The Origins of New Testament Theology: A Dialogue With Hans Dieter Betz (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) 9783161595349, 9783161595356, 3161595343

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor

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

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The Origins of New Testament Theology A Dialogue with Hans Dieter Betz

edited by

Rainer Hirsch-Luipold and Robert Matthew Calhoun

Mohr Siebeck

Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, born 1967; studies in Protestant Theology and Greek Philology; since 2011 Professor of New Testament and the History of Ancient Religion, University of Bern; since 2015 Extraordinary Professor in the Department of Ancient Studies, Stellenbosch University. orcid.org/0000-0002-6938-268X Robert Matthew Calhoun, born 1971; Ph.D. 2011, University of Chicago in New Testament and Early Christian Literature; since 2016 Research Assistant to the A. A. Bradford Chair, Texas Christian University. orcid.org/0000-0001-5056-2050

ISBN 978-3-16-159534-9 / eISBN 978-3-16-159535-6 DOI 10.1628/ 978-3-16-159535-6 ISSN 0512-1604  /  eISSN 2568-7476 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen ­Testament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2020  by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen, printed by Gulde Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface and Acknowledgments The subtitle of the present volume signals its dialogical character. Like the philosophical dialogues of antiquity, it has its roots in conversations that occurred in “real life,” and that featured open-​ended debate on pressing questions. It began with an almost book-​length article by Hans Dieter Betz on the origins of the concept of “New Testament theology.” In one of many discussions conducted over email, the idea of a conference in Bern in May 2017, devoted to Betz’s arguments in this essay, took shape. At this event, Betz delivered an overview of his paper, followed by responses from several scholars representing different disciplines: Ulrich Luz, Samuel Vollenweider, Johan Thom, Christoph Riedweg, and Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold. These papers, revised in light of the vigorous and incisive discussion between speakers and audience, form the core of the present volume. In order to enrich the “literary dialogue” further, Harry Attridge and Gerd Van Riel were asked, and graciously agreed, to add contributions from their own perspectives. Betz concludes the volume and continues the dialogue with an additional test case-​study for his own thesis, taken from Paul’s letter to the Romans. In October as we were beginning the final preparations to the manuscript, we received the sad news that Ulrich Luz had passed away. It is thus with heavy hearts – but with tremendous gratitude for his decades of superb research, generous mentorship and leadership, and warm friendship – that we present one of his final contributions to the study of New Testament theology. The editors thank the participants at the conference and all of the contributors to the present volume. Furthermore, we gratefully recognize Dr. Christine Harker, who handled the organization of the conference and assisted with the manuscript in its early phases; also, for wonderful assistance on various minor tasks, we thank David Staub, Joelle Ramseyer, Jana Gölz, Barbara Schlunegger, and Barbara Hirsch. Finally, the editors thank Mohr Siebeck’s ever-​amazing team for bringing the volume to completion, especially Elena Müller, Tobias Stäbler, and Matthias Spitzner; and Jörg Frey with his associates Markus Bockmuehl, James A. Kelhoffer, Tobias Nicklas, Janet E. Spittler, and J. Ross Wagner, for

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Preface and Acknowledgments

receiving our volume into the eminent Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament series. Rainer Hirsch-Luipold Bern, Switzerland Robert Matthew Calhoun Fort Worth, Texas, United States 31 December 2019

Table of Contents Preface and Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V List of Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX Rainer Hirsch-Luipold and Robert Matthew Calhoun Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Hans Dieter Betz New Testament Theology: The Origins of a Concept . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Gerd Van Riel Theology and Religiosity in the Greek Pagan Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Johan C. Thom Theology and Popular Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold Theo-​logy in John and in Early Imperial Platonism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Ulrich Luz † Die biblische Tradition als Wurzelgrund neutestamentlicher Theologie: Eine Skizze . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 Harold W. Attridge The Beginnings of Christian Theology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Samuel Vollenweider Paläste und ihre Baupläne: Auf der Suche nach der Theologie des Neuen Testaments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 Hans Dieter Betz The Reasons for Romans: Why Did Paul Write His Letter to the Romans? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199

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Table of Contents

General Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247 Indices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 A. Index of References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 B. Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265 C. Index of Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271

List of Abbreviations AB AcBib AJEC AKG AMMTC

Anchor (Yale) Bible Academia Biblica Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte Ancient Mediterranean and Medieval Texts and Contexts: Studies in Platonism, Neoplatonism and the Platonic Tradition ANF Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, eds., The Ante-​Nicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to A. D. 325, repr. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1985–1987) ANRW Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase, eds., Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1972–) ANTF Arbeiten zur neutestamentlichen Textforschung ATANT Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments BDAG Frederick W. Danker, Walter Bauer, William F. Arndt, and F. Wilbur Gingrich, Greek-​English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 3rd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000) BDF Friedrich Blass, Albert Debrunner, and Robert W. Funk, A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961) BETL Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium BEvT Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie BHT Beiträge zur historischen Theologie Bib Biblica BNP Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider, eds., Brill’s New Pauly: Encyclopaedia of the Ancient World, 16 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 2002–2010) BR Biblical Research BRLAJ Brill Reference Library of Ancient Judaism BSGRT Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana Budé Collection des universités de France, publiée sous le patronage de l’Association Guillaume Budé BZ Biblische Zeitschrift BzA Beiträge zur Altertumskunde BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series CÉFR Collection de l’École française de Rome Karel van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst, eds., DDD2 ­Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999) DK Hermann Diels and Walther Kranz, eds. and trans., Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 3 vols. (Zürich: Weidmann, 1974–75) DNP Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider, eds., Der neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike, 16 vols. (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1996–2003)

X

List of Abbreviations

Hans-​Josef Klauck, et al., eds., The Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009–) EC Early Christianity EKKNT Evangelisch-​katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament EPRO Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain EWNT Horst Balz and Gerhard Schneider, eds., Exegetisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, 3 vols. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1978–1983) FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments GAT Grundrisse zum Alten Testament GGP Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies HBS Herders biblische Studien Heb. Hebrew HNT Handbuch zum Neuen Testament HrwG Hubert Cancik, Burkhard Gladigow, and Matthias Laubscher, eds., Handbuch religionswissenschaftlicher Grundbegriffe, 5 vols. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1988–2001) HThKNT Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament HTR Harvard Theological Review HTS Harvard Theological Studies HUT Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie HWRh Gert Ueding, et al., eds., Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, 12 vols. (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1992–2015) ICC International Critical Commentary ICS Illinois Classical Studies Int Interpretation JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum JAOC Judaïsme ancien et origenes du christianisme JETS Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society JSJSup Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplement Series JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament JSNTSup Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series JTS Journal of Theological Studies JWV Julius-​Wellhausen-​Vorlesung KEK Kritisch-​exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament (Meyer-​ Kommentar) KRS G. S. Kirk, J. E. Raven, and M. Schofield, eds. and trans., The Presocratic Philosophers, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983) LCL Loeb Classical Library LSJ Henry George Liddell, Robert Scott, and Henry Stuart Jones, A Greek-​ English Lexicon, 9th ed. with rev. suppl. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996) MJTh Marburger Jahrbuch Theologie MnemSup Mnemosyne Supplements MThSt Marburger theologische Studien NAB New American Bible NAWG/PH Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, Philo­ logisch-​Historische Klasse Nestle-​A land Barbara Aland, Kurt Aland, Johannes Karavidopoulos, Carlo M. Martini, and Bruce M. Metzger, eds., Novum Testamentum Graece, 28th rev. ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2012) EBR

List of Abbreviations NovTSup NRSV NT NTAbh NThG NTOA NTS OBO OCT OT OWC PGM

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Supplements to Novum Testamentum New Revised Standard Version New Testament Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen Neue theologische Grundrisse Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus New Testament Studies Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Oxford Classical Texts (Scriptorum classicorum bibliotheca Oxoniensis) Old Testament Oxford World’s Classics Karl Preisendanz and Albert Henrichs, eds., Papyri Graecae Magicae: Die griechischen Zauberpapyri, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1973–1974) PhA Philosophia Antiqua Phil Philologus PhilSup Supplements to Philologus PrTMS Princeton Theological Monograph Series PW Georg Wissowa and Wilhelm Kroll, eds., Paulys Real-​Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, 50 vols. in 84 parts (Stuttgart: Metzler & Druckenmüller, 1894–1980) PWSup Supplements to PW RAC Theodor Klauser, et al., eds., Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1950–) RBS Resources for Biblical Study REG Revue des études grecques Hans Dieter Betz, et al., eds., Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, RGG4 4th ed., 8 vols. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998–2007) RGRW Religions in the Graeco-​Roman World RNT Regensburger Neues Testament RPP Hans Dieter Betz, et al., eds., Religion Past and Present: Encyclopedia of Theology and Religion, 14 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 2007–2013) RSV Revised Standard Version RVV Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten SAPERE Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam Religionemque pertinentia SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien SD Studies and Documents SGRR Studies in Greek and Roman Religion SHAW/PH Sitzungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaft, philosophisch-​ historische Klasse SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series SPhiloA Studia Philonica Annual STAC Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah SUNT Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments SVF Hans Friedrich August von Arnim, ed., Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, 4 vols. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1903–1924) TBN Themes in Biblical Narrative THKNT Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament ThSt Theologische Studien TLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung

XII TRE TSAJ TU TWNT UALG UTB VCSup VF VWGTh WdF WMANT WUNT ZBKAT ZNW ZTK

List of Abbreviations Gerhard Krause and Gerhard Müller, eds., Theologische Realenzyklopädie (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1977–) Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Texte und Untersuchungen Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich, eds., Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, 10 vols. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1932–1979) Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte Uni-​Taschenbücher Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae Verkündigung und Forschung Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie Wege der Forschung Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zürcher Bibelkommentare, Altes Testament Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

Introduction Rainer Hirsch-Luipold and Robert Matthew Calhoun “New Testament Theology” as a genre was inaugurated at the end of the eighteenth century with Johann Philipp Gabler’s “Von der richtigen Unterscheidung der biblischen und der dogmatischen Theologie und der rechten Bestimmung ihrer beider Ziele.”1 It arguably reached its peak with the magisterial, groundbreaking, and extremely influential (but also highly controversial) Theologie des Neuen Testaments by Rudolf Bultmann.2 Numerous “Theologies” have appeared since then in both German and English, but “New Testament Theology” remained largely a European and more specifically German enterprise. This may well have to do with the fact that in the United States “theology” continues to carry the confessional meaning (as distinguished from a history-​of-​religions approach), which Gabler intended to overcome with his “Unterscheidung.”3 In addition to the “Theologies of the New Testament” and of the “Old Testament,”4 as well as the “Biblical Theologies” that have appeared,5 we have 1  Repr. in Das Problem der Theologie des Neuen Testaments, ed. Georg Strecker, WdF 367 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1975), 32–44. 2 Rudolf Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953); ed. Otto Merk, 9th ed. (1984). 3  The volume edited by Cilliers Breytenbach and Jörg Frey (Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments, WUNT 205 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007]) intends to discuss systematically the basis of “New Testament Theology” and its “Grundlagen und Ziele” as well as its “Vorgehen.” An excellent overview citing and discussing all the major approaches to the question of New Testament theology in Germany as well as in English-​language scholarship (mainly from the UK, with some notable contributions from the US) is given in an introduction to the volume by Frey, “Zum Problem der Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments,” 3–53. An earlier volume edited by Georg Strecker (Das Problem der Theologie des Neuen Testaments [see n. 1]) assembles programmatic contributions to the problem, ranging from Gabler’s “Unterscheidung” to Ernst Fuchs, Herbert Braun, and Heinrich Schlier in the middle of the twentieth century. 4  Most recently Konrad Schmid, Theologie des Alten Testaments, NThG (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019); Eng. trans., A Historical Theology of the Hebrew Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2019). 5 Brevard S. Childs, Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments: Theological Reflection on the Christian Bible, 2 vols. (London: SCM; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). Cf. most recently the two volumes authored jointly by Reinhard Feldmeier and Hermann

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recently witnessed an increasing awareness of “Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion”6 (as present in epic and drama, novel and philosophy, law and ritual) as well as theologies of certain philosophers or philosophical schools.7 This growing interest in “theologies” of different ancient literatures necessarily involves debate about what “theology” might mean in these sources. For example, in their introduction to the volume Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, Esther Eidinow, Julia Kindt, and Robin Osborne differentiate five usages of the term theology:8 (1)  Theology understood “etymologically as ‘talking about gods,’ where ‘talking’ is construed at its broadest (the term ‘theology,’ in this sense, would merely aim to pick out references to gods, whether verbal or pictorial”); (2)  An indirect expression of concepts, ideas or questions about the gods, as present for instance in prayer;9 (3)  “[P]ractices like prayer, divination and reciprocal gift-​giving” that can be viewed “not only as themselves conveying a concept of interventionist and communicative gods, but as conveying beliefs that there exist interventionist and communicative gods”; Spieckermann (a New Testament and an Old Testament scholar), Der Gott der Lebendigen: Eine biblische Gotteslehre, Topoi biblischer Theologie 1 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011); 2nd ed. (2017); Eng. trans., God of the Living: A Biblical Theology, trans. Mark E. Biddle (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2011); Reinhard Feldmeier and Hermann Spieckermann, Menschwerdung, Topoi biblischer Theologie 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018). 6  Esther Eidinow, Julia Kindt, and Robin Osborne, eds., Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, Cambridge Classical Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). See also Dorothea Frede and André Laks, eds., Traditions of Theology: Studies in Hellenistic Theology, Its Background and Aftermath, PhA 89 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2002). 7 Stefan Dienstbeck, Die Theologie der Stoa, Theologische Bibliothek Töpelmann 173 (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2015); Friedrich Solmsen, Plato’s Theology, Cornell Studies in Classical Philology 27 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1942); Michael Bordt, Platons Theologie, Symposion 126 (Freiburg: Karl Alber, 2006); Gerd Van Riel, Plato’s Gods, Ashgate Studies in the History of Philosophical Theology (Farnham, Surrey and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013), containing a chapter on “Plato’s theology”; and the new exposition on Stoicism by Maximilian Forschner, Die Philosophie der Stoa: Logik, Physik und Ethik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2018), similarly containing a chapter on “Theology” of the Stoic tradition. According to Jaap Mansfeld, only metaphysical speculation can be the subject of reflection on “theology” in a philosophical perspective (“Theology,” in The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy, ed. Keimpe Algra, Jonathan Barnes, Jaap Mansfeld, and Malcolm Schofield [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999], 452–78, 452). 8  “Introduction: What Might We Mean by the Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion?,” in eaedem and idem, Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, 1–11, 3–4; see also the review by Corinne Bonnet in Bryn Mawr Classical Review (http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2017/201706-13.html). 9 Theology can “signify the verbal or pictorial articulation of certain conceptions of attitudes towards or questions about gods.”

Introduction

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(4)  A certain belief system about the gods; (5)  A “systematic and generalized theory about the divine or, conversely, explicit and abstracted speculations about divinity which may be either systematically doctrinal or open-​ended and aporetic to different extents.” Unlike these scholars working anew on the theologies of Greek religion, investigations of New Testament theology characteristically omit consideration of the more basic question of the meaning(s) of θεολογία, as Hans Dieter Betz points out in his main essay below. Usually, their concept of “theology” conforms to the paradigm of modern academic theology, particularly when they trace its development forward, from the later writings of the New Testament into the period of the early church. Consequently, the notion of institutions and “schools” of theology has provided the means to organize the inquiry conceptually and temporally, e. g., the Pauline and Johannine schools, the school of Alexandrian catechists, and so forth.10 But the existence of these “schools” has itself become the subject of intense scholarly debate.11 In recent years, more theoretical and methodological considerations have gained ground, in pursuit of greater clarity on what “New Testament theology” is, and how it should be carried out.12 10  Christoph Markschies, Kaiserzeitliche christliche Theologie und ihre Institutionen: Prolegomena zu einer Geschichte der antiken christlichen Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007); Eng. trans., Christian Theology and Its Institutions in the Early Roman Empire: Prolegomena to a History of Early Christian Theology, trans. Wayne Coppins (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015). A similar focus on “schools” in the study of the history of philosophy led to the assumption that “Middle Platonism” (as the name suggests) is merely a bridge between the end of the institutional Academy at the beginning of the 1st c. bce and the foundation of the four “chairs of philosophy” in Athens by Marcus Aurelius in 176 ce, which meant a renewed institutionalizing of Academic tradition. 11  Cf. Christoph Riedweg, ed., Philosophia in der Konkurrenz von Schulen, Wissenschaften und Religionen: Zur Pluralisierung des Philosophiebegriffs in Kaiserzeit und Spätantike; Akten der 17. Tagung der Karl und Gertrud Abel-​Stiftung vom 16. und 17. Oktober 2014 in Zürich, Philosophie der Antike 34 (Boston and Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017); Tor Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen: Schule und Bildung des Paulus, BZNW 134 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2006); Thomas Schmeller, Schulen im Neuen Testament? Zur Stellung des Urchristentums in der Bildungswelt seiner Zeit, HBS 30 (Freiburg and New York: Herder, 2001); Roelof van den Broek, “The Christian ‘School’ of Alexandria in the Second and Third Centuries,” in Centres of Learning: Learning and Location in Pre-­ Modern Europe and the Near East, ed. Jan Willem Drijvers and Alasdair A. MacDonald, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 61 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 39–47; Clemens Scholten, “Die alexandrinische Katechetenschule,” JAC 38 (1995): 16–37. 12  Cf. the essays in Breytenbach and Frey, Aufgabe und Durchführung for efforts to reckon with the issues of the unity, multiplicity and diversity of the theology/ies of the New Testament, a historical versus a hermeneutical perspective, questions of canon, and a history-​of-​religions perspective. In his introductory essay (“Zum Problem der Aufgabe und

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The approach of this volume differs from that of traditional “Theologies of the New Testament” because the principal question here is not What is “New Testament theology”?, but Where does it come from? What are its origins and preconditions? How did it begin, both in terms of the historical circum­stances that may have sparked it, and in terms of its earliest literary expressions?13 A straightforward answer presents itself at once: New Testament theology (as everyone should agree) is firmly rooted in the interpretation of the Hebrew Scriptures and the theology/ies potentially encompassed therein. But here the seemingly-​straightforward answer produces more puzzles. The Hebrew Bible has no word for “theology,” and neither the translators of the Septuagint nor the authors of the New Testament use it. Furthermore, the very idea of a “theology,” as we have come to know it – namely as a “systematic reflection on and explication of the fundamental content of the Christian faith … as practiced in the context of academic institutions in the various theological disciplines … and in relationship to the Christian community of faith in the various churches”14 – seems to have a Christian flavor to it, if it is not altogether “specific to Christianity, more particularly the traditions of the Western church.”15 In any case, it turns out that some of the specifically theological strands of New Testament writing lead us to the Greek tradition – the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, which, as is well-​known, was the basis for most New Testament writings, alongside Second Temple Jewish texts which were composed in Greek or at least heavily influenced by Greek thought.16 Durchführung,” see n. 3 above), Jörg Frey poses, as the first of a series of “grundlegende Fragen” the following: “Ist der Begriff der ‘Theologie’ in Anbetracht seiner Geschichte überhaupt zur zusammenfassenden Beschreibung der Auffassungen der urchristlichen Zeugen und der Verkündigungsinhalte der neutestamentlichen Texte verwendbar?” (6). This question is especially pertinent, he says, since the term is ambivalent and can be used to either designate theology proper, i. e. the doctrine of God and the Trinity, or more generally the system of Christian beliefs and doctrines about God and his dealings with the world and his people. 13  These questions lead to others, e. g.: What might θεολογία or θεολογεῖν have meant for the authors and initial audiences of New Testament’s component documents? Is θεολογεῖν something the authors do self-​consciously, or do they do it only tacitly, implicitly? If they know the terms, why do they choose not to use them? Is θεολογία something the authors put in the texts, or is it something interpreters bring to the text, as a feature of canonical reception? 14  See Christoph Schwöbel, “Theologie,” RGG4 8 (2005): 255–306, 255 = “Theology,” RPP 12 (2012): 617–46, 617. 15 Schwöbel, “Theologie,” 255 = “Theology,” 617. 16 This so-​called apocryphal tradition is not part of the Reformed Bibles, but was held “good and important to read, but not on par with the Scriptures” by Martin Luther.

Introduction

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It is possible that the “origin” of New Testament theology has contributed to the notable unpopularity of the term “theology” in contemporary Jewish thought (not so much in the Judaism of the Hellenized Jews in Alexandria and elsewhere, as in Philo, for instance).17 Wikipedia, which (if nothing else) shows the popular usage of terms, has an article on “Jewish philosophy,” but not one on “Jewish theology.”18 It is surely not without significance that one who prominently made use of the concept of theology in his presentation of Jewish thought in Roman Imperial times was Jacob Neusner,19 who engaged in extensive dialogue with his Christian colleagues. He offers the following definition: Theology, broadly construed, is the science of the reasoned knowledge of God. Theology presents the system that results from philosophical analysis of, thinking about, the facts set forth by religion. In the case of a Judaism knowledge of God is made possible by God’s self-​manifestation in the Torah. The theology of Judaism sets forth knowledge of God produced by rigorous reflection upon, generalization and universalization of, the hard facts of the Torah, written and oral.20

Neusner has here opted for the disengagement of θεολογία from narrowly Christian or Greco-​Roman philosophical conceptions for his research on rabbinic literature. It is our hope, therefore, that the investigations of the “origins” of theology presented here will shed new light on some old questions of New Testament theology: (1) the historical problem of how it came about that the authors of the New Testament began to formulate “theologically” through the systematic reflection on the divine and the development of a vocabulary suitable for their inquiries; (2) the form-​critical question of whether the authors of the New Testament regard particular genres as amenable for doing theology; and (3) the theoretical problem of what “theology” can mean if it is applied to the biblical writings.21 Ideally, the present volume will stimulate renewed 17 On

this point, see Betz, “New Testament Theology,” 7–92, below.

18 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish_philosophy.

19  Jacob Neusner, Handbook of Rabbinic Theology: Language, System, Structure (Boston: Brill, 2002); idem, The Theology of the Halakhah, BRLAJ 6 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2001); idem, Theological and Philosophical Premises of Judaism, Judaism and Jewish Life (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2008); idem, Theology of the Oral Torah: Revealing the Justice of God (Montreal: McGill-​Queen’s University Press, 1999). 20 Neusner, Theology of the Halakhah, xxxi. 21  Markschies (Kaiserzeitliche christliche Theologie, 12–13), even though he argues against an “Einbahnstraßenhermeneutik” that perceives a one-​way-​street running from Aramaic communities in Palestine to Hellenistic communities and their school-​like institutions, still speaks of a “paradigm of contemporary Platonic philosophy,” which is also more a modern construct than anything else. Criticizing this idea of a “one-​way-​street,” Markschies rightly claims that Palestinian forms of early Christianity did not simply give

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debate about the merits of investigating “New Testament theology” with an eye to similar inquiries happening in neighboring fields (history, religion and philosophy), and will deepen the comprehension of its vital contribution to wider research in the humanities.

way to Hellenized (Gentile) Christian communities. But the opposite is also true: Greek philosophy did not take shape in the 1st and 2nd centuries untouched by the religious turn in Hellenistic Judaism and early Christianity. Platonism in this period turned to the new form of “theology” that now included the interpretation of religious traditions (and thus precisely departed from the paradigm that was later believed to be that of “contemporary Platonism”). This makes it problematic to talk about the “appropriation of the pagan term θεολογία” in the 1st–5th centuries. Markschies furthermore calls this an “interesting process of inculturation.” Rather, early Christianity as well as Hellenistic Judaism help shaping the very concept of a theology that includes the reflection of “implicit theology” (14) in the form of traditions of lived religion, something that was later believed to be exclusively Christian.

New Testament Theology The Origins of a Concept Hans Dieter Betz Was ist das Schwerste von allem? Was dir das Leichteste dünket. Mit den Augen zu sehen, was vor den Augen dir liegt. Goethe

A. Laying the Foundations I. Introduction In his introduction to the reprint edition of Rudolf Bultmann’s Theology of the New Testament, Robert Morgan, the editor, calls attention to the need and opportunity to study further the question of the terminology employed by Bultmann.1 Specifically he says: … theological assumptions governing Bultmann’s work demand more discussion. They are a prerequisite for understanding his Theology of the New Testament because the exegetical and historical study of a lifetime that it distills was developed in 1 Bultmann’s work is cited here as Theology of the New Testament, trans. Kendrick Grobel, 2 vols. (New York: Scribner, 1951–55), repr. (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007), with a new introduction by Robert Morgan. The original German is Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953), ed. Otto Merk, 9th ed. (1984). Cf. Georg Strecker, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, ed. Friedrich Wilhelm Horn (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1996), 1–3; Eng. trans., Theology of the New Testament, trans. M. Eugene Boring (Berlin: De Gruyter; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000), 1–4; idem, “Das Problem der Theologie des Neuen Testaments,” in idem, Eschaton und Historie: Aufsätze (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 260–90. For different approaches see Cilliers Breytenbach and Jörg Frey, eds., Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments, WUNT 205 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). This work contains contributions presented at a conference in Berlin (2004) by a German and British group discussing the publication of Ferdinand Hahn’s Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 2 vols. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); 3rd ed. (2011).

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part as a theological response to the increasing ‘secularization’ implicit in late nineteenth-​century scholarship. Bultmann himself remained within that critical tradition but joined Barth in recalling it to its theological roots. He strengthened its exegetical shoots by hermeneutical reflection and produced a still unsurpassed synthesis of philosophical and historical theology which is also an exegetical master-​class.2

One of Bultmann’s unexamined presuppositions to be named is the term “theology,” whose background in Christian dogmatics, but not its earlier history in Greek thought, has been dealt with since the Reformation. How important the concept of “theology” (θεολογία) is in its earlier history is shown by the questions raised in the first paragraph of Bultmann’s work: The message of Jesus is a presupposition for the theology of the New Testament rather than a part of that theology itself. For New Testament theology consists in the unfolding of those ideas by means of which Christian faith makes sure of its own object, basis, and consequences. But Christian faith did not exist until there was a Christian kerygma, i. e., a kerygma proclaiming Jesus Christ – specifically Jesus Christ the Crucified and Risen One – to be God’s eschatological act of salvation. He was first so proclaimed in the kerygma of the earliest Church, not in the message of the historical Jesus, even though that Church frequently introduced into its account of Jesus’ message motifs of its own proclamation. Thus, theological thinking – the theology of the New Testament – begins with the kerygma of the earliest Church and not before. But the fact that Jesus had appeared and the message which he had proclaimed were, of course, among its historical presuppositions; and for this reason Jesus’ message cannot be omitted from the delineation of New Testament theology.3

Going by these succinct statements, the term “theology” cannot simply be applied to what is called either the “message” of the historical Jesus or the “kerygma” of the earliest church. Also, it remains unclear how the Christian faith is related to theological thinking. Consequently, the historical Jesus and his proclamation were classified as pre-​Christian. If this is agreed, why does it not include Jesus’s Jewish theology? One answer could be that Judaism, at least at Jesus’s time, did not have a theology. In his own day, Bultmann could have referred to Jewish authors who claimed as a fact that Judaism, at least in antiquity, did not have “theology.” Since he does not include such a reference, the conclusion remains that whenever “theology” is found it is by definition Christian. Hence, as a Jew the historical Jesus could not have “theology.” Since his “proclamation” had a “kerygma,” it must have been non-­theological or quasi-​theological. While this argument seems to be supported by the 2  Robert Morgan, “Introduction,” in Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 1:xi– xxxvii, here xvii. See also Robert Morgan’s review essays, “New Testament Theology as Implicit Theological Interpretation of Christian Scripture,” Int 70 (2016): 383–98; and “Liberal Theological Hermeneutics,” JTS 68 (2017): 212–29. 3 Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 1:3.

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non-​occurrence of the Greek θεολογία in the New Testament, the language of “kerygma” (Greek κήρυγμα, κῆρυξ, κηρύσσειν) does occur in the New Testament, but it clearly points to a Christian concept.4 Apparently, Bultmann tries to avoid contradicting himself when he distinguishes between the proclamation of the historical Jesus and that of the earliest Christian church.5 When, however, he provides a sketch of the proclamation of the historical Jesus, the material content of that message is constructed from passages in the Synoptic Gospels, which were written by Greek-​speaking Christian authors. This creates the difficulty that Jesus’s supposedly Jewish message is really a Christianizing reconstruction. Subsequently, New Testament scholars after Bultmann, including the present author, have made far-​reaching changes by constructing the “theologies” characteristic of each of the authors of the Four Gospels. Accordingly, the first Gospel is that of Mark, whose theology seems to be Pauline.6 Matthew’s author may represent the church of Cephas/ Peter, indicated by the unique identification in Matt 16:13–20. This author is able to include substantially older Jewish-​Christian traditions, especially the Sermon on the Mount. In my Hermeneia Commentary I have tried to show that both versions, the Matthean (Matt 5:3–7:27) and the Lukan (Luke 6:20–49), constitute summaries (epitomes) of Jesus’s teaching, created by the early church, perhaps in Jerusalem ca. 50 ce. Both versions intend to instruct disciples coming from Jewish (Matthew) or Gentile (Luke) backgrounds.7 The author called Luke is a Hellenistic-​Christian historian revising Mark’s Gospel and expanding it further in the book of Acts. In these two literary works (called λόγοι), Luke expresses his own Gentile-​Christian thinking. Finally, the author of the Fourth Gospel is substantially different from the earlier three because of his Hellenistic philosophical ideas, specifically the  For references, see 1 Cor 1:21–23; 2:4; 15:14; etc.; cf. BDAG 543–44, s. v.  Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, ch. I, §§ 1–4 (1:3–32): “The Message of Jesus”; ch. II, §§ 5–8 (1:33–62): “The Kerygma of the Earliest Church”; ch. III, §§ 9–15 (1:63–183): “The Kerygma of the Hellenistic Church Aside from Paul.” 6 I agree here with Margaret M. Mitchell, “Epiphanic Evolutions in Earliest Christianity,” ICS 29 (2004): 183–204; repr. in eadem, Collected Essays, vol. 1: Paul and the Emergence of Christian Textuality: Early Christian Literary Culture in Context, WUNT 393 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 237–55. 7 See my commentary, The Sermon on the Mount: A Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, Including the Sermon on the Plain (Matthew 5:3–7:27 and Luke 6:20–49), ed. Adela Yarbro Collins, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); also my essays in Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 2: Synoptische Studien (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), especially “The Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s Interpretation,” 270–89. Cf. also Ernst Baasland, Parables and Rhetoric in the Sermon on the Mount: New Approaches to a Classical Text, WUNT 351 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015); for my review of this work see TLZ 142/7–8 (2017): 756–60. 4 5

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concept of Logos (λόγος), on the basis of which he thoroughly rewrote his source material. And yet, similar to Paul, this author does not openly claim himself as being under the influence of Greek philosophy.8 Coming to the issue before us, what then does the title “Theology of the New Testament” or “New Testament Theology” mean in the present situation of New Testament research? There is more than one answer to be considered. The title could be conceived as a modern concept of systematic theology and could present the theology designed by the modern author, reflecting his or her own work. Bultmann’s work would then turn out to contain his own theological assessment of the New Testament. Or, such a title could express a historical perspective and could then announce a plurality of theologies. That is, it would assemble the Jewish theology of Jesus, the Jewish-​Christian theology of the earliest church prior to Paul, the Christian theologies of Paul and his followers (the Deutero-​Pauline and Pastoral Epistles), the theologies of the three Synoptic Gospels and Acts, the theology of the Fourth Gospel and the Letters of John, the theologies of Hebrews and the Catholic Epistles, and finally the theology of the book of Revelation. In addition to these diverse theologies, an effort would have to be made to summarize what is common to the variety and to justify the theological status of the New Testament “canon.” This concept of “New Testament theology” would then constitute the Christian rubric of “Kanongeschichte” and, together with the Old Testament, of the Christian Bible.9 In other words, according to this perspective, “New Testament Theology” would be part of what in Christian theology is called “Biblical Theology.”10 While these perspectives look at “New Testament Theology” in its final stage, it is in fact a part of post-​New Testament historical or systematic theology. Yet, it does not teach us anything concerning the “newness” suggested by the category of New Testament. It is furthermore not self-​evident why the term “New Testament,” as applied to the collection of books, does not occur in the collection itself, but is introduced by its interpreters in the 2nd/3rd c. ce, Clement of Alexandria in particular.11 The same is true of its biblical  8  Implicitly announced in the Prologue, John 1:1–18, based on the concept of λόγος (1:1, 14). For further analysis, see below, §B.  9 See Daria Pezzoli-​Olgiati, Alfred Schindler, and Klaus Huizing, “Canon, I–III,” RPP 2 (2007): 352–55 (with bibliography) = RGG4 4 (2001): 767–71. 10  See Bernd Janowski and Michael Welker, “Biblical Theology,” RPP 2 (2007): 83–89 = RGG4 1 (1998): 1544–53; Reinhard Feldmeier and Hermann Spieckermann, God of the Living: A Biblical Theology, trans. Mark E. Biddle (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2011). 11 See Barbara Aland, “New Testament,” RPP 9 (2011): 142 = RGG4 6 (2003): 218. The term refers back to καινὴ διαθήκη (“new covenant”) in Gal 4:24; 1 Cor 11:25; 2 Cor 3:6; Rom 11:27; Luke 22:20.

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counterpart, the “Old Testament”: it is not used in the New Testament, but only since the 2nd c. ce.12 If these are the critical facts of history, the resulting question is: if one pursues the question of the “Theology of the New Testament” further, where is it to be located? Where does it begin? And what is it? These are first of all historical questions. The way to answer these questions is next to ask about the origins of the term in the Greek language.

II. The Origins of the Greek Term “Theology” (θεολογία) The origin of the Greek term θεολογία has been shown to be one of those brilliant ideas of Plato.13 He took the language away from the mythical prophets such as ὁ θεολόγος Orpheus and defined philosophical reflection about deity as θεολογία (“theology”). The term “theology” not only designated all of Plato’s thinking about deity but influenced all future philosophical theology as related to Plato and Platonism. The term θεολογία first appears in Plato’s Resp. 2, 379a (cf. Leg. 4, 716a–c) in a discussion of the early poets and their traditions. These early poets claim “to know the patterns on which poets must compose their fables and from which their poems must not be allowed to deviate; but the founders are not required themselves to compose fables.” What they do, in fact, is to tell fables about the gods, which should be named μυθολογεῖν.14 However, philosophical thinking called “theology” (θεολογία) would have to be fundamentally different: “… the patterns or norms of right speech about the gods” are “[t]he true quality of God we must always surely attribute to him whether we compose in epic, melic, or tragic  See Ernst-​Joachim Waschke, “Old Testament,” RPP 9 (2011): 301 = RGG4 1 (1998): 371.  The foundational study is by Ferdinand Kattenbusch, “Die Entstehung einer christlichen Theologie: Zur Geschichte der Ausdrücke θεολογία, θεολογεῖν, θεολόγος,” ZTK n.s. 11 (1930): 161–205. See also Hubert Cancik, “Theologia,” RPP 12 (2012): 608–10 = RGG4 8 (2005): 251–54; idem, “Römische Religion: Eine Skizze,” in idem, Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 1: Römische Religion im Kontext: Kulturelle Bedingungen religiöser Diskurse, ed. Hildegard Cancik-​Lindemaier (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 3–61, 50–61; Winrich Löhr, “Theology, II. Christian,” BNP 14 (2009): 493–96; Walter Burkert, Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2011), 455–98; Peter Van Nuffelen, Rethinking the Gods: Philosophical Readings of Religion in the Post-​Hellenistic Period, Greek Culture in the Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 14  Resp. 2, 379a: … οἰκισταῖς δὲ τοὺς μὲν τύπους προσήκει εἰδέναι, ἐν οἷς δεῖ μυθολογεῖν τοὺς ποιητάς, παρ’ οὓς ἐὰν ποιῶσιν οὐκ ἐπιτρεπτέον, οὐ μὴν αὐτοῖς γε ποιητέον μύθους. Ὀρθῶς, ἔφη· ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ δὴ τοῦτο, οἱ τύποι περὶ θεολογίας τίνες ἂν εἶεν; (Text and trans. Paul Shorey, Plato, vol. 5: The Republic, Books 1–5, LCL 237 [London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1930], 182–83). 12

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verse.” That quality of God (singular!) is being “good in reality and always to be spoken of as such.”15 After his critical revision of the concept, Plato ends Book 2 by summing up his own philosophical “theology,” but without naming it by that term (383c).16 As the literary evidence shows, his philosophical theology was developed thematically in various directions in the Old Academy, but the specific term θεολογία did not assume a leading role. The subject matter of theology, however, was taken up in different ways by Aristotle, calling it “first philosophy,” “theology,” and “ontology.”17 Going beyond or against Plato, Aristotle worked out his own theology, also using the term on a broad scale in his Metaphysics.18 As the linguistic evidence shows, further discussions about theological issues in Hellenistic philosophy did not directly contribute to the origins of early Christian theology in the New Testament itself. It is generally assumed that early Christian “theology” is not called by this term because it had its origin in Jewish prophetic traditions during the Old Testament times until the Greek translations of the Septuagint (LXX), where it does not occur either. In their theological debates, Jesus of Nazareth, his first disciples, as well as his opponents delivered Jewish teachings of their own time not in terms of “theology.” A great change came almost unnoticed with two eminent New Testament authors. One was the Jew Paul of Tarsus, who became persuaded in debates with disciples of Jesus to abandon his Pharisaism and to join the 15  Resp. 2, 379a: ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· οἷος τυγχάνει ὁ θεὸς ὤν, ἀεὶ δήπου ἀποδοτέον, ἐάν τέ τις αὐτὸν ἐν ἔπεσι ποιῇ ἐάν τε ἐν μέλεσιν ἐάν τε ἐν τραγῳδίᾳ. Δεῖ γάρ. Οὐκοῦν ἀγαθὸς ὅ γε θεὸς τῷ ὄντι τε καὶ λεκτέον οὕτως. One of the issues discussed later was that of addressing the deity by hymns; see Donald A. Russell and Nigel G. Wilson, eds. and trans., Menander Rhetor (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), 7–8, 230–37 on Treatise I, 333–34. 16  On Plato’s concept of theology, see Victor Goldschmidt, “Théologia,” REG 63 (1950): 20–42; Michael Erler, Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 2/2: Platon, GGP (Basel: Schwabe, 2007), 464–73. 17 See John Dillon, The Middle Platonists: A Study of Platonism 80 B. C. to A. D. 220, 2nd ed. (London: Duckworth, 1996); Hans Joachim Krämer, Platonismus und hellenistische Philosophie (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1971), especially chapters 1 and 2; idem, “Die Ältere Akademie,” in Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 3: Ältere Akademie, Aristoteles, Peripatos, ed. Hellmut Flashar, GGP (Basel: Schwabe, 1983), 1–174; Michael Erler and Ilinca Tanaseanu-​Döbler, “Platonismus,” RAC 27 (2016): 837–955. 18 See Aristotle, Metaph. 6.1, 1026a18–20, on the three theoretical philosophies (φιλοσοφίαι θεωρητικαί: μαθηματική, φυσική, θεολογική); and Book 12 (Λ). For details see William D. Ross, Aristotle’s Metaphysics, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1958), 1:cxxx–cliv: “Aristotle’s Theology”; Hellmut Flashar, “Aristoteles,” in idem, Ältere Akademie, Aristoteles, Peripatos, 376–89; idem, Aristoteles: Lehrer des Abendlandes (München: Beck, 2013), 209– 40; Michael Frede and David Charles, eds., Aristotle’s Metaphysics Lambda, Symposium Aristotelicum 10 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000).

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Jesus movement. What exactly persuaded Paul we will have to explain in greater detail below. The other eminent figure was the author of the Gospel of John, who is the subject of Part B in this essay. Looking at both these figures, it should be realized from the inception that during several earlier centuries Jewish thought, literature, architecture, and art had been profoundly transformed through Greek cultural influences. These changes included the adoption of the Greek language, thus Hellenizing even the religious world of Judaism itself. Since Paul was a Hellenistic Jew from the Diaspora who spoke and wrote in Greek, such influences should certainly be taken into consideration for his “conversion” to Jesus Christ as well. The pertinent texts, however, show that school traditions, ideas, and terminologies of Greek philosophy did not directly lead to Paul’s Christian theology.19 As a Christian “apostle of the Gentiles,” as he named himself in Romans,20 he did not adhere to, or even mention, one of the known philosophical schools.21 Instead he can be shown to be familiar with Hellenistic philosophical topics more generally, some of which he modified and integrated into his own theology. In the first chapter of 1 Corinthians, when he discusses Greek philosophical ideas, Paul does not invoke philosophical school traditions specifically, either by names or doctrines. In this regard Paul differs from his contemporary Philo of Alexandria, who openly confesses his attachment to Platonism and Stoicism. As we shall explain further in the following sections, the profound difference between Greek philosophical theology and early Christian theology is constituted by the only later so-​named “Christology.” In other words, early Christian theological thinking first emerges as Paul’s Christology, stated in the name “Jesus Christ” and “thinking in Christ Jesus” (φρονεῖν ἐν Χριστῷ  Ἰησοῦ, Phil 2:5). This very name is a synthesis of what today we call Christology in its entirety, and its “Sitz im Leben” is in Christian worship as the acclamation of κύριος  Ἰησοῦς Χριστός (“Jesus Christ [is] Lord,” Phil 2:11). Joachim Jeremias was right in his statement of 1953, according to which “der Christushymnus Phil 2 … ist der älteste Beleg 19 On the broader view of the developments, cf. Christoph Schwöbel, “Theology,” RPP 12 (2012): 617–46 = RGG4 8 (2005): 255–306; Christoph Markschies, Christian Theology and Its Institutions in the Early Roman Empire, trans. Wayne Coppins (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015). 20  Rom 11:13: … εἰμι ἐγὼ ἐθνῶν ἀπόστολος. Cf. 1:13–15; 15:15–17. 21  Later Paulinists agree, especially also the philosophers in Athens according to Acts 17:18, 32–34. For a different view, see the much-​discussed hypothesis of Troels Engberg-​ Pedersen that Paul was a Stoic: Paul and the Stoics (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000); cf. my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, WUNT 343 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 82 n. 64.

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für die gesamte Christologie der Folgezeit grundlegend bestimmende Lehre von den drei Seinsweisen Christi.”22 What does this evidence reveal? Why did Paul not call his own thinking “theology”? The reason seems to be that at least at his time the terminology of “theology” was too closely affiliated with Platonism. How close that affiliation was is shown by the evidence in Philo of Alexandria.23 This Jewish philosopher does not hesitate to appropriate Plato’s conceptuality. For him Moses is “the theologian” par excellence (ὁ θεολόγος), whose “theologizing” (θεολογεῖν) is laid down in his writings.24 He does not hesitate to call Plato “the most holy theologian” (ὁ ἱερώτατος θεολόγος).25 Philo’s ample quotations from Plato’s writings demonstrate his familiarity with “Platonic dogma” (Πλατωνικὸν δόγμα),26 which is attested as well by Aristotle and the Old Academy. This astonishing openness was, to be sure, conditioned by Philo’s assumption that Plato received his theology from Moses, and not the other way around.27 For all we know, this high valuation of Platonism entered Jewish thinking first through Philo, but it cannot be assumed to have been approved by all of Hellenistic Judaism. In fact, later Rabbinic thought rejected Philo, who was regarded as a Christianizing heretic. As far as Paul is concerned, given our limited knowledge of the Pharisaism at his time, he could hardly have become familiar with Plato during his Pharisaic past. Most likely for the same reason, Paul avoided the term “philosophy” (φιλοσοφία) and its cognates.28 Probably, the linguistic evidence, such as it is, had further consequences for Jewish thought. Can Jewish thought in ancient as well as later periods be classified as “theology” or not? Whether in principle Judaism “has a theology” is a question that has been discussed at length. If the answer is negative, as it usually is, why is Jewish thinking not to be called “theology”? When  Joachim Jeremias, “Zur Gedankenführung in den paulinischen Briefen,” in Studia Paulina in honorem Johannis de Zwaan septuagenarii, ed. J. N. Sevenster and W. C. van Unnik (Haarlem: Bohn, 1953), 146–54, here 154; repr. in idem, Abba: Studien zur neutestamentlichen Theologie und Zeitgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966), 269–76. 23  See Peder Borgen, et al., eds., The Philo Index (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 170, s. v.; Ralph Marcus, trans., Philo: Supplement, vol. 2: Questions and Answers on Exodus, LCL 401 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953), 299, for a list of quotations from Plato. 24 Opif. 12; Mos. 2.115; Praem. 53; QG 2.59; 3.21. 25  Prob. 13; Aet. 13; 14; 16; 17; 27; 38; 141. 26  Aet. 17; Contempl. 59. 27  See David T. Runia, The First Christian Theologians: An Introduction to Theology in the Early Church, ed. G. R. Evans (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004); idem, “Philon von Alexandria,” RAC 27 (2016): 605–27; Erler and Tanaseanu-​Döbler, “Platonismus,” 866–68. 28 This negative valuation of φιλοσοφία is confirmed in the deutero-​Pauline Col 2:8. 22

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Solomon Schechter in his famous book Aspects of Rabbinic Theology considers the problem, he carefully defines the term “theology” in a broader sense and even limits it to “aspects.”29 Not much different is Ephraim Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs, who avoids the term “theology” altogether and speaks of “sages,” not “philosophers.”30 Whatever the reasons for this resistance may be, one can certainly speculate about a number of them. Both Jewish and Christian thinking have in common that “theology” became an acceptable term only after Platonic traditions were adopted and adapted to express Jewish or Christian “theology.” In Judaism this occurred with Philo, while in Christianity it began with Justin Martyr and Clement of Alexandria.31 For the same reason, it seems, Philo and his works were at first thought of as Christian, rather than Jewish (or Jewish in essence, while Platonic in external garb). Interestingly, contemporary Jewish thinkers are ready to speak of “Jewish philosophy,” as long as it does not involve theorizing about the nature of deity. For them, “theology” either fits Christian thought or involves metaphysical speculations about deity. For Christian thinkers, “theology” includes all applications of Christian thought, whereas “philosophy” should in principle exclude speculative doctrines about deity. Different also is “philosophy of religion,” because it is focused on “religion” as a generally human phenomenon, not specifically Christian. A hard question is whether Jewish or Christian theology can be subsumed under “philosophy of religion.” By necessity, whatever the answer may be, either way it is a confession. In practice, agreeing to these divisions among academic fields seems easier than preventing “theology” from creeping in through apologetic loopholes.

III. The Origins of Paul’s Concept of Faith Although Paul never employs the term “theology” (θεολογία), we should not deny that he had a theology. However, the question remains what his theology consists of, and in what way he obtained it. At a closer examination of his letters it is somewhat surprising to see how much and how deeply he is 29 (New

York: Macmillan, 1969), 1–20. Israel Abrahams, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1975), 1:1–18. 31 See Kattenbusch, “Die Entstehung einer christlichen Theologie”; Robert M. Grant, Greek Apologists of the Second Century (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988), 50–64; Alfons Fürst, Christentum als Intellektuellen-​Religion: Die Anfänge des Christentums in Alexan­ drien, SBS 213 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2007); also my article, “Unique by Comparison: The Eucharist and the Mithras Cult,” in The Eucharist  – Its Origins and Contexts, ed. David Hellholm and Dieter Sänger, 3 vols., WUNT 376 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 3:1795–1832. 30 Trans.

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struggling with his becoming a Christian believer, how it happened, and of what his new faith is comprised. The fact is that we see him in every one of his letters wrestling with his beliefs, what they are or should be, and what he should reject or rethink. These reflections also show ongoing conversations with his fellow-​Christians as well as about his adversaries. Astoundingly, these conversations are taking most seriously his own doubts and those of others concerning his own past, his present convictions, and his future expectations. His personal frankness and the spiritual and intellectual depth of his reflections are the marks of the profound thinker he became known to be in his own time and throughout history up to the present day. As far as the origin of his Christian faith is concerned, Paul begins with what is being talked about in Christian circles. Apparently, reports about his conversion became the subject of oral tradition in the churches at the earliest level (Gal 1:13, 22–24). The cliché of turning from persecutor to propagator confirmed his fame among the Christians in Judea, but also gave rise to skepticism among his early critics. Was his conversion evidence of the truth of the Christian message? Or was it all the deception of a clever charlatan? About himself, how much confidence could he have in the foundations of his convictional change? Why would his new conviction not be the result of self-​deception? It is significant to notice that in the course of his self-­critical thinking he concentrates not on his intellectual or mental dispositions or assumptions, but on several fundamental experiences in his concrete life.32 First, referring to Paul’s personal life, there is the undeniable and personally upsetting experience of encountering the resurrected Jesus in a vision. Second, there is the experience of the intellectual persuasiveness in debates about Jesus’s teachings, the very teachings that had been the reason Paul had persecuted Jesus’s disciples. Third, there were his personal life experiences, in which his mission as an apostle of Christ was radically tested in every way conceivable, including moments of greatest joy as well as unspeakable sufferings, enumerated by the so-​called catalogues of dire circumstances (περιστάσεις).33 Fourth, there were nerve-​wrecking disappointments, self-​ doubts, and uncertainties about present and future prospects. We shall have to address these issues in greater detail in the following pages.

32  Paul’s agonistic rhetoric is inclusive of his self-​critical explorations, issues that need further study in the analysis of his letters. See the essays by Margaret M. Mitchell, Paul, the Corinthians, and the Birth of Christian Hermeneutics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 33 See 1 Cor 4:11–13; 2 Cor 4:8–9; 6:4–10; 11:23–29; 12:10; Rom 8:35; Phil 4:12.

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a. A Sudden Change of Course As Paul himself reports at several places in his letters, and most dramatically according to the reports in Acts, he was completely unprepared for experiencing an epiphany of Jesus, when he was on the way to Damascus for the purpose of persecuting the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth, considered intolerable heretics, who had escaped to Damascus. These disciples continued to expand the Jesus movement in the Jewish heartland, extending to Damascus. His objective was to arrest these people and present them before the Jewish authorities, bringing them to justice, as heretics deserving no less than death. It happened in this context that he encountered the resurrected Christ in a revelatory vision. His mission was far from being a capricious act of a religious fanatic. Was he not authorized by the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem to execute their decisions?34 According to Acts, a sudden appearance of Jesus in the sky not only threw him to the ground but also put an end to his mission. In an exchange with the appearing Jesus, Paul was told that his plans to persecute Jesus’s disciples amounted to persecuting Jesus himself with no justification. Instead, from heaven he was ordered to do the opposite, to proclaim Jesus’s message as gospel to the Gentiles. Properly responding to such a message from a heavenly being, as Jesus revealed himself to be, required unconditional obedience. This strangest of events was the beginning of Paul as a Christian missionary and as, he rightly concluded later, an apostle of Jesus Christ. The experience left no doubt about its reality. However, what was that reality? Of course, having visionary experiences was part of ancient mentality and almost commonplace.35 At the same time, stories of visions, either awake or in dreams, were also met with skepticism, especially in intellectual circles. Belonging to the wider field of epiphanies, such visions could be of two kinds, one external and another internal; both could occur together as well. To be sure, visions of this sort could be genuine insights of divine origin. Or they could be self-​delusions of demonic nature, or ecstatic imaginations of overly excited souls. How would one know the difference? Later, post-​resurrection narratives in the Gospels of Matthew, Luke, and John would add another form of appearances of Jesus, occurring between his resurrection and ascension. The importance of these narratives is expressed by stories such as the encounter between two disciples and Jesus on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35) and that with doubting Thomas (John 20:19–29). Certainly, Paul was aware of the general experiences of people at all times  See Acts 9:1–2; cf. Gal 1:13, 23; 1 Cor 15:9; Phil 3:6.

34

35 The terminology is ἀποκαλύπτειν, ἀποκάλυψις (Gal 1:12, 16; 2:2; 2 Cor 12:1, 7), ὁρᾶν,

ὀπτασία (1 Cor 9:1; 2 Cor 12:1).

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wherein visions play an important role in reading and understanding texts. Readers are aware, or they should be, that getting the point in understanding complicated issues like faith (πίστις) depends on clear perception by the human eyes as well as sensitivity of the mind, all of which need “illumination.” In antiquity, these phenomena were closely tied to medicine, where we find extraordinary studies on the human eye, sense perception, and dream visions.36 In literary as well as magical texts, dream visions, inspirational events, and momentary recognition testify that real life is full of experiences of this kind, but full also of imaginative phantasies and fallacious illusions. Given all this experiential wealth, where should Paul’s vision of Christ be located? It is interesting to see that according to Paul’s letters his vision of Christ was accepted in the early churches. As such, it does not seem to have been controversial. At any rate, Galatians 1 mentions his external Damascus experience, and the debates at the Jerusalem conference described in Gal 2:1–10 seem to have been about the implications of the message he had received, so that he can focus on the internal experience of Christ’s revelation “in me.”37 Paul’s experience was credible in Christian circles because it duplicated those of the other apostles (cf. 1 Cor 15:5–9). Nevertheless, it was precisely his vision of Christ which stoked the fire of suspicious criticism against him in the city of Corinth. At the time, Corinth was the home of the most critical of Greek intellectuals. It is not without reason that Paul’s Corinthian letters contain the most critical and defensive arguments directed at church members who never got tired of spreading suspicions towards their apostle and founder. Therefore, we see him turn to defensive explanations in quite a number of passages.38 Some of these passages suggest that he himself became more and not less interested in reaching a better understanding of his visionary experiences. Even in 2 Corinthians we find him involved in arguments which respond to doubts about his integrity and qualification (ἱκανότης)39 for church administration (διακονία).40 Remarkably, he himself remained deeply engaged throughout 36  See my article, “Matt. 6:22–23 and Ancient Greek Theories of Vision,” in idem, Synoptische Studien, 140–54; idem, Sermon on the Mount, 427–53. For speculations about καταβασκαίνειν (“casting the evil eye”), cf. Plutarch, Quaest. conv. 5.7, 680B–683B (Paul A. Clement and Herbert B. Hoffleit, trans., Plutarch: Moralia, vol. 8, LCL 424 [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969], 416–33). 37  Gal 1:1, 11–12, 15–16: ἀποκαλύψαι τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ ἐν ἐμοί. Cf. 1:22–23; 2:20: ζῇ δὲ ἐν ἐμοὶ Χριστός. 38 See 1 Cor 9:1–2; 15:8–10. 39 See 1 Cor 15:9; 2 Cor 2:16; 3:5; etc. 40 See 2 Cor 3:6–9; 4:1; 11:23; etc.

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his life in self-​critical examinations of the origins of his theological convictions. In the following we shall take a closer look at various approaches of the Apostle in his letters. b. Paul’s Turn from Pharisaism to the Jesus Movement Paul’s autobiographical statements in Galatians are set in an apologetic context. He writes to the churches in Galatia, which he founded, because he finds them on the verge of abandoning their loyalty to their apostle in favor of going over to his adversaries from Jewish Christianity, and of accepting a Jewish identity of obedience to Torah and circumcision. Evidently, these Christian Galatians have lost confidence in Paul’s genuine authority and the reliability of his gospel of freedom and life inspired by the gift of the Holy Spirit, and all that without subjugation to Jewish Torah and circumcision. Fully realizing the consequences of losing his Galatian churches, Paul reacts by a sharp rebuttal in which he defends both the gospel as he preaches it as well as his own apostolic integrity.41 Without polite commendations in the prescript he restates his claims to apostleship in the opening sentence (Gal 1:1): “Paul an apostle, not from human authorities or by a human agent, but through Jesus Christ and God the Father, who raised him from the dead.” In the first part he defends himself by recalling his earlier biography. As an aggressive Pharisee he was engaged in hunting down followers of the “heretical” Jesus, even as far as Damascus. At that time he was unaware of God’s quite different design, who prepared him from his mother’s womb and who finally had God’s son Jesus “reveal himself in me,” charging him to henceforth “proclaim his gospel message among the Gentiles” (Gal 1:15–16). This dramatic change from persecutor to proclaimer of the gospel became a famous story circulating in the churches of Judea (Gal 1:13, 22–24). In 2:1–10 he reminds the Galatians of the conference in Jerusalem, when the church leadership (the “pillars,” οἱ στῦλοι) of James, Cephas/Peter, and John had come together with Paul and Barnabas, approved of Paul’s controversial gospel message, and divided the mission field into two directions.42 Peter was put in charge of the mission to the Jews, and Paul and Barnabas to the Gentiles. Despite the solemn agreement, sealed by a handshake, a group of dissidents remained opposed and continued their demand that converts from the Gentiles must first undergo Jewish conversion rituals (agreeing to circumcision and Torah 41  See my Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 1–31 and passim. 42 Betz, Galatians, 81–103.

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observance). As the episode at Antioch (2:11–14) showed, these opponents, acting in the name of James, the “brother of the Lord,” intervened at a common meal shared by Jews and Gentiles and forced Peter to withdraw from the meal fellowship, although Paul confronted Peter, accusing him of breaching the agreement.43 Apparently, the opponents interpreted the Jerusalem agreement as implying a ritual segregation between the two mission efforts, rather than desegregation, whenever they would meet at table. In his confrontation with Peter, Paul argued with some diplomatic finesse that the “pillars” at Jerusalem would not refuse money from the Gentiles (2:10); nor was the Gentile Titus, whom Paul had been prudent to take along, compelled to accept circumcision (2:1–3).44 Although the brief account did not leave room for discussion of the fine points, it seems that Paul’s claim that he went up to Jerusalem due to a vision (κατὰ ἀποκάλυψιν) went undisputed, and so must have been his vision of Christ (cf. 2:7). If he had been asked at the Jerusalem conference to explain why he turned away from the Pharisees, it apparently did not become an issue at that conference. Surprisingly, however, some clues have been left in a later text, now part of Paul’s last letter to the Philippians. In my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians I have tried to show that the passage in Phil 3:1b–21 consists of an earlier memorandum which Paul included in the mailings to be taken back by the delegate Epaphroditus to Philippi.45 If this hypothesis is accepted, one of the subsections contains an autobiographical sketch (vv. 3–11) reflecting an earlier origin of conflict close to Galatians. In this sketch, vv. 4–6 summarize Paul’s Jewish credentials, and vv. 7–11 his Christian credentials. Surprisingly, a few sentences describe his transition from Pharisaism to faith in Christ.46 However, there is no mention of Paul’s vision of Christ, but instead a theological controversy is stated in terms of its result. In other words, Paul’s change from Pharisaism to Christ was caused by the weight of theological arguments. The text of the pertinent sentences is given here (vv. 7–11). 7 [ Ἀλλ’] ἅτινα ἦν μοι κέρδη, ταῦτα ἥγημαι διὰ τὸν Χριστὸν ζημίαν. 8 ἀλλὰ μενοῦνγε καὶ ἡγοῦμαι πάντα ζημίαν εἶναι διὰ τὸ ὑπερέχον τῆς γνώσεως Χριστοῦ  Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου μου, δι’ ὃν τὰ πάντα ἐζημιώθην, καὶ ἡγοῦμαι σκύβαλα, ἵνα Χριστὸν κερδήσω, 9 καὶ εὑρεθῶ ἐν αὐτῷ, μὴ ἔχων ἐμὴν δικαιοσύνην τὴν ἐκ νόμου ἀλλὰ τὴν διὰ πίστεως Χριστοῦ, τὴν ἐκ θεοῦ δικαιοσύνην ἐπὶ τῇ πίστει, 10 τοῦ γνῶναι αὐτὸν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν τῆς ἀναστάσεως αὐτοῦ καὶ [τὴν] κοινωνίαν [τῶν] παθημάτων αὐτοῦ,  Betz, Galatians, 103–12.  Betz, Galatians, 84. 45 Betz, Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 47–68, ch. 3, “An Autobiographical Memorandum (Phil 3:1b–21).” 46 For a detailed discussion, see my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 53–61. 43 44

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συμμορφιζόμενος τῷ θανάτῳ αὐτοῦ, 11 εἴ πως καταντήσω εἰς τὴν ἐξανάστασιν τὴν ἐκ νεκρῶν.

Simply translating the passage is not only difficult, but it also depends on understanding what Paul tries to explain. Therefore, going through the lines of the argument appears to be preferable. The context suggests that after the statement about his status among the Pharisees (v. 6) he seeks to explain why and how he came to change his mind. Notably, the argument Paul makes is sharply polemical and subtly directed against himself. In other words, it is a piece of self-​criticism as a former Pharisee, couched in typically Pauline irony.47 Under the spell of Christ and using business terms, Paul came to regard as “loss” what as a Pharisee he had valued as “gains,” namely “justification based on flawless obedience to the Torah” (κατὰ δικαιοσύνην τὴν ἐν νόμῳ γενόμενος ἄμεμπτος, v. 6). The turn-​around came about when what he had counted on as being “gain” (κέρδος), under the spell of Christ he realized to turn out to be “loss” (ζημία, v. 7). How could such a dramatic reversal have happened? It happened when his thinking was radically changed through the overwhelming power of cognition brought about through “Christ Jesus my Lord” (διὰ τὸ ὑπερέχον τῆς γνώσεως Χριστοῦ  Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου μου, v. 8) – that is, through the cognition represented by Christ acting on Paul’s cognition so powerfully that all of his Pharisaic positions became devalued into junk, so that Christ turned out to be his “gain” (v. 8). Then, when he found himself on the side of Christ, he saw his eschatological justification (δικαιοσύνη) no longer based on strict observance of the Torah (ἐκ νόμου), but “coming from God on the basis of faith” (ἐκ θεοῦ δικαιοσύνην ἐπὶ τῇ πίστει, v. 9). What is constitutive of this faith and how it was communicated to Paul conclude the argument (v. 10). It is an act of theological insight effected by the divine power of Christ (τοῦ γνῶναι αὐτὸν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν etc.), a genuinely intellectual change of mind. What kind of persuasive power is it that constitutes the moment of recognizing deity? At this point Paul could be expected to mention his vision of Christ on the road to Damascus, but obviously he does not mention it in this passage. Instead he continues in the mode of theological argument by naming the main issues of Christology and soteriology: first the power of Jesus’s resurrection and then the communion with his sufferings by being conformed to his death (v. 10). Finally, as part of his analysis in Philippians 3 he points at his present situation in the Roman prison and his prospect of 47 The

sources for Pharisaism at Paul’s time are unfortunately meagre. On the present state of research see Günter Stemberger, “Pharisäer,” RAC 27 (2016): 553–73.

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dying the infamous “Roman death.” What then about the new “gain”? His coarse response is somber: what remains at last is the prospect of the resurrection from the dead (v. 11). Paul’s extremely short argument in Phil 3:6–11 leaves the question unanswered, at which point his change from Pharisaism to Christ could have occurred. There are grounds for suggesting further information. The moment of “cognition” (γνῶσις) presupposes that Paul obtained more detailed information about the theology of Jesus’s disciples he was persecuting. Their theology, therefore, can be located in Jewish-​Christian traditions now embedded in the Synoptic Gospels, all of which present Jesus of Nazareth as being opposed to the Pharisees. The Synoptic Gospels themselves are to be dated later than Paul, but their authors have included older traditions transmitted by disciples of Jesus. These traditions include smaller bodies of texts such as the parables, but there are also longer texts such as the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:3–7:27) and the Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6:20–49), which I have shown to reflect Jewish-​Christian theology of pre-​Pauline origin and character. The Sermon on the Mount in particular consists of a summary (epitome) of theological thinking attributed to Jesus, with Jesus as speaker, but composed for didactic purposes as a manual for disciples coming from a Jewish background. The set of hermeneutical principles formulated in Matt 5:17–20 articulates that as a whole the Sermon on the Mount, specifically the concept of “justice” (δικαιοσύνη), is applied in the so-​called Antitheses (5:21–48). As their climax states it, it is contrary to the view of the Pharisees (5:20).48 The anti-​Pharisaic stance is argued in six cases of Torah interpretation. As their final case shows (5:43–48),49 it is in support of the love-​command of Lev 19:18, demonstrating the “fulfilling” of the whole Torah in the one sentence, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” with which Paul agrees in Gal 5:14, naming it “the law of Christ” (Gal 6:2).50 If this is the kind of theology Paul encountered among the Jesus movement, one can imagine that he was overwhelmed by it. There is no indication, however, that he was familiar with the Sermon on the Mount in its entirety, since the two versions of the Sermon, one directed at new disciples with a Jewish background (Matt 5:3–7:27), and the other at disciples with a Gentile background (Luke 6:20–49), presuppose that the two-​pronged mission agreed upon at the conference in Jerusalem (Gal 2:1–10) has already been under way. Thus, Paul’s change from  See Betz, Sermon on the Mount, 189–97. Sermon on the Mount, 294–328. See also Baasland, Parables and Rhetoric, 123–31, 265–90. 50 See Betz, Galatians, 298–301. 48

49 Betz,

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Pharisaism to the Jesus movement antedated the composition of the Sermon on the Mount and on the Plain, as we know it from Matthew and Luke. c. The Epiphanic Vision As we have already mentioned (§III.a), the other source Paul names as generating his theology is his epiphanic vision of Christ. This vision figures prominently in his autobiographical statements in Galatians and 1 Corinthians. In Gal 1:15–16 the vision reveals his call to serve as a missionary of the gospel. He claims that this vocation was ordained by God since his mother’s womb and that it was wholly an act of divine grace (χάρις). Paul calls the act a revelation, by which God “revealed his son in me” (ἀποκαλύψαι τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ ἐν ἐμοί). The term ἀποκαλύπτειν ἐν does not indicate whether the epiphany was external or internal or both.51 What happened in the epiphany is that Christ commissioned Paul “to preach him as the gospel among the Gentiles” (ἵνα εὐαγγελίζωμαι αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν). As we have pointed out in the previous section, the conference in Jerusalem approved this mission to be carried out by Paul and Barnabas, but the title of “apostle” was not on the agenda (Gal 2:1–10). Differently from the Jerusalem conference, in the address of the letter Paul does use the title “apostle” with the specification “not from humans nor through a human, but through Jesus Christ and God the Father, who raised him from the dead.” This specification implies a polemic against other apostles whose titles were based on human ranking, while leaving open who they were (Gal 1:1).52 In Gal 1:11–12 Paul again emphasizes that his gospel was not of human origin, and that he did not receive it from a human agent, but through a revelation of Jesus Christ (δι’ ἀποκαλύψεως  Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ). In other words, at the time of the Galatian controversy Paul contradicts the refusal by the Jewish-​Christian churches to recognize Paul’s claim to apostleship. This situation is confirmed also by the Corinthian correspondence. In the address at 1 Cor 1:1 Paul calls himself a “called apostle of Christ Jesus through the will of God” (κλητὸς ἀπόστολος Χριστοῦ  Ἰησοῦ διὰ θελήματος θεοῦ).53 51 Cf.

Gal 1:12 and 2:2, where the term ἀποκάλυψις is imprecise. is worth noting that Matthew’s inserted story of the appointment of Peter as leader of the church (16:16–19) is not by a vision but during Jesus’s life on earth. Peter is not called “apostle,” but instead his authority is based on using his name Πέτρος metaphorically as “the rock” (ἡ πέτρα), probably alluding to the Sermon on the Mount (7:24). Peter’s position among “the Twelve” (οἱ δώδεκα) is not doubted (ἀπόστολοι only in 10:2; cf. μαθηταί in 11:1; 20:17; 26:14, 20). 53 So also Rom 1:1; cf. κλητοί (pl.) as epithet of the church in 1 Cor 1:2, 24, 26; Rom 1:6, 7; 8:28. 52 It

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Since the terms καλεῖν and κλῆσις have a wider meaning as well, the special epithet of apostleship gets lost easily. In 1 Corinthians Paul admits that his claim to apostleship was not accepted by the churches at large, and his critics in Corinth knew about it.54 In 1 Cor 9:1 he throws the issue back at the readers in asking ironic questions and drawing the conclusions: “Am I not free? Am I not an apostle? Have I not seen Jesus our Lord? Are you not my work in the Lord?” If others answer in the negative, the Corinthian church cannot deny the fact of having been founded by Paul, and thus they must confirm the other questions as well: “If for others I am not an apostle, at least I am for you. For you are my seal of apostleship in the Lord.” In other words, the “seal of my apostleship” is evidenced because the Gentile churches were founded by Paul in obeying Christ’s commission. The conclusion also redefines what apostleship means: an apostle is not only a missionary but also a successful founder of churches. The Corinthians should not have any doubts about this, because they learned and accepted it when at the beginning of their church he related to them the foundational facts (1 Cor 15:1–8). He named the original apostles as those who witnessed successively the visions of the resurrected Christ: Cephas/Peter, then the Twelve, then the five hundred brothers together. Later he appeared to James and still later to all the apostles. What in Paul’s case looks exceptional may simply be that he was the last of them, admittedly regarded by some as a “misfit” (ὡσπερεὶ τῷ ἐκτρώματι). On this last comment, really an insult,55 Paul offers a bitingly ironic self-​assessment in vv. 9–11: 9  Ἐγὼ γάρ εἰμι ὁ ἐλάχιστος τῶν ἀποστόλων ὃς οὐκ εἰμὶ ἱκανὸς καλεῖσθαι ἀπόστολος, διότι ἐδίωξα τὴν ἐκκλησίαν τοῦ θεοῦ· 10 χάριτι δὲ θεοῦ εἰμι ὅ εἰμι, καὶ ἡ χάρις αὐτοῦ ἡ εἰς ἐμὲ οὐ κενὴ ἐγενήθη, ἀλλὰ περισσότερον αὐτῶν πάντων ἐκοπίασα, οὐκ ἐγὼ δὲ ἀλλ’ ἡ χάρις τοῦ θεοῦ [ἡ] σὺν ἐμοί. 11 εἴτε οὖν ἐγὼ εἴτε ἐκεῖνοι, οὕτως κηρύσσομεν καὶ οὕτως ἐπιστεύσατε. 9 For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. 10 But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them – though it was not I but the grace of God that is with me. 11 Whether it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe.

Paul’s position is to let the facts speak for themselves. Ironically, his critics seem to have it right, but then the facts are different. First, his apostleship is 54  For problems regarding details, see the commentary by Wolfgang Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 4 vols., EKKNT 7 (Zürich: Benziger; Neukirchen-​V luyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1991–2001), esp. 4:43–108. 55 See BDAG 311, s. v. ἔκτρωμα; Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 4:62–65.

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of the lowest grade and indeed unworthy to be called by the honorific title, because he had persecuted the church of God. How then could a monster like this get away with such horror? Only by the sheer grace of God could that happen! Indeed, it was just this grace of God that let him get away with it. By this very grace of God he is what he now is. Second, God’s grace has not been in vain! As an apostle he worked harder and accomplished more than all the others (sc. apostles). To come to this assessment is not intended as a boast like a bragging Ego, but it was this very grace of God that worked through Paul. Thus, whether it is he or they, this is what he has been preaching, and this is the way the Corinthians became believers in Christ. No Corinthian Christian can disagree with these facts. If apparently some did disagree, they had other reasons. Paul’s self-​assessment also reveals what his real problem of credibility was. It was not that he had seen a vision of Jesus, but it was the claim to be one of the apostles. Since Paul’s apostleship is not mentioned in Acts,56 it is one of the indicators that the author Luke did not know Paul’s letters.57 This fact is indeed strange, because Paul’s vision of Christ plays a highly important role in Acts, where it is the subject of public speeches before the authorities three times at great length (9:1–29; 22:3–21; 26:9–20). Different from the letters, his vision occurs as an external drama reflecting Greek literary sources known to Luke but not to us.58 We shall return to this issue in the final sections of Part A in this essay.59 Here it may suffice to learn the basic facts of the story (Acts 9:3–6): 3  Ἐν δὲ τῷ πορεύεσθαι ἐγένετο αὐτὸν ἐγγίζειν τῇ Δαμασκῷ, ἐξαίφνης τε αὐτὸν περιήστραψεν φῶς ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ 4 καὶ πεσὼν ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἤκουσεν φωνὴν λέγουσαν αὐτῷ· Σαοὺλ Σαούλ, τί με διώκεις; 5 εἶπεν δέ· τίς εἶ, κύριε; ὁ δέ· ἐγώ εἰμι  Ἰησοῦ ὃν σὺ διώκεις· 6 ἀλλ’ ἀνάστηθι καὶ εἴσελθε εἰς τὴν πόλιν καὶ λαληθήσεταί σοι ὅ τί σε δεῖ ποιεῖν. 3 As he was nearing Damascus in the course of his journey, a light from heaven suddenly engulfed him. 4 He fell on the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” 5 And he said, “Who are you, Lord?” “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. 6 Now get up and enter the city. You will be told what you must do.” 60

56 Except that Acts 14:14 mentions Paul and Barnabas as ἀπόστολοι, meaning “missionaries.” 57  I disagree at this point with Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary, ed. Harold W. Attridge, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 231. 58  On research concerning the source problem, see Pervo, Acts, 239–44. 59 See below, pp. 60–67. 60 Trans. Pervo, Acts, 239, amended.

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Thus far the account of Paul’s conversion leaves important questions unanswered. Like many Greco-​Roman epiphany stories, Acts too does not clearly explain what Paul hears and sees. When he is engulfed in intense light, he falls to the ground, is struck with blindness, and sees nothing. Still, he instantly knows that he is encountering an epiphany of a deity, and upon addressing that deity as a κύριος, he hears a voice identifying itself as that of Jesus. If Paul is convinced that he “sees Jesus,” it is by an inference from what he hears.61 As far as Paul’s theology is concerned, however, Acts does not have much to say. His conversion and baptism lead readers to conclude that he has accepted the Christian faith as Luke understood it. Paul changes from persecutor to protagonist, and he will henceforth execute the tasks assigned to him by his Lord Jesus Christ. Concerning Paul’s theology, it should be obvious that the author of Acts did not have access to the corpus of Pauline letters and thus could not use them as sources. To be sure, he did know that, as messengers of the gospel, Barnabas and Paul must have had theology. Navigating between pagan superstition and Jewish opposition could not be done without a theology. In Acts 14:14–18 the two missionaries deliver a brief speech in Iconium, prohibiting the naive pagan people from worshiping the two men as the gods Zeus and Hermes.62 Paul’s greatest moment, however, arrives when he is invited by Athenian intellectuals to present a formal lecture at the Areopagus. In Acts 17:16–34 the whole event is described in detail, including a brief lecture on philosophical theology that, rhetorically speaking, is delivered splendidly even to the critical listeners. The response is predictable: some (most likely Epicureans) ridicule the talk about the resurrection of the dead, while others (most likely Stoics) are interested to hear more, and some even join company with him and become believers, among them a Dionysios the Areopagite and a woman by the name of Damaris. In the eyes of the author of Acts Paul’s theology fits in with the contemporary philosophical discourse, worthy of serious discussion among Athenian intellectuals who were gathered at the center of Hellenistic culture. For Luke, the episode was an astounding success and a promise for the future.63 d. What Are the Qualifications for Service? The evidence of his letters shows that Paul continued to be preoccupied with his calling by Christ even later in his life. Retrospective considerations  Cf. Acts 22:17–21 on another epiphany, “seeing him” (ἰδεῖν αὐτὸν λέγοντά μοι …). Pervo, Acts, 356–59. 63 Pervo, Acts, 423–42; see also Clare K. Rothschild, Paul in Athens: The Popular Religious Context of Acts 17, WUNT 341 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). 61

62 See

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are part of 2 Corinthians, large sections of which reflect continuing doubts among opponents about Paul’s qualifications as an apostle. In his defense he argues that he is not one of those many “salesmen” who travel around peddling the word of God (2 Cor 2:17), that his competency (ἱκανότης) does not originate from himself but from God, and that the purpose of his adequacy is nothing but “service” (διακονία) for the “new covenant” (καινὴ διαθήκη) (3:4–11). Clearly trying to avoid getting angry at opponents who throw insults at him, he sets up criteria to show his competency for the “service” he is pursuing (2 Cor 4:1–6): 1 Διὰ τοῦτο, ἔχοντες τὴν διακονίαν ταύτην καθὼς ἠλεήθημεν, οὐκ ἐγκακοῦμεν, 2 ἀλλ’ ἀπειπάμεθα τὰ κρυπτὰ τῆς αἰσχύνης, μὴ περιπατοῦντες ἐν πανουργίᾳ μηδὲ δολοῦντες τὸν λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ ἀλλὰ τῇ φανερώσει τῆς ἀληθείας συνιστάνοντες ἑαυτοὺς πρὸς πᾶσαν συνείδησιν ἀνθρώπων ἐνώπιον τοῦ θεοῦ. 3 εἰ δὲ καὶ ἔστιν κεκαλυμμένον τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ἡμῶν, ἐν τοῖς ἀπολλυμένοις ἐστὶν κεκαλυμμένον, 4 ἐν οἷς ὁ θεὸς τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου ἐτύφλωσεν τὰ νοήματα τῶν ἀπίστων εἰς τὸ μὴ αὐγάσαι τὸν φωτισμὸν τοῦ εὐαγγελίου τῆς δόξης τοῦ Χριστοῦ, ὅς ἐστιν εἰκὼν τοῦ θεοῦ. 5 οὐ γὰρ ἑαυτοὺς κηρύσσομεν ἀλλ’  Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν κύριον, ἑαυτοὺς δὲ δούλους ὑμῶν διὰ  Ἰησοῦν. 6 ὅτι ὁ θεὸς ὁ εἰπών· ἐκ σκότους φῶς λάμψει, ὃς ἔλαμψεν ἐν ταῖς καρδίαις ἡμῶν πρὸς φωτισμὸν τῆς γνώσεως τῆς δόξης τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν προσώπῳ [Ἰησοῦ] Χριστοῦ. 1 On this account, just as we have been given this service by mercy, we do not misuse it. 2 On the contrary, we have renounced the secretive practices of shameful behavior, and do not operate by trickery, nor do we distort the word of God, but by way of a manifestation of the truth we commend ourselves to every conscience of people before God. 3 But if our gospel is “obscured,” it is obscured for those on the road to perdition, 4 in whom the god of this age has induced blindness, so that the minds of the unbelievers cannot behold the enlightenment of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. 5 For we do not proclaim ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’s sake. 6 Because the God who said “Light shall shine out of darkness” is the one who shone in our hearts, so as to effect the enlightenment of recognizing the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. (trans. mine)

What does this rather intriguing statement mean? What is its form and function? It seems clear that the larger context is Paul’s self-​defense beginning in 2:14–17, and continuing in 3:1. Seen in this larger context, he sees himself confronted by critical questions regarding his “adequacy” (ἱκανότης) for the “service” (διακονία) to which he is committed.64 He acknowledges that, though unpleasant, these questions are justified not only in his case but also 64 Cf. Rudolf Bultmann, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, ed. Erich Dinkler, KEK 8 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976), 101–12; Margaret E. Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2 vols., ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994, 2000), 1:297–320.

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in principle. As far as he himself is concerned, it is no common banality to have a persecutor of the churches suddenly turn around precisely to found more such churches. What could his true motivation be? What assurances do the churches have in hand that he is not just another of the charlatans the society is full of, cheating the people by extracting money from them (2:17)? Even if Paul is not a charlatan like Peregrinus Proteus, Alexander of Abonuteichus,65 or Simon Magus,66 the question is valid: who is qualified for a task of religious leadership such as Paul claims to have been entrusted with, and how can credible evidence for the claim be established?67 In other words, which criteria are valid for measuring the adequacy and integrity required of an apostle of Christ? The one question, already discussed above, which is not clarified by the book of Acts and has therefore caused serious misunderstandings, is whether Paul converted from Judaism to Christianity. Obviously, the first part of Acts shows the early Saul/Paul being sidelined by church leadership until the crisis in Antioch, when he was called back from Tarsus for help (Acts 11:19–26). From that point on Paul’s missionary work together with Barnabas was directed toward the conversion of Gentiles from pagan superstition to Christianity, whereby the converts were first called “Christians” (Χριστιανοί, 11:26). This fact led readers of Acts to the wrong conclusion that Paul’s own conversion had been from Judaism to Christianity. This conclusion, however, was not what Acts itself was meaning to say (cf. Acts 15:1–21). In addition, Acts has Paul not deny his origin as a Pharisee (23:6–9; 26:5). Paul’s own letters, which the author of Acts did not possess, contain the evidence that the wrong conclusion was used by Jewish opponents of Paul to argue that he was not an “apostle” but an “apostate.” In his own letters we see Paul defending himself as an “apostle” of Jesus Christ, not having changed from Judaism to Gentile Christianity but from one branch of Judaism (Pharisaism) to another branch, the Judaism represented by the disciples of Jesus Christ. In Paul’s defensive arguments in Gal 3:1–29 and Rom 4:1–25, he distinguishes between two forms of Judaism, the primordial one based on Abraham and his faith (πίστις), and a secondary addition (Gal 3:17) based on the Torah of Moses (νόμος). These two forms were the reason for having contracted 65 Exposed by Lucian of Samosata; see my essay, “Lukian von Samosata und das Christentum,” in idem, Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 1: Hellenismus und Urchristentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990), 10–21. 66  Exposed in Acts 8:9–24. On the subject, see Hans-​Josef Klauck, Magie und Heidentum in der Apostelgeschichte des Lukas, SBS 167 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1996). 67 See 2 Cor 2:16: καὶ πρὸς ταῦτα τίς ἱκανός; It should be remembered that similar questions were frequently raised in antiquity in regard to the “philosopher” and the “wise man.”

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two approaches of proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ, one to the Jews under the leadership of Peter, and the other to the Gentiles under Paul and Bar­nabas (Gal 2:1–10). Since this grandiose design had been rejected by a minority even at the conference in Jerusalem (Gal 2:4), this group later developed into a faction inimical to Paul’s mission to the Gentiles altogether. This faction had concluded that Paul’s mission approach would lead to his abrogation of Judaism, thus accusing him of apostasy. Apparently, these difficulties caused Paul in Romans 9–11 to append a substantial explanation of his position regarding his views. He seems to have known that the church in Rome, to which the letter is addressed, regarded this question as being of the highest importance. For this reason, Paul prefaced the section of Romans 9–11 by a solemn oath of allegiance in 9:1–5.68 In 2 Cor 4:1–6 Paul himself draws up a list of criteria which apply to himself and comply with general standards of professional integrity. Their order begins with external behavior and culminates in the internal resources of his theological convictions. Accordingly, Paul’s conversion was not based on his flawless character, his ethical achievements, or his political and social merits. Instead Paul’s experience of Christ’s epiphany was an act of divine mercy. Following ancient standards, divine mercy must be received with human gratitude and humility. This would, therefore, be incompatible with abusive arrogance, deception, fraud, and the whole tool-​box of “anything goes” (πανουργία). To the contrary, Paul can say that his proclamation of the gospel has been and is an open manifestation of the truth and addressed to human consciences in the presence of God (4:1–2). In the final analysis, Paul’s “adequacy” is the self-​validation of the gospel he proclaims.69 Admittedly, however, there is a problem precisely with the gospel Paul preaches, namely the fact that for some people this gospel seems shrouded in mystery or is plainly incomprehensible. This phenomenon may not be his fault, but it seems to be widely believed. Failure of comprehension can have many reasons, the most plausible being that Paul’s theology is intellectually demanding. However, it also could be attributed to demonic forces (“the god of this eon”), which strike people with blindness of the mind.70 If there are people having such problems, and the fact cannot be denied, Paul is 68 On this passage, see my essay, “Geschichte und Selbstopfer: Zur Interpretation von Römer 9,1–5,” in idem, Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 5: Paulinische Theologie und Religionsgeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 71–86. 69  As Paul’s usage of the term “gospel” (εὐαγγέλιον) shows, it is not easy to understand what precisely he means by it. See BDAG 402–3, s. v. 70  On this topic, see also my essay, “Selbsttäuschung und Selbsterkenntnis bei Paulus: Zur Interpretation von 1 Kor 3,18–23,” in idem, Paulinische Theologie und Religionsgeschichte, 98–120.

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challenged to come up with explanations. Of course, in his view such people could simply be unbelievers. Or they could be newcomers in need of instruction. Most seriously, however, such people could be untouched by the illumination of the mind that is supposed to come with the gospel. Its absence would result in the failure to envision the glory of Christ, who is the mirror image of God (4:3–4; cf. 3:18). Whatever may explain a concrete instance of failure to comprehend the gospel Paul preaches, its occurrence raises serious problems. At any rate, the gospel as Paul proclaims it is not a kind of mystery-​ cult secret, but in principle open to human understanding. By implication, therefore, incomprehension by Christian believers concerning the meaning of the gospel cannot be justified or left unchallenged. Even those who reject the gospel ought to understand why they reject it. Another criterion is that in his preaching Paul is not advertising himself, but proclaiming Jesus Christ as Lord and ranking himself as a servant (δοῦλος) of the churches for the sake of Jesus (4:5; cf. διάκονος, 6:4; 11:15, 23). e. The Enlightenment Finally, the most important criterion is the ultimate source of the Christian faith, the experience of “enlightenment” (φωτισμός).71 When a person becomes a believer in Christ, the divine spirit gets infused in the human heart and causes the event of recognizing the light of Christ and the glory of God. This moment is the special act of God, the creator of light out of darkness, now by illuminating the intellect (νοῦς)72 of the believer through seeing the face of Christ, a mirror image of God.73 This cluster of concepts is highly complex and difficult, but it confirms the experience of epiphany as part of the theological doctrine of recognition (γνῶσις, 4:6).74 The complexity involves also the relationship between “enlightenment” and “spirit” (πνεῦμα). Paul clarifies this issue by an important definition concerning the  2 Cor 4:4. This experience is named also in Paul’s autobiographical sketch in Phil 3:8, for which see my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 56–59. 72  The terminology of νοῦς, νοεῖν, κτλ. shows influence of philosophy; see Rom 1:28; 11:34; 12:2; 14:5; 1 Cor 1:10; 14:14, 15, 19; Phil 4:7; etc.; see BDAG 674–75, 680, s. v. 73 For the εἰκών-​theology see also 1 Cor 11:7; 15:49; 2 Cor 3:17–18; 4:4; Rom 8:29; and Col 1:15; 3:10. See BDAG 281–82, s. v. εἰκών, 2 (with literature). 74  For the literature on this subject, see Hans Conzelmann, “φῶς, κτλ.,” TWNT 9 (1973): 302–49; Ceslas Spicq, Notes de lexicographie néo-​testamentaire: Supplément, OBO 22/3 (Fribourg: Editions universitaires; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 674–96; Christoph Elsas, et al., “Enlightenment (Spiritual),” RPP 4 (2008): 460–62 = “Erleuchtung,” RGG4 2 (1999): 1429–32; BDAG 1072–74, s. v. φῶς, φωτίζω, φωτισμός. 71

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relationship between the Spirit, the vision, and the indwelling of Christ in 2 Cor 3:17–18: 17 ὁ δὲ κύριος τὸ πνεῦμά ἐστιν· οὗ δὲ τὸ πνεῦμα κυρίου, ἐλευθερία. 18 ἡμεῖς δὲ πάντες ἀνακεκαλυμμένῳ προσώπῳ τὴν δόξαν κυρίου κατοπτριζόμενοι τὴν αὐτὴν εἰκόνα μεταμορφούμεθα ἀπὸ δόξης εἰς δόξαν, καθάπερ ἀπὸ κυρίου πνεύματος. 17 The Lord is the Spirit; where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 18 And as we all are beholding with unveiled face the glory of the Lord as in a mirror, we are becoming transformed into the same image, from glory to glory, as it happens through the Spirit of the Lord. (trans. mine)

This is to say, at this point Paul seems finally to reveal what he saw when he had his “Christophany.” It was not directly seeing Christ’s “face” (πρόσωπον).75 Paul here refers to our own vision “face to face” (πρόσωπον πρὸς πρόσωπον, 1 Cor 13:12). Since deity cannot be seen by human eyes directly, what Paul saw with open eyes was a “mirror-​picture” of that image (κατοπτρίζεσθαι τὴν αὐτὴν εἰκόνα). In order even to see that much, he as the viewer had to be “transformed” (μεταμορφοῦσθαι) from human glory to divine glory, as this happens through the spirit of Christ. Highly suggestive as these reflections are, they point to further interpretations of epiphanies by ancient thinkers. As we have assumed all along, in the Greco-​Roman world divine epiphanies in all forms of religion and philosophy seemed almost commonplace.76 Theorizing about human eyesight began among the Presocratics (especially Parmenides) and played a key role in Plato’s theory of cognition.77 What began with Plato was passed on to the later philosophical schools and religions, including the mystery cults, Judaism, and Christianity.78 Paul analyzes, however, not theories but his experience. What he experienced is one thing,  See Thrall, Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 1:237–41; 1:278–97; cf. 2 Cor 2:10; 4:6; BDAG 887–88, s. v. πρόσωπον, 1.a. 76 See Friedrich Pfister, “Epiphanie,” PWSup 4 (1924): 277–323; Hans Windisch, “Die Christusepiphanie vor Damaskus (Act 9, 22 und 26) und ihre religionsgeschichtlichen Parallelen,” ZNW 31 (1932): 1–23; Hubert Cancik, “Epiphanie/Advent,” HrwG 2 (1990): 290–96 (lit.); Danuta Shanzer and Nanno Marinatos, eds., Divine Epiphanies in the Ancient World = ICS 29 (2004); Verity J. Platt, Facing the Gods: Epiphany and Representation in Graeco-​Roman Art, Literature and Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 77 See Julius Stenzel, “Der Begriff der Erleuchtung bei Platon,” in idem, Kleine Schriften zur griechischen Philosophie, ed. Bertha Stenzel (Darmstadt: Gentner, 1956), 151–70; Erler, Platon, 464–73; Burkert, Griechische Religion, 478–98; Maria Liatsi, Die semiotische Erkenntnistheorie Platons im Siebten Brief: Eine Einführung in den sogennanten philosophischen Exkurs, Zetemata 131 (München: Beck, 2008). 78 On images of deities, see Cicero, Nat. d. 1.105–114; for commentary, see Olof Gigon and Laila Straume-​Zimmermann, eds. and trans., Marcus Tullius Cicero: Vom Wesen der Götter, Sammlung Tusculum (Zürich: Artemis & Winkler, 1996), 430–37; also my 75

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but another is the difficulty of comprehending and then communicating it to others, even though they are fellow-​Christians reading his letters. Phenomena of illumination of the mind are known in Greco-​Roman religious culture, in particular the mystery cults.79 To be sure, also shared is the assumption that ultimately we are facing divine mysteries, which by definition can be comprehended only by those “initiated” in the full sense of the term (ἐποπτεία). Once this is conceded, things do not become easier. The expression πρόσωπον ’Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ itself is ambiguous. Does Paul mean it in literal sense (“face of Jesus Christ”) or metaphorically (“Christ as personal presence”)?80 If the notion is combined with the image of “mirror,”81 it adds only another enigma for ancient people. If the deity cannot be seen directly, the image of the mirror was thought by some to solve the problem by allowing things to be seen indirectly. However, behind the mirror image lurks the more difficult problem concerning images of deities shown in sculptures, paintings, and theater performances. The latter have human actors represent deities, even though shown only by their masks. When raising the question of the meaning of Paul’s having an epiphanic vision of Jesus Christ, no biblical scholar will overlook the parallel of Moses’s intriguing encounter with God, especially the section in Exod 3:13–16 regarding God’s name. 13 Then Moses said to God, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” 14 God said to Moses, “I am who I am.” And he said, “Say this to the people of Israel, ‘I am has sent me to you.’” 15 God also said to Moses, “Say this to the people of Israel, ‘The Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you’: this is my name for ever, and thus I am to be remembered throughout all generations. 16 Go and gather the elders of Israel together, and say to them, ‘The Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, has appeared to me, saying, I have observed you and what has been done to you in Egypt.’” (RSV )

If this paragraph appears to be confused, the confusion has been wrestled with even before the present Hebrew text was written down, but it was essay, “God Concept and Cultic Image: The Argument in Dio Chrysostom’s Oratio 12 (Olympikos),” in idem, Paulinische Theologie und Religionsgeschichte, 155–65. 79 See Christoph Riedweg, Mysterienterminologie bei Platon, Philon und Klemens von Alexandrien, UALG 26 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1987); and LSJ 676, s. v. ἐποπτεία; ibid., 797, s. v. θεωρία. 80  Cf. ἐν προσώπῳ Χριστοῦ, 2 Cor 2:10; κατὰ πρόσωπον, 10:1, 7; also 3:7, 13, 18; 4:6; see BDAG 887–88, s. v. 1.a–b. 81 For this term, see 1 Cor 13:12; 2 Cor 3:18; 4:6; and BDAG 397, s.v ἔσοπτρον; ibid., 535, s. v. κατοπτρίζω.

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clarified by modern scholarship.82 Old Testament scholars have been concerned to explain the origins of the JAHWE. While in the immediate Hebrew context this name does not occur, its knowledge seems to be presupposed by its explanation as “I am who I am” (v. 14, ‫)אהיה אשר אהיה‬.83 What is explained, however, can strictly speaking not be pronounced as such. Thus it is present as its presumed “etymological” meaning. Therefore JAHWE is articulated not as a divine name but as a concise formula of its meaning. For New Testament scholars, it is of course of primary interest to see how the Greek translators of the passage have handled the questions. Apparently they understood the problems implied all too well: 13 καὶ εἶπεν Μωυσῆς πρὸς τὸν θεόν  Ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ ἐλεύσομαι πρὸς τοὺς υἱοὺς Ισραηλ καὶ ἐρῶ πρὸς αὐτούς Ὁ θεὸς τῶν πατέρων ὑμῶν ἀπέσταλκέν με πρὸς ὑμᾶς, ἐρωτήσουσίν με Τί ὄνομα αὐτῷ; τί ἐρῶ πρὸς αὐτούς; 14 καὶ εἶπεν ὁ θεὸς πρὸς Μωυσῆν  Ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν· καὶ εἶπεν Οὕτως ἐρεῖς τοῖς υἱοῖς Ισραηλ Ὁ ὢν ἀπέσταλκέν με πρὸς ὑμᾶς. 15 καὶ εἶπεν ὁ θεὸς πάλιν πρὸς Μωυσῆν Οὕτως ἐρεῖς τοῖς υἱοῖς Ισραηλ Κύριος ὁ θεὸς τῶν πατέρων ὑμῶν, θεὸς Αβρααμ καὶ θεὸς Ισαακ καὶ θεὸς Ιακωβ, ἀπέσταλκέν με πρὸς ὑμᾶς· τοῦτό μού ἐστιν ὄνομα αἰώνιον καὶ μνημόσυνον γενεῶν γενεαῖς.84

Notably, Moses’s question is about the name (ὄνομα) of God, but the answer does not give the name but the meaning of the name, “I am the one who is,” or “I am the one who is Being.” This rendering does not include the name but states its meaning. These words relate it at once to one of the fundamental statements of Greek philosophy going back to the 6th c. bce. Consequently, what the LXX translators have the courage to do is not to translate the Hebrew formula but to convert it to one of the basic teachings at the beginnings of Greek philosophical theology. Knowing what they are doing, they therefore are declaring the Hebrew teaching of Moses to be identical with Greek thought at its very beginning. Greek philosophical theology began with thinkers such as Xenophanes, Parmenides, Empedocles, Heraclitus, Pythagoras, and others called “Presocratics,” who rejected the anthropomorphic gods of the poets Homer and Hesiod, in order to develop non-​anthropological ideas about cosmic or transcendental “deity” without names and images. These ideas were absorbed and integrated in the later schools of Platonists, Peripatetics, Stoics, and Epicureans. It must be assumed that the translators of the LXX were familiar with the philosophical school traditions, so that it 82  See Martin Rose, Jahwe: Zum Streit um den alttestamentlichen Gottesnamen, ThSt 122 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1978); Rainer Albertz, Exodus 1–18, ZBKAT 1 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2012), 84–85. 83  See Karel van der Toorn, “YAHWEH ‫יהוה‬,” DDD2 910–19. 84 Cited according to the edition by John William Wevers, ed., Exodus, Septuaginta 2/1 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 84–86.

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was important for them to show that Moses created the basic elements of later Hellenistic-​Jewish philosophical theology. The evidence for these far-​ reaching aims are twofold: the cultic avoidance of pronouncing the name of God (the Tetragrammaton), and the philosophical discussion (μάθημα) by Philo of Alexandria.85 A question still open is whether JAHWE’s self-​identification as “I am who I am” is not by itself a translation of the Greek philosophical concept of deity as “Being.”86 At any rate, Philo is familiar with further interpretations. It is a logical consequence that no personal name can be properly assigned to the truly Existent. Note that when the prophet desires to know that he must answer to those who ask about his name, he says, “I am he that is” (Exod 3:14), which is equivalent to “My nature is to be, not to be spoken” (φησὶν ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν, ἴσον τῷ εἶναι πέφυκα, οὐ λέγεσθαι).87

Another line of interpretation is shown by the New Testament. Most extensive is the use of the formula ὁ ὢν καὶ ὁ ἦν καὶ ὁ ἐρχόμενος in Rev 1:4, with variations in Rev 1:8; 11:17; 16:5. Other variations are found in the Pauline letters (1 Cor 8:5; Rom 9:5; Heb 1:1–2; 11:6) and in John 1:1; 8:58; etc.88 Consequently, in all Christian sources the name JAHWE as well as the Tetragrammaton remain omitted. In conclusion, given all these bewildering options, the question still stands: what did Paul really see when he experienced the vision of Christ? This question must be answered convincingly, or else Paul’s long arguments will end inconclusively. Without a clear answer the origin of his theology remains in doubt, too. Given our modern perspectives, however, options are severely limited. Precisely in this arcane area of ancient religion our tools are comparative history of religions and what is accessible in texts and images. 85 For

the conclusions by OT scholarship see Folker Siegert, “Early Jewish Interpretation in a Hellenistic Style,” in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of Interpretation, ed. Magne Saebø, 3 vols. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996–2015), 3/1:130–98; John Procopé, “Greek Philosophy, Hermeneutic and Alexandrian Understanding of the Old Testament,” ibid., 3/1:451–77. 86 Cf. Walter Burkert, “Plutarch: Gelebte Religion und philosophische Theologie,” in idem, Kleine Schriften, vol. 8: Philosophica, ed. Thomas A. Szlezák und Karl-​Heinz Stanzel, Hypomnemata 2/8 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 222–39, 230 n. 45: “Merkwürdig der Zusammenfall der Interpretation des delphischen E als εἶ, zum Gott gesprochen (De E, 392A), mit Exod. 3,14 ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν.” 87  Nom. 11–12, text and trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker, Philo, vol. 5: On Flight and Finding; On the Change of Names; On Dreams, LCL 275 (London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam, 1934), 146–147; see also Nom. 13–18, and for a still further interpretation, see Mos. 1.73–82. 88  See BDAG 282–86, s. v. εἰμί, 1.

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These tools, however, present also almost irresistible temptations to get lost in fantasy and speculation. f. Hymn as the Origin of Theology Rather than letting uncertainties prevail or drawing negative conclusions regarding Paul’s muddled thinking, one fact needs to be admitted from the outset: the ancient ways of responding to visions were different from those in modernity. According to ancient religious thinking, the appropriate way of responding to a vision of a deity was not to investigate, like suspicious police inspectors or investigative reporters, the “realities behind the deceptions.” For the ancients, facing a vision of a deity and responding to it called for an extraordinary effort. Such a response was prepared by Paul’s dense language at the end of 2 Cor 4:6. Yet, he did not actually deliver at this point what he appears to have had in mind. The reason may be that it would not fit within an argumentative context. There cannot be any doubt, however, that, as for the ancients, so also for Paul, the response appropriate at this juncture would be a liturgical act, the recitation of a hymn. What he does not present in 2 Corinthians, he does in Phil 2:6–11.89 1. The Place of the Hymn in Theology The bridge between the presence of the Spirit, the word of Christ, and Christian worship is attested in Paul’s letters and in deutero-​Pauline tradition.90 Most important is the deutero-​Pauline formulation of Col 3:16, naming a λόγος τοῦ Χριστοῦ: Ὁ λόγος τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐνοικείτω ἐν ὑμῖν πλουσίως, ἐν πάσῃ σοφίᾳ διδάσκοντες καὶ νουθετοῦντες ἑαυτούς, ψαλμοῖς ὕμνοις ᾠδαῖς πνευματικαῖς ἐν [τῇ] χάριτι ᾄδοντες ἐν ταῖς καρδίαις ὑμῶν ἐν τῷ θεῷ. The word of Christ, let it dwell richly among you; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom, and with grace in your hearts, singing psalms, hymns, and spirit-​inspired songs in God. (trans. mine) 89 The evidence speaks overwhelmingly in favor of Ernst Lohmeyer’s discovery that in Phil 2:6–11 Paul cites a passage from a prose hymn in the third-​person style, a passage which belongs to the traditional second part (narrative aretalogy) and is composed out of brief doctrinal formulae. See, with further literature, Reinhard Deichgräber, Gotteshymnus und Christushymnus in der frühen Christenheit, SUNT 5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967); Lutz Käppel, Frank-​Lothar Hossfeld, Michael Lattke, and Franz-​Carl Prassl, “Hymn,” RPP 6 (2009): 354–56 = RGG4 3 (2000): 1974–78. 90 See the main sections on τὰ πνευματικά in 1 Cor 12–14, esp. 14:15, 26; Gal 3:1–5; Rom 8:1–39; 12:1–2; and Eph 5:19.

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This exhortation certainly has in mind the hymnic passage in Col 1:15–20. Simultaneously, the same λόγος τοῦ Χριστοῦ, referred to in Col 3:16–17, is a statement of Christology made in a deutero-​Pauline epistle, which could apply as well to Paul’s exhortation of Phil 2:1–5 and the citation of the hymn in 2:6–11. Since Lohmeyer’s discovery, Phil 2:6–11 is regarded by most scholars as a citation of a hymn or a fragment of a hymn. The passage has been debated by a large number of investigations, for which John Reumann’s commentary has provided a detailed account of the present state of research.91 2. Phil 2:6–11: Text and Translation92 6 ὃς ἐν μορφῇ θεοῦ ὑπάρχων οὐχ ἁρπαγμὸν ἡγήσατο τὸ εἶναι ἴσα θεῷ, 7 ἀλλ’ ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν μορφὴν δούλου λαβών, ἐν ὁμοιώματι ἀνθρώπων γενόμενος· καὶ σχήματι εὑρεθεὶς ὡς ἄνθρωπος 8 ἐταπείνωσεν ἑαυτὸν γενόμενος ὑπήκοος μέχρι θανάτου, θανάτου δὲ σταυροῦ. 9 διὸ καὶ ὁ θεὸς αὐτὸν ὑπερύψωσεν καὶ ἐχαρίσατο αὐτῷ τὸ ὄνομα τὸ ὑπὲρ πᾶν ὄνομα, 10 ἵνα ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι  Ἰησοῦ πᾶν γόνυ κάμψῃ ἐπουρανίων καὶ ἐπιγείων καὶ καταχθονίων 11 καὶ πᾶσα γλῶσσα ἐξομολογήσηται ὅτι κύριος  Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ πατρός.

91 See Ernst Lohmeyer, Kyrios Jesus: Eine Untersuchung zu Phil. 2,5–11, SHAW/PH 1927/28, 4 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1928), repr. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961); idem, Der Brief an die Philipper, KEK 9 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1930), 9th ed. (1953), Beiheft by Werner Schmauch (1964); Ralph P. Martin, Carmen Christi: Philippians ii. 5–11 in Recent Interpretation and the Setting of Early Christian Worship, SNTSMS 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1983); Otfried Hofius, Der Christushymnus Philipper 2, 6–11: Untersuchungen zu Gestalt und Aussage eines urchristlichen Psalms, 2nd ed., WUNT 17 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991); John Reumann, Philippians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 33B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 333–83. 92 The text is that of the Nestle-​A land (28th ed., 2012). My translation attempts to retain some of the peculiar wording while making sense in English.

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6 [He] who being in the mode of deity did not consider the being equal with deity as a chance to exploit, 7 but rather he emptied himself accepting the mode of servant, having been in the likeness of human beings and having been found in appearance as a human person; 8 he lowered himself to being obedient until death, even to the point of death on a cross. 9 On account of this, God highly exalted him and granted him the name that is above every name, 10 so that in the name of Jesus every knee shall bend of beings celestial, terrestial, and subterrestial, 11 and every tongue shall profess that “Jesus Christ is Lord” to the glory of God the Father.

As already stated, the passage contains a fragment of a prose hymn, specifically its middle section of narrative aretalogy.93 The beginning invocation has been omitted or changed to fit the present context (v. 5);94 the final doxology is contained in vv. 10–11. The classification as a prose hymn is justified because Paul is portraying the deified Lord Jesus Christ, even including the laudation of Jesus for having become a human being. As a literary composition this particular hymn is unique in the New Testament, but it has analogies as well in Pauline tradition (especially Col 1:15–20; Heb 1:3– 14). A much discussed riddle is that some formulations look non-​biblical, but its theology is thoroughly Paul’s. Then there is the fact that the hymn is transmitted only in Paul’s last letter, and that its strange look may point to a more complicated origin. From this many scholars, even Lohmeyer himself, have drawn the conclusion that the hymn should be considered pre-​Pauline. My own view is that it is not pre-​Pauline but early-​Pauline, its origin going back to his earliest days as a Christian. Its Sitz im Leben is that it represents what Paul “saw in his vision,” stated in his terms, the “personal presence” 93 On Greek hymns, their definition and composition, see William D. Furley and Jan Maarten Bremer, Greek Hymns: Selected Cult Songs from the Archaic to the Hellenistic Period, 2 vols., STAC 9–10 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), esp. 1:58–60. On the important role hymns play in ancient drama, see Hartmut Erbse, Studien zum Prolog der euripideischen Tragödie, UALG 20 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1984). 94 Τοῦτο φρονεῖτε ἐν ὑμῖν ὃ καὶ ἐν Χριστῷ  Ἰησοῦ … This exhortation is not part of the invocation, but the term φρονεῖν implies that the entire hymn is part of Paul’s theological thinking.

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(πρόσωπον) or “image” (εἰκών) of Jesus Christ. As hymns traditionally are, it is composed in three parts, the invocation (omitted), the narrative aretalogy (vv. 6–11), and the doxology (v. 11, last line). The composition is distinctive in that individual lines make ample use of axiomatic phrases from early Christian thought. As a whole, therefore, the hymn converts into words what Paul saw in his vision. In this way, the hymn is constitutive of his Christology. In the following, as we proceed through the hymn, the important issues will be pointed out. 3. Phil 2:6–11: Interpretation (a) The Mode of Deity (v. 6) Three brief statements summarize the origin of Jesus Christ; each of them is carefully formulated, so as to present solutions to theological problems. As to the whole, the issue at stake should not be limited to the ambiguous term “pre-​existent,” because it pertains to Christ’s originally divine existence.95 This item of Christian faith must have been a theological obstacle the Pharisaic Jew Paul had to resolve at his conversion, because of its seeming conflict with monotheism. Since the Jesus movement which Paul joined in Damascus was Jewish, too, the disciples of Jesus in Damascus must have found solutions to the implicit conflicts with which Paul could agree. One of these solutions is indicated by the structure of v. 6. Verse 6a, ὃς ἐν μορφῇ θεοῦ ὑπάρχων, “[He] who being in the mode of deity.” Accordingly, in the beginning Jesus Christ existed in the “mode” (μορφή) of deity.96 As standard lexica report, the term rendered here as “mode” has wide-​ranging meanings, among which it has been seen as pointing to external appearance (“shape,” “appearance,” “form”). Since the term is to be contrasted with its use in v. 7, it should be seen in the context of divine versus human existence and rendered as “mode of being.” Pointedly, this “mode of deity” carries no names and no definite articles.97 The term θεός, without article, refers to “deity” as a mode of divine existence. This “deity” is not anything else but being itself. It should not be taken as a particular god or even as a name or object. This divine mode of being constitutes Christ’s origin. In  For the concept of Christ’s “pre-​existence,” see Martin, Carmen Christi, 99–133.  The term μορφή is almost a terminus technicus of the language of epiphany. See LSJ 1147, s. v. 2; Johannes Behm, “μορφή, κτλ.,” TWNT 4 (1942): 750–67, esp. §§A.3, B–D; BDAG 659–60, s. v. μορφή, κτλ.; Reumann, Philippians, 341–44. In comparison, the translation of μορφή as “form,” derived from the Latin forma, suggests some kind of object. 97 The definite article comes in only at v. 9. 95 96

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order to exclude any doubts about strict monotheism, no other epithets are added, such as declaring him “son of god.” This formulation resolves a problem Paul as a Jew may have had to overcome at his conversion to the Jesus movement. Later, of course, Paul’s letters contain more detailed reformulations of Christian monotheism.98 There are, however, other theological issues involved, for which reason v. 6a refers to “deity” without the definite article. Indeed, it is worthwhile to go back to their roots in the history of Greek philosophy.99 As Bruno Snell has demonstrated in his famous work Die Entdeckung des Geistes, one of the strongest impulses for developing abstract thinking was the introduction of the definite article in the Greek language. It was with the help of the definite article that distinctions and thus definitions were made possible, in consequence of which theories of science and philosophy developed. That this happened first in the Greek language had profound consequences. Comparing the Latin language, which has no definite article, proves the point. When Cicero translated Greek philosophy into Latin, he had to confront the difficulty of translating Greek terms and sentences without having definite articles in the Latin language.100 What does this mean for the notion of deity?101 Without the article, the Greek concept of “deity” (θεός) functions first of all as an adjective (“divine”) and not a name for God. It corresponds to the Latin deus, a noun, the adjective being divinus. To avoid misunderstanding it as a  98  See 1 Thess 1:9; Gal 3:20; 4:8; 1 Cor 8:4–6; 12:2; Rom 3:30; 11:33–36; and Hans Dieter Betz, “εἷς, μία, ἕν,” EWNT 1 (1980): 969–71.  99 For the background, see Werner Jaeger, Die Theologie der frühen griechischen Denker (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1964); Hans-​Georg Gadamer, ed., Um die Begriffswelt der Vorsokratiker, Wege der Forschung 9 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968), esp. idem, “Zur Vorgeschichte der Metaphysik,” 164–90; Uvo Hölscher, Der Sinn von Sein in der älteren griechischen Philosophie SHAW/PH 1976, 3 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1978); Charles H. Kahn, The Verb “Be” in Ancient Greek (Dordrecht: Reidel, 1973); idem, Essays on Being (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009); Walter Burkert, “The Logic of Cosmogony,” in his Kleine Schriften, vol. 2: Orientalia, ed. M. Laura Gemelli Marciano, et al. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), 230–47; Franco Ferrari, “Der Gott Plutarchs und der Gott Platons,” in Gott und die Götter bei ­Plutarch: Götterbilder – Gottesbilder – Weltbilder, ed. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, RVV 54 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005), 13–25. 100  See Cicero, Acad. 1.3–8; and Gigon and Straume-​Zimmermann, Cicero: Vom Wesen der Götter, 324. 101 Bruno Snell, Die Entdeckung des Geistes: Studien zur Entdeckung des europäischen Denkens bei den Griechen (Hamburg: Claaszen & Goverts, 1948), 199–204; Eng. trans., Discovery of the Mind: The Greek Origins of European Thought, trans. T. G. Rosenmeyer (New York: Harper & Row, 1960); idem, Der Weg zum Denken und zur Wahrheit: Studien zur frühgriechischen Sprache, Hypomnemata 57 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978).

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name, therefore, the English translation of Greek θεός should not be “God.” Consequently, the definite article in ὁ θεός (meaning “this god”) cannot adequately express theological monotheism but implicitly admits polytheism. Of course, as a Jew Paul was a strict monotheist.102 It is for this reason that in v. 6a there is no naming of Christ, not even as “son of God.” The name “Jesus” is not used prior to his transformation into the human mode (v. 7).103 After his exaltation the name “Jesus” becomes the highest of all names as “Lord Jesus Christ,” but still below “God the Father” (see below on vv. 9–11). The distinction between the concept of “deity” and named gods can be traced back to teachings of Parmenides of Velia/Elea (southern Italy, born ca. 550 bce) and Empedocles of Acragas/Agrigento (Sicily, born ca. 485 bce).104 Their teachings are preserved only in substantial fragments, from which they have been reconstructed by modern scholarship. The incisive first step seems to have been taken by Parmenides, whose influential poem describes with great imagination his ascent on the “way of the deity” (ὁδὸς δαίμονος).105 On this way he encounters divinities designated as concepts such as Dike, Themis, and Aletheia, whereas names of gods are downgraded as “human opinions” (βροτῶν δόξαι). There is a deity who welcomes him in heaven, but she remains unnamed. Empedocles, who was a student of Parmenides, seems to have gone even further in his main works, entitled On Nature and Katharmoi (Purifications). Both of them, however, may have learned from Pythagoras, although it is hard to point to specifics. At any rate, both of them laid the ground-​work of “theology.” Empedocles seems to have gone further in his critique of the traditional views of the gods in separating their names from the myths and “deity.” “It is impossible to bring [the divine] near to us within reach of our eyes or to grasp him with the hands – although this is the main road of persuasion entering the minds of men.”106 102 See

Gal 4:8–9; 1 Cor 8:4–6; Rom 3:30; 11:33–36. a different proposal, cf. Samuel Vollenweider, “Der ‘Raub’ der Gottgleichheit: Ein religionsgeschichtlicher Vorschlag zu Phil 2,6(–11),” in idem Horizonte neutestamentlicher Christologie: Studien zu Paulus und zur frühchristlichen Theologie, WUNT 144 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 263–84. 104  For the present state of research, see Dieter Bremer, Hellmut Flashar, and Georg Rechenauer, eds., Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 1: Frühgriechische Philosophie, 2 parts (Basel: Schwabe, 2013); Burkert, Griechische Religion, 223–30. 105  For the following, see the texts and interpretations in the edition by M. Laura Gemelli Marciano, ed. and trans., Die Vorsokratiker, griechisch-​lateinisch-​deutsch: Auswahl der Fragmente und Zeugnisse, 3 vols., Sammlung Tusculum (Düsseldorf: Artemis & Winkler, 2007–2010); KRS 239–62 (§§ 286–313). 106 DK 31 B 133 (1:365) = Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 5.81.2; trans. KRS 312 (§ 396). The phrase εἰς φρένα πίπτει prefigures what is later known as “inspiration.” 103 For

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Verse 6b, οὐχ ἁρπαγμὸν ἡγήσατο τὸ εἶναι ἴσα θεῷ, “[he] did not consider being equal with deity as a chance to exploit.” The phrase οὐχ ἁρπαγμὸν ἡγήσατο has been debated extensively by scholars since antiquity.107 These strange three words seem to be unconnected to the context. They make sense, however, if they are connected with the critique of divine conduct as we find it in Greek philosophy. For some early philosophers, beginning with Xenophanes,108 as well as for later critics, the conduct of the gods as presented by the poets, especially Homer and Hesiod, is nothing short of scandalous.109 Accordingly, these gods from Zeus on down exploit their privileges and powers in any way they want without considering human standards of morality and ethics. Foremost, their powers allow these gods to transform themselves into humans and even animals. Through a wide range of deceptions and trickery they create havoc and even death among lower creatures. In consequence, at least since Alexander the Great, self-​declared deification became popular among human potentates of all sorts. Not surprisingly, therefore, polemics against abusive ruler-​cult among the Greeks started also with Alexander the Great and his dubious ambitions to display his divine nature. Famous is his visit to the Egyptian oasis of Siwa and the oracle of the god Ammon (Plutarch, Alex. 27.4–28.3). Alexander is said to have creatively misread the greeting by Ammon’s prophet “O my son” (Ὠ παιδίον) as “O paidios” (Ὠ παιδίος, “son of the divine”), revealing him to be the son of Ammon/Zeus. Later, however, Alexander is said to have made fun of this ambition. Craving for deification became a topos in biographies of Hellenistic and Roman kings and emperors; the topos also occurs as evidence for its rejection as absurdity.110 A good example is the episode of Julius Caesar at the Roman Lupercalia festival (Plutarch, Caes. 61): These ceremonies Caesar was witnessing, seated upon the rostra on a golden throne, arrayed in triumphal attire. And [Mark] Antony was one of the runners in the sacred race; for he was consul. Accordingly, after he had dashed into the forum and the crowd had made way for him, he carried a diadem, round which a wreath of laurel was tied, and held it out to Caesar. Then there was applause, not loud, but slight and  See Vollenweider, “Der ‘Raub’ der Gottgleichheit.” 21 B 33, 34, 36 (1:136–37); Ernst Heitsch, ed. and trans., Xenophanes: Die Fragmente, Sammlung Tusculum (München: Artemis, 1983), 75, 77, 81. 109 A most baffling divine outrage in Greek mythology was seen in the rape of Persephone by Hades (ἁρπάζειν) in the Hymn to Demeter and the Eleusinian mysteries. See the edition and commentary by N. J. Richardson, ed., The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), esp. 136–40. 110 For the material on ruler-​cult, see the surveys by Peter Stockmeier, “Herrschaft,” RAC 14 (1988): 878–936, especially 910–15; Josef Engemann, “Herrscherbild,” ibid., 966– 1047; J. Rufus Fears, “Herrscherkult,” ibid., 1047–93. 107

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preconcerted. But when Caesar pushed away the diadem, all the people applauded; and Antony offered it again, few, but when Caesar declined it again, all, applauded. The experiment having thus failed, Caesar rose from his seat, after ordering the wreath to be carried up to the Capitol, but then his statues were seen to have been decked with royal diadems. So two of the tribunes, Flavius and Maryllus, went up to them and pulled off the diadems …111

The opposite example was shown to have been played out to excessiveness and ending in tragic catastrophe by Mark Antony and Cleopatra in Egypt (Plutarch, Ant.). While for the Romans royalty and divinity became closely associated, Octavian managed to avoid kingship by naming himself Augustus, while at the same time staying tantalizingly close to the god Apollo. These almost playful ambiguities continued among the Roman emperors until Constantine. What are the conclusions to be drawn from the choice expressed in v. 6b by the term ἡγεῖσθαι (“consider”)? There are at least two of them. First, the abusive excesses of the ruler-​cult are patterned on the equally abusive tales about the gods of mythology, the critique of which is presented by philosophers and dramatic performances in the tragedies and comedies. Second, the statement of v. 6b makes sense in connection with this criticism in that it ironically separates Christ from the pagan gods and their typical misconduct. This criticism may be summed up by Heraclitus in his ironic comment: “The one and only wisdom is not willing and yet willing to be called by the name of Zeus.”112 The controversial phrase τὸ εἶναι ἴσα θεῷ (“the being equal with deity”) deserves a closer look. Again, the axiomatic statement has three terms. It looks like a quotation from the Presocratics, perhaps Parmenides.113 The expression τὸ εἶναι (“the being”) defines Christ’s divine existence as part of the foundational “being,” which as such is equal with “deity,” but not the same. This definition rules out a dual-​theistic concept of deity and thus protects monotheism. Regarding the heavenly Christ, he partakes in “being”  Trans. Bernadotte Perrin, Plutarch’s Lives, vol. 7: Demosthenes and Cicero; Alexander and Caesar, LCL 99 (London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1919), 585. 112 DK 22 B 32 (1:159): ἓν τὸ σοφὸν μοῦνον λέγεσθαι οὐκ θέλει καὶ ἐθέλει Ζηνὸς ὄνομα (trans. mine); cited according to Christopher Pelling, trans., Plutarch: Caesar, Translated with an Introduction and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 121 with the commentary at 450–59; see also the review by Gerhard Dobesch, Gnomon 88 (2016): 496–506, esp. 503–4. 113  See Ernst Heitsch, ed. and trans., Parmenides: Die Fragmente, griechisch-​deutsch, 3rd ed., Sammlung Tusculum (Zürich: Artemis, 1995), 105–29: “Der Grundbegriff einai”; Hölscher, Der Sinn von Sein; Khan, The Verb “Be” in Ancient Greek; Burkert, Griechische Religion, 197, 223–30, 455, 482–83. 111

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which allows him to assume also other modes of existence. The adverbial ἴσα (“equal”) is grammatically difficult, but it prevents a simple identification of Christ with “deity.”114 These formulations in v. 6a–b could have mitigated Paul’s theological scruples by avoiding a step into polytheism. (b) The Mode of Humanity (vv. 7–8) The second phase in the life of Christ concerns changing of his “mode” from deity to human being. Covering vv. 7–8, there are again three subsections: the departure from the mode of deity; the acceptance of the lower mode of servanthood as part of human existence; and the exposure to the human condition of death, even at its worst as crucifixion. Verse 7a, ἀλλ’ ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν, “but he emptied himself.” The decision to leave his mode of deity was Christ’s own. No specific reason is mentioned. The precise meaning of the verb κενοῦν has been discussed by scholars since the church fathers, their foremost interest being to exclude docetism. As part of his “mode of deity” Christ was able to change to the “mode of humanity,” but the new mode was irreversible and did not allow a simple return to the former “mode of being.” The “mode of humanity” was still part of Being, but existing at a lower rank in the universal hierarchy of beings. What then was motivating Christ to make the change? Conceivable are several options that could have motivated him. He might have wanted to explore human existence because of the fascinating experiences human life has to offer. Ancient works of literature and art are full of stories telling of deities and daimons getting excited about involvement in human affairs, but there is no indication that this kind of enjoyment had been on Christ’s mind.115 Another option could be paralleled by Apollo, who according to an old tradition was thrown out of heaven because of a misdeed he was accused of having committed.116 In the context of Greek philosophical criticism of the gods the absurdity made sense that the immoral gods cast the purest of them, Apollo, out of heaven and made him wander around as an alien refugee, thus 114 See BDF 224, § 434: “corresponds to old usage”; Reumann, Philippians, 344–45; J. B.  Lightfoot, St. Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians: A Revised Text, with Introduction, Notes, and Dissertations, 2nd ed., repr. (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1956), 111–12. 115  Cf. the temptations of Jesus in Matt 4:1–11 par.: Jesus is tempted as “Son of God” by Satan, who offers him divine powers. Jesus rejects the opportunities in favor of proving himself to be a righteous human being. 116 For the texts, see Reinhold Merkelbach and Martin L. West, eds., Fragmenta Hesiodea (Oxford: Clarendon, 1967), Fr. 51, 52, 54a–c; also Oliver Primavesi in Bremer, Flashar, and Rechenauer, Frühgriechische Philosophie 1:683, 713–21.

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becoming the prototype for all humans to join him. Thus, Empedocles can present himself in the exordium of his Katharmoi as Apollo incarnate: “and pure Apollo, god exiled from heaven,”117 and “an exile from the divine and a vagabond.”118 Although this option would come close to the fate of biblical Adam and Eve being thrown out of the Garden of Eden (Gen 3:23–24), or Abraham the wandering Aramean (Deut 26:5), there is no imaginable misdeed Christ could have committed in heaven. Another option is presented by Paul’s Christology in Gal 4:4–6 and Rom 8:3, 32, according to which God has sent his son into the world for the sake of its redemption (more on this below), but this is not applicable at this point. Verse 7b, μορφὴν δούλου λαβών, “accepting the mode of servant.” Back to v. 7: Christ became active and changed his “mode” (μορφή) from divine to human.119 In ancient mythology deities always have the ability to change their divine “mode” into the human. This is called “epiphanic transformation” (μεταμόρφωσις).120 In fact, v. 7a–b states that Christ performed two acts: first by “emptying himself,” and second by “accepting the mode of servant.” In the history of exegesis these terms (κενοῦν, λαμβάνειν, δοῦλος) were fiercely debated, so that their rendering into English must be done with precaution.121 On the part of the deity there is no motivation given, except that the deity was acting independently. The image in the metaphor suggests a kind of vessel (σκεῦος),122 but the verb (λαμβάνειν) speaks of accepting the mode of 117  Aeschylus, Suppl. 214, ed. Martin L. West, Aeschyli tragoediae cum incerti poetae Prometheo, BSGRT (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1990), 138; quoted in Plutarch, Def. orac. 417E: ἁγνόν τ’ Ἀπόλλω φυγάδ’ οὐρανοῦ θεόν. 118 Empedocles, DK 31 B 115 (1:357–58); Gemelli Marciano, Die Vorsokratiker, 2:288–99: φυγὰς θεόθεν καὶ ἀλήτης. Cited and interpreted in Plutarch, Exil. 607C–F (Phillip H. De Lacy and Benedict Einarson, trans., Plutarch: Moralia, vol. 7, LCL 405 [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959], 568–71). 119 On the whole concept see Dieter Zeller, “Die Menschwerdung des Sohnes Gottes und die antike Religionsgeschichte,” in Menschwerdung Gottes – Vergöttlichung von Menschen, ed. idem, NTOA 7 (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 14–76; Samuel Vollenweider, “Die Metamorphose des Gottessohns: Zum epiphanialen Motivfeld in Phil 2,6–8,” in idem, Horizonte neutestamentlicher Christologie, 285–306, who, however, overlooks that the Christological titles “son of God” and “son of man” do not occur in Phil 2:6–11, nor is an angelomorphic Christology intended (cf. 299–305). Rather, the surprising fact is that none of these possibilities are attested by the hymn. See also Barbara Aland, Johannes Hahn, and Christian Ronning, eds., Literarische Konstituierung von Identifikationsfiguren in der Antike, STAC 16 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 120  Cf. Gal 4:19; 1 Cor 3:18; Rom 12:2; Mark 9:2; 16:12; and BDAG 639–40, s. v. μεταμορφόω, κτλ. 121 For surveys, see Martin, Carmen Christi, 165–77; Reumann, Philippians, 348–49. 122 Cf. 2 Cor 4:7; and BDAG 927–28, s. v. σκεῦος.

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“servanthood” (δοῦλος) in contrast to divine “dominion.” When interpreters take the step of defining the human mode as “slavery,” they overlook that the focus is now on humanity, but Jesus’s humanity never included social slavery.123 Whether social slavery was human or subhuman was controversial in antiquity. Besides social slavery (i. e., ownership by slave-​lords) antiquity knew of metaphorical enslavement by astrological, demonic, and magical powers,124 or by unethical passions, or by emotional addictions. The treatment Jesus had to face was atrocious, but whatever “dehumanizing” crime he had to suffer was done to him as to a human being: “Behold, the Human!”125 Therefore, leaving behind the mode of deity and transforming himself into the human mode of underling, all the troubles ensuing were this deity’s free decision, not imposed by force. One thing should therefore be clear: in v. 7 the hymn speaks about Jesus as a human being. Brief as the comments are, they do not speak about positive experiences Jesus of Nazareth certainly had as a human person, but the hymn has no room for extended biography and concentrates on important points of human identity.126 Verse 7c, ἐν ὁμοιώματι ἀνθρώπων γενόμενος, “having been in the likeness of human beings.” When v. 7a–b announces Jesus’s human mode, the change initiated movement from the mode of “being” (τὸ εἶναι) to that of “becoming” (γενόμενος, γένεσις), i. e., birth and death. This change, however, while appearing total was not irreversible. In v. 7c it is called ὁμοίωμα (”likeness”), a term of extraordinary complexity.127 According to ancient thinking, divine beings are fully capable of changing to the mode of humans as a ὁμοίωμα ἀνθρώπων, a concept nearly untranslatable, but they can also return from it. This ability corresponds to the relationship (v. 6) between Being (τὸ εἶναι) and “god-​like” (ἴσα θεῷ), and the other mode of humanity. To clarify the matter, v. 7c–d adds other details defining the human race. The parallel lines of v. 7c and 7d belong together in making distinctions. The first such distinction is focused on the fact that humans are individually different, while seeming to be alike as a species. In other words, their likeness  Pace Vollenweider, “Die Metamorphose des Gottessohns,” 302–5.  Cf. my article, “The Changing Self of the Magician according to the Greek Magical Papyri,” in idem, Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 4: Antike und Christentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 175–86. 125  John 19:5: ἰδοὺ ὁ ἄνθρωπος. Cf. also John 1:9–11. For an interpretation in terms of the Logos theology, see Thomas Söding, “Ecce homo: Die johanneische Ikone des Menschen,” ZTK 114 (2017): 119–37. 126 In ancient mythology, the ability to change was more diverse than the present discussions suggest. Cf. the discussions on μεταβολή (Dionysus) and εἶναι (Apollo) by Plutarch, E Delph. 9, 388E–394C. 127  See for this term also Rom 1:23; 5:14; 6:5; 8:3; Acts 14:11, 15; and BDAG 707, s. v. 123 124

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to each other does not mean that they are all the same; in fact they are all different, each having their own identity and character. Thus, one should not confuse likeness with sameness: external likeness should not overlook internal difference. This distinction appears in some of Paul’s later letters, where he differentiates between the “outer” (ἔξωθεν) and “inner” (ἔσωθεν) human being.128 Verse 7d, καὶ σχήματι εὑρεθεὶς ὡς ἄνθρωπος, “and having been found in appearance as a human person.” The second distinction is focused on Jesus: All those who met Jesus took him to be a human person, but the particle ὡς inserts a comparative force.129 This is to say, in his anthropology Paul distinguishes between the “outer” and “inner” human person, so that Jesus’s external appearance (σχῆμα) reveals his humanity, but this does not cover his inner disposition.130 In daily life, people are right to distinguish between the human physiognomy and the internal character. The authors of the Gospels admit that the disciples, in spite of their close relationships with the Master, had the greatest difficulty grasping his internal disposition. It seems that only a follower of Paul could have developed the so-​called “messianic secret” in the Gospel of Mark. To be sure, this does not mean to attribute to Paul a “docetic” Christology. What speaks against docetism is that Jesus’s ascension to heaven had to be enacted by God himself (ὁ θεός, v. 9) through resurrecting him from the dead. The stipulations in v. 7 appear to be fundamental and early in the development of Paul’s anthropology and Christology. Concerning Paul’s later thought it should be noted that for instance in Rom 8:3–4 he employs presuppositions different from Phil 2:6–7: 3 Τὸ γὰρ ἀδύνατον τοῦ νόμου ἐν ᾦ ἠσθένει διὰ τῆς σαρκός, ὁ θεὸς τὸν ἑαυτοῦ υἱὸν πέμψας ἐν ὁμοιώματι σαρκὸς ἁμαρτίας καὶ περὶ ἁμαρτίας κατέκρινεν τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ἐν τῇ σαρκί, 4 ἵνα τὸ δικαίωμα τοῦ νόμου πληρωθῇ ἐν ἡμῖν τοῖς μὴ κατὰ σάρκα περιπατοῦσιν ἀλλὰ κατὰ πνεῦμα. 3 For the law being unable, in that it was weak because of the flesh, God sent his own son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and dealing with sin he condemned sin in the flesh, 128 See

2 Cor 4:16; 7:5; and my essay cited in n. 130 below.  See BDAG 1103–6, s. v. ὡς, 3.a.γ. 130  For the later developments of Paul’s Christology, see my essay, “The Concept of the ‘Inner Human Being’ (ὁ ἔσω ἄνθρωπος) in the Anthropology of Paul,” in idem, Paulinische Theologie und Religionsgeschichte, 23–52. As I have shown in this essay (p. 44), an impressive parallel to Paul at this point is Plato’s perspective on the external and internal personality of Socrates in Symp. 215a–c. 129

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4 so that the just demand of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the spirit. (trans. mine)

There can hardly be any doubt that the statement in Rom 8:3–4 presupposes further reflections by the apostle as compared with Phil 2:6–7. We see that the initiative of Christ’s transformation into a human being is taken by God (ὁ θεός), who sends his own son to appear “in the likeness of sinful flesh.” The reason for God’s action is his response to the existing burden of sin which is being carried by the “flesh.” In other words, between the tradition of Phil 2:6–11 and Romans Paul developed his Christology and soteriology further by figuring in the doctrine of sin, its occupancy of the “flesh” (Rom 1:18–32; 5:12–21; 7:1–25), and the redemption from it through Christ’s death on the cross and his resurrection (Rom 6:1–8:39; 2 Cor 5:20–21).131 Verse 8a, ἐταπείνωσεν ἑαυτόν, “he himself lowered his rank.” One of the consequences of changing from the mode of deity to the mode of humanity is the submission to mortality. This submission is part of the acceptance of the lower status of servitude (δοῦλος, v. 7a). The reason is that all living creatures on earth, including human beings, are subject to death.132 The term ταπεινοῦν (“downgrade”) refers to the voluntary lowering of the rank in the hierarchy of beings.133 The moral meaning of “humbling oneself ” is included but covered also by the notion of “obedience” in v. 8b. Verse 8b, γενόμενος ὑπήκοος μέχρι θανάτου, θανάτου δὲ σταυροῦ, “having been obedient until death, even to the point of death on a cross.” The acceptance of this death was the most serious test of Jesus’s obedience toward God. Ultimately, such obedience includes all forms of death, even in its extreme form of crucifixion. That is to say, Jesus’s death on the cross was not simply an accident, a failure of justice, or an extreme case of inhuman brutality. Rather, it was part of the human mode of existence, which includes both birth and death. In this way Jesus’s extreme form of death by crucifixion became the most abhorrent example of atrocity and excessive suffering in obedience to God. Therefore, according to Paul’s anthropology and ethics, the Christian faith finds its clearest expression in the sharing of both life and death with Christ.134  Cf. the similar developments in Gal 4:4–6, and my commentary, Galatians, 205–11.  On “death” (θάνατος), see also Phil 1:20; 2:27, 30; 3:10; and BDAG 442–43, s. v. θάνατος, κτλ. 133  For this term, see also Phil 4:12; 2 Cor 11:7; 12:21; for the moral meaning, see Phil 3:21, and ταπεινοφροσύνη (“humility”) Phil 2:3. On the whole, see BDAG 989–90, s. v. 134 On the concept of obedience, see 2 Cor 2:9; Phil 1:20; 2:12, 27, 30; 3:10; BDAG 1028–29, s. v. ὑπακοή, κτλ. In the Gospels, cf. the story of Jesus in Gethsemane, Mark 14:32–42, parr. 131 132

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Although some scholars have argued that the brief phrase “even death on a cross” may be a secondary addition either by Paul himself or by a later editor, it must be said that persuasive evidence for this hypothesis is still missing.135 For one, the entire hymn consists of brief formulae, and this one defines Jesus’s death as martyrdom. This is confirmed as the center of Paul’s Christology, soteriology, and ethics elsewhere in Paul’s letters.136 (c) The Post-​Mortem Elevation (vv. 9–11) Jesus’s death on the cross did not occur without consequences for him as well as for God himself. These consequences are unfolded in vv. 9–11, introduced by the conjunction διὸ καί (“on account of this also”) in v. 9a. How are these initial words to be explained?137 Was the reason that God wished to reward Jesus for conducting his life and death with impeccable obedience? Or did God want to correct the injustices inflicted on Jesus? Or did God regard Jesus’s death as a sacrifice? Was the act of exaltation done as a form of heroization? Surprisingly, none of such reasons are stated or implied. Equally surprising is that the early traditions of Jesus’s resurrection and ascension are not mentioned at all in this text. In order to understand better the difficult and much debated questions, we need to see vv. 9–11 as a set of statements which interpret each other. Verse 9a, διὸ καὶ ὁ θεὸς αὐτὸν ὑπερύψωσεν, “On this account also, God highly exalted him.” Regarding the history of religions, the imagery in this passage is notably different from the usual traditions in the New Testament, and in fact it looks like heroization.138 In v. 9a the first act of God (now it is ὁ θεός!) is that he “exalted him to the highest rank” of beings (αὐτὸν ὑπερύψωσεν). The term is a hapax legomenon in the New Testament, known from astronomical literature.139 It means that Jesus was elevated di-

135  Beginning with Lohmeyer, Der Brief an die Philipper, 96; see Martin, Carmen Christi, 220–22; Reumann, Philippians, 374–75. 136  See on this issue Martin, Carmen Christi, 211–28. 137  See on this section Martin, Carmen Christi, 229–48. 138 For the background, see Wolfgang Speyer, “Heros,” RAC 14 (1988): 861–77; Duncan Fishwick, The Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Studies in the Ruler Cult of the Western Provinces, 3 vols., EPRO 108 (Leiden: Brill, 1987–2005), vol. 1/1, esp. “Isotheoi Timai” (21–31), and “Divinity and Worship” (32–45); Fears, “Herrscherkult,” 1049–65; idem, “Gottesgnadentum (Gottkönigtum),” RAC 11 (1981): 1103–59; Leo Koep, “Consecratio I, II,” RAC 3 (1957): 269–83, 284–94; Hubert Cancik and Konrad Hitzl, eds., Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung in Rom und seinen Provinzen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 139 See BDAG 1034, s. v. ὑπερυψόω.

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rectly to the cosmic realm of the “celestials” (ἐπουράνιοι), and that at the highest level.140 The important point is that God himself is providing for Jesus’s elevation, the reason being that by withdrawing from the mode of deity in favor of humanity Jesus had lost the ability to return to the divine realm by his own power. This doctrine is unique in early Paul. In later creedal formulations it is substituted by his resurrection and ascension (1 Cor 15:3–4, 20, 23; 2 Cor 13:4). Comparatively, in ancient hero and ruler cults the elevation is achieved through human rituals of devotion and bestowing of divine epithets and titles, but it is also presupposed that the deity is supportive. This peculiar situation may be due to the early Christology of the hymnic passage in Phil 2:6–11. Verse 9b, καὶ ἐχαρίσατο αὐτῷ τὸ ὄνομα τὸ ὑπὲρ πᾶν ὄνομα, “and he granted him the name that is above every name.” This exaltation is granted by God as a gift, so that “Jesus” becomes the highest honorific “name that is above every name.” What “name” can this be? Is it a new name? In v. 10 we learn that it is not a new name, but the name of Jesus itself becomes a honorific title of supreme rank and authority (v. 11b).141 Bestowing of such names was an ancient practice in connection with hero worship and ruler cult. A famous case is the deification of Romulus, the first king of Rome, whose mysterious “disappearance” is crowned by the name of Quirinus (Kyrinos).142 While such bestowing is a divine gift, later it is done by the rulers themselves.143 The term χαρίζεσθαι is not rare in Paul, but it is for some scholars an indication of pre-​Pauline origin of the hymn. Verse 10a, ἵνα ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι  Ἰησοῦ πᾶν γόνυ κάμψῃ, “so that in the name of Jesus every knee shall bend.” The purpose and consequence of the new name and title is the ritual of προσκύνησις (genuflection). Strangely, the worshipful act is to be performed in the name of Jesus, instead of the Lord Jesus Christ (v. 11b). This paradox may draw on the ancient hero cult – for example, in the famous instance of Alexander the Great when he, recognized as divine, demanded the act of obeisance (προσκυνεῖν) by his Macedonian officers, even though he still was their mortal king.144 140 Cf. 141 Cf.

Georg Strecker, “Entrückung,” RAC 5 (1962): 461–76, esp. 472–74. Eph 1:3, 21; Heb 1:3–4. For different interpretations, cf. Martin, Carmen Christi,

249–70. 142  Plutarch, Rom. 27–29; Num. 2.3. 143  The name Divus Iulius (Caesar) was bestowed by Octavian, who for himself took the name Augustus; see Suetonius, Jul. 76; 85; 88; Aug. 7.2; 29.1–3; 53; 58; on his close association with Apollo, see Aug. 70; 101.2. 144 For descriptions of the famous event, see Plutarch, Alex. 3.1–8; 54.2–4; 55.1–55; 74.1–2. For the NT, see Matt 2:2, 11; 4:9–10 || Luke 4:7–8; Matt 28:9, 17; Luke 24:52; Acts

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Verse 10b, ἐπουρανίων καὶ ἐπιγείων καὶ καταχθονίων, “beings celestial, terrestial, and subterrestial.” In other words, v. 10a describes this obeisance as an imaginary scenario of universal glorification by all beings in the three spheres of the universe: the “celestials,” the “terrestials,” and the “subterrestials.” If this scenario is set in the prophetic future, it is in effect taken as factual in present acts of worship. Probably, it is to be seen in contrast to spectacular proclamations typical of contemporary ruler cults.145 The Christian adoration of Christ is different in that it is done simply “in the name of Jesus” (ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι  Ἰησοῦ). This simplicity acknowledges the astonishing fact that Jesus’s humble name has already become universally acclaimed, so that “every knee is bending down” before him.146 With the crescendo of the imaginary act reached in v. 11, the contrast to the ancient ruler cult becomes even more suggestive.147 The bending knees are now joined by the tongues in the open acclamation. Announced as something yet to occur in the future, the acclamation is occurring in the eternal liturgy.148 Verse 11a, καὶ πᾶσα γλῶσσα ἐξομολογήσηται, “and every tongue shall profess him.” The phrase is taking up Isa 45:23 (LXX); it is paralled in Rom 14:11 and 15:9. Verse 11b, ὅτι κύριος  Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ πατρός, “that ‘Lord is Jesus Christ’ to the glory of God the Father.” In conclusion, the liturgical acclamation is cited verbatim as “Lord is Jesus Christ,” climaxing in the doxology: “to the glory of God the Father.”

IV. Hymns and the Origins of Theology a. Translating from Vision to Language What then is the relationship between Paul’s hymn as cited and his “theology”? The answer to this question is somewhat intricate but clear, when literary criticism and history-​of-​religions comparison are allowed to enter into the discussion. First, in literary terms, by its category a hymn is related to religious poetry and liturgy, and in this regard hymns belong to rhetoric. 10:25–26; 1 Cor 14:25; Rom 11:4 (LXX); 14:11 (LXX); Eph 3:14; and Heinrich Greeven, “προσκυνέω, προσκυνητής,” TWNT 6 (1959): 759–67. 145  On the ruler cults, see above, nn. 110, 138, and 144. 146  A liturgical metaphor taken from the LXX (Isa 49:15; Jer 22:24); cf. Rom 14:11; Eph 3:14; and BDAG 507, s. v. κάμπτω, 2; Martin, Carmen Christi, 257–70. 147 For different interpretations, see Martin, Carmen Christi, 271–83. 148 For the meaning of ἐξομολογεῖν, cf. BDAG 351, s. v., 3 and 4. Since the term refers to the acclamation, “Lord is Jesus Christ” should be translated accordingly.

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Second, in more specific terms of doctrine, the content of a Christian hymn belongs to “Christology,” and Christology belongs to “theology.” Within this category, the section cited in Phil 2:6–11 is called narrative “aretalogy.” These categories are not arbitrary but derived from the literary history of theology, which began with religious hymns and gave birth to theoretical developments called “theology” and “philosophy.” The long literary tradition in antiquity is continuing to produce both theological and philosophical hymns all the way up to the present time.149 The main differences between theological and philosophical hymns have to do with performance and liturgical context.150 In the previous sections of this essay, we have begun to explain that, when in the Philippian letter Paul refers to the hymn, he cites the part called “aretalogy,” which summarizes the history of Jesus, i. e., the decisive events of his life, death, and afterlife. These events also include those occurring at present and in the future (vv. 10–11). Thus, the whole quotation presents in an imaginary vision a summary of Jesus’s divine and human life – past, present, and future. By reciting this passage Paul reveals himself as one who has joined the cosmic chorus of worshipers. Indeed, by his present recitation of the acclamation of Jesus and the glorification of God the Father, Paul is repeating and thus confirming his conversion to the Christian faith. In other words, Paul’s citation of the hymn in the letter to the Philippians is done in remembrance of the moment when his own Christian theology began. The Apostle therefore composed the hymn himself at a time not long after his conversion to the Christian faith. If so, this would also account for some of the archaic features which several scholars have taken to be evidence of a pre-​Pauline (i. e., non-​Pauline) origin of the hymn.151 Instead I regard those archaic features as evidence of its early-​Pauline origin. When he first composed the hymn in Phil 2:6–11, he made use of Christian language and formulaic phrases that were available to him at that time. When he inserted the fragment in his letter to the Philippians, he most likely cited it from memory. We may, therefore, also assume that the hymn was already known 149 See Walter Burkert and Fritz Stolz, eds., Hymnen der Alten Welt im Kulturvergleich, OBO 131 (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994); Martin L. West, ed., The Orphic Poems (Oxford: Clarendon, 1983); idem, ed., Hesiod: Theogony, Edited with Prolegomena and Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1966). 150  Cf. Cicero’s famous hymn to Philosophy, Tusc. 5.5, and Johan C. Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus: Text, Translation and Commentary, STAC 33 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005); R. M. van den Berg, Proclus’ Hymns: Essays, Translations, Commentary, PhA 90 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 13–34: “The Philosopher’s hymn.” 151 On these theories, see Reumann, Philippians, 361–62.

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to the intended Philippian readers of the letter, presuming its use in their own worship services. Thus, for them it shows the Sitz im Leben and functions as a reminder as well. How then is the hymn to be connected with Paul’s vision on the road to Damascus? In what way is what he saw in the vision related to the narrative of Jesus’s biographical history? In order to understand the relationship, the more precise question is: which way leads from the experience of seeing a vision to that of writing a hymnic text? This question requires more elaboration than one may first expect. As we have mentioned before, ancient people regarded seeing visions as a general part of the recognition of matters unknown, in philosophy the fundamental theory of epistemology (Erkenntnistheorie). According to the history of religions, difficult issues were decided on the basis of prophetic prognostications, astrological constellations, signs and miracles, augury, or even of direct epiphanies by deities. As shown by the case of Paul, he had made plans to persecute a group of disciples of Jesus in Damascus, plans he was in the process of carrying forward. However, Jesus put an end to Paul’s expedition through his direct appearance. In his intervention by epiphany the exalted Christ forced Paul to accept defeat and abandon his plans to persecute the Jesus disciples at Damascus and elsewhere. In seeing a vision of Jesus himself, a bright light blinded Paul and simultaneously enlightened him by ordering him to start preaching the gospel to the Gentiles. That is to say, the vision of the exalted Christ changed Paul’s own views in several respects. The profound impression on his mind caused Paul to “convert” from a Pharisee to the very opposite, serving as a missionary for Jesus Christ. Thus, this personal encounter between the resurrected Jesus and Paul put a sudden end to the latter’s Pharisaic theology and planted an unshakable conviction of Christian faith in his heart and mind. The process of converting the vision into language is, however, not as simple as it may so far seem to be. Mental reception as well as projection are needed to form an image (Vorstellung) of what is to be transferred into words, amounting to an act of language-​creation. This language-​creation is, as it says, verbal. It has also to be provided with a formal composition fitting the category of a hymn, which involves creating poetry in the proper hymnic style. This creation is at first vocal and, if so intended, needs to be converted into written form. The resultant written text can then be articulated and performed as part of private or communal worship. In both instances, the performance of the hymn occurs as a liturgical act of profession of faith, in this case the Christian faith. At the same time, as a text the hymn is incorporated into and made available by the liturgical memory of the worshipers, that is,

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the oral and written liturgical tradition. Finally, in the case of Phil 2:6–11, the hymn is recited as part of a letter, in which it serves as the theological basis in an ongoing written communication between Paul, as the main author of the letter, and the church at Philippi, as its addressees. As part of the corpus of Paul’s letters, it is then made available to all Christian churches, that is, by the New Testament as a whole. Thereafter, the entire corpus of his letters contains the evidence of Paul’s theology, from inception to later developments. Certainly, these developments did not occur automatically, nor were they pulled out of thin air. They represent Paul’s continuing thinking taking place in dialogues with his companions and arguments against his opponents. This is to state it as a principle, in contrast to other hermeneutical approaches in which it is assumed that in his arguments Paul is drawing on a seemingly all-​encompassing, inexhaustible, and unchangeable treasury of doctrinal resources. In that case, Paul’s “theology” could then be assembled from all his letters like a mosaic picture. The master plan for arranging the material of the mosaic would then be provided by systematization in consonance with the grand designs of dogmatic authorities of the past (history of dogma). In contrast, the dialogical character observable in Paul’s correspondence requires approaches developed by modern literary-​historical hermeneutics. As its purpose and goal, modern exegesis and hermeneutical interpretation tries to demonstrate case by case how Paul in his later statements takes recourse to his earlier resources, in order to clarify, modify, reapply, or expand them. These earlier resources may be his own or those of others, among them his opponents, possibly functioning as positive or negative challenges. In other ways, Paul may bring into the discussion biblical references or generally agreed-​upon theological teachings of the church. This is why in his letters we see the Apostle constantly in the process of critically arguing, adapting, or rejecting theological options while facing old or new situations. In this way, the ongoing dialogues help to explain why the basic issues discussed change from letter to letter. These changes are not arbitrary, but result from the different situations shared by senders and addressees. Another characteristic of Paul’s letters is that he only seldom refers in one letter to earlier ones (except in the Corinthian correspondence), or uses self-​quotations, but every one of his letters is new and fresh as compared with others. The changing situations and addressees, in addition to his thinking, require every letter to be essentially new and to begin afresh. This does not imply, however, that there is no unity between and within his letters or that he jumps from one thing to another in arbitrary confusion.

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b. The Case of Romans An illustrative example of how a new letter emerges out of the interplay between earlier letters and their circumstances is Paul’s letter to the Romans.152 When he wrote Romans during his last visit in Corinth, the critical debates with the Corinthians (1 and 2 Corinthians) had been concluded and were no longer an issue. The financial collection which at the leadership conference in Jerusalem Paul and Barnabas had promised to donate (Gal 2:10) was ready to be taken by a delegation to Jerusalem, and Paul had decided to lead that delegation (Rom 15:28; 2 Cor 9:1–5). Before departing, however, Paul must have wanted to complete and mail his letter to the Romans, which he apparently did. That letter, however, presents several problems which so far have not been fully answered. 1. Why Did Paul Write His Letter to the Romans?153 This question can be answered by examining the relationships between several of Paul’s letters. Comparing Romans with Galatians shows how these two letters are interrelated. Galatians is, as I have tried to demonstrate, mostly preoccupied with Paul’s self-​defense against the Galatians’ plans to defect from their founder altogether, in order to join his Jewish-​Christian adversaries.154 These adversaries were carrying on their opposition to him since the leadership conference in Jerusalem (Gal 2:1–10, 11–21), now also subverting his mission to the Gentiles even in Galatia (1:6–9). Although all this happened some time ago, the outcome of the Galatian struggle is not known to us. Reflections in the correspondence with Greek churches show, however, that doubts concerning the authenticity of Paul’s apostleship still gave him troubles (cf. 1 Thess 2:1–2; 2 Cor 8 and 9).155 Predictably, similar troubles should be expected in Rome, where he planned to travel after the collection has duly been delivered to the church in Jerusalem. How serious Paul expected the Roman troubles to be can be inferred not only from the travel report (Rom 15:14–32), but also from the prooemium (1:8–15). Therefore, after he had reached Rome as a prisoner, he encountered his antagonists among the Christians there. Unsurprisingly, far from giving up, 152 For the literary approach to Romans see Margaret M. Mitchell, “Gentile Christianity,” in eadem, Paul and the Emergence of Christian Textuality, 19–40, esp. 33–37. 153  On this question see my essay, “The Reasons for Romans,” 199–200 below. 154  See my commentary, Galatians, esp. 5–8. 155 See my commentary, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle Paul, ed. George W. MacRae, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), esp. 90–95.

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they persisted in pestering him (Phil 1:15–18, 21; 3:11–21).156 However, while Paul did not give up preaching his version of the gospel, he ironically admitted that he even enjoyed that pestering (1:18–19, 25–26). In fact, as we learn from the early memorandum quoted in Phil 3:1b–21, he was used to being “shamed” by his opponents, and he was not shy of returning it through hard-​hitting invectives, such as in Phil 3:2.157 In this same memorandum the Apostle provides only minimal explanation of the theological reasons for his conversion from a Pharisee to a follower of Jesus Christ. Not referring to Christ’s visual epiphany in this passage, Paul simply claims to have obtained “the overwhelming knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord” (τὸ ὑπερέχον τῆς γνώσεως Χριστοῦ  Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου μου, 3:8), which he also identifies as “power” (τοῦ γνῶναι αὐτὸν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν τῆς ἀναστάσεως αὐτοῦ, 3:10– 11). While the nature of Paul’s intellectual and rhetorical “power” is at stake in a variety of aspects in all of his letters, we see him concentrated on this central issue only in Romans.158 The formulation of the main thesis of Rom 1:16–17 implies an announcement that the entire letter (1:1–15:33) will come to terms with the Apostle’s theological concept of the “power” (δύναμις) of his gospel message. The careful articulation of the statement of the “thesis” allows the reader to conclude why Paul has chosen this topic to be of crucial importance at the time.159 The phrase “I am not ashamed of the gospel” appears to indicate that his careful reflections have determined that his own experiences of being continuously shamed by his opponents may have an important cause. Thus far he has delivered impressive dialogues in oral and written form, but no comprehensive summary of his message. Since he is planning to travel to Rome, he seems to have realized that in the era after figures such as Cato, Cicero, and Augustus intellectual Rome is now a sophisticated place. If he aims to avoid more shame and ridicule not only of him as an apostle but also of the gospel he preaches, he ought to arrive in Rome with a clear and comprehensive statement arguing his message in detail. Better still, if he sends such a statement to Rome prior to his arrival, it would be even more advantageous.

156 See

my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, ch. 3, 47–67.  Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 50–52; cf. also Phil 3:9–11, 18–19. 158  See “The Problem of Rhetoric and Theology according to the Apostle Paul,” in my Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 3: Paulinische Studien (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 126–62; “Christianity as a Religion: Paul’s Attempt at Definition in Romans,” ibid., 206–39. 159 For the current interpretation see Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary, asst. Roy D. Kotansky, ed. Eldon Jay Epp, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 135–47. 157

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Henceforth, we can draw the first major conclusion from Paul’s refusal to be ashamed of the gospel.160 Conversely, putting his adversaries to shame is a major goal of the apostle’s theological argument in Romans. While Robert Jewett in his Hermeneia commentary points out correctly the social and political implications, he overlooks Paul’s personal disadvantages as revealed by his earlier letters, in particular his bold claim to apostleship of equal rank with the other apostles.161 The composition is made up of five statements:162 (a) 1:16a. A refusal of being shamed (any longer): “I am not ashamed” (οὐ γὰρ ἐπαισχύνομαι). (b) The name of the thesis: “the gospel” (τὸ εὐαγγέλιον).163 (c) 1:16b. A definition of the gospel: “It is power of God to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek” (δύναμις γὰρ θεοῦ εἰς σωτηρίαν παντὶ τῷ πιστεύοντι,  Ἰουδαίῳ τε πρῶτον καὶ Ἕλληνι).164 The energy moving history is God’s, not human prowess and not towards destruction but salvation, and not through arousing the masses but motivating human individuals. (d) 1:17a. A theological explanation of the thesis: “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith” (δικαιοσύνη γὰρ θεοῦ ἐν αὐτῷ ἀποκαλύπτεται ἐκ πίστεως εἰς πίστιν). The statement consists of three formulaic expressions. The outcome is God’s justice, revealed through the transmission of faith, from person to person. (e) 1:17b. Naming the authoritative source for the thesis: a citation formula and citation of Scripture (Hab 2:4 LXX): “as it is written, ‘The one who is righteous will live by faith’” (καθὼς γέγραπται ὁ δὲ δίκαιος ἐκ πίστεως ζήσεται).

Clearly, as Jewett sees it, the “thesis” of Rom 1:16–17 is both bold and far-​ reaching: “The implications of this audacious thesis are developed in the rest of the letter.”165 The definition of the “gospel” (v. 16b) is a comprehensive statement of Paul’s theology, saying that the gospel embraces and penetrates 160 See also Phil 1:20: ἐν οὐδενὶ αἰσχυνθήσομαι, and Rom 1:16: οὐ γὰρ ἐπαισχύνομαι τὸ εὐαγγέλιον. See also Phil 3:18–19; Rom 9:33; 10:11; 16:17–20. 161  See for Paul’s being “shamed” the so-​called “fool’s speech” in 2 Cor 10–13; 1 Cor 1:18–31; 15:8–11; 2 Cor 7:14; 9:4; cf. 2 Tim 1:8, 12, 16. On this see my earlier book, Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition: Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu seiner “Apologie” 2 Kor 10–13, BHT 45 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1972), 97–100, 118–32, 136–37. 162 Trans. RSV. For more details, see the commentaries. 163  The concept is used in Paul’s letters throughout; see BDAG 402–3, s. v. εὐαγγέλιον, 1; and Margaret M. Mitchell, “Rhetorical Shorthand in Pauline Argumentation: The Functions of ‘The Gospel’ in the Corinthian Correspondence,” in eadem, Paul and the Emergence of Christian Textuality, 111–32. 164 See Robert Matthew Calhoun, Paul’s Definitions of the Gospel in Romans 1, WUNT 2/316 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), esp. 143–92. 165  Jewett, Romans, 147.

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the whole human and divine world, leading to its “salvation” complete “from beginning to end,” as the traditional formula has it: ἀρχὴ καὶ τέλος).166 A second major conclusion will explain why Paul’s Romans has such a highly personal prescript. The naming of the sender in 1:1 is limited to “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God” (Παῦλος δοῦλος Χριστοῦ  Ἰησοῦ κλητὸς ἀπόστολος ἀφωρισμένος εἰς εὐαγγέλιον θεοῦ). The entire prescript of 1:1–7 is further defining Paul’s apostleship, before turning to the thanksgiving prayer (1:8–10), followed by further explanation of his apostolic commission and range of authority. Surprisingly, we do not find the usual naming of co-​authors or co-​workers. What is the reason for this strange omission? We can assume with reason that during Paul’s time in Corinth, when he was composing his letter to the Romans, his close collaborator Timothy was with him, and where Timothy was other companions were, too. What else were they doing but discussing what later was sent to Rome? In particular, Timothy went with Paul to Jerusalem (Acts 20:4), and he stayed with the apostle in Rome, though apparently not as a prisoner (Phil 1:1; 2:19–24; Phlm 1; cf. Rom 16:21). Therefore, since Paul could name himself and Timothy together as co-​authors (δοῦλοι of Christ Jesus, Phil 1:1), why did he not do the same in Rom 1:1? The answer can only be that in the case of Romans mainly Paul’s concept of apostleship was in the center of concern. Thus, in Rome Paul’s apostleship was not recognized. According to 1 Cor 15:8–10, the same situation had to be overcome in Corinth, and Paul had succeeded in this case (2 Cor 3:1–3). Concerning Rome, however, he could not claim to have been the founder of that church. Thus, the proof of his apostleship had to come from another source. This could only be the persuasive exposition of his “gospel” (εὐαγγέλιον), and that persuasiveness lay in both the details and the scope of the argument. Consequently, at stake was his personal integrity. Having completed his argument Paul could restate with confidence (Rom 11:13: “I am an apostle of the Gentiles” (εἰμι ἐγὼ ἐθνῶν ἀπόστολος). 2. What Are the Components of Romans? The text of Romans as we find it today in our Nestle-​A land edition of the New Testament is still partially unexplained concerning its literary composition and structure. This must be stated even after the many advances 166 Comprising all its different sections, Romans contains one continuous argument from 1:18–20 through to 11:33–36. Cf. BAGD 137–38, s. v. ἀρχή, 1. Cf. John 1:1: ἀρχή, and 19:28: τετέλεσται.

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achieved in the commentary by Robert Jewett. What he and other commentators have proposed are learned but different hypotheses regarding three major sections of Romans. In our view, the longest section is the main letter of 1:1–15:13, beginning with the epistolary prescript (1:1–8) and ending in 15:13 with a blessing. A second section follows in 15:14–33, beginning with the phrase πέπεισμαι δέ, ἀδελφοί μου, and ending on a final blessing with ἀμήν. A third section is 16:1–27, beginning with συνίστημι δέ, a commendation of a woman named Phoebe, a leading official (διάκονος) of the church at Cenchreae (16:1–2), followed by a long list of church members to be greeted (16:3–16), and ending on a strong warning against enemies trying to destroy the church from the inside (vv. 17–20a), a blessing for the churches (v. 20b), further greetings by Paul’s collaborators (vv. 21–23), and a final doxology (vv. 25–27). As to further details regarding the three parts of Romans scholars are still divided. The present essay is of course not the place where their different hypotheses can be argued in detail. What seems to be agreed by most investigators is that all three major sections are connected with the Christian community in Rome loyal to Paul. Since Paul’s Roman martyrdom is not mentioned in any of them, their assemblage came together most likely after his death but reflecting an earlier situation. In the following, a closer look will be taken at the second of the sections because it contains some details of importance for the understanding of the whole. Envisioned in this earlier situation, the section (15:14–33) can be located.167 The first words πέπεισμαι δὲ ἀδελφοί μου insert a captatio benevolentiae, indispensable in an appeal (παρακαλῶ δέ, v. 17) for support that fills the remainder of the piece. Since Paul is the author of the appeal, it can explain several issues. It implies that Paul’s main letter was mailed together with an official petition to the church leaders in Rome, whose names are not revealed. The present piece constitutes a document meant to be preserved.168 As noted by commentaries, this passage is written in a refined style typical of diplomatic correspondence. Obviously, the document was received by the addressees and preserved, perhaps in some kind of archive. Moreover, the political circumstances under Nero, leading to Paul’s imprisonment and death, prevented the petition from being approved and carried out. Yet, the document was saved from destruction. If the Roman church had an archive, the other parts of the letter may have come from it, too. Sadly, however, the 167  For analysis cf. Jewett, Romans, 900–40, who treats the section 15:14–33 as belonging to the peroratio. It should rather be regarded as an attachment. 168 For documents placed in letters, see also my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, chs. 3, 6, and 7.

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earliest phase of its reception history remains unknown; it is mentioned neither in Philippians, written from the Roman prison, nor in Acts 28 dealing with Paul in Rome.169 The third section (16:1–23) also begins with a verb (συνίστημι), at once defining the literary genre of the piece as being a “commendation.”170 The author is Paul who speaks in the first person sing. (ἐμοῦ, μου, vv. 2, 3, 4, etc.), although Tertius is the scribe (v. 22). The persons to be greeted are imagined to be in Rome, where the letter was sent from Cenchreae (v. 23).171 3. Where Did Romans Originate as a Text? Since we have Romans today in the critical edition of Nestle-​A land, the text itself points to its own history of reception as the place of origin. A suggestion made by Adolf Deissmann in his Licht vom Osten long ago is still a strong possibility. He pointed to the existence of a “Kopialbuch” (“letter-​book,” or “copy-​book”) as a means of preservation of several letters which were then combined into one letter.172 If this hypothesis is accepted, some answers could be obtained from it. For one thing, the theology of Paul in its entirety would be established as his main purpose, goal, and achievement. Unfortunately we have no information whether his letter had arrived in Rome prior to his death. However, if it had arrived, it would explain why he seems to have been received mostly in a friendly and respectful way, while he downgraded his adversaries as a minority (cf. Phil 1:15–17). His petition (Rom 15:14–33) had also been received in Rome, but the calamities under Nero excluded any positive response. Yet, it was regarded as worth preserving. The third section (Romans 16), originally a separate letter, was kept perhaps also because of the warnings against heretics (16:17–20). At any rate, this reception history would confirm a very old tradition as the original source of Paul’s Romans. 169 See Harry Y. Gamble, The Textual History of the Letter to the Romans: A Study in Textual and Literary Criticism, SD 42 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1977); K. Junack, et al., eds., Das Neue Testament auf Papyrus. vol. 2/1: Die paulinischen Briefe: Rom., 1 Kor., 2 Kor., ANTF 12 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1989); Peter Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen in den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten: Untersuchungen zur Sozialgeschichte, 2nd ed., WUNT 2/18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989); Jewett, Romans, 1–22. 170 For such commendations, see Phil 2:19–24; 25–30, and my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 13–14, 110, 154. 171  16:25–27 is textually secondary, for which see the commentaries. 172  Adolf Deissmann, Licht vom Osten: Das Neue Testament und die neuentdeckten Texte der hellenistisch-​römischen Welt, 4th ed. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1923), 199–206; Eng. trans. Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated by Recently Discovered Texts of the Graeco-​Roman World, trans. Lionel Strachan (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1927), 235–36.

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These passages need to be examined in greater detail because they point to the reasons for Paul’s writing his letter to the Romans even prior to his departure for Jerusalem. In comparison with Galatians the Roman letter is very different indeed. Rather than an “apologetic” letter, David Aune has argued on literary grounds that Romans belongs to the category of “protreptic” letter.173 Based on information that had reached him, Paul foresaw that the Christians in Rome (Rom 1:5–7), not being an ἐκκλησία founded by him, were under considerable influence of his adversaries. Unless he was going to succeed in establishing his apostolic authority in the center of the Empire, there would be little chance to gain the Romans’ support needed for his planned trip to Spain. Facing up to the truth, he realized that thus far he had not been able to convince all Christians – even in churches founded by him – that his world-​ wide mission was serious business. He also saw that the time at Corinth provided the opportunity to work out a comprehensive statement of his theology as a whole. Having the final work before us, one can clearly sense its several purposes and goals. First, before starting out on a journey towards the ends of the inhabited world, the Roman Christians could only be persuaded by an impressive “protreptic” introduction.174 Second, the Roman Christians would have to be informed as well about the risks and dangers for Paul and his entourage during the earlier phase, the transfer of the financial collection to Jerusalem. If the collection would be accepted in good faith by the Jewish Christians in Jerusalem, the old promise made in Jerusalem (Gal 2:10) would finally be fulfilled and peace would reign between Jews and Gentiles in the church. Third, Paul’s support sought for the mission to Spain could be expected to be forthcoming. Fourth, the document of Romans would serve as a blueprint of what Christian theology as a whole incorporates. This blueprint could be distributed further to inform other churches as well. This is what actually happened. c. The Case of Luke’s Acts of the Apostles The question concerning the relationship between Paul’s conversion and the expansion of Christianity in the ancient world preoccupies Luke, both 173  David E. Aune, “Romans as a Logos Protreptikos in the Context of Ancient Religious and Philosophical Propaganda,” in idem, Collected Essays, vol. 2: Jesus, Gospel Tradition and Paul in the Context of Jewish and Greco-​Roman Antiquity, WUNT 303 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 442–71. 174 See on this category Jean-​Pierre Wils, “Protreptik,” HWRh 7 (2005): 376–80 (with bibliography).

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in his Gospel and his second work, the Acts of the Apostles. This author, the first Hellenistic historian of Christian persuasion, was aware of the hiatus between the Jesus traditions he interpreted in his Gospel and the great expansion of the Christian church in Acts, which he experienced at his own time. While the sources at his disposal regarding Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection were rich, the information concerning the early days of the church was meagre, consisting of single stories, anecdotes, legends, and speeches, which did not add up to a plausible history of the Christian church’s foundation and early growth. The aim of his Book of Acts was, therefore, to come up with a convincing account (λόγος) of how the early church developed out of the group of Jesus’s disciples remaining behind after his death and ascension into heaven, and then expanded into the Christian movement unto the ends of the world (Acts 1:8). The author seems to be aware of the fact that he was the first historian to undertake such a project. His challenge was to explain what lay behind the fragmentary picture of confusion, lack of perspective, and absence of purpose and goal. Stories such as those about the frustrated group of the Twelve in Jerusalem (1:9–26), the corruption of Ananias and Sapphira (5:1–11), and the fraudster Simon Magus (8:9–24) could not possibly explain the tremendous success of the church emerging from it all. The most amazing of all turned out to be the leadership of Saul/Paul, a Jewish outsider from Tarsus, first rejected and sent home as an irritant trouble-​maker (11:22–26), but then recalled at the suggestion of Barnabas when success in Antioch got out of hand. This Paul of Tarsus proved to be a highly gifted and most effective force in organizing and energizing mission and church administration. Before Paul, Christianity looked to Luke like more of the religious hotchpotch of the Roman world of religions all around. Under Paul’s leadership, however, the Christian movement evolved into the persuasive and well-­organized “world religion” Luke was familiar with. While Luke had no doubt about his goal, he felt challenged to come up with a historical and theological narrative, needed by the church no less than by the political authorities of the Roman Empire. If this reflects Luke’s situation and challenges realistically, it can be compared with the historical works of the Jew Flavius Josephus and the Greek Plutarch of Chaeronea. It would have been helpful if Luke had explained his purpose and method in the introduction to Acts, but instead he combined his earlier Gospel and the later Acts, such that his prologue to the former (1:1–4) applies to the latter as well (1:1–8). This author took his primary challenge to be arranging the source material available to him in such a way that it would be convincing to the readers. For this reason, especially, he had to accommodate his method to concepts and structures familiar to these readers. As a whole the

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narrative focuses on the leading protagonist Paul of Tarsus who successfully managed the Christian expansion into the inhabited world at the time. As far as his source material is concerned, Luke had to rely on a variety of stories circulating in the churches, frequently told by him as if he was an eye-­ witness.175 However, today’s readers should not assume that Luke had access to Paul’s written letters.176 Paul’s speeches in Acts are what Luke imagined to be Paul’s theology. This is evidenced especially by his famous lecture before the philosophers on the Areopagus in Athens (Acts 17:22–34). This speech, a creation of Luke, combines general topoi of popular philosophy with Christian concepts, such as the resurrection from the dead (vv. 32–33).177 According to Luke, Paul’s success occurred primarily among the cultural and political elites of city-​dwellers, far less so among the lower social classes in the country-​side. In this way, Paul’s success parallels that of other authors, such as travelling orators, who, however, only sometimes were founders of religious institutions. In this respect, Paul would be viewed better in analogy to founder figures of new cults who also traveled as missionaries.178 Luke the historian, to be sure, must have been familiar with analogies of this kind in his own time, but he knew also that analogies as such do not explain matters of history. Rather, in order to make sense of the religious power of the Christian movement, Luke turns to divine intervention, a phenomenon not at all unknown among Hellenistic historians. In this context, therefore, he can identify three major historical interventions, which he explicitly accounts for in his narrative. The first major intervention occurs at the festival of Pentecost in Jerusalem as the outpouring of the Holy Spirit onto a large crowd of international worshipers in Jerusalem, the Holy City of the Jews, in which Jesus had been crucified (Acts 2:1–47). Following an inspiring sermon by Peter (vv. 14–36), three thousand worshipers converted to the message, had themselves baptized, and joined the Christian church (vv. 37–47). This event energized the missionary campaigns of Peter, Philip, and others among the Diaspora Jews, and resulted in further conversions, although it also led to confusion, corruption (Ananias and Sapphira, 5:1–11), persecution and martyrdom (Stephen, 6:8–7:60), and heresy (Simon Magus, 8:9–24). With the conversions of the 175 See on these issues Christopher Mount, Pauline Christianity: Luke-​ A cts and the Legacy of Paul, NovTSup 104 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2002). 176  Mount, Pauline Christianity, 107–11. Notably, I differ here from Pervo, Acts, 12, 231. 177  See Rothschild, Paul in Athens. 178 See James C. Hanges, Paul, Founder of Churches: A Study in Light of the Evidence for the Role of “Founder-​Figures” in the Hellenistic-​Roman Period, WUNT 292 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012).

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Ethiopian eunuch (8:26–40) and the Roman centurion Cornelius (10:1–48), the door to non-​Jews was opened. A second major intervention occurred, when Gamaliel, a respected member of the Sanhedrin and scholar of the Law, raised and answered a question of principle concerning the new Christian movement (5:33–40): Cut to the quick, the audience was eager to kill them. At that point a learned and universally revered Pharisee named Gamaliel took the floor. After directing that the defendants be removed for a while, he spoke: “My fellow Israelites, think carefully about what you propose to do to these people. Some time ago Theudas rose up in rebellion, claiming that he was someone special. He gained about four hundred adherents, but, after he had been eliminated, all of his followers were dispersed and the movement evaporated. Subsequently, after the time of the census, Judas of Galilee also rose up and gathered a pack of rebels. He also perished, and all of his followers were put to flight. My advice in this matter is that you keep your distance from these people. Let them go, for, if this scheme or enterprise happens to be of human origin, it will be thwarted, but if it is of divine origin, you will not be able to thwart them. Be careful to avoid conflict with God!” They found his argument persuasive. The officials then recalled the apostles, and, after beating them, released them with the command to cease speaking in the name of Jesus.179

As commentaries have pointed out, Gamaliel’s policy is based on the theological principle of avoidance of being found as “fighters against deity” (θεομάχοι εὑρεθῆναι, v. 39), a technical term and common principle observed by ancient religions.180 In the Book of Acts, Gamaliel’s policy functions to explain the unstoppable expansion of Christianity within the Jewish Diaspora and beyond.181 The third divine intervention is the most significant of them all. It has to be seen with regard to the literary strategy in the Book of Acts. Its focus is on Saul/Paul of Tarsus and his conversion to Christianity, viewed from the historical situation observable by the author. This intervention is prepared by the two preceding ones, and its scope embraces most of the work. Since the young Saul/Paul was first mentioned as witnessing the stoning of Stephanus (Acts 7:58; 8:1, 3), his conversion marks the beginning of the most successful missionary campaigns by Paul, Barnabas and other collaborators, which expanded Christianity through the Greek world all the way to Rome. The 179 Trans.

Pervo, Acts, 139.  See Pervo, Acts, 148–49, with the literary parallels, especially Homer, Il. 6.128–143; Euripides, Bacch. 45; 325; cf. 625; Iph. aul. 1408; 2 Macc 7:19; and the “corrective” version of Ps.-Clem., Rec. 1.62–64; BDAG 449, s. v. θεομαχέω, θεομάχος. 181 The name “Christian” (χριστιανός) to designate believers is introduced first in Acts 11:26; 26:28. Indeed, from now on we can speak of “Christianity” (χριστιανισμός), although this term first appears in Ignatius of Antioch; see BDAG 1090, s. v. 180

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carefully worked-​out strategy of Luke follows these developments by having Paul tell the story of his conversion at three occasions, in Acts 9, 22, and 26. The basic theory demonstrated is that Paul’s conversion was from a “fighter against deity” (θεομάχος, 5:39) to a protagonist missionary of the Christian church. Given Luke’s viewpoint, this theory is not without analogies in the history of religions. These analogies Luke hints at by allusions to and even quotations from Euripides.182 An author roughly contemporary with Luke and also interested in the origins of religions was Plutarch of Chaeronea, whose Parallel Lives include those of Romulus and Numa Pompilius, dealing with the origins of Roman religion.183 Turning to Acts, Luke uses source materials about Paul’s conversion to the Christian faith by letting Paul himself tell on three strategic occasions how he became the great witness and missionary of Christ, of whom readers can be assumed to already know. The first occasion (9:1–19a) is told by Luke as narrator of Saul/Paul’s call on the road to Damascus, where he was intending to investigate and punish a group of Jesus’s disciples assembled in that city.184 The second occasion (22:1–23:11) has Paul address a Jewish crowd in the Temple of Jerusalem. Addressing them politely as gentlemen brothers and elders, he delivers a defense speech (ἀπολογία), in the “Hebrew” language (22:1), in which he explains how he had witnessed a sudden appearance by the well-​known Jesus of Nazareth on the road to Damascus at midday. During this experience he was told to go to Damascus and meet a certain Ananias, from whom he would receive further instructions. As Paul points out, all these events occurred among Jews, both in Damascus and subsequently in Jerusalem. Paul’s defense, however, failed completely when he mentioned his being sent to the Gentiles (vv. 21–22).185 The uproar against Paul almost led to his death, but he was saved by the Roman military when he told them of his Roman citizenship (22:25–29). The third occasion (26:1–32) is, from Luke’s perspective, clearly the most important and detailed.186 Also taking place in Jerusalem, the speech serves to a lesser degree as a defense and to a greater degree as a self-​explanation of Paul before the Roman authorities, including Porcius Festus, the governor, 182 For

more, see below at nn. 193, 194, and 195. my Paulinische Theologie und Religionsgeschichte, see especially “Plutarch’s Life of Numa: Some Observations on Graeco-​Roman ‘Messianism,’” 166–90; “Credibility and Credulity in Plutarch’s Life of Numa Pompilius,” 191–207; “Plutarch über das leere Grab des Numa Pompilius,” 208–32. 184  See Pervo, Acts, 230–44. 185 Pervo, Acts, 558–76. 186 Pervo, Acts, 623–38. 183 In

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and the King and Queen Agrippa II and Berenice (25:23–27).187 Delivered in Greek, this speech addresses indirectly the intended readers as well.188 The section on the Damascus experience again forms the center (vv. 12–18): While so engaged I was en route to Damascus with the permission and authorization of the high-​priests, when, while travelling at midday I saw, Your Majesty, a light from above brighter than the sun, sweep over me and my companions. We all fell to the ground. I heard a voice, which said to me, in Aramaic, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? You can’t swim against the flood.”189 “Who are you, Lord?” “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting. On your feet now!190 I have appeared to you to appoint you as an agent and witness of what you have seen and what I shall show you. I shall rescue you from your own people and from the gentiles, to whom I am sending you, to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan and to God and receive forgiveness of sins with a place among those who have been made holy by their trust in me.” Therefore, your Majesty, I obeyed that apparition from on high. In consequence I began to urge people, in Damascus first, then in Jerusalem, then to both Jews and gentiles in every region to change their ways and turn to God, demonstrating this change by appropriate actions …191

The speech meets with success on the side of the Roman authorities. Paul is declared to be innocent; if he had not appealed to Caesar, he could have been set free immediately. Because of this appeal, however, the Roman authorities dispatched him to Rome for trial there (vv. 30–32). In this way he was at least protected from getting assassinated by hostile Jewish crowds. According to the overarching function of the three speeches about his conversion to the Christian faith, the result is that Paul’s operations as a persecutor have come to an end. He is no longer the “fighter against deity” (θεομάχος).192 Instead, he has turned into the great missionary of the Christian faith, appointed by the apparition of the risen Christ in heaven (Gal 1:1, 10, 15–16; 1 Cor 9:1–2; 15:8–10; Rom 1:1). The question remains how Luke’s historical explanation of Christian origin and expansion into a “world religion” would make sense to the readers of his Gospel and Acts. As we have 187 Pervo,

Acts, 619–22.  Pervo, Acts, 619–22. For a comparison of the three speeches, see ibid., 629–30. 189  26:14: ἤκουσα φωνὴν λέγουσαν πρός με τῇ Ἕ   βραΐδι διαλέκτῳ Σαοὺλ Σαούλ, τί με διώκεις; Σκληρόν σοι πρὸς κέντρα λακτίζειν. Oddly, the latter part is a citation from Euripides, Bacch. 794, spoken here by the heavenly Jesus in Hebrew (or Aramaic): “It hurts you to kick against the goads.” Pervo’s translation tries to render one parable by another. It would of course be awkward to ask how the heavenly Jesus rendered the Greek proverb into Hebrew. 190  26:15–16: ἐγὼ δὲ εἶπα, τίς εἶ, κύριε; ὁ δὲ κύριος εἶπεν, ἐγώ εἰμι  Ἰησοῦς ὃν σὺ διώκεις, ἀλλὰ ἀνάστηθι … 191 Trans. Pervo, Acts, 623–24. 192 See above, n. 180. 188

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indicated before, it made sense to the readers at the time because Luke drew on literary parallels generally known to educated people in the Roman Εmpire, especially those who visited the theaters, looked at artworks and read books. With reason Luke could count on the fact that Euripides, whose tragedies were widely known among Hellenistic audiences, would provide clues to comprehend the literary strategy operating on Acts as a whole.193 This possibility has been seen by scholars in the past, but it was too quickly dismissed by commentaries until recently.194 After he considered it, Martin Dibelius let the question stand with this comment: “Von hier aus lässt sich die These, dass Lukas die Bakchen selbst benutzt habe, in den Bereich des Möglichen rücken, erweisen lässt sie sich natürlich nicht.” (“Given these presuppositions, the thesis that Luke himself may have used the Bacchae falls into the range of the possible, but it cannot of course be proven as fact.”)195 Since then this viewpoint has been steadily repeated, but there is a more definite reason for an open-​minded consideration of this old opportunity. To sum up the issue of Acts and the hymn in Phil 2:6–11: The textual fact is that in Paul’s response to Jesus’s epiphany “Who are you Lord?” (τίς ἐστιν, κύριε), Acts refers to the key-​term κύριος to cite the acclamation of the heavenly Lord Jesus Christ: “Jesus Christ is Lord” (κύριος  Ἰησοῦς Χριστός).196 This acclamation is the same as cited by Paul in the hymn at 193 For cultural background, see Franziska Egli, Euripides im Kontext zeitgenössischer intellektueller Strömungen: Analyse der Funktion philosophischer Themen in den Tragödien und Fragmenten, BzA 189 (München: Saur, 2003). 194  Earlier works of importance were: Wilhelm Nestle, “Anklänge an Euripides in der Apostelgeschichte,” Phil 59 (1900): 46–57; repr. in idem, Griechische Studien: Untersuchungen zur Religion, Dichtung und Philosophie der Griechen (Stuttgart: Hannsmann, 1948), 226–39; Friedrich Smend, “Untersuchungen zu den Acta-​Darstellungen von der Bekehrung des Paulus,” ΑΓΓΕΛΟΣ 1 (1925): 34–45; Windisch, “Die Christusepiphanie von Damaskus”; Wolfgang Speyer, “Gottesfeind,” RAC 11 (1981): 996–1043. For the present state of research, see Pervo, Acts, 230–44, esp. 148 n. 83; 410–12; 631–32. 195 Martin Dibelius, Aufsätze zur Apostelgeschichte, ed. Heinrich Greeven, 2nd. ed., FRLANT n.s. 42 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1953), 159–62. Basically, the same position is taken by Eric R. Dodds in his edition, Euripides: Bacchae, Edited with Introduction and Commentary, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1960), esp. 68 n. 45; 173 n. 795; H. S.  Versnel, Inconsistencies in Greek and Roman Religion, 2 vols., SGRR 6 (Leiden: Brill, 1990, 1993), esp. 1:96–205; Richard Seaford, ed., Euripides: Bacchae, with an Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1996), 53: “Bacchae influenced the New Testament to a greater extent than has been realised.” Cf. Arthur D. Nock, Conversion: The Old and the New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo (London: Oxford University Press, 1933), 193–94; Courtney J. P. Friesen, Reading Dionysus: Euripides’ Bacchae and the Cultural Contestations of Greeks, Jews, Romans and Christians, STAC 95 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 206–35. 196 See Acts 1:21, 24; 7:59; 9:5, 10, 12; 10:3, 17; 18:9; 22:8, 10; 26:15; etc.; and BDAG 576– 79, s. v. κύριος, II, 2.b.γ.

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Phil 2:11. Therefore, the connection of the epiphanic vision in Luke and the vocal hymn in Paul enables us to reach the following conclusions. First, the hymn of Phil 2:6–11 is Paul’s original response to his epiphany of Christ. The hymn converts into liturgical language what appeared to him in his vision. In antiquity, this function of the hymn was held to be appropriate. Second, Paul’s conversion to Christ also marks the beginning of his theology. Thus, his composition of the hymn now recited in the letter at Phil 2:6–11 points to the biographical beginning of Paul’s specifically Christian theology as Christology. In other words, as Christology the hymn constitutes the commencement of his theology. There is a direct association between the doxology of Phil 2:11 and the acclamation “Jesus Christ is Lord” in 1 Cor 12:3: “Nobody can say ‘Lord is Jesus’ except by the Holy Spirit” (οὐδεὶς δύναται εἰπεῖν Κύριος  Ἰησοῦς, εἰ μὴ ἐν πνεύματι ἁγίῳ). What we have seen in this part of the essay has been summed up succinctly by Bultmann in his section on “The Historical Position of Paul”: Standing within the frame of Hellenistic Christianity he raised the theological motifs that were at work in the proclamation of the Hellenistic Church to the clarity of theological thinking; he called to attention the problems latent in the Hellenistic proclamation and brought them to a decision; and thus – as far as our sources permit an opinion on the matter – he became the founder of Christian theology.197

B. Articulating the Terms I. Introduction Part A of this essay has shown that Paul can be credited with laying the foundations for theological thinking in the New Testament, although he did not use the term “theology” (θεολογία) itself. There is, however, another New Testament author who goes one step further. It is the author of the Fourth Gospel, traditionally named John, who begins his work with a prologue. Like Phil 2:6–11, the Johannine Prologue is cast in the form of a hymn (John 1:1– 18).198 Compared with the Philippian hymn, the Johannine one is even more  Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 1:187.  In the following, the hymn forming the Prologue will be interpreted as textually transmitted according to the critical edition by Nestle-​A land, 27th/28th editions. For the large number of attempted reconstructions of sources and redaction, as well as historical backgrounds, see Hartwig Thyen, “Über die Versuche, eine Vorlage des Johannesprologs zu rekonstruieren,” in idem, Studien zum Corpus Iohanneum, WUNT 214 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 372–410. 197 198

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intricate.199 As it stands, it is a composition out of four segments.200 The first segment (1:1–5) contains the guiding principles and concepts. In this respect it has some similarity with Phil 2:6. The second segment (1:6–8) deals with John the Baptist; the third (1:9–13) with appearance of the Logos as light in the cosmos; and the fourth (1:14–18) with incarnation in Jesus Christ. In the following, the four segments will be discussed separately (the translations are mine). Among the recent revisions of what still is basically Bultmann’s position, see especially Jean Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium.201

II. From Thought to Language The hymn begins with an emphatic statement of principles concerning the subject matter of theology (1:1–5). This first segment of the Prologue of John’s 199 For

the most recent debates, see the essays in the volume edited by Jan G. van der Watt, R. Alan Culpepper, and Udo Schnelle, The Prologue of the Gospel of John: Its Literary, Theological and Philosophical Contexts – Papers Read at the Colloquium Ioanneum 2013, WUNT 359 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016); Udo Schnelle, Das Evangelium nach Johannes, THKNT 4 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1998), 5th ed. (2016); Hartwig Thyen, Das Johannesevangelium, HNT 6 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). Indispensable is the profound work by Michael Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung des Logos: Studien zum Verhältnis des Johannesprologs zum Corpus des Evangeliums und zu 1 Joh, NTAbh n.s. 20 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1988); idem, Das Evangelium nach Johannes: Kapitel 1–12, RNT (Regensburg: Pustet, 2009); Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott wahrnehmen: Die Sinne im Johannesevangelium, Ratio Religionis 4, WUNT 374 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 25–99. 200  The richest analysis of the Prologue is still by Rudolf Bultmann, Das Evangelium des Johannes, 13th ed., KEK 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1953); it is being cited here according to the translation by G. R. Beasley-​Murray, The Gospel of John: A Commentary, ed. R. W. N. Hoare and J. K. Riches (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 13–83. Of continuing importance are C. Kingsley Barrett, The Gospel according to St. John: An Introduction with Commentary and Notes, 2nd ed. (London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1978); Germ. trans., Das Evangelium nach Johannes, KEK Sonderband (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990); Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, 2 vols., AB 29 and 29A (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1966, 1970). Much is to be learned from the rhetorical (text-​linguistic) analysis by Heinrich Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog: Rhetorische Befunde zu Form und Sinn des Textes, NAWG/PH 1984, 5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 189–279. Regrettably, Lausberg treats the text only as exordium (prologue), not also as a hymn. He limits his parallel references (Bezugstexte) to the LXX, NT, and Philo of Alexandria. 201 KEK 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016); see the introduction at 71– 72. See also his essay, “Der Prolog, Schwelle zum vierten Evangelium,” in idem, Kreative Erinnerung: Relecture und Auslegung im Johannesevangelium, 2nd ed., ATANT 84 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2004), 105–26; Jörg Frey, “Between Torah and Stoa: How Could Readers Have Understood the Johannine Logos?” in van der Watt, Culpepper, and Schnelle, Prologue of the Gospel of John, 189–234.

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Gospel has baffled and fascinated readers ever since.202 Regarding theology, however, the author does not simply adopt the term “theology,” nor does he provide a definition of it. Yet, in effect, he introduces it as the most fundamental concept of the whole Gospel. The implication is that one cannot grasp what “theology” is by its name, or even define it. As Greek philosophers had recognized earlier, terms like “theology” and “philosophy” refer to processes of thinking which cannot be comprehended by definitions in static language. Therefore, John 1:1–5 presents the components describing the character of “event,” that is, “doing theology” (θεολογεῖν) happens. In other words, the two components combined in “theology” first emerge in the New Testament separately as (ὁ) λόγος and (ὁ) θεός. a. John 1:1–18: Text and Translation 1 ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος. 2 οὗτος ἦν ἐν ἀρχῇ πρὸς τὸν θεόν. 3 πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδὲ ἓν ὃ γέγονεν. 4 ἐν αὐτῷ ζωὴ ἦν, καὶ ἡ ζωὴ ἦν τὸ φῶς τῶν ἀνθρώπων. 5 καὶ τὸ φῶς ἐν τῇ σκοτίᾳ φαίνει, καὶ ἡ σκοτία αὐτὸ οὐ κατέλαβεν. 6  Ἐγένετο ἄνθρωπος ἀπεσταλμένος παρὰ θεοῦ, ὄνομα αὐτῷ ’Ιωάννης· 7 οὗτος ἦλθεν εἰς μαρτυρίαν ἵνα μαρτυρήσῃ περὶ τοῦ φωτός, ἵνα πάντες πιστεύσωσιν δι’ αὐτοῦ. 8 οὐκ ἦν ἐκεῖνος τὸ φῶς, ἀλλ’ ἵνα μαρτυρήσῃ περὶ τοῦ φωτός. 9Ἦ   ν τὸ φῶς τὸ ἀληθινόν, ὃ φωτίζει πάντα ἄνθρωπον, ἐρχόμενον εἰς τὸν κόσμον. 10 ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ ἦν, καὶ ὁ κόσμος δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, καὶ ὁ κόσμος αὐτὸν οὐκ ἔγνω. 11 εἰς τὰ ἴδια ἦλθεν, καὶ οἱ ἴδιοι αὐτὸν οὐ παρέλαβον. 12 ὅσοι δὲ ἔλαβον αὐτόν, ἔδωκεν αὐτοῖς ἐξουσίαν τέκνα θεοῦ γενέσθαι, τοῖς πιστεύουσιν εἰς τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ, 13 οἳ οὐκ ἐξ αἱμάτων οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος σαρκὸς οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος ἀνδρὸς ἀλλ’ ἐκ θεοῦ ἐγεννήθησαν. 14 καὶ ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν, καὶ ἐθεασάμεθα τὴν δόξαν αὐτοῦ, δόξαν ὡς μονογενοῦς παρὰ πατρός, πλήρης χάριτος καὶ ἀληθείας. 15  Ἰωάννης μαρτυρεῖ περὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ κέκραγεν λέγων· οὗτος ἦν ὃν εἶπον· ὁ ὀπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος ἔμπροσθέν μου γέγονεν, ὅτι πρῶτός μου ἦν. 202 Zumstein

(Das Johannesevangelium, 70) calls the passage “der Prolog im Prolog.” On this idea, see Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 211–15.

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16 ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ πληρώματος αὐτοῦ ἡμεῖς πάντες ἐλάβομεν καὶ χάριν ἀντὶ χάριτος· 17 ὅτι ὁ νόμος διὰ Μωϋσέως ἐδόθη, ἡ χάρις καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια διὰ  Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐγένετο. 18 Θεὸν οὐδεὶς ἑώρακεν πώποτε· μονογενὴς θεὸς ὁ ὢν εἰς τὸν κόλπον τοῦ πατρὸς ἐκεῖνος ἐξηγήσατο. 1 In the beginning was the Logos and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was divine. 2 This one was in the beginning with God. 3 All things became through him, and without him not one thing became that became. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of human beings. 5 And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overwhelm it. 6 There was a man, sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came for testimony, to bear witness to the light, that all might believe through him. 8 He was not the light but came to bear witness to the light. 9 The true light that enlightens every human being was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world knew him not. 11 He came into his own home, and his own people received him not. 12 But to those who did receive him, he gave power to become children of God, [i. e.] to those who believed in his name. 13 These were born not from blood, nor from the will of the flesh, nor from the will of man, but from God. 14 And the Logos became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only-​begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth. 15 John testified about him and cried out saying, “This was the one of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me came before me,’ for he was before me.” 16 Indeed, from his fullness we all have received grace upon grace. 17 Indeed, the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 God no one has ever seen. His one-​and-​only divine, who is in the bosom of the Father, that one has revealed him.

Excursus: Heraclitus, Fragment 1 The text and translation of the passage require closer analysis. The special term in focus is “Logos” (ὁ λόγος), introduced without definition but circumscribed by concise axiomatic statements of principle. The notion of ὁ

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λόγος does not refer to a personal name or object, but to a divine mode of existence (anarthrous θεός), so that it is not a second persona beside God.203 This Logos is intended to endow the Fourth Gospel’s text in its entirety. As we mentioned already, the term is not defined in the sense of a fixed label, because its character is one of ongoing “event.” Its character of event pinpoints several fundamental phenomena, each of them divine and human in all-​encompassing scope (deity, time, universe, life, and light). This set of principles needs special attention for several reasons. First, it is unique in the New Testament. Second, it is different from, but to some extent similar to Phil 2:6–11.204 Third, it is similar to the thinking of some Presocratic philosophers, especially Heraclitus of Ephesus (ca. 540–480 bce), who introduced the concept of Logos to Greek philosophy. His main work had as a title the very term Logos, the beginning of which is textually extant. About this work, Diogenes Laertius has this to report from his sources: As to the work which passes as his, it is a continuous treatise On Nature, but is divided into three discourses, one on the universe, another on politics, and a third on theology. This book he [Heraclitus] deposited in the temple of Artemis and, according to some, he deliberately made it the more obscure in order that none but adepts should approach it, and lest familiarity should breed contempt.205

203  Cf. Phil 2:6; BDAG 450–52, s. v. θεός. For an analysis, cf. the article by Jan G. van der Watt, “John 1:1 – A Riddle? Grammar and Syntax Considered,” in van der Watt, Culpepper, and Schnelle, Prologue of the Gospel of John, 57–78, summed up at p. 77: “The syntactical character of 1:1, with the short conjunctive sentences following in a stair-​like parallelism, seems to provide some support for the riddle-​like nature of 1:1.” 204  An interesting parallel case is Clement of Alexandria, who begins the exordium (1.1– 10) of his Exhortation to the Greeks (Protrepticus) by citations of and commentary on the Prologue of John. He calls it “the new song” (τὸ ᾆσμα τὸ καινόν), and combines John 1:1 with Phil 2:6–7. The aim is to open the door to “a unique visionary initiation into divinity” (δι’ οὗ μόνου θεὸς ἐποπτεύεται) (text per G. W. Butterworth, trans., Clement of Alexandria: Exhortation to the Greeks, The Rich Man’s Salvation, To the Newly Baptized, LCL 92 [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919], 10–27, here 26). This line continues in Clement’s Paedagogus 1.4; 3.8.2; 6.27.1; 28.3; etc. (see the edition by Miroslav Marcovich, Clementis Alexandrini Paedagogus, VCSup 61 [Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2002]). Cf. also Carsten Colpe, “Von der Logoslehre des Philon zu der des Clemens von Alexandrien,” in idem, Das Siegel des Propheten: Historische Beziehungen zwischen Judentum, Judenchristentum, Heidentum und frühem Islam (Berlin: Institut für Kirche und Judentum, 1989), 141–64; Dietmar Wyrwa, Die christliche Platonaneignung in den Stromateis des Clemens von Alexandrien, AKG 53 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1983), 251–97; Ulrich Schneider, Theologie als christliche Philosophie: Zur Bedeutung der christlichen Botschaft im Denken des Clemens von Alexandria, AKG 73 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1999). 205 9.5–6, trans. R. D. Hicks, Diogenes Laertius: Lives of Eminent Philosophers, vol. 2: Books 6–10, LCL 185 (London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam, 1925), 412–13.

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This description, whatever its merits, gives as main title of the work a more conventional On Nature (Περὶ φύσεως) but has divided it by three chapters (λόγοι): On the universe, On politics, On theology (Περὶ τοῦ παντὸς καὶ πολιτικὸν καὶ θεολογικόν). While in this description the plural λόγοι clearly refers to textual units (“discourses”), the main title ὁ λόγος or simply Λόγος signifies the entire philosophy of Heraclitus. Moreover, this concept means that the main title is, due to its wide range of applications, untranslatable. For this reason, we prefer to leave it untranslated as “Logos.”206 Of special interest is the occurrence of the λόγος θεολογικός, “theological discourse.” Of this discourse we have at best only scattered fragments. In the following we shall briefly examine these issues, not necessarily in the same order but beginning with the beginning. (i) τοῦ δὲ λόγου τοῦδ’ ἐόντος αἰεὶ ἀξύνετοι γίνονται ἄνθρωποι καὶ πρόσθεν ἢ ἀκοῦσαι καὶ ἀκούσαντες τὸ πρῶτον· (ii) γινομένων γὰρ πάντων κατὰ τὸν λόγον τόνδε ἀπείροισιν ἐοίκασι πειρώμενοι καὶ ἐπέων καὶ ἔργων (iii) τοιουτέων ὁκοίων ἐγὼ διηγεῦμαι κατὰ φύσιν διαιρέων ἕκαστον καὶ φράζων ὅκως ἔχει· (iv) τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους λανθάνει ὁκόσα ἐγερθέντες ποιοῦσιν ὅκωσπερ ὁκόσα εὕδοντες ἐπιλανθάνονται. (i) Of the Logos, real as it is, men always prove to be uncomprehending, both before they have heard it and when once they have heard it; (ii) For, although all things come to pass in accordance with this Logos, men behave as if ignorant (or unexperienced) each time they undertake (or experience) either speech or deeds, (iii) whereas I, for my part, explain such words and things taking apart each of them according to its real constitution and then showing how it is; (iv) As for the rest of men, they remain unaware of what they do after they wake up just as they forget what they do while asleep.207 206  Differently, Marcovich renders λόγος as “Truth,” which is of course not wrong, nor are Goethe’s famous rendering as “Tat” (“Deed”) and the NT’s standard translations as “Word” (Latin: verbum; German: Wort). 207 DK 22 B 1 (1:150); text and trans. here per Miroslav Marcovich, Heraclitus: Greek Text with a Short Commentary, 2nd ed., International Pre-​Platonic Studies 2 (Sankt Augustin:

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The passage as a whole contains statements concerning the concept of Logos. These statements are not meant to be definitions but descriptions of the workings of Logos. If the term Logos cannot be translated, it cannot be defined either; its range of meanings is too large for a simple definition as understood by rhetoric. Instead, the descriptive explanations are focusing on their character as events. Thus the term Logos refers to the title of Heraclitus’s book, as well as to its various functions in philosophical thinking, oral teaching, and written texts to be read. (i) The Logos is associated with τοῦ ἐόντος, comparable to Being (τὸ εἶναι) in Phil 2:6, where Logos is not mentioned, so that Heraclitus is different by making this connection.208 The parallel of Heraclitus points to similar contexts in the Presocratics concerning the issue of “beginning” (ἀρχή). The main difficulty of Logos as subject of teaching is that humans listen to the words, but they always remain uncomprehending, so that nothing changes between the time before hearing and after hearing the Logos, a major problem of epistemology.209 (ii) While (i) deals with Being, (ii) is concerned with “Becoming” (γίνεσθαι), inclusive of “speech” and “deeds” (ἔπεα καὶ ἔργα). At this point, Goethe’s famous translation of Logos as “Tat” (“deed”) can be confirmed, at least partly.210 Heraclitus observes that humans, whenever they face the Logos as “speech and deeds,” tend to behave in their attempt (πειρώμενοι) as though they are ignorant or incapacitated.211 (iii) In contrast to human incapacity described in (ii), Heraclitus describes his own approach as critical analysis of “speech and deeds” by explaining their real constitution through making distinctions between issues and designating each as what they are. The enabling factor in the investigation is Logos as reason.212

Academia, 2001), 2–11. See also Gemelli Marciano, Die Vorsokratiker, 1:284–369. For recent summaries of research and bibliography on Heraclitus, see KRS 181–212; Bremer, Flashar and Rechenauer, Frühgriechische Philosophie, 2:601–69. 208  Cf. Marcovich, Heraclitus, 9. 209 For this skepticism, cf. John 1:10–11; the ability/disability of hearing is discussed frequently in this Gospel. The term ἀξύνετος/ἀσύνετος occurs in LXX and NT; cf. Rom 1:21– 23, 28–32; BDAG 146, s. v. ἀσύνετος. On the whole subject, see Franz K. Mayr, “Hören,” RAC 15 (1991): 1023–111, esp. B. I.b.1–2; C. I.b.1–2. 210  See Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, ed. Albrecht Schöne, 2 vols. (Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1994), ll. 1224–1237 (in vol. 1) with commentary at 2:246–47. 211 Marcovich, Heraclitus, 9. 212 Cf. Marcovich, Heraclitus, 10.

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(iv) What remains for the rest of humanity is that they exist like dreamers who forget what they do when they are awake just as they forget what they do while happily asleep.213 Taking up Heraclitus’s mode of thinking and applying it to John 1:1, someone who has eyes to see should be able to see that there must be some sort of connection in the philosophical tradition between Phil 2:6, John 1:1–5, and Heraclitus, Fr. 1. Walter Bauer (1877–1960) is among those commentators who have seen the connection, but surprisingly Rudolf Bultmann and those who followed him in their commentaries on the Gospel of John did not.214 While the analogy between Heraclitus’s main concept and the opening statement of the Gospel of John (1:1) was pointed out early on, in the history of research it was all too often pushed aside for unexplained reasons. Conceivably, the connection became a victim of the general Tendenz after World War I to minimize the relationship of New Testament studies to the Greco-­ Roman classical literature, and to favor the newly developing background in what was regarded as oriental-​hellenistic mythology, especially a Gnostic redeemer myth (Wilhelm Bousset, Richard Reitzenstein, Rudolf Bultmann).215 After several decades of controversy, this tendency was finally laid to rest in 1982 by Walter Burkert’s ground-​breaking study, Die orientalisierende Epoche in der griechischen Religion und Literatur.216 However, as far as New Testament studies and research on the Johannine literature are concerned, the gap between it and the Greco-​Roman world has, on the whole, not yet been closed.217 There were, however, some exceptions – e. g., in the work of Charles H. Dodd (1884–1973), who saw the connections between the Fourth Gospel, the literature of Philo of Alexandria, and the Corpus Hermeticum.218 213  Cf. Marcovich, Heraclitus, 10–11. On NT metaphors of sleep and awaking, see Mark 14:32–42 parr.; 1 Thess 5:3–10; Rom 13:11–13; Eph 5:14; Rev 1:1–3; 16:15. 214  Walter Bauer, Das Johannesevangelium, 2nd ed., HNT 6 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1925), 13. Cf. Bultmann, Gospel of John, 19 n. 3; 24 n. 4; Bultmann passed over the important suggestions by Eduard Norden in favor of his hypothesis of a non-​Greek background of a Gnostic redeemer myth (25–36). See Eduard Norden, Agnostos Theos: Untersuchungen zur Formengeschichte religiöser Rede (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), repr. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1953), 348–54; also Wilfred L. Knox, Some Hellenistic Elements in Primitive Christianity, Schweich Lectures of the British Academy 1942 (London: The British Academy, 1944), 55–94. 215 On this development, see Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 55–67. 216 SHAW/PH 1984, 1 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1984); Eng. trans., The Orientalizing Revolution: Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age, trans. Margaret E. Pinder and Walter Burkert (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992). Burkert, however, did not deal with New Testament problems, although he was aware of them. 217  So also Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 51 n. 8. 218 C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), esp. 263–85, 292–96. Cf. also Jörg Büchli, Der Poimandres: Ein

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Dodd, however, in mentioning Heraclitus, leaves open the difficult problems of relating Heraclitus to Plato and Platonism, Stoicism, Philo, and the Hermetica. Strangely, Dodd does not mention Plutarch, especially De Iside et Osiride.219 Similarly ambivalent is Charles Kingsley Barrett (1917–2011), who follows Bultmann in sidelining Greek philosophy, but admits the possibility of influences of philosophical Logos through Platonism and Stoicism.220 Differently, the influence of Heraclitus has now been underscored by Udo Schnelle in his commentary, and Jörg Frey in a recent essay.221 Judging from the current state of research, it seems that the priority of the Logos as a fundamental concept in the Fourth Gospel, as well as in Stoic and Middle-​Platonic philosophy, has clearly been recognized, but allowing the author John to be some sort of Heraclitean is still resisted by New Testament scholarship.222 Whether some such combination is imaginable in Hellenistic Judaism is also still awaiting a detailed answer. The unresolved gap is caused by the fact that at the present time there is no up-​to-​date and comprehensive study of the Logos theology that covers the developments from the Presocratics through Middle Platonism to Neoplatonism. At any rate, it would be wrong to exclude Philo of Alexandria because of his Judaism. The fact is that he sees no difficulty in citing Heraclitus along with Plato and the Stoics, because he makes them all students of Moses.223 In particular, the still-​missing link is Plutarch of Chaeronea (ca. 45–125 ce), who employs the Logos concept programmatically in constructing a comprehensive theology around the Greek Apollo of Delphi, whom, as an expert on Platonism, he serves as priest of the divine Logos. At present, research on Plutarch’s theology within Middle Platonism is in full swing, and its intricate results can to some extent

paganisiertes Evangelium; Sprachliche und begriffliche Untersuchungen zum 1. Traktat des Corpus Hermeticum, WUNT 2/27 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987). 219 On Logos, see W. K. C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, 6 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962–1981), 1:419–92; and the important articles by Hans Leisegang, “Logos,” PW 13/1 (1927): 1035–81; A. Debrunner, et al., “λέγω, λόγος, κτλ.,” TWNT 4 (1942): 69–197; Winrich Löhr, “Logos,” RAC 23 (2010): 327–435. 220  Gospel according to St. John, 52–54, 83–114. See Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 67– 161. 221 Schnelle, Das Evangelium nach Johannes (1st ed.), 32; Frey, “Between Torah and Stoa,” 203–9. 222  Cf. Burton L. Mack, Logos und Sophia: Untersuchungen zur Weisheitstheologie im hellenistischen Judentum, SUNT 10 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1973); see my review in JBL 93 (1974): 606–8; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 74–79. 223 For citations of Heraclitus in Philo, see Leg. 1.108; 3.7; Her. 214; Aet. 111; Prov. 2.67; QG 2.5. On Philo, see Leisegang, “Logos,” 1069–78; Frey, “Between Torah and Stoa,” 210–17; Runia, “Philon,” 605–27.

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be anticipated.224 In his extensive RAC article on “Platonismus,” Michael Erler can state that “Plutarch is certainly the most important Middle Platonist also with regard to the beginnings of Christianity.”225 His Platonic theology enables him, foremost in his treatise De Iside et Osiride, to interpret in the context of a Logos theory not only the Greek but also the higher deities of the Egyptians, i. e., Osiris, Isis, Thot, etc., as well as other higher Hellenistic deities like those of the Iranians (Persians) and Chaldaeans.226 Plutarch’s investigation, dedicated to Clea, priestess of the cult of Isis, boldly presents a Platonist comparative integration of Greek and Egyptian cultic figures in detail. This integration he sees based on Presocratic presuppositions, in particular Heraclitus. His approach is reflected in the following summary: In view of this it is not unreasonable to say that individually these theorists are wrong, but that collectively they are right. For it is not drought or wind or sea or darkness that is a part of Typhon, but everything harmful and destructive in nature. We must neither place the origins of the universe in inanimate bodies, as Democritus and Epicurus do, nor yet postulate one reason [λόγος] and one providence, dominating and ruling everything, as the creator of characterless matter, as the Stoics [SVF 2, § 1108] do; for it is impossible, where God is responsible for everything, for anything evil to come into being, or for anything good to come where God is responsible for nothing. Thus, according to Heraclitus [DK 22 B 51], “the concord of the cosmos is caused by opposite tensions, just like that of a lyre and a bow”; and according to Euripides [Fr. 21] “The good and bad could not appear apart, A certain mingling brings a goodly poise.” There has, therefore, come down from theologians [θεολόγοι] and lawgivers to both poets and philosophers this ancient belief which is of anonymous origin, but is given strong and tenacious credence, and has been widely transmitted to barbarians and Greeks not only in sayings [λόγοι] and reports but also in rites 224  For major essays, see Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, ed., Gott und die Götter bei Plutarch: Götterbilder – Gottesbilder – Weltbilder, RVV 54 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005); Mauro Bonazzi and Jan Opsomer, eds., The Origins of the Platonic System: Platonisms of the Early Empire and Their Philosophical Contexts, Collection d’études classiques 23 (Louvain: Peeters, 2009); Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta and Israel Muñoz Gallarte, eds., Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity, AMMTC 14 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 225  “Platonismus,” 849: “Plutarch (ca. 45–125 nC.) ist sicherlich der wichtigste Mittelplatoniker mit einem auch im Hinblick auf die Anfänge des Christentums religionsgeschichtlich bedeutsamen Werk.” See Frederick E. Brenk, “Plutarch’s Middle-​Platonic God: About to Enter (or Remake) the Academy,” in Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott und die Götter, 27–49; Hendrik Obsieger, Plutarch “De E apud Delphos”: Über das Epsilon am Apolltempel in Delphi, Palingenesia 101 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2013), 383–86: “Plutarch und die Akademie.” 226  See J. Gwyn Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride, Edited with an Introduction and Commentary (Cambridge: University of Wales Press, 1970), especially the introduction (pp. 1–110); Peter Van Nuffelen, “Plutarch of Chaeronea, ‘History as a Basis for the Philosophy That Has Theology as Its End,’” in idem, Rethinking the Gods: Philosophical Readings of Religion in the Post-​Hellenistic Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 48–71.

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and offering-​festivals, namely that the universe is not kept on high of itself without mind and reason [ἄνους καὶ ἄλογος] and guidance, nor is it only one reason [λόγος] that rules and directs it in the manner of rudders and curbing reins, but that many powers do so who are a mixture of evil and good. Rather, since nature, to be plain, contains nothing that is unmixed, it is not one steward that dispenses our affairs for us, as though mixing drinks from two jars in a hotel. Life and the cosmos, on the contrary – if not the whole of the cosmos, at least the earthly one next to the moon, which is heterogeneous, many-​hued and subject to all changes – are compounded of two opposite principles and of two antithetic powers, one of which leads by a straight path to the right, while the other reverses and bends back. For if nothing comes into being without a cause, and if good could not provide the cause of evil, then nature must contain in itself the creation and origin of evil as well as good.227

In Plutarch’s treatise, what amounts to a ‘Logos theology’ occurs in all its diversity as equivalences for the deities of Apollo, Osiris, Dionysos, Hermes (Thot), Horos, Mithras, and others. Logos is found as statement of principle, as reason or reasoning, as narrative and script, and as speech in dialogue, saying, and prophetic utterance.228 It should be recognized that Plutarch did not stand alone at his time in proposing his grand interpretative vision. Surprisingly, even the so-​called Mithras Liturgy, now a part of the Great Magical Papyrus of Paris, was originally a separate immortalization ritual from a mystery cult and begins with an elaborate prayer invoking the four elements as “first beginning of my beginning” (ἀρχὴ τῆς ἐμῆς ἀρχῆς πρώτη).229 In other words, what used to be reserved for the schools of philosophy has by the time of early Christianity been adapted to serve the interpretation even of magical texts and rituals. Today, while a comprehensive analysis of Plutarch’s theology is still awaited, the final assessment of the era was announced as early as 1927 by the great scholar Hans Leisegang (1890–1951) in his article in Paulys Real-​Encyclopädie on “Logos”: “So war durch die griechische, die hellenistisch-​jüdische und die paulinische Theologie der Boden wohl vorbereitet, auf dem das Johannesevangelium erwachsen konnte mit seinen Eingangsworten …”230 When he wrote this, however, Leisegang could not have foreseen the delays in realizing the consequences of his assessment, which were brought about by the 227 Is. Os. 45, 369A–D, trans. Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride, 189–91; see also Is. Os. 2, 351E–352A; 46, 369E; 54, 373B; 62, 376C; 75, 381A; and Griffiths’s commentary on 54, 373B–C at pp. 504–5, referring to John 1:1. 228  On “divine equations,” see Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride, 572–78. 229 PGM IV.487–498; see my edition and commentary in The “Mithras Liturgy”: Text, Translation and Commentary, STAC 18 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), with the commentary at 101–14. 230  Leisegang, “Logos,” 1079.

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political turbulences of the 1930s, the catastrophic World War II, the enormous difficulties in understanding Gnosticism, the discovery of large bodies of new texts (Qumran, Nag Hammadi), and last but not least the figuring out of Plutarch’s intricate philosophical theology in view of the diversity of his many writings. At any rate, taking into consideration that concepts of Logos theology were widely known at the time when the Fourth Gospel was written (perhaps ca. 100–110 ce in Ephesus), the author of this Gospel undertook his thorough revision of the Christian tradition by casting it in terms of a Christianized Logos theology. This required a drastic rewriting of what this author had on hand as Synoptic tradition concerning Jesus of Nazareth. The approach had analogies in Philo of Alexandria and Plutarch of Chaeronea, to mention only these. Philo is distinguished by adapting Platonism and Stoicism in interpreting Jewish Torah and Wisdom traditions, whereas Plutarch learned a version of Alexandrian Middle Platonism from his teacher Ammonius, as a result of which he opposed Stoicism as well as Epicureanism.231 Plutarch was thus able simultaneously to serve as highest-​ranking priest of Apollo at Delphi, as a widely respected literary author and philosopher of the Platonic Academy, and as a political representative of Greek national culture among the Romans. All three of them, as no doubt other thinkers of the age as well, took advantage of the enormous opportunity offered by Middle Platonism to reinterpret their venerable religious traditions and make them accessible to critical Hellenistic-​Roman and Christian intellectuals. At a somewhat later time, among these thinkers should be placed the Christians Justin Martyr (d. 165 ce in Rome) and Clement of Alexandria (ca. 150–215 ce).

231 On Plutarch, see Dillon, Middle Platonists, 184–230; Erler, Platon, 520–25; Erler and Tanaseanu-​Döbler, “Platonismus,” 849–50; Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, “The Dividing Line: Theological/Religious Arguments in Plutarch’s Anti-​Stoic Polemics,” in A Versatile Gentleman: Consistency in Plutarch’s Writings, ed. Jan Opsomer, Geert Roskam, and Frances B. Titchener, Plutarchea Hypomnemata (Leuven: University of Leuven Press, 2016), 17–36; idem, “Plutarch,” RAC 27 (2016): 1010–38. For texts, see Heinrich Dörrie, Matthias Baltes, and Christian Pietsch, eds., Der Platonismus in der Antike, vol. 7/1: Die philosophische Lehre des Platonismus – Theologia Platonica, Bausteine 182–205 (Stuttgart-​Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-​Holzboog, 2008); for studies, see Lanzillotta and Gallarte, Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity; Obsieger, Plutarch, 306–82; Jan Opsomer, “M. Annius Ammonius, a Philosophical Profile,” in Bonazzi and Opsomer, Origins of the Platonic System, 123–86; Tobias Thum, Plutarchs Dialog De E apud Delphos: Eine Studie, STAC 80 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013); for a review, see Frederick E. Brenk, Gnomon 88 (2016): 69–71.

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b. John 1:1–18: Interpretation 1. John 1:1–5: The “Prologue of the Prologue” John 1:1. The first axiomatic statement refers to the earliest event, ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, both in terms of logic, time, and space.232 The precondition for speaking of “beginning” is that there is a word “beginning” (ἀρχή) in the language, and that this word establishes both “time” and “space.” Thus, the beginning occurred when the Logos provided the language for it. This Logos itself, however, is neither created nor Christological in character, but preexistent, timeless, or metaphysical.233 The consequence of the first event followed from it (καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν). The Logos pre-​existed in the realm of God because that is where this event happened, and because there was no other created world as yet.234 In this event, the imperfect ἦν states that the Logos itself was without beginning.235 A further conclusion follows from this (καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος). The Logos was revealed to be nothing other than “divine.” The term θεός is anarthrous (without article) in the strict sense.236 It thus avoids the misunderstanding that Logos would be the name of another God, and it therefore precludes polytheism and preserves divine oneness. John 1:2. The statement emphatically repeats the previous one (οὗτος ἦν ἐν ἀρχῇ πρὸς τὸν θεόν). Again, the emphasis on πρὸς τὸν θεόν (“with God”) shows the avoidance of polytheism. Thus, if this Logos exists only together with God, it could be misleading to call it “pre-​existent.” In fact, it refers to an existence prior to the beginning of time. In this “pre-​existence” it was a form of “divine Being.” This formulation and concern are strongly reminiscent of the Presocratics.237 232 Commentators

regard it as self-​evident that the author intends v. 1 to connect with Gen 1:1 (LXX). If this is the case, it is far from clear what he would mean by it. Rather than approving, he could just as well contradict it, since John 1:1 does not begin with the creation of heaven and earth, and Gen 1:1 does not mention the Logos. Also, interest in “beginning” (ἀρχή) was as widespread in antiquity as it is today, so that Hebrew theologians as well as LXX translators did not want to miss the opportunity to promote their different message. Cf. Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 219–23; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 71 n. 37. 233 Cf. Bultmann, Gospel of John, 19–36. 234  Cf. also Jörg Frey, Die johanneische Eschatologie, vol. 2: Das johanneische Zeitverständnis, WUNT 110 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 155–60. 235  See Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 195–96; cf. John 1:15–16, 30. 236 See BDAG 450–52, s. v. θεός, 2. 237 For recent research, see also Kahn, Essays on Being. Cf. Parmenides, DK 28 B 8, line 27 (1:237) = KRS 251 (§ 298): ἄναρχος, “without beginning.”

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John 1:3. The next statement on the Logos refers to the nature of “event,” i. e., the occurence of “event” (πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο). The key term next to “Being” is γίνεσθαι (“occurring”). The term ἀρχή is put in the language to mark the beginning of time. With this “event” all events are covered, because time is ongoing as “history.”238 With the creation of time, whatever else may exist is a matter of time (καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδὲ ἓν ὃ γέγονεν). Supposedly excluded, “Being” is not a separate entity but “is with God” (1:1; cf. εἶναι in Phil 2:6). “Divinity” also implies infinite space, which is not an entity by itself, but it is part of ἀρχή. What else should be excluded? Perhaps other divine entities such as lower-​rank deities (astral deities, daimons, angels)? If so, it may be because of the emphasis on monotheism. Possibly, at this point we find a place for a concept such as “mediator of creation” (Schöpfungsmittler).239 John 1:4. The important element included in the Logos is “life” (ἐν αὐτῷ ζωὴ ἦν). Life’s character as event is obvious: “life” (ζωή) happens and is not static. The Gospel of John has a lot to say about it; the Greek ζωή is not to be confused with βίος. Less clear is the naming of another element: καὶ ἡ ζωὴ ἦν τὸ φῶς τῶν ἀνθρώπων. What the connection between “life” and “light” is supposed to be is not so obvious, but both are essential elements of Logos theology. Notably, there is no mention of the element of “fire” as there would be in Heraclitus and in Stoicism, nor is there a relationship with the sun. The reason for not mentioning either fire or the sun may be issues of polytheism again. John 1:5. The final statement clarifies the relationship between life and light (see also John 3:19–21). Both are related as events: καὶ τὸ φῶς ἐν τῇ σκοτίᾳ φαίνει, καὶ ἡ σκοτία αὐτὸ οὐ κατέλαβεν. The fact that the light shines is not a static quality, but eventful, because it shines into darkness. The effect, observable in nature, is that light and darkness alternate, and they do so continuously. When light shines, darkness recedes but remains, yet darkness does not overwhelm and extinguish light.240 This phenomenon also decides the meaning of the much debated term καταλαμβάνειν (“overpower”).241 As such darkness is not an entity by itself, but exists only through the light. The continual interchange between light and darkness shows that both are  Cf. Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 224–27.  Cf. Bultmann, Gospel of John, 36–48. 240 The present term φαίνειν points to the much discussed phenomena of nature and its metaphors. See Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 210–11; cf. Rom 1:19–20. 241 See Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 211–12; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 212–15; BDAG 519–20, s. v. καταλαμβάνω, 1–2; cf. 1 Thess 5:4; Eph 6:6–17. 238 239

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contrasts acting together, and that they are part of life (γίνεσθαι) and thereby the Logos.242 With v. 5 the initial pre-​existence of the Logos is concluded. The hymn, however, continues by discussing further instances of γίνεσθαι in the following sections, indicated by “it happened” (ἐγένετο), in vv. 6, 10, 14, and 17. As mentioned before, these events constitute what we call history. In the light of the Logos, history is the history of “enlightenment.” This history begins to unfold in the following sections of the hymn (1:6–18).243 Tracing this in great detail would have to include the entire Fourth Gospel and thus transcend the purposes of our study, so that a brief summary must suffice. It should be said, however, that my interpretation differs from those of other scholars, at least to the extent I have been able to consult their works. My insights came mostly from reading in the so-​called Presocratics. It is also my understanding that much of their thinking became part of Platonism and Stoicism throughout later Hellenistic philosophy. Fragmentary bits of earlier works continuously appear in later sources, but sorting things out is always beset with difficulties. Bultmann’s famous commentary, a fruit of work under stressful circumstances, deserves high praise for organizing the rich material assembled in his footnotes. In addition, Dodd’s remarks call attention to the Hermetica, but fail to demonstrate precisely how the later syncretism of the Hermetica can be related to the Fourth Gospel, which chronologically predates them. Even more complicated and still being investigated are the relations between the Johannine literature and the chronologically later Gnostic library of Nag Hammadi. Obviously, all this work does not need to be discussed at this time in view of the present problems of the Johannine Prologue. 2. John 1:6–8: John the Baptist After the initial section of vv. 1–5, the Prologue continues with a history of “enlightenment” (φῶς). According to the author, “light” is not only a physical but also an intellectual and thereby a historical phenomenon. What is the role John the Baptist played in this history? As Bultmann has pointed out, the section interjects a polemical statement against a misconception of the history of enlightenment as the followers of John the Baptist seem to have construed it.244 Apparently, former disciples of the Baptist, in competition with the author of the Fourth Gospel, ranked 242 Cf.

Bultmann, Gospel of John, 45–48. is also Bultmann’s understanding (Gospel of John, 45–60). 244  Bultmann, Gospel of John, 14–18, 48–60; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 79–82. 243 This

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their teacher as the ultimate revealer. Since the author of the Gospel saw in this competition an urgent threat, he felt challenged to present his differing view as an alternative explanation of the events. Accordingly, John the Baptist was not himself the “true light” (τὸ φῶς τὸ ἀληθινόν, v. 9a), but he offered a prophetic “witness” (μαρτυρία) to that light. Later in the chapter the author formulates in clear terms what this witness contained (1:19–34). In preparation for this statement, however, the author needs to explain how the illumination of John the Baptist differed from that of Jesus, about whom John testified (1:9–13). 3. John 1:9–13: Appearance of the True Light How then did the two figures, John the Baptist and Jesus, relate to each other in the historical events of enlightenment? The answer is that both had intricate roles to play, in order to bring about ultimate redemption. Regarding John the Baptist and his prophetic testimony, it was actually fulfilled and yet remained unrecognized. To be specific, the author of the Gospel distinguishes between two epiphanies of the Logos. The first revelation did happen but failed, because John’s testimony was misunderstood by his own disciples who confused the prophet himself with the “true light.” In principle the task of the “true light” was to enlighten the human world (κόσμος), that is, every human being who enters into this human world.245 In fact, that light was in the world inasmuch as the world was created through the Logos, but the world did not recognize who the Logos was. Paradoxically, when the Logos appeared in what was his own, most of his own people did not recognize him (οὐκ ἔγνω). On the face of it, those people (ἄνθρωποι) were those of the cosmos (κόσμος).246 After all, a byproduct of enlightenment is its opposite, blindness. A question often discussed is whether the “people” are hinted at as being the Jews. Since we are in the realm of history, it is probable, but it is not clearly stated. To those among them, however, who did receive him and believe (πιστεύειν) in his name, the Logos opened the way to become children of God (τέκνα θεοῦ). Who can these be except the earliest Christians?247 245 On the concept of light, see Martin Wallraff, “Licht,” RAC 23 (2010): 100–37, esp. 127.

246 It should be noted that the motif of hostile rejection by foolish crowds is found in different forms in the Presocratics, not only in the OT (Exod 32:7–34:35; etc.). See Parmenides, DK 28 B 6 (1:232–33) = KRS 247 (§ 293); Empedocles, Katharmoi, DK 31 B 114, 115 (1:355–58) = (in part) KRS 314–15 (§ 401); Heraclitus, DK 22 B 1–12 (Marcovich, Heraclitus, 2–11). Cf. Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 82–83. 247 Cf. Bultmann, Gospel of John, 56–60; Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 222–24, 230– 36; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 229–47; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 81–84.

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4. John 1:14–18: The Incarnation in Jesus The final act of the appearance of the Logos occurred in the incarnation in Jesus Christ.248 As commentators have observed, the transition from John the Baptist to Jesus feels rather abrupt. However, continuation simply by καί (“and”) is not uncommon in hymnic accounts. In this specific case the “and” suggests not only continuity but also consequence and even climax.249 The incarnation of the Logos in Jesus follows after John the Baptist’s failure to overcome the negative response by the masses of perdition, “the people” (ἄνθρωποι, v. 9). The drastic intervention required a collision between the key terms: ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο. The collision of λόγος and σάρξ took place as “incarnation” of the Logos in Jesus Christ. This intervention, to be sure, cannot simply be reckoned as just another axiom, but it demands that the author himself take a stand. He confesses to belong not only to the “people” (ἄνθρωποι) but also to the minority of Christian “believers” (πιστεύοντες, vv. 7, 12).250 This incarnation is not playing with what is commonly known as “deification of human beings” (θεῖοι ἄνθρωποι),251 but it is focused on the σάρξ (“flesh”) as the traditional center of the resistance against the Logos. In other words, in order to overcome the people’s rejection, the Logos became transformed and revaluated in the individual person Jesus’s “flesh,” not simply superimposed in an external garb or even in internal “spirit.”252 A defeat of the powers of the “flesh” by the single historical person Jesus meant that the Logos assumed residence (ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν) among all of us and thereby transformed us (as human beings and Christians).253 With this one event, a “visioning” is experienced by the “believer,” implanting the ability to see in Jesus “glory” (δόξα) of unique heavenly quality (μονογενής), fullness of grace (πλήρης χάριτος), and even the highest good, truth (ἀλήθεια).254 It is not a mere accident that these concepts are known 248 See Bultmann, Gospel of John, 60–83; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 247–49; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 84–88; Catrin H. Williams, “(Not) Seeing God in the Prologue and Body of John’s Gospel,” in van der Watt, Culpepper, and Schnelle, Prologue of the Gospel of John, 79–98. 249  See Lausberg, Der Johannes-P ​ rolog, 243–44, who notes the repetition of the καί in John 1:19; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 195, 248. 250 Bultmann, Gospel of John, 60 with n. 3; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 229–38. 251 Bultmann, Gospel of John, 61–62. 252  Bultmann, Gospel of John, 62–66. One should not miss the close parallel in Phil 2:8. The difference is that John’s Gospel sees Jesus’s humanity revealed in his life, while Paul’s focus is on Jesus’s death on the cross. Paul describes the collision between the Christian’s human σάρξ and divine πνεῦμα in greater detail in Rom 6:1–8:39. 253 Bultmann, Gospel of John, 66–67; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 249. 254 Bultmann, Gospel of John, 67–74.

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as primary eschatological values among the Greek philosophers since the Presocratics. How then did they become historical reality in Jesus Christ? The passage in the Prologue gives the answer by referring to two historical events, introduced by ὅτι (“because”). Verses 15–16 refer back to John the Baptist’s witness of announcing the arrival of the one coming after him, who in truth is the one preceding him, namely the pre-​existent Logos.255 In v. 17 the incarnate is finally identified by name as Jesus Christ, that is, as the one who has come and from whom we Christians have received grace and nothing but grace. Like v. 16, v. 17 introduces, again by ὅτι, the historical Moses together with a surprisingly positive explanation. Historically, of course, mentioning John the Baptist requires a clarification of the difference between Moses and Jesus. The difference is that Moses revealed the Law (ὁ νόμος), and that Jesus Christ revealed Grace (ἡ χάρις) and Truth (ἡ ἀλήθεια).256 Both are part of the divine revelation, which points to another parallel with Paul.257 Verse 18 concludes the Prologue with a final axiom of far-​reaching importance, identified by Lausberg as an epiphonema.258 The sententia of v. 18a is familiar from the Old Testament as well as from philosophy, at least since Xenophanes.259 Here it is applied to Johannine Christian theology: “Nobody has ever seen God.”260 In other words, the doctrine of the incarnation of the Logos in Jesus Christ does not compromise one of the fundamental agreements of all ancient theology, the invisibility of God.261 The question arising here is: how can one confirm this axiom, if the incarnation of the divine Logos in Jesus Christ is maintained at the same time? How does v. 18b attempt to avoid a self-​contradiction? On the other hand, how can the conclusion by radical atheists be averted that gods who remain totally invisible do not exist,  See also John 1:25–28, 30, and Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 246–47. Gospel of John, 78–80. 257 Paul also approves of the Mosaic Law as divine revelation; what he opposes is its Pharisaic interpretation. Cf. Gal 3:19–25; Phil 3:3–9, and my Galatians, 161–80; and Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 53–61. Whereas Paul has experienced the change himself, the author of the Fourth Gospel knows about the Pharisees from the Synoptic Jesus traditions. See also Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 256–58. 258  See Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 254–61; idem, Das Epiphonema des Johannes-​ Prologs (1,18), NAWG/PH 1982, 7 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 269–89. Cf. John 5:37; 6:46; 14:9; 1 John 4:12; 1 Tim 1:17. 259 See Xenophanes, 21 B 34, 36 (1:137) (Heitsch, Xenophanes, 77, 81) = KRS 179–80 (§ 186). 260  Cf. Exod 33:18–21; Sir 43:31 (LXX); Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 258–62, 269; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 87–88. 261  See Bultmann, Gospel of John, 80–81; John 5:37; 6:46; 14:9; 1 John 4:12; 5:20; cf. 1 Tim 1:17; 6:16; A. Hilary Armstrong, “Gottesschau (Visio beatifica),” RAC 12 (1983): 1–19. 255

256 Bultmann,

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except as groundless illusions?262 The Johannine answer is that the Logos incarnate remains the Logos, so that viewing Jesus in the text causes transformation (cf. John 14:7–11). The text-critical readings regarding v. 18 show that different answers were debated in the tradition. Notably, the option of Christ being the “image of God” (εἰκὼν θεοῦ) was Pauline and not Johannine.263 Other options assume different meanings of the term μονογενής.264 One option was to understand the Logos as hypostatically co-existing with “the only-begotten God” (ὁ μονογενὴς θεός, 𝔓75 ‫א‬1 33 etc.) or as “the only-begotten son” (ὁ μονογενὴς υἱός, A C3 etc.), or, taking θεός without the article as “special hypostatic divinity” (μονογενὴς θεός, 𝔓66 ‫ *א‬B C* etc.). Most of the options show a clear intention to preserve monotheism, which is a tendency throughout the Prologue.265 Verse 18c seems to suggest the concept of “son,” but it does not actually use the term (υἱός) in the phrase: ὁ ὢν εἰς τὸν κόλπον τοῦ πατρός (“who is in the bosom of the Father”).266 Since the same notion of the Father (πατήρ as “originator”) occurs also in v. 14 without further details, the conundrum remains.267 Possibly, the author of the Prologue intended to leave the identity of the μονογενής open (“the one-​and-​only”) for the main body of the Gospel to explain, where indeed it is explained (see John 3:16–20). In fact, the final comment points beyond the Prologue to the Gospel as a whole, where “he has explained (it)” (ἐκεῖνος ἐξηγήσατο).268 The two words point forward to what is to follow. Whether the comment was added by the author of the Prologue or a secondary redactor of the Gospel remains unclear. Anyway, the identity of ἐκεῖνος is clearly that of the Logos. It is the Logos incarnated in  Cf. Paul’s distinction between τὸ γνωστὸν τοῦ θεοῦ φανερόν and τὰ ἀόρατα αὐτοῦ … νοούμενα καθορᾶται in Rom 1:19–20; it reflects philosophical tradition and is ruling out atheism as well as polytheism. 263 This Christology is basic to the Pauline (cf. 2 Cor 4:4; Col 1:15, etc.), but absent from the Johannine tradition. See Bultmann, Gospel of John, 82. 264 See also John 1:14, 18; 3:16, 18; 1 John 4:9; BDAG 658, s. v. μονογενής; Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung, 250–55. 265  See the critical apparatus, ad loc.; Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2002), 169–70. 266 Cf. v. 14: ὡς μονογενὴς παρὰ πατρός, also without υἱός. Notably, Plutarch discusses the question concerning Plato, Tim. 28c, in Quaest. plat. 2, 1000E–1001C (Harold Cherniss, trans., Plutarch: Moralia, vol. 13/1: Platonic Essays, LCL 427 [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976], 29–35, with the notes by Cherniss). See also BDAG 786–88, s. v. πατήρ, 6. 267  See Bultmann, Gospel of John, 81–83. Cf. also the appearance of the Father in Phil 2:11. 268 Cf. Bultmann, Gospel of John, 83. 262

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Jesus, who interprets the Prologue by the narrative throughout the Gospel.269 This Logos functions like a professional “exegete” (ἐξηγητής) who converts the message of the historical Jesus Christ into the theology of the Johannine Gospel (and the Epistles, 1 John 1:10; 2:5, 7, 14). With this comment delivered, the reader should be fully prepared to begin reading the narrative body of the Gospel and be guided to become a Christian believer. Thus the argument has come full circle; and so again we are told not to see in Jesus as the Revealer a kind of hierophant or mystagogue, who fades into obscurity beside his word. For Jesus speaks the word, in that at the same time he is the word; and in what is to come the Evangelist gives us not the teaching of Jesus, but his life and teaching as a unity.270

C. Conclusions Regarding New Testament Theology I. Introduction Having examined the foundations laid by New Testament authors in order to establish what can be named New Testament theology, the results of these investigations can now be summed up. Both Parts A and B have identified Christology as constituting the conceptual foundations. More precisely, two different Christologies have emerged through a textual analysis of the letters of the Apostle Paul and of the Fourth Gospel. In literary terms, both Christologies were first formulated in hymnic compositions: Paul’s in the hymn fragment in Phil 2:6–11 (Part A), and John’s in the hymnic Prologue in John 1:1–18 (Part B). Although both hymns show some parallels, they are independent in origin, date, and structure. Both are profound and open to further creative developments in several directions.

II. Paul’s Christology The Philippian hymn is cited only once as a fragmentary self-​quotation in Paul’s latest letter, which has apparently originated earlier, indeed not long after his conversion from Pharisaism to the Jesus movement. The fragment 269  The verb ἐξηγεῖσθαι occurs only here in the Johannine corpus. Cf. Plato, Resp. 4, 427c of the Delphic Apollo as πάτριος ἐξηγητής. See Bultmann, Gospel of John, 83, who rightly refers to the professional “revealer” (ἐξηγητής, “exegete”) in the context of prophecy; Lausberg, Der Johannes-​Prolog, 260–61; LSJ 593, s. v. ἐξηγέομαι, III; BDAG 349, s. v. ἐξηγέομαι, 2; ἐξήγησις, 2. 270 Bultmann, Gospel of John, 83.

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contains a biographical aretalogy of Jesus and is fully Pauline in its theology, albeit early-​Pauline. Paul’s hymn does not presuppose dependence upon the Synoptic tradition, that is to say the written Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke. Paul is, however, familiar with terminology and doctrines of the early Jewish-​Christian church, among them basic facts of the life, death, and afterlife of Jesus. As far as these facts are referred to in the hymn, Paul seems to have known them even prior to his conversion from persecutor to protagonist of the Jesus movement. At any rate, since these doctrinal elements originated in the Jesus movement, they could have become known to Paul both before and after he joined this movement. On the other side, the “Synoptic traditions” as we know them from the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke, do not show evidence of having knowledge of Paul’s hymn in Phil 2:6–11. The reason must be that the early-​Pauline hymn predates the Synoptic traditions as adapted by the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke. In the case of Luke, even his book of Acts, while making Paul the leading promotor of Christianity in the Greco-​Roman world, shows no evidence of knowing Paul’s letters and thus of Paul’s hymn in Phil 2:6–11. Therefore, the question remains to be explained, how did the author of the earliest Gospel (called Mark) get the idea of writing a “Jesus biography”? This question, however, raises further questions. Does the category of Gospel presuppose biography as a literary genre? If that is so, how did Mark learn of biography as a literary genre? And, how did Mark get the idea that a biography of Jesus was desirable? New Testament scholars have discussed these questions from every possible perspective, but this is not the place to assess this intricate history of research. To be sure, there is agreement that Mark’s Gospel is the oldest and that Matthew’s, Luke’s, and even John’s depend, in one way or another, on Mark’s Gospel (1:1–16:8); each of them revised, enlarged, and adapted Mark according to their specific traditions. There is no trace of a Gospel having existed prior to Mark. It is an astonishing fact that thirty years after Jesus’s death, at a time when historical and biographical literature was becoming increasingly desirable and popular in Hellenistic and Roman culture, there seems to have been no biographical account of Jesus. Apparently, however, there are beginnings, e. g., in the historical works of Flavius Josephus (ca. 37–100 ce), esp. the so-​called Testimonium Flavianum (Ant. 18.63–64), if authentic, and some other writers of whose works we know little more than names.271 Whatever access the author of the Gospel of 271 See Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B. C. – A. D. 135), ed. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, Matthew Black, and Martin Goodman, 3 vols. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973–1987), 1:428–41; Christoph Markschies and Jens

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Mark, whose original name we do not even know, may have had to biographical literature is unknown. However, one fact should not be overlooked: The first sentence of the Gospel of Mark reads like it belongs to a historical narrative: “Beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ (Son of God)” (ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου  Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ [υἱοῦ θεοῦ]).272 From a literary perspective, this “beginning” (no article) is strange. An isolated sentence such as this can hardly be called a “prologue.” The implicit judgment of the three other Gospel writers was that they provide each a carefully designed prologue of their own, implying that Mark’s “beginning” lacks a formal prologue. The author of Mark knows, however, what the theological concept of “the gospel of Jesus Christ” means. His interest is to see how that gospel began, a typical question of a historian. Apparently, as he had been searching for source material, he discovered a text which told of John the Baptist, his prophetic message and activities, and in that context had an account of his baptism of Jesus and other stories about Jesus. Having such a document at his disposal, the author may have inserted his own rubric marking an excerpt “beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ.” The text in front of the author may have been similar to those used by Josephus.273 When Mark had reached the end of his composition (16:8), he had in fact created not only a work of “history” but also a new biographical genre then called “Gospel” (εὐαγγέλιον). This new genre was then recognized by the secondary titles of the four Gospels which maintain the concept of a singular εὐαγγέλιον and see it presented in four versions (κατὰ Μάρκον, etc.). Thus, the Gospel of Mark was the first exemplar of a new literary category called “Gospel.” Most likely the author received the theological concept from Paul,274 and he limited his historical “biography” to the earthly life of Jesus. This limitation corresponds to the hymn in Phil 2:6–8 (cf. also 2 Cor 5:16), a limitation that was supplemented by later redactors of the longer ending of Mark 16:9–20 as well as by the three other Gospel writers in their post-​resurrection stories. As a result, the four Gospels can be Schröter, eds., Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung, vol. 1: Evangelien und Verwandtes, 2 parts (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 1:21–24, 29–34. 272  The words in square brackets are secondary and only attested in some manuscripts. The title “Son of God” is added because of the heavenly declaration of Jesus as “Son of God” (1:11). The account begins in v. 2 with John the Baptist and turns in vv. 9–11 to the baptism of Jesus. See also my article, “Jesus’ Baptism and the Origins of the Christian Ritual,” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, ed. David Hellholm, Tor Vegge, Øyvind Norderval, and Christer Hellholm, 3 vols., BZNW 176 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 1:377–96. 273 Cf. Josephus, Ant. 18.116–119, dealing with John the Baptist. The passage is from some source other than but similar to the one used in Mark 1. 274 For the evidence, see BDAG 402–3, s. v. εὐαγγέλιον, 1.

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attributed to the reception history of Mark, and for this reason they did not form their Christologies entirely independently from Paul. As has been shown in Part A, Paul himself explored and explained the origins and content of his faith in Jesus Christ in greater detail in his letters. Accordingly, there were at least three reasons why he turned from his original family tradition of Pharisaism to the anti-​Pharisaic beliefs of the Jesus movement. Most conspicuous are his accounts of experiencing a vision of the crucified and resurrected Jesus. In Luke’s book of Acts we see that this vision has been made the decisive instrument for Paul’s change from persecutor to protagonist in the expansion of the Christian church and its development into a world religion (Acts 1:8). Luke, the author of Acts, shows no evidence of knowing Paul’s letters or the details of his theology.275 Different from Luke, modern readers have access to Paul’s extant letters and his explorations concerning the origins and developments of his convictions, specifically of his Christology. As has been explained above (Part A), these explorations are intriguing because they testify to Paul’s continuing interest in the question of the origins of his faith. These origins go far beyond the vision on the road to Damascus and include the full range of his Christian faith. Although the term “theology” was, to the extent we know, never used by Paul, it existed and included not only Christology but the revealed doctrines of God, Spirit, church, worship, sacraments of baptism and eucharist, mission, ethics, and eschatology. What binds all these doctrines and rituals together is the presence of Jesus Christ through his Spirit: “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (ὁ δὲ κύριος τὸ πνεῦμά ἐστιν· οὗ δὲ τὸ πνεῦμα κυρίου, ἐλευθερία, 2 Cor 3:17). Consequently, in the final analysis Paul’s faith originated through the “pneumatic” presence of Christ. It is also the gift of the Spirit which restores the believer’s rationality (νοῦς, 1 Cor 2:16; Rom 12:2). “The word of the cross reveals all the wisdom of God” (1 Cor 1:18–2:16), including rhetorical power (δύναμις) in debates. In short, when Paul speaks of the “word” (λόγος) he means the inspired preaching of the Christian message, but he does not know of the Logos-​theology found in the Fourth Gospel.

III. The Christology of the Fourth Gospel In Part B above it has been demonstrated that, regarding the question of theology, the Fourth Gospel is very different from Paul. Here it became clear that and why the Logos concept is unique to the Johannine literature (John 275 See

my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 23 n. 53.

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1:1, 14; 1 John 1:1). In almost Heraclitean fashion, John 1:1 introduces the terms ὁ λόγος and ὁ θεός, but they are not conjoined as θεολογία, and this for fundamentally theological reasons. Rather, in vv. 1–5 the author describes what these terms signify and how they relate to each other. Probably, the author avoids the term “theology” because it would make it look like a static object, which, if thus understood, would be a misunderstanding. Rather, the “nature” of the Logos is that of events or processes. Also, the Logos is not a name of a second deity, because the author abides by strict monotheism. Most likely, this concept of Logos originated in Middle Platonism, not in Stoicism as it is often claimed. It is a fact, of course, that Stoicism adopted the Logos theology and combined it with the concepts of cosmic spirit (πνεῦμα) and “generative principles” (σπερματικοὶ λόγοι), but on the whole Middle Platonism did not accept this concept. At this point, John’s Gospel differs from Philo of Alexandria who accepted the Stoic doctrine.276 Although John’s Gospel used the concept of Logos only sparsely, it is of fundamental importance and undergirds the entire Gospel. As the Prologue articulates, the Logos provides the “enlightenment” (φῶς, φωτίζειν) and “life” (ζωή) which are instrumental for faith, a requirement for the hearing, reading, and understanding of the pronouncements and narratives in the Gospel texts. In other words, the Logos provides the hermeneutical key concept for understanding and interpreting the words and deeds of Jesus as presented in the Johannine Gospel and Epistles.277 Most importantly, the Logos stands behind the climactic episode of “Doubting Thomas” (John 20:24–29),278 when Jesus pronounces the beatitude (v. 29): “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet are believers” (μακάριοι οἱ μὴ ἰδόντες καὶ πιστεύσαντες). This beatitude (μακαρισμός) is pronounced conditionally as declared not only to Thomas but by implication also to the reading believers (v. 31). Some commentators take the condition (v. 29) as a question, but others as a statement of fact. The textual evidence, 276  For instances of Philo’s use of λόγοι σπερματικοί, see Opif. 43; Post. 163, Her. 115, 119; Aet. 85, 93, 99; Prov. 2.59; Leg. 3.150; for Στωικός Post. 133; Aet. 4, 8, 18, 54, 70, 78, 102. On the differences between Plutarch and Stoicism, see John Dillon, “Plutarch and God: Theology and Cosmogony in the Thought of Plutarch,” in Traditions of Theology: Studies in Hellenistic Theology, Its Background and Aftermath, ed. Dorothea Frede and André Laks, PhA 89 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 223–37. 277  See now programmatically the “Prolegomena: Vom Sinn der Sinnlichkeit,” in Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott wahrnehmen, 25–99, 347–50. 278 For the recent research, see Bultmann, Gospel of John, 693–97; Schnelle, Das Evangelium des Johannes, 305–9; Zumstein, Das Johannesevangelium, 761–72; Glenn W. Most, Doubting Thomas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005); Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott wahrnehmen, 277–345.

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however, leaves it undecided because the original Greek wording has no punctuation. Is then the reader of the text to decide? Actually, involved are several issues: Did Thomas see and touch Jesus’s wounds as Jesus had offered to him? Or did Thomas only see, but refrained from touching? In addition, did Thomas become a believer because he carried out the physical viewing and touching? If so, did Jesus overlook Thomas’s skepticism, and did he intend to include Thomas in the beatitude anyway? Or did Jesus mean to exclude him from the beatitude, due to his skepticism? Since Thomas undeniably did see, what did this viewing mean? What kind of viewing was it that turned Thomas from unbelief to belief (v. 27)? It was the kind of “seeing” the author expects from the believing reader (or hearer) of the Gospel. This implies that the figure of Thomas is the prototype of every believer who turns from skepticism to faith. This also means that skepticism, not superstitious credulity, is the proper precondition of Christian faith. As a parallel, this Logos theology is remarkably similar to the Middle Platonist Plutarch who looks at his own past as a skeptic in his De superstitione, a position from which he turned to Middle Platonism through his teacher Ammonius. At any rate, as Thomas’s confession in v. 28 shows, things become clear from the acclamation: “My Lord and my God” (ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου). Jesus raises the question in v. 29: “Have you believed because you have seen me?” (ὅτι ἑώρακάς με πεπίστευκας;) What is the reason for Thomas’s seeing but not touching? The question has in fact been answered. Indeed, had Thomas become a believer because he saw? What then did he see when he saw? The answer is given together with the acclamation “My Lord and my God,” which is basically the same as what Paul confesses in Luke’s account of what happened on the road to Damascus, Acts 9:5: “Who are you, Lord?” (τίς εἶ, κύριε), which is similar to the acclamation of the hymn at Phil 2:11: κύριος  Ἰησοῦς Χριστός (“Lord is Jesus Christ”).279 As has been pointed out above in Part B, this acclamation is evidence of conversion, so that this moment indicates the change from unbeliever to believer (ἄπιστος to πιστός, v. 27). As far as the story is concerned, Thomas has indeed seen a vision and as a result has become a believer, and he is thus included in the beatitude (v. 29). Going beyond the story, in what way does it add up to Johannine theology? Whom does Thomas represent? Theologically, the text clearly implies that Thomas figures as the reader of the Gospel in response to the Gospel as a whole. It is by intention that the imagined reader of the Gospel is an individual different from groups of disciples as in vv. 19–23. The theological aim 279 See

also Rom 10:9; 1 Cor 12:3; 2 Cor 4:5; cf. also above, pp. 38–40, 50, 79–81.

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of reading the Gospel is defined also in the conclusion (v. 31): The “book” (βιβλίον) contains the “signs written down so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing it you may have life in his name” (σημεῖα … ταῦτα δὲ γέγραπται ἵνα πιστεύ[σ]ητε ὅτι  Ἰησοῦς ἐστιν ὁ Χριστὸς ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ, καὶ ἵνα πιστεύοντες ζωὴν ἔχητε ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι αὐτοῦ). This formulation clarifies what the readers “see” when reading the Fourth Gospel. What readers “see” (θεωρεῖν) are “signs” (σημεῖα), loaded terms in John’s Gospel signifying the deeds and speeches of Jesus. Instead of the vision which Paul received in the Damascus experience and which he put into words in his hymn, Phil 2:6–11, the Fourth Gospel presents a “vision” of the life and teaching of Jesus Christ from beginning to end. That is to say, reading the “book” amounts to a vision of Jesus Christ, who as Logos, in almost Heraclitean mode, effects the conversion from unfaith to faith.

IV. New Testament Theology Summa summarum: The process of theological thinking in the New Testament is constitutive of “faith” (πιστεύειν, πίστις) and based on two authoritative Christologies, those of Paul and John, which originated independently but were related by previously existing thinking and therefore showed some points of contact. Both Christologies were first formulated as hymnic prologues and cited as authoritative summaries in Phil 2:6–11 and John 1:1–18. Moreover, both Christologies were expanded and applied to theological thinking on a larger scale in Paul’s letters and in John’s Gospel and Epistles. On the even larger scale, Bultmann was justified in placing both Paul’s and John’s theological thinking side by side as the main pillars of New Testament Theology.280 By so doing Bultmann preserved both the diversity of New Testament theology and its character of ongoing thinking.281 Therefore, this New Testament theology is not a fixed dogmatic system, but intends to be continued in what is to be named “history of theological thinking.”

280  Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, §§ 16–40 (1:187–352, on Paul), and §§ 41– 50 (2:3–92, on John). 281 See Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, §§ 54–58 (2:119–202), and the Epilogue (2:237–51).

Theology and Religiosity in the Greek Pagan Tradition Gerd Van Riel The object of this contribution is a strange one, maybe even a phantom: it concerns the absence of a word in the letters of Paul, and the possible meaning of this omitted word. When described thus, it seems as odd an enterprise as setting up an archaeological campaign to find the stone on which the Son of Man did not lay his head. And yet, in the present case, the omission of a word does have great significance. Paul never uses the word “theology” (θεολογία, “speaking about god”), although this would, prima facie, be the most accurate term to describe the entire endeavour of the Pauline epistles. The word θεολογία was coined by Plato, and thus had a long-​standing tradition before the rise of Christianity. If, then, in presenting Christian faith as true religion, Paul does not have recourse to the word “theology,” it is legitimate to raise the question of whether this omission is deliberate. Did Paul avoid the use of θεολογία, or is its absence just a coincidence? And if he did avoid the term, then what could have been the reason for Paul to distance himself from it? According to Hans Dieter Betz, Paul avoided the term deliberately,1 because it belonged to the specific vocabulary of the Platonic philosophical tradition. Any reference to the word θεολογία would thus be essentially Platonic, and bring in philosophical theology as elaborated by Plato, which, according to Betz, is a metaphysical account of the divine. In this contribution I would like to challenge this view, based on four main points: first, that singling out a philosophical use of θεολογία is artificial and neglects the close connections between so-​called philosophical theology and traditional, popular, poetic, or mythical speaking about the gods; second, that in this respect, the philosophical use of the term θεολογία in Plato or the Platonic tradition is not essentially different from any other philosophical school; third, that in pagan philosophy, “speaking about the gods” (θεολογία) was never replaced by metaphysics; and fourth, that the metaphysical understanding of 1 See

Betz’s contribution above (pp. 7–92, 14).

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theology is a specifically Christian invention, elaborated from the 2nd c. ce onwards, and based on the strict monotheism of Christian religion. Betz’s point could be understood from the fact that the dominant philosophical influence for the development of Christian thought is that of Platonism, whereby “Platonism” would be used as a shortcut to indicate “pagan philosophy.” But even the statement that theology is a prerogative of philosophy seems to be exaggerated, and to be dictated by the fact that the philosophers were the only ones to present reflective statements about what “theology” means. Yet the pagan “theologies” were much more diverse. From antiquity onwards, speaking about the gods was recognized in different genres: the Stoics, for instance, developed the concept of a theologia tripertita,2 which included (1) mythical theology of the poets, (2) natural theology, and (3) theologia ciuilis (civic theology, related to the official cult of the state), which, rather than being different theologies, were different perspectives, all cross-​fertilizing one another. In earlier times they were not conceptually distinguished, meaning that the differences between philosophical, poetic, civic, and other ways of speaking about the gods were very fluid and vague.3 Julia Kindt is absolutely right to criticize the pigeonholing of theology that has long been the presupposition of the study of ancient religions: the theological views underlying popular religion are studied separately and independently of the theologies of the tragic poets, the theologies of the philosophers, etc.4 It is as if all those expressions of religiosity existed in separate biospheres, with no interconnection. Scholars such as Kindt have now set a new agenda, based on the much more intuitively secure starting point that there is bound to be a mutual embeddedness of all those aspects of ancient religion, and that no-​one would elaborate a theology that was not in some sense or other occasioned by existing shared practices and beliefs. The pigeonholing has indeed led to blind spots in scholarship. In the context of the study of ancient religion, the study of “theology” seems to have been reserved to either philosophical reflection on the gods or the poetic representation of divine forces, thus neglecting the theology that is underlying religious practice or popular belief, and the cross-​references among 2 See Peter Van Nuffelen, Rethinking the Gods: Philosophical Readings of Religion in the Post-​Hellenistic World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 29–47, for the origins and developments of this theologia tripertita. 3  See Julia Kindt, “The Story of Theology and the Theology of the Story,” in Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, ed. Esther Eidinow, Julia Kindt, and Robin Osborne, Cambridge Classical Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 12–34, here 28–32. 4  Kindt, “Story of Theology,” 24–25.

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them. As Kindt points out, the Athenian audience of tragedies did of course understand the religious views underlying the plot and the story-​telling of the tragic authors, and hence, that “Greek tragedy was … a focal point of religious articulation in which religious discourse and religious practice merged.”5 After a massively one-​sided interest in civic religion (or polis religion), a powerful, relatively new strain of scholarship is gradually detecting the theologies implicit in literature and “popular religion” (whatever that word may be taken to mean).6 There will obviously remain distinctions and different perspectives. Everyday religious practice and rituals will no doubt have been important to philosophers and poets alike, but what they want to do in their intellectual project is not necessarily just to develop a systematic frame that underlies religious practice and rituals. They will, rather, raise questions about the existence of the gods from their specific perspective. A tragic poet shows on stage how justice and injustice, right and wrong, power and submission get into deep conflict, and are punished, sanctioned, and/or solved by the gods. A philosopher will want to know how the existence of the gods relates to metaphysics, cosmology, ontology, and ethics. In other words, even though religion will always have played an important role in the daily practice of every ancient Athenian – philosophers, poets, painters, and carpenters alike – it seems that the “pigeonholing of theology” is not solely a consequence of questions raised in modern scholarship. It also belongs to the various emergences of “speaking about the gods” in the different dimensions of Athenian intellectual life. It has been pointed out many times in the past that the problem of studying Greek religion is the absence of a unified set of beliefs, of dogmas, or of a shared tradition of sacred texts. But, in the terms in which the problem is put nowadays, this lack of unity is not so much the effect of a lack of doctrine, but rather of the multiplicity and variety of the religious phenomena and their contemporary interpretations. Obviously, more unified and consistent religions based on monotheism and revelation will have more standardized beliefs. But even then, depending on where one stands and what one is trying to achieve, the resulting aspects of religiosity will vary widely. Even today, Christian popular devotion does not necessarily dwell on the same questions (and indeed answers) as sophisticated reflection on the Trinity in theological faculties and seminaries. So there are different theologies. The very existence  Kindt, “Story of Theology,” 31. e. g., Julia Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2012), 18–19. 5

6 See,

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of each one of them is obviously influencing all of the others, and there will be mutual exchanges between them, but they need not necessarily be reduced to one single common practice or theory – not even in the mind of the beholder who would regard them as always combined (a philosopher who attends a religious service, a theologian who lights a candle, or a poet who reads theological treatises, or a person who combines all of the foregoing). It is safe to say, then, that when encountering pagan Greek religion, we are a fortiori dealing with a multiplicity of theologies, “ways of speaking about the gods.” As said, until recently, the very concept of θεολογία has been reserved to philosophy, as if reflection on religion came to be only in the hands of professional thinkers. And even in this case, there was hardly any uniformity. In the definition of the philosophers – if a generalization is at all allowed – theology seems to mean something like a theoretical and systematized account of the place of the god(s) within the ontological and metaphysical structure of the universe. The degrees to which this is explicitly developed will vary greatly from school to school, from period to period and from individual to individual, but all pagan philosophers – even the very few who abrogate the existence of the gods7 – seem to have dealt with “speaking about the gods” in one way or another. In the modern scholarly tradition, those philosophical theologies (by Plato, Aristotle, etc.) were studied in their own right, paying hardly any attention to their Sitz im Leben. Hence, historians of Christianity and of the development of Christian theology would only refer to those philosophical theologies as the predecessors to the elaboration of Christian theology, thereby neglecting important aspects of religious reflection outside philosophy. However, the theologies as elaborated by philosophers do not represent isolated views, but they are predisposed and informed by existing religious practices and beliefs, which they further integrate in their philosophical reflection. Even though the term θεολογία seems to be used by philosophers only, this should not lead to precipitous conclusions. As said, there was theology outside philosophy – maybe not as a deliberate theoretical reflection, but certainly as the bottom line of reflexive religious praxis and as narrated in poetry. The absence of a notion of θεολογία referring to this praxis in ancient literature does not lead to the conclusion that there was no such reflection going on.8 Incidentally, the absence of any use of the word θεολογία in 7  One might even say that those who deny the existence of the gods are most preoccupied with θεολογία, as they need to thematize how the gods could or might be thought to be, and argue explicitly that cosmology/ontology/metaphysics does not allow for the gods’ existence. Thus, e. g., Protagoras, DK 80 B 1 (2:262–64). 8 Cf. Kindt, Rethinking Greek Religion, 188.

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the writings of Paul does not mean there is no reflection on theology there, either. The argumentum e silentio does not work in one direction only. Moreover, in their novel metaphysical elaborations, none of the pagan philosophers intended to replace the traditional views of the gods. To their mind, θεολογία always remains a reference to traditional ways of speaking about the gods. This applies first and foremost to Plato and Aristotle, as I hope to demonstrate, but it is a lasting attitude of all subsequent generations of pagan philosophers until the end of their schools, far beyond the days of Paul. If it were true that Paul would avoid the use of the term θεολογία because of a reaction against his pagan predecessors, I hope to explain that the reaction should be seen as directed against paganism as a whole, and certainly not solely against a philosophical understanding of theology.

A. Plato’s Use of the Word θεολογία The word θεολογία first occurs in Plato. In the second book of the Republic, he has his interlocutors expound a new way of speaking about the gods, in fierce reaction against the Homeric-​Hesiodic tradition of attributing all kinds of immoral behavior and mischievous deeds to the gods (Plato, Resp. 2, 378d–e). It is clear that with this reaction, Plato wants to point out that the poets have failed their mission of being the educators of the people – which is just as much an indication of a program of theology: the educators’ speaking about the gods must be trustworthy and true to the nature of the gods themselves. Failing to do so reduces poetry to mere storytelling in order to please the audience, and hence, to a rhetoric in which the speaker who intends to manipulate the listeners is himself captured by their whims and desires. Elsewhere in his Republic, Plato compares this attitude with someone who, when rearing a wild beast, first needs to study the animal’s behavior and reactions. The tamer’s strategies are thus dictated by the beast, and not vice versa.9 Plato is here talking primarily about the Sophists, but in the explanation of the metaphor he explicitly mentions also the poets as bad educators: If anyone approaches the majority to exhibit his poetry or some other piece of craftsmanship or his service to the city and gives them mastery over him to any degree beyond what’s unavoidable, he’ll be under Diomedean compulsion, as it’s called, to do the sort of thing of which they approve. (Plato, Resp. 4, 493d)10  9 Plato,

Resp. 4, 493a–d. G. M. A.  Grube, Plato: Republic, rev. C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis, IN and Cambridge: Hackett, 1992), 167. 10  Trans.

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As an alternative to this poetic delusion, Plato has his legislators decree what are the rules with which poetic talking about the gods must comply. The law-​makers are emphatically not composing new myths themselves, but they prescribe “patterns for theology” to those who are speaking or telling stories about the gods. These patterns or rules include (1) that god can only be good (Plato, Resp. 2, 379a–380c), and (2) that gods do not lie or deceive (380c–383a). The terms in which those patterns are introduced should be given due attention: they are first introduced as “the patterns poets must use in telling their stories” (τύποι ἐν οἷς δεῖ μυθολογεῖν τοὺς ποιητάς, 379a, 2–3), to be taken up as “patterns applicable to speaking about the gods” (τύποι περὶ θεολογίας, 379a, 5). Further on, they are referred to as “the laws or patterns concerning the gods to which speakers and poets must conform” (περὶ θεοὺς νόμοι τε καὶ τύποι, ἐν ᾧ δεήσει τοὺς λέγοντας λέγειν καὶ τοὺς ποιοῦντας ποιεῖν, 380c, 7–9) and as “patterns for speaking or composing poems about the gods” (τύπος ἐν ᾧ δεῖ περὶ θεῶν καὶ λέγειν καὶ ποιεῖν, 383a, 2–3). From this (exhaustive) survey, it is clear that Plato made no strict distinction between “speaking about the gods”11 and “composing myths” (μυθολογεῖν or ποιεῖν περὶ θεῶν): the difference only seems to be one of perspective, but both activities are included in θεολογία. It is in the explanation of the patterns of theology that reference is made to telling stories or just speaking about the gods. Hence, Plato’s θεολογία in the strict sense of the word can be either theoretical or narrative by nature. The imposition of patterns does not at all do away with the storytelling about the gods (obviously including Plato’s own myths!). Plato in no way is saying that myths should be replaced by rational discourse: he just wants to delineate the rules for storytelling and discourse alike.

B. Plato’s Theology and Religion As I have argued elsewhere, the patterns for theology are framed by Plato’s underlying view that the universe is ruled by the Good as a metaphysical principle, and that everything, including the gods, is bound by this “fatal” force of the Good. In that way, Plato elaborates a theoretical “speaking about the gods,” mainly in the tenth book of the Laws. The point of his “theology” 11 Plato never uses the verb θεολογεῖν, which seems to be coined only later on; instead, he uses λέγειν περὶ θεούς or the noun θεολογία, as in the examples listed. There are no other occurrences of the word θεολογία in Plato other than this passage from Resp. book 2.

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is that the gods are not metaphysical principles, but ensouled intelligent beings who transmit the order of the Good onto the sensible world. Moreover, from this theological structure, Plato derives ethical precepts to strive for the Good, in accordance with the world order.12 The overarching power of the Good also brings Plato to the denial of divine φθόνος: the gods’ keeping their privileges to themselves and punishing people whose good fortune brings them too close to the divine status. This had been an important aspect of the earlier theologies from Homer onwards. In Plato, to the contrary, the gods cannot but bestow the Good upon lower beings.13 Plato’s philosophical project is thus “theological,” both in its theoretical articulation and in the way of dealing with mythology. But other aspects of Plato’s thought are also imbued by this theological stance. The dictum from the tenth book of the Laws that “everything is full of gods” (Leg. 10, 899c, a dictum that goes back to Thales)14 is valid, a fortiori, of Plato’s own work. Reference is made to the divine in nearly all discussions in Plato. And it has been remarked that these various occurrences of the gods are often contradictory.15 That may be true, but seen from the mere angle of “speaking about the gods,” what Plato does with the introduction of the patterns for theology does come down to a moral purification and a systematization of references to the gods, by establishing the link between metaphysics, cosmology, ethics, and religion. As Plato makes clear when introducing the patterns for theology, they are designed for the education of the inhabitants of the new city, and for guiding them to virtue: If we’re to persuade our people that no citizen has ever hated another and that it’s impious to do so, then that’s what should be told to children from the beginning by old men and women. … The young can’t distinguish what is allegorical from what isn’t, and the opinions they absorb at that age are hard to erase and apt to become unalterable. For these reasons, then, we should probably take the utmost care to insure that the first stories they hear about virtue are the best ones for them to hear. (Plato, Resp. 2, 378c–e)16

12 See Gerd Van Riel, Plato’s Gods, Ashgate Studies in the History of Philosophical Theology (Farnham, Surrey and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013), esp. ch. 3, 61–117. 13  Most notably, Plato, Tim. 29e. See Esther Eidinow, “Popular Theologies: The Gift of Divine Envy,” in eadem, Kindt, and Osborne, Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, 205–32, here 229–30. 14 Aristotle, De an. 1.5, 411a8. 15 So, for instance, Cicero, Nat. d. 1.12.30. 16 Trans. Grube, Plato: Republic, 54.

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As, by their metaphysical fate, the gods can only be good, storytelling about the gods should lead to virtue, and the opposite would be an impious thing to do. The virtue of piety is thus of central importance for theology, for the storytellers as well as for their pupils. In this line, the failure of the traditional poets to represent the gods as good and free of deceit is one of the main reasons for Plato’s reaction against the poets in the Republic. From other dialogues such as Euthyphro and the Laws we learn that, in Plato’s view, piety first and foremost consists in doing what pleases the gods. In the Euthyphro, the point is not entirely straightforward. Socrates questions Euthyphro, the self-​declared specialist in piety who is so confident that he is prepared to sue his father for murder. When asked what he thinks piety to be about, he answers: “What is dear to the gods is pious, what is not is impious.”17 Euthyphro is then questioned and rebuked about this definition, and will have to admit that the pious and the god-​loved are not the same (10d–11a). And yet, at the end, the discussants arrive at the same point again: “So the pious is once again what is dear to the gods. – Most certainly.”18 That is as far as we get in this dialogue. The discussion ends on this aporetic conclusion that the argument has gone round in a circle, and that things will need to be reconsidered. Yet the point of the Euthyphro does not seem to be to refute the definition itself, but rather Euthyphro’s failure to understand its meaning. That Plato did hold on to the view that piety is doing what pleases the gods, may be deduced from the definition of piety in the ps.-Platonic Definitions: “Pious: service to a god which is agreeable to the god.”19 This may well be the definition as it circulated in Plato’s Academy. In any case, in the Laws, the later Plato takes up this notion of piety again, and places it within his theology. In the fourth book of the Laws, the Athenian stranger explains how the first colonists will have to be welcomed to the new city of Magnesia. The first words they get to hear will be the following: Gentlemen, the god, as the ancient story goes, holds in his hand the beginning and end and middle of all things, and straight he marches in the cycle of nature. Justice, who takes vengeance on those who abandon the divine law, never leaves his side. (Leg. 4, 715e–716a)20 17 Plato, Euthyph. 6e–7a: Ἔ   στι τοίνυν τὸ μὲν τοῖς θεοῖς προσφιλὲς ὅσιον, τὸ δὲ μὴ προσφιλὲς ἀνόσιον. 18  Plato, Euthyph. 15b, 4–6: ΣΩ. Τοῦτο ἄρ’ ἐστὶν αὖ, ὡς ἔοικε, τὸ ὅσιον, τὸ τοῖς θεοῖς φίλον. – ΕΥΘ. Μάλιστά γε. 19 [Plato], Def. 415a, 9: Ὅσιον· θεράπευμα θεοῦ ἀρεστὸν θεῷ. 20 Trans. (modified) Trevor J. Saunders, “Laws,” in Plato: Complete Works, ed. John M. Cooper and D. S. Hutchinson (Indianapolis, IN and Cambridge: Hackett, 1997), 1318– 1617, here 1402.

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This view, that the role of the god is to order the cosmos, and at the same time to install justice (which Plato will further elaborate in the tenth book of the Laws), takes up a theology the outline of which had been present long before Plato, albeit partially and unsystematically. In Hesiod, justice was seen as bestowed upon humankind by Zeus, without, however, implying that Zeus himself would be nothing but just. Aeschylus went one step further: in the Agamemnon, Zeus was indeed depicted as the just ruler of the universe – even though, in Prometheus Vinctus, Zeus remained the autocratic and whimsical tyrant of Olympus. The point seems to be that, depending on which story is told, the image of Zeus as lawgiver is of a different nature. The narrative theology of the Greeks seems to have allowed for this flexibility. And this may even extend to Plato himself: in the Prometheus myth as narrated in the Protagoras, Zeus is likewise represented as a tyrant whose decisions are not necessarily just.21 It is generally agreed that the Protagoras was written earlier than the Republic, and thus that Plato may have changed his mind, or that the attribution of this story to Protagoras meant that Plato did not take responsibility for it. It might be the case that for the Plato of the Republic, even his own myth of the Protagoras would be a wrong sort of storytelling. And indeed, in the Statesman (274b–e), which is later than the Republic, the same myth is referred to without mentioning any divine whim. Prometheus is just said to have given fire to humankind, and the gods (even though, as the Politicus narrates, the gods have left the stage in this era) are called benefactors of our kind. That does not mean, as I have argued, that the lesson to be drawn from the myth has changed,22 but Plato does refrain from telling the details of the story (Zeus’s decisions, and the punishment of Prometheus). One may conclude that, at least for the earlier Plato, the old incongruities of the narrative theology seem to have posed no particular problem, but that the later Plato did present a systematized theology along the lines he set up in the Republic.

 One may obviously doubt whether this myth, which is after all told by Protagoras in the dialogue named after him, represents Plato’s own ideas. I have argued that it does (“Religion and Morality: Elements of Plato’s Anthropology in the Myth of Prometheus [Protagoras 320D–322D],” in Plato and Myth: Studies on the Use and Status of Platonic Myths, ed. Catherine Collobert, Pierre Destrée, and Francisco J. Gonzales, MnemSup 337 [Leiden: Brill, 2012], 145–64). But even if one denies Plato’s responsibility for the content of the myth, the fact remains that the nature of Zeus as represented by Protagoras is not questioned in the dialogue. The partners in the discussion do not cast any doubt on what is said in the myth. Quite the contrary: they all agree on the content of the myth. See ibid., 157–59. 22  Van Riel, “Religion and Morality,” 152–56. 21

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This systematized theology comes to the fore even more in the further design of the address to the colonists of Magnesia: The man who means to live in happiness latches on to her [i. e., divine law] and follows her with submission and sense of order. But he who bursts with arrogance, elated by wealth or honours or by physical beauty when young and foolish, whose soul is afire with insolence, as if, so far from needing someone to control and lead him, he can play the leader to others – there’s a man whom God has deserted. And in his desolation he collects others like himself, and in his soaring frenzy he causes universal chaos. Many people think he cuts a fine figure, but before very long he pays to Justice no trifling penalty and brings himself, his home and state to rack and ruin. Thus it is ordained. (Plato, Leg. 4, 716a–b)23

The observance of justice and the divine law requires a specific attitude on the part of the actors: they need to be submissive and orderly (ταπεινὸς καὶ κεκοσμημένος), and not having their soul set afire with insolence (μεθ’ ὕβρεως), fed by arrogance (μεγαλαυχία), health, wealth, or honors. Again, the Greek wording requires our attention. The terms Plato uses are those of traditional Greek theology: humans need to know their place in the order of the universe (hence κεκοσμημένος) and to abide by the limits imposed by this position. Being ταπεινός means to be low in rank, abased in power, weak or submissive.24 It can be the effect of the gods’ intervention, who may humble the great (as in Euripides, Fr. 716: τά τοι μέγιστα πολλάκις θεὸς | ταπείν’ ἔθηκε; cf. Andr. 979). The word ὕβρις (insolence), as often, comprises the entire semantic field of the duty to recognize one’s place in the cosmos.25 If a being (whether a god, semi-​god, titan, hero, human, or other) trespasses the boundaries of its existence, e. g., when a human ventures to act like a god, then they commit the crime of ὕβρις.26 Aeschylus qualified Prometheus’s theft of fire (a divine possession not accessible to titans such as Prometheus, nor to humans) as ὕβρις, thus also explaining his punishment: There now, practise your impudence (ὕβριζε) here, robbing the gods of their prerogatives and handing them over to beings who live for a day. How are mortals going to be able to bail you out of these sufferings? The gods are wrong to call you Prometheus, 23  Trans. Saunders, “Laws,” 1402, thoroughly modified. The translation of Saunders is using terms that have a heavily Christian undertone, and that tend to obliterate the fact that Plato is using traditional Greek vocabulary here. Saunders translates ταπεινὸς καὶ κεκοσμημένος as “meek and humble,” μεθ’ ὕβρεως as “with the arrogant belief,” and μεγαλαυχία as “pride.” 24  See LSJ 1756–57, s. v. 25 This fundamental meaning of the word ὕβρις is not listed in LSJ 841. 26 Euripides, Hipp. 474–475: οὐ γὰρ ἄλλο πλὴν ὕβρις | τάδ’ ἐστί, κρείσσω δαιμόνων εἶναι θέλειν.

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“the Forethinker”; you now need someone to exercise forethought for you as to how you’re going to wriggle out of this piece of handiwork. (Aeschylus, Prom. 82–87)27

Hence, what Plato is referring to here is the need for humans to acknowledge their limits, to abide by the divine law, and not to trespass the boundaries of their human existence. This is a religious attitude, conceived of in traditional terms. In this respect also, Aeschylus has already captured the Greek traditional conception, by connecting ὕβρις with impiety: “Hybris is the child of impiety” (δυσσεβείας μὲν ὕβρις τέκος, Eum. 534). This link with piety (understood, as we saw, as behaving in a way that is commendable to god) is exactly what Plato goes on to elaborate: So what conduct recommends itself to god and reflects his wishes? There is only one sort, epitomised in the old saying “like approves of like” (excess apart, which is both its own enemy and that of due proportion). In our view it is god who is pre-​ eminently the “measure of all things,” much more so than any “man,” as they say. So if you want to recommend yourself to someone of this character, you must do your level best to make your own character reflect his, and on this principle the moderate man is god’s friend, being like him, whereas the immoderate and unjust man is not like him and is his enemy; and the same reasoning applies to the other vices too. (Plato, Leg. 4, 716c–d)28

By the precept to take god as the measure, Plato evidently inverts Protagoras’s homo mensura principle. Moreover, he links this precept to the ancient view that “like knows like,” and that humans will only be recommending themselves to god if they imitate god’s character. Now, interestingly, this insight is not elaborated here in terms of a ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, which in the given flow of the argument would have made perfect sense. In the Theaetetus, the task of philosophers to become as similar to god as is humanly possible is defined along the lines of keeping distant from the world. This philosophical escape is then accomplished by “being just and pure, with understanding” (Theaet. 176a–b).29 This is not what we read in the Laws: Plato here wants the imitation of god’s character to consist in moderation: the moderate person (σώφρων) is said to be god’s friend. Even though the Athenian Stranger in the Laws adds all other virtues to the list (first and foremost, justice), the whole point of pleasing god hinges on the virtue of moderation. Being liked 27 Ἐνταῦθά νυν ὕβριζε καὶ θεῶν γέρα | συλῶν ἐφημέροισι προστίθει. τί σοι | οἷοί τε θνητοὶ τῶνδ᾿ ἀπαντλῆσαι πόνων; | ψευδωνύμως σε δαίμονες Προμηθέα | καλοῦσιν· αὐτὸν γάρ σε δεῖ προμηθέως, | ὅτῳ τρόπῳ τῆσδ᾿ ἐκκυλισθήσῃ τέχνης. Trans. Alan H. Sommerstein, Aeschylus: Persians, Seven against Thebes, Suppliants, Prometheus Bound, LCL 145 (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2008), 455. 28 Trans. Saunders, “Laws,” 1403. 29  Cf. Van Riel, Plato’s Gods, 19–24.

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by god (insofar as possible), thus, depends on other priorities than being like god (insofar as possible). What Plato seems to be conveying here is that taking god as a measure is everybody’s task (was moderation [σωφροσύνη] not the virtue that was required of everybody in the state, from the highest until the lowest, according to the Republic?),30 whereas philosophers should aim at a goal that is higher still. If that is correct, then moderation is the clue to the piety that underlies any religious attitude. One could wonder why reflecting god’s character (like knowing like) should result in moderation: is Plato saying that the main characteristic of the divine is moderation? I do not actually think this is what is at stake here. More likely, the emphasis lies on taking god as a measure, which involves a certain amount of self-​reflection on behalf of those who want to be god’s friend. They will know that this implies being virtuous. But the main thing they should acknowledge is the irreducible distance that makes them different from god, as was implied in the previous passage, which occasioned this elaboration. This view was also endorsed by the tragic poets. In his Suppliant Women, Aeschylus warned that humans should not ask too much of the gods: [Chorus] How can I be expected to see into the mind of Zeus, gazing into its bottomless depths? [Argive soldiers] Then make your prayer a moderate one. [Chorus] What are you instructing me is the right choice? [Argive soldiers] Not to ask too much of the gods. (Suppl. 1057–1061)31

Aeschylus thus uses the Delphic precept of μηδὲν ἄγαν to appoint humans their place, and to exhort them to keep their prayers measured (μέτριον). Moderation thus entails, first and foremost, that the difference and distance between the human and the divine be observed. In a similar way as in Theaetetus, this is expressed in the Laws by the addition “insofar as is humanly possible” (εἰς δύναμιν ὅτι μάλιστα, 716c, 6–7). The perspective remains human, and imitating god’s character (or, for that matter, becoming  Plato, Resp. 4, 431e–432a (trans. Grube, Plato: Republic, 107): “Because, unlike courage and wisdom, each of which resides in one part, making the city brave [i. e. through the helpers] and wise [i. e. through the guardians] respectively, moderation spreads throughout the whole. It makes the weakest, the strongest, and those in between – whether in regard to reason, physical strength, numbers, wealth, or anything else – all sing the same song together. And this unanimity, this agreement between the naturally worse and the naturally better as to which of the two is to rule both in the city and in each one, is rightly called moderation.” 31 ΧΟΡ. τί δὲ μέλλω φρένα Δίαν | καθορᾶν, ὄψιν ἄβυσσον; | ΑΡΓ. μέτριον νῦν ἔπος εὔχου· | ΧΟΡ. τίνα καιρόν με διδάσκεις; | ΑΡΓ. τὰ θεῶν μηδὲν ἀγάζειν. Trans. Sommerstein, LCL 145:427–29. 30

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like god as in the case of the philosophers) is bound to fail if this limit is not respected. Quite the contrary: it would be a backslide into taking man as a measure. So, in the end, the basic feature of people’s piety (their taking god as a measure) is the observance of their limitations, and, once more, the avoidance of ὕβρις. Again, this semantic cluster must have been very recognizable to Plato’s contemporary readers: for indeed, the words σωφροσύνη, σώφρων, and σωφρονεῖν are always seen in opposition to ὕβρις, ὑβριστής, and ὑβρίζειν. To name just one example: in his Ajax Sophocles has Agamemnon say to the born slave Teucer, who trespassed by allowing himself free speech, as if he were a free man: “here you are rashly insulting us, letting your mouth run on and on. You should control yourself. Do you not realize who you are by birth?” (Aj. 1258–1259).32 This means, then, that to Plato’s readers the mention of insolence (ὕβρις) in the previous passage has already announced the introduction of its counterpart, moderation (σωφροσύνη), as a matter of semantic logic, and hence, that indeed moderation in this context needs to be understood in terms of the recognition of the boundaries of human existence. Plato then has the Athenian Stranger make the following inference: Let’s be clear that the consequence of all this is the following doctrine (which is, I think, of all doctrines the finest and truest): If a good man sacrifices to the gods and keeps them constant company in his prayers and offerings and every kind of worship he can give them, this will be the best and noblest policy he can follow; it is the conduct that fits his character as nothing else can, and it is his most effective way of achieving a happy life. But if the wicked man does it, the results are bound to be just the opposite. Whereas the good man’s soul is clean, the wicked man’s soul is polluted, and it is never right for a good man or for god to receive gifts from unclean hands – which means that even if impious people do lavish a lot of attention on the gods, they are wasting their time, whereas the trouble taken by the pious is very much in season. (Leg. 4, 716e–717a)33

In this text, Plato’s use of the notion of θεραπεία θεῶν (translated by Saunders as “worship”) comes closest to what we would understand by “religious practice.” As is well known, the ancient Greeks did not have a word for religion, but they obviously had similar concepts. The word θεραπεία generally 32  Θαρσῶν ὑβρίζεις κἀξελευθεροστομεῖς. | οὐ σωφρονήσεις; οὐ μαθὼν ὃς εἶ φύσιν. Trans. Ian Johnston, Sophocles: Ajax (Arlington, VA: Richer Resource Publications, 2010). Many more examples can be adduced, e. g., Antiphon, Tetr. 4.4.2, 5; Xenophon, Mem. 1.2.19, 2–3; Cyr. 8.1.30, 4–5; 8.4.14, 5–6; Plato, Leg. 8, 849a, 6; etc.; also from contexts where the words are used in a weaker sense (e. g., Euripides, Phoen. 1111–1112). 33 Trans. Saunders, “Laws,” 1403.

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means “care” (as in caring for animals), referring to “giving them what is needed, satisfying the demands.” Hence, when applied to the gods, this is closely related to “doing what pleases the gods,” as implied in piety. From the present passage, we learn that θεραπεία θεῶν includes sacrifices, offerings, and prayers. Once more, Plato does not have a monopoly on the term, and when he came to use it, his audience was well aware of the connotations.34 The point of the present passage is that the worshippers’ conduct and moral character makes all the difference for whether their offerings and prayers please the gods. In a typically Platonic vein, this can be understood as related to the interiorization of morality which Plato endorses in the Republic (4, 443c–444a),35 as a reaction against the Homeric emphasis on κλέος as being seen and being recounted as a hero.36 But one should not fail to see that this interiorization was itself a specific interpretation of a tendency in Greek religion that predated Plato: the tragic poets did not fail to stress the fact that evil deeds are not favored by the gods. See, for instance, Euripides in his Iphigenia at Aulis: Well, then, you are going to sacrifice your daughter: what prayers will you utter? What blessing will you ask for yourself as you cut your child’s throat? An evil homecoming to match your shameful departure? Well, is it right that I should ask some blessing for you? Would we not be supposing that the gods are fools if we showed good will towards the slayers of our own kin? (Iph. aul. 1185–1190)37

34 The term θεραπεία θεῶν (or θεραπεία περὶ τοὺς θεούς), which is also frequent in Plato’s Euthyphro, is used by Plato’s contemporary Isocrates with reference to the Egyptians: Bus. (Or. 11) 24, 1–2, μάλιστα δ’ ἄξιον ἐπαινεῖν καὶ θαυμάζειν τὴν εὐσέβειαν αὐτῶν καὶ τὴν περὶ τοὺς θεοὺς θεραπείαν (“It is utterly fitting to praise and admire their piety and service of the gods”), and the ps.-Platonic author of Alcibiades I uses it in his description of the education of the Persian king: Alc. maj. 122a, 1–3, ὧν ὁ μὲν μαγείαν τε διδάσκει τὴν Ζωροάστρου τοῦ Ὡρομάζου – ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο θεῶν θεραπεία – διδάσκει δὲ καὶ τὰ βασιλικά (“The first of them [i. e., the royal tutors] instructs him in the Magian lore of Zoroaster, son of Horomazes (which is their worship of the gods), and also in what a king should know”; trans. D. S. Hutchinson, “Alcibiades,” in Cooper and Hutchinson, Plato: Complete Works, 557–95, here 579). Euripides uses it in El. 743–744: φοβεροὶ δὲ βροτοῖσι μῦθοι | κέρδος πρὸς θεῶν θεραπείαν (“But tales that frighten men are profitable for service to the gods”; trans. E. P. Coleridge per the Perseus Digital Library [perseus.tufts.edu], last accessed April 11, 2019). 35 Cf. also Plato, Leg. 2, 660e–663a. 36  E. g., Homer, Il. 12.310–321. For Plato’s alternative, see Van Riel, Plato’s Gods, 13–14. 37  Εἶεν· σὺ θύσεις παῖδα· τίνας εὐχὰς ἐρεῖς; | τί σοι κατεύξῃ τἀγαθόν, σφάζων τέκνον; | νόστον πονηρόν, οἴκοθέν γ’ αἰσχρῶς ἰών; | ἀλλ’ ἐμὲ δίκαιον ἀγαθὸν εὔχεσθαί τί σοι; | οὔτ’ ἄρα συνέτους τοὺς θεοὺς ἡγοίμεθ’ ἄν, | εἰ τοῖσιν αὐθένταισιν εὖ φρονήσομεν; Trans. (modified) David Kovacs, Euripides: Bacchae, Iphigenia at Aulis, Rhesus, LCL 495 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003), 295.

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Hence it is safe to say that, despite his important innovative view on the interiority of moral behavior, Plato is not introducing a revolutionary novel theology here. What he brings in as an innovation is a further development, dwelling on views that had been expounded before him. That Plato is indeed thinking in the line of traditional views may be clear from the following part of the text from Laws book 4. Immediately after explaining that the gods only cherish the gifts from good persons, he raises the question of what the “missiles” (βέλη, 717a, 4–5) are that allow us to hit the target of pleasing the gods: So this is the target at which we should aim – but what missiles are we to use to hit it, and what bow is best carried to shoot them? Can we name these weapons? The first weapon in our armory will be to honor the gods of the underworld next after those of Olympus, the patron-​gods of the state; the former should be allotted such secondary honors as the even and the left, while the latter should receive superior and contrasting honors like the odd. That’s the best way a man can hit this target, piety. After these gods, a sensible man will worship the daemons, and after them the heroes. Next in priority will be rites celebrated according to law at private shrines dedicated to ancestral gods. Last come honors paid to living parents. It is meet and right that a debtor should discharge his first and greatest obligation and pay the debt which comes before all others; he must consider that all he has and holds belongs to those who bore and bred him, and he is meant to use it in their service to the limit of his powers. … The laws themselves will explain the duties we owe to children, relatives, friends and fellow citizens, as well as the service the gods demands we render to foreigners. (Plato, Leg. 4, 717a–c; 718a)38

This text may sound disturbingly archaic, especially after what was said before: that the most important thing is the cleanliness of our soul, whatever we may be offering. Instead, Plato now has recourse again to very traditional patterns of piety and religiosity: offering the right part of the right sacrificial victim to the right god, and honor the right beings in the right order. The religious phenomena are diverse, based on the celebration of natural bonds sanctioned by the gods. But maybe this being archaic has always been part and parcel of Plato’s religiosity. The demand that we be good apparently does not do away with the obligation to approach the gods on their own terms, and to give them their due, especially when performing rituals. This ritualism is fully in line with the common practice of the cults performed by Greek individuals and cities alike: similar religious prescriptions are to be found in official calendars

38 Trans.

(modified) Saunders, “Laws,” 1403.

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and epigraphic precepts collected by Sokolowski and by Lupu,39 as well as in other instances of religious practice, such as the Eleusinian mysteries.40 By way of conclusion, one may point to the fact that, despite Plato’s general approach of moral purification and systematization, despite his introduction of the patterns for theology, which redefine speaking about the gods in accordance with the role of the Good in the cosmos (including the gods’ being ἄφθονοι), and despite his interiorization of virtue, the theology Plato elaborates remains firmly embedded within the traditional views on the gods, theology, and religion. His novel doctrine integrates and reaffirms ancient beliefs: respecting the place of humans in the cosmic order,41 avoiding ὕβρις, being moderate, being judged by the gods, and even respecting archaic ritualistic prescriptions. Moreover, as we saw, Plato did not deny narrative theology its place on a par with a theoretical “speaking about the gods.”

C. Pagan Theology up to the Time of Paul If Plato is not the author of a specifically philosophical theology, it might obviously be the case that this type of θεολογία (against which Paul would purportedly be reacting) is elaborated by Plato’s successors, within or without the Platonic school. The first obvious candidate is Aristotle, who indeed seems to be replacing the ancestral religious and theological traditions with a new, philosophical or metaphysical account of (a singular) god. The situation is unclear, however (to say the least), as Aristotle does not succinctly point out that he wants his metaphysical principles to replace traditional beliefs. Moreover, whilst being very critical toward traditional anthropomorphism, he does integrate many references to traditional representations of the gods,

39 Franciszek Sokolowski, Lois sacrées des cités grecques, École française d’Athènes: Travaux et mémoires 18 (Paris: Éd. de Boccard, 1969); Eran Lupu, Greek Sacred Law: A Collection of New Documents (NGSL), 2nd ed., RGRW 152 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009). See also Robin Osborne, “Sacrificial Theologies,” in Eidinow, Kindt, and Osborne, Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, 233–48, here 241–46. 40 Clement of Alexandria cites (at Protr. 2.21.2) the “token” (σύνθημα) of the Eleusinian mysteries, which seems to refer to a fixed ritual: ἐνήστευσα, ἔπιον τὸν κυκεῶνα, ἔλαβον ἐκ κίστης, ἐργασάμενος ἀπεθέμην εἰς κάλαθον καὶ ἐκ καλάθου εἰς κίστην (“I have fasted, I have drunk the cup; I have received from the box; having done, I put it into the basket, and out of the basket into the chest”). 41 Even the introduction of the role of the Good does not deviate from the traditional structures of religion: instead of being submitted to fate (εἱμαρμένη), the Platonic gods are now subordinate to another force that binds them to their task: the Good (see Van Riel, Plato’s Gods, 110–17).

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and often uses common religious conceptions as endoxa, or as presuppositions to exemplify or support his own arguments. Most scholars accept that, in his Metaphysics Lambda (book 12) and elsewhere (notably De motu animalium), Aristotle is indeed elaborating a new theology, based on metaphysical principles. It is well known that for Aristotle, based on the various ways of using the word “being” (or “substance,” οὐσία),42 metaphysics as the study of being qua being will have different perspectives. One of them is the study of the highest being, which Aristotle, in Metaphysics Lambda, defines as an immaterial principle, pure act, which performs the highest activity directed at the highest object of thought (i. e., self-​thinking thought), and which is the ultimate final cause that sets things into motion by being the object of desire (i. e., the first unmoved mover). Difficult and enigmatic as it may be, this part of the Metaphysics may indeed seem to contain a straightforward theology that leaves aside the traditional polytheistic views, and which offers a view of the divine in metaphysical terms. Aristotle would thus be the one who replaced the storytelling of the tradition with a scientific account, and who introduced a rigorous monotheism instead of the multiform appearances of the divine in the Greek tradition. Again, however, this widespread interpretation is the result of a pigeonholing in the study of Greek theology, presupposing, as was the case with Plato, (1) that theological views of philosophers are stand-​alone objects of thought, and (2) that metaphysical views expounded by philosophers are bound to lead to a totally new view on theology, placing theology exclusively within the range of metaphysics. Like Plato, Aristotle is indeed introducing novel things: he rigorously thinks through the principles of his own metaphysics, and brings them to a pregnant meaning when treating the question of what god, the highest being, would have to look like. It would have to be the pinnacle that consists in the perfection of all possible aspects of being: act without potency, form without matter, perfect activity (thought) performed vis-​à-​vis the perfect object (thought itself ), etc. It would also have to be the being that ultimately causes the motion of all other beings, without being affected by them (as that would bring in imperfection again). He thus arrives at the notion of an unmoved mover whose activity lies in self-​thinking thought, attracting all other beings towards itself. Metaphysics thus provides the explanation for the primordial datum that underlies the study of physics, namely the existence of motion. 42 Aristotle,

Metaph. 7 (Ζ), 1028a10–b7.

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However, the question should be raised of whether this metaphysical god indeed replaces the traditional account of the gods entirely. Richard Bodéüs has answered this question in the negative in an as yet underestimated book titled Aristote et la théologie des vivants immortels, published in 1992 and translated into English in 2000.43 In this book, Bodéüs first of all stresses the incongruence between the highest principle of Metaphysics Lambda and the traditional views of the gods, to which Aristotle subscribes elsewhere, namely that the gods are ensouled intellectual beings who exert providence and are omniscient.44 The point is that Metaphysics Lambda does provide an analysis of the highest metaphysical principle, without for that matter assuming that this subordinates theology to metaphysics. Bodéüs underpins this by pointing out the near complete absence of explicit mentions of “god” (θεός) in Lambda. The only two occurrences of the word (Metaph. 12 [Λ].7, 1072b24– 30 and 12 [Λ].8, 1074a33–b14) are not to be read as arguments to prove that for Aristotle, the highest metaphysical principle is god. What Aristotle is doing here is rather, conversely, having recourse to common theological views in order to support the point he makes about the highest metaphysical being.45 That is to say, in his metaphysical conclusions on the nature of the highest cause of the universe, Aristotle points out some analogies with what is believed about the gods, whilst treating theology as a different discipline, independent from metaphysics. Though basically correct, Bodéüs tends to minimize or discard evidence that Aristotle indeed considers his metaphysical views to be a correction to the traditional conceptions of the gods. Bodéüs’s critics have been stressing this point. Mor Segev,46 for instance, gives good arguments to make a case that Metaphysics Lambda is not just using traditional theology as an analogon, but that Aristotle wants his first substances to be gods: at Metaph. 12 (Λ).8, 1074a38–b14 he clearly states that that is the kernel of the ancestral transmission about the gods, to which the anthropomorphic myths have 43  Richard Bodéüs, Aristote et la théologie des vivants immortels, Collection d’études anciennes, Collection Noêsis (Saint-​Laurent, Québec: Bellarmin; Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1992); Eng. trans., Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, trans. Jan Edward Garrett, SUNY Series in Ancient Greek Philosophy (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2000). 44 Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 20–22. 45  Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 22–29. On Aristotle’s qualification of metaphysics as θεολογικὴ ἐπιστήμη, see ibid., 34–39. Bodéüs also demonstrates (43–71) that the astral theology that supposedly emerges from other texts (mainly De Caelo) should not be read as a theology by which Aristotle would be replacing the traditional views of the gods. 46 Mor Segev, Aristotle on Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017).

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been added. When stripped from the additions, traditional theology conveys exactly this message: “If one were to take the first point by itself, separately from those [additions], namely that they think the first substances are gods, they would be thought to have spoken excellently (lit. divinely)” (12 [Λ].8, 1074b8–10).47 Aristotle here repeats a reaction against traditional anthropomorphism which can be found elsewhere in the Aristotelian corpus. The question is, however, how far this reaction extends. Segev takes the extreme view, stating that Aristotle discards the traditional gods entirely and denies their existence altogether. Segev starts from Aristotle’s inference in the context of the quoted passage, that the myths were designed (or added to the primal insight in the first substances) for the masses: “The rest has been added, mythically, with a view to persuading the masses and for the usefulness in supporting the laws and bringing about the general advantage” (Metaph. 12 [Λ].8, 1074b3–5). This means, or so Segev maintains, that Aristotle denied the traditional gods’ existence, but nevertheless attributed a sociopolitical role to traditional religion: “Aristotle thinks that traditional religion has a necessary sociopolitical role, which is perfectly consistent with the falsity of its content.”48 This strikes one as a kind of enlightened sociological atheism that states that as long as religion has a positive role to play in society, it should be allowed to continue, regardless of the fact that there are no gods. Though nearly all ancient authors would agree that religion as such is useful for the state and morally uplifting for the individual, it is hardly likely that a nihilistic view on the factual emptiness of religious beliefs would be held, let alone tolerated in Aristotle’s days. Socrates was executed for having introduced new divinities – a position less impious than radically denying the existence of the traditional gods! – and religious tolerance in Aristotle’s days was not much greater than in the late 5th c. bce (it is known that Aristotle was accused of impiety for having sung a paean, a hymn reserved to Apollo, to a human being).49 Moreover, although Aristotle is clear enough in his rejection of traditional anthropomorphism, this does not have to mean that he denies the existence of the gods – just like Plato’s criticism of the poets did not lead to the rejection of the gods’ existence. There is, moreover, no textual evidence that Aristotle rejects the interaction between the gods and the world. To the contrary: he clearly presupposes that this interaction exists, for instance at Eth. nic. 8.12, 1162a4–7 (φιλία between humans and gods, quoted below), and Top. 1.11, 105a5–7 (those who wonder whether or not gods should 47 Trans.

Segev, Aristotle on Religion, 18. Aristotle on Religion, 22, elaborated further at 49–85. 49  Diogenes Laertius, 5.1.5–6; cf. Athenaeus, Deipn. 15.51, 696a. 48 Segev,

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be honored and parents loved must be punished). Segev tries to explain away these statements,50 but his analysis is not convincing. He starts from the presupposition that if the first substances are gods, then they must be exclusively identified with the unmoved movers, who are entirely preoccupied with self-​ thinking thought, and hence do not interact with lower reality. Yet, this does not explain how Aristotle can refer to traditional views about the gods (and their interaction with the world) as common knowledge, or as endoxa, without rejecting them. Moreover, in the Politics, Aristotle positively acknowledges religion even in its traditional and anthropomorphic expressions. Rather than reducing all of these instances to being mere illustrations of beliefs that are useful but utterly untenable, or to being a useful but unfounded sociopolitical phenomenon, it seems prima facie more appropriate to find a way to reconcile them with Aristotle’s innovations in the conception of the divine. Thus, one should on the one hand (with Segev) accept that Aristotle’s metaphysical conclusions about the gods have a bearing on his theology, and that the first substances he discovers are seen as gods, while accepting on the other hand (with Bodéüs) that this does not make him reject the traditional gods, and that his reaction against anthropomorphism does not mean that he replaces the traditional gods with new metaphysical divinities. Following Segev, one could state that Aristotle’s metaphysical inquiries lead to the affirmation of first causes or substances, which he saw as some kind of gods, complementary to the traditional ones, whose intellectual operations set the universe into motion. The relation between these novel divinities and the traditional gods remains, unfortunately, notoriously unclear. It seems safe to say, however, that Aristotle’s philosophical theology did not do away with the traditional views of the gods, except for a moral purification of their anthropomorphic representations. Hence, following Bodéüs in retrieving positive references to traditional theology, one may accept that the gods continue to be seen as immortal living beings,51 composed of body and soul,52 who interact with the world and with humankind. The life of the gods is one of permanent excellence, which to Aristotle’s mind consists in eternal theoretical or contemplative activity.53 Their knowledge exceeds that of humans, even though the gods are not omniscient.54 Among others, Aristotle makes a case about Homer’s inference that Helios, “who oversees all  Segev, Aristotle on Religion, 22–25.  Aristotle, Cael. 1.3, 270b4–11; 2.3, 286a9–10; Top. 4.2, 122b12–15; Eth. nic. 10.8, 1178b18– 19; and Metaph. 12 (Λ).7, 1072b28–30. 52 Aristotle, Top. 5.1, 128b39–129a2; and Pol. 7.14, 1332b16–21. 53 Aristotle, Eth. nic. 10.8, 1178b8–22; Top. 5.4, 132b10–11. 54 Aristotle, Rhet. 2.23, 1397b12–14. 50 51

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things and overhears all things” (Il. 3.277), still needs a messenger to inform him that Odysseus’s men killed Helios’s cattle on the island Thrinakia (Od. 12.374–375).55 The gods’ eternal intellectual activity does not prevent them, however, from interacting with the world. As the outcome of their activity, the gods’ specific task is to govern the world in accordance with intellect: “to insist that the law rule seems to be to insist that the god and intellect alone rule, while to insist that the human being rule is to add the bestial, for appetite is this kind of thing, and anger perverts the best ruling men” (Aristotle, Pol. 3.16, 1287a28–32).56 This characteristic is very much in line with Plato’s views, as is Aristotle’s statement that the gods are committed to justice57 and to goodness.58 It thus seems likely that Aristotle’s objection to anthropomorphism, like Plato’s, was first and foremost targeting the attribution to the gods of such lower and evil motifs as appetite and anger. The alternative is not the introduction of a totally non-​anthropomorphic nature of the gods, but rather the purified view that gods must always be just and good. Similarly, Aristotle’s references to what a religious attitude consists in do not deviate essentially from traditional conceptions. The passage from Top. 1.11, 105a5–7, referred to above, makes it clear that Aristotle requires everyone to have a pious attitude towards the gods. Moreover, he views offerings and gifts to honor the gods as part of justice, i. e., of giving everyone their due.59 What we owe the gods – thus occasioning our φιλία to them, and our offerings – is comparable to what we owe our parents: The friendship of children to parents, and of humans to gods, is a relation to them as to something good and superior; for they have conferred the greatest benefits, since they are the causes of their being and of their nourishment, and of their education from their birth. (Eth. nic. 8.12, 1162a4–7)60

The mention of the gods in explaining the unequal relation of φιλία rests on the basic assumption that the gods are our benefactors.61 We should honor  Schol. Hom. B* 3.277a, quoting three solutions by Aristotle. See Robert Mayhew, ­ ristotle’s Lost Homeric Problems: Textual Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, A 2019), 191–93. 56 Trans. (modified) Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 117. 57 Aristotle, Rhet. 2.5, 1383b4–8; 2.23, 1399a22–26. 58  Aristotle, Eth. nic. 9.4, 1166a21–22; Mag. mor. 2.15, 1212b34–1213a10. 59  Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 138–39, referring to Aristotle, Eth. nic. 4.1, 1122a5–7; b19–20; 1123a4–5; a9–10. 60 Trans. David Ross, Aristotle: The Nicomachean Ethics, rev. Lesley Brown, OWC ­(Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1975), 213–14. 61 Cf. Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 142. 55

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them for that, even though we shall never be able to reciprocate the benefits we received: For friendship demands what is possible, not what is merited, since that cannot always be done, e. g. in honours paid to the gods or to parents; for no one could ever return to them the equivalent of what he gets, but whoever serves them (ὁ θεραπεύων) to the utmost of his power is thought to be a good person. (Aristotle, Eth. nic. 8.14, 1163b15–18)62

We thus find in Aristotle the same continuity between piety towards our parents and piety towards the gods as we found in Plato, based on the assumption that they are our benefactors, and that we are in their debt. One may thus conclude that despite his metaphysical innovations and his moral purification of anthropomorphism, Aristotle remained committed to the ancestral “speaking about the gods.” As was the case with Plato, Aristotle’s philosophical reflection took for granted the existing religious practices and beliefs, and integrated them in his philosophical theology. The same could be maintained about the Stoics, in whose school religion and theology were further rationalized. They introduced a new conception of god as reason (λόγος), identified with fate and providence, and referred to as “Zeus,” but they notoriously held on also to polytheism. The many gods are seen, or so Diogenes Laertius reports, as different names by which the part of god that pervades all things is named, corresponding to its powers.63 The many gods are part of the cosmos, and hence will perish in the conflagration of this world, while Zeus is eternal.64 Like their predecessors, the Stoics rejected the anthropomorphic representations of the gods. They stressed the need for allegory to re-​interpret the myths in a cosmological sense, which according to them was the kernel of truth that was at least approximated by the traditional stories.65 As exemplified by the theory of theologia tripertita, referred to above, this was not a rejection of poetic or civic theology, which were, rather, confirmed as legitimate modes of speaking about the gods. At the same time, and with the adaptation of traditional religion, the Stoics propagated the continuation of traditional religious practices.66 These practices included prayer: Cleanthes famously wrote a prayer to Zeus, despite maintaining that prayers cannot have any effect on the eternally predisposed will of the gods. As argued by Algra, what Cleanthes is praying for is not a  Trans. (modified) Ross, Aristotle: The Nicomachean Ethics, 219.  Diogenes Laertius, 8.147. 64  Keimpe Algra, “Stoic Theology,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, ed. Brad Inwood (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 153–78, here 166. 65 Algra, “Stoic Theology,” 167. 66 See, e. g., Epictetus, Ench. 31.5. 62 63

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change of destiny, but rather a change of the praying subject, who implores to be gifted with virtue or rationality. The Stoic prayer would thus rather be a self-​address than an address to Zeus.67 In the same vein, the notion of piety is further transformed: ritual offerings are now replaced by the best offering a human can bring to the gods, i. e., to lead a virtuous life and imitating the rationality of god.68 What we witness in the Stoics, then, is a transformation of traditional beliefs, but no rejection of them, and a rationalization of theology, without, for that matter, replacing the conception of the traditional gods with a merely metaphysical god, who would be disconnected from the physical world. Quite the contrary: perhaps more than ever, the Stoic divinities, including the supreme one, have become part and parcel of the physical world.

D. The Rise of a Christian θεολογία Taking stock from the preceding analyses, it is safe to say that if Paul avoids the use of the word θεολογία, he does not do this to react against Platonic views, nor to react against an exclusively philosophical use of the term θεολογία. He is, rather, reacting against the entire pagan tradition, which was multifarious, but which included some standard views that underlay poetic, civic, and popular as well as philosophical accounts of the divine. The absence of the word θεολογία in Paul’s case is not a programmatic reaction against just one version of theology. The reason why is the non-​existence of an exclusively philosophical meaning of the word θεολογία, and the non-​existence of a merging together of theology and metaphysics by the time of Paul. The question can and should then be raised of when this merging of theology and metaphysics took place. Bodéüs puts the question as follows: [T]he historical question that arises is perhaps not whether Plato’s and Aristotle’s texts that argue for the reality of a metaphysical world were understood by them as philosophical theology, but when and why the interpretations that others made of them tried to extract from them a philosophical theology in the usual sense of the term.69

For this to happen, Bodéüs adds, the pagan polytheistic stories had to be systematically interpreted in an allegorical sense, and religious attitudes such  Algra, “Stoic Theology,” 174–76. “Stoic Theology,” 176–77, referring to Stobaeus, Ecl. 2.7, 105 (SVF 3, § 661), Seneca, Ep. 95.47 and 50, and pointing out the similarities with Plato’s position at Leg. 4, 716c–d (discussed above). 69  Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 32. 67

68 Algra,

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as piety had to be directed to a divine, omnipresent and omnipotent reasonable being that was seen as the true god.70 Bodéüs himself suggests that the pseudo-​Aristotelian treatise De mundo makes this kind of inference. But even though the suggestion may be there in De mundo, there is not enough positive evidence to state that the type of philosophical theology in question (i. e., theology exclusively seen as part of metaphysics) was present already to the mind of the author of the treatise. In fact, similar things could be said about the ps.-Platonic Epinomis, which suggests some kind of astral theology. But among many other objections, one can simply point out that even in the Epinomis, the names of the planets are attached to the gods exclusively in the genitive, meaning that the celestial bodies are bodies of the gods, or belonging to the gods, and not identified with the gods themselves. The transition to the philosophical theology we are looking for must have taken place much later. And it seems that, in the pagan tradition, it has never existed at all. It could have risen from metaphysical readings of the demiurge in the Timaeus, readings of the kind we encounter in Middle Platonism, but even in this period, none of the authors we know denied the existence of the traditional gods, nor even the necessity of worshipping these gods, whilst at the same time recognizing the existence of a demiurge who governs the universe.71 And this situation continues until late antiquity. In Neoplatonism, the extreme metaphysical monism that explains the entire universe as brought forth by one single supra-​essential principle, goes hand-​in-​hand with the belief in and worship of the plethora of Greek gods. Admittedly, the gods are brought into metaphysics, for example when Proclus considers each one of them to be a henad, a specific unity that heads a type of beings. In that sense, the gods have indeed become metaphysical principles. But they remain the object of worship (the One principle is not worshipped except through the cult of the gods), of theurgy, and of theology. Allegorical explanations are widespread and important, but have never entirely replaced the belief in the true existence of the gods, nor has the piety and worship of the pagan philosophers ever been directed to the metaphysical principle only, to the detriment of the cult of the many gods. 70 Bodéüs,

Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, 33. E Delph. 393B–D, presents the highest god as a combination of the Good of the Republic with Being and with the Demiurge from the Timaeus. He calls this highest God now Apollo (as in the passage from E Delph.), then Zeus (Fac. 927b). At the same time, Plutarch recognizes the existence of the many gods, as “lesser gods” (or as the young gods mentioned at Plato, Tim. 42e); see Franco Ferrari, “Der Gott Plutarchs und der Gott Platons,” in Gott und die Götter bei Plutarch: Götterbilder – Gottesbilder – Weltbilder, ed. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, RVV 54 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005), 13–25. 71 Plutarch,

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All things considered, the conditions for the merging of metaphysics and theology (an exclusively allegorical reading of the gods and the worship of a supra-​essential principle) were never fulfilled in pagan thought. In the Christian world, on the other hand, these conditions were met: when the Greeks started to re-​read their philosophers from a Christian perspective, they either discarded them entirely because of their paganism, or they uncoupled them from the references to pagan theology, and made their insights useful for the conceptualization of their single, transcendent God. It was then that pagan theology became metaphysical.72 In Paul’s days, this transformation of the Greek tradition had obviously not yet taken place. It would not be too outlandish, then, to suppose that for Paul, the term θεολογία would be associated primarily with the traditional pagan speaking about the gods, and not with a specifically philosophical, let alone Platonic, version of it. In the 2nd c. ce, Justin Martyr used the word θεολογεῖν, alongside the neologism κυριολογεῖν, for speaking about the Christian God.73 Slightly later authors such as Clement of Alexandria started to establish a reinterpretation of pagan philosophy from a Christian perspective, thus giving birth to a new type of speaking about the divine and a new philosophical concept of θεολογία. This clearly is the point Clement is making in the following passage: The Mosaic philosophy is divided into four parts – into the historic, and that which is specially called the legislative, which two properly belong to an ethical treatise; and the third, that which relates to sacrifice, which belongs to physical science; and the fourth, above all, the department of theology, vision, which Plato predicates of the truly great mysteries. And this species Aristotle calls metaphysics. Dialectics, according to Plato, is, as he says in The Statesman, “a science devoted to the discovery of the explanation of things.” (Strom. 1.28, 176)74

Platonic dialectic and Aristotelian metaphysics are thus equated to theology, which is one part of the teachings of Scripture, over against the historic, the legislative and the physical part of Moses’s philosophy. Theology reveals the nature of the divine, and of truth itself, not for the sake of human endeavors, but for the sake of “being able to say and do, as far as possible, what is pleasing to God” (Clement, Strom. 1.28). The ancient virtue of piety, pleasing god, is now explicitly brought in accordance with the metaphysical inquiry into the true nature of God, in order to develop a way of “speaking about God” that is agreeable to God himself. Hence, Clement continues, 72  This Christian transformation had Jewish predecessors; see the contribution by Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold in the present volume (pp. 127–37). 73 Justin Martyr, Dial. 56.15. To Justin, the antonym of θεολογεῖν is κομπολογεῖν (speaking boastfully): Dial. 113.2. 74  Trans. (here and below) ANF 2:340.

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[T]rue dialectic, being philosophy mixed with truth, by examining things, and testing forces and powers, gradually ascends in relation to the most excellent essence of all, and essays to go beyond to the God of the universe, professing not the knowledge of mortal affairs, but the science of things divine and heavenly. (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.28, 177)

Dialectic conducts us to true wisdom, which, as Scripture teaches us, cannot be obtained except through the Son (ibid., referring to Matt 11:27). Thus, Christian theology is the fulfilment of pagan metaphysical thought, as only now, through God’s Son and through Scripture, the full vision of truth has become possible. Hence, the pagan philosophers can and should be used as providing the groundwork for this metaphysical understanding of theology. A lot more could be said about this Christian transformation of philosophical theology, but I believe enough has been presented to allow for the conclusion that the merging of theology and metaphysics is the work of Christians. Far from being Paul’s tacit adversary, this understanding of the word θεολογία has been occasioned, or even been made possible, by the writings (or indeed the theology) of Paul himself.

Theology and Popular Philosophy Johan C. Thom A. The Concept of Theology In a discussion of the origins of a New Testament theology it is worth reflecting on what and how contemporary readers would have thought about the concept of theology. The use of the Greek term θεολογία and its cognates θεολόγος, θεολογεῖν, θεολογικός is instructive but not conclusive.1 In the earliest instances the terms refer to “speaking about the gods,” usually within the context of mythology, and in verse. Plato, for example, uses the term θεολογία with reference to the way poets speak about the gods (Resp. 2, 379a), while Aristotle uses it to refer to mythological descriptions of the origins of the cosmos in contrast to the discussions of natural philosophers (Mete. 2.1, 353a35). Aristotle likewise contrasts the mythological views on the origin of the universe of the θεολόγοι to the naturalistic views of the φυσικοί (Metaph. 12.6, 1071b27).2 Even later, authors like Philodemus and Plutarch still use the terms to connote speaking about the gods in general, without a technical scientific meaning.3 A more technical meaning first appears in Aristotle’s Metaphysics (6.1.10, 1026a19), where “theological philosophy”  For the origin and use of the term see Ferdinand Kattenbusch, “Die Entstehung der christlichen Theologie: Zur Geschichte der Ausdrücke θεολογία, θεολόγος, θεολογεῖν,” ZTK n.s. 11 (1930): 161–205; André-​Jean Festugière, La révélation d’Hermès Trismégiste, vol. 2: Le dieu cosmique (Paris: Gabalda, 1949), repr. (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1983), 598– 605; Mischa von Perger, “Theologie, I. Griechisch-​römisch,” DNP 12/1 (2002): 364–68; Christoph Schwöbel, “Theology, I. Terminology,” RPP 12 (2012): 617–18. The discussion by Robert Lamberton (Homer the Theologian: Neoplatonist Allegorical Reading and the Growth of the Epic Tradition, Transformation of the Classical Heritage 9 [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986], 22–31) is also valuable. 2 The lexica are unreliable as far as the use of these terms are concerned. LSJ (790, s. v. θεολογία I) provides the definition “science of things divine,” but then cites Plato, Resp. 2, 379a. Franco Montanari (The Brill Dictionary of Ancient Greek, ed. Madeleine Goh and Chad Schroeder [Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015], 932, s. v. θεολόγος) cites Aristotle, Metaph. 1071b27 for θεολόγοι as a reference to philosophers. 3  Cf., e. g., Philodemus, Piet. 29.30; 34.11; 86A.1 (ed. Dirk Obbink, Philodemus, On Piety: Critical Text with Commentary, Part 1 [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996]); Plutarch, Def. orac. 21, 421E. 1

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(θεολογική [sc. φιλοσοφία]) is listed as the most important of the three “theoretical philosophies” (φιλοσοφίαι θεωρητικαί) that also include mathematics and physics. Aristotle’s “theology” is, however, just another term for his metaphysics, that is, a study of being qua being and of first causes.4 An interesting use of θεολογεῖν is found in Pseudo-​Aristotle, On the Cosmos 1, 391b4 (a text approximately contemporary to the New Testament): “theologizing” here refers to discussing from a “divine” perspective the relationship between the large-​scale phenomena in the cosmos and eventually the role of God in sustaining the cosmos.5 It is clear, however, that “theology” as a technical term for a systematic treatment of God or the gods only came into common use after the New Testament period.6 Early Christians only started using the term in the technical sense from the 3rd c. onward; Clement of Alexandria can still refer to a mythical or allegorical speaking about the gods as θεολογεῖν (Strom. 5.4.21.1, 4).7 The absence of technical terminology does not of course mean an absence of theological reflection.8 Plato (Resp. 2, 379a) lays down “models” (τύποι) for speaking about God. Such models stipulate that God is good and only the cause of what is good, never of what is evil; he always remains the same and never changes. In his Timaeus Plato ascribes the construction of this world to a divine Demiurge; it is therefore the best of all possible worlds. Aristotle, again, traces the regularity and order in the world back to the divine unmoved First Mover in his Metaphysics book 12 (Λ). In subsequent Hellenistic philosophy theological discussion centers on three broad issues: (1) questions relating to the existence and attributes of the gods; (2) the relation between the gods, the world, and humans, including the question of

4 See

Jonathan Barnes, “Metaphysics,” in The Cambridge Companion to Aristotle, ed. idem (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 66–108. 5 See Johan C. Thom, “The Cosmotheology of De mundo,” in Cosmic Order and Divine Power: Pseudo-​A ristotle, On the Cosmos, ed. idem, SAPERE 23 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 107–20, here 108–9. 6  The term theologia tripertita is probably based on Augustine’s terminology (Civ. 6.5). Varro himself refers to three genera of rerum divinarum: Mythicon appellant, quo maxime utuntur poetae; physicon, quo philosophi; civile, quo populi (Antiq. div. 7.1 ap. Augustine, Civ. 6.5). 7  Winrich A. Löhr, “Theologie, II. Christlich,” DNP 12/1 (2002): 368–71; Schwöbel, “Theology,” 618. 8  For the following paragraph see especially Jaap Mansfeld, “Theology,” in The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy, ed. Keimpe Algra, Jonathan Barnes, Jaap Mansfeld, and Malcolm Schofield (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 452–78, here 452–54.

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divine providence and theodicy; and (3) problems relating to knowledge of the gods.9 Similar questions continue to be discussed in Middle Platonism.10 It is doubtful whether New Testament authors like Paul or the author of John had any specialized knowledge of these philosophical theological discussions, but it is quite plausible that they were exposed to popular philosophical thought in which theological concepts were disseminated.11 I will briefly look at three popular philosophical texts as examples of how theology was treated in this context.

B. Popular Philosophical Texts I. Cleanthes, Hymn to Zeus Our first text is the Hymn to Zeus by Cleanthes (331/30 – 230/29 bce), the second head of the Stoic school.12 It is a hymn and therefore related in form to the hymnic texts in John 1 and Philippians 2 discussed by Betz. It was probably composed for a broader public and would have been accessible to an educated non-​Stoic audience as well as a more philosophically trained one.13 It consists of the typical three parts of a Greek hymn: Invocation (vv. 1–6), Argument (vv. 7–31), and Prayer (vv. 32–39).14 The central part of a hymn may  9 Mansfeld

treats each of these areas in detail (“Theology,” see previous note).  See, e. g., John Dillon, The Middle Platonists: A Study of Platonism 80 B. C. to A. D. 220 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977). 11 For the phenomenon of popular philosophy see Johan C. Thom, “Popular Philosophy in the Hellenistic-​Roman World,” EC 3 (2012): 279–95; idem, “Paul and Popular Philosophy,” in Paul’s Greco-​Roman Context, ed. Cilliers Breytenbach, BETL 277 (Leuven: Peeters, 2015), 47–74, esp. 49–56. 12  Text, translation, and commentary in Johan C. Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus: Text, Translation, and Commentary, STAC 33 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). A different recent interpretation of the Hymn is given by Elizabeth Asmis, “Myth and Philosophy in Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus,” GRBS 47 (2007): 413–29. For a comparison of the Hymn with the Prologue to John and to the Areopagus Speech in Acts 17, see Johan C. Thom, “Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus and Early Christian Literature,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy Presented to Hans Dieter Betz on His 70th Birthday, ed. Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 477–99. 13 Thom, “Popular Philosophy,” 288–91. 14 See Jan Maarten Bremer, “Greek Hymns,” in Faith, Hope, and Worship: Aspects of Religious Mentality in the Ancient World, ed. H. S. Versnel, SGRR 2 (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 193– 215; William D. Furley and Jan Maarten Bremer, Greek Hymns: Selected Cult Songs from the Archaic to the Hellenistic Period, 2 vols., STAC 9, 10 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 1:50–63; Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus, 13–20; William D. Furley, “Prayers and Hymns,” in A Companion to Greek Religion, ed. Daniel Ogden (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007), 117–31; Johan C. Thom, “Hymns III: Greco-​Roman Antiquity,” EBR 12 (2016): 642–44. 10

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also be called Praise.15 Betz’s term, “narrative aretalogy,” is less suitable for Cleanthes’s Hymn, because as a philosophical hymn it has very little narrative in this section.16 Theological ideas are found throughout the Hymn. Zeus (the divine principle in the Stoic system) is praised throughout as ruler and principle of order in the cosmos (cf. vv. 2, 7–8, 15–16, 18–21, 35). Other divine attributes include his omnipotence (v. 1) and his bountifullness (v. 32). In the Invocation, the close familial relationship between Zeus and humans is cited as reason to praise him (vv. 4–6). The Argument or Praise focuses on the problem of evil and the cosmic disturbance caused by human unwillingness to comply with Zeus’s rule (especially vv. 17, 22–25).17 This leads to fragmented lives based on mistaken goals (vv. 26–31). The mistaken “theology” of the foolish people thus has significant ethical implications. Zeus is, however, able to restore order and harmony in the cosmos (vv. 18–21). In the Prayer, Zeus is requested to save humans from their destructive ignorance by providing them with insight so that they may reciprocate by honoring him with a life of praise (vv. 32–39). We thus find here general theological motifs such as the relation between God, the world, and humans; theodicy and the problem of evil; and human failure and salvation. Two motifs that have a particular resonance with the Prologue of John are the role of the Logos and the irony of human ignorance.18 In the Hymn the Logos has agency as the rational principle permeating the cosmos and thus creating order and ensuring God’s rule (vv. 12–14). It is at the same time the single harmony uniting all things (vv. 20–21). This role of the Logos is influenced by Heraclitus’s Logos as the union of opposites, although Cleanthes focuses on God’s ability to resolve conflict rather than the dynamic balance 15  Various terms have been suggested for the middle section of the hymn; see Furley and Bremer, Greek Hymns, 1:51. The term “argument” is suggested by Bremer, “Greek Hymns,” 196; “praise” is used by Furley and Bremer, Greek Hymns, 1:51, following E. Norden, Agnostos Theos: Untersuchungen zur Formengeschichte religiöser Rede (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), 149; but Furley, “Prayers and Hymns,” 122–27, reverts to “argument.” 16 For philosophical hymns, see Furley and Bremer, Greek Hymns, 1:47; Günther Zuntz, Griechische philosophische Hymnen, ed. Hubert Cancik and Lutz Käppel, STAC 35 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 17  The problem of evil is indeed the central issue of the Hymn; see Johan C. Thom, “The Problem of Evil in Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus,” Acta Classica 41 (1998): 45–57. 18 See also Thom, “Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus and Early Christian Literature,” 495–97. For recent surveys of the origin and development of the concept of the Logos, see Jörg Frey, “Between Torah and Stoa: How Could Readers Have Understood the Johannine Logos?” in The Prologue of the Gospel of John: Its Literary, Theological and Philosophical Contexts – Papers Read at the Colloquium Ioanneum 2013, ed. Jan G. van der Watt, R. Alan Culpepper, and Udo Schnelle, WUNT 359 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 189–234; Udo Schnelle, “Philosophische Interpretation des Johannesevangeliums: Voraussetzungen, Methoden und Perspektiven,” in ibid., 159–87.

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between opposites as Heraclitus does.19 Unusual for Stoic thinking, Cleanthes’s Logos is depicted as distinct from God himself, instead of simply another name for God.20 The second motif is the irony that humans who of all creatures are closest to God (v. 4), in their folly reject his rule (v. 17) and indeed try to flee from the Logos (v. 22). They can only be saved if God disperse the destructive ignorance from their soul and grant them the insight (γνώμη) on which God’s own rule is based (vv. 33–35). In terms of the logic of the Hymn, this “insight” is the same as the Logos: the ability to obey Zeus and lead a meaningful life is thus dependent on obtaining and following the Logos.

II. The Pythagorean Golden Verses The second text I want to consider is the Pythagorean Golden Verses (Carmen aureum).21 This popular poem dating from the Hellenistic or early Imperial period22 was very well known to, and used by, a variety of pagan and Christian authors from at least the 1st c. ce onward.23 It functioned as an educational aid in the moral formation (psychagogy) of students.24 The first part of the poem (vv. 1–49a) contains precepts and exercises to practice in order to become virtuous, but it is the second part (vv. 49b–71) that interests us here. It promises insight into the relation between gods and humans (vv. 50–51), into nature (vv. 52–53), and into the origin of suffering 19  See Thom, “Problem of Evil,” 54–57; idem, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus, 22–24. The relevant fragments of Heraclitus are DK 22 B 1, 2, 10, 30, 50, 51, 102. 20 Cf., e. g., Diogenes Laertius, 7.88 = SVF 3, § 4. 21  Text, translation, and commentary in Johan C. Thom, The Pythagorean Golden Verses: With Introduction and Commentary, RGRW 123 (Leiden: Brill, 1995). See also idem, “Carmen Aureum,” in The Library of Wisdom: An Encyclopedia of Ancient Sayings Collections, ed. Walter T. Wilson (Atlanta: SBL, forthcoming). 22  For the various proposals see Thom, Pythagorean Golden Verses, 35–58; idem, “Cleanthes, Chrysippus and the Pythagorean Golden Verses,” Acta Classica 44 (2001): 197–219; Albrecht Dihle, Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire: From Augustus to Justinian, trans. Manfred Malzahn (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), 82; Jaap-​ Jan Flinterman, “Pythagoreans in Rome and Asia Minor around the Turn of the Common Era,” in A History of Pythagoreanism, ed. Carl A. Huffman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 341–59, 342–43. 23 Thom, “Popular Philosophy,” 285–87. 24  See Johan C. Thom, “Sayings as ‘Lebenshilfe’: The Reception and Use of Two Pythagorean Collections,” in Philosophia in der Konkurrenz von Schulen, Wissenschaften und Religionen: Zur Pluralisierung des Philosophiebegriffs in Kaiserzeit und Spätantike; Akten der 17. Tagung der Karl und Gertrud Abel-​Stiftung vom 16. und 17. Oktober 2014 in Zürich, ed. Christoph Riedweg, Philosophie der Antike 34 (Boston and Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 75–97.

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(vv. 54–60): the relation between gods and humans is constituted by a shared essence (σύστασις); nature is homogenous and dependable; suffering is the consequence of humans’ own bad choices. Zeus can save humans from many evils by showing them their true daimon, that is, a divine being intimately connected with a person’s fate (vv. 61–62). Humans can also draw comfort from the fact that they have a divine origin (v. 63). They will be able to save their soul if they follow the instructions laid out in the poem (vv. 65–66). The author also refers to other texts dealing with Purifications and the Deliverance of the Soul (vv. 67–68). Like the Hymn to Zeus, the Golden Verses exhorts the reader to put him‑ or herself under the overall control of γνώμη (insight, or judgment; v. 69). Finally, if the reader follows the way of life proposed in the poem, he or she will become immortal, indeed an “undying god,” after death (vv. 70–71). We again see in this poem common theological motifs, even if they are not explicated in detail: the relation between gods and humans; the problem of theodicy; the question of salvation; and even a promise of life after death.

III. Pseudo-​A ristotle, On the Cosmos Our third and last example is On the Cosmos (= De mundo), which is ascribed to Aristotle, but probably dates from around the turn of the era, that is, sometime between the 2nd c. bce and 2nd c. ce.25 In his introduction (ch. 1) the author presents the kind of philosophy advocated in the work as a form of “cosmotheology”: philosophy is “a divine and truly god-​like matter” because it is able to view the world from a divine perspective.26 It accomplishes this by means of a heavenly journey of the soul, which gives the philosopher a celestial perspective in order to comprehend “the divine things” (τὰ θεῖα) with the divine eye of the soul. Such contemplation of the universe is called “theologizing” (θεολογεῖν).27 The first part of the treatise (chs. 2–4) covers a wide range of cosmological, geographical, geological, and meteorological topics, but they are presented for a general audience rather than one with a scientific or philosophical training.28 Although it offers a great amount of 25 The dating is discussed by Johan C. Thom, “Introduction,” in idem, Cosmic Order and Divine Power, 3–17, here 3–8. 26  For the world view of On the Cosmos, see Thom, “Cosmotheology of De mundo,” 107–20. 27 Thom, “Cosmotheology of De mundo,” 108–109. 28 See Thom, “Popular Philosophy,” 291–94, for On the Cosmos as a popular-​philosophical text.

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detail, the focus of this part of the treatise is not on the individual phenomena, but on the diversity and tensions in the cosmos. The presentation is intended as a backdrop for the subsequent discussion of the preservation of the cosmos despite the conflicting forces at work within it.29 The problem of the harmony (ἁρμονία) and preservation (σωτηρία) of the cosmos is thus the focus of the second half of the treatise (chs. 5–7).30 The author maintains that the ultimate cause holding the universe together is God, but he is not directly involved in the cosmos; instead, he influences the cosmos indirectly by means of his power (δύναμις). God himself is located at the highest point of the cosmos, but his power is able to permeate the universe and to reach down to its lowest levels. By distinguishing between God’s essence or being (οὐσία) and his power (δύναμις), the author is able to maintain God’s transcendence while still allowing him to preserve the world. God remains transcendent, separate from the world, in essence; his involvement in the cosmos is confined to his power (6, 397b19–27). This distinction between a transcendent god and an immanent divine power is similar to a tendency found in Platonic and Neopythagorean philosophers of the early Imperial period to split the demiurge god into two (or more) principles: a fully transcendent god and a lower principle (variously identified as the world soul, the cosmic intellect, a second or third demiurge, etc.) on which the demiurgic functions devolved.31 For these philosophers, as for the author of De mundo [i. e. On the Cosmos], the distinction between different divine principles (in De mundo between god’s essence and his power) serves to maintain god’s transcendence, while at the same explains how it is possible that he can be active in the world.32

In chapter 7 the multitudinous effects of god’s interaction with the world are underlined by listing all the names ascribed to him. The main theological issue treated in this text is therefore the relation between God and the world. It tries to solve the problem of the tension between divine transcendence and immanence by postulating an intermediate entity.

 Thom, “Cosmotheology of De mundo,” 110–11. the summary in Thom, “Cosmotheology of De Mundo,” 111–20. 31 See Jan Opsomer, “Demiurges in Early Imperial Platonism,” in Gott und die Götter bei Plutarch: Götterbilder – Gottesbilder – Weltbilder, ed. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, RVV 54 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005), 51–99. Cf., e. g., Alcinous, Epit. 10.3, who distinguishes between the primary god (πρῶτος θεός), heavenly intellect (οὐράνιος νοῦς), and the world soul (ψυχὴ τοῦ κόσμου). See also the commentary on this passage by John Dillon, Alcinous: The Handbook of Platonism, Translated with an Introduction and Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 106. 32 Thom, “Cosmotheology of De Mundo,” 115. 29

30 See

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C. Conclusion The three texts that we have briefly considered are of course not representative of all popular-​philosophical thinking in the Hellenistic-​Roman period, although they do represent a diversity of philosophical perspectives. Our cursory examination of these texts, however, does suggest some common motifs in popular-​philosophical thinking about God. These all center around two closely connected relations: the relation between God and humans and the relation between God and the world. The relation between God and humans is viewed as a close familial relationship: humans have their origin in God (H. Z. 4–5; Carm. aur. 63) and God is addressed as a Father who can help (H. Z. 34; Carm. aur. 61). This relation is based on a common Logos (H. Z. 12, 21) or essence (σύστασις, Carm. aur. 50–51). God is also the one who can save humans all kinds of evils and suffering, mainly by helping them gain insight into who they are and what they need (H. Z. 32–35; Carm. aur. 61–62). God is not only the cause and ruler of the world (H. Z. 2, 7–16, 35; Mund. 6, 397b14–15, 19–27), but also its Savior (σωτήρ, Mund. 6, 397b20), by creating and preserving order (Mund. 2, 391b10–12; 6, 397b9–10), maintaining harmony between conflicting forces (H. Z. 18–21; Mund. 5, 396b23–397a5), and restoring order when necessary (H. Z. 18–20). He accomplishes all of this by means of an intermediary to whom active involvement in the world is devolved: the λόγος in the Hymn to Zeus and the δύναμις in On the Cosmos. Our three texts express theological ideas in very different forms: a hymn (the Hymn to Zeus), an instructional poem (the Golden Verses), and a prose treatise (On the Cosmos). The theological content or purpose of a text is therefore independent of its form or genre. The motifs found in these three texts provide us with suggestions for a tentative popular-​philosophical theological framework. Such a framework is important when we try to understand the impact the theologies of New Testament authors like Paul and John had on their first readers, especially those from the Greco-​Roman world. This is especially relevant for understanding theological concepts in the texts discussed by Betz, such as the Logos in the Prologue of John, or the mediating role of Christ as God-​slave in Philippians 2.33

33 See

also Thom, “Paul and Popular Philosophy,” 72–73.

Theo-​logy in John and in Early Imperial Platonism* Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold In my contribution, I would like to engage one of the two pillars1 of Hans Dieter Betz’s presentation (which is, of course, also one of the two pillars of Bultmann’s monumental Theology of the New Testament) by discussing the theo-​logy2 of the Gospel of John. In dialogue with Betz’s essay, I will argue that theology (in the meaning which we usually take to be characteristically Christian, namely as a logically structured reflection about the divine based upon the traditions of lived religion) grows from the encounter between Jewish3 narrative, cultic, and legal traditions on the one hand, and Greek philosophical speculation about the world’s essential nature on the other. This is certainly not to say that theological reflection did not exist long before the establishment of this form of theology (in historical and mythical narrative, in poetic and visual art, in prayers and hymns, in legal corpora, in the ideas of philosophical-​metaphysical speculation, etc.) and does not continue to exist in various forms after theology in this sense was established.4 It even * I thank Matthew Calhoun for his careful translation of this contribution, and for discussions that led to corrections and enhancements. 1 The architectural metaphor of building a New Testament theology is aptly discussed by Samuel Vollenweider in this volume (pp. 179–97). 2  The hyphenated spelling is meant to convey that I am using the modern term in the etymological sense that will be discussed in §B. 3 But in some contexts also Egyptian and Iranian traditions, as we will see. 4 Of course, the Old Testament already knows both implicit and explict theological statements (cf. on this point the contribution of Ulrich Luz in the present volume, pp. 139– 56). The questions of whether and in what sense one can at that point speak of a unitary theological concept are the subject of a helpful little book by Konrad Schmid, Gibt es Theologie im Alten Testament? Zum Theologiebegriff in der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft, ThSt n.s. 7 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2013). In Schmid’s sketch of the history of the term “theology,” the Reformation appears as the turning-​point, insofar as, according to him, faith and lived religiosity then began to shape to the concept of theology for the first time. We will see, however, that this point is rather to be placed substantially earlier, namely at the very beginning of Christian theology. This, in a way, is conceded by Schmid himself. Whereas Gerhard Ebeling (Studium der Theologie: Eine enzyklopädische Orientierung, UTB 446 [Tübingen: Mohr, 1975], 32) called it an “anachronism” to speak of a theology in the Old Testament, “at least the beginnings of a change of perspectives” are to be noted according to Schmid (Gibt es Theologie, 53). Ludwig Köhler (Die Theologie des

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exists within this form of theology proper. In my opinion, Hans Dieter Betz rightly assigns a decisive role to the Platonism of the early Roman empire in the emergence of this form of theology.5 The theology of early imperial Platonism, particularly in Philo and Plutarch, can therefore help us to understand better the approach to theology in the Gospel of John and subsequent Christian tradition.6

A. Logos and Theo-​logy in the Framework of the Johannine Narrative of Jesus My first thesis: the Gospel of John, with the divine Logos placed at its center, is pure theo-​logy. This is because the Johannine narrative of the entry of the divine Logos into the world has God alone as subject and goal. In the Logos, God, whom nobody has ever seen, bodily enters the world and thus becomes perceptible (John 1:14, 18).7 Ontology and epistemology are closely Alten Testaments, Neue theologische Grundrisse 3 [Tübingen: Mohr, 1936], 2) refers to the definitional formulations of the essence of God which we find in John 4:24; 1 John 1:5 and 4:8, and which the Old Testament does not know in this form. It should come as no surprise to us that we are dealing with Johannine formulations in each case, but it should also prompt us to inquire about the historical conditions in the background. Schmid, following Lohfink, distinguishes implicit and explicit theology – the former can indeed be found in the Old Testament, but not the latter. 5 Betz identifies three essential stages, outside of Christianity, for the reconstruction of theologia: Heraclitus, Philo and Plutarch. Of these, I restrict myself to Philo and Plutarch, since Heraclitus seems too remote to me as an intellectual background of the Fourth Gospel. This is surely not to deny that the ideas of Heraclitus have so permeated the tradition that they have left behind traces in the account of the Gospel of John. 6  Like Troels Engberg-​Pedersen (John and Philosophy: A New Reading of the Fourth Gospel [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017]), I proceed on the assumption that a key for the understanding of the Gospel is, to a certain degree, to be acquired from imperial-​ era philosophy. But whereas Engberg-​Pedersen tries to strengthen the Stoic traditions in the background of the Gospel and therefore inflates the role of πνεῦμα, I believe, in broad agreement with C. H. Dodd, that the theologia of John’s Gospel connects with specifically Platonic ideas and discussions. 7 Cf. C. K. Barrett, “Christocentric or Theocentric? Observations on the Theological Method of the Fourth Gospel,” in La Notion biblique de Dieu: Le Dieu de la Bible et le Dieu des philosophes, ed. Joseph Coppens, et al., BETL 41 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1976), 361–76; repr. in idem, Essays on John (London: SPCK, 1982), 1–18; Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott wahrnehmen: Die Sinne im Johannesevangelium, Ratio Religionis 4, WUNT 374 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017). Here a crucial, urgently required correction of Bultmann (and of many contemporary exegetes as well) occurs. Bultmann draws upon the Platonic tradition for interpretation, by which he means either long before the phase that is relevant for us (i. e., Plato himself ) or a time clearly afterwards (i. e., the phase of Gnosis, which for us becomes later comprehensible, in the sense of a religious Gnostic

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intertwined in this Gospel from the very beginning. They are also linked to soteriology, insofar as knowledge is seen as the definitive path to salvation in the context of the Gospel. My second thesis: the basis of Johannine theo-​logy is found not only in the prologue, but rather in the Johannine narrative of Jesus as a whole.8 In this narrative, God – or his glory – becomes physically accessible and apprehensible through the senses:9 in the wondrous taste of wine, in the absence of a death-​stench (ὄζει; John 11:39) for Lazarus and in the smell (ὀσμή; 12:3) of the fragrance filling the house in the subsequent anointing scene,10 in the touch of the resurrected one.11 Through the account of Jesus’s deeds and with the eyes, ears, noses, and hands of the characters in the narrative, the readers peer into the opened heavens (1:51).12 In contrast to Betz’s focus on the prologue, the inclusion of the entire narrative therefore recommends itself for the full comprehension of the Johannine conception of theo-​logy.13 A more narratological approach to the theology of the Gospel of John therefore seems called for instead of a merely form-​critical one. And it has to be said, contra Bultmann, that the Logos within the narrative in no way refers solely to himself as the Revealer. Rather, in his actions and appearance he discloses God in such a way that everything that can ever be known about God becomes visible in him to everyone’s eyes, as Jesus says in response to Thomas (14:7, 9). My third thesis: Logos for John signifies simultaneously a historical figure and the narration of this figure within the Gospel. This concept is best system, initially with Mandaeism in the 3rd c. ce). Bultmann’s reference to the Platonic backgrounds of the Gospel of John, which is in itself correct, was criticized by Rudolf Schnackenburg and others up to, most recently, Engberg-​Pedersen, on the grounds that there are no traces of the doctrine of Ideas in John. However, the thesis of a Platonic background makes decisive gains in acuity and plausibility when the point of comparison is not Plato, but the Platonism of the imperial era.  8 I agree with Luz (esp. p. 153 below, with n. 46) that it is essential for the narrative tradition to be included in the theology of the New Testament, and thereby also of John.  9  In his “narrative philosophical reading” of the Gospel of John, Engberg-​Pedersen has identified a literary-​critical approach – especially the literary-​critical isolation and genre-​ critical definition of the prologue as a hymn with clear wording – as problematic: “this approach has no future” (John and Philosophy, 37). Although the absoluteness of this statement must be relativized with his own pursuit (as he explains in the introduction) of a narratological approach involving the use of historical methods, it remains as a clear warning-​sign. 10  The same root ὄζειν/ὀσμή is used in John 11:39 and 12:3. 11  These three striking narratives relating to the so-​called “lower” senses (meaning the senses specifically bound to the body) form the center of the interpretation in my study Gott wahrnehmen (“Perceiving God”), mentioned in n. 7 above. 12 For detailed discussion, see Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott wahrnehmen, 105–8. 13 Cf., however, pp. 80–81 above, where he argues that, with the coming of the light, a history has begun which the Gospel unfolds.

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understood in the context of the encounter between biblical narrative tradition and Greek philosophical thought. As we have said, the latter is constitutive for the emergence of Johannine – and thereby at the same time Christian – theology.14

B. The Term θεολογία Before proceeding further, however, we should briefly examine the history of the term θεολογία, which Betz takes as the point of departure for his reflections. The word θεολογία (theo-​logy), more precisely its history, is an important key for the understanding of the development of religious philosophy in the first and second centuries ce. During this time, I would argue, the term experiences a transformation which is decisive for our topic.15 As is well known, the term has its first prominent appearance in Plato’s τύποι τῆς θεολογίας in book 2 of the Republic (379b),16 where θεολογία means the basic 14  The importance of the relationship of John’s Gospel to philosophical tradition stands in the center of Engberg-​Pedersen’s monograph mentioned already above (John and Philosophy, see n. 6). His new interpretation makes the foundational argument that it is specifically Stoic traditions which are conspicuous in the background of the Gospel, referring particularly to the role of the πνεῦμα in the text. On the other hand, with Betz and most other authors who have investigated philosophical references in the Gospel of John, there is more evidence in my opinion that the θεολογία of John’s Gospel is in conversation with specificially Platonic (I would say, imperial-​era Platonic) ideas and discussions. 15  Cf. Robert Flacelière, “La théologie selon Plutarque,” in Mélanges de philosophie, de littérature et d’histoire ancienne offerts à Pierre Boyancé, CÉFR 22 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1974), 273–80; Victor Goldschmidt, “Théologia,” REG 63 (1950): 20–42; Ferdinand Kattenbusch, “Die Entstehung einer christlichen Theologie: Zur Geschichte der Ausdrücke θεολογία, θεολογεῖν, θεολόγος,” ZTK n.s. 11 (1930): 161–205. Unavoidably, areas of overlap and duplication arise here with the reconstructions of the term offered by other contributors to the present volume, particularly Johan Thom’s philosophical-​historical explanation (pp. 119–26). The duplicate presentations may help to sensitize readers to the prospects and difficulties involved in the reconstruction of the term’s history. Somewhat differently from Thom, I emphasize the term’s variations in meaning which I perceive in the course of the 1st c. ce. 16  (1) God is good, and he is responsible only for the good. (2) God is simple, true, and immutable (Resp. 2, 379a–383c). On the “theology” of Plato, see Michael Erler, Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 2/2: Platon, GGP (Basel: Schwabe, 2007), 464–73; Friedrich Solmsen, Plato’s Theology, Cornell Studies in Classical Philology 27 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1942); Michael Bordt, Platons Theologie, Symposion 126 (Freiburg: Karl Alber, 2006); Gerd Van Riel, Plato’s Gods, Ashgate Studies in the History of Philosophical Theology (Farnham, Surrey and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013), 61–121; and pp. 93–118 in this volume. On the theology of later Platonism, see Heinrich Dörrie, Matthias Baltes, and Christian Pietsch, eds, Der Platonismus in der Antike, vol. 7/1: Die philosophische Lehre des Platonismus – Theologia Platonica, Bausteine 182–205: Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar

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presuppositions of justifiable statements about the divine by the poets; in other words, a theologically or philosophically17 justifiable μυθολογία. Aristotle picks up the term,18 and in two passages speaks of a θεολογικὴ φιλοσοφία or ἐπιστήμη.19 Later, with the Stoics, the idea of a theologia tripertita develops: (1) the mythical theology of the poets; (2) a theologia naturalis/φυσική which is derived from the study of nature; and (3) a theologia civilis which proceeds from legal statutes pertaining to cult. Theology is regarded in the Stoa as a division of physics – as the doctrine of the divine reason that comprehensively governs the world.20 The term itself plays no significant role in the Stoa. But in imperial-​era Platonism – particularly in the writings of Philo and, later, Plutarch as well as patristic authors – it suddenly explodes in popularity,21 and (Stuttgart-​Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-​Holzboog, 2008); Michael Erler and Ilinca Tanaseanu-​Döbler, “Platonismus,” RAC 27 (2016): 837–955; Dorothea Frede and André Laks, eds., Traditions of Theology: Studies in Hellenistic Theology, Its Background and Aftermath, PhA 89 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2002). On Plutarch, see Franco Ferrari, “Plutarch,” in Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 5/1: Philosophie der Kaiserzeit und der Spätantike, ed. Christoph Riedweg, Christoph Horn, and Dietmar Wyrwa, GGP (Basel: Schwabe, 2018), 565–80; Frederick E. Brenk, “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” ARNW 2/36.1 (1987): 248–349; Reinhard Feldmeier, “Philosoph und Priester: Plutarch als Theologe,” in Mousopolos Stephanos: Festschrift für Herwig Görgemanns, ed. Manuel Baumbach, Helga Köhler, and Adolf Martin Ritter, Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft n.s. 2/102 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1998), 412–25; Jean Sirinelli, Plutarque de Chéronée: Un philosophe dans le siècle (Paris: Fayard, 2000); Rainer Hirsch-­ Luipold, “Plutarch,” RAC 27 (2016): 1010–38; John Dillon, “Plutarch on God,” in Frede and Laks, Traditions of Theology, 223–38. On Philo, cf. Gregory E. Sterling, “The First Theologian: The Originality of Philo of Alexandria,” in Renewing Tradition: Studies in Texts and Contexts in Honor of James W. Thompson, ed. Mark W. Hamilton, Thomas H. Olbricht, and Jeffrey Peterson, PrTMS 65 (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2007), 145–62. 17  Again, I agree with Engberg-​Pedersen’s remark: “When I speak of philosophy here, I do not consider it in any way to be opposed to, or different from, theology” (John and Philosophy, 29). 18 Mete. 353a35; Metaph. 3 (Β), 1000a9; 12 (Λ), 1071b27 and 1075b26; 14 (N), 1091a34 (relating to the θεολόγοι of old); cf. also τοὺς παμπαλαίους καὶ πολὺ πρὸ τῆς νῦν γενέσεως καὶ πρώτους θεολογήσαντας, Metaph. 1 (Α), 983a29. 19  Metaph. 6 (Ε), 1026a; 11 (Κ), 1064b (in both cases he divides philosophy into φυσική, μαθηματική, and θεολογική). 20  On Stoic “theology,” cf. now Stefan Dienstbeck, Die Theologie der Stoa, Theologische Bibliothek Töpelmann 173 (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2015); Maximilian Forschner, Die Philosophie der Stoa: Logik, Physik und Ethik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2018), 144–61. 21  My view differs from that of Luz on this point (pp. 140–45 below). The increase in usages of θεολογία by Philo and, later, Plutarch seems to me to speak for itself, although the New Testament does not at first participate in this development. At the conference in Bern, Christoph Riedweg inquired whether the statistical increase during the early imperial era could be explained solely by the fragmented transmission of Hellenistic sources. I agree that the (non‑)transmission of the relevant authors and texts within the received

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experiences a shift in meaning: θεολογία now appears in the sense of comprehensive speech and reflection about God. It includes more than metaphysical speculation, it is also derived from God’s historical actions and revelations, his relationship with humans, and their cultic turning to him with the hope of salvation. Θεολογία in this sense emerges from the customs and ideas of lived religious tradition, and places reflection about God on the horizon of a relationship with God, as we have already seen in John. Philo calls Moses a θεολόγος in his role as architect of his religious tradition,22 and Plutarch speaks of the μυστηριώδης θεολογία of the Egyptians (Is. Os. 371A; cf. Fr. 157) and of the fact that Plato “talks theologically” (θεολογῶν) about the highest good in the Symposium.23 Prior to this time, philosophers are surprisingly reserved about declarations in this area,24 in view of the importance and ubiquity of oracles, prophecies, and pervasive religious traditions in public life. But now, in reaction to the radical criticism of knowledge in Academic Skepticism, philosophy increasingly takes the traditions of lived religion as points of departure.25 The works of the teacher of tradition can obviously result in blind-​spots. But, when considering the early evidence which Kattenbusch assembled to confirm the early existence of θεολογία (Pherecydes, Heraclitus; cf. “Die Entstehung einer christlichen Theologie,” 164 n. 2), for example, one must methodologically take into account that these are always quotations in later authors. These authors may or may not have quoted their sources verbatim. Plutarch’s transmission of earlier sources is especially (and notoriously) problematic, because he generally shapes inherited material according to his own stated intentions. 22  Mos. 2.115; Praem. 53.3; QG 2.59; 3.21; cf. Opif. 12.7. Orpheus was θεολόγος par excellence in the Greek tradition (PGM XIII.933); in the early church, it was John. The word refers to a particular manner of speech, as well as to a particular content and the authority associated with it. Θεολόγοι are revealers who in some ways have crossed into the territory of the divine (on the mountain, at the brink of death, or in visions). From this we gain an important insight which later resurfaces in Karl Barth (cf. Schmid, “Gibt es Theologie,” 42–44): theology presupposes revelation. But whereas Barth wants to make strict distinctions between theology and lived religion, the philosophical theology of the early empire programmatically turns itself toward the traditions of lived religion. Kattenbusch (“Die Entstehung einer christlichen Theologie”) stresses that θεολόγος, θεολογία, and θεολογεῖν do not appear in the New Testament, but other compounds do (θεοδίδακτος, θεόπνευστος, θεοφιλής). 23  One understands from this passage that Plutarch applies the term θεολογεῖν to Plato in contexts where the latter does not use it. Plutarch mentions the ancient θεολόγοι in the same breath as legislators, poets, and philosophers (Is. Os. 369B; cf. E Delph. 388E; An. procr. 1030B). 24 Dorothea Frede, “Theodicy and Providential Care in Stoicism,” in eadem and Laks, Traditions of Theology, 85–117, here 85. 25  Furthermore, in the religious Platonism of the imperial era, the sphere of Ideas, and thus of Truth, is increasingly interpreted through more general, popular notions of God and the divine. This contrasts with the common position among historians of philosophy today that, from a philosophical standpoint, a fundamental distinction exists between lived

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philosophy Maximus of Tyre in the second half of the 2nd c. ce exemplify the extent to which one can regard such considerations to be a branch of philosophy, since his speeches offer something like an introductory curriculum for those entering philosophical study. He approaches questions of theology (“who is God according to Plato?”) and of lived religion (the theological meaning of prayer [Or. 5], or the worship of the gods [Or. 2]) as a self-​evident component of basic philosophical training.26 At the beginning of his essay On the Obsolescence of Oracles, Plutarch offers a statement about a holy man, which can be taken as programmatic for the philosophical method of the author:27 he has gathered traditions as raw material for a philosophy which has theology as its goal (συνῆγεν ἱστορίαν οἷον ὕλην φιλοσοφίας θεολογίαν ὥσπερ αὐτὸς ἐκάλει τέλος ἐχούσης, Def. orac. 410B).

C. The Hermeneutic of Theo-​logia Theo-​logia, in the sense of a doctrine of knowledge about God founded upon and constructed from the traditions of lived religion, presupposes revelation. It assumes that in such traditions one can discover a λόγος which permits apprehension of, and thus statements about, God or the divine.28 Both Philo religion and philosophical theology as an attempt to “rationalize the irrational” (Jaap Mansfeld, “Theology,” in The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy, ed. Keimpe A ­ lgra, et al. [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999], 452–78, here 452). Only the latter could be the subject of philosophy as a “rational enterprise.” This (essentially Aristotelian) understanding may have endured until the 1st c. bce, but a changed situation prevails for the early imperial period. For this reason Heinrich Dörrie in his essay “Der Platonismus in der Kultur‑ und Geistesgeschichte der frühen Kaiserzeit,” in idem, Platonica minora, Studia et testimonia antiqua 8 (München: Fink, 1976), 166–210, already added to his section on “Platonismus als Theologie” (205–6) another section on “Symbolische Ausdeutung von Religion und ‘Gebildeten-​Religion’” (206–9), in which he addresses the symbolic explanations of religious traditions by Plutarch, as well as by Numenius and Porphyry. 26  Cf. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold and Michael Trapp, “Einleitung,” in Ist Beten sinnvoll? Die 5. Rede des Maximos von Tyros, ed. eidem, SAPERE 31 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 28–38. 27 For a detailed interpretation of this quotation, see Rainer Hirsch-​ Luipold, “῞Υλη θεολογίας: Religious Lore as Inter‘text’ in Plutarch’s Moralia,” in The Dynamics of Intertextuality in Plutarch, ed. Thomas S. Schmidt, Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, and Maria Vamvouri, Brill’s Plutarch Studies 5 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2020 [forthcoming]). The formulation θεολογίαν ὥσπερ αὐτὸς ἐκάλει makes it sound like Cleombrotus is using the term with a new meaning. 28 Cf. Harold W. Attridge, “Logos,” EBR 18 (2018): 997–1000; Carsten Colpe, “Von der Logoslehre des Philo zu der des Clemens von Alexandria,” in Kerygma und Logos: Beiträge zu den geistesgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zwischen Antike und Christentum, Festschrift für

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and Plutarch lay a foundation of this idea in creation-​theological or cosmological terms:29 the divine λόγος is recognizable and perceptible in the physical world because, as God’s creative word uttered “in the beginning,” it is present in this world as the basic organizational principle structuring the world. Standing in the background alongside Plato’s Timaeus are Stoic notions of a divine λόγος permeating the world, just as in ps.-Aristotle’s De mundo, where it is an imprinted notion of a foundational logical organization of the world’s phenomena.30 Philo interprets the divine creative word in the Torah as the νόμος permeating the world and thus comprehensible from it. Plutarch reads the myth of Osiris (the divine λόγος) and Isis (the material matrix of its expression) as the basis of all theological hermeneutics, since through their union the divine λόγος becomes comprehensible in the physical world. In this way, starting from Plato’s statements in the Timaeus, the world as a whole becomes an image of the divine sphere of Being. The dismemberment of Osiris by Typhon is here explained epistemologically: the divine λόγος is dispersed in the physical world. Isis, representing the human yearning for knowledge, focuses all her efforts towards gathering the comprehensible pieces of the transcendent Osiris dispersed throughout the physical world, and to unite them again into a whole through her love. In order to answer the same epistemological challenge of how the fully transcendent God could convey himself into the physical world, the θεολόγος John tells the story of Jesus anew – as a unique, historical manifestation of God (John 1:18). According to John, the incarnation is the presupposition for any meaningful speech about God. And thus the Fourth Gospel discloses in the centrality it gives to the incarnated λόγος that it aims for Carl Andresen zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. Adolf Martin Ritter (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 89–107; repr. in idem, Das Siegel der Propheten: Historische Beziehungen zwischen Judentum, Judenchristentum, Heidentum, und frühem Islam (Berlin: Institut für Kirche und Judentum, 1990), 141–64; J. D. Gericke, “Dimensions of the Logos: From Logos-​ Philosophy to Logos-​Theology,” Acta patristica et byzantina 11 (2000): 93–116; Bernhard Jendorff, Der Logosbegriff: Seine philosophische Grundlegung bei Heraklit von Ephesos und seine Indienstnahme durch Johannes den Evangelisten, Europäische Hochschulschriften 19 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1976). 29  Jewish wisdom-​theology did this similarly before Philo and Plutarch; cf. Burton L. Mack, Logos und Sophia: Untersuchungen zur Weisheitstheologie im hellenistischen Judentum, SUNT 10 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1973). 30  It may well be that the basic idea of a theological interpretation of beasts (or stones), as reflected in the Jewish predecessors of the Physiologus (probably 2nd c. ce), arises from the same hermeneutical presuppositions. It is certainly worth considering whether this Christological reading of nature could be interpreted as a Physio-​logos, interpreting the physical world under the presmise that the divine logos, which at the creation called individual things into being, is continuously comprehensible from these individual things.

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nothing less than pure theo-​logy. An additional aspect follows from this: since God is to be identified with truth according to the second of the Platonic τύποι (cf. John 14:6), one can interpret the philosophical search for truth as the search for God. The misunderstandings and ruptures in the encounters between the Gospel-­story’s characters and the incarnated λόγος also belong to this hermeneutic of θεο-​λογία. They make it plain that conclusions drawn from experience in “this world” about the reality of God are forever possible only in refraction and through transference. This aspect of the Gospel can also be understood in the context of the image-​theology of imperial-​era Platonism;31 the misconceptions and ambiguities of perception reflect the difficulties necessarily inherent in human endeavors to make statements about the God “whom nobody has ever seen” (John 1:18). The Johannine narrative of Jesus can thus be viewed in the context of the transition from Academic Skepticism with its negative theology, which denied the possibility of (true) statements about the divine sphere, to a new dogmatic position.32 It seeks to understand the images and adumbrations of God as an entry and as a revelation which, with suitable interpretation, permits a vision (even if a broken one) of God.33

D. Theo-​logy and Monotheism Such a contemplation, a theology, logically presupposes a Oneness (Ein­ heit; τὸ ἕν) in the concept of the God, even within a system that in its acts of worship presupposes a multitude of different gods and religious systems. In other words, θεο-​λογία is necessarily monotheistic, but not necessarily monolatrous.34 This explains the curiously parallel statements, for example in 31  Cf. Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott wahrnehmen, 87–99. On this point I concur with Engberg-​ Pedersen, who regards the enigmatic to be a part of the author’s literary strategy. 32  Cf. Jan Opsomer, In Search of the Truth: Academic Tendencies in Middle Platonism, Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België, Klasse de Letteren 60/163 (Brussels: Paleis der Academiën, 1998). 33 The hermeneutical foundations of this position, which I discuss briefly in connection with the Gospel of John in my study Gott wahrnehmen, are in essence inspired by my reading and interpretation of Plutarch; see further Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, Plutarchs Denken in Bildern: Studien zur literarischen, philosophischen und religiösen Funktion des Bildhaften, STAC 14 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). 34  On the distinction, cf. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, “Viele Bilder  – ein Gott: Plutarchs polylatrischer Monotheismus,” in Bilder von dem einen Gott: Die Rhetorik des Bildes in monotheistischen Gottesdarstellungen der Spätantike, ed. Nicola Hömke, Gian Franco Chiai, and Antonia Jenik, PhilSup 6 (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2016), 43–68, esp. 60–66.

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Plutarch, about the Divine (τὸ θεῖον) and about an individual god (ὁ θεός).35 It is therefore hardly coincidental that the question of a pagan “theology” arises simultaneously with discussions about the question of the existence of pagan monotheism. The topic has been hotly debated since the publication of the volume edited by Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael Frede, Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity,36 and to a certain extent revolves around whether monotheism is a phenomenon particular to Abrahamic religion. Therefore, one should speak more precisely of a polylatric monotheism in order to avoid misunderstandings. This terminology allows us to differentiate “belief-​systems” from “worship-​systems.” The (necessary) unity of the divine or of God, which pagan religious thinkers emphasize just like their Jewish and Christian counterparts, finds further expression in the unity of mediating authorities, which stand in for the divine presence in the physical world – as λόγος or νοῦς, as πνεῦμα.37

E. Conclusion: The Development of Theologia in the Context of Imperial-​Era Religious Philosophy The development of a theology of the New Testament or of early Christianity, as I have attempted to show, must not be separated from the contemporaneous movement among philosophers toward a religious philosophy, which on the one hand makes both the concept of and the search for God the core of the philosophical quest, and which on the other hand makes the sources of religion the point of departure for philosophical reflection.38 Theologia in this sense brings together the Platonic understanding of it as “speech/narration about the gods,” as it can occur in mythical, historical or symbolic ways, with speculative-​philosophical contemplation of the divine. I have tried in several studies to establish the plausibility of Plutarch’s key position in this 35  Domenico Massaro, “Τὸ θεῖον e ὁ θεός in Plutarco,” in Plutarco e la religione: Atti del VI Convegno plutarcheo (Ravello, 29–31 maggio 1995), ed. Italo Gallo, Collectanea 12 (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996), 337–55. 36 (Oxford: Clarendon; New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). 37 Thus in the NT (1 Cor 12:4–6), the one Spirit comes to stand alongside the one Lord and one God. In contrast, the δυνάμεις, which especially in Philo secure the presence and comprehensibility of God, are manifold. 38  Cf. 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, ed. Rainer Hirsch-Luipold, Herwig Görgemanns, and Michael von Albrecht, Ratio Religionis 1, STAC 51 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 117–46.

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development of a new concept of theologia alongside Philo of Alexandria. As Betz rightly emphasizes, Plutarch can be considered a principal witness to this development, but also Numenius’s often-​quoted (and rather puzzling) declaration that Plato is a “grecophone Moses” should be categorized likewise. Early Christian “theology” in the sense discussed above is not something exceptional to Christians, and it is also not a result not a result of Hellenization. “Theology” as a philosophical engagement with religious tradition is rather a development in the history of religion and philosophy in the early imperial period, in which Christianity participates and which it considerably influences. This understanding of theology built upon inherited religious traditions presupposes the Middle Platonic theory of images, which allows for a fresh appreciation of those traditions and for a more positive view of the corporeal world as a true image, over and against the hermeneutic of Plato.39 Therefore, the primary conversation-​partner for the interpretation of the Gospel of John should not be Plato himself, rather the religiously-​oriented Platonism of the imperial era.

39 Although this is clearer in Plutarch than in Philo and we must therefore reckon with a development of the topic during the 1st c. ce,, the beginnigs are already visible in Philo. On Philo’s position in the philosophy of the early imperial era, cf. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, “Unterwegs zu Weisheit und Heil: Philons Interpretation von Abrahams Auszug als Zeugnis der religösen Philosophie der frühen Kaiserzeit,” in Abrahams Aufbruch: Philon von Alexandria, De migratione Abrahami, ed. Maren R. Niehoff and Reinhard Feldmeier, SAPERE 30 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 167–85.

Die biblische Tradition als Wurzelgrund neutestamentlicher Theologie Eine Skizze1 Ulrich Luz † Der Entwurf von Hans Dieter Betz hat mich fasziniert. Betz beginnt und endet mit ausführlichen Hinweisen auf die Theologie von Rudolf Bultmann. Mit einem Zitat aus Bultmanns Theologie endet auch der erste, ausführliche Paulusteil. Beim Lesen des Pauluskapitels hatte ich den Eindruck, es stelle den Versuch einer ausführlichen historischen Entfaltung von Bultmanns Grundthese dar, dass das Kerygma der hellenistischen Gemeinden so etwas wie der Mutterschoss der paulinischen Theologie und damit eines grossen Teils der christlichen Theologie überhaupt sei.2 Auch viele Einzelbeobachtungen im Entwurf von Betz haben mir eingeleuchtet. Wichtig fand ich z. B., dass Betz immer wieder auf die Bedeutung des Hymnus hinweist, weil er die einzig mögliche Sprachform sei, um auf göttliche Epiphanien zu antworten. In der Tat ist es eine der grundlegenden Aufgaben des antiken θεολόγος, Götterhymnen vorzutragen.3 Im Kapitel über den Johannesprolog betritt Betz forschungsgeschichtliches Neuland. Insbesondere sein ausführlicher Hinweis auf Heraklit fr. 1 ist m. E. eine wirkliche Entdeckung, deren Tragweite noch diskutiert werden muss. In meiner Antwort auf seinen Entwurf geht es mir aber nicht in erster Linie darum, die Plausibilität seiner exegetischen und historischen Hypothesen und die Tragfähigkeit älterer oder jüngerer griechischer Analogien und Parallelen zu diskutieren. Nur in meinem ersten, mit „Theologie und Philosophie“ überschriebenen Abschnitt (A) geht es wenigstens indirekt um eine Auseinandersetzung mit Hans Dieter Betz. Nach ihm liegt die Wurzel 1 Für viele nützliche Hinweise danke ich Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold. Sein Beitrag ergänzt meinen in vielen Punkten. Unsere Schlussfolgerungen sind allerdings unterschiedlich. 2  Rudolf Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 3. Aufl. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1958), 158–59. 3 Vgl. dazu Christoph Markschies, Kaiserzeitliche christliche Theologie und ihre Institutionen: Prolegomena zu einer Geschichte der antiken christlichen Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 16–17.

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der christlich verstandenen „Theologie“ in in einer „brilliant idea“ von Platon; dieser war nach Betz für die Entstehung einer neutestamentlichen Theologie entscheidend.4 Ich möchte in meinem ersten Hauptabschnitt die Perspektive erweitern und nicht nur einen Blick auf das Wort θεολογία bzw. auf mögliche Konzepte von „Theologie“ werfen (A I), sondern auch von der Philosophie sprechen: Das frühe Christentum ist von seinen antiken Zeitgenossen, ähnlich wie viele andere religiöse Bewegungen aus dem Orient, als Philosophie wahrgenommen worden und seine Verteidiger – von den Apologeten des 2. Jahrhunderts an – wollten als Philosophen verstanden werden (A II). Im ersten Teil meiner Skizze möchte ich solche Fragen im Gespräch mit Hans Dieter Betz klären. Erst im zweiten Hauptabschnitt (B) werde ich meine Gegenthese zum Ansatz von Betz skizzieren: Nicht die platonische Tradition und auch nicht – wie bei Bultmann5 – das Kerygma der hellenistischen Gemeinden, sondern die biblische Tradition ist m. E. weitgehend der Wurzelgrund der neutestamentlichen Theologien.

A. Theologie und Philosophie I. Θεολογία Wie oft festgestellt wurde, taucht der griechische Begriff θεολογία erstmals bei Platon auf. Vor Platon ist das Wort nicht zu belegen. Wohl aber gelten Dichter wie Hesiod6 oder Orpheus und die Orakelpriester in Delphi7 als θεολόγοι. Kaum beachtet wurde aber, dass der Begriff θεολογία für Platon überhaupt nicht zentral ist. Im Gegenteil: Sokrates und Adeimantos sprechen über die Rolle der Dichter und ihrer Göttergeschichten (μῦθοι) im idealen Staat. Und nun ist es Adeimantos, und nicht Platon, der nach den prägenden Grundsätzen der als Mythologie verstandenen „Theologie“ (τύποι περὶ θεολογίας) fragt (Resp. II 379a). Platon weist ihn dann darauf hin, dass „Gott“ der Inbegriff des Guten sein müsse. Ursprung von irgend etwas Bösem könne der so verstandene Gott nicht sein (Resp. II 380–383). Platon selbst also gebraucht in seinen eigenen Ausführungen das Wort θεολογία nicht, schon gar nicht für sein eigenes, philosophisches Gottesverständnis. Das  Betz, „New Testament Theology,“ 7–92, hier 11  Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 188. 6 Aristot., Met. III 1000a. 7 Plut., De def. or. 417F. 4 5

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philosophische Gottesverständnis, das Platon entwickelt und das in der älteren Akademie und im Mittelplatonismus8 entfaltet wird, ist also für Platon selbst gerade nicht θεολογία. Ganz anders ist es bei Aristoteles. Er braucht zwar den Begriff θεολογία meistens auch im traditionellen Sinn für die mythologischen Erzählungen der Dichter. An zwei vereinzelten Stellen in seiner Metaphysik aber bezeichnet der Begriff θεολογία die für Aristoteles grundlegendste theoretische Philosophie, die sich nicht, wie die Physik, mit unterscheidbaren und beweglichen, und nicht, wie die Mathematik, mit unbeweglichen, von der Materie trennbaren Objekten beschäftigt, sondern mit dem Seienden als solchem, d. h. mit unbeweglichen, ewigen Objekten. Sie nennt er θεολογικὴ (φιλοσοφία) und hält sie für die ehrwürdigste und beste aller theoretischen Philosophien (Met. VI 1026a; vgl. Met. XI 1064b). Für das Verständnis der Theologie als höchster Wissenschaft und der theologischen Fakultät als oberster Fakultät einer Universität seit der Hochscholastik wurde dieses Verständnis von Theologie grundlegend wichtig; vor der Hochscholastik wurde es aber m. W. nicht oft rezipiert.9 Im hellenistischen Judentum ist der Wortstamm θεολογ‑ bei Philo und bei Josephus zu belegen. Der Platoniker Philo spricht vom „heiligsten Platon“10 und nennt Moses mehrfach θεολόγος (z. B. Praem. Poen. 53; Vit. Mos. II 115; vgl. Op. Mund. 12). Tut er das als Platoniker? Das ist m. E. gut denkbar; Philo ist jedenfalls ein indirekter, aber eindrücklicher Zeuge dafür, wie die Philosophie schon in hellenistischer Zeit religiösen Charakter annimmt.11 Josephus nennt einmal die jüdische Religion „unsere Theologie“ (Ap. I 225), braucht aber sonst den Ausdruck θεολογία im traditionellen Sinn für „mythische Überlieferung“ (z. B. Ap. I 78.237 [Zitate aus Manetho]). Josephus steht sicher nicht unter platonischem Einfluss, sondern spricht von „unserer Theologie“ im Gegensatz zur heidnischen „Theologie“ der Ägypter. Dass der Wortstamm θεολογ‑ im Neuen Testament nicht vorkommt, ist nach allem Ausgeführten nicht erstaunlich. Das gilt nicht nur für Paulus, sondern m. E. auch für Johannes, der zwar von der Gottheit des Logos  8  Die Bedeutung des religiös gewendeten Platonismus der Kaiserzeit und nur mittelbar Platons selbst hebt Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold in seinem Beitrag in diesem Band (S. 127–37) im Unterschied zu Betz mit Recht hervor. Meine eigene Kritik an der Platoninterpretation von Betz und die positive These von Hirsch-​Luipolds Beitrag ergänzen sich.  9  Vgl. die Aussagen des Clemens Alexandrinus weiter unten auf S. 142. 10  Omn. prob. lib. 13. Den „heiligsten Theologen“ nennt er ihn allerdings nie (gegen Betz, S. 14). 11 Beim Gebrauch des (m. E. unplatonischen) Wortstamms θεολόγ‑ kann man allerdings nicht mit einem direkten Einfluss Platons auf Philo rechnen.

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spricht, aber für seinen Logoshymnus und dessen erzählerische Entfaltung im Evangelium den Term θεολογία gerade nicht gebraucht.12 Erst gegen Ende des zweiten Jahrhunderts ist er von christlichen Lehrern übernommen worden – und dies m. E. sehr zögerlich. Clemens Alex­ andrinus spricht in Strom. V 56,3 von den barbarischen Philosophen, die für sich selbst die „wesentliche Philosophie und die wahre Theologie“ zu sein beanspruchen. Für Clemens ist die durch den Herrn und die Propheten geoffenbarte Kenntnis göttlicher und menschlicher Wahrheit nicht etwa „Theologie“, sondern „wirklich“ Philosophie (Strom. VI 54,1). Die wahre „Philosophie der Barbaren“13 ist die Torheit des Kreuzes (Strom. I 89,1–2). M. W. wendet Clemens nur an einer einzigen Stelle das Wort θεολογία auf christliche Glaubensinhalte an, nämlich auf die viergestaltige „Philosophie des Mose“, deren höchste Gestalt das θεολογικὸν εἶδος ist: Hier geht es um die „Schau“ Gottes, welche nach Aristoteles die Gegenstände der Physik übersteigt.14 Nicht nur bei Clemens, sondern auch bei Origenes taucht der Wortstamm θεολογ‑ nur vereinzelt auf: Eine dieser Stellen ist Cels. II 71: Dort heisst es von Jesus, er habe seinen Jüngern θεολογῶν ἀπήγγειλε τὰ περὶ θεοῦ. Θεολογέω muss hier nicht unbedingt „theologisch“ verstanden werden; vielleicht knüpft Origenes daran an, dass auch die griechischen Dichter von den Göttern „erzählen“ oder dass Beauftragte für den Kult Götterhymnen vortrugen; ähnlich „erzählte“ Jesus von Gott. Polemisch wird der Ausdruck θεολογία bei Euseb aufgenommen: Er beginnt in Hist. Eccl. I 1,7 seine Kirchengeschichte mit dem Wirken Christi, das höher und grösser ist, als dass es durch eine nach Menschenart denkende οἰκονομία oder θεολογία erfasst werden könnte.

ΙΙ. Philosophie „Das junge Christentum verhielt sich zunächst“ d. h. in der vorkon­stan­ tinischen Zeit, „äusserst reserviert gegenüber dem Begriff der Theologie, weil er … in Verbindung stand mit dem mythischen Götterglauben“. So formuliert es Jan Rohls in einer Studie zum Verhältnis von Philosophie und Theologie.15 Diese Zurückhaltung entspricht derjenigen der nichtchristli12 Natürlich ist es eine Ermessensfrage, wie man diesen negativen Befund deutet. Hier unterscheide ich mich tendenziell von Betz (S. 68–86), nach dem der Johannesprolog mindestens in die Nähe des späteren Begriffs „Theologie“ führt. 13  Vgl. u. Abschnitt A II. 14 Die Anspielung auf Aristot., Met. VI 1026a und XI 1064b ist deutlich. 15 Jan Rohls, Philosophie und Theologie in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 4.

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chen Philosophen, welche den „mythologischen“ Terminus θεολογία auch erst spät und zögerlich positiv aufnahmen. Christliche Apologeten verstanden ihren eigenen Glauben als wahre Philosophie. Das Selbstverständnis des Christentums als Philosophie passt gut zu einer Grundtendenz der Philosophie in der Spätantike: Sie nahm – nach unserem heutigen Verständnis – mehr und mehr religiöse Züge an und machte die Gottesfrage zu ihrem zentralen Thema.16 Ihm kam auch ein etwa seit dem 3. Jh. v. Chr. sich immer stärker verbreitender Zeitgeist entgegen: Die Weisheit der „Barbaren“ wurde hochgeschätzt, und dies aus zwei Gründen: Sie galt 1. als uralt und darum ehrfurchtgebietend, und sie galt 2. als unverdorben und dem Naturzustand des Ursprungs nahe.17 Ihre Träger waren ägyptische Priester, indische Brahmanen („Gymnosophisten“), babylonische Astrologen, persische Magier,18 jüdische Weise und etwas später auch die Druiden.19 Vom Philosophen und Musiktheoretiker Aristoxenos (4. Jh. v. Chr.) ist die Vorstellung belegt, Sokrates habe seine Weisheit von einem Inder gelernt. Megasthenes (um 300 v. Chr.), der mehrfach in Indien war, lehrte in seinen „Indika“, indische Brahmanen hätten die Vorstellungen griechischer Kosmologie vorweggenommen.20 Hekataios von Abdera (um 300 v. Chr.) sah den Ursprung der Kultur in Ägypten. In der Frühzeit des Hellenismus entstand die Vorstellung von der „Philosophie der Barbaren“, der man mit grosser Hochachtung, ja Bewunderung begegnete. So ist es auch nicht zufällig, dass Diogenes Laertius im Prolog seiner Philosophiegeschichte darauf hinweist, dass „einige“ der Meinung seien, die Philosophie habe bei den Barbaren ihren Ursprung, bei den Magiern, den indischen Gymnosophisten, den „heiligen Druiden“ und bei den Ägyptern. Sie alle datiert er in eine weit zurückliegende Vorzeit.21 Er zeigt, dass die Kenntnisse über die „Philosophie der Barbaren“ bei griechisch-​sprachigen Autoren normalerweise gering waren, da sie die Sprachen 16 Der jüdische Exeget und Philosoph Aristobul stellt fest: πᾶσι … τοῖς φιλοσόφοις ὁμολογεῖται διότι δεῖ περὶ θεοῦ διαλήψεις ὁσίας ἔχειν. Das sei im Judentum in besonderer Weise der Fall (fr. 4 bei Euseb, Praep. Ev. XIII 12,8). 17  Albrecht Dihle, „Die Philosophie der Barbaren“, in Gegenwelten zu den Kulturen Griechenlands und Roms, hg. von Tonio Hölscher (München und Leipzig: Saur, 2000), 183–204, dort 188. 18 Zu den Magiern vgl. auch Walter Burkert, Die Griechen und der Orient: Von Homer bis zu den Magiern (München: Beck, 2003), 117–33. Ihre Rolle als Träger uralter orientalischer Weisheit wird in der Legende Mt 2,1–12 gut erfasst. 19  Zum Folgenden: Albrecht Dihle, Hellas und der Orient: Phasen wechselseitiger Rezeption, JWV 2 (Berlin und New York: De Gruyter, 2009), 37–39. 20 Zu Megasthenes: Albrecht Dihle, Die Griechen und die Fremden (München: Beck, 1994), 73–74. 21  Diog. Laert., Vit. Phil. Prolog I 1–3.

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des Orients kaum je beherrschten und auf Gerüchte und Informationen aus zweiter Hand angewiesen waren. Anders war es allein mit dem Judentum. Juden hatten sich schon früh in den hellenistischen Diadochenstaaten niedergelassen. Sie assimilierten sich und schrieben ihre Texte in griechischer Sprache. Ihre Bibel wurde seit dem 3. Jahrhundert ins Griechische übersetzt und war für Nichtjuden, soweit sie sich dafür interessierten, zugänglich. Jüdische Schriftsteller, allen voran Josephus, versuchten in ihren Schriften, ihr Judentum für Nichtjuden verständlich zu machen. So kam es, dass man über das Judentum wesentlich mehr wusste als über irgend eine andere „barbarische Philosophie“. Gebildete Juden verstanden ihr Judentum als Philosophie und interpretierten es für Nichtjuden als solche.22 Als solche wurde es von vielen Nichtjuden hoch geschätzt, von anderen ebenso entschieden abgelehnt. Von dieser Hochschätzung profitierten auch andere orientalische Religionen, deren Einfluss im römischen Reich seit dem 1. vorchristlichen Jahrhundert zunahm. Beispiele dafür sind Isis und Osiris, für deren Kult sich der Philosoph und Apollopriester Plutarch interessierte, das Corpus Hermeticum und andere Lesemysterien mit ihrer eigenartigen Verbindung von Unsterblichkeitshoffnung und Philosophie23 oder die Chaldäischen Orakel (2. Jahrhundert), welche platonisch inspirierte philosophische Gedanken in der literarischen Gestalt orientalischer Orakel formulierten. Alle diese Beispiele zeigen nicht nur die enge Verbindung von Religion und Philosophie, sondern auch von Orient und Okzident. Ein eindrückliches Zeugnis für die Hochschätzung des Orients als Wurzelgrund von Religion, Philosophie und Kultur ist auch die Rede des Syrers Tatian gegen die „Bekenner des Griechentums“: Er, der Syrer, ist stolz darauf, ein „Barbar“ zu sein und den christlichen Glauben als „barbarische“ Religion zu verteidigen (Or. ad Graecos I,1–7). Von dieser Hochschätzung profitierte auch das junge Christentum. Die Apologeten verstehen sich als Philosophen und tragen den Philosophenmantel. Der Palästiner Justin kommt – nicht durch einen Berufsphilosophen, sondern durch einen ehrwürdigen Greis unterwiesen – zur Erkenntnis, dass der christliche Glaube die „allein verlässliche und nutzbringende Philosophie“ sei (Dial. 8,1). Der Grund dafür liegt in ihrer Logos-​Lehre: Nur die 22  Vgl. die Darstellung der verschiedenen jüdischen „Philosophenschulen“ bei Josephus, bell. 2, 119–166 und Aristobul fr. 4 = Euseb, Praep. Ev. XIII 12,8. Zu Aristobul Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus: Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jh. v. Chr., WUNT 10 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1969), 295–307. 23 Vgl. bes. Corp. herm. Ascl. 12–14: Von Gottesfurcht geleitete Philosophie ist allein „wahre, reine und heilige Philosophie“ (14).

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Christen haben das Ganze des Logos erkannt, der Christus ist; die nicht-​ christlichen Denker aber hätten nur Teilaspekte erkannt, und ihre Philosophien widersprächen sich deshalb oft (Ap. II,10). Was immer griechische Philosophen aufgrund der Keime des göttlichen Logos, die sich auch bei ihnen finden, trefflich gesagt haben, „gehört uns Christen an“ (Ap. II,13). Nach Ap. I,7 sind alle Philosophen und Weisen aus den Völkern eigentlich Christen. Als Philosophen verstehen sich auch Aristides und Hermias. Nach Minucius Felix konvergieren fast alle Philosophien im Monotheismus. Daraus kann er folgern, dass die Christen Philosophen seien  – oder umgekehrt: die vorchristlichen Philosophen seien potentielle Christen (Octavius 20,1). Institutionell war die philosophische Schule im vorkonstantinischen Christentum einer der wichtigsten Institutionen des frühen Christentums.24 Ich versuche ein Fazit: Negativ muss es lauten, dass bei Platon zwar das Wort θεολογία zum ersten Mal vorkommt; aber ein philosophisches Konzept von „Theologie“ hatte Platon nicht. Ein solches gibt es erst seit Aristoteles. Dem entspricht die sehr sporadische und langsame Rezeption des Wortes θεολογία im Christentum des 2. und frühen 3. Jahrhunderts. In den meisten christlichen Belegen dominiert die Distanzierung von den mythischen „Theologien“ des antiken Polytheismus. Anders ist es mit dem Selbstverständnis des Christentums als „Philosophie“: Getragen von der zeitgenössischen Hochschätzung für die „Philosophie der Barbaren“, vom zunehmend religiösen Charakter der spätantiken Philosophie und von ihrer Tendenz zum Monotheismus lag es insbesondere für die Apologeten nahe, sich selber als Philosophen und den christlichen Glauben als „wahre Philosophie“ zu verstehen. Möglich wurde das durch die auf Joh 1 basierende Logos-​Lehre.

B. Die biblische Tradition als Wurzelgrund der christlichen Theologie In einem ersten Unterabschnitt (B I) versuche ich, vom Alten Testament her zu denken und frage, wie weit sich das Neue Testament als Neu-​Aufnahme des Alten Testaments verstehen lässt. Gibt es im Alten Testament „Theologie“? Die Antwort auf diese Frage hängt natürlich von dem zugrundegelegten Verständnis von „Theologie“ ab. Ich folge in meiner Skizze weitgehend den Spuren, die Konrad Schmid in einem sehr anregenden Büchlein gelegt 24 Markschies,

Kaiserzeitliche christliche Theologie, bes. 75–109.

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hat.25 In einem zweiten Unterabschnitt blicke ich auf das Neue Testament und vertrete die These, dass ihre Bibel, d. h. die biblische Tradition, den neutestamentlichen Zeugen und Autoren die „Sprache“ gegeben hat, mit deren Hilfe sie das Christusgeschehen und ihre eigenen Erfahrungen mit Christus gedeutet haben (B II). Darum ist die Bibel weitgehend der Wurzelgrund der neutestamentlichen „Theologien“ und damit der christlichen Theologie überhaupt. Dabei werde ich das ganze Neue Testament betrachten und mich nicht, wie Betz, auf Paulus und Johannes beschränken.

I. Das Neue Testament als Re-​Interpretation des Alten Testaments? Gibt es im Alten Testament „Theologie“? Im Sinn der späteren christlichen Theologien sicher nicht. Aber „Theologie“ ist ein Begriff, der sich im Laufe der Jahrhunderte vielfach gewandelt und verändert hat und der heute in sehr vielen verschiedenen Schattierungen gebraucht wird.26 Man muss also eher fragen, in welchem Sinn es im Alten Testament so etwas wie „Theologie“ gibt. Einerseits ist bei der Antwort Zurückhaltung angebracht: Bei manchen Büchern mit dem Titel „Theologie des Alten Testaments“ legt sich die Frage nahe, ob in ihnen der Versuch gemacht wurde, das Alte Testament von einer aus ihm selbst erhobenen „Mitte“27 her zu re-​interpretieren. Andererseits interpretieren alttestamentliche Texte die Geschichte und Erfahrungen Israels durchweg von Gott her, sodass Rudolf Smend von „einer starken Annäherung an die Theologie“ sprechen konnte.28 Konrad Schmid sieht deshalb ein Dilemma und formuliert: „Das Alte Testament enthält zwar keine Theologie, es enthält aber gleichzeitig auch nicht einfach keine Theologie“.29

25 Konrad Schmid, Gibt es Theologie im Alten Testament? Zum Theologiebegriff in der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft, ThSt n. F. 7 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2013). 26 Unter „Theologie“ verstehe ich ähnlich wie Hirsch-​Luipold (in seinem Beitrag in diesem Band S. 127–37, dort 127) die logisch strukturierte, mit wissenschaftlichem Denken vermittelbare Reflexion über Gott und das Göttliche, die durch die christlichen Traditionen ermöglicht wird. 27 Ein solches Konzept ist z. B. dasjenige des „Bundes“ bei Walther Eichrodt (Theologie des Alten Testaments, 3 Bde. [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1933–1939]). Dieselbe Frage kann man an den Entwurf von Walther Zimmerli stellen, der die Mitte der Hebräischen Bibel im Namen Gottes sieht (Grundriss der alttestamentlichen Theologie, 4. Aufl. [Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1982]). 28  Rudolf Smend, „Theologie im Alten Testament“, in ders., Gesammelte Studien, Bd. 1, Die Mitte des Alten Testaments, BEvT 99 (München: Kaiser, 1986), 114–17, dort 116. 29 Schmid, Gibt es Theologie, 53.

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Er schlägt deshalb vor, im Blick auf das Alte Testament zwischen impliziter und expliziter Theologie zu unterscheiden.30 Da das Alte Testament zu einem grossen Teil aus Texten besteht, welche vorgegebene religiöse Texte oder Traditionen reflektierend interpretieren, erfüllen sie nach ihm eine Grundanforderung von Theologie. Dabei wird nicht nur vorgegebenes Textgut fortgeschrieben, sondern es kommt auch zu grundlegenden Neueinsätzen. Solche grundlegende Neueinsätze sieht Schmid im Deuteronomium, in der Priesterschrift, in der Deuterojesaiaüberlieferung und in anderer Weise in der Chronik.31 Mit einem inhaltlichen Neueinsatz ist meistens ein Prozess der Literaturwerdung älterer Überlieferungen verbunden: Das Deuteronomium, die Priesterschrift und die Chronikbücher waren wohl eigenständige Schriften. Das deuterojesaianische Corpus ist dabei besonders auffällig, weil hier Altes und Neues gegenübergestellt wird: Jahwe schafft Neues, einen neuen Exodus; sein Handeln lässt das Alte weit hinter sich. Denkt nicht an das, was früher war, und was vormals war – kümmert euch nicht darum. Siehe ich schaffe Neues, schon spriesst es – erkennt ihr es nicht? (Jes 43,18–19)

Jahwe wird bei Deuterojesaia zum Herrscher aller Völker und ist in diesem Sinn erstmals wirklich der „einzige“ Gott. Das bevorstehende und noch verborgene Heil übersteigt alles, was ältere prophetische Heilsprophetie angekündigt hat; es hat „die Dimension einer Neuschöpfung“.32 Eine ähnliche Reflexionsstufe wird in der priesterschriftlichen Schöpfungsgeschichte und in den priesterschriftlichen Bundestheologien erreicht: Jahwe hat Himmel und Erde geschaffen und nach der Sintflut einen Bund mit der ganzen Menschheit geschlossen. Man kann sich natürlich fragen, ob man im Alten Testament literaturgeschichtlich überhaupt von grundlegenden Neueinsätzen sprechen kann und nicht vielmehr von einem Prozess ständiger Neu-​Setzung, Ausweitung, Theologisierung und Universalisierung sprechen müsste. So ist es in der biblischen Überlieferung in der Regel der Fall. Aus ihr ragen aber einzelne, grosse theologische Entwürfe, wie Deuterojesaia und die Priesterschrift, heraus. Auch in diesem Sinn ist m. E. Schmids Charakterisierung als „implizit-​ theologisch“ hilfreich.  Schmid, Gibt es Theologie, 54–58. Gibt es Theologie, 58–61. 32 Jörg Jeremias, Theologie des Alten Testaments, GAT 6 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 266. 30

31 Schmid,

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Dieser Prozess geht nach dem Beginn der Kanonisierung weiter: Das Jubiläenbuch und die Tempelrolle stellen weitere Neueinsätze in der Reflexion geschichtlicher Traditionen dar. Auch die prophetischen Texte werden in neuer Weise wieder aufgenommen: In den Pescharim werden sie kommentiert und auf die Gegenwart bezogen. In manchen apokalyptischen Texten werden sie aktualisiert und durch ihre Verwendung in neuen Ko-​ Texten grundlegend umgestaltet. Einen ähnlichen Prozess gibt es bei der Sammlung der Psalmen, die zugleich eine grundlegende Neu-​Interpretation bedeutet. Sie wurden – analog zur Torah – in einem fünfteiligen Buch gesammelt und durch die Voranstellung von Ps 1 zusätzlich an die Torah angenähert.33 Deshalb darf man fragen, ob nicht auch die neutestamentlichen Texte im Lichte solcher neu-​setzender Re-​Interpretation alttestamentlicher Texte gedeutet werden können. Geht der Prozess „theologisch“ reflektierender grundlegender Neuinterpretation alttestamentlicher Texte im Neuen Testament weiter? Ist auch das Neue Testament als ein Neu-​Einsatz zu verstehen, der das Alte neu interpretiert und zugleich ausweitet und überbietet? Die Antwort muss m. E. differenziert ausfallen. Für die Verkündigung des Juden Jesus dürfte diese Sichtweise weitgehend zutreffen: Auch seine Verkündigung des nahen Gottesreichs ist ein „theologischer Neueinsatz“, der sehr an Jes 43,18–19 erinnert. Während aber der Deuterojesaia genannte Prophet anonym bleibt, ist das bei Jesus grundsätzlich anders: Dadurch, dass er die Annahme bzw. Ablehnung seiner Verkündigung mit der Annahme bzw. Ablehnung seiner Person verknüpft (z. B. Mt 7,24–27; Lk 12,8–9), vor allem aber durch seine Auferstehung wurde die Geschichte seines Lebens und Sterbens zu einer neuen Grundgeschichte, welche die bisherige Grundgeschichte Israels ablöste und zu einer radikal neuen Blickweise auf die Geschichte Gottes mit Israel führte. In diesem Sinn markiert das Christusgeschehen einen grundlegenden Neueinsatz. Literarisch wird er daran sichtbar, dass  – abgesehen von der Johannesapokalypse – die literarischen Gattungen des Alten Testaments im frühen Christentum nicht weiter gepflegt, sondern durch neue Gattungen ersetzt werden. Auf eine einzige Person konzentrierte, biographieähnliche Erzählungen wie die Evangelien gibt es im Alten Testament nicht. Es gibt auch keine Briefe, welche mit den apostolischen Briefen des Neuen Testaments vergleichbar wären. Ich werde deshalb darauf verzichten, die Frage nach einer „impliziten Theologie“ im Sinne Schmids an die einzelnen neu33 Schmid,

Gibt es Theologie, 100–2.

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testamentlichen Schriften zu stellen. Sie werden im folgenden Abschnitt II behandelt werden. Nur bei der Johannes-​Offenbarung könnte Schmids Fragestellung fruchtbar sein. Aber auch hier ist die Neuheit grundlegend. In dieser „Offenbarung Jesu Christi“ wird die traditionelle Gattung „Apokalypse“ radikal verändert: Es gibt keine rätselhaften Visionen mehr, keinen Deute-​Engel, keinen pseud­onymen Verfasser, keine unbekannten Adressaten. Vor allem hat die Johannes-­Offenbarung die Form eines Briefes.34 Eher kann man im Blick auf den zweiteiligen christlichen Kanon, den die Kirche in den Fussstapfen des Irenäus geschaffen hat, sagen, dass er eine theologisch reflektierte Neuinterpretation des Alten Testaments sei, welche dieses von einem neuen Blickpunkt her grundlegend neu interpretiert: Die Alte Kirche hatte drei grundsätzlich verschiedene Optionen: Sie hätte erstens – wie Marcion – auf die Aufnahme des Alten Testaments in ihren Kanon überhaupt verzichten oder es – wie manche Gnostiker – gegen seinen eigenen Strich bürsten können. Oder sie hätte zweitens ihre eigenen Schriften in den werdenden alttestamentlichen Kanon einfügen können. Sie hätte sie z. B. an seinen Schluss stellen können, als Anhang zu ihm oder als vierte Abteilung nach der Torah, den Propheten und den „Schriften“. Oder sie hätte die noch nicht abschliessend definierte Abteilung der „Schriften“ durch eigene Texte erweitern können. Mit der Schaffung eines zweiteiligen Kanons hat sie einen dritten Weg beschritten. Er ist gleichsam ein Mittelweg zwischen den ersten beiden. Die Alte Kirche hat dadurch bekannt, dass ihr Gott kein anderer ist als der Gott Israels, der durch Jesus Christus endgültig zum Gott der ganzen Welt geworden ist. Damit hat sie biblische Ansätze wie z. B. bei Deuterojesaia und der Priesterschrift aufgenommen und überboten. Sie hat aber den alttestamentlichen Kanon nicht nur übernommen, sondern auch neu geschaffen: Die heutige christliche Septuaginta ist nicht nur umfangreicher als die Hebräische Bibel, sondern vor allem durch die Endstellung der Propheten, welche die „Brücke“ zum Neuen Testament bilden, ein „neues“ Altes Testament. Die Septuaginta ist ein christliches Altes Testament, welches mit der Bibel Israels nur teilweise identisch ist.

34 Martin Karrer, Die Johannesoffenbarung als Brief: Studien zu ihrem literarischen, historischen und theologischen Ort, FRLANT 140 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986).

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Exkurs: Die Griechische Bibel Die meisten neutestamentlichen Autoren benutzten griechische Textfassungen der Bibel, in der Regel Vorformen des späteren Septuagintatextes. Im Falle des Matthäusevangeliums lässt sich zeigen, dass seine Griechische Bibel in der Reihenfolge der Schriften und vielleicht auch im Umfang der Hebräischen Bibel entsprach.35 Hebräische oder aramäische Textformen wirkten nur selten auf neutestamentliche Texte ein. Mit der Übersetzung der Bibel ins Griechische ist eine starke Hellenisierung verbunden. Dafür zwei Beispiele: Durch die Übersetzung des Gottesnamens ‫ אהיה אשר אהיה‬mit ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν in Ex 3,14 wurde überhaupt erst die Möglichkeit eines metaphysischen Gottesverständnisses, wie es später in der westlichen Theologie dominierte, geschaffen.36 Durch die Übersetzung von ‫ תורה‬mit νόμος wurde eine Menge neuer Assoziationsmöglichkeiten geschaffen, z. B. an das Naturrecht oder an das Weltgesetz, die für spätere christliche Theologien grundlegend wurden.37 Selbstverständlich lasen auch die neutestamentlichen Autoren ihre Bibel mit „ihren“, in unterschiedlicher Weise und in unterschiedlichem Grade hellenistisch geprägten Augen. Die „Bibel“ hat also viele Gestalten, je nachdem in welcher Textform und von wem sie gelesen wurde. Darum werde ich im Folgenden in offener Weise von der „biblischen Tradition“ sprechen und nicht einfach von „der Bibel“, um dieser Vielgestaltigkeit Rechnung zu tragen. Aber im Bewusstsein der Tradenten der Christusüberlieferung und der Verfasser der neutestamentlichen Schriften war es ihre Bibel, welche ihnen die Möglichkeit, das Christusgeschehen zu verstehen, erschloss.

35 Das

zeigt Mt 23,35: Mit „Abel“ und „Sacharja“ werden der erste und der letzte (2Chron 24,20–22) Blutzeuge des Tanach genannt. 36  Vulgata Ex 3,14: Ego sum qui sum. Für Thomas von Aquin‘s Gotteslehre ist Ex 3,14 die Schlüsselstelle: Das wird in Summa Theologiae I, q. 2 a. 3 besonders deutlich: Dort fungiert Ex 3,14 als biblische „Überschrift“ vor der Darlegung der „fünf Wege“, seiner fünf Gottesbeweise. Vgl. auch Summa contra Gentiles I 22, 9–10 (= 211): Aus Ex 3,14 folgert Thomas: „ipsum divinum esse est sua essentia vel natura“. 37  Nur aufgrund der Übersetzung von ‫ תורה‬durch νόμος war es z. B. für Paulus möglich, den philosophisch und popularphilosophisch verbreiteten Gedanken vom ἄγραφος νόμος aufzugreifen (Röm 2,15). Andere, für das Neue Testament wichtige Hellenisierungen gehen nicht auf die LXX, sondern erst auf Spätere zurück, z. B. die Umschreibung des göttlichen Schöpferwortes von Gen 1 durch λόγος (und nicht durch ῥῆμα!) etwa bei Philo, Op. mund. 36.

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II. Die biblische Tradition als Wurzelgrund neutestamentlicher Theologien Meine eigene These, die ich gegenüber Hans Dieter Betz stark machen möchte, lautet, dass die biblische Tradition weitgehend der Wurzelgrund der neutestamentlichen Theologien (Plural!) ist. Ohne ihre Bibel hätten die frühesten Jesusanhänger weder denken, noch verkünden können, wer Jesus für sie war. Im Lichte ihrer Bibel, vor allem der Psalmen, erzählten sie seine Leidensgeschichte. Mit Hilfe ihrer Bibel deuteten sie seinen Tod. Mit biblischen Ausdrücken deuteten sie seinen ausser­ordentlich hohen Selbstanspruch: Sie hielten Jesus für mehr als einen Propheten; sie bekannten ihn als Gottessohn. Sie erzählten von ihm als Davidssohn und sie liessen ihn als Menschensohn seinen eigenen Weg deuten.38 Die Einsetzungsworte zum Abendmahl sind ohne Rückgriff auf biblische Vorstellungen nicht verständlich.39 Biblische Geschichten und Motive färbten manche Erzählungen über Jesus.40 Das biblische „Kolorit“ ist in der neutestamentlichen Überlieferung traditionsgeschichtlich meistens älter als die einzelnen biblischen Zitate: Das illustrieren vorpaulinische Bekenntnistexte am besten, die eindeutig biblisch gefärbt sind, ohne dass die Textstellen, auf die sie sich beziehen, eindeutig identifiziert werden könnten:41 Etwa 1 Kor 15,3–5 spricht pauschal von „den Schriften“ und lässt neuzeitliche Ausleger/innen darüber rätseln, welche Schriftstellen im Einzelnen gemeint sein könnten. Röm 1,3–4 stellt „Davidssohn“ und „Gottessohn“ nebeneinander; beide „Titel“ sind biblisch konnotiert, ohne dass man ihre biblische Färbung an bestimmten Schriftstellen festmachen könnte. Einzelne Bibelzitate konnten die frühesten Jesusverkünder nur darum entdecken, weil sie die Jesustraditionen von Anfang an mit von der Bibel geprägten Augen erinnerten und im Lichte der Bibel verstanden und erzählten. Ein ähnliches Bild ergibt sich in den Evangelien. Der Befund beim ältesten Evangelium, dem Markusevangelium ist allerdings komplex. Insofern es als „Passionsgeschichte mit ausführlicher Einleitung“ verstanden werden 38  Es ist dabei grundsätzlich belanglos, ob man – wie z. B. Bultmann – alle Menschensohnworte für nachösterlich hält oder – wie ich selbst – nur einen Teil. 39 Ob Ex 24,8 oder Jer 31,31–39 anklingt, spielt hier keine Rolle. 40  Wichtig waren hier u. a. die Elia/Elisatraditionen. Sie prägten z. B. die Speisungsgeschichten, die Geschichten von den Jüngerberufungen oder die Geschichte von der Auferweckung des Jünglings von Nain (Lk 7,11–17). 41  Auch bei Röm 8,3 muss offen bleiben, ob hinter dieser paulinischen Aussage opferkultische Vorstellungen stehen, und – wenn ja – welche; ihre biblische Färbung ist aber eindeutig.

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kann, ist die biblische Prägung deutlich: Die Passion Jesu kann auch Markus nur im Lichte der Bibel verstehen. Auch für viele Einzeltraditionen und theologische Grundaussagen, wie z. B. für die Parabeltheorie, ist der biblische Wurzelgrund eindeutig. Dasselbe gilt für den Prolog Mk 1,2–8, der mit einem das Wirken Johannes des Täufers beleuchtenden Bibelzitat beginnt (Mk 1,2–3). Ob man aber für das ganze Markusevangelium sagen kann, die Bibel sei sein Wurzelgrund, ist schwer zu beurteilen. Das Matthäusevangelium versteht die Geschichte Jesu als Erfüllungsgeschichte prophetischer Weissagungen und als Überbietung der Mosegeschichte.42 Die fünf grossen Reden Jesu erinnern an den fünfteiligen Pentateuch. Die Autorität des Gesetzeslehrers Jesus übersteigt diejenige des Mose. Sein Jesus ist in biblischen Worten der „Immanuel“, d. h. die Gestalt Gottes, in der er seine Gemeinden durch die Geschichte bis ans Ende der Welt begleitet und trägt. Die matthäische Immanuel-​Christologie ist m. E. eine judenchristliche Form einer „Zweinaturenlehre“ – in ganz ungriechischen Kategorien gedacht. Wahrscheinlich verstand der Evangelist sein Buch als Hinweis auf das erste Buch der Bibel und damit sein ganzes Buch als eine neue Genesis – die Genesis Jesu Christi (1,1). Damit verband er vielleicht eine Art „protokanonischen“ Anspruch für sein Buch, den er nur mithilfe des damals weitgehend abgeschlossenen biblischen Kanons stellen konnte. Die ersten beiden Kapitel des Lukasevangeliums zeigen, dass sein Verfasser die Jesusgeschichte als Fortsetzung der biblischen Geschichte versteht, und zugleich als ihre Überbietung.43 Die Geburt Jesu läutet das von den Propheten geweissagte σωτήριον und die λύτρωσις Israels ein (Lk 2,30.38). In seinem zweibändigen Geschichtswerk wird sein Verfasser den Weg erzählen, den Gott mit Jesus in Israel und nach Jesu Tod über Israel hinaus gegangen ist. Diesen Weg deutet er durch den Mund der Apostel in ihren Reden, durch den Mund des Paulus und sogar des Heiligen Geistes (Apg 28,25–27) mit biblischen Worten. Der Johannesprolog beginnt wie die Bibel (Genesis 1,1) mit der ἀρχή vor der Schöpfung. Ganz unabhängig davon, wie sein Verfasser das Wort λόγος konnotiert hat – es ist für ihn Gottes Schöpfungswort, durch das er die Welt geschaffen hat.44 Auch für die Geschichte vom Gottessohn Jesus, welche 42  Vgl. Dale C. Allison, The New Moses: A Matthaean Typology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 43  Michael Wolter, Das Lukasevangelium, HNT 5 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 70–71. 44 In seiner Interpretation des Johannesprologs hat Betz m. E. die Bedeutung von Gen 1,1 und der Erschaffung der Welt durch das göttliche Wort unterbetont.

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das Johannesevangelium erzählt, spielen biblische Traditionen eine wichtige Rolle; ich erinnere z. B. an die Mannatraditionen in Joh 6 oder an den biblischen Hintergrund mancher ἐγώ-​εἰμι-​Worte.45 Allerdings kann man nicht sagen, dass im Johannesevangelium die Bibel in ähnlicher Weise der einzige Schlüssel zum Verständnis der Jesusgeschichte ist wie etwa im Matthäusevangelium. Denkt man von der biblischen Tradition her, dann rücken die Evangelien, die von Jesus erzählen, stärker ins Zentrum.46 Mit ihnen rückt auch die Person Jesu, von der sie erzählen, in den Mittelpunkt einer neutestamentlichen „Theologie“. Blickt man auf die Evangelien, so kann man Jesus von Nazareth nicht mehr – wie Bultmann – als blosse Voraussetzung neutestamentlicher Theologie verstehen. Dann wird es meines Erachtens auch problematisch, ein völlig unmessianisches Selbstverständnis Jesu anzunehmen, wie dies in der neutestamentlichen Forschung lange – nicht nur bei Bultmann – üblich war. Man müsste dann annehmen, dass ihn seine Jünger nach Ostern – inspiriert (oder in die Irre geleitet!) durch ihre Bibel! – völlig falsch gedeutet hätten.47 Dass die biblische Tradition der Ermöglichungsgrund neutestamentlicher Theologien ist, gilt aber auch für Paulus. Die paulinische Christologie zeigt, dass Paulus Gemeindetheologe war. Er scheint die ganze Fülle frühchristlicher Interpretationen von Tod und Auferstehung Jesu aufzunehmen. Kaum eine von ihnen ist nicht mit Hilfe der Bibel formuliert worden: Christus stirbt als Sühnopfer (Röm 8,3), als Passahlamm (1 Kor 5,7) oder einfach „für unsere Sünden“ (1 Kor 15,3; Gal 1,4). Sein Tod wird im Lichte des Versöhnungstages (Röm 3,25) oder der Opferung Isaaks (Röm 8,32) gedeutet. „Ausgeliefert wegen unserer Sünden“ (Röm 4,25) lässt vielleicht Jes 53,12 anklingen. Er ist für unsere Sünden gestorben und am dritten Tage auferstanden „nach den Schriften“ (1 Kor 15,3–5). Er, der Sohn Davids, wird aufgrund der Auferstehung von den Toten  – wie die biblischen Könige  – zum Sohn Gottes eingesetzt (Röm 1,3–4). Der Auferstehungsgedanke ist

45 Vgl. etwa Joh 4,26 (vgl. Ex 3,14; Jes 43,10–11 LXX); Joh 6,35 (vgl. Ex 16); Joh 15,1 (vgl. Jes 5; Jer 21,21 u. a.). 46 Bultmann stützt seine neutestamentliche Theologie ausschliesslich auf Paulus und Johannes. Allein ihnen gesteht er das Prädikat „Theologie“ zu. Das Johannesevangelium interpretiert er aber nicht als Erzählung. Durch seine literarkritischen Thesen zertrümmert er diese vielmehr. Betz interessiert sich fast nur für den Prolog und wenig für das Ganze des Johannesevangeliums und seine Erzählung. Er braucht sich deshalb mit Bultmanns Johannesinterpretation im Ganzen nicht auseinanderzusetzen. 47 Eine solche Annahme wäre eine neue Variation der alten These von Reimarus.

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ein biblischer Gedanke, die Metapher „Erhöhung“ vielleicht auch.48 Sogar Phil 2,6–11 endet mit Worten aus Jes 45,23. Sind sie nicht mehr als blosses Kolorit? Paulus hat solche und andere biblisch geprägte Aussagen aus seinen Gemeinden aufgenommen und sie im Gespräch mit seinen Mitarbeitern, den Gemeinden und mit seinen Gegnern weiterentwickelt. Seine theologische Leistung besteht m. E. darin, dass er in ihrem Lichte das menschliche Leben und die Situation und Probleme seiner Gemeinden interpretiert. Biblisch ist auch seine Interpretation Gottes: Gott ist für Paulus weder das Sein noch der Seiende, sondern er ist der, der gerecht ist, indem er gerecht macht (Röm 3,26). Das wird verdeutlicht – Paulus sagt: geoffenbart – durch ein Ereignis in der Geschichte, das Christusgeschehen. Von hellenistisch-­ philosophischen Aussagen ist dieses Gottesverständnis weit entfernt. Dass die Rechtfertigungsaussagen des Paulus nur auf biblischem Hintergrund verständlich werden, brauche ich wohl nicht eigens zu betonen. Die biblische Tradition ist – so lautete die These – der Wurzelgrund der meisten neutestamentlichen Theologien. Dass diese These auch für den Hebräerbrief gilt, ist offensichtlich: Wegen der Fülle seiner alttestamentlichen Zitate wurde er vielleicht nachträglich als „Brief an die Hebräer“ überschrieben.49 Er beleuchtet die Situation seiner Gemeinden, die müde geworden sind und vor dem Abfall gewarnt werden müssen, mit Hilfe der von Christus her ganz neu interpretierten Bibel. Hinweisen möchte ich auch auf die Johannesoffenbarung: Sie ist ganz in biblische Farben getaucht, arbeitet mit biblischen, vor allem prophetischen und danielischen Bildern und Textfragmenten und lässt sie in neuen Ko-​Texten aufscheinen. Dabei aktualisiert sie auch dunkle Seiten Gottes50 in kosmischen Dimensionen neu. Auch die Johannesoffenbarung kennt, wie das Matthäusevangelium, eine besondere Gestalt einer biblisch geprägten „Zweinaturenlehre“: Der erhöhte Christus, den der Seher sieht, gleicht dem Menschensohn aus Dan 7; seine Haare aber sind weiss, wie die des „Alten der Tage“, also Gottes (Apk 1,13–14). Man kann diese neutestamentlichen Schriften aber nicht im Sinne Konrad Schmids als „implizit theologische“ Re-​Interpretationen alttestamentlicher 48 Nicht nur der aus der Bibel bekannte Entrückungsgedanke (Gen 5,24; 2 Kön 2,1–11), sondern vor allem auch der im in christologischen Aussagen des NT oft anklingende Ps 110,1 sind wichtig. 49  Petr Pokorný und Ulrich Heckel, Einleitung in das Neue Testament: Seine Literatur und Theologie im Überblick, UTB 2798 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 676–77. 50 Vgl. Walter Dietrich und Christian Link, Die dunklen Seiten Gottes: Willkür und Gewalt, 2 Bde. (Neukirchen-​V luyn: Neukirchener, 1995, 2000).

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Traditionen und Texte betrachten. Diese „Re-​Interpretation“ ist weit radikaler und umfassender als alles, was im innerbiblischen und frühjüdischen Traditionsprozess geschehen ist, sogar als Deuterojesaia. Die Evangelien erzählen nicht mehr die Geschichte Israels, sondern eine neue Geschichte: die mit biblischen Farben interpretierte Geschichte Jesu Christi. Die biblischen Texte werden im Neuen Testament von einem ganz neuen Blickpunkt aus re-​interpretiert, nämlich vom Glauben an den auferstandenen Christus her. Diese Re-​Interpretation geschieht dabei sehr selektiv: Grosse Teile des Alten Testaments bleiben im Neuen Testament stumm. Noch eine ganz andere Einschränkung ist nötig: Die These, dass die biblische Tradition der Wurzelgrund neutestamentlicher Theologien ist, gilt nicht für alle neutestamentlichen Schriften. Sie gilt – so sahen wir – für das Markus‑ und das Johannesevangelium nur zu einem grossen Teil: Ohne Rückgriff auf griechische oder jüdisch-​hellenistische Denkmodelle lassen sich weder der johanneische Prolog, noch das Johannesevangelium insgesamt interpretieren. Das Johannesevangelium bietet mehr als blosse Anknüpfungspunkte für Griechen, die nach Joh 12,21 Jesus „sehen“ wollten. Sie gilt auch nicht für manche späten neutestamentlichen Briefe, z. B. die Pastoralbriefe: In ihnen sind Anspielungen auf die Bibel so spärlich, dass man sie nicht als einen tragenden Wurzelgrund bezeichnen kann.

III. Zusammenfassung Meine Skizze versuchte anzudeuten, dass die biblische Tradition für die frühen Tradenten der Christusüberlieferungen und auch für die meisten neutestamentlichen Autoren der tragende Wurzelgrund ihrer „Theologien“ gewesen ist. Die Bibel gab ihnen die Sprache, mittels derer sie das Christusgeschehen verstehen und verkünden konnten. Es gilt aber auch das Umgekehrte: Von ihrer Christuserfahrung her lasen sie ihre Bibel mit neuen Augen und entdeckten in ihr neue Schlüsseltexte. „Theologie“ ist dabei im Sinne der „impliziten Theologie“ von Konrad Schmid verstanden, nicht im Sinne des mythologischen Theologieverständnisses griechischer Texte, dem das frühe Christentum sehr lange ablehnend gegenüberstand. Aus meinen Ausführungen ergibt sich, dass mir der Entwurf von Hans Dieter Betz recht fern steht. Ich denke nicht, dass er die Ursprünge neutestamentlicher Theologie wirklich erhellen kann, sondern halte ihn für eine re-​interpretatio Graeca ihrer Ursprünge, genauer: für eine relecture ausgewählter biblischer Texte im Lichte mittelplatonischer Philosophie. Betz will ja auch nicht dem ganzen Neuen Testament gerecht werden, sondern

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nur Paulus und dem Johannesprolog. Da er aber von „neutestamentlicher Theologie“ spricht, schien es mir wichtig, die Perspektive zu erweitern und auch andere neutestamentliche Zeugen einzubeziehen, vor allem die Evangelien. Ihre Bedeutung für die neutestamentliche Theologie ist nicht zu unterschätzen.

Abstract The Biblical Tradition as the Seedbed of New Testament Theology: A Sketch. In this study, Ulrich Luz concentrates on the reception of Old Testament “implicit” theology in New Testament writings, most notably the Synoptics but also John and Paul, Hebrews and Revelation. In reaction to Hans Dieter Betz’s conception of the origins of New Testament theology, Luz advocates the thesis that neither the Platonic tradition nor (as Bultmann argued) the kerygma of the earliest Hellenistic communities but rather the biblical tradition is the soil from which New Testament theology first sprouted and flourished.

The Beginnings of Christian Theology Harold W. Attridge Theology, or “God-​talk,” can be defined in various ways, but Anselm’s “faith seeking understanding” is as good a starting point as any, as long as “faith” is construed broadly and not confined to the tenets of a traditional creed. Theology, in any case, is an effort to probe the meaning of a tradition, an experience, or a conviction. The process can be pursued as a simple inquiry, using incisive questions and intuitive logic or it can proceed with tools and conceptual structures derived from other ways of finding meaning such as philosophy. Both processes are evident in the earliest stages of the Christian movement, as followers of Jesus worked to make sense of their experience of the teacher from Nazareth and his spirit that continued to guide lives. Tracing all of the ways in which the impulse to theologize worked itself out in the early church is not possible in the space of this essay, and other essays in this volume will explore the larger territory in detail. This essay will focus on two issues that prompted considerable reflection by early Christians. One deals with what later theologians classified as soteriology; the other focuses on religious epistemology. Both use as resources for the process of reflection the language and imagery of the Jewish scriptures. One supplements that biblical material with a conceptual framework rooted in the Greek philosophical tradition.

A. The Saving Death of Christ One of the prominent facts that early Christians had to interpret and understand was the death of Christ. Because of their experience of the resurrected Christ they knew that his death was not the end of his story; it did not undercut the expectation that he was the promised Messiah. The kingdom that he proclaimed and inaugurated in his teaching and healing was yet to come and would soon be realized. While they lived in hope, they nonetheless had to make some sense of why Jesus died.

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In wrestling with the issue, followers of Jesus applied to the end of Jesus’s life traditional images depicting heroic deaths as instruments of salvation for others.1 How the death worked was usually not specified. Followers of Jesus could have been inspired by more general cultural traditions, such as those that depicted the devotio of a Roman general.2 Their biblical tradition had a notion of vicarious suffering for others in the Servant Song of Isa 53:4–5, which celebrates the one who “has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases,” who was “wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities, upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.” Yet that text, often cited in later liturgy and in theological reflections, is only explicitly cited in one later text of the New Testament, 1 Pet 2:24. A common way that early Christians construed the death of Jesus was as a sacrifice, a category that also came to be a staple of the tradition, but one that could be understood in a wide variety of ways. Evidence for the range of models for understanding the death of Christ is found throughout the Pauline correspondence, though none is developed in a systematic way.3 At one point Paul briefly alludes to Christ’s death as a Passover sacrifice (1 Cor 5:7), but does not explain what that means. At a climactic point in the early argument of Romans, affirming that God has graciously dealt with the problem of universal and pervasive sin (Rom 3:25), Paul alludes to the ritual of Yom Kippur. He does so by calling Christ’s death a ἱλαστήριον, the “mercy seat” over the ark of the covenant where the Israelite High Priest sprinkled cleansing blood on the Day of Atonement. Translations often obscure the allusion. The NRSV translates this word as “a sacrifice of atonement”; the NAB translates as “expiation.” Neither captures quite what Paul says. Jesus is, in this image, the sacred place where atoning blood is sprinkled.4 1 For

general treatments of reflections on atonement, see Thomas Knöppler, Sühne im Neuen Testament: Studien zum urchristlichen Verständnis der Heilsbedeutung des Todes Jesu, WMANT 88 (Neukirchen-​V luyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2001); and Christina Eschner, Gestorben und hingeben “ für” die Sünder: Die griechische Konzeption des Unheil abwendenen Sterbens und deren paulinische Aufnahme für die Deutung des Todes Jesu Christi, 2 vols., WMANT 122 (Neukirchen-​V luyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2010). 2 See Basil S. Davis, Christ as Devotio: The Argument of Galatians 3:1–14 (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2002). 3  For an overview of the Pauline texts, see Stephen Finlan, Background and Content of Paul’s Atonement Metaphors, AcBib 19 (Leiden: Brill, 2004); and Eschner, Gestorben und hingegeben “ für” die Sünder. 4 On the difficulties of this verse, see Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 33 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1993), 349–50; and Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary, asst. Roy D. Kotansky, ed. Eldon Jay Epp, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 283–87.

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Paul may allude to another cultic image at 2 Cor 5:21, where he says that God made Jesus, who knew no sin, to be “sin” so that we might become God’s righteousness in him. Some interpreters discern here a cultic metaphor, in which Paul says that Jesus became a “sin offering,” reflecting the way in which the Greek translation could refer to the ‫ חטאת‬of Leviticus as something “for sin” (περὶ ἁμαρτίας). Some interpreters read the verse instead as a reference to the scapegoat ritual of Yom Kippur, in which the High Priest laid the sins of the people on the head of a goat sent out to the wilderness (Lev 16:20–22). If so, 2 Cor 5:21 is the only allusion in the New Testament to this particular act.5 Paul gestures toward another sacrificial event in Rom 8:32. His reference to God not sparing his own son alludes to the Aqedah, or “Binding” of Isaac by Abraham in Genesis 22.6 Paul, in brief, associates several images of sacrifice with the death of Jesus but explores none in any depth. Similar brief interpretations of the death of Jesus appear elsewhere in early Christian literature. The Gospel according to Mark, which devotes much of its narrative attention to the passion, spends little time explaining how the event works. In only one verse Jesus refers to his mission as the Son of Man: “to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). The verse implicitly compares his death to an act of liberation of those held captive, perhaps by Satan or the power of evil, but the logic of the imagery remains unexplained. All of these passages are, in a fashion, examples of an early stage of theology. They attempt to explain the mysterious death of Jesus by subsuming it under a category that is somehow meaningful to a contemporary audience. They do not explain how the category works, nor do they probe its application, testing for its coherence and explanatory force. Two works of the New Testament make such moves, not in the systematic, formal fashion of later theology, but through exquisite rhetoric and complex symbolic narrative.

B. A Rhetorical Theology The rhetorical approach to exploring the meaning of the sacrificial death of Jesus appears in the Epistle to the Hebrews. In appealing to an audience to 5  For discussion of the interpretive options, see Victor P. Furnish, II Corinthians: Translated with Introduction, Notes, and Commentary, AB 32A (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 330. Furnish finds not a cultic metaphor but a general allusion to the sinful state of humanity. 6 For the history of this interpretation, see Fitzmyer, Romans, 531–32; and Jewett, Romans, 536–38, who is skeptical about the allusion.

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remain faithful, the homilist offers an interpretation of the death and resurrection/exaltation of Jesus. He takes for granted many basic teachings of the Christian movement and alludes to that fact at one point, urging his addressees to move to a deeper level of understanding (Heb 5:11–6:3). Among the presupposed “facts” is probably the understanding that the death of Jesus is a “sacrifice” of some sort. The move from that fact to the deeper understanding constitutes a distinct example of early theologizing. References to Christ’s exaltation and to his death as a sacrificial act are the foundational elements on which the homilist builds. It is not possible to determine the way in which he developed his argument, how the inventio, as ancient orators called the process of constructing a speech, would have worked. He may have simply begun, reflecting on data in the Pauline corpus, from the premise that Christ’s death was a “sacrifice,” then speculated on what kind of sacrifice it might be. He might also have begun with the notion that if Christ’s death was a sacrifice, it needed a competent officiant. He would then have wondered how Christ could qualify. The homilist may have developed his argument in other ways, but however he did so, he came to grips with the claim that Christ’s death was a sacrifice of some sort. The homilist also needed to show how Christ’s death and exaltation were relevant to the lives of his congregation. This rhetorical necessity may well have led to a reflection on sacrifice and priesthood. Whatever the path, his solution involves a creative construal of how Christ’s sacrificial death works. The homilist’s insight is that the pattern of Christ’s death and exaltation is analogous to the actions of the High Priest on Yom Kippur, as prescribed in Leviticus. Christ’s death maps onto the ritual in which sprinkled blood purifies the mercy seat (the ἱλαστήριον) and Christ’s one-​time session at the right hand of God corresponds to the annual entry of the High Priest into the Most Holy part of the tabernacle. Before exploring the reflection in more detail, it is worth noting that the homilist probably considered other options for framing Christ’s death as a sacrifice beyond the Yom Kippur analogy developed in chs. 8–10. He obviously knows of the daily Levitical sacrifices, which he casually mentions in the initial sketch of a High Priest’s oversight of “things pertaining to God, so as to offer gifts and sacrifices for sin” (5:1). This is fairly neutral language. The homily strikes a more disdainful tone when it mentions the daily sacrifices in ch. 7, which connects Christ with Melchizedek. The homilist is much more disparaging in the context of the exposition of the Yom Kippur analogy, where he refers (8:9) to the “gifts and sacrifices” – the same terms used at 5:1 – offered in the tabernacle. These, he claims, do not cleanse the conscience but only deal with issues of ritual purity. That judgment on daily

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and annual sin offerings reappears in the next paragraph, which unfavorably contrasts Christ’s blood with the blood of bulls and goats (9:13) that only cleanse flesh. The homilist gestures here toward yet another ritual, that of the red heifer (Num 19:9–17), whose blood effectively removes certain kinds of ritual impurity. One might debate whether that ritual should be considered a “sacrifice” like others in the roster, but for the homilist it is of a piece with the general category of “gifts and sacrifices,” rituals that “those who serve at the tabernacle” (13:10) perform. The Aqedah is also mentioned in passing (11:17–19). The reference here is not, as in Paul (Rom 8:32), an indirect allusion, but a clear rehearsal of Genesis 22. Yet the relevance of the story to the homilist’s program focuses not on Isaac’s brush with death, but on the conviction imputed to Abraham that God would raise Isaac from the dead. This ingenious twist to the story says nothing about sacrifice. The catalogue of sacrifices mentioned in Hebrews includes Passover (11:28) as something that the faithful Moses courageously celebrated in Egypt. There may be an oblique gesture to Christ’s sacrifice, since it appears in the context of a selective account of Moses as one who “preferred the reproach of Christ to the treasures of Egypt,” but the homilist makes no direct connection of Passover and Jesus’s death.7 In fact, he does not even label the Passover ritual a sacrifice, perhaps because he is so concerned with sacrifices that deal with sin. One last type of sacrifice appears in the middle of the reflection on Yom Kippur, at 9:18–22, the action described in Exodus 24 whereby Moses sanctified the people of the desert generation, in effect inaugurating the “Old Covenant.” The oxen then sacrificed are said to be “offerings of well-​being” to the Lord. When Moses sprinkles their blood on people, he says, and the homilist quotes him, “This is the blood of the covenant which the Lord made with you” (Exod 24:8). This citation is important and we shall return to it. For now, it is important to note simply that our homilist knows various possibilities for exploring the meaning of sacrifice and chooses his own, almost 7  As noted below, through its citation of Exod 12:10, 46 at John 19:36, the Fourth Gospel explicitly draws the typology between the sacrifice of the Passover Lamb and the death of Christ. Later interpreters of Hebrews and John, from the Fathers through Thomas Aquinas, will read the symbolism of the two texts together. The phenomenon of such intra-­ canonical references is a common part of the tradition of theological interpretation of the New Testament. For some other examples in the Church Fathers, see Harold W. Attridge, “Jesus the Incarnate High Priest: Intracanonical Readings of Hebrews and John,” in Hebrews in Contexts, ed. Gabriella Gelardini and Harold W. Attridge, AJEC 91 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2016), 283–98.

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unique, path. He focuses on Yom Kippur, but somehow connects it with the passage in Exodus 24. Not only does our homilist know about different kinds of biblical sacrifice, he also knows about ways in which people criticized sacrifice and used it as a metaphor for something else. The critique is as old the prophets, who proclaimed that Yahweh did not want the blood of animals but a true heart and deeds of mercy (Hos 6:6; 8:13; cf. Amos 4:4–6).8 Such critiques were part of the intellectual landscape of the first century, mounted not only by Jewish prophets and teachers,9 but also by Hellenistic philosophers confronting the traditional sacrificial cults of the Greco-​Roman world. “Why,” those philosophers asked, “are we attempting to give the gods something with our sacrificial offerings? The Divine does not need anything.”10 Such critiques, both biblical and philosophical, may lie behind the disparaging comments on other sacrifices in ch. 9 of Hebrews. Such critiques are explicitly part of the point of the citation of Ps 40:7–9 in Heb 10:5–7. As his comment at 10:8– 9 makes clear, our homilist takes that quotation to be not simply a passing criticism but a replacement of the sacrifices mentioned. The character of that something else requires more attention. We have considered the homilist’s rhetorical situation, and the array of resources at his disposal, including early Christian confessional claims and attitudes toward sacrifice. A hint about his conclusions has emerged, but not the path through which he reaches it. To understand that path it is important to recognize Hebrews as a sophisticated rhetorical work. It does conceptual analysis but does not do it in a simple and direct way. It interprets scripture and tradition subtly and with wit, with a view towards its rhetorical impact. Ignoring the rhetorical web obscures the theological point. The treatment of Christ’s sacrificial death develops in Heb 7:1–10:18. The homilist begins by arguing, all appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, Christ is a priest. This argument, interpreting the two biblical texts that mention Melchizedek, Ps 110:4 and Gen 14:17–20, may be inspired by speculation about him in Jewish circles, but our homilist carefully avoids any direct  8 The prophetic critique of cult can be read either as a comparative preference (“God did not want merely animal sacrifice”), or as an absolute preference, implying rejection (“God wants mercy, and not sacrifice”). Whatever the original meaning of the prophetic texts, Hebrews understands them in the latter, rejecting, fashion.  9  Cf. Mark 12:33, where Jesus seems to speak in favor of the comparative preferential understanding of the prophetic motif. 10 See Harold W. Attridge, First-​Century Cynicism in the Epistles of Heraclitus, HTS 29 (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1976), and idem, “The Philosophical Critique of Religion under the Early Empire,” in ANRW 2/16.1 (1978): 45–78.

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appeal to such speculation.11 What is important is that scripture testifies that the fatherless, motherless, genealogy-​less Melchizedek “lives” (Heb 7:8). Therefore, if the psalm, addressed to the Son, calls him a priest “according to the order of Melchizedek,” one may infer that Christ possesses an eternal priesthood. Though based on the playful exegesis, the chapter offers a perspective on Jesus and his work that plays a major role in the exposition that follows. Jesus, the eternal and exalted Son, is a High Priest of a very special sort, one who belongs to a heavenly, eternal, perhaps even ideal reality. What follows builds on the evocation of the eternal order. The argument from Heb 8:1 to 10:18 is itself a well-​defined little homily, following a pattern also evident at Heb 3:1–4:13. An introductory paragraph (8:1–6) articulates some themes; scripture is cited (8:7–13), then elements of the biblical text and the initial themes are carefully explored (9:1–10:10), until the rhetorical flourish (10:11–18), which reminds the audience of the key points of the scriptural citation. Hebrews builds on several antitheses, contrasting heaven and earth, new and old, exterior and interior,12 the manipulation of which is important for the final point of the homily. The opening paragraph establishes the axis of heaven and earth, based upon the account in Exod 25:39–40 about God showing to Moses the heavenly plan or model (Heb. ‫ )תבנית‬of the earthly tabernacle. The contrast between earth and heaven governs the exposition of Yom Kippur rituals, which first describes the earthly “shadows” of the heavenly reality (9:1–10), and then, as the “heavenly” reality, depicts Christ’s ascension to God’s right hand (9:11–14). The homilist evokes the “heavenly” realm again in 9:23–24, pushing the imagery that he has been using to an extreme. The contrast of heavenly ideal with earthly realities can be construed in various ways. Many readers have found here in Hebrews an evocation of the Platonic idealism adopted by the first-​century Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria.13 There are indeed touches pointing in this direction, including  On possible Jewish backgrounds and an argument that Hebrews takes them seriously, see Eric F. Mason, “You Are a Priest Forever”: Second Temple Jewish Messianism and the Priestly Christology of the Epistle to the Hebrews, STDJ 74 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008). 12 See Harold W. Attridge, “The Uses of Antithesis in Hebrews 8–10,” HTR 76 (1986): 1–9; also in Christians among Jews and Gentiles: Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl on His 65th Birthday, George W. E. Nickelsburg and George W. MacRae (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 1–6; repr. in Harold W. Attridge, Essays on John and Hebrews, WUNT 264 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 273–80. 13 Most recently see James W. Thompson, The Beginnings of Christian Philosophy: The Epistle to the Hebrews CBQMS 13 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1982); idem, Hebrews, Paideia (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2008). See 11

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the contrast of reality and shadow (8:5), reminiscent of Plato’s Myth of the Cave, or the insistence that in heaven there are the “holy things themselves” (9:23), which is the kind of technical terminology that Plato uses for ideas or forms. Whether or not there is an allusion to a Platonic scheme, the imagery is quite provocative. It is a very strange kind of heavenly realm, into which “blood” can be brought, as it must be if the analogy between the Christ event and the action of the High Priest on Yom Kippur is to have any force. By the time that the first-​century audience of this homily reaches the end of ch. 9, they might be anxious to see how our preacher would hold this rather tensive structure together. He does so by connecting or rather transforming the vertical dichotomy of heaven and earth into the antithesis of old and new. He had introduced that contrast as part of the scripture cited in 8:8–13, a quotation from Jer 31:31–34, the longest citation from the Old Testament anywhere in the New. In that passage, the prophet, speaking for Yahweh, promises to establish a new covenant with his people, better than the one that they did not keep. The first little surprise that our audience experienced in hearing this homily was in fact the citation of just this passage. “What,” an attentive hearer might have asked, “does this text have to do with the matter of Christ as a High Priest, or his death as a sacrifice?” “Stay tuned, impatient one,” the homilist might have said, had “tuning” been part of his vocabulary. Part of the answer to our concerned listener about the relevance of Jeremiah to the topic of the homily has to do with the way in which our homilist deploys the “old–new” antithesis. It is part of the contrast between the Yom Kippur of scripture and the Yom Kippur of Christ’s act, but it comes back in spades at the beginning of ch. 10, right at the point where the antithesis of heaven and earth has been most sharply – and most bafflingly – drawn. The attentive listener had been left asking at the end of ch. 9 how blood gets into heaven and how it is that “heavenly things themselves” needed purification. The answer has been lurking in the details of the homilist’s remarks all along, in his references to the “cleansing” of “consciences” (9:9, 14). The realities to be cleansed are not in some transcendent heavenly space or realm of ideas. They are here, in this realm of flesh and blood; they are within us. That the space that the Great High Priest enters to effect his ideal Yom Kippur sacrificial act is, in fact, the hearts and minds of his followers, becomes clear in the final section of his exposition, 10:1–10. Here the homilist reverts to the antithesis of “old and new.” He turns, that is, from the vertical axis that also Wilfried Eisele, Ein unerschütterliches Reich: Die mittelplatonische Umformung der Parusiegedankens im Hebräerbrief, BZNW 116 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2003).

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had dominated the previous section of his exposition to a horizontal axis and offers a new interpretation of key elements of the vertical axis. He now operates with another familiar trope, the distinction of a shadow and the body that casts it, used in Col 2:17. In ch. 8, the trope underlay the distinction between the heavenly ideal tabernacle and its shadowy counterpart on earth, the tabernacle of Exodus. Here the shadow is the Law of old (10:1), and the body that casts that shadow is none other than the body of Christ (10:10), offered once for all, as the concluding verse of the section proclaims. What makes that body cast its shadow? It is what the homilist portrays Christ as saying, “when he comes into the world,” as he puts it at 10:5. What Christ says, in this, his second speech in Hebrews (his first was at 2:12–13) is another citation from the Old Testament: Ps 40:7–9. The citation works particularly well for the homilist’s purpose, because the Greek of the LXX translates the Hebrew “ears you have cut out for me” (‫ )אזנים כרית לי‬as “you have prepared a body for me.” Christ, in the body, makes a commitment to be faithful to God, saying, “See, God, I have come to do your will” (10:7). As our homilist puts it in v. 10, “It is by this will that we are sanctified.” That “will” is not to be found in an abstract, heavenly realm, but in “the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all” (v. 10). This is the “body” prepared for him mentioned in Psalm 40 and it is the “body” that casts the shadow (10:1). The “will” or “intent” embodied in the action of Jesus who conforms himself in fidelity to God’s will is the source of sanctification for his followers. The psalmist cited here had contrasted the commitment to do God’s will with “holocausts and sacrifices for sin,” invoking the prophetic critics of sacrificial ritual. It is somewhat ironic, then, that the “sacrifice” of Christ on the ultimate “Yom Kippur” should serve as the elimination of any external sacrificial ritual, but that irony seems to be intentional. For Hebrews the principle of “doing your will, O God,” takes away (ἀναιρεῖ) the principle of sacrifice (v. 9). The citation of the psalm put on the lips of Jesus discloses what the homilist takes to be the essential component of at least the “ultimate” sacrifice, not a ritual action or external gift to God, but a personal commitment of one’s self to do God’s will. In offering this interpretation of this particular sacrifice, the homilist stands not only within the prophetic tradition, but also closely resembles the position of at least one theologically informed Jewish thinker of the period, namely Philo, who in Spec. 1.271–272, writes: 271 … God is not pleased even though a man bring hecatombs to his altar; for he possesses all things as his own, and stands in need of nothing. But he delights in the minds of the friends of God. … 272 And even if they bring nothing else, still when they bring themselves, the most perfect completeness of virtue and excellence, they

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are offering the most excellent of all sacrifices, honoring God, their Benefactor and Savior, with hymns and thanksgivings … the worshippers making their exclamations and invocations with their soul alone, and only appreciable by the intellect, and there is but one ear, namely, that of the Deity which hears them.14

Many interpreters have explored the possible relationship between our homilist and the Jewish philosopher and exegete, which cannot be pursued in this essay.15 It is not necessary to commit to a position that Hebrews is heavily indebted to Philo to see the close resemblance at this point. For both, true “sacrifice” is offering oneself to God. Whether or not he knows Philo, our homilist thinks with him on this point.16 But that is not the end of our homilist’s account of sacrifice. He is part of a tradition, or rather, he is committed to a tradition, that understands the sacrificial death of Christ to have an effect on his followers. The grand goal of this homily was to remind the audience of that effect, perhaps to offer something of an explanation of it to those who might be in doubt about it, but certainly to create a renewed appreciation of it. The explanation that Christ’s death was an act of submission to God’s will and therefore counts as a “sacrifice” does not quite do the trick. The device used to show the ongoing relevance of the sacrificial death of Christ, understood as an act of willing submission to God, lurks back in the source of the “old–new” antithesis, in the citation from Jeremiah. The move that the homilist wants to make was probably the ultimate reason for the citation of Jeremiah in the first place. Even if our homilist was inspired by other uses of Jeremiah, his own application of the text is unique. The solution to the question of the relevance of Christ’s death is the notion of a “new covenant,” anticipated by such passages as Heb 7:12 that connect a change of priesthood with a change of law. In making his point our homilist could probably rely on the addressees’ assumption that they were indeed in a “new covenantal” relationship with God. Paul, in any case, seems to allude to precisely this understanding in his image-​laden letter 2 Corinthians, when he describes (3:1–11) how his “letters of recommendation” are written on the hearts of the Corinthians.

14 Trans. F. H. Colson, Philo, vol. 7: On the Decalogue; On the Special Laws, Books 1–3, LCL 320 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1937), 256–57. 15  For more on Philo and worship, see Jutta Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria, TSAJ 84 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). 16 Other interesting texts potentially relevant to Hebrews are Philo, Migr. 104, where the soul enters Holy of Holies with song, and Sacr. 107, where we are the dough of sacrificial bread.

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The notion of a “new covenant” indeed provides a vehicle with the potential for exploring the ongoing relationship of the community with God, but like so many other clever solutions in Hebrews, this one too comes with a problem. How does one make the connection between Christ’s death and the promise of the “new covenant”? One might simply say, “Look, my brothers and sisters, Christ gave us an example of how we should relate to God in his ‘sacrificial’ act of wholehearted commitment; go, follow his example, and do likewise!” But some wag at the back of the assembly might raise a hand and ask, “I really don’t get the connection between the prophecy and the exhortation. Help me, please!” What our homilist does in the very center of his exposition of the relationship between Christ’s death and Yom Kippur rituals anticipates and answers this question. He does so by two interconnected moves, one a play on words and one an evocation of another scriptural text. Both of these moves might seem to us superficial, even extraordinarily playful, and so they are, but they frame what our homilist takes to be profound truth. The pun, difficult to reproduce in English, appears in Heb 9:15–17. In the NAB: 15 For this reason he is mediator of a new covenant: since a death has taken place for deliverance from transgressions under the first covenant, those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance. 16 Now where there is a will, the death of the testator must be established. 17 For a will takes effect only at death; it has no force while the testator is alive.

The NRSV is very similar here.17 The pun, or to use the technical rhetorical term, the antanaclasis, plays on the Greek word διαθήκη, best translated generically as a “legal disposition,” which includes contractual arrangements and wills or testaments. The play on the different applications is also found at Gal 3:15–17. Hence, the homilist has not invented the pun but has put it to good use. He says, in effect, that Jeremiah’s διαθήκη was in fact a testamentary διαθήκη, delivering an “inheritance.” But what is the content of that inheritance? Many things might qualify to be part of the estate sketched in Jesus’s last will and testament. At the middle of Heb 9:15, the sentence framed by references to the “will” and the “inheritance,” stands the “promise” that those who are called will receive. The promise to which the church looks forward 17  NRSV: “15 For this reason he is the mediator of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, because a death has occurred that redeems them from the transgressions under the first covenant. 16 Where a will is involved, the death of the one who made it must be established. 17 For a will takes effect only at death, since it is not in force as long as the one who made it is alive.”

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included the “heavenly rest” mentioned in Psalm 95 (Heb 4:8–10). It also includes the heavenly Jerusalem around which the wandering people of God finally approach (12:18–24), the “promise” that Abraham did not receive (11:13). The contents of the inheritance, then, are complex. It involves union with God in the fellowship of the sanctified, but it also involves the way to attain that union, the “new and living way” that the homilist mentions in 10:19 in his final, lengthy exhortation to a life of faith, hope, and love. The inheritance was not simply a hope for the future but an example for the present. The contents of that example in the “will” left by Jesus are expressed in the words of the psalm, “I have come to do your will, O God” (Heb 10:7, 9). The exemplary act of dedication and commitment, the commitment that defined his death as a sacrifice, stands at the heart of the inheritance left by Jesus. A quizzical member of the people addressed in this homily might still wonder how the “blood” of Jesus cleanses. Anticipating that question and supplementing the pun with a scriptural text, the homilist, immediately after finishing his play on διαθήκη, introduces the other key to understanding Christ’s death, through an appeal to the inauguration of the first covenant. This reflection is bounded by two comments, 9:18: “Hence not even the first covenant was inaugurated without blood,” and 9:22: “indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sin.” For those familiar with Levitical discourse, these comments evoke Lev 17:11 “for, as life, it is the blood that makes atonement.” Blood does indeed function as a cleansing substance in many sacrifices designed to deal with sin.18 Yet that principle is hardly a universal one. Not all sacrifices that atone for sin involve blood.19 The principle, like other bold generalizations in Hebrews,20 serves the purpose of the argument. The evocation of the principle here is no more than that, an evocation that remains to be clarified by the moves to be made in ch. 10. The “blood” of Jesus is indeed simply his life, offered to God upon his death,21 but also, as the  These include the blood of bulls for a priest’s sins (Lev 4:4–7), the blood of a bull for the unintentional sins of a whole congregation (Lev 4:16–20), a goat’s blood for a ruler’s sins (Lev 4:25), the blood of a female goat for the people’s unintentional sins (Lev 4:34), the blood of turtledoves and pigeons for those unable to afford a more costly sacrifice (Lev 5:9). 19  Those who cannot afford even two turtledoves can offer one-​tenth of an ephah of choice flour (Lev 5:11). 20  Cf. 6:16, on the function of oaths; 7:7, on the blessing by the greater; 7:12, on the relationship between priesthood and Law. 21 The interpretation of the atonement theology of Hebrews by David M. Moffitt focuses on this point. See his Atonement and the Logic of Resurrection in the Epistle to the 18

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introduction to the quotation from the psalm at 10:5 indicates, from the moment of his entry into the world. The “blood” that inaugurates a covenant and provides “forgiveness of sin” is that life which he lived and in which his followers now participate. “But wait, wait, how does the blood do the atoning thing?” our querulous critic might ask. “Is it magic? Is there a ransom being paid to Satan or to Sin? Is the life taken by God as recompense for sin, as if God needed recompense? What, please tell me, is going on with the blood?” Is it the case that blood is an offering for the “redemption” (ἀπολύτρωσις) of sin, mentioned at 9:15, and that offering simply conforms to the paradigm of the various sin offerings in Leviticus? Pushed to this point, we might, as some interpreters do, throw up our hands and say that our homilist, though offering some clever, Philonic-​like moves relating to Jesus’s death as sacrifice, has not really developed a coherent theology of atonement. Instead, he struggles with primitive notions trying to invest them with some new meaning. He certainly has not solved our conceptual problem of how Christ’s death provides atonement. Ah, but if so we would be giving up on the very threshold of success. The evocation of the scriptural quote in 9:20 from Exod 24:8 is central to the interpretation that the homilist offers. The scriptural verse is what Moses says as he sprinkles on the congregation the blood that inaugurates this covenant, “This is the blood of the covenant which God has made with you.” Our homilist, following up with a bit of playful misdirection, says in v. 21 that Moses sprinkled blood on the tabernacle and the liturgical implements, but as the biblical text says, and as noted in v. 19, Moses scattered it on the people. The blood, the life, marked the people as a people in covenant with God. The blood, the life that marks the people of the new covenant, identifies them as God’s own, as people of the covenant. It does no more and no less than that. What is sprinkled with the blood of the sacrificial victim is not a heavenly altar or mercy seat, but a people whose lives are now marked by the life for which that blood stands. The purification and the sanctification provided by the act of sprinkling is not a magic act; it is the state of being in that covenant relationship, the commitment to the life that the blood symbolizes. When the wandering people stand before God in that covenant relationship, listening to Jeremiah’s voice, they hear the promise of what the covenant entails. To emphasize the point, the homilist repeats that voice at Hebrews, NovTSup 141 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011). See also his “Blood, Life, and Atonement: Reassessing Hebrews’ Christological Appropriation of Yom Kippur,” in The Day of Atonement: Its Interpretations in Early Jewish and Christian Traditions, ed. Thomas Hieke and Tobias Nicklas, TBN 15 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 211–24.

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10:16–17, in what could be understood as the content of the testament put into effect upon the Son’s death: “This is the covenant that I will make with them After those days,” says the Lord: “I will put my laws in their hearts, and I will write them on their minds.” He also adds, “I will remember their sins and their lawless deeds no more.”

The “promise” that the covenant offers and that “those called” receive through the death of Jesus (9:15) is not simply the fulfillment of eschatological hope. It is a more immediate benefaction that guarantees the realization of the hope. The covenant relationship, in other words, involves two gracious gifts of God. One is the writing of God’s “law” on the heart. This is probably not what Jeremiah envisioned, a heartfelt adherence to Torah. Rather, it is the acceptance of the example of Christ’s dedication and the covenantal life lived in faith, hope, and love.22 The second element of the covenant relationship is a divine promise that sins would be remembered no more. The promise is not made in view of a gift that is given, a debt paid, or a ransom delivered. It is gracious divine amnesia pure and simple. It is that amnesia that provides “redemption” (9:12, 15).

C. A Narrative Theology The narrative version of theological reflection appears in the Gospel of John, which also refers to the death of Jesus in sacrificial terms, but that reference creates as many problems as it solves.23 The reference famously appears in John the Baptist’s identification of Jesus as the Lamb of God who “takes away the sins of the world” (John 1:29). The metaphor relates Jesus to Israel’s cultic system. Yet exactly how it does so is not immediately apparent. The two major options are the standard daily Tamid sacrifice, which involved two lambs (‫כבש‬, ἀμνός) according to Exod 29:38 and Num 28:1–8,24 and the Passover lamb (‫שה‬, πρόβατον)25 of Exod 12:3. 22  For exploration of the resumption of the covenant theme in the final chapter of Hebrews, see Jason A. Whitlark, “Fidelity and New Covenant Enablement in Hebrews,” in Getting “Saved”: The Whole Story of Salvation in the New Testament, ed. Charles H. Talbert and Jason A. Whitlark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011), 72–91. 23  See Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold’s contribution to this volume (pp. 127–37). 24  Peter Stuhlmacher, “Das Lamm Gottes – eine Skizze,” in Geschichte – Tradition – Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Hubert Cancik, Hermann Lichtenberger, and Peter Schäfer, 3 vols. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 3:529–42, argues that the earliest form of the symbol of the lamb, found in Revelation 4, refers to the

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Other sacrificial animals are more commonly associated with sin offering. Leviticus requires priests, the whole congregation, or a ruler to offer a bull as a sin offering (‫חטאת‬, Lev 4:1–21). An ordinary person must offer a goat (Lev 4:22–31, although a female sheep (‫כבש … נקבה‬, πρόβατον … θῆλυ) is also allowed (Lev 4:32–35). The poor may substitute two turtledoves or pigeons (Lev 5:7) or a grain offering (Lev 5:11). In cases of transgressions against the “holy things,” a sacrifice of restitution (‫ )אשם‬is required, which may be a ram (‫איל‬, κριόν, Lev 5:15). A similar requirement obtains in the case of fraud or perjury (Lev 6:6). None of these cases helps to understand the formulation of John 1:29. The identity of the lamb of the first chapter is one of the many Johannine “riddles” that beg for an answer.26 This riddle at least receives a clear answer later in the story. When Jesus has actually been “sacrificed” (19:36), at the very time when the Passover lambs are slain, the gospel will make it crystal clear, citing Exod 12:10, that Jesus is indeed the new and definitive Paschal lamb.27 Yet neither the Paschal lamb nor the other major option for identifying the lamb of John 1:29, the Tamid, was understood to “take away sin.” The whole motif then creates another riddle for the reader of the gospel. How is Jesus as the Lamb of God understood to “take away the sin,” and not only of the people of Israel but “of the world”?28 Tamid offering, not the paschal lamb. The Johannine school has added to that an allusion to Isa 53:7–12. 25  The πρόβατον was to be taken from either the sheep or the goats (12:5). For the former there are the variants ἀμνῶν and ἀρνῶν. 26 On the general phenomenon of “riddling” in the gospel, see Tom Thatcher, Jesus the Riddler: The Power of Ambiguity in the Gospels (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2006); Paul N. Anderson, The Riddles of the Fourth Gospel: An Introduction to John (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011). Neither treatment offers a fully adequate account of how “riddling” works as an instrument of narrative propaedeutics. For one probe in that direction see Jason S. Sturdevant, The Adaptable Jesus of the Fourth Gospel: The Pedagogy of the Logos, NovTSup 162 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015). 27 For the details of the citation, see Maarten J. J. Menken, “The Old Testament Quotation in John 19,36: Sources, Redaction, Background,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck, ed. Frans Van Segbroeck, et al., 3 vols.; BETL 100 (Leuven: Leuven University Press and Peeters, 1992), 2101–18. For further reflection on the allusion, see Stanley E. Porter, “Can Traditional Exegesis Enlighten Literary Analysis of the Fourth Gospel? An Examination of the Old Testament Fulfillment Motif and the Passover Theme,” in The Gospels and the Scriptures of Israel, ed. Craig A. Evans and W. Richard Stegner, JSNTSup 104 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 396–428, repr. in idem, Sacred Tradition in the New Testament: Tracing Old Testament Themes in the Gospels and the Epistles (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2016), 127–52. 28 D. Brent Sandy, “John the Baptist’s ‘Lamb of God’ Affirmation in Its Canonical and Apocalyptic Milieu,” JETS 34 (1991): 447–60; Reimund Bieringer, “Das Lamm Gottes,

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One solution to the remaining riddle is to argue that various sacrifices have been conflated or amalgamated in Jewish thinking of the Second Temple period.29 Thus, atonement or expiatory functions are assumed to be associated with sacrifices that originally did not involve such effects. In the words of Jeffrey Siker, Passover became “Yom-​Kippurized.”30 Yet while later rabbis argue that the Passover lamb “atones,” the notion that the Passover sacrifice functioned as a sin offering or had atoning value is not to be found in Jewish sources of the Second Temple period.31 Another solution is to hear an echo of another text, the servant song of Isaiah that portrays the servant as a “lamb led to slaughter” (Isa 53:7) and who, as already noted, serves as a vicarious sufferer for the sins of others.32 If the text from Isaiah is playing a role in the Johannine image of the “lamb,” its presence is subtle indeed. Attempts to resolve the riddles of John 1:29 simply on the basis of potential intertexts ignore the context of what the evangelist does throughout his narrative, which is to offer a carefully considered reinterpretation of traditional Christian formulations. The evangelist in effect worries about what the various descriptions of the death of Jesus as a sacrifice might actually mean and he offers a clear and focused expression of that solution. The solution works with the basic understanding of what the slaying of the Passover lamb accomplished, but invests that understanding with a new meaning.

das die Sünde der Welt hinwegnimmt (Joh 1,29): Eine kontextorientierte und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung auf dem Hintergrund der Passatradition als Deutung des Todes Jesu im Johannesevangelium,” in The Death of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, ed. Gilbert Van Belle, BETL 200 (Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2007), 199–232; Jesper Tang Nielsen, “The Lamb of God: The Cognitive Structure of a Johannine Metaphor,” in Imagery in the Gospel of John: Terms, Forms, Themes and Theology of Johannine Figurative Language, ed. Jörg Frey, Jan G. van der Watt, and Ruben Zimmermann, WUNT 200 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 217–57; Dietrich Rusam, “Das ‘Lamm Gottes’ (Joh 1,29.36) und die Deutung des Todes Jesu im Johannesevangelium,” BZ 49 (2005): 60–80; Michel Gourgues, “‘Mort pour nos péchés selon les Écritures’: Que reste-​t-​il chez Jean du Credo des origins? Jn 1,29, chaînon unique de continuité,” in Van Belle, Death of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, 181–97. 29  For general treatments of sacrificial traditions see Robert J. Daly, Christian Sacrifice: The Judaeo-​Christian Background before Origen (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1978). 30 See Jeffrey S. Siker, “Yom Kippuring Passover: Recombinant Sacrifice in Early Christianity,” in Ritual and Metaphor: Sacrifice in the Bible, ed. Christian A. Eberhart, RBS 68 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 65–82. 31  See Christine Schlund, “Kein Knochen soll gebrochen werden”: Studien zu Bedeutung und Funktion des Pesachfests in Texten des frühen Judentums und im Johannesevangelium, WMANT 107 (Neukirchen-​V luyn: Neukirchener, 2005). 32  See Stuhlmacher, “Lamm Gottes.”

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It is possible that the evangelist was inspired by one of his sources, the Gospel of Mark,33 and its description of the death of the Son of Man as a “ransom” for many (Mark 10:45). In any case, the evangelist knew that the blood of the Paschal lamb, smeared on the lintels of the Israelites (Exod 12:22), spared them from death and made possible their liberation from Egyptian bondage. For the evangelist, too, the action of the incarnate Logos was one of liberation, but that liberation took place in a new and different realm. The definition of the aim of Jesus’s life and mission, intimately connected with his role as the Logos or Word of God, finds expression in his dramatic declaration to Pilate that he came into the world for one purpose alone: to “bear witness to the truth” (John 18:37). Long before that declaration, Jesus had also dramatically proclaimed to the crowds in Jerusalem that they would know the truth and that the truth would make them free (John 8:32). The process of making truth known develops throughout the gospel’s stories of the “signs” and the discourses of Jesus, but all of these focus in one way or another on the climax of the story, the crucifixion, which Jesus himself declares to be the completion of his work in the world (John 19:30).34 For the evangelist, then, Jesus’s death reveals a truth that liberates, but in another twist of conventional expectations, this truth is not the declaration of a metaphysical principle.35 The “truth” that liberates is the command to love, delivered in the form of personal example (John 13:15), a new “commandment” (John 13:31), and what may be a familiar proverbial expression (John 15:13). Liberating truth, revealed on the cross, is a command to focus 33  The relationship of the Fourth Gospel to the Synoptics has been debated extensively. For a review of the debate and for the basic data indicating Johannine dependence on Mark, and probably other Synoptic gospels, see Harold W. Attridge, “John and Other Gospels,” in The Oxford Handbook of Johannine Studies, ed. Judith M. Lieu and Martinus C. de Boer (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 44–62. 34 On the gospel’s process of focusing on the climactic events of Jesus’s passion, Harold W. Attridge, “The Cubist Principle in Johannine Imagery: John and the Reading of Images in Contemporary Platonism,” in Frey, van der Watt, and Zimmermann, Imagery in the Gospel of John, 47–60, repr. in idem, Essays on John and Hebrews, 79–92. 35 For an alternative perspective that argues that the Fourth Gospel is primarily concerned with a specific ontological system, derived from Stoicism, that defines Jesus and the pneuma that he infuses into his disciples, see Gitte Buch-​Hansen, “It Is the Spirit That Gives Life”: A Stoic Understanding of Pneuma in John’s Gospel, BZNW 173 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2010); Troels Engberg-​Pedersen, “Logos and Pneuma in the Fourth Gospel,” in Greco-​Roman Culture and the New Testament: Studies Commemorating the Centennial of the Pontifical Biblical Institute, ed. David E. Aune and Frederick E. Brenk, NovTSup 143 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 27–48; and idem, John and Philosophy: A New Reading of the Fourth Gospel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).

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on one fundamental principle, to love. The structure of that revelation may also resemble the concern of some philosophers with the importance of being grounded in a basic principle,36 but the evangelist’s grounding is not an abstract proposition, but an imperative that defines who the “children of God” are (John 1:12–13). The Johannine reflection on the significance of the cross and resurrection of Jesus is indeed theology in the strictest sense, an attempt to explore the meaning and truth of the claims of a faith tradition. Those claims themselves had explained a baffling event, the unexpected death of God’s anointed. The evangelist’s approach to those claims about Christ’s death as a sacrifice explain how those claims are to be understood.

D. Engaging a Theological Problem: Religious Epistemology37 The two cases already discussed in this paper involve attempts by two early Christian theologians to make sense of a range of affirmations about how the death of Christ worked to free people from sin. They frame their exploration within the rhetorical and narrative genres in which they work, they are doing the same kind of work that systematic theologians will do in a different genre. The Fourth Gospel, treating the passion and resurrection of Christ as a revelatory event, also engages in another question, not arising from the mystery of Jesus’s death, but raised by contemporary theological concerns found in Philo. That the gospel may be in some dialogue with Philo has often been suggested by virtue of his use to the notion of the Logos to define the relationship of Jesus to the divine.38 The connection is explored in other essays  For a comparison with the rationalism of Stoic ethics, see Harold W. Attridge, “An Emotional Jesus and Stoic Traditions,” in Stoicism in Early Christianity, ed. Tuomas Rasimus, Troels Engberg-​Pedersen, and Ismo Dunderberg (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2010), 77–92, repr. in idem, Essays on John and Hebrews, 122–36; and idem, “Johannine Ethics and Ethical Discourse,” in Scripture and Social Justice: Catholic and Ecumenical Essays, ed. Anathea E. Portier-​Young and Gregory E. Sterling (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books and Fortress Academic, 2018), 177–88. 37  This section of this paper summarizes a more detailed treatment of the issue in Harold W. Attridge, “What’s in a Name: Naming the Unnameable in Philo and John,” in Sybils, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, ed. Joel Baden, Hindy Najman, and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, 2 vols., JSJSup 175 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2016), 1:85–94; and idem, “Stoic and Platonic Reflections on Naming in Early Christian Circles: Or What’s in a Name,” in From Stoicism to Platonism: The Development of Philosophy 100 bce – 100  ce, ed. Troels Engberg-​Pedersen (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 270–89. 38 The literature on the Logos is, of course, immense. For recent work, in addition to Engberg-​Pedersen, noted above in n. 35, see Harold W. Attridge, “Philo and John: Two 36

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in this volume. This paper will focus on another feature of Philo’s thought, his religious epistemology. Fundamental to Philo’s theology, informed by his version of Platonism, is the conviction that God transcends human knowing and experience. That God is can be known, what God is cannot.39 Philo also believes that the yearning to know and to “see” God is an inherent part of the human condition.40 Yet one can only partially satisfy that yearning, by attaining a sight of the “powers” or extensions of the divine in the phenomenal world.41 Those powers bear names, God (θεός) and Lord (κύριος), the Septuagint translations of ‫ אלוהים‬and ‫יהוה‬, referring to his “creative/beneficent” or “royal/ruling” aspects.42 Getting a glimpse even of them is not a simple matter.43 Vision comes in various forms, including, paradoxically, hearing the “many named.”44 The word that is heard is embedded in nature, embodied in the “living laws” of the patriarchs, especially Moses, and made present through the words of the written law revealed to him.45 The Fourth Gospel knows this kind of religious epistemology and uses some of the same tropes that Philo deploys. The difficulty of knowing God is Riffs on One Logos,” SPhiloA 17 (2005): 103–17, repr. in idem, Essays on John and Hebrews, 46–59; Jörg Frey, “The Johannine Logos and the References to the Creation of the World in Its Second Century Receptions,” in Les Judaïsmes dans tous leurs états aux Ier–​IIIe siècles (les Judéens des synagogues, les chrétiens et les rabbins): Actes du colloque de Lausanne, 12– 14 décembre 2012, ed. Claire Clivaz, Simon C. Mimouni, and Bernard Pouderon, JAOC 5 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), 221–44; Craig R. Koester, “‘Spirit’ (Pneuma) in Greco-​Roman Philosophy and the Gospel of John,” in The Prologue of the Gospel of John: Its Literary, Theological, and Philosophical Contexts – Papers Read at the Colloquium Ioanneum 2013, ed. Jan G. van der Watt, R. Alan Culpepper, and Udo Schnelle, WUNT 359 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 235–51. 39  Philo sharply distinguishes being and essence in Praem. 38; Spec. 1.32, 43–44, 49; Leg. 3.100–103. 40 For this quest see Spec. 1.37–38, 49; Praem. 40–46, Legat. 4–6. Other texts speak of some sort of “vision” of the soul or mind: Mos. 1.273; Abr. 121, 200; Migr. 169; Somn. 1.64–67; Post. 13–16, 166–169; Deus 62; Spec. 1.49; Praem. 36–46; QG 4.1–2; Fug. 164–165. 41  See Somn. 1.232, and Migr. 34–35, where Philo reports his own ecstatic experience. The latter treatise deals with several issues of religious epistemology: that revelation comes to the contemplative (43–52); that God prompts the human mind (81); prophetic ecstacy (84); the process of climbing the chain of being (187–194); contemplating the “One that is” as the goal of life (197). 42  Abr. 121. 43  Somn. 1.232, on Gen 18; QG 4.1–2; De Deo, passim. 44  Conf. 146. 45 The topic is ably explored by Steven Fraade, “Hearing and Seeing at Sinai: Interpretive Trajectories,” in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Sinai and Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity, ed. George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman, and Loren T. Stuckenbruck (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 247–68.

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stated at the conclusion to the Prologue: “No one has ever seen God” (John 1:18a). Yet John is somewhat more optimistic than Philo about attaining the goal of the visionary quest, “the unique Son (or God), who is in the bosom of the Father, has made him known” (1:18b). The process of making the Father known in the Fourth Gospel recalls the Philonic combination of ingredients. One must “see” the Son of Man as an angelic ladder (1:51); when that Son of Man is seen to be “exalted” the vision can be healing (3:14) and alluring (12:32). It will indeed be a vision of light (12:35). The visionary experience that the evangelist describes is not one derived from ecstatic transportation to another realm, but from the encounter with the crucified and thus mysteriously glorified Christ. The whole gospel focuses the vision of its readers on that event. But as in Philo, the ability to see depends on what the visionary has heard.46 Hence, the gospel presents Jesus as speaking in ways that, as already noted, illuminate the significance of his final act as a manifestation of love. Also, as in Philo’s living law which was embodied in the patriarchs, the principle that is heard through the discourses of Jesus is embodied in his actions throughout the gospel and particularly in his final act of loving service at the last supper (John 13:1–17). The contours of John’s religious epistemology thus correspond in general and in many of its details to that of Philo. One particular detail of correspondence shows the evangelist grappling with the technicalities of the epistemology that he has adapted to his use, Philo’s concern with how names, especially divine names, work. Philo’s fascination with names and their significance was certainly rooted in the etymological plays that abound in the biblical narrative, but he read that tradition through a philosophical lens. He knew the position, articulated by Socrates in Plato’s Cratylus, that there might be a “natural” relationship involved in the relationship of signifier and signified.47 In such a relationship a name would convey something about the reality of the thing named. The signifier pointed to or revealed the essence of the thing signified. The Cratylus explores that principle and eventually criticizes it, doubting whether there is really any such natural relationship. Names are like pictures assigned to objects. “Naming is an art, and has artificers” (Crat. 428e). Names assigned by human agents, though they may try to imitate their objects in some way, may be true or false (431a). The quest for knowledge cannot simply rely on 46  On the Johannine combination of “seeing” and “hearing” see Craig R. Koester, “Hearing, Seeing and Believing in the Gospel of John,” Bib 70 (1989): 327–48. 47 The issue was further discussed in Aristotle’s Categories and On Interpretation; among later Platonists, not only by Philo but also in Plutarch, Def. orac. 21, 421E; Is. Os. 71, 379C.

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an analysis of words, but must look to the things themselves (439a–b). Yet in developing this critical position, Socrates cites one limiting hypothetical case, that in which gods name themselves. Their names, unlike any other signifiers, are “true” to the things they name,48 and thus, by implication, can reveal something of the reality of what they name. Philo has this Platonic principle in mind when he reflects on the story of the revelation of God’s name to Moses (Exod 3:14). God in effect told Moses something important about himself, not about his essence, but about the fact that He IS. Using technical terminology of philosophical linguistic theory, Philo explicitly identifies as the “proper name” (κύριον ὄνομα) of God a construction derived from the Exodus passage, “The One who is (ὁ ὤν).”49 Philo explores the combination of having some “vision” of the divine and this divine name. At Abr. 70–71 and Mut. 7–17, he offers an interpretation of Gen 18:1, that “The Lord appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre.” What Abraham “saw” was not the unknowable, unnameable Existent One, but the power that bears his name, the Logos. What he could learn from that encounter was nothing about the nature of God, but only the fact that God exists. Philo’s theory of the divine name illuminates the Johannine passages that reflect on the name that Jesus bears and reveals. These passages, as has long been recognized, build upon the colloquial expression ἐγὼ εἰμί, “It’s me” (e. g., John 6:20; 9:9) and use it as to evoke Yahweh’s revelation of his name to Moses. The evocation is most obvious when Jesus says to the hostile crowds in Jerusalem that Abraham saw him and that before Abraham was, “I AM” (John 8:56).50 In his final prayer, Jesus resumes the theme and affirms that he had revealed the Father’s name to the people whom the Father had given him (John 17:6). Whether the evangelist knew Philo or not, he certainly seems to  Crat. 400d: “Yes, indeed, Hermogenes; and there is one excellent principle which, as men of sense, we must acknowledge, that of the gods we know nothing, either of their natures or of the names which they give themselves; but we are sure that the names by which they call themselves, whatever they may be, are true.” 49  Abr. 121. On Philo’s treatment of names in general and the divine name in particular, see David T. Runia, “Naming and Knowing: Themes in Philonic Theology with Special Reference to the De mutatione nominum,” in Knowledge of God in the Graeco-​Roman World, ed. Roelof van den Broek, Tjitze Baarda, and Jaap Mansfeld, EPRO 112 (Leiden and New York: Brill, 1988), 69–91. 50  On the theme in general, see David Mark Ball, “I Am” in John’s Gospel: Literary Function, Background and Theological Implications, JSNTSup 124 (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1996); Reimer Roukema, “Jesus and the Divine Name in the Gospel of John,” in The Revelation of the Name YHWH to Moses: Perspectives from Judaism, the Pagan Graeco-​Roman World, and Early Christianity, ed. George H. van Kooten, TBN 9 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009), 207–23. 48

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be familiar with the kind of reflection on the divine name that is prominent in Philo’s religious epistemology and applies that framework to his understanding of what happens in the life and death of Jesus, a profound encounter with and revelation about God. If the evangelist does know Philo, he does not simply appropriate his theological discourse. Instead, he transforms it at one central point. For Philo God’s disclosure of his name to Moses was a limited revelation, not affirming anything about the nature of God, but only His existence. The evangelist maintains that the revelation granted to believers in Jesus does more than that. As the Prologue (John 1:18) puts it, Jesus “explained” (ἐξηγήσατο) the unseen Father. That explanation comes in the form that we have already explored, the “vision” of glory on the cross, illuminated by Jesus’s teaching and example, that discloses to those who have eyes to see the command to become like the God there revealed as Love.

E. Conclusion Early Christians engaged in the proclamation of the “good news” that they understood Jesus to have brought. They did so in a variety of forms, including the rhetoric and the narrative explored in this paper. As they did so, they pondered the claims they were making about that good news, exploring the logic of those claims, but also testing them against models of theological discourse current in the first century. As they did so, they made significant conceptual moves that have influenced Christian theology for the last two millennia. The process they began will no doubt continue as long as believers continue to proclaim that good news.

Paläste und ihre Baupläne Auf der Suche nach der Theologie des Neuen Testaments Samuel Vollenweider A. Exordium In dem von Martin Buber gestalteten Traditionsgut der osteuropäischen Chassidim gibt es ein denkwürdiges Gleichnis, das die Kontroversen um Maimonides, den grossen jüdischen Religionsphilosophen, zum Thema hat.1 Dieser wurde nämlich wegen seiner Aussage kritisiert, Aristoteles habe mehr von den Sphären des Himmels gewusst als Ezechiel. Rabbi Israel von Rišin hält dem entgegen: Es ist so, wie unser Meister Mose ben Maimon sagt. Zwei Menschen kamen in einen Königspalast. Der eine verweilte in jedem Saal, betrachtete mit kundigem Blick die Prunkstoffe und Kleinodien und konnte sich nicht sattsehen. Der andere ging durch die Säle und wusste nur: Das ist des Königs Haus, das ist des Königs Gewand, noch ein paar Schritte, und ich werde meinen Herrn, den König selbst, schauen.

Das Gleichnis, das in seiner Zielrichtung gut chassidisch eher dem Werk des Ezechiel recht gibt, lässt sich übertragen auf das Geschäft einer „Theologie des Neuen Testaments“, der Königsdisziplin der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft. Blickt man zurück auf vergangene Tage, so steht man stattlichen Palästen gegenüber, mit zahllosen Anbauten, Kuppeln, Seitentrakten, verbindenden Gängen, aber auch Trennmauern und Abschottungen. Die Weisheit der Konstrukteure nachzuzeichnen, ist ein anspruchsvolles Unterfangen. Unser Rabbi sieht in dieser Arbeit Aristoteles, den Typ des Religionsphilosophen par excellence, am Werk.2 Aber in der Theologie, zumal in derjenigen des Neuen Testaments, geht es noch um etwas anderes, nämlich um das Werk des Ezechiel. Der Prophet kennt lediglich ein Ziel: dem grossen König selber von Angesicht zu Angesicht gegenüberzustehen, dort, wo der 1  Martin Buber, Hg., Die Erzählungen der Chassidim (Zürich: Manesse, 1949), 12. Aufl. (1992), 498. 2 Es kommt unserem Gleichnis sehr entgegen, dass Aristoteles den ersten Zeugen für die „Theologie“ im Sinn der metaphysischen Disziplin bildet (vgl. unten Anm. 18).

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„Alte der Tage“ in der innersten Halle thront. Ezechiel, der Thronwagenprophet, ist hier zum Prototyp des Mystikers und vor allem des Auslegers Gottes geworden. Auch dieser kühne Gang hin zum grossen König ist Teil dessen, worum es in einer neutestamentlichen Theologie geht. Beide Werke, das sorgfältige Rekonstruieren der Baupläne und Materialien auf der Linie des Aristoteles und das Zur-​Sprache-​Bringen des Gotteswortes auf der Linie des Ezechiel, machen das Geschäft einer hermeneutisch orientierten Theologie des Neuen Testaments aus. Das Werk von Rudolf Bultmann gibt hier die benchmark vor – auch wenn der Marburger Exeget wahrscheinlich not very amused gewesen wäre über unser aus dem Fonds der jüdischen Mystik gespiesenes Gleichnis. Mit diesem lässt sich, wie hier gleich schon zu notieren ist, spielen: Für antike Juden und Christen war der himmlische Palast zugleich der himmlische Tempel, also ein Sakralgebäude. Urchristliche Theologie gleicht in dieser Perspektive auch einer Kathedrale, deren Baupläne kunstgeschichtlicher und architektonischer Analyse offenstehen. Dieselbe Kathedrale lädt aber auch zu Gebet und Gotteslob ein.3

B. Eine neue Grundsteinlegung: Der Ansatz von Hans Dieter Betz Es ist zu begrüssen, dass Hans Dieter Betz die Frage nach den Grundlagen der neutestamentlichen Theologie im Rückgriff auf das Werk von Rudolf Bultmann neu aufwirft. Seit den 1950er Jahren ist es zwar zu einer kaum mehr überblickbaren Fülle an Darstellungen gekommen; gerade im deutschen Sprachgebiet konstatiert man eine stattliche Reihe von substantiellen Lehrbüchern.4 Aber Bultmanns programmatischer Entwurf stellt sowohl im Hinblick auf seinen hermeneutischen Zugriff  – die existentiale Interpretation mit ihrer Konzentration auf die Explikation des glaubenden Selbstverständnisses – wie in seiner Reduktion auf zwei tragende Säulen, auf Paulus und Johannes, vor besondere Herausforderungen. Dabei nimmt Betz einen Impetus der damaligen kulturgeschichtlichen Konstellation auf, nämlich 3 Die Metapher der semiotischen Kathedrale wird von Gerd Theissen für die urchristliche Religion fruchtbar gemacht: Die Religion der ersten Christen: Eine Theorie des Urchristentums, 3. Aufl. (Gütersloh: Christian Kaiser, Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003), 44; 385–86; 410–11. 4  Eine umfassende Bestandsaufnahme mit Überlegungen zu heute sinnvollen Konstruktionsprinzipien legt vor: Jörg Frey, „Zum Problem der Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments“, in ders., Kleine Schriften, Bd. 2: Von Jesus zur neutestamentlichen Theologie, WUNT 368 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 829–79.

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die Orientierung am Hellenismus, in den sich das Griechentum unter Einwirkung des Orients transformiert hat. Für Bultmann und teilweise auch noch für seine Schule bildet das Kerygma der „hellenistischen Gemeinde“ die wesentliche Grundlage, auf der Paulus und seine Theologie aufruhen.5 Es ist gut bekannt, dass die Forschung in der Folge wieder viel stärker das Frühjudentum als Matrix der frühen Gemeinden privilegiert hat, seien es seine griechischsprachigen Spielformen oder aber eschatologisch und apokalyptisch ausgerichtete Gruppierungen mit ihrer Berufung auf das biblische Israel, wie besonders die Gemeinschaft von Qumran. Betz’ Orientierung am Hellenismus nimmt demgegenüber ältere Forschungsimpulse auf und hat dafür in jüngster Zeit auch wieder deutlichen Rückenwind bekommen. Damit wird für das seinerzeit von Bultmann verfolgte hermeneutische Geschäft der entscheidende Horizont aufgespannt: die antiken Kulturwissenschaften, innerhalb deren die frühchristlichen Texte als besondere Stimmen zu interpretieren sind. Der Unterschied zu andersartigen Unternehmungen ist markant, etwa zur damaligen Tübinger „Biblischen Theologie“ oder zu den heute von vielen Zeitgenossen gelobten Bänden „Christian Origins and the Question of God“ von N. T. Wright.6 Und mit Bultmann teilt auch Betz die Fokussierung auf zwei neutestamentliche Stimmen, in denen das Entscheidende artikuliert wird, auf Paulus und Johannes. Im Folgenden nehme ich zu zwei Punkten im Entwurf von Betz Stellung: zum Stellenwert der Theologia für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und, speziell, zur Auslegung des sogenannten Philipperhymnus.

C. Das Unternehmen „Theologie“ Eine bedeutsame Rolle spielen bei Betz die begriffsgeschichtlichen Überlegungen zur „Theologie“. Es ist gut bekannt, dass es sich von Haus aus um ein genuin griechisches Unterfangen handelt,7 und dass die Inanspruchnahme des meist mit mythisch-​epischen bzw. mit hymnodischen Kontexten verbundenen Terminus durch christliche Bildungsträger zögerlich und erst 5 Rudolf Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953); hg. von Otto Merk, 9. Aufl. (1984), 66–67. 6 Vgl. Peter Stuhlmacher, Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 2 Bde. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997, 1999); Bd. 1, 3. Aufl. (2005); Bd. 2, 2. Aufl. (2012); N. T.  Wright, Christian Origins and the Question of God, 4 Bde. (London: SPCK; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992–2013), und hier namentlich Bd. 4: Paul and the Faithfulness of God (2013). 7 „Das Wort ‚Theologie‘ selbst ist […] eine spezifisch griechische Schöpfung“, Werner Jaeger, Die Theologie der frühen griechischen Denker (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1953), 12.

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mit der Zeit erfolgte.8 Es empfiehlt sich aber, über die quellensprachliche Wortgruppe θεολογία, θεολόγος, θεολογεῖν κτλ. hinauszugehen und sachentsprechende Phänomene in den Blick zu nehmen.9 So trägt m. E. die Debatte darüber, ob θεολογία bereits bei Platon selber einen wichtigen Stellenwert beanspruchen darf, wenig aus.10 Im Folgenden versuche ich, anhand zweier Koordinaten die Phänomene zu sortieren. Die erste Koordinate ist vom beschreibungssprachlichen Gebrauch von „Theologie“ bestimmt, die zweite vom quellensprachlichen Befund.

I. „Explizite“ und „implizite“ Theologie Zunächst ist die von Rudolf Bultmann eingeführte Unterscheidung von „expliziter“ und „impliziter“ Theologie ins Feld zu führen.11 So gut wie die alttestamentlichen Schriften kommen auch die urchristlichen Texte als vielfältige Träger von „impliziter“ Theologie in Betracht.12 Sie enthalten nicht nur  8 Zur

Begriffsgeschichte vgl. Ferdinand Kattenbusch, „Die Entstehung einer christlichen Theologie: Zur Geschichte der Ausdrücke θεολογία, θεολογεῖν, θεολόγος“, ZTK n.s. 11 [38] (1930): 161–205; Christoph Markschies, Kaiserzeitliche christliche Theologie und ihre Institutionen: Prolegomena zu einer Geschichte der antiken christlichen Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 11–31 (hier auch speziell mit dem Fokus auf den Hymnoden kultischer Provenienz, 16–20).  9  Richtig Winrich A. Löhr, „Theologie, II. Christlich“, DNP 12/1 (2002): 368–71, hier 369: „Die Verwendung des Begriffs theología vermittelt keine adäquate Vorstellung von der Spannweite und Bed. theologischer Reflexion im ant. Christentum. Christl. Th. entstand in den freien christl. Schulen des 2. Jh. Dort wurde das Christentum als Philosophie im ant. Sinne vermittelt, d. h. als Lehre, die verbindliche Auskunft über Gott, die Welt und das richtige menschliche Leben vermittelt.“ 10  Vgl. die Debatte zwischen Betz und Ulrich Luz, „Die biblische Tradition als Wurzelgrund neutestamentlicher Theologie“, in diesem Band (S. 139–56). Vgl. dazu unten bei Anm. 19. 11 Zur Kategorie von impliziter/expliziter Theologie vgl. Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 585–86, hier der erste Satz in den „Epilegomena“: „Die Wissenschaft von der Neutestamentlichen Theologie hat die Aufgabe, die Theologie des NT, d. h., die theologischen Gedanken der neutest. Schriften darzustellen, und zwar sowohl die explizit entwickelten (wie z. B. die Lehre des Paulus vom Gesetz), wie diejenigen, die implizit in Erzählung oder Mahnung, in Polemik oder Tröstung wirksam sind“ (585). Vgl. sodann besonders Konrad Schmid, Gibt es Theologie im Alten Testament? Zum Theologiebegriff in der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft, ThSt n.s. 7 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2013), 54–58, mit dem Hinweis darauf, dass Bultmanns Sprachregelung nicht auf die neueren Vertreter dieser Redeweise im deutschen Sprachraum eingewirkt hat. Vgl. ders., Theologie des Alten Testaments, NThG (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 13–18; 45–49. 12 Ein Pendant dazu stellt die Unterscheidung von „impliziter“ und „expliziter“ Christologie in den Jesusüberlieferung dar, die sich bei Bultmann und in seiner Schule ausgebildet hat. Vgl. zur Diskussion besonders Gerhard Ebeling, Theologie und Verkündigung: Ein Gespräch mit Rudolf Bultmann, HUT 1 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1962), 69–82.

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wichtige Bausteine, sondern geben darüber hinaus entscheidende Eckwerte vor, an denen sich die Baupläne späterer „expliziter“ Formen von Theologie orientieren. Für Bultmann gelten allerdings bereits Paulus und Johannes als Repräsentanten „expliziter“ Theologie. Nun lassen sich diese aus heutiger Sicht nicht mehr so scharf trennen von anderen urchristlichen Zeugen. So gesellen sich den paulinischen Briefen weitere Schreiben seiner Schule(n) hinzu, ganz zu schweigen vom Hebräerbrief als einem Monument eigener Dignität. Dem Johannesevangelium seinerseits lassen sich die synoptischen Evangelien als Entwürfe narrativer Theologie gut zur Seite stellen.13 Da es in allen urchristlichen Texten um Gott, um seine Erkennbarkeit und Erfahrbarkeit geht, ist man besser beraten, sie alle als Träger von Theologie anzusprechen, und hier eher des „impliziten“ Typs. Natürlich hängt alles davon ab, wie man im Kontrast dazu „explizite Theologie“ definiert. Bestimmt man diese als ein diskursives Unternehmen, d. h. als normativ angelegte Reflexion über die eigenen religiösen Überlieferungen, so wird man in das zweite Jahrhundert geführt, zu den Apologeten und anderen christlichen Intellektuellen: Erst an dieser Schwelle entstehen Reflexionsgestalten der christlichen Religion, in der bestimmte basale Überzeugungen über Gott und die Welt mitsamt der damit einhergehenden Lebensdeutung und Verhaltensnormierung begrifflich systematisiert werden. Sie sind eingelassen in eine Konfiguration, die massgeblich von der griechisch-​hellenistischen Philosophie bestimmt ist. Speziell darf man bei den Autoren seit dem zweiten Jahrhundert von „expliziter Theologie“ sprechen, weil sie das Geschäft der φιλοσοφία für sich selber reklamiert haben.14 Für dieses Unternehmen bieten bereits die urchristlichen Texte und, im Vorfeld, das griechischsprachige Judentum entscheidende Schnittstellen; exemplarisch stehen dafür etwa der Johannes­ prolog (Joh 1,1–18) und die Areopagrede (Apg 17,16–34). Dazu kommen definitorische Sätze über Gott wie seine Prädikation als Geist (Joh 4,24) oder als Liebe (1 Joh 4,8.16).15 Im Sinn der oben formulierten engen Bestimmung 13  Zweierlei ist im Gegenüber zu Bultmann m. R. oft beklagt worden: Erstens werden die Synoptiker in seiner „Theologie“ gar nicht berücksichtigt. Zweitens blendet er das narrative Profil des Johannesevangeliums weitgehend aus. 14 Vgl. dazu meinen Aufsatz: „Barbarenweisheit? Zum Stellenwert der Philosophie in der frühchristlichen Theologie“, in Philosophia in der Konkurrenz von Schulen, Wissenschaften und Religionen: Zur Pluralisierung des Philosophiebegriffs in Kaiserzeit und Spätantike; Akten der 17. Tagung der Karl und Gertrud Abel-​Stiftung vom 16. und 17. Oktober 2014 in Zürich, hg. von Christoph Riedweg, Philosophie der Antike 34 (Boston und Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 147–160, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum: Studien zur neutestamentlichen Theologie in ihren Kontexten und Rezeptionen, WUNT 436 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 343–55. 15  Ludwig Köhler, Die Theologie des Alten Testaments, NThG 3 (Tübingen: Mohr

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sind Aussagen dieses Typs aber noch nicht dem Genre „expliziter Theologie“ zuzuordnen. Analoges gilt für die Selbstvorstellung Gottes in Ex 3,14 (LXX): „Ich bin der Seiende“ oder für seine Qualifikation als „Gott der Lebendigen“ in Jesu Debatte mit den Sadduzäern (Mk 12,26–27 parr).16

II. Facetten von θεολογία κτλ. Besonderes Interesse verdient nun das breite semantische Spektrum, das sich mit dem quellensprachlichen Begriff der „Theologie“ verbindet.17 Es reicht vom Reden von und zu Gott bzw. den Göttern, wie es bei den mythischen „Theologen“, namentlich „Musaios“ und „Orpheus“, begegnet, bis zur systematischen Reflexion über das Göttliche im Sinn einer metaphysischen Disziplin. Zur „Theo-​Logie“ gehört also ein weites Feld des Erzählens, des Verkündens und des Erkennens von Göttlichem in vielfältigen Formen. Am einen Rand des Spektrums nimmt das Reden und Wissen von Gott das spezifische Format der philosophischen Erkenntnis Gottes an. Ihre erste begriffliche Artikulation findet die so verstandene „Theologie“ bei Aristoteles in der „ersten Philosophie“ bzw. der Metaphysik.18 Zu unserem eingangs präsentierten chassidischen Gleichnis von den beiden Typen der Theologie passt es ausgezeichnet, dass Aristoteles als „Erfinder“ der philosophischen S­ iebeck, 1936), 4. Aufl. (1966), 2, notiert hier einen Unterschied zum Alten Testament; dieses „kennt keine ähnliche Aussage“. Vgl. Schmid, Gibt es Theologie, 53–54. 16 „Die einzige, geradezu axiomatische ‚Definition‘ Gottes, die sich in den Evangelien in seinem Mund findet“, konstatieren Reinhard Feldmeier und Hermann Spieckermann, Der Gott der Lebendigen: Eine biblische Gotteslehre, Topoi biblischer Theologie 1 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 2. Aufl. (2017), 516 (vgl. 1). 17 Zum ganzen Spektrum von Theologia vgl. Esther Eidinow, Julia Kindt, und Robin Osborne, “Introduction: What Might We Mean by the Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion?,” in Eidinow, Kindt, und Osborne, Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, Cambridge Classical Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 1–11 („The different senses of theology remain meaningfully related to one another insofar as they constitute different points along what is recognisably the same spectrum, ranging from the weakest sense of making reference to gods to the strongest sense of explicit and abstracted speculative reflections about the divine“, 5). 18  Aristot., metaph. 6,1, 1026a18–19. „The first philosopher to elevate theology (at least in principle) to the status of a part of philosophy was Aristotle“, Jaap Mansfeld, „Theology“, in The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy, hg. von Keimpe Algra, Jonathan Barnes, Jaap Mansfeld, und Malcolm Schofield (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 452–78, hier 452. Die aristotelische „tendency to regard philosophical theology as reducing the gods from persons to abstract principles“, die ihrerseits auf eine letzte Ursache reduziert werden („‚metaphysical‘ reduction“) wird schon bei Platon beobachtet von Rick Benitez, „Plato and the Secularisation of Greek Theology“, in Eidinow, Kindt, und Osbourne, Theologies of Ancient Greek Religion, 301–16, hier 306 (Zitat).

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θεολογία gelten kann. Diesen Rang kann der Sache nach aber durchaus bereits Platon beanspruchen,19 und vor ihm trifft es auch ein gutes Stück weit auf einige vorsokratische Philosophen zu.20 Dabei fällt auf, dass die Wortgruppe θεολογία κτλ. in der kaiserzeitlichen Philosophie an Bedeutung gewinnt.21 Dies hängt vor allem auch damit zusammen, dass das philosophische Interesse an Mythen, Riten und anderen Phänomenen der Religion enorm zunimmt. Plutarch bemerkt einmal beiläufig, religiöses Überlieferungswissen biete Stoff für eine Philosophie, die auf Theologia zielt. Excursus. Plutarch zufolge sammelte der weitgereiste Kleombrotos überall „Überlieferungswissen als Stoff für eine Philosophie, die, wie er es selber nannte, ‚Theologie‘ zum Ziel habe“, also Erkenntnis Gottes (συνῆγεν ἱστορίαν οἷον ὕλην φιλοσοφίας θεολογίαν ὥσπερ αὐτὸς ἐκάλει τέλος ἐχούσης, def. or. 2, 410B). Die Frage stellt sich, wie programmatisch der Spruch, den Plutarch dem Kleombrotos in den Mund legt, einzuschätzen ist.22 Für ein ‚Programm‘ sprechen v. a. zwei Argumente: Erstens ist die Wendung am Anfang des religionsphilosophischen Dialogs platziert und gibt einen hermeneutischen Schlüssel für den Umgang mit den im Folgenden besprochenen religiösen Traditionen in die Hand. Zweitens ist es gerade Kleombrotos, der die überaus wichtige Dämonenlehre einführt und entfaltet (def. or. 10–15). Dies deckt sich perfekt mit Plutarch’s eigener Sicht. Wenn Kleombrotos „Mythen und Hymnen“ summarisch für die Dämonologie in Anspruch nimmt (15, 417E), vollzieht er faktisch ein θεολογεῖν  – weit besser als οἱ Δελφῶν θεολόγοι (417F). Gegen die Programmatik spricht aber erstens die Beobachtung, dass die Schrift den Grundgedanken nicht mehr explizit aufgreift und ihn auch nirgends mit einem anderen Dialogteilnehmer verknüpft – angeboten hätte sich zumal Ammonios, der verehrte ägyptische (!) Lehrer Plutarchs. Zweitens enthält das so umfangreiche literarische Corpus Plutarcheum recht wenige Belege für die Wortgruppe Theologia (ca. 16mal) und es gibt m. W. keine andere so grundsätzliche Formulierung wie diejenige des Kleombrotos. – Um einem naheliegenden Missverständnis vorzubeugen, unterstreiche ich: Ganz unabhängig von der quellensprachlichen Beurteilung ist es 19 „Platonic philosophy is what religion would be like if it were purified in the fire of reason“, Rick Benitez und Harold Tarrant, „Philosophy“, in The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Greek Religion, hg. von Esther Eidinow und Julia Kindt (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 211–24, hier 218. 20  Vgl. Jaeger, Die Theologie der frühen griechischen Denker, 17–19. 21 Vgl. Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, „Theo-​logy in John and in Imperial-​Era Platonism,“ in diesem Band (S. 127–37), verweist insbesondere auf Philon und Plutarch. Der Verfasser weist auch darauf hin, dass sich die Semantik des Nachdenkens über Gott und des Erkennens Gottes erst in der Kaiserzeit entwickelt hat. 22   Hirsch-​Luipold, „Theo-​logy in John“, hält die Stelle für „durchaus programmatisch“; vgl. zur Diskussion auch ders., „῞Υλη θεολογίας: Religious Lore as Inter‘text’ in Plutarch’s Moralia“, in The Dynamics of Intertextuality in Plutarch, hg. von Thomas S. Schmidt, Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, und Maria Vamvouri, Brill’s Plutarch Studies 5 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2020 [im Druck]).

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nicht nur sinnvoll, sondern sogar überaus attraktiv, bei Plutarch von Theologie zu sprechen, so gut wie bei Philon. Zu klären wäre dann deren Verhältnis zur (weiter ausgespannten?) Religionsphilosophie.

In das Zentrum der Reflexion rückt „Theologie“ offenbar erst in der Spätantike, und auch hier nicht primär auf christlichem Terrain,23 sondern vorzüglich bei den Neuplatonikern nach Plotin,24 namentlich bei Proklos (5. Jh. n. Chr.). Sein Hauptwerk ist die Περὶ τῆς κατὰ Πλάτωνα θεολογία;25 ein wichtiges Kompendium bildet seine Elementatio theologica (στοιχείωσις θεολογική), die die intelligible Welt beschreibt.26 Mit dem Areopagiten Dionysios kommt es zur Einwohnung der proklischen Theologie im christlichen Raum. Es entbehrt nicht einer gewissen Ironie, dass die christliche Theologie damit ein Element in ihren Bestand aufnimmt, das mindestens virtuell einen Protest gegen das orthodoxe Christentum und seine Religionspolitik in sich schliesst: Proklos’ Programm integriert angesichts der kirchlich-​politischen Repression die beiden Hauptdimensionen des antiken Redens von θεολογία, also die Seinsmetaphysik und die vielfältigen alten mythischen Traditionen der polytheistischen Welt. Im Zeichen eines religiösen und „ökumenischen“ Pluralismus bietet das Unternehmen der „Theologie Platons“ nicht nur der altgriechischen Überlieferung eine Plattform, sondern einer ganzen Bandbreite antik-​religiöser Traditionen aus Abendland und Morgenland mit

23  Wichtig ist Euseb, der eine „kirchliche Theologie“ (De ecclesiastica theologia, τῆς ἐκκλησιαστικῆς θεολογίας α´–γ´) gegen Markell von Ankyra verfasste. 24 Es fällt auf, dass Plotin selber gar nicht von Theologia spricht, und von Theologoi nur in einem einzigen Traktat, der nicht zufällig mit der Auslegung eines Mythos befasst ist, nämlich mit demjenigen vom Eros im platonischen Symposion (enn. 3,5,2:2; 8:21). 25  „Comme le titre l’indique, il va s’agir, dans ce traité, de théologie au sens platonicien du mot, à savoir d’un discours sur le divin et sur les dieux, ce que Proclus appelle souvent une ‚mystagogie‘, c’est-​à-​dire une initiation aux mystères divins“, Henri-​Dominique Saffrey und Leendert Gerrit Westerink, Hgg. und Übers., Proclus: Théologie platonicienne, 6 Bde., Budé (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1968–1997), 1:lxi. Insofern muss das Werk „auch als Selbstschutz spätantiken Denkens gegenüber einem fortschreitenden Dogmatisierungsprozess des Christentums begriffen werden“, Werner Beierwaltes, „Das ‚Systematische‘ in der Philosophie des Proklos,“ in ders., Procliana: Spätantikes Denken und seine Spuren (Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann, 2007), 65–84, hier 84. 26 Vgl. die Ausgabe von Eric R. Dodds, Proclus: The Elements of Theology, 2. Aufl. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), x: „it is a complete system of ‚theology‘ in the Aristotelian sense of ‚first philosophy‘ or metaphysic,” vgl. 187; vgl. auch die dt. Übersetzungen: Ingeborg Zurbrügg, Übers., Proklos: Elemente der Theologie, Philosophie im Kontext 10 (Remscheid: Gardez!-Verlag, 2004); Ernst-​Otto Onnasch und Ben Schomakers, Hgg. und Übers., Proklos: Theologische Grundlegung, Philosophische Bibliothek 562 (Hamburg: Felix Miner, 2015). Zur „‚Theologisierung‘ der Wirklichkeit insgesamt“ bei Proklos vgl. Beierwaltes, „Das ‚Systematische‘“, 81–82; vgl. 10.

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ihren heiligen Texten.27 Proklos’ Theologie widerspiegelt also das gesamte Spektrum der antiken Theologia.

III. Theologie als Nachdenken über Gott und das Göttliche Die semantische Breite, die sich mit der Wortgruppe θεολογία κτλ. verbindet, lässt sich nun auch heuristisch fruchtbar machen im Blick auf die Phänomene, die wir oben mit den Kategorien von „expliziter“ und „impliziter“ Theologie beschrieben haben. Eigentlich philosophische Theologie finden wir dort, wo es um ein diskursives Bearbeiten der Gottesthematik geht, also im Bereich „expliziter“ Theologien. Demgegenüber lässt sich das offenere Feld des „Redens von und zu Gott (bzw. den Göttern)“ weithin in den biblischen Texten identifizieren: Ihre „implizite“ Theologie zeigt sich darin, dass sie Gott in erzählenden, prophetischen, weisheitlichen, ermahnenden, poetischen und anderen Formen zu Wort kommen lassen. Mit der Erkenntnis Gottes selber sind namentlich das Johannesevangelium und die Paulusbriefe befasst, ohne dass diese ein spezifisch philosophisches Format annimmt – im Gegenteil, sowohl die Korrelation von Gotteserkenntnis und „Glauben“ (πίστις, vgl. Joh 6,69; 17,8) wie die Reziprozität zwischen „Gott erkennen“ und „Von Gott erkannt werden“ (vgl. 1 Kor 8,3–4; 13,12) sind gar nicht oder nur eingeschränkt kompatibel mit den zeitgenössischen philosophischen Diskursen. Für uns ist wichtig, dass sich das weite semantische Feld der Theologia auch in den Bereichen abbildet, wo die quellensprachliche Terminologie gar keine Rolle spielt. Um auf unser chassidisches Gleichnis zurückzugreifen: An den beiden Enden des Spektrums stehen die beiden für die „Theologie“ repräsentativen Figuren: Aristoteles, der strenge Gottesgelehrte, und Ezechiel, der von Gott bewegte Prophet und Mystiker.28

IV. Griechische und biblische Theologie bei H. D. Betz Wir kommen zurück auf das Theologieverständnis von Hans Dieter Betz. In manchen Punkten kommt sein Anliegen dem spätantiken Verständnis von 27 Dementsprechend präsentiert der Biograph Marinos Proklos als ökumenischen Hiero­phanten, der die Götterfeste aller Völker feiert (vit. Procl. 19); s. Irmgard Männlein-​Robert und Oliver Schelske, Hgg., Über das Glück: Marinos, Das Leben des Proklos, SAPERE 34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 32–33; 155 Anm. 184. 28  Damit vergleichbar ist die „Doppelgesichtigkeit“, die Frey, „Zum Problem“, 847, auch in der Theologie des Neuen Testaments beobachtet: „Auch sie steht grundsätzlich zwischen dem Nachsprechen der jeweiligen Gottesverkündigung der biblischen Autoren einerseits und ihrer philosophischen Reflexion und Interpretation andererseits.“

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„Theologie“ nahe – und steht Bultmanns Lesart als diskursiver Explikation des Kerygmas ziemlich fern. Excursus. Bultmann zufolge ist Theologie als „Explikation des durch das Kerygma geweckten Selbstverständnisses“ des Menschen aufzufassen.29 Theologie ist also erstens auf den Glauben zurückbezogen und ist zweitens im Kern ein hermeneutisches Geschäft. Ganz holzschnittartig im Gegenüber zu Betz formuliert: Das zweite ist partiell anschlussfähig für griechische Theologie – diese besteht in der Kaiserzeit wesentlich in der Exegese normativer Texte, zumal von Platon –, das erste m. E. nicht – griechische Theologie setzt auf Erkenntnis, die sich ihrerseits dem Schauen verdankt. Allerdings zeigt ein Religionsphilosoph wie Plutarch, dass die Relationen zwischen Glauben und Erkennen komplexer sind und Pistis zwar nicht dieselbe Dignität geniesst wie etwa Noēsis, aber durchaus eine wichtige hermeneutische Rolle spielt auf der Suche nach der Wahrheit, zumal als Vertrauen auf die altbewährte und autoritative religiöse Tradition.30

Der Abstand zu Bultmann zeigt sich zumal im Blick auf das Gegenüber und Miteinander von Epiphanie und respondierendem Hymnus. Dieses erinnert vielmehr an das proklische Verständnis der „Theologie“ als „Mystagogie“,31 die auf das Sich-​Offenbarmachen des Göttlichen respondiert. Neutestamentliche Mystagogen sind bei Betz die Hymnensänger Paulus und Johannes. Auch das Anliegen von Betz, Theologie auf einer ἀρχή bzw. auf ἀρχαί basieren zu lassen, ist gut griechisch. Seine Suche gilt ja den „foundations laid by New Testament authors“. Fündig wird er bei zwei bedeutsamen Hymnen, nämlich in Phil 2,6–11 und in Joh 1,1–18. Betz teilt also die Intention vieler neutestamentlicher bzw. biblischer Theologien, auf ein Urdatum zurückzugehen – seien das Jesu ipsissima vox, seine Auferstehung, das österliche Kerygma oder Israels Zeugnisse von Gottes fortgesetzten geschichtlichen Selbsterweisen schlechthin –, und bestimmt dieses Urdatum im Hymnus, der als Responsion auf eine göttliche Epiphanie sowohl eine Prinzipienlehre wie einen Resonanzraum religiöser Erfahrung mit sich bringt. Auf unser Gleichnis der Theologie als einem Palast bzw. einer Kathedrale übertragen, würden so Paulus und Johannes die beiden tragenden Säulen bilden, gebaut auf den christologischen Fundamenten der Hymnen. 29 Bultmann,

Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 588. dazu Rainer Hirsch-​Luipold, „Religiöse Tradition und individueller Glaube: Πίστις und πιστεύειν bei Plutarch als Hintergrund zum neutestamentlichen Glaubensverständnis“, in Glaube: Das Verständnis des Glaubens im frühen Christentum und in seiner jüdischen und hellenistisch-​römischen Umwelt, hg. von Jörg Frey, Benjamin Schliesser, und Nadine Ueberschaer, WUNT 373 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 251–73. 31 Proklos, theol. Plat. 1,1 (τὴν περὶ αὐτῶν τῶν θείων μυσταγωγίαν, Saffrey und Westerink, Proklos, 1:5,17); zur Nähe von Mystagogie und Hymnik vgl. 3,7 (ἐπαναληπτέον τὴν περὶ τοῦ ἑνὸς μυσταγωγίαν, ἵνα […] ὑμνήσωμεν, ibid., 3:29,7–9). 30 Vgl.

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An dieser Stelle ist eine tiefgreifende Irritation zu benennen: Es fällt auf, wie wenig Raum die biblische Überlieferung in der Systematik von Betz einnimmt.32 Im Bild gesprochen, und nun unter Rückgriff auf das Abschlussgleichnis der Bergpredigt (Mt 7,24–27): Das stolze Gebäude einer neutestamentlichen Theologie bedarf eines starken und stabilen Fundaments. Dieses besteht in der biblischen Tradition  – genauer: in den so reichen wie divergenten theologischen Überlieferungen Israels, die von den Jesusanhängern und Christusgläubigen aufgrund ihrer Erfahrungen mit Jesus Christus, mit seiner Botschaft und seiner Lebensform, ganz selbstverständlich geteilt und zugleich markant transformiert worden sind. Erst dieses fest gegründete Fundament macht es möglich, das von Haus aus griechische Unternehmen „Theologie“ zu ganz neuen und unverwechselbaren Gestalten zu entwickeln und auf diese Weise Brücken zwischen „Jerusalem“ und „Athen“ zu bauen. Dass die „biblische“ Überlieferung selber ihrerseits schon als Produkt analoger kultureller Interaktionen anzusprechen ist – entstanden und fortgebildet in den Konstellationen persischer und dann hellenistischer Globalisierungsprozesse  –, hat die entsprechenden Transformationsvorgänge wenn nicht überhaupt erst ermöglicht, so doch enorm verstärkt. So ist es das auf Griechisch verfasste Neue Testament, das die Frage nach seiner „Theologie“ stimuliert. Im Folgenden soll die Standfestigkeit einer der beiden Säulen des von Betz konstruierten Theologie-​Gebäudes geprüft werden, nämlich des „Philipperhymnus“.33

D. Antwortet Paulus mit einem Hymnus auf eine Christophanie? Betz trifft im Blick auf Phil 2,5–11 drei folgenschwere Entscheidungen:34 Erstens handelt es sich um einen Hymnus, zweitens handelt es sich um eine Responsion des frühen Paulus auf eine – auf seine! – Christophanie, und drittens bezieht der Hymnus Prinzipienlehre und Ereignis aufeinander, ist also Theologie im Vollzug. 32 Diesen Punkt moniert der Beitrag von Luz, „Die biblische Tradition“ in diesem Band (S. 139–56). 33 Die andere „Säule“, der Logoshymnus von Joh 1, wird in diesem Band von Hirsch-​ Luipold behandelt: „Theo-​logy in John“ (S. 127–37). 34  Die Arbeit fügt sich ein in eine Reihe von wichtigen Publikationen des Exegeten zum Philipperbrief: Hans Dieter Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom, JWV 4 (Berlin: De Gruyter 2013); ders., Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, WUNT 343 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015).

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I. Phil 2,6–11 als Hymnus? Die Bestimmung von neutestamentlichen Textpassagen als Hymnen mit einem kultischen Sitz im Leben, nämlich dem urchristlichen Gottesdienst, ist eine der grossen Theoriebildungen der formgeschichtlichen Exegese des 20. Jahrhunderts. Aus etwas Distanz betrachtet muss man darin leider eine Überdehnung der Formgeschichte diagnostizieren.35 Es handelt sich nämlich um ein methodisch weitgehend unkontrollierbares Postulat. Selbstverständlich haben die frühchristlichen Gemeinden in ihren Gottesdiensten „Psalmen, Hymnen und pneumatische Oden“ zelebriert (Kol 3,16; Eph 5,19), und das ist auch von Aussenstehenden notiert worden.36 Ob sich aber im Neuen Testament Textfragmente herausdestillieren lassen, die als solche „geistlichen Gesänge“ anzusprechen sind, ist eine ganz andere Frage.37 Selbst wenn es sich bei einigen von ihnen um „Christushymnen“ handeln sollte, ist ihre Verortung im Gottesdienst schwer plausibel zu machen. Bei dem, was an liturgischem Gut aus den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten überliefert ist, handelt es sich um an Gott gerichtete Gebete; Christus ist Mittler, nicht Adressat. Dazu kommt das Problem der Nomenklatur: Was ist ein Hymnus, sei er kultisch oder literarisch? Je nach Sprachregelung ergibt sich ein ganz anderes Bild; die Antike selber ist hier schon überaus polyphon. Vermutlich ist Betz selber am Genus Hymnus so interessiert, weil in diesem Prinzipienlehre und religiöse Erfahrung konvergieren. Diesem Anliegen kommt aber schon eine schlichte Stil-​Beobachtung entgegen, die ohne eine anspruchsvolle Hypothese auskommt: In Phil 2,6–11 liegt eine epideiktische, also lobende Sprachform vor, die Reflexion und Lobpreis verbindet. Man umschifft mit diesem methodischen Downgrade verschiedene Klippen. Zu denken ist hier insbesondere an das „Killer“-Argument, das sich aus der Rezeptionsgeschichte von Phil 2 ergibt: Es gibt m. W. keinen einzigen Kirchenvater, der paulinische Passagen wie Phil 2 oder Kol 1 als Hymnen, seien sie kultisch oder literarisch, gelesen hätte. Genau dies wäre aber zu erwarten, zumal im griechischen 35  Vgl. zur Diskussion meinen Aufsatz: „Hymnus, Enkomion oder Psalm? Schattengefechte in der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft“, NTS 56 (2010): 208–31, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum, 275–97. 36 Prominent festgehalten von Plinius, ep. 10,96:7 (carmenque Christo quasi deo dicere). 37 Zur Debatte vgl. besonders auch Ralph Brucker, „‚Hymnen‘ im Neuen Testament?“, VF 58 (2013): 53–62 und den Sammelband: Clemens Leonhard und Hermut Löhr, Hgg., Literature or Liturgy? Early Christian Hymns and Prayers in Their Literary and Liturgical Context in Antiquity, WUNT 2/363 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), sowie Benjamin Edsall und Jennifer R. Strawbridge, „The Songs We Used to Sing? Hymn ‚Traditions‘ and Reception in Pauline Letters,“ JSNT 37 (2015): 290–311. Reserve bekundet auch der kürzlich erschienene Kommentar von Paul A. Holloway, Philippians: A Commentary, hg. von Adela Yarbro Collins, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2017), 115–17.

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Osten des vierten Jahrhunderts, wo das Interesse am Zusammenhang zwischen Dogmenbildung und Liturgie ausgesprochen gross gewesen ist.

II. Hymnus und Epiphanie Es sprechen m. E. nun auch schwerwiegende Gründe gegen die Inanspruchnahme von Phil 2 als Responsion auf eine Christophanie. Ich zähle zwei von ihnen auf. Erstens ist mir kein einziger antiker Hymnus bekannt, der als Responsion auf eine aktuell geschehene Epiphanie eines Gottwesens verfasst worden wäre. Selbstverständlich bestehen elementare Zusammenhänge zwischen Epiphanie und kultischer Performanz; Hymnen respondieren an vielen Kultorten auf die diese begründenden Epiphanien. Mehr noch: Im Hymnus kann eine Gottheit selber epiphan werden; ihre Anrufung am Anfang zielt auf ihr Präsentwerden im preisenden Teil, in der pars epica. Aber um all das geht es im Zusammenhang unserer Fragestellung nicht. Hier handelt es sich ja um eine ganz bestimmte Phase in der Biographie des frühen Paulus, also einer historischen Persönlichkeit. Gibt es Analogien zu einem persönlichen Hymnus als Antwort auf eine individuelle Epiphanieerfahrung? Dabei müssen Genres fiktionaler Literatur ausgeklammert werden: Romane, die etwa auf eine Intervention der Aphrodite einen begeisterten Lobpreis der Liebesgöttin durch einen Jüngling oder ein Mädchen folgen lassen, kommen hier ebenso wenig in Betracht wie gnostische Dialogevangelien, in denen Jünger auf die Selbstoffenbarung des auferstandenen Jesus mit hymnischen Worten reagieren. Im konkreten Fall von Paulus kommt noch erschwerend hinzu das Faktum einer durch die Christophanie erfolgten grundlegenden Lebenswende, also einer Art Konversion. Der Fall des hymnisch respondierenden Konvertiten Paulus wäre völlig singulär.38 Zweitens weisen alle Andeutungen, die Paulus über die für ihn umstürzende Erfahrung einer Christophanie macht, nicht in die Richtung, die 38  In den Zusammenhang fiktionaler Romanliteratur darf man vielleicht auch die Erzählung von Joseph und Aseneth einzeichnen: Zwar geschieht keine Epiphanie, aber die ägyptische Prinzessin erfährt Joseph als transparent für Gott und kommentiert ihre Konversion mit lobpreisenden Formen. Zur gattungsgeschichtlichen Zuordnung zum Genre der Romane vgl. René Bloch, „Take Your Time: Conversion, Confidence and Tranquility in Joseph and Aseneth“, in Anthropologie und Ethik im Frühjudentum und im Neuen Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen  – Internationales Symposium in Verbindung mit dem Projekt Corpus Judaeo-​Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti (CJHNT), 17.–20. Mai 2012, Heidelberg, hg. von Matthias Konradt und Esther Schläpfer, WUNT 322 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 77–96.

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in Phil 2 erkennbar ist. Es dominieren vielmehr prophetische Kategorien (Gal 1,15–16; vgl. Jes 49,1; Jer 1,5). Die wichtigsten Texte stellen mit ihrem Vorher/Nachher-​Schema die Person des zum Apostel Berufenen und mit der Mission Beauftragten in den Mittelpunkt (Gal 1,13–16; Phil 3,4–11; vgl. 1 Kor 15,9). All dies erscheint in Phil 2 nicht von fern. Von der Vision des auferstandenen, erhöhten und an Gottes Herrlichkeit teilhabenden Herrn, die Paulus wahrscheinlich vor Damaskus widerfahren ist, finden sich – allenfalls – Spuren lediglich im zweiten Teil des „Hymnus“. Geradezu letal für die Hypothese von Betz ist die fehlende Intertextualität zwischen Phil 3,4– 11, dem Rückblick auf die Lebenswende, und 2,5–11: In Phil 3,10–11 zielt alles auf die Auferstehung, die in Phil 2 just ausfällt; umgekehrt lässt die Christusgemeinschaft von Phil 3 keine Züge des in Phil 2 formgebenden Schemas von Erniedrigung und Erhöhung erkennen. Man kann hier Beobachtungen auswerten, die in der Forschung gern für die vorpaulinische Herkunft des „Hymnus“ aufgeführt wurden und die diesen als ‚Fremdkörper‘ im Philipperbrief erweisen sollten. Bei Betz wird dies nun als frühpaulinisch in Anspruch genommen. Paulus hätte dann offenkundig seine in den frühen 30er Jahren entstandene Theologie an entscheidenden Punkten revidiert oder transformiert.39 Eine Theologie des Neuen Testaments bzw. des Paulus wäre aber gewiss besser beraten, ihre Konstruktion an seinem gereiften Produkt zu orientieren, an den Hauptbriefen, und nicht an einer Beta-​Version, gleichsam am ektrōma von 1 Kor 15,8.

III. Theo-​logische Fluchtlinien? Phil 2 als Theologie im Vollzug zu lesen, ist gewiss begrüssenswert. Allerdings ist ein doppeltes caveat beizufügen. Zum einen ist es nicht ratsam, diesen Text gegenüber anderen im Neuen Testament so zu privilegieren, wie es Betz tut. Zum anderen beurteile ich einige wichtige Details anders. Zwar ist die Auffassung richtig, dass das Christuslob die Monotheismus-Thematik aufgreift. Aber dies geschieht nicht auf einer parmenideischen Bahn und steht auch nicht mit der griechischen Semantik von theos in Wechselwirkung. Das Spannungsfeld von Monotheismus und Christologie wird meines Erachtens hauptsächlich im zweiten Teil von Phil 2 bearbeitet (V. 9–11), insbesondere im Rückgriff auf das markant monotheistische Schriftwort Jes 45,23,40 also in 39  Auch eine Zwischenstation, der 1. Thessalonicherbrief, lässt keine Entwicklungslinien zwischen den mittleren 50er Jahren und Phil 2 als einem Text aus den frühen 30er Jahren erkennen. 40 In Röm 14,11 bezieht sich das Jesaia-​Wort anders als in Phil 2,10–11 auf Gott selber.

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einem ausgesprochen biblisch-​jüdischen Kontext. Hier geht es darum, aufzuzeigen, dass gerade ein dezidiert monotheistisches Verständnis des einen Gottes seinen Sohn als Mit-​Teilhaber am heiligen Gottesnamen und als Mit-​ Empfänger des allkosmischen Lobpreises inkludiert.41

E. Gesucht: Alternative Baupläne für eine neutestamentliche Theologie Auf der Suche nach ‚der‘ Theologie des Neuen Testaments haben wir bei zwei sehr verschiedenartigen Stationen Halt gemacht, die sich vor allem in ihrer Konzentration auf zwei theologische Stimmen, auf Paulus und Johannes, treffen. Während sich Rudolf Bultmann an einem dezidiert neuzeitlichen Verständnis von Theologie orientiert,42 verfolgt Betz die spezifisch griechischen Perspektiven, die sich mit der Theologia verbinden. Im Folgenden versuche ich, von der letzteren Fragestellung ausgehend zwei Modelle für eine neutestamentliche Theologie zu skizzieren, die einerseits das Bultmann’sche Anliegen, die Konzentration auf das hermeneutische Geschäft, nicht ausblenden, aber andererseits die Engführung über nur zwei Hauptzeugen vermeiden wollen. Auf eine explizite Abgrenzung von den vielen anderen Konstruktionsplänen neutestamentlicher Theologien aus älterer oder jüngerer Zeit wird dabei verzichtet.

I. Media morte in vita sumus – Tod und Leben als biblisch-​theologisches Kernthema In eine ganz bestimmte inhaltliche Richtung bewegt sich eine Theologie des Neuen Testaments, wenn sie sich an der österlichen Grundfigur des 41 Vgl.

dazu meine Aufsätze: „Vom israelitischen zum christologischen Monotheismus: Überlegungen zum Verhältnis zwischen dem Glauben an den einen Gott und dem Glauben an Jesus Christus“, in Biblische Theologie: Beiträge des Symposiums „Das Alte Testament und die Kultur der Moderne“ anlässlich des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads (1901– 1971), Heidelberg, 18.–21. Oktober 2001, hg. von Paul Hanson, Bernd Janowski, und Michael Welker, Altes Testament und Moderne 14 (Münster: Lit, 2005), 123–33, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum, 21–32; ders., „Christozentrisch oder theozentrisch? Christologie im Neuen Testament“, in Christologie, hg. von Elisabeth Gräb-​Schmidt und Reiner Preul, MJTh 23, MThSt 113 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2011), 19–40, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum, 33–52. 42 Erkennbar ist diese Fluchtlinie etwa besonders in seiner dichten frühen Studie: „Welchen Sinn hat es, von Gott zu reden?“, in ders., Glauben und Verstehen: Gesammelte Aufsätze, Bd. 1, 8. Aufl. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1980), 26–37.

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Gegenübers von Gott und Tod orientiert. Es liegt auf der Hand, wie sehr die neutestamentlichen Zeugen alttestamentlich-​jüdische Entwicklungslinien summieren und weitertreiben, die ihrerseits auf alten mediterranen Grundlagen aufruhen.43 Die Perspektive wäre also dezidiert biblisch. Als Ausgangspunkt wären etwa die frühen Auferweckungsformeln wichtig.44 Ostern bietet so gesehen ein starkes Fundament für eine Mehrzahl von Säulen, die das Bauwerk neutestamentlicher Theologie tragen – Paulus, Johannes, Markus, Hebräerbrief, auch die Offenbarung und wohl auch Lukas.45 Eine Brücke zu Jesus selber lässt sich leicht schlagen. Zugleich würde diese Perspektive den Erfolg des Christentums im antiken Kulturraum ein Stück weit verständlich machen (selbstverständlich neben vielen anderen Faktoren). Nahezu alle Philosophien und ein Teil der antiken Religionen entwickelten Kulturen des Umgangs mit Tod und Sterben. Das frühe Christentum hatte hier eigene Antworten anzubieten. Antike Beobachter bemerkten die Furchtlosigkeit von Christinnen und Christen vor dem Tod, und sie liessen sich davon entweder beeindrucken oder befremden.46 Umgekehrt bildete die Überzeugung von der allgemeinen Totenauferstehung eine markante Differenzlinie zwischen Christentum und paganer Welt (vgl. schon Apg 17,31–32). Auch in modernen Zusammenhängen stellt die Osterbotschaft eine hermeneutische Herausforderung eigener Klasse dar, etwa im Hinblick auf die Figur des „Stirb und Werde“, die in zahllosen Formen heutiger Spiritualität zelebriert wird. Wenn sich das Thema von Tod und Leben mit praktischen Fragen 43 Vgl. Walter Dietrich und Samuel Vollenweider, „Tod: Altes und Neues Testament“, TRE 33 (2001): 582–600. 44 An diesem Punkt gewinnt man an zwei sehr verschiedene Entwürfe neutestamentlicher Theologie Anschluss: Einerseits an Hans Conzelmann, für den das Kerygma in den alten Bekenntnistexten greifbar ist, die der Theologie der ältesten Christenheit zugrundeliegt: „Was glaubte die frühe Christenheit?“, in ders., Theologie als Schriftauslegung: Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament, BEvT 65 (München: C. Kaiser, 1974), 106–19; ders., Grundriss der Theologie des Neuen Testaments, hg. von Andreas Lindemann, 5. Aufl., UTB 1446 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 46–57. Andererseits tut sich eine Brücke auf zur Tübinger Biblischen Theologie: Das älteste Auferweckungszeugnis ist zu interpretieren im Horizont der alttestamentlich-​jüdischen Auferweckungserwartung, Peter Stuhlmacher, „Das Bekenntnis zur Auferweckung Jesu von den Toten und die Biblische Theologie“, in ders., Schriftauslegung auf dem Wege zur biblischen Theologie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975), 128–66; ders., Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 1:162–79. 45 Dazu vgl. meine Skizze: „Leben aus dem Tod: Neutestamentliche Perspektiven auf Lebensfülle und Lebensminderungen“, in Leben: Verständnis, Wissenschaft, Technik  – Kongressband des XI. europäischen Kongresses für Theologie, 15.–19. September 2002 in Zürich, hg. von Eilert Herms, VWGTh 24 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2005), 165–75, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum, 109–20. 46 Beindruckt zeigt sich etwa Justin, 2apol. 12,1, irritiert sind demgegenüber Epiktet, diss. 4,7,6 und Marc Aurel 11,3,2.

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verbindet, besonders hinsichtlich des Umgangs mit dem Lebensende, mit der ars moriendi und dem selbstbestimmten Sterben, sind wir mitten drin in höchst aktuellen Auseinandersetzungen, die wiederum bedeutsame antike Debatten weiterführen.

II. Im Brennpunkt: Der „Mittler“ zwischen Gott und Welt Lassen wir uns auf das genuin griechische Anliegen der „Theologie“ ein, so lohnt sich ein heuristischer Blick auf das antike Christentum, das die impliziten Theologien der Urchristen zu expliziten Theologien konvertiert hat. Augustin, in jüngeren Jahren Ciceronianer und Neuplatoniker, hat das Verhältnis der griechischen Weisheit zur Christusbotschaft mit der Metapher von Weg und Ziel umschrieben: Die Philosophen teilen mit den Christen die grundlegende Orientierung auf das Ziel hin, die Erkenntnis des einen Gottes, sie kennen aber nicht den Weg dorthin, der ein Pfad nicht der Exaltation, sondern der Demut ist.47 Es geht also um die angemessene Vermittlung zwischen Gott und Welt, und hier klinkt sich die Soteriologie ein, weil erst Christi Leben, Sterben und Auferstehen den Weg zur Gottheit bereitet. Die Kategorie der Mittlerschaft scheint mir ein überaus attraktives Ensemble von Figuren bereit zu stellen, um in einer antiken Konfiguration Evangelium und Religionsphilosophie in ein vitales und kontroverses Gespräch zu bringen.48 Dafür bietet sich die ganze Bandbreite neutestamentlicher Stimmen an, da die christologische Vermittlung von Gott und Menschen für alle urchristlichen Schriften, in ganz unterschiedlichen Varianten, fundamental ist.49 Die Kategorie erlaubt es auch, das Verhältnis von jüdischen und christlichen Theologien differenziert zu beschreiben, da in ersteren die Tora, ihrerseits  Augustin, civ. 9,9.15.17; 10,26–29; dazu Therese Fuhrer, „Die Platoniker und die civitas dei“, in Augustinus: De civitate dei, hg. von Christoph Horn, Klassiker Auslegen 11 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997), 87–108, hier 92–95. 48 Hier besteht eine wichtige Schnittstelle zum Ansatz von Hirsch-​Luipold, „Theo-​logy in John“, in diesem Band (S. 127–37). 49  Vgl. dazu meinen Aufsatz: „‚Einer ist der Mittler‘ (1 Tim 2,5): Mittleraussagen der neutestamentlichen Briefliteratur in ihren frühjüdischen und hellenistischen Kontexten“, in Vermittelte Gegenwart: Konzeptionen der Gottespräsenz von der Zeit des Zweiten Tempels bis Anfang des 2. Jahrhunderts n. Chr., hg. von Andrea Taschl-​Erber und Irmtraud Fischer, WUNT 367 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 209–28, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum, 257–74. Die Figur einer Mittlerin spielt besonders in der Religionsphilosophie des Ps.-Aristoteles, De mundo, eine wichtige Rolle; zu diesem Traktat als Dokument einer philosophischen Theologie vgl. Johan C. Thom, „Theology and Popular P ­ hilosophy“, in diesem Band (S. 119–26); sowie ders., Hg., Cosmic Order and Divine Power: Pseudo-​ Aristotle, On the Cosmos, SAPERE 23 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). 47

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Erbin älterer Weisheitskonzeptionen, die Mittelposition besetzt. Über die Thematik der Mittlerschaft gewinnt man sodann den Anschluss an die avancierten prinzipientheoretischen Diskurse der späten Antike. Zugleich bietet sich der Komplex auch an, um in neuzeitlichen Horizonten das christliche Gottesverständnis zu anderen Überzeugungen in ein Verhältnis zu bringen. Zu denken ist beispielsweise an die Auseinandersetzung mit pantheistischen Vorstellungen, wie sie sich im Gefolge des enormen Booms von Formen der Spiritualität hierzulande vernehmbar machen.50 Brücken dafür bieten beispielsweise die kosmische Christologie des Kolosserbriefs (Kol 1,16–17; vgl. 2,9–10) oder die reziproken Immanenzformeln des Johannesevangeliums (14,20; vgl. 14,10–11.23; 17,21.23): Sie arbeiten mit Figuren des „in-​Seins“, die auch im stoischen Pantheismus begegnen (vgl. Apg 17,27–28).

F. Peroratio In den voranstehenden Zeilen habe ich versucht, anhand der Metaphern von Bauwerken und ihren Plänen einige Linien für das Unternehmen einer neutestamentlichen Theologie zu skizzieren. Im letzten konstruktiven Teil waren es nun nicht Zeugen, sondern grosse und fundamentale Themen, die als Säulen des Bauwerks in Betracht kamen.51 Wenn wir abschliessend nochmals auf das chassidische Gleichnis zurückgreifen, so portiert gerade Ezechiel eine ganz besondere Herausforderung, der sich eine neutestamentliche Theologie zu stellen hat. In seiner ersten grossen Vision (Ez 1,4–28) schaut der Prophet Gott in der „Gestalt von einem, der das Aussehen eines Menschen hatte“ (1,26). Ezechiels Andeutung rückt das Verhältnis von Gottes Menschenähnlichkeit und seiner gänzlichen Andersartigkeit, also von Analogie und Differenz, ins Zentrum. Nicht von ungefähr haben die biblischen Anthropomorphismen schon die antike Religionsphilosophie herausgefordert, auf jüdischer und christlicher wie auf paganer Seite. Im Besonderen spielt das  Vgl. z. B. Ella de Groot, Gott – Der Atem der Welt, Schriften zur Glaubensreform 4 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2015), mit dem Programm: Statt an einen persönlichen, theistischen Gott zu glauben „erlebe ich Gott als Kraft oder als Atem in mir und zwischen mir und den Anderen, als Atem oder Kraft in der Begegnung mit Anderen oder mit der Schöpfung“ (14). 51  Mit einem anderen Gleichnis, der Metapher vom Baum, arbeitet Luz, „Die biblische Tradition“, in diesem Band (S. 139–56): Der Wurzelgrund der neutestamentlichen Theologie ist die biblische Tradition. Dazu fügt sich gut das oben vorgeschlagene Sachthema: Die Figur von Christus als Mittler bzw. Repräsentant Gottes wäre dann der Baumstamm, der aus diesem Boden wächst und die vielen Äste und Kronen der neutestamentlichen Theologie spriessen lässt. 50

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Thema von Gottes Personalität in der Theologiegeschichte eine erhebliche Rolle.52 Die Bibel selber geht weithin ganz unbefangen von Gott als personaler Wesenheit aus. Für einen „persönlichen“ Gott liegt es dann auch nahe, sich in Lebensgeschichten von Menschen zu zeigen, zumal in derjenigen von Jesus. Die altkirchliche Trinitätslehre hat in der Folge versucht, Gottes Personalität als Beziehungsdynamik, die aus seiner eigenen Selbstdifferenzierung resultiert, zu verstehen. Ezechiels Gottesschau, um die sich unsere chassidische Geschichte letztlich dreht, öffnet den Liebhabern von grossartigen Bauwerken also attraktive Räume: Im Blick auf die christliche Antike ruft sie die grossen theologischen Auseinandersetzungen rund um die Dreieinigkeit Gottes herauf. Der Beitrag einer neutestamentlichen Theologie könnte hier darin bestehen, verständlich zu machen, wie das vollmächtige urchristliche Reden von Jesus als Bote und Mittler Gottes dahin führt, den Christus und den Geist selber in die Definition Gottes einzuschreiben.53 Im Blick auf heutige Lebenskontexte könnte die neutestamentliche Theologie herausarbeiten, warum gerade das anthropomorphe Reden der Bibel von Gott einen elementaren Impuls dafür bereithält, dass Menschen auch in einer härter und tödlicher werdenden Welt Menschen bleiben können – Seine Ebenbilder.

Abstract Palaces and Their Blueprints: In Search of New Testament Theology. This essay investigates the construction-plans of New Testament theologies. It discusses the approach of Hans Dieter Betz, with particular interest in the broad semantics of the ancient terminology (theologia, etc.). The categories of “explicit” and “implicit” theology prove helpful to determine the status of a New Testament theology. However, a specifically discursive, rational theology does not develop until late antiquity.

52  Vgl. dazu die Beiträge in Wilfried Härle und Reiner Preul, Hgg., Personalität Gottes, MJTh 19, MThSt 101 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlaganstalt, 2007); ferner Christian Polke, Expressiver Theismus: Vom Sinn personaler Rede von Gott, Dogmatik in der Moderne (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020 [im Druck]). 53 Vgl. meinen Aufsatz: „Ein achter Tag: Jesu Auferstehung als ein Kristallisationspunkt neutestamentlicher Gotteslehre“, ZTK 116 (2019): 271–89, Nachdr. ders., Antike und Urchristentum, 3–20.

The Reasons for Romans Why Did Paul Write His Letter to the Romans?1 Hans Dieter Betz A. Introduction: The Nature of the Question When I was recently re-​reading my essay presented in May 2017, I found myself on the side of the critical respondents of that day in Bern. The issues discussed then and there have never left my mind since I began working on this lecture. Thinking about it all again made it clear to me that more should be said about the reasons for Paul’s letter to the Romans. I also realized that the publication of my lecture would offer the chance for taking up some issues again and examining them to a greater degree. My main essay had been intended to present the fundamental framework for thinking about the origins of “New Testament Theology.” In that context I mentioned some crucial problems surrounding the “reasons for Romans” much too briefly.2 In particular, Paul’s change from the previous letters to that addressed to the Romans – also a letter but one quite different in style and substance – implied fundamental differences concerning rhetoric. What are these differences, and why is this change fundamental? Externally, it is a change from argumentative dialogue, with the partners located in different situations, to a rhetoric of constructive thought. Addressed to personally unknown partners in one unknown place, the letter to the Romans consists of one argument from beginning to end (1:1–15:33). The structural change is from epistolary apologetic to an epistolary logos protreptikos,3 with the process occurring 1 Lecture presented in a shorter version at the 381st meeting of Chicago Society of Biblical Research on April 6, 2019, at McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago. 2 See my main essay infra, sections A.IV.b.1–3 (pp. 54–60). 3  This has been proposed in a learned article by David E. Aune, “Romans as a Logos Protreptikos in the Context of Ancient Religious and Philosophical Propaganda,” in idem, Collected Essays, vol. 2: Jesus, Gospel Tradition and Paul in the Context of Jewish and Greco-​Roman Antiquity, WUNT 303 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 442–71. See further Karl P. Donfried, ed., The Romans Debate, rev. ed. (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991), esp. Günter Klein, “Paul’s Purpose in Writing the Epistle to the Romans,” 29–43;

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as a formidable rhetorical and theological agon.4 Notably, there is a reason underlying this agon which is not only rhetorical but also theological. This reason has to do with the naming of divine power (δύναμις) as effective in language and thought (Rom 1:16). What is it that lies behind this statement? This is the question at stake.

B. Some Literary Reflections If someone sits down to write a letter, some questions have already been answered. Among them is why this act of writing is to take place. Obviously, this decision to turn to paper and pen has been selected from a menu of options. The reason for this choice may be written down in the opening of the letter or not. At any rate, the choice to write has been determined by the cause, which the writer may or may not reveal. Or the real cause may be left unstated. Or it may lurk behind ambivalent clichés. Or the writer may even be unaware of it. Anyway, there will be the cause, and it will be part of the answer to the question. Moreover, once paper and pen are in hand, the writer can be assumed to know what the writing will be about. In a deeper sense, to be sure, the writer will be aware that the letter will have consequences as yet unknown. The writer will have in mind certain intentions, but whether these intentions will actually be realized or will go awry remains to be seen. In addition, the risks of unintended consequences will have been accepted at the outset, at least in principle, and the stylistic formulation of the letter will need to be carefully worked out accordingly. In spite of all the skills applied, however, the future of the written letter will be out of the hands of the writer. There may also be subsequent correspondence, later letters to interpret earlier ones, or even personal encounters. C. E. B.  Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2 vols., ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975, 1979), 2:814–23; Peter Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries, ed. Marshall D. Johnson, trans. Michael Steinhauser (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003); Margaret M. Mitchell, “Gentile Christianity,” in eadem, Collected Essays, vol. 1: Paul and the Emergence of Christian Textuality: Early Christian Literary Culture in Context, WUNT 393 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 19–40, esp. 33–37; Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary, asst. Roy D. Kotansky, ed. Eldon Jay Epp, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 80–91. In his large report of past research, Jewett considers many courageous and imaginative proposals, detailing important observations, but he is right that they do not lead to a definitive solution. Thus, he leaves the question open (ibid., 91). 4 See on this the article by Uwe Neumann, “Agonistik,” HWRh 1 (1992): 261–84 (with bibliography).

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In these respects, what about Paul’s Romans? For the past 2000 years the consequences of this letter have proven to be immense – immeasurably so, as they will continue to be. Did the Apostle Paul have this outreach in mind? Arguably he did! At least he said so in words of poetry (Rom 11:33–36): 33 ὦ βάθος πλούτου καὶ σοφίας καὶ γνώσεως θεοῦ· ὡς ἀνεξεραύνητα τὰ κρίματα αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀνεξιχνίαστοι αἱ ὁδοὶ αὐτοῦ. 34 τίς γὰρ ἔγνω νοῦν κυρίου; ἢ τίς σύμβουλος αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο; 35 ἢ τίς προέδωκεν αὐτῷ, καὶ ἀνταποδοθήσεται αὐτῷ; 36 ὅτι ἐξ αὐτοῦ καὶ δι’ αὐτοῦ καὶ εἰς αὐτὸν τὰ πάντα· αὐτῷ ἡ δόξα εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας, ἀμήν. 33 O the depth of riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! 34 For who has known the mind of the Lord, and who has been his counselor? 35 Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid? 36 From him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen. (RSV )

While these literary presuppositions apply to all letters, what about the question regarding the specific letter of Paul to the Romans? There are two basic changes to be considered. First, the reason for the change in the kind of rhetoric is implied in the purpose and aim of Romans. Since the aim is the defeat of Paul’s opponents in this rhetorical agon, he shifts his own rhetoric away from that of the opponents. The opponents operate by the methods of oral “agitation” rather than, as far as we know, written letters. This means, their agitation is by “gossip” (διαβολή).5 Their methods belong to what is called “propaganda,” developed first by ancient Sophists, and fought against by Socrates and the schools of Platonism.6 These methods of “agitation” are clandestine and devoid of transparent clarity. They result in divisiveness, anger, hostility, and moral ambivalence. Their way to operate is by contradiction, aggression, irony, sarcasm, and even physical attack. To be sure, their activities cannot result in satisfactory solutions. The analysis of these methods and their application by Paul’s opponents will have to be discussed in greater detail below.7 At any rate, in his letter to the Romans Paul is displacing this sort of rhetoric. What  See Hans Gerd Schumann, “Agitation,” HWRh 1 (1992): 258–61. Alexander Kirchner and Sabine Doering-​Manteuffel, “Propaganda,” HWRh 7 (2005): 266–90. 7 See §E.III below. 5

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remains for him to demonstrate is how his own alternative kind of rhetoric discloses the foundational consistency of his thinking. Second, Paul’s letter to the Romans is more complicated than it looks at first sight. This letter is no longer the same as the one Paul composed during his time in Corinth. The letter to the Romans we are reading today is the scientifically reconstructed Novum Testamentum Graece edition of Nestle-​ Aland (27th/28th, 2012).8 This reconstructed letter is based on the richly documented manuscript tradition representing the original exemplar authorized by Paul himself, which we do not possess. The reconstructed letter to the Romans, which we read today in the edition cited above, comes as close as humanly possible to the “original” exemplar. “Our Romans” is the same letter as Paul’s, but we cannot simply claim today that we hold in our hands Paul’s original exemplar. After all, the first exemplar was most likely written by a secretary (cf. Tertius, 16:22), but the Greek text, after having checked the apparatus criticus, may well be the very one Paul approved of as his final wording.

C. What Then Happened to the Letter the Apostle Paul Wrote to the Roman Christians? Several issues need to be considered at this point. First, as proposed above, textually Paul’s Romans is extant as part of the transmitted manuscript tradition (1:1–15:13), beginning with the epistolary prescript (1:1–7) and ending with a final blessing (15:13). Second, the reconstructed manuscript contains additions of originally separate segments: a documentary petitio (“petition,” 15:14–33)9 and a commendatio (“letter of recommendation”) for Phoebe (16:1–23). All of these segments are authored by Paul, except the textually disputed doxology (16:25–27). Their combination into one epistle may be attributable to their early preservation in a church archive (perhaps in Rome). If so, this church archive would have survived the finale furioso of the emperor Nero (62–68 ce). Again, if so, the complete “Romans” represents the earliest phase in the history of reception, prior to the Chester Beatty Papyrus (𝔓46, ca. 200 ce). 8  See Klaus Junack, et al., eds., Das Neue Testament auf Papyrus, vol. 2/1: Die paulinischen Briefe: Röm, 1. Kor, 2. Kor, ANTF 22 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1989); Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft; New York: United Bible Society, 2002). 9 This is my hypothesis, as yet unpublished.

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D. What Did Paul Know about Rome and the Christians in the City? Scholars agree that Paul’s information concerning the conditions of Christians living in Rome was not as minimal as some have assumed. Several possible sources can be identified as part of the early reception history of the Corinthian correspondence.

I. Information Internal to Romans a. Romans itself suggests that Paul wrote it from Corinth during his lengthy residence there before departing with a delegation to transfer the completed financial collection to the Jewish-​Christian church in Jerusalem (Rom 15:22– 32). Apparently the letter to Rome was mailed before Paul and the delegation left Corinth, so that the dire expectations Paul had included concerning the dangers in Judea were on their way to Rome when Paul was on his way to Jerusalem. The fact that this letter was preserved as part of the manuscript tradition suggests that it arrived at its destination prior to Paul’s own arrival in Rome as a prisoner of the Emperor. Paul himself also reports his welcome by Roman Christians in Phil 1:12–18, written from the Roman prison; both this text and Acts 28:17–31 record a relatively friendly reception by Christian believers. b. Puzzled by his information, the author of Acts classifies the anti-​Pauline opponents as “Jews” (Acts 28:17–28). This evidence also permits the conclusion that Paul’s letter to the Romans had been at least partially successful. Both these sources, however, report about the existence of anti-​Pauline opposition as well, which points to an earlier arrival of the anti-​Pauline propaganda. In Phil 1:15–18 and 3:2–22 Paul admits to continuing hostility against him among some Roman Christians. The fact is also apparent that his imprisonment implied some inadvertent protection by the Roman authorities, something that is also repeatedly pointed out by Acts. Acts, however, does not reveal any evidence for its author having had access to Paul’s Romans. c. On the whole, the historical and literary evidence shows that Paul’s claim of apostleship was barely known among the Roman Christians. This explains why it was formally introduced first by Paul’s letter to them (1:1–15; 11:13; cf. the different usages of the term ἀπόστολος in 16:7 as well as Phil 2:25). The situation in Rome, as known by Paul, should also be seen in his careful analysis of fundamental theological issues concerning both Gentiles and Jews throughout the letter. This comprehensive dimension of Paul’s

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argument throughout Romans also leads to the conclusion that the tensions between Christian Jews and Gentiles may have been settled only insofar as they congregated in separate house-​churches. Paul never uses the term ἐκκλησία to designate one Christian church in Rome, so that Paul’s idea of one church out of Jews, Greeks, and barbarians (1:15) proclaiming one εὐαγγέλιον was still regarded as an uncertain idea in Rome (1:15–16; 15:1–13).

II. Information External to the Letter Concerning information about Christian life in Rome came to Paul while he resided in Corinth, when he met the couple Aquila and Prisca (Priscilla). The description of the couple, however, is found in Acts (18:2–28) only, but there is confirmation in 1 Cor 16:19, Rom 16:3, and 2 Tim 4:19 as well. Originally coming from Pontus, the Jewish couple had moved to Italy in pursuance of a tentmaker’s business. When they were expelled from Rome together with other Jews by the emperor Claudius they had moved their business to Corinth, where they must have stayed close to the Christian church. In that context they met Paul and gave him a home and work as a tentmaker, thus enabling him to live independently of the Christian church. Probably, being Jewish and Christian at the same time, they continued a relationship that had existed before in Rome and was later continued in Ephesus (Acts 18:18–28). At any rate, if Paul needed information about life among Christian Jews and Gentiles in Rome, Aquila and Prisca would have provided it. As a result, it is highly likely that when Paul wrote his letter to the Roman Christians he did so being sufficiently informed. His cautiously diplomatic formulations in 1:1–15 and 15:14–33 will have taken this information into account. Later, according to Philippians and Acts 28:15–31, when he had to make arrangements for his life as a prisoner in Rome, he probably benefitted also from previous advice.

E. How Did Paul Come to Terms with the Rhetoric of Shaming Used against Him? Since Paul’s letter to Rome will have been received there before he arrived in person as a prisoner, meeting opponents was no surprise for him. On the other side, neither were the opponents surprised when he appeared on the scene. These opponents will probably have become familiar not only with the letter but also with the recent events in Jerusalem. In short, these events

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included, according to the opponents’ perspective, the failure of Paul’s mission in Jerusalem, his arrest by the Roman authorities, his deportation to Rome, and the beginning of his trial in the imperial court. This much can be concluded from Paul’s report in Phil 1:12–18, written after having encountered his adversaries. For reasons unknown to us, however, his letter to the Romans is not mentioned in the reports, neither in Philippians nor in Acts 28. While both these texts show participation in Paul’s defense in general, they confirm that his claim to the title ἀπόστολος was not generally endorsed by the churches during his lifetime. In Phil 2:25 the description ἀπόστολος is given by Paul himself to Epaphroditus, the “courier” from Philippi. In Acts 14:4, Paul and Barnabas are called ἀπόστολοι (“missionaries”), a single name reminiscent of the leadership conference in Jerusalem, where at that time the term was apparently not used (Gal 2:1–10). When Paul attributes it to himself in Gal 1:1, 11, 17, and 19, he had to introduce it together with explanations (cf. 1 Cor 9:1; 15:3–11). Compared with Paul’s previous self-​defenses, his letter to the Romans contains not only a new but also a comprehensive “defense” (ἀπολογία) of his status as an apostle in the form of a carefully worked-​out presentation of his message as a whole (1:1–15:13). In the prescript (1:1–7) and prooemium (1:8–15) he presents a detailed explanation of how he came to be an apostle, a “servant of Christ Jesus, a called apostle set apart for the gospel of God” (δοῦλος Χριστοῦ  Ἰησοῦ, κλητὸς ἀπόστολος ἀφωρισμένος εἰς εὐαγγέλιον θεοῦ). The aim of his letter is to defeat his adversaries by one thoroughgoing and conclusive argument. Naming it as “the gospel” (τὸ εὐαγγέλιον, 1:16), the letter in fact contains a full development of what could be called his “theology.” Paul’s argument begins in 1:16–17 by presenting the three major principles of the argument, the details of which to be worked out in the remaining body of the letter: the method, the thesis, and the main definition of the thesis.10

I. The Method (1:16a) The method is indicated by the often-​ignored denial in v. 16a: οὐ γὰρ ἐπαισχύνομαι τὸ εὐαγγέλιον (“I am not ashamed of the gospel”). What is being rejected is the method used over and over again by his opponents against him, the rhetoric of “shaming” which includes all forms of false accusations, malicious slander, public defamation, group-​centered and private gossip. 10 See

for details Jewett, Romans, 135–47; Robert Matthew Calhoun, Paul’s Definitions of the Gospel in Romans 1, WUNT 2/316 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 143–92.

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Subsumed under manipulative διαβολή, the practices are frequently named in Paul’s letters, both as shameful acts of immorality and sinister campaign strategies of “shaming.” These strategies will be further examined below.

II. The Thesis with Definition (1:16b–17) The main thesis of the letter is stated in vv. 16b–17. a. Verse 16b, the name of the thesis: “the gospel” (τὸ εὐαγγέλιον). b. Verse 16c, a definition of the gospel: “It is power of God to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek” (δύναμις γὰρ θεοῦ εἰς σωτηρίαν παντὶ τῷ πιστεύοντι,  Ἰουδαίῳ τε πρῶτον καὶ Ἕ   λληνι). The energy moving history is God’s, not human prowess; it moves not toward destruction but salvation, and not through arousing the masses but by motivating human individuals. c. Verse 17a, a theological explanation of the thesis: “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith” (δικαιοσύνη γὰρ θεοῦ ἐν αὐτῷ ἀποκαλύπτεται ἐκ πίστεως εἰς πίστιν). The statement consists of three formulaic expressions. The outcome is God’s justice, revealed through the transmission of faith, from person to person. d. Verse 17b, naming the authoritative source for the thesis: a citation formula and citation of scripture (Hab 2:4 LXX): “as it is written, ‘The one who is righteous will live by faith’” (καθὼς γέγραπται ὁ δὲ δίκαιος ἐκ πίστεως ζήσεται). Clearly, as Jewett sees it, the “thesis” of Rom 1:16–17 is both bold and far-​ reaching: “The implications of this audacious thesis are developed in the rest of the letter.”11 The definition of the “gospel” (v. 16b) is a comprehensive statement of Paul’s theology, saying that the gospel embraces and penetrates the whole human and divine world, leading to its “salvation” complete “from beginning to end,” as the traditional formula has it (ἀρχὴ καὶ τέλος).

III. Paul’s Displacement of the Rhetoric of “Shaming” (ἐπαισχύνεσθαι) When the text of Rom 1:16a introduces the “thesis” of the letter by the denial “I am not ashamed,” Paul means seriously what he says. He means basically two rhetorical facts: “not ashamed” of the gospel as his general assessment of the Christian message, and “not to be ashamed” in view of the rhetoric of 11 Jewett,

Romans, 147.

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“shaming” as used by his opponents. This type of rhetoric needs to be examined more closely in the following.12 a. To stay with Romans, in 6:20–23 Paul comments on Christian liberation from the slavery of sin, and a consequence of that sin is “shame.” In antiquity, being socially a slave was of course a source of shame, but thanks to redemption the Christians became “slaves of God” who can look back on the former slavery under sin with a quite different shame of disgust (v. 21). Actually, Christian believers are liberated from all forms of slavery (Gal 5:1) in order to become “servants of God” (Gal 1:1; Phil 1:1). In Phil 3:18–19 Paul is criticizing his opponents, calling them “enemies of the cross of Christ.” In a typically anti-​pagan polemic he predicts their end in destruction, characterizing their god as being their belly, their glory in their “shame” (αἰσχύνη), thinking of nothing but earthly matters (ἐπίγεια). In contrast, in Phil 1:18–20 Paul’s hope and expectation of the future is joy, courage, and nothing to be ashamed of (ἐν οὐδενὶ αἰσχυνθήσομαι). In 1:15–18 a sharp rebuke is directed against Roman opponents trying to embarrass him by making fun of his chains. He turns that around by pointing out that even his chains demonstrate his engagement in the proclamation of Christ and his gospel (1:7). Interestingly, this episode has been brought up by a Paulinist as a reminder in 2 Tim 1:6–14, referring to Phil 1:18–20 in the context of imitation of Christ and Paul (μὴ ἐπαισχυνθῇς τὸ μαρτύριον τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν μηδὲ ἐμὲ τὸν δέσμιον αὐτοῦ, v. 8, cf. vv. 11, 16; Ign. Smyr. 10.2).13 b. Terminology related to “shaming” appears frequently in ethical lists of vices. The names both describe unethical behavior according to Christian ethics or identify terms actually used in name-​calling.14 Gal 5:20: εἰδωλολατρία (“image worship, idolatry”), φαρμακεία (“sorcery”), διχοστασίαι (“dissensions”), αἱρέσεις (“factionalism”); 5:21: φθόνοι (“envies”; cf. Rom 1:29; Phil 1:15); 5:26: ἀλλήλους προκαλούμενοι (“persons challenging one another”); ἀλλήλους φθονοῦντες (“persons begrudging one another”). 1 Cor 5:10: εἰδωλολάτραι (“idol worshipers; idolaters”); 5:11: εἰδωλολάτρης, λοίδορος (“idolater, reviler”); 6:9 εἰδωλολάτραι (“idolaters”). 12 On the rhetoric of shaming (αἰσχύνη, αἰσχύνειν, ἀναισχυντεῖν, διαβάλλειν, διαβολή) see Aristotle, Rhet. 2.6.22–27, 1384b19–1385a15; Ernst Heitsch, Platon: Werke, vol. 1/2: Apologie des Sokrates, 2nd ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 42, 60–62, 100, 102, 114, and passim. For the English terminology, see The Oxford English Dictionary, s. v. “gossip,” “slander,” etc. (www.oed.com, accessed December 3, 2018). For the NT, see BDAG 226, s. v. διαβάλλω, διαβολή; 519, s. v. καταλαλέω, etc. 13 See Lorenz Oberlinner, Die Pastoralbriefe: Zweiter Timotheusbrief, HThKNT 11/2 (Freiburg: Herder, 1995), 27–44. 14 See my article, “Lasterkataloge/Tugendkataloge,” RGG4 5 (2002): 89–91 = “Virtues and Vices, Catalogues of,” RPP 13 (2013): 347–48.

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2 Cor 12:20: καταλαλιαί (“slanders”), ψιθυρισμοί (“gossips”), φυσιώσεις (“pomposities”), ἀκαταστασίαι (“mob-​actions”). Rom 1:29: ψιθυρισταί (“rumor-​mongers, gossipers”); 1:30: κατάλαλοι (“slanderers”); cf. 2 Cor 12:20: καταλαλιαί (“slanders, defamations”).15

The terms selected above refer to verbal expressions of shaming both used and received during interactions between people. Such insulting language, coupled with facial expressions and other bodily gestures, characterizes hostile encounters. As far as Paul is concerned, he must have been called plenty of bad names, but we know only some to which he refers in his letters, such as “misfit” (ἔκτρωμα, 1 Cor 15:8), or incompetent (lacking ἱκανότης, 2 Cor 3:5), lacking letters of authorization (συστατικαὶ ἐπιστολαί, 2 Cor 3:1–2), a layman in rhetoric (ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ, 2 Cor 11:6), a peddler the word of God (καπηλεύειν τὸν λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ, 2 Cor 2:17), and a “scoundrel” (πανοῦργος, 2 Cor 12:16). While he defends himself with ironic patience in most places, in other places he can return insults with biting sarcasm, such as a joke in Gal 5:12; a denigrating invective in Phil 3:2; or name-​calling of his own (“super-​ duper apostles,” οἱ ὑπερλίαν ἀπόστολοι, 2 Cor 11:5; 12:11).16 c. Terminology related to “shaming” also appears in “Paul’s Lists of Sufferings.”17 Apart from verbal vilification, the methods of “shaming” are closely related to physical suffering. In Paul’s letters a category derived from Hellenistic rhetorical literature listing sufferings has been adapted. The term περίστασις reflects “situations of difficult circumstances, crisis.”18 In Paul’s letters the lists circumscribe the whole environment in which he is compelled to work, rather than single episodes such as in 2 Cor 1:8–11. The lists are found mostly in the Corinthian letters (1 Cor 4:11–13; 2 Cor 4:8–9; 6:4–10; 11:23–29; 12:10). The listings itemize in almost grotesque cruelty the results 15 See

furthermore Rom 13:13; 15:18–20; 1 Tim 1:9–10; 6:17–18; 6:4; 2 Tim 3:2–4; Titus 3:5; and for the individual terms BDAG, s. v. 16  As I have shown in an earlier work (Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition: Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu seiner ‘Apologie’ 2 Korinther 10–13, BHT 45 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1972], 44–89), Paul’s main defense occurs in his letters and draws on the traditions concerning Socrates’s reception. See also Klaus Döring, Exemplum Socratis: Studien zur Sokratesnachwirkung in der kynisch-​stoischen Popularphilosophie der frühen Kaiserzeit und im frühen Christentum, Hermes Einzelschriften 42 (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1979), 1–17; Peter Lampe, “Can Words Be Violent, or Do They Only Sound That Way?” in Paul and Rhetoric, ed. J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe (New York and London: T&T Clark, 2010), 223–39. 17 Martin Ebner, “Peristasenkatalog im Neuen Testament,” RGG4 6 (2003): 115 = “Sufferings, Paul’s List of,” RPP 12 (2012): 350; Hans Dieter Betz, Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, WUNT 343 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 86–89. 18  LSJ 1388, s. v. II.b.2.

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of Paul’s struggles in the service of the churches he founded and served at great cost, in particular the church of the Corinthians (1 Cor 15:8–11). His struggles with Corinth were concerned not so much with the old adversaries out of Judea, but with Greek church members who demanded intellectual explanations for how Paul thinks about integrating the gospel with popular Greek philosophical thinking. In fact, he first confronted Greek intellectualism in Corinth. The lists of his outrageous experiences in this context pursue two goals. One kind seeks to arouse the Corinthians’ remorse for exposing their founding apostle to these awful experiences (1 Cor 4:11–13; 2 Cor 4:8–9; 6:4–10). The other list is part of Paul’s “foolish discourse” (2 Cor 11:1–12:10). In this context he emphasizes by sarcastic ridicule the absurdity of such treatment by his own church (11:23–29; 12:10). As an example, the last (12:9–10) may be cited here: 9Ἥ   διστα οὖν μᾶλλον καυχήσομαι ἐν ταῖς ἀσθενείαις μου, ἵνα ἐπισκηνώσῃ ἐπ’ ἐμὲ ἡ δύναμις τοῦ Χριστοῦ. 10 διὸ εὐδοκῶ ἐν ταῖς ἀσθενείαις, ἐν ὕβρεσιν, ἐν ἀνάγκαις, ἐν διωγμοῖς καὶ στενοχωρίαις, ὑπὲρ Χριστοῦ. ὅταν γὰρ ἀσθενῶ, τότε δυνατός εἰμι. 9 I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

Αs his Corinthian letters allow us to conclude, he finally prevailed. At any rate, these debates would also prepare him for what he should expect in Rome as well. Hinting at it he formulated his response in advance in the grandiose theological summary at the end of Rom 8:31–39: 31 What then shall we say to this? If God is for us, who is against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, will he not also give us all things with him? 33 Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. 34 Who is to condemn? Is it Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us? 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? 36 As it is written, “For thy sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” 37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (RSV )

He also reiterates this summary in his last letter to the Philippians, written from Rome (Phil 4:10–13). When he formulates his final experience, transcending all suffering and rejoicing, Paul defines his legacy in these words:

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“Be imitators of me, brothers, and observe those who live in such a manner as you have me for an example” (συμμιμηταί μου γίνεσθε, ἀδελφοί, καὶ σκοπεῖτε τοὺς οὕτως περιπατοῦντας καθὼς ἔχετε τύπον ἡμᾶς, 3:17). d. In conclusion, Paul’s biographical history began with oral tradition of circulating rumors. This is attested by him in Gal 1:23, citing the rumor about him: “He who once persecuted us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy.” Oral was also the information he received from Peter and James when he visited Jerusalem (1:18–20). Not long afterwards, as a result of the conference of church leaders in Jerusalem (2:1–10), hostile rumors began to be circulated by a group of dissenters (called “false brothers,” παρείσακτοι ψευδάδελφοι) who had secretly attended that conference and formed the later movement of anti-​Pauline agitators (2:4–5). These people must have circulated rumors to the effect that Paul was really an apostate whose mission was to seduce Jews to leave Judaism. Fighting against these opponents Paul was finally compelled to affirm his Jewishness by swearing a solemn oath. He does so in the introduction (Rom 9:1–5) to the section in Romans 9–11, in which he explains his views on the relationship between the Christian faith and the Jewish religion.19 As I have also shown, even up to the last days of his life, he carried about a memorandum, from which he quotes a sketch of his biographical data in Phil 3:3–11, stating his Pharisaic (vv. 4–6) and Christian (vv. 7–11) identity.20 This sketch functions somewhat like a modern passport and was sent from his Roman prison to the church in Philippi “for your security” (ὑμῖν δὲ ἀσφαλές), referring to the threat of the anti-​Pauline subversion.

F. Two Famous Historical Cases of “Defamation” in Ancient Literature As an important element in rhetoric, the role of slander in ancient historical and biographical literature is obvious. There are plenty of examples on record, and various ways and types of application are to be distinguished. Human communication operates not only in open encounters of dialogues and argumentations, but also in more or less hidden levels of manipulation, assisting or preventing success and failure. The old rule of the Sophists of “making the weaker case the stronger” circumscribes the practices well enough. The strategies of rhetoric operate in agonistic fashion, no matter 19  See my article, “Geschichte und Selbstopfer: Zur Interpretation von Römer 9,1–5,“ in idem, Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 5: Paulinische Theologie und Religionsgeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 71–86. 20 See my Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 53–61.

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what principal objectives, consistency, or moral standards are at stake. These approaches indulge in manipulations, sinister conspiracies, deceptions, duplicity, insinuations, suspicions, and the entire tool-​box of trickery and treachery. Given the social life among humans at all levels, their successes appear to be overwhelming.21 However, the formula of Protagoras, “making the worse appear the better argument” (τὸν ἥττω λόγον κρείττω ποιεῖν)22 leaves open which is which, and which is to prevail at the end, the vices or the virtues. As indicated above, Paul’s paraenesis (ethical exhortation) is far from conceding defeat over against the intruding and penetrating forces of evil, called “sin” (ἁμαρτία) in biblical conceptuality. His ultimate defeat of evil is bound up in the concept of “imitation of Christ” (μίμησις τοῦ Χριστοῦ), the Christian way of ethical life leading to eschatological salvation.23

I. The Narratives of Jesus’s Passion (the Gospel of Mark) Given Paul’s concept of Christian life as imitation of Christ (μίμησις τοῦ Χριστοῦ), the question to be raised is whether the issues of defamation and slander are found also in Gospel narratives concerning Jesus’s Passion. Indeed, there is agreement in the New Testament texts and in critical scholarship that Jesus’s crucifixion and death was not the result of a legal trial justified by evidence of his criminality. On the whole, what each of the four Gospels show in its own way is that the crucifixion and death of Jesus was the consequence of excessive political intrigues by Jewish authorities and Roman occupation forces. The intertwined intrigues in the Gospel of Mark show at least four levels of various sorts of defamation.24 The author of the Gospel of Mark was an unknown Christian, traditionally called Mark, probably related to the collaborators of the Apostle Paul. Therefore, this author was not an eyewitness of the events he is telling about, but he relied on oral and written sources of persons who were close to these events; these persons or their sources remain unidentified. Jesus himself 21  See the overviews by Simon Wolf, “Manipulative Techniken,” HWRh 10 (2012): 632– 49; Jörg Bergmann, “Klatsch,” HWRh 10 (2012): 447–58; Johannes Engels, “Geschwätzigkeit,” HWRh 10 (2012): 333–39; Jürgen Klein, “Vorurteil,” HWRh 9 (2009): 1219–32. 22 Aristotle, Rhet. 2.24.11, 1402a24–27; Plato, Apol. 18b–c, 23d. See Emile de Strycker, Plato’s Apology of Socrates: A Literary and Philosophical Study with a Running Commentary, ed. S. R. Slings, MnemSup 137 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 253–55. 23 See 1 Thess 1:6; 2:14; 1 Cor 4:16–17; 11:1; Phil 3:17–21; 4:8–9. 24 I am here presenting my own interpretation; for the scholarly state of discussion, see Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, ed. Harold W. Attridge, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), ad locos.

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left no written sources, so that Mark depended ultimately on the witness of Jesus’s disciples who knew him personally. As these witnesses have admitted, they came to understand only later who Jesus really was. This situation, however, does not discredit their testimony, since there are other typical instances, when persons regarded as “geniuses” became better understood only later in history. In addition, the claim to write “biography” almost always implies dubious presumptions of having competent knowledge of another person or even of oneself. As is well-​known, these presumptions are often superficial or false. Therefore, what Mark has written is based on the witness found in his sources and consolidated into a literary account, called “gospel” (εὐαγγέλιον). He would probably agree with Paul that “understanding Jesus” depends on “belief ” (πίστις) in Jesus Christ as implied in the concept of imitation of Christ. In literary terms, such a work cannot be defined as a “biography,” unless the whole category of biography is first re-​defined. In fact, without knowing it, Mark created a new literary “genre” which, once created, had many followers.25 Turning to the four levels of defamation, first, Jesus’s death was the result of a political conspiracy of Jewish leaders in combination with popular mass hysteria. In a public statement the Roman governor Pilate declared the slanderous proceedings against Jesus to be illegal. He pronounced Jesus to be innocent of anti-​Roman insurrection regarding a messianic kingship. He even fixed a tablet on top of the cross reading “The King of the Jews” (ὁ βασιλεὺς τῶν  Ἰουδαίων, Mark 15:26). This inscription contained the actual accusation of Jesus by the Jewish authorities (Mark 15:2), but Pilate clarified in a public interrogation of Jesus that the title was to be understood in a “religious” sense (15:2–5). Second, when Pilate asked Jesus whether he claimed to be “the king of the Jews,” Jesus replied, “You said so” (σὺ λέγεις). In this way Jesus’s answer disclosed that this title reflected Pilate’s own judgment. In other words, the Roman governor recognized Jesus’s “kingship” as implying ideas of “religious” leadership, not ambitions of anti-​Roman insurrection. As a Roman governor he could tolerate hopes for a “good ruler” to be awaited in this province. Third, the Jewish leadership kept insisting (Mark 14:53–65) that the messianic claims preached by Jesus were to be taken seriously as anti-​Roman insurrectionist plans, not unfamiliar from other such messianic pretenders. Having to choose between two alternatives and acting like a Roman 25 Cf. also Frank Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979); and my review, “Is Hermes the Hierophant, or Is Christ?” JR 62 (1982): 178–85.

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politician, Pilate chose an option that would get him off the hook. By using a clever trick, he gave in to the demands of the threatening crowds, and thus he let Jesus become the victim of Roman political “expediency” (Mark 15:6–14).26 Fourth, the author of Mark unraveled in the briefest possible manner how he, as a Roman Christian (which he most likely was), perceived the tragic drama of Jesus’s death. Writing after a generation of events in Jerusalem, he saw it as another typical case of failed Roman government. To him Jesus was a divine person chosen by God, placed in the center of political turmoil in the most unruly province of Judea. The actual circumstances at that time were unfathomable. What Mark saw in his sources was a corrupt priesthood in the midst of a restless population and in a religious environment that looked weird to Roman sentiment. The Roman occupation force was under the command of the governor Pontius Pilate trying to do the best they could. These circumstances determined Pilate’s situation as sitting between a hostile population driven by an unknown religion and steered by their local leaders on the one side, and on the other side the reign of the Emperors in Rome with its military forces. Inevitably, the Roman government became entangled in the political and religious struggles typical of the provinces.27 As usual in those situations, the presumed good intentions of the Roman government were compromised by trying to stay above the turmoil and in control of events. To the Christian author Mark, the death of Jesus Christ, to whom he was devoted as to no one else, became another horrible fiasco typical of Roman provincial government. Writing several decades later, Mark probably saw it all in the light of Pauline theology.28 He saw the historical tragedy of Jesus’s death as followed by more suffering and destruction. Yet, in the midst of all that, there had also arisen the faith in Jesus Christ and the expanding Christian church communities. Regarding this recent history, however, Mark preferred to keep silent. At the end of his narrative in 16:1–8, discovering the empty tomb of Jesus, he saw the women seemingly realizing that an entirely new situation had been ushered in, creating in them a terror of the numinous which made them flee from the place.29

26 Regarding

the rhetorical dimension, see above, n. 21.  The situation conforms to ancient “populism”; see Alexander Kirchner, “Populismus,” HWRh 10 (2012): 933–46. 28  I agree with Margaret Mitchell that Mark was a Paulinist; see her article, “The Emergence of the Written Record,” in eadem, Paul and the Emergence of Christian Textuality, 1–18, esp. 9–11. 29 See on this passage Yarbro Collins, Mark, 779–801. 27

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Hence Mark’s much debated last words (16:8), “for they were afraid” (ἐφοβοῦντο γάρ). This statement, brief as it is, does express his conclusion.30 The concept of fear (φοβεῖν, φόβος) is basic in reference to the effects of tragedy and covers a variety of meanings.31 Mark’s ending of his gospel reveals his own interpretation of his literary work as being a tragedy. The appropriate response to this tragedy was “fear” of the divine powers revealed by it.32 In fact, Mark did not overlook and even underscored telling indicators of ancient tragedy, such as the reversal from Jesus’s fabulous success as a teacher into his catastrophe as a messianic leader, the failure of Jesus’s devoted disciples to understand his message, and the disappointing figures of the preeminent Peter and the traitor Judas Iscariot. Jesus’s opponents were able to increase their “populist power” and to drive the hysterical crowds into demanding Jesus’s murder. On the other side, there was the Roman governor Pontius Pilate who officially judged that Jesus was innocent of crime and that his trial ought to have been dismissed (15:6–14). His judgment was endorsed by the Roman centurion’s witness under the cross (15:39): “Truly this man was a son of God” (ἀληθῶς οὗτος ὁ ἄνθρωπος υἱὸς θεοῦ ἦν).33 It is not farfetched to see these two judgments of Roman officials as coinciding with Mark’s own evaluation. If he had read Paul’s letter to the Romans, he would have agreed with the Apostle (Rom 1:16–17): “I am not ashamed of the gospel: it is power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it God’s righteousness is revealed through faith for faith.” What other reason could have moved Mark to have chosen as the title of his gospel to read (1:1): “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, Son of God” (ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου  Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ υἱοῦ θεοῦ)?

II. Plato’s Apology of Socrates The second literary example to be considered is Plato’s famous Apology of Socrates. Regarding the textual and historical conditions, this parallel comes  Cf. Kermode, Genesis of Secrecy, 66–68.  So rightly Jeff Jay, The Tragic in Mark: A Literary-​Historical Interpretation, HUT 66 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 89–105; 198–204; cf. Yarbro Collins, Mark, 91–93: “Thus, it may be said that the ‘mode’ of Mark, if not the ‘genre,’ is tragic.” On the importance of tragedy in rhetoric, see Bernhard Zimmermann, et al., “Tragödie,” HWRh 9 (2009): 743– 51, esp. A and B. I.3; Daniel Fulda, ibid., V. 3 (pp. 764–67): “Von der Wirkungspoetik zur Tragödienphilosophie.” 32  See BDAG 1060–62, s. v. φοβέω, φόβος, 2.b.α.; φόβος Χριστοῦ (2 Cor 5:11; Eph 6:5); φόβος καὶ τρόμος, “fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12; Eph 5:21). 33 Even closer to Paul is the parallel in Luke 23:47: ὄντως ὁ ἄνθρωπος οὗτος δίκαιος ἦν (“Certainly this man was innocent”). 30 31

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with a more secure foundation. Plato, himself a congenial philosopher, describes as an eyewitness (34a; 38b) the events and speeches during his most respected teacher’s self-​defense in the Athenian court which had condemned him to death. The carefully edited text represents Plato’s own work and interpretation.34 Since Socrates did not write the texts of his speeches down but delivered them ex tempore, Plato wrote the speeches from his memory. His memory was constituted by the most personal and penetrating knowledge of his teacher and his thinking. In fact, Socrates would grant his former student that he might know him better than he himself did. Nonetheless, both would agree that their knowledge of the princeps philosophorum would not amount to much if compared with that of Apollo, the god of Delphi. So much was revealed by the famous oracle given by the Pythia in answering a pertinent question submitted by Chaerephon, Socrates’s friend.35 As first-​hand witness in his Apology, Plato presupposes the kind of information which only he of all people could have provided, as he did in several of his other works as well, especially Euthyphro, Phaedo, Phaedrus, Symposium, Theaetetus, and Epistle 7. In the Apology, precisely because of his privileged position, however, Plato did not pretend to be one who knows it all. Such a posture would make him a “Sophist” (σοφιστής, πάνσοφος) and turn his testimony into preposterous fakery. Excepting himself he describes events and people as he observes them acting and talking. As the first “Platonist” philosophically, he is conscientiously respecting the “mystery” of it all. Being both Socratic and Platonic, the composition is most intricate and yet lucid at the same time. It is from beginning to end an interpretation of the Chaerephon oracle.36 After matters of introduction (18a–19a), Socrates presents three major speeches. All accusations against him are cited, refuted, and turned against the accusers. The first speech dismantles the accusations against Socrates (19a– 28b), followed by an excursus on the question, “who was the real Socrates?” (28b–34b).37 The second speech deals with the terms of punishment (35e– 38b). The third speech addresses the members of the jury (38c–41c). The  See the editions by John Burnet, ed., Plato: Euthyphro, Apologia, Crito, Phaedo (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1924); E. A. Duke, et al., eds., Platonis Opera, vol. 1, OCT (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995). On the Apology, I have studied the commentaries de Strycker, Plato’s Apology of Socrates; Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates; also Maximilian Forschner, Platon: Werke, vol. 1/1: Euthyphron (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 49–61 (“Der Fall Sokrates”); 175–90 (“Sokratische Frömmigkeit”); Michael Erler, Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 2/2: Platon, GGP (Basel: Schwabe, 2007), 99–104. 35  20e–22e; see Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 197–202 (Appendix IV, “Das Chairephon-​ Orakel und seine Bedeutung”). 36 Socrates’s very last word refers to Apollo (42a). 37 See Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 114–41. 34

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conclusion is a brief farewell (41c–42a).38 The account following below must by necessity remain short.39 Regarding the trial, Plato’s critique is devastating.40 At the time when he wrote, the facts were clear: Socrates was dead (d. 399 bce); the unimaginable murder had been committed. Painfully, it was committed through the justice system of Athens, the finest of cities which was believed to be under the guidance of the Delphic Apollo, the god of reason and justice. Strangely, the victim of the murder, Socrates, had claimed to be a messenger of Apollo himself, sent to educate the citizens to pursue truth and wisdom as individuals and society. With Socrates executed, the city of Athens allowed the corruption of their system of justice to happen, a shame that history will never forget. And yet, with injustice having triumphed for a moment, it also condemned itself to its own demolition. Paradoxically, through Socrates’s death Justice was irrevocably rehabilitated. How could all this have happened? In the Apology, Socrates himself provides the answers. Although written by Plato, Socrates’s defense speeches unfold throughout the work with the painstaking precision of what is known as the Socratic method of analysis. As a result, Socrates himself is allowed to deliver the refutation of the verdict prior to his death. After Socrates’s death the same analysis explains how such a tragedy could have happened. To be sure, Plato witnessed not only the trial but also the events thereafter, when Justice was restored and the justices deposed, events which Socrates had earlier predicted (39c–d).41 Since Socrates’s murder cannot be undone, its pseudo-​legal justification can. The dismantling of the trial is the subject of the first defense speech. This speech deals with three issues. To begin with, the accusations lack the evidence of a crime committed, and there are no witnesses to testify. According to the law, prosecution presupposes the factual evidence of a crime and witnesses to testify. Mere dislike of a person by other persons is generally not an acceptable cause for a legal trial. Since in the case of Socrates none of these preconditions was given, the trial as such was unjustified and illegal. Consequently, the two accusations as brought forward had no substance. That Socrates was a “physicist” (τὰ μετέωρα φροντιστής, 18b) is neither true  Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 141–74.  For further details see the commentaries (n. 34). 40 Plato’s critique is painfully sarcastic, beginning most sections by calling out, “O men of Athens” (ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι). See de Strycker’s comment, Plato’s Apology of Socrates, 241. 41  See Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 158–62. 38 39

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nor identical with atheism.42 The same pertains to the second accusation that Socrates was a “Sophist” (σοφιστής), subscribing to Protagoras’s trick of “making the weaker argument the stronger” (19d–20c), in order to make money through imposing fees on students.43 In fact, these false accusations cannot justify the trial, but they have created a rumor mill (φήμη) to spread about among the masses (οἱ πολλοί), insinuating atheism as a result (26b– 28a).44 Dangerous as these false rumors were, no defense against them seems ever capable to stop them. And indeed, based on such rumor campaigns the obvious mistrial was conducted, and Socrates was executed.45 Thus, there remains the question of how all of it could have happened, given the highly reputed standards of the Athenian justice system. At this point, Plato lets Socrates take the reins of the philosopher to explain the conundrum. The justification for bringing Socrates in at this point is justified by Chaerephon’s inquiry at the Delphic oracle, whether there is anyone “wiser” than Socrates, to which the Pythia has a negative response. Socrates interprets this response as authorizing him to investigate what the god means by it (20c–22e). After much reflection, Socrates concluded that he better pursue what the god expects of him: “I replied then to myself and to the oracle that it was better for me to be as I am” (ἀπεκρινάμην οὖν ἐμαυτῷ καὶ τῷ χρησμῷ, ὅτι μοι λυσιτελοῖ ὥσπερ ἔχω ἔχειν).46 The first step is to differentiate between two levels of accusation. Since the present two accusations lack legal substance, the illegal substance needs to be “tested” (ἐξέτασις, ἐξετάζειν).47 This substance can be shown by way of examining three types of professions: politicians, poets, and craftsmen (21b–22e). The main result concerns the issue of professional “wisdom” (σοφία). When Socrates examines these professionals, all of them show  Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 60–66. Apologie des Sokrates, 66–71. 44 Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 108–14. 45  Notably, the rumor campaign was enforced by the popular caricature of the “philosopher” in comedies, with Socrates as the prototype in the comedies of Aristophanes. See Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 62 n. 54, 64–66; Johannes Hahn, Der Philosoph und die Gesellschaft: Selbstverständnis, öffentliches Auftreten und populäre Erwartungen in der hohen Kaiserzeit, Heidelberger althistorische Beiträge und epigraphische Studien 7 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1989), 25, 192–201; see also my dissertation, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament: Religionsgeschichtliche und paränetische Parallelen, TU 76 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1961), 108–24 . 46  22e, trans. Harold North Fowler, Plato, vol. 1: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus, LCL 36 (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 1914), 87. Cf. Paul’s ironical self-​assessment in 1 Cor 15:7–11. 47 The terminology is almost technical (22e, 23c); see de Strycker, Plato’s Apology of Socrates, 134–35. 42

43 Heitsch,

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areas of specialization, within which they possess certain degrees of “human wisdom” (ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία), which is, however, of little or no value (23a–b). They also reveal a tendency of overextending their relatively limited professional expediency into general competencies in other areas of knowledge. When an examiner like Socrates starts to test the solidity of such assumed competencies, he arouses people’s anxiety, resentment, anger, and general aversion. Over time and increasing in numbers and intensity, entire networks of people develop resentment and hatred against all sorts of intellectual inquiries. The root cause is mental and attitudinal “envy” (φθόνος), and the mode of distribution is “gossip” (διαβολή, 19b). Destructive as these attitudes are, they frustrate and erode social relationships of trust, by which normal friendships, families, and civic morality are sustained (23d–24b). The second step is to consider the role of Socrates in a situation such as this. His responsibility as a philosopher is clearly defined by the oracle given to Chaerephon. Being declared as the “wisest of the wise” by Apollo, Socrates is commissioned to “help the god” (τῷ θεῷ βοηθῶν, 23b–c)48 to restore Justice and Truth in Athenian society. This society has been overwhelmed by evil “prejudices” which in turn have allowed wrong leaders to capture political power and government. As a result of the “defamation” campaigns such as the one against Socrates, all levels of society have turned him into a public figure which is both a caricature and a social outcast. The caricature was publicized even by Aristophanes in his comedy Clouds as the crazy intellectual; the outcast was executed as an enemy of the society. Notably, Aristophanes’s satirizing of Socrates was not expressing his opposition to Socrates, but the typical satirizing of the philosopher by the masses. When Plato himself shows Socrates to be a satyr like Marsyas, it is done in mystified admiration through Alcibiades’s praise of Socrates (Symp. 215a–220d).49 The third step was for Apollo to take. If Socrates “helped the god,” how did the god help Socrates? Answering this question requires a good measure of reaching beyond human capacity. To all appearance, Apollo remained silent. For Plato, however, the god has spoken already through the Chaerephon oracle. What then did Apollo reveal? Since Socrates was declared to be the “wisest,” he acted in that capacity until the end. The “wisdom” of Socrates was “knowing that he knows nothing.” Faced with all those Athenians who acted according to the prejudices of “knowing too much,” Socrates kept investigating and disclosing their 48  On this concept see de Strycker, Plato’s Apology of Socrates, 290; Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 91–92. 49 See on this important issue Heitsch, Apologie des Sokrates, 158–71.

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“ignorance unrecognized.” Until the last moment of his “farewell” he remained the philosopher who “knew to know nothing” and acted as the true human being defined by that knowledge (39e–42a). In a final appeal to the jury, Socrates left them with a highly “Socratic” commendation: … when my sons grow up, gentlemen, punish them by troubling them as I have troubled you; if they seem to you to care for money or anything else more than for virtue, and if they think they amount to something when they do not, rebuke them as I have rebuked you because they do not care for what they ought, and think they amount to something when they are worth nothing. If you do this, both I and my sons shall have received just treatment from you. (41e)50

As de Strycker suggests,51 the reference to the sons (αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ υἱεῖς, 42a, 1) may have more in mind than his biological sons. In fact, from Plato’s perspective Socrates addresses his message to all future readers of the Apology. His final words restate what readers should take away: “But now the time has come to go away. I go to die, and you to live; but which of us goes to the better lot, is known to none but God” (ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἤδη ὥρα ἀπιέναι, ἐμοὶ μὲν ἀποθανουμένῳ, ὐμῖν δὲ βιοσωμένοις· ὁπότεροι δὲ ἡμῶν ἔρχονται ἐπὶ ἄμεινον πρᾶγμα, ἄδηλον παντὶ πλὴν ἢ τῷ θεῷ).52 In short, Plato demonstrates that the root cause leading to Socrates’s death was a systemic history of “defamation, gossip, and slanderous agitation” against the philosopher, the key terms of which are “slander” (διαβολή) and “shame” (αἰσχύνη, αἰσχύνεσθαι, ἐπαισχύνειν, κτλ.). The detailed analysis of this agitation, the root causes and systems of individual and social destruction, and the ultimate refutation of the accusations and the restoration of Justice are the content of the Apology.

G. Summary At the end of detailed arguments, we return to the beginning. What was the initial question and what is the answer that can now be summarized? When during his residence in Corinth Paul wrote his letter to the Romans, what did he have in mind? He wrote this letter in preparation for his personal appearance in Rome. He did so in Corinth as he was planning his forthcoming journey to Rome via Jerusalem. He apparently realized that thus far the discussions in his previous letters had left one element missing, an overview 50 Trans.

Fowler, LCL 36:145. Apology of Socrates, 396. 52  Trans. Fowler, LCL 36:145. See de Strycker, Plato’s Apology of Socrates, 396–97. 51 Plato’s

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of his theology as a whole. Working out such an overview prior to his departure to Jerusalem and sending it out ahead of his personal appearance in Rome would be the best he could do in view of the controversies expected. In Jerusalem he would deliver the financial collection as promised at the initial conference of the church leaders (Gal 2:1–10). In Rome he would face his friends and critics already informed of his comprehensive theology through his letter to them. When he introduced himself in Rom 1:16 with the phrase “I am not ashamed of the gospel,” he characterized the method used against him by his opponents as “shaming” him through gossiping in all sorts of ways. In his earlier letters Paul had responded to this insidious method by some irony and parody, but in his letter to the Romans he presents his views in a reasoned theological argument reaching from beginning to end (1:1–15:33). The method of shaming by gossiping has not sufficiently been investigated in recent scholarship on Romans, but the evidence in other letters of Paul is impressive. This evidence includes also his own strategies of dealing with being shamed. During his earlier controversies with the Corinthians, it seems to have become clear to him that merely reacting against shaming does not put an end to it, but that a well-​reasoned argument presented in advance may be successful. It was successful indeed. The responses to Paul’s reasoned argumentation were centuries of exegetical commentaries on Romans up to the present day, and little, if any, gossipy ridicule. To be sure, Paul’s ultimate seal on his letter was his death as a martyr. However, the possibility of his martyrdom was on his mind in Philippians, his last letter, but it was not the question even at the end of Romans 15. The aim of Romans was the opposite of “shaming,” namely theological “conviction” (πέπεισμαι, 8:38; 14:14; 15:14). In order to understand the weight of the argument it is necessary to realize its cultural role in Greco-​Roman literature and history. Therefore, two analogous examples are presented in part G of this paper. One is the Gospel of Mark, whose author was most likely a follower of Paul. This Gospel shows how Jesus’s crucifixion was the result of the cunning gossip and its usage by the authorities. The other example is Plato’s Apology of Socrates. Plato has Socrates demonstrate how the latter became the victim of a corrupt legal system, which in turn had become the political victim of shaming and gossiping. Both these analogous cases became monumental examples in world history, literature, and, indeed, theology.

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Bremer, Dieter, Hellmut Flashar, and Georg Rechenauer, eds., Die Philosophie der Antike, vol. 1: Frühgriechische Philosophie, 2 parts, GGP (Basel: Schwabe, 2013). Bremer, Jan Maarten, “Greek Hymns,” in Faith, Hope, and Worship: Aspects of Religious Mentality in the Ancient World, ed. H. S. Versnel, SGRR 2 (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 193–215. Brenk, Frederick E., “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” ANRW 2/36.1 (1987): 248–349. –, “Plutarch’s Middle-​Platonic God: About to Enter (or Remake) the Academy,” in Hirsch-​Luipold, Gott und die Götter, 27–49. –, review of Plutarchs Dialog De E apud Delphos, by Tobias Thum, Gnomon 88 (2016): 69–71. Breytenbach, Cilliers, and Jörg Frey, eds., Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments, WUNT 205 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). Broek, Roelof van den, “The Christian ‘School’ of Alexandria in the Second and Third Centuries,” in Centres of Learning: Learning and Location in Pre-​Modern Europe and the Near East, ed. Jan Willem Drijvers and Alasdair A. MacDonald, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 61 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 39–47. Brown, Raymond E., The Gospel according to John: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, 2 vols., AB 29 and 29A (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1966, 1970). Brucker, Ralph, “‘Hymnen’ im Neuen Testament?” VF 58 (2013): 53–62. Buber, Martin, Die Erzählungen der Chassidim (Zürich: Manesse, 1949); 12th ed. (1992). Buch-​Hansen, Gitte, “It Is the Spirit That Gives Life”: A Stoic Understanding of Pneuma in John’s Gospel, BZNW 173 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2010). Büchli, Jörg, Der Poimandres: Ein paganisiertes Evangelium; Sprachliche und begriffliche Untersuchungen zum 1. Traktat des Corpus Hermeticum, WUNT 2/27 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987). Bultmann, Rudolf, Das Evangelium des Johannes, 13th ed., KEK 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1953); Eng. trans., The Gospel of John: A Commentary, ed. R. W. N. Hoare and J. K. Riches, trans. G. R. Beasley-​Murray (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971). –, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953); ed. Otto Merk, 9th ed. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1984); Eng. trans., Theology of the New Testament, trans. Kendrick Grobel, 2 vols. (New York: Scribner, 1951–1955); repr., ed. Robert Morgan (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007). –, “Welchen Sinn hat es, von Gott zu reden?,” in idem, Glauben und Verstehen: Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 1, 8th ed. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1980), 26–37. –, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, ed. Erich Dinkler, KEK 8 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976). Burkert, Walter, Die Griechen und der Orient: Von Homer bis zu den Magiern (München: Beck, 2003). –, Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2011). –, “The Logic of Cosmogony,” in idem, Kleine Schriften, vol. 2: Orientalia, ed. M. Laura Gemelli Marciano, Franziska Egli Utzinger, Lucius Hartmann, and Andreas

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List of Contributors Harold W. Attridge Sterling Professor of Divinity Yale Divinity School Yale University (New Haven, Connecticut, USA) Hans Dieter Betz Shailer Mathews Professor Emeritus of New Testament The Divinity School, the Department of New Testament and Early Christian Literature, and the Committee on the Ancient Mediterranean World University of Chicago (Chicago, Illinois, USA) Robert Matthew Calhoun Research Assistant to the A. A. Bradford Chair Department of Religion Texas Christian University (Fort Worth, Texas, USA) Rainer Hirsch-Luipold Professor für Neues Testament und Antike Religionsgeschichte Theologische Fakultät, Institut für Neues Testament Universität Bern (Switzerland) Ulrich Luz † Professor Emeritus für Neues Testament Theologische Fakultät, Institut für Neues Testament Universität Bern (Switzerland) Johan C. Thom Distinguished Professor Department of Ancient Studies Stellenbosch University (Stellenbosch, South Africa)

248

List of Contributors

Gerd Van Riel Dean and Professor of Ancient Philosophy Institute of Philosophy, De Wulf-Mansion Centre for Ancient, Medieval and Renaissance Philosophy Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (Belgium) Samuel Vollenweider Professor Emeritus für neutestamentliche Wissenschaft mit dem Schwerpunkt Geschichte und Theologie der urchristlichen Literatur Theologische Fakultät Universität Zürich (Switzerland)

Index of References 1. Hebrew Bible and Septuagint Genesis 1 150 1:1 79, 152 3:23–24 44 5:24 154 14:17–20 162 18 175 18:1 177 22 159, 161 Exodus 3:13–16 32–33 3:13–15 33 3:14 33, 34, 150, 153, 177, 184 12:3 170 12:5 171 12:10 161, 171 12:22 173 12:46 161 16 153 24 161, 162 24:8 151, 161, 169 25:39–40 163 29:38 170 32:7–34:35 82 33:18–21 84 Leviticus 4:1–21 171 4:4–7 168 4:16–20 168 4:22–31 171 4:25 168 4:32–35 171 4:34 168 5:7 171 5:9 168 5:11 168, 171 5:15 171

6:6 171 16:20–22 159 17:11 168 19:18 22 Numbers 19:9–17 161 28:1–8 44 Deuteronomy 26:5 44 2 Kings 2:1–11 154 2 Chronicles 24:20–22 150 Psalms 1 148 40 165 40:7–9 162, 165 95 168 110:1 154 110:4 162 Ezekiel 1:4–28 196 1:26 196 Daniel 7 154 Isaiah 5 154 43:10–11 153 43:18–19 147, 148 45:23 50, 154, 192 49:1 192 49:15 50

250 53:4–5 158 53:7–12 171 53:7 172 53:12 153 Jeremiah 1:5 192 21:21 153 22:24 50 31:31–34 151, 164 Hosea 6:6 162 8:13 162

Index of References Amos 4:4–6 162 Habakkuk 2:4

56, 206

Sirach 43:31 84 2 Maccabees 7:19 63

2. New Testament Matthew 1:1 152 2:1–12 143 2:2 49 2:11 49 4:1–11 43 4:9–10 49 5:3–7:27 9, 22 5:17–20 22 5:20 22 5:21–48 22 5:43–48 22 7:24–27 148 7:24 23 10:2 23 11:1 23 11:27 118 16:13–20 9 16:16–19 23 20:17 23 23:35 150 26:14 23 26:20 23 28:9 49 Mark 1:1–16:8 87 1 88 1:1 88, 214 1:2–8 152 1:2–3 152

1:2 88 1:9–11 88 1:11 88 9:2 44 10:45 159, 173 12:26–27 184 12:33 162 14:32–42 47, 74 14:53–65 212 15:2–5 212 15:2 212 15:6–14 213, 214 15:26 212 15:39 214 16:1–8 213 16:8 88, 214 16:9–20 88 16:12 44 Luke 1:1–4 61 2:30 152 2:38 152 4:7–8 49 6:20–49 9, 22 7:11–17 151 12:8–9 148 22:20 10 23:47 214 24:13–35 17 24:52 49

Index of References John 1 1:1–18

121, 145, 189 10, 67, 69–70, 79–86, 92, 122, 126, 129, 139, 142, 152, 153, 155, 183, 188 1:1–5 68, 69, 74, 79–81, 90 1:1 10, 34, 57, 71, 74, 77, 79, 90 1:2 79 1:3 80 1:4 80 1:5 80–81 1:6–18 81 1:6–8 68, 81–82 1:6 81 1:7 83 1:9–13 68, 82 1:9–11 45 1:9 82, 83 1:10–11 73 1:10 81 1:12–13 174 1:12 83 1:14–18 68, 83–86 1:14 10, 81, 85, 90, 128 1:15–16 79, 84 1:16 84 1:17 81, 84 1:18 84–86, 128, 134, 135, 176, 178 1:19–34 82 1:19 83 1:25–28 84 1:29 83 1:30 79, 84 1:51 176 3:14 176 3:16–20 85 3:16 85 3:18 85 3:19–21 80 4:24 127, 183 4:26 153 5:37 84 6 153 6:20 177 6:35 153 6:46 84 6:69 187 8:32 173

8:56 177 8:58 34 9:9 177 11:39 129 12:3 129 12:21 155 12:32 176 12:35 176 13:1–7 176 13:15 173 13:31 173 14:6 135 14:7–11 85 14:7 129 14:9 84, 129 14:10–11 196 14:20 196 14:23 196 15:1 153 15:13 173 17:6 177 17:21 196 17:23 196 18:37 173 19:5 45 19:28 57 19:30 173 19:36 161, 171 20:19–29 17 20:19–23 91 20:24–29 90 20:27 91 20:28 91 20:29 90, 91 20:31 90, 92 Acts 1:1–8 61 1:8 61, 89 1:9–26 61 1:21 66 1:24 66 2:1–47 62 2:14–36 62 2:37–47 62 5:1–11 61, 62 5:33–40 63 5:39 63, 64 6:8–7:60 62 7:58 63

251

252 7:59 66 8:1 63 8:3 63 8:9–24 28, 61, 62 8:26–40 63 9 64 9:1–29 25 9:1–19 64 9:1–2 17 9:3–6 25 9:5 66, 91 9:10 66 9:12 66 10:1–48 63 10:3 66 10:17 66 10:25–26 49–50 11:19–26 28 11:22–26 50, 61 11:26 28, 63 14:4 205 14:11 45 14:14–18 26 14:14 25 14:15 45 15:1–21 28 17:16–34 26, 183 17:18 13 17:22–34 62 17:27–28 196 17:31–32 194 17:32–34 13 17:32–33 62 18:2–28 204 18:9 66 18:18–28 204 20:4 57 22:1–23:11 64 22:1 64 22 64 22:1 64 22:3–21 25 22:8 66 22:10 66 22:17–21 26 22:21–22 64 22:25–29 64 23:6–9 20 25:23–27 65 26 64

Index of References 26:1–32 64 26:5 28 26:9–20 25 26:12–18 65 26:14 65 26:15–16 65 26:15 66 26:28 63 26:30–32 65 28 59, 205 28:15–31 204 28:17–31 203, 204 28:17–28 203 28:25–27 152 Romans 1:1–15:33 55, 199, 220 1:1–15:13 58, 202, 205 1:1–15 203, 204 1:1–8 58 1:1–7 57, 202, 205 1:1 23, 57, 65, 205 1:3–4 151, 153 1:5–7 60 1:6 23 1:7 23 1:8–15 54, 205 1:8–10 57 1:13–15 13 1:15–16 204 1:15 204 1:16–17 55, 56, 205–6, 214 1:16 56, 200, 205, 206, 220 1:17 56, 206 1:18–32 47 1:18–20 57 1:19–20 80, 85 1:21–23 73 1:23 45 1:28–32 73 1:28 30 1:29 207, 208 1:30 208 2:15 150 3:25 153, 158 3:26 154 3:30 39, 40 4:1–25 28 4:25 153 5:12–21 47

Index of References 5:14 45 6:1–8:39 47, 83 6:5 45 6:20–23 207 6:21 207 7:1–25 47 8:1–39 35 8:3–4 46–47 8:3 44, 45, 151, 153 8:28 23 8:29 30 8:31–39 209 8:32 44, 45, 151, 153 8:35 16 8:38 220 9–11 29, 210 9:1–5 29, 210 9:5 34 9:33 56 10:9 91 10:11 56 11:4 50 11:13 13, 57, 203 11:27 10 11:33–36 39, 40, 57, 201 11:34 30 12:1–2 35 12:2 30, 44, 89 13:11–13 74 13:13 208 14:5 30 14:11 50, 192 14:14 220 15 220 15:1–13 204 15:9 50 15:13 58, 202 15:14–33 58, 59, 202, 204 15:14–32 54 15:14 220 15:15–17 13 15:17 58 15:18–20 208 15:22–32 203 15:28 54 16 59 16:1–27 58 16:1–23 59, 202 16:1–2 58 16:2 59

16:3–16 58 16:3 59, 204 16:4 59 16:7 203 16:17–20 56, 58, 59 16:20 58 16:21–23 58 16:21 57 16:22 59, 202 16:25–27 58, 59, 202 1 Corinthians 1 13 1:1 23 1:2 23 1:10 30 1:18–2:16 89 1:18–31 56 1:21–23 9 1:24 23 1:26 23 2:4 9 2:16 28, 89 3:18 44 4:16–17 211 4:11–13 16, 208, 209 5:7 153, 158 5:10 207 5:11 207 6:9 207 8:3–4 187 8:4–6 39, 40 8:5 35 9:1–2 18, 65 9:1 17, 205 11:1 211 11:7 30 11:25 10 12–14 35 12:2 39 12:3 67, 91 12:4–6 136 13:12 31, 32, 187 14:14 30 14:15 30, 35 14:19 30 14:25 50 14:26 35 15:1–8 24 15:3–11 205

253

254 15:3–5 151. 153 15:3–4 49 15:3 153 15:5–9 18 15:7–11 217 15:8–11 56, 209 15:8–10 18, 57, 65 15:8 192, 208 15:9–11 24 15:9 17, 18, 192 15:14 9 15:20 49 15:23 49 15:49 30 16:19 204 2 Corinthians 1:8–11 208 2:9 47 2:10 31, 32 2:14–17 27 2:16 18, 208 2:17 27, 28, 208 3:1–11 166 3:1–3 57 3:1–2 208 3:1 27 3:4–11 27 3:5 18, 208 3:6–9 18 3:6 10 3:7 32 3:13 32 3:17–18 30, 31 3:17 89 3:18 30, 32 4:1–6 27, 29 4:1–2 21 4:1 18 4:3–4 30 4:4 30, 85 4:5 30, 91 4:6 30, 31, 32, 35 4:7 44 4:8–9 16, 208, 209 4:16 46 5:11 214 5:16 88 5:20–21 47 5:21 159

Index of References 6:4–10 16, 208, 209 6:4 30 7:5 46 7:14 56 8–9 54 9:1–5 54 9:4 56 10–13 56 10:1 32 10:7 32 11:1–12:10 209 11:5 208 11:6 208 11:7 47 11:15 30 11:23–29 16, 208, 209 11:23 18, 30 12:1 17 12:7 17 12:9–10 209 12:10 16, 208, 209 12:11 208 12:16 208 12:20 208 12:21 47 13:4 49 Galatians 1 18 1:1 18, 19, 23, 65, 205, 207 1:4 153 1:6–9 54 1:10 65 1:11–12 18, 23 1:11 205 1:12 17, 23 1:13–16 192 1:13 16, 17, 19 1:15–16 18, 19, 23, 65, 192 1:16 17 1:17 205 1:18–20 210 1:19 205 1:22–24 16, 19 1:22–23 18 1:23 17, 210 2:1–10 18, 19, 22, 23, 29, 54, 205, 220 2:1–3 20 2:2 17, 23

Index of References 2:4–5 210 2:4 29 2:7 20 2:10 20, 54, 60 2:11–21 54 2:11–14 20 2:20 18 3:1–29 29 3:1–5 35 3:15–17 167 3:17 29 3:19–25 84 3:20 39 4:4–6 44, 47 4:8–9 40 4:8 39 4:19 44 4:24 10 5:1 207 5:12 208 5:14 22 5:20 207 5:21 207 5:26 207 6:2 22 Ephesians 1:3 49 1:21 49 3:14 50 5:14 74 5:19 35, 190 5:21 214 6:5 214 6:6–17 80 Philippians 1:1 57, 207 1:7 207 1:12–18 203, 205 1:15–18 55, 203, 207 1:15–17 59 1:15 207 1:18–20 207 1:18–19 55 1:20 47, 56 1:21 55 1:25–26 55 2 13, 121, 126, 190, 191, 192

255

2:1–5 36 2:3 47 2:5–11 189, 192 2:5 13, 37 2:6–11 35, 36–50, 51, 53, 66, 67, 71, 87, 92, 154, 181, 188, 189–93 2:6–8 88 2:6–7 46, 47, 71 2:6 38–43, 45, 68, 71, 77 2:7–8 43–48 2:7 38, 43–47 2:8 47–48, 83 2:9–11 48–50, 132 2:9 38, 46, 48–49 2:10–11 37, 51, 192 2:10 49–50 2:11 13, 38, 49, 50, 67, 85, 91 2:12 47, 214 2:19–24 57, 59 2:25–30 59 2:25 203, 205 2:27 47 2:30 47 3 21, 192 3:1–21 20, 55 3:2–22 203 3:2 55, 208 3:3–11 20, 210 3:3–9 84 3:4–11 192 3:4–6 20, 210 3:6–11 22 3:6 17, 21 3:7–11 20–21, 210 3:7 21 3:8 21, 30, 55 3:9–11 55 3:9 21 3:10–11 55, 192 3:10 21, 47 3:11 22 3:17–21 211 3:17 210 3:18–19 55, 56, 207 3:21 47 4:7 30 4:8–9 211 4:10–13 209 4:12 16, 47

256 Colossians 1 190 1:15–20 36, 37 1:15 30, 85 1:16–17 196 2:8 14 2:9–10 196 2:17 165 3:10 30 3:16–17 36 3:16 35, 190 1 Thessalonians 1:6 211 1:9 39 2:1–2 54 2:14 211 5:3–10 74 5:4 80 1 Timothy 1:9–10 208 1:17 84 6:4 208 6:16 84 6:17–18 208 2 Timothy 1:6–14 207 1:8 56, 207 1:11 207 1:12 56 1:16 56, 207 3:2–4 208 4:19 204 Titus 3:5 208 Philemon 1 57 Hebrews 1:1–2 34 1:3–14 37 1:3–4 49 2:12–13 165 3:1–4:13 163 4:8–10 168 5:1 160

Index of References 5:11–6:3 160 6:16 168 7 160 7:1–10:18 162 7:7 160 7:8 163 7:12 166, 168 8–10 160 8:1–10:18 163 8 165 8:1–6 163 8:5 164 8:7–13 163 8:8–13 164 8:9 160 9 162, 164 9:1–10:10 163 9:1–10 163 9:5–17 167 9:9 164 9:11–14 163 9:12 170 9:13 161 9:14 164 9:15–17 167 9:15 167, 169, 170 9:18–22 161 9:18 168 9:19 169 9:20 169 9:21 169 9:22 168 9:23–24 163 9:23 164 10 164, 168 10:1–10 164 10:1 165 10:5–7 162 10:5 165, 169 10:7 165, 168 10:8–9 162 10:9 165, 168 10:10 165 10:11–18 163 10:16–17 170 10:19 168 11:6 34 11:13 168 11:17–19 161 11:28 161

257

Index of References 12:18–24 168 13:10 161 1 Peter 2:24 158 1 John 1:1 90 1:5 127 1:10 86 2:5 86 2:7 86 2:14 86 4:8 127, 183

4:9 85 4:12 84 4:16 183 5:20 84 Revelation 1:1–3 74 1:4 34 1:8 34 1:13–14 154 4 170 11:17 34 16:5 34 16:15 74

3. Apostolic Fathers and Christian Apocrypha Ps.-Clem., Rec. 1.62–64 63

Ign. Smyr. 10.2 207

4. Other Ancient Authors and Texts Aeschylus

Aristotle

Eum. 534 103

Cael. 1.3, 270b4–11 2.3, 286a9–10

112 112

De an. 1.5, 411a8

99

Eth. nic. 4.1, 1122a5–7 4.1, 1122b19–20 4.1, 1123a4–5 4.1, 1123a9–10 8.12, 1162a4–7 8.14, 1163b15–18 9.4, 1166a21–22 10.8, 1178b8–22 10.8, 1178b18–19

113 113 113 113 111, 113 114 113 112 112

Prom. 82–87 102–3 Suppl. 214 44 1057–1061 104 Alcinous Epit. 10.3 125 Antiphon Tetr. 4.4.2 105 4.4.5 105 Aristobulus Fr. 4

143, 144

Mag. mor. 2.15, 1212b34–1213a10 113 Metaph. 1, 983a29 3.4, 1000a

131 140

258

Index of References

3.4, 1000a9 6.1, 1026a 6.1, 1026a18–20 6.1, 1026a18–19 6.1.10, 1026a19 7.1, 1028a10–b7 11, 1064b 12 12.6, 1071b27 12.7, 1072b24–30 12.7, 1072b28–30 12.8, 1074a33–b14 12.8, 1074a38–b14 12.8, 1074b3–5 12.8, 1074b8–10 12.10, 1075b26 14, 1091a34

131 131, 141, 142 12, 184 184 119 109 131, 141, 142 109, 110, 120 119, 131 110 112 110 110 111 111 131 131

Mete. 2.1, 353a35

119, 131

[Mund.] 1 124 1, 391b4 120 2–4 124 2, 391b10–12 126 5–7 125 5, 396b23–397a5 126 6, 397b19–27 125 6, 397b9–10 126 6, 397b14–15 126 6, 397b19–27 126 6, 397b20 126 7 125 Pol. 3.16, 1287a28–32 7.14, 1332b16–21 Rhet. 2.5, 1383b4–8 2.6.22–27,  1384b19–1385a15 2.23, 1397b12–14 2.23, 1399a22–26 2.24.11, 1402a24–27 Top. 1.11, 105a5–7 4.2, 122b12–15 5.1, 128b39–129a2 5.4, 132b10–11

113 112 113 207 112 113 211 111, 113 112 112 112

Athenaeus Deipn. 15.51, 696a

111

Augustine Civ. 6.5 120 9.9 195 9.15 195 9.17 195 10.26–29 195 Cicero Acad. 1.3–8 39 Nat. d. 1.12.30 99 1.105–114 31 Tusc. 5.5 51 Cleanthes Hymn to Zeus 1–6 121 1 122 2 122, 126 4–6 122 4–5 126 4 123 7–31 121 7–16 126 7–8 122 12–14 122 12 126 15–16 122 17 122, 123 18–21 122, 126 18–20 126 20–21 122 21 126 22–25 122 22 123 26–31 122 32–39 121, 122 32–35 126 32 122 33–35 123

259

Index of References 34 126 35 122, 126

31 B 133 80 B 1

Clement of Alexandria

Empedocles

Paed. 1.4 71 3.8.2 71 6.27.1 71 6.28.3 71

Fr. (DK 31 B) 114 82 115 44, 82 133 40

Protr. 1.1–10 71 2.21.2 108 Strom. 1.28, 176 117 1.28, 177 117, 118 1.89.1–2 142 5.4.21.1 120 5.4.21.4 120 5.56.3 142 5.81.2 40 6.54.1 142 Corp. herm. Ascl. 12–14 144 Diogenes Laertius 1.1–3 143 5.1.5–6 111 7.88 123 8.147 114 9.5–6 71 DK 21 B 33 21 B 34 21 B 36 22 B 1–12 22 B 1 22 B 2 22 B 10 22 B 30 22 B 32 22 B 50 22 B 51 22 B 102 28 B 6 28 B 8 31 B 114 31 B 115

41 41 41 82 70–78, 123 123 123 123 42 123 76, 123 123 82 79 82 44, 82

40 96

Epictetus Diatr. 4.7.6 194 Ench. 31.5 114 Euripides Andr. 979 102 Bacch. 45 63 325 63 625 63 794 65 El. 743–744 106 Fr. 21 76 716 102 Hipp. 474–475 102 Iph. aul. 1185–1190 106 1408 63 Phoen. 1111–1112 105 Eusebius Hist. eccl. 1.1.7 142 Praep. ev. 13.12.8

143, 144

260

Index of References

Heraclitus

Justin Martyr

Fr. (DK 22 B) 1–12 82 1 70–78, 123, 139 2 123 10 123 30 123 32 42 50 123 51 76, 123 102 123

1 Apol. 7 145

Hesiod Fr. (ed. Merkelbach and West) 51 43 52 43 54a–c 43 Homer Il. 3.277 113 6.128–143 63 12.310–321 106 Od. 12.374–375 113 Schol. Hom. B* 3.277a

113

Isocrates Bus. (Or. 11) 24 106 Josephus Ant. 18.63–64 87 18.116–119 88 Bell. 2.119–166 144 C. Ap. 1.78 141 1.225 141 1.237 141

2 Apol. 10 145 12.1 194 13 145 Dial. 8.1 144 56.15 117 113.2 117 KRS § 186 §§ 286–313 § 293 § 298 § 396 § 401

84 40 82 79 40 82

Marcus Aurelius 11.3.2 194 Marinus Vit. Procl. 19 186–87 Maximus of Tyre Or. 2 133 5 133 Minucius Felix Oct. 20.1 145 Origen Cels. 2.71 142 Parmenides Fr. DK 28 B 6 82 DK 28 B 8.27 79 KRS §§ 286–313 40

Index of References Philo Abr. 70–71 177 121 175, 177 200 175 Aet. 4 90 8 90 13 14 14 14 16 14 17 14 18 90 27 14 38 14 54 90 70 90 78 90 85 90 93 90 99 90 102 90 111 75 141 14 Conf. 146 175 Contempl. 59 14 Deo passim 175 Deus 62 175 Fug. 164–165 175 Her. 115 90 119 90 214 75 Leg. 1.108 75 3.7 75 3.100–103 175 3.150 90 Legat. 4–6 175

Migr. 34–35 175 43–52 175 81 175 84 175 104 166 169 175 187–194 175 197 175 Mos. 1.73–82 34 1.273 175 2.115 14, 132, 141 Mut. 7–17 177 Nom, 11–12 34 13–18 34 Opif. 12 14, 141 12.7 132 36 150 43 90 Post. 13–16 175 133 90 163 90 166–169 175 Praem. 36–46 175 38 175 40–46 175 53 14 53.3 132 Prob. 13 14 Prov. 2.59 90 2.67 75 QG 2.5 75 2.59 14, 132 3.21 14, 132 4.1–2 175

261

262 Sacr. 107 166 Somn. 1.64–67 175 1.232 175 Spec. 1.32 175 1.37–38 175 1.43–44 175 1.49 175 1.271–272 165–66 Philodemus Piet. (ed. Obbink) 29.30 119 34.11 119 86A.1 119 PGM IV.487–498 77 XIII.933 132 Plato [Alc. maj.] 122a 106 Apol. 18a–19a 215 18b–c 211 18b 216 19a–28b 215 19b 218 19d–20c 217 20c–22e 217 20e–22e 215 21b–22e 217 22e 217 23a–b 218 23b–c 218 23c 217 23d–24b 218 23d 211 26b–28a 217 28b–34b 215 34a 215 35e–38b 215 38b 215 38c–41c 215 39c–d 216

Index of References 39e–42a 219 41c–42a 216 41e 219 42a 215, 219 Crat. 400d 177 428e 176 431a 176 439a–b 177 [Def.] 415a, 9

100

Euthyphr. 6e–7a 100 10d–11a 100 15b 100 Leg. 2, 660e–663a 4 4, 715e–716a 4, 716a–c 4, 716a–b 4, 716c–d 4, 716c 4, 716e–717a 4, 717a–c 4, 717a 4, 718a 8, 849a 10 10, 899c

106 100, 107 100 11 102 103, 115 104 105 107 107 107 105 98, 101 99

Pol. 274b–e 101 Resp. 2 2, 378c–e 2, 378d–e 2, 379a–383c 2, 379a–380c 2, 379a 2, 379b 2, 380–383 2, 380c–383a 2, 380c 2, 383a 2, 383c 4, 427c 4, 431e–432a

97, 98 99 97 130 98 11, 12, 98, 119, 120, 140 130 140 98 98 98 12 86 104

263

Index of References 4, 443c–444a 4, 493a–d 4, 493d

106 97 97

Symp. 215a–220d 218 215a–c 46, 218 Theaet. 176a–b 103 Tim. 28c 85 29e 99 42e 116 Pliny the Younger Ep. 10.96.7 190 Plotinus Enn. 3.5.2 186 3.5.8 186 Plutarch Alex. 3.1–8 49 27.4–28.3 41 54.2–4 49 55.1–55 49 74.1–2 49 An. proc. 1030B 132 Caes. 61 41–42 Def. orac. 2, 410B 133, 185 10–15 185 15, 417E 44, 185 15, 417F 140, 185 21, 421E 119, 176 E Delph. 9, 388E–394C 9, 388E 9, 392A 9, 393B–D

45 132 34 116

Exil. 607C–F 44 Fac. 927B 116 Fr. 157 132 Is. Os. 2, 351E–352A 45, 369A–D 45, 369B 46, 369E 48, 371A 54, 373B–C 54, 373B 62, 376C 71, 379C 75, 381A

77 77 132 77 132 77 77 77 176 77

Num. 2.3 49 Quaest. conv. 5.7, 680B–683B 18 Quaest. plat. 2, 1000E–1001C 85 Rom. 27–29 49 Proclus Theol. Plat. 1.1 188 3.7 188 Protagoras Fr. (DK 80 B) 1 96 Pythagoras [Carm. aur.] 1–49 123 49–71 123 50–51 123, 126 52–53 123 54–60 123 61–62 124, 126 61 126 63 124, 126

264

Index of References

65–66 124 67–68 124 69 124 70–71 124 Seneca the Younger Ep. 95.47 115 95.50 115 Sophocles Aj. 1258–1259 105 Stobaeus Ecl. 2.7, 105

115

Suetonius Aug. 7.2 49 29.1–3 49 53 49 58 49 70 49 101.2 49 Jul. 76 49

85 49 88 49 SVF 2, § 1108 3, § 4 3, § 661

76 123 115

Tatian Or. Graec. 1.1–7 144 Varro Antiq. div. 7.1 120 Xenophanes Fr. (DK 21 B) 33 41 34 41 36 41 Xenophon Cyr. 8.1.30 105 8.4.14 105 Mem. 1.2.19 105

Index of Modern Authors Abrahams, Israel ​15 Aland, Barbara ​10, 44 Albertz, Rainer ​33 Albrecht, Michael von ​136 Algra, Keimpe ​2, 114, 115, 120, 133, 184 Allison, Dale C. ​152 Anderson, Paul N. ​171 Armstrong, A. Hilary ​84 Asmis, Elizabeth ​121 Athanassiadi, Polymnia ​136 Attridge, Harold W. ​25, 133, 161, 162, 163, 173, 174, 211 Aune, David E. ​60, 173, 199 Baarda, Tjitze ​177 Baasland, Ernst ​9, 22 Baden, Joel ​174 Ball, David Mark ​177 Baltes, Matthias ​78, 130 Barnes, Jonathan ​2, 120, 184 Barrett, C. Kingsley ​68, 75, 128 Barth, Karl ​8, 132 Bauer, Walter ​74 Baumbach, Manuel ​131 Beasley-Murray, G.  R. ​68 Behm, Johannes ​38 Beierwaltes, Werner ​186 Benitez, Rick ​184, 185 Berg, R. M. van den ​51 Bergmann, Jörg ​211 Betz, Hans Dieter ​3, 5, 9, 13, 15, 18, 19, 20, 22, 28, 29, 30, 31–32, 39, 45, 46, 47, 54, 55, 56, 58, 59, 64, 77, 84, 88, 89, 93, 94, 121, 122, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 137, 139, 140, 141, 142, 146, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 180, 181, 182, 187, 188, 189, 190, 192, 193, 197, 199, 207, 208, 210, 212, 217 Biddle, Mark E. ​2, 10 Bieringer, Reimund ​171–72 Black, Matthew ​87 Bloch, René ​191 Bodéüs, Richard ​110, 112, 113, 115, 116

Boer, Martinus C. de ​173 Bonazzi, Mauro ​76, 78 Bonnet, Corinne ​2 Bordt, Michael ​2, 130 Borgen, Peder ​14 Boring, M. Eugene ​7 Bousset, Wilhelm ​74 Braun, Herbert ​1 Bremer, Dieter ​40, 43, 73 Bremer, Jan Maarten ​37, 121, 122 Brenk, Frederick E. ​76, 78, 131, 173 Breytenbach, Cilliers ​1, 3, 7, 121 Broek, Roelof van den ​3, 177 Brooke, George J. ​175 Brown, Lesley ​113 Brown, Raymond E. ​68 Brucker, Ralph ​190 Buber, Martin ​179 Buch-Hansen, Gitte ​173 Büchli, Jörg ​74–75 Bultmann, Rudolf ​1, 7, 8, 9, 10, 27, 67, 68, 74, 75, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 90, 92, 127, 128, 129, 139, 140, 151, 153, 180, 181, 182, 183, 187, 188, 193 Burkert, Walter ​11, 31, 34, 39, 40, 42, 51, 74, 143 Burnet, John ​215 Butterworth, G.  W. ​71 Calhoun, Robert Matthew ​56, 205 Cancik, Hubert ​11, 31, 48, 122, 170 Cancik-Lindemaier, Hildegard ​11 Charles, David ​12 Cherniss, Harold ​85 Chiai, Gian Franco ​135 Childs, Brevard S. 1 Clement, Paul A. ​18 Clivaz, Claire ​175 Coleridge, Edward P. ​106 Collobert, Catherine ​101 Colpe, Carsten ​71, 133 Colson, F. H. ​34, 166 Conzelmann, Hans ​30, 194

266

Index of Modern Authors

Cooper, John M. ​100, 106 Coppens, Joseph ​128 Coppins, Wayne ​3, 13 Cranfield, C. E. B. ​200 Culpepper, R. Alan ​68, 71, 83, 122, 175

Evans, Craig A. ​171 Evans, G.  R. ​14

Daly, Robert J. ​172 Davis, Basil S. 158 De Lacy, Phillip H. ​44 Debrunner, A. ​75 Deichgräber, Reinhard ​35 Deissmann, Adolf ​59 Destrée, Pierre ​101 Dibelius, Martin ​66 Dienstbeck, Stefan ​2, 131 Dietrich, Walter ​154, 194 Dihle, Albrecht ​123, 143 Dillon, John ​12, 78, 90, 121, 125, 131 Dinkler, Erich ​27 Dobesch, Gerhard ​42 Dodd, Charles H. ​74, 75, 81, 128 Dodds, Eric R. ​66, 186 Doering-Manteuffel, Sabine ​201 Donfried, Karl P. ​199 Döring, Klaus ​208 Dörrie, Heinrich ​78, 130, 133 Drijvers, Jan Willem ​3 Duke, E.  A. ​215 Dunderberg, Ismo ​174

Fears, J. Rufus ​41, 48 Feldmeier, Reinhard ​1, 2, 10, 131, 137, 184 Ferrari, Franco ​39, 116, 131 Festugière, André-Jean ​119 Finlan, Stephen ​158 Fischer, Irmtraud ​195 Fishwick, Duncan ​48 Fitzmyer, Joseph A. ​158, 159 Flacelière, Robert ​130 Flashar, Hellmut ​12, 40, 43, 73 Flinterman, Jaap-Jan ​123 Forschner, Maximilian ​2, 131, 215 Fowler, Harold North ​217, 219 Fraade, Steven ​175 Frede, Dorothea ​2, 90, 131, 132 Frede, Michael ​12, 136 Frey, Jörg ​1, 3, 4, 7, 68, 75, 79, 122, 172, 173, 175, 180, 187, 188 Friesen, Courtney J. P. ​68 Fuchs, Ernst ​1 Fuglseth, Kåre ​225 Fuhrer, Therese ​195 Fulda, Daniel ​214 Furley, William D. ​37, 121, 122 Furnish, Victor P. ​159 Fürst, Alfons ​15

Ebeling, Gerhard ​127, 182 Eberhart, Christian A. ​172 Ebner, Martin ​208 Edsall, Benjamin ​190 Egli Utzinger, Franziska ​66, 226 Eichrodt, Walther ​146 Eidinow, Esther ​2, 94, 99, 108, 184, 185 Einarson, Benedict ​44 Eisele, Wilfried ​164 Elsas, Christoph ​30 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels ​13, 128, 129, 130, 131, 135, 173, 174 Engels, Johannes ​211 Engemann, Josef ​41 Epp, Eldon Jay ​55, 158, 200 Erbse, Hartmut ​37 Erler, Michael ​12, 14, 31, 76, 78, 130, 131, 215 Eschner, Christina ​158

Gabler, Johann Philipp ​1 Gadamer, Hans-Georg ​39 Gallarte, Israel Muñoz ​76, 78 Gallo, Italo ​136 Gamble, Harry Y. ​59 Garrett, Jan Edward ​110 Gelardini, Gabriella ​161 Gemelli Marciano, M. Laura ​39, 40, 44, 73 Gericke, J.  D. ​134 Gigon, Olof ​31, 39 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von ​7, 72, 73 Goh, Madeleine ​119 Goldschmidt, Victor ​12, 130 Gonzales, Francisco J. ​101 Goodman, Martin ​87 Görgemanns, Herwig ​136 Gourgues, Michel ​172 Gräb-Schmidt, Elisabeth ​193

Index of Modern Authors Grant, Robert M. ​15 Greeven, Heinrich ​50, 66 Griffiths, J. Gwyn ​76, 77 Grobel, Kendrick ​7 Groot, Ella de ​196 Grube, G. M. A. ​97, 99, 104 Guthrie, W. K. C. ​75 Güting, E. ​233 Hahn, Ferdinand ​7 Hahn, Johannes ​44, 217 Hamilton, Mark W. ​131 Hanges, James C. ​62 Hanson, Paul ​193 Härle, Wilfried ​197 Hartmann, Lucius ​226 Heckel, Ulrich ​154 Heitsch, Ernst ​41, 42, 84, 207, 215, 216, 217, 218 Hellholm, Christer ​88 Hellholm, David ​15, 88 Hengel, Martin ​144 Herms, Eilert ​194 Hicken, W.  F. ​228 Hicks, R.  D. ​71 Hieke, Thomas ​169 Hirsch-Luipold, Rainer ​39, 68, 76, 78, 90, 116, 117, 125, 128, 129, 131, 133, 135, 136, 137, 139, 141, 146, 170, 185, 188, 189, 195 Hitzl, Konrad 48 Hoare, R. W. N. ​68 Hoffleit, Herbert B. ​18 Hofius, Otfried ​36 Holloway, Paul A. ​190 Hölscher, Tonio ​143 Hölscher, Uvo ​39, 42 Hömke, Nicola ​135 Horn, Christoph ​131, 195 Horn, Friedrich Wilhelm ​7 Hossfeld, Frank-Lothar ​35 Huffman, Carl A. ​123 Huizing, Klaus ​10 Hutchinson, D. S. 100, 106 Inwood, Brad ​114 Jaeger, Werner ​39, 181, 185 Janowski, Bernd ​10, 193 Jay, Jeff ​214

267

Jendorff, Bernhard ​134 Jenik, Antonia ​135 Jeremias, Joachim ​13, 14 Jeremias, Jörg ​147 Jewett, Robert ​55, 56, 58, 59, 158, 159, 200, 205, 206 Johnson, Marshall D. ​200 Johnston, Ian ​105 Junack, Klaus ​59, 202 Kahn, Charles H. ​39, 79 Käppel, Lutz ​35, 122 Karrer, Martin ​149 Kattenbusch, Ferdinand ​11, 15, 119, 130, 132, 182 Kermode, Frank ​212, 214 Kindt, Julia ​2, 94, 95, 96, 99, 108, 184, 185 Kirchner, Alexander ​201, 213 Kittel, G. ​227 Klauck, Hans-Josef ​28 Klein, Günther ​199 Klein, Jürgen ​211 Kleinknecht, Hermann ​227 Knöppler, Thomas ​158 Knox, Wilfred L. ​74 Koep, Leo ​48 Koester, Craig R. ​175, 176 Köhler, Helga ​131 Köhler, Ludwig ​127, 183 Konradt, Matthias ​191 Kooten, George van ​177 Kotansky, Roy D. ​55, 158, 200 Kovacs, David ​106 Krämer, Hans Joachim ​12 Laks, André ​2, 90, 131, 132 Lamberton, Robert ​119 Lampe, Peter ​59, 200, 208 Lanzillotta, Lautaro Roig ​76, 78 Lattke, Michael ​35 Lausberg, Heinrich ​68, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 86 Leisegang, Hans ​75, 77 Leonhard, Clemens ​190 Leonhardt, Jutta ​166 Liatsi, Maria ​31 Lichtenberger, Hermann ​170 Lieu, Judith M. ​173 Lightfoot, J.  B. ​43 Lindemann, Andreas ​194

268

Index of Modern Authors

Link, Christian ​154 Lohfink, Gerhard ​128 Lohmeyer, Ernst ​35, 36, 37, 48 Löhr, Hermut ​190 Löhr, Winrich ​11, 75, 120, 182 Lupu, Eran ​108 Luther, Martin ​4 Luz, Ulrich ​127, 129, 131, 182, 189, 196 MacDonald, Alasdair A. ​3 Mack, Burton L. ​75, 134 MacRae, George W. ​54, 163 Malzahn, Manfred ​123 Männlein-Robert, Irmgard ​187 Mansfeld, Jaap ​2, 120, 121, 133, 177, 184 Marcovich, Miroslav ​71, 72, 73, 74, 82 Marcus, Ralph ​14 Marinatos, Nanno ​31 Markschies, Christoph ​3, 5, 6, 13, 87, 139, 145, 182 Massaro, Domenico ​136 Martin, Ralph P. ​36, 38, 44, 48, 49, 50 Mason, Eric F. ​163 Mayhew, Robert ​113 Mayr, Franz K. ​73 Menken, Maarten J. J. ​171 Merk, Otto ​1, 7, 181 Merkelbach, Reinhold ​43 Metzger, Bruce M. ​85, 202 Millar, Fergus ​87 Mimouni, Simon C. ​175 Mitchell, Margaret M. ​9, 16, 54, 56, 121, 200, 213 Moffitt, David M. ​168–69 Montanari, Franco ​119 Morgan, Robert ​7, 8 Most, Glenn W. ​90 Mount, Christopher ​62 Mühling-Schlapkohl, Markus ​229 Mürmel, Heinz ​229 Najman, Hindy ​174, 175 Nestle, Wilhelm ​66 Neumann, Uwe ​200 Neusner, Jacob ​5 Nickelsburg, George W. E. ​163 Nicklas, Tobias ​169 Nicoll, W. S. M. ​228

Niehoff, Maren R. ​137 Nielsen, Jesper Tang ​172 Nimtz, U. ​233 Nock, Arthur D. ​66 Norden, Eduard ​74, 122 Norderval, Øyvind ​88 Obbink, Dirk ​119 Oberlinner, Lorenz ​207 Obsieger, Hendrik ​76, 78 Ogden, Daniel ​121 Olbricht, Thomas H. ​131 Onnash, Ernst-Otto ​186 Opsomer, Jan ​76, 78, 125, 135 Osborne, Robin ​2, 94, 99, 108, 184 Pelling, Christopher ​42 Perger, Mischa von ​119 Perrin, Bernadotte ​42 Pervo, Richard I. ​25, 26, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66 Peterson, Jeffrey ​131 Pezzoli-Olgiati, Daria ​10 Pfister, Friedrich ​31 Pietsch, Christian ​78, 130 Pinder, Margaret E. ​74 Platt, Verity J. ​31 Pokorný, Petr ​154 Polke, Christian ​197 Porter, Stanley E. ​171 Portier-Young, Anathea E. ​174 Pouderon, Bernard ​175 Prassl, Franz-Carl ​35 Preul, Reiner ​193, 197 Primavesi, Oliver ​43 Procksch, O. ​227 Procopé, John ​34 Quell, G. ​227 Rasimus, Thomas ​174 Rechenauer, Georg ​40, 43, 73 Reeve, C. D. C. ​97 Reimarus, Hermann Samuel ​153 Reitzenstein, Richard ​74 Reumann, John ​36, 38, 43, 44, 48, 51 Richardson, N.  J. ​41 Riches, J.  K. ​68 Riedweg, Christoph ​3, 32, 123, 131, 183 Ritter, Adolf Martin ​131, 134 Robinson, D.  B. ​128

Index of Modern Authors Rohls, Jan ​142 Ronning, Christian ​44 Rose, Martin ​33 Rosenmeyer, T.  G. ​39 Roskam, Geert ​78 Ross, David ​113, 114 Ross, William D. ​12 Rothschild, Clare K. ​26, 62 Roukema, Reimer ​177 Runia, David T. ​14, 75, 177 Rusam, Dietrich ​172 Russell, Donald A. ​12 Saebø, Magne ​34 Saffrey, Henri-Dominique ​186, 188 Sampley, J. Paul ​208 Sandy, D. Brent ​171 Sänger, Dieter ​15 Saunders, Trevor J. ​100, 102, 103, 105, 107 Schäfer, Peter ​170 Schatzmann, Andreas ​226 Schechter, Solomon ​15 Schelske, Oliver ​187 Schindler, Alfred ​10 Schläpfer, Esther ​191 Schlier, Heinrich ​1 Schliesser, Benjamin ​188 Schlund, Christine ​172 Schmauch, Werner ​36 Schmeller, Thomas ​3 Schmid, Konrad ​1, 127, 128, 132, 146, 147, 148, 149, 154, 155, 182, 183 Schmidt, Thomas S. 133, 185 Schnackenburg, Rudolf ​129 Schneider, Ulrich ​71 Schnelle, Udo ​68, 71, 75, 83, 90, 122, 175 Schofield, Malcolm ​2, 120, 184 Scholten, Clemens ​3 Schomakers, Ben ​186 Schöne, Albrecht ​73 Schrage, Wolfgang ​24 Schrenk, G. ​227 Schroeder, Chad ​119 Schröter, Jens ​87–88 Schumann, Hans Gerd ​201 Schürer, Emil ​87 Schwöbel, Christoph ​4, 13, 119, 120 Seaford, Richard ​66 Segev, Mor ​110, 111, 112

269

Sevenster, J.  N. ​14 Shanzer, Danuta ​31 Shorey, Paul ​11 Siegert, Folker ​34 Siker, Jeffrey S. 172 Sirinelli, Jean ​131 Skarsten, Roald ​225 Slings, S.  R. ​211 Smend, Friedrich ​66 Smend, Rudolf ​146 Snell, Bruno ​39 Söding, Thomas ​45 Sokolowski, Franciszek ​108 Solmsen, Friedrich ​2, 130 Sommerstein, Alan H. ​103, 104 Speyer, Wolfgang ​48, 66 Spicq, Ceslas ​30 Spieckermann, Hermann ​1–2, 10, 184 Stanzel, Karl-Heinz ​34 Stegner, W. Richard ​171 Steinhauser, Michael ​200 Stemberger, Günter ​21 Stenzel, Bertha ​31 Stenzel, Julius ​31 Sterling, Gregory E. ​131, 174 Stockmeier, Peter ​41 Stolz, Fritz ​51 Strachan, J. C. G. ​228 Strachan, Lionel ​59 Straume–Zimmermann, Laila ​31, 39 Strawbridge, Jennifer R. ​190 Strecker, Georg ​1, 7, 49 Strycker, Emile de ​211, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219 Stuckenbruck, Loren T. ​175 Stuhlmacher, Peter ​170, 172, 181, 194 Sturdevant, Jason S. 171 Szlezák, Thomas A. ​34 Talbert, Charles H. ​170 Tanaseanu-Döbler, Ilinca ​12, 14, 78, 131 Tarrant, Harold ​185 Taschl-Erber, Andrea ​195 Thatcher, Tom ​171 Theissen, Gerd ​180 Theobald, Michael ​68, 69, 74, 75, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 85 Thom, Johan C. ​51, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 130, 195 Thompson, James W. ​163

270

Index of Modern Authors

Thrall, Margaret E. ​27, 31 Thum, Tobias ​78 Thyen, Hartwig ​67, 68 Tigchelaar, Eibert J. C. ​174 Titchener, Frances B. ​78 Toorn, Karel van der ​33 Trapp, Michael ​133 Ueberschaer, Nadine ​188 Unnik, W. C. van ​14 Urbach, Ephraim E. ​15 Vamvouri, Maria ​133, 185 Van Belle, Gilbert ​172 Van Nuffelen, Peter ​11, 76, 94 Van Riel, Gerd ​2, 99, 101, 103, 106, 108, 130 Van Segbroeck, Frans ​171 Vegge, Tor ​3, 88 Vermes, Geza ​87 Versnel, H. S. 66, 121 Vollenweider, Samuel ​40, 41, 44, 45, 127, 183, 190, 193, 194, 195, 197 Wallraff, Martin ​82 Waschke, Ernst-Joachim ​11 Watt, Jan G. van der ​68, 71, 83, 122, 172, 173, 175

Welker, Michael ​10, 193 West, Martin L. ​43, 44, 51 Westerink, Leendert Gerrit ​186, 188 Wevers, John William ​33 Whitaker, G.  H. ​34 Whitlark, Jason A. ​170 Williams, Catrin H. ​83 Wils, Jean-Pierre ​60 Wilson, Nigel G. ​12 Wilson, Walter T. ​123 Windisch, Hans ​31, 66 Witte, K. ​233 Wolf, Simon ​211 Wolter, Michael ​152 Wright, N.  T. ​181 Wyrwa, Dietmar ​71, 131 Yarbro Collins, Adela ​9, 121, 190, 211, 213, 214 Zeller, Dieter ​44 Zimmerli, Walther ​146 Zimmermann, Bernhard ​214 Zimmermann, Ruben ​172, 173 Zumstein, Jean ​68, 69, 75, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 90 Zuntz, Günther ​122 Zurbrügg, Ingeborg ​186

Index of Subjects Greek terms are placed at the ends of the entries for subjects with which they are discussed in the essays above. Abraham ​28, 32, 44, 159, 161, 168, 177 – Abrahamic religion ​136 Abuse, insult ​24, 27, 29, 41, 42, 102, 105, 125, 208, 209 – see also s. v. invective, slander Act, action, activity, deed ​8, 17, 21, 23, 29, 30, 35, 44, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52, 65, 72, 73, 90, 92, 106, 109, 129, 132, 147, 159, 160, 161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 173, 176, 200, 206, 208 Administration ​18, 61 Aeschylus ​101, 102, 103, 104 Afterlife ​48–50, 51, 87, 194 – see also s. v. Hades, immortality, resurrection Agitation ​201, 210, 219 Agrippa II ​64–65 Aletheia (goddess) ​40 – see also s. v. truth Alexander of Abonuteichus ​28 Alexander the Great ​41, 49 Alexandria ​5, 78 Allegory ​99, 114, 115, 116, 117, 120 – see also s. v. typology Ammon ​41 Ammonius, M. Annius ​78, 91, 185 Analogy ​62, 110, 160, 164, 196 Angel ​44, 80, 176, 209 Anger ​113, 201, 218 Animal ​41, 97, 106, 134, 162, 171 – bull ​161, 168, 171 – goat ​159, 161, 168, 171 – heifer ​161 – lamb ​161, 170–73 – ox ​161 – pigeon ​168, 171 – ram ​171 – sheep ​171, 209 – turtledove ​168, 171 Anselm of Canterbury ​157

Anthropomorphism ​33, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 196, 197 Antioch ​20, 28, 61 Antithesis ​22, 77, 163, 164, 166 Aphrodite ​191 Apocalypse, see s. v. revelation Apollo ​42, 43, 44, 45, 59, 75, 77, 78, 86, 111, 116, 144 Apologetics, apologists ​15, 140, 143, 144, 145, 183 Apostasy ​28, 29, 210 Apostleship, mission ​16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 52, 54, 56, 57, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 159, 173, 192, 203, 205, 210 – apostle ​13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 47, 51, 53, 55, 56, 57, 63, 86, 148, 152, 192, 201, 202, 205, 208, 209, 211, 214 – ἀπόστολος ​13, 23, 24, 25, 57, 203, 205, 208 Aqedah ​159, 161 Aramaic language ​5, 65, 150 Archive ​58, 202 Areopagus ​26, 62, 121, 183 Aretalogy ​35, 37, 38, 51, 87, 122 – see also s. v. praise Argument, see s. v. reason Aristides the Athenian ​145 Aristophanes ​217, 218 Aristotelianism, Peripatetics ​3, 33 Aristotle ​12, 14, 96, 97, 108–15, 117, 119–20, 124, 131, 133, 141, 142, 145, 176, 179, 180, 184, 186 Aristoxenos ​143 Art, craft ​2, 13, 43, 95, 97, 127, 176, 180, 217 – painting ​32, 95 – sculpture ​32 – see also s. v. image Artemis ​71

272

Index of Subjects

Ascension ​17, 40, 46, 48, 49, 61, 163 Astrology, astronomy ​45, 48, 52, 143 Athens ​3, 13, 26, 62, 95, 100, 103, 105, 189, 215, 216, 217, 218 Atonement ​153, 158, 168, 169, 172 – expiation ​158, 172 – Yom Kippur ​158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 167, 172 – ἱλαστήριον ​158, 160 Augustine ​120, 195 Augustus (Octavian) ​42, 49, 55 Authority ​136, 203, 205, 211, 212, 220 – authorities ​12, 19, 25, 53, 61, 64, 65, 136, 203, 205, 211, 212, 220 Awakening ​17, 74, 84 Babylon, Chaldea ​76, 143 Baptism ​26, 62, 88, 89 Barbarian ​76, 142, 143, 144, 145, 204 Barnabas ​19, 23, 25, 26, 28, 29, 54, 61, 63, 205 Beauty ​102 Being ​12, 32–39, 41–43, 45, 73, 76–77, 79, 80, 109, 110, 112, 113, 116, 120, 125, 134, 141, 176–77, 184, 186, 187 – becoming ​45, 73 – essence ​118, 124, 125, 126, 127–28, 175, 176–77 – ontology ​12, 95, 96, 128, 173 – εἶναι ​34, 36, 41, 42–43, 45, 73, 80 – οὐσία ​109, 125 – σύστασις ​124 – ὁ ὤν ​33–34, 70, 85, 150, 177 – see also s. v. existence, metaphysics, substance Benefaction ​101, 113, 114, 166, 170, 175 Berenice ​65 Bible ​5, 10, 11, 32, 37, 44, 53, 130, 146, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 157, 162, 163, 169, 176, 181, 187, 188, 189, 192, 194, 196, 211 – biblical theology ​1–2, 10, 181, 187–89, 194 – biblical tradition ​130, 139–56, 158, 188, 189, 196, 201 – see also s. v. canon, Hebrew Bible, scripture Biography ​19, 41, 45, 52, 67, 87, 88, 148, 186, 191, 210, 212 – see also s. v. life

Birth ​45, 47, 51, 70, 105, 113 Blessing, benediction ​58, 90, 106, 168, 202 – μακαρισμός ​90, 91 Blindness ​26, 27, 52, 82 Boasting, arrogance ​25, 29, 102, 117, 208, 209 – μεγαλαυχία ​102 – φυσίωσις ​208 Body ​76, 112, 116, 129, 165 – belly ​207 – blood ​70, 158, 160, 161, 162, 164, 168, 169, 173 – ear ​129, 165, 166 – eye ​18, 31, 40, 65, 124, 129, 150, 151, 155, 178 – face ​27, 30, 31, 32, 37–38 – flesh, see s. v. – hair ​154 – hand ​40, 100, 105, 129, 160, 163, 209 – heart ​27, 30, 35, 52, 162, 164, 166, 170 – knee ​37, 49, 50 – mouth ​105, 152 – nose ​129 – tongue ​37, 50 Bread ​166 Call, calling ​23–24, 26, 57, 64, 134, 151, 167, 170, 205 Canon ​3–4, 10, 148, 149, 152, 161 – see also s. v. bible, Hebrew Bible, scripture Catholic epistles ​10 Cato ​55 Cause ​76, 77, 109, 110, 112, 113, 120, 122, 125, 126, 200, 216, 218 – see also s. v. origin Cenchreae ​58, 59 Chaldean Oracles ​144 Christianity, Christian ​4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 25, 26, 28, 30, 31, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 47, 50, 51, 52, 53, 58, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 67, 76, 77, 78, 83, 84, 86, 87, 89, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96, 102, 115–18, 123, 127, 128, 130, 136, 137, 139, 140, 142, 143, 144, ​145, 146, 148, 149, 150, 153, 155, 157, 159, 160, 162, 172, 174, 178, 180, 181, 182, 183, 186, 190, 194, 195, 196, 197, 203, 204, 206, 207, 210, 211, 213

Index of Subjects – Hellenistic, Gentile ​6, 9, 28, 67, 204 – Jewish ​6, 9, 10, 19, 22, 23, 54, 87, 152, 204 Christology ​13, 14, 21, 36, 38, 44, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51, 67, 79, 85, 86–92, 134, 152, 153, 154, 182, 188, 192, 195, 196 – incarnation ​44, 66, 83–86, 134, 135, 173 – “pre-existence” ​38, 79, 81, 84 – titles – – Christ ​8, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34, 35, 37, 38, 40, 42, 43, 44, 47, 49, 50, 52, 55, 57, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89, 91, 92, 126, 145, 146, 148, 149, 150, 153, 154, 155, 189, 157, 158, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 174, 176, 190, 192, 195, 196, 197, 205, 207, 209, 211, 212, 213, 214 – – Immanuel ​152 – – lamb of God ​170–73 – – Lord, see s. v. – – Son of David ​151, 153 – – Son of God ​39, 40, 43, 44, 88, 92, 151, 152, 153, 193, 214 – – Son of Man ​44, 93, 151, 154, 159, 173, 176 – trinity, see s. v. theology – “two natures doctrine” ​152, 154 – see also s. v. messianism Church ​3, 4, 8, 9, 10, 16, 18, 19, 23, 24, 25, 28, 29, 30, 43, 53, 54, 57, 58, 60, 61, 62, 64, 67, 87, 89, 132, 142, 249, 157, 161, 167, 190, 197, 202, 203, 204, 205, 209, 210, 213, 220 – ἐκκλησία ​24, 60, 204 Church Fathers ​43, 131, 161 Cicero ​39, 55, 195 Circumcision ​19, 20 Citizenship, citizen ​64, 99, 108, 216 Claudius ​204 Cleanthes ​114, 121–23, 126 Clement of Alexandria ​10, 15, 71, 78, 108, 117, 118, 120, 141, 142 Cleombrotus ​133, 185 Collection ​10, 54, 60, 203, 220 Command ​22, 63, 173, 178, 213 Commerce, business ​21, 27, 204, 208 – καπηλεύειν ​208

273

Conformity, see s. v. likeness Conscience ​27, 29, 160, 164 Constantine ​42, 142, 145 Contest ​16, 200, 201, 210 Conversion ​13, 16, 19, 26, 28, 29, 33, 38, 39, 51, 52, 55, 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 67, 86, 87, 91, 92, 191 Corinth, Corinthian ​18, 24, 25, 54, 57, 60, 166, 202, 203, 204, 209, 219 Cosmology, see s. v. universe Courage ​33, 104, 161, 194, 200, 207 Covenant ​10, 27, 146, 158, 161, 164, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170 – ark of the covenant ​158 – testament, will ​167–68, 170 – διαθήκη ​10, 27, 167, 168 Creation ​30, 52, 76, 77, 79, 80, 82, 122, 126, 134, 147, 152, 175, 209 Creed, confession ​1, 49, 151, 157, 162, 194 Crucifixion ​8, 43, 47, 62, 89, 173, 176, 211, 220 – cross ​37, 47, 48, 83, 89, 142, 173, 178, 207, 212, 214 Cult ​30, 31, 32, 34, 41, 49, 50, 62, 76, 77, 94, 107, 116, 127, 131, 132, 142, 144, 151, 159, 162, 170, 182, 190, 191 Culture ​6, 13, 26, 32, 62, 66, 78, 87, 143, 144, 158, 180, 181, 189, 194, 220 Damascus ​17, 18, 19, 21, 25, 38, 52, 64, 65, 89, 91, 92, 192 Darkness ​27, 30, 65, 70, 76, 80 Death ​17, 19, 21, 22, 23, 26, 37, 41, 43, 45, 46, 47, 48, 51, 58, 59, 61, 62, 64, 83, 87, 124, 129, 132, 148, 151, 153, 157–59, 160, 161, 162, 164, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 172, 173, 174, 178, 193, 194, 195, 209, 211, 212, 213, 215, 216, 219, 220 – mortality, mortal ​47, 49, 102, 118 – “Roman death” ​22 Delphi ​75, 78, 86, 104, 140, 215, 216, 217 – Pythia ​215, 217 – see also s. v. oracle Deluge, flood ​65, 147 Democritus ​76 Desire ​109 Dialectic ​117, 118 Dialogue ​5, 33, 53, 55, 77, 100, 101, 127, 174, 185, 191, 199, 210

274

Index of Subjects

Dike ​40 Dionysius the Areopagite ​26, 186 Dionysus ​45, 77 Diplomacy ​20, 58, 204 Disciple ​9, 12, 16, 17, 22, 28, 38, 46, 52, 61, 64, 81, 82, 91, 142, 151, 153, 173, 191, 212, 214 Dissention ​201, 206, 210 – διχοστασία ​206 Divination ​2, 52 – augury ​52 Docetism ​43, 46 Dogma, doctrine, teaching ​1, 3, 4, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 30, 33, 35, 40, 47, 49, 51, 53, 73, 84, 86, 87, 89, 90, 92, 95, 105, 108, 117, 118, 129, 131, 133, 135, 144, 145, 150, 152, 154, 160, 178, 182, 185, 186, 188, 189, 197 – see also s. v. education, school Doxology ​37, 38, 50, 58, 67, 202 Drama, theater ​2, 32, 37, 42, 66, 213 – comedy ​42, 218, 218 – tragedy ​11–12, 42, 66, 94, 95, 104, 106, 213, 214 Dream ​17, 18, 74 Druid ​143 Earth ​23, 47, 77, 79, 88, 147, 163, 164, 165, 207 – geology ​124 – geography 124 Ecstasy ​17, 175, 176 Eden ​44 Education ​9, 10, 12, 16, 30, 33, 35, 40, 64, 66, 73, 78, 82, 86, 91, 92, 96, 99, 104, 106, 121, 123, 124, 126, 132, 142, 143, 152, 157, 162, 178, 187, 214, 215, 216 – see also s. v. dogma, school Egypt, Egyptian ​32, 41, 42, 76, 106, 127, 132, 141, 143, 161, 173, 185, 191, End ​57, 100, 158, 206, 207, 211 – τέλος ​57, 206 Envy ​99, 108, 207, 218 – φθόνος ​99, 207, 218 Epaphroditus ​20, 205 Ephesus ​78, 204 Epic ​2, 11, 181, 191 Epicureanism, Epicurean ​26, 33, 78 Epicurus ​76

Epiphany ​5, 17, 23–26, 29, 30, 31, 32, 38, 44, 52, 55, 66, 67, 82, 139, 188, 191–92 – Christophany ​31, 189, 191 Epistemology ​52, 73, 128, 134, 157, 174–78, 184 – see also s. v. knowledge, thought Epistolography ​15–16, 18–19, 20, 51–53, 54, 58–60, 199–202, 203, 205, 208 – “letter-book” ​59 – prescript ​19, 23, 29, 57, 58, 202, 205 – thanksgiving period ​57 – types – – recommendation ​27, 58–59, 166, 208 – – request ​58–59, 202 Epitome ​9, 22, 103 Eros ​186 Eschatology ​8, 21, 83–84, 89, 152, 170, 181, 211 Eternity ​50, 112, 113, 114, 141, 163, 167 Ethics, morality ​29, 41, 45, 47, 48, 89, 95, 99, 106, 107, 108, 111, 112, 114, 117, 122, 123, 174, 183, 201, 207, 211, 218 – immorality ​43, 97, 206 – vice ​103, 207–8, 211 – virtue ​99, 100, 103, 104, 108, 115, 117, 165, 211, 219 Eucharist ​89, 151 Eusebius ​142, 186 Event ​18, 51, 62, 64, 69, 71, 73, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 90, 159, 173, 174, 176, 189, 204–5, 211, 213, 215, 216 – Christ-event ​144, 148, 150, 154, 155, 164 Evil ​76, 77, 105, 106, 113, 120, 122, 124, 126, 159, 211, 218 – evil eye ​18 Exaltation ​37, 40, 48, 49, 52, 154, 160, 163, 176, 192, 195 Exhortation, paraenesis ​36, 37, 65, 104, 124, 167, 168, 187, 211 Existence ​2, 34, 38, 42, 43, 47, 71, 79, 80, 84–85, 95–96, 102, 103, 105, 109, 111, 116, 120, 177, 179 – pre-existence, see s. v. Christology – see also s. v. being Existentialism ​180 Experience ​16, 17, 18, 29, 30, 31, 34, 45, 52, 55, 61, 64, 65, 72, 83, 84, 92, 135, 157, 164, 175, 176, 190, 209

Index of Subjects Fable ​11 Faction ​29, 207, 210 – αἵρεσις ​207 – see also s. v. heresy Faith, belief ​2, 3, 4, 8, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 38, 47, 51, 52, 56, 60, 63, 64, 65, 70, 76, 82, 83, 86, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 102, 108, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 127, 136, 142, 143, 144, 145, 155, 157, 168, 170, 174, 178, 180, 183, 187, 188, 189, 196, 203, 206, 207, 210, 212, 213, 214, 216 – conviction ​16, 19, 29, 52, 89, 157, 161, 175, 220 – faithfulness, fidelity ​160, 161, 165 – πίστις, πιστεύειν ​18, 20, 21, 24, 27, 28, 56, 69, 82, 83, 90, 91, 92, 187, 188, 206, 212 – see also s. v. trust Fame, rumor ​16, 208, 210, 217 – κλέος ​106 Fate ​100, 108, 114, 124 – εἱμαρμένη ​108 Father ​100, 163 – ancestor, patriarch ​32, 107, 108, 110, 114, 163, 175, 176 – divine ​19, 23, 37, 40, 50, 51, 70, 85, 126, 176, 177, 178 – πατήρ ​33, 36, 50, 69, 70, 85, 86 Fear ​213, 214 – φόβος, φοβεῖν ​214 “Fighter against deity,” θεομάχος ​63, 64, 65 Fire ​80, 101, 102, 197 – cosmic conflagration ​114 Flesh ​46, 47, 70, 83, 161, 164 – σάρξ ​46, 69, 83 Folly, foolishness ​56, 82, 102, 106, 122, 123, 142, 209 Food, meal ​20, 166, 176 Forgiveness ​65, 168, 169 Form, shape ​38–39, 52, 79, 109, 164 – form-criticism, see s. v. genre – μορφή ​36, 38, 44 – σχῆμα ​36, 46 – see also s. v. transformation Formula, formulation ​33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 43, 48, 49, 55, 56, 57, 79, 82, 86, 92, 127, 128, 133, 144, 153, 171, 172, 183, 185, 196, 200, 204, 206, 209, 211

275

Fraud, deceit ​16, 28, 29, 35, 41, 98, 171, 211 – πανουργία ​27, 29, 208 Freedom, liberation ​19, 24, 31, 45, 65, 89, 105, 159, 173, 174, 207 Friendship, friend ​59, 103, 104, 107, 113, 114, 165, 203, 215, 218, 220 – φιλία ​111, 113 – see also s. v. love Galatia, Galatian ​19, 23, 54 Gamaliel ​63, 64 Genre, form ​1, 27, 59, 87, 88, 94, 121, 126, 139, 148, 149, 174, 184, 187, 190, 191, 212, 214 – form criticism ​5, 129, 190, 191 Gentile ​6, 9, 13, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 28, 29, 52, 54, 57, 60, 64, 65, 203, 204 Genuflection ​37, 49, 50 – προσκύνησις, ‑νεῖν ​49 Gesture ​208 Gethsemane ​47 Gift, offering ​2, 19, 41–42, 49, 57, 70, 77, 89, 101, 105, 106, 107, 113, 115, 159, 160, 161, 162, 165, 166, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 201, 209 – see also s. v. grace, sacrifice Glory ​27, 30, 31, 37, 50, 51, 70, 83, 129, 176, 178, 201, 207 – δόξα ​31, 36, 50, 69, 83, 201 Gnosticism ​74, 78, 81, 128, 149, 191 Goodness, (the) good ​12, 76–77, 83, 98, 99, 100, 105, 107, 108, 113, 114, 116, 120, 130, 132, 212 Gospel 9, 17, 19, 23, 26, 27, 29, 30, 52, 55, 56, 57, 88, 178, 195, 205, 206, 207, 209, 214, 220 – definition ​29–30, 56–57, 206 – dialogue-Gospel ​191 – four Gospels ​9, 46, 47, 88, 148, 151, 153, 155, 156, 184, 211 – genre ​88, 212 – Gospel of John ​9, 10, 13, 17, 34, 67–86, 87, 88, 89–92, 121, 122, 126, 127–30, 132, 134, 135, 137, 141–42, 146, 152, 153, 155, 161, 170–74, 174–78, 180, 181, 183, 187, 188, 193, 194 – Gospel of Luke ​9, 17, 23, 61, 65, 87, 88, 152, 194

276

Index of Subjects

– – Book of Acts ​9, 10, 17, 25, 26, 28, 60–67, 87, 89, 91, 203, 204, 205 – Gospel of Mark ​8, 46, 87, 88, 89, 151, 152, 155, 159, 173, 194, 211–14, 220 – Gospel of Matthew ​9, 17, 23, 87, 88, 150, 152, 153, 154, 159 – Synoptics ​9, 10, 22, 78, 84, 87, 148, 151, 153, 155, 156, 173, 183, 184 – εὐαγγέλιον, εὐαγγελίζεσθαι ​23, 27, 29, 56, 57, 88, 204, 205, 206, 212, 214 Grace ​23, 24, 35, 70, 83, 84 – χάρις, χαρίζεσθαι ​23, 24, 35, 36, 49, 69, 70, 83, 84 – see also s. v. gift Gratitude, thanksgiving ​29, 57, 166 Greece, Greek ​2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 18, 25, 26, 31, 32, 33, 34, 37, 39, 41, 43, 54, 56, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 69, 71, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 78, 80, 81, 84, 87, 91, 95, 96, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 109, 116, 117, 120, 121, 123, 126, 127, 130, 131, 132, 137, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 150, 154, 155, 157, 162, 181, 183, 189, 190, 193, 204, 206, 208, 209, 214, 220 – language ​9, 11, 12, 13, 25, 33, 39, 40, 65, 80, 91, 102, 119, 121, 137, 140, 142, 143, 144, 150, 155, 159, 165, 167, 181, 183, 186, 188, 189, 192, 202 – philosophy, see s. v. Gymnosophist ​143 Hades ​41 – “subterrestrial” ​37, 50 – underworld ​107 Happiness ​74, 102, 105 Harmony ​122, 125, 126 – ἁρμονία ​125 Health, healing ​102, 157, 158, 176 Heaven ​17, 25, 37, 40, 42, 43, 44, 46, 49, 50, 61, 65, 66, 79, 83, 88, 116, 118, 124, 125, 129, 147, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169, 179, 180 Hebrew ​79 – language ​32, 33, 64, 65, 149, 150, 165 Hebrew Bible, Old Testament ​1, 2, 4, 10, 11, 12, 33, 34, 84, 127, 128, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 154, 155, 159, 150, 164, 165, 182, 183, 193, 194

– OT theology ​1, 2, 127–28, 145, 146, 147 – Septuagint, see s. v. Hecataeus of Abdera ​143 Helios ​112, 113 – see also s. v. sun Heraclitus ​33, 42, 70–78, 80, 90, 92, 122, 123, 128, 132, 139 Heresy ​14, 17, 19, 59, 62 – see also s. v. faction Hermeneutics, interpretation ​3, 4, 5, 8, 20, 22, 31, 34, 48, 53, 61, 76, 77, 78, 84, 85–86, 90, 106, 114, 115, 117, 132, 133–35, 137, 144, 146–49, 153, 155, 160, 161, 162, 165, 166, 169, 172, 177, 180, 181, 185, 187, 188, 193, 194, 200, 214, 215, 217 – pesher ​148 – ἐξηγεῖσθαι, ἐξηγητής ​70, 85, 86, 178 Hermes ​26, 77 Hermetica ​74–75, 144 Hermias Philosophus ​145 Hero ​102, 106, 107, 158 – hero cult ​49 – “heroization” ​48 Hesiod ​33, 41, 97, 101, 140 History ​3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 16, 39, 44, 51, 52, 53, 56, 59, 61, 62, 63, 65, 67, 74, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 87, 88, 89, 92, 96, 115, 117, 127, 128, 129, 130, 132, 134, 136, 137, 139, 142, 143, 146, 147, 148, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 159, 180, 181, 182, 188, 190, 191, 196, 202, 203, 206, 210, 212, 213, 214, 216, 219, 220 History of religions ​1, 3–4, 34, 48, 50, 52, 64, 76, 137 Holiness, sanctity ​14, 41, 62, 95, 107–8, 133, 141, 143, 144, 158, 160, 186, 193 – “holy of Holies” ​160, 166 – Holy Spirit, see s. v. spirit – “holy things” ​164, 171 – sanctification ​65, 161, 165, 169, 169 Homily, homilist ​160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169 Honor ​25, 49, 102, 107, 112, 113, 114, 122, 166 Hope ​132, 157, 168, 170, 207, 212 Horus ​77 Humanity, human ​15, 18, 19, 23, 29, 30, 31, 32, 37, 38, 40, 41, 43–48, 49, 51, 56,

Index of Subjects 57, 63, 70, 71, 73, 74, 82, 83, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 108, 111, 112, 113, 115, 117, 120, 122, 123, 124, 126, 132, 134, 135, 142, 147, 154, 159, 175, 176, 182, 188, 195, 196, 197, 202, 206, 210, 211, 218, 219 Humility ​29, 37, 47, 50, 102, 192, 195 – ταπεινοῦν, ‑νός ​36, 47, 102 – ταπεινοφροσύνη ​47 Hymn ​12, 13, 35–36, 37, 38, 41, 44, 45, 48, 49, 50–53, 66, 67, 68, 81, 83, 86, 87, 88, 91, 92, 111, 121–23, 124, 126, 127, 129, 139, 142, 166, 181, 182, 185, 188, 189–92 – prose hymn ​35, 37 – ὕμνος, ‑νεῖν ​35, 188 Iconium ​26 Ignorance ​72, 73, 122, 123, 219 Image ​27, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 38, 52, 85, 101, 134, 135, 137, 207 – “image-theology” ​30, 135 – imagery ​44, 48, 157, 158–59, 163, 164, 166, 172 – εἰκών ​27, 30, 31, 38, 85 – see also s. v. art Imitation ​102, 103, 104, 105, 115, 176, 207, 211, 212 – μίμησις ​211 – συμμιμητής ​210 – see also s. v. likeness Immanence ​125, 196 Immortality ​112, 144 – deification, immortalization ​37, 41, 49, 77, 83, 124 – see also s. v. afterlife, resurrection Impiety ​99, 100, 103, 105, 111 – δυσσέβεια ​103 – ὕβρις, ‑ίζειν ​102, 103, 105, 108, 209 Impurity, pollution ​105, 161 India ​143 Inheritance ​132, 137, 167, 168 Intertextuality ​172, 192 – allusion ​23, 64, 158, 159, 160, 161, 164, 166, 171 – citation, quotation ​14, 35, 36, 42, 44, 50, 51, 53, 55, 56, 64, 65, 66, 71, 75, 86, 92, 108, 122, 132, 137, 158, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 169, 171, 177, 206, 209, 210, 215

277

Invective, polemic ​21, 23, 41, 55, 81, 142, 182, 207, 208 Invocation ​37, 38, 77, 121, 122, 166 Irenaeus ​149 Irony ​21, 24, 42, 55, 122, 123, 165, 186, 201, 208, 217, 220 Isaac ​32, 153, 159, 161 Isis ​76, 134, 144 Isocrates ​106 Israel, Israelites ​32, 63, 146, 148, 149, 152, 155, 158, 170, 171, 173, 181, 188, 189 James, “the Lord’s brother” ​19, 20, 24, 210 Jerusalem ​9, 17, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 29, 54, 57, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 168, 173, 177, 189, 203, 204, 205, 210, 213, 219, 220 Jesus ​8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 17, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 32, 37, 38, 39, 40, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 55, 57, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70, 78, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 128, 129, 134, 135, 142, 148, 149, 151, 152, 153, 155, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 165, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 182, 184, 188, 189, 191, 194, 197, 205, 209, 211, 212, 213, 214, 220 – historical ​8, 9, 83, 86, 188 John the Baptist ​68, 81–82, 83, 84, 88, 152, 170 Joseph and Aseneth ​191 Josephus ​61, 87, 88, 141, 144 Judaism, Jewish ​5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 26, 28, 29, 31, 38, 39, 40, 54, 56, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 75, 78, 82, 87, 117, 127, 134, 136, 141, 143, 144, 148, 155, 157, 162, 163, 172, 179, 180, 181, 192, 193, 194, 196, 203, 204, 206, 210, 211, 212, 214 – Diaspora ​13, 62, 64 – Hasidic ​179, 184, 187, 196, 197 – Hellenistic ​13, 14, 34, 75, 77, 141, 144, 155 – Jewish philosophy ​5, 14–15, 144, 163, 165, 166, 179, 196 – Jewish theology ​5–6, 8, 10, 14–15, 134, 195 – rabbinic ​5–6, 14–15, 172 – Second Temple ​4, 172

278

Index of Subjects

– – Essene, see s. v. Qumran – – Pharisee ​12, 14, 19, 20, 21, 22, 28, 38, 52, 55, 63, 84, 86, 89, 210 – – Sadducee ​184 Judas Iscariot ​214 Judea ​16, 19, 203, 209, 213 Julius Caesar ​41–42, 49 Justice, righteousness ​11, 17, 22, 43, 47, 56, 77, 95, 97, 100, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 113, 154, 159, 206, 214, 216, 218, 219 – justification ​21, 154, 209, 216, 217 – theodicy ​121, 122, 123, 124 – δίκαιος ​56, 106, 216, 217 – δικαιοσύνη ​20, 21, 22, 56, 206 – see also s. v. trial Kerygma, see s. v. proclamation King, ruler ​41, 42, 49, 50, 65, 101, 106, 122, 126, 153, 168, 171, 175, 179, 180, 212 Kingdom, governance ​60, 98, 104, 113, 116, 122, 123, 131, 148, 157, 212–13, 214, 218 Knowledge ​4, 5, 11, 17, 25, 26, 29, 33, 34, 51–52, 55, 64, 66, 78, 84, 87, 88, 89, 95, 102, 103, 104, 106, 112, 118, 121, 123, 127, 128, 129, 132, 133, 134, 144, 160, 161, 162, 166, 173, 175, 176, 177, 178, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188, 195, 199, 200, 201, 203, 212, 213, 215, 218, 219 – insight ​23, 103, 111, 122, 123, 124, 126 – omniscience ​110, 112 – recognition ​18, 21, 23, 27, 30, 49, 52, 69, 82, 88, 94, 102, 105, 116, 134, 212, 219 – understanding ​18, 26, 30, 33, 79, 82, 85, 90, 93–94, 95, 97, 100, 103, 115, 118, 133, 135, 136, 137, 140, 141, 143, 144, 145, 150, 152, 153, 154, 155, 157, 158, 160, 162, 166, 168, 171, 172, 178, 180, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 193, 194, 196, 197, 212, 214 – γνώμη ​123, 124 – γνῶσις, γινώσκειν ​20, 21, 22, 27, 30, 55, 69, 82, 85 – ἐπιστήμη ​110, 131 – see also s. v. epistemology, mind, thought

Latin ​38, 39, 72 Law ​2, 22, 98, 100, 102, 103, 107, 111, 113, 117, 150, 152, 166, 170, 175, 182, 215 – lawgiver, legislator ​76, 98, 101, 102, 132 – Torah, see s. v. – νόμος ​20, 21, 28, 48, 70, 84, 98, 134, 150 Life ​16, 18, 19, 23, 43, 46, 47, 51, 61, 69–70, 71, 77, 80, 81, 83, 86, 87, 88, 90, 92, 95, 105, 112, 115, 122, 123, 124, 132, 148, 154, 158, 159, 168, 169, 170, 173, 175, 178, 182, 183, 184, 189, 191, 193, 194, 195, 197, 204, 205, 209, 210, 211 – βίος, βιοῦν ​80, 219 – ζωή ​69, 80, 90, 92 Light ​25, 26, 27, 30, 52, 65, 68, 69–70, 71, 80, 81, 82, 96, 129, 176 – enlightenment ​18, 27, 30–35, 52, 69–70, 81, 82, 90, 111, 178 – φῶς ​25, 27, 69, 80, 81, 82, 90 – φωτισμός ​27, 30, 69, 91 Likeness, conformity ​21, 36–37, 45–47, 98, 103–4 – ὁμοίωμα ​36, 45, 46 – ὁμοίωσις ​103 – see also s. v. imitation List, catalogue ​29, 58, 120, 125, 161, 207 – of περιστάσεις ​16, 208–9 Liturgy ​35, 50, 51, 52, 53, 67, 77, 158, 169, 190, 191 Logos ​10, 45, 68–86, 90, 91, 92, 122, 123, 126, 128–30, 134, 141, 142, 144, 145, 173, 174, 177, 181 – λόγος ​9, 10, 27, 35, 36, 61, 69, 70, 71, 72, 76, 77, 79, 83, 89, 90, 114, 126, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 150, 152, 208, 211 Lord, lordship ​13, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 27, 30, 31, 37, 40, 45, 49, 50, 55, 65, 66, 67, 89, 91, 136, 142, 147, 170, 175, 177, 179, 192, 201, 209 Love ​22, 100, 112, 134, 168, 170, 173, 174, 176, 178, 183, 209 – see also s. v. friendship Magic, Magus ​18, 45, 77, 106, 143, 169 – sorcery ​207 – μαγεία ​106 – φαρμακεία ​207

Index of Subjects Maimonides ​179 Mandaeism ​129 Manna ​153 Marcellus of Ancyra ​186 Marcion ​149 Mark Antony ​41–42 Martyrdom ​48, 58, 62, 220 – see also s. v. testimony Mathematics ​120, 141 Matter, materiality ​76, 109, 134, 141 Mediation, mediator ​80, 126, 136, 167, 195, 196 Medicine ​18 Megasthenes ​143 Melchizedek ​160, 162, 163 Memorandum ​20, 59, 210 Memory ​51, 52, 215 Mercy ​27, 29, 158, 160, 162, 169 Messianism, messiah ​46, 153, 157, 212, 214 Metaphor ​23, 32, 44, 45, 50, 74, 80, 97, 127, 154, 159, 162, 170, 180, 195, 196 Metaphysics ​2, 12, 15, 79, 93, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 108, 109, 110, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 120, 127, 132, 141, 150, 173, 179, 184, 186 Meteorology ​124 Mind, intellect ​16, 17, 18, 21, 27, 29, 30, 32, 40, 52, 55, 77, 81, 95, 96, 99, 104, 110, 112, 113, 116, 125, 128, 162, 164, 165, 166, 170, 186, 201, 209, 218 – intellectuals ​17, 18, 26, 55, 78, 183, 209, 218 – mentality ​17 – νοῦς ​30, 77, 89, 125, 136 – see also s. v. knowledge, thought Miracle ​52 Mirror ​30, 31, 32 Mithras ​77 – Mithras Liturgy ​77 Moderation ​103, 104, 105, 108 – σωφροσύνη, σώφρων ​103, 104, 105 Money, finance ​20, 28, 54, 60, 203, 217, 219, 220 Moses ​14, 28, 32, 33, 34, 70, 75, 84, 117, 132, 137, 141, 142, 152, 161, 163, 169, 175, 177, 178, 179 Motion ​45, 109, 112, 141 – see also s. v. physics Musaeus ​184

279

Mystery cult ​30, 31, 32, 77, 86, 117, 144, 186 – Eleusis ​41, 108 – initiation ​32, 71, 186 – Lesemysterien ​144 – mystagogy, mystagogue ​86, 186, 188 – ἐποπτεία ​32, 71 – μυσταγωγία ​188 – μυστηριώδης ​132 Mysticism, mystic ​180, 187 Myth ​11, 40, 74, 93, 94, 98, 101, 110, 111, 114, 120, 127, 131, 134, 136, 141, 142, 143, 145, 155, 164, 181, 184, 185, 186 – mythology ​41, 42, 44, 45, 74, 99, 119, 140, 141, 143, 155 – μυθολογία, ‑γεῖν ​11, 98, 131 – μῦθος ​11, 106, 140 Nag Hammadi ​78, 81 Name ​13, 20, 23, 24, 26, 32, 33, 34, 36–37, 38, 39, 40, 42, 49, 50, 56, 57, 58, 63, 67, 70, 71, 79, 82, 84, 88, 90, 92, 101, 114, 116, 123, 125, 146, 150, 175, 176, 177, 178, 193, 205, 206, 207 – epithet ​23, 24, 39, 49 – name-calling ​207, 208 – ὄνομα ​33, 36, 42, 49, 50, 69, 92, 177 Narrative, story ​17, 19, 23, 25, 35, 37, 38, 47, 51, 61, 62, 64, 77, 86, 88, 90, 91, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 108, 109, 122, 127, 134, 135, 141, 142, 148, 151, 152, 153, 155, 157, 161, 171, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 182, 183, 184, 187, 191, 211, 213 – theology ​101, 108, 170–74 Nature ​71–72, 76–77, 80, 100, 104, 107, 119, 123, 124, 127, 131, 143, 150, 175, 176 – divine nature ​15, 17, 34, 41, 90, 101, 110, 113, 117, 152, 154, 177, 178 – natural theology ​94, 131 – φύσις, φυσικός ​12, 72, 105, 119, 131 Nero ​58, 59, 202 Novel ​1, 191 Numa Pompilius ​64 Numenius ​133, 137 Oath ​29, 168, 210 Obedience ​17, 19, 24, 36–37, 47, 48, 65, 123

280

Index of Subjects

Obscurity, ambiguity ​27, 32, 38, 71, 72, 86, 135, 151 Ode ​35, 190 – ᾠδή, ᾄδειν ​35 Odysseus ​113 Olympus ​101, 107 Oneness, unity, union ​21, 53, 79, 86, 95, 116, 122, 134, 135, 136, 147, 168 Ontology, see s. v. being Opinion ​40, 99, 109, 112 Opposition, opponents ​12, 19–20, 22, 26, 27, 28, 53, 54, 55, 78, 84, 122–23, 201, 203, 204, 205, 207, 210, 214, 218, 220 Oracle ​41, 132, 215, 217, 218 – see also s. v. Delphi Orality ​5, 15, 22, 53, 55, 73, 201, 210, 211 Origen ​142 Origin, beginning ​4, 5, 8, 11, 12, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 27, 28, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 49, 50, 51, 57, 59, 63, 64, 65, 67, 69–70, 72, 73, 76, 77, 79, 80, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 94, 100, 119, 122, 123, 124, 126, 127, 129, 134, 137, 148, 199, 206, 214 – primordium ​28, 109, 143 – ἀρχή ​57, 69, 73, 77, 79, 80, 88, 152, 188, 206, 214 – see also s. v. cause Orpheus ​11, 132, 140, 184 Osiris ​76, 77, 134, 144 Paganism, pagan ​6, 26, 28, 42, 93, 94, 96, 97, 115, 116, 117, 118, 123, 136, 141, 194, 196, 207 Parable ​22, 65, 152, 179, 184, 189, 196 Parmenides ​31, 33, 40, 42, 192 Passion(s) ​45 – passion of Jesus ​151, 152, 159, 173, 211–14 Passover ​153, 158, 161, 163, 170, 171, 172, 173 Patriarch ​32, 175, 176 Paul ​7–67, 77, 83, 85, 86–89, 91, 92, 93, 97, 108, 115, 117, 118, 121, 126, 129, 141, 146, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 156, 158, 159, 161, 166, 180, 181, 182, 183, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 199–220

– corpus Paulinum ​18, 25, 26, 28, 34, 35, 39, 46, 48, 53, 54, 62, 89, 92, 93, 158, 160, 183, 187, 190, 192 206, 208, 220 – – 1 Corinthians ​13, 18, 23, 24, 53, 54, 203, 208, 209 – – 2 Corinthians ​18, 23, 27, 35, 53, 54, 166, 203, 208, 209 – – deutero-Pauline epistles ​10, 14, 35, 36 – – Galatians ​18, 19, 20, 23, 54, 60 – – Hebrews ​1, 154, 159–70, 183, 194 – – Pastoral epistles ​10, 155 – – Philippians ​20, 21, 35–50, 51, 59, 126, 204, 205, 209, 220 – – Romans ​13, 29, 47, 54–60, 61, 158, 199–220 – – 1 Thessalonians ​192 Paulinism ​3, 9, 13, 37, 46, 207, 213 Pentecost ​62 Perception, see s. v. senses Peregrinus Proteus ​28 Perjury​ 171 Persecution ​16, 17, 19, 22, 24, 25, 25, 28, 52, 62, 65, 87, 89, 209 Persephone ​41 Persia, Iran ​76, 106, 127, 143, 189 Peter, Cephas ​9, 19, 20, 23, 24, 29, 62, 210, 214 Petition ​58, 59, 104, 106, 122, 202 Pherecydes ​132 Philippi, Philippian ​20, 51, 52, 53, 205, 210 Philo of Alexandria ​5, 13, 14, 15, 34, 68, 74, 75, 78, 90, 128, 131, 132, 133–34, 136, 137, 141, 163, 165–66, 169, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 185, 186 Philosophy ​2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 26, 28, 30, 31, 34, 39, 41, 42, 51, 52, 62, 69, 71, 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 84, 85, 93, 94, 96, 95, 96, 97, 99, 103, 104, 105, 108, 109, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 131, 132, 133, 135, 136, 137, 139, 140–45, 150, 155, 157, 162, 166, 174, 176, 177, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187, 194, 215, 217, 218, 219 – barbarian ​142, 143, 144, 145 – Greek ​5, 6, 10, 13, 33, 34, 39, 41, 43, 69, 71, 75, 84, 127, 130, 157, 183, 188, 193, 195, 209

Index of Subjects – Hellenistic ​5, 9, 12, 13, 34, 78, 81, 120, 154, 162, 183 – imperial-era ​127–37, 141, 185 – Jewish, see s. v. Judaism – philosophical theology ​11, 12, 13, 26, 33, 78, 93, 94, 96, 108, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119–20, 121, 127, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136–37, 140–41, 145, 184, 187, 195 – philosophy of religion ​15, 130, 136–37, 179, 185, 186, 188, 195, 196 – popular ​62, 119–26, 132, 150, 209 – Presocratic, see s. v. – Roman ​5, 39, 51, 78 – φιλοσοφία, φιλόσοφος ​14, 120, 131, 133, 141, 143, 183, 185 Physics ​109, 120, 131, 141, 142 – see also s. v. motion Physiognomy ​46 Physiologus ​134 Piety ​100, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 114, 115, 116, 117 – εὐσέβεια ​106 Pilate ​173, 212, 213, 214 Plato ​2, 11, 12, 14, 31, 46, 75, 93, 96, 97–108, 109, 111, 113, 114, 115, 117, 119, 120, 128–29, 130, 132, 133, 134, 137, 140, 141, 145, 164, 176, 182, 184, 185, 186, 188, 214–19, 220 Platonism ​5, 6, 11, 13, 14, 15, 45, 75, 76, 78, 81, 93, 94, 100, 106, 108, 115, 116, 117, 125, 128–29, 130, 135, 136, 140, 141, 144, 163, 164, 175, 176, 177, 185, 201, 215 – Academy ​3, 12, 14, 78, 100 – – Academic Skepticism ​132, 135 – idealism, idea ​129, 132, 140, 163–64, 165 – imperial-era ​6, 127–37, 185 – middle ​3, 75, 76, 78, 90, 91, 116, 121, 137, 141, 155 – neo ​75, 116, 186–88, 195 – old ​12, 14 Plotinus ​186 Plutarch ​61, 64, 75, 76, 77, 78, 91, 116, 119, 128, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 144, 185, 188 Poetry, poem ​11–12, 33, 40, 41, 50, 52, 76, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 104, 106, 111, 114, 115, 119, 123, 124, 126, 127,

281

131, 132, 140, 141, 142, 181, 187, 201, 217 Politics ​29, 56, 58, 61, 62, 63, 71, 72, 78, 105, 111, 112, 186, 211, 212, 213, 217, 218, 220 – theologia civilis ​94, 95, 114, 115 Pontus ​204 Porcius Festus ​64 Porphyry ​133 Power ​21, 41, 43, 45, 49, 55, 56, 62, 70, 77, 83, 89, 95, 99, 102, 107, 114, 118, 125, 159, 175, 177, 200, 206, 209, 214, 218 – omnipotence ​116, 122 – δύναμις ​20, 21, 55, 56, 89, 104, 125, 126, 136, 200, 206, 209 Praise ​106, 122, 180, 190, 191, 193, 218 – see also s. v. aretalogy Prayer ​2, 57, 77, 104, 105, 106, 114, 115, 121, 122, 127, 177, 180, 190 Precept ​99, 103, 104, 108, 123 Presocratics ​31, 33, 42, 71, 73, 75, 76, 79, 81, 82, 84, 185 Priesthood, priest ​65, 75, 76, 78, 140, 143, 144, 147, 149, 158, 159, 160, 162, 163, 164, 166, 168, 171, 213 Principle ​22, 63, 68, 70–71, 77, 90, 98, 99, 103, 108, 109, 110, 116, 117, 122, 125, 134, 165, 168, 173, 174, 176, 177, 180, 184, 188, 189, 190, 196, 205 Prisca/Priscilla and Aquila ​204 Prison, prisoner ​21, 51, 54, 57, 58, 59, 203, 204, 210 Proclamation ​4, 9, 17, 19, 25, 29, 30, 50, 67, 148, 151, 155, 157, 162, 165, 173, 178, 184, 187, 195, 204, 207 – kerygma ​8, 9, 140, 181, 187, 188, 194 – κήρυγμα, κηρύσσειν ​9, 24, 27 Proclus ​116, 186, 188 Prometheus ​101, 102 Promise ​54, 60, 124, 157, 164, 167, 168, 169, 170, 220 Propaganda ​201, 203 Prophecy, prophet ​11, 12, 34, 41, 50, 52, 77, 82, 86, 88, 132, 142, 147, 148, 149, 151, 152, 154, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 175, 179, 180, 187, 192, 196 – Daniel, see s. v. apocalyptic – Elijah ​151 – Elisha ​151 – Ezekiel ​179, 180, 187, 196, 197

282

Index of Subjects

– Isaiah ​172, 192 – – deutero-Isaiah ​147, 148, 149, 155 – Jeremiah ​164, 166, 167, 169, 170 – Moses, see s. v. Protagoras ​101, 103, 211, 217 Protreptic, see s. v. rhetoric Proverb ​65, 173 Providence ​76, 100, 114, 121 Psalm ​35, 148, 151, 163, 165, 168, 190 – ψαλμός ​35 Pun ​167, 168 Psychagogy ​123 Punctuation ​90–91 Punishment ​64, 95, 99, 101, 102, 112, 158, 215, 219 Purity ​43, 44, 103, 160 – purification ​99, 108, 112, 114, 160, 164, 168, 169, 185 Pythia ​215, 217 Qualification, sufficiency ​18, 26–30, 160, 167, 184 – ἱκανότης ​18, 24, 27, 28, 208 Qumran, Dead Sea Scrolls ​78, 181 – Temple Scroll ​148 Rationality, reason ​5, 73, 76–77, 89, 98, 103, 104, 114, 115, 116, 122, 131, 133, 174, 185, 216, 220 Reception ​4, 52, 59, 89, 145, 190, 202, 203, 208 Redaction, redactor ​48, 67, 85, 88, 215 Redemption, ransom ​44, 47, 74, 82, 159, 167, 169, 170, 173, 207 – ἀπολύτρωσις ​169 – λύτρωσις ​152 Reformation ​8, 127 Religion ​5, 6, 15, 17, 28, 31, 34, 35, 50, 51, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 74, 78, 89, 93–118, 128, 130, 132, 133, 135, 135, 137, 144, 157, 174–78, 179, 183, 185, 186, 188, 194, 195, 196, 212, 213 – Christian ​94, 180, 183 – Greek ​2, 3, 32, 93–118 – Jewish ​13, 141, 210 – “lived religion” ​6, 127, 132, 133 – popular ​94, 95 – religious practices ​4, 49, 94, 95, 96, 105, 107, 108, 114 – Roman ​32, 41–42, 64

– θεραπεία, ‑πευμα, ‑πεύειν ​100, 105, 106, 114 Resurrection ​8, 16, 17, 21, 22, 24, 26, 46, 47, 48, 49, 52, 61, 62, 65, 88, 89, 129, 148, 153, 154, 155, 157, 160, 174, 188, 191, 192, 194, 195 – Easter ​153, 188, 193, 194 – see also s. v. afterlife, immortality Revelation ​17, 18, 19, 23, 41, 46, 51, 56, 70, 79, 82, 83, 84, 86, 89, 95, 117, 129, 132, 133, 135, 142, 154, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 188, 191, 206, 214, 215, 218 – apocalypse, apocalyptic ​148, 181 – – Daniel ​154 – – Jubilees ​148 – – Revelation of John ​10, 148, 149, 154, 170–71, 194 – ἀποκάλυψις, ‑πτειν ​17, 18, 20, 23, 56, 201 Revenge ​100 Revulsion ​207 – λοίδορος ​207 Rhetoric ​16, 26, 50, 55, 73, 89, 97, 159–70, 174, 178, 199, 200, 201, 202, 204–10, 213, 213 – partes – – peroratio ​58 – – prooemium 54, 205 – – thesis ​55, 56, 205, 206 – species – – defense, ἀπολογία ​18, 19, 27, 28, 54, 64, 199, 205, 208, 214–19, 220 – – epideictic ​35, 37, 190 – – protreptic ​60, 199 – “works” – – delivery ​26, 55, 64, 65, 215, 216 – – invention ​160 – – style ​35, 52, 58, 190, 199, 200 – topos ​41, 62 Riddle, mystery ​29, 32, 37, 49, 71, 109, 135, 159, 171, 172, 174, 176, 215 Ritual, rite ​2, 19, 20, 49, 76, 77, 89, 95, 107, 108, 115, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 165, 167, 185 – ritualism ​102, 108 Rome, Roman ​5, 21, 22, 26, 31, 32, 41–42, 54, 58, 59, 60, 62, 64, 74, 78, 87, 126, 158, 162, 199, 202, 203, 204, 207, 210, 213, 214, 220

Index of Subjects – Roman empire ​5, 41, 42, 60, 61, 64, 65, 66, 123, 125, 126, 127–37, 144, 203, 204, 205, 211, 212, 213, 214 Romulus ​49, 64 Ruler/imperial cult ​41, 42, 48, 49, 50 Sacrifice ​48, 105, 106, 107, 117, 151, 153, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 174 – devotio ​158 – holocaust ​165 – Tamid ​170, 171 – see also atonement, gift Salvation ​8, 56, 57, 122, 123, 124, 126, 129, 132, 147, 158, 166, 206, 211, 214 – σωτήρ ​126 – σωτηρία ​56, 125, 206 – σωτήριον ​152 – see also s. v. soteriology Sanhedrin ​63 Sarcasm ​201, 208, 209, 216 Satan ​43, 65, 159, 169 School ​3, 5, 13, 145, 181, 182 – catechetical ​3, 182 – Johannine ​3, 171 – Pauline ​3, 183 – philosophical ​2, 13, 31, 33, 77, 93, 96, 97, 108, 114, 121, 144, 145, 201 Scripture ​4, 56, 117, 118, 119, 150, 151, 153, 154, 155, 157, 162, 163, 164, 167, 168, 169, 182, 192, 206 – see also s. v. bible, Hebrew Bible, canon Secret ​27, 30, 210 – messianic secret ​46 Senses, perception ​18, 128, 129, 134, 135 – hearing ​25, 26, 65, 72, 73, 90, 91, 99, 100, 166, 169, 175, 176 – sight, see s. v. vision – smell ​129 – taste ​129 – touch ​91, 129 Septuagint (LXX) ​4, 12, 33, 50, 56, 68, 73, 79, 84, 144, 149, 150, 153, 165, 175, 184, 206 Shadow ​163, 164, 165 Shame ​27, 55, 56, 106, 204–10, 214, 216, 219, 220 – αἰσχύνη, αἰσχύνειν ​27, 56, 207, 219 – αἰσχρῶς ​106 – ἐπαισχύνεσθαι ​56, 205, 206, 207, 219

283

Sign ​2, 34, 52, 63, 72, 73, 90, 92, 129, 173, 176, 177, 204 – σημεῖον ​92 Simon Magus ​21, 61, 62 Sin ​46, 47, 65, 153, 158, 159, 160, 161, 165, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 174, 207, 211 Sight, see s. v. vision Sitz im Leben ​13, 37, 52, 96, 190 Slander ​201, 205, 207, 208, 210–19, 220 – διαβολή, ‑βάλλειν ​201, 206, 218, 219 – καταλαλία, ‑λεῖν ​207, 208 – ψιθυρισμός, ‑στής ​208 Slavery, slave ​45, 105, 126, 173, 217 – service, servant ​23, 26, 27, 30, 37, 43, 44, 45, 47, 52, 57, 75, 78, 96, 97, 100, 106, 107, 114, 159, 161, 172, 176, 205, 207, 209 – Servant Song ​158, 172 – διακονία ​18, 27, 30, 58 – δοῦλος ​27, 30, 36, 44, 45, 47, 57, 205 Sleep ​72, 74 Socrates ​46, 100, 111, 140, 176, 177, 201, 208, 214–19, 220 Sophistry, Sophist ​97, 201, 210, 215, 217 Sophocles ​105 Soteriology ​21, 47, 48, 129, 157, 195 – see also s. v. salvation Soul ​17, 99, 102, 105, 107, 110, 112, 123, 124, 166 – “world soul,” see s. v. universe Spain ​60 Speculation ​2, 3, 15, 18, 35, 127, 132, 136, 160, 162–63, 184 Spirit ​16, 30, 31, 35, 47, 83, 90, 157, 183, 190 – Holy Spirit ​19, 30, 31, 35, 62, 67, 89, 136, 152, 197 – inspiration ​18, 19, 35, 62, 67, 89, 136 – spirituality ​194, 196 – πνεῦμα ​30, 31, 35, 46, 67, 83, 89, 90, 128, 130, 132, 136 Stephen ​62, 63 Stoicism, Stoic ​2, 13, 26, 33, 75, 76, 77, 80, 81, 90, 94, 114, 115, 121, 122, 123, 128, 130, 131, 134, 173, 196 Strength ​104, 209, 210, 217 Substance ​109, 110, 111, 112, 168 – see also s. v. being Suffering ​16, 21, 45, 47, 102, 123, 124, 126, 151, 158, 172, 208, 209, 213

284

Index of Subjects

Sun ​65, 80 – see also s. v. Helios Superstition ​26, 28, 91 Symbolism, symbol ​133, 136, 159, 161, 162, 170 Tabernacle ​160, 161, 163, 165, 169 Temple ​71 – heavenly ​180 – in Jerusalem ​4, 64, 172 Temptation ​43 Tension ​76, 125, 204 Tertius ​59, 202 Test, testing ​16, 47, 118, 159, 178, 217, 218 – ἐξέτασις, ἐξετάζειν ​218 Testimony, witness ​14, 18, 24, 35, 41, 63, 64, 65, 70, 82, 84, 89, 137, 146, 156, 163, 173, 179, 183, 188, 193, 194, 196, 210, 212, 214, 215, 216 – eyewitness ​62, 211 – testimonium Flavianum ​87 – μαρτυρία ​82 – see also s. v. martyrdom Textual criticism ​85, 88, 202, 203 Thales ​99 Themis ​40 Theology ​passim – astral theology ​80, 110, 116 – atheism ​84, 95, 111, 217 – biblical, see s. v. bible – daimon ​17, 29, 43, 45, 80, 107, 124, 185 – definition, “speech about the gods” ​ 2–3, 11, 15, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 108, 114, 117, 119, 120, 124, 134, 135, 136, 145, 146, 157, 185 – deity, divinity ​3, 5, 17, 11, 12, 15, 21, 23, 26, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36–37, 38–43, 44, 45, 47, 49, 51, 52, 57, 62, 63, 64, 65, 70, 71, 75, 76, 77, 79, 80, 83, 84, 85, 90, 93, 94, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 109, 111, 112, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 124, 125, 127, 128, 128, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 141, 142, 145, 146, 150, 152, 162, 166, 170, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 184, 184, 186, 187, 188, 191, 195, 200, 206, 213, 214 – demiurge ​116, 120, 125 – “explicit”/“implicit” theology ​2–3, 96, 127, 128, 147, 148, 154, 182–84, 187, 195

– Father, see s. v. – hypostasis ​85 – Jewish theology, see s. v. Judaism – logos, see s. v. – monotheism ​38, 39, 40, 42, 80, 85, 90, 94, 95, 109, 135–36, 145, 192, 193 – narrative theology, see s. v. narrative – Old Testament theology, see s. v. Hebrew Bible – pantheism ​196 – polytheism ​40, 43, 79, 80, 85, 109, 114, 115, 145, 186 – syncretism ​81 – systematic theology ​1, 3, 4, 5, 10, 53, 92, 95, 96, 99, 101, 102, 115, 120, 122, 128, 135, 136, 159, 173, 174, 183, 184, 186 – theologia tripertita ​94, 114, 120, 131 – trinity ​4, 95, 197 – “unmoved mover” ​109, 112, 120 – τὸ θεῖον ​136 – θεολογεῖν ​4, 14, 69, 98, 117, 119, 120, 124, 131, 132, 142, 182, 185 – θεολογία ​3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11–15, 67, 90, 93, 96, 97–98, 108, 115, 117, 118, 119, 130–33, 140–42, 143, 145, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187 – θεολογικός ​12, 72, 110, 119, 120, 131, 141, 142, 186 – θεολόγος ​11, 14, 76, 119, 131, 132, 134, 139, 140, 141, 182, 185 – θεός ​12, 20, 21, 23, 24, 27, 33, 35, 36, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 45, 47, 48, 50, 56, 57, 69, 70, 71, 79, 82, 85, 88, 90, 91, 92, 98, 100, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 110, 125, 136, 142, 143, 175, 201, 205, 206, 208, 214, 218, 219 Theurgy ​116 Thomas Aquinas ​150 Thoth ​76, 77 Thought, thinking ​4, 5, 8, 9, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 21, 22, 31, 33, 35, 37, 38, 39, 45, 46, 53, 63, 67, 68, 69, 71, 73, 74, 78, 81, 92, 94, 96, 99, 103, 109, 111, 112, 114, 117, 118, 121, 123, 126, 130, 136, 142, 144, 145, 146, 147, 150, 151, 153–54, 165, 166, 172, 175, 185, 186, 187, 199, 200, 202, 207, 209, 215, 219 – (re)cognition ​18, 21, 22, 23, 27, 30, 31, 49, 52, 57, 69, 82, 88, 94, 102, 105, 116, 134, 144, 147, 183, 188, 193, 212, 219

Index of Subjects – “self-thinking thought” ​109, 112 – νοεῖν ​30, 85 – νόημα, νόησις ​27, 188 – see also s. v. knowledge, mind Time ​71, 73, 79, 80 Timothy ​57 Titus ​20 Token, σύνθημα ​108 Torah ​5, 19–20, 21, 22, 28, 46–47, 63, 70, 78, 84, 117, 134, 148, 149, 150, 152, 170, 175, 175, 182, 195 – Pentateuch ​152 – – Deuteronomy ​147 – – E xodus ​147, 161–62, 165, 177 – – Genesis ​152, 159, 161 – – Leviticus ​159, 160, 168, 169, 171 – Priestly source (P) ​147, 149 – see also s. v. law Tradition ​2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 22, 33, 35, 37, 38, 40, 43, 47, 48, 51, 53, 57, 59, 61, 67, 74, 78, 83, 84, 85, 87, 89, 93–118, 127, 128, 129, 130, 132, 133, 137, 139–56, 157, 158, 161, 162, 165, 166, 172, 174, 176, 179, 182, 183, 185, 186, 188, 189, 190, 196, 202, 203, 206, 208, 210, 211 – biblical, see s. v. bible – oral ​16, 53, 210 Transcendence ​33, 117, 125, 134, 164, 175, 209 Transformation ​31, 40, 41, 44, 45, 47, 83, 85 – μεταμόρφωσις, ‑φοῦσθαι ​31, 44 – see also s. v. form Trial ​65, 205, 211, 214, 216, 217 – judge, judgment ​108, 201, 212, 214 – jury ​215, 219 Trust ​65, 97, 188, 218 – see also s. v. faith Truth ​16, 27, 29, 60, 70, 72, 83, 84, 114, 117, 118, 132, 135, 142, 167, 173, 174, 188, 216, 218 – ἀλήθεια ​27, 69–70, 83, 84 – see also s. v. Aletheia Typology, Type ​116, 117, 161, 179, 180, 217 – prototype ​44, 91, 217

285

– τύπος ​11, 98, 120, 130, 135, 140, 210 – see also s. v. allegory Unity, see s. v. oneness Universe, world, cosmos ​4, 33, 43, 44, 49, 50, 51, 57, 60, 61, 62, 65, 68, 70, 71, 72, 76–77, 79, 82, 89, 90, 96, 98, 99, 101, 102, 103, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 118, 119, 120, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 131, 134, 135, 136, 137, 149, 150, 152, 154, 158, 165, 169, 170, 171, 173, 175, 182, 183, 186, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 206, 220 – cosmology ​95, 96, 99, 114, 124, 134, 143 – “cosmotheology” ​124 – univeralism ​5, 147 – “world soul” ​125 – worldview ​124 – κόσμος ​69, 82, 102, 125 Vision, sight ​7, 16, 17, 18, 20, 21, 23–26, 30, 31, 32, 34, 35, 37, 38, 50, 51, 52, 67, 71, 83, 89, 91, 92, 117, 118, 132, 135, 142, 149, 154, 155, 175, 176, 177, 178, 192, 196 Weakness ​46, 102, 104, 105, 184, 209, 210, 217 Wisdom ​35, 42, 89, 104, 118, 143, 179, 195, 197, 201, 217, 218 – sage ​15, 28, 143, 145, 218 – wisdom literature ​78, 187 – wisdom theology ​134 Witness, see s. v. testimony Worship ​13, 26, 35, 49, 50, 51, 52, 62, 89, 105, 106, 107, 116, 117, 133, 135, 136, 166, 190, 207 – idolatry, 207 – monolatry ​135 – polylatry ​136 – see also s. v. cult, liturgy, ritual Yahweh ​33, 34, 147, 150, 162, 164, 177 Zeus ​26, 41, 42, 101, 104, 114, 115, 116, 122, 123, 124