortage of scholars willing to work on the material. Perhaps the rigor that is a hallmark of the series has proven to be more a hindrance than a help to the dissemination of the texts – an edition with minor flaws or omissions is better than no edition at all and at least puts the texts more rapidly into the hands of interested scholars. The aim of a critical edition should not be to place a cap on text-critical work, but to stimulate further work; indeed, new manuscript discoveries appear too often to expect a critical edition to be complete enough to stand in perpetuity. De Gruyter’s Neutestamentliche Apokryphen series or the Oxford Early Christian Gospel Texts series may become competition for the AELAC if they manage to achieve an effective balance of quality and accessibility that satisfies better the needs of scholars. CA scholarship could be aided also by better communication between scholars. While conferences are helpful for bringing scholars together, the examples of the Gospel of Judas and Secret Mark have shown that the Internet, particularly blogs, is an effective, yet dramatically underutilized resource for disseminating information. Research on the CA cannot develop if scholars and publishers zealously restrict access to texts or selfishly guard knowledge of important manuscripts. CA scholars need also to be more visible if they hope to have the results of specialized work on the texts reach public consciousness, because the media cannot tell the difference between a New Testament scholar, with casual knowledge of the apocrypha, and a CA scholar, with an awareness of the complexities of the literature. The CA need more public intellectuals willing to share their work with the world. Otherwise the field will remain a marginalized service industry for New Testament scholars and a curiosity to the public, both of whom hunger for sensational new discoveries that could impact our understanding of first-century Christianity, but have little interest in the phenomenon of apocryphity in all its breadth and depth.

The Usefulness of Christian Apocryphal Texts in Research on the Historical Jesus Ian H. Henderson Increasing awareness (and textual availability) of non-canonical Gospels has had an ambiguous impact on Historical Jesus research, an impact more hermeneutical than methodological or material. Most concretely, a wider variety of texts labeled as “gospel” raises questions of genre, influence, and referentiality. Many scholars (and fiction writers) have publicly pointed to non-canonical gospels as a warrant for re-imagining the “historical Jesus.” Ironically, few non-fictional historical reconstructions actually rely on non-canonical gospels for decisive evidence; citation of non-canonical texts has become part of the apparatus of gospels research and Historical Jesus research, but such texts are rarely either positively or negatively influential on the historical critic’s arguments.1 Ultimately, increased access to non-canonical gospels serves mainly to focalize the question of imagination, fiction, and history in public as well as scholarly discourse about Jesus. Usually, such non-canonical texts about Jesus are sifted for granules of possibly-authentic Jesus tradition; they do, however, often constitute deliberate (sometimes wildly speculative) argumentative re-interpretations of the overall meaning of Jesus. This essay, therefore, seeks to point to rhetorical genre as the connection among the historically-imagined past(s) of Jesus, a few post-resurrection perspectives, and the changing perspectives of assorted Jesus-oriented audiences. That connection and tension among Jesus-rhetoric, Jesus-literature, and Jesus-history operates well beyond the original audiences of the four canonical gospels. 1 J. D. Crossan’s use of the Gospel of Peter has remained the stand-out exception, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco 1991), 385–94; idem, The Cross That Spoke: The Origins of the Passion Narrative (San Francisco 1988); compare J. S. Kloppenborg, “Sources, Methods and Discursive Locations in the Quest of the Historical Jesus,” in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, vol. 1: How to Study the Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden 2011), 241–90 at 251, esp. n. 29 on references to the Gospel of Thomas in the work of N. T. Wright: “refers copiously to the gospel at many points … At no point do Thomas’s sayings make any difference.” See also D. E. Aune, “Assessing the Historical Value of the Apocryphal Jesus Traditions: A Critique of Conflicting Methodologies,” in Der historische Jesus: Tendenzen und Perspektiven der gegenwärtigen Forschung (ed. J. Schröter and R. Brucker; BZNW 114; Berlin 2002), 243–72, esp. 246 on the practice of J. P. Meier.

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Exposing rhetorical genre ideally involves recognizing that literary genre and rhetorical genre are not simply coordinate, especially in antiquity. Literary genre is a kind of tradition informing the production, perception, and reception of different kinds of book; rhetorical genre by partial contrast is a kind of tradition informing persuasion, a set of performative conventions aimed at structuring the persuasive relationship between speaker and audience. Moreover, a particular text or performance may evoke readily in readers more than one literary and / or rhetorical genre at one time:2 generic composition and generic reading lend themselves to mixture and hybridity. The tension between literary genre and persuasive, rhetorical genre is not a phenomenon of the distant past (or of post-modern wantonness3) alone, though modernity has tended to be more aware of its literary conventions, while antiquity (also post-modernity?) tends to recognize rhetorical character more explicitly. When time permits, I like to monitor the ways in which scholarship on early Christianity percolates into at least the more respectable reaches of print journalism. My surveys tend to suggest that the difficulties of letting research on Christian origins and foundations into the public media are grounded about equally in the media themselves, in, for example, the literary genres of newspaper reporting, and in the attention-seeking behaviours of experts like ourselves.4 On the whole, journalists who are trained to write stories about people, correctly represent the chaos of competing scholarly opinions, motives, and loyalties. Journalists are better at writing in the genres of journalism, above all, in the super-genre of “the Story” than they are at processing wisely the genres of scholarship; scholars are often complicit in mistranslation between genres. A case in point might be the discussion in April of 2006 in The New York Times of the unveiling of the Gospel of Judas. In the latter part of the month, articles by Peter Steinfels in the “Beliefs” feature were discussing “scholarly complicity” (15 April) in a problematic narrative about the new text.5 Steinfels’s story was that earlier reports about the Gospel of Judas exaggerated its relevance to historical understanding of, well, Jesus and Judas. The earlier reports also moralized the new gospel into a heroic witness to an original, but sadly repressed diversity in Einführung in die Formgeschichte (UTB 1444; Tübingen 1987), 44–45, 173. of the Gnostic Universe: Narrative and Cosmology in the Apocryphon of John (NHMS 52; Leiden 2006), 20. 4 I. H. Henderson, “ ‘Arguing with the Bible’: Reporting Biblical Argumentation in Contemporary North American Debates,” in Essays in Honour of Frederik Wisse = ARC 33 (2005): 356–83; compare J. Dart, “Biblical Research Findings for the Public,” SBL Forum (cited 15 September 2006; online: www.sbl-site.org/Article.asps?ArticleId=567). 5 P. Steinfels, “Beliefs: A Debate Flares on Betrayal: The Gospel of Judas? Or the Gospel According to National Geographic?” in The New York Times, 15 April 2006 (cited 15 September 2006; online: www.nytimes.com); idem, “Beliefs: Unveiling the Gospel of Judas Highlighted the Good in Religious Diversity. And It Is Good – To a Point,” in The New York Times, 29 April 2006 (cited 15 September 2006; online: www.nytimes.com). 2 K. Berger,

3 Z. Pleše, Poetics

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earliest Christianity; the journalist, therefore, notes and gently qualifies scholars’ bias in favour of “diversity” (29 April). Much more visible reports in the same newspaper a few weeks earlier had often focused on the question of the authenticity of the Gospel of Judas, a question which received some useful clarification in an April 7 article by Laurie Goodstein headlined “Document Is Genuine, but Is Its Story True?”6 At the centre of the article Goodstein tells us that, “[t]he real debate is whether the text says anything historically legitimate about Jesus and Judas.” Apart from a Dan Brown-like tendency (corrected the next day) to refer to the papyrus codex as a “parchment,” my guess is that the journalist was speaking for most readers of The New York Times in her hermeneutically-unsubtle desire to know whether the new-old text “says anything historically legitimate.” I suspect that most scholars will share some nervousness about the concept of “historical legitimacy” in general. In an Op-Ed piece the next day (8 April), Elaine Pagels classed “What in the Gospel of Judas … goes back to Jesus’s actual teaching, and how would we know?” among “difficult questions” for future debate, presumably on occasions such as this. “What is clear,” she wrote, “is that the Gospel of Judas has joined the other spectacular discoveries that are exploding the myth of a monolithic Christianity.” Her phrase “exploding the myth of a monolithic Christianity,” was quoted in both previous and subsequent articles in The New York Times. In Pagels’s formulation it is suggestive that the myth-exploding function of “spectacular discoveries” is prior to and independent of any evidentiary value a text such as the Gospel of Judas might have for “Jesus’ actual teaching.” We may note in passing Pagels’s focus on “Jesus’ actual teaching,” over against Goodstein’s more general “Is the story true?” Pagels concluded her article by suggesting that the Gospel of Judas “amplifies hints we have long read in the Gospels of Mark and John that Jesus knew and even instigated the events of his passion, seeing them as part of a divine plan. Those of us who go to church may find our Easter reflections more mysterious than ever.”7 In a very brief article, Pagels thus laid out quite graphically the epistemic and hermeneutical structure of her own and many others’ interests in non-canonical gospels: for the first three quarters of her discourse she reflected on the dialectics of esoteric / exoteric and heterodox / orthodox in the tradition and reception of Jesus teachings, concluding with the rhetorically-open question of historicity. Only in the last quarter of the piece did she identify myth-exploding and hint-amplifying as the positive hermeneutical, rather than epistemic, functions of the Gospel of Judas and like texts. Pagels’s essay, I think, points usefully to the spectacular re-discovery of non-canonical accounts of Jesus as a source of im6 L. Goodstein, “Document is Genuine, but Is Its Story True?” in The New York Times, 7 April 2006 (cited 15 September 2006; online: www.nytimes.com). 7 E. Pagels, “The Gospel Truth,” in The New York Times, 8 April 2006 (cited 15 September 2006; online: www.nytimes.com).

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aginative hypotheses, above all of imaginative freedom, rather than of relatively stable knowledge / insight.8 As Reimarus rather crabbedly recognized, the essential historical question for understanding Jesus is the question of the trustworthiness or untrustworthiness of the principle sources. Reimarus’s own famous answer to the question of the sources’ reliability was not quite so univocal as it is sometimes said to have been: he presents the evangelists’ record as remarkably accurate as regards Jesus’ (rather banal) teachings (§§ 3 ff.), in contrast with the systematically fraudulent reports of Jesus’ death and resurrection, fraudulent reports which inevitably condition and distort the unwary reader’s understanding of even those teachings (§§  30 ff.).9 Reimarus failed as a historian in that he discredited the sincerity of those who originated the resurrection stories; that is, he failed as a historian because he failed to recognize the persuasive rhetorical ethos of the resurrection reports mediated by Peter, James, Paul, and the pre-gospel traditions. Such resurrection reports rhetorically convey a strong moral claim. Historical Jesus research of the most recent quest(s) is characterized by two valuable strategies for obviating the global historical-rhetorical question of the sincerity and reliability of the sources: the practice of tradition-history and the reimagining of Second Temple Judaism. The most important and beneficial changes in our historical understanding of Jesus derive from the richness, complexity, and hard-won sincerity with which we can imagine Jesus’ Jewishness and the Jewishness of his opponents and first interpreters before and immediately after 70 c.e. Reading the sources in the context of Second Temple Judaism obviates in part any decision about the general reliability of the sources. As regards tradition-history, the vast edifice of criteriological reflection and interminable debate about the authenticity of various formulations of various atoms of textual tradition about Jesus – surely one of the most painstaking historical investigations ever undertaken – mostly have shown that the gospel writers were neither lying nor ignorant, though imaginatively informed by post-Easter intuitions about the significance of Jesus’ past: “… when Jesus rose from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the scripture and what he had said” (John 2:22). 8 For the same argument in monograph form, see E. Pagels and K. L. King, Reading Judas: The Gospel of Judas and the Shaping of Christianity (New York 2007); E. Pagels, Beyond Belief: The Secret Gospel of Thomas (New York 2003); for a more modest appraisal of the relevance of the Gospel of Judas to Historical Jesus research, see T. Nicklas, “Traditions about Jesus in Apocryphal Gospels (with the exception of the Gospel of Thomas),” in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, vol. 3: The Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden 2011), 2081–118, 2112–15 9 H. S. Reimarus, “Wolfenbütel Fragments VI and VII,” in The Historical Jesus Quest: A Foundational Anthology (ed. G. W. Dawes; Leiden 1999), 56–86 (repr. of Reimarus: Fragments [ed. C. H. Talbert; trans. R. S. Fraser; Philadelphia 1970], 62–76, 122–34, 243–54).

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Therefore, I have no wish to deny the possibility of a tradition-historical investigation of non-canonical gospels to document Jesus’ “actual teachings” or to understand them better. Goodstein’s The New York Times article quoted Craig Evans saying that “[i]t is possible that the Gospel of Judas preserves an old memory that Jesus had actually instructed Judas in private, and the other disciples did not know about it” (7 April). It is certainly worth trying to identify hints of historically-useful material in even such relatively late and imaginatively homogeneous texts as the Gospel of Judas, although I confess to very low expectations where canonical hints have been so amplified and focused. In general, I agree with Jens Schröter that, the significance of extracanonical texts for historical Jesus research is sometimes overestimated at present. Some of these writings were not interested in a recollecting preservation and interpretation of the activity of Jesus, but present this mostly in interpretative frameworks of mythological and philosophical provenance. Moreover, most of these texts are of a later date than the gospels that made it into the New Testament and [are] in historical perspective secondary in relation to these.10

Greco-Roman literary culture as I understand it normally regarded texts, both narrative and discursive, as evolved and evolving. At least early Christian literature was not monolithic, it was indeed not lithic at all, but rather hydraulic or, better, pneumatic. Therefore, I cannot exclude the possibility of finding historical tradition and / or historic insight in any ancient text which claims to represent Jesus. From a more epistemic point of view, however, I will only be able to recognize a historically-valuable tradition where I find a rather high level of coherence with what I already know about Jesus from sources that combine early tradition with generically thick representation. Extraction and evaluation of individual atoms of tradition11 will and should always be accountable to larger imaginative narratives such as those of canonical and non-canonical gospels, or of modern historiography and fiction. John Kloppenborg comes close to this when he proposes, an approach to the Jesus tradition which attends to the rhetorical inscriptions of sayings and stories in later documents – not merely the canonical gospels, but in other texts of the early Jesus movement – and which uses these inscriptions as an index of earlier, dominical usage.12 10 J. Schröter, From Jesus to the New Testament: Early Christian Theology and the Origin of the New Testament Canon (trans. W. Coppins; Waco, Tex. 2013 [original German ed., Tübingen 2007]), 96, n. 4. 11 Note, for some examples, the atomistic treatment of “traditions” in most of the studies in The Historical Jesus and the Rejected Gospels = Semeia 44 (1988), with, unsurprisingly, the partial exception of J. D. Crossan, “Divine Immediacy and Human Immediacy: Towards a New First Principle in Historical Jesus Research,” ibid., 121–40, esp. 121–27; more recently note also the plural “traditions” in Nicklas, “Traditions about Jesus in Apocryphal Gospels,” and in Aune, “Assessing the Historical Value of the Apocryphal Jesus Traditions.” 12 Kloppenborg, “Sources, Methods and Discursive Locations,” 262.

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In the present essay, it is perhaps imaginative thickness and boldness of representation that I am praising as a challenge and as an asset to a more strictly historical representation of Jesus. Whatever else historical Jesus researchers do with non-canonical texts about Jesus, we should read them carefully in order to train our imaginations. In what follows here I will suggest that the most important contribution of increased knowledge of non-canonical gospels to historical understanding of Jesus is a broadened understanding of the generic character not only of text-production and text re-production, but also of the underlying processes of narration, argumentation, tradition, and memory. Greater availability of a broader sample of early Christian literature not only raises again the global question of the nature of the sources on which we must rely to imagine the past of Jesus, but it reminds us also thereby of the complexity of the rhetorical-traditional processes all around the sources. If historical knowledge of Jesus had only, say, the notices given by Paul, the enterprise would be modest indeed. Instead, Historical Jesus research rests ultimately on the generic tendency of Jesus’ story to be “true” and thick. In this respect, I may be revealing the influence of a research project that never quite caught scholarly imagination: the renewed “form-criticism” of Klaus Berger.13 Berger himself has remained consistently open to the historical and hermeneutical usefulness of non-canonical traditions about Jesus, while remaining markedly reserved about the possibility of constructing a “historical” narrative about Jesus which would be epistemically superior to credal or devotional narratives.14 Berger’s form-criticism owes more to literary and rhetorical studies than to the folklore studies to which the old form-criticism, rather distantly and allusively, appealed. The older form-critics tried to assimilate gospel literacy as Kleinliteratur to a romantic theoretical model of oral tradition. Texts become historically useful, then, as more or less fossilized and decontextualized oral folk memory. More recent discussions of oral tradition and of social memory seem to me (fortunately) to be far from producing a methodological consensus about how best to know Jesus historically, through extended processes of transmission and translation.15 Formgeschichte des Neuen Testaments (Heidelberg 1984); idem, Einführung. Einführung, 120–29; idem, Hermeneutik des Neuen Testaments (Gütersloh 1988), 125–31; K. Berger and C. Nord, Das Neue Testament und frühchristliche Schriften (Frankfurt am Main 2000). 15 See articles in Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus 6.2 (2008): S. Byrskog, “The Eyewitnesses as Interpreters of the Past: Reflections on Richard Bauckham’s, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses,” 157–68; D. Catchpole, “On Proving Too Much: Critical Hesitations about Richard Bauckham’s Jesus and the Eyewitnesses,” 169–81; I. H. Marshall, “A New Consensus on Oral Tradition? A Review of Richard Bauckham’s Jesus and the Eyewitnesses,” 182–93; S. J. Patterson, “Can You Trust a Gospel? A Review of Richard Bauckham’s Jesus and the Eyewitnesses,” 194–210; T. J. Weeden Sr., “Polemics as a Case for Dissent: A Response to Richard Bauckham’s Jesus and the Eyewitnesses,” 211–24; and Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus 7.1 (2009): T. J. Weeden, Sr., “Kenneth Bailey’s Theory of Oral Tradition: A Theory Contested by Its Evidence,” 3–43; J. Dunn, “Kenneth Bailey’s Theory of Oral Tradition: Critiquing Theodore Weeden’s Critique,” 44–62. 13 K. Berger, 14 Berger,

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Non-canonical texts about Jesus dramatize what I would term the “rhetoricity,” the performed persuasion, the Wirkaspekt,16 rather than simply technical orality or simply literacy, through which all textual Jesus tradition was mediated. At a basic technical level, the educational tradition of the progymnasmata conditioned the production and re-production, certainly the amplification, of narrative episodes and discursive arguments.17 The progymnasmata show a remarkable persistence and diffusion within the conscious culture of the Greek-literate minority throughout early Christian antiquity. Their ubiquity is a symptom of a deeper cultural attitude about stories, speeches, and memories as both iterable and variable and therefore only incidentally as text. Progymnasmatically-trained writers, speakers, readers, and listeners regarded episodes and argumentative sequences rather more as we might regard a musical theme: simultaneously as a tradition for careful transmission and as a ground for free improvisation. Indeed, I think there may be considerable analogy between the rhetoricity of early Christian culture and the place of musicality in religious tradition, memory, and identity in pre-electronic modernity. Both rhetoricity and musicality are qualities that make performance persuasive and impressive. Historical Jesus research is perhaps properly more like performing music on period instruments than like salvage archaeology; the texts, canonical and non-canonical, are scripts / scores inviting imaginative and disciplined re-performance, not stratified deposits awaiting excavation.18 At any rate, everyone capable in antiquity of producing or of performing the texts upon which we depend for any possible knowledge of Jesus was conscious of the basic progymnasmata (at least mythos, diēgēma, chreia, and gnōmē) and of conventions for varying them in narrative and argument.19 There was, moreover, a basic continuity between the progymnasmatic culture of intense but balanced Einführung, 164–67. readily available: R. F. Hock The Chreia and Ancient Rhetoric: Commentaries on Aphthonius’s Progymnasmata (SBLWGRW 31; Atlanta, Ga. 2012); C. A. Gibson, Libanius’s Progymnasmata: Model Exercises in Greek Prose Composition and Rhetoric (SBLWGRW 27; Atlanta, Ga. 2008); G. A. Kennedy, Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (SBLWGRW 10; Atlanta, Ga. 2003); R. F. Hock and E. N. O’Neil, The Chreia and Ancient Rhetoric: Classroom Exercises (SBLWGRW 2; Atlanta, Ga. 2002); eidem, The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric, vol. 1: The Progymnasmata (SBLTT 27; Atlanta, Ga. 1986); M. Patillon, Corpus rhetoricum. Anonyme: Préambule à la rhétorique, Aphthonios: Progymnasmata, en annexe Pseudo-Hermogène: Progymnasmata (Paris 2008). 18 For the inappropriate archaeological analogy, see, famously, J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco 1991), “Appendix 1: An Inventory of the Jesus Tradition by Chronological Stratification and Independent Attestation,” 427–50, but also J. D. Crossan and J. L. Reed, Excavating Jesus: Beneath the Stones, Behind the Texts (New York 2001); J. Dart and R. Riegert (introduction by J. D. Crossan), The Gospel of Thomas: Unearthing the Lost Words of Jesus (Berkeley, Calif. 2000). 19 R. Webb, “The Progymnasmata in Practice,” in Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (ed. Y. L. Too; Leiden 2001), 289–316; I. H. Henderson, Jesus, Rhetoric, and Law (BibIntSer 20; Leiden 1996), 6. 16 Berger, 17 Now

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memorization and variation, improvisation, and composition and the production of larger-scale genres. Not only were the small-scale Gattungen taught in the progymnasmata useful building-blocks for more complex compositions but, more profoundly, the progymnasmatic goals of simultaneously demonstrating traditional mastery and improvisational technique are also central values of more complex speech and text production. Vernon Robbins’s socio-rhetorical criticism has done much to show how the production and re-production of gospel texts can be imagined as a process of progymnasmatic tradition, variation, and elaboration, though he has not pursued this much beyond the four-fold canon plus the Gospel of Thomas.20 One result of these communicative values is that all levels of Greco-Roman rhetorical culture perceived genre much less in terms of literary form or even of text and much more in terms of persuasive goal than we do. This is not at all to deny that specifically-literary genres did function at all levels of Mediterranean society. That is, there certainly were active traditions about how to write and read complex texts. Some of these genres are what I would call significantly-literary in the sense that the best way to learn how to write histories or novels or dialogues was not only to have studied the art of rhetorical performance, but also to have read some histories or novels or dialogues. Even such literarily-transmitted genre-traditions were underlain with pervasive rhetorical traditions of reference to the idealized past or to plot lines involving stock social conflicts. In general, literary culture was intensely wedded to public speaking, performance culture,21 a relation which was, if anything, even more pronounced in the oracular and prophetic sub-cultures of early Christianity. Literary genre(s) and rhetorical genre(s) co-determine the production and reception of any text, but, even among its most literate exponents, Greco-Roman culture remained biased toward rhetoricity. What I think this meant in practice was that literary genres functioned as traditions influencing text production and use, but rhetorical considerations remained preeminent. This especially affects issues of audience and genre: the essential rhetorical consideration, the one con20 V. K. Robbins, “Progymnastic Rhetorical Composition and Pre-Gospel Traditions: A New Approach,” in The Synoptic Gospels: Source Criticism and the New Literary Criticism (ed. C. Focant; BETL 110; Leuven 1993), 111–47; idem, “Rhetorical Composition and Sources in the Gospel of Thomas,” SBLSP 36 (1997): 86–114; idem, “Enthymemic Texture in the Gospel of Thomas,” SBLSP 37 (1998): 343–66; V. K. Robbins and B. L. Mack, Patterns of Persuasion in the Gospels (Foundations & Facets; Sonoma, Calif. l989). For a useful limit case, see also J. Taylor, “The Role of Rhetorical Elaboration in the Formation of Mark’s Passion Narrative (Mark 14:43–16:8): An Enquiry,” in Greco-Roman Culture and the New Testament: Studies Commemorating the Centennial of the Pontifical Biblical Institute (ed. D. E. Aune and F. E. Brenk; NovTSup 143; Leiden 2012), 11–26, arguing against Robbins’ proposal that Mark’s Passion Narrative (14:43–16:8) was composed as a progymnasmatic elaboration/amplification of an original brief statement underlying the threefold Passion prediction (8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34); see V. K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, Pa. 1996), 48–52. 21 See T. Whitmarsh, The Second Sophistic (Greece and Rome New Surveys in the Classics 35; Oxford 2005), 23–24.

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sideration which controls the whole massive structure of ancient rhetorical theory and practice, is the consideration of persuasion. It is persuasion which linked authorship, content, and audience. Famously, Aristotle’s Poetics is capable of distinguishing literary genres by formal markers (versification, plot conventions, performance conventions, etc.) and by emotional effect on audiences (katharsis). In subtle, but significant contrast, however, the whole rhetorical tradition (including Aristotle’s Rhetoric) prefers to define genre in terms of projected persuasive effect on selected audience types, that is, in terms of rhetorical genre. The classic rhetorical doctrine thus taught that all rhetorical performance (and therefore all non-documentary text production) was determined by one of three rhetorical genres: judicial (genos dikanikon), deliberative (genos symbouleutikon), and ceremonial (genos epideiktikon). Each rhetorical genre was determined by a particular kind of audience, expected to reach a particular kind of decision (Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.3 = 1358b). It was well-understood that rhetorical genre conceived this way was rarely pure, but it was expected that any given text or performance would be dominated by one persuasive goal or another. In the sixteenth century the Lutheran reformer Melanchthon proposed a fourth genre: the instructional (genos didaktikon). The addition is useful, first, because it reaffirms the basic rhetorical principle that genres are determined by audience-type. In a rhetorically-shaped culture, texts are produced, performed, and perceived in strongly teleological terms. Secondly, Melanchthon’s innovation is interesting because he made it in order implicitly to assign to it virtually all early Christian literature – certainly he explicitly analyses Galatians as didactic.22 I think this casts an interesting light on recently-renewed debates about the nature of gospel audiences. Richard Bauckham has helpfully challenged the old redaction-critical assumption that particular gospels were written in and for ideologically / theologically distinct communities.23 I am not sure that Bauckham’s thesis of the catholicity of the canonical Gospels’ projected audience has been assayed much beyond the four-fold canon.24 Much early Christian reading was located in ceremonial, that is, epideictic settings; biblical texts and texts about Jesus were read ritually in sacramental gatherings with food and music calculated to induce experiences of “presence,” identification, and community (Justin, 1 Apol. 67).25 Some epistolary literature also has deliberative, regulatory content, 22 See C. J. Classen, Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament (WUNT 128; Tübingen 2000), 11 and n. 30. 23 R. Bauckham, “For Whom Were Gospels Written?” in The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (ed. R. Bauckham; Grand Rapids, Mich. 1998), 9–48. 24 For an application of the relation between genre and projected audience in extra-canonical texts, see P. L. Tite, Valentinian Ethics and Paraenetic Discourse: Determining the Social Function of Moral Exhortation in Valentinian Christianity (NHMS 67; Leiden 2009). 25 I. H. Henderson, “Early Christianity, Textual Representation and Ritual Extension,” in Texte als Medium und Reflexion von Religion im römischen Reich (ed. D. E. von der Osten, J. Rüpke and K. Walder; Potsdamer Altertumswissenschaftliche Beiträge 14; Stuttgart 2006), 81–100 at 83–85.

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but even this effect depends on actualizing the voice of an authoritative sender, distant in space and time, but verbally present. The claim, ancient or modern, that specific gospels were / are designed for theologically-specific audiences seems to rest on diagnosis of a primarily didactic rhetorical intention, a determination to define listeners as temporarily subordinate learners. The distinction between heterodox and orthodox implies classification of a text as essentially didactic. Even more so, the distinction between exoteric and esoteric, even individual, teaching implies an audience with some of the non-public discipline of a philosophical school or cultic collegium. Many texts of early Jesus-devotion seem to construct a dual audience: one sensitive to the, usually epideictic, rhetoric and the other to deliberately enigmatic, parabolic, elliptical aspects of any narrative about Jesus. A few examples will help illustrate the tension in early Jesus-texts between rhetorical audience-centred qualities and comparably important literary aspects which undermine rhetorical conventionality. Bauckham raised the question not only of whether gospels were really addressed to confessionally and locally specific communities, but also, in passing, whether they were addressed to insiders or outsiders.26 I am increasingly convinced that for Mark, at least, the best historical answer to the second question is rather complex: on one level Mark imagines its audience as permanently liminal novices, insiders, but only just; on another level Mark challenges an audience of would-be leaders, who are biblically literate and socially ambitious within the roles offered by the new movement.27 Ironically, Mark’s Gospel, with its exclusionist parable hermeneutic and private revelations to, albeit largely dysfunctional, disciples, seems to be the literary source of early Christian esotericism. In this sense, even many texts which do not narrate the Passion of Jesus are formally dependant on Mark: the words of Jesus to Didymus Judas Thomas may once have been hidden words, but the teachings of Jesus in Mark still are – hidden, that is, by the Marcan drama. Mark insistently describes Jesus as an esoteric teacher yet displays him epideictically as an exoteric ritual agent. Mark promises esoteric didacticism, yet for the most part provides exoteric narrative instead. Even the few, strange speeches of the Marcan Jesus severely limit didactic up-take as “teaching.”28 The Marcan audience is thus constructed on two levels: those who know only what Mark tells and those who have separate access to Jesus’s teachings. 26 Bauckham,

“For Whom Were Gospels Written?” 9–10 and n. 1. “Reconstructing Mark’s Double Audience,” in Between Author and Audience in Mark: Narration, Characterization, Interpretation (ed. E. Struthers Malbon; NTM 23; Sheffield 2009), 6–28. 28 I. H. Henderson, “ ‘Salted with Fire’ (Mark 9:42–50): Style, Oracles and (Socio)Rhetorical Gospel Criticism,” JSNT 80 (2000): 45–67; L. Fast, “Rejection and Reinstatement (Mark 12:1–11): The Rhetoric of Represented Speech in Mark,” Neot 39 (2005): 111–26. 27 I. H. Henderson,

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The Gospel of Thomas, by contrast, publicly offers allegedly esoteric tradition for the admiration of a single, universal, spiritually but not otherwise elite audience. In literary form Mark and Thomas appear to be opposites; both, however, exhibit a similar deliberate use of tension between literary genre and rhetorical, persuasive genre. The very fact of being written for an unrestricted audience places the Thomas-logia in tension with their own rhetoric. Les paroles cachées de Jésus, dont la tradition commune ne rapporte que l’enveloppe extérieure, sont écrites par Thomas avec leur sens. Mais le sens peut-il apparaitre? Ne convientil pas que l’écriture elle-même voile et déconcerte? La forme littéraire d’une collection de paroles où les articulations se dérobent et où manquent les indices formels d’organisation pourrait fort bien, au fond, être une manière de ne pas dire, ou de cacher ce que l’on dit. Nous voici, par rapport à l’évangile de Marc, à l’extrême opposé. Chez le créateur du genre, l’organisation du récit prime sur les enseignements qu’il véhicule et porte sens.29

Perhaps, yet the opposition is complementary, not antithetical: Mark’s narrative form both brings and denies sense to Jesus’ “enseignements” in, finally, much the same way that the Gospel of Thomas’s ostensibly collected form both hides and implies a frame narrative. In an article entitled “The Rhetoric of Social Construction: Language and Society in the Gospel of Thomas,” William Arnal makes a similar observation about the relation between the rhetorical character of a work and what I think is, in a narrower sense, its literary character.30 Arnal listens to the Gospel of Thomas for a comparably basic aspect of the rhetorical tradition. I do not know how far argumentation in “value-laden dichotomies” such as honor / shame, inner / outer, part / whole is a trans-cultural reality. Certainly it is an explicit component of the complicated Greco-Roman rhetorical concept of topos: argumentative topoi in Greco-Roman rhetoric are almost always expressible and are very often explicitly expressed as such value-dichotomies.31 In Aristotelean theory, such dichotomous topoi are the basic friction point between Greco-Roman rhetoric and Greco-Roman social consciousness. Arnal, then, observes how the Gospel of Thomas exploits such rhetorical-social topicality by invoking topoi which seem appropriate to epideictic religious discourse, yet denying their dichotomous function: Thomas declines to affirm either value in key argumenta29 J.-M. Sevrin, “Remarques sur le genre littéraire de l’Évangile selon Thomas (II, 2),” in Les textes de Nag Hammadi et le problème de leur classification. Actes du colloque tenu à Québec du 15 au 19 septembre 1993 (ed. L. Painchaud and A. Pasquier; BCNH, Études 3; Québec 1995), 263–78 at 277; see also A. Pasquier and F. Vouga, “Le genre littéraire et la structure argumentative de l’Évangile selon Thomas et ses implications christologiques,” in Colloque international “L’Évangile selon Thomas et les textes de Nag Hammadi” (Québec 29–31 mai 2003) (ed. L. Painchaud and P.-H. Poirier; BCNH, Études 8; Québec and Leuven 2007), 335–62. 30 W. E. Arnal, “The Rhetoric of Social Construction: Language and Society in the Gospel of Thomas,” in Rhetoric and Reality in Early Christianities (ed. W. Braun; ESCJ 16; Waterloo, On. 2005), 27–47. 31 C. Montefusco, “Topics,” in Brill’s New Pauly (ed. H. Cancik and H. Schneider; cited 23 December 2013; online: http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/brill-s-new-pauly/to​pi​c​ s​-​e1217380]); T. Dyck, “Topos and Enthymeme,” Rhetorica 20 (2002): 105–17.

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tive-social dichotomies. Perhaps it is this anti-dichotomous quality which causes Thomas to sound misleadingly “Buddhist” to some late modern ears. Interestingly, Arnal also finds that this program of social-rhetorical destabilization is not carried all the way through. Thomas maintains a handful of undeconstructed images and evaluations. For instance the explicit invocation of good versus bad in Sayings 45 and 57 remains intact, and the metaphoric association of Jesus with fire (Sayings 10, 13, 16, 82) is never subverted.32

Confronted with “superficial incoherence and multiplicity,” the audience (or the audience within the audience) is supposed to detect “a hidden logic of unity lurking beneath corruption and division.”33 In a pioneering rhetorical-critical approach to a non-canonical text, Louis Painchaud pointed to an interesting tension between rhetorical and literary characteristics of the Gospel of Philip.34 On the one hand, Painchaud argued from patterns of repetition within the text that the Gospel of Philip is composed within the classic rhetorical pattern of narratio, propositio, exhortatio, probatio, and exordium / peroratio. On the other hand, Painchaud noted with most readers of the Gospel of Philip that the rhetorical orderliness of the argument is at the same time systematically effaced by an apparent randomness at the sentence level of the text. The literary or text-linguistic character of the text seems almost paradoxically related to an underlying, but discernable persuasive organization. Painchaud made the experiment of listening to the Gospel of Philip with an ear attuned to the most standard patterns of Greco-Roman disposition; he found them, veiled by the poetics of the text. The Gospel of Philip would thus simultaneously fulfill and frustrate the expectations of an audience listening for the familiar sermonic flow of Greco-Roman public speech. Something of the sort could be argued, mutatis mutandis, for much early Christian discourse. Gospel texts in the broadest sense, share an intense blend of rhetorical persuasiveness and esoteric ellipsis. Ironically, it is the elliptical, baffling aspects of language describing or attributed to Jesus which seem to carry the didactic force of the rhetoric, while the more audible, conventional structure of narrative or of formal speech carries the epideictic functions: we are told plainly to admire Jesus, but more obscurely how or why. Insofar as Jesus of Nazareth really did assemble a small group of disciples, he does not seem to have done so with esoteric didacticism in mind. Rather, before the events of his death and its apocalyptic aftermath, Jesus’ disciples seem to have performed exoteric symbolic and ritual functions: their tasks are the pub32 Arnal, 33 Arnal,

“The Rhetoric of Social Construction,” 38. “The Rhetoric of Social Construction,” 39–40; similarly, J.-M. Sevrin, “Remarques,”

272–76. 34 L. Painchaud, “La composition de l’Évangile selon Philippe (NH II,3): une analyse rhétorique,” SBLSP 35 (1996): 35–66.

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licly-persuasive ones of dramatizing Israel’s ideal / eschatological Twelveness, of performing exorcisms, and ultimately of giving testimony, rather than of mastering teaching. I take it that Jesus really did speak in the semi-public contexts of Galilean prayer-meetings and dinner-parties, prophesying the sovereignty of God, performing healings and parables, asserting himself over Torah and Temple. Yet, I take it that the persuasive effect of Jesus’ own spoken and gestural communication was personal adherence more than what we might anachronistically call “intellectual property.” As a public speaker, I suppose that Jesus practiced what post-colonial theorists might recognize as a prophetically-empowered parody of dominant and familiar, but still foreign ways of persuading. Early Christian literary and rhetorical imagination attributes to him, by way of translation from a Galilean to a Mediterranean horizon, a range of alternative discourses which both are and are not Greco-Roman religious rhetoric. To the extent that rhetorical genre is above all defined by a text’s intended effect on a projected audience, a verbatim transcript of a speech by Jesus would not have conveyed his significance truthfully to a post-Easter or post-70 readership. Finally, there may have been a brief moment when memory of Jesus was relatively undetermined by literary genre (though only relatively, since Jesus was always remembered, for example, through the Psalms); there was absolutely never a moment when the remembrance of Jesus was not conditioned by rhetorical genres, by memory’s need to be morally, imaginatively, and argumentatively persuaded. Perhaps a far-fetched analogy may help. Some years ago in a study of cultural and religious marginality, anthropologist Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing attempted to describe the practices of Uma Adang, an illiterate Dayak woman shaman living on the margins of (Indonesian) statehood and (Islamic) religious and scriptural culture. Tsing tries hard to give the flavor of Uma Adang’s locally famous rants, imitating and parodying the language of Muslim leaders and representatives of an intrusive state. Uma Adang especially loves to invoke the once and future Reign of the Diamond Queen. In a regional political climate of state symbolism, Muslim piety, and bureaucratic order, what could be more intriguing than Uma Adang’s inspired fake-Koran readings, pompous “government” speeches full of unintelligible patriotic verbiage, and eerie pronouncements about political intersections of the past and future?35

Jesus was not actually as marginal in his Jewish-Greco-Roman world as Uma Adang is in her corner of modernity. But we may instructively try to imagine how her powerful yet enigmatic rhetoric, couched between nonsense and treason, might function if translated a generation later into a substantial literature for a variegated movement reaching to Djakarta and beyond. Certainly as portrayed by the visiting ethnographer, Uma Adang does not seem beneath dreaming of 35 A. L. Tsing, In the Realm of the Diamond Queen: Marginality in an Out-of-the-Way Place (Princeton, N. J. 1993), 11; Henderson, Jesus, Rhetoric and Law, 408–9.

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such a future. Similarly Jesus’ locally performed rhetoric of sovereignty and servanthood was meant to have relevance beyond any literary genre imaginable in Nazareth or Capernaum. Recently the question of the literary genre of the Gospels – usually the four are meant – has received fresh attention. I do not think that Richard Burridge’s question, “What are the Gospels?”36 is separable from the question about their designed audiences. Thirty years ago Hubert Cancik counted the titles of fifty or so works in antiquity dealing more or less centrally with Jesus’ alleged deeds and/ or words.37 Heuristically, I would be willing to think of any text which referred thickly to Jesus’ agency as implicitly or explicitly euangelion. Most of the books I have in mind when I speak of “gospels” do not identify themselves as such, though many use the word euangelion, perhaps even in their incipit, and all are more or less about Jesus or his known associates. Moreover, the books which either label themselves or are labeled by someone as containing or expressing euangelion do not show much family resemblance. Even the rule-of-thumb distinction between sayings‑ and narrative-gospels is not very robust: “sayings” is too variable a category as is the balance between narrative and discourse. What is of greatest import here, however, is that “euangelion” itself is rhetorically-determined: it advertises in the first instance an intended audience response of joy. When a writer such as Irenaeus uses the plural, euangelia, he is patently not speaking merely about the plurality of exemplars of a literary genre.38 He has in mind rather the plurality of communicative intentions, the relative plurality of the four-fold Gospel versus the allegedly irreducible plurality of other gospels (Haer. 3.11.7–9). Even Irenaeus’s usage, therefore, in the face of an undeniable plurality of gospel books and even of canonical gospel books reflects Paul’s polemical insistence on the rhetorical singularity of authentic euangelion (Gal 1:6–8, 11). In all his elaborate argumentation, Irenaeus does not, so far as I can recall, do what might seem obvious to us, if we had to argue for a canonical list of gospels: he does not abstract a formal definition from the examples which he wishes to include. Admittedly, if Irenaeus had taken my advice and had followed Martin Kähler’s definition of the Gospels as “Passion narratives with extended introduction,”39 he would have been stuck with more than a four-fold canon. But Irenaeus does not seem interested per se in such formal distinctions as that between sayings‑ and narrative-gospels. Our word “gospel” as the name 36 R. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids, Mich. 2004). 37 H. Cancik, “Die Gattung Evangelium: Das Evangelium Markus im Rahmen der antiken Historiographie,” in Markus-Philologie. Historische, literargeschichtliche und stilistische Untersuchungen zum zweiten Evangelium (ed. H. Cancik; WUNT 33; Tübingen 1984), 85–114 at 91–92. 38 A. Y. Reed, “ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ: Orality, Textuality, and the Christian Truth in Irenaeus’ Adversus Haereses,” VC 56 (2002): 11–46. 39 M. Kähler, Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (Leipzig 1892; 2nd rev. ed. 1896, repr. München 1956), 60.

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of a literary genre has no precise ancient equivalent, unless perhaps it is Justin’s apomnēmoneumata.40 Still, Irenaeus (or Celsus) is as aware as we have become of a large number and wide range of texts claiming in some narrative and / or discursive detail the authority of Jesus. Burridge’s own answer to the question, “What are the Gospels?” is a qualified association of the Synoptics and John with Greco-Roman bios. He does so on basically formal grounds, though some of his “internal features” are topoi, for example, of virtue / vice, associated with the epideictic rhetoric of encomium. Historically, the literary genre bios does seem to be associated with the epideictic/ encomiastic persuasive goal of personal praise or blame of symbolic figures. In an article to which I am much indebted, Sean Freyne notes that the character Jesus rivals those of Socrates and Alexander (“the only remotely comparable examples in that regard in antiquity”) as the focus of a remarkable plurality of such Lives,41 arguing for the symbolic importance of their hero to a wide range of audiences in Mediterranean society. This deep-seated plurality of the Jesus-bioi is all the more significant to the extent that much of the tradition, the tradition as a complex, retains its hero’s exotic identification with the crucified Jew alongside the elliptical, puzzling strains in his teaching. Jonathan Z. Smith argued in a characteristic article that gospel should be reckoned a sub-genre of the literary genre of bios, a sub-genre in which the persuasiveness of heroic, encomiastic rhetoric was undercut by motifs of misunderstanding and estrangement. A “gospel” is a narrative of a son of god who appears among men as a riddle inviting misunderstanding. I would want to claim the title “gospel” for the Vitae attributed to Mark and John as well as for those [of Apollonius of Tyana and Pythagoras, respectively,] by Philostratus and Iamblichus.42

In an essay which is arguing that the whole literary Jesus-tradition has in all its chaotic diversity a certain rhetorical coherence, I worry if the mixture of straightforward narrative and riddle is equally characteristic of Mark, John, and the later Lives of Apollonius and Pythagoras, but not to the same extent of Luke-Acts or Matthew. David Aune has argued that Mark’s Gospel can best be thought of as a parody of literary biography, a parody which Matthew’s Gospel then rectifies into something more clearly approximating straight bios. In Aune’s claim we may see the literary genre, bios, intersecting quite variably with differing persuasive goals 40 M. Hengel, “The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ,” in The Earliest Gospels: The Origins and Transmission of the Earliest Christian Gospels – The Contribution of the Chester Beatty Gospel Codex P45 (ed. C. Horton; JSNTSup 258; London and New York 2004), 13–26 at 13–14. 41 S. Freyne, “Early Christian Imagination and the Gospels,” in The Earliest Gospels, 2–12 at 10. 42 J. Z. Smith, “Good News Is No News: Aretology and Gospel,” in idem, Map Is not Territory: Studies in the History of Religion (SJLA 23; Leiden 1978), 190–207 at 204 (italics original).

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(rhetorical genre) between two performances which nevertheless overlap impressively in wording and plot.43 I do not really want to discover that the tension I am finding in Jesus-literature, between rhetorical, epideictic conventionality and a more disquieting, perhaps oracular or enigmatic, tone is also present in the Pythagorean narrative rhetorics of the second sophistic. My own work on Philostratus’s rhetorical style-theory and his Life of Apollonius suggests a well-thought-out continuum rather than a tension there.44 I am not so confident, however, in relation to, say, Lucian’s quirky biographical essays on Alexander of Abonouteichos and on the Death of Peregrinus – though at least Peregrinus is linked explicitly to Christian stereotypes and may be a product or parody of them. Mention of Philostratus may bring us from bios into the borders of the literary genre of novel / romance. John Marshall has given an interesting example of the ways that two Christian apocrypha, the Shepherd of Hermas and the Acts of Peter, differently mixed literary generic features of apocalypse and romance in order “to round out their rhetorical appeals.”45 Marshall is disparaging about the relevance of the traditional rhetorical genres to understanding the genres of these texts’ “rhetorical appeals,” but it seems to me that the piling up of apocalyptic and more novelistic blocks in Hermas serves that text’s symbouleutic (deliberative) goal, of arguing very delicately for some strictly limited accommodation of post-baptismal sinners.46 Zlatko Pleše has found something very similar in the Apocryphon of John. The linked variation of literary genres and narrative voices within the text has often attracted source-critical explanations. Regardless of the text’s developmental history, however, Pleše argues that the complex interaction of narrative voices and genres works rhetorically to make the text persuasive as a revelatory discourse. At the same time, this relatively distinctive rhetorical goal of the Apocryphon – and, I would say, of Jesus-literature – only heightens the literary-generic complexity which Pleše finds serving more epideictic goals in Greek novels / romance.47 Among genres of literary prose in antiquity, the difference between novel on the one hand and bios and historia more or less on the other hand is quite relative. As prose fiction, Greek and Latin novels are to some extent anomalous in ancient 43 D. E. Aune, “Genre Theory and the Genre-Function of Mark and Matthew,” in Mark and Matthew I. Comparative Readings: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in Their First Century Settings (ed. E-M. Becker and A. Runesson; WUNT 1.271; Tübingen 2011) 145–76 (repr. in idem, Jesus, Gospel Tradition and Paul in the Context of Jewish and Greco-Roman Antiquity [WUNT 1.303; Tübingen 2013], 25–56). 44 I. H. Henderson, “Speech Representation and Religious Rhetorics in Philostratus’ Vita Apollonii,” SR 32 (2003): 19–37. 45 J. W. Marshall, “Revelation and Romance: Genre Bending in the Shepherd of Hermas and the Acts of Peter,” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts: Essays from the Lund 2000 Conference (ed. A. Eriksson et al.; ESEC 8; Harrisburg, Pa. 2002), 375–88. 46 M. Leutsch, Die Wahrnehmung sozialer Wirklichkeit im ‘Hirten des Hermas’ (FRLANT 150; Göttingen 1989), 66–82, notes Hermas’s sensitivity to different audiences. 47 Pleše, Poetics of the Gnostic Universe, 14–20.

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literature.48 Of course, the literary opposite of fiction is non-fiction, not fact. Most early Christian texts were received and rhetorically intended to be non-fiction, especially those writings which were pseudepigraphical. Pseudepigraphy is pointless where historicity does not lend authority to rhetorical appeal, although the omniscient, but anonymous narrator in many Christian texts can also imply a non-fictional authority claim. Wonderful work is currently being done to frame the canonical Gospels and Acts in relation to the imaginative non-fiction genres of Greco-Roman historiography.49 I take it that the moral of such work is largely that the difference between bios and historiography more generally is not only infra-narrative focus on an individual, but also the more symbouleutic / deliberative appeal of historia to a consciously political audience. When the rhetorical appeal of a Christian text moves beyond admiration for its hero toward mythic definition of a Christian polis with its own ekklēsia, then bios has moved away from novel toward historia. Let us return here to Sean Freyne’s article mentioned earlier, which centers on the relations among creative imagination, genre, and history, albeit mainly within the horizon of the fourfold canon. Freyne describes the literary genre of the tetramorph gospel rather tantalizingly: The uniqueness of the gospels is that [the] memory [of Jesus] was given definitive and lasting expression in a Bios-like narrative that was written from the post-resurrection perspective that heightened the encomiastic aspect, without excluding the historical and biographical also.50

Freyne is being truthful here that defining the literary genre or genres which help a writer and a reader construct a text (Bios-like narrative) is not quite the same as figuring out the rhetorical genre of the text (heightened encomium) as a persuasive communication with a certain audience. It is the rhetorical genre which makes the connection between Jesus and Jesus-oriented audiences, rather than either literary genre or (as in the older form-criticism) an anti-literary concept of oral tradition. Jesus had no literary genre; he was not a book and he did not write one. He did, however, exercise in his own way the genres of rhetoric, appealing symbouleutically (deliberatively) and epideictically to audiences we do not understand well enough. In his own rhetorical performances, Jesus already tended toward the 48 See L. Graverini, W. H. Keulen and A. Barchiesi, Il romanzo antico. Forme, testi, problemi (Studi superiori 517; Rome 2006), 17–26. 49 See, for example, E.-M. Becker, ed., Die antike Historiographie und die Anfänge der christlichen Geschichtsschreibung (BZNW 129; Berlin 2005); eadem, Das Markus-Evangelium im Rahmen antiker Historiographie (WUNT 1.194; Tübingen 2006); T. Penner and C. Vander Stichele, eds., Contextualizing Acts: Lukan Narrative and Greco-Roman Discourse (SBLSymS 20; Atlanta, Ga. 2003); T. Penner, “Early Christian Heroes and Lukan Narrative: Stephen and the Hellenists in Ancient Historiographical Perspective,” in Rhetoric and Reality in Early Christianities, 75–97. 50 Freyne, “Early Christian Imagination,” 12.

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oracular and enigmatic; his parables were remembered more clearly than his program. Even the Gospel of Judas reminds us that memory and tradition about Jesus were from the beginning mediated, not by literary genres, as though Jesus really spoke in sapiential discourses, but in rhetorical appeals to real audiences, always tempered by poetic, prophetic hints of transcendence. It is Jesus’ influence, then, that is primarily responsible for the tension I have found widespread in Christian texts, between literary form and rhetorical address. Such tensions are probably not limited to Jesus-books, as the neo-Pythagorean Lives of the Second Sophistic suggest. Still, so many scholarly readings of so many Jesus texts find a remarkable tension between clear epideictic referentiality and enigmatic ellipsis, to suggest that the phenomenon has its origins in Jesus’s own rhetorical practice. To conclude with words borrowed from Freyne: [T]he ancients never quite forgot, in the way that moderns are all too liable to do, that the enterprise in which they were engaged was mimesis or re-presentation of the past, that is, in the words of a modern critic “a telling not a showing.” This awareness made them at once more realistic, but also more creative than some moderns who live under the tyranny of nineteenth-century ideas of “the past as it really was.” For the most part modern debates about the gospels’ historicity have been concerned with the pre-gospel traditions and their formation, and the question of genre has not featured in discussions about the historical character of the completed works. That is because the modern notion of history as “hard fact” obscures the mimetic dimension of history-writing, which implies distance from the original experience of the event or person, and therefore calls for an active imagination in order to represent the subject adequately.51

51 Freyne,

“Early Christian Imagination,” 5, 11.

Did Christians Write Old Testament Pseudepigrapha That Appear to Be Jewish?* James R. Davila Did Christians write Old Testament Pseudepigrapha in antiquity? If so, did they always include Christian signature features,1 or might they sometimes have written them strictly from an Old Testament and therefore apparently Jewish perspective? On the face of it, there is no obvious reason why a Christian author would have to have included Christian signature features in a work that dealt with the Old Testament. Nevertheless, scholars who study the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha have often assumed not only that whatever is not obviously Christian is Jewish, but even that a work with only a few Christian signature features that can be excised without serious harm to the flow of thought was also originally Jewish. This essay sets out to test such assumptions by looking at what verifiably Christian authors actually did when they wrote on Old Testament topics.2 My primary * This essay is a shortened and updated version of chapter two of my monograph The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden 2005). I am grateful to the Arts and Humanities Research Board (Now the Arts and Humanities Research Council) for a research leave fellowship that, along with a semester of leave granted by the University of St. Andrews, has made the research for this essay possible. I am also grateful to Karla Pollmann, who read this chapter and provided me with much useful feedback. She is, of course, not responsible for any errors that remain. By “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha” I mean ancient documents written in the name of Old Testament characters or retelling Old Testament stories, which documents were not accepted into the Jewish, Catholic, or Protestant scriptural canons. 1 By Christian or Jewish “signature features” I mean features characteristic of “boundary-maintaining” Christianity or Judaism  – forms of either religion that consciously defined themselves in opposition to the other. The Christianity of the Church Fathers and the Judaism of the Qumran sect and of the Rabbis were boundary-maintaining. Jewish-Christianity and gentile God-fearers were not. Christian signature features include such things as mention of Jesus, the virgin birth, the crucifixion, the church, and the apostles; hostile references to the falling away of the Jews; and quotations from or clear allusions to the New Testament or other early Christian literature. 2 R. A. Kraft suggested that a look at late antique Christian sermons might illuminate the question of what Christians could and could not have written about the Old Testament in “Setting the Stage and Framing Some Central Questions,” JSJ 32 (2001): 371–95, esp. 389. I am grateful to Professor Kraft for his permission to take up the research problem he outlines here, reworking it to some degree to suit my own purposes. He, of course, is not responsible for the result.

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aim is to demonstrate on empirical grounds that the danger of Christian works being mistaken for Jewish ones is real: Christians could write works that had few Christian signature features that can be excised easily on redaction-critical grounds; they could write works that contained no Christian signature features whatever; Christians could be concerned primarily with exegetical issues rather than homiletic ones; some Christian works on the Old Testament drew frequently on Jewish exegesis; and Christians could adopt a superficially Jewish perspective simply in order to maintain the literary integrity of the story they were telling.

1. Some preliminary questions My first preliminary question is: Did Christians write Old Testament Pseudepigrapha? The answer is undoubtedly yes. We have a number of Old Testament Pseudepigrapha that were clearly composed by Christians. Christians took up an ancient biblical and Mediterranean genre, the apocalypse, and made it their own, composing apocalypses attributed to Peter, Paul, Thomas, and Bartholomew, as well as various Christian apocalypses attributed to the Old Testament figures Daniel3 and Ezra,4 and involving the prophet Elijah.5 The Odes of Solomon is an early (perhaps second-century) Christian liturgical work preserved fully only in Syriac, although it is debated whether it was composed originally in Syriac or Greek.6 We see that Christians wrote Sibylline Oracles from the interpolated material (if that is what it is) in Sib. Or. 1:324–400 and elsewhere, and in the short hymn to Christ cited by Lactantius and preserved as Sib. Or. book 6.7 This evidence suffices to show that Christians did indeed sometimes compose Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. The twofold question then arises, Did Christians write Old Testament Pseudepigrapha with few enough and tangential enough Christian signature features that these features could be mistaken for secondary redactions? and, second, Did Christians produce Old Testament Pseudepigrapha without including any Christian signature features at all? Again, there is no a priori reason why they should not have done either. Depending on the agenda of an individual writer and the nature and length of an individual work, there may have been little or no reason 3 For example, M. Henze, The Syriac Apocalypse of Daniel: Introduction, Text, and Commentary (STAC 11; Tübingen 2001). 4 For example, M. E. Stone, “Greek Apocalypse of Ezra,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; 2 vols.; Garden City, N. Y. 1983–1985), 1:561–79. 5 For the Coptic apocalypse, see O. S. Wintermute, “Apocalypse of Elijah,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 1:721–53. It may incorporate earlier Jewish elements but, if so, they are rewritten so extensively as to constitute a new work. 6 J. H. Charlesworth, “Odes of Solomon,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2:725–71. 7 J. J. Collins, “Sibylline Oracles,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 1:317–472, esp. 330– 44, 406–7.

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to include explicitly Christian content. There may also have been incentives not to include it. An author writing in the name of an Old Testament character and wishing to convince contemporaries of its verisimilitude might well have avoided anachronistic references to Christian matters. It is true that Christians sometimes put vaticinia ex eventu in the mouths of Old Testament figures in the name of prophecy (e. g., Vis. Ezra 38; Ascen. Isa. 3:13–31), but this is a risky strategy, and we need not assume it was always followed. The first part of the question – whether Christians ever wrote on the Old Testament while introducing only a few, easily excisable, Christian signature features – can be studied fairly straightforwardly and, as we shall see, the answer is yes. I analyze two works of this sort below in section 2. But the second part – whether Christians wrote on the Old Testament without including any Christian signature features – is a considerably more difficult problem, and we should pause to consider the methodological issues. The fundamental difficulty is, if we – as we must – exclude content as a criterion, how can we prove that an ancient work is a Christian composition? Even if the work was transmitted with a title that attributes it to a known Christian author – indeed, even as part of a larger corpus by that author – one can always dispute the genuineness of the attribution, if for no other reason than the work shows no interest in Christian matters.8 If the content is not explicitly Christian, we can only be certain that the work is by a Christian author if it is attributed to a named and well-known writer and the attribution is secure on other grounds, such as its being an integral part of a corpus (e. g., one of a series of sermons on a biblical book), its conforming closely to the style of other works by that writer, or its being mentioned or even quoted by contemporaries or near contemporaries, or even quoted by the author him‑ or herself as being by that author. I have found no works whose authorship is this secure, lacking Christian signature features entirely, although, as we shall see, one sermon by Augustine of Hippo comes extremely close. Another approach would be to find long works by Christian authors (whether anonymous or attributed to specific writers) which contain Christian signature features, but which also include episodic stretches of narrative lacking such features. Evidence of this sort would establish that Christian authors sometimes told whole Old Testament stories without making reference to Christian matters, although it would not prove that they wrote complete works without doing so. I analyze extended passages from two works of this kind in section 3. A third approach would be to find anonymous (or pseudonymous) works on Old Testament subjects which lack Christian signature features but which can be argued 8 This problem has also been noted by R. S. Kraemer, When Aseneth Met Joseph: A Late Antique Tale of the Biblical Patriarch and His Egyptian Wife, Reconsidered (Oxford and New York 1998), 251–52.

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to be of Christian origin on other grounds. I shall consider one case of this type in section 4.

2. Christian works with only a few, easily excisable Christian signature features 2.1. A Homily by John Chrysostom John Chrysostom, the fourth-century Greek-speaking priest of Antioch and Bishop of Constantinople, was one of the most prolific writers of the early church. Among his many works are about 150 homilies or sermons on Old Testament topics, including two series on Genesis – one of nine homilies and another of sixty-seven.9 The homily discussed here is from the second series, which may be the first set of sermons he delivered, while still a deacon.10 Sermon 64 has a summary of Gen 41:46–49 as its rubric and it covers the story of Joseph from this point up to 45:24. It consists of approximately 5,500 Greek words.11 It begins by noting the rewards that Joseph received for his patience and his other virtues and asserts that the names he gave his children also illustrate his God-fearing attitude. His wisdom in first saving and then selling the grain led to the fulfillment of his dream, for it caused his father to send his remaining sons, apart from Benjamin, to Egypt in order to buy grain. John speculates on whether God might have caused the brothers not to recognize Joseph and explores Joseph’s conversation with them as he tried to get news of his father. Joseph was worried about Benjamin’s absence, fearing that the brothers had done to him what they had done to Joseph; so Joseph took one brother hostage and sent the others away with orders to come back with Benjamin. Chrysostom commends Joseph for his shrewdness. Reuben blamed his other brothers and told them, “See, there is an accounting for his blood” (Gen 42:22), an odd statement that implies that the brothers had killed Joseph and which Chrysostom takes pains to explain: the brothers killed Joseph in intent if not in act. Joseph bound Symeon and took him hostage as part of his strategy to learn what had become of Benjamin and whether the attitude of the other brothers had changed toward the sons of Rachel. Joseph was kind to the brothers not only by selling them the grain but also by returning their money in their sacks, and this had the effect of making them feel that events were conspiring to punish them for their sin against Joseph.  9 There is no critical edition of this corpus, so my sources for it are J.-P. Migne, S. P. N.  Joannis Chrysostomus IV (PG 53–54; Paris 1862), and R. C. Hill’s English translation, Saint John Chrysostom: Homilies on Genesis (3 vols.; FC 74, 82, 87; Washington, D. C. 1985–1992). I cite the texts according to the paragraph enumeration of Hill, and quotations are from his translation unless otherwise noted. 10 Hill, Homilies on Genesis, 1:2–7. 11 Migne, S. P. N. Joannis Chrysostomus IV, 547–58; Hill, Homilies on Genesis, 3:224–42.

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Presently the brothers arrived home, the grain began to run low, and poor Jacob, who had already given up Joseph as lost, began to despair of Symeon and Benjamin as well despite Ruben’s pledging the life of his two sons against the life of Benjamin. Jacob rebuked his sons for telling the Egyptian about Benjamin but they protested that they felt they had to tell him every detail truthfully, since they were under suspicion of spying. Chrysostom is careful to explain Jacob’s curious statement, “As for me, just as I had no children, so I have none now” (Gen 43:13–14 LXX). But eventually the danger of starvation compelled him to allow the brothers to return to Egypt and to take Benjamin along. Once there, they told the steward about the returned money in their sacks, but he reassured them that no one would pursue charges against them, “for we have received the payment in full.”12 Joseph greeted them and, seeing his full brother, retired to another room to cry. He washed his face, then returned and ordered the meal to be served. He ate by himself, since, as the biblical account says (Gen 43:32), it was an abomination for Egyptians to eat with Hebrews, but he seated the brothers in correct order by age, to their perplexity, and gave Benjamin five times more food than the others. Then, after the meal, Joseph continued to pursue his carefully crafted strategy by planting their money in the brothers’ bags and his divination cup in Benjamin’s in order to test how the brothers would treat Benjamin when it would seem to be in their interest to abandon him to his fate. The brothers, of course, passed the test: Judah, in fulfillment of Joseph’s dream, stepped forward and, addressing Joseph as a slave would his master, offered himself in exchange for Benjamin. Joseph, now satisfied as to their regard for both Jacob and Benjamin, revealed himself. The brothers were dumbfounded and feared that he would take vengeance on them, but he forgave them and reassured them that in his view, God had arranged it all for the good. When Pharaoh heard, he and his whole household were delighted and ordered Joseph to have his father brought back to Egypt at once. Joseph sent his brothers home, warning them not to quarrel along the way. Christian signature features occur only in the last two paragraphs of the sermon. Paragraph 32 explains Joseph’s admonition to mean that they should not blame one another for the things that happened but should remember that Joseph had forgiven them and to be kind to one another. Chrysostom continues: Who could adequately admire the virtue of this good man who fulfilled in generous measure the moral values of the New Testament? What Christ recommends to the apostles in these words, “Love your enemies; pray for those who abuse you” (Matt 5:44), this man even surpassed. I mean, not only did he give evidence of such wonderful love for those who did away with him as far as they could, but he did everything to convince them that they had not sinned against him. 12 Hill misunderstands this passage in § 19 and mistranslates the phrase καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἀργύριον πεπληρώμεθα as “we are satisfied with your repayment.” The steward did not accept their repayment.

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The paragraph goes on to praise Joseph for his extraordinary philosophy and love for God, in that he saw the course of events to be God’s way of fulfilling his dream and of saving his family. Paragraph 33 draws the moral that the audience should regard trials as a sign of God’s solicitude and should be grateful to God for troubles and distress as an opportunity for him to show his care for them. The sermon concludes, “May it be the good fortune of us all to attain this, thanks to the grace and loving kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom with the Father and the Holy Spirit be glory, power, and honor, now and forever, for ages of ages. Amen.” It is remarkable how much of this long homily consists of straightforward paraphrase and basic exegesis. There is some hermeneutical material, but it consistently derives its lessons narrowly from the Old Testament stories and does not attempt to Christianize the instruction until the very end, when Joseph’s attitude is held up as an example of the New Testament precept to love one’s enemies. But this passage can be excised without interrupting the flow of thought and, again, under other circumstances, easily could be argued to be a secondary addition. Likewise, the sermon concludes satisfactorily if everything in the last sentence after “May it be the good fortune of us all to attain this” is deleted as a Christian gloss. 2.2. A Sermon by Augustine on Micah 6:6–8 and Psalm 72 Augustine of Hippo preached an enormous number of sermons in his lifetime. More than 700 of these survive in written form, most of them transcribed at the time of preaching by stenographers (about whom we know much less than we would like). The 50 sermons on the Old Testament were reedited from the seventeenth-century Maurist edition by Dom Cyrille Lambot in 1961 and have recently been translated by Edmund Hill.13 Sermon 48 was preached at Carthage, apparently in May of a year late in Augustine’s life, perhaps 420. It is brief for one of his sermons (about 1,450 words, which Hill suggests would have taken fifteen to twenty minutes to present).14 The title reads “A sermon held on the Lord’s Day in the Basilica of Celerina: of the words of Micah the prophet, where it is said, ‘What worthy thing shall I offer to the Lord? Bending of the knee to God on high’ … etc.” Augustine begins by extolling the divine utterances, from which he exhorts his audience to receive as much as they are able and to impart what they receive without malice (§ 1). He then reflects on Micah 6:6–8, referring also to Wis 7:13, 16; Ps 55:11; and Sir 20:24 (§ 2). Augustine takes up the prophet’s 13 C. Lambot, Sancti Aurelii Augustini Sermones de Vetere Testamento (CCL 41; Turnhout 1961); E. Hill, Sermons I (1–19) on the Old Testament and Sermons II (20–50) on the Old Testament (The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century III.1–2; Brooklyn, N. Y. 1990). 14 Lambot, Sermones de Vetero Testamento, 606–11; Hill, Sermons II (20–50), 327–32.

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answer to the question “that you do judgment and justice” and concludes that his hearers should offer themselves to God: by doing what God commands, they find in themselves both judgment and justice. Rather than taking credit for their good deeds and blaming God for their failings, which is perverse judgment and blasphemy, not judgment at all, they should praise God for their good deeds and blame themselves for their failings, which is right judgment, the only real judgment. Next he takes up Psalm 72 (LXX; EV Psalm 73), which serves as the core text of this sermon (§ 3). The narrator of the psalm asserts that the God of Israel is good to the upright, but reports that he himself almost stumbled because he gazed on the peace of sinners and envied them. The fact that evil people have good things led him to be displeased with God. This leads the psalmist to question whether God knows about human affairs (§ 4). Augustine explains that the psalmist fastens on the question of whether he has chosen a just life in vain. The evil rejoice, while he is scourged, and this leads him to doubt whether human concerns even reach God. This thought, however, comes from a perverse heart, not an upright one, and from plausible but unsuitable reasoning (§ 5). Nevertheless, he is brought back from the brink by the authoritative proclamation of the saints, for he recognizes that this thought leads him to “condemn the generation of ” God’s sons: Moses, the patriarchs, and the prophets, all God’s sons, had no such thought. What, therefore, is the psalmist to do? He undertakes to ascertain whether God is both just and aware of human concerns, a matter that is both momentous and difficult (§ 6). The answer only comes to him when he enters the sanctuary of God and understands the final state of the wicked (§ 7). The faithful and pious person realizes that even though one does not know why God does what he does, one should not be led by human reasoning to condemn divine authority – “For it is most certainly to be believed by faith that it is not possible for God to be perverse and unjust. So, entering by faith into the sanctuary of God, entering so as to believe, you learn so as to understand. For so he says, ‘Until I enter into the sanctuary of God,’ by which faith enters.” The final outcome will be fair, with the good properly distinguished from the evil. “But what is now in hiding, afterwards shall be in evidence” (§ 7: Sed quod nunc est in occulto, post erit in manifesto). Augustine calls his audience to enter God’s sanctuary with him that he may teach them what he has been taught; that although good people endure many external evils, evil people, even if surrounded by an abundance of goods, still have to endure their own evil souls, and so cannot be regarded as happy (§ 8). Earthly things are good but do not make one a good person; carrying out judgment and justice will. Augustine admonishes his hearers to seek to be good people among their transitory earthly goods, rather than being evil people among them and perishing with them. He then promises, God permitting, that later he will take up some other matters that follow from this sermon, but closes it so as not to weary his audience with its length. (The promise is kept in sermon 49 in the same series.)

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This is a fascinating, and admittedly very rare, case of an ancient sermon whose attribution to a named and well-known Christian author is not in doubt, yet which does not refer once to a single explicitly Christian doctrine or quote from the New Testament or any other early Christian literature. I can think of only three elements in the sermon that one might argue betray its Christian authorship, but none strikes me as compelling. First, in § 5 Augustine refers to the “saints” or “holy ones” (sancti), meaning the patriarchs and prophets of the Old Testament. It is true that this usage is far more common in early Christian literature, but it is not unknown in ancient Jewish literature. The term “holy ones,” referring to people, appears once in the Hebrew Bible in Ps 34:10 (34:9 EV), and it is applied to human beings also in Tob 8:15; Wis 18:9; 3 Macc. 6:9 (variant reading); 1 En. 105; and often in the Similitudes of Enoch (e. g., 1 En. 48:7) and perhaps in the Qumran Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice (although the last is controversial).15 Second, in § 7, Augustine extols the virtue of faith and urges his audience to have faith that God is just. One might argue that this passage has a very Christian ring to it, and so it does, but such ideas were present also in Hellenistic Judaism. For example, Philo praises Abraham in very similar terms in Abr. §§ 262–76: “the only unfailing and secure good is faith in God” (§ 268); this faith is “the queen of the virtues” (§ 270); and he warns that “he who has believed in these things (i. e., bodily and external matters) disbelieves in God, he who disbelieves in them has believed in God” (§ 269). Philo and Augustine are both Platonists in the biblical tradition and their thoughts about faith are similar. The closest we come to a sure Christian signature feature is the line “But what is now in hiding, afterwards shall be in evidence.” This alludes to the Synoptic saying of Jesus which appears in Luke 8:17 as “For there is nothing hidden that shall not be made evident.”16 The adverbial phrase “in hiding” (in occulto) is similar to the noun “hidden” (occultum), and the adverbial phrase “in evidence” (in manifesto) is similar to the verb “be made evident” (manifestetur). On the one hand, that Augustine is alluding to the Lucan passage can scarcely be doubted, given the overall context. On the other hand, a scholar wanting to defend the Jewish origin of an Old Testament pseudepigraphon that contained this allusion to a New Testament passage could point out that the verbal similarity is not close – it involves only two word roots, neither of which are in the same grammatical form as the New Testament verse – and the general sentiment is congenial to Jewish eschatological thought. For example, the futility of hoping that one’s sins will be hidden at the final judgment is a theme of the Epistle of Enoch (1 En. 98:7–8; 104:7–8). The apparent allusion could be a coincidence, or it could be a scribal assimilation of the passage to the Lucan verse during copying. Neither argument J. R. Davila, Liturgical Works (ECDSS 6; Grand Rapids, Mich. 2000), 100. the Latin Vulgate, Non enim est occultum quod non manifestetur. Versions of this saying also appear in Matt 10:26; Mark 4:22, and Gos. Thom. 5–6, but the closest verbal similarity is found in the Lucan verse. 15 See 16 In

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could be dismissed out of hand. Early Christianity and ancient Judaism shared many themes and ideas, and often these were expressed independently in similar language. The parable of the sower in Mark 4:3–9 in the Vulgate and the comparison of human beings with the seeds sown by the farmer in 4 Ezra 8:41 make similar points and share some verbal similarities, yet they are completely independent.17 Often we simply cannot be sure whether an apparent allusion to a New Testament passage is one in fact, and this particular one is sufficiently general in theme and dissimilar in wording for one – again, in another context – to regard it with skepticism. It should be stressed that if this level of Christianization and no more were present in an unattributed narrative having to do with the Old Testament, it is virtually certain that some scholars would argue that it was a Jewish pseudepigraphon.

3. Christian works with episodes that lack any Christian signature features 3.1. Ephrem the Syrian’s Commentaries on Genesis and Exodus Ephrem the Syrian was born in Nisibis in the first decade of the fourth century. Late in life he moved to Edessa, and he is remembered for his time there as a zealous opponent of heresies. He died in 373 while coordinating a relief effort for the poor of the city during a famine. He was a prolific author, and even though most of his writings have perished, the surviving corpus is very large indeed. His poetic works are renowned for their beauty. He appears to have written commentaries on most of the books of the Bible, although only those on Genesis and Exodus survive today, and only the one on Genesis covers the entire text.18 Ephrem’s commentaries generally focus on straightforward exegesis of the text; references to explicitly Christian matters tend to be few and far between. Whole episodes lack any Christian signature features. Here I focus on a single episode: the early life of Moses. 3.2. The early life of Moses The early life of Moses, from his birth to his return to Egypt following exile and his initial meeting with the Hebrew elders, is covered in sections I–IV of that both passages make use of the roots seminare (“to sow”) and radix (“root”). commentaries are translated by E. G. Mathews, Jr., and J. P. Amar with K. McVey, St. Ephrem the Syrian: Selected Prose Works (FC 91; Washington, D. C. 1994). All quotations are from this translation unless otherwise indicated. The Syriac text of the commentaries has been edited and translated into Latin by R. Tonneau, Sancti Ephraem Syri In Genesim et in Exodum commentarii (2 vols.; CSCO 152–153, Syr. 71–72; Leuven 1955). 17 Note 18 The

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Ephrem’s Commentary on Exodus in approximately two thousand Syriac words.19 Ephrem tells us that both Satan and Pharaoh’s diviners realized that the time was approaching for the fulfillment of the prediction to Abraham (i. e., in Gen 15:13– 14) that after 400 years of slavery and oppression in another land, his descendants would come out and that other nation would be punished.20 Pharaoh was greatly disturbed by this prophecy and by the vast increase in the Hebrew population; as a result, he put them under hard labor. Issuing the decree that all male Israelite babies were to be killed, Pharaoh ordered the Hebrew midwives to kill them as they were born. Expecting to receive the “crown of confession,”21 however, they disobeyed, and they survived due to their shrewd handling of the situation and were blessed with fecundity.22 The rivers were filled with dead babies and their corpses lay heaped on its banks, but still the Hebrews multiplied. Moses’ mother hid him for as long as possible after his birth, then put him in a basket and prayed to God not to let Pharaoh destroy the seed that God had blessed. Miriam stayed nearby to see what happened to the baby in the river, sharing her family’s confidence that God would see to it that someone would find and save the beautiful baby. It was an unusually warm day23 and Pharaoh’s daughter, who was incapable of having children of her own, was led by God to go down to the river to bathe at a different time from usual so that she would find baby Moses, whom she adopted as her son. Miriam arranged for Moses’ own mother to act as his nurse and in due course Moses completed his education. Although he was a beautiful boy, he stammered. He knew the truth about his own origins not only from his circumcision, but also from what his mother and sister had told him. As an adult he killed and buried the cruelest Egyptian taskmaster,24 but when he tried to break up a fight the next day the one who was in the wrong accused him of the murder before many witnesses, after the rescued man had revealed the act to others out of love for Moses. Pharaoh heard and in a rage set out to have Moses killed. Moses fled to Midian, where he helped the daughters of a local priest when herdsmen tried to take water from them at the well. The father invited Moses into their home and in due course Moses married the daughter Sephora, who, however, persisted in her father’s religion and only permitted one 19 Mathews and Amar, Selected Prose Works, 223–36; Tonneau, Sancti Ephraem Syri, 1:124–33.

20 Exod. Rab. 1:18 also reports that the astrologers of Pharaoh predicted the coming of a savior of the Hebrews and that he would be put in peril by water, and Josephus refers to a similar prophecy by an Egyptian priest (Ant. 2.205). 21 Christians valued martyrdom, but ancient Jewish literature did as well, as is shown by 2 Macc 6–7 and 4 Maccabees. For a crown to be given to the Maccabean martyrs, see 4 Macc. 17:11–16. For “confession” of Judaism as in this passage, see 2 Macc 6:6. 22 Tg. Onq and Tg. Ps.-J. 1:19 mention the shrewdness of the Israelite women, but not the midwives specifically. 23 According to Tg. Ps.-J. 2:5, God sent a plague of skin inflammation against the Egyptians, and as a result Pharaoh’s daughter went down to the Nile to cool herself. 24 Exod. Rab. 1:28–29 also says that the Egyptian Moses killed was a cruel taskmaster.

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of her two sons to be circumcised. Moses named one son (Gershom) in honor of his escape and sojourning in a foreign land and the other (Eliezer) in honor of his deliverance from Pharaoh. At this point, back in Egypt, the Hebrews realized that 30 years beyond the 400-year deadline had passed. They prayed to God and were answered. Ephrem goes to some effort to explain, not entirely clearly, why both an angel and God are said to have spoken to Moses out of the burning bush. God spoke from the bush because it could not be made into an idol. God ordered Moses to meet with Pharaoh, who would not listen; nevertheless, the Hebrews would plunder the Egyptians and the promise to Abraham would be fulfilled. Moses asked for signs with which to convince his hard-hearted people. God responded with the sign of his staff turning into a snake, the sign of his hand turning leprous, and the ability to turn water into blood. Then, at Moses’ request, he also gave him eloquence. Moses went back to Midian, where he waited to return to Egypt until God informed him that everyone there who had sought to kill him was dead. Then Moses started on the way to Egypt with his wife and two sons. God told him to warn Pharaoh that unless Pharaoh sent Israel, God’s firstborn son, to God, God would kill Pharaoh’s firstborn. Then at night the Lord sought to kill Moses because he had not circumcised his second son. Since the vision on Horeb Moses had not had intercourse with his wife, and both Moses and God were displeased with her for preventing the circumcision of her son. Moses should have ignored her wishes, but because he did not, an angel came to kill him. Seeing this, his wife circumcised the boy and appeased the angel. Moses scolded her and then sent her and the two boys back to Midian. Then the Lord sent Aaron to meet Moses, just as had been predicted, and they assembled the elders of their people and showed them miracles; so the elders put their faith in Moses as God had promised. As with Chrysostom’s sermon, Ephrem’s commentary shows a strong interest in basic biblical exegesis and the explanation of difficult passages with no particular hermeneutical interest. The high density of parallels to Jewish exegesis is striking. It seems likely that Ephrem had access to Jewish targums or midrashic works and that he drew on them frequently. In addition he alludes to Jewish customs or ideas of which he would have disapproved in the present, but which he presents in a positive light in their biblical context – namely, Sephora is condemned for preventing the circumcision of Moses’ second son (Comm. Exod. 4.4), and in her prayer, Moses’ mother refers to the line of the Hebrews as the seed that God blessed (2.2). Christians had access to Jewish exegesis and were capable of drawing on it freely. Allusions to Jewish exegetical traditions are by no means proof of Jewish authorship. And Christians could make positive references to Jewish institutions and Jewish ethnicity if these were viewed in the context of the Old Testament period.

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3.3. The Heptateuchos of Pseudo-Cyprianus A considerable corpus of epic poetry on biblical themes was produced in Latin in late antiquity. The pseudepigraphic Latin epics on Old Testament themes seem mostly to have been written in or around the fifth century c.e. Reinhart Herzog believes that, whether or not their authors were known originally, once they had been rejected from the canon of biblical epic poetry by named authors, they circulated anonymously until they were collected together in the Carolingian era, when they were assigned to well-known pre-Ambrosian prose authors.25 The Heptateuchos is a 5000-line epic (about 32,500 Latin words) which paraphrases the Pentateuch, Joshua, and Judges.26 Apparently the original work also included other Old Testament prose books.27 Some manuscripts assign the work to a Cyprianus, but nothing more is known about the author. Herzog is probably correct in concluding that this is a pseudepigraphic attribution to Cyprian of Carthage. It is generally agreed on various grounds that the Heptateuchos was composed during the fifth century, probably in Gaul.28 References in the Heptateuchos to explicitly Christian matters are few and far between.29 The epic was transmitted under a Christian, if probably pseudepigraphic, name (at least in the manuscripts we have) in a genre whose use in Latin is attested only by Christians, and it made use of the Old Latin version of the Bible. Given the paucity of this evidence, Jacques Fontaine has raised in passing the possibility that the author was a Western Jew or a “Judaizing Christian,” but he did not argue the case and his suggestion has not been received with any enthusi-

25 R. Herzog, Die Bibelepik der lateinischen Spätantike. Formgeschichte einer erbaulichen Gattung (Theorie und Geschichte der Literatur und der schönen Künste, Texte und Abhandlungen 37; Munich 1975), xix–xxxiii. 26 A critical text was published by R. Peiper, Cypriani Galli Poetae Heptateuchos (CSEL 23; Vienna 1881), 1–211. Peiper discusses the manuscript tradition (i–xxix), and R. Hexter has a useful analysis of the manuscripts in their social context in “The Metamorphosis of Sodom: The Ps-Cyprian ‘De Sodoma’ as an Ovidian Episode,” Traditio 44 (1988): 1–35, esp. 26–35. See also R. Herzog, Bibelepik, xxv–xxxii; D. Kartschoke, Bibeldichtung: Studien zur Geschichte der epischen Bibelparaphrase von Juvencus bis Otfrid von Weißenburg (Munich 1975), 34–35, 99; M. Roberts, Biblical Epic and Rhetorical Paraphrase in Late Antiquity (ARCA 16; Liverpool 1985), 92–96. This epic has never been translated into a modern language apart from a fragment of Genesis, corresponding to lines 1–165 of Peiper’s edition, which was translated into English by S. A. Thelwall in ANF 4:132–35, and short quotations of a few lines here and there in other scholarly works. 27 Peiper, Heptateuchos, i–ii, 209–11. The lines from Job are not original to the text and should be deleted: see Roberts, Biblical Epic, 95 n. 134. 28 Herzog, Bibelepik, 52–60. 29 Roberts, Biblical Epic, 95 n. 136; Herzog, Bibelepik, 118. D. J. Nodes has shown that in the section on Genesis, the epic poet interacts with and builds on the ideas of patristic writers (Doctrine and Exegesis in Biblical Latin Poetry [ARCA 31; Leeds 1993], 25–36, 83–87). J. M. Evans offers some observations along the same lines in Paradise Lost and the Genesis Tradition (Oxford 1968), 137–42.

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asm.30 It is difficult to be sure what Fontaine means by “Judaizing Christian,” but such close analysis of the work as has been done up to now points to its being a Christian composition by a writer who kept close to the biblical narrative voice, but whose interests as a Christian show through by what the writer chose to emphasize and neglect.31 The consensus at present is that the Heptateuchos was written by a Christian. Space does not allow for a complete analysis of the Heptateuchos, so I will narrow my focus in what follows to a close reading of the section on Leviticus, which consists of 309 lines (about 2,000 Latin words).32 This remarkable section consistently maintains the narrative voice of the book of Leviticus and addresses the ancient Israelites as the implied readers. Once, with regard to food taboos, the narrator even uses a first-person plural pronoun: “To the people He (God) specified rules of common sustenance: and what is either permitted or is unlawful to receive, He pronounced, which custom our common meals also keep under the celestial law.”33 At times the narrator addresses the reader in the second person indicative or imperative: regarding incest (122, 131); bestiality (135); rebuking one’s brother (156–65); the mixing of kinds (166–70); the use of the fruit of a grafted tree (179–81); tattoos, brandings, making a daughter a prostitute, and murder by charm (182–89); just measures (193); rejecting one who consults ventriloquists (196); and crop failure due to God’s curse (285). Nevertheless, although the implied audience is the ancient Israelites, a careful reading shows that the overall treatment of Leviticus makes much more sense if we take the intended audience to be Christians rather than Jews. Note first of all that almost all the passages in the second person cited above address matters that would have been of interest to Christians as well as Jews. The only exception 30 J. Fontaine, Naissance de la poésie dans l’Occident chrétien. Esquisse d’une histoire de la poésie latine chrétienne du IIIe au VIe siècle (Paris 1981), 247. Nodes notes Fontaine’s conjecture without sympathy in Doctrine and Exegesis, 83 n. 14. 31 Roberts, Biblical Epic, 119–21, 185–86. 32 Peiper, Heptateuchos, 104–15. 33 Communis populo distinguit regula victus: et quid vel liceat vel fas adsumere non sit, eloquitur, quem nostra etiam conuiuia morem caelesti sub lege tenent (lines 28–31a). Herzog seems to think that in this passage the Christian author breaks character and speaks for him‑ or herself. Granted, the “also” could be taken to distinguish the speaker’s group from the “people” in line 28, but the point of lines 30a–31a is that the speaker’s group keeps these prescriptions, in which case the speaker seems to be the narrator of Leviticus, and the “also” merely indicates that God specified the rules and the Israelites also kept them. See Herzog, Bibelepik, 116. K. Pollmann has suggested to me in a private communication that the sense of the passage is that Christians keep the Jewish food laws, but under heavenly law, in other words, interpreted spiritually. She cites a work by Novatian of Rome, De cibis Judaicis (ANF 5:645–50), as a Christian source teaching that Christians should understand the Jewish food laws spiritually as a means of moderation and exhortation to moral conduct. The passage is not very clear, and her interpretation may well be correct. If so, the Heptateuchos’ section on Leviticus is not a unit that lacks Christian signature features entirely, but my exegesis of it as a Christian interpretation of the biblical book of Leviticus is confirmed.

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is the mixing of kinds. Surprisingly few of the ritual precepts of Leviticus are mentioned explicitly. The most striking case is the affirmation of the food laws in lines 28–31, although only the laws pertaining to birds are grudgingly listed. Animal sacrifices are briefly considered in a general way in lines 4–9. The laws on postpartum female impurity and the circumcision of male infants are summarized in lines 37–50, as are the offerings for purification from skin afflictions in lines 61–68. The rules for fluxes, defilement of objects by those with a flux, and offerings to purify those who have had a flux are summarized in lines 69–89. The scapegoat ritual is covered in lines 99–107. Some rules pertaining to the high priest are discussed in lines 203–15; as are rules about when a priest’s daughter is permitted to consume the sacred food (216–20), the inadvertent eating of the sacred food by anyone (lines 221–22), the lighting of the sanctuary (223–26), and the valuation of vows (298–309). A few other cases are considered below. Some of this material may have been merely of antiquarian interest, but some would have interested Christians for other reasons. Biblical precepts on skin diseases and fluxes might have been viewed as medically significant in a world where they were endemic, and the scapegoat ritual was used frequently in Christian typology. It is even more instructive, in contrast, to catalogue the portions of Leviticus omitted in the Heptateuchos. It ignores almost the entirety of chapters 1–9, which deal with the minutiae of various sacrifices and also with the ordination of the Aaronids as priests; most of the food laws in chapter 11; the rules for sacrificing animals meant for food at the sanctuary in chapter 17; the rules for peace offerings in 19:1–8 and the reference to Sabbaths and the sanctuary in 19:30; the command to stone anyone who offers a child as a human sacrifice, and rules on adultery, incest, bestiality, menstrual defilement, cleanness, uncleanness, and holiness in chapter 20 (some of which were already covered in the paraphrase of chapter 18); most of the priestly and sacrificial laws in chapter 22; all references to the Jewish festivals in chapter 23; rules for making the bread of the Presence and rules for execution and implementation of the lex talionis in chapter 24; the rules for the festivals and the sabbatical year in 25:1–24; and the reference to the Sabbaths of the land in 26:34–35. And, more generally, none of the frequent references to the laws of Leviticus being “eternal statutes” (e. g., Lev 3:17; 7:34, 36; 10:9, 15; 16:31; 23:14; 24:3) is reproduced in the poem. Moreover, a Christian agenda is implied by some of the material chosen for mention and, especially, by some of the misreadings and reinterpretation of passages in Leviticus. The contents of Leviticus 17 are ignored except for vv. 13–14, the precept against eating blood (lines 108–13). It may not be a coincidence that this is one of the very few ceremonial rules from the Old Testament which is ratified in a New Testament document (Acts 15:29). The rules against mixed kinds in Lev 19:19 prohibit the interbreeding of cattle, but in lines 166–67 this precept is replaced with the rule against yoking an ox and an ass together, which is found

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in Deut 22:10. It may also not be a coincidence that the latter passage, rather than the former, is alluded to metaphorically in the New Testament in 2 Cor 6:14. The limitations on using the fruit of newly planted trees in Lev 19:23–25 are reinterpreted in lines 178–81, which read, “As often as sprouts are grafted into a woody trunk, do not by any means pick the fruit after three full years, but consecrate it to God Most High, because the fifth year shall give it to you by law for eating with permitted foods.”34 The issue is now the eating of the fruit of shoots grafted onto another tree. It may be that this change was introduced to make the passage more relevant as background to Paul’s metaphorical use of grafted shoots in Romans 11. The rules in Lev 21:5–9 against a priest shaving his head or beard or cutting himself in mourning for the dead and against his marrying a prostitute or an adulteress are democratized in lines 197–203 to apply to everyone. It is perhaps also worth noting that the blaspheming half-breed Israelite of Lev 24 is made a full-blooded Hebrew and is called a “senseless Jew” (Iudaeus iners) in line 231 (the only place in the poem to use the word Jew), a change and an epithet easier to imagine emanating from a Christian than a Jew. In sum, the internal evidence of the Leviticus portion of the Heptateuchos confirms the external evidence and leaves little doubt that it is a Christian work. It is a careful summary of the contents of Leviticus, written with an astonishing sympathy for the material from a Christian author, but it ignores all references to sacrifice, Sabbath, festivals, and the eternal nature of the Levitical laws. A Jew might pass over some of these things, but it is hard to imagine one ignoring all of them. Much of what is covered is of potential interest to Christians, a few passages may be doctored to make them more relevant to Christians, and the single use of the word “Jew” is quite uncomplimentary. All this granted, the Leviticus poem is an extraordinary and in some ways disquieting example of a Christian composition with an Old Testament theme. It seems not to include any Christian signature features; it presents Jewish law and ritual in a very sympathetic light and offers criticism of them only obliquely, by omission or minor modification. If it had been removed from its context and transmitted independently, one could envisage it being misread as a Jewish pseudepigraphon. It is thus a useful worst-case scenario: an extended portion of a Christian work on the Old Testament which does not betray its Christian origin by obvious Christian signature features. Any Old Testament apocryphon or pseudepigraphon that we suspect to be of Jewish origin should have its evidence measured against it.

34 Insita siluestri quotiens sunt germina trunco, / carpite post ternos nequequam poma decembres, / sed summo sacrate deo; quia quintus edendi / iura dabit uobis licitis cum uictibus annus.

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4. A probable Christian work that lacks any Christian signature features The last document to be considered in this essay is another Latin epic poem, De Martyrio Maccabaeorum, a work of 389–394 lines (about 2,800 Latin words). In the earliest surviving manuscript – a sixth-century palimpsest in Italian, perhaps northern Italian, script – it is anonymous. An eighth-century manuscript is also anonymous, but the manuscripts of the tenth and eleventh century attribute it to Hilarius, and later tradition ascribes it to Marius Victorinus Afrus. It seems reasonable to assume with Herzog that it circulated anonymously until it was attributed pseudepigraphically to a known author by Carolingian editors. The date of composition is not certain but is probably roughly the same as the other Latin biblical epic Pseudepigrapha – that is, sometime in the fourth to sixth centuries. Peiper published two versions with minor variations and of slightly different length.35 My comments below focus on the first, the longer of the two, although taking into account relevant textual variants from the second. The poem is based on the story of the seven martyrs and their mother (2 Macc 6–7), but reworks it freely. Although the surviving manuscripts associate the poem with the Christian feast day of the Maccabees (1 August),36 the work itself has no Christian signature features at all. All other Latin biblical epics of this period contain such features, although sometimes very few of the features; so they can safely be accepted as Christian compositions. Kartschoke argues that it is a Christian work, although he notes that Ebert seemed to have reservations about whether this was so.37 I shall explain below why I believe the contents of the story are consistent with Christian authorship and are better explained as such. At the opening of the poem we are told that the very wealthy king Antiochus of Syria wished to change the faith of the just so as to mix them with a hostile people. In his kingdom there lived a mother and her seven children who were born of the holy people. Antiochus first offered the mother vast rewards if she and her family would abandon their former customs and adopt new ones, but she refused. He then threatened her with the torture of her children but she did not fear the king and disdained his threats. Antiochus was enraged and commanded that her seven children be burned alive in order of age, from oldest to youngest. 35 Peiper, Heptateuchos, 240–54 (“Hilarii”); 255–69 (“Marii Victorini Afri”). For the manuscripts, see ibid., xx–xxii. See also M. C. Weidmann, “Das Carmen de Martyrio Maccabaeorum” (Ph.D. diss.; University of Vienna, 1995). This unpublished dissertation, which contains an introduction to De Martyrio Maccabaeorum, a critical text, a German translation, and a commentary, came to my attention too late to be taken fully into account here. The sixth-century manuscript was not available to Peiper (Weidmann, “Das Carmen,” 100–5). 36 “… versus in natali (natalem) Machabaeorum” (Peiper, Heptateuchos, 240 and 254; Weidmann, “Das Carmen,” 106). See Kartschoke, Bibeldichtung, 108, and Weidmann, “Das Carmen,” 45. 37 Kartschoke, Bibeldichtung, 38–39, 105–11, esp. 105.

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One by one the children were executed, willingly throwing themselves into the flames as their mother exhorted them to bravery and fidelity to their ancestral traditions and promised them eternal victory over the king. Then, having seen all of her sons conquer, the mother collapsed and died, and she and her children were received among the saints. On the one hand, as I have already noted, this document contains no Christian signature features. The closest one might come to finding one is the repeated mention of “saints” (sancti) throughout (lines 25, 62, 318, 358, and 394), but as I have shown above in discussing Augustine’s sermon, this usage is also found in ancient Judaism. On the other hand, there are a number of elements that might be taken at first glance to be Jewish signature features, most of them in the speeches of the mother. She exhorts her sons to be mindful of their race, Israel (lines 92, 168, 286–88, 368, 375), and the holy seed of Abraham (lines 167–68), the people to which they were born (line 341), and their native land (line 375). She also tells one son “to remember God and to hold on to the Law, not given by the king, but which God, the Judge of the globe and the Master of the world, transmitted and (God) accepted the prayers of Moses and gave (the Law) to the people”38 (lines 247b–50a). In line 32 she also says, “It is certain that by virtue with the Law it is given to me to conquer.”39 Nevertheless, a careful reading weakens the case for taking these features as indications of a Jewish origin. First, as I mentioned, most are put in the mouth of the mother and are the sort of things an ancient Christian author would have expected her to say; such an author would consider them valid in the mother’s time, before the coming of Christ, but not in the author’s own time. The narrator also refers to her people as “the holy people” (line 3) and “the people of God,” but according to Christian theology the Jewish people were both during the Old Testament period. Second, the treatment of the Law is very generic and, indeed, superficial. A Christian author would agree that the Law was revealed to Moses and was valid at that time, although it was superseded by Christ. Naturally, the last point would not be put in the mouth of the mother, and the author evidently sees no need to make it either. More tellingly, unlike either 2 Macc (6:18, 21, etc.) or 4 Macc. (5:2 etc.), this version of the story never makes clear that the sin the martyrs resisted and died rather than commit was to eat pork that had been used in an idolatrous sacrifice. Rather, we are told merely that the king required the mother to change her customs and adopt other ones (lines 11–12), and she urges her children to keep her customs (60) and precepts (85) and to hold on to the Law (247). The characters and the narrator show a curious lack of interest in the specifics of the situation. None of them ever makes clear exactly what 38 … meminisse dei legemque tenere, / non a rege datam, sed quam deus arbiter orbis / tradidit et mundi rector, Mosesque petitam / accepit populoque dedit. 39 Virtute id cum lege data mihi uincere certum est.

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the king is demanding that the children do or the mother is urging them not to do. This omission would be very strange in a Jewish work, but it makes perfect sense in a Christian one. The author wanted to encourage the audience to value martyrdom, but did not wish to distract them with the fact that these martyrs died for a Jewish food law no longer required of Christians and in fact looked down on by them.40 In addition, Kartschoke argues for direct dependence of De Martyrio Maccabaeorum not only on 4 Macc., which would not affect my case one way or the other, but also on a sermon by Gregory of Nazianzus, whose presentation of the mother’s exhortations to the sons is strikingly similar to lines 52–56 and 370 of the poem. Kartschoke also argues that the “Freude in Leiden” theme of the poem is both decisively Christian and also characteristic of Gregory’s treatment of the story.41 In sum, the content of De Martyrio Maccabaeorum makes best sense if it is interpreted as a Christian composition.42 In addition, it was transmitted as part of a corpus of epic texts by or attributed to Christian authors and was taken, at least by the Carolingian editors, to be itself a Christian composition, a kind of metrical commentary on a scriptural story. If this is correct, the work is a remarkable example of a Christian writing that retells an Old Testament story without including any Christian signature features.

5. Conclusions This essay has adopted an empirical approach to the problem of whether Christians wrote Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and whether such works written by them must always have contained Christian signature features. It has asked not what Christians might have written or what they were capable in theory of writing, but what we can learn from some literary works actually written by them which retold Old Testament narratives or otherwise made use of Old Testament traditions. In them we find that Christians sometimes told Old Testament stories for the sake of the story, including Christian signature features only incidentally in such a way that one could be tempted to remove them by redaction criticism. This is not to deny that redaction criticism is a useful tool when applied with proper methodological controls; rather it shows that the presence of easily detachable Christian elements in a work on the Old Testament is not in itself 40 The author might have made an issue of the fact that the food was sacrificed to idols (see Rev 2:14, 20), but the New Testament attitude to this practice is equivocal (see 1 Cor 8) and thus may not have seemed a good rallying point in support of martyrdom. 41 Kartschoke, Bibeldichtung, 106–11. 42 See the comments of Weidmann, “Das Carmen,” 41–45, who also regards it as a Christian composition.

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a sufficient reason to treat them as secondary. In larger works, Christians also sometimes embedded retellings of whole episodes from the Old Testament without using Christian signature features in the episodes, although the larger works as a whole did include at least a few such features. Christian retellings of Old Testament stories sometimes sound, at least superficially, as though they could be Jewish. There are a number of reasons for their giving this impression. Ephrem drew extensively on rabbinic and other Jewish traditions about the Bible. Christian authors strove, at least sometimes, to maintain the narrative integrity of the stories they retold, making the Old Testament characters speak as the author thought they really would have spoken, or presenting elements of the old dispensation sympathetically because these elements were theologically valid in Old Testament times. So a writer like Ephrem could condemn Moses’ wife for not circumcising her son even though he would have been hostile to Christian Judaizers of his own time who required the circumcision of gentile Christians. It is, therefore, very important for us, when we read Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, to pay close attention to what the characters of the story say, versus what the narrator says, versus what appears to be the perspective of the actual author. The three need not to hold the same views, and a close and sensitive reading is sometimes necessary to tell the views apart. In addition, ideas that sound explicitly Christian on the surface often turn out to have close parallels in ancient Jewish literature. One could with internal consistency insist that the Heptateuchos and De Martyrio Maccabaeorum are Jewish compositions on the grounds that the first contains either few and redactionally secondary Christian signature features or none and the second has no such features at all, and that they both show some sympathy toward Judaism. This has actually been suggested for the Heptateuchos. As I have explained, I believe to assert this for either would be incorrect and, indeed, wrong-headed. If I am right, two important points need to be emphasized. First, the Leviticus portion of the Heptateuchos provides us with a Christian retelling of a biblical book that contains a very high density of explicitly Jewish concerns, perhaps the highest in the Bible. Nevertheless, even setting aside its context in the Heptateuchos, careful exegesis lays bare its Christian origin. Second, De Martyrio Maccabaeorum is an example – granted, the only example I have been able to identify thus far – of a complete ancient Christian work on an Old Testament subject which is entirely devoid of Christian signature features. If there is one case, there may well be others. I recognize that some may dispute my understanding of both Latin epics, although I do not think a very persuasive case can be mounted against it. But the sermon by Augustine provides us with evidence that is nearly as interesting. Even though it is a publicly preached sermon by a famous Christian author, it is based entirely on straightforward, if philosophically inclined, exegesis of two Old Testament passages; it makes no reference to any explicitly Christian doctrine; it

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does not quote the New Testament or any other Christian work; and the single allusion to a New Testament passage is so attenuated that we could plausibly dismiss it as coincidental. In sum, this study has given us a considerably more sophisticated and empirically based understanding of how ancient Christians used the Old Testament when they wrote about it. It gives us good reason to believe that they may have written books about the Old Testament without alluding explicitly to Christianity and has also suggested some strategies for identifying such books as Christian nonetheless. It has eliminated some of the traditional criteria for establishing Jewish authorship – such as extensive use of Jewish exegesis and rare, peripheral mention of Christian matters – by pointing to these features in indubitably Christian texts. Much of the evidence has force not just in itself, but also a minori ad maius: if we find Christian sermons and commentaries whose explicit purpose was to edify a Christian congregation or readership, but which nearly entirely ignore explicitly Christian matters when dealing with the Old Testament, how much more might we expect anonymous authors of parabiblical Old Testament narratives and revelations to ignore such matters when they hoped to persuade their audience of the genuineness of the story or the revelation?

“Jewish-Christian” Apocrypha and the History of Jewish/Christian Relations* Annette Yoshiko Reed Recent Anglo-American scholarship on early and late antique Christianity has been marked by concerted efforts to supplement, enrich, and interrogate the Eusebian account of church history that dominated past research.1 Earlier work largely progressed from the framework laid out in Eusebius’s Historia ecclesiastica,2 telling the history of Christianity’s first four centuries in terms of a series of figures retrospectively deemed “church fathers.” Having purportedly shed the * This research was supported by a grant from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada. I would also like warmly to thank Pierluigi Piovanelli; the idea for this paper was sparked by our discussions in Lausanne and Geneva during the AELAC conference (“Colloque international sur la littérature apocryphe chrétienne, Le roman pseudo-clémentin,” August 30 to September 2, 2006). I am grateful to him also for the opportunity to participate in the workshop on “Christian Apocrypha for the New Millennium: Achievements, Prospects and Challenges” at the University of Ottawa (September 29 to October 1, 2006) – an event of rare collegiality, intellectual intensity, and agenda-setting vision. This paper benefited much from the questions and comments that I received at the event. Special thanks to F. Stanley Jones for his suggestions. 1 By no means do I mean to suggest that such corrective concerns are unique to Anglo-American scholarship! Rather, this essay is concerned with a specific trajectory of research reflected in English-language studies since the mid-1960s. Although obviously related to its continental counterparts in many meaningful ways, Anglo-American scholarship has progressed at a different pace and with different points of focus (note, e. g., the relative lack of attention granted to the creation of scholarly editions of Christian apocrypha compared to German‑ and French-language scholarship; the North American context, in particular, may be characterized by more suspicion towards text‑ and source-critical approaches, more concern for socio-cultural issues, and a more pointed interest in experimenting with sociological and anthropological models). 2 Eusebius’s role in shaping the dominant scholarly understanding of early church history was noted already by W. Bauer, whose alternative account was founded on a highly suspicious reading of the Historia ecclesiastica as a selective and apologetic account with many purposive omissions; Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum (BHTh 10; Tübingen 1934; rev. ed. by G. Strecker, 1964), e. g. 135–49. See further A. J. Droge, “The Apologetic Dimensions of the Ecclesiastical History,” and G. F. Chesnut, “Eusebius, Augustine, Orosius, and the Late Patristic and Medieval Church Historians,” in Eusebius, Christianity, and Judaism (ed. H. W. Attridge and G. Hata; StPB 42; Leiden 1992), 492–509, 687–713. For recent reassessments of Eusebius, see S. Inowlocki and C. Zamagni, eds., Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical, and Theological Issues (VCSup 107; Leiden 2011); A. Johnson and J. Schott, eds., Eusebius of Caesarea: Tradition and Innovations (Hellenic Studies 60; Cambridge, Mass. 2013).

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influence of Judaism, authors such as Clement, Ignatius, Justin, Irenaeus, and Tertullian have been celebrated as those who fought to maintain authentic apostolic traditions in the face of the manifold challenges posed by “heresy,” on the one hand, and “paganism,” on the other. Their story, moreover, has been told in teleological terms: from the struggle with “heresy,” they set Christian theology on the path to Nicaea, and from the struggle with “paganism,” their vision of Christianity emerged victorious, rising from a persecuted sect to the religion of the Roman Empire. This familiar “master narrative” was long reflected and reinforced by the dominant disciplinary contexts of research and teaching on early and late antique Christianity in North America. Until the 1970s, early and late antique Christianity was studied under the twin rubrics of Patristics and ecclesiastical history in relative isolation from scholarship on Second Temple and rabbinic Judaism, late antique history and society, comparative religion, Classics, and even – to some degree – New Testament studies. Accordingly, past research on post-apostolic literature was largely limited to the doctrines of church fathers writing in Greek and Latin. Attention focused, almost wholly, on developments within the Roman Empire.3 The recent move towards more integrative, interdisciplinary, and expansive perspectives responds to a variety of factors. Precipitants include the discovery of the Nag Hammadi codices,4 the discussion sparked by Walter Bauer’s Rechtgläubigkeit und ketzerei im altesten Christentum,5 and the emergence of late antiquity as a vibrant subfield of History.6 New perspectives have been facilitated also by 3 Eusebius, for instance, is largely blamed for the modern scholarly neglect of Syriac Christian literature by S. Brock, “Eusebius and Syriac Christianity,” in Eusebius, Christianity, and Judaism, 212–34 at 212, and A. H. Becker, “Beyond the Spatial and Temporal Limes: Questioning the ‘Parting of the Ways’ Outside the Roman Empire,” in The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (ed. A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed; TSAJ 95; Tübingen 2003), 373–92 at 373–74. 4 E. g., J. D. Turner and A. McGuire, eds., The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration (NHMS 44; Leiden 1997), reviewed by K. Rudolph (trans. D. D. Walker) in JR 79 (1999): 452–57. 5 Although first published in 1934, the importance of the book was not widely recognized until the 1960s, with the publication of the second German edition (1964) and the discussion of Bauer’s findings in H. Koester’s seminal article “ΓΝΩΜΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΟΙ: The Origin and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early Christianity,” HTR 58 (1964): 279–318, repr. in J. M. Robinson and H. Koester, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia 1971), 114–57. In Anglo-American scholarship, full engagement with Bauer’s work awaited its English translation (Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity [trans. and ed. by R. A. Kraft and G. Krodel with a team from the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins; Philadelphia 1971]). On the reception of Bauer’s work, see 286–316, and D. J. Harrington, “The Reception of Walter Bauer’s Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity during the Last Decade,” HTR 73 (1980): 289–98. 6 In particular, the work of P. R. L. Brown helped to spark the new interest in the “post-classical” era within the field of History; see especially his “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” JRS 61 (1971): 80–101, and The Making of Late Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass.

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the diversification in the backgrounds and institutional settings of research and graduate training in early and late antique Christianity.7 This diversification, in turn, has fostered a new openness towards experimentation with methodologies from fields such as sociology, anthropology, literary criticism, gender studies, and critical theory.8 Perhaps above all, the shift away from Eusebian models reflects a broader growth of interest in noncanonical materials – including newly discovered texts (e. g., Dead Sea Scrolls, Nag Hammadi literature) but also familiar texts too long neglected (e. g., Old Testament pseudepigrapha, Christian apocrypha, Hekhalot literature, piyyutim, Greco-Roman magical materials). What happens when we tell the history of early and late antique Christianity apart from the traditional focus on church fathers, doctrinal concerns, and retrospectively normative meta-narratives? For the forging of new perspectives on the beliefs, practices, and experiences of early and late antique Christians, the evidence of Christian apocrypha has been critical.9 Apocryphal gospels and acts 1978). For reflections on the fate of “Late Antiquity” in the last thirty years, see P. R. L. Brown, “The Study of Elites in Late Antiquity,” Arethusa 33 (2000): 321–46; J. J. O’Donnell, “Late Antiquity: Before and After,” Transactions of the APA 134 (2004): 203–13; and the articles in JECS 6.3 (1998). 7 The recovery of the “post-classical” period from scholarly neglect (see note above) has facilitated the study of late antique Christianity in departments of History and Classics. Since the 1960s, in North America in particular, the study of early and late antique Christianity in Divinity Schools and departments of Theology has also been increasingly supplemented by its study in departments of Religious Studies in secular universities. For the institutional history of Religious Studies in North America, see e. g. C. Welch, “Identity Crisis in the Study of Religion? A First Report from the ACLS Study,” JAAR 39 (1971): 3–18 esp. 3–7; D. G. Hart, “The Troubled Soul of the Academy: American Learning and the Problem of Religious Studies,” Religion and American Culture 2 (1992): 41–77. 8 Discussions of the profits and pitfalls of such approaches include E. A. Castelli, “Gender, Theory, and the Rise of Christianity: A Response to Rodney Stark,” JECS 6 (1998): 227–57; E. A. Clark, “Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social History, and the ‘Linguistic Turn’,” JECS 6 (1998): 413–30; eadem, History, Theory, Text: Historians and the Linguistic Turn (Cambridge, Mass. 2004). Note also the application of the theories of P. Bourdieu in N. Kelley’s Knowledge and Religious Authority in the Pseudo-Clementines: Situating the Recognitions in Fourth-century Syria (WUNT 2.213; Tübingen 2006). 9 I here use the term “Christian apocrypha” to refer to the written products of on-going reflection on the apostolic past by means of apostolic/sub-apostolic pseudepigraphy (e. g., books penned in the names of Paul, James, Peter, Thomas, the twelve apostles, Clement of Rome) and / or the fluid use of literary forms also found in the New Testament literature (e. g., gospels, acts, apocalypses); from a literary standpoint, such writings can thus be distinguished from the theological treatises, apologies, dialogues, heresiologies, homilies, etc., penned by Christian authors in their own names. On the category of “Christian apocrypha,” see É. Junod, “La littérature apocryphe chrétienne constitue-t-elle un objet d’études?,” REA 93 (1991): 397–414; idem, “ ‘Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament’: une appellation erronée et une collection artificielle. Discussion de la nouvelle définition proposée par W. Schneemelcher,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 17–46; P. Piovanelli, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien’ et comment ça marche? Quelque suggestions pour une hermeneutique apocryphe,” in Pierre Geoltrain ou comment “faire l’histoire des religions”? Le chantier des origines, les méthodes du doute et la conversion contemporaine entre les disciplines (ed. S. C. Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BEHESR 128; Turnhout 2006), 173–87;

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have been pivotal, for instance, for fresh efforts to understand the continuities and discontinuities between apostolic and post-apostolic times.10 Such sources have also contributed to attempts to interrogate the elite, educated, literary, and male perspectives expressed by the church fathers.11 Whereas doctrinal (especially Christological) concerns continue to predominate in Patristics, research on Christian apocrypha has brought new evidence and attention to social realities. Apocryphal acts and gospels, for instance, have proved to be rich sources for research on gender, sex, marriage, female leadership, childhood, and family.12 Likewise, apocryphal apocalypses and martyrologies have opened a window onto a wealth of eschatological, cosmological, demonological, astrological, “magical,” and mystical speculations largely absent from the writings of the church fathers (and often ignored where present).13 Whereas past scholarship tended to frame the Christian encounter with Greco-Roman culture in terms of the dangers of persecution, the rejection of polytheism, and the cautious embrace of philosophy, research on Christian apocrypha has exposed the complex cultural interactions evident in the adoption and subversion of popular “pagan” literary tropes, including the erotic narrative, the romance of recognitions, and even the epic.14 Furthermore, inasmuch as work in Christian apocrypha often entails engagement with sources in Syriac, Coptic, Armenian, Arabic, etc., scholars in this subfield have helped to correct the traditional privileging of Greek‑ and Latin-speaking S. Shoemaker, “Early Christian Apocryphal Literature,” in Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies (ed. D. G. Hunter and S. A. Harvey; Oxford and New York 2008), 521–48. 10 Especially H. Koester, “Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels,” HTR 73 (1980): 105–30, repr. in idem, From Jesus to the Gospels: Interpreting the New Testament in Its Context (Minneapolis 2007), 3–23; F. Bovon, “Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of Apostles,” JECS 11 (2003): 165–94, repr. in idem, New Testament and Christian Apocrypha: Collected Studies (WUNT 1.237; Tübingen 2009), 197–222. 11 The contrast is perhaps most poignantly drawn in D. R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia 1983). 12 E. g., V. Burrus, Chastity as Autonomy: Women in the Stories of the Apocryphal Acts (New York 1987); K. Cooper, The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass. 1996); A. S. Jacobs, “A Family Affair: Marriage, Class, and Ethics in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” JECS 7 (1999): 105–38. 13 This wealth is evident, e. g., in the cross-section of materials treated by J. N. Bremmer, K. Copeland and F. Graf in Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions (ed. R. S. Boustan and A. Y. Reed; Cambridge 2004). 14 These connections were established already by R. Söder, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und die romanhafte Literatur der Antike (Stuttgart 1932). The significance of the redeployment of “pagan” novelistic tropes in apocryphal acts, however, has been an issue of renewed concern. See, e. g., Cooper, Virgin and the Bride; D. Konstan, “Acts of Love: A Narrative Pattern in the Apocryphal Acts,” JECS 6 (1998): 15–36; V. Burrus, “Mimicking Virgins: Colonial Ambivalence and the Ancient Romance,” Arethusa 38 (2005): 49–88; C. M. Thomas, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel: Rewriting the Past (Oxford and New York 2003). Epic echoes have been noted by D. R. MacDonald (e. g., Christianizing Homer: The Odyssey, Plato, and the Acts of Andrew [Oxford and New York 1994]). The plentiful literature on the Pseudo-Clementines as novel is surveyed and assessed in F. S. Jones, “Eros and Astrology in the Periodoi Petrou: The Sense of the Pseudo-Clementine Novel,” Apocrypha 12 (2001): 53–78.

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cultural spheres, stressing the regional and cultural diversity of Christianity within and beyond the Roman Empire. Nevertheless, a different situation prevails with respect to the place of Judaism and “Jewish Christianity” in Christian identity. On this topic, research on Christian apocrypha is still largely pursued within the confines of the framework and concerns defined by patristic heresiologies and historiographies. A handful of apocrypha have been labeled “Jewish-Christian.”15 Yet the meaning and significance of this identification are still often interpreted in terms of Eusebius’s account of the progressive decline of the Jerusalem church of James and Peter16 and Epiphanius’ description of Ebionites and Nazarenes as marginalized “heretical” sects with little influence on the church at large.17 Most analyses of “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha fit these sources into the framework of a traditional scholarly narrative about the first four centuries of Christian history that sees the process of Christianity’s triumph in / over the Roman Empire as concurrent with the process of its separation from Judaism and the demise of “Jewish Christianity.”18 15 Most frequently, the Pseudo-Clementines and their hypothetical sources. Notable too are the Apocalypse of Peter, Protevangelium of James, Gospel of the Hebrews, Gospel of the Nazarenes, Gospel of the Ebionites, and Gospel of Nicodemus. One might argue also for the heuristic inclusion of the Didascalia apostolorum and / or Apostolic Constitutions on the grounds of their apostolic / sub-apostolic pseudepigraphy and their status as relatively overlooked sources in research on Patristics. 16 So too A. Segal, “Jewish Christianity,” in Eusebius, Judaism, and Christianity, 326–51 at 326. Note especially Hist. eccl. 3.5.3 on the so-called “flight to Pella” – a tradition whose historicity has been questioned by J. Munck, “Jewish Christianity in Post-Apostolic Times,” NTS 6 (1959): 103–4; G. Lüdemann, “The Successors of Pre-70 Jerusalem Christianity: A Critical Evaluation of the Pella Tradition,” in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol. 1: The Shaping of Christianity in the Second and Third Centuries (ed. E. P. Sanders; Philadelphia 1980), 161–73; J. Verheyden, “The Flight of Christians to Pella,” ETL 66 (1990): 368–84. 17 Especially Pan. 29.1.1–9; 30.1.1–33, and discussion in F. S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity: Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71 (SBLTT 37, Christian Apocrypha 2; Atlanta, Ga. 1995), 35–37. 18 For an examination of the ways in which these traditional scholarly narratives have shaped research on the Pseudo-Clementines, see my “Jewish Christianity after the Parting of the Ways: Approaches to Historiography and Self-Definition in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in The Ways that Never Parted, 189–232. It is also interesting to note the lack of attention to other Christian apocrypha in recent research on “Jewish Christianity.” This tendency is evidenced in two otherwise spectacular volumes on the topic: Le Judéo-Christianisme dans tous ses états (ed. S. Mimouni and F. S. Jones; LD; Paris 2001), and The Image of the Judaeo-Christians in Ancient Jewish and Christian Literature (ed. P. J. Tomson and D. Lambers-Petry; WUNT 1.158; Tübingen 2003). Of the 22 articles in the former, only four deal in any concerted fashion with Christian apocrypha; three discuss the Pseudo-Clementines (P. Geoltrain, C. Gianotto, B. Pouderon, 31–38, 213–56) while the fourth considers some apocrypha when discussing “Jewish Christianity” in Antioch (C. N. Jefford, 147–67). Of the 16 in the latter volume, only two focus on apocrypha (D. Lambers-Petry, in the context of literature associate with James [32–52]; R. Bauckham, in the context of a survey of our evidence for Ebionites [162–81]). Notably, despite an overall focus on the New Testament and Church Fathers, these volumes do succeed in extending the range of sources brought to bear on “Jewish Christianity” in other directions, including archaeological evidence

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This study explores the possibility that “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha may have more to tell us about the evolving place of Jews and Judaism in early and late antique Christian identity – that is, if we choose to listen to what these sources tell us about the diversity of Christian approaches to Jews, Judaism, Torah-observance, ritual purity, and the chosenness of Israel, resisting the temptation to dismiss these voices as marginal and/or to assimilate them to perspectives espoused or described in patristic literature.19 As in other areas of research on early and late antique Christianity (e. g., gender, eschatology, ritual practice, oral tradition, literary production), research on the history of Jewish / Christian relations may benefit from more attention to apocryphal literature. “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha, in particular, may help to expose some shortcomings and oversights in common scholarly accounts of Jewish/Christian relations, both old and new, that treat patristic representations of Christianity and Judaism as if representative of all Christians and Jews.20 In what follows, I will explore some of these potentialities by surveying some recent studies on specific “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha and bringing them into dialogue with discussions of Jewish / Christian relations from the fields of Patristics and Rabbinics. I will ask what a history of Jewish / Christian relations might look like if written from the perspective of sources like the Apocalypse of Peter, the Protevangelium of James, the Didascalia apostolorum, Pseudo-Clementine literature, the Ethiopian Book of the Cock, and the Gospel of Nicodemus. In this, my aim is not to impose any single definition of “Jewish Christianity” on all (B. Pixner in Le Judéo-Christianisme, 289–316; Z. Safrai in The Image of the Judaeo-Christians, 245–66) and rabbinic sources (B. L. Visotzky and S. Verhelst in Le Judéo-Christianisme, 335–49, 367–82; G. Bohak and W. Horbury in The Image of the Judaeo-Christians, 267–86). 19 See further A. Y. Reed, “Jewish Christianity as Counter-history? The Apostolic Past in Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History and the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,” in Antiquity in Antiquity: Jewish and Christian Pasts in the Greco-Roman World (ed. G. Gardner and K. Osterloh; TSAJ 123; Tübingen 2008), 173–216. Note that I attempt to sketch the other side of this picture, asking what “Jewish-Christian” literature may tell us about the Jewish history of the same period in “Rabbis, ‘Jewish Christians,’ and Other Late Antique Jews: Reflections on the Fate of Judaism(s) after 70 CE,” in The Changing Face of Judaism, Christianity and Other Greco-Roman Religions in Antiquity (ed. I. Henderson and G. Oegema; SJSHRZ 2; Gütersloh 2005), 323–46, and “When Did Rabbis Become Pharisees? Reflections on Christian Evidence for Post-70 Judaism,” in Envisioning Judaism: Essays in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. R. S. Boustan et al.; 2 vols.; Tübingen 2013), 2:859–96. See also L. Cirillo, “L’Apocalypse d’Elkhasaï: Son role et son importance pour l’histoire du Judaïsme,” Apocrypha 1 (1990): 167–79. 20 For an eloquent argument for the importance of integrating these perspectives into our accounts of “mainstream” religious history, see J. G. Gager, “Jews, Christians, and the Dangerous Ones in Between,” in Interpretation in Religion (ed. S. Biderman and B.-A. Scharfstein; Philosophy and Religion 2; Leiden 1992), 249–57. On the distortions caused by privileging patristic representations of religious difference, see also R. S. Boustan and A. Y. Reed, “Blood and Atonement in the Pseudo-Clementines and The Story of the Ten Martyrs: The Problem of Selectivity in the Study of Judaism and Christianity,” Henoch 30 (2008): 111–42.

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of these diverse sources.21 Rather, as an heuristic focus for considering their significance for Jewish / Christian relations, the present paper will reflect on the specific (and different) reasons that some scholars have seen fit to treat specific sources as “Jewish-Christian” rather than either “Christian” or “Jewish.”22 In the process, I hope to show how the vexed category of “Jewish Christianity,” freshly conceived, might serve as a useful tool for further scholarly exploration of the construction and negotiation of biblically-based religious identities in different geographical and cultural spheres in late antiquity. To the degree that the label “Jewish-Christian” functions to cordon off certain texts as irrelevant both for the history of Judaism and for the history of Christianity, it is certainly unhelpful and misleading.23 Yet to the degree that it can serve to remind us that these histories are intertwined, it may aid us in recovering a richer range of premodern 21  For a discussion of attempts at definition, see J. Carleton Paget, “Jewish Christianity,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 3: The Early Roman Period (ed. W. Horbury, W. D. Davies and J. Sturdy; Cambridge 1999), 733–42. 22 In other words, I here apply the adjective “Jewish-Christian” to those texts and figures that do not fit modern ideas about what constitutes “Jewish” identity, modern ideas about what constitutes “Christian” identity, and common modern assumptions about the two as mutually exclusive. This definition, like the term “Jewish Christianity,” is a modern invention. It is, however, a pointedly self-conscious one, aimed at interrogating some of the other modern concepts and categories that we take for granted. There are good arguments, of course, for limiting ourselves only to ancient categories (“Ebionite,” “Nazarene,” “Judaizer”). Yet, if we choose to limit our understanding of the fluidity and hybridity of self-definition only to cases where an ancient witness sees and comments on someone else’s identity (e. g., deeming someone else too “Jewish” to be “Christian” [Ignatius, Magn. 10] or too “Jewish” and “Christian” to be either [Jerome, Epist. 112.13]), we risk predetermining the conclusion that all fluidity and hybridity is heterodox, and we risk limiting our perspective on the diversity of biblically-based modes of self-definition to the perspectives of specific “orthodox” observers (especially those observers, like heresiologists, who happen to be most eager to categorize others). It is important, too, to recall that “Jewish” and “Christian” identities are themselves taking form in this period, such that different pre-modern observers hold different views; Epiphanius, for instance, cites materials related to Pseudo-Clementine Rec. 1 as part of his treatment of the Ebionites as a “heretical” sect too close to Judaism, but Rufinus sees fit to translate the Recognitions, even though he himself does not hesitate to accuse Jerome of Judaizing! In light of such complexities of perception, representation, and identity polemics, the search for more first-hand evidence proves all the more important. In my view, this situation warrants the application of an etic category like “Jewish Christianity” for heuristic aims (as opposed to essentialist or reductionism purposes). That there are some Jesus-followers in late antiquity who are being condemned by others for beliefs and practices perceived to be too close to Judaism seems to hint at the existence of a broader continuum of identities and perspectives than is usually allowed. Although much of this continuum may be lost to us, it strikes me as worthwhile to search all of our available sources for potentially relevant material. 23 For a powerful critique of the “heresiographical” sense of the term and its modern as well as ancient consequences see D. Boyarin, “Rethinking Jewish Christianity: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (to which is Appended a Correction of my Border Lines),” JQR 99 (2009): 7–36. That there are other options, both in the history of the category itself and in the current study of what it has typically encompassed, has been made clear now by F. S. Jones, ed., The Rediscovery of Jewish Christianity: From Toland to Baur (SBLHBS 5; Atlanta, Ga. 2012).

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perspectives on identity and difference, and to work towards more integrative perspectives on Christianity and Judaism alike.

1. “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha from the second and third centuries One of the most important recent applications of research on “Jewish Christianity” to the study of Christian apocrypha is Richard Bauckham’s work on the Apocalypse of Peter.24 Bauckham points to the need for this and other apocrypha to be “rescued as significant evidence of the early development of Christianity.”25 In his reading, Apoc. Pet. emerges as a “rare example of an extant work deriving from a Palestinian Jewish Christianity” of the second century.26 Bauckham highlights its concerns about false messiahs and its preoccupation with martyrdom (e. g., 1:4–5; 2:7–12; 9:1–4; 16:5). Specifically, he points to its intriguing allusions to many martyrs from the “house of Israel” (2:4, 7), among whom are believers and non-believers.27 He reads these allusions with reference to the Bar Kokhba revolt (132–135 c.e.), both in light of the probable messianic claims of Shimon bar Kosiba and in light of his followers’ violence against those Jews who did not support the revolt.28 Correlating our evidence for this situation with Justin Martyr’s claims that Christians were the victims of Jewish persecution during the revolt (1 Apol. 31.6), Bauckham suggests that Apoc. Pet. was penned as a response to such persecution by ethnically Jewish followers of Jesus.29 In Bauckham’s view, the Bar Kokhba revolt posed a special challenge to Christ-believing Jews: by virtue of their belief in Jesus as messiah, they numbered among 24 R. Bauckham, “The Apocalypse of Peter: A Jewish Christian Apocalypse from the Time of Bar Kokhba,” Apocrypha 5 (1994): 7–111, repr. in idem, The Fate of the Dead: Studies on the Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (NovTSup 93; Leiden 1998), 160–258; idem, “Jews and Jewish Christians in the Land of Israel at the Time of the Bar Kochba War, with Special Reference to the Apocalypse of Peter,” in Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. G. N. Stanton and G. G. Stroumsa; Cambridge 1998), 228–38. 25 Bauckham, “Apocalypse of Peter,” 7. 26 Bauckham, “Apocalypse of Peter,” 8, see also 24–25. 27 R. Bauckham, “The Two Fig Tree Parables in the Apocalypse of Peter,” JBL 104 (1985): 269– 87 at 279. If Bauckham is correct about its understanding of martyrdom as a shared experience by Jewish and Christian/“Jewish-Christian” Bar Kokhba-resisters, the Apocalypse of Peter is an especially important addition to our evidence for the dialogue between Jewish and Christian narratives about martyrdom, speaking further to martyrology’s place as a shared discourse and competitive domain among Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity. See D. Boyarin, “Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism,” JECS 6 (1998): 577–627; G. Hasan-Rokem, Web of Life: Folklore and Midrash in Rabbinic Literature (trans. B. Stein; Contraversions; Stanford 2000), 114–25; R. S.  Boustan, From Martyr to Mystic: Rabbinic Martyrology and the Making of Merkavah Mysticism (TSAJ 112; Tübingen 2005), 99–198. 28 Bauckham, “Apocalypse of Peter,” 26–43. 29 Bauckham, “Apocalypse of Peter,” 37.

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those unwilling to accept bar Kosiba and, as a result, were viewed as traitors by those Jews who rallied to his cause of freeing Israel from Roman domination. In support of the Jewish ethnicity of the author(s) of Apoc. Pet., Bauckham cites its hopes for the salvation of Israel and its use of Jewish apocalyptic traditions.30 Seen from this standpoint, he suggests, Apoc. Pet. is an important bridge between (pre- / non-Christian) Jewish apocalypses and (non-Jewish) Christian apocalypses: emerging from a “Jewish-Christian” community that cultivated Jewish apocalyptic traditions as well as beliefs in Jesus’ status as the messiah, this apocalypse helps to show some of the process by which Jewish apocalyptic traditions came to be adopted and transformed in Christian circles.31 James Davila has recently questioned Bauckham’s hypothesis on the basis of the relatively scant internal evidence for Jewish self-definition in Apoc. Pet.32 Similarly, I do not share Bauckham’s confidence that the evidence supports an identification of Apoc. Pet. with Christians of Jewish ethnicity.33 It is possible, for 30 Bauckham,

“Two Fig Tree Parables,” esp. 282–83. Central to Bauckham’s reading are the versions of the parables of the budding fig tree and the barren fig tree in (Ethiopic) Apoc. Pet. 2. In the first parable, Christians are likened to shoots that sprout from Israel and bear fruit through their conversion and/or martyrdom; the second parable suggests that the tree will be uprooted and replaced if it does not sprout – yet in this context, Bauckham argues, the imagery expresses hope for this sprouting. One could go even further, in fact, reading Apoc. Pet.’s redeployment of these parables as an assertion of the special role of “Jewish Christians” in the salvation of Israel. 31 Bauckham, “Apocalypse of Peter,” 8, 16–19. 32 He notes, for instance, that references to halakhic infractions are missing from the lists of sins damned; J. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden 2005), 44. See also Davila’s impressive summary of our evidence for fluidity and hybridity of ancient identities; his summary makes clear the problems in assuming that our texts emerge from a religious landscape characterized only by those who are clearly Jewish, Christian, or “pagan” (23–63). 33 Much of this element of his argument rests on a problematic reading of our evidence for the Birkat ha-Minim. Bauckham reads Apoc. Pet.’s assertion of the place of Christians in the book of life as a response. To support this assertion, Bauckham depends heavily on the traditional reading of the Birkat ha-Minim in New Testament scholarship as a curse against “heretics” instituted in synagogues by second-century Rabbis seeking to “exclude Jewish Christians from the religious community of Israel” (“Apocalypse of Peter,” 90, see further 87–91). The emergence of the Birkat ha-Minim in the second century, however, is hardly certain; indeed, the interpretation on which Bauckham depends has recently been critiqued on many grounds – not least because of the problems with assuming that rabbis held sway over synagogues and had such power to exclude, already in the mid-second century (cf. L. Levine, Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years [New Haven, Conn. 2000], 440–70). This reading depends on the assumption that the Talmudic attestations to this tradition (y. Ber. 4:3; b. Ber. 28b–29a) accurately reflect second-century realities and that this tradition is what Justin means when he writes of Jews cursing Christians in Dial. 16; 96 (cf. R. Kimelman, “Birkat Ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-Christian Prayer,” in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol. 2: Aspects of Judaism in the Greco-Roman Period [ed. E. P. Sanders, A. I. Baumgarten and A. Mendelson; Philadelphia 1981], 226–44). Notably, Bauckham tries to nuance the traditional reading to acknowledge recent insights into the gradual establishment of rabbinic power and influence over other Jews (“Apocalypse of Peter,” 88). Nevertheless, his argument hinges on some degree of rabbinic dominance in the time of the

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instance, that “the house of Israel” could be here conceived as including Jews as well as Gentiles who are – in their own eyes at least – counted within the bounds of the chosen nation by virtue of their Christ-devotion and / or by virtue of their sharing in the suffering of persecution.34 What is important, in my view, is not the ethnicity of the author(s) and audience but the fact of their self-identification with Jewish identity and their understanding of Christ-devotion in continuity with Judaism (e. g., describing Christians as sprouts on the tree of Israel). Seen from this perspective, Bauckham’s characterization of the Jewish apocalyptic matrix of Apoc. Pet. fits well with David Frankfurter’s suggestions about Testaments of the 12 Patriarchs, Ascension of Isaiah, 5 Ezra, and 6 Ezra. Frankfurter proposes that these texts may reflect the literary activities of “continuous communities” that absorbed elements of Christ-devotion as part of an evolving sectarian Jewish identity centered in prophetic, priestly, and scribal models.35 Scholars have long debated whether Old Testament pseudepigrapha like the Testament of the 12 Patriarchs, Ascension of Isaiah, 5 Ezra, and 6 Ezra are reworked Christian versions of Second Temple Jewish texts or works of Christian authorship that draw on earlier Jewish traditions.36 Following the work of Robert A. Kraft and Marinus de Jonge,37 Frankfurter suggests that they may, instead, Bar Kokhba revolt. His proposed connections, moreover, are often vague: he sees a reference to the Birkat ha-Minim, for instance, in Apoc. Pet.’s condemnation of “those who blasphemed the way of righteousness” (i. e., 7:2 as rendered by Bauckham). 34 Compare, e. g., Justin’s expansion of the category of “Christian” to include pre-Christian figures who suffered for their faith (1 Apol. 46). 35 D. Frankfurter, “Beyond ‘Jewish-Christianity’: Continuing Religious Sub-Cultures of the Second and Third Centuries,” in The Ways that Never Parted, 131–44 at 134–35. On the Testaments of the 12 Patriarchs, see also M. de Jonge, “The Future of Israel in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,” JSJ 17 (1986): 196–211; J. Marcus, “The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the Didascalia Apostolorum: A Common Jewish Christian Milieu?,” JTS 61 (2010): 596–626. On 3 Baruch and 5 Ezra, see M. Himmelfarb, “The Parting of the Ways Reconsidered: Diversity in Judaism and Jewish Christian Relations in the Roman Empire: ‘A Jewish Perspective’,” in Interwoven Destinies: Jews and Christians Through the Ages (ed. E. J. Fisher; Studies in Judaism and Christianity; New York 1993), 47–61 at 55–57. Note also the case of the Odes of Solomon as recently reassessed in M. A. Novak, “The Odes of Solomon as Apocalyptic Literature,” VC 66 (2012): 527–50. 36 See Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha, as well as his contribution to this volume, for detailed discussion of the scholarly debates and the methodological problems and pitfalls involved in identifying such documents. 37 E. g., R. A. Kraft, “The Multiform Jewish Heritage of Early Christianity,” in Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults: Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty (ed. J. Neusner; 4 vols.; SJLA 12; Leiden 1975), 3:174–199; idem, “The Pseudepigrapha in Christianity,” in Tracing the Threads: Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (ed. J. C. Reeves; SBLEJL 6; Atlanta, Ga. 1994), 55–86, repr. in idem, Exploring the Scripturesque: Jewish Texts and Their Christian Contexts (JSJSup 137; Leiden 2009), 3–33; idem, “Setting the Stage and Framing Some Central Questions,” JSJ 32 (2001): 371–95, repr. as “The Pseudepigrapha and Christianity, Revisited: Setting the Stage and Framing Some Central Questions,” in Exploring the Scripturesque, 35–60. Relevant works by M. de Jonge are many and include Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament as

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“reflect a type of Christ-devotion that is Jewish enough in frame of reference … that calling it ‘Christian’ or ‘Jewish’ in a mutually exclusive sense will not suffice.”38 With reference to the Ascension of Isaiah, 5 Ezra, and 6 Ezra, Frankfurter points to their interests in purity in particular. Although concerns with ritual purity are missing from Apoc. Pet., it does share with these texts a sharp concern for sexual purity. Apoc. Pet. also shares with the Testament of 12 Patriarchs a common geographical origin (i. e., Roman Palestine) and the hope in the salvation of Israel as well as the close connection to the apocalyptic literature of Second Temple Judaism. Writing of the Testament of the 12 Patriarchs, Ascension of Isaiah, 5 Ezra, and 6 Ezra Frankfurter observes that “none of these texts rail against non-Christ-believing outsider-Jews but only against those who persecute them.”39 The same can be said of Apoc. Pet. In short, even if we do not accept a direct and limited association between “Jewish Christianity” and Jewish ethnicity, we may be able to draw on Apoc. Pet. as supplementary evidence for “continuous communities” in second-century Palestine.40 If the examples cited by Frankfurter show how some adopted an “allegiance to Christ … [as] a devotional orientation within a world of Torah observance and Jewish identity,”41 Apoc. Pet. may provide an example of a combination of Christ-devotion and Jewish identity shaped by the experience of martyrdom, by beliefs in the Eschaton’s immanence, and by assumptions about the centrality of Israel in eschatological events. When we characterize the Christian response to the Bar Kokhba revolt solely from patristic evidence, this event emerges as a key moment in the evolution of Christian anti-Judaism. Justin, for instance, sees the failure of the revolt as a sign of God’s abandonment of Israel and as a punishment for the Jewish rejection of Jesus (e. g., Dial. 25–26; 103; 1 Apol. 35; 38; 40). Writing in the wake of the revolt, he condemns Jews as a wicked people singled out by God for punishment and allied with demons (e. g., Dial. 11; 18–20; 23; 27; 43–46; 73; 92; 133). Accordingly, he discusses those Jews who accepted Christ only in passing and treats them as an exception to the general rule of Christ’s abolition of Torah-observance (Dial. 46–47).42 By contrast, the author(s) of Apoc. Pet. acknowledges the shared Jewish and Christian experience of martyrdom. In Apoc. Pet., Christ-belief and Jewish identity seem to be a natural connection, breached only by wicked persecutors misled by a false messiah. Part of Christian Literature: The Case of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the Greek Life of Adam and Eve (SVTP 18; Leiden 2003). 38 Frankfurter, “Beyond Jewish Christianity,” 137. 39 Frankfurter, “Beyond Jewish Christianity,” 140 40 Frankfurter, “Beyond Jewish Christianity,” 132. 41 Frankfurter, “Beyond Jewish Christianity,” 135. 42 See further J. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews: Abraham in Early Christian Controversy (Louisville, Ky. 1991), 163–84; J. Lieu, Image and Reality: The Jews in the World of the Christians in the Second Century (Edinburgh 1996), 177–82.

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In a 2004 article, Timothy Horner similarly seeks to establish the value of the Protevangelium of James for our understanding of the fluidity and interactions between biblically-based religious identities in the second century c.e.43 He suggests that traditional assumptions about the “Parting of the Ways” have foreclosed important lines of inquiry into this text’s possible connections with Judaism. On the basis of its relative lack of resonance with Second Temple Jewish traditions, for instance, Prot. Jas. has been deemed to lack significant Jewish features.44 Drawing on a broader knowledge of early Judaism, rooted in recent research on the early rabbinic movement, Horner highlights its intriguing intersections with traditions preserved in the Mishnah. He thus re-reads this source as “a document that uses Jewish imagery to address the concerns and criticisms that might have been important to people who understood Christianity within a predominantly Jewish matrix or those who were attempting to reinterpret the Jewish matrix in the light of Christian doctrine.”45 Specifically, Horner situates Prot. Jas.’s concern to assert the purity and virginity of Mary with reference to Jewish critiques of traditions about Jesus’ virgin birth (e. g., Origen, Cels. 1.32; b. Sanh. 67a).46 He argues that Mary’s purity and virginity are here defended in terms that prove most comprehensible when read alongside the ample materials about female purity preserved in the Mishnah – which shares Prot. Jas.’s obsession with testing virginity as well as attesting a range of specific similar traditions.47 Inasmuch as mishnaic traditions may help to explain otherwise unparalleled details in this text, he speculates that “Prot. Jas. would have been best understood – perhaps only fully understood – within a community that was familiar with concerns and images of contemporary Judaism.”48 More recently, Horner’s assessment of Prot. Jas.’s resonance with early rabbinic traditions has been confirmed and extended by Lily Vuong.49 On the basis of her inquiries into its representation of Mary, the Temple, and menstrual purity, 43 T. Horner, “Jewish Aspects of the Protevangelium of James,” JECS 12 (2004): 313–35; contrast with M. Mach, “Are there Jewish Elements in the Protevangelium of Jacobi?” in Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, August 4–12, 1985, vol. 1 (Jerusalem 1986), 215–22. 44 Horner, “Jewish Aspects,” 312–16. 45 Horner, “Jewish Aspects,” 314. Horner avoids the term “Jewish-Christian” because of its polemical associations and its specific connection with Ebionites, typically thought to reject the virgin birth (Irenaeus, Haer. 1.26.2; 3.21.1; 5.1.3). Instead, he locates Prot. Jas. within what he calls “Christian Judaism” – “a term that is loosely defined as those Christians who maintained that Jesus was the prophetic Messiah but also saw no reason to reinterpret the Torah and its incumbent practices” (333). 46 Horner, “Jewish Aspects,” 330. 47 Horner, “Jewish Aspects,” 318–29. 48 Horner, “Jewish Aspects,” 317 49 L. Vuong, Gender and Purity in the Protevangelium of James (WUNT 2.358; Tübingen 2013), esp. 68–69, 114–16, 152–53.

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Vuong argues for understanding Prot. Jas. as emerging from the same Syro-Palestinian milieu as the Mishnah, Tosefta, and Didascalia apostolorum, and as forming part of the dynamic continuum of Jewish, “Jewish-Christian,” and Christian identities in contact and competition in Syria in particular.50 If so, this apocryphal gospel may shed light also on the ultimate background of rabbinic traditions about Jesus’ birth in a shared discourse about purity, virginity, and the mother of the messiah. Church fathers since Justin attest Jewish / Christian debates over the interpretation of Isa 7:14 (e. g., Justin, Dial. 43.8; Origen, Cels. 1.43), and the classical rabbinic literature preserves traditions about Jesus as the illegitimate ben niddah Yeshu ben Pandera (e. g., b. Šabb. 104b; b. Sanh. 67a). Yet the evidence of Prot. Jas. may show how debates over the virgin birth were more complex than a matter of exegetical polemics. If Prot. Jas. does indeed evince some “Jewish-Christian” engagement with proto-rabbinic purity halakha in defense of Mary’s virginity, then it may also help us to understand some of the broader background behind the surprising engagement with Christian ideas about Mary in later Jewish traditions about the mother of the messiah.51 Furthermore, for our present purposes, Prot. Jas.’s relative lack of engagement with Second Temple traditions proves no less significant than its possible engagement with proto-rabbinic Judaism. Texts like the Testament of the 12 Patriarchs, Ascension of Isaiah, 5 Ezra, 6 Ezra, and Apoc. Pet. have been deemed “Jewish-Christian” in the sense of standing in a radical continuity with Second Temple Jewish traditions that the usual language of “adoption” and “appropriation” does not suffice to explain. Yet, if Horner and Vuong are correct, the author(s) of 50 Vuong, Gender and Purity, 193–239; eadem, “‘Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord’: Exploring the Boundaries of Jewish and Christian Relations through the Presentation of Mary in the Protevangelium of James,” in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities (ed. C. Clivaz et al.; WUNT 1.281; Tübingen 2011), 418–32; eadem, “Purity, Piety, and the Purpose(s) of the Protevangelium of James,” in “Non-Canonical” Religious Texts in Early Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. J. H. Charlesworth and L. M. McDonald; JCTCRS 14; London and New York 2012), 205–21. 51  E. g., y. Ber. 4.2; Lam. Rab. 1:16. On these traditions, see Hasan-Rokem, Web of Life, 152–60; M. Himmelfarb, “The Mother of the Messiah in the Talmud Yerushalmi and Sefer Zerubbabel,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, vol. 3 (ed. P. Schäfer; TSAJ 93; Tübingen 2002), 369–89; eadem, “Sefer Zerubbabel,” in Rabbinic Fantasies: Imaginative Narratives from Classical Hebrew Literature (ed. D. Stern and M. J. Mirsky; Yale Judaica Series 29; New Haven, Conn. 1998), 67–90. On the broader place of Mary in Jewish / Christian interactions, see S. J. Shoemaker, “‘Let Us Go and Burn Her Body’: The Image of the Jews in the Early Dormition Traditions,” CH 68 (1999): 775–823; P. Schäfer, Mirror of His Beauty: Feminine Images of God from the Bible to the Early Kabbalah (Princeton, N. J. 2002), 209–16; idem, Jesus in the Talmud (Princeton, N. J. 2007). With regard to the similarities between rabbinic traditions about the birth of the messiah and his mother (especially Lam. Rab. 1:16) and New Testament infancy traditions (i. e., Matt 1–2; Luke 2), Rokem proposes that “[t]hese similarities, in details apparently lacking in any theological significance, suggest that these are neither polemics nor imitations but parallels typical of folk literature. Folk traditions were shared by those Jews who belonged to the majority and by others belonging to a minority group, who believed in Jesus as the Messiah” (Web of Life, 154). If Rokem is correct in reading these connections as reflections of a shared Jewish / Christian folklore in Syro-Palestine, then Prot. Jas. may further enrich this picture.

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Prot. Jas. may accept and engage the halakhic discourse of the nascent rabbinic movement in second-century Palestine and even attest its widening influence into some neighboring Syrian locales. A similar engagement with early rabbinic traditions can be found in the Didascalia apostolorum, a third-century Syrian work that arguably could be included in our category of “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha due to its apostolic pseudepigraphy. Charlotte Fonrobert has discussed the relevance of this text for forging a new understanding of “Jewish Christianity” that reflects the full complexity of “Jewish” as well as “Christian” identity formation.52 Building on the insights of Marcel Simon and George Strecker,53 Fonrobert reads the Didascalia as attesting two kinds of “Jewish Christianity.” On the one hand, its authors use the narrative setting of the so-called Apostolic Council (Acts 15; Didasc. 1; 24) to polemicize against those in their community who practice kashrut, menstrual purity, vegetarianism, asceticism, and regular ritual ablutions with water (Didasc. 23–24).54 The text shows a pointed concern to counter adherence to the “second legislation” (deuterosis), a term which Fonrobert reads in terms of the emergent Oral Torah of early rabbis. Interestingly, those critiqued for such practices clearly include Christians of Jewish birth (Didasc. 26), but do not seem to be limited to them.55 52 C. Fonrobert, “The Didascalia Apostolorum: A Mishnah for the Disciples of Jesus,” JECS 9 (2001): 483–509, esp. 484–87 on “Jewish Christianity.” The Didascalia is also the focus of the sixth chapter of her book Menstrual Purity: Rabbinic and Christian Reconstructions of Biblical Gender (Contraversions; Stanford 2000), the rest of which focuses on rabbinic halakhot about menstrual purity. On the implications, see also Fonrobert, “Jewish Christians, Judaizers, and Christian Anti-Judaism,” in A People’s History of Christianity, vol. 2: Late Ancient Christianity (ed. V. Burrus and R. Lyman; Minneapolis 2005), 234–55; Marcus, “Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the Didascalia Apostolorum”; A. Y. Reed, “Parting Ways over Blood and Water? Beyond ‘Judaism’ and ‘Christianity’ in the Roman Near East,” in La croisée des chemins revisitée. Quand l’Église et la Synagogue se sont-elles distinguées? Actes du colloque de Tours, 18–19 juin 2010 (ed. S. C. Mimouni and B. Pouderon; Patrimoines, Judaïsme antique; Paris 2012), 227–59 at 244–47. 53 M. Simon, Verus Israel: A Study in the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (ad 135–425) (trans. H. McKeating; London 1986), esp. 88–90, 94, 310–18, 324–25; G. Strecker, “Appendix 1: On the Problem of Jewish Christianity,” in Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 244–57. 54 The occasion of the letter is that some are “observing holiness,” “abstaining from flesh and from wine, and some from swine,” and “keeping (something) of all the bonds which are in the second legislation” (Didasc. 24); by means of the twelve apostles, the text encourages its readers to “keep from vain bonds; purifications, and sprinklings and baptisms, and distinction of meats” (Didasc. 26). As a possible parallel for the practices not paralleled in biblical and rabbinic halakhot, Fonrobert, “The Didascalia Apostolorum,” 491–502, points to t. Sotah 15.11 (as paralleled and expanded in b. B. Bat. 60b), which counters Jews who refrained from meat and wine after the destruction of the Temple. For a different reading of the work’s heresiology, see C. Metheun, “Widows, Bishops, and the Struggle for Authority in the Didascalia Apostolorum,” JEH 46 (1995): 197–213 at 204. 55 Fonrobert, “The Didascalia Apostolorum,” 499–501, resists the limitation of “Jewish Christianity” to ethnically Jewish converts to Christianity. She thus eschews scholarly attempts to distinguish between “Jewish Christians” and “Judaizing Christians” as the projection of mod-

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On the other hand, Fonrobert highlights the authors’ own knowledge about, and engagement with, third-century Jewish traditions. Discursive and hermeneutical parallels with traditions found in contemporaneous rabbinic sources (especially the Mishnah and Tosefta) suggest that their understanding of Christian identity has been significantly shaped by contacts with Jews of their time.56 The enemies of the authors seem to see piety in terms of halakhic observance and thus mirror some of the most salient concerns of the early rabbinic movement. But the authors also share much with their Jewish contemporaries. Not only do they stress orthopraxy over orthodoxy, but their concern for Scripture and authority seems to be articulated in the same “discursive space” that shaped rabbinic midrash. To express their message, they employ many of the same hermeneutical assumptions and techniques. In a manner even more marked than the Protevangelium of James, the Didascalia attests Christian engagement with distinctively post-70 varieties of Judaism but also evinces the spread of distinctively rabbinic ideas from Roman Palestine into Syria. The different articulations of Christian / “Jewish-Christian” identities in the sources surveyed so far also may shed new light on the most celebrated “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha from the second and third centuries – namely, the hypothetical sources of the Pseudo-Clementines.57 Portions of Rec. 1, for instance, have long been associated with “Jewish Christianity” due to their resonance with Epiphanius’s description of the Ebionites in Pan. 30. Most cited in this regard are anti-Pauline traditions, polemics against animal sacrifice, and the account of the martyrdom of James, the last of which bears similarities to the non-extant Ebionite Ascents of James described in Pan. 30.16.6–9.58 Questioning the centrality of Epiphanius in the modern search for the Pseudo-Clementines’ sources, F. Stanley Jones has opened the way for a new understanding of the scope and character of this source as well as for further attention to the self-definition and concerns internal to it. Proceeding instead from an analysis of internal criteria, he suggests that Rec. 1.27–71 preserves a “Jewish-Christian” source written in Palestine around 200 c.e.59 In a related article, he shows how its depictions of Paul, Peter, James, and apostolic history

ern concerns about ethnicity onto our ancient sources; cf. Strecker, “On the Problem of Jewish Christianity,” 354. 56 Fonrobert, “The Didascalia Apostolorum,” 501–8. 57 For a thorough-going reading of the Pseudo-Clementines as reflecting the beliefs of the Ebionites more specifically, see H. J. Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums (Tübingen 1949), and idem, Jewish Christianity: Factional Disputes in the Early Church (trans. D. R. A. Hare; Philadelphia 1969; rev. ET of Judenchristentums [Bern 1964]). 58 Portions of Rec. 1 have been identified with this text by Bousset, Schoeps, Strecker, Lüdemann, and Van Voorst; for a summary of these approaches see Jones, Ancient Jewish-Christian Source, 4–33. 59 Jones, Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 157–68.

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are articulated in direct contrast to Luke-Acts.60 In effect, this source offers an alternative account of Christianity as emerging as a movement within Judaism. Jesus is here the prophet who comes after Moses to abolish the temporary measure of Temple sacrifice and to institute baptism in its place (Rec. 1.36.2; 1.39.2; 1.40.4–41.1; 1.59.1–3). Moreover, Jesus is the messiah awaited by the Jews and sent to save them, and Gentiles only fill the numbers left by those Jews who reject him – partly due, in fact, to the pernicious influence of Paul (Rec. 1.42; 1.50; 1.69–70). The “Jewish-Christian” traditions in Rec. 1.27–71 have been much discussed and need not be reiterated here.61 For our purposes, it will suffice to note their differences with other “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha. In contrast to the sources examined above, for instance, we might note what seem to be self-conscious attempts to present the followers of Jesus as part of Judaism: Peter asserts his Jewish ethnicity (Rec. 1.32.1), Hebrew is celebrated as the divinely-given original language of humankind (Rec. 1.30.5), and positive reference is made to circumcision as the “proof and sign of purity” (Rec. 1.33.5). Furthermore, followers of Jesus are depicted in discussion with other sects of Jews (especially Pharisees, Sadducees, and followers of John the Baptist; Rec. 1.60), and there is an explicit assertion that the only difference between followers of Jesus and other Jews is their belief in Jesus as messiah (Rec. 1.43.2; 1.50.3). In addition, the Pharisees are here depicted as the group that stands closest to the Jesus movement; R. Gamaliel is even described as a secret sympathizer (Rec. 1.65.2–68.2). This surprisingly positive approach to the Pharisees also may point, as Albert Baumgarten has suggested, to a surprisingly sympathetic attitude towards rabbinic Jews. Pharisees are here said to possess “the word of truth received 60 F. S. Jones, “An Ancient Jewish Christian Rejoinder to Luke’s Acts of the Apostles: Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71,” in Semeia 80: The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives (ed. R. Stoops; Atlanta, Ga. 1990), 223–45, esp. 239–44. Whether or not the Pseudo-Clementine tradition stands in direct continuity with the Jerusalem church of Peter and James, it remains significant, in my view, that its authors see themselves as heir to this tradition and imagine themselves as preserving this heritage against challenges by Pauline Christians; cf. Munck, “Jewish Christianity.” 61 See especially G. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen (TU 70; Berlin 1981), 221–54; Jones, Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 157–68. One matter of debate is whether its authors see a need for Gentile followers of Jesus to undergo circumcision. Strecker tentatively posits a positive answer with appeal to Rec. 1.33.5 (Judenchristentum, 251). Jones, however, identifies Rec. 1.33.5 as part of the Grundschrift’s later additions to this source (Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 160); in his view, “the very notion of calling the nations to complete the number shown to Abraham (Rec. 1.42; compare Rec. 1.63.2; 1.64.2) contradicts the view that these Gentiles should first have to convert to Judaism (e. g., submission to circumcision) before entering Christianity” (ibid., 164). I would tend to side with Strecker, not least because the assertion of the commonality between Jesus’ followers and other Jews in Rec. 1.43.2 and 1.50.3 implies a perceived commonality of practice. Perhaps more intriguing, however, is the text’s own lack of explicit concern with the question of whether Gentile followers of Jesus should be circumcised.

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from Moses’ tradition” (1.54); they may be critiqued for hiding this key, as in Matt 23:13, but the assertion of their possession of extra-scriptural Mosaic tradition nevertheless suggests the author(s)’s surprising acceptance of emergent rabbinic claims about the Oral Torah.62 Like Prot. Jas. and the Didascalia, this source may reflect some engagement with the traditions and concerns of the nascent rabbinic movement. Whereas the Prot. Jas. appears to use such traditions towards polemic aims and whereas the Didascalia counters them with Christianized counterparts, it seems to accept the rabbinic claim to Mosaic authority and to attempt to integrate this claim into its own understanding of Jesus’ teachings. For our mapping of “Jewish-Christian apocrypha,” some mention must also be made of the Pseudo-Clementine Grundschrift – the hypothetical third-century source posited to account for the ample parallels between the Homilies and Recognitions.63 It is impossible to know for certain the precise contents of the Grundschrift; although its significance for the history of “Jewish Christianity” is widely acknowledged, the reconstruction of the precise nature of its relevance thus proves tricky. Nevertheless, we can note readily some of the more strikingly “Jewish-Christian” features of the material paralleled in the Homilies and Recognitions. Like Apoc. Pet. and the Testaments of 12 Patriarchs, for instance, this material depicts the fate of the Jews in more complex, irenic, and hopeful terms than other third-century Christian texts (cf. Tertullian, Adv. Jud. 3; 6; 8; 12–3). Also notable in this regard are its prescriptions for proper ritual practice, which encompasses dietary restrictions, ritual ablutions with water, and menstrual purity (Rec. 2.71–72; 6.9–11; 7.29, 34; 8.68; Hom. 7.8; 11.28–30; 13.4, 9, 19). In short, it seems to promote many of the same practices that the Didascalia denounces. Inasmuch as these prescriptions seem to be tailored for Gentile followers of Jesus, we may be able to situate its pointed concerns for the impurities caused by 62 A. Baumgarten, “Literary Evidence for Jewish Christianity in the Galilee,” in The Galilee in Late Antiquity (ed. L. Levine; New York 1992), 39–50 at 42–43. Notably, the source in Rec. 1.27–71 is contemporaneous with the redaction of the Mishnah (ca. 200 c.e.), which contains only early echoes of what would later become the rabbinic doctrine of the Oral Torah (see P. Schäfer, “Das Dogma von der mündlichen Torah im rabbinischen Judentum,” in Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums [AGJU 15; Leiden 1978], 153–97). It is thus striking that its depiction of the Mosaic tradition of the Pharisees / Rabbis seem to correspond to the rabbinic claims voiced in m. Avot 1–5, which stresses the unbroken chain of trustworthy transmission of teachings from Moses to the Rabbis. By contrast, the Homilies appear to reflect knowledge of the doctrine of the Oral Torah in its more developed form (see below). 63 Most studies, especially Strecker, Judenchristentum, have considered the parallel material relevant to “Jewish Christianity” in terms of a hypothetical source of the Grundschrift, namely the Kerygmata Petrou. I am less than confident in our ability to reconstruct a non-extant source of the non-extant Grundschrift, especially as internal literary evidence is here hardly univalent (as attested, e. g., by nearly a century of scholarly debates). I concur with Jones about the need for research on the Pseudo-Clementines’ sources to turn its focus on the Grundschrift itself. For his tentative outline of its scope and contents, see Jones, “Eros and Astrology,” 53–61.

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contact with blood, semen, and idols with reference to halakhic discussions of Gentile impurity in early rabbinic sources.64 In a broader sense, then, we may be able to locate the Grundschrift in a continuum of discussions about ritual purity that includes (1) the early rabbinic traditions about female and Gentile impurity in the Mishnah and Tosefta, (2) the redeployment of related proto-rabbinic traditions in the Protevangelium of James, and (3) the Didascalia’s Christian critique of such traditions from within a Jewish cultural matrix. Strikingly, the Grundschrift falls closer to the rabbinic movement than earlier “Jewish-Christian” sources. Whether this confluence reflects the increased consolidation of the rabbinic movement in the mid-third century and the spread of its influence and/or a concurrent shift away from Second Temple models of authority in geographically and culturally proximate “Jewish-Christian” circles, it suggests that some “Jewish-Christian” identities were being articulated in interaction with evolving rabbinic Jewish identities.65 If so, it proves all the more striking that what we can reconstruct of the Pseudo-Clementine Grundschrift powerfully counters Marcionism  – as Jones has richly demonstrated. In his view, “[w]hen taken together with the Didascalia and other late second and third century source such as Hippolytus’ information on the Apamaean Elchasaite Alcibiades, Julius Africanus, Hegesippus, and the source of Recognitions 1.27–71, the Circuits [i. e., Grundschrift] should allow the field to rewrite the history of later Jewish Christianity, this time on a secure basis.”66 To do so, however, is not just to posit a static survival of Christianity’s first-century Jewish origins; rather, it is to recover a dynamic movement that seems to have been mobilized “into defensive and creative activity” by the encroachment of Marcionism and its “denial of the creator god, of the goodness of creation, and accordingly of the goodness of marriage and childbearing.”67 Even as Jones stresses that “[t]he diversity among the Jewish Christians, at all periods, should not be underestimated,”68 he thus points to the possibility that much of what we know as “Jewish-Christianity” in third-century Syria, in particular, took form in response to the “direct and aggressive assault on its understanding of [the church’s] Jewish heritage … from Marcionite Christianity.”69 64 On the relevant rabbinic discussions, see C. Hayes, Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud (Oxford and New York 2002), 107–92, and on their echoes in the Pseudo-Clementines, see Reed, “Parting Ways”; Boustan and Reed, “Blood and Atonement.” 65 For attempts to correlate “Jewish-Christian” sources with what we know about the gradual consolidation and spread of rabbinic power in Palestine and beyond, see Reed, “When did Rabbis.” 66 F. S. Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque inter Judaeochristiana: Collected Studies (OLA 203; Leuven 2012), 146. 67 Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque, 206. 68 Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque, 455. 69 Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque, 205

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2. “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha from the fourth and fifth centuries In studies of the Pseudo-Clementine literature, the significance of “Jewish Christianity” has typically been limited to the very early stages in the redactional formation of the Homilies and Recognitions.70 Elsewhere, I have questioned the degree to which this tendency is predicated on an outmoded understanding of early Jewish / Christian relations as defined by a single and simple “Parting of the Ways” between Judaism and Christianity.71 Focusing on the fourth-century form of the Homilies, I have attempted to situate this version of the novel within its late antique Jewish as well as late antique Christian (and “pagan”) contexts. It is clear that the Homilies contains more Jewish and “Jewish-Christian” elements than the Recognitions and that it reworks their shared material in a manner more irenic towards Judaism; like the Testaments of the 12 Patriarchs, for instance, it outlines a two-path soteriology that allows for Jewish salvation through Moses and Gentile salvation through Jesus (Hom. 8.5–7; cf. Rec. 4.5).72 Together with its connections with rabbinic traditions, this positive representation of Judaism raises the possibility that the Homilies attest the survival – and, indeed, flourishing – of “Jewish-Christian” forms of belief and practice well into the fourth century. If we look beyond the Homilies’ preservation of earlier “Jewish-Christian” traditions to investigate the redactional choices that shaped its final form, two significant features emerge. First is the resonance with midrashic and halakhic traditions found in fourth‑ and fifth-century rabbinic sources from Palestine. The Homilies, for instance, focuses more concertedly on issues of ritual purity than those sources discussed above, and it does so in a manner that resonates even more sharply with the rabbinic discourse about Gentile impurity.73 Knowledge of the rabbinic doctrine of Oral Torah is even more expansive than in earlier sources, consistent with the articulation of this rabbinic doctrine during this period (e. g., y. Meg. 4.1; y. Pe’ah 2.6; b. Šabb. 13a). Moreover, its account of the disputes between Peter and Simon Magus echoes rabbinic tales about disputes between Sages and minim (“heretics”) in both form and content;74 central to both is the defense of the singularity and goodness of God against the beliefs of minim and the musings of philosophers.75 Strikingly, even the Homilies’ adoption, subver70 For the history of research, see Strecker, Judenchristentum, 1–34; F. S. Jones, “The Pseudo-Clementines: A History of Research,” SecCent 2 (1982): 1–33, 63–96, esp. 86. 71 See especially Reed, “Jewish Christianity”; eadem, “Parting Ways.” 72 See my discussion in “Jewish Christianity,” 218–24. 73 Reed, “Parting Ways,” esp. 247–50; Boustan and Reed, “Blood and Atonement.” 74 A. Y. Reed, “Heresiology and the (Jewish‑)Christian Novel: Narrativized Polemics in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Heresy and Identity in Late Antiquity (ed. H. Zellentin and E. Iricinschi; TSAJ 119; Tübingen 2008), 273–98. On the rabbinic sub-genre of dispute tales, see R. Kalmin, “Christians and Heretics in Rabbinic Literature of Late Antiquity,” HTR 87 (1994): 155–69. 75 See further Reed, “Heresiology,” especially on the parallels with Gen. Rab. 1:7; 8:8–9.

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sion, and rejection of elements from “pagan” culture – such as rhetoric, paideia, and the Greco-Roman novel – find some parallels in rabbinic sources redacted around the same time.76 Second is the representation of the relationship between Jews and followers of Jesus.77 As noted above, some earlier “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha already seem cognizant of rabbinic claims to possess and preserve an oral tradition going back to Moses. This connection is even more marked in the Homilies: the doctrine of the Oral Torah is surprisingly central to its epistemology and salvation-history. By virtue of its distinctive approach to the idea of Jesus as True Prophet (see Hom. 1.19; 2.5–12; 3.11–28)78 and its unique doctrine of the Law of Syzygies (Hom. 2.15–18; 3.59; cf. Rec. 4.59, 61), for instance, the Homilies presents all of human history as shaped by the activity of a series of prophets (e. g., Moses, Jesus) who are sent by God to proclaim the same message of truth and who are countered by a series of false prophets sent to contest them (e. g., Aaron, John the Baptist). In depicting the faithful transmission of prophetic knowledge from Jesus to Peter and his followers, the Homilies appeals to the faithful transmission of Moses’ teaching by the Pharisees (Hom. 3.18–19). For this, oral tradition is central: the Written Torah alone does not suffice, since falsehoods were added to it during the course of its writing and written transmission.79 Moses, however, “gave the Law with the explanations to certain chosen men, some seventy in number” (Hom. 2.38; cf. Num 11:16), and his prophetic knowledge remains among the Pharisees who “sit in Moses’ seat [kathedra]” (Hom. 3.18; cf. Matt 23:2). Hence, according to the Homilies, Christians can look to Jews as a model for the maintenance of monotheism and other true beliefs and practices (Hom. 4.13; 7.4; 9.16; 11.28; 16.14). Inasmuch as Moses was sent as a teacher for the Jews, Moses’ prophetic knowledge is kept among them, whereas Jesus was sent to spread the same message to the Gentiles (Hom. 3.19; 8.6–7). Just as Moses’ teachings are kept by 76 See, e. g., M. Jaffee, “The Oral-Cultural Context of the Talmud Yerushalmi: Greco-Roman Rhetorical Paideia, Discipleship, and the Concept of the Oral Torah,” and C. Heszer, “Interfaces between Rabbinic Literature and Graeco-Roman Philosophy,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Greco-Roman Culture, vol. 1 (ed. P. Schäfer; TSAJ 71; Tübingen 1998), 27–62, 161–87; D. Stern, “The Captive Woman: Hellenization, Greco-Roman Erotic Narrative, and Rabbinic Literature,” Poetics Today 19 (1998): 91–127; J. Levinson, “The Tragedy of Romance: A Case of Literary Exile,” HTR 89 (1996): 227–44. 77 See Reed, “When did Rabbis,” for a more detailed analysis of its representation of Pharisees, in particular, in comparison with earlier sources. 78 See Strecker, Judenchristentum, 145–53; L. Cerfaux, “Le vrai prophète des Clémentines,” RSR 18 (1928): 143–63; H. J. W. Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Loyalitätskonflikte in der Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift für Carsten Colpe (ed. C. Elsas and H. G. Kippenberg; Würzburg 1990), 314–23; C. A. Gieschen, “The Seven Pillars of the World: Ideal Figure Lists in the True Prophet Christology of the Pseudo-Clementines,” JSP 12 (1994): 47–82. 79 I.e., the doctrine of the false pericopes, on which see Strecker, Judenchristentum, 166–86. On possible rabbinic awareness of this idea, see Schoeps, Theologie, 176–79, especially on Sifre Deut. 26 (cf. Lev. Rab. 31:4; Deut. Rab. 2:6).

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the Pharisees who sit on his seat (kathedra; Hom. 11.29), so Jesus’ teachings are faithfully kept by Peter, who passes his knowledge and authority onto the bishops who sit on his seat (kathedra; Hom. 3.70).80 As we have seen, there are some precedents in earlier “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha for the Homilies’ attempts to articulate a Christian identity that retains the chosenness of Israel and the salvation of the Jews. Here, however, the argument is much more developed and plays a more central role in the defense of authentic apostolic teaching against “heretics” and “pagans.” Apostolic succession is here outlined in a manner that not only appeals to the rabbinic doctrine of the Oral Torah, but also allows for the Pharasaic / rabbinic succession from Moses (cf. m. Avot 1–5; y. Hag. 1.7; y. Meg. 4.1) as a parallel line for the transmission of true prophetic teaching.81 Just as the third-century author(s) of Rec. 1.27–71 seem to counter the image of apostolic history in Luke-Acts, so the fourth-century Syrian redactors of the Homilies may respond to the heresiologies and historiographies of emergent Christian “orthodoxy” in the Roman Empire. Most striking are the parallels with Eusebius.82 Penning his Historia ecclesiastica in nearby Palestine around the same time that the Homilies were being redacted in Syria,83 Eusebius also drew on a variety of Hellenistic Jewish and earlier Christian sources to defend his particular understanding of apostolic succession. Whereas Eusebius presents the rise of Christianity as counterpoint to the decline of Judaism (Hist. eccl. 3.1.2), the Homilies offers a very different image of Christianity’s origins and spread: its authors / redactors posit a radical continuity with Judaism, while sharply critiquing Greek philosophy and paideia. Whereas Eusebius stresses the dispersal of the original “Jewish-Christians” (Hist. eccl. 3.5.3) and dismisses post-apostolic “Jewish Christianity” as a heterodox phenomenon (3.27.1–6), the authors / redactors of the Homilies claim to preserve the true teachings of James and Peter. It may not be coincidental, in my view, that so much of our second-hand evidence for “Jewish Christianity” comes from the fourth and fifth centuries.84 Scholars have tended to mine the descriptions of Ebionites and Nazarenes by Eusebius, Epiphanius, Jerome, and others for hints about possibly continuities with apostolic traditions; this evidence for “Jewish Christianity” has been 80 See

further Reed, “Jewish-Christianity as Counter-history.”

81 On the shared pre-history of Christian and Jewish succession lists, see A. Tropper, “Tractate

Avot and Early Christian Succession Lists,” in The Ways that Never Parted, 159–88, which also contains a helpful summary of scholarly opinions about their possible connections. 82 I here summarize the detailed discussion in Reed, “Jewish Christianity as Counter-History.” 83 The first edition of books I–VII of the Historia ecclesiastica is typically dated to 303 c.e. and the Homilies to 300–320 c.e. Eusebius himself alludes to the transmission of texts from Edessa to Caesarea (Hist. eccl. 1.13). That the Historia ecclesiastica was soon translated into Syriac is suggested by the fact that it survives in a manuscript from 461/462 c.e. 84 This is clear, e. g., from even a skim of the sources collected in A. F. J. Klijn and G. J. Reinink, Patristic Evidences for Jewish-Christian Sects (NovTSup 36; Leiden 1973).

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culled for possible hints about social realities in the second and third centuries. It is widely assumed, for instance, that the comments about the Ebionites by Epiphanius pertain to the singular and same group discussed by Irenaeus. Especially insofar as we have no first-hand evidence for groups calling themselves “Ebionites” and inasmuch as our earliest references to Nazarenes come from the fourth century (Epiphanius, Pan. 29.1.1), it is worth considering whether Epiphanius and others are using the traditional heresiological rubric of “Ebionism” to encompass a range of different groups who combined Jewish identity and Christ-devotion in ways that jarred with their own understanding of “Christianity.”85 If we limit the production and transmission of Pseudo-Clementine traditions to a single, purported marginalized sect like the Ebionites, moreover, we would be hard pressed to explain our ample evidence for the broad circulation of the Pseudo-Clementine novels in a variety of forms and languages for many centuries thereafter. If we follow the traditional model of the “Parting of the Ways,” the growth of evidence for “Jewish Christianity” in the fourth and fifth centuries seems counterintuitive if not paradoxical. Here too, however, the evidence of “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha” proves useful in supplementing the picture of the period that we have from patristic sources. Recently, for instance, Rémi Gounelle has proposed reading the late fourth-century Gospel of Nicodemus as a late antique “Jewish-Christian” apocryphon, citing its positive representation of Jews as well as its approach to the Jewish scriptures; the latter, in particular, departs from dominant patterns in early Christian exegesis but bears some parallels in rabbinic midrash.86 For Gounelle, such features raise the possibility of its origin in a community of ethnically Jewish believers in Jesus. Whatever the ethnic background of its authors, however, Phillip Fackler has argued that its treatment of Jews and Israel points to its promotion of a vision of the Christian past that differs strikingly from the anti-Jewish approaches that were coming to shape the emergent imperial Christianity of the Roman Empire at the time.87 In Fackler’s view, the Gospel of Nicodemus may help us to “recover other strategies of distinction or different conceptions of identity between and among late antique Jews and Christians than those proposed by ‘separatists’ ” like church fathers and rabbis.88 85 Klijn and Reinink, Patristic Evidence, 43; D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judeo-Christianity (Divinations; Philadelphia 2004), 207–8. 86 R. Gounelle, “Un nouvel évangile judéo-chrétien? Les Actes de Pilate,” in The Apocryphal Gospels within the Context of Early Christian Theology (ed. J. Schröter; BETL 260; Leuven 2013), 364–71. 87 P. Fackler, “Adversus Adversus Iudaeos? Countering Christian Anti-Jewish Polemics in the Gospel of Nicodemus,” JECS 23 (2015): forthcoming. 88 Fackler, “Adversus Adversus Iudaeos.” A similar argument has been made for the Pseudo-Clementines by D. Côté, “Le problème de l’identité religieuse dans Syrie du ive siècle. Le cas des Pseudo-Clémentines et de l’Adversus Judaeos de saint Jean Chrysostome,” in La croisée des chemins revisitée, 339–70.

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Pierluigi Piovanelli has shown something similar for the Ethiopian Book of the Cock.89 He proposes that this Ethiopian apocryphon preserves a “Jewish-Christian” source in its account of Saul / Paul’s role in the arrest of Jesus. He suggests, more specifically, an Ebionite provenance, and he proposes that the anti-Jewish traditions within the text may reflect “inner controversies” between Jews and “Jewish-Christians” over Jesus’ Passion.90 Whereas anti-Pauline elements appear to have been downplayed during the course of the redaction of the Pseudo-Clementines, we here find an expanded polemic against Paul, concurrent with the expression of less positive views towards (non-Christian) Jews. Most significantly, for our purposes, Piovanelli further points to the need to situate the Book of the Cock, patristic quotations from “Jewish-Christian” gospels, and heresiological statements about Ebionites and Nazarenes in the context of the fourth-century Christianization of Roman Palestine – and the same might be said for the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies and the Gospel of Nicodemus as well.91 In Piovanelli’s view, “the irruption into the region of a new wave of non-native pilgrims, clergymen, and monks … broke the delicate balance existing between different local communities” in Syro-Palestine.92 As a result, some forms of “Jewish Christianity” native to the region may have been absorbed by the nascent orthodoxies, both Christian and rabbinic, which were in the process of solidifying their power at the time. The encounter with a variety of local Syro-Palestinian groups that approached Christ-devotion from a Jewish cultural matrix, however, seems to have left its traces on emergent Christian “orthodoxy” – and perhaps also on rabbinic Judaism: “Jewish Christian communities were able to transmit a part of their religious heritage to the Great Church and to the equally great synagogue that were reabsorbing them.”93 In turn, Piovanelli’s insights push us towards a new perspective on the importance of still other apocrypha, such as the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, for our understanding of the history of “Jewish Christianity.” Comparison with the Homilies suggests this version of the Pseudo-Clementine novel was shaped by more “orthodox” perspectives. Nevertheless, by virtue of Rufinus’s Latin translation, the Recognitions became a vehicle for the widespread circulation of much 89 P. Piovanelli, “Exploring the Ethiopic Book of the Cock, an Apocryphal Passion Gospel from Late Antiquity,” HTR 96 (2003): 427–54; idem, “The Book of the Cock and the Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish-Christian Traditions in Fifth-Century Palestine,” in The Changing Face of Judaism, 308–22. 90 Piovanelli, “Exploring the Ethiopic Book of the Cock,” 445–46; idem, “Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish-Christian Traditions,” 312. If so, this source would be temporally and culturally proximate with Epiphanius (b. 310 in Palestine). 91 Piovanelli, “Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish-Christian Traditions,” 308. See also Boyarin, Border Lines, 202–14; A. S. Jacobs, Remains of the Jews: Holy Land and Christian Empire in Late Antiquity (Divinations; Stanford 2004). 92 Piovanelli, “Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish-Christian Traditions,” 318. 93 Piovanelli, “Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish-Christian Traditions,” 319.

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“Jewish-Christian” material. Although less “Jewish-Christian” than the Homilies, it includes Rec. 1.27–71 as well as some of the materials about ritual purity and Torah-observance that seem to have been in the Grundschrift. Also significant in this regard is the Apostolic Constitutions, a collection which similarly circulated under the name of Clement and which is marked by the integration of earlier Hellenistic Jewish and “Jewish-Christian” materials.94 With the Christianization of the Roman Empire came imperially-backed efforts to standardize Christian belief and worship, thereby intensifying efforts to collect, select, and translate earlier sources as well as catalyzing fresh reflection on the apostolic past and its meaning for the imperial church. If this process of standardization did indeed lead to the increased marginalization or absorption of Syro-Palestinian “Jewish-Christian” groups, it also resulted in the broader circulation of writings voicing earlier “Jewish-Christian” approaches to Judaism and Christian praxis; although forged in the interactions between Jews and followers of Jesus in specific local settings, elements of these approaches remain embedded in documents such as the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, Apostolic Constitutions, and patristic commentaries that quote “Jewish-Christian” gospels. Preserved within apocrypha like the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies and the Gospel of Nicodemus, moreover, we also find evidence for the contestation of the contra Iudaeos tradition that eventually came to dominate the imperial church.95 Notably, moreover, the canonizing efforts of Athanasius, Eusebius, and others do not seem to have affected the popularity of many of the earlier “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha surveyed above  – particularly outside the Roman Empire and on its margins, where a diversity of approaches to Christian and Jewish identities continued to flourish.96 94  E. g., Didascalia apostolorum and so-called Hellenistic synagogual hymns. On the latter, see D. A.  Fiensy, Prayers Alleged to Be Jewish: An Examination of the Constitutiones Apostolorum (BJS 65; Chico, Calif. 1985); E. G. Chazon, “A ‘Prayer Alleged to be Jewish’ in the Apostolic Constitutions,” in Things Revealed: Studies in Early Jewish and Christian Literature in Honor of Michael E. Stone (ed. E. G. Chazon, D. Satran and R. A. Clements; JSJSup 89; Leiden 2004), 261–77. 95 Not least because this process was slower than often suspected; see, e. g., P. Fredriksen, “Roman Christianity and the Post-Roman West: The Social Correlates of the Contra Iudaeos Tradition,” in Jews, Christians, and the Roman Empire: The Poetics of Power in Late Antiquity (ed. N. B. Dohrmann and A. Y. Reed; Philadelphia 2013), 249–66. 96 See A. F. J. Klijn, “The Study of Jewish-Christianity,” NTS (1973–1974): 419–31; Becker, “Beyond the Spatial and Temporal Lines”; S. Pines, The Jewish Christians of the Early Centuries of Christianity According to a New Source (PIASH 2.13; Jerusalem 1965); P. Crone, “Islam, Judeo-Christianity and Byzantine Iconoclasm,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 2 (1980): 87–94; J. G. Gager, “Did Jewish-Christians See the Rise of Islam?” in The Ways that Never Parted, 361–72. On the on-going production, transmission, and use of Christian apocrypha, see, e. g., A. Desreumaux, “Remarques sur le rôle des apocryphes dans la théologie des Égli­ ses syriaques. L’exemple de testimonia christologiques inédits,” Apocrypha 8 (1999): 165–77; H. J. W. Drijvers, “Apocryphal Literature in the Cultural Milieu of Osrhoëne,” Apocrypha 1 (1990): 231–47; C. Paupert, “Présence des apocryphes dans la littérature monastique occidentale ancienne,” Apocrypha 4 (1995): 113–23; M. McNamara, The Apocrypha in the Irish Church (Dub-

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3. Revisiting the problem of “Jewish Christianity” Although the notion of “Jewish Christianity” originated in research on the New Testament and Christian Origins,97 a number of scholars have deemed the term irrelevant for describing the religious landscape of the first century c.e. With more attention to the Jesus movement’s Jewish context has come less certainty about the heurism of any simple contrast between “Gentile Christianity” and “Jewish Christianity”; indeed, as Helmut Koester has stressed, “everyone in the first generation of Christianity was Jewish-Christian” in some sense or another.98 Likewise, one might ask whether such a simple and clear-cut contrast applies to the second and third centuries – or even the fourth and fifth. For the second century and following, the label “Jewish-Christian” has been used in various senses, mostly tied to the modern desire to discover what unique beliefs, practices, and outlooks may have been held by Christ-followers of Jewish ethnicity. Some senses of the term follow from the older use of this label in New Testament research à la Ferdinand Christian Baur; for instance, the term “Jewish-Christian” is often applied to (1) the direct heirs to the Jerusalem church of James and Peter and / or to (2) ethnically Jewish Christ-followers who “retained” those elements of Torah-observance (e. g., circumcision, kashrut) attested but deemed unnecessary in the New Testament, especially in the Pauline epistles and Book of Acts.99 Tacit, in many such cases, is the treatment of “Jewish Christianity” as a fossilized relic of Christianity’s Second Temple Jewish origins. In a sense, then, these modern scholarly approaches echo the treatment of ethnically Jewish Christians by Justin Martyr (Dial. 46–47): Justin accepts the combination of Christian belief with Jewish practice as an authentic expression of Christianity, but he also limits its significance. For Justin and most church fathers after him, lin 1975); M. Herbert and M. McNamara, Irish Biblical Apocrypha: Selected Texts in Translation (Edinburgh 1989); I. Backus, “Renaissance Attitudes to New Testament Apocryphal Writings: Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples and His Epigones,” Renaissance Quarterly 51 (1998): 1169–98; eadem, “Christoph Scheurl and His Anthology of ‘New Testament Apocrypha’ (1506, 1513, 1515),” Apocrypha 9 (2000): 133–56; eadem, “Praetorius’ Anthology of New Testament Apocrypha (1595),” Apocrypha 12 (2001): 211–36; F. Schmidt, “John Toland, critique déiste de la littérature apocryphe,” Apocrypha 1 (1990): 119–45; J. Champion, “Apocrypha, Canon and Criticism from Samuel Fisher to John Toland 1660–1718,” in Judaeo-Christian Intellectual Culture in the Seventeenth Century (ed. A. P. Coudert et al.; International Archives of the History of Ideas 163; Boston 1999), 91–117. 97 See S. C. Mimouni, “Le Judéo-Christianisme ancien dans l’historiographie du XIXème et du XXème siècle,” REJ 151 (1992): 419–28. 98 Koester, “ΓΝΩΜΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΟΙ,” 380. These senses are charted in R. E. Brown, “Not Jewish Christianity and Gentile Christianity but Types of Jewish/Gentile Christianity,” CBQ 45 (1983): 74–79. S. C.  Mimouni (see, e. g., Le Judéo-christianisme ancien. Essais historiques [Patrimoines; Paris 1998]) and others thus reserve the label “Jewish-Christian” for groups after 135 c.e. 99 Other New Testament texts may well presume other halakhic perspectives, including interests in ritual purity. On Revelation, see D. Frankfurter, “Jews or not? Reconstructing the ‘Other’ in Rev 2:9 and 3:9,” HTR 94 (2001): 403–27.

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the Jewish rejection of Jesus was central to an understanding of salvation history as culminating with Christianity’s emergence as a (Gentile) world religion. To this narrative, the existence of ethnically Jewish Christians is a footnote at best and, at worst, a challenge. So too for modern scholars like Adolf von Harnack, who have trumpeted the significance of Gentile conversion to Christianity while downplaying Jewish adherence to Christianity as a limited phenomenon with little relevance for “mainstream” church history.100 Other modern definitions of “Jewish Christianity” draw more heavily from later heresiological comments about Ebionites and Nazarenes. Thus, in some scholarly accounts, the features that are deemed as characteristically “Jewish-Christian” also include (3) the rejection of supersessionist approaches to Judaism, particularly as emblematized by the figure of Paul, (4) the articulation of a low Christology (e. g., the acceptance of Jesus as prophet but not messiah), (5) the privileging of the Gospel of Matthew, (6) anti-sacrificial polemics, and/or (7) ritual practices such as vegetarianism and ritual purification through water. Often, these various categories are presumed to be overlapping, due to the assumption that Torah observance, low Christology, and so forth, naturally follow from Jewish ethnicity.101 In effect, then, these approaches follow Epiphanius in conflating Jewish ethnicity with Jewish practice, reading “Jewishness” as a mark of deviance from a purported norm of Christian belief, and reifying “Jewish Christianity” as a form of “heresy.” It is perhaps not surprising, then, that the very heurism of the category of “Jewish Christianity” has come into question. After all, even as recent research has stressed that “Jewish” and “Christian” identities were not yet so clear-cut in late antiquity,102 the category of “Jewish Christianity” continues to be commonly defined in terms that depend on outmoded views about Jewish identity and ethnicity, on the one hand, and Christian identity and “orthodoxy,” on the other.103 Just as research on late antique Judaism has shown that the former remained

100 A. von Harnack, for instance, accepted that “Jewish Christianity” flourished in both apostolic and post-apostolic times but saw this stream of tradition as having no influence whatsoever on the “Great Church” (Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte [Tübingen 1909; repr. Darmstadt 1965], 317). The persistence of such views is discussed by Klijn, “The Study of Jewish-Christianity,” 421–25. 101 Of course, Paul himself stands as a clear challenge to this idea. For an incisive discussion of the problems with such assumptions, see Fonrobert, “The Didascalia Apostolorum,” 499–502. 102 This is perhaps most eloquently put by Fonrobert, who asserts that, “Our understanding of the formation of Jewish and Christian collective identities as separate identities depends on developing an intelligible way of discussing the phenomenon called ‘Jewish Christianity,’ one that is not marred by Christian theological prejudices, nor by unexamined assumptions about either ‘Jewish’ identity formation or its ‘Christian’ counterpart” (“The Didascalia Apostolorum,” 484). 103 See, e. g., O. Skarsaune and R. Hvalvik, eds., Jewish Believers in Jesus: The Early Centuries (Peabody, Mass. 2007), and the review by A. H. Becker in BTB 39 (2009): 45–47, as well as comments in Boyarin, “Rethinking Jewish Christianity.”

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fluid and contested even in the first centuries of the Common Era,104 so research on late antique Christianity has suggested that “orthodoxy” was in the process of being constructed even in the fourth and fifth centuries. Concurrent with recent questions about whether and when (and where and if) Christianity “parted ways” from Judaism in late antiquity,105 some have abandoned the term “Jewish Christianity” altogether, questioning the traditional limitation of fluidity and hybridity to a single movement and critiquing the underlying assumption that “Judaism” and “Christianity” were, already, in this early period, firm identities separated by a single middle ground.106 At least for the moment, however, I would suggest there is some utility in retaining the category as heuristic – especially for unsettling entrenched scholarly assumptions about the mutual exclusivity of “Jewish” and “Christian” identities in late antiquity. Used in this sense, the adjective “Jewish-Christian” can be applied to sources (8) which exhibit more and different “Jewish” features than modern scholars typically associate with early and late antique Christianity, (9) which were shaped, in meaningful ways, by direct contact with post-Christian Judaism (especially rabbinic Judaism), and / or (10) which self-consciously adopt a Jewish identity and/or self-consciously seek to recover elements of Christianity’s Jewish heritage that other sectors of the church rejected. This approach can integrate many of the features outlined above, and it does not preclude the reconstruction of specific groups that might lie behind certain texts or clusters of texts. Nevertheless, it attempts to avoid the imposition of any single image of “Jewish Christianity” on all of our sources as well as the problematic equation of Jewish ethnicity with specific proclivities or limitations. To my view, a flexible definition of this sort has the benefit of opening our understanding of “Jewish Christianity” to include more first-hand sources for fluidities and hybridities between Jewish and Christian identities.107 Past research on “Jewish Christianity” depended heavily on patristic sources, largely because of perceived necessity. Equipped with a narrow understanding of “Jewish Christianity” as a single phenomenon – the middle ground between two supposedly clear-cut religious entities – scholars sought “Jewish Christianity” only in those sources 104  S. J. D.  Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley, Calif. 1999). 105 For a summary of the traditional scholarly account and emergent alternatives, see A. Y. Reed and A. H. Becker, “Introduction: Traditional Approaches and New Directions,” in The Ways that Never Parted, 1–34. 106 E. g., Boyarin, “Rethinking Jewish Christianity”; J. Taylor, “The Phenomenon of Early Jewish-Christianity: Reality or Scholarly Invention?” VC 44 (1990): 313–34; Frankfurter, “Beyond ‘Jewish-Christianity’,” 131–44. See also the critiques of past research on “Jewish Christianity” in R. A. Kraft, “In Search of ‘Jewish Christianity’ and Its ‘Theology’: Problems of Definition and Methodology,” RSR 60 (1972): 81–96, and Klijn, “The Study of Jewish-Christianity.” 107 The inclusion of a broader range of sources also may help to attenuate the traditional tendency to insist upon the limited regional scope of “Jewish-Christianity”; see Klijn, “The Study of Jewish-Christianity,” 421–25.

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that closely corresponded to New Testament traditions about ethnically Jewish members of the Jesus movement and / or to patristic reports about Ebionites and Nazarenes. As a result, first-hand evidence for “Jewish Christianity” was largely limited to the Pseudo-Clementine tradition and tended to be read in terms of an understanding of the history of Jewish / Christian relations based on the church fathers and classical rabbinic literature.108 Newly possible and newly pressing, however, is the task of recovering a broader base of first-hand evidence for studying the relationships between “Jewish” and “Christian” identities in late antiquity and beyond. I hope that the survey above has shown some of the potential value of approaching apocrypha from this perspective and some of the benefits of bringing these neglected sources to bear on the scholarly conversation about Christian and Jewish self-definition. To the texts surveyed above might readily be added others, such as the Pseudo-Clementine epistles, the Gospel of the Hebrews, the Gospel of the Nazarenes, the Gospel of the Ebionites, and the Christian / Christianized forms of Old Testament pseudepigrapha such as the Testament of Abraham and the Testament of Job. In what ways might this understudied evidence for “Jewish Christianity” shed new light on the history of Jewish / Christian relations? Although any firm conclusions must await further investigation, I would like to conclude with some reflections on what more integrated research on “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha might bring to research about the history of Jewish / Christian relations. Foremost is a focus on purity and practice.109 Treatments of early Jewish / Christian relations based largely in patristic materials often replicate the focus on doctrine in the writings of the church fathers. Whereas past scholarship focused too myopically on elements such as Christology, recent scholarship may stand at some risk of becoming too entranced with the power of elite rhetoric and writing to shape social realities. Discursive acts of definition and differentiation by literate elites surely contributed to the articulation of “Judaism” and “Christianity” as communal identities.110 When we focus on such literary and discursive acts as determinative for religious self-definition, however, we may risk reinforcing, in a new way, the traditional privileging of patristic and rabbinic voices.111 We risk, 108 See

further Reed, “Jewish Christianity.” rarely have questions about ritual purity been asked of patristic sources that one wonders whether this apparently “Jewish-Christian” feature is actually just an understudied aspect of Christian culture more broadly. Hayes charts a bit of this terrain in Gentile Impurities, 92–105, but there is much more that needs to be done in this area. A model in this respect is Vuong, Gender and Purity, which situates the Protevangelium of James in triangulation with a variety of Jewish and Christian sources on purity and proper practice. 110 Boyarin, Border Lines; idem, “Justin Martyr Invents Judaism,” CH 70 (2001): 427–61; idem, “Semantic Differences; or, ‘Judaism’/‘Christianity’,” in The Ways that Never Parted, 65–86. 111 To E. Clark’s call for the study of late antique Christianity to be reconceived as a “new intellectual history, grounded in issues of material production and ideology” (History, Theory, Text, 159), for instance, V. Burrus similarly responds by voicing her concern “with what might not be excluded by ‘intellectual history’ – namely, a fairly traditional version of Patristics focused 109 So

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moreover, foreclosing the arduous and methodologically challenging – yet, in my view, pressing – task of trying to reconstruct, bit by bit, even small slivers of the daily and mundane negotiations of identity boundaries and shared cultural spaces “on the ground.” Second is a recognition of geographical diversity. The privileging of patristic voices has encouraged a myopic focus on the Roman Empire that attention to apocrypha may help to correct – with notable consequences for the history of Jewish / Christian relations in particular. Above, we surveyed mainly sources from Syria and Palestine.112 It is intriguing that West Syrian sources seem to be so rich in evidence for contact with early Palestinian rabbinic traditions.113 Further attention could be given to Egypt, Ethiopia, Persia, and Asia Minor too. Lastly, the evidence of “Jewish-Christian” apocrypha also permits us to locate the rise of Christian anti-Judaism in a more diverse religious landscape that included other voices – from the second and third centuries, and even the fourth and fifth – who stressed the continuity and / or complementarity of Judaism and Christianity.114 Patristic authors since Justin may speak with relative unanimity about the church replacing Israel as the chosen people of God, but other sources preserve other perspectives. Whereas Justin reads the persecution of Christians by Jews at the time of the Bar Kokhba revolt as a sign of the alliance between the demons and the Jews, the author of Apoc. Pet. refrains, even in the midst of such persecution, from damning all Jews together with these persecutors. The source in Rec. 1.27–71 denigrates Paul while celebrating R. Gamaliel as a secret Christian. And, around the same time that Eusebius is re-reading all of Christian history in terms of his view of the Christianization of the Roman Empire as an emblem of Christianity’s supersession of Judaism and “paganism,” the authors / redactors of the Homilies were similarly drawing on earlier Hellenistic Jewish and “Jewish-Christian” sources to articulate an alternative account of salvation-history, wherein truth and salvation are possessed by Jew and Christian alike. That primarily (if not exclusively) on the close study of the writings of the so-called Fathers, even if it is a version now newly and critically tuned to issues of power” (“Elizabeth Clark’s History, Theory, Text: A (Somewhat) Confessional Reading,” CH 74 [2005]: 812–16 at 814). 112 See further A. Y. Reed and L. Vuong, “Christianity in Antioch: Partings in Roman Syria,” in Partings: How Judaism and Christianity Became Two (ed. H. Shanks; Washington D. C. 2013), 105–32. 113 East Syrian Christian sources similarly attest contact, conflict, and competition with Babylonian rabbinic traditions. See N. Koltun-Fromm, “A Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia,” JJS 47 (1996): 45–63; A. H. Becker, “Bringing the Heavenly Academy Down to Earth: Approaches to the Imagery of Divine Pedagogy in the East-Syrian Tradition,” in Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities, 174–94; idem, “Anti-Judaism and Care for the Poor in Aphrahat’s Demonstration 20,” JECS 10 (2002): 305–27; idem, Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Divinations; Philadelphia 2006). 114 Reed, “Jewish Christianity as Counter-History”; Côté, “Le problème de l’identité religieuse”; Fackler, “Adversus Adversus Iudaeos.”

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the Book of the Cock contains both anti-Pauline and anti-Jewish perspectives, interwoven together in its redacted form, also serves a poignant embodiment of the diversity of earlier opinions – as well as a pointed reminder that the voices of early “Jewish Christians” did remain, embedded within a number of popular apocrypha and read widely in multiple languages, even where and when supersessionist perspectives on Judaism became generally accepted as an integral part of Christian identity.

III. From Early Christian Texts to Late Antique Apocryphal Literature

On the (Re)Discovery of the Gospel of Judas* Louis Painchaud If, while browsing in a bookstore, you were to come across the English translation of the Gospel of Judas,1 here is how you would find its contents described on the inside front cover: * The original French version of this essay appeared under the title “À Propos de la (re)dé­ cou­verte de l’Évangile de Judas,” LTP 62 (2006): 553–68. It was the first critical appraisal to be published about the National Geographic publication and interpretation of this text launched in 2006, at a time when the discussion about its interpretation had not yet begun and when the critical edition of the Coptic text was still to come. Some minor updating has been done on the present version, but it would have been pointless to try to adjust it to the present state of knowledge. It is published here mainly as a testimony to a time when the scholarly work on Gos. Judas was just beginning. Its contents is greatly indebted to seminars on Gos. Judas held at Laval University between April 19 and May 17, 2006, and I would like to thank Wolf-Peter Funk, Anne Pasquier, Paul-Hubert Poirier, Michel Roberge, and the students who participated in these sessions for their comments and suggestions. I also had the opportunity to present what was eventually designated as the “Laval interpretation” (see S. Emmel, “The Presuppositions and the Purpose of the Gospel of Judas,” in The Gospel of Judas in Context: Proceedings of the First International Conference on the Gospel of Judas [ed. M. Scopello; NHMS 62; Leiden 2008], 33–40 at 36 n. 13) on this text during the annual meeting of the Nordic Nag Hammadi and Gnosticism Network, organized by Einar Thomassen and directed by Stephen Emmel in Bergen August 19–26, 2006, and accordingly would like to thank Stephen Emmel, Antti Marjanen, Nils Arne Pedersen, Ismo Dunderberg, Ingvild Saelid Gilhus, Einar Thomassen, and the many students from Nordic and foreign universities who participated in this seminar, and with whom I was able to discuss different aspects of this text. A first version was presented at the University of Ottawa, September 30, 2006 during the conference on “Christian Apocryphal Texts for the New Millennium,” and was echoed later by Craig Evans at the panel organised by the Nag Hammadi and Gnosticism section during the SBL Annual Meeting in Washington, D. C., November 19, 2006. I would like to thank Dr. Michael Kaler for translating this article into English and Dr. Tony Burke for editing it for the present publication, as well as the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the Fonds québécois de recherche sur la société et la culture for their generous financial support. 1 R. Kasser et al., The Gospel of Judas: Critical Edition. Together with the Letter of Peter to Philip, James, and a Book of Allogenes from Codex Tchacos (Washington, D. C. 2007), hereafter abbreviated as Kasser et al., Critical Edition, to distinguish it from the similarly-titled trade-market volume: R. Kasser, M. Meyer and G. Wurst, eds., The Gospel of Judas (Washington, D. C. 2006). The critical edition was not yet published when I wrote and originally published this article. The only Coptic text that was available at the time was the PDF version posted online by the National Geographic Society; this version is still available at http://www.nationalgeographic. com/lostgospel/_pdf/CopticGospelOfJudas.pdf.

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… a gospel told from the perspective of Judas Iscariot, history’s ultimate traitor. And far from being a villain, the Judas that emerges in its pages is a hero. In this radical reinterpretation, Jesus asks Judas to betray him. In contrast to the New Testament Gospels, Judas Iscariot is presented as a role model for all those who wish to be disciples of Jesus. He is the one apostle who truly understands Jesus.

This presentation of Gos. Judas, and the interpretation of the figure of Judas that it proposes, has been taken up and amplified by the media since the initial press conference announcing the text’s publication in Washington in April 2006. This understanding of Gos. Judas ultimately derives from a superficial reading of certain passages from Irenaeus and Ephiphanius that mention a gospel of this sort.2 In this essay, I will show that such an understanding does not adequately take into account either the content of the text, or its treatment of Judas, who is by no means shown as someone to imitate. In fact, if the Judas of Gos. Judas is a hero, he is the hero of tragi-comedy, the plaything of the deceptive influences of his star, and the object of Jesus’ mockery. No reader could want to be like him. True, Judas knows that Jesus comes from the immortal eon of Barbelo (35.17–18), and true again, he is able to stand in front of Jesus, a feat that none of the other disciples can perform (although he still cannot look Jesus in the eye; 35.2–13). But this knowledge is of no use to him, as it neither permits him to escape from the influence of his star (45.13–14), nor to ever reach the place reserved for the holy (45.14–19; 46.25–47.1). And even if authority and royalty are to be his, at least in part (46.19–24; 55.10–11), he can only exercise them within the limits of the lower world, as the Thirteenth (44.20–21; 46.19–20; 55.11). In the conclusion to this essay, I will show how the reception of Gos. Judas, and the reactions that it has aroused, fit into a contemporary Western context, wherein the myth of Judas has been subject to radical transformations over the past half century.

2 Irenaeus, who clearly had never read the text in question, writes as follows: “Others again declare that Cain derived his being from the Power above … They declare that Judas the traitor was thoroughly acquainted with these things, and that he alone, knowing the truth as no others did, accomplished the mystery of the betrayal; by him all things, both earthly and heavenly, were thrown into confusion. They produce a fictitious history of this kind, which they style the Gospel of Judas” (Haer. 1.31.1, from ANF 1:358). It is important to note that Irenaeus does not claim to report the contents of the Gospel of Judas that he mentions, but the opinions of those to whom he attributes this “fabrication.” Similarly, in Pan. 38.3.4–5, Epiphanius gives the opinion of some that Judas was the instrument of salvation, that he would have given Jesus up through a “higher knowledge” (κατὰ τὴν ἐπουράνιον γνῶσιν), and that he would thus have accomplished a “good work for our salvation” (ἀγαθὸν ἔργον ποιήσας ἡμῖν εἰς σωτηρίαν), K. Holl, Epiphanius (Ancoratus und Panarion) (3 vols.; GCS 25, 31, 37; Leipzig 1915–1933), 2:66. It is this positive appreciation of Judas that Irenaeus and Epiphanius attribute to their adversaries, and that the editors of Gos. Judas have taken up in their turn.

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1. The Gospel of Judas Rediscovered Since April 2006, the Coptic text of Gos. Judas has been available online at the National Geographic web site.3 Presently, in addition to translations into English and French made by the team of Rodolphe Kasser, Marvin Meyer and Gregor Wurst,4 there is also a provisional French translation published on the site of Pierre Cherix,5 and there are numerous other translations into various modern languages. Most of these, however, have been made by professional translators, working not with the Coptic text but with the English translation of Marvin Meyer. Even the few translations produced by other scholars are very dependent on Meyer’s work.6 At the moment, we have neither a photographic edition, nor a definitive critical edition of the text, and this state of affairs naturally makes any attempt at translation or interpretation both risky and tentative. In this article, I will be working with the Coptic text as published by the National Geographic Society in April 2006.7 The text in fact has two titles. One, found at the end, is The Gospel of Judas (ⲡⲉⲩⲁⲅⲅⲉⲗⲓⲟⲛ ⲛ̄ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲥ, 58.28–29),8 but there is also another, longer title found at the beginning (33.1–6): “The secret account of the revelation that Jesus spoke in conversation with Judas Iscariot during eight days before the three days be3 Photos of varying quality are in circulation and some fragments of the text are still kept in the United States: see Kasser et al., The Gospel of Judas, 72–75. 4 R. Kasser, M. Meyer and G. Wurst, L’évangile de Judas (trans. D. Bismuth; Paris 2006). Note, however, that the French translation of the Coptic text was made by Kasser himself. The French translation is usually identical to the English one, but it differs in at least one significant passage, as will be shown – see n. 32 below. 5 This translation, done independently of the work of Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, was published April 24, 2006 (http://www.coptica.ch/Cherix-EvJudas.pdf), and was preceded by a concordance dated April 13 which, despite its provisional nature, is a tool of great utility for work on the text. 6 For example, the translations of J. Montserrat Torrents, El Evangelio de Judas (Madrid 2006); F. García Bazán, El Evangelio de Judas (Madrid 2006); J. van der Vliet, Het Evangelie van Judas: Verrader of bevrijder? (Utrecht and Antwerpen 2006); J. Van Oort, Het Evangelie van Judas, Inleidung, Vertaling, Toclichting (Kampen 2007). 7 And not with the Coptic text that was distributed by G. Wurst on October 28, 2006 in Paris during the conference entitled, “L’Évangile de Judas. Contexte historique et littéraire d’un nouvel apocryphe.” 8 With regard to this title, Meyer suggests (Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, The Gospel of Judas, 45 n. 151) that the formulation of the title with ⲛ̄‑ rather than ⲕⲁⲧⲁ‑ could imply that the title is referring to the good news (gospel) with regard to Judas and his place in the tradition (see also H. Krosney, The Lost Gospel: The Quest for the Gospel of Judas Iscariot [Washington, D. C. 2006], 280). First of all, this hypothesis underestimates the progressive loss of the literal sense of “good news” of the word εὐαγγέλιον used as a title to designate texts, and in addition to this, the variation between “of ” and “according to” (ⲛ̄- /ⲕⲁⲧⲁ‑) is not significant, as can be seen from the variation in title among the four copies of the Apocryphon of John. The two copies of the short recension are entitled The Apocryphon of John (ⲡⲁⲡⲟⲕⲣⲩⲫⲟⲛ ⲛⲓ̈ⲱϩⲁⲛⲛⲏⲥ [BG 77.6–7; NHC III 40.10–11]), while the two copies of the long recension are entitled The Apocryphon according to John (ⲕⲁⲧⲁ ⲓ̈ⲱϩⲁⲛⲛⲏⲛ ⲛ̄ⲁⲡⲟⲕⲣⲩⲫⲟⲛ [NHC II 32.8–10]; ⲕⲁⲧⲁ ⲓ̈ⲱ[ⲏ]ⲛ̣ ⲛ̄ⲁⲡⲟⲕⲣⲩ̣ⲫⲟⲛ [NH IV 49.27–28]).

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fore he celebrated Passover.”9 With regard to its literary genre, Gos. Judas can be described as a gnostic revelation dialogue.10 In addition to the dialogue between Judas and Jesus, the disciples also converse as a group with Jesus – although no disciple other than Judas is ever named. The tale is told not by Judas, but by an anonymous narrator who never intervenes directly in the story. From a strictly narrative point of view, then, there are no grounds for arguing that the text is written from Judas’s own point of view. The text can be summarized as follows:11 Title 33.1–6 Narrative Introduction (33.6–22) Evocation of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. First dialogue of Jesus with his disciples (33.22–35.14) Jesus is not the son of the god of his disciples, and they do not know Jesus. First dialogue of Jesus with Judas (35.14–36.11) Judas knows the origin of Jesus, namely that he comes from the eon of Barbelo. Second dialogue of Jesus with his disciples (36.11–37.20) There is a great and holy generation which is superior to the disciples. Third dialogue of Jesus with his disciples (37.20–43.11) In a dream, the disciples see a house in which is found an altar. Before this altar stand twelve men, as well as a great crowd. Jesus interprets this vision: the priests are the apostles, and the herd led to sacrifice is the multitude that they will lead astray. Second dialogue of Jesus with Judas (43.11–47.1) In a dream, Judas sees a house whose size he cannot estimate surrounded by great men. There is a crowd inside, and he wishes to enter as well. Jesus responds, telling Judas that he has been led astray by his star, and that he will rule, but he will never enter into this place reserved for the holy generation. Protogonic revelation of Jesus to Judas (47.1–53.7) “Sethian” revelation.

 9 Gos. Judas 33.1–6: ⲡⲗⲟⲅⲟ[ⲥ] ⲉⲧϩⲏ̣ⲡ⳿ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲡⲟⲫⲁⲥ̣ⲓⲥ ⲛ̄[ⲧⲁⲓ̈]ⲏ̣̄︤︤︥ⲥ ϣ̣ⲁϫⲉ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲥ [ⲡⲓ]ⲥ̣ⲕ̣ⲁⲣⲓⲱⲧ[ⲏⲥ] ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧϥ̄ vac ⲛ̄[ϣ]ⲙⲟⲩⲛ ⲛϩⲟⲟⲩ ϩⲁⲑⲏ ⲛ̄ϣⲟ[ⲙ]ⲛⲧ̄ ⲛϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲙⲡⲁⲧⲉϥⲣ̄ⲡ̣ⲁⲥⲭⲁ. This title poses translation issues that we will not discuss here. 10 See K. Rudolph, “Der gnostische ‘Dialog’ als literarisches Genus,” in Probleme der koptischen Literatur (ed. P. Nagel; Halle 1968), 85–107; P. Perkins, The Gnostic Dialogue: The Early Church and the Crisis of Gnosticism (New York 1980); M. Kaler, “Just How Close Are the Gnostic Revelation Dialogues to erotapokriseis Literature, Anyway?” in La littérature des questions et réponses dans l’Antiquité profane et chrétienne: de l’enseignement à l’exégèse. Actes du séminaire sur le genre des questions et réponses tenu à Ottawa les 27 et 28 septembre 2009 (ed. M.-P. Bussières; Instrumenta Patristica et Mediaevalia 64; Turnhout 2012), 37–49; P. Piovanelli, “Entre oralité et (ré)écriture. Le genre des erotapokriseis dans les dialogues apocryphes de Nag Hammadi,” ibid., 93–103. 11 Since then, I proposed a new analysis of the dispositio of Gos. Judas in a paper read at the congress of the International Association for Coptic Studies held in Cairo in 2008; see the revised version of this essay in L. Painchaud, “The dispositio of the Gospel of Judas,” ZAC 17 (2013): 268–90.

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Reprise of the dialogue between Jesus and Judas, and the final fate of Judas (53.8–57.26[?]) One of these two protagonists, most likely Jesus, enters into a cloud of light, surrounded by stars. Narrative epilogue (58.1[?]–26) Evocation of the events which precede the arrest of Jesus. End title 58.27–29

2. Re-Interpreting the Gospel of Judas Let us now examine some passages that will allow us to clarify the role of Judas in this text. Our examination will show that Judas makes himself guilty of human sacrifice, that he is a demon, that he is misled by his star, and that he will never get access to the holy generation; rather, he will rule over those who curse him. 2.1. Judas makes himself guilty of human sacrifice (56.11–20) The first passage that we will examine is the most frequently cited in all commentary on Gos. Judas. It is usually read as containing Jesus’ request of Judas that Judas help him accomplish his mission, but in reality its meaning is quite different: Truly, I say to you, Judas, those who offer sacrifices to Sakla[s four lines are missing] all evil deeds. As for you, you will surpass them all, for you will sacrifice the man who bears me.12

Here is how Kasser et al. discuss this passage: Judas is instructed by Jesus to help him by sacrificing the fleshly body that clothes or bears the true spiritual self of Jesus. The death of Jesus, with the assistance of Judas, is taken to be the liberation of the spiritual person within.13

Read in the light of its immediate context, however, one ought rather to understand this text as a condemnation of Judas by Jesus. Jesus says that Judas will “surpass them all,” translating the Coptic verb ⲣ ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲉ-. This verb, which literally means, “do more than,” has in itself no connotation, whether positive or negative, and must be interpreted according to its context. Now, it is said that Judas will surpass all the others precisely because he will sacrifice (ⲕⲛⲁⲣ ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁⲥⲉ) the man who bears Jesus. In order to understand the meaning of the verb “surpass” (ⲣ ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲉ‑), we must first understand what value 12 Gos. Judas 56.11–20: ⲁⲗⲏⲑⲱⲥ̣ [ϯϫ]ⲱ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲥ ⲛⲁⲕ⳿ ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁ ϫⲉ ⲛ̣[ⲉⲧⲧ]ⲁⲗⲉ ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁ ⲉ̣ϩ̣︤ⲣ̣︦ⲁ̣︥̄ⲓ̣̈ ⲛⲥⲁⲕⲗⲁ̣[ⲥ (four lines missing) ϩⲱⲃ ⲛ̣ⲓⲙ ⲉ̣[ⲩϩ]ⲟⲟⲩ ⲛⲧⲟⲕ̣ ⲇⲉ ⲕⲛⲁⲣ̄ ϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲧⲣ ⲫⲟⲣⲉⲓ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲉⲓ vac ⲕⲛⲁⲣ ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁⲥⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟϥ. Of course, one could argue that the use of the future tense (ⲕⲛⲁⲣ ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁⲥⲉ) has a modal sense and is equivalent to an imperative, but the sequence of two futures (ⲕⲛⲁⲣ ϩⲟⲩⲟ and ⲕⲛⲁⲣ ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁⲥⲉ) makes this unlikely; it is much more probable that these futures have a temporal sense. 13 Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, The Gospel of Judas, 43 n. 137. It is by no means a question of an injunction here, but a simple prediction.

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sacrifice has in this text. In Gos. Judas, sacrificial vocabulary (ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁ, ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁⲥⲉ, and ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁⲥⲧⲏⲣⲓⲟⲛ) always has a negative connotation. When, in a dream, the disciples see twelve priests before an altar, presenting offerings and sacrificing their own children and spouses while invoking Jesus’ name (38.1–26), Jesus explains that the disciples are those priests, and that the herds led to the sacrifice are the crowds that they lead astray (39.24–27).14 This service is rendered by the apostles to their god (“your [pl.] god,” 34.10), the god of the Jewish Scriptures, who is assimilated to the archon of this world, Saklas (56.12–13).15 Thus, we see that in this text sacrifices and the offering of sacrifices are interpreted negatively. Therefore, there is no reason to believe that “to sacrifice the man who bears Jesus” ought to be interpreted positively. Rather, describing Judas’s action in this way makes the sacrifice of Jesus a continuation of the sacrificial cult offered to the god of the Jews. In addition to being in accord with the general tendencies of the text, this interpretation of Jesus’ prediction is also supported by an examination of the passage immediately preceding it. While the manuscript is damaged here, enough remains to make it clear that the gospel indicts those who “offer sacrifices” to Saklas and concludes with a reference to “all evil deeds.” Thus to say that Judas will surpass them all must mean in this context that he will be even worse than the other apostles, because he will sacrifice the very man who bears Jesus. Judas, here, is not acting at Jesus’ request, nor is he exalted or exonerated. For the author of Gos. Judas, as for the author of the Testimony of Truth, the real God, unlike Saklas, does not desire human sacrifice.16 2.2. Judas is a demon (44.15–23) In another passage, after Jesus has interpreted the dream that the apostles have told him, he laughs in reaction to a question posed by Judas and calls him the “thirteenth demon”: Judas said, “Master, since you have listened to them, listen to me as well, for I have seen a great vision.” When he heard this, Jesus laughed and said to him, “Why do you strive so, O thirteenth demon [ⲡⲙⲉ︤ϩ︥ⲙⲛⲧ̄ⲓ︦ⲅ︦ ⲇⲁⲓⲙⲱⲛ]? But you too, speak, and I will bear with you.” 17 14 Gos. Judas 39.25–40.1: ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲧⲃ̄ⲛⲟⲟⲩⲉ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲛ̄ⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲧⲉⲧⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ ⲛⲉ : ⲉⲧⲉ ⲡⲙⲏⲏϣⲉ ⲡⲉ ⲉⲧⲉⲧⲛ̄ⲡⲗⲁ̣ⲛⲁ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟϥ (“And the herd that is being led to sacrifice that you have seen is the crowd that you lead astray”). 15 Saklas is identified with the god of Genesis: “Then Saklas says to his angels, ‘Let us make man …’” (52.14–16). 16 “If (God) really wanted a human sacrifice, he would be conceited” (Testim. Truth 32.19–22; trans. by B. A. Pearson in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition [ed. M. Meyer et al.; New York 2007], 613–28). 17 Gos. Judas 44.15–23: ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ [ⲛ̄]ϭ̣ⲓ ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲥ ϫⲉ ⲡⲥⲁ︤̄ϩ︥ ⲛ̄ⲑⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧ[ⲁ]ⲕ̣ⲥⲱⲧⲙ̄ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ ⲧⲏⲣⲟ[ⲩ] ⲥ̣ⲱⲧⲙ̄

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The first editors of the text chose to translate ⲇⲁⲓⲙⲱⲛ as “spirit,” justifying their translation in the following note: Judas is thirteenth because he is the disciple excluded from the circle of the twelve, and he is a demon (or daemon) because his true nature is spiritual. Compare tales of Socrates and his daimōn or daimonion, in Plato, Symposium 202e–203a.18

But there is no reason to link this demon to Socrates’ daimon. Given that this is an apocryphal Christian writing featuring Jesus and his disciples, the obvious and most likely meaning of the word “demon” is the one that is found in the New Testament and other Christian literature. And Christian writings, be they canonical, apocryphal, or gnostic, unanimously understand demons to be evil forces acting against and possessing human beings.19 Thus, to describe Judas as a demon is to say that he is the plaything of demonic influences.20 Judas is here demonized in the same way that he is in the gospels of Luke (22:3) and John (13:27),21 as also in the writings of Epiphanius.22 The fact that Judas is called the thirteenth demon indicates that there are twelve others, who must be identified apparently with the twelve apostles (anticipating Judas’s replacement, as described in Acts 1:15–26). His position as the thirteenth puts him in a separate category from the twelve, but simultaneously indicates that they too share his demonic nature, and thus that this nature does not of itself exclude him from the circle of the disciples. In the context of Sethian mythology, the inferior world has thirteen eons,23 of which the thirteenth is the highest, the home of the Archon, the governor of this world. To identify Judas as the thirteenth signifies that he is being in some way assimilated to this archon or ruler, which is in turn confirmed by the announcement that he, as the “thirteenth,” will rule over the generations that will curse him (46.14–47.4). In the Apocalypse of Adam, the thirteenth realm corresponds to ϩⲱⲧ ⲟⲛ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ̈ : ⲁⲉⲓⲛⲁⲩ̣ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲩⲛⲟϭ ⲛ̄ϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲣⲟⲙⲁ : ⲓ̈ⲏ︦ⲥ︥ ⲇⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲣⲉϥⲥⲱⲧⲙ̄ ⲁϥⲥⲱⲃⲉ ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ⲛⲁϥ ϫⲉ ⲁϩ̄︤ⲣ︥ⲟⲕ⳿ ⲕⲣ̄ ⲅⲩⲙⲛⲁⲍⲉ ⲱ̂ ⲡⲙⲉ︤ϩ︥ⲙⲛⲧ̄ⲓ︦ⲅ︦ ⲇⲁⲓⲙⲱⲛ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ϣⲁϫⲉ ϩ︤ⲱ︥ⲱⲕ⳿ ⲧⲁⲁⲛⲉⲭⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲕ⳿. 18 Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, The Gospel of Judas, 31 n. 74; Cherix translates as “thirteenth demon.” 19 In On the Origin of the World, for example, the demons at work in the world are the archons who have been chased out of their heavens by Sophia (NHC II 121.28–35; 123.2–25). 20 Εἰσῆλθεν δὲ σατανᾶς εἰς Ἰούδαν τὸν καλούμενον Ισκαριώτην (Lk 22:3), which is also found in another context in John 13:27: τότε εἰσῆλθεν εἰς ἐκεῖνον ὁ σατανᾶς. 21 See on this A. Gagné, “Caractérisation des figures de Satan et de Judas dans le IVe évangile: stratégie narrative et déploiement des intrigues de conflit,” ScEs 55 (2003): 263–84. 22 Epiphanius assimilates the apostle Judas to Satan, and makes him the father of the Jews (Pan. 38.4.9–5.1). 23 In the Holy Book of the Great Invisible Spirit (also known as the Gospel of the Egyptians [NHC III 63.18; 64.4; NHC IV 75.5–6; 75.18–19], “the god of the thirteen eons”) and in Zostrianos (NHC VIII 4.25–27), the thirteen eons symbolize the universe of the deficiency. To be the thirteenth, in the context of Sethian mythology, is to be placed in the highest level of the archontic cosmos, the level occupied by Saklas.

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psychic Christians, who are precisely the ones over whom Judas will rule (NHC V 82.10–19).24 2.3. Judas is led astray by his star (45.11–19) This interpretation is confirmed by another passage. After Judas describes his dream-vision of a house surrounded by great men, he asks Jesus to accept him into this house as well, a request that Jesus denies. Here is the passage: (Judas): “Master, receive me as well along with these men.” Jesus responds, saying, “Your star has led you astray, Judas! No offspring of any mortal human is worthy to enter the house that you saw, for that place is reserved for the holy.”25

In his response to Judas, Jesus explicitly declares that this house is the place reserved for the holy, that it is inaccessible to all those of mortal human descent. Any attempt to argue that Judas’s knowledge liberates him from his mortal state is refuted by the first part of Jesus’ response, where he says “Your star has misled you,” indicating that Judas’s request to be received among the holy is only a product of his inferior state, which leaves him susceptible to the influence of the stars. To say that he is the plaything of deceptive astral influences is to say that he is not worthy to enter into this realm. It would be extremely useful at this point to have an in-depth analysis of the role that the stars play in this text,26 but it must suffice for the moment to note that, in the context of Gos. Judas, the stars cause all things (40.17; 54.17), they are linked intimately with error (πλανή, 45.13; 46.1–2; 55.16–17) and rulership (ⲣ ⲉⲣⲟ ⲉ‑ 37.5; 55.10), and each of the apostles has his own star (42.8).27 We will return to our discussion of Judas’s star later, but for the moment the important thing to note is that Jesus indicates clearly that Judas is excluded from the place reserved for the holy. 2.4. Although he will not go up to the place reserved for the holy, Judas will nonetheless reign (46.14–47.4) The fact that Judas will be denied entry to the place reserved for the holy generation is confirmed on the following page. The passage in question is damaged, but in this regard its meaning is clear: 24 See F. Morard, L’Apocalypse d’Adam (NH V,5) (BCNH, Textes 15; Québec 1985), 54–55, and her commentary on this passage, 112–13. 25 Gos. Judas 45.11–19: ⲡⲥ︤ⲁ︦ϩ︥ ϣⲟⲡⲧ̄⳿ ϩⲱ ⲉϩⲟ[ⲩⲛ ⲙ]ⲛ ⲛ̣ⲓⲣⲱⲙⲉ : ⲁϥⲟⲩⲱϣⲃ̄ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ̣ [ⲓ̈ⲥ︦] ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲡⲉⲕⲥⲓⲟⲩ ⲡⲗⲁ[ⲛⲁ] ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲕ⳿ ⲱ̂ ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁ : ⲁⲩⲱ ϫⲉ ⲛ̄ϥ̣ⲙ̣̄ⲡϣⲁ ⲁⲛ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲡⲉϫⲡⲟ ⲛ̄ⲣⲱ[ⲙ]ⲉ ⲛⲓⲙ̣ ⲛ̄ⲑⲛⲏⲧⲟⲛ : ⲉⲃⲱⲕ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲡⲏⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲕⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ϫⲉ ⲡⲧⲟⲡⲟⲥ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲟϥ ⲡⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲣⲉϩ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲛ̄ⲛⲉⲧⲟⲩⲁⲁⲃ. 26 The word “star” (ⲥⲓⲟⲩ) is found almost as many times in this one text as it is in the whole Nag Hammadi collection. 27 On the association of the apostles with stars and with signs of the Zodiac, see J. Daniélou, “Les douze apôtres et le zodiaque,” VC 13 (1959): 14–21.

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When he heard these things, he (Judas) said to him (Jesus), “What profit have I received from your having separated me from that generation?” Jesus responded and said, “You will become the thirteenth and you will be cursed by the other generations and you will rule over them. In the last days they will and you will not … above to the holy ge[neration]” (trans. Painchaud and Kaler).28

Judas’s question, and Jesus’ response are crucially important for understanding Gos. Judas, both in terms of its own narrative workings and in terms of its intertextual links. First of all, despite its corrupted character, this pericope doubly confirms the reading that we have proposed for the preceding passage. Judas’s question, “What profit have I received from your having separated me from that generation?” (46.16–18),29 indicates that he has understood that Jesus’ response to his previous question in fact meant that he was being excluded from the place reserved for the holy. The formulation of this new question raises several problems that we must quickly address, namely: 1) what does the formula ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉϩⲟⲩⲟ mean, and 2) to what does “that generation” (ⲧⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ) refer? The phrase ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡϩⲟⲩⲟ, literally “what is the more” or “what is the surplus,” in this context can only mean “what is the profit” or “what is the advantage.”30 28 Gos. Judas 46.14–47.1: ⲛ̣ⲁⲓ̈ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉⲣⲉϥⲥⲱⲧⲙ̄ ⲉⲣⲟⲟ̣[ⲩ] ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲥ ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ⲛⲁϥ ϫⲉ̣ ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲩⲟ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲉⲓϫⲓⲧϥ̄ ϫⲉ ⲁⲕⲡⲟⲣϫⲧ̄ ⲉⲧⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ : ⲁϥⲟⲩⲱϣⲃ̄ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲓ̈ⲏ︦ⲥ︦ ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ϫⲉ ⲕⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲉ︤ϩ︥ⲙ︤ⲛ︥︤ⲧ︥ⲓ︦ⲅ︦ vac ⲁⲩⲱ ⲕⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲕⲥϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲩⲟⲣⲧ̄ ϩ︤ⲓ︥ⲧⲛ̄ ⲡⲕⲉⲥⲉⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲕⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲕⲁⲣϫⲓ ⲉϫⲱⲟⲩ ⲛ̄ϩⲁⲉⲟⲩ ⲛⲛⲉϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲟⲩ ⲥⲉⲛⲁⲕ⳿ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛⲉⲕ … ⲉⲡϣⲱⲓ̈ ⲉⲧⲅⲉ̣[ⲛⲉⲁ ⲉⲧ]ⲟ̣ⲩ̣ⲁⲁⲃ. The last section of this passage, which is damaged, has been badly treated in the National Geographic’s English translation and Coptic text online, where ⲛⲉⲕⲕ̣ⲧ̣ⲏ̣ has been read into the text (in the online version published in 2006, see n. 1; this reconstruction disappeared in the 2007 critical edition): “When he heard this, Judas said to him, ‘What good is it that I have received it? For you have set me apart for that generation.’ Jesus answered and said, ‘You will become the thirteenth, and you will be cursed by the other generations – and you will come to rule over them. In the last days they will curse your ascent to the holy [generation]’ ” (Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, The Gospel of Judas, 32–33). In fact, the sequence ⲥⲉⲛⲁⲕ⳿ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛⲉⲕ is not grammatical in Coptic, the correction of is useless, and the restitution ⲕⲧⲏ is impossible. One ought rather to think of a corruption of an original passage reading ⲥⲉ ⲛⲁⲕ, followed by a negative second person masculine singular future (ⲛⲉⲕ‑). Kasser’s French translation partially addresses these problems by proposing the following: “Jésus répondit, ‘Tu deviendras le treizième et tu seras maudit par les autres générations – et tu régneras sur elles. Lorsque viendront les derniers jours, elles […] et tu … vers le haut vers la génération sainte’ ” (Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, L’Évangile de Judas, 46). However, his proposal leaves open the interpretation of ⲛⲉⲕ‑ which, given that it immediately follows a future 1 (ⲥⲉⲛⲁ‑) on the preceding line, ought to be interpreted as a negative future. For his part, Cherix gives a translation that takes this negative second person future into account (prudently accompanying it with a note detailing the different ways that the text can be read): “Lorsqu’il entendit cela, Judas lui dit: ‘Quel est le surplus que j’ai reçu, que tu m’aies écarté de cette génération-là?’ Jésus répondit: ‘Tu deviendras treizième, tu seras maudit par les générations restantes et tu les commanderas. Dans les derniers jours, elles feront des imprécations pour que tu ne retournes pas en haut vers la gé[nération s]ainte’.” 29 Gos. Judas 46.16–18: ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲩⲟ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲉⲓϫⲓⲧϥ̄ ϫⲉ ⲁⲕⲡⲟⲣϫⲧ̄ ⲉⲧⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ, which could be translated literally as “What is the surplus that I have received, that you have set me apart from that generation?” 30 This is the translation that has been retained by Kasser, Meyer, and Wurst, L’Évangile de Judas, 45 (“car en quoi est-ce avantageux pour moi?”); for example, one finds a similar formula

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The fact that Judas poses this question indicates that he has indeed understood Jesus’ response to his previous question as a rebuff. Having understood that, he now asks what advantage accrues to him for having been excluded from the place reserved for the holy generation. As for the second half of the phrase, “since you have separated me from that generation” (ϫⲉ ⲁⲕⲡⲟⲣϫⲧ̄ ⲉⲧⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ, 46.17–18), one must ask to what exactly it refers. One might think of the injunction that Jesus had previously given to Judas to separate himself from the other disciples (“Jesus said to him, ‘Separate yourself from them [that is, the disciples: ⲡⲱⲣϫ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲩ] and I will tell you the mysteries of the Kingdom’,” 35.23–25), in which case it would be necessary to read “that generation” as referring to them. However, in this text the expression “that generation” (ⲧⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ, 37.3, 5, 8; 43.9; 57.13) always refers to the holy generation, the perfect ones,31 and thus it is logical to take it in that sense here as well, especially given that the response to Judas’s last question had the effect of separating him from that holy generation (45.14–19).32 On the other hand, Jesus’ response to the question confirms Judas’s apprehension, in that while he will rule over the generations to come, despite their curses (46.21–24), this – and this alone – is to be his profit: he will not be able to ascend to the holy generation (46.24–47.1). Despite the corruption of the text, it is clear that a verb in the negative future with a second person singular masculine subject (ⲛⲉⲕ‑ 46.25) precedes the words “above to the holy generation” (46.25–47.1).33 Thus this passage indicates clearly that Judas certainly will rule over the generations that will curse him, but that he will not rise up to the holy generation and his authority will be restricted to the generations of the lower world. What is the meaning of this rulership that Judas will receive in return for his act? The answer to this question is to be found on the intertextual level, in an allusion to the patriarch Judah. The question posed by Judas here, ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉϩⲟⲩⲟ is reminiscent of that posed by Judah to his brothers in Gen 37:26–27: “What is the in the writings of Shenute, ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲉⲧⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛⲉ, which Amélineau translates as “que t’arrivera-t-il de plus?” (É. Amélineau, Œuvres de Shenoudi [2 vols.; Paris 1907–1914], 2:513), but which clearly means “what profit will you derive?” (I would like to thank Dr. W.-P. Funk for having brought this passage to my attention). The Sahidic version of Rom 3:1 reads ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡϩⲟⲩⲟ ⲙ̄ⲡⲓⲟⲩⲇⲁⲓ. ⲏ ⲟⲩ ⲡⲉ ⲡϩⲏⲩ ⲙ̄ⲡⲥⲃ̄ⲃⲉ (G. Horner, The Coptic Version of the New Testament in the Southern Dialect [7 vols.; Oxford 1911–1924; repr. Osnabrück 1969], 4:24–25), which translates Τί οὖν τὸ περισσὸν τοῦ Ἰουδαίου ἢ τίς ἡ ὠφέλεια τῆς περιτομῆς. It is clear that in the context τὸ περισσόν (ⲡϩⲟⲩⲟ) is synonymous with ἡ ὠφέλεια (ⲡϩⲏⲩ). The phrasing of Gos. Judas here seems to echo Paul. 31 There is one exception, at 54.14, where the expression “those generations” in the plural (ⲉⲩⲛⲁⲣ[ⲟ]ⲩ̣ ϭⲉ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲛ̄ⲅⲉⲁ ⲉⲧⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲩ) remains ambiguous. 32 The meaning of the Coptic verb ⲡⲱⲣϫ ⲉ‑ is “separate from,” as Kasser has rendered it: “car tu m’as séparé de cette génération-là” (Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, L’Évangile de Judas, 45). It does not mean “separate for,” as Meyer’s translation would have it: “for you have set me apart for that generation” (Kasser, Meyer and Wurst, The Gospel of Judas, 32). 33 See above, n. 28.

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profit (LXX: Τί χρήσιμον) if we should kill our brother and conceal his blood?”34 And it is this same patriarch who inherits the leadership in Gen 49:8–10,35 a lot that similarly falls to Judas in our gospel: “you will govern them (ⲕⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲕⲁⲣϫⲓ [< ἀρχεῖν] ⲉϫⲱⲟⲩ, 46.23–24), with the rulership (ⲣⲉⲣⲟ ⲉϫⲛ‑)” (translation mine).36 In this gospel, the apostle Judas poses the same question that his patriarchal namesake posed and, again like him, receives authority and royalty. All takes place as if the author of this gospel is trying to equate these two figures, making Judas a latter day Judah, whose rule over the apostles mirrors the patriarch’s inheritance of the rulership. By attributing rulership and royalty to Judas, the text thereby associates him with archontic activities (ἄρχοντες 46.7; 51.24; 53.[5], 15–16; 57.8) and thereby dissociates him from the holy generation, which is kingless (53.24),37 a situation which is perfectly coherent with his position as the thirteenth, as discussed above. 34  Εἶπεν δὲ Ἰούδας πρὸς τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς αὐτοῦ Τί χρήσιμον, ἐὰν ἀποκτείνωμεν τὸν ἀδελφὸν ἡμῶν καὶ κρύψωμεν τὸ αἷμα αὐτοῦ; (Gen 37:26 LXX; A. Rahlfs, Septuaginta. Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes [2 vols.; Stuttgart 1982], 1:60). 35 Οὐκ ἐκλείψει ἄρχων ἐξ Ιουδα καὶ ἡγούμενος ἐκ τῶν μηρῶν αὐτοῦ (Gen 49:10 LXX [Rahlfs]). 36 Cf. Gos. Judas 55.10–11: ⲁⲩϣ ϥⲛⲁⲣⲉ[ⲣⲟ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ]ⲡ̣ⲉⲕⲥⲓⲟⲩ ⲉϫⲛ̄ ⲡⲙⲉ︤ϩ︥ⲙⲛ̄ⲧ[ϣⲟⲙ]ⲧⲉ ⲛⲁⲓⲱⲛ (Meyer: “Your star will r[ule] over this thirteenth eon”). Neither the Masoretic text nor the Septuagint explicitly mention kingship in these verses, but the theme is present in the Targumim, for instance in Targum Neofiti: “Les rois ne manqueront pas d’entre ceux de la maison de Juda …” (A. Díez Macho, Neophyti 1: Targum Palestinense MS de la Biblioteca Vaticana, vol. 1: Génesis [Madrid 1968], 331, trans. Le Déaut, 489). An interesting detail is that the elevation of Judah – the fourth son of Jacob – to the rulership is linked by the rabbinic tradition precisely to the fact that he asked this question. See on this A. Abécassis, Judas et Jésus, une liaison dangereuse (Paris 2001), 59, who cites the following dialogue between Rabbi Tarphon and his students: “ ‘Que notre maître nous enseigne, lui dirent-ils, par quel mérite Judah accéda-t-il à la royauté?’ Le maître leur répondit: ‘Dites-le moi, vous.’ Ils lui répondirent: ‘Car il a dit: “Quel profit (Mah betsa’) aurons-nous à tuer notre frère?’ ” (Mekhilta beShalach). 37 In 53.24, the great kingless generation (ⲧⲛⲟϭ ⲛ̄ⲅⲉⲛⲉⲁ ⲛⲁⲧⲣ̄ⲣⲟ) is another designation for the holy generation. The phrase “kingless generation” is found in Greek in Hippolytus, ἡ ἀβασίλευτος γενεὰ ἡ ἄνω γενομένη (Haer. 5.8.2; M. Simonetti, Testi gnostici in lingua greca e latina [Vicenza 1993], 64, line 27); see also 5.8.30: τοὺς τελείους ἀβασιλεύτους γενέσθαι (ibid., 74, line 33). In the Coptic sources it is found in Eugnostos (NHC III 75.17–18; V 5.3–4) and in the Sophia of Jesus Christ (NHC III 99.17–19; BG 92.4–7), in the Hypostasis of the Archons (NHC II 97.4–5), On the Origin of the World (NHC II 125.5–6), the Apocalypse of Adam (NHC V 82.19–20), and in the Untitled Text in the Bruce Codex at 32.22 (ⲥⲉⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ϫⲉ ⲁⲃⲁⲥⲓⲗⲉⲩⲧⲟⲥ; C. Schmidt and V. MacDermot, The Books of Jeu and the Untitled Text in the Bruce Codex [NHS 13; Leiden 1993], 260). While in these sources the expression is used in a positive sense, and seems to refer to the spirituals or the perfect, according to the Tripartite Tractate, an overview of Valentinian theology, none of the archons is without a ruler (ⲙⲛ̄ⲗⲁⲩⲉ ⲉϥⲟⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲁⲧⲣ̄ⲣⲟ, Tri. Trac. 100.9 [E. Thomassen and L. Painchaud, Le Traité tripartite [NH I, 5] [BCNH, Textes 19; Québec 1993], 168]). Outside of gnostic literature, one finds the expression in Greek in the work of Zosimus of Panopolis: ἀβασίλευτος γὰρ ἀυτῶν ἡ γενεά (M. Berthelot and C.-E. Ruelle, Collection des anciens alchimistes grecs [3 vols.; Paris 1888; repr. Osnabrück 1967], 2:213, line 13) and in Shenute (ϩⲉⲛⲁⲧⲣⲣⲟ), referring to certain heretics (I. Leipoldt, Sinuthii Archimandritae vita et opera omnia III [CSCO 42, Copt. 2; Paris 1908; repr. Leuven 1955], 88, line 20). See on this F. T. Fallon, “The Gnostics: The Undominated Race,” NovT 21 (1979):

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To take things one step further, we can say that if Gos. Judas 46.16–18 is indeed an allusion to Judah’s question in Gen 37:26, this allusion, in associating the two figures, would turn Judas’s government over the apostles and over the generations to come into a continuation of the Jewish sacred history and thus of the Jewish religion. To put it another way, we could say that Gos. Judas shows its readers that the real leader of that form of Christianity that we call proto-orthodox is the cursed figure of Judas, who, as thirteenth, rules over the apostles, their successors, and the entire sacrificial concept of Christianity that they represent. This is what Jesus means when he says that Judas will rule over those who curse him. 2.5. Who enters into the luminous cloud surrounded by stars? (57.16–26) At the end of the final dialogue between Jesus and Judas, immediately before the narrative ending, one finds the following passage: (Jesus): “Lift up your eyes and see the cloud and the light that is in it and the stars that surround it. And the star that is in the ascendant is your star.” Judas lifted his eyes and saw the cloud and the light. He went into it. Those who remained below heard a voice coming from the cloud that said [eight lines missing].38

The luminous cloud is reminiscent of two clouds that are mentioned earlier in the protogonic revelation, when we learn of the existence, within the great and limitless eon, of a cloud of light (ⲟⲩⲕ̣ⲗⲟ[ⲟ]ⲗⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ, 47.15–16) from which came the Self-Begotten (47.5–20). Adamas was found in this first cloud “of the light” (ⲧϣⲟⲣⲡ̄ ⲛ̄ϭⲏⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉ ⲡⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ, 48.22–23).39 There also exists “another cloud” (ⲕⲁⲓϭⲏⲡⲉ) from which emerge four angels to help the Self-Begotten (47.21–24). Of the first cloud, it is said that no angel among those which are called gods has seen it (48.23–26). One cannot say whether the cloud in question in the present case is one of these two clouds, or whether it is some other cloud of light, a vehicle of celestial ascension as one finds in Zost. 4.31. The important question for our present purposes, however, has to do not with the identification of the cloud, but with the identity of the person who enters into 271–88; R. Bergmeier, “ ‘Königlosigkeit’ als nachvalentinianisch Heilsprädikat,” NovT 24 (1982): 316–39; L. Painchaud and T. Janz, “The ‘Kingless Generation’ and the Polemical Rewriting of Certain Nag Hammadi Texts,” in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration (ed. A. McGuire and J. D. Turner; NHMS 44; Leiden 1997), 439–60. 38 Gos Judas 57.16–26: ϥⲓ ⲉⲓⲁⲧⲕ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲉⲓ ⲛⲕ̄[ⲛ]ⲁ̣ⲩ ⲉⲧϭⲏⲡⲓ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ ⲉⲧⲛ̣̄ϩⲏⲧⲥ̄ : ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̄ⲥⲓⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲕⲱⲧ̣ⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲥⲓⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲟ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲟⲏⲅⲟⲩⲙⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲛ̄ⲧⲟϥ ⲡⲉ ⲡⲉⲕ̣ⲥⲓⲟⲩ ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲥ ⲇⲉ ⲁϥϥⲓⲁⲧϥ̄ ⲉϩ︤ⲣ︥ⲁⲉⲓ ⲁϥⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲧϭⲏⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥϥⲱⲕ ⲉϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲩⲛ ⲉⲣⲟⲥ ⲛⲉⲧⲁϩⲉ ⲣⲁⲧⲟⲩ ϩⲓ ⲡⲉⲥⲏⲧ : ⲁⲩⲥⲱⲧⲙ ⲉⲩⲥⲙⲏ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ̄ ⲧϭⲏⲡⲉ ⲉ̣[ⲥ]ϫ̣ⲱ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲥ. 39 In Zost. 4.20 ff. the visionary rises into the sky in a “great luminous cloud”; one observes here the same alternation between ⲕⲗⲟⲟⲗⲉ and ϭⲏⲡⲉ (ⲟⲩⲛⲟϭ ⲛ̄ⲕⲗⲟⲟⲗⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲟⲉ̣[ⲓ]ⲛ̣, 4.23; ϯϭⲏⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩ̣[ⲟⲉⲓⲛ], 4.31).

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it. In this passage the Coptic text juxtaposes a series of three verbs in the perfect tense (ⲓ̈ⲟⲩⲇⲁⲥ ⲇⲉ ⲁϥϥⲓⲁⲧϥ̄ ⲉϩ︤ⲣ︥ⲁⲉⲓ ⲁϥⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲧϭⲏⲡⲉ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲟⲓ̈ⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥϥⲱⲕ ⲉϩ︤ⲟ︥ⲩⲛ ⲉⲣⲟⲥ, 57.21–23). “Judas” is the subject of the first verb, and the two following verbs have a third person masculine singular as their subject. In a case such as this, one would normally expect that the two verbs with pronouns (“he saw,” and “he entered”) would have the same subject as the verb with a nominal subject (“Judas raised his eyes”). If so, Judas is the one who enters the cloud. However, this is unlikely; it is much more plausible that Jesus enters the cloud.40 In fact, one does see from time-to-time a change in subject in this type of syntactic sequence. In the same codex Tchacos that contains our Gos. Judas, a comparable phenomenon is found in the (First) Apocalypse of James. Here, too, we find a series of three verbs in the perfect in the course of which the subject is changed, without this change being signalled explicitly: “And all of a sudden Jesus appeared to him, and he stopped praying and began to embrace him, saying …” (17.19–22).41 We have here first a verb with a nominal subject, “Jesus” (ⲁⲓ︦ⲥ︥ ⲟⲩⲱⲛ︤ϩ︥ ⲛⲁϥ), and a pronominal object, “him,” which refers to James, and then the conjunction “and” (ⲁⲩⲱ), followed by two other verbs (ⲁϥⲕⲱ and ⲁϥⲁⲣⲭⲉⲥⲑⲁⲓ), with a third person masculine singular subject. It is solely by reasoning from the meaning of the verbs and their context, rather than their sequence, that the reader is able to deduce correctly that it is not the case that Jesus appears, ceases to pray, and greets James; rather, it is James who interrupts his prayer and greets Jesus when Jesus appears.42 The passage with which we are presently concerned is ambiguous due to the lacuna that follows it – perhaps the voice from the cloud would have clarified the situation for us! Nonetheless, when read in the overall context of Gos. Judas, everything leads us to believe that it is Jesus, and not Judas, who enters the cloud. During the vision, Judas is represented by his star as being outside of the cloud. Also, the scene obviously alludes to the episode of the Transfiguration (Mark 9:2–8 par.), in which we also find a cloud of light from which comes a voice with a message about Jesus. In addition, the ascension of Jesus into this cloud of light, leaving behind him “the man who bears him” (56.19–20) immediately before 40 In their translations, Kasser and Meyer have opted for the first interpretation, while the second has been proposed by Sasagu Arai and Gesine Schenke Robinson (see Kasser et al., Critical Edition, 233 n. 23). 41 ⲁⲓ︤ⲥ︥ ⲟⲩⲱⲛ︤ϩ︥ ⲛⲁϥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥⲕⲱ ⲛ̄ⲧⲉϥⲡⲣⲟⲥⲉⲩⲭⲏ ⲁϥⲁⲣⲭⲉⲥⲑⲁⲓ ⲛ̄ϫⲓⲧϥ̄ ⲉⲣⲟϥ (text from G. Wurst and R. Kasser, distributed in Paris by G. Wurst, October 28, 2006; cf. Kasser et al., Critical Edition, 115–76). 42 The version in Nag Hammadi codex V is much more clear: “The Lord appeared to him; as for him, he ceased praying …” (ⲁϥⲟⲩ†ⲟ†ⲛ︤ϩ︥ ⲉⲣⲟϥ ⲛ̄ϭⲓⲡϫⲟⲉ[ⲓⲥ] ⲛ̄ⲧⲟϥ ⲇⲉ ⲁϥⲕⲁⲧⲉⲡⲣⲟⲥⲉⲩⲭ[ⲏ] ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲁϥⲙⲁⲗ︤ϩ︥ ⲛ̄ϩⲏⲧ︤ϥ︥, NHC V 31.2–5; A. Veilleux, La Première Apocalypse de Jacques [NH V,3] [BCNH, Textes 17; Québec 1986], 36). When one compares the two Coptic versions, it becomes clear that the translator of the codex V version has taken pains to mark the change of subject through the use of the augens ⲛ̄ⲧⲟϥ, “him,” followed by the particle ⲇⲉ.

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the conclusion of the text would be coherent with the story, while the ascension of Judas would imply either that Judas had two bodies, or that he was obliged to descend again in order to accomplish his task. And finally, the ascension of Jesus (or the spiritual Savior) before the Passion would be in accordance with ideas that one finds in other, comparable texts.43 In any case, if (unlikely as it seems) it is in fact Judas who enters the cloud, the rest of the text shows that this episode cannot be read as a rapture up to the holy generation, but only an ascension to the thirteenth eon, the significance of which would then be revealed by the voice from the cloud.44 Let us return to the stars that surround this cloud. Doubtless they can be identified with the apostles (cf. 42.8) since one of them, which is in the ascendant, is Judas’s star. The expression used here, “the star that is in the ascendant” (ⲡⲥⲓⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲟ ⲙ̄ⲡⲣⲟⲏⲅⲟⲙⲉⲛⲟⲥ, 57.19) draws on the technical vocabulary of astronomy and astrology. The verb προηγεῖσθαι refers to the apparent ascension of a planet, its ascendant movement.45 One could see in this ascendant star nothing more than a graphic illustration of Judas’ own ascension, but given the importance of the role played by the stars in Gos. Judas (they accomplish all things [40.17; 54.17], and Judas’s star leads him into error [45.13]), we should rather see the star’s ascension as the cause of his destiny, which is thus revealed in Jesus’ final revelation. If Judas is set apart and to a certain degree exalted, it is due to astral determinism, a determinism which can only operate within the limits of the material world, and which has power only over those who belong to that world.46 Judas is to a certain degree enlightened, and knows, for instance, that Jesus has come from the eon of Barbelo (35.15–21), but this knowledge is insufficient to liberate him from the influence of the stars or to enable him to escape the lower world – although his knowledge and the role that he will play in setting the stage for the Passion will lead him to its summit. In this regard, one can draw an analogy between the exaltation of Judas and the exaltation of Sabaoth in Orig. World 103.32–106.17. Both of these figures possess a certain degree of knowledge, both 43 For example, in the Second Treatise of the Great Seth, the Son of the Majesty is taken up into the heights (NHC VII 57.7–58.17) immediately prior to the crucifixion (58.17–59.3); see L. Painchaud, Le Deuxième Traité du Grand Seth (NH VII,2) (BCNH, Textes 6; Québec 1982), 42–45. Similarly, in the Paraphrase of Shem (NHC VII 38.28b–40.31a), the description of the rise of Derdekeas precedes the description of the crucifixion of Soldas; see M. Roberge, La Paraphrase de Sem (NH VII,1) (BCNH, Textes 25; Québec and Leuven 2000), 192–97, 87–90, as well as idem, “La crucifixion du Sauveur dans la Paraphrase de Sem (NH VII,1),” in Actes du IVe congrès copte, Louvain-la-Neuve, 5–10 septembre 1988, vol. 2: De la linguistique au gnosticisme (ed. M. Rassart-Debergh and J. Ries; Publications de l’Institut Orientaliste de Louvain 41; Louvain-la-Neuve 1992), 381–87. 44 All that remains is the word “great” (ⲛⲟϭ), perhaps followed by the words ⲅⲉ̣[ⲛⲟⲥ] or ⲅⲉ̣[ⲛⲉⲁ] at 58.1 and 2. 45 A. Le Boeuffle, Astronomie, Astrologie. Lexique latin (Paris 1987), 48. I would like to thank Prof. Michel Roberge for having brought this reference to my attention. 46 The holy generation escapes the domination of the stars, and that of the angels (37.4–6).

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receive instruction – Sabaoth from Pistis, and Judas from Jesus – and both will rule (Orig. World 106.9–10 specifies that Sabaoth will rule over the heavens of chaos), but neither one will be able to escape from the lower world over which they rule.47 We will not try to resolve this paradox here. We will simply note that Judas, in this gospel, is the plaything of astral determinism, and his elevation is the result of his star’s ascension. As his star will reign (55.10) over the thirteenth eon, so too will he reign, but this reign is foreign to the holy generation, which is described as being “kingless” (53.24), and over whom no angelic army of stars will rule (37.1–6). As we have noted, Judas is the plaything of his destiny. The knowledge that he possesses leads him to hope that he may be allowed to join the holy generation, but this aspiration only causes Jesus to laugh. Though cursed, Judas will still reign and become a sort prince of the apostles, just as the descendents of the patriarch Judah were called to rule over Israel. Seen in the context of Gos. Judas’s probable time of composition (second half of the second century or early third century), and also in the context of polemical battles between gnostic Christians and the proto-orthodox, to establish such a link between the apostle Judas and the patriarch Judah, as the eponymous representative of Judaism, and to associate the apostles with a sacrificial cult and Judas’s betrayal with a sacrifice, can have only one function: to identify apostolic Christianity with Judaism, with the cult of a god who demands sacrifices, and who is not Jesus’ father. Read in this perspective, the description of Judas’s act as the offering of a human sacrifice is intended to denounce the sacrificial interpretation of the death of Jesus48 as the continuation of the cult of the Temple of Jerusalem and its god.49 It is also possible that, underneath this denunciation of sacrifice, there is hidden an indictment of the sort of theological interpretation of martyrdom as a sacrifice that was a feature of proto-orthodox Christianity, a feature which – as has been

47 However, the two figures, Judas and Sabaoth, do have very different functions in the two texts. 48 One finds it already in Pauline typology (1 Cor 5:7: καὶ γὰρ τὸ πάσχα ἡμῶν ἐτύθη Χριστός) and in the sacrificial metaphors used with regard to the life in Christ (for example in Phil 2:7; 4:18), but it is in Heb 8–9 that the assimilation of the death of Christ to sacrifice attains its full development. For examples in subsequent Christian literature, see Barn. 8.2 and especially Irenaeus, Haer. 4.18. But the death of Christ on the cross was not seen as a sacrifice either by gnostic Christians in general, or specifically by the Valentinians; see A. Orbe, Los primeros herejes ante la persecución. Estudios Valentinianos, 5 (Rome 1956), 279–90, and also A. and J.-P. Mahé, Le Témoignage véritable (NH IX, 3). Gnose et martyre (BCNH, Textes 23; Québec 1998), 57. 49 Thus the author of Gos. Judas would to a certain degree agree with Caiaphas, for whom the death of Jesus would ensure the salvation of the Temple (John 11:47–53). Note as well that the Second Treatise of the Great Seth, another polemical text with many similarities to Gos. Judas, alludes to the same Johannine passage (NHC VII 53.20–27; see my commentary on this passage in Painchaud, Le Deuxième traité du Grand Seth (NH VII,2), 94–96).

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shown through indirect testimonies50 and now also directly, through the Testimony of Truth – was resisted by certain Christian groups, in particular Gnostics.51

3. Conclusion In conclusion, and to summarize, the Judas of Gos. Judas is someone whose destiny is determined by his star, which misleads him. Neither the knowledge that he has, nor the revelation that Jesus makes to him will allow him to escape the lower world and attain the place of the kingless generation. It is clear, then, that he cannot be the model of the true disciple of Jesus. And, although cursed, he will nonetheless rule over the other apostles. Just as Epiphanius52 turned Judas into the father of the Jews, and even the archetypal embodiment of Judaism, so here the author of Gos. Judas appears to be turning this same Judas into the father of a proto-orthodox Christianity which, in his or her opinion, had betrayed Jesus’ name by proposing a sacrificial interpretation of his death, and thereby perpetuating the Jewish sacrificial cult. The French edition of the National Geographic Magazine for May 2006 asked, “Jésus a-t-il été trahi?” To this question, the “révélations de l’Évangile de Judas” respond in the affirmative. For the author of this new apocryphon, Jesus was indeed betrayed. He was betrayed by the successors of the apostles, who proposed a sacrificial interpretation of his death and who used his name to perpetuate a cult dedicated to “their god,” the god of the scriptures; not the father of Jesus,53 but Saklas, the creator god and ruler of this world in gnostic writings.54 And if the Judas of our gospel, like the eponymous patriarch of Judaism, is to rule, his authority will be over the generations that are sunk in this error. We are very far from the image of Judas as the ideal disciple – Jesus’ “righthand man” in his salvific mission – that has been presented in the media onslaught surrounding the publication of the gospel. How has this (mis)reading of the Judas of our gospel come about? There are three contributing factors that I 50 See the famous passage where Clement of Alexandria condemns equally as heretics those Christians who refuse martyrdom and those who rush to it (Strom. 4.4.16–17; A. van den Hoek and Cl. Mondésert, Clément d’Alexandrie. Les Stromates. Stromate IV [SC 463; Paris 2001], 82–87, esp. 85 n. 4). 51 On the conception of martyrdom in gnostic texts, see C. Scholten, Martyrium und Sophiamythos im Gnostizismus nach den Texten von Nag Hammadi (Munich 1987). 52 See above, n. 22. 53 Gos. Judas 34.6–12: “He responded and said to them, ‘I am not laughing at you, and it is not of your own free will that you do this, but because of this, that your god will receive praise.’ They said, ‘Master, you .. [..] . are the son of our god?’” 54 See the Apocryphon of John (“The Archon has three names: the first is Ialdabaoth, the second is Saklas, the third is Samael,” NHC II 11.15–18), the Trimorphic Protennoia (“Saklas, that is, Samael-Ialdabaoth,” NHC XIII 39.27), and the Hypostasis of the Archons (“ ‘You are mistaken, Saklas!’ – for which the alternate name is Ialdabaoth,” NHC II 95.7).

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would like to single out here. First of all, there is the expectation normally roused in the reader of a gnostic revelation dialogue that the Savior-revealer’s conversation partner will be a model of the perfect Christian (from the author’s point of view). Secondly, there are the mentions of this gospel by Irenaeus and Epiphanius (if, in fact, they were referring to this particular work at all), a gospel that they had not read and whose content they conjectured based on their understanding of their opponents. Finally, we have to take into account changes to the reception of the figure of Judas during the second half of the twentieth century. Since the earliest days of Christianity there has existed a myth of Judas which has been the product of, and a support for, Christian anti-Semitism. In this myth, already perfectly exemplified in the work of Epiphanius of Salamis in the fourth century, Judas – possessed by Satan, a deceiver and a deicide – is the father of the Jews,55 as was his namesake Judah the patriarch, but whose fatherhood now serves to implicate his people in his character and his crimes. Since the end of the nineteenth century, but especially since the Holocaust, there has been a consistent movement to change this stereotype of the Jew as deicide and deceiver, and particularly the archetypal Jew, Judas. Thus, in fiction as well as in scholarly work done by exegetes, theologians, and historians, Judas’s place has become more prominent, and his role has gradually been seen in a more positive light. From Nikos Kazantzakis’s novel, The Last Temptation of Christ,56 to William Klassen’s monograph on Judas,57 and the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, we have seen over the past fifty years a real rehabilitation of the figure of Judas.58 The publication of a “gospel of Judas” could not help but be implicated in this process. This “new” ancient Christian apocryphon has been read in the light of the new image of Judas that has been built up over the last half century or more, while the resulting distorted interpretation of Gos. Judas has itself contributed to the further development of this new image. This phenomenon has important lessons to teach those who study these marginalized works of early Christianity, be they apocryphal or gnostic. There is always the temptation to 55 See

Epiphanius, who makes the apostle Judas the father of the Jews (Pan. 38.4.9–5.1). published as O Teleutaios peirasmos (Athens 1951). 57 W. Klassen, Judas, Betrayer or Friend of Jesus? (Minneapolis 1996). Klassen’s work is a scholarly and thoroughly documented publication; obviously, it is not to be put on the same level as these works of fiction. 58 See K. Paffenroth, Judas. Images of the Lost Disciple (Louisville, Ky. 2001). Thus, from being the “archétype de ce peuple maudit qui persécuta Jésus,” Judas becomes the “disciple sacrifié, homme de devoir, héros de l’obéissance” (R. Bijaoui, Le procès de Judas [Paris 1999], i, 138). This transformation shows that the myth of Judas is alive and well in modern Western culture. See also G.-D. Farcy, Le sycophante et le rédimé, ou Le mythe de Judas (Caen 1999), and C. Soullard, ed., Judas. Figures mythiques (Paris 1999); among the Catholic exegetes, see X. Léon-Dufour, “Judas, homme de foi?” Études (1997): 654–55. For a good survey and bibliography of different recent presentations of the figure and role of Judas in New Testament studies, see R. E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave (2 vols.; ABRL; New York 1994), 1394–418. I would like to thank Serge Cazelais for bringing this reference to my attention. 56 First

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transpose current views into the past, and to apply anachronistic readings to works such as the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Mary, or the Gospel of Philip. The highly publicized publication of Gos. Judas gives us a clear example of the dangers of succumbing to such temptation. The image of Judas as a faithful companion, one whom Jesus chose to play such a crucial and misunderstood role in his death, as acceptable as it may be to current occidental trends of thought, is nonetheless the product of a distortion of the content of this new apocryphon. Gos. Judas does not deal with the historical events surrounding the death of Jesus; rather, it reflects the crucial debates that affected the development of Christianity decades or centuries later, debates dealing with the status of the Jewish scriptures, sacrificial interpretations of Jesus’ death and the eucharist, and, undoubtedly, the exaltation of martyrdom.

Christians and Jews in the Gospel of Philip Minna Heimola 1. Introduction During the rise of early Christianity one very important concern was the drawing of boundaries between Christianity and Judaism. This has been the focus of several books and articles over the last twenty years.1 Recently also the traditional idea of Judaism as the mother religion of Christianity has been challenged and replaced with the image of Judaism and Christianity as the two children of the same mother, developing simultaneously in interaction with each other.2 This kind of boundary-drawing between Jews and Christians can be an interesting approach to the study of the Gospel of Philip, a text in which we encounter continuous boundary-drawing – Christians are clearly and frequently contrasted with both the Jews and Gentiles and with those Christian groups that teach “wrongly” about some important questions or themes. In this essay I focus on the polemics expressed in Gos. Phil. towards Jews and examine how these passages also reflect the Jewish-Christian background of Gos. Phil. The boundary-drawing with Gentiles and competing Christian groups must be left to later study. Gos. Phil. is possibly one of the most interesting and most studied writings of the Nag Hammadi library.3 It originates probably in Syria, because it includes some Syriac words and their explanations, and was written between the years 1 For example, S. G. Wilson, Related Strangers: Jews and Christians 70–170 c.e. (Minneapolis 1995); J. T. Sanders, “Establishing Social Distance between Christians and Both Jews and Pagans,” in Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches (ed. A. J. Blasi, J. Duhaime and P.-A. Turcotte; Walnut Creek, Calif. 2002), 361–82; D. K. Buell, “Race and Universalism in Early Christianity,” JECS 10 (2002): 429–68; M. Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Antioch: A Social-scientific Approach to the Separation between Judaism and Christianity (London and New York 2003). 2 D. Boyarin, Dying for God: Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism (Stanford, Calif. 1999), 1–19; idem, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Divinations; Philadelphia 2004). 3 The citations of the Gos. Phil. are from the Coptic text edited by B. Layton and from the English translation by W. W. Isenberg, both appearing in J. M. Robinson, ed., The Coptic Gnostic Library: A Complete Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices (5 vols.; Leiden 1975–1996; repr. 2000), 2:131–215.

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150 and 300, probably before the end of the second century.4 Because the gospel includes some material concerning rituals or sacraments, it has been argued that it is connected with the teaching of catechumens,5 but this should not be taken for granted, because the gospel also includes material clearly addressed to more “advanced” Christians.6 Gos. Phil. is usually associated with the Valentinian Christian “school.”7 The major emphasis in the study of the gospel has been on rituals, and it has often concentrated on the relationships between the “mysteries” described in the gospel.8 Martha Lee Turner points out, however, that ritual material is just a minor part of the text and that it has been overemphasized in research.9 Other relevant themes for Gos. Phil. are the origin and nature of evil and the question of the highest possibilities open to human beings,10 life,11 “the like influencing

like R.McL. Wilson (The Gospel of Philip [London 1960], 3–4), H.-G. Gaffron (“Studien zum Koptischen Philippusevangelium unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Sakramente” [Ph.D. diss.; Rheinischen Friedrick-Wilhelms-Universität, 1969], 220), and A. Marjanen (“The Woman Jesus Loved” [Ph.D. diss.; University of Helsinki, 1995], 127–28) argue that the gospel was written in the second half of the second century. Wilson (The Gospel of Philip, 3–5) bases this dating on the similarities between Gos. Phil. and the Valentinian system described by Irenaeus, the parallels between Gos. Phil. and the Apostolic Fathers, the general atmosphere of the text, and “the state of Canon reflected in the New Testament echoes and allusions.” W. W.  Isenberg (“Gospel of Philip: Introduction,” in Nag Hammadi Codex II,2–7, Together with XIII, 2*, Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1), and P. OXY. 1, 654, 655 [ed. B. Layton; 2 vols.; NHMS 20–21; Leiden 1989], 1:134–35) thinks that it was written as late as in the second half of the third century, but does not give any explicit reasons for this later dating. I. Dunderberg (“Filippuksen evankeliumi: Johdanto,” in Nag Hammadin kätketty viisaus [ed. I. Dunderberg and A. Marjanen; Helsinki 2001], 174) finds possible any date between 150 and 300.  5 Dunderberg, “Filippuksen evankeliumi,” 175.  6 Gos. Phil. 61.27–35 implies that the persons addressed in it have already “experienced the vision and identification with the Spirit and the Christ,” but they have yet to achieve the greatest and highest goal: identification with the Father. As J. Jacobsen Buckley, “Conceptual Models and Polemical Issues in the Gospel of Philip,” ANRW 2.25.5 (1988): 4167–94, points out (at 4171–72), the audience does not consist only of catechumens or neophytes, as they have already experienced spiritual accomplishments of which they are now reminded.  7 For Gos. Phil. and a school setting, see also M. Heimola, Christian Identity in the Gospel of Philip (Helsinki 2011), 31–34, 55–57.  8 For example, E. Segelberg, “The Coptic-Gnostic Gospel According to Philip and Its Sacramental System,” Numen 7 (1960): 189–200; Gaffron, “Studien zum Koptischen Philippusevangelium”; D. H. Tripp, “The ‘Sacramental System’ of the Gospel of Philip,” StPatr 17.1 (1982): 251–60; E. H. Pagels, “Ritual in the Gospel of Philip,” in The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration (ed. A. McGuire and J. D. Turner; NHMS 44; Leiden 1997), 280–91; A. DeConick, “The True Mysteries: Sacramentalism in the Gospel of Philip,” VC 55 (2001): 225–61.  9  M. L. Turner, The Gospel According to Philip: The Sources and Coherence of an Early Christian Collection (NHMS 38; Leiden 1996), 178. 10 Turner, The Gospel According to Philip, 178. 11 Tripp, “The ‘Sacramental System’,” 252.  4 Scholars

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the like,” and the “natural correspondence between food and the eater of it,”12 sacrifice, and sexual defilement. Gos. Phil. is a collection of teachings. Turner has studied the coherence and the sources of the gospel and endeavored to demonstrate its literary inconsistency.13 On the other hand, Einar Thomassen has argued for the ideological consistency of Gos. Phil., stating that literary inconsistency does not necessarily mean ideological or theological inconsistency.14 Elaine Pagels has offered a median position, concluding that, even though Gos. Phil. is compiled from different sources, there is a specific spirit governing it, “so that we may speak of the author’s viewpoint.”15 Despite the polemics expressed in the text towards various Christian groups, Gos. Phil. is not an apology aimed at outsiders, but an insider’s message to other insiders. The audience consists of Valentinian Christians, whose identity is strengthened through the contrast made between them and Jews, Gentiles, and other Christian groups. While it has been argued that this kind of text is not a polemic, since it is not addressed to those polemicized, I agree with Stephen G. Wilson that polemics towards Jews and anti-Judaism do not require the immediate presence of Jews.16 Below, I analyze terminology concerning the Jews, polemical comments on their spiritual status, and re-interpretations of Jewish symbols in Gos. Phil.

2. Hebrews and Jews The term “Hebrew” (in Coptic ϩⲉⲃⲣⲁⲓⲟⲥ) is used in Gos. Phil. six times (51.29–52.1; 52.21–24; 55.23–30; 62.5–6; 62.13). The author of the text considers Hebrews a race spiritually inferior to Christians. They are “orphans,” while Christians have both a father and a mother (52.21–24). In one instance (Gos. Phil. 62.13), the word appears in the form ⲙ︦ⲛ︦ⲧ︦ϩⲉⲃⲣⲁⲓⲟⲥ and refers to the Hebrew language, but in all the other cases it clearly depicts a group of people. But what group? In Hellenistic Jewish literature, including the works of Philo (e. g., Mut. 117; Moses 1.243–244) and Josephus (e. g., Ant. 1–9, where the word appears often), “Hebrews” is an archaic name used when speaking about the distant past of Israel. Ἑβραῖοι is also a more cultivated expression than the “common” Ἰουδαῖοι.17 Among Gentile writers, the term Ἑβραῖοϛ usually refers to a more specific group in the geographical, national, or linguistic sense than the broader term Ἰουδαῖος. 12 Buckley,

“Conceptual Models,” 4169. The Gospel According to Philip. 14 E. Thomassen, “How Valentinian Is the Gospel of Philip?” in The Nag Hammadi Library After Fifty Years, 251–79 at 252–53. 15 Pagels, “Ritual in the Gospel of Philip,” 281. 16 Wilson, Related Strangers, 122. 17 W. Gutbrod, “ Ἰσραήλ, Ἰσραηλίτηϛ, Ἰουδαῖος, Ἰουδαία, Ἰουδαικός, Ἰουδαίζω, Ἰουδαϊσμός, Ἑβραῖοϛ, Ἑβραικός, Ἑβραϊϛ, Ἑβραϊστί,” TDNT 3 (1965): 356–91 at 367–68. 13 Turner,

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Philo and Josephus use the word Ἑβραῖοϛ also to describe the language, measures, coins and other things peculiar to the Jewish people as a nation (e. g., Josephus, Ant. 5.323). Hence, usually Ἑβραῖοϛ was “a Jew from Palestine who also speaks Aramaic.”18 The term “Hebrew” or “Hebrews” appears in the New Testament only three times. In Acts 6:1 the community of disciples is said to consist of two groups, the Ἑβραῖοι and the Ἑλληνιστοῖ. These terms could refer to the linguistic difference between the two groups – those speaking Aramaic and those speaking Greek.19 Walter Gutbrod suggests, however, that the Hebrews are native Palestinians, while the Greeks have come to Palestine later, as either former Diaspora Jews or proselytes.20 This position finds support in 2 Corinthians, where Paul boasts of his being a Hebrew (11:22), likely a reference to his origin as a Jew of Palestinian descent21 or to his race.22 Again, in Philippians Paul refers to himself as a Hebrew (3:5), and here too he seems to imply descent from a Palestinian family.23 Another Valentinian writing that discusses the relationship between Jews and Christians, the Tripartite Tractate, also employs the words “Jew” and “Hebrew.” As in other literature, the Tractate uses the term “Hebrew” for ancient figures – the patriarchs and others in Hebrew Scriptures – whereas the term “Jew” refers to contemporary Jews.24 The Gospel of Thomas, which is copied in the same codex immediately before Gos. Phil., also contains anti-Jewish polemics. But whereas the polemics towards Jews is, as we shall see later, more spiritual and metaphysical in Gos. Phil., the Gospel of Thomas is more concerned with Jewish practices. Only once the Gospel of Thomas criticizes Jews as a race (Gos. Thom. 43); elsewhere in the gospel attention is paid mostly to Jewish practices: prayer,

18 Gutbrod,

“ Ἰσραήλ,” 374. is the way it is actually translated in the Finnish Bible. See also P. Barnett, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, Mich. 1997), 537. 20 For example, Gutbrod, “ Ἰσραήλ,” 389–90. 21 Gutbrod, “ Ἰσραήλ,” 390. 22 Barnett, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 536. 23 Gutbrod, “  Ἰσραήλ,” 390–91. R. Murray, “Jews, Hebrews and Christians: Some Needed Distinctions,” NovT 24 (1982): 194–208, has made a suggestion about the uses of the terms “Jew” and “Hebrew” in general: in his opinion, the terms “Jew” and “Judaism” refer to “those who wished to identify themselves by relationship to Jerusalem, its temple and scribal establishment,” while “Hebrews” refers to “those who were hostile to Jerusalem and the temple.” He bases his interpretation on Josephus’s Ant. 11.8.6, where Samaritans say that they are Hebrews but not Jews. However, as I. Dunderberg (“Greeks and Jews in the Tripartite Tractate,” in Colloque international “L’Évangile selon Thomas et les textes de Nag Hammadi” [Québec, 29–31 mai 2003] [ed. L. Painchaud and P.-H. Poirier; BCNH, Études 8; Québec and Leuven 2007], 107–29), has pointed out, Murray’s reasoning is not very convincing, since several sources, including Gos. Phil. and the Tripartite Tractate, use these words in a very different manner. 24 I. Dunderberg, “Greeks and Hebrews in Tripartite Tractate.” See, for example, Tri. Trac. 110.21–32; 111.6–9; 112.18–113.1. 19 This

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almsgiving, fasting, Sabbath, and circumcision.25 The last of these two appear also in Gos. Phil., but overall the gospel is more concerned with Christians’ spiritual superiority to Jews than Jewish religious practices.

3. Hebrews and Jews in the Gospel of Philip Gos. Phil. uses both terms, “Jews” and “Hebrews.” Jeffrey S. Siker26 argues that, while initially one would expect Hebrews to be Jews, actually the term refers to non-gnostic Christians. He bases his interpretation mostly on Gos. Phil. 55.27– 28, where the apostles are said to be Hebrews – i. e., non-gnostic Christians – to whom the existence of the Virgin Mary is anathema. However, the interpretation of this terminology is a far more complicated matter. First, the mention of apostles here could also be a reference to the apostles’ Hebrew origins as Jews, more precisely Palestinian Jews. While this paragraph could be interpreted as criticizing apostolic traditions, Gos. Phil.’s attitude towards apostles elsewhere in the gospel is much more neutral27 and Gos. Phil. clearly claims some kind of supposed apostolic succession from the apostles to the Valentinian Christians. It is stated that the apostles were “before us” (Gos. Phil. 62.7) and later the idea of succession is made even clearer: “the father anointed the son, and the son anointed the apostles, and the apostles anointed us” (Gos. Phil. 74.16–18).28 As Einar Thomassen points out, the possible denigration of the apostles in Gos. Phil. 55 would be in conflict both with other passages of Gos. Phil. and with Valentinian usage of the word apostle. He tries to solve the problem by declaring the statement of the Hebrew origin of the apostles as an interpolation.29 Another possibility is expressed by Antti Marjanen. In his view, the negative passages reflect the idea of the apostles being blind during their time with the earthly Jesus; they gained full understanding only after the resurrection.30 The negative-sounding identification between apostles and Hebrews also has a third possible explanation, to which Gos. Phil. 52.21–24 seems to refer – i. e., that the 25 Gos. Thom. 43: “His disciples said to him, ‘Who are you, that you should say these things to us?’ ‘You do not realize who I am from what I say to you, but you have become like the Jews, for they (either) love the tree and hate its fruit (or) love the fruit and hate the tree’ ” (trans. T. O. Lambdin in J. M. Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library in English [3rd ed.; Leiden 1988], 124–38). As for Jewish practices, see Gos. Thom. 6; 14; 27; 53; 104. 26 J. S. Siker, “Gnostic Views on Jews and Christians in the Gospel of Philip,” NovT 31 (1989): 275–88 at 277. Turner too (The Gospel of Philip, 150–51) sees Hebrews possibly as another Christian group. 27 See, for example, Gos. Phil. 59.27–32; 62.7–9; 67.24–27; 74.16–18. Similarly Wilson, The Gospel of Philip, 82. 28 Similarly Wilson, The Gospel of Philip, 109; Thomassen, “How Valentinian Is the Gospel of Philip?” 279. 29 Thomassen, “How Valentinian Is the Gospel of Philip?” 279. 30 Marjanen, “The Woman Jesus Loved,” 143–44.

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members of the “Philip” community were Hebrews until they became Christians. They were born Jewish, just like the apostles.31 Second, as Robert M. Wilson has pointed out in his mostly convincing critique of Siker’s interpretation, the term “Hebrew” was probably chosen for a reason, and it obviously points towards Jews or Jewish Christians. Similarly, Ismo Dunderberg has observed that the idea of non-gnostic Christians as a larger group cursing the Virgin Mary is strange and quite far-fetched. Dunderberg is more ready to label the Hebrews here as some particular Jewish-Christian group who deny the virginal birth of Jesus.32 Indeed, some Jewish-Christian groups did so; Irenaeus writes about the Ebionites, claiming that they denied the virgin birth of Jesus and argued that he was the son of Joseph and Mary.33 While Wilson’s and Dunderberg’s positions are more plausible than Siker’s, I hesitate to concede that the term “the Hebrews” means anything other than the Jews. Certainly, the mention of Mary as anathema could refer to the views of some Jewish-Christian group, it could also, as Wilson has mentioned,34 apply to the Jews. Moreover, at the beginning of the gospel (Gos. Phil. 51.29–31), the word “Hebrew” seems to mean only Jew, when Philip writes: “A Hebrew makes another Hebrew, and such a person is called ‘proselyte’.”35 It would be quite difficult to argue that here “Hebrew” refers to some Jewish-Christian because the Jewish connections of the word proselyte are so clear. The word is used in the Septuagint of a stranger living in Israel (Ezek 14:7 LXX), and elsewhere it often refers to Jewish converts.36 The word is used with this meaning also in the New Testament (Matt 23:15; Acts 2:11). Siker, however, sees Justin’s Dialogue with 31 For example, H.-M. Schenke (Das Philippus-Evangelium [Nag-Hammadi-Codex II,3] [TU 143; Berlin 1997], 159) has argued that “when we were Hebrews” really reflects the concrete social background of the author and possibly also that those he is writing to were indeed Hebrews (that is, Jews) before their conversion. Similarly Wilson (The Gospel of Philip, 68) states that this may indicate a Jewish-Christian background. Also, the passage about Mary being anathema to the Hebrews could support the identification of the Hebrews as Jews, referring to a famous Jewish anti-Christian polemic, namely the Jewish tradition of Mary being an adulteress and Jesus being the illegitimate son of a Roman soldier named Pand / thera. This tradition developed during the second and third centuries c.e. and was expressed in Jewish texts (b. Šabb. 104b) and by Celsus (quoted by Origen, Cels. 1.28, 32). See P. Schäfer, Jesus in the Talmud (Princeton, N. J. 2007), 16–20, 148–51. 32 Dunderberg, “Greeks and Jews in the Tripartite Tractate.” 33 Haer. 1.26.2: “The so-called Ebionites admit that the world was made by the true God, but in regard to the Lord they hold the same opinion as Cerinthus and Carpocrates.” Views of Cerinthus appear in the previous paragraph (1.26.1), where Irenaeus states: “He proposes Jesus, not as having been born of a Virgin – for this seemed impossible to him – but as having been born the son of Joseph and Mary like all other men” (trans. D. J. Unger in St. Irenaeus of Lyons, Against the Heresies, vol. 1 [Ancient Christian Writers 55; New York 1992]). 34 Wilson, Related Strangers, 201. 35 Similarly also Wilson, The Gospel of Philip, 63; Dunderberg, “Greeks and Jews in the Tripartite Tractate.” 36 K. G. Kuhn, “Προσήλυτος,” TDNT 6 (1968): 727–44 at 730–31.

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Trypho as evidence for the Christian use of this expression;37 Justin speaks of “Christ and his proselytes, namely us Gentiles” (Dial. 122.5).38 However, this is a highly unusual use of the term, and in Justin’s work it is used in a special context, where the proselytes of the old covenant are contrasted with the proselytes of Christ. For the most part, the word “proselyte” means a Gentile converted to Judaism, or at least closely associated with Judaism.39 Siker also sees Gos. Phil.’s critique of animal sacrifices as a polemic against the Jews. Gos. Phil. 62.35–63.4 states: God is a man-eater. For this reason men are sacrificed to him. Before men were sacrificed animals were being sacrificed, since those to whom they were sacrificed were not gods.

Although the first part of this statement about God as a man-eater has confused scholars,40 the last part of this paragraph is easily understandable. Gods wanting or accepting animal sacrifices are not real gods. Those “gods” wanting animals sacrificed to them are “powers” (ϩⲛ︦ⲇⲩⲛⲁⲙⲓⲥ, Gos. Phil. 54.31–55.4), trying to lure men, not wishing them to be saved. Though Siker does mention that this passage is not necessarily a critique of Jews, he thinks it is probable.41 I find it more convincing, however, that this pas37 Siker,

“Gnostic Views,” 279. ANF 1:194–270. 39 The relationship between Jews and Gentiles is more complicated than the division between Gentiles / Godfearers/proselytes/Jews would suggest, since several Gentiles admired Judaism and/or practiced some Jewish customs without actually socially associating with Jews. For more details, see Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Antioch. 40 What does it exactly mean that “God is a man-eater”? Wilson (The Gospel of Philip, 111) associates this statement with a polemic against human sacrifices expressed in Genesis and Exodus. Schenke (Das Philippus-Evangelium, 321–22) thinks that the theme of God as a man-eater is mostly meant to shock the audience, to arouse their curiosity and interest, and the following statement about animal sacrifices provides an explanation. An interesting possible parallel to this saying is found in Gos. Thom. 7: “Jesus said, ‘Blessed is the lion which becomes man when consumed by man; and cursed is the man whom the lion consumes, and the lion becomes man’ ” (trans. Lambdin). In this form the saying is quite obscure, but probably the second line should be read as “and cursed is the man whom the lion consumes, and the man becomes lion”; this is more logical, and the church father Didymos the Blind knew this version of the logion (see A. Marjanen and R. Uro, “Tuomaan evankeliumi,” in Nag Hammadin kätketty viisaus: Gnostilaisia ja muita varhaiskristillisiä tekstejä [i. e., The Hidden Wisdom of Nag Hammadi: Gnostic and Other Early Christian Texts] [ed. I. Dunderberg and A. Marjanen; Helsinki 2001], 289–321 at 295). Here “eating” is connected with becoming a being of a higher or lower state. While it is always methodologically questionably to use one text to explain another, this idea would indeed fit very well here. Becoming is one of the key themes of Philip, since Gos. Phil. 61.29–35 states that a Christian has become spirit, a Christ, and will finally become the Father. Here this spiritual progress is described through spiritual seeing, whereas Gos. Thom. uses the eaten becoming like the eater as its metaphor of becoming. Buckley (“Conceptual Models,” 4176), proposes a different interpretation of Gos. Phil.’s “man-eater.” He interprets the passage in a more traditional Christian way, linking the phrase about God as a man-eater with Jesus’ offering himself, both with the Eucharist and his crucifixion. 41 Siker, “Gnostic Views,” 283. 38 Trans.

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sage is a critique of Gentiles and the Greco-Roman gods.42 Indeed, only Gentiles practiced animal sacrifices at the time when Gos. Phil. was written. The destruction of the temple had ended the Jewish custom of animal sacrifice, whereas animal sacrifices were still a very common Gentile custom in second-century Syria.43 John G. Gager actually sees the idea of apostles as Hebrews in a positive light, as a sign of a positive attitude towards Jews (for him it is clear and unquestionable that Hebrews are indeed Jews). In his opinion, the association of Jews with apostles, who are non-gnostic Christians, is one example of the fact that “not all references to Judaism in Nag Hammadi writings are hostile.”44 Though Gager sees “the apostles” as non-gnostic Christians rather than those of whom the community considers itself to be successors, he is probably right in considering Gos. Phil. to be one example of a text whose attitude towards Jews is not completely hostile. Certainly the text considers Jews as a race to be inferior to Christians, but the attitudes towards Jewish religious symbols and practices are more diverse, as we soon shall see. While the term “Hebrew” appears several times in Gos. Phil., the word “Jew” (in Coptic ⲓⲟⲩⲇⲁⲓ) is used only twice in the gospel. First it appears in Gos. Phil. 62.26 as a Jewish self-description: “If you say, ‘I am a Jew,’ no one will tremble.” Here the term is clearly used of a religious group and mentioned along with various epithets such as “Romans,” “Greeks,” “Barbarians,” “slaves,” and “free men.” Another paragraph where the word appears is more complicated and requires more attention. This section, Gos. Phil. 75.30–34, is fragmentary; more than half of the width of the page is damaged, so only a few whole words are decipherable: ⲙⲛ̄ ⲓⲟⲩⲇⲁⲓ ⲟ̣[…] ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ︦ ⲛϩⲉ︦ […] ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁⲛ […] ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ︦ⲛ︦ⲓⲟⲩⲇ[ⲁⲓ …] ⲛ︦ⲭⲣⲓⲥⲧⲓⲁⲛⲟⲥ

Several reconstructions have been suggested by the editors and translators of the text: Es gab keinen Juden, der den Griechen enstammte, solange das Gesetz bestand. Und wir selbst entstammten den Juden, ehe wir Christen wurden (Schenke).45

42 Concerning the polemics against Jewish and Christian worship expressed in the vision of the temple and its interpretation in the recently published Gospel of Judas (38.1–43.11), see J. Brankaer and H.-G. Bethge, Codex Tchacos. Texte und Analysen (TU 161; Berlin 2007), 333–41, as well as L. Painchaud’s essay in this volume. 43 See Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Antioch, 25, for the Gentile animal sacrifices in Antioch. While Zetterholm is mostly writing about the first century, there is no reason to believe that the customs would have changed radically in the second century. 44 J. G. Gager, The Origins of Anti-Semitism: Attitudes Toward Judaism in Pagan and Christian Antiquity (Oxford and New York 1983), 169. 45 H.-M. Schenke, “Das Evangelium nach Philippus: Ein Evangelium der Valentianer aus dem Funde von Nag Hamadi,” in Koptisch-gnostische Schriften aus den Papyrus-Codices von NagHamadi (ed. J. Leipoldt and H.-M. Schenke; ThF 20; Hamburg 1960), 33–65 at 57.

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There was no Jew [who came] from the Greeks [so long as the law] existed and [we too had our origin] from the Jews [before we became] Christians (Wilson).46 No Jew [was ever born] to Greek parents [as long as the world] has existed. And, [as a] Christian [people], we [ourselves do not descend] from the Jews (Isenberg).47

In my opinion, Robert McL. Wilson’s reconstruction is the most probable. If we accept that at least in the beginning of the gospel (51.29–52.1) the term “Hebrews” is used as a synonym for “Jews,” it is possible that these words are used synonymously elsewhere in the text. Moreover, the idea of Christians having their origin in Judaism is expressed already earlier in Gos. Phil., most clearly in Gos. Phil. 52.21–24 where it is stated, “When we were Hebrews – but now we are Christians” (emphasis added). Also, elsewhere in the gospel spiritual progress is expressed in terms of passing from the condition of a Hebrew to the state of a Christian (Gos. Phil. 62.5–6). Therefore, it seems likely that here we have a similar idea of transition, from a Jew to a Christian.48 Though Isenberg’s reconstruction (“we [ourselves do not descend] from the Jews”) conflicts with Gos. Phil. 52.21–24, Wilson, who also argues that Hebrews really are Jews, suggests that the conflict is only apparent, because these phrases work on a different level. Gnostic (i. e., real Christians) can be persons who have earlier been Jews or Jewish-Christians, but in 75.30–34 it is “the dependence of the Christian (Gnostic) religion on Judaism” that is denied. While Schenke’s and Wilson’s reconstructions remain most likely to be correct, Isenberg’s reconstruction does not automatically rule out the identification of Hebrews with Jews.

4. The nature of the anti-Jewish polemic in the Gospel of Philip The polemic expressed against the Hebrews in Gos. Phil. is mostly spiritual. The Hebrews / Jews in Gos. Phil. are not accused, for example, of the murder of Jesus, as they are in many other early Christian polemical texts. Instead, the focus is on a more metaphysical level, in showing how Hebrews are in several aspects spiritually inferior. They are spiritual orphans: “When we were Hebrews, we were orphans and had only our mother, but when we became Christians, we had both father and mother” (52.21–24). According to Robert Wilson, the mother here is apparently Sophia, and the father could be the Savior.49 Being Christian is 46 Wilson, The Gospel of Philip, 162–63. J.-É. Ménard, “L’Évangile selon Philippe” (Ph.D. diss.; Université de Strasbourg, 1967), 95, follows Schenke and Wilson here. 47 W. W. Isenberg, “The Gospel of Philip (II,3),” in The Nag Hammadi Library in English, 131–51. Isenberg’s reconstruction is also supported by Gager (The Origins of Anti-Semitism, 169) and Wilson (Related Strangers, 201), although the latter argues that “Hebrews” are “Jews.” 48 Spiritual progress and moving upward from one category to another seems to be an important theme in Gos. Phil. See Heimola, Christian Identity, 173–209. 49 Wilson, “The Gospel of Philip,” 68.

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expressed in the text as clearly superior to being Jewish. The world will tremble in front of the Christians: If you say, “I am a Jew,” no one will be moved. If you say, “I am a Roman,” no one will be disturbed. If you say, “I am a Greek, a barbarian, a slave, a free man,” no one will be troubled. If you say, “I am a Christian,” the […] will tremble. Would that I might […] like that – the person whose name […] will not be able to endure hearing (62.26–35).

The Hebrews are also said to be spiritually infertile. As David H. Tripp50 points out, another important theme in the gospel is the idea of the transmission of life. Christians have the power to beget or to conceive by means of a kiss (59.2–4) and the “heavenly man” has numerous children (58.17–18), but the Jews are infertile: they can only “make” a proselyte (51.29), but the proselytes cannot have any (spiritual) offspring. The ability to beget and to transmit and grow life is actually an important part of living a Christian identity – as Tripp puts it, “this spiritual life can only be shared if it is a growing life.”

5. Jewish symbols, new interpretations: Valentinian exegesis in the Gospel of Philip Despite the polemic against the Jews and the fact that they are considered inferior to Christians, many Jewish symbols and figures appear in the gospel in a quite neutral or positive light; however, they are often interpreted in a creative, spiritual way, instead of literally. These Jewish symbols include Adam and Eve in Paradise, the Law, Abraham, circumcision, the temple, and the Sabbath. The presence of these symbols implies that they were familiar to the community of the gospel, thus strengthening the impression of the Jewish-Christian roots of Gos. Phil. On the other hand, Jewish practices such as prayer and fasting that are important to the Gospel of Thomas are not even mentioned in Gos. Phil. In his study of Jewish practices in the Gospel of Thomas, Antti Marjanen describes five different reactions towards Jewish religious practices expressed in early Christian literature. First, some religious practices are observed in the traditional manner. Second, some are accepted, but their concrete observation is somehow modified or altered. The third option is that the name of the practice is preserved but given a new, metaphorical, or symbolic meaning. Fourth, they can be polemically rejected altogether, or, fifth, they are not mentioned at all.51 Which of these approaches represents Gos. Phil.’s attitude towards Jewish religious symbols and practices? 50 Tripp,

“The ‘Sacramental System’,” 252.

51 A. Marjanen, “Thomas and Jewish Religious Practices,” in Thomas at the Crossroads: Essays

on the Gospel of Thomas (ed. R. Uro; SNTW; Edinburgh 1998), 163–82 at 165.

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In Gos. Phil. there are several references to Genesis and creation. Adam and Eve in Paradise are mentioned several times, but many of these references are quite obscure. In Philip’s interpretation, the fall of Adam took place when he ate from the “tree which bore animals” and he also became an animal (71.22– 27). Death came to the world when Eve was separated from Adam (68.22–24; 70.9–22), but if they are reunited, death will exist no more (68.25–26). Adam was born of two virgins, “from the spirit and from the virgin earth” (71.16–18); Adam’s soul was replaced by spirit (70.25–26) and this annoyed the powers. After the fall, until Christ came, people “fed like animals” (55.6–14). Finally, Adam is identified with the earthly man and contrasted with the heavenly man, who has more sons (58.17–22). In these examples, the fall of humanity is described in terms typical to Gos. Phil. The contrast between humans and animals appears, with the fall connected to eating from the tree bearing animals. The fall, the coming of Christ, and the differences between humans and animals are expressed through the metaphors of food and eating. These themes are not unique to Gos. Phil. The trees of Paradise are a recurring theme also in other gnostic writings.52 Also, the idea that Adam and Eve, or male and female, will reunite, does appear elsewhere – in Gos. Thom. 22 the “making male and female one” is a prerequisite of entering the kingdom. Several details of course reflect the influence of Genesis: the man was born from earth and God breathed in his nostrils (Gen 2:7); humans were created, and male and female were separated only later on (Gen 2:7, 19–22); the tree of life (Gos. Phil. 73.15–16; Gen 2:9) and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil are located in Paradise (Gos. Phil. 74.5–7; Gen 2:7, 17). The Law is mentioned as being closely related to Paradise (74.5–7). The tree of the knowledge of good and evil is used as a metaphor for the Law, and like the tree, the Law brought death. In this way, Gos. Phil. comes quite close to Paul’s teaching about the Law (Gal 2:19). Also, the temple is an important spiritual symbol in Gos. Phil. The different buildings of the temple – “the holy,” “the holy of the holy,” and “the holy of the holies”  – are given positive meanings through typological and allegorical interpretation. The different buildings are interpreted as sacraments: “Baptism is ‘the holy’ building. Redemption is ‘the holy of the holy.’ ‘The holy of the holies’ is the bridal chamber” (Gos. Phil. 69.22–25). This interpretation belongs to the broad branch of Jewish and Christian traditions referring to the new spiritual, metaphorical, or heavenly temple, which is found already in the Gospel of John (2:19–21), where the destruction and rebuilding of the temple is a symbol for the death and resurrection of Jesus. These symbolical interpretations are expressed also in several other Jewish and early Christian sources – for example, Rev 21:22,

52 Wilson,

The Gospel of Philip, 79.

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Heracleon’s Fragment 16, and in several Qumran texts.53 Heracleon has his own symbolic interpretation of the temple and the buildings (Fragment 13): the holy of the holies is the place where the spirituals go and the temple courtyard is “a symbol of the psychics who are found in salvation outside of the Pleroma.”54 Of Jewish religious practices, the circumcision and Sabbath are mentioned, although only briefly. We encounter Abraham in Gos. Phil. 82.26–29: “When Abraham […] that he was to see what he was to see, [he circumcised] the flesh of the foreskin, teaching us that it is proper to destroy the flesh.” While the practice of circumcision is interpreted in a “stereotypically gnostic” way as destruction of the flesh, the attitude towards it is far more positive than that of many canonical writers. Moreover, the character of Abraham is seen in a positive light, as a figure that has something valuable to teach. As Siker points out, “Abraham’s action foreshadows and anticipates the meaning of Christ’s spiritual advent. Abraham functions as a positive spiritual example of how one should respond to Christ.”55 In the Gospel of Thomas there are two kinds of circumcision: literal and spiritual. It is stated: “His disciples said to him, ‘Is circumcision useful or not?’ He said to them, ‘If it were useful, their father would produce children already circumcised from their mother. Rather, the true circumcision in spirit has become profitable in every respect’ ” (Gos. Thom. 53). A similar idea of circumcision of the heart appears also in Paul’s writings (e. g., Rom 2:29), although unlike Thomas, Paul grants circumcision a certain salvation-historical value. The attitude towards bodily circumcision seems to be a bit more positive in Gos. Phil. than it is in the Gospel of Thomas, since Abraham has something important to teach Valentinian Christians.56 The word Sabbath appears in Gos. Phil. 52.33. Here the author compares Sabbath to the winter, saying “also on the Sabbath [his field] is barren.” Siker interprets this as a polemic against Jews and as a critique of the Sabbath.57 But is it really so? Another possibility could be that, as in the winter, on the Sabbath it is also of no use to work on the field – i. e., it is good to observe the Sabbath. Certainly the passage is obscure and it is difficult to draw any certain conclusion,

53 Possibly the community of Qumran considered itself as a temple  – the human sanctuary, “the temple of man” (4Q174). See G. J. Brooke, “Miqdash Adam, Eden and the Qumran Community,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel – Community without Temple: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (ed. B. Ego, A. Lange and P. Pilhofer; WUNT 1.118; Tübingen 1999), 285–301. Also, in Jub. 3:12 the Garden of Eden is identified with the holy of holies. 54 Translation in T. J. Pettipiece, “Heracleon: Fragments of early Valentinian exegesis. Text, translation, and commentary” (M. A. diss.; Wilfrid Laurier University, 2002), 72. Online: http:// scholars.wlu.ca/etd/130/. 55 Siker, “Gnostic Views,” 282. 56 Marjanen, “Thomas and Jewish Religious Practices,” 178. 57 Siker, “Gnostic Views,” 283.

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but Siker’s interpretation of this paragraph as a clear anti-Sabbath polemic is too hasty. The author of Gos. Phil. seems to presume that these Jewish symbols and customs are already familiar to the audience. This would further strengthen the idea of the Jewish-Christian background of the gospel. As stated above, Jewish religious practices that are important in the Gospel of Thomas – such as alms, fasting, and prayer – are not mentioned at all in Gos. Phil., while circumcision and the temple are clearly given a new, more metaphorical meaning, and the Law is polemicized in a quite Pauline manner. The reference to the Sabbath remains uncertain; the passage is too vague to really determine if the Sabbath has positive or negative connotations. Why do these Jewish symbols and practices have such an important role in Gos. Phil.? Michael Williams has argued that Valentinians tried to “reduce cultural distance” and also social distance both with Jewish and Greco-Roman traditions;58 the prominence of Jewish symbols in Gos. Phil. could be seen as one example of reducing cultural distance with Judaism.59 Tension between Valentinian Christians, Jews, and Gentiles definitely existed, but there was a common cultural pattern that made the dialogue meaningful. Another possible reason for the prominence of Jewish religious symbols is simply their familiarity to the gospel’s audience. Gos. Phil. is not, as stated earlier, addressed to Jews and Gentiles, but to insiders: Valentinian Christians. These symbols are probably used because they are familiar to this audience. And why is that? As the author states, “we were Hebrews” – the community still remembers its Jewish background. The role given to Jewish symbols and the familiarity with them further identifies the community of Gos. Phil. as a Valentinian Christian community of Jewish background.

6. Inter-faith relationships and the three Valentinian classes of humans Unlike several other Valentinian writings, Gos. Phil. does not explicitly express the idea of the three classes of humans – “hylics” (material humans), “psychics,” and “pneumatics” (spiritual humans), of which, obviously, the spirituals are the highest class. Gos. Phil. is not the only Valentinian writing where the tripartition 58 M. A. Williams, Rethinking “Gnosticism”: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton, N. J. 1996), 107. 59 See also R. Stark, “How New Religions Succeed: A Theoretical Model,” in The Future of New Religious Movements (ed. D. Bromley and P. E. Hammond; Macon, Ga. 1987), 11–29, and his theory of “reducing cultural distance.” Stark’s theory of the growth of the new religious movements includes eight factors that are important to the success of the movement. The first two of these are of particular interest in the study of Gos. Phil.: medium level of tension with the surrounding culture, being “deviant but not too deviant,” and cultural continuity with “the conventional faith of the societies in which they appear or originate.”

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of human beings is not explicitly mentioned, since it is “missing” also in the Gospel of Truth and in the Valentinian Exposition. Siker argues that, despite the lack of explicit mention of the concept in Gos. Phil., such an anthropology is implied: “The Gentiles are hylic, the Hebrews and non-gnostic Christians are psychic, and the Gnostic Christians are pneumatic.”60 This interpretation is possible, but the distinction between various groups of people in Gos. Phil. is more complicated. While Thomassen also argues that the distinction between Gentiles, Hebrews, and Christians presupposes the tripartition of human beings, he draws attention to the classification of human beings also appearing elsewhere in the gospel. In Gos. Phil. 52.35–53.6 it is stated that “the Christ came to ransom some, to save others, and to redeem others. Those who were strangers he ransomed and made his own. And he brought back his own, whom he had laid down as a pledge in accordance with his will.” Thomassen argues that distinguishing strangers, whom the Savior ransomed, and “his own,” whom he saved, corresponds to the distinction between “the slaves” and “the children” or “the free men” appearing elsewhere in the gospel (81.12–14, etc.). Thomassen identifies “strangers,” or “slaves,” as psychics, and “his own,” or “children,” as spirituals. Also “slaves” are, according to Thomassen, superior to animals.61 Thus animals could be interpreted as hylics.62 In this interpretation, psychics or Hebrews are also made Christ’s own, that is, Hebrews will become Christians. This would also fit with the passages examined earlier – Philip’s community was made of Hebrews until they became Christians, and Christians have their origin in Judaism. While the passages are a bit too obscure to permit an easy and clear solution to the problem, it is apparent that there are distinctions between different classes of human beings in the gospel. But, characterizing terms like “Christians,” “spirituals,” “free men,” “children,” and “Christ’s own” as interchangeable synonyms is probably too easy a solution given the ambiguity of much of Gos. Phil.

7. Conclusions Gos. Phil. includes several polemical passages. The Jews and Hebrews are criticized as being spiritually inferior to Christians, but the Jewish symbols of faith, such as the temple, circumcision, the character of Abraham, and the Sabbath appear in the gospel. Although they are interpreted in a radical gnostic way, they have maintained their significance as spiritual symbols and metaphors. The 60 Siker, “Gnostic Views,” 280–81. While Siker elsewhere (“Gnostic Views,” 277) argues that Hebrews are non-gnostic (Jewish) Christians, here he seems to distinguish between the two. 61 Thomassen, “How Valentinian Is the Gospel of Philip?” 277–78. 62 For these categorizations, see also Heimola, Christian Identity, 175–218.

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prominence of these symbols together with the mention that “we” have been Hebrews would make it probable that the community of Gos. Phil. has Jewish roots. Unlike many other Valentinian writings, Gos. Phil. does not use the terminology of spirituals, psychics, and hylics – i. e., the three classes of human beings. However, the gospel includes several other classifications of humans, such as “free men” or “children,” “slaves” and “animals,” or also “Christians,” “Hebrews,” and “Gentiles.” The terminology is complicated, and it would be too hasty to consider such terms as “Christian” and “child” interchangeable. The ethnic categorizations in Gos. Phil. do not necessarily imply a fixed or deterministic division into various categories, since the boundaries between the ethnic categories were viewed as fluid in antiquity, as has been shown by Denise Kimber Buell. In early Christian texts, Christianity often is depicted as universal in the sense that anyone could become Christian, but at the same time the authors of these texts used ethnic reasoning, describing Christianness as a distinct category, contrasted with such other possible identities like Jew, Greek, or Roman. In many texts, the “consequences of belief in Christ” are understood as gaining membership in a people.63 Fluidity between both ethnic and other categories is strongly implied in Gos. Phil., where the insiders have previously been Hebrews, but are also in danger of becoming animals, as implied in Gos. Phil. 78.25–79.13. Rather than maintaining strong boundaries between ethnic and religious categories, Gos. Phil. focuses on spiritual progress and moving forward from one category to another  – as long as the individual does not lapse and make wrong choices. This emphasis on progress is compatible with the idea of Gos. Phil.’s origins in a school setting.

63 D. K. Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York 2005), esp. 3, 9, 166.

Christian Apocryphal and Canonical Narratives in Greek Amulets and Formularies in Late Antiquity* Theodore de Bruyn It is difficult for an investigation into relations between early Christian apocrypha and early Christian amulets to escape the constraints of categorization. Each of these bodies of material comprises diverse documents that have been considered heterodox, peripheral, or inferior by ancient and modern authorities. For a variety of reasons – formal, material, ideological, or simply pragmatic – the documents have been grouped together under such rubrics as “Christian Apocrypha” or “Greek Magical Papyri,” and these corpora have themselves become the object of specialized study. This is understandable, given the exigencies of the documents and of the disciplines brought to bear on them. But the delimitation of the corpora is not without difficulties, as the history of the definition and classification of Christian apocryphal writings attests.1 Moreover, the discrete study of the corpora removes us some distance from the way these documents, or the practices to which they attest, may have worked in local communities, where they may not have been segregated or singular or suspect. Thus we regularly compensate for the limitations of classification and specialization by reminding ourselves that the distinctions – let alone oppositions – we use did not in fact obtain in antiquity to the extent that is often supposed. We note, for example, that the boundary between canonical and apocryphal Christian scriptures or between “religion” and “magic” was less clear or more porous in antiquity than these categories have been taken to imply.2 * Research for this essay was supported by funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and by a release from teaching from the Faculty of Arts of the University of Ottawa. I gratefully acknowledge this assistance. 1 For recent discussion, see W. Schneemelcher, ed., New Testament Apocrypha (trans. R. McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; Louisville, Ky. 1991–1992), 1:50–61; É. Junod, “Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament ou apocryphes chrétiens anciens? Remarques sur la désignation d’un corpus et indications bibliographiques sur les instruments de travail récents,” ETR 58 (1983): 409–21; idem, “ ‘Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament’: une appellation erronée et une collection artificielle. Discussion de la nouvelle définition proposée par W. Schneemelcher,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 17–46; C. Markschies, “ ‘Neutestamentliche apokryphen.’ Bemerkungen zu Geschichte und Zukunft einer von Edgar Hennecke im Jahr 1904 begründeten Quellensammlung,” Apocrypha 9 (1998): 97–132; and the overview of this discussion by T. Burke in this volume. 2 F. Bovon and P. Geoltrain, “Introduction générale,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (ed.

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This essay is no exception to this dialectic between categorization and qualification. It deals with a limited body of material: Greek amulets and formularies (recipes) containing Christian elements, dating from the third to the eighth centuries, and preserved in Egypt.3 Here “amulet” is an umbrella term for “texts that were written to convey in and of themselves – as well as in association with incantation and other actions  – supernatural power for protective, beneficial, or antagonistic effect, and that appear to have been or were meant to have been worn on one’s body or fixed, displayed, or deposited at some place.”4 Thus the materials under consideration include not only evident spells,5 but also texts such as passages from scripture that were used, or may have been used, as amulets.6 I propose to investigate only two aspects of apocryphal narrative in this material – the use of Christian apocryphal texts and the operation of apocryphicity. These two lines of investigation correspond to two complementary approaches F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli; 2 vols.; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442, 516; Paris 1997–2005), 1:xvii–lviii at xvii–xxv, review the distinction between canonical and apocryphal scriptures. R. L. Fowler, “The Concept of Magic,” in Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum (ThesCRA), vol. 3: Divination, Prayer, Veneration, Hikesia, Asylia, Oath, Malediction, Profanation, Magic Rituals (ed. J. C. Balty; Los Angeles 2005), 283–87, provides a convenient overview of the on-going discussion about the concepts “religion” and “magic,” with extensive bibliography. 3 For a recent list of published items, see T. S. de Bruyn and J. H. F. Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets and Formularies from Egypt Containing Christian Elements: A Checklist of Papyri, Parchments, Ostraka, and Tablets,” BASP 48 (2011): 159–214; in what follows I have taken into account any relevant items that have come to my attention since that article appeared. The main corpora of Greek amulets and formularies are: K. Preisendanz and A. Henrichs, Papyri Graecae Magicae: Die griechischen Zauberpapyri (2 vols.; 2nd ed.; Stuttgart 1974–1975), hereafter abbreviated as PGM; R. W. Daniel and F. Maltomini, Supplementum Magicum (2 vols.; Opladen 1991–1992), hereafter abbreviated as SM; and R. Kotansky, Greek Magical Amulets: The Written Gold, Silver, Copper, and Bronze Lamellae. Part I: Published Texts of Known Provenance (Opladen 1994). For texts discussed in this essay, I provide the identifier in one of these corpora (if it is published there); in a papyrological edition (if it is published there) abbreviated according to J. F. Oates et al., Checklist of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets (cited January 2014; online: http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist.html); or in F. Preisigke et al., Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Aegypten (28 vols.; Strassburg 1915–), hereafter abbreviated as SB (if it is published there). If a text in a corpus was previously published in a papyrological edition or in SB, I provide the latter identifier(s) in parentheses. In the absence of publication in these forms, texts are identified by their collection and inventory number, and the edition(s) are provided in the footnotes. Bibliography of editions and corrections subsequent to an item’s publication in a corpus or papyrological edition are provided in the footnotes. For editions and corrections prior to an item’s publication in a corpus or papyrological edition, the reader is referred to the introductions in the latter. English translations of many of the texts discussed in this essay can be found in M. Meyer and R. Smith, Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power (San Francisco 1994), hereafter abbreviated as ACM. 4 De Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets,” 168. In fact, of the items considered in this essay, only SM II 59 and SM II 60 have an antagonistic purpose; see below. 5 On the elements typically found in spells, see de Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets,” 168. 6 On the criteria used to identify such items, and the degrees of uncertainty associated with the criteria, see de Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets,” 172–73.

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to apocryphal narrative today. One takes as its point of departure a diverse body of ancient noncanonical writings (more or less well-defined) purporting to be by or about figures associated with the origins of the Christian movement and what was to become its canonical scriptures.7 The other explores the insight that open-ended, variable, and on-going narrative is what generates (and continues to generate) such noncanonical works.8 This is, obviously, not the only possible approach to apocryphal narrative in amulets and formularies. One could, for example, examine how apocryphal traditions are reflected in or generative of the ways angels, demons, and other powerful beings are mentioned in this material. Adjurations referring to Solomon are one instance of such on-going salience of an apocryphal tradition.9 However, I have settled on my particular focus in light of two common ways that scriptures are invoked in amulets: recitation of a scriptural passage or re-telling of a scriptural event.10 As we shall see, what counts as “scripture” in amulets both accepts and extends beyond the traditional Christian canon.

1. Recitation of a passage The recitation of Christian scriptures in amulets is a relatively late phenomenon, beginning in the fourth century and peaking in the fifth and sixth centuries.11 In  7 See

Bovon and Geoltrain, “Introduction générale,” xii–xiv. P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005): 31–40 at 36–37; idem, “Qu’estce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien’, et comment ça marche? Quelques suggestions pour une herméneutique apocryphe,” in Pierre Geoltrain, ou comment “faire l’histoire” des religions. Le chantier des “origines,” les méthodes du doute, et la conversation contemporaine entre disciplines (ed. S. C. Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BEHESR 128; Turnhout 2006), 173–86 at 184.  9  See, e. g., PGM II P10 and SM I 24. K. Preisendanz, “Salomo,” PWSup 8 (1956): 660–704, remains an indispensable point of departure for traditions and texts associated Solomon. Among more recent literature, see S. I. Johnston, “The Testament of Solomon from Late Antiquity to the Renaissance,” in The Metamorphosis of Magic from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period (ed. J. N. Bremmer and J. R. Veenstra; Groningen Studies in Cultural Change 1; Leuven 2002), 35–49; P. A.  Torijano, Solomon the Esoteric King: From King to Magus, Development of a Tradition (JSJSup 73; Leiden 2002); idem, “Solomon and Magic,” in The Figure of Solomon in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Tradition: King, Sage and Architect (ed. J. Verheyden; Themes in Biblical Narrative 16; Leiden 2013), 107–25; J. van der Vliet, “Solomon in Egyptian Gnosticism,” ibid., 197–218; T. E.  Klutz, Rewriting the Testament of Solomon: Tradition, Conflict and Identity in a Late Antique Pseudepigraphon (LSTS 53; London 2005). 10 I will not be including the influence of scriptural phrasing in my purview. This would require an exhaustive comparison of the texts of the amulets with concordances of apocryphal scriptures, akin to the study which A. Biondi undertook of citations of canonical scriptures in amulets, “Le citazioni bibliche nei papiri magici cristiani greci,” SPap 20 (1981): 93–127. 11 See E. A. Judge, “The Magical Use of Scripture in the Papyri,” in Perspectives on Language and Text: Essays and Poems in Honor of Francis I. Andersen’s Sixtieth Birthday, July 28, 1985 (ed. E. W. Conrad and E. G. Newing; Winona Lake, Ind. 1987), 339–49 at 346; cf. de Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets,” 174.  8 See

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objects that we know were used or meant to be used as amulets, the repertoire of canonical scriptural passages is relatively limited: the opening words of the gospels, Psalm 90 (LXX), and the Matthean version of the Lord’s Prayer (Matt 6:9–13);12 longer portions of the latter two texts;13 and a few other occasional scriptural verses.14 The repertoire of scriptural passages is larger in objects whose purpose is less certain.15 When an object is written with only one or more scriptural passages, the nature of the passage(s) and the physical features of the object (e. g., non-continuous text, traces of folding, small size) help to discern its intended or eventual use(s).16 Only a few apocryphal texts appear on objects believed to have been amulets.17 The gospel fragment P.Berol. inv. 1171018 presents an otherwise unattested dialogue between Nathanael and Jesus (cf. John 1:47–51):

this phenomenon, see now J. E. Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits on Amulets from Late Antique Egypt: Text, Typology, and Theory (STAC 84; Tübingen 2014). 13 On the apotropaic use of Psalm 90 (LXX) in late antique and early medieval Egypt, see J. Chapa, “Su demoni e angeli: il Salmo 90 nel suo contesto,” in I papiri letterari cristiani. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi in memoria di Mario Naldini, Firenze, 10–11 Giugno 2010 (ed. G. Bastianini and A. Casanova; Studi e testi di papirologia 13; Florence 2011), 59–90 at 68–76, 83–89; cf. T. J. Kraus, “Septuaginta-Psalm 90 in apotropäischer Verwendung: Vorüberlegungen für eine kritische Edition und (bisheriges) Datenmaterial,” BN 125 (2005): 39–73, a shorter version printed in idem, “Psalm 90 der Septuaginta in apotropäischer Verwendung – erste Anmerkungen und Datenmaterial,” in Proceedings of the 24th International Congress of Papyrology, Helsinki, 1–7 August, 2004 (ed. J. Frösén, T. Purola and E. Salmenkivi; 2 vols.; Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 122; Helsinki 2007), 1:499–514. Likewise, for the Lord’s Prayer, see T. J. Kraus, “Manuscripts with the Lord’s Prayer  – They Are More Than Simply Witnesses to That Text Itself,” in New Testament Manuscripts: Their Texts and Their Worlds (ed. T. J. Kraus and T. Nicklas; TENTS 2; Leiden 2006), 227–66, to which one must add B. Nongbri, “The Lord’s Prayer and XMΓ: Two Christian Papyrus Amulets,” HTR 104 (2011): 59–68 at 59–64, with N. Gonis, “An ‘Our Father’ with Problems,” ZPE 181 (2012): 46–47. 14 See de Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets,” Table 1. 15 See de Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Greek Amulets,” Tables 2 and 3. 16 See T. S. de Bruyn, “Papyri, Parchments, Ostraca, and Tablets Written with Biblical Texts in Greek and Used as Amulets: A Preliminary List,” in Early Christian Manuscripts: Examples of Applied Method and Approach (ed. T. J. Kraus and T. Nicklas; TENTS 5; Leiden 2010), 145–89 at 149–50, 154–64. 17 Of the extant apocryphal gospel fragments (see T. J. Kraus, M. J. Kruger and T. Nicklas, Gospel Fragments [OECGT; Oxford and New York 2009]; D. A. Bertrand, “Fragments évangéliques,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 1:399–431; J. Jeremias and W. Schneemelcher, “Fragments of Unknown Gospels,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 1:92–105), only P.Oxy. V 840 and P.Berol. inv. 11710 have been thought to be amulets. M. J. Kruger has argued persuasively that the former was not originally an amulet, whatever its subsequent use may have been. See M. J. Kruger, “P. Oxy. 840: Amulet or Miniature Codex?” JTS 53 (2002): 81–94; idem, The Gospel of the Savior: An Analysis of P.Oxy. 840 and Its Place in the Gospel Traditions of Early Christianity (TENTS 1; Leiden 2005), 23–40; idem, “Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 840,” in Gospel Fragments, 121–215 at 127–30. 18 H. Lietzmann, “Ein apocryphes Evangelienfragment,” ZNW 22 (1923): 153–54; T. J. Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” in Gospel Fragments, 228–39. 12 On

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… and said: “Rabbi, Lord, you are the Son of God.” The rabbi [answered him] and said: “Nathanael, walk in the sun.” Nathanael replied and said to him, “Rabbi, Lord, you are the lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.” The rabbi answered him and said …19

The text is written in an inexperienced hand, assigned to the sixth century or later, on two small papyrus leaves that were once joined together;20 the remains of a string is visible in the second of a series of holes that were made to bind the leaves.21 The leaves did not form part of a longer codex, since the text of the dialogue ends abruptly on the third page. The fourth page has the words “Jesus Christ God” in Coptic, preceded by a staurogram.22 At the bottom of the page is a theta and an inverted staurogram (or, if the page is inverted, a staurogram and a theta).23 The small format, discontinuous text, and final acclamation suggest that the leaves were used as an amulet.24 We know from another artefact, a narrow piece of linen written with a short text,25 that sayings of Jesus from apocryphal gospels were in fact used in an apotropaic manner. The piece, which has been assigned to the fifth or sixth century, was purchased in Behnasa, the site of the ancient Oxyrhynchus.26 The saying it preserves, “Jesus says: There is nothing buried that will not be raised +,” is also found in a third-century Greek witness to Gospel of Thomas 1–7, P.Oxy. IV 654.27–31.27 The saying on the linen fragment (and the corresponding section in P.Oxy IV 654) is not found in the Coptic manuscript of the gospel. How the saying came to be part of the text of the gospel in these two Greek witnesses is

19 Translation

by Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” 233, slightly modified. “Ein apocryphes Evangelienfragment,” 153; Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” 228–29. 21 See Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” plate 10. 22 Previous editors have read the symbol as a monogram comprising a pi and rho (⳦), and have puzzled over its meaning; see Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” 235–37. However, an examination of the digital image of the leaf (available at http://ww2.smb.museum/berlpap/ ) reveals that the symbol is in fact a staurogram. I thank my colleague Jitse Dijkstra for noting this. What appeared to be the left vertical of a pi is in fact darkened papyrus fibres. The cross bar of the staurogram has a descending curl on the right. A similar form can be seen in, e. g., P.Oxy. XI 1384.2, 15, 23, 33, 36 (digital image available at http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/teach/papyrus/oxyrhynchus.html). 23 On the interpretation of these symbols, see Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” 237. 24 Lietzmann, “Ein apocryphes Evangelienfragment,” 154; Kraus, “P.Berol. 11710,” 228. 25 H.-C. Puech, “Un logion de Jésus sur bandelette funéraire,” Bulletin de la société Ernest Renan, n.s. 3 (1955): 126–29; for subsequent literature see A. M. Luijendijk, “ ‘Jesus Says: “There Is Nothing Buried That Will Not Be Raised”.’ A Late-Antique Shroud with Gospel of Thomas Logion 5 in Context,” ZAC 15 (2011): 389–410. 26 Puech, “Un logion,” 127. 27 B. P. Grenfell and A. S. Hunt, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. 4 (London 1904), 1–22; H. W. Attridge, “The Greek Fragments,” in Nag Hammadi Codex II,2–7 Together with XIII,2*, Brit. Lib. Or.4926(1), and P.Oxy. 1, 654, 655, vol. 1: Gospel According to Thomas, Gospel According to Philip, Hypostasis of the Archons, and Indexes (ed. B. Layton; NHS 20; Leiden 1989), 95–128; additional bibliography in P. Nagel, “Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 654, 1–5 und der Prolog des Thomasevangeliums,” ZNW 101 (2010): 267–93. 20 Lietzmann,

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a matter of ongoing discussion.28 What is relevant and interesting for our purposes is that the saying, circulating locally in a modified version of the gospel (a form of retelling),29 had an apotropaic value. The piece of linen probably comes from a funeral shroud.30 Such shrouds were customarily written with apotropaic texts.31 This particular saying was likely written on the shroud because of the hope – or certainty – it expresses and, more importantly, because it is attributed to Jesus. Incidentally, the piece of linen adds to the extant manuscript evidence of the importance of the gospel in Oxyrhynchus as a text for personal reflection or edification.32 The correspondence between Abgar and Jesus, on the other hand, was widely cited for its apotropaic power.33 Several versions of the correspondence circulated in antiquity.34 In Eusebius of Caesarea’s account, Abgar in his letter asks to be healed from an illness and Jesus replies in writing that, although he cannot come himself, after his ascension he will send one of his disciples to heal Abgar’s disease (Hist. eccl. 1.13.6–10). In the Syriac Teaching of Addai, Jesus replies orally to the king’s emissary, promising not only to heal the king but also to bless the city: “Your city shall be blessed, and no enemy shall ever again have dominion over it” (Doc. Addai 5). In a version attested in Coptic manuscripts, Abgar asks for healing not for himself but for the sick in his city, and Jesus grants healing directly in his written reply.35 In that version, as in other versions but not Eusebius, Jesus promises that wherever his letter is displayed the place will be protected against the power of the Adversary and evil spirits.36 These promises explain why inscriptions of the letter have been found, for instance, at a grave near Edessa, by a gate to the city of Philippi, and on a door-lintel of a house in Ephesus.37 28 See, e. g., J. A. Fitzmyer, “The Oxyrhynchus Logoi of Jesus and the Coptic Gospel according to Thomas,” TS 20 (1959): 505–59 at 526–27; M. Marcovich, “Textual Criticism of the Gospel of Thomas,” JTS 20 (1969): 53–74 at 64–65; S. J. Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus (Sonoma, Calif. 1993), 21 n. 14; S. R. Johnson, “The Hidden/Revealed Sayings in the Greek and Coptic Versions of Gos. Thom. 5 & 6,” NovT 44 (2002): 176–85; Luijendijk, “‘Jesus Says’,” 395. 29 See Patterson, Gospel, 21 n. 14. 30 See now Luijendijk, “‘Jesus Says’,” 398–404. 31 Luijendijk, “ ‘Jesus Says’,” 404–6. 32 See L. Hurtado, “The Greek Fragments of the Gospel of Thomas as Artefacts: Papyrological Observations on Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1, Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 654 and Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 655,” in Das Thomasevangelium. Entstehung – Rezeption – Theologie (ed. J. Frey, E. E. Popkes and J. Schröter; BZNW 157; Berlin 2008), 19–32. 33 For an overview of the legendary correspondence, see H. J. W. Drijvers, “The Abgar Legend,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 1:492–500. 34 M. Geerard, Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti (CC; Turnhout 1992), 65–70, lists all the witnesses. 35 See E. Drioton, “Un apocryphe anti-arien: La version copte de la correspondence d’Abgar, roi d’Édesse, avec Notre-Seigneur,” ROC 20 (1915–1917): 306–26, 337–73 at 310–17. 36 See Drioton, “Un apocryphe anti-arien,” 318–25; cf. E. von Dobschütz, “Der Briefwechsel zwischen Abgar und Jesus,” ZWT 43 (1900): 422–86 at 442. 37 See J. B. Segal, Edessa “The Blessed City” (Oxford 1970), 75; cf. von Dobschütz, “Der Brief-

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There are numerous copies of the correspondence, or parts thereof, from Egypt, written in Greek and Coptic on papyrus, parchment, clay shards, and stone.38 Of the items that present the correspondence in Greek (though other elements may be in Coptic),39 P.Oxy. LXV 4469,40 assigned to the late fifth century, is undoubtedly an amulet. It recites Abgar’s letter to Jesus in Greek. At the point where Abgar asks Jesus to come and heal him, the scribe interjects a petition for healing in Coptic: “Heal Epimachus son of …, quickly, quickly, quickly, heal Epimachus son of …, quickly, quickly, quickly” (lines 21–25).41 The letter resumes, but then breaks off. The final lines of the text repeat the request for healing twice, adding elements and formulae often found in amulets, along with Psalm 28:7 (LXX) (lines 31–45). The entire correspondence is recited in two Greek papyri assigned to the sixth or seventh century: P.Cair.Cat. 10736 + Bodl. Ms. gr. th. b. 1 (P) (two fragments of what was originally a single manuscript),42 and P.Ness. II 7 (from Palestine).43

wechsel,” 423–26; C. Picard, “Un texte nouveau de la correspondance entre Abgar d’Osroène et Jésus-Christ gravé sur une porte de ville, à Philippes (Macédoine),” BCH 44 (1920): 41–69. 38 Materials written in Greek are discussed below. For materials written in Coptic, see, in addition to items listed at Drioton, “Un apocryphe anti-arien,” 307–9, Y. Abd Al-Masīh, “An Unedited Bohairic Letter of Abgar,” BIFAO 45 (1947): 65–80; 54 (1954): 13–43; S. Giversen, “Ad Abgarum: The Sahidic Version of the Letter to Abgar on a Wooden Tablet,” AcOr 24 (1959): 71–82; K. P. Sullivan and T. G. Wilfong, “The Reply of Jesus to King Abgar: A Coptic New Testament Apocryphon Reconsidered (P. Mich. Inv. 6213),” BASP 42 (2005): 107–23. 39 Although I focus on items presenting the correspondence in Greek, I adduce relevant details from items presenting the correspondence in Coptic. 40 F. Maltomini, “Letter of Abgar to Jesus (Amulet),” in The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. 65 (ed. M. W. Haslam et al.; London 1998), 122–29. As Maltomini shows, the text of the letter cannot be aligned closely with other known Greek or Syriac versions. It agrees at points with other early Greek versions, but diverges more from Eusebius’s translation of the correspondence than they do. When diverging from Eusebius, it sometimes – but not always – agrees with Syrian traditions of the correspondence. 41 There is a comparable petition in a Coptic text of Christ’s reply to Abgar: Vienna, Nationalbibliothek K 8636, formerly Vienna, Nationalbibliothek 65. See J. Krall, “Koptische Amulete,” in Mittheilungen aus der Sammlung der Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer (ed. J. Karabacek; 6 vols.; Vienna 1887–1897), 5:115–22 at 117–18; A. M. Kropp, Ausgewählte Koptische Zaubertexte (3 vols.; Brussels 1930–1931), 2:77–79 (no. 25); V. Stegemann, Die koptischen Zaubertexte der Sammlung Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer in Wien (Heidelberg 1934), 21, 45–49 (no. 26); W. Till, “Zu den Wiener koptischen Zaubertexten,” Or 4 (1935): 195–221 at 210. 42 B. P. Grenfell and A. S. Hunt, Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire, Nos. 10001–10869, Greek Papyri (Amsterdam 1972 [1903]), 90; von Dobschütz, “Der Briefwechsel,” 426–28 (with discussion of the editio princeps and subsequent re-publications); R. Peppermüller, “Griechische Papyrusfragmente der Doctrina Addai,” VC 25 (1971): 289–301. For the date of P.Cair.Cat. 10736 + Bodl. Ms. gr. th. b. 1 (P), see Peppermüller, “Griechische Papyrusfragmente,” 291–92. 43 L. Casson and E. L. Hettich, Excavations at Nessana, vol. 2: Literary Papyri (Princeton, N. J. 1950), 143–47. Although this papyrus was found outside Egypt, I include it because it attests to the importance of the promise discussed in what follows.

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It is not certain that these papyri were intended to be used as amulets,44 although P.Ness. II 7 appears to have been folded.45 The text of P.Ness. II 7 includes the promise that no enemy will prevail over Edessa. There is a lacuna in P.Cair.Cat. 10723 + Bodl. Ms. gr. th. b. 1 (P) at this point, but in other respects its text resembles the version of the correspondence in the Teaching of Addai, which has the promise.46 The promise is also present in P.Got. 21,47 a fragment of Jesus’ letter to Abgar, assigned to the sixth or seventh century.48 The fact that the text is condensed but includes Jesus’ promise suggests that it was intended to be used as an amulet.49

2. Re-telling of an event Recitation was not the only way to invoke power. Amulets and formularies also allude to or relate events that bear on the request being made. Most of these narratives derive from the canonical gospels; they recall miracles performed by Jesus as a preamble to a request for healing. Apocryphal narratives are fewer and more diverse. I present the relevant section of the texts for the convenience of the reader, beginning with amulets or formularies that allude to healings reported in the canonical gospels and then turning to other narratives.50 SM I 30 (P.Coll.Youtie II 91),51 an amulet or formulary from the fifth or sixth century, incorporates a narrative petition derived from the summaries of Jesus’ ministry in Matthew’s gospel (Matt 4:23; 9:35), where Jesus is said to have gone about “healing every illness and every infirmity among the people” (καὶ θεραπεύων πᾶσαν νόσον καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν ἐν τῷ λαῷ). 44 Opinion varies on the three papyri discussed in this paragraph. According to J. van Haelst (Catalogue des papyrus littéraires juifs et chrétiens [Paris 1976], 613–14), P.Ness. II 7 and P.Got. 21 were amulets to obtain healing, and P.Cair.Cat. 10723 + Bodl. Ms. gr. th. b. 1 (P) was probably an amulet. According to Maltomini, “Letter of Abgar,” 123, only P.Ness. II 7 and P.Got. 21 were probably amulets. 45 See Casson and Hettich, Literary Papyri, plate 7. 46 See Peppermüller, “Griechische Papyrusfragmente,” 298. 47 H. Frisk, Papyrus grecs de la Bibliothèque Municipale de Gothembourg (Gothenburg 1929), 41–42; H. C. Youtie, “A Gothenburg Papyrus and the Letter to Abgar,” HTR 23 (1930): 299–302, and idem, “Gothenburg Papyrus 21 and the Coptic Version of the Letter to Abgar,” HTR 24 (1931): 61–65, both reprinted in idem, Scriptiunculae I (Amsterdam 1973), 455–66. 48 Frisk, Papyrus grecs, 41. 49 Youtie, “Gothenburg Papyrus 21,” 65. 50 Because I consider clausal historiolae as well as historiolae proper, I include more items than does F. Maltomini, “Cristo all’Eufrate: P.Heid. inv.G.1101: amuleto cristiano,” ZPE 48 (1982): 149–70 at 151 n. 5. 51 O. Montevecchi, “Amuleto cristiano,” in Collectanea Papyrologica: Texts Published in Honor of H. C. Youtie (Part Two Numbers 66–126) (ed. A. E. Hanson; Bonn 1976), 585–88; cf. G. M. Parássoglou, “Adnotatiunculae, II,” Hellenika 32 (1980): 79–85 at 83.

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… by him who created [heaven and earth.] You who healed every illness [and every infirmity,]52 Jesus Christ, heal the man or [woman] who wears [this amulet] … and soul and body and spirit … from every evil …53

PGM II P5b (P.Oxy. VIII 1151),54 an amulet from the fifth century, contains two narrative clauses in petitions for a certain Joannia, one alluding to the healing of the paralytic by the pool at the Sheep Gate (John 5:2–9) and the other, again, referring to Matt 4:23; 9:35. Set apart by crosses between the two petitions is John 1:1, 3,55 establishing, as it were, the cosmological origins and power of the deity invoked: O God of the sheep-pool, deliver from every evil your handmaid Joannia whom Anastasia, also called Euphemia, bore. + In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. O Lord, + Christ, Son and Word of the living God, who heals every illness and every infirmity,56 also heal and watch over your handmaid Joannia whom Anastasia, also called Euphemia, bore, and chase away and put to flight from her every fever and every sort of chill – quotidian, tertian, quartan – and every evil.57

SM I 31 (SB XIV 11495; P.Turner 49),58 assigned to the late fifth or early sixth century, casts a narrative recalling Matt 4:23; 9:35 and the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law (Matt 8:14–15) in a confessional mode, prefaced by the recitation of a creed (not quoted here):59 [We believe (?),] Jesus, that you were healing then every infirmity of the people and every illness.60 Savior Jesus, we believe that you went then into the house of Peter’s mother-inlaw, who was feverish, [and you touched her hand and] the fever left her. And now we beseech you, Jesus, also now heal your maidservant, who wears your great name, from every illness and from … fever and from fever with shivering and from headache and from every malignity and from every evil spirit.61 52 The text has a form of ἰάομαι (ὁ εἰασά{σ}μενος for ἰασάμενος), whereas the Matthean text has a form of θεραπεύω. In the Asklepiadic literature and in the Septuagint, the former is used to narrate the punctual and instantaneous act of healing by a god; cf. L. Wells, The Greek Language of Healing from Homer to New Testament Times (Berlin 1998). 53 Translation by Daniel and Maltomini, SM, 1:84. 54 A. S. Hunt, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. 8 (London 1911), 251–53; cf. D. Hagerdorn, “Bemerkungen zu Urkunden,” ZPE 145 (2003): 224–27 at 226. 55 Cf. Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits, 97 n. 89. 56 ὁ ἰασάμενος πᾶσαν νόσον καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν; cf. n. 52 above. 57 Translation by Meyer, ACM, 40–41 (no. 16), modified. 58 W. M. Brashear, “Christian Amulet,” in Papyri: Greek and Egyptian (ed. P. J. Parsons et al.; London 1981), 192–93; G. Ioannidou, Catalogue of Greek and Latin Literary Papyri in Berlin (P. Berol. inv. 21101–21299, 21911) (Mainz 1996), 174–75. 59 On the use of creeds in amulets and other texts, see G. H. R. Horsely, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1978 (North Ryde 1983), 114–17. 60 ἐθεράπευες τότε πᾶσαν μαλακίαν τοῦ λαοῦ καὶ πᾶσαν νόσον; cf. n. 52 above. 61 Translation by Daniel and Maltomini, SM, 1:87–88.

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PGM II P18,62 assigned to the fifth or sixth century, combines reminiscences of several narratives of healings, including those not recorded in the canonical gospels: … and who has healed again, who has raised Lazarus from the dead even on the fourth day, who has healed Peter’s mother-in-law, who has also accomplished many unmentioned healings in addition to those they report in the sacred gospels: Heal her who wears this divine amulet of the disease afflicting her, through the prayers and intercession of the ever-virgin mother, the Theotokos, and all …63

SB XVIII 13602,64 assigned to the seventh century, refers to Jesus’ power to rebuke the winds and the seas (Matt 8:26–27) in a petition to relieve a woman of her afflictions: staurogram Lord Jesus Christ, who rebuked (the) winds and seas – for everything obeys you in trembling – even now, Lord, take compassion and favor on your servant. So …, for [her] health, [her] modesty, [her] enjoyment.65

PGM II P23, a fragmentary papyrus that was once rolled, pressed down, and worn as an amulet, precedes the recitation of a doxology with a portion of the story of Jesus saving Peter as he sinks into the sea (Matt 14:28–31). Preisendanz suggested that the amulet was worn to protect one at sea:66 [When a strong] wind [came up] and he [that is, Peter] began to sink, he called out with a loud voice. And he [that is, Jesus] held out his hand and grabbed him. And when it was calm, he [that is, Peter] shouted, “Son of God!”67

Whereas all the preceding papyri appeal to Jesus’ power in requests for healing or protection, SM II 59 (P.Ups. 8)68 and SM II 60 (P.Hamb. I 22),69 both now assigned to the sixth century, do so in the context of a curse. SM II 59 recounts the appeal for vindication by Sabinus against his daughter Severine and a certain Didymus, possibly her husband: Son of the great God, whom man never beheld, you who granted the blind to see the light of the sun, show as before your godlike wonders. Pay memorable compensation for the sufferings which I suffered, which I endured on account of my only daughter, striking down my enemies with your firm hands. Vindicate six staurograms Emmanuel vindicate.70 62 Cf. P. J. Sijpesteijn, “Ein Volschlag zu PGM II 18,” ZPE 52 (1982): 246; F. Maltomini, “Os­ servazioni al testo di alcuni papiri magici greci (III),” SCO 32 (1982): 235–41 at 239. 63 Translation by Meyer, ACM, 38 (no. 13), modified. 64 W. M. Brashear, Magica Varia (Brussels 1991), 63–70. 65 Translation by Brashear, Magica Varia, 70. 66 PGM II P23.19 apparatus. 67 Translation by Meyer in ACM, 33–34 (no. 8), modified. 68 G. Björck, Der Fluch des Christen Sabinus: Papyrus Upsaliensis 8 (Uppsala 1938), 5–9. 69 P. M. Meyer, Griechische Papyrusurkunden des Hamburger Staats‑ und Universitätsbibliothek (1 vol. in three parts; Leipzig 1911–1924), 1:90–92; Björck, Der Fluch, 10–14. 70 Translation by Daniel and Maltomini, SM, 1:51.

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The portion of the curse that alludes to Jesus healing the blind is repeated in SM II 60, which presents the text of Sabinus’s grave stele. We also have several formularies that allude to canonical narratives. P.Berol. inv. 17202,71 a separated leaf from a papyrus codex assigned to the fourth century, preserves six recipes for spells. The first recipe appears to be derived from a Christian liturgical exorcism. It consists of lines that invoke Jesus directly (in the manner of an exorcism) and lines that recount the incarnation of the Son and the wonders performed by him (recalling the narratives discussed above). At some point prior to the transcription of the recipe, the credal verses and the responsory lines fell out of sequence, and as a result the recipe presents a garbled version of the original litany:72 ([…], Lord, in your command to [all men …]) “The one having lo[osed] the one being punished […], And the one having sent forth his only begotten child, and having indwelled the womb of the Virgin” (As you have willed it). (The race of mankind could not find out the manner of your birth, Lord Jesus Christ), “The one having walked upon the waters, having not even defiled his feet. The one having from five loaves fed five-thousand men.” (For all have obeyed your command, Lord. [Come] according to your mercy, upon me, the sinner!) (the usual).73

SM II 96A, a formulary from the fifth or sixth century, likewise gives prescriptions for a number of spells, preceded by a series of magical words, signs, names, and drawings. It includes a charm for easy childbirth (A.48–50) that alludes to Jesus’ command to Lazarus in his tomb (John 11:43): For a woman in labor. “Come out of your tomb, Christ is calling you.” A potsherd on the right thigh.74

This is the only prescription with a Christian invocation in an otherwise syncretistic formulary. As the editor notes, it anticipates medieval and modern spells for childbirth that appeal to the raising of Lazarus.75 Finally, a few papyri adduce apocryphal narratives about Jesus for the purpose of protection or healing. I reproduce the entire texts since they are germane to 71 W. M. Brashear and R. Kotansky, “A New Magical Formulary,” in Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World (ed. P. Mirecki and M. Meyer; Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 141; Leiden 2002), 3–24. 72 Brashear and Kotansky, “New Magical Formulary,” 10–13 (see 12 for Brashear’s suggested reconstruction of the original litany). 73 Translation by Brashear and Kotansky, “New Magical Formulary,” 9. 74 Translation by Daniel and Maltomini, SM, 2:240. 75 Maltomini, “I papiri greci,” 81–83 and 123; SM, 2:246–47.

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discussion that follows. PGM II P13 (P.Cair.Cat. 10263), a prayer from the fourth or fifth century that had apparently been buried with a mummy,76 preserves a long invocation recounting the descent and ascent of “the God of aeon.” The ensuing narrative of the descent to the underworld, the binding of its ruler, and the release of souls held there is the basis for a protective adjuration: I invoke you, [God] of heaven and God of the earth and [God] of the saints through [your blood], the fullness of the aeon who comes [to us], who has come to the world and has broken the claw of Charon, who has come through Gabriel in the womb of the virgin Mary, who was born in Bethlehem and raised in Nazareth, who was crucified […] for this reason the curtain of the temple was torn by itself, who, after rising from the dead in the grave on the third day of his death, showed himself in Galilee, and ascended to the height of heaven, who has myriads of myriads of angels on his left as well as myriads of myriads of angels on his right calling out three times with one voice, Holy, holy is the king of the aeon, so that the heavens are full of his divinity, who goes on his way with the wings of the winds. Come, O Mercy, God of the aeon, who has ascended to the seventh heaven, who has come from the right of the Father, the blessed lamb through whose blood the souls have been freed and through whom the bronze gates have opened by themselves, who has broken the iron bars, who has loosed those bound in the [darkness], who has made Charon impotent, who has bound the hostile rebel that was cast into his own places.77 The heavens were blessed and the earth was glad that the enemy withdrew from them and that you gave freedom to the creature who prayed to the Lord Jesus, the voice that absolved of sins all of us who call upon your holy name. The sovereigns [and] the powers and the world-rulers of darkness, whether an unclean spirit or a demon falling at the hours of midday, or a chill, or a mild fever or a shivering fever, or ill treatment from people, or powers of the adversary – may they not have power against the figure, since it was formed from the hand of your divinity, [because] yours, O Mercy of the aeon, is [all] power, which prevails forever.78

More idiosyncratic is SM I 32 (SB XVI 12719), a formulary from the fifth or sixth century written in a coarse, unskilled hand. It includes an apocryphal account of Jesus arresting the flow of the Euphrates River when he was fleeing the Jews as the basis for an adjuration against an ocular discharge:79 … for what you wish. Holy, holy, holy, protect [?] a certain man or a certain woman magical sign … I adjure you by Toumêêl Êl, for I adjure you, discharge magical sign … thick or thin or salty or very bitter, I adjure you by those who say “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Sabaôth the God, the God Adonai Aoth,” heal the eyes from migraine and every sort of discharge from them. For our Lord was pursued by the Jews, and he came to the Euphrates river and and Hunt, Catalogue général, 34. the interpretation of this passage, see J. Kroll, Gott und Hölle: Der Mythos vom Descensuskampfe (Leipzig 1932), 109–10, 35 n. 4. 78 Translation by Meyer, ACM, 35–36 (no. 10), slightly modified. 79 For detailed discussion of this historiola, for which there are parallels among ancient and medieval incantations recounting the interruption of the flow of the Jordan by Jesus, see Maltomini, “Cristo all’Eufrate,” 151–56, and G. Fiaccadori, “Cristo all’Eufrate (P. Heid. inv. G. 1101, 8 ss.),” La Parola del Passato 41 (1986): 59–63 at 59 n. 1. 76 Grenfell 77 On

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stuck in his staff, and the water stood still. Also you, discharge, stand still from head to toe-nails in the name of our Lord, who was crucified … Michaêl, Gabriêl, Ouriêl, Raphaêl, undo, undo the pains, undo, now now, quickly. magical signs.80

Finally, mention should be made of two narratives that are recited in a list of medical remedies assigned to the fifth or sixth century, P.Oxy. XI 1384.81 The papyrus belongs to the wider field of iatromagical materials, and the narratives in question operate like narratives in amulets, even if they are not presented strictly as recipes for amulets: staurogram […] men met us in the desert [and said to the Lord] Jesus, “What treatment is possible for the sick?” And he says to them, “[I have] given olive oil and have poured out myrrh [for those] who believe in the [name of the] Father and the Holy [Spirit and the] Son. staurogram Angels of the Lord ascended to [mid]-heaven, suffering from eye ailments and holding a sponge. The Lord says [to them], “Why have you ascended, O holy, all-pure ones?” “We have come up to receive healing, O Iaô Sabaôth, because you are powerful and strong.”82

As Roberta Mazza has observed, these narratives could have been derived from apocryphal texts or could have been generated for the purpose of healing.83 The former suggestion, entertained by the initial editors,84 brings to the fore the category of apocryphal writings; the latter, the operation of apocryphicity. In the first narrative, the use of the first person plural pronoun and the trinitarian formula placing the Holy Spirit between the Father and the Son inclines Mazza to the view that the narrative derives from an apocryphal gospel.85 Although it is difficult to locate the trinitarian formula precisely, it opens up a number of possibilities,86 including traditions found in Syriac Christian texts; the Gospel to the Hebrews,87 believed to issue from a Jewish Christian Egyptian milieu;88 “Sethian” treatises by Daniel and Maltomini, SM, 1:92. and A. S. Hunt, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. 11 (London 1915), 238–42; R. Mazza, “P.Oxy. XI, 1384: medicina, rituali di guarigione e cristianesimi nell’Egitto tardoantico,” ASE 24 (2007): 437–62 at 438–43. Because the papyrus has deteriorated since it was first edited, both the above editions should be consulted to ascertain readings. Since PGM II P7 republished only the narratives and not the entire text of the papyrus, I retain P.Oxy. XI 1384 as the identifier. 82 Translation by Meyer, ACM, 31 (no. 4), modified. 83 Mazza, “P.Oxy. XI, 1384,” 444. 84 Grenfell and Hunt, Oxyrhynchus Papyri, 11:238–39. 85 Mazza, “P.Oxy. XI, 1384,” 450. 86 See Mazza, “P.Oxy. XI, 1384,” 449–50; T. Pettipiece, “Towards a Manichaean Reading of the Nag Hammadi Codices,” Journal of the Canadian Society for Coptic Studies 3–4 (2012): 43–54. 87 Cf. Origen, Comm. Jo. 2.12.87; Hom. Jer. 15.4; Jerome, Comm. Mich. 2.7.5–7; Comm. Isa. 40.9–11; Comm. Ezech. 4.16.3. See A. F. J. Klijn, Jewish-Christian Gospel Tradition (VCSup 17; Leiden 1992), 52–55. 88 Klijn, Jewish-Christian, 30. 80 Translation

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in the Nag Hammadi corpus, such as the Apocryphon of John and the Gospel of the Egyptians;89 and Manichaean writings.90

3. The locus of power In his study of historiolae in amulets, David Frankfurter has argued that mythic narratives, iconographic vignettes, and scriptural quotations are performative utterances that convey power from a mythic realm to a human present.91 Frankfurter distinguishes between narratives that are recited independently – historiolae proper – and narratives that form the preamble to an ensuing request – clausal historiolae. The former are, seemingly, efficacious simply by virtue of their inscription or recitation; the latter establish the precedent for the injunction or petition: “just as then you did such-and-such, so now do such-and-such.” In the amulets and formularies we have just reviewed, scriptural quotations operate as historiolae proper, whereas narrative segments take the form of clausal historiolae. The latter are of particular interest not only because they are an instance of the telling and re-telling of stories associated with Christian origins – an aspect of apocryphicity – but also because of their role in the enactment of healing or exorcism. It is important to recall that the materials we are considering are the residue of action. Amulets were invested with power as remedies against ills by the actions of the petitioner in seeking the remedy and applying it as prescribed (sometimes with incantations and gestures) and the actions of the specialist in producing the remedy in accordance with customary or written conventions.92 Even if the action was perfunctory and banal – and the specificity of many amulets suggests that this was not the case – it was nevertheless an action that was rendered meaningful through performance. By seeking, obtaining, and applying the amulet, the petitioner enacted a belief that the power invoked or borne by the amulet would address the situation at hand. In their analysis of the structure and effects of religious rituals,93 Thomas Lawson and Robert McCauley argue that all religious rituals involve superhuman 89 Ap. John (NHC II 9.10–11; BG 19; NHC III 13.15–16); Gos. Eg. (NHC III 47.9; NHC IV 50.25–26). See J. D. Turner, Sethian Gnosticism and the Platonic Tradition (BCNH, Études 6; Québec and Leuven 2001), 63–64, 70–73. 90 See Pettipiece, “Towards a Manichaean Reading,” 45–49. 91 D. Frankfurter, “Narrating Power: The Theory and Practice of the Magical historiola in Ritual Spells,” in Ancient Magic and Ritual Power (ed. M. Meyer and P. Mirecki; Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 129; Leiden 1995), 457–75 at 464–65. 92 See R. Kotansky, “Incantations and Prayers for Salvation on Inscribed Greek Amulets,” in Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (ed. C. A. Farone and D. Obbink; Oxford 1991), 107–37 at 108–10; Frankfurther, “Narrating Power,” 462–63; idem in ACM, 79–82, 105–107. 93 E. T. Lawson and R. N. McCauley, Rethinking Religion: Connecting Cognition and Culture (Cambridge 1990).

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agents at some point, and that this involvement is necessary for the success of the ritual. The actions of a superhuman agent are different from those of a human agent in that they are immediate and irreversible, save when the superhuman agent has a change of mind or is one of many superhuman agents. In most commonly-enacted rituals the actions of a superhuman agent are presupposed at several removes. The more immediate the involvement of the superhuman agent, the more incontrovertible the action within the religious system.94 It is telling, therefore, that the narratives that we have reviewed above, both recited and re-told, relate mainly to Jesus. If, as has been argued, narratives in amulets serve to render present the power of a mythical figure to remedy a present difficulty, the focus on Jesus in them would indicate that he was regarded as an ultimate and incontrovertible source of healing or protection by the producers or users of the amulets. Other figures, whatever the currency of narratives about them, were not so regarded. This is not to say that other figures are insignificant. In the above amulets and formularies, other early Christian figures – Mary, the apostles, the martyrs – and other superhuman figures – particularly archangels – are invoked by name. But they are not subjects of narrative in amulets. The absence of historiolae referring to healings or exorcisms by the apostles is, at first sight, intriguing,95 given the prominence of miracles in the apocryphal acts of the apostles.96 But it is worth recalling that in the apocryphal acts, as in the canonical acts, the power exercised by the apostles derives from and points to the power of God.97 Although healings, exorcisms, and similar wonders in the apocryphal acts are not always performed “in the name of Jesus,”98 the apostles are presented as servants of God and frequently invoke the power of God or Jesus.99 The centrality of Jesus’ power for the operation of an amulet is especially apparent in amulets that quote the correspondence between Abgar and Jesus. and McCauley, Rethinking Religion, 124–25. the papyri that have been thought possibly to have been amulets, there is only one with narratives about the apostles: P.Yale I 3, which quotes Acts 8:26–32 and 10:26–31; see C. H. Kraeling, “Two Selections from Acts,” in Quantulacumque: Studies Presented to Kirsopp Lake (ed. R. P. Casey, S. Lake and A. K. Lake; London 1937), 163–72, and J. F. Oates, A. E. Samuel and C. B.  Welles, Yale Papyri in the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library I (New Haven, Conn. 1967), 15–21. But J. G. Cook, “P50 (P.Yale I 3) and the Question of Its Function,” in Early Christian Manuscripts, 115–28, argues persuasively that the papyrus was not an amulet. 96 J.-M. van Cangh, “Miracles évangéliques – miracles apocryphes,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck (ed. F. van Segbroek et al.; 3 vols.; BETL 100; Leuven 1992), 3:2277– 319 at 2300–12; F. Bovon, “Miracles, magie et guérison dans les Acts apocryphes des apôtres,” JECS 3 (1995): 246–59, republished as “Miracles, Magic, and Healing in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in idem, Studies in Early Christianity (WUNT 1.161; Tübingen 2003), 252–60. 97 Van Cangh, “Miracles évangéliques – miracles apocryphes,” 2318–19; Bovon, “Miracles, magie et guérison,” 253. 98 J. N. Bremmer, “Magic in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Metamorphosis of Magic, 51–70 at 60. 99 B. Kollmann, Jesus und die Christen as Wundertäter. Studien zu Magie, Medizin und Schamanismus in Antike und Christentum (FRLANT 170; Göttingen 1996), 350–55. 94 Lawson 95 Among

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Jesus’ reply to Abgar was quoted in amulets because it was believed to have been spoken or written by Jesus himself. The Coptic versions state explicitly that Jesus wrote the letter in his own hand,100 a detail that P.Got. 21 includes,101 following the Coptic versions.102 Hence the power attributed to the promise that wherever the letter is posted or read it will protect against the adversary: Jesus’ words are the ultimate warrant, according to Lawson and McCauley’s analysis of religious rituals, for rendering a copy of the letter to Abgar, with its explicit promise of protection, effective. It is noteworthy, in this regard, that the only other Christian scriptural text that is recited in amulets as often as the letter to Abgar is the Lord’s Prayer. It, too, would have been regarded as coming directly from Jesus.

4. Liturgical reiteration of narratives of power This focus on Jesus as the source of power does not explain, however, the selection of narratives about him in the amulets and formularies we have considered. The selection is limited and repetitive. This is well illustrated by amulets incorporating some reference to Matthew’s summary of Jesus’ ministry (Matt 4:23; 9:35).103 The phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity” is echoed in the narrative leading up to the request in several amulets we have reviewed: SM I 30, PGM II P5b, and SM I 31. In other amulets, PGM II P9 (BGU III 954)104 and P.Köln VIII 340,105 the phrase forms part of the request itself. And two amulets simply quote the passage from Matthew. In PGM II P4 (P.Oxy. VIII 1077),106 Matt 4:23–24 is written in the form of fourteen crosses in five columns and is prefaced by the heading: “Healing gospel according to Matthew.”107 In BKT VI 7.1,108 Matt 4:23 is quoted along with Ps 90:1 (LXX), the incipits of the gospels, Ps 117:6–7 100 Drioton, “Un apocryphe anti-arien,” 323–25, line 8; Giversen, “Ad Abgarum,” 74–75, line 8; Stegemann, Die koptischen Zaubertexte, 46, lines 24–26; Sullivan and Wilfong, “The Reply of Jesus,” 113, lines 4–5. 101 P.Got. 21.5; cf. P.Ness II 7.27–30. There is a lacuna at this point in Bodl. Ms. gr. th. b. 1 (P). 102 See Youtie, “Gothenburg Papyrus 21,” 64. 103 I discuss the reception of Matt 4:23; 9:35 in amulets in “Appeals to Jesus as the One ‘Who Heals Every Illness and Every Infirmity’ (Matt 4:23, 9:35) in Amulets in Late Antiquity,” in The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity. Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006 (ed. L. DiTommaso and L. Turcescu; The Bible in Ancient Christianity 6; Leiden 2008), 65–81. 104 ACM, 42 (no. 18). 105 F. Maltomini, “Amuleto con NT Ev. Jo. 1, 1–11,” in Kölner Papyri (P. Köln), vol. 8 (ed. M. Gronewald, K. Maresch and C. Römer; Opladen 1997), 82–95. 106 Hunt, The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, vol. 8, 10–11; ACM, 33 (no. 7). 107 The text omits, however, the phrase “in their synagogues” (ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς αὐτῶν), suggesting that the amulet derives from a milieu where Christians did not wish to acknowledge the presence or significance of Jews; see Mazza, “P.Oxy. XI, 1384,” 456–58. 108 C. Schmidt and W. Schubart, Altchristliche Texte (Berlin 1910), 129–30; ACM, 34–35 (no. 9).

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(LXX), and Ps 17:2 (LXX); it immediately precedes the concluding petition: “The body and the blood of Christ spare your servant who wears this amulet. Amen, Alleluia, + α + ω +.” Other events recounted in the canonical gospels also figure, but the range is not large: the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law in SM I 31 and PGM II P18; the saving of Peter from the storm in PGM II P23; the healing of the lame man by the pool at the Sheep Gate in PGM II P5b; the raising of Lazarus in PGM II P18 and, indirectly, SM II 96A; the stilling of the winds and the sea in P.Louvre inv. E 7332 bis; and Jesus’ walking on the sea and feeding the five thousand in P.Berol. inv. 17202. These events are sometimes recalled together: SM I 31 combines a recollection of Jesus’ ministry in Galilee and the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law, and PGM II P18 combines a recollection of the raising of Lazarus and the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law. Given the acknowledgement in PGM II P18 that Jesus “also accomplished many unmentioned healings in addition to those they report in the sacred gospels,” what accounts for the re-telling in amulets and formularies of only certain events recounted in the canonical gospels? I would argue that the re-telling of narratives in amulets and formularies is part and parcel of their re-telling in an array of discourses used by Christians in antiquity. Consider, for example, the frequent reference to Jesus “healing every illness and every infirmity.” As we have seen, the phrase is a motif in Matthew’s gospel, where it epitomizes the work of healing in the ministry of Jesus (Matt 4:23–24; 9:35) and his disciples (Matt 10:1).109 The phrase subsequently appears in Justin Martyr’s summary of the career of Jesus as part of an argument that all that Jesus did was foretold by the prophets of Israel (1 Apol. 31.7.4).110 In later didactic works it appears in accounts of the many healings that Jesus performed111 or the power of healing that he bestowed on his disciples.112 The phrase is also evoked in apocryphal accounts of miracles performed by the apostles (e. g., Acts Pet. Andr. 11:2; Acts Thad. 6:6),113 usually alluding to the power that Jesus had given to his disciples. Finally, early liturgical sources incorporate the phrase in prayers

109 The phrase is unique to Matthew; see K. Asahu-Ejere, The Kingdom of God and Healing-Exorcism (Mt 4:17–5:12) (European University Studies, Theology 770; Frankfurt am Main 2003), 48–49, 182–83. 110 See de Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 70–71. 111  E. g., Eusebius, Comm. Ps. 108.5; Dem. ev. 6.21.3; Theoph. 3.40; Athanasius, Inc. 18.4; Didymus, Comm. Zach. 2.17.3; Ps.-Clem. Rec. 1.41.2. See de Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 72–74. 112 E. g., Cyril of Alexandria, Comm. Jo. 15.9–10; Dial. trin. 3.494. See de Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 74. 113 In addition, one of the manuscripts of the Acts of John, Parisinus gr. 1468, contains an interpolation which summarizes the ministry of John in the words of Matt 4:23; see É. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis. Praefatio – Textus (CCSA 1; Turnhout 1983), 370; further, de Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 74–75.

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associated with the anointing or laying on of hands of the sick.114 These diverse witnesses attest to ongoing reference to Matthew’s epitome of Jesus’ work of healing. They provide a discursive context within which to situate the particular form of re-telling that we find in amulets. Of the various types of discourses that comprise this context, it was, I would suggest, the liturgy of the church that reinforced the appeal to canonical accounts of Jesus’ healings in clausal historiolae in amulets and formularies. In readings, sermons, and prayers, the stories from the canonical gospels would have been recounted or echoed again and again. In fact, the first spell in P.Berol. inv. 17202 provides evidence of this: the litany recalls events recounted in the canonical gospels. Similarly, though one must be cautious in drawing inferences from later liturgical books, it is noteworthy that the Coptic rite for the anointing of the sick on the last Friday of Lent invokes narratives that are also invoked in amulets and formularies.115 The prayers in the first, third, and seventh sections of the rite refer to healings reported in the canonical gospels.116 The form is similar to that in amulets and formularies (“You who healed so-and-so …” or “As you healed soand-so …”), but the invocation includes more detail about the ailment, and the events recalled are more diverse, including healings and miracles not mentioned in our amulets and formularies. It is not surprising that the narratives invoked in amulets and formularies would correspond to those invoked in the liturgy of the church. The texts we are considering incorporate various elements of the Christian liturgy: the Sanctus, creeds, doxologies, acclamations, and appeals to the intercessions of Mary and the saints.117 Moreover, the phrasing of these elements is sometimes specific to Egypt, as one might expect, given that many amulets written on papyrus or parchment were preserved there. Thus the expression “soul and body and spirit” that we find in SM I 30 is, as the editor notes in an extended discussion of the 114 Prayers for the blessing of the oil used to anoint the sick: Sarapion, Euch., Prayer 17, in M. E.  Johnson, The Prayers of Sarapion of Thmuis: A Literary, Liturgical and Theological Analysis (OrChrAn 249; Rome 1995), 66; Test. dom. 1:24 (I. E. Rahmani, Testamentum Domini Nostri Jesu Christi [Moguntiae 1899], 49; cf. the Ethiopian version of Test. Dom. 19 in R. Beylot, Testamentum Domini éthiopien [Leuven 1984], 174). Prayers for the laying on of hands of the sick: R. Roca-Puig, Anàfora de Barcelona i altres pregàres (Missa del segle IV) (2nd ed.; Barcelona 1996), 103–11 (P.Barc. 155b.19–156a.5), and C. E. Römer, R. W. Daniel and K. A. Worp, “Das Gebet zur Handauflegung bei Kranken in P. Barc. 155, 19 – 156, 5 und P. Kellis I 88,” ZPE 119 (1997): 128–31 (P.Kellis I 88). See de Bruyn, “Appeals to Jesus,” 76–78. 115 For a brief description of the modern rite, see G. Viaud, La Liturgie des Coptes d’Égypte (Paris 1978), 44–45. 116 H. Denzinger, Ritus orientalium Coptorum Syrorum et Armenorum in administrandis sacramentis (2 vols.; Graz 1961 [1863–1864]), 2:489–90, 492–93, 497; cf. R. M. Woolley, Coptic Offices (London 1930), 95–96, 99–100, 106. 117 See de Bruyn and Dijkstra, “Christian Amulets,” 180–81; T. S. de Bruyn, “Appeals to the Intercessions of Mary in Greek Liturgical and Paraliturgical Texts from Egypt,” in Presbeia Theotokou (ed. P. Allen, A. Külzer and L. M. Peltomaa; Vienna forthcoming).

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phrase,118 characteristic of Egyptian liturgies.119 Likewise, the form of the Sanctus in certain Greek amulets and formularies, most notably PGM II P18,120 is similar to that found in the anaphora of eucharistic liturgies in Egypt.121 While the narrative elements of liturgical prayers would have been mainly canonical, it is important to note that they could also be apocryphal. PGM II P13, with its account of the descent and ascent of the “God of the aeon,” offers us a rare glimpse of a liturgical prayer cum amulet that incorporates apocryphal elements. The belief that Christ descended to the underworld, adumbrated in the canonical epistles, was widely attested already in the second and third centuries.122 By the fifth century the narrative field was large, encompassing dramatic dialogues, apocalyptic visions, theological disquisitions, sermons, hymns, and creedal statements.123 In fact, as with the correspondence between Abgar and Jesus, the wide diffusion and acceptance of the narrative shows how authoritative traditions traversed the categories “canonical” and “apocryphal,” ignoring the boundaries of later classification. In PGM II P13 the account of the descent to the underworld is relatively restrained, perhaps because of its liturgical format.124 The details it includes about the entry into the underworld – the breaching of the bronze gates, the breaking of the iron bars, the binding of Death (Charon) – are recounted much more vividly in apocryphal dialogues (e. g., Quest. Bart. 1:10–20; Gos. Nic. 21).125

5. Open-ended narratives Although the authorized discourses of the church, and above all its liturgy, would have reiterated and reinforced a select repertoire of narratives of healing, amulets and formularies were not bound by this repertoire. They manifest the open-ended variability that is a distinguishing feature of apocryphicity. We have occasional 118 Montevecchi,

“Amuleto cristiano,” 586–88. “Soul, Body, Spirit,” JTS 2 (1900–1901): 273–74. 120 See Sijpesteijn, “Ein Volschlag,” 246; Maltomini, “Osservazioni,” 239. 121 De Bruyn, “The Use of the Sanctus,” 15–20. 122 R. Gounelle, La descente du Christ aux enfers. Institutionnalisation d’une croyance (Paris 2000), 35–59. 123 See now Gounelle La descente du Christ aux enfers; cf. C. Schmidt, Gespräche Jesu mit seinen Jüngern nach der Auferstehung (TU 43; Leipzig 1919), 453–576; J. A. MacCulloch, The Harrowing of Hell: A Comparative Study of an Early Christian Doctrine (Edinburgh 1930); Kroll, Gott und Hölle. 124 See A. Jacoby, Ein neues Evangelienfragment (Strassburg 1900), 36; J. Barbel, Christos Angelos. Die Anschauung von Christus als Bote und Engel in der gelehrten und volkstümlichen Literatur des christlichen Altertums. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Ursprungs und der Fortdauer des Arianismus (Bonn 1941), 253. 125 On these familiar motifs of the descent, see P.-H. Poirier, “La Prôtennoia trimorphe (NH XIII,1) et le vocabulaire du descensus ad inferos,” Mus 96 (1983): 193–204. 119 F. E. Brightman,

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glimpses of this: PGM II P18, which refers to “many unmentioned healings in addition to those they report in the sacred gospel”; SM I 32, with its historiola of Jesus arresting the flow of the Euphrates River; and P.Oxy. XI 1384, with its logion of Jesus in response to a question. Gianfranco Fiaccadori has suggested that the historiola in SM I 32 may derive from Abgar’s offer of his city, Edessa, as a place of refuge for Jesus from Jews who, he has heard, are plotting against Jesus (cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.13.8; Doc. Addai 4).126 As Fiaccadori notes, Abgar was known to Eusebius as the ruler of the territory beyond the Euphrates (Hist. eccl. 1.13.2). It is a plausible suggestion. The Abgar story was subject to various forms of re-telling, as can be seen from the manuscript tradition and from the diary that Egeria kept of her visit to Edessa in 384.127 Its susceptibility to embellishment is particularly evident in the version of Abgar’s letter copied in a Coptic codex of apotropaic texts: Leiden, P.Anastasy 9.128 To get a more complete sense of the possible scope for innovation in Christian amulets in Egypt, we would have to go beyond the evidence of Greek amulets and formularies to that of Coptic amulets and formularies. For instance, a spell to relieve the pains of childbirth tells a tale of Jesus meeting a doe in labour pains on the Mount of Olives,129 and an amulet against snakebite declares: “Christ was born on the twenty-ninth of Choiak [i. e., 25 December]. He came by descending upon the earth. He rebuked all the poisonous snakes.”130 Coptic manuals of spells are indeed remarkable for their combination of Christian and pre-Christian 126 Fiaccadori, “Cristo all’Eufrate,” 61–63. In the Greek amulets we have considered, the detail is reported in Bodl. Ms. gr. th. b. 1 (P), lines 3–5 (Peppermüller, “Griechische Papyrusfragmente,” 295), P.Ness II 7.10–12, and P.Oxy. LXV 4469.25–30. 127 Egeria reports that during her tour of the city the bishop recounted the story of how Abgar appealed to Jesus’ promise of protection when the city was besieged by the Persians (Egeria, Itin. 19.8–13). Abgar is said to have brought the letter to the gates of the city and prayed with his army, whereupon the fortunes of the Persians turned and they eventually abandoned their campaign. Egeria makes a copy of the correspondence, noting that the text of Jesus’ reply as preserved in Edessa was longer than the one in Eusebius’s account, which she knew in Rufinus’s translation; she wonders whether the latter might be incomplete (Egeria, Itin. 19.19). Egeria’s account provides us with evidence of the contents of the letter in Edessa, as well as the origins of the legend in the mid-third century. In addition, it is an example of how telling (by the bishop) and re-telling (by Egeria) served to establish, if only for Egeria and her readers, the protective value of the original event. See P. Devos, “Égérie à Édesse. S. Thomas l’apôtre. Le roi Abgar,” AnBoll 85 (1967): 381–400; Segal, Edessa, 75–76. 128 W. Pleyte and P. A. A. Boeser, Manuscrits coptes du Musée d’antiquités des Pays-Bas à Leide (Leiden 1897), 441–79 at 462–66; Kropp, Ausgewählte Koptische Zaubertexte, 2:73–76; ACM, 314–22 at 319–20 (no. 134). On the anti-arian nature of its development, see Drioton, “Un apocryphe anti-arien,” 343–73. 129 W. Beltz, “Die koptischen Zauberpapyri der Papyrus-Sammlung der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin,” APF 29 (1983): 65–67; ACM, 95–97 (no. 49). 130 G. M. Parássoglou, “A Christian Amulet against Snakebite,” SPap 13 (1974): 107–10; ACM, 101–2 (no. 55).

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material.131 David Frankfurter has suggested that this may be a consequence of the entry into Christian monasteries of people trained in Egyptian priestly traditions.132 If so, the work of such monks would confirm both the influence of liturgical traditions (Egyptian and Christian) and the scope for local knowledge in the production of amulets. In such an environment it is to be expected that amulets would traverse the intersection between canonicity and apocryphicity in their iteration of Christian narratives. In fact, since manuals and recipes for spells are not limited to Christian traditions, amulets provided an unbounded and eclectic medium for the re-telling of Christian narratives, as we can see, for example, in the collection of spells in P.Berol. inv. 17202 and SM II 96A.

6. Conclusion The results of this inquiry into narratives, particularly apocryphal narratives, in Greek amulets and formularies with Christian elements would seem to be relatively modest. In these texts, most of which belong to the fifth or sixth century, relatively few narratives are derived from the corpus customarily referred to as “Christian apocrypha.” In fact, only one apocryphal story looms large: the correspondence between Abgar and Jesus. When narratives are re-told as the basis of an adjuration or a petition, they almost always recall miracles performed by Jesus in the canonical gospels. The apocryphal acts of his apostles are conspicuous by their absence. The only figure whose power over demons is invoked in manner akin to that of Jesus is Solomon, but his traditions fall outside the purview of this essay. Nevertheless, the use of authoritative traditions about Jesus in amulets and formularies is interesting for the way it disregards the designations “canonical” and “apocryphal.” The two narratives that are invoked most often in amulets are the summary of Jesus’ ministry in Matthew’s gospel and Jesus’ letter promising protection in the Abgar correspondence. One is “canonical”; the other, “apocryphal.” Both were trusted ways of recollecting the power of Jesus to heal and protect. While the liturgy of the church undoubtedly contributed to the recognition and authority of certain narratives, what counted was the manifestation of power attributed to Jesus. In the face of accepted traditions such as the Abgar correspondence or the descent to the underworld, the designation “apocryphal” is, as far as apotropaic practices are concerned, irrelevant. A Coptic amulet com-

131 See D. Frankfurter, “Ritual Expertise in Roman Egypt and the Problem of the Category ‘Magician’,” in Envisioning Magic: A Princeton Seminar and Symposium (ed. P. Schäfer and H. G. Kippenberg; Numen Book Series 75; Leiden 1997), 115–35 at 129 n. 40. 132 Frankfurter, “Ritual Expertise in Roman Egypt,” 125–30.

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prising the incipits of Jesus’ letter to Abgar and the canonical gospels is eloquent testimony to this.133 A few of the texts we have considered are less constrained by (though still indebted to) traditions established by the liturgy of the church or other authorized forms of re-telling. These texts are evidence of the generative and transgressive capacities of apotropaic practices, a phenomenon that is particularly evident in Coptic spells and formularies. The long afterlife of some of the narratives that appear in these materials is testament to the durability and malleability of apocryphal traditions. It directs the student of amulets and apocryphicity to the rich heritage of medieval and early modern “folklore.”134 But that would take us into materials and texts well beyond the scope of the present essay.

133 W. E. Crum, Catalogue of the Coptic Manuscripts in the British Museum (London 1905), 141 (no. 317); J. E. Sanzo, “Brit. Lib. Or. 4919(2): An Unpublished Coptic Amulet in the British Library,” ZPE 183 (2012): 98–99. 134 See, e. g., Maltomini, “Cristo all’Eufrate,” 152–55; F. Ohrt, “Dreibrüdersegen,” in Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens (ed. E. Hoffmann-Krayer and H. Bächtold-Stäubli; 10 vols.; Berlin 1927–1942), 2:425–28 at 427.

Mary in Early Christian Apocrypha: Virgin Territory Stephen J. Shoemaker 1. Introduction: Marian apocrypha and the apocryphal canon The Virgin Mary has long been somewhat marginalized in the study of early Christian Apocrypha. Despite the abundance of Marian apocrypha produced by the ancient and medieval church, the modern canons of apocryphal literature generally have excluded or at least greatly diminished the importance of these works, effectively making them, in essence, “apocryphal apocrypha.” Only the Protevangelium of James presents a notable exception; yet this early biography of the Virgin rarely appears in the standard collections as a proper Marian apocryphon. Instead, it is somewhat peculiarly classed among the so-called Infancy Gospels, as if it were primarily concerned with the story of the young boy Jesus. The designation is a bit misleading, since not only is the Protevangelium not a gospel, as has long been recognized, but its primary subject is the conception and childhood of the Blessed Virgin, a point obscured by this somewhat odd categorization. One wonders how this early biography of the Virgin came to be classified as an Infancy Gospel in the first place. Quite probably early collectors of apocrypha found the Protevangelium’s intense interest in the Virgin so incongruous with their views of Mary’s place in the early church that they did not know what else to make of it. So long as the boundaries of the apocryphal canon stood at the end of the third century, as Wilhelm Schneemelcher resolutely maintained, and devotion to Mary was reckoned to be a mid-fifth century embellishment of the Christian faith, there was no space for a category of Marian apocrypha, and the Protevangelium was indeed something of an irregularity.1 Now, thanks especially to a series of articles from Éric Junod, the boundaries of the apocryphal canon have been considerably enlarged to include a variety of 1 W. Schneemelcher, ed., New Testament Apocrypha (trans. R.McL Wilson; 2 vols.; Philadelphia 1963–1965), 1:28, 40–41, 60–64; as for the second, revised edition (trans. R.McL Wilson; 2 vols.; Louisville, Ky. 1991–1992), see 1:50–61. On the rather late development of the veneration of Mary, see, e. g., H. von Campenhausen, The Virgin Birth in the Theology of the Ancient Church (trans. F. Clarke; SHT 2; London 1964), esp. 7–9.

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writings from the fourth and fifth centuries and beyond.2 The fruits of this reconfiguration can now be seen in the two volumes of the Pléiade collection, which include a number of apocrypha from late antiquity and even the Middle Ages.3 Likewise, Marian veneration is no longer seen simply as a by-product of the Nestorian controversy, but instead as having its origins in the fourth century, if not perhaps even earlier, as a number of recent studies have demonstrated.4 Nonetheless, this newfound meeting of Marian piety and early Christian Apocrypha has yet to transform the apocryphal canon to the extent that is warranted. While the Pléiade volumes have made notable advances in this area when compared with the Hennecke-Schneemelcher, James, and Elliott collections, there is room for considerable improvement, and only Mario Erbetta’s Italian canon comes close to success in its inclusion of the wide range of early Marian apocrypha.5 2  É. Junod, “Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament ou apocryphes chrétiens anciens? Remarques sur la désignation d’un corpus et indications bibliographiques sur instruments de travail récents,” ETR 59 (1983): 409–21; idem, “ ‘Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament’: une appellation erronée et une collection artificielle. Discussion de la nouvelle définition proposée par W. Schneemelcher,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 17–46. 3 F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli, eds., Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442 and 516; Paris 1997–2005). This essay originally was written for the Ottawa conference in 2006. Since then another important collection has appeared, published by C. Markschies as an update to the Hennecke-Schneemelcher collection: C. Markschies, J. Schröter and A. Heiser, eds., Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung, vol. 1 (7. Aufl. der von E. Hennecke begründeten und von W. Schneemelcher fortgeführten Sammlung der neutestamentlichen Apokryphen; 2 vols.; Tübingen 2012). Unfortunately, the inclusion of Marian apocrypha and especially the Dormition apocrypha (1:299–307), is even more problematic than in other previous collections, despite significant advances in work on this corpus over the last decade. Particularly problematic is the inclusion of a Coptic fragment that the section editor, H. Förster, considers the earliest Dormition narrative and dates to the second century. This dating is extremely doubtful, however, and the fragment is almost certainly medieval. Accordingly, this collection not only cannot be considered authoritative in its presentation of Marian apocrypha, but it is very misleading regarding the most current scholarship on this material (it is extraordinary, for instance, that nothing by M. van Esbroeck is signaled in the bibliography). See also n. 23 below. 4  E. g., K. G.  Holum, Theodosian Empresses: Women and Imperial Dominion in Late Antiquity (Berkeley, Calif. and Los Angeles 1982); S. Benko, The Virgin Goddess: Studies in the Pagan and Christian Roots of Mariology (SHR 59; Leiden 1993); V. Limberis, Divine Heiress: The Virgin Mary and the Creation of Christian Constantinople (London 1994); W. D. Ray, “August 15 and the Development of the Jerusalem Calendar” (Ph.D. diss.; University of Notre Dame, 2000); S. J.  Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (OECS; Oxford and New York 2002); N. Constas, Proclus of Constantinople and the Cult of the Virgin in Late Antiquity: Homilies 1–5, Texts and Translations (VCSup 66; Leiden 2003); M. E. Johnson, “The Apostolic Tradition,” in The Oxford History of Christian Worship (ed. G. Wainwright and K. B. Westerfield Tucker; Oxford and New York 2006), 32–75 at 66; idem, “Sub Tuum Praesidium: The Theotokos in Christian Life and Worship before Ephesus,” Pro Ecclesia 17 (2008): 52–75. 5 M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford 1924); J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation Based on M. R.  James (1993; corrected paperback ed., Oxford 2005); M. Erbetta, Gli Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento (4 vols.; Turin 1966–1981).

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The Hennecke-Schneemelcher collection is regrettably a Marian wasteland, whereas James and Elliott offer at least a sketch of the early Dormition narratives, including complete translations of a couple brief Dormition texts that were known in James’s time – namely, the Greek Pseudo-John narrative and the Latin Pseudo-Melito. Nonetheless, the somewhat awkward placement of this material in both collections is telling: James classifies the Dormition and Assumption apocrypha rather strangely among the “Passion Gospels” (following a theme of death, presumably), while Elliott quarantines these legends to an appendix, truly making of them deuterocanonical apocrypha. Like the “Apocrypha” of so many modern “ecumenical” Bibles, they are tacked on at the close of the “proper” canon, where presumably interested Catholics and Orthodox will instinctively know to look for them. In defense of James and Elliott, however, both editors explain their failure to fully integrate the Dormition apocrypha as a consequence of the considerable confusion surrounding the early narratives of this corpus, an admittedly understandable excuse at the time.6 Yet, other Marian apocrypha are similarly occluded in these collections, receiving only brief mention, such as the Apocalypse of the Virgin, which James (who himself edited the text) cannot refrain from hastily dismissing as “a late and very dreary production.”7 Among the aims of the Pléiade edition is an expansion of the corpus of early Christian apocrypha to reflect the new boundaries articulated by Junod and others.8 Consequently, the collection has grown significantly beyond Schneemel­ cher’s traditional core of early Greek and Latin texts, establishing a new canon that includes both more recent apocrypha and texts surviving in the languages of the Christian Near East (as well as Irish). On the whole, the achievement is quite laudable, representing a major milestone in the study of Christian Apocrypha. In regard to Marian apocrypha, however, the Pléiade collection is something of a mixed bag, which only indicates how much work remains to be done in this particular area. On the one hand, several new Marian apocrypha have joined 6 See J. K. Elliott’s review of Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, in JTS 55 (2004): 324–28 at 326. 7 James, Apocryphal New Testament, 563. 8 In addition to Junod’s articles cited above, n. 2, see also J.-D. Kaestli, “Les écrits apocryphes chrétiens. Pour une approche qui valorise leur diversité et leurs attaches bibliques,” in Le mystère apocryphe. Introduction à une littérature méconnue (ed. J.-D. Kaestli and D. Marguerat; Essais bibliques 26; Geneva 1996 [2nd ed., 2007]), 27–41 (29–44 of the 2nd ed.); J.-C. Picard, “Le continent apocryphe,” in idem, Le continent apocryphe. Essai sur les littératures apocryphes juive et chrétienne (Instrumenta Patristica 36; Turnhout 1999), 3–6; J.-D. Dubois, “L’AELAC vingt ans après, ou remarques sur l’étude des littératures apocryphes,” Bulletin de l’AELAC 11 (2001): 24–30; P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005): 31–40; idem, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien,’ et comment ça marche? Quelques suggestions pour une herméneutique apocryphe,” in Pierre Geoltrain, ou comment “faire l’histoire” des religions. Le chantier des “origines,” les méthodes du doute, et la conversation contemporaine entre disciplines (ed. S. C. Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BEHESR 128; Turnhout 2006), 173–86.

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the canon, including the Latin Book of the Nativity of Mary and the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew. Earlier collections present these apocrypha in only summary fashion, if at all; yet, in the new French collection they receive full treatment and complete translation. A pair of Dormition narratives have also been added, reflecting a sharp break from Schneemelcher’s influential collection of apocrypha, where his four-page discussion of Mary rather astonishingly limits its focus to her portrayal in the canonical gospels, and the entire corpus of the ancient Dormition apocrypha, over thirty different narratives, is dispatched with in a mere 11 lines.9 Each of the Pléiade volumes contains a Dormition narrative, the Transitus of Pseudo-John in volume one, and in the second volume the earliest Greek narrative, the so-called “Transitus R” edited by Antoine Wenger.10 These additions are an important and welcome development, but there is much for future collections to improve on in their inclusion of Marian apocrypha.

2. The Dormition narratives The Dormition narratives chosen for inclusion in the Pléiade volumes are somewhat less than ideal, particularly since they must do the work of representing the extraordinary diversity of the ancient Dormition apocrypha. These two Greek apocrypha, while certainly essential to any well-chosen collection of early Dormition narratives, are problematic as sole representatives of the ancient Dormition traditions, inasmuch as both reflect a secondary or perhaps even tertiary stage of the early Dormition traditions that has sharply truncated the oldest narratives. The first apocryphon, the Pseudo-John Transitus Mariae, is an early representative of the “Bethlehem” Dormition traditions that also appears in the James and Elliott compilations, as well as in Alexander Walker’s early collection in the Ante-Nicene Christian Library11 – thus presenting a potential danger that it might become the “canonical” Dormition narrative, possibly giving readers a misleading impression of the earliest traditions. While the Pseudo-John Transitus is enormously influential on the later tradition (being extant in over 200 known manuscripts), it represents only a précis of the earlier Six Books Dormition apocryphon, whose traditions it radically condenses and edits to bring into conformity with the orthodoxy and orthopraxy of the sixth  9 W. A. Bienert, “The Relatives of Jesus,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 1:470–85 at 479–85. For comparison, the History of Joseph the Carpenter fares much better, receiving close to thirty lines (484–85). 10 S. C. Mimouni, “Dormition de Marie du Pseudo-Jean,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 1:163–88; idem, “Assomption de Marie ou Transitus grec ‘R’,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 2:205–39. 11 A. Walker, ed., Apocryphal Gospels, Acts, and Revelations (ANCL 16; Edinburgh 1873), 504–14. This collection was subsequently incorporated in the ANF collection: 8:587–91.

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century.12 Roughly seven times longer than Pseudo-John’s resumé, the Six Books apocryphon certainly was in circulation during the fourth century, and probably as early as the middle of the fourth century.13 Unfortunately, the Six Books apocryphon does not survive in Greek, but it is known in several early versions from at least five Syriac manuscripts of the fifth and sixth centuries that reflect translations from the Greek.14 So far, the Six Books narrative has appeared only in Erbetta’s collection;15 yet, it is essential that this ancient Marian apocryphon become more widely known, inasmuch as it affords early evidence not only of belief in Mary’s Dormition and Assumption but also of prayers addressed to the Virgin and belief in the power of her intercession, as well as numerous miracles ascribed to her authority, and even Marian apparitions and annual liturgical feasts held in her honor already by the fourth century. Bringing such a text into the canon of apocrypha could significantly alter some long-standing impressions about the Virgin Mary’s role in early Christian culture, as well as provide easier access to the most primitive version of the “Bethlehem” Dormition narratives.16 The Pléiade’s second Dormition apocryphon, the so-called “Transitus R,” is in fact the earliest narrative extant in Greek, making it a sure candidate for inclu12 See A. Wenger, L’Assomption de la T. S. Vierge dans la tradition byzantine du VIe au Xe siècle. Études et documents (Archives de l’Orient chrétien 5; Paris 1955), 17; M. van Esbroeck, “Les textes littéraires sur l’assomption avant le Xe siècle,” in Les actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen (ed. F. Bovon et al.; Publications de la Faculté de théologie de l’Université de Genève 4; Geneva 1981), 265–85 at 266–69; A. de Santos Otero, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung der altslavischen Apokryphen (2 vols.; PTS 20, 23; Berlin 1978–1981), 2:161–95; Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 46–57. 13 See Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 46–57; idem, “Death and the Maiden: The Early History of the Dormition and Assumption Apocrypha,” SVTQ 50 (2006): 59–97; idem, “A Peculiar Version of the Inventio Crucis in the Early Syriac Dormition Traditions,” in Orientalia, Clement, Origen, Athanasius, the Cappadocians, Chrysostom: Papers Presented at the Fourteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 2003 (ed. F. Young et al.; StPatr 41; Leuven 2006), 75–81; idem, “Marian Liturgies and Devotion in Early Christianity,” in Mary: The Complete Resource (ed. S. J. Boss; London 2007), 130–45; idem, “Epiphanius of Salamis, the Kollyridians, and the Early Dormition Narratives: The Cult of the Virgin in the Later Fourth Century,” JECS 16 (2008): 369–99; idem, “The Cult of the Virgin in the Fourth Century: A Fresh Look at Some Old and New Sources,” in The Origins of the Cult of the Virgin Mary (ed. C. Maunder; London 2008), 71–87. 14 Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 46–49. For an unedited fifth-century manuscript preserving fragments of the Six Books, see S. J. Shoemaker, “New Syriac Dormition Fragments from Palimpsests in the Schøyen Collection and the British Library: Presentation, Edition and Translation,” Mus 124 (2011): 259–78. 15 Erbetta, “Transito siriaco C (sec. V/VI),” in Gli Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento, 1b:545–73. 16 See S. J. Shoemaker, “Epiphanius of Salamis, the Kollyridians, and the Early Dormition Narratives,” 385–90, 397–401; idem, “Apocrypha and Liturgy in the Fourth Century: The Case of the ‘Six Books’ Dormition Apocryphon,” in Jewish and Christian Scriptures: The Function of ‘Canonical’ and ‘Non-canonical’ Religious Texts (ed. J. H. Charlesworth and L. M. McDonald; JCTCRS 14; London and New York 2010), 153–63; idem, “The Ancient Dormition Apocrypha and the Origins of Marian Piety: Early Evidence of Marian Intercession from Late Ancient Palestine,” in PRESBEIA THEOTOKOU: The Intercessory Role of Mary across Times and Places in Byzantium (4th–9th Century) (ed. L. Mari Peltomaa, A. Külzer and P. Allen; Vienna forthcoming).

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sion in any anthology of early Christian Apocrypha. Known only from a single manuscript, this early Greek apocryphon forms an invaluable witness to a very primitive layer of the “Palm of the Tree of Life” Dormition traditions, preserving many of the heterodoxies that signal the early development of this tradition somewhere outside the proto-orthodox stream of ancient Christianity. Yet, again, as with the Pseudo-John Transitus, this Greek narrative is a radically-condensed and theologically-edited version of a much longer, earlier apocryphon attested in several languages of the Christian Near East. Extensive fragments survive in Syriac and Georgian, but the complete narrative is known only in Ethiopic, where this earliest apocryphon from the Palm of the Tree of Life tradition bears the title Liber Requiei Mariae (The Book of Mary’s Repose). If one were going to include only one narrative from the “Palm” tradition or indeed only one Dormition narrative in a collection of apocrypha, this should be the one. Although Erbetta’s collection includes an Italian translation of Liber Requiei made from the Latin, to my knowledge the only translation of the Ethiopic into a modern language appears in the appendices of my study on the ancient Dormition traditions.17 Not only is the Liber Requiei the earliest extant Dormition apocryphon (dating to the third century in all likelihood), but it is also the most theologically unusual, bearing marks of an “origin” within some sort of heterodox Christian community.18 For instance, the Liber Requiei expresses an Angel Christology, identifying Christ as a manifestation of “the Great Cherub of Light.”19 It persistently underscores the soteriological importance of esoteric knowledge and refers on several occasions to a common cosmological myth (i. e., the so-called “gnostic” myth) that describes the soul’s imprisonment by the Demiurge and its need to ascend past his minions after death in order to return to the Pleroma.20 So, not only is the Liber Requiei important early evidence of the beginnings of both the Dormition 17 Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 290–350; cf. Erbetta, Gli Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento, 1b:421–56. 18 See, e. g., Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 38–46, 146–68, 232–56; idem, “Asceticism in the Early Dormition Narratives,” in Archaeologica, Arts, Iconographica, Tools, Historica, Biblica, Theologica, Philosophica, Ethica: Papers Presented at the Fifteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 2007 (ed. J. Baun et al.; StPatr 44; Leuven 2010), 509–13. The early date of this apocryphon has been affirmed recently in E. Norelli, Marie des apocryphes. Enquête sur la mère de Jésus dans le christianisme antique (Christianismes antiques; Geneva 2009), 129–42; idem, “La letteratura apocrifa sul Transito di Maria e il problema delle sue origini,” in Il dogma dell’assunzione di Maria. Problemi attuali e tentativi de ricomprensione. Atti del XVII Simposio Internazionale Mariologico (Roma, 6–9 ottobre 2009) (ed. E. M. Toniolo; Rome 2010), 121–65 at 142–63; and Tedros Abraha, “La Dormitio Mariae in Etiopia,” ibid., 167–200 at 187. I thank Prof. Norelli for drawing my attention to this article and for providing me with a copy. 19 See Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 215–20, 239–41. 20  E. g., Liber Requiei 13–17 (V. Arras, De Transitu Mariae apocrypha Aethiopice, I [2 vols.; CSCO 342–343, Aeth. 66–67; Leuven 1973], 1:7–9 [Eth.] and 2:5–6 [Lat.]); Wenger, L’Assomption, 214–19; translated by Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 298– 300, 356–58.

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traditions and Marian piety, but it is also a precious, if largely overlooked, witness to the confessional diversity of ancient Christianity. Moreover, it attests to Mary’s early emergence as a focus of theological reflection in her own right, and not just as an extension of Christology, but also as an expression of belief in the special efficacy of Marian intercession, already by the third century.21 The peculiar theological backdrop against which this narrative of Mary’s miraculous departure from the world unfolds suggests that her earliest veneration may have emerged within a theologically heterodox milieu that understood Christ as a Great Angel and looked to esoteric knowledge for salvation from the Demiurge at death. On these grounds alone it would seem that the Liber Requiei merits inclusion in the canon of early Christian apocrypha. While the Liber Requiei and the Six Books apocryphon certainly would be the most important Dormition apocrypha to include in such a compilation, the Pseudo-John Transitus and the earliest Greek narrative certainly also should appear – the former for its enormous influence on the later tradition, and the latter for its important witness to the extra-orthodox origins of the early “Palm” traditions. The fifth-century Latin Transitus of Pseudo-Melito should be included as well for these same reasons: its considerable influence on later tradition in the West, as well as its anxiety over the theologically unorthodox nature of the earliest Dormition apocrypha. This brief apocryphon, which reflects a very self-conscious effort to theologically sanitize the earlier traditions, appears in the James, Elliott, and Ante-Nicene Christian Library collections, and its absence from the Pléiade anthology is unfortunate. The Coptic tradition, with its unique chronology separating the Dormition and Assumption by 206 days, also needs representation, and either the Pseudo-Cyril or Pseudo-Evodius narratives would suffice.22 James held the opinion that the Egyptian narratives in fact may be the oldest, and while this theory now seems unlikely, the Coptic Dormition apocrypha reflect a unique early tradition that deserves representation.23 21 Shoemaker, “New Syriac Dormition Fragments,” 260–67; idem, “Ancient Dormition Apocrypha and the Origins of Marian Piety”; Norelli, Marie des apocryphes, 132–36. 22 A. Campagnano, Ps. Cirillo di Gerusalemme: Omelie copte sulla Passione, sulla Croce e sulla Vergine (Testi e documenti per lo studio dell’Antichità 65; Milan 1980), 151–95; S. J. Shoemaker, “The Sahidic Coptic Homily on the Dormition of the Virgin Attributed to Evodius of Rome: An Edition of Morgan MSS 596 & 598 with Translation,” AnBoll 117.3–4 (1999): 241–83. 23 James, Apocryphal New Testament, 194. One should perhaps mention H. Förster’s recent proposal that a certain Coptic fragment published by him represents the earliest extant Dormition narrative: H. Förster, Transitus Mariae. Beiträge zur koptischen Überlieferung mit einer Edition von P. Vindob. K 7589, Cambridge Add 1876 8 und Paris BN Copte 12917 ff. 28 und 29 (GCS, n. ser. 14, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen 2; Berlin 2006). Nevertheless, Förster’s arguments are not persuasive: see S. J. Shoemaker, “A New Dormition Fragment in Coptic: P. Vindob. K 7589 and the Marian Apocryphal Tradition,” in Bibel, Byzanz und Christlicher Orient. Festschrift für Stephen Gerö zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. D. Bumazhnov et al.; OLA 187; Leuven 2011), 203–29. Further doubt has now been added by Alin Suciu, who has identified additional fragments of the text edited by Förster: see A. Suciu, “About Some Coptic Fragments on the Dormition of

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3. The Apocalypses of the Virgin With these Dormition narratives and several of the so-called Infancy Gospels (the most important being the Protevangelium), we already have the makings of a significant subsection of Marian apocrypha that would be a most welcome addition to future collections. Yet, there are additional texts that belong in this Marian annex. First are the various Apocalypses of the Virgin which unjustly have been long overlooked in the study of Christian apocrypha. The Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin, which James found so dreadful, initially found early acceptance through inclusion among the apocrypha of the Ante-Nicene Fathers series,24 but subsequently it has not fared well, appearing only in Erbetta’s exemplary collection. Admittedly, this apocryphon is a little later than some, written sometime between the sixth and ninth centuries, yet its influence on the subsequent Christian tradition in both the Greek and Slavic worlds is vast, with Richard Bauckham identifying it as “one of the two most influential … extra-canonical Christian apocalypses.”25 Inasmuch as the Pléiade edition marks a laudable new trend toward including later apocrypha in the extra-biblical canon, this highly-influential Marian apocalypse certainly merits inclusion. Adding the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin would bring one of the Christian tradition’s most influential texts into the apocryphal canon. A rather different Apocalypse of the Virgin survives uniquely in Ethiopic. Generally regarded as a work of the seventh century, this text is essentially an Ethiopic adaptation of the Apocalypse of Paul and thus is not particularly important outside the context of Ethiopian Christianity.26 Yet, the most significant representatives of this genre are probably also the most overlooked: the heavenly tours that conclude the earliest Dormition narratives. These early Marian apocalypses, which we may designate as the “Dormition Apocalypses,” follow the Virgin on a journey through the heavenly realms after her death and resurrection, guided the Virgin,” n.p. (cited 15 September 2011; online: http://alinsuciu.com/2011/09/15/copticfragments-on-the-dormition-of-the-virgin/). 24 ANF 9:167–74. 25 R. Bauckham, “Virgin, Apocalypses of the,” ABD 6 (1992): 854–56; idem, “The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin Mary,” in idem, The Fate of the Dead: Studies on Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (NovTSup 93; Leiden 1998), 332–62 at 332–38; S. C. Mimouni, “Les Apocalypses de la Vierge. État de la question,” Apocrypha 4 (1993): 101–12, repr. in idem, Les traditions anciennes sur la Dormition et l’Assomption de Marie. Études littéraires, historiques et doctrinales (VCSup 104; Leiden 2011), 117–28. Mimouni tries to establish an early date for this apocryphon, but he does so by merging the textual tradition of the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin with the Dormition Apocalypses. These traditions are best considered separately from one another, as Bauckham also concludes (“The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 337). See also J. Baun, Tales from Another Byzantium: Celestial Journey and Local Community in the Medieval Greek Apocrypha (Cambridge 2006), which includes a study of the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin. 26 See W. Schneemelcher, “Later Apocalypses,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 2: 691–94 at 694; Elliott, Apocryphal New Testament, 618; Bauckham, “The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 338–40.

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by her son. There are two quite distinct versions of this ancient Apocalypse of the Virgin: one belonging to the “Palm” tradition and another that concludes the Six Books apocryphon. The “Palm” tradition’s Apocalypse of the Virgin survives partly in some fifth-century Syriac fragments and more fully in the Ethiopic ­Li­ber Requiei, both of which preserve a nearly identical version.27 Certain Western Dormition apocrypha in Irish and Latin include abbreviated accounts of this Dormition Apocalypse that are essential for establishing the antiquity of the complete version transmitted by the Liber Requiei.28 The Dormition Apocalypse of the Six Books apocryphon, however, survives in several early versions attested by the fifth and sixth-century Syriac manuscripts. Although the broad outlines of this apocalypse are similar among the different versions, their variation points to an earlier source that they have developed independently. It would be an overstatement to suggest that the study of these Dormition Apocalypses is still in its infancy: gestation is unfortunately the more appropriate metaphor. Richard Bauckham published the first study of these traditions in his book The Fate of the Dead, and the only subsequent analysis has been in my monograph on the Dormition traditions.29 One unfortunate consequence of this neglect is that scholars have overlooked the important connections between the Apocalypse of the Virgin from the “Palm” tradition and the Apocalypse of Paul. Martha Himmelfarb, for instance, when comparing the Apocalypse of Paul with the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin concludes that Mary’s apocalypse depends on Paul’s, while failing altogether to consider the Dormition Apocalypses in her important study.30 Bringing the Dormition Apocalypses into the mix suggests that the relationship among these different texts is a bit more complicated. For instance, Bauckham convincingly proposes that the Apocalypse of Paul depends on this earliest Dormition Apocalypse, and I have identified several additional points that appear to confirm this hypothesis.31 Thus the similarities between the Apocalypse of Paul and the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin, rather than a sign

27 In addition to the fragments published in W. Wright, Contributions to the Apocryphal Literature of the New Testament (London 1865), 59–61 (Syr.) and 46–48 (Eng.), a Syriac palimpsest in the British Library continues the story: Shoemaker, “New Syriac Dormition Fragments,” 260–67. 28 See especially the table in Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 417–18. 29 Bauckham, “The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 340–62; Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 179–203. 30 M. Himmelfarb, Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature (Philadelphia 1983), 19–24, 171. 31 Bauckham, “The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 344–46; Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 42–46. É. Cothenet first suggested that elements of the Apocalypse of Paul appear to depend on the Dormition Apocalypse from the “Palm” tradition, judging only from the Syriac fragment known as the Obsequies of the Virgin: see his essay, “Marie dans les Apocryphes,” in Maria. Études sur la Sainte Vierge (ed. H. Du Manoir de Juaye; 7 vols.; Paris 1952), 6:117–56 at 127–29.

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of the latter’s dependence, are possibly a consequence of their use of a common source: the Dormition Apocalypse of the “Palm” tradition. Bauckham similarly argues that the Dormition Apocalypse from the Six Books apocryphon is also quite early, perhaps even older than the “Palm” tradition’s apocalypse, dating it to “the fourth century at the latest.”32 The antiquity of these traditions and their influence on other early apocrypha pose strong arguments for their inclusion within the canon of apocrypha. The fact that both apocalypses would simply come as a bonus from incorporating the earliest Dormition apocrypha only heightens the importance of including the Liber Requiei and the Six Books apocryphon. Yet, it would be useful also to have a separate discussion of these Dormition Apocalypses that considers more fully their position within the early Jewish and Christian traditions of “cosmic tours.”

4. The Lives of the Virgin The early Lives of the Virgin are another set of extra-biblical traditions about Mary that probably should join the apocrypha of ancient Christianity. While one might argue that these narratives are more rightly classified as hagiography, the boundaries between the two genres are extremely faint and in many instances perhaps indefinable, as many scholars have noted.33 The apocryphal acts of the apostles (particularly many of the later acts) and the Lives of the Prophets present similar difficulties; yet, their inclusion within the expanded canon of apocrypha speaks in favor of also adding the Life of the Virgin.34 Already by the end of the fifth century a sort of “proto-Life” of the Virgin had emerged in the form of several Syriac manuscripts that transmit the Protevangelium and the Six Books apocryphon, 32 Bauckham,

“The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 346–60. Junod, “Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament,” 27, 34–36; C. Markschies, “ ‘Neutestamentliche Apokryphen’: Bemerkungen zu Geschichte und Zukunft einer von Edgar Hennecke im Jahr 1904 begründeten Quellensammlung,” Apocrypha 9 (1998): 97–132 at 117–19; F. Bovon, “Editing the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (ed. F. Bo­ von et al.; Harvard Divinity School Studies; Cambridge, Mass. 1999), 1–35 at 3–4; idem, “Byzantine Witnesses for the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” ibid., 87–98; S. C. Mimouni, “Le concept d’apocryphité dans le christianisme ancien et médiéval. Réflexions en guise d’introduction,” in Apocryphité. Histoire d’un concept transversal aux religions du livre. En hommage à Pierre Geoltrain (ed. S. C. Mimouni; BEHESR 113; Turnhout 2002), 1–30 at 4–5; W. Schneemelcher, “General Introduction,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 1:9–75 at 54, 57–60. See also S. J. Shoemaker, “Early Christian Apocrypha,” in Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies (ed. S. Ashbrook Harvey and D. G. Hunter; Oxford and New York 2008), 521–48; idem, “Between Scripture and Tradition: The Marian Apocrypha of Early Christianity,” in The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity (ed. L. DiTommaso and L. Turcescu; The Bible in Ancient Christianity 6; Leiden 2008), 491–510. 34 The Clavis Apocryphorum Novi Testamenti takes a step in this direction by including a section dedicated to the Lives of the Virgin: see M. Geerard, Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti (CC; Turnhout 1992), 71–73. 33 E. g.,

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sometimes together with the Infancy Gospel of Thomas.35 Thus, by including the Six Books narrative within the apocryphal canon, this incipient form of Marian biography would also effectively be represented. Ideally, one would additionally like to include the earliest complete Life of the Virgin, a seventh-century narrative that survives only in a Georgian translation, where it is ascribed to Maximus the Confessor.36 Although the attribution to Maximus remains at present somewhat uncertain, this Life of the Virgin was almost certainly composed in seventh-century Constantinople, as I have argued in several studies of this important and yet overlooked text.37 Presumably the text is too long to appear in a collection of apocrypha, and recently I have published a book-length translation of the complete text.38 Nevertheless, it is essential that this oldest Life of the Virgin find a place among the apocrypha of ancient Christianity and be studied in this context. The Georgian Life of the Virgin is a virtual compendium of apocryphal traditions about the Virgin from the ancient church. Although much of the Life’s material is already well-known from its sources, including the Protevangelium and the early Dormition apocrypha in particular, this narrative relates extensive extra-biblical traditions about the Virgin that otherwise are unknown. Particularly in the section overlapping with the canonical gospels, there is much new material: here the Life of the Virgin presents Mary as a central figure in her son’s ministry and as a leader of the nascent church who 35 See Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 46–49. Two of these manuscripts have been published in W. Wright, “The Departure of My Lady Mary from This World,” The Journal of Sacred Literature and Biblical Record 6 (1865): 417–48; 7 (1865): 110–60; idem, Contributions to Apocryphal Literature, 3–16 (Syr.) and 1–11 (Eng.); and A. Smith Lewis, Apocrypha Syriaca (StSin 11; London 1902). I have prepared an edition of a third, sixth-century manuscript in Göttingen. A full description of this manuscript is provided by W. Baars and J. Heldermann, “Neue Materielen zum Text und zur Interpretation des Kindheitsevangeliums des Pseudo-Thomas,” OrChr 77 (1993): 191–226 at 194–97. For more on the three Mss. and their relationship to other Life of Mary compilations, see C. Naffah, “Les ‘histoires’ syriaques de la Vierge: traditions apocryphes anciennes et récentes,” Apocrypha 20 (2009): 137–88 at 140–59. A new edition of these “proto-lives” will appear in the critical edition of the Syriac Six Books apocryphon that I am preparing for the CCSA. 36 M. van Esbroeck, Maxime le Confesseur. Vie de la Vierge (2 vols.; CSCO 478–479, Iber. 21–22; Leuven 1986). 37 S. J. Shoemaker, “The Georgian Life of the Virgin Attributed to Maximus the Confessor: Its Authenticity (?) and Importance,” in Universum Hagiographicum. Mémorial R. P. Michel van Esbroeck, S. J. (1934–2003) (ed. B. Lourié and A. Muraviev), monographic issue of the journal Scrinium 2 (2006): 66–87; idem, “The Virgin Mary in the Ministry of Jesus and the Early Church according to the Earliest Life of the Virgin,” HTR 98 (2005): 441–67; idem, “The Cult of Fashion: The Earliest Life of the Virgin and Constantinople’s Marian Relics,” DOP 62 (2008): 53–74; idem, “A Mother’s Passion: Mary’s Role in the Crucifixion and Resurrection in the Earliest Life of the Virgin and Its Influence on George of Nicomedia’s Passion Homilies,” in The Cult of the Mother of God in Byzantium: Texts and Images (ed. L. Brubaker and M. Cunningham; Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Studies; Aldershot 2011), 53–67. 38 S. J. Shoemaker, Maximus the Confessor, The Life of the Virgin: Translated, with an Introduction and Notes (New Haven, Conn. 2012).

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directed the apostles’ activities.39 Moreover, the subsequent influence of this first Life of the Virgin on the eastern Christian tradition is quite profound. Its assemblage of ancient traditions about the Virgin provided the template for many of Byzantium’s most important Marian writings, including the Lives of the Virgin by Symeon the Metaphrast and John the Geometer, as well as George of Nicomedia’s Passion homilies. Through these intermediaries, certain elements of this ancient Marian biography ultimately found their way into the Orthodox liturgy for Good Friday, where its apocryphal traditions about Mary continue to play an active role within the Christian faith.40

5. The Gospel of Mary Yet, if the oldest Life of the Virgin is too long for inclusion in a future anthology of apocrypha, there is one much shorter text that I would also nominate for inclusion in this section of Marian apocrypha: the Gospel of Mary. While some no doubt will continue to find such a suggestion controversial if not outrageous, one wonders if the broader inclusion of a range of Marian apocrypha within the canon ultimately might enable us to look upon this Marian gospel with new eyes. The study of early Christian apocrypha has for too long been more or less shielded from the ancient Dormition narratives in particular, which open up new perspectives on the Virgin Mary’s importance within early Christian tradition, especially among heterodox communities that were accepting of apocrypha. The study of early Christian Apocrypha in particular has revealed the importance of a canon for constructing and maintaining interpretive orthodoxies, and the representation of Mary in early Christian apocrypha is, I believe, no exception to this rule. For instance, Mary’s identity with the Magdalene in the Gospel of Mary and certain other early apocrypha has long rested on modern scholarship’s construction of an ancient Christian “Gnosticism” and the related identification of a canon of “gnostic” or even “Coptic gnostic” literature that was the product of this movement. By studying the very challenging texts of this corpus collectively, one could gain some sense of the beliefs and practices of Christian Gnosticism: things expressed more clearly in one text could illuminate the more cryptic 39 See

especially Shoemaker, “The Virgin Mary in the Ministry of Jesus.” the studies quoted above, n. 37, see N. Tsironis, “The Lament of the Virgin Mary from Romanos the Melode to George of Nicomedia” (Ph.D. diss.; University of London, 1998), 279, 292; M. Vassilaki and N. Tsironis, “Representations of the Virgin and Their Association with the Passion of Christ,” in Mother of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art (ed. M. Vassilaki; Milan 2000), 453–63 at 457; S. J. Shoemaker, “Mary at the Cross, East and West: Maternal Compassion and Affective Piety in the Earliest Life of the Virgin and the High Middle Ages,” JTR 62 (2011): 570–606; idem, Maximus the Confessor, The Life of the Virgin, 14–35; idem, “The Virgin Mary’s Hidden Past: From Ancient Marian Apocrypha to the Medieval Vitae Virginis,” Marian Studies 60 (2009): 1–30. 40 Besides

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details of another. In regard to the figure of Mary, a “canon within the canon” of “Gnostic Mary” texts was established, and whenever certain texts left this woman’s identity open to question, purportedly less-ambiguous statements from other texts would be invoked to fix her identity across the corpus as the Magdalene.41 The canon’s function in this instance recalls the classic Protestant hermeneutic of using Scripture to interpret Scripture – seeking in clear passages from one part of the canon the solution to more obscure passages in another work. Of course, this makes perfect sense when one assumes a single divine authorship behind the various components of Scripture, but it is a bit more problematic when applied to the disparate apocrypha of ancient Christianity. Yet, recent scholarship has called to varying degrees for the dismantling of “Gnosticism” as a coherent, interpretive category for understanding the diversity of ancient Christianity, and this move has significant consequences for interpreting Mary’s appearances in early Christian Apocrypha.42 While the dust is far from settled in the debates over “gnostic” Christianity, it is certainly a misnomer to identify this figure as “the gnostic Mary,” as I too am guilty of having previously done. The various apocrypha that comprise this canon of Mary traditions are not all “gnostic,” even by traditional definitions. Consequently, I have abandoned the designation “gnostic Mary” for this elusive woman, adopting instead “the apocryphal Mary,” in the effort to fall more into line with this new taxonomy of early Christianity. Yet, it is essential to recognize that once “Gnosticism” is gone, so too is any canon of “gnostic” apocrypha that can be interpreted in hermetic isolation. The formerly “gnostic” Mary apocrypha are thus released into the vast sea of early Christian literature, where they are to be interpreted within a much broader context and in light of a vast array of early Christian writings, including not just the Diatessaron, for instance, but also the ancient Dormition apocrypha. Furthermore, a number of prominent scholars of early Christianity, including Karen L. King, for instance, but especially Elizabeth A. Clark, have called for a new hermeneutic paradigm that aims not so much at knowing “what really happened” or probing the lives of “real” men and women from history.43 They pro41 A. Marjanen’s study, The Woman Jesus Loved: Mary Magdalene in the Nag Hammadi Library and Related Documents (NHMS 40; Leiden 1996), reflects one of the most recent examples of this approach. A similar sort of canon is operative in D. M. Parrott, “Gnostic and Orthodox Disciples in the Second and Third Centuries,” in Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism, and Early Christianity (ed. C. W. Hedrick and R. Hodgson; Peabody, Mass. 1986), 193–219. 42 See especially M. A. Williams, Rethinking Gnosticism: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton, N. J. 1996); K. L. King, What Is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, Mass. 2003); I. Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York 2008). See now also D. Brakke, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity (Cambridge, Mass. 2010), whose arguments for a more limited use of the term “gnostic” I find persuasive. Nevertheless, Brakke’s category of “Gnostics” does not, it would seem, include the “Gnostic Mary” texts. 43 E. A. Clark, History, Theory, Text: Historians and the Linguistic Turn (Cambridge, Mass. 2004), esp. 130–55; eadem, “The Lady Vanishes: Dilemmas of a Feminist Historian after the

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pose instead a model that views the documentary remains of the past as literary traces that transmit images (or perhaps better, imaginings) of the past and call forward certain interpretations into the present. From such a vantage, the Gospel of Mary’s central figure is no longer a “real” woman whose role in the early church is simply described in this apocryphon. She is a literary character in a narrative about origins who, by entering into the world of textuality, opens herself up to intertextuality.44 This woman’s representation, ambiguous in some texts, confused in others, is not controlled and determined either by an arbitrary canon of certain Coptic apocrypha or even by the boundaries of individual texts. Rather, it is in constant dialogue with the other Mary traditions of ancient Christianity. There is, as Jacques Derrida famously wrote, “no outside-the-text” – that is, one cannot separate off individual texts as discrete, closed entities to be interpreted in isolation from the totality of other texts and cultural discourses that give a text’s signs their meaning. A text, he explains, is “no longer a finished corpus of writing, some content enclosed in a book or its margins, but a differential network, a fabric of traces referring endlessly to something other than itself.”45 To put it another way, “each text becomes itself in relation to other texts, no text is self-contained.”46 The Mary of early Christian Apocrypha seems to exemplify such an intertextual figure whose identity is not closed off and fixed but instead draws on a range of preexisting texts and discourses about various Marys. When viewed in this perspective, the apocryphal Mary does not simply represent the experience of a specific woman within the early church, but her appearance in these narratives invokes simultaneously several different memories, presumably of the many different Marys, to construct what is in essence a literary character who embodies the threatened position of women leaders within the early church.47 ‘Linguistic Turn’,” CH 67 (1998): 1–31; eadem, “Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social History, and the ‘Linguistic Turn’,” JECS 6 (1998): 413–30; King, What is Gnosticism? 239–47. 44 In addition to the excellent discussion in Clark, History, Theory, Text, ch. 7, see also the brief discussion of “intertextuality” and a fine example of its application in S. J. Davis, “Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex: Intertextuality and Gender in Early Christian Legends of Holy Women Disguised as Men,” JECS 10 (2002): 1–36 at 11–14. 45 J. Derrida, “Living On: Border Lines,” in Deconstruction and Criticism (ed. H. Bloom et al.; New York 1979), 75–176 at 83–4; cf. idem, Of Grammatology (trans. G. C. Spivak; Baltimore 1976), ch. 2. 46 M. C. Taylor, “Deconstruction: What’s the Difference?” Soundings 66 (1983): 387–403 at 400. 47 See S. J. Shoemaker, “Rethinking the ‘Gnostic Mary’: Mary of Nazareth and Mary of Magdala in Early Christian Tradition,” JECS 9 (2001): 555–95; idem, “A Case of Mistaken Identity? Naming the Gnostic Mary,” in Which Mary? The Marys of Early Christian Tradition (ed. F. S. Jones; SBLSymS 19; Atlanta, Ga. 2002), 5–30; idem, “Jesus’ Gnostic Mom: Mary of Nazareth and the Gnostic Mary Traditions,” in Mariam, the Magdalen, and the Mother (ed. D. Good; Bloomington, Ind. 2005), 153–83.

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The Mary of the Pistis Sophia, for instance, whose identity is particularly unstable, is an excellent example of this phenomenon. In the first three books of the Pistis Sophia, Mary’s identity is generally quite unclear, often shifting fluidly between the Virgin and the Magdalene, while at times the two women are clearly distinguished from each another. The end result is so garbled that it is almost impossible to determine who Mary is in most instances, and the text itself seems to resist any clear resolution. For instance, Ann Brock argues that at one point “the other Mary,” who seems to be the Magdalene, is clearly identified in the text as “the blessed one,” an epithet given to an otherwise generic “Mary” on other occasions, which may signal her identity as the Magdalene in these passages.48 Yet, despite this moment of apparent clarity, this same Mary is also named the “blessed one … who will be called blessed by all generations” (Pist. Soph. 19; cf. Luke 1:48) and she is the one who is “blessed among all women on earth” (Pist. Soph. 34; cf. Luke 1:42).49 These intertexts with Luke’s gospel link the “blessed” Mary with the Blessed Virgin of Nazareth, destabilizing “the blessed one’s” identity elsewhere in the Pistis Sophia with the Magdalene. Indeed, it appears that the Pistis Sophia considered both women to be blessed, and thus this apocryphon’s Mary seems to be, as Deirdre Good was the first to propose, a composite figure that draws simultaneously on the identities of more than one Mary, calling forth at least two historical women in a single literary character.50 The Pistis Sophia itself repeatedly “deconstructs” any efforts to impose an interpretive closure on this figure: its aporetic nature subverts our attempts to resolve her identity into a single historical Mary.51 Although this instability is less dramatic in the Gospel of Mary and other early Mary texts, I would maintain that these Marys too are composite figures, whose frequent indeterminacy evokes more than a single woman. The name “Mary” in isolation opens up avenues to a variety of early Christian traditions, inviting the reader, both ancient and modern, to connect these texts with a number of different early Christian women and not merely just one.

48 A. G. Brock, “Setting the Record Straight – The Politics of Identification: Mary Magdalene and Mary the Mother in Pistis Sophia,” in Which Mary? 43–52. 49 C. Schmidt and V. MacDermot, Pistis Sophia (NHS 9; Leiden 1978), 28, 56. 50 D. Good, “Pistis Sophia,” in Searching the Scriptures (ed. E. Schüssler Fiorenza; 2 vols.; New York 1993–1994), 2:678–707 at 696, 703–4 51 J. Derrida, “Afterword: Toward and Ethic of Discussion,” in Limited Inc (trans. S. Weber; Evanston, Ill. 1988), 111–66, describes deconstruction as “the effort to take this limitless context into account, to pay the sharpest and broadest attention to context, and thus to the incessant movement of recontextualization” (136). As he explains elsewhere (“Biodegradables: Seven Diary Fragments,” Critical Inquiry 15 [1989]: 812–73), “[a] deconstructive understanding of history consists … in transforming things by exhibiting writings, genres, textual strata … that have been repulsed, repressed, devalorized, minoritized, delegitimated, occulted by hegemonic canons” (821).

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6. In conclusion: expanding the apocryphal canon So long as the primary comparanda for the Gospel of Mary  – namely, the canonical collections of apocrypha – continue to exclude the ancient Dormition apocrypha, certain interpretations of this early Christian document are made to seem more “natural.” Critical evidence for Mary of Nazareth’s importance in early apocrypha and within theologically marginal Christian communities is obscured by their absence and sundered from various other early “Mary” traditions. This canon effectively constricts the sample of intertexts available for determining the meanings of the apocryphal Mary. Indeed, one wonders if Carl Schmidt had enjoyed the good fortune to study the earliest Dormition apocrypha, would scholarship have followed the same path over the past century in interpreting Mary’s appearances in various early Christian apocrypha? But late nineteenth-century scholarship was resolute in its exclusion of this material from the study of ancient Christianity. The texts were dismissed as so much superstitious Popery, medieval nonsense that demonstrated the degeneracy of the post-patristic church and had no place in the pristine Christianity of antiquity. Such attitudes remained into the early twentieth century, even among those who labored to edit and translate these wretched Marian fantasies.52 It is hardly a surprise then, given this context, that Schmidt and many other early interpreters gave little credibility to the possible linkage between Mary of Nazareth and the “apocryphal Mary.” Yet, adding the ancient Dormition apocrypha to the canon of early Christian Apocrypha would begin to correct a long-standing prejudice against the place of both Mary and Marian apocrypha in the ancient church, hopefully also reconfiguring the traditional interpretation of certain early Marian apocrypha.

52 Consider, e. g., James’s evaluation of the Apocalypse of Mary mentioned above, n. 7, or Smith Lewis quoting with great approval, in her preface to the early version of the Six Books apocryphon that she edited, a passage from H. Ewald’s review of W. Wright, The Departure of My Lady Mary from This World: Edited from Two Syriac MSS. in the British Museum (London 1865), in Göttingische gelehrte Anzeigen 26 (1865): 1018–31, “We can certainly affirm that this book has become from the first the firm foundation for all the unhappy adoration of Mary, and for a hundred superstitious things, which have intruded with less and less resistance into the Churches, since the 5th century, and have contributed so much to the degeneration and to the crippling of all better Christianity. The little book is therefore of the greatest importance for the history of every century in the Middle Ages, and yet today we ought to notice far more seriously than we usually do the great amount of what we have to learn from it. The whole cultus of Mary in the Papal Church rests upon this book; we might search in vain for any other foundation to it” (original German text, 1022–23; ET: Smith Lewis, Apocrypha Syriaca, xvi).

Why Mary and Peter? From the Early Christian Gospel of Mary to the Late Antique Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles* Pierluigi Piovanelli 1. The diversity of early Christian apocryphal literature As recent debates largely demonstrate, the use of categories and labels in the study of Christian apocryphal literature is becoming more and more complex, difficult, and delicate, and the traditional organization of such a polymorphic and heterogeneous variety of texts is now being called into question. They have never been a well-defined corpus, like the New Testament, or even an “anti-corpus,” that is to say, an alternative version in competition with the canonical collection(s). Actually, any comparison with the situation of the texts included in the New Testament is, at least, potentially misleading. A great number of Christian apocryphal texts have but a loose relation to the materials that made their way into the New Testament. As for the literary genres to which they belong, they simply do not correspond to the four models (i. e., Gospels, Acts, Letters, and Apocalypses) employed by the authors of the canonical texts. On the apocryphal side there is a greater variety of narratives, such as infancy stories, dialogues, questions and answers, heavenly ascents, tours of hell, martyrdoms, and numerous others. Even in the case of the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, the genre of which seems perfectly evident at first glance, from a narrative point of view they have more in common with the Hellenistic novel than with the second part of Luke’s work to such an extent that, from an intertextual perspective, they can be considered all but simple rewritings of the canonical Acts.1 * A preliminary version of the first part of this composite study (“Using Labels and Categories in a Responsible Way: The Making and Evolution of Early Christian Apocryphal Texts with the Gospel of Mary as a Test Case”) was presented at the workshop on “Christian Apocryphal Texts for the New Millennium: Achievements, Prospects, and Challenges,” in Ottawa (On.), on October 1st, 2006, while the second part (“Why Peter? The Authoritative Role of Peter in the Monophysite Collections of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles”) was delivered at the SBL International Meeting in Groningen, on July 28th, 2004. I would like to express to Rajiv Bhola my thanks and gratitude for correcting and improving the English style of the present essay. 1 See J.-D. Kaestli, “La littérature apocryphe peut-elle être comprise comme ‘littérature au second degré’ (G. Genette)?” in Intertextualités. La Bible en échos (ed. D. Marguerat and

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In my opinion, to imprison Christian apocryphal texts within the category of “New Testament Apocrypha”2 is to essentialize a reality that was historically quite different. To such a prejudice Jean-Claude Picard had already objected that the apocryphal and canonical texts form together the ensemble of the memorial traditions about the origins of Christian religion and communities … Some of these memorial traditions crystallized into the form that will eventually become the canonical form, while other traditions remained open and subject to endless variations, thus producing the apocryphal texts. But all of them together are devoted to the transmission of the memorial traditions about the origins.3

The best illustration of such a non-colonial approach, so to speak, is provided now by the two Pléiade volumes of the Écrits apocryphes chrétiens,4 whose criteria of classification are not the literary genres and subdivisions of the New Testament, but some empirical and thematic clusters: (1) texts about Jesus, Mary, and other early Christian characters; (2) texts about John the Baptist and the apostles; (3) visions and revelations; (4) letters; (5) and the Pseudo-Clementine novel.

Concerning long-established labels such as “Jewish Christianity,” “Gnosticism,” and “proto-Orthodoxy / Catholicism,” in spite of their survival in more popular literature,5 they are also coming under attack. As Karen King aptly summarizes, A. H. W. Curtis; MdB 40; Geneva 2000), 288–304; J. N. Bremmer, “The Apocryphal Acts: Authors, Place, Time and Readership,” in The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SAAA 6; Leuven 2001), 149–70; F. Bovon, “Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of Apostles,” JECS 11 (2003): 165–94; R. Gounelle, “Actes apocryphes des apôtres et Actes des apôtres canoniques. État de la recherche et perspectives nouvelles,” RHPR 84 (2004): 3–30, 419–41; idem, “Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres témoignent-ils de la réception des Actes des Apôtres canoniques?” in Les Actes des Apôtres. Histoire, récit, théologie. XXe congrès de l’Association catholique française pour l’étude de la Bible (Angers, 2003) (ed. M. Berder; LD 199; Paris 2005), 177–211. 2 This actually is the approach adopted by E. Hennecke and W. Schneemelcher in their wellknown (and still useful) anthology: W. Schneemelcher, ed., New Testament Apocrypha (trans. R. McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; Cambridge and Louisville, Ky. 1991–1992 [based on the sixth German ed., Tübingen 1989–1990]). The same arrangement is followed by B. D. Ehrman, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford and New York 2003), xi–xv; idem, Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament (Oxford and New York 2003). 3 J.-C. Picard, “Les chemins de la mythologie chrétienne,” in idem, Le continent apocryphe. Essai sur les littératures apocryphes juive et chrétienne (Instrumenta Patristica 36; Turnhout 1999), 247–64 at 259 (my own translation, emphasis added), quoted in P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005): 31–40 at 36. 4 F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli, eds., Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442 and 516; Paris 1997–2005). 5  See, e. g., B. D.  Ehrman, Peter, Paul, and Mary Magdalene: The Followers of Jesus in History and Legend (Oxford and New York 2006).

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By this point, it should be clear that the terms “orthodoxy” and “heresy” or “Gnosticism” and “Jewish Christianity” do not belong to impartial historical description. They were developed to identify the winners and losers in inner-Christian debate. Within this bifurcating frame, the new texts [i. e., the Nag Hammadi and related texts] are relegated to the side that lost out, and therefore people might wrongly conclude that these views had no further place in Christian history after the establishment of Nicene orthodoxy in the fourth century. This conclusion would, however, be misleading and incomplete.6

On the one hand, there is a growing awareness that the “parting of the ways” between Judaism and Christianity did not occur, at least in Syria-Palestine, before the political triumph of Christianity in the fourth century or, in the rest of the Roman Empire, before the end of Second Jewish War, in 135 c.e.7 On the other hand, the very existence of any pre-Christian gnostic phenomena is cast into doubt and the main branches of “classical” Gnosticism (i. e., Sethianism and Valentinism) are now viewed as a part of the kaleidoscopic range of Christian movements at work in the second century.8 To put it in other words, prior to 6 K. L. King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala: Jesus and the First Woman Apostle (Santa Rosa, Calif. 2003), 169. Similar concerns are also expressed by A. Gregory, “Hindrance or Help: Does the Modern Category of ‘Jewish-Christian Gospel’ Distort Our Understanding of the Texts to Which It Refers?” JSNT 28 (2006): 387–413, or A. Y. Reed in her contribution to this volume. A more “neutral” approach has recently been adopted by H. Räisänen, The Rise of Christian Beliefs: The Thought World of Early Christians (Minneapolis 2010), and E. Norelli, La nascita del cristianesimo (Le vie della civiltà; Bologna 2014). 7 See, among others, F. Blanchetière, Enquête sur les racines juives du mouvement chrétien (30–135) (Initiations; Paris 2001); D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Divinations; Philadelphia 2004); A. D. Crown, “Judaism and Christianity: The Parting of the Ways,” in When Judaism and Christianity Began: Essays in Memory of Anthony J. Saldarini (ed. A. J. Avery-Peck, D. Harrington and J. Neusner; 2 vols.; JSJSup 85; Leiden 2004), 2:545–62; S. C.  Mimouni, Les chrétiens d’origine juive dans l’Antiquité (Présences du Judaïsme 29; Paris 2004); idem, “Pour une histoire de la séparation entre les communautés ‘chrétiennes’ et les communautés ‘pharisiennes’ (ca. 70–135 de notre ère),” Henoch 26 (2004): 145–71; T. Nicklas, Jews and Christians? Second Century “Christian” Perspectives on the “Parting of the Ways” (Annual Deichmann Lectures 2013) (Tübingen 2014); as well as the collective volumes published by A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed, eds., The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (TSAJ 95; Tübingen 2003), and S. C. Mimouni and B. Pouderon, eds., La croisée des chemins revisitée. Quand l’Église et la Synagogue se sont-elles distinguées? Actes du colloque de Tours, 18–19 juin 2010 (Patrimoines, Judaïsme antique; Paris 2012). 8 See especially E. H. Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York 1979); M. A. Williams, Rethinking “Gnosticism”: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton, N. J. 1996); K. L.  King, What Is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, Mass. 2003); I. Dunderberg, Beyond Gnosticism: Myth, Lifestyle, and Society in the School of Valentinus (New York 2008). For a discussion of Williams’ positions, see A. Marjanen, ed., Was There a Gnostic Religion? (PFES 87; Helsinki 2005). See also the methodological considerations of P.-H. Poirier, “Comment les gnostiques se sont-ils appelés? Comment doit-on les appeler aujourd’hui?” SR 33 (2004): 209–16, and C. Tuckett, The Gospel of Mary (OECGT; Oxford and New York 2007), 43–52. Personally, I find more constructive the rather pragmatic path followed by C. Markschies, Gnosis: An Introduction (trans J. Bowden; London 2003 [original German ed., München 2001]), 1–27, and D. Brakke, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity (Cambridge, Mass. 2010), 19–28, 142–43.

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the year 135 c.e. a large part of Christianity was but a Jewish movement, whose cultural and religious heritage survived among the so-called Ebionites and Naza­ renes. At the same time, the legacy of other early Christian groups  – Petrine, Pauline, Johannine, Thomasine, Magdalenian (?) – was taken over by other theologians, who gave rise to a series of schools, groups, and movements as varied as the Marcionites, the Montanists, the Valentinians, and many others, including their “proto-Orthodox” fellows, for whom it is so difficult to assign a brand-new name because we simply ignore how their adversaries designated them. Perhaps the best solution would be to describe, with Gerd Theissen, proto-Orthodox communities as the result of a “repatriarchalization of love,”9 a social and cultural process that is especially manifest in the Pastoral Epistles. Accordingly, using the title of one of their main ideological documents as a general cover (in the same way that “Enochic Judaism” is a scholarly label that appropriately qualifies the Second Temple Jewish groups that produced and used the Enochic literature), we could call this variety of early Christianity “Pastoral Christianity” and its followers “Pastoral Christians” or the like. The use of the term “proto-Orthodoxy” would then represent an emic, or insider perspective (“We are the only orthodox Christians and those who do not share our beliefs are simply heretics”), while “Pastoral Christianity” would correspond to an etic, or outsider perspective (“They all claim to be orthodox, but that specific group is actually best described as Pastoral”). Nonetheless, it would also seem that in contemporary research the use of certain labels inherited from the old heresiological tradition carries with it the stigma of religious and/or political incorrectness. This is especially true for the terms and categories “gnostic” and “Gnosticism.” Take for example the notorious case of the Gospel of Thomas (NHC II,2), an important and independent witness to the teachings of Jesus,10 the historical relevance of which is systematically undermined by those scholars who dismiss it as a late and second-hand gnostic rewriting of the canonical gospels.11 Thus, in his supposedly “impartial” examination of the primary ancient sources to be used for the reconstruction of the historical  9 G. Theissen, Le mouvement de Jésus. Histoire sociale d’une révolution de valeurs (trans. J. Hoffmann; Initiations bibliques; Paris 2006 [original German ed., Gütersloh 2004]), 331–32. 10 For an assessment, see P. Piovanelli, “ ‘Un gros et beau poisson.’ L’Évangile selon Thomas dans la recherche (et la controverse) contemporaine(s),” Adamantius 15 (2009): 291–306; idem, “Thomas in Edessa? Another Look at the Original Setting of the Gospel of Thomas,” in Myths, Martyrs, and Modernity: Studies in the History of Religions in Honour of Jan N. Bremmer (ed. J. Dijkstra, J. Kroesen and Y. Kuiper; Numen Book Series 127; Leiden 2010), 443–61 (with further bibliography). 11 I do not find compelling, on philological and text-critical grounds, the arguments for a dependence of the Gospel of Thomas on the canonical gospels put cyclically forward by some specialists – most recently, S. Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas: Original Language and Influences (SNTSMS 151; Cambridge 2012), and M. S. Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels: The Making of an Apocryphal Text (London 2012) – who seem to overemphasize the genetic meaningfulness of shared lectiones adiaphorae and other minor agreements.

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Jesus, John Meier has contented himself with a rather superficial dismissal of the Gospel of Thomas based on no serious exegetical argument, simply because it is perceived as a gnostic text.12 Happily enough, the editors of the Pléiade anthology did not share such a negative opinion of the Gospel of Thomas and, in spite of its supposedly gnostic overtones, chose to include it in their first volume.

2. Who is afraid of the “Gnostic” Mary of Magdala? It is only understandable that, when confronted with a prejudice as robust as this ideological rejection of all that could be simply suspected of Gnosticism, some specialists of the Nag Hammadi and related texts feel compelled to refuse the applicability of such a derogatory label to the objects of their studies. Thus, the postmodern criticism of a general category (Gnosticism) is reinforced by the denial of its pertinence in some specific cases. This brings us to the case of the Gospel of Mary, an apocryphal dialogue between the risen Lord and the apostles originally written in Greek (as demonstrated by two tiny, early third-century papyrus fragments, Rylands 463 and Oxyrhynchus 3525). A Coptic translation of the Gospel of Mary was copied in the fifth century at the beginning of the Berlin papyrus 8502, a codex that also contains the Apocryphon of John, the Sophia of Jesus Christ, and the episode of Peter’s daughter and Ptolemy taken from the (presently lost) original text of the Acts of Peter. One should note that the Gospel of Mary was originally copied on pages 1 to 19 of the codex, and that pages 1 to 6 and 11 to 14 are missing, two lacunae that represent a loss of approximately 55 % of the original text. If there are no doubts about the gnostic identity of the Apocryphon of John (probably a Sethian text) and the Sophia of Jesus Christ, in the case of the Acts of Peter its origins are to be located not in gnostic Christianity, but in (what we suggested to call) Pastoral, more or less encratite, Christianity.13 After all, it is well known that gnostic and / or Manichean readers held in high esteem some of the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. However, in the case of the Codex Berolinensis, this demonstrates that its compiler did not hesitate to put together gnostic writings and, at least, a passage from a non-gnostic text. Could this also be the case of the Gospel of Mary? 12 Contrast J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (4 vols.; AYB; New York 1991–2009), 1:112–41, with W. Arnal, The Symbolic Jesus: Historical Scholarship, Judaism and the Construction of Contemporary Identity (Religion in Culture; London and Oakville, Conn. 2005), 63–67, 84–86, and P. Piovanelli, “À propos de quelques traductions récentes de livres nord-américains sur le Jésus historique,” SR 35 (2006): 327–35 at 333. 13 See J. N. Bremmer, “Aspects of the Acts of Peter: Women, Magic, Place and Date,” in The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SAAA 3; Leuven 1998), 1–20; A. G. Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority (HTS 51; Cambridge, Mass. 2003), 105–22.

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To the best of my knowledge, Michel Tardieu was the only specialist to attempt to address the question of the organization and the coherence of the anthology collected in the Codex Berolinensis. In his opinion, “[t]he Gospel of Mary deals with the problem of nature and destiny and sets up the antidotes against them: the determinism of nature (this world) is won by the noetic function, while the determinism of destiny (the otherworld) is won thanks to the passwords … The Gospel of Mary introduces the theoretical and practical issue of a global debate on providence,” to which the Apocryphon of John, the Sophia of Jesus Christ, and the episode of Peter’s daughter and Ptolemy offer some answers and, in the case of the lattermost, a telling illustration.14 Concerning the content of the first six missing folios, Tardieu also draws attention to the structural analogy existing between the questions addressed by Jesus in Gospel of Mary 7–8 (the nature of matter, sin, illness, and death) and the plan of Peter’s controversy with Simon the Magician in Pseudo-Clementine Homilies 19, which opens with a long discussion on the existence of Satan. In view of this parallelism, the Gospel of Mary could possibly have begun with a discussion of the “Evil One.”15 Tardieu’s conclusion is that The questions dealt with are linked together in a logical way: the demiurge and his creation (§§ 1–2), sin and its consequences (§§ 3–4), salvation by gnosis (§§ 5–8), the journey of the soul after death (§§ 9–12). These are the main points addressed by gnostic thought. This small gospel is a handbook of the gnostic key beliefs cemented with a novelistic coating borrowed from the Synoptic Gospels and apocryphal literature.16

Other typically gnostic features were detected by Anne Pasquier, the editor of the Gospel of Mary in the “Bibliothèque copte de Nag Hammadi.”17 For example, the aforementioned discussion on the nature of matter and sin seems to suggest that, in order to be saved, the human soul has to reject matter and merge with the Image of the celestial, spiritual nature – the Son of Man present at the interior of each human being (8.18–19) that the Savior has made known.18 To follow the path of this “child of true Humanity” (as Karen King translates it) does not imply imitating him by taking his cross and suffering martyrdom, but, quite the contrary, to find the true peace (“My peace receive for yourselves. Beware that no one leads you astray saying, ‘See here!’, or ‘See there!’, for the Son of Man is within you …”, 8.14–1919) by rediscovering the treasure of the Realm that is hidden within the self.20 As for the vision of the Lord granted to Mary (10.10–23), she receives it through her noûs or “mind,” which in turn probably has to activate 14 M. Tardieu, Écrits gnostiques. Codex de Berlin (Sources gnostiques et manichéennes 1; Paris 1984), 19 (my translation). 15 Tardieu, Écrits gnostiques, 20–21. 16 Tardieu, Écrits gnostiques, 22 (my translation). 17 A. Pasquier, L’Évangile selon Marie (BG 1) (BCNH, Textes 10; Québec and Leuven 1983). 18 Pasquier, L’Évangile selon Marie, 48–56. 19 Translation taken from Tuckett, The Gospel of Mary, 89. 20 Pasquier, L’Évangile selon Marie, 56–66.

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the quiescent pneuma or “spirit” (at this point begins the second lacuna) in order to make Mary a pneumatic person able to announce the gospel.21 Tardieu and King are certainly right when they observe that the view of “the mind acting as a mediator between the sensory perceptions of the soul and the divine spirit” (originally, a Platonic theory) “was widely held among Christian theologians,” such as Justin and Origen.22 However, in the Gospel of Mary such a “common doctrine” is put to the service of the gnostic theologumenon of the awakening and salvation of the spiritual self, as the compelling parallels quoted by Pasquier clearly demonstrate.23 More recently, Françoise Morard, the translator of the Gospel of Mary for the second volume of the Pléiade, seems to put the gnostic identity and understanding of the text between brackets.24 The invitation that Mary addresses to the other apostles, ⲙ̄ⲡⲣ̅ⲣ̅ ϩⲏⲧ ⲥⲛⲁⲩ, “do not let your heart be divided,” i. e., “do not be undecided” (9.15–16; compare μὴ διστάζετε, “do not doubt,” in the Oxyrhynchus papyrus), and the subsequent statement that the Savior ⲁϥⲥⲃ̄ⲧⲱⲧⲛ̄, “has prepared us” or “has united us” (9.19–20, as in the Greek fragment, συνήρτηκεν) prompts the Swiss scholar to stress the ascetic, perhaps even encratite, dimension of the Gospel of Mary: “The μοναχός is the one who achieved such unification, who became man, as Mary reminds the apostles.”25 Therefore, according to Morard, “[t]he reading of this brief treatise introduces us to the great tradition of the ascetic writings that go from prophetic Judaism, via Essenism, to the writings of the Desert Fathers that have nurtured all the spirituality of monasticism until now.”26 The trend to rethink the Gospel of Mary in non-gnostic terms is especially evident in the works of the Dutch scholar Esther de Boer27 and Karen King, the

L’Évangile selon Marie, 70–78. Écrits gnostiques, 232–33; King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala, 66–67 (quoted

21 Pasquier, 22 Tardieu,

here), 197. 23 Pasquier, L’Évangile selon Marie, 75–76 (from the probably Valentinian Prayer of the Apostle Paul [NHC I,1], the Apocryphon of James [NHC I,2], and the Sophia of Jesus Christ [NHC III,4; BG 3]). 24 See F. Morard, “L’Évangile de Marie, un message ascétique?” Apocrypha 12 (2001): 155–71; eadem, “Évangile selon Marie,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 2:3–23. 25 Morard, “L’Évangile de Marie,” 165 (my translation). 26 Morard, “L’Évangile de Marie,” 171 (my translation). 27 See especially E. A. de Boer, The Gospel of Mary: Beyond a Gnostic and a Biblical Mary Magdalene (JSNTSup 260; London and New York 2004), 12–100; eadem, “A Gnostic Mary in the Gospel of Mary?” in Coptic Studies on the Threshold of a New Millennium: Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Coptic Studies, Leiden, 27 August – 2 September 2000 (ed. M. Immerzeel and J. van der Vliet; 2 vols.; OLA 133; Leuven 2004), 1:695–708; eadem, “Followers of Mary Magdalene and Contemporary Philosophy: Belief in Jesus According to the Gospel of Mary,” in Jesus in apokryphen Evangelienüberlieferungen. Beiträge zu ausserkanonischen Jesusüberlieferungen aus verschiedenen Sprach‑ und Kulturtraditionen (ed. J. Frey and J. Schroeter; WUNT 1.254; Tübingen 2010), 315–38.

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best North-American specialist of this text.28 In King’s opinion, “some themes in the work that have been identified as ‘Gnostic,’ such as the rise of the soul as release from matter or the distinction between inner and outer, are commonplaces of ancient philosophy.”29 More specifically, de Boer suggests to understand the Gospel of Mary from the perspective of Stoic philosophy on matter, Nature, and passions, finding eloquent parallels to the description of the ascent of the soul (15.1–17.7) in Tractate XIII of the Corpus Hermeticum and Philo’s writings.30 Moreover, both King and de Boer emphasize the fact that in the Gospel of Mary there is no detectable trace of the typically gnostic distinction between a lower demiurgic creator (modeled on the God of Genesis) and a higher transcendent Deity. As King puts it, the nature of the resurrection and the legitimacy of women’s leadership – as well as notions about the rise of the soul as release from matter, salvation as an inner process of turning toward God, and a Christology that either rejects or simply does not include the notion of Christ as a judge – are all ideas that early Christians experimented with in their theology-making.31

To this, however, we could object that the text is too fragmentary to make any assumption about the absence of “the most distinctive themes of Gnosticism,” such as any reference to the demiurgical myth (whose presence was, by the way, conjectured by Tardieu). As for the various “commonplaces of ancient philosophy,” it is precisely their use at the service of a narrative theology of the “gnostic” type that seems to be so characteristic.32 28 See K. L. King, “The Gospel of Mary Magdalene,” in Searching the Scriptures (ed. E. Schüssler Fiorenza, with the assistance of A. Brock and S. Matthews; 2 vols.; London and New York 1993– 1994), 2:601–34; eadem, “Prophetic Power and Women’s Authority: The Case of the Gospel of Mary (Magdalene),” in Women Preachers and Prophets through Two Millennia of Christianity (ed. B. M. Kienzle and P. J. Walker; Berkeley, Calif. 1998), 21–41; eadem, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala; eadem, “Why All the Controversy? Mary in the Gospel of Mary,” in Which Mary? The Marys of Early Christian Tradition (ed. F. S. Jones; SBLSymS 19; Atlanta, Ga. 2002), 53–74; eadem, “Hearing, Seeing, and Knowing God: Allogenes and the Gospel of Mary,” in Early Christian Voices in Texts, Traditions and Symbols: Essays in Honor of François Bovon (ed. D. H. Warren, A. G. Brock and D. W. Pao; BibIntSer 66; Leiden 2003), 319–31; eadem, “The Rise of the Soul: Justice and Transcendence in the Gospel of Mary,” in Walk in the Ways of Wisdom: Essays in Honor of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (ed. S. Matthews, C. B. Kittredge and M. Johnson-DeBaufre; Harrisburg, Pa. 2003), 234–43. 29 King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala, 171. 30 De Boer, The Gospel of Mary, 35–52, 81–88. 31 King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala, 171; see also eadem, “Why All the Controversy?” 69. 32 Compare the conclusions of Tuckett, The Gospel of Mary, 52–54. We could also add that the Gospel of Mary clearly belongs to the same literary genre of revelatory, question-and-answer dialogues between the risen Jesus and the disciples so characteristic of Nag Hammadi apocryphal texts, on which see most recently P. Piovanelli, “Entre oralité et (ré)écriture. Le genre des erotapokriseis dans les dialogues apocryphes de Nag Hammadi,” in La littérature des questions et réponses dans l’Antiquité profane et chrétienne: de l’enseignement à l’exégèse. Actes du séminaire sur le genre des questions et réponses tenu à Ottawa les 27 et 28 septembre 2009 (ed. M.-P. Bussières; Instrumenta Patristica et Mediaevalia 64; Turnhout 2012), 93–103. Or that a significant

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Be that as it may, King is certainly right when she argues that what sets Mary apart is neither her intimacy with Jesus nor the instructions she receives from the Savior, but “her exemplary discipleship.” She doesn’t falter when the Savior departs, but steps into his place, comforting, strengthening, and instructing the others … She does not teach in her own name, but passes on the words of the Savior … This portrayal constitutes an explicit argument that the sure source of truth and authority can be confirmed only by the character of the disciple.33

In other words, Mary becomes here the prototype of the perfect disciple, the true apostola apostolorum, and this is what makes the testimony of the Gospel of Mary so invaluable. But in the end the question still is: why should we not consider the Gospel of Mary either a gnostic or a more-or-less gnosticized text? Is there any objective reason to refuse such a label? Or, in doing so, are we simply trying to escape the prejudices of ancient and modern heresy hunters and fundamentalist believers? Rethinking the history of this period is especially important for contemporary Christian communities, since it has been common, especially among Protestant groups, to appeal to the early church for definitions of what Christianity should be. This means that early Christian history continues to be a prominent site for theological politics, since it can legitimate or undermine contemporary practices and structures of authority. As a result, it is crucial that we get the story right.34

Honestly, even if I am sympathetic with these attempts to rewrite early Christian history in order to help to reform contemporary Christianity, in my role as historian I do not feel any embarrassment to use categories and labels in a responsible way, that is to say, to improve our understanding of the past and not to retrospectively absolve or condemn for ideological reasons.

3. Peter’s authoritative role in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles Recent years have also witnessed a renewal of interest in the figure of Peter and the different Petrine traditions, both canonical and apocryphal.35 More parparallel to the description of the ascent of the soul of the Gospel of Mary is to be found in four fragmentary pages (63–66) of the perfectly gnostic Book of Allogenes from the Al-Minya codex, recently identified and published by G. Wurst, “Weitere neue Fragmente aus Codex Tchacos. Zum ‘Buch des Allogenes’ und zu Corpus Hermeticum XIII,” in Judasevangelium und Codex Tchacos. Studien zur religionsgeschichtlichen Verortung einer gnostischen Schriftensammlung (ed. E. E. Popkes and G. Wurst; WUNT 1.297; Tübingen 2012), 1–12 at 1–9. 33 King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala, 177. 34 King, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala, 158. 35 See E. Norelli, “Situation des apocryphes pétriniens,” Apocrypha 2 (1991): 31–83; C. Grappe, D’un Temple à l’autre. Pierre et l’Église primitive de Jérusalem (Études d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses 71; Paris 1992); idem, Images de Pierre aux deux premiers siècles (Études d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses 75; Paris 1995); P. Perkins, Peter: Apostle for the Whole Church

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ticularly, Tobias Nicklas and Ann Graham Brock have devoted special attention to the narrative construction of Peter, the former within the framework of the fragmentary gospel attributed to the apostle (i. e., the Gospel of Peter),36 and the latter within a wider constellation of texts, ranging from the canonical gospels (especially Luke and John) to the Greek Acts of Peter and the Coptic Acts of Philip.37 Brock has convincingly demonstrated that the authors of these early Christian texts used the character of Peter to support their claims of orthodoxy and legitimacy. At the same time, in extolling Peter they did so at the expense of another equally apostolic and highly charismatic figure, namely, Mary Magdalene. Thus, if the authors of the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Mary, and the Pistis Sophia used the figure of Mary as a true representative of a different, more prophetically-driven and less institutionalized kind of Christianity  –  and we could endlessly debate whether such texts have preserved a more-or-less historically faithful picture of the original Jesus movement38 –, other authors chose to subordinate her role to Peter’s narrative and institutional primacy. In this regard, the replacement of Mary Magdalene by Peter as Philip’s colleague in the Coptic version of the Acts of Philip could seem, at first sight, very eloquent. Thanks to François Bovon, Bertrand Bouvier, and Frédéric Amsler’s discovery and publication of a new and more complete manuscript of the Greek Acts of Philip, we now have much better knowledge of such a late antique apocryphal text, which was probably written on behalf of a fourth century Phrygian encratite community.39 One of the more interesting features of the original Greek (SPNT; Columbia, S. C. 1994); R. Minnerath, De Jérusalem à Rome. Pierre et l’unité de l’Église apostolique (ThH 101; Paris 1995); L. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus – Kontrahenten und Partner. Die beiden Apostel im Spiegel des Neuen Testaments, der Apostolischen Väter und früher Zeugnisse ihrer Verehrung (NTAbh 30; Münster 1996); T. Wiarda, Peter in the Gospels: Pattern, Personality and Relationship (WUNT 2.127; Tübingen 2000); F. Lapham, Peter: The Man, the Myth and the Writings (JSNTSup 239; Sheffield 2003); R. Burnet, Les Douze apôtres. Histoire de la réception des figures apostoliques dans le christianisme ancien (Judaïsme ancien et origines du christia­ nisme 1; Turnhout 2014), 131–255. See also the review article of L. Doering, “Schwerpunkte und Tendenzen der neueren Petrus-Forschung,” BTZ 19 (2002): 203–23. 36 T. Nicklas, “Erzähler und Charakter zugleich. Zur literarischen Funktion des ‘Petrus’ in dem nach ihm benannten Evangelienfragment,” VC 55 (2001): 318–26. 37 Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle. 38 As convincingly argued, among others, by J. Schaberg, The Resurrection of Mary Magdalene: Legends, Apocrypha, and the Christian Testament (New York and London 2002); J. Schaberg and M. Johnson-DeBaufre, Mary Magdalene Understood (New York and London 2006). This has, of course, more to do with Mary’s charismatic leadership in the earliest Jesus movement than with her marriage to him, the contextual improbability of which is now brilliantly illustrated by A. Le Donne, The Wife of Jesus: Ancient Texts and Modern Scandals (London 2013). 39 See the critical edition of F. Amsler, F. Bovon and B. Bouvier, Acta Philippi (2 vols.; CCSA 11–12; Turnhout 1999), together with their French translations, Actes de l’apôtre Philippe (Apo­ cryphes 8; Turnhout 1996), and “Actes de Philippe,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 1:1179–1320, as well as the English translation of F. Bovon and C. R. Matthews, The Acts of Philip: A New Translation (Waco, Tex. 2012), and the studies of F. Amsler, “Les Actes de Philippe. Aperçu d’une compétition religieuse en Phrygie,” in Le mystère apocryphe (ed. J.-D. Kaestli and D. Marguerat;

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text is the significant role – a therapeutic, didactic, and liturgical role – that the narrative ascribes to Mariamme, the sister and missionary colleague of Philip. According to Bovon, such a previously unknown female character is but another avatar of Mary Magdalene, whose charismatic capacity to inspire the Christian mission is thus acknowledged and witnessed.40 However, it would seem that such an endorsement was problematic to some later readers, not only to the Byzantine copyists who eventually omitted so many passages of the original text, but also to the author of its Coptic abridged rewriting, from which Mariamme has completely disappeared, her leadership role having been taken by her traditional male counterpart, the great apostle Peter. According to Brock, such a dramatic change clearly demonstrates the intention to diminish – and in this case, even to obliterate – the prestige of Mary Magdalene as the apostola apostolorum.41 In my opinion, Brock’s work must be praised for the detection and highlighting of a strong anti-Magdalene and pro-Petrine bias that pervades a wide spectrum of first‑ and second-century Christian documents ranging from the canonical Gospel of Luke to the apocryphal Gospel and Acts of Peter. Accordingly, “[t]he texts that call upon Mary Magdalene as the guarantor of their tradition consistently charge female leaders with significant words or visions to share with others,” while the texts that appeal to Peter as an authoritative figure do not acknowledge any form of feminine leadership and “they primarily model the roles of women as supportive (especially financially), if not submissive, silent, or altogether absent.”42 These are sound and powerful conclusions that especially apply to Luke and the Acts of Peter. However, it seems to me that they are not so suitable to explain the trajectories of Mary Magdalene and Peter in the majority of the apocryphal and patristic texts written from the third century onward. Firstly, the case of the Coptic version of the Acts of Philip is quite exceptional and, as I hope to show, there were also other, and more specific, narrative and ideological reasons to replace Mariamme with Peter. Secondly, at that epoch the main competitor of Mary Magdalene as an important witness of the passion and resurrection, as well as a depositary of special revelations, was not Peter but Mary, the mother of Jesus.43 Finally, in spite of Peter’s apostolic primacy, the majority of contemporary Essais bibliques 26; Geneva 1995), 125–40; idem, “Remarques sur la réception liturgique et folklorique des Actes de Philippe (APh VIII–XV et Martyre),” Apocrypha 8 (1997): 251–64, and the different contributions edited by F. Bovon, A. G. Brock and C. R. Matthews, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Harvard Divinity School Studies; Cambridge, Mass. 1999). 40 F. Bovon, “Mary Magdalene in the Acts of Philip,” in Which Mary? 75–89, repr. in idem, New Testament and Christian Apocrypha: Collected Studies (WUNT 1.237; Tübingen 2009), 259–72. 41 Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle, 123–29. 42 Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle, 173. 43 There are many apocryphal texts that illustrate such a competition. For the Acts of Thaddeus, the Questions of Bartholomew, and the Book of the Resurrection of Jesus-Christ by Bartholomew the Apostle (as well as Ephrem and Theodoret), see Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle, 129–42. For the various Apocalypses and Dormitions of the Virgin, see S. C. Mimouni, Dormition et Assomption de Marie. Histoire des traditions anciennes (ThH 98; Paris 1995); idem,

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patristic authors and exegetes, such as Eusebius or John Chrysostom, apparently had no trouble in acknowledging the key role that the Magdalene played in the discovery of the empty tomb and the first encounter with the resurrected Jesus.44 As a matter of fact, the Coptic rewriting of the Acts of Philip is not an isolated text but belongs to the Coptic, Arabic, and Ethiopic collections of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, i. e., the abridged and often very schematic stories of the missionary activities, preaching, miracles, conversions, successes, failures, persecutions, and martyrdoms (with the exception of John) of each of not only the twelve apostles, but also Paul and James, the brother of the Lord, and other evangelists, including Luke and Mark. Ignazio Guidi was the first to publish, translate, and try to provide a historical reconstruction of the evolution of the Coptic collection of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles.45 The conclusion he reached in 1888 is, more than a century later, still topical. In his opinion the Coptic corpus is an assemblage of various texts coming from different origins. A first group of texts (such as the Acts of Peter, the Acts of Paul, or the Acts of John) were translated from Greek models in the fifth or sixth century.46 A second group of texts (such as the Acts of Philip, the Acts of Andrew and Bartholomew, the Legend of Andrew and Paul, or the Acts of Judas Thaddeus) were written “in imitation of,” or even “copying,” other Greek models. Meanwhile a smaller group of texts (such as the Legend of Simon and Theonoe)47 were original Coptic creations.48 Les traditions anciennes sur la Dormition et l’Assomption de Marie. Études littéraires, historiques et doctrinales (VCSup 104; Leiden 2011); M. Clayton, “The Transitus Mariae: The Tradition and Its Origins,” Apocrypha 10 (1999): 74–98; S. J. Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (OECS; Oxford and New York 2002), as well as his contribution in this volume; E. Norelli, Marie des apocryphes. Enquête sur la mère de Jésus dans le christianisme antique (Christianismes antiques; Geneva 2009); idem, “La letteratura apocrifa sul Transito di Maria e il problema delle sue origini,” in Il dogma dell’assunzione di Maria. Problemi attuali e tentativi di ricomprensione. Atti del XVII Simposio Internazionale Mariologico (Roma, 6–9 ottobre 2009) (ed. E. M. Toniolo; Rome 2010), 121–65. 44 See now C. Zamagni, “Les Questions et réponses sur les évangiles d’Eusèbe de Césarée. Étude et édition du résumé grec” (Ph.D. diss.; Université de Lausanne, Faculté de Théologie, and École Pratique des Hautes Études, Section des Sciences Religieuses, 2004); idem, Eusèbe de Césarée. Questions évangéliques. Introduction, texte critique, traduction et notes (SC 532; Paris 2008). 45 I. Guidi, “Frammenti Copti. Note I–VII,” Rendiconti dell’Accademia nazionale dei Lincei 3.1 (1887): 47–63; 3.2 (1887): 19–35, 65–81, 177–90, 251–70, 368–84; 4.1 (1888): 60–70; idem, “Gli atti apocrifi degli apostoli nei testi copti, arabi ed etiopici,” Giornale della Società asiatica italiana 2 (1888): 1–66; idem, “Di alcune pergamene saidiche della collezione borgiana,” Rendiconti dell’Accademia nazionale dei Lincei 2 (1893): 513–30. 46 On these early texts, see especially Bremmer, “The Apocryphal Acts”; Bovon, “Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of Apostles”; H.-J. Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: An Introduction (trans. B. McNeil; Waco, Tex. 2008 [original German ed., Stuttgart 2005]). 47 Translated into French by F. Morard, “Légende de Simon et Théonoé,” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 1:1527–51. 48 Guidi, “Gli atti apocrifi degli apostoli,” 14; idem, Storia della letteratura etiopica (Rome 1932), 32.

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More recently, Françoise Morard and Enzo Lucchesi have independently begun to reconstruct, using the technical resources of Coptic codicology, the more ancient manuscripts in which the first forms of the collection were copied.49 Thanks to their researches we are now aware that the library of the White Monastery (near Sohag), from which comes the majority of the Coptic fragments that are presently scattered through the main European libraries, included at least four different collections of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. Among these manuscripts, the codex called DM, copied in the ninth century, contained an anthology of acts and martyrdom of a group of less prestigious apostles arranged with the same sequence of “Acts + Martyrdom” that we find in the much later Arabic and Ethiopic collections, albeit in a different order (Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, the two Jameses, Simon, and Thaddeus). This means that as early as the ninth century the first Coptic witness of the Acts of Philip was no longer circulating as an independent text, but was already a part of the ensemble that would soon become the highly standardized and official collections of the Acts and Martyrdom of the Apostles of the Egyptian and Ethiopian Orthodox (miaphysite) Churches. According to Guidi, the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles underwent a thorough revision when translated from Coptic (probably from the Bohairic dialect)50 into Arabic during the thirteenth century. One of the aims of such an editorial process could have been the elimination of some passages of “gnostic” flavor (e. g., some portions of the Death of John51 and the discourse that Peter pronounces on the cross), because such passages could have been too “obscure and tedious” to the orthodox readers of the time.52 This led to the emergence of an “authorized” Arabic edition that was immediately translated, at the end of the same century, into Ethiopic. These Arabic and Ethiopic versions are, understandably, the most complete and best-known witnesses of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, thanks in part to their publication and translation by Samuel C. Malan, E. A. Wallis Budge, and Agnes Smith Lewis.53 However, one should note with Alessandro Bausi, who 49 F. Morard, “Notes sur le recueil copte des Actes Apocryphes des Apôtres,” RTP 113 (1981): 403–13; eadem, “Les recueils coptes d’Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Un exemple: le codex R,” Aug 23 (1983): 73–82; E. Lucchesi, “Contribution codicologique au Corpus copte des Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha,” in La version copte de la Prédication et du Martyre de Thomas (ed. P.H. Poirier; Subsidia Hagiographica 67; Bruxelles 1984), 5–24. 50 For the Bohairic fragments, see H. G. E. White, The Monasteries of the Wadi ’n Natrûn (3 vols.; New York 1926), 1:43–45, 47–50. 51 For a different perspective, see V. Hovhanessian’s contribution in this volume. 52 Guidi, “Gli atti apocrifi degli apostoli,” 14. Needless to say, the same kinds of revisions of the ancient apocryphal Acts of the Apostles are also common in the Byzantine and Western Christendoms all throughout late antiquity and the early Middle Ages. See, e. g., the comments of É. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, L’histoire des Actes apocryphes des apôtres du IIIe au IXe siècle. Le cas des Actes de Jean (CRTP 7; Geneva, Lausanne and Neuchâtel 1982), 104–7, or F. Bovon, “Byzantine Witnesses for the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 87–98. 53 See S. C. Malan, The Conflicts of the Holy Apostles: An Apocryphal Book of the Early Eastern Church (London 1871); E. A. W. Budge, The Contendings of the Apostles, Being the Histories of

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is preparing a new and truly critical edition of the Ethiopic version, that between the thirteenth and the eighteenth century the Ethiopic collection grew up from twenty-nine to thirty-nine texts, and that such an evolution is largely misrepresented in Budge’s rather rudimentary edition.54 Be that as it may, one of the most telling narrative features of the collection as a whole is the systematic description of Peter as the leader of the Twelve and the companion of each apostle during the first steps of their mission.55 After each apostle has received his missionary field by drawing his lot (Acts of Bar­ tho­lomew 3; Acts of James Son of Zebedee 2; Martyrdom of Luke 2)56 or after an apparition of Jesus (Acts of Matthew 29–37), Peter as the apostolic leader (Acts of Bartholomew 2) oversees the correct application of the divine assignment by showing the way to his sometimes hesitant colleagues, “because – he says – the Lord ordered me to bring each of you to his journey’s end into his own town” (Acts of Bartholomew 6; Acts of James Son of Zebedee 4). Peter is the one who has the authority to make the necessary arrangements for the travel, who sells, for example, his companions as slaves to foreign tradesmen in order to make their access to the pagan households easier (Acts of Bartholomew 34–44), and who secretly gives the money of the sale back to the enslaved missionaries for the poor (Acts of Bartholomew 45–46). In spite of his supremacy, Peter always cheers up his younger fellows (Acts of James Son of Zebedee 17) and stimulates them to make miracles or to find new and creative solutions to their problems by themselves (Acts of Bartholomew 25–33; Acts of James Son of Zebedee 20–21). In fact, Peter acts more as a paternal figure – as a monastic abbot – than as an intransigent leader, and he always shares his knowledge with the other apostles before leaving them to their destiny (Acts of Bartholomew 46–47). the Lives and Martyrdoms and Deaths of the Twelve Apostles and Evangelists (2 vols.; London 1899–1901); A. Smith Lewis, Acta Mythologica Apostolorum (HSem 3; London 1904); eadem, The Mythological Acts of the Apostles (HSem 4; London 1904). 54 See A. Bausi, “Alcune osservazioni sul Gädlä Ḥawaryat,” AION 60–61 (2000–2001): 77– 114. 55 As already observed by, e. g., M. Erbetta, Gli Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento, vol. 2: Atti e leggende (Turin 1966), 25 (“Un’altra particolarità è il fatto che il protagonista non è presentato solo, ma è spesso in compagnia di uno o più colleghi … Pietro è chiamato padre e gli apostoli sono fratelli”), and A. de Santos Otero, “Later Acts of Apostles,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 2:426–82 at 474 (“In contrast to its Greek precursor and in agreement with other Coptic reworkings … Philip here receives the apostle Peter as his companion”). What follows is based on a survey of the Coptic, Arabic, and Ethiopic texts of the Acts and Martyrdom of Bartholomew, the Acts and Martyrdom of Matthew, the Martyrdom of Luke, and the Acts and Martyrdom of James Son of Zebedee, translated by A. Bausi, R. Beylot, J.-N. Pérès and P. Piovanelli, “Combats des apôtres (recueil éthiopien),” in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, 2:865–978. 56 On this motif, see J.-D. Kaestli, “Les scènes d’attribution des champs de mission et de départ de l’apôtre dans les Actes apocryphes,” in Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen (ed. F. Bovon et al.; Publications de la Faculté de théologie de l’Université de Genève 4; Geneva 1981), 249–64.

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From a narrative point of view, Peter’s role corresponds to that of the godfather and protector of the hero, the benevolent character who helps the protagonist of the story to successfully begin his extraordinary quest. However, this systematic enhancement of Peter’s figure also corresponds to a deliberate strategy of legitimization that was presumably pursued by the late antique Coptic Church. Egyptian Christendom emerged from the blood of the martyrs and inherited Peter’s apostolic prestige through the agency of Mark the evangelist. The same appreciation of Peter is found in other miaphysite rewritings of earlier apocryphal texts, such as the Arabic Apocalypse of Peter and the pseudo-Clementine revelations contained in the Ethiopic Qälemǝnṭos.57 This “puzzling” feature provoked some confusion at the arrival of the first Catholic missionaries in Egypt and Ethiopia.58 However, one would mistakenly and anachronistically believe that the highest esteem in which Peter is held in Coptic apocryphal literature betrays a more or less conscious feeling of subordination of the see of Alexandria to the Roman papacy. This only means that by the time the Egyptian Orthodox Church had begun to recast the old stories of the earlier apocryphal Acts of the Apostles into a coherent new collection, from the fifth or the sixth century onward, Peter had become the symbolic representative of the perfectly orthodox apostolic tradition. In conclusion, Brock is certainly right in assuming that the apostolic role of Mary Magdalene was progressively concealed in mainstream Christianity. The Magdalene certainly lost her “struggle for the authority” by the end of the second or the beginning of the third century. Her former prestige was inherited by Peter, as the new patron of the Christian Church as a religious institution, and the Virgin Mary, as the new patroness of Christian (eschatological) teachings and (popular) devotion. Nonetheless, the replacement of Mariamme with Peter in the Coptic rewriting of the Acts of Philip was the result of a different process and not primarily aimed at a damnatio memoriae of the Magdalene. In the general economy of the new collection of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, dominated by the authoritative figure of Peter, there was no place for a rather anonymous sister of Philip called Mariamme. Probably she was not deliberately wiped out from the narrative, but simply forgotten on behalf of the omnipresent super-apostle Peter. After all, the Mariamme of the Acts of Philip shared the same destiny of Paul in the Martyrdom of Luke: even Paul, who was still the only teacher of Luke and Titus in the Bohairic text59 not yet included in the Apocryphal Acts of the 57 See A. Bausi, Il Qalēmenṭos etiopico. La rivelazione di Pietro a Clemente. I libri 3–7 (Studi africanistici, Serie etiopica 2; Naples 1992), 22–23, 39, 73 (3.66), 85–86 (3.166), 114–15 (4.102, 105). 58 See P. Piovanelli, “Les controverses théologiques sous le roi Zär’a Ya‘qob (1434–1468) et la mise en place du monophysisme éthiopien,” in La controverse religieuse et ses formes (ed. A. Le Boulluec; Patrimoines, Religions du Livre; Paris 1995), 189–228 at 221. 59 Published and translated into Latin by I. Balestri and H. Hyvernat, Acta Martyrum, II (CSCO 86, Copt. 6; Paris 1924), iv–vi, 1–8, and H. Hyvernat, Acta Martyrum, II (CSCO 125, Copt. 15; Leuven 1950), 1–6.

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Apostles, was purely and simply eclipsed by Peter in the Arabic and Ethiopic versions at the moment of their insertion into the official collection (Martyrdom of Luke 2; 6; 42; 63). In spite of this, the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles as a whole are neither anti-Magdalenian nor anti-Paulinian. In other words, if there is any lesson to be learned from our inquiry, we could appropriately conclude that what is typologically plausible is not necessarily historically true.

4. From early Christian pluralism to late antique orthodoxies, and beyond In the end it appears as if the memorial traditions of a largely variegated early Christian landscape of groups and communities, often one embedded within another, were progressively recycled into a new series of late antique apocryphal texts diffused on a more regional basis.60 This process was already characterized, in the fourth and fifth centuries, by the appearance of the editorial phenomena that Guidi had detected at the level of the thirteenth-century translation of the Coptic Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles into Arabic, not only the rewriting of obscure or theologically difficult passages, but also the narrative redeployment of some protagonists of the early Jesus movement.61 Thus, for example, Judas 60 For the exemplary case of the Syriac Life of the Blessed Virgin Mary  – actually, a late compilation of the Protevangelium of James, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, and the Dormition of Mary –, see S. C. Mimouni, “Les Vies de la Vierge: État de la question,” Apocrypha 5 (1994): 211–48 at 239–46 (reprinted in idem, Les traditions anciennes sur la Dormition et l’Assomption de Marie, 75–115 at 105–12); C. Naffah, “Les ‘histoires’ syriaques de la Vierge. Traditions apo­ cryphes anciennes et récentes,” Apocrypha 20 (2009): 137–88; L.-M. Ariño-Durand, “La Vie de la bienheureuse Vierge Marie dans les traditions apocryphes syro-orientales” (Ph.D. diss.; Université de Paris-Sorbonne [Paris IV] and Institut Catholique de Paris, 2014); L. Vuong, “Ordinary or Extraordinary? The Reception of the Protevangelium of James in the History of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” in Forbidden Texts on the Western Frontier: The Christian Apocrypha in North American Perspectives (ed. T. Burke and B. Landau; Eugene, Or. forthcoming). Other interesting cases of late antique rewriting belonging, this time, to the Palestinian and Egyptian miaphysite areas are offered by the Book of the Rooster and the so-called Gospel of the Savior, analyzed by P. Piovanelli, “Exploring the Ethiopic Book of the Cock, An Apocryphal Passion Gospel from Late Antiquity,” HTR 96 (2003): 427–54; idem, “The Book of the Cock and the Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish Christian Traditions in Fifth Century Palestine,” in The Changing Face of Judaism, Christianity and Other Greco-Roman Religions in Antiquity (ed. I. H. Henderson and G. S. Oegema; SJSHRZ 2; Gütersloh 2006), 308–22; idem, “Thursday Night Fever: Dancing and Singing with Jesus in the Gospel of the Savior and the Dance of the Savior around the Cross,” Early Christianity 3 (2012): 229–48; idem, “De l’usage polémique des récits de la Passion, ou: Là où les chemins qui auraient dû se séparer ont fini par se superposer,” in La croisée des chemins revisitée, 123–59 at 140–49. 61 I have described different aspects of this development in a series of essays: see P. Piovanelli, “Le recyclage des textes apocryphes à l’heure de la petite ‘mondialisation’ de l’Antiquité tardive (ca. 325–451). Quelques perspectives littéraires et historiques,” in Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques. Études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod (ed. R. Gounelle and A. Frey; PIRSB 5; Lausanne 2007), 277–95; idem, “The Reception of Early Christian Texts and Traditions in Late Antiquity Apocryphal Literature,” in The Reception and

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Iscariot was propelled to the role of demonic arch-villain of the Passion stories,62 Peter’s patronizing authority was extending over all the other apostles,63 and Mary the mother was being prepared to take the place of Mary of Magdala as the main beneficiary of the risen Jesus’ most “esoteric” revelations. It was at this price that several elements from “gnostic” personal eschatology, such as the aforementioned theme of the ascent of the soul, were saved from the wreck of Sethian, Valentinian, and other Christianities to be put to use in the Liber Requiei and other Dormitions of Mary in the construction of a “routinized” afterlife, which became normative as Christianity developed in the long term.64 Happily enough, such a momentous evolution of Christian memorial traditions did not lead, especially among Eastern Christians, to the complete obliteration of Mary of Magdala’s pristine status. It is with a certain pleasure and pride that I conclude the present essay with the announcement of the discovery of one of the most recent (and most successful) “traditionally made” apocryphal texts, a short and colourful Story of the Passion of Christ written in Ethiopia no earlier than the eighteenth or nineteenth century and attributed to the group of the holy women led by Mary of Magdala.65 In this, as in other respects, Ethiopian faithful were – and still are – closer to the true spirit of early Christianity. Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity: Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006 (ed. L. DiTommaso and L. Turcescu; The Bible in Ancient Christianity 6; Leiden 2008), 429–39; idem, “La réécriture des traditions mémoriales des origines dans le judaïsme et le christianisme anciens,” Annuaire de l’École pratique des hautes études, Section des sciences religieuses 121 (2014), 205–7; idem, “Scriptural Trajectories Through Early Christianity, Late Antiquity, and Beyond: Christian Memorial Traditions in the longue durée,” in Forbidden Texts on the Western Frontier (forthcoming). Mutatis mutandis, the considerations of G. G. Stroumsa, “The Scriptural Movement of Late Antiquity and Christian Monasticism,” JECS 16 (2008): 61–77, apply equally well to the production of new apocryphal texts. 62 See P. Piovanelli, “Rabbi Yehuda versus Judas Iscariot: The Gospel of Judas and the Apocryphal Passion Stories,” in The Codex Judas Papers: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Tchacos Codex Held at Rice University, Houston Texas, March 13–16, 2008 (ed. A. DeConick; NHMS 71; Leiden 2009), 223–39; idem, “The Toledot Yeshu and Christian Apocryphal Literature: The Formative Years”, in Toledot Yeshu (“The Life Story of Jesus”) Revisited: A Princeton Conference (ed. P. Schäfer, M. Meerson and Y. Deutsch; TSAJ 143; Tübingen 2011), 89–100; idem, “De l’usage polémique des récits de la Passion,” 133–40. 63 At the expense of not only Mary of Magdala, but also of James the brother of Jesus, whose historical and legendary figure has been now re-examined by S. C. Mimouni, Jacques le Juste, “frère” de Jésus de Nazareth, et la communauté nazoréenne/ chrétienne de Jérusalem du Ier au IVe siècle (Paris 2015). 64 See especially P. Piovanelli, “Rewriting: The Path from Apocryphal to Heretical,” in Religious Conflict from Early Christianity to the Rise of Islam (ed. W. Mayer and B. Neil; Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 121; Berlin 2013), 87–108 at 100–6. See, however, the reexamination of Liber Requiei 17 by Norelli, “La letteratura apocrifa sul Transito di Maria,” 132–41. 65 Published by P. Piovanelli, “The Story of the Passion of Christ: A New Ethiopic Apocryphon Attributed to Salome, Elizabeth, and Mary of Magdala,” in Linguistic, Oriental and Ethiopian Studies in Memory of Paolo Marrassini (ed. A. Bausi, A. Gori and G. Lusini; Wiesbaden 2014), 602–27 (edition and English translation of a printed text and four Ethiopic manuscripts); idem, “Scriptural Trajectories” (English translation of the Ethiopic printed text).

Luke’s Acts or the Acts of Paul: Which Looks More Like a Second-Century Text? Peter W. Dunn Scholars have assigned a considerable range of dates to the Acts of Apostles.1 On one end of the spectrum are those who date Acts early, even before Paul’s eventual death in Rome; they tend to see Luke as an accurate writer in the Hellenistic tradition of historians and an eye-witness of the events that occur in the “we” passages. On the other end of the spectrum are scholars who maintain that Luke wrote more than a generation later, even in the early second century; he was not an accurate historian but a theologian, whose chief concern was not so much to give an accurate account but to edify and instruct his readers. In this essay I would like to propose using the Acts of Paul (AP) as an experimental control.2 The AP is what some claim Acts to be  – a narrative, perhaps more novelistic than historical, based on oral and written sources, but separated by at least a generation from the eye-witnesses, and hence, written by someone who did not know Paul. Both Acts and the AP recount stories which ostensibly took place in the first century, but by comparing the two texts, the first‑ or second-century character of each text should stand in relief. A second-century Christian text should typically display features that would distinguish it as belonging to the second century, while many of the concerns and problems of the first century should became increasingly remote to the author. This is especially because Christianity was still 1 I am indebted to the survey of the literature by W. W. Gasque, A History of the Interpretation of the Acts of the Apostles (Peabody, Mass. 1975). Gasque describes the significant divide in Acts scholarship between those who have a high esteem for the historical value of Acts and those who see it as a late theological work. Though Gasque’s survey is now dated, this divide remains strong. While this essay would represent the side holding to an early date, at the 2006 SBL conference in Washington, D. C., J. B. Tyson, “Wrestling with and for Paul: Efforts to Obtain Pauline Support by Marcion and the Author of Acts,” argued that Acts contains polemic against Marcion, and R. I. Pervo, “Acts in the Suburbs of the Apologists,” suggested a date of 125. See also R. I. Pervo, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists (Santa Rosa, Calif. 2006); J. B. Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle (Columbia, S. C. 2006). 2 I have done something similar in “Testing Pauline Pseudonymity: 3 Corinthians and the Pastoral Epistles Compared,” Proceedings: Eastern Great Lakes and Midwest Biblical Societies 20 (2000): 63–68.

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a young movement in the second century, for the problems and concerns of the first generation often stand in stark contrast with the problems of subsequent generations. For example, the dispute over whether Gentile Christians must accept circumcision would be a problem native to the first century, for it would have largely subsided by the second and third generation of the church, when many Gentile Christians would have uncircumcised grandparents who had long ago accepted and practiced the faith. In contemporary analogy, I have found that second‑ and third-generation Christians in Africa complain that their elders will not budge from the practice of the first-generation church as their apostles, the evangelical missionaries, had taught them. One of my students in Africa told me that a missionary once returned to the church he founded in Burkina Faso ten years after he retired. During his visit, he attended a baptismal ceremony and found that the pastor, after baptizing each candidate, would wipe his brow with a handkerchief. At the end of the service, the missionary then asked the pastor why he did this. He answered, “Because this is what you did when you baptized.” The missionary responded that the only reason he did this was because he was hot and sweaty, and so he needed to wipe his brow. The early church displays a similarly conservative attitude in the Quartodeciman controversy: each side claimed long-established practice which their apostles and elders had taught them (see Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.24). Therefore, as I will argue below, the controversy over circumcision is really a first-century preoccupation, and a text which focuses on that issue is revealing a concern for a problem of the first generation. Later generations, on the other hand, will have problems which will be native to their time. To my knowledge, a comparison like this has never been done between Acts and the AP,3 perhaps as a result of two basic scholarly assumptions. First, most scholars have assumed that the AP depends on Acts, which would make it a less valuable experimental control. Still, most aspects of this study would remain useful even if such dependence could be proved. Secondly, most recent scholars, in agreement with Carl Schmidt,4 assume a late second-century date for the AP; thus, there would be no basis for comparison since the AP would be much later than the latest date that scholars assign to the Acts of the Apostles. But neither of these two assumptions are self evident. 3 W. Schneemelcher, “Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas und die Acta Pauli,” in Apophoreta. Festschrift für Ernst Haenchen (ed. W. Eltester; Berlin 1964), 236–50, is perhaps the closest analogy. His preoccupation, however, is to determine if the AP depends on Acts. 4 C. Schmidt and W. Schubart, PRAXEIS PAULOU. Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staats-und Universitäts-Bibliothek (Glückstadt and Hamburg 1936), 127–28. He is followed by W. Schneemelcher, “Acts of Paul,” in New Testament Apocrypha, vol. 2: Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R. McL. Wilson; rev. ed.; Philadelphia 1991–1992), 213–70 at 235.

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Willy Rordorf and I have both concluded that the AP is not dependent on Acts.5 The author seems to have gleaned his knowledge of Paul’s life only from the Pauline epistles and from oral tradition. No historical datum or literary allusion stems clearly from Acts, and the hypothesis of ignorance of Acts may most simply and adequately explain the many contradictions in the AP.6 As for the date of the AP, Schneemelcher states: We can only say that the APl must have been written before 200, the approximate date of Tertullian’s de Baptismo. Since on the other hand it is dependent on the APt, the period between 185 and 195 may be regarded as a possible estimate. An earlier dating (Rordorf) scarcely admits of proof.7

Tertullian (Bapt. 17.5) says that the AP was written by an Asian presbyter who resigned his office because of the scandal caused by his forgery.8 But by the time of Tertullian, the AP must have already been an old document, for the Carthaginian lawyer does not attack its novelty, which would be a sure case against its authority. There are several reasons why the AP probably comes from earlier in the second century: (1) the Gnosticism attacked by the AP appears to be relatively primitive; (2) Marcion has left no trace on the tradition; (3) the frequent appearance of female prophets suggests that the AP must either predate the New Prophecy of Montanism or arise out of it;9 (4) dependence on the Acts of Peter, which was the reason that C. Schmidt felt that a later date could be assigned to the AP, is by no means an assured result of criticism nor would it eliminate an early date; and (5) the AP stands in great affinity with early second-century Christian texts – 2 Clement, Didache, the Shepherd of Hermas, Ignatius, Polycarp, and Justin are its closest relatives theologically.10 A date of no later than 150 would situate it

 5 W. Rordorf, “In welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen?” in Text and Testimony: Essays on New Testament and Apocryphal Literature in Honour of A. F. J. Klijn (ed. T. Baarda et al.; Kampen 1988), 225–41; P. W.  Dunn, “The Acts of Paul and the Pauline Legacy in the Second Century” (Ph.D. diss.; University of Cambridge, 1996), 36–44.  6 For a discussion of the issues, see R. Gounelle, “Actes apocryphes des apôtres et Actes des apôtres canoniques. État de la recherche et perspectives nouvelles (II),” RHPR 84 (2004): 419–41.  7 Schneemelcher, “Acts of Paul,” 235.  8 On this interpretation, see W. Rordorf, “Tertullien et les Actes de Paul,” in Hommage à René Braun, vol. 2: Autour de Tertullien (ed. J. Granarolo and M. Biraud; Publications de la Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaines de Nice 56; Nice 1990), 153 n. 8c.  9 W. Rordorf has argued that the AP may have arisen out of Montanism (“Was wissen wir über Plan und Absicht der Paulusakten?” in Oecumenica [ed. D. Papandreou et al.; Stuttgart 1989], 74–79). More recently, however, he has stepped back from that suggestion with a date of about 150 that he proposes in “Actes de Paul” (in collaboration with P. Cherix and R. Kasser), in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, vol. 1 (ed. F. Bovon and P. Geoltrain; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442; Paris 1997), 1117–77 at 1122. 10 See the study of the theology of the AP in Dunn, “The Acts of Paul,” 106–40 (esp. § 6.7).

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close in time to some of the latest estimates for the origin of Acts – for example, Helmut Koester’s estimate of 135.11 This essay will compare Acts with the AP under two rubrics: (1) their depiction of conditions in the early church and (2) their historical knowledge. Space will not permit a full investigation of all the points of comparison; e. g., I will omit a review of the external attestation to the two texts, which would also be fruitful. In addition, a comparison of the influence, or lack thereof, of the Pauline Epistles in the two texts would be interesting and instructive. However, the following comparison of the respective depiction of the church and historical knowledge of these two Acts will hopefully show whether one or the other of the texts is close enough in time to the events they recount to provide an accurate portrayal or whether they really belong to the second century.

1. Conditions in the Early Church 1.1 Depiction of the Church In Acts, Paul is a preacher of the gospel and a church founder, who establishes, for example, churches in Iconium, Antioch of Pisidia, Ephesus, Philippi, and Corinth, though not in Antioch of Syria nor in Rome. But in the AP, Paul is not a founder of churches but a charismatic itinerant, in the style of Did. 11–13, who has come to edify and instruct the communities.12 The church clearly exists already in all of the episodes that are complete enough to be able to tell: Damascus, Iconium, Antioch, Myra,13 Ephesus, Corinth, and Rome (AP I, III–V, IX, XII, XIII).14 The author of the AP apparently has difficulty imagining a situation when there was no church in the cities that Paul visited.15 Luke depicts the synagogue as a platform for evangelism that Paul used to great success. Paul preaches in the synagogue and attracts a few Jews and many of its 11 C. J. Hemer, The Book of Acts in the Setting of Hellenistic History (Winona Lake, Ind. 1990), 367–70, presents a list of scholars with the date that they assign to Acts. H. Koester, Introduction to the New Testament (2 vols.; Berlin 1982), 2:310, offers the latest date for Acts on Hemer’s list. 12 Schneemelcher, “Apostelgeschichte,” 247; Rordorf, “Actes de Paul,” 1120–21. 13 It would seem that Hermias is already a Christian and that the church meets in his house (IV,16). 14 For the numeration of AP, I follow W. Rordorf, “Actes de Paul.” 15 R. Bauckham’s thesis that the AP is a sequel could falsify this point, since Paul would be revisiting communities he had already founded; see “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts,” in The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting, Vol. 1 (ed. B. W. Winter and A. D. Clarke; Grand Rapids, Mich. 1993), 105–52. However, the AP cannot be a sequel to Acts for two main reasons: (1) two secondary witnesses who knew a complete AP, Nicetas of Paphlagonia (Panegyric to Paul) and Ps.-Zenas (Acts of Titus), do not treat it as a sequel to Acts as they too-easily mix chronologically the episodes of Acts and of the AP; and (2) Paul appears in Iconium as an unknown (see III,2, 8, 11, 16) not as someone who was forced to flee because the city was divided over his teaching (Acts 14:1–6).

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Gentile adherents (σεβόμενοι, e. g., Acts 14:43). These followers then become the nucleus of the church in many of Paul’s cities.16 Luke also shows Paul’s very limited success in Athens where he speaks not in a synagogue but at the Areopagus. While this modus operandi finds no explicit mention in Paul’s epistles, the refrain in Romans, “to the Jew first” (Rom 1:16; 2:9–10) is compatible with Paul’s preaching first in the synagogue. The Lukan strategy explains how Paul might have so quickly planted Christian communities throughout the Mediterranean world.17 The word “synagogue,” however, does not appear in the extant AP. By all accounts, Luke’s depiction of the Pauline mission is more satisfying and historically plausible. 1.2 Persecution Persecution in the Acts of Apostles is local, sporadic, in some cases illegal18 and is usually instigated by Jews who disapprove of Paul’s teaching and are jealous of his success amongst the god-fearers. Luke reveals that peace with the Roman Empire is possible: the Roman proconsul Gallio sees the dispute between Jews and Christians as an internal matter and no concern of his (Acts 18:12–17). The view of persecution in Acts is appropriate for nascent Christianity, which the Roman authorities could still hardly distinguish from Judaism. In the AP, however, the Roman authorities are the chief persecutors, apparently because Christians have upset Roman society through their extensive success among aristocratic women (III–IV, Thecla, Tryphaena; IX, Euobula, Artemilla) and because they have become a threat to traditional pagan religion (IV,7[32]; VI, VII). The Jews have disappeared as persecutors of Paul in the extant AP.19 Moreover, Demas and Hermogenes instruct Thamyris (III,14), Θάμυρι, προσάγαγε αὐτὸν (Paul) τῷ ἡγεμόνι Κεστιλλίῳ ὡς ἀναπείθοντα τοὺς ὄχλους ἐπὶ κενῇ διδαχῇ Χριστιανῶν, καὶ οὕτως ἀπολέσει αὐτὸν καὶ σὺ ἕξεις τὴν γυναῖκά σου Θέκλαν (“Thamyris, lead him to the governor Kestellius for inciting the crowd with the vain teaching of the Christians, and accordingly he will destroy him and you will have your wife Thecla”). Then, when Paul is before the governor they urge Thamyris (III,17), Λέγε αὐτὸν Χριστιανόν, καὶ ἀπολεῖται συντόμως (“Say that he is a Christian, he will perish forthwith”). Acts 11:26 recalls when believers were first called Chris16 Acts describes Paul’s initial mission in the synagogues of Salamis (13:5), Antioch (13:15), Iconium (14:1), Thessalonica (17:1), Berea (17:10), Athens (17:16), Corinth (18:4), and Ephesus (18:19; 19:8). 17 See M. Green, Evangelism in the Early Church (Grand Rapids, Mich. 1970), 194–96. 18 E. g., the beating of Paul in Philippi (Acts 16:22–39) and the mob execution of Stephen (Acts 7:59). 19 Schmidt and Schubart, PRAXEIS PAULOU, 92–93, and Schneemelcher, “Acts of Paul,” 238 see opposition to Jews in the first extant episode set in Antioch (of Syria). In my view, however, there is insufficient evidence to suggest the presence of Jews in this episode.

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tians, but already in the AP, Paul could die for the name Christian; this is comparable to what is known about conditions in the early second century (cf. Pliny the Younger, Ep. Tra. 96; ca. 113 c.e.). Thus, conditions that seem native to the reception of Paul’s preaching in the first century prevail in Acts, and conditions appropriate to the second century prevail in the AP. 1.3 Orthodoxy and Heresy C. H. Dodd has argued that the speeches in the early part of Acts in their broad outline demonstrate what was probably the primitive kerygma of the Jerusalem church.20 Also Pauline speeches, particularly in the “we” passages, resound with echoes of Paul’s epistles without betraying a dependence on them, leading Dodd to conclude: And when we observe that this speech [i. e., Acts 20:18–35] occurs in close proximity to “we”-passages, it is reasonable to suppose that the travelling companion who was responsible for these passages, whether or not he was also the author of the whole work, remembered in general lines what Paul said. We conclude that in some cases at least the author of Acts gives us speeches which are not, indeed, anything like verbatim reports (for the style is too “Lucan” and too un-Pauline for that), but are based upon reminiscence of what the apostle actually said.21

On the other hand, scholars generally deny that Christian teaching and the preaching in the AP resembles the primitive kerygma or the historical Paul’s teaching. While there are echoes of the Pauline epistles, the discourses in the AP display a second-century perspective. For example, even the teaching on sexual continence and the resurrection (III,5–6), which scholars have found distastefully “un-Pauline,” is inspired by 1 Cor 6–7, but it also betrays a second-century perspective. Let us consider the following beatitudes: Μακάριοι οἱ ἁγνὴν τὴν σάρκα τηρήσαντες, ὅτι αὐτοὶ ναοὶ θεοῦ γενήσονται (“Blessed are those who have kept the flesh pure, for they will become temples of God”); and Μακάρια τὰ σώματα τῶν παρθένων … (“Blessed are the bodies of the virgins …”). While drawing from 1 Cor 6–7, the formulation of these beatitudes is anti-gnostic, affirming the goodness of the physical realm. The sexually continent keep the flesh pure because the physical realm is blessed. 3 Corinthians, which is likely a source for the AP, is also a sustained argument against Gnostics who maintain a doctrine akin to Saturninus.22 Christian teaching, when it is not formulated The Apostolic Preaching and Its Developments (London 1936), 7–35. The Apostolic Preaching, 18–19. 22 I concur with W. Rordorf, “Héresie et Orthodoxie selon la Correspondance apocryphe entre les Corinthiens et l’Apôtre Paul,” in Orthodoxie et hérésie dans l’Église ancienne. Perspectives nouvelles (ed. H.-D. Altendorf et al.; Cahiers de la RTP 17; Lausanne 1993), 21–63 at 41–42, and T. W. Mackay, “Content and Style in Two Pseudo-Pauline Epistles (3 Corinthians and the Epistle 20 C. H. Dodd, 21 Dodd,

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against Gnostics (III,1; X,123) or promoting sexual continence (III,5–6), becomes exhortations to endurance in the face of persecution or to frequent fasting (IX,3; XII,1–2), or it consists of warnings against luxuries not in keeping with the proper Christian didascalia (IX,17). While in the Pauline epistles grace leads to good behavior, the AP does not preach grace but correct behavior; indeed, the term χάρις is never used in a Pauline sense in the AP. Yet, in Acts the Pauline conception of grace remains intact (see, e. g., Acts 15:6 which places the basic concept of Pauline grace in the mouth of Peter). While there is continuity with teaching in the first century, all teaching of the AP betrays an accent more suitable to the second century than to the first. Now with regard to heresy, Luke finds little space to deal with the problem of Gnosticism. He mentions Simon Magus, the alleged father of Gnosticism, only to drop him from the narrative as though relatively insignificant. Simon was undoubtedly a problem at the time of writing, but his doctrine is not yet an obsession of Luke’s “community.” Hence, Luke may have felt that his short account of Simon’s conversion and subsequent run-in with Peter was sufficient to thwart Simon’s activities: it is hard to imagine how a second-century (or even a late first-century) writer could be so nonchalant with regard to the important gnostic figure that Simon had become. Instead, Acts has a major preoccupation with the admission of Gentiles into the church. Ch. 10 recounts how Peter came to accept the household of Cornelius, and ch. 11 recounts a council in which the elders of the Jerusalem church, above all James, consented to Peter’s actions. Later, Acts 15 recounts how the Jerusalem church would not insist that Paul’s converts submit to circumcision or otherwise keep the Jewish law, an account which in its essentials agrees with Paul’s description of the same or a similar meeting in Gal 1–2. Thus, the most divisive heresy for Luke is the threat of Judaizers who insist that Paul’s converts be circumcised. This was the acute problem of Paul’s day as Romans and Galatians indicate. Such an emphasis hardly seems possible if Acts were written a generation or more after the events of Acts 15: Why argue so vigorously for something which has been an established fact for so long? The necessity for such polemic would fade and yield to the pressing issues of the day. The AP is an example of the tendency of writers to allow contemporary issues to shape their compositions. Nowhere in its extant text does the question of the admission of Gentiles into the church ever surface24; instead, the AP contains to the Laodiceans),” in Apocryphal Writings and Latter-Day Saints (ed. C. W. Griggs; Salt Lake City 1986), 215–40 at 224. 23 I hold the position that X,2 and 4–6 (the letter of the Corinthians to Paul and the letter of Paul to the Corinthians) belong to a source which the author of the AP integrated into his composition. On the other hand, X,1 and 3 (the prologue to correspondence and the intermediate narrative between the letters) are by the author of the AP. 24 This is not to say that, if further discoveries make it possible to reconstitute the entire ActPl, no new episode would develop this question. However, I believe that if such an episode were ever discovered, it would betray, as does the rest of the AP, its second-century composition.

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numerous warnings against gnostic teaching and an orthodoxy which is formulated in anti-gnostic terms.

2. Historical Knowledge 2.1 Local Geography An author wishing to create a story set in a real place must visit that place to get a feel for its geography and its people. Lacking such geographic knowledge, errors will be unavoidable or the story itself will be geographically vague.25 Acts displays remarkable detail throughout its narrative. The AP, however, shows a knowledge of local geography only in one place, at the beginning of AP III, when Paul arrives in Iconium. He goes up from Antioch of Syria to Iconium, evidently a reference to the higher elevation of Iconium, which is on a plateau; he also travels on the Royal Road and meets Onesiphorus at the crossroads.26 The knowledge of the geography of this region would suggest that the author is familiar with and may be a native to it. But outside this area, the AP lacks specific details and perhaps even contains errors. If we compare the two accounts of Paul’s arrival in Rome, Luke very precisely narrates how they landed at one of Rome’s seaports, Puteoli, and how they traveled through the Forum of Appius and Three-Taverns (28:12–14) en route to Rome. AP XIII,3 mentions Paul’s arrival at a harbor without mentioning its name. Now, there is a lacuna between the end of ch. XIII and the beginning of XIV, and so it is possible that there Paul travelled from Puteoli to Rome. However, there is reason to think that Paul was already in Rome, since XIV,1 begins, Ἦσαν δὲ περιμένοντες τὸν Παῦλον ἐν ‘Ρώμη Λουκᾶς ἀπὸ Γαλλιῶν καὶ Τίτος ἀπὸ Δαλματίας. Οὓς ἰδὼν ὁ Παῦλος ἐχάρη  … (“Now Luke from Galatia and Titus from Dalmatia27 were awaiting Paul in Rome, whom Paul was glad upon seeing …”). No movement from the harbor to Rome is indicated, though Paul’s movements are recorded at the beginning of each new chapter (cf. III; IV; V [lemma]; VI; VII; IX; XII; XIII). In XIV,1 it is not Paul’s arrival that is mentioned, but Luke’s and Titus’s awaiting of Paul. This leads to the impression that Paul is already in Rome. Furthermore, in XIII,2, the Lord, walking on water, appears to Paul and tells him, Παῦλε ὕπαγε εἴσελθε εἰς τὴν ‘Ρώμην καὶ παρακά[λεσο] ν [τους] ἀδελφούς, ἵνα ἐμμείνωσι τῇ πρὸς τὸν πατέρα κλήσει (“Paul, go, enter 25 In the fifteenth-century Gospel of Barnabas, for example, Jesus and his disciples take a boat from the Sea of Galilee to Nazareth. Those who know this region, to which I have never traveled, maintain that that is impossible. 26 On the geographical accuracy of this account, see W. Ramsay, The Church in the Roman Empire Before A. D. 170 (10th ed.; London 1897), 31–36. 27 This text is remarkably similar to 1 Tim 4:10, where Crescens leaves for Galatia and Titus for Dalamatia. The direction is turned around here.

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Rome and exhort the brothers to remain in the calling to the Father”). Paul’s discourse in XIII,5 appears to fulfill the command to “admonish the brethren to remain in the calling to the Father,” for the discourse is a message urging the brothers to remain faithful to God who will deliver them from trial. Also, AP XIV contains no discourse which fits the description in Jesus’ command to Paul. Apparently Paul has already entered Rome at XIII,3, and this would indicate that the author did not know that it had no seaport. The failure to name the port where Paul arrives alone gives the impression that the author is not familiar with Italian geography. Thus, Acts contains the kind of accurate detail which shows that Luke was at very least a world traveler, while the AP is wanting of the geographical detail necessary to lend it historical credence. 2.2 Official Titles Luke presents an array of titles of officials in his narrative, such as στρατηγός for the duoviri in Philippi, γραμματεύς for the town clerk in Ephesus, πολιτάρχης for the magistrates in Thessalonica, ἀνθύπατος for the proconsuls in Cyprus, Corinth, and Ephesus, and ἡγεμών for the governors Felix and Festus. Other historical sources often verify these titles as appropriate. The AP mentions only the ἡγεμών and ἀνθύπατος, titles that appear interchangeably for the governors in Ephesus, Iconium, and Antioch.28 Luke appears to make a distinction using ἀνθύπατος for the highest official in a senatorial province and ἡγεμών for the prefect or procurator of an imperial province.29 AP IX,13 first mentions the proconsul of Ephesus, Jerome (Hieronymous); while the province of Asia would have had a proconsul, the name Jerome is nowhere else corroborated. On the other hand, W. Ramsay disputes the idea that a proconsul would have been in Iconium or Antioch, as depicted in the AP; the presence of a provincial governor would elicit a mention, as in the first line of the Greek Acta Carpi.30 Antioch of Pisidia, being a Roman colony, had duoviri.31 Ramsay suggests, however, that a provincial governor may have been present due to the games that Alexander was holding in Antioch.32 In any case, it is unlikely that 28 In a variant of I,26, Alexander is called a Συριάρχης, which is comparable to Ἀσιάρχης in Mart. Pol. 12.4. But despite his function as the giver of games (IV,5), he bears no specific title in other manuscripts. 29 BDAG, s. v. ἡγεμών and ἀνθύπατος. 30 Ramsay, The Church in the Roman Empire, 394. For Acta Carpi, see H. Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Oxford 1972), 22. The Martyrdom of Pionius 19 likewise mentions the coming of the proconsul to Smyrna, leading to the execution of Bishop Pionius. But see Mart. Pol. 3.1, which provides no special explanation of the proconsul’s presence in Smryna. 31 The term duoviri and praetors were alternate terms for the two chief magistrates who would have ruled a Roman colony, for which the Greek equivalent was στρατηγοί. See Hemer, The Book of Acts, 115; F. F. Bruce, The Book of the Acts (Grand Rapids, Mich. 1951), 317. 32 Ramsay, The Church in the Roman Empire, 396.

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Antioch of Pisidia and Iconium would have had each its own proconsul, since both were located in the province of Galatia in the first century.33 The author of the AP seems interested less in preserving accurate local flavor than in supplying the leading character with a Roman proconsul with whom to spar. These governors are not in every instance hostile to Christians. Nevertheless, it would appear that the use of the title proconsul or governor for the persecutors of Paul and Thecla reflects a time (i. e., the second century) when the church had become a target of the empire. 2.3 Historical Personages Luke’s narrative knows many characters that appear elsewhere in the historical record of the period – e. g., Gamaliel, Festus, Felix and Druisilla, Herod Agrippa I, Herod Agrippa II and his sister Berenice, and Gallio – and his account largely agrees with what is said of them in the reliable contemporary sources. External sources most often can confirm the existence of these personages, and Luke’s portrayal of them does not contradict what we otherwise know. Christian historical figures also appear in character: Aquila and Priscilla, Peter, John, James, and above all, Paul.34 The extant AP knows only a few persons of whom the sources can verify the existence outside of the New Testament itself. The existence of Castellius, governor at Iconium, and Jerome, governor at Antioch, is unverified. Knowledge that Nero was the emperor at Rome would have been commonplace. Queen Tryphaena apparently was a queen of Pontus, had a connection with the Emperor Claudius as suggested in the AP,35 and may have been resident at Antioch of Pisidia; this is the kind of knowledge that a second-century person may have had.36 But her role in the AP appears by all accounts to be legendary, and her involvement with Thecla may be due to a conflation akin to that of Eutychus / Patroclus with Paul’s martyrdom story (see below). She may have been a prominent widow who became a Christian and legend (or the author of the AP) put her together with the famous virgin. The AP recounts two martyrdom experiences for Thecla, once 33 The AP provides no precision regarding the anonymous governor at Antioch (AP IV,2), making it appear that a proconsul is resident at both Iconium and Antioch of Pisidia. There is no mention of the proconsul in Iconium, Castellius (III,14) leaving Iconium for Antioch. 34 There are significant points of continuity with the Pauline epistles, and the alleged discrepancies between the Paul of the Acts and the Paul of the epistles is largely exaggerated in my opinion and may be explained by the difference of perspective caused by one source coming from Paul himself and the other coming from one of his companions. 35 A. von Gutschmid, “Die Königsnamen in den apokryphen Apostelgeschichten. Ein Beitrag zur Kenntniss des geschichtlichen Romans,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 19 (1864): 161–83; Ramsay, The Church in the Roman Empire, 382–95. 36 Contra Ramsay, The Church in the Roman Empire, 384. If she was a prominent convert in the first century, it seems quite likely that she would have been remembered via oral tradition.

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in Iconium (III) and once in Antioch (IV), and this likely reflects a doublet in the oral tradition anterior to the composition of the text. The common elements are that Thecla remains steadfast in her resolve for chastity in the face of a suitor who accuses her and has her condemned before the proconsul; she is then saved through divine intervention and freed. Given the rivalry between cities in antiquity, the doublet may be explained by each city wishing to have a claim on the blessed saint. Or perhaps, as A. Jensen has argued, one of the accounts is the fabrication of the author and the other the result of tradition.37 The AP contains some other biblical characters that are out of place given their appearances in the New Testament. In the AP, Onesiphorus is a resident of Iconium, but in 2 Timothy he seems to be a resident of Ephesus (1:16; 4:19); there is no way to prove which is correct, without accepting Pauline authorship of the Pastoral Epistles. Aquila and Priscilla are resident in Ephesus as in 1 Cor 16:19; Acts 18–19 makes them into itinerants and occasional travelling companions of Paul; this seems more plausible given what Paul says about them in his epistles – Romans situates them again in Rome (where they were before Claudius expelled the Jews according to Acts 18:2).38 Barnabas is the name of the ϣⲏⲣⲉϣⲏⲙ,39 the son of Panchares at Antioch (II,1), if the name preserved by the Acts of Titus 4 can be trusted. The author of the AP may have had no knowledge of a historical Barnabas and he probably did not know the Lukan Acts. The basis of the name of Barnabas, son of Panchares, more likely derives from of Gal 2:13, where we find a Barnabas in Antioch with Paul.40 Luke’s portrayal of Barnabas is far more plausible than that of the AP. The Semitic quality of the name41 makes it unlikely that the historical Barnabas was the son of a Greek πρῶτος of Antioch.42 Paul mentions Barnabas as his partner in 37 A. Jensen, Thekla die Apostelin. Ein apokrypher Text neu entdeckt (Freiburg 1995), 83, believes that the Iconium episode is a piece of romantic fiction and that “Der eigentliche Kern der Überlieferung ist in der zweiten Episode zu sehen [ch. IV], d. h. im Bericht über die Vorgänge in Antiochien, denn hier ist Thekla als Apostolin und Martyrin die eigentliche Heldin, während sie in der ersten Episode blab und vor allem stumm bleibt.” In her view, the anonymous Presbyter wrote the Iconium episode to connect and subordinate the Thecla tradition to Paul. 38 C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (BNTC; New York 1957), 259, writes, “There is no reason why they should not have returned to Rome, especially if Romans was written after the death of Claudius (13 October 54). That ‘all the churches’ had reason to be grateful to them confirms that they had numerous contacts over a wide area.” 39 While this term can be used of a “jeune garçon” (as translated by Cherix in Rordorf, “Actes de Paul,” 1132), it is also the equivalent of νέος in III,11: young men of marriageable age whom Paul dissuades from matrimony. 40 I have argued in a chapter of my forthcoming commentary on the AP (presented at the regional meeting of the AELAC held in Bex, Switzerland, in January 2006) that the account of Paul’s conversion (IX,5–9) and his itinerary in the early chapters (I–III) draws upon Gal 1–2. It is therefore reasonable to conclude that Barnabas’ presence in Antioch is inspired by Gal 2:13. 41 See Bruce, The Book of the Acts, 130. 42 This term is applied to Panchares by Nicetas of Paphlagonia and probably goes back to the AP (cf. III,11; IV,1). See A. Vogt, “Panégyrique de St. Pierre; Panégyrique de St. Paul. Deux

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mission (1 Cor 9:6), as does Luke. Col 4:10, which says that Mark was Barnabas’s nephew, would explain why Barnabas was protective of him (Acts 15:36–41). Another character shared by the two texts is Joseph, called Barsabbas Justus, who is a candidate to replace Judas amongst the twelve apostles in Acts 1:23. In AP XIV,2, a Barsabas Justus of wide feet appears in the entourage of Nero. Again, Luke gives a more plausible setting for a man with a Semitic name. Papias (apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.9) records that, according to the daughters of the “apostle” Philip who were in Hierapolis (but whom Luke locates in Caesarea in Acts 21:9), Barsabas Justus once survived the drinking of poison. Although either Papias or Eusebius has confused the evangelist Philip with the apostle Philip (cf. Acts 1:12), Papias nevertheless seems to connect the name Barsabas Justus to the Jerusalem church.43 Thus, the AP repeats a tradition which conflates a name known from the early Jerusalem church with the story of Paul’s martyrdom. We shall see below that the AP adds into the mix a third tradition, the Eutychus / Patroclus story. This is evidence of secondary accretion. 2.3 Discussion of a Historical Event: Paul’s Martyrdom Luke mentions historical events which are both primary and secondary to his narrative. The latter, such as his account of Judas the Galilean or of Claudius’s expulsion of the Jews from Rome, often can be verified by outside sources.44 However, the AP does not recount secondary events which are not a part of biblical history. A fruitful comparison and contrast between Acts and the AP can be made with regard to events in Paul’s life: his conversion, his missions in various cities, his trip to Rome, and his martyrdom. A satisfying investigation of each of these events would expand beyond the limits of space, and so this essay will focus on the treatment of a single historical event: Paul’s martyrdom. It seems likely that Paul suffered martyrdom at the hands of Nero. The AP recounts this tradition as the climax and culmination of its narrative – everything in the story leads to this point. For in the AP, Paul becomes the ultimate follower of Christ by dying like him; this connection is made explicit when Jesus appears discours inédits de Nicétas de Paphlagonie, disciple de Photius,” Orientalia Christiana 23 (1931): 5–97 at 70. 43 D. R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia 1983), 24, speculates that the drinking of poison was a punishment reserved for Roman soldiers and adds: “I suggest that the story told by the daughters of Philip was not about the Barsabas Justus in Acts [Eusebius’ opinion] but about another man with the same name who, according to the Acts of Paul, was in fact a Roman soldier who was saved from execution.” MacDonald thus believes that the real story is his own conflation of Papias’s account and the AP. 44 Hemer suggests that only the incident involving Theudas presents a significant historical issue, since Josephus records this event as occurring at a later date. But Hemer cautions that before impugning Luke with historical error, one should consider that Josephus may have been wrong or that there was more than one Theudas who led a rebellion (The Book of Acts, 412 n. 5, 162–63).

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to Paul and identifies with Paul by saying ἄνωθεν μέλλω σταυρ[οῦσθαι] (“I am about to be crucified again,” AP XIII,2). The fall and recovery of Patroclus becomes the cause of Nero’s persecution (AP XIV,1). This account has so many commonalities with that of Eutychus in Acts 20:9–12 that it is reasonable to conclude that the two stories originally arose from the same oral tradition. Luke’s account is more original, for it stands alone  – the conflation of the Patroclus account with Paul’s martyrdom appears secondary.45 At this point it is necessary to ask why Luke would omit an account of Paul’s death.46 Is it because he did not share the perspective of the AP which glorifies martyrdom as Christ-like? On the contrary, Stephen, at the moment of his martyrdom, sees a vision of Christ (cf. III,21; XIII,1) and has a shining countenance (Acts 6:15; cf. AP III,3) – elements in common with the martyrs of the AP.47 He also prays like Jesus by commending his Spirit to God and praying forgiveness for his persecutors (Acts 7:59; cf. Luke 23:34, 46).48 The urge to see martyrs as following in Christ’s footsteps even unto death is present in Luke, and so it is very difficult to see why Luke omits Paul’s death, if he knew about it. Rather, he would, in my view, have made Paul’s death the culmination of his apostolic ministry, as it is in the AP. Therefore, Luke probably did not know of Paul’s death, either because the news had not reached him or because he was still alive.49 In the former case, probably we should still assume a date for Acts which was very close to the date of Paul’s 45 It may also be important to add that the AP recounts Paul’s beheading without mentioning his Roman citizenship. The extant AP does not appear to know about Paul’s citizenship but recounts a detail, his beheading (as opposed to some more dehumanizing form of execution such as crucifixion or death in the arena), which is in accord with it. 46 Some have taken Acts 20:25 and 21:11 as references to Paul’s martyrdom. See e. g., E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary (trans. B. Noble et al.; Philadelphia 1971), 592. Agabus’s prophecy, however, does not indicate Paul’s death but only his imprisonment. Paul’s own statement is not presented strictly speaking as a prophecy. In any case, the early church practiced predictive prophecy and it is unreasonable to insist that a Christian writer would only record those prophecies in his writing that had already been fulfilled. 47 There is a heightened expectation of charismatic activity and the presence of the Holy Spirit as the victim nears martyrdom (Luke 12:12). See the discussion in P. W. Dunn, “The Charismatic Gifts in the Acts of Paul: Second-Century Trends,” in Pentecostal Mission, Issues Home and Abroad: Conference Papers for the 29th Annual Meeting of the Society for Pentecostal Studies (Kirkland, Wa. 2000), 1–11 at 10–11 (online: http://actapauli.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/ actpaul.pdf). 48 L. T. Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles (SP; Collegeville, Minn. 1992), 142–43, writes: “Stephen is deliberately portrayed by Luke in terms that insistently evoke the passion and death of Christ.” He then enumerates the numerous parallels. 49 There are of course two other possibilities: that Luke never fulfilled an intention of writing a third volume or that the end of his original which recounted Paul’s death was lost. These possibilities would carry more weight if, for other reasons, it was necessary to conclude that Acts is a later document. But the analysis in this essay suggests that the problems encountered in Acts are indeed native to the first generation of the church and so the theory of an earlier date, to me at least, is more enticing.

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death; for it is very unlikely that a generation later someone could know so much about Paul but nothing about his martyrdom.50

3. Summary and conclusion The task of this essay has been to test the notion of whether a second-century person could have written the canonical Acts of the Apostles. The AP, as a second-century text, provides us with an experimental control. A comparison and contrast of Acts with the AP shows Acts has more accurate historical knowledge with regard to local geography, historical persons, and official titles. Acts’ depiction of the conditions in the church places it squarely in the first generation, when issues of Jewish and Gentile relations were still very much at the forefront. The AP, however, is not plausible with regard to its depiction of a first-century church: everywhere Paul goes he finds a church established already, and the problem of Jewish and Gentile relations in the church has disappeared. Instead, the problem of Gnosticism is the author’s preoccupation. The AP shows that a later writer would have been unable to write an account that would not reveal his second-century bias and his distance from the events. One could argue that the Asian presbyter was not the careful historian that Luke was, that this is a question of the character of the person; yet it remains to be shown that a person so distant from the events could have done much better than the author of the AP; in any case, only a first-century person who had a first-hand knowledge of the local geography and politics could have achieved Luke’s accuracy.

50 In private conversation, W. Rordorf has objected to such an early date, as it would seem to make it nigh impossible for the author of the AP to write without a knowledge of Acts. The mid-second century date, which we have suggested for the AP, corresponds to only the first clear and explicit external witness to Acts, Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 50.12, as shown by Haenchen, who suggests further that Acts only become “canonical” a generation after Justin’s citation: “In the struggle by Irenaeus against Gnosticism, Acts proved immediately useful: from it one could demonstrate the unity of the apostolic message – and for this purpose it was copiously quoted by Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 3.12.1–16)” (Acts, 8–9).

Depictions of Children and Young People as Literary Motifs in Canonical and Apocryphal Acts* Cornelia B. Horn Recent years have seen an increase in the study of the concept, social reality, as well as material context of the family and of family life in the world of the New Testament and Early Christianity.1 Attention to the role of children and youths in that setting has increased as well, but there is still a lot of room for further expansion.2 References to children are rare in the canonical Acts of the Apostles * I want to thank Robert R. Phenix Jr. and Inta Ivanovska, my former research assistant, for stimulating discussions of the topic and for assistance in preparing this article for publication. This article is dedicated to Martina and Bernd Löffler, in gratitude for what they have taught me about children. 1 The literature in this field, which first attracted the attention of classicists and historians of the ancient world, is growing. Three volumes of collected conference papers chart the development of discussions in classics and ancient history on issues pertaining to family life in the Roman world. See B. Rawson, ed., The Family in Ancient Rome: New Perspectives (Ithaca, N. Y. 1986); eadem, ed., Marriage, Divorce and Children in Ancient Rome (Canberra and Oxford 1991); B. Rawson and P. Weaver, eds., The Roman Family in Italy: Status, Sentiment, Space (Canberra and Oxford 1997). Focusing more specifically on children is T. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven 1989). H. Moxnes, ed., Constructing Early Christian Families: Family as Social Reality and Metaphor (London and New York 1997), provides a useful entryway into discussions of the interplay of social reality and metaphorical usage of family-related language in early Christian texts. C. Osiek and D. L. Balch, Families in the New Testament World: Households and House Churches (Louisville, Ky. 1997), may be cited as representative of a growing interest of New Testament scholars in the material reality of family life in the early Christian world. A still relevant collection of articles, edited by D. L. Balch and C. Osiek under the title Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue (Grand Rapids, Mich. 2003), showcases the expanding influence of the topic of family life on studies in archaeology, women’s studies, social and economic history, and theological education. 2 For a monographic treatment of the role and place of children in the early and late ancient Christian world, see now C. B. Horn and J. W. Martens, “Let the Little Children Come to Me”: Childhood and Children in Early Christianity (Washington, D. C. 2009). See also the contributions in C. B. Horn and R. R. Phenix, eds., Children in Late Ancient Christianity (STAC 58; Tübingen 2009). W. A. Strange, Children in the Early Church: Children in the Ancient World, the New Testament and the Early Church (Carlisle 1996), provides a popular introduction to the topic, geared towards a broader readership. Some headway into the topic of children in early Christianity also has been made by O. M. Bakke, When Children Became People: The Birth of Childhood in Early Christianity (trans. B. McNeil; Minneapolis 2005). For a critical review of this work, see C. Horn, JECS 14 (2006): 539–41. Articles that have attempted to survey the

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in particular. The careful examination of representative examples from the apocryphal Acts shows that apocryphal texts feature children more prominently than the canonical material. On the basis of the demonstrated validity of approaching the canonical and apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in a comparative way,3 this study analyzes and compares evidence that has been gathered from a survey of references to children in the canonical Acts with descriptions and narratives about children and young people collected from second‑ and third-century apocryphal Acts. A limitation of this study is the selectivity employed in deciding which body of apocryphal Acts to use for investigation. While a comprehensive and exhaustive study ideally would consider evidence from all extant apocryphal Acts,4 the scope here is limited to the Acts of John, the Acts of Peter, the Acts of Paul (and Thecla), the Acts of Andrew, and the Acts of Thomas.5 This selection follows a traditional emphasis on considering these texts together6 and admittedly also gives in to the temptation constituted by handy access to these texts in Edgar Hennecke and Wilhelm Schneemelcher’s Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, as well as in Montague Rhodes James’s work as revised by J. Keith Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament.7 Despite the presumed Manichaean influence on the origins of selecting these five writings into a distinct group of texts,8 the results of this study generally do not appear to be affected by such tendencies, with the possible exception of one inquestion of the role of children in the Christian Scriptures include J. T. Carroll, “Children in the Bible,” Int 55 (2001): 121–34, and J. M. Gundry-Volf, “The Least and the Greatest: Children in the New Testament,” in The Child in Christian Thought (ed. M. J. Bunge; Grand Rapids, Mich. 2001), 29–60. The existence of the very concept of youth in the ancient world is debated. See, for example, the case made for it in E. Eyben, Restless Youth in Ancient Rome (trans. P. Daly; London and New York 1993), and the critical voice raised against it by M. Kleijwegt, Ancient Youth: The Ambiguity of Youth and the Absence of Adolescence in Greco-Roman Society (Dutch Monographs on Ancient History and Archaeology 8; Amsterdam 1991). 3 See F. Bovon, “Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of Apostles,” JECS 11 (2003): 165–94. 4 Such a study would include later texts, for example, the Acts of Philip, the Martyrdom of Matthew, the Acts of Timothy, the Story of Simon and Theonoe, the Martyrdom of Mark, the Acts of Thaddaeus, and others. It also would have to consider the transmission history of individual Acts as well as witnesses to the texts in languages other than Greek and Latin. For a helpful overview, see A. de Santos Otero, “Jüngere Apostelakten,” in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung (ed. W. Schneemelcher; 2 vols.; Tübingen 1987–1989; ET: New Testament Apocrypha [trans. R.McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; Louisville, Ky. 1991–1992]), 2:381–438. 5 For the initial gathering of material, the translation of these works in vol. 2 of Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, as well as in J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation Based on M. R. James (1993; corrected paperback ed., Oxford 2005), were used. 6 As is in evidence, for instance, in Photios, Bibl. cod. 114; R. Henry, Photius: Bibliothèque. Tome II (“Codices” 84–185) (Collection Byzantine; Paris 1960), 84–86. 7 To my knowledge, thus far only one concordance to any of the apocryphal Acts has appeared. See F. Amsler and A. Frey, Concordantia Actorum Philippi (CCSA, Instrumenta 1; Turnhout 2002). 8 See K. Schäferdiek, “Die Leukios Charinos zugeschriebene manichäische Sammlung apokrypher Apostelgeschichten,” in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 2:81–93.

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stance. The material from the so-called Hymn of the Pearl in the Acts of Thomas and this hymn’s depiction of a child’s travel may reflect specifically Manichaean views with regard to the metaphorical use of the image of a child.9 Otherwise, there is no reason to assume that the representation of children and young people in the selected apocryphal Acts was characteristic of the Manichaean as opposed to the general early Christian context at the time of the texts’ composition. Although comprehensiveness is ultimately desirable for a definitive study of the question of the place and function of children and the image of the child in the literature of Acts of the Apostles, it is not necessary for the purposes of the present article. This study aims at laying some of the groundwork towards such a definitive study. More immediately, it attempts to provide an initial classification and analysis of motifs connected with and references to events involving children and youths in Acts of Apostles. Thus it is hoped that it makes a contribution toward establishing the literary function of children in the New Testament and in related extra-canonical literature. This article first discusses the main evidence for “children” and “childhood” that can be found in the canonical Acts. The second part investigates topics related to children and youths in the selected apocryphal material with a particular interest in themes shared by the canonical and the apocryphal Acts.

1. Children in the Canonical Acts of the Apostles On the whole, the author of the canonical Acts of the Apostles incorporates the themes of “child / children” or “childhood” infrequently. In only fifteen instances does the theme of childhood appear explicitly.10 In addition, the author refers to children implicitly. Those instances, however, are beyond the scope of the present discussion.11  9 On the Manichaean character of the Hymn of the Pearl, see briefly J. Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl: The Syriac and Greek Texts with Introduction, Translations, and Notes (Early Christian Studies 3; Sydney 2002), 17, and H. J. W. Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 2:289–367 at 302–3. For further discussion of the character of the Hymn of the Pearl, see also A. F. J. Klijn, “The So-Called Hymn of the Pearl (Acts of Thomas ch. 108–113),” VC 14 (1960): 154–64, esp. 164; I. P. Culianu, “Erzählung und Mythos im ‘Lied von der Perle’,” Kairós 21 (1979): 60–71; P.-H. Poirier, L’hymne de la perle des Actes de Thomas. Introduction, texte-traduction, commentaire (Homo religiosus 8; Louvain-la-Neuve 1981); G. P. Luttikhuizen, “The Hymn of Jude Thomas, the Apostle, in the Country of the Indians (ATh 108–113),” in The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SECA 6; Leuven 2001), 101–14. 10 Acts 2:17, 39; 3:25; 7:5, 21, 29; 13:10, 26, 33; 16:1; 19:14; 21:5, 9, 21, and 23:16. The expression “sons (υἱοί) of Israel” occurs in Acts 5:21; 7:23, 37; 9:15, and 10:36. 11 Implicit references can be found, for example, in the representation of the “man lame from birth” (Acts 3:2), a comment that includes the image of a visually handicapped child. Acts also records rumors that had spread among the Jerusalemite community of believers that Paul had abandoned the Law of Moses, including Jewish religious practices that involved children – primarily Paul’s abandonment of the requirement of circumcision (Acts 21:21). The primary locus

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The direct references to children in the canonical Acts evince several primary literary functions. The author of the Acts of the Apostles employs language pertaining to children to speak of boundaries as well as of the transgressing and surpassing of heretofore assumed limits. In this context the mentioning of children may function as an eschatological sign. In Peter’s speech on Solomon’s Portico in Acts 2:14–42, citations from Joel are interpreted as having been fulfilled in the Pentecost episode. According to Peter and Joel, at least three categories that divide human beings into different groups, namely those of gender, social status, and age, will become irrelevant on “the last days” (Acts 2:17). One of the liberating effects of God’s work at that time consists of the fact that human beings of all ages will speak of and see God’s will. Acts 2:17 cites Joel 2:28 (LXX 3:1): “I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh, and your sons (οἱ υἱοὶ ὑμῶν) and your daughters (αἱ θυγατέρες ὑμῶν) shall prophesy, and your young men (οἱ νεανίσκοι ὑμῶν) shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.”12 Prophets and seers in the Near East were generally chosen by the deity for this task of revelation. Children could be tested for their prophetic skills by incubation in a temple or other holy place. If they received a sign, then they were apprenticed to a prophetic master. The story of Samuel (1 Sam 3) is representative of this phenomenon. What is counter-real about the eschatological sign in the book of the prophet Joel and in Acts is that the prophetic gift is bestowed equally on everyone. The reference to sons (υἱοί) and daughters (θυγατέρες) likely is to be seen as indicating younger children, in contrast to the older youths or young people (νεανίσκοι),13 and as containing an emphasis on explicitly including repof the ritual of circumcision was during the second week of a baby boy’s life. See, for example, the circumcisions of John the Baptist (Luke 1:59) and Jesus (Luke 2:21). For the rule that a healthy, male child is to be circumcised between the eighth and the twelfth day, see the Mishnaic tractates Shabbat 19:5 (H. Danby, The Mishnah [Oxford and London 1933], 117) and Arakhin 2:1 (545). I am aware of the problems of dating individual strands of Mishnaic material, and thus of the conditional value of this material for reconstructing early Jewish practices. Several other such instances of implicit references to children in the canonical Acts of the Apostles could be discovered. A “reading between the lines” could bring to the fore traces of children and children’s experience in biblical texts more generally. A systematic study that would employ such a reading in order to find traces of children and their experience remains indeed a desideratum. Although the title of M. McKenna’s book (Not Counting Women and Children: Neglected Stories from the Bible [Maryknoll, N. Y. 1994]) may be taken as a pointer to the issue of the hidden voice and presentation of children in the Scriptures, her study does not trace children “between the lines.” 12 Quotations from the Greek New Testament are from E. Nestle, B. Aland et al., eds., Novum Testamentum Graece (28th rev. ed.; Münster and Stuttgart 2012). 13 The Greek term νεανίσκος generally designates a person who is in possession of the full power and strength of his or her youth, a range of age that could be anywhere between one’s early twenties and up until forty. See also F. W. Danker, ed., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago and London 2000 [based on W. Bauer’s Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur]), s. v. νεανίας and νεανίσκος; see also PGL, s. v. νεανίας and νεανίσκος. Given that the term at Acts 2:17 is to be seen over and against an expression that structurally is placed in parallel with it and that with regard to content contrasts with it, namely οἱ πρεσβύτεροι, “the old

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resentatives of both the male and the female gender.14 Children become an eschatological sign, implying equality of all members of the Christian community. The author of the Acts of the Apostles carefully crafted his narrative. Thus, it is to be assumed that variations in citations taken over from biblical material were not unintentional. In the quotation from Joel 3:1 [LXX], the author of Acts reversed the order of the second half of the verse found in the Septuagint,15 an order which the LXX in turn shared with the MT. Thus, Acts of the Apostles first speaks of οἱ νεανίσκοι and then of οἱ πρεσβύτεροι. This reversal has at least two effects. It represents a picture of all ages of human life in their natural order of children, youths, and adults, being equally affected and equally and naturally having access to empowerment for prophecy “in the last days.” Both in the Hebrew text as well as in the Septuagint, the phrases concerning the old ones and the youths stand in clear parallel to one another and together form a separate unit at the end of the whole verse. One may understand the prior mention of the older ones in MT and LXX as having been motivated by a respect for age on the part of the author, or at least as motivated by an acknowledgement of the seniority of the older ones over the youths when matters of spiritual authority are concerned. Over and against this context, the reversal of their respective positions in the verse in Acts 2:17 also appears to reflect a conscious choice on the part of the author to express that “in the last days” boundaries and limitations imposed on society by age and respect for age no longer play a role, indeed are overcome by the greater good of equal access to God’s spirit and consequently by equal active participation with the work of God’s spirit. The theme of equality and the eschatological sign are reiterated toward the end of Peter’s speech, in Acts 2:39, in which Peter states that the promise of the Holy men,” describing those of a mature age or people towards the end of their life, one is justified in understanding νεανίσκοι as a reference to those who were still at the beginning of their life, however broad or narrow a stretch of time one is inclined to allow for that span of one’s lifetime. 14 For Greek terminology used for children see, for example, L. Coenen and K. Haacker, eds., Theologisches Begriffslexikon zum Neuen Testament (2 vols.; Wuppertal 1997), s. v. “Kind” (2:1121–35 at 1121). It seems that there are at least two dimensions to understanding the reference to the pair of “your sons” and “your daughters” at Acts 2:17. The grouping suggests a contrast to adults or parents and thus establishes the point that also the coming generation or the presently younger generation can and will receive God’s spirit. The use of gender-specific terms for offspring also seems to bespeak a time when differences between the sexes will no longer be seen and experienced as affecting a person’s ability to be a mouthpiece or prophet of God. 15 Most commentaries (10 out of 15 that were consulted) do not mention the change in word order at all, or mention it (2 out of 15) but provide no explanation. Others display a limited range of possible explanations. G. Lüdemann, Early Christianity according to the Traditions in Acts (trans. J. Bowden; Minneapolis 1989), 45, understands it as “just an improvement in the expression.” F. F.  Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles: The Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary (London 1952), 89, explains the reversal as a consequence of a quotation made from memory. In the third revised and enlarged edition of the same work (Grand Rapids, Mich. 1990), Bruce notes the reversed order and concludes that “those upon whom the Spirit fell at Pentecost were all young” (121).

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Spirit is for all, “for you, for your children (τοῖς τέκνοις ὑμῶν), and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.” The reference to the children is modified by a possessive pronoun expressive of the family relationship between Peter’s addressees and the children. The author lists the children in the middle position of the three groups of recipients that are mentioned. While the literary function of the reference to people who are far away as equal recipients of the promise seems to occur in order to emphasize that geographical boundaries are overcome, the reference to children fulfills the purpose of transgressing limitations of time that might function as impediments for the ones in the circle of those “whom the Lord our God calls to him.” One of the literary functions of the reference to the children therefore is to add to the expression of the global dimensions of the promise that is being made. The use of the possessive pronoun together with the noun for children, moreover, allows the phrase τοῖς τέκνοις ὑμῶν to function as a bridge for the audience that mediates the gap between themselves and their grasp of this global dimension, given that through their relationship to their children they are already involved in the future and thus in the fulfillment of this side of God’s promise. Thus, the reference to children in this passage functions as an expression of widening the audience’s horizons and of highlighting the global dimensions of the message and its applicability itself. The same dimensions of the globally-relevant promise of prophecy and natural relationship to God’s promise can be detected in Acts 3:25, where the Christians are called offspring (υἱοί) of the prophets and of the Abrahamic covenant. Additional phrases that are grounded in notions of conceiving offspring (ἐν τῷ σπέρματί σου) and that reflect an understanding of the applicability of the language of kinship structures as a universal experience across the world (πᾶσαι αἱ πατριαὶ τῆς γῆς)16 reinforce the relevance of notions of childhood as expressing equality for this author. These matters tie in with a further related use of children in the canonical Acts: the parent-child relationship as the sign of Yahweh’s promise to Abraham that unfolds in the epic of the patriarchs in Genesis. Two immediately relevant sections are Acts 7 and 13. In Stephen’s speech the author reminds the audience that Yahweh gave Abraham the promise of an inheritance while Abraham was childless (οὐκ ὄντος αὐτῷ τέκνου, Acts 7:5). Noticing that the promise was to unfold in the course of the centuries (Acts 7:17), the author of Acts employs the birth, abandonment, and rescue of Moses as a child as another proof of Yahweh’s remembrance of his covenant to Abraham (Acts 7:21–22).17 Eventually, the for16 A

direct reference to Gen 12:3 (MT and LXX). a comment on little Moses as “beautiful (ἀστεῖος) before God,” the author of Acts allows the audience a glimpse at the author’s likely familiarity with standard accounts of the youth of famous children. Nicolaus of Damascus’s Vita Caesaris, composed about 20 b.c.e., is a text that could have been available to the author. Nicolaus praised the beauty of his young boy-hero (Vit. Caes. 4.9 and 5.12–13 [J. Malitz, Nikolaos von Damaskus: Leben des Kaisers Au17 With

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merly-abandoned child Moses “became the father of two sons … in the land of Midian” (Acts 7:29). By recalling that Moses begat two children in the wilderness of Midian, the author of Acts not only demonstrates that scarcity and oppression in the end were overcome and turned into the blessing of offspring, but also and even more so proposes that Yahweh’s promise was independent of physical offspring. The promise to Abraham was a promise that would at one point include all humanity, and not just Jews who claimed from Abraham a national lineage. Acts 13:13–52 resumes this idea in Paul’s speech in Pisidian Antioch. When preaching in the synagogue in Antioch in Pisidia, Paul is shown to have spoken of himself and his companions (ἡμῖν) as “children” (τοῖς τέκνοις, Acts 13:33). Given the context of worship in a synagogue setting, given Paul’s addressing his audience as “my brothers, you descendants of Abraham’s family” (Ἄνδρες ἀδελφοί, υἱοὶ γένους Ἀβραὰμ, Acts 13:26), and given his reference to the ancestors (τοὺς πατέρας, Acts 13:32), that is, the patriarchs of Genesis, immediately preceding his usage of the term “children” in Acts 13:33, it is likely that Paul includes himself and his companions, all the Jews present in the congregation, and ultimately all the Jews under this category of “children.”18 When taken together, verses 32 and 33 allow one to gain some insight into why the author of Acts has Paul speaking of “children.” In verse 33, Jesus is introduced as the one who was raised by God, but also as the one to whom Ps 2:7 (“You are my son [υἱός μου]; today I have begotten you”) refers. By emphasizing the close relationship between God and his son on the one hand, and by recognizing, likewise, the intimate relationship between the “fathers” and “[their] children,” that is between Abraham and his descendants down to Paul’s own time, the author of Acts also suggests that there exists a parallel between the “children” and the “Son.” Paul creates a certain identification, at least a sense of awareness of a close connection, between the members of his audience and Christ as the Son of God. In the case of Paul speaking to the attendants at the synagogue, the identification is made between the Jews and Christ; and for the hearers or readers of Acts, between the believers and Christ. An essential part of the argument is that the heir promised to Abraham was a single son, an interpretation of Ps 2:7, “You are my son; today I have begotten you.” Among ancient Mediterranean nations, only the king was regarded as the Son of God. Now, however, this identification is extended to Jews and Gentiles, who are all children of the promise through Christ. One who is a child of Abraham through Christ inherits the promise. The idea of children as heirs of God through Christ is a very common idea in the New Testament and gustus (Texte zur Forschung 80; Darmstadt 2003), 28, 30]). N. Krückemeier, “Der zwölfjährige Jesus im Tempel (Luke 2.40–52) und die biografische Literatur der hellenistischen Antike,” NTS 50 (2004): 307–19 at 316, noted, however, that Luke did not make it a point to speak of Jesus’ beautiful appearance when featuring the twelve-year-old one in the Temple. 18 According to Nestle and Aland, Novum Testamentum Graece, 424, the possessive pronoun αὐτῶν with τοῖς τέκνοις is not attested in all manuscripts.

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in subsequent Christian literature. In this very passage, access to this same idea became possible via another line of reasoning as well. The structure of parallelism alluded to above that pertains to the relationship between “children” and the “Son” appears not to be extendable to a parallel between Yahweh and the ancestors. Rather, the passage, extending beyond verse 33, was crafted in such a way as to express that being “children” was the missing link in the process of salvation, in which God was the agent and all others were recipients. Paul’s hearer or the reader of Acts, who knew of the promise that God had made to the ancestors, and who awaited its fulfillment, is called upon to realize that by becoming a “child,” the condition of the promise is fulfilled. As Yahweh declared his relationship to his Son, and acted accordingly by begetting him – that is, by pronouncing or promising a parent-child relationship and by fulfilling it – and moreover by sustaining that relationship by raising Jesus from the dead, so also is the promise that had been made to the ancestors fulfilled, when all in Abraham’s family (Acts 26:13) become aware that by identifying with Christ, they are children of God. As children they have a right to the inheritance, thus gaining salvation, preservation from the corruption of death, and the forgiveness of sins (Acts 13:26, 36–39). A further conglomerate of literary functions of depictions of children in the canonical Acts is characterized by prosopographical information about the early Christian community. It is also determined by information that is provided about likely historical, real children, who remain unnamed yet whose mention enhances the global dimensions of the community and shows that children alongside their mothers are regarded as full members of the Christian church. Despite its general lack of attention to children, Acts does preserve references to people whom the original readers may have encountered during the years of their childhood or youth. It is possible that Timothy (Acts 16:1–3) as well as the four daughters of Philip, who are identified as παρθένοι (Acts 21:9), were of a young age.19 Paul’s nephew, his sister’s son, who is featured as one warning the tribune of an ambush the Jews laid for Paul, is spoken of as νεανία (Acts 23:17) and as νεανίσκος (Acts 23:18, 22). He may have just left behind his teenage years, likely having been still youthful, but no longer a young child. Acts also mentions children who are not featured with any further individualizing traits and who thus cannot be identified by name. While a casual, superficial reading may merely see the references to them as text fillers, they do in fact function to establish global dimensions of the community as well as of the applicability of the message of the text. Acts 21:5 explicitly states that women and children (σὺν γυναιξὶ καὶ τέκνοις) were among the disciples in Tyre who escorted Paul back to his ship and prayed for him on the shore before he 19 See also the discussion in Horn and Martens, “Let the Little Children Come to Me,” 69, 101–3, 179.

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departed.20 This reflects the new social situation of the Christian community. Women and children were full members, a departure from both Judaism and pre-Christian religion in Syria and regions under its influence, where the Phoenicians had even practiced child sacrifice in extreme circumstances.21 In conclusion one may say that the canonical Acts of the Apostles relies on images of children from the Tanakh to present its christocentric interpretation of Yahweh’s promise to Abraham, and to demonstrate the new social order of the Christians who embraced that message itself as well as its global dimensions. Although Acts employs references to children rather infrequently, it would be wrong to assume that children were not a part, sometimes even an active part, of Christian life in the first century. Thus far the discussion has shown that references to children certainly are an active part of the literary repertoire of the author of Acts. That children indeed populated also the wider Christian world emerges more clearly and directly when one studies some of the apocryphal Acts of Apostles. The following, second part of this article focuses on themes that these apocryphal Acts have in common with the canonical material in order to show the level of variation in how these themes are employed and realized.

2. Children in Apocryphal Acts In the Acts of John, the Acts of Thomas, and the Acts of Andrew, each apostle very frequently refers to his audience as “child” (τέκνον)22 or “children” (τέκνα).23 This 20 A reading attested in the fifth-century Codex Bezae mentions children alongside the women in the Upper Room in Acts 1:14 (σὺν γυναιξὶν καὶ τέκνοις καὶ Μαρία). W. Thiele, “Eine Bemerkung zu Act 1,14,” ZNW 53 (1962): 110–11, interprets the addition of καὶ τέκνοις as anti-feminist tendency. Yet, see more recently C. Niccum, “A Note on Acts 1:14,” NovT 36 (1994): 196–99. Strange, Children in the Early Church, 71, mentions the addition as well. For the status of Codex Bezae studies, see D. C. Parker and C. B. Amphoux, eds., Codex Bezae: Studies from the Lunel Colloquium, June 1994 (NTTS 22; Leiden 1996), as well as the earlier monograph by D. C.  Parker, Codex Bezae: An Early Christian Manuscript and Its Text (Cambridge 1991). 21 For examples from Cyprus, see F. Moore Cross, “A Phoenician Inscription from Idalion: Some Old and New Texts Relating to Child Sacrifice,” in Scripture and Other Artifacts: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Honor of Philip J. King (ed. M. D. Coogan et al.; Louisville, Ky. 1994), 93–107. For evidence from North Africa, see L. E. Stager, “The Rite of Child Sacrifice at Carthage,” in New Light on Ancient Carthage (ed. J. G. Pedley; Ann Arbor, Mich. 1980), 1–11; but also note the more recent interpretation in L. E. Stager and S. R. Wolff, “Child Sacrifice at Carthage – Religious Rite or Population Control: Archaeological Evidence Provides Basis for a New Analysis,” BAR 10 (1984): 31–51; M. M. Janif, “Child Sacrifice in the Punic World: The Case of Carthage” (M. A. diss.; Yarmouk University, Irbid, Jordan, 1997); idem, “Les sacrifices d’enfants à Carthage: l’hypothèse de L. W. Stager reconsidérée,” Revue des Études phénico-puniques et des Antiquités libyques 12 (2002): 73–79. 22 For example, Acts John 27; 28; 46 (E. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, eds., Acta Iohannis: Praefatio – Textus [CCSA 1; Turnhout 1983], 177, line 5; 179, lines 6–7; 229, line 19). 23 For example, Acts Thom. 2:29 (R. A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, eds., Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha [2 vols.; Leipzig 1891–1903; repr. Hildesheim 1972; abbreviated hereafter as AcApAp],

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establishes a quasi-familial relationship between the apostle and the persons that are being addressed.24 To enhance this already very intimate tone, the noun is often modified by a possessive pronoun, mostly that of the first person singular (“my child”25 and “my children”26), to which sometimes the name of the addressee is added (“my child Stratocles” and “oh my little child Maximilla”),27 or also occasionally the adjective “dear” (ἀγαπητός) or “beloved” (ἠγαπημένος),28 in order to express even more intensely the speaker’s affection for the person addressed. The same, or even greater intensity is achieved through the use of the diminutive form, at times combined with the possessive pronoun, for example, “little child” (τέκνιον),29 “my little child” (παιδίον μου),30 “little children” (τεκνία),31 or “my little children” (τεκνία μου).32 In such situations of a fictitious parent-child relationship between the apostle and his audience, words of advice, instruction, and correction for a proper moral, and consequently spiritual life are given frequently. The Acts of Thomas preserves two instances where the language of the parent-child relationship is balanced by references to the members of the apostle’s audience as brothers or sisters. One finds phrases like “my children and brethren”33 as well as “daughters, sisters, fellow-servants, who have come to faith in my Lord and God.”34 In both instances, a statement immediately follows commending the audience as those who believe in the Lord. Thus, one is led to assume that in the eyes of the author of the text, the one who has gained or has already shown faith is on a more equal footing with the apostle, a relationship that manifests itself in familial language. 2.2:146, line 12): τέκνα καὶ ἀδελφοί; and Acts Thom. 7:66 (AcApAp 2.2:182, line 14): τέκνα μου καὶ ἀδελφοί. 24 See, for example, Acts Thom. 7:66 (see preceding footnote), where the apostle addresses his audience as “children and brethren,” and thus enhances the impression of a family context by multiplying expressions that bespeak family relationships. 25 See, for example, Acts John 27 (Acta Iohannis, 177, line 5): ἀγαπητόν μου τέκνον; and Acts Andr. 4 (J.-M. Prieur, Acta Andreae [CCSA 6; Turnhout 1989], 447, line 9): τέκνον μου. 26 See, for example, Acts Andr. 11 and 12 (Acta Andreae, 455, line 1; 457, line 1): τεκνία μου. 27 See, for example, Acts Andr. 9 (Acta Andreae, 455, line 14): τέκνον μου Στρατοκλῆ, and Acts Andr. 37(5) (Acta Andreae, 487, line 6): ὦ παιδίον μου Μαξιμίλλα. See also Acts John 81 (Acta Iohannis, 285, lines 18–19; cf. Schäferdiek, “Johannesakten,” 185, who translated with possessive pronoun): τέκνον Καλλίμαχε. 28 “My dear child” (ἀγαπητόν μου τέκνον): Acts John 27 (Acta Iohannis, 177, line 5); “beloved children” (ἠγαπημένα τέκνα): Acts Andr. 16 (Codex Vaticanus 808 fragment, section 16; AcApAp 2.1:44, line 17). 29 See, for example, Acts John 28 (Acta Iohannis, 179, line 2): τέκνιον. 30 See, for example, Acts Andr. 37(5), quoted above, n. 27. 31 Martyrium Andreae alterum 3 (AcApAp 2.1:60, line 4): τεκνία. 32 Martyrium Andreae alterum 6 (AcApAp 2.1:61, line 9): τεκνία μου. 33 Acts Thom. 7:66 (AcApAp 2.2:182, line 14): τέκνα μου καὶ ἀδελφοὶ οἱ εἰς τὸν τὸν Κύριον πιστεύσαντες. 34 Acts Thom. 13:159 (version 2) (AcApAp 2.2:270, lines 11–13): Θυγατέρες καὶ ἀδελφαὶ καὶ σύνδουλοι αἱ εἰς τὸν κύριον καὶ θεόν μου πιστεύσοσαι. See also Acts Thom. 13:159 (version 1) (AcApAp 2.2:270, line 2): Θυγατέρες μου, δουλαῖ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ.

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This mode of speech does not appear in the canonical Acts of the Apostles, but is an important term of address in the Johannine Letters. The terminology chosen there, which functions as a way of closely binding the writer and the community to one another, is intimately tied to the problems of social and financial inequality in the Johannine community. In the Johannine texts, the author is the tradent of the Johannine tradition, into which he has brought the community. The same may be the case in the apocryphal Acts.35 This familial language emerges most clearly in the Acts of Peter, which approaches the child-parent relationship between the audience and the apostle most forcefully by directly employing parental terms for the description of the apostle. The apostle Paul is presented as a mother. The believers beg Paul not “to desert [them] like little children without their mother.”36 Paul applies such a simile to himself in 1 Thess 2:7: “but we were gentle (ἐγενήθημεν ἤπιοι) among you,37 like a nurse (or, nursing mother; τροφός)38 tenderly caring for her own children (τὰ ἑαυτῆς τέκνα).”39 Such terminology reflects the transmission of knowledge from teacher to student. The Acts of Paul (and Thecla) carries this image further in the episode of Paul’s execution. When “the executioner struck off (Paul’s) head, milk spurted upon the soldier’s clothing.”40 Paul’s teaching is the milk that feeds the community, whose members in turn are symbolized as infants. Moreover, Paul is not the only martyr who shed milk at his death.41 Milk 35 For work that connects apocryphal Acts, more specifically the Acts of John, with the Johannine tradition, see most recently P. J. Lalleman, The Acts of John: A Two-Stage Initiation into Johannine Gnosticism (SECA 4; Leuven 1998). I am grateful to R. Phenix for discussing this point with me. 36 Acts Pet. 1:1 (Actus Vercellenses) (AcApAp 1:46, lines 4–5 [Actus Petri cum Simone]): ne nos obliviscaris cum perveneris, et inquipias ab relinquere nos tamquam parvulos sine matre. 37 The reading νήπιοι (“infants”) also is well attested and is adopted in Nestle and Aland, Novum Testamentum Graece, 623. F. F. Bruce, 1 & 2 Thessalonians (WBC 45; Waco, Tex. 1982), 31, explains this variant as due to a dittography of the final ν of the preceding verb. For philosophical background to the choice of phraseology in this verse, see A. J. Malherbe, “ ‘Gentle as a Nurse’: The Stoic Background to 1 Thess. II,” NovT 12 (1970): 203–17. 38 Given that the children are identified as being “her own,” rendering τροφός merely by “nurse” seems insufficient. 39 In Gal 4:19, Paul again addresses his audience as “my children (τέκνα μου), for whom I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you.” I owe a reminder of this passage to I. Ivanovska. 40 Acts of Paul (and Thecla), Martyrdom of Paul 5 (modern translation by Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 2:193–241; AcApAp 1:115, line 16): ὡς δὲ ἀπετίναξεν αὐτοῦ ὁ σπεκουλάτωρ τὴν κεφαλὴν, γάλα ἐπύτισεν εἰς τοῦς χιτῶνας τοῦ στρατιώτου. 41 Early Christian hagiography preserves the image of milk coming forth at the time of martyrdom, for example, in Prudentius, Peristephanon 10.700 (H. J. Thompson, Prudentius. Works [2 vols.; LCL; Cambridge, Mass. 1949], 2:98–345 at 276–77). For discussion, see C. B. Horn, “ ‘Fathers and Mothers Shall Rise up against Their Children and Kill Them’: Martyrdom and Children in the Early Church,” paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the AAR-SBL (Toronto, Canada, 2002), unpublished. Symbolic uses of the imagery of milk in martyrdom settings are discussed, for example, in M. Meslin, “Vases sacrés et boissons d’éternité dans les visions

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was an integral part of early Christian liturgical celebrations as well, given that the Christians received from a cup of milk alongside their drinking from the Eucharistic chalice at the occasion of the baptismal liturgy.42 The description of milk pouring forth from Paul at his death may have been employed as a metaphor for spiritual motherhood, symbolizing that the milk of Paul’s teachings would not cease, but continue to be available to all, even to the enemies of the message, here embodied by the soldiers. The comparison of a given apostle to a female figure, functioning in a maternal role, is not limited to the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul (and Thecla). The Acts of John suggests a parallel between the apostle and a nurse, breast-feeding little children. John is presented as promising to the Ephesians that he would not leave them until he had weaned them “like children from the nurse’s milk.”43 That the early Christian audience of apocryphal texts had a well-developed awareness of the very close and lasting relationship that existed between a nurse and the children she had cared for can be seen from the Acts of Thomas.44 There Mygdonia shows grateful awareness of owing thanks45 for “all the services and refreshments” her “mother and nurse Marcia”46 had “rendered (her) from childhood to (her) present age.”47 Thus by being addressed as children to be weaned, even grown-ups, like the Ephesians in the Acts of John, could have interpreted their relationship to John not only as one of dependence, but also as one of intimate, lasting gratefulness. In the background, again, is the Pauline image.48 des martyrs africains,” in Epektasis. Mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou (ed. J. Fontaine and C. Kannengiesser; Paris 1972), 139–53. 42 See, for example, Hippolytus, Trad. ap. 21 (W. Geerlings, “Traditio Apostolica: Apostolische Überlieferung,” in Didache. Zwölf-Apostel-Lehre; Traditio Apostolica. Apostolische Überlieferung [trans. G. Schöllgen and W. Geerlings; Fontes Christiani 1; Freiburg im Breisgau 1991], 143–313 at 268–71). For a discussion of the intersection of liturgical and theological uses of the imagery of milk in early Christianity, see E. Engelbrecht, “God’s Milk: An Orthodox Confession of the Eucharist,” JECS 7 (1999): 509–26. 43 Acts John 45 (Acta Iohannis, 227, lines 7–10): ὃ καὶ ἰδὼν γεγονὸς καὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον γινόμενον οὐκ ἀπολειφθήσομαι ὑμῶν μέχρις ἂν καθάπερ παῖδας τοῦ τῆς τροφοῦ γάλακτος ἀποσπάσω καὶ στερεὰν πέτραν καταστήσω. 44 On lasting relationships between nurses and the children they had fed, see S. Dixon, The Roman Mother (Norman, Okla. 1988), 145–46. 45 That Mygdonia modifies this required thankfulness to a merely this-worldly, temporal one (Acts Thom. 10:120 [Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” 350]), does not affect the point of an enduring and recognized close relationship between nurse and former nursling, which is made here. 46 In the Syriac, her name is given as )YQrN, “Narkia.” See W. Wright, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: Edited from Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum and Other Libraries with English Translations and Notes (2 vols.; London 1871; repr., Amsterdam 1968), 2: cr, line 8. 47 Acts Thom. 10:120 (AcApAp 2.2:230, lines 1–7): Καὶ παραλαβοῦσα αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν αὐλὴν εἰσῆλθεν, καὶ ἐξύπνιζεν τὴν τροφὸν λέγουσα πρὸς αὐτήν· Μήτηρ ἐμὴ καὶ τροφὲ Μαρκία, πάσας τὰς πρός με ὠφελείὰς καὶ ἀναπαύσεις ἐκ παίδων ἕως τῆς νῦν ἡλικίας ματαίας εἰργάσω, καὶ χάριν σοι δι’ αὐτὰς ὀφείλω πρόσκαιρον. ποίησον δέ μοι καὶ νυν χάριν, ἵνα διὰ παντὸς τὴν ἀμοιβὴν ἀπολάβῃς παρ’ ἐκείνου τοῦ τὰ μεγάλα χαριζομένου. 48 For further use of “milk” imagery, see also 1 Cor 3:2; 1 Pet 2:2; Heb 5:12–13. For further

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Child-related language in reference to Satan and evil spirits is not present in the canonical Acts. In the apocryphal Acts, however, this type of language is quite frequent. In respective cases, speaking of someone as a child of Satan is used as an appellation for the enemies of Christ and the apostles. When Fortunatus is found dead while “blackness (was) spreading over him, and … had reached his heart,” John only comments, “You have your child, devil.”49 The apostle John’s last words before his death include the wish that God would “let (Satan’s) children be wounded.”50 A fragment from the Acts of Andrew states that “the devil, who is utterly shameless, will arm his own children against” Christ’s followers.51 Curses that call for the devil’s blackness to be turned against his offspring (in natos tuos),52 and that “the portion of the children of the evil One may cry out and convict them,”53 join descriptions of the opponents of the apostle and the believers as “children of Gehenna and of the destruction,”54 “children of darkness,”55 “Babylonian children,”56 as well as fears that “the children of the dragon [may] hiss at” the apostle.57 Those who refuse to accept the apostle’s teaching are not “children of righteousness,” but “children of wrath” or “sons of disobedience.”58 Occasionally, demons refer to Satan as their “father.”59

discussion, see B. R. Gaventa, “Mother’s Milk and Ministry in 1 Corinthians 3,” in Theology and Ethics in Paul and His Interpreters: Essays in Honor of Victor Paul Furnish (ed. E. Lovering and J. L. Sumny; Nashville, Tenn. 1996), 101–13. 49 Acts John 86 (Acta Iohannis, 293, line 10): Ἀπέχεις τὸ τέκνον σου, διάβολε. 50 Acts John 114 (Acta Iohannis, 315, lines 8–9): τὰ τέκνα αὐτοῦ πασχέτω καὶ ὅλη ἡ ῥίζα αὐτοῦ ἀπορρηθήτω. 51 Acts Andr. 49(17) (Acta Andreae, 503, lines 8–9): Ὁ πάντα ἀναιδὴς διάβολος τὰ ἴδια τέκνα ὁπλίσει κατ’ αὐτῶν, ὅπως αὐτῷ συνθῶνται. 52 Acts Pet. 8 (AcApAp 1:56, lines 8–11 [Actus Petri cum Simone]): in te nigritudo tua et in natos tuos, semen pessimum, in te convertantur nequitiae tuae et in te mine tuae et in te temptationes tuae et in angelis tuis, principium malitiae, tenebrarum abyssus! 53 Acts Thom. 12:148 (AcApAp 2.2:257, lines 3–6): ὅπως δὲ καὶ αἰφνίδιον ἐμπίπτουσιν τοῖς αὐτοῦ ὑπηκόοις. ἡ τούτων τῶν πονηρῶν παίδων μερὶς βοᾷ καὶ μηνύει. Version two (AcApAp 2.2:257, lines 17–18 to 2.2:258, line 15) reads: ἡ δὲ μερὶς τῶν υἱῶν τοῦ πονηροῦ αὐτὴ βοᾷ καὶ ἐλέγχει αὐτούς. ἀλλ’ οὔτε κρύπτεται ἐξ αὐτῶν· ἡ γὰρ φύσις αὐτῶν γνωείζεται· ἀποχωρίζουσιν οἱ τοῦ πονηροῦ παῖδες. 54 Acts Thom. 8:74 (AcApAp 2.2:189, lines 9–10): ὑμῖν λέγω τοῖς τέκνοις τῆς γεέννης καὶ τῆς ἀπωλείας. 55 Acts Thom. 13:153 (AcApAp 2.2:262, lines 17–18): ἰδοὺ γὰρ οἱ τοῖ σκότους παῖδες ἐν τῷ αὐτῶν καθιοῦσι σκότει. 56 Acts Thom. 9:111 (Hymn of the Pearl, v. 50) (AcApAp 2.2:222, line 6 [modified]): διὰ τοὺς πονηροὺς τοὺς Βαβυλωνίους παῖδας. 57 Acts Thom. 13:167 (AcApAp 2.2:281, lines 11–12): μὴ βλεπέτω με ὁ ὄφις καὶ οἱ τοῦ δράκοντος παῖδες μὴ συριττέτωσάν μοι. 58 Acts of Paul (and Thecla) (Paul’s Response to the Corinthians 3:19–22) (Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” 193–241 at 233). For comments on the manuscript transmission of this material, see ibid., 197–98. 59 Acts Thom. 8:76 (AcApAp 2.2:191, lines 4–6): καὶ ὥσπερ σοὶ βοηθεῖ ὁ Xριστός σου ἐν οἷς διαπράττῇ, οὕτως καὶ ἐμοὶ βοηθεῖ ὁ πατήρ μου ἐν οἷς διαπράττομαι.

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In apocryphal Acts, one finds more general comments on the fact that some of the apostles had children. Next to this information, the texts also convey exhortations pertaining to the rejection of the material world and of procreation by using stories involving children. A Coptic fragment, known as the Act of Peter, a text that some have identified as belonging to the Acts of Peter, introduces the reader to Peter’s daughter, a “virgin daughter (ϣⲉⲉⲣⲉ ⲙⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲟⲥ), who has grown up to be beautiful and who has believed in the name of God.”60 She is afflicted by palsy and spends her days lying in a corner in Peter’s house. On the day of her birth, the Lord announced to Peter in a vision that his daughter would become a great temptation for many souls if her body would not be afflicted. When the girl was ten years old, a rich man, Ptolemaeus, desired to marry her. After a lacuna in the text, the reader next meets the girl, stricken with palsy and lying on one side of her body. The disease seemingly befell her in response to Peter’s prayers for her protection. Augustine, who seems to have known more of the text than what is preserved now, said that Peter’s daughter “was stricken with palsy at the prayer of her father.”61 Yet, that parental control went further. Of the parcel of land bequeathed to her by her former suitor Ptolemaeus, the girl never got to see a dime. Rather, Peter decided that it was best to sell the land and give all of the proceeds to the poor. At the very least, this relationship between father and daughter is characterized by the complete control exercised by the pater familias.62 While the Act(s) of Peter does not record a name for the girl, the author of the fifth‑ or sixth-century Acts of SS. Nereus and Achilleus calls her Πετρωνίλλα, or “Little Peter,”63 a name transmitted in Christian tradition. The apocryphal Acts contain stories of apostles in their youth. The curiosity of the audience may indeed have prompted the writers to reflect on what would 60 Acts Pet. (fragments from Berlin Coptic Papyrus 8502) 128.17–129.1 (J. Brashler and D. M. Parrott, eds., “The Act of Peter, BG, 4:128,1 – 141,7,” in Nag Hammadi Codices V, 2–5 and VI with Papyrus Berolinensis 8502,1 and 4 [NHS 11; Leiden 1979], 473–93 at 478–79). On the feminine characters in the Acts of Peter, see also A. G. Brock, Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority (HTS 51; Cambridge, Mass. 2003), 109–13. 61 Augustine of Hippo, Adim. 17 (J. Zycha, Sancti Aureli Augustini: De utilitate credendi, De duabus animabus, Contra Fortunatum, Contra Adimantum, Contra Epistulam Fundamenti, Contra Faustum [CSEL 25.6.1; Prague, Vienna and Leipzig 1891], 170, line 12): et ipsius Petri filiam paralyticam factam precibus patris. 62 For a helpful discussion of the power of parents in the setting of Roman family life, see A. Arjava, “Paternal Power in Late Antiquity,” JRS 88 (1998): 147–65. For a fuller discussion of the father-daughter relationship in the Act of Peter, see also C. Horn, “Suffering Children, Parental Authority, and the Quest for Liberation? A Tale of Three Girls in the Acts of Paul (and Thecla), the Act(s) of Peter, the Acts of Nerseus and Achilleus, and the Epistle of Pseudo-Titus,” in A Feminist Companion to the New Testament Apocrypha (ed. A.-J. Levine, with M. M. Robbins; Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings 11; New York 2006), 118–45. 63 Acta SS. Nerei et Achillei 15 and 18 (H. Achelis, Acta SS. Nerei et Achillei: Text und Untersuchung [TU 11.2; Leipzig 1893], 14, 17–18. See also Schneemelcher, “Petrusakten,” in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 2:243–89 at 249.

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be appropriate to say in this regard. Yet, only one of the five apostles featured prominently in the texts studied here is presented as having had an encounter with Christ already during his youth. That encounter is portrayed as having taken place in the context of a visionary experience during John’s youth.64 The reason for this is the identification of the beloved youth of the Gospel of John (John 13:23) with the Apostle John, an identification that is of later Christian origin.65 In the context of the apocryphal Acts of John the reference to John’s young age emphasizes his purity, symbolized by his sexual abstinence from his youth onward. The apocryphal Acts witness more broadly to the fact, that the new faith and its missionaries had a distinct appeal for the young. Comments in the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Thomas reveal the presence of children of either sex, “boys and girls, young men and maidservants,”66 sometimes by themselves, at other times accompanied by adults, among the crowds who come to listen to the preaching and teaching of the apostle.67 The Acts of Andrew as preserved by Gregory of Tours mentions a rich noble youth from Thessalonica, whose name is Exuos.68 “Without his parents’ knowledge,” he came to Andrew “and asked to be shown the way of truth.”69 Having received instruction and having come to faith, he follows Andrew. Part of why this seems to have been problematic for his parents is that Exuos fails to take care of his worldly estate.70 Eventually, his parents hear that he is at Philippi and they try to bribe him with gifts to leave Andrew.71 Unsuccessful, they try harsher measures, including attempting to burn down the house in which their son is staying, presumably together with the 64 Acts John 113 (Acta Iohannis, 311, line 12): ὁ κάμὲ φυλάξας μέχρι τῆς ἄρτι ὥρας ἑαυτῷ καθαρὸν καὶ ἀλιγῆ μίξεως γυναικείας. ὁ θέλοντί μοι ἐν νεότητι γῆμαι ἐπιφανὲς καὶ εἰρηκὼς. 65 For a discussion of the beloved disciple, see A. T. Lincoln, “The Beloved Disciple as Eyewitness and the Fourth Gospel as Eyewitness,” JSNT 85 (2002): 3–26. At times, Lazarus is identified with the Beloved Disciple as well. See B. S. Davis, “The Identity of the Disciple Whom Jesus Loved,” ExpTim 113 (2002): 230–31, and H. Garcia, “Lazare, du mort vivant au disciple bien-aimé. Le cycle et la trajectoire narrative de Lazare dans le quatrième évangile,” RSR 73 (1999): 259–92. 66 Acts Thom. 2:28 (AcApAp 2.2:144, lines 1–2 [modified]): ἄνδρες καὶ γυναῖκες, παῖδες καὶ κόραι, νεανίσκοι καὶ παρθένοι, ἀκμαῖοι καὶ γηραλέοι, εἴτε δοῦλοι εἴτε ἐλεῦθεροι. 67 Acts Andr. 56(6) (Acta Andreae, 521, lines 3–5): Ἄνδρες οἱ παρεστῷτές μοι καὶ γυναῖκες καὶ παῖδες καὶ πρεσβῦται καὶ δοῦλοι καὶ ἐλεύθεροι καὶ ὁπόσοι ἄλλοι μέλλετε ἀκούειν. 68 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 12 (Acta Andreae, 553–651 at 593, lines 1–2): Erat quidam iuvenis in Tesalonica nobilis valde ac dives opibus Exuos nomine. 69 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 12 (Acta Andreae, 593, lines 2–4): Hic venit ad apostolum, nescientibus parentibus suis, et procidens ad pedes eius, rogabat eum, dicens: “Ostende mihi, quaeso, famule Dei, viam veritatis …” 70 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 12 (Acta Andreae, 593, lines 11–12; 595, lines 17–18): “Utinam nec vos has opes haberetis” … “Intereat puer, qui reliquid parentes et patriam.” 71 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 12 (Acta Andreae, 593, lines 9–11): Parentes autem requirentes eum, audierunt, quod in Philippis cum apostolo moraretur, et venientes cum muneribus, rogabant, ut separaetur ab eo.

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apostle Andrew.72 Despite the occurrence of miracles and the witness of a Philippian citizen, Lysimachus, the parents remain firm in their rejection of their son’s choice of the Christian faith, and sure enough, they die after only a short while. The youth Exuos, however, uses his newly gained inheritance for charitable works, and continues to follow the apostle, even becoming a preacher himself.73 Not every encounter between an apostle and a child’s parents is so tragic. Occasionally, a young person introduces one or the other of his or her parents, or both, to the apostle or brings them along so that they also will have a chance to meet the apostle. In a few instances, children function as mediators between their parents and the apostle – for example, the boy Philopator,74 who introduces his father Sostratus to Andrew in Corinth. On that occasion, Philopator also facilitates his father’s learning from the apostle about what to do to be saved.75 In the Acts of Andrew, a youth brings about an encounter between his mother and the apostle.76 One can find further examples of children and young people travelling along with the apostle. An only son, whom Andrew had raised from the dead, is handed over into the apostle’s care by his parents and travels along with Andrew to Macedonia, all the while receiving instruction in the faith.77 In India, Judas Thomas gains several young followers, who leave their former lives behind, and join him. These include the newly-wed daughter of the king of Andrapolis and her young husband, as well as the flute-girl who earlier had entertained the wedding-guests.78 Reminiscent of the choice of the young Timothy as Paul’s travel companion recounted in the canonical Acts, also the Acts of Peter reports two young men who are selected to go on board with Paul and travel with him to Rome.79 When recounting the events leading to Peter’s martyrdom, the Acts of Peter portrays a scene in which Peter’s followers implore the apostle and request of

72 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 12 (Acta Andreae, 595, lines 16–17): At illi, convocata cohorte, venerunt, ut incenderent domum illam in qua erat iuvenis. 73 Acts Andr. 12–13 (Acta Andreae, 593–99). Note that the young virgin Thecla, after following Paul for a while, eventually starts instructing people around her in the Christian faith. She makes good use of her stay at Tryphaena’s house, where she teaches both the queen and the female servants, many of whom come to accept the Christian faith along with their mistress. See Acts of Paul (and Thecla) 39 (AcApAp 1:235; Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” 223). 74 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 24 (Acta Andreae, 692, lines 32–33): Sed et Philopater – hoc enim erat nomen pueri – dicebat … 75 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 26 (Acta Andreae, 633–35). 76 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 19 (Acta Andreae, 613, lines 1–4): His ita gestis, adolescens quidam, qui erat iam cum apostolo, indicavit matri suae quae acta erant et arcessivit eam, ut veniret ad occursum sancti. Quae accedens, procidit ad pedes eius et quaerabat, ut audiret verbum Dei. 77 Gregory of Tours, Life of Andrew 7 (Acta Andreae, 585–87). 78 Acts Thom. 1:16 (AcApAp 2.2:122–24; trans. in Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” 309–10). 79 Acts Pet. 3 (AcApAp 1:48, lines 16–17): et tradiderunt ei duo iuvenes fideles.

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him to take thought of them, since they are still young.80 The reference to young age here, however, could either describe people who are still young of age physically, or it could be a self-designation of people who feel they are still young and inexperienced in the spiritual life. In other instances, children come along when their parents go out and meet the apostle, as in the case of Onesiphorus of Iconium, who “went out with his children, Simmias and Zeno and his wife Lectra to meet Paul.”81 At times, whole families come and sit at the feet of the apostle, hearing him preach, even if that means paying a visit to the prison.82 In Myra, Hermocrates comes together with his wife and his children in order to cast themselves at the apostle Paul’s feet and receive faith.83 In instances where apocryphal Acts show children and young people as interacting and conversing with apostles, the children are often featured as being prepared for their functioning as messengers for adults.84 That particular role of children as messengers is not limited to their mediation between the apostle and the children’s parents. There are numerous examples of young people bringing news about events to adults, including the apostle.85 Occasionally, a child is simply sent out to go shopping for food, bringing back not only the produce and supplies, but also guiding people to the apostle, as in the case of one of Onesiphorus’s sons, whom Paul sends out to buy bread, but who brings Thecla back to Paul.86 In some instances, the relationship between a given youth and the apostle develops into a teacher-disciple relationship, marked by clear guidance, literally and spiritually, which the apostle provides for the youth. In one instance, the Acts of Thomas describes how the apostle “went into the city holding the hand of the youth,” thus guiding him physically; and, addressing the youth as “my child,” he also explains the mysteries of God to him.87 80 Acts Pet. 36(7) (AcApAp 1:88–90 [Martyrium Petri] at 88, lines 15–16): Παρακαλουμέν σε Πέτρε: ἡμῶν τῶν νεωτέρων φρόντισον. 81 Acts of Paul (and Thecla) 2 (AcApAp 1:236, line 5 to 1:237, line 1): καί τις ἀνὴρ ὀνόματι Ὀνησιφόρος ἀκούσας τὸν Παῦλον παραγενόμενον εἰς Ἰκόνιον, ἐξῆλθεν σὺν τοῖς τέκνοις αὐτοῦ Σιμμίᾳ καὶ Ζήνώι καὶ τῇ γυναικὶ αὐτοῦ Λέκτρᾳ εἰς συνάντησιν Παύλου. 82 Acts Thom. 12:142 and 13:151 (AcApAp 2.2:248–49, 260–61; trans. in Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” 357–58, 361). 83 Acts of Paul (and Thecla), Papyrus Heidelberg fragment, 28–29 (trans. in Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” 224). 84 Acts Pet. 9 (AcApAp 1:56, line 31): Petrus autem ad iuvenem dixit. The scene features a young doorkeeper who is sent as Simon Magus’s messenger to Peter. 85 See, for example, Acts John 86 (Acta Iohannis, 293, lines 6–9): Καὶ δραμών τις τῶν νεανίσκων εὗρεν αὐτὸν λοιπὸν ῷδηκότα καὶ τὴν μελανίαν νεμομένην καὶ ἁψαμένην τῆς καρδίας αύτοῦ· καὶ ἐλθὼν ἀνήγγειλε τῷ Ἰωάννῃ τρίωρον αὐτὸν τεθνάναι, and Acts Pet. 22 (AcApAp 1:69, lines 31 to 1:70, line 1): Ecce enim venerunt iuvenes mei, nuntiantes vidisse se in foro anabatras configi, et turba dicentium: “Hic crastina die luce horta certari habent duo Iudaei de conlocutione dei.” 86 Acts of Paul (and Thecla) 23 (AcApAp 1:251–52; trans. in Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” 220). 87 Acts Thom. 3:36 (AcApAp 2.2:153, lines 3–6): Καὶ ταυτα εἰπόντος τοῦ ἀποστόλου ἤρχετο εἰς τὴν πόλιν κατέχων τὴν χεῖρα ἐκείνου τοῦ νέου καὶ λέγων αὐτῷ· Ταῦτα ἅπερ ἐθεάσω τέκνον

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A very famous example of a child travelling, of course, is that of the little prince. In the Hymn of the Pearl,88 a text now incorporated into the Acts of Thomas, one reads that “[w]hen [he] was an infant child ((dwLY rB$, βρέφoς ἄλαλoν)89 in the palace of [his] Father, … [he was] provisioned [by his parents] and sent.”90 Still “untried in travelling,”91 being “a lad ()YL+, παῖς)92 of grace and beauty, a son (rB, υἱός)93 of princes,”94 he travelled all the way from “the East by a road difficult and fearful, [yet for a while] with two guides”95 to Egypt,96 and eventually back home again. The author of the text emphasizes that this “son of kings97 ()KLM* rB, υἱός βασιλέων)”98 indeed “was yet a child and very young (παῖς γὰρ ὤν ἔτι καὶ κομιδῇ νέος)99 when [he] had left [his garment back] in the palace of [his] Father.”100 Yet, once this splendid robe had come to him, it enabled him to return home. Certainly, this is a rather mysterious story and much ink has been spilled trying to explain it.101 It is not unlikely that the little child that was travelling is used as a motif to describe the journey of the soul during this life, ὀλίγα ἐστὶν ἀπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ὧν ὁ Θεὸς ἔχει. The presentation of the sexual experience of this youth makes it likely that one is dealing with a teenager here.  88 See also the accessible and fine re-edition of both the Syriac and the Greek text of the Hymn of the Pearl, each accompanied by an English translation and illuminating notes, in Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl.  89 See Hymn Pearl 1 (Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl, 39 [Syriac] and 82 [Greek]). See also ibid., 67, n. 4 (to the Syriac), and 97, n. 5 (to the Greek).  90 Acts Thom. 9:108 (v. 1; AcApAp 2.2:219, lines 20–23): Ὅτε ἤμην βρέφος ἄλαλον ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πατρός μου βασιλείοις ἐν πλούτῳ καὶ τρυφῇ τῶν τροφέων ἀναπαυόμενος, ἐξ Ἀνατολῆς τῆς πατρίδος ἡμῶν ἐφοδιάσαντές με οἱ γονεῖς ἀπεστειλάν με.  91 Acts Thom. 9:109 (v. 17; AcApAp 2.2:220, lines 11–13): Ἠρχόμην δὲ ἐξ Ἀνατολῆς ἐφ’ ὁδὸν δυσχερῆ τε καὶ φοβερὰν μεθ’ ἡγεμόνων δύο, ἄπειρος δὲ ἤμην τοῦ ταύτην ὁδεῦσαι.  92 See Hymn Pearl 25 (Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl, 45 [Syriac] and 86 [Greek]).  93 Hymn Pearl 25. See also Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl, 72, n. 55 (to the Syriac).  94 Acts Thom. 9:109 (AcApAp 2.2:220, lines 20–22): ἐκεῖ δὲ εἶδον ἐμὸν συγγενῆ τὸν ἐξ Ἀνατολῆς, τὸν ἐλεύθερον, παῖδα εὐχαρῆ καὶ ὡραῖον, υἱὸν μεγιστάνων.  95 Acts Thom. 9:109 (v. 16; AcApAp 2.2:220, lines 11–12): Ἠρχόμην δὲ ἐξ Ἀνατολῆς ἐφ’ ὁδὸν δυσχερῆ τε καὶ φοβερὰν μεθ’ ἡγεμόνων δύο.  96 Acts Thom. 9:109 (v. 20; AcApAp 2.2:220, lines 15–16): εἰσελθόντος δέ μου εἰς Αἴγυπτον ἀπέστησαν οἱ συνοδεύσαντές μοι ἡγεμόνες.  97 Acts Thom. 9:110 (v. 44; AcApAp 2.2:221, lines 22–23): καὶ ὑπομνήσθητι υἱὸς βασιλέων ὑπάρχων.  98 See Hymn Pearl 44 (Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl, 49 [Syriac] and 88 [Greek]).  99 See Hymn Pearl 75 (Ferreira, The Hymn of the Pearl, 90 [Greek]). The Syriac (ibid., 56) merely has “in my childhood (ytwrB$B).” 100 Acts Thom. 9:112 (v. 75; AcApAp 2.2:223, lines 7–9): οὐκ ἐμνημόνευον δὲ τῆς λαμπρότητός μου· παῖς γὰρ ὤν ἔτι καὶ κομιδῇ νέος κατελελοίπεν αὐτὴν ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πατρὸς βασιλείοις. 101 For studies of the Hymn of the Pearl, beyond those mentioned above (n. 9), see also A. Adam, Die Psalmen des Thomas und das Perlenlied als Zeugnisse vorchristlicher Gnosis (BZNW 24; Berlin 1959); R. Köbert, “Das Perlenlied,” Or 38 (1969): 447–56; H. Kruse, “The Return of the Prodigal: Fortunes of a Parable on Its Way to the Far East,” Or 47 (1978): 163–214; B. E. Colless, “The Letter to the Hebrews and the Song of the Pearl,” AbrN 25 (1987): 40–55; K. Beyer, “Das syrische Perlenlied,” ZDMG 140 (1990): 324–59; P. J. Hartin, “The Search for the True Self in the Gospel of Thomas, the Book of Thomas and the Hymns of the Pearl,” HvTSt 56 (1999): 1001–21.

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away from God and returning back to the heavenly home, either at death or at a point of enlightenment reached already during this life, whichever came first.

3. Conclusions: The Child-Parent Relationship The apocryphal Acts at times reflect a positive appreciation of the relationship between parents and children and demonstrate the good that children constitute for their parents. While the positive relationship may indeed have had its origins in sincere feelings between parents and children,102 another condition that served as background for such a positive attitude was that society expected families to have children. However, the witness of the apocryphal Acts also calls into question the desirability of children for the followers of Christ. Not infrequently, one finds even explicit warnings against having children. The Acts of John speaks of children as one of the “many obstacles [that] fall into the way and prepare disturbance for the minds of men.”103 The Acts of Thomas emphasizes that it is better not to have physical children. At several instances the text repeats this message. Whereas the author of the Acts of John warns parents “not (to) try to defraud and swindle for their (childrens’) sake”104 (a temptation he or she obviously thought parents were prone to give in to), the Acts of Thomas presents to its audience wrongful acts committed against children – including the stripping of orphans of their necessities; the text warns also of the dangers children were exposed to, like becoming lunatics, half withered, blind, deaf, dumb, paralytic, or foolish, or that they might otherwise get caught up in morally sinful acts, like adultery, murder, theft, or fornication. Instead of desiring physical children, parents are recommended to strive to beget living, that is, spiritual children.105 In another instance, the author of the Acts of Thomas expresses this same idea by choosing to speak of refraining from “earthly fruits” and instead bringing forth “true fruits, whose nature is from above.”106 The copulation of Nephilim with the daughters of men in Genesis 6 is regarded as an instance of Satan’s working, who “cast down the angels from above and bound them in lusts after women, that children born 102 To my knowledge, the question of the level of emotional bonding between parents and children in the ancient world has not been studied much thus far. One of the few exceptions to be mentioned is S. Dixon, “The Sentimental Ideal of the Roman Family,” in Marriage, Divorce, and Children (ed. B. Rawson; Canberra and Oxford 1991), 99–113. 103 Acts John 68 (Acta Iohannis, 259–61, lines 3–8): πολλὰ γὰρ ἐμπόδια παρεμπίπτει καὶ θόρυβον παρασκευάζει τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ λογισμῷ· μέριμνα, παῖδες, γονεῖς, δόχα, πενία, κολακεία, ἀκμή, κάλλος, ἀλαζονεία, ἐπιθυμία, πλοῦτος, ὀργή, ἔπαρσις, ῥαθυμία, φθόνος, ζῆλος, ἀμέλεια, ὕβρις, ἔρως, δόλος, χρήματα, πρόφασις, καὶ ἄλλα ὅσα ἐστὶ τοιαῦτα ἐμπόδια. 104 Acts John 34 (Acta Iohannis, 187, lines 5–7): μηδὲ ἡγεῖσθαι παίδων ὑμῖν συγγιονομένων αὐτοῖς ἀναπεπαῦσθαι· μηδὲ τούτων ἕνεκεν ἀποστερεῖν καὶ πλεονεκτεῖν πειρᾶσθαι. 105 Acts Thom. 1:12 (trans. in Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” 308). 106 Acts Thom. 6:61 (AcApAp 2.2:178, lines 10–11): καὶ καρποὺς ἀληθινοὺς ἀποκυήσωμεν, ὧν ἡ φύσις ἄνωθεν ὑπάρχει.

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of earth might come of them, and (he) might work (his) will in them.”107 The end of the cares of life or of children is said to be destruction.108 When teaching king Misdaeus, the apostle Judas Thomas specifies as a requirement of one wanting to be in the service of his king – that is, God – to “be reverend and pure and free from all grief and care of children.”109 The subsequent comments suggest that, for Judas Thomas, children are the result of the pleasures of the body and of adultery and therefore have to be avoided. In the Acts of John, advice is given to take thought of one’s soul, and not to think that, if one had children, one might rest on them,110 presumably in old age. Yet, there are other comments in the apocryphal Acts that suggest a solid coherence on the part of the members of a family, both parents and children, at least of some families that were or were to become Christian. In the Acts of Thomas, for example, Siphorus announces that “(he) and (his) wife and (his) daughter will dwell henceforth in holiness, and in chastity, and in one affection.”111 Subsequently, the whole family, including the daughter, receive both baptism and the Eucharist.112 As recent studies have shown, early Christianity was concerned with and effectively worked towards remedying the often-miserable fate of abandoned and orphaned children.113 The apocryphal Acts show early signs of this care. The Acts of Peter reports that a certain Marcellus was the refuge for “all the widows who hoped in Christ” and that “all the orphans were fed by him.”114 A little later on in the same text, Eubula’s good works are reported to have included that she “gave 107 Acts Thom. 3:32 (AcApAp 2.2:149, lines 8–11 [modified]): ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ τοὺς ἀγγέλους ἄνωθεν κάτω ῥίψας καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἐπιθυμίαις τῶν γυναικῶν αὐτοὺς καταδήσας, ἵνα γηγενεῖς παῖδες ἐξ αὐτῶν γένωνται καὶ τὸ θέλημά μου ἐν αὐτοῖς διαπράξωμαι. This tradition is obviously reminiscent of the myth of the fallen angels in Enochic literature, on which see most recently A. K. Harkins, K. C. Bautch and J. C. Endres, eds., The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions (Minneapolis 2014). 108 Acts Thom. 1:12 (trans. in Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” 308). 109 Acts Thom. 10:126 (AcApAp 2.2:235, lines 2–5): Τοὺς τῷ βασιλεῖ μου ὑπηρετοῦντας σεμνοὺς καὶ καθαροὺς χρὴ εἶναι καὶ πάσης λύπης καὶ φροντίδος ἀπαλλαγέντας, τέκνων τε καὶ πλούτου ἀνωφελοῦς καὶ ταραχῆς ματαίας. 110 Acts John 34 (Acta Iohannis, 185, lines 1–3; 187, lines 5–6): ἐκεῖνο δὲ ἐβουλόμην πρῶτον ἐγκατασπεῖραι ὑμῶν ταῖς ἀκοαῖς τὸ τῶν ψυχῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, οὗ ἕνεκεν παραγέγονα πρὸς ὑμᾶς … μηδὲ ἡγεῖσθαι παίδων ὑμῖν συγγιονομένων αὐτοῖς ἀναπεπαῦσθαι. 111 Acts Thom. 10:131 (AcApAp 2.2:239, lines 1–3): Ἐγώ τε καὶ ἡ ἐμὴ γυνὴ καὶ ἡ θυγάτηρ ἐν ἁγιωσύνῃ οἰκήσομεν λοιπόν, ἐν ἁγνείᾳ καὶ μιᾷ διαθέσει. 112 Acts Thom. 10:132–133 and 158 (trans. in Drijvers, “Thomasakten,” 353–54, 363–64). 113 For the development of an institutional system of care for orphans in the Christian East, see most recently T. S. Miller, The Orphans of Byzantium: Child Welfare in the Christian Empire (Washington, D. C. 2003). See also the review of this work by C. Horn, in JECS 12 (2004): 135–37. 114 Acts Pet. 8 (AcApAp 1:54, line 34 to 1:55, line 3): Crede nobis, frater Petre: nemo fuit tam sapientior inter homines, quam hic Marcellus. uiduae omnes sperantes in Christo ad hunc refugium habebant; omnes orfani ab eo pascebantur.

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unto the widows and orphans.”115 Likely in return for the concern the apostle had shown them, also “orphans and widows” are among the crowd, who came together “to see and rescue Peter.”116 The model for such early Christian concern on behalf of orphans is God; as the Acts of Thomas suggests, when it has Judas Thomas describe God as “the nourisher of orphans and the patron of widows.”117 Yet, as indicated above, at times also early Christian parents could fall prey to the temptation of violating the rights of orphans. Parents, especially mothers, mourn the loss of a child bitterly. The intense grief Paul finds in Frontina’s mother, Firmilla, moves him to pray with Firmilla for the resurrection of her daughter.118 One of the reasons for such great concern for children may have resided in the conviction, evidenced at least in one instance in the Acts of Paul (and Thecla), that resurrection had already come to pass through bearing children.119 Thus, having children functioned as a guarantee of the resurrection of a given person, while not having children left one in doubt, or worse, frustrated one’s expectations of a future resurrection. The death of children and instances of their miraculous resurrection are quite numerous in the apocryphal Acts. Yet, a fuller treatment of this theme has to be reserved for a later discussion. By way of preliminary conclusions then, one may say that the sheer quantity of references and allusions to children in the apocryphal Acts when compared to the canonical Acts is both a surprise and perhaps comes as something to be expected. By the time of the composition of apocryphal stories in the second and third centuries, many more concerns of everyday life had to be addressed in ways that allowed the Christian audience to find a middle ground between being in the world, but not being of the world. Some scholars have argued that one should charge at least some of the authors of apocryphal Acts with some form of misopaideia – an aversion, or even hateful attitude, towards children.120 The present discussion cannot present in full detail the data available for children’s call to an ascetic life. Yet, it does show how solidly the desire for children, as well Pet. 17 (AcApAp 1:65, line 22): tribuebat uiduis et orfanis et uestiens pauperos. Pet. 36(7) (AcApAp 1:90, lines 4–6): τὸ πλῆθος ὅλον πλουσίων τε καὶ πενήτων, ὀρφανῶν τε καὶ χηρῶν, ἀδυνάτων τε καὶ δυνατῶν, βουλόμενοι ἰδεῖν καὶ ἀφαρπάσαι τὸν Πέτρον. 117 Acts Thom. 2:19 (AcApAp 2.2:130, lines 2–3): αὐτὸς γάρ ἐστιν ὁ τροφεὺς τῶν ὀρφανῶν καὶ οἰκονόμος τῶν χηρῶν; while version 2 (ibid., 130, lines 12–13) reads: αὐτός ἐστιν πατὴρ τῶν ὀρφανῶν καὶ τῶν χηρῶν προστάτης. 118 Acts of Paul (and Thecla), Papyrus Heidelberg fragment 41–42 (trans. in Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” 234). 119 Acts of Paul (and Thecla) 14 (AcApAp 1:245, lines 4–6): καὶ ἡμεῖς σε διδάξομεν, ἥν λέγει οὗτος ἀνάστασιν γενέσθαι, ὅτι ἤδη γέγονεν ἐφ’ οἷς ἔχομεν τέκνοις. 120 J. H. Charlesworth, “From the Philopedia of Jesus to the Misopedia of the Acts of Thomas,” in By Study and also by Faith: Essays in Honor of Hugh W. Nibley on the Occasion of His Eightieth Birthday, 27 March 1990 (ed. H. Nibley et al.; Salt Lake City and Provo, Utah 1990), 46–66; see also G. Schöllgen, “Jungfräulichkeit,” RAC 19 (1999): 523–92, who said with regard to the Acts of Thomas, “Kinder zu haben und für sie zu sorgen wird in den schwärzesten Farben dargestellt” (561). 115 Acts

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as children’s active role in bringing their families to faith in Christ, was a part of the Christian experience in the second and third centuries. The results of this limited examination already suggest at the very least that one will have to consider the role of children in these texts in a more balanced way, and not simply as a clear cut or one-sided affair. It is my hope that future work will nuance the picture provided here even further.

The Repose of the Blessed John in the Armenian Bible: Deconstructing the Acts of John Vahan Hovhanessian 1. Introduction Most Armenian manuscripts of the Bible include a short document, usually at the end of the New Testament, known as The Repose of the Blessed John (Hangist Eranelwoyn Yovhannu, henceforth RBJ).1 For centuries, Armenian manuscripts of the Bible were the only known witnesses of this short record, narrating the last hours of the evangelist John, his farewell discourse, final celebration of the Eucharist with his brethren, and his pre-planned burial. Scholars during the late nineteenth to the early twentieth centuries realized that RBJ in the Armenian traditions is the final part of an apocryphal document known as the Acts of John (henceforth AJ), found in fragmented pieces of several Greek and Latin manuscripts. Consequently, RBJ was reintroduced to Western scholars at the turn of the nineteenth century as several sections within the larger narrative of AJ. The previous two centuries witnessed the publication of several studies examining the Greek and Latin manuscript fragments of AJ.2 However, it was not until 1898 that Maximilien Bonnet published the first complete text of AJ in Acta Ap1 In this study, we will be using the word “repose” from the Armenian hangist instead of the commonly used Greek title metastasis. The Greek noun μετάστασις, from the verb μεθίστημι, means “removal” or “change.” This implies that the evangelist John did not die, but was removed, transformed, or assumed to heaven. The meaning of this title is in agreement with the ending of this apocryphal document in many Greek manuscripts. In its Armenian version, however, the Evangelist’s death is real. He buries himself in a tomb and then dies. Thus, we believe, the word “repose” better describes the content of RBJ rather than the popular metastasis. See E. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis (2 vols.; CCSA 1–2; Turnhout 1983), 2:564: “Cependant le terme Metastasis n’est pas complètement hors de propos car cette mort est présentée comme une sorte de déplacement: Jean se rend auprès du Seigneur.” For an English translation of the Acts of John, see J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation Based on M. R. James (1993; corrected paperback ed., Oxford 2005), 303–38. 2 C. von Tischendorf, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha (Leipzig 1851); T. Zahn, Acta Joannis (Erlangen 1880); idem, “Die Wanderungen des Apostels Johannes,” NKZ 10 (1899): 191–218; M. R.  James, Apocrypha Anecdota, vol. 2 (TS 5.1; Cambridge 1897), 1–25, 144–53; B. Pick, The Apocryphal Acts of Paul, Peter, Andrew and Thomas (Chicago 1909), 123–99.

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ostolorum Apocrypha, based on all the available manuscript segments at the time. Bonnet pieced the various fragments of AJ together, numbering the pericopes or paragraphs within the texts of these fragments in the sequence that he organized them, thus creating a reconstructed AJ containing 115 sections.3 According to this reconstruction, RBJ is located in the final nine sections of AJ. Since Bonnet’s publication of his reconstructed AJ, many scholars until today refer to RBJ as sections 106–115 of AJ. More recently, Éric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli published a two-volume Acta Iohannis, in which they offer an extensive study of AJ and a critical examination of its different traditions and textual variations. The Greek text of sections 106–115, with its several variations in Greek, Latin, and Coptic, is published in volume one of their work.4 Unfortunately, none of these studies seriously examine the Armenian version of RBJ (hereafter RBJ Arm.) or make any effort to explain its contribution, if any, to the issues regarding the relation of RBJ to AJ 106–115.5 This essay will redress this oversight by shedding light on RBJ Arm. and its contribution to the study of AJ.

2. Attestation and Use in the Armenian Church RBJ Arm. is preserved and transmitted mainly in manuscripts of complete or partial Bibles. It is also available in manuscripts of lectionaries and books of rituals. The nineteenth century witnessed two attempts to examine the textual variations in these manuscripts and prepare a critical edition of RBJ Arm. Fr. Hovhan Zohrabian, a member of the Mekhitharist brotherhood in Venice, prepared an edition of RBJ Arm. based on several biblical manuscripts available to him. In 1805, he was able to publish RBJ Arm. as an appendix to the Bible in Classical Armenian.6 Unfortunately, however, he did not identify the manuscripts he utilized to prepare his edition. In the introduction to his appendix, Zohrabian introduces RBJ Arm. as the last book in the Armenian New Testament, and adds 3 R. A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha (2 vols.; Leipzig 1891–1903), 2:191–218. 4 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:293–343. 5 Recently, P. J. Lalleman published his dissertation at the University of Groningen, The Acts of John: A Two-Stage Initiation into Johannine Gnosticism (SAAA 4; Leuven 1998). In his book, Lalleman presents an extensive examination of AJ, focusing on the gnostic elements present in the text and illustrating how the work is the product of a two-stage composition. Unfortunately, Lalleman excludes RBJ (AJ 106–15) from the scope of his research. He does, however, make valuable references to these sections in certain parts of his study (8, 77–78, and elsewhere). 6 H. Zohrabian, Astuatsashunch’ Matean Hin ew Nor Ktakaranats’ (“Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments”) (Venice 1805), 27–29. To date, Zohrabian’s edition remains the closest to a critical edition of the Armenian version of the Bible. Critical editions of a few individual books of the Bible, however, have since been published.

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that it is found in almost all the manuscripts of the Bible known to him.7 The Armenian text of Zohrabian’s edition of RBJ Arm. is divided into ten sections, with extensive footnotes pointing to the textual variations found among the different Armenian manuscripts. More than half a century later, another member of the Mekhitharist brotherhood, Fr. Yovsēp Gatrchian, compared Zohrabian’s edition with several other manuscripts that he found in the collection of his monastic community in Vienna. In 1877, Fr. Gatrchian published his edition of RBJ Arm. with Latin translation and an introduction in a booklet entitled Dormitio Beati Joannis.8 He was not aware of the existence of any Greek manuscripts of RBJ, although he was convinced of a Greek origin of the Armenian text.9 He modified Zohrabian’s division of the text into eight sections, combining subsections 8–10 into one unit. Most of Gatrchian’s, as well as Zohrabian’s, subsections do not match the section divisions of Bonnet’s AJ 106–115. Gatrchian’s examination of the language of RBJ Arm. concluded that it should be dated to the late fifth century, or possibly earlier.10 This dating would therefore include RBJ Arm. as part of the collection of biblical books and commentaries that was translated for the first time into Armenian during the fifth century, thanks to the efforts of St. Mashdots and the leadership of Catholicos Sahak.11 Gatrchian’s work, his introduction as well as footnotes, presents the latest scholarly discussion of RBJ in Armenian. RBJ Arm. enjoyed a long period of special canonical status in the Armenian Church. This is attested by its presence in many of the Armenian manuscripts of the New Testament and in the lists of canonical books of the Bible preserved in Armenian Church literature. The inclusion of RBJ Arm. in several Armenian Church patristic commentaries on the Bible and its use in the Armenian liturgy further support the special canonical status that RBJ Arm. enjoyed in the Armenian Church. The oldest extant Armenian manuscript of a complete Bible – attributed to the tenth century Gevorg Sk’evrats’i – includes RBJ Arm. as part of the New Testament.12 In this manuscript, as well as in many other manuscripts of complete Bibles or of the New Testament, RBJ Arm. appears after Revelation. In the Sk’evrats’i manuscript these two books – Revelation and RBJ Arm. – are

Astuatsashunch’ Matean Hin ew Nor Ktakaranats’, Appendix, 1. The Repose of the Blessed John (Vienna 1877).  9 Gatrchian, The Repose of the Blessed John, 7–8. 10 Gatrchian, The Repose of the Blessed John, 6. See also G. Zarbhanelian, Matenadaran Haykakan T’argmanut’eants’ Nakhneats’ (Venice 1889), 205. 11 Armenian historians of the fifth century confirm that, after the invention of their alphabet during the first decade of the fifth century, Armenians translated important ecclesiastical writings in addition to the books of the Bible. See K. H. Maksoudian, Vark’ Mashtots’i – Koriwn (New York 1985), 43, and C. E. Cox, The Armenian Bible (New York 1996), 2. 12 Archevêque C. Adjémian, Grand catalogue des manuscrits arméniens de la Bible (Lisbon 1992), cv–cxiii.  7 Zohrabian,

 8 Y. Gatrchian,

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placed after the fourth Gospel, not at the end of the New Testament.13 RBJ Arm. is also found in the appendix of published editions of the Armenian Bible as late as the nineteenth century.14 The special canonical status of RBJ Arm. is also confirmed by the various lists of canonical books of the New Testament that are preserved in the writings of the fathers of the Armenian Church. Among these lists is the one authored by the thirteenth-century Mxit’ar Ayrivank’, which is a copy of an earlier list of the books of the Bible attributed to the eleventh-century Yovhannēs Sarkavag. In this list, RBJ Arm. is found at the end following Revelation.15 A second list attributed to St. Gregory, the famous fourteenth-century theologian and abbot of the monastery of Tat’ew, includes RBJ Arm. after Revelation, which is placed after the Gospel of John. RBJ Arm. is listed as canonical in many other lists of the books of the Bible.16 RBJ Arm. is also incorporated into the lectionary of the Armenian Church. It is read in its entirety on the feast day of the evangelist John. This practice is confirmed in many early manuscripts of the Armenian Church lectionary, Chashots’, and is attested by published lectionaries as well.17 Among them is the Vagharshabad 1872 edition, which is still in use today in the mother monastery of Holy Etchmiadzin in Armenia.18 Among the fathers of the Armenian Church who wrote a commentary on RBJ Arm. is the well known twelfth-century theologian St. Nersess of Lambron (Lambronats’i). His commentary treats RBJ Arm. as a genuine and authentic book about the evangelist John. Preserved in several Armenian manuscripts, his commentary on RBJ Arm. appears after the one on Revelation.19 One of the 13 For example, of the 29 manuscripts of complete or partial Bibles in the repository of St. James Armenian Monastery in Jerusalem, 17 include RBJ Arm. In addition to the Bible manuscripts, there are at least three manuscripts containing a commentary on RBJ Arm. Of the 17 Bible manuscripts, 12 place RBJ Arm. at the end of the collection after Revelation. Two manuscripts place it after the Pauline corpus, before Revelation. The remaining manuscripts place it at different places. 14 Zohrabian, Astuatsashunch’ Matean Hin ew Nor Ktakaranats’, Appendix, 1. 15 See Abp. N. Bogharian, Hay Grołner (“Armenian Writers”) (Jerusalem 1971), 313–15; K. Patkanian, The Chronicle of Mxit’ar of Ayrivank’ (St. Petersburg 1867); A. Szekula, Die Reihenfolge der Bücher des Neuen Testamentes bei den Armeniern (Vienna 1949), 31–35. For an examination of the Old Testament books of the list of Mxit’ar, see M. E. Stone, “Armenian Canon Lists III – The Lists of Mechitar of Ayrivank’ (c. 1285 c.e.),” HTR 69 (1976): 289–300; idem, “Armenian Canon Lists IV – The List of Mechitar of Ayrivank’ (14th Century),” HTR 72 (1979): 237–44. 16 For a summary of different lists, see Szekula, Die Reihenfolge, 21–46, and Adjémian, Grand catalogue, xcvii–ciii. 17 See, for example, Chashots’ Girk’ (Jerusalem 1967), 370–72. 18 I am grateful to Abp. D. Sahagian of the brotherhood of Holy Etchmiadzin, who brought to my attention this version of the lectionary, and also to Fr. A. Tigranian, the Grand Sacristan of the Cathedral of Holy Etchmiadzin, for his permission to access the lectionary. 19 Bogharian, Hay Grołner, 254–55. His commentary was translated into Russian and published in 1897. See Abp. M. Ashjian, St. Nersess of Lambron: Champion of the Church Universal (New York 1993), 38.

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several manuscripts of Lambronats’i’s commentary, dated 1174 c.e., inserts the following sentence before the text: “A Commentary on the Repose of John written by Nersess of Lambron per the request of his teacher Stepanos Hovgats’i.” This sentence attests to the fact that RBJ Arm. enjoyed a canonical status during Stepanos Hovgats’i’s time, decades before the time of the writing of Lambronats’i’s commentary.20 The popularity and special status that RBJ Arm. enjoyed in the Armenian Church explains why its contents and teachings have influenced the Armenian liturgy. Verses of RBJ Arm. are quoted in the late sixth-century hymn of the eve of the feast of the martyr Hripsime.21 A verse of St. John’s prayer in RBJ Arm. is incorporated into the Eucharistic prayer of the Armenian Church, which continues to be recited until today.22 According to the Book of Rituals of the Armenian Church, Mashtots’, RBJ Arm. is read in its entirety during the service of the burial of a priest. The rubrics instruct the clergy to recite RBJ Arm. in its entirety as they carry the body of their deceased brother in a procession to his final resting place.23 This brief review of the use of RBJ Arm. among the Armenian Church fathers and the patristic attestations to its incorporation in the Armenian Bible, liturgy, and theology, clearly demonstrates that RBJ Arm. enjoyed a special canonical status in the Armenian Church. It is interesting to mention that none of the references to, quotations from, or incorporations in the Armenian Church liturgy of RBJ Arm. is associated with AJ. In fact, the patristic and church references to RBJ Arm. clearly treat it as a literary unit all its own.

3. The Armenian Text Junod and Kaestli dedicate a section of their monumental Acta Iohannis to the examination of the textual variations among the various manuscripts of AJ. After detailed examination of the Greek manuscripts of RBJ in AJ, Junod and Kaestli Hay Grołner, 255. observes that the verse “Jesus, who have woven this crown by your twining, who have inserted these many flowers into the everlasting flower of your countenance,” in RBJ (AJ 108, trans. Elliott) is quoted almost word for word in the third verse of the hymn sung on the eve of the feast of St. Hripsime (The Repose of the Blessed John, 6). The hymn is traditionally attributed to the late sixth-/early seventh-century Catholicos Komitas. See Bogharian, Hay Grołner, 64–66. Scholars, however, disagree on the authorship and exact dating of this hymn. Some attribute it to the fifth-century Yovhan Mandakuni, and others to the eighth-century Yovhannēs Odznets’i. 22 The verse “what praise or what sort of offering or what thanksgiving shall we invoke as we break the bread” in John’s prayer in RBJ (AJ 109, trans. Elliott) is part of the “Prayer of Fraction” of the Eucharistic prayer of the Armenian Church. See Abp. T. Nersoyan, Divine Liturgy of the Armenian Apostolic Orthodox Church (London 1984), 97. 23 Mashtots’ (Etchmiadzin 1892), 151–58. 20 Bogharian, 21 Gatrchian

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classify the manuscripts into three categories: δ, γ and β. Comparing the Greek text of these groups with those of the available Arabic, Armenian, Coptic, and Georgian manuscripts, Junod and Kaestli conclude that RBJ Arm. is unique and has not been influenced by any of the other versions. As such, the Armenian text is the best witness to the original text of AJ 106–115.24 In fact, in two instances they adopt the Armenian reading in place of almost unanimous testimonies by the Greek manuscripts.25 Not much, however, is said about the details of the Armenian text and its unique characteristics. Nor is any examination offered to explain the contribution of the Armenian version, if any, to the study of AJ and RBJ, and to the relationship between these two documents. What follows includes some highlights of important textual variations preserved in the Armenian version. 3.1. Section 106 (RBJ Arm. I and IIa)26 To begin with, it is important to emphasize that scholars disagree on the placement of sections 106–115 in their reconstructed version of AJ.27 Bonnet, for example, places sections the material after section 105. However, Junod and Kaestli have challenged this position, placing the same sections after what is section 86 in Bonnet’s reconstruction. The first line in the Greek version of AJ 106 reads: Συνῆν οὖν τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς ὁ μακάριος Ἰωάννης ἀγαλλιώμενος ἐπὶ τῷ κυρίῷ (“Therefore the blessed John rejoiced with the brethren in the Lord”). The adverb “therefore” (οὖν) in this sentence serves as an important component in the literary seam that connects RBJ with the previous sections of AJ. Serving as an impure connective in the initial sentence of this section, the adverb “therefore” makes RBJ the result or consequence of an event or a thought mentioned in the preceding section in AJ. As such, it also implies a connection between the events narrated in the paragraphs following this sentence and the events in the preceding section. None of the Armenian manuscripts of RBJ known to us, however, has the adverb “therefore” in this section. This adverb is also absent from the Coptic, Georgian, and Syriac versions of AJ. In fact, except for two Greek manuscripts – 24 “La version arménienne … est sans conteste le meilleur témoin de la Metastasis … C’est à dire que notre version n’a pas d’affinités avec une branche particulière de la tradition et … elle doit se rattacher assez directement à l’archétype de la Metastasis” (Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:58). 25 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:58. 26 Section 106 of AJ is the equivalent of the entire section I and the first half of section II in Gatrchian’s version. For a discussion of the structure of AJ and the placement of the various fragments, see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:76–100. 27 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:293. A late version of the Syriac text, which scholars have confirmed to be a translation from a Greek parent, does include the adverb in question. See W. Wright, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (2 vols.; London 1871), 1:ix and 2:61.

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Patmos (R) and Mezzojuso (Z) – no other Greek manuscript includes the adverb in this context. Equally important is the fact that nothing in section 86 (following Kaestli’s reconstruction) or section 105 (following Bonnet’s reconstruction) of AJ can be considered the cause of what the adverb “therefore” introduces in section 106. Section 86 narrates the events of John’s celebration of the Eucharist inside a sepulchre, which is followed by the news of the passing of Fortunatus. The reader of the details in section 86 is unlikely to expect reading about yet another celebration of the Eucharist by John and his brethren in the subsequent sections. Section 105, on the other hand, concludes John’s instructions to his brethren. John, we are told, leaves the brethren and goes out with Andronicus. His brethren go out following them “to see the things performed by him and to hear his word at all times in the Lord.” Therefore, in the subsequent sections the reader expects to read about John’s miracles and preaching and not his farewell speech and death. Furthermore, nothing in the contents of section 106 can be connected to the events in sections 86 or 105 using the adverb “therefore.” Consequently, it is more plausible to argue for a later insertion of the adverb “therefore” by a later editor at the beginning of section 106, with the intent of incorporating RBJ into AJ. The second line of AJ 106 begins with the phrase: τῇ δὲ ἑξῇς (“and on the next day”). The parallel Armenian text of this section in RBJ, on the other hand, reads “on a certain day.” The word “next” clearly connects the narrated event in this section with the events of the previous day, creating a chronological sequence and as such another transition from the previous section of AJ. However, there is nothing in the earlier sections that proposes a chronological narration of events. In fact, the phrase creates a problem with section 86. In this section we are told that John is in the house of Andronicus. Section 105, likewise, ends with a comment informing us that John went out walking with Andronicus. Yet, the name Andronicus is not even mentioned in the entire AJ 106–115. It is very difficult to justify the events described in section 106 as the chronological continuation of what John was doing in the proposed preceding sections in AJ. Consequently, the Armenian version, “on a certain day,” seems to be a more plausible reading than the later modified Greek version “on the next day.” Thus, there is much textual and contextual evidence which indicate that the Greek text in AJ 106 includes later insertions serving as literary connectors – “therefore” and “the next day” – which help to incorporate the original RBJ into AJ. As mentioned earlier, this is further supported by the fact that these connecting phrases are missing in all the Armenian, as well as the majority of the Coptic, Georgian, and Syriac versions. Needless to say, these observations can also make an argument for a later elimination of these phrases in order to remove RBJ from its context in AJ and to add it to the Armenian New Testament. However, it is much easier to suggest that the compiler(s) of AJ incorporated RBJ in AJ. The editor who inserted these textual seams must have modified the original text of

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RBJ in order to connect the otherwise independently circulating RBJ with its new context – the evolving compilation of AJ. 3.2. Section 107 (RBJ Arm. IIa–III) This section continues John’s speech commenced in the previous section. The section begins with a list of adjectives elaborating on God’s person and nature. In the Greek text, the phrase “our gracious God” – or in some manuscripts, “your gracious God” – is inserted before the list of adjectives. The Armenian version does not include this phrase. The insertion of “our gracious God” makes the meaning of the sentence-long list of adjectives clearer to the reader. The reader will, otherwise, have to read the entire list of adjectives to find out that the addressee is God. It makes sense, therefore, that this phrase was inserted into the original text of RBJ by the later editor of AJ. Furthermore, the use of the first person plural “our,” found in the Greek text and not in its counterpart in RBJ Arm., is in agreement with a common tendency in AJ to add the effect of an eye-witness testimony as well as a sense of belonging to a common community. Its use in AJ, as noted by Lalleman, bridges the gap between the reported event and the intended audience.28 The ending of the list in AJ differs from the Armenian as well. The phrase “my God, Jesus” in the Armenian reads in the Greek: ὑμῶν θεός … θεὸς Ἰησοῦς Χριστός (“our God … God, Jesus Christ”). The Coptic and Greek β manuscripts have “God” only. Meanwhile, the Syriac version reads, “Jesus God.”29 As we will see in the following pages, the Greek phrase “our God, Jesus Christ” points to a gnostic tendency known as “christomonism,” which is found throughout AJ. The list of adjectives in this section of AJ, therefore, unlike its corresponding text in RBJ, is framed with two references to God – one at the beginning of the list and one at the end. It is interesting to note that John’s speech in the Armenian version is said in its entirety in the first person singular.30 In AJ 107, on the other hand, it is changed to the first person plural in some manuscripts and to the third person plural in others.31 As indicated earlier, the use of first person plural in the narration is a common tendency of the final editor or compiler of AJ. Thus, it is plausible to argue that the same editor, who incorporated the original RBJ into the AJ collection, changed the pronoun from the first person singular to the first person plural in an effort to assimilate the collected texts.

The Acts of John, 88. and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:297. 30 Some RBJ Arm. manuscripts agree with AJ in changing the pronoun to “your.” 31 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:295. 28 Lalleman, 29 Junod

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3.3. Section 108 (RBJ Arm. IV) At the end of this section of AJ, John pleads to Christ saying, σὺ μόνος, κύριε, βοήθησον ἐν τῇ ἐπισκοπῇ σου τοῖς σοῖς δούλοις (“You alone, Lord, help your servants by your visitation”).32 This plea is not found in the Armenian version, nor in the Coptic, Georgian, Greek β, or Syriac versions.33 Additionally, the contents of the plea contradict a statement in the same prayer of the Apostle at the beginning of AJ 108, where the evangelist John confirms Christ’s ever-presence with his faithful. In his prayer, John acknowledges Christ as the one who is “in all, and everywhere present” (trans. Elliott). Thus, the author of the prayer, confirming the ever-presence of Christ among his followers, cannot be the same one who, only a few sentences later, begs Christ to visit his servants. This confusion can only be explained if we consider the plea for Christ to visit his followers to be a later insertion. Furthermore, the concept of Christ assisting his followers by visiting them is not found anywhere in RBJ or in the entire AJ. It could be a reference to a gnostic belief in dispensing divine powers through personal contact with, or being in the presence of, Christ. A fragment of another apocryphal document concerning the apostle John includes a similar concept. In section 16 of the Latin text of the Apostolic History of Pseudo-Abdias published by Montague R. James, John refers to Christ’s “visitation” as one of the channels “dispensing of the creator.”34 Thus, the last statement in section 108, found only in a few Greek manuscripts of AJ, can also be of gnostic origin. However, this understanding of the dispensation of divine powers through Christ’s presence could also be the result of a spiritualized interpretation of certain passages in the Gospel of John. Scholars agree that the phenomenon of spiritualized interpretation of the Gospel of John is commonly found in the various sections of AJ.35 Gnostic tendencies in AJ 108 can be detected also in the modification of the title “my God, Jesus” found in RBJ Arm. This title in AJ is changed to read “God, Jesus, Christ, Lord.”36 At first glance the two readings may seem similar. However, there is a slight theological difference between these two statements. The first one 32 The noun ἐπισκοπή used here is found only once in the entire AJ. The word is frequently translated as “visitation.” In the LXX and the New Testament citations of Hebrew Scriptures, ἐπισκοπή usually translates the substantive construction of the Hebrew pqd. The word is sometimes used in the Bible to refer to the office of an “overseer” or “supervisor.” In this section of AJ, Elliott translates ἐπισκοπή as “watchful care.” See also Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:299. 33 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:299; Gatrchian, The Repose of the Blessed John, 39; Wright, Apocryphal Acts, 63. 34 M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford 1924), 260. 35 Lalleman, The Acts of John, 164–65. 36 This version of the title, “God, Jesus, Christ, Lord” is not found in all the Greek manuscripts of AJ. The β family of manuscripts, for example, reads, “Jesus Christ, Son of God”; other manuscripts have the variants “Christ Jesus,” “Lord, God,” or “God and Lord.” See Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:299, 320.

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addresses the second person of the Trinity, Jesus, and confirms His divinity by the phrase “my God.” In the Gospel of John we find several instances where Christ emphasizes that He and the Father are one (10:30; 17:11). In one case, the apostle Thomas calls Jesus “my God” and the Lord does not object to it (20:28). Thus, the phrase in RBJ Arm. represents an imitation of Johannine phraseology and style. The juxtaposition of the titles God, Jesus, Christ, Lord, one after the other without any conjunction, preposition, or modifier in the Greek version, expresses something beyond simple imitation of the Johannine phraseology and style. It reflects the influence of a theological phenomenon resulting from gnostic interpretations of parts of the Johannine gospel. The phenomenon in question, a variation of “christomonism” or “unitarianism,” equates and identifies Jesus with God and sees no distinction between the person of Jesus and God the Father. This explains the frequent use of two or more titles, or exchanged titles, for the Son and the Father in AJ to refer to one and the same person of the Holy Trinity. We find a case of christomonism, for example, in the prayer of AJ 77 where Jesus, who is addressed as “Lord Jesus Christ” is later in the same prayer identified as the “Father who has shown pity” and who is “alone God and no other.” In AJ 82, Jesus is addressed as the “God of ages” and “God of truth.” AJ 104, which concludes John’s exhortation from AJ 103, affirms that Christ is the unchangeable, invincible God, from whom we receive mercy and who is eternal and “higher than all authority, and all power, and older and mightier than all the angels and creatures that are spoken of, and all ages” (trans. Elliott). In AJ 57 it is Jesus, not God the Father as in the canonical books of the Bible, who raises the dead. Christomonism, scholars have long noticed, is a common theological tendency in AJ, or at least of the editor or compiler of AJ who brought its various independently circulating pieces together.37 A careful reading of the Greek text of AJ 106–115 leads to another example of christomonism in AJ, which occurs in section 112. The divine title in RBJ Arm. (“my God, Jesus”), in AJ reads: θεὲ κύριε Ἰησοῦ· ὁ τῶν ὑπερουρανίων πατήρ (“God, Lord, Jesus; Father of beings beyond heaven”). As in AJ 108, the title in AJ 112 (“God, Lord, Jesus”) is found only in the δ group of Greek manuscripts.38 One should point out that, besides these two examples, no other evidence of christomonism or unitarianism is found in AJ 106–115. Thus, it is plausible to argue that a later editor of AJ modified the original text of this section as preserved in the Armenian version by inserting the statement at the end of the section, “Do thou only, O Lord, assist thy servants by thy visitation,” and by changing the phrase “my God, Jesus” to “God, Jesus, Christ, Lord” in agreement with a common theological tendency in AJ. The Acts of John, 167–69, 174–79. title in the γ group of the Greek manuscripts reads, “Christ, Jesus”; the Syriac variant is, “Lord Jesus”; the Georgian, “God and Lord Jesus Christ”; and the Coptic, “son of God.” See Junod and Kaesti, Acta Iohannis, 2:309. 37 Lalleman, 38 The

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3.4. Section 109 (RBJ Arm. V) RBJ includes here allusions to several verses of the Gospel of John. In John 17:6 Jesus proclaims that he has made the Father’s name known to the believers. RBJ Arm. reads, “Lord, we glorify the Father’s name said by you” (cf. John 17:26). AJ 109 has instead, “We glorify the name spoken by the Father. We glorify the name spoken through the Son” (trans. Elliott). The second phrase in the Greek version is missing completely from the Armenian, Coptic, and Syriac versions.39 Furthermore, it creates confusion in the Greek text itself. Whose name is the author or final editor of this section of AJ glorifying? Whose name was revealed to us, according to AJ, by the Father and the Son? The confusion created by the second phrase could be an effort to highlight the gnostic doctrine of equating Jesus completely with the Father, a tendency, as mentioned earlier, frequently found in AJ. Consequently, the changes observed in this section could be another effort by the gnostic editor of AJ to conform the original RBJ with the theology and context of AJ by highlighting a theological trend commonly used in the earlier sections of AJ.40 Furthermore, the subject of the sentence in this section of AJ changes from the “Son” to the “Father.” It is interesting to note that in the paragraph following the prayer, the subject of the sentence switches back to Christ. Thus, while in RBJ Arm. the entire prayer is an anthology of Johannine quotations addressing Christ, in AJ the addressee is Christ and the Father, interchangeably. This is yet another example of christomonism in the Greek version of RBJ used in AJ. 3.5. Section 110 (RBJ Arm. VIa) AJ begins here with the phrase, “And having broken the bread, he gave it to us, praying for each of the brethren” (trans. Elliott). This is the first time in the entire RBJ portion of AJ that the narrator presents himself as one of the disciples of the evangelist John. Nowhere else in these chapters does the narrator use the first person plural to narrate or to refer to the followers of John. However, narration in the first person plural  – associating the narrator with the followers of the Evangelist – is found often in the other parts of AJ.41 The Armenian text of this section reads, “And breaking the bread, he gave it to them, praying over each of the brethren.” Here, the disciples are addressed in the third person plural, “them.” Unlike AJ, the narrator does not include himself among John’s disciples. The use of the third person plural to refer to the followers and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:301. Lalleman, The Acts of John, 158–215. 41 See, for example, “When we came near the city” (AJ 19); “On the first day we came” (60); “I rose first, and with me Verus and Andronicus” (61; cf. 62); “so that we might break bread there” (72); and also 73, 74, and elsewhere. 39 Junod 40 See

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of John agrees with the statement before the prayer in section 108. There, both in the Greek and Armenian versions, the narrator refers to the followers of John in the third person plural saying, “And when he said this to them, he prayed” (trans. Elliott). It is difficult to explain why the same author would change the pronoun from third person plural to the first person plural in the same story. Consequently, it must be a later editor or compiler of AJ who changed the narration from “them” to “us.” The use of the first person pronoun, as mentioned earlier, is a way of creating immediacy in the narrative and putting the narrator as an eyewitness to the events of the narration. This is in agreement with the frequent use of the first person plural throughout AJ. 3.6. Section 111 (RBJ Arm. VIb) As in section 110, the difference between the Armenian and the Greek texts point to an interesting modification of the original text of RBJ. Once again the narrator in the Greek text identifies himself with the group of the disciples of John. Referring to John’s arrival at the tomb of one of his disciples, the narrator says, “and having come to the tomb of one of our brethren” (trans. Elliott). This reading is in agreement with the narration in the first person plural found in section 110. However, this narration creates a problem with the introduction to the prayer and the celebration of the Eucharist as one literary unit, because it disagrees with the narration in sections 108 and 109 where the disciples of John are addressed in the third person plural. RBJ Arm., on the other hand, reads, “And when he came to the tomb of a certain brother.”42 This version does not identify the narrator with the group of the followers of John. Rather, as in the beginning of the prayer and the Eucharistic celebration, the narrator addresses the followers of John using the third person plural. 3.7. Section 112 (RBJ Arm. VII) This section includes John’s final prayer prior to his burial. At the beginning of the prayer in AJ, John addresses God, saying, “O God, who have chosen us for the apostleship among the Gentiles” (trans. Elliott). This reading creates confusion since, according to the Scriptures, it was not God but Jesus who revealed himself through the Apostles. In the Old Testament, God revealed himself through the prophets. Besides, the twelve were not God’s apostles but Jesus’ apostles. Furthermore, it does not make sense for John, himself one of the twelve apostles, to refer to the group as “apostles.” Instead of “apostles,” RBJ Arm. has “prophets,” which obviously is a more plausible reading in the context. Most probably AJ is 42 Some RBJ Arm. manuscripts insert the phrase “a certain brother,” others “a brother,” and a third group of four manuscripts, “our brother.” See Gatrchian, The Repose of the Blessed John, 44.

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a modification of the original under the influence of the christomonistic beliefs of the editor, equating Jesus to God the Father. The christomonistic influence is further attested in this section by another variation in the Greek text of AJ. Toward the end of his prayer, John addresses God saying, “O God … who have given it a pure knowledge of you, God, Lord, Jesus” (θεὲ κύριε Ἰησοῦ).43 The compound title “God, Lord, Jesus,” as mentioned earlier, is an example of christomonism. The Armenian version of this title has, “my God, Jesus.” However, even RBJ Arm. in this part of the section presents a challenging reading. Following the statement that ends with “my God, Jesus,” RBJ Arm. agrees with AJ by continuing the narration with, “You who are father of beings beyond the heavens” (“Father of the supernatural, ruler of those in heaven,” AJ 112; trans. Elliott) At first glance, addressing Jesus as “father” seems to be an example of christomonism. However, a careful reading of the text makes one realize that the word “father” here is not used as the absolute title of the first person of the Holy Trinity. Rather, it is used in the phrase “father of beings” to mean the one who is an originator or producer. This use of the word “father” is not an expression of christomonism; rather, it is a clear example of an elaboration on John 1:3 and 10. 3.8. Section 113 (RBJ Arm. VIII) This section of AJ includes a long biographical anecdote of John that is clearly of a gnostic flavour. This anecdote – beginning with “who, when I inclined in my youth to marry” and ending with “gave me back my visible eyes” – appears to be an interpolation since it is not found in the corresponding text of RBJ Arm. The Greek language of the interpolation is interesting also. Many words either appear for the first time or only in this interpolation or they are found in other parts of AJ but not in RBJ Arm.44 This supports our argument that the author of the interpolation is not the same as the original author of RBJ. Furthermore, the text of the interpolation varies in the Coptic and Syriac versions.45 The interpolation contains clear pro-celibacy and anti-marriage sentiments, including: who, when I inclined in my youth to marry, appeared to me and said, “I am in need of you, John”; who prepared for me beforehand my bodily weakness; who, on the third occasion when I wished to marry, prevented me immediately, and said to me at the third hour on the sea, “John, if you were not mine, I would let you marry” (trans. Elliott). and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, Vol. 2, 309. example, the terms νεότης, χρῄζω, ἐπιφαίνω, ἀνοίγω, and others, do not appear elsewhere in RBJ Arm., yet are found in other sections of AJ. Meanwhile, the various forms of the verbs γαμέω, πηρόω, and the words ἐπαχθής, πορεία, and others are not found anywhere else in the entire AJ. 45 Gatrchian, The Repose of the Blessed John, 47; Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:311. The Syriac text of the manuscript in the British Museum translated and published by Wright does include the interpolation. See Wright, Apocryphal Acts, 2:66 (Syriac text, vol. 1, section II). 43 Junod 44 For

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The Greek text of section 113 outside the anecdote is also interesting. The section begins with the assertion, “You have preserved me also till the present hour pure to yourself, and free from intercourse with a woman” (trans. Elliott). The phrase “to yourself ” is not found in the Armenian version. The phrase makes celibacy a requirement for serving God. This anti-marriage sentiment is further enforced by the contents of the interpolation where God tells John “I am in need of you,” and later on, “if you were not mine, I would let you marry.” Thus, marriage, according to the Greek version, is not favoured by God because it prevents people from serving him. The Greek text clearly reflects a later edition with gnostic overtones. In addition, the manuscript testimony of the inserted phrase “to yourself ” is not unanimous. The phrase ἑαυτῷ καθαρόν appears only in the δ group of manuscripts. The text in the β manuscript has the word καθαρόν only, while the γ group of manuscripts have καθαρὸν ἑαυτῷ. Thus, the Greek manuscripts of AJ themselves point to a possible change in the text of this verse. Also, one of the oldest Latin attestations to AJ, the Epistle of Titus, agrees with the Armenian reading in excluding the phrase “to yourself.”46 The beginning paragraph of this section RBJ Arm. reads as follows: “You who have prevented me until this hour from defilement with women, who made it burdensome for me to even look at a woman.” The narration then continues with the text following the interpolation in the Greek text. The text in RBJ Arm. is a clear reference to Rev 14:4, “It is these who have not defiled themselves with women, for they are virgins.” One should emphasize that the word “marriage” is not even used in RBJ Arm. The verse basically expresses John’s gratitude to God who prevented him from surrendering to his fleshly desires and committing the sin of fornication. RBJ Arm.’s version of this verse, therefore, can be seen simply as a reinforcement of Christ’s interpretation of Moses’ teaching of abstinence, which he intensifies as abstinence not only from sexual contacts, but even from gazing lustfully at women (Matt 5:28). Combining this with the teaching in Rev 14:4, the author offers an “orthodox” emphasis on the virtues of virginity for the glory of God. No trace of any gnostic philosophy or anti-marriage teaching is found in the Armenian version of this verse. Furthermore, the Armenian version of the text makes better sense than the Greek text in AJ. The section in RBJ Arm. begins with a prayer by the apostle John which refers to Christ as the reason for keeping him pure and untouched by union with women and for making it burdensome for John to look at women. Thus the sentence immediately following the interpolation makes a perfect continuation of the sentence before the it. In AJ, on the other hand, we face an insertion which does not fit the context. The focus changes from Jesus to John’s biography. The theological emphasis also changes from praising Christ for protecting John 46 See A. de Santos Otero, “The Pseudo-Titus Epistle,” in New Testament Apocrypha (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R.McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; Louisville, Ky. 1992), 2:53–74 at 65.

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and keeping him alive for the ministry to a direct attack on marriage. Furthermore, the details of the insertion, together with the phrase “when I regained my sight,” clearly describe an actual physical blinding that, according to the lacuna, John had experienced. Yet, the section without the lacuna never mentions John’s blindness; rather, it discusses his “temporal” vision in the sense of gazing at what could be the cause of sin. In conclusion, our examination demonstrates that the Greek version of this section, including the interpolation, is a later modification of the original text of RBJ. The contents of the interpolation and the variations in the text outside the interpolation are the work of a later editor or compiler of AJ, and possibly with gnostic tendencies. 3.9. Section 115 (RBJ Arm. VIII) RBJ Arm. concludes with a doxology – “Glory to Jesus and honour and power to Christ, unto the ages of ages. Amen”  – not found in AJ. The Greek manuscripts have several different endings of their own, filled with docetic and gnostic teachings. Knut Schäferdiek argues that these variations, found in the δ and γ groups of manuscripts, as well as the β manuscript, are subsequent expansions of the original text of RBJ.47 In certain manuscripts, for example, the brethren return the second day, or three days later, to find out that the Apostle’s body is no longer there. In two Greek manuscripts we read how John’s body “was removed through the power of our Lord Jesus Christ.” In yet another version, the brethren witness the Apostle breathing inside his grave.48 The contents of the elaborated conclusions found in the various Greek manuscripts point to a later editorial process. It is plausible to state that the simple doxology found in RBJ Arm. is the original ending. As such, one can convincingly argue that the Armenian version of section 115 is closer to the original than the Greek variations preserved in AJ. Concluding our examination of the textual variations between RBJ Arm. and its Greek counterpart in AJ, one can reasonably confirm that the Greek version indicates a later stage of the editing and compiling of the text of RBJ. The variations found in AJ 106–115 include insertions of connecting phrases or words used to incorporate the original RBJ into its new context in AJ. The Greek version also includes later modifications, some of which reflect gnostic and docetic theological tendencies, not found in RBJ Arm. The interpolation in AJ 113 is another indication of the later editorial processes that influenced the Greek version of RBJ preserved in AJ. Finally, the concluding statement in AJ 115 with its various elaborations, further supports the later dating of the Greek version of RBJ from that of the Armenian. “The Acts of John,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 2:152–212 at 204. “The Acts of John,” 204.

47 K. Schäferdiek, 48 Schäferdiek,

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4. Deconstructing the Acts of John Based on the examination of the textual variations of RBJ Arm. and the conclusions thereof, one can hypothesize an origin and author of the original RBJ different from AJ. The docetic and gnostic characteristics found in AJ 106–115 and the long history of the incorporation of RBJ Arm. in the Bible, lectionaries, and patristic commentaries of the Armenian Church, clearly point to an authorship and circulation of the original RBJ independent of AJ. In addition to the above, the testimony of the many non-Greek manuscripts containing only AJ 106–115 – including the Coptic, Georgian, and Syriac manuscripts – and the absence of a single manuscript of a complete AJ in any language, further supports our hypothesis. In the following pages, a discussion of the early testimonies, as well as obvious theological differences between AJ and RBJ, will reinforce the proposed independent authorship and circulation of the original RBJ. 4.1. Attestation 4.1.1. Fathers of the Armenian Church list RBJ among the canonical or inspired books of the New Testament. Some wrote detailed commentaries on it. Meanwhile, some church fathers as early as the fifth century condemned AJ. In the West, for example, Leo the Great in 447 c.e. rejected AJ, stating that it “should not only be forbidden but altogether removed and burnt by fire.”49 We find a similar verdict pronounced 340 years later in the East, when at their fifth session, the fathers of the Second Ecumenical Council of Nicea of 787 c.e. warn the faithful concerning AJ that, “No one is to copy this book: not only so, but we consider that it deserves to be consigned to the fire.”50 It is very difficult, therefore, to argue that the fathers of the Armenian, as well as the Coptic and Georgian churches, knowingly removed a section of the condemned AJ and incorporated it into their Bible or church writings. It is further inconceivable that, despite the public condemnations of AJ by very well known and revered fathers of the church and by an Ecumenical Council, later fathers of the church continued copying what was originally part of AJ and commenting on it as if it was an inspired book. This clearly argues against the hypothesis that Armenians deliberately removed RBJ from its original context in AJ and added it to their New Testament. Thus, RBJ must have had an origin independent of AJ, or at least must have circulated independently of AJ for some time before it was incorporated into AJ. 4.1.2. A variation of RBJ appears to have circulated independently of AJ as early as the turn of the fourth century. An abbreviated version of the burial of John is attested by the fourth-century bishop Chromatius of Aquileia. In chapter four of 49 Schäferdiek, 50 Schäferdiek,

“The Acts of John,” 156. “The Acts of John,” 156.

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his Sermo XXI, Chromatius informs his reader that the evangelist John lived to a very old age and that the Lord had revealed to him in advance the hour of his death; he identifies the source of this information as a “writing which reports of his death,” not as AJ.51 Chromatius, a colleague of Ambrose and Jerome, was very instrumental in fighting against the heretical teachings of the Arians. He is also credited for supporting Rufinus’s translation of Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History to Latin. Consequently, it is very difficult to suggest that this zealous fighter for orthodoxy would be teaching from a gnostic document, knowing well that Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History, which he helped translate, condemns AJ as a heretical writing (Eccl. hist. 3.25). Consequently, for Chromatius and his community, the original RBJ most probably was not part of the condemned AJ. 4.1.3. In his general introduction to the books of the Old and New Testaments, In Libros Veteris et Novi Testamenti Prooemia, the seventh-century bishop Isidore of Seville, one of the most influential church fathers in the West, makes an indirect reference to the contents of RBJ. In chapter 74 of this work, commenting on the Evangelist’s last days on earth, Isidore adds, “He laboured until his old age, and knowing that his passing was at hand, he ordered the preparing of his grave. Bidding farewell to his brethren he prayed, and entered alive into the grave, and rested in it as of in a bed.”52 This confirms that the seventh-century bishop of Seville must have known of a version of RBJ independent of AJ, otherwise he would have mentioned AJ as the source of his reference, or would have referred to some of John’s activities mentioned in detail in the rest of AJ. In addition, as mentioned in section above, it is difficult to imagine the use of a section from a piece of condemned literature by a prominent seventh-century Latin church “doctor of faith.” Consequently, the version of RBJ known to Isidore must have circulated independently of the condemned AJ. 4.1.4. The fifth-century author of Passio Johannis, attributed to a certain bishop Melito of Laodicea, is aware that a certain heretic by the name of Leucius is the author or compiler of AJ.53 Also known as “son of Satan,” or discipulus diaboli, Leucius is credited as editing and publishing the Acts of Thomas and Acts of Andrew as well.54 This observation supports our suggestion that the independently-authored and circulating RBJ was later added to AJ by a non-orthodox compiler. 4.2. Textual and contextual evidence 4.2.1. The non-Greek and non-Latin traditions of AJ support the independent origin and circulation of RBJ. The Coptic witness of AJ is extant only for sections 51 R. Étaix

and J. Lemarié, Chromatii Aquileiensis Opera (CCSL 9 A; Turnhout 1974), 98–99.

52 Translated from the Classical Armenian text in J. Catergian, Hangist Eranelwotsn Tsovhan-

now (“Dormitio Beati Joannis Apostoli”) (Vienna 1877), 10. 53 See Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:764–71; Schäferdiek, “The Acts of John,” 154. 54 Schäferdiek, “The Acts of John,” 154.

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containing RBJ. Only one fragment, containing parts of section 112, is found “linked by an intervening section with the first part of the later Acts of John by Pseudo-Prochorus, and thus incorporated into an Egyptian collection of later apostolic Acts.”55 The Syriac version of AJ is also limited exclusively to the text of RBJ.56 The Arabic, Ethiopian, and Georgian versions of AJ are preserved mainly in manuscripts containing only the text of RBJ; however, later manuscripts incorporate RBJ into the Acts of John of Pseudo-Prochorus.57 The absence of a single Arabic, Ethiopian, Georgian, or Syriac manuscript incorporating RBJ into the complete text of AJ and the existence of many manuscripts containing RBJ as a separate unit, clearly support the argument for an independent origin and circulation of RBJ from AJ in these churches. 4.2.2. No Greek or Latin manuscript of the complete text of AJ has been found. There are only three Greek manuscripts that combine RBJ with AJ 18–55 and 58– 86. All three are from the thirteenth or fourteenth century.58 The only testimony to sections 87–105 is an independent text in a fourteenth-century manuscript.59 The oldest Greek witness of AJ is a tenth-century manuscript which contains the text of RBJ only. Thus, we do not have a single manuscript that attests to the existence of AJ as a complete literary work. Junod and Kaestli attribute the fragmented state of AJ to its length. The parts that gained popularity or liturgical importance, according to Junod and Kaestli, were gradually separated from their original context in AJ and were copied and transmitted independently. However, we know of other apocryphal acts of almost similar length or even longer, such as the Acts of Thomas, which have survived as one compound piece, after their final compilers put the various pieces together. Furthermore, the hypothesis that AJ was later dissected into pieces due to its popularity cannot be justified in light of the fact that the entire collection was condemned as early as the fifth century. 4.2.3. Serious problems remain regarding the reconstruction of AJ. The disagreement over the placement of AJ 106–115 (after 105 or after 86?), discussed earlier, is only part of the evidence against the unity of AJ.60 Bonnet and Junod and Kaestli also struggle with the placement of sections 87–105. Junod and Kaestli demonstrate enough textual evidence to argue against the placement of sections 87–105 by Bonnet before section 106. They suggest placing these sections between AJ 36 and 37. However, this placement seems implausible because AJ 37 builds upon AJ 36 in that the apostle John continues his instructions to his followers who are in Ephesus. AJ 87 makes no reference to Ephesus. “The Acts of John,” 162. See also Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:376–82. rareté des textes sur Jean conservés en syriaque est frappante: quatre témoins de l’Histoire syriaque de Jean, un seul manuscrit de la Metastasis et aucun des AJPr” (Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:40 n. 1). 57 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:40–44; Schäferdiek, “The Acts of John,” 161–63. 58 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:12–18. 59 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:26. 60 See the discussion of Section 106 above. 55 Schäferdiek, 56 “La

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Furthermore, at the end of AJ 88 John promises his audience he will impart to them “those things whereof you are able to become hearers, that you may see the glory that surrounds him who was and is both now and forever” (trans. Elliott). This Johannine promise is problematic since AJ 33–36, preceding this section, is already an anthology of Johannine teachings to the same audience. Thus, Junod and Kaestli’s placement is problematic as well. Furthermore, the beginning of AJ is missing also. Chapters 1–17 of the current text of AJ preserve a distinctly late Greek text that was added to AJ by Bonnet. No Greek writer, however, mentions these sections or comments about any of the details therein. After several pages of detailed examination of the various hypotheses regarding the missing chapters at the beginning of AJ, Junod and Kaestli conclude that “la question du début des AJ reste ouverte.”61 The ongoing challenges in finding all the pieces of AJ, explaining the reasons for the missing pieces and placing the pieces available in a logical sequence suggest the independent origin and circulation of at least a few of the various segments of AJ known to us. This is further confirmed by clear theological differences between the various parts of AJ.62 4.2.4. Unlike other apocryphal acts of the Apostles, such as the Acts of Andrew, nowhere prior to AJ 106–115 do we read about John’s death or burial.63 Nor does the apostle foretell or forewarn his followers about his upcoming death. Likewise, John in RBJ Arm. does not refer back to any of his major achievements, miracles or challenges recorded in AJ.64 This supports the argument that the original author(s) of sections 1–105 of AJ were not aware of RBJ. 65 4.3. Theology The teachings in AJ show clear theological differences from, and contradictions with, the teachings in RBJ Arm. This obviously supports our hypothesis that the original RBJ and AJ must have had different authors and origins. The following discussion helps demonstrate this point.

and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:85. highlights many of these differences. He suggests a two-stage compilation of the final version of the work: one non-gnostic and the other gnostic. He divides AJ into three sections: Section A (18–86, 106–108, and 110–115), B (87–93 and 103–105), and C (94–102 and 109). See Lalleman, The Acts of John, 25–29. 63 In Acts of Andrew 17, for example, the apostle foretells his martyrdom in advance, pointing to the concluding section of the Acts. See Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament, 260. 64 Regarding AJ 106, Lalleman (The Acts of John, 159) says there is nothing in the section that points exclusively to “events within the text, viz. the appearances told in the preceding section B.” The statement can easily be interpreted as a reference to God’s providence in general and His powers revealed in the miracles attributed to John. 65 See “The Structure of the Text,” in Lalleman, The Acts of John, 26–68. 61 Junod

62 Lalleman

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4.3.1. To begin with, AJ displays unmistakable gnostic and docetic tendencies.66 These tendencies are found especially in the description of Jesus and the immateriality of His body.67 They surface also in other sections of AJ, such as the several stories narrating the raising of the dead, the story of the obedient bugs (60–61), and in the Hymn of Christ.68 Moreover, in AJ 97 and the following sections, a clear gnostic and docetic doctrine is echoed in the words of Jesus where his crucifixion is presented as something that appeared to “the multitude down below in Jerusalem.” Another example is Christ putting in John’s mind the idea of meeting him on the designated mountain. In AJ 98 Christ shows John “a Cross of Light” above which, miraculously, Christ himself appears standing. Furthermore, in AJ 101 Jesus admits that he has “suffered none of the things which they will say of me.” And later on he adds, “in a word, those things that they say of me I did not endure.”69 The gnostic element surfaces again when he tells John “I will reveal to you for I know that you will understand.” Finally, the author concludes this unit in AJ, referred to as the “Revelation of the Mystery of the Cross” (AJ 97–102), recapitulating all that the Lord privately revealed to John in one statement: “that the Lord contrived all things symbolically and as a dispensation toward men, for their conversion and salvation” (trans. Elliott). Unlike AJ, RBJ Arm. is completely free of any gnostic or docetic teachings. None of the christomonisms and polymorphisms of Christ expressed in detail in the various sections of AJ are found in RBJ Arm.70 John in RBJ Arm. is very similar to the Apostles in the canonical books of the New Testament. His teaching is an anthology of verses from the Gospel of John. The depiction of John as a superhuman being in the various sections of AJ is not found in RBJ Arm. The absence of the cup of wine in AJ 110 (absent also in RBJ Arm.) should not be considered proof of a gnostic influence on the celebration of the Eucharist in RBJ Arm. “Breaking bread” was one of the earliest titles used for the Eucharist as early as Luke 24:35 and Acts 2:42, 46; 20:7. The writings of the evangelist Luke and of the apostle Paul as well as many early patristic commentaries, refer to the celebration of Eucharist as “breaking the bread,” without any mention of the cup of

The Acts of John, 204–12. AJ 87 we read about Jesus appearing like John and as a young man. In the following sections Christ appears as a child to James. Later on, John sees Christ as a bald-headed man with a thick beard, while James sees him as a young man. In the following paragraph Christ appears to Jesus again as a small man with no good looks. See AJ 87–93. 68 Jesus is quoted singing, “An Ogdoad is singing with us” (see AJ 95; trans. Elliott). For the use of Ogdoad, or the Eighth Heaven, see B. Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures (New York 1987), 169, 175, 196, 457–58. For detailed study of the Gnostic elements in this Hymn of Christ, see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:621–27. 69 See “Crucifixion of Jesus” as interpreted in “Ptolmey’s Version of the Gnostic Myth” in Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures, 295–96. 70 Schäferdiek, “The Acts of John,” 165. 66 Lalleman, 67 In

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wine. Furthermore, in his prayer in section 110, John uses the words εὐχαριστία and προσφορά, thus clearly identifying the gathering as a eucharistic celebration. 4.3.2. Mention should be made also that AJ, as reconstructed today, includes references to two different celebrations of the Eucharist. One of them is part of the RBJ narrative (AJ 106–115), the other is in AJ 72–86. These two celebrations are different from each other in many aspects. The details of the setup and location of these celebrations vary. In RBJ Arm., the Eucharist is celebrated in a room with the Apostle presiding. After a prayer of thanksgiving, which includes a reference to Christ’s suffering and humbling of himself through his incarnation, John offers the Holy Communion to his brethren, partaking with them. In AJ 72, on the other hand, the Eucharist is celebrated inside a tomb with the intent of offering eucharistic prayers for the dead.71 This practice is completely alien to RBJ Arm. Also, in this section John does not partake with his brethren. We are left with the impression that John prepared the Eucharist for his brethren and for the dead (see AJ 86). 4.3.3. The many examples of the raising of the dead in AJ point to a belief in realized eschatology (AJ 19–25; 46–53; 72–78). Resurrection, according to these sections, is the awakening of the soul of a dead person to life back on earth. It is expected that the risen person embraces faith in Christ. Otherwise, lack of a conversion makes the resurrection ineffective (AJ 81–86). In AJ 47, for example, we realize that the priest of Artemis will not truly experience the new life, although already resurrected, until he believes in Christ. This spiritualized understanding of resurrection is further emphasized in AJ 79 and the following sections. In AJ 82, for example, the raising of the dead back into this world is understood as “perfect rest” in Christ. Furthermore, conversion in AJ is not limited to dead people. Some of the people experiencing conversion are those who are healed from paralysis, coma, or who have merely fainted.72 Yet, those who are healed are not brought back to their previous state of being – paralyzed, comatose, or unconscious; rather, they are raised to a healthy life on this earth as enlightened Christians.73 No examples of spiritualized understandings of death and resurrection are found in RBJ Arm. In AJ 113 John prays, “make me worthy, O Lord, of your repose, and give me my end in you, which is the unspeakable and ineffable salvation” (trans. Elliott). This clearly expresses an understanding of resurrection or eternal life totally different than the one expressed in the various sections of AJ discussed above. Death in RBJ Arm. is not a spiritual experience that is 71 In the Valentinian Gospel of Philip 56.26–21 we find a reference to the importance of the eucharistic bread for the resurrection. 72 In AJ 23, for example, we are told that John raised Cleopatra who, according to AJ 19, had been paralyzed for seven days. Callimachus, according to his confession in AJ 76, was alive but had fainted or was in coma, after seeing a snake bite his friend in the sepulchre of Drusiana. 73 For examples on the gnostic teaching regarding realized resurrection, or the immediacy of resurrection in this world, see Treat. Res. 49.9–26 and Gos. Phil. 65.27–66.20.

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followed by the awakening of the soul and the return of the person back to life in this world – which John and several other people, including new converts, in AJ perform several times. Rather, it is the end of a person’s life on earth and a journey back to Christ. At the end of his prayer in AJ 114 John says, “Grant me to accomplish my journey to you” (trans. Elliott). Thus, resting in Christ is the reward that a believer can only hope to receive from the Lord, and not a physical reality that is lived on earth. Moreover, AJ 115 clearly describes John’s death as the end of his life on earth. The narrator of RBJ Arm. concludes his narrative confirming that John “surrenders his soul into the hands of the Lord.” Thus, neither the narrator nor the audience expect to see John’s soul awakened to a better life on earth – John’s death in RBJ Arm. is a real one. This is clearly contrasted with the later endings found in AJ 115, where John continues breathing in the tomb or is assumed to heaven, but is not actually dead. 4.3.4. Junod and Kaestli have already observed that AJ 109 stands apart from the rest of AJ in form and content through its special gnostic character. Their argument is based on the contents of the interpolation in this section. However, RBJ Arm. does not include this interpolation; indeed, it does not include a single gnostic teaching. Thus, the argument for the gnostic nature of AJ 109 cannot apply to its counterpart in RBJ Arm. Consequently, the argument for a separate authorship or origin of AJ 109 from the rest of RBJ cannot be maintained. Nor can one argue for a gnostic theology in RBJ citing the contents of the interpolation in AJ 109.

5. Conclusion One can reasonably state that the original text of RBJ must have had an origin independent of AJ, and that it was incorporated into the AJ collection at a later time. RBJ Arm. preserves the closest text to the original version of RBJ. Furthermore, and based on the aforementioned discussion, an earlier dating for RBJ than that of AJ is plausible. Pending further detailed examination, RBJ could have been written some time in the mid-second century, when many similar apocryphal documents were written praising the long-departed Apostles. This work, like many orthodox apocrypha such as 3 Corinthians, was most probably produced by the church as a spiritual-fiction reflecting upon the Apostle John, who by that time had become a legendary figure and had already gained great popularity, especially in Asia Minor and Ephesus.74 RBJ, once again like 3 Corinthians, must have gained popularity in some churches in certain regions in the East. The Armenians, in turn, translated RBJ during the golden age of translation (sixth century c.e.) and incorporated its text into their New Testament. 74 See V. Hovhanessian, Third Corinthians: Reclaiming Paul for Christian Orthodoxy (Studies in Biblical Literature 18; New York 2000), 133–38.

Unraveling the Complexity of the Oracula Sibyllina The Value of a Socio-Rhetorical Approach in the Study of the Sibylline Oracles Timothy Beech Despite their intentional grouping under a common name and a common pseudonymous writer, the individual books grouped together within the body of literature known as the Sibylline Oracles1 present a seemingly infinite complexity for the twenty-first century reader to unravel and overcome. First, Sib. Or. represent an intricate blending of Jewish, Christian, Greco-Roman, and possibly even Ba­ bylonian2 and gnostic3 traditions and discourses. Second, most of the individual books are characterized by a complex redaction history,4 and the corpus itself is characterized by a complex textual tradition. Third, the books within the corpus originate from several different geographical regions, embody on many occasions opposing political and religious stances and underpinnings, and range in date from anywhere between the second century b.c.e. and the seventh century c.e. Fourth, these texts in many ways seem to defy any form of literary classification – differing both from the Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles out of which they emerged, as well as the Jewish and Christian apocalyptic texts to which they are often compared. And fifth, as they stand, a number of books in the Sibylline collection (particularly books 12–14) offer a somewhat confused recollection of historical data. Presumably other areas of complexity could also be highlighted, but certainly the aforementioned is adequate to illustrate the seemingly endless 1 All citations of Sib. Or. are taken from the translation of J. J. Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 1: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Garden City, N. Y. 1983), 317–472. 2 This is, at the very least, suggested by the reversing of the order of the sending out of the doves and raven by Noah in the Flood Narrative of Sib. Or. 1–2 – an ordering that seems to find parallels among the various Babylonian flood traditions. 3 On the possibility of the presence of gnostic threads in Sib. Or., see J. G. Gager, “Some Attempts to Label the Oracula Sibyllina, Book 7,” HTR 65 (1972): 91–97. 4 For a brief summary of this redaction history, see J. J. Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period: Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Qumran Sectarian Writings, Philo, Josephus (ed. M. E. Stone; CRINT 2.2; Assen and Philadelphia 1984), 357–81.

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array of challenges presented to the scholar as he or she embarks to analyze this unique body of material. To date, the majority of study undertaken on this complex body of discourse has been carried out through the lens of various historical-critical methodologies, and certainly these have proven useful in unraveling much of the complexity relating to the provenance of the various redactional layers within Sib. Or., the relationship of Sib. Or. to both their Greco-Roman counterparts and the apocalyptic literature with which they were contemporary, and the value of the various Sib. Or. with respect to their presentation of historical data. Yet, even despite the amount of scholarship that has been given to Sib. Or.,5 there still remain a number of unresolved issues. Some of these may by their very nature necessarily remain unsolved, while others, I would suggest, may progress toward resolution through the use of alternative methodological perspectives. Accordingly, in order to build on the results of historical-critical study, I will argue that a socio-rhetorical approach – with its emphasis on texts as rhetorical productions and the ideological movement within them – is able to offer fresh perspective that will advance the scholarly discussion and understanding of Sib. Or. forward on at least two distinct fronts. First, whereas historical-critical method has been able to highlight the redactional layers of Sib. Or., a socio-rhetorical approach is able to highlight the cultural and ideological significance of these redactional layers. And second, whereas historical-critical method has been able to highlight the relation of the form of Sib. Or. to both their Greco-Roman counterparts and the contemporary apocalyptic literature, a socio-rhetorical approach is able to help discern the relationship of the discourse of Sib. Or. to the discourses of these other similar, yet distinct, bodies of literature.

1. Socio-rhetorical analysis as an interpretative approach As an interpretative approach, socio-rhetorical analysis (SRA) views texts rhetorically as an intricate interweaving of complex topological patterns and images that create and evoke certain meanings in certain contexts. As rhetorical productions, texts (such as, for example, Sib. Or.) by their very nature, have at their heart an attempt (implicitly or explicitly) at persuasion – to persuade an audience (real or fictive or ideal) to either maintain or adopt a particular course of action, attitude, belief, or way of thinking. These rhetorical productions are comprised of

5 For an extensive bibliography on the scholarship related to the study of Sib. Or. up to and including 1999, see L. DiTommaso, A Bibliography of Pseudepigrapha Research: 1850–1999 (JSPSup 39; Sheffield 2001), 795–849.

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a complex interweaving of rhetorical topoi6 that blend together in order to give the discourse its own unique shape and meaning. These productions are multifaceted, containing threads from a variety of spheres (social, cultural, theological, textual, historical, political, geographical, and the like), and as such, combine to create a discourse that can be said to have a variety of “textures.” To this end, what we find in SRA is a coming together of a variety of scholarly tools that can be used to view the discourse of the text from multiple vantage points – the rationale here being that approaching the text from one vantage point will yield a certain limited set of results, while viewing the text from multiple angles will naturally come to yield a fuller, more complete picture of the dynamics at work within the text. Vernon Robbins, who has brought this approach most fully into scholarly consideration, has identified five types of “texture” that highlight the presence and configuration of a text’s topoi: 1) inner texture, which resides in features in the language of the text itself (repetition, the creation of beginnings and endings, argumentation, and the like);7 2) intertexture, which pertains to the text’s representation of, reference to, and use of phenomena in the world outside the text being interpreted (material and physical objects, historical events, texts, customs, values, roles, institutions and systems);8 3) social and cultural texture, which includes exploring the social and cultural location of the language and the type of social and cultural world the language evokes or creates;9 4) ideological texture, which concerns the way the text itself and interpreters of the text position themselves in relation to other individuals and groups;10 and 5) sacred texture, which exists in texts that somehow address the relation of humans to the divine.11 In this respect, SRA can be described best as an interpretative analytics that embodies at least three major interests that distinguish it from historical-critical methods: 1) the discerning of the different discourse types within a given text and the rhetorical topoi characteristic of these discourse types; 2) the highlighting of the rhetorical, social, cultural, ideological, and religious “texture” of the discourse (and its topoi); and 3) the understanding of how these discourse modes and topoi blend with others to create the phenomenon of Early Christian (and more broadly, ancient Mediterranean) discourse. In short, whereas historical-critical methods have done well to highlight the static elements within ancient Jewish and Christian texts, SRA builds on these results by beginning to uncover the dynamic elements, and particularly the ideological movement going on within  6 Namely, the rhetorical building blocks, or mental resource zones, that allow for meaning construction within a particular context.  7 V. K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, Pa. 1996), 7–39.  8 Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 40–70.  9 Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 71–94. 10 Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 95–119. 11 Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 120–31.

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the discourse of these texts, as well as the ideological response that the discourse is trying to evoke. While SRA has been used in the study of a small group of apocryphal, pseudepigraphical, and other extra-biblical texts,12 it has to date been absent from the study of Sib. Or. However, considering its primary emphases and underlying premises, it does seem reasonable to suggest that a socio-rhetorical approach is able to advance the scholarly discussion and understanding of Sib. Or. forward in the areas of the cultural and ideological significance of the process of redaction within Sib. Or. and the relation of Jewish and Christian Sibylline oracles to both their Greco-Roman counterparts and the apocalyptic literature with which they are often compared. To this end, of particular interest for this essay will be the ideological movement at work within the process of redaction of the various Sibylline oracles of the extant collection, as well as in the transformation of this authoritative Greco-Roman medium by Jews and Christians during the Second Temple period – movement that is fruitfully understood in light of what SRA describes as “specific social topics” (which reveal various religious responses to the world13 – responses that create a kind of culture that gives meanings, values, traditions, rituals, beliefs, and actions to people),14 and “final cultural categories” (namely, those topics that most decisively identify one’s cultural location).15 Ac12 See, for example, V. K. Robbins, “Rhetorical Composition and Sources in the Gospel of Thomas,” SBLSP 36 (1997): 86–114; idem, “Enthymemic Texture in the Gospel of Thomas,” SBLSP 37 (1998): 343–66. 13 Specific social topics can be understood in large part in terms of B. Wilson’s taxonomy of the kinds of religious responses to the world: 1) Conversionist, which is characterized by a view that the world is corrupt because people are corrupt. Accordingly, if people can be changed, the world can be changed. 2) Revolutionist, which declares that only the destruction of the world, and specifically, its social order, will be sufficient to save people. 3) Introversionist, which views the world as irredemably evil and considers salvation to be attainable only by the fullest possible withdrawal from it. 4) Gnostic-Manipulationist, which seeks only a transformed method of coping with evil. Salvation is possible in the world, and evil may be overcome if people learn the right means, improved techniques, to deal with their problems. 5) Thaumaturgical, which focuses on the individual’s concern for relief from present and specific ills by special dispensations. 6) Reformist, which views the world as corrupt because its social structures are corrupt. Accordingly, if the structures can be changed so that the behaviours they sanction are changed, then salvation will be present in the world. 7) Utopian, which seeks to reconstruct the entire social world according to divinely given principles, rather than simply to amend it from a reformist position. See B. Wilson, Magic and the Millennium: A Sociological Study of Religious Movements of Protest Among Tribal and Third-World Peoples (New York 1973), 22–26. 14 Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 72. 15 Final cultural categories are those topics that most decisively identify one’s cultural location, which, in contrast to social location, concerns the manner in which people present their propositions, reasons, and arguments both to themselves and to others. These topics separate people in terms of dominant culture, subculture, counterculture, contraculture, and liminal culture. Dominant culture rhetoric presents a system of attitudes, values, dispositions and norms that the speaker either presupposes or asserts are supported by existing social structures. Subculture rhetoric imitates the attitudes, values, dispositions, and norms of dominant culture rhetoric, but claims to enact them better than members of the dominant status. Counterculture

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cordingly, I will suggest in what follows some avenues where a socio-rhetorical approach is able to build on the conclusions of historical-critical study and advance discussion forward on these previously unresolved issues.

2. The cultural and ideological significance of the process of redaction within the Sibylline Oracles With the exception of Sib. Or. 6 (and possibly 7), it is likely that each of the twelve extant books of Sib. Or. underwent at least a certain degree of redaction in some form or another. Towards understanding this phenomenon, the application of historical-critical methodology in the study of Sib. Or. has yielded a number of different redactional scenarios at work within the text. First, and perhaps most commonly discussed, we find the Christian redaction of Jewish material. Under this category, a number of scenarios are present: a) the complex and sometimes indiscernible interweaving of Jewish and Christian material such as in Sib. Or. 2;16 b) the simple addition of Christian material to the end of a pre-existing Jewish text, as in Sib. Or. 8;17 and c) the insertion of small, but significant, Christian glosses into exclusively Jewish texts, as in Sib. Or. 3:776 and 5:256–259. Second, we also find the Jewish redaction of Jewish material: a) the interweaving of earlier and later Jewish material, as in Sib. Or. 3;18 and b) the simple addition of Jewish material to the end of a pre-existing Jewish text, as in Sib. Or. 11–14, which, as John Collins argues, represents an ongoing tradition that was repeatedly updated.19 Third, we find the Jewish redaction of Greco-Roman source material, as in Sib. Or. 4,20 or the incorporation of Greco-Roman material into existing Jewish texts, such as Sib. Or. 3:350–480, in order to enhance their “Sibylline flavour.”21 (or alternative culture) rhetoric rejects explicit and mutable characteristics of the dominant culture or subculture rhetoric to which it responds by providing a relatively self-sufficient system of action that is grounded in a well-developed, supporting ideology. Contracultural (or oppositional culture) rhetoric is primarily a reaction-formation response to some form of dominant culture, subculture, or counterculture rhetoric. It does not form an alternative response developed on the basis of a different system of understanding, but simply reacts in a negative way to certain values and practices in other cultures. Finally, liminal culture rhetoric exists at the outer edge of identity – that is, it exists among individuals and groups that have yet to establish a clear social and cultural identity in their setting. See Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 86–88; K. A. Roberts, “Toward a Generic Concept of Counter-Culture,” Sociological Focus 11 (1978): 111–126; H. K. Bhabha, “Postcolonial Criticism,” in Redrawing the Boundaries: The Transformation of English and Literary Studies (ed. S. Greenblatt and G. Gunn; New York: 1992), 437–65. 16 Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 376–77. 17 Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 379–80. 18 See, for example, Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 365–69. 19 Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 379–80. 20 Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 363–65; idem, “The Place of the Fourth Sibyl in the Development of the Jewish Sibyllina,” JJS 25 (1974): 365–80. 21 Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 368–69.

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Fourth, and finally, at a somewhat later stage, we find the placing of the Jewish and Christian Sibylline material into two distinct, but related, collections.22 For the sake of brevity, we will deal only with the first scenario, although we could just as easily deal with the others. Traditionally, the scholarly response to the presence of redactional activity has been (rightly or wrongly) to distinguish and articulate the stratigraphy, such as what John Collins, Johannes Geffcken, Alfons Kurfess, and others have notably done. However, having said and done that, the question of what to do with this stratigraphy naturally arises. Some have undertaken to separate the Jewish and Christian material and to read them as separate texts. One of the classic examples here can be found in Ursula Treu’s contribution to Wilhelm Schneemelcher’s New Testament Apocrypha volumes,23 where she includes only (what she considers to be) the Christian segments of Sib. Or. without reference to the Jewish strata to which they were added. The difficulty of this type of approach, however, is that it fails to consider why the Christian redactors retained the Jewish material as they did. Presumably, the Christian writers retained the Jewish segments as a valuable part of their rhetorical agendas. Accordingly, it would seem that it is impossible to understand fully the Christian passages without reference to the Jewish sections to which they have been added and interwoven. Others tend to understand these texts as primarily Jewish, but corrupted at the hands of Christians. In these cases, the process of redaction is understood more negatively, and the task therefore becomes to purge the Jewish text of Christian elements in order to achieve some sort of purified proto-text.24 There are at least two difficulties with this approach. First, the creation of some sort of representative proto-text is largely an unattainable ideal, since redactors not only add to texts, but take away from them as well,25 and it is a lot more difficult to conjecture the content of what was removed versus the content of what was added. Second, this negative response to the process of redaction in many ways fails to consider 22 The first collection consists of two manuscript groups, φ and ψ, and contains books 1–8 (manuscripts in group φ also contain an anonymous prologue). The second collection consists of the manuscript group ω, and contains books 9–14. Books 9 and 10 consist of material already found in the first collection, and as such, are generally not included in modern collections. Despite their omission, however, the numbering of books 11–14 is retained, resulting in the odd numbering scheme of the collection: 1–8 and 11–14. For a more thorough summary, see Collins, “The Sibylline Oracles,” 321. 23 U. Treu, “Christian Sibyllines,” in New Testament Apocrypha, vol. 2: Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R.McL. Wilson; Louisville, Ky. 1992), 652–85. 24 Take, for example, the editors of E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ: 175 BC – AD 135 (rev. and ed. by G. Vermes, F. Millar and M. Goodman; 3 vols.; Edinburgh 1986), 3:635, who suggest that if Sib. Or. 3:776 is in fact a Christian interpolation into an otherwise Jewish text, then “it should be excised.” 25 Take, for example, the omission of the eighth and ninth generations of the Sibyl’s ten-fold scheme of world history in Sib. Or. 1–2 by the text’s Christian redactor.

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as legitimate the final form of the text as a valid stage in the history of the text’s development. Most of these responses do not seem to deal adequately with how to understand the dynamics at work within this stratigraphy, and in particular, seem uninterested or unequipped to evaluate the ideological movement taking place during the process of redaction. I would suggest, however, that a socio-rhetorical approach is able to contribute to our understanding of the dynamics at work within the redactional process, particularly if we understand this process in terms of cultural location – and particularly in terms of what might be regarded as a subcultural reworking of the existing Jewish material in order to better reflect the rhetorical needs of the Christian redactor. In this sense, the Christian redactor maintains the essential structure and portrayal of the Jewish writer’s eschatology, her understanding of divine authority and universal history, her emphasis on personal morality, and, among other things, her countercultural positioning towards the dominant Greco-Roman culture of her contemporary social world  – only that she claims to understand and enact them better (as evidenced by the modifications made to the material she retained). In this way, the Christian redaction of a text such as Sib. Or. 1–2 needs not be regarded negatively as a corruption of the initial Jewish text and its supporting structures and ideologies, but more positively as a subcultural reconfiguration of the initial text and its structures and ideologies. To this end, the emphasis here is on what the Christian redactor retained from the preceding rhetorical culture, and on the ideological movement created by the redactor’s additions and modifications, rather than on simply trying to recover a hypothetical proto-type of the Jewish “original” (although certainly such an activity is absolutely essential in determining ideological movement). This emphasis on what is retained by the Christian redactor is indeed significant, since it highlights the similarities and commonalties that exist between the writer and her redactor, and not simply the differences between them. In the case of Sib. Or. 1–2, the fact that the Christian redactor retained the key aspects of the Sibyl’s argument (namely, her articulation of the major rhetorical topoi of history, authority, corruption, catastrophe, and divine communication)26 with relatively little modification seems to suggest the redactor’s general acceptance of this argument and its contents. The only difference is that the Christian redactor, consistent with her major additions, argues that these things are better understood and expressed with respect to the advent of Christ. What the Jewish writer has written is not incorrect or wrong – for the Christian redactor has already affirmed its value by retaining it – but only inadequate to address the new situation of the 26 A significant discussion of the Sibyl’s articulation of these major topoi can be found in my doctoral dissertation, T. Beech, “A Socio-Rhetorical Exploration of the Development and Function of the Noah-Flood Narrative in Sibylline Oracles 1–2” (Ph.D. diss.; Saint Paul University, Ottawa, On. 2008), 83–122.

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redactor. Rather, it is the implicit argument of the (Christian) Sibyl that these topoi and ideologies are better understood in light of and with respect to the life, works, and teachings of Christ – as is explicit in Sib. Or. 1:324–400, which seems to set the atmosphere and parameters for the eschatological events of book 2. Of course, this type of subcultural reconfiguration that takes place in Sib. Or. 1–2 is not limited strictly to this example or to other examples of Christian redaction of other Jewish Sibyllines, but also occurs throughout Sib. Or. in the Jewish redaction of Jewish and Greco-Roman discourses. In this respect, one must consider whether or not the process of redaction is inevitable or essential as texts are read anew in each new rhetorical situation. The value of the text is obviously seen by the redactor, but in order for its value to be fully realized in the present, it must be reconfigured so that it may address the present more adequately. In this sense, the process of redaction might be viewed more properly as a subcultural blending of both past and present rhetorical agendas and phenomena – a bringing of the past into the present in order to address the contemporary situation. In this respect, it can be argued that the final form of Sib. Or. 1–2 is a legitimate rhetorical production in its own right, and as such, should be understood as a genuine expression of Christianity (including its relationship to Judaism) during the second century of the Common Era.

3. The relationship of the Sibylline Oracles to their contemporary literary environment One of the major unanswered questions relating to the study of Sib. Or. pertains to its relationship with other contemporary literature, and specifically its relationship to Judeo-Christian apocalyptic literature and the Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles out of which they emerged: Are they, for example, to be regarded as apocalyptic? Are they to be regarded as genuine Sibylline oracles in the Greco-Roman sense? Or are they to be regarded as neither? If it is the latter, then how are we to regard this unique material? Let me begin with Sib. Or.’s relationship to Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles. 3.1. The relationship of the Sibylline Oracles to their Greco-Roman counterparts The most obvious place to begin such a comparison is with the original Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles that played such an important role in the political life of ancient Greece and Rome, since it is out of these that the Jewish, and eventually Christian, Sibylline oracles came to emerge. However, there is a major difficulty in performing such a comparison: none of the original Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles have survived. Only second-hand fragments have survived, and these in only minute amounts in writers such as Pausanias and Plutarch. Unfortunately,

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as the editors of Schürer point out, these citations “are brief and scanty and do not provide a sufficient idea of the content of the original oracles.” At best, what survives, they suggest, is only sufficient to show that the oracles often carried a gloomy political message, and that they were often grouped unsystematically into disorganized collections.27 As a result of this lack of extant Greco-Roman Sibylline material, there is a natural tendency to assume that the Jewish and Christian Sibyllines were simply a mirror image of their Greco-Roman counterparts. Thus, in circular fashion the conclusion frequently emerges that our understanding of Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles can be derived from the Judeo-Christian ones. Herbert W. Parke, for instance, has assumed such a one-to-one correspondence under the rationale that if Jewish (and eventually Christian) writers wanted to be convincing that their compositions were actually composed by the Sibyl, “they had to assume the literary conventions expected of a Sibyl. The matter to be conveyed was sometimes more appropriate to a Hebrew prophet, but the manner had to approximate generally to the style of a pagan prophetess’.”28 The difficulty of this type of circular logic, however, is that it fails to consider the changes within the medium of the Sibylline oracle brought about by Jews and Christians during the Second Temple period. This type of circular logic has, for example, led Parke to conclude that, “the Sibyl does not normally start her prophecy from some point in contemporary historic time and continue straight into the future. She begins with some primevally early epoch and leads on in chronological sequence through succeeding ages.”29 But, as we have already pointed out, Parke’s conclusion is based largely on his circular assumption that the Jewish Sibyl closely imitated Greco-Roman prototypes, and not on the extant Greco-Roman fragments or on the testimonies of ancient writers. As Collins mentions, this sort of ex eventu prophecy is seemingly absent from any of the extant Greco-Roman Sibylline fragments, and is better attested in, and is in fact a dominant feature of, contemporary Jewish apocalyptic.30 This is, of course, not to say that the concept of universal history was foreign to the Greco-Roman mind, for certainly it was not,31 but only that it did not factor significantly into Greco-Roman Sibyllines (or even oracles generally), which generally only seem to point to a specific moment in time. As Arnaldo Momigliano

The History of the Jewish People, 3:626. Sibyls and Sibylline Prophecy in Classical Antiquity (London 1988), 6. 29 Parke, Sibyls and Sibylline Prophecy, 7. 30 J. J. Collins, Seers, Sibyls and Sages in Hellenistic-Roman Judaism (JSJSup 54; Leiden 1997), 191. 31 The concept of universal history is attested in Greco-Roman literature as early as Hesiod’s Works and Days. For more on the concept of universal history, see A. Momigliano, “The Origins of Universal History,” in The Poet and the Historian: Essays in Literary and Historical Biblical Criticism (ed. R. E. Friedman; HSS 26; Chico, Calif. 1983), 133–55. 27 Schürer,

28 H. W. Parke,

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further explains, “Pagan Sibylline Oracles seldom went beyond individual events; they seldom pursued what we might call the great currents of world history.”32 In similar fashion, Collins has noted several other features that distinguish the extant Judeo-Christian collection from their Greco-Roman counterparts and give them their distinctive shape. First, it seems that, generally speaking, the Roman Sibylline books were in fact quite different in character from the preserved Sib. Or., which typically predict disasters rather than prescribe solutions.33 Likewise, the Judeo-Christian Sibyl also differed from her Greco-Roman counterparts in her emphasis on moral exhortation, and in particular, her emphatic condemnation of idolatry, homosexuality, etc. – items which would have been of little offence to a Greco-Roman audience and Sibyl. Likewise, the notion of a final judgment, which was generally absent from the Greco-Roman conception of time, but prominent in apocalyptic, is also found in the Jewish and Christian Sibyllines.34 As such, it would not be unreasonable to echo further the words of Collins that the Jewish and Christian Sibyls transformed the pagan oracles into a new literary form, characterized by a sweeping view of universal history and a concern with ethical teaching that was alien to the pagan sibyl. The pseudonymous authors of these books were not peripheral to the tradition. It was they who rescued the sibyl from a dying culture and made her into a reputable prophet in the Christian Middle Ages.35

Accordingly, in order to build on the work of Collins, it will be our task to highlight the ideological movement that occurred during this transformation of the Sibylline medium by Jews and Christians during the Second Temple period. 3.2. The relation of the Sibylline Oracles to Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature The type of Jewish and Christian literature to which Sib. Or. draw the most comparison is undoubtedly apocalyptic, and particularly those texts that have traditionally been described as historical apocalypses. Like the so-called historical apocalypses, Sib. Or. contain frequent surveys of history and ex eventu prophecy, in addition to a number of other common features such as pseudonymity, dualism, and various eschatological elements, such as judgment, cataclysmic destruction, and the expectation of a definitive kingdom. Remarkably, however, even despite all of the similarities that do exist between the two, few have ventured to 32 A. Momigliano, “From the Pagan to the Christian Sibyl: Prophecy as History of Religion,” in The Uses of Greek and Latin: Historical Essays (ed. A. C. Dionisotti, A. Grafton and J. Kraye; Warburg Institute Surveys and Texts 16; London 1988), 3–18 at 13. 33 Collins, Seers, Sibyls and Sages, 183. 34 Collins, Seers, Sibyls and Sages, 191. 35 Collins, Seers, Sibyls and Sages, 197.

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classify them as apocalyptic in the sense of genre, but have instead given them the status of “related literature” (that is, apocalyptic only in a limited sense).36 These similarities were enough to lead Philipp Vielhauer and Georg Strecker to suggest that the Jewish Sibyllines represent “the Apocalyptic of Hellenistic Diaspora Judaism,”37 although Vielhauer and Strecker go on to differentiate between the two on the basis of a difference in function: While the Apocalypses are fundamentally a conventicle-literature designed to strengthen a particular community, the Jewish Sibyllines originated as missionary propaganda writings which were turned, from the very beginning, towards those outside; their Sitz im Leben is originally the mission of Diaspora Judaism to the heathen.38

Similarly, Christopher Rowland describes Sib. Or. as a “parallel phenomenon to apocalyptic,” but is quick to dissociate the two on basis of the propagandistic nature of Sib. Or.: The fact that the device is used as a means of propagating a particular religious point of view should make us a little wary of seeing it in quite the same light as the other apocalypses. It is not just that we are dealing with the peculiar phenomenon of a pagan rather than a Jewish religious authority, but also there is the difference that these oracles do not claim to be disclosures vouchsafed by the God of Israel but predictions inspired by lesser divine powers which happened to coincide with divine mysteries. Thus, while formally the Sibylline Oracles are related to Jewish apocalyptic literature, they are to be regarded as a type of religious propaganda  – literature lacking some of the key elements of the apocalyptic texts.39

Collins, perhaps more appropriately, has sought these differences in terms of the structure of the genres themselves. Despite the similarities that exist between Sib. Or. and the apocalypses, Collins has argued, based on his well accepted definition of apocalyptic, that Sib. Or. are not apocalypses because they claim direct inspiration of the Sibyl, and thus lack any sort of heavenly mediator figure that is characteristic of apocalyptic.40 Likewise, in Sib. Or., 36 J. J. Collins, “The Jewish Apocalypses,” in Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre (ed. J. J.  Collins; Semeia 14; Missoula, Mont. 1979), 21–59 at 46–47; A. Y. Collins, “The Early Christian Apocalypses,” ibid., 61–121 at 96–98. 37 P. Vielhauer and G. Strecker, “Apocalypses and Related Subjects: Introduction,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 2:542–68 at 560. 38 Vielhauer and Strecker, “Apocalypses and Related Subjects,” 561. 39 C. Rowland, The Open Heaven: A Study of Apocalyptic in Judaism and Early Christianity (London 1982), 21. Of course, this rationale does seem flawed in at least two ways: 1) the standard collection of Judeo-Christian Sibylline oracles cannot be differentiated from apocalyptic texts on the basis that they propagate a religious point of view, since apocalyptic texts by very nature also do the same – as do all other religious texts; and 2) the observation that Sib. Or. “do not claim to be disclosures vouchsafed by the God of Israel but predictions inspired by lesser divine powers which happened to coincide with divine mysteries” is problematic: in Sib. Or. 4:4–6, for example, the Sibyl is clear that she is not “an oracle-monger of false Phoebus,” but a seer of “the great God” – a scenario that is certainly implied in the other oracles. 40 Collins, “The Jewish Apocalypses,” 46.

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the supporting framework is all on the horizontal axis – the authority of the sibyl, the allusions to historical events, the expectation of a kingdom. The vertical axis of the apocalypses is missing. There is no interest in angels and demons or in the cosmology of the heavenly world. Consequently, the oracles lack the mystical dimension of the apocalypses, and the difference is reflected in the eschatology.41

From a different angle, Harold H. Rowley has argued that Sib. Or. “are not fundamentally apocalyptic,” but do contain certain passages that are of ”importance for the study of the growth and development of the ideas of the apocalyptists.”42 Similarly, Walter Schmithals has taken this idea a step further and suggested why a difference in function might necessitate a difference in apocalyptic form and content  – namely, that only the apocalyptic concepts that were considered by the writers to be appropriate in a Hellenistic context were incorporated into the discourse of the various books: The ‘Sibyllines’ do not pursue any self-presentation of apocalyptic piety, but rather place apocalyptic motifs at the service of the comprehensive Jewish mission and propaganda. Apocalyptic conceptions which were not serviceable for such propaganda in the Hellenistic context recede into the background: the figure of the Messiah, the hope of the resurrection, and dualism; moreover, judgment and renewal occur in the sphere of the one cosmos, outside of which there is no reality for Greek thought. Hence one cannot gather from the Sibylline Oracles a complete picture of an explicitly apocalyptic piety. Nevertheless they show how extensively the apocalyptic movement did in general influence Jewish thought in the period before and after Christ’s birth.43

In short, then, it would seem that there is a relative consensus among scholars that says that Sib. Or. are like apocalyptic, but not true apocalyptic, although there seems to be little consensus as to why they are not apocalyptic. So how do we move beyond this?

4. The Sibylline Oracles as a blend of Judeo-Christian apocalyptic and Greco-Roman Sibylline discourses Considering both the similarities and differences that emerge when we compare Sib. Or. to both their Greco-Roman counterparts and the Judeo-Christian apocalyptic discourse with which they were cotemporary, I would argue that Sib. Or. in general maintain the rhetorical form and structure characteristic of the Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles – and to this end, employ the same array of 41 J. J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids, Mich. 1998), 125–26. 42 H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic: A Study of Jewish and Christian Apocalypses from Daniel to Revelation (rev. ed.; London 1963), 74, 77. 43 W. Schmithals, The Apocalyptic Movement: Introduction and Interpretation (trans. J. E. ​ Steely; Nashville, Tenn. 1975), 192–93.

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major rhetorical topoi – but that a number of these Sibylline topoi come to be articulated apocalyptically by the Jewish and Christian sibyllists – a rhetorical undertaking that allowed the Judeo-Christian Sibyllines to maintain a significant degree of continuity with their Greco-Roman siblings, but which also allowed for the transformation of this authoritative Greco-Roman medium into something fundamentally different. In support of this suggestion, let me summarize some conclusions that I have argued for elsewhere.44 First, as we have already noted, the extant collection of Sib. Or. generally can be seen to exhibit a certain array of major rhetorical topoi – namely, history, corruption, authority, catastrophe, and divine communication – which interplay and blend with one another in order to move the discourse forward and to create meaning in a particular context. Based on the testimony of certain ancient writers such as Virgil, Flavius Vopiscus, Silius Italicus, Tacitus, and Varro, it would seem that the Greco-Roman Sibylline oracles (out of which the extant collection emerged) also share these same major rhetorical topoi. However, where the discourse of these two siblings differ, is in terms of how the majority of these rhetorical topoi are articulated – a difference that can be seen to arise primarily as a result of a difference in terms of the writer’s (or redactor’s) social location. The implications of this difference in the articulation of major topoi can be seen in terms of what are referred to in socio-rhetorical terms as specific social topics45 and final cultural categories.46 In this respect, it would seem that the discourse that we characteristically find embodied in Greco-Roman Sibyllines could in large degree be understood as gnostic-manipulationist rhetoric, since they have at their heart an emphasis on the health, survival, prosperity, and well-being of the dominant Greco-Roman culture that can be achieved through proper understanding and implementation of divinely-given guidance and prescriptions.47 This is particularly evident when we consider the articulation of the topos of catastrophe in the Greco-Roman Sibyllines, which is understood usually in terms of divine advice, insight, and solutions to either avoid, prevent, or deal with catastrophe. They might, for instance, suggest how one might appease a deity, or perhaps prescribe a particular course of action to take while in battle – in general, actions that ensure well-being and survival. For this reason, Flavius Vopiscus tells us that the Sibylline books were consulted “whenever any serious commotion arose” (Div. Aurel. 19.2). Similarly, Marcus Terentius Varro states that “for so many years later we are wont officially to consult her books when we desire to know what we should do after some portent” (Rust. 1.3). In some cases, victory in battle is said to hinge on consultation of and obedience to the 44 Beech,

“A Socio-Rhetorical Exploration,” 83–146. Exploring the Texture of Texts, 72–75. 46 Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, 86–89. 47 For Wilson’s definition of “gnostic-manipulationist,” see above, n. 13. 45 Robbins,

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Sibylline books (Flavius Vopiscus, Div. Aurel. 21.4). Tacitus reports how a motion was made to consult the Sibylline books during a serious flood crisis (Ann. 1.76). On another occasion, Tacitus reports how the words of the Sibyl were consulted in order to determine an appropriate means to appease the wrath of the gods (15.44).48 Thus, it can be seen here why Greco-Roman Sibylline discourse can be said usually to take on a gnostic-manipulationist flavour, since the divine insight contained in these texts, when understood and implemented correctly, is able to ensure the well-being and survival of the particular individual(s) or nation(s). Failure to heed the advice of the oracle or to understand it correctly, on the other hand, might in turn result in certain disaster.49 By contrast, the discourse we find embodied in the Judeo-Christian Sib. Or. is clearly an example of revolutionist rhetoric, as it consistently envisions the world (and in particular, the Greco-Roman dominant culture) as completely corrupt and imagines change only through sovereign divine intervention (namely, divinely ordained catastrophe) that will transform and reconfigure the world’s conventional socio-economic and authoritative structures. As the Sibyl herself states: The earth will belong equally to all, undivided by walls or fences … Lives will be in common and wealth will have no division. For there will be no poor man there, no rich, no tyrant, no slave. Further, no one will be either great or small anymore. No kings, no leaders. All will be on par together (2:319–24).

Towards this rhetorical end, the Judeo-Christian Sibyl, in a manner consistent with apocalyptic discourse, comes to articulate the topos of catastrophe not so much in terms of how catastrophe can be avoided, overcome, or dealt with (as in the Greco-Roman Sibyllines), but instead emphasizes the horrific and destructive details of the catastrophic events themselves (culminating in a global flood of fire that is envisioned to transpire at the end of the world, e. g., Sib. Or. 2:196–213; 3:75–92; 4:171–78; 7:119–31; 8:337–58), since it is only through divinely-ordained catastrophe that the corruption of the dominant culture can be addressed, and positive change be brought about within the world’s social and authoritative structures (in addition to Sib. Or. 2:319–24, see 3:739–95; 4:179–92; 8:110–21; 8:205–12).

48 Again, as Collins (Seers, Sibyls and Sages, 183) has observed, Roman Sibyllines typically prescribe solutions rather than predict disasters. 49 As a result of the Greco-Roman Sibylline emphasis on the health, prosperity, and well-being of the Greco-Roman dominant culture, I originally identified the discourse of these oracles as primarily thaumaturgical (see Beech, “A Socio-Rhetorical Exploration,” 129). In hindsight, however, it seems better to regard the discourse of the Greco-Roman Sibyllines as primarily gnostic-manipulationist, since the health, prosperity, and well-being sought were thought to hinge entirely on the proper understanding and implementation of the divinely-given insights and advice contained within the oracles.

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Accordingly, when we consider this favourable and ideal reconfiguration of socio-economic and political structures, it would seem that the topos of catastrophe, as it is articulated in Sib. Or., is in many ways (and perhaps somewhat ironically) something that is hoped for and anticipated, since it is expected that catastrophe, as an act of God’s righteous judgment, will bring to an end the current world age characterized by corruption and evil, and inaugurate a new world age that will be free of such corruption. In this sense, the rhetoric of the Judeo-Christian Sib. Or. generally can be seen (in a manner consistent with apocalyptic discourse) as a direct countercultural challenge to the existing dominant culture, through the use of revolutionist rhetoric. In this way, the discourse of Sib. Or. clearly distinguishes itself from the rhetoric of Greco-Roman Sibyllines, which, in an effort to promote and maintain the existing dominant culture, frequently employed gnostic-manipulationist rhetoric. Thus it would seem that what we find within the rhetoric of the extant collection of Sib. Or. is a blending of apocalyptic discourse into this authoritative Greco-Roman medium – a blending that allowed for the transformation of the Sibylline medium into a distinctively Judeo-Christian phenomenon, and yet one that was not without a degree of continuity with its Greco-Roman predecessors.

5. Conclusions In summary, we have surveyed some of the unresolved issues related to the study of Sib. Or., and have accordingly suggested a number of areas where a socio-rhetorical approach is able to build on the results of previous historical-critical study and bring fresh perspective to the scholarly discussion of this infinitely-complex body of discourse. To this end, we suggested that a socio-rhetorical approach provides a useful interpretative framework through which we can better understand and articulate the cultural and ideological significance of the process of redaction within Sib. Or. – a framework which, by extension, allows us to view the final forms of the various books of the heavily-redacted Sibylline corpus as legitimate rhetorical productions in their own right. Likewise, we have suggested how socio-rhetorical analysis, with its emphasis on the rhetorical implications of social and cultural location, is able to help us understand better the ideological relationship between Sib. Or. and their contemporary literary and rhetorical environment. In this respect, we suggested that Sib. Or. are perhaps best understood as a blending of Judeo-Christian apocalyptic discourse into the rhetorical configurations of Greco-Roman Sibylline discourse – a reconfiguration that allowed for the transformation of this traditionally authoritative Greco-Roman medium into a distinctively Judeo-Christian phenomenon. Our comments and discussion, however, have been brief, and there is certainly more that can be said about these and other similar contributions that a

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socio-rhetorical approach can make to the study of Sib. Or.; but these are beyond the scope and parameters of the current essay, and will have to be saved for another occasion.

Gnostic Irony and the Adaptation of the Apocalyptic Genre Michael Kaler 1. Introduction The Coptic, gnostic Apocalypse of Paul (NHC V,2) is an apocalyptic tale that recounts in an evocative and laconic fashion a voyage of the apostle Paul up to the tenth heaven. My work on this text between 2001–20081 led me to the conclusions that its author knew the conventions of apocalyptic literature very well, that she2 expected her readers to know them too, and that in her creation of Apoc. Paul she was engaged in constructing a story that would take these conventions as things that were given, almost as items of content, and that would then manipulate them so as to undermine the basic assumptions about the universe and its ruler upon which they were built.3 This conclusion is remarkably similar to one that Pheme Perkins developed almost thirty years ago with regard to another gnostic apocalypse found at Nag Hammadi, namely the Apocalypse of Adam, although I did not read Perkins’ work until 2006. In the first and second parts of this essay, I will present Perkins’ analysis of genre-based irony that she found in the Apoc. Adam, and then present my own analysis of the remarkably similar sense of irony that permeates Apoc. Paul. Although these are the only two writings that I will discuss in-depth, this kind of ironic appropriation of genre conventions is not limited to these two texts. Indeed, similar procedures have been identified, or at least suggested, in other gnostic apocalypses by other scholars, as well as in the decidedly non-gnostic apocalypse of 4 Ezra, and I will briefly examine these in the third section. Nor ought we to consider this treatment as being exclusive to apocalyptic literature, gnostic or not: in the fourth part of my essay, I will show that a similar procedure has been identified by Francis Cairns as a common procedure in Greek and Roman poetry. 1 Published as M. Kaler, Flora Tells a Story: The Apocalypse of Paul and Its Contexts (ESCJ 19; Waterloo, On. 2008). 2 In this essay, the feminine will be used when the gender of the person in question is unknown. 3 Kaler, Flora Tells a Story, 155–71.

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In my efforts to understand what was going on in such cases, I found the critical model constructed by Alistair Fowler to be particularly helpful, clarifying the procedures at work. In the fifth section of my essay, I will discuss this model. Finally, in the sixth section, I will attempt to draw out some of the ramifications that this sort of activity has for our understanding of gnosticism and gnostic authors and readers.

2. Definitions Before launching into this essay’s arguments, I must take a moment for definition. The words “apocalypse” and “gnostic” have been used in a variety of ways in the past, and so it is necessary to establish how I intend to use them in the present instance. When I speak here of apocalypses, I am referring to a certain class of literary texts making up a genre whose characteristics have famously been described as follows, “Apocalypse” is a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial insofar as it involves another, supernatural world.4

This genre is broken up into two subgenres, depending on whether or not a given apocalypse contains an otherworldly journey. The various scenes and activities that are characteristic of apocalyptic narratives are summarized and discussed in issue 14 of the journal Semeia, and will be invoked as necessary in what follows. The definitions of “gnostic” or “gnosticism”5 have been the subject of much discussion, particularly over the past decade. It is not my intent to enter into this debate here. Rather, I will adopt an explicitly provisional definition. For the purposes of this essay, then, “gnostic” works are religious works linked to the Judeo-Christian tradition that present or assume a devaluation of the creator god (or “demiurge”), who is identified wholly or partially with the Judeo-Christian supreme deity. This devaluation need not extend to outright demonization 4 J. J. Collins, “Introduction: Towards the Morphology of a Genre,” Semeia 14 (1979): 1–19 at 9. 5 Standard practice is for g/Gnosticism to be spelled with a capital “G”; English orthographical conventions mean that this creates the impression that g / Gnosticism was a unified tradition or entity; this in turn derives from and supports the partisan, biased, and polemical heresiological sources that were our major source of information about g / Gnosticism prior to the discovery of the Nag Hammadi collection. Such views are increasingly being challenged, and ought to rely for their support on whatever legitimate arguments can be produced in their favor, rather than the implications of orthography. For this reason, I have chosen to spell gnosticism with a small “g.”

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(although it can), but in gnostic texts the creator god is regarded in at best an ambivalent light.6 Furthermore, this devaluation has to do both with power and with personality. The demiurge is not only not the most powerful god, but also his character and activities are viewed in less than flattering ways. This devaluation of the creator god, for the purposes of this essay, is to be taken as the defining characteristic of what I call gnosticism, and gnostic texts are texts that manifest this devaluation.7 While I do not claim universal validity for this definition, it is nonetheless the case that it does apply to many of the works popularly described as “gnostic.”

3. Similarities between apocalyptic and gnostic texts It is a truism that many gnostic writings show strong similarities to, or the influence of, apocalyptic literature. Furthermore, these influences are found on many levels. One can see the impact of apocalyptic literature on gnostic writings at the levels of content, of topoi, of narrative structure, of character choice, of imagery, and of language.8 This obvious influence of apocalyptic literature on gnostic literature has led to the hypothesis that the origins of gnosticism are to be found among frustrated Jewish apocalypticists. Those who support this hypothesis argue that it was the disappointment of their apocalyptic expectations of the end of the old world and the coming of a new, purified Kingdom of God on earth that led some Jews to turn away from their (creator) god, denigrating him as an inferior and imperfect deity. This hypothesis has both merit and flaws, but this essay is not the place for a full examination of it.9 6 Different traditions within gnosticism had different views of the creator god. The Sethian tradition, to which Apoc. Adam belongs, had a more critical view than did the Valentinian tradition, to which Apoc. Paul probably belongs. 7 My provisional definition is derived from Michael Williams’s “biblical demiurgical” category, which he proposes as a means of classification that that could be used to avoid the ambiguities and bias inherent in the term “gnosticism.” This category “would include all sources that made a distinction between the creator(s) and controllers of the material world and the most transcendent divine being, and that in so doing made use of Jewish or Christian scriptural traditions” (Rethinking “Gnosticism”: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category [Princeton, N. J. 1996], 265). 8 See C.-A. Keller, “Das Problem des Bösen in Apokalyptik und Gnostik,” in Gnosis and Gnosticism: Papers Read at the Seventh International Conference on Patristic Studies (Oxford, September 8th–13th 1975) (ed. M. Krause; NHS 8; Leiden 1977), 70–90 at 70–72, for a good presentation of the similarities. See also H. Attridge, “Valentinian and Sethian Apocalyptic Traditions,” JECS 8 (2000): 173–211, and B. Pearson, “From Jewish Apocalypticism to Gnosis,” in The Nag Hammadi Texts in the History of Religions: Proceedings of the International Conference at the Royal Academy of Sciences and Letters in Copenhagen, September 19–24, 1995 (ed. S. Giversen et al.; Historisk-filosofiske Skrifter 26; Copenhagen 2002), 146–63. 9 See C. B. Smith II, No Longer Jews: The Search for Gnostic Origins (Peabody, Mass. 2004),

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For the present, it will suffice to note that the above-mentioned hypothesis deals with the origins of gnosticism. Whatever the inspiration of the first generation of gnostics, it is clear that later generations of gnostic thinkers and writers, to whom we are indebted for the majority (if not all) of the preserved gnostic works, were not frustrated Jewish apocalypticists. In these cases, it is more likely that similarities between their writings and apocalyptic literature are due to the general status, in both gnostic and proto-orthodox circles alike, of apocalyptic literature as containing authoritative revelations about the esoteric truths of things, and the gnostic fascination with the precise nature of creation, especially its supraterrestrial levels. Apocalypses were accepted means of expressing the sort of speculative concerns that motivated gnostic authors, and therefore one can very easily understand how they came to be influential. However, the mainstream apocalyptic works, whether Jewish or Christian in origin, present the figure of the god responsible for this world as being identical to the highest god, and show reverence for this figure. This god is essential to the structure and coherence of apocalyptic works. He plays a vital role in advancing the story and providing it with a telos, and the concept of him as the highest, best possible, and only real deity is a crucial, underlying element of apocalyptic narratives, apocalyptic concerns, and also apocalyptic systems of evaluation. An ultimate, and ultimately good, god of this world is coded at many levels into the generic structure of apocalyptic literature. This coding creates problems when apocalyptic structures or materials are picked up by gnostic authors, whose works manifest a devaluation of this god. In these cases, many of the apocalyptic conventions can be taken no longer at face value; rather, they must be reinterpreted. This sort of reinterpretation, however, necessarily must be radical, given the great difference between gnostic and (non-gnostic) apocalyptic views. The contrast between the points of view of the authors of such apocalyptically-influenced gnostic writings and the point of view implied by the very genre of the works on which they draw could be compared to the contrast between the surface meaning and the real authorial meaning of an ironic work.

4. The Apocalypse of Adam In terms of identifying and discussing the ironic implications of the combination of apocalyptic and gnostic theological premises, a key article was published in 1977 by Pheme Perkins.10 The article deals with Apoc. Adam, the fifth and last text ch. 2, for a convenient summary of theories that attempt to locate the origins of gnosticism in first‑ or early second-century Jewish thought. 10 P. Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam: The Genre and Function of a Gnostic Apocalypse,” CBQ 39 (1977): 382–95.

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in Nag Hammadi Codex V.11 Apoc. Adam is written in the form of a testament delivered from Adam to Seth, shortly before Adam’s death. In it, Adam reveals that he and Eve were originally of a higher status than the god that created them and that they originally possessed gnosis, the knowledge of their true origins. However, through the creator god’s jealousy they lost this status and in fact also lost the memory of their former glory and gnosis. This memory was reawakened through a revelation provided by three mysterious beings, who also revealed to Adam the course of history to come, and the struggles and ultimate vindication of the gnostic race, who will be Seth’s descendants. In her article, Perkins argues that Apoc. Adam “is dependent upon Jewish apocalyptic traditions. We suggest that the literary genre of the work presupposes familiarity with Jewish apocalyptic testaments and judgement scenes.”12 She identifies four formal features linking it to apocalyptic testament literature: the presence of an introduction putting the revelation at the end of Adam’s life; the fact that “the mode of revelation invokes a vision mediated by angelic beings”; the presence of a “historical survey [that is] divided according to a scheme developed in Jewish traditions”; and “the concluding judgement scene [that] reverses the fate of righteous and wicked.”13 Perkins argues that these generic signals would lead a reader of Apoc. Adam to “expect a biography of the patriarch; exhortation to his descendants, and prediction of their future,” with this prediction potentially extending to “description of the end of the world; the final destiny of the righteous and the destruction of evil,” all of which are provided, in one form or another.14 While Apoc. Adam contains numerous generic elements,15 the way these elements have been modified so as to fit into a gnostic context creates an ironic 11 For details and discussion of the salient issues, see especially C. W. Hedrick, The Apocalypse of Adam: A Literary and Source Analysis (SBLDS 46; Chico, Calif. 1980), and F. Morard, L’Apo­ calypse d’Adam (NH V,5) (BCNH, Textes 15; Québec 1985). 12 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 383. G. W. E. Nickelsburg (“Some Related Traditions in the Apocalypse of Adam, the Books of Adam and Eve, and 1 Enoch,” in The Rediscovery of Gnosticism: Proceedings of the Conference at Yale, March 1978, vol. 2: Sethian Gnosticism [ed. B. Layton; SHR 41; Leiden 1981], 515–39) develops this assessment, linking Apoc. Adam to the Enoch tradition and the Life of Adam and Eve: “Our investigation of ApocAd has revealed substantial similarities between the apocalypse in ApocAd and the [Enochic] Apocalypse of Weeks … I suggest the following as an hypothesis. Both Adam and Eve 29:2–10; 49–50 and the apocalypse in ApocAd stem from a common tradition, an apocalyptic testament of Adam which was influenced by the Apocalypse of Weeks and perhaps other Enochic traditions” (537). 13 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 385. Perkins’ classification is based on the analysis of testament material by K. Baltzer, “The Covenant Formulary as a ‘Testament’,” in K. Balzer, The Covenant Formulary in Old Testament, Jewish, and Early Christian Writings (trans. D. E. Green; Oxford 1971), 137–75. 14 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 385. 15 Perkins notes that “an author need not use all traits of a genre in a given work. If the genre conventions are well-established, he may invoke a genre by alluding to a few well-known features of the genre – a procedure followed in Apoc. Adam” (“Apocalypse of Adam,” 384 n. 7).

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tension between the genre of the text and its actual contents. Perkins notes that “once we have identified the genre of the work, we must ask what implications such an identification has for the interpretation of particular features within it.”16 Her article shows that, in fact, the author of Apoc. Adam is consistently engaged in undercutting or subverting the expectations of the genre in which she works, particularly as they relate to the figure and status of the creator god. Although I do not have the space here to go into all the ways this text plays with the characteristics of its genre, I would like to present some of the features that Perkins brings out. Apoc. Adam begins with what is clearly reminiscent of “a formal introduction to testaments”17 such as one finds in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: “The revelation that Adam made known to his son Seth in the seven hundredth year, saying, ‘Hear my words, my son Seth …’.”18 Such an introduction would have cued the reader to expect, as mentioned above, “a biography of the patriarch.” And in this context, such a biography has to do with more than just the events of the subject’s life. Baltzer notes that, “it does not suffice to say that the patriarchs recount their lives as examples of virtue and as warnings against their vices. They are also and above all exemplary in their relationship with God.”19 The biographical elements are intended to make a point about the protagonist’s trust in, and service of, God. This, then, is what the reader would expect. What the reader gets is a tale of how Eve taught Adam about their original great glory, a glory that made them superior even to the creator god and his angels, and how they lost that glory through the jealousy of the creator god. In its form, this section takes a literary convention associated with praise of the creator god and turns it into a critique, while in its content, this section caustically rewrites the Genesis story, particularly its portrayal of Eve. Because of the creator god’s jealousy, Adam loses his gnosis, and “sleeps” in “the thought of his heart.” He is awakened from this metaphorical sleep and given the revelation, which he later passes on to Seth, by three beings, in a scene that Perkins describes as being formally linked to Jewish apocalyptic literature.20 But while the description of Adam’s “sleeping” state, the three mysterious beings, and the fact that they have descended from the heavens to grant him a revelation, would lead a reader to expect that these three beings were angelic and that their revelation had to do with the unfolding of God’s plan for the world, in fact the opposite is true. These beings are emissaries from a power that is opposed to the creator god, their visit provokes the creator god’s jealousy, and their predictions 16 Perkins,

“Apocalypse of Adam,” 384. “Apocalypse of Adam,” 385. 18 All translations of Apoc. Adam are mine, based on the Coptic edition of Morard, L’Apo­ calypse d’Adam. 19 Balzer, “The Covenant Formulary,” 145. 20 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 386. 17 Perkins,

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have to do with the creator god’s ultimately impotent aggression against those who possess the true gnosis. Again, the apocalyptic form has been retained but undermined through its radically revisionary content. The revelation that Adam receives from the three beings has to do with the periodic catastrophes that will be visited upon the world – a familiar enough apocalyptic theme. But these catastrophes – the flood and the destruction by fire of Sodom and Gomorrah are mentioned – are not the result of god’s righteous anger at human iniquity, as one would expect. Rather, they are caused by the creator god’s jealous, insecure, and ultimately vain desire to wipe out those who have gnosis. Furthermore, in both these catastrophes the gnostics are saved by the powers that oppose the creator god, not by the creator god or his agents. A motif used in apocalyptic literature to show the creator god’s power and righteousness has been inverted to reveal instead his weakness and envy. Perkins also points out that the role of the gnostics in the flood scene in Apoc. Adam is quite similar to that of the Watchers in Jubilees 10. Both Watchers and gnostics disappear during the flood and reappear after it to tempt Noah’s children. But in Apoc. Adam, the gnostics are good and their temptations are inducements to a better way of life, inducements that are enormously successful, much to the creator god’s dismay. By contrast, faithful service to the creator god, such as Noah offers, is “characterized as fear and slavery. A covenant with such a god would be to no one’s advantage.”21 Finally, Apoc. Adam presents a judgement scene, which is to take place in the end-times. In the traditional form of such scenes, “the righteous person, who had been persecuted in this life, sees the tables turned. Seeing his exaltation, the wicked confess their error.”22 The motif of judgement scenes was “developed to vindicate those who had suffered for their allegiance to Yahweh.”23 Perkins, using the model developed by George Nickelsburg for the analysis of such scenes,24 shows that this section of Apoc. Adam is clearly constructed according to the norms for this motif. However, in this case the vindicated righteous ones are the gnostics, those whom the creator god has been attempting to destroy. It is they who reap the rewards of their perseverance, and who are “destined for eternal life,”25 despite the creator god’s best efforts. As Perkins states, the final irony of the work, thus, is its appropriation of a literary genre which had been developed to vindicate those who suffered for their allegiance to Yahweh. The scene no longer leads to the blessing of Yahweh through the vindication of his righteous but to the blessing of his enemies.26 21 Perkins,

“Apocalypse of Adam,” 393. “Apocalypse of Adam,” 390. 23 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 390. 24  See G. E. W.  Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (HTS 26; Cambridge, Mass. 1972), 48–92. 25 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 390. 26 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 390. 22 Perkins,

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According to Perkins’s analysis, then, in Apoc. Adam “ ‘salvation history’ becomes a chronicle of attempts by this god to destroy those who will not serve him. He could be said to do the same in Jewish works, of course, but, here, his ire is vented against the heroes of the tale, the seed of Seth.”27 Perkins sums up by arguing that, this consistent use of literary patterns developed in intertestamental Jewish literature … clearly suggests that Apoc. Adam must be read in that context. The author has taken over the format of a testament of Adam and reversed the roles and values of the main characters so that Adam, in the end, reveals the futility of serving the god of Israel.28

And furthermore, “the work expects its audience to be familiar enough with such literature to catch the inversions and perversions of it that occur in the text.”29 Thus she concludes that Apoc. Adam is “an ironic work whose effect depends on the reader’s ability to perceive the incongruity between what is said on the literal level or what is implied by the genre in which the whole is cast and what is actually going on.”30 Perkins is supported in this conclusion by the later work of Birger Pearson, who notes that “the essential point here, therefore, is that Apoc. Adam is from beginning to end a Gnostic text in which the numerous Jewish traditions it inherits, including even the genre itself (apocalyptic testament) are thoroughly reinterpreted in the interests of a higher gnosis. With consummate irony our author sets forth the ‘real truth’.”31

5. The Apocalypse of Paul Apoc. Paul (the second text in Nag Hammadi Codex V) is a short writing, consisting of just over 200 lines.32 Inspired by 2 Cor 12:2–4 and Gal 1:13–17, among other Pauline sources, it tells of the apostle Paul’s revelation. Paul, lost on a mountainside while on his way to Jerusalem to meet the twelve apostles, encounters a holy spirit in the form of a child. This spirit greets him, informs him that he is one of the elect spirits, and takes him up into the heavens. They travel up to the tenth heaven together, on the way witnessing such stereotypically apocalyptic sights as a scene of judgement in the fourth heaven (20.5–21.22); souls being rounded up by angels in the fifth heaven (22.2–12); a great light and 27 Perkins,

“Apocalypse of Adam,” 394. “Apocalypse of Adam,” 394. 29 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 394. 30 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 394. 31 B. Pearson, “The Problem of ‘Jewish Gnostic’ Literature,” in Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism, and Early Christianity (ed. C. W. Hedrick and R. Hodgson Jr.; Peabody, Mass. 1986), 15–35 at 31(italics mine). 32 Text and translation in J.-M. Rosenstiehl and M. Kaler, L’Apocalypse de Paul (NH V,2) (BCNH, Textes 31; Québec and Leuven 2005). 28 Perkins,

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a threat to their passage in the sixth heaven (22.17–24); and a figure similar to the one found in Dan 7 in the seventh heaven – an old man who is identified as the creator of the cosmos33 and who tries to bar their way (22.25–23.28). But they win through, and in the eighth through tenth heavens they are greeted by the apostles and other beings. Apoc. Paul is an ascension apocalypse, and it is clearly the work of an author who is familiar with this genre of writings. It is an extremely laconic text, usually only sketching out the various incidents that it contains, going into just enough detail to enable its readers to recognize the apocalyptic clichés evoked.34 These clichés include the use of a religious figure of old (Paul) as a protagonist; his rise through the heavens in the company of an angelic figure; the division of the higher realms into clearly defined levels of heavens; a scene presenting the judgement of a guilty soul; a scene where angels harry and pursue souls; a guardian in the penultimate heaven barring the way to God’s abode; the figure of God as an old man in the ultimate heaven, shining and white; and the receipt or revelation of a mission that the protagonist is to undertake upon his return to earth. Indeed, the amount of evocative apocalyptic material that Apoc. Paul manages to fit into its seven brief pages is quite impressive. However, the author of this text, like the author of Apoc. Adam, is intent on creating a gnostic tale, and she has worked with the apocalyptic clichés that she takes up so as to serve this end. For example, rather than Paul being raised up by an angel, one of the creator god’s servants, the spirit who raises him is shown to be superior not just to the angels, but to the creator god himself, and at one point explicitly critiques the angels and the way that they keep humans subject to them (19.1–10). The trial scene in the fourth heaven, clearly indebted to the Testament of Abraham,35 is presented as a mockery of divine justice, the soul in question having been deliberately led into sinful behaviour through the promptings of angels – see the testimonies of the witnesses in 20.25–21.14. In fact, the author 33 The

cosmos is described as “his creation” (23.27).

34 J. Stevenson (“Ascent Through the Heavens from Egypt to Ireland,” Cambridge Celtic Medi-

eval Studies 5 [1983]: 21–35 at 30) has well noted that due to its “lack of detail … the Nag Hammadi Apocalypse gives an outline for a striking and impressive story without itself being one.” 35 G. MacRae (“The Judgement Scene in the Coptic Apocalypse of Paul,” in Studies on the Testament of Abraham [ed. G. E. W. Nickelsburg; SBLSCS 6; Missoula, Mont. 1976], 285–88 at 285–86) notes that Apoc. Paul’s judgment scene “offers an interesting parallel to that in the Testament of Abraham, more specifically the Coptic version of the shorter recension … Almost certainly the scene in the fourth heaven depends on the judgment scene in T Abr or on a source common to both works, for it mentions details … found in T Abr which have no functional significance in the Apocalypse [of Paul]. Among the main points of contact between the two … are the following: the role of the angels, the whipping of the soul, the singling out of one soul, the soul’s protest, the mention of the book, three witnesses who speak in turn, the charge of murder, the mention of night by the third witness, the casting down of the soul. In both scenes there is a tendency to assign a time to the witnesses, though the times do not coincide. The divine judge of the T Abr is replaced by the toll-collector of the fourth heaven.”

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of Apoc. Paul takes pains to show how divine pseudo-justice works to keep humans trapped under the dominion of the angels and the creator god by having the tempters themselves come forward in order to testify against the soul, and to be revealed as agents of the heavenly court. Having shown how the soul was entrapped, it is then found guilty and cast back down into a body (21.18–21). When, in the seventh heaven scene, Paul encounters the creator god, the god is no awe-inspiring figure. Rather, he is shown as a threatening but ultimately ineffectual old man. Instead of revealing the secrets of the cosmos, the old man is reduced to begging Paul for information. And instead of giving Paul a holy mission that he is to carry out, as would be expected in a traditional ascension apocalypse, the creator god must listen as Paul himself declares the nature of his future mission (23.13–17). Furthermore, after Paul has delivered the details of this mission, he continues on up, to even higher realms than those of the creator god, rather than descending back down to earth. Not only is the creator god unable to prevent Paul’s further ascent, he cannot even look into those realms. Our last view of this figure has him turning his face downwards, “to his creation” and to “those who were his, the Authorities” (23.26–28). In all of these cases, the apocalyptic clichés are clearly invoked and just as clearly inverted or treated with extreme irony, so as to create a meta-textual effect that plays on the reader’s presumed knowledge of the apocalyptic genre to underscore a deliberately shocking devaluation of the creator god and his works. The author of Apoc. Paul, like the author of Apoc. Adam, has turned apocalyptic conventions against themselves, using the genre of her tale as another tool in conveying her message.

6. Other examples I have argued thus far that, in at least two gnostic apocalypses, there are signs that their authors deliberately worked with, in fact subverted, the characteristics of the apocalyptic genre, so as to use that genre and its clichés as a communicative tool. The disparity between the expectations that the apocalyptic genre would have aroused in readers, and the actual message conveyed by the texts, serves to highlight that message, one that was antithetical to mainstream Jewish and Christian beliefs. Although in this essay I have been concerned mainly with Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam, I would like to point out that interpretive hypotheses similar to those of Perkins and myself have been advanced with regard to other texts. In an important article published in 1987, Madeleine Scopello divides the Nag Hammadi apocalypses into two categories: “apocalypses philosophiques” and “contes apocalyptiques.”36 Both types focus on revelation, but while the former 36 M. Scopello,

“Contes apocalyptiques et apocalypses philosophiques dans la bibliothèque

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(such as Allogenes and Zostrianos) draw on Platonic and Neoplatonic thought, the latter (such as the two Apocalypses of James found in codex V) are indebted to Jewish and Christian apocalyptic traditions. Scopello argues that these contes apocalyptiques, of which she singles out Apoc. Paul as being particularly illustrative, borrow the idea and the conventions of the voyage into heaven from Jewish texts in order to express their own beliefs about the liberation of the soul from the universe, clothing it in a colourful and appealing narrative form. She writes, Issus de milieux gnostiques proches du judaïsme et du christianisme, les contes apocalyptiques visaient un public qu’ils étaient susceptibles de séduire par la nouveauté du message gnostique. Ce message était revêtu d’éléments culturels empruntés aux deux grandes religions du livre.37

According to Scopello, then, these contes apocalyptiques are not just attempts by their authors to write apocalyptic tales, following the rules of a well-established genre. Rather, they are attempts to hijack that genre by using it as an element in the narrative. The apocalyptic nature of the tale moves from being an aspect of its structure, or form, to being an aspect of its content, and thus it becomes something to be manipulated following the exigencies of the real structural imperative behind the tale. The tendencies that we have examined in two specific texts, Scopello argues, are found throughout the contes apocalyptiques of the Nag Hammadi codices. And in fact, they are not found just among the contes apocalyptiques, either. David Frankfurter has examined two texts from among the apocalypses philosophiques categorized by Scopello, namely Allogenes and Zostrianos, and has come to similar, if more understated, results. With regard to Zostrianos, a long but badly damaged tale of one Zostrianos’ journey through the various heavens, Frankfurter notes that, “while the heavenly revelation itself is Gnostic, the stages of the ascent were evidently meant to evoke the readers’ or audiences’ respect for traditional Jewish apocalyptic narratives.”38 With regard to Allogenes, an account by a figure named Allogenes of divine revelations that he has received, Frankfurter remarks that “the genre apocalypse has been reappropriated and subordinated to the broader Gnostic ideology.”39 There is also some evidence that this manipulation of the apocalyptic genre extends beyond the boundaries of gnosticism. Patrick Tiller has written a very

de Nag Hammadi,” in Apocalypses et voyages dans l’au-delà (ed. C. Kappler et al.; Paris 1987), 321–50. 37 Scopello, “Contes apocalyptiques,” 339. 38 D. Frankfurter, “The Legacy of Jewish Apocalypses in Early Christianity: Regional Trajectories,” in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (ed. J. VanderKam and W. Adler; CRINT 3.4; Assen and Minneapolis 1996), 129–200 at 158–59. 39 Frankfurter, “The Legacy of Jewish Apocalypses,” 160.

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interesting article that deserves mention in this context.40 Tiller’s article concerns 4 Ezra, a.k.a. 2 Esdras, which, in the Latin form we have it, is a Christianized version of a Jewish apocalypse probably composed ca. 100 c.e.,41 and quoted by Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 3.16). Tiller writes, The genre of the work is clearly that of apocalypse. It is a narrative about visionary revelations of future and heavenly realities delivered or interpreted in part by the angel Uriel … It includes a symbolic, visionary review of history.42

It details the visionary career of Ezra, and the seven revelations that are granted to him by the angel Uriel. These revelations have to do with such typical apocalyptic subjects as the eschaton, the duration of the present age, and the divine judgment that is to come. However, as Tiller argues vividly, “although 4 Ezra is undoubtedly an apocalypse in form, its apocalyptic heart has been torn out.”43 While the purpose of other apocalyptic texts is to enable their readers to see things from a “transcendent perspective gained by heavenly visions and angelic guides,”44 and thus to understand the world and perceive the divine sense of history, the author of 4 Ezra believes that “heavenly knowledge is inaccessible to human beings. He explicitly denies the possibility that humans can know the sorts of things that other apocalypses make a point of revealing.”45 Citing Michael Stone’s well-known discussion of the lists of revealed things that one frequently finds in apocalypses,46 Tiller points out that, while 4 Ezra does indeed contain such a list, and the list does seem to be indebted to traditional sources, nonetheless there is a profound difference between 4 Ezra and other apocalypses in this regard. For its author, the items found in the list are not things that are to be revealed; rather, they are things which cannot and will not be known by humans. 4 Ezra’s use of this motif represents “a self-conscious rejection of the typical apocalyptic use.”47 Tiller also notes that, while in other apocalypses historical reviews function to “explain the significance of past events,” so as to make the past meaningful and comprehensible to the readers of the apocalypse, by contrast 4 Ezra asserts “that it is impossible to understand the meaning of the past or the reasons for God’s actions,” and for its contemporary readers “there is 40 P. Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” in For A Later Generation: The Transformation of Tradition in Israel, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity (ed. R. Argall et al.; Harrisburg, Pa. 2000), 258–65. 41 See discussion in M. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis 1990), 9–10. 42 Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 259. 43 Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 260. 44 Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 260. 45 Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 261–63. 46 M. Stone, “List of Revealed Things in the Apocalyptic Literature,” in Magnalia Dei, the Mighty Acts of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright (ed. F. M. Cross et al.; New York 1976), 414–52. 47 Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 262.

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no attempt to make sense of the present predicament, only assurance that it will soon be over.”48 Earlier, Stone had described 4 Ezra as “a denial … of the availability of certain types of special knowledge, a denial therefore of a specific part of apocalyptic tradition.”49 Tiller, however, goes further. In its strong affirmation of the limits of human knowledge, and in its refusal to give history a transcendent significance,50 Tiller argues, 4 Ezra uses “the form of apocalypse” in order “to deny the possibility of apocalypse.”51 Thus, although 4 Ezra is certainly not a gnostic text, according to Tiller its author can be seen as being engaged in the same sort of activity as the authors of Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam. They all turn the apocalyptic form against itself, using it as a means to communicate an anti-apocalyptic message. In short, it seems that this sort of genre manipulation is not just a peculiarity of two apocalypses from Nag Hammadi Codex V, but something characteristic of many other apocalyptic works as well. As it turns out, it is found in Greek and Roman poetry as well.

7. Genre manipulation in Greek and Roman poetry In 1972, Francis Cairns published his Generic Composition in Greek and Roman Poetry.52 His goal was to “to suggest an approach,” namely genre-criticism, “whereby the subject-matter of ancient literature may be better understood.”53 He argues that “for the purposes of analysis every genre can be thought of as having a set of primary or logically necessary elements which in combination distinguish that genre from every other genre,” and also “secondary elements (topoi),” which are “the commonplaces which recur in different forms in different examples of the same genre.”54 Cairns argues that it is crucial for the reader of ancient works to think about questions of genre: “These writings assume in the reader a knowledge of the circumstances and content of the particular genre to which they belong.”55 Without being attentive to such issues, one cannot understand 48 Tiller,

“Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 264. “List of Revealed Things in the Apocalyptic Literature,” 420. 50 Tiller writes that, while in the fifth vision of the eagle one does find “visionary review of a brief but of Roman history,” nonetheless “there is no attempt to explain the meaning of history … there is no attempt to make sense of the present predicament, only assurance that it will soon be over.” Other apocalypses feature ex eventu prophecy, and “in those cases the purpose is not only to establish the competence of the pseudepigraphic seer, but also to explain the significance of past events. But 4 Ezra knows of no such significance” (“Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 264). 51 Tiller, “Anti-Apocalyptic Apocalypse,” 263. 52 F. Cairns, Generic Composition in Greek and Roman Poetry (Edinburgh 1972). 53 Cairns, Generic Composition, 6. 54 Cairns, Generic Composition, 6. 55 Cairns, Generic Composition, 6. 49 Stone,

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the ways ancient authors worked with the expectations that their genres would arouse in their readers. In addition to discussing the generic divisions made of poetic works in antiquity,56 Cairns identifies ways authors expressed or worked with the genre of their works. One of these ways, particularly applicable in the present context, is called inversion. Every [Hellenistic] genre has a ‘function,’ which is often to convey a communication of a certain character. For example, propemptikon has the function of bidding an affectionate and encouraging farewell … Inversion takes place when, in an example of a genre, a normal function of the genre is replaced by a diametrically opposed function, while at the same time the generic identity of that example remains clear.57

These inversions are not a novelty; rather, they are “built into the foundations of ancient rhetorical theory.” For example, “each of the three divisions of oratory is further divided into two parts: dicanic into accusation and defence, symbouleutic into protreptic and apotreptic, epideictic into encomium and vituperation; and each of these subdivisions is the ‘inversion’ of the other.”58 Cairns gives many examples of such inversions.59 In the present context I will focus on his discussion of Ovid’s Tristia 3.13,60 an example of genethliakon (celebration of a birthday). Cairns describes this as “an easy but instructive example of inversion … The normal function of the genethliakon is to welcome the birthday in a manner which compliments the person whose birthday it is,” and works in this genre can describe the celebrant as wearing fine clothes, wreathing altars with flowers, “offering incense and uttering words of good omen.”61 But, rather than celebrating, “Ovid, in exile at Tomis, expresses the unpleasantness of his situation and way of life by a conspicuous failure to show welcoming pleasure at the coming of his own birthday.”62 Ovid writes, Look, my birthday has come round again, for no purpose – for what good to me was my birth? Cruel birthday, why have you come to add to an exile’s wretched years? You ought to have brought an end to them … I suppose you expect the honour customarily paid to you  – a white garment hanging from my shoulders, the smoking altar decked with 56 Cairns notes that, “I have confined myself to poetic examples for reasons of space, although generic considerations are equally applicable to ancient prose” (Generic Composition, preface). 57 Cairns, Generic Composition, 129–30. 58 Cairns, Generic Composition, 130. 59 His discussion of the propemptikon is mentioned above; an inversion of the epibaterion, “the speech which a traveller makes on arrival either at his home or at some other place” is discussed p. 60; examples of the inversion of syntaktika (“the farewell of a departing traveller,” 38) are found pp. 47–48; and so on. 60 The Tristia are a collection of elegies written 8–16 c.e. by Ovid during his exile from Rome, lamenting his exile and as a means of conducting his “campaign of psychological warfare – for it was nothing less – against Augustus,” who had exiled him (E. J. Kenney and A. D. Melville, Ovid: Sorrows of an Exile [Oxford 1972], xix). 61 Cairns, Generic Composition, 135–36. 62 Cairns, Generic Composition, 136.

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flowers … I am not in such a situation nor are the times such for me that I can be joyful at your approach. An altar of death surrounded by funereal cypress suits my state, and a flame ready for the heaped pyre …63

In this work, as Cairns shows, Ovid deliberately negates “all the common-place components of birthday celebrations,” undermining the characteristics of the genre of his poem. Cairns notes that “the effect of inverting the genethliakon in this manner is almost blasphemous. The inversion amounts to a complete assault on the religious concepts and ceremonies underlying ancient birthdays,”64 through the use and subversion of a literary genre meant to honour them. This is strikingly similar to what the authors of Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam are doing through their use of apocalyptic works. Cairns’s work deals only with poetic genres, and focuses on Roman Hellenistic and pre-Hellenistic pagan authors, so we cannot be sure to what degree his conclusions would be applicable to authors working outside of that literary sphere. However, his analysis shows that the sort of subversion or inversion of genre that has been identified in this essay was conceptually possible in a Greco-Roman literary environment. The works of Cairns, Tiller, Frankfurter, and Scopello make it clear that the sort of thinking that we have seen in the gnostic apocalypses was not entirely alien to Hellenistic culture.

8. Generic development Granted that this use of genre itself as a compositional and meaning-providing element in literature did in fact take place in antiquity, the theoretical work of Alistair Fowler can be used to illuminate what is actually going on in such works as Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam. It is generally acknowledged that genre has to do with more than just classification. Knowledge of generic forms is important as well for the interpretation of given works. The recognition of a work’s genre arouses in the reader certain expectations about the work. These expectations have to do with the work’s content, its structure, its characters, its tone, and its presuppositions. Genre gives a work meaning and guides one’s interpretation of that work; and so, the identification of a work’s genre helps us to understand the author’s conception, as well as the effect that he or she hoped to produce on his or her readers. Eric Hirsch has noted that, Quite aside from the speaker’s choice of words, and, even more remarkably, quite aside from the context in which the utterance occurs, the details of meaning that an interpreter understands are powerfully determined and constituted by his meaning expectations. And 63 Trans.

Cairns, Generic Composition, 267–68. Generic Composition, 136.

64 Cairns,

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these expectations arise from the interpreter’s conception of the type of meaning that is being expressed.65

He adds, Consequently, types of meaning are always necessarily wedded to types of usage, and this entire, complex system of shared experiences, usage traits, and meaning expectations which the speaker relies on is the generic conception which controls his utterances.66

John Frow argues similarly that genre’s “structuring effects are productive of meaning; they shape and guide, in the way that a builder’s form gives shape to a pour of concrete. Generic structure both enables and restricts meaning, and is a basic condition for meaning to take place.”67 As Alistair Fowler puts it, “genres have to do with identifying and communicating rather than defining and classifying … When we try to decide the genre of a work, then, our aim is to discover its meaning.”68 He also notes that “far from inhibiting the author, genres are a positive support. They offer room, as one might say, for him to write in – a habitation of mediated definiteness; a proportioned mental space; a literary matrix by which to order his experience during composition.”69 But not only does genre define a literary context for the author, it can also inspire him or her to move beyond prior contexts: “Genre also offers a challenge by provoking a free spirit to transcend the limitations of previous examples.”70 However, in order to really understand and interpret an author’s activity, it is necessary to work with a more nuanced understanding of genre – and the ways genre can be manipulated – than is often done. Fowler notes that hitherto, “the main concept of generic development has rested on a distinction between degrees of literariness. Two stages of art have been analyzed, variously called primitive and artificial, simple and sophisticated, naïve and sentimental, primary and secondary.”71 Fowler points out that this distinction goes back to Friedrich Schiller’s Über naive und sentimentalische Dichtung (1795–1796),72 in which Schiller established a contrast between “natural,” naïve, or primary art and reflexive or secondary art, made by one who is separated from nature. Fowler argues that this distinction is good so far as it goes, but that it still needs work, for the secondary form is too wide: “Within the secondary phase itself, Validity in Interpretation (New Haven, Conn. 1967), 72. Validity in Interpretation, 80. 67 J. Frow, Genre (The New Critical Idiom; London 2005), 10. 68 A. Fowler, Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes (Oxford 1982), 38. 69 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 31. 70 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 31. 71 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 160. 72 Available in English translation as Naïve and Sentimental Poetry and On the Sublime: Two Essays (ed. and trans. J. Elias; New York 1966). 65 E. Hirsch, 66 Hirsch,

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however, there are wide disparities – wider, in some ways, than between primary and secondary.”73 Given this, “we need to distinguish a tertiary stage. This is reached when a writer takes up a kind already secondary, and applies it in quite a new way. The tertiary form may be a symbolic reinterpretation of the secondary.”74 Fowler noted that “tertiary development seems often to interiorize the earlier kind,”75 in that earlier motifs often become symbols. It is also characteristic of the tertiary phase that it should be informed by interpretation of generic features … the tertiary takes individual conventions as material for symbolic developments that presuppose allegorical, psychological or other interpretations of them … Possible symbolisms are always being hinted at.76

Fowler’s tripartite division shares the weakness of the bipartite division that it is intended to replace, namely the fact that works of art do not come out of nowhere, and the idea of a pure, naïve, or “primary” work of art is more appropriately found in works of pastoral fiction or punk rock manifestos than in criticism.77 Despite this weakness of the primary level, there is still merit to Fowler’s analysis of the secondary and tertiary levels, both of which involve a certain degree of self-consciousness. Working either of these levels involves the recognition on the author’s part that a group of characteristic elements of a certain type of story have become reified to the point that they now constitute a genre. The difference between the secondary and tertiary levels comes in with the question of what the author decides to do with this generic consciousness. Is his or her intention to create another work of that genre (Fowler’s secondary level), or is it rather to use the genre as a tool in the overall message of his or her work (Fowler’s tertiary level)?78 One can see authors working on the secondary level in the later Jewish and (particularly) in the Christian or Christianized apocalypses, as later writers take 73 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 162. This criticism also applies, speaking strictly of apocalyptic texts, to Keller’s division of the apocalyptic literature into “vulgar” and “literary” works: “Ich unterscheide zwischen den älteren ‘Vulgärapokalypsen’, die ich vor allem in äth. Henoch vertreten sehe, und den jüngeren ‘literarischen’ Apokalypsen, als welche ich vor allem syr. Baruch und 4 Esra beurteile. Die letzteren Werke sind, im Gegensatz an äth. Henoch, theologisch und philosophisch bewusst konzipiert und literarisch in kunstvoller Weise durchkomponiert. Während m. E. die ältere Apokalyptik aus ‘apokalyptischen’ Bewegungen stammt, sind die ‘literarischen’ Apokalypsen Werke von schöpferischen Einzelpersönlichkeiten” (“Das Problem des Bösen,” 80 n. 19). 74 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 162. 75 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 163. 76 Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 163. 77 The distinction works better as a description of the style of the work of art and the circumstances of its delivery, rather than an extrapolation of the artist’s naiveté or lack of same. C. S. Lewis’s use of it in his A Preface to Paradise Lost (Oxford 1942) is noteworthy in this regard. 78 Although they are presented for simplicity’s sake as two alternatives, these two possibilities ought properly to be seen as two poles of a continuum.

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up a time-honoured tradition, retaining the apocalyptic form and premises, but creating new works to meet the needs of new situations. 3 Baruch has been identified as a particularly evident example of this secondary development in terms of form. This work, extant in Greek and Slavonic versions, tells how Baruch, the scribe of Jeremiah, lamenting over the destruction of Jerusalem, is visited by an angel, who takes him on a tour of five heavens. Although the work is far from uninteresting, especially with regard to its angelology and its description of the contents of the heavens, it cannot be denied that formally it stays comfortably within the bounds of the ascension apocalypse genre, not challenging or inverting that genre. Michael Mach speaks of its “pro forma” adoption of stereotypical apocalyptic elements: 3 Baruch is using all these [stereotypical apocalyptic] elements quite technically: Ezekiel, Daniel and Enoch gained their visions by the side of a river [and therefore so does Baruch]; Isaiah, Daniel and Enoch had a clear relation to the temple [and therefore so does Baruch]. All of this is taken up, but briefly and without emphasis. In other words, the heavenly journey has become a topic of religious literature that serves to narrate some kind of revelation.79

David Frankfurter likewise describes it as a “rather formulaic description of heavenly ascent.”80 By contrast, writers working on Fowler’s tertiary level make use of the genre as defined by the primary and secondary levels. They are not merely creating new works that fit into a given genre, as for example the author of 3 Baruch seems to have been doing; rather, they use the genre to which their works belong as a communicative tool, all the while importing new meaning or significance into it. The horizon of expectations aroused in the reader by the given genre is taken for granted and utilized. In a sense, one could say that the work’s genre goes from being part of the medium to being part of the message. It is exactly this sort of procedure that we see taking place in Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam, in the cases of inversion identified by Cairns, and possibly also in 4 Ezra. These authors rely on the presuppositions that a reader would bring to an apocalyptic work. Their points are made partly through the ways they undermine the genre in which they write. Furthermore, this procedure could quite conceivably have effects on how their readers read other apocalypses. Once having experienced the détournement of the apocalyptic genre, a reader would be less inclined to see genre as so transparently clear a medium as he or she might have previously thought.

79 M. Mach, “From Apocalypticism to Early Jewish Mysticism?” in The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, vol. 1: The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity (ed. J. J. Collins; New York 1998), 229–64 at 253. 80 D. Frankfurter, “Early Christian Apocalypticism: Literature and Social World,” in The Encyclopaedia of Apocalypticism, 415–453 at 418.

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9. Conclusions Granted that Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam do indeed work with the presuppositions of their genre in the way that I have indicated, what conclusions can we draw from this? First of all, since these and other gnostic apocalyptic works show authors picking up and using the clichés of apocalyptic literature, we can assume, therefore, that apocalyptic works and clichés were known already as trustworthy sources of information, susceptible to being used. The definitions of the genre must have become sufficiently stabilized for the gnostic authors to play with them as they do, and for them to assume that their readership would be able to understand what they wrote. Thus the practices discussed in this essay give supplemental evidence of the existence and acceptance of an apocalyptic literary genre. Second, the presence of two such cases (Apoc. Adam and Apoc. Paul) in one codex, Nag Hammadi Codex V, also suggests (but, of course, does not prove) not only that the genres were defined enough to permit this sort of play, but furthermore that this sort of play was frequent. This suggestion is supported by the work of such scholars as Morard, Pearson, Frankfurter, and Turner, who find similar activity going on in other gnostic apocalyptic writings, and also by Tiller’s analysis of 4 Ezra. Finally, Cairns has shown that this sort of activity took place in the wider Greco-Roman sphere. It seems that such manipulations of genre were common in antiquity, and this ought to affect how we read gnostic and other works. Third, this practice with regard to literature mirrors what we know of gnostic practice with regard to mainline Christian beliefs, especially Valentinian practice. The Valentinians do not seem to have been interested in creating a new religious movement; rather, they saw themselves as enlightened, elite members of the existing Christian movement. They and other gnostics used the texts as well as the structure and contents of common Christian ritual and practice, differing from mainstream Christian practice only in terms of how they developed these shared religious features and how they interpreted them. The forms of mainstream Christian activity were preserved, but reinterpreted and restated so as to support a gnostic message, and indeed to reveal that message as being their underlying reality. In other words, gnostic practice in this regard fits in with the interpretational activity that we have seen in Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam. This sort of activity is a graphic illustration of Heather Dubrow’s comments regarding genre-play as a means by which social, literary or other conventions can be challenged or reinterpreted. However detailed the conventions associated with a literary form may be, they represent not merely an injunction to adopt certain topoi, but also an invitation to adapt those topoi

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to the aesthetic and social conditions of one’s age and the predispositions of one’s own temperament.81

Dubrow further notes that “the ‘invitation to form’ [i. e., genre] that Claudio Guillén describes often becomes, as it were, an invitation to reformulate and an invitation to reform. In other words, one motive for writing in a genre is the urge to question some of the underlying attitudes that shape that literary mode.”82 This is clearly what we see going on in such works as Apoc. Paul and Apoc. Adam, and their reformulations of apocalyptic literature also tie in with Dubrow’s point that particular uses or mutations of genre can be used to define in-groups.83 This point is confirmed in our specific case by Perkins, who notes in this regard that “finally, the ironic character of the work [Apoc. Adam] suggests that its function must be understood as re-enforcing [sic] the solidarity of hearers who are ‘in on’ the message.”84 With regard to Apoc. Paul, I have argued elsewhere that one of its purposes is to present and legitimate a two-level conception of the Christian community, dividing it into ordinary Christians and the elect, to which group its readers and author would no doubt see themselves as belonging.85 It seems, then, that such genre-play as we see in Apoc. Adam and Apoc. Paul enables a new understanding to be expressed through the medium of artfully deconstructed old forms, and enables a new community to arise out of the old, in the form of readers who understand both where the gnostic message in these texts comes from and where it is going to.

Genre (The Critical Idiom 42; London 1982), 14. Genre, 23. 83 Dubrow, Genre, 13. 84 Perkins, “Apocalypse of Adam,” 394. 85 Kaler, Flora Tells a Story, 201–24. 81 H. Dubrow, 82 Dubrow,

The Manichaean Reception of Apocryphal Traditions The Case of the “Five Limbs” Timothy Pettipiece Among the many groups of late antiquity interested in religious narratives, the Manichaeans were particularly proficient not only at facilitating the transmission of such narratives between cultures,1 but also at integrating them into their own religious discourse. Generally speaking, this process occurred in two phases. Phase one began with the movement’s third-century c.e. founder, Mani, who incorporated a wide range of pre-existing names, motifs and traditions into his own religious ideas and writings. For instance, Mani was heavily influenced by Jewish and Christian “apocryphal” traditions in the formulation of his theological vocabulary, since key Manichaean figures such as the “Father of Greatness,” the “Mother of the Living,” the “Living Spirit,” the “First Man,” “Adamas,” “Saklas,” “Nebroel,” and (as we shall see) the “Five Limbs,” can be shown to have precedents in second- / third-century c.e., apocryphal writings such as the Secret Book of John (NHC II,1; III,1; IV,1; BG 8502) or Eugnostos (NHC V,1) from Nag Hammadi, and even the recently discovered Gospel of Judas (Codex Tchacos). On a more ambitious level, Mani even produced his own Book of Giants based on similar Jewish material, some of which was discovered at Qumran – an issue that has been studied in detail by John C. Reeves.2 Such a strategy of incorporating previous religious traditions should not be surprising given the fact that Mani considered himself to be the final messenger of god sent to correct the imperfectly preserved revelations delivered to major prophets such as Zoroaster, Buddha, and especially Jesus. The fact that Mani himself grew up in the Aramaic-speaking, Jewish-Christian environment of the Elchasaites means that he would have naturally sought to privilege the traditions with which he was most familiar. After his death in a Sasanian prison circa 277 c.e., Mani’s disciples of the third and fourth centuries followed their master’s lead by incorporating additional 1 J. Asmussen, “Der Manichäismus als Vermittler literarischen Gutes,” Temenos 2 (1966): 14–21. 2 See J. C. Reeves, Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmogony: Studies in the ‘Book of Giants’ Traditions (HUCM 14; Cincinnati 1992).

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apocryphal material into the Manichaean church’s liturgical and catechetical writings. In particular, the Coptic Manichaean Psalm-Book makes prominent use of material drawn from the apocryphal acts of the apostles, such as the Acts of Paul, the Acts of Peter, the Acts of Andrew, the Acts of John, and the Acts of Thomas.3 It has even been shown, by Paul Mirecki,4 Wolf-Peter Funk,5 and Kevin Coyle,6 that Manichaeans made significant use of various logia found in the Gospel of Thomas. Similarly, the so-called Cologne Mani Codex, a hagiographical biography of Mani, incorporated Jewish apocryphal material attributed to biblical figures such as Adam, Seth(el), Enos(h), S(h)em, and Enoch (CMC 48–58) as part of a deliberately polemical rhetorical strategy,7 as well as imagery from the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch (as demonstrated by Michel Tardieu).8 Most recently, however, newly excavated personal letters from ancient Kellis (Ismant el-Kharab, Egypt), reveal traces of how apocryphal literature was used by lay members of the community when a certain Makarios instructs his son Matheos to study various texts, including one known as the Judgment of Peter.9 Moreover, the Kellis find also includes a Greek text thought to resemble the Acts of John.10 Later, through late antiquity and into the early Middle Ages, as Manichaean missionaries penetrated Central Asia, they continued to transmit apocryphal

 3 P. Nagel, “Die apokryphen Apostelakten des 2. und 3. Jahrhunderts in der manichäischen Literatur,” in Gnosis und Neues Testament (ed. K.-W. Tröger; Gütersloh 1973), 149–82; J.D. Kaestli, “L’utilisation des actes apocryphes des apôtres dans le manichéisme,” in Gnosis and Gnosticism: Papers Read at the Seventh International Conference on Patristic Studies (Oxford, September 8th–13th, 1975) (ed. M. Krause; NHS 8; Leiden 1977), 107–16; L. Leloir, “Les actes apocryphes d’André,” in Manichaica Selecta: Studies Presented to Professor Julien Ries on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. A. van Tongerloo and S. Giversen; Manichean Studies 1; Leuven 1991), 191–201.  4 P. A. Mirecki, “Coptic Manichaean Psalm 278 and Gospel of Thomas 37,” in Manichaica Selecta, 243–62.  5 W.-P. Funk, “ ‘Einer aus tausend, zwei aus zehntausend’: Zitate aus dem Thomas-Evangelium in den koptischen Manichaica,” in For the Children, Perfect Instruction: Studies in Honor of Hans-Martin Schenke on the Occasion of the Berliner Arbeitskreis für Koptisch-Gnostische Schriften’s Thirtieth Year (ed. H.-G. Bethge et al.; NHMS 54; Leiden 2002), 67–94.  6 K. Coyle, “The Gospel of Thomas among the Manichaeans?” in Colloque international “L’Évangile selon Thomas et les textes de Nag Hammadi” (Québec, 29–31 mai 2003) (ed. L. Painchaud and P.-H. Poirier; BCNH, Études 8; Québec and Leuven 2007), 75–92.  7 T. Sala, “Apocalyptic Visions – Apologetic Revisions. Rhetorical Strategies in Baraies the Teacher’s Homily on Mani’s Apostleship,” paper presented at the Sixth International Meeting of the International Association of Manichaean Studies (Flagstaff, Ariz., August 1–5, 2006).  8 M. Tardieu, “La vision de la mer aux eaux noires (CMC 77,4–79,12),” in Au Carrefour des religions. Mélanges offerts à Philippe Gignoux (ed. R. Gyselen; Res Orientales 7; Paris 1995), 303–10.  9 I. Gardner, A. Alcock and W.-P. Funk, eds., Coptic Documentary Texts from Kellis, vol. 1 (Oxford 1999). 10 G. Jenkins, “Papyrus 1 from Kellis: A Greek Text with Affinities to the Acts of John,” in The Apocryphal Acts of John (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SAAA 1; Kampen 1995), 197–216.

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traditions into various Iranian and Turkish languages,11 some fragments of which were discovered early in the twentieth century at Turfan in western China. Moreover, it even seems likely that at least some of the apocryphal traditions that found their way into the Islamic tradition got there via Manichaeans, although this is a question that deserves further study. While a number of important articles on specific uses of apocryphal literature by Manichaeans have been published over the last thirty years, no systematic attempt has been made to study the general reception not only of apocryphal texts but also of apocryphal traditions and motifs by Manichaeism over an extended timeframe. As such, I have attempted one small step in this direction through this examination of how one particular apocryphal motif – the “limbs” of the soul – was received and productively utilized by early Manichaeans.

1. The “Five Limbs” According to Theodore bar Khonai, an eighth-century theologian of the Church of the East, when Mani wanted to characterize the God of the light-realm, the so-called “Father of Greatness,” he is said to have described how “his Five shekinahs ()tNYK$ 4MX) dwelt beside him: Mind, Thought, Insight, Counsel, and Consideration” (313.16–17 [Scher]).12 Similarly, tenth-century Muslim encyclopaedist, al-Nadīm, states that Mani considered these entities to be the “five worlds” of the King of Light (Fihrist 777, 786 [Dodge]).13 Later, as Theodore’s résumé of the cosmogonic tragedy unfolds, Mani is said to have described how the “Living Spirit,” in response to the disastrous capture of “First Man” by the powers of darkness, called forth “five sons” to assist in the creation and stewardship of the newly created universe. The “Keeper of Splendour” he called from his Mind, the “Great King of Honour” he called from his Thought, the “Adamas of Light” he called from his Insight, the “King of Honour” he called from his Counsel, and the omophoros, or “Porter,” he called from his Consideration (Theodore bar Khonai, 314.17–20 [Scher]). If Theodore’s testimony is considered reliable, which it generally is, than we may assume that Mani himself considered this series of five qualities to be essential characteristics associated with at least two of the principal players of his creation story.

11 H.-J. Klimkeit, “Die Kenntnis apokrypher Evangelien in Zentral‑ und Ostasien,” in Mani­ chaica Selecta, 139–75. 12 A. Scher, Theodorus bar Koni. Liber Scholiorum, II (CSCO 69, Syr. 26; Paris 1912). 13 Trans. B. Dodge, The Fihrist of al-Nadīm: A Tenth-Century Survey of Muslim Culture (New York 1970).

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In an entirely different context we encounter the same series in one of Mani’s own writings, the so-called “Seventh Letter to Ctesiphon; that of the Vigils,” in which it is associated with a blessing given to his addressees by Jesus:14 But it is he who shall bless you all, my beloved  / children. May he leave his love on your head, that is, / the Light-Mind. His great faith, he [will … in] your / vigilant Thought. His perfection, he will establish [in your] / good Insight, and his long-suffering, he [will …] / in your good Counsels. His wisdom … / … he will act as in your sharp Considerations … (Epistles [Berlin] 50.8–14).15

Clearly, this series of five qualities  – of Mind, Thought, Insight, Counsel, and Consideration – was immensely important to Mani’s conception of divine reality. But where did it come from? The series was certainly not Mani’s invention, since there are a number of prominent attestations of this, or very similar, series to be found in apocryphal early Christian literature. Most well known perhaps is its occurrence in “Act Two” of Acts Thom., where the apostle, who is about to baptize the King of India, invokes the “Messenger of the Five Limbs: Mind, Thought, Insight, Counsel, and Consideration.”16 This text, which is thought to have close connections to Manichaeism and its Syriac milieu, even uses, in its Syriac version, the same term for “Messenger” ()dgzY)) as is found in Theodore bar Khonai’s résumé for “Third Messenger.” While A. F. J. Klijn has cautioned that there may not be a “direct relation” between the occurrence of these terms in the apocryphal acts and Manichaean texts,17 they nevertheless seem to have formed part of a shared environment.18 Another attestation of the Limbs can be found in Eugnostos from Nag Hammadi (NHC III,3; V,1), where a series of six intellectual powers are enumerated as “Mind, Thought, Counsel, Insight, Consideration, and Power.”19 Like Acts Thom., Eugnostos also appears to have a number of points of contact 14 Note

how the first limb is called “Light-Mind” rather than simply “Mind.” translation from W.-P. Funk, A Work Concordance to the Coptic Fragments of Mani’s Epistles (2nd unpublished ed.; Quebec City, 2001). See also I. Gardner, “The Reconstruction of Mani’s Epistles from Three Coptic Codices,” in The Light and the Darkness: Studies in Manichaeism and Its World (ed. P. A. Mirecki and J. D. BeDuhn; NHMS 50; Leiden 2001), 93–104 at 100. 16 ὁ τῶν πέντε μελῶν νοῦς ἐννοίας φρονήσεως ἐνθυμήσεως λογισμοῦ (M.  Bon­net, Acta apostolorum apocrypha, vol. 2 [Leipzig 1898], 142.19–143.1). 17  A. F. J.  Klijn, The Acts of Thomas: Introduction, Text, and Commentary (2nd ed.; NovTSup 108; Leiden 2003), 82. 18 For a discussion of the differences between Acts Thom. and Manichaeism, see H. J. W. Drijvers, “The Acts of Thomas,” in New Testament Apocrypha, vol. 2: Writings Related to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R. McL. Wilson; Louisville, Ky. 1991), 322–411 at 337–38. 19 ⲟⲩⲛⲟⲩⲥ ⲧⲏⲣ︦ϥ︥· ⲟⲩⲉⲛⲛⲟⲓⲁ ⲙⲛ̄ ⲟⲩⲉⲛⲑⲩⲙⲏⲥⲓⲥ ⲟⲩⲫⲣⲟⲛⲏⲥⲓⲥ ⲟⲩⲗⲟⲅⲓⲥⲙⲟⲥ ⲙⲙ̄̄︦ⲟⲩⲇⲩⲛⲁⲙⲓⲥ (NHC III,3 73.9–11) (A. Pasquier, Eugnoste (NH III, 3 et V, 1). Lettre sur le Dieu transcendant [BCNH, Textes 26; Québec and Leuven 2000]). Cf. Sophia of Jesus Christ 96 (NHC III,4). In the second version of Eugnostos (NHC V,1), the same series occurs, although this time with a slightly different formulation (NHC V,1 3.10–13 [Pasquier]). 15 My

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with early Manichaeism, especially with its allusions to the luminous nature of the Father (NHC III,3 76), the primal androgyny of divine beings (NHC III,3 76; 81), the First Man (NHC III,3 78), as well as a general interest in numbers and enumerations (NHC III,3 83–85). Finally, attestations of similar series can be found in the Epistle of Barnabas,20 and are attributed to Basilides by Irenaeus (Haer. 1.24.3–7),21 and to Simon the Magician by Hippolytus (Haer. 6.12.2).22 Yet, even though the series of Limbs is attested in a range of early Christian apocryphal literature, nowhere was it given wider application than in the Manichaean tradition. In particular, the authors and compilers of the Coptic Kephalaia,23 a vast anthology of artificially constructed catechetical discourses, made extensive use of the Limbs in a number of ontological, cosmogonical, soteriological, and psychological contexts. For instance, the “Five Limbs” (ϯⲟⲩ ⲙⲙⲉⲗⲟⲥ)  – which are usually enumerated in Manichaean Coptic as 1) ⲛⲟⲩⲥ (Mind), 2) ⲙⲉⲩⲉ (Thought), 3) ⲥⲃⲱ (Insight), 4) ⲥⲁϫⲛⲉ (Counsel), and 5) ⲙⲁⲕⲙⲉⲕ (Consideration) – are closely associated in the Kephalaia with important Manichaean figures such as the Two Trees, the Father of Greatness, the Five Sons of Living Spirit, the Light-Mind, the so-called “New Man,” and the soul. As such, the remainder of this essay will examine how this apocryphal motif of the “Five Limbs” became an integral and productive part of this emergent stream of western Manichaean discourse by examining four of its primary functions. σύνεσις, ἐπισήμη, γνῶσις, λόγισμος, ἐνθύμησις (Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 82). λόγος, φρόνησις, σοφία, δύναμις (Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 83). 22 νοῦς, ἐπίνοια, φωνή, ὄνομα, λόγισμος, ἐνθύμησις (Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 82–83). According to Poirier, this pentad likely formed part of the Hellenistic intellectual heritage shared by Irenaeus and his opponents (“Gnose et patristique. À propos de deux attestations du discours intérieur,” LTP 52 [2001]: 235–41 at 240 n. 20). Though Mani too may have shared in this heritage, he likely received it indirectly via apocryphal attestations such as Acts Thom. 23 The Manichaean Kephalaia exist in two Coptic codices discovered near the Egyptian town of Medinet Madi in 1929. The first codex (Berlin codex P. 15996 or Berlin Kephalaia codex) is entitled “The Kephalaia of the Teacher,” while the second codex (Codex C or Dublin Kephalaia codex) is entitled “The Kephalaia of the Wisdom of My Lord Mani.” For an account of the discovery of these manuscripts, see J. A. Robinson, “The Fate of the Manichaean Codices of Medinet Madi: 1929–1989,” in Studia Manichaica, II. Internationaler Kongress zum Manichäismus 6.–10. August 1989, St. Augustin/Bonn (ed. G. Wiessner and H.-J. Klimkeit; Wiesbaden 1992), 19–62. Much of the Berlin Kephalaia codex was published by H.-J. Polotsky and A. Böhlig, Kephalaia (I): 1. Hälfte [Lieferung 1–10] (Stuttgart 1940), and Kephalaia (I): 2. Hälfte [Lieferung 11–12] (Stuttgart 1966); the remainder is being published by W.-P. Funk, Kephalaia (I): Zweite Hälfte [Lieferung 13–14] (Stuttgart 1999), and Kephalaia (I): Zweite Hälfte [Lieferung 15–16] (Stuttgart 2000). For a recent account of the characteristics, content, and reconstruction of the Kephalaia codices, see W.-P. Funk, “The Reconstruction of the Manichaean Kephalaia,” in Emerging From Darkness: Studies in the Recovery of Manichaean Sources (ed. P. A. Mirecki and J. D. BeDuhn; NHMS 43; Leiden 1997), 143–59. The Dublin Kephalaia codex is included in S. Giversen’s 1987 facsimile edition and is being edited by I. Gardner and J. BeDuhn. An English translation of the portions edited by Polotsky and Böhlig has been published by I. Gardner, The Kephalaia of the Teacher: The Edited Coptic Manichaean Texts in Translation with Commentary (NHMS 37; Leiden 1995). 20 σοφία, 21 νοῦς,

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2. The limbs of the trees: ontological function There can be no denying that the foundation of Manichaeism is to be found in the doctrine of the Two Natures, since this concept served as the basis for Manichaean ontology, cosmology, and ethics. As such, it is no surprise that, after attempting to establish the credentials of Mani as the true apostle in chapter 1, “On the Coming of the Apostle,” the ontological issue should be addressed by the Kephalaia compilers straightaway in chapter 2, “The Second, on the Parable of the Tree.” In this chapter, Mani is asked by his disciples to give an exegetical reading of Matthew 7:17–20 / / Luke 6:43, 44, where Jesus explains to his disciples that the quality of every tree can be derived from an evaluation of its fruit (1Ke 17.2–20). First, Mani is made to caution that appearances can be deceiving. In the natural world, for instance, the date-palm (ⲃⲛⲛⲉ), in spite of its pleasant appearance, is actually quite useless (1Ke 17.32 ff.). Similarly, Judas, although he seemed to be a good disciple, still betrayed his master (1Ke 19.1–6), while Paul, though seemingly wicked and a persecutor of the church, ultimately turned out to be one its most important founders (1Ke 19.7–17). Mani then goes on to explain how the “Good Tree” has “Five Limbs” (1Ke 20.12–14) which represent five key components of the Manichaean cosmos: Consideration equals the Holy Church, Counsel equals the Pillar of Glory, Insight equals the First Man dwelling in the Moon, Thought equals the Third Messenger dwelling in the Sun, and Mind equals the Father of Greatness (1Ke 20.14–20). In this way, the Five Limbs are presented by the Kephalaia compilers in chapter 2 as part of a programmatic statement whereby the essentially five-fold nature of being is reflected in the five stages of light liberation from the community and ritual context of the Holy Church, where the ritual activities occur (Consideration), to the cosmic conduit of the Column of Glory, which draws the light particles up (Counsel), through to the first (Insight) and second (Thought) light-ships, onto the divine homeland of the Father (Mind). This enumeration is then contrasted with the Limbs of the Evil Tree. The Five Limbs of the Evil Tree are (somewhat awkwardly) made to parallel those of the Good Tree, although they are associated with a progressive process of damnation from the sectarian context or “Law of Death” (Consideration), through the soul’s transmigration (Counsel), to Gehenna (Insight), a vessel of some kind (Thought), then finally the eschatological lump, or bolos (Mind), into which all matter will be moulded at the end of time (1Ke 21.28–36). One might have expected that the Limbs of the Evil Tree would have been identified with negative qualities such as ignorance, stupidity, apostasy, etc.; instead, the compiler of chapter 2 works to establish a direct parallel between the Limbs of Tree of Light and those of the Tree of Darkness. Such a manoeuvre is in contrast to the concept of the Five Elements for which there are two variant sets. This seems to indicate either that a canonical series of Dark Limbs did not exist or that the

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series of divine Limbs was canonically applied to the dark-realm. The latter case appears unlikely, given the great care that was generally taken in completely disassociating the Two Natures. Instead, it is more likely that the Kephalaia complier carried over the same canonical series in order to create a symmetrical contrast of the Two Trees and to re-emphasize the chapter’s cautionary message about appearances. After all, evil, although essentially different, may nevertheless appear seductive and beguiling to those not adept at separating one tree from the other. In fact, chapter 2, although ostensibly a discussion of the Two Trees, equally could be characterized as a discourse on the “Two Paths” – the good path that leads to the luminous homeland of the Father, and the evil path that traps souls within the cycle of transmigration and ultimate destruction.24 That both “paths” are described as having five stages is a reflection of the basic five-fold ontological structure of both good and evil entities as exemplified by their “Five Limbs.”

3. The limbs of the Father: cosmogonical function In addition to providing an ontological basis for the Manichaean conception of divine being, the Five Limbs also serve as points out of which other beings in the Manichaean pantheon were sometimes said to emerge. According to chapter 25, “On the Five [Fathers: from which Limbs they have come],” Mani is made to explain how the “Five Fathers” (ⲡϯⲟⲩ ⲛⲓⲱⲧ) emanated from the Limbs of the Father of Greatness – the Messenger from his Mind, the Beloved of Lights from his Thought, the Mother of Life from his Insight, Jesus the Beloved (sic)25 from his Counsel, and the Virgin of Light from his Consideration (1Ke 76.19–23). It is striking to note, however, that the order of the beings associated with each of the Five Limbs bears no relation to other emanation sequences from the Kephalaia and is incongruous with the canonical sequence of emanations attested by Theodore bar Khonai.26 For instance, the Messenger, who according to Theodore’s account is called out during the third evocation, is said by chapter 25 to emanate from Mind (1Ke 76.20), the first and most important of the Limbs, while Mother of Life, who belongs to the first evocation and is closely associated with the Father, is said to come from Insight (1Ke 76.21), the third Limb. Unfortunately, the extreme brevity of this particular chapter provides no additional doctrinal or conceptual context in which to place this particular ordering, although presumably it had some sort of catechetical or exegetical value. At any rate, the Five Limbs were often seen to play a key role in the emanation of celestial beings. 24 The primacy and importance of the “good path” is taken up again (with slight variation) in chapter 3, “The Interpretation of Happiness, Wisdom, and Power; what they mean.” 25 He is usually called “Jesus the Splendour.” 26 Theodore’s account, however, does record the emanation of the Five Sons of Living Spirit from the Five Limbs (Theodore bar Khonai, 314.17–20 [Scher]).

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4. The limbs of salvation: soteriological function The Kephalaia chapter in which the Five Limbs perhaps play their most intricate role is chapter 38, “On the Light-Mind, the Apostles, and the Saints.” In this long and complex chapter (really a treatise in itself), a disciple is made to pose a series of five questions to Mani about the nature of the Light-Mind, the engine of salvation for the Manichaean Elect. Specifically, he wants Mani to explain how tribulations may still affect the body in spite of the presence of the Light-Mind. In response, Mani, based on an elaborate macrocosm/microcosm analogy, explains that just as at the macrocosmic level tribulations exist in spite of the presence of great gods, namely, the Five Sons of Living Spirit, so too in the microcosmic body do tribulations exists in spite of the presence of the Light-Mind and the Five Limbs. The same holds true at the community level, although sometimes not even the Light-Mind or the support of the community can save someone from apostasy. The Five Limbs play a central role in this chapter since they form the basis of the analogy. As we saw in Theodore bar Khonai’s testimony above, at the macrocosmic level the Five Sons of the Living Spirit are associated with each of their parent’s Five Limbs: the Keeper of Splendour with Mind, King of Honour with Thought, Adamas of Light with Insight, King of Glory with Counsel, and the Porter with Consideration (1Ke 91.15–33). These beings each act as guardian of a particular zone of the cosmos. Anytime rebellions arise among the powers of darkness in one of the zones, it is the guardian who must take action to suppress them (1Ke 92.12–94.16). The same holds true for the microcosmic human body, anytime a rebellion arises, it is the responsibility of one of the Light Limbs, administered by the Light-Mind, to suppress the uprising (1Ke 94.17–22). “Sin,” we learn, originally bound the Five Limbs in the body: Mind in bone, Thought in sinew, Insight in vein, Counsel in flesh, and Consideration in skin (1Ke 95.13–19). This, in essence, is the initial constitution of the so-called “Old Man,” the individual prior to redemption (cf. Col 3:9; Eph 4:22–24), and partly explains why the Five Limbs were associated with the Evil Tree (as in chapter 2). When the LightMind comes, it frees the Light Limbs from their corporeal prison and reconstitutes the individual as the “New Man,” binding to each of the Five Limbs a series of Five Virtues: Mind to Love, Thought to Faith, Insight to Perfection, Counsel to Patience, and Consideration to Wisdom (1Ke 96.24–97.4).27 Nevertheless, even though the New Man is established and welcomed into the community, sin may still succeed in disrupting the Limbs and thus disrupt the community. This is seen as a progressive process for which there is an equally progressive series of 27 An identical motif can be found in Bema Psalm 228 where Mani is said to bring love to Mind, faith to Though, perfection to Insight, patience to Counsel, and wisdom to Consideration (2Ps 23.14–18).

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corrective measures. If, for instance, Consideration is disturbed by sin and the individual’s Wisdom is clouded, then that individual is to be rebuked (1Ke 97.26– 98.10). Unfortunately, lacunae in this portion of the discourse make it difficult to reconstruct each of the consequences, but it seems as though isolation from the community and eventual separation were seen as additional consequences of sin’s disruption of the Light Limbs (1Ke 98.10–99.17). All of this is essentially an attempt to account for the persistent influence of sin and evil at both the cosmic and community levels. As such, in chapter 38 the Five Limbs are seen as the primary instruments, both macrocosmically by means of the Five Sons of Living Spirit, and microcosmically, through which the forces of darkness are kept under control until the final separation of Light from Dark.

6. The limbs of the “Living Soul”: psychological function Finally, in a somewhat unusual and poorly attested formulation, the Five Limbs were also conceived of as essential components of the so-called “Living Soul” (ⲧⲯⲩⲭⲏ ⲉⲧⲁⲛⳉ). For instance, in chapter 31, “On the Call, in which Limb of the Soul it descended to First Man,” the Five Limbs are implicitly associated with the soul of the First Man, which in this case is identified as his “Light-Virgin” (ⲧⲉϥⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲟⲥ ⲛⲟⲩⲁⲓⲛⲉ) (1Ke 84.33).28 A similar motif occurs in a “Psalm of Wanderers” (2Ps 167.29–33) from the Manichaean Psalm-Book, where the psalmist becomes clothed in virginity (ⲡⲁⲣⲑⲉⲛⲓⲁ)  – i. e., with the Five Limbs. This implies that for the Manichaean Elect, purity and ascetic virtue were seen as paralleling the virginity of God’s primary envoy  – First Man. Also, in the Manichaean Psalm-Book, the Five Limbs are associated not only with the First Man (2Ps 137.45–47) and Jesus (2Ps 120.3–11; 126.3–122; 166.38–167.2), but also with the reception of the “Holy Spirit” by the individual (2Ps 161.23–24). This reception of the Spirit is in turn connected to the Five Virtues that constitute the New Man (2Ps 174.12–18). These virtues are seen as essential to the pious life of a Manichaean, as in 2Ps 182.20, where the psalmist asks, “What shall I do in order to live?” The answer is to instil the Five Divine Qualities into the Five Limbs (2Ps 182.24–28).

28 It is important to note that the First Man is normally associated primarily with the Light Elements as his Five Sons, which are also said to represent the “Living Soul.” In this context, however, he was portrayed by the compilers in chapter 31 as possessing the same Light Limbs as his Father and carrying them into battle. The fact that the Limbs are characterized as his “virgin” may represent a very early strata of Manichaean discourse, in which divine beings were conceived of as male-female pairs.

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7. Conclusion The attestations of the Five Limbs in the Kephalaia tell us much about how its compilers understood the functionality and importance of them within early Manichaean discourse. Essentially, they, along with the parallel Five Virtues, serve as the defining characteristics of God that bind him to his agents and to his people on both the macrocosmic and microcosmic levels. While the Father of Greatness possesses the Five Limbs in their most transcendent form, what Theodore recorded as the shekinahs, these divine essences are put on by the First Man as the Limbs of his soul before going into battle against the powers of darkness. When First Man is overcome by the dark powers, these divine essences presumably became imprisoned within matter along with the Elements, forming part of the new mixed reality. Cosmic liberation begins with the Five Sons of Living Spirit, who, according to Kephalaia chapter 38, are established in the Five Limbs as guardians of the cosmos. With the coming of the Third Messenger, the demons, or “Sin” as chapter 38 puts it (1Ke 95.13), conspired to fashion Adam and Eve based on the Messenger’s androgynous image. Thus, the Five Limbs became imbedded within the human form. When Jesus came, he brought with him the Light-Mind,29 which awakens and administers the Virtues latent in the Limbs and establishes the New Man. Thus, the basic function of the Five Limbs (along with the Five Virtues) can be represented as follows: God

Father of Greatness dwells in his Five Limbs

God’s Agents First Man clothed with Five Limbs is defeated Five Sons of Living Spirit called from Five Limbs Creation of the cosmos Sin binds Five Limbs in Flesh Jesus brings Light-Mind to liberate Five Limbs

macrocosmic imprisonment macrocosmic liberation microcosmic imprisonment microcosmic liberation

God’s People New Man dwells in Five Virtues

The concept of the Five Limbs fits with the, for lack of a better word, “gnostic” aspect of Manichaeism, whereby the individual is called to come to a recognition and knowledge of his or her affinity with the Father of Greatness and of the disastrous mixing of Light and Dark at the origin of the universe. Such knowledge is presumably reached through stages of cognition – from Consideration of problems such as sin and evil, to the seeking of Counsel from friends and religious teachers, to the gaining of Insight from such teaching and counsel, to the formation of Thought and opinion, and finally to the attainment of certainty of Mind. For Manichaeans, it is the Light-Mind that guides this cognitive journey and is 29 As the “Psalms of the Wanderers” reveal, there seems to have been a close connection between Jesus’ gift of the Light-Mind and the Holy Spirit, which in this context appear to have been equivalent.

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its ultimate goal. It is also the Light-Mind that, as we have seen, reconstitutes the Light Limbs by embedding them in the Five Virtues of the New Man. These Five Virtues, in turn, also may be seen to reflect an equally progressive process from the Consideration of religious Wisdom, to the Counsel of Patience in the mixed world, to the Insight of the need for Perfection, to the unity of Thought and Faith, and finally to the integration of Love with Mind – the ultimate pair of Manichaean virtues. Viewed in this way, it is not surprising that the Light Limbs were conceived by Mani as the “dwellings” (shekinahs) of the Father of Greatness, since it is by virtue of the fact that the Father “dwells” and makes his presence felt in each of these stages that the Old Man can be transformed into the New Man and Light be liberated from Darkness. The richness of this concept in Manichaeism underlines the important and productive role that apocryphal traditions seem to have played in the formulation and communication of distinctly Manichaean ideas.

IV. The Pseudo-Clementines: Early Christian Traditions in Late Antique Editions

John the Baptist and His Disciples in the Pseudo-Clementines A Historical Appraisal F. Stanley Jones 1. Introduction The relevance of the Pseudo-Clementines for New Testament studies has been variously estimated over the last three hundred years.1 One particular point about which the last century of New Testament scholarship has repeatedly looked to these writings for critical assistance is in their statements on John the Baptist and his disciples. In particular, the widespread view that (parts of) the Gospel of John must be interpreted as a polemic against disciples of John the Baptist2 has 1 The Pseudo-Clementines were introduced into the study of the New Testament not by F. C. Baur but by J. Toland, who should also be credited with the discovery of the significance of “Jewish Christianity” for the study of the earliest church. As did Baur over a hundred years later, Toland employed the Pseudo-Clementines in his Nazarenus: or, Jewish, Gentile, and Mahometan Christianity (2nd ed.; London 1718), e. g., 23–24, 32, to document the views of the earliest Christians. See a reproduction of Toland’s text and a dedicated series of exploratory studies by modern scholars in F. S. Jones, ed., The Rediscovery of Jewish Christianity: From Toland to Baur (SBLHBS 5; Atlanta, Ga. 2012). See also the critical re-edition of Toland’s work (text of the first edition of 1718 along with the earlier French version) in J. Champion, John Toland: Nazarenus (British Deism and Free Thought; Oxford 1999), and a collation of the French and the second English edition of 1718 in G. Palmer, Ein Freispruch für Paulus. John Tolands Theorie des Judenchristentums mit einer Neuausgabe von Tolands “Nazarenus” von Claus-Michael Palmer (ANTZ 7; Berlin 1996). The French version has been printed furthermore by L. Mannario, John Toland. Dissertations diverses (Libre pensée et littérature clandestine 24; Paris 2005). The “Ebionite” character of the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies was indeed already recognized by the patristics scholar J.-B. Cotelier, Ss. Patrum Qui Temporibus Apostolicis Floruerunt; Barnabæ, Clementis, Hermæ, Ignatii, Polycarpi; Opera Edita et Inedita, Vera et Suppositicia. Unà cum Clementis, Ignatii, Polycarpi Actis atque Martyriis (2 vols.; Paris 1672), 2:404, and by other church historians in his wake. On the history of research into the Pseudo-Clementines, see my “The Pseudo-Clementines: A History of Research,” SecCent 2 (1982): 1–33, 63–96 (reprinted in Studies in Early Christianity, vol. 2: Literature of the Early Church [ed. E. Ferguson; New York 1993], 195–262, also in my Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque inter Judaeochristiana: Collected Studies [OLA 203; Leuven 2012], 50–113). 2 This perspective was developed originally by W. Baldensperger, Der Prolog des vierten Evangeliums. Sein polemisch-apologetischer Zweck (Freiburg 1898). A more recent representative,

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often turned to certain passages in the Pseudo-Clementines for decisive support of the hypothesis that John the Baptist’s group continued after his death and rivaled the earliest followers of Jesus. In this vein, Rudolf Schnackenburg cites several Pseudo-Clementine passages and concludes: “Daraus geht mit Sicherheit hervor, daß die Johannesjünger ihren Meister als Messias verehrten.”3 Interpretation of Acts 19:1–7 also sometimes refers to the Pseudo-Clementines to support the view that disciples of John were still around at the time of the formation of this story.4 Yet the historical value of the Pseudo-Clementine witness has recently been drawn into question. Edmondo F. Lupieri, who has devoted a number of extensive studies to John the Baptist, states that only the canonical gospels and Josephus provide historical information on John the Baptist and that “all the later Christian, Jewish, Samaritan, Mandaean, and Muslim tales of John the Baptist are devoid of a historical basis and thus belong within the history of myths and folklore.”5 The purpose of this article is to evaluate historically the witness of the Pseudo-Clementines to John the Baptist and his disciples by drawing on all the achievements and advancements of research into the Pseudo-Clementines.6 with copious references to the discussion and literature, is M. Stowasser, Johannes der Täufer im Vierten Evangelium. Eine Untersuchung zu seiner Bedeutung für die johanneische Gemeinde (ÖBS 12; Klosterneuburg 1992). 3 “Das vierte Evangelium und die Johannesjünger,” Historisches Jahrbuch 27 (1958): 21–38 at 25. See also R. Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St John, vol. 1: Introduction and Commentary on Chapters 1–4 (trans. K. Smith; HTCNT; New York and London 1968), 167–69. Reference to the Pseudo-Clementines as absolute proof that John was venerated by his disciples is similarly found, for example, in O. Cullmann, “Ὁ ἐπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος,” ConBNT 11 (1947): 26–32; G. Lindeskog, “Johannes der Täufer. Einige Randbemerkungen zum heutigen Stand der Forschung,” ASTI 12 (1983): 55–83 at 77 (“Hier haben wir also ein direktes Zeugnis, daß Johannes als der Messias betrachtet wurde”); and J. A. Sint, “Die Eschatologie des Täufers, die Täufergruppen und die Polemik der Evangelien,” in Vom Messias zum Christus. Die Fülle der Zeit in religionsgeschichtlicher und theologischer Sicht (ed. K. Schubert; Vienna 1964), 55–163 at 97 (“Für den Anfang des 2. Jahrhunderts bezeugen die Ps.-Clementinen mit aller Deutlichkeit, daß die Person des Täufers als Messias verehrt worden ist”). 4 See, for example, G. Lüdemann, Das frühe Christentum nach den Traditionen der Apostelgeschichte. Ein Kommentar (Göttingen 1987), 219 (ET: Early Christianity according to the Traditions in Acts: A Commentary [trans. J. Bowden; Minneapolis 1989], 211). Other relevant passages in the New Testament are Mark 6:14, 16; 8:28. 5 E. Lupieri, “John the Baptist in New Testament Traditions and History,” ANRW 2.26.1 (1993): 430–61 at 431. Lupieri seems to have grown increasingly skeptical of the historical value of the Pseudo-Clementines over the years; compare his “L’arconte dell’utero. Contributo per una storia dell’esegesi della figura di Giovanni Battista, con particolare attenzione alle problematiche emergenti nel secondo secolo,” ASE 1 (1984): 165–99 at 193–96, with his Giovanni Battista fra storia e leggenda (BCR 53; Brescia 1988), 189–90, and finally with the position cited above. A negative attitude toward the historical reliability of the Pseudo-Clementine report has also been expressed by C. H. Dodd, Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge 1963), 298 with n. 1, and U. B. Müller, Johannes der Täufer. Jüdischer Prophet und Wegbereiter Jesu (Biblische Gestalten 6; Leipzig 2002), 196–97. 6 The need for such an investigation has been correctly identified also by K. Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes. Eine Studie zu den religionsgeschichtlichen Ursprüngen des Christentums (Paderborner Theologische Studien 19; Paderborn 1991), 282–83. The pace of

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The singular importance of the Pseudo-Clementine passages is that they are the only texts that explicitly speak of a continuing group of followers of John some considerable time after John’s death.7 If they contain historical informaPseudo-Clementine studies has been relatively slow, especially when compared with that of the main branches of New Testament studies. Any discussion of Pseudo-Clementine issues must take into thorough consideration everything written on the subject over the last 150 years. The temptation to write ab ovo about the Pseudo-Clementines simply because the informed discussion partners largely lie in their graves needs to be resisted, at least by any researcher who intends to advance the discussion. Especially because the basic tools for Pseudo-Clementine studies have not been forged (in particular, a scientific and complete synopsis of the Homilies and the Recognitions and a modern translation of the Syriac version), penetration of Pseudo-Clementine issues has remained an exotic fruit tasted only by those willing to devote years to their study. The Association pour l’étude de la litterature apocryphe chrétienne (AELAC) has inscribed its name on a project intended to provide basic tools for Pseudo-Clementine studies, including the ones just mentioned. 7  The second appendix to the Armenian translation of Ephraem’s Commentary on the Diatessaron (L. Leloir, Saint Éphrem Commentaire de l’évangile concordant. Version arménienne [CSCO 137, 145, Arm. 1–2; Leuven 1953–1954], 1:350–52 [ed.], 2:248–49 [trans.]) is evidently dependent on the Syriac translation of the Recognitions (contra the opinion of a number of scholars, e. g., J. Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste en Palestine et Syrie [150 av. J.-C.–300 ap. J.-C.] [Universitas Catholica Lovaniensis Dissertationes, 2nd ser., 28; Gembloux 1935], 118; Schnacken­burg, “Das vierte Evangelium und die Johannesjünger,” 25; J. Ernst, Johannes der Täufer. Interpretation – Geschichte – Wirkungsgeschichte [BZNW 53; Berlin 1989], 365, who have postulated a common source, and with particularly V. Calzolari, “La tradition arménienne des Pseudo-Clémentines. État de la question,” Apocrypha 4 [1993]: 263–93 at 284–91, who has listed the specific agreements with the Syriac against the Latin [compare H. J. Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums (Tübingen 1949), 401 n. 2, and an observation by S. Voicu recorded in Lupieri, Giovanni Battista fra storia e leggenda, 401 n. 19]; dependency on the Recognitions in general is asserted by Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 307, who without providing documentation has suggested, at 288, that there are agreements with Rufinus against the Syriac). The authenticity of this appendix is disputed and is deserving of further investigation. The authenticity is accepted by A. Hilgenfeld, Die Ketzergeschichte des Urchristenthums (Leipzig 1884), 85–86; R. Reitzenstein, Die Vorgeschichte der christlichen Taufe (1929; repr., Stuttgart 1967), 60; Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste, 116; Cullmann, “Ὁ ἐπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος,” 27; K. Rudolph, Antike Baptisten. Zu den Überlieferungen über frühjüdische und ‑christliche Taufsekten (Sitzungsberichte der sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, Phil.-hist. Klasse 121.4; Berlin 1981), 12; and Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 306–7, without argumentation. It has been denied by W. Bauer, Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum (BHTh 10; Tübingen 1934; rev. ed. by G. Strecker, 1964), 15–16 n. 3 (ET: Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity [trans. a team from the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins; ed. R. A. Kraft and G. Krodel; Philadelphia 1971], 10 n. 22 [“has nothing in common with the struggle against false belief exhibited elsewhere by Ephraem”]); G. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen (2nd ed.; TU 70; Berlin 1981), 237–38; and Calzolari, “La tradition arménienne des Pseudo-Clémentines,” 285. The last page of the Syriac manuscript of Ephraem’s commentary has not yet been recovered (the final preserved folio ends in the middle of the first appendix); see L. Leloir, Saint Éphrem. Commentaire de l’évangile concordant. Text syriaque (Manuscrit Chester Beatty 709) (CBM 8; Dublin 1963), vi, and the report on the subsequently found pages by idem, “Le commentaire d’Éphrem sur le Diatessaron: Quarante et un folios retrouvés,” RB 94 (1987): 481–518. Lupieri, Giovanni Battista fra storia e leggenda, 401–2, speaks in contrast of the text as having relevance for the diffusion of the Pseudo-Clementines in Armenian. One way of advancing the question of the authenticity of this appendix would be to scour Ephraem’s works

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tion, they would provide external support for the above-mentioned hypothesis commonly employed in the interpretation of a number of New Testament texts, namely, that disciples of John continued to honor their master after his death.8 The significance of this hypothesis for understanding the historical Jesus and his earliest followers is also not to be underestimated. Jesus and his group might need to be understood as a splinter movement that stood in competition with a more traditional group of John’s disciples both during Jesus’ lifetime and afterwards.9 Thus, detailed investigation of these Pseudo-Clementine texts is required for critical interpretation of the New Testament. John the Baptist is mentioned in three passages in the Pseudo-Clementines: (1) in the catalogue of syzygies (Rec. 3.61.2 and its parallel Hom. 2.17.2); (2) in part of the description of Simon Magus’s background (Rec. 2.8.1 with its parallel for reminiscences of the Pseudo-Clementines. In the Commentary on the Diatessaron, I find that 21.5 (“and the graves were opened and the veil was torn and it was lamenting as if in mourning over the destruction of the place that was imminent”) contains a virtually verbatim citation of Rec. 1.41.3 Syriac (“and the graves were opened, and the veil of the temple was torn so that it was lamenting as if in mourning over the destruction of the place that was imminent”). The report on the Sadducees in Comm. Diat. 16.22, which is also found in the second appendix, reveals a somewhat looser dependence on Rec. 1.54.2 (this passage also invalidates the argument of Bauer cited above). For presentation and comparison of these texts, see my study “The Gospel of Peter in Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1,27–71,” in Das Evangelium nach Petrus. Text, Kontexte, Intertexte (ed. T. J. Kraus and T. Nicklas; TU 158; Berlin 2007), 237–44 at 239–40 (also in my Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque inter Judaeochristiana, 283–90 at 285–86). Ephraem, Haer. 50.3 (E. Beck, Des heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Hymnen contra Haereses [CSCO 169–170, Syr. 76–77; Leuven 1957]), also possibly shows knowledge of Rec. 1.36.1. If these passages in Comm. Diat. are authentic, these insights make it certain that Ephraem already knew the Syriac translation of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, but they do not absolutely resolve the question of the authenticity of the second appendix to Comm. Diat.; Ephraem’s knowledge of Josephus would have to be examined. Another text sometimes mentioned in this context is Vigilius of Thapsus, Dialogus contra Arianos, Sabellianos et Photinianos 1.20 (PL 62:194B [see also the epitome in PL 62:162D], already noted by Cotelier, Ss. Patrum Opera, 2:357). The view that this text speaks of followers of John who venerate him as Christ (so, e. g., Reitzenstein, Die Vorgeschichte der christlichen Taufe, 60) rests on a misunderstanding; see especially Lupieri, Giovanni Battista fra storia e leggenda, 402–6, for the history of this reading and its correction. Though the text does speak of disciples of John, it is referring to the time before the Apostolic Council, and it is possibly dependent on the Latin translation of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions (see similarly Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 308). Other potentially relevant texts are found among the Mandaean writings (see K. Rudolph, Die Mandäer [2 vols.; FRLANT 74–75; Göttingen 1960–1961], 1:66–80, for the history of research and a negative judgment, and, for a more recent discussion of the texts, Lupieri, Giovanni Battista fra storia e leggenda, 195–395) and some medieval catalogues of sects (see R. Bultmann, Das Evangelium des Johannes [13th ed.; KEK 2; Göttingen 1953], 4–5 n. 7). 8 Interpretation of John 1 is historically the locus of this hypothesis; see, for example, Schnackenburg, Introduction and Commentary, 167–69, or his more extensive treatment “Das vierte Evangelium und die Johannesjünger” (with references to further literature). 9 For a fairly recent history of research and a nuanced discussion of the possibilities of interpretation, see Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 22–112, whose effort to avoid every possible element of rivalry or conflict goes at least a little too far.

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Hom. 2.23.1–24.1); and (3) in material relating a debate between the apostles and the Jewish sects (Rec. 1.54, 60, 63).

2. On approaching the Pseudo-Clementines Study of the Pseudo-Clementines is inextricably entwined in a notorious web of critical hypotheses. There is reason, nevertheless, to hope that scholarship is beginning to clarify portions of this web: 1. There is an increasing awareness that the Syriac version must be used for the reconstruction of the lost Greek Recognitions (preserved only in ancient Latin and Syriac versions). This often means that there are sources still unexamined for the investigation of the Pseudo-Clementines. 2. The hypothesis of a common source used independently by the Greek Recognitions and the Greek Homilies has proven itself as most convincing.10 This hypothesis will be presupposed in the following. The older Greek Basic Writing (henceforth B; often referred to in scholarship as the Grundschrift) seems to have been written circa 220 c.e. in Syria.11 3. The assumption of a determinative source of B entitled Kerygmata Petrou, widespread in past research, is crumbling as untenable;12 this quite complicating 10 This hypothesis is assumed by H. J. W. Drijvers, “Bardaisan’s Doctrine of Free Will, the Pseudo-Clementines, and Marcionism in Syria,” in Liberté chrétienne et libre arbitre. Textes de l’enseignement de troisième cycle des facultés romandes de théologie (ed. G. Bedouelle and O. Fatio; Cahiers oecuméniques 24; Fribourg 1994), 13–30 at 25. It has also been granted approval by J. Wehnert, “Abriß der Entstehungsgeschichte des pseudoklementinischen Romans,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 211–35 at 232. The skepticism expressed by Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 281–82, grew out of the bewilderment fostered by J. Wehnert’s 1983 article (“Literarkritik und Sprachanalyse. Kritische Anmerkungen zum gegenwärtigen Stand der Pseudoklementinen-Forschung,” ZNW 74 [1983]: 268–301), several main points of which the author has properly withdrawn or modified (see also note 12 below). 11 The date of B lies between the Constitutio Antoniniana of circa 212 c.e., which is reflected in Rec. 9.27.6, and the fall of the Arsacids in Persia in circa 224 c.e., presumed still to be in power in Rec. 1.45.3. This dating is supported by Origen’s apparent knowledge of B. 12 Abandonment of the postulation of the Kerygmata Petrou source is found, for example, in H. J. W. Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Loyalitätskonflikte in der Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift für Carsten Colpe (ed. C. Elsas et al.; Würzburg 1990), 314–23 at 321. An attempt to argue linguistically against the existence of the source is found in Wehnert, “Literarkritik und Sprachanalyse”; Wehnert himself, however, was the first to abandon his conclusion (ibid., 297–300) that the Epistle of Peter, the Contestation, and the Epistle of Clement all derive from the hand of the Homilist; see his “Abriß der Entstehungsgeschichte des pseudoklementinischen Romans,” 227–28. Distance from the postulation of a Kerygmata Petrou has also been assumed by G. Lüdemann, Paulus, der Heidenapostel, vol. 2: Antipaulinismus im frühen Christentum (FRLANT 130; Göttingen 1983), 229–30 (ET: Opposition to Paul in Jewish Christianity [trans. M. E. Boring; Minneapolis 1989], 169–71), and Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 277–78 at 282. One branch of scholarship started to reject the thesis of this source in the first half of the twentieth century: J. Chapman, “On the Date of the Clementines,” ZNW 9 (1908): 21–34, 147–59 at 147–49, which influenced E. Schwartz, “Unzeitgemäße Be-

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hypothesis has been a (in modern times: the) major hindrance to understanding the Pseudo-Clementines. The Basic Writer, liberated from the mire of speculation, is now emerging from where he had been confined as a mindless compiler into the limelight as an accessible and creative writer. 4. The development and refinement of the method of redaction criticism permits greater attention first to the redactional layers of Rec. and Hom., then to the redaction of B, and thereafter to older tradition. These are four palpable reasons to hope that substantial advancement in Pseudo-Clementine studies is impending. They will guide the following investigation.

3. Interpretation of the texts For reference, English translations of the directly relevant texts and their parallels will be provided.13 Limitations of space prohibit reproduction of the larger context. obachtungen zu den Clementinen,” ZNW 31 (1932): 151–99 at 179–81, and subsequently was passed on to his student B. Rehm, “Zur Entstehung der pseudoclementinischen Schriften,” ZNW 37 (1938): 77–184 at 146. A negative attitude was expressed also by J. Thomas, “Les ébionites baptistes,” RHE 30 (1934): 257–96 at 292, and H. M. Teeple, The Prophet in the Clementines (Religion and Ethics Institute Occasional Papers 2; Evanston, Ill. 1993), 19 (this study was originally written in 1955); compare also L. Cerfaux, “Le vrai prophète des Clémentines,” RSR 18 (1928): 143–63. Schoeps’s (Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 41, 45–61) and Strecker’s (Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 137–220) revival of Waitz’s postulation of a Kerygmata Petrou (H. Waitz, Die Pseudoklementinen, Homilien und Rekognitionen. Eine quellenkritische Untersuchung [TU, n.s. 10.4; Leipzig 1904], 78–169) was challenged particularly by J. Rius-Camps, “Las Pseudoclementinas. Bases filológicas para una nueva interpretación,” RCT 1 (1976): 79–158 at 147. Earlier scholars who rejected this thesis include K. R. Köstlin, in his review of A. Hilgenfeld, Die clementinischen Recognitionen und Homilien, nach ihrem Ursprung und Inhalt dargestellt, in Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung (1849): 577–78, 585–608, 612–16 at 612– 13; A. Schliemann, Die Clementinen nebst den verwandten Schriften und der Ebionitismus. Ein Beitrag zur Kirchen‑ und Dogmengeschichte der ersten Jahrhunderte (Hamburg 1844), 263–64; F. J. A.  Hort, Notes Introductory to the Study of the Clementine Recognitions: A Course of Lectures (London 1901), 91–119; J. Langen, Die Klemensromane. Ihre Entstehung und ihre Tendenzen aufs neue untersucht (Gotha 1890), 5; and H. U. Meyboom, De Clemens-roman, vol. 2: Wetenschappelijke Behandeling (Groningen 1904), 71–73. The thesis of a source entitled Kerygmata Petrou survives in textbooks and many recent studies that deal tangentially with the Pseudo-Clementines. References to these works need not be given here because these studies have presented no new arguments for the existence of this source. 13 The translations of the Syriac and the Greek have been made on the basis of the manuscripts; select manuscripts have also been consulted in the case of the Latin. Current standard editions are B. Rehm, Die Pseudoklementinen, I. Homilien (3rd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 42; Berlin 1992); idem, Die Pseudoklementinen, II. Rekognitionen in Rufins Übersetzung (2nd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 51; Berlin 1994); and W. Frankenberg, Die syrischen Clementinen mit griechischem Paralleltext. Eine Vorarbeit zu dem literargeschichtlichen Problem der Sammlung (TU 48.3; Leipzig 1937). These editions list the previous editions, which have also been drawn into consideration here.

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3.1 A catalogue of syzygies (Rec. 3.61.2 / / Hom. 2.16.7–17.2) Syriac (3.61.2) the sixth of John and the lawgiver;

Latin

Greek

(3.61.2) the sixth of the magi and the legislator Moses;

(2.16.7) Even so, first in order, as firstborn in the world, was the high priest, then the lawgiver. (2.17.1) Similarly – for the pair involving Elijah, which ought to follow, was willingly left for another time, since it desired for itself to receive its part appropriately at another time – the seventh of the tempter the seventh of the tempter (2) therefore, the first one among and the Son of Man… and the Son of Man… the offspring of women came, then the second one among the sons of men arrived.

The catalogue of opposing pairs clearly formed a part of the Basic Writing since it is found in both the Recognitions and the Homilies. The Basic Writing seems to have understood John as the first (evil) member of the pair in which Jesus formed the second (good) member. The author of the Recognitions apparently changed the text to make the “tempter” the member that corresponded to the Son of Man.14 The history of this doctrine of syzygies is in sore need of investigation. One widespread view of past research is that this doctrine was developed in opposi14 This judgment reflects the consensus of research; see Waitz, Die Pseudoklementinen, Homilien und Rekognitionen, 107; idem, “Die Lösung des pseudoclementinischen Problems?” ZKG 59 (1940): 304–41 at 319; O. Cullmann, Le Problème littéraire et historique du roman pseudo-clémentin. Étude sur le rapport entre le gnosticisme et le judéo-christianisme (Études d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses 23; Paris 1930), 88; Rehm, “Zur Entstehung der pseudoclementinischen Schriften,” 105; cf. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 189. That the Recognitions reflects the original is argued by Rius-Camps, “Las Pseudoclementinas,” 117, who refers to Hom. 8.21.1–22.1, Hom. 11.35.3–5a, and Rec. 3.46.7–47.2 for similar texts about the tempter. Rius-Camps thinks that the Homilist transformed the pair to fit the system explicated in Hom. 2.23. He has not noted here that the equation of Jesus’ twelve disciples with the twelve months is also found in Rec. 4.35.3 and is thus witnessed for B. The original reading of the Recognitions for the preceding sixth pair is uncertain. In view of the foregoing discussion of the magicians in Egypt (Rec. 3.55–57) and of the introduction of a third syzygy of the Pharaoh and Abraham in the Recognitions, it is possible that the author of the Recognitions is responsible for changing the pair in Rec. 3.61.2 to the magi and the legislator. So Cullmann, Roman pseudo-clémentin, 88; Rehm, “Zur Entstehung der pseudoclementinischen Schriften,” 104–5. Waitz, “Die Lösung des pseudoclementinischen Problems?” 319, in contrast, assumes that Rec. 3.61.2 originally had the pair of the high priest and the legislator, which Rufinus changed. Waitz suggests here that “John” slipped into the list found in the Syriac translation as a marginal gloss to the first member of the next pair (the offspring of women). This view is problematic because both the Latin and the Syriac agree that the next pair in the Recognitions had “tempter,” not “offspring of women.” Hence, because of the difficulty of explaining the origin of “John” in the Syriac, it seems that in the Recognitions John was moved to the previous syzygy and that Rufinus changed the text and replaced the illogical mention of John here with “the magi,” which he picked up from the context.

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tion to Paul and John the Baptist.15 Along these lines, it has been proposed that this doctrine sprang from an actual controversy with disciples of John.16 There seems to be no way to evaluate this thesis absolutely. Nevertheless, a new awareness has arisen that the Pseudo-Clementines do not stand alone in their negative appraisal of John. An understanding of John as an evil figure has been called “a typical view of most Christian heretical Gnostic groups.”17 While the exact historical meaning of this statement and the precise extent to which it is true need not be investigated here,18 what is important to note is that this negative appraisal of John is far from unique in ancient Christian tradition. Particularly the recovery of the Nag Hammadi manuscripts has supplied ancient Christian texts such as the Testimony of Truth (NHC IX,3 30.30–31.5): Now the Jordan river is the power of the body, that is, the senses of pleasures. The water of the Jordan is the desire for sexual intercourse. John is the archon of the womb.

Such texts indicate that the negative appraisal of John in the present Pseudo-Clementine text need not be due necessarily to involvement in a polemic with the disciples of John. Indeed, an alignment of John with the female, worldly element (such as in Testim. Truth 30.30–31.5) is similarly found in Hom. 3.23. 15 Cullmann, Roman pseudo-clémentin, 241, records this as his “impression.” This point of view is pronounced “probable” in Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 401–2, and “possible” (“forse”) in Lupieri, “L’arconte dell’utero,” 194. Perhaps influenced by Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste, 125, Cullmann is more definite about the polemic against John the Baptist as the primary inspiration for the doctrine in “Ὁ ἐπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος,” 29. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 188, says that the “Skopus” of the doctrine is the polemic against Paul. In contrast, Waitz, “Die Lösung des pseudoclementinischen Problems?” 315, agrees with Rehm, “Zur Entstehung der pseudoclementinischen Schriften,” 103, that the goal of the list of syzygies is the pair consisting of Simon and Peter. This point of view is promoted by Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 290–91, to argue against the judgment that the text is engaged in a living polemic against disciples of John the Baptist; instead, it is a purely literary development within gnostic Christianity (297). Bousset attempted to determine a larger background in the history of religions; he concluded that the author of the Pseudo-Clementines could have been influenced in this doctrine by a corrupted Zoroastrianism (W. Bousset, Hauptprobleme der Gnosis [FRLANT 10; Göttingen 1907], 153–54). See some further work in Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 161–62; Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 155–56, 275–76; and D. Côté, Le thème de l’opposition entre Pierre et Simon dans les Pseudo-Clémentines (Collection des Ètudes Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 167; Paris 2001), 203–6. Further study could profit from a history of the word “syzygy” in ancient philosophical and astrological discussion. 16 Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste, 125; C. H. H.  Scobie, John the Baptist (Philadelphia 1964), 195; and Ernst, Johannes der Täufer, 366. 17 E. F. Lupieri, “John the Baptist: The First Monk: A Contribution to the History of the Figure of John the Baptist in the Early Monastic World,” Word and Spirit 6 (1984): 11–23 at 12. For the texts and secondary literature, see idem, “L’arconte dell’utero,” 168–92; cf. K. Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum (NHS 12; Leiden 1978), 140 n. 54; and Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 291–92. On Heracleon, see also J. Mouson, “Jean-Baptiste dans les fragments d’Héracléon,” ETL 30 (1954): 301–22. 18 Lupieri has postulated a correspondence between the rejection of John and the opposition of the gnostic group to the Great Church (“L’arconte dell’utero,” 181).

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Nevertheless, as the absence of a parallel in the Recognitions indicates, it is not at all certain that this idea was present in the Basic Writing.19 Indeed, the Homilist seems to be responsible for adding this element. Thus, “gnostic” influence might not be the sole explanation for why John ends up on the negative side of the syzygy. While influence from a debate with disciples of John thus cannot be excluded, more important in the context of the Pseudo-Clementines at least is the notion that a false gospel had been spread among the gentiles before the true gospel could be sent out (Hom. 2.17.4 / / Rec. 3.61.2 [Syriac] and Rec. 1.64.2).20 In sum, this text presents a piece of B’s historical theology: in his book, John wears a black hat. It thus seems most unlikely, for example, that B accepted the notion that Jesus was baptized by John. On the basis of this text alone, it cannot be determined if the negative attitude toward John is something B got from echoes of a polemic against some disciples of John or from echoes of a dualistic negative evaluation of John witnessed for ancient “gnostic” Christians. In any event, attention must be paid to this attitude of B in the interpretation of the remaining texts. 3.2 On Simon Magus’s background (Rec. 2.8.1 / / Hom. 2.23.1–24.1) Syriac

Latin

(2.8.1) For when John the Baptist was killed, as you also know, Dositheus himself received the charge of the sect with those chiefs, who were thirty, and with one woman who is called “Moon,” so that they be thirty like the course of the moon. This Simon, I know not how, because he loves vain glory met Dositheus…

(2.8.1) For after John had been killed, when Dositheus had begun his heresy with thirty other leading disciples and one woman who was called Luna (whence it was evident that those thirty were established as if in accordance with the course of the moon in the number of days), this Simon, who as we have said was amorous of evil glory, approached

Greek (2.23.1) But this is how it happened that he slipped into the matter of godliness: There was a certain John, a Daily Baptist, who in accordance with the reasoning of the syzygy was also the precursor of our Lord Jesus. (2) Just as there were twelve apostles for the Lord, having the number of the twelve months of the sun, so also there were for him thirty principal men who made up the monthly compu-

19 Contra, e. g., Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 154–55, who lists the relevant texts. What is witnessed for B in this regard (and what has often been overlooked) is an anthropology that divides the human up between (bad) female elements and (good) male elements; see Rec. 3.5.5–7 and the parallel in Hom. 20.2.3–4 (precisely parallels such as this reveal that Rec. 3.2–11 is not a later interpolation into the Recognitions, but derives in part from the Basic Writing). 20 It cannot be determined to what degree the list of syzygies reached the author as tradition. The view of one large branch of previous research (e. g., Waitz, Die Pseudoklementinen, Homilien und Rekognitionen, 106–8, 136–37; Cullmann, Roman pseudo-clémentin, 88–89; Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 154, 188–91) that a list of syzygies formed part of the Kerygmata Petrou, a source of the Basic Writer, can no longer be sustained because the existence of this source can no longer be assumed.

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Dositheus and pleaded with tation of the moon. (3) In this number there was one woman simulated friendship​… called Helen so that not even this should be without order. For since the woman is half a man, she has made imperfect the number of the thirty as also with that of the moon, the monthly course of which does not make a perfect course. (4) Of these thirty for John, the first and most esteemed was Simon, who for the following reason did not rule after the death of John. (2.24.1) Now when he was on a trip to Egypt to improve in magic and John died, a certain Dositheus who coveted the leadership falsely announced his death and acceded to the leadership of the sect.

The second text presents B’s notion that Dositheus took over the leadership of John’s group after his death. Perusal of the columns shows that Rufinus has subtly attempted to distance Dositheus from John, but the Syriac reveals this move to be secondary.21 It is not clear if the Recognitionist was the one who separated Simon from John or if the Homilist is responsible for making Simon a direct disciple of John. The latter seems more probable, for the explanation in Hom. 2.24 that Simon did not assume leadership of the group because he was away in Egypt at the time of John’s death is best attributed to the Homilist: the Homilist seems to have introduced references to Egypt throughout the work (1.8, 2.4.1; 2.22.3; 5.3.4; 14.11.2).22 21 The Syriac version has often been overlooked in research, even in such recent scholarship as J. E.  Fossum, The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord: Samaritan and Jewish Concepts of Intermediation and the Origin of Gnosticism (WUNT 36; Tübingen 1985), 115, and Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 295–96. Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste, 128 with n. 1, is incorrect in saying that the Syriac expresses the same sense as the Latin. 22 With, for example, Rius-Camps “Las Pseudoclementinas,” 114, 119; K. Beyschlag, Simon Magus und die christliche Gnosis (WUNT 16; Tübingen 1974), 58, and others. The opposing view (i. e., that B originally had Simon as a direct disciple of John) is defended by Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 46; G. Lüdemann, Untersuchungen zur simonianischen Gnosis (GTA 1; Göttingen 1975), 93–94, and others; this point of view is often based on a neglect of the Syriac of Rec. 2.8.1 (so in Lüdemann, ibid., 93). Apos. Con. 6.8.1, which probably derives from the Basic Writing, speaks simply of Simon becoming a disciple of Dositheus and thus lends support to the view that the Recognitions has preserved the original form of the story at this point. This perspective seems to be reflected also in the insertion of Simon (as following Dositheus) by B at Rec. 1.54.3.

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The origin of the notion that John had thirty disciples including one woman calls for clarification. The woman seems clearly to derive from the tradition regarding Simon,23 whereas the notion of thirty disciples might be B’s further extrapolation on the basis of his schema of syzygies and the concept that Jesus’ twelve disciples correspond with the months of the year.24 In general, B is responsible for connecting Dositheus and Simon with each other as well as with John.25 A distinctive piece of information here concerning John is his designation as a “Daily Baptist.” It has been suggested that B knew this designation from Hegesippus and is responsible for applying it to John;26 it cannot be excluded, however, that this designation is an addition by the Homilist. These observations on the first and second passages cumulatively grant a good insight into B’s negative view of John the Baptist. Not only does B situate John the Baptist among the ten key evil figures in human history, the Basic Writer also made John the teacher of Dositheus, who in turn inducted Simon into the sect of the thirty. Simon, of course, is another of the ten key evil figures in human history and the one paired with the hero of the Pseudo-Clementine novel, Peter. Mounting parallels in ancient Christian writings to such a negative appraisal of John render it less likely than previously assumed that B is in a direct conflict with disciples of John and thus that B’s portrayal of John’s followers rests on some historical awareness of such a group. Yet one set of Pseudo-Clementine texts remains to be examined. The redactional picture of B’s John the Baptist gained thus far, alongside the insights into the redactional tendencies of Rec. and Hom., provides an excellent vantage point from which to evaluate this final set of texts.

23 See, e. g., the texts and discussion in Lüdemann, Untersuchungen zur simonianischen Gnosis, 55–78. 24 Rec. 4.35.3 contains the parallel to the notion of Jesus’ disciples as reflecting the twelve months of the year. Origen, Cels. 1.57, refers obliquely to the difficulty of finding thirty disciples of Simon; in Cels. 6.11 something quite similar is said of the Dositheans. These passages might indicate that B found the number traditionally associated with Simon. In a note to his English translation, however, H. Chadwick comments that this correspondence shows that Origen seems to have known the Pseudo-Clementine Basic Writing (Origen, Contra Celsum [trans. H. Chadwick; Cambridge 1953], 325 n. 2). Origen’s knowledge of the Pseudo-Clementines is, in actuality, hotly disputed, though in the balance of the arguments he seems to have indeed known B. S. J.  Isser, The Dositheans: A Samaritan Sect in Late Antiquity (SJLA 17; Leiden 1976), 24 with n. 33, failed to note the inclusion of the woman in the number of thirty in the Pseudo-Clementines. 25 See similarly, e. g., Beyschlag, Simon Magus, 58. Isser, The Dositheans, 25, correctly notes that nowhere else is Simon associated with Dositheus or is either of them associated with John the Baptist. 26 Beyschlag, Simon Magus, 54 with n. 98 and 50 with n. 87. Lüdemann, Untersuchungen zur simonianischen Gnosis, 96, states that the designation probably derives from anti-Johannine polemic and apparently presumes that the term was in B. Cf. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 243.

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3.3. About a debate between the Jewish schisms and the apostles (Rec. 1.53.5– 54.3, 8, 60.1–4, 63.1) Peter recounts to Clement: Syriac

Latin

(1.53.5) For the people were divided into many beliefs that began in the days of John the Baptist. (1.54.1) For as the Messiah was ready to be revealed for the abolition of sacrifices and in order to reveal and show forth baptism, the slanderer who was opposed recognized from predestination the point in time and created sects and divisions, so that if the former sin receive renunciation and correction, a second vice might be able to obstruct redemption.

(1.53.5) For indeed the people were being divided into many parties having started from John the Baptist. (1.54.1) For when the coming of Christ was near, on the one hand to check sacrifices and on the other hand to impart the favor of baptism, the enemy understood from what had been predicted that the time was at hand and effected various schisms among the people so that if perhaps it might be possible for the previous sin to be abolished, the following offence would not be able to be corrected. (2) The first was the schism of those who were called Sadducees, starting practically in the times of John. These began to separate themselves from the assembly of the people as more righteous than the others; they denied the resurrection of the dead and asserted this by an argument of unbelief saying that it is not appropriate for God to be worshipped as if for pay. (3) The initiator of this opinion was first Dositheus and, second, Simon…

(2) The first of these then are the ones called Sadducees, who arose in the days of John when they separated from the people as righteous ones and renounced the resurrection of the dead. They put forward the doctrine of their unbelief speciously when they said, namely, “It is not right that we should worship and fear God in the prospect of a reward for goodness.”

(3) In this doctrine, as I have said, Dositheus began and, after Dositheus, Simon, who also started so that he might create differences of opinions in the likeness of the former… (8) Now the pure disciples of John separat(8) Some of the disciples of John who ima­ ed greatly from the people and spoke to their gined they were great separated themselves teacher as if he was concealed. from the people and proclaimed their master as being the Christ.

Peter tells of a debate between the apostles and the Jewish parties that occurred in the seventh year after Jesus’ passion: Syriac

Latin

(1.60.1) One of the disciples of John approached and boasted regarding John, “He is the Christ, and not Jesus, just as Jesus himself spoke concerning him, namely, that he is greater than any prophet who had ever been. (2) If he is thus greater than Moses, it is clear that he is also greater than Jesus for Jesus arose just as did Moses. Therefore, it is right that John, who is greater than these, is the Christ.” (3) Simon the Canaanite testified against this one, “John was greater than the prophets who were begotten of women, but not greater

(1.60.1) And behold, one of John’s disciples asserted that John was Christ, and not Jesus. “This is so much the case,” he said, “that even Jesus himself proclaimed that John is greater than all humans and prophets. (2) If therefore,” he said, “he is greater than all, he should doubtless be considered greater than both Moses and Jesus himself. Now if he is greater than all, he is Christ.” (3) Responding to these things, Simon the Canaanite asserted that while John was greater than all the prophets and all who are sons of

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than the Son of Man. (4) Hence, Jesus, in addition, is the Christ, while he was only a prophet. The matters of Jesus are as far removed when compared with the matters of John as is the one who is sent out and proceeds ahead from the one who sends him to run out before him and as is the one who performs the service of the law from the one who institutes the law.” Now he spoke these things, witnessed to related matters, and then was silent. (1.63.1) Thus we, the ignorant and fishers, testified against the priests concerning God who alone is in the heavens; against the Sadducees concerning the resurrection of the dead; in truth against the Samaritans concerning Jerusalem, though we did not enter into their city, but rather spoke publicly outside; against the scribes and the Pharisees concerning the kingdom of heavens; against the disciples of John in order that they not be tripped up by him. Against all we said that Jesus is the eternal Christ.

women, he is not however greater than the Son of Man. (4) “Therefore, Jesus is also the Christ, while John is only a prophet. The difference between him and Jesus is as large as that between the precursor and the one who is forerun and between the lawgiver and the one who serves the law.” Having pursued these and similar matters, the Canaanite, too, was silent. (1.63.1) As we thus pursued these and other matters in this strain, we the ignorant and fishers appropriately taught and bore witness to the priests concerning the one sole God of heaven; the Sadducees concerning the resurrection of the dead; the Samaritans concerning the sanctity of Jerusalem, though we did not enter their city but rather disputed publicly; the scribes and the Pharisees regarding the kingdom of heaven; the disciples of John, lest they stumble over John; and the whole people that Jesus is the eternal Christ.

There is sufficient reason to believe that the context of this passage (Rec. 1.27–44, 53–71) derives from a special source employed by B: this section contains a series of ideas quite distinct from those of B, Hom., and Rec.27 Though a number of scholars have thought that this underlying writing was (a version of) the Ascents of James mentioned by Epiphanius, Pan. 30.16.6–9, the basis for this identification is quite weak (about 80 percent of what Epiphanius mentions is not found in Rec. 1.27–71).28 Hence, the only access to this source is careful redaction-critical study. The Basic Writer’s main contribution to this particular passage seems to be the introduction of John the Baptist as marking the beginning of the rise of the 27 On this source and the history of its investigation, see F. S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity: Pseudo-Clementine “Recognitions” 1.27–71 (SBLTT 37, Christian Apocrypha 2; Atlanta, Ga. 1995). Distinctive characteristics of the source are listed there, 128–31. Since the publication of this monograph and the studies reviewed there, further productive work on this source has been undertaken by a variety of scholars – this work cannot all be listed here. Not without some justification, G. Stanton has recently written, “There is now general agreement that this source existed, and that material has been interpolated into it at Recognitions 1.44–52” (“Jewish Christian Elements in the Pseudo-Clementine Writings,” in Jewish Believers in Jesus: The Early Centuries [ed. O. Skarsaune and R. Hvalvik; Peabody, Mass. 2007], 305–24 at 319). In the present context it is not least relevant that the attitude toward John the Baptist in this material is quite different from elsewhere in the Pseudo-Clementines. Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 401, insightfully noted that recurrence to the doctrine of syzygies would have been a most appropriate response in the discussion at Rec. 1.60.3–4, but that it is not used. 28 See Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 146–48, for more.

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Jewish sects29 (this fits with B’s interest reflected in the catalogue of syzygies and further expressed in the account of Simon Magus’s background) and the addition of the statement in Rec. 1.54.3 that Dositheus and Simon started the heresy of the Sadducees.30 The Basic Writer apparently saw himself confronted with source material that differed from his understanding and that did not derive all the sects from John the Baptist. Where he could do so, he added or modified statements in order to bring the sects into some sort of relationship with John, but his desire to use the source material without having entirely to rewrite it kept him from bringing this material completely in line with his own conceptions. The following statement in Rec. 1.54.8 about the “pure disciples of John” is more important for the question of whether this source is a historically reliable witness to continuing disciples of John. If the Syriac’s designation “pure disciples of John” is the original reading of Rec. 1.54.8, the attributive “pure” would seem to derive from B, for it serves to contrast the actual disciples of John with the other sects, which in B’s own conceptual framework also derive from John. Since Rec. 1.60.1 and 63.131 both speak of just “the disciples of John,” it seems likely both that “the disciples of John” were in B’s source and that B is the one 29 Contra E. Bammel, “The Baptist in Early Christian Tradition,” NTS 18 (1971–1972): 95– 128 at 117, who states that this connection was found in a source. It could well be that the author of the Recognitions has tampered with the passages in order to place John the Baptist in a better light. This has often been considered a tendency of the author of the Recognitions; see, for example, Waitz, Die Pseudoklementinen, Homilien und Rekognitionen, 20, 107; Cullmann, Roman pseudo-clémentin, 88; and Rehm, “Zur Entstehung der pseudoclementinischen Schriften,” 105, though this judgment has often been based on neglect of the Syriac of Rec. 2.8.1 and 3.61.2. 30 The Basic Writer seems to have gotten the idea that Dositheus was the originator of the Sadducees from Hippolytus’s Syntagma (this idea is found in Epiphanius, Pan. 14.2.1; Pseudo-Tertullian, Haer. 1.1; and Philaster, Haer. 4–5; see similarly the judgment of Hilgenfeld, Ketzergeschichte, 156 n. 259; R. A. Lipsius, Zur Quellenkritik des Epiphanios [Vienna 1865], 73, in contrast, assumed dependency of Hippolytus on the Recognitions or a closely related writing). The connection of Simon with Dositheus is B’s distinctive contribution: apart from the Pseudo-Clementines, “no other writers connect Simon with Dositheus” (Isser, The Dositheans, 25; see also ibid., 30–31, in contrast to the rather too loose handling of the material in Fossum, The Name of God, 47). 31 In his dissertation, G. Strecker attributes all of Rec. 1.63 to the author of the Recognitions (Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 42–43). This judgment that Rec. 1.63 as a whole is redactional has since found a number of followers: see R. E. Van Voorst, “The Ascents of James”: History and Theology of a Jewish-Christian Community (SBLDS 112; Atlanta, Ga. 1989), 37–38; compare S. K. Brown, James: A Religio-Historical Study of the Relations between Jewish, Gnostic, and Catholic Christianity in the Early Period through an Investigation of the Traditions about James the Lord’s Brother (Ann Arbor, Mich. 1972), 199, and Lüdemann, Antipaulinismus, 237 n. 35 (Opposition, 299 n. 35). It stands in contrast to the earlier judgment of Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 403–4, and Strecker himself subsequently refers to an element in this chapter as a distinctive view of the source (G. Strecker, “Das Land Israel in frühchristlicher Zeit,” in Das Land Israel in biblischer Zeit. Jerusalem-Symposium 1981 der Hebräischen Universität und der Georg-August-Universität [ed. G. Strecker; GTA 25; Göttingen 1983], 188–200 at 198). Thus, it is indeed possible that Rec. 1.63.1 preserves material from the source.

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responsible for attempting here to turn the other sects into varieties of disciples of John32 who can be distinguished from the pure disciples of John. Hence, B does not seem responsible for introducing the disciples of John as such into this passage. Further support for this judgment arises from consideration of B’s own conception of what happened to John’s thirty disciples. According to the report on Simon Magus’s background (discussed above), the thirty disciples of John all followed Dositheus and then later Simon. In this conceptual framework there is no place for other “disciples of John.” Thus, there is indeed a possibility that the source of Rec. 1.27–71 provides a historical witness to a continuing group of disciples of John. That this is still merely a possibility needs to be stressed at this juncture because in the search for evidence of a continuing group of disciples of the Baptist to support certain exegeses of New Testament texts, a number of New Testament scholars seem to accept this Pseudo-Clementine passage too readily as one from which it “geht mit Sicherheit hervor, daß die Johannesjünger ihren Meister als Messias verehrten.”33 Does this text truly justify the following statement: “die Charakterisierung der Johannesjünger aber ist so klar und überzeugend, daß man an ihrer Existenz und Konkurrenz zur christlichen Gemeinde nicht zweifeln kann”?34 This judgment is surely too extreme; there is always room for scientific doubt. The individual elements of the passage first need to be isolated further and examined. The place in which genuine Johannine tradition is a priori most likely to be found is in the preliminary description of the sect in Rec. 1.54.8 rather than in the report of the discussion in Rec. 1.60.1–2, for the depiction of the debate generally seems to be an extrapolation from the preliminary listing of the sects and in any event called for the creative talents of the author to portray a lively forum.35 Such 32 A. Hilgenfeld, Judenthum und Judenchristenthum. Eine Nachlese zu der “Ketzergeschichte des Urchristenthums” (Leipzig 1886), 46–47, already saw that this was a redactor’s addition to the text. 33 Schnackenburg, “Das vierte Evangelium und die Johannesjünger,” 25. 34 Ibid. 35 Since the list of the sects clearly has a traditional basis, the portrayal of the debate is ascribed most readily to the author of the source of Rec. 1.27–71. There is no reason to ascribe the portrayal of the debate as a whole to B or to Rec., as Lüdemann, Antipaulinismus, 240 with n. 41 (Opposition, 179, 299 n. 41), does. See also Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 280, who assigns the section to the post-Nicene author of the Recognitions and incorrectly writes of the apostles’ responses: “die Substanz der ‘orthodoxen’ Antwort entstammt dem heilsgeschichtlichen Überblick”; most of the examples he lists (for example, Rec. 1.59.2–3, 60.3–4, 61.3, 62.3–7) do not find parallels in Rec. 1.33–43. Where Backhaus momentarily abandons his source-critical theory, he correctly states that Rec. 1.60 secondarily draws on Rec. 1.54 (ibid., 281). My studies have led me to the conclusion that the source of Rec. 1.27–71 knew and used Hegesippus (see An Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 142–45, for a list of 18 specific correspon­ dences, and more extensively in “The Martyrdom of James in Hegesippus, Clement of Alexandria, and Christian Apocrypha, Including Nag Hammadi: A Study of the Textual Relations,” SBLSP 29 [1990]: 322–35 at 328–31 [reproduced in Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque

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an analysis finds confirmation in the parallel case of the Sadducees: the statement about not worshipping God in the prospect of a reward and “separating” in Rec. 1.54.2 is found also in rabbinic sources (m.Abot 1.3 and Abot R. Nat. A 5, B 10)36 and thus is older tradition that is not even repeated in the discussion. In the case of the debate with the disciples of John, the clear influence of Matt 11:9, 11 (Rec. 1.60.1, 3) might well be secondary. The possibility thus emerges that Rec. 1.54.8 preserves older tradition about the disciples of John. With regard to the original wording of this text, the rule of lectio difficilior potior has led most scholars to conclude that the Syriac, not the Latin, has preserved the original of the passage, for the Latin is pedantic (the conceit of certain disciples is the problem) and seems to be drawn in a harmonizing (and clarifying) fashion from Rec. 1.60.1. While the first statement that the disciples of John separated themselves from the people seems to derive from redaction (see the parallel remark about the Sadducees in Rec. 1.54.2 and about the Pharisees in Rec. 1.54.6 [Latin] and Rec. 6.11.2 // Hom. 11.28.4), an older tradition of the text seems to be the statement that the disciples of the Baptist spoke to their teacher as if he was concealed.37 Whatever is exactly intended by this statement (reconstructed Greek: οἱ δὲ μαθηταὶ Ἰωάννου ἔλεγον τῷ διδασκάλῳ αὐτῶν ὡς ἐν κρυπτῷ εἶναι), it is clear that the text asserts that the disciples of John were according John some extraordinary stature. John, in their view, was still a living being (perhaps having been assumed into the heavenly world; cf. Mark 6:14, 16). It is possible that the text implies they were thinking of him as (an) Elijah or as a hidden messiah.38

inter Judaeochristiana, 291–305 at 298–301]); Hegesippus had both a list of heresies and a disputation with them. Thus (on this basis alone), the source of Rec. 1.27–71 is very likely also to have had both. Slight differences between the list of sects and the discussion and other observations led Van Voorst, “The Ascents of James,” 36–37, to conclude that the list of sects (ch. 54) is secondary and “likely comes from the Recognitionist, to judge from his love of summaries and typically unskillful composition.” This perspective turns matters on their head and runs strongly counter to the findings in the history of traditions and redaction criticism. 36 See my study, “Jewish Tradition on the Sadducees in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in The Pseudo-Clementines (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SECA 10; Leuven 2010), 227–40 (collected in Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque inter Judaeochristiana, 267–78). 37 The Syriac has sometimes been construed to mean “said that their master was, as it were, concealed.” So Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste, 121 n. 2, and the retro-translation in Frankenberg, Die syrischen Clementinen mit griechischem Paralleltext, 61, followed by Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 399 n. 1; Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 239; Schnackenburg, “Das vierte Evangelium und die Johannesjünger,” 24–25; Bammel, “The Baptist in Early Christian Tradition,” 117 n. 7, and others. I can no longer see that the Syriac verb ’mr (“to say”) in conjunction with lamad permits this interpretation. 38 On this concept, see E. Sjöberg, Der verborgene Menschensohn in den Evangelien (Skrifter utgivna av kungl. humanistika vetenskapssamfundet i Lund 53; Lund 1955), 41–98. For ancient conceptions and implications of “assumption,” see the overview in D. A. Smith, Post-Mortem Vindication of Jesus in the Sayings Gospel Q (LNTS 338; London and New York 2006), 49–93.

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As regards the history of this information, it needs to be asked if the source of B is here dependent on an even earlier identifiable source. Since this text is part of a list of Jewish schisms, one can ask in particular if the source used an earlier catalogue of heresies. Evidence elsewhere in Rec. 1.27–71 makes it clear that this source is dependent on Hegesippus,39 and Hegesippus did contain a list of Jewish sects (preserved in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.22.7). Nevertheless, the list in Rec. 1.54 does not seem to be solely dependent on Hegesippus, not least because the disciples of John are not found there, but also because several groups mentioned by Hegesippus (Essenes, Galilaeans, Masbothaeans) are not found in Rec. 1.54.40 Furthermore, the detailed information about the individual sects in Rec. 1.54 is not reflected in the preserved fragments of Hegesippus. Instead, these details seem to derive from several sources. Thus, there are Jewish rabbinic parallels to the information on the Sadducees and the Samaritans,41 while the statement that the (scribes and) Pharisees were baptized by John seems to come from the Gospel of the Ebionites (cited in Epiphanius, Pan. 30.13.4: “John appeared baptizing, and the Pharisees went out to him and were baptized, also all of Jerusalem”).42 In view of this state of affairs, it is not likely that the author of the source of Rec. 1.27–71 drew upon a pre-existing list of sects for his presentation. It looks rather as if he composed this list (perhaps inspired to do so in part by Hegesippus) from disparate information available to him. This means that the information on the disciples of John most likely came to the author through some independent channel. Whether this channel was personal knowledge, hearsay, or a written source is difficult to determine. However, since the information presented on the Sadducees, Samaritans, and scribes and Pharisees either seems reliable or else is based on documented traditions of the time or a known written source (i. e., the Gospel of the Ebionites), it is unlikely that the author simply created the detailed information about the disciples of John. How far back in the history of John’s followers this view of John extends, however, is still theoretically open to Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 142–45, for details and discussion. possibility that the source or B changed Hegesippus’s “Daily Baptists” into disciples of John does, however, remain; yet, as stated above, the Homilist is probably the one responsible for having turned John into a “Daily Baptist.” 41 For details regarding the information on the Sadducees, see Jones, “Jewish Tradition on the Sadducees in the Pseudo-Clementines.” The remarkable profile of the entry on the Samaritans has yet to be appreciated. Full details must await presentation elsewhere, but here are two relevant elements in brief: reflective of Jewish attitudes particular to the second century is the unusual inclusion of the Samaritans among the Jewish sects; striking, too, is the statement in the Syriac of Rec. 1.54.4 that the Samaritans “worship Mount Gerizim” (cf. Rec. 1.57.1 Latin), which reflects a broader Jewish account about the Samaritans and finds verbatim parallels in rabbinic texts. For references and more discussion, see F. S. Jones, “Jewish Christians as Heresiologists and as Heresy,” Rivista di storia del cristianesimo 6 (2009): 333–47 at 337–38 (also in Jones, Pseudoclementina Elchasaiticaque inter Judaeochristiana, 516–31 at 521–22). 42 See Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 148–49. It could be that the latter statement was added by B in order to bring the sect of the scribes and Pharisees into some relation with John the Baptist. 39 See

40 The

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question. Change might have occurred, and the above could be the view of only one second-century group,43 though the text seems to imply that the disciples of John always thought in this manner. Documentation of the notion that John was raised from the dead is found a century earlier in Mark 6:14, 16, though scholars are not unified in their historical evaluation of these verses.44 The account in Rec. 1.60.1–2 was determined above to be a priori less likely to reflect ancient tradition. Nevertheless, it should be noted that Martin Dibelius took this passage at face value and stated that through it “ist uns bezeugt, daß der Spruch Mt. 1111a von den Johannes-Jüngern benutzt worden ist, um den Vorrang ihres Meisters vor Jesus selber zu behaupten… Offenbar war die synoptische Darstellung von den Johannesjüngern benutzt worden, um durch den von ihrem Meister ausgehenden Glanz den nach ihm Gekommenen zu verdunkeln.”45 There seems to be no way to verify absolutely if this text rests on some historical tradition or is merely the fictional creation of the author. The passages in the Gospel of John that are thought to reflect a polemic against the disciples of John do not reveal the use of this passage by John’s disciples. Some slight evidence might be the possible echo of Matt 11:11 in the Mandaean Book of John 27, “Jahja preaches in the nights and said, ‘Is there one greater than I?’ ”46 In sum, this passage of the Pseudo-Clementines seems to yield some potentially valuable historical information about the followers of John: a source from circa 200 c.e.47 apparently knows that disciples of John (once?) spoke to their teacher as if he was hidden. The information the source has in its list on the other along these lines, Ernst, Johannes der Täufer, 369, 383–84. reviewing the literature and various interpretations, I refer only summarily to Backhaus, Die “Jüngerkreise” des Täufers Johannes, 89–95, especially the indications from the history of religions here as documented further in K. Berger, Die Auferstehung des Propheten und die Erhöhung des Menschensohnes. Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Deutung des Geschickes Jesu in frühchristlichen Texten (SUNT 13; Göttingen 1976), esp. 17–22, 114–17. If there is some historical reality behind these verses, then John the Baptist seems to have set the path for the fate of Jesus in a way that well exceeds standard historical estimations. 45 M. Dibelius, Die urchristliche Überlieferung von Johannes dem Täufer (FRLANT 15; Göttingen 1911), 14 and 119. This opinion is already found in Baldensperger, Der Prolog des vierten Evangeliums, 138, and is approved by Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 400. Reitzenstein, Die Vorgeschichte der christlichen Taufe, 60, writes of Rec. 1.60, “Auch der Verfasser der Rekognitionen wird also mittelbar aus einer Lehrschrift der Johannesjünger schöpfen.” Thomas, Le mouvement baptiste, 131, also argues that only the disciples of John would have been interested in developing this argument. Compare Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 242, who, with Hom. 2.17.2 also in mind, states that the Pseudo-Clementines contain “zwei voneinander unabhängige Belege für die Verwendung dieses neutestamentlichen Logions in der Polemik der Täufersekte.” 46 93, l. 5 (text); 95, ll. 13–14 (trans.) in the edition and translation by M. Lidzbarski, Das Johannesbuch der Mandäer, vol. 2: Einleitung, Übersetzung, Kommentar (Giessen 1915). Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums, 401 n. 3, finds a use of Matt 11:11 here, but as Lidzbarski documents with parallels in his note to the passage, “Dies ist sonst eine Frage im Munde der rebellischen Mächte” (Das Johannesbuch der Mandäer, 95 n. 8). 47 The date of the source lies between Hegesippus and B. 43 See,

44 Without

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sects seems reliable and is, similarly to the statements on John, in certain details unparalleled in known Christian sources (cf. the case of the Sadducees). Thus, the preponderance of the evidence is that this source contains a reliable piece of information on the followers of John the Baptist.

4. Conclusion This investigation of the Pseudo-Clementine remarks about John and his disciples has proceeded back through the redactional layers of the Pseudo-Clementines and has carefully sorted out what is secondary. The Pseudo-Clementine Basic Writer, from circa 220 c.e., promoted a consistently negative view of John the Baptist. As recently recovered texts have further substantiated, such a negative view of John was indeed fostered in a sub-tradition of ancient Christianity. Consequently, it has become increasingly difficult to ascribe B’s negative attitude toward John to an actual controversy with Johannine disciples at the time of the Basic Writing rather than to the broader sub-tradition that was no longer in actual conflict with Johannine disciples. Another distinctive set of material about John came to the Basic Writer from a source that dates another twenty years earlier. This source (Rec. 1.27–44, 53–71) has been the subject of several recent studies and has achieved increasing critical recognition. A tradition here stated that John’s disciples spoke to him as still alive in some hidden place. This text (Rec. 1.54.8) would seem, indeed, to provide some concrete support for the view that disciples of John continued to exist well after John’s death and that they venerated John in a quite exalted way. New Testament scholars in search of evidence for the continued existence of Johannine disciples who could rival the followers of Jesus will thus not look in vain to the Pseudo-Clementines.

The Pseudo-Clementine Homilies’ Use of Jewish Pseudepigrapha Kelley Coblentz Bautch The Jewish-Christian Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,1 a rather enigmatic work from late-antique Syria, express theological tendencies through challenges to interpretations of Scriptures it views as heretical.2 The narrative’s antagonists point to unflattering passages in Scripture about God or patriarchs in biblical texts which they read in a very rigid, literalist manner. The Homilies respond to the interpretations by maintaining that Scripture, in fact, contains false pericopae: any text that presents God in an unfavorable light or diminishes God’s goodness, omniscience or omnipotence must be in error (Hom. 2.38, 40–41; 16.14).3 Scrip1 For the Greek of the Homilies, I rely on B. Rehm’s critical edition updated by G. Strecker, Die Pseudoklementinen, I. Homilien (3rd ed.; GCS 42; Berlin 1992). Citations of the Homilies follow the translations of T. Smith, P. Peterson and J. Donaldson, “The Clementine Homilies,” in ANF 8:223–346, now considered by many to be dated. 2 Most contemporary scholars posit a minimum of three layers interwoven in the Homilies: the work of the Homilist (fourth century), a Grundschrift (third century), and earlier, varied texts that are utilized in the Grundschrift. Syria is most commonly suggested as the provenance for the Homilist, the Grundschrift, and certain of the sources. For a history of scholarship on the Pseudo-Clementine literature, both the Greek Homilies and Syriac and Latin Recognitions, see F. S. Jones, “The Pseudo-Clementines: A History of Research,” SecCent 2 (1982): 1–33, 63–96. See also idem, “Jewish Christianity of the Pseudo-Clementines,” in A Companion to Second-Century Christian “Heretics” (ed. A. Marjanen and P. Luomanen; VCSup 76; Leiden 2005), 315–34; idem, “The Pseudo-Clementines,” in Jewish Christianity Reconsidered: Rethinking Ancient Groups and Texts (ed. M. Jackson-McCabe; Minneapolis 2007), 285–304. 3 On the false pericopae in the Homilies, see K. E. Shuve, “The Doctrine of the False Pericopes and other Late Antique Approaches to the Problems of Scripture’s Unity,” in Nouvelles intrigues pseudo-clémentines  – Plots in the Pseudo-Clementine Romance. Actes du deuxième colloque international sur la littérature apocryphe chrétienne, Lausanne–Genève, 30 août–2 septembre 2006 (ed. F. Amsler et al.; PIRSB 6; Lausanne 2008), 437–45; G. B. Bazzana, “Apelles and the Pseudo-Clementine Doctrine of the False Pericopes,” in “Soyez des changeurs avisés.” Controverses exégétiques dans la littérature apocryphe chrétienne (ed. G. Aragione and R. Gounelle; Cahiers de Biblia Patristica 12; Strasbourg 2012), 11–32; K. Coblentz Bautch, “Obscured by the Scriptures, Revealed by the Prophets: God in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,” in Histories of the Hidden God: Concealment and Revelation in Western Gnostic, Esoteric, and Mystical Traditions (ed. A. D. DeConick and G. Adamson; Gnostica; Durham 2013), 120–36 esp. 122–26; and D. H.  Carlson, Jewish-Christian Interpretation of the Pentateuch in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies (Minneapolis 2013), esp. 51–75.

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ture, that is, in the case of the Homilies, the Septuagint,4 was most certainly understood to be authoritative;5 the romance’s principal hero, Peter, uses Scripture, for example, as a proof-text to counter assertions about God (e. g., Hom. 16.11). Still, the Homilies argue, Scripture has been subject to falsification; for this reason Jesus in the Homilies thrice advises, “Be wise money changers,” in a logion that is, ironically, not found in Scripture today.6 While the Homilies urge the faithful to approach Scripture with caution, they also make use of and ground positions in texts that are anachronistically labeled pseudepigraphical by many today. Especially notable as a pseudepigraphical source for many pre-Christian traditions in the Homilies is the collection of writings attributed to the patriarch Enoch.7 Indeed several scholars have observed the Homilies’ indebtedness to Enochic literature in its account of the angels’ descent (1 En. 6–16; Hom. 8.12–20).8 4 The Homilies distinguish between the Hebrew scriptures and writings of the New Testament, even while the teachings of Jesus are considered authoritative (see, for example, Hom. 3.55). See L. L.  Kline, The Sayings of Jesus in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies (SBLDS 14; Missoula, Mont. 1975), 178–79. 5 G. Strecker’s study of scriptural citations in the Pseudo-Clementine literature demonstrates that the authors utilized the LXX, not the MT, nor an idiosyncratic Jewish-Christian translation. Further, Strecker’s research does not reveal significant text-critical variants in those passages citing the Hebrew scriptures. See his monograph, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen (2nd ed.; TU 70; Berlin 1981), 117–36. 6 See Hom. 2.51; 3.50; 18.20. That the saying pertains to the ability to discern between Scripture’s authentic and spurious passages is made clear in Hom. 18.20, which clarifies that bankers are able to distinguish between what is genuine and counterfeit – see the agraphon quoted by Clement of Alexandria, Strom. I.28.177  – as one must do with regard to Scripture. See also G. B. Bazzana, “ ‘Be Good Moneychangers’: The Role of an Agraphon in a Discursive Fight for the Canon of Scripture,” in Invention, Rewriting, Usurpation: Discursive Fights over Religious Traditions in Antiquity (ed. J. Ulrich, A. C. Jacobsen and D. Brakke; Early Christianity in the Context of Antiquity 11, Frankfurt 2012), 297–311. 7 While the plethora of traditions that generally pertain to the seventh patriarch can be useful for this study, we focus on traditions from arguably the earliest collection of Enochic texts, which are extant in 1 Enoch or the Ethiopic Book of Enoch. This early collection consisting of the Astronomical Book, Book of the Watchers, Epistle of Enoch, and Book of Dreams is thought by most scholars to provide the basis for subsequent Second Temple period literature, like Jubilees, which highly esteems Enoch. On Jubilees’ use of earlier Enochic literature, see J. C. VanderKam, “Enoch Traditions in Jubilees and Other Second-Century Sources,” SBLSP 13–14 (1978): 229–51 at 241 (reprinted in idem, From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature [JSJSup 62; Leiden 2000], 305–31 at 325). Similarly, the Syriac and Latin Recognitions demonstrate knowledge of Jubilees. See F. S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity Pseudo-Clementine “Recognitions” 1.27–71 (SBLTT 37, Christian Apocrypha 2; Atlanta, Ga. 1995), 138–39. 8 See, for example, H. J. Lawlor, “Early Citations from the Book of Enoch,” Journal of Philology 25 (1897): 164–225 esp. 189–93; J. C. VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (ed. J. C. VanderKam and W. Adler; CRINT 3.4; Assen and Minneapolis 1996), 33–101 at 76–80; and G. W. E.  Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis 2001), 97–98 and 195–96. A second, important source for the Homilies with regard to the tradition of the Watchers’ descent is the book of Jubilees itself. See Jub. 5:1–2, 6–11; 10:1–14.

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As if to underscore the relationship, George W. E. Nickelsburg remarks that the Homilies present “the most extensive extant Christian reuse of Enochic traditions about the Watchers.”9 In this essay, I explore further points of contact: themes found in Enochic writings that reappear in the late-antique Homilies.10 In addition to similar accounts of the fallen angels, Enochic literature and the Homilies share expansive views of revelation and positive assessments of the protoplast. Curiously, though, while revered in the Homilies, Enoch is no longer closely associated with the traditions that in earlier contexts circulated in his name.

1. Expansive views of revelation and revealed wisdom Enochic literature and the Homilies put forth distinctive concepts of revelation that are expansive and draw on the wisdom or teaching of particular parties. While Enochic literature lacks formal parallels to commandments detailed in the Torah, it highlights revealed wisdom or the divine law that concerns calendrical practices and Noachide laws, like the prohibitions against shedding blood, illicit sexual intercourse, and idolatry  – laws applicable to humankind (see 1 En. 9:8–10; 10:11; 12:4; 15:3–7; 19:1; 27:2; 85:4; 89:32–33, 51–52, 54; 93:4; 98:11; 99:6–9).11 Rooted in sapiential traditions, Enochic wisdom emphasizes a law of nature,12 communicated through cosmic order and incumbent upon all, as is suggested by 1 Enoch 2–5 and by the law that the Watchers violate (see 1 En. 106:14).13 We also find in the Epistle of Enoch the expression “eternal law” or “covenant” (ἡ αἰωνία διαθήκη; see 1 En. 99:2; also 93:4, 6). The notion of an

1 Enoch 1, 97. recent study which also explores connections among Enochic literature and the Homilies is that of E. J. C. Tigchelaar, “Manna-Eaters and Man-Eaters: Food of Giants and Men in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,” in The Pseudo-Clementines (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SECA 10; Leuven 2010), 92–114. 11 Jub. 7 appears to offer one of the earliest explicit expositions on the Noachide law from Gen 9; as a general ethic it forbids bloodshed, consumption of blood, fornication and pollution (Jub. 7:23–33). Rabbinic traditions base the Noachide laws in commandments suggested by Gen 1–11. Tosefta ‘Abod. Zar. 8.4 lists seven prohibitions, including idolatry, blasphemy, fornication, bloodshed, theft, and torn limbs. B. Sanh. 56b and Tosefta Abod. Zar. 8.6–8 also forbid sorcery and forbidden mixtures, activities for which the Watchers and their human partners are condemned (see 1 En. 7:1; 8:3; 9:6–8; 15:3–7; 16:3). On the development of the Noachide commandments, see M. Bockmuehl, Jewish Law in Gentile Churches: Halakhah and the Beginning of Christian Public Ethics (Grand Rapids, Mich. 2003), 150–67. 12 G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Enochic Wisdom: An Alternative to the Mosaic Torah?” in Hesed ve-emet: Studies in Honor of Ernest S. Frerichs (ed. J. Magness and S. Gitin; BJS 320; Atlanta, Ga. 1998), 123–32 esp. 124–26; idem, 1 Enoch 1, 51. See also R. Argall, 1 Enoch and Sirach: A Comparative Literary and Conceptual Analysis of the Themes of Revelation, Creation and Judgment (SBLEJL 8; Atlanta, Ga. 1995), 101–64. See 1 En. 2–5; 15:1–6; 72–82; 93:4 and 98:1–3, 11. 13 See also Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 51.  9 Nickelsburg, 10 Another

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eternal law may refer to the perpetuity of the Noachide law as in Jub. 6:14.14 In any event, Torah is especially illumined through revealed wisdom (1 En. 5:8; 32:3; 82:2–3; 92:1; 99:10; 104:12), a category Nickelsburg finds all-encompassing in the Enochic literature.15 This heavenly wisdom is mediated by the patriarch Enoch, whose revelations safeguard the chosen.16 Comparable to the Enochic view of Torah, the Homilies also refer to an eternal law or νόμος αἰωνίος (Hom. 8.10; cf. Ep. Pet. 2.5; Hom. 3.51). Adam, who teaches his offspring pious behavior, appoints a perpetual law which is accessible to all (Hom. 8.10). The content of the law is not made clear, yet the Homilies stress that it was available to all people.17 Whereas the Enochic literature is less explicit about Torah, the Homilies maintain that Scripture, especially the Pentateuch, is defective. Spurious selections are those that misrepresent God and biblical figures esteemed in the Homilies (see Hom. 2.52; 16.14). Any statement in Scripture, for example, that suggests that God is one of many, that God is not omniscient, or that God is not good is understood by the Homilies to be untrue (Hom. 2.40–41).18 The restrictive approach to Scripture taken by the Homilies is especially necessitated by the threat of certain opponents (as represented by the figure of Simon, here) for whom Scripture, when subjected to rigorous examination, refutes claims such as the unity of God. Just as the patriarch Enoch provides the necessary wisdom for the elect in Enochic literature, Jesus imparts in the Homilies the understanding required to read Scripture. That is, one discerns the correct reading of Scripture and distinguishes spurious passages from the genuine by relying on an interpretative tool: the knowledge and teaching of the True Prophet, Jesus (Hom. 3.49, 54–57). Also reminiscent of Enoch’s revealed wisdom is the idea that one should learn the mysteries of Scriptures (τὸ μυστήριον τῶν γραφῶν, Hom. 2.40) in order to avoid sinning against God. A parallel to Enoch’s wisdom lies in Jesus’ knowledge, described as “the key of the kingdom … which alone can open the gate of life” (Hom. 3.18).19 From the perspective of the Homilies, Jesus proclaims the same law 14 These passages from 1 Enoch might also refer to the timeless quality of the Mosaic law, a concept we find in Bar 4:1 as well as in Rabbinic literature. M. Black, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch: A New English Edition with Commentary and Textual Notes (SVTP 7; Leiden 1985), 290, 304, suggests that both allusions to the eternal law or covenant in 1 En. 93:6 and 99:2 refer to the Mosaic law, an interpretation that may be merited by the context of both. See also Strecker, Das Judenchristentum, 163. 15 In 1 En. 5:8, for example, wisdom is granted to the elect and by means of it, they sin no more. See Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 50. 16 See Nickelsburg, “Enochic Wisdom,” 129. 17 Obedience to the law results in abundance from the vantage of the Homilies. Humankind, ignorant of evil and unaware of their bounty, neglect to acknowledge God’s role in universe; the situation leads angels to seek to condemn people for their ingratitude. 18 For the Homilies, the falsehoods serve a divine purpose; essentially they were added to Scripture to provide a test for the faithful that they might not accept blasphemous statements (Hom. 2.38; 3.4, 5). 19 Hence Peter proclaims, “Obeying Christ, we learn to know what is false from the Scriptures” (Hom. 16.14). The notion that Scripture contains mysteries that require the guidance

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as Moses, but, like Enoch, Jesus is also seen as a special mediator of knowledge or gnosis (Hom. 3.51, 54). Still, there are key differences. Enochic literature has less to say explicitly about revealers and tradents following the ante-diluvian period, while the Homilies value the experience at Sinai, favoring an oral tradition of Torah that has been faithfully handed down by certain members in the house of Israel.

2. The innocent protoplast: a shared tradition While the Homilies utilize the notion of spurious passages in Scripture to challenge claims deemed heretical, they still appeal to the Hebrew scriptures and to the sayings of Jesus; these provide proof-texts to defend what might be thought of as orthodox views having to do with God’s omniscience, goodness, and unity. At the same time, heretical assertions about Scripture are met or countered with traditions (ironically) familiar from texts that would later be designated pseudepigraphal. Two motifs in the Homilies in particular – the innocence of Adam and the fall of the Watchers – are strikingly comparable to traditions from earlier pseudepigraphal traditions and they serve the Homilies’ theology in countering interpretations of Scripture deemed problematic. Inasmuch as others have established the Homilies’ use of the myth of the Watchers from Enochic literature, I do not revisit the motif. I explore, rather, the shared understanding of the first man. In addition to defending the honor of God, Peter’s hermeneutic allows him to reject the unflattering reports about certain holy men who appear in the Pentateuch (Hom. 2.52). The apostle counters, for example, that Adam was not a transgressor, Noah was not drunk, Abraham and Jacob were not polygamists, and Moses did not murder nor learn about judging from an idolatrous priest. In the disputations, Peter rallies especially to the defense of Adam. On the basis of other passages from Scripture, the apostle can reject outright the claims of Gen 3 as spurious.20 Contrary to Gen 3, Adam had no need to sin or to take of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (Hom. 3.18).21 The Homilies assert, instead, that Adam, fashioned in the image of God, is not ignorant but has the of one teacher, the True Prophet, to unravel recalls to some extent the manner of scriptural interpretation at Qumran. Through the direction of the Teacher of Righteousness, texts deemed authoritative, especially those subjected to the interpretative technique of the pesharim, revealed their hidden meaning and intent. While the interpretative key for the pesharim may have been determined by the group’s own situation, the hermeneutic for the Homilies seems far simpler: in instances of contradiction in Scripture, one is to choose the more reverential position, especially when creation bears witness to God (see Hom. 19.8). 20 “Even the law publicly current, though charging him with the crime of ignorance for the sake of the unworthy, send to him those desirous of knowledge, saying ‘Ask your father, and he will tell you; your elders and they will declare to you’ (Deut 32:7b)” (Hom. 3.18). 21 In fact, Peter takes issue with the biblical account of the fall, suggesting that it would be illogical for a reasonless beast to be more powerful than God (Hom. 3.21; also Hom. 3.42).

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Holy Spirit of God’s foreknowledge (Hom. 3.15). That foreknowledge, an essential attribute for a prophet, is manifested in Adam’s naming the animals and his sons, each “according to the merits of its nature” (Hom. 3.21, 42). The Homilies’ depiction of the first man, however, extends beyond what is given in Scripture. Adam as the sinless first prophet is the True Prophet. In fact, Adam, possessing the Holy Spirit of Christ (Hom. 3.20), appears in another incarnation as Jesus (Hom. 3.17, 18, 20, 21). Hom. 3.20 especially facilitates the conclusion that Adam and Christ are the same; the homily alludes to a form of metempsychosis, reporting of Christ that he “has changed his forms and his names from the beginning of the world and so reappeared again and again in the world until coming upon his own times.”22 With regard to Adam’s association with Jesus, Han J. W. Drijvers writes: “No convincing interpretation of the identity of Adam and Christ, both representing the True Prophet, has so far been given,” and Georg Strecker rightly observes: ‘Die Identität Adam-Christus ist außerhalb der Klementinen kaum belegt.’”23 Subsequently, Drijvers proposes that the “doctrinal complex of the True Prophet” derives from the Grundschrift of the text and is “an original anti-heretical construction of the author.”24 Whereas Marcion stresses Adam’s sinful nature and dissolves any link between Adam and Christ, the Homilies (or more specific to Drijvers’s hypothesis, the Grundschrift) assert the sinless nature of Adam and his association, in fact, his identification with Christ. Yet, a tradition of glorifying Adam and the identification of the first man with an eschatological figure may not be quite as unique to this literature as one might suppose from Drijvers’s assertion. While many works from the Second Temple period focus on and elaborate the fall of the first man (see Rom 5:12–21; 4 Ezra), others emphasize the glory of Adam who was created in the image and likeness of God (see Gen 1:26–27) or his proximity to divinity.25 In his study of divine anthropology, Crispin H. T. Fletcher-Louis traced the theme of Adam glorified in late Second Temple period literature,26 calling attention especially to the motif at Qumran.27 1QS 4.22–23, 1QH 4.14–15 and CD 3.20 refer to “all 22 H. J. W. Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Loyalitätskonflikte in der Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift für Carsten Colpe (ed. C. Elsas and H. G. Kippenberg; Würzburg 1990), 314–23, may be correct to interpret this passage thus: “From the beginning of the world there was therefore a continuous prophecy appearing in different form and under different names from Adam to Christ, the first and the last True Prophet” (315). 23 Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet,” 318; Strecker, Das Judenchristentum, 149. 24 Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet,” 318. 25 Though he chooses to emphasize the fall of the protoplast, Paul may demonstrate awareness of this same tradition in Rom 5:14 when he notes that Adam is a type of the one who is to come. 26  C. H. T.  Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam: Liturgical Anthropology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 42; Leiden 2002), 88–101 esp. 91. See, for example, L. A. E. 4:1–2; 12–16; 27:1; Apoc. Ab. 23:5; 2 En. 30:11, 13; Sib. Or. 1:20; 3:27; and 3 Bar. 4:16, which illustrate that Adam enjoys a divine or angelic glory. 27 Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam, 92–100.

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the Glory of Adam” (‫)כול כבוד אדם‬, apparently a state to which the community aspired. Because “Adam” signifies both the first man and the generic Hebrew word for “man,” it can be difficult to determine whether the authors are speaking of Adam of primeval history or generally of humankind. These instances may acquire more clarity, though, through Words of the Heavenly Lights (4Q504, frg. 8, recto) whose reconstructed text suggests that Adam was made in the likeness of God’s glory, given knowledge and discernment, and made to rule.28 Moreover, in 4Q381 one reads of the angels serving and ministering to Adam, a tradition familiar from pseudepigraphal texts, rabbinic works and early Christian literature.29 In light of the cultic overtones of ‫“( שרת‬to minister”) and ‫“( עבד‬to perform an act of worship”), Fletcher-Louis poses that 4Q381 may be one of the earliest references to the tradition that Adam was to be the object of (angelic) worship prior to his fall, a tradition well attested in late antiquity.30 Alexander Golitzin also explores the theme of the “glory of Adam” in the writings of Aphrahat of Persia, Ephrem of Nisibis, and the anonymous collections of sermons entitled Book of Steps.31 As with the research of Fletcher-Louis, his study of texts from ascetic Christians in fourth century Syro-Mesopotamia demonstrates that communities seek to achieve the protological (or pristine) state of Adam in a liturgical context. Golitzin sees a sort of kinship of Adamic traditions between the fourth century, ascetically-minded Syrians and the Qumranites and at the same time, encourages further comparisons of the Christian traditions of Adam to Hekhalot literature.32 Both studies make clear that within the Second Temple period and late antiquity, Jews and Christians were offering interpretations of Adam that built upon but ventured beyond the context of Genesis. While these traditions that concern the glorification of the first man do not provide exact parallels for Adam as the True Prophet of the Homilies, they do speak to an interest in Adam and his proximity to divinity prior to the fall. Other pseudepigraphical texts, however, may come closer to providing a precursor for the traditions concerning Adam that we find in the Pseudo-Clementines. One observes that in the Animal Apocalypse (1 En. 83–90) from the Book of Dreams, Adam is not depicted as guilty of any

M. Baillet, Qumrân grotte 4. III (4Q482–4Q520) (DJD 7; Oxford 1982), 162–63. All the Glory of Adam, 99. See, for example, L. A. E. 12–16; Gen. Rab. 8:10; Eccl. Rab. 6:9; Pirqe R. El. 11–12; Sib. Or. 8:439–55. 30 Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam, 99–100. See, for example, L. A. E. 12–16 and Gos. Bart. 4:51–55. 31 A. Golitzin, “Recovering the ‘Glory of Adam’: ‘Divine Light’ Traditions in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Christian Ascetical Literature of Fourth-Century Syro-Mesopotamia,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls as Background to Postbiblical Judaism and Early Christianity: Papers from an International Conference at St. Andrews in 2001 (ed. J. R. Davila; STDJ 46; Leiden 2002), 275–308. 32 Golitzin, “Recovering the ‘Glory of Adam’,” 306–7. 28 See

29 Fletcher-Louis,

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sin, let alone responsible for the fall of humanity.33 Thus, in a recitation of human history, the Animal Apocalypse depicts Adam as a white bull (1 En. 85:3), a flattering image in this symbolic world, and the first sin we learn of is that of Cain’s fratricide (1 En. 85:4), followed by the crimes of the angels who descend to earth (1 En. 86–88). Especially relevant to the portrayal of Adam in the Homilies, however, is the apparent association of Adam with an eschatological figure, as a ruler of a new age in the Animal Apocalypse. The white bull reappears in the narrative in conjunction with the final judgment. As all the sheep (Israelites) congregate in the New Jerusalem which replaces the former (1 En. 90:28–29), a white bull is born. Its horns are described as large and all the wild beasts and birds (both represent Gentiles in the Animal Apocalypse) fear the bull and petition it (1 En. 90:37). Thereafter, all the creatures are transformed into white bulls (1 En. 90:37–38), over which the Lord rejoices. One might think of the transformation of the animals thus: the sheep (Israelites) and the wild animals (Gentiles) all descend from a white bull, and at the end of the current age, as Nickelsburg explains, the “diversity and nations and people return to the primordial unity from which they diverged.”34 The white bull whose birth and rule coincide with the age of peace among all peoples has been understood by many Enochic scholars to represent a New Adam. That a Davidic figure is not intended may be inferred by the fact that David and Solomon are depicted in the Animal Apocalypse as sheep (1 En. 89:46, 49). Adam (1 En. 85:3), Seth (1 En. 85:9), Noah, his son Shem (1 En. 89:1, 9), Abraham, and his son Isaac (1 En. 89:10, 11) are the only characters of ancient Israel to be represented by white bulls; with Isaac the line of the white bulls ceases. The eschatological figure recalls, therefore, a biblical character from the Urzeit. While it is possible to argue that the white bull of the new age may be associated with Seth35 and Abraham,36 there is a strong case for thinking, as do Jozef T. Milik, Matthew Black, and Patrick Tiller,37 that the bull represents a New Adam. With the transformation of humans in a manner like that of the New Adam, 33 In the third‑ or fourth-century b.c.e. Book of the Watchers, an earlier Enochic author expresses awareness of the tradition of the first couple eating the fruit. Yet, it is the sin of the angels in this work which pollutes the world, and hence the account of Gen 3 regarding Adam and Eve’s disobedience is muted (see 1 En. 32). The historical recital in the second-century b.c.e. Animal Apocalypse seems to make no reference to Gen 1 or 3. 34 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 406. 35 J. C. VanderKam, Enoch: A Man for All Generations (Columbia, S. C. 1995), 84–85, proposes that the bull represents the New Seth. 36 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 407. 37 J. T. Milik (with the collaboration of M. Black), The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford 1976), 45; Black, Book of Enoch or I Enoch, 279–80; P. Tiller, A Commentary on the Animal Apocalypse of 1 Enoch (SBLEJL 4; Atlanta, Ga. 1993), 383–84; see also 19–20. Tiller especially views Adam, both the first man and the eschatological figure, in the Animal Apocalypse as patriarch of a restored humanity.

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primitive Eden is restored.38 The association of the white bull, or eschatological figure, with a New Adam seems especially probable since other animals can attain the pristine state of the first man by becoming white bulls as well. Nickelsburg describes the soteriological imagery of the second century b.c.e. author of 1 En. 90 as “daring and perhaps without parallel in pre-Christian Jewish literature.”39 We return again to the figure of Adam in the Homilies where we encounter a depiction of the first man as sinless and as a True Prophet in the form of Christ. Drijvers maintains that the Homilies’ development of Adam in this manner is unique and occurs as part of a defense against Marcion. Correspondences may be observed, however, with traditions concerning the glorified Adam that were prevalent in Second Temple period literature (as well as in writings of fourth century Syro-Mesopotamia) and with traditions in Enochic literature that present a sinless first man whose image is recalled in an eschatological figure. If Adam is the True Prophet who did not transgress, whence evil in the world? Though one source is Eve and her offspring Cain,40 the Homilies also find explanation in the story of the Watchers who mate with women, teach forbidden crafts and leave behind offspring that terrorize the world (Hom. 8.10–20), a tradition given its earliest (extant) expression in the Book of the Watchers.41 An explanation of demonic possession warrants the recounting of the angels’ descent in Hom. 8.8. The demons are the offspring of the fallen angels who mated with women. Hom. 8.10–20 then restate the account of the fallen angels familiar from the Enochic literature, especially from the first work in the collection, the Book of the Watchers. Like the Book of the Watchers, (1) the angels descend (Hom. 8.12; 1 En. 6); (2) on account of lust, they mate with women (Hom. 8.13; 1 En. 6:1–2; 7:1); (3) they instruct humans in the ways of metallurgy, beautification, and forbidden arts (Hom. 8.14; 1 En. 7:1; 8:1); (4) the offspring of the illicit union are violent, blood-thirsty giants (Hom. 8.15–16; 1 En. 7:2–6; 8:4); (5) idolatry and

38 See R. H. Charles, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch (Oxford 1912), 215–16, who maintains that the enigmatic figure of 1 En. 90:37 signifies a “glorified man” and is something like “a prophetic messiah.” A recent study by D. Olson (A New Reading of the Animal Apocalypse of 1 Enoch: “All Nations Shall Be Blessed” [SVTP 24; Leiden 2013], 26–55) argues that the figure at the end is a new Jacob. Though Olson puts forth various evidence to support the claim, the basic allegory of the Animal Apocalypse which presents Jacob and descendants as sheep argues against it. As to the strengths of identifying the white bull with a type of New Adam, see Olson, A New Reading, 29. 39 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 407. 40 See, for example, G. B. Bazzana, “Eve, Cain, and the Giants: The Female Prophetic Principle and Its Succession in the Pseudo-Clementine Novel,” in Nouvelles intrigues pseudo-clémentines, 313–20. 41 On the various Watchers traditions and their relationship to Enochic literature, see A. K. Harkins, K. Coblentz Bautch and J. C. Endres, eds., The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions (Minneapolis 2014); eidem, eds., Fallen Angels Traditions: Second Temple Developments and Reception History (CBQMS 53; Washington, D. C. 2014).

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polytheism are associated with the influence of these giants or demons (Hom. 8.19; 1 En. 19:1). While the story of the Watchers was well known in early Christian circles and while the lengthy account of the angels in Hom. 8 also contains elements not found in Enochic literature, there are certain motifs, perhaps even verbal echoes, in the Pseudo-Clementine text that suggest familiarity with the Book of the Watchers.42 The Homilies demonstrate awareness of Jubilees as well.43 The account of the Watchers’ descent is useful vis-à-vis Peter’s ongoing dispute with Simon Magus in the Homilies, for it permits the apostle to demonstrate that God is just and blameless with regard to the existence of demons. The story of the Watchers and their gigantic offspring, however, is doubly significant because it strengthens one of the Homilies’ claims concerning Adam: that he is no bearer of sin and had no part in the fall. For these reasons, it can be argued that Peter presents the pseudepigraphal tradition regarding the angels as authoritative teaching, as we know it was for the author of Jude. This would not be a surprise inasmuch as Christian literature until the fifth century apparently knew and made use of traditions relating to Enoch; quite popular especially was the story

42 Lawlor, “Early Citations from the Book of Enoch,” and VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” provide important surveys of early Christian literature that make obvious the popularity of Enoch and literature associated with the seventh patriarch. Significant is the appearance of the precious stones into which the angels metamorphose for their descent in Hom. 8.12. Further, some of the Watchers assume the forms of beasts, reptiles, fishes, and birds initially (ibid.). References to precious stones and to these same creatures (though in a slightly different order: birds, beasts, reptiles, and fish) also occur in 1 En. 7–8. While the motif of precious stones seems to recall the tradition preserved by Commodianus, that the mission of the Watchers is to adorn creation (so, Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 98), one observes also that the Watchers introduce humans to precious metals, like silver and gold, and to precious stones in 1 En. 8:1 (see also Hom. 8.14). Further, rather than becoming beasts, reptiles, fishes, and birds, the giants attack and consume these animals (1 En. 7:5; similarly, Hom. 8.15). Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 97, observes two additional verbal parallels between Hom. 8 and the Book of the Watchers; see 1 En. 6:2 and 10:11. See also Tigchelaar, “Manna Eaters and Man Eaters,” 92–103. 43 Jubilees, a work which is itself indebted to Enochic literature (VanderKam, Enoch: A Man for All Generations, 110–20), presents the angels initially descending in order to instruct humanity to behave in a just and upright manner (Jub. 4:15). Inasmuch as Jubilees understands the angels’ motivation to descend for essentially noble reasons, one finds a parallel in Hom. 8, where the angels choose to descend to convict humans of ingratitude. Hom. 8.18–20, notes Nickelsburg (1 Enoch 1, 98), look like a reworking of Jub. 10:5–10. In this passage from the Homilies, an angel allows demons to continue to plague those humans who practice idolatry, shed blood, act promiscuously, and engage in magic. Those who follow God’s laws are to be exempt from the influence of the demons. Similarly in Jubilees, one-tenth of the original demons are permitted to remain on earth and to test humankind. Jubilees, unlike Enochic texts, however, retains and further develops the Genesis 3 account of the first couples’ sin and highly esteems the Mosaic law. Given the appearance of motifs unique to earlier Enochic literature, I would think the Homilies to have drawn on writings like the Book of the Watchers and Jubilees. The Recognitions bear further evidence of knowledge of Jubilees. See Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source, 138–39.

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of the Watchers’ descent.44 The Homilies appropriate pseudepigraphal traditions to counter claims made in Scripture about the figure of Adam and the origin of evil. In these instances, the Homilies deem extra-canonical traditions authoritative and useful in dismissing heretical claims based on Gen 3. In light of the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies’ stance that Scripture includes false pericopae, the question as to what constitutes authoritative literature becomes particularly interesting. This is especially the case when we consider the prominent role afforded traditions best preserved in pseudepigraphal texts at the expense of canonical traditions in the Homilies. As in early Enochic texts, the Torah is reevaluated and redefined, Adam is presented as innocent, and angels are responsible for the perpetuation of evil. These themes or motifs occur in particular pseudepigraphal texts and appear together in the Homilies, which most scholars understand to have made use of Jewish-Christian sources.45 Since the Recognitions also preserve an antiseptic, demythologized version of the Watchers’ account – the lustful angels are demoted to righteous men who live like angels – , it is probable that the Enochic traditions were contained already in the Grundschrift.46

3. The heritage of an Enochic Weltanschauung What do these shared traditions suggest to us about the Enochic writings and the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies? Some scholars see in Enochic literature evidence of a particular type of Second Temple period Judaism, a type of Judaism that may not be defined solely as apocalyptic or reduced to association with the Essenes of Qumran.47 Some seek out a social location or context for the “Enochic 44 Christians in the first four centuries of the Common Era seem to regard early Enochic texts as authoritative. In fact, VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” 87, demonstrates through his survey that Christian employment of the fallen angel myth was attested throughout the Roman world and in all leading centers of the church. On such a question, see now A. Y. Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge and New York 2005). 45 See F. S. Jones, “Pseudo-Clementine Literature,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. L. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Oxford and New York 2000), 2:718. 46 VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” 80, notes that the “non-supernatural” interpretation of Gen 6:1–4 one finds in the Recognitions becomes the dominant Christian exegesis of the account by the fourth century. VanderKam’s observation, that Christians are rejecting the myth of the fallen angels as it appears in Genesis and the early Enochic texts by the fourth century may assist us in dating the traditions in the Homilies. 47 See G. Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids, Mich. 1998), for a noteworthy attempt to delineate more precisely the community behind the Enochic texts. Boccaccini thinks that those at Qumran only constitute a fraction of the group we refer to as Essenes. Other Essenes from this period, even prior to the establishment of the community at Qumran, Boccaccini argues, are Enochic Jews. For a critical review of Boccaccini’s study, see E. Tigchelaar, in JSJ 31 (2000): 308–11. On

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community” that may be thought to stand behind this literature. The fate of the Jewish communities that authored and preserved early Enochic literature, apart from Qumran, is largely unknown, though the patriarch and the tradition of his cosmic journeys continue to flourish in the visionary literature of 2 Enoch and in the Hekhalot tradition, represented in 3 Enoch. Likewise, we are aware that some Christians found the early Enochic literature and other pseudepigraphic literature spiritually edifying (see Jude; 2 Peter). In time interest waned also among Christians, however, and by the fourth century they too, it appears, paid less attention to Enochic texts or traditions concerning the fallen Watchers.48 With regard to the Pseudo-Clementine literature, inasmuch as at least some redactional stratum of the Homilies is thought to be the product of Jewish-Christians, the observation that the Homilies have knowledge of pre-Christian Enochic traditions which they preserve might urge us to think further about the type of Judaism from which the Homilies emerge. From the perspective of pseudepigraphical studies, the potential for the Nachleben of early Enochic traditions to indicate a fourth-century community who still held these traditions to be relevant, or who preserved some form of the distinctive views of Enochic literature, is significant. Similarities between Enochic traditions and the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies may help us reconstruct the development or trajectory of one type of Second Temple period Judaism. The scope of Enochic texts  – discrete works representative of differing contexts – and the Homilies (like the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, derived from several sources and were subject to redaction) frustrates our ability to make definitive claims about literary dependency and complicates our capacity to discern which contributor to the Homilies demonstrates the most substantial use of pseudepigraphical traditions. Yet, we should not be surprised to find common motifs in Enochic texts and the Homilies given that F. Stanley Jones also establishes the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions’ use of Jubilees.49 The similarities again lead us to consider further the rich diversity that existed in Second Temple Judaism, a diversity that continued within Christian circles. It is well-known that Christian communities preserved numerous pseudepigraphal works. Not precluding the possibility that these communities could have written texts bearing the pseudonyms of noteworthy figures of the Hebrew scriptures,50 we are right to ask also, especially when the pseudepigraphical texts are most certainly pre-Christian as much Enochic literature is, what connection Christians would have had to these sorts of texts. A straightforward the existence of an Enochic community, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 64. As Nickelsburg notes, although there is not much explicit evidence in the Book of the Watchers to assist us in defining the community, we can assume that a community existed since the text refers to a specific group of persons as “the chosen” and “the righteous” (see respectively 1 En. 5:8 and 10:17). 48 VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” 59–87 and 100–1. 49 See above, n. 7. 50 See J. R. Davila’s contribution in this volume.

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answer is that in many instances, as I suggest in the case of the Homilies, we see a community’s inheritance of earlier works deemed authoritative and the subsequent inheritance of a Weltanschauung. We know that this Pseudo-Clementine work preserved the Enochic tradition about the role of the Watchers in explaining evil and idolatry; the Homilies may have assumed from early Enochic literature also an outlook that offers expansive views of revelation as well as a positive understanding of the first man. One curiosity is to be considered, however. Even while the Homilies share with Enochic literature an interest in the eschaton and divine judgment (see, for example, Hom. 1.7; 2.10, 13, 26) and also accord Enoch some esteem as one of the seven pillars (or holy men) of the world (Hom. 17.4; 18.13), the literature does not discuss the figure in association with end-time prophecy, in conjunction with the tradition concerning the angels’ descent, nor with extensive visionary experiences. The diminishment of Enoch or the muting of these associations might be accounted for thus. First, one observes that the Homilies, critical of Paul (Ep. Pet. 2) and his claims to apostleship on the basis of his vision of the Risen Lord (cf. Gal 1:1, 16), slight visionary experiences (Hom. 17.13–19) in general.51 Enoch would not be distinguished as visionary or seer, following the Homilies’ criteria for leadership. While Paul claims authority on the basis of his mystical experience, Peter can point to his direct experience with the True Prophet (Hom. 17.18–19). Enoch, rather, is significant in the Homilies because, as we find in the LXX (Gen 5:22, 24; see Sir 44:16), he pleased God (Hom. 17.4; 18.13). Much like Peter in the Homilies, Charles Gieschen thinks, the seven pillars or pious men are understood by the Pseudo-Clementines to have had special contact with the True Prophet as well.52 Gieschen also argues that the seven are presented in the Recognitions and Homilies as prophets in their own rights.53 For the Homilies, Enoch, as one of the seven, would thus have enjoyed a connection to the True Prophet (as in Luke 3:37) and would have been a prophet as he is described in

51 Thus we read in Hom. 17.18: “Then, it is written in the law, that God, being angry, said to Aaron and Miriam, ‘If a prophet arise from amongst you, I shall make myself known to him through visions and dreams, but not so as to my servant Moses; because I shall speak to him in an outward appearance, and not through dreams, just as one will speak to his own friend.’ You see how the statements of wrath are made through visions and dreams, but the statements to a friend are made face to face, in outward appearance, and not through riddles and visions and dreams, as to an enemy.” See 1 En. 1:2; 14:2, 8; 83:1–3, which speak of the visions of the patriarch. 52 The pillars are Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses. See C. A. Gieschen, “The Seven Pillars of the World: Ideal Figure Lists in the Christology of the Pseudo-Clementines,” JSP 12 (1994): 47–82 esp. 73. 53 The Recognitions and Homilies explicitly describe some of the pillars as prophets: Adam (Rec. 1.47; 2.5; Hom. 3.12–27; 8.10), Moses (Rec. 1.59; Hom. 2.49–50), Jacob (Rec. 1.49); Gieschen, “The Seven Pillars of the World,” 68–72, noting a correspondence with the Ebionites of Epiphanius, Pan. 30.18.4, observes that with the conclusion of the seven pillars, prophecy ends, presumably, until Jesus.

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Jude 14. Still, Enoch lacks in the Homilies the extraordinary status of visionary who alone learns the secrets of heaven and earth as we see in Enochic literature.54 Second, one notes that traditions from the Similitudes, in which Enoch is transformed into the Son of Man, are not recalled in the Homilies. As Enoch’s status grows in the Common Era such that he is transformed into the angel Metatron in 3 Enoch, the Homilies may have sought to limit the patriarch’s role in order to bolster that of another: Adam / Christ, the True Prophet. We recall that, like the patriarch in the earliest Enochic collection, Christ mediates the authentic or divine law in the Homilies. Just as the patriarch is said to possess wisdom in Enochic texts, Adam / Christ possesses gnosis. Further, while Enoch’s visions are spatially and temporally transcendent, both Adam and Christ are credited with the foreknowledge of God. As the one True Prophet, it is Christ, not Enoch, who knows “hidden things” (Hom. 3.13). Andrei Orlov has recently called attention to the figure of the patriarch in 2 Enoch assuming the glorious attributes of Adam denied to the first man after the fall.55 In the case of the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies, however, the attributes of Enoch are granted to Adam / Christ, the True Prophet who has no rival.

54 A challenge to Enoch’s role as seer privy to all things may already be anticipated in the Epistle of Enoch. See 1 En. 93:11–14 which resembles sapiential traditions like Isa 40:12–13 and Job 38. These limit the knowledge and abilities of humankind. In contrast, Enoch’s tours with the angels in 1 En. 17–36 make clear that the patriarch does witness such incredible phenomena and is, hence, knowledgeable about just this sort of information. Thus, 1 En. 93:11–14 could underscore how virtually inimitable Enoch is among “sons of men,” or it can be read as a challenge to the earlier views of the patriarch qua seer, a role Enoch assumes throughout Enochic texts. A comparable passage occurs in Hom. 3.35, which extols the magnitude of God through his mighty works of creation. The homily simultaneously notes God’s significant accomplishments in the cosmos and humankind’s limitations in envisioning these areas: “And how many things besides are unknown, having eluded the sagacity of men! And of those that are within our comprehension, who of mankind knows the limit? I mean how the heaven rolls, how the stars are borne in their courses and what forms they have, and … what are their ethereal paths. And when the blasts of winds are borne around … whence the fountains ceaselessly spring, and the rivers, being ever flowing, run down into the sea … How far reaches the unfathomable depth of the boundless Tartarus! Upon what the heaven is upborne which encircles all!” These very phenomena are, of course, observed by Enoch in 1 En. 17–36; like 1 En. 93:11–14, though, Hom. 3.35 would dispute these claims. 55 See A. Orlov, “On the Polemical Nature of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch: A Reply to C. Bottrich,” JSJ 34 (2003): 274–303.

Healing the World: Medical and Social Practice in the Pseudo-Clementine Novel Giovanni Battista Bazzana The Pseudo-Clementine novel presents readers with many different and intriguing features. Depending on the assessment of its literary genre, this text might be understood as a novel, as a polemical treatise covered by a thin narrative layer, or as an apology in defence of Jewish-Christian beliefs. Drawing on narrative as well as apologetic concerns, the Pseudo-Clementines place significant emphasis on missionary activity, in particular on the preaching and healing work of Peter. His mission begins as a struggle against Simon the Magician, since the apostle has to tour some Gentile cities in order to mend the damage provoked by his adversary’s visit. Yet Peter’s activity soon becomes autonomous and focused on the conversion of the cities through which he travels. Peter’s missionary activity is described in ways that are remarkably reminiscent of Jesus’s commission to his disciples in the Synoptic Gospels on the one hand and of ancient itinerant medical practices on the other. The present essay will analyse such rhetorical and narrative choices, focusing on their position within the redactional history of the Gospel traditions and on their role as instances of adoption and adaptation of the Jewish-Christian message to the socio-cultural models of the Greco-Roman world.

1. The Pseudo-Clementine missionary activity in Tripolis At the beginning of the eighth Greek Homily, Peter enters the city of Tripolis, where he meets many of his companions, whom he has sent there in advance to spy on Simon’s accomplishments among the inhabitants (Hom. 8.1 / / Rec. 4.1.5–7).1 1 The literary history of this and other Pseudo-Clementine passages examined here has been discussed abundantly. Even though a consensus on the literary development of the entire novel in its different versions has not been reached yet, there is at least an agreement in posing these central chapters (Hom. 8–11 and Rec. 4–6) as already present in the Grundschrift that was employed by the redactors of both the Homilies and the Recognitions. Therefore, I will work on the text assuming that it was composed somewhere in the third century and that it reflects interests and concerns of a Christian community of that time period. The reconstruction of

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After a night’s rest, Peter has to face the people who, the evening before, had waited for him outside the house of Maroones, where the apostle is lodging. Impatient for Peter to fix a certain date to speak to them, they crowd the space in front of the house so that their insistence to see Peter grows out of control (Hom. 8.3.3– 4 // Rec. 4.3.6–8). Therefore, the apostle is forced to address the inhabitants of Tripolis, and so begins a very long discourse that stretches for four days (and four chapters) in the Homilies and three days (and three chapters) in the Recognitions. It might be argued that the missionary activity depicted in these chapters mirrors well the usual practice of Christian preachers in Greco-Roman cities in the third century c.e. First of all, it is worth noting that the account of Peter’s activities in Tripolis focuses on two main features: the speech he gives to the citizens is surely the most prominent, since it occupies a great space in the novel, but we should not forget why the Tripolitans had been so eager to meet the apostle in the first place. The text of Hom. 8.8.4 ( / / Rec. 4.7.2–6) makes clear that the crowd is brought to Peter by the widespread desire to be freed from demonic possessions and the pain caused by various diseases. While Peter was thus speaking, the multitudes, as if they had been called by someone, entered into the place where Peter was. Then he, seeing a great multitude, like the smooth current of a river gently flowing towards him, said to Maroones, “Have you any place here that is better able to contain the crowd?” Then Maroones conducted him to a garden-plot in the open air, and the multitudes followed. But Peter, standing upon a base of a statue which was not very high, as soon as he had saluted the multitude in pious fashion, knowing that many of the crowd that stood by were tormented with demons and many sufferings of long standing, and hearing them shrieking with lamentation, and falling down before him in supplication, rebuked them, and commanded them to hold their peace; and promising healing to them after the discourse, began to speak on this wise …

Peter postpones the relief of the supplicants to the end of the day, when he will interrupt his missionary discourse and then resume it on the following day. True to his word, at sunset the apostle invites those who need to be cured to remain with him and he lays his hands on them, causing an immediate healing (Hom. 8.24.1). When he had thus spoken, all of them remained, some in order to be healed, and others to see those who obtained cures. But Peter, only laying his hands upon them, and praying, healed them; so that those who were straightway cured were exceeding glad, and those who looked on exceedingly wondered, and blessed God, and believed with a firm hope, and with those who had been healed departed to their own homes, having received a charge to meet early on the following day. single passages is far more difficult, since it requires a careful comparison of the two versions at our disposal. I will try to do so briefly for the most important texts I take into consideration in this contribution. The standard edition of the Pseudo-Clementines is that of B. Rehm, Die Pseudoklementinen, I. Homilien (3rd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 42; Berlin 1989), and Die Pseudoklementinen, II. Rekognitionen in Rufins Übersetzung (2nd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 51; Berlin 1994). English translations are from T. Smith in ANF 8:73–346 with minor variants inserted whenever required.

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It is quite clear that the Pseudo-Clementine text envisages the missionary practice as revolving around two main tasks: preaching and healing. Where might its model come from? This twofold picture resembles that of the disciples’ commission in Q 10 (Matt 10:7–8 / / Luke 10:9), particularly in the version from Luke. Among the features that the third evangelist took from his Q source is a detailed instruction for Christian missionary journeys, in which it is stated that the disciples, once they have settled in a village, have to perform two duties: “cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you’ ” (Luke 10:9).2 The text of the Homilies quoted above does not actually follow the same succession of events that we read in Luke and Q, but this is not without reason. Whereas the basic structure of the disciples’ mission remains the same, it should be noted that Matthew has inverted the order of the two actions in creating his version of the Q commission.3 There is no doubt that it was this remodelled passage that exercised the strongest influence in early Christian times. By taking advantage of the preference accorded to Matthew as the cornerstone of community codes and ethical rulings, the writer of the Pseudo-Clementine Grundschrift wanted to acknowledge Matthew’s authority.4 There appears to be another narrative feature that might connect the Pseudo-Clementine passage to Q or, more probably, to its two revisions. As mentioned above, Peter enters Tripolis and goes straight to the house of Maroones. It is worth noting that Jesus orders his disciples to choose a house in the villages they are going to visit and settle there (Matt. 10:12–13 / / Luke 10:5–7). The resemblance to the Pseudo-Clementine account is limited to the command to remain in one place of lodging, since the Gospel texts clearly state that the missionaries must not pass from house to house in order to avoid the impression that itinerant preachers went after the best accommodations. Of course, there exists a major difference between Q and the Pseudo-Clementine account as far as this issue is concerned. While Q envisages missionary figures who enter villages in which they do not have any previous acquaintances, the novel portrays an entire 2 I adopt here and in the following treatment the Q reconstruction proposed in J. M. Robinson, P. Hoffmann and J. S. Kloppenborg, The Critical Edition of Q: Synopsis Including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German, and French Translations of Q and Thomas (Documenta Q; Leuven 2000), 160–75. 3 Clearly the Matthean redactor was not satisfied with the simple and generic mention of curing; that is why he or she moved this part of the verse after the announcement of the incoming kingdom and appended to it a series of other miraculous events (resurrection of the dead, cleansing lepers, and casting out demons). This list reminds readers of the miracles performed in the two previous chapters and anticipates the messianic question asked by John the Baptist in Matt 11:5. Thus the disciples’ mission is in itself a realization of the kingdom. 4 This reasoning brings me to consider the Latin version of this narrative from Rec. 4.7.2–6 as secondary. The author of the Recognitions places the healing before Peter’s speech. It seems that this choice was intended to enhance the astounding character of these miracles, particularly as far as 4.7.3–4 is concerned. There, the healing of the sick happens exactly at the moment when Peter simply promises to pray to God for their cure.

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crowd of people waiting for Peter, ready to follow him to his already designated host.5 The reason for this different attitude should be sought in the strict dietary rules that influence Peter’s and his followers’ actions throughout the entire Jewish-Christian novel. By lodging in an already-known household, the group of Jewish-Christian missionaries would feel confident to partake of a table that meets purity concerns with the required consideration and respect. That the Q saying here examined could be interpreted in an altogether different way is exemplified by the reading of the parallel treatment in Gospel of Thomas 14: “When you go into any land and walk about the districts, if they receive you, eat what they will set before you, and heal the sick among them. For what goes into your mouth will not defile you, but that which issues from your mouth it is that which will defile you.”6 This logion parallels Q 10 in stating that missionaries should eat whatever is put before them in the house they have chosen, but the finale surprisingly connects the text to a saying from Mark 7:14–23. Thus the emphasis shifts from the concern about missionary wages to a provocative and conscious disrespect of Pharisaic alimentary rules. Such a reading was doubtlessly foreign to the Pseudo-Clementine basic religious system and to the repeatedly stated relevance of dietary prescriptions, in particular those summarized in the so-called “apostolic decree” (Acts 15:28–29). Notwithstanding the logion’s huge distance from the Pseudo-Clementine treatment, Gos. Thom. 14 brings us to our central concern about medical practice in the novel. In the Gospel of Thomas the command to heal the sick in the visited villages is maintained, even though it is a clear disruption of the flow of thought in the logion; therefore, we must conclude that it constituted an integral part of the Q tradition, which is preserved both in the Synoptic Gospels as well as in the independent Thomasine branch of the tradition. It appears that the missionaries envisaged in Q 10 acted as itinerant doctors, a professional category whose presence throughout Hellenistic and Roman times is attested by many sources. Is it possible that the Pseudo-Clementine missionary practice followed, at least in its rhetorical presentation, the same model?

5 And Maroones seems to have been a fairly wealthy host, if we consider the space he could offer to Peter’s needs. The Homilist (Hom. 8.8.3) states that he possessed a ὕπαιθρος κεκηπευμένος. Since this term is usually employed to indicate a wide area in the open air and, in Ptolemaic documents, even a military encampment, we have to imagine a rather vast expanse in which trees were planted. However, the presence of statues suggests that it was more a recreational than a cultivated space. On the other hand, the Recognitions account is even more detailed and has Maroones volunteer his hortus and also an aedes amplissima that would have accommodated more than 500 people. 6 Coptic text and English translation from B. Layton and T. O. Lambdin, “The Gospel according to Thomas,” in Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2–7, together with XIII, 2* Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1) and P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655 (ed. B. Layton; NHS 20; Leiden 1989), 58–61.

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2. The social practice of Greco-Roman doctors and its reception in early Christian documents Assessing the social position and the professional practice of ancient doctors is not an easy task. While we possess a relevant number of medical writings, mainly thanks to Galen and the group of texts collected in the Hippocratic corpus, there is a considerable lack of evidence on the everyday activities of physicians. We are forced to employ primarily the information derived from inscriptions and papyri;7 yet, all these sources must be used with due care. Inscriptions relate mainly to physicians who had been able to acquire a comparatively higher social standing and thus were deserving of the honour of being remembered on stone or marble. Yet, medical practitioners seem to have been widespread at every social level; so, the high-class focus of epigraphic material may be deceptive. On the other hand, papyri give us a more nuanced picture, but their witness is not homogeneous, either chronologically or geographically. As stated above, doctors appear at every level of the social ladder. For the early imperial period we have information about emperors’ personal physicians,8 who could wield considerable power, as well as about poor itinerant practitioners,9 who might easily be characterized as quacks or frauds. Since ancient Greek times medicine as a profession had enjoyed a good reputation in the East10 and cities traditionally competed to obtain the services of the most renowned doctors.11  7 All of the papyri mentioning physicians are collected and briefly described by H. Harrauer, Griechische Texte IX. Neue Papyri zum Steuerwesen im 3. Jh. v. Chr. (Corpus Papyrorum Raineri 13; Vienna 1987), 89–100, but this contribution needs updating, since papyrological discoveries are continually changing our perspective on the social history of the ancient world in general and on this issue in particular. As for the epigraphic material, the most recent (even if not complete) collection of sources is É. Samama, Les médecins dans le monde grec. Sources épigraphiques sur la naissance d’un corps médical (Hautes Études du monde gréco-romain 31; Geneva 2003).  8 The most prominent case is surely that of Gaius Stertinius Xenophon, Claudius’s personal doctor, who held many public offices and was probably involved in the murder of his master. For an analysis of his personal and public background, see K. Buraselis, Kos between Hellenism and Rome: Studies on the Political, Institutional, and Social History of Kos from ca. the Middle Second Century B. C. until Late Antiquity (Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 90.4; Philadelphia 2000).  9 One of the most amusing examples is preserved by Lucian in his pamphlet on Alexander the False Prophet. The main character’s career begins as an apprentice to an alleged public physician, whose characterization is a thinly-disguised reference to Apollonius of Tyana, revealed by the pamphleteer to be “a quack, one of those who advertise enchantments, miraculous incantations, charms for your love affairs, sendings for your enemies, disclosures of buried treasures, and succession to estates” (Greek text and English translation in A. M. Harmon, Lucian, vol. 4 [LCL 162; Cambridge, Mass. 1961], 180–83). 10 The situation in the western parts of the empire was more complex, but it is not worth addressing the issue here, since arguably it has no bearing on the Pseudo-Clementine novel. 11 A careful reading of inscriptions mainly dating from the fifth and fourth centuries b.c.e. is provided in N. Massar, “Un savoir faire à l’honneur. ‘Médecins’ et ‘discours civique’ en Grèce hellénistique,” RBPH 79 (2001): 175–201.

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Physicians were hired at public expenses and received a μισθός (wage) which was called ἰατρικόν, a state tax exacted from all the Greek cleruchs and employed to pay a monthly allowance to cities’ and towns’ doctors. Such a usage was maintained in Hellenistic times as well and we know that in Ptolemaic Egypt it was extended throughout the entire kingdom.12 While this revenue may not have amounted to much (it would have equalled the monthly pay of a policeman), it is well known that doctors could earn much more by charging their patients fees ranging from 10 to 50 drachmas per operation.13 Moreover, many papyri inform us about doctors who had significant interests in the loan of land or in the breeding of cattle.14 So, whoever practiced medicine in antiquity had opportunities to reach a fairly good economic position. During the first two centuries of our era, the social position of physicians continued to improve, at least for some of them. At the beginning of the Flavian ruling, Vespasian granted to many categories of professional intellectuals, including doctors, some relevant privileges. An inscription coming from Pergamum preserves a copy of the decree bestowing on rhetoricians and physicians an exemption from liturgies owed to their city administrations.15 Obviously, such an extended privilege could create financial problems for the many cities that had to rely on liturgical contributions for their basic services. Thus, not many years after Vespasian’s grant, Antoninus Pius had to intervene again to limit the exemption. In the Digesta 27.1.6.2–4, Modestinus relates the emperor’s decision to limit the number of public physicians that each city was allowed to enlist. Cities were assigned a certain number of public doctors according to their size and administrative rank. The same decree excluded non-medical practitioners from the enjoyment of the exemptions: si incantavit, si inprecatus est, si, ut vulgari verbo impostorum utar, exorcizavit (to quote Ulpian’s words in Digesta 50.13.1). We will examine later how this clause might have influenced Christian medical activity. In sum, during the early imperial period, doctors obtained relevant 12 Some remarks on the Egyptian medicine of Hekataios quoted by Diodorus (I.82.3) have been construed to hypothesize the existence in Ptolemaic Egypt of a state-run health care system; apparently this is pushing the reasoning way too far. On the issue, see F. Kudlien, Der griechische Arzt im Zeitalter des Hellenismus. Seine Stellung in Staat und Gesellschaft (Abhandlungen der Geistes‑ und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse 6; Wiesbaden 1979), 26–27. 13 Two papyri from later times inform us about fees of 20 and 34 drachmas for two circumcisions (in an account of expenditures: PThmouis 1, 123.1; 128.4 [170/171 c.e.]), and of 20 drachmas for the healing of a foot (in a private letter: PStrass 73.19 [?, 3rd century c.e.]). Papyri are indicated according to F. Oates et al., Checklist of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets (cited January 2014; online: http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/ clist.html). 14 Possession of land in PLond 3, 604.91 (Krokodilopolis, 47 c.e.), BGU 8, 1897, 11.15 (?, 166 c.e.), and SB 4, 7379.36 (Arsinoite, 177 c.e.); possession of six camels in BGU 3, 921.9 (?, 2nd century c.e.). 15 The Greek text of the decree, dating from 74 c.e., can be read in J. H. Oliver, Greek Constitutions of Early Roman Emperors from Inscriptions and Papyri (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 178; Philadelphia 1989), n. 38, and now Samama, Les médecins, n. 189.

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public privileges and some of them could even gain a respectable standing in the network of patronage relationships that shaped their social environment. As for Christian doctors, we are informed about practitioners already in the time period before the Constantinian age.16 Many of them seem to have been itinerant and they would probably connect mission and healing in the same fashion as the Pseudo-Clementine Peter. An interesting case is that of Alexander, the doctor who faced martyrdom in Lyon in 177 c.e. and was of Phrygian origin (see Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.49). He probably came to the West and found an occupation in Gaul as a physician. Furthermore, many apocryphal acts of the apostles portray the apostolic mission as an enterprise that brings together both teaching and healing. In the Acts of Philip, when the apostle enters the “city of the snake” where he will be murdered, Philip chooses to lodge in a vacant clinic (ἰατρεῖον, 13:4).17 It is worth noting that this choice is accompanied by a brief command to Bartholomew, who is following the main character as a sort of helper or apprentice. Where is the box (νάρθεξ) that the Savior gave us at the time we were in Galilee? Let us get established in this clinic and take care of the sick, until we discern the plan that the Savior will arrange for us.18

Philip is portrayed as a Greco-Roman doctor not only because he is accompanied by a helper who carries his bag, but all the more since the bag itself is designated by a term that is specifically connected to repositories for medical tools. We know that a νάρθεξ was used to carry around many items, such as books, but its name is linked to Asclepius’s stick so strongly that it was even chosen to be the very title of many ancient medical treatises (one of the most important was redacted by Soranus). Yet another example of references in Christian apocrypha to Christian missionaries / physicians can be read in the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles, one of the oddest among the Nag Hammadi writings.19 Towards the end of this composite work, Peter and the other apostles meet Jesus, who appears in the guise of a doctor and entrusts them with a medical mission by giving them his unguent box and the pouch20 full of medicines that is on the shoulder of his young apprentice. 16 The many references in literary, epigraphic, and papyrological sources have been recently collected by C. Schulze, Medizin und Christentum in Spätantike und frühem Mittelalter. Christliche Ärzte und ihr Wirken (STAC 27; Tübingen 2005). 17 Greek text in F. Bovon, B. Bouvier and F. Amsler, Acta Philippi. Textus (CCSA 11; Turnhout 1999). English translation by F. Bovon and C. R. Matthews, The Acts of Philip: A New Translation (Waco, Tex. 2012). 18 Bovon and Matthews, The Acts of Philip, 88. 19 Coptic text with an English translation in R.McL. Wilson and D. M. Parrott, “The Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles,” in Nag Hammadi Codices V, 2–5 and VI with Papyrus Berolinensis 8502, 1 and 4 (ed. D. M. Parrott; NHS 11; Leiden 1979), 198–229. 20 The pouch is called ⲛⲁⲣⲇⲟⲥ in the Coptic version of this text, though in all likelihood the original was the Greek νάρθεξ. This has led some scholars to hypothesize a common tradition

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He gave them the pouch of medicine and said, “Heal all the sick of the city who believe in my name.” Peter was afraid to reply to him for the second time. He signaled to the one who was beside him, who was John: “You talk this time.” John answered and said, “Lord, before you we are afraid to say many words. But it is you who asks us to practice this skill. We have not been taught to be physicians. How then will we know how to heal bodies as you have told us?” He answered them, “Rightly have you spoken, John, for I know that the physicians of this world heal what belongs to the world. The physicians of souls, however, heal the heart. Heal the bodies first, therefore, so that through the real powers of healing for their bodies, without medicine of the world, they may believe in you, that you have power to heal the illnesses of the heart also. The rich men of the city, however, those who did not see fit even to acknowledge me, but who reveled in their wealth and pride – with such as these, therefore, do not dine in their houses nor be friends with them, lest their partiality influence you. For many in the churches have shown partiality to the rich, because they also are sinful, and they give occasion for others to sin. But judge them with uprightness, so that your ministry may be glorified, and that my name also, may be glorified in the churches.” The disciples answered and said, “Yes, truly this is what is fitting to do” (NHC VI,1 10.31–12.16).

The radical rejection of patronage relationships and Greco-Roman healing methods displayed in this text we will discuss further below; for the time being, it is worth noting that the episode represents in a particularly vivid way how the medical practice was understood as a conduit for Christian mission. Finally, it should be remarked that early Christian missionaries easily could wear the clothes of doctors since there existed in the ancient Mediterranean world a well-established tradition of Jewish medicine. As in many other cases of western fascination with things exotic and eastern, Greeks and Romans conferred a specific authority in medical issues to Jews, coming either from the possession of a secret knowledge or the access to magical revelations. We know of quite a few Jewish physicians performing their duties in both the Greek and the Latin regions of the empire.21 Galen himself mentions some recipes that he learned from Jewish teachers.

3. Peter’s speech in Tripolis and its medical content Apart from itinerancy, there exists yet another feature in Peter’s missionary portrayal that might be comparable to Greco-Roman medical practice. As stated above, doctors strived to obtain a position as public physicians; many sources offer some information about the criteria that were adopted in examining and hiring travelling practitioners. We know from inscriptions that city councils between the Nag Hammadi writing and the Acts of Philip. See M. Krause, “Die Petrusakten in Codex VI von Nag Hammadi,” in Essays on the Nag Hammadi Texts in Honour of Alexander Böhlig (ed. M. Krause; NHS 3; Leiden 1972), 36–58 at 58. 21 The issue has been carefully studied by F. Kudlien, “Jüdische Ärzte im römischen Reich,” Medizinhistorisches Journal 20 (1985): 36–57.

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chose their doctors through an examination of each candidate’s fame and skills (probitate morum et peritia artis, according to Digesta 50.9.1). While obviously the good name of a physician was assured by the witness of healed patients, judging medical abilities was not so easy for people who had no knowledge of technical principles. Already at a very early date it became clear that candidates for a public position had to be good rhetoricians as well as good doctors. The first complaint about this state of affairs appears to have been a passage in Plato’s Gorgias (456b), where the Sicilian sophist boasts that he could obtain a public physician’s appointment more easily than any actual practitioner of medicine. Galen informs us that Rome, at his time, was full of doctors who staged spectacular exhibits of their skills, not only performing anatomical displays, but also showcasing their knowledge and learning in front of eager audiences.22 Of course, this high evaluation of rhetoric cannot be unexpected, since the second century witnessed the flourishing of the so-called Second Sophistic, in which intellectuals could play a major political and social role structuring the new network that connected the Roman centre to the provincial elites and assured the empire a long period of peace and stability.23 In sum, a very important part of a physician’s activity consisted in giving public lectures in the cities that were supposed to hire him. By analyzing the structure of Peter’s mission as it is depicted in the Pseudo-Clementine novel it becomes clear that the apostle similarly seeks to demonstrate his abilities in Tripolis. He addresses the citizens of Tripolis with long speeches that are in many ways linked to his healing activity. While the overall aim of Peter’s rhetorical displays is the conversion of the Tripolitans, it cannot be denied that the starting point for his long development is to be sought primarily in the citizens’ ailments and the instruction on the means to treat any future onset of similar illnesses. This is particularly clear in the very first words that Peter pronounces before the people of Tripolis, words that effectively summarize the scope of his teaching. While beginning to discourse on the worship of God to those who are altogether ignorant of everything, and whose minds have been corrupted by the accusations of our adversary Simon, I have thought it necessary first of all to speak of the blamelessness of the God who has made all things, starting from the occasion seasonably afforded by Him according to His providence, that it may be known how with good reason many are held by many demons, and subjected to strange sufferings, that in this the justice of God may appear; and that those who through ignorance blame Him, now may learn by good speaking and well-doing what sentiments they ought to hold, and recall themselves from their previous 22 See, e. g., V. Nutton, “Healers in the Medical Market Place: Toward a Social History of Graeco-Roman Medicine,” in Medicine in Society: Historical Essays (ed. A. Wear; Cambridge 1991), 15–58. 23 G. W. Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire (Oxford 1969), remains a fundamental contribution to this theme and offers some interesting observations on the role of physicians, particularly Galen.

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accusation, assigning ignorance as the cause of their evil presumption, in order that they may be pardoned (Hom. 8.9; cf. Rec. 4.8).

Thus Peter sketches, in the immediately following chapters, a complete history of human sin as the true reason of subjection to demons and of the pain demons can provoke in the bodies. Humanity’s ruin started with the fall of the angels, who were attracted by the beauty of the “daughters of men.” But having become in all respects men, they (i. e., the angels) also partook of human lust [ἐπιθυμία], and being brought under its subjection they fell into cohabitation (μίξιν) with women; and being involved with them, and sunk in defilement (μιασμῷ παγέντες) and altogether emptied of their first power, were unable to turn back to the first purity of their proper nature, their members turned away from their fiery substance: for the fire itself, being extinguished by the weight of lust into flesh, they trod the impious path (τὴν ἀσεβοῦσαν ὁδόν) downward. For they themselves, being fettered with the bonds of flesh, were constrained and strongly bound; wherefore they have no more been able to ascend into the heavens (Hom. 8.13).

This is not a new story as far as the panoply of Jewish pseudepigraphic writings is concerned. The idea of a primeval fall of the angels caused by feminine beauty is well attested by such an ancient text as the Book of the Watchers in 1 Enoch. It is not my intention to retrace here the entire trajectory that stretches from that very old antecedent to the Pseudo-Clementine text.24 Indeed, it is a complex and fascinating history, which presupposes the mediation of some other Jewish Pseudepigrapha (such as Jubilees), as well as the appearance of the same theme in some minor Christian works (such as some very interesting passages in second-century apologetic treatises).25 It suffices to state that the Pseudo-Clementine version of the fall shows clearly how faithful a Christian reception of this Jewish myth could be. Moreover, it is evident to the reader that this mythical account of supernatural debasement plays a major role in shaping the Pseudo-Clementine religious system. The original fall of the angels becomes here the starting point for the spreading of impurity in the world. Throughout Peter’s speech the intermingling of angels with human beings is depicted consistently as a violation of the natural world order. Many anthropological inquiries have shown that the boundaries between different spheres of natural and social organization are the most sensitive places as far as the diffusion of ritual uncleanness is concerned.26 Thus, the contact between entities 24 A. Y. Reed has conveniently re-examined the theme through a complete analysis of the relevant Jewish and Christian texts in her recent Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge and New York 2005). 25 Some remarks are provided in G. B. Bazzana, “Il battesimo pseudo-clementino: contributo alla storia religiosa giudeo-cristiana,” Annali di studi religiosi 5 (2004): 391–418. See also K. Coblentz Bautch’s contribution in this volume. 26 One of the first inquiries into this theme is the classical work of M. Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concept of Pollution and Taboo (London 1966).

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pertaining to different orders is usually a major source of impurity. The same phenomenon is envisaged by the Pseudo-Clementine account of the sexual interaction between angels and women. Again in close agreement with 1 Enoch, Peter maintains that the descendents of these unnatural unions were inhuman and monstrous beings: the giants. Peter describes in colorful tones the dismal situation of the giants who suffered from their intermediate status; having been born of women, they had bodies similar to men, while at the same time their appetites were superhuman – truly reminiscent of their fathers’ qualities. It might be said that the giants are the exact narrative and mythical embodiment of the unnatural relations from which they came into existence.27 The giants could not bear the weight of their superhuman desires and eventually let themselves free to satisfy them. That was, according to Peter’s account, the formal beginning of the contamination, since the giants, being inhuman, could not have normal desires, but, as the text emphasizes, they wanted to taste flesh and blood. But from their unhallowed intercourse spurious men (ἄνθρωποι νόθοι) sprang, much greater in stature than men, whom they afterwards called giants; not those dragon-footed giants who waged war against God, as those blasphemous myths of the Greeks do sing, but wild in manners, and greater than men in size, inasmuch as they were sprung of angels; yet less than angels, as they were born of women. Therefore God, knowing that they were barbarized to brutality, and that the world was not sufficient to satisfy them (for it was created according to the proportion of men and human use), that they might not through want of food (ἐνδείᾳ τροφῆς) turn, contrary to nature, to the eating of animals, and yet seem to be blameless, as having ventured upon this through necessity, the Almighty God rained manna upon them, suited to their various tastes; and they enjoyed all that they would. But they, on account of their bastard nature, not being pleased with purity of food (τῷ καθαρῷ τῆς τροφῆς), longed only after the taste of blood. Wherefore they first tasted flesh (Hom. 8.15).

The story ends with the giants’ destruction in the waters of the flood that God sent to stop them from spreading impurity and committing murder. Nevertheless, the giants, being partly of angelic origin, could not die, but survived the flood and became spirits – the demons that now possess human beings and cause them illnesses and sufferings.28 Therefore, Peter’s preaching aims at liberating the inhabitants of Tripolis from their enslavement to the giants’ spirits, which are the 27 The exact role of the giants in ancient Enochic literature is not sufficiently clear, since the booklet which actually bore the title Book of Giants is nearly completely lost to our knowledge. See L. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran: Texts, Translation, and Commentary (TSAJ 63; Tübingen 1997). However, this text was probably known and read in Jewish-Christian circles as witnessed by its influence on Mani, who received his first education in an Elchasaite group. On this trajectory, see J. C. Reeves, Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmology: Studies in the Book of Giants Traditions (HUCM 14; Cincinnati 1992). 28 One should note that, according to P. Piovanelli (“‘Sitting by the Waters of Dan,’ or The ‘Tricky Business’ of Tracing the Social Profile of the Communities That Produced the Earliest Enochic Texts,” in The Early Enoch Literature [ed. G. Boccaccini and J. J. Collins; JSJSup 121; Lei-

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demons. A law of reciprocity requires that the demons are allowed to enter and possess human beings only when humans bring spontaneously on themselves such punishment. Thus, Peter is very careful in instructing the citizens of Tripolis on the means the demons employ to infiltrate human bodies and souls. First and foremost, the apostle mentions the consumption of blood and of flesh sacrificed to idols in Gentile rituals. Interestingly enough, even though the theme is never evoked explicitly in the novel, it is quite clear that these are also major sources of defilement according to the Torah. Indeed, the dichotomy between purity and contamination in the Pseudo-Clementine novel is governed by the rule inscribed in the so-called “apostolic decree,” whose presence is authoritative in some early Christian circles, or so it would seem from its inclusion in Acts 15:28–29. Of course, in sharp contrast to the allegorical interpretations that the rule receives in many Christian commentaries, here the prohibitions are conceived as preventing the actual access to defiled food and to sexual intercourse.29 As far as the present treatment is concerned, it is worth noting that Peter develops his argument to the Tripolitans as an exposition on the available cures for their illnesses. This “medical” attitude in the apostle’s speech constitutes only a rhetorical starting point, but it is consistently argued and held forth throughout the three-day discourse. A particularly telling feature is Peter’s insistence on some aspects that are clearly connected to the sphere of ancient medical theory. A very trivial instance appears already in Hom. 9.12.3 (// Rec. 4.18.2–3), in which the apostle affirms that the painful state caused in human beings by demonic possession is unsatisfactorily explained by doctors with reference to an unbalance of the four human humours (bile, black bile, blood, and phlegm).30 Whence many, not knowing how they are influenced, consent to the evil thoughts suggested by the demons, as if they were the reasoning of their own souls. Wherefore they become less active to come to those who are able to save them, and do not know that they themselves are held captive by the deceiving demons. Therefore the demons who lurk in their souls induce them to think that it is not a demon that is distressing them, but a bodily disease, such as some acrid matter, or bile, or phlegm, or excess of blood, or inflammation of a membrane, or something else. But even if this were so, the case would not be altered of its being a kind of demon. For the universal and earthly soul, which enters on account of all kinds of food, being taken to excess by over-much food, is itself united to the spirit, as being cognate, which is the soul of man; and the material part of the food being united to the body, is left as a dreadful poison to it. Wherefore in all respects moderation is excellent. den 2007], 257–81 at 279–80), the original purpose of the Book of the Watchers was to provide an aetiological explanation of illness and promote a “shamanic” way of healing it. 29 The theme has been recently and insightfully re-examined by J. Wehnert, Die Reinheit des christlichen Gottesvolkes aus Juden und Heiden. Studien zum historischen und theologischen Hintergrund des sogenannten Aposteldekrets (FRLANT 173; Göttingen 1997). 30 The reciprocal relationships among the four humours are a cornerstone of Hippocratic theory of illness and healing, but, at the time of the Pseudo-Clementines’ composition, this concept had already become a common element in popular culture even outside medical circles.

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More specifically linked to ancient medical thought is surely the idea, presented by Peter only in the Latin conclusion of the passage above (Rec. 4.18.4–5),31 that the negative influence exercised by the demons on human beings is favoured by diet. This happens not only because the evil spirits come upon humans through blood and meat consecrated to idols, but also because a conspicuous consumption of very heavy aliments can obstruct the correct flow of pneuma throughout the human body. Thus they (i. e., the demons) suggest to some to follow pleasure by occasion of bodily necessity; they excuse the passionateness of others by excess of gall; they colour over the madness of others by the vehemence of melancholy; and even extenuate the folly of some as the result of abundance of phlegm. But even if this were so, still none of these could be hurtful to the body, except from the excess of meats and drinks; because, when these are taken in excessive quantities, their abundance, which the natural warmth is not sufficient to digest, curdles into a sort of poison, and it, flowing through the bowels and all the veins like a common sewer, renders the motions of the body unhealthy and base. Wherefore moderation is to be attained in all things, that neither may place be given to demons, nor the soul, being possessed by them, be delivered along with them to be tormented in eternal fires.

Such a theory, again founded on the Hippocratic notion of the four balanced humours, was upheld during the first century c.e. by the so-called school of the “pneumatists,” who seemingly descended from the most influential Diocles (probably a contemporary of Aristotle) and whose posterity might be traced down to Rufus of Ephesus and Galen himself.32 They believed that the pneuma, a vital principle, flows through the veins in the human body together with blood and originates from the heart; that would explain why the Pseudo-Clementine Peter encounters no difficulties in connecting the disruption of vital functions in the body to the ingestion of blood from other living beings. Most notably, the pneumatists thought that the vital principle had to be continuously refreshed by the air inhaled into the lungs. An obstruction in this healthy cycle would “cook” the matter in the body and consequently create an unbalance in the four dominant qualities of the human body (heat and cold, dry and wet, which depend on the usual four humours). Eventually, the disruption of the normal equilibrium would end in pain and illness for patients. As exemplified above, this theory seems to have exercised an influence of sorts on the Pseudo-Clementine con31 This passage has no direct parallel in the Homilies, but I would not judge it a secondary insertion of the Recognitions’ redactor, since the Homilist hints at a similar theory towards the end of the aforementioned paragraph. 32 For a brief exposition on the thought of this medical school, see G. Verbeke, L’évolution de la doctrine du Pneuma du stoïcisme à S. Augustin (Bibliothèque de l’Institut supérieur de philosophie; Paris 1945), 195–205, who aptly locates it within the wider intellectual context of the late antique and early Christian environment. For the exposition of an illnesses aetiology clearly reminiscent of the Recognitions passage, see H. Thomssen and C. Probst, “Die Medizin des Rufus von Ephesos,” ANRW 2.37.2 (1994): 1254–92.

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ceptualization of the interaction between demonic possession and the partaking of food consecrated to idols, enhancing the peculiar favour that encratism and vegetarianism seem to enjoy in Peter’s medical suggestions. Indeed, in its Galenic developments, the connection between humoral balances and psychological conditions, which has become a commonplace in our daily references to dispositions, offered an apt basis for Jewish-Christian physiological speculations. This is all the more meaningful, if the Jewish-Christian concern to avoid separation of spiritual and bodily human components is considered. It is worth remarking that this very theme consistently resurfaces in the Pseudo-Clementine description of Simon’s activity in the Gentile cities. In the seventh book of the Homilies it is stated repeatedly that Simon has brought illnesses upon the inhabitants of Tyre (Hom. 7.2.3), Sidon (Hom. 7.5.2), and now Berytus. But if you believe me, he (i. e., Simon) himself is a magician; he is a slanderer; he is a minister of evil to them who know not the truth. Therefore he has power to bring diseases on sinners, having the sinners themselves to help him in his power over them. But I am a servant of God the Creator of all things, and a disciple of His Prophet who is at His right hand. Wherefore I, being His apostle, preach the truth: to serve a good man I drive away diseases, for I am His second messenger, since first the disease comes, but after that the healing. By that evil-working magician, then, you were stricken with disease because you revolted from God. By me, if you believe on Him you shall be cured: and so having had experience that He is able, you may turn to good works, and have your souls saved (Hom. 7.11).

Again, the usual means employed by Simon to spread the contagion and appear as a superhuman savior is idolatry and the sharing of offerings presented to the pagan gods.33

4. The Pseudo-Clementine attitude towards Greco-Roman medicine The Pseudo-Clementines’ representation of Peter’s preaching activity in the eastern Mediterranean Gentile cities seems to be a conscious imitation of the pattern of social and professional behavior of ancient physicians. It is clear that the precedent offered by Jesus’ commission speech in Matt 10 // Luke 10 constituted an important point of reference, but it is uncertain whether the Pseudo-Clementine redactor chose this representational model because he recognized a medical pattern behind the synoptic passages, particularly in the Matthean redaction, which was clearly conceived to underplay these elements. It cannot be doubted that the novelist had at his disposal different models as well. Thus, it is worth asking why

33 This

theme reappears in other places in the Homilies, e. g., 4.4.3; 6.26.3; 17.11.4.

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this text (along with the other apocryphal writings mentioned above) chose to privilege the physician’s figure. Such an explicit link to Greco-Roman medicine must have entailed a definite choice as far as the social position of Pseudo-Clementine missionaries was concerned. Indeed, in the above-mentioned Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles the stance towards institutional medical practice appears to have been severely critical: in particular, the patronage system that governed the behavior of doctors as well as other professionals and administrators in the ancient city is under attack. Jesus explicitly asks his disciples to cure the sick and to avoid the clearest displays of client affiliation: creating friendship relationships and dining with the wealthy inhabitants of the city to which they are sent to preach. It might be suggested that the Pseudo-Clementine attitude is quite different. There appears to have been imitation without outright criticism of physicians, even though Peter’s teaching recalls only formally some features of Hippocratic and Galenic medicine. Actually, Peter’s healing method would be counted among those rejected in the Antonine legislation, since the apostle always cures through the imposition of his hands.34 Nevertheless, if the position of Maroones as a fairly well-to-do citizen of Tripolis is accepted, Peter’s activity in the city should at least fictionally be set into the wider network of the ancient patronage system. Both the Greek and the Latin editions of our novel do not show any hostility towards doctors and their practice in the Gentile world. There are some passages in which a cursory reference to ἰατρός has a decidedly positive tone – e. g., Hom. 2.33.2 (no Latin parallel, but a very similar passage is extant in Rec. 3.59.9), where the pair illness-doctor ends a series of binaries that oppose Simon’s ruinous influence and Peter’s saving intervention; or Hom. 3.64.3, in which, among many other epithets, a good bishop must be to his church as “a physician visiting (his patients).”35 Yet another stance can be detected in a handful of paragraphs in which medical skills are called up in order to show how their effectiveness is limited if compared to that of supernatural, divine or demonic, agencies. This is the case in Hom. 9.16.4–6, where the cures performed in Gentile oracular sites 34 Digesta 50.13.1 preserves an observation by Ulpian usually connected with Antoninus Pius’s decree assigning a limited number of public doctors to cities: those who heal through incantations, imprecations and exorcisms are excluded from inclusion in the small group of public employees. To evaluate correctly the subversive character attributed to such practices, note that in the following lines Ulpian considers the case of philosophers, stating that their profession is religiosa, a definition that could not fit exorcists and the like. The peculiar value of such a word cannot be mistaken in the context of the Roman intertwining of political order and correct performance of religious duties. 35 The comparison between bishop and doctor is extant also in Ep. Clem. 2.6, which would incline one to judge it a later redactional insertion. To this it should be added that in the late antique world we have a number of instances of bishops well known for their medical skills. On the general issue of Christian health-care in the fourth and fifth century, see G. B. Ferngren and D. W. Amundsen, “Medicine and Christianity in the Roman Empire: Compatibilities and Tensions,” ANRW 2.37.3 (1996): 2957–80; M. Wacht, “Krankenfürsorge,” RAC 21 (2006): 826–82.

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are explained by Peter through demonic healing knowledge combined with false prophetic power, and in Hom. 3.11.4 where truth is connected to prophecy. Whence it must before all things be known, that nowhere can truth be found unless from a prophet of truth. But He is a true Prophet, who always knows all things, and even the thoughts of all men, who is without sin, as being convinced respecting the judgment of God. Wherefore we ought not simply to consider respecting His foreknowledge, but whether His foreknowledge can stand, apart from other cause. For physicians predict certain things, having the pulse of the patient as matter submitted to them.

This last passage gives us some more clues to evaluate the significance of the Pseudo-Clementine imitation of physicians’ social practices and language. It is quite clear that the novel’s author considered Christian preachers and healers far superior to doctors; nevertheless, he depicted the missionaries as physicians. However, it is important to observe that the foundations of the Pseudo-Clementine healing system are decidedly Jewish and consequently foreign to the Hippocratic medical tradition that dominated the Greco-Roman cultural environment. Many social-scientific and anthropological analyses have shown that health and healing systems are highly-complex cultural constructs, in which the very idea of cure and its social relevance are inscribed into a network of symbols and human relationships. Our modern understanding of these phenomena draws on the predominance of biomedicine, and thus is wrongly eager to discard the role of these forces and to overlook what is different in other cultural contexts.36 Many inquiries into early Christian miracle narratives have shown that these accounts may be powerful means to criticize the symbolic constructs of health and to refashion cultural and social identities.37 This is particularly clear as far as Jesus’ exorcisms are concerned, since in these cases cures are understood and portrayed within the pattern of relationship that shaped Jewish identity and the bearing of Roman dominance on the Land of Israel.38 As stated above, it is clear that the Pseudo-Clementine missionaries do not represent a critique of the Greco-Roman social and cultural world quite so harsh as that of the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles. Most probably, the Pseudo-Clementine author was at odds with the patronage system that dominated the landscape of ancient cities. Yet, the novel still employs some features of the 36 The debate on these issues in the field of medical anthropology, a discipline that has reached today an impressive degree of sophistication, dates from the groundbreaking work of A. Kleinman, Patients and Healers in the Context of Culture: An Exploration of the Borderland between Anthropology, Medicine and Psychiatry (Comparative Studies of Health Systems and Medical Care 3; Berkeley, Calif. and Los Angeles 1980). 37 For additional discussion of healing in Christian apocryphal literature, see the analysis of D. W. Pao, “Physical and Spiritual Restoration: The Role of Healing Miracles in the Acts of Andrew,” in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (ed. F. Bovon et al.; Harvard Divinity School Studies; Cambridge, Mass. 1999), 259–80. 38 See S. Guijarro, “Healing Stories and Medical Anthropology: A Reading of Mark 10:46–52,” BTB 30 (2000): 102–12.

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mainstream Greco-Roman culture to the advantage of the Jewish-Christian missionary endeavour. By imitating some aspects of the ancient medical practice the preachers of the new religion may have succeeded in proposing to their Gentile audiences a new structure of their symbolic and social organization.

Rhetoric and Jewish-Christianity: The Case of the Grammarian Apion in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies Dominique Côté Since the heyday of the Tübingen School in the nineteenth century, many scholars have stressed the Jewish-Christian character of the Pseudo-Clementines.1 Joachim Schoeps2 and Georg Strecker,3 for example, wrote quite substantial and influential studies on the matter. They thought that the Kerygmata Petrou, a hypothetical source of the second century, could in part explain the Jewish-Christian features of the Pseudo-Clementines.4 More recently, F. Stanley 1 The standard edition of the Pseudo-Clementines is the edition made by B. Rehm, Die Pseudoklementinen, I. Homilien (3rd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 42; Berlin 1989), and Die Pseudoklementinen, II. Rekognitionen in Rufins Übersetzung (2nd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 51; Berlin 1994). In this essay, Homilies quotations, unless otherwise noted, are from the translation made by T. Smith in ANF 8:223–346. According to F. S. Jones, “Clementines, Pseudo-,” ABD 1 (1992): 1061, the designation Pseudo-Clementines refers to a group of pseudonymous writings, attached to the name of Clement of Rome, which has survived in two main parts: the Recognitions and the Homilies. Both of them originated in fourth-century Syria. The narrative structure of the Pseudo-Clementines is based on two main lines. First, there is the theological and philosophical discussion between the apostle Peter and Simon the Magician. Secondly, there is the story of Clement’s quest for the truth and for his long-lost family. Clement’s conversion to the doctrine of Peter, his travels with the apostle, and the recovery of his lost family provide the link between the two narrative lines. Since the Homilies and the Recognitions have much material in common, “the view that both are based on an earlier third writing (the basic writing) has gained predominance” (ibid.). Of course there are features in the Homilies unparalleled in the Recognitions and vice versa. The discussion of Greek myths shared between Apion and Clement is to be found only in Hom. 4–6. For a survey of the research on the Pseudo-Clementines, see F. S. Jones, “The Pseudo-Clementines: A History of Research,” SecCent 2 (1982): 1–33, 63–96. For a recent study on Jewish-Christianity in the Pseudo-Clementines, see A. Y. Reed, “Jewish Christianity after the Parting of the Ways: Approaches to Historiography and Self-Definition in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (ed. A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed; TSAJ 95; Tübingen 2003), 189–231. 2 H. J. Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums (Tübingen 1949). 3 G. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen (2nd ed.; Berlin 1981). 4 On the hypothetical content of the Kerygmata Petrou, see Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 137–220, and idem, “Introduction to the Pseudo-Clementines,” in New Testament Apocrypha, vol. 2: Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R.McL. Wilson; Louisville, Ky. 1992), 483–93.

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Jones5 and Jürgen Wehnert6 have shown that the very existence of the Kerygmata Petrou was far from certain.7 Nevertheless, whether we agree with the Kerygmata Petrou hypothesis or not, the fact that the Pseudo-Clementines comprise material “that reflects Jewish Christian elements and concerns”8 is not an issue. The doctrine of the “true prophet” (Hom. 3.17–28), “who brought divine revelation by manifesting himself in a series of changing characters, including Adam, Moses and Jesus” is certainly one of the most dominant Jewish-Christian elements in the Pseudo-Clementines.9 In fact, it is generally agreed that both writings reflect the views of a Jewish-Christian community, identified as Ebionite or Elkasaite.10 On the other hand, it is generally ignored that the Pseudo-Clementine writers, like their Christian contemporaries, had to address the issue of Greek culture.11  5 F. S. Jones, “Pseudo-Clementines,” in EEC, 964, and idem, “A Jewish Christian Reads Luke’s Acts of the Apostles: The Use of the Canonical Acts in the Ancient Jewish Christians Source behind Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71,” SBLSP 34 (1995): 617–35.  6  J. Wehnert, “Literarkritik und Sprachanalyse. Kritische Anmerkungen zum gegenwärtigen Stand der Pseudoklementinen-Forschung,” ZNW 74 (1983): 268–301 at 300–301; idem, “Abriss der Entstehungs-geschichte des pseudoklementischen Romans,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 211–35.  7 See M. Murray, Playing a Jewish Game: Gentile Christian Judaizing in the First and Second Centuries CE (ESCJ 13; Waterloo, On. 2004), 67: “It may not be possible to outline precisely the sources of the Pseudo-Clementine text, but it is possible to detect different themes and attitudes in the material.”  8 Murray, Playing a Jewish Game, 67.  9 Murray, Playing a Jewish Game, 67. See also H. J. W. Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Loyalitätskonflikte in der Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift für Carsten Colpe (ed. C. Elsas and H. G. Kippenberg; Würzburg 1990), 314–23. 10 Epiphanius (Pan. 30.15.1) considered the Periodoi Petrou, which could be the Pseudo-Clementine Grundschrift (see Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet in the Pseudo-Clementines,” 321: “G (= Grundschrift) was probably called the Periodoi Petrou,” and B. Rehm, “Clemens Romanus II,” in RAC 3:198: “G scheint identisch zu sein mit den Περίοδοι Πέτρου”) to be Ebionite. On the Pseudo-Clementines as an Ebionite writing, see S. C. Mimouni, Le judéo-christianisme ancien. Essais historiques (Patrimoines; Paris 1998), 277–86, who makes this distinction, “la littérature pseudo-clémentine est à considérer comme le ‘conservatoire’ de certaines œuvres ébionites” (278). On the comparison between the Elchasaite and the Clementines concerning the True Prophet, see J. N. Birdsall, “Problems of the Clementine Literature,” in Jews and Christians: The Parting of the Ways A. D. 70 to 135. The Second Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium on Earliest Christianity and Judaism (Durham, September, 1989) (ed. J. G. Dunn; WUNT 2.66; Tübingen 1992), 347–61 at 353: “The teaching of the Elkesaites, as described by Hippolytus (Haer. 9.14.1) comes very close to the views of Hom. 3.20.2 (‘from the beginning of the world, he passes through the world, changing forms at the same time as names’).” On the links between the Ebionites, the Elchasaites, and the Pseudo-Clementines, see J. E. Taylor, “The Phenomenon of Early Jewish-Christianity: Reality or Scholarly Invention?” VC 44 (1990): 313–34 at 324: “It is striking that in Epiphanius alone we do find references to the ‘Ebionites’ ’ vegetarianism, purificatory baths, the obligation to marry, rejection of the Temple and sacrifices, and other characteristics which are found distinctively among the Elchasaites and in the Pseudo-Clementines.” 11 However, some scholars did tackle the question: see M. J. Edwards, “The Clementina: A Christian Response to the Pagan Novel,” CQ 42 (1992): 459–74; W. Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’: A Jewish Satire of Greek Paideia in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,” HUCA 64 (1993): 15–49; M. Vielberg, Klemens in den pseudoklementinischen Rekognitionen. Studien zur literarischen Form des spätantiken Romans (TU 145; Berlin 2000); D. U. Hansen, “Die Metamor-

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Yet a whole section of Hom. (4–6), what is called the Apion section, is exclusively concerned with the impiety of the paideia. Apart from the main narrative line of the novel, we find in those three chapters Apion, the famous Alexandrian grammarian, debating Greek myths with a well-educated young man named Clement, related to the family of Tiberius and recently converted to Judaism.12 Too often, in the research on the Pseudo-Clementines, this section has been considered as a corps étranger.13 It is true that, at first glance, the Apion section does not seem to fit quite well with the overall picture. For example, at this point of the narrative, Clement, the main character, is supposed to have met Barnabas in Alexandria (Hom. 1.8–13), and Peter at Caesarea, who introduced him to a Jewish-Christian doctrine, the doctrine of the True Prophet (Hom. 1.15–22). But in chapters four and five we learn that the conversion took place in Rome, after a meeting with an unnamed Jew, a certain merchant who exposed him to the doctrine of the unity of God.14 Naturally, this discrepancy and other singularities have led some scholars to suppose that the Apion section goes back to some kind of a Jewish source.15 The supposition is highly probable. In this essay, however, we shall be less concerned with the issue of the sources than with the issue of the Apion secphose des Heiligen. Clemens und die Clementina,” in Groningen Colloquia on the Novel, vol. 8 (ed. H. Hoffmann and M. Zimmermann; Groningen 1997), 119–29. 12 The character of Clement in the Pseudo-Clementines is inspired by the historical figure of Flavius Clemens, a member of the imperial family supposedly converted to Judaism and sentenced to death by Domitian for that reason (Suetonius, Dom. 15.1, and Dio Cassius, 67.14), and by Clement of Rome, one of the first bishops of Rome. See B. Pouderon, “ L’énigme Flavius Clemens, consul et martyr sous Domitien ou: le personnage historique et ses doubles littéraires,” Ktema 26 (2001): 307–19. 13 A. Siouville, in the introduction to his French translation (Les homélies clémentines [1933; Paris 1991], 21), says that “les discussions de Clément et d’Appion sont un simple hors-d’oeuvre. Les Homélies IV, V et VI, qui nous les rapportent, pourraient être supprimées sans interrompre la suite de l’ouvrage.” 14 “And till now, although I have examined many doctrines of philosophers, I have inclined to none of them, excepting only that of the Jews, – a certain merchant of theirs having sojourned here in Rome, selling linen clothes, and a fortunate meeting having set simply before me the doctrine of the unity of God” (Hom. 5.28.2). 15 According to Jones (“The Pseudo-Clementines: A History of Research,” 27), A. Hilgenfeld (Die clementinischen Recognitionen und Homilien nach ihrem Ursprung und Inhalt dargestellt [Leipzig 1848]) “first presented the thesis that the dispute with Appion (H 4–6; cf. R 10.17–51) formed a source that was used by both H and R.” He identified the source with “the dialogues of Peter and Appion mentioned by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.38.5).” Later, W. Heintze (Der Klemensroman und seine griechischen Quellen [TU 40.2; Leipzig 1914], 50) believed that the source was a Jewish polemical writing (“Es scheint ein Disputationsbuch gewesen zu sein … Das Buch gibt sich als eine jüdische Bekehrungsschrift zu erkennen”) which he dated ca. 200 (112). Heintze’s view was followed by C. Schmidt (Studien zu den Pseudo-Clementinen [TU 46.1; Leipzig 1929], 160–239) and O. Cullmann (Le problème littéraire et historique du roman pseudo-clémentin. Étude sur le rapport entre le gnosticisme et le judéo-christianisme [Études d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses 23; Paris 1930], 116–31). Recently, a French scholar, B. Pouderon (“Aux origines du roman clémentin: Prototype païen, refonte judéo-hellénistique, remaniement chrétien,” in Le judéo-christianisme dans tous ses états. Actes du colloque de Jérusalem [6–10 juillet 1998] [ed. S. C. Mimouni and F. S. Jones; LD; Paris 1998], 231–56) rejected Heintze’s view and put forward

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tion’s literary purpose. Why the Pseudo-Clementine writers have tried to fit into the main plot – i. e., the quest of Clement for truth and the opposition between the apostle Peter and the magician Simon – a discussion about Greek mythology? More specifically, what role might a character like Apion, a Greek celebrity of the first century c.e., a champion of the paideia, play in a Jewish-Christian work, a work better known for its anti-Paulinist stand, as reflected in the opposition between the apostle Peter and the magician Simon who might be the apostle Paul in disguise?16 These are the questions that this essay will attempt to answer.

1. Apion: the enemy of the Jews At the beginning of Hom. 4, Clement, “departing from Caesarea Stratonis, together with Nicetas and Aquila, enter[s] into Tyre of Phoenicia” (Hom. 4.1.1). He has been sent by Peter with orders to get information concerning Simon Magus. But, as he soon discovers, Simon had set sail for Sidon and left behind him three companions: Apion, the Alexandrian grammarian, Annubian the Diospolitan, and Athenodorus the Athenian.17 When Apion, whom Clement knew as being a friend of his father, meets the young man who has been seduced “to speak and act after the manner of the Jews” (Hom. 4.7.2: τὰ Ἰουδαίων ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν), he proposes to have a conversation with him “for the setting of him right” (Hom. 4.7.3). On the one hand, it seems obvious that in order to harmonize this section with the main part of the Homilies, the writer made Apion a very unlikely disciple of Simon Magus, because, says Clement, “he (Apion) knew that he (Simon) was a hater of the Jews, and that he had come forth in opposition to the Jews, therefore he had formed an alliance with him, that he might learn something from him against the Jews” (Hom. 4.2.4)18. On the other hand, Apion’s hostility against the Jews, unlike his friendship with Simon Magus, is not an invention of the writer. another hypothesis: the source not only of the Apion section but also of the Pseudo-Clementine novel is a Jewish novel (composed ca. 100 c.e.). 16 Anti-Paulinism is one of the most important features of the Pseudo-Clementine literature. See, e. g., G. Lüdemann, Opposition to Paul in Jewish Christianity (trans. M. E. Boring; Philadelphia 1989), 169–96. Concerning the identification of Simon Magus with Paul in the Pseudo-Clementines, see A. Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum. Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (BHTh 58; Tübingen 1979), 104–8, and the critical remarks made by H. Harris, The Tübingen School (Oxford 1975), 258. 17 On Annubian and Athenodorus, see J. N. Bremmer, “Foolish Egyptians: Apion and Anou­ bion in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in The Wisdom of Egypt: Jewish, Early Christian, and Gnostic Essays in Honour of Gerard P. Luttikhuizen (ed. A. Hilhorst and G. H. van Kooten; AGJU 59; Leiden 2005), 312–17. 18 On Simon Magus, see G. Theissen, “Simon Magus – Die Entwicklung seines Bildes vom Charismatiker zum gnostischen Erlöser. Ein Beitrag zur Frühgeschichte der Gnosis,” in Religionsgeschichte des Neuen Testaments. Festschrift für Klaus Berger zum 60. Geburtstag (ed. A. von Dobbeler, K. Erlemann and R. Heiligenthal; Tübingen 2000), 407–32.

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As a matter of fact, we know from Josephus’ Contra Apionem that Apion was notorious for his assaults on Judaism. Sometime after the publication of the Jewish Antiquities (ca. 93–94), Josephus had to defend his work against Greek readers who doubted the “extreme antiquity of the Jewish nation” (C. Ap. 1.1).19 They claimed that the Jews were a νεώτερον γένος, denying them the superiority over Greek civilization that Josephus had tried to establish in his work. They did so, Arthur J. Droge says, “under the malicious influence of a fanatical group of Alexandrian polemicists” amongst whom was Apion.20 Josephus responded to his detractors in his two-volume Contra Apionem, a title rather misleading since Apion receives “surprisingly little attention in the Contra Apionem.”21 Only the first half of book two deals with Apion and the attacks he launched against Jewish religion and Jewish residents in Alexandria in his History of Egypt (τὰ Αἰγυπτιακά).22 Most of the accusations made by Apion, Josephus alleges, are “pure buffoonery” (C. Ap. 2.3: τὰ πλεῖστα δὲ βωμολοχίαν ἔχει).23 He is doubtful “whether the remarks of Apion the grammarian deserve serious refutation” (C. Ap. 2.2). According to Josephus, not only was Apion a bad historian for what he wrote about the story of Moses and the departure of the Jews from Egypt,24 but he was also a bad grammarian for what he thought was the meaning of the word sabbaton.25 In sum, what we learn in 19 All Contra Apionem’s quotations are from the translation made by H.St.J. Thackeray, Josephus. The Life. Contra Apionem (LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1926). 20 A. J. Droge, “Josephus between Greeks and Barbarians,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem: Studies in Its Character and Context with a Latin Concordance to the Portion Missing in Greek (ed. L. H. Feldman and J. R. Levison; AGJU 34; Leiden 1996), 115–42 at 125. Those Greeks claimed that “the best known Greek historians had failed to mention the Jews” (116) and that “the Jews had contributed nothing to the rise of civilization” (125). 21 Droge, “Josephus between Greeks and Barbarians,” 116. See M. Goodman, “Josephus’ Treatise Against Apion,” in Apologetics in the Roman Empire: Pagans, Jews, and Christians (ed. M. Edwards, M. Goodman and S. Price; Oxford 1999), 45–58 at 45: “The original title of the work is unknown: the text deals only in the first half of book 2 with the eponymous Apion, and the present title is first attested by Jerome (On Famous Men 13) only in the fourth century.” 22 Apion’s attack centered on the Exodus (C. Ap. 2.8–32), the Alexandrian Jews (C. Ap. 2.33– 78), the Temple cult and religious practices (C. Ap. 2.79–144). The fragments of the Aegyptiaca have been collected by F. Jacoby in Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Leiden 1958), III C, n. 616 f 1–7. 23 E. g. that the Jews worship an ass’s head in the temple (2.80–88) or that they kidnap a Greek, fatten him up for a year, and then murder him while swearing an oath of hostility to the Greeks (2.89–111). Concerning the ass libel, see B. Bar-Kochva, “An Ass in the Jerusalem Temple – The Origins and Development of the Slander,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem, 310–26. 24 Apion stated that Moses was a Heliopolitan who built prayer-houses facing eastward with graven images (2.10–11) and that the Exodus took place as late as the foundation of Carthage (2.15–19). 25 In Apion’s view, the sabbath rest originated due to a disease of the groin for which the Egyptian word is sabbo (C. Ap. 2.20). Josephus answers this libel by making plain that “the grammarian’s distortion of the word ‘Sabbath’ betrays either gross impudence or shocking ignorance.” He goes on to say that “there is a wide difference between sabbo and sabbaton. Sabbaton in the Jews’ language denotes cessation from all work, while sabbo among the Egyptians signifies, as

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Josephus’s Contra Apionem concerning Apion is that the man was a grammarian dedicated to the study of Homer (C. Ap. 2.14), who lied not only about the ancestors of the Jewish people but also about his own birth: he falsely claimed to be an Alexandrian when he was actually a native Egyptian, born in upper Egypt (C. Ap. 2.29). Apion was a liar, a vain man of low character26 who displayed a gross ignorance in Jewish matters. Like the author of the Aegyptiaca whom Josephus refuted in his Contra Apionem, the character of Apion in the Homilies is said to be a grammarian from Alexandria: “Appion Pleistonices, a man of Alexandria, a grammarian by profession” (Hom. 4.6.2: Ἀππίωνα τὸν Πλειστονίκην, ἄνδρα Ἀλεξανδρέα, γραμματικὸν τὴν ἐπιστήμην),27 who wrote many books (πολλὰ βιβλία) against the Jews,28 because of his hatred for the Jews.29 True to the original, the Clementine Apion appears also to have moral failings, as we shall discuss further below. But the similarity between the two Apions does not go any further. All that we know from the Homilies about Apion’s anti-Judaism is that the Alexandrian wrote many books against the Jews. Nothing is said about the contents of those many books. In fact, although the Jewish origins of Hom. 4–6 seem highly probable – in the form of an apology or in the form of a novel based upon historical events and figures, he states, disease of the groin” (2.26–27). In another section (2.12–14), we see Josephus attack Apion because, though he was a γραμματικός, “he could not positively have stated what was the birthplace of the poet Homer, or even of Pythagoras, who lived, one may say, but the other day. But when asked about Moses, who preceded them by such a vast number of years, he, on the strength of the old man’s report, answers with an assurance which proclaims him a liar.” J. Dillery, “Putting Him Back Together Again: Apion Historian, Apion Grammatikos,” CP 98 (2003): 383–90 at 385, believes that “it is Apion the grammatikos that is under attack in these chapters of Josephus, and in particular, Apion the scholar of Homer, not so much Apion the historian.” 26 For example, Apion congratulated Alexandria on having such a citizen as himself. Josephus wrote on this: “the rest of the world took him for a low charlatan, whose life was as dissolute as his language” (C. Ap. 2.136). 27 On the attestation and for an explanation of the spelling Appion, see Bremmer, “Foolish Egyptians,” 317–18. 28 “But I, being aware that the man exceedingly hated the Jews, as also that he had written many books against them” (Hom. 5.2.4). On the historicity of these πολλὰ βιβλία, see E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus-Christ (175 BC – AD 135) (3 vols.; new English ed. rev. by G. Vermes, F. Millar and M. Goodman; Edinburgh 1986), 3:607: “When, finally, the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies assert that Apion wrote πολλὰ βιβλία against the Jews (Homil., V, 2), this is of course not to be taken seriously.” On the meaning of the words πολλὰ βιβλία, see P. W. van der Horst, “Who Was Apion?” in idem, Japhet in the Tents of Shem: Studies on Jewish Hellenism in Antiquity (CBET 32; Leuven 2002), 207–21 at 211 n. 28: “One should bear in mind the ambiguity of an expression such as ὁ λόγος κατὰ Ἰουδαίων. It can mean both ‘the book Against the Jews’ and ‘the argument against the Jews’.” It is worth noting that both Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 1.101.3) and Julius Africanus (apud Eusebius, Praep. ev. 10.10.16) mention a βιβλίον κατὰ Ἰουδαίων by Apion. 29 “Then Appion, having heard from me the truth, with his unreasonable hatred of the Jews” (Hom. 5.29.1).

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namely Apion’s anti-Semitic charge and Flavius Clemens’ conversion30 – the author of this section pays no attention to the allegations made by Apion against the Jews. He prefers to place the emphasis on the immorality of Greek culture which Apion was supposed to defend as a grammarian. All that is left in the Homilies from Apion’s opposition to the Jews appears to be his “unreasonable hatred for the Jews” (Hom. 5.29.1). One could suppose that, after the publication of Josephus’ Contra Apionem, Apion became in the eyes of some Hellenized Jews the enemy par excellence, something of an archetype.31 As for the Judaism to which Clement has converted, the Homilies say only that it is a philosophical doctrine,32 a very basic Judaism indeed, which might explain why a Jewish source (apology or novel) would have been integrated into a Jewish-Christian text, whether it be the Homilies or the Basic Writing. The common ground of those two writings would be their opposition to Greek culture.

2. Apion: the famous Alexandrian grammarian Both Josephus and the author of Hom. 4–6 intended to establish the superiority of Judaism over Greek culture,33 and one way of doing it was to attack the credibility of Apion, one of the most famous opponents to Judaism in the first centu30 Scholars like Heintze, Der Klemensroman, 42–51, and Cullmann, Le problème littéraire et historique, 116–31, suppose that the source (an apology for Judaism) was used by the Basic Writing (Grundschrift), Hom., and Rec., and that the Apion section was accordingly part of the Basic Writing. The basis of their supposition is a reference to “discussions between Peter and Apion attributed to Clement of Rome” in Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.38.5: Πέτρου δὴ καὶ Ἀπίωνος διαλόγους). The reference in Eusebius, according to their supposition, would refer to the Grundschrift. Pouderon (“Aux origines du roman clémentin,” 253) says almost the same when he asserts that the source (a Jewish novel) was reorganised by an Ebionite editor (“le rédacteur ébionite”) into a Christian novel (see his diagram on the Clementines’ formation, 256). Strecker (Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen, 84) holds quite another view when he affirms that there is no room for the character of Apion in the Grundschrift: “Die Gestalt Apions hat keinem Platz in der Grundschrift.” In his opinion, the author of the Homilies is the one who actually composed the discussion with Apion: “Völlig evident aber wird die Vermutung, der Homilist habe die Apiondisputation komponiert, durch eine Untersuchung der Gestalt Apions in den Homilien” (83). 31 See Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 31: “he was notorious among Hellenistic Jewish writers for his virulent enmity toward the Jews.” However, Adler does not mention any of these “Hellenistic Jewish writers.” See also Pouderon, “Aux origines du roman clémentin,” 248: “c’est entre 93 et 96 que parut le Contre Apion de Flavius Josèphe, qui popularisa la figure d’Apion comme ‘ennemi des Juifs’.” 32 “And till now, although I have examined many doctrines of philosophers, I have inclined to none of them, excepting only that of the Jews” (Hom. 5.28.2). 33 See A. Kasher, “Polemic and Apologetic Methods of Writing in Contra Apionem,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem, 143–86 at 150: “the axis of Contra Apionem is the debate between the Jews and Greek culture in general … Contra Apionem should have been given a more appropriate title, such as Against the Greeks.”

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ry.34 So, we might think that one reason for the presence of Apion in the Clementine Homilies could be that Apion was notorious for his assaults on Judaism, and for this reason was the perfect foil for a Jewish convert like Clement.35 Another reason for the presence of Apion in the Homilies could be that Apion was also a scholar whose erudition, as William Adler observes, “was seriously undermined by relentless self-promotion and ostentatious display.”36 The Clementine writers, clearly aware of Apion’s reputation, used it as a polemical instrument against Greek culture. As a matter of fact, as Pieter W. van der Horst states, Apion had a “very mixed reputation”: on the one hand, he was greatly renowned as a lecturer and a writer, but on the other hand “his behaviour seems to have irritated many people.”37 According to Seneca, during Caligula’s reign, Apion travelled through Greece as an itinerant orator, lecturing on Homeric problems, “which earned him the nickname Ὁμηρικός.”38 It is worth mentioning here that there is a passage in the Homilies in which Apion, while exposing an allegorical interpretation of the theogony of Hesiod, explains and praises Homer. Of these great men I shall bring forward to you him who excelled them all in wisdom, Homer, where he says (Iliad 7.99), with a reference to the original confused mass, “But may you all become water and earth”; implying that from these all things had their origin, and that all things return to their first state, which is chaos, when the watery and earthy substances are separated (Hom. 6.3.2).39 34 Josephus, in his Contra Apionem, strikes a balance between polemic and apologetic methods, between positive assessment of Judaism and harsh critic of Greek writers, a balance which is somewhat lacking in Hom. 4–6. On this facet of the Contra Apionem, see Kasher, “Polemic and Apologetic Methods of Writing in Contra Apionem.” On the attacks against Apion’s credibility, Kasher notes that the “defamation of persons and their character was one of the better-known rhetorical tactics adopted in the courts of law,” and that “Josephus adopted a technique of writing which resembled legal debates in the law courts” (163). In S. Mason’s opinion (see his “Contra Apionem in Social and Literary Context: An Invitation to Judean Philosophy,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem, 187–228), Contra Apionem should rather be considered a λόγος προτρεπτικός, i. e., “a discourse intended to promote ‘conversion’ to a philosophical community” (188). In Hom. 4–6, there is more polemic against Apion’s Greek culture and personal behaviour than apologetic of Judaism. 35 See Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 31. 36 Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 31. 37 Van der Horst, “Who Was Apion?” 209. 38 “Apion, the scholar, who drew crowds to his lectures all over Greece in the days of Gaius Caesar and was acclaimed a Homerid by every state …” (Ep. 88.34, trans. R. M. Gummere, Seneca. Moral Epistles [3 vols.; LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1917–1925]). See van der Horst, “Who Was Apion?” 208. 39 On this passage, see Bremmer, “Foolish Egyptians,” 321, who answers the question “to what extent this passage illustrates the Homeric teaching of the historical Apion” by saying that “there is too little left of his works for a proper evaluation.” Concerning the Orphic theogony preserved in the Pseudo-Clementines (Hom. 6.3–10 and Rec. 10.17–20; 30), fictitiously attributed to Apion, and its Alexandrian origin, see J. van Amersfoort, “Traces of an Alexandrian Orphic Theogony in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions: Presented to Gilles Quispel on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (ed. R. van den Broek and

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Apart from being the author of an important lexicon of Homeric diction, the Glossai Homerikai, which deals with the explanation of Homeric vocabulary,40 Apion wrote about many subjects in many fields such as linguistics, lexicography, literature, geography, natural sciences, zoology, and cooking.41 The Suda (s. v. Πάσης) also mentions a work with the title Περὶ μάγου. Does that imply that Apion dabbled in magic like the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies would like us to believe? We really do not know.42 What we do know for sure is that Apion, “a man widely versed in letters and possessing an extensive and varied knowledge of things Greek,” as Aulus Gellius said (Noct. att. 5.14.1),43 was also ridiculously vain and boastful. Now, in his account of what he professes either to have heard or read he is perhaps too verbose through a reprehensible love of display – for he is a great self-advertiser in parading his learning (Noct. att. 5.14.3).

Pliny the Elder, who followed his lectures,44 says that the emperor Tiberius called Apion the world’s cymbal (cymbalum mundi), though, he adds “he might rather have been thought to be a drum, advertising his own renown” (Nat. Praef. 25). Indeed, Apion stated “that persons to whom he dedicated his compositions received from him the gift of immortality!” (ibid.). His nickname ὁ Πλειστονίκης, “victor in many contests,” which “may well be a pun on the phonetically indistinguishable ὁ Πλειστονείκης, which means ‘quarrelsome’,” is certainly another testimony to the man’s self-importance.45 At this point it might be useful to note that, in the first century, since grammar is basically “the art of speaking correctly and the interpretation of the poets,”46 the word “grammarian,” in Greek γραμματικός and in Latin grammaticus, may have M. J. Vermaseren; EPRO 91; Leiden 1981), 13–30, and G. Quispel, “The Demiurge in the Apocryphon of John,” in Nag Hammadi and Gnosis: Papers Read at the First International Congress of Coptology (Cairo, December 1976) (ed. R.McL. Wilson; NHS 14; Leiden 1978), 1–33 at 18–19. 40 The 160 fragments preserved from the Glossai Homerikai have been edited by S. Neitzel, Apions Γλῶσσαι Ὁμηρικαί (Sammlung griechischer und lateinischer Grammatiker 3; Berlin 1977), 185–300. According to J. Dillery (“Putting Him Back Together Again,” 383) “much of Apion’s fame was due to his lexical work.” 41 Van der Horst, “Who Was Apion?” 210. 42 On the possible connection of Apion with magic, see the observation made by Bremmer, “Foolish Egyptians,” 325: “The historical Apion may well have dabbled in love magic too, since Pliny (Nat. 24.167) says that according to someone celeber arte grammatica paulo ante, clearly Apion, the touch of the plant called anacampseros, ‘love’s return’, caused either the return of love or its rejection with hatred.” 43 Trans. J. C. Rolfe, The Attic Nights of Aulus Gellius (3 vols.; LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1927). 44 Pliny the Elder, Nat. 30.18 (H. Rackham, Pliny. The Natural History [LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1940): cum adulescentibus nobis visus Apion grammaticae. 45 Van der Horst, “Who Was Apion?” 209. On the meaning of the nickname ὁ Πλειστονίκης, see H. Jacobson, “Apion’s Nickname,” AJP 98 (1977): 413–15, and Dillery, “Putting Him Back Together Again,” 383–84. 46 Quintilian, Inst. 1.4.2 (trans. H. E. Butler, Quintilian. The Institutio Oratoria [LCL; London

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two meanings: a teacher of literature and a literary scholar.47 The comments of Aulus Gellius, Pliny the Elder, and Seneca make it clear that Apion was famous first as a scholar and not as a teacher, although the Suda says that he succeeded Theon as head of the grammar school of Alexandria and taught at Rome under Tiberius and Claudius.48 But, given the rhetorical activity of Apion in the Homilies, we must ask whether it was usual for a grammarian like Apion to have engaged in such rhetorical activity. According to Quintilian (Inst. 2.1.1–3), the activity of the grammarian did sometimes (unfortunately in his eyes) interfere with the activity of the rhetorician, the teacher of rhetoric, to such extent that some grammarians not only taught rhetoric but also gave lectures in public, like many rhetoricians used to do. On this point, Suetonius, in his De Grammaticis, says that at first the grammaticus was called litteratus, and he quotes Cornelius Nepos who stated that the term litteratus was “commonly applied to those who can speak or write on any subject accurately, cleverly and with authority; but that it should strictly be used of interpreters of the poets, whom the Greeks call grammatici” (Gramm. 4).49 So, in the light of the definitions by Quintilian and Suetonius and of the testimonies from Pliny the Elder, Seneca, Aulus Gellius, and the Suda, we can affirm that the Homilies show a fair degree of accuracy when they introduce Apion with the words: “Appion Pleistonices, a man of Alexandria, a grammarian by profession” (Hom. 4.6.2),50 and a fair amount of realism when they picture the grammarian Apion discussing Greek myths with a young, educated man who has recently converted to Judaism.

and Cambridge, Mass. 1969). In Quintilian’s view, this definition applies equally to Greeks and Romans. 47 T. Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (Cambridge 1998), 155–56, observes that the word meaning “teacher of literature by means of grammar … does not appear in either literary or papyrological sources” before the first century b.c.e. “In classical Greece,” she adds, “a grammatikos is simply a man who knows his letters, and this sense of the word persists throughout antiquity.” In the Hellenistic period, the word grammatikos “acquires the additional, specialized meaning of a literary scholar.” On the definition of grammar and grammarian in the Greco-Roman world, see also R. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, N. J. and Oxford 2001), 185–219, and C. McNelis, “Greek Grammarians and Roman Society during the Early Empire: Statius’ Father and His Contemporaries,” Classical Antiquity 21 (2002): 67–94. 48 Suda (s. v. Ἀπίων): ἐπαίδευσε δὲ ἐπὶ Τιβερίου Καίσαρος καὶ Κλαυδίου ἐν Ῥώμῃ. ἦν δὲ διάδοχος Θέωνος τοῦ γραμματικοῦ. 49 Trans. J. Rolfe, Suetonius (2 vols.; LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1914). 50 As Bremmer (“Foolish Egyptians,” 319–20) has shown, all three qualifications: the nickname Pleistonices, the Alexandrian origin and the title grammarian, are confirmed and well attested in both Greek and Latin literature.

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3. The Influence of Paideia and Rhetoric on the Pseudo-Clementines It seems that the Pseudo-Clementine writers knew exactly who Apion was, but, for polemical reasons, chose to focus on the grammarian and his Greek culture instead of the historian and his hostility towards Judaism. As a result, the character of Apion that we find in Hom. 4–6 looks like an idealized or caricatured defender of the paideia, designed to keep in check paideia’s bad influence over Jewish or Jewish-Christian believers. So, in order to make sense of Apion’s role in the novel, one has to take into account the strong influence paideia and rhetoric have exerted on the Pseudo-Clementines, more particularly in this section of the Homilies, but also in many other aspects of the work. Therefore, when we read the Pseudo-Clementines, we should bear in mind the following facts. First, the opposition between the apostle Peter and Simon Magus, one of the major themes in the Pseudo-Clementines, as noted earlier, takes the form of a very sophisticated debate.51 At Laodicea, Peter and Simon have to discuss according to the rules of “Hellenic culture,” which Faustus, Clement’s father, acting here as a judge, reminds them.52 Peter, in the Homilies and in the Recognitions, is no longer the uneducated fisherman of the Gospels. He speaks and acts like a true philosopher.53 The fight that Peter has with the magician Simon is not, as in the apocryphal Acts of Peter, a fight with signs and miracles, but a pure battle of words and arguments.54 In one instance, the apostle even reminds his adversary of the basic rules of a philosophical discussion, the ars disputandi. 51 On this point, see D. Côté, Le thème de l’opposition entre Pierre et Simon dans les Pseudo-Clémentines (Collection des Études Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 167; Paris 2001), 125– 26, and B. R. Voss, Der Dialog in der frühchristlichen Literatur (Studia et testimonia antiqua 9; München 1970), 62–65, 67–73. Voss remarks that, in spite of the Pseudo-Clementines’ opposition to what they called the “babbling of the Greeks” (Graecorum loquacitas, Rec. 8.5.5), the Greek method of discussion is somewhat integrated into the Clementine novel: “Das griechische Disputationsverfahren, das zunächst heidnischer Geschwätzigkeit zugewiesen worden war, wird in die geistige Welt des Romans hineingenommen” (68). 52 “And now, having learned from Hellenic culture how those who seek the truth ought to act, I shall remind you. Let each of you give an exposition of his own opinion, and let the right of speech pass from the one to the other” (Hom. 16.3.3). 53 In Rec. 10.15.1–2, Clement is amazed at Peter’s erudition: “Then I Clement went on to speak thus: ‘At Tripolis, when you were disputing against the Gentiles, my lord Peter, I greatly wondered at you, that although you were instructed by your father according to the fashion of the Hebrews and in observances of your own law, and were never polluted by the studies of Greek learning, you argued so magnificently and so incomparably; and that you even touched upon some things concerning the histories of the gods, which are usually declaimed in the theatres’.” See what Niceta, Clement’s brother, has to say about Peter’s intellectual ability in Rec. 8.5.4: “For he is a man of God, full of all knowledge, who is not ignorant of Greek learning, because he is filled with the Spirit of God, to whom nothing is unknown.” On Peter the “philosopher,” see Côté, Le thème de l’opposition entre Pierre et Simon, 126–33. 54 See H. C. Kee, Miracle in the Early Christian World: A Study in Sociohistorical Method (New Haven, Conn. 1983), 288, and R. Pesch, Simon-Petrus. Geschichte und geschichtliche Bedeutung

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For some, in the contest of disputations, when they perceive that their error is confuted, immediately begin, for the sake of making good their retreat, to create a disturbance, and to stir up strifes, that it may not be manifest to all that they are defeated; and therefore I frequently entreat that the investigation of the matter in dispute may be conducted with all patience and quietness, so that if perchance anything seem to be not rightly spoken, it may be allowed to go back over it, and explain it more distinctly (Rec. 2.25.1–2).55

Second, the very fact that the Pseudo-Clementines, as a whole, are a novel shows clearly the literary awareness of the writers.56 They could have expressed their views on Greek culture in another way, as did Justin, Clement of Alexandria, or Origen. Rather, they chose a very fashionable way: the Greek novel.57 Furthermore, writing a novel instead of an apology may reveal a certain taste for rhetoric, des ersten Jüngers Jesu Christi (Päpste und Papsttum 15; Stuttgart 1980), 156, who summarizes the fight between Peter and Simon in the Acts of Peter: “er (i. e., Peter) überwindet Simon, den Boten des Teufels, im Wortstreit und vor allem in der aretalogisches Auseinandersetzung durch den Beweis grösserer Wunder.” On the Acts of Peter in general, see J. N. Bremmer, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (SAAA 3; Leuven 1998); E. Norelli, “Situation des apocryphes pétriniens,” Apocrypha 2 (1991): 31–83; W. Schneemelcher, “The Acts of Peter,” in New Testament Apocrypha, vol. 2: Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R.McL. Wilson; Louisville, Ky. 1992), 271–321. 55 In Rec. 3.18 and 34, Peter has to remind Simon, his opponent, of the ordo disputandi, because “the teaching of all doctrine has a certain order.” On the importance of those theoretical statements for the history of Christian dialogue, see Voss, Der Dialog in der frühchristlichen Literatur, 67: “Wichtiger als die Disputationen selbst sind für die Geschichte des christlichen Dialogs die in den Pseudo-Clementinen enthaltenen Aussagen über Wesen und Form geistiger Auseinandersetzung.” 56 The Pseudo-Clementines are said by many scholars to be the first Christian novel. See, inter alios, Cullmann, Le problème littéraire et historique, vii: “premier roman dû à la plume d’un auteur Chrétien,” and T. Hägg, The Novel in Antiquity (Berkeley, Calif. and Los Angeles 1983), 162–63: “the first genuine Christian novel.” According to Hansen, “Die Metamorphose des Heiligen,” 119–21, the Pseudo-Clementines are the first Christian novel because the main characters of the Clementine narrative, unlike the main characters in the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, are no longer simply saints but real novelistic characters. There is a “Metamorphose vom Heiligen zum Romanhelden” (121). 57 The question of whether the Clementine romance derives from a pagan novel or not still occupies critics. Hägg (The Novel in Antiquity, 163) believes that the Christian novel “is built on the remains of a pagan one.” Hansen (“Die metamorphose des Heiligen,” 129) asserts that “der Autor der Clementina habe Heliodor benutzt.” On the contrary, Edwards (“The Clementina: A Christian Response,” 459) says that the narrative was not in origin “a separate work by a pagan author.” The Pseudo-Clementines “had only Christian sources; so far as it was a novel, it was probably a Christian invention” (474). On this issue, see R. Pervo, “The Ancient Novel Becomes Christian,” in The Novel in the Ancient World (ed. G. Schmeling; Leiden 2003), 685–711 at 707: “The Ps-Clems are a Christian novel with a plot that resembles New Comedy.” See also Vielberg, Klemens in den pseudoklementinischen Rekognitionen, who maintains that the Pseudo-Clementines made use of novelistic patterns (Romanmotive), found in almost every Greek novel (111–14), and more specific models like Philostratus’ Vita Apollonii (152–64). Concerning the reason why the Clementine writers adopted the novel to express their view, Hägg says that “the novelistic form was the means of attracting pagan readers” (The Novel in Antiquity, 164), and Edwards supposes that “the aim was to set forth arguments that would edify even Christians in a form that even pagans would admire” (“The Clementina: A Christian Response,” 474).

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at least if we agree with the supposition of some scholars according to which the Greek novel would derive from a rhetorical exercise called the declamation.58 Third, in Hom. 4–6 Apion and Clement debate well-documented theses in the rhetorical schools,59 for example: “What are customs and how do we learn them? Are customs always truthful or only accepted as true through repetition? Under what conditions is apostasy from one’s ancestral customs warranted?”60 So when Clement begins his speech by “There is a great difference, O men of Greece, between truth and custom. For truth is found when it is honestly sought; but custom, whatsoever be the character of the custom received, whether true or false, is strengthened” (Hom. 4.11.1),61 he deals basically with the same topic as Dio Chrysostom in his discourse on custom (De consuetudine [Or. 76]). When Clement is blamed by Apion for having left behind the customs of his fathers (τὰ πάτρια), defending his case by saying that “it behoves one who desires to be 58  The declamation (Latin: declamatio, Greek: μελέτη) is a fictitious speech. According to D. A.  Russell, Greek Declamation (Cambridge 1983), 10, “it has to be the reproduction of a forensic speech or of a deliberative one.” Since “pretending to be someone else, and composing imaginary speeches in character, is an essential part of most literary activity,” the declamation “may be expected to have an influence on literature” (ibid., 1). C. Ruiz Montero, “The Rise of the Greek Novel,” in The Novel in the Ancient World, 29–85 at 65, does agree with Russell on “the importance of declamation or μελέτη as a fictional exercise” and goes even further by stating that “as a series of fictional exercises, then, rhetoric enhances the power of that fiction in permeating the different literary genres of the Hellenistic and Roman periods; they thus collaborate in the construction of the fictional genre par excellence – the novel” (67). In Ruiz Montero’s opinion, though, the assertion “that the Greek love novel is born mechanically in the rhetorical laboratory” is unacceptable (ibid.). It would be more acceptable to say that the novel “as a genre is born, like the rest of the literature of the age, in a rhetorical-literary context” (68). On the relation between rhetoric and romance, see R. F. Hock, “The Rhetoric of Romance,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period (330 B. C. – A. D. 400) (ed. S. E. Porter; Leiden 2001), 445–65. Hock stresses the importance of the progymnasmata (προγυμνάσματα), the preliminary exercises to the practice of declamation, for reading and appreciating the sophistication of Greek romances (453–61). 59 The thesis (θέσις) was one of the preliminary exercises in the schools of rhetoric. According to Aelius Theon, the author of the earliest account of progymnasmata (first century c.e.), the thesis is a “verbal inquiry admitting controversy without specifying any persons and circumstance; for example, whether one should marry, whether one should have children, whether the gods exist” (Prog. 11; trans. G. A. Kennedy, Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric [SBLWGRW 10; Atlanta, Ga. 2003], 55). On the thesis, see D. L. Clark, Rhetoric in Greco-Roman Education (Morningside Heights, N. Y. 1957), 203–6. The thesis was also in use in philosophical training. Aelius Theon (Prog. 11) makes a distinction between theoretical and practical theses: “it is clear that the practical are more political and have a rhetorical character, while the theoretical are more appropriate for philosophers.” On the philosophical thesis, see D. M. Schenkeveld, “Philosophical Prose,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 247–48. 60 Quoted from Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 32. 61 M. Simon, “Christianisme antique et pensée païenne: rencontres et conflits,” Bulletin de la Faculté des lettres de Strasbourg 38 (1960): 309–23 at 313, considers this passage to be one of the most articulate expressions of the differences between ancient Christianity and “paganism”: “Aucun texte, me semble-t-il, ne fait mieux ressortir la différence fondamentale qui oppose le christianisme antique et les païens même cultivés.”

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pious not altogether to observe the customs of his fathers; but to observe them if they be pious, and to shake them off if they be impious” (Hom. 4.8.3), he comes up against a much-debated theme: “Should one always respect and obey one’s parents?”62 Indeed, Aulus Gellius says that this question is a frequent subject of discussion among philosophers (Noct. att. 2.7.1). Against philosophers who assert that some practices, adultery for example, are indifferent, neither good nor bad, because such things are not sins by nature, but have been proscribed by laws made by men, Clement argues that those practices cannot be other than sins: they are the cause of tumults, murders and every confusion.63 The question “Are certain acts proscribed by law because they are wrong ‘by nature’ or are laws only utilitarian agreements made by the ancients to maintain stability?,” is another well-known rhetorical thesis, as William Adler has noted.64 When Clement blames the learned because some of them, “professing themselves to be grammarians and sophists” (Hom. 4.17.1), affirm that adultery is worthy of gods, he makes use at some point of the following argument: “On this account, they who live in the country sin much less than they do, not having been indoctrinated in those things … having learned from evil instruction to be impious” (Hom. 4.18.1). We find, once again, the same argument given by Quintilian as the classical example of a rhetorical thesis: “Theses on the other hand are concerned with the comparison of things and involve questions such as ‘Which is preferable, town or country life’?” (Inst. 2.4.24).65

62 On this question, Adler (“Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 32–33 n. 51) refers inter alia to Aristotle’s Eth. nic. 9.2.1: πότερον δεῖ πάντα τῷ πατρὶ ἀπονέμειν καὶ πείθεσθαι, and to the Elder Seneca (Cont. 2.1.20 [ed. and trans. M. Winterbottom, Seneca the Elder. Declamations I: Controversiae I–VI (LCL 463; Cambridge, Mass. 1974]), who says that an in omnia patri parendum sit is “an old and discredited topic” (vetere et explosa quaestione). 63 “And some of those amongst them who even profess to be philosophers, assert that such sins are indifferent, and say that those who are indignant at such practices are senseless. For they say that such things are not sins by nature, but have been proscribed by laws made by wise men in early times” (Hom. 4.20.1–2). 64 Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 33. In his treatise on Preliminary Exercises, Nicolaus the Sophist (fifth century c.e.) reminds his readers that a thesis must be discussed along the following headings: “according to nature” or “law,” or “custom,” or “holy duty” (Preliminary Exercises 12, in Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 168). On the same headings, see Aelius Theon: “There are also the following topics. First, that what is recommended in the thesis is possible, and second, that it is in accordance with nature and according to the common manners and customs of all mankind” (Exercises 11, in Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 56). 65 On the value of the country life, see Dio Chrysostom, Venator (Or. 7). A favourite theme for declamation was the comparison of nomadic with city life, with the Scythians to stress the point. The sophist Alexander, nicknamed ‘Clay-Plato,’ is said by Philostratus to have declaimed on the theme: “The speaker endeavours to recall the Scythians to their earlier nomadic life, since they are losing their health by dwelling in cities” (Vit. soph. 572; trans. W. C. Wright, Philostratus and Eunapius. The Lives of the Sophists [LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1921]).

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4. The Comparative Value of Greek παιδεία and Jewish εὐσέβεια Actually, Apion and Clement not only debate “frequent subjects of discussion with philosophers” but, as Aulus Gellius would have said, they deal with the comparative value of Jewish religion (εὐσέβεια) and Greek culture (παιδεία). Clement, “a man possessed of all Greek learning” (Hom. 4.7.2), as Apion describes him, has recently converted to Judaism, leaving behind the customs of his fathers. In the eyes of a πεπαιδευμένος like Apion, this is the most impious thing a man can do, since piety is the observance of the customs: “Let him tell me,” Apion says, “since he thinks that he has devoted himself to piety, whether he is not acting most impiously, in forsaking the customs of his country, and falling away to those of the barbarians” (Hom. 4.7.3). Clement, in accordance with the usual line of argumentation in Christian apologetic,66 answers that the truth must be preferred to the tradition and now laments the Greek paideia as the work of a wicked demon: “Therefore I say that the whole learning of the Greeks is a most dreadful fabrication of a wicked demon” (Hom. 4.12.1).67 Greek myths, for instance, give to dissolute scholars like Apion a licence to sin, when they pretend to imitate the gods. “For they introduced gods of their own,” Clement says, “and these wicked, and subject to all kinds of passion; so that he who wishes to do the like things may not be ashamed, which belongs to a man, having as an example the wicked and unquiet lives of the mythological gods” (Hom. 4.12.2).

5. Clement’s Trick To make his point perfectly clear, Clement, on the second day of the discussion, when the debate is suspended because Apion takes ill, recounts to his audience a hoax that he had played on Apion when the latter came to visit him in Rome

66 See Justin Martyr, who rebukes the Greeks for having higher regard for customs than for truth (1 Apol. 12.6: τὰ ἔθη πρὸ τῆς ἀληθείας τιμᾶτε). In the Greeks’ minds, though, as Simon (“Christianisme antique et pensée païenne,” 312) has noted, the idea of tradition was the “pierre de touche de la morale et de la vérité.” 67 One of the major arguments put forward by Christian apologists against Greek religion was that the gods of the Greeks were only demons. See, e. g., Theophilus of Antioch, Autol. 1.10; Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 2.40.1; 3.44.1; Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 5.2. On the importance of this argument in Christian apologetic, see J. Pépin, “Christianisme et mythologie. Jugements chrétiens sur les analogies du paganisme et du christianisme,” in Dictionnaire des mythologies et des religions des sociétés traditionnelles et du monde antique (ed. Y. Bonnefoy; 2 vols.; Paris 1999), 1:324–26. On the idea that Greek culture and more particularly Greek myths are the work of demons, see Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 54.1–2. Concerning Justin’s theory of the demonic origins of Greek culture and polytheism, see A. Y. Reed, “The Trickery of the Fallen Angels and the Demonic Mimesis of the Divine: Aetiology, Demonology, and Polemics in the Writings of Justin Martyr,” JECS 12 (2004): 141–71 at 159–68.

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(Hom. 5.2–29.1).68 From his boyhood, Clement was a “lover of truth” (Hom. 5.2.3: ἀληθείας ἐρῶν)69 and “spending his time in raising and refuting theories” (Hom. 5.2.2),70 but “being unable to find anything perfect, through distress of mind he fell ill.” While he was confined to bed Apion came to Rome, and being his father’s friend, he lodged with him. Hearing that Clement was in bed, Apion came to him and inquired the cause of his being in bed. At this moment, knowing that Apion hated the Jews, Clement had the idea of playing a trick on him. He pretended to be love-sick, being in love with a most distinguished, but married, woman. As soon as the grammarian heard this, he first proposed that Clement resort to magical means.71 “Within seven days I shall put you fully in possession of her,” Apion said (Hom. 5.4.1).72 But his proposal was refused because Clement believed that “he who constrains an unwilling woman by the force of magic, subjects himself to the most terrible punishment” (Hom. 5.7.2). Apion then offered another solution, a rhetorical one: “This very night,” he said, “I shall write a paper on encomiums of adultery, which you shall get from me and despatch to her; and I hope that she shall be persuaded, and consent” (Hom. 5.9.3).73

68 Clement’s flash-back introduces in the narrative what is called in French “une mise en abyme.” This literary device was frequently used in ancient novels. On this, see B. Pouderon, “La littérature pseudo-épistolaire dans les milieux juifs et chrétiens des premiers siècles. L’exemple des Pseudo-Clémentines,” in Epistulae Antiquae 1. Actes du 1er colloque “Le genre épistolaire antique et ses prolongements” (Université François-Rabelais, Tours, 18–19 septembre 1998) (ed. N. Léon and G. Élisabeth; Leuven 2000), 223–41 at 228: “La controverse d’Appion avec Clément est un récit dans le récit … dans lequel l’épisode des amours de Clément s’insère comme un nouvel excursus. À son tour, le récit de Clément recèle l’échange de correspondance fictif entre Clément et la belle qui donne l’illusion d’un nouveau récit.” 69 For Clement’s philosophical inquiry, see Hom. 1.1–5. The quest for truth is a novelistic theme that we find, e. g., in Lucian’s Menippus or Descent into Hades. For a comparison of Lucian’s work and the Pseudo-Clementines, see F. Boll, “Das Eingangsstück der Ps.-Klementinen,” ZNW 17 (1916): 139–48. 70 Like the thesis, the ἀνασκευή (refutation) and the κατασκευή (confirmation) were philosophical and rhetorical exercises also. In schools of rhetoric, the refutation and the confirmation were taught as preliminary exercises. On these progymnasmata, see Aelius Theon, Exercises 5–6, who considered that both exercises included in themselves “all the power of the art (of rhetoric).” 71 Hansen, “Die Metamorphose des Heiligen,” 127–28, thinks that this scene is intertextually linked with Heliodorus’ Aethiopica where Charicles asks Kalasiris for help. 72 It is said earlier (Hom. 5.3.4–5) that Apion had learned from a reputed Egyptian magician a very powerful love incantation (ἐπῳδή). 73 Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 38, remarks that the grammarian Apion is here represented as “a rhetor rehearsing the lessons of his craft.” In fact, the encomium was another preliminary exercise in rhetoric. According to Hermongenes, Preliminary Exercises 7, “encomion is an exposition of the good qualities of a person or thing, in general or individually” (in Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 81).

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6. Apion’s Love-letter Now this encomium of adultery is a very interesting piece of rhetoric, the beginning of which is as follows: Anonymously, on account of the laws of foolish men. At the bidding of Love, the first-born of all, salutation: I know that you are devoted to philosophy, and for the sake of virtue you affect the life of the noble. But who are nobler than the gods among all, and philosophers among men? For these alone know what works are good or evil by nature, and what, not being so, are accounted so by the imposition of laws. Now, then, some have supposed that the action which is called adultery is evil, although it is in every respect good. For it is by the appointment of Eros for the increase of life. And Eros is the eldest of all the gods. For without Eros there can be no mingling or generation either of elements, or gods, or men, or irrational animals, or aught else. For we are all instruments of Eros. He, by means of us, is the fabricator of all that is begotten, the mind inhabiting our souls. Hence it is not when we ourselves wish it, but when we are ordered by him, that we desire to do his will. But if, while we desire according to his will, we attempt to restrain the desire for the sake of what is called chastity, what do we do but the greatest impiety, when we oppose the oldest of all gods and men? (Hom. 5.10.1–7).

We find in these opening words the main ideas underlying the whole letter: the cosmic power of Eros (no one can resist, not even the gods) and the imitation of the κρείττονες: the gods and the philosophers. If the gods, ordered by Eros, committed adultery, their imitators are allowed to do the same. In order to substantiate his argument, Apion then presents an impressive catalogue of Zeus’s adulteries. If the philosophers, Socrates and the Stoics, for instance, extolled pleasure and held adultery as morally indifferent, their imitators once again should do the same. These arguments may seem to be rather superficial and one may doubt whether the real Apion or any serious rhetorician would have written a βιβλίον that looks very much like a mockery of encomion. In fact, we know that Greek rhetoricians and sophists were trained to write encomia on any subject and that some of them did actually write in praise of adoxa (ἄδοξα) or “things normally disreputable or worthless” like hair or baldness.74 The “paradoxical encomium” is perhaps, according to Graham Anderson, the “exercise which scholars most readily identify as sophistic as opposed to merely rhetorical,”75 and this kind of activity has certainly brought the Sophistic into disrepute.76 Although Bernard Pouderon is probably right when he claims that there is no need to suppose 74 G. Anderson, The Second Sophistic: A Cultural Phenomenon in the Roman Empire (London 1993), 171. Dio Chrysostom composed an encomiun on hair to which Synesius replied by an encomium on baldness some two centuries later. 75 Anderson, The Second Sophistic, 51. On the paradoxical encomium and the case of the Roman orator Fronto, see P. Fleury, “L’éloge paradoxal, entre virtuosité et construction idéologique. Le cas de l’Éloge de la négligence de Fronton,” Rhetorica 20 (2002): 119–32. 76 Anderson, The Second Sophistic, 171.

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that the encomion would come from an authentic pagan source, since Apion’s love-letter is most likely a “pastiche” written by the author (Christian or Jewish?) of this section,77 one must admit the possibility that a grammarian, or should we say a sophist, like Apion could have written such a paradoxical encomion. The pastiche’s purpose would be to give of Greek rhetoric in its sophistic fulfilment a caricature in the form of an encomion of adultery.78 In any case, the pastiche’s author knew exactly what the correct division of encomion was. Apion’s encomion is indeed elaborated in accordance with the usual headings.79 After a prooemion appropriate to the subject, Apion states the subject’s origin – i. e., the powerful Eros –, then composes the greatest heading of the encomion: deeds – i. e., the lists of gods and philosophers’ examples. He knew also how to arrange alphabetically a list of the Greek gods, their names, exploits, places of burial, and sexual favourites, something probably learned in school.80 In fact, he was so well trained in rhetoric that he chose one of the most advanced and literary ways to compose an encomion: the fictive letter. Authors of the Second Sophistic, like Alciphron and Philostratus, practised the genre of epistolary fiction, writing fictive letters, erotic epistles for example, to fictional readers.81 As Patricia A. Rosenmeyer has pointed out, at least in the case of Philostratus, those letters were more literary “show-pieces” than “effective communications.”82 Indeed Philostratus’s erotic epistles function as “a sophistic exercise in variation.”83 As a matter of fact, what Rosenmeyer says about “Philostratus’ skill in stylistic variation on an erotic theme” could be applied, mutatis mutandis, to Apion’s 77 Pouderon, “La littérature pseudo-épistolaire,” 238: “la lettre amoureuse d’Appion est un pastiche forgé par un adversaire du paganisme, qu’il fût juif ou chrétien.” 78 Adler, “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 15. See Pouderon, “La littérature pseudo-épistolaire,” 238, who stresses the fact that “Appion fournit plus d’arguments aux adversaires du paganisme qu’il n’en donne en faveur du libertinage.” 79 On the proper headings of an encomion, see Aphthonius the Sophist, Preliminary Exercises 8: “You will construct a prooemion appropriate to the subject; then you will state the person’s origin … then you will compose the greatest heading of the encomion, deeds” (in Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 108). 80 In Hom. 5.13, Apion gives a list of the heroines deceived by Zeus and this list, as M. R. James has noted, is arranged alphabetically (“A Manual of Mythology in the Clementines,” JTS 33 [1932]: 262–65). James makes the supposition that Hom. used a text-book and that this “textbook was a book of reference digested into headings and meant for use perhaps in schools” (265). On mythographical material that circulated through mythological handbooks, see Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 207–8. 81 On fictionality in Philostratus’ works, see E. Bowie, “Philostratus: Writer of Fiction,” in Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context (ed. J. R. Morgan and R. Stoneman; London and New York 1994), 181–99. 82 P. A. Rosenmeyer, Ancient Epistolary Fiction: The Letter in Greek Literature (Cambridge 2001), 325. 83 Rosenmeyer, Ancient Epistolary Fiction, 323. See G. Anderson, Philostratus: Biography and Belles Lettres in the Third Century A. D. (London 1986), 277, who says that the “flavour” of all the Philostratean opuscula, including the Letters, is “mixing elegance with a show of expertise.”

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love-letter and his reply: “what appears on the surface to be a love letter may include a variety of other literary foci: mythological allusions, catalogues and lists, paradoxical encomia, and so on.”84 To be more specific, the sophist Philostratus, like the Clementine writer, wrote two fictive letters on adultery, one to prove that adultery is preferable to chastity and the other to set out the opposite, referring in both cases to “Zeus’ legendary unchastity”85 to make his point.86 Since this kind of arguing both sides is typical of the sophistic movement, it is clear that the author of the Apion section was acquainted not only with rhetoric but also with the literary refinements of the Second Sophistic. The woman’s reply to Apion’s love-letter contains a strong criticism of adultery in Greek myths. “I wonder how,” she writes, “when you commend me for wisdom, you write to me as to a fool. For, wishing to persuade me to your passion, you make use of examples from the mythologies of the gods, that Eros is the eldest of all … not being afraid to blaspheme, that you might corrupt my soul and insult my body” (Hom. 5.21.1–2). The conclusion of the letter is a clear confession of Judaism: “Having learned from a certain Jew both to understand and to do things that are pleasing to God, I am not to be entrapped into adultery by your lying fables” (Hom. 5.26.3). Of course when Apion hears the pretend answer he could no longer hold his anger and says: “Is it without reason that I hate the Jews? Here now some Jew has fallen in with her and has converted her to his religion and persuaded her to chastity” (Hom. 5.27.1). At this point, Clement confesses to Apion the truth: “I was not enamoured of the woman or any one else, my soul being exceedingly spent upon other desires and upon the investigation of true doctrines” (Hom. 5.28.1). The whole trick Clement played on Apion was intended obviously to prove the grammarian’s immorality. Indeed, the grammarian Apion, with the rhetorical flourish with which he handles moral issues like adultery stands here as the perfect example of the vanity – that is Clement’s view – of Greek culture. Even before he read the letter to his audience, Clement had already made this point very sharply: “This, O men, is the instruction of the Greeks, affording a bountiful licence to sin without fear” (Hom. 5.9.5).

Ancient Epistolary Fiction, 323. “Apion’s ‘Encomium of Adultery’,” 39. 86 Philostratus, Ep. 30 and 31. Both letters are addressed “To a Woman” (Γυναικί). In Ep. 30, Philostratus says that “the act is one and the same whether it is done with the husband or with a paramour.” He then proposes the adulteries of Poseidon, Zeus, and other gods as examples. In Ep. 31, Philostratus seems to put his addressee on guard against adultery: “The paramour who has his way pays for it in extreme danger and if he is thwarted he pays in suffering” (trans. A. R.  Benner and F. H.  Fobes, The Letters of Alciphron, Aelian, and Philostratus [LCL; London and Cambridge, Mass. 1949]). 84 Rosenmeyer, 85 Adler,

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7. Conclusion The author of the Apion section of the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies most likely had training in rhetoric. Like Josephus in his Contra Apionem and the Christian apologists, while proposing his doctrine as a philosophy,87 the author made use of his own rhetorical skill as a polemical tool in order to show the vanity of Greek culture and more precisely of its rhetorical component.88 But, unlike Josephus and the Christian apologists, he adopted a truly literary manner (novel, pastiche, fictive letter) to defend his thesis. It is not through arguments but through the characters of Clement and Apion that the Clementine writer attacks the paideia. Although both Clement and Apion are presented as true πεπαιδευμένοι, Clement, through his quest for truth, represents the limitations of the paideia, whereas Apion, through his encomium of adultery, illustrates the immorality of Greek culture. Of course, as Jan N. Bremmer says, these are “imaginative interpretations by an author who was well informed”89 about Apion and Clement. Paradoxical as it may seem, the rejection of the paideia is somewhat counteracted by the rhetorical and literary competency displayed in the Apion section by the author himself. While it is possible the Basic Writer used Jewish material from the first or the second century, since the final editing of the Homilies and the Recognitions took place in the fourth century, we still have to ask the question of why Jews or Christians of that period needed to address the issue of Greek rhetoric. We cannot state beyond any doubt who wrote the Apion section and when it was written, but we may suppose, at this point, with John Chapman, that the Pseudo-Clem87 “And till now, although I have examined many doctrines of philosophers, I have inclined to none of them, excepting only that of the Jews” (Hom. 5.28.2). In Contra Apionem, Josephus clearly presents Judaism in philosophical terms. See Mason, “The Contra Apionem in Social and Literary Context”; Kasher, “Polemic and Apologetic Methods of Writing in Contra Apionem,” 154; T. Rajak, “The Against Apion and the Continuities in Josephus’ Political Thought,” in eadem, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction (AGJU 48; Leiden 2001), 195–217 at 215. On Christianity presented as a philosophy by Clement of Alexandria and Origen, see, e. g., P. Hadot, Exercices spirituels et philosophie antique (Paris 1987), 61, and U. Berner, “The Image of the Philosopher in Late Antiquity and in Early Christianity,” in Concepts of Person in Religion and Thought (ed. H. G. Kippenberg et al.; Religion and Reason 37; Berlin 1990), 125–36 at 125. 88 For the use of rhetoric in Josephus’ Contra Apionem, see R. Hall, “Josephus, Contra Apionem and Historical Inquiry in the Roman Rhetorical Schools,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem, 229–49 at 240–48, and Rajak, “The Against Apion and the Continuities in Josephus’ Political Thought,” 215, who notes that “the Against Apion is the most rhetorical of Josephus’ works.” For the rhetoric of Josephus in general, see D. R. Runnals, “The Rhetoric of Josephus,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric, 737–54. Concerning the Christian Apologists and their critic of rhetoric, see L. Pernot, La rhétorique de l’éloge dans le monde gréco-romain (Collection des Études Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 137; Paris 1993), 775: “De vigoureuses critiques contre la sophistique et contre les recherches rhétoriques s’expriment chez Clément d’Alexandrie, Tatien, Théophile d’Antioche.” See, according to Pernot’s list, Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.3; 1.8; 2.3.1–2; Theophilus, Autol. 1.1; Tatian, Oratio 26.3–4; 27.2–3. 89 Bremmer, “Foolish Egyptians,” 312.

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entine writer or editor of the fourth century was “perhaps a former sophist.”90 Like Annette Yoshiko Reed did recently with the Jewish-Christian material in the Pseudo-Clementines,91 it is time, we believe, to consider the fourth-century context in which the Homilies and the Recognitions were composed. Although we cannot fully subscribe to Chapman’s view when he wrote: “Every one who knows the Homilies well will recognize that Simon and his disciples are caricatures of Iamblichus and his school,”92 we think that polemic against Neoplatonism could be a key to a proper understanding of the Apion section and all the Clementine material related to the paideia. Let us have in mind, for instance, the orphic theogony attributed to Apion in Hom. 6, which has some agreements with the orphic theogony of Hieronymus and Hellanicus and the Rhapsodic orphic version,93 and the fact that our most important witnesses of the orphic theogonies are “Neoplatonists of the fifth and sixth century, who always are inclined to make Orpheus a member of their school.”94 Is it pure coincidence? We assume it is not.

90 J. Chapman, “On the Date of the Clementines,” ZNW 9 (1908): 21–34, 147–59 at 155: “Probably he was a convert from heathenism to the Imperial religion, perhaps a former sophist and teacher of third-rate philosophy.” 91 Reed, “Jewish Christianity after the Parting of the Ways,” 202–3. Following some scholars who “point to the fourth century as the critical era” for the establishment of boundaries between Judaism and Christianity, the author proposes to “revisit the question of the Jewish Christianity of the Pseudo-Clementines, reconsidering these sources in light of the new scholarly sensitivity to the diversity of biblically-based forms of religiosity, even after the so-called Parting of the Ways.” Consequently, she will “focus on the late antique authors / redactors of this literature, exploring the efforts at self-definition found within H [the Homilies] and R [the Recognitions] in their extant, redacted forms.” She reminds us that “most research into the Pseudo-Clementines has been devoted not to understanding H or R but rather to reconstructing the sources of B [the Basic Writing]; instead of considering the fourth-century context in which the texts were composed, scholars have focused on the non-extant sources that allegedly stand behind their non-extant third-century source” (224). 92 Chapman, “On the Date of the Clementines,” 157: “Simon is not St. Paul, he is a philosopher of the school of Iamblichus. His magic and incantations, his visions and prophecy, his claim to be the God who is above the Creator are characteristic of the Neo-Platonist.” On other issues, it is difficult to agree with Chapman, especially when he affirms that “there is no trace of Judaeo-Christianity anywhere in the Clementine writings” (150). 93 On this question, see van Amersfoort, “Traces of an Alexandrian Orphic Theogony,” 22–24. 94 Van Amersfoort, “Traces of an Alexandrian Orphic Theogony,” 19. On Orphism in the Roman Empire, see L. Brisson, “Orphée et l’Orphisme à l’époque impériale. Témoignages et interprétation philosophiques, de Plutarque à Jamblique,” ANRW 2.36.4 (1990): 2867–931. On the connection between Orphism and Neoplatonism, see idem, “Damascius et l’Orphisme,” in Orphisme et Orphée. En l’honneur de Jean Rudhardt (ed. P. Borgeaud; Recherches et rencontres 3; Geneva 1991), 157–209.

Pseudo-Clementine Polemics against Sacrifice: A Window onto Religious Life in the Fourth Century? Nicole Kelley Much of the recent scholarly discussion of apocryphal and pseudepigraphical works addresses matters of categorization: What, if anything, makes an apocryphon different from a pseudepigraphical work? Shall we refer to New Testament Apocrypha or early Christian apocryphal literature? How does one tell the difference between Jewish and Christian pseudepigrapha, if this is even possible?1 This essay proposes to address a taxonomic issue that is related to, but nevertheless distinct from, such concerns. Specifically, it deals with the question of a text’s “conversation partners”: What texts and material artifacts should form the horizon against which apocryphal and pseudepigraphical texts are read? How does the choice of such intertextual parameters affect the interpretation of early Christian apocryphal literature? The Pseudo-Clementines offer a particularly instructive case in point, because (like many apocryphal and pseudepigraphical texts) they contain several layers of tradition and were apparently compiled over the course of two or three centuries. Though the Homilies and Recognitions reached their final forms in the fourth century, they both depend heavily on a lost third-century work now dubbed the Grundschrift. The Grundschrift, in turn, depends upon a disputed number of (lost and extant) sources from the first and second centuries.2 The near-bewildering array of texts and sources involved in the Pseudo-Clementine corpus often means that there is no one obvious historical context for the study of these materials. Those interested in the Ebionites and anti-Paulinism typically focus on Rec. 1.27–71 and the so-called Kerygma(ta) Petrou (a putative early source of the Grundschrift), using first‑ or second-century texts (such as the Gospel of Matthew, the Acts of the Apostles, and Paul’s letter to the Galatians) as background.3 Those interested in the Grundschrift turn to late second‑ and early 1 See, for example, J. R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden 2005), and Davila’s contribution to this volume. 2 On these sources, see F. S. Jones, “The Pseudo-Clementines: A History of Research, Part I,” SecCent 2 (1982): 14–33. 3 See, e. g., F. S. Jones, “An Ancient Jewish Christian Rejoinder to Luke’s Acts of the Apostles: Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71,” Semeia 80 (1997): 223–45; C. K. Barrett, “Pauline

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third-century writings by Bardesanites and Marcionites to provide context.4 And the few scholars interested in the final forms of the Homilies and Recognitions look to fourth-century materials to establish an interpretative context.5 But this is more than a source-critical or chronological matter, because the Pseudo-Clementines present generic challenges as well. The Homilies and Recognitions share a romantic storyline that is closely related to the Hellenistic novel and its narrative conventions. For this reason, they have often been interpreted in light of their Hellenistic counterparts.6 But they also contain stories about the apostle Peter’s adventures, miracles, and extensive debates with Simon Magus, which explains why the Pseudo-Clementines are also read alongside the Acts of Peter and other apocryphal acts of the apostles.7 The Pseudo-Clementines’ peculiar theological and philosophical ideas play a role in establishing contexts, too. Peter’s views on sexual purity and food laws are similar to those found in rabbinic writings and the church fathers’ reports of the beliefs of various “Jewish-Christian” sects, with the result that these texts are often used as evidence in reconstructions of the Pseudo-Clementines’ doctrinal views and socio-historical settings.8 At the same time, the extended philosophical debates in the Homilies and Recognitions are strongly reminiscent of other Jewish and Christian apologetic works, as well as texts such as Cicero’s De Natura Deorum.9 Given all of this, it is not difficult to see how different interpreters might (quite legitimately) choose to frame a study of the Pseudo-Clementines in very different ways. The choice of interpretative frameworks, in turn, has a significant effect on one’s understanding of the text. Nowhere is this more clear than in analyses of the Pseudo-Clementines’ anti-sacrificial views. Controversies in the Post-Pauline Period,” NTS 20 (1973–1974): 229–45 esp. 236–37; R. E. van Voorst, The Ascents of James: History and Theology of a Jewish-Christian Community (SBLDS 112; Atlanta, Ga. 1989). 4 See, e. g., H. J. W. Drijvers, “Adam and the True Prophet in the Pseudo-Clementines,” in Loyalitätskonflikte in der Religionsgeschichte. Festschrift für Carsten Colpe (ed. C. Elsas and H. G. Kippenberg; Würzburg 1990), 314–23; F. S. Jones, “Eros and Astrology in the Periodoi Petrou: The Sense of the Pseudo-Clementine Novel,” Apocrypha 12 (2001): 53–78. 5 See, e. g., A. Y. Reed, “‘Jewish Christianity’ after the ‘Parting of the Ways’,” in The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Age (ed. A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed; TSAJ 95; Tübingen 2003), 189–231; N. Kelley, “Problems of Knowledge and Authority in the Pseudo-Clementine Romance of Recognitions,” JECS 13 (2005): 315–48. Cf. E. Schwartz, “Unzeitgemäße Beobachtungen zu den Clementinen,” ZNW 31 (1932): 151–99 at 186 n. 2, regarding Hom. 4–6. 6 See, e. g., M. J. Edwards, “The Clementina: A Christian Response to the Pagan Novel,” CQ 42 (1992): 459–74; Jones, “Eros and Astrology,” 53–78. 7 See, e. g., T. Adamik, “The Image of Simon Magus in the Christian Tradition,” in The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles, and Gnosticism (ed. J. N. Bremmer; SAAA 3; Leuven 1998), 52–64. 8 See, e. g., A. Baumgarten, “Literary Evidence for Jewish Christianity in the Galilee,” in The Galilee in Late Antiquity (ed. L. Levine; New York 1992), 41–47; Reed, “Jewish Christianity.” 9 See W. Heintze, Der Klemensroman und seine griechischen Quellen (TU 40.2; Leipzig 1914), 76–86.

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1. Sacrifice in the Pseudo-Clementines The Pseudo-Clementine Homilies and Recognitions have a great deal to say about sacrificial practices, and very little of it is positive. For instance, the Homilies presents sacrifices as demonic in origin and unnecessary for communion with the divine. As Peter tells Clement in Hom. 2.44.2,10 God, who is “holy, and pure, and perfect,” has no need of sacrifices or anything else. In his first debate with Simon, Peter argues that God is unhappy with sacrifice because he is displeased with the slaughter of animals, and because sacrifice creates an atmosphere of “darkness, and smoke, and storm” (Hom. 3.45.3), which is inimical to a God who created a pure heaven, an earth lighted by the sun, and the order of the stars’ revolutions (Hom 3.45.1–4). Indeed, as Peter says in Hom. 3.26.3, the True Prophet “hates sacrifices, bloodshed, and libations” (θυσιάς, αἵματα, σπονδὰς μισεῖ). In Hom. 3.56.4, Peter appeals to Jesus’ quotation of Hosea 6:6 – “I desire mercy and not sacrifice” – in Matthew 9:13 and 12:7 to prove that scripture itself testifies that God and his agent the True Prophet are not pleased with sacrifices. One clear indication that sacrifice lacks the divine imprimatur is that, “while heaven and earth still stand, sacrifices have passed away” (Hom. 3.52.1). According to the Homilies, sacrifices enable humans to commune not with God, but with demonic powers. Peter’s account of the primordial universe in Hom. 8 reveals that God allowed demons to trouble, or infect, only those persons who worshipped them, sacrificed or poured libations, ate sacrificial meat, or engaged in a handful of other illicit activities. He summarizes this idea for Simon in Hom. 8.20.1 as follows: “everyone who worships demons, or sacrifices to them, or partakes with them of their table, shall become subject to them and receive all punishment from them, as being under wicked lords.” Not only does sacrifice subject people to demonic powers, but it also is powerless to help people with the problems for which they were seeking divine help. Both Faustus (Hom. 14.3.4) and Matthidia (Hom. 13.5.1) remark that their multitude of sacrifices in a previous life did nothing to help their circumstances. Peter comments more than once that sacrifices and libations to the gods will accomplish nothing for those who offer them, in part because such “gods” are powerless to create change in the world (Hom. 10.23.3–4, 24.3). According to the Homilies, those who would appeal to tradition in support of sacrifice must understand that piety, not tradition, renders a practice valuable (Hom. 11.13.1–5), and those who appeal to scripture are no better off. Those biblical passages supporting sacrificial activity are “unjust and false” (ἀδίκους 10 Unless otherwise noted, all English translations of the Homilies and Recognitions are from ANF 8:129–218. Some have been modified slightly. For the Greek text of the Homilies, see B. Rehm, Die Pseudoklementinen, I. Homilien (3rd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 42; Berlin 1992). For the Latin text of the Recognitions, B. Rehm, Die Pseudoklementinen, II. Rekognitionen in Rufins Übersetzung (2nd ed.; rev. by G. Strecker; GCS 51; Berlin 1994).

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οὔσας καὶ ψευδεῖς) insofar as they suggest that God “was ignorant and rejoiced in murder, and let off the wicked in consequence of the gifts of sacrifices,” while simultaneously encouraging people to emulate such a portrait of God (Hom. 18.19.1–3). Those sections of the biblical text which encourage sacrifice, then, are likely to fall into the category of false passages of scripture, which the True Prophet teaches people to reject. The Recognitions likewise contains much of the same negative attitude toward sacrifice, which demonstrates that the Pseudo-Clementines’ anti-sacrificial stance goes at least as far back as the third-century Grundschrift (the hypothetical common ancestor of the Homilies and Recognitions). Although slightly less than half of the occurrences of this idea are found in Rec. 1.27–71, which belongs to an early source layer of the Recognitions and has been identified by some as the Ascents of James mentioned by Epiphanius in Pan. 30.16,11 the slight majority of the Recognitions’ anti-sacrificial material appears dispersed throughout the text. As a result, this polemical attitude can be said to belong to the Recognitions proper, and not just to one of its source layers. The first book of the Recognitions provides a history of sacrifice that is missing from, but which seems to be at least partly presupposed by, its sister text the Homilies. In it, Peter recounts the demonic and magical origins of sacrifice (Rec. 1.30.4),12 and reports the rather common idea that Moses allowed sacrifice as a temporary concession to the ancient Israelites’ habit of idol worship (Rec. 1.36.1).13 According to Peter’s account, both the checkered history of the Jerusalem Temple and the advent of the True Prophet serve a didactic purpose for the Israelites. The True Prophet’s role is to announce the rejection of sacrifices and the Temple in favor of mercy and wisdom, which God truly desires (Rec. 1.37.2), and to institute baptism as a sort of replacement for the sacrificial system (Rec. 1.39.1–2).14 The repeated plundering and destruction of the Temple were intended to show that “a people who offer sacrifices are driven away and delivered up into the hands of the enemy, but they who do mercy and righteousness are without sacrifices freed from captivity, and restored to their native land” (Rec. 11 There has been a great deal of debate on the extent of this source and its precise identification, but there exists little doubt that this section of the Recognitions comes from a separate source. On this question, see van Voorst, Ascents of James, 1–46. F. S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity Pseudo-Clementine “Recognitions” 1.27–71 (SBLTT 37, Christian Apocrypha 2; Atlanta, Ga. 1995), 146–48, argues against the identification of this material with the Anabathmoi Jakobou. 12 “In the fourteenth generation one of the cursed progeny first erected an altar to demons, for the purpose of magical arts, and offered there bloody sacrifices.” 13 “When meantime Moses, that faithful and wise steward, perceived that the vice of sacrificing to idols had been deeply ingrained into the people from their association with the Egyptians, and that the root of this evil could not be extracted from them, he allowed them indeed to sacrifice, but permitted it to be done only to God, that by any means he might cut off one half of the deeply ingrained evil, leaving the other half to be corrected by another, and at a future time.” 14 Cf. Origen, Comm. Matth. 13.23.

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1.37.4). In other words, sacrifice offers the structuring principle for this text’s Deuteronomistic outlook: those who sacrifice were punished with exile because they had displeased God, while those who pleased God through acts of mercy were restored to the land.15 The ultimate destruction of the Temple was a decisive indication of God’s rejection of the sacrificial system, since the advent of the True Prophet marked the point at which the time of sacrifices had ended (Rec. 1.64.1). Like the Homilies, the Recognitions makes the point that idol worship and participation in sacrifices leaves one open to the influence and control of demonic powers (Rec. 2.71.3; 5.32.2). The Recognitions further asserts that demons actively support and nurture the worship of pagan gods, in order to “strengthen the worship of false religion” (Rec. 4.19.1: cultum falsae religionis adfirment) as well as to divert attention and gratitude away from the true God (Rec. 5.30.6).

2. Opposition to sacrifice and “Jewish Christians” All of these examples should make it clear that the Homilies and Recognitions maintain a consistently negative attitude toward sacrifice. More often than not, these anti-sacrificial polemics have been interpreted in light of the texts’ Jewish-Christian heritage, since the Pseudo-Clementines comprise arguably the single most important literary evidence for Jewish Christianity in late antiquity. Indeed, Epiphanius several times mentions rejection of sacrifices as a characteristic of groups typically regarded as Jewish Christian.16 He notes that “Elxai” (who should perhaps be identified with the leader of the so-called Elchasaites) “condemns sacrifice and priestcraft as alien to God and never in any way offered to God by the fathers and the law, but he says there that one should pray toward Jerusalem, where the altar and the sacrifices were” (Pan. 19.3.6).17 Epiphanius likewise attributes rejection of sacrifices to the so-called Ebionites: (The Ebionites) say that (Jesus) rules over angels and everything made by the Almighty, and that he came and announced , as is contained in their so-called “gospel,” namely: I have come to abrogate the sacrifices, and if you do not cease 15 The Recognitions’ focus on the land in this section is also characteristic of Jubilees, which is one of the sources behind Rec. 1.27–71. On this point, see J. M. Scott, Geography in Early Judaism and Christianity: The Book of Jubilees (SNTSMS 113; Cambridge 2002), 97–125; F. S. Jones, “Jewish-Christian Chiliastic Restoration in Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71,” in Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Perspectives (ed. J. M. Scott; JSJSup 72; Leiden 2001), 529–47. 16 See, e. g. Epiphanius, Pan. 19.3.6; 30.16.5, 7; Jerome, Epist. 112.13; Augustine, Epist. 116.​ 16.​1; Rufinus, Symb. 37. 17 All translations of Epiphanius are from P. R. Amidon, The Panarion of St. Epiphanius, Bishop of Salamis: Selected Passages (New York 1990). The identity of Elchasai / Elxai is discussed by G. P. Luttikhuizen, “Elchasaites and Their Book,” in A Companion to Second-Century Christian “Heretics” (ed. A. Marjanen and P. Luomanen; VCSupp 76; Leiden 2005), 335–64 at 342–46, 349–53.

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to sacrifice, the wrath upon you will not cease. Such are their deceitful teachings (Pan. 30.16.4b–5).

According to the judgment of some scholars, Epiphanius may be referring to a source behind Rec. 1.27–71 when he writes of the Ebionites, In the Ascents of James they set down certain means of ascent and narratives in which they have James expounding against the temple and the sacrifices, and against the fire on the altar; and there are a good many other inanities” (Pan. 30.16.7).18

In each of the examples just mentioned, Epiphanius mentions rejection of sacrifices as a hallmark of Ebionite and Elchasaite belief. It is hardly surprising, then, that modern scholars have usually interpreted the Pseudo-Clementines’ anti-sacrificial stance in light of this connection with “Jewish Christian” groups. Hans Joachim Schoeps, for example, used the Pseudo-Clementines’ polemic against sacrifice to construct a rather elaborate history and theology of Jewish Christianity. Among other things, Schoeps believed that there were genealogical connections between the Rechabites, the Essenes, and the Ebionites because all three groups had a negative attitude toward sacrifices and the Jerusalem Temple.19 Robert E. van Voorst disagrees with Schoeps’s historical reconstruction, but does attribute the Recognitions’ anti-sacrificial attitude to a Jewish-Christian community he believes to be behind the Ascents of James (Rec. 1.33–71).20 Georg Strecker likewise numbers the Pseudo-Clementines’ anti-sacrificial perspective among their Jewish-Christian attributes, and assigns it to the Kerygmata Petrou, which he dates to around 200 c.e.21 Other examples could be given here, but the basic point is clear: the Pseudo-Clementines’ hostility to sacrifice is typically considered to be a hallmark of Jewish-Christian belief and a remnant of the beliefs of a Jewish-Christian community from the first or second century c.e.

18 Jerome, on the other hand, seems to suggest that some Torah-observant Christians offered sacrifices. In Epistle 112.13 he accuses Augustine of thinking that “since the preaching of the gospel of Christ, the believing Jews do well in observing the precepts of the law, i. e. in offering sacrifices as Paul did, in circumcising their children, as Paul did in the case of Timothy, and keeping the Jewish Sabbath, as all the Jews have been accustomed to do.” 19 H. J. Schoeps, Jewish Christianity: Factional Disputes in the Early Church (trans. D. R. A. ​ Hare; Philadelphia 1969), 119. See also the discussion in his Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums (Tübingen 1949), 155–59. 20 Van Voorst, Ascents of James, 163–80. He does distinguish, however, between the Jewish-Christian elements of Rec. 1.33–71 and the remainder of the Pseudo-Clementines, which he attributes to a later stage of Jewish Christianity (29–46, 179). 21 G. Strecker, Das Judenchristentum in den Pseudoklementinen (2nd rev. ed.; TU 70; Berlin 1981), 179–84; idem, “The Pseudo-Clementines: Introduction,” in New Testament Apocrypha, vol. 2: Writings Related to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R. McL. Wilson; Louisville, Ky. 1991), 483–93 at 492–93.

Pseudo-Clementine Polemics against Sacrifice

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4. Sacrifice and fourth-century piety Although I do not intend to challenge the assertion that such anti-sacrificial polemics had some connection to “Jewish-Christian” circles, I would like to suggest that it is possible to interpret this anti-sacrificial attitude in the wider context of piety in the late antique world. Opposition to animal sacrifice, which was not limited to Elchasaites or Ebionites or indeed any specific religious tradition, “was in full swing by the first century b.c.e.” and continued well into the fourth century c.e.,22 when the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies and Recognitions were written (or redacted). In fact, through the fourth century blood sacrifices were rejected most prominently not by “Jewish Christians,” but by members of other religious and philosophical groups. Like the Pseudo-Clementine authors, Neopythagoreans, Neoplatonists, Hermetists, and Christians of various stripes all embraced the idea of spiritual sacrifices while disparaging or rejecting material sacrifice, particularly blood sacrifice.23 Pythagoras, for instance, was thought to have promoted vegetarianism and bloodless sacrifice, and Neopythagoreans such as Apollonius of Tyana are said to have refused to watch blood sacrifices.24 Jewish and Christian authors routinely acknowledge that sacrifice is associated with demons, particularly since demons feed on the smoke of animal sacrifices. Athenagoras, for example, writes that demons “who draw men to idols … are eager for the blood of the sacrifices, and lick them” (Leg. 26). Origen likewise forbids sacrifices to demons who are “addicted to blood and (sacrificial) odors” (Cels. 8.62; cf. 3.28; 4.32; 7.6; 8.60). Lactantius states that demons “conceal themselves in the temples, and are close at hand at all sacrifices; and they often give prodigies, that men, astonished by them, may attach to images a belief in their divine power and influence” (Inst. 2.17). But the Neoplatonist Porphyry is perhaps the best-known late antique critic of sacrifices. Book 2 of Porphyry’s De abstinentia, a work that advocates vegetarianism, has been called “the most sustained attack on sacrificial practices to survive from antiquity.”25 In it, Porphyry makes a common argument in favor of different sacrifices for the various levels of divinity: the highest god should be worshipped “in pure silence and with pure thoughts about him” (Abst. 2.34.2),26 and the intelligible gods ought to be worshipped with hymn-singing (Abst. 2.34.3). He 22 N. Janowitz, Icons of Power: Ritual Practices in Late Antiquity (Magic in History; University Park, Pa. 2002), 98–99. 23 See S. Bradbury, “Julian’s Pagan Revival and the Decline of Blood Sacrifice,” Phoenix 49 (1995): 331–56 at 334. 24 Porphyry, Vit. Pyth. 34–35; Iamblichus, De Vita Pyth. 11.54; 21.98; 24.107; 28.150; Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 1.31–32. Bradbury, “Julian’s Pagan Revival,” 335. 25 Bradbury (“Julian’s Pagan Revival,” 333) notes that roughly 80 % of chapters 5–32 were adopted from Theophrastus’s lost On Piety. 26 All translations are from G. Clark, Porphyry. On Abstinence from Killing Animals (Ithaca, N. Y. 2000).

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asserts that “someone concerned for piety knows that no animate creature is sacrificed to the gods, but to other daimones, either good or bad” (Abst. 2.36.5). Porphyry goes on to distinguish between good and evil daimones, noting that the “maleficent daimones … are themselves responsible for the sufferings that occur around the earth,” but they shift the blame to other parties: “Then they prompt us to supplications and sacrifices, as if the beneficent gods were angry. They do such things because they want to dislodge us from a correct concept of the gods and convert us to themselves” (Abst. 2.40.1–2). According to Porphyry, then, the recipients of blood sacrifices are daimones rather than the highest god, and those who offer blood sacrifices put themselves in the hands of evil daimones, who are behind much of traditional civic religion.27 These aspects of Porphyry’s argument are quite similar to what we have already seen in the Recognitions and Homilies. In both places, blood sacrifices and traditional cult are denigrated as having been caused by, and directed toward, evil daimones.28 But not all Neoplatonists agreed with Porphyry’s estimation of the value of blood sacrifices. Iamblichus argued that cultic practices were essential for attaining union with the gods (Myst. 2.11). Blood sacrifices, though admittedly more appropriate for daimones than for the highest god, still retain the capacity to unite humans and the divine (Myst. 5.7–10). This is in part because such traditional rites were handed down by the gods, and “it is by the symbols in these rites that the gods are ‘awakened’ and drawn into the worshippers’ presence” (5.25).29 Iamblichus’s views on sacrifice and theurgy were influential for the pagan revival of the emperor Julian, a series of events which intensified the already-lively conversation about the value of sacrifice among different religious groups in late antiquity.

5. Julian’s sacrificial program Questions about the value of sacrifice were central to late antique religious discourse during and immediately after the reign of the emperor Julian (361–363 c.e.).30 Julian “the Apostate,” as he has unfortunately been nicknamed, was a nephew of Constantine and was raised in a Christian household.31 He studied 27 See

Bradbury, “Julian’s Pagan Revival,” 337. whose work was probably known to the Pseudo-Clementine writers, used Porphyry’s arguments in his Preparation for the Gospel. Bradbury, “Julian’s Pagan Revival,” 338. 29 Bradbury, “Julian’s Pagan Revival,” 339. Iamblichus likewise rejects the idea that daimones feed on the smoke of sacrifices (Myst. 5.10). 30 This section is based on N. Kelley, Knowledge and Religious Authority in the Pseudo-Clementines: Situating the Recognitions in Fourth-Century Syria (WUNT 2.213; Tübingen 2006), 200–4. 31 For a summary of Julian’s life, see R. Smith, Julian’s Gods: Religion and Philosophy in the Thought and Action of Julian the Apostate (London and New York 1995), 1–9 (with further details). 28 Eusebius,

Pseudo-Clementine Polemics against Sacrifice

399

rhetoric and philosophy and “converted” to Iamblichan Neoplatonism and theurgy around the year 351. During his brief reign, Julian attempted to reverse the Christianizing trend that had begun with his uncle Constantine. He proclaimed religious toleration, as part of a strategy designed to restore pagan cultic sacrifices (forbidden by Constantius in 341) and to exacerbate the tensions among Christians involved in the homoousios debates. He forbade Christians to teach philosophy and classical literature in the schools. Julian, it seems, was not just casually in favor of sacrifice and cult. Ammianus complains that the emperor “drenched the altars with the blood of an excessive number of victims, sometimes slaughtering a hundred oxen at a time, with countless flocks of various other animals … Moreover, the ceremonial rites were excessively increased at an expense that was hitherto unusual and burdensome” (22.12.6–7).32 His commitment to theurgy and ritual sacrifice motivated him to undertake his most famous imperial project: his failed attempt to rebuild the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. As Jan Willem Drijvers states, “[t]he emperor, as a Neoplatonist of the school of Iamblichus, believed that sacrifices were essential to religion, which explains his sympathy for the ritual aspect of Judaism.”33 Since Mosaic law restricted Jewish sacrificial practices to the Jerusalem Temple, Julian realized that rebuilding the Temple was the only way to restore Jewish sacrifices. Julian’s attempt to rebuild the Jerusalem Temple was also designed to undermine the triumphalist claims of Christians, who saw the Temple’s destruction as divine judgment on the Jews and a mark of the transfer of God’s favor to Christians.34 Naturally, his Christian contemporaries saw Julian’s plan as “an extremely threatening act which undermined the very foundations of Christianity.”35 Indeed, Christians such as Ephrem, who wrote during and immediately after Julian’s brief reign, spent a great deal of time and effort responding to the issues raised by Julian.36 The Recognitions and the Homilies, though they may be repositories of earlier “Jewish Christian” materials which oppose sacrifice, can also be regarded as a response to the late antique debates over sacrifice. They may have 32 Cited

by Bradbury, “Julian’s Pagan Revival,” 341–42. “The Syriac Julian Romance: Aspects of the Jewish-Christian Controversy in Late Antiquity,” in All Those Nations …: Cultural Encounters within and with the Near East. Studies Presented to Han Drijvers at the Occasion of His Sixty-fifth Birthday by Colleagues and Students (ed. H. L. J. Vanstiphout et al.; Groningen 1999), 31–42 at 36. 34 On the evidence for this attempt, see D. B. Levenson, “Julian’s Attempt to Rebuild the Temple: An Inventory of Ancient and Medieval Sources,” in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins Presented to John Strugnell on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday (ed. H. W. Attridge, J. J. Collins and T. H. Tobin; New York and London 1990), 261–79; and more recently, idem, “The Ancient and Medieval Sources for the Emperor Julian’s Attempt to Rebuild the Jerusalem Temple,” JSJ 35 (2004): 409–60. 35 Drijvers, “Syriac Julian Romance,” 36–37. 36 On the importance of the Temple in fourth-century Christian thought, see C. C. Shepardson, “In the Service of Orthodoxy: Anti-Jewish Language and Intra-Christian Conflict in the Writings of Ephrem the Syrian” (Ph.D. diss.; Duke University, 2003), 101–10. 33 J. W. Drijvers,

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been read as a response to the challenges posed by Julian’s sacrificial and religious agenda, even if the texts were not originally designed to function in this context. It may very well be the case that this aspect of the Pseudo-Clementines testifies to the ongoing existence of a Jewish-Christian community in the fourth century, as Annette Reed has argued.37 It is also possible, in light of what we know about Julian’s activities, to situate the Pseudo-Clementine arguments against animal sacrifice in the broader framework of the Roman empire. In other words, perhaps the audiences of the Pseudo-Clementines understood their statements on ritual sacrifice to refer not (or not only) to “Jewish Christian” concerns, but also to paganism in the form of the Neoplatonist theurgy of Julian and his proposed reinstatement of sacrifices in Jerusalem. If this is the case, then the Julian episode provides us with a crucial instance when the Recognitions’ and Homilies’ anti-sacrificial agenda would have seemed not just relevant, but acutely important, for its Christian audience living in fourth-century Antioch or Edessa.

6. Conclusion It is difficult if not impossible to know how late antique readers of the Pseudo-Clementines would have understood the texts’ anti-sacrificial views. Given the wide circulation of the Recognitions, it seems entirely plausible that such ideas were understood in multiple ways, depending on the social and religious location of its readers and hearers. This essay highlights one possible understanding of the Homilies’ and Recognitions’ anti-sacrificial attitude, in an attempt to take seriously the texts’ mid-fourth century provenance as well as their circulation among a variety of late antique Christians. Paying attention to the later “lives” of these texts is a useful way to open new windows of interpretation, and to enrich our understanding of the texts and their ancient audiences.

37 Reed,

“Jewish Christianity,” 224–31.

Contributors Kelley Coblentz Bautch is Associate Professor of Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity in the Department of Religious and Theological Studies, St. Edward’s University (Austin, Texas, U. S. A.) Giovanni Battista Bazzana is Associate Professor of New Testament at the Divinity School, Harvard University (Cambridge, Massachusetts, U. S. A.). Timothy Beechis Adjunt Professor of Biblical Studies at the Horizon College and Seminar (Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada). Theodore de Bruyn is Associate Professor of Judaism and Christianity in Late Antiquity in the Department of Classics and Religious Studies, University of Ottawa (Ontario, Canada). Tony Burkeis Associate Professor of Early Christianity at York University (Toronto, Ontario, Canada). Dominique Côtéis Associate Professor of late Greek Literature and Chair of the Department of Classics and Religious Studies, University of Ottawa (Ontario, Canada). James R. Davila is Professor of Early Jewish Studies at the School of Divinity, University of St Andrews (Scotland, United Kingdom). Peter W. Dunnis an affiliated member of the Institut romand des sciences bi­bli­ ques (Lausanne, Switzerland) and lives in Toronto (Ontario, Canada). Minna Heimolais Lecturer in Biblical Studies at the Faculty of Theology, University of Helsinki (Finland). Ian H. Henderson is Associate Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity, and Interim Dean of the Faculty of Religious Studies, McGill University (Montreal, Québec, Canada). Cornelia B. Horn is a senior researcher in the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Tübingen (Germany), a Heisenberg Fellow in the Department of Greek and Latin, Freie Universität (Berlin, Germany), and a research fellow at the Institute of Christian Oriental Research, Catholic University of America (Washington, D. C., U. S. A.).

402

Contributors

Bishop Vahan Hovhanessian is the Primate of the Diocese of the Armenian Church of the United Kingdom and Ireland. He is an Honorary Research Fellow in the Centre for Late Antique Religion and Culture, Cardiff University (United Kingdom). F. Stanley Jonesis Professor of Religious Studies and Director of the Institute for the Study of Judaeo-Christian Origins, California State University (Long Beach, California, U. S. A.). Michael Kaleris Lecturer and Writing Specialist at the Robert Gillespie Academic Skills Centre, University of Toronto Mississauga (Ontario, Canada). Nicole Kelleyis Associate Professor in the Religions of Western Antiquity program of the Religion Department, Florida State University (Tallahassee, Florida, U. S. A.). Louis Painchaudis Professor of Early Christian History and Literature at the Fa­ culté de théologie et de sciences religieuses, Université Laval (Québec, Canada). Timothy Pettipieceis Lecturer in Classics and Religious Studies at the University of Ottawa (Ontario, Canada). Pierluigi Piovanelliis Professor of Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity in the Department of Classics and Religious Studies, University of Ottawa (Ontario, Canada). Annette Yoshiko Reed is Associate Professor of Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity in the Department of Religious Studies and Program in Jewish Studies, University of Pennsylvania (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U. S. A.). Stephen J. Shoemaker is Professor of the History of Christianity in the Department of Religious Studies, University of Oregon (Eugene, Oregon, U. S. A.).

Index of Ancient Sources 1. Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Genesis

70, 75, 78, 124, 143, 147, 198, 228–229, 241, 288, 343, 347 1–11 339 1 344 1:26–27 342 2:7 147 2:9 147 2:17 147 2:19–22 147 341, 344, 346–347 3 5:22 349 5:24 349 6 241 6:1–4 347 9 339 12:3 228 15:13–14 76 37:26–27 (LXX) 128–129 41:46–49 70 42:22 70 43:13–14 (LXX) 71 43:32 71 45:24 70 49:8–10 (LXX) 129 Exodus

75, 78, 143, 373

78–81, 85 Leviticus 1–9 80 3:17 80 7:34 80 7:36 80 10:9 80 10:15 80 11 80 16:31 80 17–18 80 19:1–8 80 19:19 80

19:23–25 81 19:30 80 21:5–9 81 22–24 80–81 25:1–24 80 26:34–35 80 78 Numbers 11:16 106 78 Deuteronomy 22:10 81 32:7 341 Joshua

78

Judges

78

1 Samuel 3 226 Isaiah 7:14 99 40:12–13 350 Ezekiel 14:7 (LXX)

142

Hosea 6:6 393 Joel 2:28 (3:1 LXX)

226–227

Micah 6:6–8 72–73 61 Psalms 2:7 229 17:2 (LXX) 169

404

Index of Ancient Sources 2 Maccabees 6–7 76, 82 6:18 83 6:21 83

28:7 (LXX) 159 74 34:10 (LXX) 55:11 72 72 (LXX) 72–73 156 90 (LXX) 90:1 (LXX) 168 117:6–7 (LXX) 168–169

Wisdom of Solomon 7:13 72 7:16 72 18:9 74

78 Job 38 350

Sirach / Ecclesiasticus 5 20:24 72 44:16 349

Daniel 7 291 Esther (LXX)

Baruch 4:1 340

5

5 Tobit 8:15 74

2. New Testament Matthew 63, 112, 391 1–2 99 4:23–24 168–169 4:23 160–161 5:28 258 5:44 71 6:9–13 156 7:17–20 308 8:14–15 161 8:26–27 162 9:13 393 9:35 160–161, 168–169 10 364 10:1 169 10:7–8 353 10:12–13 353 10:26 74 11:5 353 11:9 332 332, 334 11:11 12:7 393 14:28–31 162 23:2 106 23:13 103 23:15 142 8, 51, 63, 58 Mark 4:3–9 75 4:22 74 6:14 318, 332, 334

318, 332, 334 6:16 7:14–23 354 8:28 318 9:2–8 131 63, 201 Luke 1:42 189 1:48 189 1:59 226 2 99 2:21 226 3:37 349 6:43–44 308 8:17 74 10 364 10:5–7 353 10:9 353 12:12 221 22:3 125 23:34 221 23:46 221 24:35 264 51, 63, 253–255, 317 John 1 320 1:1 161 161, 257 1:3 1:10 257 1:47–51 156 2:19–21 147

Index of Ancient Sources 2:22 52 5:2–9 161 10:30 254 11:43 163 11:47–53 133 13:23 237 13:27 125 17:11 254 17:26 255 20:28 254 Acts of the Apostles

13, 63, 191, 209–223, 225–231, 238, 391 1:12 220 1:14 231 1:15–26 125 1:23 220 2:11 142 2:17 225–227 2:14–42 226 2:39 225, 227 2:42 264 2:46 264 3:2 225 225, 228 3:25 5:21 225 6:1 140 6:15 221 7 228–229 7:5 225 7:21 225 7:23 225 7:29 225 7:37 225 7:59 213, 221 8:26–32 167 9:15 225 10–11 215 10:26–31 167 10:36 225 11:26 213 13 228–230 13:5 213 13:10 225 13:15 213 13:26 225 13:33 225 14:1–6 212–213 14:43 213 100, 215 15 15:28–29 80, 354, 362 15:36–41 220 16:1–3 230

16:1 225 16:22–39 213 17:1 213 17:10 213 17:16 213 18–19 219 18:4 213 18:12–17 213 18:19 213 19:8 213 19:1–7 318 19:14 225 20:7 264 20:9–12 221 20:18–35 214 20:25 221 225, 230 21:5 21:9 220, 225, 230 21:11 221 21:21 225 23:16 225 23:17–18 230 23:22 230 26:13 230 28:12–14 216 Romans 1:16 213 2:9–10 213 2:29 148 3:1 128 5:12–21 342 11 81 1 Corinthians 3:2 234 5:7 133 6–7 214 8 84 9:6 220 16:19 219 2 Corinthians 6:14 81 11:22 140 12:2–4 290 Galatians 57, 391 215, 219 1–2 1:1 349 1:6–8 62 1:11 62 1:13–17 290

405

406

Index of Ancient Sources

1:16 349 2:19 147 4:19 233

2 Timothy 1:16 219 4:19 219

Ephesians 4:22–24 310

Hebrews 5:12–13 234 8:9 133

Philippians 2:7 133 3:5 140 4:18 133 Colossians 3:9 310 4:10 220 1 Thessalonians 2:7 233 1 Timothy 4:10 216

1 Peter 2:2 234 2 Peter

348

Jude 346, 348 14 350 247–248 Revelation 2:14 84 2:20 84 14:4 258 21:22 147

3. Jewish and Christian Pseudepigrapha Adam Octipartite/Sectipartite 12

12–16 342–343 27:1 342

Apocalypse of Abraham 23:5 342

Book of Giants

303, 361

Cave of Treasures

12, 32

Apocalypse of Adam (Coptic) 13, 283, 286–290, 292, 295, 297, 300–302 82.10–19 126 82.19–20 129 Apocryphon of Seth

12

Ascension of Isaiah 3, 96–97, 99 3:13–31 69 2 Baruch

4–5, 304

96, 300 3 Baruch 4:16 342 Book of Biblical Antiquities 5 4:1–2 342

1 Enoch 1–36

5, 338, 340 338, 344, 346, 348, 360–362 1:2 349 2–5 339 340, 348 5:8 6 345 7:1–6 345 7:1 339 8:1 345–346 8:3 339 8:4 345 9:6–10 339 10:11 339, 346 12:4 339 14:2 349 14:8 349 15:3–7 339 16:3 339 17–36 350

407

Index of Ancient Sources 19:1 339, 346 27:2 339 32:3 340 37–71 350 48:7 74 72–82 338 82:2–3 340 338, 343 83–90 83:1–3 349 85:3–4 344 85:4 339 85:9 344 86–88 344 89:1 344 89:9–11 344 89:32–33 339 89:46 344 89:49 344 89:51–52 339 89:54 339 90 345 90:28–29 344 90:37–38 344 91–108 338 92:1 340 93:1–10 + 91:11–17 287 93:4 339 93:6 339–340 93:11–14 350 98:7–8 74 98:11 339 99:2 339–340 99:6–9 339 99:10 340 104:7–8 74 104:12 340 105 74 106:14 339 348, 350 2 Enoch 30:11 342 30:13 342 3 Enoch

348, 350

4 Ezra

5, 283, 294–295, 300–301, 342 8:41 75 5 Ezra

12, 96–97, 99

6 Ezra

12, 96–97, 99

Hygromancy of Solomon 12 Jeremiah’s Prophecy to Pashhur 12 Joseph and Aseneth

5

Jubilees

5, 338, 346, 348, 360, 395 4:15 346 5:1–2 338 5:6–11 338 6:14 340 7 339 10 289 10:1–14 338 10:5–10 346 Legend of Melchizedek 12 Life of Adam and Eve 3, 5 29:2–10 287 49–50 287 Lives of the Prophets

21, 184

3 Maccabees 6:9 74 4 Maccabees 84 5:2 83 17:11–16 76 Noncanonical Psalms 4Q381 343 Odes of Solomon

5, 68, 96

Palaea Historica

12

Paraleipomena of Jeremiah 3, 8 Psalms of Solomon

5

Selenodromion of David and Solomon 12 Seventh Vision of Daniel 12

408

Index of Ancient Sources

Sibylline Oracles

13, 68, 267–268, 270–282 1–8 272 1–2 272–274 1:20 342 1:324–400 68, 274 2–4 271 2:196–213 280 2:319–324 280 3:27 342 3:75–92 280 3:350–480 271 3:739–795 280 3:776 271–272 4:4–6 277 4:171–192 280 5:256–259 271 6–8 271 7:119–131 280 8:110–121 280 8:205–212 280 8:337–358 280 8:439–55 343 9–10 272 11–14 271–272 12–14 267 Story of Melchizedek

Syriac History of Joseph 12 Testament of Abraham 114, 291 Testament of Job

3, 114

Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs 3, 5, 96–97, 99, 103, 105, 288 The Heartless Rich Man and the Precious Stone 12 The Questions of the Queen of Sheba and Answers by King Solomon 12 The Relics of Zechariah and the Body Buried at His Feet 12 Tiburtine Sibyl

12

12 Vision of Ezra 38 69

12

4. Jewish Literature Avot de-Rabbi Nathan A 5 // B 10 332

Deuteronomy Rabbah 2.6 106

Babylonian Talmud Berakhot 28b–29a 95 Shabbat 13a 105 104b 99, 142 Bava Batra 60b 100 Sanhedrin 56b 339 67a 98–99

Ecclesiastes Rabbah 6.9 343

Community Rule (1QS) 4.22–23 342 Damascus Document (CD) 3.20 342

Exodus Rabbah 1.18 76 1.28–29 76

Flavius Josephus Antiquitates Iudaicae 373 1–9 139 2.205 76 5.323 140 11.8.6 140 373–376, 388 Contra Apionem 1.1 373 2.2–3 373

409

Index of Ancient Sources

Philo of Alexandria

2.8–144 373 2.10–11 373 2.12–14 374 2.15–20 373 2.26–27 374 2.29 374 2.80–111 373 2.136 374

De Abrahamo 262–276 74 De mutatione nominum 117 139 De vita Mosis 1.243–244 139 Pirke de-Rabbi Eliezer 11–12 343

Genesis Rabbah 1.7 105 8.8–9 105 8.10 343

Sifre on Deuteronomy 26 106

Jerusalem Talmud Berakhot 4.3 95, 99 Pe’ah 2.6 105 Megillah 4.1 105, 107 Hagigah 1.7 107

Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice 74 Targum Neofiti Gen 49:8–10

129

Targum Onqelos Ex 1:19

76

Targum Pseudo-Jonathan Ex 1:19 76 76 Ex 2:5

Lamentations Rabbah 1.16 99 Leviticus Rabbah 31.4 106

Thanksgiving Hymns (1QH) 4.14–15 342

Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael Be-Shalach 129

Toledot Yeshu

Midrash on Eschatology (4Q174) 148 Mishnah Shabbat 19.5 226 Avot 103, 107 1–5 1.3 332 Arakhin 2.1 226

37

Tosefta Sotah 15.11 100 Avodah Zarah 8.4 339 8.6–8 339 Words of the Heavenly Lights (4Q504) Frg. 8 343

5. Christian Apocrypha Acts of Andrew

26, 39, 224, 231, 235, 237–238, 304 4 232 9 232

11–12 232 12–13 238 16 232 17 263

410

Index of Ancient Sources

37 232 49 235 56 237 – Martyrium Andreae alterum 3 232 6 232 Acts of John

13, 169, 224, 231, 233–234, 237, 241–242, 245–246, 249–266, 304 1–17 263 18–55 262 19–25 265 19 255 27–28 231–232 33–36 263 34 241–242 36–37 262 45 234 46–53 265 46 231 57 254 58–86 262 60–62 255 60–61 264 68 241 72–86 265 72–74 255 77 254 81–86 265 81 232 82 254 86 235, 239, 251, 262 87–105 262 87–93 264 95 264 97–102 264 13, 203, 245–266 106–115 113 237 114 235 – Pseudo-Prochorus 262 Acts of Mar Mari

40

Acts of Paul (and Thecla) 13, 26, 45, 209–222, 224, 233–234, 243, 304 1–3 219 1 212 1:26 217 2 239

2:1 219 3–5 212, 216 3–4 213, 219 3:1 215 3:2 212 3:3 221 3:5–6 214–215 3:8 212 212, 219 3:11 3:14 213, 218 3:16 212 3:21 221 4:2 218 4:5 217 213, 216 6–7 9 212–213, 216 9:3 215 9:5–9 219 9:13 217 9:17 215 10 215 12–13 212, 216 12:1–2 215 13–14 216–217 13:1–2 221 14 243 14:1 221 14:2 220 23 239 39 238 – Papyrus Heidelberg 28–29 239 41–42 243 – Martyrdom of Paul 5 233 Acts of Peter

39, 45, 64, 195, 200– 201, 224, 233–234, 236, 238, 242, 304, 379–380, 392 1:1 233 3 238 235, 242 8 9 239 17 243 22 239 36 239, 243 – Act of Peter (Coptic) 195–196 128.17–129.1 236 Acts of Peter and Andrew 11:2 169

411

Index of Ancient Sources Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles 14, 357, 365–366 10.31–12.16 358 200–202, 205, 358 Acts of Philip 11–15 25 13:4 357 201 Acts of Thaddaeus 6:6 169 Acts of Thomas

39, 224, 231–232, 234, 237, 241–243, 262, 304, 307 1:12 241–242 1:16 238 2:19 243 2:28 237 2:29 231 3:32 242 3:36 239 6:61 241 7:66 232 8:74 235 8:76 235 9:108–110 240 9:111 235 9:112 240 10:120 234 10:126 242 10:131–133 242 10:158 242 12:142 239 12:148 235 13:151 239 13:153 235 13:159 232 13:167 235 27:9 306 108–113 225, 240–241 Acts of Titus (Pseudo-Zenas) 212 4 219 1 Apocalypse of James 293 31.2–5 131 2 Apocalypse of James 293 Apocalypse of Paul (Coptic) 13, 283, 290–293, 295, 297, 300–302

19.1–10 291 20.5–21.22 290 20.25–21.14 291 21.18–21 292 22.2–12 290 22.17–23.28 291 23.13–17 292 23.26–28 292 Apocalypse of Paul (Visio Pauli) 182–183 Apocalypse of Peter

13, 38, 45, 91–92, 94–97, 99, 103, 115 1:4–5 94 2 95 2:4 94 2:7–12 94 7:2 96 9:1–4 94 16:5 94 Apocalypse of the Virgin 13, 177, 182–184, 190 Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Coptic, ­Arabic, Ethiopic Collections) 7, 13, 202–206, 224, 262 – Acts of Bartholomew 2–3 204 6 204 25–47 204 – Acts of James Son of Zebedee 2 204 4 204 17 204 20–21 204 – Acts of Matthew 29–37 204 – Martyrdom of Luke 2 204–206 6 206 42 206 63 206 Apocryphon of James 197 Apocryphon of John

64, 166, 195–196, 303

– short recension 77.6–7 121

412

Index of Ancient Sources

– long recension 11.15–18 134 32.8–10 121

Gospel Fragments – P.Berol. inv. 11710 – P.Oxy. V 840

156–157 39, 156

Apostolic Constitutions 91, 110 6.8.1 326

Gospel of Barnabas

216

Apostolic History (Pseudo-Abdias) 16 253 Arabic Apocalypse of Peter 205 Ascents of James

101, 329, 394, 396

Book of the Nativity of Mary 178 Book of the Resurrection of Jesus-Christ by Bartholomew the Apostle 201 Book of the Rooster

13, 31, 92, 109, 116, 206

3 Corinthians 214, 266 3:19–22 235 Dialogue of the Savior 22, 29 Didascalia Apostolorum 13, 91–92, 99–101, 103–104, 110 1 100 23–24 100 26 100 Dormitions of Mary

7, 13, 21, 28, 37–38, 42, 176–183, 185–186, 206–207

– Liber Requiei Mariae 28, 207, 180–181, 183–184 13–17 180 – Transitus Mariae (Pseudo-John) 178–181 – Transitus R 178–180 Epistle of the Apostles 38–39 Epistle of Titus

258

Gospel of Judas

13, 30–31, 35, 38–39, 42–45, 47, 50–53, 66, 119–136, 303 33.1–6 121–122 34.6–12 134 34.10 124 35.2–13 120 35.15–21 132 35.17–18 120 35.23–25 128 37.3 128 37.1–6 132–133 37.5 126, 128 37.8 128 38.1–43.11 144 38.1–26 124 39.24–40.1 124 40.17 126, 132 41.1–2 124 126, 132 42.8 43.9 128 44.15–23 124–126 44.20–21 120 45.11–19 126 45.13–19 120 126, 132 45.13 45.14–19 128 46.1–2 126 46.7 129 46.14–47.4 126–130 46.19–47.1 120 47.5–24 130 48.22–23 130 48.23–26 130 51.24 129 52.14–16 124 53.[5] 129 53.15–16 129 53.24 129, 133 54.14 128 54.17 126, 132 55.10–11 120, 129 126, 133 55.10 55.16–17 126 56.11–20 123–124 56.19–20 131 57.8 129

413

Index of Ancient Sources 57.13 128 57.16–26 130–134 58.28–29 121 58.1–2 132 Gospel of Mary

13, 29, 35, 38–40, 44–45, 136, 186–190, 195–200 7–8 196 9.15–16 197 9.19–20 197 10.10–23 196 15.1–17.7 198 Gospel of Nicodemus (Acts of Pilate) 13, 38, 40, 45, 91–92, 108–110 21 171 Gospel of Peter

9, 22, 37–39, 49, 200–201

Gospel of Philip 5, 13, 45, 60, 136–151 51.29–52.1 139, 145 51.29–31 142 51.29 146 52.21–24 139, 141, 145 52.33 148 52.35–53.6 150 54.31–55.4 143 55 141 55.6–14 147 55.23–30 139 56.26–21 265 58.17–22 146–147 59.2–4 146 59.27–32 141 61.27–35 138 61.29–35 143 62.5–6 139, 145 62.7–9 141 62.13 139 62.26–35 146 62.26 144 62.35–63.4 143 65.27–66.20 265 67.24–27 141 68.22–26 147 69.22–25 147 70.9–22 147 70.25–26 147 71.16–18 147 71.22–27 147

73.15–16 147 74.5–7 147 74.16–18 141 75.30–34 144–145 78.25–79.13 151 81.12–14 150 82.26–29 148 Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew 178 Gospel of the Ebionites 5, 91, 114, 124, 333 Gospel of the Egyptians 166 Gospel of the Hebrews 5, 91, 114, 165 Gospel of the Nazarenes 5, 91, 114 Gospel of the Savior (P.Berol. Inv. 22220) 29–30, 206 Gospel of Thomas

5, 8, 15, 22, 24, 37, 40, 42, 44, 49, 56, 59–60, 136, 146, 148–149, 194–195, 200, 304 1–7 157–158 5–6 74 6 141 7 143 10 60 13 60 141, 354 14 16 60 22 147 27 141 43 140–141 45 60 141, 148 53 57 60 82 60 104 141 Gospel of Truth

150

Infancy Gospel of Thomas 22, 27–28, 36, 39, 41–42, 45, 185, 206

414

Index of Ancient Sources

Judgment of Peter

304

Kerygmata Petrou

14, 103, 321–322, 325, 369–370, 391, 396

Legend of Simon and Theonoe 202, 224 Letter of Lentulus

22

Liber de Nativitate Salvatoris (J Compilation) 32 Life of the Virgin

7, 13, 184–186, 206

Martyrdom of the Holy Apostle Ananias 26 Memorial of Saint John the Theologian 26 Periodoi Petrou

14, 370

189, 200 Pistis Sophia 19 189 34 189 Prayer of the Apostle Paul 197 Protevangelium of James 13, 45, 91–92, 98–101, 103–104, 114, 175, 182, 184–185, 206 Pseudo-Clementines

5–7, 13–14, 28–29, 41, 90–92, 101–110, 115, 315–400 – Basic Writing (Grundschrift) 14, 101–104, 110, 321–323, 325–327, 329–331, 333–335, 337, 342, 347, 351–353, 370, 375, 388–389, 391, 394 – Peter’s Letter to James 321 2 349 2.5 340 – Testimony regarding the Recipients of the Letter 321

– Clement’s Letter to James 321 2.6 365 – Homilies 1.1–5 384 1.7 349 1.8–13 371 1.8 326 1.15–22 371 1.19 106 2.4.1 326 2.5–12 106 2.10 349 2.13 349 2.15–18 106 2.16.7–17.2 323–325 2.17.2 320, 334 2.17.4 325 2.22.3 326 2.23.1–24.1 321 2.23 323 2.24 326 2.26 349 2.31.1–24.1 325–327 2.33.2 365 2.38 106, 337, 340 337, 340 2.40–41 2.44.2 393 2.49–50 349 2.51 338 2.52 340–341 3.4–5 340 3.11–28 106 3.11.4 366 3.12–27 349 3.13 350 3.15 342 3.17–28 370 3.17 342 3.18–19 106 3.18 340–342 3.20 342 3.21 341–342 3.23 324 3.26.3 393 3.35 350 3.42 341–342 3.45.1–4 393 3.49 340 3.50 338 3.51 340–341 3.52.1 393 3.54–57 340

Index of Ancient Sources 3.54 341 3.55 338 3.56.4 393 3.59 106 3.64.3 365 3.70 107 4–6 371, 374–376, 379, 381 4.1.1 372 4.2.4 372 4.4.3 364 4.6.2 374, 378 372, 383 4.7.2–3 4.8.3 382 4.12.1–2 383 4.13 106 4.17.1 382 4.18.1 382 4.18.4–5 363 4.20.1–2 382 5.2–29.1 384 5.2.2–3 384 5.3.4–5 384 5.3.4 326 5.4.1 384 5.7.2 384 5.9.3 384 5.9.5 387 5.10.1–7 385 5.13 386 5.21.1–2 387 5.26.3 387 5.27.1 387 5.28.1 387 5.28.2 371, 375, 388 6 389 6.26.3 364 7.2.3 364 7.4 106 7.5.2 364 7.8 103 7.11 364 8–11 393 393, 346 8 8.1 351 8.3.3–4 352 8.5–7 105–106 8.8 345 8.8.3 354 8.8.4 352 8.9 359–360 8.10–20 345 340, 349 8.10

415

8.12–20 338 8.12 346 8.13 360 8.14 346 8.15 346, 361 8.18–20 346 8.20.1 393 8.21.1–22.1 323 8.24.1 352 9.12.3 362 9.16 106 9.16.4–6 365 10.23.3–4 393 10.24.3 393 11.13.1–5 393 11.28–30 103 11.28 106 11.28.4 332 11.29 107 11.35.3–5 323 13.4 103 13.9 103 13.19 103 13.5.1 393 14.3.4 393 14.11.2 326 16.3.3 379 16.11 338 106, 337, 340 16.14 17.4 349 17.11.4 364 17.13–19 349 18.13 349 18.19.1–3 394 18.20 338 19 196 19.8 341 20.2.3–4 325 – Recognitions 1 93 1.27–71 101–103, 107, 110, 115, 329, 331–333, 391, 394–396 1.30.4 394 1.41.2 169 1.41.3 320 1.45.3 321 1.47 349 1.49 349 1.53–71 335 1.53.5–54.3 328–335 1.54 321 1.54.2 320, 332

416

Index of Ancient Sources

1.54.3 326, 330 1.54.8 328–335 1.59 349 1.60 321, 334 1.60.1–4 328–335 1.63 321, 330 1.63.1 328–335 1.64.1 395 1.64.2 325 2.5 349 2.8.1 320, 325–327, 330 2.25.1–2 380 2.71–72 103 2.71.3 395 3.2.11 325 3.5.5–7 325 3.18 380 3.34 380 3.46.7–47.2 323 3.55–57 323 3.59.9 365 320, 323–325, 330 3.61.2 4–6 351 4.3.6–8 352 4.5 105 4.7.2–6 352–353 4.8 360 4.18.2–3 362 4.19.1 395 323, 327 4.35.3 4.59 106 4.61 106 5.30.6 395 5.32.2 395 6.9–11 103 6.11.2 332

7.29 103 7.34 103 8.5.4–5 379 8.68 103 9.27.6 321 10.15.1–2 379 10.17–51 371 10.17–20 376 10.30 376 Qälemǝnṭos (Ethiopic) 205 Questions of Bartholomew 201 1:10–20 171 4:51–55 343 Revelation of the Magi 12, 31–32 Secret Gospel of Mark 22, 32–33, 35, 42–45, 47 Sophia of Jesus Christ 195–197 99.17–19 129 Story of the Passion of Christ (Ethiopic) 206 Teaching of Addai

158–160, 167–168, 173–174 4 172 5 158 Testamentum Domini 1:24 170 19 170

6. Hermetic, Gnostic, Manichaean, and Islamic Literatures Allogenes (NHC XI,3) 293 Book of Allogenes (AMC 4) 199 Book of John 27 334 Cologne Mani Codex 304 48–58 304

Corpus Hermeticum Tractate XIII

198

Eugnostos 303, 306 73.9–11 306 75.17–18 129 76 307 78 307 81 307 83–85 307

417

Index of Ancient Sources

Heracleon Fragments 13 148 16 148 Holy Book of the Great Invisible Spirit (Gospel of the Egyptians) 63.18 125 64.4 125 Hypostasis of the Archons 95.7 134 97.4–5 129

Ibn al-Nadim Fihrist 777 305 786 305 Kephalaia 307, 312 1.17.2–20 308 1.17.32–35 308 1.19.1–17 308 1.20.12–20 308 1.21.28–36 308 1.76.19–23 309 1.84.33 311 1.91.15–33 310 1.92.12–94.22 310 1.95.13–19 310 1.95.13 312 1.96.24–97.4 310 1.97.26–99.17 311 Letter to Rheginos

22, 24

Mani

Paraphrase of Shem 38.28b–40.31a 132 Psalm-Book (Part 2) 304 23.14–18 310 120.3–11 311 126.3–122 311 137.45–47 311 161.23–24 311 166.38–167.2 311 167.29–33 311 174.12–18 311 182.20 311 182.24–28 311

Ptolemy Letter to Flora

24

Second Treatise of the Great Seth 53.20–27 133 57.7–58.17 132 134 Testimony of Truth 30.30–31.5 324 32.19–22 124 Treatise on the Resurrection 49.9–26 265 Trimorphic Protennoia 39.27 134 Tripartite Tractate 100.9 129–130 110.21–32 140 111.6–9 140 112.18–113.1 140

Epistles 50.8–14 306

Untitled Text (Bruce Codex) 32.22 129

On the Origin of the World 103.32–106.17 132 106.9–10 133 121.28–35 125 123.2–25 125 125.5–6 129

Valentinian Exposition 22, 150 293 Zostrianos 4.20–23 130 4.25–27 125 4.31 130

418

Index of Ancient Sources

7. Patristic and Christian Literature Acta Carpi

217

Acta Nerei et Achillei 15 236 18 236

Athanasius of Alexandria De incarnatione 18.4 169

Athenagoras Legatio pro Christianis 26 397

Augustine of Hippo Contra Adimantum 17 236 Epistulae 395 116.16. 1 Sermones de Vetere Testamento 48 72–75

Cyril of Alexandria Commentarii in Iohannem 15.9–10 169 Dialogus de Trinitate 3.494 169 De martyrio Maccabaeorum

82–85

39, 211 Didache 11–13 212

Didymus the Blind Commentarii in Zachariam 2.17.3 169

Egeria Itinerarium 19.8–13 172 19.19 172

Ephrem the Syrian

Chronicle of Zuqnin

31–32

Commentarius in Diatessaron 319–320 16.22 320 21.5 320 Commentarius in Exodum 1–4 75–77 Commentarius in Genesim 75 Hymni contra haereses 50.3 320

2 Clement

211

Epiphanius of Salamis

Book of Steps

343

Book of the Bee

32

Chromatius of Aquileia Sermo XXI 4 260–261

Clement of Alexandria Protrepticus 2.40.1 383 Stromata 1.3 388 1.8 388 1.28.177 338 1.101.3 374 2.3.1–2 388 4.4.16–17 134

Panarion 14.2.1 330 19.3.6 395 29.1.1–9 91 29.1.1 108 30.1.1–33 91 30.13.4 333 30.15.1 370 30.16 394 30.16.4–5 395–396 30.16.5 124 30.16.6–9 101, 329 30.16.7 395–396 30.18.4 349

Index of Ancient Sources 38.3.4–5 120 125, 134–135 38.4.9–5.1 Epistle of Barnabas 25, 307 8.2 133

Eusebius of Caesarea Commentarius in Psalmos 108.5 169 Demonstratio evangelica 6.21.3 169 Historia ecclesiastica 87, 107 1.13.2 172 1.13.6–10 158 1.13.8 172 2.24 210 3.1.2 107 91, 107 3.5.3 3.25 261 3.27.1–6 107 371, 375 3.38.5 3.39.9 220 5.1.49 357 Praeparatio evangelica 398 10.10.16 374 Theophania 3.40 169

Gregory of Tours Liber de miraculis beati Andreae 7 238 12 237–238 19 238 24 238 26 238

Hermas Pastor

64, 211

Hippolytus of Rome Syntagma 330 Refutatio omnium haeresium 5.8.2 129 5.8.30 129 6.12.2 307 Traditio apostolica 21 234

419

Ignatius of Antioch Ad Magnesios 10 93

Irenaeus of Lyon Adversus haereses 1.24.3–7 307 98, 142 1.26.1–2 1.31.1 120 3.11.7–9 62 3.12.1–16 222 3.21.1 98 4.18 133 5.1.3 98

Isidore of Seville In libros Veteris et Novi Testamenti Prooemia 74 261

Jerome of Stridon Commentarii in Ezechielem 4.16.3 165 Commentarii in Isaiam 40.9–11 165 Commentarii in Michaeum 2.7.5–7 165 De viris illustribus 13 373 Epistulae 112.13 93, 395–396

John Chrysostom Homiliae in Genesim 64 70–72

Justin Martyr 1 Apologia 5.2 383 12.6 383 31.6 94 31.7.4 169 35 97 38 97 40 97 46 96 50.12 222 54.1–2 383 67 57

420

Index of Ancient Sources

Dialogus cum Tryphone 142–143 11 97 16 95 18–20 97 23 97 25–27 97 43–47 97 43.8 99 46–47 111 73 97 92 97 96 95 103 97 122.5 143 133 97

1.57 327 3.28 397 4.32 397 6.11 327 7.6 397 8.60 397 8.62 397 Homiliae in Jeremiam 15.4 165

Philastrius of Brescia Diversarum hereseon liber 4–5 330

Photios of Constantinople

Lactantius

Bibliotheca 114 224

Divinarum institutionum 2.17 397

Pseudo-Cyprianus

Martyrium Pionii 19 217 Martyrium Polycarpi 12.4 217

Maximus the Confessor Life of the Virgin

185

Melito of Laodicea Passio Iohannis

261

Nicetas of Paphlagonia Panegyricus Paulo

212

78–81, 85

Pseudo-Cyril of Jerusalem In passionem Domini 15

Pseudo-Tertullian Adversus omnes haereses 1.1 330

Prudentius Peristephanon 10.700 233

Rufinus of Aquileia Commentarius in symbolum apostolorum 37 395

Novatian of Rome De cibis Iudaicis

Heptateuchos

79

Origen Commentarii in evangelium Iohannis 2.12.87 165 Commentarium in evangelium Matthaei 13.23 394 Contra Celsum 1.28 142 1.32 98, 142 1.43 99

Sarapion of Thmuis Euchologion Prayer 17

170

Shenoute De idolis vici Pneueit II 130 Frg. 26 (Amélineau) 128

421

Index of Ancient Sources

Tatian the Assyrian

Theodore bar Khonai

Diatessaron 187 Oratio ad Graecos 26.3–4 388 27.2–3 388

Liber scholiorum 313.16–17 305 305–306, 309–310 314.17–20

Tertullian of Carthage Adversus Iudaeos 3 103 6 103 8 103 12–13 103 De baptismo 17.5 211

Theophilus of Antioch Ad Autolycum 1.1 388 1.10 383

Vigilius of Thapsus Contra Arianos, Sabellianos et Photinianos 1.20 320

8. Classical Literature Aelius Theon Progymnasmata 5–6 384 11 381–382

5.14.1 377 5.14.3 377

Cassius Dio

Ammianus Marcellinus

Historia Romana 67.14 371

Res gestae 22.12.6–7 399

Cicero

Aphthonius the Sophist Progymnasmata 8 386

Apion Aegyptiaca De mago Glossai Homerikai

373–374 377 377

Aristotle

De natura deorum

392

Digesta 27.1.6.2–4 356 50.9.1 359 356, 365 50.13.1

Dio Chrysostom De consuetudine (Oratio 76) 381 382 Venator (Oratio 7)

Ethica Nichomachea 9.2.1 382 57 Poetica Rhetorica 1.3 = 1358b 57

Diodorus Siculus

Aulus Gellius

Vita divi Aureliani 19.2 279 21.4 280

Noctes Atticae 2.7.1 382

Bibliotheca historica 1.82.3 356

Flavius Vopiscus

422

Index of Ancient Sources

Heliodorus Aethiopica

384

Hermogenes Progymnasmata 7 384

Hesiod Opera et dies

275

Iamblichus De mysteriis 2.11 398 5.7–10 398 5.25 398 De vita Pythagorica 63 11.54 397 21.98 397 24.107 397 28.150 397

Lucian of Samosata Alexander (Pseudomantis) 64, 355 64 De morte Peregrini Menippus 384

Nicolaus of Damascus Vita Caesaris 4.9 228 5.12–13 228

Nicolaus the Sophist Progymnasmata 12 382

63–64, 380 Vita Apollonii 1.31–32 397 Vitae sophistarum 572 382

Plato Gorgias 456b 359 Symposium 202e–203a 125

Pliny the Elder Naturalis historia Praefatio 25 377 30.18 377

Pliny the Younger Epistulae ad Traianum 96 214

Porphyry De abstinentia 2.34.2–3 397 2.36.5 398 2.40.1–2 398 Vita Pythagorae 34–35 397

Quintilian Institutio oratoria 2.1.1–3 378 2.4.24 382

Seneca Epistulae morales 88.34 376

Ovid

Suda

Tristia 3.13 296

Suetonius

Philostratus Epistulae 30–31 387

377–378

De grammaticis 4 378 Domitianus 15.1 371

Index of Ancient Sources

Tacitus

Zosimos of Panopolis

Annales 1.76 280 15.44 280

Veridicus liber Sophe Aegyptii 130

Varro De re rustica 1.3 279

423

Index of Modern Authors Aasgaard, R.  27–28 Abd Al-Masīh, Y.  159 Abécassis, A.  129 Achelis, H.  236 Adam, A.  240 Adamik, T.  392 Adamson, G.  337 Adjémian, C.  247–248 Adler, W.  293, 338, 370, 375–376, 381–382, 384, 386–387 Aland, B.  226, 229, 233 Alcock, A.  304 Alexander, P. H.  11 Allen, P.  170, 179 Altendorf, H.-D.  214 Amar, J. P.  75–76 Amélineau, É.  128 Amidon, P. R.  395 Amphoux, C. B.  231 Amsler, F.  7, 14, 25, 28, 40, 200, 224, 337, 357 Amundsen, D. W.  365 Anderson, G.  385–386 Antonopoulos, A.  26 Aragione, G.  337 Arai, S.  131 Arbel, V. D.  6 Argall, R.  294, 339 Ariño-Durand, L.-M.  206 Arjava, A.  236 Arnal, W. E.  59–60, 195 Arras, V.  180 Asahu-Ejere, K.  169 Asgeirsson, J. M.  4–5 Ashjian, M.  248 Asmussen, J.  303 Attridge, H. W.  23, 87, 157, 285, 399 Aune, D. E.  49, 53, 56, 63–64 Auwers, J.-M.  3 Avery-Peck, A. J.  193 Baarda, T.  211 Baars, W.  185

Bächtold-Stäubli, H.  174 Backhaus, K.  318–321, 324, 326, 331, 334 Backus, I.  46, 111 Baillet, M.  343 Bakke, O. M.  223 Balch, D. L.  223 Baldensperger, W.  317, 334 Balestri, I.  205 Balog, A.  30 Balty, J. C.  154 Baltzer, K.  287–288 Bammel, E.  330, 332 Bara, A.  7 Barbel, J.  171 Barchiesi, A.  65 Bar-Kochva, B.  373 Barnett, P.  140 Barrett, C. K.  219, 391 Bastianini, G.  156 Bauckham, R.  10, 39, 57, 58, 91, 94–96, 182–184, 212 Bauer, W.  87–88, 100, 226, 319–320 Baumgarten, A. I.  95, 102–103, 392 Baun, J.  180, 182 Baur, F. C.  111, 317 Bausi, A.  34, 36, 204–205, 207 Bautch, K. C.  4, 14, 242, 337, 345, 360 Bazzana, G. B.  14, 337–338, 345, 360 Beck, E.  320 Becker, A. H.  9, 88, 110, 112–113, 115, 193, 369, 392 Becker, E. M.  64–65 Bedouelle, G.  321 BeDuhn, J. D.  306–307 Beech, T.  6, 13, 273, 279, 280 Beltz, W.  172 Benko, S.  176 Benner, A. R.  387 Berder, M.  192 Berger, K.  12, 50, 54–55, 334 Bergmeier, R.  130 Berner, U.  388 Bernhard, A.  39, 41

Index of Modern Authors Berthelot, M.  129 Bertrand, D. A.  156 Bethge, H.-G.  29, 30, 144, 304 Beyer, K.  240 Beyerle, S.  4–5 Beylot, R.  170, 204 Beyschlag, K.  326–327 Bhabha, H. K.  271 Bhola, R.  191 Biderman, S.  92 Bienert, W. A.  178 Bijaoui, R.  135 Biondi, A.  155 Biraud, M.  211 Birdsall, J. N.  370 Bismuth, D.  121 Björck, G.  162 Black, M.  340, 344 Blanchetière, F.  193 Blasi, A. J.  137 Bloom, H.  188 Boccaccini, G.  347, 361 Bock, D. L.  22–25, 45 Bockmuehl, M.  339 Boeser, P. A. A.  172 Bogharian, N.  248–249 Bohak, G.  92 Böhlig, A.  307 Boll, F.  384 Bonnefoy, Y.  383 Bonnet, M.  38, 231, 245–247, 250–251, 262–263, 306 Borgeaud, P.  389 Boring, M. E.  321, 372 Boss, S. J.  179 Bourdieu, P.  89 Bousset, W.  101, 324 Boustan, R. S.  90, 92, 94, 104–105 Bouvier, B.  25–26, 200, 357 Bovon, F.  6, 21, 24–26, 90, 153–155, 167, 176, 179, 184, 192, 200–204, 211, 224, 357, 366 Bowden, J.  193, 227, 318 Bowersock, G. W.  359 Bowie, E.  386 Boyarin, D.  9, 93–94, 108–109, 112–114, 137, 193 Bradbury, S.  397–399 Brakke, D.  9, 187, 193, 338 Brankaer, J.  5, 30, 144 Brashear, W. M.  161–163 Brashler, J.  236 Braun, W.  59

425

Bremmer, J. N.  14–15, 26–27, 37, 90, 155, 167, 192, 195, 202, 225, 304, 332, 339, 372, 374, 376–378, 380, 388, 392 Brenk, F. E.  56 Breytenbach, C.  10 Brightman, F. E.  171 Brisson, L.  389 Brock, A. G.  8, 35, 189, 195, 198, 200–201, 205, 236 Brock, S.  88 Bromley, D.  149 Brooke, G. J.  148 Brown, D.  45, 51 Brown, P. R. L.  88–89 Brown, R. E.  111, 135 Brown, S. C.  32–33, 43 Brown, S. K.  330 Brubaker, L.  185 Bruce, F. F.  217, 219, 227, 233 Brucker, R.  49 Buckley, J. J.  138–139, 143 Budge, E. A. W.  203–204 Buell, D. K.  137, 151 Bultmann, R.  320 Bumazhnov, D.  181 Bunge, M. J.  224 Buraselis, K.  355 Burgess, J. P.  22, Burke, T.  6, 9–11, 15, 23, 27, 33, 39, 119, 153, 206 Burnet, R.  200 Burns, D. M.  15 Burridge, R.  62–63 Burrus, V.  9, 35, 90–100, 114 Bussières, M.-P.  122, 198 Butler, H. E.  377 Byrskog, S.  54 Cairns, F.  283, 295–297, 300–301 Calzolari Bouvier, V.  34, 319 Campagnano, A.  181 Campenhausen, H. von  175 Cancik, H.  59, 62 Carleton Paget, J.  93 Carlson, D. H.  337 Carlson, S.  32–33, 43 Carroll, J. T.  224 Cartlidge, D.  34 Casanova, A.  156 Casey, R. P.  167 Casson, L.  159–160 Castelli, E. A.  89 Catchpole, D.  54

426

Index of Modern Authors

Catergian, J.  261 Cazelais, S.  135 Cerfaux, L.  106, 322 Chadwick, H.  327 Champion, J.  111, 317 Chapa, J.  156 Chapman, J.  321, 388–389 Charles, R. H.  345 Charlesworth, J. H.  12, 19, 21, 24–25, 36, 68, 99, 179, 243, 267 Chaves, J. C.  42 Chazon, E. G.  5, 110 Cherix, P.  121, 125, 127, 211, 219 Chesnut, G. F.  87 Chesnutt, R. D.  12 Christian, M. A.  4–5 Cirillo, L.  92 Clark, D. L.  381 Clark, E. A.  89, 114, 187–188 Clark, G.  397 Clarke, A. D.  212 Clarke, F.  175 Classen, C. J.  57 Clayton, M.  34, 202 Clements, R. A.  5, 110 Clivaz, C.  27, 99 Coenen, L.  227 Cohen, S. J. D.  113 Colless, B. E.  240 Collins, A. Y.  277 Collins, J. J.  68, 267, 271–272, 275–278, 280, 284, 300, 361, 399 Conrad, E. W.  155 Constas, N.  176 Coogan, M. D.  231 Cook, J. G.  167 Cooper, K.  90 Copeland, K.  45, 90 Coppins, W.  53 Côté, D.  6, 14, 108, 115, 324, 379, Cotelier, J.-B.  317, 320 Cothenet, É.  183 Coudert, A. P.  111 Cousland, J. R. C.  4–6 Cox, C. E.  247 Coyle, K.  304 Cribiore, R.  378, 386 Crone, P.  110 Cross, F. M.  231, 294 Cross, J. E.  34 Crossan, J. D.  22–24, 45, 49, 53, 55 Crown, A. D.  193 Crum, W. E.  174

Culianu, I. P.  225 Cullmann, O.  318, 319, 323–325, 330, 371, 375, 380 Cunningham, M.  185 Curtis, A. H. W.  192 Czachesz, I.  5, 27, 42 Daly, P.  224 Danby, H.  226 Daniel Assefa  34 Daniel, R. W.  154, 161–163, 165, 170 Daniélou, J.  126 Danker, F. W.  226 Dart, J.  50, 55 Davies, S. L.  35 Davies, W. D.  93 Davila, J. R.  4–6, 10–12, 39, 42, 74, 95–96, 343, 348, 391 Davis, B. S.  237 Davis, G.  41 Davis, S. J.  188 Dawes, G. W.  52 De Boer, E. A.  35, 197–198 De Bruyn, T.  7, 13, 154–156, 169, 170–171 De Jonge, H. J.  3 De Jonge, M.  3, 96 De Santos Otero, A.  179, 204, 224, 258 DeConick, A. D.  11, 31, 42, 138, 207, 337 Denzinger, H.  170 Derrida, J.  188–189 Desreumaux, A.  110 Deutsch, Y.  207 Devos, P.  172 Dibelius, M.  334 Díez Macho, A.  129 Dijkstra, J. H. F.  9, 154–157, 170, 194 Dillery, J.  374, 377 Dionisotti, A. C.  276 DiTommaso, L.  6, 8, 168, 184, 207, 268 Dixon, S.  234, 241 Dobbeler, A. von  372 Dobschütz, E. von  158–159 Dodd, C. H.  214, 318 Dodge, B.  305 Doering, L.  200 Dohrmann, N. B.  110 Donaldson, J.  337 Dorfmann-Lazarev, I.  34 Douglas, M.  360 Dowling, L. H.  21 Drijvers, H. J. W.  106, 110, 158, 225, 234, 238–239, 241–242, 306, 321, 342, 345, 370, 392, 399

Index of Modern Authors Drioton, E.  158–159, 168, 172 Droge, A. J.  87, 373 Du Manoir de Juaye, H.  183 Dubois, J.-D.  20, 21, 40, 177 Dubrow, H.  301–302 Duhaime, J.  137 Dunderberg, I.  9, 119, 138, 140, 142–143, 187, 193 Dunn, J. D. G.  54, 370 Dunn, P. W.  6, 13, 211, 221 Dyck, T.  59 Ebert, A.  82 Edwards, M. J.  370, 373, 380, 392 Ego, B.  148 Ehrman, B. D.  22–24, 30, 33, 38–39, 45, 192 Elgvin, T.  4 Elias, J.  298 Élisabeth, G.  384 Elliott, J. K.  25, 34, 38, 176–178, 181–182, 224, 245, 249, 253–258, 263–264, 265–266 Elsas, C.  106, 321, 342, 370, 392 Eltester, W.  210 Embry, B.  4–5 Emmel, S.  29–30, 119 Endres, J. C.  242, 345 Engelbrecht, E.  234 Erbetta, M.  36, 176, 179–180, 182, 204 Eriksson, A.  64 Erlemann, K.  372 Ernst, J.  319, 324, 334 Eshel, H.  4–5 Étaix, R.  261 Evans, C. A.  6, 33, 53, 119 Evans, J. M.  78 Ewald, H.  190 Eyben, E.  224 Fabricius, J. A.  20 Fackler, P.  108, 115 Faerber, R.  34 Fallon, F. T.  129 Farcy, G.-D.  135 Farone, C. A.  166 Fast, L.  58 Fatio, O.  321 Feldman, L. H.  373 Ferguson, E.  317 Ferngren, G. B.  365 Ferrara, A.  44 Ferreira, J.  225, 240 Fiaccadori, G.  164, 172 Fiensy, D. A.  5, 110

427

Fisher, E. J.  96 Fitzmyer, J. A.  158 Fletcher-Louis, C. H. T.  342–343 Fleury, P.  385 Fobes, F. H.  387 Focant, C.  56 Fonrobert, C.  100–101, 112 Fontaine, J.  78–79, 234 Förster, H.  38, 176, 181 Fossum, J. E.  326, 330 Foster, P.  39 Fowler, A.  284, 297–300 Fowler, R. L.  154 Frankenberg, W.  322, 332 Frankfurter, D.  95–96, 97, 111, 113, 166, 173, 293, 297, 300–301 Fraser, R. S.  52 Fredriksen, P.  110 Frey, A.  8, 26, 206, 224 Frey, J.  10, 14, 28–29, 158, 197 Freyne, S.  63, 65–66 Friedman, R. E.  275 Frisk, H.  160 Fröhlich, I.  5 Frösén, J.  156 Frow, J.  298 Funk, R. W.  23 Funk, W.-P.  119, 128, 304, 306–307 Gaffron, H.-G.  138 Gager, J. G.  92, 110, 144–145, 267 Gagné, A.  15, 125 Garcia, H.  237 García Bazán, F.  121 Gardner, G.  92 Gardner, I.  304, 306–307 Gasque, W. W.  209 Gathercole, S.  31, 194 Gatrchian, Y.  247, 249–250, 253, 256–257 Gaventa, B. R.  235 Geerard, M.  39, 158, 184 Geerlings, W.  234 Geffcken, J.  272 Geoltrain, P.  6, 21, 91, 153–155, 176, 192, 211, 337 Gianotto, C.  91 Gibson, C. A.  55 Gibson, M.  21, 44 Gieschen, C. A.  106, 349 Gilhus, I. S.  119 Gitin, S.  339 Giversen, S.  159, 168, 285, 304, 307 Golitzin, A.  343

428

Index of Modern Authors

Gonis, N.  156 Good, D.  188–189 Goodacre, M. S.  42, 194 Goodman, M.  272, 373–374 Goodstein, L.  51, 53 Gori, A.  207 Gounelle, R.  8, 26, 40, 46, 108, 171, 192, 206, 211 Graf, F.  90 Grafton, A.  276 Granarolo, J.  211 Grappe, C.  199 Graverini, L.  65 Green, D. E.  287 Green, M.  213 Greenblatt, S.  271 Gregory, A.  38, 193 Grenfell, B. P.  157, 159, 164–165 Griggs, C. W.  215 Grondin, M.  42 Gronewald, M.  168 Guidi, I.  202–203, 206 Guijarro, S.  366 Guillén, C.  302 Gummere, R. M.  376 Gundry-Volf, J. T.  224 Gunn, G.  271 Gutbrod, W.  139–140 Gutschmid, A. von  218 Gyselen, R.  304 Haacker, K.  227 Hadot, P.  388 Haenchen, E.  221–222 Hagen, J. L.  29 Hagerdorn, D.  161 Hägg, T.  380 Hall, R.  388 Hammond, P. E.  149 Hansen, D. U.  370, 380, 384 Hanson, A. E.  160 Harding, M.  4 Hardwicke, C.  44 Hare, D. R. A.  101, 396 Harkins, A. K.  242, 345 Harmon, A. M.  355 Harnack, A. von  112 Harrauer, H.  355 Harrington, D. J.  88, 193 Harris, H.  372 Hart, D. G.  89 Hartin, P. J.  240 Harvey, S. A.  90, 184

Hasan-Rokem, G.  94, 99 Haslam, M. W.  159 Hata, G.  87 Hayes, C.  104, 114 Hedrick, C. W.  29–30, 33, 187, 287, 290 Heiligenthal, R.  372 Heimola, M.  4, 13, 138, 145, 150 Heintze, W.  371, 375, 392 Heiser, A.  10, 36, 176 Heldermann, J.  185 Hemer, C. J.  212, 217, 220 Henderson, I. H.  6, 11–12, 31, 50, 55, 57–58, 61, 64, 92, 206 Hengel, M.  45, 63 Hennecke, E.  10, 20, 176–177, 192, 224 Henrichs, A.  154 Henry, R.  224 Henze, M.  68 Herbert, M.  111 Herzog, R.  78–79, 82 Heszer, C.  106 Hettich, E. L.  159–160 Hexter, R.  78 Hilgenfeld, A.  319, 322, 330–331, 371 Hilhorst, A.  372 Hill, E.  72 Hill, R. C.  70–71 Hills, J. V.  23 Himmelfarb, M.  96, 99, 183 Hirsch, E.  297–298 Hock, R. F.  23, 55, 381 Hodgson, R.  187, 290 Hoffmann, H.  371 Hoffmann, J.  194 Hoffmann, P.  353 Hoffmann-Krayer, E.  174 Holl, K.  120, 124 Holmén, T.  49, 52 Holum, K. G.  176 Hoover, R.  23 Hopkins, J.  5 Horbury, W.  92–93 Horn, C. B.  4, 6, 13, 34, 223, 230, 233, 236, 242 Horner, G.  128 Horner, T.  98–99 Horsely, G. H. R.  161 Hort, F. J. A.  322 Horton, C.  63 Hovhanessian, V.  4–5, 13, 203, 266 Hubai, P.  30 Hunt, A. S.  157, 159, 161, 164–165, 168 Hunter, D. G.  90, 184

Index of Modern Authors Hurtado, L.  45, 158 Hvalvik, R.  4, 112, 329 Hyvernat, H.  205 Immerzeel, M.  197 Inowlocki, S.  87 Ioannidou, G.  161 Iricinschi, E.  105 Isenberg, W. W.  137–138, 145 Israeli, E.  5 Isser, B. S. J.  327, 330 Ivanovska, I.  223, 233 Izydorczyk, Z.  40 Jackson-McCabe, M.  337 Jacobs, A. S.  90, 109 Jacobsen, A. C.  338 Jacobson, H.  377 Jacoby, A.  171 Jacoby, F.  373 Jaffee, M.  106 James, M. R.  38, 176–178, 181–182, 190, 224, 245, 253, 386 Janif, M. M.  231 Janowitz, N.  397 Janz, T.  130 Jeffery, P.  33, 43 Jefford, C. N.  23, 91 Jenkins, G.  304 Jenkins, P.  22 Jenott, L.  30 Jensen, A.  219 Jeremias, J.  156 Johnson, A.  87 Johnson, L. T.  23, 221 Johnson, M. E.  170, 176 Johnson, S. R.  158 Johnson-DeBaufre, M.  198, 200 Johnston, S. I.  155 Jones, B. C.  42 Jones, F. S.  6, 14, 24, 28, 35, 87, 90–91, 93, 101–105, 188, 198, 317, 329, 331–333, 337–338, 346–348, 369–371, 391–392, 394–395 Jordaan, P. J.  5 Judge, E. A.  155 Junod, É.  20–21, 36, 89, 153, 169, 175–177, 184, 203, 231, 245–246, 249, 250, 252–255, 257, 261–264, 266 Kaestli, J.-D.  6, 21, 32, 154, 169, 176–177, 191–192, 200–204, 231, 245–246, 249–253, 255, 257, 261–264, 266, 304

429

Kähler, M.  62 Kaiser, U. U.  27 Kaler, M.  6, 13, 119, 122, 127, 283, 290, 302 Kalmin, R.  9, 105 Kannengiesser, C.  234 Kappler, C.  293 Karabacek, J.  159 Karmann, T. R.  15, 27 Kartschoke, D.  78, 82, 84 Kasher, A.  375–376, 388 Kasser, R.  24, 26, 30, 119, 121, 123, 125, 127–128, 131, 211 Kazantzakis, N.  135 Kee, H. C.  379 Keller, C.-A.  285, 299 Kelley, N.  6, 14, 89, 392, 398 Kennedy, G. A.  55, 381–382, 384, 386 Kenney, E. J.  296 Keulen, W. H.  65 Kienzle, B. M.  198 Kim, H. C.  4 Kimelman, R.  95 King, K. L.  9, 23, 31, 35, 52, 187–188, 192–193, 196–199 Kippenberg, H. G.  106, 173, 342, 370, 388, 392 Kirby, P.  41–43 Kittredge, C. B.  198 Klassen, W.  135 Klauck, H.-J.  37, 202 Kleijwegt, M.  224 Kleinman, A.  366 Klijn, A. F. J.  107–108, 110, 112–113, 165, 225, 306–307 Klimkeit, H.-J.  305, 307 Kline, L. L.  338 Kloppenborg, J. S.  49, 53, 353 Klutz, T. E.  155 Köbert, R.  240 Koester, H.  22, 32, 88, 90, 111, 212 Kollmann, B.  167 Koltun-Fromm, N.  115 Konstan, D.  90 Koschorke, K.  324 Köstlin, K. R.  322 Kotansky, R.  154, 163, 166 Kraeling, C. H.  167 Kraemer, R. S.  69 Kraft, R. A.  3, 67, 88, 96, 113, 319 Krall, J.  159 Kraus, T. J.  38, 156–157, 320 Krause, M.  285, 304, 358 Kraye, J.  276

430

Index of Modern Authors

Krodel, G.  88, 319 Kroesen, J.  9, 194 Kroll, J.  164, 171 Kropp, A. M.  159, 172 Krosney, H.  30, 121 Krückemeier, N.  229 Kruger, M. J.  38–39, 156 Kruse, H.  240 Kudlien, F.  356, 358 Kuhn, K. G.  142 Kuiper, Y.  9, 194 Külzer, A.  170, 179 Kurfess, A.  272 Lake, A.K  167 Lake, S.  167 Lalleman, P. J.  27, 233, 246, 252–255, 263–264 Lambdin, T. O.  141, 143, 354 Lambers-Petry, D.  91 Lambot, C.  72 Landau, B.  10, 15, 31–32, 39, 206 Lange, A.  148 Langen, J.  322 Lapham, F.  200 Lapin, H.  9 Lawlor, H. J.  338, 346 Lawson, E. T.  166–168 Layton, B.  137, 150, 157, 264, 287, 354 Le Boeuffle, A.  132 Le Boulluec, A.  205 Le Déaut, R.  129 Le Donne, A.  200 Leipoldt, I.  130 Leipoldt, J.  144 Leloir, L.  34, 304, 319 Lemarié, J.  261 Lenzuni, A.  36 Léon-Dufour, X.  135 Léon, N.  384 Leutsch, M.  64 Levenson, D. B.  399 Levine, A.-J.  35, 236 Levine, L.  95, 103, 392 Levinson, J.  106 Levison, J. R.  373 Lewis, C. S.  299 Lewis, N. D.  24 Lidzbarski, M.  334 Lietzmann, H.  156–157 Lieu, J.  97 Limberis, V.  176 Lincoln, A. T.  237

Lindemann, A.  372 Lindeskog, G.  318 Lipsius, R. A.  38, 231, 246, 330 Livingstone, E. A.  21 Löffler, B.  223 Löffler, M.  223 Lourié, B.  185 Lovering, E.  235 Lucchesi, E.  203 Lüdemann, G.  91, 101, 227, 318, 321, 326–327, 330–331, 372 Ludlow, J. W.  4 Lührmann, D.  37, 39 Luijendijk, A. M.  157–158 Luisier, P.  26 Luomanen, P.  4, 5, 337, 395 Lupieri, E. F.  318–320, 324 Lusini, G.  207 Luttikhuizen, G. P.  225, 395 Lyman, R.  100 MacCulloch, J. A.  171 MacDermot, V.  129, 189 MacDonald, D. R.  6, 23, 26, 90, 220 Mach, M.  98, 300 Mack, B. L.  56 Mackay, T. W.  214 MacRae, G.  291 Magness, J.  339 Mahé, J.-P.  133 Maksoudian, K. H.  247 Malan, S. C.  203 Malbon, E. S.  58 Malherbe, A. J.  233 Malitz, J.  228 Maltomini, F.  154, 159–165, 168, 171, 174 Mannario, L.  317 Marcovich, M.  158 Marcus, J.  9, 96, 100 Maresch, K.  168 Marguerat, D.  177, 191, 200 Marjanen, A.  35, 119, 138, 141, 143, 146, 148, 187, 193, 337, 395 Markschies, C.  10, 27, 36–37, 46, 153, 176, 184, 193 Marshall, I. H.  54 Marshall, J. W.  64 Martens, J. W.  223, 230 Mason, S.  376, 388 Massar, N.  355 Mathews, E. G.  75–76 Matthews, C. R.  25, 200–201, 357 Matthews, S.  198

Index of Modern Authors Maunder, C.  179 Mayer, W.  207 Mazza, R.  165, 168 McCauley, R. N.  166–168 McDonald, L. M.  99, 179 McDowell, M. H.  5 McGuire, A.  88, 130, 138 McKeating, H.  10 McKenna, M.  226 McNamara, M.  32, 34, 110–111 McNeil, B.  37, 202, 223 McNelis, C.  378 McVey, K.  75 Meerson, M.  207 Meier, J. P.  49, 195 Melanchthon, P.  57 Melloni, A.  8 Melville, A. D.  296 Ménard, J.-É.  145 Mendelson, A.  95 Meslin, M.  233 Metheun, C.  100 Meyboom, H. U.  322 Meyer, M.  25, 30, 32–33, 45, 119, 121, 123–125, 127–129, 131, 154, 161–166 Meyer, P. M.  162 Migne, J.-P.  70 Milik, J. T.  344 Millar, F.  272, 374 Miller, R. J.  23 Miller, T. S.  242 Mimouni, S. C.  7, 21–22, 28, 89, 91, 100, 111, 155, 177–178, 182, 184, 193, 201, 206–207, 370–371 Minnerath, R.  200 Mirecki, P. A.  29–30, 163, 166, 304, 306–307 Mirsky, M. J.  99 Momigliano, A.  275–276 Mondésert, C.  134 Montefusco, C.  59 Montevecchi, O.  160, 171 Montserrat Torrents, J.  121 Moraldi, L.  34, 36 Morard, F.  126, 197, 202–203, 287–288, 301 Moreland, J. P.  22 Morgan, J. R.  386 Morgan, T.  378 Mouson, J.  324 Moxnes, H.  223 Müller, U. B.  318 Munck, J.  91, 102 Muraviev, A.  185 Murray, M.  370

431

Murray, R.  140 Musurillo, H.  217 Naffah, C.  185, 206 Nagel, P.  29, 122, 157, 304 Neil, B.  207 Neitzel, S.  377 Nersoyan, T.  249 Nestle, E.  226, 229, 233 Neufeld, D.  6 Neusner, J.  96, 193 Newing, E. G.  155 Ng, E. Y. L.  35 Nibley, H.  243 Niccum, C.  231 Nickelsburg, G. W. E.  287, 289, 291, 338–340, 344–346, 348 Nicklas, T.  4, 15, 27, 38, 52–53, 156, 193, 200, 320 Nir, R.  4–6 Noble, B.  221 Nodes, D. J.  78–79 Noffke, E. T.  4, 6 Nongbri, B.  156 Nord, C.  54 Norelli, E.  3, 180–181, 193, 199, 202, 207, 380 Novak, M. A.  96 Nutton, V.  359 O’Donnell, J. J.  89 O’Neil, E. N.  55 Oates, J. F.  154, 167, 356 Obbink, D.  166 Oegema, G. S.  31, 92, 206 Ohrt, F.  174 Oliver, J. H.  356 Olson, D.  345 Orbe, A.  133 Orlov, A.  350 Osiek, C.  223 Osterloh, K.  92 Paffenroth, K.  135 Pagels, E. H.  22, 31, 51–52, 138–139, 193 Painchaud, L.  6, 11, 13, 31, 59–60, 122, 127, 129, 132–133, 140, 144, 304 Palmer, G.  317 Panaanen, T.  42–43 Panayotov, A.  10, 39 Pantuck, A. J.  32–33, 43 Pao, D. W.  198, 366 Papandreou, D.  211

432

Index of Modern Authors

Parássoglou, G. M.  160, 172 Parke, H. W.  275 Parker, D. C.  231 Parrott, D. M.  187, 236, 357 Parsons, P. J.  161 Pasquier, A.  59, 119, 196–197, 306 Patillon, M.  55 Patkanian, K.  248 Patterson, D.  4 Patterson, S. J.  54, 158 Paupert, C.  110 Pearse, R.  43 Pearson, B. A.  124, 285, 290, 301 Pedersen, N. A.  119 Pedley, J. G.  231 Peiper, R.  78–79, 82 Peltomaa, L. M.  170, 179 Penner, T.  65 Pépin, J.  383 Peppermüller, R.  159–160, 172 Pérès, J.-N.  204 Perkins, P.  122, 199, 283, 287–290, 292, 302 Pernot, L.  388 Pervo, R. I.  209, 380 Pesce, M.  36 Pesch, R.  379 Peterson, P.  337 Pettipiece, T.  7, 13, 148, 165–166 Pfabigan, A.  37 Phenix, R. R.  6, 223, 233, 286 Picard, C.  159 Picard, J.-C.  10, 20–21, 177, 192 Pick, B.  245 Pilhofer, P.  148 Pines, S.  110 Piovanelli, P.  4–9, 13–15, 21–22, 24, 29, 31–34, 40, 87, 89, 109, 122, 155, 177, 192, 194–195, 198, 204–207, 361 Pixner, B.  92 Pleše, Z.  38, 50, 64 Pleyte, W.  172 Plisch, U.-K.  29, 37 Poirier, P.-H.  6, 9, 59, 119, 140, 171, 193, 203, 225, 304, 307 Pollmann, K.  67, 79 Polotsky, H.-J.  307 Popkes, E. E.  31, 158, 199 Porter, S. E.  49, 52, 381 Pouderon, B.  91, 100, 193, 371, 375, 384–386 Powell, K.  34 Preisendanz, K.  154–155, 162 Preisigke, F.  154 Price, R. M.  45

Price, S.  373 Prieur, J.-M.  232 Probst, C.  363 Puech, H.-C.  157 Purola, T.  156 Quispel, G.  377 Racine, J.-F.  15 Rackham, H.  377 Rahlfs, A.  129 Rahmani, I. E.  170 Räisänen, H.  193 Rajak, T.  388 Ramsay, W.  216–218 Rassart-Debergh, M.  132 Rawson, B.  223, 241 Ray, W. D.  176 Rebell, W.  24, 37 Reed, A. Y.  6, 9, 10, 13, 62, 88, 90, 92, 100, 104–107, 110, 113–115, 193, 347, 360, 369, 383, 389, 392, 400 Reed, J. L.  55 Reeves, J. C.  96, 303, 361 Rehm, B.  322–324, 330, 337, 352, 369–370, 393 Reimarus, H. S.  52 Reinink, G. J.  107, 108 Reitzenstein, R.  319–320, 334 Rice, A.  44 Richards, K. H.  3 Riegert, R.  55 Ries, J.  132 Rius-Camps, J.  322–323, 326 Robbins, M. M.  35, 236 Robbins, V. K.  12, 56, 269–271, 279 Roberge, M.  119, 132 Roberts, K. A.  271 Roberts, M.  78–79 Robinson, J. A.  307 Robinson, J. M.  22, 25, 30, 88, 137, 141, 353 Roca-Puig, R.  170 Roessli, J.-M.  15 Rolfe, J. C.  377–378 Römer, C. E.  168, 170 Rordorf, W.  21, 26, 211–212, 214, 219, 222 Rosén, T.  27 Rosenmeyer, P. A.  386–387 Rosenstiehl, J.-M.  290 Rowland, C.  277 Rowley, H. H.  278 Rudolph, K.  88, 122, 319, 320 Ruelle, C.-E.  129

Index of Modern Authors Ruiz Montero, C.  381 Runesson, A.  64 Runnals, D. R.  388 Rüpke, J.  57 Russell, D. A.  381 Safrai, Z.  92 Sahagian, D.  248 Sala, T.  304 Salmenkivi, E.  156 Samama, É.  355–356 Samuel, A. E.  167 Sanders, E. P.  91, 95 Sanders, J. T.  137 Sanzo, J. E.  156, 161, 174 Satran, D.  5, 110 Schaberg, J.  200 Schäfer, P.  31, 37, 99, 103, 106, 142, 173, 207 Schäferdiek, K.  224, 232, 259–262, 264 Scharfstein, B. A.  92 Schenke, H.-M.  142–145 Schenke Robinson, G.  131 Schenkeveld, D. M.  381 Scher, A.  305, 309 Schiller, F.  298 Schlarb, E.  37 Schmeling, G.  380 Schmidt, C.  129, 168, 171, 189–190, 210–211, 213, 371 Schmidt, F.  111 Schmithals, W.  278 Schnackenburg, R.  318–320, 331–332 Schneemelcher, W.  10, 20, 36, 46, 153, 156, 175–178, 182, 184, 192, 210–213, 224, 233, 235–236, 238–239, 243, 258, 272, 306, 369, 380, 396 Schneider, G.  37 Schneider, H.  59 Schneider, P. G.  5 Schoeps, H. J.  101, 106, 319, 322, 324, 329, 330, 332, 334, 369, 396 Scholem, G.  33 Schöllgen, G.  234, 243 Scholten, C.  134 Schott, J.  87 Schröter, J.  10, 14–15, 26–28, 36–37, 49, 53, 108, 158, 176 Schubart, W.  168, 210, 213 Schubert, K.  318 Schulze, C.  357 Schürer, E.  272, 275, 374 Schüssler Fiorenza, E.  189, 198 Schwartz, E.  321–392

433

Scobie, C. H. H.  324 Scopello, M.  31, 119, 292–293, 297 Scott, J. M.  395 Scragg, D. G.  34 Segal, A.  91 Segal, J. B.  158, 172 Segelberg, E.  138 Sevrin, J.-M.  59–60 Shanks, H.  33, 115 Shepardson, C. C.  399 Shoemaker, S. J.  7, 13, 28, 35, 42, 90, 99, 176–177, 179–181, 183–186, 188, 202 Shuve, K. E.  337 Sijpesteijn, P. J.  162 Siker, J. S.  97, 141–143, 148–150 Simon, M.  100, 381, 383 Simonetti, M.  129 Sint, J. A.  318 Siouville, A.  371 Sjöberg, E.  332 Skarsaune, O.  4, 112, 329 Smith Lewis, A.  185, 190, 203–204 Smith, C. B.  285 Smith, D. A.  332 Smith, J. Z.  63 Smith, K.  318 Smith, M.  32–33 Smith, R.  154, 398 Smith, T.  337, 352, 369 Söder, R.  90 Soullard, C.  135 Spivak, G. C.  188 Stager, L. E.  231 Stanton, G. N.  94, 329 Stark, R.  149 Steely, J. E.  278 Stegemann, V.  159, 168 Stein, B.  94 Steinfels, P.  50 Stern, D.  99, 106 Stevenson, J.  291 Stone, M. E.  68, 248, 267, 294–295 Stoneman, R.  386 Stoops, R. F.  23, 27, 102 Stowasser, M.  318 Strange, W. A.  223, 231 Strecker, G.  87, 100–103, 105–106, 277, 319, 322–327, 330, 332, 334, 337–338, 340, 342, 352, 369, 375, 393, 396 Stroumsa, G. G.  33, 94, 207 Strus, A.  26 Stuckenbruck, L.  361 Sturdy, J.  93

434

Index of Modern Authors

Suciu, A.  42, 181 Sullivan, K. P.  159, 168 Sumny, J. L.  235 Szekula, A.  248 Tait, M.  5 Talbert, C. H.  52 Taniguchi, Y.  26 Tardieu, M.  196–198, 304 Taylor, J. E.  56, 113, 370 Taylor, M. C.  188 Tedros Abraha  34, 180 Teeple, H. M.  322 Terian, A.  34 Thackeray, H.St.J.  373 Theissen, G.  194, 372 Thelwall, S. A.  78 Thiele, W.  231 Thomas, C. M.  90 Thomas, J.  319, 322, 324, 326, 332, 334 Thomassen, E.  119, 129, 139, 141, 150 Thompson, H. J.  233 Thomssen, H.  363 Tigchelaar, E. J. C.  339, 346, 347 Tigranian, A.  248 Till, W.  159 Tiller, P.  293–295, 297, 301, 344 Tischendorf, C. von  38, 245 Tite, P. L.  57 Tobin, T. H.  399 Toland, J.  317 Tomson, P. J.  91 Toniolo, E. M.  180, 202 Tonneau, R.  75–76 Too, Y. L.  55 Torijano, P. A.  155 Treu, U.  272 Tripp, D. H.  138, 146 Tröger, K.-W.  304 Tropper, A.  107 Troupeau, G.  34 Trowbridge, G.  41 Tsing, A. L.  61 Tsironis, N.  186 Tuckett, C.  38, 193, 196, 198 Turcescu, L.  8, 168, 184, 207 Turcotte, P.-A.  137 Turner, J. D.  88, 130, 138, 166, 301 Turner, M. L.  138–139, 141 Tyson, J. B.  209 Ullern-Weité, I.  7, 22, 89, 155, 177 Ulrich, J.  338

Unger, D. J.  142 Uro, R.  143, 146 Van Amersfoort, J.  376, 389 Van Cangh, J.-M.  167 Van den Broek, R.  15, 376 Van den Hoek, A.  134 Van der Horst, P. W.  374, 376–377 Van der Laan, S.  42 Van der Vliet, J.  121, 155, 197 Van Esbroeck, M.  28, 34, 176, 179, 185 Van Haelst, J.  160 Van Kooten, G. H.  372 Van Oort, J.  121 Van Os, B.  5 Van Rijn, M.  42–43 Van Ruiten, J. T. A. G. M.  5 Van Segbroek, F.  167 Van Tongerloo, A.  304 Van Voorst, R. E.  101, 330, 332, 392, 394, 396 Vander Stichele, C.  65 VanderKam, J. C.  293, 338, 344, 346–348 Vanstiphout, H. L. J.  399 Vassilaki, M.  186 Veenstra, J. R.  155 Veilleux, A.  131 Verbeke, G.  363 Verhelst, S.  92 Verheyden, J.  91, 155 Vermaseren, M. J.  377 Vermes, G.  272, 374 Viaud, G.  170 Vielberg, M.  370, 380 Vielhauer, P.  277 Viklund, R.  43 Visotzky, B. L.  92 Vogt, A.  219 Voicu, S.  27, 36, 319 Von der Osten, D. E.  57 Voss, B. R.  379–380 Vouga, F.  59 Vuong, L.  98–99, 114–115, 206 Wacht, M.  365 Wainwright, G.  176 Wainwright, R.  44 Waitz, H.  322–325, 330 Walder, K.  57 Walker, A.  178 Walker, D. D.  88 Walker, P. J.  198 Warren, D. H.  198

Index of Modern Authors Wayment, T. A.  39 Wear, A.  259 Weaver, P.  223 Webb, R.  55 Weber, S.  189 Weeden, T. J.  54 Wehnert, J.  321, 362, 370 Wehr, L.  200 Weidmann, M. C.  82, 84 Welch, C.  89 Welles, C. B.  167 Wells, L.  161 Wenger, A.  178–180 Westerfield Tucker, K. B.  176 White, H. G. E.  203 Whitmarsh, T.  56 Wiarda, T.  200 Wiedemann, T.  223 Wiessner, G.  307 Wilfong, T. G.  159, 168 Wilkins, M. J.  22 Williams, M. A.  9, 149, 187, 193, 285 Willker, W.  41, 43 Wilson, B.  270, 279 Wilson, R.McL.  20, 138, 141–143, 145, 147, 153, 175, 192, 210, 224, 258, 272, 306, 357, 369, 377, 380, 396 Wilson, S. G.  137, 139, 142, 145 Winter, B. W.  212 Winterbottom, M.  382 Wintermute, O. S.  68

435

Witherington, B.  22–23, 45 Wolff, S. R.  231 Woolley, R. M.  170 Worp, K. A.  170 Wright, A. T.  5 Wright, N. T.  45, 49 Wright, W.  183, 185, 190, 234, 250, 253, 257 Wright, W. C.  382 Wurst, G.  31, 119, 121, 123, 125, 127–128, 131, 199 Wydra, W.  40 Xeravits, G. G.  5 Young, F.  179 Young, R.  44 Youtie, H. C.  160, 168 Zachariades-Holmberg, E.  26 Zahn, T.  245 Zamagni, C.  87, 202 Zarbhanelian, G.  247 Zellentin, H.  105 Zetterholm, M.  137, 143–144 Ziebritzki, H.  10 Zimmermann, M.  371 Zohrabian, H.  246–248 Zsengellér, J.  5 Zycha, J.  236

Index of Subjects Aaron  77, 80, 106 Abraham  74, 76–77, 83, 102, 146, 148, 150, 228–231, 323, 341, 344, 349 Adam  146–147, 287–289, 304, 312, 340–345, 347, 350, 370 Adultery  80, 241–242, 382, 384–388 Agrapha 338 Al Minya Codex (“Tchacos”)  30–31, 131 Ambrose of Milan  260 Amulets  13, 154–174 Angels  155, 254, 278, 287–288, 290–292, 294, 300 (see also Watchers) Annubian of Diospolis  372 Anti-Judaism  139, 372–375 Anti-Semitism 135 Antoninus Pius  356, 365 Aphrahat 343 Apion the Grammarian  371–378, 383–388 Apocryphal texts – Anglo-Saxon 34 – Arabic  7, 34, 202–206 – Armenian  34, 245–266 – artistic representations  34–35 – Coptic  7, 202–206 – defining  7–12, 20–25, 89–90, 153–155, 175–178, 192 – Ethiopic  7, 34, 202–207 – in media  30–31, 50–53 – in popular culture  44–46 – Irish 34 – Modern anthologies  6–7, 10, 20–21, 36–40, 46–47, 176–182, 192, 224 – on internet   41–44 – Slavonic 27 – Syriac  7, 27, 31–32, 68, 88, 158, 179, 181, 183–185, 206, 234, 240, 250–251, 262, 304, 306, 319–322 Apollonius of Tyana  63, 355, 397 Apostolic succession  107, 141 Aristotle 363 Asceticism  35, 100, 197, 243, 311, 343

Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne (AELAC)  4, 6–7, 20–21, 24, 39–40, 43, 46–47, 319 Athanasius of Alexandria  110 Athenodorus of Athens  372 Augustine of Hippo  69, 72–74, 83, 85, 236, 396 Baptism  102, 147, 210, 234, 242, 394 Bar Kokhba  94–97, 115 Bardaisan, Bardesanites  392 Barnabas  219–220, 371 Barsab(b)as Justus  220 Bartholomew / Nathanael (apostle)  68, 156–157, 203, 357 Baruch (scribe)  300 Basilides 307 Bauer Thesis  87–89 Birkat ha-Minim  95–96 Buddha, Buddhism  60, 303 Cain  120, 344–345 Canon  247–249, 260 Celsus  63, 142 Children  13, 223–244 Christology  114, 198 – Angel Christology  180–181 – Christomonism  252, 254–255, 257, 264 – Low Christology  112 (see also Jesus of Nazareth as the True Prophet) Circumcision  76–77, 80, 85, 102, 111, 141, 146, 148–150, 210, 215, 225–226, 356 Clement of Alexandria  88 Clement of Rome (Pseudo‑)  328, 369, 371–372, 375, 382–384, 387–388 Codex Berolinensis  195 Codex Bezae  231 Commission speeches / narratives  204, 353–354, 364 Constantine (emperor)  398–399 Continence 214–215 Conversion  371, 375 Cosmology 308–309

Index of Subjects Crucifixion  67, 132–133, 143, 264 Curses  79, 95, 123, 125, 127–128, 130, 133–134, 143, 162–163, 394 Daniel  68, 300 David 344 Daimon(es)  97, 115, 123–125, 154–155, 164, 173, 345, 352, 360–364, 383, 393–395, 398 Dead Sea Scrolls  89 (see also Qumran) Demiurge  124–125, 134, 291–292 Dietary laws  79–81, 84, 392 Diocles 363 Docetism  259–260, 264 Dositheus, Dositheans  325–328, 330–331 Ebionites   14, 91, 93, 98, 101, 107–109, 112, 114, 142, 194, 349, 370, 375, 391, 395–397 Elijah  68, 332 Elxai, Elchasaites  303, 361, 370, 395–397 Enoch, Enochic literature  14, 194, 287, 300, 304, 338–340, 345, 347–350 Enosh 304 Ephrem the Syrian  75–77, 343, 399 Eros 385–387 Eschatology  265–266, 344–345 Esotericism  25, 30, 51, 58–60, 180–181, 207, 286 Essenes  333, 347, 396 Ethnicity  77, 95–97, 100–102, 111–113 Eucharist  136, 171, 234, 242, 245, 249, 251, 256, 264–265 Eusebeia  383 Eusebius of Caesarea  87–88, 91, 107, 110, 115, 158–159, 172, 202, 220, 261, 398 Eve  146–147, 287–288, 312, 344 Exorcism 365–366 Ezekiel 300 Ezra 68 Family  223, 228, 232, 236, 241–242 Flavius Vopiscus  279–280 Flood  289, 361 Form criticism  12, 54–55 Galen  355, 358–359, 363 Galileans 333 Gentiles  96, 102, 106, 137, 139, 143–144, 149–151, 215, 229, 256, 325, 344 George of Nicomedia  185–186 Giants  241, 345, 361 Gnosticism  186–187, 195–199, 203, 207, 211, 214–216, 222, 253, 260, 264, 267,

437

324–325 (see also Sethian Gnosticism; Valentinus, Valentinianism) – defining  9–10, 192–195, 284–286 God-fearers  67, 213 Harvard School (“New School”)  22–24 Healing  14, 158–173, 352–354, 366 (see also Medicine) Hebrews  71, 76–77, 139–146, 150–151 Hecataeus of Abdera  356 Hegesippus 331–334 Hekhalot literature  89, 343, 348 Hellanicus 389 Hermeticism 397 Hesiod 376 Hieronymus 389 Homer 376 Ialdabaoth  see Demiurge Iamblichus  63, 389, 398–399 Identity  8, 55, 91–94, 96–97, 100–101, 107–108, 112–116, 139, 146, 271, 366 Ignatius of Antioch  88, 211 Inscriptions 355–356 Intertextuality  26–27, 128–129, 188–191, 269, 384, 391 Irenaeus of Lyon  62–63, 88, 108, 120, 135, 138, 142, 307 Isaac  344, 349 Isaiah 300 Itinerancy  354, 358 Jacob  71, 341, 345, 349 James (brother)  52, 89, 91, 101–102, 107, 111, 131, 202–204, 207, 215, 218, 396 Jerome of Stridon  260 Jesus of Nazareth  303, 308, 312 – as a doctor  357–358 – as the True Prophet  106, 340–342, 345, 349–350, 366, 370–371, 393 – the Historical Jesus  11–12, 49–66, 320 Jesus Seminar  23, 43–44 Jewish Christianity  9–10, 94–116, 142, 145–146, 149, 165, 370, 392, 395–397, 400 – defining  12–13, 91–94, 192–194 Jews, Judaism  95–97, 139–145 John Chrysostom  70–72, 77, 202 John the Baptist  102, 106, 226, 317–320, 323–335 John the Geometer  186 Joseph (patriarch)  70–72 Judah (patriarch)  71, 128–130, 133, 135 Judaizers  78–79, 85, 215

438

Index of Subjects

Judas Iscariot  30–31, 119–136, 206–207, 308 Julian (emperor)  398–400 Justin Martyr  63, 88, 94–97, 99, 111–112, 115, 142–143, 169, 197, 211, 380, 383 Kellis archives  304 Kerygma 214–215 Lazarus  162–163, 169, 237 Leucius 261 Literary genres  8, 56–57, 191, 297–299 – Apocalypses  64, 276–278, 283–295, 297, 299–302 – Encomia  63, 65, 384–387 – Erotapokriseis  122, 198 – Gospels  57–60, 62–66 – Novels  64–65, 380–381, 392 – Poetry 295–297 Maccabean Martyrs  76, 82–84 Magic 89 – Magical papyri  153–173 Mandaeans 320 Mani, Manichaeans  13, 225, 303–313, 361 Marcion, Marcionites  104, 194, 209, 211, 342, 345, 392 Martyrdom  76, 84, 94–95, 97, 133–134, 136, 196, 203, 218–222, 233–234, 238, 357 Mary (mother)  13, 98–99, 142, 175–190, 201–202 Mary Magdalene  13, 35, 186–189, 195–202, 205, 207 Masbothaeans 333 Maximus the Confessor  185–186 Medicine  14, 355–359, 362–367 (see also Healing) Medinet Madi  307 Melanchthon, Philipp  57 Memory  12, 54–55, 61, 65–66 Metatron 350 Milk 233–234 Misopaideia  243 Montanus, Montanism  194, 211 Moses  73, 75–77, 83, 85, 102–103, 105–107, 228–229, 258, 341, 349, 370, 373, 394 Nag Hammadi Writings  10, 25, 30, 40, 88–89, 137, 144, 166, 195, 283–284, 293, 324, 357 Nazarenes  91, 93, 107–109, 112, 114, 194 Neoplatonism  74, 389, 397–400 Neopythagorism 397

New Jerusalem  344 Noah  267, 289, 341, 344, 349 Noahide laws  339–340 Oral Torah  100, 103, 105–107 Origen  197, 321, 327, 380, 388, 397 Orpheus, Orphism  376–377, 389 Orthodoxy and Heresy  22–23, 35, 88, 101, 107, 109, 112–113, 178–179, 192–194, 214–216 Paideia  371, 375–376, 379–380, 383, 388–389 Papias of Hierapolis  220 Papyri 355–356 Patronage – rejection of  358, 365–366 Paul (apostle)  31, 52, 54, 62, 68, 81, 140, 147–148, 202, 212–219, 290–292, 308, 324, 349 – martyrdom of  220–222 – opposition to  31, 101–102, 109, 112, 115–116, 372, 391 Pausanias 274 Persecution  90, 94–96, 115, 213–214, 221 Peter (apostle)  13, 68, 89, 91, 101–102, 105, 107, 111, 161–162, 169, 195, 199–206, 215, 324, 328, 346, 349, 351–353, 357–366, 369, 371–372, 379, 392 Petronilla  195, 236 Pharisees  102–103, 106–107, 329, 332–333 Philip (apostle)  220, 357 Philo of Alexandria  198 Philostratus 386–387 Plutarch 274 Polycarp of Smyrna  211 Porphyry 397–398 Proselytes  140, 142–143, 146 Pseudepigrapha 337–350 – Christian signature features  3–4, 21, 67–86, 96–97, 114 – Jewish signature features  83 – Modern anthologies  12, 21, 25, 39–40 Purity and Impurity  79–81, 98–99, 339, 360–362, 392 Pythagoras  63, 374, 397 Q Source  15, 353–354 Quartodeciman controversy  210 Qumran  12, 67, 148, 303, 341–343, 347–348 (see also Dead Sea Scrolls)

Index of Subjects Rechabites 396 Redaction criticism  15, 57, 68, 84–85, 105–106, 268, 270–274, 281, 322, 327, 329, 335, 348, 351 Reimarus, Hermann Samuel  52 Rhetoric  55–58, 60–61, 65–66, 296–297, 359, 379–382, 384–389 Ritual theory  166–168 Rufinus of Aquileia  260 Rufus of Ephesus  363 Sabbath observance  80–81, 141, 146, 148–150, 373, 396 Sacrifice  80–81, 83–84, 143–144, 370 – child sacrifice  231 – critique of  14, 101–102, 392–400 – human sacrifice  80, 123–124, 133–134 Sadducees  102, 320, 328, 330, 332–333 Saklas, Samael  see Demiurge Samaritans  140, 318, 333 Satan  76, 125, 135, 196, 235, 241, 261 Saturninus 214 Scriptures – false pericopae  337–338, 347, 393–394 Second Sophistic  see Rhetoric Sectarianism 270 Septuagint 338 Seth  32, 287–288, 290, 304, 344 Sethian Gnosticism  9, 125, 207 Shamanism  61–62, 362 Shem  304, 344 Sibyl 275–276 Silius Italicus  279 Simon the Magician  215, 307, 320, 324–328, 330–331, 340, 346, 351, 364, 369, 372, 379, 392 Society of Biblical Literature (SBL)  3–5, 10–11

439

Socio-rhetorical analysis  12, 56, 268–271 Socrates  63, 125, 385 Solomon  155, 173, 344 Son of Man (the)  323 Staurogram  157, 162, 165 Stoicism  198, 385 Symeon the Metaphrast  186 Synagogue 212–213 Syzygies (doctrine)  106, 320, 323–325, 327 Tacitus 279–280 Teacher of Righteousness  341 Temple  133, 146–150, 396, 399 – destruction of  144, 394–395, 399 Tertullian of Carthage  43, 88, 211 Thecla  213, 218–219, 238–239 Theurgy 398–400 Thomas (apostle)  58, 68, 89, 238, 242, 254 Torah  146–147, 149, 340–341, 347 Tübingen School  369 Turfan 305 Two Ways (doctrine)  309 Valentinus, Valentinianism  8–9, 24, 129, 133, 138–141, 146–151, 194, 207, 301 Varro 279 Vespasian 356 Virgil 279 Watchers (angels)  241–242, 289, 338–339, 341, 344–349, 360 Wisdom (heavenly)  294–295, 339–340 Young people  see Children Zoroaster, Zoroastrianism  303, 324