The Holy Spirit, Inspiration, and the Cultures of Antiquity: Multidisciplinary Perspectives 9783110310252, 9783110310177, 9783110552300

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The Holy Spirit, Inspiration, and the Cultures of Antiquity

Ekstasis

Religious Experience from Antiquity to the Middle Ages

General Editor John R. Levison Editorial Board David Aune, Jan Bremmer, John Collins, Dyan Elliott, Amy Hollywood, Sarah Iles Johnston, Gabor Klaniczay, Paulo Nogueira, Christopher Rowland and Elliot R. Wolfson

Volume 5

The Holy Spirit, Inspiration, and the Cultures of Antiquity

Multidisciplinary Perspectives

Edited by Jörg Frey and John R. Levison In collaboration with Andrew Bowden

DE GRUYTER

ISBN 978-3-11-031017-7 e-ISBN 978-3-11-031025-2 ISSN 1865-8792 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2014 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Printing: CPI books GmbH, Leck ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Preface This book has a long pre-history. I met Jörg Frey in Tübingen in 1993, thanks to Professor Martin Hengel. Jörg was a doctoral student and assistant to Professor Hengel; I was an Alexander von Humboldt fellow sponsored by Professor Hengel. Jörg and I met in the Institut für antikes Judentum und hellenistische Religionsgeschichte and in Professor Hengel’s home, where he and Marianne Hengel regularly hosted seminars. When, years later, I expressed interest in resuming my Humboldt fellowship, Jörg Frey and Sandy (A. J. M.) Wedderburn invited me to Munich. I jumped at the chance. In the course of that year, Jörg and I co-directed an Oberseminar on the origins of pneumatology at Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München, where Jörg served as Professor of New Testament and Early Judaism. More important, Jörg and I met often for cake and coffee at a local café in the university district of Munich. It was in that café where we cooked up the idea of procuring funds for a study on the historical origins of the holy spirit. Subsequently, I spent considerable time communicating with Amy Hirschfeld, executive director of the International Catacomb Society, which sponsors a Shohet Scholars Award. Amy, herself a writer, devoted hours of her own time to helping us compose a successful proposal. With funding from the Shohet Scholars Program in hand, we were able to apply to the TransCoop program of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, which at the time funded matching grants. Jörg worked tirelessly to meet the stringent requirements of this program; as a result, we received full matching funds. Between the Shohet Scholars Award and the TransCoop grant, we had ample resources to invite an exceptional array of scholars to participate in a pioneering interdisciplinary project that would unearth and analyze conceptions of inspiration during the Second Temple period, roughly 200 BCE – 200 CE. This funding allowed us to meet in focused research units a year or so before we met in Leiden. My research unit, for example, which centered on Plutarch and the New Testament, had the pleasure of meeting in the Konrad-Adenauer-Haus, situated a stone’s throw from Lake Como in Italy. When it came time for our symposium, Johannes Tromp procured support from E. J. Brill publishers and the University of Leiden in order to offer us splendid housing in a local Leiden hotel, great food on campus and in local restaurants, a fine videographer, and all the amenities we could possibly need. Thanks to Johannes, we had an excellent symposium in a storied university in a lovely city.

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Then, of course, came the hard work of writing. At this point in our research, Andrew Bowden, a graduate student in the University of Munich, stepped in to bring this work to fruition. To say that Andrew edited and indexed this book is to understate his importance. Andrew became so integral to this project, in fact, that Jörg and I decided it would only be right to include him as a collaborator. The finished product is due in part to Andrew’s uncompromising commitment to excellence. Albrecht Döhnert, with whom I have worked for years in my role as editor of the series Ekstasis: Religious Experience from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, has been nothing but supportive and sage. I treasure working with Albrecht. Jörg and I are grateful to all of these good people and to the funding agencies that made this unique research project possible. We are also gratified to have worked with such a distinguished coterie of scholars. Finally, let me say what a privilege it has been to collaborate with Jörg Frey to conceive, to implement, and now to bring to completion this research venture. Jörg is the consummate scholar: serious, relentless, with an unmatched grasp of scholarship. I am pleased that we are colleagues and friends. Jack Levison

Table of Contents Preface

V

Abbreviations

IX

Jörg Frey and John R. Levison The Origins of Early Christian Pneumatology: On the Rediscovery and Reshaping of the History of Religions Quest 1 Teun Tieleman The Spirit of Stoicism

39

Heidrun Gunkel, Rainer Hirsch-Luipold and John R. Levison Plutarch and Pentecost: An Exploration in Interdisciplinary Collaboration

63

Soham Al-Suadi “Even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit”—Luke 1:15 in the 95 Spectrum of Theological and Medical Discourses of Early Christianity Annette Weissenrieder The Infusion of the Spirit: The Meaning of ἐμφυσάω in John 20:22 – 23

119

Beate Ego Ruaḥ and the Beholding of God—From Ezekiel’s Vision of the Divine Chariot 153 to Merkaba Mysticism Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar Historical Origins of the Early Christian Concept of the Holy Spirit Perspectives from the Dead Sea Scrolls 167 Judith H. Newman Speech and Spirit: Paul and the Maskil as Inspired Interpreters of 241 Scripture Fulco Timmers Philo of Alexandria’s Understanding of πνεῦμα in Deus 33 – 50

265

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Volker Rabens Pneuma and the Beholding of God: Reading Paul in the Context of Philonic Mystical Traditions 293 Michael Becker Spirit in Relationship—Pneumatology in the Gospel of John Jörg Frey How did the Spirit become a Person? Index: Ancient Texts Index: Modern Authors

343

373 395

Index of Subjects and Ancient Names

403

331

Abbreviations AB ABD Abr. Aet. Aet. Ag. Ap. Ag. AGJU Agr. AGSU AJEC ALD Amat. ANRW Ant. Apoc. Zeph. As. Mos. ATD Ath. pol. AThAT ATJ B.C.E. Bar BDAG BDB BEATAJ BETL Bib BibS BJRL BJS BKAT BNTC BsR BTS BZ BZAR BZAW BZNW C.E.

Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary Philo, De abrahamo Aetius Philo, De aeternitate mundi Against Apion Aeschylus, Agamemnon Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums Philo, De agricultura Arbeiten zur Geschichte de Spätjudentums und Urchristentums Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Aramaic Levi Document Plutarch, Amatorius Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Haase Josephus, Antiquities Apocalypse of Zephaniah Assumption of Moses Acta Theologica Danica Aristotle, Athēnaiōn politeia Abhandlungen zur Theologie des alten und neuen Testaments Ashland Theological Journal Before Common Era Baruch Bauer, W., F. W. Danker, W. F. Arndt, and F. W. Gingrich. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 3rd ed. Brown, F., S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford, 1907 Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblica Biblische Studien Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Brown Judaic Studies Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament Black’s New Testament Commentaries Bech’sche Reihe Bible et terre sainte Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefter zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Common Era

X

Cael. CBET CBQ CD CEJL CH Cher. Col Conf. Contempl. 1 – 2Cor Crat. CTR Dan De an. Decal. Def. orac. Det. Deus Deut DHR Div. DJD DPL E Delph. Ebr. Ecl. EJL EKKNT EMSP 1En. Eph ErJb ET Eth. nic. EvT Exod Ezek FAT Fat. FB Fin. FJudB FRLANT Fug. fzb Gal

Abbreviations

Aristotle, De caelo Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology Catholic Biblical Quarterly Damascus Document Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature Corpus Hippocraticum Philo, De cherubim Colossians Philo, De confusione linguorum Philo, De vita contemplative 1 – 2Corinthians Plato, Cratylus Criswell Theological Review Daniel Aristotle, De anima Philo, De decalogo Plutarch, De defectu oraculorum Philo, Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat Philo, Quod Deus sit immutabilis Deuteronomy Dynamics in the History of Religions Cicero, De divination Discoveries in the Judean Desert Dictionary of Paul and His Letters Plutarch, De E apud Delphos Philo, De ebrietate Stobaeus, Eclogues Early Judaism and its Literature Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament European Monographs in Social Psychology 1Enoch Ephesians Eranos-Jahrbuch English translation Aristotle, Ethica nichomachea Evangelische Theologie Exodus Ezekiel Forschungen zum Alten Testament Cicero, De fato Forschung zur Bibel Cicero, De finibus Gesellschaft zur Förderung Judaistischer Studien in Frankfurt am Main e.V. Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Philo, De fuga et inventio Forschung zur Bibel Galatians

Abbreviations

Gen Gen. an. Gig. GuL Hag HALOT HBS HdO Heb Her. Hist. an. Hist. eccl. Hos HTKNT HTR ICC Inst. Ios. Is. os. JAOS JBL JBTh Jer JETS JJS Jon Jos. Asen. Josh JOTT JRL JSHRZ JSJ JSNT JSNTSup JSOTSup JTI Jub. Judg KAT KEK 1 – 2Kgs KJV L.A.B. LCL Leg. Leg.

XI

Genesis Aristotle, De generatione animalium Philo, De gigantibus Glaube und Lernen Haggai Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Trans. and ed. M. E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Herders Biblische Studien Handbook of Oriental Studies Hebrews Philo, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit Aristotle, Historia animalium Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History Hosea Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review International Critical Commentary Quintillian, Institutio Oratoria Philo, De Iosepho Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Jahrbuch für biblische Theologie Jeremiah Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Jewish Studies Jonah Joseph and Aseneth Joshua Journal of Translation and Textlinguistics John R. Levison Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Journal of Theological Interpretation Jubilees Judges Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament (Meyer-Kommentar) 1 – 2Kings King James Version Liber atiquitatum biblicarum Loeb Classical Library Philo, Legum allegoriae Plato, Leges

XII

Legat. Lev LHB/OTS LHOTS LNTS LS LSJ LSTS LXX 2Macc Mal Mas1K Math. Matt MBPS Med. Mem. Meta. Metaph Mic Migr. MMT Mor. Mos. Ms(s) MT Mut. NAC Nah Nat. d. NEchtB Neh NIGTC NICNT NovT NovTSup NRSV NSBT NT NTD NTC NTS Num OBO OCP OED Onir.

Abbreviations

Philo, Legatio ad Gaium Leviticus Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Library of Hebrew/Old Testament Studies Library of New Testament Studies A. A. Long and D. N. Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers Liddell, H. G., R. Scott, H. S. Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon Library of Second Temple Studies Septuagint 2Maccabees Malachi ShirShabb Sextus Empericus, Adversus mathematicos Matthew Mellen Biblical Press Series Marcus Aurelius, Meditationes Xenophon, Memorabilia Apuleius, Metamorphoses Aristotle, Metaphysica Micah Philo, De migratione Abrahami Miqsat Ma’ase ha-Torah Plutarch, Moralia Philo, De vita Mosis Manuscript(s) Masoretic Text Philo, De mutatione nominum New American Commentary Nahum Cicero, De natura deorum Neue Echter Bibel Nehemiah New International Greek Testament Commentary New International Commentary on the New Testament Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum Supplements New Revised Standard Version New Studies in Biblical Theology Novum Testamentum Das Neue Testament Deutsch The New Testament in Context New Testament Studies Numbers Orbis biblicus et orientalis Orientalia christiana periodica Oxford English Dictionary Artemidorus Daldianus, Onirocritica

Abbreviations

Opif. OSAPh ÖTK Part. an. 1Pet Phaed. Phaedr. Phil Phileb. Plant. Post. Praem. Prax. Prob. Prov Prov. PRSt Ps(s) Pss. Sol. PTMS Pyth. orac. 1Q29 1Q30 1Q34 1QHa 1QM 1QS 1QS3:13 – 4:26 1QSb 4Q177 4Q230 4Q286 – 90 4Q381 4Q385 – 86 4Q392 – 93 4Q400 – 07 4Q418 4Q422 4Q444 4Q434 – 38 4Q504 – 06 4Q510 – 11 4Q521 4Q542 4Q542 – 49 4QM 11Q5

Philo, De opificio mundi Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy Ökumenischer Taschenbuch-Kommentar Aristotle, De partibus animalium 1Peter Plato, Phaedo Plato, Phaedrus Philippians Plato, Philebus Philo, De plantation Philo, De posteritate Caini Philo, De praemiis et poenis Tertullian, Adversus Praxean Philo, Quod omnis probus liber sit Proverbs Philo, De providentia Perspectives in Religious Studies Psalm(s) Psalms of Solomon Pittsburgh Theological Monograph Series Plutarch, De Pythiae oraculi Apocryphon of Moses 1QLiturgical Text Festival Prayers 1QHodayot; Thanksgiving Hymns War Scroll The Rule of the Community (Serekh ha-Yaḥad) Two Spirits Treatise Rule of the Blessings 4QMidrash on Eschatology Catalogue of Spirits Berakhot (Blessings) 4QNon-Canonical Psalms B Pseudo-Ezekiel Works of God & Communal Confession 4QShirShabba; Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice 4QInstruction Paraphrase of Genesis and Exodus 4QIncantation Barkhi Nafshi (Bless My Soul) Words of the Luminaries 4QShira; Shirota or Songs/Words of the Sage Messianic Apocalypse Testament of Qahat Visions of Amram War Scroll David’s Compositions

XIII

XIV

11Q13 QD QE QG RAC Resp. Rev RevExp RevQ RGG RHL RMCS Rom Sacr. 1 – 2Sam SAPERE SBLDS SBS SCHNT SGKA Sib. Or. Sir SNTS Sobr. Somn. Soph. SPA Spec. Spir. STDJ Stoic. rep. Strom. SVF Sus T. Abr. T. Job T. Levi TANZ TDNT Theaet. 1Thess THAT THKNT ThLZ ThWQ

Abbreviations

11QMelchizedek Quaestiones disputatae Philo, Questiones et solutiones in Exodum Philo, Questiones et solutiones in Genesin Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum. Edited by T. Kluser et al. Aristotle, De respiratio Revelation Review and Expositor Revue de Qumran Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Edited by K. Galling. 7 vols. 3d ed. Tübingen, 1957 – 1965 Rainer Hirsch-Luipold Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies Romans Philo, De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini 1 – 2 Samuel Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam Religionemque pertinentia Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Studia ad corpus hellenisticum Novi Testamenti Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums Sibylline Oracles Sirach Society of New Testament Studies Philo, De sobrietate Philo, De somniis Plato, Sophista Studia Philonica Annual Philo, De specialibus legibus Pseudo-Aristotle, De spiritu Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judea Plutarch, De stoicorum repugnantiis Clement of Alexandria, Stromata Stoicorum veterum fragmenta. H. von Arnim. 4 vols. Leipzig, 1903 – 1924 Susanna Testament of Abraham Testament of Job Testament of Levi Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (ed. G. Kittel) Plato, Theaetetus 1Thessalonians Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament. Edited by E. Jenni, with assistance from C. Westermann. 2 vols., Stuttgart, 1971 – 1976 Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament Theologische Literaturzeitung Theologisches Wörterbuch zu den Qumrantexten

Abbreviations

Tim. Tit TLZ Tob Top. TQ Traq. an. TRE TRev TS TSAJ TU TWAT TWNT Virt. Virt. mor. VTSup WdF Wis WMANT WUNT ZAW Zech ZNT ZNW ZTK

XV

Plato, Timaeus Titus Theologische Literaturzeitung Tobit Aristotle, Topica Theologische Quartalschrift Plutarch, De tranquillitate animi Theologische Realenzyklopädie. Edited by G. Krause and G. Müller. Theologische Revue Theological Studies Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament. Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament. Edited by G. Kittel and G. Friedrich. Stuttgart, 1932 – 1979 Philo, De virtutibus Plutarch, De virtute morali Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Wege der Forschung Wisdom of Solomon Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zechariah Zeitschrift für Neues Testament Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

Jörg Frey and John R. Levison¹

The Origins of Early Christian Pneumatology: On the Rediscovery and Reshaping of the History of Religions Quest 1 Introduction During the last few decades, the Holy Spirit has increasingly come to be a focus of historical and theological interest. One of the reasons for this surge in interest is the rise and enormous global growth of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity. The growing influence of these forms of Christianity has led to a shift of interest even within established churches and exegetical schools, where reflection upon pneumatology—the world of the Spirit—has until recently been largely neglected. “Pentecostal” theology and exegesis provide a challenge and inspiration for other theological schools and arenas of biblical scholarship, not just with respect to biblical hermeneutics,² but certainly with their focus upon claims to human experience of the divine.³ A so-called Pentecostal hermeneutic, with its emphasis upon experience, does not stand alone in the contemporary study of biblical texts. An appropriation of religious experience is one of the characteristics of recent developments in worldwide biblical scholarship, inspired especially by a burgeoning of contex-

 Jörg Frey, Lehrstuhl für neutestamentliche Wissenschaft mit Schwerpunkt Antikes Judentum und Hermeneutik, Universität Zürich, and John R. Levison, W.J.A. Power Professor of Old Testament Interpretation and Biblical Hebrew at Perkins School of Theology, Southern Methodist University.  For an intelligent introduction to what can be called a Pentecostal or Charismatic hermeneutic, see Spirit & Scripture: Examining a Pneumatic Hermeneutic, eds. Kevin L. Spawn and Archie T. Wright (London: T&T Clark, 2012). See also J. Ch. Thomas, “Reading the Bible from within our Traditions: A Pentecostal Hermeneutic as Test Case,” In Between Two Horizons. Spanning New Testament Studies and Systematic Theology, eds. J. B. Green and M. Turner (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000): 108 – 22; see also the commentary series “The Pentecostal Commentary—New Testament,” edited by the leading Pentecostal New Testament scholar John Christopher Thomas.  Cf. M. Welker, ed., The Work of the Spirit. Pneumatology and Pentecostalism (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006) with contributions by James D. G. Dunn, Michael Welker and others.

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tual theologies.⁴ To these developments can be added a rigorous quest for social and religious experience reflected in biblical texts. In biblical scholarship, the reemergence of a consideration of religious experience is visible in studies on the Spirit by British scholar James D. G. Dunn,⁵ and a number of other authors, especially from the Anglo-Saxon world, some of whom come from a Pentecostal background.⁶ With the exegetical rediscovery of religious experience, there is also a chance for a fresh appreciation of the History of Religions school, which dominated exegetical scholarship a century ago. One of the characteristics of that school was to focus on religious experience rather than on theological doctrine, and it was a study on the effects of the Holy Spirit in particular that stood at the fountainhead of that school.⁷ The findings of those scholars who looked especially at extra-biblical sources (Mesopotamian, Persian, Hellenistic, Gnostic, etc.) and explained biblical ideas in light of foreign influences, were largely neglected in later periods of research. This neglect is due, in part, to the reconstructions of the early History of Religions school, which reveal numerous shortcomings.⁸ Despite certain excesses,

 See, for example, Priscilla Pope-Levison and John R. Levison, eds., Return to Babel: Global Perspectives on the Bible (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1999).  Cf. J. D. G. Dunn, Baptism in the Holy Spirit. Re-examination of the New Testament Teaching on the Gift of the Spirit in Relation to Pentecostalism Today (London: SCM Press, 1970); idem, Jesus and the Spirit: A Study of the Religious and Charismatic Experience of Jesus and the First Christians as Reflected in the New Testament (London: SCM Press, 1975).  G. D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994); M. Turner, Power from on High: The Spirit in Israel’s Restoration and Witness in Luke-Acts (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1996); idem, The Holy Spirit and Spiritual Gifts in the New Testament Church and Today (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1998); L. T. Johnson, Religious Experience in Earliest Christianity: A Missing Dimension in New Testament Studies (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998); J. Ch. Thomas, The Spirit of the New Testament (Leiden: Deo, 2005); J. E. Morgan-Wynne, Holy Spirit and Religious Experience in Christian Literature ca. AD 90 – 200 (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2006); C. Tibbs, Religious Experience of the Pneuma, WUNT II/230 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), with a brief account of research (pp. 94– 108); John R. Levison, Filled with the Spirit (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2009).  H. Gunkel, Die Wirkungen des heiligen Geistes nach der populären Anschauung der apostolischen Zeit und nach der Lehre des Apostels Paulus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), ET: The Influence of the Holy Spirit. The Popular View of the Apostolic Age and the Teaching of the Apostle Paul, trans. K. A. Harrisville and P. A. Quanbeck II (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979).  Some of this resistance is due to a fundamental refusal to accept particularly Hellenistic influence on the New Testament. See, for example, Pentecostal scholars James B. Shelton, “Two Spirits or Holy Spirit? Examining John R. Levison’s Filled with the Spirit,” Pneuma 33 (2011): 47– 58; and Blaine Charette, “‘And Now for Something Completely Different’: A ‘Pythonic’ Reading of Pentecost?” Pneuma 33 (2011): 59 – 68.

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early proponents of the History of Religions school were correct in their effort to recognize that the experiences of the Spirit and spirit phenomena among early Jesus followers in Jerusalem, Corinth, and Ephesus were not hermetically sealed from their Jewish or Greco-Roman neighbors. Further, human experiences are often analogous even if they are then interpreted in different religious and doctrinal contexts. Consequently, if the rediscovery of a dimension related to an experience of the Spirit is taken seriously, it almost inevitably leads to the historical question: From where were the terms, categories, and images drawn, by which early Christian authors expressed their experiences or those of their communities? How did biblical and Second Temple Jewish traditions interact with images and concepts from the wider Greco-Roman world? How did Pauline communities, Paul’s own concepts and arguments, Luke’s narrative description of the experiences of early Christianity, images of inspiration in the Fourth Gospel, seven references to the Spirit in Hebrews, the seven spirits of Revelation, and appeals to the Spirit in the Catholic epistles draw on what was available—even regnant—in the Greco-Roman world? How did biblical traditions and early Jewish concepts, found amply in the Dead Sea Scrolls, contribute to early Christian concepts of inspiration? Where is the influence of Hellenistic Jewish concepts evident? To what degree did philosophical concepts or insights about human physiology, as documented in ancient medical texts, contribute to the conception and interpretation of the Spirit and its effects in the earliest Christian community? Early Christian pneumatology—the reflection of early Christian authors on their experience of the Spirit or phenomena explained by the Spirit—did not develop within a closed “biblical” space but in a world in which ideas and concepts were exchanged, often regardless of the particular religions or doctrinal context in which they originated. Therefore, in the quest for the Spirit and its effects in early Christianity, an expansive approach is needed, one that is not confined to a particular (Jewish or Hellenistic) context but one that belongs on a larger scale to a variety of possible contexts. It is incumbent upon the biblical scholar to identify various potentially relevant contexts that yield a fuller understanding of biblical texts, the phenomena reflected in them, and the experiences that lay behind them. In this introduction, therefore, we will: (1) sketch some of the basic findings and characteristics of the History of Religions school that are still often neglected in present scholarship; (2) outline some of the more important contributions to the discussion that emerged after the decline of the History of Religions school; (3) identify some aspects related to the rediscovery of religious experience within more recent studies of New Testament pneumatology; and (4) identify some dimensions that can help to reshape the history of religions approach to antiquity

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and to stimulate further discussion, in anticipation of the contributions of this volume.

2 The History of Religions School and Its Initial Findings 2.1 Hermann Gunkel and the Impulse of Twentieth-century Pneumatology The religionsgeschichtlich—or history of religions—approach to pneumatology can be traced to Hermann Gunkel’s first book, titled Die Wirkungen des heiligen Geistes nach der populären Anschauung der apostolischen Zeit und der Lehre des Apostels Paulus. ⁹ Published in Göttingen by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht in 1888, when Gunkel was just a twenty-six year old Privatdozent in Göttingen, this book contained explosive theses that inaugurated the modern era in the study of early Christian pneumatology.¹⁰ Forty-four years after its initial publication, in a eulogy at Gunkel’s funeral, Hans Schmidt reminded the audience gathered in the Bartholomäus-Kirche that the book “speaks, in truth, a new word … It is not a conclusion but a beginning.”¹¹ The context in which Gunkel wrote his explosive little book was inauspicious. As a student at Göttingen in the mid 1880’s, Hermann Gunkel joined with a small circle of friends in silent opposition to the methods of their teacher, Albrecht Ritschl. Gunkel mused four decades later, “Admittedly, it was a peculiar ‘School’ that arose. A School without teacher and chiefly without students! It

 See his preface to Wirkungen, 3rd ed., iii, viii. Ninety-one years after its appearance, the book was translated into English by R. A. Harrisville and P. A. Quanbeck II, entitled, The Influence of the Holy Spirit: The Popular View of the Apostolic Age and the Teaching of the Apostle Paul (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979).  The possibility, of course, of writing a diminutive study on the spirit fell to Gunkel in some measure because so little had been written by his academic predecessors and peers. He accomplished this as well by devoting only a single line on the last page to the Fourth Gospel (Wirkungen, p. 101 [ET p. 127]): “The theology of the Gospel of John clearly indicates its dependence on Paul on this subject.”  Theologische Blätter 11.4 (April, 1932), col. 98. By “kein Abschluss” Schmidt means that this is a fresh start, free of Albrecht Ritschl’s conception of the spirit and the dominance of German Idealism. For more on this, see John R. Levison, “Assessing the Origins of Modern Pneumatology: The Life and Legacy of Hermann Gunkel,” In Christian Body, Christian Self: Concepts of Early Christian Personhood, eds. Clare K. Rothschild and Trevor W. Thompson, WUNT 284 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011): 313 – 31.

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was a tightly bound circle of young scholars bound by mutual friendship.”¹² Following the lead of Albert Eichhorn, this small circle comprised the heart and soul of what became the History of Religions school, which included William Wrede and Wilhelm Bousset. Ernst Troeltsch and Wilhelm Heitmüller later joined the ranks, and Johannes Weiss was an associate of the group.¹³ These young academics—the oldest was Eichhorn, born in 1856, and the youngest Heitmüller, born in 1869—stood in vociferous opposition to a form of “biblical theology” that identified central biblical teachings in support of dogmatic theology. Dogmatic theology, Gunkel and his coterie contended, could not be independent of history. Gunkel wrote in 1906, “Revelation is not contrary to history or outside of history but comes to pass within the history of the Spirit.”¹⁴ This vision of biblical scholarship contained more than an anti-dogmatic or anti-ecclesial agenda. It entailed a redirection of scholarship; periods of biblical history would need to be examined in rich association with other cultures of their respective periods. As late as 1922, when he was sixty years old, Gunkel clarified the fundamental commitments of this movement: It [the movement] struggled out of the narrowness of the barriers of scholarly activity at that time into expanse and freedom, out of the barriers of the canon and church dogma about the Bible, out of the narrow-mindedness of dogmatic “biblical theology” and an all-too-philological form of literary criticism, out of an all-too-hair-splitting or modernizing exposition of scripture … also out of the isolation of Old and New Testaments from their historical connections with other religions … Because this was our most essential and ultimate aspiration: to grasp religion itself in its depth and breadth.¹⁵

The History of Religions school led some of its exponents, such as Hans Leisegang, deep into the recesses of Hellenistic culture. It led Gunkel to the heart of Judaism. Gunkel’s appreciation for the crucible of Judaism which formed Christianity compelled him to chide H. H. Wendt, who had a few years earlier written a book on spirit and flesh in Paul’s writings, for attempting to explain Paul’s writings on the basis of Israel’s scriptures alone.¹⁶ While the gospel spread in part through the influence of Jewish scripture, Gunkel insisted that “the assumption of Jewish

 Cited by Werner Klatt, Hermann Gunkel: Zu seiner Theologie der Religionsgeschichte und zur Entstehung der formgeschichtlichen Methode, FRLANT 100 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969), 20n13. Translations of Klatt are ours.  Klatt, Gunkel, 20 – 21.  Cited by Klatt, Gunkel, 27.  Cited by Klatt, Gunkel, 27.  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 3 (ET 12). He also criticized Wendt for his rejection of Hellenistic ideas.

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influence always carries much greater probability than does the assumption of the influence of the Old Testament.” Though the gospel expanded under the influence of the scriptures, then, “We must therefore view Judaism as the real matrix of the gospel … but without denying the influence of a reading of the Old Testament.”¹⁷ Palestinian Judaism informed the early apostolic community: “the apostles emerged from Jewish ideas, and with Jewish ideas they had to come to terms with one another.”¹⁸ Paul too was Jewish through and through, and it is erroneous to interpret his writings from any other context. “It is a grave error in method, which must result in a mass of misconceptions, to attempt to derive Paul’s sphere of ideas or even his usage directly from the Old Testament and consequently to ignore the apostle’s origin in Judaism. The question can only be, Is Paul dependent on Palestinian or Hellenistic Judaism or is he not?”¹⁹ With such a commitment, Gunkel made a dramatic departure from earlier students of the Spirit, who had looked for the origins of early Christian pneumatology in the pages of Israel’s literary legacy.²⁰ His was an independent departure that led Gunkel to study the Apocrypha and to focus upon Jewish apocalyptic literature.²¹ Gunkel’s ability to make the case, over against the scholarly consensus of his day, that an understanding of Early Judaism is integral to an understanding of early Christian pneumatology, was prescient. His conviction that the roots of early Christian pneumatology lay in an overlapping culture rather than ancient literature—the Hebrew scriptures—was fresh and original. Yet Gunkel’s characterization of Judaism was too dependent upon Emil Schürer’s view of Judaism as a legalistic religion that had lost Israel’s prophetic fervor. Gunkel contended that what distinguished Judaism from Israelite religion and early Christianity was “the fact that it produced no or, stated more cautiously, only very few pneumatic phenomena.”²² In the context of this form of Judaism, John the Baptist was the first prophet since the Persian era and the first person of the Greco-Roman era to be in pos-

 Gunkel, Wirkungen, 3 (ET 12– 13). He observed also that the apostles emerged from Judaism.  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 3 (ET 13).  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 57– 58 (ET 76). He continued by noting that the question is hard to answer because Paul was a Diaspora Jew who was educated in Jerusalem. The neat division between Palestinian and Diaspora Judaism dissipates, observes Gunkel with prescience, because there were Hellenistic Jews in Jerusalem.  Klatt, Gunkel, 29.  Cited by Klatt, Gunkel, 29.  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 10 (ET 21).

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session of the Spirit.²³ The preaching and miracles of Jesus, too, comprised a fresh experience. The scribes and Pharisees of Jesus’ day preached differently from the preaching of a Pneumatiker such as Jesus, and miracles (Geisteswunder) never emerged “from a sober study of the Law.”²⁴ Jesus must have made, therefore, an extraordinary impression upon the Jews of his day, though the near absence of Jewish conversions confirms how far behind they had left prophetic Israelite religion. Gunkel joins these unrelated pieces of the puzzle—scribal interpretation of scripture with resistance toward Jesus—to create a spurious indictment of Judaism at the time of Jesus: “But what a powerful impression the pneuma must have made when its fullness appeared to a Judaism bereft of the Spirit. Despite that fact, the number of converted Jews must be reckoned as few, which proves how strong the anti-prophetic and thus anti-evangelical tendency in Jesus’ time was, a tendency later culminating in the Talmud.”²⁵ Such a dismal characterization of Judaism had practical consequences, for it meant that Gunkel returned to Israelite literature rather than Judaism to explain the rise of Christianity—although he had criticized Wendt for doing precisely this, for discovering points of contact between the Hebrew scriptures and New Testament literature. Jesus’ preaching reached back past his own Jewish era, which had lost the prophetic and spiritual dimension, and appeared as “a fresh sprout from the old, all-but-withered root of Old Testament prophecy.”²⁶ In fact, Jesus could not have been a child of his time. The era “appears so spiritually impoverished to them that a man such as Jesus cannot come from it. He is not a child of his time. He must belong to Israel’s antiquity, long past and mighty of spirit.”²⁷ In short, if there are analogies to early Christianity, they must be found, not in the arid soil of Judaism, but in the fertile soil of Israelite religion.²⁸ What Gunkel gave with one hand, then, he took with the other. As a founder of the History of Religions school, he traced early Christian pneumatology to a contemporary culture—the world of Judaism—rather than ancient literature,

 Gunkel, Wirkungen, 52 (ET 69).  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 53 (ET 70).  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 53 (ET 70 – 71). He (Wirkungen, 53; ET 70) admitted of a few scattered experiences of the Spirit: “So far as we know, during Jesus’ time and in the first two decades of the apostolic age activities of the Spirit in Judaism could only be identified in highly scattered instances.” Gunkel (Wirkungen, 52; ET 69 – 70) cites references in the writings of Josephus that describe Jewish figures, such as the Essenes and John Hyrcanus, as prophets.  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 3 (ET 12– 13).  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 51 (ET 68). He generalized the rather isolated and puzzling story of John the Baptist’s disciples in Ephesus, in which they confess that they have never heard of the Holy Spirit, in such a way that it characterizes all of Judaism (51).  Gunkel, Wirkungen, 10 (ET 21).

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though his characterization of Judaism as “Spirit-impoverished” (geistesverlassene) renders this particular crucible of Christianity useful only as a negative foil for the spiritual vitality of early Christianity.²⁹ He was compelled, therefore, to return, with the predecessors whom he chided, to Israelite literature in an effort to explain the spiritual vitality of early Christianity. Notwithstanding its limitations, Gunkel’s Werkchen—it extended slightly beyond one hundred pages—with its emphasis upon the importance of Judaism and the spectacular effects of the Spirit rendered prior approaches to pneumatology passé and spawned a swath of fresh publications.³⁰ Within eight years, M. Beversluis, from The Netherlands, adopted the word, Wirkungen, in the title of his massive De heilige Geest en zijne werkingen volgens de Schriften des Nieuwen Verbonds. ³¹ The nineteenth century ended with H. Weinel’s Die Wirkungen des Geistes und der Geister im nachapostolischen Zeitalter bis auf Irenäus,³² which extended Gunkel’s approach, with its emphasis upon the effects of the Spirit, to the second century C.E. Two other books carried on Gunkel’s legacy. One year after the publication of Gunkel’s third edition, Paul Volz paid careful attention to Early Judaism in the first substantive contribution to ancient pneumatology of the twenty-first century, Der Geist Gottes und die verwandten Erscheinungen im Alten Testament und im anschliessenden Judentum. ³³ Hans Leisegang devoted two volumes to the origins of early Christian pneumatology, the first of which he gave to a publisher as early as 1916, though it lay

 In the preface to his third edition, written twenty years later, a more mature Gunkel attempted to explain—we might better say excuse—this characterization of Judaism (Wirkungen, v– vi; ET 3 – 5). He noted that, at that time, New Testament scholars looked exclusively for “Anknüpfungspunkten,” points of connection, in the Old Testament, and that the use of Judaism was a “Neuerung.” He explains that this scenario changed between 1888 and 1909, though he (Wirkungen, v [ET 3 – 4]) cautioned that “there remains still much to do, until an intimate knowledge of the religious life of Judaism is achieved.” Gunkel’s statements about Judaism are difficult to accept. His first book does not reveal a reluctant purveyor of the absence of spirituality in Judaism but an ardent proponent of the view that the spirit had virtually no life in Early Judaism.  His book eclipsed others written slightly earlier, including H. H. Wendt, Die Begriffe Fleisch und Geist (Gotha, 1878) and J. Gloël, Der heilige Geist in der Heilsverkündigung des Paulus (Halle, 1888).  (Utrecht: C. H. E. Breijer, 1896), 508.  (Freiburg/Leipzig/Tübingen: Mohr, 1899).  Volz’s notes are few. He refers to Gunkel on pages 94– 95n1; page 110n2 contains a reference to Gunkel’s study of the psalms—not of the Spirit. Nonetheless, Volz (pp. 78 – 145) also explored the effects of the Spirit, such as inspired speech and poetry, prophetic and predictive speech, inspired writing and translation, and inspired wisdom.

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on the publisher’s desk and failed to appear until after the First World War. Leisegang addressed precisely the history of religions question that Gunkel had raised, though he swung the pendulum in the direction of Hellenism—actually an idiosyncratic form of Hellenistic Judaism—rather than Judaism as the matrix of Christianity.³⁴ Two responses to Leisegang’s studies are salient as well. Friedrich Büchsel, in the mid-1920s, took his cue from Gunkel and Volz, against Leisegang, by accentuating the importance of Judaism and by addressing, nearly from the start, the effects of the Spirit in a section entitled, “Geistwirkungen und Geistvorstellung im alten Israel.”³⁵ During the same year, Heinrich von Baer raised vociferous, protracted objections to Leisegang’s work.³⁶ The roughly three decades from 1888 until 1926 were, in many respects, a golden age in the study of early Christian pneumatology, thanks to the energy of the History of Religions school—the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule. More specifically, the flurry of activity spent on the issues raised by Gunkel’s little book is an indication of how influential his Werkchen was, with its emphasis upon the importance of Judaism—even Judaism negatively construed—for understanding the origins of early Christian pneumatology.

2.2 Paul Volz and the Vitality of Early Judaism Published in 1910, the magisterial study of Paul Volz, who departed radically from Gunkel by championing a positive portrayal of Early Judaism as the crucible of Christian pneumatology, is one of the most important books on pneumatology of the twentieth century. Volz stood among relatively few scholars who studied the Hebrew Bible and postbiblical Jewish literature, not as foregrounds to the New Testament, but as corpora in their own right.

 H. Leisegang, Der heilige Geist: Das Wesen und Werden der mystisch-intuitiven Erkenntnis in der Philosophie und Religion der Griechen (Leipzig: B. J. Teubner, 1919); Pneuma Hagion. Der Ursprung des Geistbegriffs der synoptischen Evangelien aus der griechischen Mystik (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1922). See further on Leisegang, John R. Levison, “The Spirit in the Gospels: Breaking the Impasse of Early Twentieth-century German Scholarship,” In New Testament Greek and Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Gerald F. Hawthorne, eds. Amy M. Donaldson and Timothy B. Sailors (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2003): 55 – 76.  Der Geist Gottes im Neuen Testament (Gütersloh: C. Bertelsmann, 1926).  H. von Baer, Der heilige Geist in den Lukasschriften (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1926).

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Volz’s assumption, which distinguished him from the likes of Schürer and Gunkel, was that Early Judaism was a vital religion. He wrote this programmatic statement: The habit of comparing a form of Judaism that is coming to an end with a youthful form of Christianity has led regularly to a misunderstanding of the former. This is historically unsuitable and, moreover, it is far more probable that the new religion arose out of a period of religious stirring and deep feeling rather than out of a torpid and dying one.³⁷

Although he departed from Gunkel’s assessment of Judaism, Volz did follow the lead of Gunkel and Weinel by analyzing the effects of the Spirit, such as inspired speech, inspired poetry, prophetic and predictive speech, inspired writing and translation (e. g., the Septuagint), and inspired wisdom. He detailed the work of inspired people, “pneumatische Personen,” from Moses to the messiah of the eschatological future to figures of Second Temple Judaism, including Philo, Ben Sira, apocalyptic writers, and rabbis. In addition to the effects of the Spirit, Volz also studied the nature of the Spirit. “The description of effects,” he wrote, “ought to be enlarged by the history of conceptions. Some, such as the idea of the Spirit-hypostasis, cannot be fully appreciated by an overview of effects.”³⁸ In order to understand the nature of the Spirit in Early Judaism, Volz adopted both a diachronic approach, beginning with post-exilic texts such as Isaiah 63:7– 14 and concluding with rabbinic literature, and a synchronic approach, in which he explored topics such as the Spirit in Babylonian and Persian literature, angels, the Shekinah, and the logos. In several ways, Volz advanced the discussion of the origins of early Christian pneumatology to new levels. He studied Judaism in its own right rather than as a resource for parallels that illuminate early Christianity. He discerned the spiritual vitality of Early Judaism. He took Gunkel’s heuristic key—the effects of the Spirit—and applied it to Israelite and early Jewish literature. He went well beyond Gunkel by turning as well to the nature of the Spirit, including the question of the Spirit as hypostasis.

2.3 Hans Leisegang and the Matrix of Ancient Spirituality Less than a decade later, Hans Leisegang took a different tack in his two volume study of the Spirit. His principal question was, “Is the teaching of the Holy Spirit

 Volz, Geist Gottes und die verwandten Erscheinungen, 144. Translations of Volz are ours.  Volz, Geist Gottes und die verwandten Erscheinungen, v.

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of Greek or oriental origin?” This question led him to a definite answer shaped by the contours of the history of religions approach. He asked whether perhaps also the part of Christian teaching that is gathered around the concept of pneuma hagion and which, from a theological perspective, could be understood as nothing other than from the Old Testament, especially the prophets, might have originated from the Hellenistic life-of-the-spirit; in fact, perhaps even the theologians and learned of the Hellenistic era approached the Old Testament with a concept of the Holy Spirit already fully worked out in Hellenism, and they believed to have found it afresh in the pneuma hagion of the Septuagint.³⁹

Leisegang acknowledged that it would be difficult to reconstruct Greek conceptions of pneumatology in light of the reality that no antecedent to Christianity had a pneumatology as developed as that of the New Testament. He recognized as well that the most developed ancient pneumatologies arose after the first century C.E. and with Christian roots. To bridge the divide between Greek conceptions of pneuma and patently Christian ones, Leisegang identified Philo Judaeus as a mediating figure in pneumatology, as arguably the most important author in antiquity for understanding the origins of Christian pneumatology. Philo, claimed Leisegang, lay “in the middle” of the “problematic era of the history of the Spirit in the East.” This period was critical because the masses’ trust in philosophy was waning while their belief in religion waxed. In this transitional era, which spawned Christianity, Philo lived at the nexus, “in the middle” of Greek culture, Judaism, and Christianity.⁴⁰ Philo was the quintessential ancient author, whose writings refer often to the divine Spirit, whose commentaries on Torah are a combination—even an amalgamation—of religion and philosophy, and whose interpretations are not just rarefied, esoteric inventions but encapsulations of popular mystical conceptions of the Spirit that reflect at one and the same time, and by design, both Jewish and Greek conceptions. Leisegang, however, was not satisfied to discern the synergy between Jewish and Greek elements in Philo’s writings. He was determined, rather, to distil Greco-Roman conceptions from what he deemed a Jewish veneer that overlay them. Only through this process of distillation could Leisegang chance to discover the popular Greco-Roman religiosity that, in his opinion, lay at the roots of early Christian pneumatology. “Philo’s perspectives had such deep roots in popular Greek beliefs,” he suggested, “that he already took over popular conceptions

 Leisegang, Der heilige Geist, 4. Translations of Leisegang are ours.  Leisegang, Der heilige Geist, 14.

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thoroughly drenched in Greek philosophy … popular beliefs in his hands were transformed into a philosophical religion of the learned.”⁴¹ This was the primary project of the first volume, in which Leisegang, according to the subtitle, discovered “the essence and being of mystical-intuitive knowledge in the philosophy and religion of the Greeks.” In the second volume, in which he focused on the Gospels, Leisegang combined the history of religions with the history of traditions. To trace the development of conceptions related to the Holy Spirit in the Gospels, Leisegang continued with the question of whether the origins of the Holy Spirit lay principally in the Greek or Jewish worlds. To answer this question, he was not satisfied to identify discrete elements with little relationship to one another. He was not interested, in short, in listing parallels or developing a taxonomy of correspondences, in which he would simply “collect details … sentences out of context … borrowing and lending from one religion to another.”⁴² Leisegang’s method was more sophisticated—and enduring—than that: For the evaluation of the whole, I would like here explicitly to point out that it lies completely far afield from me to place the Jewish and other oriental influences on the synoptic traditions in the background through an emphasis on Greek motifs … It must always be observed that my presenting question is not “Which words, conceptions, and representations in the gospels are in final origin Greek or Semitic?” I am asking much more, “What must a Greek [reader] have thought lay under the words, conceptions, and presentations, which they found in the gospel tradition, and what did he think actually lay under them? What did he make of the tradition? What did he read into it?”⁴³

The Hellenistic world was not monolithic, so Leisegang had to determine the sort of Greek milieu from which his hypothetical Greek reader would have come. The Gospels provided Leisegang with corpora against which he could test his theory. He discovered in them, not “learned speculation” but “primitive popular beliefs.”⁴⁴ This discovery is hardly surprising, given that this is precisely what Leisegang had already discovered in the writings of Philo. Yet Leisegang claimed to discover still more in the Gospels: the Greek conceptions that influenced early Christian pneumatology were popular, yes, but mystical, too. Christianity grew from the soil of a Greek culture that exhibited a fresh interest in matters related to the Spirit. In fact, Christianity and Hellenism

 Leisegang, Der heilige Geist, 240.  H. Leisegang, Pneuma Hagion: Der Ursprung des Geistbegriffs der synoptischen Evangelien aus der griechischen Mystik (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1922), 3.  Leisegang, Pneuma Hagion, iii–iv.  Leisegang, Pneuma Hagion, 3.

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can be characterized “both as children of the spirit … of the Holy Spirit of mysticism, which from below, out of the mass of people, arose upward and threw science and philosophy overboard.”⁴⁵ This conviction, rooted in his history of religions analysis, had implications for Leisegang’s implementation of the history of traditions: traditions with Hellenistic flavoring, he claimed, are late traditions in the Gospels. To put an exclamation point on this, Leisegang pointed to the indisputable reality that the Spirit is barely evident throughout the life of Jesus. “Where does the full use of the motif of the spiritual conception of Mary and the reality of the son of God, which depends upon this process, remain as the most effective evidence for the miraculous, supernatural power of salvation conquering death?”⁴⁶ Further, these scant references to the Spirit, apart from the birth narratives, have “no organic connection” with the Gospels as a whole.⁴⁷ Even references in the birth narratives take a reader into Hellenistic realities, no more so than the verb ἐπισκιάζειν (“to overshadow”) in Luke 1:35. This verb, argued Leisegang, is at home in Greek conceptions of mantic prophecy—as in Philo’s writings, where the Spirit overshadows the mind. Inspiration, of course, is hardly impregnation, so Leisegang found other associations to bolster his case for the Hellenistic character of the Spirit’s overshadowing of Mary. These associations included the claim that the Delphic priestess received pneuma through her genitalia; the belief, which Leisegang claimed was held more generally, that inspiration developed sometimes in the womb of the prophet; the connection between mania and the womb in medical writings (e. g., Galen); myths in which birth-gods, such as Dionysius and Branchus, were associated with prophetic gifts; the Greco-Roman association of divine begetting and virginity that Leisegang claimed to discern in Philo’s allegories, in which God impregnates the four virgins—the virtues—and bears children; and the use of the word “soul” as a euphemism for the womb in the folk religion of the magical papyri.⁴⁸ Leisegang believed these texts create a taut association between prophetic inspiration, divine begetting, and virginity—as in Luke 1:35. Rather than regarding the wide provenance of these texts as a liability to his thesis, Leisegang saw their diversity as a window to how widespread this point of view was: popular conceptions of Delphic inspiration (including denigrations of the phenomena), belly-talkers or ventriloquists inspired directly by gods, the word “soul” as a euphemism for “womb,” medical analyses of mania and the womb, myths of Apol   

Leisegang, Leisegang, Leisegang, Leisegang,

Pneuma Pneuma Pneuma Pneuma

Hagion, 4. Hagion, 12– 13 Hagion, 12– 13. Hagion, 25 – 27.

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los and Branchus, Alexandrian allegorical interpretations of virginity—taken together, every last one of these, claimed Leisegang, provides the foreground to the Spirit’s ability to overshadow Mary and impregnate her. Corroborative data Leisegang claimed to discover in Philo’s description of the heavenly world, in which God the father impregnates wisdom, who gives birth to the logos.⁴⁹ Leisegang identified a variety of other texts in which he claimed to discover this pattern, including the Protoevangelium of James, in which Mary’s pregnancy is attributed to various divine entities, such as logos, dynamis, and pneuma. ⁵⁰ Leisegang’s efforts to pinpoint a Greco-Roman foreground to the work of the Holy Spirit in the birth of Jesus are enlightening, to be sure, but turgid and highly speculative as well. In many respects, they reveal the strengths and limits of the history of religions method. Inventive, erudite, and far-reaching, the history of religions method, in the hands of a scholar such as Leisegang, could be used to unearth and gather from corpora far and wide potentially relevant passages that may serve to illuminate otherwise obtuse biblical texts, such as Luke 1:35, in which the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit leads to Mary’s pregnancy. Taken together, these texts bear witness to a common concern that spanned centuries, breached social boundaries, and leapt over cultural borders. Leisegang’s use of the history of religions method, however, also underscores its limitations, as it was practiced during the early twentieth century. First, notwithstanding Leisegang’s caveats to the contrary, the collection of putative parallels borders on the indiscriminate; differences tend to be minimized, correspondences over-emphasized. What to Leisegang was a strength of the method—the ability to construct an overall pattern from seemingly unrelated texts—is also perhaps its greatest liability, since the patterns he identified did not easily match individual components. The whole, we might argue, was not greater than the parts; the whole was allowed to eclipse the parts. A second possible weakness in the history of religions method, as Leisegang implemented it, lay in the possibly erroneous observation that all things pneuma belong together. Leisegang paid less attention to the different ways in which pneuma was conceived, focusing instead on the similarities that drew texts into a whole. Third, Leisegang did not always weigh his sources; it is difficult to weigh sources even today—sometimes we tend inadvertently to weigh some sources more heavily simply because more of them are extant—but distinguishing the

 Leisegang, Pneuma Hagion, 50 – 55.  Leisegang, Pneuma Hagion, 55 – 67.

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more important or regnant points of view from the more marginal must be part of the process of sifting ancient texts. Leisegang did not pay careful enough attention to this aspect of his method. Fourth, Leisegang’s emphasis upon Greco-Roman literature, including the writings of Philo at the nexus of Jewish and Greco-Roman cultures, within half a century would be eclipsed by the discovery of scrolls in the Judean wilderness in 1947. As we shall see later in this introduction, the Dead Sea Scrolls did not just lead to additional patterns or provide corroborative texts. The scrolls, even though they should be regarded in part as the product of a marginal community, demonstrated that a Palestinian Jewish community, which emerged and existed between 167 B.C.E. and 70 C.E., could claim unparalleled experiences of the Spirit and provide, with them, some of the closest parallels to the New Testament— closer at least than many of the more speculative ones Hans Leisegang had culled. Leisegang’s wholehearted implementation of the history of religions approach left him, then, open to weaknesses. Two scholars, Friedrich Büchsel and Hans von Baer, pointed many of those weaknesses out in the mid-1920s.⁵¹

2.4 Friedrich Büchsel and Jesus as the Center of Spirituality Friedrich Büchsel devoted myriad brief discussions and notes to critiques of Leisegang’s approach. Like Leisegang, Büchsel’s knowledge ranged widely. He devoted 147 pages to the Vorgeschichte of early Christianity in the Hebrew Bible, Greco-Roman authors such as Plutarch, the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, Hellenistic-Jewish authors such as Philo and Josephus, the Greek mystery cults, rabbinic literature, and traditions of John the Baptist. Unlike Leisegang, Büchsel settled on Israelite and early Jewish literature as the locus of that foreground. In still another way, Büchsel took a different tack from Leisegang, who had examined biblical texts in relative isolation from one another, distinct from their literary context in the Gospels. In today’s parlance, we might suggest that biblical texts, such as Luke 1:35, functioned for Leisegang as hyperlinks to a rich repository of Greco-Roman resources. Büchsel, in contrast, paid more careful attention to the literary and theological contexts of the Gospels—and provided  See also I. Heinemann, “Philons Lehre vom Heiligen Geist und der intuitiven Erkenntnis,” Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums 64 (1920): 8 – 29, 100 – 122; idem, “Die Lehre vom Heiligen Geist im Judentum und in den Evangelien,” Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums 66 (1922): 169 – 80, 268 – 79.

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one of the more trenchant critiques of Leisegang’s practice of the history of religions method. Büchsel discovered the focus of the Gospels in the portrait of Jesus as a Pneumatiker. The whole of Jesus’ life flowed from this center: his prophetic authority; his ascetic inclination and repudiation of the family; his visionary experiences, particularly his experience at the Jordan River, where he began to understand that his life focused on the love of God, to which he could lay claim as God’s son. “Jesus is first God’s son, as a child,” wrote Büchsel, “then as a pious Israelite and from the time of his baptism as someone who stands in full unmediated possession of the love of God, who is in a unique way the son of God through the Holy Spirit.”⁵² Leisegang’s mythic and popular interpretation of the Spirit, culled from Greco-Roman sources, argued Büchsel, is incompatible with the portrait of Jesus in the Gospels as a Pneumatiker. The significance of the Spirit in the Gospels, especially its association with the love of God, finds no clear place of origin in the Greco-Roman world; its foreground, ultimately, is the Hebrew Bible. The difference that divides him from Leisegang is apparent in Büchsel’s interpretation of the Lucan birth narratives. Not a trace of a Greek prophetess lies embedded in Luke’s Gospel, even though this is central to Leisegang’s reconstruction of Luke’s milieu. “Between the ‘pneumatic’ reception of the Greek prophetess,” noted Büchsel, “and that of Mary lies a fundamental difference.” The worlds of thought Leisegang collected, argued Büchsel, exhibit characteristics that divide them from one another. Mystical eroticism and polytheism are inconceivable counterparts to Luke’s Gospel, in which the angel speaks of the messiah in the context of thoroughgoing piety.⁵³ Therefore, the most plausible foreground of Luke’s birth narratives “is not Hellenistic mythical conceptions, but the Jewish conception that God through his Spirit creates.”⁵⁴ This “Old Testament-Jewish” atmosphere permeates the birth narratives: references to the salvation of Israel, expectations of the messiah, allusions to the Psalms. “The effects of the Spirit, which are shown in the prophets, are through and through ones which are familiar in the Old Testament and Jewish prophets.”⁵⁵

 F. Büchsel, Der Geist Gottes im Neuen Testament (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1926), 167. Translations of Büchsel are ours.  Büchsel, Geist Gottes, 198n4.  Büchsel, Geist Gottes, 200.  Büchsel, Geist Gottes, 200 – 01.

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2.5 Heinrich von Baer and the Spirit in salvation history Büchsel engaged Leisegang in brief discussions and notes.⁵⁶ Not so, von Baer, the second half of whose book contains a frontal assault on Leisegang.⁵⁷ Like Büchsel, von Baer attempted to dismantle the many parts of Leisegang’s pattern by appealing to the whole picture, the Gesamtbild, of early Christian pneumatology. Von Baer lashed out at the History of Religions school for what he perceived to be an indiscriminate use of parallels. Von Baer’s critique is significant, with relevance to the study of biblical texts in light of their cultural contexts, even today. Parallels are often appealed to which, when superficially observed, reflect certain analogies to expressions of New Testament passages about the Holy Spirit, but which in reality come out of another religious world, since the relationship between God and humankind, which stands behind these expressions of the Spirit, in no way corresponds to the relationship of the faith of the Christian to the divinity.⁵⁸ According to von Baer, in the world of Luke-Acts, the Spirit is the means of God’s activity in the world. This activity is not uniform or static, but occurs in three distinct heilsgeschichtlich eras. The first epoch emphasizes the prophetic age, including John the Baptist, who announces the messiah by means of the Spirit of prophecy. The second era begins with the conception and birth of the earthly Jesus, who is empowered by the Spirit to bring about God’s reign. The third era, inaugurated by Pentecost, is characterized by the endowment of the Spirit of the risen Jesus on his followers, who proclaim the good news about Jesus. Standing behind, or within, each of these eras is a single God, whom the authors of the Gospels recognize from Israelite salvation history. Consequently, Leisegang’s claim to discover the Spirit in the Greco-Roman world, apart from Old Testament and Jewish influence, is untenable. None of Leisegang’s alleged sources, according to von Baer, can bridge the gulf that separates Israelite salvation history, in which God acts through the Spirit, from Hellenistic conceptions of the Spirit. Von Baer made this claim concrete in the second half of his book, when he dealt directly with the history of religions foreground of specific references to the Spirit in Luke-Acts. He conceded that a Greek reader might have understood a  For example, Büchsel, Geist Gottes, 143n2, 162n1, 169n1, 179n6, 186n1, 193, 197, 198n4, 199n2, 200n1.  H. von Baer, Der Heilige Geist in den Lukasschriften (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1926).  Von Baer, Lukasschriften, 13 – 14. Translations of von Baer are ours.

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phrase such as “son of God” as an indication of the physical begetting of Jesus. For Jews, however, such a physical origin for Jesus is abhorrent because of its association with ritual uncleanness, according to cultic Israelite precepts. For Luke and his Jewish readers, therefore, the name “son of God” indicates divine origin rather than earthly birth. Further, the words with which this designation is associated, such as “most high” and “power,” are redolent of the world of the Septuagint. Such a phrase as “son of God” carries a reader of the Gospels back to the Greek Old Testament. Leisegang was misguided, therefore, in his effort to understand the verb, “come upon,” in Luke 1:35 in Greek terms of the physical approach of the Spirit; this verb is rooted rather in the Septuagint version of Exodus 40:35, in which the cloud overshadows and fills Israel with divine glory.⁵⁹ The vocabulary of the Spirit in Luke 1– 2 has nothing to do, for von Baer, with Jesus’ physical birth and much to do with his being God’s son, with God’s salvation history, which is deeply rooted in the work of God throughout Israel’s history. Von Baer drew an unmistakable line in the sand on this point. The designation “Son of God” has nothing to do with the process of the conception of the Jesus-child through “a physical participation of the Holy Spirit.” The Holy Spirit is, rather, a sign of the miraculous power of God, “through which the extraordinary event is worked out in a supra-physical way.”⁶⁰ Leisegang had assiduously gathered alleged parallels in Greco-Roman literature to the Spirit in the Gospels in an effort to establish a pattern that associates prophecy, virginity, and divine begetting. In light of a firm belief in Heilsgeschichte—Salvation History—Von Baer saw this pattern as nonsense, as a “confused thesis” that developed “through an artificially combined chain.”⁶¹ It was, in von Baer’s opinion, “a thoroughly complicated mistake, … a labyrinth.”⁶²

3 After the History of Religions School 3.1 The Decline of the History of Religions School and the Focus on Theological Interpretation The History of Religions school came to an abrupt end in the very context in which it had arisen, in German Protestantism, due principally to external    

Von Von Von Von

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Geist, 129. Geist, 129. Geist, 131. Geist, 123.

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causes.⁶³ World War I led to a severe crisis in German Protestantism. The chemistry of culture and liberal theology that had been so significant for Protestant theologians at the turn of the century and that had inspired not only the quest for a learned historical explanation of ancient religious phenomena, but also the school’s effort to modernize Christianity by critically uncovering its supposedly less essential syncretistic elements,⁶⁴ shattered with the breakdown of the old regimes By the mid-1920s, the majority of influential scholars in the History of Religions school (William Wrede, Johannes Weiss, Wilhelm Bousset, Wilhelm Heitmüller) had already died. The generation of their students, most prominently Rudolf Bultmann, who had studied with Weiss, Heitmüller, and Adolf Jülicher, gradually joined the new theological movement of Dialectical Theology,⁶⁵ which Swiss pastor Karl Barth, together with some other younger theologians, had inaugurated. Dialectical Theology was perceived to be more relevant for the crisis that Europe faced. In contrast to the History of Religions school, the dialectical movement was based on a severe criticism of the paradigm of mere historical “explanation,” without direct engagement with contemporary and existential issues. It also pressed for a return to a theological interpretation of New Testament texts—something the History of Religions school had vehemently rejected. What was called for now was to talk of God (not about God) and revela-

 Cf. G. Lüdemann and A. Özen, “Religionsgeschichtliche Schule,” TRE 28:618 – 24.  It should be noted that the scholarly interest of the members of the school focused on phenomena that could appear strange or foreign to modern contemporaries, such as ablutions and sacral meals, eschatological views, the ideas of atonement and vicarious death, and the cultic veneration of Christ and, from the very beginning, the notion and phenomena of the spirit. The explanation of these elements as shaped by foreign influences could also lead to the conclusion that those elements were less essential to the Christian religion than the liberal core ideas of the simple trust in the Father and an ethical message. The history of religions-parallels could thus provide a relativization of those allegedly strange elements and lead to a more enlightened liberal way of belief. In this way, the school was strongly embedded in the liberal dogmatics of the time. The educational intention of the school was visible, for example, in the publication of a new popular booklet series, Religionsgeschichtliche Volksbücher. For further discussion, see Jörg Frey, “Eine neue religionsgeschichtliche Perspektive,” In Reflections on the Early Christian History of Religion—Erwägungen zur frühchristlichen Religionsgeschichte, eds. C. Breytenbach and J. Frey, AJEC 81 (Leiden: Brill, 2012): 117– 68 (esp. 133 – 35); G. Seelig, Religionsgeschichtliche Methode in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart. Studien zur Geschichte und Methode des religionsgeschichtlichen Vergleichs in der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft, Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 7 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2001), 227– 30, and K. Lehmkühler, Kultus und Theologie. Dogmatik und Exegese in der religionsgeschichtlichen Schule, FSÖTh 76 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 208 – 32.  Lüdemann/Özen, “Religionsgeschichtliche Schule,” 622.

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tion, rather than historical explanation. Barth’s famous exposition of Romans,⁶⁶ though strongly criticized by liberals, such as Adolf von Harnack, became the new paradigm of New Testament interpretation. In German Protestant theology, at least during the next five decades, theological impulses outweighed historical questions, with the result that history of religions issues and extra-biblical parallels were shunted aside or considered to represent a minor level of scholarship or even merely regarded as presuppositions of New Testament interpretation. It became verboten on theological grounds to attempt to uncover experiences of early Christian communities. The only valid category was the kerygma, the message of the texts, which was often set in opposition to earlier sources or opposing views. The experiences of ancient communities and New Testament authors were considered not only inaccessible but also theologically irrelevant and uninteresting. This is especially true of Rudolf Bultmann’s work and his school.

3.2 Rudolf Bultmann and his School Raised within the context of the History of Religions school and Rudolf Herrmann’s theological liberalism, a young Rudolf Bultmann at first adopted the general thrust of the History of Religions school.⁶⁷ He then gradually adopted as the basis for his interpretation the vibrant theological questions of Dialectical Theology, and, from 1925, the philosophical language of his Marburg colleague Martin Heidegger.⁶⁸ Bultmann’s exegetical work was strictly focused on interpretation with an eye to existential and theological issues, and the architecture of

 K. Barth, Der Römerbrief (Munich: Kaiser, 1919); see also the completely reworked (and ultimately more effective) second version: idem, Der Römerbrief, 2nd ed. (Munich: Kaiser, 1922).  This is obvious in his doctoral dissertation written in 1910 under the direction of Heitmüller on the Hellenistic language of Paul (R. Bultmann, Der Stil der paulinischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoische Diatribe, FRLANT 1 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1912]). His Habilitationsschrift from 1912, written under Adolf Jülicher, on the exegesis of Theodor of Mopsuestia was focused on the history of theology to the fourth century C.E. Bultmann’s reviews of that time show his history of religions interests; they are collected in R. Bultmann, Theologie als Kritik. Ausgewählte Rezensionen und Forschungsberichte, eds. M. Dreher and K. W. Müller (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); cf. also the article by idem, “Die Bedeutung der Eschatologie für die Religion des Neuen Testaments,” ZTK 27 (1917): 76 – 87.  On Bultmann’s development and the leading historical and theological questions, see the magisterial study by Ernst Baasland, Theologie und Methode. Eine historiographische Analyse der Frühschriften Rudolf Bultmanns (Wuppertal/Zürich: Brockhaus, 1992), esp. 34– 57. See now also the new biography by K. Hamman, Rudolf Bultmann. Eine Biographie (Mohr Siebeck: Tübingen, 2009).

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his Theology of the New Testament presents Paul and John as lacking interest in the historical dimension; these two authors alone, in Bultmann’s theology, properly represent “theology.”⁶⁹ Notwithstanding his theological and existential interests, Bultmann’s theological interpretation is based on his literary and history of religions views, such as the presupposition of a Gnostic redeemer myth that was thought to provide the terms for Pauline and Johannine views of revelation. These historical reconstructions are integral to Bultmann’s views, although they are often only mentioned in passing or in footnotes. With regard to the Spirit, Bultmann was also heavily indebted to the History of Religions school. In Bultmann’s New Testament theology, the chapter on the Spirit⁷⁰ is embedded within the exposition of the kerygma of the Hellenistic community prior to and contemporary with Paul. This section belongs to the first part of Bultmann’s work, which does not represent theology as such but only the “presuppositions and motifs” of New Testament theology. This placement makes it clear that the notion of the Spirit is merely a presupposition of Christian theology. In this chapter, Bultmann was eager to interpret the basic concept (Grundanschauung) of πνεῦμα as a unity, in spite of the actual variety of terms and phrases used in the New Testament. This basic concept is, consequently, an abstraction—an approach that is characteristic of Bultmann’s interpretation of πνεῦμα. At first, Bultmann affirmed that πνεῦμα should not be understood in a Platonizing manner as “spirit” in contrast to “body.”⁷¹ Rather, the term points to a marvelous divine power that lies in absolute contrast to all that is human; it is “the miraculous insofar as it happens in the sphere of human life.”⁷² In other words, πνεῦμα is an eschatological gift, in the sense in which Bultmann defined “the eschatological” as the manner in which the Divine is present within the present life.⁷³ This allegedly unifying definition of πνεῦμα, or rather the distilled

 Cf. R. Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 9th ed. by O. Merk (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1984); R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament: With an Introduction by Robert Morgan (Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2007). On Bultmann’s theology, see the collection by Bruce Longenecker and Mike Parsons, eds., Beyond Bultmann (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2014).  R. Bultmann, Theologie, 155 – 66.  R. Bultmann, Theologie, 155.  R. Bultmann, Theologie 156: “Das also konstituiert den Begriff des πνεῦμα: das Wunderbare, und zwar sofern es sich in der Sphäre des menschlichen Lebens—Tuns oder Erleidens—ereignet.”  On Bultmann’s conception of eschatology, cf. Jörg Frey, Ihre Probleme im Spiegel der Forschung seit Reimarus (vol. 1 of Die johanneische Eschatologie; WUNT 96; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007); idem, “John’s Christology and Eschatology in Rudolf Bultmann’s Interpretation,” In Be-

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essence of πνεῦμα, Bultmann considered credible, although he was well aware that passages in the New Testament represent two different concepts of πνεῦμα. He called these, in light of the earlier history of religions debate, “animistic” (i. e., as a personal or demonic power) and “dynamistic” (i. e., as an impersonal power or fluid). The first one is, according to Bultmann, characteristic of the Old Testament; the second is thought to be more characteristic of the Hellenistic world. In this way, Bultmann blended—though in a relatively inchoate way—different history of religions concepts with his predominant interest to “define” the basic concept of the Spirit in a manner that fit his overall view of eschatology and revelation theology. Ultimately, this basic concept would serve for Bultmann as a tool for theologically evaluating and criticizing different phenomena and texts. For example, Bultmann could say that the early Christian view (e. g., in Corinth) that some Christians were more strongly πνευματικοί than others does not understand quite dramatically enough the πνεῦμα as the power that governs the Christian.⁷⁴ Bultmann’s theologically-driven definition of the πνεῦμα as a radically otherworldly power or eschatological gift serves also as a critique of early Christian views in which the Spirit manifests itself principally in miraculous deeds, along the lines of the Hellenistic concept of a “divine man” (θεῖοϛ ἀνήρ) or, on the other hand, in the production of psychic (or psychological) experiences or mystical individualism.⁷⁵ Bultmann, it would seem, did not simply describe or explain early Christian experiences of the Spirit as reflected in New Testament texts, nor did he attempt to ascertain precise historical or history of religions backgrounds. Instead, he constructed a more general “basic concept,” according to which all “pneumatic” phenomena are ultimately criticized as misunderstandings or even as relics of Paganism. In his interpretative framework, the theological interpretation of the Spirit as a radically otherworldly power ultimately transcends historical explanation. The experiences narrated in the texts are not properly Christian; they are simply religious, pagan rather than Jewish—in any case, irrelevant. Bultmann’s Theologie provided the theological sum of his generation, and his views were widely followed in his school, which dominated German scholarship for decades. A Hellenistic understanding of the Spirit and the predominance of theological categories permeated German scholarship until the 1970s. The influence of the Bultmann school in the English speaking world, in contrast, was yond Bultmann, eds. Bruce Longenecker and Mike Parsons (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2014).  R. Bultmann, Theologie, 161.  R. Bultmann, Theologie, 166.

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attenuated, so only a few studies from that context were concerned with history of religions approaches to the Spirit or with the issue of religious experience, particularly between 1925 and 1950.⁷⁶

3.3 Qumran Discoveries and the Rediscovery of Jewish Contexts One event changed the field of New Testament scholarship, although Bultmann himself remained unimpressed by it. Just as Bultmann’s theology was being published, between 1947 and 1956, the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered in caves near Khirbet Qumran in the Judean Desert. The publication of the first texts from Cave I, along with subsequent scholarly and public discussion, inaugurated a remarkable change in the scholarly climate.⁷⁷ Although only a few major documents were published quickly, so that only a narrow slice of texts dominated the debate in the 1950s and 1960s, the discovery of ancient Jewish texts caused more and more scholars to question the dominant patterns of a history of religions approach. Especially with regard to the dualistic elements in the New Testament, which were explained by Bultmann and his school on the basis of a Gnostic redeemer myth,⁷⁸ the Qumran documents provided new parallels and a Jewish type of dualism that was historically closer to New Testament texts than the late Manichaean and Mandaean sources adduced by Bultmann. The once-dominant explanation of Johannine dualism, consequently, was supplanted by the scholarly claim to have discovered the background or “mother soil” of Johannine language in a (sectarian) Jewish milieu.⁷⁹

 Mention should be made of H. Wheeler Robinson, The Christian Experience of the Holy Spirit (New York/London: Harper, 1928) and of Percy G. S. Hopwood, The Religious Experience of the Primitive Church: The Period Prior to the Influence of Paul (New York: Scribner’s, 1937). On these works see Tibbs, Religious Experience of the Pneuma, 90 – 93.  On the history of the Qumran debate, see the impressive collection of reports, The Dead Sea Scrolls in Scholarly Perspective: A History of Research, ed. D. Dimant, STDJ 99 (Leiden: Brill, 2011). The early debate on Qumran and the New Testament is documented in H. Braun, Qumran und das Neue Testament, 2 vols. (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1966).  Cf. basically R. Bultmann, “Die Bedeutung der neuerschlossenen mandäischen und manichäischen Quellen für das Verständnis des Johannesevangeliums,” In Exegetica. Aufsätze zur Erforschung des Neuen Testaments, ed. R. Dinkler (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1967): 55 – 104.  See the discussion in Jörg Frey, “Recent Perspectives on Johannine Dualism and Its Background,” In Text, Thought, and Practice in Qumran and Early Christianity, eds. Ruth Clements and Daniel R. Schwartz, StTDJ 84 (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2008): 127– 57. See for the “mother soil” Karl Georg Kuhn, “Die in Palästina gefundenen hebräischen Texte und das Neue Testament,”

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Bultmann may have had reason to be unimpressed because, in the first decades following initial discoveries in the Judean desert, knowledge of Qumran texts and group(s) thought to be related to them was still limited, as only a small portion of the corpus was published at that time. Further, the scholarly agenda was dominated by interest in the Scrolls’ contribution to an understanding of the New Testament.⁸⁰ Scholars, therefore, focused selectively on texts that could illuminate the linguistic and history of religions background of New Testament texts. They studied the dualism of the scrolls, messianism, eschatology, methods for the interpretation of scripture, the figure of the Teacher of Righteousness in comparison with Jesus, the nature of communal meals in comparison with the Eucharist, immersions and washings at Qumran in comparison with John’s baptism and early Christian baptism, and—not least—the notion of the Spirit or Holy Spirit, a term that is mentioned frequently in the texts published in the early 1950s, especially the Community Rule (1QS) and the Hymns Scroll (1QH, now called 1QHa). Herbert Braun thoroughly summarized debates in the early years of discovery.⁸¹ As a former student of Bultmann, however, Braun remained reluctant to accept any immediate influence from Qumran on early Christianity and New Testament texts—a posture that allowed Bultmann to sustain his interpretation relatively unchanged. In view of numerous premature claims to the value of the newly discovered texts in the early decades of Qumran scholarship, Braun’s caution appears to be justified, at least in part. In spite of this, Qumran discoveries have reopened the discussion about history of religions issues and about the precise background of New Testament terms and motifs. Their discovery has contributed to a re-evaluation of the Jewish background of early Christianity

ZTK 47 (1950): 192– 211 (esp. 209 – 10); see further Millar Burrows, The Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Viking, 1955), 338; William Foxwell Albright, “Recent Discoveries in Palestine and the Gospel of St. John,” In The Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology, eds. W. D. Davies and D. Daube (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956): 153 – 71; the cautious but effective Raymond E. Brown, “The Qumran Scrolls and the Johannine Gospel and Epistles,” CBQ 17 (1955): 403 – 19, 559 – 74, or, more boldly, James H. Charlesworth, “A Critical Comparison of the Dualism in 1QS 3:13 – 4:26 and the ‘Dualism’ Contained in the Gospel of John,” NTS 15 (1968/69): 389 – 418; reprinted in John and the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. J. H. Charlesworth (New York: Crossroad, 1990): 76 – 101.  Thus, as one of the first interpreters K. G. Kuhn, “Die Bedeutung der neuen palästinischen Handschriften für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft,” TLZ 75 (1950): 81– 86; cf. idem “Johannes-Evangelium und Qumrantexte,” In Neotestamentica et Patristica: Eine Freundesgabe, Herrn Professor Dr. Oscar Cullmann zu seinem 60. Geburtstag überreicht (Leiden: Brill, 1962): 111– 22.  H. Braun, Qumran und das Neue Testament, 2 vols. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1966).

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in New Testament scholarship, while Gnostic explanations faded away with the dissolution of the Bultmann school. In early studies on spirits or Spirit in Qumran texts, numerous issues came to the fore.⁸² Central to the debate was, of course, the Treatise on the Two Spirits in the Community Rule (1QS III 13 – IV 24), which was soon considered the fundamental theological doctrine of the Qumran “sect.” Its dualism and determinism, the alleged doctrine of two opposed spirits and related ethical dispositions, the moniker “Spirit of Truth” (as the Spirit-Paraclete in the Fourth Gospel is called) applied to the “good” spirit, and the explicit mention of God’s Holy Spirit in the end of the passage were immediately noticeable. These salient elements did not, of course, minimize many debatable dimensions of this section of the Community Rule—in particular, whether the “spirits” are anthropological entities (i. e., ethical dispositions) or “spiritual” beings (i. e., angels or demons). Yet the Teaching on the Two Spirits continued to be regarded as a staple of Qumran theology.⁸³ In spite of the appearance of identical terms, reference to (a or the) “Holy Spirit” in Qumran texts did not easily fit traditional categories for understanding the Holy Spirit from the perspective of the New Testament or later Christian tradition. Still, it became difficult to ignore that several aspects of the New Testament notion of the Spirit were now closely paralleled in the texts discovered at Qumran, such as the Spirit as an eschatological means of purification (1QS IV 21), the Spirit as a present possession within the pious individual and within the community (especially in the Hymns Scroll), and the notion of the community as a temple of the Spirit (1QS V 5 – 6; VIII 5 – 6; IX 3 – 6; cf. III 6 – 9). Just as striking, some New Testament expressions were now paralleled for the first time in Second Temple Judaism, including “poor in spirit” (Matt 5:3) and “Spirit of Truth” (John 16:13). Especially for the Gospel of John, which had been interpreted in light of a Hellenistic or Gnostic background, the recurrence of the words, “Spirit of Truth,” in texts from Qumran called for a new appreciation of the history of religions background to the New Testament. Despite this surge of interest in the relationship between Qumran documents and the New Testament, insights from the Qumran texts did not appreciably affect specialized studies on the Spirit in the New Testament until the end of the

 Cf. H. Braun, Qumran und das Neue Testament vol. 2, 250 – 265; the first monograph on the Spirit in Qumran was Arthur E. Sekki, The Meaning of Ruaḥ at Qumran (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1989). For insight into interpretation during the early period of Qumran scholarship, see the contribution by Eibert Tigchelaar in this volume.  For a survey of scholarship, see John R. Levison, “The Two Spirits in Qumran Theology,” In The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Princeton Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2006): 3:169 – 94.

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twentieth century.⁸⁴ This may be due to the fact that two paradigms were still dominant in New Testament scholarship: a primary interest in theological interpretation derived from the kerygma of New Testament texts, as advocated by the Bultmann school, and the so-called “Judaism-Hellenism divide,” to which we now turn our attention.

3.4 The Judaism-Hellenism Divide and the Interpretation of the Spirit One of the most important and controversial scholarly positions developed by the History of Religions school (and also largely adopted by Rudolf Bultmann and his followers) was the separation between the type of religion shared by Jesus and the earliest Christian community (viewed to be largely Jewish) and the type of religion developed within the milieu of the Hellenistic community (developed especially by Paul).⁸⁵ Based upon skepticism vis-à-vis Paul’s stay and study in Jerusalem,⁸⁶ Wilhelm Bousset determined that Paul was separated from Jesus, not only by the so-called primitive community, but also by a second “step,” the Hellenistic community, which was considered geographically and chronologically separated from the (Jewish and Aramaic speaking) primitive community.⁸⁷ According to this view, the development of the cultic veneration of Christ as Kyrios and also the shape of Pauline Christology could only be explained from the context of the Hellenistic (Gentile-Christian) community—on the basis of thoroughly Hellenistic pagan influences. The result was a large

 Cf. the references in the article by Eibert Tigchelaar in the present volume.  Cf. Jörg Frey, “Eine neue religionsgeschichtliche Perspektive. Larry W. Hurtados Lord Jesus Christ und die Herausbildung der frühen Christologie,” In Reflections on Early Christian History and Religion—Erwägungen zur frühchristlichen Religionsgeschichte, eds. Cilliers Breytenbach and Jörg Frey, AJEC 81 (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2012): 117– 68 (esp. 131– 36).  Cf. the article by W. Heitmüller, “Zum Problem Paulus und Jesus,” ZNW 13 (1912): 320 – 30.  W. Bousset, Kyrios Christos. Geschichte des Christusglaubens von den Anfängen bis Irenäus, 2nd ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1921), 75n1: “Paulus ist von Jesus nicht nur durch die Urgemeinde getrennt, sondern noch durch ein weiteres Glied. Die Entwicklungsreihe lautet: Jesus—Urgemeinde—hellenistisches Christentum—Paulus.” Cf. the ET: Kyrios Christos: A History of the Belief in Christ from the Beginning of Christianity to Irenaeus, trans. John E. Steely (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1970).

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gap between Christianity as a “syncretistic religion” and the earlier (Jewish) religion of Jesus and his earliest followers.⁸⁸ This point of view was adopted by Rudolf Bultmann in his historical reconstruction of early Christian religion (and in his theology of the New Testament⁸⁹). In the Hellenistic, Gentile Christian community, Bultmann argued, there occurred an encounter between biblical conceptions and Gnostic myth. This encounter resulted in the demythologization of the Gnostic myth when the ahistorical myth came into contact with the concrete person of Jesus of Nazareth. By the same token, but in the opposite direction, biblically rooted salvation history was stripped of its historical character and became cosmological—and, ultimately, eschatological. In this way, the encounter between myth and history in the Hellenistic Gentile Christian community led to the demythologizing of the Gnostic myth and the dehistoricizing of salvation history. A minority of other scholars, including Adolf Schlatter, Gerhard Kittel, Joachim Jeremias, and William D. Davies, focused on the Jewish sources, but neither later rabbinic texts nor classical apocalypses, such as 4 Ezra or 2 Baruch, could provide a convincing framework for interpreting New Testament ideas; concomitantly, in the first period of the Qumran debate, texts available at that time were mildly disregarded as products of a marginal “sect,” rather than as a mirror of Jewish literary production, more broadly construed. Consequently, the separation between Jewish and Hellenistic (or even Gnostic) contexts, as well as between distinct and subsequent strata of early Christian thought (i. e., an early Jewish church and a later Hellenistic church), were basic convictions in New Testament exegesis, at least before this pattern was decisively questioned by Martin Hengel’s groundbreaking work on the encounter of Judaism and Hellenism in the pre-Christian period;⁹⁰ Hengel followed this magisterial work with subsequent

 Cf. already H. Gunkel, Zum religionsgeschichtlichen Verständnis des Neuen Testaments, FRLANT 1 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1903), 88: “Nicht das Evangelium Jesu, … aber das Urchristentum des Paulus und des Johannes ist eine synkretistische Religion.”  R. Bultmann, Theologie, 66 – 186: “Das Kerygma der hellenistschen Gemeinde vor und neben Paulus,” is a second sub-chapter, clearly distinct from pp. 34– 65: as “Kerygma der Urgemeinde.”  M. Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus. Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jh.s v. Chr., WUNT 10 (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1969); see also the 3rd ed. (1988). ET: Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism. Studies in their Encounter in Palestine in the Early Hellenistic Period, 2 vols., trans. John Bowden (London/Philadelphia: SCM Press/Fortress Press, 1974).

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smaller studies, in which he illuminated the development of early Christian history and Christology.⁹¹ Arguably the most significant scholarly contribution to the study of the Spirit in the post-World War II era was the work of Swiss New Testament scholar Eduard Schweizer. In a number of articles⁹² and, most comprehensively, in his extensive article on πνεῦμα in Kittel’s Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament,⁹³ Schweizer adopted some perspectives of the History of Religions school while simultaneously developing theological perspectives. Having done his doctoral dissertation with Bultmann⁹⁴ and having studied with Barth, Schweizer ultimately contributed to the dissolution of the Bultmann school. Schweizer’s reconstruction of the development of the Spirit in the New Testament is based on the distinction between the Old Testament or Palestinian Jewish tradition and Hellenistic concepts of the Spirit. While in the former, the Spirit is a supernatural power for performing miracles,⁹⁵ in the latter, the Spirit is a heavenly substance.⁹⁶ In Schweizer’s view, Mark and Matthew adhere to the biblical and Palestinian view, while Paul deliberately links the two lines of thought. Paul holds onto the biblical idea that the Spirit can never be “possessed” by a human being, and in his use of Hellenistic terms, he implicitly corrects them with the idea that the Spirit is also “the pledge of that which is not yet.”⁹⁷ The (Hellenistic) naturalistic view of the Spirit is thus corrected by elements from Old Testament thought and, at the same time, the Palestinian-Jewish views of the earliest Jesus movement develop toward a theological understanding of the Spirit as new existence.

 Cf. M. Hengel, The Son of God: The Origin of Christology and the History of Jewish-Hellenistic Religion, trans. John Bowden (London: SCM Press, 1976); idem, Between Jesus and Paul: Studies in the Earliest History of Christianity, trans. John Bowdon (London: SCM Press, 1983).  Cf. E. Schweizer, “Spirit of Power: The Uniformity and Diversity of the Concept of the Holy Spirit in the New Testament,” Interpretation 6 (1952): 259 – 78; idem, “Gegenwart des Geistes und eschatologische Hoffnung bei Zarathustra, spätjüdischen Gruppen, Gnostikern und den Zeugen des Neuen Testaments,” In Neotestamentica (Zürich/Stuttgart: Zwingli Verlag, 1963): 153 – 79; idem, “Röm 1,3 f. und der Gegensatz von Fleisch und Geist vor und bei Paulus,” 180 – 89.  E. Schweizer, “πνεῦμα κτλ. D-E,” TWNT 6:389 – 454; ET: “πνεῦμα κτλ.,” TDNT 6:389 – 455. For the comprehensive theological interpretation see E. Schweizer, Heiliger Geist (Stuttgart/Berlin: Kreuz Verlag, 1978); ET: The Holy Spirit, trans. R. H. and I. Fuller (London: SCM, 1980).  E. Schweizer, Ego eimi (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1939).  Cf. E. Schweizer, “Spirit of Power,” and idem, “πνεῦμα κτλ.,” 6:397, 400 – 04.  “πνεῦμα κτλ.,” 6:416: “If Jesus was the bringer of the Spirit, then He was the bearer of heavenly substance with which He endowed believers and united them with the heavenly world… . Attachment to Jesus is attachment to this substance of power, to the heavenly world. It is salvation.”  “πνεῦμα κτλ.,” 6:424.

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Like Bultmann’s history of religions perspective, which eventually dissolved, Schweizer’s concept of the Hellenistic view of the pneuma could also be questioned, since he also “anachronistically [attributed] features exhibited in second-century gnostic material to the Hellenistic world and to the Pauline churches of the first century.”⁹⁸ Further, with the dissolution of the dichotomy between Judaism and Hellenism under the impact of Martin Hengel’s study, the dichotomy between Jewish and Hellenistic views, which Schweizer presupposed, lost its hold on scholarship. So too did the alleged reconstruction of a historical and geographical development from the earliest Jewish-Christian community to the Hellenistic and Pauline community. Still, Schweizer’s history of religions reconstruction is linked with a thorough appreciation of Paul’s own theological appropriation of the Spirit in Christology and soteriology. According to Schweizer, “the uniqueness of Paul’s pneumatology is not to be found in the ethical dimension he added, but rather in his understanding of the Spirit as the power that generates belief.”⁹⁹ In the work of Eduard Schweizer, then, history of religions and theology are aptly reunited.

3.5 The Developmental Explanation of Early Christian Pneumatology The majority of scholarly studies of the Spirit in the New Testament have focused upon the interpretation of individual authors, especially Paul, Luke, and John, with a tendency among scholars to focus upon the development within the Christian tradition rather than upon issues of extra-biblical influences. Pentecostals, in particular, have dealt with Luke-Acts, with some of them addressing the tension between the pneumatologies of Paul and Acts.¹⁰⁰ Other scholars have dealt with developments within Christianity—for example, from Paul to “early Catholicism.” A salient contribution from the post-Bultmann era which illustrates this approach is Friedrich Horn’s Habilitationsschrift on the Spirit in Paul’s letters. Das Angeld des Geistes is rooted in the Göttingen school, led by Georg Strecker, with

 Thus the criticism in F. Philip, The Origins of Pauline Pneumatology, WUNT II/194 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 12.  Philip, Origins, 12.  Cf. Martin W. Mittelstadt, Reading Luke-Acts in the Pentecostal Tradition (Cleveland, TN: CPT, 2010).

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its effort to wrest a development of thought from Paul’s letters.¹⁰¹ Horn focused primarily upon the internal development of Paul’s pneumatology in relation to his respective communities.¹⁰² On the basis of the alleged sequence of Paul’s letters, Horn discerned three phases in Paul’s pneumatology: 1) an early one, represented by his earliest preserved letter to the Thessalonians; 2) an intermediate one, represented by 1Corinthians; and 3) a later one, represented by 2Corinthians and Galatians. Paul’s letter to the Romans, despite a dense discussion of the Spirit in chapter 8, is left aside in Horn’s otherwise comprehensive monograph. In contrast to Schweizer,¹⁰³ Horn was skeptical about the presence of an experience of the Spirit in the Aramaic-speaking Christian community.¹⁰⁴ Only briefly and tentatively did Horn comment upon the concept of the Spirit in the Palestinian Jewish community.¹⁰⁵ He traced the roots of the Christian awareness of the Spirit instead only to the Hellenistic communities, especially in Antioch, where Horn located the origin of pre-Pauline formulae in Paul’s letters.¹⁰⁶ Pauline pneumatology is, then, explained chiefly from the experiences and encounters during his missionary work. In the early stage of his mission, as documented in 1Thessalonians, Paul primarily considers the Spirit as an eschatological gift. With this early conception of the Spirit, Paul is still strongly indebted to the Old Testament and Jewish traditions.¹⁰⁷ The second stage in Paul’s views on the Spirit evolves through an encounter with the pneumatic enthusiasts in Corinth,¹⁰⁸ who “saw ‘spirit’ as a salutary substance which is conveyed to the believer, or rather into which the believer is transplanted.”¹⁰⁹ Here, Horn considered external influences from mystery religions and from the concept of pneuma as a “substance”—an interpretative move that is reminiscent of Bultmann and Schweizer. In the debate with the enthusiasts, Paul adopts their view that the Spirit is linked to baptism, but he

 On the Spirit in Romans 8 see the monograph by M. Christoph, Pneuma und das neue Sein der Glaubenden: Studien zur Semantik und Pragmatik der Rede von Pneuma in Röm 8 (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 2005).  F. W. Horn, Das Angeld des Geistes. Studien zur paulinischen Pneumatologie, FRLANT 154 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991). On Horn’s overall view, see also his article “Holy Spirit,” in ABD 3:260 – 80.  Cf. Schweizer, “πνεῦμα κτλ.,” 6:408.  Cf. Horn, Angeld, 380 – 81; idem, ABD 3:268. He states (p. 269), “Early Palestinian Christianity, by contrast, maintained a basic aloofness toward the pneumatology.”  Horn, Angeld, 379 – 83.  Horn, ABD 3:269 – 71.  Cf. Horn, Angeld, 119 – 56; idem, ABD 3:271– 72.  Horn, Angeld, 160 – 301; idem, ABD 3:272– 73.  ABD 3:272.

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refutes their eschatological enthusiasm and corrects their preoccupation with glossolalia. The third stage in Paul’s thought develops in the controversy with Judaizing and nomistic opponents in Galatia and elsewhere; this phase in Paul’s thought is documented in 2Corinthians, Galatians, as well as parts of Philippians and Romans.¹¹⁰ Here, Paul develops the antithesis between life-giving Spirit and death-bringing Torah; Paul’s thought comes to maturity in his view of the Spirit as a hypostasis that gives testimony about Christ, appropriates salvation and sonship to believers, and helps them in their weaknesses.¹¹¹ Horn’s landmark study is significant in a number of ways. First, it provides a detailed interpretation of the development of early Christian pneumatology by combining historical reconstruction with theological interpretation. Second, it continues to draw a fundamental distinction between Palestinian-Jewish beliefs and Hellenistic views. Third, it says little about “experience,” which is dealt with scarcely and skeptically—a rather common approach in post-Bultmann German theology. Fourth, history of religions issues are shunted to the margins, since the primary focus is on the internal development of thought in the debates between Paul and fellow Christians; only the views of pneumatic enthusiasts are explained with reference to external Hellenistic or Hellenistic-Jewish views. And fifth, Horn neglects the impact of Paul’s personal encounter with Christ and what were possibly significant developments in the obscure years “between Damascus and Antioch.”¹¹² In short, Paul’s own experience, as well as that of his (and other) communities, are minimized, as are the sociological and ecclesial contexts of his mission. These dimensions were rediscovered in subsequent studies, especially in the Anglo-Saxon world, and tentatively in some instances of German scholarship.

3.6 The Need for a Fresh History of Religions Approach to Pneumatology Nearly a century of study since the History of Religions school reached its pinnacle has led scholars to a maelstrom of perspectives rather than to assurance and clarity. This scenario can be illustrated easily with reference to only a few of the studies of the Spirit that have appeared during the last two decades. M.

 Horn, Angeld, 302– 83; idem, ABD 3:273 – 75.  Cf. F. Philip, Origins, 19.  Cf. M. Hengel and A. Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch: The Unknown Years, trans. John Bowden (London: SCM, 1997), on the problem of the development in Paul see pp. 11– 15.

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M. B Turner discovered the matrix of Lucan pneumatology in the conception of a “Spirit of prophecy,” conceptions of which originated in the Hebrew Bible and blossomed in Second Temple Judaism.¹¹³ At the other end of the history of religions spectrum lay the provocative work of Troels Engberg-Pedersen, who discovered the source of Pauline pneumatology in the Stoic belief that a material spirit unifies the cosmos.¹¹⁴ While Turner’s study of Lucan pneumatology is replete with references to the Old Testament and Second Temple Jewish literature, Engberg-Pedersen’s study of pneumatology contains a total of only eleven references to the Old Testament and not a single one to the Dead Sea Scrolls, even though he writes that “Paul’s talk of pneuma is in a general way heavily indebted to his specifically Jewish tradition.”¹¹⁵ The contrast between Engberg-Pedersen’s and Turner’s reconstructions of New Testament pneumatology can hardly be starker. Add to these studies by Clint Tibbs¹¹⁶ and Guy Williams,¹¹⁷ both of whom argue that references to pneuma in Paul’s letters are not necessarily to the Holy Spirit at all but to the world of spirits that comprise the world of the apostle. Finally, Gordon Fee, in his monumental and influential God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul, which extends with indexes to 967 pages, includes a scant six page appendix on “The Intertestamental Developments,” in which he says of the Spirit that “the single most noticeable ‘development’ … dur-

 M. M. B. Turner, Power from on High: The Spirit in Israel’s Restoration and Witness in LukeActs, Journal of Pentecostal Theology Supplement 9 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996). Turner’s emphasis upon Early Judaism as the matrix of early Christianity can be found in books by his students; cf. Volker Rabens, The Holy Spirit and Ethics in Paul: Transformation and Empowering for Religious-Ethical Life, WUNT II/283 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010); Mehrdad Fatehi, The Spirit’s Relation to the Risen Lord in Paul: An Examination of Its Christological Implications, WUNT II/128 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); and Cornelis Bennema, The Power of Saving Wisdom: An investigation of Spirit and Wisdom in Relation to the Soteriology of the Fourth Gospel, WUNT II/148 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002).  Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). For critiques, see John M. G. Barclay, “Stoic Physics and the Christ-event: A Review of Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit,” JSNT 33 (2011): 406 – 14; John R. Levison, “Paul in the Stoa Poecile: A Response to Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit,” JSNT 33 (2011): 415 – 32.  Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self, 15. His student, Gitte Buch-Hansen, takes a similar approach to Johannine pneumatology in “It is the Spirit that Gives Life”: A Stoic Understanding of Pneuma in John’s Gospel, BZNW 173 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010).  Clint Tibbs, Religious Experience of the Pneuma.  Guy Williams, The Spirit World in the Letters of Paul the Apostle: A Critical Examination of the Role of Spiritual Beings in the Authentic Pauline Epistles, FRLANT 231 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009).

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ing the Second Temple period is that there is scarcely any development at all, mostly because there is comparatively sparse mention of the Spirit in the literature.”¹¹⁸ If we take these authors as representatives of scholarship as a whole, we are left with a conundrum. Max Turner sees Second Temple Judaism as indispensable to early Christian pneumatology. For Gordon Fee, Second Temple Judaism is irrelevant. Troels Engberg-Pederson, while affirming the importance of Judaism, utilizes Stoicism as the heuristic key to pneumatology. Tibbs and Williams argue that a preoccupation with the Holy Spirit is misguided, leading to anachronistic interpretations that fail to recognize Paul’s indebtedness to a world of spirits, holy and otherwise. In light of this state of uncertainty, the time is ripe for a fresh examination of the cultural matrices of early Christianity. A plethora of texts and editions, a growing awareness of the significance of the physiology of pneuma in GrecoRoman medical texts and popular Stoic discourse, dense references to the Spirit in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the reclamation of the spiritual vitality of Early Judaism, and the emergence of interest in religious experience among scholars, as evidenced by a new monograph series, Ekstasis: Religious Experience From Antiquity to the Middle Ages (Walter de Gruyter), in which this book is published—these developments, to name just a few, summon a reconsideration of the historical roots of early Christian belief in the Holy Spirit. That reconsideration is evident in this volume, which is heir to the History of Religions school but an independent research venture in its own right.

4 Methodological Directions 4.1 Genealogical Explanation versus Contextualization History of religions studies have often aimed at a “genealogical” explanation of biblical texts. Apart from the dogmatic interests linked with that approach in the History of Religions school,¹¹⁹ such a genealogical method encounters severe

 Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994).  Cf. Seelig, Methode, 235 – 45, 278. The dogmatic background of this approach cannot be discussed here. By “explaining” elements in the early Christian texts that could appear foreign and strange to the modern recipient as influenced from foreign religious contexts and thus formed by a kind of “syncretism,” the method could contribute to a kind of purification of the

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methodological problems. In many cases, it is impossible to identify clear “influences” from other texts, convictions or worldviews, since the means of transmission cannot be clarified, or the closest parallel may occur only in much later texts. Bultmann’s use of Mandaean and Manichaean sources and other scholars’ use of rabbinic texts to explain New Testament phenomena have both been criticized, not unjustifiably, for ignoring the historical sequence and the date of respective parallels. Further, the refinement of intertextual methods has led to an awareness of the complexity and pluriformity of intertextual relations, in which various types of quotations and allusions can be distinguished, in which alleged influences can be literary or oral or the product of “secondary orality,” where the borders between adoption, appropriation and other forms of reception, reaction, or even rejection are not clear cut. More recent history of religions discussion has, therefore, become much more cautious regarding genealogical explanations and the assumption of direct or indirect influences. Often the putative origin of a given idea or motif cannot be determined clearly, and the true complexity of the interaction of different cultures, ideas or texts, and of the processes of reception, modification or demarcation can hardly be captured by a mere genealogical pattern. Instead, it seems more appropriate to understand parallels, not as an indication of an assumed origin—a genealogy—but as analogies, as pointers to various contexts or clues to the pluriform discourse in which a text could be read or its ideas could be understood.¹²⁰ Such a contextual method was developed, almost at the same time as the History of Religions school, by scholars such as Eduard Norden and Adolf Deissmann, who did not share the dogmatic agenda of the school. The contextualization of ancient texts and ideas does not, then, require a clear indication regarding genealogical dependence because adherents of this method grasp that a text is illumined by various contexts or perspectives in interaction with one another. Without drawing genealogical inferences, the exploration of various possible contexts of a text can still contribute to a textured historical understanding of its meaning, its intention, or its possible reception and impact.¹²¹

Christian religion from such elements and to defend it as a reasonable, enlightened form of religion, corresponding the views of modernity.  See Seelig, Methode, 319 – 23.  See the general methodological considerations in Seelig, Methode, 312– 32.

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4.2 Beyond the Judaism-Hellenism Divide In 1836, J. G. Droysen coined the term “Hellenism.”¹²² Almost simultaneously, F. C. Baur, with a Hegelian pattern of history, proposed a fundamental opposition between Jewish-Christian and Pauline (i. e., “Hellenistic,” Gentile-Christian) types of teaching at the headwaters of early Christian theology.¹²³ This dichotomy between supposedly biblical-Jewish and Hellenistic-pagan characteristics of early Christianity dominated New Testament scholarship for over a century and came to be associated with questionable theological preferences: “Hellenistic” was identified with a more liberal, universalistic, and individualistic conception of Christianity; Jewish roots were associated with a more genuine and less syncretistic form of Christianity than their putatively later, Hellenized branches.¹²⁴ Martin Hengel decisively challenged the existence of a divide between Judaism and Hellenism. After the publication of his influential Judaism and Hellenism, which dealt in detail with the encounter of Palestinian Judaism with Hellenistic culture in the pre-Maccabean period,¹²⁵ scholars tended to adopt the view that a bifurcation of Judaism and Hellenism cannot account for the complexity of Early Judaism and early Christianity. A pure biblical-Jewish line of tradition, untouched by Greek or even allegedly pagan concepts, simply cannot be distilled from an eclectic culture, because even Palestinian-Jewish texts, such as the Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum or the scrolls found at Qumran, evince an acquaintance with aspects of Hellenistic culture.¹²⁶ It is more credible to acknowledge that

 J. G. Droysen, Geschichte des Hellenismus, 2 vols. (Hamburg: Perthes, 1836). On the term see H. D. Betz, “Hellenismus,” in TRE 15:19 – 35.  See F. C. Baur, “Die Christuspartei in der korinthischen Gemeinde und der Gegensatz des petrinischen und dem paulinischen Christenthums in der ältesten Kirche, der Apostel Petrus in Rom” (1831), In Historisch-kritische Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, ed. K. Scholder (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann, 1963): 1– 144; cf. idem, Christenthum und die christliche Kirche in den ersten Jahrhunderten (Tübingen: Fues, 1861), 1– 7, 42– 46. On the particularismuniversalism issue see also Anders Runesson, “Particularistic Judaism and Universalistic Christianity? Some Critical Remarks on Terminology and Theology,” Studia Theologica 54 (2000): 55 – 75, and Gerdmar, 248 – 51.  On these ideological implications, see W. A. Meeks, “Judaism, Hellenism and the Birth of Christianity,” In Paul Beyond the Judaism-Hellenism Divide, ed. T. Engberg Pedersen (Louisville, KN: Westminster John Knox, 2001): 17– 28.  Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus (see above, note 90).  Cf. the title of the volume by T. Engberg-Pedersen, ed., Paul Beyond the Judaism-Hellenism Divide.

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texts from Second Temple Judaism and early Christianity composed overlapping segments of Hellenistic culture.

4.3 The Challenge of Parallels Shortcomings notwithstanding, the influence of the History of Religions school will be evident throughout this volume—with salient modifications. First, this volume is rooted in a trajectory of scholarship that values, like the History of Religions school, all potentially relevant ancient cultures and corpora, with the recognition that borders between ancient cultures were porous, that mutual influence and interaction were essential to their development. However, the dichotomies that divided proponents of the History of Religions school from its ardent critics—Judaism versus Hellenism, for instance—play a diminished role in this volume. Second, this volume is rooted in a methodology that does not primarily look to gather parallels but to explore corpora, comparing them with one another rather than mining one corpus for insight into another. Von Baer was right about Leisegang: parts of his works are tangled clumps of Greco-Roman literature whose influence is far less likely than some Jewish texts. Leisegang believed that the more he could gather, the stronger his case was. Von Baer may have been on target when he contended that the more Leisegang gathered, the more tenuous his case became because the parallels that accrued became less compelling and credible. Contributors to this volume, whether they succeed or not, understand that parallels, to be authentic and effective, must be more than numerous. They must also be substantive components of literary corpora. Finally, contributors to this book recognize, unlike Leisegang, that the recurrence of a word does not comprise a correspondence. A word such as pneuma was adopted with breath taking fluidity and a strong dose of nuance. The recurrence of the word “spirit” in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the writings of Plutarch, in Greek medical texts and the book of Acts, may not comprise a close parallel despite similarity in vocabulary. In fact, other words, such as shekinah in the writings of Jewish mystics or daemon in the writings of Plutarch, may provide just as compelling parallels as the recurrence of the word “spirit” does because the word “spirit” in one corpus may be conceived altogether differently from the same word “spirit” in another corpus.

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4.4 An Experiment in Interdisciplinary Collaboration Few scholars, if any, are equipped to undertake a thorough history of religions study of ancient pneumatology. Further, no scholar is free from bias, even in a patently historical project that incorporates a history of religions methodology. An honest scholar would probably admit that the field in which he or she is trained may be given, even inadvertently, a measure of preference over against other fields. Experts in early Judaism naturally give more weight to Jewish texts, with which they are most familiar and concerned. Experts in GrecoRoman philosophy naturally give preference to their own field. The consequence of this realization is that a balanced history of religions study can be accomplished only through interdisciplinary collaboration, in critical discussions among scholars with different foci and arenas of expertise. Since we cannot return to history of religions business as usual, to a scholarly scenario in which New Testament scholars reach an arm outside the windows of their disciplines to identify parallels that work in only one direction— from external corpora to the New Testament—the research initiative that led to this book takes a fresh tack. Before joining together in a symposium in Leiden, each contributor to this volume participated in a small research group, each of which consisted at least of one New Testament scholar alongside a scholar whose expertise lies in other disciplines, including Stoicism, Jewish mysticism, the Dead Sea Scrolls, Greco-Roman medicine, and Plutarch. In the rich interdisciplinary environment of research teams that work together in an ongoing relationship, the potential for meaningful inquiry is massive. The result is this volume, which contains a range of articles that reflect what might be called a fresh history of religions approach, committed to discovering cultural connections in antiquity, yet free of the anti-dogmatic polemic that shaped its precursor a century ago.

Teun Tieleman¹

The Spirit of Stoicism 1 Introduction Stoicism was materialistic: it confined being to the corporeal. It also combined materialism with theism. The world is not the product of blind chance, as it was for Epicurus, but the work of an omnipresent and providential Deity. God, then, is corporeal. God is pneuma (breath or spirit, cf. Greek πνεῦμα), which, as the active principle, expresses itself in matter, the indispensable substrate of all natural change. These two cosmic principles are inseparable, albeit distinguishable, aspects of the corporeal. Contrary to Plato, then, God is immanent. In devising this cosmo-theology, the Stoics drew an all-important analogy between macrocosm and microcosm: pneuma is also the substance of the soul (ψυχή) of humans and other animals. In fact, the concept of pneuma had been developed by philosophers and medical scientists in the context of their theories on human nature. It was the Stoics who proceeded to make the pneuma a cosmic principle. The cosmos can thus be seen as a living being consisting of a soul and a body. This idea was not new; it was familiar from the Platonic Timaeus (to single out one particularly influential source of inspiration). But the Stoics adapted Plato’s account by identifying his World-Soul with God and its substance as pneuma. In addition to the macrocosm-microcosm analogy, another perspective should be brought into play, which is Stoic holism. The divine pneuma functions as the principle of cohesion and unity for every single thing as well as for the cosmos as a whole. As such, it serves to found the Stoic notion of cosmic “sympathy” (συμπάθεια), the idea that all things are interconnected. The Stoics also express this in terms of their whole-parts scheme, particularly when they explain the place occupied by humans in the cosmos: humans are all parts of a greater whole in which each has to play an appropriate role. This is what their so-called telos-formula (“following nature”) is about: the end in life is to orientate individual nature to universal Nature, that is, to God and his cosmic rule. God has providentially designed humans in such a way that they are, in principle, equipped to lead fulfilled lives. In fact, humanity’s rational faculty, which sets it apart from all other animals, is the divine spark within that enables people to recognize the

 Teun Tieleman, Associate Professor of Ancient Philosophy, Utrecht University.

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world as determined by divine Reason. The world is a stage on which rational and moral action makes sense and will lead to fulfilment. Early Christian authors such as Tertullian (ca. 160 – 240 C.E.) did not conceive of God as transcendent, while at the same time regarding the Spirit as one of God’s three persons. They were sensitive to the potential of the pneuma-based Stoic cosmo-theology for the elaboration and justification of Christian doctrine.² In recent years Stoic influence has also been argued in the case of St Paul.³ This development in the study of early Christian thought makes it all the more important to be clear about what Stoic pneumatology purported to stand for on its own terms, particularly what it implies for the relations with the divine realm that are possible for humans, or at least certain humans. In studying the origins of Christian pneumatology in the light of Stoicism, it is crucial to know what can be said with reasonable certainty about any relevant Stoic doctrines, the evidence for which is (here as elsewhere) seriously defective and in many cases derivative. To this end I shall first present an account of Stoic pneuma at both the cosmic (§ 2) and individual (§ 3) level before seeing what conclusions can be drawn about the possibility of a human being attaining communion with God (§§ 4, 5). Finally, I shall attempt to draw a few conclusions (§ 6).

2 Stoic Pneumatology: Origins and Role as a Cosmic Principle Stoic pneumatology had a philosophical pedigree, of which the Stoics themselves were acutely aware and which they acknowledged. This prehistory divides into two stages: during the first (roughly 550 – 440 B.C.E.) the “physikoi” (i. e., those thinkers we are in the habit of calling Presocratic philosophers) refer to air, both as breath and as a cosmic element, in developing ideas on human nature and the natural world as a whole.⁴ In so doing, they in turn drew on older

 See, e. g., Apologeticum 21.10 – 13, referring to Zeno (SVF 1.160) and Cleanthes (SVF 1.533); cf. (also on the Trinity) Adv. Prax. 5.5 – 7, lines 24– 41 Scarpat, pp. 233.24– 234.11 Kroymann (not in SVF). On Tertullian and Stoicism see Michel Spanneut, Le Stoïcisme des péres de l’eglise (Paris: editions du senil, 1957) esp. 311; Franz Seyr, “Die Seelen- und Erkenntnis Lehre Tertullians und die Stoa,” Commentationes Vindobonenses 3 (1937): 51– 74.  This tendency is illustrated by the work of such New Testament scholars as Troels EngbergPedersen and George van Kooten among others.  The central role of air on both the microcosmic and macrocosmic level is associated with the names of Anaximenes (ca. 585 – 525 B.C.E.) and Diogenes of Apollonia (2nd half of the 5th century B.C.E.) in particular. But the notions concerned were in fact more widespread and it is

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and common notions linking breath, life, and consciousness such as had found classic expression in the Homeric epics in particular.⁵ During the second stage— roughly the 4th century B.C.E., that is, in the century before the foundation of the Stoa—the pneuma is increasingly employed as a technical concept by philosophers (including Aristotle and his circle) and medical theorists in formulating their anthropologies. As such, it is explained by reference to other theoretical concepts such as that of the four elements, or elementary qualities. The genesis of the Stoic concept should be explained in light of both the more recent and the older notions. It is the latter category in particular which anticipated the Stoic elevation of pneuma as a cosmic principle. One of our sources summarizes the Stoic position as follows: The Stoics declare that God is an intelligent, designing (lit. “artistic,” Gr. τεχνικόν) fire which methodically proceeds towards creation of the world and encompasses all the seminal principles according to which everything comes about according to fate, and a breath (πνεῦμα) pervading the whole world, which takes on different names owing to the alterations of the matter through which it passes. (Aetius 1.7.33 = SVF 2.1027, part; LS 46 A. Transl. Long–Sedley, slightly adapted)

The pneuma can also be referred to as fire, with the proviso that it is to be distinguished from the destructive fire known from ordinary experience, but represents a more abstract and theoretical notion. Here the Stoics harkened back to Heraclitus, who had referred to the soul as fiery as well as making the Fire his cosmic principle underlying and regulating all processes of change.⁶ What the Stoics also took over from Heraclitus was a whole-and-parts scheme whereby

ill-advised to pinpoint one or a few of these thinkers as the Stoics’ source of inspiration; cf. Teun Tieleman “Diogenes of Babylon and Stoic Embryology: Ps. Plutarch, Plac. V 15.4 Reconsidered,” Mnemosyne 44 (1991): 115 – 116. The Hippocratic author of the tract On Breaths (last quarter of the 5th cent. B.C.E.) also stresses the power of air in the universe and human beings (chs. 3 – 5).  On these notions and their continuation as philosophical concepts see Richard Onians, The Origins of European Thought about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time and Fate (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951/1988), 51– 56, 77, 95, 171, 252. Cf. Franz Rüsche, Blut, Leben und Seele. Ihr Verhältnis nach Auffassung der griechischen und hellenistischen Antike, der Bibel und der alten Alexandrinischen Theologen (Paderborn: Schöningh 1930/1968), 47– 56. This common linking of breath and soul as the principle of life was articulated by the Stoics as early as the school’s founder Zeno of Citium (ca. 234– 261 B.C.E.) in arguments designed to show that the soul is corporeal, i. e., pneuma: D.L. 7.157 (SVF 1.135), Calc. In Tim. ch. 220 (SVF 1.138); cf. Tert. De an. ch. 5, Nemes. De nat. hom. ch. 33, p. 22.3 – 6 Morani (both SVF 1.137).  For the distinction between the two kinds of fire see Stob. Ecl. I, 25,3, p. 213.17– 20 Wachsmuth (SVF 1.120) and Diog. Laert. 7.156 (SVF 2.774), identifying “technical” fire with “fiery pneuma.” Cf. Cic. ND 2.57 (SVF 1.171); Heraclitus B 31 D.-K.

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the inner, psychic life of individual comes to be seen as another manifestation of the workings of the divine or cosmic principle. The Stoics also highlighted its aspect of being warm and referred to it as the “innate warmth” and “natural heat.” In the case of Cleanthes we have a complete Wärmelehre summarized by Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods II, 23 – 24 (SVF 1.513). But there can be no doubt that for Cleanthes heat was a way of referring to the pneuma, as it was for his immediate predecessor Zeno of Citium: “Zeno says that heat and pneuma are the same,” one source straightforwardly tells us (SVF 1.127).⁷ Beginning with Chrysippus of Soli (ca. 280 – 204 B.C.E.), the third scholarch, the Stoic cosmic principle is standardly referred to in terms of pneuma. In fact, the pneuma is a blend of air and fire according to ancient elementary theory—and the distinctive quality of air is its being cold.⁸ Heat expands, the cold contracts, and these opposing tendencies create tension (τόνος). It is this pneumatic tension that lends coherence and unity to individual things and to the cosmos as a whole.⁹ As we have seen, the Stoics designate the pneuma as the active principle, which determines and moves everything by being conjoined with passive matter. Hence the Stoic emphasize that the pneuma permeates everything, availing themselves of their notion of total interpenetration of bodies.¹⁰ But it does so with varying degrees of tension, which correspond to different proportions among the constituent physical elements. At the lowest level it just provides coherence and unity to an object such as a stick or a stone (“cohesive pneuma”). Plants represent a more refined level of pneuma (called “natural” or “physical”) characterized by the functions of digestion, growth and self-reproduction. The highest level is, of course, psychic pneuma, which is characterized by perception and locomotion.¹¹ On top of these, God has providentially endowed humans with the gift of reason, which, as the Stoics see it, effectively creates a wide gap between humanity and non-rational animals.¹² The human intellect is indeed a particle or fragment (ἀπόσπασμα) from God.¹³ At the same time, the Stoics appear to have linked the divine with even purer forms of pneuma than that represented  Cf. SVF 1.137– 140, 2.446.  SVF 2.310, 442, 841; cf. 389.  SVF 2.416, 440, 444, 441, 546 (where also note the reference to cosmic sympathy).  SVF 1.533, 2.416, 473 (p. 154, l.8), 441, 442, 638.  SVF 2.716, 787, 3.370.  SVF 2.988, Hierocles, Eth, Stoich. 1.5 – 33, 4.38 – 53 Bastianini–Long.  Diog. Laert. 7.143 (SVF 2.633); note that Zeno appears to have used the same term with reference to human semen, which, consisting of pneuma and water, is separated from the parental soul (SVF 1.128). This may be no coincidence: the macrocosm-microcosm analogy looms in the background again.

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by the human intellect. The divine intellect is taken to reside in the higher regions of the cosmos; it is associated with heavenly bodies such as the sun (as proposed by Cleanthes), but other sources mention the heaven or the ether or the purest part of this.¹⁴ In sum, the Stoics operate with a hierarchical sequence of levels of being in terms of pneuma. Where they sometimes localize God, or his intellect, to some extent counterbalances their emphasis upon divine immanence and cosmic unity. This particular way of locating the divine in higher spheres does not amount to transcendentalism but it did accommodate common notions concerning divine excellence and current views of the heavenly bodies as divine, or deities.¹⁵ The notion of God’s intellect introduces the macrocosm-microcosm analogy, that is, the Stoic conception of the world as a giant living organism with a soul and a body analogous to ours.¹⁶ Thus the World-Soul, or God, has an intellect just as the human soul has an intellect, or, hêgemonikon (“ruling” or “governing part,” see further below). Zeno and his successors went even further in ascribing to God the same faculties as our soul possesses, or at least some of them. Thus, the Stoic spokesman in Cicero’s On the Nature of the Gods, Balbus, having explained Zeno’s view of Nature as an artistic fire (2.57 = SVF 1.171), continues: Just as natural substances are each generated, made to grow and sustained by their own seeds, so the nature of the world has all the movements of volition, impulses and desires which the Greeks call hormai, and exhibits the actions in agreement with these in the way that we ourselves do who are moved by emotions and sensations (Cic. ND 2.58 = SVF 1.172, part, LS 53Y; trans Long–Sedley).

This passage forms an appropriate stepping-stone to proceed to the treatment of human nature. It suffices to note here that Balbus (who continues to give Zeno’s view) stresses the faculty of desire or conation, which in God can only be rational —as opposed to the irrational desires, that is, emotions, which often motivate humans. Sense-perception, which triggers many, if not most, of human action is not a psychic faculty possessed by God either, or so it appears. As we shall see in

 SVF 1.154, 499, 2.644.  See Gerard Verbeke, L’Évolution de la doctrine du pneuma du Stoicisme à S. Augustin (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer/Louvain: Institut Supérieur de Philosophie 1945), 82– 84. Keimpe Algra (“Stoic Theology,” In The Cambridge Companion to the Stoic, ed. B. Inwood [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003]: 167– 68), speaks of the “two faces (monistic and dualistic) of Stoic pantheism.”  This is an aspect much emphazised by David Hahm (The Origins of Stoic Cosmology [Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1977]), who discusses the Stoic position as a “cosmobiology.”

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section 4, the aspect of the psychic faculties comes to the fore again in regards to determining how the Stoics may have conceived of communication between God and humans.

3 Pneuma and Human Nature The Stoics see the animal organism as a compound of two closely interwoven and interacting corporeal substances, body and soul. Thus the soul’s fine pneuma is able to lend unity and coherence to the body and operate an animal’s psychic functions: perception, movement and, in the case of humans, rational thought.¹⁷ Its genesis starts with the semen separated off by the parents: semen has a pneumatic core enveloped by moisture (the Stoics posit a reproductive part in the soul: see further below). During gestation the embryo only exhibits the functions of nourishment and growth, that is, the functions characteristic of “natural” pneuma. The embryo therefore has the same status as plants. Right after birth, however, the baby’s first inhalation of cold outside air causes its pneuma physikon to harden into pneuma psychikon, that is, it acquires the right tension—due to a particular proportion of the cold and the hot—for the functions of perception and conation, which it shares with non-rational animals (reason and thereby full humanity are acquired at a later age). This corporealist account seems to have been designed to supersede Platonist ideas on the soul’s immortality and metempsychosis, by which the soul enters the body only at birth, though, as we have just seen, birth is a crucial moment in the genesis of soul for the Stoics too.¹⁸ The human soul, then, has no pre-existence. Nor is it immortal, even

 As we have noticed, the “lower” functions of growth and nourishment belong to the level of physical pneuma, or physis, i. e., the ones we share with plants and characterize the mode of existence of embryos. One might infer that in animals, human and others, these functions remain bodily, i. e., belong to a residue of pneuma physikon not turned into pneuma psychikon at birth; cf. A. A. Long, “Soul and body in Stoicism,” Phronesis 27 (1982): 44. Yet, there is clear evidence that Stoic authors, at least before Panaetius, allocated the principle of nourishment to soul as well: see Teun Tieleman, Galen and Chrysippus on the Soul. Argument and Refutation in the De Placitis Books II–III (Brill: Leiden, 1996), 87– 101 (on SVF 3 Diog. Bab. 30 and related evidence).  See SVF 2.806 and the additional evidence assembled by F. W. Kohnke, “ΓΑΣΤΗΡ ΕΡΓΑΣΤΗΡΙΟΝ ΦΥΣΕΩΣ: ein Chrysippzitat,” Hermes 93 (1965): 383 – 84; Teun Tieleman, “Diogenes,” 117– 122. One doxographic source lists the second head of the school, Cleanthes, as one of five authorities who held a radically different view: “Pythagoras Anaxagoras Plato Xenocrates Cleanthes [hold] that mind (νοῦς) enters into the body from outside (θύραθεν)”: Stob. Ecl. Phys. I

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though it does last after death, that is, after its separation from the body. Given the fact that pneuma is the principle of cohesion, souls do not disperse immediately. Souls last depending on their degree of tension, and some of them—the most coherent and hence wise ones—continue to remain in existence until the next cosmic conflagration.¹⁹ This is Stoic-style afterlife without immortality. For some Stoics this does not seem to have been just a consequence of the physical coherence of the soul but also to have provided a means of explaining traditional notions and experiences in the area of divination through dreams. As we shall further discuss below, at least some Stoics appear to have assimilated these

48.7 (περὶ νοῦ), p. 317.15 – 16, printed by Hermann Diels in his reconstruction of the Aetian Placita as IV, 5.11 (Doxographi Graeci p. 392) and by Hans von Arnim as Cleanthes SVF I fr. 523 (albeit with the warning: qui hoc de Cleanthe dixit philosophum male intellexisse videtur) and by Isnardi Parente and Dorandi as Xenocrates fr. 125. As it stands, however, this tenet can be traced back to someone who is not listed: Aristotle: see Gen. An. 736b (mind enters from outside, being the only power whose activity is independent of the body); Gen. An. 744b; Resp. 472a; cf. De an. III, 5 (the concise but seminal argument positing an “active mind,” which is separate and immortal). One can see how it came to be associated with proponents of the soul’s immortality and reincarnation such as Plato and Pythagoras. Xenocrates, the third head of the Academy and a first generation Platonist, is on record as having stressed the soul’s incorporeal nature (see frs. 119 – 23 Isnardi Parente–Dorandi); he famously defined the soul as “a number moving itself”: see Frs. 86 – 89, 91– 118. He is also linked to Pythagoras with respect to soul at Aet. IV 2,1 = fr. 90 I-PD. The 5th century Presocratic Anaxagoras presented divine nous as the initiating cause of the creation of the cosmos including living beings (Pl. Phaedo 97b = DK 59 A 47 and the evidence assembled under DK 59 A 48, including Aet. I, 7.5). The inclusion of Cleanthes, however, has puzzled many scholars, see Tieleman, “Diogones,” 124– 25. The lemma has been accepted as evidence that Cleanthes held a form of dualism, which was also read into a few psychological testimonies and fragments; that is to say, Cleanthes, unlike Zeno and Chrysippus, allocated reason and emotion to different sources in his model of the human mind: see e. g. Verbeke, L’Évolution, 49 – 51. However, more recent advances in Stoic studies have shown that it is extremely doubtful that Cleanthes diverged from mainstream Stoicism on this point. Recent work on the doxographic genre, moreover, tends to confirm a suggestion already made by Stein (1886) 163 – 65, viz. the fact that Cleanthes is singled out for mention does not necessarily imply any divergence on his part. What the lemma says need not be accepted at face value anyway. It is possibly a distortive reflection of the Stoic view that the soul, including its intelligence, comes into being through the air from outside at the first inhalation, as I argued in “Diogenes,” 124– 25. But even so, it remains tempting to speculate how the mistake could arise in the first place: was it inspired by the Stoic idea of the cooling (περίψυξις) of the physical pneuma only, or can it also reflect the relation of the human intellect to the divine, which is elsewhere expressed as a particle or an off-shoot (cf. D.L. 7.143)?  See SVF 2.809 – 22 and the evidence relating to Posidonius, on which see infra, n. 55. For a judicious and well-balanced discussion of the evidence on this subject see René Hoven, Stoïcisme et Stoïciens face au problème de l’au-delà (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1971).

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freed souls with the hêroes of traditional religion, that is, the spirits which may lend support to the living.²⁰ Not only did the Stoics differ from Plato and Aristotle in taking the soul’s substance to be corporeal, viz. pneuma; they also held a different view of its structure. Rejecting the well-known Platonic division into three parts (reason, anger and appetite) and the Aristotelian division in terms of two powers (reason/appetite),²¹ they concentrated the functions concerned in a single ruling or regent part of the soul (ἡγεμονικόν) residing (according to almost all Stoics) in the heart. In addition, they distinguish seven more parts: those corresponding to the senses (sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch) and the vocal and reproductive part. Given their view of the soul’s substance, these parts are to be seen as rays of pneuma extending from the more or less centrally located ruling part to the sense organs as well as to the vocal and reproductive organs.²² The concept of pneuma developed by Chrysippus (building on Cleanthes’s considerable contributions to Stoic physics) not only draws upon common or Presocratic notions but is indebted to the theoretical elaborations of the concept undertaken in the Early Peripatos (starting with Aristotle himself) and contemporary (i. e., fourth century B.C.E.) medicine.²³ In fact, from the 4th century on The Stoics, at least before the Imperial era, also accepted the existence of external demons— both benevolent and hostile—and their influence on humans: these are not disembodied human souls but separated parts of the divine aetherial pneuma: see SVF 1101– 05, Posid. F 24 E.-K. with Keimpe Algra (“Stoic Souls and Demons: Reconstructing Stoic Demonology,” In Body and Soul in Ancient Philosophy, eds. D. Frede and B. Reis [Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009]) and infra, n. 53 with text thereto.  NB This division is the one employed by Aristotle in the context of moral philosophy; cf. EN 1.13; in biology he distinguished five faculties: see De an. 2.3: 414a31– 32.  See, e. g., Chrysippus ap. Gal. PHP 3.1.10 – 15 (SVF 2.885), who after describing the soul as a breath “grown together” with us (i. e., connate) proceeds to distinguish the eight soul-parts in a way that makes clear that he does not simply add to the faculties posited by Plato but absorbs the latter’s three parts into his concept of the wholly and homogeneously rational ruling part, or intellect. As a consequence, the emotions are to be seen as disturbed states of the intellect (and hence essentially wrong value-judgments) rather than mental phenomena that are to be explained by reference to non-rational parts or powers irreducible to reason as they has been for Plato and Aristotle.  Werner Jaeger in a seminal paper (“Das Pneuma im Lykeion,” Hermes 48 [1913]: 29 – 74; repr. in vol. 1 of Scripta Minora [Rome 1960, 57– 102]) was among the first to draw attention to the fact that there is a theory of pneuma in Aristotle. For a good, more recent treatment see Gad Freudenthal, Aristotle’s Theory of Material Substance. Heat and Pneuma; Form and Soul (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), ch. 3, with further references. An important early witness to the Peripatetic theorizing on the connate pneuma is the pseudo-Aristotelian tract (if indeed it is a finished tract) entitled On Breath (Περὶ πνεύματος), on which see Jaeger, “Das Pneuma,” 83 – 102 (dating it to ca. 250 B.C.E). Yet, the date and nature of this often obscure text are difficult to

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wards the notion of pneuma becomes increasingly central to physiological theory. It is for instance prominent in the work (or what is left of it) of the great physician Praxagoras of Kos (late 4th century B.C.E.), who is a main inspiration behind Stoic anthropology, especially as concerns the pneumatic soul as headquartered in the heart.²⁴ Praxagoras is on record as having been a representative of the Kos-based Hippocratic tradition. It seems plausible that the interest taken by the founders of the Stoa and their successors in the medical tradition was not confined to him but also included Hippocratic medicine in general. This produced such treatises as the extant On Airs (a notion that includes breath) but from the little we know about the way the Hippocratic treatises were read and commented upon in Hellenistic times it emerges that the pneuma was strongly emphasized.²⁵ Here as elsewhere, then, the Stoics tried to anchor their doctrine not only in time-honored tradition reaching back to Homeric and Presocratic times; they also built upon more recent advances in medicine. From these sources they formulated powerful and coherent synthesis. The outcome was not merely a deft digest but an original new system with the added strategic advantage of enjoying sup-

establish and have remained controversial; for a survey of interpretations see Abraham P. Bos and Rein Ferwerda, Aristotle on Life-Bearing Spirit (De spiritu). A Discussion with Plato and his Predecessors on Pneuma as the Instrumental Body of the Soul (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 4– 9 (Bos– Ferwerda themselves go against prevalent opinion by arguing that the tract is genuinely Aristotelian). Aristotle and his followers no doubt incorporated and adapted ideas developed by medical theorists. The 4th century B.C.E. medical author Diocles of Carystus testifies to the central role given to pneuma by this time; in what remains of his work the connate pneuma and the psychic pneuma emerge as firmly entrenched concepts: see Diocles frs. 34, 78, 80, 101, 107 van der Eijk. For an overview of 4th century B.C.E. medical theories see Philip Van der Eijk, “Between the Hippocratics and the Alexandrians: Medicine, Philosophy and Science in the Fourth Century B.C.E.,” In Philosophy and the Sciences in Antiquity, ed. R. W. Sharples (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005): 72– 109. For Stoicism and medicine see R. J. Hankinson, “Stoicism and Medicine,” In The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, ed. B. Inwood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003): esp. 298 – 301 (on the pneuma); on Chrysippus in particular see Tieleman, Galen, 189 – 195 and Teun Tieleman, “Chrysippus’ Therapeutikon and the Corpus Hippocraticum. Some Preliminary Observations,” In Aspetti della Terapia nel Corpus Hippocraticum. Atti del IXe Colloque International Hippocratique, ed. I. Garofalo et al. (Pisa, 1999): 405 – 19.  See Praxagoras frs. 70, 75 Steckerl; Tieleman, Galen, 83 – 85, 189 – 91.  On Stoicism and the Hippocratic corpus cf. Tieleman, “Chrysippus’ Therapeutikon.” On pneuma in Hellenistic medicine see Tieleman, “Chrysippus’ Therapeutikon,” 416 – 17; on the role of air (pneuma) in the Hippocratic corpus see Volker Langholf, “L’air (pneuma) et les maladies,” In La maladie et les maladies dans la collection hippocratique, ed. P. Potter et al., Actes du VIe colloque international hippocratique (Quebec: Lex Éditions du Spinx, 1990): 339 – 59; on the status in Hellenistic times of the Hippocratic De flatibus see Volker Langholf, “Kallimachos, Komödie und hippokratische Frage,” Medizinhistorisches Journal 21 (1986): 16 – 17.

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port from theoretical insights that were current and also respected outside the school. Their concept of pneuma is a case in point but it should be noted that their exact elaboration of the concept and how it functions is firmly embedded in Stoic physics. Moreover, their interest in the pneuma is also driven by its relevance to moral psychology. In particular, the diseased intellect, they take it, lacks the right degree of pneumatic tension. Its weakness makes it unstable and prone to overreacting under the impact of mental impressions, that is, prone to emotion. The physical explanation of emotion is not without its relevance to philosophical therapy. The sources suggest that this is not only conducted through therapeutic argument but involves a self-management that exceeds the limits of morality narrowly conceived. Physiologically speaking, body and soul are closely interwoven; the soul is conditioned by the body and vice versa. This renders the moral status of the body ambivalent: on the one hand the body as opposed to the soul is an indifferent (i. e., morally neutral) item whose health is at best something to be preferred under most circumstances; on the other hand, it stands out among the preferred indifferents and appears to be of greater value owing to its close interrelationship with the soul.²⁶ Within the broad framework laid down by the school’s founders, their successors kept digesting insights from ongoing scientific development and adding to the detailed elaboration of Stoic anthropology. Particularly notable were the contributions made by Diogenes of Seleucia (ca. 230 – 150/40 B.C.E.). Some of his arguments were considered important enough to be quoted by Galen in the 160s C.E. in the course of a polemic against Stoic psychology: it emerges from his surviving arguments that he specified the location of the intellect as the left or arterial ventricle of the heart, in line with medical theories separating the arterial and veinous system. The former contains and distributes pneuma (i. e., air processed in a particular way) throughout the body. According to one theory, viz. that propounded by early Hellenistic medical theorist Erasistratus of Keos (first half 3rd cent. B.C.E.), the arteries in their normal, uninterrupted functioning contained only air. Stoic ideas on mixture, however, makes this unnecessary for their system of human physiology and it seems unlikely given their view on the soul’s pneuma as an exhalation from the blood. Moreover, they specified two sources of nourishment for the pneuma, viz. respiration and the exhalation from the blood in the heart. The idea of the soul as a “perceptive exhalation” is older and may go back to Zeno himself. Diogenes’s account was more technical and more firmly embedded in current medical knowledge. It is the

 Teun Tieleman, “Les Stoiciens sur les tempéraments du corps et de l’âme,” ΣXOΛΗ 5 (2012): 8 – 19.

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soul’s own warmth which causes the exhalation; it is its own principle of nourishment. Alongside exhalation, respiration replenishes the soul. This should not be taken to mean that external psychic pneuma is inhaled and added to the internal one but rather that the outside air is elaborated so as to become psychic pneuma. This is connate or, to be more precise, comes into being under the impact of the outside air when it is first inhaled after birth. In other words, the warm physical pneuma characterizing the embryo’s mode of existence (which, then, is like that of plants) is hardened into pneuma with a higher level of tension and those powers (perception, volition) which make it psychic pneuma. ²⁷ Clearly Diogenes stayed within the framework laid down by his predecessors and, in particular, made Chrysippus’s argument more precise while drawing on current physiological theories. For him, too, the soul does not enter the body from outside but develops from within: it is connate or, as Chrysippus put it, is “grown together,” viz. with the body. This development starts from the semen supplied by both parents, which is a portion of their own pneumatic soul enveloped by moisture. In support of this assumption the Stoics pointed to the inheritability of mental as well as bodily characteristics. Their theory seems designed to supplant ideas on the external and transcendent origin such as entertained by the Platonists and Pythagoreans and even, in some passages dealing with the intellect, Aristotle.²⁸ Yet, the Stoics did not cut off the individual soul’s relation to the divine. Even for the scientifically minded Diogenes of Babylon, God himself remains a soul, viz. the World-Soul, as it is for his fellow-Stoics.²⁹ In the next section I will therefore deal with the human mind from this perspective.

4 God and the Voice of Reason The Stoic view of moral agency essentially involves knowledge of the cosmos as providentially determined by God’s rule. Moral thinking takes its starting point from God and his cosmic rule; he is the source of morality. In a passage from the third book of his On Gods, Chrysippus put it as follows: “It is not possible to discover any other source of justice or any beginning for it other than that from Zeus and from universal Nature, for thence everything of the kind must have its starting point if we are going to have anything to say about good and  Aet. IV, 5.7 (not in SVF but cf. Tieleman, “Diogenes,” 116 – 117); Gal. PHP 2.8.40, 44 (SVF 3 Diog. Bab. 30; cf. 29); Aet. [= ps. Plut. Plac.] V 15.4 with Tieleman, “Diogenes.”  See supra, n. 18.  Aet. I, 7.17 (SVF 3 Diog. 31).

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evil.”³⁰ Our individual natures are parts of the greater cosmic whole³¹—and this is to be taken in a literal sense given that the divine pneuma pervades everything down to the smallest detail.³² In the human intellect God manifests himself. The school’s founder Zeno of Citium described the first humans as created out of the soil with the help of divine fire.³³ Likewise he and other first generation Stoics seem to have described our relation to the divine realm with a botanical image, viz. of our intellect being an offshoot (ἀπόσπασμα)³⁴ of God. The image involves a lasting relation: we remain rooted in the divine, even if we may turn our back on God’s universal law, as Cleanthes in his famous Hymn to Zeus ll. 24– 5 (SVF 1.537, p. 122, ll. 20 – 21) says of bad people: “They neither see nor hear (κλύουσιν) God’s universal law, by obeying which they would have a noble life with insight (συν νώι).” In the opening lines of the hymn, Cleanthes stresses our affinity with God: it is appropriate for mortals to address God because we are his offspring (γένος).³⁵ The last phrase is echoed in the prelude of Aratus’s Phaenomena:

 Plut. De Stoic. Rep. 9.1035C (SVF 3.326) (“Zeus”); see also the verbatim fragment from Chrysippus’s Physical Questions (SVF 3.68) quoted by Plutarch in the following context (1035C– D).  Diog. Laert. 7.87 (SVF 3.4), quoted infra; 156 (SVF 2.774); Cic. Fin. (SVF 3.333); Sext. M 9.101– 103 (SVF 1.113a, part).  Aetius 1.7.33 (SVF 2.1027; LS 46 A), Cic. ND 1.39 (SVF 2.1077), D.L. 7.134 (SVF 1.185) and the texts assembled under SVF 1.158, 159.  Censorinus, De die natali 4.10 (SVF 1.124).  D.L. 7.134 (SVF 2.633); Epictetus, Diss. 2.8.11; cf. 1.14.6; Marcus Aurelius, Med. 5.27. Cf. for the same term used of the semen as an offshoot of the human soul the texts printed as SVF 1.128, a usage that fits the macrocosm/ microcosm analogy. The term semen is then also used at the cosmic level: thus the universe is said to “project the seed of what is rational (i. e., human beings)”, which proves that the universe is rational itself: Sextus, M. 9.101 (SVF 1.113, first text; the following context in Sextus, §§ 102– 03 is not included in SVF but should be taken into account as well; see Teun Tieleman, “Zeno and Psychological Monism. Some Observations on the Textual Evidence,” In Zeno of Citium and his Legacy: The Philosophy of Zeno, eds. T. Scaltsas and A. Mason (Larnaca: Municipality of Larna/Pierides Foundation 2002): 190 – 91. A passage from ps. Galen, Whether the Embryo is an Animal 2, XIX, p. 165 K. (printed as SVF 2.757) describes the human organism as “a particle and offshoot of the great animal, the cosmos” already in its embryonic stage; once it has emerged from the womb it follows nature as related to itself through its actions. The correspondence between human and cosmic movements recalls Tim. 90c but the account seem to have Stoic inspiration, describing the organism as an offshoot of the cosmos and hinting as it does to Stoic οἰκείωσις. Any echoes from the Timaeus may have come via the Stoic source.  The second half of line 4 as transmitted states that we humans have received what is called an ἤχου μίμημα. Scholars who have retained this phrase have often taken it to refer to human speech: we have received language as our characteristic and unique ability from God so it is

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Let us begin with Zeus, whom we men never leave unspoken. Filled with Zeus are all highways and all meeting-places of people, filled are the sea and harbors; in all circumstances we have need of Zeus. [5] For we are also his offspring (γένος) and he benignly gives helpful signs to men. (trans. Kidd, slightly adapted)

Here, too, Zeus stands for the Stoic god rather than the Zeus familiar from traditional mythology, which is why Aratus can speak of his omnipresence and providential care as manifested in helpful signs. The epithet “benign” (ἤπιος) is characteristic of a father.³⁶ Indeed, other Stoic texts directly refer to God as father.³⁷ It is one among an admittedly limited set of epithets that reveal a more personal side to the Stoic conception of God.³⁸ In both Cleanthes’s Hymn and Aratus’s proem, seeing God as a father suits their tone of sincere reverence. They do not just employ a philosophical concept or principle but address a God to whom one can personally relate. As has often been pointed out, Paul in his sermon to the Athenians quotes the first half of line 5 of the Phaenomena: “As some of your poets have also said: ‘We are also his offspring’” (Acts 17:28). The other poet or poets implied by the plural may be Cleanthes, given the almost identical fourth line of the Hymn. Another way in which the relationship is expressed is by reference to our intellect as divine spirit (δαίμων),³⁹ an idea which recurs in Seneca as the “god within us” and our “holy spirit” (sacer spiritus, Ep. 41.2) but is also found in Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, all of whom describe this spirit as our moral guardian.⁴⁰ This way of referring to our intellect or soul can be traced back to Chrysippus, but it may have started with Zeno or Cleanthes.⁴¹ But it is already

appropriate that we use it in addressing God—a thought which can be paralleled from other sources. In that case the phrase should perhaps be rendered “expression through sound (i.e. speech).” Alternatively the term μίμημα may refer more specifically to our imitation of God’s reason through meaningful language, given the close connection between reason and language forged by the Stoics. However, there are difficulties with this reading: the expression as it stands is un-metrical and ἤχος normally means inarticulate sound rather than meaningful speech. There is a flood of scholarly literature on this line. For a good recent survey of readings and emendations that have been proposed see Johan C. Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus, Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity 33 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 54– 66.  See Kidd and Martin ad loc.  D.L. 7.147 (SVF 2.1021).  See Algra, “Stoic Theology,” 168.  Diog. Laert. 7.88 (summarizing Chrysippus, see infra), Posidonius Fr. 187 E.-K. Cf. Epictetus, Diss. 1.14.11– 14; 2.8.11– 14,4.12.11– 12. On these passages see A. A. Long, Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life (Oxford: Clarendon, 2002), 163 – 168.  Sen. Ep. 41, 1, 2, Epict. Diss. 1.14.11– 14; 2.8.11– 14.  For Chrysippus see infra.

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found in a relevant sense and context in Plato, viz. the account of human nature’s rootedness in the divine realm at Timaeus 90a–d.⁴² This internal divine element is identified with our intellect or more in particular with its good functioning, that is, with what is called “right” or “correct reason,” that is, reason seen from its normative aspect. This in turn is identified with God’s common or universal law, which prescribes and forbids. Note that here the Stoics extend the operative range of the Socratic divine inner voice (the daimonion) to include positive injunctions.⁴³ Furthermore, the idea of an inner voice is supported by the widespread representation of thought-processes as an internal dialogue.⁴⁴ This set of related ideas is found in the concise yet coherent summary offered by Diogenes Laertius based upon Chrysippus’s On Ends (Περὶ τελῶν): Living according to virtue equals living according to one’s experience of the things that occur naturally, as Chrysippus says in his On Ends. For our natures are parts of the nature of the whole. That is why the end consists in living in accordance with nature, that is to say, both according to one’s own [sc. nature] and to that of the whole, while doing none of the

 Long (Stoic and Socratic, 164) argues that Posidonius was the first Stoic to hark back to this passage from the Timaeus because his view of the soul’s structure, unlike that of his predecessors, agreed with Plato’s (viz. in recognizing separate non-rational faculties). Be this as it may, the Timaeus passage seems reconcilable with a monist model of mind also. The view of the mind as a divine spirit, as we have seen, goes back to Chrysippus (D.L. 7.88 = SVF 3.4). The fact that he and his predecessors in the school knew and used the Timaeus makes it likely that Chrysippus or one of his predecessors took the idea from Plato; cf. Gretchen Reydams-Schils, Demiurge and Providence. Stoic and Platonist Readings of Plato’s Timaeus (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999), Gábor Betegh, “Cosmological Ethics in the Timaeus and Early Stoicism,” OSAPh 24 (2003): 273 – 302.  See SVF Z. 1.43.2; 3.4.3; 3.78.24. And Cic. ND 1.36 (SVF 1.162): Zeno naturalem legem divinam esse censet eamque vim obtinere recta imperantem prohibentemque contraria.  For evidence see SVF 1.148 (Zeno), 2.223, 3.894 (Chrys.), SVF 3 Diog. 29; cf. 2.52, 187. The Stoics exploited, and systematized, the ambiguity of the key term λόγος between reason and meaningful speech, that is, the two senses later distinguished as ἐνδιάθετος λόγος vs. προφορορικὸς λόγος, SVF 2.135, 223. The idea of thought as internal discourse goes, though in less systematical form, back to Plato, Th. 189e-190a, Soph. 263e; Further anticipations in connection with the psychology of action are found in Aristotle, EN H 6.1149b9 f, MA 7.701a31 ff., De an. Γ 11.434a16 – 21; cf. APo. A 10.76b24– 25. See further Long, “Soul and body in Stoicism,” 51– 52 and, on Sext. M 8.275 – 76 (SVF 2.223, part = LS 53 T) in particular, A. A. Long and D. N. Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 1:322. The philosophers in their turn drew on more widespread ideas, which have been charted by Christopher Gill (Personality in Greek Epic, Tragedy, and Philosophy. The Self in Dialogue [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996]). The idea of speech as overt thought is still being taken seriously in the philosophy of mind: see, e. g., Peter Smith and O. R. Jones, The Philosophy of Mind: An Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 227 ff.

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things prohibited by the common law, which is the right reason (ὀρθὸς λόγος) pervading all things and which is identical with Zeus, who presides over the government of all reality. [He holds that] this is precisely the virtue of the happy person (εὐδαίμονος) and the smooth flow of life, namely when everything is done in harmony between the divine spirit (δαίμονος) in each individual and the will of the ruler of the universe. (Diog. Laert.7.87– 88 = SVF 3.4)

Two points should be noted. First, the limitation to prohibitive injunctions seems a bit odd; it may result from Diogenes’s condensation of his sources, especially in view of what other sources tell us.⁴⁵ Secondly, the pneuma is not mentioned but seems to be presupposed as the physical basis, which, given Stoic corporealism, is indispensable. That the Stoics may have thought of the air as the main vehicle in which the divine pneuma impacts us is suggested by the following considerations. We are heirs to a post-Cartesian tradition, which stresses an internal type of subjectivity over and against objective outside reality.⁴⁶ The inside/outside distinction of the Stoics, however, should be understood in terms of their view of the human individual as part of a greater whole. This should be understood in a literal and physical sense: the soul, as we have noticed, is conceived as a particle, or portion, of the World-Soul, that is, the divine pneuma pervading the cosmos.⁴⁷ The Stoic part-and-whole scheme is presumably a development of the argument for God’s existence advanced by Socrates in Xenoph. Mem. 1.4, which rests on the thesis that the intellect (νοῦς) of a human individual must be part of a universal intellect.⁴⁸ The link between air/breath on the one hand and life/intelligence/divinity on the other— which is rooted in folk-consciousness—is found in Orphic texts and such Presocratics as Anaximenes and Diogenes of Apollonia.⁴⁹ The latter held the air to be

 See previous note.  On culturally different preconceptions concerning objective/subjective and their role in locating the source of morality, see Charles Taylor, “The Moral Topography of the Self,” In Hermeneutics and Psychological Theory. Interpretive Perspectives on Personality, Psychotherapy, and Psychopathology, ed. S. Messer et al. (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1988): 298 – 320, esp. 301; and on Plato (but in fact even better applicable to the Stoics) Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 121 ff.  Cf. Arius Didymus fr. 39 Diels = SVF 2.821.  Cf. Cic. ND 2.18, Zeno ap. Sext. M 9.101– 103, D.L. 7.1; with A. A. Long and John M. Dillon (The Question of Eclecticism. Studies in later Greek Philosophy [Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1988], 163) and Joseph G. DeFilippo and Phillip T. Mitsis (“Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” In The Socratic Movement, ed. P. A. Vander Waerdt [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994]: 252– 71).  See Orph. fr. 228a Kern; Anaximenes DK 13 B 2, Diogenes Apollonia 64 B 4,5; cf. Pl. Tim. 90a.

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divine, stating that “the air within us” is “a small portion of god.”⁵⁰ As I stated at the outset, the Stoics took up these ideas within the context of their doctrine of the pneuma. On the human level, therefore, respiration is of cardinal importance. It brings the soul into being at birth and subsequently continues to condition its quality. No less important is its relation to speech. I shall return to this point in due course. Respiration, then, marks our being rooted in the world at large, which is determined by the pneumatic continuum. In this context “part” and “whole” as conceived by the Stoics represent two different perspectives of one and the same continuous reality and should not be played off against one another. So when the source of morality is to be located in the divine world-government, this does not exclude the subjective and inward-looking approach: how could this be if we are literally particles of the one divine reason?⁵¹ The Stoic position is, from a different angle, illuminated by the Chrysippean causal theory presented by Cicero, On Fate 6 – 9. If one thing becomes clear from this account, it is the importance accorded to external influences on human psychology. The self, which is the principal cause of action, is, in Sedley’s apt words, “not a hermetically sealed intellect pitted against the external world, but you in the broadest sense, incorporating your entire genetic and environmental background.”⁵² This is to be understood within the Stoic corporealist framework with the divine pneuma as the active principle pervading the cosmos and the soul as pneuma of a particularly subtle quality. This pneumatic continuum explains the central role assigned to physical “imprinting” (τύπωσις) in mental phenomena including speech. Being the mechanism whereby mental representation comes about,⁵³ it also explains how language—that is, meaningful articulate speech—is transmitted from the intellect: the mental “imprint” is passed along from one portion of pneuma to the next.⁵⁴ In fact, Chrysippus compared this imprinting with air struck by sound: in both cases a qualitative alteration

 Theophrastus, De sensibus 42, Diog. DK A 19; on the question of the influence of Diogenes of Apollonia see Tieleman, “Diogenes.”  Cf. Long’s expression “community of reason” with reference to Chrysippus’ proposition of a divine world-government, A. A. Long “Greek Ethics After MacIntyre and The Stoic Community of Reason,” Ancient Philosophy 3 (1983), 184– 197. Long’s other explanatory tag “inner voice of reason” has proved to be applicable in an even more literal sense than Long seems to intend.  David Sedley, “Chrysippus on Psychophysical Causality,” In Passions and Perceptions. Studies in Hellenistic Philosophy of Mind. Proceedings of the Fifth Symposium Hellenisticum, eds. J. Brunschwig and M. Nussbaum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1954), 325.  S. E. M. 7.227 ff., Diog. Laert. 7.46.  See the Stoic (Chrysippean?) account at PHP 2.4.40; cf. ibid. 2.5.22– 23 with Sedley (“Chrysippus,” 330); cf. also Diog. Bab. ap. Gal. PHP 2.5.12 (SVF 3 Diog. 3.29).

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(ἀλλοίωσις) occurs.⁵⁵ Thus, the translation of thought into spoken language (and, one may infer, the converse one from discourse into thought) is one continuous process based on the pneuma. This corporealist account defies any attempt at differentiation between physical and mental factors. As such, it does much to explain the extraordinarily close link forged by the Stoics between rational thought and language. David Sedley concludes: [if there is] an uninterrupted transmission of imprints from the rational mind to the outer air, it should by now be quite clear that Chrysippus would not feel any special difficulty about what is in effect the reverse process – how such physical factors as the local atmosphere can causally act upon a person’s psychological condition. A psychological condition is a pneumatic state. And what could have a closer bearing on your pneumatic state than the air you breathe?⁵⁶

The influence of local atmosphere referred to by Sedley is at issue in On Fate 7– 9. In this context, respiration is especially relevant.⁵⁷ But given the pneumatic continuum, the idea of imprints being transmitted to and from the human intellect may have found a wider application. I am thinking here especially of ideas about the communication between the human intellect and spirits or external psychic entities such as found in traditional religion. It is to these that we now turn.

5 Divination The Stoic position on divination⁵⁸ also suggests that communion with the divine and God-sent knowledge, for example about the future, was also explained within the context of pneuma-based cosmo-theology as well as epistemology. Chrysippus, at any rate, is known to have taken a positive interest in divination. He wrote an “On divination” (Περὶ μαντικῆς) in two books (one on oracles, the other on dreams), treating divination as real and concerned with signs with

 S. E. M. 7.227 ff., Diog. Laert. 7.46.  Sedley, “Chrysippus,” 331.  Native atmosphere is a particularly important determinant of character because of the pneuma’s cooling at the moment of birth that makes it a soul: SVF 2.806: Mansfeld apud Sedley (1993) 331n72.  With the exception of the Stoic Panaetius (on whom see n. 60 infra), who is on record as having been in doubt as to the divinatory power: Cic. Div. 1.6 = T 137 Alesse.

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which divine providence helps humans.⁵⁹ But given our special concern with the role of pneuma, most of our relevant evidence is associated with the name of the later Stoic Posidonius of Apamea (ca. 130 – 50 B.C.E.), in large part because of the extensive use made of his work by Cicero for his On Divination. ⁶⁰ The fact that divine pneuma pervades the cosmos was taken by Posidonius to explain what he called connate (σύμφυτος) understanding: the knowledge of like by like.⁶¹ This kind of knowledge he took to be represented by conceptions of God and morality found among primitive peoples but also the type of knowledge falling under divination, especially “natural” divination, that is, the direct understanding gained through dreams or in inspired waking moments. Apparently, the Stoics took the latter to be much rarer than the former and effectively confined to special persons such as Socrates with his divine inner voice, the famous daimonion (literally “something divine”), which kept him from making wrong choices.⁶²  Cic. Div. 1.6, 2.130 (SVF 2.1187, 1189). For this work see the evidence assembled under nr. XXVI in SVF volume 3, p. 201 and nr. LXV for the first book, which was separately referred as On Oracles (SVF 3, p. 205). Part of the Early Stoic evidence (most of which comes from Cicero’s On Divination) has been assembled by von Arnim as SVF 2.1187– 1216.  Posidonius has traditionally been taken to represent “Middle Stoicism,” along with his immediate predecessor Panaetius of Rhodes (ca. 185/80 – 110/9 B.C.E.). Recent research however has shown that many assumptions connected with this modern historiographical term of periodization (such as a turn towards Platonism) are in fact ill-founded; cf. e. g., Teun Tieleman, Chrysippus’ On Affections. Reconstruction and Interpretation (Brill: Leiden, 2003), ch. 6. In this, the evidence shows that Posidonius was closer to Chrysippus than, e. g., Panaetius, who diverged from both, or at least was non-committal, in regard to divination: see supra, n. 58, infra, n. 70.  Frs. 85, 194 E.-K.  Cic. Div. 1.122. This passage is embedded in a context from which many Stoic “fragments” have been culled. In § 122 no explicit attribution to any individual Stoic or the Stoic school is found. It has not been included in von Arnim’s Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta or the collection of Posidonius fragments by Kidd and even that by Theiler, of whom only Kidd applies explicit attribution strictly as a criterion for inclusion. Even so, there exists a general consensus that Cicero draws on Posidonius’s On Divination (in 5 books) and possibly other Stoic works for much of what is to be found in book I and, to a lesser extent, in book II of his On Divination, while adding elements (including Roman exempla and other things) from other sources or his own memory. Today it is recognized that Cicero does not slavishly follow one or a few sources and, in particular, that his dependence on Posidonius has been exaggerated. At the same it is increasingly realized that we should not work on the assumption that his use of Posidonius involves divergences from the general Stoic line. See esp. Div. 1.6 where a broad Stoic consensus including Posidonius (F 26 E.-K.) and featuring Panaetius as the only doubter is indicated in a passage which may derive from Posidonius himself. It appears to have been common authorial practice to turn to one recent and comprehensive treatment of one’s chosen theme and go from there to earlier sources whenever the need arose. Posidonius’s extensive treatment in his On Divination (Περὶ μαντικῆς) may have provided Cicero with such a work: see e. g. Tieleman,

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Socrates not only represented intellectual power but also moral rectitude: the soul of such an inspired person is morally pure enough and suitable to be touched by the divine mind.⁶³ A similar consideration also underlies the belief in the soul’s receptiveness to divine signs during sleep, that is, in dreams: as several testimonies indicate, it is the time when the soul withdraws from the body, which distracts it in its waking state, or indeed (as some sources tells us) amounts to a degree of separation from the body. In this state it has no need of the senses for receiving messages from the divine world: it comes into contact with psychic entities—demons and hêroes—or directly with the divine mind and perceives their presentations. The explanation of this phenomenon is firmly grafted onto Stoic epistemology, including its physical basis. Central here is the notion of mental presentation as, literally, impressions or imprintings (Div. 1.64 = Posid. Fr. 108 E.-K.).⁶⁴ In other words, the soul is able to read these, just as ordinary waking perception is a matter of imprints being passed on through the pneumatic continuum. The difference is just that the sensory apparatus is not needed. In ch. 20 of Plutarch’s On the daimonion of Socrates we get what is no doubt a Stoicizing explanation of Socrates’s daimonion as a special, inner kind of perception of a voice. Its starting point is the Stoic theory of verbal communication as the transmission of imprints through the pneumatic continuum from one soul to the other.⁶⁵ In Socrates’s case the messages from the divine are received and imparted without the detour of the voice (esp. 588E, 589C).⁶⁶

“Chrysippus’ Therapeutikon,” 51– 58; on Cicero and his sources in On Divination I see the pertinent remarks by Kidd ad F 26 (149). For discussions of Posidonius’s ideas on divination see Friedrich Pfeffer, Studien zur Mantik in der Philosophie der Antike, Beiträge zur klassischen Philologie 64 (Meisenheim: Hain, 1976), 62– 102; Karl Reinhardt, Poseidonios von Apameia der Rhodier genannt (Stuttgart: Druckenmüller, 1954), 792– 805; Max Pohlenz, Die Stoa. Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 231– 32; cf. 106 – 08; (in relation to the concept of pneuma) Verbeke, L’Évolution, 120 – 28; Karl Reinhardt, Kosmos und Sympathie. Neue Untersuchungen über Poseidonios (München: Beck, 1926), 214– 75. All these authors reconstruct Posidonius’s position partly on the basis of material not explicitly attributed and so represent an approach that has been forced into the defensive under pressure of the work of Edelstein and Kidd in particular.  See the useful observations on this aspect in Pfeffer (Studien zur Mantik, 55).  It also emerges from this fragment that disembodied, demonic souls are not indispensable as intermediaries because Posidonius also recognizes the direct reception of an “impulse from the Gods” in virtue of the soul’s kinship with the gods.  On the voice as air struck (i. e., by the vocal organs) see SVF 1.74, 2.138, 3 Diog. Bab. 17. On voice, i. e., the vocal part of the soul, as pneuma according to the Stoic see SVF 1.150, 2.836, 885.  On articulated and meaningful language as the imprinting of breath, see SVF II, 894, III Diog. Bab. 29; cf. Cic. Div. 1.64 (= Posid. F 108 E.-K.) speaking of “imprinted marks of truth” (insignitae notae veritatis), which in a general way are said to “appear” on immortal souls

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Socrates’s soul is directly touched by these—without a sound, but because it is on the receiving end of a tensional continuum, just as in ordinary oral communication.⁶⁷ The speaker Simmias (who stresses the “phonetic” nature of the phenomenon as opposed to visual communication with the divine) compares this with what happens to ordinary people during sleep: one hears no voice but nonetheless has the impression of hearing people speak (588D).⁶⁸ A few passages from Cicero’s On Divination further illustrate the Stoic theory at issue here.

without there being any differentiation between (analogues of) senses being made, pace Verbeke (L’Évolution, 124– 25), according to whom the contact at issue here is not auditory but rather visual. But Cicero, following Posidonius, goes on to say that the gods also talk directly to sleeping persons. The contrast drawn here is between direct and indirect (i. e., through demons) contact. So in the case of the conveying of the “imprinted marks of truth” he may also be thinking of an experience analogous to verbal communication in particular. For imprinting, cf. also S. E. M. 7.227 ff., Diog. Laert. 7.46. As Kidd ad loc. (p. 431) notes, the immortality ascribed to the souls in question should not be taken in any strict sense given that Posidonius believed in the conflagration (ἐκπύρωσις) of the cosmos (F 13 E.-K.).  Cf. the repeated references to the Stoic notion of tension (tonos), which Hans von Arnim (Plutarch über Dämonen und Mantik [Amsterdam: J. Müller, 1921]), 9 – 10 unjustifiably plays down.  See the lucid summary in L. Van der Stockt (Twinkling and Twilight: Plutarch’s Reflections on Literature 145, Verhandelingen Akademie voor Wetenschappen; Klasse der Letteren 54 [Brussel: Paleis der Academiën, 1992], 57– 58). Richard Heinze (Xenokrates. Darstellung der Lehre und Sammlung der Fragmente [Stuttgart: Teubner, 1892/1965], 102– 03) first drew attention to the Stoic terminology (acoustic and other) in ch. 20 and concluded, largely on the basis of parallels with passages from Cic. Div. that its account of Socrates’s daimonion derives from Posidonius. Heinze’s attribution met with a firm rejection by Von Arnim (1921), 3 – 11, followed by Andre Corlu (Plutarque, Le démon de Socrate [Paris: Klincksieck, 1970], 58 – 60). Reinhardt (Poseidonios, 803), however, accepted Posidonian provenance. Today scholars are less confident in pinpointing single sources. In consequence, the controversy has petered out: see the noncommital Klaus Döring, Exemplum Sokratis: Studien zur Sokratesnachwirkung in der kynischstoischen Popularphilosophie der frühen Kaiserzeit und im frühen Christentum (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1979), 6; Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, ed., Plutarch On the daimonion of Socrates. Human Liberation, Divine Guidance and Philosophy, SAPERE 16 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 8 – 9. In Tieleman (“Zeno and Psychological Monism,” 213 – 17) I have tried to draw attention to the unmistakably Stoic elements in this ch. I still believe Von Arnim played down these elements too much in his bid to reject Posidonian authorship of the theory. We have also become more cautious in seeing large chunks of Cicero’s Div. as deriving from Posidonius but it is generally agreed that the position it sets out is essentially Stoic (unless otherwise indicated by Cicero himself), whatever the exact source, or sources. Insofar as Plut. De Gen. Socr. coheres with what is to be found in Div. 1, we seem permitted to look for a Stoic backdrop to the former’s theory.

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This first, Div. 1.129 (= F 110 E.-K., part)⁶⁹ is based on Posidonius (cf. ibid. 130 and 125 = F 107 E.-K.): From nature comes another particular rational explanation, which teaches how great the power of the soul is when separated from the bodily senses, which particularly happens to those who are sleeping or inspired. For, just as the souls of the gods, without the intervention of eyes or ears or tongue, understand each other and what each thinks (hence humans, even when they offer silent prayers and vows, have no doubt that the gods understand them), so the souls of humans, either when released by sleep from the body and free or when they are stirred by inspiration, perceive things they cannot see when mixed with the body… . (trans. Kidd and Falconer, adapted)

Clearly, this report does not privilege the equivalent of vocal communication to the extent that Simmias’s account in Plutarch does; but then, it is not exclusively concerned with Socrates’s inner voice either. In fact, it draws an analogy to both oral and visual signs known from ordinary life. But it also compares silent prayer, which may be compared to Simmias’s reference to silent hearing in dreams— both of which examples pertain to the phonetic type of communion with the divine. Within the framework of Stoic psychology, however, all forms of communication are a matter of transmitting mental imprints through the pneumatic continuum. In each case the human mind is touched by one of them. When one does without the sensory organs (cf. Cicero’s “bodily organs”) in getting into contact with the divine world, the difference between oral and visual communication is blurred and indeed evaporates. Unsurprisingly, then, several other passages speak in terms of moving or stirring or making contact with reference to the communion with the divine (see, for example, the passages quoted below). It is worth mentioning though that Posidonius ap. Cicero, Div. 1.64 (F 108 E.-K) speaks of contact with immortal souls in which “the imprinted marks of truth (insignitae notae veritatis) appear.” It would seem that these psychic entities, of which the air is said to be full, are what elsewhere are called external demons or hêroes, who are benevolent (they convey the truth) and may play a traditional role of acting as intermediaries between the human and divine realms.⁷⁰ In this passage, at

 Note that Kidd omits the entire comparison (“for just as … body”) from F 110, continuing with the next section (130) in Cicero, which refers to Posidonius as a major expert on these matters and dealing with the difference between natural and technical divination. Apparently Kidd suspects that the example may derive from Cicero (cf. Kidd’s commentary ad loc.). Yet they seem to be firmly embedded in the argument that is employed and cohere with Stoic theorizing on communication. They appear therefore to represent an original element.  On Stoic demonology see Algra, “Stoic Souls”; cf. Tieleman, “Zeno and Psychological Monism,” 201– 02. Algra’s recent study of the available evidence leads him to conclude that Stoic demonology was not just an intrusion from traditional religion but that leading Stoics such as

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any rate, they seem to be distinguished from the gods who are said to speak directly with humans when the latter are asleep. Another passage in which the Stoic (i. e., probably Posidonian) inspiration is palpable is found at Cicero, Div. 1.110 (not in E.-K.). Turning to natural divination, Cicero presents what may be called the general cosmological framework of the theory at issue: The second division of divination … is the natural; and it, according to the exact teaching of physics, must be ascribed to the nature of the gods, from which, as the wisest philosophers hold, our souls have been drawn and poured forth. And since the universe is filled with eternal sense and divine mind,⁷¹ it must be that human souls are influenced [lit. moved] by their contact with divine souls. (trans. Falconer, adapted)

In the ensuing context Cicero includes another reminder that humans when awake are usually prevented from communing with the divine, being distracted by everyday life and the “chains of the body.” From the pages of Cicero’s work it also emerges that the Stoics also explained and justified divination by reference to what they termed “sympathy” (συμπάθεια), that is, the notion that things in nature are all interconnected. Central to this concept is, again, the all-pervasive, sentient mind of God: it is not just that God as World-Soul provides the physical basis of the coherence of the world and its processes but he is actually described as the force that guides persons to find significant signs, for instance in the entrails of sacrificial animals—a belief that follows from their doctrine of divine providence: if God exists and is good, He will provide signs which help humans in leading their lives. The concept of cosmic sympathy is often associated with the name of Posidonius but was in fact earlier and generally Stoic. In fact, in the key passage Cicero, Div. 2,33 – 35 (= F 106), Posidonius is aligned with his predecessors, Chrysippus (SVF 2.1209) and Antipater (SVF 3 Ant. 39). Here too it is worth stressing that from a physical point of view it is legitimated by Stoic pneumatology: pneuma, as we have seen, is the cohesive and unifying physical force on the macrocosmic level as it is at the microcosmic one. ⁷² This is why the idea can also be expressed

Chrysippus and Posidonius sought to integrate demons in Stoic cosmo-theology; further, that Stoics from the Imperial era such as Seneca and Epictetus took a different attitude, finding little use for or value in the notion and instead stressed the importance of the intellect as our inner demon: see esp. Algra, “Stoic Souls,” 384– 87; cf. also above, note 20 with text thereto.  This seems to be a hendiadys for “[is filled with] the perceiving mind of God immortal.”  See, e. g., SVF 2.416, 440, 441. Because of this quality, the psychic pneuma holds together the body rather than vice versa and being the principle of cohesion does not disperse after separating from the body: see SVF 2.812, Posidonius F 149 E.-K. (criticizing Epicurus on this score).

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in term of the world being σύμπνους, that is, “breathing together,” “animated by a common spirit,”⁷³ a term which in ordinary parlance was also used for harmony, agreement and union.

6 Concluding Remarks The Stoics took the pneuma to be a particular kind of “breath” or fiery air that affects cohesion and structure in bodies by being part of their physical mixture. In the first three sections of this study I have reviewed the evidence concerning its role on both the macrocosmic and microcosmic level, involving the analogy between the World-Soul (i. e., God) and the individual human soul. The Stoics, it has turned out, formulated a powerful synthesis drawing on a variety of sources, ranging from traditional and common notions to contemporary philosophical and medical concepts. Moreover, as we have seen, the microcosm/macrocosm analogy comes with a whole-and-parts scheme, given the fact that pneuma as the cosmic active principle pervades all reality. Next (§ 4, 5) I turned to the implications for ideas about divine guidance and inspiration such as represented by that key-figure for Stoic self-identification, Socrates. It has become clear that leading Stoics such as Chrysippus and Posidonius understood divine providence to go beyond the bestowal of the gift of reason upon humans as a species for each single member of which to use for better or worse. First, there is the idea of each of us being part of a community of reason, which ultimately means being rooted in the cosmic and divine order. This idea, as we have seen, is also expressed by identifying our intellect with an inner daimon and the notion of deliberation as an inner dialogue involving the voice of “right reason.” Secondly, Chrysippus and Posidonius (unlike other Stoics such as Panaetius and Seneca) seem to have subscribed to the reality and significance of “heroes” and demons, that is, external psychic entities, as involved in traditional forms of divination such as oracles and dreams. In either case there is strong indication that the Stoics also provided a physical explanation in terms of pneuma, which is the substance of both God, the World-Soul, and our individual souls, which are particles from God. Communion with the divine realm, whether mediated by external spirits or not, seems to have presupposed a pneumatic continuum making

 Thus Plutarch, De fato 11, 574D (SVF 2.912) states, as one of the tenets defended by Chrysippus, that “Nature governs this cosmos, which is breathing and interacting with itself (σύμπνουν καὶ συμπαθῆ αὐτὸν αὑτῶι).” Likewise the fact that the cosmos is one and continuous is necessitated by the heavenly bodies and terrestrial things sharing one breath and one tension (σύμπνοια καὶ συντονία, D.L. 7.140 = SVF 2.543).

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possible the transmission of imprints, that is, presentations or thoughts. It is an area of Stoic thought which has been less assiduously studied than others, in part because it seemed philosophically less central—an estimation which may betray a modern preconception about what philosophy is, or should be. Hardly anyone, however, would dispute the fact that the Stoics, working out their philosophy in the light of the Platonic Timaeus and other sources of influence (including, importantly, the tradition associated with Socrates), set human existence firmly in the context of the natural world as a purposeful and providentially ordered and coherent whole. That they considered our minds to be literally parts of this greater whole must have inspired leading Stoics such as Chrysippus and Posidonius to work out ideas on communion with the divine realm, ideas which could in part serve to provide a rational basis for traditional beliefs and practices. The pneumatic continuum as underlying Stoic psychology and epistemology appears to have provided such a basis. As we have seen, the Stoic theory of language and thought as intimately connected suggested to them ways of accounting for the communion of at least certain humans with the higher, divine realm.

Heidrun Gunkel, Rainer Hirsch-Luipold and John R. Levison¹

Plutarch and Pentecost: An Exploration in Interdisciplinary Collaboration 1 Introduction

The story of Pentecost in Acts 2:1– 13 is rife with evocative, even inscrutable, elements. A house is filled with a noisy wind and early followers of Jesus are filled with holy spirit, which appears to them in the form of tongues as of fire—tongues as of fire, to be exact. The effect is notable too: when holy spirit rests on each individually as tongues as of fire and fills them, they are able to recite God’s praiseworthy acts, a litany of God’s actions in history, in other tongues. The final impression, at least for some of the bystanders, is that the believers are drunk. Simply put, these few ancient lines are rich with the hues of inspiration, conflagration, communication, miraculous translation, and intoxication. The precise meaning of this story is difficult to pinpoint, not least because consensus about the foreground of these elements has proven elusive. What sort of pneuma, from among the various pneumata of antiquity—from breath to god to breeze—plays a role in inspiration? What associations does fire evoke, when it can evoke so many, from human passion to eschatological cataclysm? Is the charge of drunkenness to be taken seriously as a sign of ecstasy or dismissed as an errant interpretation by cynical bystanders?²  Heidrun Gunkel, wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterin am Lehrstuhl für Neues Testament, GeorgAugust-Universität Göttingen; Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, Professor für Neues Testament an der Universität Bern, John R. Levison, W.J.A. Power Professor of Old Testament Interpretation and Biblical Hebrew at Perkins School of Theology, Southern Methodist University.  No single definition of ecstasy can encompass ancient conceptions of ecstasy. A brief glance at two entries in leading dictionaries of the Bible will make this point crystal clear. John Pilch’s entry on ecstasy in The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible (ed. Katherine Doob Sakenfeld, [Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2007]) begins with various altered states of consciousness, which are “subjectively felt departures from ordinary waking consciousness characterized by non-sequential thought and uncontrolled perception.” Pilch continues (2:185– 86), “Ecstasy often, though not necessarily always, includes rapture, frenzy, euphoria, extremely strong emotion, and sometimes appears to imply the loss of ‘rational’ control and self-control.” The caveat “not necessarily always” coupled with a lengthy list of characteristics rather than a precise definition, reveal how difficult it is to define ecstasy. Yet even such a wide-ranging definition—a description, really—does not even include trance, which “on the other hand, suggests a hypnotic or dazed state.” In the end, Pilch throws in the towel rather than offering a tidy definition; he writes, “While the proposed characteristics are present in some experiences of ecstasy and trance, respectively, they are not always

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Within the parameters of the research project, “The Historical Roots of the Holy Spirit,” the aim of this article is to determine in what ways one possible foreground—the writings of Plutarch, the Platonist philosopher and priest of Apollo at Delphi—illuminate the story of Pentecost in Acts 2. Since we are writing—somewhat experimentally—as a research team, whose members include scholars representing the arenas of Plutarch (Hirsch-Luipold), pneumatology (Levison), and the book of Acts (Gunkel), the purpose of this article is not to identify a single, definitive foreground to Luke’s story of Pentecost, but to define the role Plutarch’s writings might play in the mix of foregrounds and to discover what particular dimensions of his writings prove salutary for the interpretation of Luke’s story of Pentecost. This article will proceed in three sections: post-biblical foregrounds; Plutarch and the New Testament; and Plutarch and Pentecost. The article begins with a brief analysis of select, suggested foregrounds of the Pentecost story. These include the story of Sinai in Torah, Philo’s discussion of Sinai in On the Decalogue, and the practice of the Feast of Weeks in Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls. This analysis exposes strengths and weaknesses in each foreground. It suggests as well that the identification of foregrounds is better served by a kaleidoscopic coalescence of literary texts rather than the perspective of a single author or literary corpus. This analysis of foregrounds, all of them related to Israel and post-biblical Judaism, will yield to a lengthier study of Plutarch’s writings—and the question, In what ways do the writings of Plutarch serve as a relevant foreground for New Testament studies as a whole? The importance of Plutarch for New Testament theology, of course, is not a new insight, as copious footnotes in New Testament commentaries illustrate. In the 1970s, H. D. Betz started his groundbreaking project on Plutarch’s writings and early Christian literature with two volumes published by Brill. Betz assembled some of the leading American Plutarch scholars of his generation in order to search systematically all of Plutarch’s writings for parallels to the New Testa-

present. Thus each case needs to be examined on its own merits.” Compare Pilch’s definition with the one offered by Helmer Ringgren in the Anchor Bible Dictionary, in which ecstasy is “an abnormal state of consciousness, in which the reaction of the mind to external stimuli is either inhibited or altered in character. In its more restricted sense, as used in mystical theology, it is almost equivalent to trance” (“Ecstasy,” ABD 2:80). While Pilch’s definition of ecstasy excludes trance, Ringgren narrows ecstasy to trance. See further John Ashton, The Religion of Paul the Apostle (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000); Oskar Holtzmann, War Jesus Ekstatiker? Eine Untersuchung zum Leben Jesu (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1903); John Pilch, Visions and Healing in the Acts of the Apostles: How the Early Believers Experienced God (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2004); and Colleen Shantz, Paul in Ecstasy: The Neurobiology of the Apostle’s Life and Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2009).

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ment and early Christian literature.³ This project was part and parcel of a larger tendency in the 1970s to look for “parallels” to the New Testament in so-called pagan Greek writers. Since the 1970s, studies of Plutarch have snowballed, and several scholars have produced works of significance on religious aspects of Plutarch’s oeuvre in the context of the religious history of his time.⁴ These recent studies, by characterizing Plutarch as a religious author in his own right rather than primarily as a source for religious historical material, take us beyond the question, “Is Plutarch relevant to New Testament studies,” and to the more nuanced question, “In what ways are Plutarch’s writings relevant to the New Testament?” Various characteristics of Plutarch and his writings suggest that he was in fact a religious-philosophical writer akin to some authors of the New Testament.⁵ A contemporary of the authors of many New Testament writings and a priest of

 Hans Dieter Betz, ed., Plutarch’s Theological Writings and Early Christian Literature, SCHNT 3 (Leuven: Brill, 1975); idem, Plutarch’s Ethical Writings and Early Christian Literature, SCHNT 4 (Leuven: Brill, 1978). Some of the relevant perspectives for a comparison of Plutarch with the New Testament and early Christian literature are listed by Betz in the introduction to the first volume.  A lot of the work has been done in the context of the meetings of the very lively International Plutarch Society. Several of their meetings have been devoted to aspects of the religious in Plutarch: I. Gallo, ed., Plutarco e la religione: Atti del VI Convegno plutarcheo Ravello 1995 (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996); M. García Valdes, ed., Estudios sobre Plutarco: Ideas Religiosas. Actas del III Simposio International sobre Plutarco (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994); Rainer HirschLuipold, ed., Gott und die Götter bei Plutarch: Götterbilder—Gottesbilder—Weltbilder, Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten 54 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2005); Luc Van der Stockt et al., eds., Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works: Studies Devoted to Professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society (Logan/ Málaga: Utah State University, 2010); Lautaro Roig Lancillotta and Israel Muñoz Gallarte, eds., Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity, Ancient Mediterranean and Medieval Texts and Contexts 14 (Leuven/Boston, MA: Brill, 2012). For book-length studies of different aspects of religious tradition in Plutarch, see Frederick E. Brenk, In Mist Apparelled: Religious Themes in Plutarch’s Moralia and Lives, MnemosyneSup 48 (Leuven: Brill, 1977); idem, “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” In ANRW 2.36:248 – 349; Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, Plutarchs Denken in Bildern: Studien zur literarischen, philosophischen und religiösen Funktion des Bildhaften, Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 14 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); Peter Van Nuffelen, Rethinking the Gods: Philosophical Readings of Religion in the Post-Hellenistic Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), esp. 48 – 71; 157– 75.  Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, “Die religiös-philosophische Literatur der frühen Kaiserzeit und das Neue Testament,” In Religiöse Philosophie und philosophische Religion der frühen Kaiserzeit: Literaturgeschichtliche Perspektiven, eds. Michael von Albrecht, Herwig Görgemanns, and Rainer Hirsch-Luipold (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009): 117– 46.

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Apollo at the oracle of Delphi, he was—within his polytheistic framework—a religious devotee with monotheistic proclivities. As a historian of religion, Plutarch transmitted copious material, including much that did not represent his own views. But even more interesting is this: as a religious writer with a strong inclination towards theology, he shaped this material according to his philosophical and theological position. This method of shaping of religious traditions is fundamental for our understanding of New Testament and early Christian usage of biblical and historical material (a topic we discuss in the section on Plutarch’s religious philosophy). Since Plutarch is a shaper of materials, and not just a preserver, the juxtaposition of Plutarch and the New Testament should not be construed as a search for parallels. Our test case for this nuanced approach to Plutarch and the New Testament is the story of Pentecost in Acts 2:1– 13, which we treat as a story about divine inspiration. Since some aspects of this story of divine inspiration, including pneuma, fire (heat), drunkenness, and inspiration also feature in Plutarch’s discussions of divination, prophecy, and ecstasy, the question we pose is this: Are Plutarch’s conceptions sufficiently similar to Acts 2 to suggest that Plutarch’s detailed description sheds light upon what is present in, and perhaps absent from, Luke’s portrayal, and how is the appearance of the term pneuma in both instances to be interpreted? This article, consequently, is more, or at least other, than a study of Pentecost in light of Plutarch’s writings. While we are concerned more generally with questions of foreground, we are interested as well to identify connections and disconnections between ancient authors and ancient texts. We hope this study will evoke a sense of the shades of possibility, or at best probability, rather than offering ultimate solutions to puzzling narrative elements that lie at the origin of early Christian pneumatology.

2 Foregrounds of Pentecost The first foreground for the story of Pentecost in Acts 2:1– 13 consists of Jewish traditions. Most notable are the elements of an epiphany referring to the story of Sinai. While there may be other foregrounds, we will examine first key passages in Torah, Philo’s commentary on this story in On the Decalogue, and the Dead Sea Scrolls.

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2.1 Biblical Motifs of Theophany at Sinai In the story of Mount Sinai in Torah, God makes a covenant with the people of Israel (Exodus 20; 24; Deuteronomy 5). Torah, given at Mount Sinai, is the basis of the covenant to be observed by God’s people. A theophany lies at the heart of Exod 19:16 – 19: On the morning of the third day there were thunders and lightnings and a thick cloud on the mountain and a very loud trumpet blast, so that all the people in the camp trembled. Then Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet God, and they took their stand at the foot of the mountain. Now Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke because the LORD had descended on it in fire. The smoke of it went up like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain trembled greatly. And as the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke, and God answered him in thunder.

Naturally scholars have noted several similarities and verbal associations between the theophany at Sinai and the theophany at Pentecost in Acts 2:1– 13.⁶ Luke, for example, describes a φωνή that is heard by Jews in Jerusalem (Acts 2:6); similarly, φωναί feature in LXX Exod 19:16, 19. Further in both stories, a loud noise is described respectively by ἦχος and ἠχέω (Acts 2:2; Exod 19:16). Finally, fire (πῦρ) plays a central role within the theophany at Sinai and at Pentecost, as God descended in fire (Exod 19:18) and tongues as of fire (Acts 2:3). This collection of semantic agreements comes to fruition in Deuteronomy 4— Deut 4:11– 12 and 36, in particular—where the story of the Sinai theophany is retold: And you came near and stood at the foot of the mountain, while the mountain burned with fire to the heart of heaven, wrapped in darkness, cloud, and gloom. Then the LORD spoke to you out of the midst of the fire. You heard the sound of words, but saw no form; there was only a voice… . Out of heaven he let you hear his voice, that he might discipline you. And on earth he let you see his great fire, and you heard his words out of the midst of the fire.

Once again, we are able to see the phenomena of φωναί and God speaking out of the fire. What is implicit in Exodus 19, further, is more explicit in Deut 4:36: all of this happens “out of heaven” (ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ); this matches the description in Acts 2:2.⁷

 Cf. Joseph Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, AB 31 (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 234; Jürgen Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte, NTD 5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), 41.  Note also the words, ἔδειξέν σοι τὸ πῦρ, with the dative following in Deut 4:36, which is similar to ὤφθησαν αὐτοῖς in Acts 2:3.

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These taut semantic recurrences in Exodus 19, Deuteronomy 4, and Acts 2 suggest that the theophany at Mount Sinai underlies the theophany at Pentecost; Pentecost, in this light, is a renewal of the Sinai story.⁸ This conclusion makes sense. If however we are to interpret Pentecost as a renewal of Sinai, we must take two things into consideration. On the one hand, many of the elements of theophany are not limited to the story of Sinai.⁹ There are several events told in the Hebrew Bible where fire, wind, and noise are signs of God’s presence. For example, God speaks to Moses out of fire from the midst of a bush (Exod 3:2– 4); following escape from Egypt, a pillar of fire accompanies the people of Israel (Exod 13:21 f.; 14:20, 24; Num 14:14).¹⁰ Similar phenomena occur elsewhere. God appears through wind (even a soft wind) and noise to Elijah (1Kgs 19:11 f.); God enters into dialogue with Job through a heavy storm (Job 38:1).¹¹ This is to say that the elements we have been discussing can be related more broadly to the element of theophany in Torah. On the other hand, some elements of Pentecost fail to occur in the Sinai theophany. For example, the presence of the holy spirit is unaccountable from the standpoint of Exodus 19 and Deuteronomy 4. The recitation of God’s praiseworthy acts can be found in Deut 11:2– 5 and Ps 105:1– 2—but not in Exodus 19 or Deuteronomy 4. Nor does the Sinai story contain speaking in other languages. The author of Acts clearly combines the imagery from the Sinai story with other material. It would, of course, be unrealistic to expect every detail to be found in a parallel or precursor text, but it is nonetheless important to point out fresh elements —both of them key elements of the Pentecost story—that find no footing in Torah. These, however, can be accounted for if we include Philo’s interpretation of the story in On the Decalogue.

2.2 Philo’s commentary On the Decalogue First-century C.E. Alexandrian philosopher and interpreter of Torah Philo Judaeus offers a detailed retelling of the Sinai theophany in On the Decalogue

 Cf. Franz Mußner, Apostelgeschichte, NEchtBib 5 (Würzburg: Echter-Verlag, 1984), 21.  Cf. Gerhard Schneider: Apostelgeschichte. Kap. 1,1 – 8,40, HTK 5 (Freiburg: Herder, 1980), 246; also Jacob Kremer, Pfingstbericht und Pfingstgeschehen. Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu Apg 2,1 – 13, SBS 63/64 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1973), 239.  Further theophany with fire Gen 15:17; Deut 4:12; 5:26; 2Kgs 2:11; Ps 18:9; 50:3; Isa 66:15.  Further theophany with wind we find in Exod 15:8, 10; Ps 18:1.

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44– 49. In this passage, many scholars have pointed out that Philo supplies several elements of the Pentecost story that are not present in Torah: It was natural that the place should be the scene of all that was wonderful, claps of thunder louder than the ears could hold, flashes of lightning of surpassing brightness, the sound of an invisible trumpet reaching to the greatest distance, the descent of a cloud which like a pillar stood with its foot planted on the earth, while the rest of its body extended to the height of the upper air, the rush of heaven-sent fire which shrouded all around in dense smoke. For when the power of God arrives, needs must be that no part of the world should remain inactive, but all move together to do Him service.

Philo describes in this passage 44 the theophany at Mount Sinai as a cosmic event. His language is dramatic, his perspective uncommon, as he introduces such elements as an invisible trumpet and transposes the pillars of cloud and fire to Sinai. Despite dramatic differences from Exodus 19 and Deuteronomy 4, Philo still preserves the elements of noise (ἠχέω) and fire (πῦρ). Philo continues in 46 – 48 with a description that is evocative for Luke’s story of Pentecost:¹² Then from the midst of the fire that streamed from heaven there sounded forth to their utter amazement a voice (φωνὴ … ἐξήχει), for the flame became articulate speech in the language familiar to the audience (τῆς φλογὸς εἰς διάλεκτον ἀρθρουμένης τὴν συνήθη τοῖς ἀκροωμένοις), and so clear and distinctly were the words formed by it that they seemed to see rather than hear them. What I say is vouched for by the law in which it is written, “All the people saw the voice,” a phrase fraught with much meaning, for it is the case that the voice of men is audible, but the voice of God truly visible. Why so? Because whatever God says is not words but deeds, which are judged by the eyes rather than the ears. Admirable too, and worthy of the Godhead, is the saying that the voice proceeded from the fire, for the oracles of God have been refined and assayed as gold is by fire.

Philo discovers at Sinai more than fire, wind and noise; he discerns as well the voice of God coming through the fire. The opening lines in chapter 46, in particular (φωνὴ δ’ ἐκ μέσου τοῦ ῥυέντος ἀπ οὐρανοῦ πυρὸς ἐξήχει καταπληκτικωτάτη, τῆς φλογὸς εἰς διάλεκτον ἀρθρουμένης τὴν συνήθη τοῖς ἀκροωμένοις), evince strong similarities with Acts 2: the origin of the experience in heaven (Acts 2:2); the φωνή (Acts 2:6), which causes amazement and bewilderment, re-

 Cf. Wilfried Eckey, Die Apostelgeschichte. Der Weg des Evangeliums von Jerusalem nach Rom. Teilband 1: 1,1 – 15,35 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2000), 69; Rudolf Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte. Teilband 1. Apg 1 – 12, EKKNT 5.1 (Zürich/Benziger: Neukirchener, 1986), 102.

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spectively; and πῦρ (Acts 2:3).¹³ The most striking element is apparent in Philo’s use of the word, διάλεκτος (Acts 2:6, 8), with which Philo underscores, as in Acts 2, that human understanding is strengthened rather than diminished by this experience. Finally, Philo explains that the voice comes out of the fire (ἐκ τοῦ πυρὸς ἡ φωνὴ προέρχεσθαι); this is a conviction much like the relationship between tongues as of fire and the comprehensible recitation of God’s praiseworthy acts in Acts 2. What do these deep semantic similarities and parallel motifs contribute to our understanding of Acts 2:1– 13? According to Philo, God arrives on Mt. Sinai with great noise, fire, thunder, and lightning. Then God starts to speak—to form words—out of the fire for the people of Israel. As a result, God’s people are able to understand God’s words—or deeds. Philo’s interpretation may not be altogether comprehensible, but the elements of Sinai, which appear in his interpretation, do not lie completely far afield of the story of Pentecost, even if that relationship cannot ultimately be deciphered. Philo’s explanation shows the extent to which the Sinai theophany could be re-interpreted, even reinvented, during the first century C.E. Philo’s interpretation incorporates elements of Torah that Luke does as well in his story of Pentecost. Yet he adds much more, which also bears strong resemblances to the story of Pentecost. This observation underlines again that Pentecost is a theophany akin to Sinai, that Pentecost comprises a miracle of communication, even ultra-comprehension, and that Pentecost is not just Sinaitic but cosmic in scope. The foreground of the Sinai story, and its Hellenistic Jewish developments, cannot explain, however, some fundamental aspects of Luke’s re-appropriation: the holy spirit, the appearance of drunkenness, and the transformation of divine sound into human speech, since it is God’s voice that speaks in On the Decalogue rather than human voices. The kaleidoscope must expand, therefore, as the search for potential foregrounds continues.¹⁴

2.3 The Festival of Weeks in Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls According to Acts 2:1, the theophany in Jerusalem takes place on the Feast of Weeks or Pentecost, fifty days after the Festival of Unleavened Bread. This chro-

 Cf. Ernst Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte, KEK 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), 177.  Some of these elements are to be found in other passages in the writings of Philo, as well as other Hellenistic texts. See Jacob Kremer, Pfingstbericht und Pfingstgeschehen. Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu Apg 2,1 – 13, SBS 63/64 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1973), 245.

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nology is evocative, not so much in terms of Torah or Philo’s On the Decalogue, but certainly in light of the book of Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls. In some segments of Judaism, the Festival of Weeks came to be associated with the Sinai event.¹⁵ There may have been a practical reason for this, in that the Festival of Weeks was not connected to a significant historical event for Israel, while the Festival of Unleavened Bread was connected to the Exodus and the Festival of Booths to the wilderness wanderings. In some texts of the Second Temple period, however, there occur explicit links between the Festival of Weeks, covenant renewal, and the giving of Torah at Mount Sinai. Salient among these texts are the book of Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls. The order to renew the covenant every year at the Festival of Weeks is found especially in Jub. 6:17– 22. Yet earlier still—as early as the first line, in fact—the Festival of Weeks is the occasion of the covenant event (Jub. 1:1). A description of how to celebrate the annual covenant renewal at the Festival of Weeks occurs in the first two columns of the Community Rule (1QS 1– 3). Two elements in particular relate to Pentecost. The first is the recitation of “God’s praiseworthy acts”—a Hebrew formulation in 1QS 1:22 that is also used in the Hebrew Bible and translated in the Septuagint (e. g., Deut 11:2– 5) with the same words that appear in Acts 2:11. The second is a description of purification with water for those entering the community (1QS 3:1– 12) that resembles baptism slightly later in the Pentecost story, in Acts 2:38 – 39. The relationship between the spirit of the community and baptism, in an imprecise but undeniable way, corresponds to Peter’s promise of the holy spirit for those who are baptized (Acts 2:38 – 39). These elements lead some scholars to suggest that Luke in Acts 2:1– 13 narrates either a rival or comparable—it is difficult to say which—celebration of the Festival of Weeks. There are, nevertheless, difficulties with this possibility. First, it is not clear that the early church (or the author of Acts) was familiar with the community at Qumran or the content of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Second, a key element of the renewal ceremony, covenant (and with it the gift of Torah), does not receive even a mention in Acts 2.¹⁶ By the same token, and third, there are incongruities between the Community Rule and Acts 2; the elements of speaking in

 See the recent study of Sejin Park, Pentecost and Sinai. The Festival of Weeks as a Celebration of the Sinai Event, Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 342 (New York/London: T&T Clark, 2008).  See Charles K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles. Volume I. Acts I–XIV, ICC (Edinburgh: Clark 1998), 111– 12. George K. A. Bonnah (The Holy Spirit. A Narrative Factor in the Acts of the Apostles, SBS 58 [Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2007], 138) argues that there is no suggestion of a covenant made by God or the Law or its connection with the spirit in Acts 2:1– 13.

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other tongues, the descent of fire, and the gift of the holy spirit to all who were present rather than exclusively to the baptized are noticeably absent from the story of Pentecost in Acts.¹⁷ And fourth, the practices envisaged are entirely different; the early church did not organize itself, for instance, into hierarchical lines based upon priestly status; they looked instead, at least according to some bystanders, to be drunk and disorderly. Once again, then, other bits and pieces of Israelite and Jewish literature—important ones, to be sure—illuminate the story of Pentecost. However, Acts copies none of them completely, but rather uses and reshapes some of the elements. Certainly the comparison between Acts and the Community Rule highlights how deep differences can be despite clear parallels. This realization opens the possibility that the author of Acts may have used and included yet other material—compelling interpreters of Acts to look elsewhere, further afield, perhaps, to come to a deep understanding of the story of Pentecost in Acts 2.

3 Plutarch and the New Testament Less further afield than we might imagine lie the writings of Plutarch, a contemporary of the alleged author of Acts. Plutarch’s diverse oeuvre provides a comparison to the theology (or, more accurately, theologies) in the New Testament. Plutarch lived from about 45 – 120 C.E., at a time when many New Testament writings were probably composed. The Delphic priest and Middle-Platonic philosopher was born in Chaironeia in Boethia, Greece, as the son of a wealthy and politically influential family, and lived there for most of his life. In his hometown Chaeroneia as well as in Delphi he assembled students, noble friends, and family members to conduct philosophical discussions in what might be called his private academy. His dialogues, and especially the Table Talks, give a lively impression of the friendly, cooperative style of these discussions. As a teacher, Plutarch educated through entertaining, but he also aimed at transforming people in an ethical, philosophical, and religious or spiritual sense.¹⁸ In his dialog-

 See Rudolf Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte. Teilband 1.Apg 1 – 12, EKKNT 5.1 (Zürich/NeukirchenVluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener Verlag, 1986), 108; Jacob Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, KEK 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 132, 139; also Jacob Kremer, Pfingstbericht und Pfingstgeschehen. Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu Apg 2,1 – 13, SBS 63/64 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1973), 264.  Plutarch thus offers insight into the function of schools and schooling in New Testament times, especially in the beginning of his De E; see Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, “Plutarch: Religiöse Philosophie als Bildung zum Leben,” In “Die Lehre des Weisen ist eine Quelle des Lebens” (Spr

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ical style and thinking, Plutarch presented, even defended, a swath of opinions without necessarily presenting a final solution. While this characteristic of his writings makes it difficult sometimes to pinpoint his own position with certainty, it allows modern interpreters to see several points of view vis-à-vis a particular problem.

3.1 Familiarity with the Traditions of Lived Religion Plutarch was one of the most prolific, versatile, and entertaining authors of his time—in fact of all time. His vast oeuvre covers almost every aspect of ancient paideia and can be regarded as a library of ancient Greek culture. The scope of the subjects treated in his works ranges from history to biography and mathematics, from medicine to animal psychology, from the face of the moon to the destiny of souls in the after-life. Plutarch was well-read, universally interested, and he travelled extensively, both for diplomatic and scholarly purposes. Religious tradition and theological reflection occupy a central place in this vast oeuvre. In his writings, the polymath assembled information about all sorts of traditions of lived religion. What is meant by lived religion? Plutarch as a philosopher was not concerned only with the kind of speculative theology or metaphysics that characterized some of later Platonism. He wrote about the Greek and Roman pantheon as well as about the God of the Jews and Egyptian religion, Pythagorean symbola, the mysteries, Zoroastrian cosmology, Indian gymnosophists, and the Magoi. He interpreted religious writings, rites, symbols and artifacts from virtually everywhere in the known world. He wrote about oracles and divination, about the daimonion of Socrates. Plutarch’s literary production and philosophical thought are permeated and shaped by the reception of such traditions.¹⁹ This makes him one of our most valuable sources on ancient religion. But this is not all. Plutarch was not just an antiquarian collector of religious-historical material. What makes him so interesting for a comparison with the New Testament is his religious orientation and his theological interest—

13,14): Bedeutende Lehrer in der Tradition der Antike und der monotheistischen Religionen, eds. Ilinca Tanaseanu-Döbler, Tobias Georges and Jens Scheiner (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014, forthcoming).  Cf. Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, “‘The Most Ennobling Gift of the Gods’: Religious Traditions as the Basis for Philosophical Interpretation in Plutarch,” In Plutarch’s Writings: Transmission, Translation, Reception, Commentary, ed. Paola Volpe Cacciatore (Naples: M. D’Auria Editore, 2013): 203 – 17.

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and that he writes so often with a pictorial, figurative interpretation of this material.

3.2 Priestly Office and Theological Interests Plutarch was one of two priests at the oracular shrine of Apollo in Delphi for a long time towards the end of his life. While such offices were regarded as a service to the community, for Plutarch it evinced the religious lifestyle that is palpable in many of his writings. As a priest of oracle at Delphi, he entertained a special relationship to Apollo, whom he called “friend Apollo” (De E 1, 384E). The sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi is the setting for his so-called “Pythian dialogues,” which are devoted to theological problems surrounding the oracle. These dialogues also present Plutarch as a philosophical teacher within the precinct of Apollo. As a pagan priest, Plutarch presupposes as a natural fact that the divine is worshipped under different names by various peoples. Nevertheless a monotheistic tendency can be detected in his writings, although the issue of the existence of a pagan Monotheism is still hotly debated.²⁰ It may be best characterized as “polylatric monotheism,” the conviction that, while the divine is necessarily one in essence, this one God is worshipped in the phenomenal world in various forms and called by many names.²¹ It has been noted time and again how close Plutarch’s view of this one divine entity is to Jewish and Christian conceptions.²² God, according to Plutarch, is a personal god who cares about people and can thus be called φίλος and φιλάνθρωπος.²³ The utterly transcendent God looks

 For the discussion on “Pagan Monotheism,” see Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael Frede, eds., Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999); see recently Stephen Mitchell and Peter Van Nuffelen, eds., One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).  The terminology is discussed in more detail in Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, “Viele Bilder—ein Gott: Plutarchs polylatrischer Monotheismus,” In Bilder von dem einen Gott: Die Rhetorik des Bildes in monotheistischen Gottesdarstellungen der römischen Spätantike, eds. Nicola Hömke and Gian Franco Chiai (forthcoming 2014).  John Whittaker, “Plutarch, Platonism and Christianity,” In Neoplatonism and Early Christian Thought. Essays in Honour of A. H. Armstrong, eds. Henry J. Blumenthal and R. A. Markus (London: Ashgate Publishing, 1981); Frederick E. Brenk, “Plutarch, Judaism and Christianity,” In With Unperfumed Voice: Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Language, Religion and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background, ed. Frederick E. Brenk (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007).  Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, “Der eine Gott bei Philon von Alexandrien und Plutarch,” In idem, Gott und die Götter bei Plutarch: Götterbilder—Gottesbilder—Weltbilder, Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten 54 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2005): 141– 68, esp. 152– 61.

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after humankind as a physician, judge and mystagogue, leading human beings toward the divine through images set down in religious tradition. Writing with a pastoral impulse,²⁴ Plutarch was interested in preserving and promoting a form of religious practice that was both pious and healthy—a form that, in the end, aims at eusebeia and a life that even transcends death.

3.3 Theology as the Goal of Philosophy Religious and theological thinking, which is present throughout Plutarch’s works, form an integral part of philosophy—in some ways even the starting point and goal of philosophy according to Plutarch. Religious tradition, understood correctly (i. e., philosophically), is a source of truth, happiness, and life. Plutarch, therefore, can be interpreted as a representative of an evolving strand of Religious Platonism, of which swaths of Early Judaism and Christianity were also part. In a telling passage in the opening section of his De def. orac. 410B, Plutarch calls widely travelled Cleombrotos “a most holy man,” who collected “traditional material (ἱστορία) as it were as a raw material for a philosophy which had theology, as he himself called it, as its goal.”²⁵ This description of Cleombrotus is no less a description of Plutarch’s own religious-philosophical method. The most striking example of Plutarch’s method of philosophical interpretation of traditions of lived religion is his De Iside et Osiride. This work is an interpretatio Platonica of all the different features of the Egyptian religious tradition. Rich hermeneutical reflections about the philosophical significance of religious traditions form the opening of the text. The best the gods have to give to human beings, says he, is the knowledge about themselves: “All good things, my dear Clea, sensible men must ask from the gods; and especially do we pray that from those mighty gods we may, in our quest, gain a knowledge of themselves, so far as such a thing is attainable by men. For we believe that there is nothing more important for man to receive, or more ennobling for God of His grace to grant, than the truth” (De Is. 1.351C). This is precisely what can be derived from a philosophical, Platonic interpretation of religious traditions. What can be gained is in fact an assimilation to god’s everlasting divinity, by which human beings also attain life: “Therefore the effort to arrive at the Truth, and especially the truth about the gods, is a longing for the divine.” (De Is. 2.351E).  Reinhard Feldmeier, “Plutarch, Philosoph und Priester,” In Mousopolos Stephanos: Festschrift für Herwig Görgemanns, eds. Manuel Baumbach, Helga Köhler and Adolf M. Ritter (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag, 1998): 412– 25.  Translation RHL.

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3.4 Plutarch and Hermeneutics Plutarch’s religious hermeneutics²⁶ proceed from the principles of Academic Skepticism. Since access to the realm of the truth (which is here interpreted as identical with the sphere of god) is not possible on the grounds of principle, Plutarch argued, the only possible way to attain divine truth is through a philosophical interpretation of the images of the divine given to humankind. The world, which is nothing less than an image-filled temple of the divine (De tranquillitate animi 477C–D), as well as religious tradition (De Is. 1.351C) is full of such images. Such corporeal, phenomenal reflections of divine truth have to be interpreted in a holy and philosophical way (ὁσίως καὶ φιλοσόφως; 355C; see also 378 A). Plutarch regarded the traditions of lived religion as a πάτριος καὶ παλαιὰ πίστις (“ancestral beliefs”),²⁷ which he took to be the starting-point, or at least one important starting-point, of all philosophy.

3.5 Plutarch and Divination In the context of our investigation, we are especially concerned with Plutarch’s interest in divination. How does the transcendent God communicate with the world, and what kind of intermediary forces are being used to that end (daimones, souls, signs)? As an official of the Delphic oracle, Plutarch was aware of the details of protocol at the shrine as well as of the popular interpretations of divination at Delphi. And he was interested in the theological logic behind the concept of divination.

 Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, “Aesthetics as Religious Hermeneutics in Plutarch,” In Valori letterari delle Opere di Plutarco: Studi offerti al Professore Italo Gallo dall’ International Plutarch Society, eds. Aurelio Pérez Jímenez and Frances Titchener (Malaga/Logan: Universidad de Málaga 2005): 207– 13.  Amatorius 756B. We find here New Testament-like usage of the term. Several authors have recently picked up this term; see Francoise Frazier, “Philosophie et religion dans la pensée du Plutarque: Quelques réflexions autour des emplois du mot πίστις,” In Études platoniciennes, vol. 5 of Le divin dans la tradition platoniciennes, ed. Alexandra Michalewski (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2008); George van Kooten, “A Non-Fideistic Interpretation of πίστις in Plutarch’s Writings: The Harmony between πίστις and Knowledge,” In Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity, eds. Lautaro R. Lanzillotta and Israel Muñoz Gallarte (Leiden: Brill, 2012).

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3.6 Plutarch and Methodology Research done on Plutarch’s literary and historical techniques and his religious philosophy in recent decades has led to two important insights for the use of his writings as a religious-historical source. Plutarch was not just a historian of religion, much less an antiquarian who recounted material sine ira et studio. Rather, Plutarch merged the traditions he took up and interpreted into his writings through the lens of his own religio-philosophical perspective. Thus we have to take into account both Plutarch’s pictorial method of interpretation—discerning the meaning of God’s images in the world—and his theology to appreciate and understand his use of sources. Traditional materials are not simply available as if they were kept entirely intact. Rather, they have to be interpreted through Plutarch’s own lens. It is essential to transcend the groundbreaking project Hans Dieter Betz led; instead of searching for parallels—especially lexicological parallels—the task must be to investigate Plutarch’s religio-philosophical method and to interpret traditional materials in light of that method. Our test case, the concept of pneuma in the writings of Plutarch and the New Testament, illuminates the point. On the one hand, what seem to be obvious parallels in wording—the occurrence of πνεῦμα, for instance—may in fact express divergent concepts. Pneuma does not, simply put, mean the same thing in divergent corpora, and no amount of lexical recurrence can make them mean the same thing. On the other hand, there may be occasions when shared conceptual structures are expressed with dissimilar language. A daemon, for instance, in the writings of Plutarch, may communicate in ways that are extremely close to the pneuma in the New Testament. In this instance, daemon and pneuma in the writings of Plutarch and the New Testament, respectively, may lie closer to one another than pneuma and pneuma. This observation is indispensable for the origins of early Christian apprehensions of the holy spirit. By borrowing from traditional concepts in Delphi, in which divination was linked with vapors rising from a chasm in the precinct of Apollo (see below), Paul may have used a technique strikingly similar to that of Plutarch when he adopted the same key Stoic term πνεῦμα to express a theology significantly different, we would contend, from Stoic thinking.²⁸ (To say this is not to determine from where Paul ultimately adopted the term—Septuagint, Palestinian church, Diaspora synagogues, popular philosophical teaching—but to recognize that this term, whatever its origin, was essential to Stoi-

 The Stoic interpretation, however, is favored with respect to Paul by Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and the Self: The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2010).

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cism). What was Plutarch’s rationale in using the term the way he did? For Plutarch there was a fine, but clearly marked, dividing line between the Stoic concept, which tends to dissolve the divine into corporeal aspects of the world— πνεῦμα as the divine logical essence permeating the whole physical world— and his own theological understanding of the cosmos, which recognized the complete otherness of God. The tendency to dissolve the divine into corporeal aspects was one of the most important philosophical objections of Plutarch to Stoic thinking, because in his view it amounted to atheism. When he took up the Stoic concept of pneuma, therefore, he did not leave it intact but turned it instead into a corporeal precondition for divine intervention (a wind that cleanses) rather than the carrier of divine inspiration. Terminological recurrence in distinct literary corpora may be present for other reasons than to preserve a concept; it might be present to correct or modify or claim as one’s own a concept in a new key.

4 Plutarch and Pentecost In what follows we will examine Luke’s story of Pentecost as a test-case for the use of Plutarch to provide an apt context for the New Testament. In what way can we use Plutarch’s writings to understand more lucidly aspects of Pentecost? Some correspondences provide points of similarity. Others provide similarities and differences. Still others offer primarily points of contrast. All may help to improve our understanding of the story of Pentecost, with particular attention paid to the presence of pneuma.

4.1 Plutarch, Pneuma, and Prophetic Inspiration When Luke begins the founding narrative of the church, the singularly most significant event that will define and catalyze a burgeoning movement, the language he adopts is at home in the Greco-Roman environment in which he wrote. Does this story resonate with discussions of the mechanics of divination and prophecy at Delphi, with which Plutarch was frequently preoccupied? Plutarch was not alone in his preoccupation with the priestess at Delphi. A litany of—mainly Stoic—writers would make reference to the spirit that filled the Pythia at Delphi. Strabo’s reference to an enthusiastic spirit (πνεῦμα ἐνθυσιαστικόν),²⁹

 9.3.5.

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Pliny the Elder’s to an intoxicating exhalation (exhalatione temulenti),³⁰ PseudoLonginus’s to an enthusing breath (ἄτμος ἔνθεος—connoting “full of god, possessed”),³¹ Dio Chrysostom’s to the spirit that filled her (ἐμπιμπλαμένη τοῦ πνεύματος),³² and Iamblichus’ to a fiery pneuma that surrounds her³³ attest to the power of the Delphic priestess to fuel the imaginations and interests of Greco-Roman writers over the course of centuries. The central component of this logic of inspiration consisted of filling with pneuma. When Luke writes that the followers of Jesus “were filled with holy spirit” when tongues as of fire rested on each of them, it may be that his portrayal of the pneuma can be situated in a long and impressive train of interpreters of inspiration, Delphic and otherwise, in Greco-Roman antiquity. In On the Obsolescence of Oracles, Plutarch discussed several phenomena which explain, in greater or lesser levels of detail, why oracular activity may have declined in recent decades in Greek oracular sites. The dialogue is narrated by Plutarch’s brother Lamprias. Cleombrotus charges Lamprias with a view Cleombrotus thinks is misguided, which is a theological solution “that the god both creates and abolishes these prophetic shrines” (De def. orac. 414C). Lamprias demurs, arguing that a god does not abolish prophetic shrines or oracles. Instead, God creates and provides many other things for us, and upon some of these Nature brings destruction and disintegration; or rather, the matter composing them, being itself a force for disintegration, often reverts rapidly to its earlier state and causes the dissolution of what was created by the more potent instrumentality … for while the god gives many fair things to mankind, he gives nothing imperishable, so that, as Sophocles puts it, “the works of gods may die, but not the gods.” (414D)

The works of the gods may disintegrate and disappear—but not the gods themselves. The second part of the quotation already paves the way to the next thought: Lamprias goes on to mock the position that the gods are involved, in an unmediated sort of way, in the process of inspiration: Their presence and power wise men are ever telling us we must look for in Nature and in Matter, where it is manifested, the originating influence being reserved for the Deity, as is right. Certainly it is foolish and childish in the extreme to imagine that the god himself after the manner of ventriloquists (who used to be called “Eurycleis,” but now “Pythones”) enters into the bodies of his prophets and prompts their utterances, employing their mouths

   

Natural History 2.95.208. 13.2. 72.12. On Mysteries 3.11.

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and voices as instruments. For if he allows himself to become entangled in men’s needs, he is prodigal with his majesty and he does not observe the dignity and greatness of his preeminence. (414D–E)

God, then, prepares the way for inspiration through nature and conveys divine thoughts to humankind, but God does not enter the prophetic medium and speak in God’s own voice, using the medium as a mask, as masks were being used in Greek theatre. This consideration leads Cleombrotus along a different, daemonological tack, which he wraps up with what amounts to a brief peroration. Unlike gods, daemons are indeed perishable—or can simply leave an oracle: Let this statement be ventured by us, following the lead of many others before us, that coincidentally with the total defection of the guardian spirits assigned to the oracles and the prophetic shrines, occurs the defection of the oracles themselves; and when the spirits flee or go to another place, the oracles themselves lose their power, but when the spirits return many years later, the oracles, like musical instruments, become articulate, since those who can put them to use are present and in charge of them. (418C–D)

Later in the dialogue, Demetrius returns to this point of view, developing its meaning further, when he proposes: For what was said then [at the beginning], that when the daemons withdraw and forsake the oracles, these lie idle and inarticulate like the instruments of musicians, raises another question of greater import regarding the causative means and power which they employ to make the prophetic priests and priestesses possessed by inspiration and able to present their visions. For it is not possible to hold that the desertion by the daemons is the reason for the silence of the oracles unless we are convinced as to the manner in which the daemons, by having the oracles in their charge and by their presence there, make them active and articulate. (431B)³⁴

Demetrius targets the mechanics of prophetic divination. Ammonios offers a corresponding anthropological interpretation—more precisely, a Seelenlehre. Since daemons are essentially souls freed from the limitations of the body, he suggests, it should not be too surprising that they are able to communicate with humans who are nothing else than souls arrayed in a body. Building on this correspondence between daemons and humans, Plutarch’s brother Lamprias³⁵ takes the anthropological solution a step farther when he

 Translation from the Loeb edition (Babbitt), slightly altered.  See Frederik E. Brenk, In Mist Apparelled: Religious Themes in Plutarch’s Moralia and Lives, MnemosyneSup 48 (Leuven: Brill, 1977), 89 ff.

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proposes that, if disembodied souls have the ability to foresee the future, every soul should in principle have this ability already in the body. They should be able to foresee the future by themselves, even without the help of daemons. This ability, the prophetic power (μαντικὴ δύναμις) of the soul, however, is blinded by being combined and mixed with the body (432 A), just as the sun always has the ability to shine but is sometimes dimmed by clouds or fog. How, then, can the limitations of the body be overcome? Here, the prophetic pneuma in Delphi comes into play to explain the mechanics of divination. A vision of the future works just like memory, except that its object is not what has passed but a future that has not yet come to be. The soul is especially receptive to this sort of vision, therefore, in dreams or at the hour of death, when it is least tied to the body. The body out of itself rarely³⁶ has such a quality that allows for the reception of mantic visions, a state called ἐνθυσιασμός (432D). This can be brought about by different sources of powers (δυνάμεις) sent forth from the earth, of which the μαντικὸν ῥεῦμα καὶ πνεῦμα, the prophetic current and breath, is the most divine and holy. Entering the body, it produces a condition of enthusiasm. Lamprias is obviously alluding to the stream that was said to be released from a chasm in Delphi and to cause the prophecies of the Pythia. Corporeal limitations overshadowing the reception of divine messages, proposes Lamprias, can thereby be overcome. But the prophetic current and breath is most divine and holy [τὸ δὲ μαντικὸν ῥεῦμα καὶ πνεῦμα θειότατόν ἐστι καὶ ὁσιώτατον], whether it issues by itself through the air or comes in the company of running waters; for when it is instilled into the body [καταμειγνύμενον εἰς τὸ σῶμα], it creates in souls an unaccustomed and unusual temperament, the peculiarity of which it is hard to describe with exactness… . (432D)

This pneuma serves a physiological purpose: it opens up pores or makes the moist soul dry, like a steamy mirror³⁷ so that the soul is then able to receive and reflect images. Thus the pneuma, which figures so prominently in the traditional views about oracular divination and inspiration, as we have seen above, is allotted a new, physiological role. Plutarch was dissatisfied with the theological implications of the Stoic understanding of the role of the pneuma in the divinatory process, namely that—as a physical substance—it is of divine origin and thus the carrier of the divine message. Plutarch set his uneasiness in the mouth of his teacher Ammonius, with an accusation regularly levelled against

 We are following here the text by Wilhelm Sieveking, Plutarchi Moralia, vol. 3, eds. William R. Paton, Max Pohlenz, and Wilhelm Sieveking (Leipzig: Teubner, 1972).  For the image of the mirror, cf. also 433 A.

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the Stoics in Plutarch’s writings: their position amounts to atheism. His concern is that “we resolve the origin of prophecy, or rather its very being and power, into winds (πνεύματα) and vapours and exhalations… .” In other words, the physical explanation, the pneuma, detracts from the actual source of inspiration: the divine (ἀπάγουσι τὴν δόξαν ἀπὸ τῶν θεῶν; De. def. orac. 435 A). In his reaction to Ammonius, Lamprias clarifies the relationship between the source of inspiration and the physical instrument: God is the source, but physical conditions, especially the prophetikon pneuma in Delphi, bring about the predisposition for the reception of divine inspiration (De. def. orac. 435F– 436 A). To discuss the physical preconditions of inspiration is not to make divination ἄθεον and ἄλογον but simply to take into account all the circumstances that allow the god to be heard even within the constraints of the body (De. def. orac. 436E). The central point of Plutarch’s Platonist reinterpretation of the (Stoic) concept of a physical pneuma is that the Delphic pneuma belongs to those physical means—and may in fact be the principal means—by which the God in Delphi prepares the way for human beings to become prophetic and visionary.

4.2 Pentecost and Pneuma The contribution of Plutarch to our understanding of the Pentecost story may be to offer an array of perspectives, many of which give us a sense of chiaroscuro, similarity and contrast. As we turn to Acts, an important insight to carry with us is this: in reaction to Stoicism, Plutarch expressed a level of uneasiness with overtones of the idea of filling with the spirit that are too physical because, in a Stoic framework, they might be misunderstood as a mingling of God with corporeal realities. Plutarch thus points us to a philosophical and theological discussion about the concept of pneuma. Are traces of this discussion also palpable in the story of Pentecost in Acts? In the story of Pentecost, the spirit fills Jesus’ followers, while in Lamprias’s perspective the pneuma mixes with the body. Though differently framed, these conceptions are not dissimilar. Lamprias describes at length the way in which pneuma is “ethereal and pure,” and the way in which pneuma compacts the prophetic element of the soul—suggesting the presence of pneuma within the body. Lamprias explains: “Even so there is nothing to prevent the prophetic vapours, which contains some affinity and relationship to souls, from filling up the vacant spaces and cementing everything together (De def. orac. 432F–433B). The presence of pneuma in this way looks like filling, though less in terms of spiritual content than physiological preparation.

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Luke, of course, does not describe the physiology of inspiration, because he perceives the spirit as a divine actor and thus a carrier of the divine message—a concept that Plutarch is trying to avoid. Thus, Plutarch offers details of the mechanics of inspiration; Luke does not offer details of the spirit within apart from the look of drunkenness to some misguided spectators and perhaps tongues as of fire, though these are preceded by ὡς and said to rest upon the believers rather than within them. Biblical and Jewish authors offer a modicum of insight into the mechanics of inspiration, so that authors such as Philo, in the face of a dearth of detail, introduce Greco-Roman elements to explain such phenomena as Israelite prophecy.³⁸ In contrast to Luke, Plutarch, through the mouth of Lamprias, describes in detail a certain compactness, an intensity that pneuma produces in receptive souls—an intensity that is, throughout Acts, apparent in the intense community led by intense, inspired individuals.

4.3 The Element of Fire Before the holy spirit is even mentioned in the story of Pentecost, Luke refers to tongues as of fire. We have seen already that fire played a role in the theophany in Torah and in Philo’s commentary on this theophany, where he refers to the “rush of heaven-sent fire.” In an evocatively analogous passage, Plutarch likens the possession by the god Eros, who figures as the god in this dialogue, as a kind of theophany, to fire lighting a house: A man seems to become more radiant through the heat of love. But people react irrationally: if they see a light blazing in the house at night, they consider it supernatural and marvel at it. But when they observe a mean, base, ignoble soul suddenly invaded by high thoughts, liberality, aspiration, kindness generosity, they are not compelled to cry out with Telemachus, “Surely some god is within!” (Amatorius 762D–E)

While the enthusiastic experience is linked to filling with holy spirit, it is linked in the Amatorius to filling with a god. Nonetheless, the two are tandem experiences, for tongues as of fire that rest upon the believers are associated directly with filling: “And there appeared to them tongues as of fire distributed upon each one of them, and all of them [i. e., those with tongues as of fire] were filled by (the) holy spirit …” (Acts 2:3 – 4a). It is this association of filling and fire that allows the experience of Pentecost to be situated in a Greco-Roman literary con-

 See, for example, John R. Levison, “Inspiration and the Divine Spirit in the Writings of Philo Judaeus,” JSJ 26 (1995): 271– 323.

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text, in which inspiration was depicted as a fiery experience, a context in which filling with pneuma was understood as an experience that ignited and inflamed a person possessed. This association is evident in Lucan’s vivid Latin poetry: We have just lingered over the Delphic Pythia, whose inspired rapture riveted those who reflected upon her, though we did not recollect Lucan’s description of the Pythia, who “now she boils over with fierce fire [igne iratum], while enduring the wrath of Phoebus. Nor does he [Apollo] ply the whip and goad alone, and dart flame into her vitals [stimulus flammasque in viscera mergis],” but she is cursed to be unable to say all that she knows. (On the Civil War 118 – 120)³⁹

These are interesting parallel discussions, but it is Plutarch’s description of enthusiasm as intoxication that brings the power of heat to the fore.

4.4 The Element of Intoxication The association between the prophetic state and intoxication has attracted the attention of many scholars since the beginning of the twentieth-century, not least because of the prominence of the notion of sober intoxication in the writings of Philo Judaeus.⁴⁰ It also comes up in Plutarch’s reinterpretation of the role of the pneuma. We have seen, however, that pneuma in Plutarch’s estimation does not inspire; pneuma prepares someone for inspiration. Plutarch, nevertheless, offers an interpretation of enthusiasm that associates filling with pneuma, intoxication, and inflammation: It is likely that by warmth and diffusion it [pneuma] opens up certain passages through which impressions of the future are transmitted, just as wine, when its fumes rise to the head, reveals many unusual movements and also words stored away and unperceived.

 A similar association characterizes Quintus’s discussion—all of it Stoic—in Cicero’s On Divination. Quintus, who described Cassandra’s “flaming eyes, that sudden rage” (On Divination 1.66), describes the soul’s ascent as the inflammation and arousal of the soul: Those then, whose souls, spurning their bodies, take wings and fly abroad—inflamed and aroused by a sort of passion—these men, I say, certainly see the things which they foretell in their prophecies. Such souls do not cling to the body and are kindled by many different influences. For example, some are aroused by certain vocal tones, as by Phrygian songs, many by groves and forests, and many others by rivers and seas. I believe, too, that there were certain subterranean vapours which had the effect of inspiring persons to utter oracles. (1.114)  See Levison, Filled with the Spirit (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2009), 331– 34.

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“For Bacchic rout and frenzied mind contain much prophecy,” according to Euripides, when the soul becomes hot and fiery, and throws aside the caution that human intelligence lays upon it, and thus often diverts and extinguishes the inspiration.

Plutarch’s description cracks a window on the charge of drunkenness levelled against Jesus’ followers at Pentecost. Part of the crowd that sees what happens at Pentecost thinks the followers of Jesus are drunk with new wine (Acts 2:13). Luke does not reveal the details of this drunkenness, but drunkenness is used for comparison also by Lamprias, in Plutarch’s On the Obsolescence of Oracles: The pneuma has a similar effect as wine, creating heat, which opens pores. Once again, then, Plutarch’s writings may serve to illuminate the otherwise laconic narrative of Acts—or at least to illumine how heat and apparent drunkenness are linked to prophetic inspiration and ecstatic possession by a god, in contexts where pneuma may not even be mentioned. These motifs reappear in other places in which Plutarch associates ecstasy with intoxication, where fire and heat are an indication of divine possession: “a God is within” (θεὸς ἔνδον) refers in Amatorius 762E to those who are inflamed by Love (Eros); similarly, in connection with wine, heat signals the presence of the divine in the Life of Alexander 4 (recall Alexander’s divine descent slightly earlier in chapter 2). In De def. orac 432E, both models are combined—θερμότης and the connection of Bacchic frenzy with prophecy. Central to this discussion is that both Plutarch and Acts refer to inebriation or intoxication as an interpretative category for prophecy. When tongues as of fire rested upon Jesus’ followers, the holy spirit also made them seem, at least in the eyes of the more cynical onlookers, drunk. Something was odd; something in their temperament required explanation, even an incorrect one.

4.5 The Element of Inspired Intellect There is such a mixture of phenomena in the story of Pentecost which cannot easily be unraveled. Winds. Fire. Pneuma. Together, they create the sensation of ecstasy, though ecstasy combined with intellectual acuity—what Michael Welker characterizes as “overcomprehensible” rather than incomprehensible.⁴¹ Although it is said that the spirit “fills” Jesus’ followers, it is not the sort of filling that overwhelms or ousts human reason or intellect. Here Luke is close to Plutarch, who dismisses the view according to which gods enter “into the bodies of his prophets,” prompting “their utterances, employing their mouths and voi Michael Welker, God the Spirit (Minneapolis, MA: Fortress, 1994), 252.

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ces as instruments” (De. def. orac. 414D). This point of view, according to Plutarch, would have the damaging effect of entangling a god in human affairs in such a physical way that the god’s majesty would be compromised. Similar arguments are to be found in De Pythiae oraculis, in which the wording of oracles comes from the Pythia herself rather than from God. In still another discussion, Plutarch argues that the physical carrier of the message shapes the appearance of the message, like the material of a statue or the shape of a mirror (De Pyth. orac. 404B–D); in a similar way, God uses the soul as an organ, but it is the Pythia who produces the words. It would be foolish to attribute the wording to the god.

4.6 The Praiseworthy Acts of God Luke’s portrayal of the message at Pentecost evinces a similar reserve. Luke reports succinctly the impact of the holy spirit: “All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit gave them to utter.” The final six words in Greek play an essential role in Luke’s narrative, for they underscore the comprehensibility of inspired speech. The pivotal verb, translated somewhat inadequately here as “to utter” (ἀποφθέγγεσθαι), when taken in the three contexts in which it appears in the book of Acts, communicates the presence of intellectual acuity. It does not merely mean “to utter” or “to proclaim.” In the book of Acts it has a particular association with the inspired and intelligent interpretation of scripture. Twice, in fact, this verb introduces the interpretation of scripture’s legacy; in its last occurrence, the verb communicates the sanity of the speaker—Paul an interpreter of scripture.⁴² The followers of Jesus are not drunk, even though it may seem so to some of the spectators. On the contrary, they communicate coherently to the crowds. Luke adopts the expression “the praiseworthy acts of God” (τὰ μεγαλεῖα τοῦ θεοῦ) to describe the contents of what Jesus’ followers spoke on Pentecost (Acts 2:11). This expression is shorthand for God’s deeds throughout Israel’s history. In the Septuagintal translation of the book of Deuteronomy, for example, Moses reminds the Israelites who stand at the cusp of entering the promised land that

 No other New Testament author employs this verb. The only Septuagintal occurrences that might shed light on Luke’s choice are Zech 10:2 and Ezek 13:13, 19.

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it was not your children … but it is you who must acknowledge God’s praiseworthy acts [τὰ μεγαλεῖα αὐτοῦ],⁴³ God’s mighty hand and God’s outstretched arm, God’s signs and God’s deeds that God did in Egypt to Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, and to all his land; what God did to the Egyptian army, to their horses and chariots, how God made the water of the Red Sea flow over them as they pursued you, so that the Lord has destroyed them to this day; what God did to you in the wilderness, until you came to this place. (Deuteronomy 11:2– 5)⁴⁴

A sweeping recollection of God’s praiseworthy acts follows, from Abraham to God’s miraculous provision in the wilderness. During the feast of Pentecost, the followers of Jesus recite those praiseworthy acts that comprise Israel’s scripture. The subsequent sermon of Peter suggests as well that these praiseworthy acts extend beyond the world of Israel’s praiseworthy acts and encompassed as well the life, death, resurrection, ascension of Jesus, and the outpouring of the spirit that is taking place on Pentecost itself. Still, even these latter events are not left to float freely; they are tethered to scripture, especially the psalms. So the praiseworthy acts of God extend from the creation of the world to the ascension of Jesus and the outpouring of the spirit at Pentecost—with all of them rooted in a catena of scriptural citations and allusions.⁴⁵ Inspiration is thus tied to the interpretation and proclamation of the scripture. The clarity of this communication, and the scriptural anchors that tether it, indicate that what Jesus’ followers say is, at least in part, the product of preparation, memorization, liturgies long recited, scripture texts well-rehearsed. This differs from Plutarch in terms of the content of their communication: Plutarch’s discussion of divination is concerned with foretelling the future, but Acts 2 comprises principally proclamation of the past (except for Acts 2:37– 39, which contains an invitation rather than prediction).

4.7 Peter’s Pentecost Sermon Peter, in an effort to explain to the crowd what has just occurred and to disabuse the crowd of their impression that the disciples are drunk, “raised his voice and proclaimed [ἀπεφθέγξατο] to them …” (Acts 2:14). The same verb that introduced “the praiseworthy acts of God” now introduces a speech or sermon that is replete

 Translation by John R. Levison.  Psalm 105 begins, “O give thanks to the LORD, call on God’s name/make known God’s deeds among the nations./Sing to God, sing praises to God/tell of all God’s praiseworthy acts” (Ps 105:1– 2). The words “praiseworthy acts” in LXX Ps 104:2 are τὰ θαυμάσια αὐτοῦ.  See Levison, Filled with the Spirit, 349 – 50.

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with scripture. Peter begins with a lengthy quotation of a prophecy from Joel that predicts the outpouring of the spirit, which Peter claims the crowd has just observed. He continues with citations of Psalm 15:8 – 11 and Psalm 109:1, as well as several clear allusions to 1Kings 2:10, Psalm 132:11, Isaiah 32:15, Isaiah 57:19, and Deuteronomy 32:5. All of these texts, according to Peter, with the sole exception of Joel 3:1– 5, which explains the believers’ behavior and speech, relate directly to the events surrounding the death and resurrection of Jesus. All of them provide certainty “that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified” (Acts 2:36). When Peter lifts up his voice, his “proclamation” (ἀποφθέγγεσθαι) has a very specific message: scripture confirms the validity of recent events. The sermon consists, simply put, of scriptural interpretation intended to demonstrate with certainty that the crucified Jesus is lord and messiah. Peter’s utterance, in other words, consists of the inspired interpretation of scripture.

4.8 Paul as a Sane Interpreter of Scripture Luke takes this verb up a third time when he depicts Paul in an appearance before the Roman governor. At a turning-point in Paul’s defense before Herod Agrippa II and the Roman governor, Porcius Festus, Festus interrupts Paul with the accusation, more emotional than forensic, “You are out of your mind, Paul! Too much learning is driving you insane.”⁴⁶ Paul takes this accusation seriously, denying it with a verb that provides the polar opposite of the sort of madness with which he is charged. He retorts, “I am not out of my mind, most excellent Festus, but I am speaking the sober truth.” Of all the words Luke might have chosen to contrast madness with mental composure, he chooses to contrast, in the clearest of terms, two expressions: “I am not mad” (οὐ μαίνομαι) and “I utter true and sober words” (ἀλλὰ ἀληθείας καὶ σωφροσύνης ῥήματα ἀποφθέγγομαι).⁴⁷  The verb “to be mad” occurs elsewhere in Acts in a comic and more benign context in the quaint story of the maid, Rhoda, who answers the door of a house where the community is worshipping. Standing there is Peter, fresh from prison through the intervention of an angel; Rhoda reacts by leaving him to stand there so that she can return to the group and tell them it is Peter. They respond, “You are mad [μαίνῃ]” (Acts 12:15) because they suppose it is not Peter but his angel. Two people, then, are charged with being insane in the book of Acts: Paul and Rhoda. Both charges are informal, though the charge against Paul is deadly serious and against Rhoda humorous and personal. The repetition in Paul’s charge, further, is more emphatic and less offhanded: Paul is mad, driven by his learning to madness.  Translations JRL.

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This is, furthermore, not sober proclamation of a generic sort but a clear instance of the inspired interpretation of scripture. Throughout the first part of Paul’s defense, Festus and Agrippa listen without the slightest objection to Paul’s autobiography (26:2– 21). The interruption comes only when Paul adduces scripture to explain what he believes happened in the recent death and resurrection of Jesus, the messiah: To this day I have had help from God, and so I stand here, testifying to both small and great, saying nothing but what the prophets and Moses said would take place: that the messiah must suffer, and that, by being the first to rise from the dead, he would proclaim light both to our people and to the Gentiles.

At this point in Paul’s defense, Festus interrupts, “You are out of your mind, Paul! Too much learning is driving you insane!” (26:22– 24). The accusation that Paul is mad has to do with Paul’s application of the scriptures—the prophets and Moses—to the messianic death and resurrection of Jesus.⁴⁸ Luke’s adoption of this verb, ἀποφθέγγομαι, in Acts 2:4 to describe inspiration by the holy spirit is significant. The adoption of this verb in the context of the Pentecost narrative blunts the hard edge of ecstasy while maintaining the rhetorical clout which that ecstatic dimension conveyed within the confines of the Greco-Roman world. In a dazzling world of disarray overflowing with violent winds, filling with pneuma, tongues as of fire, and the appearance of drunkenness, there occurs a trustworthy proclamation of scripture. These believers, like Paul before Agrippa and Festus much later in the story, are not mad or drunk; their proclamation, like Peter’s in quick succession and Paul’s later, contains a fresh interpretation of scripture that is, through and through, the essence of sobriety and truth.⁴⁹  As Ben Witherington (The Acts of the Apostles: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998], 649) puts it, “What is not meant is that Paul is incoherent or has taken total leave of his senses, but rather that he is given to outlandish ideas because of his ‘much learning.’”  Although Luke anticipates the experience of Pentecost with the promise that Jesus’ followers will be “clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49), “baptized with the holy spirit” (Acts 1:5), and powerful “when the holy spirit has come upon you” (Acts 1:8), the image he adopts at the moment of the event is filling: “all of them were filled with the holy spirit” (Acts 2:4). This is not, of course, the first instance in Luke-Acts in which someone is filled with the holy spirit. The aged Zechariah, on a tour of duty in the temple, was promised that his son, John, would be filled by the holy spirit even before his birth (Luke 1:15). His elderly wife too was filled with the holy spirit, as John leapt in her womb, and began to recite a blessing for Mary (1:41– 45), and Zechariah himself later added his own lengthier blessing of God when he was filled with the holy spirit (Luke 1:67). These are rich with scriptural allusions and rife with septuagintal style.

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We have shown in this article an inordinate amount of caution about the connections between Plutarch and the New Testament—an important effect of interdisciplinary collaboration. Yet at this point undue caution would be injudicious. The presence of a sober, rational interpretation of the religious tradition is certainly one of the most fundamental points of congruence between Plutarch and Luke.

5 The Resonant Relationship between Plutarch and Pentecost There is a rich resonance between Plutarch’s writings and Luke’s—both in what unites and divides them. In Acts 2, as in the Luke-Acts as a whole, pneuma plays a pivotal role. On the most general of levels in relation to the quest of a suitable context for pneuma in Acts 2—and the New Testament as a whole—Plutarch shows how debated the conception of pneuma was in first century religious discourse—for theological reasons! It is taken up by Plutarch as part of a Stoic understanding of prophecy, which he discusses in order to correct and incorporate it (in its corrected form) into his own thought. For both authors, enthusiasm is likened to inebriation, even if for Luke the likeness is unfounded and must be denied by Peter. For both authors, pneuma compacts a human being and makes him or her peculiarly receptive to revelation, even if Plutarch’s Lamprias sees this in purely physiological terms and Luke in theological terms such as the fulfilment of the prophecy in Joel. For both authors, pneuma is material, tensive, part and parcel of enthusiasm, even if Luke expresses this through the association of pneuma with theophanic realities rather than through a discussion of material influences on human beings, such as streams and vapors. For both authors, pneuma leads individuals to see visions and dream dreams, even if for Luke the spirit is the direct rather than mediate cause, as in Plutarch’s writings, of those dreams and visions. For both authors, pneuma leads the way to new insight, even if for Plutarch this may be poetic and for Luke the inspired interpretation of scripture as a testimony to Jesus.

Jesus, years later, would return to Galilee “full of the power of the holy spirit” (4:14), from the desert, where he had fasted for forty days while being tempted by the devil. Not surprisingly, in light of the verbal blessings that flowed from Zechariah and Elizabeth’s mouth when they were filled with the holy spirit, Jesus began to teach in the synagogues of Galilee (4:15), and his first so-called sermon consists of claiming that Isa 61 was now fulfilled in their midst.

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Along another vein, the materiality—relatively speaking—of pneuma at Pentecost should be noted. Stoic belief in the material or tensive quality of pneuma may have led to the charge of atheism, but the events of Pentecost are weighty with materiality. They begin with a sound that filled the entire house; this was an aural experience, for which an appropriate simile is a rushing wind. The events continue with divided tongues resting on each and every follower of Jesus; this was a visual experience. Finally, the group recited the praiseworthy acts of God in other dialects; this was an oral experience. These events are rich with materiality: actual sound, actual vision, actual tongues—spoken languages—that are no less real, in this story of Pentecost, than the wind that fills the room. Plutarch, we should note, did not disregard the material elements of divination, though he was careful to argue that these material elements are not divine.

6 Conclusion This study of Plutarch and Pentecost has significant implications for the origins of Christian pneumatology. While there is overlap between them, these implications may be outlined with relative clarity. 1. The writings of Plutarch contain perhaps the most extensive reservoir of information about enthusiasm, inspiration, revelation—whatever we may choose to call communication between the divine and human worlds—in Greco-Roman antiquity. Apart from sheer volume, his writings are important for our understanding of the origins of early Christian pneumatology because: (1) he lived during the first century; (2) as a representative of Early Imperial Platonism he preserved and discussed points of view other than his own; (3) he had first-hand experience of prophetic activities at the shrine at Delphi in which a prophetic pneuma rising from a chasm in the rock was said to play a key role; (4) he was not so much interested in metaphysical speculation as in theology based on the tradition of lived religion, even theology as the goal of philosophy. Plutarch’s interest in the traditions of lived religion as a basis for theological and philosophical knowledge offers close affinities with New Testament literature. The characteristics of the New Testament, in fact, are almost a mirror image of Plutarch’s writings: (1) much of the New Testament was composed during the first century; (2) the New Testament is a collection that preserves a variety of points of view on inspiration and revelation—even if in Plutarch’s writings, as opposed to the New Testament, Plutarch is their sole tradent; (3) New Testament authors claim to have first-hand experience of divination—or what might be called possession or inspiration; and (4)

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New Testament authors were not interested in religion in the abstract but in lived religion, theology; for some, such as the authors of the Fourth Gospel and the letter to the Hebrews, theology is the goal of a philosophical contemplation of the world. Although his writings are a vast reservoir of data on revelation in antiquity, Plutarch does not preserve this data in a pristine form; he preserves this data only through the sieve of his own Platonic proclivities. That is, Plutarch does not just preserve ideas; he interprets them—in a way comparable to the New Testament Evangelists, who collect, reformulate, and critically correct traditional material. For example, Plutarch interprets and corrects (from his perspective) the Stoic view that pneuma as a divine substance entering the body of the Pythia physically transmits the content of revelation. Plutarch does not believe that a material substance can be divine. When he presents this point of view, therefore, it is with a measure of caution, including the creation of distance between the presence of pneuma and actual revelation: pneuma prepares for revelation but is not the carrier of revelation. In light of number one (the affinities between the writings of Plutarch and the New Testament) and number two (the reality that Plutarch does not preserve points of view in a pristine form), it is imperative to realize that the writings of Plutarch cannot simply be mined for foregrounds to the New Testament. Plutarch’s writings must be set alongside other texts by other authors—Cicero, Seneca, and Stoic fragments, in particular—especially when the appeal to his writings concerns ideas with which he does not agree entirely, such as Stoic conceptions of pneuma. a. Extreme caution must be exercised in any argument that elements in the New Testament can be traced genetically to Plutarch’s writings. It is more judicious to realize that Plutarch’s writings provide analogous elements, as well as points of contrast to the New Testament. There is much more in Plutarch’s writings than in the New Testament—much more information, more detailed descriptions of the phenomena of divination, inspiration, and revelation—but that does not mean that what Plutarch says explains the New Testament. It is more accurate to say that Plutarch’s writings offer a wide palette, a sense of the swath of viewpoints about theology and religious experience in the world that both preceded the church and co-existed with it in its early years. Pneuma, as we have seen, provides an apt illustration. Plutarch preserves the Stoic point of view, though he himself rejects a Stoic understanding of the role of pneuma in the divinatory process because of his own theological point of view. We are able to gain, consequently, a sense of the Stoic position and Plutarch’s own perspective

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on pneuma—two points of view rather than one, and a disagreement between them on decidedly theological terms. Knowledge of this variegated territory in Antiquity provides important context by offering significant points of both similarity and difference. These allow a reader, two millennia later, to assess the meaning and worth of various discussions of and claims to pneuma that appear in the literature of the New Testament. For example, Plutarch’s discussion of the physiology of enthusiasm, as the prophet becomes heated, like someone intoxicated, with pores hot and open—and thus opening him or her to divine revelation—evinces distinct parallels to the New Testament. Yet there is little evidence in the book of Acts to suggest that Luke embraces this perspective on the physiology of inspiration, even though he too includes the elements of inflammation, intoxication, and pneuma. This observation may be viewed from another angle. The elements of enthusiasm preserved by Plutarch, for example, prove essential for our understanding of Pentecost as portrayed by Luke in the book of Acts. Yet they are not essential simply because they offer clear parallels. On the contrary, the differences are just as often of signal importance. For instance, the interpretation of prophetic inspiration as ventriloquism, reported by Plutarch as one possible—but ultimately unacceptable—interpretation of the phenomenon of interpretation, in which gods take over the mouths of prophets, provides an important point of contrast to Pentecost, in which the earliest followers of Jesus, when filled with (the) holy spirit, speak intelligently and in a variety of languages “the praiseworthy acts of God,” a litany of God’s activity from creation to the events of that very day. The loss of mental control according to Plutarch’s description of the ventriloquists or pythonic speakers —a perspective Plutarch rejects—provides an important point of contrast that allows us to plot Luke’s own perspective along a spectrum of views of revelation. The significance of Plutarch, at times, has less to do with content than with method. Plutarch preserves, for example, prevalent Stoic views of the Delphic pneuma in order to give pneuma a new role in a Platonic framework. This is analogous, as we pointed out, to Paul’s willingness to adopt the notion of pneuma, a regnant notion in the regnant philosophy of his day, but without embracing the entirety of Stoicism’s perspective on pneuma. In this case, Plutarch provides a parallel method even if his particular objection to Stoic pneumatology—claiming a physical pneuma to be divine amounts to atheism—is not, in terms of content, the same as the apostle Paul’s.

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This article leaves much left to be done both in the study of pneuma in the writings of Plutarch and the New Testament and in the study of the relationship between each corpus more generally. We have attempted to demonstrate, at base, that a comparison of these writings must be accomplished by laying them side by side rather than mining Plutarch’s writings in order to develop a foreground to the New Testament. When these writings are laid alongside one another and taken each in their own right, the scenario becomes more complex, more complicated—yet also a more reliable and textured contribution to our understanding of antiquity.

Soham Al-Suadi¹

“Even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit”—Luke 1:15 in the Spectrum of Theological and Medical Discourses of Early Christianity 1 Introduction When discussing the New Testament and ancient medical texts, the Gospel of Luke is often the starting point.² This is not surprising, since the New Testament refers to Luke as a doctor (Col 4:14) and since both the Gospel of Luke and Acts incorporate details about illness into the narrative. The detailed description of the human physique, which is a feature of the Gospel of Luke, gives the Gospel a medical flair. Exegetical studies of the New Testament have begun looking to ancient medical texts in order to gain background information about the various understandings of health and disease. A broad consensus within New Testament scholarship has evolved, claiming that Luke had basic knowledge of medical texts and general medical practices. These medical and biblical texts, however, diverge in content and purpose so that the overlap between them needs to be more accurately assessed. When this is done, the question naturally arises as to whether medical texts are relevant for the interpretation of the Lucan stories, which only indirectly describe healings of the sick. Because the characters experiencing healing in Luke’s narratives are not described within the classical framework of miracles and healings, it is necessary to broaden the scope of investigation by examining how physical inadequacy in general was overcome in medical texts. Luke 1:5 – 80, when referring to the physical inadequacy of Elisabeth, points significantly to πνεῦμα during both pregnancy and birth. Therefore,

 Soham Al-Suadi, Assistentin am Lehrstuhl für Neues Testament, Theologische Fakultät, Universiät Bern.  I would like to thank Prof. Dr. Jörg Frey, Prof. Dr. John R. Levison, and Prof. Dr. John Magliano Tromp for inclusion in this project about the historical roots of the spirit. Prof. Dr. Annette Weissenrieder, Prof. Dr. Teun L. Tieleman, and Prof. Dr. Rainer Hirsch-Luipold supported me at the completion of the contribution. I thank them for their interest and attentive support.

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this paper will ask whether medical texts can be profitable for an interpretation of the birth narrative in Luke 1.³ In Luke 1:5 – 80 it is striking that the references to the physical condition of the protagonists and the influence of the Spirit increasingly occur and are by no means meant metaphorically. In other words, medical knowledge and theological themes are connected throughout the discussion of the πνεῦμα and birth. Therefore, Luke’s medical knowledge about πνεῦμα in connection with pregnancy and childbirth should be examined, as well as the medical context behind these relationships. This paper gives particular attention to Luke 1:15. Luke 1:15 plays a key role in the text, since in this verse πνεῦμα is mentioned for the first time in the Gospel and since in the course of the chapter it is continuously related to medical overtones. Because medical sources about pregnancy and childbirth are numerous in antiquity, only those that overlap in terminology or theme with Luke 1:5 – 80 are taken into consideration. Notable among these are texts from the Corpus Hippocraticum and Aretaeus of Cappadocia, where the authors mention πνεῦμα as it relates to pregnancy and childbirth and emphasize several themes, including fulfillment (πίμπλημι), the (women’s) body (κοιλία, γαστήρ), and pregnancy (συλλαμβάνω). Thus, as we compare these texts our focus will be on discussing πνεῦμα and pregnancy as well as πνεῦμα in a woman’s body.⁴ Our analysis will unfold as follows: we will begin with an analysis of Luke 1:15 with the goal of understanding the extent to which this verse served as the basis for Luke’s medical references to the Spirit. We will then look at medical texts dealing with πνεῦμα in general and with pregnancy and childbirth in particular, asking which of these share similarities with Luke. Particular attention will be given to investigating how πνεῦμα was understood in the Corpus Hippo-

 Annette Weissenrieder (Images of Illness in the Gospel of Luke: Insights of Ancient Medical Texts, WUNT II/164 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003], 74– 75) argues that the birth narrative does not begin as a classic healing miracle, but has characteristics that suggest as much. Weissenrieder’s point is that the description of Elisabeth and Zechariah pictures them in need of relief and in submission, which is followed by the accurate portrayal of their suffering. Although even the angel is presented as an ambassador or representative of God, the announcement of John’s conception clearly indicates a healing miracle. The uniqueness of the miracle is due to the proximity of πνεῦμα and δύναμις, which is seen in the angel’s announcement to Mary. Another characteristic is the special consideration given to the protagonists’ personal motives in wanting healing. What is in question is whether or not Luke 1 is to be seen as a classic healing miracle— in the end it takes God’s miraculous healing of the barren Elizabeth and the dumb Zechariah to confirm the miracle.  Medical texts that deal with pregnancy without making πνεῦμα thematic are consulted in this paper only if they illustrate other relevant contexts.

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craticum and Aretaeus, especially as πνεῦμα related to pregnancy and childbirth. This will bring up the question about Luke’s familiarity with medical texts, which he may have incorporated or could have at least provided a background for his own argument. Debating that Luke 1 shows familiarity with specific diseases and with general medical knowledge, the paper links these physiological descriptions to the concept of πνεῦμα in Luke 1. The article concludes with a suggestion about the way in which medical sources can be used to assess the implied physiology in Luke 1:5 – 80.

2 Luke 1:15—A Key Verse in the First Chapter When the theological motifs of Luke 1 are considered, the Spirit is seen to be an important theme. This is evident based on 1) the content, because being filled with Holy Spirit enables Zechariah, Elizabeth, and Mary to proclaim the word of God; and based on 2) the exegetical details, because Luke 1:15 is the first of eight verses in which πνεῦμα is discussed in various forms in reference to the physiology of the body. Beginning with Luke 1:15, Gabriel tells Zechariah that his child will be filled with the Holy Spirit from the womb. The reader then learns that Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit when Mary came to visit (1:41).⁵ Mary, who is told by Gabriel that the Holy Spirit will come over her (1:35), confirms her joy in the Spirit (1:47) in the Magnificat, and Zechariah begins his prophetic praise after being filled with the Holy Spirit (1:67). Each subunit in Luke 1:5 – 80 is thus about the effect of the Spirit, and Luke 1:40 – 45 forms the center of the passage:⁶ a1: Zechariah welcomes the announcement of the birth of John (: – ) – Luke :: John will be filled with Holy Spirit in the womb – Luke :: He will go before the sons and daughters of Israel in Elijah’s spirit and power b: Mary welcomes the announcement of the birth of Jesus (: – ) – Luke :: Holy Spirit will come upon Mary ab: John and Elizabeth respond to Mary’s visit (: – ) – Luke :: Elizabeth is filled with Holy Spirit

 The phrase Ἐκ κοιλίας in Luke 1:15 identifies the time at which the fulfillment of the Spirit will commence and is similar to ἐν τῇ κοιλίᾳ in 1:41 and 44, which clearly confirms the womb as the earliest fulfillment. Codex W032 expresses the closeness between Luke 1:15b and Luke 1:41b in that ἐν κοιλῇ appears in both verses.  Michael Wolter, Das Lukasevangelium (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 71. Wolter structured the first chapter symmetrically, with the fulfillment of Elizabeth and John’s leaping in her womb during the visit of Mary standing in the middle.

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b: Mary responds with a hymn (: – ) – Luke :: Mary’s spirit exults in God a: Zechariah responds with a hymn (: – ) – Luke :: Zechariah is filled with Holy Spirit and prophesies

In previous studies on the birth narratives the importance of the Spirit in Luke 1 has been recognized, but neither the key role nor the contextual references of Luke 1:15 have been perceived. This is due primarily to the fact that Luke 1:15 has been interpreted as prophetic professional language or understood as making use of Old Testament traditions.⁷ The verse, however, does far more in the context: it introduces a discourse about the Holy Spirit, which is also linked to Mary in 1:35. In 1:41 Elisabeth is then filled with Holy Spirit, blesses Mary and identifies her as the mother of her Lord. Zechariah, after regaining his voice, is also filled with Holy Spirit. Luke 1:15 is, therefore, the starting point for the many prophetic pronouncements and encounters with God. Likewise, Luke 1:15 is the first verse where πνεῦμα is connected with human physiology. Furthermore, each reference to πνεῦμα in Luke 1:5 – 80 bears a connection with medical terminology and also reveals to the characters in the story the nature of their physique. Thus, vv. 1:15 and 1:17 are part of the birth announcement of John; vv. 1:35 and 1:41 discuss Elizabeth and Mary’s compliance with πνεῦμα in the context of their pregnancies; vv. 1:47 and 1:67 describe πνεῦμα in connection with the hymns of Mary and Zechariah. As was already stated, this paper asks whether medical sources help to explain this close relationship between πνεῦμα and human physiology in Luke 1. After briefly explaining the role that medical knowledge might have played in everyday literary contexts (3), an attempt will be made to take a fresh look at the medical contexts in Luke 1 by drawing from medical sources about pregnancy and πνεῦμα (4) as well as πνεῦμα in the body (5). Such an analysis will then provide us with the proper tools to pause and ask how Greco-Roman medical authors understood πνεῦμα in women’s bodies, especially during their pregnancies.

3 Medicine in Everyday Literary Contexts Medical knowledge and discourses on relevant “medical-basics” were common social areas of interest. Ancient authors, including not only doctors but also phi-

 Wolter, Das Lukasevangelium, 79. With regard to Lev 10:9, Num 6:3, Deut 14:26; 29:5, Judg 13:4, 7, 14 and Isa 29:9, Wolter interprets John’s abstaining from alcoholic beverages as an expression of his special closeness to God.

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losophers, historians, and rhetoricians, were interested in these medical themes that found broad acceptance in society. Four medical schools appear in particular: 1. the so-called Dogmatic or “Logical” school, which had a theoretical basis for their medicine;⁸ 2. the Skeptical Empiricists, who rejected any theoretical basis and gained their medical results from their own and external examinations, as well as from a process of analogy;⁹ 3. the Methodologists, for whom skepticism was a basis, but who only gleaned their knowledge from the appearance of diseases and therefore paid no attention to the hidden causes of disease;¹⁰ 4. the Pneumatics, who were influenced by the philosophy of the Stoics and due to the “Hippocrates-Renaissance” understood the “four-fluids” doctrine in the sense of a humoral pathology. In contrast to the medicine of Hippocrates, the Pneumatics could relate to anatomical studies and observed that the organs, not the fluids, were the essential elements of the body.¹¹ The classification of medical schools can be observed after the period of Alexandrian medicine in the 3rd century B.C.E. With the distinction between medical schools that dealt with anatomic knowledge and those that analyzed pathological examinations, the extent of diversity becomes clear. While the Dogmatists and Pneumatics developed the theories of anatomy and pathology, Empiricist and Skeptics rejected these teachings. For this reason, knowledge about the location of certain diseases is not found in all schools. Only the dogmatic and pneumatic schools were able to pinpoint the specific location of a disease. But none of the schools had a systematic pathology. This is particularly relevant, indicating that the cycles of disease were investigated only rudimentarily. The Pneumatics’ reference to the doctrine of the four-fluids is located in this context, and a fruitful development of an anatomical pathology is absent.¹² To reconstruct the possible relationship between Luke and these medical sources, the following sections will discuss πνεῦμα in medical contexts and then the medical terminology found in Luke 1:5 – 80.

 Almuth Gelpke, Das Konzept des erkrankten Ortes in Galens “De locis affectis,” Zürcher medizingeschichtlichen Abhandlungen 190 (Zürich: Juris Verlag, 1987), 27.  Gelpke, Erkrankten Ortes, 31.  Gelpke, Erkrankten Ortes, 32.  Gelpke, Erkrankten Ortes, 34.  Gelpke, Erkrankten Ortes, 43.

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3.1 Πνεῦμα in Medical Context The meanings of πνεῦμα in medical contexts of antiquity are extensive and therefore difficult to summarize in one sentence. This difficulty comes as little surprise, since in ancient medicine πνεῦμα was understood as a principle supporting not only material reality in its totality but also all human expressions.¹³ Therefore πνεῦμα is a “Lebenssubstanz des Menschen,”¹⁴ which can be relevant in different forms for human existence. The modern boundaries between physically differentiated aggregate states of liquids, solids, and others, is not provided by ancient medicine. To illustrate these “border crossings” in relation to breathing, Troy Martin quotes Galen (An in arteriis natura sanguis contineatur, 6.3): For it [the pneuma] can all be breathed out again, as indeed has been the opinion of the majority of both physicians and philosophers and the most accurate of them, who say that the heart requires not the substance but the quality of the pneuma, since it needs to be cooled … We have shown in The Use of Breathing [2] that either very little or none at all of the substance of the pneuma is transmitted to the heart.¹⁵

This quote makes it clear that πνεῦμα played an important role in the physiology of the human body and was understood in very diverse ways. In this section, Galen states that πνεῦμα is crucial to the quality of breathing—implying that what is fundamentally important is not the substance but the nature (here the cooling function of the πνεῦμα). In our examination of Luke 1 that follows, we will show the extent to which πνεῦμα in its diverse usages also carried medical, anthropological, and philosophical shades of meaning. Before this we will have a quick glance at medical knowledge and the work of the spirit in Luke 1:5 – 80.

 Christian Strecker, “Zugänge zum Unzugänglichen—‘Geist’ als Thema neutestamentlicher Forschung,” ZNT 13.25 (2010), 7: Ein in “stofflicher Hinsicht tragendes Prinzip der gesamten materiellen Wirklichkeit und aller Lebensäußerungen des Menschen.”  Strecker, “Zugänge,” 7. (Lebenssubstanz = substance of life).  Martin, “Ancient Medical Texts, Newly Re-discovered: The medical Background of Biblical Breathing,” 521 f. Translation is drawn from D. J. Furley and J. S. Wilkie, Galen on Respiration and the Arteries: An Edition with English Translation and Commentary of De Usu Respirationis, An in Arteries Natura Sanguis Contineatur, De Usu Pulsuum, And De Causis Respirationis (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 169.

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3.2 Luke’s Medical Knowledge and the Work of the Spirit in Luke 1:5 – 80 Quite often in scholarly investigations, Septuagint and classical Greek works are used to illustrate the Hellenistic context of the Gospel of Luke. As recent studies have demonstrated, however, this is insufficient.¹⁶ Pagan texts from the GrecoRoman era should also be considered, especially with reference to medical issues. In the context of Luke when considering how much medical knowledge in general and how much about πνεῦμα in particular were incorporated in the birth narrative, the focus must be on a description of the characters’ physical constitution. The fact that Luke describes certain diseases in detail and discusses issues common to pregnancy and birth might indicate that he is making use of general medical knowledge and incorporating this in his (theological) framework. In Luke 1:5 – 80 medical themes are mentioned in: 1 the infertility of Elizabeth (Luke 1:7) – the advancing age of Zechariah and Elisabeth, which, although not a disease, hinders conception (Luke 1:7, 18, 36) – the birth of John is announced by the Angel of the Lord and is confirmed in the narrative (Luke 1:13, 57) 2 Pregnancy is repeatedly mentioned and suggested (Luke 1:15, 24, 31, 41, 42, 44)

 Troy Martin, in his article “Ancient Medical Texts, Newly Rediscovered: The Medical Background of Biblical Breathing,” (Early Christianity 1.4 [2010], 515 – 16), traces New Testament studies’ interest in medical sources back to the work of William K. Hobart (The Medical Language of St. Luke: A Proof from Internal Evidence that the Gospel according to St. Luke and the Acts of the Apostles Were Written by the Same Person, and that the Writer was a Medical Man [Dublin: Hodges Figgis/Longmans Green, 1882). Recent studies are from Howard Clark Kee (Medicine, Miracle and Magic in New Testament Times, SNTS [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986]), John J. Pilch (Healing in the New Testament: Insights from Medical and Mediterranean Anthropology [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000]); Dale B. Martin (The Corinthian Body [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1995]), and Weissenrieder (Images of Illness). Martin himself argues for medical text analysis in biblical studies in the following works: “Whose flesh? What temptation?: (Galatians 4:13 – 14),” JSNT 74 (1999): 65 – 91; “Paul’s Argument from Nature for the Veil in 1Corinthians 11:13 – 15: A Testicle instead of a Head Covering,” JBL 123 (2004): 75 – 84; “Veiled Exhortations Regarding the Veil: Ethos as the Controlling Proof in Moral Persuasion (1Cor 11:2– 16),” In Rhetoric, Ethic, and Moral Persuasion in Biblical Discourse, ed. Thomas H. Olbricht (New York: T&T Clark, 2005): 255 – 73; “Paul’s Pneumatological Statements and Ancient Medical Texts : Studies in Honor of David E. Aune,” In The New Testament and Early Christian Literature in Greco-Roman Context, ed. John Fotopoulos (Leiden: Brill, 2006): 105 – 26.

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3

Zechariah’s loss of voice is considered a physical result of his opposition to Gabriel; as soon as he affirms that his son’s name is John, his tongue is loosed (Luke 1:20, 22, 64) – Mary’s virginity is discussed with regards to how she can possibly be a mother (Luke 1:27, 34) in connection with Mary’s pregnancy, the issue of conception is implied (Luke 1:35)

Thus, each of the characters in this story is faced with seemingly insurmountable physical circumstances. Another important aspect in the narrative that is closely related to the sometimes miraculous physical occurrences is the influence of the Spirit upon the characters: – John will be filled (πίμπλημι) with the Holy Spirit in the womb (1:15) – the Holy Spirit will come upon Mary (ἐπέρχομαι) (1:35); John jumped (σκιρτάω) in his mother’s womb before the Spirit filled Elizabeth (1:41, 44) – Zechariah is filled with the Holy Spirit (πίμπλημι) and is soothsaying (προφητεύω) (1:67). The Spirit fills or comes upon John, Mary, Elisabeth, and Zechariah. Mary, Elizabeth, and Zechariah illustrate that their physical conditions not only have medical relevance, but are also an integral part of the birth narrative. Within this context, Luke 1:15 serves as the overarching junction of medical and theological topics. Thus, our primary focus in this paper is on this verse, especially since Gabriel’s announcement in 1:13 – 18 questions for the first time in the narrative the characters’ physiological limitations. In order to discern precisely what significance is given to πνεῦμα in the womb and for motherhood, the following paragraph will look at relevant medical sources that deal with the themes pregnancy and childbirth. Being filled (πίμπλημι) with πνεῦμα in connection to the (woman’s) body (κοιλία) was not an uncommon topic in ancient medical literature. Descriptions of pregnancy were not uncharted territory in the pagan medical environment during the time in which the Gospel of Luke was composed. The following observations are based on a selection of ancient medical texts from the Corpus Hippocraticum and Aretaeus of Cappadocia. Each of these texts discusses πνεῦμα and pregnancy as well as πνεῦμα and childbirth. After looking at these treatises, we will draw comparisons with Luke 1:15 based on the themes of fulfillment (πίμ-

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πλημι), the (woman’s) body (κοιλία,¹⁷ γαστήρ¹⁸), and pregnancy (συλλαμβάνω¹⁹). Without claiming to be exhaustive, the medical perspectives of these texts will first be considered.²⁰

4 Pregnancy and πνεῦμα As was already mentioned, Luke is keen to combine medical knowledge about the pregnancy with πνεῦμα’s effects in his first chapter. Luke 1:15 is taken up again and confirmed in Luke 1:41 and 44. This means that Gabriel’s announcement that John will be filled with the Holy Spirit in the womb is confirmed in Luke 1:41, where Elizabeth, after greeting Mary and feeling John jump in her womb, is filled with πνεῦμα. Because of the presence of medical knowledge in every day literary life, we will assume for now that Luke was acquainted with the themes of pregnancy and fertility from the Corpus Hippocraticum, which in some ways are similar to the quite prominent (in ancient times) medical discourses of anatomical gynecology in Soranus²¹ and Galen.²² The Corpus Hippocraticum includes medical discussions dating from the 5th century B.C.E. to the first century C.E., which all reflect the medical tradition of Hippocrates. This means that they discuss both anatomy and physiology for their medical studies. Fertility and pregnancy are predominantly discussed if women are not pregnant or their pregnancy is at risk.²³ Individual investigations are

 “Uterus” in Luke 1:41, 44; 2:21; 11:27; 23:29. ἐκ κοιλίας also describes the earliest moment of a person’s life in Matt 19:12; Luke 1:15; Acts 3:2; 14:8 and Gal 1:15.  See Luke 1:31.  Weissenrieder, Images of Illness, 89 who argues that συλλαμβάνω indicates a treatment of infertility.  It is crucial for this paper that the texts are discussed only in relation to the use of πνεῦμα.  Although the gynecology of Soranus is enlightening, it was not used for this investigation because Soranus addressed πνεῦμα in libri iv Gynaeciorum only ten times (1:38, 61; 2:6, 11, 23; 4:2, 7, 36), and these texts are not related to fulfillment or something similar.  A. E. Hanson explains the close relationship between the corpus Hippocraticum, Galen, and Soranus in detail; see Hanson “Aphorismi 5.28 – 63 and the Gynaecological Texts of the Corpus Hippocraticum,” In Magic and Rationality in Ancient Near Eastern and Graeco-Roman Medicine, ed. H. F. J. Horstmanshoff (Leiden: Brill, 2004): 277– 304.  Furthermore, phantom pregnancies are observed. Aer. 7 reflects how different water qualities impact women. In regions where the water comes to a stop, women suffer swelling and hardened or festering glands (φλέγμα λευκόν = leucophlegmasia). The swellings in children and adults are huge—to the point that women often suppose they are pregnant, since their bellies are filled with liquid; see Hippocrates (Hippocrates Collected Works I, Logos Bible Software [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1868], 82– 86).

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mentioned in which the doctors clarify whether infertility is due to the behavior of the woman or not.²⁴ In contrast, the conditions that favor a pregnancy are also described. Aphorismi 5.62, says that a woman’s uterus should be neither too dry nor too hot: Ὁκόσαι ψυχρὰς καὶ πυκνὰς τὰς μήτρας ἔχουσιν, οὐ κυίσκουσιν· καὶ ὁκόσαι καθύγρους ἔχουσι τὰς μήτρας, οὐ κυίσκουσιν, ἀποσβέννυται γὰρ ὁ γόνος· καὶ ὁκόσαι ξηρὰς μᾶλλον καὶ περικαέας, ἐνδείῃ γὰρ τῆς τροφῆς φθείρεται τὸ σπέρμα· ὁκόσαι δὲ ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων τὴν κρᾶσιν ἔχουσι ξύμμετρον, αἱ τοιαῦται ἐπίτεκνοι γίνονται.²⁵ Women do not conceive who have the womb dense and cold; those who have the womb watery do not conceive, for the seed is drowned; those who have the womb over-dry and very hot do not conceive, for the seed perishes through lack of nourishment. But those whose temperament is a just blend of the two extremes prove able to conceive.²⁶

Another feature is the geographical location, which is a factor for both fertility and the course of the pregnancy. Place descriptions, therefore, are preserved in the corpus Hippocraticum, which give doctors an overview of the respective geographical conditions. Aer. 4 from the Corpus Hippocraticum describes that the water in cities, which by nature of their design are exposed to cold winds, is hard and cold. Women often have an impaired fertility because they have no healthy menstruation. Although they have great difficulty conceiving, they experience very few miscarriages at birth. The diet of the child is problematic after the birth, since the women produce little milk due to hard water. These factors are seen in the following passage from Aer. 4: τῇσι δὲ γυναιξί· πρῶτον μὲν στερίφαι πολλαὶ γίνονται διὰ τὰ ὕδατα ἐόντα σκληρά τε καὶ ἀτέραμνα καὶ ψυχρά. αἱ γὰρ καθάρσιες οὐκ ἐπιγίνονται τῶν ἐπιμηνίων ἐπιτήδειαι, ἀλλὰ ὀλί-

 Hippocrates, Hippocrates Collected Works I, Logos Bible Software [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1868], 296 f: “Fecundity tests to determine whether or not a woman can conceive appear not infrequently in Hippocratic gynaecology.” A proven method is a test of the spread of odors (such as garlic or perfumes) in a woman’s body; if garlic or the perfume that were inserted in the vagina or uterus are smelled, then the woman’s infertility is not due to her physique; see Hippocrates, “Aphorismi 5.59” In Oeuvres complètes d’Hippocrate, trans. E. Littré (Logos Bible Software): Γυνὴ ἢν μὴ λαμβάνῃ ἐν γαστρὶ, βούλῃ δὲ εἰδέναι εἰ λήψεται, περικαλύψας ἱματίοισι, θυμία κάτω· κἢν μὲν πορεύεσθαι δοκέῃ ἡ ὀδμὴ διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἐς τὰς ῥῖνας καὶ ἐς τὸ στόμα, γίνωσκε ὅτι αὐτὴ οὐ δι’ ἑωυτὴν ἄγονός ἐστιν; “If a woman does not conceive, and you wish to know if she will conceive, cover her round with wraps and burn perfumes underneath. If the smell seems to pass through the body to the mouth and nostrils, be assured that the woman is not barren through her own physical fault” (“Aphorisms” In Hippocrates, trans. W. H. S. Jones, ed. J. Henderson [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931], 175).  Hippocrates, Oeuvres, 554– 56.  Hippocrates, “Aphorisms,” trans. Jones, 175.

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γαι καὶ πονηραί. ἔπειτα τίκτουσι χαλεπῶς· ἐκτιτρώσκουσι δὲ ου’ σφόδρα. ὁκόταν δὲ τέκωσι, τὰ παιδία ἀδύνατοι τρέφειν εἰσί· τὸ γὰρ γάλα ἀποσβέννυται ἀπὸ τῶν ὑδάτων τῆς σκληρότητος καὶ ἀτεραμνίης· φθίσιές τε γίνονται συχναὶ ἀπὸ τῶν τοκετῶν. ὑπὸ γὰρ βίης ῥήγματα ἴσχουσι καὶ σπάσματα.²⁷ As to the women, firstly many become barren through the waters being hard, indigestible and cold. Their menstrual discharges are not healthy, but are scanty and bad. Then childbirth is difficult, although abortion is rare. After bearing children they cannot rear them, for their milk is dried up through the hardness and indigestibility of the waters, while cases of phthisis are frequent after parturition, for the violence of it causes ruptures and strains.²⁸

Cities that are exposed to hot winds fair no better in regards to reproduction. Aer. 3 describes the following: Ὅκως δὲ χρὴ ἕκαστα τῶν προειρημένων σκοπεῖν καὶ βασανίζειν, ἐγὼ φράσω σαφέως. ἥτις μὲν πόλις πρὸς τὰ πνεύματα κεῖται τὰ θερμά—ταῦτα δ’ ἐστὶ μεταξὺ τῆς τε χειμερινῆς ἀνατολῆς τοῦ ἡλίου καὶ τῶν δυσμέων τῶν χειμερινῶν—καὶ αὐτῇ ταῦτα τὰ πνεύματά ἐστι σύννομα, τῶν δὲ ἀπὸ τῶν ἄρκτων πνευμάτων σκέπη, ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει ἐστὶ τά τε ὕδατα πολλὰ καὶ ὕφαλα, καὶ ἀνάγκη εἶναι μετέωρα, τοῦ μὲν θέρεος θερμά, τοῦ δὲ χειμῶνος ψυχρά· τούς τε ἀνθρώπους τὰς κεφαλὰς ὑγρὰς ἔχειν καὶ φλεγματώδεας, τάς τε κοιλίας αὐτῶν πυκνὰ ἐκταράσσεσθαι ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς τοῦ φλέγματος ἐπικαταρρέοντος· τά τε εἴδεα ἐπὶ τὸ πλῆθος αὐτῶν ἀτονώτερα εἶναι· ἐσθίειν δ’ οὐκ ἀγαθοὺς εἶναι οὐδὲ πίνειν. ὁκόσοι μὲν γὰρ κεφαλὰς ἀσθενέας ἔχουσιν, οὐκ ἂν εἴησαν ἀγαθοὶ πίνειν· ἡ γὰρ κραιπάλη μᾶλλον πιέζει. νοσήματά τε τάδε ἐπιχώρια εἶναι· πρῶτον μὲν τὰς γυναῖκας νοσερὰς καὶ ῥοώδεας εἶναι· ἔπειτα πολλὰς ἀτόκους ὑπὸ νούσου καὶ οὐ φύσει, ἐκτιτρώσκεσθαί τε πυκνά.²⁹ I will now set forth clearly how each of the foregoing questions ought to be investigated, and the tests to be applied. A city that lies exposed to the hot winds—these are those between the winter rising of the sun and its winter setting—when subject to these and sheltered from the north winds, the waters here are plentiful and brackish, and must be near the surface, hot in summer and cold in winter. The heads of the inhabitants are moist and full of phlegm, and their digestive organs are frequently deranged from the phlegm that runs down into them from the head. Most of them have a rather flabby physique, and they are poor eaters and poor drinkers. For men with weak heads will be poor drinkers, as the after-effects are more distressing to them. The endemic diseases are these. In the first place, the women are unhealthy and subject to excessive fluxes. Then many are barren through disease and not by nature, while abortions are frequent.³⁰

Women in these areas have health problems. They are infertile, which does not reflect on their physical conditions and diseases. Even miscarriages, therefore, are more common than in other regions.    

Hippocrates, Hippocrates, Hippocrates, Hippocrates,

Collected Collected Collected Collected

Works Works Works Works

I., I., I., I.,

trans. trans. trans. trans.

Jones, 78. Jones, 79. Jones, 72– 74. Jones, 73 – 75.

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The distinction between induced complications during the pregnancy by disease or by natural circumstances draws more circles. Climatic conditions resulting from the season are also taken into account in the Corpus Hippocraticum. Aer. 10 predicts that a lack of stormy rain in the summer makes abortions more likely, while children born in spring are born ill and weak: καὶ ἢν μὲν ἐπὶ κυνὸς ἐπιτολῇ ὕδωρ ἐπιγένηται καὶ χειμὼν καὶ οἱ ἐτησίαι πνεύσωσιν, ἐλπὶς παύσασθαι καὶ τὸ μετόπωρον ὑγιηρὸν γενέσθαι· ἢν δὲ μή, κίνδυνος θανάτους τε γενέσθαι τοῖσι παιδίοισι καὶ τῇσι γυναιξίν, τοῖσι δὲ πρεσβύτῃσιν ἥκιστα, τούς τε περιγενομένους ἐς τεταρταίους ἀποτελευτᾶν καὶ ἐκ τῶν τεταρταίων ἐς ὕδρωπας. ἢν δ’ ὁ μὲν χειμὼν νότιος γένηται καὶ ἔπομβρος καὶ εὔδιος, τὸ δὲ ἦρ βόρειόν τε καὶ αὐχμηρὸν καὶ χειμέριον, πρῶτον μὲν τὰς γυναῖκας, ὁκόσαι ἂν τύχωσιν ἐν γαστρὶ ἔχουσαι καὶ ὁ τόκος αὐτῇσιν ᾖ πρὸς τὸ ἦρ, ἐκτιτρώσκεσθαι· ὁκόσαι δ’ ἂν καὶ τέκωσιν, ἀκρατέα τὰ παιδία τίκτειν καὶ νοσώδεα, ὥστε ἢ αὐτίκα ἀπόλλυσθαι, ἢ ζῶσι λεπτά τε ἐόντα καὶ ἀσθενέα καὶ νοσώδεα. ταῦτα μὲν τῇσι γυναιξί.³¹ If at the rising of the Dog Star³² stormy rain occurs and the Etesian winds blow, there is hope that the distempers will cease and that the autumn will be healthy. Otherwise there is danger lest deaths occur among the women and children, and least of all among the old men; and lest those that get better lapse into quartans, and from quartans into dropsies. But if the winter be southerly, rainy and mild, and the spring be northerly, dry and wintry, in the first place women with child whose delivery is due by spring suffer abortion; and if they do bring forth, their children are weak and sickly, so that either they die at once, or live puny, weak and sickly. Such is the fate of the women.³³

It is clear that the πνεῦμα, which has influence on the pregnancy, is only to be understood as wind or air in these documents of the Corpus Hippocraticum. Thus, the geographical location of cities has bearing on the health of women and children. In addition, it is significant that even for healthy women pregnancies can be risky, as long as the environmental conditions deteriorate. In addition to these the medical guidelines of the Corpus Hippocraticum where the higher uplands are preferred to any stuffy city, medical studies also focus on embryonic development. Thus, the movements of the fetus during pregnancy are discussed and used for diagnostics. The Hippocratic writings evaluate the time in which the fetus has a distinct form, valuing it just as much as the first movements of the fetus.³⁴ In de victu these developments are traced back to the

 Hippocrates, Collected Works I., trans. Jones, 98 – 100.  Sirius refers to hot summer months like July or August.  Hippocrates, Collected Works I., trans. Jones, 99 – 105.  L. Cilliers, “Vindicianus’ Gynaecia and Theories on Generation and Embryology from the Babylonians up to Graeco-Roman Times,” In Magic and Rationality in Ancient Near Eastern and Graeco-Roman Medicine, ed. H. J. Horstmanshoff (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 356.

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70th, 80th, 90th or 100th day.³⁵ Galen observed in this regard that female fetuses are at times much stronger than male ones and therefore show more movement (Aphorismi 5.42).³⁶ On the other hand, he notes that the male fetus develops faster and moves earlier than the female.³⁷ The medical and philosophical interest in the development of the embryo is great. Some discuss the differences between male and female fetuses and their developments in general, others deal with the issue of when a fetus is a living being, or at what point a fetus has a soul.³⁸

5 Πνεῦμα in the Body The notion of being filled by πνεῦμα is not uncommon in medical studies. The following observations refer to these contexts and consider how to evaluate medical texts of Aretaeus of Cappadocia, who discusses πνεῦμα in the body. Aretaeus is described by Karl Deichgräber as a physician who analyzes the sick and their suffering vividly and not without compassion.³⁹ Aretaeus tends to describe diseases systematically, describing etiology and symptoms repeatedly and from various perspectives, as well as the treatment of acute and chronic diseases. Aretaeus was probably born 80 or 81 C.E. in Cappadocia and died between 130 and 138 C.E. in Alexandria.⁴⁰ He is, therefore, a representative of the socalled renaissance of Hippocrates in Alexandria, which was characterized by very advanced medical practice and studies. Aretaeus can be associated with the Pneumatics, since he was influenced by the Stoics and therefore gained med-

 Cilliers, “Vindicianus,” 358, who refers to: De victu 2.42.9  Hanson, “Aphorismi,” 298.  Cilliers, “Vindicianus,” 354.  Vivian Nutton, Ancient Medicine (London: Routledge, 2004), 211 f.  Karl Deichgräber, Aretaeus von Kappadozien als medizinischer Schriftsteller, Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaft zu Leipzig (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1971), 33.  Max Wellmann, “Aretaios,” In Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1895), 669. Wellmann states that Aretaeus “lebte nach Archigenes und vor Alexander Aphrodisiensis, der ihn zuerst zitiert.” Prioreschi (A History of Medicine: Roman Medicine [Omaha: Horatius Press, 1996], 268 f.) correctly draws attention to the point that it is not possible to have an exact date. Max Wellmann opts for the late second or early third century (“Aretaios,” 669). His critic Fridolf Kudlien dated Aretaeus earlier in the middle of the first century (“Untersuchungen zu Aretaios von Kappadokien,” [Ph.D diss., Mainz, 1964], 23). Rudolf Siegel favors the second century (Galen’s System of Physiology and Medicine [Basel: Karger, 1968], 288) and Harris the late first century under Vespasian (C. R. S. Harris, The Heart and Vascular System in Ancient Greek Medicine: From Alcmaeon to Galen [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973], 235).

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ical knowledge philosophically.⁴¹ His writings have been preserved almost entirely in two books.⁴² There are 18 Greek manuscripts, which need conjectured editing.⁴³ CA = ὀξέων νούσων θεραπευτικόν (De curatione acutorum morborum) CD = χρονίων νούσων θεραπευτικόν (De curatione diuturnorum morborum) SA = περὶ αἰτιῶν καὶ σημείων ὀξέων παθῶν (De causis et signis acutorum morborum) SD = περὶ αἰτιῶν καὶ σημείων χρονίων παθῶν (De causis et signis diuturnorum morborum) Deichgräber, honoring Aretaeus as a medical writer, describes the Hippocratic influences with the linguistic acumen of a doctor. Hence, where the opportunity presented itself, Aretaeus used Hippocratic lexemes and vocabulary, and Hippocratic phrases and sentences.⁴⁴ The result was not only the updating of Hippocratic medicine, but also an adaptation of Homer.⁴⁵ Although Fridolf Kudlien disputes a late 2nd century date, he also acknowledges that Aretaeus used a “bewußt akzentuierten Hippokratismus”⁴⁶ to situate his medical examination in medical debates.⁴⁷ That makes him at the same time an orthodox representative of his discipline, because he explicitly refers to the doxography of the medical school founded by Hippocrates.⁴⁸ The described characteristics of the Pneumatics are

 Its association with the Pneumatics is disputed among others by Prioreschi. He doubted that πνεῦμα is mentioned in meaningful places by Aretaeus and compares Aretaeus with Galen. Galen on the other hand, who considers πνεῦμα important and commonly used the term, is not called a Pneumatic (Prioreschi, History of Medicine, 270). The discussion about an appropriate categorization of the doctor in a scientific school is not decisive for this argument. Aretaeus connects central processes in the human organism with πνεῦμα, and πνεῦμα is understood as an indicator of health and disease in the texts that are discussed here. Whether even a clear differentiation between medical schools is possible and helpful must be debated elsewhere.  The first four sections of the first book and the first section of the eighth book are missing. Also Aretaeus mentioned four other works (“On Fevers,” “On Surgery,” “On Diseases of Women,” and “On Drugs”), which are not preserved. Pseudo-Alexander of Aphrodisias mentions two other works (“De febribus” and “On Prophylaxis”), which also are not preserved; see Prioreschi, History of Medicine, 268.  Kudlien, “Aretaios von Kappadokien,” 42, 44. Kudlien compares the complete edition by Hudes, which did not notice this type of edition, such as Petit, Wigan and Ermerins.  Deichgräber, Aretaeus von Kappadozien, 42.  Deichgräber, Aretaeus von Kappadozien, 42.  “Consciously accented Hippocratism.”  Kudlien, “Aretaios von Kappadokien,” 33.  Kudlien, “Aretaios von Kappadokien,” 33: “Sein Hippokratisieren führt ihn zugleich zum Homerisieren. Er übernimmt homerische Wörter, Wendungen, Versteile und ganze Verse.”

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reflected by Aretaeus, since πνεῦμα was understood as equally available in both the microcosm and the macrocosm. Therefore, πνεῦμα is immediately regarded as relevant for people’s health and illness.⁴⁹ The following texts will show that Aretaeus believed πνεῦμα was responsible for the inner causes of certain diseases. This is relevant for his understanding of planted heat and the heart as a central organ.⁵⁰ For Aretaeus, it is relevant that πνεῦμα on the one hand acts outwardly upon people and on the other hand is effective in them. Aretaeus’s multi-perspective perception of diseases is crucial not only for the reconstruction of the text, but is a particular characteristic of his writing style. His literary skills allow him to describe the suffering and cures of his patients very elaborately. In this sense it is important to observe that his references to πνεῦμα in his medical studies are far more accurate than those in the Corpus Hippocraticum. The following texts shed light on the outward and inward effects of πνεῦμα on the human body and describe a state of affairs that might be quite similar to Luke 1:15 ff. These texts explain how people who are filled with πνεῦμα are inevitably confronted with their physiological processes. The first text (Περὶ Συνάγχης; SA 1.7) regards changes of πνεῦμα as a serious disease: Ἡ συνάγχη κάτοξυ μέντοι πάθος· ἀναπνοῆς γὰρ ἡ πίεσις. δύο δὲ τὰ εἴδεα· ἢ γὰρ τῶν ὀργάνων τῶν τῆς ἀναπνοῆς ἐστι φλεγμονὴ, ἢ μούνου τοῦ πνεύματος πάθος, ἐφ’ ὡυτέου την αἰτίην ἴσχοντος… . συνάγχην τήνδε καλέομεν, οἷον συνεύουσαν ἔνδον καὶ ἄγχουσαν. ἐμοὶ δὲ δοκέει αὐτέου τοῦ πνεύματος μούνου τὸ κακὸν ἔμμεναι, τροπὴν πονηρὴν ἐς τὸ θερμότα τον καὶ ξηρότατον τρεπομένου, ἄνευθεν τοῦ σώματός τινος φλεγμονῆς. ἔστι δὲ οὐ μέγα τὸ θωῦμα. καὶ γὰρ ἐν Χαρωνίοισιν αἱ πνίξιες οὐ σωμάτων πάθεϊ ὀξυτάτῳ γίγνονται, ἀλλὰ καὶ μιᾷ εἰσπνοῇ θνήσκουσι ὥνθρωποι, πρὶν τὸ σῶμα κακόν τι παθέειν… . Ξυνάγχης δὲ, σύμπτωσις, ἰσχνότης, ὠχρότης σύνεστι · ὀφθαλμοὶ κοῖλοι, εἴσω δεδυκότες· φάρυγξ καὶ γαργαρέων ἀνεσπασμένοι, παρίσθμια ἐπὶ μᾶλλον προσίζοντα, ἀφωνίη · πνὶξ ἡ τοῦδε τοῦ εἴδεος τῆς πρόσθεν πολλόν τι κραταιοτέρη, ἐν θώρηκι ἐόντος τοῦ κακοῦ, ἔνθα ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς ἀναπνοῆς · οἱ δὲ ὀξύτατοι θνήσκουσι αὐτῆμαρ, ἔσθ’ ὅπη καὶ πρὶν καλέσασθαι τὸν ἰητρὸν, οἱ δὲ καὶ ἐσκαλεσάμενοι οὐδὲν ὤναντο. ἀπέθανον γὰρ πρὶν ἢ τὸν ἰητρὸν ἐπὶ τέχνῃ χρήσασθαι.⁵¹ Angina is indeed a very acute affection, for it is a compression of the respiration. But there are two species of it; for it is either an inflammation of the organs of respiration, or an affection of the spirit (pneuma) alone, which contains the cause of the disease in itself… . The opposite symptoms attend the other species; namely, collapse of the organs, and diminution of the natural size, with intense feeling of suffocation, insomuch that it appears to

   ed.

Kudlien, “Aretaios von Kappadokien,” 34. Kudlien, “Aretaios von Kappadokien,” 34. Aretaeus, The Extant Works of Aretaeus: The Cappadocian (Logos Bible Software; 1856; repr.; F. Adams; Boston, MA: Milford House, 1972), 10 – 12.

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themselves as if the inflammation had disappeared to the internal parts of the thorax, and had seized upon the heart and lungs. This we call Synanche as if from the disease inclining inwardly and producing suffocation. It appears to me that this is an illness of the spirit (pneuma) itself, which has undergone a morbid conversion to a hotter and drier state, without any inflammation of the organ itself. Nor is this any great wonder. For in the Charonæan caves the most sudden suffocations occur from no affection of any organ, but the persons die from one inspiration, before the body can sustain any injury… . Those of Synanche are, collapse, tenuity, and paleness; the eyes hollow, sunk inwardly; the fauces and uvula retracted upwards, the tonsils approaching one another still more; loss of speech: the feeling of suffocation is much stronger in this species than in the former, the mischief being seated in the chest whence the source of respiration. In the most acute cases, the patients die the same day, in some instances, even before calling in the physician; and in others, although called in, he could afford them no relief, for they died before the physician could apply the resources of his art.⁵²

The severe inflammation of the throat that Aretaeus describes here is traced back to two different causes. It comes either from inflammation of the organs (τῶν ὀργάνων τῶν τῆς ἀναπνοῆς ἐστι φλεγμον)⁵³ or an affection of πνεῦμα (ὴ τοῦ πνεύματος πάθος, ἐφ’ ὡυτέου την αἰτίην ἴσχοντος).⁵⁴ The πνεῦμα changed in the latter case and became hazardous to health because it was hot and dry, without, however, causing inflammation of the organs. In contrast to inflammation, the change of πνεῦμα is life-threatening, so that patients die on the same day and often even before requesting a doctor. They die of a collapse and a reduction of the organs. A further description of a disease hints also at the importance of πνεῦμα and describes the bellies of patients being filled with πνεῦμα. Aretaeus’s Περὶ Σπληνός (SD 1.14) says: Ἐπὶ δὲ τάσιος σημήϊα, πυρετοὶ, πόνοι καὶ ῥίγεα. τὰ πολλὰ γὰρ ἔασι ἄρριγοι δὲ ἐπὶ βραχείῃ θέρμῃ καὶ ἀνώδυνοι, τῇδε καὶ λέληθέ κοτε ἐς σπλῆνα ἀπόστασις. μανὸν γὰρ καὶ ἐπαναίσθητον καὶ ἐν ὑγείῃ τὸ σπλάγχνον· οἰδαλέοι, ὑδερώδεες, μελάγχλωροι, ξὺν δυσφορίῃ ἡ δύσπνοια ὡς ἀπὸ βάρεος τοῦ θώρηκος. ἐπίδηλον γὰρ τὸ κακόν· ἄχρι τῶν ἄνω γαστὴρ πίμπλαται ὑπὸ πνεύματος παχέος, ὁμιχλώδεος, ὑγροῦ ὡς δοκέειν, οὐκ ἔτ’ ἐόντος ὑγροῦ· βῆξαι πολλὸν θυμὸς ἐγγίγνεται, καὶ βραχέα ξηρὰ βήσσουσι. κοιλίη ἤν τι κάτω φέρῃ ὑδατώδεα, τὸ πρῶτον σμικρὸν ἐπικουφίζουσα· εἰ δὲ ἐπὶ μᾶλλον ἐκδιδῷ, ξυντήκει μὲν τὸν ἄνθρωπον · ὠφελέει δὲ οὐδὲν ἧττον.⁵⁵ [S]ymptoms of distension are fevers, pains, and rigors (for generally they are free of rigors, and of pain when the heat is small, and hence abscess about the spleen is sometimes la-

   

Aretaeus, Aretaeus, Aretaeus, Aretaeus,

The The The The

Extant Extant Extant Extant

Works, 249. Works, 10. Works, 10. Works, 80.

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tent); for the viscus is porous and insensible even in health: they are swollen, dropsical, of a dark green colour, along with disquietude, dyspnoea as if from weight of the chest, for the evil is well marked. Even to its upper parts the abdomen is filled with a flatus (pneuma)⁵⁶, thick, misty, humid in appearance but not in reality; much desire of coughing comes on, and their expectoration is small and dry. If there be watery discharges from the bowels, they at first bring some slight relief; but if they increase, they waste the patient, and yet nevertheless they do good.⁵⁷

This description of a pancreatic illness again portrays a different πνεῦμα. The πνεῦμα is dark, dense, and moist. It fills the entire abdominal cavity and behaves dysfunctional not only in its appearance but also in its extent. Aretaeus uses the terms γαστήρ and πίμπλημι in medical connotation to describe that his patients are filled with πνεῦμα. The following disease of the intestine (SA 2.6 – Περὶ Εἰλεοῦ) also describes a dysfunction of the πνεῦμα: Ἐντέροισι γίγνεται μὲν φλεγμονὴ, ὀδύνην ὀλεθρίην ἐμποιοῦσα. θνήσκουσι γὰρ μυρίοι στρόφοισι καρτεροῖσι · ἐγγίγνεται δὲ καὶ πνεῦμα ψυχρὸν, ἀργὸν, οὔτε κάτω περῆσαι ῥηί̈διον οὔτε ἄνω ἀνελθέμεναι· μίμνει δὲ ἐπιπολὺ ἑλισσόμενον ἐν ὀλίγῃσι τῶν ἄνω ἑλίξεσι · τοὔνεκεν καὶ τὸ πάθος ἐπίκλησιν ἔσχεν εἰλεόν.⁵⁸ An inflammation takes place in the intestines, creating a deadly pain, for many die of intense tormina; but there is also formed a cold dull flatus (pneuma), which cannot readily pass either upwards or downwards, but remains, for the most part rolled up in the small convolutions of the upper intestines, and hence the disease has got the appellation of Ileus (or Volvulus).⁵⁹

“Intestinal obstruction,” which is described here, is especially dangerous because the πνεῦμα can escape the body neither downwards nor upwards and builds up in the upper bowel loops. Unlike the disease of the spleen, the πνεῦμα here is cold and dull. The state is caused by an inflammation of the intestine, in contrast to the angina of the second type. Epilepsy is a disease that attracts more medical attention. Aretaeus focuses on epileptic convulsions in just one section (SA 1.5 Περὶ Παροξυσμοῦ Ἐπιληπτικῶν). Here πνεῦμα plays an important role: Ἢν δὲ ἐς ἄφεσιν ἀφικνέωνται τοῦ κακοῦ, οὖρα αὐτόματα, κοιλίης περίπλυσις· μετεξετέροισι δὲ καὶ γονῆς ἀπόκρισις τῇ θλίψι καὶ πιέσι τῶν ἀγγείων, ἢ γαργαλισμῷ τοῦ πόνου,

   

γαστὴρ πίμπλαται ὑπὸ πνεύματος. Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 322. Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 34. Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 275.

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καὶ ὑγρασίης προκλήσι. γίγνονται γὰρ ἐν νεύροισι πόνοι καὶ τοῖσδε. στόμα δίυγρον, φλέγμα πολλὸν, παχὺ καὶ ψυχρὸν, καὶ εἰ ἕλκοις αὐτὸ, ἐπὶ μᾶλλον ἂν πλῆθος αὐτέου μηρύσαιο. ἢν δὲ χρόνῳ μακρῷ καὶ πόνῳ πολλῷ βρασθῇ μὲν τὰ ἔνδον τοῦ θώρηκος, πνεῦμα δὲ ἐγκατειρχθὲν τὰ πάντα σείσῃ, σπασμὸς δὲ καὶ τάραχος τῶν αὐτέων ἔῃ, κλύδων δὲ ὑγρῶν ἀναπλέῃ ἐς τὰς διαπνοὰς, στόμα καὶ ῥῖνα, σὺν ὑγρῷ δὲ τὸ πνεῦμα, ἄνεσις δὴ τῆς πρόσθεν πνίξιος ἁπάντων ἔοικε. ἀφρὸν δὲ ἀποπτύουσι ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τοῖσι μεγάλοισι πνεύμασι ἡ θάλασσα τὴν ἄχνην· εὖτε καὶ ἐξανίστανται δῆθεν ὡς τελευτήσαντος τοῦ κακοῦ· ἐπὶ δὲ τῇ ἀποπαύσι νωθροὶ τὰ μέλεα τὰ πρῶτα, καρηβαρικοὶ, διαλελυμένοι, πάρετοι, ὠχροὶ, δύσθυμοι, κατηφέες, καμάτῳ καὶ αἰσχύνῃ τοῦ δεινοῦ.⁶⁰ But when they come to the termination of the illness, there are unconscious discharges of the urine, and watery discharges from the bowels, and in some cases an evacuation also of the semen, from the constriction and compression of the vessels, or from the pruriency of the pain, and titillation of the humours; for in these cases the pains are seated in the nerves. The mouth watery; phlegm copious, thick, cold, and, if you should draw it forth, you might drag out a quantity of it in the form of a thread. But, if with length of time and much pain, the matters within the chest ferment, but the restrained spirit (pneuma) agitates all things, and there is a convulsion and disorder of the same, a flood, as it were, of humours swells up to the organs of respiration, the mouth, and the nose; and if along with the humours the spirit be mixed, it appears like the relief of all the former feelings of suffocation. They accordingly spit out foam, as the sea ejects froth in mighty tempests; and then at length they rise up, the ailment now being at an end. At the termination, they are torpid in their members at first, experience heaviness of the head, and loss of strength, and are languid, pale, spiritless, and dejected, from the suffering and shame of the dreadful malady.⁶¹

This section is dedicated to the last and, according to Aretaeus, shamefaced phase of epilepsy. Patients who have reached this stage find no cure, but only an end of their suffering. Πνεῦμα also plays an essential role in the causes of the disease and in the terminal symptoms. The health condition of patients does not allow relaxed and free breathing. Rather, it ferments in the chest, preventing the πνεῦμα from escaping and thus causing tremors in the body (σείω). The patient’s breath becomes increasingly difficult because the respiratory organs are affected. With the mixing of πνεῦμα, patients have the sense of relief (ἄνεσις). This feeling is deceptive, however, because the disease terminates in shame (αἰσχύνω) and melancholy feelings (δύσθυμος). So far, πνεῦμα has been described as dysfunctional and as leading to lifethreatening conditions of the patients. In the following section (CA 1.3 – Θεραπεία Ληθαργικῶν) Aretaeus discusses the treatment of dizziness and recommends to fill the belly of the patient with a liquid.

 Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 6.  Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 243.

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᾿Aμφὶ δὲ καὶ κενώσιος ληθαργικῶν τάδε χρὴ γινώσκειν. ἢν μὲν ἐξ ἑτέρης νούσου, ὁκοῖόν τι φρενίτιδος, διαδέξηται ἡ λήθη, φλέβα μὲν μὴ τάμνειν, μηδὲ ἀθρόον ποθὲν κενοῦν αἷμα. ὑποκλύζειν δὲ τὴν κοιλίην, μὴ τοῦ κοπρώδεος εἵνεκε μοῦνον, ἀλλ’ ὅκως τι καὶ ἄνωθεν ἀντισπασθῇ, καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς ὀχετευθῇ. πλέον οὖν ἔστω ἁλῶν τε καὶ νίτρου. ἄριστον δὲ τῷ κλύσματι εἰ καστόριον ἐμπάσσοις· ψυχρὸν γὰρ τὸ κάτω ἔντερον ληθαργικοῖσι καὶ πρὸς ἔκκρισιν νεκρῶδες.⁶² With regard to the depletion of lethargics this should be known: If the obliviousness be the sequela of another disease, such as phrenitis, we must not open a vein, nor make a great evacuation of blood in any way, but inject the belly, not solely for the evacuation of its contents, but in order to produce revulsion from above, and to determine from the head: there should be a good deal of salts and natron in it, and it answers very well if you add a sprinkling of castor to the clyster; for in lethargics the lower intestine is cold, and dead, as it were, to evacuation.⁶³

Aretaeus advises against drowsiness to restore balance in the body. To restore balance, the stomach is flushed (τὴν ὑποκλύζειν δὲ κοιλίην). The doctor speaks of ὑποκλύζω to clarify that the cleaning of the abdomen allows the head to regain control over the other organs again. Aretaeus notes from a medical perspective that the filling with πνεῦμα can be anything but intentional. Пνεῦμα should be neither too hot nor too cold and should not be discolored. All texts are similar in the observation that πνεῦμα must always be on the move to insure the body’s balance. If πνεῦμα cannot escape, is restricted in the body, or if it is pathologically changed, it leads to the known symptoms of a disease. The contraction, therefore, of the respiratory organs involved πνεῦμα as well as an epileptic seizure. The πνεῦμα acts as an indicator of the state of a person’s health. Based on the Hippocratic background that hot and cold winds, dirty water, and bad weather conditions can significantly harm women and their unborn children, it is understandable that πνεῦμα in the body does not stand for a healthy organism. For Aretaeus it is important that πνεῦμα is not in itself bad. On the contrary, it can certainly be claimed that the Pneumatic Aretaeus has retained the life-saving effects of πνεῦμα. This is indicated by the detailed differentiation of πνεῦμα in terms of the immediate health or illness of a person. Therefore, the distinction between a beneficial and a harmful πνεῦμα does not take place on an ontological level but on an epistemological one. This means that there is no good or bad πνεῦμα, but only that the physician’s knowledge decides about the changes of πνεῦμα and about how the disease must be treated. The aim is always to restore the ideal of the life-sustaining πνεῦμα in order that the patient may gain a safe balance of health.

 Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 143.  Aretaeus, The Extant Works, 387.

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Furthermore, our examination of these texts has demonstrated that Aretaeus described πνεῦμα not only as an “organ” of the body but also as an indicator of health. Several factors were evaluated as indicators, including the appearance, the movement in the body, and the temperature. Added to this was the consideration that πνεῦμα is connected with the symptoms of the disease. We are dealing, therefore, with a symmetrical determination at the physical level. Πνεῦμα has to do with health and illness as well as with symptoms or causes of a disease. The condition of the people is determined by the condition of πνεῦμα in the human body. Therefore, πνεῦμα is not only regarded as a medical term but also understood as an indicator of human health and disease. This confirms that πνεῦμα is a structural principle of human health, which stands in relation to the entire material reality and all expressions of the people.

6 Conclusion An analysis of literary influences that would have been known to Luke and his readers proved to be profitable in several ways. The detailed descriptions of the human physique in Luke, which have been interpreted as primary medical knowledge in previous research, were also fundamental to the question of this article. This discussion of Luke 1:5 – 80 proceeded by asking how medical texts can be consulted for the interpretation of the biblical text. Our analysis showed that medical knowledge in Luke 1 is an important part of the birth narrative. The first chapter of Luke is not merely interested in the description of diseases, but also in the overcoming of physiological limits. The following categories are especially noteworthy in Luke 1.

6.1 Movements in the Mother’s Womb The consultation of medical texts for the analysis of Luke 1:15 has shown that πνεῦμα relating to pregnancies in medical sources may be associated with movements in the mother’s womb. In this sense one attempt might be to connect Luke’s geographical conditions and the temporal sequences with the medical descriptions. That the medical sources highlighted the relevance of location for pregnancy and that they described temporal sequences of pregnancies might support the effort to find a common denominator for biblical and medical texts. Indeed, these details are not insignificant for the structure of the first chapter of the Gospel of Luke. At this point, however, it is important to differentiate between the texts’ purposes. Trying to argue for the biblical and medical rele-

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vance within the Lucan text by saying that the miraculous pregnancy in the Judean highlands is not only a theological topos but also part of a medical discourse exaggerates the supposed medical context of the Gospel. Luke makes it rather clear with his reference to John being filled with πνεῦμα in the womb of the mother (Luke 1:15) that God initiated the prophetic nature of John at the earliest possible stage, evidenced by the fact that even in the womb John recognized the Lord and felt joy in his presence (Luke 1:44). That John responds to Mary’s visit emerges not because of geography, but because of her connection with God’s chosen people (Luke 1:40 – 45). It is also significant that Luke in 1:5 – 80 does not follow a medical logic or outline, but shows instead how human physiology is dependent on God’s plan of salvation. Therefore, the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps before it is filled with the Spirit.

6.2 Being Filled with πνεῦμα The medical examinations from the Corpus Hippocraticum and Aretaeus have clarified that πνεῦμα confronts people with their inevitable physiology and serves as an indicator of their physical condition. The medical texts about people being filled with πνεῦμα describe this incident as a serious threat and can cause serious complications for pregnancies. On the other hand, πνεῦμα is of such great importance for the Pneumatic that health and disease are dependent on it. In this sense, it is not surprising that πνεῦμα fills Elizabeth, Mary, and Zechariah, and in each case marks the transformation of their medical constitution in Luke 1. Without claiming that Luke was part of a pneumatic school one can confirm that Luke had medical knowledge that included the image of πνεῦμα filling the body. As was already mentioned, Luke describes John as a man who would be filled with πνεῦμα even before birth. Mary, Elizabeth, and Zechariah would also be filled with the Spirit, and Jesus is later pictured in the prophetic tradition of Isaiah as one upon whom the Spirit rests (Luke 4:16 – 21).⁶⁴ Being filled with the Holy Spirit in Luke 1, therefore, stands for prophetic empowerment and for the testimony of the word of God.⁶⁵ In contrast to medical texts, Luke does not focus on πνεῦμα in the body in great detail—no description of how it enters the body or how it comes out of the body is provided.⁶⁶ Trying to establish a connection between the prophetic fulfillment of πνεῦμα in Luke and the ancient  See also John R. Levison, Filled with the Spirit (Cambridge, MA: Eerdmans, 2009), 232.  Levison, Filled with the Spirit, 354.  Not even leaping in his mother’s womb can be explained by being filled with πνεῦμα, since John does so before Elisabeth is filled with πνεῦμα.

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medical πνεῦμα is, therefore, rather difficult.⁶⁷ The medical texts are less suitable for this interpretation because their vocabulary is similar to the biblical text, but their contexts remain entirely different.

6.3 God’s Healing and πνεῦμα Because they turned to God, Elisabeth and Mary became pregnant and Zechariah regained his voice. Based on the background of the pneumatic significance, the encouragement of Zechariah (Luke 1:13) and Mary (Luke 1:30) not to fear is even more relevant. Whether or not the statement that with God everything is possible (Luke 1:37) carries medical implications is another question. In any case, πνεῦμα from God indicates his intended plan of salvation, and people who are filled with the Spirit are carriers and agents for the works of God in the world. God is the creator of the world, and as such is regarded as the guide of human fate, especially in Luke 1:5 – 80. These observations about Luke 1:5 – 80 have shown that the divine messages via an intermediary (Gabriel and πνεῦμα) in geographical contexts (Temple, hill country of Judea, Nazareth) bearing direct reference to medical contexts (age, pregnancy, loss of voice) can be considered more than just metaphors. But that does not mean that the medical terms used by Luke are the leading motifs. Instead, relevant medical topics related to the birth are woven into the divine plan of salvation. Hence Luke 1:41 confirms that John will be filled with the Spirit in the mother’s womb and Elisabeth acknowledges Mary as the mother of her Lord (1:43). John’s movement is probably not the first movement of the child, since Elizabeth is six months pregnant (1:36), and yet the movement is a response to Mary’s greeting. Luke neither describes pregnancy as a disease nor is he interested in the development of the baby in Elizabeth’s womb. The movement of the child, however, eliminates initial doubts about Elizabeth’s fertility and manifests God’s work to the people.

6.4 Luke’s Interest in Medical Topics It should be pointed out that Luke is obviously interested in medical knowledge for his own reasons. L. Cilliers, in summarizing embryology, notes that “[i]n contrast to the interest in the development of the foetus shown in Graeco-Roman

 See also Levison, Filled with the Spirit, 328. Levison tries to establish a relationship on the basis of inspiration. This is an attempt which is very profitable on a meta-level.

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sources, one finds that Biblical authors were not interested in the successive stages in the physical development of the foetus, but used metaphorical language to describe the unborn child.”⁶⁸ The question about why biblical authors use general medical knowledge for their narratives cannot be answered by saying that they make analogies to ancient diseases, or that they understand the medical terminology as metaphors. The analysis of Luke 1:5 – 80 has shown that Luke does not use πνεῦμα metaphorically nor that he portrays the general course of the disease. Instead, he incorporates the medical πνεῦμα into his own purposes and qualifies it theologically by locating it in the context of the healing work of God. In other words, Luke has taken up medical knowledge of the physiological processes to deepen the salvation of God. Cilliers sums this up when he says, “The details of the process of the development of the foetus are not mentioned; what is of importance here is the fact that God as the Creator is steering the process.”⁶⁹ In relation to the birth narrative one recognizes that the biblical texts and the medical examinations do not share the same interest. While the medical sources inform about diseases in order to describe or develop healing methods, Luke connects God’s salvation with the descriptions of the human physique. In summary, therefore, one can observe that Luke 1:5 – 80 adds another feature to the characterization of God as the personal guide of people’s fate, since the theologized concept of πνεῦμα assists those who become the prophetic mediators of God while being filled with the Spirit. We might label this process in Luke 1:15 as the beginning of a “prophetic cascade,” because the medical context is used to illustrate the prophetic acts, whose fulfillment begins with John in his mother’s womb and which are later confirmed. The conditions under which Elizabeth’s pregnancy takes place in Luke 1 are not analogous to medical examinations or to ancient understandings of embryology. Yet, these details describe the personal motives of the protagonists, and in the literal and figurative sense πνεῦμα becomes the “life substance of the human.” In the birth narrative, the substance of life is understood not solely in regard to the physical aspect of the women, but also as the life given by God. This is proven by Elizabeth’s fertility, by Mary’s unexpected pregnancy, and by the birth of their two sons, John and Jesus. Through the illumination of the πνεῦμα, the different conditions of human existence as creatures of God become visible. The Lucan protagonists are inevitably confronted with their physiological processes, which are experienced at both the medical and theological level at their extremes. Not medical

 Cilliers, “Vindicianus,” 360. Cilliers refers to Ps 139, Job 10:11 and 2Macc 7:22– 23.  Cilliers, “Vindicianus,” 360.

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practice, but the expression of trust and regard for the divine will is crucial in this passage. This article, therefore, has argued that Luke makes use of medical themes while distancing himself in the details and clearly from the medical logic. Arguing for an identical use and understanding of πνεῦμα between Luke 1 and medical texts is not necessarily beneficial, since in the biblical text the medical and physiological information are directly associated with the influence of God on his people. Thus, physiological processes are an integral part of the divine action and not vice versa, implying that the narrative does not follow a medical logic, but a theological one. In other words, one can say for example that Elizabeth’s infertility and Zacharias’s silence do not provoke medical applications, but that they are solved by God’s will. This means that the qualification of πνεῦμα plays a central role. In the discussion of the medical texts, it was already stated that πνεῦμα was not per se described as good or bad, but needed the evaluation of the physician to be qualified. Here we identify a similarity with the Lucan πνεῦμα. The πνεῦμα described by Luke is theologically qualified with respect to the medical content. It is the πνεῦμα of God and thus it derives its relevance not in a medical discourse but in a theological one. Luke 1 confirms this theological qualification of πνεῦμα by the unexpected pregnancies and births, as well as the prophetic abilities of the protagonists. Based on this versatile background of πνεῦμα it is apparent that Luke made use of general medical knowledge and connected πνεῦμα with pregnancy and childbirth as expressions of God’s will for his people.

Annette Weissenrieder¹

The Infusion of the Spirit: The Meaning of ἐμφυσάω in John 20:22 – 23 We are poorly informed about natural physiological processes in the ancient world, most likely because of their self-evident and persistent ordinariness. Because they were and still are normal, they required no special explanations or detailed descriptions for contemporaries. Consequently we are often astonishingly helpless in interpreting these physiological processes, particularly because we lack sufficient direct biblical evidence to form a picture of their deeper significance. This gap in encyclopedic background information applies to the physiological process of breathing, specifically the processes that go along with Jesus’ “exhaling” reported in the Gospels of Mark and Luke and the Gospel of John. The context in each text, however, is different: whereas Mark 15:39 and Luke 23:46 report that Jesus breathes his last breath on the face of the Centurion, ἐξέπνευσεν, John says in 20:22 that during his appearance, Jesus “breathes” on the disciples, ἐμφυσάω. The Greek uses two discrete terms for “breathing,” distinguishing between ἐκπνέω and ἐμφυσάω. Whereas ἐκπνέω in the majority of texts is limited to the last breath near death,² there seems to be no similarly clear definition for ἐμφυσάω. As a consequence, the meaning of ἐμφυσάω will be central to the following article. This scene, the “breathing” on the disciples, in John continues to be the focus of intense discussion. Newly discovered sources lead to continually changing conclusions. In the following, therefore, I take ancient medicine and biolog-

 Annette Weissenrieder, Associate Professor of New Testament, San Francisco Theological Seminary and the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley.  The author of De morbis explains the death of a human body as an excess of fluids in the body interrupting the main pneuma-routes within the internal organs, so that the body is overheated, the result of which is an exhalation of the “whole substance of the superfluous pneuma” του ὑγροῦ πᾶν τὸ ζωτικόν; CH De morbis 4.47.1; 102.17 ff. 7.5601 ff. Littré; cf. also E.HF 885. The Hippocratic treatise On Prognostics mentions: “It is highly alarming, if the body expels cold breath.” Another medical text says that the body picks up and eliminates the burnt ἔκπνοον, mentioning blood as well as bile and fat. In these cases the exhaled pneuma as last breath is an indication of the substance that shapes or animates the body. In all the medical texts the verb ἐκπνέω refers to breath from the whole body. See, e. g., Emp. B 100.1; E.Fr. 757.38; S.Ai. 1026; Ph 2.563; Plut 2.579 f.; I AI 12.35; for further details see Henry G. Liddell and Robert Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon: With a revised supplement. Revised and augmented throughout by H. St. Jones (9th ed., Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996); and the list of sources in Diccionario GriegoEspañol, vol. VII (Madrid: Centro de Ciencias Humanas y Sociales, 2010), 1393, part B.

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ical philosophy into consideration. The meaning of ἐμφυσάω in antiquity conveys an embodiment that goes beyond mere appearance. A preliminary overview of the context of John 20:21– 23 and ancient medical and philosophical sources on the meaning of ἐμφυσάω will prove fruitful for subsequent discussion of John 20:22.

1 The Context of John 20:21 – 23 In three scenes—Mary of Magdala (John 20:11– 18); all the disciples (20:19 – 23); and Thomas (20:24– 29)—each marked with the beginning of a new speech, the risen Jesus appears. The three scenes are connected to each other through formal markers and by their contents and can also be read as a unity. Numerous semantic and syntactic correspondences permeate the text. The theme of “faith and unbelief,” which is also a feature of the Synoptic Gospels, characterizes especially this chapter of the Gospel of John, particularly as the author employs forms of πιστεύειν more than ninety times.³ Nevertheless, more important than this statement is that in chapter 20 John reduces the complex question of the appearance of Jesus to the relationship of “seeing,” “believing,” and the verification of the “embodiment” of Jesus. The meaning of vision for faith is picked out as a central theme. Thus in John 20 we find thirteen sentence predicates for “seeing” [v. 3, she sees: βλέπει; v. 5, he sees: βλέπει; v. 6, he sees: θεωρεῖ; v. 8, he saw: εἶδεν; v. 12, she saw: θεωρεῖ; v. 14, she saw: θεωρεῖ; v. 18, I have seen: ἑώρακα; v. 20, they saw: ἰδόντες; v. 25, we have seen: ἑωράκαμεν; v. 25, I see: ἴδω; v. 27, see (my hands): ἴδε; v. 29, because you have seen: ἑώρακας; v. 29, those who don’t see: οἱ μή ἰδόντες; and finally implicit: v. 20, he showed: ἔδειξεν]. In addition, eight sentence predicates for “believing” are used [v. 8, he believed: ἐπίστευσεν; v. 25, I will not believe: οὐ μή πιστεύσω; v. 27, don’t mistrust: ἄπιστος; v. 27, believing: πιστός; v. 29, you believed because you have seen me: πεπίστευκας; v. 29, the ones who believe: πιστεύσαντες; v. 31, that you believe: ἴνα πιστεύσητε; v. 31, the ones who believe: πιστεύσοντες]. Thomas’s statement, “Unless I see … , I will not believe”—ἐὰν μή ἴδω, οὐ μή πιστεύσω (20:25)—may be best understood as an echo of Jesus’ criticism in 4:48: “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe”— ἐὰν μή … ἴδητε, οὐ μή πιστεύσητε.⁴ Therefore, the exegetical secondary literature almost  As a comparison, forms of πιστεύειν are used nine times in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, seven times in Luke.  A similar scene, but referring to the disciples, appears in the Gospel of Mark, where we read: “Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and

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universally expresses a preference for faith over vision and embodiment, or even a rejection of vision. This dismissal of seeing as a criterion for faith in John 20 gains additional weight from the narrative’s movement toward replacing the touchable and visible body of Jesus with listening to the word: Mary goes to the grave to look for Jesus’ corpse and receives, instead, the message “do not cry,” delivered to her by the angels (20:13). While she struggles with this message, Jesus’ body takes the place of the word-message, although it is his resurrected body that Mary wants to touch (20:14– 15).⁵ Thomas makes the same request but in the end does not touch him either. In any case, the text does not provide us with further information about touching Jesus but gives an argument instead.⁶

believe.” And in Heb 11:11 we find: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  For the majority of exegetes, there is no doubt that in ch. 20 it is the risen Jesus who appeared (see the motifs of joy and peace in vv. 19, 20, 21). Several scholars refer to 7:39, where the disciples are promised that they will receive the πνεῦμα after Jesus is raised. Because John 20:19 – 23 is the final report in which πνεῦμα is mentioned, in the opinion of the majority of exegetes, 7:39 refers to this scene. See therefore the interpretation of Barrett, who writes in his commentary, The Gospel According to St. John (London: SPCK, 1962): “After this event there could be no ‘waiting’ … there can be no doubt, that this is the gift intended.” See also E. C. Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel, 2nd ed. (London: Faber, 1947); O. Betz, Der Paraklet. Fürsprecher im häretischen Spätjudentum, im Johannesevangelium und in neu gefundenen gnostischen Schriften, AGSU II (Leiden: Brill, 1963), 165 – 69. G. Schulze-Kadelbach (“Zur Pneumatologie des Johannesevangeliums,” TLZ 81 [1956]: 351– 54) refers instead to John 2:1– 11, the miracle of the vine, where several gifts of pneuma are announced. With some changes, Rudolf Bultmann argues in his commentary, Das Evangelium des Johannes (16th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1959), 535 – 38, that John 20:19 – 23 does not mention the fulfillment but that the event is more an image of the “symbolische Darstellung der Erfüllung der Verheißung.” And he explains further: “Die Stunde, da ihnen die Augen für das aufgehen, was sie schon haben, ist eben die Osterstunde; und V. 19 – 23 ist nichts anderes als das Bild für diesen Vorgang” (p. 536). Some scholars argue against this view: This means of spirit-message is not in accordance with the farewell speeches. Breathing upon the disciples is a distinct form of sending and giving in the farewell speeches. See for this opinion M.-J. Lagrange, Evangile selon S.Jean, Etudes Bib (Paris, 1948); A. Loisy, Le quatrième évangile: les épîtres dites de Jean (Paris: E. Nourry, 1921); W. Bauer, Das Johannesevangelium, HNT 6 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1933); D. E. Holwerda, The Holy Spirit and Eschatology in the Gospel of John (Kampen: Kok, 1959), 21– 24. In my opinion this question regarding the closeness of the farewell address and the receiving of the spirit is not to be pursued. See therefore F. Porsch, Pneuma und Wort. Ein exegetischer Beitrag zur Pneumatologie des Johannesevangelium, Frankfurter Theologische Studien (Frankfurt a.M.: Verlag Josef Knecht, 1974), esp. 342– 44.  Thomas is directly answering (ἀπεκρίθη) the direct speech of Jesus; there is no break of the plot in the midst of the conversation. This leads us to the assumption that Jesus is not touched by Thomas.

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With Thomas, seeing is again in the foreground; the text reads: “Stretch your fingers here and see (!) my hands!” The text does not mention Thomas touching Jesus. Seeing the wounds in his hands allows Thomas to recognize Jesus as God. The background is unequivocal: In the synoptic Gospels, at this point we find Jesus showing with his wounds that he has survived. In John, however, Jesus is a living person who “appears as a dead person.”⁷ It remains unclear how the word-message is related to the risen body. Is the word cancelled by the risen body? Calvin finds it “ridiculous … that someone would conclude from this that Christ’s side is still pierced, his hands still wounded. It is certain that the wounds have been of use only for a short time period: until his disciples have been convinced that Christ was risen.”⁸ Glenn Most points out that John is back on the level of word-messages, saying, “And only on the basis of the word-message can people who are blessed by Jesus because of their faith find a way to this faith.”⁹ Nevertheless, the preference for the word-message in my opinion reflects only one aspect of the Johannine text. The other aspect is the embodiment of Jesus. In contrast to the passive verbs ἦρσαν τὸν κύριόν μου “they have taken away my Lord” (v.13); ἔθηκαν αὐτόν “have taken away my Lord” (v.13); and ἐβάστασας αὐτόν “taken away” (v.15), which describe a series of acts on a corpse, several other verbs express Jesus’ movement, for example: ἑστῶτα “he who stands” (v.14); ἦλθεν “he came” (v.15) or ἔρχεται “he comes” (v.26); and ἔστη εἰς τὸ μέσον “he came and stood among them” (v.19; 26). These instances presume a confirmation of Jesus’ embodiment, which is deepened by mentioning the marks on Jesus’ “hands” and “on his side,” as is made clear again by Thomas’s reference to the “marks of the nails in his hands.”¹⁰ Jesus’ accessibility to the disciples through his embodiment is a central theme reflected also in the motif of accessibility of space. Rooms are closed or

 G. W. Most, Der Finger in der Wunde. Die Geschichte des ungläubigen Thomas (Munich: Beck, 2007), 68.  Calvin, Kommentar zum Johannesevangelium, 475.  Most, Der Finger in der Wunde, 89. According to F. Siegert, Das Evangelium des Johannes in seiner ursprünglichen Gestalt. Wiederherstellung und Kommentar, Schriften des Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum 7 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 612, the table service is followed by a word service. Thus he writes: “[S]o wird hier der Dienst der Sündenvergebung als Gipfel des Wortdienstes aufgefasst. Das Evangelium des Johannes im Ganzen ist als ein solcher Wortdienst aufzufassen.”  This should not be expanded to the signs and miracles in the Gospel of John. The three narratives cannot be taken as examples of miraculous events and should not be compared to other narratives (for miraculous events, see the following passages: John 1:50 f.; 2:11, 22 f.; 3:2; 4:29, 39, 53; 5:36; 6:2, 4, 26, 29; 7:3 – 5, 31; 9:3 f.; 10:25, 38; 11:45; 12:11, 18; 13:19; 14:29; 20:30 f.).

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open: Whereas access to the burial chamber of Jesus is astonishingly open, and no stone closes the entrance, the space in which the disciples meet is closed. And whereas the disciples do not find the expected corpse of Jesus in the burial chamber, Jesus is able to enter the disciples’ closed room, identifying himself with his stigmata. The middle scene, in which Jesus appears before the disciples, offers a possible solution of this aporia between word-message and visible appearance, between word and touching or seeing. This scene includes the experience of the holy spirit; it differs from the other scenes because it is Jesus who visits the disciples, in a space closed to the public. As a proof of his physical presence he shows his hands and his side, which, although this is not mentioned, must have made his wounds visible. And this scene differs from the others in yet another determinative way: It is in this story that Jesus provides a sensory experience to the disciples that goes beyond simple vision and is described in John 20:22 with ἐμφυσάω, a hapax legomenon in the New Testament.¹¹

2 The Meaning of the Verb ἐμφυσάω in John 20:21 – 23—A Summary of the History of Research What exactly does John mean in using ἐμφυσάω in such a prominent place, the last mention of the holy spirit in the Gospel? Even the translation of the verb is controversial. The most common interpretation is “to blow,” “whisper.” Numerous exegetes depend on Stauffer’s article on ἐμφυσάω in the TDNT for their interpretation of the term. But Stauffer capriciously confines himself to uses of this verb in the LXX, seeming to base his reading of “blowing” mainly on the LXX version of Psalm 104:29 – 30, which uses πνεῦμα instead of ἐμφυσάω:¹² “When you hide your face, they are dismayed; when you take away their breath, they die and return to their dust. When you send forth your spirit, they are created;

 Even though it is an argument e silencio, it seems remarkable that John avoids the term used by both Paul and the Gospel of Luke for resurrection, ὠφθή (Aor. Pass. from ὁράω). Whereas ὠφθή can be traced back to ‫ ראה‬nifal, the reference is missing in John.  Ethelbert Stauffer (“ἐμφυσάω κτλ.,” TDNT 2:536) writes: “Where God causes His breath to go forth, life springs up; where he withholds it, life perishes Ps 104.29 f.”

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and you renew the face of the ground.”¹³ Therefore, “God ‘blows’ His living breath into men or ‘upon’ him by His pneuma.”¹⁴ This interpretation is possible in principle, as Greco-Roman literature does contain some evidence for the translation of ἐμφυσάω in terms of “blowing in.” Thus we hear in Aristophanes’s Vespae of “blowing into a flute” to produce tones (αὐλητρὶς ἐνεφύσησε).¹⁵ It is of course striking that “blowing into” is a mechanical process to produce a tone. But what exactly is the aim of “blowing into” in John 20? Proof of Jesus’ embodiment was already provided by showing his wounds and this should therefore be dismissed as an argument. A second interpretational option is that of Rudolf Bultmann, who takes the verb as the mechanistic process of blowing, connected to the transmission of strength. Bultmann derives the concept from the exorcist’s broad ritual of “blowing on the baptized”: “Dem Ritus liegt ein verbreiteter Brauch zugrunde: die Übertragung heilsamer ‘Kraft’ durch Anhauchen, sei es zur Krankenheilung, sei es zur Übertragung der Amtskraft, sei es sonst für zauberische Wirkungen” (“A widespread custom serves as the basis for this rite: the transfer of healing ‘power’ through breathing upon, be it for healing the sick, the transfer of authority belonging to an office, or be it for magical works”).¹⁶ And finally, a third common interpretation takes ἐμφυσάω as “to breathe” or “to exhale”: Barrett—and with him numerous other exegetes—translates ἐμφυσάω against the background of Gen 2:7 as “to breathe”:¹⁷ “Symbolically, then, John is proclaiming that, just as in the first creation God breathed a living spirit into man, so now, in the moment of the new creation Jesus breathes his own Holy Spirit into the disciples, giving them eternal life.”¹⁸ In his recently published paper, “Ancient Medical Texts, Newly Re-discovered: The Medical Background of Biblical Breathing,” Troy Martin, after a broad exposition of ancient medical understanding of πνεῦμα, interprets ἐμφυσάω as follows:

 Stauffer, “ἐμφυσάω κτλ.,” 536n3. Representative of several other commentaries, see Schenke, Johannesevangelium, 546.  Stauffer, “ἐμφυσάω κτλ.,” 536.  Reference found in LSJ (1951), 551. A similar reference can be found in Oxyrhynchus Papyrus 1088.37.  Bultmann, Das Evangelium des Johannes, 536n7 (author’s trans.). Bultmann draws upon several primary sources. In reviewing his references, the link to different possible interpretations for πνεῦμα was central; in fact, no reference to ἐμφυσάω could be found.  See Barrett, The Gospel According to John, 1037. Troy W. Martin, “Ancient Medical Texts, Newly Re-discovered: The Medical Background of Biblical Breathing,” Early Christianity 1 (2010): 513 – 38.  Barrett, The Gospel According to John, 1037.

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Greco-Roman readers would perceive the prominent intertextual connections between Gen 2:7 and John 20:22. They would understand that both verses present a similar view of breathing. Breathing is oronasal in both verses, and the transfer of the spirit through oronasal passages… . In both verses, the spirit that is inhaled is not completely exhaled but rather remains in the body to provide life to the recipient. Thus, Greco-Roman readers would see God’s breathing into the clod in Gen 2:7 and Jesus’ breathing on his disciples in John 20:22 as being very similar in their understanding of breathing and their presentation of the reception of the spirit.¹⁹

I would urge caution in assuming that πνεῦμα / ἐκπνέω and ἐμφυσάω are synonyms. This precaution is particularly valid if we compare πνεῦμα with φύσα; ἐμφυσάω derives etymologically from the root φύσα, which refers in the majority of sources to an aerogastria or a sort of air pressure in the body that can also be a characteristic of illness. Thus De morbo epidemiarum in the Corpus Hippocraticum 2.3.1c.38 (5.103 Littré) says: “When the affections do not accord with the patient’s nature: look at the circumstances and type of the signs, increasing or becoming fewer, yawning, cough, sneezing, stretching, belching, flatulence, everything of that sort.”²⁰ And in De flatibus—On the Winds we read, The cause of dropsy then has been set forth; apoplexy, too, is caused by breaths. For when they pass through the flesh and puff it up, the parts of the body affected lose the power of feeling. So if copious puffing rushes through the whole body, the whole patient is affected with apoplexy. If the puff of air reaches only one part, only that part is affected… .²¹

 Martin, “The Medical Background of Biblical Breathing,” 534. The semantic differentiation of exhalation/expiration and breathing out for ἐμφυσάω needs further consideration. From the perspective of Gen 2:7 LXX, the semantic range of breathing for ἐμφυσάω is rather unlikely, especially if one takes the Samaritan MS into consideration (see the discussion under 3b). Several further aspects of Martin’s article, which cannot be discussed in this article, remain unclear, especially his interpretation of the baptism and the Last Supper. For critical theological points on Martin’s observations, see Volker Rabens, The Holy Spirit and Ethics in Paul. Transformation and Empowering for Religious-Ethical Life, WUNT II/283 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010).  Trans. Jones. For an example of a collection of air as a sign of approaching death, see Jones’s translation of CH De morbo epidemiarum 2.2.22.6; 5.94 Littré: Lycie was treated with a potion of hellebore. Towards the end she had an enlarged spleen, pains, fever, pains towards the shoulder. The blood vessel from the spleen was tense at her elbow. It throbbed frequently, but sometimes did not. No phlebotomy, but it passed with the sweat or spontaneously, the matter passing to the outside. The spleen on its right was stretched tight; breathing doubled in frequency, but without great depth. She became delirious. She was wrapped up. She was full of wind which did not pass. No feces and no urine. She died. (trans. Goold; LCL)  CH De flatibus 13; 5.110 Littré (trans. Jones).

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The ancient medical sources mention a puff of air in different parts of the body, either in the womb²² or in the stomach (aeroperitoneum),²³ or an aeropleura, a puff of air in the breast. The concept also appears in discussion of experiments on human bodies. Therefore, the sources on πνεῦμα and φύσα invoke caution in interpreting both as “breath.” How, then, does the process of breathing work?²⁴ Medical texts describe the phenomenon of breathing rather vaguely as something the entire body does.²⁵ Galen²⁶ praises the Hippocratics for their understanding of breathing, and several times he states: “The whole body breathes in and out.” Galen connects this with his own theory: The arteries are breathing through the skin, the brain through the nostrils, and the heart through the lungs. The pivotal question applied not to the organ, the lungs, but to the πνεῦμα (and not to φύσα).²⁷ Ancient medical sources do not refer to an oronasal exhalation only, as the textual variants of De morbo sacro show. The medical sources do not limit breathing to inhaling and exhaling, rather describing the process of breathing in diverse ways: “rope πνεῦμα in”;²⁸ breathe through the veins²⁹ and the mouth; lock or close

 See therefore De muliebribus (abr. Mul.) 2.177.1. For a similar approach, see also Mul. 1.57 (womb filled with phlegm); Mul. 2.211 (collection of air in the womb).  See for example Mul. 1.70; CH De affectionibus interioribus 31 (7.247– 248 Littré): “Another disease of the spleen: this one arises from the same things as the preceding one, but in it the patient suffers the following: his belly is puffed up large, his spleen swells and is hard, and sharp pains occupy it. His colour is altered, becoming dark and yellowish like pomegranate peel, he smells foully from the ear, and the gums separate from the teeth and smell foully” (Trans. Potter; LCL).  De locis in homine (Loc.Hom.) speaks of breathless patients whose lungs have not been fully moist; see Loc.Hom. 14.8 (6.304 Littré).  This is based on their understanding of the lungs as an organ, in which liquid was collected, as is mentioned, e. g., by Plutarch, who speaks of “soaking the lungs with wine” during a Symposium. That the lungs are of less importance is obvious when the authors identify various forms of respiratory distress and describe forms of severe, wheezing, shallow breathing without even mentioning the lungs. Plutarch Symp. 7.1.  The ancient medical texts do not provide information about how deeply the πνεῦμα infiltrates the body. We find in De Victu s.c. 2.38 (6.528 Littré): “As there is breath in living things, it is also present in all the remainders.”  CH De vetere medicina 22 (Schiefsky); and in the treatise De alimento 28 we find: “Porosity of the body concerning respiration (διαπνόη), for those from whom more is removed, a beneficial thing; density of the body concerning respiration (διαπνόη), for those from whom less is removed, a harmful thing.” Διαπνόη should here be understood as breathing of the whole body. 6.626 Littré: In the most notable treatise of the Corpus Hippocraticum De vetere medicina, the author explains that one should avoid letting air penetrate the body, because of the danger of this air gathering in organs, especially the lungs.  CH De morbo sacro (=Morb.Sacr.) 16.4 (6.390 Littré): σπάση τὸ πνεῦμα ἄνθρωπος εἰς ἑαυτὸν.

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πνεῦμα in the blood vessels;³⁰ capture a body with πνεῦμα ³¹ (as we see in the story of the so-called epileptic boy); and “the πνεῦμα through the body.”³² It is therefore the whole body that inhales and exhales.³³ This phenomenon is characterized in De morbo sacro of the Hippocratic Corpus. In explaining epilepsy, the author rejects supernatural causes, embracing instead a naturalistic explanation. In chapter 7 the author writes, “When πνεῦμα cannot enter in sufficient quantity into the body σῶμα as interpreted by the Manuscript Vindobonensis³⁴ or into the mouth στῶμα as the manuscript Marcianus sees it.” After the πνεῦμα finds its way to the brain, it acts in the stomach, the lungs, and the bloodvessels.³⁵ This pneuma must always remain in motion. And finally, from the perspective of ancient medical texts it is unclear why exhaled air gives life and how this is related to the meaning of ἐμφυσάω in John 20:22. Therefore, a comparison with the medical uses of πνεῦμα is not rewarding for understanding John 20:22– 23. If both this rare term and ἐκπνέω —a common term for exhaling that appears in Mark 15:39—were available as options, why did John use a hapax legomenon and not the far more frequent term for exhaling?

 CH Morb.Sacr. 4 (6.368 Littré); see also CH Flat. 10: “For the wind that is breathed in through the throat passes into the chest, and comes out again through this passage. So when ascending womb meets the descending flux, a cough comes on, and the phlegm is thrown upwards… .”  CH Morb.Sacr. 7.3 (6.370 ff. Littré).  In connection with the meaning of “air” see CH De natura pueri (=Nat.Puer) 30.25; CH Flat. 7.9; and Flat. 4.6.2. In connection with the connotation of “breath”: Morb.Sacr. 10.12. Regarding πνεῦμα ἀσθένεια see Galen, De Usu Partium 3.785.11 Kühn; De Usu Partium 3.785.14; Galen, De Causis Pulsuum Kühn 9.39.7; 9.173.18; for πνεῦμα ἀκάθαρτον see Galen, De Compositione Medicamentorum Kühn 12.499.4; Galen, In Hippocratis Aphorismos Comentarii 17b 887; Arist., De generatione animalium 785b 11; Problemata 900a 21.  CH Flat. 9: τὸ πνεῦμα τοῦ σώματος.  This is also made clear in a fragment ascribed to Diocles of Carystus, who assumes that πνεῦμα can also leave the body by way of the σάρξ, but only if the body is not anointed with olive oil, etc., which clogs the body’s pores. Diocles in Gal. De Simplicium Medicamentorum Temperamentis ac Facultatibus 2.5 (11.471– 74 Kühn; Trans. Eijk, 327), which is considered one of the dietetic texts: “Moreover, just as wooden objects and skins and other things that are rubbed with oil pass on the oil inwards, so, he believed, do bodies. When this happens, [he thought], many of the things that normally flow through the flesh together with breath and slip away are blocked, just as similarly liquids cannot flow through the flesh together it breath and slip away are [something seems off here: “together it breath” incorrect? word missing?] blocked, just as similarly liquids cannot flow through strainers, linen or woolen cloths and all things through which something is sifted when being poured in and when oiled.”  See the text and translation by Amneris Roselli: “il corpo” and Littré “bouche.”  CH Morb.Sacr. 4.1– 2 (6.368 Littré).

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Given the range of possible meanings for the term ἐμφυσάω in ancient medical sources, in which the word appears numerous times, I propose taking these sources into account in order to understand the use of ἐμφυσάω in John.

3 The Occurrences of the Verb ἐμφυσάω in Ancient Sources A preliminary overview of the occurrences of the term ἐμφυσάω in ancient literature in the Thesaurus Linguae Graece or the Diccionario Griego-Español shows one tendency very clearly: the majority of passages in which the term ἐμφυσάω appears are in ancient medical texts. This is also noted by Klaus Thraede in his article “Hauch” (“Breath”) in the Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum: “Das in LXX u. NT geläufige ἐμφυσάω (u. Verwandte) beschränkte sich zuvor auf medizinische Texte” (“The term ἐμφυσάω, which is common in the LXX, is seen only in medical texts”).³⁶ Thraede, however, gives no further attention to this connotation, using ἐμφυσάω and πνεῦμα in a parallel manner in his following explanation. The subsequent question is: Do both concepts outline the same physiological circumstances and can they therefore be used interchangeably?

3.1 ἐμφυσάω in Ancient Medical Sources Indeed the most unusual, but numerically the most frequent, instances of ἐμφυσάω are found in treatises attributed to Hippocrates and Galen, in particular in those with a specific emphasis: ancient embryology. One of the most important texts concerning ἐμφυσάω is the treatise De natura pueri, where we find several derivatives of φυσάω with different prefixes. This may be a result of the content of the writing as a whole: It is πνεῦμα, which is responsible for growth and articulation, and it is secondly the sperm located at a warm place which pulls πνεῦμα, and it is thirdly the movement of the sperm and the fetus, but it is ἐμφυσάω that initiates the movement.³⁷  K. Thraede, “Art. Hauch,” In RAC 13:714– 33 (author’s trans.), see especially under II. “Griechisch-Römisch,” 718 f.  De natura pueri is correctly considered by researchers to be the first coherent theory of embryology. In this chapter, the author’s theory is informed by Democritus. Like Democritus, he is closely associated with Hippocratic humoral pathology, following the principle of “like attracts like.” Furthermore, like Democritus, the author assumes that πνεῦμα is constitutive for this process. In terms of the theory of heredity, the author is skeptical of Democrites’s idea of

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The author’s theory of embryology is based on the idea commonly known as pangenesis, combined with the thesis of ambisexual sperm. There are three fundamental principles: First, the seed that forms the nucleus of the embryo comes from every part of the body of both parents. Essentially, the concept is that the sperm of both partners remains in the womb, becoming mingled and condensed while it gets warm.³⁸ Because it is in a warm place, the sperm attracts πνεῦμα and is increasingly filled with it. Second, the mother’s blood, which nourishes the embryo as it is transformed into flesh, also comes from every part of the mother’s body. Ἐμφυσάω comes into play only when the sperm has become completely saturated with πνεῦμα: If the seed which comes from both parents remains in the womb of the woman, it is first of all thoroughly mixed together—for the woman of course does not remain still—and gathers into one mass which condenses as the result of heat. Next, it acquires breath, since it is in a warm environment. When it is filled with πνεῦμα, the πνεῦμα makes a passage for itself in the middle of the seed and escapes. Once this passage of escape for the warm πνεῦμα has been formed, the seed inspires from the mother a second quantity of πνεῦμα, which is cool. It continues to do this throughout the whole period: the warmth of its environment heats it, and it acquires cold breath from the mother’s breathing. In fact everything that is heated acquires πνεῦμα: the πνεῦμα breaks a passage for its escape to the outside, and through this break the object which is being heated draws a second lot of cold ἀήρ, by which it is fed. The same process occurs with wood, or with leaves, or with food and drink, when they are heated vigorously.³⁹

preformationism. Instead, he presumes that only general material structures are systematically inherited. Early manuscripts, for example Erotian, confirm the relationship between De natura pueri and De genitura. In addition, Littré suggested reading De morbis 4 as a continuation of De natura pueri, although this is not undisputed, especially in more recent research. De natura pueri describes the development of the child from conception up to birth: boys grow faster than girls and move earlier than girls. To learn more about pregnancy and its end, the author recommends an experiment with incubated chicken eggs. In addition, analogies are given using plants. De genitura is a textbook of embryology: the first chapters explain how the seed originates in all parts of the body and how the man as well as the woman forms the semen; the stronger seed determines the gender of the child.  The different theories regarding epigenesis and parthenogenesis discussed in ancient medical and philosophical treatises cannot be elaborated here. See the instructive article by C. K. Rothschild, “Embryology, Plant Biology, and Divine Generation in the Fourth Gospel,” In Women and Gender in Ancient Religion: Interdisciplinary Approaches, eds. J. A. Kellhofer et al., WUNT 263 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010): 125 – 51.  Ian M. Lonie, The Hippocratic Treatises “On Generation”, “On the Nature of the Child”, “Diseases IV”, Ars Medica, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Quellenkunde der Alten Medizin 7 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 1981), 6 = CH Nat.Puer. 12; 7.486 f. Littré. For further information see also Carl Werner Müller, “Zur Textgeschichte und Verfasserschaft der hippokratischen Schrift

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A similar process of nourishment that acquires πνεῦμα is made plausible by the reference to a cut in any kind of wood: It will expel air where it has been cut, and when this air gets outside, it eddies around the cut. This is a matter of common observation, and the reference is obvious: the air in the wood, since it is hot, draws to itself cold air to feed upon, at the same time it expels air… . Now when the moisture is heated in the wood it becomes air which then passes outside. As this air is expelled, the heat in the wood draws in cold air to replace it and to nourish itself.⁴⁰

The sperm receives πνεῦμα from the breathing mother but also emits it: As it inflates, the seed forms a membrane around itself; for its surface, because of its viscosity, stretches around it without a break, in just the same way as a thin membrane is formed on the surface of bread when it is being baked: the bread rises as it grows warm and inflates, and as it is inflated, so the membranous surface forms. In the case of a seed, as it becomes heated and inflated, the membrane forms over the whole of its surface, but the surface is perforated in the middle to allow the entrance and exit of air. In this part of the membrane there is a small projection, where the amount of seed inside is very small… .⁴¹

Third, the underlying principle is that similar parts attract one another. The author of De natura pueri describes this process in chapter 17 as follows: The development of the various parts of the body of a developing fetus, which are entitled τὸ ὅμοιον ὡς τὸ ὅμοιον, is described as the effect of πνεῦμα.⁴² This description attempts to encompass the range of variations that constitute similarity. However, the author does not seem to have been interested in differentiating or defining gradations, since in Greek every degree of similarity or resemblance is expressed using one and the same word. Thus, though the author of this text bases his argument on the theoretical principle of “like attracts like,” it is not because he wants to include a range of variations. The author demonstrates his embryology

De natura pueri”, In Text and Tradition. Studies in Ancient Medicine and its Transmission: Presented to Jutta Kollesch, ed. Karl Fischer et al. (Leiden/Boston, MA/Köln: Brill, 1998): 203 − 21; Franco Giorgianni, Hippokrates. Über die Natur des Kindes (De geniture und De natura pueri). Herausgegeben ins Deutsche und Italienische übersetzt und textkritisch kommentiert (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2006).  Lonie, The Hippocratic Treatises, 6 = CH Nat.Puer. 12.5; 7.488 Littré.  Lonie, The Hippocratic Treatises, 6 – 7 = CH Nat.Puer. 12.6; 7.488 Littré.  Lonie, The Hippocratic Treatises, 9 = CH Nat.Puer. 17.1; 7.497 Littré: “As the flesh grows it is formed by the πνεῦμα. Each thing in it goes to its corresponding element—the dense to the dense, the rare to the rare, and the fluid to the fluid. Each settles in its appropriate place, corresponding to that from which it came and to which is akin.”

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using an interesting comparison that also presents researchers with a great puzzle.⁴³ The text says, Suppose you were to tie a bladder on to the end of a pipe, and insert through the pipe earth, sand and fine findings of lead. Now pour in water, and blow through the pipe. First of all the ingredients will be thoroughly mixed up with water, but after you have blown for a time, the lead will move towards the lead, the sand towards the sand, and the earth towards the earth. Now allow the ingredients to dry out and examine them by cutting around the bladder: you will find that like ingredients have gone to join like. Now the seed, or rather the flesh, is separated into members by precisely the same process, with like going to join like. So much, then, on that subject.⁴⁴

Some astounding analogies in the physical experiment are obvious:⁴⁵ in the experiment the bladder and blowpipe; the three elements of lead, sand, and soil suspended in water; the blowing and drying out of the water; and finally the opening of the bladder are all put in bodily terms, compared to membranes, navel, particles of semen in fluid form, the embryonic puff of πνεῦμα, the solidifying of the embryo, and the bursting of the embryonic membranes. Therefore, the puff of air organizes the different bodily processes and signals a new phase. One term in this chapter merits a more precise consideration because it is hardly lemmatized in Classical Greek:⁴⁶ καταφυσώμενα. The term appears only twice in Classical Greek, both times in Aristotle,⁴⁷ where it refers to the spraying of joints. The situation is different in the church fathers. Though John Chrysostom and Pseudo-Athanasius of Alexandria⁴⁸ use the verb to describe the blowing wind, Epiphanius and others use it in a metaphorical sense, meaning “to scorn” or “to blow away.” In our context, the author appears

 Cf. Lesky, Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren der Antike, 1303.  Lonie, The Hippocratic Treatises, 9 = CH Nat.Puer. 17.4; 7.500 Littré.  C.W. Müller, Gleiches zu Gleichem. Ein Prinzip frühgriechischen Denkens, Klassisch-philologische Studien 31 (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1965), 115−18.  Another notable term is αὐτὸ στομοῦται, which is not even an entry in the new Diccionario Griego-Español. Whereas Zwinger’s 1579 translation (which the majority of interpreters still use) relates the development process solely to the mouth, in clear contrast to the other body parts, Ermerins (Hippocratis et aliorum medicorum veterum reliquiae. Mandato Acad. Reg. Disc. quae Amstelodami est. Traj. ad Rhen.) argues for “equipping oneself with a mouth,” which Wilamowitz (“Lesefrüchte,” Hermes 64 [1929]: 484 f.) then translates as “was sie für ein Mundwerk hat—what a gift of gab she has.” Αὐτό thus refers to the child or even the embryo, an idea further supported by the list of anaphoric phrases, which leads me to the translation, “For this purpose the embryo forms the mouth.”  Arist., De historia animalium 544 a4; De historia animalium 627 b15.  Ps.-Ath., Disp. cum Ario in synodo (PG 28 Migne) 484, 31−33.

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to be referring to the “blown-upon” parts. It is the umbilicus that moves the puff of air forward. Notable also is the verb ἐπιλαμβάνει, which means “to stop,” especially by pressure, or “to seize” or “take hold of,” especially in medical contexts.⁴⁹ The breath billowing down from above creates pneumatic pressure that prohibits breath from entering through the umbilicus, which is nevertheless still capable of transmitting blood and fluids. Therefore, καταφυσώμενα signals the birth. The atmospheric pressure pushes the embryo through the birth canal. That this perception is not limited to De natura pueri can be shown by several Hippocratic treatises and by Galen, particularly the treatise De superfetatione, where one reads in Chapter 15: In a woman who is having difficulties giving birth, if the fetus is held back in the parts of generation and does not pass out readily, but only with great effort and the application of medical contrivances, such children are not likely to survive. You should not remove their umbilical cord … ; also have the woman move very near to a child, and if she is thirsty give her melicrat to drink. If the umbilical cord puffs up with air like a pouch, the child will move or sneeze and give voice; then you should remove the cord while the child is taking a breath. If after a time, the umbilical cord does not puff up with air nor the child move, it will not survive.⁵⁰

The term ἐμφυσάω is not only used in the context of embryology, as we see in a few sources, of which the papyrus Oxyrhynchus 8.1088 is most noteworthy. This papyrus fragment from the first century C.E., which can be found in the British Library, refers in 8.1088.25 to ἐμφυσάω. The papyrus contains a list of possibilities for the treatment of wounds and ulcers, leprosy, blood flows, four-day fever, dropsy, and sleeplessness. Right before the segment about the four-day fever, the author discusses how one can cause a sudden puff of air within the body, using ἐμφυσάω. Galen discusses derivatives of φυσάω in detail, going beyond the connection with embryology, especially in De methodo medendi ⁵¹ and De Compositione

 LSJ 642, e. g., CH Aphor. 6.51 and more often.  CH De superfetatione 15 (8.485 Littré; trans. adapted from Jones). See also Superf. 27, where the text speaks of sudden gusts of air in the hollow spaces of the body.  See, e. g., Gal., De Methodo Medendi 10.964 Kühn; 10.967– 968. See also Gal., An in Arteriis Natura Sanguis Contineatur 4.711: If however the arteries are said to collapse up to a certain point, the argument can again be shown to be worthless, if we call to mind the phenomenon occurring with soft reeds. When we blow into them, we cause them to expand as far as they are naturally able; afterwards the air is emptied out from the end, just so much as the reed is naturally able to contract. For the reed will neither expand more, when we blow into it, nor again contract more. For it must be the case that only so much air is evacuated as we blew in and remains in it. Now

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Medicamentorum. ⁵² Nevertheless, at this point a basic difference appears: In the arguments regarding ἐμφυσάω we saw a connection with πνεῦμα in the sense of a puff of air and often of feeding. However, the verb as it occurs in the pharmaceutical works is connected with active substances that reach certain body parts or the body as a whole. Because ἐμφυσάω derives from φύσα, often understood as air pressure, air puff, and less often breath, we can probably suppose that the meaning of the verb connotes a puff of air or air pressure. And finally, we should mention the Magic Papyri, which refer to ἐμφυσάω— comparably to the medical treatises—in the context of begetting, nourishing, and increasing by the Lord.⁵³ The sources discussed here are limited to the transitive use of ἐμφυσάω in ancient medical and natural-philosophical texts, since ἐμφυσάω is employed in John 20:22 and Gen 2:7 LXX in a transitive manner.⁵⁴ The present result is astonishing in this respect, as the instances that point to the connotation “to breathe on,” “breathe into something,” or “blow on something” recede in

the same is true of the arteries: Some pneuma is held in them, even when they are contracted, but more is supplied from the heart when it fills them, and this fills their cavities during the time that it passes into them and causes the swelling; then, being emptied, it will allow them to contract again to their original size. But now, according to this argument also, there will never be the least necessity for any transfusion of the blood. Apart from anything else, we blow through our mouths into the reeds much more violently than the heart into the arteries. Clearly what is more violently blown in should be emptied out more forcibly and more quickly. But nevertheless if one were to present the reed itself to all the winds, even though there would never be a vacuum in the reeds, but the pneuma flowing through them will always have a free passage through the reed, it will never become empty, so that there is need of some other body again to fill up the place of what has been emptied out. (translation adopted from May)  See Gal., De Compositione Medicamentorum Secundum Locus 12.683 Kühn; 12.985: διὰ καλάμου ἐμφυσᾶσθαι τὰ τοιαῦτα φάρμακα, where Galen describes how pharmacy gets to special bodily parts, and Gal., De Compositione Medicamentorum Secundum Locus 12.694 τῷ μυκτῆρ, where he refers to Aetius and describes how medicine achieves all bodily parts.  PMG 12.238 (trans. Preisedanz): “Nahe mir, du aus den vier Winden, du alleinherrschender Gott, der den Menschen eingehaucht ἐμφυσάω hat den Hauch des Lebens, Herr des Schönen in der Welt, erhöre mich Herr, der den geheimen und unaussprechlichen Namen hat, vor dem die Dämonen erzittern, wenn sie ihn hören, vor dem auch die Sonne, vor dem die Erde, hört sie ihn, sich windet, der Hades, hört er ihn, in Verwirrung gerät, Ströme, Meer, Sümpfe, Quellen, hören sie ihn, gefrieren, die Felsen, hören sie ihn, bersten, und der Himmel dein Haupt, der Äther dein Leib, die Erde deine Füße, das Meer um dich, der Ozean, der gute Dämon. Du bist der Herr, der alles zeugt, nährt und mehrt.”  Intransitive ἐμφυσάω is used in the majority of references in the Septuagint as in 3Kgs 17:21 or Ezek 21:36, which will not be considered in the following. See also the list of sources in Diccionario Griego-Español (p. 1512; Sp. 1– 2 part II).

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favor of a physiological process within the body. Ἐμφυσάω most often appears in embryological texts, where it encompasses the differentiation and origin of the living being, its care and feeding, and the inducing of labor with a push or puff of air. The translation remains vague, however, since our biblical material offers no comparable concept. In any case, if the concept stands in the context of πνεῦμα, then a severe, sudden puff of air or aerial breakthrough is meant.

Excursus: The Spreading of Medical Knowledge in Antiquity We have seen that ἐμφυσάω, φύσα, and πνεῦμα in ancient medicine are of central importance and can enhance the understanding of New Testament texts. How, though, can we imagine the process of the mediation of medical knowledge? Nobody will seriously consider that Early Christian authors addressed penetrating questions of ancient medicine with the help of a detailed study of medical writings. Nevertheless, the question remains: In which form was medical knowledge accessible? Was this knowledge accessible merely to some upperclass members or can we imagine that simple people also had access to medical knowledge? In light of the Corpus Hippocraticum, this question will be explored in compulsory brevity.⁵⁵ Surprising as it may seem, we must establish here from the outset that the clear distinction we make between philosophy on the one hand and medicine on the other, between theoretical and empirical-practical implications, did not exist in this form in antiquity. Just as the thinkers of antiquity known to us as philosophers, Plato (428/27– 348/47 B.C.E.), Aristotle (384– 322 B.C.E.), Alexander of Aphrodisias (around 3rd cent. B.C.E.), or Sextus Empiricus (160 – 210 CE) could turn their attention to matters concerned with the anatomy or physiology of the human body, physicians such as Diocles of Carystus (around 4th cent. B.C. E.) or Erasistratus (304 – 250 B.C.E.) were listed as philosophers in the doxographic tradition—by Aëtius, for example—along with Plato and Aristotle. Likewise the works of the Corpus Hippocraticum are better comprehended when the struggle between scientific medicine, theoretical medicine, and the idea of divine power represented in them is recognized. Philosophy was by no means a uniform

 For the following see also Annette Weissenrieder, “Stories Just under the Skin. Lepra in the Gospel of Luke,” In Miracles Revisited, eds. Stefan Alkier and Annette Weissenrieder (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013): 73 – 100.

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thing at this time, and that which was understood by the word “medicine” was even less uniform.⁵⁶ Medicine was not only diversified into a branch strongly influenced by philosophy and one more practically oriented (which is even true for the branch that is generally called “folk medicine”). Intellectual medicine was by no means a uniform entity, since in its philosophical aspect it was rather divided. This could also be a result of the fact that research has only recently revisited the issue of textual genre. The Corpus Hippocraticum is of fundamental importance to the history of ancient medicine given the transition from an oral to a written tradition in these texts.⁵⁷ From the fifth century B.C.E. onwards, medical knowledge that had been previously handed down by word of mouth was recorded in writing. The issue of the transition from an oral tradition to a written one, however, is more complex than it seems upon a first, merely cursory examination of the Hippocratic Corpus. But why is the question of oral transmission of medical theories so crucial? The sources show that medical-philosophical cases and theories were often discussed orally and in public lectures and were sometimes written down only after a lengthy transmission process. A certain uniformity of medical-philosophical theories can be seen in the lectures of Anonymus Londiensis, and we have reports of these lectures from laypeople such as Xenophon, who writes in his pedagogical novel about the education of Kyros.⁵⁸ Thus the author of the Hippocratic treatise De affectionibus addresses explicitly in his prooemium the “intelligent lay person,” whom he wishes to enable to help himself in case of illness. Likewise the speech De flatibus, which we now have in the form of a treatise, is addressed to the lay person with the knowledge of the basic principles of natural philosophy. From the author of De natura hominis we learn of the public’s reaction to various teachings; he describes not without sarcasm how the audience gives its assent first to one, then to another speaker.⁵⁹ In addition, Volker Langholf has demonstrated that even given their diversity, medical theories of the different schools were in practice consistent, especially in terms of their

 See Teun Tielemann, “Religion and Therapy in Galen,” in Religion und Krankheit (eds. G. Etzelmüller and A. Weissenrieder; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgeselschaft, 2009), 89 ff.  I refer primarily to Antje Krug, Heilkunst und Heilkult. Medizin in der Antike (Munich: H. C. Beck, 1993), 43 ff.  Xenophon Institutio Cyri 1.6, 16 ff.  CH De natura homine 1 (6.32.2−34.7 Littré); see also Jouanna, Hippocrate. La Nature de l’homme, Corpus Medicorum Graecorum 1.1.2 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1975), 222−25 and 235.

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knowledge of dietetics.⁶⁰ Every lay person confronted with a physical problem, or having an interest in medicine, could at that time find pertinent reading material easily, take part in the many lectures, or find assistance at the market square.⁶¹ By means of the texts of the Corpus Hippocraticum, medicine became a science that was written and handed down, with experiences that could be passed on. The existing texts cover a variety of types of texts, subjects, and theories—for example, prognostic, dietary, and therapeutic writings, as well as an ethnographic treatise.⁶² Basic to the Hippocratic writings is the theme or assertion that medicine is an art. As such, the achievements and boundaries of medical activity are closely drawn. The major task of the doctor consists in always being aware of these boundaries and in subordinating his own ego to the interests of the ill human being. Medical knowledge is based, primarily, on experience. This enables the healer to assess the prospective natural history of an illness. The task of the doctor is to support the person in his or her fight against the illness, which he defeats by means of practices derived from precise observation. This is also the reason, for example, why questions of the anatomy of the person or of the function of the brain or the muscles were hardly mentioned. Purpose was based on the healing of illnesses, not on their causes. A few treatises refer explicitly to oral tradition,⁶³ for example De vetere medicina, which refers to all those “who have attempted to speak or to write on medicine and who have assumed for themselves a postulate as a basis for their discussion.”⁶⁴ In De natura homine we read that the treatise is addressed to an audience which is “used to listening to people who speak about the nature  Volker Langholf, “Über die Kompatibilität einiger binärer und quaternärer Theorien im Corpus Hippocraticum,” In Hippocratica. Paris. Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique (Colloques internationaux), ed. Mirko Drazen Gremek (Paris: Èditions du Centre de la recherche, 1980): 333−46.  Volker Langholf, “Nachrichten bei Platon über die Kommunikation zwischen Ärzten und Patienten,” In Hippokratische Medizin und Philosophie (Verhandlungen des VIII. HippokratesKolloquiums in Kloster Banz/ Staffelstein, 1993), eds. R. Wittern and P. Pellegrin (Zürich: Hildesheim, 1996): 113 – 43, here 115.  CH De aere aquis locis 12 – 14.  See for the following Jacques Jouanna, Hippocrate. Des vents—De l’art, ed. and trans. Jacques Jouanna, Budé 5.1 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2003), 10−24 and 169 ff.; cf. also Jutta Kollesch, “Zur Mündlichkeit hippokratischer Schriften,” In Tratados Hipocráticos (Estudios acerca de su contebido, forma e influencia). Actas del VIIe Colloque International Hippocratique (Madrid, 24 – 29 de septiembre de 1990) (Madrid: Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia1992): 335−42.  CH De vetere medicina 1.1 (1.570 Littré). Cf. Hippocrates: On Ancient Medicine. Translation with Introduction and Commentary, ed. Mark John Schiefsky (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2005), 35 f.

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of man beyond what is relevant for medicine.”⁶⁵ We also know of treatises that seem as if they respond directly to questions from an audience, as in the following passage from De morbis I: “Anyone who wishes to ask correctly about healing, and, on being asked, to reply correctly, must consider the following… . When you have considered these questions, you must pay careful attention in discussions, and when someone makes an error in one of these points … then you must catch him there and attack him in your rebuttal.”⁶⁶ The interface of orality with written text becomes especially clear when we consider the gynecological writings of the Hippocratic Corpus. De natura muliebri and De mulieribus especially contain long lists of prescriptions and recommended procedures reflecting traditional knowledge gathered over the course of generations. With some treatises, however, the written character is evident, as for example De morbis popularibus 6.8.7, which mentions information “derived from the small writing tablet.” According to Langholf,⁶⁷ this allows us to assume that some chapters of the Epidemics can be traced back to written notes first recorded on writing tablets. This would also explain why in this book of the Epidemics there are many passages of the same length. Recently, scholars have taken special notice of the question of how medical knowledge was transmitted in antiquity—in other words, which literary genres were related and which technical concepts (and in what manner) were introduced in order to lead the audience, listeners, and readers to certain conclusions. Several examples of this line of investigation can be found in a collection of essays, one of which is Vermittlung und Tradierung von Wissen in der griechischen Literatur. ⁶⁸ Differences can be traced back to the presence of several authors or to the very different time periods in which a treatise was written (think especially of

 CH De natura homine 1 (6.32 Littré). Later on (6.34 Littré; trans. Jones), the author says: “The best way to realize this is to be present at their debates. Given the same debaters and the same audience, the same man never wins in a discussion three times in succession, but now one is victor, now another, now he happens to have the most glib tongue in the face of the crowd. Yet it is right that a man who claims correct knowledge about the facts should maintain his own argument victorious always, if his knowledge be knowledge of reality and if he set it forth correctly. But in my opinion such men by their lack of understanding overthrow themselves in the words of their very discussions, and establish the theory of Melissus.”  CH De morbis I 1 (6.140−42 Littré; trans. Potter).  Langholf, “Beobachtungen zur Struktur einiger Traktate des Corpus Hippocraticum,” Sudhoffs Archiv 73 (1989): 64−77.  Vermittlung und Tradierung von Wissen in der griechischen Literatur, eds. Wolfgang Kullmann and Jochen Althoff, Script Oralia 21 (Tübingen: G. Narr Verlag, 1993).

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De hebdomadibus—On the Seven, which is dated to the first century C.E., whereas other treatises are dated to the 4th century B.C.E.), as well as to different intended audiences (lay people or specialists). It has been shown, therefore, that some cases given as examples in the Epidemics of the Hippocratic Corpus can only be understood when interpreted as a doctor’s private notes. Likewise, the treatises De flatibus (On Breaths) and De arte (On the Arts of Medicine) can be better comprehended when they are read as advertising texts designed to attract patients in the “medical marketplace.”⁶⁹ Both treatises show that the Hippocratics not only had to distinguish themselves from magicians and Templar healers but also had to establish themselves in opposition to intellectual healers who offered healing informed by their philosophy. Nevertheless, one point should be clear: Basic medical knowledge was accessible for persons of different educational levels. We should be careful, in any case, not to interpret ancient medicine only as an upper-class phenomenon.

3.2 ἐμφυσάω in Gen 2:7 LXX and in Wisdom of Solomon In John 20:22– 23, Jesus, with the puff of πνεῦμα, transmits the holy spirit, which enables forgiveness of sins; the holy spirit was not named either with the Paraclete or in John 19:30. This encounter with the holy spirit creates a deepening link between the disciples and Jesus, overcoming the dichotomy between the wordmessage and simple vision. This supposition is further supported by Gen 2:7 LXX and Wis 15:11: God provides life for the person formed from soil. The exegesis by Philo of Alexandria concerning the origin of the person deepens and confirms these associations still further: Just as God gives to the people the breath of life and helps them to live, so also does Christ in giving the holy spirit. The verb ‫ נפח‬is used in the Masoretic Text in the qal in Gen 2:7MT; Isa 54:16; Jer 1:13; 15:9; Ezek 22:20, 21; 37:9; Hag 1:9; Job 41:12; in the hifil in Mal 1:13 and Job 31:39; and only once in the pual, in Job 20:26. The Septuagint translates ‫ נפח‬generally with ἐμφυσάω. The verb is used transitively in Gen 2:7 LXX as well as in Wis 15:11 and John 20:22. It is used intransitively in 3Kgs 17:21; Ezek 21:36; Tob 6:9; and Nah 2:2. These passages will therefore not be included in the following explanations.⁷⁰  Vivan Nutton, “Healers in the Medical Market Place: Towards a Social History of Greek and Roman Medicine,” In Medicine in Society, ed. Andrew Wear (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992): 15−58.  See also the list of sources in Diccionario Griego-Español (p. 1512; Sp. 1– 2 II).

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In Gen 2:7 the physical constitution of the person is determined: The first person consists of ‫אדמה‬, “soil,” and ‫נשמת חיים‬, “air of life.” For the process of inserting the breath of life in Gen 2:7, ‫ נפח‬is used.⁷¹ The meaning and translation of ‫ נפח‬are still uncertain. In scholarship, “breathe into,”⁷² “blow into,”⁷³ or an animating “breathe on” are preferred. The verb indicates applying the mechanics of air pressure, “to blow on” or “to kindle,” “kindle” being the meaning in Ezek 37:9, where the dried skeletons of killed human beings are kindled by the spirit ‫ רוח‬that is blown into the world to raise them to life.⁷⁴ It is questionable whether ‫ נפח‬in Gen 2:7 was intended originally as a qal or as a hifil. As evidence of this uncertainty, the Samaritan version can be mentioned: the verb appears here in the hifil, which one can interpret in light of the Samaritan Targum J as causative: “And he let breath of life blow in his nose and he kindled life breath in his nose.”⁷⁵ If we follow the Samaritan version, it is not God who kindles the air of life. The effectiveness of the air of life ‫ נשמת חיים‬is so procured that it animates the person for a certain time; the life-breath is the vital side of the physical human constitution, and it is exposed to physical decay because the person has the breath of life only for a time before he returns again to the earth. We must ask whether the Septuagint is following the Masoretic Text or the Samaritan Targum, or if it is unequivocal when it translates Gen 2:7: καὶ ἔπλασεν ὁ θεὸν τὸν ἄνθρωπον χοῦν ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς καὶ ἐνεφύσησεν εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ πνοὴν ζωῆς. However, some conspicuous textual features are to be noted here as well: Though the rousing of air in the Hebrew text could be related to the Assyrian “ritual to open the mouth (mīs pî),”⁷⁶ the mention of the face or the whole  See e. g. Paul Maiberger, “‫נפח‬,” TWAT 5:519 – 21.  Matthew Edwards, Pneuma and Realized Eschatology in the Book of Wisdom, FRLANT 242 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 87.  See, e. g., Abraham Tal, A Dictionary of Samaritan Aramaic, HdO 1.50 (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2000), 236, who argues for the meaning “to blow” in Gen 2:7 in Ms.E. As his main reference he relies on Matt 8:6, Jesus’ calming of the storm. However, ἐμφυσάω is not mentioned in this passage.  For further details see Weissenrieder, “Die lebendige Wirkung des Geistes,” 11– 29.  See therefore the excellent commentary by Stefan Schorch in Vokale des Gesetzes. Die samaritanische Lesetradition als Textzeugin der Tora. 1. Das Buch Genesis, BZAW 339 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2004), 87 f.: “und er ließ in seiner Nase Lebensatem blasen/ und er entfachte in seiner Nase Lebensatem.”  The Septuagint reads “face” instead of “nose.” In recent times scholars have interpreted this as an echo of the so-called “ritual to open the mouth”: This ritual has the goal of verifying the cult statue and enthroning the statue, which is elevated as a god. See therefore in detail A. Berlejung, Die Theologie der Bilder. Herstellung und Einweihung von Kultbildern in Mesopotamien und die alttestamentliche Bilderpolemik, OBO 162 (Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998),

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person means that it is more likely to refer instead to the notion in ancient medicine that a person breathes with the whole body. The use of πνοή (instead of πνεῦμα) for ‫ נשמת חיים‬may already have caused some problems in antiquity. Though πνοή as a rule means the cold outside air, πνεῦμα is—in so far as it refers to the body—rather an indication of the changed breath in the body.⁷⁷ Gen 7:22 mentions the breath of life similarly to Gen 2:7 (“spirit of the breath the life” as a genitivus qualitatis; ‫)נשמת רוח חיים‬. In both passages the breath of life is inserted in the nose or through the face, but Gen 7:21 has a special emphasis: Whereas Gen 2:7 only mentions kindling the air of life in a person, Gen 7:21– 22 expands this to all creatures or all “flesh.” However, Gen 7:21– 22 expands on ‫רוח‬. The spirit is designated by a genitive chain, “the spirit of the air of life” ‫חיים‬ ‫נשמת רוח‬, as something that goes out from the breath of life or is set in relation to this breath of life. Grammatically, therefore, one thing becomes clear: The breath of life is not obligatorily connected with the spirit ‫רוח‬. The spirit is meant to be a superadditum. As Gen 2:7 shows, the spirit can operate independently of the breath of life. Therefore, the breath of life holds its own life force or spirit. Next to the above-mentioned passages in Genesis, we should also mention Gen 7:15, where the breath of life, ‫רוח חיים‬, again raises the question of the source of life for the priestly text.⁷⁸ It is remarkable that the Septuagint translates the genitive here—similarly to Gen 2:7 LXX—merely with πνοή, thereby avoiding ‫רוח‬. Besides the passages in Genesis, Wis 15:11 should be mentioned. The text reads: τὸν ἐμπνεύσαντα αυτῷ ψυχὴν ἐνεργοῦσαν καὶ ἐμφυσήσαντα πνεῦμα ζωτικόν (“And inspired them with active souls and kindled a living spirit into them”). This verse takes up the syntactical parallelism from Gen 2:7 and offers a “‘more Greek’ rendering and nuancing of the intended meaning.”⁷⁹ Ψυχή and πνεῦμα appear in syntactical parallelism again in Wis 16:14, but in reverse order. On

412n1949. In her habilitation, A. Schellenberg argues against this enthronement ritual, Das Mensch, das Bild Gottes? Zum Gedanken einer Sonderstellung des Menschen im Alten Testament und in weiteren altorientalischen Quellen, AThAT 101 (Zürich: TVZ, 2011), 90n265.  For further explanation regarding Philo see below. Regarding the distinction between πνοή and πνεῦμα see Weissenrieder, Images of Illness in the Gospel of Luke, 256 – 66, 269 ff.; and Annette Weissenrieder, “Die lebendige Wirkung des Geistes in Gen 2,7LXX. Das Bedeutungsspektrum von ‫ נפח‬/ ἐμφυσάω und ‫ נשמה‬/ πνοή im Lichte antiker medizinischer Quellen,” JSCS 46 (2013): 11– 29.  Contra J. Schabert, Fleisch, Geist und Seele im Pentateuch. Ein Beitrag zur Anthropologie der Pentateuchquellen, SBS 19 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1966), 58, who speaks instead of life substance of a “nichtkörperliche(n) Kraft im Fleisch.”  H. Engels, “Sophia Salomons/Sapientia/Das Buch Jesus Sirach,” In Psalmen bis Daniel, vol. 2 of Septuaginta Deutsch. Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament, eds. M. Karrer und W. Kraus (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft), 2152.

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the basis of this parallel, numerous interpreters consider the concepts of soul and spirit to be interchangeable, as already seems to be obvious in the verb ἐμπνέω, which LSJ translates with “breathe upon, blow into.”⁸⁰ However, the differences, which can be discussed here only briefly, are in my opinion notable: Whereas the soul works (ἐνεργοῦσαν) automatically in the person αὐτῷ but is not called “immortal,” it is the immortal πνεῦμα that is effective in all (people).⁸¹ The soul can be given only if it is connected with πνεῦμα (τὸν ἐμπνεύσαντα). In antiquity this was conceivable in so far as πνεῦμα goes through different processes and changes in the body: It was Erasistratus who first worked out the theory of breathing that Galen refined. His starting point was that πνεῦμα originates from outside air ἀήρ or πνοή (not πνεῦμα), which is drawn into the lungs by inhaling. From the lungs, the air is conveyed to the left ventricle of the heart, where it becomes the πνεῦμα on which the vital process depends. The inchoate πνεῦμα of the lungs is attracted by the left ventricle of the heart. Here the completion of the metamorphosis from air to πνεῦμα happens. What is now passing through the arteries in the body is a thin, spirituous blood, which contains life-giving πνεῦμα; πνεῦμα is seen as nourishment.⁸² At last the vital πνεῦμα finds its way through the ventricles of the brain. Here, the πνεῦμα has become an even finer substance and is called the psychic πνεῦμα. This psychic πνεῦμα is distributed throughout the whole body.⁸³ It controls sensations like seeing and the body’s ability to move. The πνεῦμα acts as its own substantial unity by increasing heat in the body and cooling it down.

 LSJ, “ἐμπνέω,” 546. Joachim Schaper, “‘… denn er ist besser als das, was er anbetet’ (Sapientia Salomonis 15:17),” In Was ist der Mensch, dass du seiner gedenkst? (Psalm 8:5), eds. Michaela Bauks, Kathrin Liss und Peter Riede (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2008): 455 – 64; see similarly also Levison, Spirit, 69.  Wis.Sol. 12:1 τὸ γὰρ ἄφθαρτον σου πνεῦμά ἐστιν ἐν πᾶσιν.  CH Alim. 30 (9.108 Littré); Gal. 5.281 Kühn, De alimento, states, “The human body and all other creatures are fed by three kinds of nourishment. This three-way nourishment has the following names: food, drink and πνεῦμα.” The same treatise asserts that “lung attracts nutriment that is opposed to the food of the body,” and this theory was abandoned by upholders of the breathing function of the lung; so De corde (third century B.C.E.): “Air and water are not food (τροφή).” In De placitis II Galen quotes Hippocrates: “The source of nourishment of pneuma is the mouth, the nostrils, the windpipe, the lung and the rest of the transpiration διαπνοή.”  Anonymous of Paris, On Acute and Chronic Diseases 10 (72.3 – 12 Garofalo): “The Ancients did not mention the affection by name as [something] occurring independently, but as an additional [affection] befalling the principal places, when these are inflamed, especially the esophagus, which is called kardia, … and that it occurs as a result of inflammation, when breath is losing vigor and is dissolved, just as incense is which has been in contact with fire, breath which itself also held the body together … ὃ πνεῦμα ἦν αὐτὸ καὶ τῷ σώματι ἕξις.”

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Therefore, we can see that the ἀήρ or πνοή that we breathe in is not the same that acts as πνεῦμα in a living being. Medical texts are concerned with the central information carried by the πνεῦμα into the heart, brain, and soul of a person. Πνεῦμα is associated with subtle traces of blood or bile. Accordingly, πνεῦμα can be thought of as a material substance. Even if the meaning of ‫ נפח‬or ἐμφυσάω is uncertain,⁸⁴ the verb describes the mechanics of air pressure, for which one may use the terms “blow into” or “kindle.” Therefore, the mechanics of breathing are to be distinguished from the content:⁸⁵ God gives the breath of life to Adam, formed from soil; but this is not synonymous with the “breathing out /exhaling” of God.

3.3 ἐμφυσάω in Philo of Alexandria It was probably Philo of Alexandria who interpreted the Yahwistic creation in a new light and heavily influenced the early Christian exegesis of Genesis, as for example in 1Corinthians 15. The interpretation of Gen 2:7 in John 20:22 hardly seems possible in any case, according to the majority of exegetes, without Philo. It is noteworthy that Philo, Gen 2:7, Wisdom of Solomon, and the philosophical and medical sources differentiate between air πνοή and πνεῦμα, since they do not use the concepts uniformly. In Gen 2:7 LXX we read: καὶ ἐνεφύσησεν εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ πνοὴν ζωῆς. We could argue that Philo seems to recognize no appreciable difference between πνοή and πνεῦμα, as he cites the verse in Legum allegoriarum 3.161 καὶ ἐνεφύσησε γὰρ εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ πνεῦμα ζωῆς ὁ θεόν.⁸⁶ Mary Weaver brings forward the following argument in her dissertation: “One explanation for the pattern of his arguments and the knowing misquotation of Genesis 2:7 is that he was trying to buttress a valuable philosophical concept with the authority of the word of God in the Torah.”⁸⁷ Whether Philo thereby really adapts the Stoic philosophy in a stronger way, as is suggested by Weaver, or whether Philo distances himself from Plato’s soul

 Similarly also Paul Maiberger, “‫נפח‬,” TWAT 5:519 – 21.  This is not true for the image speeches of Ezek 22:20 or Job 20:26, where the fire is not kindled from human beings. Maiberger, “‫נפח‬,” 521, calls this “uneigentliches Feuer (improper fire).”  See also Quod deterius poterior insidiari solet 80; differently: De opificio mundi 135; Legum allegoriarum i 31; De somniis i 34; Quis rerum divinarum heres 56; De specialibus legibus 4.123 ἐμφυσῆσαι πνοὴν ζωῆς.  M. Weaver, “πνεῦμα in Philo of Alexandria” (Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 1973), 71.

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world in the Timaeus, as is argued by Pulver,⁸⁸ or whether he simply refers to the possible differentiation mentioned in Gen 7:21– 22, cannot be answered with certainty and should not be subject to further discussion here. It is clear, in any case, that Philo and Gen 7:21– 22 differ from Gen 2:7 in their use of πνεῦμα. In his treatise De opificio mundi, Philo deals intensively with creation theology in light of Plato’s Timaeus. ⁸⁹ Beside the visible world, he posits an invisible world, the world of ideas. In this invisible world all creation has its model. Thus it is only consistent for Philo to begin the creation of the world by God with the creation of the ideal world. This is the context for understanding the godlikeness of the human spirit, the idea, νοῦς, that was spiritual and at the same time without substance and neither male nor female. Philo differentiates accordingly between the “human being that was formed (Gen 2:7)” and “the human being that was created after God’s image (Gen 1:26 – 27)” or as the “forefather of the human being.”⁹⁰ Whereas the latter is based on body and soul and is mortal, the former is unvarying in nature and is immortal. The connection to πνεῦμα derives from Philo’s interpretation of Gen 2:7, the creation in body and soul of the single person, who is made prominent. Into this earthly person constituted from body and soul God breathes his πνεῦμα θεοῦ. Thereby πνεῦμα is not only distinguished from νοῦς but also soars above it. In contrast to the biblical text, in which the person is provided with the breath of life initially, Philo pleads for an additional spirit.⁹¹ Behind this lies Philo’s distinction between the person created in the idea and the first earthly person: Though the first person is given πνεῦμα, the second person receives πνοή, the cold air that spreads out like an herbal smell: He uses the word “air” not “spirit,” implying a difference between them; for “spirit” is conceived of as connoting strength and vigor and power, while air-pnoe is like a fresh breeze or a peaceful and gentle vapor. The mind that was made after the image and original might be said to partake of spirit, for its reasoning faculty possesses robustness; but the mind that

 M. Pulver, “Das Erlebnis des Pneuma bei Philo,” ErJb 13 (1945): 111– 32, here 117.  H. Leisegang, Der Heilige Geist. Das Wesen und Werden der Mystisch-Intuitiven Erkenntnis in der Philosophie und Religion der Griechen. I. Teil Die vorchristlichen Anschauungen und Lehren vom πνεῦμα und der mystisch-intuitiven Erkenntnis (Leipzig/Berlin: Teubner, 1919), 76, writes : “Es ist aber zugleich auch die Schrift, in der Philo über Platon hinausgeht und aus der platonischen Ideenlehre die Konsequenten zieht, vor denen Platon selbst zurückscheute und in deren folgerichtiger Durchführung das Wesen des Neuplatonismus besteht.”  Philo, De opificio mundi 134; 136.  Leisegang, Der Heilige Geist, 95, interprets this human being that is similar to God as a pneumatic being.

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was made out of matter must be said to partake of the light and less substantial fresh breeze, as of some exhalation such as those that rise from spices.⁹²

Whether πνοή comes close to the meaning of ἀήρ cannot to be determined with certainty but is probable. So far, so good. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that Philo changes not only πνοή to πνεῦμα but also ἐμφυσάω to ἐμπνέω. Thus Philo writes: For the Creator … employed for its making no pattern taken from among created things, but solely, as I have said, His own Word λόγος. It is on this account that he says that man was made a likeness and imitation of the Word λόγος, when the divine πνεῦμα was breathed (ἐμπνευσθέντα) into his face… . Such was the first man created as I think, in body and soul, surpassing all the men that now are.⁹³

Not only does Philo connect the creation of the heavenly person with the earthly, but he also connects the likeness to God of the divine person in Gen 1:26 – 27, the logos, with the enlivenment of the first person through artificial respiration from the divine πνεῦμα: “What he breathed in was nothing else than the divine spirit which has emigrated here from that blessed and flourishing nature for the assistance of our kind… .” Here, as well as in De plantatione 18 – 20, it is not the mechanics of the air pressure or air puff that is described but the special substance: God breathes the divine breath of life into the face of the human being.⁹⁴ The fact that God’s spirit can touch the human body and his soul was pointed out by Philo in relation not only to Adam in Gen 2:7 but also to Abraham. Thus he writes: “The divine spirit which was breathed upon him from on high made its lodging in his soul, and invested his body with singular beauty.”⁹⁵ Therefore, we can suppose that the notions that Philo held concerning Adam focused not only on Adam but also on Abraham and, finally, all people:⁹⁶ πνεῦμα moves the soul and body of all humans. Philo defines this πνεῦμα as the divine spirit that can be transferred to human beings, as for example to the seventy elders. The spirit, τὸ ἐπ αὐτῷ πνεῦμα, which is upon him is the wise, the divine, the indivisible, the un-distributable, the good spirit, the spirit which is everywhere diffused, so as to fill the universe, which, while it ben-

 Philo, Leg. 1.42 (trans. adapted from Colson and Whitaker, LCL 1).  Philo, De opificio mundi 139 – 40. See also De Plantatione 19.  See for this point 3.2.  Philo, De virtutibus 217 (trans. Colson, LCL).  See George H. van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context. The Image of God, assimilation to God, and Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy and Early Christianity, WUNT 232 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 294.

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efits others, is not injured by having participation in it given to another, and if added to something else, either as to its understanding, or its knowledge, or its wisdom.⁹⁷

Although Philo interprets the πνεῦμα in a way that is known to us from the Stoics, he understands the concept in De legum allegoricum allegorically as νοῦς, stripped of its material wrapping: And we must consider that the human being who was formed of earth, means the mind which is to be infused into the body, but which has not yet been so infused. And this mind would be really earthly and corruptible, if it were not that God had breathed into it the spirit of genuine life; for then it ‘exists,’ and is no longer made into a soul; and its soul is not inactive, and incapable of proper formation, but a really intellectual and living one. ‘For man,’ says Moses, ‘became a living soul.’ There are two kinds of man: one is heavenly, the other earthly. The heavenly one, although created in the image of God, has no share in a transitory or generally earthly substance, whereas the earthly one was made out of the original material that Moses calls dust.

This brings us to the third central writing on Gen 2:7, the Quaestiones et Solutiones, which offers a commentary on Gen 2:4– 28:9 LXX in the interrogative style (“What is the meaning of the words …?”; “What does the biblical text mean with …?”).⁹⁸ A large part of the text has come down to us in Armenian, and one finds only a fraction in John of Damascus or the authors of the Katene. Thus a certain caution must be exercised at this point in trying to find a concise meaning and translation of ἐμφυσάω. Section 1.4 of this treatise says: What is the man who was created? And how is that man distinguished who was made after the image of God? … Moreover, that man who was to be created as a vessel is formed by a potter, was formed out of dust and clay as far as his body was concerned; but he received his soul by God breathing the breath of life into his face, so that the temperament of his nature was combined of what was corruptible and of what was incorruptible.⁹⁹

We can indeed suppose that John was familiar with Gen 2:7 in the version of the Septuagint. Like Philo, John interpreted πνοή in terms of πνεῦμα. And like Philo,

 Philo, De gigantibus 27– 28 (trans. De Young).  From the perspective of literary criticism this commentary is considered controversial; see therefore Siegert, Interpretation, 177, and M. Böhm, Rezeption und Funktion der Vätererzählungen bei Philo von Alexandrien. Zum Zusammenhang von Kontext, Hermeneutik und Exegese im frühen Judentum, BZNW 128 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005), 327. The special style of this commentary is wellknown in ancient literature, especially from the second century B.C.E. on in Alexandria, as with Demetrios (second century B.C.E.) or the Stoic Heracleitus.  Philo, Quaest. Gen. 1.4 (trans. C. D. Yonge, The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged New Updated Edition [Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993], 791).

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John went back to the transmission of the breath of life in the creation of the first person, with whom other human beings, namely Abraham (in Philo) and the disciples (in John), can feel connected. Meanwhile, in Philo the spirit moves first the soul and only then the body. In similar fashion to Philo, John develops a logos theology in the context of human creation, but with a different emphasis. Nevertheless, in contrast to Philo, John takes over ἐμφυσάω and does not change it into ἐμπνέω, which was widespread in the ancient literature. We know that John changes the πνοή of Gen 2:7 LXX to πνεῦμα, but he does not change ἐμφυσάω to ἐμπνέω. We must suppose that the connotation of the verb ἐμφυσάω was closer to his main idea than was ἐμπνέω. What then can ἐμφυσάω mean?

4 The Infusion of the Spirit Assuming the observations made in this essay are right, must we therefore interpret John 20:22– 23 in the context of ancient embryology? And what would this mean for the father/son and the Christ/disciples relationship? Some exegetes have recently strengthened their emphasis on these questions and interpreted John’s Gospel in light of ancient “medical” embryology.¹⁰⁰ Adele Reinhartz and Turid Karlsen Seim have both taken their starting points in the embryological theory of “epigenesis”¹⁰¹ (literally: “according to creation”), which they trace

 See particularly Adele Reinhartz, “‘And the Word Was Begotten’: Divine Epigenesis in the Gospel of John,” Semeia 85 (1999): 83 – 103; Turid K. Seim, “Descent and Divine Paternity in the Gospel of John: does the Mother Matter?” NTS 51 (2005): 361– 75; idem, “Motherhood and the Making of Fathers in Antiquity: contextualizing Genetics in the Gospel of John,” In Women and Gender in Ancient Religion: Interdisciplinary Approaches, eds. J. A. Kellhofer et al., WUNT 263 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010): 99 – 123; idem, “Roles of Women in the Gospel of John,” In Aspects on the Johannine Literature, Coniectanea neotestamentica, eds. L. Hartman und B. Olsson, New Testament Series 18 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1987): 56 – 73; J. Lieu, in her article “The Mother of the Son in the Fourth Gospel” (JBL 117 [1998]: 61– 77) turns not to the question of medical embryology but much more to the mother as a sociological category. M. Meye Thompson, “The Living Father,” Semeia 85 (1999): 19 – 31; with a different emphasis: Clare K. Rothschild, “Embryology, Plant Biology, and Divine Generation in the Fourth Gospel,” 125 – 51; and H. J. Cadbury, “The Ancient Physiological Notions Underlying John 1.13 and Hebrews XI.11,” The Expositor 9.2 (1924): 430 – 39.  The term “epigenesis” is connected with the philosophical theories of vitalism from the 19th century and might be capable of being misunderstood. See therefore C. Darwin, The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication, vol. 2 (London: Murray, 1868), 49, 57, etc.

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mainly to Aristotle.¹⁰² The basis of Aristotelian theory is that the masculine and feminine principles differ concerning their physiological properties, in the warmth or coldness of their nature, and concerning their morphological properties, in the presence of external masculine genitals. Therefore, the masculine and feminine principles are to be differentiated from each other with regard to their reproductive principles. Whereas Aristotle defines the male principle as the principle that is “in the beginning of the movement and the procreation,” the female is defined as the principle “that should be interpreted as the beginning of the material.”¹⁰³ According to Aristotle the male principle is distinct from the female in being able to eject sperm, whereas the sperm of the female, on account of its coldness, has no formative power. With the emphasis on “epigenesis,” both Reinhartz and Seim differentiate their sources from the Corpus Hippocraticum, which they classify with pangenesis, a theory that they read especially in the treatise De natura pueri. ¹⁰⁴ Pangenesis represents a “parity in sexual procreation.”¹⁰⁵ The doctrine of pangenesis is based on the belief that the reproductive seed originates in all the parts of the body: “The seed, I say, is separated from all over the body, even from both the hard and the soft parts of the body and from all the moisture in the body.” Pangenesis connects the question of the origin of the seed with humoral physiology. The belief that the seed comes from all parts of the body is connected with the conception of the interior of the body as a web or network of veins that reaches to the penis in the man and to the uterus in the woman. The vessels, also called channels or paths, ὁδοί, are narrow in the case of

 Besides epigenesis and pangenesis, parthenogenesis has been discussed recently, for example, in the instructive article of Rothschild, “Embryology, Plant Biology, and Divine Generation in the Fourth Gospel,” especially pages 136 ff. The discussion relates to the passage in Aristotle’s De generatione animalium 715a–b and 759a, which is not undisputed in the literature of medical history. Undisputed at least is that Harvey interpreted Aristotle in this way. For further information see E. Fischer-Homberger, “Stammbaum und Nabelschnur. Zur Embryologiegeschichte der Abstammung. William Harvey‚ De generatione animalium von 1651,” In Geschlechterdifferenz und Macht. Reflexion gesellschaftlicher Prozesse, Kolloquium 18 der Schweizerischen Akademie der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaften, eds. St. Brander, R. J. Schweizer, and Beat Sitter-Liver (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 2001): 39 – 58.  Arist., De generatione animalium 43 (trans. Aubert/ Wimmer).  For pangenesis in the New Testament, see Cadbury, “Ancient Physiological Notions,” 430 – 39, and P. W. van der Horst, “Sarah’s Seminal Emission: Hebrews 11:11 in the Light of ancient Embryology,” In Greeks, Romans, and Christians: Essays in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe, eds. D. L. Balch, E. Ferguson, and W. A. Meeks (Minneapolis, MA: Fortress, 1990): 287– 302.  E. Lesky, Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren der Antike und ihr Nachwirken, Abhandlungen der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse Jahrgang (Mainz/Wiesbaden: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften/Steiner, 1950/51), 81.

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boys and girls and therefore not able to “conduct” blood and semen; they are wider in adult men and women. Similar statements can be found in De aere aquis locis 14 and De morbo sacro 2, where in agreement with De genitura 3 the author writes: “For the seed comes from all parts of the body, namely from the healthy parts of healthy people and from the sick parts of the sick.” Therefore, we can see that the theory of pangenesis is rather complex and is not restricted to the reproductive organs. The assignment of the Corpus Hippocraticum as a whole to the specific theory of pangenesis seems rather unusual, considering that the sixty-two treatises of the Corpus are all written by different authors. Even the treatise De natura pueri admits no unequivocal allocation:¹⁰⁶ In addition to the theory of pangenesis, the first chapter of De genitura and De natura pueri also mention the encephalo-myelitic seed theory, according to which the spinal marrow is ascribed an essential role in the collection and dissemination of the seed.¹⁰⁷ Whether this should be seen as a vestige of an engagement with “folk belief,” as George assumes,¹⁰⁸ or as a specific residuum within the theory of pangenesis, as Lesky believes,¹⁰⁹ cannot be determined conclusively. We find echoes of this idea in De natura ossium,¹¹⁰ where the reproductive material is said to come from the limbs of the body and the spinal marrow, and in De morbis II, which endeavors to establish a correlation between frequent sexual intercourse and locomotor ataxia.¹¹¹ Thus we need to make a careful analysis of the Hippocratic sources.¹¹²

 This is especially true when we take into account that the Corpus Hippocraticum was written between the fifth century B.C.E. and the first century C.E. and collected treatises written by different authors and different schools.  Lesky, Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren der Antike, 16 f., 77– 81.  George, Human Conception and Fetal Growth, 119.  Lesky, Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehre der Antike, believes that the text at hand represents an older doctrine; there is however no evidence that this is the case.  CH De natura ossium 15 (9.190.1 f. Littré).  CH De morbis II 51 (7.78.14 ff. Littré).  The central question is whether one is confronted with a metaphorical interpretation of the epigenetic theory in the Gospel of John or with a more literal interpretation, as Reinhartz advocates: “I will argue that the Johannine use of generative language, while clearly metaphorical, also may be read as a claim that Jesus is quite literally the son of God” (“Divine Epigenesis,” 92). She continues (p. 94): “A reading of the generative language would argue that the relationship between Jesus and God is like that of a son and a father. But insofar as the Gospel imputes uniqueness to Jesus among humankind, as the one who is preexistent and the only son of his divine father, we are afforded a glimpse of a more literal understanding of generative language according to which Jesus’ uniqueness rests in the fact that he is the only one in the human or indeed divine realms who has come forth from, or been generated, directly, by the divine seed.”

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Generally speaking, regarding Reinhartz and Seim, we can draw three lines between Aristotelean epigenesis and the Gospel of John: (1) Several terms can be found in the Gospel of John that one also can verify in Aristotle’s De generatione animalium, such as πνεῦμα as breath of life, λόγος as the origin of movement, ἀρχή as rational principle, γεννάω as conceiving the seed, and γίνομαι as being born or becoming.¹¹³ These terms indicate “that the author of the Gospel intended to draw on common Greco-Roman embryological concepts and language in the attempt to articulate the mysterious and vital relationship between God and Jesus.”¹¹⁴ (2) This special correlation is deepened in the conversation with Nicodemus on rebirth in chapter 3. Terms like κοιλία, γεννάω, or ὕδωρ are interpreted as womb, conceiving, or sperm. “This may refer to a ritual of initiation whereby those who believe in him are begotten by God to become children—and call him their Father.”¹¹⁵ (3) This rebirth is then articulated in an extravagant way in John 20:22, when Jesus breathes πνεῦμα on his disciples. “In Aristotelian terms, the πνεῦμα is carried by the male seed that gives form to the offspring. The giving over of Jesus’ πνεῦμα to the disciples therefore might imply that Jesus is thereby ‘begetting’ them, molding them in his form and shape.”¹¹⁶ The relationship between father and son is conferred on the disciples. Indeed, this contextualization of the terms is remarkable and would underline my interpretation of ἐμφυσάω. Without doubt, we can also refer to the philosophical messenger as a concept in the context of the Gospel of John. Here the messenger is sent by God or the gods.¹¹⁷ The disciples are mandated to a mission, as Christ has been sent by the Father (see ἀποστέλλειν 3:17, 34; 5:36, 38; 6:29, 57; 7:29; 8:42; 10:36; 11:42; 17:3, 8, 18, 26, 29; for πέμπειν see in 4:34; 5:23 – 24, 30, 37; 6:38 – 39, 44;

 Reinhartz, “Divine Epigenesis,” 97, and Seim, “Motherhood and the Making of Fathers in Antiquity,” 110 ff.  Reinhartz, “Divine Epigenesis,” 98.  Seim, “Motherhood and the Making of Fathers in Antiquity,” 121.  Reinhartz, “Divine Epigenesis,” 97.  See Diogenes in Epictet I,24,6; Eusebius, Hist.Eccl. 3.26.1; Corp. Herm. 1.26. E. Percy, in his book Untersuchungen über den Ursprung johannäischer Theologie, 1939, has already drawn attention to the differences between the Johannine theory of the messenger and the Mandaic messenger; for further information, see the analysis regarding the Gospel of John by Kristina Dronsch, “A Theory of the Message for New Testament Writings or Communicating the Words of Jesus. From Angelos to Euaggelion,” In The Interface of Oralitiy to the Written Text, eds. A. Weissenrieder and R. Coote (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010).

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7:16, 18, 28, 33; 8:16, 18, 26, 29; 9:4; 12:44– 45, 49; 13:20; 14:24; 15:21; 16,5).¹¹⁸ The parallels in 13:20 and 17:18 are especially remarkable: similar to the sending of the Son by the Father, in John 20 the Son sends those who are sent, the apostles.¹¹⁹ And similar to the Father and the Son (holy sealing and sanctification; see 4:34; 5:19; 10:37; 17:4; the sanctification with the spirit, which rests on Jesus; 1:32) there is a relationship of dependence between Jesus and the disciples: Jesus sanctifies them (17:19) and grants them πνεῦμα. This dependence of the messenger on the sender is interpreted in the Gospel of John through many terms signifying birth: John 3:4; 8:41; 9:2, 19, 20, 32, 34; 16:21; 18:37: γεννηθῆναι γέρων ὤν; John 9:1: ἐκ γενετῆς; John 16:21: τίκτῃ; John 1:12; 11:52: ἐξουσίαν τέκνα θεοῦ; John 13:33: τεκνία; John 1:13: ἐκ θεοῦ ἐγεννήθησαν; John 3:3, 7: τις γεννηθῇ ἄνωθεν; John 3:5: τις γεννηθῇ ἐξ ὕδατος καὶ πνέυματος; John 3:6, 8: πᾶς ὁ γεγεννημένος ἐκ τοῦ πνέυματος; John 9:34: ἐν ἁμαρτίαις σύ ἐγεννήθης ὅλος. These arguments seem to speak in favor of deepening an embryological interpretation of the Gospel of John and therefore of integrating the meaning of ἐμφυσάω into the interpretation offered by Reinhartz and Seim. The above-mentioned terms such as κοιλία, γεννάω, or ὕδωρ, interpreted as womb, conceiving, or sperm, are documented in several medical treatises of Hippocratic provenance and in Galen, although with very different emphasis. Contrary to ἐμφυσάω, the terms in the Hippocratic Corpus and in Galen do not admit a correlation with embryology, which is true for κοιλία as well as for γεννάω or πνεῦμα, ἀνώθεν, etc.¹²⁰ The evidence shows that the terms occur in medical as well as biological treatises in antiquity, and in embryological treatises. However, every one of the above-mentioned terms has a very broad meaning that does not at all speak in favor of an embryological understanding. The analysis can therefore be summarized as follows: It is not only possible but almost unavoidable to derive the meaning of the term ἐμφυσάω in John 20:22 from the context of ancient medical texts, where the term may connote nourishment and movement through air pressure or a puff of air. This meaning also seems possible for Gen 2:7 LXX and Wis 15:11. Just as the term may connote the infusion of the puff of outside air by God into the first human in Gen 2:7

 Πέμπειν is also used for sending the Paraclete; see therefore K. H. Rengstorf, Apostlat und Predigtamt (1934); idem, “ἀποστέλλω κτλ.,” TWNT 1:397– 448; W. Schmithals, Das kirchliche Apostelamt (1961).  Apostles are mentioned in the Gospel of John only once, in 13:16.  Regarding κοιλιή as air in the body see CH VM 13.10; VM 22.28; CH Loc.Hom. 1, 10, 11, 12; CH Flat. 7, 15; CH Coac. 85; CH Coac. 108, 127, 149, 158, 169, 178, 205, 207, 209, 212, 215, 226, 235, 508, 509, 512, 516; CH Epid. 2, 1, 7, 14, 19; Epid. 5, 98; CH Morb. 3, 2, 17; CH Morb. 3, 14, 10 etc.

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LXX and Wis 16:11, so ἐμφυσάω in John 20:22– 23 refers to the infusion of πνεῦμα into the disciples through Jesus. The Greek translations of Gen 2:7 LXX and Wis 15:11 on the one hand and its reflection in John 20:22 on the other hand are to be distinguished from Philo, who interprets the puff of air onto the human being as inhaling God’s pneuma. Though πνεῦμα as breath could be misunderstood as anthropomorphizing both God and Christ, the application of ἐμφυσάω leaves precisely this approach open. Moreover, John 20:22 emphasizes the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and therefore the divinity of Christ, not his humanity. This is true even when we assume that in characterizing the embodiment of Christ, John is using vocabulary that is documented by the majority of sources in medical contexts.

Beate Ego¹

Ruaḥ and the Beholding of God— From Ezekiel’s Vision of the Divine Chariot to Merkaba Mysticism The connection between the ruaḥ and the motif of the beholding of God is a central issue in early Jewish mysticism of Hekhalot literature² in the first centuries C.E. According to the Hebrew Enoch tradition, Enoch thus travels with the ruaḥ to the heavenly realms (§ 10) where he receives several revelations, learns many secrets of the divine world, and eventually beholds the deity who sits enthroned in heaven. There, the future fate of his people is shown to him (§§ 68 – 70). According to a tradition in Hekhalot Rabbati, an angel spares the heavenly traveler by showing him the appropriate seal, bringing him “a rushing ruaḥ and letting him sit in a shining wagon” so that he can safely ascend to heaven (§ 231). As a final example, Hekhalot Zuṭarti states that, being worthy to behold the King of beauty, “the living ruaḥ of glory” carries him, until Ofanim, Kerubim, and the Hayot “take him up and put him down before the throne of glory” (§ 411). The aim of this study is to investigate the traditio-historical roots of this ruaḥ-beholding-of-God theme and to trace the lines leading from its traditions in the Hebrew Bible³ to its usage in Hekhalot literature. My analysis will be structured as follows: (1) I will begin with Ezekiel’s vision of the divine chariot and I will also draw upon the perspective of other traditions that discuss the ruaḥ in the Book of Ezekiel; (2) from there, I will examine the term’s semantic meaning; (3) then I will look at the context of the vision of the divine chariot in the Hebrew Bible; and finally, (4) I will briefly overview further developments related to this theme.

 Beate Ego, Lehrstuhl für Exegese und Theologie, Altes Testament, Evangelisch-Theologische Fakultät, Ruhr-Universität Bochum.  Cf. the text editions and translations produced under the editorship of Peter Schäfer, which include Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur, TSAJ 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1982); Peter Schäfer, ed., Übersetzung der Hekhalot-Literatur, vols. 1– 4 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987– 95); Detailed descriptions of individual traditions can be found in the introductory chapters of the respective volumes. For a general investigation, see Gerschom Scholem, Die jüdische Mystik in ihren Hauptströmungen (Zürich: Rhein-Verlag, 1957); Peter Schäfer, ed., Hekhalot-Studien (TSAJ 19; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988); Peter Schäfer, Der verborgene und offenbare Gott: Hauptthemen der frühen jüdischen Mystik (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991); Peter Schäfer, The Origins of Jewish Mysticism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009).  In this article, all biblical references are cited according to the NRSV.

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Ezekiel’s vision of the divine chariot, as is generally known, can be regarded as the basic text for the development of early Jewish mysticism: the chariot that the prophet Ezekiel sees in his vision had already given rise to exegetical speculation in rabbinic literature, which was probably accompanied by ecstatic phenomena.⁴ According to later Hekhalot texts, the heavenly journey takes those who are worthy to the divine throne where they can participate in the service of the angels and are possibly allowed to behold the deity.⁵

1 Ruaḥ and the Beholding of God in Ezekiel’s Vision of the Divine Chariot in the Context of the Book of Ezekiel Ezekiel’s vision of the divine chariot is well known and has frequently been the focus of scholarly literature.⁶ I shall therefore keep my summary brief: at the time of his vision of the divine chariot, the prophet, as is clear from the introductory description, is in Babylonian exile. According to the text, five years have passed since the first exile, which implies that the Temple in Jerusalem is still standing. The prophet now recounts how he is blessed with a vision of light and ruaḥ at the river Kebar. In this context, light and ruaḥ are elements of a theophany and also imply an aspect of the divine judgment.⁷ Heaven opens and he sees—which is probably the best way to describe the complex details of this text —the divine throne being carried by strange, tetramorphic beings. The figure of the deity, which is described from the prophet’s perspective, sits on the throne.

 On this point, see Karl Erich Grözinger, “Die Gegenwart des Sinai: Erzählungen und kabbalistische Lehrstücke zur Vergegenwärtigung der Sinaioffenbarung,” FJudB 16 (1988): 143 – 83; Arnold Goldberg, “Rabban Yohanans Traum,” FJudB 3 (1975): 1– 27.  Concerning the motif of heavenly journey, see Beate Ego, “‘Er betrachtet und sieht den König der Welt’: Das Motiv der Gottesschau im Kontext der Himmelsreise in der Hekhalot-Literatur,” In Dem Geheimnis auf der Spur: Kulturhermeneutische und theologische Konzeptualisierungen des Mystischen in Geschichte und Gegenwart, eds. Susanne Klinger and Jochen Schmid, Theologie, Kultur, Hermeneutik 6 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007): 13 – 34.  See, for example, Walther Zimmerli, Ezechiel, BKAT 13/1 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969), 1– 92; Bernhard Heininger, Paulus als Visionär: Eine religionsgeschichtliche Studie, HBS 9 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1996), 52; Ruth Poser, Das Ezechielbuch als TraumaLiteratur, VTSup 154 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 547– 49; see the overview in James Robson, Word and Spirit in Ezekiel, LHBOTS 447 (New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 96.  See Poser, Ezechiel, 547, who refers to the intertextual relationship between the expression “coming from the north” in Ezek 9:2 and Ezek 38:6, 15; 39:2.

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The aloofness with which Ezekiel describes the divine throne is quite remarkable because the prophet seems to perceive everything through a “soft-focus lens.” The prophet lessens the accuracy of his description by the repeated usage of the particle “‫”כ‬, which expresses a certain detachment.⁸ The motif of ruaḥ plays a further role at the end of the vision, once the deity has been beheld and the prophet has been commissioned to proclaim God’s word. It becomes apparent that the prophet will have to announce a disaster. Now the prophet recounts that he is lifted up by the ruaḥ and is led away (Ezek 3:12– 14). The immediate context reveals that he is brought back to his fellow countrymen in Babylonian exile. The reference to the anger of the spirit and the fact that the prophet is distraught shows that this encounter utterly confuses and disconcerts him. Ruaḥ is described here within a rather broad spectrum. On the one hand, it is an aspect of a theophany, a kind of sphere in which the Divine reveals itself. On the other hand, we also need to picture ruaḥ as a kind of wind that causes the prophet to change places.⁹ The vision of the divine chariot with its elements of “theophany” and “change of location through the ruaḥ” is intertextually connected with other passages in the Book of Ezekiel. Concerning the change of location through the ruaḥ, Ezek 8:3 states that the ruaḥ lifts the prophet between heaven and earth and takes him from Babylonian exile to the Temple in Jerusalem. There, he has a vision of the chariot that resembles the one at the river Kebar (see Ezek 8:4). The vision shows him all the sins that are causing God to bring the future judgment upon Jerusalem. The expression that this occurred “in visions of God” (‫ְבַמְראוֹת‬ ‫ )ֱאל ִֹהים‬makes it clear that we are dealing with a strange vacillation between a real and a visionary change of places and that the ruaḥ changes from being a transporting force to being a kind of visionary sphere of the deity. A very similar account can be found in Ezek 11:1– 13. First, the ruaḥ lifts the prophet up and takes him once again to the Temple of Jerusalem to “the east gate of the house of the LORD.” From here, he sees the leaders of the people who wrongly believe they are safe in their current political situation (Ezek 11:1– 4). Following these verses, the account continues by stating that the ruaḥ of

 Zimmerli, Ezechiel, 56 f.  Concerning the different aspects, see also Walther Zimmerli, Ezechiel, BKAT 13/2 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969), 1262– 65. Concerning the overall matter, see also Daniel Block, “The Prophet of the Spirit: The Use of rwḥ in the Book of Ezekiel,” JETS 32 (1989): 27– 49; Harold E. Hosch, “RUAH in the Book of Ezekiel: A Textlinguistic Analysis,” JOTT 14 (2002): 77– 125; Pamela Kinlaw, “From Death to Life: The Expanding Ruah in Ezekiel,” PRSt 30 (2003): 161– 72.

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YHWH, “the spirit of the LORD,” comes on the prophet, who then pronounces the divine judgment against Jerusalem (Ezek 11:5 – 13). The ruaḥ thus empowers the prophet to prophesy.¹⁰ Finally, after Ezekiel has seen the divine throne with the kabod leaving the city, the ruaḥ lifts Ezekiel up again and takes him “in a vision by the ruaḥ of God” (‫ )ַבַּמְרֶאה ְבּרוַּח ֱאל ִֹהים‬back to the exiles in Babylonia (Ezek 11:24). This passage thus includes a further theophany of YHWH which, when compared to the vision of the divine chariot at the beginning of the book, is composed rather cautiously. Additionally, it does not name the moment of ruaḥ as an element of theophany. It must be stressed again that ruaḥ is presented as both an outer and an inner force.¹¹ Similarly, the duality of the concept of ruaḥ can be detected in Ezek 37:1– 6, where the term again implies a transport to a different location and the occasion of a revelation. In this passage, when the hand of YHWH is on the prophet, the prophet is then led “by the ruaḥ of the LORD” to a valley full of bones and instructed to prophesy the resurrection of the corpses he sees before him.¹² A final example that highlights this concept of ruaḥ can be found in Ezek 43:5. This passage is part of an account in which Ezekiel is brought to the land of Israel “in visions of God” (40:2) in the 25th year of exile and 14 years after the destruction of the Temple. He is set on a high mountain, enabling him to see the entire Temple district (40:1– 42:20). A careful analysis of this passage’s historical date makes it very clear that the Temple he sees must be an imagined building. After the kabod of YHWH (cp. Ezek 11:23 for the appearance of this clause) has filled the Temple, the prophet falls on his face. Although this theophany in Ezek 43:3 deliberately parallels the first vision in Ezek 1:1– 3:12, the element of the ruaḥ is missing from this later vision. After the description of this theophany, the ruaḥ of YHWH takes Ezekiel to the inner court of the Temple, where he hears a speech by God. YHWH announces to him that he will now forever live in the Temple, “the place of my throne” and “the place for the soles of my feet” (43:7).¹³

 Concerning this, see Zimmerli, Ezechiel II, 1264.  For further discussions of Ezek 11:1, see Zimmerli, Ezekiel I, 242 and Robson, Word and Spirit, 98.  Fuller treatments of Ezek 37:1 may be found in Zimmerli, Ezechiel II, 891 f.; Poser, Ezechiel, 554– 62; Robson, Word and Spirit, 198 – 212.  Concerning Ezek 43:5 in general, see Zimmerli, Ezechiel II, 1078; Poser, Ezechiel, 563.

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2 The Semantics of the Term ruaḥ: New Approaches from the Neue Phänomenologie This overview of ruaḥ tradition in the Book of Ezekiel is sufficient to show that ruaḥ has to be perceived as an entity with a wide range of meanings, possessing both inner and outer characteristics. This divergent image fits in with the broad semantics of the term we already know from the Hebrew Bible tradition in general. Numerous papers and works have convincingly demonstrated that the term has a wide variety of meanings, ranging from “wind” to “spirit,” which can be further subdivided into meteorological, anthropological, theological and eschatological aspects.¹⁴ These findings can best be consolidated into a synopsis if we understand ruaḥ in terms of “power, dynamics.”¹⁵ This power can manifest itself in the form of natural phenomena, such as wind, or in the form of the divine power of creation, which is the beginning of everything and which can—particularly according to later texts—be connected with human vitality. Based on the works of Hermann Schmitz, a representative of the Neue Phänomenologie, philosopher Guido Rappe states that ruaḥ is a term for an experience of the force or power of the atmosphere (“Bezeichnung für eine als Atmosphäre erlebte Kraft oder Macht”).¹⁶ The alternative, namely to understand ruaḥ as a meteorological or re-

 On this matter, see the relevant overviews provided by S. Tengström and H. Fabry, “‫רוח‬,” TWNT 7:386 – 426; R. Albertz and C. Westermann, “‫רוח‬,” THAT 2:726 – 53; Manfred Oeming, “Geist/Heiliger Geist II. Altes Testament,” RGG 3:564– 65; Werner H. Schmidt, “Geist/Heiliger Geist/ Geistesgabe I. Altes Testament,” TRE 12:170 – 73; Antonius Hermann Joseph Gunneweg, Sola Scriptura 1: Beiträge zu Exegese und Hermeneutik des Alten Testaments, ed. Peter Höffken (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983); Friedrich Baumgärtl, “πνεῦμα B, Geist im Alten Testament,” TWNT 6:357– 66. An instructive overview can be found in Robert Koch, Der Geist Gottes im Alten Testament (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1991), 9 – 12 and Robson, Word and Spirit, 12– 17. Both include references to relevant literature. Concerning the overall matter, see Henning Graf Reventlow’s review, “Ein immer wieder aktuelles Thema: Neue Veröffentlichungen über den Gebrauch von rûah im Alten Testament,” TRev 89 (1993): 453 – 58.  The dynamic aspect can already be found in Johannes Hehn, “Das Problem des Geistes im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament,” ZAW 43 (1925): 211; Aubrey Johnson, The Vitality of the Individual in the Thought of Ancient Israel (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1949), 28 ff.; see also Albertz and Westermann, THAT 2:726; Helen Schüngel-Straumann, Ruach bewegt die Welt: Gottes schöpferische Lebenskraft in der Krisenzeit des Exils, SBS 151 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1992), 78.  Guido Rappe, Archaische Leiberfahrung: Der Leib in der frühgriechischen Philosophie und in außereuropäischen Kulturen (Berlin: Akadademieverlag, 1995), 307. In this context, Rappe refers

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ligious phenomenon, is misleading because, according to G. Rappe, this would imply a dangerous isolation of a phenomenon usually embedded in a religious horizon (“eine gefährliche Isolation eines normalerweise in einen religiösen Horizont eingebetteten Phänomens”).¹⁷ The encounter with the ruaḥ originally meant the confrontation with a numinous power which can also manifest itself in meteorological phenomena (“die Konfrontation mit einer numinosen Kraft, die sich auch in meteorologischen Erscheinungen zeigen kann”).¹⁸ This idea of atmospheric powers that pervade the earth and influence mankind is widespread and is often accompanied by the image of a highest god who can manifest himself as wind or storm but who is not identical to a weather god.¹⁹ In this context, reference has been made to the Greek ether, light par excellence, which could also be pictured as windy movement.²⁰

to Hermann Schmitz, Das Göttliche und der Raum, System der Philosophie 3/4 (Bonn: Bouvier Verlag, 2005), 13 ff. and 109 ff.  Rappe, Leiberfahrung, 309.  Rappe, Leiberfahrung, 309 f.  Rappe, Leiberfahrung, 312.  Rappe, Leiberfahrung, 313 (with further reference, e. g. to Franz Fürlinger, Studien zum AitherBegriff in der griechischen Literatur bis Platon [Innsbruck 1948], 129; n.v.); Schmitz, Das Göttliche, 121– 24. According to Rappe, Leiberfahrung, 315: Wie das Licht durch den Himmel bricht und die Weite des Raumes mit einem Strahlen und einem Glänzen erfüllt, wie Gewitterstürme, Wolken und Winde den Kosmos durchziehen, so wunderbar, aber auch so abgründig erschien den frühen Menschen die Macht der alten obersten Götter. In den Vorstellungskreis um die Figur des Sturm-, Wetter- oder Himmelsgottes fallen nicht nur der mesopotamische Anu und der griechische Zeus, sondern auch die altägyptischen Götter Amun und Schu, der sumerische Saru, Vayu und die Maruts, sowie der altisraelitische Jahwe. Man kann Fabry nur zustimmen, wenn er zu dem Ergebnis kommt: “Damit erweisen sich Licht und Wind als die grundlegenden, der Naturbeobachtung entnommenen Metaphern für das Reden über Wesen und Wirken Gottes.” (Fabry 1990, 407) Consideration must be given to this question: To what extent can the idea of ruaḥ (as a powerful atmospheric phenomenon, able to manifest itself as wind) be related to JHWH? One common etymology of the name JHWH attempts to derive the name from a Hiphil form of the hebrew Hawa, which would suggest a meaning such as “he causes to blow” or “may he let blow.” Quite interestingly, in one of its earlier layers, the miracle at sea is associated with a blowing wind that divides the water. Based on an etheric power, the idea of such a deity offers a starting point for other concepts, such as the association with a weather god or a solar deity/solarisation. In this context, see also Oeming, “Geist”, 564: “Mit seinen bes. Eigenschaften—unsichtbar und doch hochwirksam, unfaßbar und doch überall präsent, völlig frei und doch zielgerichtet, scheinbar ein Nichts und doch absolut lebensnotwendig—ist der bewegte ‘Wind’ neben dem ‘Licht’ … die grundlegende Naturmetapher für das Wesen und Wirken JHWHs.”

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3 Ruaḥ and Beholding in the Context of Biblical Traditions The association of ruaḥ and the beholding of God, which is characteristic of the Book of Ezekiel, bears witness to different traditio-historical usages. The element of ruaḥ as part of a theophany is seen in several other biblical passages. First of all, we can name Gen 3:8, a story in which the first two human beings hear the voice of YHWH, walking in the garden in the breath of day (‫)רוח היום‬. A very similar context can be found in 2Sam 5:24, which states that a sound (‫ )קול‬of marching can be heard in the tops of the baka trees. This is to be understood by David as a sign that YHWH has gone out before him to defeat the armed forces of the Philistines. Although indirectly, this theme is taken up again in 1Kgs 19:11– 13. Concerning Elijah at Mount Horeb, it is explicitly stated that YHWH was not in the ruaḥ nor in the earthquake or fire, but rather in a small voice. This comparison clearly shows that, in this context, we are dealing with a critical examination and modification of the concept of ruaḥ. ²¹ Quite strikingly, the vision of the divine chariot in the Book of Ezekiel is the only description of a theophany that does not link ruaḥ to an isolated acoustic phenomenon, but instead places it in a context with a vision. Addressing the perception of the change of location through the ruaḥ, it becomes apparent that this motif is of crucial importance for pre-classical prophecy. After Elijah’s ascent to heaven in a “storm,” the prophet’s disciples speculate that a ruaḥ may have taken him and that he may have been taken to a mountain or valley (2Kgs 2:16).²² The ruaḥ as a means of transportation in the Book of Ezekiel is thus an “archaism” that draws from older prophets.²³ The extent to which the ruaḥ can also be regarded as a force or power that inspires the divine word in pre-exilic times is discussed in different ways. While one group of scholars believes there is a rather close relation in this regard,²⁴  On this matter, see Jörg Jeremias, Theophanie: Die Geschichte einer alttestamentlichen Gattung, WMANT 10 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 112– 15; Albertz and Westermann, THAT 2:733; Tengström and Fabry, TWNT 7:404; Koch, Geist Gottes, 14– 19. Interestingly enough, Koch also refers to Exod 14:21; 15:8; Ps 18:16 and numerous other traditions which attest to the wind that stands completely in the service of the God of history (“ganz im Dienste des Geschichtsgottes steht”)—see Koch, Geist Gottes, 17 (cf. Isa 4:4– 6; 7:2; 11:15 – 16; 17:12– 14; 30:27– 39; 33:9 – 11).  In this context, see also 1Kgs 18:12.  See Tengström and Fabry, TWNT 7:416; Albertz and Westermann, THAT 2:734.  In this regard, compare Schmidt, Geist, 171: Spirit as an ecstatic moment with various examples: “Soon, the spirit is experienced as the power which inspires the word—which is able

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others plead that there is a fairly broad difference.²⁵ In general, it can be noted that, from the beginning, the ruaḥ plays a substantial role within the phenomenon of prophecy. The ruaḥ can be evoked by music; it can seize the prophets and make them sing and dance (1Sam 10:5 – 6, 10 – 12).²⁶ While in these cases the ruaḥ causes a temporary talent, ‫ רוח‬can also refer to a power that permanently directs a prophet. Elisha can therefore ask Elijah whether he may inherit at least two thirds of the latter’s ruaḥ after his death (2Kgs 2:9). After Elijah’s rapture and the first miracle performed by Elisha, the prophet’s disciples indeed detect that Elijah’s ruaḥ is now resting on Elisha (‫ ָנָחה רוַּח ֵאִל ָיּהוּ ַעל־ֱאִלי ָשׁע‬2Kgs 2:15).²⁷ As to whether the ruaḥ was also connected to receiving the word in pre-exilic prophecy, it is useful to view the account of Micaiah of Imlah. According to this tradition, YHWH can also send a deceiving ruaḥ that inspires the prophet of King Ahab to make a prophecy, which will later turn out to be false (1Kgs 22:22). This is an example of the perception that the revelation occurs through the medium of the ruaḥ, even if ex negativo. In this context, it is worth noting that in the present account, the ruaḥ appears in a personified form: he can come forward during the divine council and even speak before God (1Kgs 22:21).²⁸ to be understood and passed on” (“Bald wird der Geist auch als die Macht erfahren, die das— verständliche, überlieferbare—Wort eingibt [Num 24,2ff; II Sam 23,2; I Reg 22,24]”). The eighth and seventh century prophets do not refer to the spirit, perhaps because they want to avoid any association with ecstatic prophecy. Concerning the overall matter, see also Robson, Word and Spirit, 148 f.  Cf. Albertz and Westermann, THAT 2:746; Tengström and Fabry, TWNT 7:416.  See Albertz and Westermann, THAT 2:743 ff.; Tengström and Fabry, TWNT 7:415 f.  Concerning pre-classical prophecy, see also Robson, Word and Spirit, 114– 30.  On this tradition, see Robson, Word and Spirit, 125; John Levison, “Prophecy in Ancient Israel: The Case of the Ecstatic Elders,” CBQ 65/4 (2003): 517 f. In this context, also compare the account in Num 11 where part of Moses’ spirit can be transferred to the seventy elders. When the seventy elders, who had received the ruaḥ to assist Moses with the court rulings (and thus, as should be added, to proclaim God’s word) fall into ecstasy about receiving the spirit, it becomes apparent that the boundaries between ecstatic prophecy and prophecy through revelation are hazy. The explications in Levison, Prophecy are instructive in this context. Levison differentiates between two different forms of ecstasy, namely between a socially peripheral form and a socially central one: Ecstasy in a socially peripheral context, according to Lewis, typically involves a relatively unexpected experience that begins with what looks like an illness but, through communal diagnosis and often with the help of an established medium (e. g. a shaman), is interpreted as a form of ecstasy that authenticates the ecstatic. The effect of this claim is an enhancement of status; the person gains authority because the spirits speak through him or her. In addition, the person is able to challenge the status quo from the perspective of someone from the margins who emerges with divine approval. The social context of central possession or ecstasy differs from that of peripheral possession or ecstasy. In the former, it

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In addition to the concept of ruaḥ, Ezekiel uses another older tradition, namely, the beholding of God, a vision that ultimately prefaces his message of divine judgment. The oldest examples, at least according to traditional opinions on the material, can be found in the context of the vision cycle of Amos: in his third vision, Amos beholds YHWH standing on a wall. The plumb-line he is holding in his hands and which he means to set among the people stands for the forces that will come upon Israel according to God’s will in order to punish her for her deeds (Amos 7:7– 9).²⁹ A standing deity is also the object of the fifth vision of Amos in Amos 9:1– 4; the destructive moment of the vision is once again fairly obvious when, to preface the destruction of his people, YHWH announces that he intends to cause the thresholds of the Temple to shake. A very similar tone can be found in Isa 6:1– 13, which, like the Amos visions, should probably be dated to the eighth century. In this case, the deity not only illustrates or announces the future disaster, but the sight of the vision itself becomes a serious problem for the prophet, a sinful man. “Woe is me! I am lost”—this is the immediate reaction of the prophet when he beholds the deity whose overwhelming greatness is impressively expressed by the surrounding seraphim. Until his sins have been atoned for by a glowing coal, the prophet is unable to bear the vision of God. Eventually, however, the vision of the deity means nothing other than an additional, future ruin of Israel.³⁰ As a result, it can be noted that the connection of ruaḥ and the beholding of God in the Book of Ezekiel combines several different lines of tradition. In the context of this prophetic announcement, the proprium is the broad spectrum of the meaning of the term and the fact that the elements ruaḥ and beholding

is those in power, typically leading males, who experience a form of ecstasy. Their behaviour occurs within a well-defined social order, including a strict hierarchy of ecstatic figures; and the effect is to provide divine support for the status quo (Levison, Prophecy, 505 – 06).  Concerning this text, cf. Jörg Jeremias, Der Prophet Amos, ATD 24/2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995), 95 and 101– 03; see also Aaron Schart, “The fifth vision of Amos in context,” In Thematic threads in the book of the Twelve, eds. Paul L. Redditt and Aaron Schart, BZAW 325 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003): 47– 52. It lies beyond the scope of this paper to explicate a possible late dating of this tradition; on the overall matter, see Jan Christian Gertz, “Die unbedingte Gerichtsankündigung des Amos,” In Gottes Wege suchend: Beiträge zum Verständnis der Bibel und ihrer Botschaft, ed. Franz Sedlmeier (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 2003): 158 – 60 (including references to older literature).  Concerning this text, see the detailed explications in Friedhelm Hartenstein, Die Unzugänglichkeit Gottes im Heiligtum: Jesaja 6 und der Wohnort JHWHs in der Jerusalemer Kulttradition, WMANT 75 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1997) (including references to older literature).

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of God are combined for the first time in a biblical tradition. Against this backdrop, it comes as no surprise that Ezekiel is also referred to as the “prophet of the spirit.”³¹ How can these results be substantiated? First of all, we can simply note that the ruaḥ constitutes the medium that is able to overcome the distance between the prophet and the Temple. This medium is required in the context of the beholding of God at the river Kebar, as well as in the context of the prophet’s “trips” to Jerusalem. However, the appearance of the ruaḥ in the Book of Ezekiel cannot be interpreted in an isolated manner. The aspects of the ruaḥ presented here are merely one part of an even broader spectrum; reference must also be made to the reviving power of the ruaḥ, which can be found in Ezek 36:26 (“a new heart”) and Ezek 37:1– 14 with its vision of the resurrection of the dead. The recently published work by Ruth Poser is of particular interest in this regard. She sees Ezekiel as trauma literature and views the idea of the ruaḥ as a dynamic-energetic phenomenon that sets those who are involved in the narrated events —the ‫ כבוד‬of YHWH, the prophet and, finally, the house of Israel—into motion and is able to introduce departure and change (“dynamisch-energetisches Phänomen, das die am Erzählgeschehen Beteiligten—den ‫ כבוד‬JHWHs, den Propheten und schließlich das Haus Israels selbst—in Bewegung versetzt und Auf- und Umbrüche einzuleiten vermag”). While, initially, the ruaḥ is a rather ambivalent entity in the Book of Ezekiel, which may also reveal its destructive potential, it later (starting with Ezek 36:26 f.) becomes an unambiguously constructive, lifeenabling, and reviving power (37:1– 10), ultimately becoming a symbol of the life of Israel in the face of YHWH’s Torah (37:14; 39:29; 42:20). In this regard, the author refers to an internal process of symbolization that reflects the increasing integration of the catastrophe caused by exile and progressive empowerment; the ‫ רוח‬emerges from this process as a symbol of a fresh start of the—prophetically mediated—communion of YHWH with his people.³² Ezekiel can draw on older traditions and, at the same time, lay the foundations of the concept’s increasing importance in post-exilic times.³³

 Robson, Word and Spirit, 237.  Concerning the overall matter, see Poser, Ezechiel, 564. For the interpretation of ruaḥ in Ezekiel, see also Robson, Word and Spirit, 22: “The relationship between Yahweh’s rûaḥ and Yahweh’s word in the book of Ezekiel is to be understood not so much in terms of the inspiration and authentication of the prophet but in terms of the transformation of the book’s addressees.”  Poser, Ezechiel, 566. She resumes the work of Richard Sklba (“‘Until the Spirit from on High is Poured out on us’ [Isa 32:15]: Reflections on the Role of the Spirit in the Exile,” CBQ 46 [1984]: 1– 17), who shows that there are different aspects of traditional knowledge of the ruaḥ during exile, which are then activated to cope with the trauma of exile.

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4 Outlook: From Ezekiel to Merkaba Mysticism It is interesting to see that the concept of ruaḥ and the motif of the beholding of God have markedly changed in biblical traditions originating later than Ezekiel. For many centuries, post-Ezekiel biblical traditions do not contain any explicit references to a beholding of God, and Zech 4 seems to confirm this observation. In this passage, the prophet sees a candelabrum and two olive trees, and it only becomes implicitly obvious that the candelabrum represents God when the Angelus interpres explains the vision.³⁴ To name another example, Dan 7, a text originating from Maccabean times, contains a description of “an Ancient One” (Dan 7:9). However, reference must be made to the fact that the vision of the deity, of the four wild animals, and the son of man is received within a dream, and it is rather noteworthy that the explanations of the interpreting angel, who “translates” the vision for Daniel, make no mention of the beholding of the deity.³⁵ Concerning the concept of ‫רוח‬, we encounter a further substantial change in later times. The revelatory moment comes to the fore when, in retrospect, prophecy can be understood as the work of the ruaḥ. Especially in the prophecies of Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah, the idea that a divine spirit is responsible for the prophet’s revelations occupies a prominent role (see Isa 40:13; 61:1). Zechariah 7:12 is of peculiar interest in this regard, which states, “They made their hearts adamant in order not to hear the law and the words that the LORD of hosts had sent by his spirit through the former prophets. Therefore great wrath came from the LORD of hosts.” In this context, Joel 3:1 is also significant, containing a democratization of the concept of spirit-given prophetic talent. At the End of Days, the ruaḥ will be given to everyone, to the young and old ones and also to servants, so that they will receive visions in their dreams and act as prophets.³⁶  On this matter, compare the very interesting work by Rüdiger Lux, “Himmelsleuchter und Tempel: Beobachtungen zu Sacharja 4 im Kontext der Nachtgesichte,” In Prophetie und Zweiter Tempel: Studien zu Haggai und Sacharja, ed. Rüdiger Lux, FAT 65 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009): 144– 64.  What is also very interesting in this regard is Job 4:12– 16, where we even find the connection of ruaḥ with a vision of God; the beholding is part of a “night vision,” integrated into a dream, and is therefore moderated to some extent. Concerning this tradition, see Heininger, Paulus, 59; Georg Fohrer, Das Buch Hiob, KAT 16 (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1989), 153.  On this matter, see Albertz and Westermann, THAT 2:751; Reinhard Feldmeier and Hermann Spieckermann, Der Gott der Lebendigen: Eine biblische Gotteslehre, Topoi biblischer Theologie 1 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 216 – 18; Hans Walter Wolff, Dodekapropheton 2: Joel und Amos (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969), 78; Jörg Jeremias, Die Propheten Joel, Obadja, Jona, Micha, ATD 24/3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 42.

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The examination of the traditions in the Book of Ezekiel explains the connection of ruaḥ and the motif of the beholding of God. It does not explain, however, how ruaḥ is connected to a heavenly journey. Bernd Heininger is right when he states that an ascension to heaven as apparent in later apocalyptic literature has not yet come into focus in the Book of Ezekiel; it rather implies some kind of air journey (“ein Himmelsaufstieg nach Art der späteren apokalyptischen Literatur noch außerhalb des Blickfelds [ist]; gedacht ist hier vielmehr an eine Art Luftreise”).³⁷ In order to further investigate the motif of heavenly journey, we need to set the biblical traditions aside and turn to pseudepigraphal writings. The Book of Watchers, which probably originated in the late third or early second century,³⁸ reads as follows: (8) And in (the) vision it was shown to me thus: Behold, clouds in the vision were summoning me, and mists were crying out to me; and shooting stars and lightning flashes were hastening me and speeding me along; and winds in my vision made me fly up and lifted me upward and brought me to heaven. (9) And I went in until I drew near to a wall built of hailstones; and tongues of fire were encircling them all around; and they began to frighten me. (10) And I went into the tongues of fire, and I drew near to a great house built of hail stones; and the walls of this house were like stone slabs; and they were all of snow, and the floor was of snow; (11) And the ceiling was like shooting stars and lightning flashes; and among them were fiery cherubim, and their heaven was water; (12) and a flaming fire encircled all their walls, and the doors blazed with fire. (13) And I went into that house—hot as fire and cold as snow; and no delight of life was in it. Fear enveloped me, and trembling seized me; (14) and I was quaking and trembling, and I fell upon my face. And I saw in my vision, (15) And behold, another open door before me: and a house greater than the former one; and it was all built of tongues of fire. (16) And all of it so excelled in glory and splendor and majesty that I am unable to describe for you its glory and majesty.

 Heininger, Paulus, 54.  In detail, see Józef Tadeusz Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic fragments of Qumrân cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), 24; Siegbert Uhlig, “Das äthiopische Henochbuch,” In Apokalypsen, eds. Hermann Lichtenberger and Werner Georg Kümmel, JSHRZ 5 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag, 2003): 463 – 780, here 506.

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(17) Its floor was of fire; and its upper part was flashes of lightning and shooting stars; and its ceiling was a flaming fire. (18) And I was looking, And I saw a lofty throne; and its appearance was like ice; and its wheels were like the shining sun; and its were cherubim; (19) and from beneath the throne issued streams of flaming fire. And I was unable to see. (20) And the Great Glory sat upon it; his raiment was like the appearance of the sun and whiter than much snow. (21) And no angel could enter into this house and behold his face because of the splendor and glory; and no flesh could behold him. (22) Flaming fire encircled him, and a great fire stood by him; and none of those about him approached him. Ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him; But he needed no counselor; his every word was deed; (23) And the holy ones of the watchers who approached him did not depart by night, nor did they leave him. (24) And I had been until now on my face, prostrate and trembling. And the Lord called me with his mouth and said to me, “Come here, Enoch, and hear my word(s).” (25) And one of the holy ones came to me and raised me up and stood me (on my feet) and brought me up to the door. But I had my face bowed down.³⁹

The context of this passage is an announcement of judgment to the watching angels who are guilty of revealing heavenly secrets and having sexual intercourse with human women and who have therefore asked Enoch to intercede with God on their behalf. This tradition’s relationship to Ezekiel is obvious⁴⁰ and we can

 1En. 14:8 – 23; quoted according to the translation by George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 1: A commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, chapters 1 – 36 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, MA: Fortress, 2001), 257– 67.  For a detailed traditio-historical analysis, see Beate Ego, “Reduktion, Amplifikation, Interpretation, Neukontextualisierung: Intertextuelle Aspekte der Rezeption der Ezechielschen Thronwagenvision im antiken Judentum,” In Das Ezechielbuch in der Johannesoffenbarung, ed. Dieter Sänger, BibS 76 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2006): 31– 60, here esp. 48 – 54; Beate Ego, “Henochs Reise vor den Thron Gottes (1 Hen 14,8 – 16,4): Zur Funktion des Motivs der Himmelsreise im ‘Wächterbuch’ (1 Hen 1– 36),” In Apokalyptik und Qumran, eds. Jörg Frey and Michael Becker, Einblicke, Ergebnisse, Berichte, Reflexionen aus Tagungen der Katholischen Akademie Schwerte 10 (Paderborn: Bonifatius, 2007): 111– 17 (both with references to older literature).

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therefore focus solely on the element of the ruaḥ. On the one hand, it is clearly some kind of forceful wind that can transport Enoch to the heavenly realms. On the other hand, the expression “the spirits in the vision” suggests that the idea of the spirit as a revelatory sphere may also be implied in this passage. Bernd Heininger has pointed out that both the heavenly journey and the ruaḥ as a revelatory sphere can be understood as different forms of a visual communication between heaven and earth, which fulfill the function of overcoming the inseparable distance between heaven and earth.⁴¹ It thus becomes apparent that the motif of the change of location, as it appears in Ezekiel, has been employed; however, his inner-worldly “air journey” is now transformed into a heavenly journey. Concerning this process, it remains to be seen how conceptions of the Greek world or shamanism have also been employed.⁴² With the tradition of the Book of Watchers of the Ethiopian Enoch, we have found the connecting factor in traditio-historical developments that leads to the traditions of Jewish mysticism mentioned at the beginning of our study.⁴³ However, it is noteworthy that Hekhalot literature in general, such as the pseudepigrapha, often takes up the motif of heavenly journey without referring to the ruaḥ. Further research into the concept of ruaḥ should therefore determine its relation to the conception of heavenly journey more clearly. It can reasonably be assumed that, with regard to traditio-history, the biblical conception of ruaḥ is an important root for the motif of heavenly journey.

 See Heininger, Paulus, 39 – 43; see also 175.  Compare the interesting and useful examples of a heavenly journey in the Greek mindscape in Heininger, Paulus, 100 – 10.  A more thorough investigation would also need to consider other Ancient Jewish and New Testament traditions; e. g., Ascen. Isa. 6:13 and Rev 4:1– 6. On the overall matter, see Schäfer, Origins, 93 – 99 and 103 – 11. Concerning the Apocalypse of John see Franz Tóth, Der himmlische Kult: Wirklichkeitskonstruktion und Sinnbildung in der Johannesoffenbarung, Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 22 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2006), 230 ff. (with reference to older literature). In all probability, 2Cor 3:18 would also need to be placed in this context; concerning this, see Friedrich Lang, Die Briefe an die Korinther, NTD 7 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994), 273 – 76: “Gott öffnet denen, die an Christus glauben, durch den Geist das Herz für den wahren Sinn der Schrift und die Herrlichkeit Christi” (275). See also Peter Von der Osten-Sacken, “Geist im Buchstaben: Vom Glanz des Mose und des Paulus,” EvT 41 (1981): 232: “Wer sich zum Geist als dem Kyrios der Schrift hinwendet, von dem wird die Decke fortgenommen, der erhält durch das Evangelium Zutritt zur Tora und schaut durch es die Doxa Gottes auf dem Angesicht Jesu Christi (V. 16ff).”

Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar1

Historical Origins of the Early Christian Concept of the Holy Spirit Perspectives from the Dead Sea Scrolls

1 Introduction: Comparing the Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament The Dead Sea scrolls mainly consist of a large collection of scrolls and fragments found in the caves near Qumran, close to the north-western shore of the Dead Sea. They contain Jewish literary texts, copied from the late third century B.C.E. till the first century C.E., mostly written in Hebrew, and some in Aramaic or Greek. A large minority of the scrolls and fragments contain texts which we now refer to as Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, and some other texts which were otherwise already familiar to scholars. However, most of the discovered scrolls presented Jewish religious texts from the Hellenistic and Roman period that had not been known at all.2 Based on the early publication in the 1950s of some of the best preserved scrolls, most scholars regarded the scrolls as the library of a Jewish sect, perhaps to be identified or associated with the Essenes, who were described by Philo and Josephus. It was and is generally thought that these scrolls were deposited in the caves during the first Jewish War, probably in 68 C.E. when the site of Qumran was destroyed. These scrolls, therefore, give an unprecedented

|| 1 Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, University of Leuven, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, Research Unit Biblical Studies. It is a pleasure to dedicate this paper to my Leuven colleague Gilbert van Belle on the occasion of his retirement in 2013 as professor of New Testament. 2 There are numerous and different kinds of introductions to the scrolls. For brief introductions see Timothy H. Lim, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “Dead Sea Scrolls,” In The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism, eds. John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010): 163–80, repr. in Early Judaism: A Comprehensive Overview, eds. John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012): 204–27. For the most recent state-of-theart survey, see Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins, eds., The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).

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and new insight in the beliefs and practices of at least one particular group of Jews just before and during the genesis of Early Christianity. Initially, from the 1950s until the 1970s many New Testament scholars enthusiastically studied the newly found scrolls, and discovered many surprising and enlightening parallels with the New Testament, to such an extent that many assumed some kind of relationship between the scrolls and early Christian writings, or at least agreed that the scrolls shed new light on the New Testament and the earliest developments of Christianity.3 At present, New Testament scholars are less prone to such overenthusiastic appropriation of the scrolls. In general, biblical scholarship has moved away from what has been dubbed as parallelomania, so that what once was seen as a fairly close relationship between the scrolls and early Christian writings, or between the groups behind those texts, has now been problematized as more complicated. The task facing New Testament scholars, who already have to deal with a manifold of texts of different natures, has also become more complicated than half a century ago due to the deluge of editions since the mid-1990s of fragmentary texts and to the internal discourses in scrolls scholarship about date and sectarian or nonsectarian provenance. The case of the scrolls and the Holy Spirit is a good example. It is well known that in the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, the phrase holy spirit is used only three times, in Isa 63:10–11 and Ps 51:13 (Eng. 11), each time with the personal suffix referring to God: “his,” or “your” “holy spirit.” In the New Testament, however, the expression is used about ninety times, but in a manner that cannot easily be explained as deriving directly from the Hebrew Bible, for example by an absolute use “the Holy Spirit,” without possessive personal pronoun. With the publication of the very first Dead Sea scroll, now known as 1QS, the Serekh ha-Yahad, or the Rule of the Community, New Testament scholars had access to a text that not only described a community organization that shared elements with descriptions of the first Christian communities, but which also referred to a holy spirit no less than four times, and a few more times to an angel or spirit of truth. The subsequent publication of other texts which were assumed to belong to the same sect, and hence reflect the same worldview, resulted in descriptions of the pneumatology of the sect, largely based on the Rule of the Community and the Hodayot. Otherwise, specific scrolls passages were selected to illustrate aspects of the Holy Spirit in the New Testament.

|| 3 For a brief characterization of the history of New Testament scholarship and the Dead Sea scrolls, see George J. Brooke, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament (Minneapolis, MI: Fortress, 2005), ch. 1 “The Qumran Scrolls and the Study of the New Testament.”

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From the beginning, an understanding of the phrase “holy spirit” in the scrolls was problematic, largely because of the ambiguity of phrases in the Rule of the Community. For example, in his dissertation on the meaning of ‫רוח‬, “spirit,” in the then published scrolls, Arthur Sekki pointed out that a majority of scholars understands “holy spirit” in 1QS 4:21 as referring to the Spirit of God, whereas a minority regarded it as a sanctified human disposition.4 One of the problems of Sekki’s own work is that he imported clearly-defined categories of different kinds of “spirit” from the Hebrew Bible, and tried to classify each occurrence of “spirit” in the scrolls into one of those categories. Sekki’s approach did show, however, that one cannot simply look at the occurrence of set phrases such as “holy spirit,” but has to examine the occurrences of the term through a broader study of the different conceptualizations of “spirit.” In a more recent, and hitherto most comprehensive study of “holy spirit at Qumran,” Emile Puech did not primarily focus on the term “holy spirit,” but instead reconstructed on the basis of the published texts a concept of holy spirit at Qumran—whether or not indicated by the phrase “holy spirit.”5 Puech is cautious in his readings and conclusions, and shows thoroughness and insight, but his project also suffers from some limitations. His study of holy spirit at Qumran acknowledges that in different passages other aspects of the concept might be emphasized. However, he does not entertain the possibility that different texts (or even sections of texts, as in the Rule of the Community) might reflect variant conceptualizations. Second, by limiting his short paper to one concept or category, there is little attention for its place within a larger system of concepts. In more recent times, these two limitations characterize many studies of holy spirit (or spirit in general) in the scrolls, as well as, more generally, comparisons between the Dead Sea scrolls and the New Testament. For a long time the scrolls have been regarded as a by and large homogeneous collection of works authored or copied by a sect. However, in the past decades of scrolls scholarship this view has been widely questioned. Whether or not the manuscripts were copied and collected by one and the same group (or related groups), many texts do betray different halakhic and theological opinions and cannot be regarded as expressing the same views anymore than, for example, Luke and John. Different perspectives can even be found in the core group of so-called “sectarian” texts which most scholars still attribute to the

|| 4 Arthur Everett Sekki, The Meaning of Ruaḥ at Qumran (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1989), 207. 5 Emile Puech, “L’Esprit saint à Qumrân,” Liber Annuus 49 (1999): 283–98, including (291–96) a “Dossier qumranien sur l’esprit saint” with a translation of key passages.

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community or Yahad which is described in the Rule of the Community. Differences between the texts may be attributed to different provenance, or diachronic developments within one and the same group, but also might be related to the different genre and rhetoric of texts.6 More recent approaches, nurtured by various kinds of linguistic and psychological theory, such as cognitive semantics, do not zoom in on one specific category, but rather opt for a systemic approach. For example, in the case of holy spirit the matter is not reduced to the theological question about the relation of God’s holy spirit to God himself, but is approached within a much larger network about concepts of good and evil, or with respect to different indigenous explanations of influences on the human person. At the same time, such an approach would also encompass a study of other references to spirit which in a categorizing approach might be omitted. A good and recent example is Carol Newsom’s work where she interprets the Hodayot’s views on spirit from the perspective of theory on indigenous psychology.7 Methodologically, an inquiry into the possible religio-historical origins of the Early Christian concept of the Holy Spirit would need to look not only at a correspondence of terms and of concepts, but also to compare the position of “spirit” within the different systems. In the case of the Dead Sea scrolls and the New Testament or Early Christianity, one does not have homogeneous collections, and differences between texts within these collections should be taken into account. With respect to the comparison of those corpora, one should pay special attention to how both collections have interpreted, adopted, and developed passages from authoritative texts.

2 Terms and Categories: Holy and Other Spirits This contribution will only deal with those Dead Sea scrolls that are commonly, though anachronistically, called non-biblical. The so-called biblical manuscripts, which contain a text that is close to that of the tradited forms of the

|| 6 Cf., e.g, Miryam T. Brand, Evil Within and Without: The Source of Sin as Portrayed in Second Temple Literature (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), who argues both for diachronic developments, and for differences due to genres of texts. 7 Carol A. Newsom, “Flesh, Spirit, and the Indigenous Psychology of the Hodayot,” In Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature: Essays in Honor of Eileen Schuller on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday, eds. Jeremy Penner, Ken M. Penner, and Cecilia Wassen (Leiden: Brill, 2012): 339–54.

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Hebrew Bible, do not display (with respect to the topic of this enquiry) any major differences vis-à-vis the Masoretic text. Statistically,8 the noun ‫רוח‬, “spirit,” seems to be used more often in the non-biblical scrolls (512x) than in the Hebrew Bible (389x) or in the biblical scrolls (129x).9 Yet, more telling are variations with regard to collocations between the Hebrew Bible and the scrolls. For example, the Hebrew Bible has twenty-six cases of ‫רוח יהוה‬, “spirit of the Lord,” and sixteen of ‫רוח אלהים‬, “spirit (wind) of God.”10 In the non-biblical scrolls, however, this collocation is only preserved twice or thrice (partially) in the case of biblical quotations.11 In contrast, the phrase “holy spirit,” which is used only three times in the Hebrew Bible (Isa 63:10–11; Ps 51:13[E 11]) is found more than thirty times as ‫רוח קדש‬, with or without following a suffix, in the scrolls. Even more striking is the difference with respect to the plurals of ‫רוח‬. In the Hebrew Bible the plural of ‫רוח‬ is found only fourteen times, including a few references to the four winds. In the scrolls, however, the plural is attested more than one hundred forty times. About half of the times, the scrolls use in construct a masculine plural form, a form which is not attested in Biblical Hebrew. Differences are also found with other collocations. The Hebrew Bible uses ‫רוח חכמה‬, “spirit of wisdom” (Exod

|| 8 Statistical research of the occurrence of words and expressions in the Dead Sea Scrolls is complicated by different factors which may result in distortions. First, all statistical conclusions can only be relative, since they are based on fragmentary materials. Second, in many cases in the Scrolls words are often barely legible, or partially, and even entirely reconstructed. In such cases, scholars tend to read or to reconstruct the most commonly attested phrases that are compatible with the material remnants. Thirdly, search programs, like Accordance and concordance, present occurrences in manuscripts, not in compositions. In the case of clear overlaps, double countings can be corrected. An example from the biblical scrolls may illustrate the distortion. In the Hebrew Bible the name Jerusalem is found 669 times (81%), and Zion 159 times (21%). However, if one uses the Accordance Qumran Biblical Texts module, ignoring words inside brackets, one finds 122 hits of Jerusalem (56%), and 97 hits of Zion (44%). This is not due to an increase of popularity of the name Zion in the scrolls, but to the fact that the name Zion is attested most often in Isaiah and Psalms, scrolls which are better preserved and attested in larger numbers than, for example, Jeremiah which in the MT has many more references to Jerusalem. Even if we would correct for overlaps of Isaiah manuscripts, the figures would remain distorted, because all of Isaiah, but very little of Jeremiah remains. 9 All searches have been made with Accordance modules. Slight corrections might be made, for example by considering the so-called Reworked Pentateuch manuscripts to be biblical rather than non-biblical. 10 The latter includes four cases (1 Sam 16:15–16, 23; 18:10) of an evil spirit from God. 11 4Q161 8–10 11 cites Isa 11:2; 4Q223–224 2 v 28 = Jub. 40:5 uses Gen 41:38. 4Q511 30 6 [‫ואיכה‬ ‫ יוכל איש לתכן רוח] אלהים‬might paraphrase Isa 40:13, but note that ‫ אלהים‬is reconstructed by the editor, and absolutely not certain.

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28:3; Deut 34:9; Isa 11:2) three times and ‫רוח דעת‬, “spirit of knowledge” (Isa 11:2) once. The scrolls, however, which repeatedly quote or allude to Isa 11:2, never use “spirit of wisdom,” but instead five times “spirit of knowledge,” and six times ‫רוח בינה‬, “spirit of insight.” Such differences show that one should not merely contrast the rare use of “holy spirit” in the Hebrew Bible to the much more frequent use in the scrolls (and still more in the New Testament), but take a more comprehensive view. 12 In the Hebrew-language non-biblical scrolls we find the terms ‫ רוח קודש‬, “spirit of holiness,” or “holy spirit”; ‫ רוח קודש‬with a suffix attached to ‫קודש‬, “your/his/their holy spirit”; ‫רוח הקודש‬, “the holy spirit”; ‫רוח קדושה‬, “holy spirit”; ‫ רוחות קודש‬and ‫רוחי קודש‬, “spirits of holiness” or “holy spirits”; ‫רוחות קודש קודשים‬/(‫רוח)י‬, “spirit(s) of holiest holiness” or “most holy spirit(s).” The Cairo Genizah Damascus Document twice has ‫ רוח קדשי‬with suffix.13 It may be noted that the Rabbinic Hebrew phrase ‫ רוח הקדש‬occurs only once, and that the phrase ‫( *הרוח הקדושה‬a retroversion from the Greek or English) is not attested. In the phrase ‫רוח קדושה‬, the latter term may be the feminine adjective, or alternatively the noun “holiness,” which is not attested elsewhere in the scrolls. In the Aramaic scrolls, no corresponding term has been preserved, though ‫רוח קודשא‬, the term used often in the Targums, has been reconstructed in 4Q213a (Aramaic Levi Document) on the basis of the Greek corresponding text which reads τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον. The few Greek fragments from the caves at and near Qumran preserve only one occurrence of spirit, in 7Q4, which Muro identified as preserving parts of 1 Enoch 103:4, where, however, it refers to the “spirits” of human beings.14 The collocation ‫( רוח קדש‬with or without suffix) is the most common one attested in the scrolls. Yet, in the scrolls collection, we find many other collocations of “spirit” in construct with nouns. Many of those are construct phrases in which singular spirit is followed by a noun expressing some kind of facility, disposition, or behavior, or something that affects people, either positively, or negatively; see, for example, ‫רוח עצה‬, “spirit of counsel”; ‫רוח ענוה‬, “spirit of modesty”; ‫רוח יושר וענוה‬, “spirit of uprightness and modesty”; ‫רוח דעת‬, “spirit of knowledge”; ‫רוח בינה‬, “spirit of insight”; ‫רוח אמת‬, “spirit of truth”; ‫רוח‬ ‫קנאה‬, “spirit of zeal”; ‫רוח ישועות‬, “spirit of salvation”; ‫רוח אמונה‬, “spirit of || 12 The word ‫( קדש‬qodeš) is spelled only once fully as ‫ קודש‬in the Masoretic Text (Dan 11:30). However, in most non-biblical Dead Sea Scrolls it is spelled as ‫קודש‬, the spelling which we will use here, though some scrolls do write ‫קדש‬. 13 Note that 1QIsaa also reads ‫( רוח קודשיו‬in Isa 63:10). 14 Ernest A. Muro Jr., “The Greek Fragments of Enoch from Qumran Cave 7,” RevQ 18/70 (1997): 307–12.

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faithfulness”; ‫רוח הסתר‬, “spirit of concealment”;15 ‫רוח עולה‬, “spirit of evil”; ‫רוח רשע‬, “spirit of wickedness”; ‫רוח זנות‬, “spirit of fornication”; ‫רוח עועים‬, “spirit of confusion” or “whirling wind”; ‫רוח חוות‬, “spirit of destruction”; ‫רוח‬ ‫תופלה‬, “spirit of insolence”; ‫רוח בוז‬, “spirit of contempt”; ‫רוח בשר‬, “spirit of flesh”; ‫ רוח אדם‬and ‫רוח אנוש‬, “spirit of mankind.” Much less common are constructions where the noun is preceded with the article, such as ‫רוח התועה‬, “spirit of error,” and ‫רוח החיים‬, “spirit of life.” Some of the same construct phrases are also attested with the plural noun spirits, for example, ‫רוחי אמת‬, “spirits of truth”; ‫רוחות עולה‬, “spirits of evil”; ‫רוח רשע רוחות רשעה‬, “spirits of wickedness.” However, there are also phrases which are only attested in the plural, for example, ‫רוחות בליעל‬, “spirits of Belial”; ‫רוחות גורלו‬, “spirits of his lot”; ‫ רוחי אלהים‬and ‫רוחות אלוהים‬, “divine spirits”; ‫רוחי חבל‬, “spirits of destruction”; ‫רוחות ממזרים‬, “spirits of the bastards.” In addition one may add some construct phrases which one would normally translate with terms like breath or wind, such as ‫רוחות השמים‬, “winds of heaven.” With adjectives one finds, for example, ‫רוח חדשה‬, “new spirit”; ‫ רוח רעה‬and ‫רוח באישה‬, “evil spirit”; ‫רוח קשיטה וטבה‬, “an upright and good spirit”; ‫רוח טמאה‬, “unclean spirit.” Some of the terms are found in, and probably taken from, Hebrew Bible texts, such as “spirit of zeal” or “spirit of confusion.” Artur Sekki studied in the 1980s, on the basis of the texts known then, the extent to which the absence or presence of the article, the kind of genitival relationships, and morphological as well as syntactical gender, reflect the author’s (or scribe’s) intended meaning or understanding of “spirit,” as belong to one of five different “biblical” categories: references to God’s spirit, to human spirit, to angelic or demonic beings, to wind, or to breath. He certainly observed general tendencies and exceptions. For example, singular ‫ רוח‬preceded by the article is used for “wind.” In the one exception, ‫משיח הרוח‬, “the anointed of spirit,” the article would be used to define the entire clause.16 Likewise, he observed the overall trend that if ‫ רוח‬is construed syntactically as masculine, it refers to an angel, or demon, whereas ‫ רוח‬treated syntactically as feminine refers to God’s spirit or a human’s spirit. There is indeed such regularity, which help understand the conceptualizations of the texts. For example, 1QS 4:23 ‫עד הנה יריבו‬ ‫ רוחי אמת ועול בלבב גבר‬then should be understood as “until now the angels of truth and injustice struggle in the hearts of men.” And, in fact, Sekki’s categori-

|| 15 I take ‫ הסתר‬as an infinitive hiphil or verbal noun, with Eduard Lohse, Die Texte aus Qumran: Hebräisch und Deutsch (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1971), 34, rather than the article with the noun ‫ סתר‬as parsed in the Accordance module. 16 Sekki, The Meaning of Ruaḥ at Qumran, 92.

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zations are in part warranted on the basis of synonymous expressions. For example, ‫מלאכי חבל‬, “angels of destruction” are associated closely with spirits, both in juxtaposition, as in “all the spirits of his lot, angels of destruction” (1QM 13:11–12), and one also finds the synonym ‫רוחי חבל‬, “spirits of destruction.” However, a large problem resides in Sekki’s categorizations, which becomes clear in the repeated discussions about whether a text refers to God’s spirit or to a human’s spirit, but with little clarification on how the texts conceptualized “spirit.” And the category of “human spirit” encompasses the use of “spirit” to refer to human beings, the reference to “spirit” as the life-giving force, and “spirit” as a “human disposition.”17 One might contrast Sekki’s so-called “biblical” categories to those of Iranologists, who describe three indistinguishable categories of “spirit” in Zoroastrian literature, namely as “spiritual beings,” the value they embody, and their human affects.18 The latter conceptualization is part of the system of Zoroastrian thought and is incongruent with the seemingly sharper ontological conceptualizations found in the biblical and early Jewish texts. Yet, heuristically this alternative conceptualization may be helpful to understand a range of scrolls where there seems to be no clear distinction between “spiritual beings,” virtues and vices, and the corresponding effects on or dispositions of human beings. This conceptualization might also explain why terms like “uprightness,” “modesty,” “truth,” “insight,” or “knowledge,” can be used both in connection to “spirits,” and independently, apparently without a change of meaning. The aim of this paper is not to develop new categories that would be better fitting for the scrolls evidence, but to present those Dead Sea scrolls texts that might be of interest to the question about the historical origins of the early Christian conception of the Holy Spirit. The selection of texts presented here does not include all references to “spirit” in the scrolls, but nonetheless takes a broad approach, including all texts which combine the terms “spirit,” and “holiness,” and many other texts as well.

|| 17 Sekki, The Meaning of Ruaḥ at Qumran, 95n1 refers to BDB 921 which lists six basic categories for the human spirit, but he does not elaborate on these. 18 Thus the descriptive terms of Albert de Jong, “Iranian Connections in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” In The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010): 479–500, here 494. Shaul Shaked, “The Notions mēnōg and gētīg in the Pahlavi Texts and their Relation to Eschatology,” Acta Orientalia 33 (1971): 59– 107, here 83 and idem, “Qumran and Iran: further considerations,” Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972): 433–46 uses different but corresponding terms: divine beings (angels or demons), metaphysical entities, and psychological faculties.

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3 Texts and Comments The materials here are not presented according to terminology, or to concept or category, but are arranged according to composition. Some texts will receive more comments than others, and overall conclusions will follow at the end of this paper.

3.1 Rule of the Community (1QS and 4QS manuscripts)19 The Qumran Cave 1 manuscript of the Serekh ha-Yaḥad or Rule of the Community (1QS) has long been seen as the central text of a community that was supposed to have settled at Qumran and sometimes is identified with the Essenes. The 1QS text, however, is a collection of different parts, some of which have not been included in other Rule of the Community manuscripts, and which may reflect a different provenance. Also, the publication of cave 4 materials made clear that there were different literary editions of parts of this work, and that not all scrolls reflect one and the same world view.20 The following sections have been discussed extensively since the 1950s, and to some extent they give insight into ideas that are also found in other texts. Yet, contrary to earlier scholarship, one should not single out these texts to represent the pneumatology of the community or of the scrolls.

3.1.1 1QS 3:6–9 (in the so-called Covenant Renewal Ceremony)

‫כיא ברוח עצת אמת אל דרכי איש יכופרו כול עוונותו להביט באור חיים‬ ‫וברוח קדושה ליחד באמתו יטהר מכול עוונותו‬ ‫וברוח יושר וענוה תכופר חט)א(תו‬ ‫ובענות נפשו לכול חוקי אל יטהר בשרו להזות במי נדה ולהתקדש במי דוכי‬

|| 19 Translations of sections from the Rule of the Community are adapted, sometimes with minor changes, from Michael Knibb, The Qumran Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 20 1QS and its relation to the 4QS manuscripts has been extensively studied. Sarianna Metso, The Serekh Texts (London: T&T Clark, 2007) presents useful introduction and companion, while Charlotte Hempel, The Qumran Rule Texts in Context: Collected Studies (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013) presents cutting edge research from the past decade.

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For it is through a spirit of true counsel with regard to21 the ways of man that all his iniquities shall be atoned so that he may look on the light of life. It is through a spirit of holiness uniting him to his truth that he shall be purified from all his iniquities. It is through a spirit of uprightness and modesty that his sin shall be wiped out. It is through submitting himself to all the statutes of God that his flesh shall be purified, by being sprinkled with waters for purification and made holy by waters for cleansing.

The text is part of a much-discussed section describing a covenant renewal ceremony, which a few lines earlier emphasized that a person who does not convert cannot be purified, either by acts of atonement, or by water of purification, or, for that matter, by any water of absolution. Instead, the text continues, taking up the language of purity and impurity, with the words: “Unclean, unclean, shall he be as long as he rejects the precepts of God.” The section in 1QS 3:6–9 presents the contrast, namely that repentance is requisite for purification. Repentance and the corresponding behavior is described in three different ways, each including reference to a spirit and to purification from iniquities. The fourth clause might seem to run parallel to the previous ones. However, it probably makes more sense to read it as a conclusion: only after purification from iniquities can one’s flesh be purified by waters of purification. The section as a whole reflects a development in the thinking about the relation between sins and impurity and repentance and purification. The text adopts language from Leviticus but expands the notion of impurity to cover sinfulness in general.22 The text of 1QS 3 uses the rare collocation ‫רוח קדושה‬, generally taken to be the noun with qualifying adjective, “holy spirit,” even though this is usually expressed by ‫רוח קודש‬, “spirit of holiness.” Alternatively, one might read the noun ‫קדושה‬, “holiness.” Another Rule of the Community manuscript, 4Q255 2 1, has a textual variant, and reads ‫רוח קודשו‬, “his holy spirit.” These two variants, || 21 Taking ‫ אל‬to be the preposition. Similarly A. R. C. Leaney, The Rule of Qumran and Its Meaning (London: SCM, 1966), 137, 142. However, one might also consider ‫ אל‬to be the noun “God,” resulting in translations like “For it is by the spirit of God’s true council that the ways of man, all his sins are atoned” (P. Wernberg-Møller, The Manual of Discipline [Leiden: Brill, 1957], 24); “If the ways of man are in the spirit of the council of God’s truth, then all his sins are atoned” (Adam Simon van der Woude, De Rollen van de Dode Zee, multiple editions; my translation from Dutch); “Denn durch den Geist des wahrhaftigen Rates Gottes werden die Wege eines Mannes entsühnt, alle seine Sünden” (Eduard Lohse, Die Texte aus Qumran: Hebräisch und Deutsch [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1971], 11). 22 See, e.g., the treatment in Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 75–79.

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together with the question about whether the following ‫ יחד‬in ‫ ליחד‬is taken as a verb or noun, result in many different options leading to different translations, but also different understandings of “holy spirit” here. In Knibb’s translation of 1QS (given above) which takes ‫ יחד‬as a verb, the term “spirit” in all three clauses refers to the disposition of an individual.”23 However, if one takes ‫ יחד‬to be the noun, the translation “it is through the holy spirit of the community (based) in truth” results, which would present a or the holy spirit as a force working in the community.24 The 4Q255 variant can be translated as “and it is by his holy spirit (belonging) to the Community,”25 which then sees the spirit as God’s spirit, which he entrusted to the community (cf. also Isa 63:11). Philologically, the problem resides not only in the textual variants and in the ambiguity of ‫ יחד‬as verb or noun, but more generally in the peculiar syntax and style of the first sections of the Rule.26 Whereas scrolls passages on the holy spirit are often read backwards coming from the New Testament, in this case a backwards reading from the Mishna may be of some interest. Mishna Sota 9:15 lists the famous stages of holiness of the ascetic Rabbi Pinhas ben Yair, “Heedfulness leads to cleanliness, cleanliness leads to cleanness, cleanness leads to abstinence, abstinence leads to holiness, holiness (‫ )קדושה‬leads to modesty (‫)ענווה‬, modesty leads to the fear of sin, the fear of sin leads to piety, piety leads to the Holy Spirit,27 the Holy Spirit leads to the resurrection of the dead, and the resurrection of the dead comes through Elijah, blessed be his memory” (trans. Neusner). If, instead of the adjective ‫קדושה‬, “holy,” we read the noun ‫קדושה‬, “holiness,” then both texts juxtapose “holiness” and “modesty.” Moreover, both texts relate to individual personal piety and connect the language of ritual purity with that of piety. || 23 Knibb, The Qumran Community, 92–93. Likewise, Geza Vermes, the Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1997), 101, and Florentino García Martínez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated: The Qumran Texts in English (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 5. Somewhat differently: Leaney, The Rule of Qumran and Its Meaning, 137 (“and in a holy spirit of being united with his truth”). 24 See the translation of Lohse, Die Texte aus Qumran: Hebräisch und Deutsch, 11, or the Dutch translation by van der Woude in De Rollen van de Dode Zee. Similarly, Wernberg-Møller, The Manual of Discipline, 24. 25 Philip S. Alexander and Geza Vermes, Serekh ha-Yaḥad and Two Related Texts, DJD 26 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), 34. 26 On this see the comments of Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 80–81. 27 Rabbi Pinhas’s reference to the holy spirit as a scale which can be achieved by individuals is somewhat idiosyncratic in Rabbinic literature. Cf. Peter Schäfer, Die Vorstellung vom Heiligen Geist in der Rabbinischen Literatur (Munich: Kösel, 1972), 118–21.

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3.1.2 1QS 3:18–26 (Two Spirits Treatise)28

‫והואה ברא אנוש לממשלת תבל וישם לו שתי רוחות להתהלך בם עד מועד‬ ‫פקודתו‬ ‫הנה רוחות האמת והעול‬ ‫במעין אור תולדות האמת וממקור חושך תולדות העול‬ ‫ביד שר אורים ממשלת כול בני צדק בדרכי אור יתהלכו‬ ‫וביד מלאך חושך כול ממשלת בני עול ובדרכי חושך יתהלכו‬ ‫ובמלאך חושך תעות כול בני צדק וכול חטאתם ועונותם ואשמתם ופשעי‬ ‫מעשיהם בממשלתו לפי רזי אל עד קצו‬ ‫וכול נגיעיהם ומועדי צרותם בממשלת משטמתו וכול רוחי גורלו להכשיל בני‬ ‫אור‬ ‫ואל ישראל ומלאך אמתו עזר לכול בני אור‬ ‫והואה ברא רוחות אור וחושך ועליהון יסד כול מעשה‬ He created man to rule the world, and he assigned two spirits to him that he might walk by them until the appointed time of his visitation; they are the spirits of truth and of injustice. From a spring of light come the generations of truth, and from a well of darkness the generations of injustice. Control over all the sons of righteousness lies in the hand of the prince of lights, and they walk in the ways of light; complete control over the sons of injustice lies in the hand of the angel of darkness, and they walk in the ways of darkness. It is through the angel of darkness that all the sons of righteousness go astray, and all their sins, their iniquities, their guilt, and their deeds of transgression are under his control in the mysteries of God until his time. All their afflictions and their times of distress are brought about by his rule of hatred, and all the spirits of his lot make the sons of light stumble. But the God of Israel and his angel of truth help all the sons of light. He created the spirits of light and darkness, and upon them he founded every deed . . .

From the beginning of research the so-called Two Spirits Treatise (1QS 3:13– 4:26), which has sometimes been described as the summary of the entire worldview of the sectarians, has led to large discussions about the dualism of the text and the nature of the spirits mentioned in it. For example, on the basis of the

|| 28 Recent work on the Two Spirits Treatise includes several articles in Géza G. Xeravits, ed., Dualism in Qumran (London: T&T Clark, 2010) and Mladen Popović, “Anthropology, Pneumatology, and Demonology in Early Judaism: The Two Spirits 1QS 3:13–4:26) and Other Texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls,” In “And God Breathed into Man the Breath of Life”—Dust of the Ground and Breath of Life (Gen 2.7), eds. Jacques van Ruiten and George van Kooten (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).

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feminine treatment of “spirits,”29 Sekki decided that the two spirits at the beginning of the quoted section (1QS 3:18) and the spirits of light and darkness at the end of the quoted section (1QS 3:25) are spiritual dispositions of a person, even though “a cosmic significance is not entirely absent.” However, with a different heuristic model one may argue that in the section as a whole, spirits sometimes seem to be cosmological figures and sometimes metaphysical entities, or again psychological traits. Some of the tensions in the Treatise may be solved if one assumes that its present form consists of multiple layers that were edited to fit into the Rule. Relatively unique in the Treatise are the genitive constructions of “spirit” or “angel” with truth, as in “spirits of truth and of injustice” (1QS 3:18–19; 4:23), “his angel of truth” (1QS 3:24), and a/the “spirit of truth” (1QS 4:21). Other attestations in the scrolls are 1QM 13:10 (“spirits of truth”), 4Q177 12+13 i+15 (“spirit of truth” and “his angel of truth”) and 4Q444 6 4 (“spirits of truth”).30 Though it is tempting to directly equate either God’s “angel of truth” or the “spirit of truth” with the “Spirit of truth” in John (John 14:17; 15:26; 16:13), one should rather focus on the importance of the concept “truth” in texts like the Rule of the Community, the Hodayot, the Gospel of John and the Johannine epistles.

3.1.3 1QS 4:2–14 (The Ways of the Two Spirits in the Two Spirits Treatise)

‫ ואלה דרכיהן בתבל להאיר בלבב איש ולישר לפניו כול דרכי צדק אמת ולפחד‬2 ‫לבבו במשפטי אל ורוח ענוה ואורך אפים ורוב רחמים וטוב עולמים ושכל ובינה‬ ‫וחכמת גבורה מאמנת בכול מעשי אל ונשענת ברוב חסדו ורוח דעת בכול‬ ‫מחשבת מעשה וקנאת משפטי צדק ומחשבת קודש ביצר סמוך ורוב חסדים על‬ ‫כול בני אמת וטהרת כבוד מתעב כול גלולי נדה והצנע לכת בערמת כול וחבא‬ ‫לאמת רזי דעת אלה סודי רוח לבני אמת תבל‬ ... ‫ ולרוח עולה רחוב נפש ושפול ידים בעבודת צדק רשע ושקר גוה ורום לבב‬9 ‫כחש ורמיה אכזרי ורוב חנף קצור אפים ורוב אולת וקנאת זדון מעשי תועבה‬ ‫ברוח זנות ודרכי נדה בעבודת טמאה ולשון גדופים עורון עינים וכבוד אוזן קושי‬ ‫עורף וכובוד לב ללכת בכול דרכי חושך וערמת רוע‬ 2 These are their ways in the world: to enlighten the heart of man, to make level before him all the ways of righteousness and of truth, and to instil in his heart reverence for the precepts of God, a spirit of modesty, patience, abundant compassion, eternal goodness, insight, understanding, strong wisdom which trust in all the deeds of God and relies on || 29 Cf. ‫( שתי‬rather than ‫ )שני‬and ‫( הנה‬rather than ‫)המה‬. The suffix in ‫ בם‬should then be the dual feminine, rather than plural masculine (I owe the latter idea to T. Lim’s forthcoming article on CD 4:20–21). 30 All are discussed below. Note that in 4Q444 the text breaks off after “truth.”

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the abundance of his kindness, a spirit of knowledge with regard to every plan of action, zeal for the precepts of righteousness, a holy purpose with a constant mind, abundant kindness towards all the sons of truth, a glorious purity which loathes all the impure idols, circumspection linked to discernment in all things, and concealment of the truth of the mysteries of knowledge. These are the counsels of the spirit (sc. of truth) for the sons of truth in the world. ... 9 To the spirit of injustice belong greed, slackness in the service of righteousness, wickedness and falsehood, pride and haughtiness, lying and deceit, cruelty and great hypocrisy, impatience and abundant folly, zeal for insolence, abominable deeds committed in a spirit of lust, impure ways in the service of uncleanness, a blaspheming tongue, blind eyes, a deaf ear, a stiff neck, a stubborn heart causing a man to walk in all the ways of darkness, and an evil cunning.

This famous section, sometimes referred to as “the ways of the two spirits,” lists the ways or actions of both spirits, of truth and injustice, as well as (not printed above) the reward and punishment for those who walk in these. Fragmentary evidence from other manuscripts indicates that there were variant forms of or readings in this section.31 On the spirits of truth and injustice see the preceding quotation of 1QS 3:18–26. Of possible interest is that a few of the ways or actions, which might also be called virtues and vices, themselves use the term “spirit,” namely “spirit of modesty,” “spirit of knowledge,” and “spirit of lust.” This might be a redundant reference to disposition, just as several of the other phrases are elsewhere also constructed with “spirit,” such as “spirit of zeal,” “spirit of a stiff neck.” Likewise, the variant edition of 1Q29a seems to refer to a “spirit of folly” (‫ )רוח אולת‬as a variant of 1QS “abundant folly” (‫)רוב אולת‬. It might, however, also be asked to what extent these dispositions, sometimes referred to as “spirit of,” might be identified or associated with the so-called “spirits of truth” or “spirits of the lot of Belial” from other texts.

3.1.4 1QS 4:20–22 (Two Spirits Treatise)

‫ואז יברר אל באמתו כול מעשי גבר‬ ‫וזקק לו מבני איש להתם כול רוח עולה מתכמי בשרו‬ ‫ולטהרו ברוח קודש מכול עלילות רשעה‬ ‫ויז עליו רוח אמת כמי נדה מכול תועבות שקר והתגולל ברוח נדה‬ ‫להבין ישרים בדעת עליון וחכמת בני שמים להשכיל תמימי דרך‬ || 31 Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “ ‘These are the names of the spirits of . . .’: A Preliminary Edition of 4QCatalogue of Spirits (4Q230) and New Manuscript Evidence for the Two Spirits Treatise (4Q257 and 1Q29a),” RevQ 21/84 (2004): 529–47.

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Then God will purify by his truth all deeds of man and will refine for himself the frame of man, purging any spirit of injustice from the inner parts of his flesh, and purifying him by a spirit of holiness from every wicked action. He will sprinkle upon him a spirit of truth like waters to purify all the abominations of falsehood (in which) he has defiled himself through a spirit of impurity, so that the upright may have understanding in the knowledge of the Most High and the perfect way of insight into the wisdom of the sons of heaven.

The quoted section,32 beginning with “then,” describes God’s eschatological actions after the period of judgment in terms of purification. Grammatically, there are ambiguities that affect our understanding. Does God refine for himself “some from the sons of men” (mibbənē ʾīš), suggesting purification of an elect group, the upright? Or does he refine for himself the “frame” or “structure of man” (mibnē ʾīš), emphasizing physical purification, as also may be indicated by the removing of every spirit of injustice from the inner parts of his flesh? Except for a few phrases at the beginning and very end, the Two Spirits Treatise does not use the definite article, which makes it difficult to determine whether we should translate “a” or “the” spirit of injustice, holiness, truth, and impurity. Conceptually problematic has been the tension in the Two Spirits Treatise between “the spirits of truth and evil” as two opposing cosmic, ethical, or psychological principles, and the “spirit of truth” as a means of purification. At the same time, one should ask whether “spirit of holiness” and “spirit of truth” are two largely synonymous terms, or whether they reflect two different notions. Frey emphasizes the primordial character of the “spirit of truth” in the Two Spirits Treatise, whereas the “spirit of holiness” is introduced only at the end, in the description of eschatological purification. The context of this eschatological purification in the Treatise is different from the purification referred to in the covenant ceremony description of 1QS 3. Yet, the two texts share the association between “purification” and “holy spirit,” also refer to other “spirits” involved in the purification process, and by and large adopt and transform the priestly terms of purification. The closeness of the two texts might indeed be attributed to the editors of the two parts of the Rule of the Community. Both sections, but more clearly so 1QS 4:20–22, also take up the language of Ezek 36:25–27 (see below).

|| 32 Cf. also the recent discussions of Menahem Kister, “Body and Sin: Romans and Colossians in Light of Qumranic and Rabbinic Texts,” In The Dead Sea Scrolls and Pauline Literature, ed. Jean-Sébastien Rey (Leiden: Brill, 2014): 171–207, esp. 174–76, and Jörg Frey, “Paul’s View of the Spirit in the Light of Qumran,” In idem., 238–60, esp. 250–52.

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The structure of this text is complex: it juxtaposes “spirit of holiness” and “spirit of truth” in two parallel stichs, but also opposes “spirit of injustice” to “spirit of truth,” and “spirit of holiness” to “spirit of impurity.” In a different way, 1QS 3:6–9 also juxtaposes “holy spirit” to other spirits, namely to “spirit of true counsel” and “spirit of uprightness and modesty.”33 In both cases the literary structure of the sections suggests that the mentioned spirits have a similar nature, regardless of the fact that “spirit of holiness” is often connected to God. In both passages the authors’ choice for “holy spirit” is likely to have been prompted by the context of atonement of sins and purification from impurity. “Holy spirit” is not just a fixed phrase referring to God’s spirit, but in studies of the term in the scrolls, one actually would need to study the conceptualization of “holiness.”

3.1.5 1QS 4:23

‫עד הנה יריבו רוחי אמת ועול בלבב גבר‬ Until now the spirits of truth and injustice struggle in the hearts of men.

This is one of the important passages from the Two Spirits Treatise which raise the questions about the conceptualization or classification of the spirits. Because of the masculine gender (cf. ‫ )יריבו‬Sekki regarded these spirits of truth and injustice not as good and evil dispositions in men, but as angelic and demonic beings, which are not to be identified with the prince of light and the angel of darkness, but with “a plurality of good and evil angelic beings.”34 For this interpretation one might refer to the Songs of the Sage which refer to spirits which wage wars in the inner parts of the flesh and in the body of the hymnist (4Q511 48–49+51 2–4). But then one would also want to interpret the “spirit of injustice” of 1QS 4:20 (see above), which is to be purged from the inner part of the flesh as a demon. Instead, rather than pigeonholing references in rigid (ontological) categories, one should consider other possibilities, such as a different conceptualization of spirit as both angelic or demonic being and human disposition, or the use of metaphor.

|| 33 But note the textual variant mentioned earlier in 4Q255 which refers to “his holiness.” 34 Sekki, The Meaning of Ruaḥ at Qumran, 210–11.

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3.1.6 1QS 8:15–16

‫לעשות ככול הנגלה עת בעת וכאשר גלו הנביאים ברוח קודשו‬ that they should act in accordance with all that has been revealed from time to time, and in accordance with what the prophets revealed by his holy spirit

The conceptual connection between prophets or prophecy and God’s spirit is well attested in the Hebrew Bible and is referenced a few times in the Dead Sea scrolls; see CD 2:12–13, “He taught them through those anointed with his holy spirit and those who see the truth”; 4QDe (4Q270) 2 ii 14, “Against those anointed with the holy spirit” (compare 4Q287 10 13); 4Q381 69 4, “To you were given by his spirit prophets to instruct and to teach you.” See also David’s Compositions (11Q5 27), which states that the Lord gave David a discerning and enlightened spirit so that he could write psalms and songs, all of which he composed through prophecy given to him by the Most High. This is probably based on 2 Sam 23:2, “The spirit of the Lord speaks through me, his word is on my tongue.”

3.1.7 1QS 9:3–4

‫בהיות אלה בישראל ככול התכונים האלה‬ ‫ליסוד רוח קודש לאמת עולם‬ ‫לכפר על אשמת פשע ומעל חטאת‬ ‫ולרצון לארץ מבשר עולות ומחלבי זבח‬ When these come into existence in Israel in accordance with all these rules, to establish a/the spirit of holiness in eternal truth, to make atonement for the guilt of transgression and the unfaithfulness of sin, and that the land may be accepted without the flesh of burnt-offerings and without the fat of sacrifices -

The “when” introduction, apparently referring to the period of emergence of those who will found the community, is taken up again in line 6: “At that time, the men of the community shall separate themselves as a holy house for Aaron, that they may be united as a holy of holies, and as a house of community for Israel, for those who walk in perfection.” But how does the “spirit of holiness” fit in the section? One option (as presented in the layout and presentation above) is that it is the first of a series of aims of those who will found the community. We may then paraphrase “to establish a spirit of holiness” by “to bring about a new disposition.” The presence of a holy spirit is requisite for atonement. The other option (suggested in Knibb’s translation “in accordance with all

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these rules as a foundation of the spirit of holiness in eternal truth”) regards “the foundation (i.e., establishment) of the spirit of holiness” as a reference to the community itself, which then is to make expiation.

3.2 Rule of the Blessings (1QSb = 1Q28b) 3.2.1 1QSb (1Q28b) 2:24

‫יחונכה ברוח קודש וחס]ד‬ May he favour you with a holy spirit and kind[ness

The quoted phrase is part of the blessing of the high priest, which several times elaborates on “may he favor you” (cf. Num 6:25). For the collocation “favor someone with a spirit” see below 1QHa 6:36. Both here and in 1QHa 8:26–27 the favoring with a spirit is connected with kindness (‫)חסד‬.

3.2.2 1QSb 5:25–26

‫יתן] לכה רוח עצ[ה וגבורת עולם רוח דעת ויראת אל והיה צדק אזור ]מותניכה‬ ‫ואמונ[ה אזור חלציכה‬ He will give [you a spirit of counse]l and eternal might, a spirit of knowledge and the fear of God (cf. Isa 11:2b). And righteousness shall be the belt [around your waist, and faithfulne]ss the belt around your loins (cf. Isa 11:5).

The quoted phrase is part of the blessing of the Prince of the Congregation (1QSb 5:20 till end), who in several Dead Sea scrolls is described in terms of Isa 11. Note that except for the quotation of the entire verse Isa 11:2 in 4Q161, all other texts avoid the phrase ‫רוח חכמה‬, “spirit of wisdom,” in accordance with the semantic shift of ‫חכמה‬, “wisdom,” in most texts of the Dead Sea scrolls collection. See below for a survey of the use of Isa 11.

3.2.3 1QSb 1:1–2

‫דברי ברכ]ה[ למשכיל לברך את ירא]י אל עושי[ רצונו שומרי מצוותיו ומחזקי‬ ‫ב ֯ב]רי[ ֯ת קודשו והולכים תמים ]בכול דרכי אמ[תו‬

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Words of blessing for the instructor, to bless those who fear [God, do] his will, keep his commandments, and hold fast to his holy c[ovenan]t, and walk perfectly [in all the ways of] his [tru]th.

Barry Smith proposed the reading “who are strengthened by his s[pirit] of holiness” instead of “(who) hold fast to his holy c[ovenan]t.”35 However, this is palaeographically, semantically, and grammatically very problematic.36

3.3 Hodayot (Thanksgiving Hymns) (1QHa and 4QH manuscripts)37 Within the entire collection of Dead Sea scrolls, the Hodayot contains most references to a holy spirit (with one exception always: “your holy spirit”). In addition, the composition also uses other spirit collocations (“spirit of understanding,” “your compassionate spirit”), as well as multiple other references to the hymnist’s spirit.38 Throughout the following presented sections, some of the associations are repeated, for example that God has sprinkled his holy spirit upon, or given his spirit in the hymnist, which strengthens the hymnist, or gives him knowledge. Though some of the latter connotations also appear in other || 35 Barry D. Smith, “The Spirit of Holiness as Eschatological Principle of Obedience in SecondTemple Judaism,” In Christian Beginnings and the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. Craig Evans and John Collins (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2006): 75–99, wants to read ‫בר]וח [קודשו‬ ̊ ‫מחזקי‬, “Who are strengthened by his s[pirit] of holiness.” However, both paleographically and grammatically this is very problematic. 36 Palaeographically, there is a trace before ‫קודשו‬, which is compatible with the base of taw. Semantically, there is not example where the spirit strengthens. 1QHa 8:25 ‫להתחזק ברוח‬ ‫קודשך‬, “Strengthening oneself through your holy spirit,” should not be understood passively, “To be strengthened through your holy spirit,” since all the verbs in the clause express the actions of the hymnist. Grammatically and orthographically, ‫ מחזקי‬is most likely to be a piel, rather than a passive pual or hofal which are not attested in Classical Hebrew, and would have been written with waw as mater lectionis by this scribe. 37 Text and translations of the Hodayot are taken, sometimes with minor changes, from Hartmut Stegemann and Eileen Schuller, and translation by Carol A. Newsom, 1QHodayota with Incorporation of 1QHodayotb and 4QHodayota-f, DJD 40 (Oxford: Clarendon, 2010). This new edition has a new, authoritative numbering of columns and lines that is different from the old one by Sukenik. For an easy access edition, see Eileen M. Schuller and Carol A. Newsom, The Hodayot (Thanksgiving Psalms): A Study Edition of 1QHa (Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2012). 38 For a study of spirit in the Hodayot, see Carol A. Newsom, “Flesh, Spirit, and the Indigenous Psychology of the Hodayot,” In Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature: Essays in Honor of Eileen Schuller on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday (Leiden: Brill, 2012): 339–54.

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texts, they need not be specifically connected to a concept of holy spirit, but rather with God’s relationship to the hymnist.

3.3.1 1QHa 4:29–37

‫]ברוך אתה אל הרחמי[ם מרוחות אשר נתתה בי‬ ‫[ ומעשי ימין עוזך‬. . .] ‫ואמצאה מענה לשון לספר צדקותיך וארוך אפים‬ [. . .] ‫ולהודות על פשעי ראשונים ולה]תנפ[ל ולהתחנן על‬ ‫מעשי ונעוית לבבי כי בנדה התגוללתי‬ [. . .] ‫ומסוד רמ ]ה י[ צאתי ולא נלויתי‬ ‫[ תמו‬. . .] ‫[ כצדקתך ופדה‬. . . ‫כי לך אתה הצדקה ולשמך הברכה לעול]מ‬ ‫רשעים‬ ‫ ת[חשכהו‬. . .] ‫ואני הובינותי כי את אשר בחרתה ה]כינותה[ דרכו ובשכל‬ ‫מחטוא לך‬ [. . .] ‫ול◦◦ב לו ענותו ביסוריך ובנס ]וייך חזק[ תה לבו‬ ‫עבדך מחטוא לך ומכשול בכול דברי רצונך‬ ‫ ולה[תהלך בכול אשר אהבתה ולמאוס‬. . .] ‫חזק מתנ]יו לעמו[ד על רוחות‬ . . .] ‫בכול אשר שנאתה] ולעשות[ הטוב בעיניך‬ ‫ממ[שלתם בתכמו כי רוח בשר עבדך‬ [Blessed are you, O God of compassio]n, on account of the spirits that you have given me. I will find a proper response, reciting your righteous acts and (your) patience [. . .] and the deeds of your strong right hand, and confessing the transgressions of (my) previous (deeds), and prostrating myself, and begging for mercy [. . .] my deeds and the perversity of my heart, because I have wallowed in impurity. But from the council of worms I have departed, and I have not joined myself to [. . .]. For to you yourself belongs righteousness and to your name belongs blessing for ever [. . .] according to your righteousness, and ransom [. . .] (the) wicked. As for me, I understand that (for) the one whom you have chosen you determine his way, and through insight [. . .] you draw him back from sinning against you. And in order to . . . him his humility through your disciplines, and through your tests you have strengthened his heart [. . .] your servant from sinning against you and from stumbling in all the matters of your will. Strengthen his loins that he may stand against spirits, [. . .] and that he may walk in everything that you love and despise everything that you hate, and do what is good in your eyes [. . .] their dominion in his inner parts; for your servant is a spirit of flesh.

This long quotation is the entire (but damaged) third section of a large psalm, which, according to Schuller’s analysis, began close to the beginning of col. 4, and concluded with 4:40. The section should be read in the context of the entire psalm, the common topic of which is the spirit. The first and badly preserved section, in lines 12–20 (not presented above), refers either to a grammatically

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feminine figure which without justification affects and strikes by means of various spirits, or perhaps to spirits conceived of as grammatically feminine. For example, 4:19, “Acting deceitfully with [. . . u]nlawfully by means of a spirit of.” At least some of the phrases refer to physical affliction or diseases, such as “with afflictions of the fl[esh.” The broken text is ambiguous as to whether the spirits related to iniquities in 4:12–19 should be conceptualized as demons which afflict them, or whether these spirits are bad dispositions prompting sin and subsequent physical sufferings. The second section (4:21–28) praises God for deliverance from iniquities and transgressions. The third section, quoted above, praises God for spirits that he has given to, or rather, placed in, the hymnist, and prays to God to strengthen him against spirits. Whereas the Hodayot generally refers to a singular spirit given to the hymnist, the plural spirits may be opposed here to the different spirits mentioned in the first section, and at the end of this section. The spirits given by God enable the hymnist to speak the right words to God, to praise God for his deeds, and to confess his own former transgressions. In other places in the Hodayot, references to the spirit(s) which God has placed in the hymnist are associated with knowledge, and similar phrases sometimes replace “spirit you have place in me” by “your insight.”39 At the same time, the section still acknowledges the dominion that evil spirits have over the inner parts of the hymnist. The final clause of the third section acknowledges that he is a spirit of flesh as an explanation for his being subject to the dominion of evil spirits and his need for strength. This psalm as a whole, and this section in particular, shows a series of themes that are also found in other texts. Repeatedly in the Hodayot the hymnist thanks God for placing a spirit in him, and virtually each time this is followed by a description of the enablement by the spirit. The plurality of both positive and negative spirits might be compared to the Two Spirits Treatise’s listing of virtues and vices, some of which are explicitly called “spirit.” At the same time, the evil spirits here might be compared to the so-called Catalogue of Spirits (4Q230) which includes a “spirit of insolence,” a “spirit of contempt,” and a “wicked fist.” The localization of evil (spirits) in the inner parts (already

|| 39 Newsom renders the phrase ‫ רוח אשר נתתה בי‬differently: twice “the spirit that you have given me,” and twice “the spirit that you have placed in me.” For the collocation ‫נתן רוח ב‬, cf. Ezek 37:6. Compare this phrase ‫ ואני ידעתי ברוח אשר נתתי בי‬with the phrase ‫ואני ידעתי‬ ‫מבינתך‬/‫ב‬, “And I know by means of your knowledge” (1QHa 6:23; 7:25; cf. also 9:23 and 1QM 10:16).

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seen above in 1QS 4:20–22),40 as well as the “dominion” of evil spirits are attested in the Hodayot and other texts. The same holds true for the unique phrase “spirit of flesh,” which is used only in the Hodayot and in Instruction. It is often taken to refer to the sinfulness of human beings, but it rather refers to its lack of knowledge and susceptibility to sin.

3.3.2 1QHa 4:38s

‫]ברוך אתה אל עליון אשר [הניפותה רוח קודשך על עבדך] ות[טהר‬ ‫[ת לבו‬ ]‫מ‬ [Blessed are you, God Most High, that] you have sprinkled your holy spirit upon your servant [and you] have purified from [. . .]41 his heart

This is the initial blessing of the short fourth and final section of the same psalm. Commonly the collocation ‫ הניף‬with ‫ רוח קודשך‬is interpreted and translated as “spread your holy spirit,” deriving it from the root ‫ נוף‬I, “to swing,” “move to and fro,” and in cultic text use for the “wave-offering.” However, since spirit is often connected with liquid metaphors, it is likely that it should be connected with ‫ נוף‬II, “to spray,” “to sprinkle,” or perhaps even “to shower,” as in Ps 68:10 and Prov 7:17.42 In the third and fourth section of the psalm, we therefore see two juxtaposed concepts: the placement of spirit(s) within a person, and the sprinkling of God’s holy spirit upon a person. Interestingly, the latter is placed (as in 1QS 3:7) side by side with purification so that it seems that “purification” is the effect of the spirit.

|| 40 Cf. also, e.g., 4Q428 10:7–8 // 1QHa 16 1–2 ‫ורוח נעוה בלוא[ דעת הכאתה מתכמי וכבו]ד‬ ‫לב‬, “An erring spirit without] knowledge you expelled from my innermost being , and hardne[ss of heart.” The restoration is based on 9:24–25 ‫רוח התועה ונעיה בלו בינה‬, “A spirit of error and a perverted being, without understanding,” but we cannot be sure that here actually a “spirit” is expelled. See 4Q511 28–29 4 (‫עולה‬, injustice), 4Q511 48–49+41 2–4. 41 Schuller, DJD 40, 72 discusses possible reconstructions of the lacuna, for example, “From all (his) guilty transgressions.” 42 See the dictionaries, e.g., HALOT 682b, or Wolf Leslau, Comparative Dictionary of Geʿez (Classical Ethiopic) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1987), 388a, nafnafa I. The use of the root in relation to liquids is clear, but it is not clear whether these are actually two different Semitic roots. Andrea Ravasco, “‫ נוף‬I nwp,” In ThWQ 2:916–19, at 918 does refer to Prov 7:17, but maintains the translation “spread” (“ausbreiten”). Newsom, “Flesh, Spirit, and the Indigenous Psychology,” 349, chooses the meaning “sprinkle,” even though she translated “spread” in the translation to the edition.

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3.3.3 1QHa 5:30–33, 35–36

‫וברזי שכלכה פלגתה כול אלה להודיע כבודך‬ ‫ [גדול‬. . . ]‫]כי מה ה[יא רוח בשר להבין בכול אלה ולהשכיל בס‬ ‫ומה ילוך אשה בכול ך]י[ל]ו[ד]ג[ הנוראים‬ ‫והוא מבנה עפר ומגבל מים א]שמה זחט[אה סודו ערות קלון ומ]קור הנ[דה‬ ‫ורוח נעוה משלה בו‬ ‫[וצדק כול מעשיך‬

] ‫ואני עבדך ידעתי ברוח אשר נתתה בי‬

In the mysteries of your understanding you apportioned all these in order to make known your glory. [But how is] a spirit of flesh to understand these things and to discern [. . .] great? What is one born of woman among all your great fearful acts? He is a thing constructed of dust and kneaded with water. Sinful guilt is his foundation, obscene shame, and a source of impurity. And a perverted spirit rules him. And I, your servant, know by means of the spirit that you have given me [ ] and all your deeds are righteousness

This small section, taken from a larger psalm (according to Schuller either 5:12– 6:33, or 5:12–6:18) for an Instructor (‫ )למשכיל‬presents themes which are more broadly attested in the Hodayot. The text makes it a theme that a person as a created being, a “spirit of flesh,” is impure and sinful, and that a perverted spirit rules him. The phrase “perverted spirit” is typical to the Hodayot, and probably refers to the human disposition to sin. Here, again, one finds the notion of spirits “ruling” or having dominion. Interestingly, this notion is used both with respect to demonic or angelic figures and with respect to inclinations. However, the psalm does not primarily deal with sin, but with God’s eternal plans, his creation, and his revelation of “the ways of truth and the works of evil, wisdom and folly” (5:20). The individual, as a spirit of flesh, cannot understand these, not discern the rules of creation, but the hymnist acknowledges that it is because of the spirit which God placed in him, that he has gained knowledge.

3.3.4 1QHa 6:23–24

‫ואני ידעתי מבינתך כי ברצונכה בא]י[ש הרב]יתה נחלתו [ברוח קודשך‬ ‫וכן הגישנו לבינתך‬ And as for me, I know from the understanding that comes from you that through your goodwill toward a person you multi[ply his portion] in your holy spirit. Thus you draw him nearer to your understanding.

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These lines might belong to the conclusion of the previous psalm, or to a short psalm of its own (6:19–33), which starts with “Blessed are you, o Lord, who places understanding in the heart of your servant, so that he may have insight into all these things” (6:19–20). The partial reconstruction in the quoted phrase (6:23–24) is based on the parallel in 8:21 (see below). The context of the clause is dualistic (the lots are drawn for persons between good and evil), but the text mainly dwells on the fate of those whom God has drawn to him, and the degrees of one’s knowledge and portion. The concept of having a portion in God’s holy spirit is unique but is probably related to the idea of the Rule of the Community that there can be increase or decrease of one’s spiritual life. The references to an oath pledged by the hymnist (6:28) and to the being brought into the community of all the counsel also suggest a correspondence to the Rule of the Community. From that perspective, the lot in God’s holy spirit might correspond to one’s “understanding and deeds” (1QS 5:21, 23), or one’s “understanding and perfect behavior” (1QS 5:24). However, one can also refer to 1QS 4:24, “According to a man’s portion in truth and in righteousness, so he hates injustice,” which connects closely to the clause in 1QHa 6:24–25, “And according to his closeness, so is his zeal against all evildoers and people of deceit.” All in all, “God’s holy spirit” is here associated with insight and corresponding behavior.

3.3.5 1QHa 6:36–37

‫ואני עבדך חנותני ברוח דעה ל]בחור בא[מת ]וצד[ק ולתעב כול דרך עולה‬ As for me, your servant, you have favored me with the spirit of knowledge, to [choose tr]uth [and righteous]ness and to abhor every unjust way.

A “spirit of knowledge,” included in the list of spirits in Isa 11:2, is found a few times in the scrolls (1QS 4:4; 1QSb 5:25; 4Q161 8–10 12; 4Q444 1–4 i+5 3; 6Q18 5 3). The collocation ‫ חנן‬with suffix and ‫רוח‬, “to favor someone with a spirit,” is attested repeatedly (1QSb 2:24; 1QHa 8:27; 4Q504 4 5; 11Q5 19:14). For the quoted Hodayot phrase, see also 1QS 4:24, “According to a man’s portion in truth and in righteousness, so he hates injustice.”

3.3.6 1QHa 8:18, 20–32

[. . .] ‫ור[וח נעוה משל]ה [ביצר עפר‬

◦◦◦◦ ◦◦ [

]◦◦ ‫ברוח קו]ד[שך] אשר נתת ה בי‬

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‫כ[בודך‬

] ‫ולא יוכל א]נוש לבקש[ רוח קוד]ש[ך ◦◦] [מלוא השמים והארץ‬ [‫מלוא כול] תבל‬ ‫[◦◦ר אמתך בכול‬ ‫ואדעה כי ברצונ]ך[ באיש הרביתה נחלתו בצדקות]יך‬ ‫] [ ומשמר צדק על דברך‬ ‫אשר הפקדתה בו פן ישגה ]ממצוותיך ול[בלתי כשול בכול מע]שיו‬ ‫כי[ בדעתי בכול אלה אמצאה מענה לשון להתנפל ולהת]חנ[ן] תמיד[ על פשעי‬ ‫ולבקש רוח בינ]ה[ ולהתחזק‬ ‫ברוח קודשך ולדבוק באמת בריתך ולעובדך באמת ולב שלם ולאהוב את דבר‬ [‫פ]יך‬ ‫ברוך אתה אדוני גדול העצה ורב העלילליה אשר מעשיך הכול‬ ‫הנה הואלתה לעשות בי ר]וב[ חסד ותחונני ברוח רחמיך ובעבור כבודך‬ ‫לך אתה הצדקה כי אתה עשיתה את כול אלה‬ ‫ובדעתי כי אתה רשמתה רוח צדיק ואני בחרתי להבר כפי כרצו]נ[ך‬ ‫ונפש עבדך תעבה כול מעשה עולה‬ ‫ואדעה כי לא יצדק איש מבלעדיך ואחלה פניך ברוח אשר נתתה בי להשלים‬ ‫חסדיך עם עבדך ל]עו[לם לטהרני ברוח קודשך ולהגישני ברצונך כגדול חסדיך‬ ‫]א[שר עשיתה עמדי ול]ה[עמ]יד פעמי ב[כול מעמד רצו]נך[ אשר בח]ר[תה‬ ‫לאוהביך ולשומרי מצוותי]ך להתיצב[ לפניך לעולם‬ . . . and a perverted spirit has ruled over a creature of dust [. . .] . . . by means of your holy spirit which you [placed] in me . . .43 And hu[mankind] is not able [to search out] your holy spirit [ ] the fullness of the heavens and the earth [ ] your glory, the fullness of all [the world]. And I know that by your goodwill toward a person you have multiplied his portion in your righteous deeds [ ] your truth in all [ ] and a righteous guard over your word that you have entrusted to him lest he stray [from your commandments and so as n]ot to stumble in any of his deeds. [For] through my knowledge of all these things I will find the proper response, falling prostrate and be[gging for mer]cy [continuously] on account of my transgression, and seeking a spirit of understanding, and strengthening myself through your holy spirit, and clinging to the truth of your covenant, and serving you in truth and with a perfect heart, and loving the word of your mouth. Blessed are you, O Lord, great in counsel and mighty in deed, because all things are your works. Now you have determined to do me great kindness, and you have favored me with your compassionate spirit and for the sake of your glory. Righteousness belongs to you alone, for you have done all these things. Because I know that you have recorded the spirit of the righteous, I myself have chosen to cleanse my hands according to your will. The soul of your servant abhors every malicious deed. || 43 At the beginning of this passage, the editor reconstructed “your holy spirit which your [placed] in me,” clearly influenced by various other references to a spirit which God “gave to” or “placed in” (‫ )נתן ב‬a person, but Newsom, “Flesh, Spirit, and the Indigenous Psychology,” 349, notes that nowhere else this collocation is used with “holy spirit.”

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I know that no one can be righteous apart from you, and so I entreat you with the spirit that you have placed in me that you make your kindness to your servant complete forever, purifying me by your holy spirit and drawing me nearer through your goodwill, according to your great kindness which you have showed to me and causing my feet to stand in the whole station of your good favor, which you have chosen for those who love you and for those who keep your commandments that they may take their stand before you forever.

This long section from a psalm for an Instructor (7:21–8:41) is unique in referring to God’s (“your”) “holy spirit” four different times, and, in addition to a “spirit of understanding,” God’s “compassionate spirit,” and generally “the spirit that you gave to me.” The passage has many themes and phrases in common with both the first section given above, 1QHa 4:29–37, and other Hodayot passages. Where in 1QHa 4:29 it is because of the spirits placed in the hymnist, and in 8:24 due to the knowledge of all these things, that the hymnist can find a proper response, which is specified in both texts in terms of prostration, begging for mercy, and confession. It is due to the goodwill and the agency of God that a human being can turn to God, on account of which God then may draw the person nearer. In this section, God’s holy spirit might be contrasted to the perverted spirit from the beginning of the quotation. As in earlier passages seen above, God’s holy spirit is juxtaposed to the purification of the heart. Yet, at the same time, God’s “holy spirit” is mentioned both here and elsewhere side by side with other terms, like “your goodwill,” “your kindness,” or “truth of your covenant,” which cautions us not to single out a specific term as the expression par excellence of God’s dealing with the hymnist. Compare, for example, 1QHa 6:24 (quoted above), “Through your goodwill toward a person you multi[ply his portion] in your holy spirit. Thus you draw him nearer to your understanding,” with 8:30 (quoted in this lemma), “Purifying me by your holy spirit and drawing me nearer through your goodwill.”

3.3.7 1QHa 12:31–34

‫ואני ידעתי כי לוא לאנוש צדקה ולוא לבן אדם תום דרך‬ ‫לאל עליון כול מעשי צדקה‬ ‫ודרך אנוש לוא תכון כי אם ברוח יצר אל לו להתם דרך לבני אדם למען ידעו‬ ‫כול מעשיו בכוח גבורתו ורוב רחמיו על כול בני רצונו‬ But as for me, I know that righteousness does not belong to humankind nor perfection of way to a mortal. To God Most High belong all the works of righteousness.

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The way of humanity is not established except by the spirit God has formed for it, in order to perfect a way for mortal beings, so that they may know all his works44 through his mighty strength and his abundant compassion toward all the children of his good will.

The second part of this passage “has been at the center of the debate over sectarian pneumatology almost from the beginning of Qumranian studies.”45 The text either has been understood in terms of Ezek 36:26 (“a new spirit I will put within you”), namely as an eschatological granting of a new disposition to God’s people, or as the spirit of man given at creation (e.g., Zech 12:1). Also, on the basis of 1QS 3:6–9 it has been thought that the granting of a new spirit to individuals happened at the entering to the community. Rather than searching for a specific pneumatology, the text should be read together with Jer 10:23–24 (“I know, O Lord, that the way of a person does not belong to himself, nor does it belong to a man when he walks to direct their steps. Correct me, O Lord, but in just measure; not in your anger, or you will bring me to nothing”), 1QS 11:10–11 (“For the way of a person does not belong to himself, and humankind cannot direct their steps. For justice belongs to God, and from his hand is perfection of way”), and 1QHa 7:25–26 (“And as for me, I know, by the understanding that come from you, that it is not through the power of flesh that an individual [may perfect] his way, nor is a person able to direct his steps. And I know that in your hand is the inclination of every spirit, and all its activity you determined before you created it”). Jeremiah’s “way of a person” and “directing one’s steps” is partially taken up in all three passages, but interpreted as righteous behavior and perfection of way. Newsom, who only compared Jer 10:23 with 1QHa 7:25– 26, referred to the breaking up of the Jeremiah passage and its being interspersed with several phrases.46 This, however, also happens in the two other phrases, which also resemble each other in the non-Jeremianic phrases. In that sense, the two different passages of the Hodayot, referring to “the inclination of every spirit” (‫ )יצר כול רוח‬and “the spirit God formed for it” (‫)רוח יצר אל לו‬, with its two different uses of ‫ יצר‬as noun and verb, complement one another: the text emphasizes God as creator of a human’s inclination.

|| 44 Newsom improved on her previous translation in The Self as Symbolic Space, 315, where she read, “So that all his creatures may know his mighty strength.” 45 Sekki, The Meaning of Ruaḥ at Qumran, 124. 46 Newsom, The Self As Symbolic Space, 213–15, here 214.

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3.3.8 1QHa 15:9–10

‫אודכה אדוני כי סמכתני בעוזכה‬ ‫ורוח קודשכה הניפותה בי בל אמוט‬ I thank you, O Lord, that you have sustained me by your strength, and that you have sprinkled your holy spirit upon me, so that I am not shaken.

These are the opening words of a short new psalm (15:9–28), which is characterized by an inclusio (15:10 “so that I am not shaken”; 15:28 “you set my feet on level ground”). Within the psalm, “your holy spirit” is contrasted to ‫רוח הוות‬, “the spirit of destructions.” On one level, the psalm relates “destruction(s)” to the wars with the hymnist’s opponents. However, God has placed the hymnist “like a mighty tower, like a high rampart” (cf. the identical phrases in the blessing of the Prince of the Congregation in 1QSb 5:23–24). On another level, the “spirit of destructions” is characterized with respect to language, just like in other hodayot the spirit that God granted the hymnist. In those hodayot God’s spirit grants a “proper response”; in 15:14 the spirit of destructions has no speech, and the children of guilt no proper response.

3.3.9 1QHa 16:12–14

‫ואתה] א[ל שכתה בעד פריו ברז גבורי כוח ורוחות קודש ולהט אש מתהפכת‬ ‫בל י]בוא ז[ר במעין חיים ועם עצי עולם לא ישתה מי קודש בל ינובב פריו עם‬ ‫מטע שחקים‬ And you, O God, have hedged in its fruit by means of the mystery of strong warriors and spirits of holiness, and the whirling flame of fire, so that no stranger might come to the fountain of life, nor with the eternal trees drink the water of holiness, nor bear its fruit with the plantation of heaven.

The psalm uses paradisiacal themes, with imagery and language from both Gen 2–3 and Ezek 28. The quotation is exceptional within the Hodayot because of the use of “holy spirits,” in the plural. Those holy spirits and strong warriors correspond to the cherubs of Gen 3, and also in other compositions angels or other divine beings might be called holy spirits. More in general, the use of the same expressions in both singular and plural seems to entail more than only number, but also a semantic difference.

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3.3.10 1QHa 17:32

‫ובאמת נכון סמכתני וברוח קודשכה תשעשעני ועד היום ]א[תה תנהלני‬ With sure truth you have supported me, and in your holy spirit you have made me rejoice, and until this day you continue to guide me.

In this quotation ‫באמת‬, “with truth,” is used parallel to ‫ברוח קודש‬, “with a spirit of holiness.” One may compare 1QS 4:20–21 where God purifies both “by his truth” and “by his spirit of holiness.” Though also other terms like “through his goodness,” etc. are used in similar parallelisms, there seems to be a special use of ‫אמת‬, “truth,” in the scrolls, which suggests it is not merely an abstract concept, or a property of God, but also a separate entity.

3.3.11 1QHa 20:14–16

‫ואני משכיל ידעתיכה אלי ברוח אשר נתתה בי‬ ‫ונאמנה שמעתי לסוד פלאכה‬ ‫ברוח קודשכה ]פ[תחתה לתוכי דעת ברז שכלכה ומעין גבורת]כה‬ And I, the Instructor, I know you, my God, by the spirit that you have placed in me. Faithfully have I heeded your wondrous secret counsel. By your holy spirit you have opened up knowledge within me through the mystery of your wisdom and the fountainhead of your power.

The phraseology of “placing a spirit within me” seems to be typical of the Instructor psalms.47 In this quotation, the juxtaposition of “the spirit that you have placed in me” and “your holy spirit,” and the connection of both with knowledge, suggests they are synonymous, though in other texts this need not be the case.

3.3.12 1QHa 21:34

]‫]ואני י[צר העפר ידעתי ברוח אשר נתתה בי כיא‬ [And as for me, a crea]ture of dust, I know by the spirit that you have placed in me.

The phrase still belongs to the same psalm as the previous quote. || 47 I owe this observation to Judith Newman (paper at the SBL 2013).

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3.3.13 1QHa 23:29–30, 33

. . . ‫ועל עפר הניפותה רוח ]קודשכה‬ ‫ רוח ק[ודשכה הניפותה לכפר אשמה‬. . . And over the dust you have sprinkled [your holy] spirit . . . . . . your [h]oly [spirit] you have sprinkled in order to atone for guilt

This first quote, from a damaged section of the scroll, combines two metaphors. In the Hodayot in general, and in the preceding 23:24–29 “dust” refers to the material from which mankind is made. Hence “dust” is conceived as a physical being,48 often used as a self-reference of the hymnist. At the same time, the image of sprinkling on dust suggests transformation. The second quote, a few lines later, once again associates God’s holy spirit with atonement.

3.4 War Scroll (1QM and 4QM manuscripts) 3.4.1 1QM 13:9–12

‫אתה] אל ב[רותנו לכה עם עולמים ובגורל אור הפלתנו לאמתכה‬ ‫ושר מאור מאז פקדתה לעוזרנו ובג]ורלו כול בני צד[ק וכול רוחי אמת‬ ‫בממשלתו‬ ‫ואתה עשיתה בליעל לשחת מלאך משטמה‬ ‫ובחוש]ך ממשל[תו ובעצתו להרשיע ולהאשים‬ ‫וכול רוחי גורלו מלאכי חבל בחוקי חושך יתהלכו ואליו ]תשו[קתמה יחד‬ And you, [O God,] purified us49 for yourself as an eternal people, and into the lot of light you cast us for your truth. You appointed the Prince of Light from of old to assist us, for in [his] l[ot are all sons of50 righteous]ness and all spirits of truth are in his dominion. You yourself made Belial for the pit, the angel of malevolence, his [dominio]n is in darkne[ss] and his counsel is to condemn and convict. All the spirits of his lot, the angels of destruction, walk in accord with the rule of darkness, for it is their only [des]ire.

|| 48 Newsom, “Flesh, Spirit, and the Indigenous Psychology,” 345. 49 Following the reading of Elisha Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings Volume One (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi, 2010), 124. Earlier proposals were to reconstruct ‫פ[דיתה‬, “you have redeemed us,” or ‫ב[ריתנו‬, “you have created us,” but Qimron’s reading is superior. See also the parallel in 4Q495 2 1 ‫ברתנו לכ]ה‬. 50 Other reconstruction: “are the angels of.” Thus also Qimron.

Historical Origins of the Early Christian Concept of the Holy Spirit

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The quoted section is part of a series of blessings of “the God of Israel and all his works of truth” and curses of “Belial and all the spirits of his lot” (1QM 13:1–2). The genre, the dualistic terminology, and even the specific phrasing are close to that of the Covenant Ceremony and the Two Spirits Treatise in 1QS 1–4. Specific of the 1QM text is the explicit and systematic reference to other spirits or angels who are subordinate to the two cosmic antagonistic figures of the Prince of Light and Belial. The “spirits of truth” might be angels or spirits subservient to the Prince of Light, who in turn may be the same as the Angel of Truth of the Two Spirits Treatise. Alternatively, if one reads the texts from a Zoroastrian perspective, the spirits of truth may be the virtues mentioned in 1QS 4:2–8. Note that the asyndetic juxtaposition of “all the spirits of his lot, the angels of destruction” might suggest identification, or at least a semantic overlap.

3.5 Catena A // 4QMidrash on Eschatology 3.5.1 4Q177 12+13 i+15 9–1451

‫ב[ליעל להאבידמה בחרונו אשר לוא יותיר ל] לוא[ יניח לבליעל‬ ‫אב[רהם עד עשרה צדיקים בעיר כיא רוח אמת ה◦] כי[א אין‬ ]...[ ‫[◦מה ואחיהמה במחשבת בליעל ויחזק עליה]ם‬ ]‫[מלאך אמתו יעזור לכול בני אור מיד בליעל‬ ‫[ולפזר]ם[ בארץ ציה ושממה היא עת פנות המדב]ר‬ ]‫ידיהם‬ ]‫[תמר ידוד הצ]די[ק ויד אל הגדולה עמהמה לעוזרם מכול רוחי‬ ]‫כיא ה‬ ‫בליעל‬ B]elial,52 to destroy them in his anger, of whom he will not let remain [ he will not] give rest to Belial . . . Ab]raham, up to ten righteous ones in the city, because a spirit of truth . . . [ becau]se not [ . . . and their brothers through the plan of Belial, and he was stronger than th[ey ] his angel of truth will help all the sons of light from the hand of Belial [ their hands [ ] and to scatter [them] in a dry and desolate land. This is the time of the heading towards the wilder[ness

|| 51 Hebrew text from Annette Steudel, Die Texte aus Qumran II (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2001), 210, with some corrections taken from on Elisha Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings Volume Two (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi, 2013), 294 who does not add frg. 15 but instead frg. 21. 52 If one adopts Qimran’s join of frg. 21, then read, “When Belial tries to destroy them,” etc.

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because [ ] . . . the righ[teou]s one will flee, but the mighty hand of God will be with them to help them against all the spirits [of Belial ?

The language of this fragmented text is reminiscent of Two Spirits Treatise, as well as 1QM 13, even up to shared phrases, such as “his angel of truth helping all the sons of light” (1QS 3:24–25). This section, however, goes beyond those texts by associating the inhabitants of Sodom (of Gen 18–19) with the “men of Belial” (esp. Judg 19 and Deut 13:14), and presenting an actualized exegesis. Unfortunately, the brokenness of the text makes it hard to decide what the “spirit of truth” refers to in this context.53

3.6 Damascus Document (CD, 4Q266–4Q273) 3.6.1 CD 2:12–13

‫ויודיעם ביד משיחי רוח קדשו וחוזי אמת‬ And he taught them through those anointed with his holy spirit and those who see the truth.

The anointed with his holy spirit and seers of truth are probably prophets (see above, sub 1QS 8:15–16 on the connection between prophecy and God’s spirit). Interestingly, the connection in the Hebrew Bible between anointing, spirit, and prophecy (1 Sam 16:13; Isa 61:1) has developed into a metaphor and set phrase. The expression “anointed with the/his holy spirit” is also attested in 4Q270 2 ii 11–14 and 4Q287 10 13, and “anointed of the spirit” in 11Q13 (11QMelch) 2:18.

3.6.2 CD 5:11–12

‫וגם את רוח קדשיהם טמאו ובלשון גדופים פתחו פה על חוקי ברית אל‬ Also they have defiled their holy spirit, and with a blaspheming tongue they have opened their mouth against the statutes of God

|| 53 Cf. Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “Sodom and Gomorrah in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” In Sodom’s Sin. Genesis 18–19 and its Interpretations, eds. Ed Noort and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar (Leiden: Brill, 2004): 47–62, esp. 60–62 on this section, but without any discussion of the “spirit of truth.

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Because of the plural ‫קדשיהם‬, Puech renders a plural “holinesses” (“esprit de saintetés”). This occurs twice in CD (see also 7:4), as well as in the 1QIsaa version of Isa 63:10 (‫)רוח קודשיו‬. This quotation preserves one of several cases in the scrolls that refers to the holy spirit of human beings. In the three Damascus Document instances, the expression might be a reference to the self as a holy, or alternatively, it may reflect a distinction between bodily and spiritual defilement.

3.6.3 CD 7:3–4

‫ולהבדל מכל הטמאות כמשפטם‬ ‫ולא ישקץ איש את רוח קדשיו כאשר הבדיל אל להם‬ . . . to separate themselves from all kinds of uncleanness according to the rule about them, and for each man not to make detestable his holy spirit according to the separation which God made for them

Compare CD 7:3–4 ‫ולא ישקץ איש את רוח קדשיו‬, “A man should not make detestable his holy spirit,” with 12:11 ‫אל ישקץ איש את נפשו‬, “A man should not make detestable his soul,” suggesting that both cases refer to one’s self.

3.6.4 4QDe (4Q270) 2 ii 11–14

] ‫בשמותם לטמא את רוח קודשו‬ ‫או ינוגע בנגע צרעת או זוב טמ]אה‬ ‫או[ אשר יגלה את רז עמו לגואים או יקלל א]ת עמו‬ ]‫או ידבר[ סרה על משיחי רוח הקדש ותועה ב‬ . . .] by their names, thereby defiling his holy spirit [. . . ] or one afflicted by skin disease or an unclean flux [. . . or] one who reveals a secret of his people to the gentiles, or curses [his people, or preaches] sedition against those anointed with the holy spirit and error against [

Only one of the Cave 4 Damascus Document manuscripts preserves this broken list of transgressions (of which a part is quoted above). One can only speculate about its meaning, because each transgression is short, and part of the lines are broken. Line 11 might refer to swearing by the names of foreign gods (cf. Josh 23:7), which then would result in the defilement of the transgressor’s own holy spirit. “Those anointed with the holy spirit” are here likely also prophets and

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seers, as in CD 2:12–13. For rebellion against seers see 4Q280 2 6–7 and parallels.

3.6.5 Damascus Document on skin disease (as can be more or less reconstructed from 4Q266 i, 4Q269 7, 4Q272 1 i–ii, and 4Q273 4 ii)54 When the spirit comes and takes hold of the blood vessel, making the blood recede upwards and downwards, and the blood vessel ( ‫בבוא הרוח ואחזה בגיד ושב הדם למעלה‬ ‫ )ולמטה והגיד‬. . . The priest shall examine (him) on the seventh day, and if the blood vessel is filled with blood and the spirit of life pulsates up and down (‫ )והנה מלא הגיד דם ורוח החיים עולה ויורדת‬and the flesh has grown, (then) the swelling?] is healed, [and hidden? is] the scab . . . And the rule for the scall of the head or the beard [ ] and the priest shall examine (him), and if the spirit has entered the head (‫והנה באה‬ ‫ )הרוח בראש‬or the beard, taking hold of the blood vessel (‫)באוחזה בגיד‬, and the fl[esh, which] is underneath the hair, turning its appearance to fine yellowish . . . And the priest shall order that they shave the head, but not the scall, in order that the priest may count the dead and live hair, and see whether any has been added from the live to the dead during the seven days, in which case he is unclean, while if none had been added from the live to the dead, and the blood vessel is filled with blood (‫)והגיד נמלא דם‬, and the spirit of life pulsates up and down in it (‫)ורוח החיים עולה ויורדת בו‬, the malady is healed. This is the rule of the law of ṣaraʿat (skin disease) for the sons of Aaron to separate the ones [afflicted by ṣaraʿat].

This section on skin disease (ṣaraʿat) has been associated with other references to spirit, due to the speculation that this scientific description of the going up of breath or wind in the blood vessels or arteries might be related to the idea of (evil) spirits in the ‫תכמים‬, which has been translated in this text as “inner parts.”55 One should note, however, that the use of ‫הרוח‬, singular with article, in non-construct position, always refers to “wind” or “breath,” as opposed to “spirit,” and that ‫רוח החיים‬, “the spirit/breath of life,” is not associated elsewhere with the spirits that are in a human body.

|| 54 The best text of this section available presently is that in Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings, Volume One, 27–28. 55 Elisha Qimron, “Notes on the 4QZadokite Fragment on Skin Disease,” JJS 42 (1991): 256–59.

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3.7 11QMelchizedek (11Q13) 3.7.1 11Q13 2:18

‫והמבשר הו]אה [משיח הרו]ח[ כאשר אמר דנ]יאל עליו‬ And “the messenger” is “the anointed of spirit,” of [whom] Dan[iel spoke: . . . (Dan 9:25?)

3.8 Berakhot (Blessings) (4Q286–4Q290)56 3.8.1 4Q287 2 4–557

‫זו[הר רוקמת רוחי קודש קוד]שים‬ ] . . . angels of fire and spirits of cloud [ est holi[ness

] ‫[מה מלאכי אש ורוחי ענן‬ bri]ghtness of the brocaded58 spirits of the holi-

The terminology, including the juxtaposition of angels and spirits, is reminiscent of that of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice (see, for example, 4Q403 1 ii 1 below).

3.8.2 4Q287 10 13

‫[ה על משיחי רוח קוד]שו‬ ] on/against the anointed ones of [his] holy spirit [

If this fragment belonged to the curses section of the composition, it may have been part of a curse against those who rebelled against the anointed ones (cf. 4Q270 2 ii 14).

|| 56 Translations are from the edition of Bilhah Nitzan in Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 1, DJD 11 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998). 57 In the same fragment, in lines 7 and 13 the editor reconstructs ‫רוחי קודש [קודשים‬, resp. ‫רוחי [קודשכה‬. 58 The meaning of ‫ רוקמה‬is disputed. An alternative translation is “the mingled color(s) of.”

202

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3.9 Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice (4Q400–407, 11Q17, Mas1K)59 The sections mentioned below, as well as the Berakhot one given above (4Q287 2 4–5), are generally not included in lists of texts dealing with “holy spirit” or “spirit of holiness.” They are nonetheless included because of the collocation of spirit and holiness. Some cases include “spirits of holiest holiness,” but no less than four cases in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice uses the singular “spirit of holiest holiness,” which is remarkable since the composition has the plural “spirits” three times more often than the singular. However, where the text also uses the singular, it does not seem to single out a specific spirit. The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice uses multiple terms to refer to heavenly beings, most often ‫אלים‬, “divine beings”; ‫אלהים‬, “godlike beings”; ‫רוחות‬, “spirits”; and ‫מלאכים‬, “angels.” Apart from ‫ אלים‬and ‫ אלהים‬which are regularly used in absolute form, these terms are generally qualified (through a genitive construction) through other nouns.

3.9.1 4Q403 1 i 44 // 4Q404 5 // 4Q405 6

[ ‫רוחי קודש קודשים אלוהים חיים רוחי קודש עולמים ממעל ]מ[כול קדו]שים‬ ‫פלא נפלא הוד‬ The spirits60of holiest holiness,61 living god-like beings, spirits of eternal holiness above all the hol[y ones ] wonder, marvelous in majesty.

3.9.2 4Q403 1 ii 1

‫אורתום רוקמת רוח קודש קודשי]ם‬ perfect light of a brocaded spirit of holiest holiness

|| 59 Translations, with some modifications, from the edition of Carol A. Newsom in Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 1, DJD 11 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998). Further referenced as Newsom, DJD 11. 60 4Q404 5 1 reads the singular ‫רוח‬. 61 The same expression is also reconstructed elsewhere in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, e.g., 4Q405 19 2 ‫רוחי ק]ודש קודשים‬, “[most hol]y spirits.”

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203

3.9.3 4Q403 1 ii 6–9

‫מבינותם ירוצו א]לו[הים כמראי גחלי] אש‬ ]◦ ‫מתהלך סביב רוחות קודש קודשים‬ ‫קודש ק]וד[שים רוחות אלוהים מראי עו]למים‬ ]‫ורוחות אלוהים בדני להבת אש סביבה ל‬ from between them god-like beings run like the appearance of coals of [fire moving round about, spirits of holiest holiness [ of holiest holiness, divine spirits, an eternal vision [ and divine spirits, shapes of flaming fire round about it [

3.9.4 4Q405 14–15 i 2 // 11Q17 4

]‫[דמות פלא רוח קוד]ש [קודשים מטל‬ ] wondrous likeness, a spirit of holiest holine[ss], . . .[

3.9.5 4Q405 20 ii – 22 10

‫כמראי אש רוחות קודש קודשים סביב מראי שבולו אש בדמות חשמל‬ Like the appearance of fire are spirits of holiest holiness round about the appearance of streams of fire like amber.

This description (and its context) is clearly based on Ezek 1:27, and it seems that the Glory of God is evoked through the description of the most holy spirits.62 Note also the close connection between fire and the most holy spirits in the Shirot.

3.9.6 4Q405 23 ii 6–11

‫[ קדשיהם‬ ‫[רוחות קד]שי קדשים‬ ‫במעמד פלאיהם רוחות רוקמה כמעשי אורג פתוחי צורות הדר‬ ‫בתוך כבוד מראי שני צבעי אור רוח קודש קדשים מחזקות מעמד קודשם‬ ‫מ[לך רוחי צבעי] טוהר [בתוך מראי חור‬ ]‫לפני‬ ‫או[ר‬ ]‫ודמות רוח כבוד כמעשי אופירים מאירי‬ || 62 See, more in detail, Newsom, DJD 11:352.

204

Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar

‫וכול מחשביהם ממולח טוהר חשב כמעשי אורג‬ ‫אלה ראשי לבושי פלא לשרת] [ ראשי ממלכות ממלכות קדושים למלך‬ ‫הקודש בכול מרומי מקדשי מלכות כבודו‬ spirits of ho[liest holiness . . . ] their holy places. In their wondrous stations are brocaded spirits, like woven work, engraved with figures of splendor. In the midst of the glorious appearance of scarlet are (garments) dyed with the fire of a spirit of holiest holiness,63 those who take their holy station before [ ] King, spirits [brightly] dyed in the midst of the appearance of whiteness. Ant the likeness of this glorious spirit is like fine gold work, shedding [ lig]ht. And all their designs are brightly blended, an artistry like woven work. These are the chiefs of those wondrously arrayed for service [ ] the chiefs of the realm of the holy ones of the King of holiness in all the heights of the sanctuaries of his glorious kingdom.

3.9.7 11Q17 9:5

?‫הטוהר ברוח קוד]ש קודשים‬ the purity, through a spirit of [holiest?] holi]ness

3.10 4QInstruction (4Q415–4Q418a, 4Q423, 1Q26)64 3.10.1 4Q417 1 i 13–18 (Vision of Hagu or Vision of Meditation)

‫ואתה מבין רוש פעלתכה בזכרון הע]ת כי [בא חרות החוק וחקוק כול הפקודה‬ ‫כי חרות מחוקק לאל על כול עונות בני שית וספר זכרון כתוב לפניו לשמרי דברו‬ ‫והואה חזון ההגות לספר זכרון‬ ‫וינחילה לאנוש עם עם רוח כיא כתבנית קדושים יצרו‬ ‫ועוד לוא נתן הגוי לרוח בשר‬ ‫כי לא ידע בין ]טו[ב לרע כמשפט ]ר[וחו‬ And you, understanding one, inherit your award in remembrance of the period for it comes. Engraved is the statute and ordained is all the punishment, because engraved is that which is ordained by God against all the iniquities of the sons of Sheth. || 63 Newsom, DJD 11:362. But see also p. 333: “In the midst of the glorious appearance of scarlet, the colors of most holy spiritual light.” 64 See now Matthew J. Goff, 4QInstruction (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 2013).

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The book of remembrance is written before him for those who keep his word—that is, the vision of meditation of the book of remembrance. He bequeathed it to Adam (‫ )אנוש‬together with a spiritual people, because according to the likeness of the holy ones he fashioned him. But no more did he give what is meditated upon to the fleshly spirit for it did not distinguish between [go]od and evil according to the judgment of its [sp]irit.65

This is one of the most difficult and disputed sections of 4QInstruction, often referred to as the “Vision of Hagu,” which Matthew Goff argues is “intentionally enigmatic.”66 In the interpretation of John Collins, which has further been elaborated upon by Goff, the text “posits two opposed types of humankind, one associated with the spirit and the other with flesh, and grounds this dichotomy in the language of Gen 1–3.”67 The term “spirit” clearly has here an epistemological connotation, and the phrase “meditation of the book of remembrance” would refer to some kind of divinely revealed knowledge. According to this interpretation, the “spiritual people signify the elect . . . and the fleshly spirits represents the non-elect.”68 A different reading has been offered by myself, partially following Cana Werman.69

3.10.2 4Q416 2 ii 6 // 4Q418 8 6

‫בכל הון אל תמר רוח קודשכה כי אין מחיר שוה ]בה‬

|| 65 Translation by Goff, 4QInstruction, 139. 66 Goff, 4QInstruction, 156. 67 Goff, 4QInstruction, 166. It should be noted that in this latest commentary on the Vision of Hagu, Goff comes much closer to the position of Benjamin G. Wold, Women, Men and Angels: The Qumran Wisdom Document “Musar leMevin” and Its Allusions to Genesis Creation Traditions (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 129–49, who argued for an originally single universal creation, as opposed to Collins and Goff’s earlier position of a dual creation. See also Wold’s contribution on ‫אנוש‬, in Theologisches Wörterbuch zu den Qumrantexten, 1:241–47, esp. 244–46. 68 Goff, 4QInstruction, 168. 69 Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “ ‘Spiritual People,’ ‘Fleshly Spirit,’ and ‘Vision of Meditation’: Reflections on 4QInstruction and 1 Corinthians,” In Echoes from the Caves: Qumran and the New Testament, ed. Florentino García Martínez, STDJ 85 (Leiden: Brill, 2009): 103–18; Cana Werman, “What is the Book of Hagu?” In Sapiential Perspectives: Wisdom Literature in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. John J. Collins, Gregory E. Sterling, and Ruth A. Clements (Leiden: Brill, 2004): 125–40. I interpreted this section in light of later differentiations between nous, pneuma, and psyche. My own reading is in part based on the reading of the first hand, without the addition of another ‫עם‬, “people,” after ‫עם‬, “with,” resulting in the phrase “and he bequeathed it (i.e., meditation or nous) to Adam together with spirit (i.e., psyche).”

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Do not exchange (?) your holy spirit for any money, for no price is equal (in value) [to it (4Q416)70

The context, apparently dealing with warnings against debt slavery, suggests that the term “your holy spirit” refers to the addressee himself. Unlike the Damascus Document sections that also apply the term “holy spirit” to a human person, this text does not use other terms of purity or impurity that would warrant the use of “holy” here.

3.10.3 4Q418 76 1–3

]‫[ורוחי קודש‬ ]upon every spirit[

]‫[ ואנשי צדק לוא‬

]and the men of righteousness will not[

]‫[על כול רוח‬ ]and the spirits of holiness[

This is the entire fragment. The second line originally read ‫ואנשי קודש לוא‬, “And the men of holiness will not,” but “holiness” was corrected to “righteousness.” On material grounds, the fragment seems to belong to 4Q418, a 4QInstruction manuscript, but textually it cannot be connected to the composition.

3.11 Words of the Luminaries (4Q504–4Q506) 3.11.1 4Q504 8 recto 4–6

‫אדם א[בינו יצרתה בדמות כבוד]כה‬ ‫נשמת חיים נ[פחתה באפו ובינה ודעת ]נתתה לו‬ ‫בג[ן עדן אשר נטעתה המשלת]ה אותו‬ You fashioned [Adam] our [fa]ther in the likeness of [your] glory [ A living breath] you [b]lew into his nostrils, and understanding and knowledge [you gave to him over the gard]en of Eden, which you planted, you gave [him] dominion

|| 70 The parallel text 4Q418 ‫א]ין‬ not seem to make much sense.

‫ [תאמר רוח קדושה כיא‬has two variants, which together do

Historical Origins of the Early Christian Concept of the Holy Spirit

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The fragment comes from the prayer for the first day of the week, which describes the creation of Adam. The fragment does not preserve the word “spirit,” but associates Gen 2:7 with the bestowal of insight and knowledge.

3.11.2 4Q504 4 5 // 4Q506 131–132 11

‫אלה ידענו באשר חנואת]נו [רוח ק]ודשכה‬ We know these things because you have graciously granted [us your?] h[oly] spirit.71

3.11.3 4Q504 1+2 v recto 12–17

‫ותחון את עמכה ישראל בכול ]ה[ארצות אשר הדחתם שמה‬ ‫להשיב אל לבבם לשוב ע>ו