Reading Second Peter with New Eyes : Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Second Peter [1 ed.] 9780567540430, 9780567033635

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LIBRARY OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES

382 formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement series

Editor Mark Goodacre Editorial Board John M. G. Barclay, Craig Blomberg, R. Alan Culpepper, James D. G. Dunn, Craig A. Evans, Stephen Fowl, Robert Fowler, Simon J. Gathercole, John S. Kloppenborg, Michael Labahn, Robert Wall, Steve Walton, Robert L. Webb, Catrin H. Williams

READING SECOND PETER WITH NEW EYES Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Second Peter

EDITED BY

Robert L. Webb Duane F. Watson

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2010 Paperback edition first published in 2019 Copyright © Robert L. Webb, Duane F. Watson, and contributors, 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-0-567-03363-5 PB: 978-0-5676-8836-1 ePDF: 978-0-5675-4043-0 Series: Library of New Testament Studies, volume 382 Typeset by Pindar NZ, Auckland, New Zealand To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Contributors Abbreviations

vi vii

READING SECOND PETER WITH NEW EYES: AN INTRODUCTION Duane F. Watson and Robert L. Webb

xi

1

2

3

4

SECOND PETER’S USE OF JUDE: IMITATIO AND THE SOCIOLOGY OF EARLY CHRISTIANITY Gene L. Green

1

COMPARING TWO RELATED METHODS: RHETORICAL CRITICISM AND SOCIO-RHETORICAL INTERPRETATION APPLIED TO SECOND PETER Duane F. Watson

27

RHETOGRAPHY AND RHETOLOGY OF APOCALYPTIC DISCOURSE IN SECOND PETER Terrance Callan

59

A UNIFIED FIELD PICTURE OF SECOND PETER 1.3–15: MAKING RHETORICAL SENSE OUT OF INDIVIDUAL IMAGES Dennis D. Sylva

91

5

NARRATIVE METHOD AND THE LETTER OF SECOND PETER Ruth Anne Reese

6

THE SOCIOLOGICAL CATEGORY OF ‘COLLECTIVE IDENTITY’ AND ITS IMPLICATIONS FOR UNDERSTANDING SECOND PETER James C. Miller

Bibliography Index of Ancient Texts Index of Authors

119

147

179 193 199

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Terrance Callan, The Athenaeum of Ohio, Cincinnati, OH, USA. Gene L. Green, Wheaton College, Wheaton, IL, USA. James C. Miller, Asbury Theological Seminary, Orlando, FL, USA. Ruth Anne Reese, Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, KY, USA. Dennis D. Sylva, Stritch University, Milwaukee, WI, USA. Duane F. Watson, Malone University, Canton, OH, USA. Robert L. Webb, McMaster University, Hamilton, ON, Canada.

ABBREVIATIONS

AB ABD ACNT ANTC BBR BDF

BECNT BETL Bib BNTC BTB CBQ ConBNT CNT CTJ CurBS DLNT

EBib

Anchor Bible David Noel Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York: Doubleday, 1992) Augsburg Commentaries on the New Testament Abingdon New Testament Commentaries Bulletin for Biblical Research Friedrich Blass, A. Debrunner and Robert W. Funk, A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961) Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblica Black’s New Testament Commentaries Biblical Theology Bulletin Catholic Biblical Quarterly Coniectanea biblica, New Testament Series Commentaire du Nouveau Testament Calvin Theological Journal Currents in Research: Biblical Studies Ralph P. Martin and Peter H. Davids (eds), Dictionary of the Later New Testament and Its Developments (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1997) Etudes bibliques

viii

EDNT EKKNT EQ HTKNT ICC Int JBL JHS JSNTSup JSOTSup LNTS LSJ MeyerK NAC NCB NIVAC NovT NovTSup NTD OCD

Presb RNT RRA RTP SB

Abbreviations

H. Balz and G. Schneider (eds), Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990–1993) Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Evangelical Quarterly Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament International Critical Commentary Interpretation Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series Library of New Testament Studies H.G. Liddell, Robert Scott and H. Stuart Jones, Greek– English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 9th edn, 1968) Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament New American Commentary New Century Bible New International Version Application Commentary Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum Supplements Das Neue Testament Deutsch S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth (eds), Oxford Classical Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 3rd edn, 1996) Presbyterion Regensburger Neues Testament Rhetoric of Religious Antiquity Revue de théologie et de philosophie Sources bibliques

Abbreviations

SBLDS SBLSymS SBT SP Suas TDNT

THKNT THNTC TNTC TynBul VC WBC WC

ix

Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Studies Studies in Biblical Theology Sacra Pagina Suasoriae Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich (eds), Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley; 10 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–76) Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament Two Horizons New Testament Commentary Tyndal New Testament Commentaries Tyndale Bulletin Vigiliae christianae Word Biblical Commentary Westminster Commentaries

Abbreviations of ancient sources are cited according to the lists provided in Patrick H. Alexander et al. (eds), The SBL Handbook of Style: For Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Early Christian Studies (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1999).

READING SECOND PETER WITH NEW EYES: AN INTRODUCTION Duane F. Watson and Robert L. Webb

The Second Letter of Peter is an intriguing mixture. It presents itself as a testament of the apostle Peter (1.12–15), yet is most likely written by someone in the Petrine school in Rome after Peter’s death. It presents ‘Peter’s’ prophecies of the appearance of false teachers (2.1–3; 3.1–4) and then assumes that their appearance is a present reality (2.10b–22; 3.4–13). It contains what looks like Gnostic teaching about the participation in the divine nature (1.4), eyewitness tradition concerning the transfiguration of Jesus (1.16–18), and a Jewish apocalyptic source (3.4–13). In ch. 2 the Letter of Jude is reworked with other Jewish traditions into a vilification of the false teachers that is considered by many to be ‘unchristian’ today. There is also a vital eschatological expectation coupled with an emphasis on sanctification (1.3–11; 2.4b–10a; 3.11–18), often deemed an unusual combination, for emphasizing behavior implies an extended stay instead of an imminent eschaton. The historical-critical paradigm has been the dominant model for the study of the New Testament, explaining many of the ingredients in this mixture that is 2 Peter. The use of this paradigm for interpreting 2 Peter reached its apogee in the 1983 commentary by Richard J. Bauckham.1 This commentary masterfully gathered, assessed, and moved creatively

1. Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word, 1983).

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beyond what the historical-critical paradigm had discovered before it, and it provided a unified understanding of the many features of 2 Peter. The commentary noted a variety of literary, rhetorical, social, and cultural features in 2 Peter, but left their full exploration to others ready to try new approaches. Bauckham’s commentary was published just as the field of New Testament was poised to move beyond the historical-critical paradigm. This paradigm left many features of the text unexplored, including how a text functions in relation to an audience (rhetoric), what the text indicates about the social and cultural location of the recipients (social and cultural), and the role of the audience in constructing meaning from the text (literary) – to name a few. Many in the field were developing methods2 to broaden the boundaries of the paradigm (social-scientific studies), supplement it (rhetorical criticism and socio-rhetorical interpretation), or supplant it (literary and narrative criticisms). Others were looking at the process of interpretation anew from the philosophical perspective of postmodernism and acknowledging the role that the reader has in creating meaning from a text (reader-response criticism) and the significance of the social location of the reader (feminist and ideological criticisms). The previous solid work of historical criticism and the curious combination that is 2 Peter provide scholars using new methods of interpretation many points of entry into its interpretation. In 1988, Duane Watson analyzed 2 Peter according to epistolary and rhetorical conventions of the period in what was the initial wave of rhetorical analyses of New Testament texts.3 In 1993, Jerome Neyrey approached 2 Peter using the tools of social-scientific study, addressing topics of the philosophical position of the opponents and the social and cultural position of the author, pointing the way in part for socio-rhetorical interpretation of 2 Peter.4 2. Some methods might better be called paradigms, approaches, or interpretive analytics. For the sake of simplicity here, we use ‘method’ in its broadest possible sense to incorporate all of these. 3. Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). 4. Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993).

An Introduction

xiii

Since then 2 Peter has been analyzed by means of rhetorical criticism, social-scientific analysis, socio-rhetorical interpretation, literary criticism, and narrative criticism. The essays in this volume illustrate this new exploration of 2 Peter and the many insights that were left undiscovered by those working only with the historical-critical paradigm. The essays are revisions and expansions of papers originally presented at the 2007 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in the SBL Consultation, ‘Methodological Reassessments of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude’. Rather than being read, the papers were distributed in advance, so the focus of attention was on discussion of their ideas – and an exciting and stimulating discussion it was. This volume is the fourth and final one arising out of the three years of work by the Consultation.5 While the essays are diverse, there is logic in their order. The first four explore 2 Peter using rhetorical and socio-rhetorical methods. The first essay, by Gene L. Green, considers 2 Peter using the classical rhetorical category of imitation. The second essay, by Duane F. Watson, compares this classical approach to rhetorical criticism with the more recent developments of socio-rhetorical interpretation. Then the third and fourth essays, by Terrance Callan and Dennis D. Sylva respectively, both consider 2 Peter using socio-rhetorical interpretation, Callan’s essay being a broad consideration of the letter as a whole using a variety of socio-rhetorical categories, while Sylva’s essay focuses on the opening section of the letter using the socio-rhetorical lens of rhetography. The fifth and sixth essays turn to the use of other approaches. Ruth Anne Reese explores 2 Peter using narrative criticism, and James C. Miller considers the letter using the sociological category of collective identity. In ‘Second Peter’s Use of Jude: Imitatio and the Sociology of Early

5. The other volumes are: Robert L. Webb and John S. Kloppenborg (eds), Reading James with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of James (LNTS, 342; London: T&T Clark, 2007); Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin (eds), Reading First Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (LNTS, 364; London: T&T Clark, 2007); and Robert L. Webb and Peter H. Davids (eds), Reading Jude with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Jude (LNTS, 383; London: T&T Clark, 2008).

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Christianity’, Gene L. Green uses rhetorical criticism to move beyond the traditional approach to the relationship between 2 Peter and Jude. This relationship has mirrored the discussion of the Synoptic Problem in the Gospels. The first concern in synoptic studies is the source-critical question regarding the direction of the borrowing, with the majority of scholars falling out on the side of the Two-Source Hypothesis. The question of priority becomes mixed with questions about the character of the ‘positive’ agreements between the Synoptics and the ‘negative’ agreements (that is, agreements of omission). In the same way, most scholars who approach the question of the relationship between 2 Peter and Jude are content to argue for the priority of either 2 Peter or Jude. But few raise questions regarding the nature of their intertextual relationship or how the process of borrowing reflects ancient literary compositional practices. These studies help us determine the relative dates of the letters but do little to advance our understanding of either their message or the reasons for such extensive borrowing, modification and omission. Thus, in this essay, Green approaches the question of the relationship between these letters within the framework of intertextual practices extant within the ancient world. Ancient authors prescribed how source texts were adopted and adapted in accordance with the established norms of imitatio or mimësis. Authors as diverse as Cicero, Quintilian, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and Longinus commented on this practice, which they and others employed over a wide range of literary genres from history to poetry. An intertextual dialogue is established between the author, his source, and the world or situation of the reader. The intertextual process adopted by the author of 2 Peter reveals another layer of significance regarding the sociology of early Christianity. Questions of honor intersect the intertextual process. What does the use of Jude, a document written by the ‘brother of James’, signify regarding the relative status of the relatives of Jesus and the apostles in the early church? Intertextuality becomes a lens through which we can examine a dimension of early Christian leadership and authority, that being the parallel streams of apostolic authority and the authority of the relatives of Jesus. This shift of perspective transforms

An Introduction

xv

Jude from the most neglected book in the New Testament to an essential source for understanding the sociology of early Christian honor structures and leadership. In ‘Comparing Two Related Methods: Rhetorical Criticism and SocioRhetorical Interpretation Applied to Second Peter’, Duane F. Watson seeks to compare the interpretation of 2 Peter through rhetorical criticism and its interpretation through socio-rhetorical analysis. He first reviews and evaluates rhetorical criticism of 2 Peter, which has relied heavily upon classical, Greco-Roman rhetoric and such rhetoric in combination with other disciplines, such as stylistics, the social sciences, and cultural anthropology. He finds that this approach to 2 Peter is largely descriptive, with only a nominal interest in the function of the text. It is also too limited to fully analyze the letter’s combination of Jewish, Greco-Roman, and early Christian rhetoric, especially given that the context of the letter is not the courtroom, political assembly, or civil ceremony – the institutions from which Greco-Roman rhetoric derived. Watson then reviews and evaluates socio-rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter, finding that it has been only partially applied but has made promising inroads into determining the function of the text. Socio-rhetorical analysis overcomes the limitations of rhetorical criticism by addressing the function of the text along with its social and cultural features, and looking for how early Christians constructed rhetoric in the contexts in which they lived. Thus the courtroom, political assembly, and civil ceremony are replaced by bodies, households, villages, synagogues, cities, temples, kingdoms, and empire. A preliminary socio-rhetorical analysis of 2 Pet. 3.1–13 is offered to demonstrate more concretely how this kind of analysis transcends many of the limitations of rhetorical criticism and moves the analysis of the letter in many new and exciting interdisciplinary directions. In ‘Rhetography and Rhetology of Apocalyptic Discourse in Second Peter’, Terrance Callan applies socio-rhetorical interpretation to the most concentrated sections of apocalyptic discourse in the letter – 1.16–2.10a and 3.1–13 – by drawing on six basic kinds of early Christian discourse identified by Vernon Robbins. Focusing in particular on Robbins’ distinction

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between rhetography and rhetology, he examines the mental images presumed and evoked by the apocalyptic discourse in these sections (i.e. rhetography) and the argumentation of the sections (i.e. rhetology). While many analyses of biblical texts tend to focus on analyzing argumentation/ rhetology, Callan demonstrates that considering the rhetography of the letter explicitly aids the understanding of its rhetology. Thus he proceeds section by section, demonstrating the interplay of rhetography and rhetology and showing how the former strengthens and underpins the latter. In ‘A Unified Field Picture of Second Peter 1.3–15: Making Rhetorical Sense Out of Individual Images’, Dennis D. Sylva applies socio-rhetorical interpretation in a narrower fashion than Callan by concentrating on the rhetography of a single unit. He considers how the images in 2 Pet. 1.3–15 unwind into larger mental pictures as well as the rhetorical function of these pictures. He uses conceptual integration theory, which describes the process by which the imagination constructs pictorial or literary meaning. The creation of visualizations occurs sometimes through a combination of graphic and non-graphic elements. Non-graphic elements often add to the imagery by providing the perspective from which graphic elements are viewed, and perspective determines how an image is perceived. Scholars have often treated the graphic elements in New Testament literature individually rather than in terms of their overall development, or have ‘translated’ them into their metaphorical extensions before focusing on the specific view the images afford. Conceptual integration theory provides a means by which to study the elements that focus images to the reader as well as to view the contribution individual images make in relation to larger complexes of images in writing. Thus, when viewed from a rhetographical perspective, the individual images in 2 Pet. 1.3–15 combine to portray the potential for life to be a heroic journey away from a fragmenting world to an eternal kingdom of righteousness. They do so in ways that empower the moral rigors of the journey. Moreover, cognitive psychological perspectives of how information in general, and images in particular, is stored in long-term memory show the potentially long-lasting rhetorical impact of the rhetography of these verses.

An Introduction

xvii

In ‘Narrative Method and the Letter of Second Peter’, Ruth Anne Reese uses the concepts of such theorists as Mieke Bal, Vladamir Propp, David Carr, Paul Ricoeur, Gerald Prince, and Seymour Chatman to explore the narrative world of 2 Peter. She focuses on the relationship between events, plot, and time, and seeks to ascribe a series of events to the various actors alluded to in the letter, then examines the particular characters and events in it. She reaches three conclusions: First, not all acting characters undergo change. While God and Jesus both act as agents, they do not experience change because of their actions. Second, a character’s awareness of an impending life event can impact his or her narration of events. A study of Peter, the implied author of the text, reveals that his impending death impacts the narration of events. Carr, when he talks about the recognition of impending death as the opportunity to narrate life, shows the significance of Peter’s impending death for the construction and orientation of the epistle. Third, the descriptive material that surrounds events cannot be discounted in the process of interpretation. Discounting the descriptive material in the letter (e.g. non-events) leaves the interpreter focusing on the parts, rather than the whole, of the narrative. Narrative criticism can help interpreters identify events, change, and plot. It has the potential to allow descriptive material in the text to influence the interpretation of events, but it cannot pursue historical reality or the world behind the text. In ‘The Sociological Category of “Collective Identity” and Its Implications for Understanding Second Peter’, James C. Miller explores how the author seeks to foster communal identity among his audience. This exploration arises from recent work by social scientists, who have come to understand collective identities as social constructs. These identities are seen as dynamic social phenomena rather than static entities. Communal identity, therefore, must continually be constructed and reconstructed in the face of ever-changing social circumstances. Miller contends that 2 Peter functions as an instrument of communal-identity formation. In other words, it portrays a symbolic narrative world, and in doing so attempts to persuade its audience to locate themselves within it. This socially constructed world provides the basis for attitudes and behaviors

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called for in the letter. Miller concludes that, examined from the perspective of modern studies of communal identity, the author’s argumentation reveals potent raw material for shaping his audience’s self-understanding. His instructions contribute to the socialization of his audience into a particular understanding of themselves, in opposition to the scoffers, within a world framed by moral accountability to God. The essays in this volume, taken as a whole, illustrate the diverse methodological resources that can be applied to a text like 2 Peter. They also exemplify the need to appreciate the rich and significant rhetorical, narrative, and social worlds of this ancient letter. It is time to set aside Ernst Käsemann’s deprecating characterization of 2 Peter as a ‘dubious writing’ on account of its ‘expressing an early Catholic viewpoint’,6 and for a new generation to read it with new eyes.

6. Ernst Käsemann, ‘An Apologia for Primitive Christian Eschatology’, in Essays in New Testament Themes (SBT, 41; Naperville, IL: Alec R. Allenson, 1964), pp. 169–95 (169).

1 SECOND PETER’S USE OF JUDE: IMITATIO AND THE S OCIOLOGY OF E ARLY C HRISTIANITY Gene L. Green

Anyone who reads 2 Peter and Jude back to back will notice that a good portion of Jude appears also in 2 Peter or vice versa. Parallels between the language and thought of the two letters suggest that one of the authors had the other document near to hand or fresh in memory during the process of composition. Major commentaries on the letters, and some monographs, address the issue of dependency in their comparative analyses of the documents’ language. The principal concern in these discussions is the direction of the borrowing, with considerable attention given to the way the source document is adapted for the purposes of the borrower. However, the studies of this epistolary synoptic problem do not take up the issue of how this intertextual practice could be understood within the framework of ancient reflection regarding ‘imitation’ or imitatio. Numerous authors as diverse as Cicero, Quintilian, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Longinus comment on the practice, which is used in a wide variety of literature ranging from history to poetry. Indeed, imitatio is a principal human endeavor1 which unsurprisingly appears in all genres of literature. Imitatio may be understood as a creative adaptation of a source which, in the case of 2 Peter and

1. Jean-Pierre Durix, Mimesis, Genres and Post-Colonial Discourse: Deconstructing Magic Realism (New York: Macmillan, 1998), p. 45.

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Jude, provides a delightful window into the literary practices and sociology of early Christianity, especially the relationship between apostolic leadership and members of the family of Jesus. According to the ancient canons of imitatio, if the author of 2 Peter used a letter composed by the half-brother of Jesus, the borrowing would point to the special honor the Christian community ascribed to the relatives of Jesus. Indeed, this honor could supersede that ascribed to the apostles, including Peter.

I. The Ancient Literary Practice of Imitatio

The literary practice of borrowing thoughts and language from another author was common in the ancient world, even being a foundational practice within the educational system.2 Imitatio, or mi/mhsij, allowed borrowed material to be reworked extensively as it was adapted to an author’s purposes. Such change made the borrowed material an author’s own and thereby distinguished the practice from ‘theft’ (kloph/ or furtum), or plagiarism as we might classify it today. Whereas imitatio was ‘an acceptable, even normal, re-use’ of another author’s material, ‘“Theft” involves derivative copying and is condemned.’3 Seneca the Elder records Gallio’s comments regarding how Ovid appropriated lines from Virgil ‘with no thought of plagiarism, but meaning that his piece of open borrowing should be noticed’ (Seneca the Elder, Suas. 3.7; Winterbottom, LCL). Longinus reflects on the practice of imitatio and asks, ‘Was Herodotus alone thoroughly Homeric?’ Others also borrowed from Homer yet,

2. John S. Kloppenborg, ‘The Emulation of the Jesus Tradition in the Letter of James’, in Reading James with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessment of the Letter of James (ed. Robert L. Webb and John S. Kloppenborg; LNTS, 342; London: T&T Clark, 2007), pp. 121–50 (129–33). 3. OCD, p. 1188; Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), pp. 5–6; Kloppenborg, ‘Emulation of the Jesus Tradition in the Letter of James’, p. 133; and see D. West and T. Woodman (eds), Creative Imitation and Latin Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Gian Biagio Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986); Octavian D. Baban, On the Road Encounters in Luke-Acts: Hellenistic Mimesis and Luke’s Theology on the Way (Milton Keynes, UK: Paternoster, 2006), pp. 73–140.

Second Peter’s Use of Jude

3

Longinus concludes, ‘there is no theft in the matter; rather, it is a type of forming one’s work after fine characterizations or molds or works of art’ (Subl. 13.4).4 Horace discussed the difficulty of the adaptation necessary in imitatio as one seeks to make the source material one’s own: ‘It is hard to treat in your own way what is common: . . . In ground open to all (publica materiaes; i.e. material part of the public domain) you will win private rights (privati iuris) if you do not linger along the easy and open pathway, if you do not seek to render word for word as a slavish translator, and if in your copying (desilies imitator) you do not leap into the narrow well’ (Ars 131–34; Fairclough, LCL). Horace’s comment is not about translation but rather the way the poet uses tradition. The one who engages in imitatio makes the source material their property by adapting it to their ends. Imitatio and creativity are not antithetical but rather work together in synergy. Dionysius of Halicarnassus remarks that in literary compositions which access the work of another, the author should ‘judge whether any modification is required in the [source] material used – I mean subtraction, addition or alteration – and to carry out such changes with a proper view of their future purposes’ (Comp. 6; Usher, LCL). Arrangement, and not simply reproduction, was the common practice. Similarly, Seneca says of this adaptation that ‘The last comer is best placed. He finds the words to hand; differently arranged, they take on a new look’ (Ep. 79.6; Gummere, LCL). In this process ‘the imitator must always penetrate below the superficial, verbal features of his exemplar to its spirit and significance’.5 There is more going on in imitatio than simple decoding of a message. The text imitated is transformed and remade. However, authors of prose and poetry could, on occasion, imitate features of their source more closely: ‘But they also borrow many words from 4. Longinus, On the Sublime (trans. James A. Arieti and John M. Crossett; New York: Edwin Mellen, 1985), 82–83. MacDonald (Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark, p. 3) argues that ‘Mark wrote a prose epic modeled largely after the Odyssey and the ending of the Iliad’. 5. D. A. Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, in Creative Imitation and Latin Literature (ed. D. West and T. Woodman; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), pp. 1–16 (5).

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earlier writers, in the very form in which they fashioned them’ (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Comp. 16; Usher, LCL). Indeed, sometimes the language of another would just come out without conscious effort. Seneca recalls how ‘Gallio recited the line of Vergil and told him how the phrase had once slipped out of him at Messala’s and how it had been liable to slip out of him ever since’ (Suas. 3.7; Winterbottom, LCL). But the general rule was that one should ‘mould oneself on the ancients, choose a good model, and select his best features’.6 In this art of appropriation and adaptation, theft is avoided. Behind imitatio stands material that serves as the ‘tradition’ which, in poetry and other literature, ‘both conditions the later poet’s work and helps him to formulate its distinctive qualities’.7 The models one would draw from were referred to as ‘the books’ (so Dionysius, [Rhet.] 298.1), which, as Donald Russell notes, is ‘an interesting pagan parallel to the Jewish and Christian term for the scriptures’.8 Due honor is ascribed to authors of these texts through the practice of imitatio or mi/mhsij. Authors imitated were regarded as occupying a place of greater honor than their imitators. Longinus describes the influence of great authors as a kind of inspiration, noting that it leads to the sublime: It is the mimesis and emulation of the great prosewriters [sic] and poets who came before us. It is the imitation and emulation of previous great poets and writers. And to this aim, of course, dearest friend, let us hold fast. Many, you see, are divinely uplifted by another’s spirit, in the same way that the story says the Pythian priestess approaches the tripod: there, where there is a rift in the earth, she breathes in a divine exhalation from the ground; standing on the same place, impregnated by the daemonic power, she at once begins to prophesy throughout the period of inspiration. In the same way, from the natural greatness of the ancients, as if out of holy orifices, kinds of effluences are carried into the souls of those emulating them; even

6. Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 2. 7. Conte, Rhetoric of Imitation, p. 37. 8. Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 3.

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those who are not given to the oracular and the Apollonian are breathed into by these and become inspired by their greatness. Was Herodotus alone thoroughly Homeric? Even before him Stesichorus and Archilochus, and, of all, Plato especially channeled off to himself thousands of such sluices from the Homeric stream . . . But there is no theft in the matter; rather, it is a type of forming one’s work after fine characterizations or molds or works of art. (Subl. 13.2–49; see also 14)

Similarly, Quintilian asks the primary question: ‘First, whom should we imitate?’ (Inst.10.2.14; Russell, LCL). Great authorities and models such as Homer and Virgil were commonly regarded as objects worthy of imitation, appropriation being a sign that the one so imitated was of greater honor and trustworthiness than the imitator (Arrian, Anab. 1 Preface 1–3). Sometimes the sources are mentioned by name. Arrian, for example, notes that he uses parts of Ptolemy and Aristobulus in his Anabasis of Alexander, but also notes that other writers lay to hand as well (1 Preface 1–3), the names of whom remain unknown. Imitatio allows an author to become like the one imitated, the object of imitation being integrated into the subject who does the imitation. This is honor adopted. On the other hand, one could also hope to better the models one imitates. As Philodemus states, ‘Those who take over a story are better than its previous users, if they make a greater contribution of poetic excellence.’10 In his discussion on imitation, Quintilian notes that one should improve on the source being imitated. He asks, ‘Once again, what would have happened if no one had achieved more than the man he was following? We should have nothing in poetry better than Livius Andronicus, nothing in history better than the Annals of the pointifices; we should still be going to sea on rafts, and the only painting would consist in drawing outlines round the shadows cast by objects in the sun.’ While honoring those imitated, he judges that ‘Even great authorities have some blemishes.’ Indeed, ‘it is 9. Longinus, On the Sublime, pp. 79–83. 10. Cited in Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 5; see Dirk Obbink (ed.), Philodemus and Poetry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), pp. 266–67.

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generally easier to improve on something than simply to repeat it’ (Inst. 10.2.7–8, 14; Russell, LCL). Such attempts at improvement could cross over to ‘rivalry’ (aemulatio or zh=loj) as one sought to better one’s source. MacDonald argues that Mark’s use of the Homeric epics is an example of this practice, which entails transvaluation; that is, ‘it not only articulates values different than those of its targeted hypotext [i.e. source] but also substitutes its values for those in its antecedent’.11 The best imitatio was that which drew from the writings of various authors and not just a single worthy (as notes Arrian, Anab. 1 Preface1–3).12 Sometimes one source, noteworthy as it might be, could not supply all that was needed: ‘Demosthenes is by far the most perfect of the Greeks, but, while of course he does most things best, there are some areas in which others have done better. The author who is most imitated is not also the only author to be imitated’ (Quintilian, Inst. 10.2.24; Russell, LCL). Quintilian anticipates the objection ‘What! Is it not good enough to say everything as Cicero said it?’ While giving the nod to Cicero’s greatness as a worthy source, he argues, ‘But what harm is there in occasionally drawing on Caesar’s force, Caelius’ asperity, Pollios’ precision, or Calvus’ good judgement?’ (10.2.25; Russell, LCL). One should adopt that which is best in the model, recognizing that one cannot adopt all that is worthy of imitation. Quintilian concludes: ‘Consequently, since it is scarcely given to man to produce a complete reproduction of a chosen author, let us keep the excellencies of a number of authors before our eyes, so that one thing stays in our minds from one of them, and another from another, and we can use each in the appropriate place’ (10.2.26; Russell, LCL). Many ancient authors praise the use of multiple sources and even more demonstrate this value in their writings. The use of various sources brought with it the challenge of organization. Memory held a key role in the process as authors recalled and integrated

11. MacDonald, Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark, p. 2. 12. See Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 5; Robert A. Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices and the Synoptic Problem (BETL, 186; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005), pp. 44–46.

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material from the numerous sources consulted.13 Seneca compares the process to the activities of bees who go from flower to flower collecting what is necessary for honey: ‘We also, I say, ought to copy these bees, and sift whatever we have gathered from a varied course of reading . . . we should so blend those several flavours into one delicious compound that, even though it betrays its origin, yet it nevertheless is clearly a different thing from that whence it came’ (Ep. 84.3, 5; Gummere, LCL; so Cicero, Inv. 2.4). Sources are not slavishly quoted but rather adapted to the author’s use, making the final product one that is unique yet which also shows evidence of its heritage. But Robert Derrenbacker makes the helpful observation that some ancient authors, such as Josephus, tend to use their sources one at a time without conflating all of them into a master story. These authors tend to follow the order of their sources while at the same time adapting the wording to their own ends.14

II. Second Peter’s Imitatio of Jude a. The Literary Dependency of 2 Peter on Jude In both language and thought, 2 Peter and Jude run parallel at numerous points, suggesting that we may have before us an example of imitatio. The principal correspondences between the two letters are found in 2 Peter 2 and the first portion of ch. 3, as outlined below. The duplicated material is presented in approximately the same order in both letters, with changes in order found in 2 Pet. 2.9 and 13. The following chart indicates the verses where the correspondences are located:15

13. Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, pp. 46–47; Christopher B. R. Pelling, ‘Plutarch’s Method of Work in the Roman Lives’, JHS 99 (1979), pp. 74–96 (92). 14. Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, pp. 77–117; Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 16, summarizes the practice of mimësis in five principles: ‘(i) The object must be worth imitating. (ii) The spirit rather than the letter must be reproduced. (iii) The imitation must be tacitly acknowledged, on the understanding that the informed reader will recognize and approve the borrowing. (iv) The borrowing must be “made one’s own”, by individual treatment and assimilation to its new place and purpose. (v) The imitator must think of himself as competing with his model, even if he knows he cannot win.’ 15. For detailed analysis, see especially J. B. Mayor, The Epistle of St. Jude and the

8

Reading Second Peter with New Eyes Jude

2 Peter

4

2.1–3

6

2.4, 9

7

2.6

7b, 8

2.10

9

2.11

10

2.12

11

2.15

12a

2.13

12b, 13

2.17

16

2.18

17

3.1–2

18

3.3

Several explanations for these parallels are possible. First, it may be that Jude borrowed his material from 2 Peter,16 a position which has the firmest hold on the popular consciousness today owing to Peter’s prominence in the early church as the preeminent apostle of Jesus Christ.17 On

Second Epistle of St. Peter: Greek Text with Introduction, Notes and Comments (New York: Macmillan, 1907), pp. i–xxv; Tord Fornberg, An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter (ConBNT, 9; Lund: Gleerup, 1977), pp. 33–59; Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), pp. 163–87; Michael J. Gilmour, The Significance of Parallels Between 2 Peter and Other Early Christian Literature (Academia Biblica, 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), pp. 83–91; Terrance Callan, ‘Use of the Letter of Jude by the Second Letter of Peter’, Biblica 85 (2004), pp. 42–64; Peter H. Davids, The Letters of 2 Peter and Jude (Pillar New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 136–41. See also the comparative comments ad loc. in Gene L. Green, Jude and 2 Peter (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008). 16. F. Spitta, Der zweite Brief des Petrus und der Brief des Judas (Halle: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1885), pp. 381–470; Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude, (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), pp. 216–24; Douglas J. Moo, 2 Peter and Jude, (NIVAC; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), pp. 16–21. 17. On Peter’s preeminence, see Oscar Cullmann, Peter: Disciple–Apostle–Martyr (London: SCM, 1953); Raymond E. Brown, Karl P. Donfried, and John Ruemann (eds), Peter in the New Testament (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1973); Pheme Perkins, Peter: Apostle for the Whole Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000).

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the other hand, the author of 2 Peter18 may have borrowed from Jude, an opinion held by the vast majority of contemporary commentators on these letters.19 However, these options do not exhaust the possibilities. Some have argued a third position, that both Jude and the author of 2 Peter drew on a common source20 in a manner similar to the integration of the early Christian domestic code into both 1 Peter (2.18–3.7) and the Paulines (Eph. 5.21–6.9; Col. 3.18–4.2), and to the common use of early Christian instruction regarding subordination to the governing authorities (Rom. 13.1–7; 1 Pet. 2.13–17). A fourth, quite original, suggestion comes from

18. This study does not address the question of 2 Peter’s authorship but the literary practices of the author, whoever he may have been. I will, on occasion, refer to him as Peter without implying that the apostle was in fact the author. 19. Joseph Chaine, Les épîtres catholiques: La seconde épître de saint Pierre, les épîtres de saint Jean, l’épître de saint Jude (EBib; Paris: Gabalda, 1939), pp. 18–24; Karl H. Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, der Judasbrief (HTKNT, 13.2; Freiburg: Herder, 1961), pp. 138–39; J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and Jude (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1969), pp. 226–27; W. Grundmann, Der Brief des Judas und der zweite Brief des Petrus (THKNT, 15; Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1974), pp. 75–83; Fornberg, Early Church in a Pluralistic Society, pp. 31–59; E. M. Sidebottom, James, Jude and 2 Peter (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), pp. 68–69; Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word, 1983), pp. 141–42; Henning Paulsen, Der zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief (Meyer K, 12.2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), pp. 97–100; Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), pp. 120–22; Eugenio [Gene L.] Green, 1 Pedro y 2 Pedro (Comentario bíblico hispanoamericano; Miami: Caribe, 1993), pp. 327–30; Pheme Perkins, First and Second Peter, James and Jude (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1995), p. 178; Gilmour, Significance of Parallels, pp. 83–91; Steven J. Kraftchick, Jude, 2 Peter (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), pp. 79–81; Donald P. Senior and Daniel J. Harrington, 1 Peter, Jude, and 2 Peter (SP, 15; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), pp. 232–33; Callan, ‘Use of the Letter of Jude by the Second Letter of Peter’, pp. 42–64; Rebecca Skaggs, The Pentecostal Commentary on 1 Peter, 2 Peter, Jude (The Pentecostal Commentary; Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2004), pp. 84–85; Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, pp. 136–42; G. L. Green, Jude and 2 Peter, pp. 159–62. 20. Bo Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter and Jude (AB, 37; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), pp. 189–90; Ceslas Spicq, Les Épîtres de Saint Pierre (SB, 4; Paris: Gabalda, 1966), p. 197; Michael Green, The Second Epistle General of Peter and the General Epistle of Jude (TNTC, 18; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), pp. 58–64; Carroll D. Osburn, ‘Discourse Analysis and Jewish Apocalyptic in the Epistle of Jude’, in Linguistics and New Testament Interpretation: Essays on Discourse Analysis (ed. D. A. Black and K. Barnwell; Nashville: Broadman, 1992), pp. 287–319 (311).

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John Robinson, who explains these correspondences by postulating that both letters were the composition of the same author.21 The last explanation is by far the least likely and has not found adherents apart from its author. The differences between the vocabulary and style of the letters argue strongly against it.22 Moreover, Jude had sufficient authority in the church to write a letter in his own name. Why would he have needed to compose a letter in the name of Peter? On the other hand, the third view, that Jude and 2 Peter relied on a common source, is helpful in that it not only explains the convergences in vocabulary and thought between the letters but also accounts for their considerable differences. Michael Green notes that if Peter had used Jude, he would have changed 70 per cent of the vocabulary of his source.23 But these differences could also be accounted for by assuming that the author of 2 Peter adapted Jude to his own ends, so need not lead us to postulate an otherwise unknown source. If the differences do not demand the common-source hypothesis, we had best apply William of Ockham’s well-known rule.24 Literary dependency adequately accounts for all the parallels and is even the strongest argument given the similar ordering of material in the two letters. The first view, which favors the primacy of 2 Peter, has to its credit the central position of Peter in the early church, providing strong grounds for asserting that the letter ascribed to him was a source for the lesser-known Jude. Charles Bigg contends that the uniform style of 2 Peter argues for this letter being the one which did not borrow from the other.25 Moreover, Jude 17–18 appears to refer to the prophecy of 2 Pet. 3.2–3.26 The heretics in 2 Peter are said to be coming, whereas in Jude they have already arrived. But over against these arguments, there is no reason why the author

21. John A. T. Robinson, Redating the New Testament (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976), pp. 192–95. 22. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 141. 23. M. Green, Second Epistle of Peter and Epistle of Jude, p. 62. 24. So Moo, 2 Peter and Jude, p. 18; though Davids (2 Peter and Jude, p. 142) cautions against its application in the case of history. 25. Bigg, Critical Commentary on St. Peter and St. Jude, p. 224. 26. Moo, 2 Peter and Jude, p. 18.

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of 2 Peter could not have used Jude since such borrowing from extant writings and integration of early Christian tradition was commonplace in apostolic literature. Indeed, if 2 Peter is pseudepigraphical, the late date would argue for Jude being the source document, especially if we affirm the authenticity of Jude, as does Richard Bauckham.27 Moreover, Bauckham rightly observes that Jude is ‘a piece of writing whose detailed structure and wording has been composed with such exquisite care, whereas the corresponding parts of 2 Peter, while by no means carelessly composed, are by comparison more loosely structured’.28 But perhaps the most telling evidence is that 2 Pet. 2.1– 3.3 contains the concentration of parallels between these two letters. This locus argues against the priority of 2 Peter, since it would be reasonable to expect Jude to have made use of a wider swath of the letter if he had had it to hand. Why exclude material from 2 Peter 1 and the bulk of ch. 3? Kelly also points out that ‘The tendency in the early Church was in any case towards enlargement rather than curtailment, and not only is 2 Peter a much longer tract but over and over again . . . its version is found to be more elaborate and verbose than Jude’s . . .’29 It also appears that the author of 2 Peter makes a conscious attempt to suppress Jude’s use of pseudepigraphic literature (2 Pet. 2.10–11 does not refer to the Assumption (or Testament) of Moses as does Jude 8–9, and the 1 Enoch quotation of Jude 14–15 is absent from 2 Peter). The majority scholarly opinion regarding the priority of Jude rests upon good foundations. Nevertheless, we should mind Neyrey’s judicious comment: ‘These studies have all added weight to the hypothesis of Jude’s priority by offering convincing interpretations of 2 Peter’s use of Jude, but they have by no means proven it.’30 The position of this author is that in composing his letter, the author of 2 Peter likely had the Epistle of Jude to hand, or at least fresh in memory.

27. Richard J. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), pp. 171–78. 28. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 142. 29. Kelly, Peter and Jude, p. 226; so Gilmour, Significance of Parallels, p. 83. 30. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 122.

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Reading Second Peter with New Eyes

Over and again he employed the language of that letter to refute the heretics who had invaded the churches to which he was writing. Although the author was the earliest interpreter of Jude, we should not assume that the letters counter identical heresies.31 Kelly nuances this position by arguing that although the situations they face are similar, the problem confronted in 2 Peter is a somewhat later development of the one reflected in Jude. He points out especially how 2 Peter, unlike Jude, engages in a polemic against erroneous teaching regarding the coming of Christ and the interpretation of Scripture.32 b. An Analysis of 2 Peter’s Imitatio of Jude Although there is literary dependence between the two books, the author of 2 Peter carefully shapes the material drawn from Jude in order to adapt it to his denunciation of the false teachers who have infiltrated the church. He engages in imitatio, which required those who adopted texts to adapt them for their own purposes rather than slavishly copying them, which would have been considered theft. He does not position himself as a rival to Jude but rather uses his source in a way which is harmonious with Jude’s intent. The intertextual relations between the letters, however, do not warrant equating the two heretical groups that the respective authors refute. The distinction between the two groups of heretics is evident in other aspects of the authors’ teaching and practice. On the one hand, the root of the moral problem which Jude combats is a perversion of the doctrine of grace (v. 4). On the other hand, the doctrinal error which is the foundation for the immorality of the opponents in 2 Peter is the negation of the Parousia and future judgement (3.3–10). Second Peter denounces the erroneous use of the Scriptures (3.15–16) and argues against the denial of prophetic inspiration (1.19–21; 3.3–4), problems which do not surface in

31. An assumption found in Bigg, Critical Commentary on St. Peter and St. Jude, pp. 216– 24; J. W. C. Wand, The General Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (WC; London: Methuen, 1934), p. 131; Kelly, Peter and Jude, pp. 42–46. 32. Kelly, Peter and Jude, p. 229.

Second Peter’s Use of Jude

13

Jude’s denunciation of the heretics. While the heretics reflected in Jude base their doctrine in their supposed visions (v. 8) and emphasize their possession of the prophetic Spirit (v. 19), the false teachers in 2 Peter present themselves as false teachers and not as prophets.33 The opponents Jude faces enter the congregation(s) from the outside (v. 4), whereas those which 2 Peter denounces are members of the congregations themselves and enjoy the position of teachers among the believers (2.1, 13).34 Therefore, while the literary relationship between the two letters cannot be denied, we should not assume that the false teachers in 2 Peter are clearly in sight once we have identified the opponents in Jude. The situations are similar in that both involve people who are leading the community into error, but the errors and the problems themselves are different. We may suppose that the reason the author of 2 Peter made such extensive use of Jude was that he recognized the similarity. He could adopt Jude and adapt it to his ends, basing his refutation on firm foundations. Although the opponents 2 Peter seeks to counter should not be identified with those Jude denounces, the two letters have very similar contours while significantly diverging from each other. The following examples, although not comprehensive, demonstrate the adaptive use of Jude by the author of 2 Peter. In 2.1, the author picks up and modifies the language of Jude 4, which outlines the heretics as those who ‘alter the grace of our God into sexual excess and deny our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ’.35 Second Peter simply states that those who introduce the heresy ‘deny the Master who bought them’; the author drops the note which says that the heretics ‘alter the grace of our God into sexual excess’, omits ‘only . . . Lord, Jesus Christ’, and adds that the Master has ‘bought them’. In 2.3, he returns to the theme of judgement, which he has already announced in v. 1: ‘their judgement is not delayed for a long time and their destruction 33. Contra H. C. C. Cavallin, ‘The False Teachers of 2 Peter as Pseudo-Prophets’, NovT 21 (1979), pp. 263–70. 34. See Fornberg, Early Church in a Pluralistic Society, p. 59; Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 155; Donald Guthrie, New Testament Introduction (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1990), pp. 848, 911–12. 35. This and the following translations are my own.

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Reading Second Peter with New Eyes

does not slumber’. Here he reworks Jude 4: ‘the ones who from long ago were marked out for this judgement’. He leaves to one side the notion of a judgement which was proscribed from ancient times as he hones the affirmation to respond more precisely to the heretics’ claims. While the language is similar (note the substitution of e1kpalai, for a long time, for pa&lai, long ago), the thought is not exactly the same. In 2.4–10a, the author of 2 Peter inserts a litany of texts which refer to ancient divine judgements, drawing principally on Jude 5–8 and standing within the interpretive tradition which strings together a common set of archetypical judgement scenes.36 He takes up the judgement stories of the fallen angels, Noah, Sodom and Gomorrah, and Lot. His source, Jude, chose a somewhat different collection, naming the Exodus generation, the fallen angels, and the Sodom and Gomorrah stories as his types. Jude sought to show how God judged those who had overstepped their bounds and that whatever privileged state they had before God did not exempt them from divine judgement. The author of 2 Peter, on the other hand, strings together such texts for a different purpose – to affirm the reality of divine judgement as well as to show the divine preservation of his people. In 2.4, he begins with the clause: ‘For if God did not spare the angels who had sinned’. He truncates Jude’s more elaborate description of the angelic sin, which says, ‘And the angels who did not keep to their domain but deserted their own dwelling place’ (Jude 6). He recounts that instead of being extended mercy, the sinful angels met another end: ‘but he delivered them over, having sent them to the underworld, keeping them for judgement in chains of hell’. His thought and some of the language echo Jude 6b, which declares that these beings ‘are kept in eternal chains in the darkness of the netherworld for the judgement of the great day’. Second Peter 2.6 describes how God ‘condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to destruction, having reduced them to ashes and making them an example to the ungodly of things to come’. The author has returned to Jude as his source yet modifies the text of Jude significantly

36. See the discussion in G. L. Green, Jude and 2 Peter, pp. 248–68.

Second Peter’s Use of Jude

15

in the direction of his own purposes. Jude 7 reads: ‘Likewise Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities around them, in the same way as these, having indulged in unfaithful acts and gone after another kind of flesh stand as an example, suffering the penalty of eternal fire.’ Second Peter preserves the reference to Sodom and Gomorrah but, instead of commenting on ‘the cities around them’, speaks only of the ‘cities of Sodom and Gomorrah’. The author preserves Jude’s note about the way these cities are an ‘example’, but he alters the language used to express the idea (u(po&deigma, example, instead of Jude’s dei=gma, example). While Jude speaks of the ‘penalty of eternal fire’, 2 Peter simply notes that the cities were ‘reduced to ashes’. The author shows little interest in the description of the sins of these cities since his primary purpose is to underscore their judgement, which serves as a prototype of future judgement. In 2.9b, he holds out the warning that God is able to ‘keep the unrighteous for the day of judgement when they will be punished’. He adopts some of the language of Jude 6 which has already been absorbed into v. 4. In 2.10a, the author of 2 Peter takes the general statement in v. 9b about the divine judgement leveled against the unrighteous and begins to focus his attention on the heretics: ‘but especially the ones who go after flesh because of defiling desire and disdain lordship’. In this summary statement, he draws upon Jude 7–8 and 17, but his pattern of borrowing and adaptation is rather complex. Some words are reproduced exactly but the thought is changed through significant modification of the language. For example, in Jude 7 we read of those who have ‘gone after another kind of flesh’, a reference to the attempt of the Sodomites to engage in sexual relationships with the angelic messengers. The author of 2 Peter, however, drops the notion of going after ‘another kind of flesh’ and talks rather about the heretics as ‘the ones who go after flesh’, a reference to the way they follow flesh for sexual gratification. The verb he uses here (poreuome/nouj, ‘go after’) and the reference to lust (e0piqumi/a) are lifted from Jude 17: ‘living according to the dictates of their own desires’. While Jude 8 speaks of those who ‘defile the flesh’, 2 Peter refers to those who go after ‘flesh because of defiling desire’. Jude 8 also refers to how the heretics ‘revolt

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Reading Second Peter with New Eyes

against lordship’, while 2 Peter’s heretics ‘disdain lordship’. The author of 2 Peter is hardly a slave to Jude’s language and thought as he adopts and adapts his source in his quest to warn the church against the heretics who tempt them. Second Peter’s denunciation of the heretics in 2.10b–16 is highly dependent upon Jude 8–12. The use of the term ‘audacious’ in 2.10b was suggested to the author by the verb used in Jude 9 to refer to what Michael, the archangel, did not do (‘did not presume to pronounce the judgement of “slander” but said, “The Lord punish you!”’). As proof of the heretics’ arrogance, the author of 2 Peter states that they ‘show no fear when reviling glories’. His source is Jude 8, parts of which have already been incorporated into the previous half of this verse. Jude 8 simply states that ‘they slander glories’, while 2 Peter adds that the heretics do not tremble when they engage in such hubris. Second Peter omits the legend about Michael’s contention with the devil over the body of Moses (Jude 9) but preserves the reference to slandering angels – that is, ‘glories’ (cf. Dan. 7.23–27). There is no reason to think that the author understands these ‘glories’ in any other way than does Jude. The author of 2 Peter draws his thought in 2.11 (‘whereas angels who are greater in strength and power do not bring slanderous judgement against them before the Lord’) from Jude 9, although he alters the sense in significant ways: ‘But Michael the archangel, when disputing with the Devil argued over the body of Moses, did not presume to pronounce the judgement of “slander” but said, “The Lord punish you!”’ Second Peter drops altogether the reference to the apocryphal story of the contention between the archangel Michael and the Devil over the body of Moses. Instead, the author substitutes the reference to Michael with the ‘angels’ who themselves are ‘greater in strength and power’. The story has shifted from a specific statement about Michael’s actions to a general declaration about the angels’ power and the actions in which they do not take part. The idea of refraining from bringing a legal charge is preserved, but instead of ‘the judgement of “slander”’ (Jude 9) 2 Peter speaks of a ‘slanderous judgement’. In the place of Jude’s ‘The Lord punish you!’, 2 Peter notes

Second Peter’s Use of Jude

17

that the powerful angels do not bring a blasphemous charge ‘before the Lord’. The author’s intertextual methodology truly transforms Jude’s thought, making it his own to advance his purposes. What he means is not bound by his source’s intent. The changes need not suggest that the author did not understand his source,37 that he calculated that his readers would have been unfamiliar with the Michael/Moses/Devil story,38 or that he omitted the apocryphal source story ‘to preclude any suggestion that these works should be considered as authoritative Scripture’.39 Perkins is likely correct in her observation that the omission of the story was ‘because it is not relevant to the argument of the letter’.40 Such is the practice of 2 Peter’s author. In 2 Pet. 2.12, the author states: ‘But these, as irrational beasts, born in accord with nature to be captured and destroyed, slandering that about which they are ignorant, shall even be destroyed in their destruction.’ He draws a number of expressions from Jude 10, such as calling the heretics ‘irrational beasts’ and the comment that they ‘slander whatever they do not understand’. Second Peter echoes other parts of Jude 10 yet gives them a distinct twist; for example, the instinctual knowledge of the beasts (‘whatever they know by instinct’) becomes in 2 Pet. 2.12 a note about the nature of the beasts as creatures to be caught and slaughtered. Similarly, the author of 2 Peter morphs the moral corruption in Jude 10 (‘by these they are corrupted’) into a reflection on the heretics’ final destruction. Whereas the emphasis in Jude 10 is on the corrupt character of the heretics, 2 Peter’s prime concern is with their final destiny, the principal point of contention the author of 2 Peter has with the heretics (3.3–13). Once again, he has adopted and adapted his source in a way that speaks directly to the situation at hand. The heretics’ denial of future judgement is met by the declaration that they, as captured beasts, are destined to be destroyed. In

37. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 261. 38. Fornberg, Early Church in a Pluralistic Society, p. 54. 39. Thomas R. Schreiner, 1, 2 Peter, Jude (NAC, 37; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2003), p. 348. 40. Perkins, First and Second Peter, James and Jude, p. 184.

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Reading Second Peter with New Eyes

the midst of his comparison of the nature and fate of the animals and of the heretics, the author of 2 Peter adds a note, taken from Jude, about the heretics’ outlandish slander: ‘slandering that about which they are ignorant’. The sense here is the same as in Jude 10, which says they ‘slander whatever they do not understand’. In 2.15, the author of 2 Peter focuses his attention on Balaam, thus compressing the triple denunciation of Cain, Balaam, and Korah in his source, Jude 11: ‘Woe to them! Because they went the way of Cain, dedicated themselves to error of Balaam for gain and perish in the rebellion of Korah.’ Instead of Jude’s ‘way of Cain’, 2 Peter speaks of ‘the way of Balaam of Bosor’ which the heretics ‘follow’. The verb is suggested by Jude’s charge that the heretics ‘went the way of Cain’. Second Peter retains the traditional denunciation of Balaam as one motivated by greed (Jude 11: ‘for gain’), but instead of emphasizing Balaam’s dedication to error motivated by hopes of profit, he states that Balaam ‘loved the wages of unrighteousness’ as do the heretics he is combating (2.13). The heretics Jude faced were committed to ‘error’ (th|= pla&nh|; vv. 11, 13), but the author of 2 Peter makes the point that the heretics themselves are ones who are in error or deceived, having ‘wandered off’ as apostates (e0planh/qhsan). Although he draws on the Balaam story as suggested by Jude, his development of the typology is much fuller, as he echoes the wider Balaam traditions. In 2.17, the author of 2 Peter redoubles his effort in denouncing the heretics, once again adapting Jude to his own purposes. He reintroduces the heretics with the familiar refrain from Jude’s preface to his denunciations, ‘These are’ (cf. Jude 8, 10, 16, 19), specifically drawing on Jude 12–13. Second Peter 2.18 (‘For by uttering enormous empty things, they entice with the licentious desires of the flesh those who have only recently escaped from the ones who live in error’) draws on Jude 16, adopting a few words and some significant concepts (‘These are grumblers and malcontents, living according to the dictates of their own desires, and their mouths speak arrogant things flattering for their own gain.’) In Jude, the heretics are characterized as those who are guided by their lustful desires,

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19

whereas the author of 2 Peter notes how the heretics use the licentious desires of the flesh as bait to lure the unstable. Both authors censure the overblown speech of the heretics (u9pe/rogka, ‘enormous or arrogant things’) and highlight their aggressive attempts to gain converts. Jude comments that the heretics use flattery to gain their end, while 2 Peter tags their persuasive power as both high-sounding speech and sexual bait which wiggles on the hook. The language of 2 Pet. 3.2 (‘so that you recall the words previously spoken by the holy prophets and the commandment of the Lord and Savior given through your apostles’) is nearly identical to that of the source, Jude 17, which exhorts: ‘But you, beloved, remember the words previously spoken by the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ The author of 2 Peter modifies the citation, adjusting Jude’s call in light of the threats facing his readers. Instead of including Jude’s exhortation to remember apostolic teaching, he states that his purpose is to remind them of the prophetic testimony as well as the apostolic teaching. In 3.3, he desires his readers to recognize above all else ‘that in the last days mockers will come with their mocking, living according to their own desires’. As in the previous verse, 2 Peter’s source is Jude (v. 18), which says: ‘for they said to you, “In the last time mockers will come who live according to the dictates of their own godless desires.”’ According to Jude, these words were an apostolic testimony (v. 17). Second Peter, on the other hand, does not ascribe them to the apostles, yet in 3.2 calls his readers to remember ‘the words previously spoken by the holy prophets and the commandment of the Lord and Savior given through your apostles’, thus implying the apostolic source of the present teaching. In his imitatio of Jude, he substitutes Jude’s e1sontai (‘will be’) with e0leu/sontai (‘will come’), strengthens Jude’s note about mockers (‘mockers . . . with their mocking’), and drops Jude’s qualification that their desires are ‘godless’. In this example of imitatio, Peter’s vituperatio against the heretics draws extensively on Jude in the order of the denunciations, the topics covered and the language used. Jude levels his vituperatio against false teachers who are tearing at the fabric of the church, and the author of 2 Peter does

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the same. However, over and again the author of 2 Peter modifies his source to suit the situation his readers face, which, though similar to that faced by Jude’s first readers/hearers, is also distinct from it. The author of 2 Peter is not a slavish transcriber. Through art and intelligence he makes the source material genuinely his property by going beyond the source and expanding upon it. Indeed, in the absence of Jude we would likely not be aware that a significant single source underlay his charges against the false teachers. Second Peter thus qualifies as imitatio and not furtum or kloph&, even though at times the author follows his source quite closely by using near-identical wording. He adopts the ‘spirit and significance’ of Jude’s thought while artfully transforming it, making it personal property in order to advance his argument. Whether he betters his source depends on how we evaluate his omission of any reference to the angelical fall, the Assumption of Moses, and 1 Enoch. In v. 6, Jude refers to an angelic fall which was an interpretive tradition based on Gen. 6.1–4 and elaborated extensively in 1 En. 6–12, among other Jewish texts. In v. 9, Jude brings the dispute over the body of Moses between Michael, the archangel, and the Devil into his discussion. This story is not found in the Hebrew Bible but was drawn from the Assumption of Moses. The most striking use of extra-biblical literature appears in vv. 14–15, where Jude quotes 1 En. 1.9. Jude uses these sources as he does other canonical texts and apostolic testimony.41 But 2 Peter deliberately omits reference to these two sources, which may reflect his view regarding what kind of literature is worthy of imitatio. We have no indication that he sees himself as rivaling Jude, despite his exclusion of this pseudepigraphical material. Second Peter’s modifications of Jude are evoked by the distinct situation the author faces and do not betray an attempt to subvert Jude’s values. Jude is not the only source the author of 2 Peter utilizes as he weaves his tapestry. He is aware of Jewish interpretive tradition regarding divine judgement, including the rescue of Noah and Lot (2.4–9), and is able to

41. See G. L. Green, Jude and 2 Peter, pp. 66–70, 26–33.

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expand on the Balaam story (2.15–16). His reference to a previous letter (3.1) and his use of the Noah tradition may even betray his knowledge of 1 Peter.42 These other sources appear to be threaded in from memory rather than from a source immediately before him. But the way that the references to Jude are concentrated in ch. 2 and the beginning of ch. 3 suggests that the author held Jude in front of him as he wrote, or, possibly, that he read Jude not long prior to his composition and integrated the thought and language of the book into his writing. He follows the order of Jude roughly, not methodically, and while his integration of Jude’s themes and language is intense, his adaptation is quite free, suggesting a significant role for memory in the process of imitatio – the second scenario. The adaptive divergences do not point to an author who is reading and thinking ‘How might I use this?’ The flow of his own argument prevails as Jude is woven almost seamlessly into his rhetoric. The message of Jude is bright but does not outshine that of the author of 2 Peter, who has his own ends in mind. Creative art meets imitative craft, colors being combined and bound in the letter’s fabric. c. The Social Implications of 2 Peter’s Imitatio of Jude: The Honor Ascribed to the Relative of Jesus The way the author of 2 Peter uses Jude also highlights the honor ascribed to Jude since it acknowledges him as one worthy of imitatio. We cannot say whether or not he intended his readers to recognize his source but, given the relatively easy and intentional circulation of literature in the early church,43 it is not unlikely that both documents would have been known. But we can do no more than speculate on this point. At best we can say that the author of 2 Peter made no overt attempt to disclose or disguise his source. What is important is that the author of 2 Peter himself

42. Contra Gilmour, Significance of Parallels, pp. 91–95. 43. See Gal. 1.2, Col. 4.16 and 1 Pet. 1.1, as well as the discussion by Michael B. Thompson, ‘The Holy Internet: Communication Between Churches in the First Christian Generation’, in The Gospels for All Christians (ed. Richard J. Bauckham; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 49–70.

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recognized Jude’s writing as a work written by one who held sufficient honor to be an object of imitatio. As the half-brother of the Lord, Jude held considerable honor in the early church, along with James. As Bauckham has argued, the relatives of Jesus were indeed highly esteemed from the earliest days of the church.44 The author of Jude identifies himself as ‘the brother of James’. He is most likely the same person who is named, along with James, as one of the siblings of Jesus (Mt. 13.55; Mk 6.3). The fact that Jude is named at the very end of the list of Jesus’ brothers, along with Simon, may indicate that he was the youngest or the next to youngest male in the family (Jesus’ sisters are also mentioned in Mark 6.3, without any indication of their number or names). At various points the gospels and Acts refer to Jesus’ siblings (Mk 3.32, his ‘brothers and sisters’; John 7. 3, 5, 10, with a note that they did not believe in Jesus during his ministry; Acts 1.14, gathered with the disciples before Pentecost). Occasionally these family members are said to be in the company of Mary (Mt. 12.46; Acts 1.14), suggesting their father, Joseph, has already died. The ‘brothers of the Lord’ were known widely in the early church, alongside the apostles, and appear to have engaged in missionary activity (1 Cor. 9.5). Since Jude mentions James with no further qualification, we should likely identify him with ‘the Lord’s brother’ who was one of the ‘pillars’ of the Jerusalem church (Gal. 2.9).45 He was a witness of the resurrection according to Paul (1 Cor. 15.7) and became the principal leader of the Jerusalem church after Peter ‘went to another place’ (Acts 12.17).46 James appears as the head of the church both at the time of the Jerusalem council (Acts 15.13; and see Gal. 2.12) and when Paul returns to Jerusalem after his missionary journeys (Acts 21.18). Given the prominence of James,

44. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus. 45. And see Richard J. Bauckham, The Book of Acts in Its Palestinian Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995). 46. Subsequent to his release from jail, Peter went to the house of Mary, mother of John Mark, where, after relating the events of his liberation, he said, ‘Tell these things to James and the brothers’ (Acts 12.17). The brothers referred to may be the brothers of Jesus (Acts 1.14) and not the larger company of disciples.

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the lesser-known Jude could easily have secured his own identification by styling himself the ‘brother of James’. Since honor in the Mediterranean world is shared among members of a family,47 the honor ascribed to James as the leader of the Jerusalem church would have enhanced the status of Jude in the eyes of his readers. In other words, by identifying himself as the ‘brother of James’, Jude makes a claim to authority which parallels Paul’s affirmations of his apostleship (Gal. 1.1), although Jude’s familial honor and authority are not identical with apostleship. Jude likely engaged in an itinerant ministry (1 Cor. 9.5). Hegesippus, quoted by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.19.1–3.20.8; 3.32.5–6), relates a story of Domitian’s persecution of Jude’s grandsons, who were landed peasants apparently within Palestine. They held leadership positions among the churches, a role which began with James (Hist. eccl. 3.20.8). Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 1.7.14)48 even notes that the later relatives of Jesus were located in Nazareth and the nearby village of Kokhaba.49 The family had land holdings in Palestine and continued to be known in the region through the passing of generations. The Jerusalem bishop list may well contain the names of Jesus’ brothers, depending on our identification of the ‘Judes’ therein.50 It appears that Jesus’ relatives as a whole, not only Jude and James, became very important figures ‘in the mission and leadership of

47. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, 3–7; S. Scott Bartchy, ‘Undermining Ancient Patriarchy: The Apostle Paul’s Vision of a Society of Siblings’, BTB 29 (1999), pp. 68–78; Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 3rd edition, 2001), pp. 37–38. 48. Eusebius states that the desposynoi, as the blood relatives of Jesus were called, came from the Judean (used generally of all Palestine) villages of Nazareth and Kokhaba and went ‘into the rest of the earth’ or ‘land’ (gh~|) and expounded their genealogy along the way. We have no idea of the extent of these travels, but the land referred to is most likely Palestine – that is, the land around the cities mentioned. However, it is significant that the family territory is located in Palestine. 49. On the location of Kokhaba, see Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus, pp. 62–66. Various places were known by the name, including a Christian village in Transjordan and a town near Damascus. 50. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus, p. 77.

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the churches of Palestine in the first century after the death and resurrection of Jesus’.51 Given the honor and leadership position of the relatives of Jesus in the early church, the intertextual relationship between 2 Peter and Jude is not simply a question of sources and comparative linguistic analysis but brings us to the core of the sociology of the early church, especially its structures of honor and authority. The author of 2 Peter held Jude in honor, as evidenced by his use of Jude’s letter when he took up the task of denouncing the heretics who had, by stealth, introduced their destructive teachings (2.1). Their denial of the Lord was met with a rejoinder which had its source in one who was no less than the brother of James and the brother of the Lord himself. The way 2 Peter uses Jude is an indication of the honored place Jude held in the consciousness of the early church, regardless of conclusions regarding the authorship or date of 2 Peter. Indeed, one as honored as Peter is seen to give place to the relative of Jesus in the leadership of the Jerusalem church and at the Jerusalem council (Acts 12.17; 15.6–21). The way 2 Peter uses Jude underscores the strong and authoritative role the relatives of Jesus played in the earliest years of the church.

III. Conclusion

The purpose of this collection of essays is to approach old interpretive issues and problems in new ways. This particular essay is an attempt to press beyond a simple comparative analysis of Jude and 2 Peter 2 and the question of which was the source for the other. The literary relationship between the letters and the nature of the borrowing can be explained with reference to the ancient canons of imitatio, which allowed for the creative adaptation of source material. Authors’ integration of material by other authors was a common and widely acknowledged undertaking, those who did it drawing the boundaries around the practice. This explanation to the problem of literary dependency explains both the remarkable similarities

51. Ibid., p. 131.

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and the significant differences between 2 Peter 2 and its source, Jude. Moreover, the use of Jude by the author of 2 Peter points up the special place of honor held by Jude, and indeed the other relatives of Jesus, in the early Church. Imitatio was done with sources worthy of imitation, such as the epics of Homer. The practice of imitatio is therefore not simply a literary but also a social phenomenon. This approach to the relationship between 2 Peter and Jude intersects questions about the structures of authority in early Christianity, which placed the honor ascribed to the relatives of Jesus alongside that of the apostles.

2 COMPARING TWO RELATED METHODS: RHETORICAL CRITICISM AND SOCIO-RHETORICAL INTERPRETATION APPLIED TO SECOND PETER Duane F. Watson

Rhetorical criticism of 2 Peter has been conducted primarily using GrecoRoman rhetoric. It has remained largely descriptive but has made forays into functional approaches and interdisciplinary studies using stylistics, the social sciences, and cultural anthropology. Socio-rhetorical interpretation (hereafter called SRI) has been applied to 2 Peter only partially, being limited to a study of apocalyptic and priestly intertexture and, in this volume, a study of rhetology and rhetography. This essay is a survey and comparison of what has been accomplished by interpreting 2 Peter rhetorically and socio-rhetorically. In addition, it offers a thorough socio-rhetorical analysis of a portion of 2 Peter (3.1–13). Hopefully, it will demonstrate that SRI can take interpretation of 2 Peter in entirely new and exciting directions, across some of the boundaries inherent in rhetorical criticism alone.

I. Rhetorical Criticism of 2 Peter Using Primarily Greco-Roman Rhetoric

In 1983, I presented a paper on the rhetoric of 2 Peter at the Southeast Regional SBL Annual Meeting. When I received the program, I was

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surprised to find my paper listed under ‘possibilities’. Having just spent two years studying the New Testament at Duke University and taking classes in Greco-Roman rhetoric with George Kennedy at the University of North Carolina, at Chapel Hill, I naively assumed that everybody could see the New Testament was rhetorical and could be analyzed accordingly. However, at that time the role of rhetoric in the New Testament and the viability of rhetorical criticism as a tool for its interpretation were open questions in the guild. The same year, I officially proposed rhetorical criticism of Jude and 2 Peter as the subject of my doctoral dissertation at Duke.1 I set out to demonstrate in detail the rhetorical features of both letters and what these might tell us about the literary relationship between them. The only accessible methodology for rhetorical criticism of the New Testament at the time was the one proposed by George Kennedy in his influential little book New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism,2 which I had helped edit while Kennedy’s graduate student. It was composed of the following, now familiar, steps: (1) determining the rhetorical unit; (2) defining the rhetorical situation; (3) identifying the stasis of the argument and the species of rhetoric; (4) analyzing invention, arrangement, and style; and (5) assessing the success of the rhetoric in meeting the needs of the rhetorical situation. As I analyzed 2 Peter, I was not satisfied with the second step in Kennedy’s methodology, the determination of the rhetorical situation. Principally, I was not confident in the conceptualization of the rhetorical situation. Kennedy based his discussion of this on a famous article by Lloyd Bitzer,3 in which the author defined a rhetorical situation as ‘a

1. Published as Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). 2. George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1984). 3. Lloyd F. Bitzer, ‘The Rhetorical Situation’, Philosophy and Rhetoric 1 (1968), pp. 1–14; refined in his ‘Functional Communication: A Situational Perspective’, in Rhetoric in Transition: Studies in the Nature and Uses of Rhetoric (ed. E. E. White; University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1980), pp. 21–38.

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complex of persons, events, objects, and relations presenting an actual or potential exigence which can be completely or partially removed if discourse, introduced into the situation, can so constrain human decision or action as to bring about the significant modification of the exigence’.4 This definition did not distinguish between the historical situation and the rhetorical situation, nor address the reality that the rhetorical situation is a construct of the rhetor. Thus, many early analyses using Kennedy’s method tended to equate the rhetorical and historical situations, and construct the latter through mirror-reading of the text (which, or course, is also problematic). While applying Greco-Roman rhetoric to 2 Peter I was trying to glimpse the historical situation through the rhetoric employed, but struggled to make the fine distinctions between the historical and rhetorical situations. I delineated some of these in a later publication, arguing that a rhetorical response gives us insight into the rhetorical situation as the rhetor constructs it, which in turn is in some measure a reflection of the historical situation (at least if the rhetor is informed about the situation and competent as a rhetorician).5 I was also not satisfied with the final step in Kennedy’s methodology, the assessment of the effectiveness of the rhetoric. As many early rhetorical analyses of the New Testament using this method attest, an analysis often ends with a statement that the rhetoric of the biblical book in question is ‘simply superb’, when the effect of the rhetoric is really not measurable. Even the suggestion that the rhetoric conforms well to convention is not an assessment of its effectiveness. To be appropriate to a particular situation, rhetoric needs to be tailored to it, and conventional rhetoric may not have been very effective in many of the situations a biblical author addressed. Only in the unusual case of the Corinthian Correspondence are we allowed to speculate about the effectiveness of the rhetoric and judge 4. Bitzer, ‘The Rhetorical Situation’, p. 6. 5. Duane F. Watson, ‘The Contribution and Limitations of Greco-Roman Rhetorical Theory for Constructing the Rhetorical and Historical Situations of a Pauline Epistle’, in The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture: Essays from the 1996 Malibu Conference (ed. Stanley E. Porter and Dennis L. Stamps; JSNTSup, 180; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), pp. 125–51.

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that 1 Corinthians was not successful since it was followed by the Severe Letter (2 Cor. 2.1–4), this quite probably being 2 Cor. 10–13. Nor was I quite satisfied with the first, third, and fourth steps in Kennedy’s method: defining the rhetorical unit; identifying the stasis of the argument and the species of rhetoric; and analyzing invention, arrangement and style. The third and fourth steps are the core of the methodology. Applying Greco-Roman rhetoric to 2 Peter did uncover a considerable number of elements of Greco-Roman invention, arrangement, and style. Second Peter is aimed at persuading the audience that the prophets and teachers in their midst are the ungodly who were prophesied to appear, and are the subject of warnings by the apostles (2.1–3; 3.1–4). It is also rhetoric aimed at persuading the audience that the denial of the Parousia and its judgement by these prophets and teachers is unwarranted and dangerous (3.5–13). The stasis of the argument of 2 Peter is one of quality, determining the truth of the apostolic doctrine of the Parousia and the falsehood of the opposition’s doctrine and the evil nature of its character. Second Peter can thus be identified as deliberative rhetoric intended to persuade the audience to adhere to the promises of Christ and the apostolic tradition about the Parousia and dissuade it from following the opposition that denies the Parousia and its judgement and behaves accordingly. This deliberative rhetoric is supported by judicial rhetoric in the refutation of the opposition’s denial of the Parousia and its judgement, as well as in the confirmation of these as eschatological realities (1.16–21; 3.1–13). There is also epideictic rhetoric in the vilification intended to destroy the ethos of the opposition (2.10b–22).6 The argumentation in 2 Peter incorporates one of every main type of argument, including inductive proofs of eyewitness testimony and document, and deductive proofs of ethos, pathos, and logos. Of logos, proofs from example and enthymemes are represented. The entire letter exhibits the standard elements of arrangement, including exordium (1.3–15),

6. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, pp. 85–87.

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probatio (1.16–3.13), and peroratio (3.14–18). The narratio is missing, as it can be in deliberative rhetoric, and an extensive digressio is added as part of the plan to decrease the ethos of the opposition (2.10b–22).7 Stylistically, 2 Peter has an extraordinary number of tropes and figures of speech and thought. Many of these are interwoven in very sophisticated ways. The style can be classified as ‘grand’ because all the features of that stylistic classification are present, including much repetition and amplification.8 Terrance Callan has further explored the style of 2 Peter from the perspective of ancient rhetoric.9 He uses Cicero’s De orator 3.96–208, Demetrius’ On Style 38–124, Longinus’ On The Sublime, and Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria 8–9 to study the vocabulary and syntax of the letter’s style. He concludes that 2 Peter is written in the grand style. However, in a comparison of 2 Peter with the Nemrud Dagh inscription from Commagene, in Turkey, which dates from the first century BCE and is in the Asian style, he further refines the identification of 2 Peter’s style as the grand Asian style. This indicates that the author of 2 Peter understands he is dealing with powerful and impressive thoughts and is appealing mainly to emotion. He is probably not writing from Rome but somewhere closer to Commagene. The rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter based on Greco-Roman rhetoric was a bounty of discovery. However, it recognized elements of Jewish rhetoric for which there is no adequate accounting. Unfortunately, as far as I know, there is no comprehensive study of Jewish rhetoric in the first century CE or of Jewish rhetoric’s own distinctions and adaptation of Greco-Roman rhetoric during the Hellenistic period.10 There are elements in 2 Peter that may owe more to the Jewish than to the Greco-Roman tradition, such

7. Ibid., pp. 143–44. 8. Ibid., pp. 144–46, 194–97. 9. Terrance Callan, ‘The Style of the Second Letter of Peter’, Bib 84 (2003), pp. 202–24. 10. For a bibliography of Jewish rhetoric from this period, see Duane F. Watson, The Rhetoric of the New Testament: A Bibliographic Survey (Tools for Biblical Studies, 8; Blandford Forum, UK: Deo Publishing, 2006), pp. 68–72.

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as the use of traditional triads in argumentation (2.4–10a) or the partial adaptation of the testament or farewell address (1.1–15), which shares the purpose of deliberative rhetoric in increasing audience adherence to traditional values. There are also distinctive early Christian elements in the rhetoric for which Greco-Roman rhetoric does not account. For example, there is what Kennedy calls radical Christian rhetoric, which is defined as ‘when a doctrine is purely proclaimed and not couched in enthymemes’.11 One feature of radical Christian rhetoric is the idea, inherited from the Jewish tradition, that the speaker is a vehicle of God’s will to whom God will supply the words. The speaker and his message gain great power and authority through this relationship to God. The reception of the speaker’s words depends not on logical persuasion, but on the audience accepting his message as originating in God and God’s love and the speaker as God’s messenger.12

II. Rhetorical Criticism of 2 Peter Using Greco-Roman Rhetoric in Combination with Other Disciplines

This initial rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter and other biblical books using Kennedy’s methodology opened wide the discussion of the role of rhetoric in the New Testament and what its implications might be for interpretation. However, the analysis remained more descriptive of Greco-Roman rhetorical features found in the texts than demonstrative of how a text functions rhetorically. Sure, there are many comments about how this or that argument, element of arrangement, or figure of style was expected to create this or that response in the audience, but the full rhetorical functions of the text were not explored. Lauri Thurén began to move the discussion of the rhetoric of 2 Peter in the direction of function, investigating style in relation to the rhetorical

11. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 7. 12. Ibid., pp. 78, 96.

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situation.13 From the perspective of stylistics, he tried to determine the purpose of the overall style of 2 Peter. He noted that in his redaction of Jude, the author of 2 Peter elevated the style of the material from the middle style to the grand style. The grand and forceful style enhances the ethos of the author and the tradition of Peter and the apostles that he is using, and increases the audience’s adherence to these authorities. From the vantage point of this enhanced ethos, the author can decrease the ethos of the opposition and its teaching. In his Anchor Bible commentary, Jerome Neyrey steered the rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter in a more interdisciplinary direction.14 He combined my rhetorical analysis and his own with work in cross-cultural anthropology and the social sciences. He described 2 Peter as an apology for apostolic prophecies of the Parousia and judgement aimed against their denial by opponents. These opponents espoused an Epicurean (or a similar) theodicy that denied divine judgement, survival after death, and postmortem retribution. This interdisciplinary approach included study of honor and shame and their associated values, the patron–client relationship, the symbolic universe of purity and pollution, the physical body and its zones, and group-oriented person. Neyrey’s commentary shows the use of these social and cultural values and worldviews, as well as how they are used to create rhetoric that enhances the recipient’s adherence to them. This is a fine analysis, but still remains largely descriptive. Rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter using Greco-Roman rhetoric has been very fruitful in describing the invention, arrangement, and style of the epistle; has moved toward a discussion of function; and has proven useful for interdisciplinary study. Yet the tool is incomplete and the work limited. Functional analysis has had to turn to modern studies of stylistics. Interdisciplinary study shows social and cultural features of the text, but

13. Lauri Thurén, ‘Style Never Goes Out of Fashion: 2 Peter Re-Evaluated’, in Rhetoric, Scripture, and Theology: Essays from the 1994 Pretoria Conference (ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht; JSNTSup, 131; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), pp. 329–47. 14. Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993).

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is not concerned to demonstrate how they are related to the function of the rhetoric. These limitations find some solution in SRI, to be discussed in the next section. Most important is the unresolved problem of finding a way to explore the rhetoric of 2 Peter at a more basic level and with a more appropriate understanding of its rhetoric. Second Peter weaves together several oral and written traditions, argumentative strategies, and genres drawn from Judaism and the broader Hellenistic world. Thus there are features of it for which Greco-Roman rhetoric is not the best analytic tool. Second Peter is not a book that derives from the courtroom, political assembly, or civil ceremony. Its rhetoric cannot therefore be completely analyzed using judicial, deliberative, and epideictic rhetoric drawn from these areas of ancient life.

III. Socio-rhetorical Interpretation of 2 Peter

Socio-rhetorical interpretation provides a much more comprehensive analysis of 2 Peter (or any other text) than can be provided by GrecoRoman rhetoric alone or Greco-Roman rhetoric informed by stylistics, social-scientific studies, or cultural anthropology. This interpretive analytic is the creation of Vernon K. Robbins, of Emory University. It found earlier expression in many articles and a couple of his books, Exploring the Texture of Texts and The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse,15 and now finds a more mature form in his two-volume The Invention of Christian Discourse.16 His socio-rhetorical interpretation brings many features of the rhetoric of a biblical text into play that are easily overlooked by using only Greco-Roman rhetoric, and, for that matter, any form of modern rhetoric.

15. Vernon K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio–Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996) and The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society, and Ideology (London: Routledge, 1996). 16. Vernon K. Robbins, The Invention of Christian Discourse (RRA, 1; 2 vols; Blandford Forum, UK: Deo Publishing, 2009–), vol. 1.

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In the earlier formulation of socio-rhetorical analysis as found in Exploring and Tapestry, Robbins proposed that biblical texts be investigated from the perspective of the interweaving of five textures: inner texture, intertexture, social and cultural texture, ideological texture, and sacred texture. As Robbins explains, ‘Inner texture concerns relationships among word-phrase and narrational patterns that produce argumentative and aesthetic patterns in texts. These intermingling patterns are the context for the “networks of signification” in a text.’17 Inner texture includes discussion of repetitive, progressive, open-middle-closing, narrational, argumentative, and sensory-aesthetic textures.18 Intertexture is ‘a text’s representation of, or reference to, and use of phenomena in the “world” outside the text being interpreted. In other words, the intertexture of a text is the interaction of the language in the text with “outside” material and physical “objects”, historical events, texts, customs, values, roles, institutions, and systems.’19 Intertexture is an examination of how the text configures and reconfigures phenomena outside itself. Robbins defines four forms of intertexture: oral-scribal, cultural, social, and historical. Oral-scribal intertexture concerns how a text uses oral and written sources through recitation, recontextualization, reconfiguration, narrative amplification, or thematic elaboration.20 The cultural intertexture is a text’s interaction with culture through direct reference, allusion, or echo of words, concept patterns, values, codes, and myths.21 This interaction with culture helps determine the author’s self-understanding and stance toward culture. Social intertexture focuses on knowledge that everyone in a region gains regardless of their cultural location. It is knowledge gained by interaction, in contrast to cultural knowledge, which has to be taught.22 Historical inter-

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Robbins, Tapestry, p. 46; cf. Robbins, Exploring, p. 7. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 7–39; Tapestry, pp. 44–95. Robbins, Exploring, p. 40; cf. Robbins, Tapestry, p. 96. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 40–58; Tapestry, pp. 97–108. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 58–62; Tapestry, pp. 108–15. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 62–63; Tapestry, pp. 115–18.

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texture explores the social, cultural, and ideological phenomena operative in an event so that it can be interpreted.23 The social and cultural texture of a text involves the social and cultural location of the language of the text and the social and cultural world this language creates. This location is indicated by the specific and common social and cultural topics and final cultural categories that the text uses.24 The ideological texture ‘concerns the way the text itself and interpreters of the text position themselves in relation to other individuals and groups’.25 For Robbins, the ideology occurs in four special locations: texts, authoritative traditions of interpretation, intellectual discourse, and the individual and groups.26 Sacred texture is the way the text understands deity, the religious life, and the relationship of humanity to the divine. Sacred aspects of the text include deity, holy person, spirit being, divine history, human redemption, human commitment, religious community, and ethics. These can be embedded in the other textures of the text.27 The only published analysis of 2 Peter from this earlier phase of SRI is my analysis of the oral-scribal and cultural intertexture of the apocalyptic discourse in 2 Peter (and Jude).28 The apocalyptic discourse in 2 Peter exhibits strategies for creating logos, ethos, and pathos. There is a multitude of oral-scribal and cultural intertextural connections in its mix and molding of Jewish and early Christian traditions and texts to create its argumentation or logos. The author’s use of intertexture is also directed by his need to increase the ethos of his argumentation. To meet this need, he makes cultural references and allusions to Jewish and early Christian tradition and quotes written documents. These sources lend their authority to his argumentation through their images, metaphors, expectations, 23. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 63–68; Tapestry, pp. 118–20. 24. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 71–86; Tapestry, pp. 144–91. 25. Robbins, Exploring, p. 4. 26. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 95–119; Tapestry, pp. 192–236. 27. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 120–31; Tapestry, pp. 10–11. 28. Duane F. Watson, ‘The Oral-Scribal and Cultural Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in Jude and 2 Peter’, in The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in the New Testament (ed. Duane F. Watson; SBLSymS, 14; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), pp. 187–213.

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and warrants. He also uses apocalyptic discourse and its negative images and characterizations from tradition to describe his opponents’ negative prospects in the coming judgement and to increase the recipients’ pathos of hatred for the opposition and the recipients’ own fear of similar judgement. His apocalyptic discourse is used to prove the reality of the Parousia and Jesus as God’s vice-regent. As SRI was practiced using the strategies for analyzing these five textures of texts, modes of early Mediterranean discourse utilized by early Christian discourse began to emerge. These six primary modes of rhetorical discourse are precreation, wisdom, the priestly, the prophetic, miracle, and the apocalyptic – the six standard rhetorical discourses available to early Christianity in the first century CE as identified by Robbins. Each mode of discourse has its own argumentative features, topics, and rationales.29 Robbins calls these rhetorical modes of discourse rhetorolects, which he defines as forms of ‘language variety or discourse identifiable on the basis of distinctive configuration of themes, topics, reasonings, and argumentations’.30 These rhetorolects can be, and were, combined and are found in many different configurations in the major literary genres of the New Testament (biography, history, epistle, and apocalypse). The more recent form of SRI examines how biblical texts blend these six rhetorolects from the Mediterranean Basin. It examines how early Christians reconfigured biblical, Jewish, and Greco-Roman modes of discourse to create their own distinctive discourse. These six rhetorolects are the early Christian counterpart to judicial, deliberative, and epideictic rhetoric. They are the building blocks of rhetorical works, each with its own topics, argumentation, and strategies.

29. Robbins briefly illustrates these modes of discourse in his essay ‘Argumentative Texture in Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation’, in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts (ed. Anders Eriksson, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Walter Übelacker; ESEC, 8; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2002), pp. 27–65. See also Vernon K. Robbins, ‘The Dialectical Nature of Early Christian Discourse’, Scriptura 59 (1996), pp. 353–62. Precreation discourse use to be called ‘cosmic’, priestly discourse was ‘suffering-death’ or ‘death-resurrection’, and prophetic discourse was ‘opposition’. 30. Robbins, ‘Dialectical Nature’, p. 356; Invention, p. 7.

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Precreation discourse understands the heavens and earth as an empire with God as its emperor. In this role, God has a household in which his Son is primary and brings patronage, benefits, and friendship to the empire. Human beings can enter that household through relationship with the Son. Wisdom discourse perceives God as presiding over the universe as a father presides over his household instructing his children in righteousness and wisdom. Priestly discourse conceptualizes the universe as God’s temple in which human action, such as sacrifices by priests, can bring the beneficence of God to human life. Prophetic discourse understands the universe as a kingdom with God as its king. Prophets communicate God’s will to the people to bring justice to all. Miracle discourse construes God as a healer who works through intermediaries to heal individual and corporate bodies. Apocalyptic discourse comprehends the universe as an empire with God as the emperor over an army. This army will destroy all the evil in the universe and create a state in which good people experience perfect well-being in the presence of God.31 Within his earlier development of intertexture, Robbins observed two aspects of intertexture – the argumentative and sensory-aesthetic textures. Argumentative texture involves the inner reasoning of the discourse. This reasoning may be logical or syllogistic (involving assertions and supporting reasons), or it may be qualitative (involving images, analogies, examples, and testimony that convince the audience that what is portrayed is true).32 The sensory-aesthetic texture concerns ‘the range of senses the text evokes or embodies (thought, emotion, sight, sound, touch, smell) and the manner in which the text evokes or embodies them (reason, intuition, imagination, humor, etc.)’.33 Robbins also observed that topics (topoi) can

31. Vernon K. Robbins, ‘Beginnings and Developments in Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation’ (online: http://www.religion.emory.edu/faculty/robbins/Pdfs/SRIBegDevRRA.pdf), and ‘Rhetography: A New Way of Seeing the Familiar Text’, in Words Well Spoken: George Kennedy’s Rhetoric of the New Testament (ed. C. Clifton Black and Duane F. Watson; Studies in Rhetoric and Religion, 8; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008), pp. 81–106. 32. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 21–29; Tapestry, pp. 58–64. 33. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 29–30 (for full discussion, see pp. 29–36); Tapestry, pp. 64–65.

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be developed in two ways, which he labels argumentative-enthymematic and amplificatory-descriptive, and are done so in distinct ways within the six rhetorolects.34 These observations about argumentative and sensory-aesthetic intertexture and argumentative-enthymematic and amplificatory-descriptive development of topics has led to the full recognition that biblical texts, like all texts, contain not only argumentation, but also picturing and visual aspect. SRI now distinguishes between rhetology and rhetography. Drawing from critical-spatiality theory35 and conceptual-blending theory,36 SRI recognizes that people blend experiences and places where they live with their thinking and reasoning. Robbins defines rhetology as the ‘logic of rhetorical reasoning’ and rhetography as ‘graphic picturing in rhetorical description’37 or ‘the graphic images people create in their minds as a result of the visual texture of a text’.38 Rhetology and rhetography work together to provide the persuasive force of discourse, contributing to logos, ethos, and pathos (and detracting from them as well).39

34. Vernon K. Robbins, ‘The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in the Gospel of Mark’, in The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in the New Testament (ed. Duane F. Watson; SBLSymS, 14; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), p. 12. 35. See the works on the website of The Constructions of Ancient Space Seminar, a research group comprising members from the American Academy of Religion, the Society of Biblical Literature, and the Guild for Academic Images Research: http://www.cwru.edu/ affil/GAIR/Constructions/Constructions.html?nw_view=1243966854& 36. Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities (New York: Basic Books, 2002); Gilles Fauconnier, Eve Sweester, and George Lakoff, Mental Spaces: Aspects of Meaning Construction in Natural Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2nd edn, 1994); Gilles Fauconnier, Mappings in Thought and Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2nd edn, 1980); Seana Coulson, Semantic Leaps: Frame-Shifting and Conceptual Blending in Meaning Construction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); W. J. T. Mitchell, Iconology: Image, Text, Ideology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986); W. J. T. Mitchell, Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 37. Robbins, Invention, p. 16. 38. Robbins, ‘Rhetography’, pp. 81–107. 39. Robbins, Invention, pp. 16–17; ‘Rhetography’, pp. 81–107. For further discussion clarifying the nature of rhetography and rhetology, see Robert L. Webb, ‘The Rhetorical Function of Visual Imagery in Jude: A Socio-Rhetorical Experiment in Rhetography’, in

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This mixture of argumentation and picturing is crucial for understanding at least two limitations of rhetorical criticism of the New Testament using Greco-Roman rhetoric. One is that the focus has been on argumentation to the neglect of the picturing, other than to note the metaphors which inherently have a visual aspect. The other is that Greco-Roman rhetoric and early Christian rhetoric are based on different picturing. Greco-Roman rhetoric is based on picturing three locations in the city-state: the law court, the political assembly, and the civil ceremony. These underlie judicial, deliberative, and epideictic rhetoric respectively. However, early Christian rhetoric is based on the picturing of households, political kingdoms, imperial armies, imperial households, temples, and individual bodies. These pictures are indicative of the six rhetorolects of wisdom (household), the prophetic (kingdom), the apocalyptic (imperial armies), precreation (imperial household), the priestly (temple), and miracle (individual bodies). In other words, each rhetorolect has its own blend of rhetology and rhetography. Another way to describe this is to say that the early Christians shifted the topography of their argumentation. They shifted the conceptual location of their social geography from the courtroom, political assembly, and civil ceremony to their own primary locations of bodies, households, villages, synagogues, cities, temples, kingdoms, and empire. And the new topography and social geography of early Christian discourse in its six rhetorolects has its own picturing. Perhaps of primary importance, as a multidimensional analysis, SRI transcends the restrictions of interpretation based closely on genre identification. SRI, while acknowledging genres and their features, moves beyond them to identify how the rhetorolects and their rhetology and rhetography are woven together to create distinctive discourse.

Reading Jude with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Jude (ed. Robert L. Webb and Peter H. Davids; LNTS, 383; London: T&T Clark, 2008), pp. 109–35 (109–21).

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A basic presupposition of the approach is that although first century Christians lived in a culture we regularly describe as ‘traditional’, they found ways to weave new dimensions into existing modes of Mediterranean discourse. The study concludes that early Christians reconfigured multiple forms of preceding and contemporary discourse by blending pictorial narrative with argumentative assertions in ways that created distinctive social, cultural, ideological, and religious modes of understanding and belief in the Mediterranean world.40

IV. Rhetorical Criticism and Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of 2 Peter 3.1–13

In this section I will compare rhetorical analysis using Kennedy’s methodology with the analytic of SRI, focusing on 2 Pet. 3.1–13. I have already analyzed this portion of 2 Peter using Kennedy’s methodology and GrecoRoman rhetoric.41 I will incorporate the Greco-Roman rhetorical analysis into one guided by SRI and show how SRI broadens previous rhetorical analysis considerably. Analysis using Greco-Roman rhetoric is subsumed largely under oral-scribal inner texture and to a lesser degree under oralscribal and cultural intertexture – that is, the text’s use of oral and written tradition and its interaction with culture respectively. SRI helps overcome the limitations of rhetorical criticism that uses only Greco-Roman rhetoric. It moves the analysis into the function of the rhetoric and its social and cultural features more fully, as well as shifting the topography of the analysis from the courtroom, political assembly, and civil ceremony to the places where early Christians lived and conceptualized their rhetoric. By way of introduction here, I note that 2 Peter addresses eschatological skepticism arising from the delay of the Parousia (3.4, 9). False teachers deny the reality of the Parousia, claiming that it is a cleverly devised myth

40. Robbins, Invention, p. 6. 41. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, pp. 124–41.

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fabricated by the apostles and their misinterpretation of prophecy in the Hebrew Bible (1.16–21). The author embraces the imminent eschatology of the early church, assured that he and the recipients will experience the Parousia (1.19; 3.14) and the opponents will experience its judgement (2.1, 12). His approach to eschatological delay in 3.1–13 – acknowledging the delay of divine intervention while at the same time reaffirming its imminence – is similar to that of Jewish apocalyptic.42 a. Inner Texture As analysis using Greco-Roman rhetoric has shown, this section of the letter is the second half of the probatio, comprising a transition (vv. 1–2), and the fourth section of accusation (vv. 3–4) and refutation (vv. 5–13) of the opposition. The transition brings the Jewish scriptural prophecy and the apostolic witness about the Parousia and judgement to bear on the following accusation and refutation (vv. 1–2). The accusation of the opposition is that apostolic preaching of the imminent Parousia is false, as attested by the death of the first Christian generation and the absence of God’s intervention in history (vv. 3–4). The accusation is in the form of a prophecy of ‘Peter’ summing up the teachings of the false teachers. ‘Peter’ crafts this prophecy using the biblical prophets and Jesus’ prophecy transmitted through apostolic preaching, all of which announce the coming of the false teachers and their teaching. The refutation tackles the two parts of the accusation in reverse order. The claim that God has not intervened in history is refuted in vv. 5–7, and the claim that the promise of the Parousia is empty is refuted in vv. 8–13. The refutation consists of five proofs: (1) enthymeme: if God’s word stored water for the judgement of the flood, God’s word can store fire for the judgement of the Parousia (vv. 5–7); (2) proof from a document: Ps. 90.4 is quoted to prove that divine and human perspectives of time vary (v. 8); (3) proof from enthymeme: God is not slow to fulfill his promises, but forbearing (v. 9); (4) proof from ethos (vv. 10–12); and (5) proof

42. Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Delay of the Parousia’, TynBul 31 (1980), pp. 3–36.

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from pathos (v. 13). This section has topical links to other portions of the argumentation and stylistic amplification as well, but these details do not facilitate our broader comparison and are not discussed here. b. Oral-Scribal and Cultural Intertexture The intertexture is perhaps the most prominent texture in this section of 2 Peter, especially oral-scribal and cultural intertexture, because it depends heavily on images, symbols, traditions, and texts. In this section, 2 Peter exhibits a variety of intertextural connections in the creation of proofs and refutation of the denial of the Parousia. There are connections with a Jewish apocalypse, the Hebrew Bible, Gospel tradition, and the Epistle of Jude. A Jewish apocalypse that explained the delay of God’s intervention in history underlies vv. 4–13. It is also used in 1 Clem. 23.3–4, 2 Clem. 11.2–4 and 16.3, and perhaps 1 Clem. 23.5 and 27.4.43 First Clement 23–27 as a whole is also a defense of traditional eschatology. The most noted correspondences between 2 Peter and 1 and 2 Clement are: (1) v. 4 and 1 Clem. 23.3 and 2 Clem. 11.2; (2) vv. 5–7 and 1 Clem. 27.4; and (3) vv. 10 and 12 and 2 Clem. 16.3. The source of this Jewish apocalyptic is thought to be the lost book of Eldad and Modad, quoted in Herm. Vis. 2.3.4. Partly because of the shared vocabulary of 2 Peter, 1 Clement, and 2 Clement, Bauckham concludes that this source was authoritative in the Roman church of the late first and early second centuries, where all three of these works probably originated.44 I am assuming the author’s use of a Jewish apocalyptic source in the composition of 3.4–13, and that some of the intertextural connections to the Hebrew Bible probably preceded him in tradition (oral and/or written) and others he made himself. It is nearly impossible to distinguish what may

43. Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1983), pp. 140, 283–85. D. von Allmen (‘L’apocalyptique juive et le retard de la parousie en II Pierre 3.1–13’, RTP 16 [1966], pp. 255–74 [256–64]) tries to determine what material the author borrows from the apocalyptic source and what is peculiar to him. 44. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 140, 283–85; ‘Delay of the Parousia’, pp. 3–36.

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be original to the apocalyptic source from what changes and additions our author may have made in his use of it. Fortunately, it is not necessary to do so for our purposes. We can examine the intertextural connections and their implications for interpretation without reference to their origin – our author or the apocalyptic source – choosing to do otherwise only where there is enough evidence or a need to do so. The following are certain or highly probable oral-scribal and cultural intertextural connections with the Hebrew Bible in this section: v. 5 (Gen. 1.1–10), v. 6 (Gen. 7), v. 8 (Ps. 90.4 [LXX 89.4]), v. 9 (Hab. 2.3), v. 10 (Isa. 34.4; Mal. 3.19), v. 12 (Isa. 34.4; 60.22), vv. 12–14 (Hab. 2.3), and v. 13 (Isa. 65.17; 66.22). Many of these intertextural connections may derive from the Jewish apocalyptic source the author of 2 Peter used. The author often relies on the Septuagint, as he does here in v. 12 (Isa. 34.4) and v. 13 (Isa. 65.17), thus these connections to Isaiah may be his own. Other uses of the Hebrew Bible, in vv. 9 and 12–14 (Hab. 2.3) and v. 13 (Isa. 60.22) probably derive from the Jewish apocalyptic source.45 The author also uses the Epistle of Jude, a Jewish-Christian apocalyptic source, in vv. 1–3. Oral or written Gospel tradition that is independent of the canonical gospels is also a source in the prophecy of Jesus in v. 10 that the Day of the Lord would come as a thief (cf. Mt. 24.43 = Lk. 12.39). In the opening of his refutation in vv. 2–3, our author recites Jude 17–18: But you, beloved, must remember the predictions of the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ; for they said to you, ‘In the last time there will be scoffers, indulging their own ungodly lusts’. (Jude 17–18) . . . that you should remember the words spoken in the past by the holy prophets, and the commandment of the Lord and Savior spoken through your

45. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 138. For more on the use of the Hebrew Bible in 2 Peter, see Richard J. Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture (Festschrift Barnabas Lindars; ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 303–17 (313–15).

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apostles. First of all you must understand this, that in the last days scoffers will come, scoffing and indulging their own lusts . . . (2 Pet. 3.2–3)

This is an example of oral-scribal intertexture, for the author recontextualizes and reconfigures Jude. In Jude these verses are a prophecy of the apostles used to prove that those disturbing the church were the subject of prophecy. In 2 Peter they are quite something else, especially in light of the preceding transition of 3.1–2. From the perspective of pseudonymity, the prophecy specifically belongs to Peter. His prophecy is shared with the prophets of the Jewish Scriptures (3.2; cf. 1.19–21), and with the Lord through the apostles who founded the community addressed (3.2; cf. 1.16–18). As a witness to the Transfiguration, in which God appointed Jesus as his eschatological vice-regent (1.16–18), Peter is now portrayed as confidently affirming the Parousia. Our author has reconfigured the prophecy of Jude so that it enhances the ethos of the prophecy of the appearance of scoffers in the last days that follows in 3.4 by its association with prophets in the Jewish Scriptures, Jesus, the apostles, and Peter. Our author also provides the actual content of the scoffing, which is absent from Jude: ‘Where is the promise of his coming? For ever since our ancestors died, all things continue as they were from the beginning of creation!’(v. 4). In Jude, the focus is on the appearance of those denying authority and the immorality that results, whereas in 2 Peter, the immorality is specifically rooted in the denial of the Parousia and its accompanying judgement.46 Cultural intertexture also plays a role in the use of the prophecy from Jude. The scoff of the scoffers is molded as a rhetorical question, beginning with the interrogative phrase ‘Where is . . . ?’ (pou= e0stin), which is a standard form in the Hebrew Bible for questioning the delay of God’s intervention in the world. This taunt is found in the LXX in the mouths of the enemies of the Psalmist when God does not intervene on his behalf (Ps. 41.4, 11), Israel’s enemies when God fails to intervene for Israel

46. Mt. 16.28 = Mk 9.1 = Lk. 9.27; Mt. 24.34 = Mk 13.30 = Lk. 21.32; Jn 21.22–23.

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(Pss. 78.10; 113.10; Joel 2.17; Mic. 7.10), Israelites when God does not punish the wicked and reward the righteous (Mal. 2.17), and Jeremiah’s enemies at the non-fulfillment of his prophecies (Jer. 17.15).47 The taunt in 2 Peter is a distillation of many ungodly voices that refuse to patiently wait for God to vindicate his people and execute judgement on the earth. As such, it works to vilify the opposition, who join their voices to this doubtful and impatient chorus. The content of the taunt of the opposition may originate in the Jewish apocalyptic source used in 2 Peter. In that source, the basis for the taunt would be the lack of fulfillment of the Jewish scriptural prophecies concerning the Day of the Lord, fulfillment lacking since the days of the fathers – that is, of Israel. Assuming that this is the case, in 2 Peter the taunt is recontextualized so that it refers to Christ’s unfulfilled prophecy of the Parousia; to the lack of fulfillment since the ‘the fathers’ – that is, the first generation of Christians who were expected to experience the Parousia. In the pseudonymous ploy of 2 Peter, these words of eschatological skepticism become part of Peter’s prophecy and quote the very false teachers faced by the author. Next our author uses an enthymeme to refute the opponents’ assertion that creation has never witnessed God’s judgement (vv. 5–7). The premise of this enthymeme is a combination of two oral-scribal recitations summarizing a span of text. This recitation demonstrates that through his word God has executed judgement on the world in the past. In vv. 5–6, our author recites the account of the creation of the world out of the watery chaos (Gen. 1.1–10), and in v. 7 recites the flood account in which these waters were used in judgement (Gen. 7). This recitation is also a cultural intertextural allusion to ancient Near Eastern mythology that describes the emergence of the earth and sky from a primeval sea,48 as well as an allusion to the creation of earth and sky by the word of God as found in the Jewish-Christian adaptation of that mythology.49

47. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 289. 48. Gen. 1.1–10; Ps. 33.7; 136.6; Prov. 8.27–29; Sir. 39.17; Herm. Vis. 1.3.4. 49. Gen. 1.3–30; Ps. 33.6; 148.5; Wis. 9.1; 4 Ezra 6.38, 43; Sib. Or. 3.30; Heb. 11.3; 1 Clem. 27.4; Herm. Vis. 1.3.4.

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This oral-scribal recitation and the cultural intertextural allusions provide the premise for the author’s conclusion that God will use the same word that he used to create and flood the world to destroy it by fire at the Parousia (3.7). This conclusion has a rich cultural intertexture. Jewish eschatology refers to judgement by fire, especially judgement of the wicked by fire.50 Jewish apocalyptic often pairs the flood and eschatological destruction by fire.51 The parallel in 1 Clement, which may also be dependent upon a Jewish apocalyptic source – ‘By the word of his majesty did he establish all things, and by his word can he destroy them’ (1 Clem. 27.4) – indicates that our author probably used an apocalyptic source and may have elaborated it with a third reference to the word of God in order to tie creation, the flood, and the Parousia together.52 In vv. 8–13, our author refutes the proposition of the opposition that the delay of the Parousia demonstrates the falsehood of its proclamation. He initiates the refutation in v. 8 with a proof from a document by reciting Ps. 90.4 (LXX 89.4), with modifications for rhetorical amplification: ‘For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night’ is recited as ‘with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day’. This modified recitation may be the work of our author or may have been part of his apocalyptic source. Either way, Psalm 90.4 gives a reason for the delay of the Parousia – God’s different perception of time. Again, cultural intertexture plays a role as well, for Jewish apocalyptic literature stressed that the time preceding the coming of God in power might seem unreasonably long but was quite short from God’s own perspective.53 Cultural intertexture also plays a role in v. 9. Here, the author creates a 50. 1QH III, 19–36; Sib. Or. 3.54–87; 4.173–81; 5.211–13, 531; L.A.E. 49.3; Josephus, Ant. 1.70. 51. 1 En. 10.11–11.2; Sib. Or. 1.195; 7.11. 52. Whereas the idea of the world as created by God’s word is common in Jewish and Christian literature, only in 2 Pet. 3.5–7 and 1 Clem. 27.4 do we find any reference to the world being destroyed by God’s word. This is further indication that an apocalyptic source underlies both books. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 296–97. 53. Sir. 18.9–11; 2 Bar. 48.12–13; L.A.B. 19.13a. See Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 308–309.

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proof from an enthymeme that God’s delay does not make the promise of the Parousia a lie because it is in God’s plan and an aspect of God’s mercy to allow people to repent beforehand. The author uses traditions rooted in LXX Hab. 2.3 (Aquila). When Habakkuk complains that the righteous suffer at the hands of the wicked, God responds: ‘For there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.’ Jewish debate about God’s delay in fulfilling promises often used Hab. 2.3,54 and Jewish apocalyptic tradition also associated repentance with the eschaton.55 Verses 10–12 form a proof from ethos. Verse 10 is a reaffirmation of the Parousia. It serves as a warning that, despite God’s mercy just mentioned, impending judgement makes delayed repentance unwise. Once all the planets have been dissolved, God will have direct view of the earth and all its habitants and their deeds. The Jewish apocalyptic source that our author may be relying upon seems to have combined LXX Mal. 3.19 and LXX Isa. 34.4, for the combination is found both here in v. 10 and in the parallel in 2 Clem. 16.3.56 In addition, our author again relies on LXX Isa. 34.4 in v. 12: For, behold, the day of the Lord is coming, burning like an oven. (LXX Mal. 3.19) and all the powers of the heavens will melt. (LXX Isa. 34.4 [B, Lucian]) But you know that ‘the day’ of judgement is already ‘approaching as a burning oven, and some of the heavens shall melt’, and the whole earth shall be as

54. Sir. 32.22 [Hebrew]; 35.19 LXX; 1QpHab VII, 5–12; Heb. 10.37; 2 Bar. 20.6; 48.39; b. Sanh. 97b. A. Strobel, Untersuchungen zum eschatologischen Verzögesungsproblem auf Grund der spätjüdisch-urchristlichen Geschichte vom Habakuk 2,2ff (NovTSup, 2; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1961), chs 2–3. 55. 2 Bar. 89.12; 4 Ezra 7.33–34, 82; 9.11. 56. Also, 2 Clem. 16.1 is similar to 2 Pet. 3.9. Our author’s reliance upon a source is further indicated by the quotation of Mal. 3.1 in 1 Clem. 23.5 directly after the quotation about the scoffers that 1 Clement shares with 2 Pet. 3.4. For full discussion, see Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 304–306.

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lead melting in the fire, and then shall be made manifest the secret and open deeds of men. (2 Clem. 16.3) But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed . . . the coming day of God, because of which the heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire? (2 Pet. 3.10, 12)

In light of Jesus’ prophecy in tradition that the Day of the Lord would come like a thief in the night,57 our author modifies the recitation of LXX Mal. 3.19 from his source. The addition of ‘as a thief’ (w(j kle/pthj) reconfigures the apostolic proclamation of the Parousia in terms of the Hebrew Bible’s prophetic proclamation of the Day of the Lord. Also, in his recitation of LXX Isa. 34.4 from the apocalyptic source, our author modifies the description of the judgement of the Day of the Lord. When we compare LXX Isa. 34.4 as used in the apocalyptic source in 2 Clem. 16.3, we discover that our author replaces ‘melt’ (th/komai) with ‘pass away’ (pare/rxomai). The latter is used in the Gospel tradition to describe the fate of the heavens and the earth at the Parousia.58 In addition, our author supplements LXX Isa. 34.4 with the descriptor ‘with a roar’ (r9oizhdo&n), which derives from the apocalyptic tradition of using words that sound like eschatological conflagration.59 God’s announcement of his coming as a warrior is often associated with thunder and roaring.60 Thus the reconfiguration of sources here is motivated by cultural intertexture from Jewish and Christian apocalyptic tradition. Verses 11–13 are exhortations that typically conclude letters in the New Testament. Here, the apocalyptic source probably provides the

57. Mt. 24.43–44 = Lk. 12.39–40; 1 Thess. 5.2; Rev. 3.3; 16.15. 58. Mt. 5.18; 24.35; Mk 13.31; Lk. 16.17; 21.33. 59. Sib. Or. 4.175; 1QH III, 32–36; Apoc. El. (C) 3.82. 60. Pss. 18.13–15 (LXX 17.14–16); 77.18 (LXX 76.19); 104.7 (LXX 103.7); Joel 4.16 (EVV 3.16); Amos 1.2.

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exhortation,61 and its apocalyptic intertexture provides the eschatological warrants for the exhortation to specific behavior. Since the heavens and earth will be destroyed by fire and replaced by a new heavens and earth, where righteousness dwells, the recipients need to be righteous in order to dwell there. The reference to Hab. 2.3 in v. 9 is continued in the verb prosdokw~ntaj (‘waiting for’) in v. 12. In Habakkuk, the action commanded in light of the eschatological delay is ‘wait for it/him’,62 but here waiting is accompanied by ‘hastening’. If more people would repent, God would not have to delay the Parousia out of grace (cf. 2 Pet. 3.9). The author exhorts the audience to wait until ‘the elements will melt with fire’ (v. 12), another recitation of LXX Isa. 34.4 (B, Lucian). Whereas in v. 10 this text was used to affirm the Parousia as part of the refutation of the opposition, here it is used as eschatological warrant for ethical behavior. The promise of a new heavens and earth in v. 13 is a cultural intertextural connection to this promise as given in Isa. 65.17 and 66.22, Jewish apocalyptic thinking, and early Christianity.63 The characteristic of the new heavens and earth as a place where righteousness dwells may be our author’s addition to the apocalyptic source based on early Christian tradition. c. Social and Cultural Texture It is also very suitable to look at this passage from the perspective of social and cultural intertexture because it was composed in the midst of the attempt of early Christians to define themselves against Judaism and

61. The verb prosdoka&w, ‘to wait for’ (vv. 12, 13, 14), is also found in the quotation about the scoffers in 1 Clem. 23.5 that is also thought to derive from the apocalyptic source. 62. LXX: u9po/meinon au0to/n; Aquila: prosde/xou au0to&n. 63. Jub. 1.29; 1 En. 45.4–5; 72.1; 91.6; Sib. Or. 5.212; 2 Bar. 32.6; 44.12; 57.2; 4 Ezra 7.75; L.A.B. 3.10; Apoc. El. (C) 3.98; Mt. 19.28; Rom. 8.21; Rev. 21.1. Anders Gerdmar (Rethinking the Judaism-Hellenism Dichotomy: A Historiographical Case Study of Second Peter and Jude [ConBNT, 36; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2001], pp. 128, 157) argues that the opening of 3.13, ‘In accordance with his promise’, indicates that the verse is a quotation of Isa. 65.17 (MT). However, that promise can just as well be part of cultural intertexture.

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the broader Mediterranean world. This is not a texture that Greco-Roman rhetoric is equipped to analyze, for it relies upon anthropological and sociological theory. The social and cultural texture of a text involves the social and cultural location of the language of the text and the world it creates. These are indicated by specific social topics, common social and cultural topics, and final cultural topics.64 Specific social topics are borrowed from Bryan Wilson and include conversionist, revolutionist, introversionist, Gnostic-manipulationist, thaumaturgical, reformist, and utopian.65 The position of this portion of 2 Peter in relation to society is revolutionist. The revolutionist stance is that the only way to deal with evil in the world is for divine powers to destroy the world and begin again. Believers can assist the divine powers in this process of destruction and replacement, but ultimately the divine powers are responsible.66 ‘The argumentation occupies itself with prophetic exegesis, in comparisons of inspired texts and in the relation between predictions and contemporary events.’67 This clearly describes the apocalyptic stance and argumentation of the author of 2 Peter. As we noted in the analysis of the inner texture and intertexture of 3.4–13, the author uses a Jewish apocalyptic source modified by Christian eschatology (vv. 4–13), introduced by references to the prophecies of the prophets of the Hebrew Bible and the prophecies of Jesus given through the apostles (vv. 1–4). The author identifies the opposition in the church as the subject of the prophecy of the Parousia and as indicative of the prophecy’s immediacy. He affirms that the Parousia and its accompanying judgement will come, and that God delays the Parousia in order to allow more people to repent. The author exhorts the recipients of the letter to modify their behavior. If they come to repentance (v. 9) and sanctify their lives (v. 11), they can hasten the Parousia and the coming of the new heaven and new earth (vv. 12–13). 64. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 71–94; Tapestry, pp. 144–91. 65. Bryan R. Wilson, Magic and the Millennium: A Sociological Study of Religious Movements of Protest among Tribal and Third-World Peoples (New York: Harper and Row, 1973), pp. 22–26. 66. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 72–73; Tapestry, pp. 147–48. 67. Robbins, Tapestry, p. 148.

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Common social and cultural topics are those topics from the social and cultural systems and institutions that a text evokes. In a Greco-Roman world, these would include honor and shame, challenge-riposte, limited good economy, kinship groups, the virtue of hospitality, the patron–client relationships, sickness and healing, purity codes, dyadic personality, conflict, city and countryside, temple and household, and meals and tablefellowship.68 In 2 Pet. 3.1–13, the only apparent topic from this list is purity codes. The exclusion of other topics may be due to the short length of this section and/or the apocalyptic perspective of the passage, which disparages social and cultural connections to this world and focuses on the future. Purity is a key feature of the new heaven and earth, so the recipients are admonished to purify themselves in order to inhabit the future (vv. 11, 13), an emphasis carried into the letter’s close (vv. 14–18). This focus on purity is what, from a revolutionist perspective, the recipients can do to hasten the replacement of this world (v. 12). Final cultural topics indicate the cultural location of the text, of its author and of its audience. They are to do with how a group presents its reasoning and argumentation to both itself and outsiders, whether its rhetoric is that of a dominant culture, subculture, counterculture or alternative culture, contraculture or oppositional culture, or liminal culture.69 Our author’s rhetoric in this section is countercultural. It is meant to help establish a better society that does not try to change or overthrow the dominant culture, but to establish its own sustainable and better culture that those in the dominant culture are free to join. The author can ask the recipients to revise their behavior to be ready for the Parousia (vv. 9, 11–13) and assumes that others may join (v. 9). He does not seek to change the dominant culture, but hopes some from it will join, and that his own group will sustain and improve itself.

68. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 75–86; Tapestry, pp. 159–66. 69. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 86–89; Tapestry, pp. 167–74.

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d. Ideological Texture Ideology is ‘an integrated system of beliefs, assumptions, and values’ that reflects ‘the needs and interests of a group or class at a particular time in history’.70 ‘A person’s ideology concerns her or his conscious or unconscious enactment of presuppositions, dispositions, and values held in common with other people.’71 Ideological texture ‘concerns the biases, opinions, preferences, and stereotypes of a particular writer and a particular reader’.72 Ideological texture is the patterns and beliefs that a text presents that are supposed to govern part or all of the social order. One important aspect of ideological texture is the social and cultural location of the implied author. One way to assess that location is to analyze the belief system of the implied author.73 In 3.1–13, the author of 2 Peter shows that he is an early Christian who is familiar with both Jewish and early Christian teaching and texts. As indicated by his pseudonymous use of the testament genre, he reveres the first generation of Christians as the bedrock of truth, especially Peter. His eschatology and the ethical stance that accompanies it remain vital. He assumes that the world is wicked and his group is faithful. God will bring judgement upon the wicked and reward to the faithful. God has a plan to execute both by burning the current heavens and earth with fire and replacing them with new ones that the faithful will share as part of their eschatological reward. This plan was revealed in part by the judgement of the flood and the promise of fire. God’s plan is tempered by the divine desire for as many people to repent as possible, and God’s plan will be consummated suddenly and without warning. Another way to assess the social and cultural location of the implied author is to analyze power relations in the text.74 In 3.1–13, the author

70. Robbins, Exploring, p. 96, quoting David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in the Age of Revolution 1770–1823 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1975), p. 14. For full discussion of ideological texture, see Robbins, Exploring, pp. 95–119; Tapestry, pp. 192–236. 71. Robbins, Exploring, p. 95. 72. Robbins, Exploring, p. 95. 73. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 111–13; Tapestry, pp. 193–99. 74. Robbins, Exploring, pp. 113–15.

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does not view himself as having any power. He has to rely on the persona of Peter. His reliance on the testament genre in an obvious way indicates that he assumes that if the teaching of Peter and the apostles is brought to the remembrance of the audience, they will be able to identify the false teachers as those prophesied to come in the last days, and to recognize their appearance as a sign of the last days. Power resides in the tradition of the community, not the author. His stepping forward with this testament may also indicate that, as far as he is concerned, the leadership of the group is not doing its job of upholding the tradition. A broader power relationship is evident in the author’s assumption that he and his community are able to hasten the Parousia by ethical behavior (vv. 9, 12). To some extent they have power to speed up the destruction of the wicked and the reward of the faithful. Another important aspect of ideological texture is the association of the implied author and text with a tradition.75 The author of 2 Peter assumes that his voice is not as authoritative as that of the apostle Peter, whose identity he employs. He chooses to mold his letter as a testament to allow him to present Peter’s teachings as if they were prophecies of the current distress in the church. Yet he does not try to hide behind that identity in order to deceive the audience, for the text indicates that he is mainly reminding the audience what Peter and the apostles said about the scoffers coming in the last days in order to emphasize that they are now present in the churches.76 He seems to assume that the earlier voice is the superior voice. Other authorities are 1 Peter, the prophets of the Hebrew Bible, and the tradition of Jesus as given through the apostles (vv. 1–2), as well as Jude and the Jewish apocalyptic source, which he uses in vv. 1–3 and vv. 4–13 respectively. As the study of the intertexture above indicates, the author also assumes that the traditions of the Jews can be modified to better support Christian expectations and theology.

75. Robbins, Exploring, p. 101; Tapestry, pp. 200–207. 76. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 134–35.

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e. Rhetorolects, Rhetology, and Rhetography Regarding rhetorolects and rhetology, the presentation of the accusation in vv. 1–4 is the prophetic rhetorolect. These verses are a general summary of the prophecy given in the past that is now fulfilled in the recipients’ churches. It is a proclamation of the appearance of scoffers in the last days, a brief description of them, and a verbalization of their scoff. Within the refutation of the denial of the Parousia in vv. 5–13, the apocalyptic rhetorolect is predominant, with the priestly and wisdom rhetorolects embedded within it. The apocalyptic rhetorolect, with its affirmation of the judgement and destruction of the world by water and also by fire (vv. 5–7, 10–12) and the creation of the new heavens and new earth (v. 13), provides the framework. Within this framework, the priestly rhetorolect supplies the proof that God does not want to act before others come to repentance (vv. 8–9), and the wisdom rhetorolect creates a picture of a new home in which the righteous and righteousness dwell (v. 13). Rather than simply using the apocalyptic rhetorolect alone and affirming that the Parousia is a reality, the author embeds other rhetorolects in his refutation to create an inner progression, from the intentions of God in creation (apocalyptic), to the redemptive plan of God (priestly), to the ultimate creation of a new household at the consummation (wisdom). The apocalyptic rhetorolect remains in the forefront, but by embedding other rhetorolects he incorporates the plan of God from creation to redemption to consummation. There is a movement from God the creator to God the patient redeemer to God the re-creator of a world suitable for the redeemed. As noted in the discussion of intertexture above, the argumentation or rhetology of this section is closely argued. It is a refutation of the claim that God has not intervened in history and that the promise of the Parousia is empty (vv. 3–4). The refutation uses proofs from enthymeme (vv. 5–7), document (v. 8), enthymeme again (v. 9), ethos (vv. 10–12), and pathos (v. 13). This rhetology is part of the complex interweaving of the rhetorolects. This rhetology is amplified and enhanced by the rhetography. The

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apocalyptic discourse comes from the mouth of Peter the prophet and provides most of the picturing of the passage and its authority (ethos). The picturing is of the judgement and destruction of the world by water and fire (vv. 5–7, 10–12) and the creation of the new heavens and new earth (v. 13). The reference to the Day of the Lord in v. 10 brings to mind the heavenly armies being sent from the heavenly kingdom to punish the rebellious citizens. An additional element in this apocalyptic picturing of the Day of the Lord is its description as a thief coming in the cover of darkness (v. 10). This image creates further anxiety over the inability to anticipate the moment of the armies’ coordinated attack. The picturing, being a traditional series of related images, adds to the force of the argument (logos), as well as underscoring its authority (ethos) and its appeal to the emotions (pathos). Much of this picturing is found in the intertextural connections shown above. Other discourses and their picturing are blended into the predominant apocalyptic picturing. Prophetic discourse provides the picture of the prophets giving God’s prophecies from the pages of their sacred texts to the recipients, and the picture of the apostles instructing the recipients with the commandment of Christ in settings of teaching and worship (vv. 1–4). Priestly discourse provides the image of God waiting patiently for repentance before acting in judgement (vv. 8–9). Wisdom discourse provides a picture of the creation of the new universe in which the righteous will dwell as their new home (v. 13).77

V. Conclusion

The inner texture of this passage provides a reasoned presentation of the accusation of the opposition and its refutation using conventional proofs. The rich oral-scribal and cultural intertexture – with its host of Hebrew Bible and traditional connections and a cosmological topography of the

77. For more on the rhetology and rhetography of 2 Peter, see the chapters by Dennis Sylva and Terrance Callan in this volume.

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creation, judgement, destruction, and recreation of the cosmos – lends authority to the argumentation. The author’s modifications of the Jewish apocalyptic source reconfigure the argumentation so that, rather than referring to the Day of the Lord, it now refers to the Parousia. His introduction of the apocalyptic scheme within a prophecy of Peter concerning the appearance of the scoffers places the apocalyptic scheme within a revolutionist social and cultural perspective. The presence of scoffers in the church indicates that God is about to destroy the world and begin again. Staying pure is the one way the recipients can hasten the destruction of the world and its re-creation. This is part of the author’s countercultural perspective as he helps the community improve and sustain itself within the dominant society. He writes as someone without power within a group that deems the earlier tradition the primary authority. The blending of the priestly and wisdom rhetorolects into the primarily apocalyptic discourse gives a movement from God the creator to God the patient redeemer to God the re-creator of a world suitable for the redeemed. The picturing, or rhetography, is primarily apocalyptic: the armies of God bring destruction upon the earth in order to create a new home for the righteous. Rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter using only Greco-Roman rhetoric analyzes the text for its conformity to rhetoric whose topography is the courtroom, political assembly, and civil ceremony. It is principally descriptive, revealing little of the function of the text. Socio-rhetorical interpretation recognizes that such rhetoric has a limited topography and does not account for the dynamic interaction of text with its social and cultural contexts. It recognizes the need to analyze early Christian discourse according to the topography of the early Christians, and to uncover the dynamic nature of its blending of rhetorolects, rhetography, and rhetology derived from these experiential domains. It is a fuller-orbed interpretation with greater potential for discovering the creativity and power of biblical texts.

3 RHETOGRAPHY AND RHETOLOGY OF APOCALYPTIC DISCOURSE IN SECOND PETER Terrance Callan

In this essay I apply the methodology known as socio-rhetorical interpretation (hereafter called SRI) to the Second Epistle of Peter. The form of SRI that I use has been developed by Vernon K. Robbins and those associated with him.

I. Description of Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation

SRI is a multi-dimensional approach to texts. The first significant stage of this approach was set out by Robbins in two books: The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology and Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation.1 At this stage, SRI involved observation and interpretation of five aspects of texts: inner texture, intertexture, social and cultural texture, ideological texture, and sacred texture. 1. Inner texture is the internal structure of a text, such things as

1. Vernon K. Robbins, The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology (London: Routledge, 1996); Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to SocioRhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996).

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2.

3.

4.

5.

opening–middle–closing, repetitions, progressions, narration, argument, and sensory-aesthetic elements. Intertexture is the relationship of the text to things outside it, the way it incorporates other texts as well as cultural, social and historical realities. The social and cultural texture of a text consists of its stance toward the culture out of which it arises, its inclusion of cultural values such as honor–shame and purity codes, and its place in its culture. Ideological texture ‘concerns particular alliances and conflicts the language in a text and the language in an interpretation evoke and nurture . . . the way the text itself and interpreters of the text position themselves in relation to other individuals and groups’.2 Sacred texture is the religious or theological content of a text.

The great value of SRI in this form is the way it unifies various approaches to the New Testament that are often pursued separately. Each of the items that Robbins calls textures of the text is often pursued on its own, and when any one of them is so pursued, there is at least some tendency to see it as an alternative to other ways of interpreting the text. However, SRI provides a framework within which each of these textures has a place in developing a complete interpretation of the text. More recently, Robbins has developed SRI in a somewhat different direction. Beginning with an essay titled ‘The Dialectical Nature of Early Christian Discourse’,3 he has proposed six basic kinds of early Christian discourse, which he calls rhetorolects. The six rhetorolects are wisdom, miracle, the prophetic, precreation, the priestly, and the apocalyptic. Each of these is a ‘distinctive configuration of themes, topics, reasonings,

2. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts, p. 4. 3. Vernon K. Robbins, ‘The Dialectical Nature of Early Christian Discourse’, Scriptura 59 (1996), pp. 353–62.

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and argumentations’4 and each blends with the others in early Christian texts. These six rhetorolects are a Christian counterpart of the classical division of rhetoric into the judicial, deliberative, and epideictic. These three kinds of rhetoric are associated respectively with the courtrooms, political assemblies, and civil ceremonies of Greek and Roman city-states. Partly because these were not the most important social situations for them, early Christians developed forms of rhetoric associated with other social situations – namely, the intersubjective bodies, households, villages, synagogues, cities, temples, kingdoms, and empire in which they lived and which they imagined. In order to understand fully a classical speech in written form, we must take into account the setting in which it was intended to be delivered. For example, we must realize that a judicial speech was delivered by an advocate in a courtroom. In the same way, we must situate the six rhetorolects in the context for which each was to be used. Robbins has proposed the following description of these contexts:

1. Wisdom discourse is spoken in the context of the universe understood as a household over which God presides as a father. Through the medium of God’s wisdom, people who are God’s children produce righteous action and speech. 2. Miracle discourse arises in a context in which God is understood as the healer, through a bodily agent, of the malfunctioning bodies of individuals and thus as restoring communities to relationships of well-being. 3. Prophetic discourse presumes the context of the universe understood as a kingdom of which God is king. Prophets are individuals to whom God’s will has been communicated and who call people to act righteously through prophetic action and speech. 4. Precreation discourse presumes the context of the universe seen as

4. Robbins, ‘Dialectical Nature’, p. 356.

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an empire of which God is the emperor with an eternal household consisting of his son and others. People can enter into relationship with the emperor through the members of his household. 5. Priestly discourse arises in the context of the universe understood as a temple city. Actions in the temple benefit God in a way that activates divine benefits for humans. 6. Apocalyptic discourse presumes the context of the universe understood as an empire of which God is the emperor at the head of an army. The divine army will destroy all the evil in the universe and create a state in which the good experience perfect well-being in the presence of God. These contexts and their elaborations form what Robbins calls the rhetography of the discourse. The argumentation of the discourse forms its rhetology. As Robbins observes, interpreters of the New Testament have given relatively little attention to its rhetography. He himself has developed the understanding of rhetography by using critical-spatiality theory and cognitive theory about conceptual blending.5 The precise meaning of rhetography is still being clarified. Some instances of the six rhetorolects are primarily pictorial – that is, rhetography; this is particularly true of narratives. However, such instances also have an argumentative or persuasive dimension – that is, rhetology. Other instances of the rhetorolects are primarily argumentative. However,

5. This description of the six rhetorolects and of rhetography and rhetology is based on two essays by Vernon K. Robbins: ‘Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation’, in Blackwell Companion to the New Testament (ed. David E. Aune; Oxford: Blackwell, forthcoming 2010), and ‘Rhetography: A New Way of Seeing the Familiar Text’, in Words Well Spoken: George Kennedy’s Rhetoric of the New Testament (ed. Duane F. Watson and Clifton C. Black; Studies in Rhetoric and Religion, 8; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008), pp. 81–106; see also the introduction to Vernon K. Robbins, The Invention of Christian Discourse (RRA, 1; 2 vols; Blandford Forum, UK: Deo Publishing, 2009–). For critical-spatiality theory, Robbins refers to David M. Gunn and Paula M. McNutt (eds), ‘Imagining’ Biblical Worlds: Studies in Spatial, Social and Historical Constructs in Honor of James W. Flanagan (JSOTSup, 359; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), among other works. For conceptual blending theory, he refers to Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities (New York: Basic Books, 2002).

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such instances also have a pictorial dimension. A still unsettled question is the relationship between the six discourses and the five textures involved in SRI.

II. Application of Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation to Second Peter

In this essay, I discuss rhetography and rhetology in the apocalyptic discourse of 2 Peter. I will restrict myself to 2 Pet. 1.16–2.10a and 3.1–13, because these are the most concentrated sections of apocalyptic discourse in the letter. Such discourse can also be found elsewhere in 2 Peter, however. For example, Duane F. Watson regards 2.10b–22 as apocalyptic discourse.6 Both passages are part of the picture evoked by the letter as a whole. In this picture, the apostle Peter, near the end of his life, writes a testamentary letter so that those he is addressing will always be able to remember his teaching (2 Pet. 1.1–15; 3.1). Peter and the addressees have many things in common, most basically their faith in Jesus. However, he and the immediate addressees are separated spatially, making a letter rather than oral communication necessary, and he is separated from the ultimate addressees – those who will use the letter to remember his teaching after his death – both spatially and temporally. This framework is primarily prophetic discourse. Peter, who identifies himself as a slave and apostle, functions as a prophet in calling those to whom he writes to righteous living because he has been called by God to do so. If Peter is seen as communicating a revelation of the divine plan regarding the history of the universe, this framework can be seen as apocalyptic discourse. Such 6. Duane F. Watson, ‘The Oral-Scribal and Cultural Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in Jude and 2 Peter’, in The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in the New Testament (ed. Duane F. Watson; SBLSymS, 14; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), pp. 187–213. The other essays in this volume discuss apocalyptic discourse in other parts of the New Testament. See also Robert L. Webb, ‘Intertexture and Rhetorical Strategy in First Peter’s Apocalyptic Discourse: A Study in Sociorhetorical Interpretation’, in Reading First Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (ed. Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin; LNTS, 364; London: T&T Clark, 2007), pp. 72–110.

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a view of Peter is not explicit, however, though it comes close to being explicit in 1.16–18. Thus it is probably best to see the basic picture evoked by the letter as prophetic discourse. Within this prophetic framework, the apocalyptic discourse of the letter evokes additional pictures, which I will analyze separately. In the first of the two passages under consideration, apocalyptic discourse sometimes functions as a further framework within which other kinds of discourse are used in support of it. In apocalyptic discourse, the universe is seen as analogous to an empire ruled by God, from which God will soon eradicate evil and establish righteousness. The evil of the universe and God’s control over it are not obvious, but are made known by means of a revelation that exposes the character of the universe and the divine plan for it. According to this plan, the history of the universe is divided into temporal segments leading inevitably to its culmination. Apocalyptic revelation focuses on the place of those who receive the revelation in the unfolding history of the universe. In Christian apocalyptic discourse, the final segment of time begins with the second coming of Christ.7 In 2 Pet. 1.16–2.10a, this picture and variations on it are directly evoked. At times, however, other kinds of discourse, implying different pictures, are used to support the overarching apocalyptic discourse. a. Second Peter 1.16–2.10a: Two Arguments that Jesus Will Come Again 1. Second Peter 1.16–18: First Argument – The Story of Jesus’ Transfiguration (A) RHETOGRAPHY

In 1.16–18, the author of 2 Peter appeals to the story of Jesus’ transfiguration to support his message about the power and coming of Jesus. He does so initially by rejecting the idea that this message derives from cleverly

7. This description of the basic picture underlying apocalyptic discourse is drawn from ch. 8 of Robbins, The Invention of Christian Discourse.

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devised myths, thereby evoking, in order to reject, the picture of someone deliberately concocting the story that Jesus would come again. The author of 2 Peter might be envisioned as the creator of the myth, or he might be envisioned as having adopted the myth from its creator, either knowing that it was a concoction, or not. The message about the power and coming of Jesus evokes the picture of Jesus as the emissary of God who will return at some future time to establish God’s reign. ‘Coming’ (parousi/a) was used as a technical term for the coming of a divinity or a person of high rank, especially a king or an emperor.8 Its use here pictures the return of Jesus as something similar to this; however, this picture is only mentioned, not described. To press home the truth of this message, the author of 2 Peter describes a somewhat different picture. He refers to the story told in Mk 9.2–8 and parallels, perhaps especially the version in Mt. 17.1–8. Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him up a high mountain. There he was transfigured, his face and clothing becoming white as light. Moses and Elijah appeared and talked to him. A bright cloud overshadowed the group, and a voice from the cloud said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.’ The author of 2 Peter does not describe this event in detail, but what he does say would have called the story to mind for those who knew it. Those unfamiliar with the story of Jesus’ transfiguration would have remarked only what the author mentions explicitly. And even those who were familiar with the story would have taken most notice of the details he specifically mentions. The author of 2 Peter does not specify all who accompanied Jesus, only that he himself was present along with some others. He does mention that they were on a mountain and calls it the holy mountain, a detail not found in the synoptic accounts of the Transfiguration. Likewise, he explicitly mentions God’s participation in the event, another detail absent from the 8. Karl H. Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, der Judasbrief (HTKNT, 13.2; Freiburg: Herder, 1961), p. 196 n. 2; Ceslas Spicq, Les Épîtres de Saint Pierre (SB, 4; Paris: Gabalda, 1966), p. 220.

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accounts in the Synoptic Gospels. The author says nothing about the witnesses’ reaction to what happened or about the presence of Moses and Elijah. More significantly, he mentions the transfiguration of Jesus only rather obliquely, by saying that he and others were eyewitnesses of Jesus’ majesty and that Jesus received honor and glory from God. This probably refers to the transformation of Jesus – that is, something that was seen – but it is expressed in such general terms that it could simply be a reference to the words spoken by the voice. The visual dimension is indicated most directly by the author’s references to glory. This glory could be visualized as a kind of radiance that passes from God, the magnificent glory, to Jesus. In Matthew’s account of the Transfiguration, Jesus’ clothing became white as light (fw~j) and a bright (fwteino/j) cloud overshadowed Jesus. The author of 2 Peter might be envisioning something like this and intend the addressees to do so too. In comparison with the synoptic accounts of the Transfiguration, however, the author of 2 Peter lets the transformation of Jesus recede into the background of the story.9 Instead, he concentrates on the words of the voice, reporting them explicitly – ‘This is my son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased’ – and emphasizing that he and others heard them. For him, this is the most important aspect of the story. To underline this, he adds other details not found in the synoptic accounts. He twice mentions that the voice was borne to Jesus, the first time saying that it was borne by the magnificent glory (v. 17), and the second time that it was borne from heaven (v. 18). He also calls God ‘the father’, which is appropriate because the words of the voice say that Jesus is the speaker’s son. This presents Jesus and God as members of a family. Insofar as this passage calls to mind the story of Jesus’ transfiguration as we know it from the Synoptic Gospels, it can be understood as an instance

9. This is also true of the account of the Transfiguration in the Apocalypse of Peter, in which Moses and Elijah appear in a glorified form, but not Jesus. After the words of the heavenly voice about Jesus, Jesus, Moses, and Elijah are all taken into heaven. This account also refers to the mountain of transfiguration as the holy mountain, and speaks of a voice from heaven, details mentioned by 2 Peter but not found in the synoptic accounts.

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of miracle discourse in which God is seen as renewing or restoring the bodies of individuals. Insofar as it focuses on the words of the voice directed to Jesus, it is probably an instance of precreation discourse in which Jesus is identified as the eternal son of the heavenly emperor. Insofar as it functions as a revelation of the second coming of Jesus, it is apocalyptic discourse. This is the aspect of the story that is most important for the author. (B) RHETOLOGY

The argumentative force of this section lies in the blending of miracle and, especially, precreation discourse with apocalyptic discourse. The apocalyptic expectation of the return of Jesus is based on Peter and others’ experience of the transfiguration of Jesus. However, it is not clear exactly how Jesus’ transfiguration shows that it is right to expect his return. There are several ways one might explicate the force of the argument. The author implies that what Peter and others experienced when Jesus was transfigured was an experience of Jesus’ power and coming.10 Although the author’s description of the Transfiguration does not explicitly speak of power, seeing Jesus’ majesty and his reception of honor and glory from God, and hearing the words of the voice, might reasonably be summarized as an experience of Jesus’ power. However, in order to be an experience of Jesus’ coming, the Transfiguration must have been an anticipation of this future event.11 Richard J. Bauckham argues that the author of 2 Peter understands the Transfiguration as Jesus’ appointment by God to the role he will exercise at his second coming, in fulfillment of Psalm 2.12 Otto

10. Henning Paulsen (Der zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief [MeyerK, 12.2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992], p. 120) simply sees the transfiguration of Jesus as a general legitimation of the author’s message. 11. Jerome H. Neyrey, ‘The Apologetic Use of the Transfiguration in 2 Peter 1:16–21’, CBQ 42 (1980), pp. 504–19 (510–14); Peter H. Davids, The Letters of 2 Peter and Jude (Pillar New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), p. 202. 12. Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word, 1983), pp. 219–20; so also Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), p. 102; Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, pp. 203–206; cf. Anton Vögtle, Der Judasbrief, der 2. Petrusbrief (EKKNT, 22; Solothurn, Düsseldorf/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener Verlag, 1994), pp. 164–65.

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Knoch argues that the author understands the Transfiguration, and especially the words of the voice, as God’s testimony to the power of Jesus and thus the reliability of Jesus’ promise to come again.13 Perhaps people have denied that Jesus will come again in glory by arguing that Jesus’ earthly life was incompatible with such an expectation. If so, the story of Jesus’ transfiguration might be an effective counterargument.14 Jesus’ temporary transformation and the words of the voice reveal a dimension of Jesus otherwise hidden. But even if the author is not responding to this specific objection, the revelation that Jesus is the eternal son of the father supports the idea that he will come again, because he has not yet acted like the son. If this is the truth about Jesus, it is reasonable to suppose that at some time he will appear in this role and enact it more convincingly than he has thus far. Attending to the rhetography of this passage shows that the story focuses on God’s declaration that Jesus is the beloved son of God with whom God is well pleased. The argumentative power of the passage lies in this. 2. Second Peter 1.19–2.10a: Second Argument – The Prophetic Word (A) APPEAL TO THIS PROPHETIC WORD (1.19–21)

i. Rhetography

The author of 2 Peter appeals next to the prophetic word in support of his message about the power and coming of Jesus. This reference to the prophetic word evokes a picture of prophecy as it functioned in Israel. In keeping with his adoption of the Israelites as his chosen people, from time to time God called certain individuals to be prophets – that is, people who spoke for him – and sent them to the rest of the people to call them back to fidelity to him (e.g. Isaiah 6; Jeremiah 1). These prophets did not act on their own, but were moved by the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit fell on the prophets and impelled them to actions they would and could not take by

13. Otto Knoch, Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief, der Judasbrief (RNT; Regensburg: Verlag Friedrich Pustet, 1990), p. 255. 14. This may also be the reason for including the story of Jesus’ transfiguration in the Synoptic Gospels.

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themselves (e.g. 1 Sam. 10.5–6, 10–13). In addition, stories about these prophets and their utterances have been written down. The addressees of 2 Peter access the prophetic word through writings rather than by means of direct contact with prophets. This evokes the picture of people studying and pondering the written records of the prophets. In v. 21, the author develops in some detail a picture of the relationship between prophecy and the Holy Spirit. He repeats two key terms, ‘human being(s)’ and ‘borne’, in the two halves of the verse and in a chiastic pattern, i.e. first in the just-stated order and then in reverse order. The verse says that prophecy is not a matter of being borne by human will, but rather of being borne by the Holy Spirit; the repetition of ‘borne’ (fe/rw in the passive voice) emphasizes the rejection of one source of prophecy and the affirmation of another. ‘Borne’ is used first in the aorist tense, then in the present tense. The former denies that prophecy ever arose from human will; the latter implies that, while they were speaking from God, prophets were being borne by the Holy Spirit. In 1.17–18, the author says that the heavenly voice was ‘borne’ to Jesus; use of the same word to speak of the origin of prophecy pictures the latter as comparable to the former. Just as the voice was borne to Jesus, so prophets are borne by the Holy Spirit when they speak from God. By mentioning ‘human being’ at the beginning and the end of v. 21, the author rounds off the sentence by ending where he began. This repetition makes clear the precise participation of human beings in prophecy. Although prophecy does not derive from the will of a human being, it does involve human beings who speak from God. The primary picture evoked by this appeal to the prophetic word is that of prophecy in Israel, especially as it is included in the Jewish Scriptures. However, prophecy was also an element of the religions of Greece and Rome.15 These words could also evoke a picture of prophecy as it functioned in those contexts. For example, one might think of the priestess of Apollo at Delphi, who was known as a prophet, or of the prophets who pro-

15. Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), pp. 183–84.

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claimed her words. Those for whom the author’s words evoked this picture would have understood the author’s main point – that is, the divine origin of prophecy. However, the references to prophecy of Scripture and, even more, to the Holy Spirit mean that prophecy at Delphi does not match the circumstances presumed in 2 Peter as closely as does prophecy in Israel, and that the latter is probably the picture intended by the author. The author of 2 Peter does not define or describe the prophetic word at all, except to mention that it is found in written form and derives from the Holy Spirit. He obviously presumes that the prophetic word is well known to those he is addressing so the picture his argument requires is summoned up by the term alone. That picture is the picture of prophecy in Israel. The author supports his appeal to the prophetic word with an explicitly pictorial simile. The addressees should attend to the prophetic word ‘like a lamp shining in a dark place until day dawns and the light-bearer rises’. These words describe a lamp alight in a dark place, perhaps a house. It is dark because it is night. During the night the lamp is necessary to see, but it will no longer be necessary when day dawns. Like such a lamp, the prophetic word makes things visible that would otherwise not be visible, and so should be used for that purpose. The author implies that the prophetic word makes visible the future power and coming of Jesus by predicting them. They are not visible at present because they still lie in the future, and probably also because the character of the present world is contrary to that of the future that will begin with them. The present is like night; the future will be like day. The power and coming of Jesus constitute the dawn of that day. ii. Rhetology

In this section, the force of the argument lies in the blending of prophetic discourse with apocalyptic discourse. The author’s second argument for the reliability of the apocalyptic expectation of Jesus’ return is the prophetic word. He summons up the picture of prophecy as it functioned in Israel to support belief in Jesus’ return. The author implies that the prophetic word predicts the return of Jesus; thus expectation of his return

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is well founded. This is an even more secure argument than that built around the Transfiguration because it predicts the power and coming of Jesus more directly. At this point the author does not cite any prophecies of Jesus’ return – he will be more specific about this in 2.4–10a – but he presumes that such prophecies exist and invokes the reliability of the institution of prophecy to support belief in the second coming of Jesus. Insofar as one recognizes that God truly has sent prophets to the people of Israel to guide them, one accepts the reliability of what they said, now written down in the Bible. It seems probable from 2 Pet. 2.4–10a that the prophetic word is partly found in Genesis. Thus, the author seems to view the entire Bible as prophetic, not just those parts that concern people explicitly called prophets.16 This is confirmed by 2 Pet. 3.1–13. Here, the author again implies that Genesis is prophetic, but also implies that prophecy is found in Psalms, the letters of Paul, Isaiah, and quite possibly other parts of the Bible. He seems to view the entire Bible as having been produced by prophetic activity. The author encourages the addressees to pay attention to the prophetic word by comparing it to a light shining in darkness. If they accept the validity of the comparison, their spontaneous recognition of the goodness and usefulness of light in darkness is transferred to the prophetic word and the future it predicts. Finally, the author speaks of the derivation of prophecy from the Holy Spirit, picturing prophets as speaking under the impetus of the Holy Spirit. Implicitly, this is an argument for the reliability of prophecy. Explicitly, it is an attempt to show that prophecy is not of the prophet’s own explanation. The author’s intention is probably to reject the idea that the words of prophets can be dismissed as deriving from themselves.17 Or it might be to reject the idea that a prophet can give his or her own interpretation

16. J. N. D. Kelly, The Epistles of Peter and of Jude (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1969), p. 321; Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 224. 17. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 229–33.

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to the prophetic word.18 In either case, he uses the nature of prophecy as an argument against a view of prophecy that minimizes its support for the author’s apocalyptic expectations. Second Peter 1.20–21 is an enthymeme in which v. 21 supports the contention that prophecy is not of one’s own interpretation (v. 20). The argument can be restated: Prophecy that derives from human will is of a prophet’s own interpretation. Prophecy of Scripture was never borne by human will, but being borne by the Holy Spirit, prophets spoke from God. Therefore, prophecy of Scripture is not of a prophet’s own interpretation.

(B) FALSE PROPHETS AND FALSE TEACHERS (2.1–3)

i. Rhetography

The author of 2 Peter elaborates the picture of prophecy in Israel that he has evoked by saying that there were false prophets among the people as well as true prophets. It was not always clear which of the people who claimed to be prophets, or were thought to be prophets, were in fact prophets. This might remind the addressees of the occasional presentation of conflicting claims to be true prophets in the Jewish Scriptures (e.g. 1 Kgs. 22.5–28; Jeremiah 28). The author goes on to predict a similar situation among those he is addressing. He says nothing about prophets among them, but says there will be false teachers, which in turn also seems to imply the existence of true teachers. Teaching does not evoke as specific a concrete situation as does prophecy. In speaking of prophecy, the author refers mainly to a past activity that is described in some detail in the Jewish Scriptures. But in speaking of false teaching, the author refers to a present, or even future, activity that is nowhere described in detail. We do not know exactly when, where, or how these other teachers taught; thus the picture evoked by the

18. According to Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 229–33), this is the view of most commentators.

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reference to false teachers is somewhat ill defined. Peter’s main point is that they and their teaching are false and that in the eschatological judgement that is coming they will be destroyed. The images evoked by these descriptions are clear. There are other references in the New Testament to teachers among the early Christians: Acts 13.1; 1 Cor. 12.28–29; Eph. 4.11; Jas 3.1. In New Testament usage, the word ‘teacher’ designates one who indicates the way of God from the Torah to a group of students.19 This includes repetition of the teaching of Jesus, proof from the Torah that Jesus is the Messiah, and deriving directions for Christian living from the Torah.20 Ephesians 4.11 suggests that teaching is the responsibility of the pastor or leader of the community. Thus the false teachers mentioned in 2 Peter may be pictured as leaders of the community whose teaching does not correctly indicate the way of God to the members of their community. Peter’s further description of the false teachers, their doctrine and their destiny evokes a kaleidoscope of pictures, each flashing briefly before the eyes of the addressees before being replaced by another. The teachers secretly introduce their teaching; they hide its true character so that it will be accepted. Its true character is that it leads to destruction, but they conceal this. Either implicitly or explicitly their teaching is a denial of the master who bought them. This pictures Jesus as someone who has bought the false teachers as slaves from their former owner and is now himself their owner. Jesus is like a householder, or perhaps the owner of an enterprise such as a farm or a mine, who has slaves working for him. Lying behind this picture of Jesus as the purchaser of the false teachers is probably another picture of Jesus as having paid the purchase price by his own death. The false teachers are characterized by licentiousness – especially sexual misconduct. Many will imitate their licentiousness, bringing the followers of Jesus into disrepute. Following Jesus is described as the

19. Karl H. Rengstorf, ‘dida&skw, ktl.’, TDNT 2.135–65 (153). 20. Rengstorf, ‘dida&skw, ktl.’, pp. 144–48.

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way of truth, pictured as a road that leads human beings to their proper destination. The false teachers are also characterized by greed – that is, excessive love for money. In this instance, greed is used in a transferred sense to refer to the false teachers’ zeal to gain control over the addressees. Because of this greed, the false teachers will use counterfeit words to buy the addressees. Speaking of the false teachers as buying the addressees pictures the teachers as shoppers who use their false teaching to acquire the addressees as possessions. The judgement of the false teachers, which was handed down long ago, and their destruction are personified. Judgement and destruction are pictured as sentient beings who might be idle or asleep, but are not. ii. Rhetology

The author develops prophetic discourse somewhat further in order to make a transition back to apocalyptic discourse. He speaks of the existence of false prophets among the people in order to predict the future arrival of false teachers among the addressees. The picture of the false teachers corresponds to that of the false prophets. The argumentative substrate of this may first of all be typological. The false prophets of the past are a type of the false teachers to come.21 Secondly, this may be seen as a partial explication of the content of the prophetic word – that is, the future appearance of false teachers and their destruction. And finally, the author implies that the teachers are false because they incorrectly dismiss the prophecies of Jesus’ second coming, not recognizing the view of prophecy he has articulated in 1.19–21. Referring to the teachers as false is an implicit argument that they do not present reliable teaching. The same view is expressed more specifically by saying that they deny the master who purchased them; they deny the second coming of Jesus.22 The false teachers may also assert that

21. Knoch, Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief, p. 259; Paulsen, Der zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief, p. 126. 22. Tord Fornberg, An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter (ConBNT, 9; Lund: Gleerup 1977), p. 36.

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eschatological judgement is idle and the destruction consequent upon it sleeps, two things that the author of 2 Peter denies. The description of the false teachers as licentious and greedy attributes general moral failings to them. Likewise, those who follow them are licentious and bring the way of truth into disrepute. All of these descriptions undermine the ethos of the false teachers and attempt to arouse the pathos of the addressees against them – that is, emotions of revulsion that will lead to their rejection. The author of 2 Peter further develops this kind of argument in 2.10b–22. Finally, the description of the false teachers as being destroyed in the future, which is repeated three times in different ways, provides a basis for rejecting them. Insofar as the addressees accept destruction as the destiny of the false teachers, they have reason not to follow them. (C) PROPHECIES OF THE LAST JUDGEMENT (2.4–10a)

i. Rhetography

The author of 2 Peter now specifies how the prophetic word predicts the power and coming of Jesus. He does so by describing three occasions when God judged evildoers and, on two of these occasions, also rescued the upright. This implies that God will do the same thing in the future. Each of these descriptions presents God as judging creation. Although the author of 2 Peter does not explicitly present them this way, the three occasions he describes are often used in apocalyptic discourse to indicate some of the periods into which history has been divided by God.23 This sequence of historical periods culminates in the end of the world. The author’s descriptions of these three occasions refer to stories told in the Jewish Scriptures. What I said above about the author’s reference to the story of Jesus’ transfiguration also applies to these references. They would have called the biblical stories to mind among those who knew them. Those unfamiliar with the stories would have remarked only those features of them that the author mentions explicitly. And even those 23. Sinful angels: 1 En. 86–88; 2 Bar. 56.10–14; Jude 6. Noah and the flood: 1 En. 89.1–8; 93.4; 2 Bar. 56.15–16; Mt. 24.37–39 = Lk. 17.26–27. Sodom and Gomorrah: Mt. 10.15 = Lk. 10.12; Lk. 17.28–30, 32; Jude 7.

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familiar with the stories would have taken most notice of the details he specifically mentions. Since the author uses the stories as instances of the prophetic word’s prediction of the power and coming of Jesus, he probably presumes at least a general awareness that they are found in the Jewish Scriptures. The author begins by describing God’s judgement of the sinful angels. This probably refers to the story in Gen. 6.1–4, in which the sons of God marry human women. This story does not say that the sons of God were angels, or that their marriage to human women was sinful, or that God punished them for it, though the second of these may be implied by Gen. 6.5. However, when 1 Enoch retells the story, it includes all three elements (see 1 En. 12.4–6), as does Jude 6, on which the author of 2 Peter depends at this point. Thus, the author evokes a picture in which angels left their proper place in heaven and consorted with human women on earth. However, he says explicitly only that the angels sinned. If the addressees do not recognize the story to which he is alluding, the picture presented is simply that of some unspecified wrongdoing on the part of the angels. In consequence of their sin, God consigned the angels to Tartarus, where they await final judgement. They are kept in chains of gloom; Tartarus is a dark place. Although the author does not present a detailed picture of the angels’ sin, he is specific about their punishment. By referring to the underworld as Tartarus, he invokes another picture, one in which Zeus consigned the Titans to Tartarus after they rebelled against him. Elements of 2 Peter’s presentation, especially the word ‘angels’, make it seem very probable that the author subordinates this picture to the one derived from the Jewish Scriptures and the tradition based on them. Perhaps because of the parallel between God’s punishment of the angels and Zeus’s punishment of the Titans, the author of 2 Peter uses the name of the latter’s place of punishment. This integration of Tartarus into the picture of divine judgement in Judaism was probably already familiar to the author and his addressees.24 The author goes on to describe God’s judgement of the world in the

24. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 249.

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time of Noah. This evokes the story told in Gen. 6.5–9.29. Because of the wickedness of the human race, God decided to destroy all the people and animals he had created. He told Noah to build an ark for himself, his wife, his three sons and their wives, and two of every kind of animal. When Noah had built the ark and all its passengers were aboard, God sent a flood on the earth that blotted out every other living thing. When the floodwaters receded, God made a covenant with Noah and his descendants. In referring to the story of Noah, the author of 2 Peter mentions few details. He says only that God brought a deluge on the world of the impious, but guarded Noah, as one of eight, from that deluge. He does not say that God guarded Noah by means of the ark, nor does he say anything about animals or a covenant. He does, however, include one detail not found in the biblical account. He describes Noah as a ‘herald of justice’, picturing him as speaking out against the wickedness of his generation. Although this detail is not part of the biblical account, it is found in other versions of the story of Noah (e.g. Josephus, Ant. 1.74). Finally, the author describes God’s destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah after sending the righteous Lot out of Sodom. This evokes the story told in Genesis 18–19. Because of Sodom and Gomorrah’s bad reputation, God decided to investigate these cities, and, if they were as wicked as their reputation suggested, to destroy them. Their reputation proved to be warranted, so God rained fire and brimstone on them and destroyed them, after first bringing Lot, his wife, and his daughters out to safety. Once again, when the author of 2 Peter refers to the picture in the biblical story (and in Jude 7, on which he depends here), he mentions few details. He says only that God condemned Sodom and Gomorrah, reducing them to ashes in a catastrophe, and rescued Lot. One of these few details – namely, the reduction of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes – is not found in the biblical account or in Jude 7; however, it is found in Philo, Migr. Abr. 139. To this, the author adds that in treating Sodom and Gomorrah this way, God made them an example of what is about to happen to the impious. Even more significantly, the author of 2 Peter emphasizes that Lot was oppressed by life among the wicked people of Sodom. He pictures Lot as

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a just man who was worn out by his life among the lawless. He elaborates this by saying that this just man tortured his just soul day after day by what he saw and heard living among them. In addition to evoking a picture of Lot as suffering from his contact with the wicked, this evokes a picture of the wicked as lawless and, specifically, licentious. The only thing suggestive of this in the biblical account, apart from general references to the people of the cities as wicked, is the story of how the men of Sodom tried to force Lot to hand his guests over to them (Gen. 19.4–11). The author of 2 Peter implies that this sort of thing happened repeatedly. The author concludes from all three descriptions that God knows how to rescue the pious and how to keep the unjust confined for the day of judgement. He further describes the unjust as especially those who go after the flesh in desire for defilement and despise dominion. This implies that the sinful angels, the generation of the flood, the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah, and the false teachers are all guilty of these things. It is clear how this applies to the angels who married human women and the inhabitants of Sodom who wanted sexual relations with Lot’s guests; it can easily be supposed to apply to the generation of the flood. In 2.3, the author mentioned the licentiousness of the false teachers. All despise dominion in at least the sense that they do not accept God as their Lord. ii. Rhetology

This section of the letter supports the denial in 2.3b that the judgement of the false teachers is idle and their destruction is asleep. Thus it continues the apocalyptic discourse of 2.1–3. The argument is an induction from a series of examples: God has punished sinners in instance ‘a’. God has punished sinners and saved the righteous in instance ‘b’. God has punished sinners and saved the righteous in instance ‘c’. Therefore, God knows how to save the righteous and punish sinners.

These instances all come from Scripture and so serve to explain exactly

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how the prophetic word supports the author’s presentation of the power and coming of Jesus. Grammatically, 2.4–10a is a conditional sentence, of which vv. 4–8 state a set of circumstances and vv. 9–10a draw a conclusion from the existence of these circumstances.25 The argumentative force of the section derives from the succession of three pictures leading to the conclusion expressed in vv. 9–10a. These pictures are presented as parallel to one another and so as establishing a pattern of divine action on which the conclusion is based. Verses 4–7 consist of three parallel conditional clauses, each one complex in itself; the last is followed by a parenthetical explanatory clause in v. 8. The parallelism of the three clauses (in vv. 4, 5, and 6–7) is emphasized by various instances of repetition and progression. The phrase ‘did not spare’ is used in v. 4 and repeated in v. 5; the adjective ‘impious’ is used in v. 5 and repeated in v. 6. These three clauses present a chronological progression of events. They also represent a progression in the character of the events. The first clause (v. 4) refers only to God’s punishment of the sinful. The second and third clauses (vv. 5 and 6–7) refer not only to this, but also to salvation of the righteous. The parenthetical clause (v. 8) that follows the third conditional clause elaborates the description of the situation from which Lot was saved. Thus there is an increasing emphasis on salvation of the righteous. There is also a noteworthy parallel between the three conditional clauses and the conclusion in vv. 9–10a; this helps establish that the conclusion truly follows from the conditional clauses. The second and third conditional clauses are the basis for the conclusion that ‘the Lord knows how to rescue the pious from trial’; the verb ‘rescue’ is used in both v. 7 and v. 9. The first conditional clause is the basis for the conclusion that the Lord also knows ‘how to keep the unjust confined for the day of judgement’, since the sinful angels are explicitly said to be ‘kept for judgement’ in v. 4. There is thus a chiastic relationship between the three conditional 25. Contra Anders Gerdmar, Rethinking the Judaism- Hellenism Dichotomy: A Historiographical Case Study of Second Peter and Jude (ConBNT, 36; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2001), p. 33.

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clauses and the conclusion; the author first draws a conclusion from the second and third clauses and then from the first clause. This brings the entire period back to its starting point. However, the author also sees the second part of the conclusion as based on the second and third conditional clauses. This is explicit in the comment that what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah was an example of what will happen to the impious. The author’s explicit reference to the licentiousness of Sodom and Gomorrah grounds the conclusion that the unjust, whom God knows how to confine for the day of judgement, are especially those who go after the flesh in desire for defilement. b. Second Peter 3.1–13: Further Argument that Jesus Will Come Again 1. Rhetography

The author of 2 Peter begins this section by referring again to the picture evoked by the letter as a whole – namely, that of Peter writing a testamentary letter near the end of his life so that people will be able to remember his teaching in the future. However, he does not repeat all of the elements mentioned earlier, and, in fact, introduces some new details. He does not again refer explicitly to the imminence of his own death or to making it possible to remember his teaching in the future, though he surely presumes the addressees will continue to have these things in mind. Rather, he refers to the letter as the second one he has written, probably thinking of 1 Peter as the first.26 The purpose of both is to arouse in the memory of the addressees a pure understanding so that they remember the words spoken beforehand by the holy prophets and the commandment given by the apostles of Jesus. His purpose is cognitive; he wants the addressees to have knowledge. The danger he wants to avert is that of forgetting or misunderstanding. At least in part, his teaching is not unique to him, but

26. So Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), pp. 288–89; Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, pp. 352–53; Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 286. Davids (2 Peter and Jude, pp. 257–59) rejects this view.

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is an endorsement of the words of the prophets and the commandment of the addressees’ apostles. He thus evokes a picture of this teaching being delivered previously to the addressees. As in 1.20, he probably presumes that the words of the prophets have come to them by means of the Jewish Scriptures. In referring to the commandment of the apostles of the addressees (‘your apostles’), he may evoke a picture in which apostles presented this commandment to the addressees either orally or by means of writings like the earlier letter of the author and the letters of Paul. It is clear from 3.15 that he regards Paul as having written to the addressees of 2 Peter. Perhaps ‘your apostles’ are, or at least include, Peter and Paul. The teaching of the prophets is presumed to be apocalyptic; it concerns what will happen in the last days and is directed especially to those who will be living at that time. The commandment of the apostles is probably the holy commandment mentioned in 2.2127 – that is, the commandment to live a holy life in expectation of Jesus’ return. Thus the author evokes the basic apocalyptic picture of the world under the rule of God, who is about to bring this world to an end and replace it with another. The author goes on to say that in the last days there will be scoffers who doubt that they are living in the last days because they doubt that there will be any last days. They doubt this because they follow their own desires. This pictures the doubters as ones who reject expectation of the end of the world because doing so allows them to indulge their appetites. This parallels the prediction that false teachers will arise (2.1), and is in fact probably another expression of it. The scoffers argue that Jesus will not come again to bring the world to an end because nothing like that has ever happened before. Since the fathers died, all things have continued as from the beginning of creation. This evokes the anti-apocalyptic picture of world history as an uninterrupted continuum. The author of 2 Peter

27. Kelly, Epistles of Peter and Jude, p. 354; Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, p. 126.

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presents the appearance of those who doubt apocalyptic expectation as an element of that expectation. In refuting their skepticism, the author invokes various pictures. In refuting their claim that nothing like the return of Jesus to end the world has ever happened before, he refers again to God’s destruction of the world in the time of Noah, again evoking the story told in Gen. 6.5–9.29. This time he makes no reference to the salvation of Noah and those with him; he speaks only of God’s destruction of the world at that time. However, in 3.5 he puts this destruction in the context of creation, evoking the story told in Gen. 1.2, 6–9. God created the world with a word, first dividing the primeval waters with the dome of the heavens and then gathering the waters below the dome into one place so that dry land appeared.28 At the time of Noah, God destroyed the world by water and word. At God’s word, the waters above and below the dome were released from their boundaries (see Gen. 7.11). The author of 2 Peter describes creation only by saying that long ago there were heavens and an earth constituted from water and through water by the word of God. Someone who does not recognize the allusion to Genesis might have difficulty understanding exactly what that means; however, the author of 2 Peter probably presumes that those he is addressing will recognize it. He describes the destruction of the world at the time of Noah as having taken place through water and the word. For those who recognize the author’s allusion to Genesis, this implies that the destruction resulted from God’s undoing of the work of creation. The author describes the destruction itself as a matter of the world’s having been deluged with water. This is the same picture presented earlier, in 2.5. Just as the world was destroyed in the time of Noah, so the present heavens and earth are being kept by the same word for fire on the day of judgement and destruction of impious human beings. This repeats the picture presented in 2.4 and 9 of sinners and the unjust as being kept for 28. See Kelly, Epistles of Peter and Jude, pp. 358–59; Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 297; Paulsen, Der zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief, pp. 160–61; Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, pp. 268–70.

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judgement (see also 2.17). Here the author makes it clear that the judgement involves the entire world and will be administered by means of fire. The statement that the world is being kept for judgement by the word of God probably means that it is predicted in the Scriptures. The author sees it as predicted by the scriptural accounts of the events he has mentioned in 2.4–8. In 2.5, he presents the reduction of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes (by fire) as a sign of what will happen to the impious. He may also see the judgement of the world by means of fire predicted by passages such as Deut. 32.22, Isa. 66.15–16, Zeph. 1.18, Mal. 3.19, and 1 Cor. 3.13–15. In addition to evoking biblical predictions of the fiery judgement of the world, the author’s picture might also remind the addressees of the Stoic idea of a world-ending conflagration followed by the reconstitution of the world,29 likewise through the word. If this is the author’s intention, however, it is most likely that he integrates this picture into the biblical one of judgement with fire. To mention only one point, the parallel with the destruction of the world by water in the time of Noah has no place in Stoic thought. The author goes on to address the perception that the return of Jesus to end the world has been delayed by saying that time is different for God than for human beings. For God, one human day is like a thousand years and a thousand human years like one day. In this way, the author calls attention to a fundamental difference between God and human beings, picturing God as outside the human world in a situation where something as basic as time is different from how it is in the human world. A short time in the human world may correspond to a long time in God’s situation, and a long time in the human world may correspond to a short time in God’s situation. The author adds that Jesus has not yet come again because God is giving people a chance to repent before he comes. This portrays God as extremely patient and benevolent toward them. Finally, the author directly describes God’s ending of this world. He says first that the Day of the Lord will come unexpectedly, like a thief.

29. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 300–301; Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, pp. 240–41.

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He evokes the picture of a thief secretly approaching the person he plans to rob and taking him by surprise. The Day of the Lord will appear in a similar way. The author has probably taken this picture from 1 Thess. 5.2,30 but it is also found in several other places.31 He gives a further description of the end in v. 10 and repeats it in v. 12. The Day of the Lord is also the Day of God. On that day the heavens will pass away with a rushing noise (v. 10) or will be dissolved by fire (v. 12). The picture evoked by the first of these may be of the destruction of the heavens by fire, which is explicit in the second: the rushing noise with which the heavens pass away may be the noise of a roaring fire.32 An eschatological fire will also dissolve or melt the elements of which the world is composed. These elements are probably earth, air, fire, and water.33 The author may picture the dissolution of the world, which consists of various combinations of these elements, as resulting from the complete conversion of earth, air, and water into fire. If so, he is adopting the Stoic description of the conflagration that will end the world. The four clauses that describe the dissolution of the heavens and earth all have the same grammatical structure and all end with the same syllable in Greek – namely, -tai. The words ‘heavens’, ‘dissolved’, ‘elements’ and ‘set on fire’ are all repeated. The first two are used in different ways, and there are other differences in vocabulary between the two descriptions. This combination of differences and similarities emphasizes the details of the Day of the Lord by repeating them in an interestingly varied way. When the world ends, the earth and the works on it will be discovered. In saying this, the author may be evoking a picture like that presented explicitly in 1 Cor. 3.12–15. In this passage, Paul says that the nature of the work a person has done in building on the foundation of Christ will be revealed by fire on the last day. Good work will survive the fire; poor work .

30. Fornberg, Early Church in a Pluralistic Society, p. 25. Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, p. 306) disagrees. 31. Mt. 24.43–44 = Lk. 12.39–40; Rev. 3.3; 16.15. 32. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 315. 33. According to Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 315–16), most commentators see the elements as the sun, moon, and stars.

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will be burned up. The author of 2 Peter uses this picture to say that the false teachers and their followers will be destroyed on the Day of the Lord, and only the upright will remain. Because this is the case, the addressees should live holy and pious lives. Thus, the author of 2 Peter does not envision the destruction of everyone at the end of the world, only of the impious. In this he diverges fundamentally from the Stoic understanding of the conflagration, even though he seems to have adopted the Stoic picture of the event. Just as Noah and his family escaped God’s ending of the world by the flood, so the upright will escape God’s ending of the world by fire. And as was the case in the time of Noah, the heavens and earth that have been destroyed will be replaced by new heavens and earth. The author has taken this picture from Isa. 65.17 and 66.22. This will be God’s third creation of heaven and earth. God destroyed the first heaven and earth in the time of Noah and then recreated them; on the Day of the Lord, God will destroy the second heaven and earth and then recreate them. Justice will dwell in this third heaven and earth. Justice is pictured as a person who lives in the new creation; this picture is adapted from Isa. 32.16. 2. Rhetology

By predicting the appearance in the last days of those who will scoff at the expectation of Jesus’ return (3.3), the author makes the false teachers he opposes an element of the apocalyptic expectation he advocates. The rise of the false teachers is itself a sign that his are the last days. This implicitly undermines their opposition to expectation of the end of the world: it need not be taken seriously because it is itself part of the chain of events by which God will bring the world to an end. Nevertheless, the author goes on to respond to the arguments of the false teachers. They propose that everything remains as it has been from the beginning. There is no precedent for the coming of Jesus and the end of the world and thus no reason to think it will happen. The author refutes this argument in

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vv. 5–6 by describing again (as in 2.5) the flood in the time of Noah. These verses form an enthymeme34 whose argument can be restated: One can only maintain that all things have remained as they are since the beginning of creation if the world has not previously been destroyed. But the world was destroyed previously by the flood. Therefore, all things have not remained as they are since the beginning of creation (and one can maintain that the world will be destroyed again).

The picture of the world’s destruction in the time of Noah powerfully contradicts the view that all things have remained the same since the beginning of creation. The author then concludes that the present heavens and earth are treasured up for destruction by fire by the same word that was operative in the creation and destruction of the first heavens and earth. As we have seen, he probably presumes this was predicted by the prophets. Insofar as he has this in mind, he again invokes the prophetic word as an argument for what he says. In vv. 8–9, the author responds to an argument that he has not explicitly attributed to the scoffers – namely, the argument that the return of Jesus has been delayed. Apparently the scoffers’ skepticism is partly based on the idea that the return of Jesus should have already occurred by their time if it was ever going to happen. Since it has not, they view the expectation as unfounded. The author responds to this in two ways. In v. 8, he makes use of Ps. 90.4 to point out that time is different for God than for humans. Although the author does not explicitly say that he is quoting the psalm, he presumably expects the addressees to recognize that he is, and in so recognizing this restatement of the teaching of what is an authoritative text, to accept that teaching. The teaching is that one human day is like a thousand years with God and a thousand human years like one day. Since time has such different meanings for human beings and for God, it is not possible to say that what seems like a long time to human beings is a long

34. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, p. 129.

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time for God. Thus, human perceptions of time cannot be the basis for saying that God has delayed some action; the divine perception of time is completely different. The author’s second response in v. 9 argues on another basis that God has not delayed keeping the promise of Jesus’ return. This argument presumes that ‘delay’ means simple procrastination. If God has a reason for sending Jesus at one time rather than another, this is not delay. The author’s picture of God as patient and benevolent makes it impossible to think he has simply neglected to fulfill the promise of Jesus’ return. This enthymeme35 can be restated: One can only say that the Lord is slow to keep his promises if there is no sufficient reason for delay in keeping them. But the Lord delays out of patience, giving all the opportunity for repentance. Therefore, the Lord is not slow to keep his promises.

In v. 10, the author offers a final response to the argument that the return of Jesus has been delayed. He says that the Day of the Lord will come like a thief – that is, unexpectedly. Since no one knows when it will come, it is impossible to say that it has been delayed. The vivid picture of the return of Jesus as analogous to a totally unexpected theft eliminates any possibility that its time could be known. The statement that the Day of the Lord will come like a thief is quoted from 1 Thess. 5.2, though without indicating this explicitly. Once again, the author may presume that the authority of 1 Thessalonians is a reason to accept this teaching. In the remainder of v. 10, the author describes the coming of the Day of the Lord and ends by saying that the earth and the works on it will be discovered at that time. From this he draws the conclusion in vv. 11–12 that the addressees need to live holy lives in eager expectation of the Day of the Lord. The slavery to corruption of the earth and some of its inhabitants

35. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, pp. 130–31.

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will be clear when they undergo corruption at the end. Likewise, the freedom from corruption of those who do not will be clear. The dissolution of the universe at the end is thus a motive for living virtuously. The same argument is made, in completely different terms, in 1 Thess. 5.3–11. In 2 Pet. 3.13, the author gives a second reason the addressees should live holy lives. The present heavens and earth will be replaced by new heavens and earth in which justice dwells. One must be just if one hopes to dwell in the new creation along with justice.

III. Contribution of Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation to a New Understanding of 2 Peter

Socio-rhetorical methodology makes several contributions to a new understanding of 2 Peter. As I mentioned in the introduction to this essay, SRI in its first stage unifies various approaches that are often pursued separately. It brings together different interpretations – historical-critical exegesis, rhetorical criticism, social scientific criticism, and others. It allows each its proper place in the interpretation of 2 Peter, calling for the application of those yet to be applied. In this way, it calls attention to aspects of the text that are often not observed systematically and to their relationship one with another. The form of SRI that I have pursued in this essay makes a similar contribution. As I mentioned in the introduction, what Robbins calls the rhetography of New Testament texts has not received much attention from interpreters. Attending to it brings to light new aspects of the texts. It is also an excellent foundation for discernment of rhetology. As I have tried to show, a more precise awareness of the images conjured up by a text allows us to understand in more detail the arguments of the text and how it makes these arguments. Previous interpreters have attended to the rhetology of texts much more than to their rhetography. But pursuit of the two in tandem yields new insights into rhetology. For example, investigating the rhetography of 2 Pet. 1.16–18 makes us aware that the author only says explicitly that God the father bestowed

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honor and glory on Jesus when a voice came from heaven identifying Jesus as his beloved son. Peter and unnamed others witnessed this when they were with Jesus on the holy mountain. Realizing that the author’s account of the transfiguration of Jesus focuses on God’s declaration that Jesus is his son helps us to understand the argumentative force of the account – its rhetology. The revelation that Jesus is the son of God supports the expectation that he will come again because it is appropriate that someone who did not clearly enact the role of the son of God at his first coming will come a second time to do so. This form of SRI focuses attention on the mental processes set in motion by reading or hearing the texts. In this respect it somewhat resembles reader-response criticism and other forms of reader-oriented interpretation. However, SRI focuses on aspects of the experience of reading neglected by other forms of reader-oriented interpretation. Like classical rhetorical analysis, reader-response criticism attends to a wide range of ways a text affects a reader. According to Robert M. Fowler, two central components of reader-response criticism are attention to the temporality of the reading experience and the consequent understanding of meaning as event.36 Reader-response criticism focuses on the way reading occurs over time. The reader experiences a text word by word, sentence by sentence, during a period of time extending from the start of reading to the finish. As Fowler presents it, this emphasis on the temporality of reading or hearing a text is an alternative to the view that the text is an object, a container of meaning. SRI presumes the temporality of the reading experience, but focuses specifically on the ways a text awakens pictures in the imagination of the reader, develops them (or does not), and moves to other pictures. SRI also focuses on the way a text persuades the reader by presenting successive arguments for its contentions. Reader-response criticism views the reader as construing the meaning of the text as he or she reads or hears it; the meaning unfolds in the

36. On this, see Robert M. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), pp. 41–58.

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process of reading or listening. Fowler paraphrases M. H. Abrams’ way of distinguishing this approach from others: Abrams says a literary theory tends to concentrate on either the literary text itself (objective theories), the world reflected in the work (mimetic theories), the author of the work (expressive theories) or the audience of the work (pragmatic theories).37

Like reader-response criticism, SRI is concerned with the impact of a text on its audience. However, it focuses specifically on the persuasive, argumentative impact of texts. This is not the primary focus of readerresponse criticism. For example, reader-response criticism makes use of speech-act theory, which views language as performative.38 Language does not so much say something as do something, like the ‘I do’ of a wedding ceremony. This focuses attention on what speech-act theorists call illocution – what a speaker intends to do by saying something – and its uptake by those who hear it. This is not at all incompatible with SRI, but SRI is concerned with a particular kind of intended effect of a text on its audience – namely, its persuasive effect (rhetology) – and particular ways of achieving that effect – namely, rhetography.

37. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand, p. 49, citing M. H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1953), p. 6. 38. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand, pp. 47–48.

4 A UNIFIED FIELD PICTURE OF SECOND PETER 1.3–15: MAKING RHETORICAL SENSE OUT OF INDIVIDUAL IMAGES Dennis D. Sylva

The thesis of this essay is that the individual images in 2 Pet. 1.3–15 are developed into a coherent larger picture of a journey in ways designed to inspire the reader to undertake the rigors of the moral life rather than sink into self-serving sensuality.1 This trek is graphically portrayed both as a movement from a world coming apart, because of a lapse into personal self-interests, to an eternal kingdom of righteousness, and as a movement from the margins to the epicenter of life. The images and the perspectives from which they are viewed color the demand, and inspire the hearer, to engage life as a moral journey. This graphic dimension of 1.3–15 is tied to what is arguably the central concept of the entire letter – knowledge. The knowledge of which 2 Peter speaks is about something, and this something is visually depicted as a journey. Knowledge in this letter primarily concerns moral and eschatological matters.2 These two components are united figuratively as a moral journey to an eschatological kingdom. The importance of knowledge and its contents in 2 Peter is suggested 1. 2 Peter 1.3–15 is an exordium that comprises a homily (vv. 3–11) and an autobiography (vv. 12–15). See Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude (New Testament Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 136. The autobiographical section in 1.12–15 takes the shape of a final testament. 2. The contents of this knowledge have been studied, but the visual data supplied by it have not been thoroughly examined.

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by how terms for it are used in the letter. Second Peter 1.2 is the only place in early Christian literature in which the traditional wishes for grace and peace in the salutation are said to be ‘in the knowledge (e0pignw&sij) of our God and Savior Jesus Christ’. The very next verse elevates this knowledge by claiming that salvation comes through it. According to 1.8, Christians are called to be fruitful and effective in it. In 2.20, the author claims that through knowledge the addressees have escaped a corrupting lifestyle. In the final verse of the letter, he exhorts the addressees, using the term gnw&sij (‘developmental knowledge’) instead of the term e0pignw&sij (translatable as ‘conversion knowledge’), which he uses in the earlier instances, to grow in the grace and knowledge of Jesus (3.18).3 This concluding verse picks up the knowledge motif from the beginning of the letter, in 1.2. Knowledge casts its tendrils throughout the letter and is arguably its main motif. Markers of knowledge in 2 Pet. 1.3–15 are the words denoting its substantive or predicative forms. These are the terms e0pignw&sij (‘knowledge’ received at one’s conversion; 1.2, 3, 8), gnw&sij (‘knowledge’ acquired after one’s conversion; 1.5, 6), and oi]da (‘to know’; 1.12, 14).4

3. For the distinction in 2 Peter between e0pignw&sij as conversion knowledge or inceptive knowledge and gnw&sij as acquired knowledge or developmental knowledge, see n. 40 below. 4. When treating knowledge in all of 2 Peter, one may distinguish between primary and secondary markers of knowledge: the former consist of words denoting its substantive or predicative forms and the latter of words that (1) denote lack of knowledge, (2) denote difficulty in understanding, (3) suggest conscious misleading, or (4) are linked to knowledge as its concomitant or necessary means of expression. In addition to the words from 2 Pet. 1.3–15 listed above, the former category includes: ginw&skw (‘to know’; 1.20), gnwri/zw (‘to know’; 1.16), e0pignw&sij (‘conversion knowledge’; 2.20), gnw&sij (‘acquired knowledge’; 3.18), e0piginw&skw (‘to know’; 2.21(x2)), ginw&skw (‘to know’; 3.3), and proginw&skw (‘to know beforehand’; 3.17). In the latter category are: a0gnoe/w (‘not to know’; 2.12), lanqa&nw (‘to escape notice’; 3.5, 8), dusno/htoj (‘difficult to understand’; 3.16), yeudodida&skaloi (‘false teachers’; 2.1), plastoi=j lo&goij (‘with false words’; 2.3), h9 o(do_j th=j a)lhqei/aj (‘the way of truth’; 2.2), eu0qei=an o9do&n (‘right way’; 2.15), th_n o(do_n th=j dikaiosu/nhj (‘the way of righteousness’; 2.21). How some of the terms in the list of secondary markers come to be included as signs that knowledge is being treated requires a little explanation. The ‘false teachers’ treat knowledge by being in contrast to it. The function of a teacher is to convey knowledge, and these teachers convey knowledge through teachings that are at odds with it. Their ‘false words’ are the

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I. The Method of Investigation

The approach taken in this study is based on the concept of rhetography found in Vernon Robbins’s socio-rhetorical-interpretive analytic and guided by conceptual-integration theory, which Robbins proposes as the means to explore this concept.5 To date, this essay and several other essays in this volume are the first to employ this perspective to study the imagery in 2 Peter. Rhetography is the rhetorical function of the larger picture(s) created by the imagery of a text, imagery which Robbins sometimes refers to as visual texture. A study of a writing’s rhetography identifies the vivid elements in it, determines the larger mental pictures to which they contribute, and explores the rhetorical effects and functions of these pictures.6 Robbins has suggested that such analysis should be undertaken by looking at the sequence of imagery and how images are juxtaposed. means by which this contrastive portrayal is achieved. ‘The way of truth’ is a valid marker of knowledge because the object of knowledge is truth, and knowledge is clearly presented in 1.5–8, 11 as propelling action and as goal-oriented. ‘The way of righteousness’ occurs in a sentence in which e0piginw&skw (‘to know’) appears twice, and is the object in one of these instances (2.21). This demonstrates that the phrase belongs to the knowledge configuration in 2 Peter. Finally, the clear use of ‘the way of truth’ and ‘the way of righteousness’ as means of speaking about knowledge indicates that the similar ‘right way’ functions in like fashion. 5. Vernon K. Robbins, The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 1. See also Vernon K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996) and Jesus the Teacher: A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992). 6. Robbins developed his thoughts at two meetings of the Rhetoric of Religious Antiquity Group (hereafter RRA), 16–17 March 2007 in Atlanta and 16–17 June 2007 in Ottawa. Robert L. Webb grounds Robbins’ insights into rhetography in the concern in classical rhetoric with e1kfrasij (‘description) and e0na&rgeia (‘vividness’). In the process, he clarifies the seminal work by Robbins and SRI in distinguishing between rhetology and rhetography and in enlightening the potential interactions between them. Webb himself has played a major role in clarifying our understanding of these concepts. Further, his work on the contributions of the progymnasmata on the types, and the roles of e1kfrasij, is particularly helpful. See Robert L. Webb, ‘The Rhetorical Function of Visual Imagery in Jude: A Socio-Rhetorical Experiment in Rhetography’, in Reading Jude with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Jude (ed. Robert L. Webb and Peter H. Davids; LNTS, 383; London: T&T Clark, 2008), pp. 109–35 (110–21). In a larger project on the exploration of the rhetography of knowledge in 2 Peter, I treat the problem of how some images that are no longer vivid in a culture may be revivified so

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It ‘requires language like one finds in cinematography’.7 This approach looks at the effect of a number of visual images cast onto the minds of people.8 Robbins has pointed to conceptual-integration theory as a means to conduct such a study of mental pictures, and has indicated some concepts from this theory that may be helpful.9 Building on Robbins’ observations, I will present some key facets of the conceptual-integration theory of Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, and then suggest how they can aid in the study of the mental pictures created by graphic elements in a writing and the study of the rhetorical effects of these pictures. My analysis of the picture and its component elements in 2 Pet.1.3–15, the rhetography of knowledge in this section, will be based on these key facets. Several essays in this volume, including this one, are the first attempts to focus on the imagery of 2 Peter. Often the image is immediately ‘translated’ into the concept that it expresses before any attempt is made to focus on the specific image it facilitates. For example, at times the literal and visual referents of terms are passed over in favor of their metaphorical extensions. Thus, Richard Bauckham and J. N. D. Kelly opt for the translation ‘come to grief’ for the verb ptai/shte in v. 9.10 Its literal meaning is ‘to fall’, yet it is uncommon to see this term interpreted in the light of the larger journey imagery in 1.3–15.11 Similarly, Kelly and others interpret e1codoj – ‘going out’, ‘death’, or the ‘Exodus’ of the

as to function graphically in a writing. As none of these dormant images is found in 2 Pet. 1.3–15, I do not treat this issue in this essay. 7. Robbins, email to RRA Group, 16 September 2007, ll. 146–47. 8. Robbins, email, 16 September 2007, ll. 169–71. 9. Robbins, email, 16 September 2007, ll. 138–46, 167–71. 10. Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word, 1983), p. 172; J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and of Jude (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1969), pp. 309, 314. 11. Erich Fuchs and Pierre Reymond (La deuxième épître de saint Pierre, L’épître de saint Jude [CNT, 13b; Paris: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1980], p. 60) also note that one should not neglect the literal meaning of ptai/shte (‘to fall’) in the interpretation of this term in v. 10. They say this because of the ‘way’ imagery in 2.2, 15, 21. I attempt in this essay to show how this type of imagery is found throughout 1.3–15 as well. Fuchs and Reymond also write that the double negative ou) mh/ (‘never’) before the term ‘fall’ in v. 10 functions to show the ‘certitude absolue’ of not falling. From the perspective articulated in this essay, this use of the double negative intimates the importance of the journey imagery in 1.3–15.

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Mosaic generation – in v. 15 simply as a reference to death. As we will see, however, while e1codoj is used in this way in this letter and elsewhere, in v. 15 the word is colored by other terminological shadings of a journey. When the visual components of images in this letter have been treated, they have been treated mainly individually rather than in terms of their corporate development. With its reliance on conceptual-integration theory, the rhetographical approach of socio-rhetorical criticism enables such a holistic approach. Conceptual-integration theory incorporates and develops one of the basic principles of interpretation: similar linguistic elements call attention to themselves and often express their meaning in relation to each other. It describes a process by which the imagination constructs pictorial or literary meaning through a conceptual-integration network. The basic idea is that repeated elements or sets of elements relate to each other in the mind of the reader/listener in new ways (‘blends’) that are not present in either of the independent sets of elements.12 Thus, a blend occurs when elements or sets of elements are linked through repetition, a process that is called matching. Conceptual-integration theory demonstrates how matching occurs and what kinds of blends result from it. Each set of repeated elements is said to exist cognitively in an input space.13 ‘Mapping’ is the process of connecting elements in different input spaces to each other. The term ‘generic space’ is used to signify those elements in different input spaces that correspond to each other and become part of the blend. These corresponding elements stand out from

12. Blends are not the only way in which elements can be put together. One can simply categorize elements or view their relation to each other in spatial or temporal ways. As examples of each, Fauconnier and Turner provide the following examples. A table and chair are furniture (categorization). A table may be next to a chair (a spatial relation). We can leave home, go to a store and buy a table and chair (a temporal relation). None of these is a conceptual blend. Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities (New York: Basic Books, 2002), p. 350. 13. Gilles Fauconnier, ‘Blending as a Central Process of Grammar’, in Conceptual Structure, Discourse, and Language (ed. Adele Goldberg; Stanford: Center for the Study of Language and Information [distributed by Cambridge University Press], 1996), pp. 113–29 (113).

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other elements in the input spaces. Finally, there is the ‘blended space’ in which the elements shared by different input spaces (making up the generic space) are blended in such a way as not simply to repeat what is found in each, but rather to create an ‘emergent structure’ that was not present before.14 In the blending, an imaginative drama is created by the bringing together of the elements to form a new structure.15 The emergent structure created in the blended space brings in the elements that the different input spaces share (‘composition’), connects them (‘completion’) and runs this connection imaginatively in a script to see how it plays out (‘elaboration’).16 Elaboration proceeds by means of different types of link (‘vital relations’) between, and shared topological properties of, the elements common to the various input spaces and compressed into conceptual blends in the blended space. Fauconnier and Turner identified 15 types of vital relation: change, identity, time, space, cause–effect, part–whole, representation, role, analogy, disanalogy, property, similarity, category, intentionality and uniqueness. Some of these are obvious. For example, a relation between common elements can involve something or someone changing from one image to another, or different times and spaces being compressed and seen in the light of each other, or of one thing being the same thing (having the same identity) even if it changes in time or in space. Alternately, some items can relate to each other in terms of a part to a whole, a cause to an effect, or a symbol that represents something else, or through being similar to each other, one having the property of another (‘A blue cup has the property blue’), or one belonging to the category of another. Alternatively again, one item can be the role played by another 14. Gilles Fauconnier, Mappings in Thought and Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner, ‘Conceptual Integration Networks’, Cognitive Science 22 (1998), pp. 133–87 (137). 15. These different types of space may be conceived of as steps in the process by which conceptual blending occurs, with the steps of the input spaces and the generic space remaining intact and not being discarded upon the creation of the blended space. 16. Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, pp. 6, 17, 41–44, 47. Interestingly, these authors cite Aristotle, Rhet. 3, as containing the first example of a discussion of the phenomenon of blending (for which, see The Way We Think, p. 36).

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(‘Lincoln was president’), or two items can be portrayed analogously or disanalogously. This leaves the two vital relations of intentionality and uniqueness. The former is an event that occurs as a result of some choice, while the latter is a characteristic of each element in a blend. Uniqueness is important because ‘many vital relations compress into Uniqueness in the blend’.17 Multiple types of vital relation can occur in a blend; thus, interpretation of a blend proceeds through analysis of these and of their relation to each other.18 It may also proceed through analysis of how the topological properties of each input space are mapped together. By ‘topological properties’, Fauconnier and Turner mean the ‘scales’, ‘force-dynamic structure’, and ‘image-scheme dimensions’ of texts. Scales are categories, such as size, speed, quantity, and degree, in terms of which elements are measured. Fauconnier and Turner give the example of a boxing match, in which scales could measure ‘how quickly the match ends’ or ‘how much money the boxers make’. Force-dynamic structure is the force exerted and the type of dynamism portrayed. Sticking with the boxing match, Fauconnier and Turner provide several examples of possible force-dynamic structure, including ‘an arm stops a jab . . . a coach restrains a boxer in his corner . . . a man falls slowly to his knees’. Finally, image-scheme dimensions, or image schemas, are the ways in which a place where something occurs is visualized, such as a ‘source-path-goal image schema’.19 This process of developing common elements in blends by means of how they relate to each other in terms of vital relations or topological properties can be applied not only to single blends but to multiple blends as well. Multiple blends are those in which a blend itself becomes an input for subsequent blending. In order to interpret such a multiblend, one has to understand what its component parts – the individual blends it comprises 17. Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, p. 101. 18. Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, pp. 92–102. These types of relation appear to be grounded in human physicality, in the types of relation in which we are able to participate. See Rolf Pfeifer and Josh C. Bongard, How The Body Shapes the Way We Think: New View of Intelligence (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006). 19. Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, pp. 104–106.

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– contribute, and which vital relations and/or topological properties explain how the blends relate to each other.20 As a blend becomes more intricate, there may be inputs from more than two input spaces, leading to a number of blended spaces. Fauconnier and Turner call these blends megablends and the space in which they occur hyperblended space. When imagery functions in a blend, it sometimes does so with other images. Occasionally, however, non-graphic language is mapped from one input space onto graphic components from another input space.21 Because conceptual blending may occur with graphic or non-graphic elements or with a combination of the two, I have focused on how it may specifically help explain the imagery in 2 Pet.1.3–15. Because some of the blends in which imagery occurs are a combination of graphic and nongraphic elements, this interpretive strategy has entailed the determination of what non-graphic aspects of the conceptual blend add to the imagery. These non-graphic elements often provide the perspective from which the graphic ones are viewed, and perspective determines how an image is perceived. Input spaces and blended spaces are defined generically as ‘small conceptual packets’.22 A blended space may be as small as a term itself. For example, ‘chunnel’ is a blend of ‘channel’ and ‘tunnel’.23 These blended spaces become larger and larger as discourse continues. A key to the level of input space on which the author is working, rather than the input the author simply inherits unconsciously, is the point at which a series of repetitions occur. Although language has blends on many levels, authors concentrate their blending on different levels. Several repetitions suggest an authorial shaping of language.24 20. Ibid., pp. 152–58, 165–66, 279, 280–83, 285, 287–89. 21. Ibid., pp. 26, 51, 63. 22. Ibid., p. 102. 23. Ibid., pp. 365–66. 24. Conceptual-integration theory helps the interpreter of imagery to determine how what is visualized develops through vital relations and topological properties that link graphic elements and link graphic and non-graphic ones. This developmental approach to imagery is compatible with Aristotle’s conception of those metaphors that have the quality of e0na&rgeia (‘vividness’) being active ones (Rhet. 3.11.2).

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As one progresses throughout a passage, a series of passages or a whole book, the imagery and larger picture develop through simple and multiple blends and produce an unwinding ‘film’ that is placed before one’s eyes in conjunction with the writing’s rhetology – that is, its persuasion by means of argumentation.25 Rhetography is how a writing persuades by means of picturing, and rhetology is how it does so by means of reasoning. Through combinations of the two, a writer works to achieve certain intellectual, psychological, and emotional effects in an audience.26 Although these combinations are themselves important, this essay begins the process of working toward the types of rhetological/rhetographical combination in 2 Peter by focusing on the neglected rhetography in 1.3–15. The potential effects of vividness on readers or auditors should not be underestimated. According to Longinus, language that produces mental visualizations arouses the emotions of those who experience it.27 Moreover, vividness achieves this end to such a degree as to subsume rhetoric into itself. Thus, Longinus writes about a proposal by Hyperides that includes both arguments and vividness: There, besides developing his factual argument the orator has visualized the event and consequently his conception far exceeds the limits of mere persuasion. In all such cases the stronger element seems naturally to catch our ears so that our attention is drawn from the reasoning to the enthralling effect of

25. Vernon K. Robbins, ‘Beginnings and Developments in Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation’ (online: http://www.religion.emory.edu/faculty/robbins/Pdfs/SRIBegDevRRA.pdf), p. 30. Quintilian portrays vivid depictions as presenting material before ‘the eyes of the mind’ (oculis mentis), for which, see Inst. 8.3.62. 26. I am indebted to my RRA colleague Roy Jeal for these different dimensions in which rhetoric has an effect. The view of rhetoric as ‘the entire range of resources that human beings share for producing effects on one another’ comes from Wayne Booth, The Rhetoric of Rhetoric: The Quest for Effective Communication (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), p. xi. The determination of the rhetography in 1.3–15 will come from a focus on the pictorially evocative elements related to knowledge in 2 Peter and not from a focus on the effects this language has on real readers. Quintilian depicts how imagery in a writing may suggest to readers a series of related images; see Inst. 8.3.64–65. This study sticks to the primary images conveyed in 2 Peter and not to secondary images to which they may lead. 27. Longinus, Subl. 15.1, 2, 9.

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What Longinus treats is the impact of well-crafted images, which is often greater than that of correspondingly wrought arguments.29

II. The Evaluation of Images in 2 Peter 1.3–15

The examination below proceeds according to the order of appearance of images and how each succeeding one contributes to the larger picture. The imagery in 1.3–11 is sparse, but it is both consistent with the imagery found in 1.12–15 and shaped by mappings onto non-graphic elements in ways that condition the larger rhetography in 2 Peter 1. The first unit of the letter that contributes to its rhetography is 1.3–4.30 It is unified by the elements of the divine power and the divine nature, in vv 3 and 4 respectively, by the references to being granted divine life in each verse,31 and by the triple use of the preposition dia& (‘through’), which progressively clarifies the means by which the divine life is conveyed to the recipients. A vivid image in this unit is that of escape from the corruption that is in the world (v. 4). Verses 3–4 make up the first input space, creating a blend whose other input space is found in vv. 5–9. The first input space contains the divine power as causing eternal life through (dia&) the promises, which

28. Ibid. 15.10–11. 29. Robbins himself appears to have moved in this direction. In lines 45–47 of his email of 16 September 2007 to the RRA group, he writes of the image as being ‘more powerful rhetorically than argumentation. In other words, a picture is not only worth a thousand words; a picture regularly dominates over a thousand arguments.’ 30. There is no rhetography in the treatment of knowledge in 1.2. What is unusual about the use of e0pignw&sij (‘conversion knowledge’) in this verse is that it refers to the knowledge of God and of Jesus, whereas other uses refer just to the knowledge of Jesus. This twofold use is explainable in that knowledge of Jesus is of he who ‘called us by his own glory and might’ (1.3), and this glory he receives from ‘the Majestic Glory’ (1.17). Thus, knowledge of Jesus is knowledge of the Father. 31. The words ‘life and godliness’ in v. 3 are a hendiadys expressing this idea.

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come through (dia&) Jesus’ glory, to which we have access through (dia&) knowledge. The eternal life is portrayed as an escape (a)pofugo/ntej) from worldly corruption and a sharing in the divine nature (vv. 3–4). The words ‘escape from the corruption that is in the world because of sensuality’ would have evoked in the philosophical environment of the first century CE an image of a move from the corruptible material world to an incorruptible one.32 This image develops into clearer journey imagery through vv. 3–15, but at this point it conveys a sense of urgent determination, for a)pofugo&ntej means ‘fleeing’ or ‘escaping’.33 The words ‘become partakers of the divine nature’ are attached in the reader’s mind to the godly life (zwh_n kai\ eu)se/beian; v. 3) that he or she has been given. This leads to a view of participation in the divine nature as sharing in the moral life – what is referred to in v. 1 as ‘the righteousness of our God and Savior Jesus Christ’. There is much discussion in antiquity of the ways in which one can participate in the divine nature.34 As Peter Davids notes, all of these involve sharing some divine characteristic.35 What is the divine characteristic that the recipients of 2 Peter are called to share, and when will they share it? Some think the characteristic is incorruptibility, and that it is to be shared in the eschatological future.36 Others see participation in the divine nature as beginning now through the moral life and as coming to fulfillment in the eschatological kingdom. Besides the argument I have provided above in support of this view, four others have been given. First, the list of virtues

32. This corruption is attributed not to the nature of matter, as in much Greek thought (so e.g. Aristotle, Cael. 1.279b; 282b), but to ‘sensuality’, suggesting that the flight is a moral one. 33. LSJ, p. 226. 34. See e.g. Plato, Phaedr. 230A; Epictetus, Diatr. 2.19.26–27; Josephus, C. Ap. 2.232; Philo, Leg. 1.38; Philo, Decal. 04; 4 Macc. 18.3. 35. Peter H. Davids, The Letters of 2 Peter and Jude (Pillar New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), p. 173. 36. See e.g. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 180–82; Steven J. Kraftchick, Jude, 2 Peter (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), pp. 93–94, 98; Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), p. 158; Karl H. Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, der Judasbrief (HTKNT, 13.2; Freiburg: Herder, 1980), p. 189.

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that follows the notice of the participation and the flight from the world (vv. 5–7) lends credence to such an interpretation of participation involving the moral life. Second, there is an apt correlation between the view of a present sharing in the divine nature through the moral life and the concern in 2 Peter to criticize the sensuality of the false teachers. Third, the last part of v. 4b is about fleeing from the corruption that is in the world ‘because of sensuality’, suggesting that the flight is a moral one.37 Fourth, on the basis of an analysis of vv. 1–11 and of a similar constellation of ideas in Josephus, Philo, Plutarch, and Paul, James Starr has argued for a reference in the phrase ‘sharers in the divine nature’ to both a present and a future participation.38 John H. Elliott speaks of the escape as a ‘constant reality’.39 The recipients, I am in the process of arguing, are on an exodus, one which takes them through the steps of virtue into greater and greater degrees of participation in the divine nature and closer and closer to the ‘eternal kingdom’ (v. 11). At this point, the moral end of the journey is much clearer than the eschatological one, which is only treated here as an escape from the world of corruption. The second input space comprises vv. 5–9. It contains the elements of (1) living virtuously (vv. 5–7) as a means of activating the knowledge about God (‘neither idle nor unfruitful’; v. 8), and of (2) gratitude as empowering virtue (vv. 8–9). Two terms for knowledge are used in this unit: gnw&sij (vv. 5, 6) and e0pignw&sij (v. 8). The latter appears to refer to the knowledge of God that the addressees have from their conversion, whereas the former is used more for the knowledge that they are

37. So Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, p. 174–76, and Hubert Frankemölle, 1. Petrusbrief, 2. Petrusbrief, Judasbrief (Würzburg: Echter, 1987), p. 92. 38. James M. Starr, Sharers in Divine Nature: 2 Peter 1:4 in Its Hellenistic Context (ConBNT, 33; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2000), pp. 39–46, 92, 117–18, 234. This interpretation of the participation in the divine nature is also shared by, among others, Fuchs and Reymond, La deuxième épître de saint Pierre, L’épître de saint Jude, pp. 52–53, and Michael Green, The Second Epistle General of Peter and the General Epistle of Jude (TNTC, 18; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), pp. 72–75. 39. John H. Elliott, ‘1–2 Peter, Jude’, in James, 1–2 Peter, Jude (ed. R. A. Martin and John H. Elliott; ACNT; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1982), pp. 53–191 (138).

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expected to acquire.40 The generic space of the input spaces of vv. 3–4 and 5–9 contains virtue (1.3, 5–7), knowledge (1.3, 8), and movement

40. See Robert E. Picirelli, ‘The Meaning of “Epignosis”’, EQ 47 (1975), pp. 85–93 (91–93); Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 169–70; Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), pp. 92–93 n. 57. Another view is that e0pignw&sij refers to the honor that is to be accorded to the divine patron for blessings, for which see Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, pp. 145–46. Starr (Sharers in Divine Nature, pp. 37–38) has shown, however, that this perspective is not stressed in 2 Peter. Al Wolters (‘Partners of the Deity: A Covenantal Reading of 2 Peter 1:4’, CTJ 25 [1990], pp. 28–44) claims that the phrase refers to participation in heavenly worship. This idea also is not stressed in 2 Peter. J. Daryl Charles (‘The Language of Providence in 2 Peter: Some Considerations for the “Open Theism” Debate’, Presb 29 [2003], pp. 85–93 [87]) translates gnw&sij as ‘knowledge’ and e0pignw&sij as ‘full knowledge’. This interpretation of e0pignw&sij seems unlikely since it would mean only those Christians who had full knowledge would have access to Christ’s gift of the power that leads to a godly life, because in 1.3 this power and life are presented as coming through e0pignw&sij. The distinction between e0pignw&sij as ‘inceptive knowledge’ and gnw&sij as ‘developmental knowledge’ is suggested by the uses of these terms. Thus, in v. 3, the perfect passive participle is in the genitive absolute. The relation of a circumstantial participle to the other elements of a sentence is to be determined by the context (cf. BDF, §417). The claim in this verse that the knowledge comes through the call of Jesus places this knowledge as something the recipients have already received. The wish that grace and peace be multiplied for the addressees ‘in the knowledge (e0pignw&sij) of God and Jesus our Lord’ (v. 2) also presupposes that they already possess this knowledge. Similarly, the use of e0pignw&sij in 2.20 in relation to escaping ‘the defilements of the world’ also appears to refer to a knowledge already acquired, as shown by the alternative this verse presents of ‘again’ (pa&lin) becoming overpowered by these defilements. The verb e0piginw&skw (‘to know’), used twice in 2.21, clearly presents knowledge as having come in the past with the possibility of ‘turning back’ (u(postre/yai) from it. These factors suggest that the one remaining instance of e0pignw&sij in 2 Peter (1.8) also refers to the knowledge the recipients received at their conversion. This conclusion is supported by (1) following the reference to e0pignw&sij in 1.8 by speaking about any who have forgotten these things, and (2) the clear distinction between e0pignw&sij in 1.8 and gnw&sij in 1.5–6. In 1.5–6, gnw&sij is one of the virtues that the recipients are exhorted to produce (e0pixorhge/w). In 1.8, however, e0pignw&sij is used in distinction to these virtues by means of the construction ‘if these things are yours and abound’ (‘these things’ referring to the virtues, including gnw&sij), then your e0pignw&sij will not be unfruitful. The two uses of the verb ginw&skw (‘to know’) correspond to the data from the uses of gnw&sij to indicate that such terms express a development of knowledge. Thus, both 1.20 and 3.3 begin with the words tou~to prw~ton ginw&skontej (‘first, you must understand this’). The topic treated in 3.3–7 (the teaching of the false teachers) is clearly one that has arisen in the church subsequent to the knowledge the addressees have received upon their conversion. This means that the knowledge that they are called to have in this verse must be one subsequent to the initial e0pignw&sij. The similar wording at the beginning of 1.20 suggests that the same may be the case in the use of ginw&skw in this verse. This view is supported by the fact that prophets

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(1.4b, 8). The movement is conveyed in v. 8 by the use of a)rgou/j (‘idle’) and pleona/zonta (‘abounding’). The goal of the virtues is to keep the addressees from being ‘idle’, to keep them active. When the common elements are mapped into a blended space, they create the relations of knowledge powered by virtue, which in turn is energized by gratitude. These processes lead to the effective escape from corruption and into a participation in the divine nature.41 The image schema is of a journey. The eschatological goal of the journey is still unclear but the means to its moral and eschatological ends are clarified as the energetic practice of the virtues. The force-dynamic structure initially involves virtue as powering knowledge. Because knowledge is the means through which the divine power (qei/aj duna/mewj) provides for a godly life (v. 3), however, the blend portrays knowledge as both activated by virtue and as the means to virtue. The result from the perspective of the force-dynamic structure is that both the knowledge provided by 2 Peter and virtue perpetually regenerate each other as the means through which God propels the recipients forward on their journey. The pressing resolve conveyed by the fleeing imagery of v. 4b has now received its initial support. Gratitude based on remembrance is the emotional component portrayed in this blend that empowers virtue. This perspective occurs in v. 9. Let us approach this portrayal by analyzing the two key characteristics of

whom they are called to understand in 1.20–21 are contrasted with false prophets, who are likened to the false teachers (yeudodid&a&skaloi) being experienced by the recipients at the time of the writing of 2 Peter (2.1). 41. These relevant vital relations are of the cause–effect, space, intentionality, and part– whole types. For the connection of vv. 3–4 primarily to vv. 5–7, rather than viewing vv. 3–4 as a continuation of the opening of the letter or as separate unit, see Terrance Callan, ‘The Syntax of 2 Peter 1:1–7’, CBQ 67 (2005), pp. 632–40 (see p. 632 nn. 1 and 3 for lists of those who hold one or other of these two views). Callan considers vv. 3–4 to be the protasis and vv. 5–7 the apodosis in a conditional sentence. He finds five other examples in which the genitive absolute (found in v. 3) is used in the protasis of a conditional sentence but no other examples of such a grammatical connection following, and connecting primarily to, the salutation of a letter. Moreover, although the phrase kai\ au)to_ tou~to de/ (‘for this very reason’) at the beginning of v. 5b is not found elsewhere in Greek literature, Callan notes that de/ and kai\ . . . de/ can function to introduce an apodosis, and that au)to_ tou~to and kai\ au)to_ de/ may mean ‘for this reason’ and ‘for this reason also’ respectively.

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the person in this verse who has forgotten ‘that he was cleansed from his past sins’. The use of ‘blind’ (tuflo&j) in conjunction with ‘being shortsighted’ (muwpa&zwn) has occasioned much speculation. The question is how the two relate to each other since one denotes no sight and the other short-sightedness. Some have dealt with the relation by noting that the etymology of muwpa&zwn is ‘to close the eyes’, suggesting that the term refers to ‘willful blindness’.42 Bauckham has responded to this view, however, by saying that this closing of one’s eyes is squinting – that is, an attempt to see better, not to prevent sight.43 I would suggest that no comma be placed after ‘these things’ (tau~ta) in this verse, as it is in major editions of the Greek text. Rather, a comma should be placed after ‘blind’ to separate the clause ‘For whoever lacks these things is blind’ from the words ‘being short-sighted, forgetting that he was cleansed from his past sins’. Let me first provide reasons for this proposal and then suggest what this segmentation of the verse adds to the perspective from which the moral-eschatological journey is visualized. First, the comma in the editions after ‘these things’ breaks up the phrase, separating ‘For whoever lacks these things’ from the words ‘is blind’, so should be deleted. The second comma in the editions separates the words ‘is blind and shortsighted’ from the words ‘forgetting that he was cleansed from his past sins’. The first hint that this may be incorrect segmentation is that ‘blind’ is an adjective, but muwpa&zwn (‘being short-sighted’) is a participle. This lessens the link between the two terms, which would have been stronger had they both been predicate adjectives. The second

42. See e.g. Ceslas Spicq, Les Épîtres de Saint Pierre (SB, 4; Paris: Gabalda, 1966), p. 215; Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, p. 308; Green The Second Epistle General of Peter and the General Epistle of Jude, p. 82. Spicq’s further observation that these two terms in v. 9 are consonant with the author’s penchant for decrescendos does not seem to hold. He only cites two examples of decrescendos in 2 Peter, and one does not seem to be such. In 1.8, being idle is the cause of unfruitfulness, rather than the latter term indicating a decrease in intensity from the former one. 43. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 189. Some nineteenth-century commentators thought that ‘short-sightedness’ referred to seeing the things of earth more clearly than those of heaven. For a list of these commentators, see Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), p. 260.

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indicator of incorrect segmentation is that muwpa&zwn (‘being shortsighted’) is followed by a participial phrase, lh/qhn labw_n (‘forgetting’). This suggests that muwpa&zwn (‘being short-sighted’) may be linked primarily to this other participle. It appears that the use of ‘blind’ and ‘being short-sighted’ together may best be explained in the following manner. Whoever does not have the virtues written about in vv. 5–7 is blind. At the root of this blindness is the temporal short-sightedness of forgetting how God cleansed his or her past sins. Temporal myopia leads to present moral blindness, which ultimately results in ‘falling’ (ptai/shte; v. 10) on the journey. In other words, both knowledge and gratitude for forgiveness of past sins are the root empowerments for living zealously the virtues that take one on the moral journey (vv. 5–7), and the virtues (when activated) re-power the knowledge. An overarching view of what the blend of vv. 3–4 with vv. 5–9 conveys is that the lives of the recipients are lived through various mediums that put them in touch with the transformative divine power in life. The divine power that brings about a godly life comes ‘through’ (dia&) the knowledge of the one who called us by means of his own glory and might by means of which (di 0 w{n) he has given us his precious and great promises so that ‘through’ (dia&) them we might become sharers in the divine nature, ‘fleeing the corruption in the world because of sensuality’ (vv. 3–5). Correspondingly, this power becomes activated by the recipients living through mediums of various virtues (vv. 5–8) that are themselves activated both through the affective state of gratitude, which is itself based on remembrance (v. 9), and through the conversion knowledge to which 2 Peter refers with the term e0pignw&sij (vv. 3, 8).44 The clause ‘fleeing the corruption in the world because of sensuality’ is the final one in vv. 3–4. It marks the transition to vv. 5–9, where the effort to live virtuously through gratitude and remembrance is the subject. The

44. Since the addressees are on an equal standing with Peter in regard to faith (1.2), and since Peter’s faith has led to his being already at the end of his exodus (1.13–15), what they need to do is energize their faith with virtue, gratitude, and knowledge so they can follow on Peter’s path.

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fleeing in v. 4 signals the movement from divine gifts (vv. 3–4) to human effort (vv. 5–9). The effect of placing the word pa&nta (‘all things’) near the beginning of v. 3, however, is to emphasize that it is not simply a matter of one set of divine mediums matching a human set that enables the godly life. Virtues and remembrance-based gratitude are simply the mediums by which people provide access in themselves to the divine power of Jesus, which supplies ‘all things’ (pa&nta) that are necessary for this life.45 The third input space in this section is in vv. 10–11, and it maps onto the second input space formed by vv. 5–9. The generic space created by the second and third input spaces comprises the elements of movement, the virtues and zealousness. The movement in vv. 10–11 is found twice in the words ‘you will never fall (ptai/shte) so there will be richly provided for you an entrance (ei!sodoj) into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’ (vv. 10–11). As we have seen, the movement in vv. 5–9 is one of an escape from corruption by means of an escape from vice (v. 4). Verse 11 treats the conclusion of the journey, portraying it as an arrival in the kingdom of Christ. The virtues of vv. 5–7 are referred to by the word tau~ta (‘these things’) in v. 10, which links to the same word used in vv. 8–9 to refer to these virtues. Finally, the component of zealousness appears in the words ‘Therefore, brothers, make all the more effort . . .’ (dio_ ma~llon, a)delfoi/, spouda&sate; v. 10). The second input unit also begins with the zealous element: ‘For this very reason make every effort . . .’ (spoudh\n pa~san; v. 5). The blend created by these common elements from the second and third input spaces is one of cause–effect, spatial and intentionality links that build on the links produced in the blend of the first and second input spaces. There we saw that gratitude and virtue-propelled knowledge (conversion knowledge itself being the means to virtue) cause people to be partakers in the divine nature by sharing in the moral life, thereby fleeing the world of corruption. The blend that comes from the second and

45. Another way of showing that the divine power is the determinative agency is by the cleansing of past sins written about in v. 10 alluding to God’s forgiveness.

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third input spaces adds that what provides the igniting spark to virtue is zealousness ‘to confirm your call and election’ (v. 10). Thus, zealousness is written about both in vv. 4–5 and in vv. 10–11. In the first case, the exhortation to ‘make every effort’ comes after the notice of the opportunity to become ‘sharers of the divine nature [qei/aj koinwnoi\ fu/sewj], fleeing the corruption in the world because of sensuality’. In the second case, the exhortation to zeal is followed by the claim that ‘in such a way’ (ou3twj) the recipients will ‘confirm their call and election’. This last phrase is best explained by the words, in v. 11, ‘an entrance into the eternal kingdom of Jesus Christ will be provided [e0pixorhghqh/setai]’ for them, for e0pixorhghqh/setai suggests ‘their call and election’.46 Thus, the mapping effects a double motivation for striving to live virtuously: present sharing in the divine nature through the moral life, and future sharing in immortality and incorruptibility as the goal of an exodus from a world of corruption. The force-dynamic structure is being developed from the prior blend by increasing the force applied to virtue with the addition of even more zealousness (dio_ ma~llon, ‘all the more’; v. 10). The image schema of a journey is also developed with the addition of the goal of the journey as ‘the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’. Change, time and space links are operative here. The result of the mapping of the movement elements in vv. 5–8 with vv. 9–11 is the perspective that movement is from, in and toward: from the world of corruption, in the moral life and toward the ‘eternal kingdom’. The movement itself is presented as a journey, the origins and destination of which are contrasted. The words ‘eternal kingdom’ in v. 11 are not found elsewhere in the New Testament; rather, the words ‘eternal life’ are frequently used to express the same idea. However, the ‘eternal kingdom’ provides a better contrast to the ‘world of corruption’ that the addressees are called upon to

46. The promises in v. 4 are not tied visually to the image of entrance into the kingdom (1.11) to which knowledge leads, but they contribute to the motivational aspect of this blend conveyed by the exhortations to zealousness. The author says that ‘through them’ (dia_ tou/twn) the recipients will ‘escape from the corruption in the world’ and share in the divine nature.

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flee (v. 4) than does ‘eternal life’. While ‘eternal’ and ‘corruption’ contrast with each other, ‘kingdom’ and ‘world’ link with each other, both referring to realms. As Earl J. Richard notes, there are three ways in which the world is referred to in 2 Peter: (1) as the antediluvian world (2.5; 3.6); (2) as the present world, in which there is corruption (1.4; 2.20); and (3) as the ‘eternal kingdom’ comprising ‘new heavens and a new earth’ (1.11; 3.13).47 This third category is where kingdom and world overlap.48 The kingdom in 2 Peter is not a reality that has come to people, but rather one that lies in the future.49 This is consistent with the journey imagery in 1.3–15. The recipients are on a journey to this kingdom; it is the recipients who draw near to the kingdom, not the kingdom that draws near to the recipients.50 As they journey, they move from outside the realm of effective power (the kingdom of Jesus Christ) to inside this realm. It is concurrently a journey that transforms them into fit participants in this kingly realm. To undertake such a trek is to take part in the process of moral transformation that prepares one for the kingdom that is later depicted as ‘new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells’ (3.13). Let us now look at the spaces made by 1.12–15.51 The visual texture in these verses is of Peter’s journey, depicted twice in terms of putting off his ‘tent’ (skhnw&ma) and once in terms of his ‘exodus’ (e!codoj). The body is referred to as a tent in a number of writings.52 Although tent imagery was commonly applied to the body, and is used primarily in this way here, it is the occurrence of ‘tent’ twice in conjunction with the ‘exodus’

47. Earl J. Richard, Reading 1 Peter, Jude, and 2 Peter: A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000), p. 328. 48. The concern for rhetography in these verses shows that it is not simply standing fast in the moral life that is advocated in 1.9–11, as stressed by Starr, Sharers in Divine Nature, pp. 62–63. A journey in which the moral life is the mode of travel is envisioned. 49. Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, p. 310. 50. Contra Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, p. 182), the aorist participle used for the term ‘fleeing’ need not signify time in the past relative to Christians sharing in the divine nature. The aorist participle is not always used to express time in the relative past. See BDF, §339. 51. This is a discrete section tied together by the ‘remember’ terminology (u(pomimnh/skein and mnh/mhn) in vv. 12 and 15, used to express what Peter wishes both to do and to be the effect of his message. 52. See e.g. Wis. 9.15; 2 Cor 5.1, 4.

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of Peter and the ‘entrance’ (ei1sodoj; 1.11) of the recipients that suggests the imagery of the journey (1.11, 15). Bauckham writes that the tent and clothing images are ‘pale’.53 In and of themselves, they are indeed so. It is their connection with other journey imagery in 1.3–15 that brightens both them and the death-as-departure (‘exodus’) imagery in 1.15. The image is of Peter on the final stage of his journey. The other elements in these verses are dormant images, principally of Peter perpetually reminding the recipients of the knowledge they have been given. The first input space is in vv. 12–13 and the second is in vv. 14–15. The generic space created in these verses is one in which a journey (vv. 13, 14a, 15) and knowledge (vv. 12, 14b) are the common elements. The knowledge components in each input space in vv. 12–15 are found in Peter’s ‘reminding’ (u(pomimnh/skein) the recipients or ‘providing them with a ‘remembrance’ (u(pomnh/sei, mnh/mhn) – although they already ‘know’ (ei0do/taj) the ideas he is expressing (vv. 12, 13, 15) – and in Peter’s ‘knowing’ (ei0dw_j) about his imminent death because Jesus has ‘disclosed’ (e0dh/lwsen) this fact to him (v.14).54 The journey components are in Peter’s intention to provide such knowledge as long as he is in his ‘tent’ (skhnw&ma; v. 13), and in his having to depart from this tent soon and go on his ‘exodus’ (vv. 14–15). The vital links of intentionality and change are prominent in this blend. The blend that results from the cross-space mapping of these two components is that the knowledge has a particularly urgent quality as it is being conveyed insistently in the face of the removal of the one who is transmitting it, and even after his removal. Peter is both a recipient and a transmitter of pressing information. This blend combines as an input space with the input space of the previous blend of 1.5–9 and 1.10–11 to develop a multiblend. The common elements from the 1.5–11 blended space and the 1.12–15 blended space are knowledge and a journey. Peter’s intention to always remind the recipients of the knowledge that he has been conveying to them in 1.5–11 maps onto 53. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 199. 54. The reference to the knowledge of the addressees is a rhetorical device, for which see Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, p. 100.

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this knowledge (vv. 5–6, 8, 12–13, 15). Peter’s e1codoj (‘exodus’; v. 15) maps onto the recipients’ ei1sodoj (‘entrance’; v. 11). The blend is characterized by the vital relations of role, analogy, and intentionality. Peter is approaching the goal of entering into ‘the eternal kingdom’ of Jesus (v. 11). Thus, Peter functions as leader of the recipients, who are on the same journey, marking the trail for them and sending word back that the trail is the right one. His situation is analogous to theirs. Rhetographically, Peter can speak effectively to those whose goal is the ‘entrance into the eternal kingdom’ because he himself is at that point, referred to by his own ‘exodus’.55 Finally, he ‘intends’ (mellh/sw; v.12) to make sure that the recipients ‘always’ (a)ei/; v. 12) hear his words, both before and after his death (vv. 12, 15). The rhetorical effect of this multiple blend is to highlight the importance of the knowledge that the recipients have received, as written about in vv. 3–11. At the end of his own personal journey, Peter is envisioned as focusing not on the goal ahead, but rather on the goal of looking back, both before and after the completion of this journey, to insure that this knowledge is transmitted. The 1.5–11 and 1.12–15 multiblend also accomplishes an unfolding of the scales, force-dynamic structure, and image schema topological properties that we have seen in previous blends. The speed at which the journey happens is quickened as Peter is already at its end. Peter’s words are a force added to zealousness based on present and future prospects, a further impetus for the journey. Finally, the image schema of the journey is enriched as Peter is seen at its penultimate stage. Let us explore further the increase in the force-dynamic structure that empowers the journey in this multiblend by examining the future-tense verbs found in vv. 12 and 15 in the context of their interpretation. There are three ways of interpreting ‘I will intend’ (mellh/sw) and ‘I will make every effort’ (spouda&sw), in v. 12 and v. 15 respectively: as referring to Peter’s

55. The presence of the term ‘exodus’ in 1.15 may suggest that 2 Peter is familiar with the Lukan account of the Transfiguration (Lk. 9.31). See Bigg, St. Peter and St. Jude, pp. 231–32; Elliott, ‘1–2 Peter, Jude’, p. 141. The Lukan account may have spurred this imagery, but the mappings show that ‘exodus’ is used to distinctively 2 Petrine rhetographical ends.

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action in the rest of the letter, to the letter’s function as a reminder to the recipients in perpetuity of Peter’s message, or to future Petrine works.56 The last option can be fairly easily dismissed, for there is no evidence of the pseudonymous author of 2 Peter having any connection to the Gospel of Mark or to such writings as the Gospel of Peter, the Acts of Peter, or the Apocalypse of Peter.57 Moreover, the author envisions the time before his death as very limited, precluding the idea of his composition of a second work (v. 14). The second option has difficulty accounting for ‘I will make every effort’, which seems to indicate an action by the author in the future rather than the effects of the author’s action in the future.58

56. Those who opt for the view that either or both future-tense verbs signal the future reception of the letter by the addresses and what follows after that point in time include Fuchs and Reymond, La deuxième épître de saint Pierre, p. 65; R. Leconte, Les Épîtres catholiques de Saint Jacques, Saint Jude, et Saint Pierre (La Sainte Bible; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2nd edn, 1996), p. 140; Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, p. 197; Henning Paulsen, Der zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief (MeyerK, 12.2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), p. 114; and, with a caveat, Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 195, 201. Bauckham (p. 195) notes how unusual the future-tense verbs are here because the convention was to use aorist verbs when speaking about the composition of the letter. Fuchs and Reymond (p. 63) see the use of the future tense ‘I will intend’ in v. 12 as an attempt to attract attention to an important point. This cannot, however, be the whole explanation because in v. 13 the same point is made with a verb in the present tense (‘I consider’, h9gou~mai). 57. This is also the case even if one holds the apostle to be the author of 2 Peter. Kelly (Epistles of Peter and Jude, pp. 314–15) argues against any reference to the Gospel of Mark, which was later thought by some to be Mark’s writing based on Peter’s thought (see Irenaeus, Haer. 3.1.1; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.15; 3.39), because the language of v. 15 leads us to see Peter, not a disciple, as the one who is doing the writing. 58. Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 195, 201) would see mellh/sw (‘I will intend’) in v. 12 as referring to the function the letter has for the recipients. They will always be reminded of this letter. He rejects the meaning that it refers to Peter’s action in the rest of the letter because, he says, the rest of the letter does not remind one of 1.3–11, the referent of the words ‘concerning these things’ (peri\ tou/twn) in v. 12. But his view that the words ‘I am going to be always reminding you of these things’ refers to the function of the letter for the recipients runs into the same problem if one takes the words ‘concerning these things’ as referring to 1.3–11, as Bauckham does. Bauckham admits that it is more difficult to view the future-tense verb spouda&sw (‘I will strive hard’) in v. 15 in terms of its function for readers because of not knowing how diligence could continue postmortem. So he suggests that the term ‘loosely’ refers to the function of the letter for the recipients, or that it refers to the author’s attempts to preserve the letter. The problem with the first view is as Bauckham himself has noted, as stated above. The second view is possible. The similarity between vv. 12 and 15, however, argue that the future-tense verbs and the temporal indicators of ‘forever’ in each verse refer

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The first option appears to be the best, given the following considerations. First, the verbs need to be interpreted in conjunction with each other. The use, soon after each, of the same type of temporal indicator (an ‘always’ term) in relation to the remembrance of the addressees indicates that they function in the same way.59 This linkage of the two verses suggests that the relation between them consists of intent (v. 12) and the effort to actualize this intent (v. 15), because, as noted above, the use of spouda&sw in v. 15 is most easily interpreted as implying actual effort on the part of the author. This effort itself is part of a larger trajectory in 1.3–15 made up of spoud- (‘try hard’) terms, the purpose of which is to encourage the moral effort of the addressees. In v. 5, the addressees are encouraged to make ‘every effort’ (spoudh/n) to live virtuous lives. In v. 10, they are encouraged ‘all the more’ (ma~llon) to make ‘every effort’ (spouda&sate). In vv. 12–15, the author encourages them still more by his own example. The two future-tense verbs in vv. 12 and 15 show Peter’s example of continuing to make ‘every effort’ (spouda&sw; v. 15) to remind the addressees of what they need to know even though he is nearing the end of his journey. He does not pause to put his own affairs in order, but continues striving to help the addressees – to ‘arouse’ (diegei/rein; v. 13) them ‘as long as’ (e0f’ o#son; v. 13) he has a body to do so.60 How he does this is by laboring to compose the rest of 2 Peter. The words ‘concerning these things’ in v. 12 refer to 1.3–11. The remainder of

to the same type of activity, which would not be the case if Bauckham’s view of v. 12 and of v. 15 were accepted. 59. Another link of vv. 12 to 15 is the term dio& (‘therefore’) at the beginning of v. 12, immediately preceding mellh/sw (‘I will intend’). As Fuchs and Reymond (La deuxième épître de saint Pierre, p. 62) note, the only other two appearances of dio/ in 2 Peter are in conjunction with spouda&sw (‘I will strive hard’) verbs in 1.10 and 3.14. As we have seen, the other spouda&sw term in 2 Peter (1.15) links, by the unexpected tense of this verb, to mellh/sw in v. 12. 60. That 1.12–15 presents 2 Peter as Peter’s testament strengthens the power of these words for the reader because of the poignant and significant type of speech that can be expected in this situation. The dying words of a great person were considered to be divinely moved. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, p. 91.

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the letter, though not containing precisely what is treated in 1.3–11, functions as a reminder of that section by providing the large-scale rationale for it as well as the larger perspective on circumstances of the community that necessitate its content. The remaining verses in 2 Peter (1:16–3.18) are those in which the author’s continued resolve and exertion are expressed. In fact, this is what we should expect, because 1.12–15 is in the language of a farewell discourse. Characteristic of such discourses is the appeal to personal example.61 The only way personal example can be said to feature in 1.12–15, or in 2 Peter as a whole, is if the future-tense verbs in vv. 12 and 15 are taken to refer to Peter’s continued effort to compose the rest of the letter, an effort that resonates with the exertion to which he exhorts his addressees. This self-giving of the author is also meant to resonate with the divine largesse expounded on in vv. 3–4 and 11.62 The futuretense verbs in vv. 12 and 15 show Peter magnanimously marching into his future in line with the divine beneficence that leads into the eternal kingdom (v. 11), and in line with his own advice to the addressees. Both verbs signify the author’s resolve to continue, throughout the remainder of the letter, a vigorous attempt to aid the recipients’ remembrance of his message. The term spouda&sw points directly to this effort, and the term mellh/sw directly to the intent that underlies this effort.

III. Conclusion: What Rhetography Adds to the Understanding of 2 Peter 1.3–15

The individual images in 1.3–15 resolve into a larger picture of a journey when looked at through the lense of rhetography guided by conceptualintegration theory. The imagery begins with a flight from a world subject to corruption because of self-serving sensuality. At this point there is 61. Chester and Martin, James, Peter, and Jude, p. 139. In this regard, Chester and Martin note Acts 20.18–21, 27, 31, 33–35, and 2 Tim. 3.10. Other passages may also be cited for this feature, such as John 13.33–34; 15.9–10, 15b, 16, 18, 22, 24; 17.4, 6, 8, 12, 26. 62. Spicq (Les Épîtres de Saint Pierre, p. 216) notes that the words ‘will be richly provided for you’ in v. 11 mirror the divine largesse treated in vv. 3–4. Thus, 1.3–11 is framed by the idea of the generosity of God.

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a promise of sharing in God’s nature, although what this means is still nebulous at the end of v. 4. The partial mapping of vv. 5–9 onto vv. 3–4 clarifies the means of the journey as the vigorous exercise of the virtuous life undergirded both by conversion knowledge and by gratitude for the divine forgiveness that cleanses one of sins. The subsequent blend of vv. 5–9 and vv. 10–11 adds, as an empowering force for the journey, increasing zealousness, while clarifying that the journey takes one from a world of corruption, though a process of personal transformation, into the eternal kingdom of Christ. Finally, the blend of vv. 12–13 and vv. 14–15 and the multiblend of vv. 12–15 and vv. 5–11 portray Peter at the end of the journey the addressees are also on, providing a guiding, urgent perspective for them. Peter is an example to the addressees of the zealousness that has carried him to the penultimate stage of their common trek. Major contributions that the rhetographical study of knowledge in 2 Peter 1 makes to an understanding of the letter as a whole come in the areas of the letter’s rhetorical impact and of the specific types of motivational power this rhetography brings to the exhortations to attend to the e0pignw&sij that the recipients have been given and to grow in the gnw&sij that they are called to develop. The impact of any linguistic formulation is in proportion to its persistence in memory. How well has the author enabled the storage of this rhetography in the addressees’ long-term memory, with the consequent ease or difficulty of their accessing it after hearing the letter? Cognitive psychological studies of memory show that there are ways of storing information that facilitate its later retrieval. Other studies from this discipline focus particularly on the retrievability of images and the larger picture (rhetography) to which they contribute. The working memory is able to hold only a relatively small amount of data. It can be supplemented in thought and activity by the long-term memory, but not every experience is stored there. What tends to be shelved there, and readily accessed by the working memory, is: (1) items that are reflected on for some time; (2) items that are rich in evocative images; and (3) items that are connected in some way to other items and are organized

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in ways that help one see the links.63 The studies that concentrate on the recall of imagery in particular paint a similar picture. Thus, it has been shown that it takes time to recall verbal images, but that with time the recall is comparable to the recall of images that we actually perceive.64 The greater the importance the reader attaches to the imagery, the more he or she is likely to take more time with them.65 Finally, a number of studies have demonstrated that imagery viewed in the light of larger pieces of material (rhetography) is recalled much more easily than are the individual images that together form the larger pieces. Thus, individual images visualized in conjunction with each other are retained more readily than are images visualized alone.66 So, too, individual images in sentences are not as easily remembered as are images that form ‘synthesized information’ from larger sections of a writing such as paragraphs.67 Bearing these findings in mind, one can see a number of indications that the rhetography of knowledge in 2 Peter 1 is exceptionally retainable. First, several studies conclude that the more time a person spends with text-generated imagery, the greater his or her recall of it, and that

63. Daniel Reisberg, Cognition: Exploring the Science of the Mind (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1997), pp. 146, 156–57, 164; F. Craik and E. Tulving, ‘Depth of Processing and the Retention of Words in Episodic Memory’, Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 104 (1975), pp. 269–94; George Katona, Organizing and Memorizing (New York: Columbia University Press, 1940). 64. Michel Denis and Marguerite Cocude, ‘Scanning Visual Images Generated from Verbal Descriptions’, European Journal of Cognitive Psychology 1 (1989), pp. 293–307 (303, 305). 65. Michel Denis and Guy Denhièr, ‘Comprehension and Recall of Spatial Descriptions’, Cahiers de Psychologie Cognitive 10 (1990), pp. 115–43 (140). 66. See John Richardson, Mental Imagery and Human Memory (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1980), pp. 73–76; Ellen J. Esrock, The Reader’s Eye: Visual Imaging as Reader Response (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994), p. 98. Images that are visualized are also better retained than images that are only retained verbally 67. Marc Marschark et al., ‘The Role of Imagery in Memory’, Psychology Bulletin 102 (1987), pp. 28–41 (35); Shirley Long et al., ‘The Effects of Reader and Text Characteristics on Reports on Imagery Reported during and after Reading’, Reading Research Quarterly 24 (1989), pp. 353–72 (369). In all of this one should be aware that people range all over the scale of how much they visualize material as measured by such questionnaires as the Questionnaire upon Mental Imagery (QMI) and the Visual Imagery Questionnaire (VVIQ).

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what motivates a person to spend time with imagery is the idea that it is important. The author of 2 Peter has highlighted the importance of the rhetography of knowledge in a number of ways. At the beginning of the letter, there is a stress on the critical role knowledge plays in the salvation of the reader (1.3). Other studies have focused on how rhetography extending over paragraphs or larger units is easier to remember than an individual image in a sentence. The extensive blending in 2 Peter 1 operates, as we have seen, between sections comprising several verses rather than within sentences. The rhetography of knowledge in 2 Peter 1 participates in this type of blending. The scale over which the blending operates facilitates the retention of the rhetography of knowledge. A writing inspires more by images than by logic.68 What the rhetography in 1.3–11 provides in addition to the abstract knowledge these verses contain is visual components to which the recipients can pin their emotions in order to activate the zeal that energizes virtue. In this light, the escape from the material world corrupted by ‘sensuality’ (e0piqumi/a) becomes a more moving image. According to 1.4, the corruption that is in the world comes about because of e)piqumi/a. This term is also used in 2.10a, 2.18, and 3.3. Because of its use in 2.10a and 2.18, it appears to refer in 1.4 specifically to sensuality. Thus, 1.3–4 claim that knowledge enables escape from a world made corruptible by sensuality. Knowledge in 2 Peter, then, is something that counteracts this vice. In 2 Peter 1, it counteracts sensuality primarily through the rhetography of the collective journey on which Peter and the recipients find themselves. This visualization of a journey encourages the rigor of the trek over the stagnation of sensuality. Intertemporal choices are those decisions people make with regard to when they will enjoy benefits and when they will pay for them. Economists working in the area of intertemporal choices define three types of people, which individuals only approximate. The first is the time-consistent type. The time-consistent person decides what to do in the present on the basis 68. Motivation is in the vivid and not in the abstract. The St Crispin’s Day speech in Shakespeare’s Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3, stirs as no simple analysis of the English and French forces arraigned against each other can do.

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of a lifetime plan. The second is the naïve time-inconsistent type, whose current activity is based not on any long-range plan, but rather on current preferences, and on the assumption that in the future he or she will rectify this behavior and live responsibly. The third is the sophisticated time-inconsistent type, who also lets present preferences guide his or her decisions but, unlike the naïve time-inconsistent person, has no illusions that he or she will alter this strategy in the future.69 The rhetography of knowledge in 2 Peter 1 clarifies the respective times for the sacrifice (the temporal life) and for the reward (the transtemporal life) and empowers intertemporal maturity through a stirring portrayal of each vigorous exercise of virtue as a step away from a world given over to decay, a step further into the divine nature, and a step closer to the eternal kingdom of righteousness. Further power is given to this rhetography by the force-dynamic structure that progresses from the exhortation to try hard (v. 5) to the admonition to try hard ‘all the more’ (v. 10) to the example of Peter exerting such effort even at the end of his life (v. 15). The function of this rhetography, and of the force given to it, is to empower the commitment of the addressees.

69. Ted O’Donoghue and Matthew Rabin, ‘The Economics of Immediate Gratification’, Journal of Behavioral Decision Making 13 (2000), pp. 233–50 (234, 236). For the characteristics of the two time-inconsistent types, see pp. 237–39 of this article.

5 NARRATIVE METHOD AND THE LETTER OF SECOND PETER Ruth Anne Reese

I. Introduction to Narrative Criticism

When contemporary narrative methodology was first used in biblical studies, early practitioners turned their attention to biblical texts that were more immediately identifiable as narrative: in the New Testament, these were mainly the gospels. Here, studies such as Culpepper’s Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel 1 paved the way in our understanding of how the narrative method might be utilized in our studies of New Testament texts. More recently, the method has been applied to New Testament epistles.2 This has proved both more challenging and more controversial. Since epistles are not generally engaged in ‘telling a story’ as we might usually understand that phrase, interpreters have forged new ways of applying tools drawn from narrative theory. There have been several ideas about how one might apply narrative criticism to epistles. Richard Hays has suggested that one particular way 1. R. Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Literary Design (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983). 2. For example, Bruce W. Longenecker (ed.), Narrative Dynamics in Paul: A Critical Assessment (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002); Ruth Anne Reese, Writing Jude: The Reader, the Text, and the Author in Constructs of Power and Desire (Biblical Interpretation Series, 51; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000).

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of utilizing narrative theory is to focus on recovering the narrative that lies beneath epistolary writing. In his own study, he focuses on the narratives that are echoed or alluded to in Paul’s letters.3 Hays’ work has stimulated conversation, argument, and debate in Pauline studies. Among its detractors are those who see the quest for a latent narrative as one more way to reconstruct an underlying story to the text that can only be confirmed by the reader who constructs it.4 While Hays’ work has been both invaluable and highly debated, it is not the type of narrative method with which I intend to work in this essay. Another set of suggestions has been made by a group of scholars who met for dialogue around the topic of narrative in the Pauline letters. These scholars were assigned particular topics, such as God and creation or Israel and Jesus, and asked to explore whether one might find stories about these topics when reading Paul, especially Paul’s letters to the Romans and Galatians, and if so, what kind of stories.5 The book that resulted from this conversation helpfully shows a variety of approaches to the study of narrative. The very variety of the monograph shows that ‘narrative criticism’ is not a monolithic method that can be employed in an objective or scientific manner and then expected to churn out results independent of the one who uses the narrative tool. Norman Peterson also employs literary criticism in his study of Philemon.6 He uses plot, the voice of the narrator, and attention to the sequence of events to draw out a ‘narrative world’ which he relates to the study of sociology, particularly the relationships between particular people (father/son, master/slave, etc.). His work continues to be helpful as he shows one way in which narrative theory intersects with other modes

3. Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ: An Investigation of the Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11 (SBLDS, 56; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983), and Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 4. Francis Watson, ‘Is There a Story in These Texts?’, in Narrative Dynamics (ed. Longenecker), pp. 231–39 (233). 5. Longenecker, Narrative Dynamics, pp. 12–13. 6. Norman Petersen, Rediscovering Paul: Philemon and the Sociology of Paul’s Narrative World (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985).

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of textual analysis. Eugene Boring draws on Peterson, along with literary theorists, as he develops his understanding of a narrative world in 1 Peter, a world that consists of all the events that occur in that epistle.7 The methods that Hays, Longenecker and company, Peterson and Boring use point to the multiple ways that narrative criticism has been understood and appropriated. Each differs from the other even when it shares some points of departure with it. But these are not the only ways to read epistles using narrative methods. So, as we turn our attention to the narrative study of 2 Peter, it is important to clarify both what is meant by narrative and the purposes for which it will be employed in this essay. Rather than focusing on narrative that lies beneath the text (Hays), or narratives about particular topics within the text (Longenecker), or a combination of narrative and sociology (Peterson) or narrative world (Boring), my reading of 2 Peter will examine events, narrative voice, and time. Many of us who study narrative in the biblical text derive some of our understanding of narrative from the fields of literature and linguistics. This can be seen in the work of all the biblical scholars mentioned above, and is also true of the work I will do in this essay. My own focus on events, voice, and time is supported by many of the main contributors to narrative theory, including Mieke Bal,8 Seymour Chatman,9 Algirdas J. Greimas,10 Gerald Prince,11 and Vladimir Propp.12 While each of these theorists makes their own contribution to narrative theory, they all share a focus on the way in which characters and events form the basic structure of narrative.

7. M. Eugene Boring, 1 Peter (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 1999), pp. 183–201. 8. Mieke Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2nd edn, 1997). 9. Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978). 10. Algirdas J. Greimas, Structural Semantics: An Attempt at a Method (trans. Danele McDowell, Ronald Schleifer, and Alan Velie; Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1966). 11. Gerald Prince, Narratology: The Form and Functioning of Narrative (Berlin: Mouton Publishers, 1982). 12. Vladimir Propp, Morphology of the Folktale (trans. Laurence Scott; Austin: University of Texas Press, 1968).

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I will begin by looking at events, because these are the basic building blocks of narrative and giving attention to them will help us focus on the way in which agents change. Our understanding of events is enhanced when we also see the way in which the voice of the narrator selects and communicates the events of the epistle; in other words, we will give attention to the effects of the narrator’s point of view. Both the events of the epistle and their narration form a temporal reality, and this is especially clear where Peter’s death looms on the horizon. Taking time into account in our examination of events and narrative voice will highlight the way in which past and future events impinge on the present, and, indeed, on the letter itself. a. A Definition of Narrative What is narrative? There is no single definitive answer to this question. What I propose in the paragraph that follows is my own definition drawn from reading a variety of theorists in biblical studies, literary criticism, and philosophy. Narrative consists of three elements that are bound together: the object that is narrated, the act of composition, and the reception of the composition.13 In this study of 2 Peter, we will look mainly at the narrated object itself (the epistle) with some attention also given to the recipients (especially since they are described in the epistle and not just implied). For the sake of this essay, I will use the word narrative to refer to the object that is narrated, while remaining aware that this is only one element of the mimetic task. So, what is a narrative? A narrative is a perceived series of connected events that are caused or experienced by a character or characters and told by a narrator.14 It is the gaze of the interpreter – his or her perception of

13. Paul Ricoeur refers to these three elements as different parts of mimesis, which he labels mimesis1, mimesis2, and mimesis3. Time and Narrative (trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer; 3 vols; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), vol. 1, p. 46. 14. This definition is my own reworking of material in David Carr, Time, Narrative, and History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), pp. 59, 64; Bal, Narratology, p. 5; and Edward Adams, ‘Paul’s Story of God and Creation: The Story of How God Fulfills His Purposes in Creation’, in Narrative Dynamics (ed. Longenecker), pp. 19–43 (19).

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connected events and experiences – that determines whether an object is a narrative. This feature of narrative can be traced as far back as Aristotle, who identifies tragedy as that which gives rise to cathartic emotions in the spectator.15 In other words, in some way a composition becomes what it does because of the response the receiver has to it. This is not to deny the work and existence of the author, but rather to indicate that once a work is released into the community, the author is no longer the sole interpreter of the work. Once the narrative has been composed, the author releases it to its recipients and no longer exercises control over its interpretation or function.16 Narrative is made up of a series of connected events. Events are a particular component of the narrated object and have been an area of particular attention from narrative theorists, who agree that the analysis of events is concerned with understanding the action or happenings in a narrative.17 An event can be understood as a movement from one state to another, a change.18 While there is some general agreement that events are concerned with the actions that occur in the narrated object, it is also clear that there is no unanimity about how to analyze individual events and their relationships to each other. Here, a variety of approaches are used.19 15. Aristotle, Poet. 14.3–7. 16. Umberto Eco, Interpretation and Overinterpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp. 73–83. 17. For example, Chatman, Story and Discourse, p. 44. 18. Bal, Narratology, p. 5. 19. This is true in literary criticism, for which see Chatman (Story and Discourse, pp. 45–56), who tends to focus so much on the relationship of events to each other that he does little work on individual events. Bal (Narratology, pp. 182–87), on the other hand, gives three criteria for establishing whether particular sentences are events: (1) an event is a change from one state to another; (2) an event opens up possibilities, what Bal calls ‘choice’; (3) an event has confrontation, namely two agents and one action. In biblical studies, ‘events’ have generally been understood as focusing around changes in state but have often been put to work for different results. M. Eugene Boring (‘Narrative Dynamics in 1 Peter: The Function of Narrative World’, in Reading First Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter [ed. Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin, LNTS, 364; London: T&T Clark, 2007], pp. 7–40), for example, agrees with the definition of an event as change but largely employs events as building blocks for understanding narrative world. Adams (‘Paul’s Story of God and Creation’, p. 20) also agrees on the definition of an event but sees events in Paul’s letters as part of a larger story about God.

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Mieke Bal’s Narratology is a helpful guide to the study of narrative. In this work, Bal identifies criteria for studying the way in which narratives move from one part of the plot to the next. For her, this involves careful study of the characters and the actions in which they engage. I will identify events in 2 Peter based on two of Bal’s criteria: change (the movement from one state to another) and confrontation (the orientation of two agents around an action). Events are always related from a point of view. The narrator functions as the organizing voice by which the narrative is told. When describing the narration of history, David Carr identifies the narrator as the one who ‘picks out the most important events, traces the causal and motivational connections among them, and gives us an organized, coherent account’.20 Such narration takes place with the intent to communicate. ‘[L]anguage is oriented beyond itself. It says something about something . . . The complete event is not only that someone speaks and addresses himself to an interlocuter, it is also the speaker’s ambition to bring a new experience to language and share it with someone else.’21 We can understand that in 2 Peter it is the intention of the author/narrator to communicate to the letter’s recipients, but that the final work of understanding the letter rests with the recipients. Finally, narrative has a long-established connection with time. Aristotle asserts that narrative has a beginning, a middle, and an end,22 but he does not focus on the temporal aspects of these elements. Instead, philosophers and literary critics like Carr and Ricoeur extrapolate a temporal connection from Aristotle’s work.23 Carr indicates that theorists who treat narrative as an atemporal object and analyze narratives outside an understanding of time fail to understand that ‘the events portrayed unfold in time and that the order of their unfolding is important to their significance’.24 In sum, 20. Carr, Time, p. 59. 21. Ricoeur, Time, p. 78, his emphasis. 22. Aristotle, Poet. 7.25–26. Aristotle is at this particular point in the Poetics discussing tragedy. 23. Carr, Time, p. 51. 24. Ibid., p. 50.

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the events and characters that are described by the narrator take place and act in, and are described within, time. As we go on to look at a narrative interpretation of 2 Peter, we will examine the various events that are described in it, the voice of the narrator who selects and orders the events, and the use of time. This focus on the unfolding of events in time will be an important part of understanding how narrative methodology may help illuminate the study of 2 Peter. As we explore the way in which time is employed, we may further understand the scope of the message that the author wished to communicate. b. The Special Issues of Narrative in Relationship to Historical Letters It is appropriate to make a brief comment on the special issues that arise when using narrative method to study historical letters or epistles. While there are novels that consist mainly or entirely of letters, such as Dangerous Liaisons and The Color Purple, these rely on the literary device of collecting together sets of letters from one or more characters and allowing the plot to arise as the reader sifts through the story that is told. The historical letter that is written as a single unit, on the other hand, presents some unique issues and opportunities in relationship to narrative. First, it stands out as a way of capturing and referring to a particular time period (whether days, months, or years) and doing so at a particular moment in time – most obviously in the case of the occasional letter. Because the occasional letter happens at a particular moment in time, it is especially important to consider the way in which the past and the envisioned future impinge on the present. In the case of 2 Peter, where the date is hard to determine, we are still well served to remember that the letter itself captures a particular time and is located within that limitation rather than belonging to some type of universal time or understanding. At the same time, the author is well aware of time and refers both to a beginning, creation, and an end, the Day of the Lord, as well as to various events in the ‘middle’, such as the mountain-top witness to Jesus’ majesty. Second, letters are almost always in one voice. They are generally written by one narrator/author, who writes in his/her own voice. Even when

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the narrator purports to be giving us the language of another, it is worth remembering that the ‘other’ is always colored by the voice of the narrator. In the case of a single letter, such as 2 Peter, there is no opportunity to hear the other side. This is not a collection of letters in which we have letters from Peter and letters from the church or churches to which he wrote. There is no chance to find out if the false teachers did or did not agree with the apostle’s description of them. Third, letters often refer to and/or rely on a ‘story’ that the sender and the receiver hold in common but which is not further explicated in the letter itself. As just one example, Peter refers to his readers as those who ‘received faith, equal to our own, in the righteousness of our God and savior Jesus Christ’.25 Although he goes on in the next paragraph to indicate that his readers should add a variety of virtues to their faith, he never spends a significant amount of time defining either the faith that he and his readers have in common nor their belief in the righteousness of Jesus Christ. This is part of the ‘story’ or ‘worldview’ or ‘perspective’ that they hold in common and which can be referenced without need for further explanation. Indeed, it is this shared set of assumptions that allows Peter to make almost shorthand reference to God’s salvific work in ch. 2. There, God knows how both to judge those who are unrighteous and to rescue from destruction those who are righteous, but even these are only shorthand references to shared knowledge between the sender and the recipients.26 Fourth, although biblical scholars since the time of Origen have spent a good deal of energy discussing whether or not 2 Peter was really written by the Apostle Peter, narrative theory is uninterested in the identity of the actual author. Instead, it focuses on the implied author, the author that the text itself indicates or refers to, in this case Peter. Narrative theory asks questions about how the implied author functions within the confines of

25. Unless indicated otherwise, all translations of 2 Peter are my own. 26. Richard Hays has done much in both of his early works, The Faith of Jesus Christ and Echoes of Scripture, to show how narrative criticism can be used to explore the underlying narrative of a particular author – a narrative that the author may feel does not need to be made explicit precisely because it is already shared between the sender and the recipients.

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the narrative. In a letter, where the author is named and where the author’s voice controls what is communicated, the implied author plays a large role in the study of both events and characters in the narrative.

II. The Narrative of 2 Peter

With this short introduction to narrative in place, we can turn to the narrative study of 2 Peter. We will begin our analysis by focusing on the narrative events, the actions that create or introduce changes in the epistle. Like most writing, the epistle does not consist solely of events. In other words, there is descriptive material that surrounds the events. This indicates to the reader the setting, the mood, and other items that shape his or her grasp of the events.27 The letter recounts a series of events from the point of view of its narrator/author – namely, Peter.28 As a starting point, I will give a brief overview of the narrative as I see it. Then I will develop a list of events in the letter and discuss why these particular items should indeed be understood as events. As we examine them, we will find that they are inseparable from issues related to point of view and time. To understand the relationship of time and narrative, we will begin by ‘unraveling’ the events that are intertwined in the letter. I will do this by assigning the events to the agents who either perform or experience them. This will also provide the opportunity for exegetical insights related to the list of events.

27. In the case of 2 Peter, there is a good deal of material that is communicated metaphorically. Metaphor is not an event as events are understood in narrative theory, but it is part of mimetic communication, and it is important because it provides some of the setting in which the narrative events of the epistle occur. 28. Narrative analysis does not address the question of actual authorship. Chatman (Story and Discourse, p. 151) lays out a configuration on the side of composition in which there is a progression from the real author to the implied author and on to an optional narrator. He acknowledges that the real author is a practical necessity for the composition of the work, but in the time of analysis Chatman indicates that only the implied author is actually part of the analysis of narrative. I use the name Peter throughout this essay to refer to the author/ narrator of the epistle without making an argument for or against pseudepigraphic authorship of 2 Peter.

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a. A Short Synopsis of 2 Peter’s Narrative Peter writes a letter to people who share the kind of faith that he has. He reminds them of what they have received through their relationship with Jesus and how this should result in particular qualities (faith, self-control, godliness, etc.) in their lives. He also tells them they should make certain of their calling, and explains that by practicing these things they secure their entry into the kingdom of God. Peter himself is ready to remind them of these things as often as he is able; however, his time on this earth is drawing to a close, so he wants to remind them now in a tangible form (this letter) so that they can remember these important things even after he is gone. He writes this letter to remind the recipients of the truth that he shared with them before (in contrast with those who are teaching myths) and to remind them that he and others were eyewitnesses of Jesus’ majesty. In particular, they were witnesses to God’s declaration, made on top of a mountain, that Jesus was his son, and Peter encourages the recipients to give attention to that proclamation. At the same time, Peter is aware both of future possibilities (the possibility that false teachers will become part of this group of people who share his faith) and of present realities (the false teachers are already part of his readers’ experience), so he is careful to decry these teachers to his fellow believers. Here, he introduces a sub-plot, a long description of the variety of ways in which false teachers might try to mislead believers alongside references to a variety of stories in which, ultimately, God rescues those who are righteous and destroys the unrighteous (2.9). This group of false teachers has the ability to entice people towards destruction. It is in this context – the context of, probably, both current and future false teachers (note the change in tense in ch. 2) – that Peter once again urges the recipients to remember. This time he instructs them to remember the words of the prophets and the commands of Jesus. Then he turns his attention once more to the future, to a time when a group of people will mock the promise of Jesus’ coming, and he leaves a reminder for the recipients that despite all the claims of those mockers the end really will come with fire and destruction and a complete undoing of the world as

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it currently exists. In light of these things, the recipients are to be people who look for the new world that God will make and who live in ways that are spotless and blameless. b. Unraveling Events in 2 Peter

The summary above gives us a broad overview of 2 Peter, and should be kept in mind as we turn to examine the events in the epistle. An event, as noted above, is a change of state caused by an agent. This seems to be a fairly straightforward definition, but anyone who attempts to apply it will discover that there are decisions and judgement calls at every turn. Some of these revolve around the nature of language. For example, should verbs in moods other than the indicative be considered to depict events? I have generally discounted the subjunctive, with its implications of possibility that may or may not come to pass, while keeping the imperative, even though we do not know whether the imperative was ever fulfilled (i.e. whether an event that was commanded was carried out). These choices make it obvious that narrative method, like all other hermeneutic methods, is neither objective nor scientific, despite the dreams of its nineteenth- and twentieth-century practitioners. As I have worked through the various sentences in 2 Peter, I have noted those that indicate change. There are some that are obviously static (e.g. ‘One day according to the Lord is as a thousand years and a thousand years as one day’; 3.8), and these are not events and so can be eliminated from the list. Other sentences are not so clear. One example will suffice, although others spring to mind: Peter’s statement that he ‘will always remind you about these things’. Is this a change of state from a point at which he was not always reminding them, or is this static since it could be taken to mean that he will now always engage in this particular behavior? It is in such instances that the subjective judgement of the interpreter comes into play.29 Below, I have divided

29. It is helpful to remember that narratology has its roots in the structuralist movement and that its original intention was to provide an objective means to determine the structure and meaning of narrative (see, for example, Roland Barthes, S/Z [trans. Richard Miller; Oxford: Blackwell, 1974]). However, it soon became clear that such objectivity was impossible, and

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the events in 2 Peter among the agents who cause them and/or experience them. This means that events caused by one agent and experienced by another are listed in two places. Recipients’ Events They received (aorist) faith (1.1). They escaped (aorist participle) the corruption that is in the world through desire (1.4). The recipients are to add (aorist imperative) to their faith a variety of virtues (1.5). These qualities keep (present) the recipients from being unfruitful (1.8). Be eager (aorist imperative) to make (present infinitive) sure of his calling (1.10). The recipients have known and have been established (perfect) in the truth (1.12). You are able (present) to remember these things (1.15). False teachers will arise (future) among you (2.1). What kind of people are you (present) as you wait for and seek the coming of the day of God (3.11)? We wait for a new heavens and a new earth (3.13). Make every effort (aorist imperative) to be found pure and blameless (3.14). Consider (present imperative) the patient salvation of our Lord (3.15). Guard yourselves (present imperative), so that you may not fall (3.17). Grow (present imperative) in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ (3.18).

the early, stricter versions of narratology evolved into looser post structuralist and readeroriented methods (see Roland Barthes, Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes [New York: Hill and Wang, 1977]). Bal makes this abundantly clear in her preface to the second edition of Narratology, p. xiii.

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God’s Events and Jesus’ Events30 Jesus has granted (perfect) to the recipients and to Peter everything they need for life and godliness (1.4). Jesus has granted (perfect) to the recipients and to Peter, God’s promises (1.4). Entrance will be supplied (future passive) into the kingdom of our Lord (1.11). Jesus made (aorist) Peter’s imminent departure clear to him (1.14). God bestowed honor and glory on his son (1.17). God did not spare (aorist) the angels (2.4). God cast (aorist) them into hell and committed them to darkness (2.4). God is keeping (present) them for judgement (2.4). God did not spare (aorist) the ancient world (2.5). God preserved (aorist) Noah (2.5). God condemned (aorist) Sodom and Gomorrah to destruction (2.6). God rescued (aorist) Lot (2.6). They [the false teachers] will be destroyed (future passive; 2.12). The world was destroyed (aorist passive) by a flood of water (3.6). The heavens and the earth are being kept (passive participle) for fire in the day of judgement (3.7). The day of the Lord will come (future; 3.10). The earth and its works will be found (future passive; 3:10). The Events of Peter and his Cohorts31 I intend (future) to remind you always (1.12).

30. I have listed events related to God and events related to Jesus together. On the one hand, the author is clearly aware that the two are distinct, as evidenced by verses like 1:17; on the other hand, Jesus is clearly identified with the descriptor qeo&j, as the language in 1:1 demonstrates, especially in light of Sharp’s rule (Daniel B. Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996], pp. 270–77). 31. Some of the events listed in this section have verbs that are in the first person plural. These indicate that Peter identifies himself as part of a group. Additionally, because Peter is both the narrator of and an agent in the epistle, all of the events in it could be subsumed in his list as a way of indicating that the whole should be understood as ‘Peter says that . . .’ However, such a lack of differentiation would curtail our study before it has begun.

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Reading Second Peter with New Eyes But I think (present) it right as long as I am (present) in this earthly dwelling to stir you up (present) to remember (1.13). Since I know (perfect of oi]da with present sense) that the putting away of my dwelling is (present) coming swiftly (1.14). Just as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to me (aorist) (1.14). And I will also be diligent (future) that after my departure you always are able to remember these things (1.15). We made known to you (aorist) the power and presence of our Lord Jesus Christ (1.16). We were eyewitnesses (aorist participle) of his majesty (1.16). We heard (aorist) this voice carried from heaven since we were with him (aorist) on the holy mountain (1.18). I awaken (present) you to remember (3.1). We wait (present) for a new heavens and a new earth (3.13). The False Teachers’ Events False teachers will arise (future) among you (2.1). They will secretly introduce (future) destructive heresies (2.1). They will exploit (future) you with made-up words (2.3). They do not tremble (present) when blaspheming glories (2.10). They will be destroyed (future passive; 2.12). They followed the way of Balaam (aorist participle; 2.15). These entice (present) with the licentious desires of the flesh (2.18). Mockers will come mocking (future) and saying (3.2) . . .

c. Jesus and God: A Study in the Classification of Events Having now divided the events of 2 Peter among their respective agents, we can begin by looking at those that are undertaken by God and/or Jesus.32 The first two events are in the perfect tense, which is usually understood as denoting a past event with present implications or impact.33

32. Which agent to begin with is an arbitrary decision, but since God is the agent associated with the most events, this seems to be an acceptable starting place. 33. See e.g. Wallace, Greek Grammar, p. 573.

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The exegete must often decide when translating into English whether the emphasis should be on the past event or on the present results.34 Instead of focusing on a change of state from a time when Jesus did not provide what was needed for life and godliness, the events here in the perfect tense focus on the results of what Jesus has given. This is a provision that has come ‘through the knowledge of him [Jesus] who called us by his own glory and virtue’ (1.3). Neither the narrative of 2 Peter nor the descriptive material in which the narrative is embedded tells us why Jesus has not always provided what is needed for life and godliness. Instead, the narrative shows that for the recipients there was a time when they did not know Jesus and thus were not able to receive God’s provision for them. In the second event, Jesus grants promises both to the recipients of the letter and to Peter. Again, the context indicates that these promises create change for the recipients, for there was a time when the recipients did not have them to rely on. Of course, promises are dependent on the character of the one who makes them. The more trustworthy and reliable that character, the more one can depend on a promise being kept. These promises are given with a view to a particular end (note the i3na clause) – namely, that the recipients may participate in the divine nature, a reality unavailable to them before their knowledge of Jesus.35 The changes in both events have already happened in the past but have ongoing implications for the life of the recipients. The promises and the things that are needed for life have already been given and are already having an impact on the lives of those who know Jesus. But the epistle also has quite a lot to say about the future, and this is first introduced, in the passive voice, in 1.11,36 which mentions entrance

34. Ibid., p. 574. 35. What narrative methodology does not tell us is what the promises are that Jesus has given. Elsewhere I have suggested in light of the New Testament canon that they can be understood as: the gift of the Holy Spirit; the promise of blessing for the whole world that was originally made to Abraham; and the promise of Jesus’ return, which is also discussed in 2 Peter 3. See Ruth Anne Reese, 2 Peter and Jude (THNTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007). 36. We will look at the use of the divine passive below.

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being provided to the recipients. The future tense presents a challenge, one we will explore in more detail when we look at events relating to Peter, because with this tense the ‘change’ that narrative methodology demands of an event is anticipated rather than realized. Thus, it is not clear whether future happenings should count as events when narrative methods of analysis are being used.37 I have included them here since they carry an implication of change. In this particular example, the change is from a time when the recipients had not entered the eternal kingdom to one when they have. What is interesting about the future tense is that things done in the present can impact the future. For example, here the recipients are encouraged to make sure of their calling and to practice the virtues listed earlier (1.10), for in this way they will be granted entrance into the kingdom. This seems to imply that if the recipients do not make sure of their calling and put into practice their faith and its virtues, entrance will not be granted. In other words, the surety of the coming event is not guaranteed since the event is still in the future. In contrast with the opening events, which are communicated first in the perfect and then in the future, the next event is communicated in the aorist tense in the indicative mood. Jesus Christ made clear to Peter that his death was near. The aorist indicative, probably more than any other tense configuration in Greek, is likely to communicate a change,38 a move from one state to another. Here, Jesus moves Peter from the general awareness of death that all people live with (and most try to sublimate) to a state of clarity about his imminent demise. The events that follow are likewise fairly straightforward. Two from ch. 2 provide a representative demonstration of the way in which they meet

37. Boring provides a helpful discussion of this issue in his essay ‘Narrative Dynamics’ (pp. 18–19). He argues that verbs in the future, imperative, and subjunctive should all be considered to depict events because they ‘express realities in the document’s narrative world’ (p. 19). In my own analysis, I’ve included the future and the imperative, both of which I think meet the criteria for change, but excluded the subjunctive, which I consider more closely tied to possibility. 38. Of course, as most standard Greek grammars make clear, the aorist has multiple uses, including, in its gnomic form, the composition of aphorisms.

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the criterion of change. In the first, God ‘cast them [the angels] into hell and delivered them to chains of darkness’ (2.4). The change in state from not being in hell to being in hell and from not being in chains to being in chains is obvious. In the second, God ‘saved just Lot’ (2.6), the change of state is from Lot being consigned to condemnation along with the cities he has adopted as his own to Lot being in a state of preservation. Those upon whom God acts in these events are not agents in the letter (as are Peter, the recipients and the false teachers), but rather examples drawn from various narratives that its readers are expected to know.39 Nevertheless, they clearly undergo various changes of state; and, in fact, the epistle draws on this to portray the character of God, the one who acts to move agents from one state to another. Having considered the implications of the perfect, future, and aorist when analyzing events, we must turn to the use of voice. When the voice is active and there is one agent clearly acting on another, the agents who engage in and/or experience the change are obvious and Bal’s criterion of confrontation is met. When the voice is passive, however, the subject ‘performing’ the verb may be unstated, meaning the criterion of ‘confrontation’ is not so clearly met. Throughout 2 Peter, the passive voice is used for events that are undertaken by God or Jesus but without the agent being specified. We have already seen this, where ‘entrance is provided’ but by whom is not specified. This use of the divine passive,40 where it is obvious that the verbal action or change is completed by God, occurs a number of times in 2 Peter.41 In one of the last events that God undertakes in the epistle, ‘the earth and its works will be found’ (3.10). The state of being

39. This presents another whole area for narrative study. In particular, one might raise the question of whether there are levels of narrative (e.g. a level related to the use of examples that are themselves embedded in particular narratives external to the document under consideration; a level related to the set of events currently being examined), and, if so, how the levels intersect with one another. Intriguing, but we do not have time to go down this path in this essay. 40. Whether the ‘divine passive’ should be a separate category is debatable, but there are some occasions when the agent is not stated yet there is a clear implication that it is God. See Wallace, Greek Grammar, pp. 437–38. 41. See e.g. 2:17, 3:10, and 3:12.

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found after the destruction spoken of in the previous clause is something only God can grant. Thus, even when the passive is used and the subject is potentially veiled, it is still possible for there to be confrontation. All of the events I have looked at in these last paragraphs have one thing in common: the agent – God or Jesus – engages in actions that impact both people and elements, but the agent himself is not changed by the actions he performs.42 d. Peter: A Study of Death’s Impact on Relating Events Let us turn our attention next to the events that are related to Peter, the author/narrator of this epistle. The first striking observation is that the vast majority of the events in which Peter acts as an agent or is acted upon are clustered between 1.12 and 1.18. In 3.1 there is one more event in which Peter acts as the sole agent, and then in 3.13 one might consider ‘waiting’ an event that Peter participates in along with the recipients. However, by far the greatest number of events in which he is an agent is found in the most autobiographical portion of the epistle. Here, Peter makes it clear that he wants to move his audience from a state of forgetfulness to one of remembering; he wants to stir them up; and he feels this way because he is aware of a change he will soon experience – death. He knows this will come upon him soon, but he has not always been mindful of its impending arrival. Rather, the Lord Jesus brought it to his attention at some unspecified point in the past. His present ‘awareness’ (ei0dw&j) is framed by the future and the past, an end and a beginning. Carr puts it this way: ‘The present is only possible for us if it is framed [by] and set off against a retained past and a protentionally [i.e. expansively] envisaged future.’43 In Peter’s future is his swiftly approaching death, in his past are the events he describes in 1.16–18. In the past he has ‘made known’ to

42. This paragraph looks at voice as it is understood in the context of the Greek verb, but elsewhere in this essay I’m more concerned to use ‘voice’ as it is generally understood by narrative theorists – as a way of describing the overall shape of agents and the force with which they speak. 43. Carr, Time, p. 60.

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the recipients the power and presence of Jesus. He was an eyewitness to the majesty, the glory, and the honor of Jesus. He watched and listened as the voice of God pronounced Jesus to be his beloved son. Those past experiences form the framework out of which he speaks this present word of reminder. As the narrator, Peter chooses this one particular set of events that surrounded Jesus’ transfiguration on a mountaintop as the framework for his past proclamation and his present reminder. Jesus’ transfiguration is the past that determines the present word. Now Peter sees his own death approaching, an event that will spell the end of his autobiographical narrative (i.e. he will not be able to tell the story of his own death). Despite his awareness that death is approaching, there is still uncertainty regarding the moment of death’s arrival. He knows that he faces this unchangeable, final end, and confronts the matter directly. In the study of narrative, with its attention to structures that have a beginning, a middle, and an end, death is the ultimate end, the final boundary and limit. And in the case of an individual, such as Peter, it is a limit that can only be anticipated, not experienced. Carr says it this way: ‘my own death is not something I could ever experience as an event in the world, for it constitutes the limit of my world’.44 The vast majority of people keep the prospect of their death on a backburner and, rather than facing the reality of death directly, immerse themselves in a variety of disparate projects and experiences. These become a way of avoiding any type of anxiety that might arise from directly confronting the impending (whether near or far) experience of death. However, confrontation with the inevitability of death can focus the individual. Carr, following Heidegger, reminds us that ‘Death is that which utterly individualizes or isolates . . . Just as no one can die it for me, so no one can live my life for me either.’45 It is this very confrontation with death, argues Carr, that has the potential to recast the individual from a state of drifting along through life’s experiences to a state of narrating them. That is, it can bring the individual to accept

44. Ibid., p. 81. 45. Ibid., p. 82.

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responsibility for how he (or she) composes his (or her) life and to decide to act as best as he is able in accordance with the narrative he wishes his life to demonstrate.46 Anticipation of the end of the narrative provides momentum for the ongoing construction of the middle. It is this encounter with one’s own ultimate limit that recasts an author/narrator into one who tells the story with a new coherence, energy, and focus. Peter, faced with the awareness of his own imminent death, does not devote his time to composing a long set of memoirs or to reminiscing about the past; rather, he gives a short summary of what he has accomplished among those he is addressing – namely, making known to them the power and presence of Jesus – and he looks back to the one event in his life in which the full majesty and power of Jesus were revealed – the Transfiguration. His present awareness of death provides a perfectly focused lens for demarcating a beginning located at the Transfiguration and an end beyond his own death. When people become aware that death is the final limit on their lives, they often attempt to engage in actions that will have significance beyond the moment of its arrival. One common practice in our own culture is the writing of a will to provide direction regarding our wishes after death. And there are various laws that relate to the way in which such a will is honored. Or, to give another example, the person who is dying may gather family and friends around to hear his or her final wishes and to exchange words of love and encouragement. Peter’s concern is for the benefit of the group to which he is writing, much in the same way as a will is for the benefit of the survivors and not the person who has died. Peter sees a set of future events approaching those to whom his letter is addressed. In particular, he foresees a time when false teachers will arise in their midst and when there will be those who ridicule the idea that Jesus can and will return. But he is also aware that he will not be around to help the letter’s recipients

46. This is not to make the assertion that one can ‘author’ one’s life with complete control, for that would be to equate the human with the divine. Rather, it is to say that individuals can take responsibility for their life, and that with that responsibility they can, within limits, exercise some control over how their life story is told.

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overcome the threat they will face. Instead, therefore, he turns to what he can do in the present moment, in the time before his death, and he writes this letter. In as much as the letter is often a dim substitute for personal presence, it is still a way to be present for as long as the writing both lasts and is attended to by those who have it in their possession. One of the difficulties about 2 Peter that has long been noted is the change in tense in ch. 2. Peter begins the chapter with a future assertion of what will happen: false teachers will arise among you. But in the middle of the chapter, in v. 10, as he is describing the false teachers, he switches from the future tense to the present tense and maintains this until ch. 3, where he switches back as he introduces the mockers who will come mocking (3.3). How does the study of narrative address this peculiar element in the text? In 1.16, when Peter declares ‘we did not follow cleverly devised myths’, he implies a contrast with those teachers who do follow and proclaim such myths. As noted above, Peter, the narrator, chooses the events, actors, and settings to describe and orders them according to his own schema. His approaching death gives him the desire to reach beyond the boundary of death; however, such a desire can never be fully realized. He is aware that the false teachers are already part of the community (as evidenced in 1.16–18), but he also looks to the future and what may happen after his death and warns the community of dangers yet to come. In the middle of ch. 2, though, he slips back into the present reality, the reality that is much easier to sustain because it is known. The ability to see beyond one’s death is difficult, and it is apparent that the threat is not only future but also already realized. Peter’s voice is at once encouraging, as he reminds his readers of the provision that Christ has made for them and urges them to grow in faith, and strident, as he describes the threats from false teachers that his readers face. He describes the false teachers in the harshest of terms as those who count it a pleasure to carouse in broad daylight. The urgency and strength of his voice, which is very much part of the present letter, is informed by the experience of faith and revelation in the past and his anticipated death in the near future.

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e. Recipients and False Teachers: A Study of Agents and Their Events Finally, let us turn to an examination of the events related to the recipients of the letter. The first thing that catches our attention is the quantity of imperatives that are part of the events in which the recipients participate. Six out of fourteen events are commands from the apostle to those he addresses. In addition, time is an unavoidable part of the events in which the recipients participate. Peter describes the recipients as people who have been changed by their relationship with Jesus. The recipients are first described in 1.1 as those who ‘received’ (laxou=sin) faith, indicating that at one time they had not received faith and now they have. They are also those who have fled or escaped from the corruption that is in the world. Bauckham writes: ‘The aorist participle indicates that the escape from corruption precedes the participation in the divine nature.’47 And, in fact the condition of being removed from the corruption of the world is one that must be met before a person can partake in the divine nature. But the subjunctive element in the phrase ‘so that through these things you may be partners of the divine’ makes it hard to ascertain when this partnership will be finally realized.48 However, it is clear enough that this is a group of people who are living in light of the faith they have in Jesus and who previously escaped from a life that did not offer them the hope of participation in the divine nature. Peter tells them that he thinks they have known and been established in the truth. In other words, they should be able to recognize the truth when they encounter it.49 The past state of the recipients is one in which they had no faith and were deeply entangled in the corrupt world. But what is their current state? Currently, they are (or should be) engaged in making sure of their calling,

47. Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50, Waco, TX: Word Books, 1983), p. 182. 48. Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, p. 181–82) argues that the concept of ‘divinization’ should be understood as either happening partially before death or as only happening once death has occurred. He does not affirm the possibility of divinization fully happening in this. 49. There is some debate over whether Peter writes this to flatter his audience and get them on his side or whether he is giving an accurate description of his audience. As this letter is of the genre in which there is no reply from the audience, it is impossible to conclude this.

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remembering the things they have been taught (particularly those things they learned from Peter, the prophets, the Lord, and the apostles; 3.2). Additionally, they are to give due diligence to their efforts to live pure and blameless lives, to think about the patient salvation that God has provided, and to be on the lookout lest they fall from the pursuit of those blameless lives. They are to do all this while they wait for the new heavens and the new earth that will be the home of righteousness (that very characteristic of God that they first believed when they received faith; 1.1). This all seems very well: the people have escaped by faith from a world that was corrupting them and are now engaged in behaviors that will help insure their entry into the kingdom of God. But there is a catch in the plot, a problem in paradise, and Peter warns them of it: there will be a time when false teachers arise in their midst. Those false teachers will deny the Lord, the one who redeemed them, and they will cause others to disparage the life the recipients are living and the truth of Jesus’ redemption. It is here that the ordering of the letter is important. The narrator could have proceeded chronologically, as I have done above, but instead he orders matters thus: what has happened (the recipients received faith), what will happen (false teachers will arise), what is happening (assuming the switch to the present tense is deliberate and not an authorial oversight), what response the recipients should make (wait and live holy lives). Relating events in a non-chronological fashion helps to highlight the threat that the recipients are facing. Culpepper points out that recounting a narrative out of chronological order both raises interest for the recipients and emphasizes particular events.50 The false teachers are also seen as agents who will engage in particular actions that will cause changes in the community. In particular, they will become part of the community, and it is thus implied that at one time they either were not part of the community or did not hold false teachings or beliefs that made them distinct from the recipients Peter is addressing. But these false teachers are those who will secretly introduce

50. Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel, pp. 54–65.

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destructive ‘divisions’ (ai9re/seij), one of which is characterized by their denial of the master who bought (i.e. redeemed) them. The false teachers will gain a lot of followers, and the whole sad affair will cause some to malign the way of truth (2.2). Then, as if that were not enough, their own covetous state, in which they desire to have what is not rightfully theirs, will embolden them to lie in order to take advantage of those who listen to them (2.3). While these events are communicated in the future tense, the narrator does not raise any question about whether or not they will come to pass; he expects it to be as he has described. In what is almost an aside, he assures the reader that judgement and destruction await these false teachers, although the use of the passive voice does not yet make clear from what quarter these will come. Having introduced the problem of the false teachers, the narrator turns from describing events in which they participate to a long description of events in which God is the sole agent, the one who meets out judgement and extends rescue according to his justice. From this, Peter draws the conclusion that God knows how to rescue the godly and how to keep the unrighteous for the Day of Judgement (2.9). It is after this intertwining of God’s events with the predicted events of the false teachers that the tense shifts to the present (2.10b–17). No longer is Peter describing the events that will happen when a group of false teachers arise. Now he is describing what this group is like (in other words, this material is not a set of events because no action is played out). The false teachers are described as bold, arrogant, and unafraid to malign glorious ones and to speak from their ignorance. Peter breaks into metaphor and simile in his description of the false teachers (just as narrative is one form of mimetic representation, so metaphor is another; both are ways of representing a world or network of meaning).51 He goes on to say that the false teachers are those who count it a pleasure to carouse in broad daylight. They are spots on the gathered community. They have 51. Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-Disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language (trans. Robert Czerny with Kathleen McLaughlin and John Costello; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), pp. 6–7.

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‘eyes full of adultery’ and cannot stop sinning. Their hearts are trained in greed, and they have a similar greedy penchant for money like that crazy prophet who could not even hear the Lord’s rebuke when it came through the voice of an ass. Ultimately, these false teachers are waterless clouds and empty springs. However, all of this is description rather than event, and the vast majority of those who work in narrative method want to focus attention mainly on events rather than on the description that surrounds them. Yet the analysis of events, time, and narrator can take our study of the epistle only so far. There is a limit to what we can learn by considering matters purely in terms of ‘so-and-so did such-and-such to so-and-so, according to the narrator’. Some of the more complex and important interpretive choices occur at places in the letter where there are no events as I have defined them above. This is the point where it is helpful to refer back to Ricoeur’s assertion that narrative is mimetic, or representative, and that the portrayal of narrative is therefore not limited solely to the description of chronological events, one following after the other. Events, or actions, are embedded in a network of symbolic meaning, a network that works as a temporal whole.52 We do not encounter another event related to the false teachers until 2.18, where they are engaged in ‘enticing’ (delea&zousin) ‘those who barely escaped from the ones who live in error’. The agent of the event seems clear enough – the false teachers. But on whom is the event acted out? Are these people the recipients of the letter? The ones who were described as ‘having escaped the corruption of the world’ (1.4) and as ‘established in the truth’ (1.12)? Or is this another group? A group that has just ‘barely escaped’ (whether that means recently in time or that its members are not yet deeply embedded in the community of Jesus and its practices) and is not yet firmly established? Is this group, even though the verb is in the present, part of the future sequence of events that Peter 52. Ricoeur, Time, p. 56–57. The descriptive aspect of narrative is another aspect that is important to explore, but there is not time for more than brief comments about it in this essay.

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foresees, or is this a current event happening to some or all of the group to whom the letter is addressed? The answers to these questions are unknown. Narrative methodology only allows us to paint a picture of the agents that are described; it does not enable us to dig into the historical material behind a text – the sources of the narrative – even though that material is limited in the case of 2 Peter. We may not know exactly who is enticed, but as we read on we see that, like the recipients described in 1.4, they have ‘escaped’ (a)pofugo&ntej) from the corruption of the world through ‘knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’ (2.20). Whether the verse specifically refers to the recipients or not, they can take heed (after all, they are the readers of the letter) of what happens to those who again become entangled, snared, or trapped by the world from which they have already escaped once. Peter declares that it would be better for them never to have known the way of righteousness. Once again, at this crucial moment, the element of righteousness that drew the recipients to Jesus (1.1) is drawn into the description of the life it would be better not to have known. In 3.3, Peter returns to the future tense and describes an event in which mockers will come mocking and cast aspersions on Jesus’ promise to return. They will claim that everything has remained the same since the beginning of creation and that there is no reason to expect anything different now. Like the false teachers of ch. 2, they are not yet following their own desires and engaging in this mocking behavior. This is an event that is still to come. Once again, the narrator shifts to the present tense in 3.5, where he describes the mockers as those who ‘ignore’ (lanqa&nei) the judgement of the flood, and yet again there is a movement away from events/actions to description. So, are the mockers in ch. 3 and the false teachers in ch. 2 the same people? Narrative method does not answer that question. The lack of descriptive connections between the two chapters means it cannot. However, it is clear that mockers and false teachers alike will encounter God, who knows how to keep the ungodly for the Day of Judgement (2.9; 3.10). The actions and descriptions both of the false teachers and of the

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recipients of the letter are laid out in the epistle by Peter, the author/narrator.53 On the one hand, the recipients, who have fled from the corrupt world, are invited through the character of Jesus to participate in the divine nature and to grow in faithful living. On the other hand, the false teachers and mockers are described as those who have their own self-interest at heart and draw others away from faithful life in Christ. Both exist in a current state in which there are predicted future events (entrance into the kingdom; being destroyed) that have yet to be realized. A noteworthy aspect of the letter is the way in which it invites a response by presenting a choice – either to live into the future as it is envisioned or to change the outcome of events. This is part of the significance of the future in 2 Peter – it is not yet solidified; there is still the possibility of change.

III. Conclusions

Narrative criticism is not an objective or scientific method that can be used to generate a precise matrix of so-called narrative readings. Narrative analysis does not help us get either ‘outside’ or ‘behind’ a text. It is not designed to answer questions about ‘what really happened’. Instead, it is a tool or a lens that allows the analyst to penetrate certain elements and dimensions of a text. The tool itself and its use in biblical studies could benefit from further clarification. For example, more discussion about what constitutes an event and how events should be understood in narrative analysis would give the method greater clarity. In addition, conversation around the way in which ‘potential’ or ‘possibility’ features in narrative is also needed. For example, how should the future, the imperative, and the subjunctive be understood when thinking about narrative? Do these verbal structures pose a particular kind of problem for the narrative

53. Another avenue for study that opens up in narrative method is a further examination of the voice of the narrator. In 2 Peter, this voice can in one chapter encourage and exhort the readers to deeper faith and in the next excoriate the false teachers. This raises the question: what kind of voice is this and from what position does it speak? Or, to put it another way, who has the power to speak in such a manner?

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analysis of letters, in which time is more like a slice of bread than the whole loaf that more traditional forms of narrative might provide? These are areas where the method itself can be discussed and refined. Currently, narrative analysis can help draw attention to places in a text where change actually takes place, is expected to do so (the imperative) or is anticipated (the future). It also draws attention to the agents who cause or undergo the events that are described. Our attention to these agents makes it clearer to us who changes and why, who has power or influence over others and why. It helps the interpreter distinguish material that is principally descriptive in nature from that which moves the events of the text forward. Both aspects are part of the mimetic work that texts do as they display a network of meaning, a world that the reader may enter into. Many practitioners of narrative methodology have advocated an atemporal look at agency and events, but this is to disregard the way in which narratives are told, the function of a beginning, a middle, and an end, and the representation of time itself. Narrators themselves both use and are embedded in time. There is a past that shapes the present, and an anticipated future that does likewise. Occasional letters swim at the confluence of past and anticipated future. Here, the narrator voices a present understanding of the way in which the past calls the reader to a particular set of actions in light of the anticipated future. The narrator of 2 Peter is perhaps more aware of the limits of time than other New Testament narrators as he writes in light of his impending death. This gives a particular focus and urgency to the epistle. Finally, narrative methodology depends upon recipients – not just the first recipients, but also subsequent readers, so that people continue to approach the text and try to grasp its meaning. Letters, especially those that deliver instructions, demand a response, but that response lies outside the bounds of the narrated letter itself.

6 THE SOCIOLOGICAL CATEGORY OF ‘COLLECTIVE IDENTITY’ AND I TS I MPLICATIONS FOR U NDERSTANDING S ECOND P ETER James C. Miller

Collective identity1 constitutes a fundamental element of human existence. Whether derived from family, religion, nationality, political affiliation, or a local sports team (the list could go on), it pervades our lives. As biblical scholars have been forced to grapple with issues of identity in their own experience in an increasingly multicultural world, they have also begun examining issues of communal identity reflected in biblical writings. This essay addresses the issue of collective identity in 2 Peter. More specifically, it examines the manner in which the author, ‘Peter’,2 works to foster communal identity among his auditors. Such an inquiry stems from

1. In order to avoid monotonous repetition of a single phrase, I will use the descriptors ‘collective identity’, ‘communal identity’, ‘groups identity’, and ‘social identity’ synonymously. I recognize that ‘social identity’ has its own school of thought associated with the work of Henri Tajfel and others, an approach I will draw upon but not use in any thoroughgoing manner. On the work of Tajfel and his followers, see especially Henri Tajfel (ed.), Differentiation between Social Groups (London: Academic Press, 1978); Henri Tajfel and John Turner, ‘The Social Identity Theory of Intergroup Behavior’, in Psychology of Intergroup Relations (ed. Stephen Worchel and William G. Austin; Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1986), pp. 7–24; and Naomi Ellemers, Russell Spears, and Bertjan Doosje (eds), Social Identity: Context, Commitment, Content (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999). 2. I recognize that the issue of the authorship of this epistle remains unresolved. See the standard commentaries on the letter and New Testament introductions for a guide to the issues in the debate. A decision on this matter one way or another would not effect the argument of my essay.

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the fact that in recent decades social scientists have come to understand collective identities as social constructs. As such, these identities are seen as dynamic social phenomena rather than static entities in and of themselves. Communal identity, therefore, must continually be constructed and reconstructed in the face of ever-changing social circumstances.3 My contention is that 2 Peter functions in significant part as an instrument of communal-identity formation.4 In other words, this document portrays a symbolic narrative world and attempts to persuade its auditors to locate themselves within it.5 This socially constructed world provides the basis for appropriate attitudes and behaviors called for in the letter. In this sense, Peter labors to influence the auditors’ sense of communal identity. I am not suggesting that this was Peter’s conscious strategy, as if when he sat down to write he thought, ‘I must shape their collective identity.’ I am claiming that when we examine what Peter actually wrote in terms of the modern study of communal identity, the letter can be seen to employ argumentative strategies that function well in shaping such identity among its auditors.6 The opening section of this essay highlights selected issues in the study of collective identity. At the close of the section, I return to the purpose of the essay, restating it in more detail. In several subsequent sections, I examine 2 Peter, especially in terms of the narrative dynamics of Peter’s argument. The essay concludes with an analysis of these findings in terms of collective identity.

3. For material on this point with regard to early Christian writings, see Judith M. Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 14 (and throughout). 4. Philip F. Esler has made a similar argument with reference to Romans in Conflict and Identity in Romans: The Social Setting of Paul’s Letter (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003). 5. In this sense, we could call 2 Peter an instrument of ‘socialization’ into a particular vision of collective identity. 6. Although I am examining what I call argumentative strategies, I am not approaching the letter through the canons of classical rhetoric as does Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). At the same time, I by no means intend to ignore the findings of Watson’s important study.

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I. Collective Identity

Forged within the multifaceted forces of social interaction, collectivities come in a bewildering variety of configurations. They may form for any number of reasons, they may be made up of people whose adherence to the group varies depending on a further host of factors, and they are shaped by the particulars of time and place. This many-layered, contextual nature of social groupings makes collective identity a difficult matter to study and define. Nevertheless, a number of widely accepted basic tenets concerning such identity do exist. In what follows, I offer a brief summary of these.7 Given the extent of the subject and the limitations of space, I make no pretense of being comprehensive. Yet I believe that this eclectic portrayal of the field would garner widespread assent among those involved in such study.8 I organize my analysis into three key components. First, collective identity is the perception of similarities and differences. Second, collective identity is perceived as persisting through time. Finally, communal

7. The literature on collective identity is immense, making a thorough coverage of the topic impossible within the limits of this essay. The following summary, therefore, derives largely from one widely used overview of seminal thinkers and issues related to the subject, Richard Jenkins, Social Identity (London: Routledge, 2nd edn, 2004). For a similar description of identity focused on ethnicity, see James C. Miller, ‘Ethnicity and the Hebrew Bible: Problems and Prospects’, CurBR 6.2 (2008), pp. 170–213. The seminal work shaping almost all recent discussion of the issue is Frederik Barth, ‘Introduction’, in Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural Difference (ed. Frederik Barth; Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press, 1998 [1969]), pp. 9–38. Helpful collections of essays on the subject include V. Amit (ed.), Realizing Community: Concepts, Social Relationships and Sentiments (London: Routledge, 2002); D. Capozza and R. Brown (eds), Social Identity Processes (London: Sage, 2000); W. P. Robinson (ed.), Social Groups and Identities: Developing the Theory of Henri Tajfel (London: Butterworth Heinemann, 1996). 8. Esler (Conflict and Identity) makes good use of Social Identity Theory (SIT) in his ground-breaking book on Romans. I will use SIT selectively. My unease with the theory lies in its focus on how individuals identify with collectivities. Based on my experience of living in a non-Western, more collectivist society for well over a decade (in Kenya), I question whether beginning with individual consciousness is the best starting point for examining identity in pre-Enlightenment, collectivist cultures such as those of the first-century Mediterranean world. On the SIT tradition, see the works listed in footnote 1 above.

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identity is a social process. This general depiction of group identity will serve as the basis for my examination of identity formation in 2 Peter. a. Collective Identity as the Perception of Similarity and Difference Fundamentally, collective identity involves a perception of similarity and difference between one group of people and another. In simple terms, it entails a sense of ‘we are us, they are not us, and we are not them’. Without a sense of commonality, collective identity could not exist. Neither can similarity occur apart from difference; to say ‘we are alike’ necessarily entails the idea that others are unlike us. This sense of similarity and difference arises from social relations. In the midst of social interaction, similarities and differences become apparent and generate group identities. We can, therefore, say that communal identity is ‘the product of collective internal identity’, ‘collective’ in the sense that the group itself acknowledges this perception of similarity.9 Yet, as just noted, similarity and difference go hand in hand. In defining ourselves as a group, we also classify others as outside the group. Group identity, therefore, also stems from ‘collective external definition’ – that is, with the in-group recognizing this definition of the out-group.10 These internal and external processes work in dialectic fashion to produce collective identity. A critical component in this identity-forming process is variously referred to as ascription, categorization, labeling, or stereotyping. These terms may be given highly specific definitions within particular theoretical traditions. As used here, however, they merely involve attributing to a group characteristics shared by all members of that group.11

9. Jenkins, Social Identity, p. 82 (his emphasis). 10. Ibid., p. 82 (his emphasis). 11. Rupert Brown (Group Processes: Dynamics within and between Groups [Oxford: Blackwell, 2nd edn, 2000], p. 290), quoted by Esler (Conflict and Identity, p. 21), describes stereotyping as attributing to people in a group ‘certain characteristics that are seen to be shared by all or most of their fellow group members’. Esler himself (Conflict and Identity, p. 21) defines stereotyping as ‘social categorical judgments, perceptions of people in terms of their group memberships’.

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In the terms in which we have defined collective identity above, we can identify three basic pathways by which this attribution takes place. These processes can occur in any order or, as is more likely, simultaneously.12 All contribute to the shaping of group identity. The first two we have identified above. First, we self-ascribe characteristics to our own group, a process often referred to as ‘group identification’ (e.g. ‘we are children of Abraham’; Jn 8.33).13 Second, we categorize or label others as unlike ourselves (e.g. ‘Cretans are always liars’; Tit. 1.12). A third type of categorization occurs when a group itself is categorized by outsiders (e.g. ‘you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s possession’; 1 Pet. 2.9). Such categorizations can exert a potent influence on identity formation. How they do so depends on the dynamics of the social situation. For example, groups whose identity, or even whose existence, is under threat will respond differently to categorization by an out-group than will groups in non-threatening situations. Furthermore, labeling from an authoritative source will more likely become internalized among group members than will categorizations from sources with marginal significance to the group. It is important to observe that the attribution of similarity and difference lying at the core of collective identity rests upon symbolism.14 Abstract and imprecise, symbols allow people to invest them with their own meaning. In this way they can mask a great deal of difference within a group. For example, Americans may unite around the symbol of the Stars and Stripes but invest it with a considerable range of meanings, some of which are quite opposed to one another. Nevertheless, the flag (or baseball, or apple pie, or the national anthem) provides Americans with a sense of belonging together in their ‘American-ness’. 12. One of Jenkins’ seminal contributions to the study of social identity has been his insistence on a more externally driven process of identification than has been promulgated in Barthian models. 13. Jenkins calls this ‘group identification’, though ‘self-categorization’ or ‘self-ascription’ seems just as apt. 14. Jenkins, Social Identity, pp. 110–20.

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A sense of similarity, therefore, does not imply uniformity. Symbols have the capacity to ‘encompass and condense a range of, not necessarily harmonious or congruent, meanings’.15 In this way, they unite people while allowing them to get on together within the collectivity in spite of differences. At the same time, owing to their significance for communal identity, symbols can become the sites of bitter internal feuds when members disagree over their meaning. Finally, if a sense of similarity and difference between groups emerges through social interaction, one critical strategy for understanding collective identity involves focusing on the boundaries between the groups. ‘Boundary’ in this sense refers not to some sort of permanent barrier, but to the identified differences between groups that emerge in the midst of interaction. Boundaries are defined as interaction takes place across them. The identification of boundaries that differentiate groups thus becomes an important factor in understanding collective identity.16 b. Collective Identity Through Time To describe communal identity in terms of its emergence out of social interaction does not mean that identity is spontaneous, as if it exists only in the moment, a creation ex nihilo. A critical component of collective identity is the perception that it persists through time. We can identify two factors that contribute to this sense of continuity: communal narratives and routinization or institutionalization of identity. 1. Communal Narratives

Collective identity involves a sense of place within an ongoing story of a group.17 ‘We’ are ‘us’ because people and events in the past have made

15. Ibid., p. 112. 16. The focus on boundaries emerged from the work of Frederik Barth cited in n. 7 above. On my depiction of the subject here, see also Jenkins, Group Identity, pp. 102–103. 17. Stephen Cornell (‘That’s the Story of Our Life’, in We Are A People: Narrative and Multiplicity in Constructing Ethnic Identity [ed. Paul Spickard and W. Jeffrey Burroughs; Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2000], pp. 41–53 [42]) writes: ‘When people take on, create, or assign an ethnic identity, part of what they do – intentionally or not – is to take on,

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us what we are. This past not only informs our self-understanding in the present, but also carries narrative momentum that creates expectations of future continuity. But communal narratives are not just stories. They serve a number of vital roles in the life of a collectivity. For example, a communal narrative defines collectivities within a certain kind of world. A narrative, after all, consists of particular sorts of characters involved in meaningful events that take place within specific settings. Woven together, these characters, events, and settings form a plot. But descriptions of characters, whether individual or collective, carry with them evaluative overtones that tell us more about the characters than mere facts; they tell us what kind of people inhabit this world. In addition, events become imbued with significance through their relationship to one another. Such events also contribute to our interpretation not only of the characters (individual and collective) in this narrative, but also of the world itself within which these events take place. In effect, a communal narrative provides a ‘point of view’ on the world.18 Rooted in a particular recounting of events, characters, and settings, such a narrative cannot be anything but an evaluative recounting of the story of what brought us to where we are in the present. A communal narrative, therefore, tells us the way things are, but always from a particular shared perspective. Finally, a collective narrative shapes behavior in profound ways. Through providing a sense of the way things are (who we are in what kind of world), it creates powerful expectations of appropriate and inappropriate behavior. In David Ford’s words, people ‘take part in carrying it [their history] further’ through acting in ways befitting their place within

create, or assign a story, a narrative of some sort that captures central understandings about what it means to be a member of the group.’ 18. Jenkins, Social Identity, p. 136. Jenkins at this point refers specifically to the ‘symbolic universe’ depicted by Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality (London: Allen Lane, 1967).

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that narrative.19 Such behavior both reflects the standards appropriate to a communal narrative and reinforces them. 2. Routinization/Institutionalization

Characteristic expressions of identity – from particular language usage, to styles of clothing, to eating habits, and so on – become routine. Such patterns of behavior turn into ‘the way things are done’.20 Once recognized as such, we can say they are ‘routinized’ or ‘institutionalized’ within a group.21 Philip Esler speaks of such behaviors as ‘norms’ or ‘identity descriptors’. These are ‘the values that define acceptable and unacceptable behaviors by members of the group. They tell members what they should think and feel and how they should behave if they are to belong to the group and share its identity.’22 They play a particularly useful role when group members face new and unfamiliar circumstances, helping them to discern what is appropriate in these situations. Thus, from another perspective we see that expected behaviors and attitudes both maintain and reinforce collective identity.23 c. Collective Identity as a Social Process Although communal narratives and the institutionalization of behavior provide a sense of continuity that lends substantive character to group identity, collective identities are not reified entities. Rather, identities are constantly negotiated. As people bring perceptions of group identity with them into social interaction, the identity must be produced and

19. David F. Ford, ‘System, Story, Performance: A Proposal about the Role of Narrative in Christian Systematic Theology’, in Why Narrative? Readings in Narrative Theology (ed. Stanley Hauerwas and L. Gregory Jones; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), pp. 191–215 (202). 20. Jenkins, Social Identity, p. 133. 21. Jenkins (Social Identity, p. 134) notes that one can just as easily speak of ‘routinization’ or ‘habitualization’. 22. Esler, Conflict and Identity, p. 20. 23. Ibid., p. 21.

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reproduced in each new situation.24 In the process, it becomes redefined, if only slightly, for every set of fresh circumstances. Identities, therefore, are enacted or embodied perceptions of similarities and differences within a given social situation. In effect, group members must ask themselves at every turn, ‘What does it look like to be one of “us” within this situation?’ The variables that enter into answering this question are many. They include which aspects of identity come into question in a specific situation, how negotiable they are, the social positions of the various parties involved, the number and degree of differences between groups, and so on. What features of identity are called upon in a particular situation can determine how vigorously and in what manner they are enacted. Thus, social interaction leads to organization of that interaction into the form of defined categories (‘us’ and ‘them’) that enable us to make sense of our social world. These classifications take on a customary feel over time. Yet, in fact, they develop as they are renegotiated in the ongoing process of ever-changing social situations. Within a definition of identity as a social process, boundaries are thought of as ‘boundary processes’. They are simply ‘part of the ongoing organization of interaction and everyday life’.25 So although boundaries often become routinized over time and among groups in regular interaction, they are situational and negotiable just like other aspects of identity. Collective identities therefore are not reified ‘things’, but the perception of similarities and differences between groups of people that must be enacted in every new social situation. As such, communal identity is both situational and flexible. In summary, we can think of collective identity as perceptions of who we are as a group, in contrast to other groups, that become refined and enacted within social situations.26 Rooted in communal narratives and

24. Jenkins, Social Identity, p. 94. 25. Ibid., p. 106. 26. Jenkins (Social Identity, p. 133) writes that this identity can be found ‘in the practices of the embodied individuals that generate or constitute them’.

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customary practices, these perceptions give order and predictability to our world, shaping our understanding of it in profound ways. Communal identity, however, is a social construct and is therefore a phenomenon that is learned through socialization. This fact enables us to study a document such as 2 Peter in order to ask how it contributes to such socialization.

II. Observing Collective Identity in the Argument of 2 Peter

In light of the description of collective identity in the previous section and given that 2 Peter is a letter, I will approach the document as follows. First, since collective identity is situational, I will provide an overview of my understanding of the letter as a whole, examining the setting for and purpose of the letter, and asking how these factors may shape Peter’s argument. Second, since letter-frames were critical locations where ancient writers identified important topics within letters for their auditors, I will examine 2 Pet. 1.1–11 with a view to its bearing on the closing in 3.14–18. In particular, I am concerned with information relevant to collective identity, especially any portrayal of narratives. Third, I will work from the letter more generally to reconstruct a communal narrative from Peter’s argument, examining fundamental dynamics of collective identity within this framework. Since 2 Peter offers no straightforward retelling of any such narrative(s), I will need to construct one on the basis of references to past, present, and future events that the author regards as significant. The critical factor for understanding identity on the basis of this reconstructed narrative is the manner in which the author locates his hearers within these events. Such analysis will take into account the portrayal of characters, whether individuals or groups, and the depiction of any settings which play a noteworthy role in the story. Examination of further critical issues such as boundaries and stereotyping will take place within the understanding of the narratives arising from the text itself. a. 2 Peter: Setting and Purpose Given the paucity of data in the letter regarding the author’s or auditors’

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physical location(s), or even the approximate date of the letter, one can do no more than speculate as to its setting. For example, a plausible case can be made that the letter emanated from Rome to a destination in Asia Minor, yet this does little help to further our understanding of the letter and cannot be verified in any case. Three interpretations of the character and setting of 2 Peter can be set aside at the start. First, the letter has been accused of being a poster child for the supposed ‘early Catholicism’ of the postapostolic era.27 Ernst Käsemann’s influential essay on 2 Peter cited characteristics such as a loss of hope in the Parousia, what he saw as a degeneration from a focus on grace to an emphasis on human effort in salvation, and the contestation with heresies (2.1) as signs of ‘early Catholicism’ (frühkatholizismus).28 On the basis of these factors, Käsemann contended that 2 Peter belonged to a period when the church was in decline from the pristine age of the apostles and moving toward an institutionalized orthodoxy. As several scholars have pointed out, however, Käsemann overstated his case at several points.29 For example, the author of 2 Peter, who strongly affirms the coming of Christ, hardly provides evidence for fading hope in the Parousia. Furthermore, as we will see, Peter’s concern lies primarily with ethical matters rather than enforcing theological orthodoxy

27. Wolfgang Schrage labels 2 Peter a ‘klassisches Dokument des sogenannten Frühkatholizismus und seiner theologischen Probleme, Prämissen und Konsequenzen’ (‘classical document of so-called early Catholicism and its theological problems, premises and consequences’). H. Balz and W. Schrage, Die Briefe des Jakobus, Petrus, Johannes und Judas (NTD, 10; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), p. 122. 28. Ernst Käsemann, ‘An Apologia for Primitive Christian Eschatology’, in Essays on New Testament Themes (SBT, 41; Naperville, IL: Allenson, 1964), pp. 169–95 (169–72). Käsemann (p. 169) concludes, ‘the Second Epistle of Peter is from beginning to end a document expressing an early Catholic viewpoint’. On early Catholicism, see Ralph P. Martin, ‘Early Catholicism’, in DLNT, pp. 310–13. 29. See, for example, Martin, ‘Early Catholicism’, p. 312; Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word, 1983), pp. 151–54; Jerome H. Neyrey, ‘The Form and Background of the Polemic in 2 Peter’, JBL 99 (1980), pp. 407–31. Tord Fornberg (An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter [ConBNT, 9; Lund: Gleerup, 1977], pp. 4–6) and J. Daryl Charles (Virtue Amidst Vice: The Catalog of Virtues in 2 Peter 1 [JSNTSup, 150; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997], pp. 11–36) criticize not only this reading of 2 Peter, but the entire construct of early Catholicism as well.

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in the manner defined by Käsemann. Sufficient questions have been raised against reading 2 Peter within the so-called early Catholicism that, in what follows, I will set aside what was once an influential voice regarding the setting of the letter. Second, traits ascribed to the false teachers mentioned in the letter, such as their emphasis on ‘freedom’ (2.19), have led many scholars in the past to characterize the false teachers as Gnostics. This characterization fell out of favor some time ago.30 A particularly telling objection to it is the fact that the letter offers no evidence that the opponents held any ontological dualism essential to Gnosticism. Rather, the Gnosticism, the background for the false teachers instructions and lifestyle, makes sense against the common eschatological skepticism and moral laxity in the Hellenistic world more generally, with noted parallels with Epicurean and Stoic notions in particular.31 Ralph Martin, for example, notes that teachings similar to that countered in 2 Peter are also opposed in 1 Clement and Polycarp’s To the Philippians.32 These examples offer evidence that the problems opposed in 2 Peter were part of the environment in the Hellenistic world more generally. Third, Jerome Neyrey offers a detailed description of the ‘social location’ of the implied author.33 This approach, developed from within the perspective of social-rhetorical criticism, examines the social system reflected in the writing and looks for the social location of the author

30. See especially Neyrey, ‘Form and Background’, p. 419, and ‘The Apologetic Use of the Transfiguration in 2 Peter 1:16–21’, CBQ 42 (1980), pp. 506–7, 517; and Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 156–57. 31. Neyrey, ‘Form and Background’, pp. 407–31; Charles, Virtue Amidst Vice, pp. 99–111 (esp. regarding Stoic views). 32. In Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude (New Testament Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp.142–43. Martin hypothesizes some sort of unified movement opposed in all these documents that originates from Corinth. His proposal goes far beyond what evidence allows; better to say the common threads through these letters indicate that eschatological skepticism and moral libertinism were widespread. 33. Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), pp. 128–41.

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within that system.34 I confess I do not find Neyrey’s depiction of the author’s social location particularly helpful. In part this stems from what I regard as Neyrey’s over-reliance on the categories of patron and client in reading 2 Peter. But I also come away with the sense that Neyrey’s detailed analysis of this issue almost constitutes methodological overkill, detecting what is readily apparent by other, simpler means. I am not decrying social and rhetorical approaches to 2 Peter, nor am I claiming that patron–client dynamics are nowhere found in the letter. I am suggesting that Neyrey’s treatment of the issue is suggestive though not particularly helpful as a thoroughgoing approach to the letter. From 2 Peter itself, we can describe the immediate cause and purpose of the letter as follows. Peter wrote to counter the effects of a group he labels ‘false teachers’ (yeudodida&skaloi; 2.1), describes as ‘scoffers’ (e0mpai=ktai; 3.3), and compares with ‘false prophets’ (yeudoprofh=tai; 2.1). These teachers apparently understood themselves, and were understood by Peter’s auditors, as followers of Christ, though Peter saw them as having turned from the faith (2.20–22).35 Peter’s instructions indicate these people were an ongoing influence among the Christian group(s) to whom the letter was addressed. He entertained some level of concern that the false teachers might lead his hearers astray. He therefore urged them, ‘Guard yourselves lest you be led astray by these lawless people and lose your own stability’ (3.17). These persons’ teachings provoked an impassioned response from Peter at two points. First, they denied any final judgement (3.3–9). Second, and consequently, they advocated a libertine approach to moral issues (2.2, 10–19). Peter combated these teachings by reminding his auditors of apostolic teaching regarding salvation and coming judgement, and exhorting

34. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 128, cites Vernon K. Robbins, ‘The Social Location of the Implied Author of Luke-Acts’, in The Social World of Luke-Acts (ed. J. H. Neyrey et al.; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991), pp. 305–30. 35. Peter’s description of them does not allow us to determine whether or not they still regarded themselves as Christ-followers or not, though their influence among the letter’s recipients would indicate that they did.

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them to a life of active holiness and caution based on knowledge.36 In Peter’s construal, the reality of coming judgement provided motivation for moral purity for those who would see eschatological salvation (2.9; 3.7, 11–14).37 Although we must remain careful about making distinctions between Jews and Gentiles on the basis of how ‘Hellenized’ one or the other was, the letter offers no hint that the recipients were Jewish. The temptation inherent in the false teaching portrayed in the letter stems from the pull of a lifestyle and conceptual world alien to Judaism. The letter’s recipients as well as the false teachers, therefore, appear to be Gentiles. The auditors were, however, familiar with key events of divine judgement found in the Jewish Scriptures.38 Furthermore, Peter assumes they were aware of early Christian teaching regarding Jesus’ death and the Parousia.39 Both of these factors indicate they were likely to be Christians with some Christian instruction. As is widely noted, 2 Peter betrays a Hellenized conceptual environment.40 A prime example here is Peter’s description of salvation

36. Regarding the emphasis on ‘reminding’ and ‘understanding’ in the letter, see Charles H. Talbert, ‘II Peter and the Delay of the Parousia’, VC 20 (1966), pp. 137–45. 37. On these points, see Richard J. Bauckham, ‘2 Peter’, in DLNT, pp. 923–27 (925–26). 38. Assertions that Gentile Christ-followers could not be familiar with the Jewish Scriptures because they were not Jews, are just that – assertions (e.g. Christopher D. Stanley, Arguing with Scripture [London: T & T Clark, 2004], p. 49). The early Christian movement was a first-century form of Judaism that explained itself, including its central claim that ‘Jesus is Lord’, on the basis of Jewish writings and traditions. How could Gentiles join this movement and confess that ‘Jesus is Lord’ without some idea of how such a claim made sense for the group they were joining? 39. See, for example, the discussion of 2 Peter’s use of the Hebrew Bible and of parallels between 2 Peter and other New Testament writings in Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 138, 147–48. These connections are not overwhelming but do demonstrate links between 2 Peter and other early Christian literature. What sets 2 Peter apart, of course, is its distinctive vocabulary (apart form Jude) and concepts reflecting a strong Hellenistic milieu. 40. To quote Fornberg (Early Church, p. 124): ‘2 Peter demonstrates a situation in which the Church is in the process of being grafted into the pluralistic and syncretistic society constituted by the Mediterranean world of late antiquity.’ In the same work, however, Fornberg disputes that 2 Peter can be characterized as more Hellenistic than other early Christian writings (p. 3)

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as escaping the ‘corruption’ of the world and becoming ‘partakers of the divine nature’ (ge/nhsqe qei/aj koinwnoi\ fu&sewj; 1.4). Additional evidence includes Peter’s description of the apostolic witnesses to the Transfiguration as ‘eyewitnesses’, for which he uses the term e0po&ptai, a New Testament hapax legomenon and a technical term within the mystery religions for those who had received the highest level of initiation (1.16).41 Furthermore, as noted above, both the eschatological skepticism and moral libertinism characteristic of the false teachers reflect the widespread ideas and practices of the Greco-Roman world. At the same time, the argument of the letter is steeped in Jewish traditions. In order to affirm the certainty of God’s coming judgement, Peter recalls God’s judgements in the past, known from the Jewish Scriptures and other writings – upon ‘angelic watchers’ (2.4),42 upon Noah’s generation in the Flood (2.5), and upon Sodom and Gomorrah (2.6–8). In addition, Peter’s depiction of eschatological judgement itself (3.3–13) is thoroughly Jewish. This juxtaposition of Hellenistic and Jewish conceptual frameworks is part of Peter’s attempt to make the Christian message (which is itself a Jewish message) intelligible in a pagan environment. The dangers inherent in such a venture are apparent from the false teachers’ ‘mistranslation’ of that message into compromised ideas and lifestyles.43 As I have already noted above, this feature of the letter makes it a viable candidate to examine in terms of identity formation.

41. Examples here could be multiplied. Bauckham characterizes the ethical and religious terminology of 1.3–11 as ‘perhaps the most typically Hellenistic in the whole NT’ (‘2 Peter’, p. 926). 42. Here I follow Bauckham in linking the reference to angels in 2 Pet. 2.4 to Jude 6 and the echo there of the interpretation of the angels of Gen. 6.1–4 as angelic ‘Watchers’ in 1 En. 6–10. See Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 50–52, 248–49. See also Peter H. Davids, The Letters of 2 Peter and Jude (Pillar New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 225–26. 43. Bauckham, ‘2 Peter’, pp. 926–27. Adapting Bauckham’s categories somewhat, one could characterize the false teachers’ problem as one of mistranslating the gospel from Hellenized Jewish Christianity into Hellenized paganism.

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b. 2 Peter’s Opening, 1.1–11 To consider the content of the letter, we begin where the auditors did, with the introduction. Along with most commentators, I take this section to run through 1.11.44 At this point, we are looking for factors that Peter himself highlights which have some bearing on the issue of the auditors’ identity. In particular, evidence of narrative dynamics and matters of boundary formation warrant our attention. Furthermore, we want to see if these issues resurface in the body of the letter and in its conclusion, since this would verify that Peter himself regarded these matters as important. I will break down the opening into two sections: 1.1–2 and 1.3–11. 1. 2 Peter 1.1–2

Several items of critical importance occur in the opening two verses alone. First, ‘Jesus Christ’ ( 0Ihsou~ Xristou= or simply 0Ihsou=) is named three times. In addition, ‘God’ occurs twice, the first occurrence likely a reference to Jesus as well.45 By this repetition, Peter foregrounds Jesus and God as the central figures for the argument that follows. If nothing else, the touchstone of the auditors’ identity lies inextricably linked to these two figures. The import of this emphasis must not be overlooked. The frequent recurrence of the focus on Jesus Christ and his status as Lord in the letteropenings of the New Testament and other early Christian writing can dull our senses regarding its significance.46 By highlighting Jesus and God, Peter lucidly establishes a tone for the instructions that follow. Without

44. Watson (Invention, Arrangement, and Style, p. 94) identifies the exordium of the letter as running from 1.2–15, yet he recognizes that the body of the letter begins at 1.12. 45. This identification of Jesus with God here remains debated. But this is the most natural reading of e0n dikaiosu&nh| tou~ qeou~ h(mw~n kai\ swth~roj 0Ihsou~ Xristou=, especially given the later occurrence of compound phrases in 1.11 and 3.18, where the referent in both clauses is certainly Jesus. Cf. 3.18, e0n xa&riti kai\ gnw&sei tou~ kuri/ou h(mw~n kai\ swth~roj 0Ihsou~ Xristou=. 46. Although referring to Jesus as ‘Lord’ is common in the New Testament letteropenings, only 1 Timothy, Titus, and 2 Peter refer to Jesus as ‘Savior’. But see Ignatius, Magn., and Polycarp, Phil., for other early Christian openings that refer to Jesus as ‘Savior’.

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question, the world as Peter presents it to his auditors revolves around Jesus and God. Second, Peter places himself alongside his hearers, within the same group. He and they have received an ‘equally precious faith’ (i0so&timon . . . pi/stin; 1.1). Furthermore, Jesus serves as the ‘savior’ (1.1) and ‘lord’ (1.2) for each alike. Whatever sense of common identity Peter advocates for his hearers is one that he himself shares, a point to keep in mind as we proceed through the letter. Third, Peter’s opening statement places him in a position of high authority in relation to his auditors. Peter is both ‘slave’ (dou=loj) and apostle Jesus Christ. As such, his words and his characterizations of his auditors and their situation carry authority. The emphasis on Peter’s authority resurfaces in 1.16–18, where he recalls his presence at the Transfiguration.47 As we noted in our description of categorization above, one of the factors enhancing the influence exerted by labeling lies in the social authority of the one doing the categorizing. We should, therefore, expect Peter’s words to carry significance for the recipients. Finally, Peter introduces two terms that he will imbue with moral overtones later in the letter: ‘righteousness’ (dikaiosu&nh) and ‘knowledge’ (e0pi/gnwsij). Although the former term is used of divine action in v. 1, within the body of the letter it is used of moral character, which is central to the identification of Peter’s auditors (cf. 2.21; 3.13). 2. 2 Peter 1.3–11

In this section, we see the beginnings of a narrative pattern that will play a fundamental role in the argumentative structure of the letter. For Peter, past and future events carried out by the hand of God bear serious implications for the listeners’ present. Furthermore, Peter introduces the essential moral categories that define this narrative world as well as shape the primary boundary between his community and those he opposes in the letter.

47. Charles, Virtue Amidst Vice, pp. 55–56.

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Peter casts his initial description of his auditors within a temporal framework. By divine power they ‘have received’ (laxou~sin) a faith of equal honor to his (1.1). Furthermore, they ‘have been given’ (dedwrhme/nhj) all that is necessary for a godly life (1.3) through the knowledge of the one who has called them by his own power.48 By this act of power (di0 w{n, referring back to do&ch| kai\ a)reth=| in v. 3), they have also ‘been granted’ (dedw&rhtai) the great and precious promises in order that they ‘may become’ (ge/nhsqe) sharers of the divine nature.49 All these points, except the last, refer to past actions on God’s part; becoming ‘sharers in the divine nature’ anticipates the future. To so share involves ‘escaping’ (a) pofugo&ntej) the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire, an event I place at death or the Parousia.50 Thus, Peter describes his auditors at the outset of the letter as past recipients of abundant blessings from God. In fact, they have received ‘all things’ necessary for attaining a future escape from a corrupted world. Located between the past benevolent acts of God and a future free of worldly corruption, the auditors bear responsibility to eagerly pursue virtuous lives in the present in the midst of the corrupted world.51 Peter makes this point emphatic in several ways. First, he states that, ‘for this reason’ (kai\ au)to_ tou=to), they must ‘make every effort’ (spoudh\n pa~san pareisene/gkantej e0pixorhgh&sate) in practicing moral virtues (1.5–7) in the present. Such will result in their future ‘entrance into the eternal

48. I take the phrase do&ch| kai\ a)reth=| as a case of hendiadys, a common feature of 2 Peter, considering it basically a reference to divine power (as earlier in the verse). 49. Note the change from first to second person in the Greek. The meaning of this phrase, ‘sharers of the divine nature’, has generated no little controversy. Given the context in v. 4, I take the phrase to stand in contrast to the ‘corruption’ of the world, thereby indicating incorruptibility or immortality. For a full treatment of the phrase, see James M. Starr, Sharers in Divine Nature: 2 Peter 1:4 in Its Hellenistic Context (ConBNT, 33; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2000). 50. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 183. 51. Starr (Sharers in Divine Nature, pp. 49–53, 227) also notes the narrative quality of Peter’s description of Christians here, though I would place less emphasis on the individual nature of these depictions.

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kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’ (1.11). In other words, these critical virtues do not occur automatically; effort is required. Furthermore, Peter goes on to list a series of virtues in vv. 5–7, a catalog that includes key terms for moral excellence in the letter, such as ‘faith’ (pi/stij), ‘virtue’ (a)reth&), ‘knowledge’ (gnw&sij), and ‘godliness’ (eu)se/beia). These practices will keep his auditors from becoming ‘ineffective and unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (v. 8), a knowledge mentioned twice earlier in vv. 2–3. Anyone without these virtues has forgotten their ‘cleansing from sins’ (v. 10). Peter concludes that his auditors must be ‘all the more eager to do these things’ (dio_ ma~llon, a)delfoi/, spouda&sate bebai/an u(mw~n th_n klh~sin kai\ e0klogh_n poiei=sqai; v. 12), and thus will be richly provided with an entrance into the kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ (v. 11). Finally, we must note that the moral contrast between corruption (1.4) that characterizes the world because of passion (1.4) and sin (1.9), and the cleansing or escape from these evils (1.4, 9, 11) provided for believers, return elsewhere in the letter (2.10, 19, 20). They surface again in the closing, where Peter admonishes his auditors to be found without ‘spot or blemish’ (3.14) and to beware of the ‘error’ of the false teachers (3.17); they are to ‘grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’ (3.8). In other words, these characterizations introduced in the opening serve as formative characterizations of the world and those who inhabit it. We will return to this contrast again when we look at narrative in the letter as a whole. From the outset, therefore, Peter constructs a world for his auditors that revolves around God and Jesus, who alone control its destiny. By divine power, Peter and his audience have been given all that is necessary for entering the eternal kingdom under the rule of Jesus Christ. But they must act on what has been given them in order to escape a world corrupted by passions. If nothing else, this is a world of moral gravity, a point that Peter’s auditors must take with all seriousness and to which Peter returns at the close of the letter. There, he reminds his auditors to be ‘zealous to be found without spot or blemish’ (3.14). Furthermore, he warns them against

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being carried away by the false teachers and exhorts them to grow in the ‘grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’ (3.17–18).52 Already then, in the opening section of the letter, Peter unambiguously describes his hearers’ identity in moral terms. As Jerome Neyrey suggests, these opening verses function ‘to continue the socialization of new members into the symbolic world of those who acknowledge God and follow Jesus’.53 This ‘symbolic world’ in which Peter defines his audience is nothing if not moral in character. c. Narrative in 2 Peter 54 In spite of 2 Peter’s limited length, a distinctly narrative understanding of God’s activities forms the argumentative backbone of the letter. Within this larger story of divine activity, Peter embeds the stories of the human actors in the drama. It is precisely the location of the auditors in the context of God’s actions that gives traction to his appeal. As noted in the review of collective identity above, narratives consist of events, characters, settings, and plot. A narrative forms as particular events are selected out of the wealth of past, present, and future events and then invested with significance through how they are meaningfully related to one another. Part of this process takes place through the depiction of characters who both cause and respond to the events, as well as through the description of the settings in which the events take place. Furthermore, such narratives are not mere stories. Through a variety of means, they define the group’s place within that world and, therefore, provide them with an evaluative perspective on the world in which they live. This perspective in turn shapes the values, attitudes, and practices

52. As one would expect, the vocabulary of these closing verses echoes themes earlier in the letter: be ‘zealous’ (spouda&sate; 1.5, 10, 15), ‘spot and blemish’ (a!spiloi kai\ a) mw&mhtoi; 2.13), ‘knowledge’ (words from gnw- stem; 14 occurrences). 53. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, pp. 152–53. 54. For narrative descriptions of 2 Peter, see Joel B. Green, ‘Narrating the Gospel in 1 and 2 Peter’, Int 60 (2006), pp. 262–77 (267–69); Starr, Sharers in Divine Nature, pp. 49–53; and Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, pp. 153–54. Davids’ treatment concerns Christology only and is needlessly dependent on Greimasian diagrams of narrative functions.

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of the group. For these reasons, gaining a sense of a group’s narrative understanding of its world constitutes a critical task in comprehending its self-identity. In what follows, I will examine the narrative dynamics of Peter’s argument. In other words, I will attend to events, characters, and settings as they coalesce into a plot. As necessary, I will make observations related to identity formation. After this analysis, I will turn to more focused observations regarding matters of identity as they emerge from the analysis narrative in the letter. 1. The Narrative Dynamics of 2 Peter

In the face of ‘opponents’ who scoff at the idea of ultimate moral accountability and who therefore live and promote immoral lifestyles, Peter recounts God’s past acts of judgement (2.4–8) and creation (3.5–6) in order to affirm the surety of future divine judgement (2.9–10; 3.7, 10–13).55 All that happened in the past and that will take place in the future were and will be effected by the word of God (3.5–7). In terms of the broad narrative underlying the letter, everything becomes defined in relation to these events. Furthermore, God and Jesus are nothing if not reliable characters in this story, a point that serves as the lynchpin of Peter’s entire argument. At the outset, Jesus’ saving actions toward the auditors are described as done in ‘righteousness’ (e0n dikaiosu/nh) and accomplished by ‘our God and Savior [swth=roj] Jesus Christ’ (1.1). The fact that, through his use of the term ‘righteousness’ (dikaiosu/nh) in 1.1, Peter states that these saving actions are expressions of divine faithfulness indicates an emphasis on divine

55. Green (‘Narrating the Gospel’, pp. 267–69) reconstructs the narrative of 2 Peter under four headings: Israel’s past, the Christ event, the present, and eschatological judgement. I retain a simple structure of past, present, and future since I do not see the emphasis on the ‘Christ event’ in 2 Peter that Green does. Nevertheless, Green rightly emphasizes the critical role that impending eschatological judgement plays in determining the present course of action of the letter’s recipients. On dikaiosu/nh as ‘justice’, see Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, pp. 162–63.

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reliability.56 The title swth/r would carry further positive overtones of one who rescues or delivers.57 Such readings are bolstered by the fact that Peter highlights the benevolent character of God and Jesus when he recounts how divine power ‘has made available all that is necessary for a godly life’ (ta_ pro_j zwh_n kai\ eu)se/beian dedwrhme/nhj; 1.3).58 Finally, following this introduction, the letter as a whole upholds divine character. In the words of Jerome H. Neyrey, ‘This document is concerned with God’s justice, both as impartiality in benefaction (1.1) and as just judgment of saints and sinners.’59 Thus, God and Jesus are characterized in moral terms. The broad story depicted in 2 Peter, therefore, concerns divine activity, particularly as it is expressed in judgement. The divine characters who carry out this judgement are reliable and generous. Within this larger narrative, the stories of the human characters, whether individual or collective, find their place. These events of judgement, past and especially future, bear grave implications for Peter’s auditors. These people find themselves located temporally between past and future acts of divine judgement. Their present setting is a mixed one. They live within a world corrupted by sin and passion (1.4, 9) and inhabited by people subject to those passions. The resulting corruption (2.10, 19; 3.3) will lead invariably to ultimate destruction (2.12; 3.7). Peter’s hearers, however, have been gifted with all that is necessary to escape this corrupted world and its passions and ultimately enter the eternal kingdom ruled by Jesus (1.3–4, 11). Peter’s auditors, therefore, face a choice of walking in one of two patterns, both sub-plots within the larger story depicted for them. One entails

56. The continuing hints of divine faithfulness throughout the letter make such connotations to the term here more likely. Overtones of or explicit references to divine faithfulness can be found at, for example, 1.4, 11; 2.4–10; 3.5–7, 9–10, 13. 57. See, for example, K. H. Schelkle, ‘swth/r’, EDNT 3, pp. 325–27. 58. This point offers the best evidence for Neyrey’s interpretation of the letter-opening in terms of patron–client relationships, an intriguing take on the letter but one I regard as over-wrought. See Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, pp. 145–46. 59. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 148.

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becoming enslaved to passions and corruption, resulting in destruction. Balaam provides the example of one who followed this model. Peter makes the consequences of the first pattern even more severe by depicting those, such as the false teachers, who once came to the knowledge of Jesus Christ but subsequently returned to slavery to corruption, as destined for a state even worse than before their initial escape from such slavery (2.20–22). With biting irony, he describes those who promote this licentious lifestyle as promising freedom while being slaves to corruption in their very advocacy of such behavior (2.17).60 The second pattern involves the auditors acting on the divine gifts lavished upon them, thereby confirming their ‘call and election’ (1.10). These actions will result in growth in grace and knowledge of God (3.18) and ultimate salvation. Peter cites Noah (2.5–9) as a model of this mode of life. Although the ‘false teachers’ or ‘scoffers’ (3.3) are not the target of Peter’s appeal, he does spell out the implications of this divine activity for them as well. They will suffer ‘swift destruction’ (taxinh\n a)pw&leian; 2.1) or simply ‘destruction’ (fqora//fqei/rw; 2.12, 19). What Peter emphasizes, however, is their moral character. His vitriolic descriptions of these people dominate the letter (2.1–3.7). The letter’s auditors should understand these people as opposed to God, as under the sway of the desires that corrupt the world (1.4), and as destined for destruction. As he did with God and Jesus, Peter characterizes the human characters in moral terms. The auditors, having been given all that is necessary for ‘godliness’ (eu)se/beian), must spare no effort in follow-through and live virtuously. In those sections of the letter where Peter addresses the hearers directly, the focus rests precisely on the moral texture of their lives (1.3–11; 3.11–18). A life characterized by moral virtues will confirm their ‘call and election’ (klh~sin kai\ e0klogh_n; 1.10) and leave them ‘without spot or blemish’ (a!spiloi kai\ a)mw&mhtoi; 3.14) at the approaching judgement. In contrast, Peter depicts the false teachers in scathing terms because 60. Peter’s description of those who become enslaved to sin and who will therefore suffer final judgement sounds highly Pauline. The same holds true for the deception described in 2.17. Cf. Rom. 1.22; 5.12–21.

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of their moral depravity.61 His general descriptions of them focus on their ‘licentiousness’ (a)se/lgeia; 2.2, 7, 18), their ‘greed’ (pleoneci/a; 2.3, 14), their ‘ungodliness’ or ‘unrighteousness’ (a0diki/a/a0se/beia; 2.6, 9, 13, 15; 3.7), and their slavery to ‘corruption’ (au)toi\ dou~loi u(pa&rxontej th~j fqora~j; 2.18).62 Having previously escaped the ‘defilements’ (ta_ mia&smata) of the world, they have come under their control once more, making their current enslaved state worse than their earlier (2.20–22). 2. Issues of Identity Formation in the Narrative of 2 Peter

Several significant issues related to identity emerge from the analysis of the narrative dynamics apparent in the letter. For the sake of clarity, I will enumerate five issues below, with sub-points where necessary. (A) BOUNDARIES

As I have already demonstrated, Peter’s characterizations remain overwhelmingly moral throughout. It becomes clear, then, that the boundary between Peter’s group and the ‘others’ mentioned in the letter lies primarily along moral lines. As we saw in the section on collective identity, identifying boundaries between groups is a critical task in the process of discerning group identity. By focusing on moral boundaries, I am not suggesting that doctrinal issues do not play a role. The false teachers apparently reject the idea of Jesus ‘coming in judgement’ (pou~ e0stin h( e0paggeli/a th~j parousi/aj au)tou=; 3.4) and ‘deny the master who bought them’ (to_n a)gora&santa au)tou_j despo&thn a)rnou&menoi; 2.1). Peter labels such teachings ‘destructive heresies’ (ai9re/seij a)pwlei/aj; 2.1). At the same time, they lead to immoral lifestyles, the description of which dominates Peter’s portrayal of the false teachers’ error.63 But the

61. See the thorough analysis of this depiction in John H. Elliott, ‘Peter, Second Epistle of’, ABD, vol. 5, pp. 282–87 (285–86). 62. The last term, fqora/, being a favorite characterization of Peter’s not only for the false teachers, but for the world under the sway of ‘desire’ and ‘sin’ as well. Cf. 1.4; 2.12, 19. 63. In this sense, I agree with J. Daryl Charles’ contention (‘The Language and Logic of Virtue in 2 Peter 1:5–7’, BBR 8 [1998], pp. 55–73 [73]) regarding 2 Peter. He writes: ‘Not

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emphasis in Peter’s descriptions of the two collective characters in the letter, in the reasons given for the condemnation of the false teachers, and in the counsel given to his hearers falls on behavior. We can identify several contrasting pairs of moral terms and concepts in the letter that give expression to, and therefore help us understand, this moral boundary. Peter associates ‘corruption’ and ‘pollution’ (fqora// mi/asma; 2.12, 19, 20) with the false teachers, yet describes his hearers as those who have been enabled to escape the corruption that is in the world because of desire (1.4). Furthermore, the language of ‘godliness’/‘godly’ and ‘ungodliness’/‘ungodly’ (euse/ b eia/a) s e/ b eia and cognates; 1.3, 6, 7; 2.5, 9; 3.7, 11) permeates the letter, as does the vocabulary of ‘righteous’/‘unrighteous’ (dikaiosu/nh/a)diki/a and cognates; 1.1; 2. 5, 7–9, 13, 15, 21; 3.13). Finally, the pairing of ‘knowledge’ and ‘ignorance’ plays a vital role in Peter’s characterization as well (e0piginw&skw/a)gnoe/w and cognates; 1.2, 5, 20; 2.12, 20–21; 3.3, 8, 13). These pairings, along with the broader contrasts between the list of virtues in 1.5–7 and the extensive characterizations of the false teachers, make it evident that the differences between Peter’s auditors and those who do not belong to that group are marked above all else by moral qualities and behaviors. If collective identity becomes constructed through perceptions of similarity and difference, Peter’s loathing depiction of the false teachers makes quite apparent the differences between his auditors and what he calls them to be, and the false teachers and what they advocate. (B) NORMS AND IDENTITY DESCRIPTORS

In Philip F. Esler’s terms mentioned above, such behavioral stipulations are ‘norms’ or ‘identity descriptors’. While ‘godliness’ and ‘holiness’ may define Peter and his auditors in a broad sense (1.3; 3.11), the particular the false doctrine presupposed by the “early Catholic” hypothesis but moral decay stemming from a disavowal of Christian truth-claims is the burden of 2 Peter.’ At the same time, I would make clear that doctrinal issues, in the sense of ideational structures, do play a part in what Peter opposes, while agreeing with Charles that Peter’s primary concern lies elsewhere, with what I prefer to call ‘norms’ or ‘identity descriptors’. Charles’ argument on this point forms a substantial point of both his Virtue Amidst Vice and ‘Language and Logic’.

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virtues spelled out in 1.5–7 provide more specific yet still somewhat general descriptors.64 These are the behaviors and attitudes that characterize those who recall that they have been cleansed from old sins (1.9) and who are thus effective and fruitful ‘in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (1.8). Thus, Peter’s behavioral descriptions and exhortations are more than just ethical guidelines; they are markers that distinguish this group from others.65 (C) CATEGORIZATION

Social Identity Theory (SIT) offers two additional insights into the process of identity formation based on Peter’s use of categorization. First, it holds that categorization, the critical factor in identity formation from its perspective, involves accentuating in-group similarities and exaggerating out-group differences.66 This may help account for the vivid manner in which Peter describes the scoffers and for the stark contrasts between his group and the scoffers that his characterizations draw. Second, according to SIT, the process of forming collective identity involves: (1) a cognitive dimension, recognizing we belong to the group; (2) an evaluative dimension, developing an attitude of favoritism toward the group; and (3) an emotional dimension, a sense that belonging to the group is something positive. Given the strong dichotomies in Peter’s portrayal of his auditors and the false teachers, we can recognize all three of these factors potentially at work through the use of paraphrase: ‘We are

64. Perhaps the general nature of the behaviors Peter advocates lends them a symbolic function. For example, the auditors are called to embody ‘brotherly affection’ (filade/feia; 1.7), but what they think that looks like in concrete terms may vary. In other words, they should identify themselves by this practice even if there is room to disagree over what precisely it entails. 65. This is precisely Esler’s point, for which see Conflict and Identity, pp. 20–21. 66. For examples of the following issues used in biblical studies, see Jutta Jokiranta, ‘Qumran – The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran Pesharim: A Social-Identity Approach’, in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), pp. 254–63 (255–56); Santiago Guijarro, ‘Cultural Memory and Group Identity in Q’, BTB 37 (2007), pp. 90–101 (93–94); Esler, Conflict and Identity, pp. 20–22, and throughout.

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surely not part of that group’ (cognitive); ‘Surely, unlike those people, we will escape the corruption of this world that enslaves them and will enjoy our entrance into Jesus’ eternal kingdom’ (evaluative); ‘Therefore, I would much rather be a part of the people who are zealous for godliness’ (emotional). (D) IDENTITY THROUGH TIME

Marco Cinnirella67, building on SIT while drawing on work outside that tradition, examines the idea of ‘possible selves’.68 This concept involves ‘beliefs about what the self was in the past and might become in the future, together with some estimate of the probability that different possible selves will be realized’.69 The approach contends that people will work to achieve ‘positively valued (i.e. desired) possible selves’, while avoiding negatively valued selves’.70 Within this basic theoretical framework, we can see Peter casting both positive and negative possible social identities for his listeners. In so doing, he creates ways for them to imagine themselves and to plot how to become what they envision for the future. There are several references to possible futures, positive and negative, in 2 Peter (1.4, 11; 2.20–22; 3.7, 11–14, 17). For Peter’s auditors, the ramifications of this story explicitly involve matters of identity. In light of the coming judgement, Peter asks them, ‘What sort of persons ought you to be?’ (dei= u(pa&rxein u(ma~j; 3.11b), and answers himself, ‘You ought to be in lives of holiness and godliness’ (e0n a(gi/aij a)nastrofai=j kai\ eu)sebei/aij; 3.11b; cf. 1.3). He repeats the

67. M. Cinnirella, ‘Exploring Temporal Aspects of Social Identity: The Concept of Possible Social Identities’, European Journal of Social Psychology 28 (1998), pp. 227–48. 68. Cinnirella, ‘Exploring Temporal Aspects’, pp. 27–28, citing esp. H. Markus and P. Nurius, ‘Possible Selves: the Interface Between Motivation and Self-Concept’, in K. Yardley and T. Honess (eds), Self and Identity: Psychosocial Perspectives (Chichester, UK: John Wiley and Sons, 1987), pp. 157–72, and H. Markus and A. Ruvolo, ‘Possible Selves: Personalized Representations of Goals’, in L. A. Pervin (eds), Goal Concepts in Personality and Social Psychology (Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum, 1989), pp. 211–41. 69. Cinnirella, ‘Exploring Temporal Aspects’, p. 229. 70. Cinnirella, ‘Exploring Temporal Aspects’. p. 229. On this same page, Cinnirella notes ‘possible selves literature’ has worked with both individual and collective identities.

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logic of this appeal in 3.14: in light of the future, ‘be zealous to be found by him without spot or blemish’ (spouda&sate a!spiloi kai\ a)mw&mhtoi au)tw|~ eu(reqh~nai). In both instances, we find a straightforward appeal for communal self-assessment and a call for particular kinds of behavior. In light of impending divine judgement, therefore, Peter’s auditors have no choice but to be a certain kind of people. (E) COLLECTIVE MEMORY

Peter’s efforts in this letter can be thought of in terms borrowed from the study of collective memory.71 This discipline holds that individual and communal memory take place only in a social context. In other words, we learn how to recall the past according to social frameworks established by the groups to which we belong. The manner in which family memories are recalled serves as a prime example of this phenomenon. We learn, within the context of a family, what events and characters from the family history are significant and how they are to be ‘framed’ when retold. These insights have been developed by a number of theorists. Rather than offer a comprehensive review of the field, I will merely draw upon the work of Eviatar Zerubavel in order to illustrate the potential benefits of this general approach.72 Zerubavel examines the manner in which human cognition, including memory, is socially shaped. From infancy we become socialized into patterns of thinking. In his words, ‘We learn how to focus our attention, frame our experience, generalize, and reason in a socially appropriate manner.’73 These acquired cognitive patterns and habits, what

71. The foundational work here is Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory (trans. Lewis A. Cohen; Heritage of Sociology; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992 [1925]). For a survey and analysis of recent developments in the field, see Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, ‘Social Memory Studies: From “Collective Memory” to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices’, Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998), pp. 105–40, and Jeffrey K. Olick, ‘Collective Memory: The Two Cultures’, Sociological Theory 17 (1999), pp. 333–48. 72. Zerubavel, E., Social Mindscapes: An Invitation to Cognitive Sociology (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997). 73. Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes, p. 13 (his emphasis).

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Zerubavel calls social rules of ‘perceiving, attending, and remembering’, give ‘mental membership’ in a community.74 The critical point, for our purposes, is that these patterns must be learned. One must be socialized into these patterns to become part of the group. From this perspective, we can understand 2 Peter as an instrument of cognitive socialization. Peter works to shape his auditors’ patterns of perception of themselves within their context. He labors to get them to understand themselves within the story of God’s actions toward creation and its human inhabitants. This story involves acts both of divine creation and judgement and of divine benevolence toward them in a world that offers only slavery to corruption and destruction. If they adopt the framework that Peter presents, they will be able to detect what is appropriate behavior, especially in response to the overtures from the false teachers.

III. Summary and Conclusions

Does 2 Peter function to shape communal identity? I have answered this question affirmatively for the following reasons. The two primary human characters in the story in the letter are collective – the auditors and the false teachers. Collective identity takes shape as perceptions of similarity and difference are formed. Peter’s actual argumentation in the letter serves precisely to help his auditors distinguish themselves and their doings from the false teachers and their practices. Thus, the letter itself provides ample evidence of strategies that would form and strengthen group identity for his auditors. We can summarize the ways in which Peter’s letter works to accomplish this task. Peter constructs a grand narrative involving divine acts of creation and judgement in the past. God’s character guarantees similar acts of judgement involving all of creation in the future. Within this sweeping story he places his auditors and the false teachers. By means of repeated and pointed moral characterizations, he contrasts these two groups. In

74. Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes, pp. 13, 7.

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general, we can describe these contrasts as between holiness and godliness on the one hand, and unbridled passion and corruption on the other. Having defined the boundaries between his auditors and the false teachers in moral terms, Peter also develops stark contrasts between their futures. For the false teachers, the future holds destruction. For his auditors, Peter offers two possibilities. They can be carried away by the errors proffered by the ‘lawless people’ among them (3.17). If so, their fate will be worse than it was before they came to knowledge of Jesus as Lord and Savior (2.20). Alternatively, they can act upon the divine promises given to them, ‘escape from the corruption that is in the world’ (1.4), and eventually enter into Jesus’ eternal kingdom (1.11). According to the theory of ‘possible selves’, they will envision for themselves the positive potential future Peter portrays for them and then formulate means of achieving that end. In this essay, I have not claimed that Peter self-consciously set out to shape the collective identity of those to whom he wrote. I do contend, however, that, examined from the perspective of modern studies of communal identity, Peter’s argumentation reveals potent raw material for shaping their self-understanding. From Peter’s perspective, interaction will continue between those who will hear his letter read and the false teachers. His instructions contribute to the socialization of his auditors into a particular understanding of themselves, in opposition to the teachers, within a world framed around moral accountability to God. If his hearers will enact that self-understanding in their encounters with these teachers, they will move in the direction of successfully accomplishing his goal of turning them from the influence of the teachers toward ‘lives of holiness and godliness’ (3.11). My approach to 2 Peter, therefore, provides a perspective on the letter that differs from many that have gone before. Rather than simply serving as a source for understanding debates over theology in the early church, as in many traditional historical approaches, reading 2 Peter as a struggle over collective identity helps illuminate the actual function of the letter in its context. In this sense, my method stands alongside rhetorical criticism in examining how the letter functions as a tool of persuasion. Unlike

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rhetorical approaches, however, mine is not concerned with examining formal means of influencing an audience. Rather, it is concerned with how the assumptions about, and instructions to, hearers within the world in which they live serve to shape their self-understanding and, hence, their behavior. In so doing, it offers an opportunity to read this short, often neglected epistle afresh.

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INDEX OF ANCIENT TEXTS

Hebrew Scriptures Genesis 1.1-10 44, 46n. 48 1.2 82 1.3-30 46n. 49 1.6-9 82 6.1-4 20, 76, 161n. 42 6.5 76 6.5–9.29 77, 82 7 44, 46 7.11 82 18–19 77 19.4-11 78 Deuteronomy 32.22 83 1 Samuel 10.5-6 69 10.10-13 69 1 Kings 22.5-28 72 Psalms 18.13-15 49n. 60 33.6 46n. 49 33.7 46n. 48 41.4 45 41.11 45 77.18 49n. 60 78.10 46

90.4 42, 44, 47, 86 104.7 49n. 60 113.10 46 136.6 46n. 48 148.5 46n. 49

Micah 7.10 46

Proverbs 8.27-29 46n. 48

Zephaniah 1.18 83 2.3 44, 48, 50

Isaiah 6 68 32.16 85 34.4 44, 48–9, 50 60.22 44 65.17 44, 50, 85 66.15-16 83 66.22 50, 85

Habakkuk 2.3 44

Malachi 2.17 46 3.1 48n. 56 3.19 44, 48–9, 83

Joel 2.7 46 4.16 49n. 60

New Testament Matthew 5.18 49n. 58 10.15 75n. 23 12.46 22 13.55 22 16.28 45n. 46 17.1-8 65 19.28 50n. 63 24.34 45n. 46 24.35 49n. 58 24.37-39 75n. 23 24.43 44 24.43-44 49n. 57, 84n. 31

Amos 1.2 49n. 60

Mark 6, 39n. 34, 112n. 57

Jeremiah 1 68 17.15 46 28 72 Daniel 7.23-27 16

194

Index of Ancient Texts

Mark (continued) 3.32 22 6.3 22 9.1 45n. 46 9.2-8 65 9.27 45n. 46 13.30 45n. 46 13.31 49n. 58

13.1 73 15.6-21 24 15.13 22 20.18-21 114n. 61 20.27 114n. 61 20.31 114n. 61 20.33-35 114n. 61 21.18 22

Luke 9.31 111n. 55 10.12 75n. 23 12.39 44 12.39-40 49n. 57, 84n. 31 16.17 49n. 58 17.26-27 75n. 23 17.28-30 75n. 23 17.32 75n. 23 21.32 45n. 46 21.33 49n. 58

Romans 120 1.22 169n. 60 5.12-21 169n. 60 8.21 50n. 63 13.1-7 9

John 7.3 22 7.5 22 7.10 22 8.33 151 13.33-34 114n. 61 15.9-10 114n. 61 15.15b 114n. 61 15.16 114n. 61 15.18 114n. 61 15.22 114n. 61 15.24 114n. 61 17.4 114n. 61 17.6 114n. 61 17.8 114n. 61 17.12 114n. 61 17.26 114n. 61 21.22-23 45n. 46

2 Corinthians 2.1-4 30 5.1 109n. 52 5.4 109n. 52 10–13 30

Acts 1.14 22, 22n. 46 12.17 22, 24

1 Corinthians 3.13-15 83, 84 9.5 22, 23 12.28-29 73 15.7 22

Galatians 120 1.1 23 1.2 21n. 43 2.9 22 2.12 22 3.1–4.11 120n. 3 Ephesians 4.11 73 5.21–6.9 9 Colossians 3.18–4.2 9 4.16 21n. 43

1 Thessalonians 5.2 49n. 57, 84, 87 5.3-11 88 1 Timothy 162n. 46 2 Timothy 3.10 114n. 61 Titus 162n. 46 1.12 151 Philemon 120–21 Hebrews 10.37 48n. 54 11.1 46n. 49 James 3.1 73 1 Peter 2.9 151 2.18–3.7 9 2 Peter 1 11, 100, 116–17, 140 1.1 21n. 43, 130, 131n. 30, 141, 144, 163, 164, 167, 168, 171 1.1-2 162-3 1.1-7 104n. 41 1.1-11 102, 156, 162 1.1-15 32, 63 1.2 92, 100n. 30, 103n. 40, 106n. 44, 163, 171 1.2-3 165 1.2-15 162n. 44 1.3 92, 100–1, 103, 103n. 40, 104, 104n. 41,

Index of Ancient Texts 106–7, 117, 133, 164, 168, 171, 173 1.3-4 100–1, 103, 104n. 41, 106, 107, 114–15, 117, 168 1.3-5 106 1.3-11 xi, 91n. 1, 111, 112n. 58, 113–14, 117, 162, 163–6, 169 1.3-15 xvi, 30, 91-118 1.4 xi, 100, 102n. 38, 103n. 40, 107, 108n. 46, 109, 115, 117, 130, 131, 143, 144, 161, 164n. 49, 165, 168, 168n. 56, 169, 170n. 62, 171, 173, 176 1.4b 102, 104 1.4-5 108 1.5 92, 102, 107, 113, 118, 130, 166n. 52, 171 1.5b 104n. 41 1.5-6 103n. 40, 111 1.5-7 102, 103, 104n. 41, 106, 107, 164, 165, 170n. 63, 171, 172 1.5-8 92n. 4, 106, 107 1.5-9 100, 102, 103, 106–7, 110, 115 1.5-11 110, 111, 115 1.6 92, 102, 171 1.7 171, 172n. 64 1.8 92, 102, 103, 103n. 40, 104, 105n. 42, 106, 130 1.8-9 102, 107, 172 1.9 104, 105n. 42, 106, 165, 168, 172 1.9-11 108, 109n. 48 1.10 94n. 11, 106, 108, 113, 113n. 59, 118, 130, 134, 165, 166, 169 1.10-11 107, 107n. 45, 108, 110, 115n. 52 1.11 92n. 4, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 114, 131,

133–4, 162n. 45, 165, 168, 168n. 56, 173, 176 1.12 92, 109n. 51, 111–13, 130, 131, 136, 143, 162n. 44, 165 1.12-13 110, 111, 115 1.12-15 xi, 91n. 1, 100, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115 1.13 110, 112n. 56, 118, 132 1.13-15 106n. 44 1.14 92, 110, 112, 131, 132 1.14a 110 1.14b 110 1.14-15 110, 115 1.15 95, 109n. 51, 110, 111–13, 118, 130, 132, 166n. 52 1.16 92n. 4, 132, 139, 161 1.16-18 xi, 45, 64–8, 88, 136–7, 139, 163 1.16-21 30, 42 1.16–2.10a xv, 63, 64 1.16–3.13 31 1.16–3.18 114 1.17 66, 100n. 30, 131, 131n. 30 1.17-18 69 1.18 66, 132, 136 1.19 42 1.19-21 12, 45, 68–72, 74 1.19–2.10a 68-80 1.20 72, 81, 92n. 4, 103n. 40, 171 1.20-21 72, 105n. 40 1.21 69, 72 2 xi, 7, 21, 24–5, 128, 139, 144 2.1 13, 24, 42, 81, 92n. 4, 105n. 40, 130, 132, 157, 159, 169, 170 2.1-3 xi, 8, 30, 78 2.1–3.3 11, 72-5

195 2.1–3.7 169 2.2 92n. 4, 94n. 11, 142, 159, 170 2.3 13, 78, 92n. 4, 132, 142, 170 2.4 8, 14, 15, 79, 82, 131, 135, 161 2.4-7 79 2.4-8 83, 167 2.4-9 20 2.4-10 168n. 56 2.4b-10a xi, 14, 32, 71, 75-80 2.5 79, 82, 83, 86, 109, 131, 161, 171 2.5-9 169 2.6 8, 14–15, 79, 131, 135, 170 2.6-7 79 2.6-8 161 2.7 79, 170 2.7-9 171 2.8 79, 86 2.8-9 86 2.9 7, 8, 79, 82, 128, 142, 144, 160, 170, 171 2.9b 15 2.9-10 167 2.9-10a 79 2.10 8, 132, 139, 165, 168 2.10a 15, 117 2.10b 16 2.10-11 11 2.10-19 159 2.10b-16 16 2.10b-17 142 2.10b-22 xi, 30, 31, 63, 75 2.11 8, 16 2.12 8, 17, 42, 92n. 4, 131, 132, 168, 169, 170n. 62, 171 2.13 7, 8, 13, 18, 166n. 52, 170, 171 2.13-17 9

196 2 Peter (continued) 2.14 170 2.15 8, 18, 92n. 4, 94n. 11, 132, 170, 171 2.15-16 21 2.17 8, 18, 83, 135n. 41, 169 2.18 8, 18, 117, 132, 143, 170 2.19 158, 165, 168, 169, 170n. 62, 171 2.20 92, 92n. 4, 103n. 40, 109, 144, 171, 176 2.20-21 159, 165, 171 2.20-22 169, 170, 173 2.21 81, 92n. 4, 94n. 11, 103n. 40, 163, 171 3 7, 11, 21, 133n. 35 3.1 21, 63, 132, 136 3.1-2 8, 42, 45, 54 3.1-3 44, 54 3.1-4 xi, 30, 51, 55, 56 3.1-13 xv, 27, 30, 41, 42, 52, 53, 63, 71, 80-8 3.2 19, 45, 132, 141 3.2-3 10, 44, 45 3.3 8, 19, 85, 92n. 4, 103n. 40, 117, 139, 144, 159, 168, 169, 171 3.3-4 12, 42, 55 3.3-7 103n. 40 3.3-9 159 3.3-10 12 3.3-13 17, 161 3.4 41, 43, 45, 48n. 56, 170 3.4-13 xi, 43, 51, 54 3.5 44, 82, 92n. 4, 144 3.5-6 46, 86, 167 3.5-7 42, 43, 46, 47n. 52, 55, 56, 167, 168n. 56 3.5-13 30, 42, 55 3.6 44, 109, 131 3.7 46, 47, 131, 160, 167, 168, 170, 171, 173

Index of Ancient Texts 3.8 44, 55, 92n. 4, 129, 165, 171 3.8-13 42, 47 3.8-9 55, 56 3.9 41, 44, 47, 48n. 56, 50, 51, 52, 54, 87, 94 3.9-10 168n. 56 3.10 44, 48, 49, 50, 56, 84, 87, 131, 135, 135n. 41, 144 3.10-12 42, 43, 48, 55, 56 3.10-13 167 3.11 51, 52, 130, 171, 176 3.11b 173 3.11-12 87 3.11-13 49, 52 3.11-14 160, 173 3.11-18 xi, 169 3.12 43, 44, 49, 50, 52, 54, 84, 135n. 41 3.12-13 51 3.12-14 44 3.13 43, 44, 50, 52, 55, 56, 88, 109, 130, 132, 136, 163, 168n. 56, 171 3.14 42, 50n. 61, 113n. 59, 130, 165, 169, 174 3.14-18 31, 52, 156 3.15 81, 130 3.15-16 12 3.16 92n. 5 3.17 92n. 4, 130, 159, 165, 173, 176 3.17-18 166 3.18 92, 92n. 4, 130, 162n. 45, 169 Jude 4 8, 12, 13, 14 6 8, 14, 15, 20, 75n. 23, 76, 161n. 42 7 8, 15, 75n. 23, 77 7b 8

7–8 15 8 8, 13, 15–16, 18 8–9 11 8–12 16 9 8, 16, 20 10 8, 17, 18 11 8, 18 12a 8 12b 8 12–13 18 13 8, 18 14–15 11, 20 16 8, 18 17 8, 15, 19 17–18 10, 44 18 8, 19 19 13, 18 Revelation 3.3 49n. 57, 84n. 31 16.15 49n. 57, 84n. 31 21.1 50n. 63 Old Testament Apocrypha Wisdom 9.1 46n. 49 9.15 109n. 52 Sirach 18.9-11 47n. 53 32.33 48n. 54 35.19 48n. 54 39.17 46n. 48 Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Coptic Apocalypse of Elijah 3.82 49n. 59 3.98 50n. 63 Assumption of Moses 11, 20

Index of Ancient Texts

197

2 Baruch 20.6 48n. 54 32.6 50n. 63 44.12 50n. 63 48.9 48n. 54 48.12-13 47n. 53 56.10-14 75n. 23 56.15-16 75n. 23 57.2 50n. 63 89.1-8 75n. 23 89.12 48n. 55 93.4 75n. 23

4 Maccabees 18.3 101n. 34

23.5 43, 48n. 56, 50n. 61 27.4 43, 46n. 49, 47

Sibylline Oracles 1.95 47n. 51 3.30 46n. 49 3.54-87 47n. 50 4.173-81 47n. 50 4.175 49n. 59 5.211-13 47n. 50 5.212 50n. 63 7.11 47n. 51

2 Clement 43 11.2 43 11.2-4 43 16.1 48n. 56 16.3 43, 48-9

Eldad and Modad 43

Dead Sea Scrolls 1QH III, 19-36 47n. 50 III, 32-36 49n. 59

Polycarp To the Philippians 158, 162n. 46

1 Enoch 11, 20 1.9 20 6–12 20 12.4-6 76 10.11–11.2 47n. 51 45.4-5 50n. 63 72.1 50n. 63 86–88 75n. 23 91.6 50n. 63

Philo and Josephus Josephus Contra Apionem 2.232 101n. 34 Jewish Antiquities 1.70 47n. 50 1.74 77

4 Ezra 6.38 46n. 49 6.43 46n. 49 7.33-34 48n. 55 7.75 50n. 63 7.82 48n. 55 9.11 48n. 55

Philo Legum allegoriae 1.38 101n. 34 De migratione Abrahami 139 77 On the Decalogue 104 101n. 34

Liber antiquitatum biblicarum 3.10 50n. 63 19.13a 47n. 53

Mishnah and Talmud b. Sanh. 97b 48n. 54

Life of Adam and Eve 49.3 47n. 50 Jubilees 1.29 50n. 63

Apostolic Fathers 1 Clement 43, 158 23–27 43 23.3 43 23.3-4 43

Ignatius To the Magnesians 162n. 46

Shepherd of Hermas, Vision 1.3.4 46n. 48, n. 49 2.3.4 43 New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Acts of Peter 112 Apocalypse of Peter 112 66n. 9 Gospel of Peter 112 Classical and Ancient Christian Writings Aristobulus 5 Aristotle De Caelo 1.279b 101n. 32 1.282b 101n. 32 Poetica 7.25-26 124n. 22 14.3-7 123n. 15

198 Rhetorica 3 96n. 16 3.11.2 96n. 16 Arrian Anabasis 1 Preface 1-3 5, 6 Cicero xiv, 1, 6 De orator 3.96-208 31 De inventione rhetorica 2.4 7

Index of Ancient Texts Eusebius Historia ecclesiastica 1.7.14 23 2.15 112n. 57 3.19.1–3.20.8 23 3.20.8 23 3.32.5-6 23 3.39 112n. 57 101n. 34

13.4 3 15.10-11 99–100

Herodotus 2

Quintilian xiv, 1 Institutio oratoria 8.3.62 99n. 25 8.3.64-65 99n. 26 8–9 31 10.2.7-8 14 5–6 10.2.14 5 10.2.24-26 6

Homer 2–3, 6 Demetrius On Style 38–124 31 Demosthenes 6 Dionysius of Halicarnassus xiv, 1 De compositione verborum 6 3 16 3-4 Ars rhetorica 298.1 4 Epictetus Diatribai 2.19.26-27 101n. 34

Horace Ars Poetica 131–34 3 Irenaeus Adversus haereses 3.1.1 112n. 57 Longinus xiv, 1, 2 De sublimitate 31 5.1 99n. 27 5.2 99n. 27 5.9 99n. 27 13.2-4 4-5

Philodemus 5 Plato Phaedrus 230A 101n. 34 Ptolemy 5

Seneca the Elder Suasoriae 3.7 2, 4 Seneca Epistulae morales 79.6 3 84.3, 5 7 Vergil 4

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Abrams, M. H. 90 Adams, Edward 122n. 14, 123n. 19 Amit, V. 149n. 7 Arieti, James A. 3n. 4 Aune, David E. 62n. 5 Austin, William G. 147n. 1 Baban, Octavian D. 2n. 3 Bal, Mieke xvii, 121, 122n. 14, 123n. 18–19, 124, 129n. 29 Balz, H. 157n. 27 Barnwell, K. 9n. 20 Bartchy, S. Scott 23n. 47 Barth, Frederik 149n. 7, 152n. 16 Barthes, Roland 129n. 29 Bauckham, Richard J. xi-xii, 9n. 19, 10n. 22, 11, 17n. 37, 22n. 44–5, 23n. 49n. 50, 24n. 51, 42n. 42, 43, 44n. 45, 46n. 47, 47n. 52–3, 48n. 56, 54n. 76, 67, 71n. 16–17, 72n. 18, 76n. 24, 80n. 26, 82n. 28, 83n. 29, 84n. 30n. 32–3, 94, 101n. 36, 103n. 40, 105, 109n. 50, 110, 112n. 56n. 58, 140, 157n. 29, 158n. 30,

160n. 37n. 39, 161n. 41–3, 164n. 50 Bauman-Martin, Betsy xiiin. 5, 63n. 6, 123n. 19 Berger, Peter L. 153n. 18 Bigg, Charles 8n. 16, 10, 12n. 31, 80n. 26, 105n. 43, 111n. 55 Bitzer, Lloyd F. 28, 29n. 4 Black, C. Clifton 38n. 31, 62n. 5 Black, D. A. 9n. 20 Bongard, Josh C. 97n. 18 Booth, Wayne 99n. 26 Boring, Eugene 121, 123n. 19, 134n. 37 Brown, Raymond E. 8n. 17 Brown, Rupert 149n. 7, 150n. 11 Burroughs, W. Jeffrey 152n. 17 Callan, Terence xiii, xv-xvi, 7n. 15, 9n. 19, 31, 56n. 77, 104n. 41 Capozza, D. 149n. 7 Carr, David xvii, 122n. 14, 124, 136n. 43, 137–8 Cavillin, H. C. C. 13n. 33 Chaine, Joseph 9n. 19 Charles, J. Daryl 103n. 40, 157n. 29, 158n. 31, 163n. 47, 170n. 63

Chatman, Seymour xvii, 121, 123n. 17n. 19, 127n. 28 Chester, Andrew 91n. 1, 114n. 61, 158n. 32 Cinnirella, Marco 173 Cocude, Marguerite 116n. 64 Cohen, Louis A. 174n. 71 Conte, Gian Biagio 2n. 3, 4n. 7 Cornell, Stephen 152n. 17 Costello, Robert 142n. 51 Coulson, Seana 39n. 36 Craik, F. 116n. 63 Crossett, John M. 3n. 4 Cullmann, Oscar 8n. 17 Culpepper, Alan 119, 141 Czerny, Robert 142n. 51 Davids, Peter H. xiiin. 5, 7n. 15, 9n. 19, 39n. 39, 67n. 10n. 12, 80n. 26, 82n. 28, 93n. 6, 101, 102n. 37, 112n. 56, 161n. 42, 166n. 54, 167n. 55 Davis, David Brion 53n. 70 Denhièr, Guy 116n. 65 Denis, Michel 116n. 64–5 Derrenbacker, Robert A. 6n. 12, 7 Donfried, Karl P. 8n. 17

200 Doosje, Bertjan 147n. 1 Durix, Jean-Pierre 1n. 1 Eco, Umberto 123n. 16 Ellemers, Naomi 147n. 1 Elliott, John H. 102, 111n. 55, 170n. 61 Eriksson, Anders 37n. 29 Esler, Philip F. 147n. 4, 149n. 8, 150n. 11, 154, 171, 172n. 65–6 Esrock, Ellen 116n. 66 Fauconnier, Gilles 39n. 36, 62n. 5, 94, 95n. 12–13, 96–8 Ford, David 153–4 Fornberg, Torn 7n. 15, 9n. 19, 13n. 34, 17n. 38, 74n. 22, 84n. 30, 157n. 29, 160n. 40 Fowler, Robert M. 89–90 Fuchs, Erich 94n. 11, 102n. 38, 112n. 56, 113n. 59 Gerdmar, Anders 50n. 63, 79n. 25 Gilmour, Michael J. 7n. 15, 9n. 19, 11n. 29, 21n. 42 Goldberg, Adele 95n. 13 Green, Gene xiii-xv, 7n. 15, 9n. 19, 14n. 36, 20n. 41 Green, Joel B. 166n. 54, 167n. 55 Green, Michael 9n. 20, 10, 102n. 38, 105n. 42 Greimas, Algirdas J. 121 Grundmann, W. 9n. 19 Guijarro, Santiago 172n. 66 Gunn, David M. 62n. 5 Guthrie, Donald 13n. 34

Index of Authors Halbwachs, Maurice 174n. 71 Harrington, Daniel J. 9n. 19 Hauerwas, Stanley 154n. 19 Hays, Richard 119–20, 121, 126n. 26 Heidegger, Martin 137 Honess, T. 173n. 68 Jeal, Roy 99n. 26 Jenkins, Richard 149n. 7, 150n. 9–10, 151n. 12–14, 152n. 15–16, 153n. 18, 154n. 20–1, 155n. 22–4 Johnson, Mark 39n. 36 Jokiranta, Jutta 172n. 66 Jones, L. Gregory 154n. 19 Käsemann, Ernst xviii, 157–8 Katona, George 116n. 63 Kelly, J. N. D. 9n. 19,11, 12, 71n. 16, 80n. 26, 81n. 27, 82n. 28, 94–5, 105n. 42, 109n. 49, 112n. 57 Kennedy, George A. 28–30, 32, 38n. 31, 41, 62n. 5 Kloppenborg, John S. xiiin. 5, 2n. 2, 3 Knoch, Otto 68, 74n. 21 Kraftchick, Steven J. 9n. 19, 101n. 36 Lackoff, George 39n. 36 Leconte, R. 112n. 56 Lieu, Judith M. 148n. 3 Long, Shirley 116n. 67 Longenecker, Bruce W. 119n. 2, 121 Luckmann, Thomas 153n. 18

Macdonald, Dennis R. 2n. 3, 3n. 4, 6 Marschark, Marc 116n. 67 Malina, Bruce J. 23n. 47 Markus, H. 173n. 68 Martin, Ralph P. 91n. 1, 102n. 39, 114n. 61, 157n. 28–9, 158 Mayor, J. B. 7n. 15 McDowell, Danele 121n. 10 McLaughlin, Kathleen 122n. 13, 142n. 51 McNutt, Paula M. 62n. 5 Miller, James C. xvii-xviii, 149n. 7 Miller, Richard 129n. 29 Mitchell, W. J. T. 39n. 36 Moo, Douglas J. 8n. 16, 10n. 24, 26 Neyrey, Jerome xii, 9n. 19, 11n. 30, 23n. 47, 33, 67n. 10, 69n. 15, 83n. 29, 101n. 36, 103n. 40, 157n. 29, 158–9, 158n. 30–1, 166, 168, 168n. 58–9 Nurius, P. 173n. 68 O’Donoghue, Ted 118n. 69 Olbricht, Thomas H. 33n. 13, 37n. 29 Olick, Jeffrey K. 174n. 71 Origen 126 Osburn, Carroll D. 9n. 20 Paulsen, Henning 9n. 19, 67n. 10, 82n. 28, 112n. 56 Pellauer, David 122n. 13 Pelling, Christopher B. R. 7n. 13 Perkins, Pheme 8n. 17, 9n. 19, 17n. 40

Index of Authors Pervin, L. A. 173n. 68 Peterson, Norman 120–1 Pfeifer, Rolf 97n. 18 Picirelli, Robert E. 103n. 40 Porter, Stanley E. 29n. 5, 33n. 13 Prince, Gerald xvii, 121 Propp, Vladimir xvii, 121 Rabin, Matthew 118n. 69 Reese, Ruth Anne xiii, xvii, 119n. 2, 133n. 35 Reicke, Bo 9n. 20 Reisberg, Daniel 116n. 63 Rengstorf, Karl 73n. 19n. 20 Reymond, Pierre 94n. 11, 102n. 38, 112n. 56, 113n. 59 Richard, Earl J. 109 Richardson, John 116n. 66 Ricoeur, Paul xvii, 122, 124, 124n. 21, 142n. 51, 143 Robbins, Joyce 174n. 71 Robbins, Vernon K. xv-xvi, 34–9, 41n. 40, 51n. 64n. 66–7, 52n. 68–9, 53n. 70–4, 54n. 75, 59–63, 64n. 7, 93–4, 99n. 25, 100n. 29, 159n. 34 Robinson, John 10 Robinson, W. P. 149n. 7

Russell, Donald A. 3n. 4, 4–5, 6n. 12, 7n. 14 Ruvolo, A. 173n. 68

201 Turner, Mark 39n. 36, 62n. 5, 94, 95n. 12, 96–8 Übelacker, Walter 37–9

Schelkle, Karl H. 9n. 19, 65n. 8, 101n. 36, 168n. 57 Schleifer, Ronald 121n. 10 Schrage, Wolfgang 157n. 27 Schreiner, Thomas R. 17n. 39 Senior, Donald P. 9n. 19 Sidebottom, E. M. 9n. 19 Skaggs, Rebecca 9n. 19 Spears, Russell 147n. 1 Spickard, Paul 152n. 17 Spicq, Ceslas 9n. 20, 65n. 8, 105n. 42, 114n. 62 Spitta, F. 8n. 16 Stamps, Dennis L. 29n. 5 Stanley, Christopher D. 160n. 38 Starr, James M. 102n. 38, 109n. 48, 164n. 51, 166n. 54 Strobel, A. 48n. 54 Sweester, Eve 39n. 36 Sylva, Dennis D. xiii, xvi, 56n. 77 Tajfel, Henri 147 Talbert, Charles H. 160n. 36 Thurén, Lauri 32–3 Tulving, E. 116n. 63 Turner, John 147n. 1

Velie, Alan 121n. 10 Vögtle, Anton 67n. 12 von Allmen, D. 43 Wallace, Daniel B. 131n. 30, 132n. 33, 133n. 34, 135n. 40 Wand, J. W. C. 12n. 31 Watson, Duane F. xii, xiii, xv, 7n. 15, 28n. 1, 29n. 5, 30n. 6, 31n. 7–8n. 10, 36n. 28, 38n. 31, 39n. 34, 41n. 41, 62n. 5, 63, 67n. 12, 81n. 27, 86n. 34, 87n. 35, 103n. 40, 110n. 54, 113n. 60, 148n. 6, 162n. 44 Watson, Francis 120n. 4 Webb, Robert L. xi, xiiin. 5, 2n. 2, 39n. 39, 63n. 6, 93n. 6, 123n. 19 West, D. 2n. 3, 3n. 5 White, E. E. 28n. 3 Wilson, Bryan 51 Wolters, Al 103n. 40 Woodman, T. 2n. 3, 3n. 5 Worchel, Stephen 147n. 1 Yardley, K. 173n. 68 Zerubavel, Eviatar 174–5