Tertullian and Paul 9780567661326, 9780567554116

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PREFACE We have accrued many debts in the production of this volume, and a brief word of appreciation is in order. To begin, we would like to thank our editor at T&T Clark, Dominic Mattos, for his enthusiastic support of our book proposal. Indeed, it was he who suggested that this project become a series and not simply a single volume. We would also like to thank the administration, faculty, and staff at the George W. Truett Theological Seminary of Baylor University. Our dean, David Garland, and our associate dean, Dennis Tucker, offered us the means necessary to make this project a reality. Our graduate assistants, Claire Hein Blanton and Natalie Webb, also merit mention here. Their tireless hours of formatting essays enabled us to complete this ambitious work in a timely manner. Additionally, we would like to express our profound gratitude to the Parchman family for their endowment of research at our institution. Their generosity is a lasting legacy to the Parchman name that will continue to shape minds and hearts for generations to come. Last of all, but by no means least, we would like to thank all the contributors to this volume. We are humbled by and grateful for their willingness to squeeze this project into their busy lives. In particular, we would like to highlight the work undertaken by Ben Witherington, III. His daughter, Christy Ann Witherington, died only a short time before his essay on eschatology was due. Ben’s ongoing commitment to this work and his words about ancient Christians’ hope in future glory is an appropriate punctuation to this volume. We dedicate this book to Christy’s memory, recalling the words of Paul that appear in her father’s chapter: …then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain. (1 Cor 15:54–58, NRSV)

The Editors Easter 2012 1

ABBREVIATIONS This volume employs the following abbreviations and spellings for the works of Tertullian: Ad mart. Ad nat. Ad Scap. Ad ux. Apol. Adv. Herm. Adv. Iud. Adv. Marc. Adv. Prax. Adv. Val. De an. De bapt. De res. carn. De carn. Chris. De cor. De cul. fem. De exh. cast. De fug. De idol. De iei. De mon. De or. De paen. De pal. De pat. De prae. haer. De pud. De spect. De test. an. De virg. vel. Scorp.

Ad martyras Ad nationes Ad Scapulam Ad uxorem Apologeticum Adversus Hermogenem Adversus Iudaeos Adversus Marcionem Adversus Praxean Adversus Valentinianos De anima De baptismo De resurrectione carnis De carne Christi De corona militis De cultu feminarum De exhortatione castitatis De fuga in persecutione De idolatria De ieiunio adversus psychicos De monogomia De oratione De paenitentia De pallio De patientia De praescriptione haereticorum De pudicitia De spectaculis De testimonia animae De virginibus velandis Scorpiace

Otherwise, with the exception of LNTS (= Library of New Testament Studies), PatrMS (= Patristic Monograph Series), and VCSup (= Vigiliae christianae Supplements), abbreviations used herein follow those set forth in The SBL Handbook of Style: For Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Early Christian Studies (ed. Patrick H. Alexander, et al.; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999).

CONTRIBUTORS JOHN M. G. BARCLAY Lightfoot Professor of Divinity Durham University Durham, England MICHAEL F. BIRD Lecturer in Bible and Theology Crossway College Brisbane, Queensland, Australia ALLEN BRENT Visiting Professor King’s College London London, England Professore Invitato Augustinianum (Lateran University) Rome, Italy WARREN CARTER Professor of New Testament Brite Divinity School Texas Christian University Fort Worth, Texas, USA ELIZABETH A. CLARK John Carlisle Kilgo Professor of Religion and Professor of History Duke University Durham, North Carolina, USA

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Contributors

STEPHEN A. COOPER Professor of Religious Studies Franklin & Marshall College Lancaster, Pennsylvania, USA GEOFFREY D. DUNN Senior Research Fellow Australian Catholic University Brisbane, Queensland, Australia JAMES D. G. DUNN Lightfoot Professor of Divinity, Emeritus Durham University Durham, England EVERETT FERGUSON Professor of Church History, Emeritus Abilene Christian University Abilene, Texas, USA BRUCE W. LONGENECKER Professor of Religion and W. W. Melton Chair Baylor University Waco, Texas, USA MARGARET Y. MACDONALD Professor, Religious Studies St. Francis Xavier University Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Canada ANDREW MCGOWAN Warden, Associate Professor, and Joan F. W. Munro Lecturer in Theology Trinity College, University of Melbourne Melbourne, Victoria, Australia CANDIDA MOSS Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity University of Notre Dame South Bend, Indiana, USA 1

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Contributors

HELEN RHEE Assistant Professor of History of Christianity Westmont College Santa Barbara, California, USA CLARE K. ROTHSCHILD Associate Professor of Theology Lewis University Romeoville, Illinois TODD D. STILL William M. Hinson Professor of Christian Scriptures (New Testament) George W. Truett Theological Seminary Baylor University Waco, Texas, USA WILLIAM TABBERNEE Executive Director Conference of Churches, Oklahoma Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, USA DAVID E. WILHITE Assistant Professor of Theology George W. Truett Theological Seminary Baylor University Waco, Texas, USA BEN WITHERINGTON, III Jean R. Amos Professor of New Testament for Doctoral Studies Asbury Theological Seminary Wilmore, Kentucky, USA N. T. WRIGHT Professor and Chair in New Testament and Early Christianity University of St. Andrews St. Andrews, Scotland

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INTRODUCTION: READING TERTULLIAN READING PAUL David E. Wilhite

For some time now the disciplinary boundary between New Testament studies and early Church history has been eroding—thus the ¿eld of early Christian studies. Even within a clearly partitioned framework between these two guilds, the growing interest in “reception history” on the one side and “patristic exegesis” on the other has resulted in the need for more interdisciplinary projects wherein Neutestamentlers and scholars of post-canonical Christian history can bene¿t from each other’s expertise.1 This project is an attempt to inhabit such a space. In what follows, we have invited scholars with expertise in Tertullian of Carthage (who will be introduced below) and scholars of the Apostle Paul (who needs no introduction) to engage in dialogue. This volume represents the ¿rst of a series on the reception of Paul among the early Christian writers.2 We realize that we are beginning out of chronological order; so, perhaps a brief explanation regarding this work’s origin is in order.

1. Helpful introductions include Manlio Simonetti, Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to Patristic Exegesis (Edinburgh: T. &. T. Clark, 1994); Steven Harmon, “A Note on the Critical Use of Instrumenta for the Retrieval of Patristic Biblical Exegesis,” JECS 11 (2003): 95–107; Charles Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis: The Bible in Ancient Christianity (Leiden: Brill, 2004); and J. van Oort, “Biblical Interpretation in the Patristic Era, a ‘Handbook of Patristic Exegesis’ and Some Other Recent Books and Related Projects,” VC 60 (2006): 80–103. 2. The following volumes will include Paul’s reception in the Apostolic Fathers, Irenaeus, the Apologists, and Origen. We would also recommend Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson, eds., Paul and the Second Century (LNTS 412; London: T&T Clark International, 2011); and David L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle Paul in the Latin West (Atlanta: SBL, 2011). 1

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After having submitted my essay to Bruce Longenecker and Kelly Liebengood for their project on early Christian economics, I wrote to them and confessed my own surprise as to how closely Tertullian read Paul (on the particular issue I had addressed).3 They responded by saying that two other essayists in that collection had noted the same, adding how Tertullian “turns out to be one heck of an exegete!” I mentioned this to my colleague and friend Todd Still, explaining how there should be an extended study of Tertullian’s reading of Paul. Subsequently, Todd approached Dominic Mattos at T&T Clark International, who found the proposal so intriguing and timely that he requested it be turned into a series. By that time, our plans for this volume had already begun. That is why the series starts with this volume. As it happens, Tertullian provides us a bene¿cial place to begin, if for no other reason than the fact that he relies so heavily on Paul. To be sure, he may have been “one heck of an exegete,” but he did not always exegete Paul faithfully. Nevertheless, even when he (mis)uses Paul (by the standards of critical study), Tertullian knows Paul’s works well. Indeed, this study offers a rich and thick display of how Tertullian received Paul, notwithstanding the uses and abuses of such a transaction. Before turning to the particular essays in this project, I will offer a brief introduction to Tertullian. Meeting Tertullian Tertullian of Carthage wrote at the end of the second and beginning of the third century AD.4 As the ¿rst signi¿cant Latin writer, his impact on the terminology and shape of all subsequent western theology would prove to be immense.5 He wrote apologetic treatises articulating the faith to outsiders, pastoral works translating and directing the faith of insiders,

3. Bruce Longenecker and Kelly Liebengood, eds., Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Interpretation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009). 4. See brief introductions to Tertullian in David Wright, “Tertullian,” in The Early Christian World (ed. Philip F. Esler; New York: Routledge, 2000), 2:1027–47; and Everett Ferguson, “Tertullian,” in Early Christian Thinkers: The Lives and Legacies of Twelve Key Figures (ed. Paul Foster; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2011). For fuller discussions, see Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (London: Routledge 2004), and David E. Wilhite, Tertullian the African (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007). 5. See Hans von Campenhausen, The Fathers of the Latin Church (trans. Manfred Hoffmann; London: A. & C. Black, 1964). 1

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and polemical tracts meant to draw the boundary for inter- and intraecclesial disputes.6 Whereas scholars once con¿dently described Tertullian as a Roman lawyer, a priest, a ¿deist, and a late convert to Montanism, scholarship stemming from the last forty or so years has signi¿cantly revised each of these assessments.7 As it happens, Tertullian likely never went to Rome, and his arguments are indebted more to the practice of any self-respecting rhetorician from the Second Sophistic Movement than to technical, legal training.8 In fact, his indebtedness to classical education belies his oft-misunderstood question, “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?”9 That being said, Tertullian had no tolerance for “heretics” who required Christian instruction to conform to a philosophical framework.10 As to his clerical status, he admits he was not ordained; so, he was not a presbyter per se. He did likely belong, however, to the unique North African Christian group of seniores laici (“lay elders”).11 His attachment to Montanism or the “New Prophecy” is disputed because at the most he belonged to an ecclesiola in ecclesia rather than to any schismatic movement within the Christian community at Carthage.12 Tertullian’s reception was itself inÀuential for some time, even after Jerome and Augustine deemed him too controversial.13 Cyprian, Jerome reports, asked everyday to read “the master.”

6. See Jean-Claude Fredouille, Tertullien et la conversion de la culture antique (Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1972). 7. The major ¿gure to revise our understanding was Timothy D. Barnes. See his Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971; rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1985). 8. David I. Rankin, “Was Tertullian a Jurist?,” StPatr 31 (1997): 335–42. 9. Robert D. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric and the Art of Tertullian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), and Sider, “Credo quia absurdum,” CW 73 (1980): 417–19. 10. Eric F. Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 11. De exh. cast. 7.3; De mon. 12.1–4. See also Gerald Bray, Holiness and the Will of God: Perspectives on the Theology of Tertullian (London: Marshall, Morgan, & Scott, 1979), 40–41. 12. See especially Douglas Powell, “Tertullianists and Cataphrygians,” VC 29 (1975): 33–54; David I. Rankin, Tertullian and the Church (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); and L. J. van der Lof, “The Plebs of the Psychici: Are the Psychici of De Monogomia Fellow-Catholics of Tertullian?” in Eulogia: Mélanges offerts à Antoon A.R. Bastiaensen à l’occasion de son soixante-cinquième anniversaire (ed. G. J. M. Bartelink, A. Hilhorst and C. H. Kneepkens; Steenbrugis: In Abbatia S. Petri, 1991), 353–63. 13. See the table in CCSL 1. 1

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Tertullian’s theological contribution emerges in his disputes with other Christian groups, and he is known through thirty-one of his surviving works.14 He offers the ¿rst Christian treatise (De baptismo) devoted wholly to the subject of baptism (against the unnamed Cainite woman). For “orthodox” usage, he coined the phrase trinitas so as to refer to God as una substantia tres personae (“one substance, three persons”).15 His many memorable one-liners range from the praise of martyrdom (“the blood of the martyrs is seed”) to his infamous rebuke of women for being women (“each one of you is an Eve…you are the devil’s gateway!”)16 His opponents range from Marcion, who rejected the Old Testament and its God, to the virgins in his church who refused to wear their veils in worship.17 Throughout all his literary twists and turns, the single trail of breadcrumbs in his works is his use of Scripture and especially his use of Paul.18 For Tertullian the Scriptures consist of both the Old and New Testament.19 He admits that the Scriptures themselves will convince no unbelievers and that they are dangerous in the hands of “heretics” who do not have the correct “Rule” by which to read them.20 However, for 14. Complete editions of his works are available in CSEL 20, 47, 69, 70, and CCSL 1–2. Translations can be found in ANF 3–4, as well as in many more recent studies and translations. 15. In his work Adversus Praxean. 16. Apol. 50; De cul. fem. 1.1. For Tertullian’s view of martyrdom, see Candida Moss’s essay below. For discussion of his notorious views on women, see F. Forrester Church, “Sex and Salvation in Tertullian,” HTR 68 (1975): 83–101; Karen Jo Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology’ and Women’s Leadership,” StPatr 21 (1989): 277–82; and Daniel L. Hoffman, The Status of Women and Gnosticism in Irenaeus and Tertullian (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen Press, 1995), as well as Elizabeth Clark’s essay below. 17. Adversus Marcionem and De virginibus velandis. 18. The only writings of his with no direct quotation of Scripture are Apologeticum and De pallio. For Tertullian’s hermeneutical practice, see R. P. C. Hanson, “Notes on Tertullian’s Interpretation of Scripture,” JTS 12 (1961): 273–79; J. H. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Principles and Methods of Exegesis,” in Early Christian Literature and the Classical Intellectual Tradition: In Honorem Robert M. Grant (ed. William R. Schoedel and Robert L. Wilken; Paris: Editions Beauchesne, 1979), 17–31; and Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de Praescriptione Haereticorum,” JECS 14 (2006): 141–55. 19. With the exception of 2–3 John, at one point or another Tertullian cites from every biblical book. For discussion, see T. P. O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible: Language, Imagery, Exegesis (Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1967). 20. De test. anim. 1.4; and the whole of De prae. haer. See further L. William Countryman, “Tertullian and the Regula Fidei,” SecCent 2 (1982): 208–27. 1

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those who do have the Spirit of God the “whole of God’s Scripture” speaks with one voice because the Spirit is its author.21 Tertullian prefers the plain sense of Scripture as opposed to elaborate allegorical readings.22 The historical events reported therein literally happened, for “that which is written cannot possibly not have been so.”23 He also knows to look to the context of a passage, for many twist the words of Scripture away from the Truth.24 That being said, Tertullian certainly allegorizes, given that Scripture “is both spiritual and prophetic, and in almost all its concepts has a ¿gurative signi¿cance.”25 He traces such an interpretive approach to Paul himself, who certainly shaped the Tertullian’s understanding and reading of Scripture.26 As to his view of Paul, we may now turn to the essays themselves.27 Reading Tertullian with an Eye on Paul The following essays are topical. For the sake of convenience, the subjects treated follow a roughly systematic outline, beginning with God and concluding with eschatology. When enlisting the contributors, the editors asked them to analyze Tertullian’s use of Paul on their given topic. Beyond this rather general request, however, the guidelines were minimal. Each essayist was at liberty to write as deemed appropriate to treat the subject at hand. Whereas some essays range across the whole of Tertullian’s corpus, others focus on certain of his works. Additional diversity among the essayists exists with respect to: their understanding of how well or how poorly Tertullian read Paul; whether or not they regard Pauline writings are best classi¿ed as authentic or pseudonymous; and whether or not they think that Montanism caused Tertullian’s view to shift over the course of his career. In Tertullian’s thinking the various topics discussed here cannot be separated into independent doctrines. Each tenet of the faith bleeds into 21. De or. 22; cf. De prae. haer. 36.5; De res. carn. 22.3; Adv. Marc. 3.14.3; De pud. 19.3–4. 22. See De an. 2.5; Adv. Marc. 4.19.6; Adv. Prax. 26.1. 23. De carn. Christ. 3.9 (trans. Evans 12); cf. De an. 21.5; Adv. Prax. 11.1; 13.4; 18.2. 24. See Adv. Marc. 5.9.2; De fug. 6.2; De virg. vel. 4; Adv. Prax. 16.24; 20.1. 25. Adv. Marc. 2.19 (trans. Evans 139); cf. De res. carn. 19; Adv. Marc. 4.24.10. 26. See Adv. Marc. 3.5.4. 27. For a general introduction to Tertullian’s reading of Paul, see Robert D. Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120. 1

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the next. Therefore, the scholars who took up a speci¿c topic wrote essays that often overlap with others. The interplay between Tertullian’s various works, his reading of Paul, and his reading of Paul within the wider canon all make for a dif¿cult task in dissecting or extracting any one item from his writings. Far from being a drawback, such overlap is arguably one of the bene¿ts of this project. In fact, those interested in such interdisciplinary dialogue feel no discomfort whatever with the interplay between the various topics within Tertullian’s writings. Therefore, despite the dif¿culty of dividing Tertullian’s thinking into independent categories, the following essays attempt to understand Tertullian’s use of Paul by analyzing his dependence on the apostle in terms of certain topics. It is hoped that these essays will serve as forays for future studies employing a more synthetic approach. In the ¿rst essay, Andrew McGowan treats the subject of “God in Christ.” Therein, he investigates how Tertullian read Paul to identify Jesus with the one God of Israel on the one hand and to distinguish the eternal Word from God the Father on the other. Regarding the former, McGowan turns primarily to Against Marcion 5; for the latter, he listens most closely to Against Praxeas. In both instances McGowan ¿nds Tertullian to be explicitly invoking Paul to counter heretical views of Christ. Even when Tertullian reads Paul through the Rule of Faith, he is simultaneously indebted to Paul. Everett Ferguson takes the baton on this point to analyze Tertullian’s view of God revealed. To do so, he explores the North African’s multiple citations of the Rule of Faith and how his thought intersects with Paul when doing so. Focusing on Tertullian’s Prescript Against the Heretics, wherein Tertullian outÀanks his opponents’ interpretation of Scripture by use of the Rule, Ferguson ¿nds Tertullian to credit Paul for such a standard. The third person confessed in Tertullian’s Rule of Faith, the Holy Spirit, is the focus of my own essay. Tertullian’s understanding of the Spirit is informed by the manifold meanings of the word (e.g., Spirit of God, spirit of man, spirit of fear, etc.). While surveying the whole of Tertullian’s oeuvre—wherein I see no signi¿cant “conversion” or shift in his thinking—I ¿nd Tertullian to be heavily reliant on Paul for his understanding of the Holy Spirit’s personhood and work in particular. Geoffrey Dunn investigates Tertullian’s view of the Jews and Judaism in light of Paul’s thoughts on the subjects. After reviewing the signi¿cant passages from the Pauline corpus, Dunn surveys both their appearances and their striking absences in Tertullian’s interaction with Judaism, especially focusing on Against the Jews and Against Marcion 5. 1

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Candida Moss argues that Tertullian’s view of martyrdom stems more from his view of Paul than from any conversion to Montanism. Looking particularly to Tertullian’s works To the Martyrs, Remedy for the Scorpion’s Sting, and On Fleeing Persecution, Moss ¿nds Tertullian’s understanding of martyrdom to be less radical than modern scholarship has claimed. Instead, Tertullian is seen to have a robust theology of martyrdom—a theology indebted to the apostle. Elizabeth A. Clark surveys Tertullian’s corpus for his statements on women and women’s roles and compares his remarks to Paul’s own statements on the subject. By outlining Tertullian’s own schema for women’s statuses (e.g., wives, virgins, widows, etc.), Clark can carefully identify how Tertullian reads Paul, where he breaks with Paul, and how he frequently uses the inner tensions in Paul’s thinking for selective purposes. Allen Brent discusses Tertullian’s view of the episcopacy in light of the of¿ce’s primitive shape in the Pauline and deutero-Pauline writings. After tracing the different trajectories of this of¿ce in the ¿rst two centuries, Brent ¿nds Tertullian to represent a record of the of¿ce in transition from that of overseeing house churches/schools to that of the monarchical bishop known to Cyprian. In his earlier works, Brent argues that Tertullian missed a key Pauline teaching regarding the episcopal of¿ce, one that he would retrieve in his later writings. Helen Rhee examines Tertullian’s arguments about wealth (and poverty), focusing especially on his use of Scripture in his argument. Tertullian con¿dently appropriates scriptural statements to suit the need of his church, for the Spirit authored them and continues to provide interpretation of them. Paul’s writings play a signi¿cant part in Tertullian’s argument, and Rhee focuses on this phenomenon in his On Patience, On the Dress of Women, and On Idolatry. Stephen Cooper looks to Tertullian’s understanding of Paul’s gospel by way of a rhetorical analysis of his Against Marcion. Marcion had read Paul to hold Law and Gospel as opposites; Tertullian, for the sake of argument, agrees to these terms. Although Paul would have objected to a thinning down of his understanding of the gospel in Galatians, Tertullian nevertheless used Marcion’s presuppositions about Paul to undermine the heretic’s reading of the apostle. Finally, William Tabbernee outlines the developing eschatology of Tertullian throughout his writing career. The Carthaginian’s thought comes to be shaped by the New Prophecy, according to Tabbernee, but certain nonnegotiable aspects of his view of resurrection and Christ’s return remain indebted to Paul. 1

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The responses to these essays from New Testament scholars vary widely in form and content. The respondents were asked to situate Tertullian’s views, as delineated by the previous essayist, within the scholarly discourse about Paul. Some found Tertullian to have read Paul closely and responsibly, while others found Tertullian to misuse Paul’s teachings for his own purposes. In some instances, Tertullian was seen to display impressive insights, while in others the apologist is thought to have missed the apostle’s ideas entirely. From time to time, Tertullian’s interaction with Paul anticipated topics now current in scholarly discussion. More often than not, however, Tertullian appropriated Paul to address concerns of his day. In the Afterword, Todd Still will explore this volume’s contents in relation to Pauline studies today.

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1 GOD IN CHRIST: TERTULLIAN, PAUL, AND CHRISTOLOGY Andrew B. McGowan

Misunderstanding Paul There was, it has been said, no real meeting of minds between Tertullian and Paul. Because “Paul never came to Africa and…his letters were never really understood there,” allegedly “Tertullian…did not really understand what ‘the rightwising of the ungodly’ or ‘suffering with Christ’ or ‘Christ is the end of the Law’ really meant.”1 Gilles Quispel’s opinion complements Adolf von Harnack’s pithier observation that it was actually Tertullian’s nemesis, Marcion, who “was the only Gentile Christian who understood Paul, and he misunderstood him.”2 Both Quispel’s and Harnack’s observations point to the real differences between the theology of Paul’s undisputed writings and other early Christian constructions of truth and salvation, including Tertullian’s. Yet that Paul referenced by Quispel, characterized by certain key themes of the Letters to the Romans and Galatians in particular, is uniquely accessible to modernity and in part its creation. Harnack’s aphorism about Marcion and Paul contains an unintended hint; perhaps, if no one “understood” Paul in the modern sense, it was because such a Paul did not exist. Quispel’s Paul was largely unknown, or at least unrecognized, before the Reformation. Since then an apostle “of the heart set free,” as one evangelical study put it,3 emerged into view, emphasizing sin and guilt, 1. Gilles Quispel, “African Christianity before Minucius Felix and Tertullian,” in Gnostica, Judaica, Catholica: Collected Essays of Gilles Quispel (ed. Johannes Oort; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 433–34. 2. So Adolf von Harnack, History of Dogma (7 vols.; 3d ed.; London: Williams & Norgate, 1905), 1:89. Bruce M. Metzger (The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Signi¿cance [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997], 93 n. 32) indicates Franz Overbeck had made this observation at an earlier time. 3. F. F. Bruce, Paul, Apostle of the Heart Set Free (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977). 1

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Tertullian and Paul

personal salvation, and the power of the cross. Of course this Paul has not been static; the modern critical possibility of discerning an authentic Paul within a corpus of mixed origins has modi¿ed the classical Protestant view, but has actually increased the emphasis on Paul’s personal theology in a way arguably not possible before Romanticism. This helps explain the appeal of Marcion’s intriguing but idiosyncratic view for Harnack and some subsequent critics. As the one known example of an ancient quester for a Paul within the broader tradition, Marcion’s project is structurally comparable to modern ones, however different their speci¿c conclusions. Marcion was, however, the exception—not only in his conclusions, but in his assumptions, too. The recent emergence of a “new perspective” on Paul indicates that what scholars of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries assumed or argued concerning Paul no longer seems so well-established to many.4 Yet despite changes of focus, such as the inÀuential critiques of emphasis on, for example, Paul’s own real or alleged introspection, the new perspective as well as the old focuses on a Paul neither accessible to ancient readers of the apostle nor indeed of much interest to them. Modern approaches, newer and older, are concerned with access to a character or a subjectivity equated with the core message of those Pauline writings regarded as most profound and important. Paul and Tertullian Tertullian’s view of Paul focuses elsewhere than on Quispel’s criteria, but is not merely the result of some de¿ciency peculiar to the African context or to his own disposition. Rather, broadly speaking, it is a more typical ancient Christian view, wherein Paul is not discerned by excavating for some speci¿c idea or genius within a literary corpus but seen as the persona implied by that corpus as a whole. That Paul is also determined by the wider reputation of the apostolic hero and martyr, including the Paul of the Acts of the Apostles.5 Thus while Tertullian has a sense of Paul as a character,6 he does not view the apostle primarily as 4. See especially Krister Stendahl, “The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West,” HTR 56 (1963): 199–215. 5. A recent assessment concludes that something similar could even be said of the Paul known to the author of Acts. See Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 1–20. 6. Robert D. Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120. 1

MCGOWAN God in Christ

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a person whose intention and spirit must be sought or one whose writings are waiting for exegesis of undisclosed meaning. Rather, Paul is an existing positive reality, a given, underpinning and exemplifying orthodoxy as well as a source from which to draw in its defense.7 Tertullian’s inÀuence from, interest in, or even knowledge of Paul, must then be judged not in relation to the so-called historical Paul constructed by modern scholarship, but to the “historic” or canonical Paul constructed by ancient faith. This early patristic Paul may still be judged critically, relative to contemporary understandings of Pauline literature, but must be assessed ¿rst and foremost in its own context and relative to the wider inÀuence and reception of the reputation and writings of the apostle in antiquity. The “historic,” canonical Paul known to Tertullian is, I suggest, an important source and inÀuence in his apologetic and constructive articulation of Christian theology, including his understanding of the God of Jesus Christ. This does not mean that Tertullian seems to have pondered Paul’s writings longer and harder than other scriptural texts in a quest for their meaning, but simply that a variety of important connections can be made, both directly and indirectly, between the two early Christian authors and their works. Tertullian does, of course, cite Paul as Scripture. However, he looks to him and his works not as sources of undisclosed truth, but as exemplars of a truth already manifest in the faith and practice of the authentic church. For Tertullian, as for many of his contemporaries, this truth was guaranteed not (only) by appeal to inspired Scripture, but by the Rule of Faith, which was both derived from Scripture and the necessary touchstone for the proper interpretation of Scripture. That Rule is one of two key emphases in Tertullian’s work that will be addressed further below in relation to Paul, along with Tertullian’s use of the Pauline idea of divine and redemptive “economies.” Both of these involve inÀuence from Paul on Tertullian. But however strong or authentic that inÀuence is perceived to be, they are at the very least key places where the comparison and connection between Paul and Tertullian can be assessed in relation to belief in the God of Jesus Christ. This discussion will also give particular attention to two works of Tertullian, or parts thereof. The ¿fth book of Tertullian’s work Against Marcion is the North African apologist’s most sustained engagement with the Pauline canon as such; the treatise Against Praxeas is well-known as 7. See more broadly J. H. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Principles and Methods of Exegesis,” in Early Christian Literature and the Classical Intellectual Tradition: In Honorem Robert M. Grant (ed. William R. Schoedel and Robert L. Wilken; Paris: Editions Beauchesne, 1979), 17–31. 1

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Tertullian and Paul

Tertullian’s most fully developed discussion of the nature of the triune God and the primary locus of his signi¿cant contribution to Trinitarian thought. Against Praxeas does quote Paul, and Against Marcion does mention God, yet they are rather oblique to one another both in form and content. I will suggest nevertheless that attention to both and how they each work are important to constructing an adequate account of Tertullian’s Christian God and to assessing Paul’s place in Tertullian’s thought about that God. The dates of these two documents and the positions represented in them are close. It is worth noting that both show the inÀuence on Tertullian of the New Prophecy, later known as Montanism. Although the tone of Against Praxeas towards the other, “psychic” Christians is harsher, and the treatise refers explicitly to some sort of rupture (1.7), the “modalist” heresy taught by Praxeas had been inÀuential among the “psychic” addressees of the treatise, and so the gap may be more contextual and rhetorical than essential.8 Although Tertullian himself claimed explicitly that the New Prophecy simply taught the acknowledged Rule of Faith and hence was not doctrinally innovative, his own writings suggest a more complex picture. The Paraclete, the third person of the Trinity, heralded and enabled among adherents of the New Prophecy a discipleship whose seriousness was as appealing to Tertullian as it was offputting to his contemporaries. While this was “discipline” rather than “doctrine” according to his own rhetoric, both of these actually have to do with Tertullian’s view of divine life, and for him the life of the Spirit¿lled community is the present and active mode of God’s presence in history.9 The Creator’s Christ: Tertullian on Paul and Marcion The ¿fth book of Tertullian’s Against Marcion is a survey of Marcion’s interpretation of Paul, driven not so much by an expository agenda as by an apologetic approach to the “canonical” shape of the Pauline corpus more or less as Marcion had read or edited it, “with a hatchet rather than a pen” (De prae. haer. 38.9). Tertullian walks through, letter by letter,

8. See further Andrew B. McGowan, “Tertullian and the ‘Heretical’ Origins of the ‘Orthodox’ Trinity,” JECS 14 (2006): 437–57. 9. Discussed further in Andrew B. McGowan, “God in Early Latin Theology: Tertullian and the Trinity,” in God in Early Christian Thought: Essays in Memory of Lloyd G. Patterson (ed. Andrew B. McGowan, Brian Daley, and Timothy J. Gaden; VCSup 94; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 61–81. 1

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not considering Paul’s text in its own right so much as confronting Marcion’s interpretations of it. Tertullian’s concern to establish the case for this God, and Paul as his apostle, is an even more fundamental framework for the discussion than the quasi-canonical shape of Marcion’s apostolikon. Thus, while issues of genre and scope may take the work some distance away from modern expectations of what a survey of Pauline literature might involve, perhaps the focus is not so “un-Pauline.” The overarching theme of the discussion does have to do with the God of Jesus Christ and the correction of misunderstandings of the gospel; it is not very focused on Paul, but is not unlike Paul’s own focus. In and through the discussion and refutation, however, there is an underlying thematic focus or logic, equal and opposite perhaps to the single-mindedness of Marcion’s passionate (mis)understanding. This has ¿rst and foremost to do with the unity of history as revealed across the writings of the Old and New Testaments, and hence with the unity of the God who is revealed in both. While Against Praxeas would be concerned with defending the possibility of personal differentiation within God’s being, Against Marcion addresses a problem that is almost the opposite. Since Marcion was inclined to draw radical distinctions, the bulk of Tertullian’s argument has to do with defending continuities, creating or discerning identity rather than distinction. It is also a reÀection of Tertullian’s view of the relationship of Paul himself to those writings and that God. Tertullian begins with Galatians. His project here does have a sort of af¿nity with Paul’s in that letter, in that Tertullian needs to establish a reading of Paul that includes Abrahamic tradition in a continuum with the Christian gospel, where Paul had had to read Abrahamic tradition itself similarly. Thus, Tertullian agrees with Marcion’s claim that the Law of the Old Testament is abolished, but not for the same reasons. It is the Creator who himself abolishes the Law, and who had foretold this through his own prophets: “The same deity was being preached in the gospel who had always been known in the law, whereas discipline was not the same” (Adv. Marc. 5.2.3). This is a more Trinitarian statement than it may appear, since for Tertullian the (visible) revealer of Law and Prophets is actually the Son, not the (invisible) Father (cf. Adv. Prax. 14), and disciplina—an allusion to the strict requirements of the New Prophecy—is the work of the Spirit, the Paraclete. This implicit but limited Trinitarian differentiation of persons is juxtaposed with Marcion’s explicit version, which is not only a distinction of persons but of substance; for Marcion, the God who sent Jesus Christ is not the same as the 1

6

Tertullian and Paul

God of the Old Testament. This, then, is one key theme of Adv. Marc. 5: the establishment of a historical continuity between the God of Abraham and of the covenants of the Old Testament. The second theme is closely related, namely, the claim of a cosmological continuity and identity between the God who created the world and the God of Jesus Christ. This, too, appears promptly as Tertullian gets his discussion of Marcion’s treatment of Galatians underway: Now if even to this degree the Acts of the Apostles are in agreement with Paul, it becomes evident why you reject them: for they preach no other god than the Creator, nor the Christ of any god but the Creator, since neither is the promise of the Holy Spirit proved to have been ful¿lled on any other testimony than the documentary evidence of the Acts. (Adv. Marc. 5.2.7)10

Tertullian again links the persons of the Trinity, this time more explicitly, with the unity and identity of God. While this passage is characteristic of Tertullian’s insistence on divine coherence and identity across creation and salvation, it is also hermeneutically noteworthy. Tertullian makes a strong and particular claim about how to read Paul, that is, maximally and in relation to Acts. In linking them (on respect for the Law; see Acts 15), he not only argues with Marcion about the canonicity of Acts as such, but exempli¿es his own synthetic approach to reading the apostle, which is not only strongly intertextual but, as we shall see further, takes points of reference even from outside scripture in the form of the Rule of Faith. The two themes of historical and cosmological unity or identity in God, once established in Tertullian’s opening, are then pursued along with others (particularly the material reality of the Àesh of Christ and of the resurrection) through a survey of the rest of the Pauline canon. The longest discussion of a book is of 1 Corinthians (5:5–10). Much of this pursues these same themes in refutation of speci¿c points Marcion has made, with emphasis on the hidden and mysterious character of the Creator’s purposes as a mechanism to reconcile the discontinuities of which Marcion makes so much. Tertullian here takes another maximalist step in his interpretation or construction of the apostle, seeing him foreshadowed even in the Old Testament: For when he declares himself a wise master-builder, by this term we ¿nd indicated, by the Creator in Isaiah, the one who marks out the limits set by God’s law of conduct: for he says, “I will take away from Judaea,” 10. Unless otherwise noted, translations are from Ernest Evans, Adversus Marcionem (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972).

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among other matters, “even the wise master-builder.” And was not that a presage of Paul himself (ipse tunc Paulus destinabatur), who was destined to be taken away from Judaea, which means Judaism, for the building up of Christendom? (5.6.10; cf. Isa 3:3)

By the time he comes to the Letter to the Romans, which might have seemed likely to be a crux for assessing Tertullian on Paul, the apologist has in fact almost run his race. He has relatively little to add (and says as much, more than once!) because the issues themselves have all been canvassed wherever they ¿rst arose in his survey. Again, the coherence of the Testaments and the unity of the God to whom they witness have prominence, along with another broadside against Docetism. In his discussion of Ephesians (or “Laodiceans” for Marcion) Tertullian addresses the complex passage concerning the divine “economy” (Eph 1:7–10). In this instance Tertullian expounds the term in what is perhaps the more plain or straightforward sense, of a plan or arrangement made by God for creation and redemption (Adv. Marc. 5.17.1). Since it involves recapitulation from the beginning, Tertullian argues that this economy forces the conclusion that redemption is the Creator’s work rather than that of any other god and illustrates again the key point that God is one, and God’s history likewise coheres across and even within its apparent discontinuities. We shall see, however, that Tertullian can also make a quite different use of the Pauline idea of a divine ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ which also serves his purpose in confessing the nature of the Christian God. Against Praxeas Against Praxeas was written to oppose the inÀuence of a teacher otherwise unknown, perhaps a person whom Tertullian did not want to name (possibly Callistus).11 According to “Praxeas,” the one God did not exist as distinct persons, but had been revealed in different forms at different times; hence, “the Father himself descended into the virgin, was himself born of her, himself suffered, in the end himself was Jesus Christ” (1.1).12 Although the treatise focuses mostly on the relationship of Father and Son (or Word), Praxeas was an opponent of the New Prophecy, who thus also offended pneumatologically; he both “drove out the Paraclete and nailed up the Father” (1.5). 11. See Allen Brent, Hippolytus and the Roman Church in the Third Century: Communities in Tension before the Emergence of a Monarch-Bishop (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 525–35. 12. Translations herein are adapted from Ernest Evans, Adversus Praxean liber: Tertullian’s Treatise Against Praxeas (London: SPCK, 1948), 131. 1

8

Tertullian and Paul

The explicitly Trinitarian element in the treatise is not great, however, if by that we expect explorations of the divine triad as such. Tertullian seeks primarily to articulate the relationship between the ¿rst two persons of the Trinity, defending the absolute transcendence of the Father and the real substantia (here the actual existence, something like the hypostasis) of the Son. The implications for the Holy Spirit can be inferred, and mostly are left thus. So the controversy is Trinitarian, but also speci¿cally Christological; accused of teaching that there are two Gods (see Adv. Prax. 13.1, 5; 19.8), Tertullian advocates the unity of divine being, but also the distinct personal reality of the Son, who is the Word of the Father. Tertullian’s account of distinct persons and a common essence or substance involves what he here again calls the “economy,” in a sense distinct from the historical and redemptive sense noted above. In a discussion that uses Gen 1, John 1, and Prov 8, as well as various texts from the Psalms, Tertullian af¿rms the eternal existence of God’s reason or Logos (Adv. Prax. 5–7) and explains the means by which God has arranged God’s own being as Trinity, which he terms the “economy”: We however as always, the more so now as better equipped through the Paraclete, that leader into all truth, believe…in one only God, yet subject to this dispensation (which we call ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸) that the one only God has also a Son, his Word who has proceeded from himself, by whom all things were made; and without whom nothing has been made. (Adv. Prax. 2.1)

Tertullian goes out of his way to point to this notion of “economy” as a technical term, citing it as a Greek word. Although they differ from some other early Christian uses, including his own understanding of its use in Eph 1 as it appears in Against Marcion, his references to ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ here cannot be regarded as a merely pragmatic use of a “secular” notion, but rather than as instances of an exegetical tradition related to Paul’s own usage, however speci¿c or even idiosyncratic. Although there is no explicit citation of the Pauline texts, the reference to the Greek loanword evokes the set of cosmic and divine mysteries that for Paul, as for Tertullian, lie behind the idea. The background to this will be discussed further below. In any case, by ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ or dispositio (or dispensatio) Tertullian certainly refers here ¿rst and foremost to the history of God’s own being and Trinitarian self-relatedness, which, while fundamentally important for the character of revelation and God’s historical action in creation and redemption, is nonetheless primarily about God’s own being even before time. This divine economy is not then to be confused with the “economic trinity” of later systematic theology. The economy in Against Praxeas 1

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is ¿rst and foremost the way Tertullian describes the arrangement or disposition of the single divine substance or essence in the Trinitarian relationship, which is actually closer to the classical notion of the “immanent” Trinity. The dispensatio of divine being, as he refers to it here, must be understood in relation to the divine monarchia in order to allow the reality of divine persons, but to avoid tritheism. The speci¿cs of this economy are somewhat distinctive to Tertullian, although his near-contemporary Hippolytus also makes use of the term to refer to inner-Trinitarian relations. Unlike Hippolytus, Tertullian sees the self-differentiation of the divine monarchy as completely preceding all time so that the full personal existence of the Son is established not merely in the incarnation but up to the emission of the ¿at lux of creation, where divine wisdom becomes literal, spoken Word: [Sermo] was ¿rst established by him for thought under the name of Sophia…then begotten for activity…thereafter causing him to be his Father by proceeding from whom he became Son…and in him thence he rejoices. (Adv. Prax. 7.1–2)

Tertullian is, of course, all the more distant from the types of radical “economic” thought about God by “Praxeas” that gives rise to the treatise or that which Marcellus of Ancyra would later advocate, whereby the distinctions between divine persons are so bound up with the history of salvation that they actually come and go with its phases. Yet Tertullian also differs signi¿cantly from later “orthodox” views almost opposite to Praxeas, wherein creation and redemption are themselves only arbitrarily or ephemerally connected with the reality of divine being and their respective Trinities are arguably quite different. For Tertullian, God’s Trinitarian being is eternal, but related—at least by analogy—to the historic mystery of salvation. While the differentiation of divine being in the economy is before time and creation, the persons of the Trinity have distinct places in the other, redemptive economy. Not only does the eternal Son have the particular historic roles of visible divine presence prior to the Incarnation, and as incarnate Son and Word after it, the eternal Paraclete also has a present historic role in the present as leader into truth. Eric Osborn thus suggests that Tertullian anticipates Rahner’s dictum that the economic Trinity is the immanent Trinity and vice versa.13

13. Eric F. Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 121.

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Tertullian and Paul

Tertullian’s account of the divine history in Against Praxeas with its complex account of what was happening “in the beginning” could be seen as more Johannine than Pauline in character. Although comparison or contest between these two inÀuences is not our concern here, the strength of Johannine element is unmistakeable, with the account of the generation and work of the eternal Word in Against Praxeas clearly and repeatedly harking back to the ¿rst chapter of the Fourth Gospel. The narrative is, however, also amenable to the cosmic Christ of Col 1, ¿rstborn of all creation (cf. Adv. Prax. 7.1), and Tertullian himself relates it to the Christ-hymn of Philippians (7.8).14 All in all, however, we have to admit that the presence of Pauline proof-texts is an adjunct to the other biblical elements of this exposition, at least in terms of citation. Yet the underlying structure on which Tertullian arranges his scriptural citations in Against Praxeas is not merely Johannine. Certainly the Prologue of John’s Gospel coheres with his narrative of divine economy and provides certain fundamental elements, such as the verbal and rational character of the second person and the role of the Logos as instrument of creation. Yet the Pauline notion of economy—Pauline at least in origin, and for Tertullian still so in its authority—allows Tertullian to expound inner-Trinitarian relations in a way both more complex and more dynamic than, but still involving, the Johannine notion of the eternal creative Word. The Johannine contribution is a structure of Trinitarian relatedness, but the Pauline one includes the force of redemptive history, which for Tertullian links divine disposition with creation and redemption. As we have noted, Tertullian properly recognizes a related conception in Col 1 and reads what he believes about the incarnation in Phil 2 also. The Economy of God The idea, or at least the word, ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ is an important point of Pauline inÀuence in virtually all cases in which it appears in early Christian literature from the mid-second century. It has no particular Septuagintal background, and its speci¿cally Christian meaning commences with Paul.15 In Pauline literature, usage of ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ varies from more prosaic and personal comments on Paul’s own “stewardship” (although of the

14. Although the sense of hic certe est qui in ef¿gie dei constitutus non rapinam existimavit esse se aequalem deo seems to reverse the sense of the phrase in the Greek text; Christ did not consider equality with God a sort of theft, but as his due. 15. Adhémar D’Alès, “Le mot OIKONOMIA dans la langue théologique de Saint Irénée,” REG 32 (1919): 1–9.

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“mysteries of God,” 1 Cor 4:1–2) to a few cases where its implications are of cosmic signi¿cance, involving the whole plan of God’s dealings with the world and even possibly the reality of God.16 We have already noted the passage in Eph 1 where a cosmic mystery of salvation is described: the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time (¼ĊË ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸Å ÌÇı ȾÉŪĸÌÇË ÌľÅ Á¸ÀÉľÅ), to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. (vv. 9b–10, NRSV)

This passage could perhaps be seen as more closely connected to later “economic” trinitarianism than to Tertullian’s own account of the “economy” of God in Against Praxeas. The economy in question concerns the “mystery” of salvation, but more importantly it is an economy of the plerǀma of the times, which Christians of “gnostic” tendency were to regard as a fundamentally important concept linking cosmology and soteriology.17 Although Tertullian is ¿ercely opposed to such theologies, he can also acknowledge them, as in his view that the Son or Word is an emanation or prolation from the Father (Adv. Prax. 8). The same term occurs later in Eph 3:8–12, where the apostle speaks of his mission “to make everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages (÷ ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ ÌÇı ÄÍÊ̾ÉţÇÍ ÌÇı ÒÈÇÁ¼ÁÉÍÄÄšÅÇÍ ÒÈġ ÌľÅ ¸ĊŪÅÑÅ) in God who created all things” (v. 9, NRSV). Perhaps even more than for Eph 1, this passage allows the possibility that the “economy” in question is to do with God’s own being and not merely with an undisclosed plan. Last among the obvious candidates for a technical and speculative use of ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ in the Pauline corpus is 1 Tim 1:3–4, where readers are urged “not to occupy themselves with myths and endless genealogies that promote speculations rather than the divine disposition (õ ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸Å ¿¼Çı) that is known by faith” (v. 4, NRSV adapted). Some English translations have rendered “economy” or disposition in educational more than metaphysical terms, as something like “training.” This is possible, but the context again invites a comparison of cosmologies and not just pedagogies. The “economy of God,” being opposed to the myths and genealogies offered by the opponents of the letter, is by implication a true doctrine concerning the nature of reality. 16. For the purposes of considering Tertullian’s and other writers’ reception and interpretation, “Pauline literature” is considered as a whole rather than divided into presumed authentic, deutero-Pauline, etc. 17. R. A. Markus, “Trinitarian Theology and the Economy,” JTS 9 (1958): 92– 94; D’Alès, “OIKONOMIA,” 3–4. 1

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These texts in particular became the basis for a tradition of early Christian thinking, especially about the divine plan of salvation. Since the magisterial study by G. L. Prestige last century, early Christian use of the term and the idea has usually been seen as falling into two categories: one group (including most of Tertulian’s near-contemporaries) regarding the ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ as the historical or redemptive arrangements God had made for the world; the other, including “Praxeas” (and later Marcellus of Ancyra) regarding the economy as a reality of divine self-disposition that occurs historically and situationally, Son and Spirit appearing in the history of salvation and disappearing again into an undifferentiated divine substance.18 Authors, such as Irenaeus, had adopted what may seem to be a more straightforwardly “Pauline” use in speaking of salvation history as the ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸, and this was the more common tendency. Around the same time, however, Tatian used the idea to refer to the eternal generation of the Son in terms that have been called its “original, secular” sense,19 speaking of things in general that have been partitioned (not severed) from their source as having a “distinctive function (ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸)” (De or. 5.2). Granted that this is a generic argument, the scope of use of ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸ in Paul must raise the question of whether the language is not more amenable to speculative theological subjects because of this scriptural use. Although Tertullian does understand this divine self-disposition as related to the ways God has acted and will act in the world, he differs from the latter tradition of thinking in conceiving of the divine economy prior to creation and redemption, but also from the former in seeing the economy not merely as about the world and history, but about God’s own being.20 The “economy of the mystery hidden for the ages/aeons in God the creator of all” could for ancient readers suggest the reality of God’s being, initially true while hidden, but then historically revealed. For Tertullian this might be so, particularly because the plan of salvation and even the Son himself have already been visible prior to the incarnation. In any case, Tertullian’s conception of the divine economy involves the unfolding before time of a divine self-disposition that exists always in nuce but is ¿rst realized before time, and then in history revealed. Although this economy is eternal, it proves to be profoundly important for the other, historic, economy, which is recounted in the Rule of Faith. 18. G. L. Prestige, God in Patristic Thought (2d ed.; London: SPCK, 1959), 97–111. 19. Markus, “Trinitarian Theology,” 95. 20. Ibid. 1

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Paul, Tertullian, and the Rule of Faith We have already noted that Tertullian’s reading of Paul is maximalist; that is, he regards Paul not as a source whose real meaning must be established through single-minded attention even to the Pauline corpus, but as organically related to a wider set of literature (the whole biblical canon) and to the life of the church and its Rule of Faith in particular. It is easy to overlook how Pauline that Rule is. Despite its ultimate solidi¿cation in creedal form, the Rule is at this point very much a narrative whose content is the story of salvation but also, certainly for Tertullian, the story of God’s own economy.21 The economy of God’s being that is recounted in Against Praxeas moves seamlessly from being a narrative of divine self-disposition into the historical and revelatory account that is the Rule of Faith. Not only is the Rule discussed in very close proximity to his longer account of the divine economy (chs. 2–3), the economy is also referred to (in fact, if not in name) in the statement of the Rule: We however as always, the more so now as better equipped through the Paraclete, that leader into all truth, believe (as these do) in one only God, yet subject to this dispensation (which is our word for “ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸”), that the one only God has also a Son, his Word who has proceeded (processerit) from himself, by whom all things were made, and without whom nothing has been made; that he was sent by the Father into the virgin and was born of her both man and God, Son of man and Son of God, and was named Jesus Christ; that he suffered, died, and was buried, according to the Scriptures, and, having been raised up by the Father and taken back into heaven, sits at the right hand of the Father and will come to judge the living and the dead; and that thereafter he, according to his promise, sent from the Father the Holy Spirit the Paraclete, the sancti¿er of the faith of those who believe in the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. (2.1)

Here the Rule is introduced with the economy, the eternal generation of the Word, before af¿rmation of the instrumentality of the Word in creation. This is worth comparing with the similar summary of the Rule in earlier De praescriptione haereticorum: There is but one God, not other than the Creator of the world, who produced all things out of nothing through his Word sent out [emissum] ¿rst of all; that this Word, called his Son, was in the name of God seen variously by the patriarchs, was always heard in the prophets, and last 21. See further L. William Countryman, “Tertullian and the Regula Fidei,” SecCent 2 (1982): 208–27. Note also Paul M. Blowers, “The Regula Fidei and the Narrative Character of Early Christian Faith,” ProEccl 6 (1997): 199–228. 1

14

Tertullian and Paul was brought down by the Spirit and power of God the Father into the Virgin Mary, became Àesh in her womb, and being born of her lived as Jesus Christ. From there he proclaimed a new law and a new promise of the Kingdom of Heaven, performed miracles, was cruci¿ed, rose on the third day, was caught up into heaven, sat at the right hand of the Father, sent the vicarious power of the Holy Spirit who leads believers, will come with glory to take the saints into enjoyment of eternal life and of the heavenly promises, and to condemn the wicked to perpetual ¿re, after the resurrection of both [good and bad] has taken place together with the restoration of Àesh. (De prae. haer. 13.2–5)22

The Rule here actually includes two distinct elements in the history of the Son and Word that precede the incarnation. First, there is the economy, the differentiated divine life before time; the emissio to which Tertullian refers is not the historic sending of the Word and Son into the world, but the Father’s eternal emanation or generation of the Word, what in Against Praxeas he called a processio. Second comes a historical but pre-incarnational phase reÀecting the claim Tertullian made also in Against Praxeas that the theophanies of the Old Testament involved the (visible) Son and not the (invisible) Father; these appearances were of the personal but pre-incarnate Word. In addition, the Rule in both these instances takes divine activity forward into the present, where the Spirit is at work. In the later Against Praxeas the expression of the Paraclete’s presence may lean closer to Montanizing tendencies, but the substance of his claims has hardly varied. This, too, is a confession of the divine economy as well as the historic one. Although quests for scriptural quotations, or even allusions, are unlikely to suggest the link by themselves, in force and form it is worth comparing these narratives of the Rule to hymnic or creedal summaries, composed or borrowed, of the central acts of salvation and on the origins and work of Jesus Christ in the Pauline corpus (Gal 4:4–6; 1 Cor 15:3–4; Phil 2:5–11; Col 1:12–23). The relationship between these and the evolution of the Rule of Faith is beyond the scope of the present study, but Tertullian’s use of Pauline texts in relation to the person of Christ and the triune God suggests a particular interest in these narrative summations of the Gospel. Paul is thus for Tertullian both a source of the Rule of Faith and an object of its hermeneutical employment. This Rule is the confession of the faith Tertullian and his coreligionists had in the God of Jesus Christ, which faith they had received—African trips by Paul notwithstanding— from a tradition which included the apostle as a key ¿gure, not only as historical construct but as source and authority. 1

22.

Translation my own, from CCSL.

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Conclusions The two writings of Tertullian examined here are different in genre and in focus, but have a complementarity in relation to Tertullian’s understanding of God as well as to his use of Paul. Put simply, in Against Praxeas Tertullian contests a view of God without differentiation or distinction, af¿rming the reality of Christ as God distinct from the Father. In Against Marcion, he deals with a view of God or gods where differentiation must itself be countered, but similarly concluding that Christ is God and one with the Creator. While it is not necessarily replete with Pauline references, Tertullian’s account of the Trinity involves an important use or interpretation of the Pauline conception of ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸. Although arguably at some remove from the meaning of references in the Pauline corpus, this represents an important instance of Pauline reception, with relevance beyond Tertullian and his work. As Eric Osborn put it, “Trinity has to do with the internal disposition of the Godhead. Economy in Paul…and Tertullian has to do with the plan of salvation; a consideration of this plan causes… Tertullian to see economy in God.”23 This truth abides for Tertullian in a complex of ecclesial and historical reality marked by the Rule of Faith. It is the Rule, more than particular Pauline texts, to which Tertullian will resort for the fundamental authority of his claims. But he regards Paul as authentic witness to this same faith, and Paul’s contribution to that Rule is in fact not negligible in either content or form. With one simple statement Tertullian sums up his own Paul and the nature of the God of Jesus Christ whom he and Paul both served: “I know whose apostle he is” (Adv. Marc. 5.18.7).24

1

23. Osborn, Tertullian, 121. 24. eius apostolum agnosco.

PAUL, TERTULLIAN, AND THE GOD OF THE CHRISTIANS: A RESPONSE TO ANDREW B. MCGOWAN Michael F. Bird

Reception history is one of the hip things happening in biblical studies at the moment. We have nearly exhausted everything there is to say about what Isaiah, Hosea, Paul, or John said themselves, or at least, what we think they said. To that end, different methodologies and varied reading contexts have proven useful for squeezing additional insights from the biblical texts. Yet in want of something fresh, the most fertile ground to grow something new in biblical studies is probably reception history. Studying how a text was received, where and how it was interpreted, and determining its impact and inÀuence over certain historical periods is very much a vogue industry in contemporary biblical studies. It is an exciting ¿eld because it is an area that has been neglected for too long. A hypnotic ¿xation on the historical background of biblical texts and a contemptuous ignorance of any interpreter before the modern period has meant that, generally speaking, biblical scholars enter a whole new playing ¿eld to explore and experiment once they start to investigate how others over the course of history have read these same texts. Patristic scholars who have been sitting on the monkey bars of church history might ¿nd themselves highly amused to see a crowd of biblical scholars trickling into their play gym and struggling to climb the apparatuses that they themselves have spent a lifetime frolicking over. Still, in the end, getting historians of the church and biblical scholars together should lead to a fruitful dialogue about the signi¿cance of biblical texts for religious communities at large. The Apostle Paul, both the man and his writings, lends himself naturally to such an enterprise of reception history.1 Paul has also been 1. My previous contribution to this area is Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson, eds., Paul and the Second Century (LNTS 412; London: T&T Clark International, 2011). 1

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one of the most inÀuential theologians of the early church. Paul was venerated in the developing church as both a missionary and a martyr.2 Dissident groups like the Marcionites and the Valentinians saw themselves as Pauline in character.3 Theological reform and spiritual renewal have followed whenever Christian leaders have had a fresh encounter with Paul’s writings. From Augustine, to Martin Luther, to Karl Barth, when the arresting voice of the apostle grips a person the results have meant a drastic change in the course of Christian history. Pauline studies is one of the few disciplines for which it can be legitimately claimed that it has radically shaped the religious and political history of Western civilization.4 Among the earliest interpreters of Paul, apart from perhaps Irenaeus, there are few more notable than Tertullian. The ¿rst great Latin theologian of the West was an interpreter of Christian Scripture and drew much theological energy from Paul.5 Here it is that my task starts. My charge in this study is to present a response to Andrew McGowan’s account of Tertullian and Paul, though I am immediately struck by the strangeness of this task. Reading Andrew McGowan reading Tertullian reading Paul sounds a bit like a movie I once saw that featured a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman (Victor/Victoria, 1982, directed by Blake Edwards). In what follows, my response to McGowan will commence with an exploration of several of his key tenets, followed with further discussion about Pauline trinitarianism, Paul and the regula ¿dei, and Tertullian’s theological exegesis. McGowan’s opening assertion that understanding Paul tends to be a fairly subjective affair is legitimate enough, as is his critique of efforts to gain access to Paul’s “character” or to identify the “core message” of Paul’s writings since this assumes a modernist predilection for historical coherence and ideological essentialism. But herein, I think, lies the 2. Cf. David L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle Paul in the Latin West (Atlanta: SBL, 2011). 3. Cf., e.g., Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 4.41.4; Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 1.15, 20; 2.14; 4.2, 3. 4. For a basic introduction, see Wayne A. Meeks and John T. Fitzgerald, eds., The Writings of St. Paul: Annotated Texts, Reception and Criticism (2d ed.; New York: Norton, 2007). 5. Cf. Eva Aleith, Paulusverständnis im ersten und zweiten Jahrehundert (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1937); Robert D. Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120; Andrew M. Bain, “Tertullian: Paul as Teacher of the Gentile Churches,” in Bird and Dodson, eds., Paul and the Second Century, 207–25. 1

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superiority of pre-critical exegesis. Writers such as Tertullian were not interested in excavating the “real Paul” beneath the dense and miry layers of ecclesiastical dogma, nor even with formulating a coherent account of Paul’s biography with sizzling hidden truths to be ¿nally revealed. Tertullian’s real goal is to situate Paul in the canonical witness and catholic context of the early church’s faith. I would not go as far as McGowan to say that Tertullian’s interest in Paul was “historic” not “historical,” since the constant allusions to Paul’s missionary journeys and his ¿xation on the Paul–Cephas showdown in Antioch indicate that Tertullian does see Paul’s historical career as somehow authoritative for his own theological discourse. It might be better to say with Sider that Tertullian’s Paul is a fusion of the “iconic” and “historical” aspects of the image of Paul as Tertullian has received it.6 But McGowan is correct that Tertullian envisages Paul as an apostolic authority who sponsors and exempli¿es orthodoxy and constitutes a key example of the defender of the apostolic faith. Paul is a key block in the church’s regula ¿dei. I also concur with McGowan that Tertullian’s interaction with Paul is most pronounced in book ¿ve of Against Marcion and throughout Against Praxeas, though I do think a third text for consideration is On the Resurrection of the Flesh, operating as it does largely on the back of 1 Cor 15. These are the places where Tertullian really does wrestle with Paul at close quarters. Tertullian provides almost a miniature commentary on the Pauline corpus in Against Marcion 5, where he takes each Pauline letter to be an attack on the type of theology that Marcion was advocating. Bain observes that nearly every step of Tertullian’s argument in Against Praxeas utilizes Paul’s texts in an inner-canonical conversation about the nature of God.7 McGowan successfully shows how in Against Marcion Paul is principally concerned with mapping continuities across the Old and New Testament, while Against Praxeas is focused on the inner unity of the Godhead. But in both cases, there is a concerted effort to demonstrate a binitarian unity between God and Jesus Christ that is neither di-theistic nor modalistic. I would like McGowan to have teased out further Tertullian’s understanding of Ephesians and the Pauline oikonomia due to my own looming interest in the subject. Similarly, discussion on Paul, Tertullian, and Recapitulation could have warranted some comment too.8 That said,

6. Sider, “Figure of Paul in Tertullian,” 113. 7. Bain, “Tertullian,” 216. 8. Cf. Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 21–24.

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McGowan appears to have arrived at a defensible conclusion: “Tertullian’s concept of the divine economy involves the unfolding before time of a divine self-disposition that exists always in nuce but is ¿rst realized before time, and then in history revealed. Although the economy is eternal, it proves to be profoundly important for other, historic, economy, which is recounted in the Rule of Faith.” That summary is valid in that Tertullian appears to me to postulate a unity of God that explains the unity of his actions across redemptive history. Tertullian does this by working around the themes of divine unicity (in Against Marcion) and divine plurality (in Against Praxeas). Now McGowan is perhaps correct that Tertullian’s understanding of the divine economy here is not strictly identi¿able with the economic Trinity of Karl Barth and Karl Rahner. Even so, there does seem to be a genuine analogy, since the salvi¿c roles of Father and Son do indicate something of the eternal relationships within the Godhead. Tertullian looks as if he stands somewhere between Paul and Rahner on equating the economic Trinity with the immanent Trinity. There are three main areas that I would like to reÀect on further concerning Tertullian and Paul. First, Tertullian’s deployment of Paul in his arguments against modalism and in favor of a developing trinitarianism suggests to me something of the incipient Trinitarian nature of Paul’s own thought.9 It goes without saying that Paul was not a Trinitarian theologian in the Nicene sense and the language of personae and substantia was simply not the horizon in which he conceived the relationships of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Still, the fact that Tertullian and others found Paul pushing them in a Trinitarian direction indicates that there were “biblical pressures” to move into a Trinitarian framework precisely as the way of understanding and holding together the scriptural assertions about God and Jesus Christ.10 I think second to John the Evangelist, Paul was in many ways responsible for fostering a distinctive view of God that would later be seen to contain an intrinsic Trinitarian logic. Second, for the early church their primary authority was not the bare text, but a story, the Rule of Faith (regula ¿dei). It is this story which Scripture testi¿es to and which Scripture must be interpreted in relation to. In fact, Tertullian believes it is futile to argue with a heretic over Scripture since the dissident simply does not have the hermeneutical tools to comprehend Scripture properly (De praescr. haer. 19). Though 9. Cf. Francis B. Watson, “The Triune Divine Identity: ReÀections on Pauline God-Language, in Disagreement with J. D. G. Dunn,” JSNT 80 (2000): 99–124. 10. Cf. C. Kavin Rowe, “Biblical Pressure and Trinitarian Hermeneutics,” Pro Ecclesia 11 (2002): 295–312. 1

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Tertullian and Paul

an oral-creedal tradition appears to trump Scripture, that is only because Scripture itself is a record of the tradition.11 Story and Scripture comprise a mutually interpretative and mutually reinforcing framework in which Christian talk of God takes place. Tertullian’s brief précis of the regula ¿dei (Adv. Prax. 2.1; De praescr. haer. 13.2–5) is, as McGowan observes, highly Pauline in character. Although these summaries of the gospel go into areas that Paul himself did not comment on, like the Father’s eternal emanation of the Word, there is an umbilical relationship with the Pauline corpus. Paul does seem to intimate a pre-incarnation time in the Son’s life even if he does not expound upon it in detail (e.g., Phil 2:5–11; 2 Cor 8:6; Col 1:15–20). So, McGowan is correct that for Tertullian Paul is both a “source of the Rule of Faith and an object of its hermeneutical employment.” Third, if there is one category that best describes what Tertullian is doing with Paul it is probably “theological exegesis.” The term “theological exegesis” or “theological interpretation” is another one of the fashionable things in biblical hermeneutics at the moment. If reception history is about biblical scholars ¿nally talking to Patricians, then theological exegesis is biblical scholars ¿nally talking to Systematicians.12 Tertullian does not engage in a historical-critical reading of Paul, much less an ideological based reader-response one. Tertullian reads Paul in light of the regula ¿dei and identi¿es Paul as its exempli¿er and defender. A word of caution about theological exegesis, however, is in order. While one can appreciate the symbiotic relationship between Scripture and Doctrine that Tertullian makes, there remains some danger all the same. (1) To begin with, there is the danger that Scripture’s robust but limited assertions about divine ontology are freighted by Tertullian with far more than they were intended to carry. That is not to say that everything that Tertullian and other Church Fathers say about God on the basis of Paul is false, but it makes us cognizant of the fact that much of what is said about intra-trinitarian relationships is inferential and emerges from reading Paul in a new linguistic and metaphysical framework. Those new frameworks hold currency insofar as they lend themselves to providing coherence and unity to the entire biblical corpus. (2) Theological readings also have a propensity to Àatten out the distinctive witness of each of the biblical texts. Though the Pauline Epistles and the Paul of Acts share a canonical unity in their presentation of Paul, 11. Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian: The Early Church Fathers (London: Routledge, 2004), 20–21. 12. Cf. Daniel J. Treier, Introducing Theological Interpretation: Recovering a Christian Practice (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2008).

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nonetheless, the literary and historical tensions that emerge from their juxtaposition do not vanish the moment one pronounces the words “theological interpretation.” That is not to deny theological interpretation its day in the sun. Despite all the talk of Christianities and diversities in the early church, the New Testament itself constitutes a theological unity, a common faith, but only as a unity-in-diversity. In sum, McGowan presents a rewarding discussion of Paul and Tertullian with several important observations about the signi¿cance of the divine economy for Tertullian’s biblical hermeneutics and for his attempt to construct a conception of the divine being as triune. In my estimation, Tertullian also showcases the incipient Trinitarianism of Paul, demonstrates the importance of the regula ¿dei for scriptural interpretation, and shows the value and limitations of theological interpretation.

1

2 TERTULLIAN, SCRIPTURE, RULE OF FAITH, AND PAUL Everett Ferguson

Introductory Observations I begin with some general observations on what Tertullian says about Scripture, Paul, and the Rule of Faith (regula ¿dei), and then introduce his Prescription Against Heretics (De praescriptione haereticorum), which focuses the relationship of these topics. Then I give a more detailed analysis of what this treatise says about each. Tertullian on Scripture Tertullian held a high view of Scripture.1 His grasp of the entire Bible is “astonishing.”2 For Tertullian, Scripture is the “voice of the Holy Spirit”3 and therefore “divine.”4 Since the Holy Spirit was its ultimate author, Scripture carried authority.5 This authority was more assumed by Tertullian than proven.6 This indicates that it was generally accepted. Although Tertullian shows himself primarily as a rhetor, in his theological treatises his proof is largely biblical exposition and follows in general the biblical sequence rather than rhetorical topics.7 Not all Scripture was on the 1. For the topic in general, see T. P. O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible: Language, Imagery, Exegesis (Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1967); Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 151–62; Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (London: Routledge, 2004), Chapter 3. 2. Osborn, Tertullian, 151. 3. De idol. 4. For the Spirit speaking in Scripture, see Apol. 18.1–2; De or. 20 and esp. 22; De res. carn. 63.7–10 (the Holy Spirit is also the interpreter of Scripture); Adv. Herm. 22.1; De pat. 7.1. 4. On the divine origin of Scripture, cf. Adv. Prax. 11; De res. carn. 13.2; Adv. Marc. 5.7.2; De an. 2 (Dei litteras); 28; De virg. vel. 1; Apol. 20; De test. an. 6. 5. Among many passages, see, e.g., Adv. Herm. 20; 31; Scorp. 2; Adv. Prax. 29. 6. O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible, 123. 7. Robert D. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric and the Art of Tertullian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 64. 1

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same level of authority for Christians, since the “new law of the gospel” (the New Testament) had replaced the old covenant.8 The written records of this new covenant formed what he called the “divine canon,”9 even if this was not in his time a “closed canon.” It comprised certainly all of the later recognized twenty-seven books except James, 2 Peter, and 2–3 John.10 Tertullian can speak of the “rule of Scriptures” (scripturarum regulam, Adv. Marc. 3.17) or “the norm of Scriptures” (Adv. Iud. 9).11 Tertullian on Paul The Apostle Paul occupies a prominent place in Tertullian’s writings. 12 He drew his image of the life of Paul from Acts as well as from Paul’s Letters, and he chides Marcion for not accepting Acts and the Pastoral Epistles.13 Even apart from Against Marcion, quotations from Paul’s letters constitute nearly half of Tertullian’s quotations from the New Testament. For Tertullian, Paul is “the apostle.”14 His authority derived from being inspired by the Holy Spirit.15 He sensed no difference between Paul and the other apostles on doctrine (see below on difference from Peter in practice), but Paul was distinguished from the other apostles as the “teacher of the nations.”16

8. Adv. Marc. 4.1; for the gospel as new law, 3.21; “new word, law, and testament,” 4.9; cf. 3.14 for “two testaments of law and gospel.” The law of Moses was replaced: Ad ux. 1.2; De mon. 14. This theme is prominent in Adv. Iud.: law of Moses was “temporary,” 2–3; the “ancient law” would cease when the promise of the “new testament” arrived, 6; “the two testaments of the ancient law and the new law,” 9. For “new testament,” De or. 1; Adv. Marc. 4.6 (“old and new testaments”); Adv. Prax. 15. 9. De pud. 10. Cf. “all our canon” to include the Old Testament (De mon. 7). See further below on De praescriptione haereticorum. 10. John F. Jansen, “Tertullian and the New Testament,” SecCent 2 (1982): 191–207. 11. E. Flesseman-Van Leer, Tradition and Scripture in the Early Church (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1954), 162. On Tertullian’s use of regula, see 161–70. 12. Robert D. Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120, who argues that Tertullian does not misrepresent the theology of Paul as much as some have claimed. 13. Adv. Marc. 5.1; 5.21.1; De prae. haer. 23. 14. Adv. Marc. 5.1 and passim, perhaps inÀuenced by Marcion’s usage. Among other texts, see De prae. haer. 30. 15. Adv. Marc. 5.7.1–3; De pat. 7.7; 12.8; De virg. vel. 4.2–3; De iei. 15.1; Ad ux. 2.2.4–5. 16. De res. carn. 23.8; De pud. 14.27. 1

24

Tertullian and Paul

Tertullian on the Rule of Faith The Scriptures were “God’s inspired standard,” but Tertullian placed “our rule and standard of faith” together as one (De an. 2). Tertullian gives three full statements of the content of the Rule of Faith (De prae. haer. 13; De virg. vel 1 [cf. 2]; and Adv. Prax. 2).17 All three present the same essential content. De praescriptione moves from the one God, the Creator, to his Word—seen by the patriarchs and heard by the prophets, born of the virgin Mary, preacher of the kingdom of God, worker of miracles, cruci¿ed, resurrected, ascended to heaven, sender of the Holy Spirit to guide believers, and coming again in judgment. On the Veiling of Virgins calls for believing in one only God, Creator, and his Son Jesus Christ—born of the virgin Mary, cruci¿ed under Pontius Pilate, raised on the third day, sitting at the right hand of the Father, coming to judge all through the resurrection of the Àesh.18 Against Praxeas is more expressly Trinitarian—one God the Father; who sent his Son to be born of the virgin, to suffer, die, be buried, raised, sitting at the right hand of the Father, coming to judge all, and the sender of the Holy Spirit the Paraclete; who is the sancti¿er of the faith of those who believe in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.19 The ¿rst and third statements are in treatises against false teaching; the second expands the Paraclete’s work to a matter of conduct. In spite of the basically common content and structure of these statements, the wording is different in each case. Tertullian thus demonstrates that there was no ¿xed wording of the Rule, and the same goes for other statements of it.20 The Rule of Faith served as a summary of the apostolic message, of the Christian gospel. Hence, its wording varied as circumstances required.21 It was a forerunner of the Apostles’ Creed, which unlike the Rule soon established a relative ¿xity of

17. Some points from the rule are referred to Adv. Prax. 30. Note “Rule of truth” in De pud. 8. 18. The passage af¿rms that the rule of faith is unchangeable, but the Paraclete can unfold new developments in discipline. 19. For the full Latin text of each in parallel columns and English translations, see L. William Countryman, “Tertullian and the Regula Fidei,” SecCent 2 (1982): 208–27, who argues that the regula was an oral composition used in the instruction of new converts that arose in the context of a need to inoculate against heresies in the second century. 20. Irenaeus, Epid. 6; Adv. haer. 1.10.1; Origen, De princ. Preface; Comm. Jo. 32.15; Comm. Mt. ser. 33. 21. “The regula is a summary, formulated according to the need of the moment, of the entire Christian faith”; “regula is a condensation and formulation of the apostolic tradition” (Flesseman-Van Leer, Tradition, 165, 170). 1

FERGUSON Tertullian, Scripture, Rule of Faith, and Paul

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wording, because it was the statement of the faith confessed at baptism, and this liturgical usage settled on a set form of expression.22 Tertullian on Forestalling False Teachers Tertullian’s treatise, De praescriptione, focuses the topics of immediate concern and will be the centerpiece for the remainder of the present study. In this work Tertullian proposes a short and easy way of dealing with heretics. Truth preceded falsehood, and all later opinions are heresy (De prae. haer. 29–31).23 Hence, one must go to the churches of apostolic foundation to ¿nd the true apostolic message (De prae. haer. 20– 21;24 cf. Adv. Marc. 1.21). Using legal terminology, he enters a preliminary injunction that limited the scope of the inquiry or questioned the competence of the court or of the opponent in the case. Tertullian makes a legal argument concerning property rights. The Scriptures belong to the church; therefore, heretics have no right to them (De prae. haer. 15). Arguments from Scripture produce either a headache or heart burn (De prae. haer. 15: “upset the stomach or the brain”). Only true Christians have the right to interpret the Scriptures, and correct interpretation is found only within the church (De prae. haer. 19; 37).25 A rhetorical outline of De praescriptione offers the following divisions:26

22. Everett Ferguson, Early Christians Speak (3d ed.; Abilene, Tex.: ACU Press, 1999), 19–28, relates the two as “the faith preached and the faith believed.” 23. For the same argument from the lateness of heresy, see Adv. Herm. 1; Adv. Marc. 1.1; 4.5; Adv. Prax. 2. On disciplinary matters, Tertullian later reversed the argument claiming further revelation from the Paraclete. See De mon. 2; De virg. vel. 1. The catholics turned the argument from novelty against Montanist practices (De iei. 1; 13). 24. See further on this passage below. 25. For Tertullian’s principles of interpretation in general, see R. P. C. Hanson, “Notes on Tertullian’s Interpretation of Scripture,” JTS 12 (1961): 273–79; J. H. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Principles and Methods of Exegesis,” in Early Christian Literature and the Classical Intellectual Tradition: In Honorem Robert M. Grant (ed. W. R. Schoedel and R. L. Wilken; Paris: Beauchesne, 1979), 17–31; and for this treatise, Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” JECS 14 (2006): 141–55, who argues that Tertullian as a rhetor varied his principles of interpretation according to the situation and the arguments of his opponents. 26. I follow with some modi¿cation Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis,” 143–47, who also gives rhetorical outlines suggested by others. 1

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Tertullian and Paul

I.

Introduction, 1–14. A. Exordium, 1–7. B. Praemunitio, 8–14, clearing away by anticipation preliminary objections. II. Partitio, 15–19. A. Propositio, 15. Contesting the grounds of the opponents’ appeal. B. Probatio, 16–18. Only Christians have a right to the Scriptures. C. Partitio summarized, 19. From whom, by whom, when, and to whom is the faith III. Refutatio, 20–37. A. From Whom is the Rule of Faith, 20.1–5. B. Through Whom is the Rule of Faith, 20.6–30.17. C. When Comes the Truth, 31–34. D. To Whom Has the Rule Come, 35–37. IV. Peroratio, 38–45. A. Reprehensio, 38–43. Ridicules Practices of Heretics. B. Conclusio and Recapitulatio, 44–45.

De praescriptione haereticorum The treatise, De praescriptione, has rightly gained attention because of the novelty of Tertullian’s argument. This, however, has resulted in the neglect of recognizing the premise of the whole discussion, the authority of Scripture. The student of the treatise must remember its polemical purpose and not generalize some of its arguments to represent the whole of Tertullian’s thought on Scripture.27 The argument in De praescriptione is another of Tertullian’s occasional pieces and thus coheres with his practice of varying his approach to the situation at hand. He does not use the speci¿c argument of this treatise elsewhere, although elements of his case (for instance, the priority of truth to falsehood) do occur in other writings. It is notable that in De praescriptione when arguing that “heretics” can be refuted without appeal to Scripture, Tertullian actually says a great deal about the authority of Scripture and gives Paul a particularly prominent place in the discussion. Implicit in the thesis of the treatise is the authority of Scripture.

27. Waszink (“Tertullian’s Principles,” 22) notes that in spite of De praescriptione Tertullian does not hesitate to use Scripture continuously in polemic against Gnosticism. Dunn (“Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis,” 150) states, “In dealing with non-Christians [whom Tertullian considered heretics to be] one had to use other sources of argumentation. One should not generalize and claim that Tertullian downplayed the Scriptures; he did so only when he could not use them in an argument.” 1

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Statements about Scripture Tertullian appeals to three sources for his teaching: it was “in accord with Scripture, Nature [or reason], and Discipline [ecclesiastical practice].”28 Of these, Scripture is the premise and its interpretation the issue in De praescriptione, and reason is his method. Without the Scriptures and their misinterpretation, there could not be heresies (De prae. haer. 39). Paul’s statement in 1 Cor 11:19 leads Tertullian to acknowledge, “It was indeed necessary that there should be heresies,” but with the quali¿cation, “it does not follow from that necessity that heresies are a good thing.”29 In this context he makes one of his af¿rmations of the lateness of heresy in contrast to the truth. As to the content of Scripture, this treatise contains Tertullian’s fourfold formulation of the books in his “canon”:30 the church at Rome “combines the Law and the Prophets with the writings of Evangelists and Apostles, from which she drinks in her faith” (De prae. haer. 36). Despite the af¿rmations of the new covenant replacing the old, there was a continuity between them, for the New Testament and the Old Testament were united before Marcion separated them (De prae. haer. 30). The authoritative Christian works are summarized as “sayings of the Lord and letters of the apostles” (De prae. haer. 4).31 These letters of the apostles are principally Paul’s. The Acts of the Apostles is Scripture (De prae. haer. 22–23). The argument against Marcion and Valentinus in De prae. haer. 38 presupposes that the New Testament was an identi¿able entity, even if its exact boundaries were not ¿nalized. Valentinus, in contrast to Marcion, “seems to use the entire volume [integro instrumento].” The Scriptures were a standard accepted by heretics as well as the orthodox: “They recommend [their opinions] out of the Scriptures… From what other source could they derive arguments concerning the things of the faith, except from the records of the faith?” (De prae. haer. 14).32 Yet, or rather 28. De virg. vel. 16. 29. De prae. haer. 30; 1 Cor 11:19 quoted also in 4, 5, and 39; referred to in 29; cf. 1 on heresies giving opportunity of the faith being “approved.” 30. Everett Ferguson, “Factors Leading to the Selection and Closure of the New Testament Canon,” in The Canon Debate (ed. Lee Martin McDonald and James A. Sanders; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), 306, cites other early statements of this fourfold classi¿cation, and 308 discusses Tertullian’s usage of two testaments or instruments. 31. Cf. “written record” and “writings of the Lord and the apostles” (De prae. haer. 44). 32. Another indication of Christian Scriptures as a de¿nite entity may be found in De prae. haer. 40: the devil adapts “to his profane and rival creed the very 1

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because of this, Tertullian would deny to heretics the use of the Scriptures. The heretics argued from Scripture, but Tertullian would not admit them to the discussion of Scripture: “None may be admitted to the use of the Scriptures,” except those “to whom belongs the possession of the Scriptures” (De prae. haer. 15). The argument of the treatise is that heretics have no right to challenge the church’s appeal to Scripture, because Christians own the Scriptures and “we without the Scriptures [the argument from the praescriptio] prove that they have nothing to do with the Scriptures” (De prae. haer. 37). Moreover, faith saves (quoting Luke 18:42), not skill in the Scriptures (De prae. haer. 14). The lateness of heresy proves it is false because “truth precedes its copy” (De prae. haer. 29; the argument is continued in 30–31 from the lateness of heresy). Tertullian sought to exclude heretics from debating the meaning of Scripture because he saw their interpretations as incorrect. To the justi¿cation which heretics gave to their inquiries from the Lord’s words, “Seek and you shall ¿nd” (Matt 7:7), Tertullian appealed to context and historical setting (the words are addressed to those who had not yet found him to be the Son of God, De prae. haer. 8) and to the proper sense of words, “the guiding principle of all interpretation” (nothing more is to be sought after ¿nding and believing in Christ, De prae. haer. 9). Tertullian warns that the devil can interpret Scripture (De prae. haer. 40). The distinction of the covenants was an important hermeneutical principle. The Jews were formerly in covenant with God (De prae. haer. 8). Hence, although there is continuity between the old and new covenants, which come from the same God, the new covenant is the standard for the Christian. Impressive are the statements of the authority of Scripture in De praescriptione. Catholic teaching is in accord with Scripture; there is nothing in the “instruments of doctrine” (instrumenta doctrinae, here the New Testament writings) that “is contrary to us” (i.e., catholic Christians, De prae. haer. 38). From the Scriptures “we have our being” (De prae. haer. 38).33 The heretics acknowledged the authority of Scripture (De prae. haer. 14–15) and indeed could not believe without the Scriptures (De prae. haer. 23). Tertullian’s chain of authority begins with the Lord and his apostles: “In the Lord’s apostles we possess our authority” (De prae. haer. 6; cf. documents of divine things and of the Christian holy ones—his interpretation from their interpretations, his words from their words, his parables from their parables.” 33. We may compare what he says about the reading of Scripture in the assembly: “We meet together in order to read the sacred texts… With the holy words we feed our faith, we arouse our hope, we con¿rm our con¿dence” (Apol. 39). 1

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36). The revelation through them is complete; hence, there is no need to “seek” further than “the records of the faith” (De prae. haer. 9; 14).34 The instructions given by the apostles were from the Holy Spirit so that the transmission of the truth was from the Holy Spirit to the apostles to “us” (De prae. haer. 8). And the Holy Spirit was the “the steward of God, the vicar of Christ” (De prae. haer. 28). The apostolic churches, therefore, received the “original sources of the faith” (the “truth”) “from the apostles, the apostles from Christ, and Christ from God” (De prae. haer. 21). The “church has handed down [the Rule] from the apostles, the apostles from Christ, and Christ from God” (De prae. haer. 37). The apostles (the twelve) were chosen by Christ and, being endowed by the Holy Spirit with the gift of miracles and speech, preached the same doctrine and faith in Jesus Christ and founded churches (De prae. haer. 20), to whom they delivered what was revealed to them (De prae. haer. 21).35 The Lord’s teaching was fully delivered to the apostles, so there can be no secret tradition (De prae. haer. 22). It is incredible that the apostles did not make known the entire Rule of Faith to the churches (De prae. haer. 27), nor is it likely that so many churches went astray into the same faith (De prae. haer. 28). The apostles had authority because Christ gave them power to work miracles (De prae. haer. 30; 44). The apostles delivered the gospel by voice and subsequently in writing (De prae. haer. 21). There was no difference in the doctrine communicated by these two media. The Scriptures contain the apostolic teaching. The Role of the Rule of Faith Tertullian explains that he wrote this treatise to show that heretics could be refuted without reference to the Scriptures (De prae. haer. 44; cf. 19). He argues that “where the true Christian rule and faith are, there will likewise be the true Scriptures and their exposition, and all the Christian traditions” (De prae. haer. 19.2–3).36 The “Christian traditions” here are the Christian message. Christian teaching, the Rule, originates in “the 34. For the apostolic authority of the New Testament, see Adv. Marc. 4.2. 35. A. A. R. Bastiaensen, “Tertullian’s Argumentation in De praescriptione haereticorum 20, 1ff.,” VC 31 (1977): 35–46, gives a commentary on chs. 20–21, stating that here Tertullian does not argue about doctrine as such but reasoning along historical and factual lines concentrates on the origins of the catholic and heretical systems. 36. On Tertullian’s use of tradition, see Everett Ferguson, “Paradosis and Traditio: A Word Study,” in Tradition and the Rule of Faith in the Early Church: Essays in Honor of Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. (ed. Ronnie J. Rombs and Alexander Y. Hwang; Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2010), 3–29 (18–21); and Johannes Quasten, “Tertullian and traditio,” Traditio 2 (1944): 451–84. 1

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tradition of the apostles” (De prae. haer. 21), that is, in what the apostles delivered (traditio in the active sense). Although the Rule was distinct from Scripture, Tertullian would not have set them against each other, for they gave the same teaching. Dunn’s statement on the basis of De prae. haer. 19–21 and 37 that the regula preceded Scripture is not precise.37 The apostolic teaching orally delivered obviously preceded its written form, but just as obviously the effort to formalize a statement of this teaching, ¿rst attested in Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 1.10), is later than Scripture. Osborn is more accurate in saying that one of Tertullian’s moves in exegesis is to ¿nd Scripture concentrated in the Rule of Faith, which is dependent on Scripture.38 O’Malley observes that Tertullian always sought clarity, and since Scripture can be misunderstood, he made a prescriptive appeal to the regula so as to exclude argument from Scripture.39 Following his statement of the regula ¿dei, Tertullian declares “This rule was taught by Christ” (De prae. haer. 13).40 Rather than saying Christ actually taught it in so many words, he probably means that this teaching originated with Christ, and this summary accords with his teaching, for he understands this teaching to have been transmitted through the apostles. As well as being a summary of the apostolic teaching, the regula could also be described as a summary of what was believed (qua creditur, De prae. haer. 13.1). It “was what was taught by Christ, passed on by the apostles, recorded in the Scriptures, and lived by the church.”41 Thus, the regula was a yardstick by which one distinguishes “a correct from an incorrect interpretation” of the Scriptures.42 Yet, as Waszink states, the regula is a norm for interpreting Scripture only with respect to the statements contained in the Rule.43 37. Dunn, Tertullian, 21. 38. Osborn, Tertullian, 152. 39. O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible, 117. However, he makes the common mistake of generalizing from Tertullian’s approach in one treatise to his overall perspective. 40. Also Apol. 47.10; De prae. haer. 37. 41. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis,” 147. 42. Ibid. Flesseman-Van Leer, Tradition, 178, notes three passages where the regula is connected with exegesis: De prae. haer. 9.12; De pud. 8; and Adv. Prax. 20. 43. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Principles,” 21. He declares Flessseman-van Leer’s equation of the Rule with the totality of Scripture “wrong.” He does not represent her position precisely: her statements are “Scripture in its entirety expresses the regula” (Tradition, 178); the regula is not “a formal principle outside of scripture, 1

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The Place of Paul in the Argument Paul’s reference to “this rule [kanǀn]” in Gal 6:16 may be the source of Tertullian’s and others’ use of this word for the standard of teaching.44 Some indication of this may be the allusion in De prae. haer. 27: “In order that the truth may be adjudged to belong to us, ‘as many as walk according to the rule,’ which the church has handed down from the apostles.” Similarly, De prae. haer. 37 refers to “as many as walk according to the rule” for those to whom the truth belongs. Tertullian appealed to Col 2:8, “See to it that no one beguiles you through philosophy and vain deceit, according to human tradition,” adding his own gloss, “contrary to the provision of the Holy Spirit,” to support his warning against philosophy as the source of heresies (De prae. haer. 7).45 Then comes his famous question, “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem? What agreement is there between the Academy and the church? What between heretics and Christians?” Tertullian explains that Paul in Athens discovered the dangers of philosophy.46 It is justly pointed out that Tertullian opposes curiosity, not reason, and that he is often incorrectly cited as a champion of irrationality.47 Tertullian notes that the heretics make “very great use” of Paul. This circumstance accounts for some of Tertullian’s frequent references to Paul, but hardly all of them, for Paul was an accepted authority apart from use by heretics. The prominence of Paul in Tertullian’s argument in De praescriptione may be seen from the number of scriptural quotations in the treatise. A count of the quotations, including those already cited in this section but not including allusions and references to events or occasions (which might be more telling than quotations but would not alter the overall picture) and not counting separately repeated quotations in the same context, gives forty-one quotations from Paul, forty-one from the rest of the New Testament, and seven from the Old Testament (including a

but the purport, intention of scripture itself” (p. 194); while af¿rming that “scripture has to be explained according to the regula,” she adds that for Tertullian “it is entirely impossible to place the regula in any way above scripture” (p. 180). 44. As argued by William R. Farmer, “Galatians and the Second-Century Development of the Regula Fidei,” SecCent 4 (1984): 143–70. He suggests Marcion as the source for the appeal to Gal 6:16, to which the orthodox countered with their statement of what the Rule was. Of Tertullian’s works, Farmer uses only Adv. Marc. 45. He also quotes Wis 1:1. 46. So also in De an. 3.1 and De res. carn. 39.7–9. 47. Osborn, Tertullian, ch. 3; R. D. Sider, “Credo quia absurdum” [which Tertullian did not actually say], CW 73 (1980): 417–19. 1

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deutero-canonical work).48 The subject of false teaching may account for the frequency of the Pastoral Epistles among the quotations. The quotations from Paul are often snippets and largely out of context, but this one treatise shows that Tertullian knew Paul thoroughly, and his writings were Scripture, including the Pastorals. I will exhibit the use of Paul by going through the treatise, taking in order its use of Paul, apart from quotations on the necessity of heresies and the dangers of philosophy noted previously. In ch. 3, 2 Tim 2:19 is quoted among the texts answering the question, “Do we prove the faith by the persons or the persons by the faith?” because the Lord knows his own. The heretics wrongly quote 1 Thess 5:21 in their support (De prae. haer. 4). In ch. 5 on behalf of unity 1 Cor 1:10 is quoted (referred to also in 26) as something “heresies do not permit.” Tertullian quotes Gal 5:20 and Titus 3:10–11 as instances of Paul “in almost every epistle” condemning false doctrines (De prae. haer. 6). He continues in the same chapter saying that heresy is selfchosen and must be rejected whatever its apparent source, quoting Gal 1:8 and 2 Cor 11:14. Chapter 7 includes a cluster of quotations from Paul against doctrines originating in human philosophy (in addition to Col 2:8, 1 Tim 4:1; 1:4; 2 Tim 2:17; 1 Cor 3:18 and 25, attributed to “the Lord”). Tertullian cites “the apostle’s” writings in 1 Tim 6:3–4 and Titus 3:10 as warrants for not entering into controversy with heretics (De prae. haer. 16). Paul’s being “caught up to paradise” (2 Cor 12:4) did not qualify him to teach another doctrine (De prae. haer. 24). A cluster of passages from the Pastorals are quoted in De praescriptione 25 for the apostles teaching publicly and not giving secret teaching to a few (1 Tim 6:20; 2 Tim 1:14; 1 Tim 1:18; 6:13; 2 Tim 2:2).49 Since it is incredible that the apostles “failed to make known to all the entire rule of faith,” heretics used Gal 3:1; 5:7; 1:6; 1 Cor 3:1; and 8:2 to show that the early churches corrupted the message. Tertullian countered that Paul “rejoices and gives thanks to God” (Rom 1:8; Phil 1:3–4; 1 Thess 1:2) for faithful churches (De prae. haer. 27). Tertullian appeals again to Gal 1:8, this time supporting the priority in time of truth over heresy (De prae. haer. 29). Tertullian uses 1 Cor 15:3–4 without actually quoting it to summarize “the apostle’s” description of the life of Christ (De prae. haer. 30). 48. The numbers are approximate because the line between a brief or loose quotation and an allusion is blurred. 49. De prae. haer. 22 declares that there is no secret tradition. 1

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De praescriptione 33 cites some of Paul’s writings by name in recording errors he taught against. He expressly refers to “Paul in his ¿rst epistle to the Corinthians” for the denial of the resurrection (by Marcion, Apelles, and Valentinus) as a doctrine denounced by the apostles. He refers to Galatians as teaching against those who observed circumcision and the law (Ebionites). He names Paul’s “instructions to Timothy” for errors speci¿ed in 1 Tim 4:3 (“forbidding to marry,” so Marcion and Apelles); 2 Tim 2:3 (“resurrection is passed,” so Valentinians); and 1 Tim 1:4 (“genealogies,” so Valentinus). “In bondage to elements” (Gal 4:9, so Hermogenes) is quoted in the same context without the source named. Tertullian begins his conclusio with a quotation of 2 Cor 5:10 about the future judgment when all must give account of their faith (De prae. haer. 44). Tertullian refers to Paul’s conversion as recorded in Acts (De prae. haer. 23) and af¿rms that Paul and the other apostles preached the same things (De prae. haer. 26, in support of the unity enjoined in 1 Cor 1:10). I have withheld from this listing Tertullian’s handling of Paul’s disagreement with Peter recorded in Gal 2:11–14 in order to give separate treatment to it.50 Heretics used Paul’s rebuke of Peter to show “something was wanting in” the original apostles (De prae. haer. 23). Tertullian’s response seeks to show Paul’s secondary position in relation to the original Twelve. In doing so, he refers to Gal 1:18, 24; and 2:9, 12–13. The disagreement between Paul and Peter had to do with conduct, not doctrine. Tertullian continues that in defense of Peter even Paul said “he made himself all things to all persons that he might gain all” (De prae. haer. 24 referring to 1 Cor 9:19–22). Indeed, Peter could have rebuked Paul circumcising Timothy despite his opposition to circumcision, yet Peter and Paul were equal in martyrdom.51 The distinctive argument of De praescriptione haereticorum takes nothing away from Tertullian’s high view of Scripture, within which the writings of Paul were so important.

50. In dealing with Gal 2:11–14, David M. Scholer (“Sed enim Marcion nactus epistulam Pauli ad Galatas: Tertullian and Marcion on Galatians” [a paper given at the Thirteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies, Oxford, 20 August 1999]) discusses mainly the three texts in Adv. Marc. (1.20.2–6; 4.3.2–4; 5.2.7–3.7). Note also Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce,” 103–4. 51. In the account of the episode in Adv. Marc. 1.20, Tertullian attributes Paul’s rebuke to his being a neophyte in the faith and explains that Paul later came to accept the practice of becoming a Jew to the Jews (1 Cor 9:20). Note the same appeal to 1 Cor 9 in Adv. Marc. 4.3; 5.3, where Tertullian elaborates on the concessions to those of weak faith and the inconsistency in conduct as distinct from doctrine. 1

CHRIST THE FOOLISH JUDGE IN TERTULLIAN’S ON THE PRESCRIPTION OF HERETICS Clare K. Rothschild

Never mind censuring the Judge; rather prove Him to be an unjust one.1

Introduction In On the Prescription of Heretics (written ca. 198–203 C.E.),2 Tertullian attacks biblical interpretations contradicting the regula ¿dei (“Rule of Faith”; De prae. haer. 13; 36).3 The nature of Tertullian’s argument in this piece is blunt: Scripture, he insists, is the sole purview of Christians. Christians are de¿ned as those upholding the regula ¿dei. Those who 1. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 2.15.1. ET: FC. 2. This date is put forward by Timothy D. Barnes in Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 55. For a discussion, see Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” JECS 14 (2006): 141–55 (on 142). Throughout this essay I rely on the Latin version edited by R. F. Refoulé, Sources Chrétiennes (1957) and the English translation by T. Herbert Bindley: Tertullian: On the Testimony of the Soul and On The “Prescription” of Heretics (New York: SPCK/Gorham, 1914), with modi¿cations. I wish to offer special thanks to Robert Matthew Calhoun and Meira Z. Kensky for sage critiques greatly enriching the ¿nal product. 3. “Praescriptiones” were pleas put forward by the defense to rule a plaintiff’s case out of court on the basis of competence, either of the court or the opponent. (Adolf Berger, Encyclopedic Dictionary of Roman Law [Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1953], 645). See Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” 143. On Tertullian’s use of praescriptio, see Jean-Claude Fredouille, Tertullien et la conversion de la culture antique (Collection d’études augustiennes antiquité 47; Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1972), 195–218; J. K. Stirnmann, Die Praescriptio Tertullians im Lichte des römischen Rechtes und der Theologie (Freiburg: Paulusverlag, 1949); Robert D. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric and the Art of Tertullian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 25–26. Tertullian casts his entire argument in this treatise as a legal simile, that is, he applies for a legal injunction to proscribe use of scripture by heretics based on incompetence. 1

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offer scriptural interpretations running counter to this Rule are not Christians (De prae. haer. 14; cf. 19) and should not, therefore, be permitted to argue from Christian texts (De prae. haer. 15; 37).4 The New Testament predicts that such false interpretations will arise. Their appearance is, therefore, if reprehensible, expected. Although in places in this tractate Tertullian delves into speci¿c scriptural interpretations in breach of the Rule of Faith, his main point for the piece is simply to bar them—that the faithful not become confused by apparent discrepancies between the Bible and the Rule.5 Generally speaking,6 the Rule consists of the following nine tenets: (1) one God; (2) God as creator; (3) Jesus “seen by the patriarchs and heard by the prophets”; (4) Jesus’ virgin birth; (5) Jesus’ kingdom kerygma; (6) Jesus’ miracles; (7) Jesus’ cruci¿xion, resurrection, and ascension; (8) Jesus’ sending the Holy Spirit to guide believers in his absence; and (9) Jesus’ coming judgment (De prae. haer. 13, 36; also De virg. vel. 1; Adv. Prax. 2; cf. Adv. Marc. 3.17; Adv. Iud. 9). Some of these tenets were important points of debate in Tertullian’s day. Tertullian’s opponents (haeretici) were even known to use Scripture to contradict them. Thanks to Scripture’s authority, such “proof-texting” persuasively bolstered the divergent viewpoints. As a lawyer and Christian, Tertullian was aware that the most expedient way to undercut these arguments was to eliminate their scriptural proofs. His argument in this tractate aims, therefore, to con¿scate Scripture from anyone refuting the Rule. In sum, the Prescription constitutes an injunction against the use of Scripture as evidence for heretical arguments without the proper interpretive key, the regula ¿dei. A praescriptio is a call by the defense for incompetence, either of the opponent or the court. A successful praescriptio ruled a plaintiff’s case out of court.7 Whereas his legal terminology determines the form of his 4. The following statements are characteristic of Tertullian’s argument: “ ‘Your faith,’ Christ said, ‘has saved you,’ not your argumentative skill in the Scriptures. Faith is posited in a Rule: it has a Law, and Salvation that comes from the observance of the Law” (De prae. haer. 14); “This Rule, taught (as it will be proved) by Christ, admits no questionings among us, save those which heresies introduce and which make heretics” (De prae. haer. 13); “To know nothing contrary to the Rule is to know everything” (De prae. haer. 14); “Our appeal, therefore, must not be made to the Scriptures; nor must controversy be admitted on points in which victory will either be impossible, or uncertain, or not certain enough” (De prae. haer. 18). 5. Marcion offered clear and simple writings (e.g., Antitheses); one might say that here Tertullian counters with an equally clear and simple approach. 6. More than one version of the Rule exists in this tractate, let alone Tertullian’s writings. 7. See n. 3 above. 1

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argument in this tractate, the peroratio makes an emotional appeal to its readers.8 With more irony than arguably anywhere else in his extant writings, Tertullian closes his case by utilizing the rhetorical technique of prosopopoeia.9 He introduces Christ and allows him to speak, not to defend himself against heretics, but to exonerate the heretics (!) in an ironic performance as a foolish judge. This short essay will examine this section of text (De prae. haer. 44) arguing that: (1) 1 Cor 1 and the so-called Fool’s Speech in 2 Cor 10–12 provide its Christian precedent and implied warrant; and (2) in the general literary context of the Second Sophistic,10 parodic ancient courtroom literature provides the speci¿c literary context in which it would be understood. The essay concludes with the implications of the parody for Tertullian’s case overall.11 Jesus as Foolish Judge The relevant passage (De prae. haer. 44.3–12) imagines Tertullian’s opponents in a trial at the ¿nal judgment. The scene opens in the heavenly court on judgment day. The opponents face trial before Christ and his apostles. Against the charge of deliberate misinterpretation of the Scriptures, some will, Tertullian postulates, claim ignorance. They will 8. Charles Munier, “Analyse du traité de Tertullien de Praescriptione Haereticorum,” RSR 59 (1985): 12–33. 9. Barnes discusses the argument of this tractate at some length but is silent regarding its unusual ending: Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study, 64–67, cf. 120–21. Barnes also offers a helpful discussion of Tertullian’s participation in the Second Sophistic, noting Tertullian’s af¿nity for satire (220) without mentioning De prae. haer. 44 (211–32). 10. Timothy Whitmarsh, The Second Sophistic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Christine Oravec, “ ‘Observation’ in Aristotle’s Theory of Epideictic,” Philosophy and Rhetoric 9 (1976): 162–74. The Second Sophistic’s emphasis on display oratory meant that a forensic speech could be performed with the idea that the audience would “judge” it, that is, with the force of epideictic rhetoric. 11. According to Athenaeus (following Polemon), ȸÉĿ»ĕ¸ in antiquity began as “burlesque poetry” (Hipponax) and expanded: “It entails imitation, but an imitation which is intended to be recognized as such and to amuse. By exaggerating distinctive features, it may simply invite ridicule and criticism of the original; or it may exploit the humour of incongruity, coupled with exaggeration for ease of recognition, by combining the language and style of the original with completely alien subject-matter. In both cases, but particularly where incongruity is intended to achieve its effect, the targeted original may be a whole genre of literature rather than an individual author” (OCD, “parody, Greek,” and “parody, Latin,” 1114–15 [on 1114]). Of Latin works, Petronius’ Satyricon exploits parody, perhaps, most. 1

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deny awareness of both the predictions of bad doctrine and the law against scriptural misinterpretation (e.g., 1 Tim 1:3–11; cf. Titus 1:11): They will allege, I suppose (credo), that nothing was ever foretold them by him or by his apostles about strange and perverse doctrines destined to come, and that no command was given them about avoiding and abhorring them.12

Furthermore, they will insist on apostolic status based on their performances of miracles: They [the heretics] will add, besides, much about the authority of each heretical leader, how they specially con¿rmed the belief in their own teaching—how they raised the dead, restored the sick, foretold the future so that they might deservedly be believed to be apostles! Just as though it were never written that many should come working the greatest miracles in defense of the deceitfulness of their corrupt teaching.13

Surprisingly, Christ, Tertullian says, will accept their defense—both the plea of ignorance and the claim to apostolic status. As judge, Christ will, thereby, acquit them of all charges. Tertullian sums up: the heretics, therefore, “win pardon” (itaque ueniam merebuntur).14 Next, however, Tertullian posits a second15 group of heretic defendants. This group does not claim ignorance of Christ’s predictions and warning concerning the misuse of Scripture:

12. De prae. haer. 44.3: Credo allegabunt nihil unquam sibi ab illo uel apostolis eius, de saeuis et peruersis doctrinis futuris praenuntiatum et de cauendis abominandisque praeceptum. 13. De prae. haer. 44.4–6: Agnoscant suam potius culpam quam illorum qui non ante praestruxerunt. Adicient praeterea multa de auctoritate cuiusque doctoris haeretici: signis illos maxime doctrinae suae ¿dem con¿rmasse, mortuos suscitasse, debiles reformasse, futura signi¿casse uti merito apostoli crederentur. Quasi nec hoc scriptum sit uenturos multos qui etiam uirtutes maximas ederent ad fallaciam muniendam corruptae praedicationis. This is an ironic appeal to Rom 15:18– 19. The works of power furnish “evidence.” However, Scripture qua law anticipated the production of miracles by deceivers, too. 14. De prae. haer. 44.6. Playing on Christian forgiveness is an extreme form of sarcasm, stemming, according to the next passage, from Tertullian’s rejection of the possibility of a second forgiveness. 15. Regarding the second group of defendants, this is where Tertullian’s irony really gets going, because this group knew exactly what they were doing when they created their bad doctrines. What judge could acquit someone who knowingly commits a crime? Only an idiotic, unjust one! And, that is who the heretics implicitly believe Jesus the judge to be! 1

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Tertullian and Paul But suppose some have stood ¿rm in the integrity of the faith, mindful of the writings and denunciations of the Lord and his apostles, these, I suppose, will be in danger of losing their forgiveness.16

Certainly, the reader imagines, these heretics will be convicted. Yet, in a swift ironic turn, they too are pardoned. Christ is portrayed, ironically, as a mercurial, irrational, and unethical judge who violates judicial canons and basic standards of his of¿ce by af¿rming the scriptural record that false teachings were predicted and prohibited, but admitting that he never expected such laws to be taken seriously. At this point, indirect gives way to direct speech, and Christ speaks:17 I had certainly forewarned you that there would be teachers of error in my name and in that of the prophets and apostles too; and I had commanded my disciples to teach the same to you with the idea, of course, that you would not believe it.18

Christ admits that he did initially issue his teachings “once for all,” but explains that later he rethought the commitment, deciding to retract some: I had given the Gospel once for all, and the teaching of the same rule to my apostles, but it pleased me afterwards to alter some points therein.19

He then lists various points that he modi¿ed.20 Unsurprisingly, they correspond to Tertullian’s opponents’ chief arguments against physical 16. De prae. haer. 44.7: Si uero memores dominicarum et apostolicarum [scripturarum et] denuntiationum in ¿de integra steterint, credo de uenia periclitabuntur. 17. On prosopopoeia: Demetrius, Eloc. 165–66; Rhet. Her. 4.66 (cf. 2.47–50); Theon, Prog. 11, 117, 30–32 Sp.; Cicero, Orat. 85; and Rut. Lup. 2.6. 18. De prae. haer. 44.8: Praenuntiaueram plane futuros fallaciae magistros in meo nomine et prophetarum et apostolorum etiam, et discentibus meis eadem ad uos praedicare mandaueram. 19. De prae. haer. 44.9: Semel euangelium et eiusdem regulae doctrinam apostolis meis delegaueram. Sed cum uos non crederetis, libuit mihi postea aliqua inde mutare. Emphasis added. 20. Here Christ embodies Tertullian’s attack against heretics in De prae. haer. 38: “Those who proposed to put forth a different teaching were obliged thereby to alter the doctrinal documents, for they would not have been able to teach differently unless they had altered the sources of teaching. Just as with them corruption of doctrine could not have succeeded without a corresponding corruption of its documents, so also with us integrity of doctrine would not be met with save with the integrity of those documents whence the doctrine is drawn.” Also, “For although Valentinus appears to use the whole volume, he nevertheless laid violent hands on the Truth with a no less cunning bent of mind than did Marcion. Marcion openly and nakedly used the knife, not the pen, since he cut the Scriptures to suit his argument; whereas Valentinus spared them, since he did not invent Scriptures to suit his 1

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resurrection of the dead,21 virgin birth, the claim that God is father, and the prohibition against divergent teachings: I had promised a resurrection, even of the Àesh; but I reconsidered it, lest I might not be able to ful¿ll it. I had declared myself to have been born of a Virgin; but afterwards this seemed disgraceful to me. I had said that my father was he who makes the sunshine and the rain; but another and a better father has adopted me. I had forbidden you to lend your ears to heretics; but I made a mistake (sed erraui).22

Having concluded the ironic characterization, Tertullian quali¿es it in a sincere voice as blasphemy of the type promulgated by heretics: Such are the blasphemies capable of being entertained by those who wander from the right path, and do not guard against those dangers whereby the true faith is imperiled.23

This portrait of Jesus is, of course, farcical. It might be funny if it were not so bitterly caustic. Tertullian’s cynicism peaks in Jesus’ speech when he betrays an absurdly duplicitous character as judge. He is an unwise and unfair heavenly magistrate who mocks his citizens and retracts willy-nilly their laws.24 The model is not Socratic insofar as Jesus is not the object of his own parody. It is parodic as Jesus is the object of Tertullian’s spoof, albeit ironically. This parody constitutes a scathing rhetorical climax to the tractate’s overall reproach. argument, but argument to suit the Scriptures; and yet all the same he took away more and added more in taking away the proper meaning of each particular word, and in adding arrangements of systems which have no existence.” 21. Note that Tertullian is gathering up one very large segment of heretical teaching for which Scripture (1 Cor 15) presents the major problem: the resurrection of the “Àesh” (cf. 3 Corinthians) and not the resurrection of its nebulous alternative, a “spiritual” body, as both Paul and the heretics teach. This is an excellent example of why the regula ¿dei is needed; one would not be disturbed by 1 Cor 15 if one knew that Paul did not teach differently from the rest of Scripture on this point. 22. Emphasis added. De prae. haer. 44.10–11: Resurrectionem promiseran etiam carnis sed recogitaui ne implere non possem. Natum me ostenderam ex uirgine sed postea turpe mihi uisum est. Patrem dixeram qui solem et pluuias fecit, sed alius me pater melior adoptauit. Prohibueram uos aurem accommodare haereticis sed erraui. The precise heresies to which Tertullian refers are spelled out in De prae. haer. 7 (cf. also end of De prae. haer. 23, 34), known for its statement “What has Athens in common with Jerusalem? What has the academy in common with the church? What have heretics in common with Christians?” 23. De prae. haer. 44.12: Talia capit opinari eos qui exorbitant et ¿dei ueritatis periculum non cauent. 24. See Meira Z. Kensky, Trying Man, Trying God: The Divine Courtroom in Early Jewish and Christian Literature (WUNT 289; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). More below. 1

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First and Second Corinthians as Precedent and Warrant Although this is the only place in Tertullian’s writings in which Jesus is depicted as foolish per se,25 elsewhere Tertullian describes himself and other believers in this way. For example, in De prae. haer. 7, Tertullian alludes to 1 Cor 1:20: These are the doctrines of men and of daemons, generated for itching ears by the ingenuity of that worldly wisdom which the Lord called foolishness, and chose the foolish things.

Likewise, in Apologeticum 49, Tertullian disputes the rights of his opponents to different tenets of faith by ironically depicting himself and other faithful believers as fools.26 In this passage, Paul’s ironical characterization of God’s wisdom as foolishness to the wise in 1 Corinthians and Paul’s self-parody in 2 Corinthians offer a basis and warrant. In 2 Cor 10–12, Paul delivers the so-called Fool’s Speech,27 in which he claims to be a fool and “boasts” to make the point—against his opponents—that 25. A bad judge is by de¿nition a foolish one. The sarcasm that the reader picks up on is primarily Tertullian’s. 26. “These are the things which in us alone are called vain assumptions, but in the philosophers and poets are instances of the highest knowledge and of extraordinary ability. They are wise, we are foolish; they are worthy of honour, we of ridicule, nay more than that, of punishment too. Let the opinions we hold be false and deserving of the name of prejudice, but yet they are necessary; let them be foolish, but yet they are advantageous, since those who believe them are constrained to become better men, from fear of everlasting punishment and hope of everlasting refreshment. Therefore it is inexpedient that those things should be called false, or regarded as foolish, which it is expedient should be presumed to be true; on no ground whatever ought that to be condemned which is bene¿cial. It is in you therefore that we ¿nd this very prejudice which condemns the useful. Hence our belief cannot be foolish, and, assuredly, even if it were false and foolish, it is nevertheless injurious to no one; for it is like many other things on which you inÀict no penalties, unreal and ¿ctitious things, which are not prosecuted nor punished, as being harmless; but indeed against such errors judgment ought to be pronounced, if at all, by ridicule, not by swords and ¿res and crosses and wild-beasts; in which unjust cruelty not only this blind rabble exults and insults, but certain of your own selves also, who aim at popularity with the mob through injustice, make a boast of it” (ET: Q. Septimi Florentis Tertulliani, Apologeticus [trans. A. Souter; Cambridge: University Press, 1917]). N.B.: Tertullian exaggerates foolishness (ironically) as a method of exaggerating the bene¿t provided by the “foolishness” (i.e., ethical rigor, etc.). 27. H. D. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1972); L. L. Welborn, Paul, the Fool of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 in the Comic-Philosophic Tradition (JSNTSup 293; London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2005). 1

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self-praise is the business of fools. Hans Dieter Betz, who ¿rst argued for a parodic interpretation of the passage, comments: In this wild and brilliant self-parody, the apostle demolishes the presumptions of his adversaries. He restores his credibility by discrediting theirs through the use of his entire arsenal of irony, sarcasm, and parody. In this fool’s speech he demonstrates that, if he wished, he could conform to the standards of his critics but that he has good reason not to do so. In the role of the fool he performs—without actually doing—that which he judges to be inappropriate.28

Tertullian deliberately links his Christ parody to Paul’s self-parody in the opening lines of ch. 44 of De praescriptione haereticorum.29 Alluding to Paul’s heavily ironic exclamation in 2 Cor 11:1–2 (“I wish you would bear with me in a little foolishness. Do bear with me! I feel a divine jealousy for you, for I promised you in marriage to one husband, to present you as a chaste virgin to Christ”30), Tertullian writes: What, then, will they say who have de¿led with the adultery of heresy that virgin committed to them by Christ?31

In 2 Cor 10–12, Paul is a fool on Christ’s behalf. In De prae. haer. 44, Tertullian simply pulls Paul out of the way and makes Christ his own fool. Readers do not need to understand this rhetorical tactic to appreciate the parody. But, for those who do, it adds an interpretive richness, not to mention a warrant, for the audacious (bordering on blasphemous) upcoming parody of Jesus. The parody itself bears only subtle similarities to Paul’s. Both represent rhetorical climaxes of a defense.32 Also, 28. H. D. Betz, “Corinthians, Second Epistle to the,” ABD 1:1148–54 (on 1149). Not everyone agrees with Betz’s reading of 2 Cor 10–12. See the discussion in Margaret E. Thrall, 2 Corinthians 8–13, Vol. 2 (ICC; London/New York: T. & T. Clark, 2000), 711–14. 29. Against Thrall (see previous note), the evidence provided by De prae. haer. 44 supports Betz’s thesis insofar as Tertullian, an ancient reader of Paul, read 2 Cor 10–12 ironically. Of course, Paul could not have supported Tertullian’s reading of Scripture and the regula ¿dei as “law.” Concerning Tertullian’s reliance on Paul, see especially Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 9. 30. mμÂÇÅ Òżţϼʿš ÄÇÍ ÄÀÁÉŦÅ ÌÀ ÒÎÉÇÊŧžËжÒÂÂÛ Á¸Ė ÒŚϼʿš ÄÇÍ. ½¾Âľ ºÛÉ ĨÄÜË ¿¼Çı ½ŢÂĿ, ÷ÉÄÇʊľŠºÛÉ ĨÄÜË îÅĖ ÒÅ»ÉĖ ȸɿšÅÇÅ ÖºÅüŠȸɸÊÌýʸÀ ÌŊ ÉÀÊÌŊ. 31. De prae. haer. 44.2: Quid ergo dicent, qui illam stuprauerint adulterio haeretico uirginem traditam a Christo? Cf. 2 Cor 11:2 (Vulgate): Aemulor enim vos Dei aemulatione; despondi enim vos uni viro virginem castam exhibere Christo. 32. Although Paul likely did not compose 2 Corinthians as it is preserved today, it is possible that Tertullian had this version or at least understood chs. 10–12 as the 1

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Paul uses parody to mock the self-praise of his opponents much as Tertullian uses parody to mock his opponent’s self-reliance.33 The qualities are not identical but closely related. Tertullian’s opponents interpret Scripture based on their own curiosity and insight. They “seek” for the meaning of the text, rather than accept interpretations comporting with the tenets of the regula ¿dei (De prae. haer. 8–12, 14). For Tertullian, curiosity signals faithlessness (it killed the cat!): “Let curiosity yield to faith, let fame give place to salvation” (De prae. haer. 14)—Tertullian’s parody of a line of Cicero’s.34 Parodies of Heavenly Courtrooms While the biblical warrant was probably important to Tertullian’s parodic characterization of Christ, the Second Sophistic offers a popular literary context in which this sketch would be read.35 Petronius’ Satyrica, for example, offers numerous characterizations of individual professionals behaving like fools. Tertullian’s Christ also resembles a few of Lucian’s ironic portraits. In particular, he recalls Lucian’s description of Alexander of Abonoteichus—not a judge, but a religious charlatan—who nevertheless, like Christ in Tertullian’s parody, modi¿es predictions ex eventu.36 In one case, Alexander encourages Severianus to invade Armenia by predicting his triumph. When, at last, victory yields to defeat, Lucian explains that Alexander’s records had to be changed: When that silly Celt, being convinced, made the invasion and ended by getting himself and his army cut to bits by Osroes, Alexander expunged this oracle from his records and inserted another in its place. (Alex. 27)

Unlawful judges speci¿cally are objects of ruse in Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis, a piece in which, amidst other courtroom buffoonery, the dead culmination of the argument, deliberately imitating its placement in his piece. Tertullian also deployed prosopopoeia on rhetorical grounds. The choices are not mutually exclusive. See Sider, Ancient Rhetoric. 33. In De prae. haer. 6, Tertullian etymologizes “heresy” as one who “chooses” for himself, that is, without reference to the Rule. One cannot read Scripture properly apart from the Rule. 34. Cedant arma togae, concedant laurea laudi (“Let arms give place to the civic gown, and the laurel wreath, to praise,” Cicero, Off. 1.77). 35. “Tertullian’s erudition and technique can thus both be viewed as a manifestation of the Second Sophistic Movement” (Barnes, Tertullian, 213). 36. Cf. Lucian’s The Fisherman, The Double Indictment, Icaromenippus, and other such pieces in which courtroom malfeasance is mocked. See Kensky, Trying Man, Trying God, 103–17. 1

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emperor Claudius’ unlawful acts are put on trial at his arrival in the heavens.37 Other examples can be summoned.38 Conclusions The facts stated or assumed as Tertullian sees them are: (1) both “Christians” and “heretics” use Scripture as evidence to establish doctrinal propositions; (2) the latter do not employ the regula ¿dei; (3) both Scripture and the Rule have the force of law in the eschatological tribunal. Therefore, the heretics have no standing to furnish their own defense from Scripture—both in the court of public opinion and before the eschatological tribunal because they reject a critical part of the Church’s legal framework. Tertullian seeks to make the case that heretical use of Scripture does not deserve any attention from the faithful. Heretics refuse to accept all of it, so they effectively reject all of it. This conclusion leads naturally to his portrait of Christ as an unjust judge, which Christ would be if he allowed defendants in his court to pick and choose the laws they accept and reject. So, Tertullian heads straight into the gap and exaggerates the portrait, building upon Paul’s self-portrait in 2 Cor 10–12. Tertullian’s attack on his opponents comes to a climax in a parody of the heavenly courtroom on the Day of Judgment when Christ, as errant and corrupt judge, botches their trial. Tertullian’s purpose for the parody is three-fold. First, the courtroom is the forum Tertullian knows best. Second, a courtroom parody best suits the form of Tertullian’s argument, namely, a praescriptio against heretical proof-texting. And, third, one of Tertullian’s primary opponents, Marcion, has attacked God (in particular the God of the Jewish Scriptures) as an unjust judge. In Adversus Marcionem, Tertullian imagines an earthly trial of Marcion;39 the purpose of the present parody is to imagine its divine counterpart.40 The parody, 37. See the discussion in Kensky, Trying Man, Trying God, 96–102. Kensky’s excellent monograph organizes numerous depictions of divine courtrooms in biblical and classical literature of all genres in a history of discussions about justice in general and theodicy in particular. The title of her book reÀects the thesis that literary depictions of the divine courtroom allow readers to think critically about divine justice or “try” their gods. Kensky treats Tertullian’s Adversus Marcionem on pp. 284–92. Tertullian’s purpose for his parodic Christ is, to my mind, another example of Kensky’s thesis. 38. See ibid., especially Chapters 2–7. 39. Ernest Evans, Tertullian: Adversus Marcionem (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), xvi. 40. The parody looks exactly like an illustration of Tertullian’s argument in Adv. Marc. 2.15. 1

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almost certainly directed against all heretics, has a distinctly antiMarcionite Àavor.41 Ultimately, this ironical portrait of Christ as unfair judge is intended to appeal to its readers’ sense of justice. The readers, in a sense, serve as jury of the trial. Tertullian puts before them a double trial: the heretics are tried for wrongful use of Scripture and even as he is judge, for the readers, Christ is “tried” for the manner in which he will adjudicate the matter. Tertullian’s not so subtle point seems to be that by modifying Christ’s law, heretics—as the contemporary counterparts of Jesus’ Jewish and Roman accusers—re-try and re-condemn Christ.42 Ironically, the heretics are acquitted, Christ, his Scriptures, and his law, condemned, cementing what Everett Ferguson rightly points out, is perhaps the most important assumption in Tertullian’s treatise, namely, the authority of Scripture.

41. Tertullian spells out this attack on Marcion in Adversus Marcionem. See the discussion in Kensky, Trying Man, Trying God, 288–92. 42. A charge against which there is no hope of recovery/second forgiveness, according to Heb 6:6.

1

3 THE SPIRIT OF PROPHECY: TERTULLIAN’S PAULINE PNEUMATOLOGY David E. Wilhite

I am thy Father’s spirit. —The Ghost to Hamlet (Act 1, Scene 5)

Although this essay is primarily on the “Holy Ghost” in Tertullian’s works, I must confess that another ghost haunts these pages: the ghost of Montanus.1 While most modern scholarship has read Tertullian and Tertullian’s pneumatology almost exclusively through the lens of his supposed conversion to Montanism, in the last few decades an overwhelming consensus has emerged which rejects the notion that Tertullian joined a schismatic group.2 The only question remaining is to what extent Tertullian’s views were “Montanistic.” In what follows, I will be repeatedly forced to battle the ghost of Montanus, addressing Tertullian’s supposed shift to Montanism, in order to show how little the paradigm 1. The prophet Montanus and the prophetesses Priscilla and Maximilla allegedly led their fellow Phrygian Christians to break from the “catholic church” and form the “New Prophecy” in 170 C.E. The teachings are said to have included celibacy, millennial expectations, and nose-picking. On this last point, see Epiphanius, Panarion 48.14.4. De¿ning this group has proved dif¿cult for recent scholarship, as will be discussed below. For the sources, see Pierre de Labriolle, Les sources de l’histoire du montanisme (Fribourg: Librairie de l’Université, 1913); and Ronald E. Heine, The Montanist Oracles and Testimonia (PatrMS 14; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1989). 2. Tertullian’s shift to Montanism allegedly occurred ca. 206. For the sake of convenience I will refer to Tertullian’s “early” or “pre-Montanist” works and “later” or “Montanist” works so as to cue the reader as to when in Tertullian’s life a certain argument is set. For discussion of the full chronology of his works, see René Braun, Deus Christianorum (rev. ed.; Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1977), 567–77; JeanClaude Fredouille, Tertullien et la conversion de la culture antique (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1972), 487–88; and Timothy D. Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971), 30–56, and “Postscript,” in Tertullian (rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1985). 1

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of a “shift” or “conversion” helps in our reading of his works. I do so, however, in order to explore Tertullian’s pneumatology in relation to his reading of Paul. Tertullian’s understanding of the Holy Spirit is thoroughly Pauline, and Tertullian’s comments on the Holy Spirit center primarily on the Spirit’s role in prophecy, be it “old” or “new.” New Prophecies and a New Consensus The past half-century of scholarly investigation into the life of Tertullian has formed an overwhelming consensus that Tertullian was not a Montanist schismatic.3 This revised view has scarcely found its way into the standard reference works utilized by non-specialists, perhaps because of two factors in particular. First, Tertullian himself frequently and favorably invoked Montanus, Priscilla and Maximilla by name, seeming to require the conclusion that Tertullian was in some sense a Montanist. The aforementioned consensus, however, has found the matter to be much more complex, and it is the ill-de¿ned notion that Tertullian was a Montanist “in some sense” that has continued to cause confusion, which brings us to the second factor.4 3. The term “Montanism” itself is now widely acknowledged by scholars to be anachronistic, but remains in the discourse as a necessary evil. I will variously refer to “Montanism,” in quotation marks or with some indication that the term is disputed in order to signal to the reader that the now deconstructed category is often assigned to a certain writing or teaching of Tertullian. For discussion, see William Tabbernee, Montanist Inscriptions and Testimonia: Epigraphic Sources Illustrating the History of Montanism (Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1997); “ ‘Will the Real Paraclete Please Speak Forth!’: The Catholic–Montanist ConÀict over Pneumatology,” in Advents of the Spirit: An Introduction to the Current Study of Pneumatology (ed. Bradford E. Hinze and D. Lyle Dabney; Milwaukee, Wis.: Marquette University Press, 2001), 197–218; “To Pardon or Not to Pardon? North African Montanism and the Forgiveness of Sins,” StPatr36 (2001): 375–86; Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); “Gender, Authority and Church History: A Case Study of Montanism,” Feminist Theology 17 (1998): 9–24; Alistair Stewart-Sykes, “The Original Condemnation of Asian Montanism,” JEH 50 (1999): 1–22; and Nicola Denzey, “What Did the Montanists Read?,” HTR 94 (2001): 427–48. 4. Trevett, Montanism, 69, 73, concludes that he “may properly be described as a Montanist,” only not a schismatic one. Tabbernee, “To Pardon,” 375–86; “Recognizing the Spirit: Second-generation Montanist Oracles,” StPatr 40 (2006): 521–26; Fake Prophecy and Polluted Sacraments: Ecclesiastical and Imperial Reactions to Montanism (VCSup 84; Leiden: Brill, 2007), adamantly denies a schism between Tertullian and the Carthaginian church. Even with such a caveat, Tabbernee remains comfortable describing Tertullian as an “adherent” and Montanism as a “movement.” 1

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Even the phrase “New Prophecy” is problematic and needs further nuance. While there are instances when Tertullian refers to “the New Prophecy” in the singular and times when he cites the Phrygians by name, there are other times when Tertullian seems to refer simply to “new prophecies” or ongoing prophetic utterances in his own Carthaginian church with no ties whatsoever to the original millennialist movement which expected Jerusalem to descend on Pepuza or Tymion.5 As it stands, there are three options available in terms of identifying Tertullian’s “Montanism.” First, Tertullian parted ways with the catholic party. Jerome (De virg. vel. 53) was the ¿rst to espouse this view, probably based solely on his reading of Tertullian’s texts wherein Jerome heard him defending the “heretical” Montanist party. Second, Tertullian somehow converted to the New Prophecy, but was allowed to remain in good standing with the catholic party.6 In this view, Tertullian’s antagonism towards his opponents who do not embrace “the New Prophecy” is explained by stipulating that he belonged to an ecclesiola in ecclesia, that is, a faction not yet excommunicated by the catholic party in Tertullian’s day. This view understands Tertullian to become a Montanist theologically, and yet not a schismatic ecclesiologically. I ¿nd, however, that the ground for this (admittedly majority) view is shifting sand. There is no reference, explicit or otherwise, to an ecclesiola in ecclesia in Tertullian’s works.7 Third, Tertullian remained in good standing with his Carthaginian church, and any “Montanist thinking” evident in his writing would have been acceptable in his context. Because of a complete lack of evidence that Tertullian was a schismatic, L. J. van der Lof agreed with

5. Rex D. Butler, The New Prophecy and “New Visions” (PatrMS 18; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2006), reÀects this dynamic in his alternating use of “New Prophecy” and “new prophecies.” For the view that Tertullian only knew of Phrygian “Montanists” via texts, see Gerald Bray, Holiness and the Will of God: Perspectives on the Theology of Tertullian (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1979), 10–11, 55; and William Tabbernee, Prophets and Gravestones: An Imaginative History of Montanists and Other Early Christians (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2009), 94. The possible fragment in Praedestinatus, De prae. haer. 1.26, is debatable at best and only testi¿es to a belief in immanent judgment. 6. First championed by Douglas Powell, “Tertullianists and Cataphrygians,” VC 29 (1975): 33–54, and then corroborated by David Rankin, Tertullian and the Church (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). The consensus of scholars follows Powell and Rankin. 7. Tabbernee, Fake Prophecies, 66, suggests this may have even been a housechurch, but he stresses that Tertullian mentions no “Montanist church” nor “Montanist clergy.” 1

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Powell and Rankin in rejecting option one.8 Van der Lof, however, took this view further, ¿nding no evidence that Tertullian belonged to any form of a subgroup or faction within the church of Carthage. Tertullian was simply in good standing with his Carthaginian Christian community, and his embrace of ongoing prophetic utterances seemed to have been not only tolerated but welcomed by Christians in Carthage, as attested by Cyprian who, in the succeeding generation, endorsed both Tertullian and ongoing visions and prophecies.9 Tertullian remained, and repeatedly referred to himself as, within the church. His supposed Montanism is largely an endorsement of “new prophecies” or ongoing ecstatic utterances, which was in fact the norm for Christians in his context.10 More work needs to be done on the question of what exactly changed in Tertullian’s thinking and writing after his encounter with the New Prophecy, for a growing chorus of voices has called for us to recognize Tertullian’s consistency of thought in both his “pre-Montanist” and “Montanist” periods and to appreciate Tertullian’s independence of thought from the Phrygians.11 While time 8. L.J. van der Lof, “The Plebs of the Psychici: Are the Psychici of De Monogomia Fellow-Catholics of Tertullian?,” in Eulogia: Mélanges offerts à Antoon A. R. Bastiaensen à l’occasion de son soixante-cinquième anniversaire (ed. G. J. M. Bartelink, A. Hilhorst, and C. H. Kneepkens; Steenbrugis: In Abbatia S. Petri, 1991), 353–63. 9. I have elsewhere argued against any notion that Tertullian belonged to a faction within the Carthaginian church on the grounds that Tertullian’s opponents are not in Carthage. See David E. Wilhite, “Identity, Psychology, and the Psychici: Tertullian’s ‘Bishop of Bishops,’ ” Interdisciplinary Journal for Research on Religion 5 (2009): art. 9; Tertullian the African (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007). The dif¿culty lies in trying to identify Tertullian’s intended audience as opposed to his rhetorically constructed audience. Cf. Andrew McGowan, “Tertullian and the ‘Heretical’ Origins of the ‘Orthodox’ Trinity,” JECS 14 (2006): 437–57. Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 66–67, surveys the Carthaginian possibilities. 10. Butler, The New Prophecy, repeatedly shows how the so-called Montanist distinctives were in fact shared by a wide array of second- and third-century Christians who had no ties whatsoever to the Phrygian movement. 11. This list includes: H. J. Lawlor, “The Heresy of the Phrygians,” in Orthodoxy, Heresy, and Schism in Early Christianity (New York: Garland, 1993), 338 (¿rst published JTS 9 [1908]: 481–99), who warned, “Tertullian brought far more to Montanism than he found in it.” So also Hans von Campenhausen, The Fathers of the Latin Church (trans. Manfred Hoffmann; London: A. & C. Black, 1964), 31, who contended, “As a Montanist, Tertullian did not become other than he had always been.” Similarly, Gerald Bray, “Tertullian and Western Theology,” in Great Leaders of the Christian Church (ed. John D. Woodbridge; Chicago: Moody, 1988), 50, surmised, “It seems probable, therefore, that Tertullian saw Montanism as 1

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and space do not allow for such a thorough study in this present essay, elsewhere I have contended that dismissing Tertullian’s views as “Montanist” is premature, and his works should be further explored apart from such imprecise categories.12 In the following analysis, I will explore Tertullian’s pneumatology, especially in reference to Paul, ¿nding a shift that does in fact occur in Tertullian’s theological vocabulary (i.e., the Holy Spirit is more frequently called “the Paraclete”). The said semantic shift, however, is found to be largely cosmetic, and it certainly was occasioned by the controversy at hand more than a prior “conversion” a movement that advocated some of his own teachings. He was therefore inclined to rate it highly, though it is most improbable that he ever became a Montanist in the strict sense.” Tabbernee, Montanist Inscriptions, 234, avers, “Tertullian’s views are not necessarily applicable to other Montanists.” Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 131 (with reference to Salmon, “Montanus,” in the Dictionary of Christian Biography, Literature, and Sects [ed. William Smith and Henry Wace; London: Murray, 1877– 1887], 3:943) offers a lengthier exposition which is worth citing in full: “Even this statement [i.e., Jerome’s], undoubtedly meant pejoratively by Jerome, should not be taken to mean, as has often been the case, that there was a radical change in Tertullian’s theology and practice of Christianity after 208… The New Prophecy, as Tertullian understood it, did not contradict ‘orthodoxy.’ As Salmon pointed out long ago: “The bulk of what Tertullian taught as a Montanist, he probably would equally have taught if Montanus had never lived.” The Montanist logia simply enabled Tertullian more easily to take his own beliefs to their logical conclusions: conclusions he may have reached anyway sooner or later.” Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (Routledge: London, 2004), 6, states, “[W]e do not know the extent to which he recast Montanism to suit his own inclinations…” Cecil M. Robeck, Prophecy in Carthage: Perpetua, Tertullian, and Cyprian (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1992), 124, discusses Tertullian’s use of Priscilla’s oracle, concluding, “It provided no new theological insight,” but it “corroborated” Tertullian’s opinion. In a similar approach, Annemieke D. ter Brugge, “Between Adam and Aeneas: Tertullian on Rejection and Appropriation of Roman Culture,” StPatr 49 (2010): 3–8 (4 n. 8) agrees that Tertullian’s views remain unchanged regarding Roman culture. For discussion and response to this matter, see Vera-Elisabeth Hirschmann, Horrenda Secta: Untersuchungen zum frühchristlichen Montanismus und seinen Verbindungen zur paganen Religion Phrygiens (Historia Einzelschriften 179; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005). 12. David E. Wilhite, “Tertullian on Widows: A North African Appropriation of Pauline Household Economics,” in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Interpretation (ed. Bruce Longenecker and Kelly Liebengood; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 227–29. Also see Ronald Kydd, “Polemics and the Gifts of the Spirit in Tertullian, Irenaeus, and the Excerpts from Theodotus,” StPatr 45 (2010): 433–37, who discusses Tertullian’s treatment of 1 Cor 12–14 with no reference to Montanism. To be clear, I do not mean to offer an apologia for Tertullian’s “orthodoxy.” I simply ¿nd the label of “Montanist thinking” applied to his work to be reifying, misleading, and ultimately unconvincing. 1

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to a “movement.” Tertullian’s pneumatology remains largely Pauline throughout his writings, except he borrows the Johannine language of Paraclete when explaining the distinct operations of the Spirit (but surprisingly, not for differentiating the person of the Spirit). The Johannine vocabulary, while substantial in thought when contesting patripassionism, nevertheless never eclipses Tertullian’s indebtedness to Paul.13 Just what makes Tertullian’s views Pauline will be discussed below. The Im-/Personal Spirit Tertullian employs the term spiritus in two different ways, and these two usages appear to the modern reader to stand in structural tension. They are the personal and the impersonal.14 For Tertullian the notion of a spiritus frequently implies a cognizant agent. When speaking of believers, Tertullian can refer to the witness “of body and of spirit” which stand in chiastic parallel to what is endured “in the consciousness and in the Àesh” (in conscientia et in carne, De virg. vel. 12.1).15 Similarly, Tertullian refers to the spirit within a newborn as a synonym for the intellectual capacity (intellectuum) within the child, the agency of knowing and comprehending (De an. 19.7–8). The notions of intellect and consciousness do not entail the whole of what a spirit is for Tertullian, but the spirit is nevertheless the personal aspect of agency within a being. The spirit is that which is cognizant or aware, as in the case of virgins who are betrothed. They are already married “in spirit by way of their inner awareness” (spiritus per conscientiam, De or. 22.10). The spirit in terms of personal agent is that which animates, it is “the body’s chariot driver, the animating spirit” (De an. 53.3).

13. Just how “faithful” Tertullian is to “Paul” falls outside of the aim of the present study. For one, I will explore Tertullian’s use of Pauline letters without judging matters of accuracy, proper exegesis, or hermeneutics. Also, to Tertullian, the whole Pauline corpus is by Paul. I will leave the question of the Pauline authorship of certain texts to the side. 14. The modern reader must not insist too rigidly on this binary opposition, for Tertullian would be misunderstood. For a modern understanding of a person, especially in the sense of a Cartesian ego, is notoriously problematic when interpreting early Christian theology. Therefore, I will destabilize the impersonal–personal dichotomy at the conclusion of this section. But for now, I will discuss each usage in turn. 15. All of Tertullian’s texts have been taken from CCSL1–2; all translations are my own. 1

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In this sense, spiritus stands in contrast with the Àesh, and thereby the term is often synonymous with the soul, or animus, and it is this animating agency within the body that makes a human personal (e.g., Apol. 30.5).16 Embodied humans, however, are not the only ones to be characterized by a personal spiritus. Tertullian can employ spiritus in terms of personal agency when speaking of “evil spirits,” and he does so throughout his oeuvre. Tertullian envisions demons and unclean spirits as personal agents in every sense, not just as personi¿ed forces of evil. Counterbalancing these unholy spirits of the devil, there is also the Holy Spirit of God. And yet, Tertullian also will speak of the Spirit of God in impersonal terms, and it is to this other meaning of the term spiritus that I now turn. Given the fact that Tertullian inherits the tradition of pitting the Àesh in structural opposition to the spirit, it is not surprising that confusion about the human “spirit” arose. Some identi¿ed spiritus as the personal agency within a human body with the Spirit of God. In response, Tertullian would attempt to clarify. Taking the primordial meaning of spiritus to mean wind or breath, Tertullian further extracted a theological meaning from this word’s etymological root.17 When speaking of the Àesh–spirit dichotomy, the spirit is the internal personal agency. When speaking in terms of the soul–spirit distinction, the spirit is more properly the breath, symbolic of the act of respiration, which is necessary for life/animation but is distinct from it.18 While a complete treatment of Tertullian’s anthropology is beyond the scope of the present study, it is helpful to recognize that Tertullian appreciated the basic meaning of wind/breath for spiritus, for his Christology and pneumatology entail the same primordial meaning of this term.19 Moreover, these two usages, the impersonal and the personal, that is, wind/breath and soul/consciousness, not only apply to the human spirit, they also apply to the divine. 16. Tertullian contrasts Àesh and spirit throughout his works. 17. See, for example, the “wind” (spiritus) blowing through a pipe organ (De an. 14.4) and the “wind” (spiritum) which carries a pleasant odor (De an. 17.13). Cf. where the devil is said to have tempted Eve with his words and “breathed” (adÀata est) on her a corrupt “wind” (spiritu, De pat. 5.9). 18. “[B]reath and spirit (Àatus et spiritus) are approximately the same” (De an. 5.2; 9.6), for “to breathe is to spirate” (Àare spirare est, De an. 11.1; and see all of 11–16). At other times, however, Tertullian is comfortable claiming the spirit is the soul, for “to breathe is to live (spirare vivere est)…and both breathing and living belong to that which properly lives, which is the soul” (De an. 10.7). 19. See the recent discussion and secondary sources in Matthew C. Steenberg, “Sinful Nature as Second Nature in Tertullian of Carthage,” StPatr 46 (2010): 17–19. 1

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It would be tempting to assume that Tertullian’s de¿nition of spiritus shifted in his “Montanist” period from an impersonal force to a personal agent, since the New Prophecy would devote more attention to the distinct personhood of the Holy Spirit.20 Such an assumption, however, is incorrect. First, in Tertullian’s so-called Montanist writings, he continues to discuss the s/Spirit of God as an impersonal substance. Second, in regard to the human spiritus, there are as many examples in each phase of his writings that employ both the personal and impersonal uses. Instead, one ¿nds the key variable for determining which usage Tertullian will employ to be Tertullian’s dialogical interlocutor and his rhetorical aim. On the one hand, when debating the patripassionists and laxists with the aim of de¿ning the nature of Christ, Tertullian will continue to use spiritus in the impersonal sense (and these works are written well into his “Montanist” phase).21 On the other hand, when writing against heretics with the aim of clarifying the human spirit’s relationship to the divine Spirit, Tertullian will de¿ne the former as impersonal and the latter as personal, regardless of how pre- or post“Montanist” his work may be.22 Tertullian knew it to be common to read the creation account from Gen 1:2 as referring to the Spirit of God. Alternatively, he insisted the spiritus (cf. %#:/Èżıĸ) in this passage must not be understood as “God himself” (ipsum Deum), but as the “wind” created by God. He con¿rms this by cross-referencing other passages.23 Tertullian’s opponents, however, did not always agree, and more problems arose out of the creation accounts of Genesis that challenged Tertullian’s view.

20. To be sure, Tertullian’s hermeneutic of scripture was not always consistent; see Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” JECS 14 (2006): 141–55 (142). 21. E.g. Adversus Praxean. For this reason, Pierre de Labriolle, La crise Montaniste (Paris: E. Leroux, 1913), 354, averred that Tertullian’s works should be divided into sub-phases of Montanist development. Following de Labriolle’s recommended labels, Braun, Deus Christianorum, 572–76, deems these periods “Sous l’inÀuence montaniste” and “Rupture avec l’Église.” The problem with such a view, however, is that no “rupture” is detectable in Tertullian’s works. See Rankin, Tertullian, xiv. 22. Cf. De baptismo (= “pre-”) and De anima (= “post-”). 23. Adv. Herm. 32.2–3, referencing Isa 57:15 (LXX); Amos 4:13. Cf. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 5.12.2. See also where Tertullian (De bapt. 3.2 and 4.1) speaks of the spiritus in Gen 1:2 as God’s Spirit. See, too, Adv. Marc. 2.6.3; 2.8.2, where the adÀatus Dei is spoken of in personal terms. 1

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All We Are Is Wind in the Dust Tertullian understood the creation account to teach a clearly de¿ned anthropology which corresponded to, but did not overlap with, the divine ontology. At creation, God made “man” as the divine imago. Following Irenaeus, Tertullian understood God to create Adam with the telos of the divine similitudo or likeness. That which made the human the image of the divine was not God’s Spirit, although this term would have sounded synonymous with the divine “breath” (adÀatus).24 Instead, God’s hands made human Àesh, while God’s breath (adÀatus) animated the human and instilled the Àesh with a soul (animus). At this point there arises an important distinction for Tertullian between spirit as personal agent and spirit as breath, and the differing usage depends upon the occasion. On the one hand, Hermogenes claimed the soul was material and derived from Àesh, resulting in humans not being in God’s image;25 on the other hand, Valentinus claimed the soul never participated in the Àesh, resulting in a complete obfuscation between the human spirit and God’s Spirit.26 Against Hermogenes, Tertullian insisted that spirit is non-carnal, for it is not the same as the empirical Àesh of man; against Valentinus, Tertullian postulated that a soul has its own proper corporeality, for it is not the same as the in¿nite and unbounded Spirit of God.27 In the former discourse, the soul and spirit are united; in the latter, they are distinct. Aside from this occasioned terminology, Tertullian would offer his own understanding of the correspondence between the human and divine spiritus. The soul stands directly in between Àeshly nature and spiritual nature, as reÀected in its created substance. Tertullian explains the relationship between the divine Spirit and the human by leading his audience through a set of questions: 24. E.g. Cicero, De or. 2.46. 25. Adv. Herm. passim; De an. 1.11; 11.1–6. 26. De an. 11.6; 24.2. 27. Adversus Valentinianos passim. Augustine criticized this view, probably understanding “corporal soul” as more concrete (like the Stoics) than Tertullian himself intended. See where Tertullian rejected this Stoic understanding explicitly (Adv. Herm. 1.4; De an. 1.1; De mon. 16.1–2, which is an important nuance to what he says in De an. 5.2–3). Augustine, however, never resolved his own view of the soul because of the problems inherent in rejecting Tertullian’s view. It would be Anselm, who apophatically de¿ned the nature of the soul in a way both Tertullian and Augustine would likely have found satisfactory: “Is it true that a created spirit is bounded (circumscriptus) when compared to you [Lord] but unbounded (incircumscriptus) compared to a material object?” (Proslogion 13). See Anselm, Proslogion (trans. Thomas Williams; Indianapolis, Ind.: Hackett Publishing, 2001), 15. 1

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How was Adam made of “dust” (Gen 3:19) and yet was formed as clay (Gen 2:7 [cf. Vg.])? The answer is that the dust was turned to clay by moisture—obviously! But whence this moisture? It comes from the “breath (afÀatu) of God.” And what is this “breath”? It is the “steam of the Spirit” (vapor spiritus, De an. 27.7).

The “breath” (adÀatus) of God, according to the Greek Scriptures (Adv. Marc. 2.9.1–2), is not the same as the Spirit of God. The adÀatus breathed into humanity is ontologically distinct from God (De an. 11.1; 41.3), making the human soul an “image” of the divine Spirit (Adv. Marc. 2.9.3–9). God created the human soul to be a bearer of the divine Spirit and thereby grow in God’s likeness. Through sin, however, the imago became warped and incapable of becoming similitudo, that is, until God redeemed humanity through Christ. The Spirit of God, received at baptism (De bapt. 8–9, referencing 1 Cor 10:2), re-makes God’s warped image into God’s likeness (De bapt. 5.7). Crediting Paul with the proper ordo salutis, Tertullian explains how the soul received by the breath of God at creation came ¿rst, but when this soul succumbed to the lower impulses of the Àesh it became “carnal.”28 This human whose soul had become carnal no longer participated in the divine Spirit, and therefore should not be known as “spiritual” but as “carnal,” or if you like, because of the carnally driven corruption of the soul, “animal.”29 Tertullian’s explication of this “carnal” and “animal” state is laid out fully in his work De anima, which is usually labeled “Montanist.” While it would be tempting to attribute this contrast to Tertullian’s alleged conversion to Montanism, I contend that it is best read in light of Tertullian’s Pauline theology. A few brief reasons will suf¿ce to explain the hermeneutical preference for “Paulinism” over “Montanism” in interpreting this passage, or at the very least, not allowing “Montanism” to be the whole of our heuristic lens. First, while Tertullian does mention ecstatic prophecy which occurs “among us” in De anima, he does not mention Montanus, Priscilla, or 28. See De an. 11.3, referencing 1 Cor 15:46; and De an. 40.2, referencing Gal 5:16–17; Rom 8:5. 29. Tertullian’s anthropological dualism, however, never ¿ssured into a full Platonistic dichotomy which places the Àesh in binary opposition to an immortal soul, for Tertullian never broke with the integrative view of Justin (see Dial. Tryph. 5) and Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 2.34.4; 5.6.1). In response to those who would lay blame on the Àesh so as to exonerate the spirit, Tertullian asks, “Is it for you to divide the acts of the Àesh and of the spirit, which commune and connect so greatly both in life and in death and even in resurrection?” (De paen. 3.6). 1

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Maximilla anywhere in this work, nor does he make any reference to “the New Prophecy.”30 In the famous passage where Tertullian describes a woman who prophesies ecstatically and sees visions (De an. 9.3–4), Tertullian is clearly describing something of a familiar phenomenon in his Carthaginian church’s liturgy. Powell and Rankin understood this scene to be Tertullian’s ecclesiola in ecclesia, that is, the Montanist party within Carthage. The passage has most recently been understood, however, to refer to the normal practice of having the lay elders (seniores laici) “test the spirits.”31 This testing, of course, is Johannine language (cf. 1 John 4:1), but the practice itself, the waiting until after the spirit’s work, is equally Pauline (e.g., 1 Thess 5:19–20; Eph 4:30).32 Moreover, Tertullian’s description explicitly invokes Paul: “[F]or her [the prophetess’s] full guarantee the apostle spoke of future spiritual gifts (charismata) in the church” (De an. 9.4, referencing 1 Cor 12). Beyond this explicit evocation of the Apostle Paul, Tertullian’s description of the woman’s prophecy, wherein she talks to angels and converses with the Lord, bears a striking resemblance to the description of the man caught up into the third heaven (2 Cor 12). Tertullian’s prophetess even “hears mysteries” (audit sacramenta), which is likely his translation of the phrase “hears unspeakable words” (ôÁÇÍʼŠÓÉɾ̸ ģŢĸ̸, 2 Cor 12:4).33 Lastly, Tertullian’s dichotomy throughout this work between “spiritual” (spiritalis) and “animal” (animal) is certainly Pauline, for he has not yet begun to use the transliteration of “psychic” (psychicus) as he would in later works wherein he does invoke the Phrygian prophets by name.34 Most importantly for the present discussion, Tertullian’s 30. Barnes, Tertullian, 43–44 n. 7, claims his reference to Perpetua as proof of Montanism in this text. In fact, when Tertullian addresses the charge of “pseudoprophecy” (commonly understood in his later writings to be an attack against his “Montanist party”), it is solely in reference to non-Christian philosophers and diviners (De an. 2.3; 57.9). Tertullian betrays no awareness that this accusation might in any way be directed to himself or any “movement” to which he belongs. 31. For the more recent view, see Brent D. Shaw, “The Elders of Christian Africa,” in Mélanges offerts à R. P. Etienne Gareau (Numéro spéciale de cahiers des études anciennes; Ottawa, Editions de l’Université d’Ottawa, 1982), 207–26 (209); William Tabbernee, “Perpetua, Montanism, and Christian Ministry in Carthage c. 203 C.E.,” PRSt 32 (2005): 421–41 (441); Wilhite, Tertullian the African, 178. 32. See Tertullian’s explicit use of the Ephesians passage for similar aims in De res. carn. 45.11 and Adv. Marc. 5.15.5. 33. The Vulgate for this passage is more literal than Tertullian’s translation: “audivit arcana verba.” 34. The notion that using “psychic” for one’s opponents is a sign of “Montanism” (Barnes, Tertullian, 44) is problematic. For one, the earliest evidence of this comes from Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 4.13), who claims the “Phyrgians” or 1

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categorizing of Àesh vs. spirit also entails the notion that each of these terms refers to a distinct substance. He is not forwarding a more informed view of “Spirit” as person due to his encounter with the Paraclete via the New Prophecy. Rather, Tertullian continues to forward a substantialized/ ontologized and impersonal use of spiritus, a usage that at times seems to create problems for his Christology. May the Force Be with You In the previous section, examples were given which illustrated how Tertullian often retained the primordial meaning of “breath” or “wind” for spiritus. Here it remains to see how Tertullian’s abstraction of spirit distinct from the Àesh—the life-force, if you will, which animates the Àesh—results in his use of spirit as a synonym for the non-Àeshly substance. This usage governs his terminology about God, speci¿cally the Son of God, but it has rami¿cations for his view of the Spirit of God as well. First, Tertullian can easily use “spirit” as the de¿nitive substance of the object in question or even as an abstract force, such as the many times he echoes scriptural language about the “spirit of” various virtues.35 “the New Prophecy,” as well as the Valentinians, call their opponents “psychics,” which Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.1.11–12, also reports. In fact, this simply seems to be a common rhetorical device of Christian polemicists stemming back to Paul: Rom 7:14; 15:27; 1 Cor 3:1–3; 9:11; 2 Cor 1:12; 10:14. Cf. 1 Pet 2:11; Jude 23; 2 Clem. 14. Tertullian may well have learned to utilize the spiritual/psychic polemic from the Phrygians, but he would have already encountered the Valentians (and Paul!) doing the same. To understand Tertullian’s usage of these terms only as “Montanist” leaves much to be desired. Much less does the terminology make him “Montanist.” One might compare Clement of Alexandria’s use of “Gnostic” terms and later misunderstandings. See Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski, Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection (London: T&T Clark International, 2008); Clement of Alexandria on Trial: The Evidence of “Heresy” from Photius’ Bibliotheca (Leiden: Brill, 2010). 35. For example, the spirit of wisdom, knowledge, discernment, counsel (Adv. Iud. 9:26; Adv. Marc. 3.17.3–4; 5.8.4; 5.17.5; all with reference to Isa 11:1–2), or even in regard to a “spirit of heaviness” (Adv. Marc. 4.14.13, referencing Isa 61:13); or, quoting Paul by name, the believer does not have the “spirit of fear” but of power, love, and a sound mind (Scorp. 13.11, referencing 2 Tim 1:7); and Paul wishes to come in a “spirit of gentleness” (De pud. 14.14, referencing 1 Cor 4:18– 21). These abstracted forces of virtue are offset by the abstracted “spirit of heresy” (spiritus haereticus, Adv. Marc. 1.16.1, in which he cites Rom 1:20 and Col 1:16). It is worth noting that many of these instances come from “Montanist” works; yet, instead of guarding spiritus as clearly personal and of God, Tertullian remains comfortable utilizing this abstracted, impersonal form. Likewise, Tertullian’s 1

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Also, Tertullian can speak in impersonal abstract terms about the two kinds of “elements (elementorum), corporate and spiritual” (Apol. 17.1). These spiritual “elements” can alternatively be called “spiritual substances” (substantias…spiritales, Apol. 22.1; cf. De bapt. 4.1), and as such stand distinct from “bodily” and “earthly” substances (De bapt. 8.4). Demons, angels, and even stars can be said to consist of this “spiritual substance by nature” (natura substantiae spiritalis, De carn. Chris. 6.9; cf. 15.1–2). Were it not for his clear statement about God’s “spiritual substance,” Tertullian would seem to be a clear proponent of binitarianism. For Tertullian, Christ was the “Spirit and Word of God” (Dei spiritus et ratio, Apol. 23.12; cf. Adv. Marc. 4.33.9); that is, eternally Christ has been “the Spirit of God…and the Son of God” (De res. carn. 14.5). The Word of God can so easily be understood under the name of Spirit that Tertullian can even gloss Paul’s statement about how philosophy misleads and is “against the wisdom of the Holy Spirit” (De prae. haer. 7.7 with reference to Col 2:8). Paul, however, had said this wisdom was of “Christ.”36 Knowing that Tertullian embraced (or even de¿ned!) Christian Trinitarianism, one might expect Tertullian’s so-called Montanist period to avoid such binitarian language and embrace a more nuanced distinction between the Word of God and the Spirit of God.37 Tertullian, however, continued to sound binitarian well into what Barnes called his most “aggressive” Montanist works.38 He asks, “And what is the ‘Word’ if not the ‘Spirit’?” (De res. carn. 37.7). Regarding the incarnation, explicit delineation of “spirit” as substantia, or even a “nature” (natura), continues unabashed throughout his so-called Montanist works (e.g., Adv. Val. 10.5; 18.1; 22.2; 27.1; De an. 5.3; 10.2; 18.5; De res. carn. 62.2; Adv. Marc. 2.6.3; 2.8.4; 3.9.7; De pud. 9). In this sense Tertullian employs the adjective “spiritual” throughout his works, that is, in reference to things of a spiritual nature or substance. 36. However, taking into account the wider passage of Col 2, where Paul contrasts the natures of Àesh and spirit (ÈżŧĸÌÀ) and then speaks of Christ fully embodying (ÊÑĸÌÀÁľË) the divine (= spiritual?) substance (¿¼Ŧ̾ÌÇË), Tertullian’s gloss becomes, if not more permissible, at least more interesting as a “close reading” of Paul. On “close reading,” see Elizabeth Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 118–22. 37. For example, Adv. Val. 11.1–2, where Valentinus clearly differentiates Christ and the Spirit in the Pleroma. In more “orthodox” terms, see Adversus Praxean. For discussion and bibliography, see McGowan, “Tertullian,” 437–57. 38. Barnes, Tertullian, 139. Barnes, however, is not addressing Tertullian’s pneumatology, and he notes other motifs in Tertullian that run counter-intuitively to his “Montanist” progression in thought. 1

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Tertullian, along with most early Christians, reads the annunciation in binitarian terms. The Spirit not only descended upon Mary but was also born of her as the Son of God.39 Prior to the incarnation, God spoke his word to Moses, and Tertullian asks, “Who was spoken, if not the Spirit of the Creator, who is Christ?” (Adv. Marc. 3.16.5; 5.8.4–5). Near the end of his career, in his work Adversus Praxean, he aims to counter the modalistic thinking of those who famously “put to Àight the Paraclete” (Adv. Prax. 1.5). In a piece where one would expect that Tertullian would carefully articulate a distinction between the divine persons more than ever, he continued his practice of equating the Son with the Spirit, for the Son of God is “the Word and Spirit of God” (Adv. Prax. 12.6–8; 14.9; cf. 19.3). All of these examples illustrate the lack of any “shift” or “conversion” to Montanist thinking in Tertullian’s works. These examples also serve to demonstrate how Tertullian’s thought was deeply shaped by the language of Spirit as substance, for, of course, Tertullian is not binitarian even in his early works and is certainly not in his later works. From his later works, one ¿nds clear examples where Tertullian differentiates the person of the Son from the person of the Spirit.40 In some of Tertullian’s later works, which are ¿lled with polemic about the Paraclete and wherein one would expect to ¿nd a carefully nuanced pneumatology, the reader instead hears Tertullian focusing on the person of the Son with only offhand remarks about the Spirit. In Adversus Praxean, Tertullian combats the simpletons who cannot understand the “Father, Son, and the Spirit” in terms of their trinitatem but only in terms of the divine unitatem (2.3–4). He, on the other hand, believes there are three within the Godhead, ¿nding “the Spirit to be from the Father through the Son” (Spiritum…a Patre per Filium, Adv. Prax. 4.1). The immediate dispute is that of patripassionism, and so Tertullian devotes most of this work to the distinction between the Father and the Son. It is noteworthy that he focuses on Johannine passages in doing so.41 The 39. See Adv. Marc. 1.19.2. Cf. Luke 1:35; 3:1. In this passage Tertullian is mocking Marcion’s view that the Spirit was born directly out of heaven, apart from contact with a human, but he nevertheless betrays his own reading of the annunciation in this passage. See Adv. Iud. 13.23; De res. carn. 19.5; 20.1–7; Adv. Prax. 26.2–5; 27.3–5. It is noteworthy that Tertullian’s only instance of clarifying the person of the Son from the person of the Spirit in terms of the virgin birth comes in his so-called pre-Montanist period. Note De prae. haer. 13.3, where Christ is conceived “by the Spirit” (ex spiritu) and so is not the Spirit in se. 40. Especially poignant examples include Adv. Val. 11–14; 17.1; De an. 1.4; De res. carn. 58.5; Adv. Marc. 3.22.7; 3.24.10–11; 5.17.6. 41. See the Logos of John 1:1–18 in Adv. Prax. 7; 8.4, 12, 15, 21; 26.2–5; 27.15. Multiple Johannine texts (John 1:1; 6:8; 8:26; 10:30; 14:11) are cited in the crucial 1

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analogy of light from John’s prologue is creatively applied and supplemented by Tertullian, for God’s threeness and oneness is like the sun, with a ray, and the illumination point; or like a spring, a canal, and the reservoir; or even like a root, bush, and fruit. He explicitly links each analogy to the Father, Son, and Spirit (Adv. Prax. 8.5–7).42 The one signi¿cant passage from John that establishes the distinction of persons between the Son and Spirit is Jesus’ promise to send “another Paraclete” (Adv. Prax. 9.1–4). After this distinction is established, the focus is entirely on the ¿rst Paraclete, that is, Christ, and his united-yet-distinct relation to the Father.43 In sum, the work most renowned for Trinitarian thinking has surprisingly little to say about the unique personhood of the Spirit, who seems to be more an afterthought, a third who necessarily follows the discussion of the second. To be sure, Tertullian repeatedly refers to the Spirit in Montanist terminology as the “Paraclete,” and even defends the right of Montanus et al. to practice “prophecies” (once in Adv. Prax. 1.5). Yet, the Paraclete language should come as no surprise, given the use of Johannine thought to differentiate the persons of the Father and the Son in this text. In other words, the terminology of the Paraclete is not unique to Montanus. In fact, the only reference to the “New Prophecy” (Adv. Prax. 30.5) is part of a distinction with Jewish monotheism; the “New Prophecy” is “new” because it comes from the “New Testament” (Adv. Prax. 31.1). “Montanists” do not gain insight into the persons of the Godhead (Adv. Prax. 31.2); rather, it is they who accept the revelation of the divine persons via the incarnation and teaching of the Son who have perception. Moreover, this revelation of plurality within the Godhead, as Tertullian explained earlier, is summarized in the Rule of Faith (Adv. Prax. 13.5), and he explicitly credits this Rule to Paul.44 The text, passage of 8.3–5. John 14:16, 28 appear in Adv. Prax. 9.1–4; 16.6–7; 30.5. John 10:30 is exposited more fully in Adv. Prax. 25.1; 27.15, as is John 3:6 in Adv. Prax. 27.14. Tertullian does credit Paul’s Christology when emphasizing the monotheistic trend of differentiating the Father as “God” and the Son as “Lord” in order to claim divinity for both (Adv. Prax. 13.7–9, referencing Rom 1:7; 9:5; and Adv. Prax. 15.7, referencing to Rom 9:5). 42. Cf. Justin, Dial. 128. 43. There are, however, a few interspersed references to the distinct agency of the Spirit, who prophesies in the Old Testament (Adv. Prax. 11.6–9; 12.2–7; 13.2–9). Cf. also the contrast with Jewish monotheism (Adv. Prax. 31.1–2). 44. See all of Adv. Prax. 13, referencing Gal 1:1. Cf. Adv. Marc. 4.2.5, referencing Gal 2:2. It is somewhat surprising that Tertullian nowhere cites Gal 6:16 nor Phil 3:16 to support his claim. In terms of the general outline, see the shift from a Triune outline of Persons to a discussion of the relationship between the Father and 1

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although co-opting “Paraclete” terminology, is not so much “Montanist” as it as “anti-patripassionist.” At this time, a hypothesis can be offered which explains this blending of Montanist-sounding terminology and thought—Tertullian relies on Johannine thought for Christology, but even when keeping the distinct name of “another Paraclete” for differentiating the Spirit from the Son Tertullian utilizes Pauline texts for his pneumatology. In addition to this lengthy work against Praxeas’s patripassionism, Tertullian also penned three other works soon thereafter: De monogomia, De ieiunio, and De pudicitia. Each addresses the laxist practices of the Roman church that stand in contrast with the Paraclete’s teaching on discipline. To be sure, these texts sound the most “Montanist,” especially in the use of the term Paraclete for the Holy Spirit. I merely wish to contend that this terminology, representing the few times in which a distinct personhood and agency is attributed to the Spirit in these texts, does not fully account for Tertullian’s pneumatology, for the focus in these texts falls squarely on the discipline itself with surprisingly little explicitly Trinitarian language counterbalanced by surprisingly large amounts of binitarian phraseology (listed above). The problem with dismissing Tertullian’s late pneumatology as “Montanist” becomes especially clear in light of Tertullian’s earlier works, which supply multiple instances of his view of the full personal agency of the Spirit as well as Trinitarian outline of persons. This calls into question the notion of a “shift” in Tertullian’s pneumatology from his “pre-Montanist” writings. Tertullian’s early “pre-Montanist” works are also full of instances where he thinks of the one God in terms of three persons. It comes as no surprise that Tertullian follows the baptismal formula in the triune names of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (De bapt. 13.3), and he continues to refer to the Spirit’s work after Pentecost (e.g., De bapt. 18.2) in what is clearly a distinct personhood from the Father and the Son. Similarly, in his work on prayer Tertullian differentiates the work of the “Spirit” prior to the incarnation from the incarnate “Lord” himself (De or. 1). Then, when giving the theological groundings of prayer, Tertullian explains how the Spirit takes the words taught to believers by the Son (that is, the “Lord’s Son in Adv. Prax. 4.4 (noting 1 Cor 15:24–25), wherein Tertullian explicitly shifts from Pauline thought to Johannine (see Adv. Prax. 5). Tertullian later shifts back from Christology to pneumatology and then Trinitarianism writ large in Adv. Prax. 28.12, and once again shifts explicitly to “the apostle” (referring to Eph 1:17). He also announced a brief shift to Pauline thinking in Adv. Prax. 8.3–5, referencing 1 Cor 2:11. See, similarly, De res. carn. 50.4–5, referencing to 1 Cor 15:50 and John 6:63. 1

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Prayer”) to the Father (De or. 9). In fact, this prayer is uttered three times each day, a practice meant to commemorate our debts to “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit” (De or. 25). Akin to prayer in general is the practice of penitence, wherein the Spirit, the one received at baptism (De paen. 2.4) and not the same who was born of Mary (De paen. 2.5), intervenes in the heart, enabling repentance and imparts heavenly goods (De paen. 2.6). When speaking to heretics, Tertullian invokes the Rule of Faith that should be followed by all. This rule, itself Trinitarian in outline, is not the only guide, however, for the Son ascended to the Father and “sent the Spirit to lead [into all truth] those that believe” (De prae. haer. 13.5; cf. 22.8–9, referencing John 16:12). Tertullian also cites the Triune baptismal formula from Jesus’ ¿nal words in Matthew (De prae. haer. 20.3) and explains the latter’s work after the ascension of Christ (De prae. haer. 20.4; 22.10–11; 28.1–4). To recap what seems to be an inconsistency in Tertullian, one ¿nds his use of spiritus as impersonal force or substance so that Christ is “Spirit,” which sounds binitarian. Yet, at other times, Tertullian uses spiritus as personal and distinct from Christ, which sounds Trinitarian. Furthermore, both usages appear in his early and in his late writings, ruling out any dismissal of this apparent inconsistency due to his suspected “Montanism.”45 Within this analysis, a pattern has emerged which further supports the hypothesis that Tertullian more clearly articulates the distinct personhood of the Holy Spirit when utilizing Pauline texts. Now, it remains to be seen how Tertullian himself explicitly de¿nes this term so as to resolve the apparent dilemma and how Paul informs his thinking on this matter. The Substance of the Father In his work De carne Christi, Tertullian offers the reader clari¿cation on how the term spiritus vacillates between the two poles of impersonal force and personal agency within Christ himself. He begins the work by admitting that the “bodily substance” (corporalem substantiam) is in question not the “spiritual” (De carn. Chris. 1.2). Yet, Tertullian also speaks of the Spirit who descended on Christ in the form of a dove at his baptism in terms of personal agency (De carn. Chris. 3.8–9). 45. Admittedly, “Montanisms,” such as the use of the terms Paraclete and Psychic, abound in Tertullian’s later works, the explanation of which cannot be fully accounted for here. In short, I believe Tertullian to coopt the terminology of others when it suits his cause, a tactic for which he is notorious. His opponents would not have missed this tactic, even if later readers, such as Jerome, did miss it. 1

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These impersonal and personal uses of what is meant by “spirit” remain in a dialectical tension. For the Àeshly/human substance is united in Christ’s person with the spiritual/divine substance—a remarkable anticipation of Chalcedon’s de¿nition (De carn. Chris. 5.6–8).46 The spiritual substance of Christ is God’s substance, as Tertullian ¿nds in John. First, “that which is born of spirit is spirit” (John 3:6); next, “God is spirit” (4:24); ¿nally, “[Jesus] was born of God” (1:13). Tertullian cites all of these texts together to explain how Christ is spirit (De carn. Chris. 18.5–7), which would sound binitarian were it not that Christ’s divine nature is in view (cf. De carn. Chris. 19.5–20.7). But even this “spirit” in Christ, distinct from the third person of the Godhead, is not merely impersonal, which would ironically imply something inanimate, for it is the Spirit in Christ which acts and operates. Then, when shifting to the economy of divine persons, Christ is not Spirit as in the Spirit. For just as the Word was God/divine and yet the Word was with God and so not the Father (John’s prologue is referenced in De carn. Chris. 19.1); thus the Word is Spirit/divine. Yet “the Word is with the Spirit of God” (cum dei verbo spiritus, De carn. Chris. 19.2), so is not the Spirit. In his earlier work, the Apologeticum, Tertullian had made the same argument about Christ’s relationship to divinity, only more succinctly. For Christ is “spirit of spirit,” making him divine in “substance” (Apol. 21.11; referencing John 3:6). Yet the Logos was “supported by the Spirit” (spiritu fultum, Apol. 21.17), making him distinct in personal agency. It is worth noting once again that Tertullian’s pneumatology is subordinate to his Christology and that Tertullian once again draws upon Johannine texts instead of Pauline ones. When offering more explicit differentiation between the divine substance and the third person of the Godhead, Tertullian returns to Pauline texts. When Tertullian expounds on “the apostle’s” confession that “Christ died according to the Scriptures” (Adv. Prax. 29.1, referencing 1 Cor 15:3), he focuses on how it is that Spirit or divine “substance” in Christ can suffer. The solution is found in that it is the Àesh that suffers, not the divine substance that is in the Àesh. With this, the patripassionists agree. Tertullian and his opponents differ, however, in terms of “who” suffers. Praxeas and company claim it was God the Father, while Tertullian follows Paul to clarify that “ ‘Christ was made a curse, for our sake,’ not the Father” (Adv. Prax. 29.3, referencing Gal 3:13). Now that he has shifted from substance to persons, Tertullian also shifts

46. Similarly, see De pat. 3.4; De carn. Chris. 5.6–8; 18.1–7; De res. carn. 53.17; De fug. 8.2–3; Adv. Prax. 27.6; 29.2; 30.2. 1

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from abstract philosophical de¿nitions to concrete pastoral application. Although the Spirit/divine-substance is impassible in Christ (Adv. Prax. 29.6), the Spirit/divine-person enables “our” suffering for Christ (Adv. Prax. 29.7). In Adv. Prax. 29.7 the Spirit “in us” (in nobis) is the one who “speaks through us” (loquitur de nobis) our “confession” (confessionis).47 A similar shift occurs when Tertullian contrasts the war of the “Àesh” against the “spirit,” which is at least partly a statement about spiritus as substance (De mon. 1.5). Tertullian invokes Paul’s statement about these dueling substances and interprets the Spirit’s role in this battle by also citing the text from Genesis to which Paul alludes: “Then the LORD said, ‘My spirit shall not abide in mortals forever, for they are Àesh; their days shall be one hundred twenty years’ ” (Gen 6:3). The NRSV cited here keeps the Hebraic sense of Yahweh’s “spirit” (%#:), but for Tertullian (and Paul?) the Lord’s Spirit is here the Paraclete who acts in the believer’s life of disciplining the Àesh (De mon. 2).48 Again, while the Johannine language of Paraclete is salient throughout the rest of this text, Tertullian utilizes Paul when bridging the Paraclete’s personal agency and divine substance. Paul additionally informs Tertullian’s thinking about the Spirit in terms of the Spirit’s role. The Role of the Divine Persona Tertullian learns the Spirit’s role more from the apostle’s teachings than any other source. To extend the metaphor of the term “person” as de¿ned in antiquity (i.e., an “actor” in a play or even a mask worn by the actor, that is, a role), the Spirit in Tertullian’s Theo-drama has a major speaking part.49 The Spirit whispers the Word of God both in the script(ure) and in the performance (liturgy). One of the Spirit’s means of speaking is through the Scriptures. From early in his writing career, Tertullian understood the Scriptures themselves to be the “voice of the Holy Spirit” (De idol. 4; 6).50 The Spirit not 47. Cf. Rom 8:16 (¸ĤÌġ Ìġ Èżıĸ ÊÍÄĸÉÌÍɼė Ìľ ÈżŧĸÌÀ ÷ÄľÅ) and Rom. 8:18 (ÌÛ È¸¿Ţĸ̸ ÌÇı ÅıÅ Á¸ÀÉÇı). See, too, Rom 8:26. Rom 8:32 is quoted in Adv. Prax. 30.4, showing this passage explicitly informs his thought. 48. Similarly, see De pud. 17.10–11, referencing Rom 7:18; 2 Cor 3:6; Rom 8:2–5. 49. Hans Urs von Balthasar, Theo-Drama: Theological Dramatic Theory (5 vols.; San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1992), 3:211, credits Tertullian for noting this motif more than most who followed. 50. See also where the Holy Spirit is said to be speaking through Adam (De an. 11.4; 21.1–2; De iei. 3.2), Enoch (De idol. 15), Baalam (Adv. Marc. 4.28.8), Hannah (Adv. Marc. 4.14.6), David (Adv. Marc. 5.9.8), Isaiah (De idol. 14; De or. 2; 1

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only inspires the biblical authors in general (Apol. 20.4), but the Spirit’s role is one of prophetic utterance in particular. Through the prophets of old, the Spirit “foretells” the future (Adv. Iud. 5.4; 9.23; 10.19; cf. Adv. Marc. 4.22.12; 5.11.12). The Spirit’s work, however, is not restricted to the old prophets, but continues in “new prophets.” The New Testament, which is “new” because of the Spirit giving newness of life through it (Adv. Marc. 5.10.4, referencing 2 Cor 3:6), is in harmony with the “Prophetic Spirit” (Spiritus…propheticus, Adv. Marc. 4.40.6) heard in the Old Testament. One can hear the Spirit teaching in “both the Old and the New Prophets (veteres ac novae prophetiae)” (Adv. Marc. 5.16.4), that is, those of the Old Testament and those of the New Testament. The transition to the “New Prophets” occurs in the ministry of John the Baptist. Tertullian insists that prophecy ceased with John (Adv. Iud. 8:13–15, referencing Matt 11:13/Luke 16:16). This, however, is explicitly said to be in reference to prophecies about “Christ to come,” and the statement is a polemic “against the Jews.” John himself had clearly lost the “Spirit of prophecy” (spiritus prophetiae), for “the Spirit had relocated to the Lord” (spiritus in dominum translationem, De bapt. 10.5). The evidence John had lost the prophetic gift is found in the scene where the arrested Baptizer had to inquire if Jesus was the expected one (noting Matt 9:2–6/Luke 7:18–23). In this sense, the Spirit of prophecy had not ceased, but only passed from the forerunner, who typi¿es all Jewish prophecy, to Christ, who typi¿es all Christian prophecy (De or. 1).51 Tertullian expressly states his belief in Spirit-inspired prophecy continuing to occur after John. In fact, the aforementioned “voice of the Spirit” heard in Old Testament Scriptures is “the same voice” heard in Paul’s and Peter’s instruction on discipline (De or. 20, referencing 1 Cor 11:3–16 and 1 Pet 3:1–6; cf. De or. 22). In two senses the Spirit’s voice in Scripture continues to speak to Tertullian’s audience. First, through the past instruction of the prophets, the Spirit presently speaks to the churches. The Spirit, who spoke through the ancient prophets, does so “for our instruction” (Adv. Herm. 22.1–2; cf. 1 Cor 9:10). The same can be said of the New (Testament) prophets, whose teachings apply proleptically to Tertullian’s contemporaries.52 Adv. Marc. 4.40.6), Ezekiel (De carn. Chris. 23.6), Daniel (De iei. 9.2), Elizabeth (De carn. Chris. 21.4), and Simeon (De mon. 8.3). 51. Even Cornelius receives the gift of prophecy “in the Spirit” (De iei. 8.4, referencing Matt 6:16–18/Mark 9:29). 52. For Paul, see De pat. 6.5–6, referencing Gal 1:8; and De pat. 7.5, referencing 1 Tim 6:10; Adv. Val. 3.4, referencing 1 Tim 1:4; and De virg vel. 4.5, referencing 1

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Conversely, to interpret the Scriptures rightly the reader needs the Spirit’s guidance. Just as Joseph was enabled by “spiritual power” (vim spiritus) to interpret dreams (Ad nat. 2.8.12, referencing Gen 40–41) and just as Christians must see the “spiritual interpretation” when reading the Old Testament in order to understand its reference to Christ (Adv. Iud. 7.6; 9.19; 10.9), so even in their own context Christians can recognize Christ’s body in the bread through a “spiritual” interpretation (De or. 6; cf. 1 Cor 10–11).53 Tertullian’s spiritual hermeneutic extends beyond Scripture so that the ongoing prophecies of the Spirit in Tertullian’s day can be distinguished from evil spirits by the fact that the prophet teaches the same as that taught by the Spirit in Scripture (De iei. 4–5), just as the apostolic writers agreed with each other in the “tranquility of the Holy Spirit” (aequalitatem Spiritus sancti, De pud. 19.4). In other words, Tertullian claims the ongoing prophecies in the church are performances of the same prophecies found in the church’s script. In this light, the second way the Spirit continues to speak is not different in content, but it is simply a different theatre. The second way the Spirit continues to speak to the church of Tertullian’s day is through ongoing prophecy. Tertullian suggests the Pentecostal gift was poured out upon all “disciples” who pray (De or. 25; De iei. 10.3). Yet, he commonly references the way the martyrs in particular have the prophetic gift so they should not “grieve the Spirit” (Ad mart. 1, referencing Eph 4:30; cf. Ad mart. 2–3). The Spirit guides believers to martyrdom (De prae. haer. 8.4; 9.3; De fug. 9.4), which for Tertullian still carries the primary meaning of witness, the content of which will be given to the martyr by the Spirit (De prae. haer. 11.3, referencing Matt 10:19/Luke12:12; De fug. 14.3, referencing John 16:13 and Matt 10:19/Luke 12:12). Paul stands as the exemplar of a Spirit¿lled martyr, one whose witness even before death allowed him to experience the spiritual realm (De prae. haer. 12.1, referencing 2 Cor 12:2).54 The “prophesies which are of the Holy Spirit” are so linked to “martyrdom” (martyria) that to reject the one is to reject the other 1 Cor 11:5–16. For Barnabas, see De pud. 20.3, referencing Heb 6:4. For Peter, see De pud. 21.13, referencing Acts 2. For John, see De paen. 8.1 and Scorp. 12.6–8, referencing Rev 2; and De an. 8.5, referencing Rev 1:10; 6:9. 53. Tertullian’s belief in the Spirit’s guidance in reading Scripture continues throughout his so-called Montanist period. See, e.g., Adv. Marc. 1.29.4, referencing 1 Cor 7. Cf. the “allegorical interpretation” of God’s relationship to Israel (Adv. Marc. 3.24.2–3). Moreover, it is Paul who teaches that the law must be interpreted “spiritually” (spiritalem, Adv. Marc. 5.13.15, referencing Rom 7:14). 54. Cf. John in De an. 8.5; 53.3, referencing Rev 1:10; 6:9. 1

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(De cor. 1.4).55 In other words, all true Christians are expected to live a life of dying-to-self, as “the apostle” teaches, in anticipation of the ultimate “crown” (Ad mart. 3, referencing 1 Cor 9:25). Dying-to-self daily, or “discipline,” represents another form of martyrdom, a living sacri¿ce through which the Spirit speaks. Those familiar with Tertullian’s works will recognize “discipline” as a common theme, especially in his so-called Montanist works. The concept, however, is not restricted to his Montanist period, for it appears even in Ad martyras (cited above), one of his earliest works. Throughout his writings, there is a connection in Tertullian’s theology between discipline and martyrdom. Just as the martyrs are especially guided by the Spirit so the disciplined Christians are seen by Tertullian as the most Spirit-led. Even in his pre-“Montanist” works, the same “spiritual interpretation” (De or. 6.2; cf. 1 Cor 10–11) that enables the right reading of Scripture (mentioned above) enables “spiritual discipline” (spiritalis disciplinae) (De or. 6.3). To be “disciplined” in the virtues such as patience is, indeed, to have “the whole power of the Holy Spirit” (totis viribus sancti spiritus) (De pat. 12.8).56 Moreover, to “be led by the Holy Spirit” (traduce spiritus sancti) is to practice the “discipline of going to meet persecution” (persecutionis obeundae disciplina) (Scorp. 9.3). The connection between martyrdom, prophecy, and discipline continues into Tertullian’s later works. Against Marcion, Tertullian sees proof of “the inspiration” (conspirantia) of both Old and New Testaments in that they teach the same regula and the same disciplina of the Spirit, a point he credits to “the apostle [Paul]” (Adv. Marc. 5.8.12).57 Likewise, in order to show that the scriptural injunction to be “holy as God is holy” applies to his current audience, Tertullian argues that believers must still “walk worthily” (cf. Eph 6:1; Col 1:10; 1 Thess 2:12) in the “discipline” (De exh. cast. 10.4) once taught by “the apostle” (De exh. cast. 10.5, referencing Rom 8:5–6) and still taught by the “Holy Spirit” (De exh. cast. 10.6).58 The 55. This passage is the only place in De corona militis that merits the label “Montanist.” Yet even this text is not wholly convincing, given the same motif in his earlier works (cited here). Instead of crediting “New Prophets,” Tertullian invokes Paul as teaching that the Spirit will reveal anything the believer requests (De cor. 4.6; Phil 3:15). 56. Tertullian then proceeds to exposit 1 Cor 13 in this passage (De pat. 12.9–10). 57. The opposite is said of heretics: they reject disciplina and thereby are false teachers in regard to the godhead (Adv. Marc. 5.12.6–7, referencing 2 Cor 11:13). 58. Tertullian here also quotes “Prisca” (= the Phrygian prophetess Priscilla), about how those who are “carnal” (carnis) do not practice “holiness.” This one cryptic saying, however, is the only statement in the whole work that earns it the 1

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“discipline” in these passages is contrasted to “life” in the Àesh, which is actually death, for “death” of the Àesh is in fact eternal life. In another work where Tertullian discusses the “discipline” (De virg. vel. 1.5–6) expected of a Christian, he again explains the Holy Spirit’s role in terms of revelation and discipline, for the “Paraclete arranges discipline, reveals scripture, renews the mind, and advances you to the better (meliora)’ ” (De virg. vel. 1.5, referencing John 16:13; cf. 1 Cor 7:9, 38).59 Similarly, in his late works on discipline, Tertullian cites Paul regarding the war of the Àesh against the spirit (De mon. 1.5, referencing Gal 5:17).60 He then counters the digamists by reminding them of the following: 1. The Paraclete’s role is to lead into “discipline” (De mon. 2.1–2, referencing John 16:13; cf. De mon. 3.10); and 2. This discipline is in line with “catholic tradition” (catholicam traditionem, De mon. 2.1; cf. 1 Cor 11:2; 2 Thess 2:15). The resolution of any apparent tension between these two points is found in Paul’s dialectic of what is permissible and bene¿cial (De mon. 3, referencing 1 Cor 7:6–40). In his later works, Tertullian attacks those who do not keep up the discipline of the faith (De iei. 1.2 and passim), especially those who are “the most laxist in discipline (laxissimae disciplinae) and forsake the Spirit” (De iei. 17.1). As opposed to people like Praxeas’s bishop in Rome (De pud. 1.6) who promotes such laxity, Tertullian’s church in Carthage excommunicates those who “dishonor the Paraclete by unregulated discipline (disciplinae enormitate)” (De pud. 1.20). The label of “Montanist.” It seems Tertullian simply believes that Christians (be they Phrygian or not) who follow the discipline taught by Paul can be trusted as being led by the Spirit, as Paul taught. To credit this understanding of “discipline” to Montanism, when Tertullian ¿rst cites Paul and has already forwarded the same view in his earlier works, is unfounded. 59. This passage also is the only one that merits the label “Montanist.” Contra Barnes, Tertullian, 44 n. 12, who claims Tertullian is referring to a Montanist woman who was visited by an angel in 17.3. Such a reading imposes on the text more than Tertullian claims, for nothing in the passage indicates that Tertullian is speaking of “us” (Montanists) against “you” (Catholics). Nevertheless, aside from whatever one makes of Tertullian’s “Montanism” in this text, to attribute the view cited here as “Montanist,” fails to recognize that Tertullian already held to this belief in his earlier writings. 60. Does Tertullian also have in mind Paul’s statement regarding how one must “crucify the Àesh” (Gal 5:24)? If so, this would further establish Tertullian’s view of discipline as martyrdom-training (cf. De spect. 1.5). 1

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discipline practiced by Tertullian’s church is “new” because it stems from the New “Testament,” initiated in Christ’s passion and by “the Holy Spirit representing himself (repraesentatum ipsius) from heaven as the determiner of discipline” (De pud. 11.3; cf. 12.1–2).61 The rationale for this strict discipline of the New Testament is attributed to Paul’s teachings on the death of the Àesh and the “law of the Spirit,” which is one of “discipline” (De pud. 17.10–11, referencing Rom 7:18; 2 Cor 3:6; Rom 8:2–5). “Discipline” is merely a summary of the “Spirit of God’s” message, which is to avoid the “works of darkness” (De pud. 21.1, referencing Eph 5:11). Finally, Tertullian contests the notion that martyrs have the power to forgive mortal sins (De pud. 22) and asks that if these martyrs are truly led by the Spirit they prove themselves by prophesying in accordance with Scripture (De pud. 22.6). It is not martyrdom itself in view here, but pseudo-martyrdom, unwillingness to die to self as led by the voice of the Spirit. Tertullian’s understanding of the Spirit’s ongoing role in utterance applies to every true believer. The use of the term “Paraclete” has already been discussed as language adopted from John’s Gospel. When Tertullian translates and not simply transliterates this term, he understands it to mean “advocate” (advocatum, Adv. Prax. 9.3, referencing John 14:16), and when he does so he hears the same concept used by Paul, for Tertullian’s opponents should “acknowledge the Paraclete as an advocate (advocatum) who ‘pleads for your in¿rmities’ ” (De mon. 3.10, referencing Rom 8:26). Therefore, it is by assisting the believer in discipline that the Holy Spirit issues ongoing utterances in the church. The Spirit is so intrinsically tied to divine utterance and self-revelation that whether Christ speaks to the Father or of the Father, he does so “in the Spirit” (Adv. Prax. 13.7; 26.8). The Spirit’s function of speaking unspeakable words to God from within the believer ¿ts neatly into Tertullian’s theology, as known in his early works. When God would speak to the believer, the Spirit again must be the inspirer of the utterances, for, quoting Paul, he asks, “Who knows the things of God if not God himself? And who is God himself, if not the Spirit in God?” (Adv. Herm. 18.1, referencing 1 Cor 2:11). In this way any divine utterance (from God or to God) is of the Spirit. Conversely, any Godlike utterance must be of the Spirit. For example, “every writing (scripturam) useful 61. The “New Prophets” (De pud. 21.7) are not the Phrygian prophets, who are nowhere named or referenced in this text (contra Barnes, Tertullian, 44), but the Christian prophets from the New Testament (De pud. 12.1), such as Peter (De pud. 21.9). They stand in contrast only with the “old prophets” of the Old Testament (De pud. 6.2; 7.9, 18; 10.4; 21.5). 1

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for edi¿cation is divinely inspired (divinitus inspirari)” (De cul. fem. 1.3.3, referencing 2 Tim 3:16—note the reversal of the original order!). In the same way, Tertullian believes “all creatures pray,” including all livestock, when “the Spirit/breath (spiritum)” comes out of their mouth (De or. 29; cf. Rom 8:22–26). Therefore, everyone who “has the Spirit of God” may communicate with God and receive communication from God, as “the apostle says, ‘If you do not know something, God will reveal it to you” (De cor. 4.6, referencing Phil 3:15).62 Conclusion: To Be (Pauline) or Not to Be (Montanist)? I began this essay with a confession; I must end it with an apology. The ghost of Montanus, which still haunts Tertullian studies, has repeatedly played a part in this discussion. My apology is to those less familiar with the Montanism theory, who may read this essay and wonder why so much energy has been devoted to it. Someone could very well repeat Gertrude’s question to Hamlet: Alas, how is’t with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? (Act 3, Scene 4)

In other words, why not ignore the ghost of Montanus as a myth of the past and simply compare Tertullian and Paul? For better or for worse, such a morbid dialogue is still necessary in light of the ongoing temptation to attribute any one of Tertullian’s ideas to “Montanism.” On the one hand, the constant asides directed against the Montanism theory have served as a ground-clearing exercise that enables a closer examination of Tertullian’s texts by underscoring his own stated claims to Pauline thinking. On the other hand, this claim to Pauline pneumatology set within a polemic against the Montanism theory risks overstating Tertullian’s “Paulinism.” Therefore, a ¿nal word is in order regarding what has been accomplished in this present study. Tertullian need not be proved “not Montanist” in order for his work to be read as “Pauline.” Tertullian could have easily been both Montanist and Pauline. Few, however, have explored how Tertullian is indebted to the latter, perhaps because of an assumption he belonged to the former. While I have no problem believing Tertullian could have amalgamated 62. Similarly, Tertullian argues that every believer has the Spirit, but apostles were known to have the Spirit “fully” because they had the gift of prophecy, which explains why Paul had to stipulate, “I, too, have the Spirit of God” (De exh. cast. 4.4–6, referencing 1 Cor 7:40). 1

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both Montanus and Paul, I remain unconvinced that he did. I see no evidence that the Phrygians informed his pneumatology in any signi¿cant way, especially when compared to Tertullian’s extensive and explicit use of “the apostle.” In a recent essay on the reception of New Testament writers in the Apostolic Fathers, Thomas G. Weinandy argues that Ignatius of Antioch faithfully retained a New Testament Christology and simultaneously anticipated the Chalcedonian De¿nition.63 To be clear, I have not attempted to make such a claim for Tertullian in this present essay. Whether or not Tertullian “is Pauline” in a critical sense, whether he has accurately and adequately accommodated Paul, and whether or not he anticipated the councils has been left for others to decide. I have, however, repeatedly referred to Tertullian’s writings as “Pauline,” and at times even remarked on the “Chalcedonian” nature of his theology. By arguing against the Montanism theory, I have been able to underscore Tertullian’s own claims to Paul when speaking about the Spirit. I have also noted the points when Tertullian’s theology most clearly sounds post-Pauline and aligns with later “orthodoxy” (as de¿ned by the councils from 325–451). In doing so, I have provided an analysis of Tertullian’s pneumatology in light of the Pauline texts he cites as support. While I suspect that Tertullian’s understanding of substantia and persona in regard to the Spirit of God would sound foreign to Paul, I equally suspect that Tertullian’s insistence on the Spirit’s role in prophecy would sound antiquated to the later council fathers. I leave this type of comparative analysis as an open question. It is hoped that this current textual analysis will prove helpful for such future studies. The etymological and philological analysis of the term spiritus that has been offered here apart from any notion of a shift in Tertullian’s thinking has resulted in the following conclusion: Tertullian’s impersonal and personal uses of this term can in fact be distinguished in most instances, but the two usages nevertheless are not entirely separable. The distinction especially becomes salient in Tertullian’s Christology, for the Son is of the same spiritual substance of the Father, but is not the same person as the “other Paraclete.” If Christology distinguishes the personal and impersonal uses of the term spiritus, Tertullian’s pneumatology mystically unites them, for the impersonal substance animates and the Spirit himself uni¿es the other persons (be they the Father and the Son or 63. Thomas G. Weinandy, “The Apostolic Christology of Ignatius of Antioch: The Road to Chalcedon,” in Trajectories through the New Testament and the Apostolic Fathers (ed. Andrew Gregory and Christopher Tuckett; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 71–84. 1

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the Son and the believers) substantially. This mystical union exists because the impersonal substance of the Spirit is by and large a question of ontology for Tertullian (and Paul?), whereas the role of the Spirit is largely a matter of epistemology. Tertullian (and Paul?) cannot address one without assuming the other, for he can only know the Son who is the substance of the Father “in the Spirit,” and he can only profess this Truth by the Spirit of Prophecy.

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TERTULLIAN AND PAUL ON THE SPIRIT OF PROPHECY James D. G. Dunn

I approach David Wilhite’s essay on “Tertullian’s Pauline Pneumatology” with great respect and some hesitancy, since, though my familiarity with Paul is quite extensive, I can certainly not say the same of my familiarity with Tertullian. So, I have to depend principally on Wilhite’s treatment of the theme to ¿ll me in on the Tertullian side of the comparison, and I will have to compare Paul chieÀy with the Tertullian that Wilhite provides, which, of course, may be far from unsatisfactory. It is obvious that Tertullian knew the Pauline letters well; the hundreds of references to these letters in his many writings, even as indicated in the indices of the Ante-Nicene Fathers, vols. 3 and 4, put the issue beyond doubt, even though he seems not to have used Paul as much as one might have expected.1 Nevertheless, on pneumatology the issue is clear: Tertullian drew heavily on Paul for the instruction he himself gave, though whether his pneumatology is as “thoroughly Pauline” as Wilhite maintains is not quite so clear. It is not for me to consider the question of “Tertullian’s Montanism,” even though “the ghost of Montanus” “haunts” the pages of Wilhite’s essay. But the parallel between Paul’s dealings with the charismatic Corinthians and Tertullian’s engagement with Montanism is immediately striking. Considering ¿rst the title topic of Wilhite’s essay, one of the most interesting features of any comparison between Tertullian and Paul is that both were familiar with prophetic speech, with “praying in the s/Spirit.”2 Should we assume, however, in both cases that it was ecstatic speech which was in view? Tertullian seems to assume so (Adv. Marc. 5.8). But Paul makes a distinction between speaking in tongues, where 1. Andrew M. Bain, “Tertullian: Paul as Teacher of the Gentile Churches,” in Paul and the Second Century (ed. M. F. Bird and J. R. Dodson; LNTS 412; London: T&T Clark International, 2011), 207–25. 2. 1 Cor 14:15; Tertullian, De or. 28. 1

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the mind is unfruitful, and prophecy, where the mind is fruitful and presumably engaged (1 Cor 14:6–25). Paul also indicates that the prophet, even when inspired, retains some control of what he/she says (14:32). As Wilhite notes, Tertullian’s concern that prophecy should be tested, even if using the langue of 1 John 4:1, was as much if not more dependent on Paul’s similar emphasis on the need to “discern,” “evaluate,” and “test” the s/Spirit of prophecy.3 This was a familiar problem in the history of prophecy, in Israel as in the early church: since prophecy gave rise also to false prophecy, it was generally recognized that all prophecy had to be tested and evaluated, and the s/Spirit inspiring the prophecy “discerned.”4 That Tertullian displays the same concerns indicates that his experience of prophecy was much of a piece with the earlier Christian experience of prophecy. His reference to “the same regula and the same disciplina” as the proof of inspiration can be seen as an updating of Paul’s own criteria by which prophetic utterances should be evaluated.5 And given the similarity of the encounters or engagement with inspired speech which Paul and Tertullian shared, it is hardly surprising that he drew on Paul’s counsel on the greater value of prophecy over glossolalia—“Be mature in your thinking/understanding.”6 One other point Wilhite could have made clearer is Tertullian’s dependency on Paul’s advice on “spiritual gifts.” This is where he links “Tertullian’s description of the women’s prophecy wherein she talks to angels and converses with the Lord,” and the prophetess as hearing “mysteries,” to Paul’s experience of a heavenly journey in which he hears “unspeakable words” (2 Cor 12:4). But he could equally or more relevantly have referred to 1 Cor 14:2, where Paul envisages the tonguesspeaker as speaking to God and speaking “mysteries”—presumably “the tongues/languages of angels” referred to in 1 Cor 13:2. I am intrigued by the issue of “personal” or “impersonal spirit,” since it goes so far back into the roots of Israel’s attempts to speak of, and thus conceptualize, “spirit.” As Tertullian was no doubt well aware, ruach and pneuma had the same range of meaning—“wind, breath, spirit.” In this case, any dependency that Tertullian had was on John’s Gospel, where the imagery of spirit/wind/breath is played on in John 3:8 and 20:22. Paul does not make use of that imagery: his use of Gen 2:7 in 3. 1 Cor 12:10; 14:29; 1 Thess 5:21. 4. See R. W. L. Moberly, Prophecy and Discernment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 5. See my Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM, 1975; repr.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 293–97. 6. 1 Cor 14:20; Tertullian, Adv. Val. 2.

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1 Cor 15:45 makes no allusion to the breath of God; nor does Tertullian in his use of 1 Cor 15:45. Rather, Paul’s preference seems to be for the equally Old Testament-based imagery of water (1 Cor 12:13), of which John also made signi¿cant use (particularly John 7:37–39). Such imagery, of course, encourages the currently popular view that Paul conceived of the Spirit in material terms, as a material substance.7 What is less clear, however, is whether such imagery implies the absence of personality. Or is it rather the case that to take such a metaphor in a literal way (the Spirit envisaged as a liquid or as a wind) is to misunderstand the character of a metaphor (that is, precisely as not to be taken literally). A large part of the problem here, for commentators of the twenty-¿rst century (as Wilhite appreciates), is that our idea of the “person” and the “personal” is so different from that of the ancients, including Paul and Tertullian. In a world that could conceive of the elements or the stars as sentient beings, it is far from clear whether there was a conceptual boundary or marked distinction between “personal” and “impersonal.”8 More intriguing is the question of Paul’s anthropology. Tertullian’s spirit–Àesh antithesis was obviously inÀuenced to a great extent by Paul’s. But in his argument for the resurrection of the Àesh, common from the second century onwards as Christians reacted to the Gnostic disdain for the body, Tertullian seems to miss the important distinction which Paul makes in 1 Cor 15 between the “Àesh” and the “body.” Tertullian argues quite effectively for the resurrection of the Àesh, despite 1 Cor 15:50 (“Àesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God”).9 But he does not pay suf¿cient attention to the fairly obvious fact that in the extended sequence of antitheses in 15:42–54, “Àesh and blood” belong in the (negative) column along with “corruption” (15:42, 50), “dishonor” (15:43), “weakness” (15:43), “natural body” (15:44–46), “earthly” (15:47–49), “the dead” (15:52), “corruptible” (15:53–54), and “mortal” (15:54), set antithetically over against the (positive) column consisting of “incorruption,” “glory,” “power,” “spiritual body,” “heavenly,” “incorruptible,” “incorruption,” and “immortality.”10 In that line of argument it runs against Paul’s logic to maintain that, despite 15:50, 7. So, e.g., Friedrich Willhelm Horn, Das Angeld des Geistes: Studien zur paulinischen Pneumatologie (FRLANT 154; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1992), 175. 8. See further the critique of the pneuma-Stoff interpretation of Paul’s pneumatology by Volker Rabens, The Holy Spirit and Ethics in Paul (WUNT 2/283; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), who argues that Paul understood the ethical work of the Spirit in relational terms. 9. De res. carn. 48–49. 10. See further my Beginning from Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 827–30. 1

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Paul looked for the resurrection of the Àesh as Àesh or that he understood the “spiritual body” as Àeshly.11 The neatness of Paul’s solution to the question, “With what kind of body do (the resurrected) come?” (15:35), is the distinction he makes between “body” and “Àesh.” By maintaining belief in a resurrection body he retained the Hebrew understanding of material creation as made by God and good, while, at the same time, he in effect diverted the more typically Hellenistic antipathy to the material into his own warnings, we might even say antipathy, to the Àesh. To ignore and lose that distinction is to miss the subtlety of Paul’s treatment of the resurrection and to lose its potential for response to the Gnostics. The intriguing feature here are the distinctions Paul seems to work with in order to make his points. “Flesh” and “body” I have already noted. It is important for interpretation of Paul that “body” is not confused with “Àesh” or simply identi¿ed as “Àesh.” The two overlap, it is true, but the vehemence of Paul’s antithesis between “Spirit” and “Àesh” is only rarely expressed in terms of “Spirit” and “body” (Rom 8:13). And in 1 Cor 15 “spiritual body” is the great hope that he sets over against both “natural body” and “Àesh and blood.” This highlights the further distinction that Paul was prepared to make in his anthropology—between “spirit” and “soul,” pneuma and psyche. The distinction between “spiritual body” and “natural body” is more accurately between sǀma pneumatikon and sǀma psychikon. This despite the fact that Gen 2:7 speaks of the breath (ruach) of God making man a “living nephesh/psyche.” In the ancient anthropology on which Paul drew, it was the ruach of God which became the breath of life in animate creation.12 The problem with linking Hebrew anthropology with Hellenistic anthropology is that the former was more tripartite, the latter more dualistic—body, mind, and spirit, as against body and mind. When “soul” came into play, the issue became still more complex, since not only spirit provided a bridge between the divine and the human, but also soul and mind. For his part, Paul was clear that the mind could be/had been 11. Pace Robert H. Gundry, SOMA in Biblical Theology with Emphasis on Pauline Anthropology (SNTSMS 29; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976). 12. Gen 6:17; Job 33:4; Ps 104:29–30. Since ruach could be used of non-human creation (“the breath of life”—Gen 6:17), the relation of “spirit” to “personal” and “impersonal” becomes even more confused. Was Tertullian, then, justi¿ed in pressing for a clear distinction between afÀatus and spiritus (Adv. Marc. 2.9)? The dif¿culty of determining in some passages whether Paul means (human) spirit or (divine) Spirit is well known; see, e.g., Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1994), 24–26, who renders pneuma in several places (e.g., 1 Cor 14:15) as “S/spirit.” See further John R. Levison, Filled with the Spirit (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009).

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“darkened” and “disquali¿ed” (Rom 1:21, 28). And in 1 Cor 15:44–46 he clearly sets the psyche in the negative column over against the pneuma—human life over against divine life. Paul’s anthropology, then, was more re¿ned than that of most of his contemporaries. The key concepts seem to move along a kind of spectrum or continuum, with pairs which overlap but retain distinct functions, and which function differently in the process of salvation—Àesh and body, mind and heart, soul and spirit.13 Tertullian certainly reÀects on such distinctions (De an. 10–12), though I am far from certain that he appreciated the re¿nement of Paul’s anthropology. I was intrigued, too, by Wilhite’s demonstration of Tertullian’s readiness to use a Spirit-christology or binitarian language, though surprised at its extent. The issue is intriguing, since within Paul one might well say that a Spirit-christology would seem to be as logical as a Wisdom-christology. If it is the case that in the theology of Israel and early Judaism, Spirit of God and Wisdom of God were different ways of speaking of the immanence and operation of God within and upon his creation, then in an incarnational christology Christ could readily be said to have absorbed both functions, Spirit as well as Wisdom. And most commentators accept that Paul did use a Wisdom christology, at least to the extent of using Wisdom language of Christ (1 Cor 8:6; Col 1:15– 17).14 If Spirit was a variant way of speaking of the same immanence of God, then does it not follow that Paul would have understood Christ to be the incarnation of the Spirit as much as the embodiment of God’s Wisdom? In fact, however, Paul seems to identify Christ with the Spirit only in one passage—once again, 1 Cor 15:45: “the ¿rst man Adam became a living psyche; the last Adam became life-giving pneuma.” I have included this passage above in referring to Paul’s distinction between pneuma and psyche. But by the pneuma here Paul must have meant the Spirit of God. The key term is “life-giving.” That is a divine action; for Paul only God or God’s Spirit could be described as “life-giver.”15 Paul would not have spoken of a “life-giving pneuma” unless he meant the “life-giving Spirit (of God).” So here we can speak of a Spirit-christology: that as Christ absorbed the functions of Wisdom, so he absorbed the function of the Spirit. To that extent Tertullian was justi¿ed in his use of what Wilhite refers to as “binitarian” language. 13. See further my The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1998), §3. 14. See again my Theology of Paul, §11.1–2. 15. Rom 4:17; 8:11; 1 Cor 15:22, 45; 2 Cor 3:6.

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But there is another important distinction here, if we are to appreciate the subtlety of Paul’s christology. Notably, in 1 Cor 15:45 the last Adam is the risen Christ; the last Adam is the pattern or archetype of resurrected humanity. First Corinthians 15:45 envisages two “becomings,” the second implied by the parallelism between the quotation from Gen 2:7 (“the ¿rst man Adam became a living psyche”) and Paul’s elaboration (“the last Adam became life-giving pneuma”). For Paul, Christ only “became” life-giving Spirit with his resurrection. In contrast, Wisdom is very much a pre-resurrection identi¿cation with Christ—we might say a primordial identi¿cation since the talk is of creation (1 Cor 8:6; Col 1:15–17). So, strictly speaking, it is not the incarnate Christ who is identi¿ed with Spirit, but only the resurrected Christ—which also means that while we can speak of Christ in Paul as the incarnated Wisdom (though Paul himself never quite puts it so), we should not speak of Christ as the incarnated Spirit. Once again Paul’s theologizing about Christ and the Spirit is more nuanced than is often appreciated. In particular, he also identi¿es the Spirit as the Spirit of Christ.16 This is not because he thought of the risen Christ as the one who gave the Spirit; in Paul’s language only God is described as the one who gives the Spirit.17 The explanation must be rather that the Spirit so inspired Jesus that the character of Jesus could be regarded as the de¿ning character of the Spirit. The Spirit, formerly a rather impersonal way of speaking about God’s immanence, could now be recognized as personal, as having the personality of Christ. This is indicated nowhere more clearly than in the way Paul speaks of the Christians’ sense of sonship as both a sharing in Christ’s sonship and as attested by the Spirit crying “Abba! Father!” (Rom 8:14–17; Gal 4:6–7).18 The other indication that Paul knew he was walking on sensitive ground when speaking of the relation of Christ and the Spirit is the care he seems to have taken to avoid saying that Christ was raised by or through the Spirit. This also would be the logic of Christ’s resurrection as the archetype of the resurrection of believers, since Paul regarded their resurrection as wrought by God “through his Spirit” (Rom 8:11). But whereas Paul could have said quite straightforwardly, “If the Spirit” rather than the more cumbersome, “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus 16. Rom 8:9; Gal 4:6; Phil 1:19. 17. 1 Cor 2:12; 2 Cor 1:21–22; 5:5; Gal 3:5; 4:6; 1 Thess 4:8. 18. To that extent Wilhite is justi¿ed in arguing that “Tertullian more clearly articulates the distinct personhood of the Holy Spirit when utilizing Pauline texts”; but Tertullian’s translation of Pauline texts into the language of “substance” is more confusing than helpful. 1

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from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Jesus from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through the Spirit that dwells in you” (8:11). And there may very well be similar sensitivities in other closely related passages in Paul.19 Was this because Paul wanted to avoid seeing the risen Jesus as subordinate to the Spirit? Who can now say? At all events, Paul seems to have held together experience of God as experience of Christ (“in Christ”) and/or as the experience of the Spirit, to be recognized now as the Spirit of Christ. Christ was now part of the experience of God. Such christology, even if all the nuances were not appreciated, was bound to have inÀuenced Tertullian’s attempts to speak of God in Trinitarian terms.

19. Rom 1:4; 6:4; 1 Cor 6:14; 2 Cor 13:4. See further my Christology in the Making (2d ed.; London: SCM, 1989; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 144. 1

4 TERTULLIAN, PAUL, AND THE NATION OF ISRAEL Geoffrey D. Dunn

If Jesus brought a new covenant between God and people, as his ¿rst followers asserted, what happened to the covenant God had established through Abraham and Moses? Had it been replaced with the new, or did the new co-exist with the one already existing? Did one ¿rst have to be a Jew before one could be a Jesus-follower? What happened to Jews who were not followers of Jesus? These questions confronted the ¿rst generation of Jesus-followers, as Peter’s encounter with the God-fearer and Roman centurion, Cornelius,1 and Paul and Barnabas’ experience in Antiochia Caesaria in Pisidia (next to modern Yalvaç) during the ¿rst missionary journey record (Acts 10:1–11:18; 13:13–51) illustrate. Indeed, the author of Acts records Paul’s explanation as to why, after preaching (rather successfully we are informed) to the Jews in the synagogue one week, he was preaching to the Gentiles the next week: there was an obligation to preach ¿rst to the Jews, but since they have rejected it and were unworthy of eternal life, it was then the turn of the Gentiles to hear his message (Acts 13:46). The question of whether those Gentiles who were attracted to Jesus needed to become Jews through circumcision (for the males) occupied discussions in Jerusalem (Acts 15:1–29), in which Paul argued that there was no distinction between Jew and Gentile in God’s eyes (Acts 15:9), and this was to occupy the rest of his preaching ministry. While a Jesus-follower, Paul continued to consider himself a Jew (Acts 22:3) and took pains to demonstrate to law-observant Jesus followers that he was not encouraging them to abandon the Mosaic covenant (Acts 21:21–26). Paul’s epistolary output became important foundational documents of Christianity, a record of the new covenant and part of the Scriptures. However, the question of the place of law-observant followers of Jesus 1. See Judith M. Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2002), 31–68, for discussion about who God-fearers might have been.

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within Christianity persisted long after Paul, particularly as their numbers fell in proportion to the total number of Christians. As Christianity became more and more distinct from Judaism, which at this time was developing its own post-temple characteristics, the question for Christians became more about the ongoing relevance of the Mosaic covenant. The concern was no longer about Jews within Christianity or Christianity within Judaism, but about the co-existence of two religions. Christian writing of these ¿rst several centuries after the death of Jesus generally denied an ongoing legitimacy to Judaism.2 In Carthage during the time of the Severan dynasty at the end of the second and beginning of the third centuries, issues about the ongoing place of the Jews in God’s plan of salvation remained. One of the most dynamic, creative, and gifted, yet divisive, controversial, and strident early Christian writers, Tertullian, who lived in Carthage, turned his attention frequently in his literary output to these questions about the Jews. The present study examines the ways in which Tertullian made use of Paul in constructing his arguments. One of the signi¿cant contributing factors that differentiated Paul from Tertullian on the question of the fate of the Jewish faith and the people of Israel was the destruction of the Second Temple under Titus in 70. Paul wrote before that cataclysmic event and Tertullian after it. Another point of difference was that Paul wrote as a Christianized Jew while Tertullian wrote as a converted pagan. It will be demonstrated that while Tertullian could cite Pauline passages about the relationship between Christian Jews and Christian Gentiles, most often he divorced the text from the historical context. Tertullian would employ Paul’s harsher appearing comments and almost 2. Whether we should call this Christian attitude anti-Judaism or anti-Semitism is not a question that needs to be resolved here. I would tend to use the ¿rst term to deal with theological debate and the second to deal with racial or ethnic vili¿cation. This would follow Marcel Simon, “Verus Israel”: A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (AD 135–425) (trans. H. McKeating; 2d Eng. ed.; London: Valentine Mitchell, 1996), 397–98; and Craig A. Evans, “Faith and Polemic: The New Testament and First-Century Judaism,” in Anti-Semitism and Early Christianity: Issues of Polemic and Faith (ed. Craig A. Evans and Donald A. Hagner; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 1–17 (1). Thus, I would not use them the same way as John G. Gager, The Origins of Anti-Semitism: Attitudes Toward Judaism in Pagan and Christian Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), 8, who describes the ¿rst as coming from an internal dispute and the second from an external hostility. Of course, the other question is the degree to which theological anti-Judaism leads to racial anti-Semitism. Some, like Rosemary Radford Ruether, Faith and Fratricide: The Theological Roots of Anti-Semitism (New York: Seabury, 1974), 3, and Gavin Langmuir, “Anti-Judaism as the Necessary Preparation for AntiSemitism,” Viator 2 (1971), 383–89, argue that inevitably it does. 1

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completely neglect what appears to be the more moderate comments in Romans. We may note a distinction between explicit use of Paul in Tertullian, which will be the focus here, where Tertullian cites a passage from a Pauline (or deutero-Pauline) letter, and implicit use, where Tertullian comments on a passage from the Hebrew Scriptures, which might have been suggested to him by Paul also having commented on the same passage. Taking the latter fully into account would make the present study extremely lengthy and so cannot be pursued here. What we shall consider are some relevant passages of Paul and what explicit use Tertullian made of them. Paul on the Jews How Paul portrays the enduring relevance of the Mosaic Law for followers of Jesus is an enormous and not uncomplicated topic in itself, and one that has been the subject of numerous studies.3 Paul has many comments to make about Jews who accept Jesus and Jews who do not. My purpose here is not to advance any discussion on this topic, but merely to outline Paul’s various positions throughout his letters4 in order to provide reference points to see how much of that would later inÀuence Tertullian.5 The law remained a source of authority for Paul. In writing to the Corinthians defending his apostolic credentials and his right to be supported by a community he had established, even though he refused to impose himself upon them, Paul turned to the Mosaic Law (Deut 25:4) about the unmuzzled ploughing ox as the ultimate defence (1 Cor 9:8). He insisted on his Jewish identity (2 Cor 11:22; Phil 3:5). Yet, he could also refer to it as the old covenant (that has passed away, in contrast with 3. See, for example, Lloyd Gaston, “Paul and the Torah,” in Antisemitism and the Foundations of Christianity (ed. Alan T. Davies; New York: Paulist, 1979), 48–71; R. David Kaylor, Paul’s Covenant Community: Jew and Gentile in Romans (Atlanta: John Knox, 1988); Peter J. Tomson, Paul and the Jewish Law: Halakha in the Letters of the Apostle to the Gentiles (CRINT 3; JTECL 1; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1990); Graham Harvey, The True Israel: Uses of the Names Jews, Hebrews and Israel in Ancient Jewish and Early Christian Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1996); and Francis Watson, Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles: Beyond the New Perspectives (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007). 4. The question of Pauline authorship of letters like Ephesians, Colossians, and Hebrews can be ignored here, since Tertullian accepted them as Pauline. 5. David Rokéah, Justin Martyr and the Jews (JCPS 5; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 43– 85, examines the ways in which Justin and Paul comment on the law and on Abraham and the status of the Gentiles.

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the enduring new covenant—2 Cor 3:11),6 and one that the Jews seem incapable of understanding fully because they did not have Jesus (2 Cor 3:14), and he could be ambivalent: being like one bound to it for the sake of the Jews and like one free from it for the sake of the Gentiles (1 Cor 9:20–21). On occasion he could follow the (Mosaic) Law, even though not obliged to do so. In his account in Galatians of the meeting in Jerusalem, Paul reported the decision of the meeting that circumcision was not to be demanded for Gentiles wishing to be Christians (Gal 2:3, 6), but the unity of Christians was undermined when Peter visited Antioch and was persuaded not to eat with Christian Gentiles but only with Christian Jews (Gal 2:11–14).7 This led Paul to articulate his law-free gospel: it is through faith in Jesus not observance of the law that one receives the Spirit, as was the case with Abraham (Gal 3:5–14). The law was necessary because of sin, but was to be valid only until the coming of Jesus (Gal 3:19, 25), and now faith in Jesus removes all distinctions, like that between Jews and Greeks (Gal 3:28),8 but delivering from the law those who had been subject to it (Gal 4:5). Those who follow the law are like the sons of Hagar, who should be cast out (Gen 21:10), while the followers of Jesus are like the sons of Sarah, who will be the favored heirs (Gal 4:22–30).9 Paul presented this gospel to urge the Gentile Christians in Galatia not to submit to any pressure to be circumcised,10 since by doing so they would place themselves under the law (the implication being that it would be impossible to ful¿ll) and would lose God’s favor (Gal 5:2–4). Whether one is circumcised or not is of no signi¿cance, only faith counts (Gal 5:6). Yet, immediately after, as Paul gave advice about how to resist the urges of the Àesh, he turned to the law (as Jesus did) to ¿nd the essential element: the love of neighbour as self (Gal 5:14; Lev 19:18; Mark 12:31; Matt 22:39).11 6. Michael J. Cook, “Ties that Blind: An Exposition of II Corinthians 3:12–4:6 and Romans 11:7–10,” in When Jews and Christians Meet (ed. J. J. Petuchowski; Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1988), 125–39. 7. See Jack T. Sanders, Schismatics, Sectarians, Dissidents, Deviants: The First One Hundred Years of Jewish–Christian Relations (London: SCM, 1993), 10–17. 8. Gager, Origins of Anti-Semitism, 225–27. 9. Ibid., 241–43. 10. Michele Murray, Playing a Jewish Game: Gentile Christian Judaizing in the First and Second Centuries CE (SCJ 13; Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2004), 29–41, is a recent attempt to consider Judaizers not as those who were bringing the pressure, but those who succumbed to it. 11. Luke 10:27 does not emphasize the Leviticus passage as being the summary of the entire law. 1

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It would seem clear that Paul’s opponents both in Antioch and in Galatia were Christian Jews, that is, those who had been law-observant Jews before becoming followers of Jesus. What this means is that those Jews who did not accept Jesus as Messiah were not the object of his comments in this letter, although their lack of faith in Jesus and their adherence to the law made them unjusti¿ed by implication. In Hebrews Jesus is contrasted with Moses and found to be as superior as a son is to a servant (3:1–6), although the faith of Moses and a number of other ¿gures is held up for imitation (11:1–31, esp. vv. 24–29). The uselessness of the law to bring anything to perfection is asserted as the author argues that the old priesthood has been replaced by the new priesthood of Jesus himself, who is the guarantee of a better covenant (7:18–28) and a better promise, since the ¿rst covenant was faulty and now obsolete (8:6–13, using Jer 31:31–34). There is a contrast between the worship prescribed in the old covenant (9:1–10) and that achieved by Jesus (9:11–10:18).12 While the author of Ephesians states that Jesus abolished the law (Eph 2:15), there is a much more positive outlook here. The result of this abolition was that inclusion of the Gentiles and the uni¿cation of two peoples as one (Eph 2:14–16). Nothing of relevance is found in Colossians, Philippians, 2 Thessalonians, or Philemon.13 In 1 Thess 2:14–16, however, Paul complained that the Christian Gentiles of Thessalonica had been mistreated by local non-Christians just as Christian Jews in Judea had been by non-Christian Jews, whom he identi¿ed as the people responsible for the death of the prophets and Jesus and for his own persecution, who were now being punished by God.14 12. Gager, Origins of Anti-Semitism, 180–84; William Klassen, “To the Hebrews or Against the Hebrews? Anti-Judaism and the Epistle to the Hebrews,” in AntiJudaism in Early Christianity. Vol. 2, Separation and Polemic (ed. Stephen G. Wilson; SCJ 2; Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1986), 1–16; Robert W. Wall and William L. Lane, “Polemic in Hebrews and the Catholic Epistles,” in Evans and Hagner, eds., Anti-Semitism and Early Christianity, 166–98 (171–85); and Stephen G. Wilson, Related Strangers: Jews and Christians 70–170 C.E. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 110–27. 13. Gager, Origins of Anti-Semitism, 177–80; and James D. G. Dunn, “AntiSemitism in the Deutero-Pauline Literature,” in Evans and Hagner, eds., AntiSemitism and Early Christianity, 151–65 (151), note that anti-Judaism is not a feature of the deutero-Pauline literature. 14. Donald A. Hagner, “Paul’s Quarrel with Judaism,” in Evans and Hagner, eds., Anti-Semitism and Early Christianity, 128–50 (130–36); David Luckensmeyer, The Eschatology of First Thessalonians (NTOA/SNT 71; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2009). 1

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The most extensive comments offered by Paul occur in Romans.15 He begins by asserting that God leads all people to salvation: the Jews ¿rst and the Greeks second, provided they are people of faith (1:16–17; 2:10). Those bound by the law are obliged to follow it (2:12, 17–24). Physical circumcision counted for nothing unless there was a corresponding observance of the law, and one who observed the law without physical circumcision was not disadvantaged but was the real Jew (2:25–29). This is a more sophisticated distinction than that found in Galatians. No longer is it a physical one between Jew and Gentile but now a spiritual one between true and false Jew.16 The advantage of being a Jew was in being entrusted with God’s word (3:1–2), but it does not make that person superior, since both Jew and Greek alike have sinned and no one can ful¿ll the law (3:9, 19–20). So a new way for salvation is needed and was provided through faith in Jesus (3:21–26). The law of works is contrasted with the law of faith (3:27–31), especially as exempli¿ed in Abraham (4:1–25), whose faith and justi¿cation preceded his circumcision.17 The death of Christ, which his followers experience through baptism, means that they are free from the bondage of the law (7:6). It is from ch. 9, after discussing what the new covenant brings, that Paul considers the question of those who are not followers of Jesus and who hold to the old covenant—the Israelites (9:4).18 Paul hoped that they would be saved (10:1) and acknowledges that both Jew and Greek have the same Lord (10:12), but for the Jews to be saved they would need to hear the gospel preached and believe in it (10:14–21). The fact that many do not believe implies their condemnation, but this does not mean that

15. See Neil Elliott, The Rhetoric of Romans: Argumentative Constraint and Strategy and Paul’s Dialogue with Judaism (2d ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), who highlights the importance of determining Paul’s audience for examining his attitude towards the Jews. 16. It is on this basis of Paul seeing Christianity as a true Judaism that Hagner, “Paul’s Quarrel with Judaism,” 129, questions the idea that Paul could have been anti-Judaic in the full sense of that word. 17. Gager, Origins of Anti-Semitism, 214–20; and Hagner, “Paul’s Quarrel with Judaism,” 136–41. 18. See J. A. Fisher, “Dissent Within a Religious Community: Romans 9–11,” BTB 10 (1980): 105–10; C. E. B. Cran¿eld, “Romans 9:30–10:4,” Int 34 (1980): 70–74; D. G. Johnson, “The Structure and Meaning of Romans 11,” CBQ 46 (1984): 91–103; Gager, The Origins of Anti-Semitism, 223–25; and J. C. Beker, “The Faithfulness of God and the Priority of Israel in Paul’s Letter to the Romans,” in Christians Among Jews and Gentiles: Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl on His Sixty-¿fth Birthday (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 10–16. 1

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God has rejected Israel, even though Christ indeed is the “end” of the law (10:4).19 A remnant has been preserved (11:2–10), and by God’s choice of the Gentiles Paul hoped further that the Israelites would be stirred by envy and believe (11:11–16). Paul’s metaphor for the relationship between the two covenants is organic: Israel is the cultivated olive tree, and the Gentiles are branches from a wild olive tree grafted on in place of some branches that have been pruned (11:16–21). The new branches still depend upon the root. Indeed, even the pruned branches could be grafted back on later (11:23–24) so that all Israel will be saved (11:26). In this letter, as in several others, Paul was proud to assert his Israelite status (11:1). One of the ongoing questions in Pauline scholarship is whether the hardline view in Galatians or the more moderate and optimistic view in Romans truly represents Paul’s thinking about the enduring relevance of Judaism.20 Tertullian’s Use of Paul These scriptural verses in the Pauline corpus provide us with the basis for examining Tertullian’s comments about the Jews. He lived at a time when Christianity and Judaism were now distinct religions; their ways certainly had diverged, although they had not yet fully parted.21 Thus, Tertullian’s comments about Judaism are not from an internal disagreement but an external one.22 Tertullian had much more to say about the Jews beyond what he read in Paul. It is appropriate to begin with that broader picture of Tertullian on the Jews.

19. Hagner, “Paul’s Quarrel with Judaism,” 140, argues for taking telos as “termination” rather than “goal.” 20. See S. J. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews: Abraham in Early Christian Controversy (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox, 1991); and S. G. Hall, Christian Anti-Semitism and Paul’s Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 21. A “parting” of the ways seems to imply the end of any contact, while a divergence allows, in my opinion, for a distinction in the midst of ongoing contact. See Adam Becker and Annette Yoshiko Reed, eds., The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (TSAJ 95; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 22. Gager, Origins of Anti-Semitism, 164, argues that with Tertullian “the intensity of [his] language clearly crosses the boundary between anti-Judaism and antiSemitism.” Evans, “Faith and Polemic,” 9, goes as far as to claim that Tertullian’s external use of internal, prophetic criticism of Judaism was racist and bigoted. 1

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Adversus Iudaeos One of Tertullian’s earliest works is Adversus Iudaeos, a pamphlet occasioned by an encounter between a proselyte Jew and a Christian and their respective supporters, which ended in uproar and led Tertullian to compose this work as an example of what ought to have been said on that previous occasion and what could be used in the future at other such meetings.23 Thus, this work is not the record of that previous dialogue, but a blueprint for future Christian contributions to such dialogues. My analysis of the pamphlet leads to the conclusion that Tertullian wrote the entire text, but left it in an unrevised state, that the occasion should be taken at face value as indicating ongoing interaction between Jews and Christians, who by the third century were quite distinct religious groups, and that the purpose of the pamphlet was not to convert Jews but to win potential debates with them about the validity of Christianity and, more importantly, about the replacement of the Jews by the Gentiles, thereby bolstering Christian self-identity.24 It is a work that relies heavily upon Justin’s Dialogus cum Tryphone.25 In a work designed to be used to debate with Jews about just what God’s plan for salvation is, one would need to use evidence that both sides would accept as valid, even though they might disagree about how to interpret it. It is therefore not surprising that Adversus Iudaeos contains almost no references to the New Testament at all.26 However, even though nothing from Paul appears explicitly, this is not to say that Tertullian did not make use of him. Tertullian’s arguments in his refutatio in the early chapters about the difference between a physical and spiritual circumcision and an old and new law employ some passages 23. Tertullian, Adv. Iud. 1.1 (CCSL 2.1339). 24. Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (The Early Church Fathers; London/New York: Routledge, 2004), 63–68; Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian’s Adversus Iudaeos: A Rhetorical Analysis (PatrMS 19; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2008), especially 6–57. 25. The best analysis of this work remains Oskar Skarsaune, The Proof from Prophecy: A Study in Justin Martyr’s Proof-Text Tradition. Text-type, Provenance, Theological Pro¿le (NovTSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1987). See also T. Stylianopoulos, Justin Martyr and the Mosaic Law (SBLDS 20; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1975); Harold Remus, “Justin Martyr’s Argument with Judaism,” in Wilson, ed., Anti-Judaism in Early Christianity, 59–80; Timothy J. Horner, Listening to Trypho: Justin Martyr’s Dialogue Reconsidered (CBET 28; Leuven: Peeters, 2001); and Rokéah, Justin Martyr and the Jews. 26. Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Pro temporum condicione: Jews and Christians as God’s People in Tertullian’s Aduersus Iudaeos,” in Prayer and Spirituality in the Early Church, vol. 2 (ed. Pauline Allen, Wendy Mayer, and Lawrence Cross; Brisbane: Centre for Early Christian Studies, 1999), 315–41 (318–19). 1

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from the Hebrew Scriptures also employed by Paul.27 Tertullian imitated Paul’s arguments on a number of occasions without acknowledgment. Yet, he was not slavish in his imitation. For example, like Paul in Rom 9:12, Tertullian made use of Gen 25:23.28 I have argued, however, that Tertullian’s interpretation differed from Paul’s in that Paul was simply arguing in Rom 9:6–24 that God has the free will to choose whomever God wants, including the Gentiles. The story of Rebekah’s twins simply shows that not all Abraham’s descendants are his children who will inherit God’s promise (Rom 9:7). I would contend that Paul was not interested here in the typological interpretation of the twins (and that here he presumed the standard Jewish interpretation that the elder referred to foreigners while the younger referred to Israel). Tertullian, following Irenaeus,29 inverted this interpretation, making Jacob, the younger twin, the symbol of the Christians not the Jews, who were represented by Esau, because he was the older twin.30 Tertullian took God’s promise to Rebekah that the younger will surpass the older and the older will serve the younger to mean that the Christians replaced the Jews, who had been divorced (est repudiatus) as God’s chosen people.31 The refutatio of the pamphlet seeks to demonstrate that God promised that the old law would cease and that such a promise has been ful¿lled. This supersessionism matches what we ¿nd in Heb 8:16–30 and even Gal 3:19 and 4:30 in terms of the divine rejection of the covenant with Israel, although using different scriptural passages to construct their arguments. The Pauline remnant theology of Romans does not ¿nd a place in this pamphlet. Elsewhere, as David Efroymson has detected, Tertullian on many occasions described an opponent’s position on some point of belief as Jewish and therefore wrong, both sides of the debate accepting that whatever was Jewish was indeed wrong. As his initial example, Efroymson 27. Tertullian, Adv. Iud. 2.1b–3.13 (CCSL 2.1341–47). 28. Tertullian, Adv. Iud. 1.3–5 (CCSL 2.1339–40). 29. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 4.21.2–3 (SC 100.678–84). 30. See Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian and Rebekah: A Re-reading of an ‘AntiJewish’ Argument in Early Christian Literature,” VC 52 (1998): 119–45 (125). Here, as I indicate, I disagree with scholars like Herman Tränkle, Q.S.F. Tertulliani, “Adversus Iudaeos”: Mit Einleitung und kritischem Kommentar (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1964), lxxv; H. Schreckenberg, Die christlichen Adversus-Iudaeos-Texte und ihr literarisches und historisches Umfeld (1.–11. Jh) (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1990), 63; and R. J. Clifford, “Genesis 25:19–34,” Int 45 (1991): 397–401 (401). On pp. 126–38 of my article I also argue that Tertullian did not derive his interpretation from Barnabas or Justin Martyr. 31. Tertullian, Adv. Iud. 1.8 (CCSL 2.1341). See also 3. 1

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points to the way in which Tertullian labels the kind of monotheism of Praxeus as nothing better than that of the Jews and inadequate for Christians.32 What he is able to demonstrate are the many occasions on which Tertullian was able to contrast the inadequacies of the Jewish belief with their Christian ful¿llment. Adversus Marcionem 5 We may turn our attention now to something Tertullian wrote that does have very explicit dependence upon Paul. Tertullian’s longest work, his ¿ve-volume treatise against Marcion, centers on countering this heretic’s gnostic-inÀuenced belief in two gods (a bad creator revealed in the Old Testament and a good supreme god revealed by Jesus as recorded in the New Testament), and his subsequent rejection of the Hebrew Scriptures (and signi¿cant parts of the New Testament as well) as valid for Christians.33 Marcion took the Pauline notion of new law to an extreme: If the old law were replaced, why not simply remove the Hebrew Scriptures altogether? In responding, Tertullian had to walk a tightrope: af¿rming the validity of the Hebrew Scriptures but denying that of Judaism. Tertullian needed to demonstrate, which he attempted in book 2, that the god of those Scriptures was not bad because he punished; such action was necessary because the Jews were hard of heart.34 David Efroymson has noted: [T]he (admitted) “inferiority” of God’s “old” law and/or cult cannot be due to any inferiority on God’s part, but must be accounted for by the “inferiority” of the people with whom God was working at that time. Thus, the God of the Hebrew Bible was “salvaged” for Christians precisely by means of the anti-Judaic myth.35 32. David P. Efroymson, “Tertullian’s Anti-Jewish Rhetoric: Guilt by Association,” USQR 36 (1980): 25–37 (25–26). See Tertullian, Adv. Prax. 31.1–2 (CCSL 2.1204). 33. See Stephen G. Wilson, “Marcion and the Jews,” in Wilson, ed., AntiJudaism in Early Christianity, 45–58; Wilson, Related Strangers, 207–21; Frank Reitzenstein, ed., The First Bible: Marcion of Sinope AD 140 (Walliston: Chrestos, 2006); R. Joseph Hoffmann, Marcion: On the Restitution of Christianity. An Essay on the Development of Radical Paulinist Theology in the Second Century (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984); and Bart D. Ehrman, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 103–9. For one criticism of Hoffmann’s redating, see Sebastian Moll, The Arch-Heretic Marcion (WUNT 250; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 6–8. 34. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 2.15.1–2 (CCSL 1.492). 35. David P. Efroymson, “The Patristic Connection,” in Antisemitism and the Foundations of Christianity (ed. Alan T. Davies; New York: Paulist, 1979), 98–117 (101). 1

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Stephen Wilson captures something of the tightrope Tertullian and other early Christians walked in rejecting both Marcion and Judaism: It is clear that both the Marcionite and Catholic positions involve a denigration of Judaism. Putting it simply, it is as if the Marcionite said to the Jew, “Keep your God, your Scriptures, your Messiah, and your law; we consider them to be inferior, superseded in every way by the Gospel.” The Catholic said: “We’ll take your God, your Messiah, your Scriptures, and some of your laws; as for you, you are disinherited, cast into a limbo, and your survival serves only as a warning of the consequences of obdurate wickedness.36

In the third book Tertullian sought to prove that the Christ who appeared was the same as the one expected in Old Testament prophecy, and Marcion’s inability to see this matched that of the Jews. Book 4 posits that the Christ in Luke’s Gospel (the only gospel Marcion accepted) was identi¿ably the Son of the creator god, not of some second god of Marcion, and that Jesus’ opposition to Judaism had been foretold by that creator god. Book 5 turns to Marcion’s use of Paul. It is that last book that we ought to consider here. Tertullian’s thesis was that Paul proclaimed no new god other than the creator,37 even though Paul himself did preach a new law to replace the old law.38 It was the creator god who foretold the passing away (decessio) of the old law through its replacement by the new.39 The old law is defended against Marcion’s attack by being regarded as preparatory for the new.40 In book 5 Tertullian moves through Paul letter by letter, defending this notion against Marcion. Tertullian acknowledged that Galatians was the principal anti-Judaic letter from Paul.41 Besides noting Paul’s teaching that the old law had ended, Tertullian was more interested to demonstrate that it was the creator god who had called for this. The problem with Paul’s opponents in Galatia was not their belief in a new god but in their adherence to the old law, particularly circumcision (as had been the case for Paul with the pressure put upon him about the uncircumcised Titus).42 It is the question 36. Wilson, “Marcion and the Jews,” 58. 37. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.1.9 (CCSL 1.665). 38. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 1.21.1 (CCSL 1.462). 39. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.2.4 (CCSL 1.666). 40. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 4.17.2 (CCSL 1.585). 41. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.2.1 (CCSL 1.665). 42. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.3.2 (CCSL 1.668): “non aliud statuere pergentes quam perseuerantiam legis, ex ¿de sine dubio integra creatoris, atque ita peruertentes euangelium, non interpolatione scripturae, qua Christum creatoris ef¿ngerent, sed retentione ueteris disciplinae, ne legem creatoris excluderent.”

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of the existence of two gods that preoccupied Tertullian’s reading of Paul here, even while acknowledging that those under the old law had to be liberated from it (Gal 4:5, the only time Tertullian used this verse) so that the new law could come.43 The retention by Marcion of Gal 4:22–24, about the sons of Abraham by Hagar and Sarah, surprised Tertullian, for it was a passage that spoke of the two covenants and demonstrated that it was one and the same God who created both peoples.44 The nature of the relationship between those peoples was not at issue here. Tertullian works his way through a number of the Pauline letters throughout book 5.45 Interestingly, the Pastoral Letters and Hebrews are not examined. Although there are a number of references to Judaism, they are incidental to Tertullian’s main goal of demonstrating that Paul believed that the creator god was one and the same with the god preached by Jesus. The interest is with historic Judaism and not with the situation in Paul’s own time or after. The references to Judaism in Paul function to show how the minister of Marcion’s supposed new god was so concerned with the creator god, unlike Marcion himself. Paul is described as the destroyer of Judaism (destructor Iudaismi), but one whose greetings to the Corinthians imitates what the creator god in the Hebrew Scriptures promises: grace and peace.46 Indeed, given Tertullian’s comments later in the book, it would seem that there is a degree of irony and sarcasm in this statement.47 The continuity between the two gods, which proves that there is only one, is demonstrated in the religion of Israel, in which there was latent meaning (only to be brought to full light by Jesus) as the hidden wisdom of God (1 Cor 2:7).48 The passage in Deut 25:4 about the unmuzzled ox, found in 1 Cor 9:8, is interpreted in this way: Paul acknowledged the authority of the creator god by citing the old law, he was not seeking to destroy that authority, and he acknowledged the allegorical value of the Hebrew Scriptures in pointing to Christian reality.49 It is the only time that Tertullian used this 43. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.4.3 (CCSL 1.672). 44. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.4.8 (CCSL 1.673). 45. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.5–10 (CCSL 1.675–95)—1 Corinthians; 5.11–12 (CCSL 1.695–702)—2 Corinthians; 5.13–14 (CCSL 1.702–8)—Romans; 5.15 (CCSL 1.708–10)—1 Thessalonians; 5.16 (CCSL 1.710–12)—2 Thessalonians; 5.17–18 (CCSL 1.712–20)—Ephesians; 5.19 (CCSL 1.720–23)—Colossians; 5.20 (CCSL 1.723–25)—Philippians; 5.21 (CCSL 1.725–26)—Philemon. 46. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.5.1 (CCSL 1.675). 47. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.13.15 (CCSL 1.705), wonders how Paul could have been the destroyer of the creator since he revered the creator’s law. 48. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.6.2 (CCSL1.678). 49. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.7.10–11 (CCSL 1.684). 1

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passage from Paul. It is not surprising, given Tertullian’s aim in this book, that a passage like 1 Cor 9:20–21, about Paul being like one bound to the law for the sake of preaching to the Jews, was not mentioned. Turning to 2 Cor 3:7–11, about the superiority of the new covenant over the old, Tertullian asserted that there can only be new if there has been old.50 The old certainly existed, and it was not given by some inferior god. The trouble was not with it, but with the blindness of the Jews (2 Cor 3:14–15). It is one and the same God who both gave the old law, which the Jews do not understand, and the Christ, who can remove that misunderstanding. Since the creator god promised to establish a new law, which came about in Jesus, Marcion’s position had to be untenable. This was the only time he cited this passage in any of his extant writings. In Tertullian’s reading, Romans appeared to be the Pauline letter that most argued for the abolition (excludere) of the law.51 Yet the fact that God leads believers, ¿rst Jew then Greek, to salvation (Rom 1:16–17) is for Tertullian an indication that the just God is also the good God, contrary to Marcion.52 The reference to all sinners perishing, whether they have the law or not (Rom 2:12), is likewise only found in this book of Adversus Marcionem.53 It is the only time in Tertullian’s literary output that this passage is used.54 Again, the over-riding concern is with the oneness of God: the circumcision of the heart rather than the Àesh was not just the concern of Marcion’s new god, but of the god revealed, for example, by Jeremiah (Rom 2:29).55 Paul was a servant of the God of the Jews, because there was only the one God. It would seem that Marcion excluded all of ch. 9 of Romans from his text of the letter,56 and even when Tertullian makes comments about the next two chapters there is little about the fate of the Jews, other than noting that the misdirected zealousness of the Jews (Rom 10:2–4) was something the creator god also complained about.57 Earlier, in his observations on 1 Corinthians, Tertullian, in commenting upon the resurrection, digressed to note the

50. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.11.5 (CCSL 1.696): “illic enim erit superponi quid, ubi fuerit et illud, cui superponitur.” 51. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.13.1 (CCSL 1.702). 52. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.13.2 (CCSL 1.702). 53. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.13.4 (CCSL 1.702). 54. In Tertullian, De exh. cast. 7.4 (CCSL 2.1025), there is a hint of a reference to Rom 1:17 about living by faith, but nothing about Jews and Greeks. 55. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.13.7 (CCSL 1.703). Paul does not make reference to Jeremiah in this part of Romans. 56. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.14.6 (CCSL 1.706). 57. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.14.7–8 (CCSL 1.706).

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messianic ful¿llment of prophecy. He noted that Jesus would be the one, not Hezekiah, who would be the new Melchizedek, as he was high priest of all the uncircumcised who believe, but that eventually he would win over the circumcised as well. This is an allusion to Rom 11:26–27 about the eventual salvation of Israel, but it is a passage never again alluded to elsewhere by Tertullian.58 With regard to 1 Thess 2:15 about the Jews killing their prophets, Tertullian used this to argue that since Paul took exception to this on behalf of God, it would have to follow that these were the prophets of the same God, not another one, and that the same God was offended by what the Jews had done to the prophets as well as to Jesus.59 Any notion of Jewish persecution of Christian Jews (or Christians in general) in the letter receives no mention in Tertullian, as it did not contribute to his argument against Marcion. These verses from 1 Thessalonians are only used by Tertullian in this one instance, although elsewhere he will refer to the Jews as persecutors of Christians.60 The unity of Jews and Christians in Christ through the abolition of the law (Eph 2:14–15) is mentioned in this work, but in no other of his writings.61 First and Second Corinthians We may now turn to Tertullian’s use of Paul with regard to Judaism and the Jews in his other works. The Pauline passage in 1 Cor 9:19–21 about being all things to all people is mentioned in four other places in Tertullian. In each instance, the original context about the Jewish law is not important. The ¿rst is in the fourth book Adversus Marcionem. In contrast to Marcion who deprived those apostles whom Paul had rebuked of authority in the church, Tertullian asserted that perhaps Peter, who changed his eating habits while in Antioch, was acting the same way Paul did, being all things to all people, and by implication was unworthy of Paul’s censure.62 In De idololatria, in commenting on blasphemy, Tertullian argued that being all things does not mean that a Christian becomes an idolater with idolaters.63 In defending the validity of the faith on the basis of the apostolic tradition in De praescriptione haereticorum, 58. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.9.9 (CCSL 1.691). 59. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.15.1–2 (CCSL 1.708). 60. Tertullian, Ad nat. 1.14.2 (CCSL 1.33); Scorp. 10.10 (CCSL 2.1089). See David M. Scholer, “Tertullian on Jewish Persecution of Christians,” StPatr 17 (1982): 821–28. 61. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.17.14–15 (CCSL 1.715–16). 62. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 4.3.3 (CCSL 1.548–49). 63. Tertullian, De idol. 14.4–5 (CCSL 2.1114).

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and in defending Peter in particular, whose rebuke by Paul in Antioch was taken by Tertullian’s opponents and proof of Peter’s lack of credibility as a transmitter of the faith, Tertullian noted that things change depending upon circumstances. One rebuke of Peter did not invalidate his apostolic status. Indeed, Paul could change, being like a Jew to Jews and a Gentile to Gentiles.64 The fourth instance I shall mention below. Galatians One would expect Tertullian to make numerous references to material from Galatians. In De monogamia, where he interprets 1 Cor 7:39 about whether or not a widow can remarry contrary to the standard interpretation in his community, such that only someone widowed before she became a Christian is permitted to remarry, Tertullian argued that Paul needs to be interpreted in context, and he gathers a number of passages to support his position. In ch. 14 he concedes that Paul might have allowed the standard view, but it would only have been as a parallel with Moses allowing divorce because of the hardness of Jewish hearts. It is for that reason only that Paul allowed Timothy to be circumcised (Acts 16:3; cf. Gal 2:3), even though he chastised those Galatian Christians who wanted to observe the Jewish law (Gal 3:10). Paul was living according to his principle in 1 Cor 9:20–22 of being all things to all people (this is the fourth example, promised above).65 It was an indulgence for the Galatians that has since been rescinded by the Paraclete.66 This argument of changed historical circumstances was a rhetorical technique Tertullian often employed when it suited.67 Paul’s censure of Peter only appears explicitly on one other occasion in Tertullian, in De praescriptione haereticorum.68 The question in ch. 23 is about whether Paul preached a gospel that differed from that of Peter. The answer was no. Peter had been rebuked because he had succumbed to peer pressure or human weakness, not because he had compromised the gospel.69 Tertullian makes uses of Gal 3 in several treatises, but on no

64. Tertullian, De prae. haer. 14.1–2 (CCSL 1.198). 65. Tertullian, De mon. 14.1–2 (CCSL 2.1249). 66. Tertullian, De mon. 14.3 (CCSL 2.1249). 67. Robert D. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric and the Art of Tertullian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 80. 68. On Tertullian’s arguments in this pamphlet, see Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” JECS 14 (2006): 141–55. 69. Tertullian, De prae. haer. 23.1–11 (CCSL 1.204–5). This argument would be developed in Adv. Marc. 4.3.3. This would con¿rm the point made by Timothy D. 1

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occasion does he refer back to the historical context of debates about the keeping of the law and the role of faith.70 Such a notable passage, like Gal 3:28, about there being no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female in Christ is never once cited by Tertullian. Paul’s discussion of the two sons of Abraham is mentioned occasionally. In De exhortatione castitatis and Ad uxorem there is an implicit reference to Abraham’s multiple relationships as part of an argument against Christians remarrying: Abraham would have provided an example that could be imitated had not new discipline been imposed, which Tertullian found in 1 Cor 7:29. Galatians is not mentioned explicitly.71 In Adv. Marc. 3 Tertullian referred to the principle for interpreting Scripture he would employ against Marcion, which was to understand some passages allegorically rather than literally.72 The two sons of Abraham were to be understood allegorically, although at this point Tertullian did not explain that any further.73 In De praescriptione haereticorum Tertullian noted that many of the heresies existing in his own time had already been condemned in their embryonic form in apostolic times. Ebionism was already condemned by Paul’s rejection in Galatians of those who defended the necessity of circumcision and the law.74 This is really about the only occasion in all of Tertullian’s writings, apart from what we have seen in Adv. Marc. 5, where the historical context of Galatians is noted and central to his point.

Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 41, that De praescriptione haereticorum is to be dated prior to Adversus Marcionem. 70. See Tertullian, De mon. 6.1–2 (CCSL 2.1235–36)—concerned about Abraham as a man of faith; De carn. Chris. 22.5 (CCSL 2.931)—on Abraham (on this part of the treatise, see Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Mary’s Virginity in partu and Tertullian’s Anti-Docetism Reconsidered,” JTS 58 [2007]: 467–84); De exh. cast. 7.4 (CCSL 2.1025)—clergy are not to remarry (the reference to Gal 3:11 about living by faith seems unconnected with the point being made); De fug. 12.2 (CCSL 2.1150)—Christ becoming cursed for us; De pat. 8.3 (CCSL 1.308)—the patience of Christ in being cursed for us; and Adv. Prax. 29.3 (CCSL 2.1202)—the cursing of Christ cannot be the cursing of the Father, which would follow from Praxean’s theology. 71. Tertullian, De exh. cast. 6.1 (CCSL 2.1023); Ad ux. 1.2.2 (CCSL 1.374). 72. For comment on the ways in which Tertullian could use allegorical or literal interpretations, depending upon the rhetorical situation, see Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis,” 141–55. 73. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3.5.4 (CCSL 1.513). 74. Tertullian, De prae. haer. 33.5 (CCSL 1.214). 1

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Hebrews Reference to Hebrews is minimal in Tertullian, and reference to the strongly anti-Judaic passages, like Heb 3, 7, and 8, is entirely absent in Tertullian’s corpus of writing. De carne Christi mentions Christ as high priest (9:10),75 and Ad uxorem mentions a promised eternal inheritance (9:15),76 but there is no use made by Tertullian anywhere of Hebrew’s vehement rejection of any enduring validity for the Jewish law. Romans While Rom 1:16 about faith-¿lled Jews ¿rst, then Greeks coming to salvation is only used in Adv. Marc. 5, Rom 2:10, about everyone doing good coming to glory, ¿rst the Jews then the Greeks, is never cited anywhere by Tertullian. De resurrectione mortuorum employs allegorical interpretations of Scripture to argue for the true Àesh of Christ. At one point he states that the blessings of heaven are blessings for the renewed Àesh, but since the Jews are ignorant of this promise they miss out. The new Jerusalem is the Àesh of the risen Lord, which transforms the believer inwardly, since a true Jew is not one who merely observes the law outwardly but inwardly (2:28–29).77 In the document for his wife, Tertullian has to counter the belief that it is acceptable to remarry. He does this by means of turning to this passage of Romans. The Pauline notion of the replacement of physical circumcision with a spiritual one from the end of Rom 2 is used by Tertullian to argue that the church was pre¿gured by the synagogue, but that certain features of Judaism needed to be removed and de¿ciencies needed to be recti¿ed, which they were in Christ.78 The notion of their being advantages in being a Jew in that they have long had the Word (3:1–2) does not appear in Tertullian anywhere, nor does the idea that the Jews have no superiority over Christian Gentiles since both Jew and Greek are condemned by sin (3:9). On one occasion, in De pudicitia, where Tertullian wanted to reinforce the prohibition on adultery and fornication, he turned to 3:31, where Paul asserted that the law was not being abolished by faith but con¿rmed, to defend that prohibition, which was made stronger by the teaching of Jesus.79 This is a 75. Tertullian, De carn.Chris. 5.10 (CCSL 2. 882). 76. Tertullian, Ad ux. 1.1.2 (CCSL 1.373). 77. Tertullian, De res. carn. 26.9–11 (CCSL 2.955). 78. Tertullian, Ad ux. 1.2.2–3 (CCSL 2.374–75). 79. Tertullian, De pud. 6.5 (CCSL 2.1290). The same kind of argument appears in De mon. 7.1 (CCSL 2.1237), where Tertullian acknowledged that the old law was abolished, but that some provisions of it were not unnecessary burdens but relevant 1

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particularly masterful use of a piece of Scripture in a rhetorical Àourish to argue for something (the enduring validity of the old law) that normally he argued against. What is surprising is that this was the only occasion he used it. Romans 4, about the faith of Abraham, appears only in Adv. Marc. 4.80 In the parable of the man with two sons (Luke 15:11– 32), the Jews cannot be understood as represented by the elder son since they could never have claimed to have served the father faithfully, even though they are the elder of God’s adopted children in terms of temporal priority (Rom 9:4).81 We now come to Rom 10–11, Paul’s moderate position with his remnant theology. Just as Gal 3:28 is nowhere mentioned by Tertullian, so too Rom 10:12, about there being no difference between Jew and Greek, is never mentioned by Tertullian. Nothing else of relevance from ch. 10 is mentioned by Tertullian.82 Romans 11:1–10, about the rejection of most of Israel and the survival of a remnant by the grace of God, is nowhere utilized by Tertullian, except to note, from v. 1, that Paul was from the tribe of Benjamin.83 The notion that salvation for the Gentiles will rouse the Jews to envy and the acceptance of the gospel (11:11–16a) is also absent, as is reference to the organic metaphor of the grafted branch (11:16b–21). Conclusion What this research reveals is just how little Tertullian turned to Paul to comment about the relationship between Jews and Christians and about the enduring validity of Judaism. Tertullian was a supersessionist when he had the Jews in mind as a debating partner, as Adversus Iudaeos reveals, where, not surprisingly, Paul was not employed as a mutually agreed source of authority. Yet Pauline ideas, particularly as found in Galatians, no doubt shaped much of the contrast found in the refutatio in the early chapters about the end of the old law and physical circumcision with their replacement by the new law and the spiritual circumcision. When Tertullian turned his attention to someone he considered to be a to salvation, and that what Jesus did was not abolish the law but extend it to its originally intended purpose. See Efroymson, “Tertullian’s Anti-Jewish Rhetoric,” 32 (the reference should be Rom 3:31 not 3:11). 80. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 4.34.12–13 (CCSL 1.638). 81. Tertullian, De pud. 8.4 (CCSL 2.1295). 82. Tertullian, Adv. Prax. 11.8 (CCSL 2.1172), cites Isa 53:1, as does Rom 10:16; De an. 49.3 (CCSL 2.855) cites Rom 10:18. 83. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.1.5 (CCSL 1.664). 1

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graver threat to Christianity than the Jews, viz., Marcion, and worked his way through the Scriptures both accepted as valid, what we ¿nd in book 5, which deals with the Pauline letters, was that Tertullian was simply interested to demonstrate that Paul was a believer in the creator god whom Marcion rejected and that it was this god who had announced the passing away of the old law and the coming of the new. The fate of the Jews was irrelevant to the discussion and rarely the object of comment. In other works Tertullian’s comments about Israel’s enduring relationship with God and the importance of the old law, relied very much on what his opponent had said previously. Of course, this depended upon whether or not such original context was relevant to the debate in which Tertullian was engaged. It must be remembered that he was an occasional writer, always dealing with some controversial topic. If an opponent denied that some requirement in the Hebrew Scriptures still applied because it had been replaced by the new covenant of Jesus, he could argue for the continuing relevance of the old because Jesus had come to ful¿ll not abolish the old. Yet, equally, on other occasions, could he argue the exact opposite by appealing to more supersessionist passages of the New Testament. The variety of opinion within the New Testament itself gave him this scope, but in both methods the Jews and Judaism came in for criticism. As ever with Tertullian it is hard to pin him down; he seems capable of making contrary arguments on different occasions. He certainly believed that the covenant with Moses had been abrogated and meant that the Jews had been replaced by the Christians as God’s people. The only parts of that covenant to be preserved were those parts con¿rmed and extended by Jesus. Where appropriate he could turn to the Pauline letters for support. Yet passages of Paul that challenged this notion, such as found in Rom 11, could generally just be ignored. The interesting point to conclude with is that it seems he could get away with this because no opponent in Severan Carthage at the beginning of the third century seems to have championed Paul’s remnant theology.

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TERTULLIAN, PAUL, AND THE NATION OF ISRAEL: A RESPONSE TO GEOFFREY D. DUNN John M. G. Barclay

As Geoffrey Dunn has shown in his helpful analysis of our topic, Tertullian rarely makes focused comment on Jews and Judaism, and where he does Paul is not the only, or even the chief, inÀuence on his thought. Nonetheless, there is suf¿cient material to conduct an analysis of the points of intersection, similarity, and difference between Tertullian and Paul, and the comparison can bring to light the historical and theological gulf that separates them. I will focus my attention on the two texts of chief interest to Dunn, the inter-related treatises Adversus Iudaeos and Adversum Marcionem.1 As Dunn remarks, Tertullian is a master of rhetorical invention and can turn different elements of the biblical tradition (including the Pauline texts) to varying purposes according to his argumentative needs. In that respect, at least, he resembles Paul, who also produces varying statements on the people of Israel in different letters. Tertullian can select items from this Pauline store, placing Pauline tesserae in a new mosaic of biblical citations or allusions; even where he follows the contents of Paul’s letters in Adv. Marc. 5, he selects only what suits his argumentation against Marcion. But there are consistent hermeneutical tendencies in Tertullian’s use of the Pauline material, of which we will trace here just two. The Historical Replacement of Jews and Judaism? For the purposes of his argument in both our treatises, Tertullian argues that God’s interactions with the world follow a historical order, where certain customs or laws become valid or invalid according to “the issue 1. The complex question of the relationship between these texts I leave to one side, glad to depend here on Dunn’s expertise. In some cases identical material on the fate of the Jews is used in different contexts and for different purposes (e.g., Adv. Iud. 13–14 and Adv. Marc. 3.7, 12–14, 23). 1

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of events and the order of the times” (exitus rerum et ordo temporum, Adv. Iud. 13.28). This argument is crucial to the opening chapters of Adversus Iudaeos, where Tertullian argues that the Mosaic Law was neither original nor eternal: it came into place at a particular time, and ordained distinctively Jewish practices such as circumcision and Sabbath-observance which were strictly temporary, destined to pass away once a “new law” was introduced by Christ. The same schema, for Tertullian, applies to the people of Israel: they have had their time and place in history, but God’s purposes have moved on from the nation of Israel to the “second people” of Christians (Adv. Iud. 9.22), made up of Gentiles from all across the globe. In the opening, foundational, chapter of Adversus Iudaeos, this claim is developed by interpretation of Rebecca’s two sons: the former (Esau = Israel) has been replaced and “defeated” by the “greater” (Jacob = the Christian people), which “attains the grace of divine favour from which Israel has been divorced” (gratiam divinae dignationis consequitur, a qua Israel est repudiatus, Adv. Iud. 1.8).2 Paul was of course undeniably a Jew, but he was destined to be “taken away from Judaea, that is from Judaism (Judaismus), for the building up of Christianity (Christianismus)” (Adv. Marc. 5.7.10). This shift has taken place with the coming of Christ and is justi¿ed not only by Israel’s history of idolatry, but also by its grievous errors of ignorance, stupor, and unbelief in rejecting and killing Christ. This sense of progression in salvation history is crucially con¿rmed for Tertullian by the events that have happened since Christ, in particular the destruction of Jerusalem and the “dispersion” of Jews from Judaea (marked by the Hadrianic ban on Jewish access to the newly founded Aelia Capitolina). In a precise calculation of dates up to Christ and between Christ and 70 C.E., Tertullian insists that the Danielic and other prophecies of the “extermination” of Jerusalem have come true exactly as predicted (Adv. Iud. 8): the death of Christ is the precursor and cause of the captivity and dispersion of Israel, in a tight historical connection which proves that the promised Christ has come and that it would be impossible for another to arise as Jews and Marcionites anticipated (Adv. Iud. 13.28–29 = Adv. Marc. 3.23.1–4). History has borne out God’s repudiation of the Jews so clearly that Tertullian can even take the “sign” of circumcision (cf. Rom 4:11) as intended to mark out Jews for the

2. For the pivotal role of the Esau–Jacob identi¿cations in the logic of Adversus Iudaeos, see especially Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian and Rebekah: A Re-Reading of an ‘Anti-Jewish’ Argument in Early Christian Literature,” VC 52 (1998): 119–45 (143). 1

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moment when they would be barred, by this identi¿er, from access to Jerusalem: “which circumstance, because it was to be, used to be announced; and, because we see it accomplished, is recognized by us” (quia factum videmus, recognoscimus, Adv. Iud. 3.3). It is this con¿dence in the Christian ability to read the course of history that undergirds Tertullian’s certainty that Israel has been replaced. As Dunn has shown, multiple Pauline motifs could be, and were, deployed by Tertullian in this connection. The notion that the Law has a temporary role in history is ¿rmly anchored in the argument of Galatians,3 while the notion that Paul’s former life was “in Judaism” could be justi¿ed by Gal 1:13 (though not, of course, Tertullian’s corollary that his subsequent life was “in Christianity”). Second Corinthians 3 provides a “new covenant” (if not quite a “new law”) and an analysis of Jewish inability to understand their own Scriptures “to this day” (2 Cor 3:15), a time-frame Tertullian simply extended to his present. The notion that unbelieving “Jews” were ignorant of God and responsible for killing Jesus has, as Tertullian knew, a Pauline foundation (Rom 10:3; 1 Thess 2:15, cited in Adv. Marc. 5.14.6–8; 5.15.1–2), though whether he took inspiration from the ¿nal, devastating comment of 1 Thess 2:16 we cannot tell. Marcion’s highly reduced version of Romans drew Tertullian’s eye to texts that brought Jews under criticism and judgment (e.g., Rom 2:24; Adv. Marc. 5.13.7), but Marcion’s omissions, and perhaps Tertullian’s own predilections, led to the neglect of an equally important strand in the theology of Romans, namely, Paul’s avowal of the priority, election, and future salvation of Israel (for possible exceptions, see below). As recent readings of Romans have emphasized, Paul’s persistence in placing the Jew “¿rst” (Rom 1:16; 2:10) and his insistence on the privileges of Israel (3:1–2; 9:1–5) are integral to the argument of this letter, which asserts the faithfulness of God to his people (3:1–9; 11:1–2, 28–29) not as some adjunct to his gospel but as central to his understanding of God, Christ, and history. The schema of processes outlined in Rom 11 includes the “hardening of Israel,” but Paul most emphatically refuses to accept that the time of Israel is past; on the contrary, the present Gentile mission is designed to provoke Israel to jealousy, “and so all Israel will be saved” (11:25–26). Although this “mystery” has been variously assessed and explained in Pauline scholarship, it amounts to more than the “remnant theology” suggested by Geoffrey Dunn. Paul imagines a future for Israel beyond its present, temporary, and partial

3. Tertullian’s reference to its arrival 430 years after Abraham (Adv. Iud. 2.9) may be a silent echo of Gal 3:17.

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“fall,” and although the Àow of Rom 9–11 suggests that Israel’s “unbelief” will be overcome only through faith in Christ, this large-scale “regrafting” of lopped-off branches when “the Redeemer comes from Zion, to take away impiety from Israel” (11:23–26) indicates that Paul does not regard the history of ethnic Israel as having come to an end.4 The difference between Paul and Tertullian on this point may be partly ascribed to their differing historical and social contexts. Paul writes in puzzlement at the unbelief of most of his fellow Jews, but with no reason to think that this was either ¿nal or de¿nitive. Tertullian writes with hindsight following the destruction of the Temple and the double devastation of Jerusalem (in 70 and 135 C.E.), a context in which it was temptingly easy to read historical events as a judgment on Jews and Judaism. Paul writes in consciousness that a large proportion of Christfollowers were Jews, not least in Rome and in Jerusalem, both destinations on his mind as he wrote to the Romans. Although he is not (much) directly involved, he supports the witness of these fellow believers to his unbelieving Jewish “kinsmen according to the Àesh” (Rom 9:3) and expends considerable effort in raising money in support of Jewish Christbelievers in Jerusalem. Tertullian knows that many early believers were Jews, including Paul, but he takes it as obvious that in his day “Christ is unknown among the Jews but well known among ourselves” (Adv. Marc. 5.11.8). In social and institutional terms, Tertullian thinks of “Christians” as categorically distinct from “Jews”; there was every incentive to think of the two as mutually exclusive. But does Tertullian just select and extend Paul’s statements on Israel for a different historical and social context? Or, to put the question the other way around, if Paul had lived another few years to witness the fall of Jerusalem and the increasing eclipse of Jewish believers by Gentile converts, would he have articulated a theology like that of Tertullian? There are reasons to think not, and thus to assert that Tertullian has not just selected elements of Pauline theology, but has fundamentally misread Paul at a central point. I hope to substantiate that claim in what follows. 4. The interpretative disputes around the “mystery” of Rom 11 are manifold; for a selection of views, see John G. Gager, Reinventing Paul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); N. T. Wright, The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Theology (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1991); Florian Wilk and J. Ross Wagner, eds., Between Gospel and Election: Explorations in the Interpretation of Romans 9–11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). I have surveyed some of the issues and summarized my own reading of the matter in “Paul, Judaism and the Jewish People,” in The Blackwell Companion to Paul (ed. Stephen Westerholm; Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 188–201. 1

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The Cessation of Grace to Israel? As noted above, Tertullian thinks that Israel since Christ has been “divorced” from divine favor (Adv. Iud. 1.8). Since the Holy Spirit has begun to build the church, “from that time forward the grace of God has ceased among them” (exinde apud illos destitit dei gratia): deprived of “heavenly bene¿ts” and with “the dews of spiritual graces taken from them” (subtractis charismatum roribus), their land has been made desolate and their cities burned with ¿re (Adv. Marc. 3.23.2–3; cf. Adv. Iud. 13.25–26). In another context he can speak of Jews as the Creator’s sons “by the election of their fathers” (allectione patrum, Adv. Marc. 5.17.10), but it is not clear if that has ongoing consequences. In fact, the only note of hope for the future is a passing comment in Adv. Marc. 5.9.9, where it is said that “when he [Christ] comes at the last time, he will vouchsafe acceptance and blessing to the circumcised, the offspring of Abraham, who will at long last acknowledge him.” It is possible, as Dunn suggests, that there is an echo here of Paul’s “mystery” in Rom 11, but if so what has been lost is Paul’s theological rationale for his con¿dence that God will again have mercy. Where Paul cites the story of Rebecca’s twin sons, Esau and Jacob, he does not identify the older son with Israel and the younger son with the Christian church; rather, he highlights the apparent irrationality of God’s unconditioned election, which does not correspond to their ancestry, their achievements, or their order of birth (9:6–13). Paul uses this story to establish that God’s word does not fail (9:6) and that that word operates not by natural descent or moral worth, but solely by God’s choice, God’s call, and God’s inexplicable mercy (9:14–16). Thus, the reason for Paul’s hope that “all Israel will be saved” (11:26) is his conviction that God’s mercy remains faithful irrespective of Israel’s disobedience and unbelief: if Israel appears to stand in the category of “enemies” in relation to the gospel, this cannot be the single or ¿nal word, since Israel is also “beloved for the sake of the patriarchs, in accordance with election” (11:28). The grounds for that election lie in nothing else than the grace or mercy of God: “for the gifts of grace and the calling of God are irrevocable” (11:29). God will redeem Israel because such redemption has been constituted from the very beginning by the unconditioned grace of God, the very grace that is taking effect now in the salvation of the Gentiles. For Paul the Christ-event does not annul the elective grace of Israel, but rather con¿rms and guarantees its operation, and if this takes place now through a period of disobedience, 1

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that is precisely the signature mark of the incongruous grace of God (11:30–32).5 Thus, Tertullian’s appropriation of Paul at this point is not only selective and not merely an adaptation for a later point in time. More fundamentally, in his claim that God’s mercy has ceased to operate for Israel, Tertullian contradicts Paul’s assertions to the contrary and misses the deep logic of Rom 9–11. Tertullian concludes from historical events—the destruction of Jerusalem, the exclusion of Jews from their city, the increasing separation of Jewish and Christian communities— that Israel has been divorced from the favor of God; he lets history dictate the contours of his theology. Paul faces with sorrow and bewilderment the facts of history—the unexpected disinclination of most Jews to believe in Christ—but resists the conclusion that God’s mercy has concluded in judgment, because of the strength of his theological conviction that God’s mercy will never be defeated by human disobedience. Tertullian can cite numerous biblical texts on the punishment of God’s people, Israel; Paul responds to a deeper biblical logic, clari¿ed and regrounded in Christ, that despite human sin God’s calling of Israel in mercy cannot and will not fail.

5. See further John M. G. Barclay, “ ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy’: The Golden Calf and Divine Mercy in Romans 9–11 and Second Temple Judaism,” Early Christianity 1 (2010): 82–106. 1

5 THE JUSTIFICATION OF THE MARTYRS Candida Moss

Introduction In scholarly treatments of Tertullian, his pro-martyrdom stance is considered so manifestly clear that it is stated more than it is proven.1 Tertullian is demonstrably and undeniably a supporter of martyrdom. It is from Tertullian that the most famous early Christian slogan—“the blood of the martyrs is seed” (Apol. 50)—is derived. As a Carthaginian Christian, Tertullian had more than a passing interest in the fate of the Christians arrested and tried during the Severan period. Among them, and well known to Tertullian, were North Africa’s most famous daughters—Perpetua and Felicity—as well as the martyrs of Scilli, and other martyrs known only through Tertullian’s own writings. Moreover, ancient and modern historical assessments of the New Prophecy movement have claimed that its adherents were especially inclined toward martyrdom, even offering themselves for death. While the caricature of the foolish death-crazed martyr has come under some scrutiny in recent years, it is still within this broader context of Spirit-¿lled enthusiasm for death that Tertullian has been understood. Consequently, and somewhat unfairly, Tertullian’s views on martyrdom have been seen as more marginal and extreme than those of his Alexandrian contemporary Origen. Yet the exoticization of Tertullian’s views on martyrdom obscures a well-developed theology of martyrdom, a theology that was deeply politicized2 and that drew upon the writings of earlier Christian apologists, Roman discourse about death, and Pauline traditions about the spirit and suffering. 1. All quotations and references to Tertullian are, unless otherwise noted, found in vols. 3–4 of the Ante-Nicene Fathers. Translations from the New Testament are taken from the NRSV. 2. David Wilhite, Tertullian the African: An Anthropological Reading of Tertullian’s Context (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 167. 1

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Tertullian engages the subject of martyrdom in a number of his works. In addition to his famous Apologia, which defends the cause of Christians to a posited external observer, there are those works that are addressed to or otherwise directly justify the actions of the martyrs. The present study will focus on the latter group of texts, on those accounts—Ad martyras, Scorpiace, De fuga in persecutione—that use the writings of Paul to develop and defend a distinctive view of martyrs, rather than simply Christianity in general.3 It will focus not only on those passages in which Paul is explicitly cited by Tertullian, but on those arguments that appear to allude to or draw upon the thought world of the Pauline Epistles.4 Discussions of Tertullian’s attitudes to martyrdom have consistently been set within the larger context of Tertullian’s growing interest in the New Prophecy movement. For those interested in Montanism and Montanist attitudes to martyrdom, Tertullian’s writings have been the inevitable starting point. Even for those who do not take Tertullian to be the champion for and embodiment of Montanist teachings, almost all would divide Tertullian’s thinking on martyrdom into two periods: his non-Montanist period (196/7–208/9 C.E.) and his Montanist period (208/9–212/3 C.E.). Yet it is possible that the extremism of Tertullian’s position on martyrdom has been exaggerated and that, while harsh, his views were far closer to those of the majority of Carthaginian Christians than is usually acknowledged. More recent scholarship has sought to deconstruct the binary relationship between Tertullian before and after his movement toward Montanism. As Laura Nasrallah has observed with respect to Tertullian’s Montanist period, “It is clear that Tertullian considered himself to be aligned with the ‘new prophecies’…[this does not mean] that he converted or that he understood himself or that others understood him to be anything other than a true Christian.”5 With respect 3. For the purposes of the present study I will not treat the famous Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas. While some, for instance Van Beek, have argued that Tertullian is the author of this account, it seems unlikely to me that Tertullian would compose an account and mistakenly describe it in another work. For arguments in favor of Tertullian’s authorship, see C. J. M. J. Van Beek, ed., Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis, vol. 1 (Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1936), 92–96. For arguments against, see discussion in Jan N. Bremmer, “Perpetua and Her Diary: Authenticity, Family and Visions,” in Märtyrer und Märtyrerakten (ed. W. Ameling; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2002), 77–120. 4. On allusion as an important means by which texts are received and interpreted, see Candida R. Moss, The Other Christs: Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 3–18. 5. Laura Nasrallah, An Ecstasy of Folly: Prophecy and Authority in Early Christianity (HTS 52; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003). 1

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to martyrdom, it may well be the case that Tertullian’s pre-Montanist views have very little to set them apart from his later Montanist views. Even if Tertullian’s perspective develops in this period, there may well be points of continuity between the two stages in Tertullian’s thinking.6 For our purposes, therefore, we will discuss Tertullian’s works in terms of their place in the chronology of his writing, rather than with a view to a speci¿c doctrinal character. The predominant theme in Tertullian’s argument for martyrdom in his early writings is his conviction that martyrdom is the will of God while persecution is not. This apparent contradiction was justi¿ed by a complex description of politics and society as a whole. According to Tertullian, Roman society writ large was corrupted by demonic inÀuence. It was these demons and Satan in particular who were responsible for persuading people to worship false deities (Apol. 22). That Christians were incapable of holding public of¿ce (Apol. 21.24; De idol. 17.1–19.3) meant that pagan rulers were susceptible to demonic inÀuence and were frequently deceived into persecuting Christians (Apol. 27.4–5). Even if persecution did not have its cause in God, Tertullian is insistent that God allows persecution to occur (Apol. 50.12) and that God demands that Christians remain faithful, even if this ¿delity leads to their deaths (Apol. 50.2). At a number of junctures, Tertullian concedes that the demands of God are dif¿cult. While, rhetorically, he employs a number of stock arguments to exhort his audience—shaming them by comparing them unfavorably to women and fools, promising heavenly rewards, extolling the Christians as the ones to be feared—theologically the source of action is the Spirit. It is only with the help of the Spirit that anything is achieved. In De fug. 14 it is clear that willingness to be martyred, conduct obligatory for all Christians, was in fact only possible with the help of the Paraclete.7

6. The observation that Tertullian’s basic perspective on martyrdom did not alter with his conversion to Montanism was made as early as W. Gass, “Das christliche Märtyrerthum in den ersten Jahrhunderten und dessen Idee,” ZHT 30 (1860): 315–81 (321). More generally, Eric Osborn has suggested that the “conversion” to Montanism merely strengthened those views already present in Tertullian’s thought. See Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 210. 7. In this passage Tertullian explicitly refers to the Johannine comforter and 1 John 4:18. 1

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Ad martyras In Ad martyras, Tertullian writes words of encouragement to his fellow Christians awaiting trial ca. 197 C.E.8 Having begun with an uplifting reassessment of the confessor’s imprisonment, Tertullian moves on to a dark form of encouragement. Much of the rhetoric of the exhortation here is laden with politicized and gendered comparisons with other groups. If non-Christians, mere women, and vainglorious fools are willing to embrace not only death, but also torture, then surely the Christians should be even more willing to suffer for Christ. The text hangs heavy with the threat of public shame. In contrast to his numerous references to ancient literature, Tertullian refers to Paul directly on only one occasion here. Yet amid the rhetoric of praise and shame, Tertullian utilizes a number of Pauline topoi about imprisonment, struggle, and the spirit.9 On the surface of the text, Tertullian draws upon tried and tested analogies to Christ and executed pagans. He compares the plight of Christians in prison to the desert solitude of the prophets and, in turn, compares these situations to the solitude of the Lord when he was on earth. Following classic martyrological logic in which that which is reviled is embraced and conquered, Tertullian describes the prison as a “place of safety” for the Christians. They are freed from the greater worldly fetters that bind men’s very souls. The Christians, writes Tertullian, have been made free by God and, despite the fact that the prison is full of foul scents, they are an “odor of sweetness” (2).10 This opening 8. The dating of this text to 197 C.E. is accepted by, e.g., Timothy D. Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 52– 53, 55. Similarities with the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas led Schlegel to argue that the account must have been composed around the same time (ca. 202/203). See B. D. Schlegel, “The Ad Martyras of Tertullian and the Circumstances of Its Composition,” DRev 63 (1945): 125–28. I follow Weinrich and others in seeing the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas as a separate composition. Given that Schlegel’s argument hinges on Tertullian’s authorship of the Passio, it does not to this author seem to be persuasive. See William C. Weinrich, Spirit and Martyrdom: A Study of the Work of the Holy Spirit in Contexts of Persecution and Martyrdom in the New Testament and Early Christian Literature (Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, 1981), 223–25. 9. On the surprising under-utilization of Paul in this text and more broadly, see Andrew M. Bain, “Tertullian: Paul as Teacher of the Gentile Churches,” in Paul and the Second Century (ed. Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson; New York: T&T Clark International, 2011), 207–25. 10. The sweet scent of a martyr is another common topos in Christian hagiography. For a comprehensive discussion of scent in martyrdom accounts, see Annick 1

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description of a prison full of sweet scent is reminiscent of the Pauline Prison Epistles in which Paul describes his joy at imprisonment. The literary gesture to Paul sets up an implicit model for Christian imprisonment.11 As consolation for those currently imprisoned, Tertullian offers the promise of extra-corporeal freedom. Utilizing a traditional dichotomy between the body and the spirit, Tertullian argues that the spirit is free to leave the prison to pursue the path to God: Though the body is shut in, though the Àesh is con¿ned, all things are open to the spirit. In spirit, then, roam abroad; in spirit walk about, not setting before you shady paths or long colonnades, but the way which leads to God. As often as in spirit your footsteps are there, so often you will not be in bonds. The leg does not feel the chain when the mind is in the heavens. (Ad mart. 2)

Tertullian’s description of practices akin to dream incubation and ecstatic prophecy has drawn a great deal of attention. Given that, according to the traditional scholarly narrative, Tertullian is not yet a Montanist, his reference to spiritual sojourning suggests that prophecy was a facet of Tertullian’s Christianity prior to his acquaintance with the New Prophecy. Whatever sociological phenomena are alluded to here, it is clear that Tertullian focuses the intent of roaming in the spirit on the path to God. Moreover, while Tertullian may be discussing dream incubation, or other spiritual practices, it is possible to see Tertullian as interpreting Pauline notions of the Spirit. The idea that the mind dwells in the heavens and is set on the Spirit is reminiscent of Paul’s description of the Spirit and dwelling in the heavens with Christ (2 Cor 5:1) and the notion of the extra-corporeal ascent of the soul to heaven may allude to the vision of the third heaven in 2 Cor 12. Read in light of Pauline notions of the Spirit, Tertullian’s advice here is less a statement on charismatic spiritual practices than it is an exegetically grounded exhortation to the imprisoned. One of the central metaphors employed by Tertullian in his exhortation to the imprisoned Christians is the image of the athlete. Tertullian, like other early Christians, treats martyrdom as an athletic contest:

Lallemand, “Le Parfum des martyrs dans les Actes des martyrs de Lyon et le Martyre de Polycarpe,” StPatr 16 (1985): 189–92. For a survey of scent in martyrdom literature in general, see Suzanne Evans, “The Scent of a Martyr,” Numen 49 (2002): 193–211. 11. On the ¿gure of Paul as martyr in Tertullian, see David L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle in the Latin West (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 229. 1

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You are about to pass through a noble struggle in which the living God acts the part of superintendent, in which the Holy Spirit is your trainer, in which the prize is an eternal crown of angelic essence, citizenship in heavens, glory everlasting… [The athletes] are kept from luxury, from daintier meats, from more pleasant drinks; they are pressed, racked, worn out; the harder their labours in the preparatory training, the stronger is the hope of victory. “And they,” says the apostle, “that they may obtain a corruptible crown” [1 Cor 9:25]. We, with the crown eternal in our eye, look upon prison as our training-ground, that at the goal of ¿nal judgment we may be brought forth well disciplined by many a trial; since virtue is built up by hardships, as by voluptuous indulgence is overthrown. (Ad mart. 3)

Athletic imagery is strikingly common in martyrdom texts, arguably because the situation of execution ad bestias was already connected to notions of military struggle and athleticism. It is worth noting, however, that the language of athletic contest and heavenly reward is explicitly tied to Paul’s discussion of the “imperishable crown” won by Paul himself (1 Cor 9:25). That this citation is coupled with a discussion of heavenly citizenship (Phil 3:20) only strengthens the force of the allusion. Tertullian’s notion of heavenly rewards as the result of martyrdom draws upon Pauline language of heavenly citizenship and spiritual contest. It is noteworthy that Tertullian here, as elsewhere, sees a direct relationship between the degree of torture and the certainty of reward. His statement that “the harder their labors…the stronger is the hope of victory” implies that the post-mortem expectations of the martyr directly correlate to their pre-mortem sufferings.12 Immediately preceding this passage Tertullian utilizes the related language of military battle to describe the martyrs. According to Tertullian, every Christian is a miles Christi on account of the oath of allegiance to God he or she takes at baptism (Ad mart. 3.1). In this way, imprisonment is likened to the process of preparation for military contest (Ad mart. 3.1). Military identity comes to de¿ne what it is to be a Christian. Like the image of the rewarded athlete, the notion of the Christian as soldier for Christ takes its rise from the Pauline and deutero-Pauline epistles. Paul refers to both his co-worker Epaphroditus and the Christian

12. A. Brekelman argues that Tertullian conceives of the martyr’s glory in terms similar to those of the gladiatorial games. The strati¿cation of the martyr’s glory would thus reÀect the varying degrees of fame enjoyed by ancient athletes and gladiators. See Antonius J. Brekelman’s Martyrerkranz: Eine symbolgeschichtiche Untersuchung im frühchristlichen Schrifttum (Rome: Libreria Editrice dell’ Universitá Gregoriana, 1965), 72–76. 1

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Archippus as “fellow soldier[s]” (Phil 2:25; Phlm 2). The author of 2 Timothy even exhorts the addressees of the letter to “share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Tim 2:3). In this last passage, as in Tertullian, military exhortations are tied to athletic imagery (2 Tim 2:5). In tying athleticism and military imagery to martyrdom, Tertullian utilizes a pre-existent deutero-Pauline tradition that tied the sufferings of the Christian to models of endurance and struggle. For Tertullian, however, aesthetic militaristic preparation for martyrdom extends beyond imprisonment. Wealth and physical comfort can become an obstacle to martyrdom. In De cul. fem. 2.13.3–7, he warns women that wearing ¿nery could render them incapable of facing martyrdom. Preparation for martyrdom encompassed not only fasting and torture, but also dress and physical comfort more broadly. Although Paul’s writings clearly stand behind Tertullian’s thinking in Ad martyras, they are evident only in the form of occasional allusions that linger beneath the surface of the text. And while these allusions would have been readily apparent to those familiar with the Pauline Epistles, it is noteworthy that Tertullian chooses not to cite Paul explicitly. We should further note that in Ad martyras, a text written in his pre-Montanist period, Tertullian refers to prophetic and visionary practices more usually associated with Montanism. It is clear that Tertullian’s interests in both martyrdom and prophetic visionary practices pre-date his “conversion” to the New Prophecy movement. Scorpiace Tertullian’s argument that God wills martyrdom ¿nds its most forceful expression in his writings against the Valentinians. In Scorpiace, written ca. 203/4 C.E., Tertullian repudiates the views of the Valentinians who apparently claimed that martyrdom was unnecessary (Scorp. 1.8).13 Tertullian’s characterization of these opinions as akin to the poison of a scorpion epitomizes his argument. In his antidote, he argues that martyrdom is the practical consequence of keeping God’s commandment (Scorp. 2–3). God must have known, says Tertullian, that martyrdom would be the end result of keeping the commandment against idolatry, thus God “could not have been unwilling” that people would be martyred (4.4). God’s approval of martyrdom does not render God un-good but, 13. On the date of Scorpiace, see Timothy D. Barnes, “Tertullian’s Scorpiace,” JTS 20 (1969): 105–32, and Tertullian, 171–76. More recently Dunn has argued that the account was written in 212 C.E., during Tertullian’s Montanist phase. See Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (London/New York: Routledge, 2004), 105. 1

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rather, demonstrates that martyrdom is good: because it is willed by God (5.1–2) and is the opposite of idolatry (5.3–5). In the end, God heals people by giving them eternal life (5.6–13), enables them to conquer the devil (6.1–2), and provides them with exceptional rewards (6.2–11). These post-mortem rewards Tertullian rationalizes with recourse both to the “many mansions” in the house of the father and to the differing forms of astral glory described in 1 Cor 15:41. From these examples, which presuppose differentiation and strati¿ed glory, Tertullian argues that suffering will bring about an “increase of brightness” in the afterlife.14 He concludes by restating that God wills martyrdom in order to show that “righteousness suffers violence” (Scorp. 8) and grounds his understanding of how martyrdom works in the importance of the spirit. Just as under the old covenant martyrdom was commanded for those (Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Daniel) moved by the Spirit, so too, under the new covenant inaugurated by Christ, martyrdom is commanded for those moved by the Holy Spirit (Scorp. 9–14). Martyrdom is made possible and anticipated by Jesus’ instructions to the apostles, in which he warned them that they would be arrested and tried, but in which he promised that the Spirit would tell them what to say. The prime textual reference here in Scorp. 9–14 is Matt 10:16, supplemented with pneumatological arguments from 1 Peter and Revelation. It is interesting that, in Scorpiace at least, Tertullian does not explicitly connect this language to Pauline notions of the Spirit in order to justify martyrdom. Rather, the spirit that sustains the Christian through martyrdom is characterized using Johannine notions of love and comfort. In ch. 13, however, having surveyed Old Testament examples and sayings of Jesus, Tertullian turns to the example of Paul himself. The writings and person of Paul are here intermingled; it is not just Paul’s writings on suffering, but their distinctly personal and autobiographical nature that appeals to Tertullian.15 The legacy of Paul the martyr, refracted through his own letters and the Pastoral Epistles and supplemented by martyrological traditions about the death of Paul, informs Tertullian’s use of the Epistles:16 14. On the elevated post-mortem rewards of the martyrs in general and in Carthaginian Christianity in particular, see Moss, Other Christs, 150–55. 15. So Robert D. Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120 (100). 16. It must be admitted that Tertullian has a very ambiguous relationship toward the Acts of Paul and Thecla, one of the apocryphal accounts relating to Paul. In De bapt. 17.5, he describes the account in the following way: “But if certain Acts of Paul, which are falsely so named, claim the example of Thecla for allowing women 1

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Tertullian and Paul …[Paul] (I say,) speaks in favor of martyrdoms, now to be chosen by himself also, when, rejoicing over the Thessalonians, he says, “So that we glory in you in the churches of God, for your patience and faith in all your persecutions and tribulations, in which ye endure a manifestation of the righteous judgment of God, that ye may be accounted worthy of His kingdom, for which ye also suffer!” [2 Thess 1:4]. As also in his Epistle to the Romans: “And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also, being sure that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope; and hope maketh not ashamed.” (Scorp. 13)

The concatenation of passages about the endurance of tribulation is in turn connected to Pauline language of inheritance and the family. Following the logical path of Rom 8, Tertullian links language of ¿ctive kinship to the idea of cleaving to God despite all manner of worldly adversity. In both cases the formula is the same: bonds of inheritance or bonds of love mean that suffering must be endured: And again: “And if children, then heirs, heirs indeed of God, and jointheirs with Christ: if so be that we suffer with Him, that we may be also glori¿ed together. For I reckon that the sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” [Rom 8:17]. And therefore he afterward says: “Who shall separate us from the love of God? Shall tribulation, or distress, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? (As it is written: For Thy sake we are killed all the day long; we have been counted as sheep for the slaughter.) Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors, through Him who loved us. For we are persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor power, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” [Rom 8:35–39]. (Scorp. 8)

At the same time, we ¿nd hints here of the notion of the martyr’s eschatological reward. Tertullian gestures towards the future glori¿cation that follows from co-suffering with Christ: In Scorpiace, Tertullian is aware of a potential Àaw in his reading of Scripture, namely, that Romans could be read as an exhortation to submit to the demands of earthly authorities. At Scorp. 14 Tertullian heads this potential objection off at the pass: No doubt the apostle admonishes the Romans to be subject to all power, because there is no power but of God, and because (the ruler) does not carry the sword without reason, and is the servant of God, nay also, says to teach and to baptize, let men know that in Asia the presbyter who compiled that document, thinking to add of his own to Paul’s reputation, was found out, and though he professed he had done it for love of Paul, was deposed from his position” (Septimii Florentis Tertulliani de baptismo liber. Tertullian’s Homily on Baptism [trans. Ernest Evans; London: SPCK, 1964], 36). 1

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he, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil. For he had also previously spoken thus: “For rulers are not a terror to a good work, but to an evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of it. Therefore he is a minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid” [Rom 13:3–4]. Thus he bids you be subject to the powers, not on an opportunity occurring for his avoiding martyrdom, but when he is making an appeal in behalf of a good life, under the view also of their being as it were assistants bestowed upon righteousness, as it were handmaids of the divine court of justice, which even here pronounces sentence beforehand upon the guilty.

Tertullian’s argument here is that the command to submit to the authorities in Rom 13:1–7 is not an excuse for avoiding or Àeeing martyrdom. The rationale is that Christians should submit to authorities only in those cases where the authorities are behaving correctly on matters appropriate to their jurisdiction. Tertullian foreshadows this conclusion through an appeal to Paul’s own experience with persecution.17 He amasses a plethora of citations in which Paul describes suffering and persecution approvingly in order to demonstrate that Paul’s actions and Tertullian’s interpretation of Paul’s words are mutually reinforcing (Scorp. 13). It is fascinating that Tertullian’s interest in Paul qua martyr and holy sufferer emerges as a counter-argument to a potential Valentinian argument about collaboration with the state. Paul is invoked in Scorpiace, as he is not explicitly in Ad martyras, in order to refute an interpretation of Paul himself. In many ways the appeal to Paul as martyrological exemplar is an expedient rhetorical move designed to undermine Paul’s own writings. Though Paul appears in this account, as he does not in Ad martyras, it is only in situations where the legacy of Paul himself is being contested and reinterpreted in polemical contexts. Paul’s writings do not appear to form the theological underpinnings for Tertullian’s views on martyrdom; they are invoked strategically and selectively. De fuga in persecutione Around the turn of the third century, and perhaps in the wake of an intense period of Roman prosecution of Christians, Tertullian became increasingly concerned with the question of Àight as a means of avoiding martyrdom. In a letter to his wife written around 203 C.E., Tertullian writes that Àight is still preferable to apostasy, and as such is permitted, 17. Tertullian cites 2 Thess 1:4; Rom 5:3; 8:17, 35; 2 Cor 4:8; 11:23; 12:10; Phil 1:29–30; 2:17; 2 Tim 1:7–8; 2:11; 4:6. For a discussion of Tertullian’s use of Paul here, see Barnes, Tertullian, 176–79. 1

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but that it is not condoned (Ad ux. 1.3.4).18 The issue of Àight comes to a head in his pamphlet De fuga in persecutione (ca. 212/3 C.E.), which was composed as a response to a request by a certain Fabius. Here he uses harsh uncompromising language to describe those clergy who Àed persecution. He labels them bad shepherds who left their Àocks to be torn to pieces (De fug. 11.1–3). The tone of the account, therefore, speaks to an intensi¿cation in Tertullian’s already stated distaste for Àight. In his argument against Àight, there appears to have been an important but subtle shift in Tertullian’s position on the origins of persecution itself. Whereas in earlier works such as Ad martyras persecution was caused by the devil’s deception, here persecution comes “by the devil’s agency, but not by the devil’s origination” (2.2). Persecution has become the means by which the church is puri¿ed and God is glori¿ed (1.5–6; 3.1). Persecution now serves a positive function and stems, ultimately, from the will of God. The basis for this argument is rooted in the Corinthian correspondence and in Paul’s arguments about strength and weakness. Drawing upon the language of perfection, Tertullian argues that persecution (here, injustice) affords the opportunity for the display of righteousness and perfection of weakness: For in other respects, too, injustice in proportion to the enmity it displays against righteousness affords occasion for attestations of that to which it is opposed as an enemy, that so righteousness may be perfected in injustice, as strength is perfected in weakness [2 Cor 12:9]. For the weak things of the world have been chosen by God to confound the strong, and the foolish things of the world to confound its wisdom [1 Cor 1:27–28]. Thus even injustice is employed, that righteousness may be approved in putting unrighteousness to shame. (De fug. 2)

The language of inversion—weakness reveals and facilitates strength, injustice enables righteousness to put it to shame—is adapted from Paul. In particular, Tertullian refers to Paul’s own personal experience of weakness-perfecting strength (2 Cor 12:9), the notorious thorn in the Àesh (2 Cor 12:7): For either, with a view to their being approved, the power of trial is granted to him, [Satan] challenged or challenging, as in the instances already referred to, or, to secure an opposite result, the sinner is handed over to him, as though he were an executioner to whom belonged the inÀicting of punishment, as in the case of Saul. “And the Spirit of the 18. On the date of this account, see ibid., 55. Barnes argues that, prior to becoming a Montanist, Tertullian opposed voluntary martyrdom and freely advocated Àight in times of persecution (176). 1

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Lord,” says Scripture, “departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the Lord troubled and stiÀed him”; or the design is to humble, as the apostle tells us, that there was given him a stake (sudis), the messenger of Satan, to buffet him [2 Cor 12:7] and even this sort of thing is not permitted in the case of holy men, unless it be that at the same time strength of endurance may be perfected in weakness. For the apostle likewise delivered Phygellus and Hermogenes over to Satan that by chastening they might be taught not to blaspheme. You see, then, that the devil receives more suitably power even from the servants of God; so far is he from having it by any right of his own. (De fug. 2)

It is clear that the thorn in the Àesh, even as a messenger of Satan, is both permitted by God and serves a correctional and strengthening purpose.19 The same argument is made with respect to this aspect of Paul’s biography in De pud. 13, in which Tertullian appears to suggest that the thorn in the Àesh is caused by an ear or head injury.20 Here, in De fuga in persecutione, Tertullian argues by way of analogy: just as God would not allow Paul to suffer unless it were in some way strengthening, so also Satan would not be permitted to attack the members of God’s household were it not allowed by God. Just as the purpose and function of persecution and martyrdom is grounded in Paul’s sense of his own corporeal weakness, the Christian’s ability to resist Satan is located in post-baptismal Christian corporeality. In exhorting the Christians to steadfastness and courage, Tertullian combines two Pauline ideas: the idea that Christians are to judge the angels (1 Cor 6:3) and the idea that at baptism Christians clothe themselves in Christ (Gal 3:27): Do you fear man, O Christian?—you who ought to be feared by the angels, since you are to judge angels; who ought to be feared by evil spirits, since you have received power also over evil spirits; who ought to be feared by the whole world, since by you, too, the world is judged. You are Christ-clothed, you who Àee before the devil, since into Christ you have been baptized. Christ, who is in you, is treated as of small account when you give yourself back to the devil, by becoming a fugitive before him. (De fug. 10)

19. Earlier in this passage Tertullian refers to Job 1:12, and it is possible that the intellectual foundations for the idea that God allows persecution by Satan are to be found in Job. 20. On Tertullian’s interpretation of Paul’s condition, see Ulrich Heckel, “Der Dorn im Fleisch: Die Krankheit des Paulus in 2Kor 12,7 und Gal 4,13f.,” ZNW 84 (1993): 65–92, and Adela Yarbro Collins, “Paul’s Disability,” in Disability Studies and Biblical Literature (ed. Candida R. Moss and Jeremy Schipper; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 165–84. 1

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The idea that Christ is put on by, or dwells, in Christians after their baptism is a central component of emerging Pauline soteriology and baptismal theology. Tertullian had alluded to baptism as a foundational element in the Christian’s obligations to God in Ad martyras. Here the idea is invoked again as a shaming device: Christ dwells in the Christian after their baptism, yet they Àee from persecution and the devil, thereby handing themselves over to the devil and rejecting the changes brought about in them at baptism. The focal point of this passage is not on the fortifying effects of Christly possession or on the idea that Christ will ¿ght in the martyr. The anthropological change that takes place at baptism is the physical condition that makes Àight in times of persecution that much more cowardly.21 Tertullian similarly adapts the notion of post-mortem judgment as a means of bolstering con¿dence.22 In his efforts to prevent Christians from lodging lawsuits against one another, Paul had promised the Corinthians that the “saints would judge the world” (1 Cor 6:2). In Carthage the phrase soon took on a new meaning as a reference to the post-mortem expectations of martyrs.23 Tertullian, however, offers a less speci¿c viewpoint. In addressing Christians in general, he argues ¿rst, following Paul, that they will judge the angels and, further, that just as angels should be feared by evil spirits Christians too have power over evil spirits. Just as with his use of Pauline baptismal theology and his use of the ¿gure of Paul in Scorpiace, Tertullian’s interests ultimately lie in his denouncement of Àight in times of persecution. While Tertullian’s approach to Àight has sharpened in this account, it is dif¿cult to attribute the sense of urgency in this text to a dogmatic shift rather than historical necessity. Tertullian’s account is in many ways 21. So Weinrich, Spirit and Martyrdom, 266. 22. Cf. Hermas, Vis. 3.1.9 (martyrs at God’s right hand); Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 2.37.4; Cyprian, Ep. 6.2.1; 12.2.1; 15.3; 31.3; Ad Fort. 13.6.42.5. See further Klaus Berger, Die Auferstehung des Propheten und die Erhöhung des Menschensohnes (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976), 374 n. 489. 23. See, particularly, the Martyrdom of Marian and James, in which in a vision the martyr Marian ascends a scaffold and—along with Christ and the executed Cyprian—appears to participate in the judgment of the dead. In the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas the martyrs warn their audience to take note of their faces, because they would see them again on judgment day. Similar ideas are at work in other early Christian martyrdom literature, where the expectation is that by accepting judgment in the earthly tribunal the martyr escaped eschatological judgment. For discussion, see Arik Greenberg, “My Share of God’s Reward”: Exploring the Roles and Formulations of the Afterlife in Early Christian Martyrdom (New York: Lang, 2009), and Moss, Other Christs, 142–46. 1

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occasional; he addresses a speci¿c practical issue. Traditional studies that have seen the Montanists as especially pro-martyrdom and antiÀight have tended to give too much credence to later anti-Montanist histories.24 The evidence suggests that Montanists were not more likely to volunteer for martyrdom than non-Montanists.25 The reasoning that has categorized De fuga in persecutione as Montanist (on account of its pro-martyrdom anti-Àight position) has followed on an outdated stereotype of the New Prophecy movement. In fact, Tertullian always opposed Àight as a last resort for those incapable of confessing Christ and being martyred. The strengthening of his position in a situation of persecution does not indicate a radical shift in his thinking about martyrdom and persecution. Conclusion As is the case with all early Christian interpreters, Tertullian’s use of Paul in his arguments in favor of martyrdom does not follow the patterns expected by the modern interpreter. Much of the argumentation in favor of martyrdom uses stock scriptural texts adapted from other martyrological texts and apologetic authors. In some cases, where we might expect to ¿nd extended appeals to a Pauline notion of the Spirit, we ¿nd instead the Johannine Paraclete. The one explicit discussion of Paul qua martyr is used in order to subvert a potential or actual Valentinian reading of Romans. Although the ¿gure of Paul, Pauline notions of suffering as athletic contest, and Paul’s theology of suffering are utilized by Tertullian, they often oscillate beneath the surface of the text. In contrast, Tertullian’s textual gestures to Paul often go unmarked and unexplored, though one consistent element in Tertullian’s use of Paul in his justi¿cation of martyrdom is the strategic and highly selective use of Paul for the purposes of shaming his audience. The place where Paul moves to the fore is in Tertullian’s discussion of God’s role in persecution and martyrdom. In the development of his idea that God wills persecution as a means of re¿ning the church, Tertullian uses Paul’s discussion of his personal suffering in 2 Cor 12 to demonstrate the manner in which God allows Satan to pursue the saints. That Tertullian uses Paul’s personal 24. See Chapter 6 in Candida R. Moss, Ancient Christian Martyrdom: Diverse Practices, Theologies, and Traditions (Anchor Yale Reference Library; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), 145–62. 25. William Tabbernee’s work in this area cannot be highly enough recommended. See, particularly, Fake Prophecy and Polluted Sacraments: Ecclesiastical and Imperial Reactions to Montanism (VCSup 84; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 201–42. 1

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history—as inferred from canonical texts—to combat misreadings of Paul, is an interesting and distinctive feature of his work. The development in Tertullian’s perspective on the source of persecution and God’s role in the execution of the saints has often been connected to Tertullian’s interest in the New Prophecy movement. Yet, as we have seen, the seeds of Tertullian’s thinking on this point can be located in his earlier non-Montanist writings, are paralleled in other nonMontanist texts, and can stand alone as a robust theology of persecution. Assuming that the traditional chronology is correct, there are threads of tradition that develop consistently from Tertullian’s early to late periods. While certain ideas—for instance the role of God in persecution— develop and solidify over the course of his career, there is little reason to tie this development to his growing interest in the New Prophecy movement. Rather, the subtle changes in Tertullian’s views can be ascribed to a maturing theology of martyrdom, one tied to the historical reality of persecution ca. 202/3 C.E. Tertullian’s view of martyrdom develops, but does not appear to change radically. As Tertullian’s thinking on martyrdom evolves over time, his use of Paul becomes more strategic, defensive, and overtly constructive. Whereas in Ad martyras Pauline topoi are used to exhort Christians to vigilance and endurance, by the end of his career the ¿gure of Paul is used to construct both an ethic of resistance to authority and an explicit theology of persecution.

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MARTYRDOM AS SACRAMENT: TERTULLIAN’S (MIS)USE OF “THE APOSTLE” (PAUL) Todd D. Still

In his martyrological tractates Ad martyras, Scorpiace, and De fuga in persecutione, Tertullian is at pains to impress upon his recipients that earthly suffering pales in comparison to heavenly glory. Indeed, the Carthaginian theologian regards suffering as a Christian duty and contends that persecution and martyrdom are good and divinely wrought (see, e.g., Scorp. 2; De fug. 4). To buttress what Candida R. Moss describes as “a well-developed theology of martyrdom” and “a robust theology of persecution,” Tertullian turns repeatedly to Scripture. Within the aforementioned documents, he appeals time and again by quotation and allusion to both the Old and New Testaments in an attempt to establish his disputed view “that believers are under obligation to suffer martyrdom” (Scorp. 8). Unfortunately, the purview of this response precludes a more exhaustive treatment of Tertullian’s use of Scripture in the three writings under review.1 In what follows, my necessarily modest goal is to consider how Tertullian employs Paul to achieve his end of buoying beleaguered believers who may well face the grisly reality of martyrdom while opposing the perceived deleterious inÀuences of his Christian, primarily Valentinian, competitors. In so doing, we will discover that even if the apostle was not Tertullian’s primary resource in formulating and articulating his pro-martyrdom perspective, Paul’s life, letters, and legend may loom larger than Moss seems to imagine. We will also observe, however, that Tertullian’s admiration of the apostle did not preclude him from (unwittingly) altering certain key aspects of Paul’s thought.

1. More generally, see T. P. O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible: Language, Imagery, Exegesis (Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1967).

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Employing Paul Ad martyras In Tertullian’s earliest martyrological tract, Ad martyras, there is, as Moss notes, but one direct appeal to Paul (Ad mart. 3).2 In writing to the “blessed martyrs designate” (Ad mart. 1), Tertullian likens them to soldiers and athletes who “are about to pass through a noble struggle” (Ad mart. 3). Unlike those athletes, who in the words of the apostle compete “that they may obtain a corruptible crown” (1 Cor 9:25), the imprisoned Christians awaiting trial to whom Tertullian writes have “the crown eternal” in view and look upon prison as a “training ground” (Ad mart. 3). These so-called blessed ones are reminded in words reminiscent of Phil 3:20 that their “citizenship is in heaven” (Ad mart. 3). Moss thinks it likely that Tertullian derives both “the image of the rewarded athlete” and “the notion of the Christian as soldier for Christ” from “the Pauline and deutero-Pauline epistles.” Given the proximity of these metaphors in 2 Tim 2 and Tertullian’s citations from 2 Timothy in Scorp. 13, this is a plausible argument. I regard it far less likely, however, that Moss is on the right Pauline rail when positing a correlation between Tertullian’s description of the “martyrs designate” as “an odor of sweetness” (Ad mart. 2) and the joy of which Paul speaks in Phil 1 with respect to his imprisonment. A more probative parallel, it seems to me, would be 2 Cor 2:14–16, where Paul likens himself and his apostolic coworkers to “an aroma of Christ to God.” I think it even less probable that Tertullian’s remarks in Ad mart. 2 regarding walking in the Spirit with the mind in the heavens are best understood as an “exegetically grounded exhortation to the imprisoned” based upon “Pauline notions of the spirit” found in such texts as 2 Cor 5:1 and 12:2–4 (cf. Col 3:2). In the unlikely event that Tertullian is engaged in Pauline exegesis in Ad mart. 2, then it would be more likely that he would have in view a passage like Rom 8:1–11 (cf. Scorp. 13; see also Gal 5:16–18). Speaking of the Spirit relative to the “blessed,” we do well to note Tertullian’s citation of (or perhaps allusion to) the admonition found in Eph 4:30: “Grieve not the Holy Spirit” (Ad mart. 1). Whereas the “Ephesians” are said to be marked by the Spirit as “with a seal for the day of redemption” (Eph 4:30), Tertullian encourages the imprisoned 2. Andrew M. Bain (“Tertullian: Paul as Teacher of the Gentile Churches,” in Paul and the Second Century [ed. Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson; LNTS 412; London: T&T Clark International, 2011], 207–25 [217]) suggests it “is surprising…that more is not made of Paul’s example of and teaching on martyrdom [in Ad martyras], given the emphasis that Tertullian gives this elsewhere [noting esp. Scorpiace and De fuga in persecutione].” 1

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to retain the Spirit who sustains and leads them. It may also be in Ad mart. 1 that Tertullian alludes to Rom 16:20a (“The God of peace will shortly crush Satan under your feet”) when he speaks of the martyrs designate “trampling the wicked one under foot” and that the language of “defections or dissensions among themselves” echoes 1 Cor 1:10 (“…that you all be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you…”). Scorpiace Although Pauline letters feature in Ad martyras more than other Scriptures, the apostle’s letters and life are more prominent still in Tertullian’s Scorpiace, wherein the apologist polemicizes against “the views of the Valentinians who apparently claimed that martyrdom was unnecessary” (Scorp. 1.8). With respect to Paul’s letters, Tertullian gives them pride of place in chs. 7, 13, and 14. In Scorp. 7, he not only cites Rom 8:32 and 11:34 (cf. 1 Cor 1:18–31) but he also alludes to Rom 4:25 (cf. Titus 2:14) to support his pro-martyrdom stance and to counter his detractors. Turning to ch. 13, it is comprised almost entirely of a catena of citations from 2 Thessalonians (1:4–5), Romans (5:3; 8:17, 35–38), 2 Corinthians (11:23; 12:10; 4:8–10, 16), Philippians (1:29–30; 2:17 [erroneously referred to by Tertullian as Thessalonians]), and 2 Timothy (4:6–8; 2:11– 13; 1:7). Lastly, in Scorp. 14, Tertullian turns his learned attention to a text that had become a problem for his position vis-à-vis martyrdom— Rom 13. Appealing to Matt 22:21 (“Render to Caesar…”; so also Matt 10:37) for support, he contextualizes the apostle’s (and “Peter’s” [note 1 Pet 2:17: “Honor the emperor…]) instructions and contends that people are “the property of God alone” and that “one will not be permitted to love even life more than God.” In addition, one is able to ascertain allusions to the apostle’s writings when Tertullian speaks of: “Christians who veer about with the wind” (cf. Scorp. 1 [and Scorp. 11, “wind of reasoning”] with Eph 4:14 [“We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming]); God bringing forth “skills and rules…into public view… to be seen by men, and angels, and all powers” (cf. Scorp. 6 with 1 Cor 4:1 [“(W)e have become a spectacle to the world, to angels and to mortals”]); “one star…differ[ing] from another star in glory” (cf. Scorp. 6 with 1 Cor 15:41 [“There is…another glory of the stars; indeed, star differs from star in glory”]); and “the third race” (cf. Scorp. 10 with 1 Cor 10:32 [“Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God”]). Tertullian’s indebtedness to Paul’s letters may also be evidenced by his citation of Ps 32:1–2 in Scorp. 6, as this passage is cited by Paul in 1

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Rom 4:7–8, and by his reporting in Scorp. 3, as does Paul in 1 Cor 10:8, that “twenty-three thousand” Israelites died for attaching themselves to the Baal of Peor. (Numbers 25:9 indicates that twenty-four thousand died by the plague. Cf. Josh 22:17–18; Ps 106:28–31; cf. also Num 26:62.) Beyond citations from and allusions to Paul’s letters, Tertullian refers to various episodes in Paul’s life as he seeks to establish his belief that “martyrdom is good” (Scorp. 5).3 If references to the apostle’s viper bite on Malta (Acts 28:3 in Scorp. 1), “participation in (the joys) of paradise” (2 Cor 12:2–4 in Scorp. 11), and persecutory activity (Scorp. 13)4 are cursory and seemingly inconsequential, the same is not true of Tertullian’s repeated references to his (purported) martyrdom. Tertullian ¿rst mentions Paul’s martyrdom in passing at the outset of Scorp. 12. Armed with extracanonical traditions, he returns to the topic in ch. 15 to report that Nero beheaded Paul in Rome.5 According to Tertullian, “Paul obtain[ed] a birth suited to Roman citizenship, when in Rome he [sprung] to life again ennobled by martyrdom” (Scorp. 15). Additionally, he employs a story recorded in Acts 21:7–14 where Paul, despite Agabus’s gloomy prophecy and pleas of believers in Caesarea to the contrary, journeys on to Jerusalem declaring that he is “ready not only to be bound but even to die” (Acts 21:13). For Tertullian, this episode indicates that Paul had “a mind to illustrate what he had always taught” (Scorp. 15). It is from “the apostle,” who speaks (it is said) “in favor of martyrdoms” by both precept and practice, that Tertullian learns to suffer (Scorp. 13; 15). The foregoing considerations lead me to question whether Tertullian’s “appeal to Paul as martyrological exemplar is [simply] an expedient rhetorical move designed to undermine Paul’s own writings” and whether Paul appears in Scorpiace “only in situations where the legacy of Paul himself is being contested and reinterpreted in polemical contexts.” I am 3. Ronald D. Sider (“Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul [ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990], 99–120 [100]) maintains, “In the literary art and rhetorical design of Tertullian, the life of Paul can be as important as his thought.” 4. Cf. 1 Cor 15:9; Gal 1:13, 23; Phil 3:6; 1 Tim 1:13. See also Acts 8:3; 9:1, 21; 22:4; 26:10–11. Tertullian goes “beyond what is written” (1 Cor 4:6) when he states that Paul was a former persecutor who “shed the blood of the church” as a “ravening wolf of Benjamin” (note Gen 49:27) with “sword” and “dagger.” 5. On Paul as martyr in the early church, see Calvin J. Roetzel, Paul: The Man and the Myth (Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 1998), 170–76. See now also David L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle in the Latin West (Atlanta: SBL, 2011). 1

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also left to wonder whether Paul’s letters and life are more important to the formation of Tertullian’s theology of martyrdom than Moss suggests. For Tertullian, Paul was not only “an apostle” (Scorp. 13) and “servant of God” (Scorp. 15), he was “the apostle” (e.g., Ad mart. 3; Scorp. 1; 7 [twice]; 14; 15; De fug. 2.8, 9; 10.1). Even though Tertullian acknowledged Paul as the haereticorum apostolus (“apostle of the heretics”),6 he nonetheless regarded him “to be as much mine as the Christ is” (Adv. Marc. 5.1).7 De fuga in persecutione What is true, as I see it, in Ad martyras and Scorpiace is no less true in De fuga in persecutione, namely, Paul’s letters and life are part of the warp and woof of Tertullian’s argumentation. In seeking to impress upon a certain Fabius that “persecution proceeds from God” and that “what proceeds from God ought not to…be avoided…because it is good” (De fug. 4.1), Tertullian ¿nds “the apostle” to be a very present help in time of need. Indeed, I would argue that Paul is foundational for Tertullian as he seeks to set forth his opinion “in answer and encouragement” (De fug. 12.1) regarding the shunning of persecution and the paying of bribes to avoid the same. As Moss notes, Tertullian appeals to the Pauline pairings of strength/ weakness (see 2 Cor 12:9) and foolishness/wisdom (note 1 Cor 1:27–28) in an effort to establish that “persecution comes to pass, no question, by the devil’s agency, but not by the devil’s origination” (De fug. 2.2). Tertullian holds that both “the shaking of faith by the devil” and “the shielding of faith by the Son…belong to God.” In maintaining as much, he appeals to both Job and Peter (De fug. 2.3). As he continues to reÀect upon the devil’s involvement in testing “the household of God” (see Eph 2:19), he notes the “stake” sent by Satan to buffet “the apostle” (2 Cor 12:9). He also refers to Paul’s delivering “Phygellus and Hermogenes over to Satan that by chastening they might be taught not to blaspheme” (De fug. 2.8–9; see 2 Tim 1:15; cf. 1 Tim 1:20). To combat those who appeal to the apostles’ example of Àeeing “from city to city” (Matt 10:23), Tertullian turns once again to Paul (in Acts) (De fug. 6). It is true, Tertullian concedes, that in turning to the Gentiles and preaching to the nations (Acts 13:46) “the apostle” did on one 6. See Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3.5. 7. So rightly Mark W. Elliott, “The Triumph of Paulinism by the Mid-Third Century,” in Paul and the Second Century, 244–56 (on 250). Cf. Judith M. Lieu, “ ‘As much my apostle as Christ is mine’: The Dispute Over Paul Between Tertullian and Marcion,” Early Christianity 1 (2010): 41–59.

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occasion submit by command “to deliverance from persecution by being let down from the wall” (see Acts 9:25; cf. 2 Cor 11:32–33). However, Tertullian assures, “the command to Àee was temporary” for both Paul and the other apostles. This is evidenced by Paul’s unwillingness to give into the “anxieties of the disciples” and forego a foreboding trip to Jerusalem, where he would be persecuted in accordance with Agabus’s prophecy (Acts 21:7–14; cf. Scorp. 15). So signi¿cant was this episode from Acts to Tertullian’s argument against those who advocated Àeeing from persecution or buying off persecutors, he mentions it yet again in De fug. 12.10, this time in conjunction with the claim in Acts that Felix hoped Paul would give him money (cf. Acts 24:10). The lesson Tertullian draws from these experiences of Paul in Acts is that even as the apostle suffered for the Lord so too should believers, as taught by John, be prepared to lay down their lives for Christ and for fellow Christians (De fug. 12.10). As he continues to push back against those who would make the command “to Àee from city to city” prescriptive (De fug. 9–10), Tertullian (re)turns to clarify and capitalize upon Paul. He insists that Paul’s call to “support the weak” (1 Thess 5:14) has nothing whatsoever to do with supporting those who Àee. Likewise, the apostle’s admonition to “comfort the faint-hearted” does not suggest “they should be sent into exile” (De fug. 9.2). Additionally, Tertullian propounds in De fug. 9.2 that Paul’s exhortation “not to give place to evil” (Eph 4:27) by no means indicates “that we should take to our heels” any more than when he states “time must be redeemed because the days are evil” (Eph 5:16) he intends that life be lengthened “by Àight” instead of “by wisdom.” Rather, Tertullian notes that Paul “bids us shine as sons of light” (1 Thess 5:5), “to stand steadfast” (1 Cor 15:58), and “points out weapons” in general and “notes the shield” in particular (Eph 5:16) so that believers will not “hide away out of sight as sons of darkness,” will not Àee and “play the fugitive or oppose the gospel,” and will not “run away” but “resist [the devil] and sustain his assaults in their utmost force.” Although Pauline allusions litter De fuga in persecutione (e.g., Eph 6:12 [“struggle not against Àesh and blood…”] at De fug. 1.5; Phil 3:14 [“the prize”] at De fug. 1.5; 1 Cor 10:22 [“stronger than God”] at De fug. 4.4; Rom 8:32 [“spared not his own son”] and Gal 3:13 [“…made a curse for us, because cursed is he that hangs on a tree”] at De fug. 12.3; 1 Tim 6:1 [“rich toward God”] at De fug. 12.8; and 2 Cor 12:2 [“betrothed virgin”] at De fug. 14.2), the other pastiche of Pauline allusions appears in ch. 10. There, in rapid succession, Tertullian seeks to encourage persecuted Christians not to shrink back, for they will “judge angels” 1

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(1 Cor 6:3). What is more, they are “Christ-clothed” (Rom 13:14) and “have been baptized into Christ” (Gal 3:27), even as “Christ is in [them]” (Col 1:27). Imitating and Distorting Paul While I am inclined to think that Tertullian’s use of Paul in these documents is more pervasive and constructive than my Patristics colleague from Notre Dame suggests,8 I ¿nd her conclusion that Tertullian’s martyrological tractates are occasional pieces which reveal a maturing, developing theology of martyrdom, but not a theology that changes radically over time, to be convincing.9 To the extent that Tertullian acts in the tracts under discussion as an occasional, contextual theologian who employs Scripture to support and solidify his arguments, he is following in the footsteps of the apostle he so admired.10 That being said, Tertullian simultaneously espouses theological perspectives in these tracts that his hero would (forcefully) oppose. For example, Paul would eschew the unmitigated body–soul dualism embraced by Tertullian, even as he would the anticipated gradations in heaven(ly reward) that the Carthaginian theologian envisions. The apostle would also be made to wonder, I ¿gure, why Tertullian, who makes so much of his life and letters, does not make more of his oftrepeated convictions regarding the proclamation and progress of the gospel, human depravity and responsibility, the unity and purity of the Christian community, and the resurrection hope. 8. Bain (“Tertullian,” 223) observes, “Tertullian’s use of Paul is selective and frequently limited. However, this is not because of a lack of familiarity with the Pauline corpus, or with some parts of it, relative to other sections of Scripture.” He continues, “[Tertullian] is capable of engaging with Paul at great length and depth… and of ranging dexterously and even, we might say, reÀexively across virtually all of Paul’s writings…” 9. In his groundbreaking volume Paul the Apostle: The Triumph of God in Life and Thought (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), J. Christiaan Beker described Paul’s hermeneutic as both contingent and coherent. This construct might be of value to Tertullian scholars in examining and explaining his thought. Geoffrey D. Dunn (“Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” JECS 14 [2006]: 141–55 [155]) remarks, “[For Tertullian,] the method of hermeneutics was not as important as its results being in conformity with his appreciation of Christianity. [T]he Scriptures were to be interpreted in whatever way best supported the faith believed and lived by the Christian community.” 10. Bain (“Tertullian,” 223) notes that in Tertullian’s “practical works” “his choice of Pauline texts is consistently tied to his own aims or at least those relevant passages ¿xed on by his opponents.” 1

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Second Peter 3:16 contends that the “ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction” the hard-to-understand letters of Paul. While Tertullian was neither ignorant nor unstable (although he thought of his Valentinian opponents as such!), he did manage to distort various views of Paul set forth by the apostle in his letters-turned-Scriptures. Ironically, not a few of Paul’s Jewish contemporaries thought that the Apostle to the Gentiles mangled their Bible. We, who seek to read Paul and Tertullian at such remove, are no less susceptible as we gaze through spectacles darkened by time and subjectivity. Be that as it may, if I have managed to read Moss with the sympathetic insight with which she reads Tertullian and Tertullian reads Paul, then this hermeneutical, interdisciplinary exercise may well spawn additional, valuable conversation regarding the North African’s (mis)use of Paul and Scripture in developing and communicating his views on persecution and martyrdom, which were far more than theoretical for him and those to whom he wrote.

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6 STATUS FEMINAE: TERTULLIAN AND THE USES OF PAUL Elizabeth A. Clark

Introduction While Protestant commentators since the Reformation have lauded Paul’s message of “Christian freedom,” Tertullian, when writing on women, mined the Pauline Epistles to promote Christianity as “discipline.”1 His stringent interpretation of 1 Corinthians and the Pastoral Epistles, which seeks to temper and restrict women’s behavior, shows him a consummate master of “close reading.”2 Shaping his exegetical principles to ¿t the situations of his addressees (real or ¿ctive) and his argumentative aims,3 Tertullian crafts ethical directives that would set 1. On Christianity as disciplina in Tertullian, see Cahal B. Daly, Tertullian the Puritan and His InÀuence: An Essay in Historical Theology (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1993), 6, with numerous references. 2. On Tertullian’s reading of 1 Cor 7, see René Braun, “Tertullien et l’exégèse de I Cor. 7,” in Approches de Tertullien: Vingt-six études sur l’auteur et sur l’oeuvre (1955–1990) (Paris: Institut d’Etudes Augustiniennes, 1992), 111–18. (Tertullian moves from “correcting” Marcion to approximating his position.) For the Fathers’ engagement with “close reading” to champion asceticism, see Elizabeth A. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 118–22; on the exegesis of 1 Cor 7, see 259–329. 3. For Tertullian’s rules of interpretation, see Heinrich Karpp, Schrift und Geist bei Tertullians (BFCT 44; Güterloh: Bertelsmann, 1955), 26–29. On aims: when Tertullian argues against Marcion, he tightly links the Old Testament and the New Testament and proclaims “one God” as author of both; against Valentinians, he chooses biblical passages that commend the Àeshly body in contrast to verses he selects in his more rigorously ascetic treatises or in statements pertaining to torture and martyrdom for Christ’s sake (De cul. fem. 2.3.3 [CCSL 1.356], alluding to 1 Cor 10:24 and 13:5; Phil 2:4). On the relation of the two books of De cultu feminarum, see Braun, “Le problème des deux livres du De cultu feminarum de Tertullien,” in Approches de Tertullien, 147–56. (Book 2 is a recycled sermon.) On rhetorical devices in De cultu feminarum, see Robert D. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric and the Art of Tertullian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 102–3, 107, 120. 1

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Christian women on the narrow path. On one point only does Tertullian accord women more “liberty” than we might expect: his acknowledgment that they offer authoritative prophecy. Both this expansion of female opportunity and his limitation of it in other contexts ¿nd their basis in Paul’s writings. Reading for Rigor Although Tertullian proclaims “transgression in interpretation is not lighter than in conversation,”4 he himself is skilled in hermeneutical manipulation. Deploying various exegetical and rhetorical techniques,5 he turns the Bible into a treasure-trove for those pressing a “harder” type of Christianity that the Paraclete reveals “to those able to bear the full burden of Christian discipleship.”6 His adoption of the New Prophecy con¿rmed the ascetic views he promoted in his earlier works, while shifting his focus from doctrine to “discipline.”7 The writings of Paul (and those Tertullian ascribed to Paul8) provide the biblically centered base for his instruction and “correction” of 4. De pud. 9.22 (CCSL 2.1299). 5. Sider argues that Tertullian’s exegetical principles ¿nd “their true home in his rhetorical background” (Ancient Rhetoric, 9); I look also to his argumentative goals. Tertullian in his later works, T. P. O’Malley argues, often appeals to non-scriptural norms: to the Rule of Faith, tradition, and the (Montanist) Paraclete, who becomes a “refuge” and “simple solution to the problem of interpretation” (Tertullian and the Bible: Language, Imagery, Exegesis [Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1967], 134, 178). 6. William Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy and Polluted Sacraments: Ecclesiastical and Imperial Reactions to Montanism (VCSup 84; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 416. Montanism was “a diverse prophetic movement intent on bringing Christianity into line with what it believed to be the ultimate revelation of the Spirit through the New Prophets” (164; similarly, 388, 418). Tabbernee emphasizes the ethical dimension of the new revelation. 7. Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 210; cf. Michel Spanneut, Tertullien et les premiers moralistes africains (Gembloux: Duculot; Paris: Lethielleux, 1969), 36, 46, 48; David Rankin, Tertullian and the Church (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 200. For proposed dates for Tertullian’s treatises, see Timothy D. Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 55. Barnes notes that Tertullian in his later “Montanist” works abandoned “persuasion” and attacks in an “aggressive and abusive fashion” (139). 8. That is, the deutero-Pauline and Pastoral Epistles. Tertullian sometimes deploys the Pastorals to contrary ends. In De cul. fem. 2.9.7 (CCSL 1.363–64), for example, he exalts the coming era in which Christians will embrace “eunuchhood” and abstain from “the creatures of God,” signs of “deceitful spirits” in 1 Tim 4:1–5. 1

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Christian women. Tertullian presses the Pauline dichotomies—lawful vs. expedient, milk vs. solid food, slave vs. free, Àesh vs. spirit—to rhetorical extremes.9 He skillfully transposes Pauline arguments regarding “the strong” and “the weak”10 to contrast the laxity of “Psychics” with the strength of Christians who embrace the New Prophecy— although Tertullian exhibits far less concern (and far more scorn) for “the weak” than had Paul. To appropriate Paul’s teaching in the most ascetically rigorous fashion is Tertullian’s (unannounced) aim. Five interpretive techniques appear so frequently in these writings of Tertullian that they deserve special mention. The ¿rst links moral evaluation with a contrast between “commands” and (mere) “permissions.” What the Bible merely “permits” or “concedes”—variously, marriage and second marriage—cannot, in Tertullian’s view, be called “good.”11 This argument is bolstered by a second, perhaps drawn from Old Stoic teaching, that allows no intermediate category between “good” and “evil.” If “touching a woman” (1 Cor 7:1) is “not good,” then it must be “evil.”12 Marriage, which Paul conceded was more desirable than “burning” (1 Cor 7:9), cannot on that account be labeled “good.”13 Another exegetical principle links a silence or absence within a text to authorial intent: “absence” conveys a message. Thus, Tertullian argues, when Paul fails to differentiate categories (e.g., “virgins” from “women” in 1 Cor 11:5–6), he intends that the same requirement (of veiling) apply to both.14 Another example: the fact that Gen 2 does not originally name 9. This is also a feature of his rhetoric. See Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 22. Osborn remarks, Tertullian has “an Heraclitean respect for opposites” (Tertullian, xvi), and concludes, “ConÀict is his life; opposites are his reality; and paradox is his intellectual delight” (256). 10. For some important discussions, see Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth (trans. John H. Schütz; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), esp. Chapter 3 (“The Strong and the Weak in Corinth”); Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 68–70; and concerning asceticism, Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 205–8. 11. Ad ux. 1.3.4–5 (CCSL 1.376); De mon. 3.3–4 (CCSL 2.1231). For rhetorical strategies in Ad uxorem, see Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 109, 117; Jean-Claude Fredouille, Tertullien et la conversion de la culture antique (Paris: Etudes Augustiniennes, 1972), 105–6 (arguments de utilitate and de honesto). 12. De mon. 3.4–5 (CCSL 2.1231). 13. De exh. cast. 3.8–10 (CCSL 2.1020). Tertullian here takes “burning” as a penalty, presumably hell¿re. On rhetorical devices in De exhortatione castitatis, see Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 107; Fredouille, Tertullien, 109–28. 14. De virg. vel. 4.2 (CCSL 2.1212): in this case, when Paul in 1 Cor 11 does not differentiate between “women” and “virgins,” as he did in 1 Cor 7, it means all are 1

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the ¿rst woman “Eve” (“mother of the living”), the wording shows that “woman” constitutes a category distinct from “wife.”15 Likewise, Scripture’s silence regarding rampant polygamy in humanity’s early days, or wives of Jesus’ disciples (excepting Peter), forbids us to imagine such.16 That no explicit divine approval is mentioned for second marriage in the Gospels and Pauline Epistles implies that God disallowed it.17 Here, “lack” or “absence” drives rigor. A fourth argument concerns the “voice” behind a biblical passage. Here, Paul’s differentiation of “voices” in 1 Cor 7 proved highly useful for Tertullian’s purposes: was the “voice” that of God or Jesus or that of a (mere) human, Paul?18 Thus, Tertullian argues that while “Christ” himself commanded the veiling of women in church,19 Paul pronounced the “concession” for marriage.20 Yet when Paul claims to channel the voice of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 7:40), he acquires semi-divine authority.21 Citing the words of the Corinthian ascetics (“it is good for a man not to touch a woman” [1 Cor 7:2]) as the apostle’s own, Tertullian makes Paul the champion of a highly rigorous asceticism.22 A last type of exegetical appeal contrasts the “new” and the “old.”23 As Anne Jensen notes, while Tertullian endorsed (allegedly) unchanging included in the general category. On rhetorical strategies De virginibus velandis, see Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 103, 112–13. 15. De virg. vel. 5.1–5 (CCSL 2.1213–15), alluding to Gen 2:22–23; 3:20. 16. De mon. 4.4; 8.4 (CCSL 2.1233, 1239). On “silence” as a principle, see O’Malley, Tertullian, 130. For rhetorical strategies in De monogomia, see Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 32, 34, 37, 95; Fredouille, Tertullien, 128–42. Fredouille argues that Tertullian’s rhetorical training had prepared him, long before his move to Montanism, to prefer “imperative” and “prohibitive” texts to those that “tolerate” or “permit” (Tertullien, 117). 17. De exh. cast. 4.2 (CCSL 2.1021). 18. For patristic writers’ appeal to “voice” to further asceticism, see Clark, Reading Renunciation, 141–45. 19. De virg. vel. 16.4 (CCSL 2.1225); the Corinthian church, he proclaims, to this day veils its virgins (De virg. vel. 8.4 [CCSL 2.1218]). 20. De exh. cast. 3.6 (CCSL 2.1019). 21. De exh. cast. 4.6 (CCSL 2.1022); De mon. 3.6 (CCSL 2.1232): thus widows will be happier remaining unmarried. 22. On Paul’s desire to moderate the Corinthians’ extreme asceticism, see Margaret Y. MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion: The Power of the Hysterical Woman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 133, 138. 23. See the discussion in Fredouille, Tertullien, 290–97; the vetera-nova contrast becomes for Tertullian “a veritable category of thought” (297). On Tertullian’s working of “new” and “old” in relation to Roman religion, see Mark S. Burrows, “Christianity in the Roman Forum: Tertullian and the Apologetic Use of History,” VC 42 (1988): 209–35. 1

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articles of faith, on moral questions he could champion innovation when doing so promoted ascetic rigor.24 Although Tertullian faults his opponents as inconsistent (they accuse adherents of the New Prophecy of adhering to ancient practice, but then condemn them for introducing novelty25), he too can work the vetera-nova argument to ¿t his own ends. Sometimes Tertullian exalts the “new”: since the old creation has passed away and the new has come (cf. 2 Cor 5:17), Christians may not cite Old Testament provisions that might justify “laxity.”26 Recommendations and commands given in the New Testament trump earlier ones, and those given by the Paraclete carry still greater authority.27 Thus, Moses allowed divorce and Christ abrogated it, but the Paraclete’s revelation supercedes even what Paul allowed (namely, second marriage).28 The divine economy prudently corrects what has gone before.29 But Tertullian also insists, and in other than his anti-Marcionite writings, that the New Testament does not render the Old Testament obsolete. The Hebrew Law remains in its essentials; the two Testaments are one.30 The Paraclete’s insistence on strict monogamy, for example, cannot be dismissed as a “novelty,” since Paul’s (allegedly) similar teaching on marriage pre-dates Tertullian’s own era by about 160 years.31 Indeed, the Paraclete merely restores the monogamy of Adam and Eve, not 24. Anne Jensen, God’s Self-Con¿dent Daughters: Early Christianity and the Liberation of Women (trans. O. C. Dean Jr.; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 145, 150, 181. Also see Braun, Approches de Tertullien, 48 (“Tertullien et le Montanisme”), on the “progressive perfection of disciplina from Adam to the extremitas temporum” in Tertullian; and Fredouille, Tertullien, 294–95. Otto Kuss notes three versions of the Rule of Faith: De prae. haer. 13, De virg. vel. 1, and Adv. Prax. 2 (“Zur Hermeneutik Tertullians,” in Neutestamentliche Aufsätze: Festschrift für Prof. Josef Schmid zum 70. Geburtstag [ed. J. Blinzler, O. Kuss, and F. Mussner; Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1963], 147–49, 155–56). 25. De iei. 14.4 (CCSL 2.1273). 26. De pud. 6.1–2 (CCSL 2.1289). For Tabbernee, Montanists were ahead of their time in creating new forms of ministry, “a new future” (Fake Prophesy, 388, 422–23). 27. De exh. cast. 6.1–3 (CCSL 2.1023–24): Paul’s advice to “have wives as if not” (1 Cor 7:29) supercedes “reproduce and multiply” (Gen 1:28). 28. De mon. 14.3 (CCSL 2.1249); see Cecil M. Robeck Jr., Prophecy in Carthage: Perpetua, Tertullian, and Cyprian (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1992), 142. 29. Osborn, Tertullian, 213. 30. De mon. 8.1 (CCSL 2.1239); De iei. 2–3 (CCSL 2.1258–60); see the discussion in O’Malley, Tertullian, 125. 31. De mon. 3.8–9 (CCSL 2.1232). Here, Paul is grouped among the “lax.” Tertullian adds that the Paraclete “comforts” by not requiring absolute continence. In De mon. 3.10 (CCSL 2.1232–33), he appeals to Rom 8:26: the Spirit “helps us in our weakness” (i.e., by allowing marriage). 1

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demanding of Christians in consideration of human weakness a return to their original virginity. Here, Tertullian insists, there is no “innovation.”32 He cites biblical passages for support: Rev 1:8 (Alpha rolls on to Omega; then Omega rolls back to Alpha)33 and Eph 1:10 (all things are to be recalled back to their beginning in Christ).34 In some cases, he claims, the seemingly new does not differ from the decrees of old. These argumentative props support Tertullian’s advocacy of rigorous standards regarding women and marriage. What is a “Woman”? Immediately a question arises: what counts as “woman”? Are the church’s virgins “women”? Among Tertullian’s sparring-partners (real or imagined) were those who argued that the virgins of the church constituted a different class from that of the “women.” As a consequence, Paul’s insistence on women’s head-coverings during worship (1 Cor 11:3–16) did not apply to virgins. The virgins, they argued, need not be veiled; unlike married women, they were free to be “servants” (ancillae) of the Lord alone (cf. 1 Cor 7:34).35 Tertullian will have none of this reasoning. He retorts that since “virgins” here constitute a sub-set of “women,” the two groups share a “community of condition”: the virgins must be veiled.36 Those who argue that “woman” refers only to those females who have “known a man” forget that Eve at her creation as a virgin was called a “woman” (Gen 2:22–23)37 and that Paul in Gal 4:4 classi¿es Mary the mother of Jesus as 32. De mon. 4.1–2 (CCSL 2.1233). Noah and his sons stand as examples. In De mon. 4.5 (CCSL 2.1233), Tertullian goes back to Adam and Eve. Human history thereafter was a “progressive degradation”; to return to the beginning through total chastity is desirable. See Claude Rambaux, Tertullien face aux morales des trois premiers siècles (Paris: Société d’Edition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1979), 225–27. 33. De mon. 5.2 (CCSL 2.1234). 34. De mon. 11.4 (CCSL 2.1244). Osborn (Tertullian, 8) claims that “recapitulation” is “the golden thread” running through Tertullian’s thought. 35. De virg. vel. 3.1–2; 4.1 (CCSL 2.1211–12); De or. 21.1–4 (CCSL 1.268). The implication: the veil signals subjection to a man. 36. De virg. vel. 4.2 (CCSL 2.1212–13); all “women” are “the glory of man” (De virg. vel. 7.2 [CCSL 2.1216]). Tertullian insists that the entire head constitutes “woman,” and hence the veil must cover her neck (De virg. vel. 17.1–2 [CCSL 2.1225–26]). Thomas Schirrmacher attempts (unsuccessfully) to show that it was Paul’s opponents in Corinth, not Paul, who favored veiling. See Paul in ConÀict with the Veil: An Alternative Interpretation of 1 Corinthians 11:2–16 (trans. Cambron Teupe; 5th Ger. ed; Nürnberg: VTR, n.d.). 37. De virg. vel. 5.1; 8.2 (CCSL 2.1213–14, 1217–18); De or. 22.1 (CCSL 1.269). 1

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a “woman,” despite her virginal conception.38 “Woman,” in other words, occupies a larger category than “wife.”39 Tertullian concedes that although the Greek language is “careless” in offering just one word (gynƝ) to serve for both “woman” and “wife,” “we” (Latin-speaking Christians?) know to differentiate them. There are cases where this distinction matters: Tertullian is sure that the apostles of 1 Cor 9:5–6 did not take “wives” around with them.40 Yet the question remains: At what age is a female classi¿ed as a “woman” and hence required to veil? From the time that she becomes sexually desirable, Tertullian answers: from the age at which the “daughters of men” of Gen 6 invited the concupiscence of the “angels,” the “sons of God.” Female infants, he concedes, do not yet count as “women” and hence need not be veiled at birth.41 In yet another way, Tertullian assumes that all females are “women.” Despite his acknowledgment that women have the same “angelic nature” and the same hope of reward as men,42 it was convenient for his rhetorical purposes to stress their propensity to sin. All females, as “women,” stand in the genealogical line of sinful Eve. To atone for her sin that doomed the human race (“men”), Christian women should not seek adornment, but rather spend their lives in shabby clothing, devoid of cosmetics and ornamentation. In his arguably most celebrated line, Tertullian asks of his (probably ¿ctive) female audience, “Do you not know that you are the devil’s gateway?”43 On this topic, it was convenient to overlook Paul’s claim that through one man, Adam, sin entered the world (Rom 5:12). To Paul’s assumption of gender hierarchy in the here-and-now, Tertullian adds the teaching of 1 Tim 2:14 that Eve was 38. De virg. vel. 6.1 (CCSL 2.1215). 39. De virg. vel. 5.3 (CCSL 2.1214). 40. De mon. 8.4–5 (CCSL 2.1239), but in De exh. cast. 8.3 (CCSL 2.1027), he implies that they were “wives.” Tertullian urges readers to imitate Paul, who did not “use this right.” 41. De virg. vel. 11.1–5 (CCSL 2.1220–21). Tertullian appeals to Rebecca (Gen 24:64–65), who veiled herself as soon as her future husband was pointed out to her, as if already she had forfeited her virginity. He cites Roman law on the age at which girls might marry: 12. Similar arguments are in Tertullian, De or. 22.10 (CCSL 1.271). See further below on the angels of Gen 6. 42. De cul. fem. 2.5 (CCSL 1.346). 43. De cul. fem. 1.1.2–3 (CCSL 1.343–44). F. Forrester Church hopes to correct “misconceptions” about Tertullian’s views on women (“Sex and Salvation in Tertullian,” HTR 68 [1975]: 83–101). By contrast, Marie Turcan ¿nds the only example of women deemed good without quali¿cation are aged, widowed mothers, as in De virg. vel. 9.3 (“Etre femme selon Tertullien,” Vita Latina 119 [1990]: 15–21 [16]). 1

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the ¿rst sinner.44 Although not all adult women are “wives,” all are “women,” and hence bear the curse and sin of Eve. Differentiating Women Although when Tertullian urges virgins as “women” to cover their heads or chastises women as daughters of Eve, he presses female similarity, in many other passages he differentiates women by their statuses: Christian virgins, married women, and widows.45 Here, he ¿nds ample assistance in Paul’s writings. Virgins Dedicated to God Perpetual virginity stands as the superior status for all humans.46 On this point, Tertullian appeals without ambiguity to Paul, whose preference for virginity was clear (1 Cor 7:7). Had Paul not written (according to Tertullian), “It is ‘best’ (optimum)—not merely ‘good’ (kalos/bonum)— not to touch a woman” (1 Cor 7:1)?47 Tertullian also endorsed the eschatological expectation that underlay Paul’s encouragement of virginity and celibacy. He, too, believed that the “straits of the times” recommend virginity,48 canceling the Old Testament command to “reproduce and multiply.”49 Tertullian frequently cites 44. In the afterlife, gender hierarchy might be modi¿ed. See Martin, Corinthian Body, 232–33. Yet Tertullian’s belief (unlike Paul’s) in a physical resurrection body might doom women to an inferior position even in the afterlife. Tertullian’s belief that Paul wrote the Pastoral Epistles bolstered his claim to replicate Paul. 45. Tertullian expresses outrage that a dedicated virgin under the age of twenty was placed in the ranks of the church’s widows (De virg. vel. 9.2 [CCSL 2.1219]). 46. “Sanctity” is “essentially abstention from sexual relations” (so Rambaux, Tertullien, 214). Likewise, Peter Brown maintains that Tertullian was the ¿rst Latin Christian writer to af¿rm that “abstinence from sex was the most effective technique with which to attain clarity of soul,” citing De exh. cast. 10.1 on its bene¿ts for men (The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity [New York: Columbia University Press, 1988], 78). For a good summary of the issue, see Marie Turcan, “Le Mariage en question? Ou les avantages du célibat selon Tertullien,” in Mélanges de philosophie, de littérature et d’histoire anciens offerts à Pierre Boyancé (Rome: Ecole de Française de Rome, 1974), 711–20. In De mon. 8.1 (CCSL 2.1239), however, Tertullian allows Monogamy to stand alongside Continence as two “priestesses” (antistes) at the threshold of the Gospel; with a bit of gender-bending, as Zechariah and John the Baptist respectively. 47. De exh. cast. 9.4 (CCSL 2.1028). Tertullian does not recognize this as the view of the Corinthian ascetics, which Paul modi¿es. 48. Ad ux. 1.3.2 (CCSL 1.375). 49. De mon. 7.4 (CCSL 2.1238). 1

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Paul’s phrases: “the form of the world is passing away”; “the time is wound up”; we are those “upon whom the end of the ages has come.”50 He expects that (good) angels will soon descend to bear Christians in the air to meet Christ.51 In his own era, the ever-present danger of persecution shows that the end is near52—and that chastity is recommended.53 In light of the expected eschaton, virginity has a special claim on Christians. But a question soon emerges: Who counts as a “virgin”? In 1 Cor 7, “virgins” do not yet seem an “order”; unmarried females in general are counseled to stay in their present condition (1 Cor 7:8). Thus, the father (or ¿ancé) of 1 Cor 7:36 is advised that it is preferable to keep the woman in question “as his virgin.”54 By contrast, the virgins whom Tertullian exhorts in De virginibus velandis frequently appear as a different category from girls who are simply (not yet) married: they have made an oblatio to God.55 Does Tertullian’s language imply that they had taken an of¿cial vow, or at least made a private decision to remain unmarried?56 Although the evidence is not entirely clear, “virgins” often seem to constitute a speci¿c class. Christoph Stücklin, however, warns against overestimating, as have some scholars, the formality of Tertullian’s group, “virgins.”57 One looks in vain, Stücklin argues, for a tightly organized institution comparable to 50. De cul. fem. 2.9.6 (CCSL 1.363); De exh. cast. 6.1 (CCSL 2.1023); De mon. 7.4; 14.4 (CCSL 2.1238, 1249), citing 1 Cor 7:31, 29; 10:11. 51. De cul. fem. 2.7.3 (CCSL 1.361), alluding to 1 Thess 4:13–17; used as an argument against Christian women ornamenting their hair. 52. De mon. 16.4–5 (CCSL 2.1251–52). 53. “Enduring to the end” (Matt 24:13) for Tertullian can mean remaining content with a single marriage (De mon. 15.4 [CCSL 2.1251]). 54. The incomprehensibility of this text prompts widely varied interpretations. Does it pertain to a father worried about his unmarried daughter or to a ¿ancé wondering whether to consummate a proposed marriage? Is he of strong passions, or is she “over-age”? What might “keeping her as his virgin (parthenos)” mean? Does Paul recommend that they be “partners in celibacy”? See MacDonald, Early Christian Women, 141. Later patristic writers did not think the “spiritual marriage” option possible; for discussion and texts, see Elizabeth A. Clark, “John Chrysostom and the Subintroductae,” CH 46 (1977): 171–85. 55. De virg. vel. 13.2 (CCSL 2.1222). 56. The options, with readings of various passages from De virginibus velandis, are carefully outlined by Christoph Stücklin in his commentary on that work (De virginibus velandis: Übersetzung, Einleitung, Kommentar: Ein Beitrag zur altkirchlichen Frauenfrage [Europäische Hochschulschriften 23/26; Bern: Lang; Franfurt: Lang, 1974], 150–58). 57. Stücklin, De virginibus velandis, 157–58. 1

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the diaconate. There are no signs of a dedication ceremony.58 Indeed, Tertullian sometimes seemingly includes all unmarried girls in the category of “virgins,” as when he insists that in 1 Cor 11, “virgin” is a sub-category of “woman.”59 Moreover, Tertullian gives the “virgins” no speci¿c role to play in the church. As David Rankin puts it, “Their primary function may indeed have been simply to be.”60 Their duties are not speci¿ed: wedded to God, they “handle Him by day and night.”61 Unlike Paul’s busy wives of 1 Cor 7:34, they are occupied with nothing but “attending on the Lord.”62 Virgins, Veiled and Unveiled Tertullian appears to write in the face of opposition. His vehement insistence on the veiling of virgins suggests that such was not the usual practice in Carthage.63 His overriding concern is sexual. Assuming the ancient analogy between a woman’s genitals and her head, Tertullian argues that since the virgin covers the lower part of her body, the upper part too should be covered.64 Scripture, Nature, and “Discipline” (i.e., church order and regulations), all three from God, require the veil.65 The 58. Ibid., 156–57. 59. For example, when he writes that all females from the time of puberty should be veiled (De virg. vel. 11.2 [CCSL 2.1220]). 60. Rankin (Tertullian, 179–80) suggests they represent the holiness of the church and provide a “signi¿cant symbol” of the church as the Virgin Bride of Christ. 61. Ad ux. 1.4.4 (CCSL 1.377), probably alluding to 1 John 1:1; Luke 24:39; and John 20:17. 62. Ad ux. 1.3.6 (CCSL 1.376), alluding to 1 Cor 7:35. For Tertullian, married women, not virgins, are “anxious.” For a different interpretation of Paul’s verse, see MacDonald, Early Christian Women, 136. Making the dedicated virgin the bride of Christ is “the ultimate mechanism for bringing the independent virgin ¿rmly under patriarchal control.” So Dyan Elliott, “Tertullian, the Angelic Life, and the Bride of Christ,” in Gender and Christianity in Medieval Europe: New Perspectives (ed. Lisa M. Bitel and Felice Lifshitz; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 15–33 (16–17), discussing Jo Ann McNamara, A New Song: Celibate Women in the First Three Christian Centuries (New York: Harrington Park Press, 1985), 121. 63. Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 114. Tertullian’s opponents call his insistence on veiling a “novelty” (De virg. vel. 1.1–2 [CCSL 2.1209]). In De virg. vel. 2.1 (CCSL 2.1210), Tertullian notes a few places where veiling is customary, suggesting that in other places it is not. Even in an early treatise (De or. 21.1–22.10 [CCSL 1.268– 71]), Tertullian had insisted that virgins be veiled. 64. De virg. vel. 12.1 (CCSL 2.1221–22). On the equation of head and genitals, see Martin, Corinthian Body, 234–35, 237. 65. De virg. vel. 16.1 (CCSL 2.1225). 1

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veil shows that despite her superlative Christian devotion, the Christian virgin is still “woman” and must submit to the rules laid on all adult women by the church66—or rather, in Tertullian’s view, by Christ. Commenting on 1 Cor 11, Tertullian writes that if “Christ” tells betrothed and married women to veil their heads, how much more does he wish this for “his own”?67 The veil (as Dyan Elliott puts it) “does double service as a symbol of both gender and submission”; it shows that the virgin’s womanhood is “ineradicable.”68 In Tertullian’s view, Peter Brown observes, Christian baptism did nothing to change “the fact that women were seductive.”69 A virgin’s leaving her head uncovered in church signals that she is open to rape, or at least to losing her virginity.70 In a sexually charged passage, strategically placed at the climax of a chapter, Tertullian describes the virgin who removes her veil: she is “penetrated” (percutitur) by the gaze of many untrustworthy eyes, “tickled” (titillatur) by pointing ¿ngers, feels a warmth creep over her amidst kisses and embraces; her forehead hardens and then relaxes. Thus, as virgin, she has learned to “please” men in a way different from marital intercourse, but likewise sexually charged.71 The veil, by contrast, provides a “helmet,” a “shield,” to protect her head.72 The images, taken from the realm of warfare (cf. Eph 6:11–17), pass to the realm of sex: the veil serves as her prophylactic, in effect, just as marriage serves as a prophylactic against porneia and sexual desire for a man (1 Cor 7:2).73 In arguing that all adult women must be veiled in church, Tertullian gets good purchase from the “angels” of Gen 6, as elaborated by 1 En. 6–16 (a book he includes in Scripture).74 Making a cameo appearance in 1 Cor 11:10, the “angels” serve to justify Paul’s insistence that women cover their heads during worship. Tertullian even blames women (“the daughters of men”) for luring these “sons of God” from their heavenly

66. De virg. vel. 4.2; 7.1; 8.1 (CCSL 2.1212, 1216, 1217). 67. De virg. vel. 16.4 (CCSL 2.1225). 68. Elliott, “Tertullian,” 17, 26. See Martin, Corinthian Body, 245–46. 69. Brown, Body and Society, 81. 70. De virg. vel. 3.4 (CCSL 2.1212). Tertullian argues that uncovered heads signal the virgins’ fall from the grace of virginity (De virg. vel. 14.3 [CCSL 2.1223]). 71. De virg. vel. 14.5 (CCSL 2.1224). 72. De virg. vel. 15.1 (CCSL 2.1224); in 16.4 (CCSL 2.1225), he continues the military imagery: the veil is her armaturam, vallum, and murum. 73. Martin, Corinthian Body, 214, 246–48. 74. De cul. fem. 1.3.1 (CCSL 1.346). 1

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abode.75 Those angels, with a good eye for female desirability, targeted nubile virgins, not matrons whose “bodies had already been de¿led (maculata).”76 Coming to earth, the angels brought with them all manner of evils, especially those to which women are prone and which encourage their vanity—jewelry, cosmetics, dyed clothing, even astrology.77 For Tertullian, women’s sin with the angels compounds the aboriginal sin women inherited from Eve. The consequence for the present is that the church’s virgins must cover themselves so as to prevent a reoccurrence of that inappropriate coupling. Tertullian intones, “So dangerous a face that cast stumbling-blocks so far as heaven must be shaded.”78 By styling Christian virgins as “Brides of Christ,” Elliott suggestively argues, Tertullian ensured that they would not be brides of those fallen angels, “celestial predators,” who so disrupted the world’s harmony; a repetition of that “supernatural miscegenation” would be forestalled.79 Yet even in Tertullian’s own time, angels remain a menacing bunch; they beat the necks of women who do not wear suf¿ciently long veils.80 By removing their veils, Tertullian charges, Christian virgins are, in addition, guilty of pride and vanity. They try to make themselves “conspicuous.” If female virgins of the church are so keen to differentiate themselves from other women by their uncovered heads, why should not male virgins don some special marking, perhaps the feathers, ¿llets, or

75. Tertullian, De virg. vel. 7.3; 11.2 (CCSL 2.1217, 1220). The angels are also useful in anti-heretical polemic. In Against Marcion, Tertullian asks, to “whose angels” does Paul refer in 1 Cor 11:10? If the angels are of the Creator God, then it is entirely suitable that women cover their faces with a sign (the veil) that obscures their beauty and shows their “humble demeanor.” But if the angels are of Marcion’s God, then no need to worry, for neither Marcion’s (male) disciples nor his angels have any desire for women! (Adv. Marc. 5.8.2 [CCSL 1.685–86]). Here, Tertullian critiques Marcion’s asceticism. Elliott remarks that Tertullian keeps the angels “in reserve as a kind of trump to enforce female submission” (“Tertullian,” 23). 76. De virg. vel. 7.2 (CCSL 2.1216). 77. Tertullian, De cul. fem. 1.2.1 (CCSL 1.344–45). On the evils, cf. esp. 1 En. 8. In Apol. 22.3–4 (CCSL 1.128–29), Tertullian elaborates how the fallen angels gave birth to demons who brought sickness and other afÀictions to the world. 78. De virg. vel. 7.3 (CCSL 2.1217). 79. Elliott, “Tertullian,” 18. Virgins as Brides of Christ also appear in De virg. vel. 16.4 (CCSL 2.1225); De or. 22.9 (CCSL 1.271). 80. De virg. vel. 17.3 (CCSL 2.1226). “Angels in Paul’s theology are never unambiguously benign or positive characters” (so Martin, Corinthian Body, 244). That humans post-resurrection will judge the angels (1 Cor 6:3) suggests that they might exceed the angelic standard. See De cul. fem. 1.2.4 (CCSL 1.345); De idol. 18.9 (CCSL 2.1120); Adv. Marc. 2.9.7 (CCSL 1.485); De pud. 14.8 (CCSL 2.1307). 1

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tattoos of various “barbarian” groups, to show their “distinction”?81 Clearly for a Roman man, such attire would be ridiculous. Another question: Is the state of Christian virginity a “choice” or a “gift”? Refusal to be veiled shows that the virgin “unwillingly” accepted her status, that she was a virgin “by compulsion,”82 and for Tertullian, it was of paramount importance that virginal life be a choice.83 Yet Paul’s claim that continence was a “gift” (1 Cor 7:7) also proved useful to Tertullian. Rebuking virgins who sought “glory” from their state, Tertullian could deÀate their pride by insisting that since virginity was a “gift” they have “received,”84 they should exhibit grateful humility. Tertullian’s outrage concerning the unveiled virgins puzzles our contemporaries. Karen Torjesen suggests a socio-ecclesiological explanation. She situates Tertullian at a historical moment in which the church was transitioning from its earlier house-church provenance to a more formal, structured organization with a hierarchy of of¿cers. On this view, Tertullian’s insistence on the virgins’ veils correlates with his assumption that the church operates no longer in a private, but in a public, sphere.85 The church seen as a body politic, Torjesen argues, would lend authority, discipline, and gravitas to Christian proceedings.86 81. De virg. vel. 10.2 (CCSL 2.1219). His rhetorical query assumes that the male is the “unmarked,” normative category and the female the “marked” category that shows her difference. It also serves to display Romans’ superiority to “others.” 82. De virg. vel. 14.1, 5 (CCSL 2.1223–24). 83. E.g., De virg. vel. 3.1; 14.5 (CCSL 2.1211, 1224). 84. De virg. vel. 13.3 (CCSL 2.1223). Yet Tertullian allows the virgin some “glory.” If women-in-general are said by Paul to be the “glory of man” (1 Cor 11:7), how much more is not the Christian virgin a “glory” to herself, all on her own? (De virg. vel. 7.2 [CCSL 2.1216]). 85. Karen Jo Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology’ and Women’s Leadership,” StPatr 21 (1989): 277–82 (281). Torjesen gives several examples of Tertullian’s vocabulary choices that reveal his understanding of the church as “public.” Also see Karen Jo Torjesen, When Women Were Priests: Women’s Leadership in the Early Church and the Scandal of their Subordination in the Rise of Christianity (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 160, 165. Daniel L. Hoffman (The Status of Women and Gnosticism in Irenaeus and Tertullian [Studies in Women and Religion 36; Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1995], 179) challenges Torjesen’s argument: Were not women engaging in “public” activities in visiting the sick, prisoners, and so forth? 86. Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology,’ ” 279. Cf. James Ash’s thesis that the authority of the monarchical bishop co-opted the charisma that prophecy had enjoyed (although his views on the demise of prophecy might now be modi¿ed by newer work on Montanism); see his “The Decline of Ecstatic Prophecy in the Church,” TS 37 (1976): 27–52. 1

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The virgins have a merely symbolic role, advertising the purity of the church and the devotion of its members. If the virgins were to be given public honors in the church, it would seem (Torjesen suggests) that they were holders of public of¿ce. Such insinuations might well account for Tertullian’s wrath: for him, nothing by way of public honor can be granted to a virgin.87 Torjesen’s argument, however, rests on the assumption that the era of the house-church was nearly past—a disputed assumption. William Tabbernee, for example, assumes to the contrary that in Tertullian’s time, Carthaginian Christians were still operating with a house-church structure.88 The adjudication of this question would be important to understanding Tertullian’s challenge to the virgins. How Tertullian’s notion of the church affects his view of women in church of¿ces, we shall discuss below. Marriage as Institution89 When Tertullian argues against Marcion and other alleged heretics of a highly ascetic stripe, or defends his own orthodoxy, he supports marriage as God’s ordinance. Here he ¿nds assistance in the Pastoral Epistles. Marcion, Apelles, and others who wish to “destroy” marriage and put an end to the human race, he claims, are condemned by “Paul” in 1 Tim 4:3.90 Against such as these, Tertullian advances a form of Christian discipline that welcomes marriage. He notes that in 1 Thess 4:3–5, Paul teaches Christians to abstain from fornication, not from marriage; every man is to possess his “vessel” in honor.91 87. Torjesen cites De virg. vel. 15, which does not address this issue. De virg. vel. 14.2 (CCSL 2.1223), however, critiques virgins who are brought into the midst of the church “elated by the public appropriation of their property” (publicato bono suo elatae) and “lauded by the brethren with every honor charity and bountiful work.” 88. William Tabbernee, “To Pardon or Not to Pardon? North African Montanism and the Forgiveness of Sins,” StPatr 36 (2001): 375–86 (385). Tabbernee (382, 386) thinks that the oracle in De pud. 21.7 may have come from a Carthaginian “new prophet” (or “prophetess”). 89. Alfred Niebergall (“Tertullians Auffassung von Ehe und Eheschliessung,” in Traditio-Krisis-Renovatio aus theologischer Sicht: Festschrift Winfried Zeller zum 65. Geburtstag [ed. Bernd Jaspert and Rudolf Mohr; Marburg: Elwert, 1976], 56–72) provides a theological and ecclesiological analysis of Tertullian’s views on marriage and the marriage contract, arguing that even in his “rigorist” Montanist period Tertullian did not abandon the notion that marriage found its origin and continuance in God (65) and was imbedded in the church community (70–71, 72). 90. Adv. Marc. 1.29.1–2; 4.34.5; (CCSL 1.472–73, 636); De prae. haer. 33.6 (CCSL 1.214); De mon. 15.1 (CCSL 2.1250), citing 1 Tim 4:1–3. 91. Adv. Marc. 5.15.3 (CCSL 1.709). 1

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Yet, if Paul now appears as a champion of marriage, the apostle’s ascetic message in 1 Cor 7 needed explaining or “explaining away.” Thus, Tertullian claims, Paul permitted marriage and advised its continuance; if he seemingly preferred celibacy, it was only because “the time was short” (1 Cor 7:29), not because Christ represented a different God (from that of the Old Testament).92 Even if celibacy is “better” than marriage, marriage is still to be vindicated as from the Creator God. If any blame lies in marriage, it is not the institution that is at fault but its “extravagant use.” Besides, if there were no marriage, there would be no way to show superiority in the “sanctity” of abstinence: “All proof of abstinence is lost when excess is impossible,” Tertullian intones.93 Georg Schöllgen stresses that in Tertullian’s era, the Augustan marriage laws, with various penalties on the unmarried and on widows and widowers who did not remarry—whether or not actually enforced—were still in effect, thus constituting at least a social pressure for marriage.94 Yet when Tertullian is not arguing against Marcion and other ascetics or defending his own orthodoxy, he takes a more rigorous line. One reason for forgoing marriage he borrows from Paul: the imminence of the eschaton. Here Tertullian ¿nds welcome support in 1 Cor 7. Given the shortness of time before the “end” comes, married couples should treat each other “as if not” (1 Cor 7:29).95 Ecclesiastes 3:1 proclaims that there is “a time for everything,” and now, when the time is being “wound up” (1 Cor 7:29), is the moment to prefer celibacy to marriage.96 Another reason drawn from 1 Cor 7: Tertullian argues that Paul, bowing to human weakness, concedes marriage—not merely sexual relations in marriage—as an “indulgence.”97 Paul’s grudging concession shows Tertullian that marriage cannot be an absolute good.98 As an institution, marriage has many faults that detract from the Christian life, and the wealth and worldliness of the matrons Tertullian depicts99 exacerbate the 92. Adv. Marc. 5.7.7–8 (CCSL 1.683). 93. Adv. Marc. 1.29.5 (CCSL 1.474). 94. Georg Schöllgen, Ecclesia Sordida? Zur Frage des Sozialen Schichtung Frühchristlicher Gemeinden am Beispiel Karthagos zur Zeit Tertullians (Münster: Aschendorff, 1985), 216. 95. Ad ux. 1.5.4 (CCSL 1.379). 96. De mon. 3.8 (CCSL 2.1232). 97. De exh. cast. 3.6 (CCSL 2.1019). Tertullian makes clear that Paul’s “indulgence” in 1 Cor 7 is for marriage only, not for fornication, for “adulteries and harlotries” (De pud. 16.23 [CCSL 2.1314]). 98. De mon. 3.3 (CCSL 2.1231). Among spiritual Christians, “license” (i.e., marriage), he claims, is modest (De mon. 1.2 [CCSL 2.1229]). 99. Schöllgen attempts to ascertain the class/rank situation that Tertullian addresses; while cautious against pinpointing a precise rank, he opts for the decurial 1

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institutional problems. The list in De exh. cast. 12 of the time-consuming duties of the domina, meant to serve as a deterrent, suggests to our contemporaries that Tertullian was dealing with substantial households.100 Revealingly, he passes over the role of love in marriage, even when he extols the beauty of a Christian union as in Ad ux. 2.8.6–9. Moreover, he generally reserves the term affectio to describe a widow’s regard for a dead husband, which should serve as a reason for her to reject a new marriage.101 Marriage, he bluntly writes, is a state into which women have simply “fallen” (incidistis).102 Moving to a rhetorical “division” of his topic, “marriage,” Tertullian declares that marriage stems either from Àeshly concupiscence (sexual desire) or from worldly concupiscence (desire for things of the world): both motivations are to be rejected by Christians.103 The sexual dimensions of marriage lend ample fuel for his rhetorical ¿re. Commenting on 1 Cor 7, Tertullian repeats Paul’s argument that marriage may be “necessary” to stave off sexual temptations, but what is only “necessary,” Tertullian claims, is easily deprecated. As merely “permitted,” marriage cannot be classed among the “goods.” Certainly it would be better neither “to marry” nor “to burn” (1 Cor 7:9).104 To be sure, “marrying” is better than “burning” (which Tertullian here treats as a penalty, presumably hell¿re), but what kind of a “good” can be compared only with a penalty!105 Alluding to Gal 5:17, Tertullian acknowledges how strongly the Àesh wars against the spirit.106 On the theme of sex, the ¿rst topos of his rhetorical “division,” Tertullian is explicit: the act by which a woman becomes “married” (namely, for him, by sexual intercourse) is the identical act by which one becomes an adulteress or a fornicator: the nature of the act is the same, class (Ecclesia Sordida?, 204–5, 208, 223–24). The women apparently found it dif¿cult to reconcile the expectations of their milieu with Christian teachings (206). 100. Schöllgen (Ecclesia Sordida?, 214–15) notes: the house to manage, keys to be guarded, food attended to, cares of the family lessened. 101. Rambaux, Tertullien, 219. 102. De virg. vel. 17.1 (CCSL 2.1225). 103. Ad ux. 1.4.2 (CCSL 1.377). “Concupiscentia saeculi” is tightly linked with “ambitio” (Schöllgen, Ecclesia Sordida?, 207). “Ambitio” is especially deadly in that it lacks a limit, unlike “concupiscenia” (Dennis E. Groh, “Tertullian’s Polemic Against Social Co-Optation,” CH 40 [1971]: 10). 104. Ad ux. 1.3.3–5 (CCSL 1.375–76); De mon. 3.3 (CCSL 2.1231). 105. De exh. cast. 3.7 (CCSL 2.1019). For “burning” as penalty (not concupiscence), see also in De pud. 16.16 (CCSL 2.1313–14). As such, it means that for Tertullian fornication is not pardonable. 106. De mon. 1.3 (CCSL 2.1229). 1

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although the law distinguishes the one from the other.107 Even a ¿rst marriage, he insists, has something of fornication about it. Given this understanding, Paul was right to hold that it is “best not to touch a woman.”108 And by advising couples to separate sexually at the time of prayer (1 Cor 7:5), Paul implies that prayers have greater ef¿cacy when sex does not interfere. “If the conscience blush, prayer blushes,” Tertullian intones, invoking “holiness” language from the Old Testament to suggest the sacredness of the moment of prayer.109 He praises Christian couples who renounce sexual relations from the time of their baptism: this is true virtue, since they abstain from a pleasure they know well.110 On his second topos, worldly concupiscence (desire for things of the world), Tertullian likewise ¿nds much on which to comment.111 Christian couples are faulted for wishing to bring children into this wicked world.112 How can those who have supposedly disinherited themselves from the world yearn for heirs? Repeating an ancient philosophical commonplace, Tertullian declares that no “wise man” would ever desire sons.113 Christians are rather called upon to “emasculate” the world, to “circumcise” all worldly values.114 Tertullian’s concentration on inheritance issues again suggests that he is dealing with a propertied class. Matrons Tertullian accords married women little praise. The luxury and expense of their clothing, cosmetics, and jewelry, all designed to attract men, is

107. For early Christian writers and Roman law on what “makes” marriage, see Elizabeth A. Clark, “ ‘Adam’s Only Companion’: Augustine and the Early Christian Debate on Marriage,” Recherches Augustiniennes 21 (1986): 139–62. Tertullian’s blunt assertion that it was “sex” (rather than “consent”) allowed him to construe marriage as merely a higher form of prostitution. 108. De exh. cast. 9.3–4 (CCSL 2.1028). Elsewhere (De pud. 4.1–2 [CCSL 2.1286–87]), Tertullian identi¿es fornication (stuprum) with adultery (adulterium): everything other than nuptial intercourse falls into these categories. See O’Malley, Tertullian, 24–25, 173, 176. Tertullian disputes that the man Paul pardoned in 2 Cor 2 is the fornicator of 1 Cor 5. Paul “condemned” (damnaverat) the man, not “rebuked” (increpaverat) him (De pud. 13–14 [CCSL 2.1303–10]). Sider cites this section as an example of Tertullian’s use of the topic of “ambiguity” (Ancient Rhetoric, 91, 93). 109. De exh. cast. 10.3 (CCSL 2.1030). 110. De exh. cast. 1.4–5 (CCSL 2.1015–16). 111. Ad ux. 1.4.6–8 (CCSL 1.377–78). 112. Ad ux. 1.5.1 (CCSL 1.378). 113. De exh. cast. 12.3 (CCSL 2.1032); similarly, De mon. 16.4 (CCSL 2.1251). 114. De cul. fem. 2.9.8 (CCSL 1.364). 1

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his constant complaint. He sees it his duty to coax them into what he considers appropriate female behavior: if the church as the “Bride of Christ” is characterized by submissiveness, humility, obedience, and discipline,115 how much more should human brides express these characteristics? Since inner purity must be manifested in outward comportment, Tertullian rejects their (alleged) argument that the externals do not matter, since “God can see the heart.”116 Tertullian’s concerns provide a glimpse into the social class of his addressees and the social problems that Christianity posed for them.117 Despite his critique of how the well-off use their money, Tertullian does not aim for a “classless” society. He allows that there should be “appropriate” dress for the upper classes and is indignant that lower-class males and females wear status-inappropriate clothing.118 It is rather “simplicity” at which he aims. The fallen angels of Gen 6 (as elaborated in 1 Enoch), who brought ornamentations to the human world, he fears, have undone female modesty; their “gifts” serve as a lure to men.119 (Tertullian’s critique degenerates to the ludicrous: if God had wished humans to wear purple garments, he would have arranged for sheep to grow purple wool!)120 Yet Tertullian seems less interested in the money wasted on luxury goods that could have been given to the poor, than, for example, John Chrysostom. Tertullian concentrates rather on the sexual threat that such attire, jewelry, and make-up pose for “neighbors” who might be tempted.121 In their sumptuous living, these errant Christians appear to “glory” in the wrong things; “glorying in the lacerated Àesh” is the only “glory” 115. For the church as Virgin and Bride, see Rankin, Tertullian, 83–86, with texts. 116. De cul. fem. 2.13.1 (CCSL 11.369). Tertullian here appeals to Paul for support: “Let your probity appear before men” (Phil 4:5, cf. Rom 12:1; 2 Cor 8:21). 117. For Schöllgen’s view regarding the social class of Tertullian’s audience, see n. 99 above; Groh, “Tertullian’s Polemic,” 8, 9; Wilhite, Tertullian, 64–69, 98–99, 116–17. 118. De pal. 4.8–10 (CCSL 2.745–46). Tertullian’s indignation was initially pricked by men’s preference for the toga over the pallium, but he also hints at classbased issues. In De cul. fem. 2.12.1 (CCSL 1, 367), he mentions prostitutes who deck themselves out in the ornaments reserved for matrons. For an alternative interpretation of De pallio as relating to ethnicity, see Wilhite, Tertullian, 138–43. 119. De cul. fem. 2.1–2 (CCSL 1.352–55). 120. De cul. fem. 2.10.1 (CCSL 1.364). 121. De cul. fem. 2.2.4 (CCSL 1.354–55). Tertullian cites Pauline verses (1 Cor 10:24; 13:5; Phil 2:4) that urge Christians not to care about their own things but their neighbors. 1

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appropriate for Christians.122 Allusions to imminent persecution and death haunt De cultu feminarum: how, Tertullian asks the women, will your body so ornamented be able to bear torture and the sword? Christians will be spending time in iron(s), not in gold.123 May they hope to die a martyr’s death, not “on bridal beds, nor in miscarriages!”124 Tertullian also argues that women, by this false “getting-up,” show their dissatisfaction with God’s handiwork. Do they aim to “put on incorruptibility” (cf. 1 Cor 15:52–54) by means of cosmetics and dyed hair? Will angels recognize them, so arti¿cially done up, when they are carried to meet Christ in the air?125 Adopting a Pauline metaphor, Tertullian writes that their heads are “free”; do they intend to become “slaves” by such ornamenting? Rather, they should modestly don their veils.126 In his critique of marriage, Tertullian makes much of Paul’s claim that “pleasing a husband” involved dif¿culties (1 Cor 7:34). He cleverly deploys Paul’s words in an unexpected way: the Christian matron “pleases” best by making no effort to “please” through clothing, jewelry, and grooming. Was she not “pleasing” enough to her husband when he picked her in her virginal innocence? Besides, Christian husbands should seek virtue, not beauty, in their wives.127 Tertullian goes so far as to declare that attempting to “please” a spouse through beauti¿cation and dress is “a species of carnal concupiscence,” the cause of fornication.128 The Christian matron will “please” best by adopting the domestic habits of archaic times: she should sit at home spinning, a far better occupation than arraying herself in gold, and as a bonus, God will become her Lover.129 Tertullian’s strictures about wealthy women ¿t well the glimpses of Carthaginian society his writings elsewhere reveal. These women, we gather, faced dif¿culties in ¿nding appropriate marriage partners: welloff prospective Christian husbands were in short supply.130 Tertullian

122. De cul. fem. 2.10.2; 2.11.1; 2.3.2 (CCSL 1.365–66, 356); contrast with “lacerated Àesh,” 2.3.3 (CCSL 1.356). On various nuances of gloria, see Groh, “Tertullian’s Polemic,” 11. 123. De cul. fem. 2.13.6 (CCSL 1.370). 124. De fug. 9.4 (CCSL 2.1147). 125. De cul. fem. 2.5.1–2.7.3 passim (CCSL 1.357–61). 126. De cul. fem. 2.7.2 (CCSL 1.361). 127. De cul. fem. 2.4.1–2 (CCSL 1.357). 128. De exh. cast. 9.1 (CCSL 2.1027). 129. De cul. fem. 2.13.7 (CCSL 1.370). 130. This was especially a problem for rich widows. See Schöllgen, Ecclesia Sordida?, 211; Groh, “Tertullian’s Polemic,” 11–12. 1

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reports with disapproval that some elite pagan women were taking lower-class men, eunuchs, or their own slaves as husbands—a move (he suspects) designed to prevent the men from impeding their liberty.131 Christian women should not copy their behavior. To be sure, Tertullian’s upholding of “class-appropriate” marriages when such were hard to arrange may have been another way to promote female celibacy. Intermarriage Given the shortage of Christians of higher social class available as marriage partners, the issue of intermarriage with pagans looms large. Georg Schöllgen argues that the “problem of mixed marriage,” as Tertullian describes it, “is also chieÀy a problem of the rich woman in the community.”132 Schöllgen posits that the fear of social descent may have been stronger for some women than fear of the church’s prohibition of mixed marriage.133 Tertullian appeals to 1 Cor 7:12–14 to argue against intermarriage; Paul here speaks of a formerly pagan couple in which one member converted to Christianity after the marriage. Those who were baptized before marriage, however, cannot marry “strange Àesh” (Jude 7), that is, pagans, for such a marriage is unsancti¿ed.134 Christians, whose bodies are “temples of the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor 3:16), who marry Gentiles are guilty of fornication and should be shunned by the Christian community (cf. 1 Cor 5:9–11).135 A Christian woman who marries a pagan man, Tertullian warns, will ¿nd many impediments to her religious duties that render intermarriage “inexpedient” as well as “unlawful” (1 Cor 10:23).136 Of course, if the wife converted after marriage to a pagan, she may have the chance to win her husband to Christianity (1 Cor 7:13–14).137 A marriage in which both prospective spouses are Christians affords more hope, for they are “two in one Àesh,”138 their “togetherness” being manifest in giving alms, visiting the sick, and so forth, free of obstacles posed by the partner.139

131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 5:31. 139.

1

Ad ux. 2.8.4 (CCSL 1.392–93). Schöllgen, Ecclesia Sordida?, 210. Ibid., 212. Ad ux. 2.2.1–9 (CCSL 1.384–87). Ad ux. 2.3.1–3 (CCSL 1.387–88). Ad ux. 2.4.1–2.6.3 (CCSL 1.388–91). Ad ux. 2.7.1–2 (CCSL 1.391). Ad ux. 2.8.7 (CCSL 1.393), citing Gen 2:24; Matt 19:5; Mark 10:8; Eph Ad ux. 2.8.8 (CCSL 1.394).

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Widowhood and Remarriage Given Tertullian’s lack of enthusiasm for marriage, it is unsurprising that he adamantly opposes second marriage after a spouse’s death.140 To his audience—Schöllgen suggests a small circle of wealthy, presumably young, widows141—Tertullian claims that Jesus himself, though a celibate in Àesh, set the pattern for monogamy: in spirit, he had one spouse, the church.142 It is of interest that a Montanist oracle directed against remarriage provides Tertullian with his ¿rst clear reference to the New Prophecy.143 Since it is God, Tertullian informs his readers (here, ostensibly, his wife), who takes away husbands by death, why attempt to restore what God has removed?144 Your desire for a second marriage does not match God’s wish.145 In his human judgment, Paul leniently allowed remarriage, even while advising against it (1 Cor 7:39, 6–8).146 More rigorous in his later treatises, Tertullian there declares that neither the Gospels nor Paul’s letters contain “a precept of God that permits second marriage,” and what is not “permitted” is “forbidden.” If Paul thought ¿rst marriage “inexpedient,” what must he think of second!147 If the spiritual faculties are dulled by a ¿rst marriage, how much more by a second!148 When Paul advises widows that they will be happier to remain unmarried, he adds the phrase “and I too have the Spirit of God” (1 Cor 7:40). Note the difference, Tertullian urges, between the “indulgence” of the (merely) human Paul and the advice of the Spirit!149 If Paul allowed widows a 140. Yet in book 1 of Ad uxorem, Tertullian assumes remarriage as possible. Remarriage after divorce is not even considered: if Paul in Rom 7:1–3 reports that God does not will a divorced woman to be joined to another while her husband lives, God certainly does not will it after he is dead (De mon. 9.5 [CCSL 2.1241]). 141. Schöllgen, Ecclesia Sordida?, 213. 142. Regarding Jesus’ Àeshly celibacy, see De mon. 5.6–7 (CCSL 2.1235), alluding to Eph 5:29, 32. 143. Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 130, 152, citing Adv. Marc. 1.29.4 (CCSL 1.473). The shortness of time also counsels monogamy rather than second marriage. Since the “time is wound up,” Christian laymen (not women) must be prepared to assume the role of priests (De mon. 11.4 [CCSL 2.1244]). 144. Ad ux. 1.7.2 (CCSL 1.381). Schöllgen doubts that this work was written for Tertullian’s wife (Ecclesia Sordida?, 207, 214). Elliott comments that in Ad uxorem, Tertullian strives “to establish himself as disinterested moralist versus posthumously possessive husband” (“Tertullian,” 20). 145. De exh. cast. 2.1 (CCSL 2.1016). 146. Ad ux. 2.1.4 (CCSL 1.384). 147. De exh. cast. 4.2–3 (CCSL 2.1021). 148. De exh. cast. 11.1 (CCSL 2.1030–31). 149. De exh. cast. 4.4–6 (CCSL 2.1021–22). The “I too” suggests that his opponents claimed to have “the Spirit of God.”

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little “milk” in the “infancy of their faith,” surely now, in Tertullian’s era, is the time for “solid food” (cf. 1 Cor 3:2).150 Widows should ponder that in the resurrection they will be joined in a “spiritual consortship” (in spiritale consortium) with their dead husbands.151 Paul, however, gives no license for a Christian widow to remarry an unbeliever. On this point, Tertullian is ¿rm. Here, his advice echoes that directed to those contemplating ¿rst marriage: Christians who are baptized before marriage who then mingle with “strange Àesh” (Jude 7) are guilty of fornication; they forget that their bodies are “temples of the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor 3:16).152 How can a bereaved spouse pray for the spirit of the dead partner when joined to a second spouse?153 How can the remarried widow pray for both husbands? If she does, is she not an “adulteress” to both?154 Playing on the Gen 2 story of Eve’s creation, Tertullian puns that the “one rib” that became Eve signaled there was to be “one wife,” as does the pronouncement of “two in one [Àesh]” (cf. Gen 2:23, 24), taken up in Eph 5:31 to signal the “mystery” of Christ’s marriage to the church.155 All appeals to the Old Testament’s allowance of polygamy and divorce are futile now that the “time has now been wound up”; those with wives should live as though they “had not” (1 Cor 7:29).156 Tertullian attempts to “explain away” any earlier laxity God had allowed the human race, the gradual “pruning” that led to more rigorous discipline.157 Since Tertullian, like other Christians of his day, believed that Paul had written the Pastoral Epistles, he needed to explain, in addition, the seeming variation in “Pauline” views regarding second marriage. Tertullian’s “Psychic” opponents apparently insisted that only bishops were required to rest content with one marriage,158 quoting for their 150. De mon. 11.6 (CCSL 2.1245). 151. De mon. 10.6 (CCSL 2.1243). Tertullian, unlike Paul in 1 Cor 15, expected a real “Àeshly” resurrection (see De res. carne. 52–63). 152. Ad ux. 2.2.9; 3.1 (CCSL 1.387). 153. De exh. cast. 11.1–2 (CCSL 2.1030–31). 154. De mon. 11.2 (CCSL 2.1244). 155. De exh. cast. 5.2–3 (CCSL 2.1022–23). 156. De exh. cast. 6.1 (CCSL 2.1023). 157. De exh. cast. 6.1–7.1 (CCSL 2.1023–24). Tertullian’s opponents claimed that restrictions regarding monogamy were put only on bishops. Tertullian cleverly replies that all Christian laymen must be prepared to assume the priesthood at any time. “Are we not all priests?,” he rhetorically asks (De exh. cast. 7.3 [CCSL 2.1024]; De mon. 12.1–2 [CCSL 2.1247]). 158. De mon. 12.4 (CCSL 2.1247). Tertullian rather feebly responds: Why don’t they then refuse all the other virtues and quali¿cations that 1 Tim 3:1–7 and Titus 1:6–9 insist upon? 1

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argument 1 Cor 7:9 (“better to marry than to burn”),159 1 Tim 5:14 (young women/widows urged to marry and bear children), and Rom 7:2– 3 (widows free to remarry). Tertullian suggests that they remember Rom 7:4: that Christians are “dead to the law,” and as such, will be judged guilty of adultery if they remarry.160 Paul’s concession for remarriage rested on the “in¿rmity of the Àesh” and human hard-heartedness, the same that had led Moses to grant permission to divorce. Just as Christ abrogated divorce, so the Paraclete now abrogates Paul’s allowance for remarriage after the death of a spouse. The New Law abrogated divorce, Tertullian intones; the New Prophecy abrogates second marriage.161 Those who cannot “endure to the end” (Matt 24:13) the loneliness of their bedchambers deserve excommunication.162 Desiring heirs from a second wife if the ¿rst bore no children offers no valid excuse. Tertullian mocks the Christian man who, supposedly “disinherited from the world,” desires heirs. Does he think that Christians are under the old Roman law that would leave the childless and the unmarried with reduced capacities to receive a “full portion”? Perhaps his “Psychic” opponents would like to emend 1 Cor 15:32 to read, “let us eat, drink, and marry, for tomorrow we die”?163 Tertullian also points to examples of notable pagans who maintained virginity (as the Vestal Virgins) or a single marriage (as Lucretia; the wife of the Flamen Dialis; and Dido, who preferred to “burn rather than marry”).164 These pagan women serve as a convenient shaming device for Tertullian: Christian women should be so honorable! Women in Church Of¿ces Tertullian denied priestly functions to women: they may not speak, teach, baptize, offer the sacri¿ce, or perform any other masculine task (virilis muneris) in the sacerdotal of¿ce.165 Tertullian charged that 159. De pud. 1.15 (CCSL 2.1283). In De pud. 1.6–7 (CCSL 2.1281–82), Tertullian complains about the edict of a bishop of Rome declaring adultery and fornication to be forgivable. For discussion and identi¿cation of the bishop, see Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 38–39. 160. De mon. 13.3 (CCSL 2.1248–49). 161. De mon. 14.4 (CCSL 2.1249). 162. De mon. 15.3 (CCSL 2.1250–51); excommunication for digamists also in De pud. 1.20 (CCSL 2.1283). Tertullian appeals to Paul: there is to be “no communion between light and darkness” (2 Cor 6:14). See De pud. 15.5 (CCSL 2.1310–11). 163. De mon. 16.4–5 (CCSL 2.1251–52). 164. De exh. cast. 13.1–3 (CCSL 2.1033–35). His list stands as a shaming device against lax Christians. A similar one appears in De mon. 17. 165. De bapt. 17.4–5 (CCSL 1.291–92); Adv. Marc. 4.1.8 (CCSL 1.546); De virg. vel. 9.1 (CCSL 2.1218–19), citing 1 Cor 14:34–35 and 1 Tim 2:11–12. Rankin 1

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“heretics” allowed their “wanton” (pocaces) women to teach, exorcize, undertake cures, “and perhaps even to baptize.”166 Catholic Christianity’s disallowance of such practices separates its orthodoxy from their “heresy.” His most famous outcry on the subject comes in his treatise On Baptism. Here, he denies the right of a “viper,” a Cainite woman, to baptize and to teach “sound doctrine” on the grounds of her sex.167 He inveighs against appeal to the example of Thecla (in the Acts of Paul and Thecla) to justify women’s teaching and baptizing. Tertullian reports that the presbyter in Asia who wrote that book (even though he confessed he had used the name of Paul “out of love”) had been removed from of¿ce. Who, Tertullian scornfully asks, can believe that Paul, who did not even let a woman boldly “learn,” would tolerate her teaching and baptizing? Women, the apostle insisted, must be silent in church and ask questions of their husbands at home (1 Cor 14:34–35).168 Karen Torjesen’s view that the church structure in Tertullian’s era was rapidly changing from house-church to public organization might illuminate his views. Tertullian, she argues, understands the church as a legal body (a corpus or societas), divided on the analogy of the ranks of Roman society: the higher clergy are comparable to the senatorial order; the lay people are the plebs.169 “Rights” accrue to each order, with bishops possessing the right (ius) to baptize, to teach, to offer the Eucharist, and to restore fellowship to penitent sinners.170 (Elsewhere, Tertullian’s opponents apparently had faulted his insistence that authority and “discipline” be vested in clerical hierarchy as mere lenocinium, pandering.171)

claims that Tertullian makes this ruling to foster order and peace, not for theological reasons (Tertullian, 168). 166. De prae. haer. 41.5 (CCSL 1.221); discussed in Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology,’ ” 279–80. 167. De bapt. 1.2 (CCSL 1.277). 168. De bapt. 17.4–5 (CCSL 1.291–92). See Stevan L. Davies, “Women, Tertullian, and the Acts of Paul,” and Thomas W. McKay, “Response,” Semeia 38 (1986): 139–49. 169. On the laity as plebs, see De exh. cast. 7.3 (CCSL 2.1024); De iei. 13.3 (CCSL 2.1271–72); De mon. 12.2 (CCSL 2.1247). See the discussion in Rankin, Tertullian, 131. To be sure, when Tertullian’s interest is to impose strict monogamy on (male) laypeople, he insists that they are all priests and must be ready at any time to assume the priesthood, though he does not mean this duty to fall on women. See De exh. cast. 7.2–6 (CCSL 2. 1024–25). 170. Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology,’ ” 278, with references to De exh. cast. 7; De bapt. 1; De pud. 21. 171. De prae. haer. 41.3 (CCSL 1.221); and Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology,’ ” 279. Yet Barnes (Tertullian, 141) claims that by the time of De 1

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Tertullian’s vision of the church, modeled on the analogy of the state, insured that women, not enjoying the male right to govern the body politic, could not speak in church, baptize, offer the sacri¿ce, or “claim for herself a part in any male function.”172 Tertullian’s view about women’s leadership, Torjesen argues, “is a consequence of his concept of the church as a body politic.”173 Yet another, albeit related, explanation might be sought: with Tertullian, we see the advance of a strong “sacerdotalist” current in which episcopal ordination carried a high degree of sacred authority, in tandem with the elevation of the Christian “mysteries,” that was disallowed to others. Nineteenth-century church historians in America assigned Tertullian a major role in transforming Christianity from a freer, more “republican” structure to one of hierarchy and sacramentalism. In this, they blamed Tertullian for resurrecting Jewish ideas of “priesthood.”174 In this priestly vision of the church, women would play little part. The Widows Questions remain. For one, if Tertullian does not allow women sacerdotal of¿ce, where does he place “the widows”? “Widows” appear as a speci¿c, formal group in his writings.175 He appears to include them in the clerical ranks when he exclaims: How many men and women in ecclesiastical orders owe their position to continence? Married to God, they have slain concupiscence!176 In her study of the order of widows in pudicitia Tertullian “resented the strengthening of episcopal authority, which was partly designed to defend the church against Montanism.” 172. De virg. vel. 9.1 (CCSL 2.1218–19), citing 1 Cor 14:34. 173. Torjesen, “Tertullian’s ‘Political Ecclesiology,’ ” 277. 174. For references and discussion, see Elizabeth A. Clark, Founding the Fathers: Early Church History and Protestant Professors in Nineteenth-Century America (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 188, 218, 221, 227. These professors, to be sure, were not motivated by a critique of Tertullian’s views on women’s status. 175. De prae. haer. 3.5 (CCSL 1.188); De virg. vel. 9.3 (CCSL 2.1219); De pud. 13.7 (CCSL 2.1304); De mon. 11.1, 4 (CCSL 2.1244); Ad ux. 1.7.4 (CCSL 1.381). See the discussions in Rankin, Tertullian, 176–78; Bonnie B. Thurston, The Widows: A Women’s Ministry in the Early Church (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 88–89. 176. De exh. cast. 13.4 (CCSL 2.1035). On problems with the manuscript readings on this point, see Rankin, Tertullian, 136. William Tabbernee argues that possibly Montanists had at least women deacons and presbyters, if not bishops (Fake Prophesy, 373–76, 387), citing some inscriptional evidence. Epiphanius claims that the followers of the Montanist woman Quintilla had women bishops and priests (Pan. 49.2), but he may not be a reliable witness; see the discussion in Jensen, God’s Self-Con¿dent Daughters, 165. 1

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the early church, Bonnie Thurston claims that Tertullian’s writings provide the ¿rst reference to the practice of widows being seated with the clergy in church.177 Yet Tertullian does not elaborate on the widows’ status, merely repeating some of “Paul’s” quali¿cations for eligibility: the widow should have been the “wife of one man,”178 at least 60 years old, and a successful raiser of children. These credentials, Tertullian claims, show that she has weathered the tests of a whole course of female life. She is now in a position to counsel and comfort others.179 He does not list speci¿c ministry functions for “widows,” merely emphasizing the quali¿cations for entry.180 Even if Tertullian (possibly) considers the widows a “clerical” of¿ce, he does not allow them any function that involves speaking in church. He cites Pauline texts to enforce the injunction—and if they may not speak, they certainly may not teach, baptize, offer the sacri¿ce, or perform any other masculine task (virilis muneris) in the sacerdotal of¿ce.181 Women Prophets A second question: Tertullian’s denial of sacerdotal functions to women and his ambiguous placement of “the widows” might render paradoxical his allowance of women prophets.182 As a “spiritual high-Àyer,” Tertullian valued manifestations of the charismata183 and believed that

177. Thurston, The Widows, 83, citing De virg vel. 9.3 (misidenti¿ed) (CCSL 2. 1219). In De mon. 11.1 (CCSL 2.1244), widows are identi¿ed as a “sect,” and listed along with bishops, presbyters, and deacons. 178. Ad ux. 1.7.4 (CCSL 1.381). 179. De virg. vel. 9.3 (CCSL 2.1219), citing 1 Tim 5:9–10. 180. Rankin, Tertullian, 176. 181. De virg. vel. 9.1 (CCSL 2.1218–19), citing 1 Cor 14:34–35; 1 Tim 2:11–12. 182. Adv. Marc. 5.8.11 (CCSL 1.688), presumably because Paul allowed it (1 Cor 11:5). For the women prophets of the Corinthian church, see Antoinette Clark Wire, The Corinthian Women Prophets: A Reconstruction through Paul’s Rhetoric (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990). For an overview regarding women prophets in early Christianity, see Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “Word, Spirit, and Power: Women in Early Christian Communities,” in Women of Spirit: Female Leadership in the Jewish and Christian Traditions (ed. Rosemary Ruether and Eleanor McLaughlin; New York: Simon & Schuster, 1979), 39–44. 183. The phrase is Christine Trevett’s (Montanism: Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996], 68). See Dennis E. Groh, “Utterance and Exegesis: Biblical Interpretation in the Montanist Crisis,” in The Living Text: Essays in Honor of Ernest W. Saunders (ed. Dennis E. Groh and Robert Jewett; Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1985), 73–95 (85–87, 90), for the debate on “ecstasy.” Likewise, Laura Nasrallah places Tertullian as 1

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the Holy Spirit had the capacity to empower women to prophesy.184 Women’s prophesying, however, might seem problematic, given the ancient view that the prophetic spirit was an “invasion” that resembled sexual penetration.185 Women prophets are seen as passive recipients of divine penetration/inspiration, channeling messages from beyond. The model that lay behind the construction of the “woman prophet” (passive receptivity to divine inspiration) seems different from that of the civic and/or priestly model that lay behind “bishops” and “priests.” Tertullian’s tolerance of women prophets surely rests on Paul’s allowance of female prophesying in 1 Cor 11:5, an exception to the prohibition against women speaking in church. Writing in 1911, Pierre de Labriole claimed that Paul’s exception “placed in the hands of the Montanists a very precious trump card.”186 Some scholars have proposed that Tertullian’s insistence that all women be veiled in church underlay his wish for them to be appropriately dressed to prophesy, should the Spirit so move them.187 His assumption that sexual abstinence, holiness, and receipt of visions, dreams, and private revelation are linked is noteworthy.188

participant in a larger debate over “prophecy, ecstasy, and amentia” (“An Ecstasy of Folly”: Prophecy and Authority in Early Christianity [HTS 52; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003], 153). She challenges the model of Christianity’s “charismatic origins and subsequent decline” (203, 202,159). 184. Trevett, Montanism, 190, 195; and Pierre de Labriolle, “ ‘Mulieres in ecclesia taceant.’ Un aspect de la lutte anti-montaniste,” BALAC 1 (1911): 107–8, citing De cul. fem. 2.13.7 (on women keeping silent), in contrast to Adv. Marc 5.8.11, allowing female prophetesses. Labriolle (121) concludes that it was the Montanist crisis that led the church to resist the concession that Paul had given regarding women prophets. 185. See Martin, Corinthian Body, 239–42, for discussion and examples. 186. De Labriolle, “Mulieres,” 103. 187. Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (London/New York: Routledge, 2004), 135– 43; Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 115. 188. Trevett, Montanism, 106. Eusebius (H.E. 5.18.3) claims that Priscilla and Maximilla deserted their husbands, which may or may not be a way to discredit the movement (see Montanism, 109). Rex D. Butler argues that Priscilla and Maximilla’s abandonment of their husbands may relate to the absence of Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ husbands in the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas (The New Prophecy and “New Visions”: Evidence of Montanism in The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas (PatrMS 18; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2006), 130. In the later Catholic Acts of Perpetua, the husbands reappear (101, 130). Butler proposes that the Passion provides a bridge between the New Prophecy’s arrival in North Africa and the Montanism of Tertullian (132). 1

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Tertullian cites the Montanist female prophetesses,189 never appealing to biblical passages that otherwise might have been used to restrict them (e.g., Gen 3:16; 1 Cor 11:8; 1 Tim 2:12–14).190 Montanus, Priscilla, and Maximilla, he claims, do not preach another God, nor do they separate Christ from God, or hold any other Rule of Faith. If they are in disfavor, it is not because of “heresy” but because they advocate more frequent fasting than marrying.191 Writing against Marcion, Tertullian scornfully asks: What can Marcion show by way of spiritual gifts? Is there any woman in his community who has prophesied “among those holy sisters of his”?192 When recommending Paul’s words that married couples (temporarily) abstain from sexual relations in order to devote themselves to prayer (1 Cor 7:5), Tertullian cites a logion of the Montanist prophetess Prisca: “For puri¿cation makes for harmony, and they see visions; and turning their faces downward, they even hear salutary voices, as clear as they are secret.”193 And the female prophet was not a phenomenon of the past. Tertullian mentions a “sister” of his own congregation who had visions concerning the corporeality of the soul. She received these during the church service, but reported on them “to us” (nobis) afterwards. The visions were recorded “in proper order” (by Tertullian?) so that they could be tested. That she explained her visions only at the conclusion of the main

189. See Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 113. For the oracles, see Trevett, Montanism, 163–70; Ronald E. Heine, The Montanist Oracles and Testimonia (PatrMS 14; Mercer, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1989), 4–7. That the women held greater prophetic authority in the movement than Montanus himself is argued by Jensen, God’s Self-Con¿dent Daughters, 154, 159. On Prisca’s and Maximilla’s oracles, see 160–61, 167. For a list and discussion of the six Montanist oracles cited by Tertullian, see Robeck, Prophecy in Carthage, 110–27. Some of the prophetesses’ oracles have been shown to be developments from scriptural verses, especially verses from Pauline letters. See Groh, “Utterance and Exegesis,” 78–79; Trevett, Montanism, 164, citing Maximilla’s “wolf” saying and her “compulsion” saying; see also 130–32. Trevett (Montanism, 164) comments, “The Prophets were laying claim to the Pauline ‘high ground’ again, as the catholics claimed the legacy of the apostle.” For the oracles attributed to Maximilla and Prisca/Priscilla, see Heine, Montanist Oracles, 2–7. On Maximilla’s “compulsion” oracle, see Nasrallah, “An Ecstasy of Folly,” 185–86; on other Montanist oracles cited in Tertullian, see Tabbernee, “To Pardon,” 382. 190. Hoffman, Status of Women, 172, 176. 191. De iei. 1.3 (CCSL 2.1257). On Tertullian’s appeal to the charismata, see Rankin, Tertullian, 124–26. 192. Adv. Marc. 5.8.11–12 (CCSL 1.688). 193. De exh. cast. 10.5 (CCSL 2.1030). 1

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worship service to a group of like-minded Christians194 may suggest one reason why Tertullian allowed women prophets but not women priests or bishops: the meeting was not public, not part of the formal worship service.195 The woman prophet served as a mere “channel” for the voice of the Holy Spirit, not attempting to give authoritative teaching on her own. Tertullian, like Paul, wants order in worship to be maintained.196 And order, it appears, means that women may have no speaking part in the formal worship service. Conclusion Paul’s Epistles—and those Tertullian assigned to Paul—proved a vital resource with which he could advance his views on women in relation to virginity and celibacy, marriage and remarriage, church of¿ce, and prophecy. His skill in manipulating the Pauline text to serve his various purposes is notable. Although more restrictive in his exhortations to women than many of his Christian contemporaries, Tertullian found in the New Prophecy, and in Paul, the support for acknowledging women’s prophecy as authoritative. Tertullian’s directives to women, however harsh they may seem to our contemporaries, exerted a strong inÀuence on the later Latin Christian tradition, with Jerome as just one of his notable heirs.

194. De an. 9.4 (CCSL 2.792–93). Whether the “testing” was by Tertullian or by a group of “elders” is not clear. See the discussion in Tabbernee, “To Pardon,” 380. On the meaning of “elders,” see Brent D. Shaw, “The Elders of Roman Africa,” in Rulers, Nomads, and Christians in Roman North Africa (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995), 207–26. 195. See Trevett, Montanism, 173. Trevett argues against the view that the Montanist women’s suffering as confessors promoted their clericalization (191–96). 196. Robeck, Prophecy in Carthage, 132. Cf. 1 Cor 11:5; 14:32–34. 1

A RESPONSE TO ELIZABETH A. CLARK’S ESSAY, “STATUS FEMINAE: TERTULLIAN AND THE USES OF PAUL” Margaret Y. MacDonald

Tertullian’s interpretation of Paul on women is a topic where one senses the battle for Paul—to draw upon the title of Dennis R. MacDonald’s inÀuential study on the interaction between the Pastoral Epistles and the Acts of Paula and Thecla.1 Beginning during his own lifetime and continuing among the ¿rst interpreters of his letters, there were arguments about how the apostle’s words should be understood on such matters as the desirability of sexual abstinence and the implications of life in Christ for male–female relations and comportment. One of the most important contributions of feminist scholarship over the past twenty-¿ve years has been the recovery of the challenges to Paul (and deutero-Pauline authors) on his teaching concerning women and gender that came from opponents and community members alike, including women. Elizabeth A. Clark’s fascinating essay illustrates that these challenges were ongoing and may well have continued to include, at least in part, female initiative, even if the constructions of female identity sometimes took on a life of their own, several steps removed from the actual lives of women. Clark offers valuable insight into Tertullian’s methodology. In essence, Tertullian seeks to reconcile Paul with a “harder” type of Christianity. As Clark puts it, “To appropriate Paul’s teaching in the most ascetically rigorous fashion is Tertullian’s (unannounced) aim.” Using various exegetical principles which often ¿nd support in Paul’s own approach, Tertullian is able take advantage of a tension or inconsistency in Paul’s discourse. Paul, like Tertullian, was an eschatological thinker. According to the apostle, the current world order had no future (1 Cor 7:31). While grounding his theology and even his ethical teaching in such conviction, 1. Dennis R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983). 1

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Paul often refused or was hesitant to carry his thinking to its logical conclusion.2 In this age, celibacy was clearly the best option, and a virgin was better if she remained as she was (1 Cor 7:1–7, 25–35). Carried to fruition, Paul’s thought should have led him to establish communities of celibates and people engaged in “spiritual marriages.” But marriage was still allowed, and extremism was countered by warnings of the dangers of immorality that could threaten those without the “gift.” Scholars continue to debate Paul’s motives and the extent to which his ideas reveal counter-cultural elements. But to a large extent, Paul’s stance on gender and sexual relations was conformist. The consequence of his ethical vision was to leave family structure largely undisturbed in the Greco-Roman city. Yet as Clark illustrates, on asceticism, Tertullian chose Paul’s more rigorous statements and played down the concessions. The ambiguities and ambivalences in Paul’s recommendations left Tertullian considerable room to maneuver. If it was only to prevent “burning,” marriage could not truly be good (1 Cor 7:9). The words which most modern interpreters take as the words of the ascetical party in 1 Cor 7:1, Tertullian took as Paul’s own. Before discussing the various categories of women mentioned by Tertullian, Clark examines Tertullian’s views on the nature of womanhood (what counts as woman?). Paul’s opinion is more dif¿cult for modern interpreters to discern than Tertullian’s use of Paul would suggest. And it is only by combining the Paul of 1 Corinthians and the Paul of the deutero-Pauline Pastorals that Tertullian is really able to construct a more uni¿ed vision where womanhood is ¿rmly entrenched in the human condition with Eve as the ¿rst sinner (1 Tim 2:14). Clark notes that among Tertullian’s sparring-partners (which might be real or imagined) are those who argue that the virgins constitute a different class. There is a fascinating element of continuity with the tensions within ¿rst-century church groups. Paul would not go so far as to agree with the ascetic extremists in Corinth who appear to have linked salvation itself with sexual renunciation and the transcendence of sexual differentiation, but in the opinion of some modern interpreters, Paul did view virginity as creating a distinct class of womanhood or as overcoming womanhood

2. For detailed discussion of this topic, see Margaret Y. MacDonald and Leif E. Vaage, “Unclean but Holy Children: Paul’s Everyday Quandary in 1 Corinthians 7:14c,” CBQ 73 (2011): 526–46 (533–35). On the relationship between Paul’s asceticism and worldview, see also Vincent L. Wimbush, Paul the Worldly Ascetic: Responses to the World and Self-Understanding according to 1 Corinthians 7 (Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1987). 1

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altogether.3 Lone Fatum, for example, views Paul as contributing to a radical distinction between married women and celibate women, reading Gal 3:28 as a reference to the abolition of sexuality and gender differentiation related to the apostle’s apocalyptic assumptions. Yet, this denial of womanhood is ultimately problematic; the celibate woman may attain “the freedom and equality of asexuality,” but she is also “no longer at one with her sexuality and reproductive function,” becoming “like a man in God’s image” (cf. 1 Cor 11:7).4 While not all scholars would agree with Fatum’s interpretation of Gal 3:28, there is certainly some ambivalence in Paul’s thought on the transformed identity of women in light of Christ.5 It has been suggested that symbolic abolition of sexuality stands behind 1 Cor 11:2–16.6 Paul’s perplexing and awkward response to women removing their head coverings, culminating in his unusual appeal to “custom” (1 Cor 11:16), may betray puzzlement about his own proclamation inspiring the developments in the community. While he does not go as far as the author of 1 Timothy, Paul does ground his directives in the human condition and order of creation with an appeal to Genesis (1 Cor 11:7–9). But there is an underlying experimentation with identity in Paul’s thought that Tertullian seeks to harmonize into a clearer system. Moreover, despite Tertullian’s con¿dence in difference between the categories of wife and woman, the ambiguity created by the Greek term gynƝ (“woman” or “wife”), has led to speculation among New Testament scholars about what Paul actually meant when he referred to the right to be accompanied by a sister as a gynƝ in 1 Cor 9:5; scholars debate whether Paul has in mind existing marriages, arrangements for particular ministerial purposes, or even celibate partnerships of some kind (a minority of scholars see corroborating evidence for spiritual marriages in 1 Cor 7:36–38).7 3. On asceticism and women in Corinth, see Margaret Y. MacDonald, “Women Holy in Body and Spirit: The Social Setting of 1 Corinthians 7,” NTS 36 (1990): 161–81. 4. Lone Fatum, “Images of God and Glory of Man: Women in the Pauline Congregations,” in Image of God and Gender Models in Judaeo-Christian Tradition (ed. Kari Elizabeth Borrensen; Oslo: Solum, 2001), 56–137 (70). 5. See the summary of and response to Fatum’s work in Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 160–61. 6. See especially Dennis R. MacDonald, There Is No Male and Female: The Fate of a Dominical Saying in Paul and Gnosticism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). 7. On the meaning of 1 Cor 9:5, see Mary Rose D’Angelo, “Women Partners in the New Testament,” JFSR 6 (1990): 65–86. 1

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If Tertullian found ample material in Paul’s letters to differentiate women according to their status, it was probably an accidental consequence of Paul’s (reluctant?) engagement with the complexities and unpredictable aspects of family life. First Corinthians 7 reveals a special concern for the fate of virgins, but Clark correctly notes that they seem simply to be young, unmarried women; they do not seem to have taken a vow or to constitute a type of order.8 Given that ¿rst marriages for girls in the Roman world typically occurred between the middle and late teen years (how early remains a subject of debate), the virgins of 1 Cor 7 were most likely adolescent girls engaged in the transition from childhood to adulthood, which would last through marriage, the birth of the ¿rst child, and beyond.9 Perhaps the reason we hear so little about their circumstances is that, with the exception of the use of advocates such as inÀuential widows (1 Cor 7:39–40), their fate was not in their own hands. In 1 Cor 7 we sense Paul balancing his theological and ethical vision with the ambitions of mothers, girls, fathers, and ¿ancés. We hear from an apostle who is hesitant to disturb the status quo, reactive to probably many unforeseen scenarios, including the tricky problem of what to do with one’s virgin in 1 Cor 7:36–38. But despite the fact that in Tertullian’s world virgins have become a more formalized group, in my view the function of the virgins in Corinth appears to be the same: simply “to be.” If we assume that these young women of Paul’s day remained with their parents in the desire to remain holy in body and spirit (1 Cor 7:34), their signi¿cance as consecrated virgins may have been great in the community’s ritual gatherings and for community selfde¿nition in a world passing away. But in terms of the practical realities of domestic, familial arrangements, their daily lives were probably quite frequently unchanged. According to Clark, Tertullian’s forceful insistence that virgins be veiled probably means that this was not normally the case in Carthage. Sexuality and women’s seductive natures are at the heart of the matter, with Tertullian making good use of the reference to the angels in 1 Cor 11:10 (the signi¿cance of which scholars of Paul continue to debate). In comparison to Tertullian, vivid sexual innuendo is strikingly absent from 8. On the signi¿cance of the designation “virgin” (parthenos) in 1 Cor 7, see MacDonald, “Women Holy in Body and Spirit.” 9. Recent work on childhood and the life-course in the Roman world has drawn attention to the fact that marriage was the most visible sign of adulthood for girls. See, e.g., Beryl Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 145. On the end of childhood as a Àexible concept, see pp. 134–45. 1

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Paul’s discourse. Nevertheless, Paul employs various strategies to restrict women’s choices. In 1 Cor 7, the reference to giftedness can act as the theological anchor for Paul’s point that sometimes marriage is a necessity. If, as is usually now the case, the engaged couple translation is preferred for 1 Cor 7:36–38, the virgin would have to give up any desire to remain holy in body and spirit if her ¿ancé did possess “the gift.” For Tertullian, Paul’s reference to continence as a gift serves to warn virgins who might glory in their state by insisting they should remain unveiled. Paul and Tertullian also share concerns about female head-covering that are tied to the setting of community boundaries and public visibility. Citing Torjesen (but also Tabbernee for contrasting evidence), Clark discusses whether Tertullian’s position on the veiling of virgins has to do with the transition from earlier house-church structure to hierarchical organization operating in the public sphere (with implications for women’s participation in church of¿ces). As Clark notes, this is a topic that begs for further investigation, but current research on Paul, families, and gender may prove useful. New research on house-churches, which is indebted to studies of ancient households, has pointed to a merging of public and private space in ancient houses and has rendered the dichotomy problematic.10 In addition, in her recent analysis of 1 Cor 11–14, Jorunn Økland quali¿es the distinction between public and private in an interesting way; for Økland the more important distinction is between house space and sanctuary space. She argues that the Corinthian discourse of gender in 1 Cor 11:2–16 functions to create sanctuary space where higher levels of hierarchy are male (God, Christ, Paul, Corinthian men); women ¿nd a place only at the bottom of the hierarchy (1 Cor 11:3).11 Central to her analysis are the few places (1 Cor 11:22 and esp. in 1 Cor 14:33–35) where Paul distinguishes between the space of assembly and the space of the household with behavior be¿tting each realm.12 According to Økland, Paul is trying to convert familial space 10. On the complex relationship between public space and private space with implications for gender constructions and the lives of women, see especially Lisa C. Nevett, Houses and Society in the Ancient Greek World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Shelley Hales, The Roman House and Social Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); and Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006). 11. Jorunn Økland, Women in Their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space (JSNTSup 269; London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 178. 12. Ibid., 151. Økland argues against the theory that 1 Cor 14:34–35 represents an interpolation. 1

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into ekklƝsia meeting space (where women must be veiled) with decorum be¿tting of ritual/sanctuary space. It remains to be seen whether Økland’s theoretical perspective might also prove helpful in the analysis of Tertullian’s discourse. It is in his treatment of marriage that we ¿nd especially strong evidence of Tertullian pushing Paul in a particular direction. But here, Paul himself is somewhat evasive. As Clark notes, when Tertullian is not arguing against Marcion and other ascetics, he takes a more rigorous line, raising the question of whether Paul’s own response is tempered by context. The main text in the undisputed letters of Paul where he treats married life is 1 Cor 7 (the translation and meaning of 1 Thess 4:4–5 remains the subject of extensive debate), but, as noted above, in the opinion of many New Testament scholars, Paul himself is responding to ascetic extremism and perhaps even to the rejection of marriage altogether. How Paul would have reacted outside of the context elicited by those troublesome Corinthians is dif¿cult to predict. Perhaps he had much more sympathy for the aspiring ascetics than his cautious approach to familial matters in general would allow. Despite his reasoning, Tertullian de¿nitely departs from Paul, however, in framing marriage as an indulgence. For Paul, marriage is deeply related to containment of sexual immorality, which, along with the worship of idols, is at the heart of Jewish critique of the sinful Roman world. Despite the association of marriage with distraction and anxiety (1 Cor 7:32–35), Paul does not really furnish the basis for Tertullian’s claim that marriage is associated with wealth; the worldliness of matrons is not much on Paul’s mind and, given his treatment of Phoebe in Rom 16:1–2 (who admittedly could be a widow), one is tempted to conclude that he would have found a way to channel the resources of matrons into his ministry with very little critique of their general comportment. Nor does Paul, unlike the authors of the Pastoral Epistles (1 Tim 2:9) and 1 Peter (1 Pet 3:3–5), pay any speci¿c attention to the issue of female adornment despite Tertullian’s rather ingenious exegetical attempts to make him critical of cosmetics and dyed hair! Moreover, while Paul is certainly concerned with the sexual dimensions of marriage, marriage is not sexualized in the manner of Tertullian’s discourse, as summarized so perceptively by Clark: “Even a ¿rst marriage, he insists, has something of fornication about it.” Tertullian praises couples for engagement in spiritual marriages, whereas only a minority of New Testament scholars has seen evidence of the practice in Paul’s letters based on particular readings of 1 Cor 7:36–38 and 1 Cor 9:5, with most reading 1 Cor 7:5 as a clear prohibition of such tendencies. There is, in fact, more sexual innuendo in Ephesians, but it is cast in 1

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positive terms. There is a clear focus on the bride’s sexual purity (Eph 5:26–27), with allusions to the bridegroom as “the agent of the bride’s prenuptial bath and purity inspection.”13 On the basis of the evidence presented in Clark’s essay, it would seem that Eph 5 had little effect on Tertullian’s treatment of marriage as human institution. The role of love in marriage, as Clark notes, is conspicuously absent despite much textual support in Eph 5:25–33.14 On intermarriage and remarriage after widowhood, we ¿nd even stronger evidence of Tertullian pushing Paul’s words (and lack of words) in a particular direction. As Clark explains, the problem with intermarriage in Tertullian’s day seems to have been caused especially by a shortage of Christians of higher social class to marry Christian women. Tertullian can ¿nd support in Paul’s words for the circumstances of a wife converted after marriage to a pagan (1 Cor 7:12–16), but despite Tertullian’s best efforts, it is by no means clear that Paul actually prohibited new marriages with pagans unless his concession that widows could remarry, but only “in the Lord” (1 Cor 7:39), refers to an emerging preference for endogamy. In his opposition to remarriage after widowhood, Tertullian cannot help but admit that he is more rigorous than Paul. Tertullian’s pattern of argumentation is fascinating, however, revealing points in common with the Corinthian women prophets who, according to the analysis of Antoinette Clark Wire, challenged Paul based on his theology of Spirit.15 Tertullian distinguishes between the indulgence of the human Paul and the advice of the Spirit (1 Cor 7:40). But commentators have suggested that in 1 Cor 7:40, where Paul’s states that “I think that I too have the Spirit of God,” he may be employing sarcasm.16 In other words, he may be responding to widows whose theology of the Spirit was leading them to more radical ascetic leanings than Paul himself harbored. It is fascinating, too, how Tertullian can use the elapsing of time and spiritual progress (e.g., solid food; cf. 1 Cor 3:2) as license for a more rigorous interpretation of Paul. First Timothy 5:14 is particularly problematic for Tertullian, for here he ¿nds Paul recommending remarriage 13. Carolyn Osiek, “The Bride of Christ (Eph 5:22–33): A Problematic Wedding,” BTB (2003): 29–39 (35). 14. Clark indicates that Tertullian does make use of the church as bride of Christ metaphor, though, as an anchor for his call for matrons to exhibit obedient and subordinate behavior and in his discourse on second marriage. 15. Antoinette Clark Wire, The Corinthian Women Prophets: A Reconstruction through Paul’s Rhetoric (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990). 16. See, for example, C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (London: A. & C. Black, 1968), 186. 1

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for young widows. But ultimately, the New Prophecy abrogates second marriage. Once again, Wire’s analysis is suggestive; she argues that the Corinthian women prophets “claimed direct access to resurrected life in Christ through God’s spirit” and on that basis challenged Paul’s interpretation.17 Tertullian sees himself as building upon Paul rather than challenging him, but there is a similar pattern at work: old laws, barriers, and weaknesses are overcome based on new experiences of the Spirit. While it is almost certain that Tertullian would have found the activities of the Corinthian women prophets objectionable, it is not surprising that he does leave room for women to prophesy given his allegiance to the New Prophecy. As Clark indicates, however, this is acceptance of carefully circumscribed women’s leadership. Ministerial roles for women that move in the direction of priestly functions are forbidden. New Testament scholars who analyze the evolution of the Pauline legacy into the second century are often struck by the differing trajectories leading, on the one hand, to the story of Thecla, famously condemned by Tertullian as an example of women’s teaching and baptizing, and to the limiting of women’s roles in the Pastoral Epistles, on the other hand. Tertullian’s ambivalent recognition of the widows as an of¿ce is in keeping with the Pastoral Paul’s cautious attitude. But his continuous openness to women prophets following the example of Paul (1 Cor 11:5) seems closer to the world of the Acts of Paul and Thecla than the Pastoral Paul and is worthy of careful reÀection, even if his model of women’s prophecy is passive reception. Like Paul, Tertullian remains concerned with order in worship and it appears that women’s prophetic messages were reported after the “public” service was over. There is no sense of such timing in 1 Cor 11:2–16 (albeit order of activities is clearly on Paul’s mind in 1 Cor 14:26–33), and it is one of the reasons why this text has often seemed to be in contradiction to the prohibition against women speaking in church in 1 Cor 14:33–36. Yet, according to Økland’s analysis, Paul’s understanding of the house-church assembly as sanctuary space is certainly seeking to push female initiative to the margins and might be read as preparing the way for Tertullian’s more explicit directives and assessments. In recognizing the relationship between abstinence, holiness, visions and dreams, Tertullian, like Paul, reÀects the well-documented association between female chastity and oracular and prophetic activities in the ancient world.18 Moreover, as Clark states in her conclusion, Tertullian acknowledged women’s prophecy as authoritative. In so doing, in one

1

17. Wire, Corinthian Women Prophets, 85. 18. Ibid., 183.

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way or another, he was acknowledging women’s power.19 Tertullian’s use of Paul on women and gender offers a good example of the complex legacy of the apostle which has recently been perceptively analyzed by Richard I. Pervo. Tertullian ultimately presents his own construction of the apostle and an analysis of his use of Paul reminds us that the voice of the true Paul cannot be separated from the intra-Pauline conÀicts and plurality of interpretations that were present in the early church from the beginning.20

19. See Margaret Y. MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion: The Power of the Hysterical Female (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 1–47. 20. See Richard I. Pervo, The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 1–21. 1

7 TERTULLIAN ON THE ROLE OF THE BISHOP Allen Brent

Tertullian was heir to a cluster of different views of episcopacy, apostolic succession, and priesthood that were still in his time in process of developing into a coherent discourse on sacred ministry. Cyprian, a generation later, and his successors, were to synthesize separate currents of tradition regarding sacred ministry, between East and West, into a more coherent whole. Tertullian, as his predecessor, stood therefore at a crossroad at which conceptualization of church order was still in a state of Àuid development. We begin, therefore, with the traditions on sacred order that Tertullian had inherited and whose diversity to some extent, as we shall argue, his so-called Catholic and Montanist phases represented. Indeed, we shall argue that Tertullian’s “Catholic” phase represented a truncated form of the Western concept of apostolic succession from which the role of the Holy Spirit had been excluded, with an almost inevitable re-adjustment in his “Montanist” phase. Diversity in Concepts of Sacred Ministry before Tertullian It is widely recognized that the original Pauline communities, described mainly in 1 and 2 Corinthians where issues of church life and practice are addressed, represented what may be described as a charismatic church order in which ministry involved the exercise of a personal charisma.1 It would, however, be wrong to see Paul’s Spirit-¿lled communities as possessing a self-authenticating ministry. Paul asserted over potential charismatic chaos an apostolic authority in which what he lays down comes from a paradosis that he has received (“from the Lord”) and 1. For the standard presentation of this view, see Eduard Schweizer, Church Order in the New Testament (trans. F. Clarke; 3d ed.; London: SCM, 1979; repr., Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2006).

1

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which he passes on to the community. It is this paradosis that gives the context of apostolic order within which charismatic gifts are to be recognized, exercised, and regulated.2 At all events, charisma and order are not necessarily to be regarded as opposing concepts in the early church history as they have become in inter-church polemic since the European Reformation.3 In those deutero-Pauline communities to which the Pastoral Epistles were addressed, the distinct of¿ces of bishops and deacons are mentioned, as also in the preface to Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, where holders of these of¿ces are associated with Paul and Timothy (ÊİÅ ëÈÀÊÁŦÈÇÀË Á¸Ė »À¸ÁŦÅÇÀË, Phil 1:1). One reference in the Pastorals to ÈɼʹÍÌšÉÇÀ and ÈɼʹÍ̚ɸÀ is simply to the need for respect for older men and women and not to any presbyteral of¿ce (1 Tim 5:1–2). Mention is made, however, of a presbyterate composed of a plurality of “bishops” who are seemingly interchangeable with “presbyters who preside well” (ÇĎ Á¸ÂľË ÈÉǼÊÌľÌ¼Ë Èɼʹŧ̼ÉÇÀ) in teaching (1 Tim 5:17). In Clement’s letter to the Corinthians, ëÈÀÊÁŦÈÇÀ is a term also used apparently interchangeably with ÈɼʹÍÌšÉÇÀ so that these terms simply indicate functions of an identical of¿ce not yet differentiated: at all events there is clearly a plurality of ëÈÀÊÁŦÈÇÀ (1 Clem. 44). Deutero-Pauline “bishops,” too, are called on to “preside,” not simply over their own households, but over a church modeled as the “household of God.”4 Here the “gift that is within” Timothy that needs “stirring up” (ÒŸ½ÑÈÍɼėÅ) is given originally “through prophecy with the imposition of hands of the presbyterate” (»ÀÛ ÈÉÇξ̼ţ¸Ë ļÌÛ ëÈÀ¿šÊ¼ÑË ÌľÅ Ï¼ÀÉľÅ ÌÇı ÈɼʹÍ̼ÉţÇÍ, 2 Tim 1:6; 1 Tim 4:14), which consisted of a plurality of bishops and deacons, even though, in the case of 2 Timothy, the “gift (ÏŠÉÀÊĸ)” is given through Paul’s hands alone (»ÀÛ ÌýË ëÈÀ¿šÊ¼ÑË ÌľÅ Ï¼ÀÉľÅ ÄÇÍ).5 But in both cases, whether that of a church order in which the gifts of the Spirit are self-authenticating but within the context of apostolic paradosis, or instead given by an act of ordination (ëÈÀ¿šÊÀË Ï¼ÀÉľÅ), the 2. Gal 1:11–12; 1 Cor 11:23–25; 15:1–4. For a further discussion, see Allen Brent, Cultural Episcopacy and Ecumenism: Representative Ministry in Church History from the Age of Ignatius of Antioch to the Reformation, with Special Reference to Contemporary Ecumenism (Studies in Christian Mission 6; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 142–48. 3. For a fuller discussion, see Allen Brent, “Pseudonymity and Charisma in the Ministry of the Early Church,” Aug 27 (1987): 347–76. 4. 1 Tim 3:2–12; cf. 1 Tim 3:15: ëÛÅ »ò ¹É¸»ŧÅÑ, ďŸ ¼Ċ»ĉË ÈľË »¼ė ëÅ ÇċÁĿ ¿¼Çı ÒŸÊÌɚμʿ¸À, øÌÀË ëÊÌĖÅ ëÁÁ¾Êţ¸ ¿¼Çı ½ľÅÌÇË, ÊÌıÂÇË Á¸Ė î»É¸ţÑĸ ÌýË Ò¾¿¼ţ¸Ë. 5. 2 Tim 1:6: »ÀЏ ùÅ ¸ĊÌţ¸Å ÒŸÄÀÄÅćÊÁÑ Ê¼ ÒŸ½ÑÈÍɼėÅ Ìġ ÏŠÉÀÊĸ ÌÇı ¿¼Çı, Ğ ëÊÌÀÅ ëÅ ÊÇĖ »ÀÛ ÌýË ëÈÀ¿šÊ¼ÑË ÌľÅ Ï¼ÀÉľÅ ÄÇÍ. 1

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essence of the ministry, even when it has become located in de¿ned ministerial of¿ces, is that of a teaching function. Material subsistence is to be given to those ÈɼʹÍÌšÉÇÀ who “labor in the word and in teaching” (1 Tim 5:17). To be faithful in his ministry, Timothy is to “hold fast to the form of sound words” (ĨÈÇÌŧÈÑÊÀÅ ìϼ ĨºÀ¸ÀÅŦÅÌÑÅ ÂŦºÑÅ, 2 Tim 1:13). It is the teaching ministry of “guarding” Paul’s “deposit” (ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾) that is committed and transmitted in the post-Pauline generation through an act of ordination. So far the development of church order was unmarked by those sacerdotal features of the priest of later times as an icon of Christ. Indeed, this was to be true of the Western tradition up until the time of Cyprian, with the exception perhaps of Clement of Rome. Clement charges the Corinthians in having deposed their presbyter-bishops with deposing “those who had offered the gifts blamelessly,” so that the “ministry” (¼ÀÌÇÍɺţ¸) from which they had been deposed was indeed a “liturgy” in which they had a priestly role typologically represented in the Old Testament (1 Clem. 40.5). For Justin Martyr the deutero-Paulinist presidency of the paterfamilias “presiding” over the household of the church has been reinterpreted in terms of a president (ÈÉǼÊÌŪË) of a philosophical school, reading and expounding the “memoires of the apostles.”6 Irenaeus will appeal to Clement’s notion of presbyter-bishops when the latter claimed that these had “succeeded” (»À¸»ñÆÑÅ̸À) to the apostles’ “ministry” or “liturgy” (¼ÀÌÇÍɺţ¸Å, 1 Clem. 44.2). Indeed, Irenaeus will claim as successors to the apostles not only bishops but presbyters, too.7 But for Irenaeus the »À¸»ÇÏŢ will nevertheless be modeled on that of the presidents of a philosophical school, and his emphasis will therefore be upon continuity of doctrine guaranteed by one presiding teacher. There is no emphasized connection between the of¿ce of the president and the eucharistic sacri¿ce offered by the bishop as priest. Yet, as we shall see later, the transmission of the doctrine of the apostles was not for Irenaeus simply a mechanical process in which those legally entitled as »ÀŠ»ÇÏÇÀ to teach proceeded to do so: the deutero-Pauline notion of a ÏŠÉÀÊĸ of the Spirit also transmitted in the succession was to be maintained. For Irenaeus as for Justin, the Eucharist is the “church’s offering,” but the of¿ce of bishop as successor of the apostles focused not on his 6. Justin, 1 Apol. 66. See discussion in Allen Brent, Hippolytus and the Roman Church in the Third Century: Communities in Tension Before the Emergence of a Monarch-Bishop (VCSup 31; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 402–12. 7. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.2.2: Ğ̸Š»ò ÈÒÂÀÅ ëÈĖ ÌüÅ ÒÈÇ ÌľÅ ÒÈÇÊÌŦÂÑŠȸɊ»ÇÊÀÅ Á¸ÌÛ ÌÛË »À»ÇÏÛË ÌľÅ ÈɼʹÍÌšÉÑÅ ëÅ ÌÜÀË ëÁÁ¾Êţ¸ÀË Î͸ÊÊÇļžŠÈÉÇÁ¸ÂŪļ¿¸ ¸ĤÌÇŧË, ëŸÅÌÀÇÍÅ̸À ÌýÀ ȸɸ»ŦʼÀ. 1

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sacerdotal but on his teaching role.8 Indeed, Irenaeus calls the Eucharist “the church’s offering” without reference to its performance by a particular ministerial of¿ce. The Eucharist as the Gentiles “pure sacri¿ce” of Malachi is: the new sacri¿ce of the new covenant (ÌýË Á¸ÀÅýË »À¸¿ŢÁ¾Ë ÌüÅ Á¸ÀÅüÅ… ÈÉÇÊÎÇÉŠÅ), which the church receiving from the apostles (úÅÈ¼É ÷ ëÁÁ¾Êţ¸ ȸÉÛ ÌľÅ ÒÈÇÊÌŦÂÑŠȸɸ¸¹ÇÍʸ) offers to God throughout all the world (ëÅ ϮÇÂŊ ÌŊ ÁŦÊÄĿ ÈÉÇÊΚɼÀ). (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 4.17.5– 6, in exposition of Mal 1:10–11)

It is signi¿cant moreover that the Eucharist in this passage is the people’s offering, as is made clear by Irenaeus’ citation in this context of the Matthaean logion regarding bringing gifts to the altar which the disciples were forbidden to offer unless ¿rst reconciled with their brothers.9 Only once in Irenaeus are the apostles called Levites, in the light of which Telfer claimed that he regarded them as priests as well as »ÀŠ»ÇÏÇÀ.10 But Irenaeus was not referring here to an ecclesiastical of¿ce, but was seeking to refute a Marcionite interpretation of the action of the disciples plucking ears of corn on the Sabbath: Jesus was surely showing his contempt for the prohibition of a lesser god that allowed only the priests to eat of the shew-bread in the temple. Irenaeus’ reply that Jesus was con¿rming that such an action would be in order for his disciples only because he had made them “honorary” Levites for this occasion. Irenaeus’ conclusion is not that as a result the twelve alone are priests, but that “all the Lord’s disciples are priests” (Ď¼É¼ėË »ò Á¸Ė ÈŠÅÌ¼Ë ĝÀ ÌÇı

ÍÉţÇÍ Ä¸¿¾Ì¸ţ, Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 4.8.3, citing Matt 12:3–4). When Justin before him had described the ÈÉǼÊÌŪË presiding at the Eucharist, he does not do so in a sacerdotal role: he simply utters “the word (Logos) which comes from him” that effects the change in the bread and wine: In the manner in which Jesus Christ our Saviour was made Àesh through the Logos of God (ĞÅ ÌÉÇÈÇÅ »ÀÛ ŦºÇÍ ¼Çı ʸÉÁÇÈÇÀ¾¿¼ĖË) and took Àesh and blood for our salvation, so too the food which is blessed by means of the prayer of the word from him (»ÀЏ¼ĤÏýË ÂŦºÇÍ ÌÇı È¸ÉЏ¸ĤÌÇı ¼ĤϸÉÀÊ̾¿¼ėʸŠÌÉÇÎŢÅ) from which our blood and Àesh are nourished as 8. This point was originally made by Einar Molland, “Irenaeus of Lugdunum and the Apostolic Tradition,” JEH 1 (1950): 12–28. See also Brent, Hippolytus, 446–49. 9. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 4.18.1, citing Matt 5:23–24. See also Brent, Hippolytus, 479–80. 10. William Telfer, The Of¿ce of a Bishop (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1962), 114–15. 1

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a result of their transformation (ëÆ úË ¸đĸ Á¸Ė ÊŠÉÁ¼Ë Á¸ÌÛ Ä¼Ì¸¹ÇÂüÅ ÌÉšÎÇÅ̸À ÷ÄľÅ, ëÁ¼ţÅÇÍ ÌÇı ʸÉÁÇÈÇÀ¾¿šÅÌÇË) we teach to be the Àesh and blood of the very Jesus who was made Àesh. (Justin, 1 Apol. 65.2)

Even, therefore, in Justin the divine word that the teacher has received and utters effects divine nourishment not any act that imitates sacri¿ce. This Western understanding of episcopal authority as didadochal rather than sacerdotal stands in marked contrast to that of the East. For Ignatius of Antioch the essence of episcopal order as part of the threefold order of bishop, presbyters, and deacons, was that of sacral representation. Each of the three were images or ÌŧÈÇÀ of God the Father (bishop), Christ the Son (deacons), and the Spirit-¿lled council of the apostles (presbyters). Here was a typology of church order that was never to be repeated precisely in such a form but whose roots were in a pagan understanding of priesthood: the three orders wore spiritually and mystically in their persons the images or IJȪʌȠȚ of divinity just as pagan priests who led sacred processions wore in their Ê̚θÅÇÀ medallion images of the gods whom they represented and thus made those deities present.11 Ignatius as a martyr-bishop wears the image of the suffering God who shed his blood.12 In the anonymous Refutatio omnium haeresium, attributed to Hippolytus, an author of Eastern origin living at Rome around 217 C.E. combines the Western tradition of »À¸»ÇÏŢ and Ignatius’ eastern, pagan sacerdotalism, veiling the latter’s pagan allusions behind an Old Testament image of priesthood. This writer protested against the Monarchian heresy allegedly expounded by Pope Callistus I and his school and against his claim to be sole bishop over the looser confederation of house-churches under their individual presbyter-bishops that had existed before him. On behalf of these groups, the anonymous author asserted both the shared teaching role of such presbyter-bishops in refuting heresy but also their participation together in a shared high priesthood.13 Here we have the idea of apostolic succession described in characteristically Irenaean terms, but with a signi¿cant addition to the Irenaean tradition. As in Irenaeus before him, true to the Pauline tradition, it is “the Holy Spirit handed down in the church (ÌŦ ëÅ ëÁÁ¾ÊÀŠÅ ȸɸ»Ç¿òÅ ÙºÀÇÅ Èżıĸ) that the apostles previously receiving (Çī ÌÍÏŦÅÌ¼Ë ÈÉŦ̼ÉÇÀ 11. Allen Brent, Ignatius of Antioch and the Second Sophistic: A Study of Early Christian Transformation of Pagan Culture (STAC 36; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 120–72. 12. Ignatius, Eph. 1.1–3; Magn. 6.1–2; Trall. 3.1. 13. For a full discussion of this text in the context of the development of the early church at Rome, see Brent, Hippolytus, 475–81. 1

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ÇĎ ÒÈŦÊÌÇÂÇÀ) handed on (ļ̚»ÇʸÅ) to those who believed correctly (ÌÇėË ĚÉ¿ľË ȼÈÀÊ̼ÍÁŦÊÀÅ).” It is here the Pauline ÏŠÉÀÊĸ of teaching that the ministerial successors of the apostles receive. But to this charism is now added also the ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸ that is also handed on and received. With the apostles, “because we are their successors (÷ļėË »ÀŠ»ÇÏÇÀ ÌͺϊÅ̼Ë), we also share both in the grace of the high priesthood and in their teaching (ÌýË Ì¼ ¸ĤÌýË ÏŠÉÀÌÇË Ä¼ÌšÏÇÅÌ¼Ë ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸Ë ̼ Á¸Ė »À»¸ÊÁ¸Âţ¸Ë).”14 The views of this author are mirrored in liturgical texts of the Hippolytan Traditio Apostolica, where Aaronic and Mosaic images of the bishop’s of¿ce are to be found: like Moses with his presbyters, the bishop governs with his council, but like Aaron he propitiates. Here the imagery of the bishop’s of¿ce is sacerdotal (ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸). To “serve you as high priest” (ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ŧ¼ÀÅ ÊÇÀ ÒÄšÄÈÌÑË) is “to offer to you the gifts” (ÈÉÇÊΚɼÀÅ ÊÇÀ ÌÛ »ľÉ¸) and “to have authority to forgive sins” (ìϼÀÅ ëÆÇ¿Êţ¸Å ÒÎÀšÅ¸À ÖĸÉÌţ¸Ë). The action of the bishop is propitiatory: “to offer propitiation before your face” (ĎŠÊÁ¼Ê¿¸À ÌŊ ÈÉÇÊŪÈĿ ÊÇÍ).15 Cyprian, in the generation after Tertullian, was to emphasize both the diadochal and sacerdotal elements in the bishop’s of¿ce. Neither mentioning Ignatius, nor articulating precisely his theology of order, he nevertheless followed an Ignatian principle: bishops were sacerdotes, and they, as were the presbyters, were to imitate Christ in celebrating the Eucharist: their actions at the Eucharist repeated precisely what Christ had done.16 We are now in a position to ask what position Tertullian was to take in his view of the of¿ce of the bishop or priest. Tertullian and Bishops as Successors to the Apostles Tertullian will follow Irenaeus during what has been called his “Catholic” period in his assertion that bishops are successors of the apostles as teachers, whilst insisting on the character of the content of what they teach. As with Irenaeus, bishops are in the apostolic succession and their heretical counterparts are not. Tertullian will claim that heretical churches are recent and so cannot trace their history to apostolic times. So he challenges them:

14. Ps. Hippolytus, Haer. 1, proem. 6.34–38. 15. Trad. ap. 3, 7. For further discussion, see Brent, Hippolytus, 467–75. 16. Cyprian, Ep. 63.2.1–2; 63.14.4. See also Allen Brent, Cyprian and Roman Carthage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 261–63.

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Let them set forth the origins (origines) of their churches, let them set out an ordered list of their bishops (euoluant ordinem episcoporum suorum) in such a way that their account runs down from the beginning (ita per successionem ab initio decurrentem) so that the ¿rst bishop (primus ille episcopus) will have as his progenitor and predecessor (auctorem et antecessorem) someone from the apostles or from apostolic men (aliquem ex apostolis uel apostolicis uiris) who had continued steadfastly with the apostles (cum apostolis perseuerauerit).17

For the basic form of his position, Tertullian is undoubtedly indebted to Irenaeus rather than the early third-century Hippolytan documents that are nearly contemporaneous with him. He refers to an ordered list (ordo) of named bishops for many churches, as does Irenaeus, but like him can only admit knowledge in any detail of only one list from Rome. As in Irenaeus’ case, he will mention Clement as on the Roman succession list and will also refer to Polycarp and “property lists” (census) establishing rightful ownership for the church of Smyrna. Clement was ordained (ordinatum) there by Peter, and the latter placed (conlocatum) there by John.18 But he subtly changes Irenaeus’ focus. In this change of focus, Tertullian reÀects a re-engagement with the Pauline corpus in the New Testament that he has re-examined afresh without simply following Irenaeus diadochic re-interpretation. Irenaeus had placed Clement “in third place” at Rome after Peter. Tertullian will claim his ordination at St. Peter’s hands, as will the Clementine Homilies, which no doubt reÀect a legendary dynamic powered by such reÀections made in the course of such a re-examination (Ps. Clem., Hom., Ep. Clem. ad Iac. 1.19). There is a Clement mentioned amongst the companions of Paul in the New Testament (Phil 4:3). Tertullian was to ¿nd such companions important for his refocusing of Irenaeus. In De praescriptione, Tertullian extends the Irenaean concept of »À¸»ÇÏŢ from being a line initiated directly by the twelve apostles to bishops, though on one occasion Irenaeus does include presbyters as well “in accordance with the successions of presbyters in the churches” (Á¸ÌÛ ÌÛË »À¸»ÇÏÛË ÌľÅ ÈɼʹÍÌšÉÑÅ ëŠ̸ėË ëÁÁ¾Êţ¸ÀË).19 A given church in one geographical space can be apostolic if founded by companions of apostles (ex apostolis uel apostolicis viri): their “lineage” (origo), “fount” (fons), and “stock” (stirps) need not be an apostle alone—an “apostolic man” who had been the close associates of apostles (cum apostolis 17. Tertullian, De prae. haer. 32.1. 18. De prae. haer. 32.2: hoc enim modo ecclesiae apostolicae census suos deferent, sicut Smyrnaeorum ecclesia Polycarpum ab Iohanne collocatum refert, sicut Romanorum Clementem a Petro ordinatum est. Cf. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.3.3–4. 19. See n. 7 above and associated text. 1

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perseveraverit) could also found a church. Tertullian refocuses »À¸»ÇÏŢ from the Irenaean teacher presiding over a philosophical school to the body of doctrine that is taught. Tertullian in consequence revisits parts of the Pastoral Epistles on which Irenaeus did not focus. Against heretical claims that the apostles transmitted secret doctrines revealed only to a select group of pneumatikoi, he cites deutero-Pauline exhortations: “O Timothy, guard the deposit (depositum)” and “preserve the good deposit.”20 ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ as a translation for depositum is not found in Irenaeus’ Greek text. He points out that this ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾, according to deutero-Paul, was delivered “before many witnesses” (De prae. haer. 25.2–3), which implies that it was public, so that heretical teachers cannot be right in claiming a secret tradition known to them alone: Now, if they refuse to interpret the “many witnesses” as the “church,” it is irrelevant. After all, what was published “before many witnesses” would not have been unspoken (tacitum), his wish that Timothy (illum) “should commit (demandare) these things (haec) to faithful men, who should be able to teach others also,” cannot be interpreted as supporting an argument for another, secret gospel (ad argumentum occulti alicuius euangelii interpretandum est). His words are “these things” (haec), so he was writing about the matters presently discussed. Otherwise he would have said “those things” (illa) if consciously regarding matters absent from the discussion. (De prae. haer. 25.8–9)

In his rereading of the New Testament, then, in Timothy and Titus he has found examples of founders of churches that, though not founded by apostles, were founded by “apostolic men” that were their close associates. But in the light of his refocusing upon the content of the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ rather than primarily the apostolic of¿ce of those who hand this on, Tertullian now goes further beyond Irenaeus and back to the deuteroPauline texts that he is rereading: Accordingly, to this rescript (ad hanc itaque formam) appeal may be made (provocabuntur) by those churches who, granted that they make claim to their progenitor (auctorem) neither from apostles nor from apostolic associates. As churches which are now being founded long after their time (ut multo posteriores, quae denique cottidie instituuntur), notwithstanding, because they agree together in the same faith (in eadem ¿de conspirantes), are regarded as no less apostolic churches on account of a family resemblance in their teaching (pro consanguinitate doctrinae). (De prae. haer. 32.6)

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20. 1 Tim 6:20 and 2 Tim 1:14, where depositum translates the Greek ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾.

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Thus, for Tertullian the test of orthodoxy is primarily consanguinitas or the family resemblance between the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ and its coherent development into a systematic body of doctrine not exhibited by heretical doctrine. On account of the “diversity of their profession of faith” (ob diuersitate sacramenti) they “are not received into peace and communion by churches that are in whatever manner apostolic” (nec recipiuntur in pacem et communicationem ab ecclesiis quoquo modo apostolicis, De prae. haer. 32.8). Thus, even in his so-called Catholic phase, Tertullian’s emphasis on the authority of a teaching hierarchy is not high. Bishops have a right to teach only what is contained in the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾; their legitimacy is not so much that of an of¿ce transmitted to them from the apostles as the consanguinitas of what they teach with what the apostles taught. There is, however, in Tertullian’s so-called Catholic phase no reference to the role of the Holy Spirit in guaranteeing the authenticity and development of what is contained in the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾. We saw that the deutero-Pauline tradition made reference to an act of ordination for someone, like Timothy, entrusted to command and teach the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ entrusted to him and which he was to repeat for those with whom he was to be associated in such ministry. But we saw that in deutero-Pauline writings there was an emphasis both on the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ and on the Spirit given through an act of ordination. In the De praescriptione, there is a lack of references to this action of the Spirit. This is a surprising omission on Tertullian’s part since he clearly follows Irenaeus claim about episcopal succession but omits the latter’s emphasis on the transmission of the Spirit through the succession. Irenaeus spoke not so much of traditio but of a depositum ¿dei (ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾) in regard to the teaching of which the bishops possessed a charism of interpretation given through the Spirit in the light of which the depositum “renews its youth” (iuvenescere). There is no emphasis in Tertullian’s “Catholic” phase on this dimension of the »À¸»ÇÏŢ by including what Irenaeus had continued in his view of episcopal order the Pauline notion of the “gift that is within you through the laying on of my hands.” It must be emphasized that the episcopal succession is not for Irenaeus transmitted simply by a mechanical process running through secular history. However much in the deutero-Pauline Pastoral Epistles he who presides must hand on the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ committed to him, he has nevertheless the ÏŠÉÀÊĸ of the Spirit imparted by an act of ordination. Irenaeus, whilst tightening in his battles with second-century heresies the structure of the order of the visible church in terms of a ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ transmitted by a de¿ned »À¸»ÇÏŢ, he will nevertheless hold on to this 1

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deutero-Pauline doctrine: the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ or depositum ¿dei is not transmitted by a static process. Rather, it is the transmission of a living tradition constantly renewed from old age to youthfulness by the Spirit. He describes all that the church preaches has come together from “the prophets, apostles and disciples” and is “everywhere consistent” (undique constante): …through God’s universal plan (per uniuersam dei dispositionem [ÇĊÁÇÅÇÄţ¸]) and through his activity whose purpose is the salvation of humanity and the laying the foundation of our faith (et eam quae secundum salutem hominis est solidam operationem quae est in ¿de nostra). This faith that has been received from the church we guard (quam perceptam ab ecclesia custodimus) and which always (et quae semper) like a most precious object deposited by the Spirit of God in a ¿ne vase (a Spiritu dei quasi in uaso bono eximium quoddam depositum) renews its youth and renews the youth of the vase itself in which it is placed (iuvenescens et iuvenescere faciens ipsum uas in quo est). (Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.24.1)

Thus, here Irenaeus remains true to the deutero-Pauline notion of ÏŠÉÀÊĸ given through the imposition of hands, although the latter does not refer to a speci¿c act of ordination. The Spirit is given to renew the ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ thus transmitted through the tradition. But in his early, “Catholic” works, Tertullian is deaf to that aspect of the Pauline tradition of ecclesial authority. But what of the Eastern tradition represented by Ignatius of Antioch. Here the bishop was a priest in an analogical way with a pagan agonothete: he wore in an analogical way a Ê̚θÅÇË with images or ÌŧÈÇÀ of divinity, and led a sacred, festive procession. What indeed of the Hippolytan school, in which the episcopate was high-priestly and Aaronic and engaged in acts of propitiation?21 We do not ¿nd the bishop as priest also in this sense in Tertullian. There are few mentions of the threefold order in Tertullian, whether in his “Catholic” or in his “Montanist” period, least of all the many commentaries on their respective ecclesial functions. In the De fuga, however embarrassing this may have been later to Cyprian in the writings of the man that he hailed as magister noster, he will have no truck with a reading of Matthew’s Gospel that appears to licence Àight rather than confession in persecution. Tertullian exhorts standing and not Àeeing in persecution for both small and great and continues:

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21. See discussion above and associated texts.

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But when the persons of inÀuence themselves (sed cum ipsi auctores), that is to say those very deacons and presbyters and bishops take Àight (id est ipsi diaconi et presbyteri et episcopi fugiunt), how is a layman able to understand the real interpretation of (quomodo laicus intelligere poterit, qua ratione dictum): “Flee from city to city”?22

Here clearly the threefold order is presented in the role of pastoral leaders, but there is no reference here to any sacramental functions. But in the De baptismo, there are some interesting implications for how Tertullian regards the relationship between the roles of the laity and those of clerical of¿cers in the sacramental sphere. Tertullian, Baptism, and the Priesthood of the Laity For Paul, baptism was the sacrament by means of which the dying and rising of Christ was realized in the life of the believer through membership of the community of faith.23 For Tertullian, however, the waters of baptism conveyed the Spirit since they were “the ancient substance” (antiqua substantia) that was at creation the “resting place of the Spirit of God” (divini spiritus sedes).24 The Spirit of God at creation: …pre¿gured baptism as a type (praenotabatur ad baptismi ¿guram)…of him who from the beginning was borne above the waters (qui ab initio super aquas vectabatur), would as baptizer continue abiding above the waters (super aquas intinctorem moraturum). Thus a holy substance (sanctum) was therefore brought down upon a substance made holy (sanctum autem utique super sanctum ferebatur), or rather, that which bore holiness acquired it from what was brought down from above (aut ab eo quod superferebatur id quod ferebat sanctitatem mutuabatur). (De bapt. 4.1, commenting on Gen 1:6–7)

Tertullian will not, however, claim simply that baptism in the church was simply the ful¿lment as antitype of an Old Testament type by simply performing the act itself: “Invocation of God (invocato deo) was necessary so that the Spirit could again descend and rest on the waters so that they could ‘in virtue of the pristine privilege of their origin…acquire the pledge of sancti¿cation (de pristina originis praerogativa sacramentum sancti¿cationis consequuntur)” (De bapt. 4.4).

22. Fug. 11.1 (cf. also 6.1), referring to Matt 10:23. 23. Rom 6:4; 1 Cor 12:13; Gal 3:27; Col 2:12. 24. De bapt. 3.2: ‘Habes, homo, imprimis aetatem venerari aquarum, quod antiqua substantia; dehinc dignationem, quod divini spiritus sedes…,’ commenting on Gen 1:2.

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But Tertullian does not claim that bishops (or for that matter presbyters) alone have the sacramental power to make the invocation. The laity, too, in an emergency, can invoke the Spirit and thus perform the sacramental act. This is, however, because for him priesthood pertains to the whole people of God and not simply to the presbyters. When Tertullian calls the bishop summus sacerdos, it is not because he believes that the presbyters are simply sacerdotes by comparison, but because he is high priest of both other clergy and laity, all of whom are priests. It is on this basis he defends baptism ministered by any Christian in an emergency. Thus, in the so-called Catholic period, during which he writes the De baptismo, he concludes: The supreme right of giving it belongs to the high priest, which is the bishop (Dandi quidem summum habet ius summus sacerdos, si qui est episcopus): after him, to the presbyters and deacons (dehinc presbyteri et diaconi), yet not without authorization from the bishop (non tamen sine episcopi auctoritate), on account of the Church’s dignity (propter ecclesiae honorem) which when preserved peace is also preserved (quo salvo salva pax est). Except for that, even laymen have the right (alioquin etiam laicis ius est). (De bapt. 17.1–2)

The issue, therefore, is one of ius, auctoritas, and honor, and of the pax or good order of the church. Unlike Cyprian in the next generation, the giving of the Spirit in baptism is not associated with apostolic order in terms of the insufÀation of the Johannine Pentecost so that there is no baptism and therefore no salvation outside the Church. The one bishop as successor of the apostles alone can transmit the Spirit and not any heretical or schismatic rival that contends for the one episcopal chair.25 But for Tertullian baptism does not work in that way, however much he will deny the validity of baptism outside the Church. Baptism is effective because the waters are sancti¿ed by the Spirit as the antitype of creation by virtue of the invocation of God not by virtue of the one who invokes, lay or ordained: All waters, therefore, in virtue of the pristine privilege of their origin (omnes aquae de pristina originis praerogativa), do, after God has been invoked, attain the sacramental pledge of sancti¿cation (sacramentum sancti¿cationis consequuntur invocato deo); for the Spirit immediately supervenes from the heavens (supervenit enim statim spiritus de caelis) and rests over the waters (et acquis superest), sanctifying them from himself (sancti¿cans eas de semetipso); and being thus sancti¿ed (et ita sancti¿catae), they imbibe at the same time the power of sanctifying (vim sancti¿candi combibunt). (De bapt. 4.4)

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25. Cyprian, Ep. 69.1.1; 73.7.2; and Brent, Cyprian, 255–56, 296–97.

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Tertullian’s problem with lay baptism except in an emergency seems therefore to be that it is an infringement of the moral order that is equivalent to social order; it infringes a social structure de¿ned in terms of ius, auctoritas, and honor. We have thus seen that the “Catholic” Tertullian seems to adopt a position on episcopal order that seems incongruous with that of his immediate successor Cyprian. Cyprian certainly was to advocate a sacerdotal view of Christian priesthood, whether episcopal or presbyteral, in a Carthage in which presbyters as well as bishops offered what was clearly regarded as the eucharistic sacri¿ce. In this respect he represented congruence with the Eastern tradition that the Western Tertullian lacked. Regarding his predecessors, Tertullian inherits the Irenaean concept of apostolic succession, but has missed Irenaeus’ emphasis on the transmission of the Spirit in the handing on of the depositum ¿dei through a succession of teachers that the deutero-Pauline letters had emphasized. But Clement of Rome, though talking about a plurality of presbyter bishops at Rome and Corinth appointed originally by apostles, had spoken of presbyter bishops “offering the gifts” as an antitype of Levitical offerings in the wilderness. Such a model of church order was not, as we have seen, reÀected in Justin Martyr, who is content with the ÈÉǼÊÌŪË of his Christian philosophical school presiding at the Eucharist but without sacerdotal features. Justin, in view of his lost work against heresies, is often regarded as the precursor of Irenaeus. But Justin does not articulate a theory of »À¸»ÇÏŢ as does Irenaeus, and more signi¿cantly, his name does not occur on the latter’s Roman succession list as the episcopal successor ultimately to St. Peter: if he is the “president” of his group meeting above the baths of Myrtinus on the Via Tiburtina, he is nevertheless not the presiding bishop over the whole Roman community.26 The problem with positioning Tertullian in these currents of sometimes converging, sometimes variant streams in the historical development of church order has been compounded by considering that there was a single model of order in the early church to the construction of which individual writers contributed as the model developed incrementally. This we can see was certainly false. Clement of Rome with his Levitical typology certainly shows us that the sacerdotal model was not con¿ned to Ignatius and the Eastern liturgies, whereas the diadochic model was exclusively Western. Cyprian’s synthesis was to emerge from a plethora of models of church order, of which Tertullian’s was one,

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26. Acta Justini 3.3; cf. Brent, Hippolytus, 400–402.

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distinguished by its truncation of Pauline and Irenaean concepts of authority and succession in its removal of the renewing action of the Holy Spirit. But does Tertullian give us any clues about how and out of what circumstances Cyprian’s later synthesis emerged in a form that had passed him by? Tertullian’s Historical Context and the Development of Church Order Chronologically, Tertullian was approximately contemporaneous with Hippolytus, the Roman martyr whose shrine is located on the Via Tiburtina. I have elsewhere attempted to recover an account of the events surrounding the later ¿gure that have left their traces in the Hippolytan corpus as the surviving works of an Hippolytan school. I argued that his predecessor was the author of the anonymous Refutatio Omnium Haeresium that in its text bore witness to what Lampe originally established to be the character of the Roman community before, wrongly in my opinion, Victor, as opposed to before Pontian. The Roman church had been a loose confederation of house-churches (I would prefer to call them, in view of Justin Martyr’s example, “schools”), each presided over by a presbyter bishop like Justin’s ÈÉǼÊÌŪË. But now, Lampe claimed, as early as the Ponti¿cate of Victor, they had been united under a single monarch-bishop.27 I have argued that though Lampe was substantially correct regarding his concept of the “fractionalization” of the Roman community in the second century, he was wrong to regard Victor as the end point of the emergence of a monarch-bishop. Rather, he initiated a revolutionary process that only reached its conclusion in the Ponti¿cate of Pontian, with whom the martyr and presbyter Hippolytus had shared exile and death in Sardinia following their reconciliation after their communities had divided over the nature of the Trinity.28 The mark of the ¿nal transformation of the Roman community into an episcopal monarchy is the appearance against the names of Pontian and his successors’ real dates in terms of speci¿c years, months, and days: monarchs have speci¿ed 27. Peter Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen in den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten (WUNT 2/18; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 219–51, 320–45. 28. Brent, Hippolytus, 388–457. For the most recent statement of Brent’s case against an early date for a monarch-bishop at Rome, see Allen Brent, “How Irenaeus Has Misled the Archaeologists,” in Irenaeus: Life, Scripture, Legacy (ed. Sara Parvis and Paul Foster; Minneapolis: Fortress, forthcoming). 1

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periods in which they reign, presidents of philosophical schools merely need to succeed one another at a time not needing such clarity of speci¿cation. Immediately subsequent to Pontian’s martyrdom and the bringing back of his remains, Fabian his successor was to establish the nucleus of the ¿rst papal mausoleum in the cemetery on the Via Tiburtina that bears Callistus’ name.29 Though the controversy and division between Hippolytus’ predecessor, the writer of the Refutatio, and Callistus has often been described as a “schism,” with the former duly consecrated in opposition to the later as an anti-pope, this has certainly been anachronistic and reÀecting a post-Cyprianic conceptualization of church order. An analysis of Ref. 9–10 shows that the writer does not claim for himself the sole “chair of episcopal oversight” (¿ÉŦÅÇË ëÈÀÊÁÇÈýË) for which his opponent Callistus had yearned and which he mistakenly thought that he occupied (Ps. Hippolytus, Haer. 9.11.1). Rather, a scene is described in which the presbyter bishop of one group is, by a deliberate policy of absolving those excommunicated by other presbyter bishops over other groups, seeking to enlarge his own, despite the ancient canons that govern the loose confederation of house churches according to which this should never happen. Callistus was the ¿rst to plan to allow people to yield to their pleasures, claiming that they could all have their sins forgiven by him. For he who gathered with a different person (È¸ÉЏ îÌšÉĿ ÌÀÅĖ ÊÍŸºŦļÅÇË) and was called a Christian, if he sinned, asserted Callistus, the sin would not be reckoned to him if he would Àee to the school of Callistus. This rule pleased many whose conscience had become hardened and at the same time, many who under the inÀuence of many heresies became excommunicated, and some who had been expelled from the church by us at an examination, attached themselves to him and swelled into his school (»À»¸ÊÁ¸Â¼ėÇÅ)…and in their vanity they attempted to call themselves the Catholic Church. (Ps. Hippolytus, Haer. 9.12.20–21, 25)

Callistus had allowed bishops, priests, and deacons to remarry if widowed, and had thus broken the ancient, New Testament discipline that a bishop or deacon be “married only once” (1 Tim 3:2). By his 29. Brent, Hippolytus, 415–53, and The Imperial Cult and the Development of Church Order. Concepts and Images of Authority in Paganism and Early Christianity Before the Age of Cyprian (VCSup 45; Leiden: Brill, 1999), Chapter 8. For a more recent re-assessment of this situation, see Allen Brent, “The Elenchos and the Identi¿cation of Christian Communities in Second–Early Third Century Rome,” in Des évêques, des écoles et des hérétiques, Colloque international sur la Réfutation de toutes les heresies (ed. Gabriella Aragone and Enrico Norelli; Université de Genève, Faculté de Théologie, June 13–14, 2008; Lausanne: Zèbre 2011). 1

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policy of laxity, the community (or »À»¸ÊÁ¸Â¼ėÇÅ) that he led was to emerge, by the death of Pontian, the sole Catholic community. Until then, a member of another group could clearly and validly be “called a Christian,” even though he/she was “assembled” (ÊÍŸºŦļÅÇË) under a different presbyter bishop. Originally, as we saw earlier, the author of the Refutatio had considered himself part of a presbyteral group and not as a single individual over the whole Roman community when he spoke of “we the successors of the apostles and sharers in the high priesthood.”30 We are witnessing a revolution in progress in which a single monarch-bishop is emerging over the Roman community. It was no accident that this should happen in Rome as the capital of the Roman Empire and the center into which different, emigrating cultural groups Àowed and produced a melting pot. With them they brought the variety of models of ministry that we have witnessed in Ignatius, Justin, Irenaeus, and the deutero-Pauline communities. In the anonymous author of the Refutatio, we witness a conÀuence of Eastern and Western ideas, when he combines the notions of ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸ and »À¸»ÇÏŢ, deploying Clement’s Old Testament typology to veil Ignatius’ more pagan sacerdotal analogies. Furthermore, in the Egyptian Church Order that has been contentiously given the title of the Traditio Apostolica, we have, I still believe, the earliest available record of liturgical practices of the early thirdcentury Roman Church as they developed in the Hippolytan community.31 Here also we have a tension between a teaching model of ministry whose Old Testament typology is of Moses and the elders and a sacerdotal model using the ¿gure of Aaron.32 Thus, the Hippolytan community itself bears witness to a conÀuence of different concepts of ministry and church order in the church of Rome of the early third century. But what did Tertullian make of this melting pot? Our initial response must be “not very much.” As we have seen, he was untouched by some of the currents that we are witnessing. His view of Church Order as a “Catholic” was distinctly non-sacerdotal, and was a version of, on the one hand, deutero-Paulinism with its ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ or depositum without any notion of the enlivening Spirit transmitted also through ordination along with the teaching authority, and, on the other hand, of Irenaean »À¸»ÇÏŢ 30. See the discussion above and associated text. 31. See Allen Brent, “St. Hippolytus, Biblical Exegete, Roman Bishop and Martyr,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 48 (2004): 207–31. (Note that volume 48 of St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly carries the title Revisiting the Past and is given over to a consideration of this issue.) 32. See discussion above and associated text. 1

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also without the Spirit that enlivens the teaching succession. We have also seen how he loosens the Irenaean concept of »À¸»ÇÏŢ from strictly apostolic succession to succession also from companions of the apostles, such as Timothy or, in response to Marcion, Mark, and Luke.33 But in one respect he was inÀuenced by these contemporaneous events in Rome and the dispute between Callistus and the Hippolytan community in his reaction to the former’s attempt to make himself a supreme bishop claiming the sole ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸, as we shall now see. Tertullian, Praxeas, and an Unnamed Bishop’s Edict of Indulgence Tertullian’s knowledge of Callistus and contemporary events in Rome has been questioned. Basically the identi¿cation of Callistus with both the monarchian Praxeas against whom Tertullian wrote and also with the unnamed bishop of the De pudicitia of his so-called Montanist phase has been challenged on the grounds that both were more likely North African ¿gures. Praxeas was a nickname used as a pseudonym that clearly called out for identi¿cation. The unnamed bishop also was clearly involved in a momentous event.34 The only North African name available is the shadowy ¿gure of Agrippinus mentioned by Cyprian as the convenor of a council in language suspect of being an anachronistic reading of an ecclesial order in process of development only in Cyprian’s own time, partly assisted by an ideology that he himself constructed.35 The argument for otherwise unknown North African ¿gures seems to me to labor under the false methodological assumption that cultural space is the equivalent of geographical space. The anonymous author of the Refutatio quoted above clearly led a group with rigorist principles opposed to the laxist position of that of Callistus, particularly on the subject of the absolution of mortal sins after baptism (particularly fornication that had lead to pre-natal murder). Tertullian, too, assumed a rigorist position against the “adulterous shepherd,” the writer of Hermas who had advocated allowing second chances to those committing mortal sins.36 33. Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 5.21.1 (Timothy); De prae. haer. 33.6; Adv. Marc. 21.1 (Titus). 34. Brent, Hippolytus, 535–40, and Imperial Cult, 319–20. Timothy D. Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971) has no problem with identifying Praxeas tentatively with the Roman, Monarchian bishop Callistus (278–79), but does not wish to identify him with the unnamed bishop in De pud. 1 (247). 35. Cyprian, Ep. 73.19.3. See Brent, Cyprian, 297–300. 36. De pud. 10.12; cf. Hermas, Mand. 4.2. 1

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Though geographical distance may seem large, there is a cultural closeness over distance achieved, for example, by the exchange of news of mutual interest by frequent travellers, letters, and so on, particularly in connection with Carthage as the major port linking Rome with her granary that was North Africa. Groups with such common purposes experience a mutual sympathy that by such means transcend distance in miles and in consequence experience a greater closeness than with other groups that geographically are their neighbors. Once we have a successful reconstruction of what our analysis has shown to be the real ecclesial situation in the church of Rome in the early third century, we can see how a clear ¿t will emerge between what Tertullian says about his nameless bishop, and the behavior of Callistus at Rome recorded by the anonymous writer of the Refutatio.37 Tertullian began the De pudicitia with the famous passage, which reads as follows: I hear that there has been published an edict (edictum esse propositum), and that a ¿nal edict. The Pontifex (mark you!) Maximus, that is the bishop of bishops (episcopus episcoporum), ordains: “I absolve both the sins of adultery and fornication when penance has been performed.” O edict to which there cannot be the appendage: “A good well done!” And where is that generosity published? In the same place, I would think, [as] on at the entrances of [houses of] lust, under the very arch that bears the title of those houses. There penitence ought to have been declared where the offence was committed. There you shall read of your pardon (venia), where you enter in expectation of it. But this is read in the church, and in the church it is proclaimed, and she is a virgin. (De pud. 1.6–8)

The passage is a highly rhetorical one. It is not, of course, referring to a bishop actually issuing an edict of indulgence literally nailed upon a church door, nor is it the title of Pontifex Maximus actually a title to which any Christian bishop at the beginning of the third century would have been happy in laying claim. What he is saying is that this particular bishop was behaving like a pagan emperor issuing an edict generally absolving mortal sin and claiming also the pagan and imperial sacerdotal title of “High Priest” (Pontifex Maximus). Tertullian’s bishop was not behaving like a normal bishop with normal prerogatives in the Christ community over which he presided: the latter is claiming to be an episcopus episcoporum with jurisdiction over all other bishops. His behavior, of course, cannot to be understood in terms 37. One need only compare Tertullian, Adv. Prax. 1.6; De pud. 2.2; 7.22; and Ps. Hippolytus, Haer. 9.12.20–25. For further discussion, see Brent, Hippolytus, 517–29. 1

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of a medieval pope claiming universal jurisdiction over all other bishops throughout the Mediterranean world, each in their own, far-Àung geographical territories. Rather, it must be understood of a situation rather like that of the second-century Roman Church, fractionalized in a loose confederation of different Christian house-school communities with cultural differences drawn from their origins in different parts of both Western and Eastern empires and presided over by their individual presbyter-bishops. One bishop is arising and claiming sole jurisdiction over other bishops—an ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸ rather than simply an Ď¼É¸Ì¼ĕ¸. It is this description that precisely ¿ts the unique events taking place in Rome and described by the Refutatio. Callistus was accused of desiring “the chair of Episcopal oversight” by a writer who has implicitly denied that there is only one such chair when he has spoken of the presbyter-bishops over each house-school as both successors (»À¸»ÇÏŢ) of the apostles and as sharing (ļ̚ÏÇÅ̼Ë) in the high priesthood (ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸) that they all hold together in common.38 Callistus, in other words, was claiming the title that Tertullian ascribes to his anonymous bishop of Summus Pontifex on the grounds that he has claimed exclusively the sole ÒÉÏÀ¼É¸Ì¼ţ¸. Tertullian is clearly, therefore, commenting upon events that were taking place in his time uniquely within the Roman community. It is perhaps for this reason that he takes pains to emphasize in the De baptismo, as I have indicated, that each individual bishop is summus sacerdos over a common priesthood shared by the presbyterate and laity alike: he presides over the sacraments because of his rank and not because of any essential distinction in the character of his ministry in the Body of Christ.39 Let us now summarize Tertullian’s position in the historical development of the episcopal of¿ce. Conclusion It would be a fundamental error to regard the difference between Tertullian’s “Catholic” and “Montanist” phase as a difference between adherence to a classical and sacerdotal view of Church Order that is rejected by a new movement that claims the activity of the Holy Spirit throughout the whole people of God in place of church hierarchy. Such a view is highly anachronistic as it reads post-Reformation distinctions upon the history of the early Church: it presupposes a settled

1

38. See the discussion above and associated text. 39. See the discussion above and associated text.

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and established hierarchy with a coherent and supportive theological discourse that only began to emerge with Cyprian. It is only in Cyprian’s time that in the West the hierarchy of bishop, presbyters, and deacons become sacerdotal, as it had been since Ignatius in the East, when a Western presbyter ful¿lls the sacerdotal function of doing in the Eucharist precisely what Christ did at the Last Supper and effects through ordination the transmission of the Holy Spirit to both the baptized and the ordained.40 Cyprian not only bears witness to a conÀuence of Eastern and Western traditions on the character of sacred order by the second half of the third century, but also he positively seeks to construct tentatively and embryonically the role of the newly emerged monarchbishop at Rome in the episcopal collegium of the universal church.41 When he became a Montanist Tertullian did not therefore join a charismatic movement that had separated from an episcopally governed hierarchy, let alone a papal one that did not exist universally at a time when the Roman community had only recently developed from a loose confederation of house-school congregations into a structure presided over by a monarch-bishop. It has been long recognized that Montanists in Tertullian’s time did not constitute a separate church but remained a controversial and troublesome group within the church of North Africa. It was such an inner group that Tertullian joined. How he exercised his Montanist convictions can be seen from the De anima, where there is a description of a Montanist lady having visionary experiences. But she enjoys these privately to herself whilst “in the church (in ecclesia) and while the solemn rites of the Lord are in progress (inter dominica sollemnia).” It is only “after the rites have been performed (post transacta sollemnia) when the laity have been dismissed (dimissa plebe)” that she now “will report to us (nobis) what she has seen.” This takes place “according to our accustomed practice (quo usu solet).”42 We should note that the ecclesia is clearly the usual Catholic Eucharist community to whom the vision is not reported. It is only at the conclusion that the visions are communicated “to us,” the spiritually enlightened Montanist group who clearly gather with the psychics but who go beyond their truncated vision. If this was the character of Tertullian’s Montanism, Tertullian clearly always remained within the

40. See the discussion above and associated text. 41. See Brent, Cyprian, 57–68, 109–16, 290–94. 42. Tertullian, De an. 9.4. I follow here the interpretation of U. Neymeyr, Die christlichen Lehrer im zweiten Jahrhundert. Ihre Lehrtätigkeit, ihr Selbstverständnis und ihre Geschichte (VCSup 4; Leiden: Brill, 1989), 129–31. 1

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Catholic Church where Cyprian located him with his description of him as his master or teacher (magister).43 Given this character of his historical background, it would therefore be quite wrong to see Tertullian as originally a defender of ecclesiastical hierarchy but who then opposes that hierarchy when he participates in a formal schism in a later sense. We have seen that, in his so-called Catholic period, the role of bishop was that of high priest over the priesthood of both laity and presbyterate, with his right to preside that of honor and rank (ordo) conceived in terms of secular, Roman social structure and not because of the exclusive possession of the power alone to consecrate the baptismal waters. Tertullian’s “Catholic” bishop was in the apostolic succession, but not like Cyprian’s because as a result of the insufÀation of the Johannine Pentecost he alone could transmit the Spirit through the Church. Rather, bishops were in the apostolic succession not because the apostles had ordained them exclusively, since companions of the apostles had also founded churches. What made them true successors of the apostles was the “family resemblance” (consanguinitas) between the content of their doctrine and that of the apostles, and the entrusted ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾ or depositum ¿dei that they handed on. We have seen how Tertullian’s view of apostolic succession and the transmission of the depositum revealed a blind spot in his reading of Irenaeus and Paul in the New Testament. The view of the ȸɊ»ÇÊÀË, ȸɸ¿ŢÁ¾, or depositum ¿dei both in Irenaeus, Paul, and the Pastoral Epistles, even if requiring an act of ordination, require also the action of the Spirit through the imposition of hands that validates and renews the teaching that is handed on. That blind spot revealed a lack in Tertullian’s personal spiritual development that his Montanist experience was to ¿ll. His opposition to Callistus was not that he was a bishop but that he claimed to be more, an episcopus episcoporum who as a Monarchian he believed to lack consanguinitas with the depositum ¿dei. What Montanism gave Tertullian was a view of the Spirit in the community that his earlier, truncated vision of the character of the ordained ministry had lacked. Blind to essential features of the Irenaean development of the Pauline tradition of ordained ministry enlivened and renewed by the Spirit, he had never possessed much spiritual conviction about the sacramental character of sacred order in his “Catholic” phase. As an individual Christian he therefore had a personal need of what Montanism had to teach him.

1

43. Jerome, Vir. ill. 53.

FROM TERTULLIAN TO PAUL: REFLECTIONS ON ALLEN BRENT’S ESSAY ON TERTULLIAN AND BISHOPS N. T. Wright

The topic of ministry has for too long been a “poor relation” in discussions of Paul. Major debates have raged on the meaning of “justi¿cation” and its relation to “being in Christ”; on the question of salvation history and the future of Israel; on the sociological context of Paul’s communities; on the possible interplay between Paul and the popular philosophies of his day (particularly Stoicism); and, in a recent Àurry, the apparent political implications of Paul’s language about Jesus as “lord” in a world which gave that title to Caesar. Other topics are not forgotten: occasionally some brave souls venture as far as asking about Paul’s ethics; some of the sociological discussions have approached the questions of ecclesiology from new angles; but ministry…well, who has the energy, after all these topics, to disturb the dust on that particular pile of questions? Allen Brent’s essay invites us to contemplate that task, but he raises from the start some interesting questions about what we know of ministry in the Pauline churches and how we know that. Hidden within that “how” are questions of major presuppositions, which need to be named right up front, though Brent only mentions them near the end. I refer to the reading of “post-Reformation distinctions” into the history of the early church. Since most mainstream New Testament scholarship until the last couple of generations was generated and driven from within German Lutheranism, and a particular variety of Lutheranism at that, quite heavily inÀuenced by various Enlightenment philosophical movements, not least Idealism, it has been all too easy to assume a standard modernist version of the post-Reformation position, which goes something like this. Paul, in this picture, was a good Protestant, who preached justi¿cation by faith, which (of course) meant that every believer has direct access to 1

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God apart from human deeds of any sort. Paul’s gospel, therefore, had no room for any exalted ecclesiology or carefully calibrated view of ministry. That was the sort of thing you would expect, at least, from “early Catholicism”—a category invented by F. C. Baur in the midnineteenth century to “explain” how the two main movements he imagined in the very early period (“Jewish Christianity” and “Gentile Christianity,” led by James [and Peter] on the one hand and Paul on the other) came together around the turn of the ¿rst century to produce the theology of people like Ignatius of Antioch. That essentially Hegelian scheme could only be sustained by carefully weeding out of the genuine Pauline corpus anything which looked suspiciously “catholic.” So Ephesians and Colossians, with their high Christology (and Ephesians with its list of ministries in ch. 4) are relegated to the “deutero-Pauline” category; and, even more, the Pastorals, with all their detail about ministry and church organization, have to go as well. We are left, in that scheme, with the supposedly “early” (and by implication “pure”) Pauline communities; and that is where Allen Brent begins. He notes the “Pauline communities” of the early period, visible behind the text of the Corinthian letters, and contrasts them with the “deutero-Pauline communities” to which the Pastoral Epistles were addressed. The early communities are described, often enough, as “charismatic,” with “a charismatic church order in which ministry involved the exercise of a personal charisma.” It is clear enough what this means: a glance at 1 Cor 12 and 14 will show what to modern eyes looks like a cheerfully semi-chaotic mixture of gifts and ministries, thrown together into a pre-liturgical worship setting in which the community needs to be reminded that God is a God not of confusion but of peace (1 Cor 14:33). It is not only nineteenth-century liberal Protestants who have highlighted this as the basic, presumably “pure,” early Christian worship. The Romantic philosophy according to which the “primitive” experience is the genuine reality and anything which introduces “formality” is a late, degenerate corruption has soaked very deep into the consciousness of Western modernity, producing all sorts of crises, by no means con¿ned to the church, which would be amusing if they were not so damaging. Churches that begin as free-and-easy “house-churches,” with no formal leadership, ¿nances, liturgy, or buildings can develop all of the latter quite quickly. If they do not have a thought-out and speci¿cally Christian vision of how all those things work, perfectly properly, in a healthy human society, such churches can all too easily assimilate to the rather obvious models available in the surrounding culture. Anyone familiar with the free-church scene in North America over the last two generations will ¿nd plenty of examples. That has not prevented an entire 1

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generation of commentators taking for granted the divisions wished on Paul in the nineteenth century. The fashions of scholarship then become “laws of the Medes and Persians” which scholars challenge at their peril. Thus, even conservative Protestants on the one hand, and scholarly Catholics on the other, who wish to treat Ephesians, Colossians and the Pastoral Epistles as part of the Pauline corpus, regularly feel the need to justify this move. Exposing the ideological roots of historical hypotheses—in this case, the separation of the “early Pauline communities” visible in the Corinthian correspondence from the “deutero-Pauline communities” visible in the Pastorals—does not mean for a moment, of course, that there are no problems about accepting all thirteen “Pauline” letters as a single body. One would have to be quite unobservant, for instance, not to notice that the Greek style of 1 Timothy is signi¿cantly different from the whole of the rest of the corpus; indeed, I have sometimes surmised that in terms of style if 1 Timothy did not exist there would never have been a “problem of the Pastorals.” However, stylistic variation is not everything. The differences between 1 Corinthians and 2 Corinthians are striking (and can be explained, I believe, by the very different mood of Paul in dictating the two letters), but nobody for that reason thinks they were by two different people or reÀect a different theology. My only point—though it is important precisely for discussions of ministry, sacraments, and the like—is that just as Western Protestants have tended to retroject the sixteenth-century debates about justi¿cation back onto Paul and his “Judaizing” opponents (the main point of the so-called new perspective) so it is more than likely that the same mainstream scholarship has retrojected similar debates about church, ministry, and sacraments onto Paul and his second- and third-century would-be followers. Thus, the Pastorals come to represent a kind of middle stage, the beginning of the formalization of ministries, between the early, charismatic Paul and the later hierarchical and sacerdotal ministries that have so troubled Protestant theologians. Tertullian and the others then represent various positions in the differentiated attempt to reinhabit Pauline and other early models. That, substantially, is the story Brent tells. I put all this on the table from the start because it seems to me that when we examine Paul himself—in the letters almost universally acknowledged to be from him—then several things emerge which one might not have imagined from the normal picture, and which show, to my mind, that he offered a more nuanced and multi-layered background to the developments of the second and third centuries than might be imagined. Allen Brent rightly highlights the ministries of the word as 1

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central to some of the developments in the second and third centuries and shows how Paul’s all-important notion of the Spirit was sometimes present and at other times disturbingly absent from some of those developments. But what I think needs to be probed more fully is the way in which Paul himself, rooted as he was in Judaism, was perfectly happy to do three things which the normal picture of liberal Protestantism would have preferred him not to do. First, he was able to discuss the Eucharist (in 1 Cor 10 and 11) in parallel both to the Jewish Passover and to the sacri¿cial feasts of paganism. Second, he used, to our minds almost randomly, the language of priesthood and sacri¿ce to highlight various aspects of his own ministry. Third, he seems from the start to have seen the need for, and the appropriateness of, human ministries through which, by the Spirit, God’s ordering and directing of the church would be accomplished. Though he did not put these three things together in the way that writers two or three centuries later were to do, I think the presence of all three in his writings shows the weakness of the normal reading in which “Paul” plays the romantic early charismatic and later thinkers like Tertullian get to play the parts of the proto-Catholic villains responsible for the hardening of the arteries of a previously vibrant, non-hierarchical, and non-sacerdotal ministry. There was, of course, development; that is obvious. All movements develop and adapt to new surroundings and challenges. The question is whether those changes are driven from within, by drawing out elements that are already latent, or from without, by importing into the movement features borrowed from other cultures that are fundamentally alien to what the movement was really all about. Here there is a different problem, which we cannot explore here. Some have seen Paul reacting against “Judaism,” so that any apparent borrowing from Jewish sources represents a dangerous falling back into a religion that Paul had left behind. Others see Paul as still a very “Jewish” thinker, still reacting like a Jew against paganism, so that any borrowing from paganism represents a dangerous decline. These are of course gross oversimpli¿cations but they have been important in the debates. The danger of that oversimpli¿cation shows up right away in the ¿rst of our categories. In 1 Corinthians, Paul discusses the Eucharist in a way which allows resonances to be heard both from Jewish ritual meals such as Passover and from the pagan sacri¿cial cult. He does not seem as concerned as his later interpreters to distance himself entirely from either. Indeed, as has sometimes been pointed out, his eucharistic discussions in 1 Cor 10 and 11 are a good example of a wider phenomenon: had 1 Corinthians been lost, generations of liberal Protestants would no 1

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doubt have complained to Catholics that Paul, the ¿rst Christian writer, knew nothing of the Eucharist, which would then appear to be a late innovation, a dangerous import of “Catholic” practice into Paul’s nonliturgical churches, and of course projected ¿ctitiously back on to Jesus himself, “on the night when he was betrayed.” As it is, however, we know simply from these two chapters not only that the Eucharist was a central and vital part of the Pauline churches but that Paul, in one of his own rare appeals to “tradition,” insists that it goes right back to Jesus himself. The key passage is 1 Cor 10:14–22, where Paul uses both the Jewish meals and the pagan ones as direct analogies to explain what is happening at the Lord’s Supper: Therefore, my dear people, run away from idolatry. I’m speaking as to intelligent people: you yourselves must weigh my words. The cup of blessing which we bless is a sharing in the Messiah’s blood, isn’t it? The bread we break is a sharing in the Messiah’s body, isn’t it? There is one loaf; well, then, there may be several of us, but we are one body, because we all share the one loaf. Consider ethnic Israel. Those who eat from the sacri¿ces share in the altar, don’t they? So what am I saying? That idol-food is real, or that an idol is a real being? No: but when they offer sacri¿ces, they offer them to demons, not to God. And I don’t want you to be table-partners with demons. You can’t drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You can’t share in the table of the Lord and the table of demons. Surely you don’t want to provoke the Lord to jealousy? We aren’t stronger than him, are we?1

Paul, of course, is explicitly distancing himself and his congregations from the world of paganism; and yet the analogies hold. Pagan meals, and even Jewish ones at their altars, are as it were pointers to the reality. Verse 18 (“Consider ethnic Israel…”) allows us cautiously to guess that if we had pressed Paul for more explanation about the blessing of the cup and the breaking of the bread he might have unpacked those ideas, and the notion of “sharing” he mentions there, precisely in terms of altar and sacri¿ce. The idea of “sharing” (my translation here for the root koinonos) is the same in both cases: the bread and wine are the koinonia of the Messiah’s body and blood, on the analogy of those eating the sacri¿ce become koinonoi with the altar—in other words (we must assume), with the God who meets Israel at that altar. 1. Translation from N. T. Wright, The Kingdom New Testament: A Contemporary Translation (New York: HarperOne, 2011), a work published in the UK as The New Testament for Everyone (London: SPCK, 2011). Unless otherwise noted, all subsequent translations of the New Testament are from this version. 1

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This short exegetical step is some way, of course, from the idea of a speci¿c vocation or authorization to certain persons that they, rather than others, should preside at the Lord’s Supper, or that when doing so they should be thought of in “priestly” terms. Yet, to move to our second point, Paul does use just that language of himself in other contexts, in a way which makes it slightly less unlikely than is often thought that he would be comfortable with “priestly” language in the way it was later developed in the church. To put it another way: if Paul had been as worried about “priestcraft” as the average Western Protestant has been, he would certainly have stayed away altogether from the language we ¿nd him using in, for instance, Rom 15: “…the grace which God has given me to enable me to be a minister of King Jesus for the nations, working in the priestly service of God’s good news, so that the offering of the nations may be acceptable, sancti¿ed in the holy spirit” (Rom 15:15–16). Here is Paul, going up from Greece to Jerusalem, and speaking in terms reminiscent of a priest going up from his village to offer sacri¿ce in the Temple in Jerusalem—only now the sacri¿ce is not an animal to be killed, but the offering of the Gentile nations. The Greek is ambiguous: hƝ prosphora ton ethnon, “the sacri¿ce of the Gentiles,” could be either “the sacri¿ce which consists of the Gentiles” (i.e., which Paul is bringing and offering) or “the sacri¿ce which the Gentiles are making” (i.e., which they are bringing and offering through Paul’s work). Paul here seems to be referring to the eschatological promise of Isa 66:20 (“They shall bring all your kindred from all the nations as an offering to the Lord,” NRSV), with echoes too of Mal 1:11 (“in every place incense is offered to my name, and a pure offering”). Obviously this is not the same as the eucharistic use of Malachi by Irenaeus, but it is not a million miles away, in my judgment, either. In any case, and perhaps not least because of these resonances, Paul is not worried about using “priestly” language at this point, even though it will awaken echoes of the Jerusalem cult. On the contrary, it all seems to be quite deliberate. This may be the moment to make another point about anachronistic readings: for some reason the Reformers regularly warned against Catholic sacramentalism on the grounds that the Mass, seen as a sacri¿ce, was both an addition to the once-for-all sacri¿ce of Christ on the cross, and also in consequence a human “good work” designed to earn God’s favor. Paul never even hints at that kind of critique of the Jerusalem sacri¿cial cult, nor does any such polemic play any role in his exposition of “justi¿cation by faith.” He would no doubt have agreed with the Letter to the Hebrews that the cult was made redundant by the death of Jesus, but it remained a good, God-given ordinance, and carried no negative overtones when he referred to it, as here, metaphorically. 1

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Similar cultic language is used in Phil 2: “Yes: even if I am to be poured out like a drink offering on the sacri¿ce and service of your faith, I shall celebrate, and celebrate jointly, with you all” (Phil 2:17). This language, once again, echoes both Jewish and pagan practices. Though it is more clearly stretching the metaphor, with the Philippians’ faith being the “sacri¿cial animal” and Paul’s own life being the drink offering poured on top, Paul is still quite happy to use a metaphor which would have alarmed many of his modern Protestant readers. This brings us to our third category. As Allen Brent points out, Paul himself believed that his own calling as an apostle included the vocation to stand over against the “potential charismatic chaos,” and bring his authority to bear with a view, as he says, not to pull down but to build up (2 Cor 13:10). But this, we may surmise, was not out on a limb in terms of his overall theology. There is not, after all, such a great theological gap between the list of “spiritual gifts” in 1 Cor 12 and the list of “ministries” in Eph 4; and both reÀect the deeply Jewish and Christian belief that humans are made by the creator God in order to reÀect his wise stewardship into the world. For Paul, Jesus the Messiah is of course the one true “image” of the living God (2 Cor 4:4; Col 1:15); but all those who are called by the gospel are called to be conformed to that “image” (Rom 8:29; Col 3:10). For Paul, this “image-bearing” capacity necessarily involves the work of humans in bringing God’s will to pass within his world; humans are neither mere passive recipients, nor spectators, of God’s saving work, but having been called by grace they are put to work within those gracious purposes by God’s spirit. There is a whole other question, too large for our present purposes, as to the extent to which Paul’s ordering of ministries within his newly founded churches (as in the famous greeting in Phil 1:1) reÀects genuine innovation or an attempt to reproduce, within the body he could refer to as “the Jew” (Rom 2:28) or “the circumcision” (Phil 3:3), the ministerial and organizational structures, such as they were, of the ¿rst-century synagogue. Any attempt to trace developments from Paul to Tertullian and beyond ought, I think, to take careful note of that context. What I suggest, though, behind and beyond such possibilities, is that Paul’s theological understanding of human societies and of individual human roles within them was consonant with his belief that in Jesus the Messiah the one true God had brought about his new creation, already launched though yet to be consummated, and that his view of speci¿c vocations within the Messiah’s body has just that combination of human dignity and task, on the one hand, and humility and service on the other, which characterizes all through his “now and not yet” eschatology, here applied to humans and their work in particular. 1

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It seems to me clear, therefore, over against any ultra-Protestant (or ultra-Romantic!) notions of a Àat egalitarianism in which no Christian was ever called to exercise authority over any other(s), that Paul developed quite naturally, albeit in a rudimentary fashion, a theological understanding of a differentiated ministry. All this took place, of course, under the rubric of dying to self and coming alive to God in the Messiah and the power of the Spirit, but it pointed forward nevertheless to the recognition by the community, and the exercise by the individual, of speci¿c gifts for the service of all, for the building up of the Messiah’s body. It is within this larger framework, it seems to me, that all Allen Brent says about the ministry of the word and the handing on of traditions then takes place. By themselves such elements are telltale signs of a larger whole; the larger whole is the entire Pauline vision of the calling of humans to share in the work of the kingdom of God. For Paul, all of this was itself framed within that remarkable narrative of “new exodus” which he believed had taken place, and was taking place, in and through Jesus and his Spirit. The Corinthians are taught to look back to the ¿rst exodus in order to understand their own lives and the dangers they now face (1 Cor 10). Paul uses “exodus” language in two central passages to frame not only his account of the redeeming work of God in Christ but also the new life of the Spirit (Rom 8:12–17; Gal 4:1–7). I suspect there is much yet to learn about Paul’s view of ministries within the church by reading the now-traditional questions within this larger story, and I suspect that when that is done all kinds of things in Irenaeus, Tertullian, and other fathers will gain more resonance with the apostle than might before have appeared (for instance, the typology of baptism, not just as a sign of new creation, but more speci¿cally in relation to the crossing of the Red Sea). And, of course, with that same narrative we ¿nd precisely the ¿gures of Moses and Aaron, the prophet/teacher and the priest, who as Brent has shown ¿gure as models for some early teachers. Putting all this together, I believe we can see in Paul, whatever we say about the provenance of the Pastoral Epistles, the outlines and rudiments of a theological understanding of the church in which, by the Spirit’s leading, men and women are called to exercise responsibility and/or authority in the church; in which, among the ministries thus highlighted, Paul might well speak in the language of the Jerusalem cult; and in which, among other activities of the church, the Eucharist might be spoken of in the same way. This is not to say, of course, that Paul had developed, as it were in embryo, that understanding of ministry which came to be expressed by the great Fathers of the second, third, and fourth centuries. But it is to say that when we ¿nd those ideas being explored 1

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and developed in the ways they were, we should not suppose that the Paul of the “early charismatic” community would have been horri¿ed at the very thought. He would have insisted—this is after all what 2 Corinthians is all about—that the marks of an apostle, and likewise of a presbyteros, an episkopos, or a diakonos, or indeed their female equivalents, were the signs that revealed, through the paradox of suffering, the glory of God in the face of Jesus the Messiah. Insofar as this outline program for Christian ministry anticipated both the “Catholic” and “Montanist” elements in Tertullian’s life, Paul might have hoped that the great theologian could have held them together more securely and permanently, but he would have wanted strongly to af¿rm the God-given nature of both.

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8 TERTULLIAN AND PAUL: THE WEALTH OF CHRISTIANS Helen Rhee

Tertullian, the elite Christian apologist and the ¿rst Latin theologian at the turn of the third century, was an adult convert with a classical education and signi¿cant resources who was familiar with and demonstrated sophisticated Roman literary culture in Carthage.1 We see a broad spectrum of social locations among Tertullian’s audiences and community. Tertullian addresses his treatises to Christians of “birth and wealth,” particularly women (e.g., De idol. 18.3, 9; De cul. fem. 2.9.4–6; Ad. ux. 2.3–4, 8), and he refers to the Christian “women and men of highest rank” (Ad Scap. 3.4; 4.5–6; 5.2; cf. Apol. 37.4), slave owners (De pat. 10.5; De paen. 4.4; De res. carn. 57.12; Adv. Marc. 1.23.7), the uneducated (Adv. Prax. 3.1), and the poor (De pat. 7.3; cf. De pat. 15.3; Adv. Marc. 4.14.2), and favors Christian marriage between social unequals (Ad ux. 2.8.). However, the subject of the wealth of Christians is neither self-contained nor systematic in Tertullian’s writings in general, and in Tertullian’s reading of “the Apostle” in particular.2 It is scattered in his works, but his views of wealth conform to his overall vision of Christianity as the speci¿c manifestation of and testament to Christian identity, conduct, and reality in the pagan world. While he employs different rhetorical and rational arguments to get his points across on this matter, Tertullian draws on the two main authorities when he uses the Scripture: dominical teachings and examples (recorded in the Synoptic Gospels) and the Pauline Letters. As I proceed, I will ¿rst note brieÀy Tertullian’s interpretive approach to the Scripture as it pertains to our topic. Then, I will trace Tertullian’s treatment of wealth (and poverty) in 1. See Timothy D. Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971), 69, 195–96; Geoffrey D. Dunn, Tertullian (London: Routledge, 2004), 5. 2. This is how Tertullian typically refers to the Apostle Paul in his treatises.

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light of his larger theological framework and polemical and controversial contexts. Finally, I will point out the ways in which Tertullian engages in this topic by using the Pauline texts in a few of his writings—both how his reading of Paul expresses his view on wealth/the wealthy and poverty/the poor and how the latter also affects the former. Tertullian as an Exegete of the Scripture If there are any general principles in Tertullian’s use and exegesis of the Scripture, they would be his claims that only the genuine Christians, not the heretics, had the right to use and interpret the Scripture, which has its internal unity as God’s revealed truth, and that the church’s regula ¿dei should be the authoritative norm and guide for a correct scriptural interpretation by the Christians.3 Nonetheless, these hermeneutical principles were still subject to the most fundamental goal of his writings: “to attain a certitude that the opponent cannot undermine by any form of argument” and “a clarity which admit of no ambiguity” whether in combating heretics, defending Christianity against pagans, or persuading or debating with fellow Christians.4 To this end, a consistency is not necessarily his exegetical method or principle, but his controversial and polemical contexts and his vision of Christianity drawn from the Scripture; the former is relative to the latter and his audience and style become occasional depending on the particular controversy or argument of the opponents with which he was dealing.5 For Tertullian, “the Scriptures were to be interpreted in whatever way best supported the faith believed and lived by the Christian community,” whether it be allegory, typology, or literal reading in their historical context although his striving for a certitude and a clarity through simple and concise reading led him to favor the literal interpretation by and large.6 “Holy Scripture is,” in 3. On this topic, see J. H. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Principles and Methods of Exegesis,” in Early Christian Literature and the Christian Intellectual Tradition: In Honorem Robert M. Grant (ed. W. R. Schoedel and R. L. Wilken; Paris: Beauchesne, 1979), 17–31; Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis in de praescriptione haereticorum,” JECS 14 (2006): 141–55; L. William Countryman, “Tertullian and the Regula Fidei,” SecCent 2 (1982): 208–27; John F. Jansen, “Tertullian and the New Testament,” SecCent 2 (1982): 199–207. See also, in general, Thomas P. O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible: Language, Imagery, Exegesis (Nijmegen: Dekker & Van De Vegt, 1967). 4. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Exegesis,” 19, 30, respectively. 5. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis,” 151; also Heinrich Karpp, Schrift und Geist bei Tertullian (BFCT 47; Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1955), 21–29. 6. Dunn, “Tertullian’s Scriptural Exegesis,” 155. 1

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Tertullian’s context of polemics then, “to be cited as a witness for the correctness of his statements and assertions, and the only thing required from witnesses is that they be reliable.”7 This also proves to be the case in his discussion of wealth. Tertullian on Wealth, the Rich, and the Poor When Tertullian addresses or makes references to wealth (and poverty), it is directed to Christians who are already on the journey of Christian faith and yet must persevere to the end (cf. De prae. haer. 3.6). As a “seal” of salvation that brings about remission of sins, rebirth, and the gift of the Holy Spirit,8 baptism marks a new beginning of a life-long upward journey toward maturity and perfection in imitation of God which requires constant vigilance, discipline, struggle against temptations and vices, and cultivation of virtues until the end.9 In order not to fall from grace after baptism, a Christian must refrain from sin and progress in sanctity by assiduous disciplines and good works (cf. De paen. 7.10; De pud. 1.10). His characteristic way of understanding this life of salvation is consistency between inner reality and virtue of Christianity and its outer expression and conduct, or lifestyle.10 In this effort to achieve consistency, “fear (timor) is the true foundation of our salvation (salus), whereas presumption is a hindrance to fear…for apprehending will lead us to fear, fearing to caution, and caution to salvation” (De cul. fem. 2.2.2–3). Christians’ ful¿lling of God’s will on earth through their visible obedience to God’s disciplines enables the ful¿llment of God’s will in heaven and effects their salvation in heaven and on earth (De or. 4.2). Therefore, Christian appearance, discipline, good works, and merit, clearly laid out by God’s law and will as the external means of ascertaining Christian truth and faith, are crucial indicators of the internal state of the soul and absolutely critical and integral to one’s salvation (e.g., De or. 4.2; 5.1; De paen. 6.4; De exh. cast. 2.3; Adv. Marc. 2.6.7; 4.31.1). For this reason, Tertullian gives meticulous attention to disciplinary matters, 7. Waszink, “Tertullian’s Exegesis,” 19. 8. De paen. 7.10; De bapt. 4–5; 12. Cf. other contemporary Christian understandings of baptism, such as, Herm., Vis. 3.3; Sim. 8.2.2; 9.13; Mand. 4.3; Justin, 1 Apol. 1.61; Theophilus, Autol. 2.16; Origen, Hom. Lev. 2.4.5; Acts Paul 25; Acts Thom. 121. 9. Cf. Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.105.1; 6.71.3–72.1; Quis. div. 3, 40; Origen, Hom. Josh. 1.6; De or. 29.13. 10. Dennis E. Groh, “Tertullian’s Polemic Against Social Co-Optation,” CH 40 (1971): 7–14 (13). 1

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even matters of spectacles, modesty, veiling, dress, ornaments, wealth, and a soldier’s crown, in his treatises.11 All of these should conform to the law of Christ that is established by Scripture, attested by nature, and carried out by discipline (De virg. vel. 16.1–2). Addressing the wealthy Christian women of Carthage in On the Apparel of Women (De cultu feminarum), Tertullian links their dress, cosmetics, and apparel to their salvation: “Salvation…not of women only, but also of men, is especially to be procured in the observance of modesty (in exhibitione…pudicitiae). For, since we are all temples of God because the Holy Spirit has entered into us and sancti¿ed us (Nam cum omnes templum Dei simus, inlato innos et consecrato Spiritu Sancto), modesty is the sacristan and priestess of that temple” (De cul. fem. 2.1.1; cf. 1 Cor 3.16; 6.19; 2 Cor 6.16). For Tertullian, “we” as the temples of God refer to not “merely” a corporate Christian community but also individual Christians (pl.) into which the Holy Spirit entered and consecrated; that is, it is a matter of individual (personal) piety as well as corporate experience. The inner work of the sanctifying Spirit must manifest in each Christian who constitutes the Christian assembly, that is, in the modesty of each Christian who represents the whole Christian community (to the pagans). Indeed, it “is not enough for Christian modesty merely to be, but also to be seen. Its fullness ought to be so great that it Àow out from the mind to the dress and erupt forth from the conscience unto the surface, so that even from without it may survey, as it were, its ornament, which may be ¿t for faith’s maintaining forever” (De cul. fem. 2.13.3; Groh’s translation). The salvi¿c faith must show itself in the world by each Christian and carry exact external or visible form, otherwise it is not faith at all.12 In this overall vision of salvation and Christian life, wealth, which is essentially granted by God but is fraught with dangers, temptations, and problems to souls and human relationships, presents Christians a unique challenge and opportunity to demonstrate their spiritual state and persevere in their salvation and thereby to distinguish themselves from pagans. First of all, Tertullian takes up the issue of wealth, the rich, and the poor in his anti-heretical polemic, Against Marcion, where he defends the fundamental unity of God in the Old and New Testaments as both the Creator and the Redeemer against Marcion’s dichotomy between the two and radical asceticism in rejection of the material world. In this context, Tertullian points out that God the Creator, who out of his generosity supplied the Israelites with material provisions and made Solomon rich, 11. Cf. ibid. 12. L. Raditsa, “The Appearance of Women and Contact: Tertullian’s De Habitu Feminarum,” Athenaeum 63 (1985): 297–326 (305). 1

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does grant material things and riches to his people because by them the rich get “ease and comfort, and with them are performed many works of justice and charity” (opera iustitiae et dilectionis) (Adv. Marc. 4.26.5–9; 4.15.8; 4.29.1). While God and money are antithetical as the latter is “the author of unrighteousness, and the tyrant of all human society” (14.33.1), and while God does condemn boastfulness of riches (divitiarum gloriam, 14.28.11), Christ, who showed the unity of God, rather than ridding money away from God’s service, advises us to use worldly possessions to procure ourselves future friendships and support, that is, eschatological salvation (14.33.1–2 on Luke 16:1–17)—attested by the example of the servant who, when dismissed from of¿ce, acquitted his lord’s debtors by reducing their debts. Taking up Luke 17:21, where Jesus tells the Pharisees, “The kingdom of God is within you,” Tertullian strongly exhorts “everyone” to interpret the phrase, “within you,” as “ ‘in your hand,’ ‘within your power,’ if you give ear, if you do the commandment [sg.] of God” (4.35.12). Tertullian, who interprets this verse in light of Deut 30:11–14, says that the kingdom of God is in his commandment and his commandment is in our mouths, in our hearts, and in our hands to do it (4.35.13), just as the will of God is to be done and the kingdom is to come in our capacity to do it (De or. 4.2; 5.1). In the words of Ramsey Michaels, “[the kingdom’s] presence depends on something they [the Pharisees] must ‘do’.”13 Then, how does Tertullian understand what “the commandment of God” (dei praeceptum) is? Commenting on the discourse between Jesus and the rich young man (Luke 18:18–22) who asked Jesus, the “Good Teacher” of God’s commandment, how he could obtain eternal life, Tertullian indicates the signi¿cance of Jesus’ answer in pointing the rich man to the “Creator’s commandments [pl.], in such form as to testify that by the Creator’s commandments [pl.] eternal life is obtained” (4.36.4, italics added).14 To the rich man’s answer that he had kept them since his youth, Christ did not rescind those former commandments (the Decalogue) but “both retained these and added what was lacking,” namely, selling all that he had and giving to the poor (4.36.4–5).15 “And yet,” Tertullian writes, “even this commandment [sg.] of distributing to the 13. J. Ramsey Michaels, “Almsgiving and the Kingdom Within: Tertullian on Luke 17:21,” CBQ 60 (1998): 475–83 (480, italics added). 14. On Tertullian’s interpretation of Luke 17:21 and of almsgiving as God’s commandment leading to the kingdom/eternal life in the story of a rich ruler in Luke 18, see ibid., 479–83. 15. Compare “all that thou hast” (quaecunque habes) in 4.36.4 with “what you have” (quae habes) in 4.36.7. 1

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poor is spread about everywhere in the law and the prophets,” so that it led to “the boastful commandment-keeper’s” conviction of “having money in much higher esteem” and, therefore, not to his attainment of salvation (4.36.5, italics added). In this context, Tertullian’s idea of God’s commandment (sg.), without which eternal life could not be obtained, is precisely “distributing [one’s possessions] to the poor” and, with that addition, Jesus “both conserved and enriched” the Decalogue and proved that he ful¿lled the Mosaic Law (4.36.6). By “distributing to the poor” Tertullian does not mean literal abandonment of wealth (voluntary poverty) but almsgiving. Almsgiving, a visible act, ful¿lls both doing justice and loving mercy of Mic 6:6 and the “one thing” required by Christ for salvation (4.36.7; cf. 4.27.6–9). Thus, for Christians, wealth, while given by God, does not have any value in itself except in giving and sharing and therefore as an instrument to attaining salvation through works of charity as it has been in the Old Testament. How about Tertullian’s view of the rich and the poor? Discussing the beatitudes and the woes in the Gospel of Luke (6:20–22),16 Tertullian af¿rms that with the very character and attributes of God the Creator17 who “always expresses his love for the indigent (mendicos), the poor (pauperes), the humble, and the widows and orphans, comforting, protecting, and avenging them” (4.14.2; 4.14.13; cf. 5.3.6)18 throughout the Old Testament (Isaiah in particular), Christ, “the comforter of the indigent” (4.15.8), identi¿ed his ministry as proclaiming the good news to the poor from the outset (Luke 4:18), blessed the poor, and pronounced to them the ownership of God’s kingdom (4.14.7; cf. Ad ux. 2.8.5). At the same time, Christ’s disapproval of the rich, expressed in his woes (Luke 6:22), testi¿es to the Creator’s own disapproval of them throughout the Old Testament (prophetic texts in particular) (4.15.6–8). Christ’s woe to the rich, which came from the Creator himself, adds a

16. The Lukan Gospel was the only Gospel included (albeit in an abridged form) in Marcion’s canon along with ten Pauline Letters (not containing the Pastoral Letters). Hence, Tertullian calls the Lukan Gospel “your gospel” (5.3.6). 17. This is typically how Tertullian addresses the God of the Old Testament, against Marcion who believed the creator god in the Old Testament was ignorant, vengeful, and different from the Supreme God, the Unknown Father of Christ the Redeemer, who was purely spiritual and did not create the material world. 18. Note Tertullian’s distinction between the indigent (the absolute poor) and the poor (the relative poor), corresponding to the typical distinction in Greco-Roman society. For Clement of Alexandria and Origen, as for most Christian writers, perhaps except Hermas, the poor typically meant the indigent (ptǀchoi), not the “working poor” (penƝtƝs). 1

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new threat against the rich besides his dissuasion from riches (4.15.13); for the rich have already received their comfort from their worldly riches due to “the reputation they bring and the worldly bene¿ts” (4.15.9). For Tertullian, both Testaments (as the Scripture is one) are straightforward with and consistent in “God’s preferential option for the poor.” Tertullian takes for granted the pious poor and the oppressive rich tradition19 and does not allegorize or interiorize wealth and poverty or the rich and the poor, as his contemporary Alexandrian colleagues (e.g., Clement of Alexandria and Origen) do. Tertullian’s Reading of Paul and the Wealth of Christians De patientia We continue Tertullian’s understanding of the wealth of Christians especially in this section with his reading of Paul scattered in some of his writings. In the context of addressing Christian patience in the face of many ills in life, including the loss of property, Tertullian initially frames his argument after the dominical example of indifference toward money (De pat. 7.2). The Lord “has set disdain for wealth ahead of the endurance of losses, pointing out through his rejection of riches that one should make no account of the loss of them” (De pat. 7.3). The Lord, who himself was poor (“without money”), “always justi¿es the poor and condemns the rich” (De pat. 7.3). Here Tertullian not only con¿rms the inherited notion of the pious poor and the wicked rich but also intensi¿es his (Christian) devaluation of wealth with a citation of the Lord’s own example of repudiating wealth. Since the Lord did not seek wealth, we need not seek it either and “ought to bear the deprivation of even the theft of it without regret” (De pat. 7.4). Tertullian intends to show the unity of the scriptural teaching (thus to prove his point) by citing the Apostle Paul. The Spirit of the Lord (i.e., the author of Scripture) through the apostle (who certainly followed the Lord’s teaching) called “the desire of money (cupiditas) the root of all evils” (1 Tim 6:10; De pat. 7.5; cf. De idol. 11.1). Tertullian translates Greek pleonexia (“love of money”; greed) to cupiditas (cf. Vulgate: avaritia) and interprets that the desire of money refers to “the desire for that which belongs to another” (concupiscentia alieni tantum constitutam) (De pat. 7.5). What is implied here is that “love of money” is more

19. Note Adv. Marc. 4.28.11: “I have already in another connection suf¿ciently proved that boastfulness of riches is condemned by our God, who puts down the mighty from their seat and lifts up the poor from the dunghill” (cf. 1 Sam 2:8). 1

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than hoarding one’s own possessions (which turn out to be not one’s own anyways) through miserliness or displaying them through conspicuous consumption as commonly treated in Greco-Roman moral writings (e.g., Plutarch’s On Love of Wealth [De cupiditate divitiarum]). It is the acquisitive spirit which by nature is never satis¿ed with one’s own but always crosses a boundary of one’s “private property” for something that belongs to another. However, note Tertullian’s next statement that “even that which seems to be our own belongs to another” (nam et quod nostrum uidetur alienum est). “Another” here turns out to be not another human being but God, for Tertullian immediately points out that we (human beings) own nothing and God is the owner of all things, including us (De pat. 7.5; cf. Ps 24.1). Thus, any possible opposition claiming that one does not commit cupiditas since s/he is concerned or preoccupied only with one’s own properties and does not covet those of others becomes moot. If Christians fret and are impatient for “their” material loss, they “will be found to possess a desire for money (cupiditas), since [they] grieve over the loss of that which is not [their] own” (De pat. 7.6). Tertullian’s interpretation fundamentally characterizes cupiditas as a spiritual problem rather than a social problem (though they are certainly connected). Hence, when a Christian is unable to bear his or her material loss, s/he sins directly against God (De pat. 7.7), since cupiditas is essentially an offence to God’s sovereign ownership and a false and pretentious claim to our non-ownership. Then, an impatient Christian also behaves like a pagan by valuing earthly goods over heavenly goods and thus exhibiting a serious attachment to the world (De pat. 7.11) which manifests in reluctance in almsgiving (to the needy) (De pat. 7.8); but patience to endure loss is a “training in giving and sharing” since the one “who does not fear loss is not reluctant to give” (De pat. 7.9). Therefore, just as patience is a virtue that de¿nes Christian’s relationship with God and his/her “neighbors,” impatience in loss is a vice that disrupts and eventually destroys both vertical and horizontal relationships. As pagans are unable to endure loss, just consider to what extent they would go in order to pursue wealth: “they engage in lucrative but dangerous commerce on the sea; …they unhesitatingly engage in transactions also in the forum, even though there be reason to fear loss; they do it, in ¿ne, when they hire themselves out for the games and military service or when, in desolate regions, they commit robbery regardless of the wild beasts” (De pat. 7.12). In contrast, it be¿ts Christians “to give up not our life for money but money for our life, either by voluntary charity or by the patient endurance of loss” (De pat. 7.13). 1

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De cultu feminarum As impatientia over material loss reveals one’s inordinate desire for and attachment to wealth, which was inspired by none other than the Satan (De pat. 5.3–4), this nefarious desire is closely associated with the two other motives, ambitio and gloria, with which Tertullian further probes the problem of wealth and its acquisition and manifestation.20 ReÀecting the current use of these terms in wider literature, for Tertullian, ambitio is “desire without proper limits,” which manifests itself in the immoderate desire for or the unrestrained use of wealth.21 In On the Apparel of Women, in which he addresses the wealth of Christian women that is exhibited in their extravagance and luxury of dress and adornment (cf. De or. 20.1–2), Tertullian de¿nes ambitio as a vicious cycle of an unending movement with boundless desire: from scarcity (of goods/material, not from its origin or use) is born the “desire to possess” (concupiscentiam…habendi); from this desire to possess comes ambitio, that is, immoderate desire (immoderate habendi)” (De cul. fem. 1.9.1–2). From this unlimited ambitio is born “a desire of glory” (gloria), a “grand desire” for magni¿cence and self-exaltation, which in turn does not come from nature or truth but from “a vicious passion (concupiscentia) of the mind” (De cul. fem. 1.9.2; 2.9.5). Then, the insatiable desire for wealth (ambitio and cupiditas) and the unrestricted desire for selfaggrandizement (gloria) feed upon each other and, along with the “want of suf¿ciency” (insuf¿cientia), result in the “worldly concupiscence” (concupiscentia saeculi) of striving for visible honors, luxuries, dignity, and power of this passing world under God’s wrath (Ad ux. 1.4.6; cf. De cul. fem. 2.3.2; 2.9.5; De idol. 18). The toxic power of gloria and ambitio is so potent that “one damsel carries the whole income from a large fortune on her small body” (1.9.3). They in fact drive and characterize Roman social, political, religious, and intellectual life with pursuit of public ostentation, praise, vanity, and conspicuous consumption (e.g., De cul. fem. 2.9.5; 2.10.1; 2.11.1; Adv. Marc. 4.34.17; Apol. 38.3; De pal. 4.6; De an. 52.3; De spect. 25.3). And although Christ abolished the worldly glory (De idol. 9.4), the gloria tempts and contaminates wealthy Christian women in particular in the latter’s efforts of “glorying in the Àesh” and in the world as the opposites of Christian humility

20. This paragraph is partially dependent on Dennis Groh’s classic study, Groh, “Christian Community,” 71–74. 21. Ibid., 72, and “Tertullian’s Polemic,” 9. For examples of these terms in the Latin texts, see Groh, “Christian Community,” 72–73, 152–54; “Tertullian’s Polemic,” 9 nn. 14–15, 10 nn. 23–25. 1

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(De cul. fem. 2.3.2; 2.9.5; cf. De virg. vel. 13.2), suf¿ciency, modesty (Ad ux. 1.4.7), and frugality (De spect. 7.5). Tertullian indeed makes sure that his “fellow servants and sisters” get the clear and close connection among the twin vices of ambitio and gloria, luxurious cultus (dress consisting of gold, silver, jewels, precious stones, and clothes) and licentious ornatus (cosmetics including care of hair, skin, and body), and their diabolical origin contrary to Christian modesty. Women’s ornaments and make-up are the inventions of the fallen angels (who were attracted to women by their natural beauty; cf. Gen 6:2) because they wanted to make women offensive to God, like themselves, knowing that “all ostentation, ambition (ambitio), and love achieved by carnal pleasure would be displeasing to God” (De cul. fem. 1.2.4). Cultus serves ambitio for gloria (i.e., impressing people in public), while ornatus appeals to sensuality leading to wantonness (De cul. fem. 1.4.2; 2.3.2–3). Instead of distinguishing themselves from the pagan women, subject to the same worldly concupiscence by ambitio and gloria, the wealthy Christian women—they are the ones who display “licentious extravagance of attire” (De cul. fem. 2.1.3), “anoint their faces with creams, stain their cheeks with rouge, or lengthen their eyebrows with antimony” (2.5.2), “dye their hair blonde by using saffron” (2.6.1), frequently change hairstyles in dressing their hair, even with elaborate hairpieces and wigs (2.7), and cover their bodies with “a lot of frilly and foolish pomps and luxuries” (2.9.1). Due to their “wealth, birth, or former dignities,” these wealthy converts feel compelled to “appear in public in overly elaborate dress” and thus “give rein to unbounded license” under pretext of necessity (2.9.5). Tertullian might have had the women from a similar social status in mind in To His Wife (Ad uxorem) when he alluded to those Christian widows who would desire remarriage because of “ponderous necklaces, …burdensome garments, …Gallic mules, …German bearers, which all add luster to the glory of nuptials” (Ad ux. 1.4.7) and even remarriage with pagans because they could not ¿nd Christian men of their social rank (Ad ux. 2.8.3) and would eventually follow pagan practices—beauty of her body (formam), dressing of the head, worldly elegancies, and seductive charms (Ad ux. 2.3.4). Just as the detrimental vertical and horizontal sin and consequence of “desire for money” (cupiditas) and impatience (impatientia), their ambitio and gloria manifested in cultus and ornatus commit a double crime. On the one hand, these Christian women who pursue their beauty through these contrived and extravagant means sin against God and do violence to God since (they show) they are not satis¿ed with God’s 1

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creative skill and censure his handiwork by amending their looks from a rival artist, the devil (De cul. fem. 2.5.2–3). It is essentially sin of deception and covetousness because they “lie in their appearance” and “seek for that which is not [their] own” (2.5.5; cf. De pat. 7.5). Just like the desire for money, the desire for beauty is ¿rst and foremost violence and rebellion against God’s sovereign ownership and creative workmanship. Therefore, by their pride (superbia)22 and action, they prove that they are un¿t and unable to keep God’s commandments without which they cannot achieve salvation: “How can you keep the commandments of God if you do not keep in your own persons the features which He has bestowed on you?” blasts Tertullian (2.5.5). On the other hand, these women also sin against their “neighbors” since they “excite concupscience in others” and thus become “the cause of perdition to another [i.e., men]” (2.2.4); those men commit inner fornication and perish as soon as they look upon the external beauty (formam) of those women with desire, since the Lord’s expansion of the law made no distinction in penalty between actual affairs (stuprum) and lustful desires (2.2.4; cf. Matt 5:17, 23). However, the Scripture commands us to love our neighbors as ourselves (e.g., Matt 19:19; 22:39; Rom 13:9; Gal 5:14; cf. Lev 19:18) and not to seek only our interests but those of our neighbor (2.2.5; as the apostle says in 1 Cor 10:24; 13.5; Phil 2:4). Tertullian notes that this teaching of the Holy Spirit (i.e., again, the author of Scripture; cf. De pat. 7.5; Adv. Marc. 5.7.2; De res. carn. 13.3) should be applied whenever useful (i.e., as widely as possible), including this matter at hand (2.2.5). Therefore, women (in general) must rid themselves of ornatus (and cultus) as well as “natural grace” because the pursuit of beauty in principle is dangerous not only to self but also to others (2.2.5). Like a good lawyer and rhetorician, Tertullian anticipates several oppositions and takes them head on one by one: ¿rstly, what about “enjoying the simple praise that comes to beauty and to glory in a bodily good (laude formae sola frui et de bono corporis gloriari licet)” without sensuality (luxuria) but with chastity (2.3.2)? Tertullian answers that it is simply impossible and mounts the evidence from the Pauline texts. To begin with, “there can be no studious pursuit of glory” for Christians since glory by nature is exaltation, which is incongruous and incompatible for professors of humility according to God’s precepts” (2.3.2). If all glory, as Tertullian de¿nes and understands it, is vain and foolish, how much more so is glorying in the Àesh (gloriari in carne) (Gal 6:13; cf. 1 Cor 3:21; 5:6; Phil. 3:3)? In this string of several Pauline paraphrases, he uses the verb glorior to express the biblical kauchaomai, “to 1

22. Cf. De or. 20.2.

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boast” (as in De or. 22.9, quoting 1 Cor 4:7; and Adv. Marc. 5.6.13, translating 1 Cor 3:21; Adv. Marc 4.28.11),23 and thereby enhances its sense of misplaced con¿dence and unwarranted pride in self-exaltation. A Christian cannot “boast” or feel con¿dent about the body (corpus) even without sensuality and with chastity because the very perception of physical beauty in society depends on pride and exaltation, which are antithetical to God’s law.24 Tertullian sets up an apparent “Pauline” antithesis between the spirit and the Àesh by saying that if Christians must glory in something, it should be in the spirit and in “those things in which we hope for salvation” as pursuers of spiritual things (2.3.2–3; cf. Rom 8:8–9). The only way a Christian woman can and will glory in her Àesh (in carne) is by enduring torture for Christ’s sake so that the spirit may be “crowned” in it, not by attracting “the eyes and sighs of a young man” (2.3.3). However, Tertullian turns the Pauline antithesis between the spirit and the Àesh as the “carnal nature” (carnis = sarx) into the antithesis between the spirit and the body, soma (corpus as well as carnis), as he uses corpus (in the opponent’s question) and carnis (in his response) interchangeably. As far as Tertullian is concerned, seeking beauty of physical body is always tinged with boasting in sinful wantonness (luxuria) and self-exaltation. Secondly, some opponents might say, “May we not use what is ours? Who is forbidding us from using our wealth (lit. utemur nostris) to beautify ourselves?” (2.9.6). Tertullian tackles this opposition in two ways: ¿rst, it is none other than the Apostle Paul who warns us “to use this world as if we did not abuse it” (uti monet mundo isto quasi non abutamur, 2.9.6; cf. 1 Cor 7:31). The apostle tells us: “The fashion of this world (habitus huius mundi) is passing away. And those who buy, let them act as though they possessed not (qui emunt, inquit, sic agant quasi non possidentes)” because “the time is growing short” (tempus in collecto est, 2.9.6; 1 Cor 7:31, 30, 29, respectively; cf. Ad ux. 1.3.3). Tertullian contextualizes the apostle’s eschatological argument on celibacy and marriage from 1 Cor 7.25 If the apostle advised a voluntary ascetic lifestyle (abstinence from marital relationship, wine, and meat) because of the fast-approaching end of the world then (there are in fact “many” who follow just that now), what would he think about all of the vanities of these wealthy women who, with all of us, now live in the “extreme end of time” in God’s predestined plan and thus should rather 23. Cf. Groh, “Tertullian’s Polemic,” 11. 24. Cf. Raditsa, “Appearance of Women,” 308. 25. Tertullian deals with this passage more directly in his discussion on preference of celibacy to marriage in Ad ux. 1.3 and De exh. cast. 8. 1

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castigate and “emasculate” the world (2.9.6–7; cf. 1 Cor 10:11)? They have no excuse, according to Tertullian, since “you have used your wealth and ¿nery quite enough, and you have plucked the fruit of your dowries suf¿ciently before you came to know (receive) the teaching of salvation (salutarium disciplinarum)” (2.9.8). In fact, Tertullian has already introduced an eschatological argument in an earlier chapter when he appealed to the expectation of resurrection to change their appearance in the present (2.7.3). If the pure (i.e., natural) Àesh and spirit alone will rise up on that Day of Christ,26 why do you mask yourselves in outrageous ornatus here and now (cf. 1 Thess 5:23)? “Let God see you today such as he will see you on the day of your ¿nal resurrection” (2.7.3). Based on the apostle’s arguments, Tertullian wants the urgency of the last judgment to bring these wealthy Christian women into contact in the present and to change their appearance and behavior here and now.27 Who is forbidding use of their own wealth? Second, it should be none other than themselves! Well, it is true that God created and provided all things, including gold, precious stones, production of purple garments and ornaments, and permitted their use (2.10.1–4). However, it was precisely for “testing the moral strength of his servants, so that in being permitted to use things [i.e., cultus and ornatus], we might have the opportunity of showing our self-restraint (continentia)” (2.10.5). Tertullian suggests different levels of moral strength in his analogy of wise masters offering and permitting things to servants to test them: the blameworthy—those servants who use them without restraint (i.e., the opponents wearing cultus and ornatus); the praiseworthy—those servants who use them with moderation and honesty; the most praiseworthy—the servants who practice total abstinence, “thus manifesting a reverential fear of the kindness of the master” (2.10.6). He then ¿nds the con¿rmation of his point in the apostle’s words: “ ‘All things are lawful, but not all things are expedient’ (1 Cor 10:23; 6:12). It will be much easier for one to dread what is forbidden, who has a reverential fear of what is permitted (Quanto facilius illicit timebit qui licita uerebitur)” (2.10.6). What is permitted (“lawful”) is not as good as what is preferred (“expedient”) (cf. Ad ux. 1.3.4).28 What is merely lawful or permitted may not be 26. Tertullian equates the resurrection with the Second Coming and the judgment here. 27. Cf. Raditsa, “Appearance of Women,” 312. 28. His explanation of the difference between the permission (marriage) and preference (celibacy) in Ad uxorem in fact ¿ts well in this context: “There are some things which are not to be desired merely because they are not forbidden, albeit they are in a certain sense forbidden when other things are preferred to them; for the 1

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harmful but is not intrinsically good, whereas what is expedient or preferred is intrinsically good and pure because it is positively pro¿table, helpful, and useful (to the soul) (cf. Ad ux. 1.3.5). When one prefers the lofty, it necessarily entails turning away from the low (cf. Ad ux. 1.3.5). Despite his strong disapproval, condemning tones, and appeal to the judgment thus far, Tertullian wants to woo these wealthy converts to voluntary abstinence from what is lawful yet low, namely, cultus and ornatus, out of “reverential fear” of God and for their salvation (2.10.6; 2.2.2–3), appealing to their moral discernment, capacity, and responsibility resulting from their Christian identity. The third objection comes from their apparent fear that “the [Christian] name should not be blasphemed in us by making some derogatory change of our former style of dress” (2.11.3). This objection directly bears upon the concerned opponents’ social status and reveals the kind of social circle of which they were a part. Tertullian has chastised their “need” to appear in public in fancy dress because of the “desire to see and to be seen” just prior to this objection (2.11.1); for no occasion of Christian service such as visiting the sick, attending the sacri¿ce (Eucharist), or listening to God’s word necessitates any luxurious attire (2.11.2). However, the fact that he concedes to the occasions that they are “required to go out because of friendship or (of¿cial) duty to some Gentile” does point to their position in the high society of Roman North Africa (2.11.2). Yet, from Tertullian’s perspective, those occasions (festivals, spectacles, religious rites, etc.) are the very opportunities for those elite women to “show off” their distinctive Christian armor—plain dress and “natural grace” without conspicuous cultus and ornatus—so that they may be an example to their “Gentile” friends and that those friends may also be edi¿ed in them (2.11.2; cf. 1 Cor 10:23). This is what it means to let “God be magni¿ed in your body,” as the apostle said (cf. Phil 1:20; 2 Cor 6:20); God is glori¿ed in their body through modesty, which means through dress (habitus) that is suitable to modesty (2.11.2). Once again, Tertullian reads the apostle in such a way as to ascertain his argument at hand. After all, for Tertullian, the whole point is “distinguishing between the handmaids of God and of the devil” in preference given to the higher things is a dissuasion from the lowest. A thing is not ‘good’ merely because it is not ‘evil,’ nor is it ‘evil’ merely because it is not ‘harmful.’ Further: that which is fully ‘good’ excels on this ground, that it is not only not harmful, but pro¿table into the bargain. For you are bound to prefer what is pro¿table to what is (merely) not harmful. For the ¿rst place is what every struggle aims at; the second has consolation attaching to it, but not victory” (Ad ux. 1.3.5–6; see also De exh. cast. 8). 1

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public in their attire (2.11.2) as this distinction in appearance is critical to their Christian identity. Therefore, this objection, which comes in disguise of genuine Christian concern that their “new” modest, plain appearance will hurt Christian reputation among the high-ranking pagans, is not received well at all by Tertullian. Instead, he retorts in his characteristic sarcasm: “It is, indeed, a great blasphemy if it is said of one of you: ‘Since she became a Christian she walks in poorer garb!’ ” (2.11.3). It is rather their fear “to appear to be poorer from the time that [they] have been made richer and to be more shabbily clothed (sordidior) from the time when [they] have been made more clean” that may count more as a blasphemy than the words of the pagans (!) (2.11.3). Tertullian presents an unequivocal choice before them: “Should a Christian walk according to what is pleasing to the Gentile or according to what is pleasing to God?” (2.11.3). In this Tertullian implicitly endorses voluntary downward mobility in Christian appearance while censuring any (external) effort to maintain (boastful) social status (cf. Ad ux. 2.8.3–5). The ¿nal objection questions the necessity of human approval on this matter; the opponent claims to seek the approval of God who sees the human heart after all, not the human testimony (2.13.1; cf. 1 Sam 16:7; 1 Kgs 16:7; Jer 17:10; Luke 16:5; cf. 1 Cor 4:3). While Tertullian does not confront this objection per se, he blends and juxtaposes “the Lord’s sayings” that highlight the importance of Christian “showing” and “shining” before people of and in the world (2.13.1–2; Matt 5:14–16; Mark 4:21; Luke 8:16; 11:33). Intending to accentuate the unity of the Scripture again, Tertullian states that the Lord spoke through the apostle: “Let your goodness (probitas) appear before people” (2.13.1; Phil 4:5, 8; cf. 2 Cor 8:21); it is the same Lord who said, “Let your works shine [before people]” (Matt 5:16). These New Testament witnesses overwhelmingly testify that “showing” Àows from and attests to truth, for “what is good, provided it be true and full, does not love the darkness; it rejoices to be seen and exults in being pointed out by others (gaudet uideri et ipsa denotatione sui exultat)” (2.13.2, italics added). Quite contrary to the evil of glorying in the Àesh, this is how one glories in the spirit—one must “desire to see and to be seen” in public by what is good (i.e., modesty), not by lascivious cultus and ornatus (cf. 2.11.1). Again, truth that does not show itself in public is not truth, and faith that does not show itself in public is not salvi¿c faith. De idololatria As one can see, Tertullian drives a clear wedge and tension between Christian identity and the world (saeculum) and is concerned and anxious to protect the purity of the former from the in¿ltration of the latter 1

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as the wealth of Christians and its desires and displays (e.g., cultus and ornatus) constitute among the most visible boundary markers. Christians’ attitude toward and use of wealth with attendant consequences can either clarify or obscure the Christian–pagan boundary, and blurring this distinction amounts to committing idolatry as the latter denies God the honors due to him by offering them to others (such as wealth, position, self, and other created things) (De idol. 1.3). In his treatise On Idolatry (De idololatria), Tertullian saw right through the dilemmas of day-to-day living for Christians, including the artisans, traders, and magistrates whose works, commercial transactions, and socio-political responsibilities could put them in danger of committing idolatry and could not be neatly compartmentalized or harmonized with their Christian commitment (as seen by Tertullian).29 Since in idolatry are “the concupiscences of the world” driven by gloria with “the ambitio of dress and ¿nery” (ambitione cultus et ornatus), it threatens to blur a Christian identity not only in religious and political arenas but also in social contacts and economic sectors such as occupations and commercial transactions (De idol. 1.4; cf. 13.2; Ad ux. 1.4.6; cf. De cul. fem. 1.9.1–2; 2.3.2; 2.9.5). In an attempt to expose the extensive domain of idolatry and its rami¿cations, Tertullian argues that the makers of idols are guilty of idolatry (De idol. 5–8), particularly targeting the excuses (objections) of the idol makers which utilize the Pauline passages (5.1–2). They argue that they must be allowed to exercise their art as Christians because: ¿rst, they have nothing else to live by; second, the apostle who says, “as each is found, so let him remain/ persevere” (ut quisque fuerit inventus, ita perseveret), allows them to stay in their art (1 Cor 7:20); and third, the same apostle also commands the Christians to earn their own living by the work of their hands according to his own example (uti minibus suis unusquisque operetur ad victum) (1 Thess 4:11; 2 Thess 3:7–12; Eph 4:28; cf. 1 Cor 4:16) (De idol. 5.1–2). Tertullian simply rejects their ¿rst economic argument; they have no right to live unless they live according to God’s law, not their own (5.1). Tertullian then refutes their “Pauline” arguments by a 29. In his earlier apology ostensibly addressing a pagan audience, he stressed Christians’ “full participation” in Roman society and daily interactions with their “Gentile” neighbors in forum, meat market, baths, shops, factories, inns, weekly market, and “the rest of the life of buying and selling” (Apol. 42.2); he denies that Christians are ascetics or unpro¿table in business because “we sail ships…[go] to market with you…and our living depends on you” (Apol. 42.3). Tertullian also emphasized Christians’ reliability and success in banking business in Ad scap. 4.7: “We never deny the deposit placed in our hands.” 1

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reductio ad absurdum.30 If one interprets the apostle’s statement in an absolute sense, as they are doing with their excuses (i.e., by applying his words to everything done with the hands), we may all persist in our sins; and everyone is a sinner because Christ came down precisely to save sinners (5.2)! Furthermore, if their interpretation is right, all evil practices done by hands may be defended, such as those by bath-thieves, robbers, forgers, and actors who work with their hands for living (5.1–2)! Finally, “If there is no exception of the arts which God’s discipline does not allow (i.e., if their argument is right),” then let the church be open to all who make their living by the work of their own hands—in whatever way they may be (5.3)! By his reductio ad absurdum Tertullian (with his stinging sarcasm) underscores the absurdity of the interpretation by these idol makers who are now “proven” to have abused the apostle’s words to persist in their sin. What about those who do not make idols per se but furnish the necessary attributes of the idols (e.g., temple, altar, insignia, votive offering, etc.)? They are equally, if not more, guilty of idolatry for they give idols authority beyond mere forms or images (8.1). The economic excuse of needing to secure sustenance is not valid here either since these craftsmen (e.g., stucco-workers, painters, marble-mason, bronze-workers, and engravers) can readily earn their livelihoods by applying their skills to many other arts that are “secular” (e.g., mending roofs, applying plasters, decorating walls, making chests, etc., 8.2–3). Another economic excuse that “there is difference in wages and the rewards of handicraft” does not hold either. Tertullian answers: “Likewise there is also a difference in the labor required; smaller wages are compensated by more frequent earning” (8.3). In other words, the work of making an idolatrous attribute may be fairly lucrative, but the “secular” works compensate the difference by their availability and frequency. At this point, Tertullian offers the most ironic explanation for his argument. Compared to the number of walls that need images and the number of temples and chapels that are built for idols, there are countless houses, of¿cial residences, baths, and tenements that need their crafts (8.4). Take just one example: ¿ne slippers and sandals are gilded daily but Mercury and Serapis are not! The fact that luxury (luxuria) and ostentation (ambitio) (which are distinctively pagan characteristics) have always been more frequent than any form of superstition (superstitio) works in favor of these Christian artisans and craftsmen in their efforts to turn away from idolatry (if they are really serious about it) (cf. 8.4). Ambitio requires fancy dishes and 30. Tertullian: De Idololatria (trans. and commentary by J. H. Waszink et al.; Leiden: Brill, 1987), 14.

1

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cups sooner than superstition, and luxuria demands wreaths more than religious ceremonies (8.4–5). They can work off of and bene¿t from the pagan ambitio and luxuria, though of course should not imitate them. In his attempt to dissuade these artisans from any “contamination of idolatry,” Tertullian capitalizes the vices of the pagan society to the advantage (or survival) of Christians. Then, Tertullian deals with the question of whether trade (negotium) is a ¿tting occupation for a Christian, free from idolatry (De idol. 11).31 Like the other contemporary Christian authors, and as already mentioned elsewhere (De pat. 7.5), Tertullian clearly sees the fundamental motive of trade as covetousness (cupiditas; pleonexia in Greek),32 which, according to the apostle, is the root of all evil (1 Tim 6:10) and has made some “shipwrecked about faith” (1 Tim 1:19) (11.1). In fact, the same apostle also called covetousness idolatry (Col 3:5; cf. Eph 5:5) (11.1). Here Tertullian gives “extra emphasis to the wickedness of covetousness” with the double citation from the apostle;33 thus, “the argument becomes typically Tertullian: apart from the question of idolatry, trade means cupidity, which is idolatry!”34 If covetousness, which is accompanied by mendacity and perjury by the way, disappears, Tertullian asks, “What is the motive for acquiring? When the motive of acquiring ceases, there will be no necessity for trading” (11.1). However, for the sake of argument, suppose for a moment that there might be some righteous pursuit of gain. Trade is still guilty of idolatry if it supplies any items used for sacri¿ces to the pagan deities, however indirectly it may be, such as frankincense and public victims (11.2–7), for it creates the possibility of an agency for idolatry. Not all trade might be combated in this way (11.2), but “no craft, therefore, no profession, no form of trade contributing anything to the equipment or formation of idols will be free from the charge of idolatry” (11.8). Again, no excuse based on the necessity of securing sustenance (“I have nothing to live by”) is acceptable because, ¿rst of all, a Christian trader should have considered this matter before he accepted the faith (12.1). But even now the sayings and examples of the Lord, who calls the poor blessed, commands to sell everything and distribute to the poor, and demands single-minded 31. This is another indication of the presence of those Christians in Carthage who were engaged in making idols or the “attributes” of the idols and also in providing supplies related to sacri¿ces to the idols (whom Tertullian attempted to dissuade from those activities). 32. E.g., Herm., Sim. 4.5; 8.8.1; 9.20.1; Vis. 3.6.5–7; Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 4.30.1. 33. Tertullian: De Idololatria (Waszink), 201. 34. Tertullian: De Idololatria (Waszink), 199. 1

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discipleship, show his entreaty of poverty and provision for posterity to be groundless (12.2). Rather, our dear ones, handicrafts, trades, and professions should be left behind for the Lord’s sake with God’s almighty help (12.3–4). Faith “must no less despise hunger than any kind of death” for God’s sake (12.4). Finally, for those Christians with wealth and birth, that is, the Roman and civic elite and the rich in general, the social tension and dilemma would have been urgent and pressing. The very social, religious, and political roles (all intertwined) through patronage and euergetism they were expected to play, were part and parcel of holding public of¿ce and power (e.g., offering sacri¿ces, maintaining the temples, funding spectacles, theaters, festivals, baths, and even judging), and endangered polluting their Christian identity (cf. De idol. 17.2–3). However, “All the powers and dignities of this world are not only alien to, but enemies of God,” spurts Tertullian (De idol. 18.8). These Christians might protest that those functions were merely part of their societal responsibility due to their birth and substance and therefore there is no way to avoid those civic obligations (cf. De idol. 18.1, 4, 9). By implication, they were demanding that their inseparable civic and social ties and functions should be separated from their Christian (religious) identity. To that, Tertullian answers that the attire (priestly insignia) and pomp of these of¿ces are already tainted with idolatry and thus make these functions closed to Christians (De idol. 18.1–4). As a matter of fact, Christ, our example, rejected worldly glory (gloria saeculi), honor, and dignity, “which he did not want, and he condemned what he rejected, and what he condemned, he consigned to the pomp of the devil” (De idol. 18.7). Thus, “[F]or avoiding it, remedies cannot be lacking; since, even if they be lacking, there remains that one by which you will be made a happier magistrate, not in the earth, but in the heavens [i.e., martyrdom]” (De idol. 18.9). On the one hand, as for Tertullian, the interlocking web of socio-economic and political position and pagan idolatry, the very way the Greco-Roman society operates, deceives Christians into insidious enslavement to the present world as though they could settle for compartmentalizing their Christian identity without having to renounce and separate from the whole system. On the other hand, other Christians would attempt to disentangle perfunctory religious customs (“idolatry”) from those interwoven socio-economic and political fabrics of society so that they could maintain their faith without jeopardizing their sociopolitical livelihood and standing and serve their Christian communities utilizing their “worldly” and “unrighteous” resources and inÀuences. 1

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Overall, as Christianity moved up the social ladder in this period, Tertullian tended to disapprove of business affairs and commercial activities, linking them to the inordinate acquisitiveness of the (Christian) rich and those who tried to be rich, that is, the middling group who could have had hope and chance of upward social mobility, through those engagements.35 The messages of not seeking to gain wealth and envy the rich36 that accompanied disapproval of trade and avarice and to assume the positions of honor and power (e.g., De idol. 18) as un-Christian activities and disposition would have discouraged social mobility,37 though it could have also been a reaction/response to the social reality of strong presence of those socially mobile populations in local Christian assemblies.38 For Tertullian (like other Christian leaders), wealth itself is morally neutral (though clearly dangerous), and following the cultural understanding, inheritance is the superior form of acquiring wealth to trade or business, which reveals his idea about socio-economic order (cf. Eusebius, H.E. 8.14.10). Indeed, while Christianity attracted not insubstantially the socially mobile groups, upon becoming Christians, they would have to give up aspirations for upward social mobility (through accumulation of earthly fortunes)—although this implicit and explicit message against social mobility was not likely followed by those who were able, in reality, to move upward. Tertullian’s vision of society, however, was largely conservative and static. People’s stations (loci) were ordained by God (e.g., De cul. fem. 2.9.1).39 Even all the worldly powers and honors were to be rejected as the enemies of God (De idol. 18.8). Thus, “There was an irreconcilable incompatibility between social mobility and Christian community—between the opportunities and status of human community and the commitment to divine community.”40 Ironically, while Christian identity was partially and indirectly associated with social immobility, Christianity of this period unprecedentedly penetrated into the circles of the socially prominent and elite.

35. Those who put con¿dence in “the [business] transactions that have made them rich” are condemned in On Riches 37, attributed to Peter of Alexandria. 36. Cf. Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. 2; Peter of Alexandria, On Riches 55. 37. Cf. Robert M. Grant, Early Christianity and Society (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1977), 123. 38. This kind of message would be repeated by the bishops throughout Late Antiquity (e.g., John Chrysostom, Hom. 1 Cor. 15.6). 39. Cf. 1 Clem. 38.2; Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. 3, 26; Peter of Alexandria, On Riches 66; Cyprian, Epp. 3.1.1; 8.1.1; cf. 12.1.1. 40. Groh, “Christian Community,” 69. 1

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Conclusion This essay has attempted to show the dynamics between Tertullian’s views of and arguments concerning the wealth of Christians and his reading of the Apostle Paul in light of his hermeneutical principles, vision of Christianity, and controversial and rhetorical contexts. For Tertullian, wealth originates from God himself, the Creator, Owner, and Distributor of all things, but is a signi¿cant identity marker for Christians that should set them apart from the surrounding pagan values and society. On the one hand, Tertullian basically associates the desire for and acquisition and display of wealth with the concupiscence of the world for self-exaltation and status, and thus dangerous and destructive for Christians; wealth in this way disrupts the relationships with God, fellow humans, and the self. On the other hand, Tertullian acknowledges and advises the constructive use of wealth for the works of charity— (alms)giving and sharing—which is in fact the only redemptive purpose of wealth for Christians; wealth in this way demonstrates and con¿rms the salvation of its possessor, who must persevere to the end. Tertullian does not admonish divestment of wealth but voluntary restraint in pursuit and display of wealth (especially in female dresses, ornaments, and cosmetics) necessary for curbing immoderate desire for wealth, which is idolatry. Thus showing is being, and being necessitates showing in Christian faith. In all of these points, the words of the Apostle Paul serve for Tertullian as authoritative and correct witness, second to and in support of the dominical words and examples, to his ideal of Christianity as he regards himself as the authoritative and correct interpreter of the apostle.

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HELEN RHEE, TERTULLIAN, AND PAUL ON THE WEALTH OF CHRISTIANS: A RESPONSE Warren Carter

Reading Tertullian Reading Paul Reading Helen Rhee reading Tertullian reading Paul highlights contours of Tertullian’s concerns about wealth. For him, appropriate actions concerning wealth are, along with other external Christian behaviors such as “spectacles, modesty, veiling, dress, ornaments, wealth, and a soldier’s crown,” manifestations of one’s inner salvi¿c status and progress. Restrained displays of wealth are one of a number of important markers attesting Christian identity. Rhee notes that for Tertullian wealth originates from God, but it can be dangerous for Christians. It should be used for almsgiving and sharing. He does not, though, require his wealthy Christian addressees to divest themselves of wealth. Tertullian thus simultaneously disapproves of, yet sanctions, their wealth. Rhee foregrounds Tertullian’s use of 1 Tim 6:10 (“the desire for wealth is the root of all evils”) as foundational for the negative attitudes to wealth evident in his pastoral address. This “desire” or acquisitive spirit is a spiritual more than a social problem because it offends against “God’s sovereign ownership” of all things and betrays our own human non-ownership. While this desire does not, in Tertullian’s analysis, offend against other humans by, for example, depriving them of resources, it certainly has unacceptable social expression as Tertullian’s invective against wealthy and beauti¿ed women shows. These women cause others to sin—women who desire to be like them and men who desire to be with them. Their own sin comprises false con¿dence and “pride in selfexaltation” (Paul’s “boasting” [1 Cor 4:9 and 3:21]). They fail to heed the force of Paul’s eschatological argument concerning celibacy and marriage in 1 Cor 7, namely, that they should attend to the fast approaching end of the world with voluntary abstinence from their own beauti¿cation and with modesty in a “voluntary downward mobility” of appearance. 1

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Rhee also discusses Tertullian’s concern that the boundary between Christian identity and the non-Christian world not be crossed in day-today living, especially in matters concerning idolatry. Rhee notes that Tertullian is concerned with “artisans, traders, and magistrates whose works, commercial transactions, and socio-political responsibilities could put them in danger of committing idolatry.” Tertullian argues that those who make idols are guilty of idolatry. He dismisses arguments that appeal to the Pauline Letters to claim that idol makers who become Christians should remain in their former state (1 Cor 7:20) and should work with their hands (1 Thess 4:11). Likewise, traders engage in “covetousness” which is idolatry according to Tertullian’s Paul in Col 3:5 and Eph 5:5.1 Rich, high-status Christians face signi¿cant challenges because of social expectations of patronage, euergetism, and public of¿ce with responsibilities for “offering sacri¿ces, keeping up the temples, funding spectacles, theaters, festivals, baths…” Tertullian argues that all such activities are so “tainted with idolatry” that Christians should not engage in them. Tertullian also attacks business and commercial activity as acquisitive and as involving un-Christian activity, thereby discouraging social mobility for members of Christian communities. For a New Testament scholar interested in trying to discern ways in which the ¿rst Jesus-believers negotiated daily imperial life and practices, I ¿nd Tertullian’s speci¿c discussion and instructions most intriguing. Given his vociferous opposition, some Christians were certainly very accommodationist in their societal involvements. How convincing the socially prominent and elite found Tertullian’s protests, or how seriously they took his admonishments to voluntary restraint, are other matters. Reading Contemporary Pauline Scholarship While Reading Tertullian Rhee’s analysis of Tertullian reading Paul concerning wealth draws on 1 Tim 6:102 and various passages from 1 Corinthians to highlight two contexts in particular: the personal displays of wealth by upper-level women and involvement with idolatry as it pertains to either earning a living or displaying one’s elevated societal status. As one who is not a scholar of Tertullian, I do not claim to know whether Tertullian engages other dimensions of wealth signi¿cant for this discussion. But it is 1. Most contemporary scholars would not ¿nd Colossians and Ephesians to be Pauline. 2. Most contemporary scholars would not ¿nd 1 Timothy to be Pauline. 1

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interesting in the context of Rhee reading Tertullian reading Paul to observe the contours of contemporary readings of Paul and wealth. I will do so by highlighting brieÀy four areas of contemporary discussion. Socio-Economic Levels of Pauline Communities Rhee points out that Tertullian, himself a person of “signi¿cant resources,” addresses “his treatises to Christians of ‘birth and wealth,’ particularly women…to the Christian ‘women and men of highest rank’ [as well as to] the uneducated and the poor.” What social levels did Paul address his letters to? What social levels were represented in the Pauline communities? Rhee offers no comment as to whether Tertullian raises this question or whether it impacts his pastoral interpretation of Paul, but it is certainly an issue that contemporary Pauline scholars have vigorously investigated. For much of the twentieth century and into the twenty-¿rst century, Pauline scholars have argued that Paul’s communities comprised a relative cross-section of society. That is, in the hierarchical imperial world of the ¿rst century in which there were considerable extremes of wealth and poverty, Pauline communities did not draw members from the wealthiest or poorest sectors but did draw mostly from the lower levels, with a few members having more substantial resources. Early in the twentieth century, Adolf Deissmann argued for such a view, and it has been repeated regularly since, despite claims of a major shift in recent scholarship.3 In his major 1983 study, The First Urban Christians, Wayne Meeks concludes similarly that the wealthiest and the poorest levels of society were probably missing from these communities, but present were those who lived at subsistence levels while most members were probably somewhat more wealthy, such as free artisans and traders.4 Most signi¿cantly for Meeks, Paul’s communities attracted people who were upwardly mobile, who had gained some higher status on one or two counts (perhaps wealth or occupation or age or gender or public of¿ce) but not consistently in all areas—that is, they experienced status inconsistency. The Pauline communities provided opportunities for them to gain more honor.

3. See the discussion of this scholarship in Steven Friesen, “Paul and Economics: The Jerusalem Collection as An Alternative to Patronage,” in Paul Unbound: Other Perspectives on the Apostle (ed. Mark Given; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2010), 27–54 (28–29). 4. Wayne Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983). 1

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Meeks’ analysis has been very inÀuential, though not without its critics.5 More recently, Steven Friesen has advanced the discussion by proposing a societal poverty scale comprising seven gradations from wealthiest to poorest.6 The ¿rst three categories identify wealthy elites, probably missing from the Jesus communities (imperial, regional, and municipal; PS 1–3). Level 4 involves a middling group of merchants, traders, artisans, and military veterans who enjoyed some surplus of wealth. Levels 5 and 6 comprise those who live near or at subsistence level and involve most traders and artisans, shop/tavern owners, farm families, and laborers. Level 7 consists of those who lived below subsistence levels—beggars, unskilled laborers, widows, and orphans. Friesen attaches percentages to these groups with levels 1–3 including about 3% of the population, level 4 about 7%, levels 5 and 6 about 62%, and level 7 about 28%. On Friesen’s scale about 90% of the population lives near, at, or below subsistence level. He identi¿es the Pauline communities as comprising mostly levels 4–6, with the Corinthians Chloe (1 Cor 1:11) and Gaius (Rom 16:23) ranking the highest as level 4s. Paul himself ranks the lowest as a level 6 or 7.7 Such analysis of socio-economic levels is dif¿cult because of limited information yet very useful as a heuristic tool. Bruce Longenecker also argues that Paul’s rhetorical constructions may increase or decrease levels depending on the argument he is making.8 For example, the phrase “work with your own hands” in 1 Cor 4:11–13 and 1 Thess 4:11–12 suggests he addresses these communities generally in terms of levels 5 and 6 (near and at subsistence). The reference in 1 Cor 4, though, to 5. See the discerning but appreciative review by Bruce Malina in JBL 104 (1985): 346–49, and the chapters in Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell, eds., After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scienti¿c Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T&T Clark International, 2009). 6. Steven J. Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-called New Consensus,” JSNT 26 (2004): 323–61. For discussion, see John M. G. Barclay, “Poverty in Pauline Studies: A Response to Steven Friesen,” JSNT 26 (2004): 363– 66; Peter Oakes, “Constructing Poverty Scales for Graeco-Roman Society: A Response to Steven Friesen’s ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies,’ ” JSNT 26 (2004): 367– 71; Bruce W. Longenecker, “Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early Urban Christianity,” JSNT 31 (2009): 243–78; Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Pro¿ling of the First Urban Christians,” in Still and Horrell, eds., After the First Urban Christians, 36–59; Walter Scheidel and Steven J. Friesen, “The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire,” JRS 99 (2009): 61–91. 7. Friesen, “Jerusalem Collection,” 40. Friesen cites 2 Cor 11:1–22; 1 Thess 2:1–12; Phil 2:25–30; 4:12–13 in support. 8. Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Pro¿ling,” 50–51. 1

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Paul’s group being hungry, thirsty, poorly clothed, beaten, and homeless might indicate that Paul rhetorically sets himself in level 6, thereby placing (signi¿cant numbers of?) the Corinthians above him in levels 5 or even 4. The description of the “present abundance” of (some of) the Corinthians in 2 Cor 8:14 seems to elevate them, while the earlier reference in 8:1–6 to “a severe ordeal of afÀiction…and their extreme poverty” seems to decrease the Thessalonians and Philippians into level 7, in contrast to levels 5 and 6 that seemed to be assumed in 1 Thess 4:11–13. In addition, Longenecker has argued that care for the poor (levels 6–7) was a crucial part of Paul’s gospel and that practices of providing practical care for the poor were integral to the ethos of the Pauline communities.9 Helen Rhee’s analysis shows Tertullian interested mostly in the small percentage of wealthy women (PS 2?–3?–4?) rather than in the vast majority of poorer people. Women Co-Workers and Patrons Rhee’s discussion illustrates Tertullian’s concern with these wealthy women who use their wealth for self-adornment and for possible societal activities involving idolatry, thereby crossing the line between Christian identity and non-Christian society. While these women are a problem to Tertullian (and to everybody else it seems in his discussion), much Pauline scholarship has been devoted in recent decades to retrieving and celebrating the positive involvements of women with Paul and his mission. It has been noted often, for example, that Paul uses the same language for women leaders in the communities that he uses of himself. Thus, he greets Prisca and Aquila as his “co-workers” (Rom 16:3–5), using a term with which he describes himself and his own ministry (1 Cor 3:9) as well as other male leaders (Rom 16:9, Urbanus; 16:21, Timothy; 2 Cor 8:23, Titus). These male and female “co-workers” are those who, like Paul, proclaim the gospel and provide leadership and care for the churches. Likewise, he commends the women Mary, Tryphaena, Tryphosa, and Persis (Rom 16:6, 12) for “ working hard,” a verb he uses for his own ministry of preaching, teaching, and leadership (1 Cor 15:10; Gal 4:11; Phil 2:16) A further contribution in this scholarship has been the recognition that wealthier women patrons ¿nanced Paul’s work. Phoebe, for example, in the church in Cenchreae is explicitly identi¿ed as a prostatis or patron

9. Bruce W. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the GrecoRoman World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010).

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(Rom 16:1–2).10 R. A. Kearsley establishes that the term is used for high status, wealthy women who occupy important public of¿ce and use their wealth and position as patrons or benefactors. Phoebe, then, is “a benefactor and patron of the Christian believers” and of Paul.11 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza suggests that wealthy women like Phoebe participated in the Jesus movement in part to gain prestige or honor from leadership and inÀuence.12 How wealthy Phoebe might have been is not clear. Kearsley’s inscriptional material might suggest considerable status and wealth. Meeks suggests she might have “some wealth,”13 while Friesen is also less optimistic and locates her in his level 4 (middling level with moderate surplus) or perhaps, less likely, level 5 (near subsistence level).14 From the Pauline Letters, Lampe also identi¿es Prisca (with Aquila) as another (somewhat) wealthy woman who functions, at least in part, as a patron for Paul (Rom 16:4–5).15 In Rhee’s discussion, Tertullian approves of the use of wealth for alms and disapproves generally of beauti¿ed wealthy women. But he does not assess the option of wealthy members or women as patrons for “the Apostle.” The Collection Paul’s collection of funds from his Gentile congregations for the poor in Jerusalem offers further insight into Paul’s economic practices that are not considered in Rhee’s discussion of Tertullian. While various studies have sought to locate the collection in terms of patronage practices,16 David Downs17 and Steven Friesen18 have argued that Paul was promoting 10. R. A. Kearsley, “Women in Public Life in the Roman East: Iunia Theodora, Claudia Metrodora, and Phoebe, Benefactress of Paul,” TynBul 50 (1999): 189–211. 11. Ibid., 202. 12. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1989), 181–82. 13. Meeks, First Urban Christians, 60. 14. Friesen, “Poverty,” 348, and “Jerusalem Collection,” 40, for a list. 15. Peter Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook (ed. J. Paul Sampley; Harrisburg, Penn.: Trinity, 2003), 488– 523 (498–99). Lampe also identi¿es some women from Acts whom the narrative presents as patrons. 16. Stephen Joubert, Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy, and Theological ReÀection in Paul’s Collection (WUNT 124; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); James Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace in Its Graeco-Roman Context (WUNT 172; Tübingen; Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 289–332. 17. David J. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles: Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem in Its Chronological, Cultural, and Cultic Contexts (WUNT 248; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). 1

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an alternative economic practice. This collection drew not from a single wealthy benefactor but from multiple communities, thereby decentering the power of any one ¿gure. The funding came from people living around subsistence level who contributed a small amount each week (1 Cor 16:2), rather than by a large contribution from a wealthy patron who secured his or her power through this act. And it encouraged reciprocal economic redistribution, since Paul suggests that the Corinthians might in the future need help from the Jerusalemites (2 Cor 8:13– 14). Instead of reÀecting conventional economic patronage that reinforced inequitable social structures, the collection encouraged the voluntary sharing of resources among poor people. Friesen comments that Paul’s “rhetoric suggested multidirectional, occasional, need-based redistribution, the goal of which was economic equality for everyone involved, even if that only meant resources suf¿cient for the day at hand.”19 Other scholars, notably Richard Horsley and Sze-kar Wan, have identi¿ed a further element of the collection by setting this economic practice in the context of the tributary economic practices of the Roman empire. Horsley argues that Paul’s assemblies had “an ‘international’ political-economic dimension diametrically opposed to the tributary political economy of the empire.”20 The latter comprised a “vertical and centripetal movement of resources” whereby taxes and tribute moved resources from low-status peasants and traders upward to various levels of ruling elites and from provincial margins to the powerful center. Szekar Wan calls the collection an “anticolonial act” by which Paul “constructed an all-embracing sociopolitical order that stood in contradistinction to and in criticism of colonial powers.”21 Wan highlights the universal scope of the collection, whereby Paul insists on a “horizontal solidarity between Jewish and gentile congregations” in contrast to an excluding imperial and patronal system that secured an axis of superior and inferior statuses.22

18. Friesen, “Jerusalem Collection,” 45–52. 19. Ibid., 51. 20. Richard A. Horsley, “1 Corinthians: A Case Study of Paul’s Assembly,” in Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society (ed. Richard A. Horsely; Harrisburg, Penn.: Trinity, 1997), 242–52 (251). 21. Sze-kar Wan, “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act: Implications of Paul’s Ethnic Reconstruction,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation (ed. Richard A. Horsley; Harrisburg, Penn.: Trinity, 2000), 191–215 (192). 22. Ibid., 215. 1

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Lord’s Supper Paul’s outburst in 1 Cor 11:17–34 concerning the abuses in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper in Corinth does not ¿gure in Rhee’s discussion of Tertullian. Yet it also provides insight for a consideration of wealth in Paul. Paul addresses here a situation involving socio-economic divisions: “Each of you goes ahead with your own supper and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk” (11:21). Paul assesses the implication of this social disparity and inequity of access to food and drink by saying that wealthier members “show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing” (11:22). The last phrase is signi¿cant. In terms of Friesen’s scale, Paul’s concern is the treatment of those who belong to levels PS5–7 by those of higher levels. Paul’s disapproval is directed at the refusal of those with wealth and resources to share them with the impoverished. He declares that their refusal is an act of despising or scorning the community. It is a social offense against “the body” (11:29). It is particularly an act of dishonoring, humiliating, and shaming the poor. Interestingly, Paul identi¿es with this latter group and defends them against this indignity, perhaps suggesting Paul’s own lowly status. He withholds any commendation of the wealthier members for their practice of withholding resources (11:22). His communities are to embrace a “preferential option for the poor” and the practice of sharing economic resources. Conclusion Reading Tertullian reading Paul has led, with Helen Rhee’s help, to reading Tertullian while also reading contemporary scholarship on Paul and wealth. From the contemporary discussions I have identi¿ed four prominent areas of discussion: the social levels of members of the Pauline communities, Paul’s partnership with women leaders and the roles of several women patrons, the Lord’s Supper observance among the Corinthian Jesus-believers, and the collection for Jerusalem. While some overlap with Tertullian’s concerns is evident, the contemporary discussion is more wide-ranging and generally concerned with historical reconstruction and analysis than pastoral address.

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9 COMMUNIS MAGISTER PAULUS: ALTERCATION OVER THE GOSPEL IN TERTULLIAN’S AGAINST MARCION Stephen Cooper

I’m not scared of you saying, “So you deny Paul was an apostle?” I don’t defame the one I’m defending: I’m denying him to be an apostle to make you prove it. (Adv. Marc. 5.1.6)1

Marcion’s church,2 with its alternative Christian gospel thriving “all over the world” (Adv. Marc. 5.19.2) some half century after the death of its founder, elicited from Tertullian his lengthiest surviving work, the ¿ve books of Adversus Marcionem. Its ¿nal two books are devoted to the analysis of Marcion’s canon with a view to turning the instruments of his own gospel against him. Tertullian took up this task of opposing Marcion and his “radicalized Paulinism”3 after the example of Irenaeus (De prae. haer. 3.12, 12–14), who had made Paul part of a united front with the rest of the apostles against Marcion, Valentinus, and others who had elevated him to the status of a privileged or even unique witness to the gospel. The catholic Paul had to be asserted and de¿ned, rendered 1. Translation mine. For this work, I have primarily used Ernest Evans, ed. and trans., Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem (2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972), whose translation I employ—adding italics to identify scriptural quotations— except when noted. I have also consulted of René Braun’s Sources Chrétiennes edition (nos. 365, 368, 399, 456, and 483 of the series), Tertullien: Contre Marcion (Paris: Cerf, 1990). The ¿nal two volumes, comprising books 4 and 5 (published in 2001 and 2004, respectively), are joint products of Braun and Claudio Moreschini, the latter supplying the critical text and Braun the translation, introduction, and notes. Where the critical text of this edition differs from that of Evans in the passages I quote, I generally follow the reading of the Sources Chrétiennes edition (noted ad loc.). 2. On Marcion generally, see the recent work of Sebastian Moll, The ArchHeretic Marcion (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). 3. Gerhard May, “Marcion ohne Harnack,” in Marcion und seine kirchengeschichtliche Wirkung (ed. Gerhard May and Katharina Greschat; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 1–7 (3). 1

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distinct from the one Tertullian called “the heretics’ apostle” (Adv. Marc. 3.5.4). The task of the catholic authors4 who wrote against Marcion thus included a “recuperation” of Paul, as Ernesto Norelli has noted,5 which necessarily involved an exegetical component. The present study proposes to examine a central aspect of Tertullian’s project of recuperation in Against Marcion, namely, his attempt to refute Marcion’s interpretation of Paul’s distinction between law and gospel through a more historically responsible exegetical reconstruction of the apostle and his salvi¿c message. Tertullian and Marcion could agree that the gospel is the power of God for salvation (Rom 1:16) and that this message is made known through the church (Eph 2:10). But which church that was, and what the relation of its proclamation to the God and religion of Judaism was, were matters of profound disagreement and the chief items in dispute. Given the length of Adversus Marcionem—approximately that of Augustine’s De trinitate—what I present here is a small portion of Tertullian’s analysis and deployment of Paul in this work. My focus will be largely limited to a central site of the exegetical struggle over the Corpus Paulinum: Paul’s narrative in the ¿rst two chapters of Galatians concerning his relations with the Jerusalem apostles, which culminates in his rebuke of Peter at Antioch. This last incident (Gal 2:11–14) seems to have been of great signi¿cance in the dispute with the Marcionite church: Tertullian discusses it three times in Adversus Marcionem, having previously noted its importance to Marcion in De praescriptione haereticorum.6 But we must observe beforehand that Tertullian does not present Adversus Marcionem as a struggle for the Apostle Paul, whose person and letters are discussed variously within the larger argument. As Robert Sider has noted in his seminal article, any attempt to evaluate Tertullian’s relationship to the Apostle Paul must take cognizance of Tertullian’s “literary arti¿ce.”7 We will accordingly treat Tertullian’s 4. Tertullian had discussed Marcion already in his early work De praescriptione (ca. 203) before his move toward Montanism. His attack on Marcion is avowedly a defense of the church of the apostles (which is what I mean by “catholic” authors church in Tertullian’s time). 5. Enrico Norelli, “La funzione di Paolo nel pensiero di Marcione,” RevistB 34 (1986): 533–97 (597). 6. Tertullian’s various treatments of this passage (in De prae. haer. 23; Adv. Marc. 1.20; 4.3; 5.3) have been discussed by Gerhard May, “Der Streit zwischen Petrus und Paulus in Antiochien,” in May, Markion: Gesammelte Aufsätze (ed. Katharina Greschat and Martin Meiser; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 2005), 35–41. 7. Robert D. Sider, “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120. 1

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reading of Paul with a view toward comprehending the particulars in relation to the persuasive ends and means of the whole. Before turning to Adversus Marcionem, its complex history of composition, and the place of Paul in its argumentative structure,8 we review basic data on Marcion, as well as some of the perspectives on Tertullian as an interpreter of Paul that have been developed in the last century and a half of scholarship. Marcion, Tertullian, and Their Paulinisms Marcion was a wealthy nauclerus or “ship-owner”9 from Pontus on the Black Sea (Adv. Marc. 1.1.4)10 who had come to Rome and was received into the church, to which he gave a handsome gift of 200,000 sesterces. Other biographical data from later sources seem the stuff of standard anti-heretical fare.11 Before Marcion came to Rome, he may have sought to ¿nd a home for his gospel elsewhere, even if we do not regard Irenaeus’s report of Polycarp’s encounter with and rejection of Marcion as reliable (De prae. haer. 3.3.4). The Roman church appears at ¿rst to have been unaware of Marcion’s views—or else he had not yet developed or publicized them; but shortly thereafter, in 144 C.E., Marcion was ejected from the church and his money returned (De prae. haer. 30.2).12 At some point, Marcion produced a biblical canon, consisting of a truncated and edited version of Luke followed by ten lightly edited Pauline 8. For a good account of the treatise’s argument, see Chapter 5 of Eric Osborn, Tertullian, First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 9. De prae. haer. 30.1; Adv. Marc. 1.18.4; 3.6.3; 4.9.2; 5.1.2. A nauclerus “can be an owner or a joint owner of a ship, or he may only be someone commissioned by the owner” (Gerhard May, “Marcion in Contemporary Views,” SecCent 6 [1987– 88]: 129–51, 130 [repr. in May, Markion]). See May’s full discussion in “Der ‘Schiffsreeder’ Markion,” StPatr (1989): 142–54 (repr. in May, Markion). 10. Tertullian, unlike other ancient informants, does not mention Sinope as Marcion’s hometown, but his reference to Diogenes of Sinope (Adv. Marc. 1.1.5) may signal an awareness of the fact. 11. See May, “Marcion in Contemporary Views,” 134–37. The account in Hippolytus’ Syntagma (reported in Ps.-Tertullian, Adv. omn. haer. 6.2, and Epiphanius, Pan. 42.1.3–6) that Marcion’s father was a bishop who sent his son packing after he seduced one of the church’s virgins is regarded as ¿ction by most scholars, including Harnack, who accepted that his father was indeed a bishop (Marcion: The Gospel of an Alien God [1924; 2d Germ. ed.; repr., Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2007], 16). 12. For a discussion of the probably unreliable claim by Epiphanius of a decisive showdown between Marcion and the Roman clergy, see Gerhard May, “Markions Bruch mit der römischen Gemeinde,” in May, Markion, 75–83. 1

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Epistles. His gospel and its alternative church caught on quickly: in the mid-150s Justin refers to Marcion as active and having converted people “of every nation” (1 Apol. 26), identifying his main point as the claim that Christ had revealed a hitherto unknown god (1 Apol. 58).13 This “other god” was far removed from the Creator of the heavens and earth. “Between these [gods] he sets up a great and absolute opposition,” explains Tertullian, “such as that between justice and kindness, between law and gospel, between Judaism and Christianity” (Adv. Marc. 4.6.3). For Marcion, law and gospel were antithetical principles of the religions serving these disparate deities. A signi¿cant aspect of Tertullian’s refutation, we will see, involved an alternative interpretation of what likewise appeared to him as an undeniable opposition between Judaism and Christianity. Betimes the victor appears the vanquished, and the fallen the one on top. In at least one respect Marcion would seem to have gotten the better of Tertullian, if only for a season of scholarly understanding. For it was Marcion’s understanding of Paul’s distinction between law and gospel14 that brought Harnack to utter his celebrated epigram: “Marcion was the only Gentile Christian who understood Paul, and even he misunderstood him.”15 Tertullian’s presentation of Paul, geared to combat Marcion and his more muscular apostle, fell under suspicion. What kind of Paulinism could we expect to ¿nd in Tertullian, the archetypal representative of the theological tradition that identi¿ed the gospel as a kind of law?16 Franz Overbeck,17 in his 1877 study of the incident at Antioch of Gal 2:11–21, 13. See Chapter 3 of Moll’s Arch-Heretic Marcion for discussion of “Marcion’s Gods.” 14. Harnack, Marcion, 21, 134 (2d Ger. ed. [1924], 30, 218). 15. Adolf von Harnack, History of Dogma (trans. Neil Buchanan; 7 vols.; London: Williams & Norgate, 1894–99), 1:89. 16. R. P. C. Hanson (“Notes on Tertullian’s Interpretation of Scripture,” JTS 12 [1961]: 273–79) concludes: “Having virtually removed the burden of a legalistic Old Testament religion [sic], he introduced a legalistic New Testament one… The tendency to turn Christianity into a baptized Judaism…¿nds its earliest exponent in Tertullian” (279). A similar reading of Tertullian (without the anti-Jewish Àavor) is found in H. J. Schoeps, Paul: The Theology of the Apostle in Light of Jewish Religious History (trans. Harold Knight; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1961), 267: “Tertullian is moving on the same ground as was covered by Barnabas, Hermas, and Justin when he de¿nes the gospel as the nova lex, as a con¿rmed legalism of attitude by which man acquires merit, which Irenaeus had explained on even more radical lines.” 17. Franz Overbeck, Über die Auffassung des Streits des Paulus mit Petrus in Antochien (Gal. 2, 11 ff.) bei den Kirchenvätern (1877; repr., Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968), 10. 1

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had claimed that Tertullian in his zeal to preserve Peter against the accusation of betraying the gospel truth basically “surrenders” (preisgiebt) Paul to Marcion. Likewise, Fritz Barth maintained in his 1882 article on “Tertullian’s Conception of the Apostle Paul and his Relationship to the Original Apostles” that the Carthaginian’s attempt to put Paul on the same level as the other apostles amounted to a “degrading” of his status. Eva Aleith’s 1937 study of the reception of Paul in the ¿rst two centuries after his death came to a similar conclusion: Paul’s reputation as the “apostle of the heretics” (Adv. Marc. 3.5.4) could explain “a certain coolness in [Tertullian’s] handling of him.”18 This picture of Tertullian’s relationship to Paul articulated well with the old thesis that the favor Paul found among heterodox interpreters of the second century was linked to a putative neglect of his Epistles and theology among the authors of the emerging catholic tradition. Harnack’s conclusion that Marcion was engaged in an “attempt to resuscitate Paulinism”19 clearly presupposed such a picture. More recent research20 has decisively rejected this aspect of Harnack’s reconstruction of the place of Paul in the second-century church for the most part.21 “There is certainly no basis for the notion,” Andreas Lindemann has concluded, “that Paul was forgotten or unimportant in the (wing of the) church in which ‘Clement,’ Ignatius, and Polycarp did their work.”22 Marcion must be understood against a background where Paul was already widely known and discussed among Christians as an authority, even if his letters were not yet part of a closed New Testament canon.23 Ulrich Schmid has argued not implausibly that the rapid spread 18. Eva Aleith, Paulusverständnis in der alten Kirche (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1937), 52. 19. Harnack, History of Doctrine, 1:284. 20. Andreas Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum: Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (BHT 58; Tübingen: Mohr, 1979), 1–6. At the same time appeared the work of Ernst Dassmann, Der Stachel im Fleisch: Paulus in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Irenäus (Münster: Aschendorff, 1979). 21. An exception is Calvin Roetzel, “Paul in the Second Century,” in The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul (ed. James D. G. Dunn; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 227–41: “Marcion and Valentinus appear in mid century to rescue Paul from obscurity” (228). For a more balanced view, see Richard I. Pervo, The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 4–7, 198, 229–39. 22. William S. Babcock, “Paul in the Writings of the Apostolic Fathers,” in Babcock, ed, Paul and the Legacies of Paul, 25–45. 23. For a good exposition of this perspective, see Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum, 381. 1

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of Marcion’s church is evidence of a context in which the pre-Marcionite version of Paul’s Epistles had circulated widely and had given rise to “an extreme Pauline movement within many congregations.” Marcion was the most able representative of a wider phenomenon:24 the Pauline gospel as the cutting edge of an ever more Gentile Christianity. Date, Structure, and Opening of Adversus Marcionem The openings of the ¿rst three books of Adversus Marcionem relate the complex history of this work, Tertullian’s lengthiest composition.25 Its ¿nal form emerged after multiple stages of composition over a period of something shy of a decade.26 Against Marcion ¿rst appeared—probably shortly after De praescriptione haereticorum in 200–202—as a single book focused on Marcion’s novel divinity, the previously unknown father of Christ. Tertullian acknowledges having composed this primum opusculum hastily and later revised and expanded the work to discuss Marcion’s Christ, probably in another volume (Adv. Marc. 1.1.1). The resulting second version was pilfered by a “former brother, later turned apostate,” who distributed faulty extracts of it (Adv. Marc. 1.1.1). This prompted Tertullian to a third phase of rewriting, datable to the ¿fteenth year of Septimius Severus’ reign (207–208), according to Tertullian’s chronological indication (Adv. Marc. 1.15.1). This effort produced the ¿rst three books we now have: a ¿rst book refuting Marcion’s novel divinity; a second in defense of the Creator; and a third focused on Christ. These books reÀect in several passages Tertullian’s move toward Montanism (Adv. Marc. 1.21.5; 1.29.4; 2.24.4).27 Thereafter, books 4 and 5 were written, in 209 and shortly before the spring of 212. These last two books contain increasing indications of Montanism28 and are 24. Ulrich Schmid, Marcion und sein Apostolos (ANTF 25; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995), 307–8. 25. Timothy D. Barnes (Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study [2d ed.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985], 326–28) retracted his initial claim that all ¿ve books were closely produced together at the time indicated in Adv. Marc. 1.15.1 (the ¿fteenth year of Severus’ reign, i.e., 207–208) and has endorsed a similar reconstruction of the composition of the work I described here. 26. The following draws freely on the excellent introduction of René Braun in Contre Marcionem, 1:11–19. 27. Thus, ibid., 1:17 n. 1. 28. Note the characterization in Adv. Marc. 4.22.5 of non-Montanist catholics as psychici (cf. 1 Cor 2:14). Braun observes that the traces of Tertullian’s adoption of Montanist views are even more evident in book 5 (ibid., 5:15 n. 4). Braun also notes that Tertullian added a couple of Montanist-sounding arguments on prophecy 1

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devoted to the refutation of Marcion’s scriptural canon, respectively, his Euangelion and Apostolikon. The ¿rst three books of Adversus Marcionem engage the Antitheses and refer only generally to Marcion’s canon, although Tertullian holds out the promise of an eventual exegetical treatment (1.15.1; 1.16.2). His quotation of Rom 11:33 in 2.2.4 reveals he was unaware that Marcion had suppressed the term “judgments”—something he did know when he quoted that same verse later in 5.14.9. As Braun has surmised,29 Marcion’s “New Testament” came under Tertullian’s eyes only after the ¿rst three books had attained their ¿nal version. It was only then that he was able to carry out his exegetical program (Adv. Marc. 4.1.2; 5.2.9) and implement the strategy suggested by Irenaeus of refuting Marcion on the evidence of his own canon.30 In the face of Marcion’s novel doctrine of God, Tertullian readily employed arguments from common ideas of philosophical monism, much as he did against Hermogenes.31 But because Marcion had linked his theology of two gods32 to an exegetically supported distinction between law and gospel, the Carthaginian polemicist had to “let down his defense based on prescriptions” (Adv. Marc. 1.22.1)33 and engage in close discussion of their shared scriptures. Evans has reasonably suggested that the ¿ve books of Adversus Marcionem were “envisaged as a case argued in court against Marcion as defendant…as it were three speeches in presentation of his case, followed by two more in assessment and examination of his opponent’s evidence.”34 Such a prosecutorial stance, exhibited in numerous passages, does not obscure the indications—frequent use of the terms defendere and defensio throughout the ¿ve books35—of an apologetic strand to the (Adv. Marc. 1.21.5) and the impermissibility of second marriages (Adv. Marc. 1.29.4) to his ¿rst book when he produced its ¿nal version in 207 or 208 (ibid., 1:17). 29. Ibid., 1:40. 30. Gerhard May, “Marcion in Contemporary Views,” SecCent 6 (1987–88): 129–51 (repr. in May, Markion). Irenaeus articulated this strategy in Adv. haer. 1.27.3 and 3.12.12 (ANF 1:352, 434). 31. See Claudio Moreschini, “Polemica antimarcionita e speculazione teologica in Tertulliano,” in Marcion und seine kirchengeschichtliche Wirkung, 11–27. 32. See Chapter 3 of Moll, Arch-Heretic Marcion for discussion of “Marcion’s Gods.” 33. Relaxata praescriptionum defensione (my trans.). For the plural use of the praescriptio in Tertullian (as also in Adv. Marc. 3.1.2), see S. L. Greenslade, Early Latin Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1966), 99–100. 34. Evans, Adversus Marcionem, 1:xvii. 35. I have noted the following materially relevant uses of these terms in the following passages of Adv. Marc.: 1.6.1; 1.7.3; 1.25.8; 2.1.1; 2.5.3; 2.6.1; 2.18.1; 2.29.1; 3.16.7; 4.29.8; 4.43.3; 5.1.6; 5.9.7. 1

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work: a defense of the Creator against Marcion’s slanders and of the church and its tradition against his charges of having falsi¿ed the gospel. In this light it appears to be modeled as an altercatio,36 a forensic debate in which Tertullian needs among other things to exonerate Paul from the charge of having introduced a gospel that repudiated Judaism so vigorously that the Creator God went out the window too. This is to say that Tertullian, in attacking Marcion’s “Pauline” theology, had to defend Paul against the charge of really being the apostle whom the heretics had depicted so compellingly; and for this he needed to elaborate an understanding of Paul’s gospel that contained elements of both continuity and discontinuity with Judaism. Tertullian followed Justin’s lead in making Marcion’s chief theological claim—the doctrine of two gods—the ¿rst target of his polemic. This focus is complemented by a variety of rhetorical means to discredit the doctrine through an uncomplimentary depiction of the heretic’s person.37 The exordium prepares the ground for a negative view of the heresiarch by con¿guring him as something monstrous and strange through an ekphrasis painting his native land of Pontus in frightening and repulsive colors (Adv. Marc. 1.1.3). This vituperatio, “written in brilliant prose,”38 casts uncomplimentary light on Marcion by association with negative stereotypes about his birthplace.39 Tertullian’s fantastic description of Pontus maligns everything about the place: the climate; the uncivilized life of its inhabitants—sedes incerta, vita cruda, libido promiscua, et plurimum nuda, etiam cum abscondunt40—including their necrophagy and lack of feminine modesty. A climax of expression is reached with the declaration that “there is nothing so culturally debased and depressing (tam barbarum ac triste) in Pontus as the fact that Marcion was born there.” He is more destructive than a wild beast: “What beaver is so great 36. Quintilian, Inst. 6.4.1. Quintilian goes on to specify that altercatio consists of charge and defense (ex intentione ac depulsione). 37. For analysis of the exordium and narratio, see Robert D. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric and the Art of Tertullian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 29. 38. Thus Braun, Contre Marcion, 1:70. Quintilian clari¿es that vituperatio is not limited to the “demonstrative” or “epideictic” rhetorical genus (Inst. 3.4.12–15), which ¿ts well with our view that Adv. Marc. is a piece of forensic rhetoric. 39. Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 30. Sider employs the term ekphrasis according to this notion in ancient rhetoric, where there is a broader concept than its current use in literary study to mean a vivid description of a work of art. See Ruth Webb, Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). 40. I translate: “They have no steady home, their life is rough, and their sex promiscuous, hardly covered up even when they do it privately.” 1

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a chopper of the Àesh as the man who has done away with marriage (Quis enim tam castrator carnis castor)? What mouse41 is such as nibbler as the Pontic one who gnawed up the gospels?” (Adv. Marc. 1.1.4–5, my translation). Tertullian’s implication that the mouse had something in front of him to gnaw articulates well with his central and recurrent argument against Marcion based on the anteriority of the catholic gospel message—as well as the catholic gospel texts—to that of the heretic.42 If Marcion once adhered to the catholic church—as the evidence of a letter43 ascribed to him allows Tertullian to state as a fact his followers cannot deny (1.1.6)—then his doctrine of two gods is clearly a later and deviant development, which is precisely the mark of heresy. But how did Marcion make this step into error? In line with rhetorical theory,44 Tertullian’s narratio (Adv. Marc. 1.2) presents data relevant to the case, including biographical: The unhappy man became afÀicted with the idea of this wild guess in consequence of the plain statement which our Lord made, which applies to men, not to gods, the example of the good tree and the bad, that neither does the good tree bring forth bad fruit nor the bad tree good fruit (Luke 6:43)—that is, that a good mind or a good faith does not produce evil actions, nor an evil mind and faith good ones. For, like many even in our day, heretics in particular, Marcion had an unhealthy interest in the problem of evil—the origin of it—and his perceptions were numbed by the very excess of his curiosity. So when he found the Creator declaring, It is I who create evil things (Isa 45:7) in that he had, from other arguments which make that impression on the perverse, already assumed him to be the author of evil, he interpreted with reference to the Creator the evil tree that creates evil fruit—namely, evil things in general—and assumed that there had to be another god to correspond with the good tree 41. Braun (Adv. Marc. 1:104 n. 1) relates a widespread view based on Aristotle, Hist. An. 8.7.2 and Pliny, H.N. 8.55.37 that mus here means an ermine or stoat (which is lexically possible). The force of Tertullian’s use of it seems to demand a mouse as a more likely candidate to gnaw a manuscript or codex than a stoat. 42. Thus Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum, 381: “Marcion’s textcritical work, particularly on the Pauline letters, is most comprehensible if one assumes that these letters already in a certain respect [emphasis mine] held ‘canonical’ validity.” 43. Tertullian is the only witness to refer to this letter, which he mentions once more in Adv. Marc. 4.4.3–4 and again in De carn. Chris. 2.4 (for discussion of the letter, see Moll, Arch-Heretic Marcion, 115–18). 44. Cicero, Inv. 1.20–21, 28–29. Quintilian quotes Apollodorus’ de¿nition of the narratio: “a speech informing the listener what the controverted issue is” (oratio docens auditorem, quid in controversia sit [Inst. 4.2.1]). 1

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which brings forth good fruits. Discovering then in Christ as it were a different dispensation of sole and unadulterated benevolence, an opposite character to the Creator’s, he found it easy to argue for a new and hitherto unknown divinity revealed in its own Christ, and thus with a little leaven has ensnared the whole mass of the faith with heretical acidity. (Adv. Marc. 1.2.2–3)

This “little leaven” and “whole mass” alludes to Gal 5:9 (cf. 1 Cor 5:6) and is the only trace of Paul in Tertullian’s initial account of the heresy’s origin. The depiction of Marcion’s discovery as “leaven” may be a thrust at Marcion’s interpretation of the leaven of the Pharisees (Luke 12:1) as “the preaching of the Creator” (Adv. Marc. 4.28.1). The real leaven is Marcion’s corrosive doctrine of a new god, a view achieved through tearing down the god “whom he could not but confess to exist” by making him responsible for evil (Adv. Marc. 1.2.3). Tertullian’s tracing of Marcion’s heresy back to a relentless curiositas concerning theodicy resembles his genealogy of heresy too nearly to be regarded as historically reliable.45 Paul in the Argument Paul in Book 1 The apostle comes into extended discussion in the ¿rst book following a passage where Tertullian de¿nes the lines of combat. Pausing after an imagined interjection from the Marcionite side (1.19.1), he sets out their main claim: the “separation of law and gospel is the primary and principal exploit (proprium et principale opus) of Marcion.” The Antitheses and its contrariae oppositiones work to make this case, arguing for a “diversity of gods” based on the “diversity of principles between these two documents” (Adv. Marc. 1.19.4). Tertullian asserts that this separation, which he takes to be at the root of Marcion’s novel theology, followed upon a previous “peace between gospel and law” (Adv. Marc. 1.19.5). This assertion “calls for justi¿cation on our part” (defensio quoque a nobis necessaria) in light of the claims of the opposition (Adv. Marc. 1.20.1). One area in particular need of such a defensio is apparent from Tertullian’s segue to the question of Paul’s rebuke of Peter at 45. See De prae. haer. 7.7, which inveighs against the heretics who, ignoring the apostle’s warning against philosophy and empty deceit (Col 2:8, RSV), pursue “a Stoic, a Platonist, or a dialectical Christianity,” getting caught up in myths and endless genealogies (1 Tim 1:4). “We have no need of curiosity after Jesus Christ nor of research subsequent to the gospel” (De prae. haer. 7.12). Chapter 30 of this work mentions curiositas in regard to both Valentinus and Marcion. 1

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Antioch (Gal 2:11–21). He introduces the discussion of the passage by referring to the claim of Marcionites that Marcion did not so much “invent a basic principle (regulam) by a separation of the law and the gospel as he did re-establish one previously adulterated” (Adv. Marc. 1.20.1). That this adulteration theory of the gospel was adduced as both motive and justi¿cation of Marcion’s text-critical work—literally a separation of law and gospel through the production of a Gesetztfrei gospel and apostle—would seem to support Tertullian’s identi¿cation of that separation as the heretic’s proprium et principale opus. Tertullian’s ¿rst discussion of Galatians in Adversus Marcionem is his briefest attempt in the work to mitigate the conÀict between Paul and the other apostles:46 They (sc. Marcionites) object that Peter and these others, pillars of the apostleship, were reproved by Paul for not walking uprightly according to the truth of the gospel (Gal 2:9)—by that Paul, you understand, who, yet inexperienced in grace (adhuc in gratia rudis), and anxious lest he had run or was running in vain (Gal 2:2), was then for the ¿rst time conferring with those who were apostles before him. (Adv. Marc. 1.20.2)

This brief presentation of the matters obscures the chronology of Paul’s narrative in Galatians, which depicts the conÀict in Antioch having come some indeterminate time after this meeting in Jerusalem in which Paul was “conferring” (conferebat) with the apostles to alleviate his anxiety about his grasp of the gospel. Tertullian takes Paul’s rebuke of Peter in Antioch to be still determined by the supposedly neophyte status of the former. “Still ¿red up as a newborn Christian (ut neophytes) against Judaism,” Tertullian writes, Paul reckoned that the slightest slip in conduct (in conversatione) could not be overlooked, although afterwards he too would in practice become all things to all people (1 Cor 9:20). There is no ground, then, for Marcion’s allegation that Paul’s rebuke of Peter and the others had to do “with any slippage in their preaching about God” (Adv. Marc. 1.20.3, my translation). Tertullian’s inclination to press Paul into a united front with the Jerusalem apostles is patent and earned him much criticism from nineteenth- and early twentieth-century scholars.47 More recently his exegesis

46. For a full discussion of early and medieval Christian attempts at such an exegetical whitewashing, see René Kieffer, Foi et justi¿cation à Antioch: Interprétation d’un conÀit (Paris: Cerf, 1982), 82–103. 47. Overbeck, “Über die Auffassung,” 10–13; F. Barth, “Tertullians Auffassung des Apostels Paulus und seines Verhältnisses zu den Uraposteln,” Jahrbuch für Protestant Theologie 8 (1882): 706–56 (752); Aleith, Paulusverständnis, 53. 1

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has been labeled a “noble ¿ction” of the apologist.48 Yet Tertullian is actually in agreement with modern scholarship in seeing that the points of conÀict Paul had with the Galatian Christians were within a sphere of larger agreement despite the debate about the observance of the law: The whole essence of the discussion was that while the same God, the God of the law, was being preached in Christ, His law was under criticism: and consequently, while faith in the Creator and his Christ stood forever ¿rm, conduct and discipline were in doubt (stabat igitur ¿des semper in creatore et Christo eius, sed conversatio et disciplina nutabat). For there were some who disputed about eating things offered to idols, others about the veiling of women, others about marriage and divorce, and a few even about the hope of the resurrection: about God, not a one. (Adv. Marc. 1.21.2–3; Evans’s translation, slightly altered)

Had the apostle preached a new god, Tertullian presses, there would have been no need for any discussion concerning whether the old law was still valid or to what degree; it would have been abolished without any contention (1.21.1–2). From textual evidence he reconstructs a more probable context to account for the data in the letter. Marcion had proceeded similarly but arrived at a different reconstruction: the problematic conversatio of Peter and the other apostles was a sign of their faulty understanding of the gospel; their corrupt praedicatio was the cause of their conduct. Tertullian’s counter-proposal, on the other hand, supposes a more signi¿cant distinction between matters of conversatio et disciplina and the gospel message as ¿des…in creatore et Christo eius, as “faith in the Creator and his Christ.” Thus, he conceived the gospel as the central element of the Christian message, being both the basis for concord among believers as well as the norm in light of which any disagreements concerning conduct were to be adjudicated. Paul in Book 4 The discussion of Paul’s rebuke of Peter recurs in book 4, which commences an extended introduction to problems relating to Marcion’s canon prior to Tertullian’s exegetical survey of it. Book 4 opens on an inquisitorial note, with an abrupt summons of Marcion’s gospel text as evidence against him: “Every sentence, indeed the whole structure, I now challenge (provocamus)49 in terms of that gospel which he has by 48. Roetzel, “Paul in the Second Century,” 237. 49. This language may allude to the Roman legal provision of the provocatio, in which a defendant could appeal a magistrate’s decision to the vox populi. For discussion, see R. Develin, “Provocatio and Plebiscites. Early Roman Legislation and the Historical Tradition,” Mnemosyne 31 (1978): 45–60.

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manipulation made his own” (Adv. Marc. 4.1.1). To make this gospel seem plausible—Tertullian avers—Marcion pre¿xed to it his Antitheses as “a sort of dowry” (dotem quondam), he mocks. Tertullian declines to enter into a point-by-point refutation of the Antitheses or to invoke his praescriptio ruling out scriptural discussion with heretics (quamquam tam facile est praescriptive occurrere). The Antitheses are much more conveniently refuted by the evidence in Marcion’s own gospel (examined at length in book 4), which material Tertullian will convert into his own “antitheses” against Marcion. Tertullian then moves to establish the nodal point of the conÀict by granting a key feature of his opponent’s case: that the coming of the Christ meant a break between the soteriological principle of law—which he conceived as the basis of Judaism—and that of the gospel or Christianity. This concession—or shared conviction—allows Tertullian to de¿ne the main issue of the debate favorably to his case. His strategy can be expressed in terms he himself would have recognized, those of the rhetorical theory of “issues” or staseis (constitutiones or status in Latin).50 In line with this body of theory, Tertullian seems to have framed the issue of the debate with Marcion as the constitutio generalis, the “qualitative”51 stasis. Unable to contest the factum Marcion identi¿ed— an undeniable distinction between law and gospel—the debate could not be a matter of the ¿rst stasis or “conjectural” issue (whether such a fact exists) but had to be quale sit. Granted that the phenomenon is real, what kind of thing is it? So then I do admit that there was a different course followed in the old dispensation under the Creator, from that in the new dispensation under Christ. I do not deny a difference in records of things spoken, in precepts for good behavior, and in rules of law, provided that all these differences (tota diversitas) have reference to one and the same God, that God by whom it is acknowledged that they were ordained and also foretold. (Adv. Marc. 4.1.3) 50. This was invented by Hermagoras of Temnos (mid-second century B.C.E.), imported into Latin rhetoric by Cicero’s De inventione, and developed by Hermogenes of Tarsus. See Ray Nadeau, “Hermogenes On Stases: A Translation with an Introduction and Notes,” Speech Monographs 32 (1964): 361–424. Hermogenes of Tarsus was a Greek rhetor born ca. 160 who achieved fame in his youth. Marcus Aurelius was among his admirers (so ibid., 363). 51. Reading book 1 of Adversus Marcionem in line with stasis theory was suggested by Sider, Ancient Rhetoric, 49. For the technical terms I employ the English translation of Cicero’s De inventione (here, 1.8.10–11) by H. M. Hubbell (LCL). For a recent discussion of stasis theory, see Malcolm Heath, “The Substructure of StasisTheory from Hermagoras to Hermogenes,” CQ 44 (1994): 114–29. 1

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Marcion was right to identify Christianity as a different system from that of the law (alium ordinem decucurrisse in veteri dispositione apud creatorem), but he wrongly interpreted the signi¿cance of that fact. God, Tertullian argues, even foretold that there would be this shift in dispositio, which we might translate here as “valid religious system” (instead of Evans’s “dispensation”). This central perspective is what the lengthy opening chapter of book 4 labors to establish against Marcion. Tertullian cites at length verses from the prophets pointing to the coming of a new religious dispensation. Concerning Isaiah’s saying (2:3) about a law to go forth from Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem, he comments: “certainly, a different law and a different word.” Then that God, the prophet continues, will judge amidst the Gentiles and will convict a great people—“obviously not the people of that one nation of Jews,” Tertullian interprets, “but a great people of the Gentiles who are judged and convicted among themselves52 about their primal error through the new law of the gospel and the new word of the apostles” (4.1.4, my translation). More verses from Isaiah in support of the same idea follow, along with citations of Jeremiah (4:3; 31:3) and Malachi (1:1). He elucidates Isa 10:23—God will make a short word on the earth—with a paraphrase indicating the matter is clearly one of a change in religious systems: “The New Testament has been abridged (compendiatum) and disentangled from the overloaded burdens of the law” (Adv. Marc. 4.1.6, my trans.). Thus, catholics agree with Marcion that law as the basis of a religious system has been superseded and that salvation is through the gospel of Christ held by the church (whether catholic or Marcionite). What Tertullian wants the Marcionites of his day—or the catholics who may have been targeted by Marcion’s church as potential converts53—to admit is that these facts do not demand the postulate of different gods with disparate systems of salvation: The one who ordained the change also established the difference: the one who foretold of the renewal also told beforehand of the contrariety. Why need you explain a difference of facts as an opposition of authorities? Why need you distort against the Creator those antitheses in the evidences…? (Adv. Marc. 4.1.9–10, slightly altered) 52. This formulation seems to be inÀuenced by Rom 2:14–15. 53. See Tertullian’s telling remark in De prae. haer. 41.1 about the targets of the heretics’ preaching (he names Valentinus and Marcion in ch. 39 of the same work): hoc sit negotium illis, non ethnicos conuertendi sed nostros euertendi. Greenslade (Early Latin Theology, 62) translates thus: “Their concern is not to convert the heathen, but to subvert our folk.” 1

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The “difference in facts” (differentia rerum) and “antitheses in the evidences” point to the scriptural data Marcion’s Antitheses highlighted to support the conclusion of two different gods as the ground for the differences between law and gospel. Harnack was right to insist on Marcion being a biblical theologian in this sense: he took the books of the Hebrew Bible at face value as “true information” about the God of the Jews and the law they were given as the means of their relation to that deity.54 Noteworthy is the concurrence of Tertullian and his Marcionite opponents that Judaism is the negated other whose negation their accounts of their own religions presuppose. The same insistence on the de¿nitive break with Judaism recurs later in book 4, where Tertullian clearly marks out the supersession of Judaism by Christianity through the ministry of John the Baptist (4.33.8). The second section (ch. 2) of the opening to book 4 contains Tertullian’s transition to the argument based on Luke’s Gospel, which Marcion had edited and “published” without attribution. The Carthaginian sets out his own presupposition about the Gospels and their claims to authority: “I lay it down to begin with that the documents of the Gospels have the apostles for their authors, and that this task of promulgating the gospel was imposed on them by our Lord himself.” He grants that two of the Gospels, Mark and Luke, have the names not of apostles but of “apostolic men” (apostolicos) who authored their works not by themselves or on their own authority but in close association with the apostles, even if after them (sed cum apostolis et post apostolos) (Adv. Marc. 4.2.1).55 “The authority of their teachers” (auctoritas magistrorum) and even of Christ, who “made the apostles teachers,” is thus behind the “apostolic men” and the Gospels they composed. Marcion, Tertullian states, chose Luke’s Gospel to alter; but this raises a question of Luke’s authority: Now Luke was not an apostle but an apostolic man, not a master but a disciple, in any case less than his master, and assuredly even more of lesser account as being the follower of a later apostle, Paul, to be sure: so that even if Marcion had introduced his gospel under the name of Paul, that one single document would not be adequate for our faith, if destitute of the support of his predecessors. (Adv. Marc. 4.2.4)

54. Harnack, Marcion, 65 (2d Ger. ed., 93). 55. I agree with Braun in rendering this last phrase “mais avec les apôtres et après les apôtres” (Contre Marcion, 4:69), as opposed to Evans’s “as companions of apostles or followers of apostles”, since post apostolos would be a way of indicating that—in Tertullian’s view—Mark and Luke were written after Matthew and John.

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This is direct counterpoint to Marcion’s overvaluation of Paul as a solitary witness, but in my view implies no diminution of Paul on Tertullian’s part. It simply presses the attack at a potentially weak point: that Marcion stands accused of innovation if the genealogy of his gospel does not hold up. If Luke is dependent on Paul, as Tertullian thinks and assumes Marcion did also, then a question arises about “that gospel which Paul found, that to which he [Paul] gave his assent, that with which shortly afterwards he was anxious that his own should agree” (Adv. Marc. 4.2.5). Referring here to Gal 2:2 (which recounts Paul’s journey to Jerusalem to con¿rm with the pillars there that he was not running or had run in vain), Tertullian paraphrases the story of the Jerusalem visit in Gal 2:2–9 to highlight Paul’s own desire to con¿rm his gospel with a prior authority. The way Tertullian writes of a gospel Paul “found” (invenit) suggests he thought Paul possessed a written gospel which the Jerusalem apostles later compared with their own and declared authentic (integrum evangelium, Adv. Marc. 4.3.4). The question of the authority behind Marcion’s gospel brings Tertullian to disclose the particular signi¿cance of Galatians to the heresiarch: “Marcion got a hold of (nactus) Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where he castigates even the apostles themselves because they were not walking uprightly according to the truth of the gospel [Gal 2:14], while he also accuses certain false apostles who were perverting the gospel of Christ [Gal 1:7]” (Adv. Marc. 4.3.2, my translation). Paul’s narrative in Galatians—regarded by modern New Testament scholars56 as working to claim the support of the Jerusalem apostles for his gospel—was interpreted by Marcion as indicating the incompatibility of Paul’s gospel with that of Jerusalem. Tertullian’s counter-exegesis grants the fact of the rebuke but shades it more acceptably as reÀecting an early phrase of Paul’s missionary work: Even if Peter was rebuked (Gal 2:11), and John and James, who were considered to be pillars (Gal 2:9), the reason is obvious: they seemed to change eating habits of our consideration for certain individuals. And since Paul himself would become all things to all people (1 Cor 9:22) to gain them all (1 Cor 9:19), this could have been Peter’s intention in his acting otherwise than he was teaching. (Adv. Marc. 4.3.3, my translation)

Tertullian concludes: “So it was not about the preaching but their practice (non de praedicatione sed de conversatione) that they were called out (denotabantur) by Paul” (Adv. Marc. 4.3.4, my translation). 56. E.g., J. Louis Martyn, Galatians (AB 33A; New York: Doubleday, 1997), 154.

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Apostolic concordia was important to Tertullian,57 but even within this framework he allows the possibility of tension between the apostles despite broader areas of agreement, much as he assumed was the case concerning the disciplinary and moral problems of the church he debated in his own day.58 As was the case for so much of the early Christian reception of Paul, Tertullian’s notion of apostolic concordia was heavily inÀuenced by Acts and its presentation of Christianity as moving progressively away from Jewish observance and from Jews as targets of its mission. Particularly important for Tertullian, as for the later Latin exegetical tradition,59 was Acts’ depiction of the Jerusalem Council (ch. 15) as well as Paul’s circumcision of Timothy (16:1–3). Paul in Book 5 The ¿fth book of Adversus Marcion continues the interrogation of witnesses, with Tertullian turning speci¿cally to Marcion’s Apostolikon after a carefully composed exordium setting out the terms of his challenge. The exordium opens by recalling a key theme of book 1,60 which functions as a commonplace acceptable to all parties of the dispute: “Nothing is without origin except God alone.” Tertullian draws the epistemological consequences: in the case of originate beings, we can only be certain of their existence—the basis for any evaluation of the nature of that existence—through knowing their origins. This conclusion seems forced, but it is clear where the argument is heading: “I desire to hear from Marcion the origin of Paul the apostle” (Adv. Marc. 5.1.1). Tertullian poses this question—which could be interpreted as hostile to the apostle—under the cover of a new authorial voice, namely, that of “a new disciple, one who has no ears for any other teacher” (novus discipulus, nec ullius alterius auditor). This persona of an interested inquirer allows him to declare as his single critical method that “nothing is to be believed rashly” (qui nihil interim credam nisi nihil temere credendum).

57. Barth, “Tertullians Auffassung,” 737–41. See Tertullian, De prae. haer. 23.1–24.3 for his ¿rst attempt to ameliorate the apostles’ conÀict of Gal 2. 58. For a study of Tertullian’s use of Paul in this regard, see Claude Rambaux, “La composition et l’exégèse dans les deux lettres Ad uxorem, le De exhortatione castitatis et le De monogamia, ou la construction de la pensée dans les traités de Tertullien sur le remariage,” REAug 22 (1976): 3–28, 201–17; 23 (1977): 18–55. 59. See Stephen Cooper, Marius Victorinus’ Commentary on Galatians (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 200–206. 60. Adv. Marc. 1.3.2: “God is the supremely great, ¿rmly established in eternity, unbegotten, uncreated” (deum summum esse magnum, aeternitate constitutum, innatum, infectum).

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He then turns to Marcion directly and frames a question loaded with maritime metaphors, implying that he must have been rather more careful with his business than with the goods of religion: So then, shipmaster out of Pontus, supposing you have never accepted into your craft any smuggled or illicit merchandise, have never at all appropriated or adulterated (adulterasti) any cargo, and in the things of God are even more careful and trustworthy, will you please tell us under what bill of lading you accepted Paul as apostle (quo symbolo susceperis apostolum Paulum), who had stamped him with that mark of distinction, who commended him to you, and who put him in your charge? Only so may you with con¿dence disembark him: only so can he avoid being proved to belong to him who has put in evidence all the documents that attest his apostleship. (Adv. Marc. 5.1.2, slightly altered)

Evans’s “bill of lading” renders symbolon, a Greek loan word attested in this sense in Carthage for the contract (or the seal of it) between the shipman and the owner of the cargo.61 The implication is that Marcion had received Paul under the proper billing, but set him ashore no longer quite the same. Continuing to press the question of the authority of Paul’s gospel, Tertullian reviews Marcion’s own claims about Paul. “Paul himself— says Marcion—claims to be an apostle, indeed, an apostle not from men nor through a man but through Jesus Christ [Gal 1:1]” (Adv. Marc. 5.1.3). Tertullian’s response to this is a legal argument: “Sure—anyone can make a claim about himself, but his claim holds weight only by someone else’s authority…. No one is both witness and claimant on his own behalf” (my translation). Dropping his “guise of a disciple and an inquirer,” he reverts to his catholic position, including the willingness to accept typological interpretations. “Even Genesis long ago promised Paul to me,” he claims, quoting Jacob’s dying benediction upon his son Benjamin (Gen 49:27, RSV: “Benjamin is a ravenous wolf, in the morning devouring the prey, and at even dividing the spoil”). According to Tertullian, this verse is clearly a ¿gurative prophecy of Paul, who was from the tribe of Benjamin! Likewise another Benjaminite, Saul, who in abandoning pursuit of David (1 Sam 18) resembled Paul who persecuted David’s son—the Christ—before repenting of his hostility toward him (Adv. Marc. 5.1.5–6). Tertullian brings up another document—essential to the catholic canonization of Paul—but one he knew Marcion rejected. The Acts of the Apostles “has transmitted this account of Paul to me, which is not to

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be denied even by you” (my translation). This element of Paul’s vita, being amply witnessed in his epistles, was not something that Marcion could eliminate from his presentation of the apostle. If, as Marcion maintained, Paul was not in service of the Creator, then “the apostle ought not to teach, know, or intend anything in line with the Creator” (Adv. Marc. 5.1.8, my translation). Tertullian then announces the thesis he intends to demonstrate: “From now on I claim I shall prove that no other god was the subject of the apostle’s profession, on the same terms as I have proved this of Christ” (5.1.9). His evidence will be “the very62 epistles of Paul,” which have been “mutilated” even as regards their number (the Pastoral Epistles were not part of Marcion’s Apostolikon). Galatians is the ¿rst letter Tertullian discusses,63 as that stood at the head of Marcion’s collection (as it likely did in the ten-letter edition he utilized).64 In three chapters of the critical edition he examines passages that either played a key role in Marcion’s theology or were particularly useful to oppose him. Before Tertullian addresses any particular passage from Galatians, he sets out where the catholic and the Marcionite understandings of this letter concur: “We too admit that the main letter against Judaism is the one that instructs the Galatians.” A further point of agreement follows—“We certainly do embrace the full abolition of the old law”—but then a quali¿cation comes that signals the agreement goes only so far: “…an abolition, even the very one coming about from the Creator’s direction” (Adv. Marc. 5.2.1, my translation). In accord with Luke 16:16, “the law and the prophets were until John,” Tertullian offers a prototypical supersessionist65 interpretation of the relation between 62. My translation. I follow Braun’s text here, which gives the reading of the manuscripts (ex ipsis utique epistolis), instead of Evans’s conjecture of ipsius for ipsis. 63. Book 5 treats Marcion’s ten Pauline letters at uneven lengths. Twenty pages of the CCSL edition are dedicated to 1 Corinthians; ten pages for Galatians; eight for Ephesians (which Marcion entitled Laodiceans); approximately six for both Romans and 2 Corinthians; two to three on Colossians, 1 Thessalonians, 2 Thessalonians, and Philippians each; and a bare two sentences on Philemon. 64. See Schmid, Marcion, 282–83, 294–96. 65. See the discussion of this concept in Daniel Boyarin’s review article, “The Subversion of the Jews: Moses’s Veil and the Hermeneutics of Supersession,” Diacritics 2 (1993): 16–35 (27): “ ‘Supersession’ can thus itself be understood in two ways. It means either that Israel has been contradicted and replaced by the church or that Israel has been ‘continued’ and ful¿lled in the church. What is common to the two is that after Christ there is no further positive role for Israel in the Àesh. A hermeneutic theory such as Paul’s, by which the literal Israel, literal history, literal circumcision, and literal genealogy are superseded by their allegorical, spiritual 1

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Christianity and Judaism: “the apostle removes his support from the old but lends his weight to the new (vetera in¿rmat nova vero con¿rmat)… Therefore both the tearing down of the law and the building up of the gospel even in this letter turn out in my favor” (5.2.1–2, my translation). With a clear perception of the historical situation of the Galatian believers, he adds the forceful point that the Galatians “were presuming the Christ to belong to the Creator and to be believed in along with the maintenance of the Creator’s law.” A further argument based on a reconstruction of the historical situation of the Galatians and the dynamics of religious conversion allows Tertullian again to point to the implausibility of Marcion’s supposition that Paul preached a Christ of an unknown God. “If anyone had received a new god”—Tertullian poses the matter counterfactually—“would he wait very long to learn that he ought pursue a new rule of living?” (Adv. Marc. 5.2.2, my translation). Obviously not. Had the Galatians received from Paul the gospel of a god who was not the Creator, they would not have been easily led to want to observe the Creator’s laws. In place of Marcion’s contention that Paul was trying to call them away from that Creator and his law, Tertullian has a more probable scenario as to what Paul was doing in Galatians: “The entire purpose (tota intentio) of this letter, therefore, is to teach nothing other than that the departure of the law (legis discessionem) comes from the plan (dispositione) of the Creator” (Adv. Marc. 5.2.4, my translation). The ¿rst verse of Galatians Tertullian takes up is the apostle’s show of shock (Gal 1:6) at his converts’ readiness to turn to another gospel (ad aliud evangelium). Given that Paul’s language of “another gospel” had been co-opted by Marcion, Tertullian is careful to gloss the sense of aliud: “another (aliud) in manner of life, not in religion, another in rule of conduct, not in divinity: because the gospel of Christ must needs be calling them away from the law, not away from the Creator towards another god” (Adv. Marc. 5.2.4). To undercut the Marcionite claims that the Creator himself had a gospel (as promised in the Creator’s prophets), Tertullian had to offer a better reading of Paul’s vehement anathema against anyone who “has preached the gospel otherwise” (aliter66 evangelizaverit), even “an angel from heaven” (Gal 1:8). Like some

signi¿ed is not necessarily anti-Semitic or anti-Judaic.” Boyarin does not credit the ancient or (most) modern interpreters of Paul with having avoided anti-Semitism or anti-Judaism, as one can see from the remainder of his article. 66. On Tertullian’s translation of the Greek par’ ho as aliter, see Schmid, Marcion, 74. 1

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modern scholars,67 the Carthaginian takes Gal 1:8 to be an attack on the advocates of circumcision mentioned in the preceding verse. Paul said an angel as an example (gratia enim verbi dictum est) to make that point that if an angel preaching thus is anathema, how much more a human being (the common argument a maiore ad minus). This was meant to anticipate, thinks Tertullian, the circumstances the apostle goes on to detail in regards to those who were leading the Galatians astray. What the apostle wrote in this letter corroborates (con¿rmat) the account in Acts (15:5), where “certain persons intervened who said the men ought to be circumcised and the law of Moses was to be kept” (Adv. Marc. 5.2.7). The responses of the apostles (Peter and James, left unnamed by Tertullian) to these men prove that Acts agrees with Paul (congruent Paulo Apostolorum Acta). Tertullian turns to Paul’s conÀict with the false brethren secretly brought (Gal 2:4) and to the subsequent narrative culminating with the scene at Antioch between Peter and Paul. His discussion of this summarizes what he said previously in the treatise about this letter: Paul had gone to Jerusalem (Gal 2:1) “to confer with them concerning the content of his gospel”; the clari¿cation that Titus was not compelled to be circumcised (Gal 2:3) demonstrates that “it was solely the question of circumcision which had suffered disturbance” through those whom “he calls false brethren unawares brought in” (Gal 2:4); and that the charge of perverting the gospel (Gal 1:7) relates not to the question of the God of the gospel but to an improper “retention of the old rule of conduct” (Adv. Marc. 5.3.1–2). Because Marcion’s text—like most of the Greek manuscript tradition and modern editions—had the negative particle at Gal 2:5 (which Tertullian’s catholic version apparently lacked), Tertullian assumes he had suppressed it to deny that the apostle was willing to maintain aspects of Jewish practice when the circumstances warranted it, such as the circumcision of Timothy (Acts 16:2), and other cases where Paul was willing “to become a Jew to the Jews in order to gain Jews” (Adv. Marc. 5.3.5, my translation). Peter, James, and John did well (bene) to join hands with Paul and enter into the agreement dividing the mission ¿eld, with the stipulation that he remember the poor—which 67. Thus, François Vouga, An die Galater (HNT 10; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 23. Vouga, apparently unaware that he is following Tertullian, gives the same analysis, including the idea that the mention of the angel “bereitet mit einem Argument a fortiori den aktuellen Bezug der Klarstellung vor.” This strikes me as preferable to the suggestion of Martyn (Galatians, 113) that the competing “Teachers” had informed the Galatians “that their gospel is uttered to the whole of the world by an angel who speaks through them.”

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for Tertullian is another indication that “this too [was] according to the law of that Creator who cherishes the poor and needy” (Adv. Marc. 5.3.5). This is clearly the God of the Jews whose law concerning almsgiving the apostle was ready to ful¿ll. This is, perhaps needless to say, a correct characterization of Judaism; and Tertullian not implausibly supposes in this early period of Christianity that there was “a question solely of the law, until a decision was reached as to how much of the law it was convenient should be retained” (Adv. Marc. 5.3.7). Tertullian then follows out Paul’s narratio to the question of Paul’s rebuke of Peter (Gal 2:15–21). He refers to the Marcionite objection that Peter was “not walking uprightly according to the truth of the gospel,” and frankly admits that the text says Paul rebuked him (Plane reprehendit). But the reason for the rebuke was not a matter of “any perverse view of deity”—which he would have vehemently opposed anyone about— but Peter’s alternating between observing Jewish dietary laws and not observing them, depending on his eating companions. Tertullian declines this time to attribute the rebuke to Paul’s inexperience in the mission ¿eld, but concludes the discussion of this segment of text with the rhetorical question, Sed quomodo Marcionitae volunt credi? (“But what do the Marcionites want it to mean?,” Adv. Marc. 5.3.7, my translation). Tertullian had no need to answer the question, since he previously (particularly in book 4) apprised his readers of Marcion’s theory of the corruption of Christ’s gospel by his Judaizing apostles and Paul’s struggle against them.68 Conclusion Our pursuit of one thread of Tertullian’s presentation of Paul in Adversus Marcionem has led us into the heart of the dispute with Marcion. Without pretending to give a full account of Tertullian’s Paulinism or his understanding of the gospel, I have attempted to show how his presentation of Paul was shaped by the contours of Marcion’s distorted but compelling portrait of the Apostle to the Gentiles as the only reliable witness to the saving message of Christ. The centrality of Galatians to the heresiarch’s audacious revision of the faith—his separation of law from gospel—meant that Tertullian had to engage Marcion on his own turf. He did this chieÀy by means of a largely literal approach to the Epistles combined with his keen sense for the weakness of the opposing argument. In the foregoing I have highlighted Tertullian’s rhetorical 68. For the passages in Tertullian that relate this theory, see Harnack, Marcion, 26–27.

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strategy as granting elements of the Marcionite case—the great gulf between Christianity and Judaism as distinctly different religious systems—but insisting that the phenomenon granted need not be interpreted in the fanciful light of Marcion’s theology. While Tertullian could honestly agree with Marcion that a de¿nitive “parting of the ways” of Christianity from Judaism had taken place, he did not concur with the heresiarch in reading the apostle as having posited law and gospel as antithetical principles corresponding to different deities. In the face of Marcion’s central assertion that Paul was an emissary of the Christ who came to proclaim the gospel of his previously unknown Father, Tertullian opted for a less speculative historical account—even when he got the history wrong—and read the evidence at hand to construct a more probable scenario concerning Paul and his gospel than that tendered by Marcion.69 With greater toleration for ambiguity than the heresiarch, Tertullian could see a more complex genealogy of the family of religions, extending from the one that Paul counted as loss for the sake of Christ, to the Christianity the apostle preached (Phil 3:8, RSV), and to that of Marcion. Tertullian’s extensive engagement in Adversus Marcionem with the Corpus Paulinum stands at the beginning of the history of Latin Christianity’s exegetical affair with its favorite apostle. That he was brought to this task by the attractiveness of Marcion’s revision of the apostle and his gospel is no surprise to the student of church history, where the development of doctrine proceeds in part through the highways and by-ways of blunders and false starts that have for a time seemed the way of truth. This was not lost on Tertullian. He was fond of quoting 1 Cor 11:19— “there must be also heresies among you, that they which are approved may be made manifest among you” (KJV)—and on one occasion he allows that the inevitability of heresy arises from the openness of the Scriptures to false interpretation (De res. carn. 40). Paul, as Tertullian himself frankly acknowledged to the Marcionites, is “our common teacher” (communem magistrum Paulum, Adv. Marc. 3.14.4; my translation), and for that very reason had to be an object of intense scrutiny and investigation. Tertullian could not in this debate afford to “defame” (blasphemo) the one he was defending (Adv. Marc. 5.1.6), but he was also unwilling to let Marcion’s promotion of Paul as the gospel’s sole suf¿cient witness go unchallenged.

69. See Todd D. Still, “Shadow and Light: Marcion’s (Mis)Construal of the Apostle Paul,” in Paul and the Second Century (ed. Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson; London: T&T Clark International, 2011), 91–107. 1

DID TERTULLIAN SUCCEED? REFLECTIONS ON TERTULLIAN’S APPROPRIATION OF PAUL IN HIS RESPONSE TO MARCION Bruce W. Longenecker

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Referencing Paul in theological debate has been commonplace throughout Christian ecclesial history; so too has the phenomenon of Paul being claimed as an ally by all parties in those disputes—in this case, by both Marcion and Tertullian. While Tertullian is the proto-orthodox hero in this particular story, I want initially to salute Marcion for his theological sensitivity and for what he was seeking to accomplish. Of course, his exegetical methods and theological worldview seem far-fetched to the orthodox mind. But, although we know of him only through the voices of his opponents (and therefore must be cautious in claiming to know much about the nuances of his motivation), it seems unwise to imagine him as driven by a commitment to some philosophical system over which he merely draped a veneer of Christianity. Instead, it is more likely that Marcion, having had extensive exposure to proto-orthodox forms of Christianity (his father having been a bishop of Sinope), was driven by a concern to sort out tensions within texts received as authoritative within Christianity and, consequently, to make Christianity more palatable to Greco-Roman sensitivities—in particular, freeing it from what he perceived to be rustic and uncivilized elements. In essence, then, his project ultimately derives not so much from philosophical systems beyond proto-orthodox forms of Christianity but from his convictions about the fundamental character of Christianity. One component of Marcion’s convictions about the fundamental character of Christianity, arguably, had to do with violence. Within the Judeo-Christian texts that were deemed authoritative among protoorthodox circles of second-century Christianity, Marcion had noted a 1

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deeply entrenched tension concerning the legitimacy of violence. One factor motivating Marcion’s dichotomization of law and gospel was his perception (regardless of its merit) that the violence running rampant throughout his world resonated with the modus operandi of “the god of the Old Testament,” in complete contrast to the modus operandi of the God of salvation revealed by Jesus.1 Calvin Roetzel captures something of this when laying out Marcion’s understanding of the two competing divinities in this way: The creator God had Moses stretch out his hands to kill; the alien God made Jesus Christ stretch out his hands to bless and to save. The creator God urged Joshua to violence; the alien God had Christ forbid violence. The creator God gave a law that required an “eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”. The alien God commanded his followers to “turn the other cheek” and to “repay no man evil for evil.”2

Marcion, quite likely, was sensitive to what he perceived to be a clash of theological narratives of power—a narrative of “power through nonviolence” that he recognized in revered texts of Christianity on the one hand, and, on the other hand, narratives of “power through violence” that he saw advertised all around him, in the Greco-Roman stories of the gods and (rightly or wrongly) in the Old Testament narratives of the Israel’s divinity.3 In light of this perceived clash of narratives, Marcion went on 1. I am under no illusion that the issue of violence was the sole motivating factor behind Marcion’s project, but it seems to have been a fairly central one nonetheless. 2. Calvin Roetzel, “Paul in the Second Century,” in The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul (ed. James D. G. Dunn; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 227–41 (231). Richard I. Pervo (The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010], 202–3) notes that while “Marcion was not a philosophical theologian, nor was he a profound thinker,” what troubled him most “was the contrast he saw between the just, angry, and vengeful god of the Hebrew Bible and the goodness, love and mercy of the god proclaimed by Jesus.” 3. Similarly, it is important to note that, in the late second century C.E., the strident opponent of Christianity, Celsus, incorporates precisely this issue into his critique (of 177 C.E.) of the intellectual instability of Christianity. “If the prophets of the God of the Jews foretold that he who should come into the world would be the Son of this same God, how could he command them through Moses to gather wealth, to extend their dominion, to ¿ll the earth, to put their enemies of every age to the sword, and to destroy them utterly, which indeed he himself did— as Moses says— threatening them, moreover, that if they did not obey his commands, he would treat them as his avowed enemies; while, on the other hand, his Son, the man of Nazareth, promulgated laws quite opposed to these, declaring that no one can come to the Father who loves power, or riches, or glory; that men ought not to be more careful in providing food than the ravens; that they were to be less concerned about their raiment than the lilies; that to him who has given them 1

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to construct a kind of Sachkritik (i.e., “analysis of the [theological] content”) derived from an unrelenting dichotomization of two main deities. A distinction between law and gospel enabled Marcion to postulate not only a corresponding distinction between two divinities but, more importantly, a corresponding distinction between two incompatible narratives of violence and non-violence. Instead of worshipping a god of violence “who was Àawed through and through,” Marcion’s theological project enabled him “to register protest against the creator” whose violent world was a reÀection of his own image and likeness.4 It is probably no coincidence that Marcion’s sensitivity to the interrelationship of power, violence, and theological narratives was forming at precisely the point when Christianity was beginning to get some solid traction among the elites in the corridors of societal power. It would not have taken a clairvoyant to reveal to Marcion that those who wielded violence most effectively (i.e., most destructively) were usually those at the helm of social, religious, economic, and political power. Was it not dangerous to put a deity of violence (as Marcion saw the deity of the Old Testament) in the hands of those who could all too easily wield violence for their own advantage?5 To his credit, Marcion spotted the issue and sought to do something about it, ¿nding Paul’s law–gospel dichotomy as the perfect tool to deprive those in power of a dangerous narrative. And since Marcion’s inÀuence spread like wild¿re through the second half of the second century C.E., when Christians were enlisting in the military with some frequency, it seems that many ordinary people were also voting to keep dangerous narratives of power out of the hands of dangerous people of power—even to the point of giving up their own lives in protest.6 one blow, they should offer to receive another? Whether is it Moses or Jesus who teaches falsely? Did the Father, when he sent Jesus, forget the commands which he had given to Moses? Or did he change his mind, condemn his own laws, and send forth a messenger with counter instructions?” (Origen, Cels. 7.18 [ANF]) 4. The quotations are from Todd D. Still, “Shadow and Light: Marcion’s (Mis)Construal of the Apostle Paul,” in Paul and the Second Century (ed. Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson; London: T&T Clark International, 2011), 91–107 (98, 103). 5. And this is much to Marcion’s credit, since he himself originated from an established, inÀuential, and well-resourced family. This is all the more clear if Roetzel (“Paul in the Second Century,” 233) is right to state that Marcion “understood the radical nature of Paul’s egalitarian tendencies. He…saw the import of Paul’s gospel for the poor and for the disenfranchised.” 6. The willingness of Marcionites to undergo martyrdom is testi¿ed to by Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 1.24, 27. 1

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I do not intend to be Marcion’s encomiast, but merely to suggest that Marcion’s efforts were driven by an underlying concern to craft the moral identity of Christians in a responsible fashion, in accordance with what he perceived to be the bedrock of Christian ethics. How does Tertullian fare in all of this? If the issue is simply whether Paul imagined his God to be the deity of the Old Testament, then obviously (and if it is safe to use that word anywhere, it is here) Tertullian does far better justice to Paul than Marcion. Of course, some of the exegetical techniques that Tertullian used to prove that Paul’s God is the creator God are exegetically questionable from a historical-critical perspective.7 Nonetheless, his efforts to demonstrate that the God of salvation is the creator (and covenant) God of the Old Testament have a ¿rm foothold in the Pauline corpus. But it needs also to be asked whether Tertullian may have won the battle but lost the war—to put things only a bit too starkly, perhaps. Offering a better reading of Paul’s texts, Tertullian rightly corrected Marcion’s de¿cient dichotomization of alleged divinities. If this was the task that Tertullian set for himself, then he succeeded. But might it be that, in his attempt at wrong-footing Marcionism, Tertullian nonetheless failed to capitalize on the moment? Might it be that Tertullian missed an opportunity to offer, from a Pauline perspective, a robust alternative to Marcion’s apparent concerns about theological narratives of power? I enter this issue by way of Stephen Cooper’s telling suggestions that Tertullian’s “presentation of Paul was shaped by the contours of Marcion’s distorted but compelling portrait of the apostle,” that “Tertullian had to engage Marcion on his own turf,” and that Tertullian’s rhetorical strategy was one of “granting elements of the Marcionite case” in order to correct that case from within, in a sense. If Cooper is right about this, it seems to me that adopting this rhetorical strategy leaves Tertullian open to the charge of articulating matters along lines that do not always reÀect Paul’s most entrenched theological convictions and, consequently, along lines ill-suited to address larger theological issues at stake. Marcion had presented law and gospel as irreconcilable entities, like water and oil. When Tertullian enters into debate with Marcion, he enters it on Marcion’s terms, which arguably are not the terms that Paul himself preferred. Tertullian rightly enlists Paul in his efforts to correct Marcion’s de¿ciencies in understanding the identity of Paul’s God, but by adopting the law–gospel dichotomy as the discursive center-point for

7. See, for instance, Adv. Marc. 5.11, where he tortuously interprets the phrase “the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers” (2 Cor 4:4).

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his engagement with Marcion, Tertullian may himself have been complicit in a more widespread abandonment of Paul’s preferred theological worldview. It is true, of course, that Paul at times articulated things by way of a straight-forward dichotomization of two salvi¿c principles—law and faith, with faith and not law being in accord with the fundamental “soteriological principle” of Paul’s gospel (i.e., divine grace in triumphant procession restoring a world in the grip of chaotic forces). For Paul, although the law had served several God-ordained roles prior to the “coming” of faith, it is now recognizable that the law does not serve a soteriological role in relation to God’s transforming grace.8 If Tertullian “bought into” this dichotomous construct that Paul articulated on occasion and that Marcion fully utilized, it is important to note that Paul was never quite satis¿ed to leave the law and the gospel in a wholly dichotomous relationship (at least when he moves into “nonsoteriological” frames of reference, although even that way of articulating the matter looks suspiciously dubious). Paul constructed a dichotomous relationship between law and faith (as in Gal 3:11–12, for instance) when it seemed most prudent to do so within a particular rhetorical context. When Gentile Jesus-followers in Galatia were being presented with a forceful case for seeing nomistic observance and faith in Christ as two parts of a single soteriological whole, for instance, Paul depicted law and gospel as alternatives. But elsewhere, and even within his Galatian letter, Paul saw scope for bringing the two into a more harmonious relationship (e.g., 5:13–14; 6:2; see further references below). When Tertullian associated the law with the saving Father of Jesus Christ (who is also the creator God and the covenant God of Israel), he moved along constructive Pauline lines of thought, and his discursive parameters were broad enough to incorporate Pauline assertions that would not have served Marcion’s interests without some heavy nuances to accompany them. So, for instance, Tertullian’s scheme can incorporate the following Pauline statements with ease:

8. Was Paul’s theology supersessionistic, as both Marcion and Tertullian suppose? The simple answer is yes. But that answer is far too bald in its current form, and requires much greater quali¿cation than can be offered here. It needs to be said, however, that Paul’s form of supersessionism (along with the supersessionism of other Jewish parties and sects of his day) never deteriorated into a “replacement theology” in which the people of Israel have been replaced in God’s affections by Gentile Jesus-followers. See Bruce W. Longenecker, “On Israel’s God and God’s Israel: Assessing Supersessionism in Paul,” JTS 58 (2007): 26–44. 1

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x x x x x

the law is “holy, righteous, and good” (Rom 7:12); “the oracles” of (Paul’s) God were given to the people of Israel (Rom 3:2), along with many other glorious aspects of their history (Rom 9:1–5); “scripture…declared the gospel beforehand” (Gal 3:8) and, when rightly interpreted, articulates the gospel even now (Rom 1:2, 17; 3:31–4:25; 10:6–13; 2 Cor 3; etc.); the law can be understood as having been “written for our sake” (1 Cor 9:10) and “for our instruction” so that “by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope” (Rom 15:4); Jesus-followers “have the same spirit/Spirit of faith that is in accordance with scripture” (2 Cor 4:13).

Tertullian’s project when rejecting Marcion’s views allows for an appreciation of statements such as these, and at times he showcased these statements directly.9 But what Tertullian never quite articulated in his response to Marcion is an explicit construct that would have enabled him to reconceptualize and transcend Marcion’s either–or construct and offer his audiences fruitful theological resources from a more productive Pauline perspective. In his response to Marcion, Tertullian operated primarily within an either–or construct dictated by Marcion’s interests and expended his energies tweaking that construct in important ways. While his line of argument does justice to one form of Pauline discourse, to place all of one’s theological eggs in that basket is to risk losing other Pauline ways of formulating the relationship of law and gospel—other ways that at times hold more theological promise. Here I offer a suggestive demonstration as to why the discursive parameters of a law–gospel dichotomy do not lie at Paul’s preferred center of theological gravity. This demonstration begins in Rom 14:1–15:6, 9. One case in point, for instance, is when Tertullian interprets the stipulation to “remember the poor” in Gal 2:10 not as the Jerusalem apostles instructing Paul to send their communities’ money (on the supposition that “the poor” were based in Jerusalem) but as a stipulation to extend care to the poor throughout Paul’s mission to the Gentiles. As Tertullian points out, what was being debated in the episode of Gal 2:1–10 is “what portion of the law it was convenient to have observed” (Adv. Marc. 5.3). That is, what the apostles agreed upon was that the scriptural commandment regarding circumcision was not relevant to all Jesus-followers, whereas the scriptural commandment regarding care for the poor was relevant to all Jesusfollowers. As I have shown elsewhere, this insight is of immense import as a corrective to disastrously inaccurate readings of Gal 2:10. See Bruce W. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), esp. 157–206. 1

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which is almost a sibling text to Gal 2:11–14—a passage that was favored by Marcion and featured in a different fashion by Tertullian. In the Galatian passage, of course, Paul recounts his attack on Peter (and others) for compromising the freedom of Gentile Jesus-followers to live as Gentiles and not as Jews. This passage from Galatians is easily incorporated within the law–gospel dichotomy. But notice that the same is not so obviously the case for Rom 14:1–15:6. There, Paul addresses those who were not doing enough to ensure that Jewish Jesus-followers felt free to live as Jews within the body of Christ. In that context, Paul defends the rights of Jewish Jesus-followers to observe the law as a cultural component of their identity before God, should they choose to do so.10 This passage does not take us to some backwater of Paul’s theological worldview, or to some second-rate concession on Paul’s part—a view that might arise if one’s theological frame of reference operates solely on the basis of a law–gospel dichotomy.11 In fact, Paul’s case-study in the corporate life of Jesus-followers in Rom 14:1–15:6 provides him with the resources to summarize the grand scheme that he has been advocating throughout the earlier ¿fteen chapters of Romans. Notably, Rom 15:1–6 pivots into Rom 15:7–13, where Paul’s discourse is characterized by “a heightened eloquence and compelling power” that “is evidently intended to round off the body of the letter, both the theological treatise [of Rom 1–11] and the resulting paraenesis [of Rom 12–15].”12 In this way, Rom 14:1–15:6 is to be recognized as a case study in Christian identity informed by the deepest theological resources of Paul’s letter. In fact, in important ways Rom 14:1–15:6 takes us to the very heart of Paul’s theological system altogether—that is, Paul’s theology of divine sovereignty and the self-giving moral identity that derives from God’s 10. Notice, of course, that these Jewish Jesus-followers are not depicted as imagining their observance of the law to be salvi¿cally ef¿cient for them. On the issue that Paul is addressing in this passage, see esp. John Barclay, “ ‘Do We Undermine the Law?’: A Study of Romans 14.1–15:6,” in Paul and the Mosaic Law (ed. James D. G. Dunn; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 287–308. Barclay’s conclusions about the weaknesses of Paul’s discursive strategy in Rom 14–15 are challenging, but elsewhere Paul provides other theological resources to offset those potential weaknesses. 11. The fact that this passage might appear to be a bit of a theological cul-de-sac con¿rms that the ghost of Marcion lives on in those of us who can only imagine that Paul always opposed observance of the law. 12. The quotations are from Robert Jewett, Romans (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 887, and James D. G. Dunn, Romans (2 vols.; WBC 38A–B; Dallas, Tex.: Word, 1988), 2:844. 1

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triumph in Christ. In Paul’s vision of things, communities of Jesusfollowers were to be characterized by full-bodied diversity and fully embodied love, in a necessarily inseparable fashion. Corporate diversity was meant to reÀect the fullness of God’s creative hand; relatedly, the love that was to transpire between diverse Jesus-followers was not so much an emotional feeling but a practical expression of cruciform selfgiving for the bene¿t of others. This combination of self-giving within fully diverse communities lay at the heart of Paul’s theological project precisely because it testi¿es to the power of the sovereign God, putting to shame all other claimants to sovereignty. In comparison to Paul’s ideal Jesus-group, all other groups and associations were monochrome in their corporate constituency; consequently, any forms of care for the other within those collections of people were not much more than expressions of care for one’s own—being little more than a slightly more complex form of self-interestedness. It is only when care for the other is expressed among groups of fully diverse members that the transforming power of God (rather than a corporately shared survival instinct) can be attributed to their corporate life. For Paul, when self-giving behaviors transpire among diverse members of Jesus-groups, those behaviors are attributable solely to the working of the Spirit of the self-giving Jesus, through whom God is reclaiming his world. When addressing the matter of “the weak” and “the strong” in Rom 14–15, Paul concluded his advice about that situation by interweaving it with this narrative of divine triumph in selfgiving (15:1–6), and then uses that as the platform to summarize that narrative one ¿nal time, as if to encapsulate the main theological strands that have been running throughout the letter from the start (15:7–13). In light of this, it probably would have horri¿ed Paul to learn that his gospel would later be used (by Marcion and others throughout the centuries) to undermine Jewish identity—especially within groups of those who followed Jesus, who himself was “born under the law to redeem those under the law” (Gal 4:4) and who became a “servant to the circumcised” (Rom 15:8). For Paul, observance of the law by Jewish Jesus-followers was to be embraced as a legitimate expression of identity within Jesus-groups—not least in order to maintain the diversity of identity within Jesus-groups, in order that self-giving across identity boundaries could testify to God’s transforming power.13 Accordingly,

13. This is true, of course, as long as nomistic observance was not seen to have a salvi¿c function and did not result in implicating Gentile Jesus-followers as secondrate members (since inequality has no place within Jesus-groups). Moreover, Paul saw his own apostolic commission as requiring him to adopt and abandon Jewish 1

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Gal 2:11–14 and Rom 14:1–15:6 function as two sides of the same coin. If imposing nomistic observance among Gentile Jesus-followers was likened to a form of slavery and a compromise of cruciform sonship in the Galatian context (Gal 4:1–11), so too the opposite impulse of expunging nomistic observance from Jesus-groups would result in the undermining of cruciformity (Rom 14:15; 15:1–6), thereby threatening to destroy God’s liberative working among them (Rom 14:15, 20). This intricate narrative of divine sovereignty capturing an out-of-joint Darwinian cosmos through cruciform self-giving places us in a much better position to recognize the nexus of Paul’s primary theological discourse, over and above any version of the law–gospel dichotomy— whether Marcion’s, Tertullian’s, or another version altogether. It is critical to Paul’s theological program, in fact, that cruciform self-giving between otherwise dissimilar Jesus-followers should be seen as a point of intersection between (and interlock of) the gospel and the law. When the diverse collection of Jesus-followers (i.e., Jews and Gentiles, males and females, slaves and free, and on and on, we should imagine) care for one another and bear one another’s burdens, beyond any ordinary expectation, it is precisely in those transformed relationships of cruciformity that, in Paul’s view, the law ¿nds its ultimate ful¿llment (Gal 5:13–14; 6:2; Rom 13:8–10). It is precisely in Christ-like self-giving that “the righteous requirement of the law” becomes “ful¿lled” in Jesus-followers whose lives were animated by the Spirit of the self-giving one (Rom 8:4). In this frame of reference, Paul feels free to depict the law as “the law of Christ” (Gal 6:2), “the law of faith” (as opposed to “the law of works,” Rom 3:27), and “the law of the Spirit of life” (as opposed to “the law of sin and death,” Rom 8:2). Originating in Rom 14:1–15:6 (itself the sibling passage of Gal 2:11– 14), this demonstration has taken us from the side-road of the law–gospel dichotomy to the major highway of Paul’s theological worldview. In fact, numerous data from Paul’s texts overspill the constraints of a law– gospel dichotomy—precisely the dichotomy that undergirded Marcion’s project and that Tertullian adopted when countering Marcion.14 Part of practices as necessary, in light of the exigencies for the perpetuation of the gospel (1 Cor 9:19–23); but he did not imagine his own apostolic practice to be a model for all Jewish Jesus-followers. 14. Tertullian’s failure to capitalize on Paul’s participationistic theology when decrying Marcion is all the more poignant if Robert D. Sider is right to claim that Tertullian’s view of Paul generally “does not take its point of departure from an antithesis between law and grace but from a vivid sense of the signi¿cance of the age in which we live and of the presence of the Spirit as the sign of that age.” See his 1

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the reason for this “overspill” is that the law–gospel dichotomy is itself off-center from the primary nexus of Paul’s theological preferences. Paul’s thought is not driven primarily by a differentiation between law and faith; instead, while Paul employs various metaphors to interpret what God has done in Christ, it is “participationism” that takes center stage in so much that characterizes Paul’s distinctive discourse. The structural framework for Paul’s participationistic theology is most basically articulated in this way: “I have died with Christ, so that Christ lives in me” (cf. Gal 2:19–20). For Paul, Jesus-followers have died with the self-giving Christ, who now lives in his followers, as self-giving is enlivened in them through the power of the Spirit. This discursive center, rather than a law–gospel dichotomy, undergirds Paul’s theological distinctiveness. If a good number of passages from Paul’s letters overspill the law–gospel dichotomy, the overspill is mopped up by Paul’s eschatological participationism. Of course, Paul’s participationism is a dif¿cult thing to get a hold of, as the testimony of reception history all too often illustrates. The author of Acts, for instance, fails to do justice to it in his depiction of Paul’s ministry, as did those canonical authors who sought to articulate his voice after his death (e.g., the author/authors of 1 Timothy and Titus, whom some have imagined as countering Marcionite inÀuence in the middle of the second century).15 Similarly, Polycarp (69–155 C.E.) admitted that neither he nor others could “follow the wisdom of the blessed and glorious Paul” (Letter of Polycarp 3.2). In the secondcentury Acts of Paul and Thecla, Paul appears as one whose simple faith heroically animated a model life and a fearless death, despite the threat of violent abuse by those who wielded power. But the hero of Acts of Paul and Thecla is nonetheless a Paul who advocates a very “thin” theology, lacking in any full-blooded participationism. Evidently, the author of 2 Peter spoke for many when he said, “There are some things in them [Paul’s letters] that are hard to understand” (3:15). Unfortunately, whenever Paul’s participationism is lost from sight, the chances of retrieving meaningful resources from his texts is greatly diminished. This is the tragedy of Marcion’s situation. Ironically, the “Literary Arti¿ce and the Figure of Paul in the Writings of Tertullian,” in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. William S. Babcock; Dallas, Tex.: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), 99–120 (119). Even if this is true, however, Tertullian’s grasp of “the dynamic center of Paul’s theology” (114) falls short of a full-bodied participationism in Christ. 15. In my view, 2 Timothy is likely to have been written by Paul himself, even if the same is not the case for 1 Timothy and Titus. 1

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resources that Marcion needed in order to address issues of violence were embedded within Paul’s participationism that he seems not to have understood. Increasingly scholars are noticing how a discourse on violence is ¿rmly embedded within Paul’s participationism. A very cursory glance at Galatians, for instance, demonstrates the potential for understanding Paul’s participationism in this way, as outlined in the following paragraph: The Paul who had adopted violence as his modus operandi prior to his christophany (i.e., as a persecutor of others) has now been cruci¿ed with the one who himself was violently cruci¿ed. Animated by the Spirit of the self-giving one, and with the stigmatic marks of Jesus’ self-giving non-violence embedded within his own Àesh, Paul now lives in a “new creation” characterized by a unique modus operandi—the overthrow of conÀict through self-giving, despite the full-bodied diversity of its membership. What is true for Paul is also true for Jesus-followers in general. They used to live under the divisive inÀuence of the “stoicheia of the world,” resulting in lives of competitive strife and envious hatred, always under the threat of animosity-induced destruction. In contrast to the ways of the present evil age, Jesus-followers now are to be characterized by Spirit-inspired, life-giving, law-ful¿lling, self-giving service, both to other Jesus-followers and to those beyond their number. Deliverance from the present evil age and the establishment of a new creation is manifest among Christians as faith works practically in self-giving love across boundaries of each and every kind.

This rough digest of central features of Paul’s Galatian letter resonates with the view of a growing number of scholars. To give one example, Michael Gorman claims, “Paul’s experience of the resurrected cruci¿ed Messiah Jesus results in his conversion away from zealous violence and toward nonviolence and nonviolent forms of reconciliation.”16 If observations of this kind are along the right lines, then Paul’s participationism contains potent resources not only for a nuanced view of the relationship of law and gospel (as noted above), but also for a robust reÀection on power and violence. If Marcion’s project was fundamentally an exercise in Sachkritik, the participationistic nexus of Paul’s thought (rather than a law–gospel dichotomy) would have been a much 16. Michael J. Gorman, Inhabiting the Cruciform God: Kenosis, Justi¿cation, and Theosis in Paul’s Narrative Soteriology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 130. Others who have articulated somewhat similar insights include N. T. Wright, Luise Schottroff, Juሷrgen Sauer, Willard M. Swartley, Gordon Zerbe, and Davina Lopez. See also the work of my former Ph.D. student Jeremy Gabrielson, Jesus, Paul, and the Theological Politics of Peace (Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, forthcoming). See also, signi¿cantly, Tertullian, Scorp. 13.1. 1

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more potent place to start that project, and one that would have suf¿ciently met Marcion’s theological requirements on that score. Accordingly, we might be permitted a moment of speculation to engage in an exercise of alternative history—imaginatively speculating on how things might have happened differently. In order to assist in this imaginative exercise, let us conjure up two counter-factual scenarios: (1) Paul’s participationistic theology circulated with probity and inÀuence in second-century Christianity, and (2) as a consequence, Marcion found Paul’s letters to offer a foothold for sidelining theological narratives of violence through a participationistic Sachkritik. How might Tertullian’s literary corpus be different to the one we know if such an alternative history had taken shape? Two outcomes might be imagined. In the ¿rst version of our alternative history, because Marcion did not need to postulate a dichotomization of two divinities in order to offset theological narratives of violence, he never rose to prominence as a distinctive (i.e., “heretical”) voice. In this scenario, Marcion did not leave a mark in the timeline of (alternative) history—much to the satisfaction of the Tertullian of our non-alternative history. In the second version of our alternative history, Marcion rose to prominence as one who recognized within Paul’s participationistic theology robust resources necessary for the shaping Christian attitudes toward violence, and who articulated a discourse that bolstered the defenses of Christianity against conscription by those who would build empires through violence. In this scenario, Tertullian (who even in our nonalternative history added his own voice to the opposition of violence)17 did everything he could to perpetuate and enhance Marcion’s contributions to the crafting of Christian identity. Perhaps this is one instance in which we might wish that history had indeed been otherwise.

17. See, for instance, Apol. 36–37; De idol. 17–19; De cor. 11; De pat. 3; Scorp. 13.1. 1

10 THE WORLD TO COME: TERTULLIAN’S CHRISTIAN ESCHATOLOGY William Tabbernee

In 208 C.E., or slightly later, Quintus Septimius Florens Tertullianus (160/70–ca. 220) became passionately committed to a Christian prophetic movement known to its adherents as the New Prophecy. This movement, later called Montanism,1 had originated in West-Central Phrygia some forty or so years earlier and was, at the time, attracting followers in Carthage. However, neither Tertullian himself nor any other North African Christian in the ¿rst decade of the third century C.E. left the Carthaginian “Catholic” church to form a separatist Montanist congregation. Nonetheless, one or more of the various house-churches, of which Carthaginian Christianity as a whole was comprised, favored the new movement. Some of their members even became second-generation “Montanist” prophetesses.2 Tertullian utilized the sayings of these thirdcentury prophetesses as well as those of the original second-century founders to interpret Scripture and to receive new insights about a range of Christian topics, including “the world to come.” Tertullian had been a Christian for perhaps a decade by the time he became inÀuenced by the New Prophecy/Montanism. He was a welleducated, highly literate, and articulate member of Carthage’s upper class and had already written numerous treatises defending Christianity 1. On Montanism, see Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority, and the New Prophecy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); William Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy and Polluted Sacraments: Ecclesiastical and Imperial Reactions to Montanism (Leiden: Brill, 2007). The literary and epigraphic sources are collected and translated into English by Ronald E. Heine, The Montanist Oracles and Testimonia (PatrMS 14; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1989), and William Tabbernee, Montanist Inscriptions and Testimonia: Epigraphic Sources Illustrating the History of Montanism (PatrMS 16; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1997). See also William Tabbernee, Prophets and Gravestones: An Imaginative History of Montanists and Other Early Christians (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2009). 2. William Tabbernee, “Recognizing the Spirit: Second-generation Montanist Oracles,” StPatr 40 (2006): 521–26. 1

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in light of anti-Christian “pagan” polemics; promoting Christian orthodoxy in light of “Gnostic” and other “heretical” competitors; and providing practical advice on matters ranging from baptism to marriage after the death of one’s spouse. Even various aspects of what he, and the community out of which and to which he wrote, believed about the end of the present world and the world to come had not escaped Tertullian’s “pre-Montanist pen.” Tertullian’s Eschatology Before 208 C.E. The Resurrection of the Dead The dominant theme in Tertullian’s eschatology is his passionate belief in the resurrection of the dead, a topic to which he refers in almost all of his early works. Answering the charge that Christians have an unusual contempt for death, Tertullian, in Ad nationes (To the Heathen) written ca. 197, counters that what appears to be “contempt” is simply the reality that Christians take for granted “a resurrection of the dead” (Ad nat. 1.19.2). This resurrection is not to be confused with reincarnation. It is the deceased’s original body, reunited with his or her own soul, recreated by God ex nihilo, just as the ¿rst human beings were created by God “out of nothing” (Ad nat. 1.19.4; Apol. 48.1–15). Contrary to the views of heretical teachers such as Marcion (Àor. ca. 140–155), Apelles (Àor. ca. 145–160), and Valentinus (Àor. ca. 130– 160), whom he denounced collectively as “modern Sadducees” (De carn. Chris. 1.1; cf. De res. carn 2.2), Tertullian insisted on the physical resurrection of the body and devoted two treatises speci¿cally to this topic. The thrust of the ¿rst of these, the De carne Christi (On the Flesh of Christ), written between 203 and 206, was to deprive the followers of Marcion (1.2; 2.1–5.10), Apelles (1.3; 6.1–8.7), and Valentinus (1.3; 15.1–6) of one of their main arguments against the resurrection of the dead. By not believing in the “Àesh of Christ,” the “heretics” were able to deny the bodily resurrection not only of Christ himself but of all human beings (De carn. Chris. 1.1–2). Tertullian, after systematically countering Marcion’s, Apelles’, and Valentinus’ views about “the Àesh of Christ,” promises to devote a whole future treatise to “the resurrection of our own Àesh” (De carn. Chris. 15.2). That work, appropriately titled De resurrectione carnis,3 3. In some manuscripts the work is titled De resurrectione mortuorum (On the Resurrection of the Dead). As the main issue at stake was not merely the resurrection of the dead, but whether or not those resurrected would be reunited with their earthly bodies, the title De resurrectione carnis (On the Resurrection of the Body) appears to be the more appropriate one. 1

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however, was not written until around 210 C.E.—well after Tertullian’s adherence to the New Prophecy movement. A Contemporary Problem The teachings of Marcion, Apelles, and Valentinus, although promulgated half a century before his own time, were, nonetheless, a contemporary problem for Tertullian. There were still people alive in his day who had been taught personally by Apelles (De prae. haer. 30.5–7) as well as early third-century followers of Marcion (Adv. Marc. 1.1.6) and Valentinus (Adv. Val. 1.1–2.1). Some of these, like the disciples of Praxeas and other heretics were active in Carthage (Adv. Prax. 1.6–7; De bapt. 1.2), winning “Catholic” Christians over to their side (De prae. haer. 3.2). Such desertion from the “true faith” troubled Tertullian. Although not a presbyter, as was sometimes assumed by later writers (e.g., Jerome, Vir. ill. 53),4 he seems to have been one of the “lay elders” (seniores laici) who, in Carthage, comprised an oversight council responsible for maintaining ecclesiastical discipline and the purity of the faith (Apol. 39.1–5; De pud. 14.16).5 Tertullian’s earliest literary foray into “enemy territory” was his De praescriptione haereticorum (Prescription against Heretics), written ca. 203. In that work he deals quite broadly with Marcionite, Apellian, and Valentinian teachings, as well as those of other heretics. In the penultimate sentence of that work, Tertullian promises to write speci¿c treatises on each of these heresies (De prae. haer. 44.13), a promise he keeps. Almost immediately, Tertullian made a ¿rst attempt at writing a treatise against Marcion, only to rescind it later as an immature and too hastily written work. This ¿rst Adversus Marcionem is no longer extant. Nor has the second edition, written pre-208, survived. It was pilfered by one of Tertullian’s (former) friends, inaccurately transcribed and published without Tertullian’s permission (Adv. Marc. 1.1.1). A third, expanded edition, written after the De carne Christi, has fortunately survived. Not so fortunate has been the fate of Tertullian’s Adversus Apelleiacos (Against the Apellians), mentioned in De carn. Chris. 8.2–3. His Adversus Valentinianos (Against the Valentinians), written ca. 206/7, however, is extant.6 4. See Timothy D. Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (rev. ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 11. 5. William Tabbernee, “Perpetua, Montanism, and Christian Ministry in Carthage in c. 203 C.E.,” PRSt 32 (2005): 437–38. 6. As is a work, titled Adversus Hermogenem (Against Hermogenes), written perhaps a year earlier, countering the views of a local Carthaginian heretic already discussed brieÀy in the De praescriptione haereticorum (33.9). 1

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The Last Judgment As early as in his Prescription Against Heretics, Tertullian stressed the importance of the regula ¿dei (Rule of Faith). This authoritative summary of what orthodox (or, better, proto-orthodox) Christians believed included a synopsis of what was universally accepted about what would happen at the end of the present age: Christ would come again in glory. All of humanity, both saints and sinners, would be resurrected through the restoration of their bodies. Christ would condemn the wicked to eternal ¿re but lead the righteous into everlasting life, enjoying what was promised them about heaven. None of this, argued Tertullian, raises questions among the faithful, other than those questions raised by heretics (De prae. haer. 13.6). One of these questions, as we have seen, concerned the physical resurrection of the dead. This question, as Tertullian pointed out, had been around since the time of the Apostle Paul (1 Cor 15:12) but had been revived by Marcion, Apelles, and Valentinus (De prae. haer. 33.6–7). An integrally related question concerned the ultimate fate of humanity. According to Tertullian, the reason why all of humanity would one day be resurrected and the souls of people reunited with their bodies was so that they might all participate in the ¿nal Day of Judgment (De paen. 3.6). This judgment had been ordained by God (Ad nat. 1.19.5) as the judgment seat of Christ (De spect. 30.4). Christians should long for this day, knowing that it will result in their eternal bliss (De spect. 29.3; cf. De prae. haer. 13.5). They should also use the knowledge of the coming of that day as a reminder to live good lives, being aware that angels are watching and recording every act to be revealed at the time of judgment (De spect. 27.3). On that day, all will be judged according to their merits (Ad. nat. 1.19.5; Apol. 48.4, 12), and the temporal world as it exists now will come to an end (Apol. 48.11; De spect. 30.2). The Day of Judgment will be inaugurated by the trumpets of angels and the glorious spectacle of the coming again of Christ, with angelic hosts and the rising of all from the dead (De spect. 30.1). It will end with the assignment of the wicked to the Àames of perpetual ¿re (Apol. 48.13) and the destruction of the world, also by ¿re (De spect. 30.2). The End of the World In ch. 5 of his De oratione (On Prayer), written between 198 and 203, Tertullian, in commenting on the phrase “Thy kingdom come” in the Lord’s Prayer, argues that Christians must not pray for the continuation of the present world. Rather, they should pray for the “consummation.” According to Tertullian, the souls of the martyrs were crying out to the Lord, asking how long it would be before their blood would be avenged 1

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(De or. 5.3; cf. Rev 6:10). Pointing out that the avenging of the martyrs is accomplished through the ¿nal judgment at the end of the age, Tertullian asks his readers to pray that the kingdom will come quickly (De or. 5.4). Tertullian attributes the fact that the end of the world has not come yet to the patience of God with the ungrateful, persecuting nations who have forgotten that they owe their very existence to God (Ad nat. 2.17.18; Apol. 26.1; 30.1–3). However, just as earlier empires have fallen, God has predetermined the fate of the Roman Empire, a fate known already to Christians (Ad nat. 2.17.18). Exactly when these things would occur was still not clear, but Christians should be alert, ¿xing their eyes on the direction the world was taking and reckoning up the periods of time (De spect. 29.3). Their own patience should emulate God’s, reinforced by the certain hope of the resurrection of the dead and the subsequent judgment of the wicked and the world itself (De pat. 2.1–3; 9.2; 16.5). In the tract Ad martyras (To the Martyrs), written ca. 197 to a number of Christians in a Carthaginian jail, Tertullian encourages the martyrsdesignate by pointing out that the world was awaiting its own judgment—not the proconsul’s, but God’s (Ad mart. 2.3). In fact, at the ¿nal judgment, the martyrs themselves will, along with Christ, judge those who, on earth, have judged them (Ad mart. 2.4; cf. De spect. 30.3). Paradise (View One) In the meantime, the souls of the martyrs, along with those of the other faithful dead, would await the resurrection of the body and the ¿nal judgment in a particular section of Hades (the “lower regions”) called Paradise. Paradise, a quite beautiful zone of the subterranean underworld, was separated by a wall from hell, the place of mysterious ¿re and punishment (Apol. 47.12–13). Sometime before 208/9, Tertullian wrote a whole treatise on the topic of Paradise (Adv. Marc. 5.12.8; De an. 55.5). According to Charles E. Hill, part of this work, long considered totally lost, may in fact be the fragmentary De universo (On the Universe), traditionally attributed to Hippolytus (ca. 170–236/7), or, at least that the extant De universo borrowed heavily from Tertullian’s De paradiso.7 If so, this would provide greater details of Tertullian’s view of Hades and Paradise at that time. All that Tertullian himself says about that work, however, is that in it he demonstrated that the souls of all human beings were sequestered safely in Hades until the Day of the Lord (De an. 55.5). 7. Charles E. Hill, “Hades of Hippolytus or Tartarus of Tertullian? The Authorship of the Fragment De Universo,” VC 43 (1989): 105–26. 1

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The “Afterlife” In the extant treatises emanating from Tertullian’s pen before he was inÀuenced by the New Prophecy, there is surprising little about the life of the faithful after the Day of Judgment. There are references to the “kingdom of God” (De or. 5.1–4) and “the kingdom of the righteous” (De spect. 30.1) as well as to “a region of bliss” (Ad nat. 1.19.6): Christians are described as “living eternally in the presence of God” (Apol. 48.13); “clothed” in a new incorruptible nature of some kind, somewhat akin to that of the angels (Apol. 48.13; Ad ux. 1.1.4); and enjoying everlasting life and heavenly promises” (De prae. haer. 13.5). The reader is left to guess, however, exactly what these references mean and of what life in the “world to come” will consist. On one matter, however, Tertullian is totally adamant: in the afterlife there will be no sexual intercourse. In ca. 203, Tertullian wrote the ¿rst of two works titled Ad uxorum (To His Wife). These relatively short books functioned as living wills giving advice to his spouse in the event of his death. He encourages her to not remarry for her own sake—not his. On the day of resurrection, Tertullian tells her, no voluptuous activities will recommence between them as they will be changed into not only the nature, but also the sanctity of angels (1.1.2–6). By not remarrying after his death and enrolling in the of¿cial ecclesiastical Order of Widows,8 she will already be “wedded to God,” considered to be part of the family of angels, and living in the presence of God in preparation for doing so eternally (1.4.3–8; 1.5.1; 1.7.4, 8). Tertullian’s Eschatology After 208 C.E. The New Jerusalem The only “pre-Montanist” reference to the New Jerusalem by Tertullian is in his De spectaculis. In that treatise, the New Jerusalem (De spect. 1.1) is listed among the unparalleled spectacles accompanying the “advent of the Lord”—along with the angelic hosts, the resurrection of the saints, people quaking before the judgment seat of Christ, and the end of the world by means of one huge conÀagration (30.1–4). By contrast, one of the two earliest clear references to Tertullian’s adherence to the teachings of the New Prophecy movement (Adv. Marc. 3.24.4; cf. 1.29.4) has quite a lot to say about the New Jerusalem.

8. See Bonnie B. Thurston, The Widows: A Woman’s Ministry in the Early Church (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989). 1

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As mentioned already, Tertullian had been forced to undertake the writing of a new edition of the Adversus Marcionem because the second edition had been pilfered. The new edition was started in 208 and included the addition of books 4 and 5, perhaps written over an extended period.9 This revised and expanded version enabled Tertullian to attack Marcion’s teachings in greater detail, but also to incorporate some of the insights and perspectives which he had gained through the New Prophecy. The founders of the New Prophecy movement were Montanus and two prophetesses named Maximilla and Priscilla. Each of these had uttered prophetic sayings (logia), some in oracular form. A number of these logia had been written down, collected, and circulated. Tertullian possessed, or, at least had access to, one or more of these collections. The revised version of book 3 of the Adversus Marcionem contains the following statement: This (is the city) with which Ezekiel was acquainted, the Apostle John had seen, and for which the saying of the New Prophecy, which belongs to our faith, provides evidence—having even predicted the appearance of an image of the city, as a portent, before it will actually be made visible. (Adv. Marc. 3.24.4; cf. Ezek 48:30–35; Rev 21:9–22:5)

Tertullian does not quote the ipsissima verba of the logion of the New Prophecy about the New Jerusalem, but simply summarizes its content. This particular logion was one of a number of related sayings on eschatology by Montanus. In his later, no longer extant, De ecstasi (On Ecstasy), Tertullian defends his adherence to the New Prophecy by claiming, “We differ in this alone that we do not permit second marriages nor reject Montanus’ prophecy concerning the impending judgment” (Fr. Ecst., ap. Praedestinatus, De haer. 1.26). Montanus had uttered one or more logia speci¿cally about the last judgment, including the prediction that “¿re will come and consume all the face of the earth” (ap. Michael the Syrian, Chron. 9.3). Montanus had also referred collectively to Pepouza and Tymion, two small cities in Phrygia as “Jerusalem” (Fr., Apollonius, ap. Eusebius, H.E. 5.18.2) in the belief that the New Jerusalem would descend “out of heaven” (Rev 3:12; 21:10) between these two settlements.10 Priscilla or, more likely a later Montanist prophetess named Quintilla, was even more explicit about the location of the 9. See Barnes, Tertullian, 326–28. 10. See William Tabbernee, “Portals of the New Jerusalem: The Discovery of Pepouza and Tymion,” JECS 11 (2003): 421–41; William Tabbernee and Peter Lampe, Pepouza and Tymion: The Discovery and Archaeological Exploration of a Lost Ancient City and an Imperial Estate (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008). 1

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future New Jerusalem at or near Pepouza (ap. Epiphanius, Pan. 49.1–3). Maximilla predicted imminent wars, anarchy, and the synteleia (“coming together of last things”) (ap. Eusebius, H.E. 5.16.8; ap. Epiphanius, Pan. 48.2.6). Tertullian gives no hint concerning whether he believed that the New Jerusalem would ultimately descend out of heaven in Phrygia. He took quite literally, however, the prediction about the symbolic precursor of the New Jerusalem suspended in the sky before its actual descent. According to Tertullian, this had recently been ful¿lled in Judaea— attested by unspeci¿ed non-Christian witnesses who claimed to have seen the image of the heavenly city for forty consecutive mornings (Adv. Marc. 3.24.4). The Millennium More important to Tertullian than the New Jerusalem’s time of appearance or its precise location was its function. According to Tertullian’s reworked Adv. Marc. 3.24, the New Jerusalem is the “heavenly” city into which the (martyred) saints will be welcomed at their resurrection and where they will receive an abundance of spiritual blessings to make up for all that they had suffered or lost in the present age. The New Jerusalem, and the earthly/heavenly kingdom it encompassed, would last for a thousand years and enable its residents to experience proleptically the reality that their citizenship is in heaven (cf. Phil 3:20), even though they had not yet been transported to the celestial realm itself. In the meantime, they would be nurtured and comforted in the “Jerusalem from above” which the Apostle Paul described as “our mother” (cf. Gal 4:26). During this millennium all the rest of the deceased Christians would be raised, earlier or later depending upon the merits they had attained (Adv. Marc. 3.24.6). The ¿ery destruction of the world would also occur at the end of the thousand years. At that time, the righteous would be changed in an instant, their bodies transformed into angelic substance with an incorruptible nature, and, ¿nally, transported to the heavenly kingdom. How much Tertullian had said about the millennial kingdom and the New Jerusalem in previous versions of the Adversus Marcionem is not clear. Tertullian had written an earlier treatise titled De spe ¿delium (On the Hope of the Faithful). In that (also now lost) work, Tertullian made the case that the restoration of Judaea and Israel, predicted in various passages in the Hebrew Scriptures, should be interpreted allegorically as applying to Christ and the Church (Adv. Marc. 3.24.2). Jerome (ca. 347– 419) considered this work also to have espoused millennialism (Vir. ill. 18). Jerome’s view, however, may simply be based on what Tertullian says in Adv. Marc. 3.24. While some of Adv. Marc. 3.24.3–6 may also 1

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have been contained in the De spe ¿delium, Tertullian does not actually say that it was. In either case, the main source of Tertullian’s chiliasm must be Rev 20:1–15. Whether or not Montanus, Maximilla, and Priscilla were also chiliasts and whether their logia inÀuenced Tertullian on the issue of a millennial reign on earth before the end of the world remains an open question.11 Tertullian could have been a chiliast regardless of whether the founders of Montanism and/or their followers elsewhere in the Roman Empire were as well. “Abraham’s Bosom” Marcion’s scriptures consisted of a single gospel (an abridged version of Luke) and ten epistles of St. Paul (omitting the Pastorals and also Hebrews). Books 4 and 5 of the Adversus Marcionem are Tertullian’s responses respectively to Marcion’s use of Luke’s Gospel and the Pauline Epistles. His responses include details on issues related to the “world to come.” Although he had already referred brieÀy to the story of Lazarus and the rich man in Hades (e.g., De idol. 13.4), Tertullian’s most extensive explication of Luke 16:19–21 occurs in Adv. Marc. 4.34.10–17. There Tertullian argues that “Abraham’s Bosom” is a speci¿c place, separated from the rest of hell by a wide gulf (4.34.11–12) but within the lower regions (Hades). It is “higher” than hell but not as high as heaven (4.34.13). It is the place prepared by God to receive the souls of the departed “righteous,” Abraham’s true children (4.34.12). Paradise (View Two) Tertullian’s description of “Abraham’s Bosom” as a temporary lodging place for the souls of the faithful, where they await the resurrection in comfort and gain a foretaste of heaven (Adv. Marc. 4.34.10–17), is similar to his earlier description of Paradise. A profound change has occurred, however, in Tertullian’s eschatological geography between the time he formulated his earlier understanding of Paradise and his later (New Prophecy-inÀuenced) thoughts on the subject. This is seen perhaps most clearly in his De resurrectione carnis, the book written ca. 210/11 in ful¿llment of the promise made in De carn. Chris. 15.2, where he states strongly what he has now come to believe on two related topics. Firstly, 11. For example, contrast D. H. Williams, “The Origins of the Montanist Movement: A Sociological Analysis,” Religion 19 (1989): 331–51, with Charles E. Hill, “The Marriage of Montanism and Millennialism,” StPatr 26 (1993): 140–46; cf. Hill, Regnum Caelorum: Patterns of Millennial Thought in Early Christianity (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 143–59. 1

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upon death one does not immediately dwell in the presence of Christ (De res. carn. 43.4a). Secondly, martyrdom is the only exception to this rule, as martyrs are lodged in Paradise, not in “the lower regions” (43.4b). By 210, Tertullian had developed a cosmology in which there are multiple places of abode for the departed. Two of these were in the inferni (the lower regions: Hades): Hell for the wicked and “Abraham’s Bosom” for the righteous. Paradise is no longer a special region of Hades but a location close to and almost indistinguishable from heaven. Texts such as Rev 6:9, where the souls of the martyrs are said to have resided “under the altar” of God in heaven, are taken by Tertullian as proof that Paradise was located there (De an. 55.4). This location was reinforced in Tertullian’s mind by the Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis (The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas). The graphic account of the arrest, imprisonment, trial, and execution of a young Carthaginian matron and some other Christians who died on March 7 (probably) in 203 also contains a record of some visions. One of these visions is experienced by Saturus, one of Perpetua’s co-martyrs. In that vision, Saturus and Perpetua, after their death and the “shedding of their Àesh,” are carried by angels upward beyond the world to a large open space which turns out to be a huge garden (Pass. Perp. 11.2–6). There they meet four, very welcoming, angels and some of the martyrs who had preceded them from the same persecution (11.7–9), before going on to greet the Lord (11.10–12.5). Perpetua’s own ¿rst vision (Pass. Perp. 4.3–9) also refers to an immense garden which Tertullian (De an. 55.4) rightly takes to be intended to represent Paradise. Perpetua, in this vision, reaches Paradise by stepping on the head of a dragon (cf. Gen 3:15) and climbing up a long ladder (cf. Gen 28:12). In the garden, Perpetua sees (in addition to a shepherd, i.e., Christ) only a multitude wearing white garments, that is, martyrs (Pass. Perp. 4.8; cf. Rev 9.10). In his De anima (On the Soul), also written ca. 210, slightly before or contemporaneous with the De resurrectione mortuorum (De res. carn. 17.2), Tertullian appeals to this particular vision12 to reinforce not only that Paradise is situated close to (if not actually in) heaven, but that only the souls of martyrs go directly to Paradise (De an. 55.4). “The only key to Paradise is your own blood,” Tertullian tells his readers (55.5).

12. In later sections of the account of Saturus’ vision, Perpetua and Saturus also see the souls of deceased persons other than martyrs (13.8) and even still-alive persons who had come to implore Perpetua and Saturus to help them (13.1–6). Tertullian, a rhetorician intent on making his point, conveniently omits these contradictory details.

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The Corporality of the Soul That Perpetua was able to recognize the souls of the martyrs (Pass. Perp. 8.1; cf. 11.9; 13.8) served as con¿rmation to Tertullian that among the soul’s qualities is its “corporality.” According to Tertullian, the soul has shape and form, as well as life and intelligence.13 Whether or not Perpetua herself belonged to the New Prophecy movement remains a debated issue.14 It is clear, however, that she and her co-martyrs died as “Catholics” and were always considered as “Catholic” martyrs by mainstream Christianity. Perhaps the most that can be said is that the original author/editor of the Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis appears, like Tertullian, to have been someone inÀuenced by the New Prophecy movement (Pass. Perp. 1.3–5; 21.11). There is no doubt, however, that an unnamed contemporary was one of the several “second generation” Montanist prophetesses active in Carthage, probably attending the housechurch of which Tertullian may have been the patron.15 After one particular Sunday worship service, this woman reported to Tertullian and his fellow seniores laici (as was her practice) that, during the service, she had been “in the spirit” and shown “a soul in bodily form.” This corporeal soul was not empty and devoid of characteristics. In fact, although soft, full of light, and the color of air, its shape was completely like that of a human being (De an. 9.4). The woman’s vision was written down (De an. 9.4) and taken very seriously by Tertullian who, by this stage of his involvement with the New Prophecy movement, deemed visions such as this one legitimate instances of the Paraclete’s latest revelations to a church ¿nally ready to receive the fullness of the gospel (De mon. 3.1). This is not to say, however, that for Tertullian the “new revelations” were the sole source of his theology and eschatology. He concludes this particular chapter of the De anima by alluding to 2 Cor 12:2–4, Luke 16:23–24, and Rev 6:9–10. Taking for granted that in the passage from Corinthians, Paul is talking about himself being “caught up to the third heaven/Paradise” and presuming that he there “heard and saw the Lord,” Tertullian argues that 13. Tertullian had argued some of this in a second treatise directed at Hermogenes. That treatise, like so many of his works, is now lost. Titled De census animae (On the Origin of the Soul), it was written before his most comprehensive treatise on the soul, the De anima (1.1). The latter summarizes some of the earlier treatise’s main points (22.2) but emphasizes the corporeal nature of the soul against all views to the contrary. 14. The case for this has been argued most recently by Rex D. Butler, The New Prophecy and “New Visions”: Evidence of Montanism in the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas (PatrMS 18; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2006). 15. Tabbernee, Fake Prophecy, 131. 1

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this proves that souls have their own kind of “ears” and “eye” (De an. 9.8). Similarly, from the story of Lazarus and the rich man, Tertullian concludes that the soul of the rich man in Hades had a “tongue,” Lazarus had a “¿nger,” and Abraham had a “bosom” (9.8; cf. De res. carn. 17.2)—omitting to point out, for rhetorical reasons, that elsewhere he has gone to great lengths to argue that “Abraham’s Bosom” should be considered the name of the whole of the particular region of Hades where the souls of the faithful (apart from the martyrs) are kept until the resurrection. Finally, from the account in Rev 6:9–10 of the souls of the martyrs “under the altar” calling out to the Lord for the avenging of their shed blood, Tertullian sees further evidence that souls have the kinds of physical attributes as those which may be extrapolated from 2 Cor 12:2– 4 and Luke 16:23–24. Marriage and the “Age of the Paraclete” One of Tertullian’s most obviously New Prophecy-inÀuenced books is his De monogamia (On Marriage), written ca. 210/11. Earlier, Tertullian merely preferred his wife to remain unmarried after his death (Ad. ux. 1.7.4) but permitted remarriage—as long as it was “in the Lord” (Ad ux. 2.1.2–4; 2.2.3–5; cf. 1 Cor 7:28–29). Following his involvement with the New Prophecy movement, however, he came to take a strong position against remarriage. This more stringent view was based on the logia of Montanus, Maximilla, and Priscilla on the topic (De iei. 1.3; Adv. Marc. 1.29.4; cf. Fr. Ecst., ap. Praedestinatus, De haer. 1.26; Fr., Apollonius, ap. Eusebius, H.E. 5.18.2). These “sayings,” in the opinion of Tertullian, conveyed the latest revelation of the Holy Spirit (Paraclete) on the subject. Through the New Prophecy, the “Montanists” believed, a new “era” or “dispensation” had been inaugurated (De virg. vel. 1.3–7). The “age of the Paraclete” superseded that of “the Father” and even that “of the Son,” clarifying, once and for all, what God’s will was on matters such as permanent monogamy. During earlier eras, God had been prepared to be more lax, allowing polygamy among the Hebrew patriarchs and remarriage (under certain conditions) for Christians. None of this, however, was what God had intended for humanity in the beginning (Gen. 2:24). In the present era, the Paraclete had come to restore the ethical precepts to their original intention, even if this appeared to be a change in what had been allowed previously. Tertullian’s very ¿rst extant explicit reference to his own acceptance of the New Prophecy and the Montanist view of the role of the Paraclete is made in the context of his discussion of marriage and remarriage in book 1 of the ¿nal edition of the Adversus Marcionem: 1

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Now if at this present time a limit of marrying is being imposed, as for example, among us, a spiritual reckoning decreed by the Paraclete is defended, prescribing a single matrimony in the faith, it will be his to tighten the limit who had formerly loosened it. (Adv. Marc. 1.29.4)

The kind of monogamy mandated by the discipline revealed by the Paraclete for Christians living in the present age is not merely the opposite of bigamy or polygamy. It is also the opposite of digamy. Remarriage, even if allowed legally after the death of one’s spouse, is forbidden by the Paraclete’s new method of spiritual counting. Whether a person had multiple spouses concurrently or successively is irrelevant. The number is wrong because it is more than one! Remarriage is “adultery-in-series” (De mon. 4.3; cf. De exh. cast. 4.5–6); it is a “species of fornication” (De exh. cast. 9.1). “The World to Come” In making his Montanist-inÀuenced case against remarriage after the death of one’s spouse, Tertullian makes some interesting observations in the De monogamia concerning life in the world to come. He reiterates his earlier view that there will be no resumption of sexual relations between husband and wife in the afterlife (De mon. 10.7, cf. Ad ux. 1.1.2–6). This, however, is no reason, argues Tertullian, for people not to remain bound to their departed spouses. In fact, because of their belief in the resurrection of the dead, they should pray that the souls of their beloved departed may have refreshment in their intermediate state and look forward to their future reunion (De mon. 10.5–8). Tertullian has no doubt that, in the world to come, husbands and wives will recognize each other, have a spiritual (rather than physical) relationship, and have their memories intact (De mon. 10.8). Being in the presence of God does not exclude being in the presence of each other. Husbands and wives will not be separated by God in the world to come, just as God (as recently revealed by the Paraclete) demands that they not be separated during their life on earth (De mon. 10.9). The kind of “mansion” received in the afterlife (cf. John 14:2) depends upon the “wages” earned in this life (10.9). Tertullian’s Use of Paul Tertullian was a rhetorician rather than an exegete or a systematic theologian. Although normally referred to as such, his extant works are not so much “treatises” but “polemics.” In arguing his case against various “heretics” or for topics such as the resurrection of the dead, Tertullian utilized whatever sources he deemed most advantageous for winning the 1

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argument. These ranged from illustrations contained in classical literature to quotations from, or allusions to, speci¿c texts in the Hebrew Bible and the (not-yet-canonical) Christian Scriptures. After his involvement with the New Prophecy movement, his sources, as we have seen, also included the sayings of the founding Montanist prophets and prophetesses, as well as contemporary ones in Carthage. The Montanists were particularly interested in the book of Revelation and derived much of their eschatology from that early Christian apocalypse. As pointed out already, the book of Revelation certainly inÀuenced the later Tertullian. In some instances, such as on the nature, location, and inhabitants of Paradise, it even caused him to change his earlier views. The most important and consistent source for Tertullian’s eschatology, however, was the Pauline corpus. Tertullian’s most comprehensive use of Pauline material in defense of various aspects of his fully developed eschatology are to be found in book 5 of the Adversus Marcionem and in the De resurrectione carnis. In the former, he systematically discusses each of the ten Pauline Epistles that comprised the second part of the Marcionite scriptures, commenting, where applicable, on topics related to the world to come. He starts with Galatians (Adv. Marc. 5.2–4), presumably the ¿rst epistle in Marcion’s Bible, a copy of which Tertullian had in front of him (e.g., 5.13.4; cf. 5.14.5). In the section of the De resurrectione carnis dealing speci¿cally with relevant Pauline material (De res. carn. 23–24; 40–54), Tertullian starts with Colossians (De res. carn. 23.1–6). Given the countless references in Tertullian’s works to Pauline passages, it is impossible to treat them all here. It may be useful, however, to give a few examples of how Tertullian utilizes texts from 1 and 2 Corinthians, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, Galatians, and Romans—his primary Pauline sources for “the world to come.” First and Second Corinthians In 1 Cor 7:31 Paul declares that “the present form of the world is passing away.” Tertullian, like Paul, uses this text to remind people to live accordingly (e.g., De cul. fem. 2.9.6; De pud. 16.19) but also employs it to stress the ¿nality of the world’s destruction (De res. carn. 5.4–5). Not surprising, 1 Cor 15 plays the most dominant role in Tertullian’s eschatology. He refers repeatedly to the numerous topics related to the resurrection in this chapter: there is a crucial connection between the bodily resurrection of Christ and the “resurrection of the dead” (1 Cor 15:12–23, 52; see, e.g., De res. carn. 48.1–8; cf. Adv. Marc. 3.8.7; 5.9.1– 10). All the dead will be raised, in a given order of priority, at the time of Christ’s “coming” (15:22–24, 35–41; see, e.g., Adv. Marc. 3.24.6; 1

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De res. carn. 48.10). Ultimate transformation will occur when the resurrected, yet perishable, body takes on imperishability and immortality (15:50–56; see, e.g., Ad ux. 1.7.1–2; Adv. Marc. 5.10.14–15; De res. carn. 42.11–13) because “Àesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” (15:50; see, e.g., Adv. Marc. 5.10.14; De res. carn. 50.1–6). Tertullian points out that denial of bodily resurrection had been prevalent among heretics even from Paul’s time (1 Cor 15:12; see De prae. haer. 33.3; cf. Adv. Marc. 5.9.2–3). Baptizing “on behalf of the dead” was a Pauline argument in favor of the ¿rst-century belief that Christians would, indeed, be raised bodily (1 Cor 15:29). This argument was repeated by Tertullian (e.g., De res. carn. 48.11; Adv. Marc. 5.10.1). He admitted, however, that he did not know the precise details of that earlier practice, although, whatever it was, it must have had to do speci¿cally with the body (Adv. Marc. 5.10.2). First Corinthians 15 also provided Tertullian with scriptural warrant for Christ’s (second) coming (15:23) and his reign (on earth) until, at “the end,” all enemies, including the rulers of the present world, are destroyed (15:24–28; cf. Adv. Marc. 5.9.6; Adv. Prax. 4.2). At that time, even death will be “swallowed up in victory” (15:54; cf. Adv. Marc. 5.10.16; De res. carn. 51.5.7). First Corinthians 15:40–41 refers to the different “glories” of heavenly and earthly “bodies” (including the sun, moon, and stars). The next words read: “So it is with the resurrection of the dead” (15:42a). Tertullian takes this statement, not as the start of a new section, but as the conclusion of the section on “different glories” and as the answer to why there are so many mansions in the Father’s house, prepared by Christ for the saints (John 14:2–3). According to Tertullian’s exegesis of 1 Cor 15:40–42a, Christians, especially martyrs, will be rewarded in the world to come differently on the basis of what they have accomplished for Christ on earth (Scorp. 6.7; cf. De mon. 10.9). Tertullian argues from 2 Cor 5:2–10 that Christians have an eternal house in heaven, namely, their incorruptible “dwelling” resulting from the transformation of the resurrected bodies after they have appeared before the judgment seat of Christ (e.g., Adv. Marc. 5.12.1–5). At least by the time he came to write the De resurrectione carnis, Tertullian no longer interpreted 2 Cor 5:6–8 as indicating that to be “away from the body” is to be “at home with the Lord” immediately (De res carn. 43.4).16

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16. See also Hill, Regnum Caelorem, 30 and 30 n. 26.

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To make his point that the souls of the deceased have “physical” characteristics such as “ears” and “eyes” (see above), Tertullian alludes to 2 Cor 12:2–4 to claim that Paul heard and saw the Lord in Paradise (De an. 9.8)—even though the text itself does not actually say so. First and Second Thessalonians Tertullian cites 1 Thess 1:10, 2:19, and 3:13 in con¿rmation of the coming of “our Lord Jesus with all his saints” (e.g., De res. carn. 24.1– 2). Tertullian’s eschatology is also very much inÀuenced by 1 Thess 4:13–5:11. In that passage, Paul reassures his readers that their deceased loved ones will not be disadvantaged at the “coming of the Lord.” At “the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet,” Christ “will descend from the heaven.” The “dead in Christ” will be the ¿rst to rise and those still alive will be next, “caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air” to “be with the Lord forever” (1 Thess 4:15–17; cf. De res. carn. 24.1–20; 41.6–7). Tertullian’s chiliasm forced him to see a distinction between the descent of Christ to establish the millennial kingdom and his coming “in the clouds.” The latter was deemed by Tertullian as occurring at the end of the millennium, after the ¿nal judgment. Consequently, he had to interpret 1 Thess 4:16–17, despite its reference to the descent of Christ out of heaven, more as an ascent and as the means of the Christians’ “ascension” to Paradise/ Heaven after the world had been destroyed. To justify this, Tertullian linked 1 Thess 4:16–17 not only with Dan 7:13, but with texts such as Isa 40:8 and Amos 9:6 (Adv. Marc. 3.24.11; 4.10.12–13; 5.15.4). First Thessalonians 4:16 states that at the coming of Christ, the “dead in Christ shall rise ¿rst.” This text must also have been problematic to Tertullian’s chiliastic cosmology. If the resurrection occurs at the end of the millennial reign of Christ, then there is a theoretical conÀict with the view that the dead will be raised in stages throughout the millennium, depending upon their worthiness (Adv. Marc. 3.24.6; De res. carn. 48.10; cf. De an. 58.8). Tertullian resolved the matter in his own mind by borrowing the phrase “¿rst resurrection” from Rev 20:5–6 (e.g., see De res. carn. 25.2). The “¿rst resurrection” commences with the martyred saints who will reign with Christ. At the “¿nal and general resurrection” all of humanity will be judged “from the books” (De res. carn. 25.2; cf. Rev 20:12–14). Those judged to be faithful will escape a “second death” (cf. Rev 20:14; 21:8) and “meet the Lord in the air,” along with those who are still alive (1 Thess 5:17). The latter will also be instantaneously transformed (Adv. Marc. 5.20.7) and with the other faithful, spend eternity with the Lord (1 Thess 5:17). 1

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As noted earlier, Tertullian, after being inÀuenced by the New Prophecy, is convinced that no one, except martyrs, enters Christ’s/ God’s presence until after the ¿nal judgment. Tertullian in De an. 55.3 draws on 1 Thess 4:16 to claim that no one enters Paradise/Heaven “until the trumpet sounds and God commands it.” In De res. carn. 24.7, he uses the same text to argue that the “trumpet of God” may be equated with the gospel, calling people to salvation (cf. 1 Thess 5:9). In De res. carn. 47.17–18, Tertullian quotes Paul’s prayer that the Thessalonians’ “spirit and soul and body be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thess 5:23). Tertullian also draws heavily on 2 Thessalonians. He complains in Adv. Marc. 5.16.1–2 that Marcion has expunged the references to “Àaming ¿re” from 2 Thess 1:5–8. That text refers to the righteous justice meted out by God “when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels in Àaming ¿re, inÀicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ.” As in the case of other Pauline texts, the later Tertullian reads 2 Thess 2:1–12 through the lens of Johannine literature. The Day of the Lord (cf. 1 Thess 5:2) is not yet here and will not come until Satan’s agent, the Antichrist, is revealed and is defeated by the coming of Christ (Adv. Marc. 5.16.5–7). The Roman Empire is the only thing standing in the way of the rise to power of the Antichrist, but the Empire will fall, just as earlier empires have fallen (De res. carn. 24.13–20). Galatians In addition to citing Gal 4:26 to refer to the New Jerusalem as “our mother from above” (Adv. Marc. 3.24.4), Tertullian utilizes a number of other passages from Galatians from which he draws conclusions about the world to come. For example, Tertullian, on the authority of Paul, warns that there are certain “works of the Àesh” which “will not inherit the kingdom of God” (Gal 5:19–21; De res. carn. 49.1–13). Tertullian is careful to distinguish, however, between the works which have been committed by the “Àesh” and the Àesh itself—which once forgiven at the ¿nal judgment and transformed can inherit the kingdom (Adv. Marc. 5.10.11–15; cf. De res. carn. 45.1–15). Romans Tertullian is convinced that not even the “Holy Land” will be exempt from the total destruction of the world which is to come to pass on the Day of Judgment. Romans 2:28–29 provides Tertullian with the hermeneutical key to interpret matters relating to Judaea and Jews spiritually rather than literally (De res. carn. 26.10–14; cf. Adv. Marc. 3.24.2). In 1

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Rom 6:1–11, Paul points out that all who are united with Christ in baptism will be raised as Christ himself was raised from the dead. Tertullian (as does Paul) utilizes this text to call on Christians to lead moral lives in the certain hope of their own resurrection (De pud. 17.4–8). Tertullian makes a similar appeal on the basis of Rom 8:2–13, especially v. 11: “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit which dwells in you” (De res. carn. 46.5). Invariably, Tertullian places the emphasis on the future dimension of the transformation of the Christian through the death and resurrection of Christ, a transformation which culminates in the transformation of their bodies after the ¿nal judgment. It is these transformed, angel-like bodies which Tertullian takes to be intended by Paul when he implores Christians to present them to God “as a living sacri¿ce” in a continuous act of “spiritual worship” (Rom 12:1; De res. carn. 47.16). Conclusion Tertullian’s mature, New Prophecy-inÀuenced eschatology may be summarized as follows: God’s dealing with humanity is based on a number of “eras” (or “dispensations”). The most recent of these is the “age of the Paraclete.” This current era is the period of time when, through the visions and sayings of the New Prophecy, the Holy Spirit (Paraclete) has ¿nally revealed to Christians exactly what is expected of them to live strictly in accordance with God’s highest requirements. One of the ways in which Christians are able to accomplish this is to keep before them the promises made to them in Scripture about the world to come, when they will be ultimately in the presence of the Lord forever. That hope of eternal bliss, however, will not be realized for a very long time as a number of events are to occur ¿rst. Christians, nonetheless, need not be discouraged if they concentrate on the certainty of the resurrection of the dead. All human beings will, at the appropriate time, be raised in order to be judged at the judgment seat of Christ. Meanwhile, the souls of dead reside in one of three temporary locations: Paradise for the martyrs; “Abraham’s Bosom” for other faithful Christians; and hell for the wicked. These souls are corporeal, with a recognizable “human” form and with the capacity to see, hear, speak, and taste. Separated from their bodies, they are no longer all they used to be, but they will be restored to their former soul/body unity on the day of their resurrection so that works (both good and evil) committed in the Àesh may be judged accordingly. 1

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Exactly when this resurrection will occur is known only to God, but there are signs for which Christians should look. One of these signs is the fall of the Roman Empire that, up to this point, has prevented the coming to power of the Antichrist, who is the devil’s agent. Christ, however, will return to earth to defeat the Antichrist and Satan, and to rule an earthly millennial kingdom. To participate in this reign, the martyrs will rise ¿rst and reside in the New Jerusalem which will come down out of heaven, prepared especially for them. The “¿rst resurrection” continues throughout the thousand years of Christ’s millennial kingdom. Those with greater merit will rise earlier rather than later so that they have a longer period of time to enjoy the New Jerusalem in the presence of the Lord. By the end of the millennium, all the dead will have been resurrected in time for the Last Judgment. The martyrs will participate in the judging of their persecutors, and all the wicked will be assigned permanently to hell, along with the devil and the devil’s angels. The world will be totally destroyed by an immense ¿re. The resurrected bodies of those judged to have been faithful and righteous will, at that time, be transformed into an incorruptible nature like that of (but not exactly the same as) the angels. They will meet Christ in the clouds, soaring upward to the celestial realm, led by Christ through the gate of heaven. There they will live forever with the Lord, claiming their promised position as citizens of heaven. In the world to come, there will be relationships with others (including spouses), although these will be spiritual, not sexual relationships. The many and varied mansions prepared for them will be awarded to the saints on the basis of merit, but all Christians will be together with the one God, worshipping and singing hymns of thanks eternally, in the world to come.

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HIS EMINENCE IMMINENT: TERTULLIAN’S TAKE ON PAULINE ESCHATOLOGY Ben Witherington, III

It has become commonplace in some circles that the “imminent” eschatology of the earliest Christians died on the vine somewhere in the middle of the second century C.E. (see, e.g., the transmutation of apocalyptic thinking in The Shepherd of Hermas), and this despite the ongoing major inÀuence of a collection of Pauline Letters circulating in Christian churches long before there was a canon of twenty-seven New Testament books. However conventional this wisdom may be, the Montanist movement gives the lie to this suggestion. The very fact that an orthodox thinker like Tertullian could be persuaded to be a part of the “New Prophecy” movement which arose in Phrygia shows that things eschatological were still on the front burner in many Christian quarters of the Empire, including in Africa and Roman provinces in the country we now call Turkey. From the outset I will take for granted that the very ¿ne essay by William Tabbernee on Tertullian in this volume has laid out more or less correctly what Tertullian’s views were on “the end of all things.” It will be my task to compare and contrast Tertullian’s views with those of the Apostle to the Gentiles. We may start with the observation that it is evident on even a cursory examination of Tertullian’s work that there was a deep and abiding impact of Paul’s eschatological teaching on Tertullian. One does not write at least two major treatises defending the notion of the resurrection of the body and drawing again and again on 1 Cor 15 unless Pauline thought has penetrated deeply into one’s worldview. At the same time, Tertullian is also a creative and original thinker, whether or not we wish to call him a systematic theologian,1 not a slavish imitator of anyone, as we shall now see. 1. From which Tabbernee demurs. I do not quite agree with the notion that we should simply see Tertullian as a brilliant rhetorician instead of being a systematic thinker or exegete. While the modern phrase “systematic theologian” may be 1

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The Soul of the Matter As I have argued elsewhere,2 Paul does not simply baptize Greco-Roman body/soul dualism and call it good. His anthropological thinking is more Semitic than that. Paul does not in fact af¿rm the Greco-Roman idea of the “immortal soul” nor the notion that Hades is where the “soul” goes when it dies, unless one is a martyr or “special” in some sense. These ideas can be predicated of Tertullian, but not Paul on two counts. First, for Paul, there is the body, there is the non-material part of the person, sometimes called the person’s spirit, and there is life breath (psychƝ means this in Paul, it does not mean “soul”). Paul af¿rms a limited dualism such that the person can go and be with the Lord in heaven at death, but will once again ¿nd themselves in a body permanently when Christ returns and the dead in Christ are raised. Second, perhaps surprisingly, Paul has next to nothing to say about the theological notion of hell, nor does he really ever mention Hades. His sole focus in any case is on the afterlife of his converts, the Christians. On the one hand he stresses that for all Christians “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord” (2 Cor 5); on the other hand, he stresses that even Christians will not enter the ¿nal Kingdom of God on earth in their present earthly condition—they will need a resurrection body (1 Cor 15). Especially clear is the fact that Paul would not have approved of the notion that some Christians merit closer company with God than others, such that the martyrs may well be in heaven with Christ, but all other Christians are in some sort of pleasant abode in Hades called Paradise. No indeed. For Paul, as for other early Jews, Paradise is a term for heaven or a particular level in heaven (see Luke 23:43). And in the End… Another interesting difference between Paul and Tertullian when it comes to eschatology is the way the two thinkers see the afterlife resolving. Paul, on the one hand, is clear enough that not everyone, but only the dead in Christ will rise when Christ returns, and that there will be a process of Christ ruling on earth until all of his enemies are banished. In pressing things too far, it will not do to underestimate the theological and logical prowess of Tertullian when it comes to major theological ideas. 2. See, for example, my Paul’s Narrative Thought World: The Tapestry of Tragedy and Triumph (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1994), and my ConÀict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996). 1

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fact, in 1 Cor 15, Paul says nothing about when the earth will give up the rest of its dead, unless the mention of death being the last enemy to be conquered refers to the raising of all the rest of the dead at the end of the period of Christ’s reigning and before he turns the Kingdom back over to the Father. Tertullian, as can be seen in Tabbernee’s essay, seems to af¿rm a general resurrection of the dead at Christ’s return, and surprisingly, considering how strongly he af¿rms resurrection, he seems to think that the human story ends in a celestial rather than a terrestrial locale. By this I mean that unlike Paul who sees the New Jerusalem coming down to earth and staying there (see also Rev 21–22), Tertullian seems to suggest that after the resurrection and the Final Judgment Christians climb back up the stairway to heaven with Christ and rule from above. This leads Tertullian to a very odd, almost Dispensationalist reading of 1 Thess 4:13–18. The Body of Evidence Tertullian can perhaps be forgiven for some of his mis-readings of Paul because the apostle does not always spin out all the implications of his ideas as clearly as one might want. Take for instance the issue of the pneumatikon soma referred to in 1 Cor 15. This, as it turns out, does not mean a body made up of some ethereal substance called “spirit,” though various exegetes through the ages have taken it that way,3 any more than psychikon soma refers to a “soulish body.” The latter means a body animated by life breath, the former means a body suffused with and animated by the Holy Spirit. Tertullian may be forgiven for misreading Paul at this point, and he is in good company in doing so. But why is it so important that salvation involves bodies at the end of all things? Tertullian’s answer would seem to be much the same as Paul’s, namely, that God is a God of all creation, and he intends to reclaim all that he originally made. It may be doubted, however, that Paul would have agreed with Tertullian that God intends to annihilate the present realm, whose “form is passing away” and replace it with a better and more permanent realm. Restoration and renewal rather than replacement seems to have been the apostle’s assumption. Finally, a little something should be said about the asceticism of Tertullian as a Montanist and Paul’s view of such matters. There can be no doubt that Tertullian’s views evolved over time on this matter, and 3. See the detailed and very interesting discussion in Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999).

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eventually he came to assume that sexual intercourse and even remarriage were too tainted to be a part of the world to come. This is not Paul’s view, despite the frequent misreading of 1 Cor 7. There, Paul makes clear that being married in the Lord should indeed involve intercourse, except when one needed to be apart for a time of prayer. We need to bear in mind that Paul is quoting Corinthian ascetics in the sentence, “It is good for a man not to touch a woman,” not proffering his own views on the matter. Indeed, he busily corrects the Corinthians and tells them that being single for the Lord or being married in the Lord are both valid charisma, grace gifts from God. At the same time, Paul does not seem to agree with Tertullian that we will be married in heaven, for Rom 7:1–4 makes evident that the surviving spouse is free from “the law of the husband” when he dies. Marriage for Paul is an institution of God meant for our earthly good, but it is something that is part of the schƝma tou kosmou that is passing away. It is the mark of a good essay that it stimulates deep thought about its subject, and Professor Tabernee’s essay certainly does that. At the end of the day we can see the profound indebtedness of Tertullian to Paul, though even in matters eschatological he goes his own way in various senses. Paul lived with great expectations but made no calculations about when the End and return of Christ would come. Tertullian, it would seem, ever the enthusiast, thought that events in Jerusalem and Phrygia in his own day signaled or augured that “the end was at hand.” One thing all such prognostications have had in common throughout church history—they have had a 100% failure rate. Paul, in the end, was wiser in the way he framed his eschatological reÀections than was Tertullian.

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AFTERWORD: TERTULLIAN AND PAULINE STUDIES Todd D. Still

Why should Pauline scholars trouble with Tertullian? This is far from a rhetorical question. Truth be told, Tertullian is not particularly well regarded in most Pauline circles. He has a (well-deserved?) reputation as a misogynist1 and supersessionist,2 and such perceptions, even when they are hackneyed and stereotypical, have not endeared the Carthaginian theologian to any number of erstwhile Paulinists and have arguably discouraged many Neutestamentlers from learning more about the life and work of the late second- and early third-century North African theologian, apologist, and rhetor known to most people simply as Tertullian.3 As it happens, Paul has a checkered reputation himself among more than his fair share of interpreters, both past and present, and has not escaped being criticized as a prideful, power-hungry, patriarchal prude who perverted Judaism on the one hand and Jesus on the other.4 1. See, e.g., Pauline Nigh Hogan, “Paul and Women in Second-Century Christianity,” in Paul and the Second Century (ed. Michael F. Bird and Joseph R. Dodson; LNTS 412; London: T&T Clark International, 2011), 226–43 (on 242 n. 57). 2. Calvin J. Roetzel (“Paul in the Second Century,” in The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul [ed. James D. G. Dunn; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003], 227–41 [236]) notes that Tertullian referred to the “stupid obduracy of the Jews” (Adv. Marc. 5.20) and concludes: “Thus Tertullian oddly presented a Paul who was rooted in the religion of the Old Testament but who repudiated his native Judaism.” 3. William Tabbernee sets forth “Tertullian’s” full name at the outset of his essay in this volume—Quintus Septimius Florens Tertullianus. The learned sophistication of the complex conversation that occurs among scholars of Tertullian, as seen in this volume, might also serve as a something of a deterrent even for interested Paulinists! For example, the painstaking distinctions some of our contributors can make between Tertullian’s pre-Montanist and Montanist careers have been all but lost on this editor! 4. See further Todd D. Still, “Paul: An Appealing and/or Appalling Apostle,” ExpTim 114 (2003): 111–18. 1

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Misery may love company, but is this suf¿cient reason for studying this pair in tandem? I would have thought not, nor is the fact that “reception history” is, in the words of Michael F. Bird, “one of the hip things happening in biblical studies at the moment” (see p. 16, above). That Paul and Tertullian were both ancient, occasional, pastoral theologians and writers of considerable intelligence, rhetorical prowess, biblical knowledge, and uncommon commitment, however, does make for an interesting pairing, as the essays in this volume ably and amply demonstrate. Furthermore, beyond intellectual curiosity and academic intrigue, a primary reason that Pauline scholars do well to read and to reÀect upon Tertullian is the unassailable fact that he read and reÀected upon Paul.5 More than an oft-repeated claim that the Apostle Paul was “the” and “his” apostle, Tertullian’s extant literary corpus demonstrates how deeply indebted he was to Paul’s life, letters, and legacy. “Throughout all his literary twists and turns, the single trail of breadcrumbs in his works is his use of Scripture and especially his use of Paul” (so David E. Wilhite in the “Introduction” above). Indeed, as Stephen Cooper has noted in his contribution to the present volume (p. 246), “Tertullian’s extensive engagement in Adversus Marcionem with the Corpus Paulinum stands at the beginning of the history of Latin Christianity’s exegetical affair with its favorite apostle.”6 Contemporary Pauline scholars, as they seek to plumb the various depths of the multifaceted apostle, can ill afford to dismiss out of hand one of his earliest, most inÀuential interpreters, regardless of their academic assessment of Tertullian’s interpretive competence. In fact, in reading and editing the excellent essays and responses that comprise this volume, I have been impressed time and again by how relevant so many of the topics taken up (or, at least, touched upon) in this work actually are to the ongoing dialog regarding Paul and his life and work. A truncated, ten-fold list of particular interest to Paulinists might include the following: Christology; ecclesiology; Scripture; Israel; continuity/discontinuity in Paul’s thought relative to Scripture and Israel; (the perceived center of) Pauline theology; Greco-Roman rhetoric and 5. Roetzel (“Paul in the Second Century,” 235) remarks: “Tertullian drew a portrait of Paul which was nuanced and complex, deeply rooted in the Pauline letters and fully at home in the Graeco-Roman world.” 6. Roetzel (ibid., 237) posits, “While he depended on the works of Irenaeus, Tertullian’s argument was fuller and more complex, and he was able more than any other to enlist Paul in the struggle against Marcion and Valentinus and to secure Paul’s canonical status.” 1

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philosophy as evidenced in the apostle’s Letters; Roman imperialism and militarism; women’s roles in the ancient world and early church; and poverty and wealth in the “Pauline churches.”7 Even, as it turns out, that Jerusalem has no small amount in common with Athens, this collaborative work demonstrates that Pauline and Patristics scholars share any number of common interests and concerns that might be usefully explored and elaborated upon for the common good of Early Christian Studies, if not also for the church and contemporary culture writ large. Simply and succinctly stated, Pauline scholars should trouble themselves to study the works of Tertullian and his interpreters because it is worth the work and the trouble. Reading Tertullian reading Paul enables one to become a more sympathetic, strategic, and skilled reader of the apostle whom Tertullian (and not a few others have) loved.

7. This is not, of course, the place to survey the ¿eld of Pauline Studies. See, however, the serviceable and insightful volume by David G. Horrell, An Introduction to the Study of Paul (2d ed.; London: T&T Clark International, 2006). See now also Stephen Westerholm, ed., The Blackwell Companion to Paul (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011). 1

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INDEXES INDEX OF REFERENCES HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT Genesis 1 8 1:2 52, 175 1:6–7 175 1:28 131 2 129, 148 2:7 54, 73, 75, 77 2:22–23 130, 132 2:23 148 2:24 146, 148, 270 3:15 268 3:16 154 3:19 54 3:20 130 6 133, 137 6:2 204 6:3 63 6:17 75 21:10 82 24:64–65 133 25:23 87 28:12 268 40–41 65 49:27 122, 241 Leviticus 19:18 Numbers 25:9 26:62

Deuteronomy 25:4 81, 90 30:11–14 199 Joshua 22:17–18 1 Samuel 2:8 16:7 18 1 Kings 16:7 Job 1:12 33:4 Psalms 24:1 32:1–2 104:29–30 106:28–31

122

201 209 241

96 52 56 191

Jeremiah 4:3 17:10 31:3 31:31–34

237 209 237 83

Ezekiel 48:30–35

265

Daniel 7:13

274

Amos 4:13 9:6

52 274

Micah 6:6

200

Malachi 1:1 1:10–11 1:11

237 168 191

209

115 75

202 121 75 122

Proverbs 8

8

Ecclesiastes 3:1

141

Isaiah 2:3 3:3 10:23 11:1–2 40:8 45:7

237 7 237 56 274 232

82, 205

122 122

53:1 57:15 LXX 61:13 66:20

APOCRYPHA Wisdom of Solomon 1:1 31 OLD TESTAMENT PSEUDEPIGRAPHA 1 Enoch 6–16 137 8 138

Index of References NEW TESTAMENT Matthew 5:14–16 209 5:16 209 5:17 205 5:23–24 168 5:23 205 6:16–18 64 7:7 28 9:2–6 64 10:16 111 10:19 65 10:23 123, 175 10:37 121 11:13 64 12:3–4 168 19:5 146 19:19 205 22:21 121 22:39 82, 205 24:13 135, 149 Mark 4:21 9:29 10:8 12:31

209 64 146 82

Luke 1:35 3:1 4:18 6:20–22 6:22 6:43 7:18–23 8:16 10:27 11:33 12:1 12:12 15:11–32 16:1–17 16:5 16:16 16:23–24 17:21

58 58 200 200 200 232 64 209 82 209 233 65 96 199 209 64, 242 269, 270 199

18 18:18–22 18:42 24:39 23:43

199 199 28 136 279

John 1 1:1–18 1:1 1:13 3:6 3:8 4:24 6:8 6:63 7:37–39 8:3–5 8:26 10:30 14:2–3 14:11 14:16 14:28 16:12 16:13 17:3 20:17 20:22

8 58 58 62 59, 62 73 62 58 60 74 59 58 58, 59 273 58 59, 68 59 61 65, 67 67 136 73

Acts 2 8:3 9:1 9:21 9:25 10:1–11:18 13:13–51 13:46 15 15:1–29 15:5 15:9 16:1–3 16:2 16:3 21:7–14

65 122 122 122 124 79 79 79, 123 6, 240 79 244 79 240 244 93 122, 124

301 21:13 21:21–26 22:3 22:4 24:10 26:10–11 28:3 Romans 1–11 1:2 1:4 1:7 1:8 1:16–17 1:16 1:17 1:20 1:21 1:28 2 2:10 2:12 2:14–15 2:17–24 2:24 2:25–29 2:28–29 2:28 2:29 3:1–9 3:1–2 3:2 3:9 3:11 3:19–20 3:21–26 3:27–31 3:27 3:31–4:25 3:31 4 4:1–25 4:7–8

122 79 79 122 124 122 122

253 252 78 59 32 84, 91 95, 100, 225 91, 252 56 76 76 95 84, 95, 100 84, 91 237 84 100 84 95, 275 192 91 100 84, 95, 100 252 84, 95 96 84 84 84 255 252 95, 96 96 84 122

302 Romans (cont.) 4:11 99 4:17 76 4:25 121 5:3 113, 121 5:12 133 6:1–11 276 6:4 78, 175 7 206 7:1–4 281 7:1–3 147 7:2–3 149 7:4 149 7:6 84 7:12 252 7:14 56 7:18 63, 68 7:29 206 7:30 206 7:31 206 8 112 8:1–11 120 8:2–13 276 8:2–5 63, 68 8:2 255 8:4 255 8:5–6 66 8:5 54 8:8–9 206 8:9 77 8:11 76–78, 276 8:12–17 193 8:13 75 8:14–17 77 8:14 113 8:16 63 8:17 112, 121 8:22–26 69 8:26 63, 68, 131 8:29 192 8:32 63, 121, 124 8:35–39 112 8:35–38 121 8:35 113

Index of References 9–11 9 9:1–5 9:3 9:4 9:5 9:6–24 9:6–13 9:6 9:7 9:12 9:14–16 10–11 10 10:1 10:2–4 10:3 10:4 10:6–13 10:12 10:14–21 10:16 10:18 11 11:1–10 11:1–2 11:1 11:2–10 11:11–16 11:16–21 11:23–26 11:23–24 11:25–26 11:26–27 11:26 11:28–29 11:28 11:29 11:30–32 11:33 11:34 12–15 12:1 13:1–7 13:3–4 13:8–10

101, 103 84, 91 100, 252 101 84, 96 59 87 102 102 87 87 102 96 96 84 91 100 85 252 84, 96 84 96 96 97, 100– 102 96 100 85, 96 85 85, 96 85, 96 101 85 100 92 85, 102 100 102 102 103 230 121 253 276 113 113 255

13:9 13:14 14–15 14:1–15:6 14:15 14:20 15 15:1–6 15:4 15:7–13 15:8 15:15–16 15:18–19 15:27 16:1–2 16:3–5 16:4–5 16:6 16:9 16:12 16:20 16:21 16:23

205 125 253, 254 252, 253, 255 255 255 191 253–55 252 253, 254 254 191 37 56 161, 221 220 221 220 220 220 121 220 219

1 Corinthians 1 129 1:10 32, 33, 121 1:11 219 1:18–31 121 1:20 40 1:27–28 114, 123 2:7 90 2:11 60, 68 2:12 77 2:14 229 3:1–3 56 3:1 32 3:2 148, 162 3:9 220 3:16 146, 148, 198 3:18 32 3:21 205, 206, 216 3:25 32

Index of References 4 4:1–2 4:1 4:3 4:6 4:7 4:9 4:11–13 4:16 4:18–21 5 5:5–10 5:6 5:9–11 6:2 6:3 6:12 6:14 6:19 7

7:1–7 7:1 7:2 7:5 7:6–40 7:6–8 7:7 7:8 7:9

7:12–16 7:12–14 7:13–14 7:20 7:25–35 7:28–29

219 11 121 209 122 206 216 219 210 56 143 6 205, 233 146 116 115, 125, 138 207 78 198 65, 127, 129, 130, 135, 141, 142, 159– 61, 216, 281 157 129, 134, 157 130, 137 143, 154, 161 67 147 134, 139 135 67, 129, 142, 149, 157 162 146 146 210, 217 157 270

7:29

7:31 7:32–35 7:34 7:35 7:36–38 7:36 7:38 7:39–40 7:39 7:40 8:2 8:6 9 9:5–6 9:5 9:8 9:10 9:11 9:19–23 9:19–22 9:19–21 9:19 9:20–22 9:20–21 9:20 9:22 9:25 10–11 10 10:2 10:8 10:11 10:14–22 10:18 10:22 10:23 10:24 10:32

94, 131, 135, 141, 148 135, 156, 272 161 132, 136, 145, 159 136 158–61 135 67 159 93, 147, 162 69, 130, 147, 162 32 76, 77 33 133 158, 161 81, 90 64 56 255 33 92 239 93 82, 91 33, 234 239 66, 109, 120 65, 66 189, 193 54 122 135, 207 190 190 124 146, 207, 208 127, 205 121

303 11–14 11 11:2–16 11:2 11:3–16 11:3 11:5–16 11:5–6 11:5 11:7–9 11:7 11:8 11:10 11:16 11:17–34 11:19 11:21 11:22 11:23–25 11:29 12–14 12 12:10 12:13 13 13:2 13:5 14 14:2 14:6–25 14:15 14:20 14:26–33 14:29 14:32–34 14:32 14:33–36 14:33–35 14:33 14:34–35 14:34

160 136, 137, 189 158, 160, 163 67 64, 132 160 65 129 152, 153, 155, 163 158 139, 158 154 137, 138, 159 158 223 27, 246 223 160, 223 166 223 49 55, 187, 192 73 74, 175 66 73 127, 205 187 73 73 72, 75 73 163 73 155 73 163 160 187 149, 150, 160 151

304

Index of References

1 Corinthians (cont.) 14:45 74 15 18, 39, 74, 75, 148, 272, 273, 278–80 15:1–4 166 15:3–4 14, 32 15:3 62 15:9 122 15:10 220 15:12–23 272 15:12 262, 273 15:22–24 272 15:22 76 15:23 273 15:24–28 273 15:24–25 60 15:29 273 15:32 149 15:35–41 272 15:35 75 15:40–42 273 15:40–41 273 15:41 111, 121 15:42–54 74 15:42 74, 273 15:43 74 15:44–46 74, 76 15:45 76, 77 15:46 54 15:47–49 74 15:50 60, 74, 273 15:52–54 145 15:52 74, 272 15:53–54 74 15:54 74, 273 15:56 273 15:58 124 16:2 222 2 Corinthians 1:12 1:21–22 2 2:14–16

56 77 143 120

3 3:6 3:7–11 3:11 3:14–15 3:14 3:15 4:4 4:8–10 4:8 4:16 4:13 5 5:1 5:2–10 5:5 5:6–8 5:10 5:17 6:14 6:16 6:20 8:1–6 8:6 8:13–14 8:14 8:21 8:23 10–12 10:14 11:1–22 11:1–2 11:2 11:13 11:14 11:22 11:23 11:32–33 12 12:2–4

12:2 12:4 12:7

100, 252 63, 64, 68, 76 91 82 91 82 100 192, 250 121 113 121 252 279 108, 120 273 77 273 33 131 149 198 208 220 20 222 220 209 220 36, 40, 41, 43 56 219 41 41 66 32 81 113, 121 124 108, 117 120, 122, 269, 270, 274 65, 124 32, 55, 73 114, 115

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

2:11 2:12–13 2:14 2:15–21 2:19–20 3:1 3:5–14 3:5 3:8 3:11–12 3:11 3:13 3:17

114, 123 113, 121 78 192

59, 241 32, 243 239, 244 32, 64, 243, 244 166 100, 122 33 122 33 240 252 244 239 59, 234, 239 82, 93, 244 244 244 82 33, 234, 239 252 227, 234 33, 82, 225, 253, 255 239 33 239 245 256 32 82 77 252 251 94 62 100

Index of References 3:19 3:25 3:27

4:1–11 4:1–7 4:4–6 4:4 4:5 4:6–7 4:6 4:9 4:11 4:22–30 4:22–24 4:26 4:30 5:2–4 5:6 5:7 5:9 5:13–14 5:14 5:16–18 5:16–17 5:17 5:19–21 5:20 5:24 6:2 6:13 6:16

82, 87 82 115, 125, 175 82, 94, 96, 158 255 193 14 254 82, 90 77 77 33 220 82 90 266, 275 87 82 82 32 233 251, 255 82, 205 120 54 67, 142 275 32 67 251, 255 205 31, 59

Ephesians 1 1:7–10 1:9–10 1:10 1:17 2:10 2:14–16 2:14–15 2:15 2:19 3:8–12

8, 11 7 11 132 60 225 83 92 83 123 11

3:28

3:9 4 4:14 4:27 4:28 4:30 5 5:5 5:11 5:16 5:25–33 5:26–27 5:29 5:31 5:32 6:1 6:11–17 6:12 Philippians 1:1 1:3–4 1:19 1:20 1:29–30 2 2:4 2:5–11 2:16 2:17 2:25–30 2:25 3:3 3:5 3:6 3:8 3:14 3:15 3:16 3:20 4:3 4:5 4:8 4:12–13

11 187 121 124 210 55, 65, 120 162 212, 217 68 124 162 162 147 146, 148 147 66 137 124

166, 192 32 77 208 113, 121 10, 192 127, 205 14, 20 220 113, 121, 192 219 110 192, 205 81 122 246 124 66, 69 59 109, 120, 266 171 209 209 219

305 Colossians 1 1:10 1:12–23 1:15–20 1:15–17 1:15 1:16 1:27 2 2:8 2:12 3:2 3:5 3:10

10 66 14 20 76, 77 192 56 125 57 31, 32, 57, 233 175 120 212, 217 192

1 Thessalonians 1:2 32 1:10 274 2:1–12 219 2:12 66 2:14–16 83 2:15 92, 100 2:16 100 2:19 274 3:13 274 4:3–5 140 4:4–5 161 4:8 77 4:11–12 219, 220 4:11 210, 217 4:13–5:11 274 4:13–18 280 4:13–17 135 4:15–17 274 4:16–17 274 4:16 274, 275 5:2 275 5:5 124 5:9 275 5:14 124 5:17 274 5:19–20 55 5:21 32, 73 5:23 207, 275

306

Index of References

2 Thessalonians 1:4–5 121 1:4 112, 113 1:5–8 275 2:1–12 275 2:15 67 3:7–12 210 1 Timothy 1:3–11 1:3–4 1:4 1:13 1:18 1:19 2:9 2:11–12 2:12–14 2:14 3:1–7 3:2–12 3:2 3:15 4:1–5 4:1–3 4:1 4:3 4:14 5:1–2 5:14 5:17 6:3–4 6:10

6:13 6:20 2 Timothy 1:6 1:7–8 1:7 1:13 1:14 2 2:2

37 11 11, 32, 33, 64, 233 122 32 212 161 149, 152 154 133, 157 148 166 179 166 128 140 32 33, 140 166 166 149, 162 166, 167 32 64, 201, 212, 216, 217 32 32, 172

166 113 56, 121 167 32, 172 120 32

2:3 2:5 2:11–13 2:11 2:17 2:19 3:16 4:6–8 4:6

33, 110 110 121 113 32 32 69 121 113

Titus 1:6–9 1:11 2:14 3:10–11 3:10

148 37 121 32 32

Philemon 2

110

Hebrews 3 3:1–6 6:4 6:6 7 7:18–28 8 8:6–13 8:16–30 9:1–10 9:10 9:11–10:18 9:15 11:1–31 11:24–29

95 83 65 44 95 83 95 83 87 83 95 83 95 83 83

1 Peter 2:11 2:17 3:1–6 3:3–5 2 Peter 3:15 3:16

56 121 64 161

1 John 1:1 4:1 4:18

136 55, 73 106

Jude 7 23

148 56

Revelation 1:8 1:10 2 3:12 6:9–10 6:9 6:10 9:10 20:1–15 20:5–6 20:12–14 20:14 21–22 21:8 21:9–22:5 21:10

132 65 65 265 269, 270 65, 268 263 268 267 274 274 274 280 274 265 265

NEW TESTAMENT APOCRYPHA AND PSEUDEPIGRAPHA Acts of Paul 25 197 Acts of Thomas 121 197 APOSTOLIC FATHERS 1 Clement 40.5 167 44 166 44.2 167 2 Clement 14

256 126

56

Index of References Ignatius To the Ephesians 1.1–3 169

Cyprian Ad Fortunatum 13.6.42.5 116

To the Magnesians 6.1–2 169

CLASSICAL WRITINGS Anselm Prosl. 13 53

Epistula 3.1.1 6.2.1 8.1.1 12.1.1 12.2.1 15.3 31.3 63.2.1–2 63.14.4 69.1.1 73.7.2 73.19.3

Aristotle Historia animalium 8.7.2 232

Demetrius De elocutione 165–66 38

Cicero De of¿ciis 1.77

42

De oratore 2.46 85

53 38

Epiphaneius Panarion 42.1.3–6 48.2.6 48.14.4 49.1–3 49.2

To the Trallians 3.1 169 Letter of Polycarp 3.2 256

De inventione 1.8.10–11 236 1.20–21 232 1.28–29 232 Clement of Alexandria Quis dives salvetur 2 214 3 214 3 197 26 214 40 197 Stromata 4.13 6.105.1 6.71.3–72.1

55 197 197

214 116 214 214 116 116 116 170 170 176 176 181

226 266 45 266 151

Eusebius Historia ecclesiastica 5.18.2 265, 270 5.16.8 266 5.18.3 153 8.14.10 214 Hermes Mandates 4.2 4.3 Similitudes 4.5 8.2.2 8.8.1

181 197

212 197 212

307 9.13 9.20.1

197 212

Visions 3.1.9 3.3 3.6.5–7

116 197 212

Hippolytus Traditio apostolica 3 170 7 170 Commentarium in Danielem 2.37.4 116 Irenaeus Adversus haereses 1.10 30 1.1.11–12 56 1.10.1 24 1.27.3 230 2.34.4 54 3.2.2 167 3.3.3–4 171 3.12.12 230 3.24.1 174 4.8.3 168 4.17.5–6 168 4.18.1 168 4.21.2–3 87 4.30.1 212 4.41.4 17 5.6.1 54 5.12.2 52 Epideixis touapostolikouk kerygmatos 6 24 Jerome De viris illustribus 18 266 53 185, 261

308

Index of References

John Chrysostom Homiliae in epistulam i ad Corinthios 15.6 214 Justyn Martyr Apologia i 1.61 26 58 65.2 66

197 227 227 169 167

Dialogus cum Tryphone 5 54 128 59 Lucian Alexander (Pseudomantis) 27 42 Michael the Syrian Chronicle 9.3 265 Origen Contra Celsum 7.18 249 Commentarium in evangelium Matthaei 33 24 Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 32.15 24 Homiliae in Joshuam 1.6 197 Homiliae in Leviticum 2.4.5 197 Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis 1.3–5 269 4.3–9 268

4.8 8.1 11.2–6 11.9 11.10–12.5 13.1–6 13.8 21.11

268 269 268 269 268 268 268, 269 269

Peter of Alexandria On Riches 37 214 55 214 66 214 Pliny Naturalis historia 8.55.37 232 Praedestinatus De haeresis 1.26 47, 265, 270 Pseudo-Hippolytus Haereses 1 170 9.11.1 179 9.12.20–25 182 Ps. Clementine Homilies, Ep. Clem. ad Iac. 1.19 171 Pseudo-Tertullian Adversus Omnes Haereses 6.2 226 Quintilian Institutio oratoria 3.4.12–15 231 4.2.1 232 6.4.1 231 Refutatio 9–10

179

Rut. Lup. 2.6

38

Tertullian Ad Scapulam 3.4 4.5–6 4.7 5.2

195 195 210 195

Ad martyras 1 2–3 2 2.3 2.4 3 3.1

65, 120 65 108, 120 263 263 66, 109, 120, 123 109

Ad nationes 1.14.2 1.19.2 1.19.4 1.19.5 1.19.6 2.8.12 2.17.18

92 260 260 262 264 65 263

Ad uxorem 1.1.2–6 1.1.2 1.1.4 1.2 1.2.2–3 1.2.2 1.3 1.3.2 1.3.3–5 1.3.3 1.3.4–5 1.3.4 1.3.5–6 1.3.5 1.3.6 1.4.2 1.4.3–8

264, 271 95 264 23 95 94 206 134 142 206 129 114, 207 208 208 136 142 264

Index of References 1.4.4 1.4.6–8 1.4.6 1.4.7 1.5.1 1.5.4 1.7.2 1.7.4 1.7.1–2 1.7.4 1.7.8 2.1.2–4 2.1.4 2.2.1–9 2.2.3–5 2.2.4–5 2.2.9 2.3–4 2.3.1–3 2.3.4 2.4.1–2.6.3 2.7.1–2 2.8 2.8.3–5 2.8.3 2.8.4 2.8.5 2.8.6–9 2.8.7 2.8.8 3.1

136 143 203, 210 204 143, 264 141 147 151, 152 273 264, 270 264 270 147 146 270 23 148 195 146 204 146 146 195 209 204 146 200 142 146 146 148

Adversus Hermogenem 1 25 1.4 53 18.1 68 20 22 22.1–2 64 22.1 22 31 22 32.2–3 52 Adversus Iudaeos 1.1 86 1.3–5 87 1.8 87, 99, 102

2–3 2.1–3.13 2.9 3.3 5.4 6 7.6 8 8.13–15 9 9.19 9.22 9.23 9.26 10.9 10.19 13–14 13.23 13.25–26 13.28–29 13.28

23 87 100 100 64 23 65 99 64 23, 35 65 99 64 56 65 64 98 58 102 99 99

Adversus Marcionem 1 233, 236 1.1 25 1.1.1 229, 261 1.1.3 231 1.1.4–5 232 1.1.4 226 1.1.5 226 1.1.6 232, 261 1.2 232 1.2.2–3 233 1.2.3 233 1.3.2 240 1.6.1 230 1.7.3 230 1.15 17 1.15.1 229, 230 1.16.1 56 1.16.2 230 1.18.4 226 1.19.1 233 1.19.2 58 1.19.4 233 1.19.5 233

309 1.20 1.20.1 1.20.2–6 1.20.2 1.20.3 1.21 1.21.1–2 1.21.1 1.21.2–3 1.21.5 1.22.1 1.23.7 1.24 1.25.8 1.27 1.29.1–2 1.29.4 1.29.5 1.29.4

2.1.1 2.2.4 2.6.1 2.6.3 2.6.7 2.8.2 2.8.4 2.9 2.9.1–2 2.9.3–9 2.9.7 2.14 2.15.1–2 2.15.1 2.18.1 2.24.4 2.29.1 3 3.1.2 3.5 3.5.4 3.6.3 3.7

17, 33, 225 233, 234 33 234 234 25 235 89 235 229, 230 230 195 249 230 249 140 65, 147 141 229, 230, 264, 270, 271 230 230 230 52, 57 197 52 57 75 54 54 138 17 88 34 230 229 230 94 230 123 94, 225, 228 226 98

310 Adversus Marcionem (cont.) 3.8.7 272 3.9.7 57 3.12–14 98 3.14 23 3.14.4 246 3.16.5 58 3.16.7 230 3.17 23, 35 3.17.3–4 56 3.21 23 3.22.7 58 3.23 98 3.23.1–4 99 3.23.2–3 102 3.24 266 3.24.2–3 65 3.24.2 266, 275 3.24.3–6 266 3.24.4 264–66, 275 3.24.6 266, 272, 274 3.24.10–11 58 3.24.11 274 4 96, 229, 235, 236, 238, 245, 265, 267 4.1 23 4.1.1 236 4.1.2 230 4.1.3 236 4.1.4 237 4.1.6 237 4.1.8 149 4.1.9–10 237 4.2 17, 29, 238 4.2.1 238 4.2.4 238 4.2.5 239 4.3 17, 33, 225 4.3.2–4 33 4.3.2 239

Index of References 4.3.3 4.3.4 4.4.3–4 4.5 4.6 4.6.3 4.9 4.9.2 4.14.13 4.14.2 4.14.6 4.14.7 4.15.13 4.15.6–8 4.15.8 4.15.9 4.17.2 4.22.5 4.22.12 4.26.5–9 4.27.6–9 4.28.1 4.28.8 4.28.11 4.29.1 4.29.8 4.31.1 4.33.8 4.33.9 4.34.4 4.34.5 4.34.10–17 4.34.11–12 4.34.12–13 4.34.12 4.34.13 4.34.17 4.35.13 4.36.4–5 4.36.4 4.36.5 4.36.6 4.36.7 4.40.6 4.43.3

92, 93, 239 239 232 25 23 227 23 226 56, 200 195, 200 63 200 201 200 199, 200 201 89 229 64 199 200 233 63 201, 206 199 230 197 238 57 199 140 267 267 96 199, 267 267 203 199 199 199 200 200 199, 200 64 230

5

5.1 5.1.1 5.1.2 5.1.3 5.1.5–6 5.1.5 5.1.6 5.1.8 5.1.9 5.2–4 5.2.1 5.2.1–2 5.2.2 5.2.3 5.2.4 5.2.7–3.7 5.2.7 5.2.9 5.3 5.3.1–2 5.3.2 5.3.5 5.3.6 5.3.7 5.4.3 5.4.8 5.5–10 5.5.1 5.6.10 5.6.2 5.6.13 5.7.1–3 5.7.10–11 5.7.10 5.7.2 5.7.7–8 5.8 5.8.2

6, 18, 88– 90, 94, 95, 97, 98, 226, 229, 242, 265, 267 23, 123 240 226, 241 241 241 96 224, 230, 246 242 89 272 89, 242 243 243 5 89, 243 33 6, 244 230 33, 225, 252 244 89 244, 245 200 245 90 90 90 90 7 90 206 23 90 99 22, 205 141 72 138

Index of References 5.8.4–5 5.8.4 5.8.11–12 5.8.11 5.8.12 5.9.1–10 5.9.2–3 5.9.6 5.9.7 5.9.8 5.9.9 5.10.1 5.10.2 5.10.4 5.10.11–15 5.10.14–15 5.10.14 5.10.16 5.11–12 5.11 5.11.5 5.11.8 5.11.12 5.12.1–5 5.12.6–7 5.12.8 5.13–14 5.13.1 5.13.2 5.13.4 5.13.7 5.13.15 5.14.5 5.14.9 5.14.6–8 5.14.7–8 5.15 5.15.1–2 5.15.3 5.15.5 5.16 5.16.1–2 5.16.4 5.16.5–7 5.17–18 5.17.1 5.17.5

58 56 154 152, 153 66 272 273 273 230 63 92, 102 273 273 64 275 273 273 273 90 250 91 101 64 273 66 263 90 91 91 91, 272 91, 100 65, 90 272 230 100 91 90 92, 100 140 55 90 275 64 275 90 7 56

5.17.6 5.17.10 5.17.14–15 5.18.7 5.19 5.19.2 5.20 5.20.7 5.21 5.21.1 14.28.11 14.33.1–2 14.33.1 21.1

58 102 92 15 90 224 90, 282 274 90 23, 181 199 199 199 181

Adversus Praxean 1.1 7 1.5 7, 58, 59 1.6–7 261 1.6 182 1.7 4 2–3 13 2 24, 25, 35, 131 2.1 8, 13, 20 2.3–4 58 3.1 195 4.1 58 4.2 273 4.2.5 59 4.4 60 5–7 8 5 60 7 58 7.1–2 9 7.1 10 7.8 10 8 11 8.3–5 60 8.4 58 8.5–7 59 8.12 58 8.15 58 8.21 58 9.1–4 59 9.3 68 11 22

311 11.6–9 11.8 12.2–7 12.6–8 13 13.1 13.2–9 13.5 13.7–9 13.7 14 14.9 15 15.7 16.6–7 19.3 19.8 20 25.1 26.2–5 26.8 27.3–5 27.6 27.14 27.15 28.12 29 29.1 29.2 29.3 29.6 29.7 30 30.2 30.4 30.5 31.1–2 31.1 31.2

59 96 59 58 59 8 59 8, 59 59 68 5 58 23 59 59 58 8 30 59 58 68 58 62 59 58, 59 60 22 62 62 62, 94 63 63 24 62 63 59 59, 88 59 59

Adversus Valentinianos 1.1–2.1 261 2 73 3.4 64 10.5 57 11–14 58 11.1–2 57

312

Index of References

Adversus Valentinianos (cont.) 17.1 58 18.1 57 22.2 57 27.1 57 Apologeticum 17.1 18.1–2 20 20.4 21.11 21.17 21.24 22 22.1 22.3–4 23.12 26.1 27.4–5 30.1–3 30.5 36–37 37.4 38.3 39 39.1–5 42.2 42.3 47.10 47.12–13 48.1–15 48.4 48.11 48.12 48.13 49 50 50.2 50.12

57 22 22 64 62 62 106 106 57 138 57 263 106 263 51 258 195 203 28 261 210 210 30 263 260 262 262 262 262, 264 40 104 106 106

De anima 1.1 1.4 1.11 2

53, 269 58 53 22, 24

2.3 3.1 5.2–3 5.2 5.3 8.5 9.3–4 9.4 9.6 9.8 10–12 10.2 10.7 11–16 11.1–6 11.1 11.3 11.4 11.6 14.4 17.13 18.5 19.7–8 21.1–2 24.2 27.7 40.2 41.3 49.3 52.3 53.3 57.9 22.2 55.3 55.4 55.5 58.8 De baptismo 1 1.2 3.2 4–5 4.1 4.4

55 31 53 51 57 65 55 55, 155, 184, 269 51 270, 274 76 57 51 51 53 51, 54 54 63 53 51 51 57 50 63 53 54 54 54 96 203 50, 65 55 269 275 268 263, 268 274

5.7 8–9 8.4 10.5 12 13.3 17.1–2 17.4–5 17.5 18.2

150 150, 261 52, 175 197 52, 57, 175 175, 176

De cultu feminarum 1.1.2–3 133 1.2.1 138 1.2.4 138, 204 1.3.1 137 1.3.3 69 1.4.2 204

54 54 57 64 197 60 176 149, 150 111 60

De carne Christi 1.1–2 260 1.1 260 1.2 61, 260 1.3 260 2.1–5.10 260 2.4 232 3.8–9 61 5.6–8 62 5.10 95 6.1–8.7 260 6.9 57 8.2–3 261 15.1–2 57 15.2 260, 267 18.1–7 62 18.5–7 62 19.1 62 19.2 62 19.5–20.7 62 21.4 64 22.5 94 23.6 64 De corona militis 1.4 66 4.6 66, 69 11 258

Index of References 1.9.1–2 1.9.2 2.1.1 2.1.3 2.2.2–3 2.2.4 2.3.2–3 2.3.2 2.3.3 2.4.1–2 2.5.1–2.7.3 2.5 2.5.2–3 2.5.2 2.5.5 2.6.1 2.7 2.7.2 2.7.3 2.9.1 2.9.4–6 2.9.5 2.9.6–7 2.9.6 2.9.7 2.9.8 2.10.1–4 2.10.1 2.10.2 2.10.5 2.10.6 2.11.1 2.11.2 2.11.3 2.13.1–2 2.13.1 2.13.2 2.13.3–7 2.13.3 2.13.6 2.13.7

203, 210 203 198 204 197, 208 205 204, 206 145, 203– 5, 210 127, 145, 206 145 145 133 205 204 205 204 204 145 135, 207 204, 214 195 203, 204, 210 207 135, 206, 272 128 143, 207 207 203 145 207 207, 208 145, 203, 208, 209 208, 209 208, 209 209 209 209 110 198 145 145, 153

De exhortatione castitatis 1.4–5 143 2.1 147 2.3 197 3.6 130, 141 3.7 142 3.8–10 129 4.2–3 147 4.2 130 4.4–6 69, 147 4.5–6 271 4.6 130 5.2–3 148 6.1–7.1 148 6.1–3 131 6.1 94, 135, 148 7 150 7.2–6 150 7.3 148, 150 7.4 91, 94 8 206, 208 8.3 133 9.1 145, 271 9.3–4 143 9.4 134 10.1 134 10.3 143 10.4 66 10.5 66, 154 10.6 66 11.1–2 148 11.1 147 12 142 12.3 143 13.1–3 149 De fuga in persecutione 1.5–6 114 1.5 124 2 114, 115 2.2 114 2.3 123 2.8–9 123 2.8 123 2.9 123

313 3.1 4 4.1 4.4 6 6.1 8.2–3 9–10 9.2 9.4 10 10.1 11.1–3 11.1 12.1 12.2 12.3 12.8 12.10 14 14.2 14.3

114 119 123 124 123 175 62 124 124 65, 145 115, 124 123 114 175 123 94 124 124 124 106 124 65

De idolatria 1.3 1.4 4 5–8 5.1–2 5.1 5.2 5.3 6 8.1 8.2–3 8.3 8.4–5 8.4 9.4 11 11.1 11.2–7 11.2 11.8 12.1 12.2

210 210 22, 63 210 210, 211 210 211 211 63 211 211 211 212 211 203 212 201, 212 212 212 212 212 213

314 De idolatria (cont.) 12.3–4 213 12.4 213 13.2 210 13.4 267 14 63 14.4–5 92 15 63 17–19 258 17.1–19.3 106 17.2–3 213 18 203, 214 18.1–4 213 18.1 213 18.3 195 18.4 213 18.7 213 18.8 213, 214 18.9 138, 195, 213 De ieiunio adversus physchicos 1 25 1.2 67 1.3 154, 270 2–3 131 3.2 63 4–5 65 8.4 64 9.2 64 10.3 65 13 25 13.3 150 14.4 131 15.1 23 17.1 67 De monogomia 1.2 141 1.3 142 1.5 63, 67 2 25, 63 2.1–2 67 2.1 67 3 67 3.1 269 3.3–4 129

Index of References 3.3 3.4–5 3.6 3.8–9 3.8 3.10 4.1–2 4.3 4.4 4.5 5.2 5.6–7 6.1–2 7 7.1 7.4 8.1 8.3 8.4–5 8.4 9.5 10.5–8 10.6 10.7 10.8 10.9 11.1 11.2 11.4 11.6 12.1–2 12.2 12.4 13.3 14 14.1–2 14.3 14.4 15.1 15.3 15.4 16.1–2 16.4–5 16.4 17 De oratione

141, 142 129 130 131 141 67, 68, 131 132 271 130 132 132 147 94 23 95 134, 135 131, 134 64 133 130 147 271 148 271 271 271, 273 151, 152 148 132, 147, 151 148 148 150 148 149 23, 93 93 93, 131 135, 149 140 149 135 53 135, 149 143 149

1 2 4.2 5 5.1–4 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 6 6.2 6.3 9 20 20.1–2 20.2 21.1–22.10 21.1–4 22 22.1 22.9 22.10 25 28 29 29.13

23, 60, 64 63 197 262 264 197 12 263 263 65 66 66 61 22, 64 203 205 136 132 22, 64 132 206 50, 133 61, 65 72 69 197

De paenitentia 2.4 2.5 2.6 3.6 4.4 6.4 7.10 8.1

61 61 61 54, 262 195 197 197 65

De pallio 4.6

203

De patientia 2.1–3 3 3.4 5.3–4 5.9 6.5–6 7.1

263 258 62 203 51 64 22

Index of References 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5

7.6 7.7 7.8 7.9 7.11 7.12 7.13 8.3 9.2 10.5 12.8 12.9–10 15.3 16.5

201 195, 201 201 64, 201, 202, 205, 212 202 23, 202 202 202 202 202 202 94 263 195 23, 66 66 195 263

De praescriptione haereticorum 1–14 26 1–7 26 1 27 3 32 3.2 261 3.3.4 226 3.6 197 3.12–14 224 3.12 224 4 27, 32 5 27, 32 6 28, 32, 42 7 31, 32, 39, 40 7.7 57, 233 7.12 233 8–14 26 8–12 42 8 28, 29 8.4 65 9 28, 29

9.3 11.3 12.1 13 13.1 13.2–5 13.3 13.5 13.6 14–15 14 14.1–2 15–19 15 16–18 16 18 19–21 19 19.2–3 20–37 20–21 20.1–5 20.3 20.4 20.6–30.17 21 22–23 22 22.8–9 22.10–11 23 23.1–24.3 23.1–11 24 25 25.2–3 25.8–9 26 27

65 65 65 24, 30, 34, 35, 131 30 14, 20 58 61, 262, 264 262 28 27–29, 35, 42 93 26 25, 26, 28, 35 26 32 35 30 19, 25, 26, 29, 35 29 26 25, 29 26 61 61 26 29, 30 27 29, 32 61 61 23, 28, 33, 39, 225 240 93 32, 33 32 172 172 32, 33 29, 31, 32

315 28 28.1–4 29–31 29 30 30.1 30.2 30.5–7 31–34 32.1 32.2 32.6 32.8 33 33.3 33.5 33.6–7 33.6 33.9 34 36 37 38–45 38–43 38 38.9 39 40 41.1 41.3 41.5 44–45 44 44.2 44.3–12 44.3 44.4–6 44.6 44.7 44.8 44.9 44.10–11 44.12

29 61 25 27, 28, 32 23, 27, 29, 32 226 226 261 26 171 171 172 173 33 273 94 262 140, 181 261 39 27, 34, 35 25, 29–31, 35 26 26 27, 28, 38 4 27, 237 27, 28 237 150 150 26 27, 29, 33, 36, 41 41 36 37 37 37 38 38 38 39 39

316

Index of References

9.12 44.13

30 261

De pudicitia 1 1.6–8 1.6–7 1.6 1.10 1.15 1.20 2.2 4.1–2 6.1–2 6.2 6.5 7.9 7.18 7.22 8 8.4 9 9.22 10 10.4 10.12 11.3 12.1–2 12.1 13–14 13 13.7 14.8 14.14 14.16 14.27 15.5 16.16 16.19 17.4–8 17.10–11 19.4 20.3 21 21.5 21.7 21.9 21.13

181 182 149 67 197 149 67, 149 182 143 131 68 95 68 68 182 24, 30 96 57 128 23 68 181 68 68 68 143 115 151 138 56 261 23 149 142 272 276 63, 68 65 65 150 68 68, 140 68 65

22 22.6

68 68

De resurrectione carnis 2.2 260 5.4–5 272 13.2 22 13.3 205 14.5 57 17.2 268, 270 19.5 58 20.1–7 58 23–24 272 23.1–6 272 23.8 23 24.1–20 274 24.1–2 274 24.7 275 24.13–20 275 25.2 274 26.9–11 95 26.10–14 275 37.7 57 39.7–9 31 40–54 272 40 246 41.6–7 274 42.11–13 273 43.4 268, 273 45.1–15 275 45.11 55 46.5 276 47.16 276 47.17–18 275 48–49 74 48.1–8 272 48.10 273, 274 48.11 273 49.1–13 275 50.1–6 273 50.4–5 60 51.5.7 273 53.17 62 57.12 195 58.5 58 62.2 57 63.7–10 22

De spectaculis 1.1 1.5 7.5 25.3 27.3 29.3 30.1–4 30.1 30.2 30.3 30.4

264 67 204 203 262 262, 263 264 262, 264 262 263 262

De testimonia animae 6 22 De virginibus velandi 1 22, 24, 25, 35, 131 1.1–2 136 1.3–7 270 1.5–6 67 1.5 67 2 24 2.1 136 3.1–2 132 3.1 139 3.4 137 4.1 132 4.2–3 23 4.2 129, 132, 137 4.5 64 5.1–5 130 5.1 132 5.3 133 6.1 133 7.1 137 7.2 132, 138, 139 7.3 138 8.1 137 8.2 132 9.1 149, 151 9.2 134 9.3 133, 151, 152 10.2 139

Index of References 11.1–5 11.2 12.1 13.2 13.3 14.1 14.2 14.3 14.5 15 15.1 16 16.1–2 16.1 16.4 17.1–2 17.1 17.3 53

133 136, 138 50, 136 135, 204 139 139 140 137 137, 139 140 137 27 198 136 130, 137, 138 132 142 138 47

Scorpiace 1 1.8 2–3 2 3 4.4 5 5.1–2 5.3–5 5.6–13 6 6.1–2 6.2–11 6.7 7 8 9–14 9.3 10 10.10 11

121–23 110, 121 110 22, 119 122 110 122 111 111 111 121 111 111 273 121, 123 111, 119 111 66 121 92 121, 122

317 12 12.6–8 13

15

122 65 111–13, 120–23 257, 258 56 112, 121, 123 122–24

Theophilus Autolycus 2.16

197

13.1 13.11 14

Theon Progymnasmata 11 38 30–32 38 117 38 Rhetorica ad Herennium 2.47–50 38 4.66 38

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS Aleith, E. 17, 228, 234 Ash, J. 139 Ashwin-Siejkowski, P. 56 Babcock, W. S. 228 Bain, A. M. 17, 18, 72, 107, 120, 125 Barclay, J. M. G. 101, 103, 219, 253 Barnes, T. D. 34, 36, 42, 45, 55, 57, 67, 68, 94, 107, 110, 113, 114, 128, 150, 181, 195, 229, 261, 265 Barrett, C. K. 162 Barth, F. 234, 240 Bastiaensen, A. A. R. 29 Beker, J. C. 84, 125 Berger, A. 34 Berger, K. 116 Betz, H. D. 40, 41 Bindley, T. H. 34 Bird, M. F. 16 Blowers, P. M. 13 Boyarin, D. 242 Braun, R. 45, 52, 127, 131, 224, 229–32, 238, 241 Bray, G. 47, 48 Brekelman, A. J. 109 Bremmer, J. N. 105 Brent, A. 7, 166–70, 176–82, 184 Brown, P. 134, 137 Bruce, F. F. 1 Burrows, M. S. 130 Butler, R. D. 47, 48, 153, 269

Dassmann, E. 228 Davies, S. L. 150 Denzey, N. 46 Develin, R. 235 Dodson, J. R. 16 Downs, D. J. 221 Dunn, G. D. 20, 22, 25, 26, 30, 34, 49, 52, 86, 87, 93, 94, 99, 110, 125, 153, 195, 196 Dunn, J. D. G. 73, 74, 76, 78, 83, 253 Eastman, D. L. 17, 108, 122 Efroymson, D. P. 88, 96 Ehrman, B. D. 88 Elliott, D. 136–38, 146 Elliott, M. W. 123 Elliott, N. 84 Evans, C. A. 80, 85 Evans, E. 6, 7, 43, 112, 224, 230 Evans, S. 108 Farmer, W. R. 31 Fatum, L. 158 Fee, G. D. 75 Ferguson, E. 25, 27, 29 Fiorenza, E. S. 152, 158, 221 Fisher, J. A. 84 Fitzgerald, J. T. 17 Fredouille, J.-C. 45, 129–31 Friesen, S. J. 218, 219, 221, 222

Campenhausen, H. von 48 Church, F. F. 133 Clark, E. A. 57, 127, 130, 135, 143, 151 Clifford, R. J. 87 Collins, A. Y. 115 Cook, M. J. 82 Cooper, S. 240 Countryman, L. W. 13, 24, 196 Cran¿eld, C. E. B. 84

Gabrielson, J. 257 Gager, J. G. 80, 82–85, 101 Gass, W. 106 Gaston, L. 81 Gorman, M. J. 257 Grant, R. M. 214 Greenberg, A. 116 Greenslade, S. L. 230, 237 Groh, D. E. 142, 144, 152, 154, 197, 198, 203, 206, 214 Gundry, R. H. 75

D’Alès, A. 10, 11 D’Angelo, M. R. 158 Daly, C. B. 127

Hagner, D. A. 83–85 Hales, S. 160 Hall, S. G. 85

Index of Modern Authors

319

Hanson, R. P. C. 25, 227 Harnack, A. von 1, 226–28, 238, 245 Harrison, J. 221 Harvey, G. 81 Heath, M. 236 Heckel, U. 115 Heine, R. E. 45, 154, 259 Hill, C. E. 263, 267, 273 Hirschmann, V.-E. 49 Hoffman, D. L. 139, 154 Hoffmann, R. J. 88 Hogan, P. N. 282 Horn, F. W. 74 Horner, T. J. 86 Horrell, D. G. 219, 284 Horsley, R. A. 222

Martin, D. B. 129, 134, 136–38, 153, 280 Martyn, J. L. 239, 244 May, G. 224–26, 230 McGowan, A. B. 4, 48, 57 McKay, T. W. 150 McNamara, J. A. 136 Meeks, W. A. 17, 129, 218, 221 Metzger, B. M. 1 Michaels, J. R. 199 Moberly, R. W. L. 73 Moll, S. 88, 224, 227, 230, 232 Molland, E. 168 Moreschini, C. 230 Moss, C. R. 105, 111, 116, 117 Munier, C. 36 Murray, M. 82

Jansen, J. F. 23, 196 Jensen, A. 131, 151, 154 Jewett, R. 253 Johnson, D. G. 84 Joubert, S. 221

Nadeau, R. 236 Nasrallah, L. 105, 153, 154 Nevett, L. 160 Neymeyr, U. 184 Niebergall, A. 140 Norelli, E. 225

Karpp, H. 127, 196 Kaylor, R. D. 81 Kearsley, R. A. 221 Kensky, M. Z. 39, 42–44 Kieffer, R. 234 Klassen, W. 83 Kuss, O. 131 Kydd, R. 49 Labriolle, P. de 45, 52, 153 Lallemand, A. 108 Lampe, P. 178, 221, 265 Lane, W. L. 83 Langmuir, G. 80 Lawlor, H. J. 48 Leer, E. F.-V. 23, 24, 30, 31 Levison, J. R. 75 Lieu, J. M. 79, 123 Lindemann, A. 228, 232 Longenecker, B. W. 219, 220, 251, 252 Luckensmeyer, D. 83 MacDonald, D. R. 156, 158 MacDonald, M. Y. 130, 135, 136, 157–60, 164 Malina, B. 219 Markus, R. A. 11, 12

O’Malley, T. P. 22, 30, 119, 128, 131, 143, 196 Oakes, P. 219 Økland, J. 160 Oravec, C. 36 Osborn, E. F. 9, 15, 18, 22, 30, 31, 106, 128, 129, 131, 226 Osiek, C. 160, 162 Overbeck, F. 227, 234 Pervo, R. I. 2, 164, 228, 248 Powell, D. 47 Prestige, G. L. 12 Quasten, J. 29 Quispel, G. 1 Rabens, V. 74 Raditsa, L. 198, 206, 207 Rambaux, C. 132, 134, 142, 240 Rankin, D. I. 47, 52, 128, 136, 150–52, 154 Rawson, B. 159 Reed, A. Y. 85 Refoulé, R. F. 34 Reitzenstein, F. 88 Remus, H. 86

320

Index of Modern Authors

Robeck, C. M. Jr. 49, 131, 154, 155 Roetzel, C. J. 122, 228, 235, 248, 249, 282, 283 Rokéah, D. 81, 86 Rowe, C. K. 19 Ruether, R. R. 80 Sanders, J. T. 82 Scheidel, J. T. 219 Schirrmacher, T. 132 Schlegel, B. D. 107 Schmid, U. 229, 242, 243 Schoeps, H. J. 227 Scholer, D. M. 33, 92 Schöllgen, G. 141, 142, 144–46 Schreckenberg, H. 87 Schweizer, E. 165 Shaw, B. D. 55, 155 Sider, R. D. 2, 17, 18, 22, 23, 31, 33, 34, 41, 42, 93, 111, 122, 127–30, 143, 225, 231, 236, 256 Siker, S. J. 85 Simon, M. 80 Simonetti, M. 1 Skarsaune, O. 86 Spanneut, M. 128 Steenberg, M. C. 51 Stendahl, K. 2 Stewart-Sykes, A. 46 Still, T. D. 219, 246, 249, 282 Stirnmann, J. K. 34 Stücklin, C. 135, 136 Stylianopoulos, T. 86 Tabbernee, W. 46–49, 55, 117, 128, 131, 136, 140, 146, 149, 151, 153–55, 259, 261, 265, 269, 282 Telfer, W. 168

Ter Brugge, A. D. 49 Theissen, G. 129 Thrall, M. E. 41 Thurston, B. B. 151, 152, 264 Tomson, P. J. 81 Torjeson, K. J. 139, 140, 150, 151 Tränkle, H. 87 Treier, D. J. 20 Trevett, C. 46, 152–55, 259 Turcan, M. 133, 134 Vaage, L. E. 157 Van Beek, C. J. M. J. 105 van der Lof, L. J. 48 von Balthasar, H. U. 63 Vouga, F. 244 Wagner, J. R. 101 Wall, R. W. 83 Wan, S.-K. 222 Waszink, J. H. 3, 25, 26, 30, 196, 197 Watson, F. 81 Watson, F. B. 19 Webb, R. 231 Weinandy, T. G. 70 Weinrich, W. C. 107, 116 Welborn, L. L. 40 Westerholm, S. 284 Whitmarsh, T. 36 Wilhite, D. 48, 49, 55, 104 Wilk, F. 101 Williams, D. H. 267 Wilson, S. G. 83, 88, 89 Wimbush, V. L. 157 Wire, A. C. 152, 162, 163 Witherington, B. 279 Wright, N. T. 101, 190